|Story Title:||Can't Buy Me Love|
Except For the Turkey
A romantic outing … Spike and Buffy have some ‘alone time’ ...
MacKenzie Verity Weckerly born October 9th, 2010
Edmond “Eddie” Giles Rosenberg-Maclay born March 11, 2010
Joshua "JJ" Harris was born on April 21st, 2004
The twins (Danielle Dawn, "Dani" and William Rupert, "Billy") were born on February 12th, 2004.
Annie was born on February 14th, 1999
Spike and Buffy were married in February 1999
Buffy was born January 19th, 1981
William/Spike was turned by Dru in
All the Potentials were endowed with full Slayer power in February 2003.
Buffy and Spike learned of the other dimensions and got the memories from the 'Rome' Universe in May, 2003.
The ‘Wish-World’ lasted from January 19th, 2005 to January, 16th 2010.
Except For the Turkey, Bryant Oden: http://youtu.be/sAIbwodgoU8
Hush Little Baby, http://youtu.be/lG-PpAZV35A
ScreenCaps courtesy of ScreenCap Paradise: http://www.screencap-paradise.com/?cat=3
Thanks to 'epd4' for betaing this chapter and PaganBaby for her encouragement, LOLs, and wonderful ideas! Any mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling ...
|Rating / Warnings:||
NC17. Content is only suitable for mature adults. Contains explicit language, sex, adult themes, and other adult situations that some people may find objectionable. If you are under the age of 17 or find any of these themes objectionable – GO AWAY.
Back in Sunnydale …
(The night after the bachelorette party where Spike was the ‘entertainment’), Monday, November 22nd, 2010, 2:30am:
Buffy was just finishing up feeding MacKenzie when Spike got home from work. She gave him a kiss as she stood up and handed the baby to him while he took Buffy’s place in the rocking chair in the nursery.
“How’s m’ little punkin, t’night?” Spike asked the baby as he held her up against his shoulder and patted her back lightly.
Buffy laid a cloth over his shoulder. “Our little pumpkin is spitting up goo like a regurgitating Frovalox demon on steroids,” she offered, holding her own spittle-stained shirt out to prove her point. “So, how was your day? Get gooed by anything?”
Spike chuckled softly. “Not t’night … although I did get venom shot at me by a bloody irate Cabrinia beast that caught ‘er boyfriend cheating on ‘er with a Fungus demon …”
Buffy grimaced. “Are you ok?” she asked, looking him over for injuries or burns.
“Well … sounds worse than it actually was …” Spike admitted, rolling his eyes. “Cabrinia venom is basically red wine … Cabernet, I’d wager … full bodied, with just a hint of oak and a smidge of tart fruitiness … I’d pair it with a zesty rib eye or braised tenderloin,” he teased.
Buffy laughed. “So, while I was getting spit up on, you were having drinks with strange women…” Buffy summarized, cocking a brow at him as their daughter christened him with a wet burp.
“Bloody hell…” Spike moaned, scrunching up his nose and ceasing to breathe as he pulled MacKenzie away from his shoulder. “Partially digested breast milk … not much on the menu to pair with that.”
“Welcome to my day…” Buffy sighed, taking the soft, now wet, cloth off Spike’s shoulder, wiping the baby’s face with one dry corner, and then tossing it into the laundry basket. “I think I’d take the red wine spit over the milk burp…”
“She don’t mean it…” Spike defended their daughter as he cradled her in his arms and leaned down close to her. “Do you, pet? No … sweetling don’t mean nothin’ by it…” he continued, shifting into a baby-talk tone and shaking his head from side to side as he spoke. “No she doesn’t … nuh-uh … no …” he continued baby talking and MacKenzie cooed and laughed and grabbed awkwardly at his face with a small hand.
Buffy rolled her eyes … if the other demons at the bar could see him now … Big Bad? … more like Big Softie. “I’m going to put in a load of laundry and get another shower,” Buffy began, picking up the laundry basket and starting for the door. “Think you can handle our regurgitating mutant a little while?”
“You’re gonna give ‘er a bloody complex callin’ her that …” Spike chastised, raising his eyes to Buffy and giving her a stern look. He looked back down at MacKenzie and reverted to the baby talk, “You’re no bloody mutant, nun-uh … tell ‘er, pet … you’re a bloody prophecy … a child o’ fire … yes you are … a bloody wild angel … uh-huh … my little punkin…”
Buffy blew out a long breath and headed out of the nursery and downstairs, leaving ‘Big Softie’ and his little ‘regurgitating punkin’ to their one-sided, baby talk conversation.
