Here are some wonderful fan fic's already on our board and going:

Nautibitz's site...nuff said!

This site's author Spikealicious is a great up and coming fan fic writer...check it out!

Isabell's "Mollycoddling", I rec "Les Miserables" a wonderful AU fan fic. Just wish she would update it faster!

Wisteria's wonderful fan fic

Ginny's "Affinity" Spike and Buffy and their thoughts, feelings and sexcapades.

RED COUCH RECOMMENDATIONS You must be an EZ Board member to get in and read these rec's! Sorry!

Half Gifts, by, Aumotaed Alice This one I can not recommend enough...*****'s!! This one is amazing!

Our Round Robin begins!!

phoenixrising THE #1 RC WENCH Posts: 1066 (2/4/03 1:50:29 pm) 65.150.208.175 Reply | Edit | Del Stepping up to the plate -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Okay, I'll be first. Here's the ground rules. Write only 2 inches or so of storyline; it can be shorter, but shouldn't be longer. This way, any one else can jump in along the way. Try to make it M.E. plausible. For instance, don't Invent things like "Ghost Roads" and Dead Slayer souls to work yourself out of a backed in corner. There's seven years of canon with enough fodder for the most avid writer. That's it. ******************************************* I'm starting this as a Dawn-centric story because I personally feel sorry for Michele and the sorry lot that M.E. has done with her storyline. I hate that they have a good actor saddled with being whiny and petulant and I'd like it if you and I could make this into an "Empowering Dawn story". Other Scooby's are allowed, but it should stay focused on Dawn. Here goes..... **************************************** THE MISSING PIECE by Everyone It was a dark and stormy night when..., but Dawn never found out as she made a perfect 3 point goal with the discarded novel as it flew into her waste basket! "She scores!", she cried, raising her hands and creating a mini-WAVE effect, before they fell back to her side on the bed, joining the rest of her bored body. Even pulp fiction couldn't entertain her tonight. It just wasn't fair. Old enough now to be left "Home, Alone", the Scooby Gang was off in various parts of Sunnydale, doing research or training against the current BigBad. Willow was off doing magick, which was still viewed as a "No! No!" for Dawn to learn; Xander was casing out Demon Dives, which Dawn was too underage to enter; and Buffy was with the Legitimate Slayers in Training. She sighed as she rolled over onto her other side, pulling a loose tuft from her chenille bedspread. Tugging with too much passion, the thread unraveled part of the dusty pink rose and Dawn hurriedly patted the loosened fiber back into some semblance of a flower. It had only been a week ago that for one brief moment she had felt that she had been given a Members Only Card to that elite group: the Slayers in Training. But, as fate or the Powers that Be would have it, Dawn turned out to be the Bus Station for Power...it was only 'passing through town' on it's way to Amanda, who stood on the reverse side of the Summer's front door. Xander may have seen a stalwart Dawn passing the baton to her friend in the High School, but, Dawn still saw a failure when she looked into the bathroom mirror each morning. She hated being the extra piece to a completed puzzle. There was nowhere to be fit "in". (damn ezcode italics!) Edited by: phoenixrising at: 2/4/03 2:02:00 pm RHFC Red Hot Funky Coucher! Posts: 1595 (2/4/03 7:55:44 pm) 67.227.22.7 Reply | Edit | Del ezSupporter Re: Stepping up to the plate -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- (ok, I will try but don't critique my grammar or my language skills!) "Ahem...", Spike said, scaring Dawn. "Dang it, Spike why can't you let others know you're coming on into the room...ever heard of NOT scaring?" "Whats up with you today Bit? Seems like you're down in the dumps?" "Oh ya, right like you care...", she countered. (tidying R-speak) >>>>>>>> (thats my big venture...)yes i know Edited by: phoenixrising at: 2/5/03 10:06:35 am VioletSpike Angst's Bitch. Posts: 420 (2/5/03 9:19:09 am) 12.161.143.30 Reply | Edit | Del Taking a swing. DUCKS the flames. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ok, here is my try... Excuse the grammer and spelling mistakes. Spike, for his part, looked hurt. “What in the world would make you think I didn’t care?” “Because the only person you have ever cared about is yourself. “ she spat, but then regretted it immediately when Spike flinched. It was a lie, she knew it, of ALL people she knew it. The memory of the horrible summer after Buffy was… gone flashed in her mind. He had been Dawn’s friend, her protector, during that terrible summer. Then, the terrible winter had followed he had all but disappeared from her life. He left a hole in her life in his wake. A hole she filled with pain. Friends were distant and were changing for the worst. Willow had gone bonkers, drunk on the power of dark magiks. Tara, her rock, had moved out. Her sister was distant and cold. Xander and Anya, at first were too wrapped up in themselves, then, after the wedding fiasco, were too wrapped up in their misery. And Spike, her knight in tarnished armor, had tried to hurt Dawn’s sister in the most awful way a man could hurt a woman, rape. Details were obviously not forthcoming. She had found out about the attempted rape from Xander. Dawn had felt so betrayed that she had threatened to burn Spike in his sleep the next time she had seen him, months later. He had accepted that threat with a nod and a resolve in his eyes that told her he thought he deserved just that. But then, he was different now, wasn’t he? That despicable act had driven him to seek something that no vampire before him had ever done, his soul. Spike had gone away and won his soul, only to be driven mad by it. He had returned to Sunnydale broken and lost. But that hadn’t stopped Dawn from wanting to hurt him for hurting her sister. Buffy had eventually hauled him out of the school basement where he was floundering. She had made Xander take Spike in, much to Xander’s chagrin. And after the brain washing, the capture and torture, Buffy had rescued Spike again. Now he was living in her basement. Spike was “part of the team” again, Buffy had said. The white hats could always use more muscle, right? And Spike was ALWAYS good for muscle. But, to Dawn, he didn’t seem right, his heart was not in it anymore. Spike was not Spike anymore. He never smiled, he never laughed, rarely even looked up or spoke. Dawn supposed it was all the guilt of killing. So, he deserved it, right? He was finally getting what he deserved, right? It was hard to convince herself, it was hard to forget him and what he had meant to her. Dawn’s hatred didn’t run cold or deep. A friend who was once so close, so loyal, so much like a big brother, was lost to her. And part of her wanted her friend back. His silence was what scared her the most. Silence from him was wholly unnatural. During the Scooby meetings he would stand quietly by the stairs, speaking only when spoken too. Quiet was just not a word associated with Spike. The sound of his voice had been what had truly startled her, because he hardly talked to anyone anymore. And he hadn’t said a word to her since she had threatened to burn him in his sleep. VioletSpike Burning Baby Fish and Angst’s Bitch "Self Improvement is Masturbation."- Tyler Durden, Fight Club "GET THAT MAN A MOVIE ROLE, STAT!" phoenixrising THE #1 RC WENCH Posts: 1073 (2/5/03 10:31:07 am) 65.146.11.128 Reply | Edit | Del Round Robin continues -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Spike, for his part, looked hurt. “What in the world would make you think I don't care?” Spike stood, awkwardly, as Dawn turned her back to him, lost in reflection. Seconds became minutes as he watched her, lost in thought. All of the other Scooby's, including her own sister, still thought of Dawn as the "Kid Sister" or more accurately, a lump of PLAY DOH. Attempting to shield her and keep her in a suspended state of childhood, they had failed to see the young, thoughtful woman that Dawn had become. But Spike saw. And knew. "Just came upstairs to see if you wanted some hot cocoa..." Dawn made a small movement. "...with tiny marshmallows. The way your mum used to make it." With her back still turned, she shrugged the patented shrug of all teenagers. "I suppose. But, NO ONE can make it like Mom does...did," she added, turning ever so slightly toward Spike. "Well, why don't you show me how to make it like Joyce,", he offered. "Seeing how we're the "None Essentials" of the current group right now, I figured we could spend some time together...if you want." Spike had no idea just how much Dawn desired this. Pushing herself off from the bed and flicking her hair behind her shoulders, she gave him a look. "So, what's keeping you? I thought you wanted hot chocolate," as she walked briskly past him and tromped down the staircase. Spike couldn't help but let a wry smile escape from his lips. Maybe this fence could be mended after all. VioletSpike Angst's Bitch. Posts: 424 (2/5/03 11:09:37 am) 12.161.143.30 Reply | Edit | Del Re: Round Robin continues -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I looked up the powdered bakers cocoa... it first was manufactured in 1827... My continuation Dawn, as it turned out, had no idea how to make hot cocoa. Her idea of hot cocoa was to microwave a glass of chocolate milk. So Spike stood ridiculously at the stove, making cocoa the way HIS mother used to make it. With a can of that god awful unsweetened bakers cocoa and sugar and milk, heat and taste. Chocolate of any kind in his day was a rare treat. One of those sinful delicacy’s that only the really rich get to delight in. As he stirred the concoction so that the milk wouldn’t scorch to the pan, he knew Dawn was watching him. He wondered what she was thinking. Mending fences, did he even deserve to try to mend the fence with her? To make things better between the two of them, to have her forgive him? He wasn’t sure he did. Of all the shitty things he had done in the last year to the Summers sisters, dropping the ball with Dawn had been one of the worst. He knew she depended on him, he knew that she had needed him. He also knew that, in the end, he had failed her again. The thought of it made his heart ache and his soul burn. Words started to echo in his head; worthless, useless, nothing good or clean, bad, bad… Spike slammed the door on those thoughts and told himself to stop it. Those thoughts lead to a place he didn’t want to go again, they opened the door in his mind that lead back to madness and the voices. “Focus Spike.” He told himself. “Focus on Dawn.” Steam wafted off the hot mixture. He quickly poured it evenly into two waiting mugs, shut off the burner and took the center island counter. “Here you are, just like me mum used to make.” He feigned all the cheer he could. Dawn, who had been plucking tiny marshmallows out of a half empty bag, took hers and eyed it suspiciously. Deciding it was ok, she dropped a few white pillows in and started to swirl it around the mug. “Hard to imagine you with a mother.” She said, watching the marshmallows spin in the cup. His mother, oh how he whished he hadn’t brought that up. VioletSpike Burning Baby Fish and Angst’s Bitch "Self Improvement is Masturbation."- Tyler Durden, Fight Club "GET THAT MAN A MOVIE ROLE, STAT!" phoenixrising THE #1 RC WENCH Posts: 1082 (2/5/03 4:41:44 pm) 63.158.209.108 Reply | Edit | Del Continuum -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Hard to imagine you with a mother.” She said, watching the marshmallows spin in the cup. His mother, oh how he wished he had not brought that up. They sat in a semi-relaxed silence, alternately blowing and sipping on the hot cocoa. "So, what was she like?" Spike started. "Who?" "Your mom. What was she like? You didn't…you didn't…ah, forget about it." Dawn buried her face in the mug, a curtain of silken hair falling around her face. Chugging the last bit of cocoa and fishing out two errant marshmallows that clung to the side as if they feared for there lives, he licked his finger clean, set the mug into the sink and was very, very aware that Dawn watched him through her scrim. He put on his best evil grin and turned toward her, slowly and sinuously stalking up to her side. He got the desired effect as she shrunk down into herself as tightly as the kitchen chair would allow. Leaning in so closely that he could feel her breath against his skin, he whispered, "Didn't what, Niblet? Didn't kill her? Turn her? What would you like me to say?" There eyes locked. "I..I…was going to ask if you didn't miss her. You know, when you died and got changed." Well, he thought, didn't see that one coming around the bend! Caught off guard, he backed away and cleared his throat. Dawn still held his gaze, but her form relaxed as he leaned against the counter. Gotta give her credit; she had a pair of stones on her, facing a vampire without blinking. He sucked in air and exhaled it in one gust, running his hands through his hair. "Yeah. I did miss her. Still do. Losing your mum is something that you never get over, no matter how long you live." She nodded, lost in thought. It had been slightly more than a year since there had been a shared night between Joyce, Spike and herself, laughing about a shipping debacle and over- ordered amphora. She looked up at Spike, saw his concerned gaze and sighed. "I miss my mom, too. It's been hard." Impetuously, Spike walked to Dawn's side and embraced her, pulling her snuggly into the soft warmth of his black wool sweater as he gently stroked her hair. Vying emotions fought the battle and within seconds, she gave into her base instincts and relaxed against his side. "I've missed you, Spike. I missed your friendship." "Me, too, Little Bit. Me, too." He continued to stroke her head, soothingly. Medusa DOOR WHORE Posts: 1097 (2/6/03 3:44:14 am) 213.86.236.25 Reply | Edit | Del Re: Continuum -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Me, too, Little Bit. Me, too." He continued to stroke her head, soothingly. She held on tighter for a moment, and mumbled into his shoulder. " 'M not little, I'm as tall as you now!" Spike grinned. "Yeah, you may have been made out of Buffy's blood, but you certainly didn't inherit the short gene!" She giggled, and stepped out of his embrace with such a radiant smile on her face that it made Spike's heart melt. He returned her smile with one as radiant as hers, and Dawn gasped. Spike panicked and looked behind him. 'What? What's wrong? What did you see?" Dawn stepped forward and took his hand. "Sorry! Nothing! I just don't think I've ever seen you smile like that before. Did that come with the shiney new soul or something?" He looked down, and answered quietly: "Guess I haven't really had much to smile about since you've known me. God, we're quite the pair, aren't we?" She dragged him out of the kitchen and plopped down onto the sofa in the living room. "I know just the thing to cheer us up! Andrew's not completely useless, he ordered all of the episodes of 'Monty Python' on DVD! Let's watch the Ministry of Silly Walks and the Dead Parrot sketch! Oh, and by the way, he totally has a crush on you!" Spike groaned, and sat down next to her. "Andrew? Yeah, don't I know it! Still, for ordering those DVD's I may just let him see me walk around without a shirt tonight!" Dawn let out another giggle, put the DVD in the player and snuggled up to her friend. Spike put his arm around her shoulder and thought that despite the crushing guilt and the constant torture he had to deal with, he hadn't felt so content in a long time. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 'Work is the curse of the drinking classes' Oscar Wilde Minion # 274 of Ultimate Drew phoenixrising THE #1 RC WENCH Posts: 1066 (2/4/03 1:50:29 pm) 65.150.208.175 Reply | Edit | Del Stepping up to the plate -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Okay, I'll be first. Here's the ground rules. Write only 2 inches or so of storyline; it can be shorter, but shouldn't be longer. This way, any one else can jump in along the way. Try to make it M.E. plausible. For instance, don't Invent things like "Ghost Roads" and Dead Slayer souls to work yourself out of a backed in corner. There's seven years of canon with enough fodder for the most avid writer. That's it. ******************************************* I'm starting this as a Dawn-centric story because I personally feel sorry for Michele and the sorry lot that M.E. has done with her storyline. I hate that they have a good actor saddled with being whiny and petulant and I'd like it if you and I could make this into an "Empowering Dawn story". Other Scooby's are allowed, but it should stay focused on Dawn. Here goes..... **************************************** THE MISSING PIECE by Everyone It was a dark and stormy night when..., but Dawn never found out as she made a perfect 3 point goal with the discarded novel as it flew into her waste basket! "She scores!", she cried, raising her hands and creating a mini-WAVE effect, before they fell back to her side on the bed, joining the rest of her bored body. Even pulp fiction couldn't entertain her tonight. It just wasn't fair. Old enough now to be left "Home, Alone", the Scooby Gang was off in various parts of Sunnydale, doing research or training against the current BigBad. Willow was off doing magick, which was still viewed as a "No! No!" for Dawn to learn; Xander was casing out Demon Dives, which Dawn was too underage to enter; and Buffy was with the Legitimate Slayers in Training. She sighed as she rolled over onto her other side, pulling a loose tuft from her chenille bedspread. Tugging with too much passion, the thread unraveled part of the dusty pink rose and Dawn hurriedly patted the loosened fiber back into some semblance of a flower. It had only been a week ago that for one brief moment she had felt that she had been given a Members Only Card to that elite group: the Slayers in Training. But, as fate or the Powers that Be would have it, Dawn turned out to be the Bus Station for Power...it was only 'passing through town' on it's way to Amanda, who stood on the reverse side of the Summer's front door. Xander may have seen a stalwart Dawn passing the baton to her friend in the High School, but, Dawn still saw a failure when she looked into the bathroom mirror each morning. She hated being the extra piece to a completed puzzle. There was nowhere to be fit "in". (damn ezcode italics!) Edited by: phoenixrising at: 2/4/03 2:02:00 pm RHFC Red Hot Funky Coucher! Posts: 1595 (2/4/03 7:55:44 pm) 67.227.22.7 Reply | Edit | Del ezSupporter Re: Stepping up to the plate -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- (ok, I will try but don't critique my grammar or my language skills!) "Ahem...", Spike said, scaring Dawn. "Dang it, Spike why can't you let others know you're coming on into the room...ever heard of NOT scaring?" "Whats up with you today Bit? Seems like you're down in the dumps?" "Oh ya, right like you care...", she countered. (tidying R-speak) >>>>>>>> (thats my big venture...)yes i know Edited by: phoenixrising at: 2/5/03 10:06:35 am VioletSpike Angst's Bitch. Posts: 420 (2/5/03 9:19:09 am) 12.161.143.30 Reply | Edit | Del Taking a swing. DUCKS the flames. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ok, here is my try... Excuse the grammer and spelling mistakes. Spike, for his part, looked hurt. “What in the world would make you think I didn’t care?” “Because the only person you have ever cared about is yourself. “ she spat, but then regretted it immediately when Spike flinched. It was a lie, she knew it, of ALL people she knew it. The memory of the horrible summer after Buffy was… gone flashed in her mind. He had been Dawn’s friend, her protector, during that terrible summer. Then, the terrible winter had followed he had all but disappeared from her life. He left a hole in her life in his wake. A hole she filled with pain. Friends were distant and were changing for the worst. Willow had gone bonkers, drunk on the power of dark magiks. Tara, her rock, had moved out. Her sister was distant and cold. Xander and Anya, at first were too wrapped up in themselves, then, after the wedding fiasco, were too wrapped up in their misery. And Spike, her knight in tarnished armor, had tried to hurt Dawn’s sister in the most awful way a man could hurt a woman, rape. Details were obviously not forthcoming. She had found out about the attempted rape from Xander. Dawn had felt so betrayed that she had threatened to burn Spike in his sleep the next time she had seen him, months later. He had accepted that threat with a nod and a resolve in his eyes that told her he thought he deserved just that. But then, he was different now, wasn’t he? That despicable act had driven him to seek something that no vampire before him had ever done, his soul. Spike had gone away and won his soul, only to be driven mad by it. He had returned to Sunnydale broken and lost. But that hadn’t stopped Dawn from wanting to hurt him for hurting her sister. Buffy had eventually hauled him out of the school basement where he was floundering. She had made Xander take Spike in, much to Xander’s chagrin. And after the brain washing, the capture and torture, Buffy had rescued Spike again. Now he was living in her basement. Spike was “part of the team” again, Buffy had said. The white hats could always use more muscle, right? And Spike was ALWAYS good for muscle. But, to Dawn, he didn’t seem right, his heart was not in it anymore. Spike was not Spike anymore. He never smiled, he never laughed, rarely even looked up or spoke. Dawn supposed it was all the guilt of killing. So, he deserved it, right? He was finally getting what he deserved, right? It was hard to convince herself, it was hard to forget him and what he had meant to her. Dawn’s hatred didn’t run cold or deep. A friend who was once so close, so loyal, so much like a big brother, was lost to her. And part of her wanted her friend back. His silence was what scared her the most. Silence from him was wholly unnatural. During the Scooby meetings he would stand quietly by the stairs, speaking only when spoken too. Quiet was just not a word associated with Spike. The sound of his voice had been what had truly startled her, because he hardly talked to anyone anymore. And he hadn’t said a word to her since she had threatened to burn him in his sleep. VioletSpike Burning Baby Fish and Angst’s Bitch "Self Improvement is Masturbation."- Tyler Durden, Fight Club "GET THAT MAN A MOVIE ROLE, STAT!" phoenixrising THE #1 RC WENCH Posts: 1073 (2/5/03 10:31:07 am) 65.146.11.128 Reply | Edit | Del Round Robin continues -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Spike, for his part, looked hurt. “What in the world would make you think I don't care?” Spike stood, awkwardly, as Dawn turned her back to him, lost in reflection. Seconds became minutes as he watched her, lost in thought. All of the other Scooby's, including her own sister, still thought of Dawn as the "Kid Sister" or more accurately, a lump of PLAY DOH. Attempting to shield her and keep her in a suspended state of childhood, they had failed to see the young, thoughtful woman that Dawn had become. But Spike saw. And knew. "Just came upstairs to see if you wanted some hot cocoa..." Dawn made a small movement. "...with tiny marshmallows. The way your mum used to make it." With her back still turned, she shrugged the patented shrug of all teenagers. "I suppose. But, NO ONE can make it like Mom does...did," she added, turning ever so slightly toward Spike. "Well, why don't you show me how to make it like Joyce,", he offered. "Seeing how we're the "None Essentials" of the current group right now, I figured we could spend some time together...if you want." Spike had no idea just how much Dawn desired this. Pushing herself off from the bed and flicking her hair behind her shoulders, she gave him a look. "So, what's keeping you? I thought you wanted hot chocolate," as she walked briskly past him and tromped down the staircase. Spike couldn't help but let a wry smile escape from his lips. Maybe this fence could be mended after all. VioletSpike Angst's Bitch. Posts: 424 (2/5/03 11:09:37 am) 12.161.143.30 Reply | Edit | Del Re: Round Robin continues -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I looked up the powdered bakers cocoa... it first was manufactured in 1827... My continuation Dawn, as it turned out, had no idea how to make hot cocoa. Her idea of hot cocoa was to microwave a glass of chocolate milk. So Spike stood ridiculously at the stove, making cocoa the way HIS mother used to make it. With a can of that god awful unsweetened bakers cocoa and sugar and milk, heat and taste. Chocolate of any kind in his day was a rare treat. One of those sinful delicacy’s that only the really rich get to delight in. As he stirred the concoction so that the milk wouldn’t scorch to the pan, he knew Dawn was watching him. He wondered what she was thinking. Mending fences, did he even deserve to try to mend the fence with her? To make things better between the two of them, to have her forgive him? He wasn’t sure he did. Of all the shitty things he had done in the last year to the Summers sisters, dropping the ball with Dawn had been one of the worst. He knew she depended on him, he knew that she had needed him. He also knew that, in the end, he had failed her again. The thought of it made his heart ache and his soul burn. Words started to echo in his head; worthless, useless, nothing good or clean, bad, bad… Spike slammed the door on those thoughts and told himself to stop it. Those thoughts lead to a place he didn’t want to go again, they opened the door in his mind that lead back to madness and the voices. “Focus Spike.” He told himself. “Focus on Dawn.” Steam wafted off the hot mixture. He quickly poured it evenly into two waiting mugs, shut off the burner and took the center island counter. “Here you are, just like me mum used to make.” He feigned all the cheer he could. Dawn, who had been plucking tiny marshmallows out of a half empty bag, took hers and eyed it suspiciously. Deciding it was ok, she dropped a few white pillows in and started to swirl it around the mug. “Hard to imagine you with a mother.” She said, watching the marshmallows spin in the cup. His mother, oh how he whished he hadn’t brought that up. VioletSpike Burning Baby Fish and Angst’s Bitch "Self Improvement is Masturbation."- Tyler Durden, Fight Club "GET THAT MAN A MOVIE ROLE, STAT!" phoenixrising THE #1 RC WENCH Posts: 1082 (2/5/03 4:41:44 pm) 63.158.209.108 Reply | Edit | Del Continuum -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Hard to imagine you with a mother.” She said, watching the marshmallows spin in the cup. His mother, oh how he wished he had not brought that up. They sat in a semi-relaxed silence, alternately blowing and sipping on the hot cocoa. "So, what was she like?" Spike started. "Who?" "Your mom. What was she like? You didn't…you didn't…ah, forget about it." Dawn buried her face in the mug, a curtain of silken hair falling around her face. Chugging the last bit of cocoa and fishing out two errant marshmallows that clung to the side as if they feared for there lives, he licked his finger clean, set the mug into the sink and was very, very aware that Dawn watched him through her scrim. He put on his best evil grin and turned toward her, slowly and sinuously stalking up to her side. He got the desired effect as she shrunk down into herself as tightly as the kitchen chair would allow. Leaning in so closely that he could feel her breath against his skin, he whispered, "Didn't what, Niblet? Didn't kill her? Turn her? What would you like me to say?" There eyes locked. "I..I…was going to ask if you didn't miss her. You know, when you died and got changed." Well, he thought, didn't see that one coming around the bend! Caught off guard, he backed away and cleared his throat. Dawn still held his gaze, but her form relaxed as he leaned against the counter. Gotta give her credit; she had a pair of stones on her, facing a vampire without blinking. He sucked in air and exhaled it in one gust, running his hands through his hair. "Yeah. I did miss her. Still do. Losing your mum is something that you never get over, no matter how long you live." She nodded, lost in thought. It had been slightly more than a year since there had been a shared night between Joyce, Spike and herself, laughing about a shipping debacle and over- ordered amphora. She looked up at Spike, saw his concerned gaze and sighed. "I miss my mom, too. It's been hard." Impetuously, Spike walked to Dawn's side and embraced her, pulling her snuggly into the soft warmth of his black wool sweater as he gently stroked her hair. Vying emotions fought the battle and within seconds, she gave into her base instincts and relaxed against his side. "I've missed you, Spike. I missed your friendship." "Me, too, Little Bit. Me, too." He continued to stroke her head, soothingly. Medusa DOOR WHORE Posts: 1097 (2/6/03 3:44:14 am) 213.86.236.25 Reply | Edit | Del Re: Continuum -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Me, too, Little Bit. Me, too." He continued to stroke her head, soothingly. She held on tighter for a moment, and mumbled into his shoulder. " 'M not little, I'm as tall as you now!" Spike grinned. "Yeah, you may have been made out of Buffy's blood, but you certainly didn't inherit the short gene!" She giggled, and stepped out of his embrace with such a radiant smile on her face that it made Spike's heart melt. He returned her smile with one as radiant as hers, and Dawn gasped. Spike panicked and looked behind him. 'What? What's wrong? What did you see?" Dawn stepped forward and took his hand. "Sorry! Nothing! I just don't think I've ever seen you smile like that before. Did that come with the shiney new soul or something?" He looked down, and answered quietly: "Guess I haven't really had much to smile about since you've known me. God, we're quite the pair, aren't we?" She dragged him out of the kitchen and plopped down onto the sofa in the living room. "I know just the thing to cheer us up! Andrew's not completely useless, he ordered all of the episodes of 'Monty Python' on DVD! Let's watch the Ministry of Silly Walks and the Dead Parrot sketch! Oh, and by the way, he totally has a crush on you!" Spike groaned, and sat down next to her. "Andrew? Yeah, don't I know it! Still, for ordering those DVD's I may just let him see me walk around without a shirt tonight!" Dawn let out another giggle, put the DVD in the player and snuggled up to her friend. Spike put his arm around her shoulder and thought that despite the crushing guilt and the constant torture he had to deal with, he hadn't felt so content in a long time. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 'Work is the curse of the drinking classes' Oscar Wilde Minion # 274 of Ultimate Drew VioletSpike Angst's Bitch. Posts: 430 (2/6/03 8:52:42 am) 12.161.143.30 Reply | Edit | Del Re: Stepping up to the plate -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I don't know about you all, but I like that as an ending. Sort and sweet. Cause if I go on with it. It will head down the road of angst. Cause, you know, Angst's Bitch here. VioletSpike Burning Baby Fish and Angst’s Bitch "Self Improvement is Masturbation."- Tyler Durden, Fight Club "GET THAT MAN A MOVIE ROLE, STAT!" I don't know about you all, but I like that as an ending. Sort and sweet. Cause if I go on with it. It will head down the road of angst. Cause, you know, Angst's Bitch here. VioletSpike Burning Baby Fish and Angst’s Bitch "Self Improvement is Masturbation."- Tyler Durden, Fight Club "GET THAT MAN A MOVIE ROLE, STAT!" >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>END OF CHAPTER ONE!<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Come on over and read the next parts!! Or add one yourself!!

