"Yes, Buffy. I'll marry you."
________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter Seven
March, 1999...
Spike's jaw dropped as he opened his bedroom door. "Buffy?" He caught a glimpse of tear-streaks and general dishevelment before he found himself with an armful of sobbing teenage girl. "Shh, pet, it'll be alright..." he offered, stroking her hair. He was at a loss for an explanation. As far as Spike knew, things were peachy in the Buffy-verse.
He gently guided her over to the bed, sitting down and pulling her into a more secure embrace. One hand continued to move through her tresses, giving what comfort he could. Whatever it was, it had to be serious to be affecting her so. He hadn't seen her this upset since... never.
Seemingly hours later, Buffy finally looked up with red, swollen eyes. Biting her lower lip, she pulled slightly out of his arms and changed to a more casual pose, by leaning against his shoulder.
"Feeling better now?" Spike nudged her companionably.
"Yes. No. I don't know," Buffy mumbled. "Can you make it stop?"
"Make what stop, love?" He was growing more concerned by the second.
"It's... Angel. He told me that he changed his mind."
"About what?" Spike coaxed, wondering. Whatever the jerk had done to upset her, he would pay. He'd met the poof over Christmas. Didn't have too high an opinion of him, but he seemed to make Buffy happy.
"He called me. He... he's transferring to Columbia University. This week. And he said that he wasn't going to come back for graduation. Or prom. Or any other event. And he doesn't want to be with me anymore. Something about-" she choked back a sob- "long-distance relationships not working!" Fat, silent tears resumed their trek down Buffy's cheeks.
"Oy!" Spike stood up. "Well, let's go!"
It was Buffy's turn to be confused. "What?"
"Well, the wanker's obviously too stupid to live. I say, we help him with that problem. He's still at UCLA for a few days, we'll swing by, leave him bruised and bleeding, maybe ram some hot pokers through his small intestine..." Spike trailed off with a grin, waiting to see if his gambit worked.
Buffy was startled into a half-smile.
Success! "I mean," he continued,"he's rather massive and all, but between the two of us, I say we can take him."
Looking up at his patented smirk, Buffy could feel her desolation begin to dissipate. When she had hung up the phone earlier, she had thought her life was over. Angel was The One, her Only, and that without him, there was nothing else.
"Hell," he continued, getting caught up in the idea, "we could get the whole gang in on this. I know Dru would scare the ponce out of that nancy-boy, what with her loony-bin, cat-scratch fighting technique." He forked two fingers and made a hissing sound through his teeth, imitating his girlfriend.
Buffy started to giggle. "And Xander'd be all over him with his patented berzerker hair-pulling that worked so well against Harmony..."
"And never underestimate Red. She could prob'ly rip his spleen out through his windpipe," Spike added with a flourish, immensely pleased that Buffy tears were gone.
"Oh! We could keep score!"
"Bonus points for hitting the git where it hurts - the hairgel."
In the kitchen, Joyce smiled at the peals of laughter coming from upstairs while she added marshmallows to the steaming cocoa. It sounded like her son had come up with a solution for whatever had brough Buffy storming though the front door an hour before. Setting the two mugs on a small tray, she headed to the staircase.
*****
*****
September, 2002
Bugger all, can I take it back? Spike wondered, as Buffy dragged him through yet another fine jeweler's store. It was only the fourth of the day, but he was getting tired of staring at ring after ring after ring, watching Buffy obsess over the minutest details before rejecting them one and all. He had no idea what she was looking for. He only knew that, whatever it was, she hadn't found it.
"Luv, just pick something. I'm going to kill you if I have to go to another store. It's not that complicated." Spike shot a despairing glance skyward as they were accosted by yet another excited, overly-attentive sales girl.
"Hi! Welcome to Jarrod's! Today we have a special on diamond solitaires and tennis bracelets...
Spike tuned out the rest of her little speech. It's like she can smell the boredom. She knows that I'll buy something, anything, if only to end this ridiculous hunt for 'the perfect ring'. As if it even mattered what the ring looks like, as long as it fits... I want to go home. Seeing the expression on Buffy's face as she eagerly conversed with the girl, he gave that up as a lost cause.
