Onslaught (1/3)

CHAPTER ONE

Sometimes, being The Slayer was a total pain.

But only sometimes.

Those other times, well… those other times, Buffy just ached to get out into the cool night air, flex those supernatural yet feminine muscles, and slit and stake and skewer and slice and slay away. The dust and the sweat and the blood called to her. Destiny was a deep itch right in the core of her soul. Undeniably difficult. Wholly satisfying. And, holy crap, she hated the Doublemeat Palace!

Buffy had spent the past hour sending glares, pouts, prayers, swears, and pleas out the large paned windows of the fast food eatery. The smug sun ignored her. It was taking its jolly good old time setting. Stupid sun. Didn’t it know she had beasties to kill and peoples to save? She checked the clock again. Oh good. A whole two minutes since she had last checked it. Stupid time.

DMP was starting to fill with the evening crowd; the harried, the bored, the night owls. With a final huff at the slowly waning light, Buffy left the fry cooker and joined Jose up front. She had had enough oil and steam for one day. Her pores were seriously going to hate her forever.

Buffy punched in her employee code, the register opened, and she summoned the hungry masses. Well, ok, three people got in her line. The first customer was freakishly tall and wore a tan trench coat and hat combo, looking very spy-ready. Of course, the disguise did nothing to mask his scaly, purple hide.

“May I… help you?” Buffy asked hesitantly, trying to decide if this was a happy Clem-type demon or an evil Un-Clem-type. Were there other Clem-types? Hmm.

“Yes,” said the demon, not sounding all that horrible. “I would like a Super Duper Double Doublemeat Burger with extra pickles, a small side of fries, and a diet lemonade, please.”

Buffy pressed away at the keys on her register. “Anything else?”

“Yes, Slayer,” the purple spy beast growled, “I require your brain!”

Buffy pursed her lips and glanced at the other patrons but no one seemed to notice this outburst. Oh, pleasantly oblivious citizens of Sunnydale! She sighed and rolled her eyes for good measure, just to, you know, put big and scaly in his place. Which would have been better achieved if she wasn‘t wearing the ridiculous cow/chicken hat. “Look, my shift is over in” she checked the clock “ten minutes. Could you just wait outside? I promise, we’ll do the fighty thing when I’m done and you can, like, take my brain or whatever.”

The creature stared at her, its nostrils flaring. Buffy wondered briefly how best to kill the guy, should he act up. She quickly decided that the deep fat fryer would be an interesting and unconventional means of dispatching. Ha! Let the clueless denizens of Californian suburbia deal with that one! Unfortunately, the nostrils calmed and the purple demon shrugged.

“Yeah, that works,” he agreed.

“Ah. Well then, that’ll be $5.25,” Buffy said, offering his order in a to-go bag and not expecting him to actually pay and take his food.

So, of course, he did just that. He even said ‘thanks’. Buffy shook her head at the oddity that was the demon world, catching the stare of a young woman in a nearby booth. The girl uncovered her face from the magazine she was buried in and offered Buffy a sympathetic smile. She then adjusted the scarf on her head and returned to reading ‘Cat Fancy‘. Nice to know some people understood, Buffy thought, even if they were crazy old cat ladies in training. The Slayer glanced out the window again to see her new semi-friendly, brain-hungry acquaintance sitting on a bench and daintily dipping his fries into ketchup. A flicker of regret at the thought of smiting him wafted through her mind but Buffy hastily shooed it away. She was sent here by the Powers That Be to end evil demonic reign, not pity it.

A quick read of the clock heralded a mere three minutes between herself and Happy Patrol Time! Celebrations with cake and confetti and dancing bears!

“Can I help who’s next?”

A middle-aged man with sandy blonde hair and a sheepish smile cautiously approached her register.

“What would you--” Buffy started when cold realization set in and the rejoicing in her brain died a tragic death.

“Hello, Buffy,” the man mumbled.

“Dad??” Buffy gasped.

The possibility of throwing this man into hot fry oil was not a totally unpleasant thought.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


“So,” Buffy said, entering the attractive Colonial and hanging her jacket on a peg by the door.

“So,” Hank Summers returned.