---

HERE IS AN EXAMPLE OF ONE OF THE RED COUCH WRITERS (and she is a mod too!):

'Something Old' by phoenixrising

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is PR's first foray into fanfic. There's no sex in it though. She's too much of a Busy Bee to post it herself, so I'm doing it for her. There's a bit of editing to be done yet, so forgive any rough edges. This is set post 'Older and Far Away, pre-'As You Were'. Here are the first three parts. Enjoy!

---

DISCLAIMER: I know that one of the fatal flaws in writing a good short story is to fall into the “screenwriters” mode. It cheats the reader and the writer. Giving only enough information to carry you along, it provides no nuances, depth, or texture to the storyline. And for the writer, it’s a “cheat sheet” that handicaps them in the long run by not allowing them to become better at their craft. That said, I need to do this to provide the actual conversational background for the story. Think of it as spoken in Giles voice, allow it to happen, and then, dive into the fiction. Thanks.

PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER…

LONDON 1880

William is seated on a divan, writing poetry when he sees the love of his life descend the stairs. “Cecily”, he whispers to himself and is then shown, feverishly writing .Cut to a group of High Society swells, gathered in the main room at the party. One of them has just read William’s poems aloud, and says, “Have you heard? They call him William the Bloody because of his Bloody Awful Poetry!” Cut to a side parlor, Cecily appears distraught, seated on the same divan that William previously was on. He sits next to her and she asks, “Your poetry, it’s…they’re…not written about me are they?” William nods in agreement, “Every last syllable.” Cecily is obviously upset and responds, “Please stop!” Poor William doesn’t get it…yet. “I know I’m a bad poet but I’m a good man and all I ask is that…that you try to see me…” Cecily pulls herself up to her highest stature, exclaiming, “I do see you. That’s the problem. You’re nothing to me, William. You’re beneath me.”

We next see William rushing along the streets of London, shattered, teary-eyed, and shredding his poetry to match his torn dignity. He seats himself on a bale of hay in a dead end, still distraught and distracted. Enter Drusilla, who floats up to him, breaking his thoughts as she says, “And I wonder…what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?” William, startled and more than a little embarrassed, tosses off, “Nothing. I wish to be left alone. I mean… mother’s expecting me.” Drusilla drifts closer and draws William to his feet. “I see what you want. Do you want it?” she entices, being one of the few people in William’s life to “see” him. His besotted reply, “Oh, yes. God, yes.” Drusilla turns away, changes into vamp face, and turns back to an enthralled and puzzled William. With her fangs buried into his neck, they both take the plunge into darkness and death.

LONDON 1880, later that year

The gold chain shook as she held out her trembling hand. “That’s it? That’s all that you can give me for my locket? Please, you don’t underst...”

The old pawnbroker had heard this speech every hour, at least ten times an hour, for the last fifty years from various strangers. “I’m sorry ma’m, but it’s as I’ve told you, I can’t pay for sentiment.” He turned away from her, before the tears that balanced on her eyelashes broke their hold and softened his necessary resolve.

“But, it’s all I have left! You know that! I’ve brought you everything that my husband gave me, except for…for…this.” The chain still dangled from her hand, catching the few bits of light that could penetrate the smoke-darkened windows of the store. She had held the heart-shaped locket so tightly going into the shop, that its impression had been molded into her palm, as a key pressed into a lump of soft wax. She bent her head down, embarrassed at the tears and the turn of events that had brought her to this point. His offer was good; she knew that. She had spent the morning, going from one pawn broker to the next, telling herself that she was just being “wise” in trying to find the best price. But she knew that at the end of the day, she’d end up here, as she always did, each and every time.

Knowing that this was the end, that there was no more sterling flatware, family artwork, or antiques remaining to sell, she slowly brought the locket up to her lips, to kiss it good-bye. “ Oh, Samuel,” she prayed silently, “Please forgive me; please forgive your Beth. You know I have no choice left if I’m selling your wedding gift to me!” A catch in her breath was the only betrayal of her pain. She closed her eyes and remembered that perfect day so long ago; the emerald green velvet box that he had surprised her with, and inside, a locket with rose and green- gold roses that formed the border around the heart, enrobing the twin pearls in the center. But it was Samuel’s engraved words on the back that she was selling, it was the last remaining evidence that she had had a family, a husband and a son, both dead now, and selling those words was the final swipe across the slate. Tabula Rasa: Clean slate. How Samuel always loved to remind her and their son, William, that you could always start “fresh again…just like a cleaned slate.” It had seemed like such an odd choice to be engraved onto a locket: To B, Tabula Rasa Love, S. But, Samuel had been a lover of Latin and the unconventional; any fool could put “I love you” on a locket, he laughed. But this, he explained, this means that no matter what happens, no matter how bad you think things have gotten, with forgiveness and love, the slate can always be wiped clean, to start again…to start anew.

