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:
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.
Later that same night…
The good mood Buffy had awoken with, that of anticipation
and excitement for beginning the trip back to the States, had been replaced by a
mixture of anger at Spike for his assumption that she wouldn’t actually want to
marry him and sadness for the same reason. After all they’d been through, how
could he think she wouldn’t want to be Mrs. Pratt? Mrs. Summers-Pratt? Hmmm … it
sounded strange in her mind, but she supposed she’d get used to it – and anyway,
that wasn’t the point. The point was: what the heck is wrong with Spike? Maybe
it was him that didn’t actually want to marry her.
Buffy’s brain was trying it’s best to sort out the emotions
and tangled signals from her … whatever Spike was, that she hadn’t really been
paying a lot of attention as they walked down the long dock that jutted out into
the harbor. All their bags were packed and everything they owned in the whole
world was in them. They were going to the ship that Spike had arranged to take
them back to America.
“Here we are, then,” he announced, stopping near the end of
the long jetty.
Buffy blinked and pulled her mind back to the here and now.
She looked around but saw only small boats; she looked out into the harbor
beyond, but couldn’t make out much in the dark.
“Does one of these little boats take us to the ship?” she
wondered, looking around at the boats at the dock.
Spike cocked a brow. “Nooo … this is it,” he informed her,
waving a hand at the nearest berth.
Buffy’s brows shot up almost to her hairline. “This?
This … little thing … this ‘Minnow’, is going across the freaking ocean? So,
you’re … who? Gilligan? I’ll be Ginger, and Joan can be Mary Ann,” she scoffed.
“I need few more trunks full of clothes so I can still be stylish and
fashionable on the desert island we'll soon be stranded on! Or are you a Mary
Ann guy? In that case, I'll need to get Joan some some gingham.”
“Bloody hell, woman!” Spike growled back at her in
frustration. “It’s a fifty foot catamaran, not a dingy! This bloke’s been
sailing across the soddin’ pond for forty years in boats like this. It’s
“For you maybe,” Buffy retorted. “You don’t have to breathe
or worry about hypothermia when it sinks.”
“Actually, multi-hulled yachts are practically unsinkable,”
Joan offered helpfully. “They are remarkably safe.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve heard that before – the Titanic was
unsinkable, too,” Buffy shot back.
“Buffy,” Spike began, softening his voice. “We can’t take a
big cruise ship back – we don’t ‘ave any bloody paperwork. This fella assures me
he can … get around that problem.
“Trust me, I wouldn’t take you anywhere I thought wasn’t
safe – for you and the bits,” Spike concluded, giving her a pleading look.
Buffy folded her arms under her breasts and rolled her
eyes. She blew out a small huff of air in frustration, her chest heaving with
disdain. Finally, she looked back at the
boat and then at the yachts surrounding it.
It wasn’t that small, she supposed, compared to
some. “How long will it take?”
“’Bout three weeks,” Spike answered. When she remained
silent, just staring at the boat, he added, “We’ll have our own private room and loo. Got a decent kitchen in it, too. All the comforts o’ home.”
“Cabin, head, and galley,” the Bot … errr … Joan,
Buffy looked at her. “What?”
“The correct terms for bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen on a
boat are: cabin, head, and galley.”
“Oh, that’s great!” Buffy groused, flinging her arms out
away from her sides. “Another new language. Why can’t everyone just speak
English like normal people?”
Spike pulled his top lip between his teeth to keep from
laughing. “Does that mean … we’re going?”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “I guess. But if I die, I’m gonna
totally kill you.”
Spike let his smile show. “Only fair, pet.”
“Remind me to kill Spike,” Buffy groaned as she flopped
back onto the deck of the boat. Her bright yellow, foul-weather suit was soaked
with cold sea-spray, but at least she’d managed to keep her breakfast – which
had been nothing more than a couple of ginger snaps and a few sips of Ginger Ale
– off it this time.
“When would you like me to remind you?” Joan asked as she
handed Buffy a warm washcloth to wipe her face with. “I will schedule it in my
“As soon as I quit throwing up,” Buffy replied as she
accepted the cloth. “Unless I die first, then you kill him for me.”