Buffy had fired off every excuse in her vast arsenal as to why her father should just let her walk home from work but Hank had insisted his daughter ride in his brand new shiny Porsche. It was shiny, Buffy had to admit, so she continued to admit it the entire fifteen minutes from Doublemeat Palace to 1630 Revello Drive. Hank was eager to show off the car’s navigation system and thumping speakers and sun roof and moon roof. What was the difference between sun roofs and moon roofs, anyway? All actual discussions of Real Life matters had been successfully avoided. Which only meant that they were off gathering reinforcements and concocting battle strategies. Lumps of shivering emotion were twisting their way into every one of Buffy’s organs. Impending doom, indeed.

“So,” she began again, “Uh… this is it.” She waved her arms about her to indicate the Summers’ living room. He’s been here before, nagged a voice in her head. Buffy ignored it and restated, “Here we are!” way too perkily. Yeah, this wasn’t going to go well.

Her father humored her and appraised the establishment. “Looks just like it did when I last saw it,” he said. He noticed the laundry cascading down the stairs and the piles of Dawn’s school books and papers. And the discarded mail laying by the door. And the dirty cups and plates on the coffee table. It was funny how un-unkempt your house was until outsiders visited.

“It’s a little, uh, messier than last time, I guess,” Buffy rambled on, making a speedy show of tidying up. “Dawn and I aren’t exactly, you know, domestically-oriented. Mom pretty much handled that….” Her voice trailed off.

Hank pretended not to notice. “So where is your sister?”

“Dawn? Oh, she usually goes out on Tuesday nights with Spi-- I mean, a frien-- she’s out.” Nice one, she silently berated herself. My dad CAN NOT meet Spike. No Spike meeting for him. None. She suddenly realized that they were both just awkwardly standing about. She hurriedly took a seat on the couch. There. That felt slightly less unnatural and now she didn’t look like she was going to rush out the backdoor. Or shove her father out the front.

“So,” Hank said again, “She’s ok? You’re both ok?”

“Oh yeah,” Buffy replied, if not a smidge sarcastically, “Peachy keen.” If you didn’t count the bills and the mess and the stupid job and the sudden motherly role she was supposed to fill and the whole nearly being killed by a hell god.

Hank nodded. “Good.”

Buffy glared at her folded hands and said nothing. Hank continued to stand. Maybe he was contemplating running? Wouldn’t be the first time.

Finally, he sighed, “Look, Buffy.” He gingerly sat next to her. Uh oh, she thought. Impending doom, no longer. This doom was in full bloom. “I didn’t mean to just drop in like this--”

Buffy‘s head snapped up. “You didn’t mean to--” she bit out, incredulous. “Dad, it’s been, what? Five years?”

“No, no, honey,” her father rushed. He reached out to take her hands. “It’s not like that. Buffy, I’m sorry. I’ve been… busy.”

Buffy snorted.

“But I’m here to make it up to you,” he continued. “Both you and Dawn.”

“Going shoe shopping are we?” Buffy mumbled humorlessly.

Hank gave a weak smile and shrugged. “If you want to. Now listen, I’ve got important news. I’m just stopping by Sunnydale on my way from Hawaii to New York. They’re going to make me vice-president, Buffy! I’ll have my own office on Wallstreet and I won’t have to travel around so much.”

Her father was bubbling with excitement over his new job opportunities. Buffy wanted to be happy for him, but she honestly couldn’t even remember what it was he did.

“Helen and I are planning on buying a really nice place outside of the city and--”

“Helen?”

“My secretary. And recently, my, uh, fiancee.”

Buffy blinked at him for a moment. Just sat and blinked while the man held her hands and stared at her like he wanted her to say something. Like he wanted her approval. She finally shook her head, reclaimed her hands, and left the sofa. Anxious to escape this conversation, she scooped up a few of the used plates and made a beeline for the kitchen.

“Do you… do you want something to drink?” she said, not directing it to her father. Just saying it to give her a reason to flee.

“Buffy,” he called after her. “Please just hear me out?”

Buffy stopped at the sink, setting the dishes down and gripping the counter edge. Her father came up beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Helen and I would really like it if, well, if you and Dawn came along,” he said softly, gently. Like she was a wild animal he was afraid of spooking.

Buffy whirled about to face him, gasping, “What? Wait… what?”

“I know, I know,” Hank chuckled, “Coming out of left field here, but I think it would work. You two would absolutely love it over there and Helen is wonderful.”

“You… you want me and Dawn to come live with you in New York City? Like… permanently?”

