Spike Fic: Green Card I


Chapter One

Spike stood, dumbfounded, in his doorway, one hand propped on the frame. He stared at the suited man before him, unconscious of his own bedraggled appearance. Hell, he'd just woken up. He was allowed to be shirtless and touseled. But nothing could prepare him for what this... suit... was saying.

"I'm sorry sir, but the bank is very clear in this matter. Your mortgage is past due, and you have no more credit with any reputable lenders. I've been sent to make you aware that this residence is being repossessed."

Bollocks.

"Like hell it is, mate! Mum's corpse isn't even cold in the bloody ground, and you vultures are trying to take the only thing I have left of her away?"

"Again sir, we apologize for the inconvenient time, but it doesn't change the fact that if you do not vacate the premises within twenty-four hours, you will be trespassing. And, dealt with accordingly."

Lindsay McDonald, legal representative of the First Bank of Sunnydale (and veteran of a thousand judicial wars), barely repressed a flinch at the murderous gaze of the blond man he was addressing. It struck a chord somewhere inside of him, but he had obligations to fulfil. He cleared his throat, preparing to restate his earlier assertions when the door slammed shut in his face.

"Trespassing it is."


Somewhere between the third shot of whiskey and the fifth can of beer - which was only about fifteen minutes later - Spike thought to reach for the telephone. Blearily, he hit the speed dial button and prayed that the chit hadn't left for class yet.

"Hello?"

On a better day, he would have been happier to hear her voice. Today, though, he was merely relieved. "Buffy? God - it's started already."

"Spike? What happened?" Besides your mom dying- she cursed to herself. Thoughtless much?

"The end of my bleedin' life..." He choked back a sob, trying to remember that tears weren't manly, especially not in front of his friends. "The bank. They're taking the house away. They want me out by tomorrow."

"Those bastards! What did they do?"

"Sent some nancy, suited poof to evict me, that's what they sodding did. He-" The ranting was cut off by the doorbell ringing insistently. "Oh, for-"

Spike stormed to the front, cordless phone still in hand. "I swear, I'll bleeding eviscerate them." He flung open the door, to see an unruffled Lindsay still standing there. "What?" he snarled.

Calmly, the lawyer held out a sealed envelope marked "INS".

"I suppose this is a bad time to mention you're being deported." Turning, he straightened his tie and walked to his car. There was a small grin on his face. God, he loved being a lawyer.

"Spike? Spike? SPIKE?... DID HE SAY DEPORTED?" Buffy's voice sounded tinny and far away, as the phone clattered to the floor.

**********

"SPIKE?"

Was it deja vu when it actually happened twice? Only this time, her voice was getting closer and not farther away. Spike had not budged from his spot on the living room floor where he had sunk to his knees an hour ago.

Buffy let herself into the Summers' home with the ease of long practice. "Spike?" She sounded like a broken record, even to herself. But she had no idea what else to say, what else to do. All of her instincts were screaming at her to find some way to fix the problem. Find someone and hit them, or make it all undo itself in some way... gods above, even her thoughts weren't making sense anymore. Spotting him, she dropped to his side.

"Hey, Dad's looking over the papers right now, he's good at this stuff. We'll figure out what to do, I swear, I'm not losing you now, love."

A masculine throat cleared itself from the entry way. "William? Are you alright, son?"

Somehow, Gile's rough voice penetrated the fog surrounding Spike's brain.

"Huh?"

"I said, are you all right, William?"

A raspy chuckle was his response. "Yeah. Where did I put that flask..." Cold hands patted the carpet and felt under the couch cushions. Buffy quietly rose and went to the kitchen, getting a bottle from the cupboard and bringing it to the blonde. "Ta, pet."

Rupert Giles exchanged a glance with his daughter. He removed his spectacles and polished them unneccesarily. This done, he attemted to address Spike one more time. "Um, I've been researching your, er, predicament. While there's nothing I can do about the mortgage-" Buffy winced at her father's tactlessness, and stroked Spike's unoccupied hand, "-I did a fair amount of looking into immigration laws. Did the lawyer present you with any sort of documentation?"

Spike was momentarily torn. To hand the INS letter to Giles, he would have to relinquish either his grip on the JD bottle, or on Buffy. In the end, he chose to jerk his chin towards it, and hope they'd figure it out. The woman at his side reached across his lap and picked the envelope up off the floor, tearing it open with her teeth. She shook it out and handed it over wordlessly.

"Ah, thank you. Well." Giles peered at the letter for a long moment. "It seems that your slot in the Green Card Lottery was declined... since you do not intend to leave the country after graduation, you are not eligible for a student visa... your mother's I-765 doesn't transfer anything to you, since you're over 21... you have no exceptional professional skills, so you can't get one of your own. Well."

"Yeah, that's kind of what I had figured."

This seemed like a good time for Giles to clean his glasses. Again.

Buffy put her arm around Spike's shoulders and lay her head against his neck. She still wasn't sure what to say, but she seemed to be performing the correct actions. Spike's rigid posture was softening, and he was leaning back against her for support. ... or it could have been the JD.

"Ok, Spike. The floor isn't very comfortable, so how about we move you to the sofa?" She slipped her arm around his waist and shifted, so that she rose with her legs, dragging him up with her. He turned his face and nuzzled her hair while she half-carried him the few feet to the overstuffed couch. Getting him settled, she pried the bottle out of his hand.

"Oy! S'mine!"

"Shut up, Spike. Lie down, be quiet, and try not to drool on yourself."

He grumbled a bit, especially when she tucked an afghan around his legs, but gave in to her ministrations. Within seconds, the alcohol hit him even harder, and he fell asleep. Buffy smoothed his hair back from his face, and dropped a kiss on his temple.

"All right." She turned to her father, all business. "Go get your books. Look up stuff. It's what you do."

"Actually, I think that would be more helpful in this instance." Giles pointed across the room to Joyce's personal computer.

