Series: Mortal Allies
Story Title: Episode 3, Postcards From the Edge
Chapter 10: 61 955 57 368
By: Passion4Spike
Author's Notes:
Thanks to everyone who is reading and extra slobbery doggie-Spike kisses to everyone who has left a comment or a 'like'/'kudos'. It seriously means so much to me, like yummy treats for my muse!
As always, my everlasting gratitude to Holi117 and PaganBaby for their betaing, encouragement, idea-bouncing, banner-making, and for all their efforts to keep me from following the pixies into the woods, dark and deep.
I apologize for the lack of Spike in this chapter, though he's here in spirit.
Chapter 10: 61 955 57 368
Sunnydale.
"So, no joy on the speed dating front?" Willow asked as she and Buffy worked on the Angel/Slayer timeline in the library. Giles' big blue crystal sat on the table not far away. Buffy had finished her focus-exercise with Giles earlier, but the Watcher left when Willow had arrived, leaving the two girls to work on the damnable computer in peace.
"It was the complete opposite of joy… it was joyless, it was un-joy, it was joyless un-joy. I've met less monstrous vampires. Well, except for the last guy," Buffy admitted.
"Oh? Did you guys hit it off?" the witch asked hopefully.
"Uh, yeah, you could say that there was hitting."
Willow looked concerned.
"He was an actual monster. Vampire," Buffy explained with a shrug.
"Oh," Willow sighed. "What was wrong with the rest of them?" she wondered.
"What wasn't?" Buffy asked, counting off on her fingers. "Too geeky, too nerdy, too nerdy about being geeky, too much information share-y, too piggy, too smart, too dumb, too boring, too sweater-vesty…" 'Too not-Spike,' Buffy's mind added silently and completely against her will.
"Sweater vest-y?" Willow stopped her.
Buffy rolled her eyes and shrugged. "It was a thing. You really don't want details."
"None of them were potential date-material?" Willow pressed.
Buffy's shoulders sagged. "I guess one or two, but... I don't know. There was just something missing. I can't really put my finger on it," she fibbed. Despite the confusing, angry, death-wishing postcard, Buffy couldn't shake the annoying, taken, peroxided vampire from her thoughts. Oh, did she mention taken? Taken! As in unavailable. In love with someone else. Ta-ken! Argh!
Willow sighed, looking back at the computer screen. "I know what you need!" she exclaimed suddenly, typing quickly on the keyboard. "A 'perfect guy' profile... we'll take a quiz and they'll tell you the perfect guy for you! Then maybe you can figure out what's missing."
"I don't know…" Buffy hedged. "We really need to be doing this—"
"It'll only take a minute. C'mon, it'll be fun."
"Like speed-dating was fun?" Buffy groused.
Willow looked stricken.
"Okay, fine… ask the questions…" Buffy acquiesced with an eye roll.
Willow's smile returned in an instant as she looked back at the computer. "Okay, here we go… Build Your Perfect Guy," she read from the screen. "Question one: 'First let's start with the face. What is the most important feature to you? Eyes, jaw, smile, or beard?'"
Buffy thought a moment, deciding between eyes and jaw. He needed a strong jaw – a jaw that could take a punch – but eyes… eyes were the mirror to the soul, right? "Eyes," she decided.
"Okay, two: 'Which eye color do you prefer?'" Willow continued, reading from the screen. "'Blue like the ocean. The greener the better. Soft brown. Or Hazel?'"
Buffy smiled, remembering a conversation with her mom nearly a year ago about the color of Spike's eyes… azure or cerulean, sapphire or cobalt, faded denim or tropical ocean… "Blue," Buffy blurted out, drawing a raised brow from Willow. "What?" the blond demanded.
"Nothing. Blue it is," Willow agreed, clicking the mouse appropriately. "Okay, three. 'What hair color do you prefer? Dark hair, brown or black. A blondie is a hottie. I like guys who die their hair fun colors. Or red hair, for the win.'"
Buffy chewed her lip. "You know, what a guy looks like probably isn't the best way to match up…"
"Just answer the question," Willow interrupted her.
Buffy rolled her eyes. She could say the 'fun colors' one, cos peroxide is a fun color, right? Or brunette, cos beneath it all, Spike was a brunette… And what the hell is she thinking!? She was supposed to stop thinking about Spike. Gah!
"This is really meaningless. Can we just skip to the personality stuff?" the Slayer asked.
