Season 5. Begins with
‘Spiral’ in the abandoned gas station, and goes far off-canon almost
When Dawn makes the ultimate
sacrifice to save her sister, friends, and the world, Buffy’s mind
snaps. When Buffy's friends give up hope of her ever recovering, and become
afraid that she’ll turn violent and uncontrollable, they call in the Council to help.
Fearing what the Council will do, Spike, forgotten and ignored by her
friends, steps in. Will he be able to reach the Slayer when no one else could?
Will he be able to keep her out of the hands of the Council and away
from her ‘helpful’ friends? How much heartbreak, guilt, and failure can
one girl stand before her indestructible spirit finally resigns the
fight and gives up hope?
YOU for reading and to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me!
Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile. All mistakes
are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.
Rating / Warnings:
Warning for this chapter: Artery-clogging grease!
Main Character Death. Implied Rape. Plenty of angst.
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.
The next evening after dark …
“Oh. My. God! Seriously?! This has been here the entire
time and I’ve been eating tofu!?” Buffy jumped from the car almost before
Spike had it in a parking spot, and certainly before he had it stopped.
“The Holy Grail of American fast food was right here, not
five miles from our house, and you let me eat freaking tofu?!” Buffy
growled at him angrily as she came around to the front of the car and started
for the door of the dining establishment.
Spike got the ignition killed and set the brake before
joining her. “Not my fault, the Bo… Joan…” Spike began, immediately on
“Oh, right, I forgot, Joan’s in charge of my dietary
requirements. You had absolutely noooo say in the matter. One cookbook does not
a connoisseur of American cuisine make – especially when the cook doesn’t even
eat,” Buffy snarled back as she swung the door with the giant, yellow ‘M’
emblazoned on it open and headed inside.
She’d only gotten a couple of steps into the dining area
when she had to stop. Her eyes fluttered closed and her knees even wobbled a bit
in utter, gastrointestinal ecstasy. The aroma – oh, sweet Jesus – the aroma of
fatty, fried burgers and deep-fried, artery-clogging potatoes swept over her
like a long, lost lover. She closed her eyes and just … breathed.
She had an almost uncontrollable urge to drop to her knees
and kiss the red tile floor – she was home. Or as close to home as she could get
Spike came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her,
leaning his chest against her back. “Don’t forget who brought you to this Mecca
of supersized pleasure,” he whispered in her ear seductively, then added, “And
for God’s sake, don’t tell Joan! She’ll bloody kill me.”
Buffy laughed and finally opened her eyes. People in the
booths and tables were looking at her like she’d lost her mind. She didn’t care.
She was at McDonald’s! Her heart sang. Her stomach rumbled. Her taste buds
tingled with anticipation. This was almost as good as sex with Spike. Okay, not
really – but at that moment it was heavenly.
“Promise to bring me here every single day and I won’t
tell,” Buffy offered slyly.
“That’s blackmail!” Spike accused, scowling at her, his
fine sense of decorum severely affronted.
“Blackmail’s such a harsh word,” Buffy objected.
“How do ya feel about 'extortion', then?” he wondered.
“I prefer to think of it as incentive,” Buffy
defended as she pulled away from him, took one of his hands in hers, and headed
for the counter. Up at the front, she stood back a bit, studying the colorful
menu above the cashiers.
Her face scrunched up in thought. Everything was in French.
That is just so wrong. “Bagels?” she commented, looking at the pictures,
“Burgers do not go on bagels!” she scoffed, clearly disturbed.
“What’re those?” she asked pointing to pictures of some
“The Fish McWrap and the Goat McWrap,” Spike translated.
Buffy’s jaw dropped and she looked at him to see if he was
joking. He wasn’t – she could tell, he didn’t have that evil glint in his eyes.
“Goat … goat?!” Buffy shuddered. “That’s just
She looked back at the board again and her frown deepened.
“Where’s the Quarter Pounder with Cheese?” she asked Spike.
“Errr … don’t see it, pet,” Spike confirmed.
“Philistines,” she growled.