"Oh." Buffy strode over, and clicked the Explorer icon. She tagged Spike's username, and typed carefully. "B-L-O-O-D-Y-H-E-L-L..." The keyboard was presented to the researcher with a flourish.

"And you will be...?" He peered at his daughter over wire rims.

She cracked her knuckles. "I need to find something to hit."

"Alright, dear. Just try not to make it a person this time." By the time Buffy had made it to the door, her father was already seated at the desk. He grimaced distastefully. How he loathed the dread machine.

********

Spike made his bleary way back to consciousness with the feeling that he had been clubbed repeatedly over the head with a raccoon. And that said raccoon had been stuffed in his mouth and left to die. "Mum?" he croaked out, distracted by the smell of English Breakfast tea. He had been dreaming, oddly enough, of an entire law firm that had sold their collective souls to the dark forces for a building that had nothing but fifth-floor, corner offices. Weird. His eyes started to slide back shut, when a female hand pressed against his forhead. His brow furrowed. It didn't smell like his mum. She always smelled like lilac and hot cocoa, even at three in the afternoon. This smelled like coconut shampoo. And... athletic tape?

"Buffy?" He grabbed her wrist and focused on the taped knuckles. "Who'd you pummel this time, pet?"

"Just the sandbag. No one at the gym'll spar with me anymore." She grinned at him. "Need anything?"

Spike did that thing, where he opened and shut his lips, as if licking the back of his teeth. It was like he was trying to taste his tongue, and get rid of the taste, both at the same time. "Mint?"

She handed him two ibuprofen and a tall glass of water. "Try this first, I'll see if I can rustle up some Altoids, or at least a toothbrush."

"Thanks, pet." Swallowing the pills, he looked up to catch Giles adding a generous dose of JD to his teacup. He felt his jaw clench, but he felt completely empty. There was no rage left, no tears, no words. Just a weary acceptance that his life sucked, and that at least he had two wonderful people that he could count on.

"How's it comin', Rupes?"

"As for the bank... there's nothing to be done. But rest assured, you're always welcome in our home. You can stay with us for as long as you need to, William, heaven knows your room is always ready."

"Thanks... you know how much that means to me."

"Quite, William. You're like a son to me, you know that. I'll do my best by you, get you out of this connundrum."

"Then I'm in good hands." Spike looked up to see Buffy reenter the living room, mint box in hand. She tossed, and he caught it deftly.

"You're not as hung-over as you look, Slick."

He just snorted, and popped three Altoids at once.

Giles cleared his throat. "Well, it seems that you have ninety days grace before there is a forcible deportation. In that time, you have to file the necessary paperwork and make sure that everything has been cleared, on all levels."

Spike rolled a mint over his tongue. "That's a bit of a relief. Won't be asking for a ride to the airport tonight, anyhow."

"There are a lot of complications, since your entry was on minor status, and your dependency expired with your mother's I-765, but... there's a way you could stay in the country, with permanent, naturalized citizenship."

"Sod all! Seriously, mate? Tell!"

"Er, that is... I mean, it's a bit of an-"

"Dad, it's not that complicated. Spike, in the next three months, you have to get married." _____________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Two

"Right, pet. I'm supposed to find some chit, court her, and get her to tie the knot. In ninety days. Bloody hell, even if I could pull it off, have you any idea what women are like when they hear the word 'wedding'? I'm talking, six, seven months of picking invitations, flower arrangements, bleeding flourescent-green bridesmaid dresses." Spike's face had grown paler than usual.

"Well, it has to be the most logical - and well, only - course of action." Giles pointed out.

"Oh, come on, buddy," Buffy cajoled. "It's not like you can't just twitch those sexy eyebrows at some random U.S. citizen, and bewitch her into a convenience marriage, just for the chance at shagging the Big Bad. Hell, just flip through the yearbook and point at a picture. A hundred dollars says her answer is yes." Buffy pulled the Sunnydale High Memory Book down off the shelf, and dropped it in his lap. The senior gallery page fell open, and his gaze fell on the picture of a beautiful redhead.

**********

"No!" Willow Rosenberg stared at her best friend as if she had sprouted an extra head and was making out with it.

"Oh, come on, Wills! It's only for a few years! Think of the status coup you could score with the old crowd!"

"Um, Buffy, I scored that coup when I showed up at homecoming with a leggy blonde on my arm. In case you blinked sometime since high school, I'm gay. I'm still gay. I will be gay for a long, long time. Besides... Spike?"

"Please? He's going to be deported if I can't find someone to marry him. Besides, Tara would understand. She's a sweetie that way."

"Yeah, well, you haven't seen her as Mistress of Pain." Willow snickered at the old joke. "I'm sorry, it's not going to happen."

"Think of it as insurance! A strong, masculine presence to check out creepy noises at night?" Buffy was obviously grasping at straws.

"Buff, - I'm - the strong, masculine presence. Only, floral scented instead of that nasty, sweat sock smell." Willow grinned, and toyed with her ice water. "Anyway, Tara and I have been talking about some kind of a committment ceremony..." Her eyes sparkled, as they always did when she spoke of her girlfriend.

"Pift! You've still got, what, three years exactly before the Vermont laws are recognized in California! That's the perfect amount of time to become Mrs. Willow Summers! You'll be divorced in time for Tara, I swear on my immortal soul..." Buffy was getting desparate.

Willow grimaced slightly and patted her friend's hair. "If it's that important to you, why don't YOU marry Spike?"

**********

"Right. My sexual power is such that I can make gay women straight. Tell me another one, pet." The Brit in question sprawled back on the couch, knocking the book to the floor.

"Oh!" Buffy pointed at the cheerleading candid that the book fell open to. "She'd do it! She's always wanted your bod!"

**********

"Forget it!" exclaimed Cordelia Chase, up-and-coming starlet. She rolled her eyes and almost hung up her cell phone as she strode through yet another trendy Rodeo Drive boutique.

