26.
Hours of silence ended the following morning when Buffy finally discovered Dawn, Andrew and Spike in the Wolfram and Hart cafeteria finishing up breakfast.
“Here you are! Where have you guys been? Is there something wrong with your phone, Dawn? I’ve been calling for hours.”
“I turned off my cell, Buffy. I didn’t want to interrupt our adventure.” Dawn emphasized the last word. She couldn’t wait to slap Buffy with every last detail of their outing. “It was way cool and I mean that in the totally restricted kind of way.” Dawn chewed a slender piece of bacon held between her finger tips.
“An adventure? Not demon, I hope.” Buffy looked closely to see if there were any signs of trauma on Dawn. “You didn’t take Dawn to any demon hangouts, did you Spike? Those places are full of germs and demon viruses.”
“No worries, love–“
“We went to Vegas!” Dawn announced.
Buffy blinked and looked from Spike to Andrew and back to Dawn. “What? Did you just say–“
“Vegas. Uh-huh.” Dawn nodded. “And you know what they say: what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
“Las…Vegas?” Buffy’s mouth tightened. “You took my little sister to Las Vegas?” She let loose a blistering glare for the chaperone and the vampire.
“Now, there’s no need to get confrontational,” Andrew reasoned. “It was educational. Look…” He grabbed a souvenir bag and pulled out a black rubberized pompadour which he promptly pulled on. “See?”
“I find it hard to believe you’re an Elvis fan, Andrew.” Buffy’s glare did not soften.
“Humph! It’s not Elvis,” Andrew corrected with a pitying sigh. “Although I can see how the side burns might have confused you.” He slipped off the rubber treasure and placed it carefully back in his bag. “Ever hear of Wayne Newton? ‘Danke Schoen’? Mr. Las Vegas? Not only is he a show business legend but he’s a business, um, business legend too. Dawn absorbed the essence of the entrepreneurial spirit in the heartland of America–“
“We were total maniacs!” Dawn leapt back into the conversation eager to push Buffy over the edge. “Completely out of control. Andrew sang karaoke with this fab drag queen named Lipstick Latour and–“
“AHEM!” Andrew cleared his throat suddenly. “That falls under the stays in Vegas column, Dawn.”
Dawn ignored Andrew’s plea. “It was great, Buffy. I ran up and down the strip…with scissors! How do you like that?” Her eyes sparkled at the dizzying memories. “It was beyond awesome!”
“I see. If you’ll excuse us.” Buffy grabbed Spike’s lapel, dragged him to his feet and disappeared through a nearby door. She then pushed him up against a wall. “You took her to Vegas?”
“Now let’s be fair, love. You took her to an apocalypse. And the scissors thing never happened. Honest. She’s just–“
“Spike. Vegas is hardly my definition of a safe place. I’ve watched CSI. The whole city is practically a crime scene.”
“It’s hardly the Fifth Ring of Hell.”
“That’s your basis of comparison? Not really helping your case.”
“Look, nothing bad happened. You have my word on that. It was tame, really.”
“And karaoke with drag queens? Is that the Vegas definition of tame?”
“Pretty much,” he mumbled. “Look, Dawn is not the one to worry about, love, believe me; that Andrew is slipperier than an greased eel.”
“Spike.”
“There was no gambling at all and no alcohol, as much as it pains me to admit.”
“So what did you guys do?”
“We went to a mall–bloody enormous it was too–and ended up at this all night bowling alley.”
“Drag queen free, I’m hoping.”
“That’s were the karaoke bar was.”
“And since when do you bowl?”
“Never said I bowled,” Spike corrected her quickly. Being the guard dog was okay with him if it meant hanging out with Dawn. She chose their destination after it became clear that millions of pulsating lights tipped Andrew over the edge from ordinary mania into a state of near delirium. “Kept score so Dawn could have a laugh.” The corner of his lip quirked sideways.
Buffy tried to keep score once with the gang. Between Xander complaining about being shortchanged on points and Anya trying to wrestle the tiny pencil from Buffy’s fist, it was a disaster. Buffy blamed it on a combination of the complexity of the score cards and the demands of quick calculations in borrowed shoes. One thing was certain, keeping score in bowling meant possessing the knowledge of how to keep score and some familiarity with the activity. Creature of the night and competitive by nature? The pieces fell into place.