“Sorry, luv,” Spike offered. “Got Big Mac,” he suggested.
Buffy pouted. “It’s not the same. The Big Mac’s all about
the special sauce – which is basically French dressing …
“Hey! What do they call French dressing in France?” Buffy
wondered suddenly, looking over at Spike with seriously inquisitive eyes. “Do
they just call it ‘dressing’? Is it the same as our French dressing: doctored-up
ketchup? And do they have an American dressing? Or is our French dressing their
American dressing? Or do they have American-French dressing, which would be
different than French-French dressing? Inquiring minds want to know.”
Spike just stared at her blankly for several of her
heartbeats. “Your mind’s a scary bloody place, Summers,” he deadpanned.
Buffy smiled and turned back to the menu, lifting her chin
proudly. “Thank you.”
After studying the menu-board another minute, she stepped
up to an open cashier and placed her order – in good ole American-English. This
was McDonald’s, damn it! “Four double-cheeseburgers, a supersized order of fries
– you do have Heinz ketchup, don’t you?” she asked worriedly.
The clerk nodded.
Buffy let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” she mumbled
before continuing, “Ummm … a large Coke, and a hot fudge sundae.” Buffy turned
to Spike, “Do you want anything?”
Spike choked. “Uhhh … I’ll just have some o’ your fries.”
Buffy turned back to the cashier. “Make that two
supersized orders of fries.”
“Bloody hell, Slayer, you feeding a Mongol horde?” Spike
asked as he pulled some cash from his pocket and handed the bills to the clerk.
Buffy rubbed the little bulge in her stomach and smiled
demurely. “Pretty close.”
Buffy was giddy with anticipation as she slid into a booth
with the tray of artery-clogging fast-food. She reverently peeled back the waxy
paper from the first of her hamburgers as if unwrapping a jewel-encrusted
Fabergé egg. Her mouth watered and she licked her lips as she took the top bun
off the burger. She removed the pickles gingerly, barely touching them with the
tips of her fingers, and setting them off to the side of the paper, before
replacing the bun atop the burger.
Spike slid in across from her and watched her with
amusement as she then opened a pack of Heinz ketchup – accept no substitutes! –
with her teeth, and squeezed the contents out on the other side of the burger’s
former wrapper turned serving platter. Next, she picked up three French fries,
dragged the tips through the ketchup, and lifted them to her lips. She took a
bite of the ketchup-coated fries, then lowered them and dunked them in the sauce
again – yes, double-dipping is acceptable etiquette in McDonald’s – before
finishing them with a glorious moan, licking the salt from her fingers. After
that, she picked up the burger and took a large bite, following the potatoes
with an all-beef-patty chaser.
"Can hear your arteries narrowing as we sit 'ere," he
commented, watching her chew a large mouth-full of burger and bread.
"Everyone knows that blood flowing too freely is bad for
you," Buffy retorted after washing her bite of ambrosia down with a drink of her
"That right?" Spike asked, quirking a brow at her
"Well, duh! If blood flowed too freely, you'd totally bleed
to death from a paper cut! Geez, Spike ... I thought you'd know more about
blood, considering your ... fascination with it."
Spike chuckled, shaking his head at her logic, and reached for one of her fries.
She slapped his hand
away adamantly. “Mine! Those are yours,” she informed him, tilting her head to the other
order of fries on the tray.
“Touchy, you are, pet,” Spike complained, taking a few
fries from his pack.
“Don’t get between a pregnant American and her McDonald’s
fries,” Buffy warned, taking another bite of her hamburger.
“Words t’ live by, I reckon.”
Buffy nodded, switching back to devouring another trio of
“Gonna eat them pickles?” Spike asked, eyeing the forlorn
green discs on the paper.
Buffy scowled at him and wrinkled her nose. “Gross – no
way. They’re … wilted.”
Spike laughed as he picked them up and popped them into his
mouth. “Why don’t ya just ask for the burger without pickles, luv?”
“This is McDonald’s,” Buffy scoffed in explanation.