Before she could recant her decision, she thrust out her palm. “Take it! Take it NOW, before I change my mind!” And he did, slowly unraveling the twisted chain from her fingers, and handing her the money they had agreed upon.

“I hope this is enough this time,” he sighed. “To think that you need to hire a private detective to find the body of your murdered son! It’s just not right, I tell you, it’s just not right. Why, in my days, once you were buried, you stayed buried! You didn’t have people going around and digging up the graves of the dead! It’s just not right!” He folded her ringless fingers over the pound notes, wishing he could give her more, knowing that each time she had come in, he had given her more. But you can’t tell a grieving mother not to look for her son. A son whose freshly buried body was stolen from the cemetery the very night of the service. It had been seven months since William’s lifeless form had been discovered in the alley. Seven months of searching and selling, until there was no more selling to be had. And ultimately, no more searching. He wanted to press the locket back into her hands, to scream at her, “They’re never going to find him! Not today, not tomorrow! Take what little memories you have and hang onto them.” But he had grown to know this woman’s strength and her love….for a son who was never coming back, and respected that he was part of what she needed to do until she could do no more.

He waited for a year to place the locket up for sale. He waited to hear of results that he knew would never come. But what he had not waited nor wanted to hear of was her death, from starvation and cold, as she wandered the back streets of London, looking for the son who would never come back home, again.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- SUNNYDALE, CALIFORNIA PRESENT DAY

“Oooooo, shiny!” exclaimed Buffy, as she and Dawn walked past the windows of THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK, the tragically hip import shop that housed antique and vintage English wares.

“What? What’s shiny?” asked Dawn, a little more interested in her reflection in the sparkling store front windows then what her sister was pointing at below.

“There! That locket! That would look soo rad with my dress at the Valentine’s Day dance at the Bronze!” exclaimed Buffy, not looking up from the display of cameos and lockets.

Dawn sighed. “Okay, Buffy, first, it’s a “slammin’” locket! “Rad” is so, so… last millennium! Second, I thought that you weren’t able to be go to the dance since you owed Sophie a shift after, you know…you know!” Buffy suffered from selective memory loss and Dawn wasn’t sure if it was a’ big sister thing’ or a ‘getting the crap beaten out of you nightly thing’. Of course, it could be the ‘coming back from the dead twice’ thing, but, there weren’t a lot of psych studies done on that subject that she could research on the web.

Buffy grabbed Dawn’s hand, and pulled her inside the shop door. “Oh, Sophie’s cool with what happened at the party! I mean, not the whole ‘getting trapped inside the house, almost getting stabbed by a Bad-Hair Day demon and all”. But, it turned out nicely for her! She stayed with Richard at the ER room and they got to talking and, well, one thing led to another and they actually have a date for this coming weekend! She said that she probably never would have talked to Richard if “stuff” hadn’t happen that night, so, she switched shifts with me so that I could go to the dance!” Buffy explained perkily.

Dawn gave a genuine smile back to Buffy as they browsed through the eclectic shop. “Perky” was not a word that could be used to describe her sister since, gee, since Hemerey High School. Since she had learned that she was Evil’s Big Bad, since…too long ago. Ya, she could live with a perky Buffy for a long, long time before it wore out its welcome.

The sisters slowly worked their way through the store, examining elegant velvet shawls, sprawling red brocade fainting couches, and books that brought Giles to mind, hell, any book brought Giles to mind, thought Buffy. “He’d like this place, all Englandy and crusty upper or was it upper crusty? What had Spike called it when he was “Randy”?” A snort popped out of Buffy’s lips and Dawn looked aghast at her. “Dust! It’s the dust in here,” coughed Buffy into her closed fist, waving the air with her other hand. “You know, all the dust. From things being old and …”

“Dusty?” suggested the shops owner, as she stood behind Buffy.

Sheepishly, she turned to her side and gave a wan smile to the cheerfully smiling woman. “Oh, but it’s good dust, you know! Oooold dust, like in museums where you have to pay to get in!” she offered, hoping the explanation held up.

A knowing smile and nod played across the woman’s face. An English Rose complexion graced her skin, and kind blue eyes sparkled back at the two girls. “You’re new to the store. Welcome! Did you just walk by or did someone tell you about us?” she queried.

Dawn piped up, “It was the locket in the window, actually!” glad that the woman had the good grace to change the subject and get her sister out of the embarrassing conversation.

The owner went towards the window and gestured towards the display. “Which one? We have so many beautiful ones here! I always save the lockets I obtain for special sales like Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day and Christmas. Authentic ones are so hard to come by nowadays! And the imitations, it sometimes takes an expert to tell the difference!” she said. “By the way, my name’s Maude.” she offered, as the two sisters approached the display.

“Oh, I’m Dawn and this is my sister, Buffy”, offered the younger Summers girl.

Maude looked at Dawn. “Is the locket for you, then?”

“No”, she replied, “It’s for Buffy; for a dance on Valentine’s Day!”

Maude turned to the silent older sister and lifted an eye brow. “I see. Something elegant… and romantic. For that “special man in your life”.

“WHAT!? NO!” sputtered Buffy, just a tad too strongly. “NO MAN! No….ah…no special ANYONE right now! No sirie, I’m the single gal, enjoying the swinging single life.” she added weakly.

Maude nodded her head in understanding. “My daughters in England are the very same way: proud to be unattached! One’s 30 and the other one’s 21; my, when I was their age….well, never mind. You young one’s have different standards now, it’s like history wipes the slate clean with each generation so we can start fresh each time! Now, don’t let me go on like this, which of the lockets caught your fancy, dear?” she asked, pulling a display rack out of the window and placing it on the counter.

“This is the one; the one with the roses and pearls,” gestured Buffy, as Maude released the locket from its stand and handed it to her.

“Oh, that’s my favorite!” sighed the owner.” I’ve held on to that one for years and years. Hearts are the first ones to go, but it’s such an odd little piece that I wanted it for myself, actually.”

Buffy stopped midway in putting it on and mistook what the woman had said. “Oh, Maude, if you don’t want to sell it, I totally understand! Here, please…” she offered, attempting to hand it back.

“Don’t be silly! I wouldn’t have it in the window if I wasn’t ready to sell it! You know, a business person’s weakness is in falling in love with your own merchandize and never selling it! No, I’ve had that locket for over 40 years, and my mom before me; that’s how I got into the business…I inherited everything from her store when she passed on. I believe it was one of the first pieces she ever bought and was just as silly for it as I was. But no, it just seems like it’s the right time to sell it now; take it out of hiding so to speak and have someone wear it that will love it as much as the original owner must have!” she added.

“Well, if you’re sure,” said Buffy, running her fingertips over the twining roses on the engraved front. “Do you know its history, like where it came from? I mean, that’s the kind of question you’re supposed to ask when you buy old…I mean “antique” things, right?” she asked hesitantly.

Maude smiled at both sisters and offered Dawn a locket of her own to try on. “Exactly! When you buy Estate Jewelry or “old” pieces,” she explained, to them both, “it really helps to know something about it’s past. But sadly, this one’s is a mystery, even the inscription on the back!”

Dawn turned to admire her necklace in the mirrored wall as Buffy turned the heart- shaped locket over onto its back. To B, Tabula Rasa Love, S, she read softly. “Tabula Rasa”, what’s that mean?” she asked, holding the locket up to the window as she watched the sunbeams glimmer off of the patina surface.

“Blank Slate.” It’s Latin for “Blank Slate” or “Clean Slate”. Definitely the oddest, yet most unique dedication I’ve ever seen on a locket. Actually, that’s part of its charm: to be so delicate with the bi-colored gold roses, the twin seed pearls and then this very common sense phrase on the back, but, said with love! It must have been a very special love story that is behind this one,” explained Maude wistfully.

There was no explanation for Buffy as to why she was so smitten with this piece, as she locked the clasp in back and positioned it over her chest. The chain was longer than usual, and the meaning wasn’t lost on her that the locket sat directly over the wearer’s heart rather than the normal position of much higher on the chest. She stared at her reflection in the hand mirror that Maude handed to her: a perfectly framed oval of a young, blonde woman, hair pulled back on the top of her head, wearing a taupe colored turtleneck that set off the golden locket to perfection. For a brief time, Buffy fantasized over what it would have been like to have lived back in a time when lockets were regulation wear for young woman. Would Spike ever have given a woman a locket? she mused, but a sudden wave of sadness touched her and she knew that she didn’t want to go there. Not the thinking of Spike, but the thought of him pre-Spike, back when he was still William. It was so easy to ignore him emotionally if she could just focus on his present condition. But, to give him a past, a human past, her heart warred with her head. Still, had he had lovers back then? Were people actual, physical lover’s back then, or did they hide their blushing eyes from the vulgarity and richness of actual sex? As she held the mirror upright, she could see the blush form and creep its way across her skin, and she put the mirror down on the counter abruptly, too abruptly, causing its sterling frame to ring against the surface. Both Dawn and Maude looked over at her from the vintage wear display that they had walked over towards.

“Is everything okay?” asked Maude. “How is that piece working out for you? Would you like to try on another one?” she offered as she moved to Buffy’s side.

In her haste to remove it, the chain became tangled in Buffy’s hair and she struggled between ripping it off and asking for help. Why did it always have to come down to this, when she was thinking of William? NO! NO! NOT WILLIAM! He was “Spike”, dammit, not a flesh and blood man named “William”, who should have died of old age sixty years before she was even born! Frustrated, she said, “Yes! I’ve got it stuck in my hair! I should have chopped it all off!” she huffed; as she tipped her head forward, allowing Maude to release it.

“Why would you want to chop off such beautiful hair?” Maude asked innocently. “Why you look like a Princess or Goldilocks in the Three Bears!” But, she could tell that her sincerity was lost on the intense young woman, as Maude looked at her tightly clenched lips.

“Buffy,” asked Dawn, as she came next to her, “You could put Mom’s picture in there….and mine.” She peeped up through her lashes, not wanting to appear too vain at the suggestion. Turning to Maude, she took the locket from her hand and asked, “How much is it? Is it a lot?”, while she attempted to open up the catch that kept the lockets halves closed.

“What’s the little number on the chain say?” the owner asked as she put on her reading glasses and went to an index box. “You know, my daughters call me an “Old Fuddy Duddy” for doing everything the old fashioned way, but, it feels more honest, especially when you’re dealing with things from the past… people’s past!” she explained as she looked up at Dawn.

“It says “LD1880”. What does that mean? Some secret code, or something?” she questioned without looking up, still trying to open the locket. “Ah, excuse me, Maude, but I think that it’s broken; I can’t get it to open up.”

Maude gestured to both sisters. “Come here, both of you. I’d forgotten about the ‘secret’ on how to open this…it’s been that long since I had anybody but myself interested in it. And Dawn, it’s nothing more than an inventory number, I think. My mom had her own system and I kept it on the things that I inherited with her business. It just seemed simpler that way. I have a much less complicated system for things I’ve bought for the store since then. Now, come here into the light, so that we all can see!”

Buffy and Dawn drew up to either side of the shop owner, intrigue coloring their attitude. Maude placed a manicured finger on top of the twin pearls and gave them a small push inwards. The tiniest of *pings* signaled a release within the locket, and slowly, using her thumbnail, she opened the two halves. Nestled within, were two delicate locks of hair: one, a strand of deep grey, and the other, a golden curl, close enough in shade to the locket’s color that it would have been easy to miss had it not laid on top of the other hair.

Dawn’s eyes widened. “Cool! It’s like some kinda time capsule or something! You know, we could take the hair, like they did the mosquito’s blood in JURASSIC PARK, and stick it in a test tube and….” She looked at both women, who in turn, were looking at her. “Well, it’s a thought! You know, since there’s not a photo or anything! Then we could see if it was a boy or a girl’s hair.” she offered weakly.

“Well, that’s one of the beauties of the past….the mystery of it all,” laughed Maude. “Personally, I enjoy making up stories for myself about ‘who’ owned this locket and ‘what’ she must have been like. The stories are probably a lot more interesting than the real thing, anyways. Now, let’s get back to business. Dawn, you had asked the price; let me see…..it’s listed as $680.00, and that was a price I attached to it years ago.”

Both Buffy and Dawn winched at the cost of the vintage heart and Maude could tell that a sale wouldn’t be made, at least not today. “Girls, I know it’s costly. The locket and chain are 18K gold, and between the bi-colored gold, the seed pearls and the fact that it’s authentic Victorian era jewelry, the price is fair for what I’m asking. In fact, if I checked what the current price would be, I’m far below what it would sell for in say, L. A. or New York. I do have an installment plan, where you could pay something down monthly. Would that do or would you like to look at a different piece of jewelry, instead?”

Buffy sighed and looked at Dawn. They both knew what the answer would be. No. Not this week and not the next. Not at $6.50 per hour at the DoubleMeat Palace and all of the previous bills that Buffy had come back from the grave to find. The phrase “dead beat” had taken on an entirely new perspective to Buffy since she had tried to make a financial inroad into their debt.

Reluctantly, she shook her head and said, “I’m sorry, Maude. I really didn’t have any business even coming into a store like this. It’s just that…”

“Our Mom just died,” finished Dawn. “And Buffy here, well, she’s trying to raise me alone, and she had to drop out of college and the she came back from Heav…, well, she went away on a “long trip” and just came back to find out that we’re pretty broke.” Dawn shrugged, knowing that she had said more than was needed, but hoped it eased Buffy’s disappointment in not getting the locket.

Maude looked from one sister to the next. There was something so compelling in their story; so honest and simply stated that she knew it had to be the truth. The simple, unembellished truth. She could sense that they were getting ready to leave her store, when an idea popped into her head. Looking at Buffy, she asked, “Do you have a Driver’s License, dear?”

Both Dawn and Buffy exchanged glances. First, what an odd question! Second, did this woman know what she was asking if she involved Buffy with a vehicle? “Ahhh, yeah, I have a license. But, I don’t drive. I, ahhh, prefer to walk. Yeah, I love to walk EVERYWHERE. Why do you ask?” replied Buffy, cautiously.

“Have you ever heard of collateral?” asked Maude. A grim memory of a too tight skirt and the embarrassment of sitting in front of a loan officer asking about her “collateral” flashed into Buffy’s mind. She nodded to Maude that she knew the term. Dawn just shrugged her shoulders, looking from one woman to the next.

The shop owner walked over to the front window, holding up the locket to the sunlight, allowing it to twirl from its chain slowly, throwing flecks of gold throughout the store. “This beautiful locket has sat in a box for far too long. I was thinking of a deal. You have a dance to go to; I have a locket you want to wear to the dance. Ever watch an Award’s show? You know, where all the women show up in Harry Winston jewels that they don’t own? Well, if you gave me your license as collateral, I’d hang onto that in exchange for your wearing the locket to the dance. If anyone asks you about it and where you bought it, you could be my P. R. person for my shop! A beautiful girl like you would be a perfect spokesperson for my place. So, what do you say? Sound like anything you’d want to do?”

Dawn, jumping up and down with glee, exploded, “Oh, Buffy, you HAVE to do it! You just have to! You could be just like Cinderella going to the ball, all dressed up in jewels and fancy clothes and maybe meeting your Prince Charming!” This was said with such innocence, that Buffy could tell that Dawn meant nothing about the “Prince’s” reference. She pursed her lips together, looking at both Maude’s and Dawn’s hopeful faces. It had been so long; so very, very long since she had felt special, pretty, or desirable. Her smile betrayed her answer and Dawn let out a whoop of joy as she danced around the store, flinging playfully at the edges of shawls and dresses on one of the stands.