Buffy’s eyes widened with amusement. “You totally bowled!”
*
“Buffy can be demonstrative, can’t she?” Andrew’s gaze lingered on the door Buffy and Spike disappeared through. “Should I be worried?”
“Nah. It’ll be cool. It’s simple math. Every once in a while Buffy goes postal when she realizes that no matter what, I’ll always be younger than her.” It was one truth that never failed to satisfy Dawn. “I thought the Vegas thing would have hit her worse than that. She was almost reasonable. I guess miracles do happen.”
“I don’t know,” Andrew stared at the closed door. “Did you see that crazed glint in her eye?”
“Relax, Andrew. She’s seriously premenstrual.”
“Ah! Of course. The hormonal slayer surge. I understand completely. Are you going to finish that quesadilla?”
“ANDREW!” Dawn struggled to complete her swallow and then coughed into a wad of napkins. “Stop saying things like that, because…Ew! Buffy is a freakazoid wrapped in that sad dye job. She’s lucky we pay attention to her at all.”
“Excuse me, folks.” A short man with remarkably hairy ears approached the table. “I’m sorry to disturb you but this room has been booked for a group synergy session. Visitors are most welcome to join in. If you’d like, please feel free to do so.”
“Are you too tired, Dawn?” Andrew asked. “I’d like to observe, you know, as a representative of the Council.”
“Oh cool. What do you think they’ll be doing?” Dawn finished the last of her drink and helped push the table against the wall.
“Well,” Andrew angled his nose toward the ceiling. It was his latest I’m-thinking-big-thoughts pose. “If I’m not mistaken–and I rarely am–I believe we’ll see a glimpse into the executive genius of Miss Harmony Kendall. She’s all about creating and maintaining synergy.”
“Duh…paging Captain Obvious. What is synergy anyway?”
It was a valid question but Andrew had no clue. As usual, he covered with false bravado. “What shall soon see, my dear. We shall soon see.”
“Would you stop doing Giles? You are seriously creeping me out.”
*
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Buffy sighed. “I’m usually better at handling stress. I know Dawn’s safe with you. I know that.”
“That’s nice to hear.” Spike leaned easily against the wall, no longer held there under threat of interrogation. He reached for his pack of cigarettes.
“Non-smoking building, Spike.”
“I was born to rebel.”
“Spike!” Buffy grabbed the cigarette dangling from his lips. “There’s rules, and rules are meant to be followed and when they’re not followed that’s when I have to step in and kick ass.”
“Have we changed the subject? Because threats of violence are just going to confuse the issue.” Spike thought he recognized an invitation for a opportunistic hallway snog. His voice lowered in question. “Unless you’re trying to turn me on? Because if that’s the case, it’s work–“
“Spike! Haven’t you been paying attention? We’re up to our butts in assassination attempts.” Buffy began to pace a worrisome pattern in the floor. “Wolfram and Hart is practically an armed camp and all you can think about is yourself?”
Got it. Not trying to turn him on. Although, she really didn’t have to try at all. The image of a flustered and besieged Buffy was positively irresistible. “Buffy, I got eyes. Thought it best to keep Dawn occupied and out of your hair.” Spike steered clear of the fact that Buffy practically begged him to watch over Dawn in the first place. “If that was wrong–“
“Oh, just ignore me. I need to vent. I know you meant well. Dawn’s lucky you were there for her.”
Spike understood Slayer speak, especially this slayer. Buffy stood before him looking tired and simply delicious. Once upon a time he would have jumped her right there and insisted she think about something else for an hour or so. Instead, his eyes softened. “You’re welcome.”
Buffy slumped against the wall and almost managed a smile. Why did circumstances always align to cause friction between them? Wasn’t supernatural drama enough? Her To Do list was lengthy and complicated: save Harmony, get a promotion, make things right with Spike and move out of Angel’s. No, wait, there was Dawn and Andrew to contend with, and Andrew, as she was well aware, was a calamity magnet. Dawn’s safety needed to be higher on the list.