Spike’s brows furrowed, waiting for additional elucidation
from her – nothing more came. He blew out a breath and shook his head as he ate
more of his own fries. “You Yanks are a bloody strange lot.”
Buffy huffed out a breath. “At least we don’t have freaking
goat wraps at McDonald’s.”
Spike shrugged. “Point.”
A couple of weeks later…
Buffy wandered in a seemingly aimless, meandering path
through the hallowed halls of the Louvre, and Spike followed. Her eyes took in
masterpiece after masterpiece, rarely settling on any one for long. She’d
comment at times, but mostly she was silent as they literally strolled through
When even the Mona Lisa drew only gentle acknowledgment
from her, Spike started to wonder if this had been a bad idea. She’d enjoyed the
Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame, and even that cheesy, tourist-y boat tour on the
River Seine. Of course, none of those things seemed to move her quite as much as
that first trip into McDonald’s. Yanks!
Still, it was possible they’d never be in Paris again, and
he wanted to make sure she at least saw the high points lest she regret it
So, when Buffy finally stopped her amble, Spike took note.
He stood next to her and a little behind where he could watch her face as much
as look at the sculpture she was gazing at intently. After a full minute had
passed in silence she remarked, “It doesn’t look like a shoe.”
Spike pulled his top lip between his teeth to smother the
chuckle that threatened, then cleared his throat. “Nike was a goddess before she
was a shoe, pet. The Goddess of Victory.”
Buffy looked at him a moment, her expression unreadable.
“Oh. I knew that,” she asserted flatly, looking back at the giant, winged statue
“This is called ‘Winged Victory of Samothrace’ – it’s
Greek. Been here since 1884 – I remember Dru wanted me to steal …”
Buffy cocked a brow at him.
“Errrr …” he stammered, ducking his head uncomfortably.
“So, did you?” Buffy asked, giving him a suspicious look.
“Still here, innit?” he pointed out, waving a hand at the
enormous marble deity. “Too bloody heavy.”
Buffy blinked. “So you did try to steal it,” she
Spike shrugged. “Didn’t ‘ave enough minions t’ carry the
soddin’ thing,” he explained. “Don’t know what she wanted it for – said it spoke
to ‘er. Good bloody thing Miss Edith came along, I’d a’ hated to lug that chunk
o’ rock around the bloody globe with us.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and looked back at the statue, which
seemed capable of taking flight at any moment. “That’s wrong on so many levels.”
“What? Do anything for my girl,” Spike reminded her.
Buffy shook her head. “Not that; the fact that Dru and I
were both drawn to it. But it’s got … something…” Buffy furrowed her brow and
tilted her head slightly as she tried to find words to describe what it was.
Buffy nodded absently, agreeing to all those, as she began
to move around the colossal marble sculpture in a slow circle.
“A certain je ne sais quoi?” Spike offered when she
didn’t actually answer. He began stalking after her, following in her awed wake.
“I don’t speak French … much,” Buffy reminded him, not
taking her eyes off the sculpture. “But, it has a certain something … I don’t
Spike stifled another laugh with a cough. “That’s what ‘je
ne sais quoi’ means, luv.”
Buffy looked at him. “What?”
“‘I don’t know what,’” Spike answered.
Buffy frowned. “If you don’t know what it means, then why
are you saying it?”
Spike sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “It means:
‘I don’t know what’,” he ground out slowly as if speaking to a dimwitted,
perhaps comatose, puppy.
“You really shouldn’t say stuff in other languages if you
don’t know what it means, Spike. I know in school, a kid got me to say–”
“Buffy,” Spike cut her off, his tone scolding. “I do
know what it bloody means. It means ... ‘a certain something’. Literally, ‘I
don’t know what.’”
“And again I say …” Buffy began, but a teasing smile
quirked the corner of her mouth and gave
“You cheeky wench,” Spike growled when he realized she was
taking the piss out of him. He pulled her into an embrace and dipped his head to
nibble on the curve of her shoulder where it met her neck. “I should drain you
and leave you at the goddess’ feet for that,” he snarled against her skin.