"-marquise cut, or princess, the cathedral setting is very popular this year, as is the contour. Have you considered having smaller diamonds along the band as well?"
"I'm not really sure what I want. I've seen so many pretty rings, but not The One, you know? And I'm not sure about the diamond band, we're still students..." Buffy was torn between anticipation and disappointment. She was so eager to have a ring, to be engaged, to finally have plans laid, but Spike's still obvious reluctance was ruining her happy day. While she agreed that the true reason behind this expedition made her feel a little phony... she was still getting to buy, and wear, a diamond ring. A diamond engagement ring. She couldn't help but be excited.
Buffy was just heading over to the display case to try on a few likely prospects when Spike had some kind of a mental episode. At least, that's what it seemed like to her.
"ENOUGH!!" he roared. "Buffy, get out. Leave. Now. Back away from the jewelry, love, and go home. I've had enough of this. No more shopping."
"But-" she protested, her hand frozen, mid-reach.
"No buts. I'll buy the sodding rings. I've had enough." Spike's expression wavered between pleading and commanding. Buffy hesitated a moment longer, then relented.
"Fine then. But if I hate it, you have to deal with the return policy nightmare." She backed away from the ring case, making a show of keeping her hands away from the merchandise. Casually adjusting her jacket, she started towards the door. As Buffy passed Spike, she dropped a kiss on his cheek. "Don't be long. I'll be at the Java Pump." What the hell is his problem?
Spike watched her leave. When he turned back to the counter, the salesgirl was giving him a thousand-watt smile.
"What kind of ring did you have in mind?"
"An expensive one," he smirked slowly, watching her eyes light up with little dollar signs. "But... not from you."
The girl's jaw dropped as he left the store in a swirl of black leather. There goes my commission. Jerk.
Returning to a nearby jeweler, one that didn't have an annoying prat on the floor, he walked straight up to the case. The eldery man who owned the store beamed when he jabbed his finger down.
"That one."
Taking a cue from his brevity, the man quickly removed the simple half-carat ring from its display bed. "Anything else?"
"The matching wedding band, one in the same size, and the man's ring for me."
Ten minutes later and quite a few hundred lighter, Spike left the store with three white-gold rings safely in his duster pocket. Time for an espresso.
Buffy was seated at a corner booth, sipping some kind of an iced frappuccino, through a straw.
"Poncy girl coffee, that's what that is," he commented, sitting down next to her with his double-shot. "Bet you drink wine coolers, too."
Buffy grinned back at him, glad that he was over whatever his issue had been. "I do love my daquiris."
Setting a chocolate biscotti in front of her, he sipped his Italian brew. "Ah. Now that is a man's drink."
Buffy snorted, remembering their night at Buca's. "You really should have been Italian.
Smirk. Oh yeah. Time to go home, put on the Manchester United match, finish that book for class tomorrow... Spike wandered off into a comfortable daze, enjoying the silence with his fiancee. Oh, yeah, right.
Suddenly recalling the reason for his shopping reprieve, Spike put a hand into his duster's inner pocket. "Here, pet."
Buffy caught the jeweler box that he tossed to her. Snapping the lid open, she smiled. Cute. "I guess simple is best, right?"
"Cheaper, too." He leaned back smugly. "It wasn't too hard."
Heh. Just look at that smug bastard. Think it's over? Oh, it's just begun. "Good job, honey. Now, there's more money in the budget for my dress." She stood up. "David's Bridal is having their bi-annual sale."
She supressed her snicker at Spike's expression.
Dress? Sale? ... Damn.
________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter Eight
He had thought ring shopping was bad. This was infinitely worse. Spike's despair had returned thousandfold, because ordering Buffy out (and picking one himself) just wasn't an option anymore. They were never going to get out of here.
"Spike! Come here!" Buffy voice called to him from behind a rack of dresses.
He groaned. "Yes, pet?"
"The tuxes are over there," she pointed across the store, "you should go ask the salesman to help you find the right sizes. I'll be over to pick the style in a few, okay?"
Spike gaped. "It is bloody well not okay! I am not wearing a monkey suit! I refuse."