“I am sorry, but that is a directive I would be unable to
fulfill. I am unable to bring harm to you or Spike.” Joan furrowed her brow in
thought a moment. “I will be pleased to remind you, but I don’t believe I could
allow you to kill him either. I apologize for the inconvenience,” Joan replied
Buffy rolled her eyes. She regretted it immediately when
the motion made her stomach lurch. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes,
trying to simply breathe through it. “I was just kidding," she assured Joan
after a few moments. "Sort of," she added softly, blinking her eyes open again.
Buffy had been sick since the very first night onboard the
ship. As the catamaran rolled over the dips and valleys of the waves on the open
sea, Buffy’s stomach roiled in protest – constantly. That had happened on that
little boat they’d taken from England to France, too, but she thought that had
only been the beginnings of her ‘morning-noon-and-night’ sickness. Apparently
Now she lay on her back looking up at a cold, grey sky and
tried to think non-hurly thoughts. There was nothing left in her stomach, but
that rarely mattered to it. She thought, perhaps, it was trying to hurl itself
off this godforsaken boat and commit suicide in the stormy depths of the ocean.
She thought the idea had a certain appeal.
“Didn’ bugger up my boat, did ya, girlie?” came the rough
voice of the ship’s owner and captain, Saul.
Saul was older than dirt, as far as Buffy could tell, and
had probably been a deckhand on Noah’s Ark originally. He was grizzled and tan,
as short as Buffy, but comfortably plump. His thick, white shock of hair left no clue as
to its original color, and he kept it cut in a regulation-buzz – as if the style
had been drilled into him from years in the military. He had an accent she
couldn’t quite place, maybe Irish or Scottish ... Welsh? Some strange
combination of the three? Even Spike wasn’t quite sure
where Saul was from, and the old captain only admitted to being ‘an old Salty
Dog from the sea.’
“No,” Buffy answered him as she sat up and put her back
against the railing. “I’m getting faster … or it’s just projecting further.”
“There’s a good lass,” he replied, nodding approvingly, his
bright blue eyes sparkling.
“You jus’ keep with the ginger snaps and ale, and that feelin’ll pass.”
Buffy stifled another wave of nausea at the mere mention of
anything food-related, but readied herself to lean over the stern again, just in
“It’s been five days, I don’t think it’s gonna pass,” Buffy
“Aye, it’ll pass,” Saul called back from the cockpit, his
tone confident. “Keep your eyes on the horizon and your face to the breeze –
you’ll get your sea legs soon enough, lassie.”
Buffy sighed. She’d been trying to do that for five days
and nights. She was exhausted, she’d barely slept at all, and felt like she’d
been hit with a Mack truck right in her ribs and stomach. Every muscle in her
torso ached with the strain of tossing her cookies over and over, and her throat
was raw from the bile.
She’d seen little of the private cabin that Spike had
promised; staying below was even worse on her revolting stomach. He, of course,
had no choice but to stay below during the day. At night he kept her company on
the deck, and took the night-watch so Saul could sleep. The vision she’d had of
spending the days making love in their cabin when she’d first seen the small but
comfortable room, vanished almost as soon as the boat was out of the harbor.
Slayers apparently had no resistance to motion sickness.
The ginger ale, ginger snaps, and handfuls of hard ginger candy – which was
supposed to be some sort of natural, never-fail cure – Saul had given her, had
had no effect whatsoever. Even the Dramamine that she had brought with her was
completely ineffective in quelling her roiling stomach.
Buffy longed for land; solid, unmoving, dirt under her
feet. She didn’t know how she’d make three weeks like this or what effect it was
having on the babies. Certainly they weren’t getting the nutrients they needed –
she couldn’t keep anything down. But she also didn’t know of any other way to
make it back to the States without her passport, and requesting a replacement
from the American Embassy would alert anyone that was looking for them to their
She took a deep breath and relaxed back against the railing
again, letting her eyes fall closed. The dizzy, nauseous feeling was worse with
her eyes closed, but her lids were like lead – she was so tired and
sleep-deprived. She tried to think of the roll of the boat as soothing, like a
baby rocking in a cradle, or swinging in a hammock, but it did little good. This
was yet another lesson in misery for her to endure, she supposed. What doesn’t
kill you makes you stronger, right? Buffy was starting to wonder just how strong
the Powers thought she needed to be.