"Don't you even remember how hot Spike is? He just needs to be married for, like, three years! Then you can divorce, or annul, or whatever is the vogue in Hollywood. It shouldn't even affect your career - Look at Jennifer Lopez!"

"My first marriage is reserved for Josh Harnett. Barring him, a bazillionaire software mogul. I will not be Mrs. Cordelia Summers, not even for three MONTHS! My agent would have a fit!"

"But! But! You used to say you'd do anything for a chance at the Spike pie - you called him salty goodness!"

"No, I called ANGEL salty goodness - and we all know how that turned out. Oh, in a six, that one." Cordelia turned to the salesgirl, and followed her into the dressing room. Buffy's next comment was obscured by the sound of rustling fabric and the arrangement of shopping bags.

"-Columbia."

"Whatever, Buff. Don't you have other people you can bug? Oops! Hang on, Doyle's on call waiting. On second thought, don't hang on, my answer is now, and ever will be, NO. You marry him."

"Cordy-" Buffy stared at the phone in her hand, as the dial tone shrieked at her mockingly. "Twice is coincidence," she muttered.

**********

Spike roared with laughter, and shook his head. "You thought you could get Queen C? What have you been drinking, luv, I could use a pint or three."

Buffy took a deep breath. It was time to get out the big guns.

**********

"Many orgasms, you say?"

"It's SPIKE, An. You know it's got to be good. And as your husband, he'd be legally required to supply them on demand." Please, please, don't see through that bluff... Buffy crossed her fingers under the table.

"Hm. It's an interesting proposition... but there's no economic advantage to the arrangement?"

"We can't pay you for it, that makes it an illegal marriage. But if you file together, you can get better tax refunds, health insurance..." This was the weak section of the argument. It would be easier to convince Anya on the strength of Spike's sexual prowess. She hoped.

Anya looked thoughtful. She looked intrigued. Then her face fell. "I am sorry, Buffy. You and William have been good friends to me for the past few years. While I regret his imminent deportation, I fear that I am unable to agree to this arrangement."

"But-"

"You see, Xander is currently employed at a high-paying job with excellent benefits and many opportunities for advancement, while Spike has no career. He has student loans that would take away my hard-earned money, and prevent me from acquiring the pretty things that I require in my life. And while I do admit that Spike would be an excellent choice for providing many enjoyable orgasms, I think that Xander does a better-than-average job of the same. I have no complaints, and quite a few compliments for him in this area. You see, it's not a difficult decision. But you don't have financial straits..."

Buffy dropped her head into her hands, dreading the next words that would fall from Anya's mouth.

"...why don't you take advantage of Spike's orgasm capabilities?"

**********

"Faith?" she intoned desperately.

"Not bleedin' likely. I... couldn't."

"What? You guys dated for a whole month freshman year... ok, ok. Um, how about Amy?"

"Who?" Spike poured detergent into the washing machine, and spun the dial.

"Amy Madison. She was one of Willow's friends until she... became a crack addict, oh, damn." She kicked a laundry basket in frustration. "Well, there's always Harmony. She still likes you..."

The washer lid slammed down with unneccessary force. "If you think for one instant that I will put up with that bint calling me her 'Blondie Bear' for three bloody years, you have got another think coming, pet."

Another think coming? What does that even mean, anyway? Has he been listening to that old Bill Cosby record again? Buffy shook her head to clear the mental babble she could feel encroaching. "Fine! Aura, Sandy, Sheila, Teresa! Pick one!"

"Sandy? Wasn't she that chit that Red scared the hell out of last Halloween in her black dominatrix getup, what with the random licking?"

"So you want Sandy? I think I have her number here somewhere..." Buffy started to rummage through the kitchen junk drawer next to the laundry room.

"No! I don't want to marry her, I barely know who she is!"

"It's only three years! God's sake, you'd think that you don't even WANT to stay in the US! You just have to marry her, paper and pen, nothing else! Maybe split the rent! Light cooking! Not brain surgery, and certainly not the committment you seem to think it is!"

Spike flinched as if he'd been struck. "Fine then," he snarled. "Who's next on your sodding list of fun?"

Buffy took a deep breath. "Well, you've shot down all the names on my 'sodding list of fun' except the last."

"Well?"

Buffy took another deep breath, and sank down on one knee. "William Summers, will you marry me?"

Silence.

"Bloody hell!"

__________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Three

Buffy stared up at him, still kneeling. "Spike, I'm serious. Marry me."

Spike started swearing, backing up as far as he could before he slammed into the dryer and knocked the detergent on the floor. Swearing intensified.

Buffy rose swiftly , and took two long steps over to him. "Come on, Spike. I'm the only one left. And I'll do it, I swear, Spike. You've got to marry me."

He jerked a hand through his hair, unknowingly destroying a careful gel job. "Are you insane? And why do you keep saying my name like that?"

"You. And. Me. Married. It's not that inconceivable. We practically live together. It's not a stretch. And besides," Buffy looked a little bit hurt, "why not me?"

"Oh for -" Spike's eyes were almost wild. "Buffy... it's not you, it's just... are you insane?!"

The rest of his morning's hair grooming was ruined by the hand that caught him sharply across the back of the head. *SMACK*

"Oy! What was that for?"

"For being an idiot about this whole thing. Spike, you are about to be put on a cargo plane with a one-way ticket to merry old England, unless you suck it up, swallow whatever macho bull that you're dealing with and agree. This is the best - No. This is the only solution."

"It's not that, I don't -" Spike made a frustrated sound, and started to pace within the small confines of the laundry room. "Three years! What if we meet the people that we're supposed to be with, in that time? Say, 'oh, I'm in love with you, but let me check with my husband and see if we have dinner plans'? Love, It's not fair to you."

"Yeah, sure. Like I've had so much luck in that department." Buffy rolled her eyes, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. "We can make it an open marriage if you want," she offered.

