Chapter
3.01
Saturday, May 18th, 2002
Wes looked at his reflection in the mirror, surveying
his open-necked, navy, silk shirt and dark blue jeans, still not
convinced that he'd made the right choice.
On the one hand the party was in his honour,
so he felt obliged to make himself presentable. Also, while his
heart was still in the keeping of another, Marie was a very attractive
woman and Wes was not without a certain quota of male vanity.
Then, on the other hand there was the fact that
if he was going to be set up as the sacrificial lamb, then he
really didn't see why he should makes Lily's scheming any easier
for her. It would also be unwise to forget that Spike seemed to
regard both the woman and her daughter as being under his protection.
If the vampire so much as suspected he was doing anything to lead
Marie on, either intentionally or unintentionally, then Wes had
no doubt that the heretofore welcoming Brit would be quick to
make his displeasure felt in any number of ways.
Hmm. Maybe he shouldn't
have shaved, and perhaps he should ditch his contacts for the
night and go back to his glasses.
Xander looked at the clothes Anya had laid out
for him before going to work that morning. She'd made it pretty
darn clear that by the time she came home from work, she expected
him to be washed up, shaved and smelling pretty, leaving the bathroom
free for her. She'd picked out her favourite of his shirts, a
forest green one made of soft brushed cotton. It seldom actually
stayed on very long because Anya was so fond of how it felt against
her skin. Come to think of it, Xander had more than a few pleasant
memories of a post-coital Anya padding round the apartment in
nothing but that shirt. He glanced downward to where his best
black dress pants did nothing to disguise the effect those thoughts
had on him. And now he could definitely think of better things
to do than to go party with the horned, the fanged and the wrinkly.
He glanced over toward the bathroom door, listening
to the splashes and cheerful singing that were coming from the
other side. He sighed and pulled the shirt from its hanger. If
he played Anya right, he could probably make her forget all about
this party until it was too late. The trouble was he really didn't
want to play her. He wanted to make her happy. How hard could
it be? It was just a party, right? A party in honour of an even
more Pierce Brosnan-y Wes than he remembered in High School, granted,
but just a party. At least Anya wouldn't be drooling over the
damn Brit pack like Cordelia had. And Giles would be there. The
G-man wouldn't spend the evening socialising with the demons.
He could hang out with the old guy, dance enough dances with Anya
to keep her happy, a few trips to... Wait a minute. What the literal
heck got served up on the buffet table at a demon soiree? He so
was not up for kitten ribs.
"Ahn, honey, I was thinking." He pushed his way
into the bathroom. "Maybe we should stop off at KFC or somewhere
on the way?"
The door to Lily's apartment was pushed open
and a tiny platinum blonde made her way in backwards carrying
several dishes. "Desserts are here!" she called out as she made
her way toward the kitchen with an easy familiarity.
Marie came to meet her part way, only to pause,
stunned by what she saw. "You cut it all. How the heck do you
have the guts to go from waist length to that in one go?"
The woman shrugged. "Felt like a change. Patrick
did it. You like?"
Marie tried not to screw up her face at the name
of her tenant's latest boyfriend, grabbed a couple of the dishes
and led the other woman through to the kitchen. In the brighter
light, she could see that the platinum blonde of the classic jaw-length
bob, was interspersed with fine streaks of honey gold. It set
off her heart-shaped face with her kohl-rimmed hazel eyes and
bright red lipstick to perfection and contrasted sharply with
the unrelieved black that the woman always wore.
"Okay, Patrick's a jerk, but he's a jerk who
can cut hair. You look great."
"I guess you won't be upset that we broke up,
then."
"That depends. Are you?"
"He kicked Rupert," the blonde replied as if
this answered everything. Surprisingly, to Marie, it did.
"He kicked your cat. Deliberately?"
Marie pulled a pitcher of margarita from the fridge and poured
a little into each of two glasses. "This is where we hope the
guest of honour has some cute friends... or you could take Clem
up on his offer?"