“Well, I don’t know; it hardly seems fair.” started Buffy. Then a smile spread across her entire face. “Well…YES! Why not? If you’re sure, Maude. You are sure, aren’t you?” she asked tentatively. With a smile to match Buffy’s, the shopkeeper walked back behind the counter top and got out a form. Holding out her hand and giving a wink towards Dawn, Maude said lightly, “Driver’s license, please, Cinderella. You have a ball to go to.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Spike was slumped into his chair, wearily watching HALLMARK and the OLYMPICS hawk their wares in a corporate tie-in commercial. One git was slooshing down a luge tube, with a big- assed stuffed bear strapped behind him. The next Nancie-Boy got the “Gold”, aka his honey’s lips, giving her a substantially smaller, yet unique magnetic-lipped Kissing Bear duo. If he had had an empty bottle of bourbon, he would have heaved it at the set, but, that would have been a good waste of an empty bottle; the commercial didn’t even warrant that much effort. An uneasiness teased at the back of his brain, like an appointment that you make and forget to write down, yet, you still know that you’re supposed to be remembering something All this endless, maudlin crap about Valentine’s Day; why, when he and Drusilla were together, a still pumping heart filled with fresh blood was good enough to satisfy his girl for over a hundred years! Did the trick and then some for getting her motor running. I remember one time w.....THAT was it…Valentine’s Day! Sweetheart. Buffy. Flowers. Buffy… NO bleeding hearts other than his own…Buffy.

He arose from the chair, agitated, and paced randomly around his crypt. Valentine’s Day. It had always been a joke between Dru and him, a way to amuse themselves with the masses. One of their favorite presents to each other was to locate a fawning couple, deep in the throes of passion, and then gift them with a little blood draining activity, leaving them as young, pretty corpses. The especially “creative” couples they found were spared death, instead, they were turned. Dru especially enjoyed that process, saying she always felt like Cupid by linking the lovers together forever or until sunlight, Holy Water, or a stake through the heart did the ‘til death do us part’ thing.

Spike’s wanderings brought him next to his door and he absently placed his hand against its cold surface. Nothing. Eyes closed, he leaned fully against it now, pressing his cheek firmly into it, followed by his chest, running his hands over the surface trying in vain to pick up the heat from Buffy’s last time at his door. And it had been the last time, for after her savage beating in the alley of the Police station, she had kept away from Spike, his crypt, even the cemetery that he called home, leaving him to reduce the newbie vampire population in that part of town. Yeah, he had seen her at her birthday party, even stayed the night. But he had done the visiting, not her, and his purposeful act of not even bringing a birthday gift was lost on her. Slumping against the door, he turned and eyed his present to Buffy, which he had artistically draped across the sarcophagus: a black cut velvet shawl, with pastel peach roses clambering over its surface. Despite himself, he smiled; for looking at it made him feel oddly serene, at peace, safe. It was a strange reaction to something he had no emotions invested in; Clem had pointed the shawl out to Spike one night as they were walking to Willy’s for another game of kitten poker. There it was, spotlighted as the only object in the window, in a new store with an old English motif. “Hold on, mate”, he called out to Clem. “Let me have a look-see inside this place while it’s still open.”

Clem, however, was tired of explaining his “skin condition” to humans, and opted out, saying he’d hold a seat for Spike in the game. He was aware of Spike’s love for Buffy; both in the fact that he’d only known her as Spike’s “lady”, and in Spike’s booze addled confession one night after a good winning streak. Clem had actually had a summer fling with a human girl once, but his parents nipped the relationship in the bud, saying it would “Never go anywhere and what about your children…they’d be half-human and that skin!” It would have been too painful for his parents to look at grandchildren with too tight skin, they claimed. So, regrettably, he and the young lady broke it off. But Amy still held a secret place within Clem’s heart, wherever she was.

The shopkeeper looked up from a box of jewelry that she was sorting out onto the counter top. “Good evening, young man. Welcome to THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK! Can I help you with something or would you just like to look around on your own?” she asked, pushing her glasses on top of her head. Her positive reaction to Spike startled him. He was so used to the Scoobies and Buffy’s distain that it caught him off guard that someone would actually treat him with respect. He thought that it was a good thing that all of his bruises had healed or he doubted that the reaction would have been the same. He smiled back to her and the warmth reached all the way to his eyes.

“That shawl in the window; how much is it, then?” he asked. The woman came from behind the counter, walking to the display. “Oh, you have good taste! I just got in a shipment of those from China and they’re very affordable. I sell both authentic and reproduction pieces from the Victorian era of London,” she relied, handing Spike the wrap. He knew it was right the moment that his hands felt the lushness, the soft velvety fabric draping around his fingers. A sigh escaped his lips as he recalled that feeling of silk slipping through his hands by running them through his Goldilock’s hair.

“Oh, you have it bad!” teased the woman, startling Spike from his memories. He eyed her, looking for sarcasm, but found none. She continued, “I’ve seen that look before, and the ‘sigh’, that cinched it! You must love her quite a lot to have a shawl produce that reaction from you.” She held his gaze, until embarrassed, Spike looked downward.

“Yeah, she’s got me good, she does. Her birthday’s in a couple of days; it would go with her hair, what’s left of it,” he sighed.

“Well, let’s see what I can do for you in making this a birthday to remember for your young lady. My name’s Maude, by the way. I just opened up this shop less than a month ago. What’s your name? I’ve always been interested in names; I think it’s the whole fascination with history that brings it out in me.”, she said, placing a light hand on Spike’s shoulder and guiding him towards the counter.

He welcomed the warmth that her hand generated against his duster. There had been a not too distant time, where her unasked for touch would have hastened his draining of her blood into his body, followed up by the theft of the shawl and anything else that he fancied in her shop. But things were different now, and the thought passed through his mind with barely a moment’s hesitation.

“My name’s Spike,” he replied, and then countered after seeing her puzzled look, “It’s a nickname. You know, an image thing with me mates.” He hesitated, feeling uncomfortable with his next disclosure. “But, you can call me William. That’s my real name. God, it’s been a long time since I told anyone that piece of information,” he winced, casting a glance upwards. But his disclosure was met with twinkling eyes that matched his in blueness, and his discomfort from his sudden vulnerability vanished.

“Well, now…”William”, your secret’s safe with me. And if you come into my store with any of your ‘mates’, then I’ll happily call you Spike! How’s that? Lovely accent you have; are you from London? How long have you been in the States?” she asked, with interest.

Spike never made it to the poker game. He stayed for hours that evening, helping Maude unload boxes of new merchandise, moving heavy displays for her, and reminiscing about the “Mother Land”. Their sides ached from laughter, both for their love of their newly adopted America and at the lunacy they found therein, too. When had he laughed this hard, for this long? When was the last time that he had just been seen as a regular bloke, someone that mattered, and with someone that wanted to be with him? He couldn’t remember; it had been that long ago.

At the end of the evening, almost approaching midnight, they were done. Spike offered to walk Maude home, or at least to her car if she drove to work, because you can never tell “what nasties are about.” She took him up on the offer, but, before going, she picked up the shawl from the counter and handed it to him, pressing it firmly into his hands.

“You earned this, and more, William. I couldn’t have done all of the work myself that the two of us accomplished this evening. I don’t have enough cash flow to pay you yet, but, I’d like to offer you a bartering of your services until I can afford to pay you.” She blushed, continuing, “Actually, what I’m saying is, I enjoyed your company. Your knowledge of Victorian times is phenomenal and I think that you’d be a real asset to the store; how’d you like a part time job here, with me; you pick the hours?” Her expression was that of a young girls and it softened Spike’s resolve immediately. A job!? Selling frilly ladies things and the kind of stuff that his Mum would have loved…? He looked at Maude again. It had been fun, and he did need to make money somehow. He lost half of the time playing kitten poker, remembering the loan shark’s vendetta against him, now recently paid off. And if he had a real job, he could help out Buffy, and Little Bit, too. Maybe slip her some money occasionally, to help her get a new CD and also to stop her shoplifting habit. But, secretly, he was a touch proud that the kid had the stones to pull off something like that. Her approval rating from Spike jumped several points that day they had found out about her habit. Geez, the Summer’s home was turning into a regular Twelve Step hacienda!

“Well, I’m an evening man, myself,” explained Spike, “Like to sleep in, so to speak. But yeah, I’d like to work here with you part-time. A man needs his spending money now, don’t he?” he added as he carefully folded the velvet shawl and attempted to place it into his pocket. Maude, listening, took the shawl, laying it out on the counter and placed it in a shopping bag for him.

Handing him back the bag and turning off the store lights, she nodded, with a grin, “Well, then, it’s done! Consider yourself my first official employee! When would you like to start?” she asked, as the two of them walked out of the store, and towards her car, together.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Buffy lay on her bed, dangling the locket from its chain over her face. You’re getting sleepy…sleepy…you’ll remember nothing about Spike when you wake up, she intoned, swinging the locket in a pendulum fashion. Her eyes began to water; she’d been at it for so long that she was sure that she was cross-eyed from the effort. hy does he have to love ME? sighed halfheartedly, still swinging the locket back and forth. Love, love, love. Buffy got lost in the rhythm, watching the piece rock back and forth, back and forth. Love me. Love me not. Love me. Love me not. Love me…Realizing what she was saying, Buffy sat up with a start. LOVE ME NOT! LOVE ME NOT! , she protested loudly to herself, though with very little conviction.

She pushed herself off of the bed and went to the mirror, affixing the locket’s clasp behind her neck. She stood gazing at the reverse image of the piece and gently stroked the engraved roses. $680.00. It might as well be $6,800.00 for all the non-affording that Buffy could do right now. She DID feel like Cinderella: working in filth and bad smells all day; coming home to wash that layer off only to have it replaced by vampire dust and ashes for the next several hours. Then, off to the ball, only to be forced to return her special jewels the very next day! Well, she sighed, at least she wasn’t as tacky as Cordelia used to be, when she’d buy a dress, wear it for the night and then return it to the store she had just bought it from the previous day.

She looked at the clock next to her bed. Tara would be over in a few minutes to pick Dawny up. After Anya had found the stolen merchandise and Halfrek had given them the “After School Special” about Dawn’s needs, everyone was pitching in on spending more time with her. Tonight was Tara’s turn and Buffy could already see the change in Dawn’s attitude since everyone had started to share in her upbringing.

Buffy glanced up from the locket and saw herself reflected back in the mirror. It had been difficult to look at her image this past week and more often than not, she chose to comb her hair away from any reflective surface. Although she mentioned nothing to Tara, her friend had guessed at who had done the damage to Spike’s face and asked Buffy about it the day after her birthday. As she explained what had happened in the alley between her and Spike, the increased horror and shock on Tara’s face telegraphed to her the seriousness of what she had done for the first time.

“But you did apologize to him afterwards, right?” inquired Tara hopefully. Buffy shook her head slowly, tucking her hands under each armpit and hugging herself tightly. She could not meet Tara’s eyes. “But….I m-mean, maybe not immediately afterwards but soon afterwards, right, Buffy?” Tara had given her all the benefit of the doubt that a person could hope for and waited for an affirmative answer. None was forthcoming.

A tear, the very first one of its kind, hovered on Buffy’s lower eyelid. She knew that if she met Tara’s eyes, the enormity of her mistake would be reflected back to her in her friend’s eyes and she couldn’t handle that punishment. Tara reached out a tentative hand to lift Buffy’s head upright, but met with resistance.

“Don’t.”, was all she could utter. Tara lowered her hand and the two women sat in silence on the living room couch. Gravity won out and the tear fell from its precarious shelf, leading the way for another, and then another. Suddenly, she shook and with a gasp for air that rivaled a drowning person, she alternated between dry heaves and shaking. The next time that Tara reached out to her, she allowed herself to be held and rocked within her arms, as she smoothed Buffy’s hair and laid silent witness to her friends’ pain.

“Oh, God, Tara!” Buffy moaned, as she was finally able to breathe deeply enough to talk. “What have I done? What have I done?” She sat upright at this question, a mixture of fear and guilt spread across her face. She looked into Tara’s eyes, mere inches away but couldn’t get a reading of what she was thinking. Mistaking her silence for judgment, Buffy pushed her arms roughly away and stood up, beginning to pace the living room rug.

“How do you like your “new” friend now?” she hurled at Tara. “Willow’s magic addiction seems tame compared to the kind of damage that I can inflict on my loved ones!” she added as she continued her manic pacing around the room. She caught her reflection in a small mirror on the desktop and picked it up, ready to hurl it across the space.

“BUFFY! STOP!” shouted Tara, which seized Buffy mid-throw. Startled, she held the mirror aloft as Tara rose off of the couch and came up to her. “Give it to me, Buffy. Give me the mirror…NOW!” Lowering her hand, she acquiesced and handed her friend the mirror. Reaching out tentatively, she firmly grasped Buffy’s arm and led her back to the sofa. “Now sit…PLEASE!” she said, pushing her friend decisively down into the cushions.

A small, frail smile escaped Buffy’s lips. “I didn’t know you could speak that loudly”, she murmured weakly. Tara met her gaze and returned the smile. She replied, “We can all find our voice when we need to be heard, Buffy.” The Slayer looked at her friend and marveled at her personal resolve. She might be able to beat up vampires til the cows came home, and then beat up the cows, but Tara showed true strength in handling the really difficult problems in life.

“Is it too late to apologize?” asked Buffy, not entirely sure that she wanted to know the answer.

Tara smiled. “Ever hear of Death Bed confessions, hon? Well, if people can get rid of guilt with their last dying breath, I don’t think it’s too late if a week’s gone by. And Buffy…” she added, making sure that she had her full attention, “Spike did come to your birthday party, even after the beating. He loves you, Buffy. You’ve said so yourself. And remember: you don’t have to love him back to apologize for a wrong.

A long sigh escaped from Buffy’s small body. She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension in her muscles that had been trapped in them since the alley incident. “Tara”, she asked, barely above a whisper. “Tara…”, but she couldn’t get the words out.

“What, baby?” her friend replied, looking up from her lowered glance.

Buffy took another gulp of air and continued, hesitantly. “What if….what if he won’t accept my apology? What if it’s too late…to be forgiven? I mean, I haven’t seen Spike since my party! I know that it’s only been a couple of days, but, at night when I go by his crypt after work, he’s not even home!” The thought of Spike, wrapped in someone else’s arms haunted her private moments.

Tara was silent, choosing her reply with care. “Buffy, you won’t know until you try. It’s Spike’s decision now, as to whether to accept the apology or not. But, you do ‘owe’ him the chance to turn one down, you know that, don’t you?” she answered, firmly.

“Yeah.”, was all that Buffy could muster as a reply. She looked up at Tara, wishing beyond anything that she could put into words what she felt about Spike. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t a matter of trust, for she had the deepest respect and affection for Willow’s former lover. It was the fact that even she couldn’t put breath to words about what she was discovering about herself and her growing feelings for him.

They had talked together about the gist of the apology and it was decided that tonight, after work, Buffy would go to Spike and talk to him. She would write out an apology in case he was still pulling his nightly disappearing act, but, Tara insisted, it had to be face to face if he was really there. “You can’t cheat and hand it to him”, she insisted. “He deserves better than that,” to which Buffy agreed.

She straightened her red and yellow uniform, smirking at the contrast of the lockets vintage charm against the garishness of the outfit. Tucking it inside of the top, she turned as she heard the doorbell ring. “I’ll get it!” was followed by the clumping of feet running down the staircase, as she could hear her sister greet Tara at the door. Finally able to look at her reflection in the mirror, she nodded to herself and said, “Okay. Tonight’s the night. Yessirie, tonight’s the night I hand Spike what he’s always wanted….my head on a platter.” But she knew that if he accepted the apology, what she was really handing him would be her heart.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Spike whistled to himself as he put the comb down, running an experienced hand over his hair. After a hundred and twenty years of mirrorlessness, he had become an expert on how his hair should feel to look right. The styles had changed with the decades, as had the color, but he was happily pleased with the look he had settled on since the late ‘70’s. He went to brush off a hair from his sweater but realized by its length, that it couldn’t be his. Buffy. Just two days ago, thinking about her would have sent him back down the rabbit hole of depression, but, with the sudden turn of events leading to his gainful employment, he felt for the first time that he was getting some sort of proper perspective on their relationship. Or lack thereof.