Buffy blinked. "But you have to! And you need to figure out who your groomsmen are, so that we can order theirs, too."
"What part of 'no' didn't you understand, Buffy? We haven't even decided on a bleeding church wedding! I am not going to dress up like some nancy poofter over this!" He threw up his hands and turned his back on her. "God, it's like the prom all over again."
**********
May 1999...
Spike and Buffy walked into the decorated gymnasium, arm in arm. There was a huge smirk on his face- it had been there ever since he had shown up on her doorstep earlier that night.
Buffy gave him a little sidelong glance, knowing exactly what was on his mind. They had spent the last three days fighting over whether or not he would be wearing a tuxedo. Spike had won. Looking at him now, in his smoke-grey suit and vivid blue shirt, she couldn't help but forgive him. In a concession to the formality of the occasion, he was wearing a tie- a necktie that matched the grey of his suit. Oh, take that, Drusilla.
The whole school was in a buzz about that one. Since the third week of the school year, Spike and Drusilla Kramer had been inseparable. But three days earlier, they had suddenly stopped. No explanation was given, and no dramatic scene was played out, but there were whispered rumors that she had cheated on him. No one knew for certain. Spike had seemed to bounce back rather quickly, returning to his regular, sarcastic self within hours of the breakup. Since he already had purchased a 'couples' ticket, he asked Buffy if she wanted to risk being seen with him. Of course, she had agreed.
After greeting Willow, Oz, Xander, and Anya, the two headed out to the dance floor. As they began to sway to the music, Buffy caught sight of Dru in the arms of Owen Thurman. She snickered.
"What's that, ducks?" Spike glanced down at her. The dress she had rummaged up was certainly cute. Kind of a light blue irridescent. Something like that. Skinny straps, and her hair all done up in one of those bizarrely elegant 'do's.
She jerked her chin in the direction of his ex. "Dru. Scraped the bottom of the barrel for a date and wound up with one of my rejects."
Spike followed her line of sight and furrowed his brow. "Wasn't that the bloke with the Emily Dickinson fascination?"
"Yup." She studied his expression, trying to figure out how this was affecting him. "Spike?"
"Yeah?" he turned back to her and gave her a quick whirl.
"Why did you and Dru break up?" It was driving her insane. They were best friends, but he still wouldn't tell her what went on at the end of the relationship. Tightening her grip on his shoulder, she could feel him tense up.
"There's nothing to say, love. Just didn't work. It happens, like."
His explanation sounded weak, but she let it go. It was senior prom, and Buffy was going to enjoy it.
**********
October 1, 2002...
Spike wandered into the kitchen in a pair of jeans. Half-asleep and suffering from bed-head, he casually scratched his bare stomach and opened the refrigerator. Screwing the top off the orange juice, he took a swig directly from the bottle. Then he paused. He looked through the kitchen into the living room.
Willow, Anya, and Buffy were the only people he recognized. There were at least three more women and a man, dressed in a hot pink silk suit.
What the ...? He shuffled closer to the chaos, trying to figure out what was going on.
"Alright then, you'll want the string quartet to be playing as you walk down the aisle - have you decided on music yet? I have several different options prepared, if you just want to pick a package. Also, have you confirmed your location for the reception? There's just so much to do if you want this to be ready for November 23rd. It's extremely short notice, you know." The strange, pink-clad man paused for breath. "Felice!" he snapped, "How are the designs coming?"
"Right here, sir!" One of the women brought a large sketch pad over to the couch.
"Oh, that's perfect!" Buffy exclaimed. She reached out to touch a fabric swatch fastened to the corner of the page. "Can it really be ready in time?"
"Buffy, it's beautiful!" Willow looked longingly at the design. "It would look so pretty on Tara..."
The bride-to-be shot a glance at her friend. "It's mine."
Anya looked up from her calculator. "Hm, considering these figures, the cost of the fabric is feasible, but some of the embellishments have got to go if you want to stay within budget. That damn minister overcharged for the church; we've got to pinch the pennies where we can."
The meaning of the scene slowly penetrated Spike's pudding brain. "Buffy?"