Willow turned in her seat to face Buffy more fully. "Do you want to answer 'blond' but are afraid to?" she wondered, looking at her friend with concern.
"What? No! Blond? Pfft! Why would I answer blond?" Buffy replied too vehemently.
Willow lifted her brows. "Are you crushing on Spike?"
"What? No!" Buffy replied automatically.
"Cos, you know, it's okay if you are," Willow assured her. "I mean, there's no judge-y-ness from me, I just… when I mentioned Angel missage you seemed... evade-y. And when you were talking about Spike and his curls the other night, well, it seemed like you might… like him."
"What?!" Buffy spluttered, her face a mixture of shock, disgust and denial that made her brows raise at odd angles and her mouth twist as if she'd swallowed a lemon. "Will, trust me, there is absolutely, one trillion percent, no liking of Spike, whatsoever!" Buffy waved her hands, as if shooing the idea away.
Willow just looked at her, her brows up, eyes wide, clearly not buying it.
"Ppssh! I mean, like, c'mon, Will. Seriously? Me? Liking Spike? You're totally off base. Your base is, like, on Mars or something. You remember him, right? The piggy vampire who ruined parent-teacher night. There is no liking of Spike!" Buffy stated unequivocally.
"Except his curls and his blue eyes?" Willow suggested, looking at her friend knowingly.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Spike's an evil, soulless vampire who's tried to kill me more than once," she reminded the witch.
"Yeah, all true," Willow agreed. "And, also, helped you stop Angelus and save Giles… and the world. I give big points for world-save-age. And he gave you a puppy. A-and who you went on a road trip with, including full frontal nudity and no 'grr-arghing' the whole time. And your mom and your dog like him!" she finished with a firm nod.
Buffy sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I can't like him, Will," she admitted, sounding defeated. "He's got a girlfriend… remember?"
"Oh. Yeah." Willow looked chagrined, dropping her gaze to her hands, which were knotted in her lap.
"Also, vampire," Buffy continued, frowning. "That way lies badness."
Willow nodded. "On the plus side, he can't lose his soul," she pointed out.
Buffy snorted. "I guess soullessness does come with perks."
"Buffy, I just… I wanted you to know that I'm here for you, if you need to talk or whatever. Sometimes you can't help who you crush on. Hey! Guilty voice of experience here," Willow declared, holding up a hand. "Consider this the 'best friend, judgement-free zone' – cos we all need that. Once again, voice of experience. I don't know what I would've done without you to talk to since the whole bowling-debacle."
"Aww, Wills, you know I'm here for you," Buffy assured her, reaching over to pull her friend into a hug. "Let's always be judgement-free besties, okay?"
"Forever and ever," Willow agreed, hugging her back. They both released the hug at once and Willow sat back, giving Buffy a smile. "So... hair? Blond?"
Buffy laughed, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Fine… blond," she agreed grudgingly.
Willow grinned conspiratorially. "With curls?"
Buffy blushed. "Cute curls," she corrected. "Top and bottom."
The girls giggled like, well, schoolgirls, bumping their shoulders together in good-natured comradery. Buffy had to admit telling someone about her inappropriate crushing made her feel less guilty about it. It didn't make it right, and she totally needed to stop – which she would! – but, at least she didn't feel like she was hiding all alone in the shadows with it.
"Okay," Willow continued, looking back at the quiz after a few moments. "'Which of these is the most important personality trait? Bravery, organization, a good conscience, motivation?'"
"Bravery," Buffy decided.
"'Pick another trait: Independence, intelligence, loyalty, ambition.'"
"That's a hard one." Buffy screwed up her face a moment before deciding, "Loyalty."
"'Pick one final quality: kindness, free-spirit, generosity, romantic.'"
"Hmmm… romantic," Buffy chose.
"'What type of sense of humor is your favorite: cheesy, teasing, dirty, flirty?'"
"What's the difference between teasing, flirty, and dirty?" she wondered.
"It doesn't say," Willow admitted.
Buffy shrugged. "Go with flirty."
"'Is he an extrovert or an introvert?'"
"Extrovert," Buffy picked.
"'Where do you two go on your first date? To a bar, the movies, the beach, or a nice restaurant?'"
"Food!" Buffy chose vehemently.
"Finally, 'What is his life plan?'" Willow asked. "'Successful businessman, travel the world, contribute something meaningful to society, or settle down and have a low-key family life.'"
