Story Title: Spirit Indestructible


Season 5. Begins with ‘Spiral’ in the abandoned gas station, and goes far off-canon almost immediately.

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?




21. Ginger or Mary Ann?


Music Referenced:

Gilligan's Island Theme Song:

Nelly Furtado - Spirit Indestructible


Some Screencaps courtesy of Broken Innocence (others from ScreenCap Paradise which is, sadly, no more). and also from



Thanks to 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:

NC17. Spike/Other. 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The good mood Buffy had awoken with, that of anticipation and excitement for beginning the trip back to the States, had been replaced by a mixture of anger at Spike for his assumption that she wouldn’t actually want to marry him and sadness for the same reason.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 perfectly safe.”


“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, corrected.


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 internal chronometer.”


“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 seriously.


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 not.


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 case.


“It’s been five days, I don’t think it’s gonna pass,” Buffy pointed out.


“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 whereabouts.


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 that land?”


“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 the gods!


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 vaguely.


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 hotel.


“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 be too.


Spike snorted. “Got an excellent grasp o’ the obvious, you do, Slayer.”


“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 looking?”


“Salty bugger’s got a satellite phone on the boat. Bloody brilliant, that.”




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 shower head.


“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 and sex.


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 delicious.


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 Buffy.


“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 ‘fancy’?”


“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 oblique glance.


“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 pouted.


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 see.”


Joan released Buffy and pulled back, still smiling. “Do you anticipate being less needful of Dudley-Do-Righting soon?” she wondered. “My sensory perceptors have 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 cache clear.


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
With Gilligan
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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