“I’m sorry that things haven’t been that great between us as of late. And… I… I’m sure that this is what your mom would have wanted. For you to be taken care of. By me.”

It’s been five years, FIVE YEARS, Buffy wanted to scream. You don’t know what she would have wanted! That’s why you left, because you didn’t know or care what she wanted!

Instead she muttered, “I… uh--”

“You could start over all anew on the East Coast,” Hank cut her off. “Go to a New York college. Dawn is starting high school so she’ll adjust quickly. It’ll be great!”

“I… kind of have stuff here, Dad,” Buffy tried again. “Friends and… responsibilities--”

Hank waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, you can quit that fast food place,” he said, “You should quit that fast food place. I mean, what was with that man in the trench coat attacking you in the parking lot?”

“Who? Oh! Him,” Buffy stammered, her mind racing. It had been awhile since she had to cover up Slayer related activities and she was a bit out of practice. She could say he was an old friend. From high school. Who she met on the wrestling team? “He, uh--”

Luckily, or perhaps, very very very unluckily, the front door suddenly burst open and the house was filled with teen girl squealing, smoke, and the stink of burning flesh. Alarmed, Hank made to shield his daughter from what must have been crazed muggers with explosives. Buffy unpeeled herself from her father and slowly entered the living room. Oh. Just. Great. The coils in Buffy’s guts went frigid. Wasn’t she supposed to get a cigarette and a blindfold to face a firing squad? Or at least the blindfold? Buffy decided to just close her eyes and wait to die.

“Put me out! Put me out!” Spike shouted. Dawn, laughing, picked up a throw pillow from the sofa and beat the smoldering vampire’s back and shoulders. Once the tiny licks of flames had been extinguished, she tossed the trashed pillow aside, into the pile of mail.

“Bugger!” Spike exclaimed, straightening his duster and smoothing back his rumpled hair. He pointed a finger at Buffy, who still had her eyes squeezed shut and thus ignored him. “Either your driveway’s getting longer or this town has decidedly become more ‘sun’ than ‘dale’. I mean, have you ever seen the thing set so slowly?”

“Maybe it‘s you?” Dawn suggested, “I guess super speed diminishes with age.” She fished her cell phone out of her jeans pocket, shaking her head with mock-seriousness. “I should really alert Giles. He’ll want to study you. Probably chain you up in his bathtub again.”

“Pfft. Most likely, the pervy wanker,” Spike huffed. “Sorry, bit, but I’ve had enough experimentation for one eternity. I’m just gonna have to kill you before you can tell ‘im.”

With a snarl and flash of fangs, Spike lunged. Dawn squeaked and spun on her heel to flee. Then she saw Hank Summers and froze. Spike collided with her back and the two were sent sprawling to the floor with an “oof”. Buffy’s eyes opened at the noise. It probably would have been best if she had just kept them closed. Or that whole exiting through the back option? Yeah, that was a good option. Dawn was staring at her father with an empty look that Buffy recognized as the calm before the volcano of adolescent fury. Perhaps Dawn would screech, “Get out get out get out!!” Actually, that might be kind of funny.

“Hi, Dawn,” her father offered.

Dawn borrowed her sister’s blink-blink technique as Spike leapt to his feet, an eyebrow raised in unease and confusion. He looked at Buffy questioningly but The Slayer refused to meet his gaze. Dawn slowly raised herself off the floor, her face suddenly sour. She turned to her sister.

“What’s he doing here?” she asked, as if Hank were a particularly hideous new lamp.

“Dawn!” Buffy hissed. It was one thing to be unhappy to see the man. It was another to be completely rude to his face.

“No, it’s alright,” Hank murmured. “It’s been awhile. I understand if you’re mad at me, Dawn.” He took a few steps forward and smiled, trying to mend things. “Wow, you’ve grown a good three feet since I’ve seen you last.”

“E-yup,” Dawn answered, crossing her arms. She may as well have been a refrigerator, she was generating so much ice.

“Ah!” Spike interjected into the uncomfortable silence, “So… this must be the mysterious Mr. Summers, eh?” He sucked in his cheeks and gave Hank the up and down evaluation, nodding. “Phantom father come back to the homestead to tend to his little bitties, has he? How very noble of him.”

“Spike,” Buffy groaned, “Could you just… leave. Now.”

“Spike? That’s an unusual name,” Hank muttered, a bungled attempt at adult manners.