"Does helping me save the world count as 'contribute to society'?" Buffy wondered.
Willow bobbed her head side-to-side, pursing her lips, thinking. "Well, if the world ended, that would be bad for society, so I'm thinking 'yes'."
"Then say that."
"Calculating results…" Willow read from the screen.
The computer 'dinged' and Buffy leaned in to read with her.
Your Perfect Man - War and Roses:
While you may project a happy-go-lucky, silly exterior to the world, secretly you're a bit of a brain, with razor-sharp instincts, and you know exactly what you want. You don't have time for games and players, and while far from a dainty princess – deep down you're looking for a prince. You want the cheeky smolder, the baby blues, and hair you can run your fingers through!
Your ideal man will challenge your intellect, as well as your physicality – and he'll made you giggle, and blush, while he's doing it! He is bold, courageous, gallant, romantic, and loyal to a fault, a knight who'll defend you to the bitter end. His word is his bond, and he'll never ask more than he is willing to give himself. He'll test your patience at every turn, and push you beyond the limits you place upon yourself – and you'll be grateful every time he does! Your relationship might have its ups and downs – this much passion and competitiveness is bound to ruffle some feathers – but the making up will always be worth it!
Buffy sighed. "Does it say where to find him?" she asked hopefully.
Willow pressed the arrows on the keyboard to move the screen down, but nothing happened. "No… what a rip-off!" she complained, frowning.
"I hate to agree with Giles, but I'm losing faith in technology," Buffy admitted as Willow printed out the results and went to get them from the printer. "You should be able to push a button and have him appear, presto! Magic!"
"Magic?!" Willow asked, turning back to Buffy, her eyes going wide. "Oh! Maybe—"
"No. No magic," Buffy retracted vehemently, waving a hand in a cutting motion. "I need it to be real, Wills, not a spell."
"But, maybe to just bring him around…?" she suggested, grabbing the paper from the printer and returning to the table.
"A big 'No' on the magic," Buffy insisted, taking the paper from her and looking at it again.
Willow sagged, dropping back into her seat. "Okay," she agreed petulantly, switching the computer back to her spreadsheet and the actual project they were supposed to be working on. "Buffy?" the witch asked hesitantly.
"Yeah?"
"Does that sound, you know, right? What it says?" the redhead wondered.
Buffy shrugged. "I guess…"
"It, um… doesn't really sound like Angel. I mean… parts do, but mostly… not so much," she pointed out.
"I noticed that," the Slayer admitted.
"Is that good or bad?" Willow wondered.
Buffy sighed, shaking her head. "Good… I guess? I've been pretty much figuring that out, anyway, so… maybe that just makes it easier to, you know, make with the moving on."
Willow nodded. "Does it sound like anyone else you know? Any Buffy-worthy prospects?"
Buffy looked down at the paper again, words jumping out at her like flash-bombs. Courageous. Bold. Gallant. Romantic. Loyal. Competitive. Passionate. Giggle. Blush.
She shook her head and gave Willow a wan smile. "No, no prospective prospects in the Buffy-verse." 'At least none that are available and don't want me to choke on cheese.'
** X-X-X-X-X **
At home, as had become her habit, Buffy checked the mail on the table by the door. She didn't really expect another card from Spike after the confusing, angry one she'd gotten last, but, still, she couldn't stop the hopeful little skip in her heartbeat each night as she picked the stack up. It seemed especially pronounced tonight after that completely ridiculous 'perfect man' quiz. Those things probably said the same thing to everyone, regardless of the answers you gave. And what man could really possess all those pie-in-the-sky traits? I mean, really? It was ridiculous.
Still, Buffy had the printout in her bookbag with her journal… for entertainment purposes only. It was good for a laugh – that's it.
Her mind snapped back to the present when her fingers touched the now-familiar glossy cardboard just beneath the Bed, Bath, and Beyond January 'White Sale' flyer.
She pulled it out, her heart not sure if it wanted to stop beating or race off at a gallop. Curiosity got the better of her and Buffy turned it over to read the message before looking at the picture this time. Would it be more profanity? Perhaps him suggesting she do something both vulgar and anatomically impossible? Or go somewhere sweltering and unpleasant? Would he give her some clue what exactly she and cheese had done all these miles away to piss him off?
He did none of those things.
