Part One

"Oh my god. I look like a big, moldy cream puff," Buffy wailed as she put the final touches on her makeup in preparation for Xander and Anya's wedding. She stood and turned in the mirror, examining the offensive, mossy-green colored garment with the large cornflower blue bow attached directly over her rear. The skirt was simple and one-layered, falling to just below her knees, and the bodice consisted of a high collar, poofy sleeves, and hundreds of sequins covering the front. The shoes she was forced to wear with her dress appeared to be a throwback to the 1980s. They were matte white, with high heels and bows on the toes.

Willow entered the hotel room, her own pepto bismol-pink version of the horrific dress clashing with her complexion and hair color. "At least we only have to wear these once," she said as she tied her hair up into a simple french twist.

Tara, in a lavender replica of the bane of their existence, walked in as gracefully as she could, considering walking in stilettos wasn't her forte. She plopped down on one of the beds with a groan and pulled off her shoes, rubbing her complaining toes and wincing.

The bathroom doorknob turned and Anya stepped out. She looked positively radiant, grinning widely as she modeled her gown. The white dress was fairly simple, with a long skirt and half-train, neckline going straight across her chest, and sundress-type sleeves that had been altered to fall off the shoulders. "You guys look great!" she exclaimed. "How do I look? I spent a lot of money on this dress, and I only get to wear it once, so I better make all the men drool. Especially Xander. Because after the wedding we have a honeymoon, where we get to procreate."

****

Xander straightened his bow tie in the mirror, whistling jauntily to himself. He added a touch of hairgel to his neatly combed do, attempting to prevent its usual puffiness. As he pulled on his tuxedo jacket, he smiled nervously. "I'm getting married today."

****

"I'll be back in a minute guys, I'm gonna go buy an Evian," Buffy called over her shoulder to her friends, leaving the room. She nearly ran into Spike, who was sauntering down the hall nonchalantly, tuxedo jacket thrown over his shoulder, shirt mostly buttoned, and bow tie undone. His hair was unruly, the curls causing his bleached tresses to soften somewhat. Oh my god... she thought, he looks like he stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad.

"Slayer," he said, his eyes cold.

She nodded at him, continuing toward the soda machine. He used to call me Buffy, she mused. I miss that. Buffy, stop it. You don't miss
anything about Spike. Except how alive you felt in his arms... And how well you fit together... And how his eyes used to soften when he told you that he loved... She sighed.

****

Dawn entered the ladies' hotel room, the hem of her light blue, simple dress swishing slightly. "Hey guys, wedding's in a half hour," she exclaimed.

"Are you ready to do the traditional throwing of the flowers onto the ground before I walk on them?" Anya asked.

"Yup." She smiled. "Even though I still think I'm a little old for this..."

****

"I do." Xander paused. "No, that's not right. Slower, Xandman. I. Do."

****

"And I promise to have sex with you whenever... I want."

****

"I do."

"Now, by the power vested in me, by God and the State of California, I pronounce you husband and wife. Alexander, you may kiss your bride."

Anya grabbed her new husband by the lapels of his tuxedo jacket and kissed him enthusiastically. Cheers erupted in the audience. Xander picked Anya up and carried her down the aisle of the church, grinning.

****

The Chez Sunnydale inn was overflowing with wedding guests, human and non. A white limousine pulled up outside the main entrance, and Xander stepped out, offering his hand to Anya. Applause filled the room as they entered the building, greeted by Buffy, Tara, and Willow, who had thankfully been able to change out of their utterly disgusting dresses while waiting for the newlyweds to arrive. The offensive taffeta and polyester combinations had already become a nice, cheery dumpster fire.

After all the guests had been greeted by the wedding party, including a few demons that caused the bridesmaids to run to the bathroom and wash their hands thoroughly after shaking... appendages with them, Xander and Anya took the head table. The tinkling of forks against glasses was heard, and he leaned over and kissed his new bride sweetly.

Dinner was served, and pop music began to play. Buffy looked around for Spike and found him glued to a leggy brunette in a form-fitting black dress with a neckline down to her navel and a slit nearly to her hip in the long skirt. She was dismayed as she watched the couple dance, but quickly shook off the emotion as she grabbed the nearest fairly attractive man, who happened to be one of Xander's cousins from New York, and pulled him to the dance floor. They danced closely together, Buffy's flowery, short, spaghetti-strapped dress riding up slightly to reveal an expanse of tan, muscular thigh. She kept glancing over at Spike and his new ho, noticing that he had never danced like that with her. Toward the end of the song, she looked over at him, nearly gasping when she saw his gaze pointed directly at her. The last strains of the song faded out and Buffy broke away from the man she was dancing with, walking over to the bar. She intended to get smashed.

"Champagne, please," she asked the bartender sweetly. He poured her a flute of the bubbling liquid, and she sipped at it gracefully. Suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She felt Spike before she saw him. Turning, she paused to glance at his date before giving him a syrupy smile. "Spike, how have you been? I don't believe I've met your date. I'm Buffy Summers." She extended her hand, and the brunette clinging to Spike's arm looked at it disdainfully before taking it and shaking it limply.

"Tarantula," was all that she said.

"Well, Tarantula, it's very nice to meet you." Buffy turned toward the dance floor. "I've got to be going now. I have to check on my sister."

The happy couple was in the center of the dance floor, swaying to the music of another pop ballad. The scene made Buffy sick to her stomach. She turned and walked out of the room, into the lobby of the hotel, still holding her champagne flute. Pausing in front of one of the paintings, she admired the artistry of the work, jumping slightly when she felt a cool, familiar hand on her arm.

She turned toward the owner of the hand. Spike looked down at her, an emotion that she had never seen before in his eyes. "Nice date you have in there," she said, smirking.

"Buffy, I..." he stopped.

"Don't."

"I was going to say, that I didn't even know her name until you asked it." He sighed. "I brought her so I wouldn't be totally alone. Didn't really work though. She's off making out with a Preznig demon. That's the one with slime and tentacles."

"I remember him. Had to wash my hands after meeting that one."

He smiled, but it soon faded. "Buffy, I'm leaving. Tonight, after the reception is over. I want you to know how sorry I am about any pain or trouble I may have caused you during the last five years."

"What? Why?"

"I can't be around you without thinking about what we could've had. Without remembering what we did have. I just... I need to get away." He turned to go back into the reception hall, then paused. He turned back and asked softly, "It hurts, doesn't it?"

"Yes," came Buffy's reply.

As he walked away, his words floated back to her. "Thank you."

Author's Note: During a spell of feeling compassionate toward Spike for taking so much of Buffy's crap for the past few years, this story emerged. I don't know whether to leave 'em hanging or keep going with this one. But if you R&R maybe I'll keep going!

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