Part Seven

She'd slept through her alarm, Buffy noticed groggily. 7:14, the digital numbers on the small black clock read. She rubbed her bleary eyes and pushed back her comforter, then rolled to the side of her bed and stumbled across her floor, opening her door and shuffling across the hall to the bathroom.

The sound of the shower turning on upstairs awoke Spike, and he mumbled incoherently before sitting up and promptly falling face-forward onto the floor. "Bloody 'ell," he groaned, rolling over and propping himself up with his arms behind him. He blinked a few times, realizing that he wasn't in his bedroom, then pulled himself to his feet, only to slump tiredly to the plush, tan couch once more.

"Good morning, Spike." He glanced up to see Joyce standing over him, holding a large mug of steaming coffee. "Thought you could use this," she said, pushing the mug into his hands.

"Thanks," he said, taking the mug. He took a few gulps of the hot liquid, uncaring of how it scorched his throat. "Sorry 'bout sleepin' on the couch, Mrs. Summers," he said as the caffeine began to energize him.

"No need to apologize," she replied. "I'm just glad you're helping my daughter. I called your father, told him where you were."

He nodded. "Thanks," he said again.

Upstairs, Buffy rinsed her hair once more, then turned off the water, stepping out of the shower stall and grabbing a towel from the rack. She rubbed herself dry, then pulled on her bathrobe and wrapped a dry towel around her hair. She opened the bathroom door and a cloud of steam escaped, swirling as she walked through it and down the stairs.

"Morning," she said as she walked into the kitchen, headed straight for the coffee pot. "I slept through my alarm." She poured herself a cup of coffee, adding three teaspoons heaping with sugar and some milk, then took a sip and turned around. "Ahh... java," she sighed, taking a seat at the island, next to Spike.

Spike raised an eyebrow at the terrycloth-clad girl, then took another swig of his own coffee.

After a few more sips, Buffy paused, turning toward the bleach-blond teen. "Did you sleep here last night?" she asked.

He nodded. "When we got back, I was too knackered to drive."

"Oh," Buffy said, remembering the way Willow had looked at her when she'd arrived at the hospital. The redheaded girl had been talking softly with Xander when the two blondes had arrived at the hospital room, but the conversation had ceased almost immediately. Willow had looked brokenhearted, unmasked pain flashing on her face as she saw Buffy. The blonde had stayed for only a few minutes before excusing herself and hurrying out of the hospital room, leaning against the wall directly outside Willow's door and slumping to the floor. "Okay."

Joyce cleared her throat. "So, what are you kids doing today?" she asked.

"Thought I'd go home an' take a shower, maybe change m'clothes first off," Spike offered. "Then go to the beach. Sound good to you, luv?" He thought for a second. "No drawing, though..."

"No drawing?" Joyce questioned. "And what happened to your eye?"

Spike nodded in answer to her first question. "Just a friendly fistfight among twins," he lied. "You know 'ow we boys love a good spot o' violence." He set the empty coffee mug down, then slid off the stool, standing and stretching.

"I'll be back in an hour, luv. You'll be ready by then?"

"Yeah," Buffy said, sipping at her coffee. "I'll be ready."

~*~*~*~*~

Spike padded into his bedroom barefoot, stray water droplets trickling down his bare chest. A burgundy towel was slung low on his hips, and he dropped it as he opened his closet. He rifled through his wardrobe, finally plucking a pair of black swim trunks off a shelf to the side. He bent over still facing the closet, stepping into the trunks and pulling them up his legs and over his buttocks, then set in search of a tee-shirt. He finally selected a red "Queens of the Stone Age" shirt and put it on, then toed into a pair of Adidas sandals.

He went upstairs, greeting his father, who sat on the couch drinking tea and reading the morning edition of the Press. "Goin' to the beach," he said. "Probably be back by three."

"Do you have towels and something to eat while you're there?" Rupert asked, not looking up from the newspaper.