All motion in the room stopped, and all eyes turned to him. Spike was suddenly cognizant of how his hair must look. Blinking, he realized that Buffy was the only one whose eyes were above neck-level.
"Yes, honey?" she inquired sweetly.
"Can I talk to you for a second?" He made as if to move towards her, but was unsettled by the attention focused on his torso.
Buffy set the tome of sample invitations down on the floor and moved towards the kitchen. "What do you need?"
Spike grabbed her elbow and dragged her up the stairs to his room.
Willow giggled. Donovan, the wedding planner, sighed heavily. "Oh dear. While I completely understand," he shot a meaningful glance at his assistants, "we are never going to finish the arrangements if they do this too often."
**********
Spike's jaw was clenched as he slammed the door shut behind them.
"Spike! Stop it!"
"Who the hell are those people? And what the bloody hell are you doing? It's nine o'clock! On a Saturday morning!" His voice was a low hiss.
" 'Those people' are the wedding planner staff. I know I didn't ask you if you were alright with the date, but I had to start with something. I mean, it was almost impossible to find a church on such short notice and we couldn't waste any more time. You wouldn't believe the deposit that-"
Spike cut her off with an abrupt hand motion. "Again, what the hell are you doing? This isn't Barbie Fantasy wedding, this is an arrangement between friends. We can't afford this!"
"But we can! I worked a careful budget out from our savings, and Anya's helping crunch the numbers. So November 23rd is when we'll get married. We're going to have to shortcut on the invitations-"
This time, Spike clapped his hands in front of her face. "Freeze, pet! Just stop. Invitations? Churches? Dates? Why are you doing all of this?"
"It's our wedding! It's supposed to be special." She gazed at him, uncomprehending.
"Oh for-! That's it!" The urge to throttle her was overwhelming. In order to keep himself from murdering his ticket to becoming an American citizen, he stomped over to his dresser and jerked open a drawer. His curses were muffled as he pulled on a black t-shirt. When his head popped through the opening, he spun back to face Buffy. "I signed up for marriage because I don't soddin' want to go back to England. I did not agree to some hideous mockery where you shove our friends into flourescent green dresses and make them carry armfuls of cabbage-sized roses around a bleeding church! This is ridiculous, and we don't have time for it! Again, why are you doing this?"
Buffy paused for a moment, her face reddening in anger. "Hey, you may think this is ridiculous, but I think this is going to be a wonderful wedding. It's the way I've always dreamed. I want this, don't you understand, Spike? I've dreamed of this since I was in third grade."
Spike looked at her, expressionless. "If it means that much to you, you can have your dream wedding..." He watched Buffy's face light up, and he finished, "in three years." Kneeling down, he shoved his feet into his boots and then straightened.
Buffy gaped at him! "Spike!" she yelled, letting fly a punch.
Downstairs, the sound of his name could be heard in the living room. Everyone burst into giggles. "Well, that didn't take long at all!" Willow grinned. The grin grew wider as a loud crash was heard from upstairs.
"Goodness!" Felice, the assistant, fanned herself with her sketch pad. Donovan blushed. The group all strained to hear the muffled voices and thunking of furniture, assuming the dirtiest things possible.
A little while later, Spike and Buffy returned downstairs. They were both a mess, hair disheveled and clothing askew. His hand was latched onto her elbow and he was dragging her towards the front door.
"Wait! Where are you going?" Willow called, blushing beet red.
Spike glanced back at the redhead and snagged Buffy's purse from the side table. "The courthouse."
Donovan's eyes widened in alarm. He called out after the departing couple, "But what about my deposit?"
________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter Nine
Buffy stood with her arms crossed. Her scowl was aimed at the middle of Spike's back. If there had been a sharp and pointy object within her reach, he would have been dead. As it was, she was making him damned uncomfortable.
"Will you just stop already, pet? Wishing me dead won't make me let you have a massive, ridiculous affair with sodding 'Wind Beneath my Wings' for the first dance at the reception. Forget it. We're going to do this now, today. So, give up." Spike's mind was made up. The line to the county clerk's window advanced another six inches.
"Fine. But I don't want to be married by a judge. We'll be waiting all day." For some reason that she couldn't explain, Buffy was hell-bent on being difficult.