Buffy laughed and, despite the searing bliss of his lips
against her skin, she pushed him back. “People are looking,” she whispered,
casting furtive glances around at the other patrons.
“Let ‘em look. Just jealous, they are. All they can do is
look at the soddin’ sculpture, I got the real thing.”
Buffy couldn’t help the grin that spread over her face or
the swell that filled her heart, which actually made it hard to breathe. She
turned in his arms and looked back at the magnificent Goddess of Triumph,
leaning against Spike’s strong back, and holding his arms around her tummy and
“I think it suits us … we won,” she murmured.
“We did, luv,” Spike agreed, nuzzling her neck gently.
“That we did.”
A couple of weeks later, back in London…
Buffy stood as still as the statue that Spike had compared
her to back in Paris, but she felt none of the overwhelming awe that it had
inspired as she looked through the observation window and into the small room.
Despite her stiff, perhaps even detached, stature, her heart was thundering
painfully in her chest, threatening to break her ribs, and she could barely
“You alright, luv?” Spike asked worriedly, his words gentle
She nodded. Once. A barely perceivable motion of her head
only noticeable because of the slight shift of her hair. Nothing else moved.
“Breathe, pet,” Spike advised, moving closer to her and
laying a comforting hand at the small of her back. Spike was afraid he'd made a
terrible mistake letting Buffy talk him into bringing her here.
Another miniscule nod.
“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Spike continued, his gaze
following hers through the reinforced glass to the blind man on the other side.
She did not nod this time, but did try quite resolutely to
“What happened to him?” Buffy wondered, her voice a bare
squeak of breath through her suddenly dry lips.
Spike swallowed. “Doc says they found ‘im stripped, gagged,
strung up, and locked in ‘is garage. Apparently a hive o’ angry hornets was left
with him … and a bloody bucket-full o’ red ants … and a few crows. Did a bit of
a number on ‘im, they did. Said he’d been in there a good, long while ‘fore
anyone realized he was missin’. Shame that.”
Buffy slowly turned her head and looked at Spike, her eyes
wide. Her words to Spike echoed in her mind, I want to … to … strip his
clothes off, string him up, and pour red ants all over him, then put him in a
room with a hive of hornets, and then bury him up to his neck in the desert and
let the buzzards peck his eyes out and eat his brain.
Spike pursed his lips and shook his head, tapping a finger
to his forehead. “Can’t. He’s human … technically speaking, of course.”
Buffy looked back at her worst nightmare come to life, now
broken, blinded, strapped to a hospital bed, and lost in catatonia.
“Joan,” she amended softly, remembering the three days Spike and
Joan had been gone supposedly securing transport for the three of them back to
the States. At the time he’d insisted that it would be boring, that the trip
would be long and tiring, and he had suggested that Buffy just relax on the
beach while he and Joan took care of it.
Spike shrugged noncommittally.
“Couldn’t catch any buzzards to put in there with him,
huh?” she asked flatly. “I guess the crows worked.”
Spike shrugged again. “Dunno what you mean, luv.”
Buffy snorted a wordless scoff, clearly not fooled.
“What do ya want t’ do?” Spike asked, ignoring her
Buffy didn’t answer. She just stared at the monster that
had haunted her nightmares – both sleeping and awake – for weeks. The monster
that had violated her, who she was sure had tried his best to make her abort her
babies, who had weakened her and used her and humiliated her and …
She clenched her jaw and refused to allow the painful
memories to bring tears to her eyes. She wasn’t weak anymore. She could smash
through that window and crush the life out of him before any of the hospital’s
orderlies could intervene. She felt rage surge up from her belly. Her body
stiffened and she began to tremble with the depth of her anger. She fought
against it just as she’d fought the tears, even as her heart hammered ever
harder against her ribs, urging her to act, to exact the ultimate revenge, to
kill the bastard.
“Buffy?” Spike’s voice was very near, very soft.