Spike ground his jaw. "That's not the point."

"Then what is the point, Spike, because I'm not getting it!"

Thoughts raced willy-nilly through his brain. He couldn't tell her the real reason. Not yet. Hell, mate, not ever! "Because, because," Spike sputtered, "you're like my bloody sister! What with being friends for five years, all the girly talk and the slumber parties! Christ, you've painted my nails! I can't be your husband! I can't even be your sodding boyfriend!"

Hazel eyes narrowed. Sister, huh? Buffy drew herself up to her full height and stalked slowly towards the man leaning on her washing machine.

Spike was suddenly very aware that the shirt Buffy was wearing had come unbuttoned one button too many.

She kept approaching, pausing only when she could feel his quickening breath across her skin. "I have never been your sister." Buffy turned imperiously and swept from the room.

Spike suddenly remembered that breathing was essential to consciousness.

**********

"Dad, I just don't have any idea what else to do! He's impossible!" Buffy tugged on a lock of hair that had come loose from its habitual ponytail. "I don't know if I want to laugh, cry, or beat him until he agrees... actually, that sounds like a plan." She abruptly rose from her perch on Giles' desk, and headed for the door.

Her father caught her by the arm. "Buffy, before we do anything, er, irreparable, you need to cool off and we need to think things through."

"We've thought. We've researched. We've made phone calls and threatened things. The only way to keep my best friend in this country is for me to marry him. And he won't do it!" She threw up her hands in frustration.

"Have you exercised today?" Giles changed topic, seemingly at random.

"Well, no. I had to get to classes early, and what with all the Spike-oriented headaches, I haven't made it to the gym. Stop trying to change the subject. Daddy, help me fix it, please?" She was almost in tears.

Giles touselled her hair fondly. "I'm not changing the subject. Look, why don't you go for a long run, then take a hot shower. I'll see if I can't talk some sense into our young British friend in the meantime. Hopefully, he will be contrite and apologetic just in time for you to graciously accept, and go out to dinner with him to settle plans."

Violently dashing away a hint of moisture that had gathered in her eyes, the young woman smiled uncertainly at her father. "If you say so..." She leaned forward and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. "I'll be back in, oh, an hour or three."

**********

Lines on the street flashed by, at Buffy's side. Obviously, not as quickly as they would have had she been in a car, but their rate of disappearance pleased her. She could feel the muscles of her thighs bunch and pull, the impact of her running shoes on the pavement, as she made a beeline for the least-travelled part of town. Obscure house techno blared in her headphones from the mix tape she had snatched off her dresser and crammed into her walkman, in an almost frantic haste to leave the house. She wanted to run faster and farther than ever before. The pounding beat helped. On an intellectual level, she knew that overextending herself would be a bad idea. But her frazzled emotions demanded their due. Exercise was good. Endorphins were better. Running equated escape, on a psychological level. Running was good. Running meant not having to deal with losing her second mother only five years after losing her first.

Guilt and pain almost knocked her breathless. How could she compare the two? How could she not? Mom was wild, witty, and endlessly creative. She could do anything and everything with a computer, teasing Dad mercilessly over his stuffy, book-loving tendencies. Joyce was quietly artistic, manager of the Sunnydale branch of a large London art museum... but she always had time for her son, and for Buffy too.

They were so different, yet had that same quality of... love. Compassion. Caring. Quiet, reassuring smiles. Infectious laughter and a fondness for cocoa. Graves in Hillcrest cemetery.

Buffy kept running, studiously lengthening her stride to maximize the flex in her calf muscles. Her jaw began to ache from clenching it.

A home away from home. That's what the Summers' kitchen was. A haven for when her own house felt empty and sad. A place to go to with girl-talk questions, or just for a hug. Jennifer Calendar-Giles would always be her mother, but... Joyce could have been.

Joyce almost was.

**********

Giles inhaled deeply, pouring hot water into the teapot. He had started drinking tea instead of coffee several years back, when his then-new neighbor had started inviting him over in the afternoons. Single parents of same-aged teens, they had formed a bond over teatime and biscuits.

"William?" He stuck his head into the converted guestroom. "Would you like some tea, son?"

Spike snorted, looking up from the trunk he was still half-heartedly unpacking. "For an American bloke, you have been well-trained. Four-thirty on the nose, I see."

"Your mother's influence, I suppose." A soft smile. "Did you want?"

The younger man smiled in response. "Can't rightly refuse a good cuppa, now can I?" Both men settled down, Giles seating himself at the desk while Spike half-sprawled on his bed. "So, what's shakin', Rupes?"

"Man to man? I'd like to know why you haven't asked me for my blessing yet."

Tea suddenly errupted from Spike's nose. He coughed, trying to mask his sputtering. "Come again, mate?"

"Buffy informed me that the two of you will be getting married. Quite soon, is what I was made to understand. So why haven't you asked for my blessing, like a gentleman?"

"You've got it all wrong, Rupes. I can't marry her, I won't! I don't know what the chit said to you, but it's bloody wrong."

"You mean that you won't be summarily deported in exactly 79 days unless you wed my daughter?"

Trapped, Spike lost some of his bluster. "Well, that part's true enough..." The teacup was set on the dresser, and he began to fidget. "I just... this is such a hard decision to make, you know? If I want to stay here, with the people who mean more to me than family, I have to get married. But I can't just pick some bint I don't know, and I can't make myself wed a girl that I do know. I just couldn't trap her like that. Marriage isn't supposed to be about convenience." Spike's gaze turned to the window. "It's supposed to be about love."

"In a perfect world, William, that's the way it would always be. But difficult circumstances require difficult decisions. If it helps, I don't think that marrying you would be any great hardship for my daughter." Giles grinned, eyes twinkling. "I certainly wouldn't mind you being family." His tone resumed its serious notes. "You're romantic enough that I know you'll treat her like a queen. But you have to be pragmatic, too. She's willing to do it. You shouldn't reject her offer out of some misguided notion of chivalry."