Of course there would always be the Crisis of Unknown Origin that would swoop in uninvited and push everything else aside until it was resolved. Buffy began to feel that distinctive Slayer uneasiness, half way between an itch and a tingle. It was persistent and growing. Something was bound to pop up and reorganize her To Do list once again.
Why did Spike have to look at her exactly like that? Sweet and mischievous was too distracting, especially when she knew he still disapproved of her vocation. It was another unwelcome dollop of maddening friction when she needed to stay sharp. And when had he started wearing such a big belt buckle? Why not a glaring neon arrow pointing right at his– Damn. How was Buffy ever to focus on the judicious application of her appointed duties when Spike chose to wear such tight pants?
She took a step toward him. Making things right with Spike deserved to be priority number one. Her personal life deserved to be as remarkable as her future career prospects.
“Spike?”
“Hmm?”
Buffy cleared her throat and tried to sound decisive. “Leaving Andrew and Dawn alone for very long is probably not a good idea. We…better get back.”
Honestly, Spike couldn’t argue with that logic. “If you like.”
“Maybe we could, I don’t know, do something sometime?” Buffy had a knack for making vague plans. “After all this excitement dies down.”
“Could do. I’ll need to check my schedule though. I might have plans,” Spike teased.
Buffy rolled her eyes on cue, opened the door and walked back into the cafeteria.
“Another couple! Marvelous! Miss Summers, isn’t it? And Mr. Spike. Welcome!” A short man chirped and waved from across the room.
“Bloody hell,” Spike recognized the diminutive man immediately.
“All right!” Buffy grabbed Spike by the arm and dragged him toward the gathered participants, Dawn and Andrew among them. “I haven’t been to an actual group class before. This will be fantastic!”
“I’m not doing this,” Spike asserted with indignation. “I bloody well know how to dance.”
“Shh!” Buffy scolded a dismissive whisper. “I need a partner and you’re it.”
“I’ll do the introductions again for those of you just joining us.” The jovial instructor spoke in a sibilant swirl. “My name is Pood Nudeburger, Demon Whisperer by day, demon on the dance floor by night.” He giggled at his little joke and raised a hand to beckon his associate. “Many of you already know my partner, the lovely Francine, a jewel both of the front lobby and the ballroom.”
“Oh, Pood, you sweet talker,” Francine giggled and waved to Buffy.
“That’s Francine!” Buffy hissed into Spike’s ear as she waved back enthusiastically. “I know her.”
“This is ballroom dancing, people. Find a spot were you have some room to maneuver. We don’t want to bunch up. Good. Now, hold your partner firmly, yet gently. Left hand, right hand,” Pood demonstrated with polished ease. “Come on. Don’t be shy. This is intuitive, deep body communication. Embrace your partner.” A hand went up immediately. “Oh, a question already?”
“Yes,” Andrew nodded. “I’m a little mixed up, I think. My hand goes where again?” Pood stepped toward Andrew and Dawn.
“You are the gentleman, so your left hand goes here,” Pood indicated the correct position. “Your other left hand, young man.”
Andrew reddened at his obvious faux pas.
“And your right hand goes here. Not too tight, not too loose. Find a happy medium with your partner.”
“I am the gentleman,” Andrew repeated.
“I think we’ll be okay if you can just remember that much,” Dawn advised.
“There’s so many variables to juggle. Maybe I should sit out and take some notes. I’m good at taking notes.”
“Stop talking! You’re confusing me.” Dawn positioned her hands and watched the demonstration.
“It’s a count of four,” Pood continued in a calm yet authoritative voice. “Men move forward, women backward. Shall we add some music?” Pood nodded toward Francine and she activated the sound system. “Nothing fancy to begin with,” Pood opened his arms to embrace Francine. “And slowly…one, two, three, four…one, two, three, four. Feel the music; it’s speaking to you, two, three, four. Now everyone together in your own time…slowly forward men…try not to look at your feet if you can…good, good…looking at your partner. Not so close, Mr. Spike. Let the lady breathe and a gentleman’s hands don’t wander!” Pood broke from his partner and approached Spike. “Shall we try again?”
“We’re fine, mate, really.”
“Let’s review. I will be the female,” Pood stepped between Buffy and Spike. “Take me in your arms.”