“Yeah. Well, it’s more of a nickname, really. Got it from a… hobby I used to have.” Spike grinned. The kind of grin that would make The Joker pee his pants. Buffy decided to just shut her eyes again.

“And you’re a… friend of Dawn’s?” Hank asked, obviously not thrilled with the idea. “You’re quite a bit older than her, aren’t you?”

“Actually, he’s Buffy’s boyfriend,” Dawn sputtered.

“What??” cried The Slayer and the vampire in unison.

“Uh…” mumbled Dawn.

Hank took a moment to study the bleached blonde man before him, his expression pinched. Spike had seen Buffy wear that look a million times. He decided he definitely loathed and despised their suddenly-not-so-dead-beat-dad if he was the one who had taught her that.

Buffy hastily turned to her father. “Spike is not my boyfriend.”

“Well, what is he then?” Dawn grumbled, her arms once again folded and her chin in the air.

“Spike… is… Spike,” Buffy said with an air of disgust. She screwed up her mouth and waved her hand at the offending creature, searching about for some other way to explain him to Hank. “He’s just… a guy. I mean, obviously. Just an… annoying guy and he just sorta… follows me around.”

“In a helpful manner,” Spike amended, glaring at the petite blonde. Buffy glared back so he continued, “And by ‘guy’ she means ‘great friend and ally’--”

“Did I mention annoying?”

“Also cunning, skilled, and resourceful.”

“--Poorly dressed--”

“It‘s black, you half-wit!”

“--Emotionally needy, out-of-date, sociopath!” Buffy concluded through clenched teeth.

“And you love it,” Spike sneered.

“Whatever,” she sighed with an eye roll.

“Riiiight,” Dawn drawled, “Well, Buffy, I’m not sure how you define the term ‘boyfriend’, but “annoying guy who follows you around” is exactly what it says in Webster’s.” Angry little lightening bolts zipped between the three sets of eyes.

Hank cleared his throat and everyone suddenly remembered he was standing there. Buffy’s skin pinked.

“So, uh, Dawn?” the man asked, “Would you like to go to the movies tonight?”

“No.”

“Dawn. You wanted to see that lion in the closet flick, right?” Buffy practically yelled, “That’s playing tonight, right?”

“It’s ‘The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe’, moron,” Dawn snapped.

Buffy shot her younger sister with a rather good impression of their mother’s ’do as I say or you will die’ face. The Key gave a very heavy, incredibly overdramatic exhale. “Fine, fine. Let’s go,” she grumbled, trudging towards the door. She turned before leaving and demanded of Hank, “We have to get popcorn. And it has to have extra butter.”

It was as close to a peace treaty as he was going to get and Hank, recognizing this, said, “Of course.”

Dawn glared a final dose of venom at her sister before walking off into the gray Californian night.

“Think she’ll like the Porsche?” Hank sighed helplessly. Buffy could only mirror his meek smile. He followed his youngest daughter out of the house.

Once the door was shut behind them, Buffy felt her knots begin to loosen and she could breath freely. She gave a tired moan and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes.

“Well, that went swimmingly,” Spike muttered. He turned to The Slayer with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Proud papa reminds me of a certain soldier-boy, actually. Tall. Dead-grass colored hair. Duller than dirt. And with a tremendous stick shoved up his--”

“Spike!” Buffy shouted, balling her hands into fists at her sides, “Get out of my house!”

“Now, now. No need to get all snippety. What’s wrong?” Spike asked, suddenly ditching the snark and furrowing his brow in concern. “Daddy dearest shake you up? You alright?”

Buffy stared at him for a moment, her lips drawn in a tight line, before rushing to the door, grabbing her jacket. “I am going to The Bronze!” she nearly screamed, “If you follow me, you will not live to see tomorrow!” Then she stormed out of the house, a furious twister of dark rinse denim and patent leather. Spike was left gazing at a sudden Buffy-void.

“Right then,” he muttered. He turned around and shouted after The Slayer, “Don’t worry, love! I’ll patrol tonight! Alone!” Silence. “You’re welcome!”