Spike turned his head, meeting Giles' eyes full-on. "I shouldn't marry her. I don't love her as a wife."

"But she loves you as a friend. For three years, it will be enough."

________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Four

Showers were definitely of the good. Water, near to scalding, pounded Buffy's shoulders and back, much as her feet had pounded the pavement. Both had the same cathartic effect. She was feeling much more human. Coconut shampoo left a heady scent in the air, as she rinsed off for the last time. She felt grief, yes. Buffy felt like some part of her would always be grieving for the loss of both women. But she knew that she had things to accomplish that didn't involve spending the rest of her life shadowed in sorrow.

Joyce would have wanted her son to stay in California, with the Giles'. Buffy intended to make it happen.

**********

Spike intercepted Buffy while she was headed back to her room. A towel was draped precariously over her head, and she was giving her hair a brisk rub-down en route.

"Um."

She paused and looked at him, settling the towel around her neck. "Oh, hi Spike. Did you need something?"

He shifted his weight back and forth. "I'm just... sorry about earlier, love. Can we maybe get some dinner, have a talk over drinks?"

Buffy smiled widely. Dad is a genius. I wonder how he pulled this one off! "Sure thing. Just let me get dressed. I'm kind of naked right now."

An exaggerated eye roll met her statement. "Just be quick about it, eh?"

Buffy grinned again, and ducked into her room. Dropping both towel and robe, she rummaged in her drawer for some clean underwear. She was understandably startled when she heard the door open behind her.

"Hey!" She whirled indignantly, clutching a t-shirt in front of her. Her cheeks heated up when she caught the expression on Spike's face. There was no embarassment or contrition in his eyes. He was hungry, and he looked as if he would devour her whole.

Three long strides carried him across the room, and the shirt fell nervelessly from Buffy's fingers as he crushed her body against his. She had no awareness of anything beyond his penetrating gaze and the feel of his arms around her.

"Spike." The words ghosted over her lips as if they were a prayer, and suddenly, his mouth was on hers. Tasting, owning, claiming - he demanded that she surrender her entire being to him and him alone. Buffy could not help but acquiesce to him, the torrent of sensation and emotion leaving her breathless and weak. She did not even resist when he lowered her to the bed and began laving kisses against her throat. She arched under him, as he nibbled his way down her collar bone.

"So good, pet..." he moaned against her smooth skin.

Buffy fought hard to supress the snicker that threatened to escape. After a long moment of facial contortions, she burst out in peals of laughter. Oh, no. Oh, hell no. She couldn't. I don't care WHAT Anya said - there's no way that I can take advantage of Spike's 'orgasm capabilities'... he's SPIKE!

There was a knock at her door, rousing her from her hilarity. "Buffy? Are you alright in there, love?" The sound of Spike's voice sent her off on another round of giggles.

"I'm fine!" she managed to choke out after a little bit. "I'll just be a mo'." Buffy rolled off the bed, and quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a halter. Still blushing from her ludicrous dream sequence, she twisted the doorknob to reveal Spike's form, waiting not too impatiently in the hallway.

"Did you have a location preference, ducks? I was thinking of going to Buca's."

"Oh, sounds great! I haven't been there in ages. God, I miss their canneloni." Not to mention the incredible drink prices...

Spike offered his arm. "Then are we ready?"

Flashing a patented grin at her best friend, she linked elbows with him. "Let's go terrorize the natives."

**********

Ten minutes later, the blonde duo were seated at their usual booth in Buca di Beppo, the best kept secret in Italian cuisine. As was their wont, they made the obligatory exclamations over the ridiculous photographs that covered every inch of the plaster walls.

"Oh, look! Isn't that a new poster?" Buffy pointed over to the far corner, where a billboard proudly proclaimed "Italians do it with White Sauce".

Spike snickered. "I certainly would've remembered that."

Playfully, she smacked his arm. "You aren't Italian."

"No. But I should've been." His smirk was positively evil. Buffy's attempt at a rejoinder was preempted by the arrival of their waitress.

"Hi! I'm Nina, I'll be your server this evening. In case you've never been here before, Buca di Beppo is a family-style restaurant, which means that all portions are designed to feed two to four people - "

Spike waved his hand, cutting her off. "We're regulars, ducks. Just bring out a wheel of garlic bread - with mozzarella, mind you, and whatever the wine special is." He glanced at Buffy. "You might want to just leave the bottle."

Nina gaped. "Um, are you sure about that?" She looked over at the bottles lining the bar. Each was designed for a dinner party of twelve or more, since each held three to five liters of alcohol.

Spike considered. "Well, it'll save you a few dozen trips. Yeah, I'm sure."

When they were settled with their appetizers and beverages, Spike and Buffy spent a long moment arranging their plates, nibbing at salad, and generally avoiding each other's gaze. Buffy finally broke the impasse.

"Well, there are drinks to talk over," she gestured at the huge, bulbous decanter that graced their little table. "So, talk, bleach-boy."

Spike looked down, noticing that his hands were shredding a slice of bread of their own volition. He watched them reduce it to crumbs, then reach for his glass. The wine disappeared just as quickly. He was enjoying this freedom, just letting his limbs act as they saw fit, when suddenly his shins announced to his pain center that he had just been kicked.

"What was that for?"

"I said, 'talk' Spike. That does not mean 'shred your garlic toast' or 'have some more wine'. It means TALK."

"Just give me a sec, alright, pet?" Spike was having trouble meeting her intense gaze. Since when was he so uncertain with her?

"God, I hope that our marriage isn't this awkward." Buffy's words finally elicited a response.

"You still want to?" Spike didn't know whether to be relieved or dismayed.

"For the hundredth time, yes. If it would keep you here with me, I'd marry Parker." Buffy grinned at him, but her eyes denied the teasing tone of her words. She was serious.