"No offence, but Clem's just like this huge wrinkly
teddy bear. I'd feel like a child molester or something. So, I
guess that means the guest of honour himself is taken? Who is
he anyway?"
"Not as such... though if Lily has her way..." Marie
reddened slightly at the woman's knowing smile. "And a friend
of Spike's or Spike's fiancée at least. I don't think Spike's
known him long."
"And what brings him to sunny Sunnydale?"
"The other usual."
"Ah. The hero syndrome. Fighting the good fight
and all that. So just how well would the new boy in town fill
Errol Flynn's tights?"
"Bee!" Marie's voice betrayed her shock at the
question and she covered by checking on all the various pans that
were on the stove top. "It's a good thing Lily and Rosa are upstairs."
"I was just asking how dashing, manly and heroic
he was."
"Emphasis on the manly, and as to that, I haven't
been looking that closely and, as to heroic time will tell, but
he can do dashing. Now, behave."
"Yes, Mommy." The blonde replied. She pointed
at one of the two dishes of brownies. "Best keep those ones somewhere
where the kiddie can't reach them."
Marie rolled her eyes. "Do you have any idea
what it would do for my career if I got busted for handing out
hash brownies?"
"Guess it would depend whether you gave your
boss any or not," the blonde answered with a grin.
"Buffyyyy!" Dawn called
upstairs to her sibling. "Tell Spike I can wear that dress you
bought me in LA!"
Spike looked again at the lavender knee high
boots and matching mini-dress that barely covered the dressing
on her upper thigh. "Niblet, we agreed that maybe you could wear
it where we'd be able to keep an eye on you. No one agreed that
you could wear it to go on a date."
"It's not a date. It's a party."
"An' Junior is actin' as your escort, therefore
it's a date. So go an' put on something that covers up more than
half your legs. In fact, all of your legs. Trousers are good."
"Bu-u-ffyyyyy!"
Buffy appeared at the top of the stairs, a thick,
white, towelling robe disguising her outfit for the night until
she was ready to make her proper entrance. She had applied mascara
to one eye but not the other and she looked a little impatient
at the interruption to her preparations.
"Can't you two just settle things between you?"
she asked.
"Sure we can. Go get changed, pet."
"Spi-ike! I bought her the dress so she could
wear it, not so it could collect moths in her wardrobe."
"But you didn't buy it so she could flash her
legs at teenage Romeos three years older than her."
"Yes, Spike, I did. I bought it so she could
feel like a pretty, attractive, young girl that teenage guys would
notice. If she wants to wear it, it's fine by me, so just leave
your Victorian double standards back in the eighteen hundreds
where they belong."
"But, love, he'll have his grubby teenage hands
all over before you know it," Spike's voice rose into a whine.
"Spike. Twenty-first century. Deal with it."
Buffy turned her back and flounced back into their bedroom.
The teenager grinned and made her way into the
living room where she stared suspiciously at the puppy curled
up on the sofa asleep, having apparently tired itself out trying
to keep track of all the comings and goings earlier.
"Where's Rogue's collar?"
Spike made a disingenuous attempt to pretend
he didn't know exactly what the girl meant. "She's wearing her
collar, Bit. Got 'er name on it and everything."
"I put on my purple dress to go with Rogue's
purple collar. Now, she's wearing some black thing. Where's her
purple one gone?"
Spike moved through to the kitchen and pulled
a packet of blood from the fridge, tipping it into a mug and setting
it to microwave. "I'm sure it'll turn up, pet. But here's a thought,
I'm sure you must have a pair of black trousers and maybe a long
sleeved blouse, then you'd match right in again."
Dawn pursed her lips and folded her arms over,
glaring at the vampire as he waited for his meal to heat. "You
are so lucky my sister likes you, Fang Face." Her glance swept
disdainfully over the vampire's black jeans, black New Rocks and
still unbuttoned, black shirt. "And for your information, normal,
real people don't go around trying to look like they've just come
from a funeral."