Buffy closed her eyes and forced a deep breath of the
horrid-smelling air of the mental hospital into her lungs. As she continued to
breathe in the sickly-smelling air, her trembling slowed and finally ceased, and
her heart-rate began to pull back until it was a mere gallop.
“Nothing,” she said finally. “Leave him.”
Spike leaned forward so she could see his face. “You sure?”
She blinked her eyes open and was immediately blanketed by
the cobalt blue depths of love and concern that were Spike’s eyes. The rage
within her waned, replaced by the warmth and courage that Spike brought her. She
nodded, this time more adamantly.
“I refuse to be turned into a monster like him,” she said
after a moment, her words steeled with the strength of her anchor.
Spike nodded, and looked away, hiding a wince. And like me? he
Spike turned back to look at the crazed skeleton that used
to be a human. Its thin, pallid skin was covered with angry, red welts,
pustules, and wounds from its ordeal in the garage. Its eyes were covered with
formerly-white bandages, now stained brown with blood and other fluids that
oozed from the empty sockets.
“Living like this is probably more punishment that I
could’ve ever delivered anyway,” she continued, as her breathing and heart-rate
both slowly came under control, and her adrenaline grudgingly waned.
She turned her gaze to Spike who stood beside her, his hand
still resting gently against the small of her back. She knew he’d done it for
her. He’d done it so she wouldn’t have to. He did it so she would never have to
free the raging monster within her that wanted revenge, and then face that
monster in the mirror every morning. “Thank you.”
Spike cocked a brow, slowly turning his face back to hers.
“Putting him here.”
Spike lowered his eyes and gave her a slight nod. It would
be the only acknowledgement on the subject that he’d ever give her.
Buffy woke the next evening with excited butterflies
dancing in her stomach. They were starting for home – back to America – today.
Spike hadn’t divulged much of the travel arrangements to her, other than to say
they’d be sailing and passports wouldn’t be an issue. She was pretty sure she
didn’t want to know any more, honestly. She loved him, but his methods were
sometimes … questionable. She knew he didn’t hurt anyone to secure their
passage, but being ignorant of just what he had done, she’d decided, was
Buffy had never sailed before – well not on anything as
large and grand as whatever would cross the Atlantic – and she was giddy with excitement
about the upcoming adventure.
She looked down and ran her fingers through her lover’s
disheveled hair, spiking it up in places where the curls would allow. He looked
so angelic, sleeping with his ear pressed against her abdomen, listening for
their babies’ heartbeats. He said he could hear them sometimes, although at
their last appointment before leaving France, Marie-Élise said it would probably
be a few more weeks before they could actually be heard with a stethoscope, and
that it was probably Buffy’s heartbeat he was hearing. Spike hadn’t argued with
the midwife, but grumbled that he knew the bloody difference when he and Buffy
were alone. Buffy was sure he was right – if anyone knew the difference, it
would be Spike.
She’d awoken with him in this position on more than one
morning, and it warmed the cockles of her heart … whatever they were. He was the
strangest vampire she’d ever known or even heard of. That wasn’t a giant
revelation to her now, of course, but it still made her smile thinking about her
first meeting with the Big Bad. If she’d only known then what she knew now, how
different would her life have been?
Buffy intertwined the fingers of her other hand with the
hand Spike had resting on the slope of her tummy just under her breasts and was
met with something unexpected: jewelry. He hadn’t been wearing any jewelry
lately – or even painting his nails black, for that matter.
She lifted his hand up and looked at it. On his left ring
finger was a plain gold band – a wedding band. Her brow furrowed. When the hell
had Spike gotten married? And to who? Buffy shook her head, that was crazy. Of
course Spike wasn’t married. But why was he wearing a …
“Mornin’ luv,” he murmured, his eyes blinking open as a
wide yawn parted his lips.
“Something you want to share with the class, Mr. Pratt?”
Buffy questioned, turning his hand so he could see the ring on his own finger.
Spike cleared his throat and sat up from his awkward
sleeping position, where he’d been using her belly as a pillow. His back cracked
and popped a few times as he straightened it. Then he tilted his head from side
to side, eliciting more loud cracks of bone settling back into their proper
He was stalling. Buffy knew the tactic. She waited.