Spike sighed. For some foolish reason, he had thought they’d moved beyond all of this. Yet there she went, acting like he was the source of her eternal woe. True, leaps and bounds had been leapt and bounded. They patrolled together. Sometimes. And Buffy actually talked to him now, whole conversations, that didn‘t include the words ‘protect’, ’payment’ or ’ohmygoshyouhavenosoulyouareevilandmustdie!’. In front of her friends, too! And, yeah, alright, vampire and slayer, obviously going to encounter a bump or two. Or several hundred. So she was going to be all moody and transfer her issues with another man onto him. Been there, done that, know the script by heart, don’t feel like playing it out again. Best to just be there if and when she needed him and be somewhere else if and when she didn’t. And that didn’t mean playing Buffy’s puppy on a leash, either. Cause puppy Spike would follow her to The Bronze. Or wait for her here, offering up his nose for emotional support. No, New and Improved Spike was going to go get hit by things that he could hit back without getting a migraine. And without withering away from poetic heartbrokenness. Yeah, patrolling it is then!

Spike started out of the house, but, as an afterthought, nicked the tv remote from the coffee table. Ha! Take that, Slayer. He shoved the plastic box into his duster pocket and prowled off.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



“And he just shows up! Out of nowhere! I haven’t gotten a card or… or a phone call or anything in over five years and he suddenly appears and is all, ‘Hey, my darling daughters, come away with me and let’s be a family again! Hooray!!’” With much violence, Buffy stabbed a mozzerella stick into the tub of sauce, splashing tomato paste.

The group was sitting at their usual table at the Bronze. It was in mocking distance of the dance floor and close to the bar. There was no band tonight but the board out front had promised all 80’s music. So far, the DJ had spun nothing but disco. Oz was up in arms about it. Or at least, as up in arms as Oz got. Xander tried to placate the situation with cheesy appetizers. Buffy had managed to destroy more mozzerella sticks than she had eaten.

“That is kind of awkward,” Willow offered. “I’m sure he means well, though. He does mean well, right?”

“Sure, I guess,” the Slayer grumbled, absentmindedly pulling the crust off the mozzerella stick and making a general mess, “I don’t think he’s planning on drowning us in a river or anything. But I don’t understand. How can he just become our father again? I’ve… it’s horrible, but I’ve gotten used to him not being there. Everything was making sense! It was good with him not being here. And now… I don’t know if I can just shove his puzzle piece back into the amazingly complicated jigsaw that is my life.” She frowned down at her greasy, sauce-covered hands and the small collection of crumpled breading and mushy cheese. Willow handed her a napkin.

“It seems more like he’s trying to shove himself back into the puzzle, Buff,” Xander countered. “If you don’t want to go to the Big Apple, then don’t go! No big.” He raised his hands in the air triumphantly. “Problem-o solved-o!”

Buffy sighed, “I know.”

“Your father isn’t aware that you’re the Slayer?” asked Anya.

Buffy shook her head in response.

“Well,” Anya chirped, “You can’t just shirk your calling.”

“I know,” Buffy said again.

“Yeah, the Doublemeat Palace would be down a cashier slash fry cook,” Xander joked.

“Ugh,” Buffy moaned, waving another unfortunate cheese stick in the air, “Don’t get me started on that place! I still smell like dead cow.”

“It is a bit distracting,” Oz admitted.

“Oh!” Willow exclaimed, with wide-eyed glee, “Speaking of dead things, Giles wanted me to alert you to some demon cult activity. Big evil group called ‘The Brethern’. We don’t know much about it yet, but we’re doing the whole research thing tomorrow around five, right before the party. Giles said you get to use a sword!”

“Good, I need to kill things,” muttered Buffy around the mozzerella. “Wait… what party?”

Willow pouted. “Tomorrow is Giles’ one year anniversary of opening the Magic Box. And it’s his 50th birthday.”

Buffy stared at her blankly.

“You forgot? I just reminded you this morning!”

“Er…” said Buffy.

Anya suddenly reached under her seat and produced a large garden gnome, which she set on the table. The ceramic figure boasted the basic curly, gray beard, red pointy hat, and buckled shoes. He looked a bit… disapproving. All Buffy, Willow, and Oz could do was tilt their heads and stare in bewilderment. An embarrassed Xander hid his face in his hands.

Anya waited for someone to comment on her brilliance. She eventually ran out of patience.

“I have purchased a gnome! I think he’ll like it. It has a rustic, ‘I grew up on the outskirts of Bath’ feel. And, as an added bonus, garden gnomes ward off bunnies!” She clutched the gnome to her chest.

“And Giles already hates me, so I suffer not from this debacle,” Xander added.