"Got a towel," he said, indicating the large beach towel he'd slung over his shoulder upon leaving his bedroom. "Food... not so much."

"There's fruit in the fridge," Giles said. "Take some of it with you."

"Where's the Magnificent Poof?" Spike asked as he rifled through the refrigerator, pulling out grapes and strawberries. He set the fruit on the kitchen counter.

"Please don't call your brother that," his father requested. "Angel went out last night after you left. Something about a soccer team victory party. He said he'd be back this evening."

Spike scoffed. "Least he's not pukin' all over 'imself on a park bench this time," he remarked, then smirked. "Or maybe that's the newest fad with the brainless clique." He packed the fruit into a cooler, adding a few bottles of water, then pushed his sunglasses down from the top of his head to the bridge of his nose. "I'm off," he called as he walked toward the door, his sandals slapping against the soles of his feet with each step.

He opened the back door of his car, tossing in the towel and the cooler, then got into the driver's seat and started the engine of the DeSoto, pulling out into the street.

A scant ten minutes later, the black classic car pulled up in front of the Summers house. Spike hopped out of the car, leaving the engine running, and strolled up the walk to the front porch, knocking on the door. Joyce opened the door. "She ready?" he asked.

"She's not going," Joyce said.

"Why not?" Spike asked.

The older woman stepped aside and let him into the house. "Ask her yourself. All I know is that she got a phone call, and now she's locked herself in her bedroom and won't come out."

Spike raised an eyebrow, but went up the stairs and down the hall, knocking on Buffy's door. "Pet? You're not coming, then?" he asked.

He heard a quiet sniffling coming from behind the door. "Go away," he heard her croak after awhile.

"Buffy, what's wrong?" he asked concernedly.

She yanked the door open. "What part of go away don't you understand?" she demanded, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

"Now there's the Buffy I've been lookin' for the last few days. What 'appened, pet?"

She threw up her hands, allowing him to enter. "Whoever's in charge up there hates me," she said, wiping furiously at her tear-streaked face. "Your brother just called and informed me that he no longer wanted to be with me. He's with Cordelia," she spat, "and he hopes we can still be friends." After she'd finished, she promptly burst into tears again.

Spike glanced around, looking for tissues, and spotting them on her desk. He strode over and grabbed them, handing her one. After she'd blown her nose, he pulled her close and embraced her. "Want me to beat 'im up for you, luv?" he murmured into her hair. "Peaches may be bigger'n me, but if I got 'im drunk enough I could whallop 'im good..." Buffy trembled slightly, and he pulled back, examining her and making sure she wasn't about to be sick. "You alright?" he asked. She looked up at him, her lips tight with the effort to keep from giggling. "What now, you don't think I could take 'im?"

She burst out laughing, clutching her sides with the force of her guffaws. Soon he was laughing right along with her. "I'm sorry," she wheezed after awhile. "It's just... you looked so serious... and... the sandals..."

"I'll 'ave you know," Spike protested, "that these are very manly sandals. So. Change your mind yet?"

"What if Angel and Cordelia - " she began.

Spike cut her off. "Buffy, as the founding member of the Society for People who think Angel is a Bollock-Brained Git, I say bugger 'im."

Buffy raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Not literally..." he amended, his expression twisting into one of disgust as a particularly bad mental image appeared in his head. "And... disgusting, pet. So, are you going, then?"

"Screw him?"

He nodded. "Screw 'im."

"You know, you don't have to feel obligated to be nice to me anymore..." Buffy said. "I'm no longer in any danger of killing myself."

"Pet, did you see the people I'd been hangin' around?" he asked.

"Looks to me like you fit right in. Except for the massive amounts of facial piercings, which you seem to be lacking." She paused. "Though, from the way I hear things... sounds like you were a geek before you got the look down.

"Pfft," he scoffed. "I've always been bad, baby."

"Oh yeah?" she challenged. "So what's this I hear about someone writing... poetry...?"