“Land ho!” the Bot called from near Buffy.
Buffy furrowed her brow and forced her eyes open. “Land?
What land? I thought we were in the land of no land.” She stood up and looked in
the direction the Bot was facing.
“What is it? Where are we?” she asked the Bot.
“We are at latitude North 36 degrees…” Joan began.
“Argh! No!” Buffy stopped her, turning to Saul. “What is
“Spain – Gibraltar to be exact – which is actually property
of the crown … of England. It’s a bloody, buggered up mess, if ya ask me,” Saul explained.
“B-but, I thought we were on our way across the ocean, how
did we get here?”
“Sailed,” Saul answered simply, leaving off the ‘duh’.
“Sailed …” Buffy repeated, shaking her head with the
absurdity of her question and his answer. She looked at the small dot of land in
the distance, and longed to be on it. It was suddenly a toss-up which she’d
rather do: eat or sleep. She could do either one on hard, dry land; she could do
neither here on this floating roller coaster.
“Do you think we could … stop there for a while? A day or
two?” Buffy asked the old captain hopefully.
Saul gave her a strange look which she couldn’t decipher,
then nodded. “Aye – could do, lass. If that’s yer druthers.”
Buffy nearly leapt with joy, except her stomach chose that
moment to mutiny again. She could do nothing but fling herself at the nearest
railing and try not to ‘bugger up’ the captain’s deck, but at last there was
some hope: land. Glorious land was in sight!
Buffy jumped off the catamaran the second it was close
enough to the dock for her to safely reach. She squealed with delight at the
unmoving planks beneath her feet as she caught the rope Saul tossed her and
secured the boat in the berth.
Once the boat was secure, Saul headed into the town to pick
up some more provisions. As she waited for sunset, Buffy sat on the dock near
the boat. She ate ginger snaps and drank Ginger Ale, and it stayed down! Joan
warmed up some soup for Buffy, and that stayed down. Joan brought up a pillow
and Buffy was actually able to take a nap on the dock. When she woke up, Joan
had some eggs, pancakes, and bacon for her. It all stayed down! Hallelujah! Thank
When the last rays of sun disappeared beneath the far horizon,
Spike emerged from below-deck with their bags.
“You look a bloody-sight less green,” he observed, touching
a kiss to her forehead as he gained the dock next to her. “Like it ‘ere, then?”
“I would like it anywhere that has solid ground to walk on
– here is perfect,” Buffy replied as Joan joined them on the dock.
“Sorry, pet. Didn’t know you weren’t seaworthy,” Spike said
as the three of them started walking; Spike and Joan carrying all their bags.
Buffy would’ve taken exception to that remark, but she
really didn’t have a sea leg to stand on. She just let it go. “How long can we
stay here?” she wondered. “Saul wouldn’t really say.”
Spike shrugged. “Long enough, I reckon,” he answered
She felt sudden power flow through her when they stepped
off the dock and onto the land. She wanted to jump for joy – it was heaven! It
was glorious! It was solid, unmoving, unswaying, un-anything-ing! Land!
“Where are we going?” she tried next as they left the
marina and began walking alongside a road.
“The hotel,” Spike replied.
Buffy furrowed her brow. The hotel … not a
“Fancy the rock?” Spike wondered, cocking a brow toward it,
and not letting her consider the hotel further.
Buffy looked at the giant cliff-face of the famous Rock of
Gibraltar – a landmark even she had heard of. Well, it was the logo for that
insurance company, after all.
“It’s big … and rocky,” she observed. It was actually
pretty amazing – overwhelming even – but Spike was being avoid-y, so she would
Spike snorted. “Got an excellent grasp o’ the obvious, you
“The Rock of Gibraltar was one of the Pillars of Hercules,”
Joan interjected helpfully. “It was known to the Romans as Mons Calpe, the
other pillar being Mons Abyla on the African side of the Strait. In ancient
times the two points marked the limit to the known world, a myth originally
fostered by the Phoenicians.
“It’s not actually solid. There are over one hundred and
fifty caves within the Rock. The Ancient Greeks believed St. Michael’s Cave to
be the Gates of Hades, an entrance to the underworld.”
Buffy stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw dropping open.