Spike looked up as Brandon made his way in through
the back door, dressed from head to toe in ebony, even down to
the nail varnish. "S'that right, pet. Must just be freaks like
me an' Mikey here, then." The vampire smirked as he pulled his
mug from the microwave and left it to Dawn to explain to her bemused
boyfriend.
Giles tried unsuccessfully to remember the last
time he'd been to a party where he hadn't felt as if he were playing
the part of chaperone for Buffy and her friends. It was even longer,
probably back in his Ripper days, since he'd actually socialised
with anyone of the demon variety. It was all rather exciting and
vaguely intimidating at the same time. He just hoped he wasn't
going to be the oldest person there. well other than Spike who
didn't really count, since on occasion he seemed to have a mental
age of about twelve. He glanced again at his watch. He had another
three quarters of an hour before Anya and Xander were due to swing
past so they could walk over to Lily's together. He picked up
the handwritten journal that sat on top of his bedside table and
continued reading from where he had left off at The Magic Box
that afternoon.
Tara looked at the large, sad eyes of the woman
in the mirror as she put on her make-up and wondered if Spike
was right. Was there really someone else out there for whom she
could care as much as she had cared for Willow? Even as she thought
it, she berated herself inwardly for being so harsh as to put
her feelings for Willow in the past tense, but she knew that in
the past was where they belonged. It wasn't that her feelings
had ceased to exist, that she suddenly didn't care. It was simply
that the shy, sweet girl she had loved had lost herself in the
power that had lain within her. Willow's power came so close to
being absolute that if the old saying had any truth in it at all,
Willow had long ago set herself on the road to perdition. Finally,
Tara allowed herself to relinquish responsibility for trying to
pull her back. She had done all she could in their time together.
She had hoped that perhaps Willow had learned from their time
apart. Then...
There came a time when you had to let go.
She forced a smile onto her face, knowing that
with her friends around her once more, chances were it would soon
be replaced by a genuine one. Pulling open the door of what was
now her room, she made her way toward the sounds of homely bickering
coming from the kitchen.
"Spike. This isn't
funny any more. You cannot follow the two of us round like some
great big freak all night."
The vampire looked at Dawn from his seat in the
centre of the sofa and raised an eyebrow. "You want to make a
bet, Niblet?"
"Fine. If I go put on
some pants, then will you stop following us?"
"You better already be wearing some bloody pants,
missy, but if by that you mean jeans or something similar, I'm
sure we could come to some arrangement."
Dawn shot up the stairs, passing Tara on her
way, her voice echoing all the way down to the living room. "Buffy,
your boyfriend is a freak. You know that, right?"
Tara smiled at the vampire as she walked into
the room. "What have you done now?"
"Just gave her a demonstration of how closely
I'd have to keep an eye on her if she wore that dress tonight.
And speaking of dresses." Spike let his gaze travel up and down
the Wiccan's length in an appreciative but brotherly way. "You're
lookin' pretty good yourself, in a Stevie Nicks kind of way, except
that probably means nothin' to a youngster like you."
Tara smiled. "I know my Fleetwood Mac from my
Britney Spears," she teased. "My gran had a copy of Rumours."
"Save a dance for an old man, anyway?"
"I thought your dance card would be all booked
up."
"I'm sure she'll let me off with one, or should
she be the one dancing with you? What's the proper etiquette?"
"We all go out. We all enjoy ourselves and hang
the etiquette."
"Sounds good to me."
Buffy picked this moment to make her entrance.
"Am I intruding?" She raised an eyebrow, smiling at the
pair as she swayed into the room in her high heels.
"Well, I was goin' to try to convince Glinda
here to give the other side of the tracks a try and see if maybe
she'd run off with me, but then you turn up, lookin' gorgeous
as ever... an' well, who could expect anybody to look twice at some
old codger with dangly bits when you're about?"
His eyes showed his approval of the short, fitted
dress in shimmering pale green, even more than his words, and
with her hair piled casually atop her head his mark was bared
for all to see. Spike looked at her footwear. "My guess is you're
not planning on walking anywhere tonight?"