Spike managed a smile. "Oy, knock on wood. You shouldn't tempt the fates like that." He paused. "But you mean it, don't you, ducks?"

"Mean what? That I want to marry you, or that I'd marry that jackass?"

He looked down briefly, and began to nudge his wineglass around in its spot. "That you'd marry me."

Spike sounded so quiet, and so distraught, that Buffy couldn't help but reach over, covering his hand with her own. "Why is that so hard to believe, honey? I mean, I'll handle it however you want. If you just want it to be on paper, and still date around, that's fine. If you want to settle down and play house for three years, I can be the little wife."

Her companion snorted.

"Hey! I'm serious! I don't want to inconvenience you, and I don't want to be a nag. But Spike, if we don't do this, I'm going to lose you. You've been my best friend for five years. Five Years. I'm not willing to give that up because some prick in the INS decided England couldn't contribute to the U.S.'s diversity this year."

Spike smiled, and dropped a quick kiss on her knuckles. "I know, I know. And I'm not wanting to lose you either, Buffy. It's just- "

Whatever Spike had been about to say was lost, since Nina reappeared. "Hey, have you guys decided on a main course yet?"

The two blondes exchanges a glance. They hadn't even been looking at the menu board. Buffy shrugged.

"Bring on the canneloni."
**********

An hour and a half later, the giant bottle was looking frighteningly empty. A huge ceramic platter was pushed to one side of the booth, nothing left on it but smears of marinara. Buffy and Spike were totally plastered.

"It's just, I don't want to be married. You know how it was with my parents - wait, you don't know, that was before I came to Sunnydale... why is the room spinning?" Spike leaned his head gently against the back of the booth.

"Din't -hic- didn't your dad leave you and Joyce right before the move?"

"Dead on. 's the reason she took the job here. Hated him." Spike's expression twisted into a snarl. "Hated his stupid secretary more. Skanky, lopsided little bint. Da couldn't keep it zipped, took the stupid whore with him and moved to Spain." Another glass emptied, and he struggled with the weight of the bottle. Buffy helped him lift it to refill. "Spain. Who bloody goes to Spain of all sodding places. Please." His face crumpled, his voice almost a sob. "He didn't love her enough to stay with her. And now she's gone."

Buffy tried to lunge across to hold him, but there was a table in her way. She looked at it, blinking, trying to get her alcohol-sodden mind to process a solution. Brightening, she slithered under the table and climbed up on Spike's side clumsily. She banged against his bruised shins again, but he didn't seem to mind.

All Spike knew was that he suddenly had an armful of garlic-y Buffy. He sniffled, burying his face in her hair and started to cry. "She's gone."

"Shh... it's ok, sweetie. I miss her, too..." Buffy started to pet his head, rocking a little bit back and forth, before she realized that the motion was making her queasy. She stopped. "Do you want some more? I think there's a little bit left in the bottom..."

Spike nodded pathetically, and she shared the last cup of wine with him. Both were drunk, tear-streaked, and exhausted. "Can we go home now, Buffy?" His voice sounded small.

She nodded. "Let's go home."

**********

The phone rang again at the Giles' residence. Rupert snatched it from its cradle. "Hello?"

"Daddy?" Buffy hiccoughed, and then sneezed.

"Buffy? Are you alright?" Giles sounded concerned.

The subtler nuances of tone were flying over Buffy's head, though, so she answered cheerfully. "I'm fine, daddy... but Spike's too drunk to drive, and I think I broke his keys. Can you come get us?"

Giles repressed a snort. "Where are you, honey?"

"Um..."

"Think hard. Where did you eat?"

"Oh! We had canneloni! And a big bottle of wine. But Spike just threw up in his backseat... ew. Spike! That's gross!"

Her father put two and two together and came up with Buca's. "I'll be there in a few minutes, Buffy. Don't go anywhere."

"Ok daddy! Bye bye!" Buffy giggled, and then frowned. The off button wouldn't push. Oh well. She tossed the phone into the front seat, and shook Spike.

The man in question made an expression of woeful distaste. He was kneeling on the pavement, holding himself up against the open door of the DeSoto's backseat. "I barfed."

Buffy leaned against the side of the car. "I know." She patted his head. "I did, too."

"Okay then." Spike shifted, pulling her down to the ground next to him. "You still smell good." He pillowed his head on her shoulder, and promptly fell asleep.

That was how Giles found the two of them. Curled up together in the parking lot of a closed Italian restaurant. As he walked over to them, he thought to himself. It's a miracle that no one stole the car. When he reached their actual side, he caught scent of something garlic-laced and acidic.

Oh.

________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter Five

September, 1998
Buffy's smile just wouldn't quit. It was the first day of her senior year. Senior year! She was finally on the last step to getting out of this evil, demonic trap that they called a high school... Well, the demonic part was figurative, but the evil sure wasn't. Principal Snyder was rounding the corner.

"Ms. Giles. Just who I was expecting to see. Late on the first day, are we?" The diminutive man sneered at his pet project.

"Why, hello, Principal Snyder. I hope you had a lovely break. Actually, I believe that I'm a few minutes early. But I'm sure you'll find plenty of excuses to yell at me this year, after all, it's your last chance to try to expell me." With a smirk, she breezed past the little man. I can't believe I ever let that little troll intimidate me. Oh, good one, Buffster! Her smile widened even further when she caught sight of her best friends, Xander and Willow.

"Oh! Wills! That is the cutest shirt! When did you get it? I thought you were going to wear the green today?"

The redheaded girl glanced down and tugged on the hem of her fitted yellow shirt. "I thought it would be nicer. More sunshiny. Since it's Sunnydale. And I'm a big dork, aren't I?"

"Hey, no bigger than I am. You'll always have that going for you." Xander slung a companionable arm around Willow's shoulders. "Plus, bonus for avoiding the thrift shop Hawaiian prints."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with bargain hunting... although, you really do look like a luau on ecstasy," Buffy conceded.