“Nothin’ to tell, is there?” he said at last, twirling the
ring with his thumb. “Just thought it’d look better if we … well … didn’t want
anyone t’ think … that the bits … that I didn’t … that you were … that …”
Buffy’s brows inched upward the longer he stammered. She
let him keep on stuttering for a while before offering, “You didn’t want anyone
to think I was an unmarried, shameless hussy carrying bastard babies belonging
to some unknown father?”
“Well. Now that you mention it … yeah,” Spike agreed.
“So … you … what? Stole some…”
“Didn’t steal!” Spike defended. “Bought,” he assured her as
he pulled two smaller-sized rings from the pinky of his right hand and held them
out to her.
Buffy glared at him incredulously, ignoring the proffered
jewelry: a small, almost infinitesimal, diamond engagement ring and a plain gold
“Wow. That is soooo romantic,” she sneered at last, still
ignoring the rings.
Spike’s eyes widened in surprise. “I … errr … huh?”
Buffy huffed out a disgusted breath and tossed the covers
off. “Sorry to interrupt this farce, but I’ve got to pee,” she announced as she
got up and stalked to the bathroom. The door slammed behind her, leaving Spike
utterly confused in the subsequent silence of the hotel room.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and waited for
her to return, trying to suss out his hormonal Slayer. Not even half-way through
her pregnancy and she was already driving him mad with her un-suss-able mood
When she finally emerged several minutes later, he stood up
and tried again. “I know the diamond isn’t much, luv,” he offered
apologetically. “Can get somethin' nicer later, after we're settled. Thought you’d rather spend our money on a house for the bits
than a little bauble for your hand. ”
“Did you? Well, that was very thoughtful, Spike,” she
snarled back, walking past him to retrieve her clothes for the day.
He watched her sorting angrily through her suitcase – which
had been neatly packed a moment ago – shoving things this way and that, to find
what she wanted. After a moment, her hands went still and her chin dropped to
her chest. He could just see a small quake of a sob shudder her shoulders.
Bloody hormonal woman, Spike thought to himself, but
his anger lost its edge when he smelled her tears.
“Buffy?” he tried, his voice gentle. “What’s wrong, pet?”
he asked, moving forward to stand behind her.
“Nothing,” she replied, her voice cracking with the tears
he couldn’t see but could smell, and now feel, stab into his heart.
“Please tell me,” Spike begged, gently turning her around
to face him. He touched one curled finger under her chin and lifted her face up
to his. “Buffy, what did I do?”
She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. “Nothing. It’s
not your fault.”
“I’m sorry the ring’s not…”
She shook her head again. “It’s fine. It’s … There’s
nothing wrong with the rings. They’re … perfect.”
“Then what?” Spike wondered, wishing she’d just for once in
her bloody life not make him figure out what was rambling around in her
scrambled, barmy, Slayer brain.
Buffy swiped angrily at her traitorous tears and took the
rings from Spike’s hand. “Blame Walt Disney,” she said cryptically as she
the rings on her finger – they fit perfectly.
Spike was sure a day would come when his face would freeze
into a permanent befuddled caricature of himself – it was only a matter of time
– as he tried to understand his Slayer.
“You’re upset ‘cos I didn’t take you to Disneyland Paris?”
Buffy choked out a bittersweet laugh. “No. It’s just …” she
waved a hand vaguely – her left hand, with the rings. She sighed. “I guess I
just always thought … one day … someone would … ask me to marry him and … it
would be … not like this. Not a … lie – not an act.
“I thought there would be … little cartoon bluebirds fluttering
around dropping rose petals on my head, and pounding, cartoon hearts bouncing
around my chest, and … angels singing ... harps and trumpets. It’s just … stupid girl stuff. Fucking
Walt Disney and his stupid movies,” she spat, turning back around to resume her
search for something to wear.
Spike’s jaw dropped open. “Buffy … are you sayin’ … what
are you saying?”