"Then where? And don't say 'a church' because it's the middle of the day. I doubt we can just wander into a place and find a minister with nothing better to do for an hour."
Buffy just snorted. The remaining forty minutes it took for them to reach the front of the line was spent in silence.
A few questions, two stamps, and three quick signatures later, Spike was waving a marriage license in front of Buffy's face. "C'mon, we can be wed before the ink dries. Now, where to?"
She nibbled her lower lip, and relented. "Royal Traditions. It's the little wedding chapel off Fifth and Main. They take walk-ins."
"See? It's not as complicated as you think."
**********
Buffy's head was spinning over how quickly it was all happening. It had taken three weeks to overcome all of his heel-dragging and reluctance, and convince Spike to marry her. Now, he was driving the DeSoto ten miles over the speed limit, like he couldn't wait to tie the knot. She was so confused.
The sooner we do this, the sooner we can get on with our sodding lives. I've got studying to do, and I bet she hasn't even finished going through the manuals for her certification exam. Christ. Women, and their damn wedding falderal. Spike shot a sidelong glance at his bride-to-be. "Hold on, pet."
Her small hands tightened convulsively on the 'oh shit' bar, as the DeSoto's brakes slammed on. A tight, hairpin turn brought them into a haphazard parallel park, and then Spike was leaping from the car. Buffy stared at her fingers, trying to convince them that the danger was over. This was going to take a while.
She was dazed and almost frightened by how quickly things were going. Before Buffy had any idea what was happening, an elderly woman had shoved a bouquet of plastic roses into her arms and pointed her down a tiny aisle. Spike was already standing at the end of the room - which was only a few feet away - next to a white-haired man in a minister's suit. The little old woman scurried to a corner, and began to play a very simple version of "Here Comes the Bride". Five short strides brought her face to face with her husband-to-be. And that 'to be' is going to be in about ten minutes!
She inexplicably found herself blushing. Oh god, oh god...
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." The minister began to intone the standard wedding speech. Buffy suddenly went back in time, to memories of the playground during her third grade year. All of her friends tossing wilted daisies and dandylions in the air as she and her then-boyfriend, Scott Hope, were married by an imperious fifth grader. He had given her a cheap plastic decoder ring, and she had kissed him on the cheek. Somehow, it felt the same. Playing pretend in front of a group of strangers instead of classmates, but pretending nonetheless.
Buffy shook herself from her reverie.
"Do you, William Summers, take this woman to be your wife, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others,
be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"
Spike's eyes had never been bluer than when he spoke. Slowly and clearly, his smooth tones filled the chapel.
"I do."
Buffy swallowed hard. Why did he look so intense? Oh god, we're going to have to kiss pretty soon. Why do we have to kiss? I mean, I kissed Scott, but... was it really different? Blinking furiously, she realized that the reverend was speaking to her this time.
"... as long as you both shall live?" The old man's kindly expression somehow made her want to cry.
"I...I do." She cringed at her stuttered response, but no one seemed to notice or care.
Turning to Spike, the minister began the next phase. "Do you have the rings?"
Intellectually, she knew that white gold rings, produced from his jeans pocket, were the same as they had been the day they were purchased. But somehow, the plain bands seemed more dignified now. Almost... solemn. To Buffy, they looked like a pair of handcuffs. Definitely not a decoder ring.
Spike was surprised at his lack of nerves. He was standing steadily, his voice was clear, and his hands never wavered as he took Buffy's in his own. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that this was all an elaborate game. True, not as elaborate as she wanted to make it, but it was still just a game. A pose. A marriage as plastic as the bouquet she held. He cleared his throat, and spoke the words that would ensure his place in the world.
"With this ring, I thee wed." The smaller of the two bands slipped easily onto Buffy's finger.
She looked almost scared as she fumbled with his ring. He felt a little bit bad for her... but he had given her plenty of time to back out. She had been the one to pressure him over this whole thing. And she's bloody well stuck with me now.
Her voice regained its confidence as she mirrored his words. "With this ring, I thee wed."
"By the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." The diminutive reverend beamed at the newlyweds.