Spike took another step or two and also stopped. Ahead of them, Joan kept
walking and talking.
“The Rock's central peak, Signal Hill, stands at an
elevation of 1,270 feet…”
“What? Wait!” Buffy interrupted her. “This is a Hellmouth?”
Joan stopped and turned back to face the pair. “Of course.
Even my nerve-receptors can perceive the power emanating from it. Spike chose it
because he thought it would be the best place for you to recuperate…”
Buffy whirled on Spike. “You chose it? I thought
Saul … I … What the hell, Spike?”
Spike dropped the bags he was carrying and lifted his hands
up in surrender. “Was pretty clear ginger and whatall wasn’t helpin’, pet. You
needed to stop; this was just a … convenient harbor.”
“With a cozy Hellmouth on it to make the ex-Slayer feel all
warm and fuzzy,” Buffy suggested, sarcasm dripping from each word.
“Well … the thought had crossed my mind,” Spike divulged,
ducking his head slightly. He raised his eyes up to meet hers, looking at her
through his lashes. “Did it work?”
Buffy glared daggers at him for several long moments, then
sagged. She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes, her head shaking slightly in
disbelief. “Yeah, I guess,” she admitted, looking back at the giant rock.
Spike smiled, clearly pleased with the success of his plan. “Brilliant! C’mon – got us a
nice room on the beach. We’ll get some room service and … see what happens from
there … now that you’re feeling better.” He wagged his brows at her suggestively
on the last words, letting his eyes rake over her body, head to toe.
Buffy rolled her eyes but smiled and then waved a hand,
inviting them to continue walking. “How did you set this up from out in the land
of the waves? Did the Little Mermaid come and carry notes for you when I wasn't
“Salty bugger’s got a satellite phone on the boat. Bloody
The room, as promised, was at once cozy and modern. A full
bath, a big bed, and she couldn't wait to see the view of the beach and water beyond
in the light of day. And, best of all: nothing moved. Not the floor, or the bed, or the
railing on the balcony. She could hear the water lapping gently against the
beach, but it didn’t rock the ground beneath her feet. It was perfect.
Buffy began peeling off layers of clothing as she walked
past the bed toward the bathroom. Another thing she hadn’t done in five days:
shower. Fresh water was a premium on a boat, making showers a luxury. Spike
asked Joan to order something from room service, then
followed Buffy's trail of discarded clothing, adding his own to the hotel room
floor. Buffy already had the water hot when he made it to the door of the
bathroom, kicking his jeans off his legs.
Buffy looked back over her shoulder and gave him a coy
smile just before she stepped under the hot spray. A nearly-orgasmic moan
tumbled from her lips as the water poured over her head, rinsing off the crust
of sea-salt and … more personal deposits from her body.
Spike was behind her in a moment, his body against hers,
hard and sensual. She shivered despite the nearly-scalding water that poured
over them both. His lips found her neck and he kissed a cool line of desire down
from her ear to her shoulder. His hard cock pressed against her ass, and she
pressed back, her own desire matching his. Another hunger they hadn’t been able
to sate for five days was about to be quenched.
“Need you, Buffy. Want you so much. Goin’ mad without you,
luv,” Spike rumbled against her skin.
“Take me, baby … God, I need you too,” Buffy agreed as she
moved so her back was to the shower spray. Spike turned with her, his front
still to her back, both of them now facing the wall of the shower opposite the
“You sure, pet? Like this?” he asked, his voice concerned
but at the same time anxious and excited. In the last weeks, sex between them had been
gentle and reverent, and limited to the bedroom; nothing that could be
remotely construed as anything but ‘making love’.
“Yeah … I’m sure.” Buffy bent forward, supporting herself
against a handicap safety railing, and opened herself up to him. “Take me,
Spike. Need you – need you now,” Buffy whimpered, thrusting her ass toward him.
Spike's libido required no more invitation – his
enchantress was leading this
dance, and he gladly followed. He really was nearly mad with need for her as it
was; he wasn’t about to argue with her now. He guided his cock into her from
behind, pressing in slowly. Her slick channel throbbed around his length as he
entered her and his knees trembled with the joy of her.
“Bloody fuck, Buffy,” he groaned as her body quivered and
her pussy clenched around him. “So tight, you are. Always so bloody wet for me.”