“I’m saying Cinderella is a skanky ho bitch who should die
a horrible death, and I damn sure won’t ever let little Dawn watch any Disney
movies,” she replied, keeping her eyes on her task. “They’re just … cruel … and
… and heartbreaking when girls grow up and find out it’s all a horrible lie.
Life’s not like the movies.”
“B-but …” Spike stammered, his heart suddenly in his
throat. “You … I didn’t think you … when you were trying out the names for the
bits … you didn’t … yours … you didn’t ever say … Buffy … Pratt. I didn’t think
you … wanted to actually … marry …”
Buffy turned around slowly and looked at him.
“…me,” he finished, his eyes delving into hers, trying to
see the truth.
“Oh, Spike,” Buffy sighed out tenderly, her shoulders
slumping. “You are such a dope sometimes.”
Spike flinched like she’d slapped him. “I am not. You’re a
bloody barmy, hormonal bird that the Amazing Kreskin wouldn’t be able to suss
“What are you saying?” Buffy replied huffily, her posture
straightening as she planted her fists firmly on hips.
“Saying that, if I’d known you wanted t’ get married,
would’ve … done … this different, wouldn’t I?” he growled back, his hands
mimicking hers as he leaned nearer to her.
“Yeah!” Spike asserted, his lips snarling away from his
teeth. “Give me those, Fairy Tale Girl,” he demanded, reaching for her hand and
practically yanking the rings off. “I’ll show you bloody Cinderella,” he growled
more to himself than her as he stuffed her rings into his pocket along with his
“What are you doing?” Buffy nearly screeched as he took the
rings back. “You’ve lost your freaking mind!”
“No doubt about that, Summers. Would happen to anyone that
hangs around the likes of you for more than two days, I reckon.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and replaced her hand on her hip,
resuming her annoyed stance. “Now you don’t care if people think I’m a
skanky, preggo ho?” she wondered incredulously.
Spike smirked at her and took a step back. “Well,
apparently, it was good enough for Cinder-bloody-rella, reckon it’s good enough
“Vampires!” Buffy exclaimed, rolling her eyes and tossing
her hands in the air in defeat. “There's never a sharp, pointy stick handy when
you need one.”
End Notes: Short personal story: During college I went on a six-week tour
of Europe. Back then ... oh, so many years ago, McDonald's restaurants were few
and far between (we found two: one in Germany (don't recall where now) and
London). When these Meccas of American fast food were discovered, thirty
eighteen-year-olds descended on them like locusts on a wheat field. We were
shocked by some of the offerings (beer in McDonald's?), but mostly just euphoric
for that taste of 'home'. Ahhhh, heaven!
Cheeseburger in Paradise
Tried to amend my carnivorous habits.
Made it nearly seventy days,
Losin' weight without speed-eatin' sunflower
Drinkin' lots of carrot juice and soakin' up
But at night I'd have these wonderful dreams
Some kind of sensuous treat.
Not zucchini, fettucini, bulgar wheat,
But a big warm bun and a huge hunk of meat.
Cheeseburger in paradise.
Heaven on earth with an onion slice.
Not too particular, not too precise.
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise.
Heard about the old time sailor men,
They’d eat the same thing again and again;
Warm beer and bread they said could raise the
Well, it reminds me of the menu at a Holiday
But times have changed for sailors these days.
When I'm in port I get what I need;
Not just Havanas or bananas or daiquiris,
But that American creation on which I feed!
Cheeseburger in paradise, medium rare with
mustard be nice
Heaven on earth with an onion slice.
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise.
I like mine with lettuce and tomato
Heinz 57 and French fried potatoes
Big kosher pickle and a cold draft beer
Well, good God Almighty which way do I steer
For my cheeseburger in paradise
Makin' the best of every virtue and vice.
Worth every damn bit of sacrifice
To get a cheeseburger in paradise;
To be a cheeseburger in paradise.
I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise.
I like mine with lettuce and tomato
Heinz 57 and French fried potatoes
Big kosher pickle and a cold draft beer
Well, good God Almighty which way do I steer
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