Buffy's mind was filled with chaotic babbling. We're going to kiss now. Why? And why does this upset me so? This isn't happening, it isn't... but it is. It really is... The rest of her thoughts started to swirl around like a milkshake in a blender, watching in near terror as Spike's head drew nearer to her own. SPIKE LIPS! LIPS OF SPIKE! And then they were upon her.
There was the briefest of moments when his mouth brushed hers. The tiniest of contacts. Is that all? She didn't know whether to be disappointed or not. Then she shook herself. It's just Spike. No big. It's still... us. Buffy met his mildly concerned look and gave him a broad smile. "We're still us."
He smirked. "You were expecting the Easter Bunny, perhaps?"
Right about then, the processional blared out of the speakers, startling all three of them. After shaking hands with the minister and thanking him, they headed back to the DeSoto in a cloud of bubbles, blown by the minister's wife and their three grandchildren.
Buffy giggled, reaching up to pop one that had settled on Spike's hair. "Aw, I guess I didn't give you time to properly gel your instrument of death this morning."
He laughed. "Yeah, well, it's not like I've never gone without before."
Buffy stared. "When?" she demanded.
"Uh..." Spike wracked his brain while his wife's expression grew more smug by the moment. "You know what?"
"What?"
"You're an annoying chit, that's what."
**********
Willow was in the Giles', kitchen refilling her lemonade, when Felice came up behind her.
"This is an awfully nice house for the two of them... do they rent?"
"No, actually," Willow replied, closing the refrigerator. "They live here with Buffy's dad."
Felice looked taken aback. "Isn't that... awkward for them? I mean, considering how they... carry on," she phrased delicately.
Willow laughed. "Actually, Giles is at some kind of a research convention in Colorado for the next two weeks. So..." She arched her brow meaningfully.
Felice laughed. "I remember when my husband and I were newlyweds. You might want to watch what furniture you touch around here, from now on."
Willow joined in her laughter. "Oh, I don't know if they'll be that bad-"
The front door swung open to reveal the two blondes arguing on the doorstep.
"I don't care if it is tradition, it's a bloody ridiculous custom," Spike groused.
"Come on! I let you pick the rings, the date, the ceremony - humor me! Humor me or discover the wrath that is a pissed-off wife!" Buffy was tapping a toe, but her eyes sparkled with amusement.
"Oh for-" Spike gave an exasperated sigh and grabbed her around the waist. He ignored her squeals and slung her over one shoulder, taking two big steps, and dumping her on the couch amidst piles of "Modern Bride" magazines. "Happy?"
Buffy struggled to maintain her glare, then burst into peals of laughter.
Spike grinned, inordinately pleased with himself.
"Buffy!" Willow and Anya magically appeared at her side. "You did it? You're married?!"
The young woman beamed at them. "Yup!" She held up her hand to display both rings.
"Isn't that just the most darling thing I have ever seen!" Donovan cooed.
Seeing that the entire group had clustered around his wife, Spike cleared his throat. "Alright people. It's been a long day. You've said your piece. Now get out, there's a Manchester United match on in five minutes and I don't want to bloody well miss it."
Various sly looks were exchanged around the room, and people began gathering their belongings. There were muffled giggles and yet more sly looks.
"Soccer. Good one, Spike," Willow stated blandly, giving him a peck on the cheek before dragging Anya towards the door.
The feisty accountant struggled in the redhead's grip. "See Buffy? I told you that it would all work out, if you just took advantage of those excellent orgasm abilities you were telling me about!"
Spike sputtered. There was no other word for it. Then, he turned beet red. "Buffy!"
"Anya!" Buffy was completely embarassed by the other woman's utter lack of tact.
"Dr. Scott!" Donovan whispered to Felice, trying not to laugh.
"Janet!" she murmured back, completing the movie quote. The other two assistants sniggered.
Buffy, who overheard them, shot them a dark look. Still giggling, the wedding planners gathered their equipment and started to leave.
"I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to do more, Buffy. But if you ever just want to do lunch?" Donovan held his hand up to his ear, imitating the "call me" sign. With a saucy wink, he ushered his girls out of the Giles home.