Buffy gasped as he entered her, goose bumps raced over her
skin – perhaps through the whole of her body – as the connection was made. She
loved the feeling of him inside her. It made her feel somehow whole, complete –
as if this is how it was meant to be. And then he began moving, his hands on her
hips, guiding her movements, and she began to float on the rapture his body was
pouring over hers.
“Harder, baby … need you. Need it harder, faster. Spike,
please, baby – please just fuck me,” Buffy begged. The words came out before her
mind could censor or analyze them, but once they were past her lips she realized
it was exactly what she wanted and needed from him now.
Their times together since her days in hell at the hands of
Weatherby had been gentle and loving. Buffy had needed that then, and she loved
Spike all the more for it. But now she suddenly needed more than that. Perhaps
it was the Hellmouth’s power driving her, perhaps it was five days of misery on
that damned boat, perhaps it was just time to move past gentle touches and sate
that feral need that Spike had awakened in her all those weeks ago back in Las
Vegas. Whatever it was didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that
Spike responded to her demands with the ferocity she longed for.
Spike’s leonine growl rumbled the very air around her as
his flesh slapped against her ass urgently. His cock drove into her, deep and
hard and … oh, my God, it was shamefully sweet! Small tremors of bliss rolled
through Buffy, each small, shuddering wave taking her higher and higher, right
to the top of that giant rock that was just behind their hotel.
The sound of wet slaps of flesh against flesh, of Spike’s
growling rumble of pleasure and grunts of effort, of her own moans, hisses, and gasps, filled the
small bathroom with a melody of lust. Buffy could feel the cliff ledge
approaching and her breath caught in her throat in anticipation of the glorious
plunge. Then Spike’s hand curled around her hip and his fingers circled her
clit. He slammed into her from behind like a wild animal and then began
tapping a finger against her clit with the same savage intensity.
The world burst into red-hot flames of joy.
The scream started so deep inside Buffy that it was barely
recognizable as anything but a rolling wave of unimagined pleasure. She flew
off the cliff and dove into a sea of bliss as the wave of pleasure rolled through her
body, looking for escape lest she explode. She couldn’t have stopped it if she’d
tried – and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t try.
Buffy’s body tensed and shuddered, her knees buckled, and
if not for Spike’s support, she would’ve collapsed as her orgasm roared through
her like a wildfire out of control. She was barely aware of Spike’s own howl of release as she
floated weightlessly in the flames beneath the cliff she’d hurtled off of, her
body burning spectacularly.
Buffy came back to herself slowly, and only when oxygen
became an issue for her burning lungs. She returned to the shower, clutching at
the cold, steel handicap support bar in front of her as Spike clung to her. She
wasn’t sure who was supporting who, or perhaps it was simply that there wasn’t
enough room for them both to collapse in the small confines of the shower.
As she gasped in the foggy, heated air, Spike’s lips began
caressing her back with gentle nibbles and kisses. His mouth trailed down her
spine, sending more shivering waves of bliss lancing through her body.
“Love you, Buffy. Love you so bloody much. So beautiful you
are, pet. So goddamned primal – you burn me to my bones. Was afraid I’d never
hear that rapturous scream again. A goddess, you are – a bloody dream,” he
murmured to her as his lips roamed over her heated skin. “Wish I could stay
inside you forever, luv – and then a hundred forevers after that. Right here …
never bloody move. Just stay buried in your sweet quim and listen to you scream
my name ‘til the end of the world.”
Then his hips began to move again. Buffy moaned in approval
and renewed desire. He was still hard … still buried inside her, still unsated.
So was she.
“Yes …” Buffy agreed. “Stay here forever … right on the
edge of heaven. God, I love you, Spike. You make me feel so good. Take me there
again, Spike. Need you so much, baby.”