This would be his third night of working for Maude and he realized just how happy he was becoming. William, the Bloody “Happy” Vampire. Even he had to chuckle at the silliness of the phrase. But if Angel could get a new gig and take the exit ramp from Broods-ville, then he was vamp enough to do it, too! Besides, he was beginning to enjoy the newly found feelings that he was experiencing from all of this.

Spike had known two lives. The first, as William; a shy, bookish man, besotted with his “one true love”. That life placed him so far beneath her, that it took digging out of his own grave to rise above it. The second was as Spike. All of the potential that a different century could have afforded William, Spike took full advantage of. But, he had anger issues as a result of his earlier snubbing by London swells, and had been myopic in his approach to life. Eat, Drink and be Merry. Of course, the “eating” and the “drinking” were of human blood, but, that all fell under the job description of “vampire”.

Now, he was moving into unknown territory and the thrill of it all was beginning to take the frustration out of his life. Marrying his two pasts, he had formed a new “future”, and choosing to use his old human name had proved an interesting melding of his two divergent worlds. He almost felt like the PEOPLE magazine recovery story of the week! Yeah, I used to follow the “Straight and narrow” ‘til I got bit’ into’ by the Forbidden Fruit. That led to the road of ruination and no suntans until I saw the light and changed my evil ways. Well, not all of his evil ways he hoped, not wishing to back- slide into the original Williams’ poncey-ness.

The softness of chimes *pinged* the half past of the hour and he realized that he needed to head out the door in the next couple of minutes. Maude had given him a mantle clock as an incentive to show up on time when she heard that he had no clock of any kind. She had received the piece in a bulk shipment of antiques and the case was in such poor repair, that quite simply put, it was beyond repair. Spike explained the absence of timepieces in his life to being in a band. He wasn’t quite sure if Maude understood or not, but the following evening was when she had given it to him. He looked at it proudly now, sitting atop of the cut velvet shawl on a bookcase that he had salvaged from the town dump. Maybe his place wouldn’t make the cover of VAMPIRE DIGEST but it was his “Home Sweet Home”.

Tonight would be the first evening that he would be left alone in the store. Maude had given him an extra set of keys to lock up with and he suddenly understood Anya’s intoxication with the world of commerce and humans. Yes, they had both started out as regular Joe’s and Joey’s but for 120 years and 1120 years respectively, they had been in touch with their Inner Demons, literally. Now, both of them shared the hybrid nature of not being fully human or demon any longer and having to sort out all the new rules of their roles. True, Anya was more technically human than he, but, Spike felt that he too was now a card carrying member of the Someday He’ll Be A Real Boy Club. I wonder if I get a t-shirt and a membership card, he snarked as he closed the crypt’s door behind him.

While walking out of the cemetery, Spike pondered if Buffy would visit his place again this evening. She left no note of her passing, but his heightened sense of smell could always pick up her scent. Apparently, she wandered about the room at length for her fragrance that was unique to her clung to all of his things that she touched. She had even ventured onto his bed, the one that they had never made it onto together, and he luxuriated in her smell until the sadness of it made him strip it down and wash the sheets clean of her.

At first he thought himself petty for not immediately running to her house and finding out what she wanted. But paper had been invented at least 2000 years earlier and if it wasn’t an emergency she could have left a note. He loved her. He loved her more than Cecily and Drucilla combined. But, he was also starting to fall in love with someone else…himself. With his father dying of a heart attack while William was still young, at age 8, he had come to rely on his mother for both roles. She was a loving yet distant woman and he clung onto any scrap of affection that she would parcel out to him. He realized that those were commonplace emotions for the time, but it was also commonplace to have had both a mother and a father. He was just now beginning to grasp the why’s of his neediness for dominant females in his relationships.

The walk to the store took no time at all and Spike always loved showing up early, much to Maude’s delight. They gossiped and chatted like two old biddies as she’d show him what was new in the world of “old”. She loved to try to stump him with oddities that she had no clue as to what they were, but William’s unique perspective of Victorian times gave him the upper hand. She never pried into his private life but sharing intimacies with her was so comfortable that he found himself regaling stories of Prague and London or Sunnydale. His only precaution was in keeping the time frames current. He slipped once, telling her about the 1920’s and when she raised an eyebrow, Spike nervously sloughed it off as to a tale that his great uncle William had told him. “So, it’s a family name then?” she asked. He jumped at the link and said that “…all of the men in his family since 1880 had been named William.” He said that it saved on the monogramming fees, to which she gave him a playful slap.

Before Spike was hired, Maude had planned to close for that evening, for a girlfriend from college was flying through town, or more precisely LAX, and they had planned to get together. But, with her right hand gentleman, as she called him, at the helm, she could meet Carol and still have the store stay open to catch the commuters coming home from the city.

He thought of himself as William as soon as he crossed the threshold so he was used to her greetings that included his human name. Maude took the time to ask him how his day had gone and he found himself intentionally doing different things so that none of it would be a lie. After exchanging the news of the day, she handed him the To Do List and pointed out to him the recent shipment of goods that she’d like for him to put out. Spike had always been proud of his artistic flair for arranging corpses artfully and found his decorating talent put to good use within the store. By the second evening, she had placed him in charge of all displays, claiming that her half German heritage insisted that she line everything up like little soldiers.

Making him assure her over and over again that he was comfortable with being left alone, she gave him her cell phone and mobile numbers and insisted before she left that he tried out both, to make sure that they worked. Short of checking his nappies, Maude finally felt comfortable enough to leave, verbally tossing out to him, through the opened car window, to “call if you have any questions about anything!” He stood outside on the street, waving goodbye until he couldn’t see her car any longer.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tara and Dawn meandered along the downtown Sunnydale street, ice cream cones in hand. It was turning out to be another El Nino winter, so although it was February, the evening was mild enough to enjoy eating ice cream outside. Dawn lapped eagerly at her Chunky Monkey, grinning and saying that she always felt like a cannibal while eating it. Her older friend had opted for low fat vanilla yogurt.

Tara took another lick, enjoying Dawn’s enthusiastic eating. “Actually, Dawnie,” she ventured, “You’d be a cannibal if you ate your tribesmen or… women”, she blushed and smiled to herself. “If you eat chunky monkeys or any other chunky animal, you’re a carnivore instead”. Dawn seemed to take this under advisement and then turned, and stuck out her tongue at Tara! Slightly shocked at the action, Little Bit got the desired effect from her friend, and skipped backwards, out of Tara’s reach, continuing to tease.

It’s amazing what a little bit of love and attention can do to correct bad behavior, she mused, amazed at the teens ability to talk, eat food and continue her backward walking course without tripping. It’s gotta be some recessive gene to survive your teenage years that then goes dormant at eighteen, she remarked to herself. Dawn did a turn-about course correction, mid step….and then stopped smack in her tracks, resulting in a fender bender with Tara. “Hey, put on your brake lights if you’re going to stop mid-traffic!” she joked. Her young friend pointed to a brightly lit store front across the street. “THERE! That’s the really cool place where that lady…Maude…loaned Buffy the Valentinesy necklace,” she hooted. Dawn reached out to grab Tara’s sleeve in an attempt to drag her across traffic, but her mentor caught a firm hold of her young charges hand and clamped onto it. Startled, the teenager looked back. “Fine. We’ll go…over there,” Tara indicated, gesturing with her cone-filled hand to the cross walk. “You’ve had enough bumps and bruises for one month! Let’s try to keep a cap on the pediatric bills, okay?” she winked, tilting her head to the side.

Dawn smiled and winked back, keeping Tara’s hand within hers and swinging it in time to the rhythm of their steps as they walked to the cross walk and over to the other side of the street. They stood outside of the store, finishing their cones while admiring the inventive window displays and honoring the sign stating: Please, no food or drink inside. Before entering, Tara reached up and wiped a smudge from her friend’s nose. “You never know when a handsome young man is right around the next corner….or store,” she teased. “What if I want a handsome young woman instead?” Dawn shot back, comically. Tara’s flustered look and inability to speak brought Dawn up short and she had to reassure her friend several times before she was convinced, that she was just teasing and was oh so young to even be thinking about that. Not quite convinced of her assurances but ready to change the subject, Tara led the way into the English-themed shop, inhaling deeply at the scent of lavender that greeted them as they pushed the bell-tinkling door aside.

Spike heard the door’s bell jingle as he hefted another box of linens onto the metal stand. It had been a busy night and although the sales would please Maude, he didn’t want to disappoint her by not finishing the list of items she had wanted done. He knew that she’d understand, for she was always saying, “The customer comes first”, but still, being his first time alone and everything….he wanted to make a good impression. He smiled wanly to himself, thinking that the only time he had received acknowledgement for a job well done was when he started racking up the body count as a vampire. Even by Victorian standards, he had been an insipid young man and he was thoroughly convinced that the crowning achievement of that life would have been an early and boring death…probably by his own hand. You take the cards that are dealt you, he reflected, brushing off his hands and slacks, steadfastly refusing to disavow his vampire half. He called out to the shoppers in the store, for he could determine two female voices, “I’ll be right out, ladies! I just need to put one more box away!” Giving a last minute inspection to himself, Spike sucked in a deep breath and rounded the corner…

…to have the air knocked out of him by Dawn, as she stood up from looking at a floor display! Spike backed up abruptly from her, taking in that Tara stood at a triangulated point from him; the three of them creating a perfect triangle. The trio stared at each other as a flock of deer caught in the headlights, thought Dawn. No…that was a “pride of deer in the headlights”. No, that wasn’t right either. A “covey”? Whatever. Their stares continued for a few seconds longer as Tara’s rounded mouth attempted sound. Suddenly, Dawn’s perplexed look was slowly replaced with one of horror as she drew herself up face to face with Spike, grabbing his sweater in both hands. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MAUDE!” she demanded, sniffing him. Spike took a step backwards, convinced that Dawn was actually trying to smell if he had Blood-Breath.

“NOTHING!” he sputtered, holding an increasingly agitated Dawn at bay. “I haven’t done noth…I mean anything to Maude! I work here now!” he tried to assure her, attempting to point to his nametag.

Dawn stopped long enough to scan it. “That says WILLIAM! Who the hell is he? Your appetizer or was he the main course?” she demanded. She felt a hand on her shoulder pull her back and she whipped around to angrily stare into Tara’s face.

“W-William” is Spike’s real name,” she struggled. “B-b-before he was changed, she nodded towards Spike, gesturing with her head, “Isn’t that right, William?” she said encouragingly.

Trying to regain his composure, he straightened out his sweater, tugging at the sides and replied genteelly, “Yes… yes it was and more importantly, IS while I’m in Maude’s employ.” Dawn, a sense of relief washing over her at last, burst out laughing at Spike’s, errr, William’s attempt at being all Giles.

“When did this happen? Does Buffy know about this?” she tossed off, situation now under control so she could slide into Teenager setting and casually flip through some stacks of vintage photos with ease.

Spike drew up close to her, causing her to look up at his serious face. “No, Buffy doesn’t know…and Dawn, I want to keep it that way, too. Understand?” He had unintentionally put too much of his BigBad persona into the veiled threat and upon seeing the flicker of fear appear in her eyes, he immediately recanted. Twisting his head sideways and lifting an eyebrow, he explained. “Listen, Niblet, with this chip in my head, I needed to find something to do with all of my spare time. Also, I needed money. You understand that, don’t you?” he asked in a much more intimate tone.

He could see the immediate softening in his little friend’s face and she nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I get that, for sure. I don’t even get an allowance any longer with Mom...” she swallowed hard and looked away, suddenly. Helpless, he looked up at Tara, who crossed to Dawn and placed an arm around her. She continued for Spike. “Dawnie, I think that what Spike, I mean…”William” is trying to say, is that things have changed for him, too, like for you and Buffy, and he’s just trying to adjust to different circumstances. Did I get it right, Sp... William?” she asked cautiously.

He had always admired the shy witch and each time together, her approval rating from him increased. He nodded in agreement and thought to use one of Maude’s skills and artfully change the subject. Straightening his sweater from where Dawn had pulled it out of shape, he asked lightly, “What brings you into the store? How’d you find out about us?”

Dawn, fully showing the ability for the incredibly young to bounce back to normal, said, “Oh, Buffy and I were in here a couple of days ago. She got this really cool necklace thing with hair in it and Maude gave me this!” she indicated, holding up a brightly colored cocktail ring on her left hand. Both Tara and Spike exchanged slightly disgusted glances at Dawn’s description of Buffy’s purchase. Lost in her own world, Dawn had already wandered back to the clothing, rubbing her cheek absently on the pelt of a fox stole, and wishing that she had a kitten of her own to play with. Maybe next time that Spike played poker…

“Dawn? Dawn!” called out Tara, breaking her thoughts and snapping her back to their world. “What were you saying about Buffy buying some hair?” broached her friend. She looked up from the fox skin, to find both Tara and Spike waiting, with piqued curiosity. She dropped the stole where she found it, and as she crossed to the storefront window, Spike ran over towards it, fluffing the fur and tsking under his breath. The effect was not lost on Tara, who covered the grin that splayed across her mouth. Spike was doing a good enough job of destroying his BigBad persona on his own, thank you. He certainly didn’t need any eroding of image from her, she smirked.

“It was one of these things.” she explained, holding up an oval locket from the front display. She could tell they didn’t get it. Adults. Where did their brains go when they hit 21, she pondered? Shaking the locket portion itself, she gestured, This had the hair in it; chunks of some dead person’s hair,” she replied airily. Thoroughly done with this oh-so-boring subject, Dawn slid across the room, coming to a well-planned stop in front of the red couch and dramatically, threw herself across it. “I vant to be alone!” she glammed, pausing to check their appreciation of her dramatic effect. Both adults applauded, but, before Spike turned his full attention to Tara, he walked over to Dawn and held out his opened hand, looking knowingly at her. Mouth pulled aside, she took the necklace from her pocket and stuck her tongue out at him. “Whatever! I just wanted to see if you were doing your job! I would have given it back.” A raised eyebrow from Spike resulted in an insistent reply, “NO, REALLY, SPIKE!! I was just teasing you! REALLY!” He lowered himself to her face, and affecting a mock-evil grimace, he growled, “Find another way to tease me, Bit-O-Buffy! Remember, I may get a Monster Headache…but…I…still…can…bite!” Pushing herself into the furthest corner of the couch, she replied just a little too quickly, “Point taken”, and breathed a held back sigh, as he winked and turned back to Tara.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Without a real destination for the evening, both Dawn and Tara stayed and kept William company between the steady streams of customers. The younger Summers helped in gift wrapping all of the last minute Valentine’s presents and despite Tara’s insistence that she’d stutter if someone asked for her help, by the end of the evening she had made several impressive sales on her own. They had already agreed in advance to share a hot drink at the Espresso Pump after work, when Spike encountered the loaner form for Buffy’s locket, while straightening up the sales counter. He gave it a casual glance, curious to see what had caught the slayer’s eye.

(1) Heart-shaped locket # LD1880 Listed price: $680.00

A low whistle escaped his lips. Blondie’s got good taste, he mused. Then his brow darkened. In everything except her bleedin’ men, that is. Present company excluded, he had to add, smugly. He continued skimming down the description.

Rose and Green Gold Chasing/ Climbing Roses Twin Seed Pearl, insert, Japanese Pearls

An alarm was going off in an ancient, unused part of his brain marked: PAST LIFE: DO NOT ENTER. He put the form aside for the moment, rubbing at his temples and at the bridge of his nose where his glasses sat….

Oh, God! His glasses! He cringed, glad that no photos of him existed from that time, as photography was in its earliest stages still. But his “glasses”: he hadn’t thought of them since…

Panicking, he grabbed the form and read on.

Inscription on back: To B Tabula Rasa Love S Contents of locket: Two locks of hair; one grey, one…

…blonde. He carefully leaned against the counter, grateful for it being there, to catch himself from falling. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose again, an old habit that he had hated even when he had it; now, brought back to life. He picked up the description again, rereading it with a fine-toothed comb this time, looking for the loop-hole that would dispel his fear. After the fifth time, he carefully placed the form back on top of the stack and went over to the girls, who were just finishing up stocking the natural oil soaps and bath products.