“There now, the mean ole Slayer’s gone …” Spike began, reverting back to his normal baritone as he rocked his daughter gently. “Don’t pay her no mind … she’s just a little surly with all the bill jugglin’ and whatnot – she don’t mean nothin’ by it. No worries, though … Papa’s gonna fix it soon and your Mama’s gonna be singing a bouncy little ditty, rolling in the dough, she’ll be … Don’t you worry your pretty little red head ‘bout nothin’.
“♫Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird,” Spike cooed softly, rocking his little angel.
“And if that mockingbird don't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring.
“And if that diamond ring turn brass, Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass.
“And if that looking glass gets broke, Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat.
“And if that billy goat don't pull, Papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull.
“And if that cart and bull turn over, Papa's gonna buy you a dog named Rover.
“And if that dog named Rover won't bark. Papa's gonna buy you a horse and cart.
“And if that horse and cart fall down, You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town.♫”
(The next evening just after sunset) Tuesday, November 23rd, 2010, 5:15pm:
“Tell me again why I’m ‘ere…” Spike requested as he followed Buffy through the crowded supermarket, pushing the cart – the cart they had to retrieve from the ditch at the very back of the parking lot because there were no others to be had; the cart with one wheel that wasn’t quite round; the cart which made an irritating sound … krrr-punk, krrr-punk, krrr-punk … as it rolled across the well worn floor of the grocery store.
“Because we never do anything together anymore and Willow and Tara said they’d watch the kids for us…” Buffy explained as she led them to the only empty aisle in the store – the health food and vitamin aisle.
“So … grocery shopping is the best you could come up with, is it?” Spike questioned, cocking a scarred brow. “No one can accuse you of not bein’ a bleeding-heart romantic …”
Buffy sighed as she stopped and pulled the grocery list out of her purse. “It’s not the best I could come up with, it’s just… it’s just what needs to be done – Thanksgiving is in two days, if you recall… and we’re gonna have a house full of people demanding to be fed. The Revolutionary War will look like a game of tidily-winks compared to what will happen if we don’t have a turkey and all the trimmings for them…”
“You just wanted help fighting grannies over the best turkey in the bloody case…” Spike accused.
“You always could see right through me,” Buffy sighed, rolling her eyes. “Tell you what … how about we split up – you get the potatoes and the stuffing, I’ll get the green beans, French’s onions, cranberries, and yams,” Buffy directed, looking down her list. “Then we’ll get the turkey together – what could be more romantic than picking out some nice carrion together to feed our family?” she quipped and Spike rolled his eyes.
“Anya’s supposed to cover the desserts, Willow and Tara are getting a Honey Baked ham and baked beans, Lorne’s bringing the beverages, Clem, of course … finger foods and snacks, Faith and Giles are on clean-up duty … Did I miss anything?” she asked, looking up at Spike.
“A partridge in a pear tree?” Spike wondered with a smirk.
“No – that’s at Christmas … wrong holiday, dear,” Buffy informed him. “But, that’s not far off, so you can look forward to this romantic getaway again very soon!”
“Oh, my mistake … this is the ‘ritual sacrifice with pie’, an all American holiday memorializing the theft of the ‘purple mountains majesty, amber waves of grain, and fruited plains’ from their rightful owners and a subsequent marked decline in fashion sense which included belt buckles on bloody hats; not the classic European holiday where a fat Peeping Tom in a red suit spies on you all year and records everything you’ve done that’s naughty so he has something to keep him jolly when Mrs. Claus has a bloody headache …” Spike quipped, taking pieces of sermons from Willow and Anya and adding his own theory about Jolly Saint Nick to it.
“Only you Yanks would put two major holidays so bloody close together! Gets confusin’ it does … trying to keep the thievery and illegal surveillance straight…”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out…” Buffy cajoled. “Potatoes and stuffing,” she reminded him sternly. “Synchronize watches … meet back here in …” Buffy looked at an imaginary watch on her wrist “… fifteen minutes.” Buffy headed off in search of yams, leaving Spike with the shopping cart. “Oh … and don’t lose that cart!” she barked over her shoulder.