Buffy wasn’t sure how long they stayed in the shower,
sating their desires. An hour? Two? Three? They had finally found the soap and
actually took a proper shower. Soft, reverent hands gliding gently over
quivering, spent limbs until they both smelled of lavender rather than sea-salt
When they emerged – clean and happily exhausted – food was
waiting for them. It had grown cold, but Joan didn’t comment on it not being
the proper serving temperature. She hadn’t cooked it, she’d ordered it from room
service, so apparently she didn’t take it personally when it went uneaten for so
long. Even cold, it was delectable. Joan had ordered a smorgasbord of dishes from
the hotel’s Italian restaurant since she wasn’t sure what her roommates would
want. It seemed somehow wrong to Buffy to be eating Italian food while in Spain
– or were they technically in England? – but Buffy didn’t complain, it was
Replete, their bellies heavy with copious amounts of pasta,
and the fire in their loins reduced to barely-glowing embers, Buffy and Spike
collapsed on the large bed to sleep in each other’s arms.
"You never did answer my question, ya know," Buffy murmured
sleepily to him as she cuddled against his side.
"What question was that, luv?"
"Ginger or Mary Ann?"
Spike snorted a soft laugh. "Who could choose, pet? Both
are bloody brilliant ... reckon I'd have to take 'em both."
Buffy shook her head against his shoulder and yawned
widely. "You're such a guy," she commented as she drifted off. It was the first real
sleep Buffy had gotten in days, and she couldn’t remember ever feeling quite as
contented as she floated off to dreamland.
Spike dropped a kiss atop her head. "Well ... yeah,"
he agreed softly, hugging her against him tightly as his eyes also fell closed.
After breakfast the next morning, Spike retrieved several
hundred-dollar bills from a hiding place in their luggage and handed them to
“Get a new frock – a proper dress, fancy and frilly – and
shoes and whatall,” he’d instructed her. “Thought we'd go out t’night – if ya
want to, that is.”
Buffy’s brows rose. Did he think she'd turn down a new
dress and a night on the town? "Will there be dancing?"
Spike smirked. "Could be ... if ya ask nice."
Buffy laughed and took the money from his hand. "Dinner and
dancing. I haven't danced in ..." she shrugged. She couldn't remember when.
Spike gave her a smile and nodded. "Dinner and dancin' it
is then, pet."
Within half an
hour, she and Joan were headed for downtown Gibraltar.
Main Street was, well, cute
... or maybe 'quaint' was the word. Buffy was sort of
surprised – everyone spoke English and there were lots and lots of shops of
every description. She found out later that the shops were ‘duty-free’. Even
though she was pretty sure they didn’t care about ‘duty-free’, since they
weren’t planning on passing through customs anyway, she took the opportunity to
buy Spike some whiskey and a carton of cigarettes. He’d promised to quit smoking as soon as
they had their own house, but not before. He had, she’d noticed, taken to
smoking outside away from her, however.
“So, how fancy a dress should I get?” Buffy asked Joan as
they walked by a few shops, looking in the windows to judge their merchandise.
“I do not know,” Joan replied. “Is there a set scale? Fully
defined levels of
“Well, yeah,” Buffy replied. “There’s like … first date,
decent restaurant fancy; there’s prom-night fancy; there’s
debutant-coming-out-party fancy; there’s super-high-end Hollywood movie star
dance-club fancy; and there’s meeting-royalty fancy.”
The Bot frowned thoughtfully. “Somewhere between ‘first
date’ and ‘royalty’ would have the highest probability of being appropriate.”
Buffy sighed. “That doesn’t really narrow it down much. You
don’t know where we’re going tonight?” Buffy wondered.
“I cannot say.”
“So you do know,” Buffy deduced, giving Joan an
“It is a surprise. Spike has tasked me with some missions
which are classified as ‘need to know only’,” the Bot divulged.
“Well, there you go! I obviously need to know so I know
what sort of dress to buy,” Buffy concluded logically.
“No. Spike was very clear and concise. You do not need to know.
He said that you would attempt to break me, but I am not to give in to your
‘bloody warped logic, begging, pouting lips, or angry demands’ no matter how
convincing or angry you became.”
“Warped logic? He thinks I have warped logic?” Buffy
Joan shrugged. “I believe that is why he prefers your
company over mine. My logic is … logical; your logic is … distorted.”
Buffy started to argue, started to say her logic was not
distorted, but was stopped by the Bot’s tone. She sounded … hurt, sad. “I’m sure
that’s not true,” Buffy offered sympathetically. “Spike loves you just as much.”