“Ladies,” he started, “Please; you’ll have to excuse me tonight.” They both looked up at him with bewilderment on their faces. He tried to affect a happy demeanor to throw them off the trail. “I just found a list of things that Maude wanted me to inventory and I need to get it done…tonight”. He held up a hand, as he saw Dawn’s mouth open. “Dawny, you know how much this hurts me to cancel, don’t you?” She nodded slowly in agreement. Spike continued. “It’s just that it’s pretty technical stuff and it will take hours and …” looking pointedly at Dawn, “…I don’t have to get up early for school tomorrow!” She made a grimacing face and crossed her arms, ready to do the Big Pout.

“Well, W…William, we’ll miss you. I for one wanted to get to know you better, being on the outside orbit of the Scooby action and all.” she explained. Spike had pulled a $20 bill from his wool trousers and handed it to Tara, ignoring her protests.

“Take the money, please. That way, I am with you, sort of.” he winked at Dawn.

Resigned to his insistence and knowing that she had to get Dawn back at an appropriate hour, Tara finally agreed with Spike, and they all hugged good-bye at the doorway, promising to come back on another night if he wanted their help. He was genuine in his thanks and smile, but, as they began their walk down the street, the smile collapsed, as did William.

Buffy rubbed her temples and threw a hasty glance at the clock. Seven minutes left of her 15 minute break and all she had written on the pastel pink stationary was: Dear Spike,. She rubbed her temples again, sure that this time she’d actually be able to reach her brain. Why is this so hard, she moaned inwardly? Tara had insisted that she apologize in person to Spike but that just wasn’t her M.O. Besides, she was taking most of her friends’ suggestions; she had to have some free will for herself over this matter and what mattered most was not putting herself into more pain over Spike than was absolutely necessary. Besides, she added pettily, he was most likely out with some new “Bit O’Honey” right now, which is why he probably continued to ‘class up’ his crypt, as some loser vampire attempt to ‘score’. A deep-fryer buzzer went off in the background, and Buffy looked back at the wall clock…four minutes remaining. Glancing at the corporate propaganda plastered on the employee lounge wall, she ground her teeth and saw the letter as a mission to accomplish productivity, and grabbed the pen tightly, flinging words onto the paper with a vengeance.

The multi-toned chiming of scores of clocks, finally brought Spike back to consciousness. Initially, he thought that he was snug in his own little crypt, feeling the coolness of the store’s concrete surface through his clothing and mistaking it for his own marble floor. It was only when he rolled over and discovered that his belt buckle had become stuck on a length of vintage lace table cloth that he sat up with a start, banging his head against the tables’ extension. OW!, he complained, rubbing his head, slowly becoming aware that he indeed, wasn’t in his home. For the unlife of him, he couldn’t recall why he was on the floor and did a quick check of body parts, in case of demon attack. But all parts were present and accounted for and it was only upon standing and viewing the lockets in the jewelry case that he remembered his last thought. He groaned and limped slightly to the front counter, reaching for the form that had delivered the news. Nothing had changed. It wasn’t an illusion or a trick of the light. There in Maude’s loopy handwriting was all the confirmation that he needed to believe that he had come thisclose to seeing his dear Mum’s locket. A piece of his life. His real life. His first round of being “William”.

He saw that near the bottom of the sheet was the due date back and the collateral required for the merchandise loan: Buffy had left her drivers license. “See cash drawer”, was the scrawled note that Maude had written into the margin, and he fumbled with the lock’s key as he attempted to open the normally compliant drawer. Nerves, it’s just nerves, he thought, finally gaining entry. In a back compartment of the drawer, he saw what he had desired and dug it out of the small space. There, in his hands was a picture of…his beloved? Wow, he had heard that driver’s license pictures were unflattering, but, he had no clue as to how true that was. He squinted and turned the license at an angle, and then checked to see if it was a fake I.D. Nope! No tampering at all. He placed the license back into the drawer and suddenly gained insight as to ‘why’ Buffy may not want to drive. Vanity…thy name is woman! Disoriented and confused, he scrawled a hasty note to Maude, indicating his theory about the locket, and clipped it to the rental form. Robotically, he turned the shops lights off, locked the door, and left the building. He’d come into work early tomorrow to ask Maude about the piece. Spike was glad that the evening couldn’t get any worse.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Buffy could hear the City Hall clock strike midnight, echoed by the delicate chiming from within Spike’s crypt. She had initially placed the letter against the mantle clock, and hurriedly left the cemetery, only to drag herself back, grumbling and complaining the whole way. This mental wellness kick that I’m on SUCKS! she huffed, as she re-entered Spike’s home and grabbed up the note. Seated on a tombstone now, she twirled the envelope around in her fingers. Twenty seven tomb stones up, forty three tombstones down… now she knew she was bored, when she spent her precious free time counting head stones to pass the time!

Unfamiliar foot steps approached the cemetery, but, the reading that was registering on her vampire radar was “Spike”. Step, drag, step, drag, step… An immediate sense of guilt overwhelmed her, wondering if she had hurt him so badly that she had caused this damage, too. Naw!, she dismissed the thought, he seemed fine at my party and…

“Buffy!”

She jumped to the ready, forming an aggressive stance, only to see Spike looking at her. A very weary Spike, looking at her.

“Hello, Spike”

“Hello, Buffy”

They stood apart in the graveyard, but more than physical distance separated them. The entire walk back home, Spike had been lost in thought, so much so that he sensed Buffy’s presence virtually at the same time that he had seen her. Sore from his sudden collapse, heartsick with his estrangement from Buffy, confused and frightened over a piece of his past catching up with him in Sunnydale, of all places…he had just been looking forward to rolling into his bed and getting a good nights sleep. And now, one of his problems had actually beaten him back to his home.

They stood in an awkward silence, Buffy twirling the ends of her new hairdo, Spike picking imagined lint off of his sweater. They both looked up occasionally, looking encouragingly at the other, in hopes that someone would start the ball rolling. “I just wanted…It’s nice out …pretty late…is that a new…huh?” they both said, ending the dual conversation lines that had begun simultaneously. A collective sigh of frustration escaped them both and they looked up at that and giggled, struck by the sheer silliness of their lame attempts at conversation.

“Buffy,” Spike finally said, almost expecting to be interrupted, again. “Buffy…it’s nice to see you, but, unless Dawn’s been kidnapped again or the world is coming to an end, again, I’m really tired and just want to be…

“Left alone?” she finished, an unreadable look on her face. Spike sighed, trying again.

“Now, don’t go putting words in my mouth. It’s just that I didn’t expect you, didn’t expect to see you…you know what I mean?” he answered tiredly, stifling a yawn.

Buffy nodded slowly. “Yeah, that would mean that we’d be having a relationship or something, with you expecting to see me, and all.” She looked down at the ground, clearly agitated; not sharing what was on her mind. What else was new!? he wearily thought.

He smiled, using the last bits of his civility and told her, “Listen Buffy, I’m going to turn in now, but, maybe another…

“HERE!” she exclaimed loudly, holding out a pink envelope. “Take it, please?” she said, looking up with a sudden urgency and vulnerability. A surge of energy flooded through Spike’s body as he switched into ‘crisis’ mode. This could not be good.

She stood there, his Little Miss Tiny, looking even smaller than he last remembered her, holding the envelope out to him, her arm slightly shaking. As he reached out and took it from her, he saw that his name was written across the front. A sad smile played across his face.

“I’m surprised you hung around to give this to me, instead of just…” gesturing to his crypt, “...leaving it inside, on the TV or by the clock” he tried to joke.

“I did…leave it inside,” she confessed, “But I wanted to see you, you know, to…” she dwindled off, rubbing her grease- stained tennis shoe against the grass.

He turned the envelope around several times in his hand. “Well, unless I’m mistaken, it’s not a party invitation? Am I correct in that?” he asked, receiving a shake of her blonde head.

“Buffy, do you want to come inside? Talk… maybe,… about ...”

“Listen, I gotta go, Spike. You know, scrape the grease off, get ready for some slaying, all the usual crap.” she interrupted abruptly. She moved to leave, but hastily added, “But I’ll be up for a while after I get back, in case…in case you want to come over.”

She hesitated a moment more, but the lack of snappy come-backs or his usual innuendos threw her, so, leaving more saddened than she came, Buffy turned fully towards the cemetery entrance and walked away, leaving Spike staring after her, wondering just what in the hell that had been all about.

He watched her go and the part of him that would always love her, walked beside her, out of the cemetery, protecting her. The exhaustion of a too full day overwhelmed him again and he fought with himself between opening the letter tonight versus tomorrow morning. Priority won out, and he gently lifted the partially glued flap from the envelope, seating himself on one of the higher chair level gravestones. He slid out the pages, two of them he noticed, and although no perfume or fragrance had been used, he could still detect her personal scent on the paper. He brought it up to his nose and inhaled deeply, holding the air inside. A ‘hit’ of Buffy, he exhaled, tiredly, but still grateful that he had the enhanced ability to pick up her scent. Folding open the letter, he flattened out the crease and began to read. Probably the Do’s and Don’ts concerning Anya and Xander’s wedding, he thought, and he began again, in earnest this time.

Dear Spike, Well, at least she remembers my name, and called me ‘dear’; that’s a switch! Tara suggested that I write you this letter… Hmmm, the little Wicca didn’t mention anything about this letter tonight, he questioned. I can’t see you, ever again. He stopped. Reread it. Reread it again. Went ahead to the next line. This needs to stop, Spike. It has to stop. And it did, for the tears spilling from his eyes onto the letter made it impossible for him to continue reading any longer.

He crumpled the letter and jammed it into his pants pocket, allowing one choked sob to escape from his throat before the dam that had been holding back his emotions, shattered, drowning him in waves of loss and regret…and hopelessness He sunk from the gravestone, sobbing, and begged the earth beneath him to accept his body one more time, for good.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Buffy lay sideways on her bed, listening to the evenings’ sounds. The car tires on the road were amplified by the recent rain, now stopped. A crow cawed “Good Night” to another crow from the tree outside her bedroom window, to be replaced with the far off tinkling from the wind chimes suspended from the back porch. A sigh escaped her weary body, attached onto another and another still. Sometimes, she felt that there were only two times she ever breathed: gasping or sighing, and she had done too much of the latter and, sadly, none of the former since her fists and her rage had had the run-in with Spike. A slight wince plied across her face when her cheek came into sudden contact with the cold, soaked portion of her pillow. Buffy slowly edged upright onto her elbow, removed the giant pillow tissue, plopped it onto the floor, and reached behind her to replace it with another, drier pillow. She changed position slightly, lying back down, so that she could see her Valentine dress hung up over the door’s mirror. She lay there, absently staring at it, surrounded by the house’s normal running noises: refrigerator humming, furnace running, and the occasional drip from the bathroom tub. She noted the complete absence of human sound. So, this is what it’s going to be like for me in the future, she thought. Dawn, getting older by the minute, going to dances on her own; overnight stays, LEGIT overnight stays; and in a matter of years, three to be precise, college….if she could financially swing it for her little sister, who wasn’t so very little any longer.

Buffy rolled over onto her back and thought about what she had been doing at age 15…16…17…! A flash of her and Angel, “celebrating” her hour’s old 17th birthday together, ran through her mind…and her body. ANGEL. The great supposed love of her life, now with a life of his own to love…little Connor. It hadn’t been hard to hear about it through the demon grapevine: one L. A. demon telling another, and telling another, until it made itself known at Willy’s as a regular topic of discussion; resulting in over- the- table betting on different odds about the child’s future. She finally caved in and called Cordelia to debunk or give credit to the rumor, and with much genuine regret, Cordy had told her that it was the truth. No one had wanted to hurt Buffy’s feelings, resulting in the moratorium of phone calls that had occasioned between the two cities.

After a protracted silence on the phone, Cordy asked her if she: A) wanted to talk to Angel herself or B) even let Angel know that she had called. Buffy’s continued silence over the receiver finally signaled to Cordelia, that “Maybe another time, Buffy. Maybe when all of this ‘sinks’ in.” They had lite-talked for a few minutes more, Cordy sharing her story of Gru, coming through a portal from another dimension to claim her as his Princess and love of his life and in closing , innocently asked if Buffy had started to see anyone after Riley’s departure. “No.”, she replied, hesitantly, “I’m not seeing anyone right now.” A volley of good-byes and promises to call back soon followed and Buffy put another chapter of her life to an end with the replacement of the phones’ receiver into its cradle. She absently touched the place between her breasts where the locket had made its home for the past 36 hours, and still missed its presence. She had loved the lovely lie to herself that she was going to find a way to afford it, to be able to commemorate her desire to re- live by embracing a memento of someone else’s life. Now, that too, was gone…both the dream and the locket. And Spike. It had been 24 hours since she had visited him in the cemetery and she realized that writing the letter had been the death notice for their relationship. One of her suggestions, that they remain friends, had not resulted in Spike’s reappearance into her life: not by cruising past work, lounging outside her front porch, or even caring enough to hate her by telling her to “shove off”. The acceptance of her apology had apparently had an expiration date, and she had missed it by at least a week. She was embarrassed by the memory of her hoping to show Spike the locket, and joking lightly with him that the To B…Love, S could have been them, should have been them. She had reopened the locket countless times to delicately touch the two curls: one grey, one blond, and the innocent daydream of adding her and Spike’s locks to the collection. But those HALLMARK moments only happened in romance novels and summer movies, not the real life Sturm und Drang that was Buffy’s so called life. Brushing away the newly flowing tears, she sat upright, plumping the one remaining pillow against her back and the wall. She delicately ran her fingers from one hand up her arm, producing shivers, and finally, placed a slim finger against her lips, running her nail over its surface, attempting to emulate a kiss. Not just a kiss, one of Spike’s, to be truthful. Never expecting to live past the ripe old Slayer age of 18, she fully and honestly expected Angel to be the love of her short life, never believing that there’d be time for another one. A more adult one. One that included Spike. It was that dogma, coupled with her confusion and anger at being brought back that resulted in the dangerous cocktail of denial that she had sipped from daily, poisoning her thinking against any possibility of a different ending of happily ever after. Talking to Tara candidly about Spike had resulted in Buffy seeing for the first time just how much the two of them had had in common. But, she had focused on the sex in her denial of her true feelings and it wasn’t until Tara asked her a pivotal question that she even considered another truth. “Buffy…” Tara broached cautiously. “I need to ask you something personal that maybe you haven’t thought of yet. Do I have your permission to do that?” she added, not looking up from her folded hands within her lap. Buffy’s stillness led Tara to look up, noticing the faintest of nods signaling her friends’ acceptance. Taking in a deep breath as if she needed the sheer volume of air to force the issue, Tara ventured, “Buffy, did you ever stop to think that it’s not the sex with Spike that’s bothering you so much, but, the type of sex you’re having, whether it would be with him or not?” The shocked look on her friend’s face yet her silence, allowed Tara to continue her theory. “I… m-m-mean, speaking from a gay or alternative lifestyle perspective, I’ve seen this reaction a lot from women coming out. Part of them wants to be in their new life so desperately, but…it’s as if the old life just won’t give up…without a fight, it seems. Anyways,” she muttered, barely perceptible, “it was a thought, just, something I thought….” she closed. It was that afternoon, after another mindless shift at work, after her tearful return of the locket to a surprised and disappointed Maude, after no reply from Spike, after her brain had burnt through all of the firewalls that she had erected to survive mentally being the Slayer, that her epiphany stopped her in her tracks as she approached her empty house. It HAD been the sex, or more specifically, the sheer freedom from all of her pre-programmed beliefs that she would abandon each time with Spike, that Buffy had been doing battling against. She had always been one to follow the rules: black or white, good or bad, cheap knock off of Prada shoes or the genuine article. It was easier when there were no shades of grey and her suburban lifestyle exacerbated her natural tendencies. To step outside of that comfortable box, to remake the box, HELL, to destroy the damned box that she had now outgrown….that was the real origin of her battles. Spike’s body had just simply got in the way of her destroying one of her last fears: that she had killed a human and had become all that Faith and the Original Slayer had predicted: Death is your “gift”. That she had become what Dracula and Tara, via her dream, had predicted: You think you know…what’s to come…what you are. You haven’t even begun. Dragging her body up the stairs, into the house, and to her bedroom, her growing awakening to herself and her new needs is what ultimately led to the tear-soaked pillow and her curled up form on her bedspread. Buffy sat up with a jump. A memory swirled up from a repressed depth. I’m full of love? I’m not losing it? No, implied the Guide. Only if you reject it. Love is pain and the slayer forges strength from pain. It is your nature. For it will bring you to your gift. Death is your gift. But, the Guide hadn’t signified death of what, and, reeling from her mother’s recent passing, Buffy had naturally tied the two events together. Death, she suddenly realized, could signify the end of many things: people or beliefs. Ways of thinking. Ways of reacting. She whipped her head back to look at the clock. The dance had already begun but there were hours remaining before the Bronze would wind down for the evening. With a renewed sense of purpose that she had not felt since her second rebirthing, she sprung from the bed, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand and grabbed the dress from its hanger. There’s still time, she hoped, there’s still time to love. Edited by: Medusa at: 3/19/02 5:54:38 am Medusa DOOR WHORE Posts: 516 (3/19/02 5:53:38 am) Reply | Edit Part ten -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Spike reached into his pocket for the box cutter and felt the crushed paper, instead. Furrowing his brow, he pulled it out…TOO LATE...and realized that it was the Dear John letter that Buffy had given him the previous night. Maude had sensed a change in him within seconds of his entering the store, and without prying, had allowed him the necessary time to adjust by letting him work in the stockroom for a while. She busied herself with returns and paperwork as he ripped into empty cardboard boxes and trash. He was still too disturbed by their break-up to worry about the locket for now, and had mentioned nothing to his friend.