Spike responded with low growl of warning. “Said we were fine.”
“Save the theatrics for the dance floor, Mr. Spike,” Pood smiled and then winked. “We’ll need to spread that machismo around.”
Spike did not move. Steely eyes stared straight ahead unblinking. He could dance just fine and he didn’t need some twat in scuffed saddle shoes telling him the right way to hold a woman, let alone demonstrating it.
Another tactic was needed to bridge the impasse. Pood motioned to Buffy. “Step forward, Miss Summers.” Buffy did so. “She is a delicate flower needing the proper presentation,” Pood explained. “That’s your job, Mr. Spike. I trust you’re taking it seriously.”
“Right. A flower. All delicate and petally and such.” The eyebrow said it all.
“You don’t sound convinced.” Pood had plenty of experience with reluctant students but the flower imagery never failed to get results.
“Don’t screw this up,” Buffy hissed. “Listen to the instructions. I want to dance.”
Fine. Spike hardened his jaw and his resolve.
Pood continued his instructions. “Do not be concerned, Miss Summers. I sense untapped potential in your dancing partner. Mr. Spike, think of Miss Summers as a fragrant rose bud ready to burst into bloom. Now take her in your arms.”
“Bloomin’ rose bud. Got it.” Spike stood erect and took hold of Buffy.
“I was an orchid!” Andrew spoke from a short distance away.
“I’m the orchid, Andrew,” Dawn corrected. “You’re the vase.”
“All right, let’s continue. Just, uh, watch the pelvis, Mr. Spike. Nice and easy everyone. Music please, Francine.” Pood returned to his partner while the lilting rhythms filled the air. The couples soon moved around the room with some measure of ease.
“You heard Pood, Spike,” Buffy responded to an obvious nudge. “Watch the pelvis.”
“Would you stop complaining? I’m being intuitive.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“I’m following that bloke’s instructions to the letter, and bloody well stop trying to lead! I’m the man,” Spike’s embrace tightened. “The man leads. That means you follow my lead.” He leaned forward and nailed Buffy with a pointed glare. “Ballroom dancing ain’t nothing like that sloppy crap that passes for dancing in the clubs, pet. It has rhythm, rules, and precision. Sorry to burst your bubble, Slayer, but you’re not in charge here. I am. If you want to do this right you better follow me and…obey.” Spike had to admit there was something about this formal dancing that he quite liked.
“Spike.” Buffy’s eyebrows knotted severely.
“That’s right, give me some attitude,” he whispered. “The nastier, the better. But stand up straight and stick out your tits. Posture is everything.”
Before Buffy was aware of anything beyond the sexy flare of Spike’s nostrils, he twirled her expertly in his arms and brought her back tight against him.
“Oh my,” Pood praised from across the room. “A twizzle! Excellent, Mr. Spike! It seems we have a couple of naturals there.”
“What was that?” Buffy stared up at Spike with a dizzy grin.
“That was you listening very carefully, pet,” Spike smirked. “Glad to see that’s possible. Are you still listening?”
“Um, I can’t really hear the music.”
“Then you’re not listening.” Spike lunged forward taking Buffy into a slow, sensual dip. “Do you hear me now?”
“Mmm…” Buffy purred.
“Excellent, people,” Pood continued to offer encouragement while he danced with Francine. “Feel the flow. No jerking moves. Gentle yet masterful…Men…display your partners…flowing, flowing…”
“Can you believe that guy?” Dawn giggled.
“I think I’m finally feeling the synergy,” Andrew spun Dawn out beside him.
“I think I am too,” Dawn pivoted back into place in Andrew’s arms.
“Excellent!” Pood’s voice rose in praise in the background. “Improvisation is always encouraged. What a dynamic group we have today, Francine.”
“You’re so light on your feet,” Andrew commented without interrupting his counting.
“You too, Andrew.” Dawn glanced toward Buffy and Spike. They were moving to a rhythm of their own invention. “Don’t look now, but Buffy’s totally humping Spike’s leg. God, can’t they catch a clue? Dirty dancing is so 1999.”
Andrew tilted his head at a dreamy angle and spun Dawn across the room in lazy spirals. “Mmm…Patrick Swayze…”