“I completely forgot!” wailed Buffy. “I didn’t get him anything!”

“Tradition requires we, his only friends, buy him things he doesn’t particularly want or need but will enjoy nonetheless,” Anya explained. “We just recently did the same for you, Buffy. You should really purchase something for Giles or he may end up hating you, too!”

“What in the world could I give Giles?” Buffy grimaced.

“You could get him a toupee,” Anya suggested, petting the ceramic man sitting in her lap.

“What? He doesn’t need a toupee,” Xander said.

Anya just shrugged. “Well, in a few years he may.”

“A toupee would probably be a bad idea,” Willow said, shaking her head.

“Along the same lines as a wheelchair,” Oz added. “Or a bedpan. A pacemaker.”

“The man has just been through a mid-life crisis. He got an earring. Giving him a toupee would be like giving him a tombstone,” Xander went on.

“I was only trying to help Buffy. I’m sure Giles doesn’t expect anything complimentary or worthwhile from her anyways.” Anya smiled broadly across the table at the Slayer.

Buffy groaned and looked out across the dance floor at the swirling sea of sequined halter tops and khaki pants. Ah, to be young and carefree. Like she was last week. Or at least, like she was several years ago. Before Glory and her mom’s death and the whole Riley fiasco and college and the great Faith calamity and the Angel angst-o-rama. And the hyena possession thing. Yeah. The heck was up with that hyena possession thing, anyway?

Speaking of animal people.

Buffy glimpsed a furl of fur amongst the swaying hip young things. It was a tail. And the tail was connected to a lithe female body. Which also had claws. And pointy tufted cat ears on the top of her head. Hmm. Buffy watched the girl for a moment before realizing it was the magazine reader from earlier. So that’s why she was wearing a scarf on her head. Poor thing was hiding some feline birth defect.

“Hey, hey,” Buffy called to her friends, tapping the table to get their attention. “See that girl out there?” She nodded her chin in the mysterious young woman’s direction. “She was at the DMP today. But I think she was watching me, all suspicious-like.”

“Yeah, so?” asked Xander, who was busy stretching a string of cheese as far as possible. “I watch pretty girls all the time. You gotta be more open-minded, Buff.”

“No, that’s not… she was flipping through an issue of ’Cat Fancy’,” Buffy explained. “And now she has a tail and pointy ears. You don’t think that’s kind of strange?”

“In relation to what, exactly?” Xander replied. “You, the Slayer, are sitting at a table with a demon, a witch, a werewolf, and a garden gnome. All we need is the vampire and we’d have the complete ‘strange’ set.”

“Oh ho! No way!” Buffy cried, holding up her hands, “Spike is spending way too much time around my house and my sister so as it is. I don’t need him hanging out with us at the Bronze, too.”

“He was just here with us two nights ago and you seemed fine with it,” Anya said.

“Yes, and now my Spike quota has been filled for the month, thank you,” The Slayer mumbled. She glared into the distance. “It’s just so… so… weird between us. It’s weird! I mean… it’s wrong.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully for a moment then declared, “And it’s weird.”

“Ok, so we’ve established that Spike and his Buffy-fetish are weird,” Xander said. “Who knows, maybe he doesn’t still feel that way? Have you asked him lately?“

“You think he doesn’t love me anymore?” she gasped. “Wow. I hadn’t even considered… and that sounds really self-absorbed but, well, all this time I’ve been just… assuming that he still does and he probably doesn’t! He hasn’t brought it up since, you know, the night with the tower. Ugh! Now I‘m upset for misreading him!”

“Whoa there, Buffster!” Xander cried, holding up his hands in defense. “Calm down. Rein in those rant ponies and circle up the wagons and roast some beans at the campfire of serenity. Just… simmer a bit.”

Buffy pouted at him. She picked up another mozerrella stick and gummed it sullenly.

“So… uh, my chemistry class is really--” Willow began.

“And he’s patrolling tonight!” Buffy suddenly interjected, again waving the breaded cheese about like a light saber. “Like… like, it’s ok for him to be helping me! I never said he could help me! I don’t need help!”

“Oh, poor little Buffy,” Anya cooed She reached across the table to pat the blonde on the hand. “The unresolved sexual tension between you two must be suffocating.”

A beat. “The what who what what??” Buffy screeched.

Xander paled.

“This won’t end well,” Willow whispered to Oz.