Buffy furrowed her brow, trying to make some sense from the hodge-podge of scribbles and sketches crammed onto the relatively small area. He'd filled nearly every bit of white on the card with something, leaving barely enough space for her address and the stamp. There was a drawing of a heart stuck through with a dagger, blood dripping down all the way to the bottom of the card. She moved over to the light and looked closer… was it a dagger or a stake? It was hard to say. The word, 'MONSTER' was written in a large scrawl at the bottom of the card, while, 'not monster enough,' was smaller, though no more neatly, to one side. Other words were scattered over the limited area, some upside down, some squeezed in sideways: 'savage', 'sweet', 'blood', 'ripe plum', 'darkness,' 'never enough', 'TRYING!'. The words 'eternal' and 'destiny' were written and then crossed through, then written again. And, in the center of all the chaos were the numbers: '61 955 57 368'.
"What do you make of that?" Joyce asked, coming in from the kitchen.
Buffy looked up, shaking her head. "Well, one – drunk," she deduced, flipping the card over and looking at the picture of a bottle of Patrón, the words 'Keep Calm and Drink Patrón' in bold red letters beside it, and what she assumed was the name of a bar, 'Cantina la Fuente', at the bottom. The alcoholic fumes rising from the cardboard were also an intoxicating clue. "Two – he had a fight with Dru. She probably fooled around on him… again."
Joyce's expression turned concerned. "Does she do that a lot?"
Buffy shrugged, turning the card back over and focusing on the crossed-out 'eternal' and 'destiny' and the bleeding, broken heart he'd drawn. Her own heart twisted in sympathy. "I dunno how often… but it's a thing. She's not… ummm… really capable of love, not like normal people."
"Before, you know, last year?" Joyce posited, moving closer to Buffy. Her daughter nodded, looking up to meet Joyce's eyes. "When Spike first brought me the puppy, he basically said that Dru accused him of not being monster enough for her… that things between them were 'complicated'." Joyce sighed, taking the card from Buffy and looking at it again. "It looks like maybe she still thinks so."
"He's a vampire. He's the very definition of a monster," Buffy pointed out. "They make monster movies about them."
Joyce tilted her head and gave her daughter a skeptical look.
Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed. "Okay, so he's not as much of a monster as Angelus," she acquiesced. She chewed her lip, remembering all the horrible things Angelus had done to Drusilla. He'd twisted her into completely depraved knots, where love, pain, death, and sex were all one big pit of insane-o quicksand. And Dru had no way to escape it. Probably Spike was the only thing keeping her from being completely swallowed by it. "Even if that was true, I don't know what he expects me to do about it," Buffy pointed out.
"I don't know either," Joyce admitted as she handed the card back to Buffy. "I just feel badly for him."
Buffy snorted and rolled her eyes. "Spike can take care of himself. He's been with Dru forever. I'm very sure this isn't their first lover's spat and probably won't be their last."
"No matter how many times your lover cheats on you, it never hurts any less." Joyce shrugged helplessly.
Buffy gave her mom a sympathetic look, nodding, before lowering her gaze to the postcard again. "What do you think these numbers are?" she asked, desperate for a change of subject. "'61 955 57 368'."
Joyce shook her head, looking down at the card, still in Buffy's hand. "I don't know," she admitted.
"His bill for the tequila?" Buffy suggested, arching a brow at her mom.
Joyce snorted, patting her hand down on Buffy's shoulder. "Dinner's ready whenever you are," she said, heading back to the kitchen.
"Speaking of dinner, where's the chowhound?" the Slayer wondered, looking around for the dog.
"Sleeping in the kitchen," Joyce told her. "Did you take him on an extra-long patrol or something last night?"
"No," Buffy replied, her brows furrowing, following her mom toward the kitchen. "In fact, it was pretty dull."
"Well, something's got him worn out," her mom noted, waving a hand at the dog who was sprawled next to the breakfast bar, where he could snatch up any dropped crumbs without moving.
"Hey, buddy," Buffy cajoled Spike as she knelt down next to him, rubbing his ears the way he liked. "What's wrong? Is my baby not feeling good?" she asked, her tone devolving into baby-talk. "Huh? Is he all tired out from sleeping all day? Is he? Huh?"
Spike's tail thumped heavily on the tile floor, his eyes closing dreamily as she scratched his ears and all around his neck. "Is Spikey trying to get out of patrolling tonight? Is that it? Huh? Getting lazy on me?"