Part of him was so desperate to read the second page of her letter, just to be close to her hand again. But, the futility of it all, the utter hopelessness of his love for her and her suggestion of scaling it back down to friendship…he didn’t have the strength for it any longer. He knew that tonight was the Valentine’s Day dance at the Bronze and he also knew that Buffy would be wearing the suspect locket there this evening. Probably dancing on tabletops with Richard or whatever Tom, @#%$ or Harry that the Scoobies could dredge up for her. Always the usher, never the groom, he laughed bitterly to himself. He had seen Buffy talk to any man when he was around rather than be caught dead with the, well, the dead. But that’s NOT the point!, he complained internally, dragging another armload of cardboard to the dumpster. The point was that both times that her perception of him had been altered by the Willow-nater, Buffy had delighted in a relationship with him, or at least seen him as an equal! For Chrissake, they were even planning a marriage together!, a fact that she never brought up to him even though no memory loss had happened as a result of the botched spell.

Feeling that he had brooded in the backroom enough and knowing that there were hours of tears ahead of him, he dusted off his hands and went out front to rejoin the living. Maude was teetering over the waist high divider in front of the window display and was startled when Spike made a silent entrance, dropping the tray of jewelry that she was placing out front. He immediately ran to her aide, saying, “I’m so sorry, Maude! I should have made more noise! Here, let me help you with these.” as he scrambled to pick up the necklaces and rings that had scattered about the store. Maude laughed and bent down to join him. “I’m not some doddering old shopkeeper who doesn’t have her wits about her, William! At least not yet!” she teased. “I dropped the tray because I lost my balance, plain and simple. Why, if I wasn’t so lazy I’d……” But the remainder of her conversation was lost on Spike who had stopped: hearing, thinking, seeing anything except for the locket that he now held within his hand.

Maude finally noticed that she was not getting any response from her usually attentive friend and finally looked up from the treasure hunt, noticing his fixation with the locket. She reached out to touch his shoulder and he jumped, startled back into this reality. “William, are you okay? What is it, dear? It’s so cliché I hate to say it, but, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost!” she queried, slowly rising and stretching her back. Spike looked up at her with the most vulnerable expression she had ever seen on a person. The look….and the tear…just one…in his left eye, told her that something too important to ignore had just happened. She reached out a tentative hand and, pulling him upright, she brought him to the red velvet fainting couch that sat against the wall. As if he were sleep walking, he was led, still holding the locket exposed to view in his out stretched palm. Maude gently pushed him down, asking, “William, how about a nice cuppa? Would you like some tea…William….William?” His trance finally broken, he turned his head to the side, lips pursed and nodded in agreement. “Tea,” he whispered, “Yes, I’d really like a spot of tea…please.”

She filled the brass kettle with cold water and placed it on the hot plate to heat up, then turned back to him and sat knee to knee on the couch. She gestured to the locket, “That’s the one that your note concerned… the one that you were so curious about. Is it the one? Is it your family’s?” she asked quietly. He nodded, over and over again. Pulling himself upright, Spike cleared his throat. “Why is it back? I thought that the form said that Buffy…I mean, Miss Summers had it on loan until the day after Valentines’ Day?” he inquired, a mixture of confusion and something else playing across his face.

Maude shrugged her shoulders. “It’s rather sad, really. The young lady came in first thing this morning; I’m convinced that she had been standing outside far longer than she admitted to when she saw me approaching the shop,” she explained. “The last thing, I mean the very last thing that I expected, was her returning it! She seemed quite upset by the whole affair”, she concluded, rising in response to the kettles shrill whistle.

“Why?”

Maude, her back turned and busily straining the tea, waited for more to come forth from William. She turned, casting him a sidelong glance and saw the same expression as before: what was it…confusion and…fear?...play across his features as his blue eyes sought hers out. Placing his favorite Staffordshire mug on the tray next to hers, she brought the tea to the side table and sat down again.

“Why, “what”?” she asked, reaching for her mug and blowing on the hot liquid.

Spike had not broken his gaze from her face, as if she were his only lifeline to the truth. He pulled a breath inward and asked, “Did she say why she was returning the piece? Why she wasn’t going to the dance?” She understood immediately.

“This is the girl that you bought the cut velvet shawl for; your Goldilock’s, isn’t it, William?” There was no reason to hide his feelings any longer and he nodded in agreement. Looking him full in the eyes, she gently placed her hand over his and with his unspoken permission, took the locket out of his palm, placing it in her lap and handed him his mug of tea. She leaned back, indicating with her head that he do the same, and said, “Tell me all that you want to and nothing that you don’t.” And so William began.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He told her about the first time that he had ever laid eyes on her at the Bronze. About how impressed he had been with her agility and speed , “’cause she’s an athlete, ya know.”; how they kept running into each other in the “band” and his final realization that he loved her coming to him in a dream one night, over a year and a half ago. He told of the cat and mouse games of love and hate they played at, never quite sure just who was the cat or the mouse or when their roles would change mid-play. He told of how close they had become, leading him to the brink of believing that one day, she’d complete the circle and admit to loving him, too. And then he told her about Buffy’s visit last night, at his crp... crib...and the letter of good bye that she had given him. “The knife to my heart came on pink stationary: I guess that’s so the blood wouldn’t show.” he ended, shoulders sagging. The tea had gone untouched and turned cold in his hands.

He expected an answer or some sign of something, and then realized that he’d probably bored poor Maude to death…’real’ death, and looked up to find her studying him. Slightly taken aback, he sat upright, setting the mug on the floor. She continued her assessment, looking him up and down, weighing in what she was about to say. Finally, picking up the locket from her lap and holding it in her closed hand, she crossed her arms and said, “Tell me about your locket, William”.

Spike began the theoretical story of his great, great, great grand mother’s locket when she said loudly enough to startle him, “NO! I told you to tell me about your locket, William! Your mother’s locket from 1880. I want to hear the real story…now!”

Fear began to prickle his skin and the vampire’s need to dominate and kill crawled into the back of his throat. The chip didn’t activate his pain center and he figured it was because his terror of hurt was real. Gathering all of his strength inwards to conquer his growing fear, he rasped, “I was telling you the truth about my great…” but he never had the chance to finish the lie.

Maude’s free hand snapped out at him and clasped over his, clamping down with surprising strength. “William…do I have your attention now?” she bit off. Eyes wide, he nodded slowly in agreement. She continued. “What you were telling me was a half-truth. I want the whole truth, the real truth of why you’re so affected by this piece,” and she held the locket aloft for him to see. She released her grip on his hand slowly but still held his eyes. “William, I know that you’re a vampire.” When Spike tried to withdraw, she grabbed his hand again, but gentler this time.

“How? I mean, how long have you known and why did you hire me if you knew?” he asked with honest puzzlement.

Maude gave him a Mona Lisa smile and gestured towards the jewelry display case…the mirrored jewelry display case. When the knowledge finally dawned on him, she indicated with her gestures as to whether or not he planned to bolt, and he let out a sigh and shook his head “No”. She continued, “Do you think that you’re the only vampire in Sunnydale that wants to buy something pretty? Or the only demon for that matter? I knew that you were a vampire the first time that I met you,” and she pointed at the mirrors placed strategically around the ceiling. “And why did I hire you? I needed an employee…and a got a new friend, too. And I’ve come to respect both. I find that if you start all of your relationships out on a clean slate, you’re rarely disappointed.” The nod to the inscription on the back of his mother’s locket pleased Spike and he rewarded Maude with a relieved smile. “Now, William, and I hope that I can still call you “William” rather than a different name…tell me the story behind your mother’s locket.”

They settled into the velvet confines of the couch and Spike shared his earliest memories of the heart: seeing the shining gold dangling from his mother’s neck as she’d bathe him and put him to bed. He retold the story of his first haircut and his “Mum crying her eyes out and saving a lock of my hair, next to dear Da’s.” He shared with her his father’s early death and the borderline poverty they lived with, well, borderline by the moneyed London crowd’s standards. And finally, for the first time to anyone who hadn’t actually been there, he told her about his death at Drucilla’s hand, or rather, fangs. “And I never saw my Mum again, ever. I hope, no… pray, that she died of old age,” he added, almost inaudibly. Although the tea would be ice cold, he reached for the mug and drank from it deeply, washing the dust and memories out of his throat.

Throughout all of this, Maude listened intently; laughing and cooing with sympathy during all of the right moments. When he had finished, she sat in a calm, shared silence with him, allowing him time to regroup. Finally, when she could tell that he would listen, she asked, “Why didn’t you take Miss Summer’s to the dance tonight? Why didn’t you ask for the night off?” It was an honest question and required an honest answer.

He pulled in a breath and let it out. Rolled his shoulders. Steeled himself into giving it voice, making it real. “We had a fight. A really bad fight. And she was ashamed of me for being a.... vampire and broke up with me last night.” he finished, crushed.

A puzzled look played across Maude’s face. “William, are you sure she broke up with you? She was very upset this morning and mentioned that her boyfriend wouldn’t be forgiving her for what she’d done. I normally don’t interfere with young lovers…” and she patted his shoulder, adding, “but in your case, I’m making an exception! Exactly what did she say to you that lead you to believe that she wanted to end it?”

Spike hesitated, and finally placed his hand inside his pants pocket and withdrew the severely crumpled note. He attempted to smooth it out against his leg, and held the two sheets out, his hand trembling. He automatically reached for a cigarette, placing it between his lips, about to flick the lighter open, when an “Ahhem!” broke his auto pilot and he saw Maude pointing to a NO SMOKING PLEASE sign by the front door. Embarrassed at his faux pas, he sheepishly tried to place the cigarette back inside the package, and when it continued resisting, he slid it into the cuff of his trousers. “Later.” was all he said, with a shy smile. Sorry, he gestured by a shrug and a grin.

Maude held the letter in her hand and indicated with its pages, “May I read this? Will that be okay?” Spike bit his lower lip and nodded silently.

She arose and made her way to the countertop, for better light and her reading glasses. The locket made its home on the top of the glass beside her. Picking her glasses up, she placed them on her nose and began to read. Once. Twice. And after the third time, she cleared her throat at the increasingly nervous vampire and asked, confused, “Are we reading the same letter here, William?”

He got up and crossed to her, joining her at the counter. “Yes! That’s the letter that she handed me last night in the cemet…” he looked at Maude and knew that he could continue. “…cemetery. Couldn’t even break up with me face to face; had to hand me a letter and then cottontail it out of there, as if she hasn’t spend more time in a cemetery than me!, “ he groused. Her questioning look led him to say, “Another story, and another time. Now, Maude, what’s open to interpretation with a Dear John letter?”

She held out the pink hued pages and pointed to them. “Read them. Read them out loud.” she insisted, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall.

Spike took them from her and wanted to run out of the store, through the plate glass window if necessary. Was she daft?, this new friend of his. What was so hard to understand in “maybe friends” and I can’t do this with you any longer? If it had been anybody other than Maude, he would have shredded the pages and then their face and throat before embarrassing himself with reading this agonizing exposition out loud. But…it was Maude and he could do this for her. It wouldn’t be the last pain he’d ever know.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He cleared his throat, swallowing the tears that were already forming unseen inside his eyes. He cleared his throat again, and a firm nod from her pushed him into finally bringing the letter into focus and beginning the painful ending of Buffy.

Dear Spike, he looked up and shrugged. “Pet name, that one,” he ineffectively explained. He began again, after Maude cleared her throat this time.

Dear Spike, Tara suggested that I write you this letter in case I didn’t see you. But, I needed to write this letter because I can’t see you, ever again. Not like this. Not like we have been. Not ever again, like this. I should never have hurt you as badly as I did in that alley. I’m still mad at you for letting me hurt you like that, but, you were the one that said, “You always hurt the one you love.” This needs to stop, Spike. This hiding from my friends, the lies, the guilty feelings. The pain. It all has to stop. For good. You’ve helped out a lot. And Dawn really likes you: “crazy teenager”! And if you get done reading this and don’t hate me for taking so long to apologize, maybe it can at least end in friendship for us.

Spike stopped, tears streaming down his face, unable to continue. His hand fell to his side, clutching the pages. He looked at Maude in frustration. “What’s the use, I ask ya? What’s the friggin’ bloody use of finishing this? So that she can drive two stakes through my heart?” he lamented, angrily using the back of his hand to smear away his tears.

“Read”, was Maude’s stern reply.

Not sure of why she wanted to continue torturing him, he shakingly lifted his hand, placing the previous page behind the unread one and brought it up to his eyes. He continued.

Spike, I want to start a clean slate. Tabula Rasa, like this beautiful locket that I found at an antique’s store says. Tara translated it and it means “Clean Slate” or a new beginning and that’s what I want for us, Spike.

Stunned, he snapped his head up, looking into Maude’s eyes. “Read”, was all she said.

Yes, US. I want and NEED a new, clean, beginning… for us. I Love You, Spike or William or whatever you want to be called. And I’m tired of the fighting and the hiding and the anger. I’m tired of dying. I want to start living and feeling. And I feel the most alive when I’m with you. I have a lot of stuff to still work out, Spike. And it’s going to take my friends some getting used to “us”, well, actually, probably just Xander. I was afraid of the pain. The pain of losing someone I love…again. But, I want to take the risk, again. I want to start loving, again. And I want it to be with you. I’ll understand if you just want to end it all with me, but, maybe, if you don’t want to quit completely, at least you’ll want to still be friends, like I suggested earlier. I’ll be waiting up tonight for your answer. Love, Your Valentine, Buffy

The pages fluttered to the floor, like two pink butterflies that had tired mid-flight. Reeling and unable to stand, Spike stumbled to the couch, placing his head in his hands and heaving a sob of anguish. “Oh my god, I was one page away from having her. My Buffy, my love. One. Page. Away.” he broke. Footsteps signaled Maude’s approach and she sat down next to him, wrapping her arm around his back and pulling him against her. The gentle soothing, shooshing sounds that a mother makes to a child in pain issued from her mouth as she slowly rocked him back and forth. “I was so close. I was so close.” he kept repeating, over and over again to himself. Spike looked up, pain and disappointment a wash over his face. “What do I do? It’s too late, isn’t it?! That’s why she returned the locket. She’s not going to the dance. She wanted ME to take her to the dance!” he wailed in disbelieve and realized loss. Maude gently raised his head and when she had his attention, she pointed to the wall clock. 7:52 p.m. She brought his face back to hers and said, “It’s still early. The dance lasts til midnight. Go to her, William. Go. GO! NOW!”

Not fully comprehending, she had to raise him to his feet, pick up the fallen papers, fold them and hold them out for him to take. Slowly, he grasped the pages and a small sliver of hope began to take root on his expression. Maude took his leather duster from the coat rack and handed it to him. “GO, Sweet William. Go to your Goldilocks’. Go to your Rapunzel. But, in order to have a happily ever after, you have to meet your princess at least at her castle door. Now… GO!” she exclaimed, pushing him towards the exit.