"That never leaves this room," he threatened.

"Or you'll what?" she asked.

His face lost all expression for a moment, then he grinned evilly, jabbing his fingers into her ribs. "Or I'll tickle-torture you."

"No... no!" she giggled. "Stop!"

"Make me," he dared her, continuing to tickle her.

"Mom! Help!" she shrieked.

Joyce poked her head through the doorway, smiling at the scene that was playing out. "Now Buffy, I'm not gonna get in the middle of this. Just remember what I taught you..." she suggested.

Oh yeah... Buffy remembered, curling two of her fingers on each hand. "The Claw attacks!" she shouted, tickling him back.

"Oi!" he shouted, trying to dodge her hands while still trying to keep up his offense. He gave up after a moment, falling to the floor and curling up in a fetal position while Buffy stood triumphantly over him. He looked up at her. "You win..." he conceded, standing. "Now get your suit on. We're gonna sun ourselves an' get right pretty."

~*~*~*~*~

"I need to apologize for something," Buffy mumbled half into the towel as she lay on her stomach, tanning her back.

Spike popped a grape into his mouth. "What's that, luv?"

"I know we got off on the wrong foot, and... it's partially my fault." She took a deep breath. "That whole Bronze fiasco... I'm sorry about what I said that night."

"We both said things we didn't mean," he said, munching happily on the fresh fruit. "I'm sorry too. Strawberry?"

"What?"

"Strawberry? Do you want one, luv?" he asked.

"That was incredibly random," she said, clasping her bikini top and sitting up. "Thanks," she said as she took the red berry from his hand. "Why didn't we do this in the beginning, you know, save all that hatred that's so bad for the complexion?" she asked after she'd swallowed the fruit.

"This... what?" he asked.

"You know... tolerate each other," she replied.

"I guess you 'ad to be with the poofter first to find out that I'm much nicer," he replied, puffing out his chest.

She threw a handful of sand at him. "Pfft. So you kept me from committing suicide or going insane. Big deal," she joked. "Besides, it was 'the poofter', who finally fixed me, not you."

He rolled his eyes, then grinned mischievously, suddenly standing and picking her up, then running across the hot sand with her flung over his shoulder, squealing. He tossed her into the water and she came up sputtering, then pushed him so he went under.

"Jerk!" she pouted. "Now I'm gonna be all salty."

"And I'm not?" he teased. "Salt isn't gonna look to great in m'hair," he said, running his hands through the now gel-free strands.

When they returned to their towels, Angel was waiting for them. "I thought I told you not to move in on my girl," he said.

"What part of broken up don't you understand, Angel?" Buffy said, stepping between the twins in the hopes of postponing a fistfight. "Besides, you're the one who dumped me, not the other way around. So run back to Cordelia already, you two deserve each other."

Angel's jaw dropped. He turned to Spike. "When'd she stop being all..."

"Broody? Depressed that one of my best friends died? Let's just say I was about to kill myself over you and I realized how stupid that would've been. I mean really, what kind of person would that have made me, to commit suicide over a bad lay?" she asked rhetorically.

"Best you'll ever have," he sneered.

"Not likely," she scoffed. "Run along now..." she said, shooing him off. As soon as he'd left, she turned to Spike. "Damn that felt good."

He gaped at her. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"... again," Buffy amended.

"Right." He looked around. "You want to get out of 'ere, pet?"

"Why the hell not?"

Author's Note: Okay, got sick of Mopey!Buffy. Decided to make her all better, so... there you have it. Now all they need is Cupid. Although Spike has never been one to follow the rules, so you never know with him. Anywho, hope you liked, please review, and make sure you vote for me so my story doesn't get all depressed about being like... last... in the poll. Hehe. Chapter 2b of Gravity is on deck, ready to be written, and I have a fantastic idea for it already, so hold onto your seats and prepare for liftoff. Or something. I don't know, it just sounded good. ~*~ Magz

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R to NC-17