“UST,” Anya went on. “Unresolved sexual tension. Between you and Spike.” She looked to the others for support but they simply stared. “Oh please, don’t tell me I’m the only one who notices?” More staring. “It is really quite obvious.” Anya sipped her fruity cocktail, frustrated with the density of humans.

“There is no unresolved sexual tension between me and Spike!” Buffy spluttered.

“Oh. You’ve resolved it, have you?” Anya asked, her interest piqued.

“What? Ew! No! That’s not… there is nothing between us except for… hate and disgust and… as of late, mild acceptance,” Buffy ended lamely.

“Hmmm,” Anya hummed, unconvinced.

“Spike hasn’t done anything, um, very evil for a few years now, Buffy,” Willow stepped in, trying to salvage the night. “And he did save Dawn’s life on the tower. And we do sort of need him for certain things. Not that you exactly need him, exactly. Just… you know. He is good to have around.”

Buffy grumbled.

“He watches me when I change,” Oz put in.

“Huh?” Xander yelped.

Oz glanced around at the masks of horror on his friend’s faces. “Into a werewolf,” he amended. “Come on, guys. I mean… really.”

“And! And he‘s developed this big brother relationship with Dawn which is really cute!” Willow quickly added, now attempting to rescue her boyfriend.

“And he’s excellent eye candy,” Anya stated matter-of-factly.

“What?” Xander yelped again.

“Well it’s true,” Anya shrugged.

“Yes! Ok!” Buffy spat. “I get it! Stop! Whatever happened to the anti-Spike-ness?”

“Meh,” Xander sighed with a shrug, “it’s not as fun and meaningful to mock the guy who saves you and your friends time and time again.”

“He’s growing on us,” Anya added helpfully. “Like mold on very old cheese.”

“I know, I know, Spike is the nicest evil creature ever. He… he can be helpful. He’s good at sister watching. That’s great. He has Dawn privileges. And that’s it. I‘m just going to keep on keeping on the way I was and… he‘ll get over any… weird feelings he may still have for me. Good plan team!” Buffy stood with purpose, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “My day has been crap. I’m going off to patrol. This steam needs a blowing off.”

“I thought you said Spike was patrolling?” Oz asked.

“Oh, right. I--”

“Coughcoughunresovledsexualtensioncough,” Anya said, trying for a mock cough cover-up and failing miserably.

Temper ablaze and flailing about in frustration, Buffy shouted, “There is no sexual anything between us! NO SEX!! NO SEX!!” Realizing she was attracting an audience of startled bystanders, a flustered Buffy turned on her heel and left.

“Jeez, Ahn!” Xander cried once the Slayer had exited.

“What?” Anya snapped. “I’m trying to help her! She is lonely and repressed. Besides, I broached the subject last night and you agreed with me! And now you’re being all two-faced and fidgety.” She shook her head critically. “It is not very becoming.”

“I think this whole thing with her dad has Buffy kind of… on edge,” Willow sighed.

“I don’t see why,” Anya huffed. “He shouldn’t be allowed to disappear and reappear whenever he wants to. She should simply tell him that.” She munched thoughtfully on one of the remaining mozzerella sticks. “Or cut off his head. I mean, she has all those sharp weapons laying around. She could make it look like an accident. Why, if I still had my powers, I’d tear his liver out.”

“Buffy might… look down upon you eviscerating her dad,” Willow mumbled.

“Oh like she’d figure it out,” Anya replied. “I could easily get rid of the evidence. I’d just fix his liver with onions and feed it to Xander.”

Ignoring the look of nausea on her fiance’s face, Anya turned to Willow with a giant grin. “We need to talk bride’s maid dresses! I was thinking bright, bright, bright jungle green!”

The former vengeance demon placed the forgotten garden gnome on the table again as she reached into her bag for a bridal catalogue. No one noticed it’s eyes had begun to glow a harsh yellow.




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The forest clearing was not so clear as it was swarming with thousands of short figures waving trowels and torches. Each wore a cone hat, colorful overcoat, and thick gray beard. Their eyes shone with golden malice.

“Notre Roi est capturé ! Attaquons ! Aller, va, va !” shouted a particularly portly man, brandishing a pair of shears.

“Aller, va, va!” echoed his comrades.

And with that, the army of garden gnomes began their march toward Sunnydale. 


Chapter Two

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