Spike sighed and rolled his eyes before heading off in the opposite direction to fulfill his mission, guarding the shopping cart with his very life – hopefully he wouldn’t meet any resistance from the grannies in the store, he may just have to take them out. krrr-punk, krrr-punk, krrr-punk…
Spike was waiting for Buffy when she returned to mission headquarters, the still deserted health food aisle, her arms laden with a large bag of frozen French style green beans, a couple of cans of jellied cranberry sauce, a large can of French’s French Fried Onions, and three giant cans of candied yams. She dumped her cache into the cart and examined Spike’s conquests …
“Spike! What’s this?” she exclaimed, picking up his items. “Stove Top stuffing!? Instant potatoes!? This is Thanksgiving! They didn’t have Stove Top stuffing and powdered potatoes! You were supposed to get real potatoes and real breadcrumb stuffing … stuff!” she informed him.
Spike’s brows shot up. “And the pilgrims had jellied cranberries, canned yams, and frozen beans, did they?”
“Don’t be ridiculous … everyone knows they didn’t have freezers back then …” Buffy argued. “It’s just that these are nicer than the fresh ones … the fresh ones have been picked through.”
Spike snorted a sarcastic laugh and shook his head. “Soooo … you’re sayin’ they did have cranberries laden with sugar and canned yams, then? Just popped down to the supercenter and picked ‘em up, did they?”
Buffy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t tell me they didn’t preserve stuff back then … in glass jars with those lids that come apart … I saw it on ‘Little House on the Prairie.’ That’s practically the same as canned from the store! Why do those lids come apart, anyway? I never could figure that out…”
“They’re in two pieces because you don’t leave the outside ring on once … oh, bloody hell! What bloody difference does it make?!” Spike exclaimed, raking a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Slayer … if you want a genuine first Thanksgiving meal then we need to get a bloody thirty-aught-six and go back to the B&B up in the mountains,” Spike argued.
“Huh … why? What’s a naughty … thirty … thing?” Buffy questioned, dropping her hands to her hips.
Spike rolled his eyes … again – any moment now they were gonna roll out of his head. “A thirty-aught-six is a bloody rifle and we need to go shoot some Bambi … ‘cos that’s what they really had at the first Thanksgiving … there wasn’t any bloody turkey and cranberries and pumpkin pie … and there most certainly weren’t any frozen beans or jellied cranberries or sodding canned yams!” Spike informed her. "And sugar? You can bloody well forget that! Be lucky if they had a spot o' honey."
Buffy frowned, sticking her bottom lip out in a deadly pout. “How would you know?!” she asked indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Spike smirked smugly, widened his eyes, and tilted his head before mimicking her by crossing his arms over his chest too.
“Oh no you were not!” Buffy exclaimed, dropping her arms adamantly. “I don’t believe you were at the first Thanksgiving!”
Spike shrugged his head and one shoulder nonchalantly. “Believe what you want, pet…”
Buffy opened her mouth and drew in a deep breath as she prepared to argue with him, but then stopped. What year was the first Thanksgiving, anyway? He couldn’t have been there… no … no way… it had to be before he was even born … certainly before he was turned … right?
Shit! … Columbus sailed the ocean deep … no … how did that go, now? Ocean ... wide ... no … blue! That’s it! In … something-something ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue… Now … what was the ‘something-something’? If only Annie were here … she’d know.
Spike raised his brows and waited as he watched her mind whirl, utter consternation playing across her features as she thought. He pursed his lips together and tried to keep a straight face while she kept running the rhyme over and over in her head … but ‘something-something’ was all she could ever come up with. Stupid, useless rhyming thingy …
Finally, Buffy gave up. “Fine … but you can explain to everyone why we have instant potatoes and Stove Top stuffing …”
“No worries,” Spike assured her. “With your cookin’, it’d be an improvement.”
“Humph!” Buffy exclaimed indignantly, punching him in the arm. “You better watch it, buster! You’re this close to breaking out that ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron again!” she informed him, holding her thumb and forefinger about a quarter of an inch apart to show him how close he was.
Spike laughed and rubbed his arm where she’d hit him – it really was just too easy to take the piss out of her. “If ya injure me, I won’t be able to help you fight off the blue-hairs in the turkey aisle,” he reminded her. “I’ll have you know I had to fight off two geriatrics just for the bloody stuffing … and I’d wager one of them ladies … and I use that term loosely, escaped from Alcatraz!”