The dog's tail wagged faster, stirring up a breeze as he shook his head, rattling his tags. He pushed himself to his feet and leaned heavily against Buffy, bumming a head-to-tail petting. When she finished and stood up, he shook himself all over to get his coiffure settled back into place, and sauntered over to the back door, looking back at her expectantly.
Joyce shrugged. "I hope he's not gearing up for another growth spurt," she groaned. "He's already got the biggest bed they make."
Buffy shrugged, setting the postcard down on the counter and heading for the door. "If that happens, we'll just give him your room and you can sleep on the couch," she suggested before disappearing outside with the dog.
Joyce chuckled and shook her head, reaching over to pick up the postcard. "I hope you're okay," she muttered to the card, shaking her head worriedly. Her motherly instincts kicked in and she suddenly wished she could fix the vampire a big mug of cocoa with plenty of marshmallows, and make him feel better.
** X-X-X-X-X **
Later that night, after a quiet patrol, Buffy sat on her bed in her PJ's, eyes fixed and intent on trying to decipher the numbers on Spike's postcard. They had to mean something... didn't they? She'd been thinking about this during her unusually slow trek through Restfield earlier, having to slow her pace for Spike, who was definitely dragging. He'd barked and pointed out a couple of fledges for her, but made no real attempt to catch them, which was one of his most favorite things in the whole world.
Maybe he'd just eaten something that didn't agree with him or, heaven forbid, was getting ready to go through another growth spurt like her mom had suggested. Right now, he lay sleeping peacefully on his bed in the corner of her room, just like always. Probably be fine tomorrow.
Buffy had ruled out the numbers being things like longitude and latitude, or some kind of code or cypher she was supposed to figure out or anything complicated like that. Spike drunk in a bar was not going to be that clever. "If I were Spike, drunk in a Mexican bar and feeling like shit because Dru was a big ho, what numbers would I write on a postcard to my sworn enemy?" she pondered out loud.
"How many guys Dru's done over the years?" Buffy continued. She grabbed her journal, turned to the back page, and wrote the number out in normal number fashion: 6,195,557,368. "Is that six billion?" she mused, double checking her commas. "Not even Dru could've done six billion dudes… could she?" Buffy got up and grabbed her calculator from her schoolbag and figured it up. "Say a hundred years, three hundred and sixty-five days a year…" she muttered, punching it in. "Would be… 169,000 dudes a day." She shrugged. "Probably not."
She tapped her pen on the journal page, staring at the numbers. "Could be how much Spike would have to spend on therapy for her… or him. Or how many gallons of tequila he'd need to drink to understand anything she says." Buffy snorted at her own joke, her eyes glued to the card. "Probably the number of miles he'd walk to fall down at her door… since clearly walking five hundred miles and five hundred more wouldn't be enough for his princess. Oh! It could be his phone number. 1-800-I'm-dating-a-psycho-skank."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Meowwww," she chided herself. "Catty much?"
She froze when her gaze made its way back down to the postcard. She began writing the numbers in her journal again, this time in a different format: 619-555-7368
"Holy shit."
The Slayer stared at the number for long minutes, not moving, barely breathing. Had he really sent her his phone number? How did he even have a phone number? Maybe it was the number to the Cantina he'd been in. Was he still there? Had he been sitting there for days, expecting her call? But… why didn't he just call her if he wanted to talk?
"Duh, because you never gave him your phone number," she realized. She'd never even thought of it. Buffy swallowed hard and looked at the phone on the bedside table. It looked so harmless sitting there, dependable and serene. Did it know that its cord could reach all the way to Spike? To the Slayer of Slayers? To her mortal enemy? All the way to so much danger? Danger for her heart. Her heart that kept doing little cartwheels whenever she thought about the annoying blond vampire? That skittered and skipped with every postcard? That swooned, seeing only Spike in the results of her 'perfect guy' quiz?
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get her mind to stop straying to thoughts of him. And it was wrong. So very wrong. Hello! Vampire! Not only a vampire, a soulless vampire with a freaking eternal girlfriend! Nothing but badness could come from thinking about him. Thus, the stop-thinking-about-Spike dating plan, which had failed miserably.
"Bad brain!" she chastised, tapping the end of her pen against her forehead. "Bad, bad, bad!"
Buffy looked at the card again. Clearly, Spike was hurting and reaching out. Reaching out for a friend. Because they were friends, right? Sort of. She'd decided this already, hadn't she? Frenemies? And who else would you reach out to but your mortal frenemy when your skank of a girlfriend hurts you? There was no badness in being a frenemy. Nope. None at all.