Spike smiled for the first time in days, and the power from it sped up to his eyes, illuminating them. As he turned to leave, her hand held him back for a second and he turned back towards her. Suspended at eye level from her raised hand was the locket, his locket, and Maude held it out to him. He slowly raised his hand and took it gently from her, filled with a degree of awe that he hadn’t felt since…since he read that Buffy loved him.

Before he could protest, she opened the shop door, accompanied by the chorus of small bells and said simply, “GO!” pushing him out, then, closing the door behind him and turning off the lights.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Buffy straightened the last satin ribbon on the Edwardian-style tea dress and stepped back to give herself an honest appraisal. It had been the last gift from her Mom, “a folly” Joyce had explained guiltily with a self-conscious shrug. “I saw it at the mall when I was returning those shoes I bought. It’s pretty girlie-girl, Buffy, and I’d understand if you didn’t want to be seen dead in it…OH!, I mean…you know what I mean, don’t you, honey?” Joyce added, flustered, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ears. But the moment that Buffy had pulled it out of the pink and gold shopping bag, she knew that this dress would never end up being returned.

It had gone by many names during the course of time that Buffy had owned it yet never worn it any further than her bedroom door. First, it was the “First Date” dress, then the “Make-up from Fighting” dress, followed by “Happy Birthday, Buffy” dress and finally, the “No Boyfriend Who Didn’t Leave for the Jungle” dress. There had never been that right occasion with Riley, and Buffy no longer blamed their relationship for that lack thereof. It had been what it had been and now it wasn’t. If Riley hadn’t left, then she’d never have been with Spike and that was where she wanted to be now…if he’d have her, if he could ever forgive her; if she could ever totally forgive herself.

She went to her jewelry chest and pulled out one of her favorite pair of Joyce’s earrings. “Ear bobs were what they used to call earrings, but, way, way before my time!” Joyce would joke as a bitty Buffy would watch her mom and dad get ready for an evening out. Buffy walked to the mirror, the translucent ecru-colored over-dress sliding softly over the peach-toned satin slip. She threaded the wires through her ears, adjusted her hair a final time and stepped back. The image was complete. Twin sets of delicately cascading seed pearls fell in unison from each ear, framed by wisped curls from her shortened bob. The empire waist and puffed, capped sleeves gave an aura of instant age to the confection and the silk embroidery and small satin ribbon roses formed a floral cascade across the bodice. It was the first time in years that Buffy felt like “Buffy”. Not the “Slayer” nor the “Avenger” nor the “Code and Ethics” Buffy. Not the “Big Sister” nor the “Grieving Daughter” nor the “Dug Herself Out of Her Grave” Buffy. She. Just. Felt. Like. “Buffy”. It had been a long time coming.

She grabbed her beaded silk evening bag, just barely large enough to hold a lipstick and a …well… lipstick and flicked off her bedroom light. Lost in the blissful world of hope, she went downstairs to the kitchen, left a note explaining her whereabouts to who ever would wander through her home, and headed to the foyer. With a last second look for any unnecessary energy-consuming lights left on, she opened the front door and smashed directly into….

“Sp-uffy! What are you doing here!?” they chorused in unison.

Spike took a step backwards, taking all of her appearance in with a glance. “Spuffy?” he said sardonically. A blush creeped over Buffy’s face and she retorted, “Well, you said it too! Well, at least the “uffy” part and then I married the “Sp...” part….” And her voice faded away as she self-consciously tucked a curl behind her ear, glancing at her feet.

She ventured, through the slightest of trembling lips, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I mean, not… here at least.”, looking up finally to see a smile on his tilted face.

“So, you’re “seeing” me now, are you?” he countered, continuing the playful banter. Moving closer, he added, his voice lowered to barely a whisper, “Is that what you want, Buffy? Is it true…what you wrote…that you lov…” he cleared his throat, and continued, “…that you want to be “seen” with me now?”

She looked up from his lips and into his sea-deep eyes. So vulnerable, yet so full of hope. When had she ever seen that look from someone other than her own eyes looking back at her in the mirror, when she had worshipped Angel as a girl? But she was a girl no longer and craved a new relationship, an adult relationship and Spike could provide it. Had provided it all along. She just needed to check the box that said, “Yes! I want to subscribe!”, and he’d be there, at the front door, like Vampire’s Clearinghouse.

“I do,” she whispered back, never leaving his eyes, seeing how they caressed her visage while he looked at her.

He took a step backwards and eyed her appreciatively again, admiring the way the dress clung in all the right areas and floated over others. “Where you going, all dressed up? I thought that you weren’t going to the dance any longer?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“I was…I was going to find you. To find out why you didn’t come over last night. Why you didn’t even care enough to tell me you hated me…last night…” her voice dwindled off. Then, a sudden thought occurred to her and she popped out, “Hey, how did you know that I wasn’t planning on going to the dance? NOBODY knows that! They’re all expecting me at the Bronze, like, an hour ago!” she replied inquisitively.

“Well, now, if I told you all of my secrets, where would the mystery lie in our relationship?” he teased. Carefully, he added, “We do have a relationship now, don’t we?” His hopeful look betrayed the head of the pin that he was balancing upon.

Buffy brought her hand up and traced the outline of his full lips, and leaned in, replacing her index finger with her own lips. Breathing his scent in as deeply as a baby does its first breathe of air, she closed the gap between the two of them and pressed herself into his body. As they connected, a foreign rustle from the coat’s interior caught her attention and she pulled back slightly. Opening his eyes, Spike looked down at his coat and said, “Oh…I almost forgot. I have something for you.” And he withdrew a slightly crushed shopping bag, the ribbon binding the handles, slightly askew. “Happy Birthday, Buffy! A couple of days late, but hey, I get points for having it a full day before the blessed event!” he added defensively.

Buffy took a step back from her lover and accepted the offered gift. “Ooooo, presents! And from my favorite new store; how did you know?” she asked coyly. Then a frown creased her forehead, and she added, “Is Dawn in on this? Or Tara? Did they put you up to this?” she asked as her fingers worked at untying the bow.

Spike pulled himself upright and said proudly, “I have a job now!” Buffy stopped mid- action and he placed a finger over her protesting mouth. “A legitimate job. A real job. Like a… real man.”, he swallowed.

Buffy, silenced, took this all in and saw that he was being serious, really serious. His hand gestured to the bag. “Well, open it will you! Come on, the suspense is killing me and that’s hard to do, being all dead already and all!” he joked, lightly.

The ribbon, released, slid down the bags’ side, and pooled between their feet. Buffy withdrew the rose-covered shawl and gasped: at its beauty, it’s texture…its cost! “Oh God, Spike, it’s gorgeous, simply gorgeous but you can’t afford...”and then she recalled seeing it on his bookcase earlier and added, “Hey! I’ve…”

“Quiet! You don’t know what I can afford or not, now do you?” he asked. “Let a man have his pride, will ya? And let a man be able to give his princess a fairy tale ending every once in a while, will ya?” He reached out to take the shawl from her hands, and drifted it around her shoulders, adjusting it so that it was perfectly centered to frame her beauty.

A look that Spike had never seen directed at him played across her face. Happiness? Admiration? Love? Oh, please, let that look be what ‘love’ looks like on his Buffy’s face.

She reached up to feel the plush fabric and looked him full in the eyes. Thank you, she lipped silently, for no words could escape her tear-clogged throat. She swallowed, and was finally able to say, “Thank you, Spike. I’ve never received anything so beautiful. Never!” And pointedly, she added, “From anybody. Understand?” she finished, raising both brows to emphasize her meaning.

He said nothing. He just….looked at her. All of her. Her beauty. Her vulnerability. Her strength. Her stubbornness. And now, how she looked with his gift placed around her shoulders. He was swimming in her beauty. Drowning in it.

“Turn around, luv.” he said simply.

Her slayer instincts kicked in for a microsecond, and the primal survivor skills of turning ones back on ones enemy….well, she sighed, holding the shawl to her slim body and turning around, she’d just have to reprogram some of those old slayer skills now, wouldn’t she? Get a ‘patch’ or a ‘link’ or whatever the hell the current computer upgrades were called.

She shivered as Spike pulled close, placing his lips against her ear and breathlessly whispering, “Close your eyes and be a good girl and keep them closed, until I tell you to open them, alright?” She nodded in agreement, aware of her elevated breathing and temperature rise from the proximity of him to her body. She heard him going through the pockets of his coat and a giggle inexplicably escaped her lips.

“HEY! NO PEEKING!” he demanded, mumbling under his breath about the “bleeding something or other.”

“I’M NOT!” she countered. “But, Spike, hurry up if you want to dance…”

Well-placed kisses to the nape of her neck ripped the breath from her lungs and only a gasp of air pulled quickly back inside helped her retain consciousness. She could sense his arms around her shoulders, and the slightest of pressure from something lying against her breasts clued her into “jewelry”. He dragged the moment out for both of their delights, playing his fingers against the exposed skin of her shoulders and neck, finally ending the moment with the sound of a clasp being locked into place. A final kiss to secure the lock was pressed against her skin and she raised a tentative hand to feel the new jewel.

Her fingers hit the outline of the heart first, and with increasing urgency, her mind traced the memory of the twin pearls, the engraved roses, the script on the back. Not believing what she was feeling, she flew from Spike to the hallway mirror and saw reflected back the impossible….the heart-shaped locket that she had just returned that morning, clasped around her neck, presented to her by the one she loved. A sudden fear crossed Buffy’s face and she opened her mouth to…

But Spike already knew what she wanted to ask and politely couldn’t. He crossed over to her saying, “It’s all legit, pet. I got it from Maude. You know Maude, don’t you? Right square lady, that one is.”, he nodded, straightening the chain over her dress, his hand lingering on her arm.

Buffy couldn’t contain herself any longer and blurted out, “But, Spike! The cost! So you got it through legit means, I mean, the cost…how many Siamese did you pay for this?” she frowned, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

“None.” he replied, honestly. Then, reaching out to hold Buffy squarely in front of him, guaranteeing her full attention, he gently added, “It’s mine. A family heirloom. My family. Maude was just returning it to the rightful owner when she gave it to me this evening.”

Buffy eyes never left his. “And the people who signed the back? And the curls inside?” she whispered, unbidden tears clinging to her lashes.

Spike reached up to touch a tear and stood in silence, balancing it on his finger, and then slowly adding it to his own that had begun to travel down his cheek. “B” was my mum. It stands for ‘Beth’, or, Elizabeth, actually. Like “Buffy” really stands for Elizabeth,” he explained. Continuing, he said, “And the “S”, it stands for ‘Samuel’, my father. And the curls… he looked down embarrassedly, and didn’t look back up, “They were, are, my Da’s and my…baby curls from my first hair cut.” He started to snort with laughter over the incredible lameness of it all, but Buffy’s touch brought him and his eyes back to her’s.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They stood in silence, together, joined by a history of comparisons and contrasts that fate had never planned for. Or, maybe it had. Death is my gift, she mused. Her friends had thought that they’d only buried Buffy’s body those several months past; but, they had also buried her past with her and when she crawled her way out into a brand, new, day, she didn’t leave behind heaven, she now knew. She had left behind all the dead things from her old live: Angel, Joyce’s untimely death, pettiness, prejudice…and the shattered pieces of her previously broken heart. Tabula Rasa. Clean Slate. The chance to start anew…with everything…and every one.

Looking up at Spike, Buffy smiled and asked, “Do you remember in the vamp’s den when I asked you if ‘this was a date?’

He hesitated, not sure of how to answer and slowly said, “Yeees…?”

Buffy broke her hold on his arm and said, teasingly, “Well, do you want it to be?” mischief playing around her eyes and the curled up corners of her lips. She placed her arm jauntily against her waist, leaning on one foot, to give herself a suggestive pose. “You know there’s something between us.” she intimated.

He smiled, and added a sneer to his reply, “Loathing. Disgust.” and turned to back playfully away from her.

Buffy, using her slayer strength, but gently this time, grabbed Spike to spin him around. She pressed herself against his lean form, allowing no air to pass between them. Looking suggestively into his lowered face, she purred, “Heat. Desire.”

She then grew suddenly serious, and pulled back enough from him to make sure that he could see that she was no longer joking, “This is real here.”, she paused, gathering her strength for the limb she was about to crawl onto. “I…I…love you, Spike. I love you and I want us to dance the dance…together…not apart. As friends…and lovers…” she blushed, “…not as enemies. Not any more.” She bit her lip, eyes slightly lowered, waiting for the stake’s blow to her heart.

It never came. Instead, he tilted her head to meet his, and, drowning in the color of her eyes and the emotion he read within, he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose, nodding in agreement.

“Ya, this could be called a date. This could definitely be called a “date”, he assured her, lovingly.

With that said, Buffy held out her arm as if to escort him out of the house. “Well, then, it still being Valentine’s Day and you….being my Valentine…are you ready, Randy?”, she asked slyly, fully enjoying the double meaning to his adopted nom de plume.

Spike gave her an amused nod, took her arm and replied, “Ready, Joan.” shutting the door behind them as they walked, together, arm in arm, towards the dance.

EPILOGUE

Maude leaned against the doorframe, enjoying the sudden quiet and darkness. The last small peal from the doors’ bells faded away, making the silence complete. A satisfied sigh escaped from her upturned lips and she slowly made her way to the front counter. Bending down, she picked up a velum envelope that had been tucked deeply into the shelves recesses and stood up stiffly. I need a good massage when I get back home, she thought wistfully. She brushed her hand across the surface of the envelope, admiring her calligraphy. To William Wiping the counter top off with her sleeve, she placed the envelope dead center on its surface, knowing that William wouldn’t be able to overlook it when he came in the next day.

Taking a last look around for the evening, she slowly made her way towards the red velvet couch and sunk into its depths, pulling her legs up and tucking them beneath her. She patted and stroked the couch’s plush surface and said, “Well, you certainly did your work tonight, didn’t you!? I think an extra helping of lemon oil on those beautiful mahogany legs will be in order, don’t you think?” she teased, giving the couch a final pat and squeeze.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the comforting cushions, relishing the quiet surrounding her. Finally, releasing a sigh through pursed lips, she assumed the lotus position and began to mumble under her breath. The foreign-sounding words drifted out, through her lips, and filled the space around her. A mist spun up as the couch and she began to swirl and shift in form and shape, and a last thought sprung to mind. Not a bad day’s work for a Supreme Court Justice demon, she reflected proudly, as she and the couch gave a *whirl* and a *pop* and vanished into the night.

---

Some tips on writing sexy fan fics posted from the RC:

This is from an Australian author Nick Earls (Zig Zag Street, 48 Shades of Brown). I thought it might be of some use; plus, it's a good laugh.

10 Things You Should Know About Sex – Nick Earls

1. Most People, when about to have sex, would prefer to have their clothes elegantly removed rather than torn. They often have to go somewhere afterwards. The torn bodice simply shows a lack of consideration. If sex is regularly destroying you clothes, you should be giving more though to the sex you’re having. If normal passion regularly ripped people’s clothes to bits, we’d all be turning up to likely sexual encounters wearing out worst gardening t-shirts.

2. Hay is pointy, and a roll in the hay is a pretty poor best option.

3. Lots of things people write in bouncy consensual sex scenes actually hurt in a way that isn’t fun.

4. Remember knees, remember elbows, remember gravity and remember that relatively few people are usefully double-jointed.

5. Bodily fluids don’t just vanish. Which doesn’t necessarily mean you have to account for them on the page, but they might be worth bearing in mind.

6. There is no euphemism for vagina that is entirely without implications. Any choice you make will be noticed, and the reader will be compelled to pause for a moment and go ‘ah, so that’s what it’s called in this book’. And do you really, when you’re sitting round chatting with your friends, use the expression ‘her sex!’ I don’t think so.

7. There’s a limit to the tricks nipples can play, so don’t expect too much of them. Responsive they may be, versatile they are not.

8. Pubic hair is not very interesting either.

9. Any attempt to actually describe a penis will only make it seem sillier.

10. Finally, value restraint. Hold back on the adjectives and choose the nouns with care. Leave a little something to the imagination. And if the words ‘manhood’ or ‘pulsating’ so much as cross your mind, take a brisk walk. There will not be good sex today.

---

We will be posting more "helpers" for writing sexy, wild fan fics!

---

FAN FIC CHALLENGES GROW DAILY! HERE ARE SOME TO BEGIN WITH: CLICK HERE.