"Well, Mr. Summers." Buffy tried to regain her composure.
"Well, Mrs. Summers," Spike grinned,"would you grab me the Guiness? Match's on." With that, he flopped down on the vacated couch and reached for the remote control. Buffy started to laugh.
"Oh, woe is me," she said mockingly. "Not even married three hours, and the romance is gone, all gone." Returning to the room with a beer in each hand, she curled up on her end of the couch. "Spike! You didn't say they were playing Southampton!" Buffy settled down to watch with avid interest.
Spike's eyes were glued to the screen, but he spared a moment to appreciate his life. Not every day a bloke marries a girl that not only fetches the beer, but likes to watch football.
**********
Much later that evening, Spike started to get ready for bed. Reflected moonlight brought his attention to his left hand, and the ring that now adorned it. Strange. I don't feel any different, but... things aren't the same anymore. Shrugging out of his button-down shirt, he pulled his tee over his head in a quick motion. As he reached for his belt buckle, he was startled by a knock on his bedroom door.
His hand froze where it was. "Pet?" he called out, wondering what she was up to. His unspoken question was answered when she entered the room. Spike's eyes widened in shock as he took in the gauzy vision that was approaching him. In the moonlight, she looked like an angel, a nymph, the cover of a trashy romance novel.
Dressed in a short, silky white nightgown, Buffy continued towards him. Stopping at arms length from him, she turned slightly pink and looked away. Her hands toyed with the hem of her gown. "I thought maybe, since we didn't do the whole ceremony thing... you might possibly" -here she gulped- "want to have a proper wedding night?"
________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter Ten
Willow was smiling broadly across the cafe table. Her manicured fingers twined with her girlfriend, Tara's. "So, Buffy. How's married life treating you?"
Buffy managed a grin, then went back to poking through her caesar salad. "Not bad at all. It's pretty much the same as before."
"And last night? Was it wonderful? All, candles and sweetness, and tender smoochies?" The redhead leaned forward to catch every juicy morsel of information.
"Huh? Willow! Spike and I have never had sex. Ever. We've always been just friends." The blonde looked up at her friend.
"What? You're lying. Not even once? Like, post-breakup cuddling or anything?" Willow sounded disappointed.
Buffy just laughed at her.
"Well, I thought that the two of you were, you know... Everyone does. You're just so good together." Tara's soft voice was almost a whisper.
"No. Not remotely. There is not now, nor has there ever been, any type of groiny behavior between me and Spike." Buffy tried to sound firm, but wound up sounding... hurt?
"Not even now? But - but you're married!" Willow looked shocked and well, yes, scandalized.
"Do you remember that just five weeks ago, I was asking you to marry him?" Buffy was getting testy.
"Well, yeah, but that was just for the- oh! Oh!" Comprehension dawned. "You mean, it wasn't a sudden climactic realization of the 'pulse-pounding, knee-weakening passion-that-all-of-your-friends-can-see-but-you-don't' between you and Spike? It was just... immigration?" Now, she looked affronted.
Slowly, the newlywed nodded. "Business. Not personal."
Willow and Tara exchanged a significant glance. Buffy was keeping something from them.
"If it wasn't personal, then why do you look so upset?" As always, the voice of tact belonged to Tara.
"I'm not upset, just... I don't know." Buffy stabbed viciously at an olive.
"Do I need to hurt him for you? Because, you know, I could," Willow offered, her brow scrunched up in concern.
Her friend set down her fork forcefully and pushed her plate away. "No, Will, I'm fine, really. Spike didn't do anything." Her jaw tightened.
Tara's eyes widened. "But, but you wanted him to?"
The other blonde looked like she was about to cry. "I don't know. When I try to think about Spike that way, I always end up laughing. But at the same time... why didn't he want me?" She began decimating her napkin.
"What happened?" Willow repeated.
"I went to him last night, because... well, I really don't know why. It seemed like a good idea at the time. And I asked him if he wanted to have a real wedding night, and I was wearing a cute little nightgown, and he said no! He said it was a bad idea, and that I should cover myself, and we wound up watching Hitchcock movies on the SciFi channel until four in the morning." By this time, Buffy's napkin was in teeny tiny shreds.