"Didn't you hear? It's 'drug addict chic'. All the rage in Milan." Xander struck a supermodel pose and all three cracked up. The sudden ringing of the homeroom bell startled them into the classroom.

Good friends, priority parking, exclusive parties, off-campus lunch privileges... Senior year was going to rock.

**********

Senior year was going to suck. Buffy's good mood had gone the way of the dinosaurs with the arrival of a new student. Damn him, and his black-on-black, eighties-reject sense of style. She wanted to make Billy Idol cracks, but they would be too obvious. If only he would STOP GETTING ASSIGNED NEXT TO HER IN CLASSES! I mean, it's not even like it's alphabetical. Giles, Summers. No matchy-ness here. Why do they keep pairing us up? Maybe it's one of Principal Nazi's lame attempts to get me to drop out... it would be like him to pick a greasy little... ugh.

She couldn't help but shudder.

"Cold, pet?" came a smooth drawl from her left side. The new guy, Spike - What kind of a name is 'Spike'? Score one for the girl named 'Buffy' - was leaning casually against the station in the chem lab. Since it was the first day, they weren't really expected to do anything with the equipment, but they were assigned lab partners anyway. Buffy scowled.

"Just contemplating my extreme misfortune. And don't call me pet."

"All right then, ducks." He smirked.

How dare he smirk? God, he's infuriating. Buffy was so busy fuming that she missed whatever he was saying. "What?"

"I asked," he reiterated, with extreme condescension, "what misfortune was that? Did you accidentally wear the same blouse as someone else? Forget to put on vanilla perfume, like the rest of the lemmings?"

Buffy just gaped. What the hell was he saying? Why was he saying it? That was it. "Were you dropped on your head as a child, or did you leave your manners in the mother country? Look, you pea-brained pipsqueak, I have done absolutely nothing to you. Where exactly do you get off insulting me? And stalking me? And I do NOT wear vanilla perfume. Ew." ...And there's that damn smirk again...

"The mother country? Oy, that hurt, love. Wounded me deep." Spike patted his hand over his heart. "And it's not like it's a challenge to insult you. Prob'ly another one of those flaky cheerleader types, with the pom-poms and sharp spelling skills." His smirk was positively evil. "I was just commenting."

Buffy just stared. "The cheerleaders don't even like me. And I may not be an A-student, but you're a jackass." She thanked her lucky stars when the bell rang, providing her with a perfectly timed excuse to flounce away. Jerk!

**********

"Can you believe the nerve of that guy? It's not like he even knows me." Buffy paused in her rant to take another bite of the day's cafeteria mystery special.

"And you are so right. The cheerleaders all hate you." Cordelia Chase smiled sweetly over at her, snagging a cookie from her boyfriend Xander's plate.

Buffy gave a patently false smile in return. "Why, thank you, Cordy."

"Anytime, Buffy."

"Ladies, ladies. As much as I enjoy a good catfight, there's still food to be eaten, hm?" Xander looked around the table, easy-going grin in place.

"Hmph."

He was obliged to pacify his girlfriend with a kiss. "Better?"

Cordelia smiled radiantly. "Much."

Buffy coughed loudly. "Back to my pain, everyone?"

Willow looked up with a guilty expression, having been distracted by her own significant other. Oz just looked... like Oz. Stoic and expressionless.

"God, guys, I'm sorry. I must sound like such a flake. But there's just something about this guy that just makes me want to... aaaarg!"

A tray clattered down at her elbow, and there was suddenly a leather-clad platinum blonde seated next to her. "And which guy would that be, ducks?"

Buffy was again caught with the incredulous staring. Oh, no, he did not!

"Um, hi. I'm Xander, this is Cordelia, Willow, and Oz. I'm assuming you've met Buffy." The young man was not unaware of Buffy's raging distaste for the blonde guy, but his friendly streak urged him to make introductions.

"Buffy? Is that really your name? I just thought the teacher was confused." Spike actually had the audacity to snort.

Buffy's jaw tightened imperceptibly. "My mother gave me that name."

"Your mother, yeah, she's a genius, isn't she?" He looked around the table, quirking a brow at the expressions of shock on all their little faces. Bleeding pathetic automatons.

The irritation and annoyance that she had been feeling all day started to bubble up inside of Buffy's stomach. When he said that last comment... she could hear roaring in her ears. Without conscious thought, she flashed to her feet and backhanded Spike to the floor. "Don't you EVER talk about her! Ever!"

Spike stared up in total surprise at the spitfire that was now towering over him. Her face was red and her expression furious. His hand touched the rising welt on his cheekbone and his brow furrowed. "Oy! You shouldn't go hitting people like that." He regained his feet with startling speed and grace. He leaned in, to loom menacingly over Buffy. "Little girl like you, could get hurt messing with the wrong person."

"You are a jackass." Buffy planted her hands firmly on his shoulders and pushed him back. Before he could recover, she launched a blinding punch combination at him.

Spike's head snapped backwards under the blows and he snarled. Grabbing her outstretched arm, he wrenched it behind her back. "Mind what I said-"

His advice was cut off by a vicious head-butt and an elbow to his stomach.

"Ow!" Spike clutched his forehead in pain, releasing her. Buffy then slammed her knee into his nose when he doubled over in pain.

Oh, sod chivalry. The chit started it. Dashing the blood from his now-broken nose, he landed a right hook on her jaw. The growing crowd gasped.

Buffy rocked backwards, assuming a martial arts position. She bounced lightly on her toes, demeanor professional, but her eyes blazed. This was very, very personal.

Spike managed to block her roundhouse kick and dodged a few jabs. He recognized her form and now knew how to defend himself against her. His confidence level grew, and the two of them traded blows and blocks at a furious speed. Spike's cocky grin was firmly in place. He could handle this.