Buffy turned to Tara. "Would you believe it?
Not only does he have a certain rough charm, but he's psychic
as well."
Spike very temporarily fixed his attention on
Brandon. "You got your car licence as well as your bike one?"
"Yes, sir— Spike."
"Well, since you're under age, I guess that makes
you our designated driver for the night." Spike tossed him his
car keys. "An' since you don't even want to think about what might
happen to you if there was a scratch on my baby tomorrow, or I
decided you were a bad influence on the Niblet you won't even
consider drinking anything other than soda."
"Can you fit four in the back of your car?" Tara
asked.
"Legally, no. But do you really think there are
any cops on night time traffic patrol in Sunnydale? So the real
answer is... you can if two of them are built like Buffy an' the
Niblet. Guess the hero of the hour gets to ride shotgun." Dawn
came clattering downstairs. Spike gave the inch of bare flesh
between her top and her jeans a pointed glance, but decided to
pick his battles. He grabbed his coat and began to usher the others
out. "Niblet, get the dog on that extendable lead an' put her
in the front of the car. Reckon she'll have to sit between the
Watcher's feet. Buffy, you lock up, love. I'll go see what's keeping
the guest of honour."
Wes hesitated as the doorbell rang and then grabbed
the Aran sweater that lay on the bed, pulling it over his head
as he made his way downstairs. Spike gave an amused half smile
as he pulled open the front door and Wes just knew that the vampire
had picked up straight away on his ambivalence about the evening.
"Trying to hide the sex appeal under a fuzzy
jumper, are we?" the vampire asked as Wes locked up.
"I really don't know what you find so amusing."
"How about the sight of a man who's old enough
to know better trying to run for his life?"
"This is all your fault, you know?"
"Yeah," the vamp drawled with a smirk. "I worked
that bit out all on my own. Hate to say it, but the idea of Bite-Size
with a proper dad again kind of gives me the warm fuzzies."
"For God's sake, don't you start!" the watcher
told him.
"But it's just so much fun watching you squirm,"
the vamp responded and then effectively ended the conversation
by joining the women in the back seat of the car.
Marie helped her friend transfer all the hot
food into casserole dishes and placed them atop stands designed
so that small night-light candles would keep the food warm while
it was on display. Everything was put out ready on tables in the
living room which was lit by several strategically placed table
lamps. The exception was Bee's "special" brownies, which had been
stashed away in one of the kitchen cupboards that was too high
for Rosa to reach.
A music system had been set up in the yard, and
was currently blasting out one of several compilation CDs that
Bee had provided. The doorways from both Lily's kitchen and the
main stairwell had been wedged open, probably contravening several
fire regulations but allowing access to the high-walled yard for
all once they were actually through the main door into the apartment
block.
A large jam-making pan of Lily's had been filled
with ice and then topped off with a case of beer. A cooler held
cans of soda, and Marie's margarita mix had been bulked out with
crushed ice until it now filled two large pitchers next to which
there were a stack of plastic glasses, half of which had been
rimmed with sea salt.
Bee looked round. "Okay. Everything's under control.
This place looks like the eat all you can buffet at Chiquito's,
only better. Lori'll be here soon, and you've got ten minutes
before the first guests are due to arrive. Go find that little
angel of yours and get your party clothes on, girl. I'll cover
for you, if anyone shows, and if you see the cat point him in this
direction."
"Your cat worked out where you were a while ago."
Marie nodded to where a Siamese cat lay sphinx-like on top of
the wall surrounding the yard, watching them as if they were only
of mild interest to him.
The blonde frowned. "I'm sure he only goes up
there because I can't reach."
As they were talking, the intercom for the door
buzzed. "Go and get changed. I'll see who that is, and unless
it's something incredibly evil like The Jehovah's Witnesses, I'll
let them in and feed them alcohol."
"Just so long as you card them first. Rosa isn't
the only underage guest that's coming."
Marie dashed for the stairs to her own apartment,
and Bee made her way to the front door. The party was about to
officially begin.
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