"But that's so sweet!" The redhead smiled cheerfully. "If he was just being a meanie, there would have been no scary movie goodness."
Tara nodded in agreement. "It must be the situation, you know? He's probably just freaked out or something."
Buffy sighed. "Being married isn't at all what I thought it would be."
Willow giggled. "Hey, it could be worse."
"How?"
"It could be Scott Hope."
**********
Spike looked positively frazzled. He had a saucepan, two skillets, and the oven all going at the same time. A pile of dirty dishes cluttered the sink, and he was reading a dog-eared copy of Norton's Anthology of English Literature.
Buffy giggled, set her bookbag down next to the couch, and snuck up on her husband. "Gotcha!" she shouted, poking him sharply in the ribs.
Spike let out an undignified squeal, dropping the thick book on the floor. "Hey! Not playing fair. I've got to finish re-reading 'The Faerie Queen' if I want to finish up that paper for tomorrow."
His wife seemed to ignore him, wandering over to the stove and sniffing the contents of the pan. "Mm. What's cookin', good-lookin'?" She grinned back at him impishly.
He rolled his eyes. "Insufferable. That's what you are, pet. It's just some pasta. Nothing too exotic."
"It looks to me like there's shrimp, grilled in garlic and olive oil and sundried tomatos to go on that pasta. Spike, you're a god in the kitchen." Buffy fished a shrimp out and popped it in her mouth.
"Oy!" he whacked at her knuckles with a snatched up wooden spoon. "No sampling!"
She pouted. "But I'm hungry!"
"Five minutes. Set the table, or put ice in glasses. Be useful, for once." Spike scowled teasingly.
She laughed. "Last time you told me to be useful in the kitchen, it took three days to get the burnt smell out of the house."
"You're a bloody menace. Now get the ice!"
The promised five minutes later, Spike and Buffy were seated at a delicious casual dinner. There was no candlelight or romantic music playing; it was sheer domesticiy.
Buffy grinned a little bit to herself.
"What's so funny, ducks? You scare me when you look like that." Her husband contrived to look slightly worried.
"I was just thinking, I should get you one of those novelty aprons. The ones that say 'Kiss the Cook'." She took another generous bite of shrimp pasta.
"Sure, pet. Feel free to buy things for me to set on fire. It'll give you a chance to practice." He quirked his scarred eyebrow at her.
"I think the volunteer fire department frowns on setting practice fires. They might not let me join if we did that," Buffy mock-lectured.
"Ah, but you're a shoo-in. Tiny enough to scurry into ducts after lost kiddies, strong enough to drag grown men out the raging inferno by their collars."
"All, while carrying a sixty pounds of equipment. Yay Buffy, strong like ox." She smiled self-deprecatingly.
Spike drained half his water glass. "I never will understand how you pack so much power into that itty-bitty body of yours."
Buffy glared. "Aerobics and powerlifting. And don't forget, kicking your ass around the ju-jitsu mat." She sighed in an exaggerated parody of wistfulness. "It's like being in high school again. Wiping the floor clean with your sorry tail..."
"Oh, right, that happened so often," Spike smirked at her.
"Hey, once a loser, always a loser." Buffy did the most mature thing that she could think of at the moment. She stuck her tongue out at him.
Spike laughed.
**********
"Hitchcock again? Or do we want to have a Wes Craven-palooza tonight?" Buffy leaned against the door to Spike's room with a video in each hand. She had changed into a pair of baggy pajama pants and a tank top, her hair pulled back in a messy bun.
Spike looked up from his computer screen, glasses perched precariously on his nose. "Um... neither?"
"Uh!" she made a sound of annoyance. "Why not?"
He motioned towards the keyboard. "If I don't finish typing this paper, I won't get it turned in on time. If I don't turn it in on time, Professor Brooks won't accept it. If Professor Brooks doesn't accept it, I fail the course. If I fail the course, I'm a quarter behind, and I'll never graduate on time."
"Well, when you put it that way." Buffy shrugged and tossed the tapes on the bed. She perched on the edge of his desk and peered at the screen. " 'Analysis of 