Buffy catalogued his reactions and attacks with the ease of long practice. He could deal with ju jitsu? Then how about this-

Spike was caught off guard by the flying tackle. The girl shouldn't have been able to knock him over, but... he was suddenly flat on his ass, the tiny blonde straddling his chest. She had him by the throat, and had her other fist raised threateningly.

That was when Commandant Snyder decided to break up the fight.

"That's enough!" bellowed the gnomish principal. "Ms. Giles. I should have known it was you. Both of you, in my office, now."

When Buffy hesitated, the man grabbed her hair and tugged. "I said, NOW, missy!"

Eyes wide with indignation, Buffy released Spike and got back on her feet. Her enemy rubbed his throat, and picked himself up as well. Shooting death glares at each other, they stalked towards the office.

"Gee. I bet he feels real manly now," Xander quipped, popping a chip in his mouth.

"Oh, like you could take down the Buffinator," Willow protested.

"No, I couldn't. But you see? My manly pride is still intact. I've never been dumb enough to try." Xander shared a grin with Oz. Cordelia just rolled her eyes.

**********

"Well. I hope you're pleased with yourself." Mr. Rupert Giles, librarian, pushed his glasses firmly onto the bridge of his nose.

Buffy's expression was a mixture of shame and defiance. "He deserved it."

Giles slammed a heavy book down on the checkout counter and glared at his daughter. "Buffy Anne Giles! That is not the point! You are here for detention - detention! - on the first day back to school! I am sorely disappointed in you, young lady."

Spike, also seated at the long detention table, started to snicker.

"And you!" Giles rounded on the miscreant. "I have no idea what you did to provoke my daughter, but rest assured that I do not care. Both of you, just sit still and be quiet. I'll be cataloguing in my office right there-" he pointed, "-so don't let me hear so much as a peep from either of you for the next two hours."

With that, the irate librarian strode over to his office and slammed the door.

"Yikes," Buffy murmured.

"I'll second that... is he really your father?" Spike commented, in a conversational tone.

Buffy nodded. "And he's maaad..."

A snort came from his section of the table. "Are you sure he's not a closet Brit? Because with the tweed and the stuffiness, he could almost pass for my old history prof back in London." Spike watched her carefully. Talking about her mum had gotten him pummelled. Hopefully, she wouldn't be so touchy about her da.

To his relief, Buffy giggled. "Oh, don't I know it. I mean, not about your teacher. But yeah, Dad could give Masterpiece Theater lessons in stuffiness." She smiled. At him.

Spike was confused.

"Um... not to provoke you, and not that I'm complaining, mind, but... you seem a lot less hostile, pet."

Buffy pushed the hair out of her eyes, then examined the bruises and scrapes on her knuckles. "Well, you started the civil portion of the conversation. If you'd stop being so annoying, I might not have to hit you anymore." She looked down, as the attempted humor in her last statement fell flat. Buffy felt her guts twist. I miss you so much, Mom.

Spike's smile faltered. He leaned forward, concerned about this girl for reasons he couldn't explain. There was something more going on here than just beating off an irritation. "Pet? About lunch... I really didn't mean to upset you like that. I was just trying to keep up, you know? Been watching too much sodding telly." His explanation seemed awkward, even to himself. "Oh, bugger. Look, pet, you've been flaying me all day. I just wanted to even the score. On American telly, they always insult each other's mothers. That's all I was trying to do - even if I can't really say 'yo mama'?" Spike's accent on the last two words was a horrific approximation of Will Smith.

Buffy almost cracked a grin. Instead, she met his eyes.

The platinum blonde looked so contrite, and so genuinely repentant that she relented.

"It's not what you said," she replied softly. "At least, not really." Buffy chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then took a deep breath. "My mother was killed in a hit-and-run five months ago."

Spike's eyes widened in shock. He almost forgot to breathe. Oh, you're in it deep this time. Stupid, sodding wanker, had to be a smart ass and rule the school... "I am so sorry. I'm sorry, and I'm an idiot, and I should have kept my big mouth shut, and-" he began stammering, not having the verbal ability to express how completely and utterly horrified he was.

"Spike-"

"-I can't even begin to imagine what that would be like, and I am so, so sorry, I should've known better, I should've asked, I don't even know-"

"SPIKE! Cut it out! You're babbling. You're sorry. I get it. You didn't know, you couldn't've known." Buffy's hands curled into fists, and she tucked her legs up in the chair. "It's okay."

He looked positively hangdog. "You sure, pet?"

This time, Buffy did smile. She nodded, too. "Yeah." Her grin widened as she shook off her melancholy. "I can't rightfully hate the first guy I've met in an age that can properly counter my highkick-punch-roundhouse combo."

His expression brightened minutely. She wasn't going to kill him? "Oy, but that head-butt was brilliant, not to mention that last tackle."

"I was a little surprised it worked. I mean, you've got great form, but I would've expected you to know more street-fighting technique." Buffy quirked a brow at him.

Spike quirked one right back. Buffy noticed, for the first time, that it had a neat scar through it.

"Well, I was concentrating on not getting my brawling ass kicked by your ju jitsu." Heavy boots came to rest atop the table, and Spike lounged backwards in the uncomfortable wooden chair.

"You seemed to be doing pretty well. How long have you studied?" Buffy propped her elbows on her knees.

"Coupla years. Since I was eight, really. Was a bit of a runt in my younger days, helped me to avoid getting pummelled." Spike tossed out the information diffidently, as if it didn't matter that he was confessing to a weakness.

Buffy was surprised. Maybe there's more to this guy than peroxide and leather. Hmm. "That long? What's your specialty?"

Spike shrugged one lean shoulder. "I mix it up. Started with karate, like most kids. Added kung-fu later, some ju jitsu and judo when I started secondary. Mostly just took what I could, when I could." He started to smirk. "That, and I picked a lot of fights."

"Ah." Somehow, the smirk wasn't quite so annoying.


Chapters 6-11
Chapters 12-15
Chapter 16



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Eternal Devotion

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