She reached for the phone, pulling it onto the bed with her, chewing her lip. "It might not be a phone number at all. It could be random numbers meant to drive you crazy. It could be his new evil plan."
Buffy looked between the phone and the postcard, at all the drunken rambling that covered it, at the broken, bleeding heart, which she still wasn't sure didn't have a stake in it, not a dagger.
She picked up the receiver. Then put it back down. Took a deep breath and let it out. Picked it back up again. Looked at the keypad. Chewed her lip. Put it back down.
"What are you, twelve?" she muttered, picking the phone back up. Before she could change her mind, she punched in the numbers. After couple of moments, it began to ring. Buffy twirled the cord around her fingers nervously, her stomach filled with butterflies on peyote, fluttering wildly.
She jumped when Spike's voice sounded in her ear. "If you need me t' tell you what to do after the beep, then your name must be 'Peaches' and you can sod right off."
Her eyes went wide, and she slammed the phone down before the beep had finished, suddenly having no idea what to say. Her roommate lifted his head up from his XXXL bed and looked at her, decided nothing was in imminent danger, snorted, and promptly went back to sleep.
"Holy shit… Spike has a phone… and he sent me the number," she muttered, the butterflies in her stomach having migrated to create a tingling thrum through her entire body. "What does that mean?" she wondered aloud. "Does it have to mean anything?"
Buffy's eyes were drawn to the postcard again. "Maybe it just means he needs a friend," she decided. "In a friendly, non-butterfly, non-sparkage, non-tingly way." She steeled her resolve, nodding confidently. "I can totally do that."
Buffy picked the phone back up and dialed again. She listened to it ring, then to Spike's voicemail message again, wondering if Angel knew Spike had a phone… if he had the number.
Beeeeep!
She hesitated a moment, the fingers of her free hand tangled hopelessly in the curly phone cord, before clearing her throat and saying, "Hey – it's me… uh, Buffy. Buffy Summers, the Slayer from Sunnydale? The one you wanted to choke on cheese and die?" she rolled her eyes, reminding herself that she wasn't talking to Percy. "Anyway, I got your card and I just wanted to, you know, check on you… as a friend would do. So, this is me – checking on you. So, umm, if you want to make with the calling back you can just, you know, do that. If you wanted. To call. Okay… bye."
She had nearly hung the phone up when she jerked it back up. "Sorry – probably would help to have the number, right? Don't be a smartass. Okay, it's 831-555-2409. Okay, um, hate you… bye."
She hesitated, listening to the silence on the other end of the line a moment before adding softly, "I hope you're okay, Spike."
Buffy hung up and sighed, untangling her fingers from the cord so she could put the phone back on the nightstand. "You are so lame," she scolded, flopping back on the bed. "You should have totally said 'okay' a few more times! Twelve years of formal education, 1430 on your SATs, and that's the best you could do? Vocabulary is your friend – you should give it a try!"
Buffy reached over and switched off the lamp, leaving the room bathed in pale moonlight shining in through the window. She turned onto her side and looked up at the bright moon. Somewhere, he was bathed in that same moonlight… with Dru. His destiny.
Buffy closed her eyes, holding in the traitorous tears that threatened. "I really do hope you're okay, Spike," she whispered. She sent the wish out to him on the moonbeams as she held Spike's liquor-drenched, bleeding and broken heart in a gentle embrace, hoping it wasn't a stake that had caused it pain.
** X-X-X-X-X **
End Notes:
Again, I apologize for the lack of Spike, but I hope you felt him in spirit. We will be back to him in the next chapter! Thank you so much for reading. It's hard to express how much it means to know other people are enjoying the story, but it really does warm the cockles! Will have more soon.
I took a few 'find the perfect guy' tests on the internet trying to answer as this Buffy would, and sort of combined all the various answers they gave into the one here, with a little tweaking. Funnily, a lot of the answers really did sound like Spike. I don't know if they had these online back in 1999, but I'd guess so? I know they had them in every magazine you picked up!
You may be wondering why Buffy isn't feeling weak yet. My theory is that Giles would have had to have her practice focusing a while before he actually gave her the drugs, just to make sure she was fully entranced and wouldn't snap out of it and catch him.
The reference to Spike walking 'five hundred miles and five hundred more' is from the song by The Proclaimers: 'I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)'
But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles
To fall down at your door