“No, it is clear that he does not,” Joan replied, her
tone forced back to neutrality. “He enjoys my company and was quite pleased in
the past when we both pleasured him, but it is your strangely deviated mind that
he loves. My mind is too … linear. We are, at best, friends … with benefits. You
are truly lovers. He adores you.”
Buffy wanted to smile and cry at her twin-friend’s words.
It made Buffy’s heart swell and fall at the same time. She was at once buoyed
by the thought that Spike loved her mind – twisted though her logic-bone may be
– and saddened that the Bot knew that, and was hurting from what must feel like
unrequited love to her microchips.
Buffy took Joan’s overly-warm hand in hers as they walked.
“He loves us both in his own way,” Buffy assured her. “He needs us both. I know
he’s been kinda Buffy-focused lately, but, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love
you too. I’ve just been living on the needy side of the tracks. Actually, I've kinda been that girl tied to the railroad tracks, and he's been ... you
know, Dudley-Do-Righting me.”
Joan looked at Buffy with utter confusion.
"Ok – that came out really wrong," Buffy admitted.
"The point is: he loves and needs us both."
The Bot's expression turned hopeful. “Do you believe that
to be true, or are you simply saying that in an attempt to defragment my sentient drive?”
Buffy gave her a reassuring smile. “I know it’s true. Don’t
sell linear logic short – you’re able to keep us on the right path when all I do
is get us lost in the woods.
“Plus, you cook way better than I do. You know what they
say: ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’”
Joan returned Buffy’s smile. “I believe whoever said that
was a few inches high in their estimation.”
“Joan!” Buffy exclaimed, her eyes growing wide in mock horror. “You naughty girl!”
Then Buffy laughed. “I think you’re right,” she admitted, leaning in
near her friend
conspiratorially. “Maybe we’ll test that theory again soon,” Buffy suggested.
Joan wrapped her arms around Buffy, pulling her into a
nearly bone-crushing hug. “I love you, Buffy. I love Spike and I love you.”
Buffy hugged her twin back in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Everything will be fine with the three of us, you’ll
Joan released Buffy and pulled back, still smiling. “Do you
anticipate being less needful of Dudley-Do-Righting soon?” she wondered. “My sensory
been under-stimulated lately. They emit a constant, distracting
sibilation when they have been under-stimulated for extended
periods of time.It makes it quite difficult to keep my
Buffy chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, I have that problem too.
My sibilation goes totally wonky. It starts sibbing and lating all over the
place. It's not pretty.
"C’mon – let’s check out this
shop,” Buffy suggested, pulling on the Bot’s hand. “We should have enough money to
get you a new dress too. Buying fancy clothes usually stimulates my sensory
preceptors, calms down my sibbing-lators, and clears my cash ... at least for a while.”
Joan’s eyes widened with glee. “A new dress? For me? Do you
think we have sufficient funds?”
“Totally – I took an extra handful of cash when Spike
wasn’t looking,” Buffy admitted.
“May I purchase some affordable but stylish footwear also?”
Joan asked hopefully.
“Well – duh!” Buffy replied. “You can’t buy a new dress
without getting new shoes! It’s a law or something.
“This is all ‘need to know’, of course,” Buffy continued in a
stern voice. “And Spike does not need to know!”
The Bot nodded decisively. “Affirmative.”
Gilligan's Island Theme
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
A tale of a fateful trip
That started from this pos/gibrazrt
Aboard this tiny ship.
The mate was a mighty sailing man,
The skipper brave and sure.
Five passengers set sail that day
For a three hour tour, a three hour tour.
The weather started getting rough,
The tiny ship was tossed,
If not for the courage of the fearless crew
The minnow would be lost, the minnow would be lost.
The ship set ground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle
The Skipper too,
The millionaire and his wife,
The movie star
The professor and Mary Ann,
Here on Gilligan's Isle.
So this is the tale of the castaways,
They're here for a long, long time,
They'll have to make the best of things,
It's an uphill climb.
The first mate and the Skipper too,
Will do their very best,
To make the others comfortable,
In the tropic island nest.
No phone, no lights no motor cars,
Not a single luxury,
Like Robinson Crusoe,
As primitive as can be.
So join us here each week my friends,
You're sure to get a smile,
From seven stranded castaways,
Here on "Gilligan's Isle."
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