“Poor baby … I do hope you weren’t injured too badly by the little old ladies you accosted,” Buffy replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
“Well, ta ever so for your concern for m’ health and well-bein’, Slayer … I almost get dusted fufillin’ the mission you sent me on and that’s all the bloody sympathy I get?” Spike asked indignantly, pursing his lips together and glowering at her. “I’d rather battle a legion of Fyarl demons than face humans under the holiday-shoppin’ hex … bloody ruthless, they are … fight dirty, too. They'll run over ya with them soddin' electric buggies! Should need a bloody license to drive one 'a them!”
“Oh, you poor baby. Did the wittle, ole wady scare the big, bad vampire?” Buffy baby-talked him, pursing her lips together and shaking her head from side to side like she was talking to MacKenzie.
Spike narrowed his eyes and glared at her, his hands on his hips. “You’d be singing a different tune if I was a big, fluffy dust bunny right about now…”
“Ok, I’ll bite … what was the ex-con-granny armed with … a cane?” Buffy questioned sardonically.
“For your information, she had a bloody wooden handbag! Size of a soddin’ breadbox, it was, and painted with the most God-awful picture of a green frog sittin’ on a lily pad eatin’ a fly. Splintered into a dozen pieces when she hit me over the bloody head with it … any one of which could’ve embedded into my heart and dusted me right there in the stuffing aisle,” Spike informed her indignantly, rubbing the back of his head for emphasis. “‘Clean up on aisle nine!’ … would’a been all you'd a' had to remember me by…”
Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I should’ve known better than to bring you on a romantic outing … you’re insufferable … and apparently a hazard to yourself and others.”
“I do m’ best, pet… on all counts,” Spike smirked as he started pushing the lopsided cart towards the dreaded turkey aisle. “Ya got a plan for this mission or is it just fists and fangs …GRRR-ARGH … smash and grab?” he asked with wide, sparkling eyes, hoping the ill-tempered frog lover had moved to the turkey case … payback would be sweet.
Buffy shrugged. “I figured you could distract them by doing a striptease while I picked out the best turkey. Plus – bonus – if you’re good enough, we might even get enough money stuffed down your pants to pay for everything.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I?”
Buffy smiled at him in triumph. “Not if you live to be a million…”
“Annie!” Buffy called when they came in laden down with their supermarket bounty. “Anne Joyce!”
Annie came running down the stairs in a panic … she never got called ‘Anne Joyce’ unless something smelly was about to hit the fan…
“I didn’t do anything!” she asserted immediately when she got to the bottom of the stairs.
“Fill in the blanks…” Buffy instructed her as Annie followed her mother and father into the kitchen. “In blankity-blank ninety two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue…”
Annie looked at Buffy like she had lost her mind – a pop quiz? At home? During Thanksgiving break? “Uhhh … In fourteen hundred ninety two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue. He had three ships and left from Spain; He sailed through sunshine, wind and rain …” Annie filled in the blanks and continued the poem.
“You are such a liar!!!!” Buffy screamed at Spike who had started laughing and moved to the other side of the kitchen table, out of reach.
“I never said I was there … you assumed!” Spike pointed out.
“Your eyes said you were there!” Buffy accused, throwing a box of stuffing at him.
“My eyes don’t talk, pet …” Spike asserted, deflecting the box of stuffing with one arm and still laughing.
“Oh, your eyes talk … they prattle endlessly! You are sooo gonna pay for that,” Buffy threatened, throwing another box of stuffing at him.
“Promises, promises …” Spike teased, catching the stuffing easily and moving towards her.
Buffy shook her head and rolled her eyes, but couldn’t keep a smile from turning up the corners of her mouth. “Be careful what you wish for…”
“Careful’s m’ middle name, pet,” Spike assured her as he pinned her against the counter at her back, putting one hand on each side of her and leaning his body against hers.
“What are m’ eyes sayin’ now?” Spike purred seductively, his blue eyes smoldering – speaking as only his could do, right to Buffy’s heart.
“If there are gonna be smoochies with tongues … can I go now?” Annie asked from the kitchen doorway.
“Run for your life…” Buffy advised, waving a hand dismissively towards their daughter as her smile widened. Annie barely escaped … retreating into the great room just before Spike leaned down and captured his ever-confounding wife’s lips with his.
Except For the Turkey, Bryant Oden
Day and we’re gathered round
Except for the turkey
There’s a wreath of
leaves on the front door
We all join hands
and sing this song
So if you’re a
turkey and you’re still alive,
Day and we’re gathered round
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