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Fumbling Towards Ecstasy by TalesofSpike
 
Chapter 3.01
 
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Note: Thanks to my beta t_geyer for her unending patience, perseverance and support.

SECTION 3 - PARTY FEARS TWO

And what if this party fears two
The alcohol loves you while turning you blue
View it from here from closer to near
Awake me



(The Associates)





Chapter 3.01
Saturday, May 18th, 2002

Wes looked at his reflection in the mirror, surveying his open-necked, navy, silk shirt and dark blue jeans, still not convinced that he'd made the right choice.

On the one hand the party was in his honour, so he felt obliged to make himself presentable. Also, while his heart was still in the keeping of another, Marie was a very attractive woman and Wes was not without a certain quota of male vanity.

Then, on the other hand there was the fact that if he was going to be set up as the sacrificial lamb, then he really didn't see why he should makes Lily's scheming any easier for her. It would also be unwise to forget that Spike seemed to regard both the woman and her daughter as being under his protection. If the vampire so much as suspected he was doing anything to lead Marie on, either intentionally or unintentionally, then Wes had no doubt that the heretofore welcoming Brit would be quick to make his displeasure felt in any number of ways.

Hmm. Maybe he shouldn't have shaved, and perhaps he should ditch his contacts for the night and go back to his glasses.








Xander looked at the clothes Anya had laid out for him before going to work that morning. She'd made it pretty darn clear that by the time she came home from work, she expected him to be washed up, shaved and smelling pretty, leaving the bathroom free for her. She'd picked out her favourite of his shirts, a forest green one made of soft, brushed cotton. It seldom actually stayed on very long because Anya was so fond of how it felt against her skin. Come to think of it, Xander had more than a few pleasant memories of a post-coital Anya padding round the apartment in nothing but that shirt. He glanced downward to where his best black dress pants did nothing to disguise the effect those thoughts had on him. And now he could definitely think of better things to do than to go party with the horned, the fanged and the wrinkly.

He glanced over toward the bathroom door, listening to the splashes and cheerful singing that were coming from the other side. He sighed and pulled the shirt from its hanger. If he played Anya right, he could probably make her forget all about this party until it was too late. The trouble was he really didn't want to play her. He wanted to make her happy. How hard could it be? It was just a party, right? A party in honour of an even more Pierce Brosnan-y Wes than he remembered in High School, granted, but just a party. At least Anya wouldn't be drooling over the damn Brit pack like Cordelia had. And Giles would be there. The G-man wouldn't spend the evening socialising with the demons. He could hang out with the old guy, dance enough dances with Anya to keep her happy, a few trips to... Wait a minute. What the literal heck got served up on the buffet table at a demon soiree? He so was not up for kitten ribs.

"Ahn, honey, I was thinking." He pushed his way into the bathroom. "Maybe we should stop off at KFC or somewhere on the way?"








The door to Lily's apartment was pushed open and a tiny platinum blonde made her way in backwards carrying several dishes. "Desserts are here!" she called out as she made her way toward the kitchen with an easy familiarity.

Marie came to meet her part way, only to pause, stunned by what she saw. "You cut it all. How the heck do you have the guts to go from waist length to that in one go?"

The woman shrugged. "Felt like a change. Patrick did it. You like?"

Marie tried not to screw up her face at the name of her tenant's latest boyfriend, grabbed a couple of the dishes and led the other woman through to the kitchen. In the brighter light, she could see that the platinum blonde of the classic jaw-length bob, was interspersed with fine streaks of honey gold. It set off her heart-shaped face with her kohl-rimmed hazel eyes and bright red lipstick to perfection and contrasted sharply with the unrelieved black that the woman always wore.

"Okay, Patrick's a jerk, but he's a jerk who can cut hair. You look great."

"I guess you won't be upset that we broke up, then."

"That depends. Are you?"

"He kicked Rupert," the blonde replied as if this answered everything. Surprisingly, to Marie, it did.

"He kicked your cat. Deliberately?" Marie pulled a pitcher of margarita from the fridge and poured a little into each of two glasses. "This is where we hope the guest of honour has some cute friends. or you could take Clem up on his offer?"

"No offence, but Clem's just like this huge wrinkly teddy bear. I'd feel like a child molester or something. So, I guess that means the guest of honour himself is taken? Who is he anyway?"

"Not as such. though if Lily has her way..." Marie reddened slightly at the woman's knowing smile. "And a friend of Spike's or Spike's fiancée at least. I don't think Spike's known him long."

"And what brings him to sunny Sunnydale?"

"The other usual."

"Ah. The hero syndrome. Fighting the good fight and all that. So just how well would the new boy in town fill Errol Flynn's tights?"

"Bee!" Marie's voice betrayed her shock at the question and she covered by checking on all the various pans that were on the stove top. "It's a good thing Lily and Rosa are upstairs."

"I was just asking how dashing, manly and heroic he was."

"Emphasis on the manly, and as to that, I haven't been looking that closely and, as to heroic time will tell, but he can do dashing. Now behave."

"Yes, mommy." The blonde replied. She pointed at one of the two dishes of brownies. "Best keep those ones somewhere where the kiddie can't reach them."

Marie rolled her eyes. "Do you have any idea what it would do for my career if I got busted for handing out hash brownies?"

"Guess it would depend whether you gave your boss any or not," the blonde answered with a grin.








"Buffyyyy!" Dawn called upstairs to her sibling. "Tell Spike I can wear that dress you bought me in LA!"

Spike looked again at the lavender knee high boots and matching mini-dress that barely covered the dressing on her upper thigh. "Niblet, we agreed that maybe you could wear it where we'd be able to keep an eye on you. No one agreed that you could wear it to go on a date."

"It's not a date. It's a party."

"An' Junior is actin' as your escort, therefore it's a date. So go an' put on something that covers up more than half your legs. In fact all of your legs. Trousers are good."

"Bu-u-ffyyyyy!"

Buffy appeared at the top of the stairs, a thick, white, towelling robe disguising her outfit for the night until she was ready to make her proper entrance. She had applied mascara to one eye but not the other and she looked a little impatient at the interruption to her preparations.

"Can't you two just settle things between you?" she asked.

"Sure we can. Go get changed, pet."

"Spi-ike! I bought her the dress so she could wear it, not so it could collect moths in her wardrobe."

"But you didn't buy it so she could flash her legs at teenage Romeos three years older than her."

"Yes, Spike, I did. I bought it so she could feel like a pretty, attractive, young girl that teenage guys would notice. If she wants to wear it, it's fine by me, so just leave your Victorian double standards back in the eighteen hundreds where they belong."

"But, love, he'll have his grubby teenage hands all over before you know it," Spike's voice rose into a whine.

"Spike. Twenty-first century. Deal with it." Buffy turned her back and flounced back into their bedroom.

The teenager grinned and made her way into the living room where she stared suspiciously at the puppy curled up on the sofa asleep, having apparently tired itself out trying to keep track of all the comings and goings earlier.

"Where's Rogue's collar?"

Spike made a disingenuous attempt to pretend he didn't know exactly what the girl meant. "She's wearing her collar, Bit. Got 'er name on it and everything."

"I put on my purple dress to go with Rogue's purple collar. Now, she's wearing some black thing. Where's her purple one gone?"

Spike moved through to the kitchen and pulled a packet of blood from the fridge, tipping it into a mug and setting it to microwave. "I'm sure it'll turn up, pet. But here's a thought, I'm sure you must have a pair of black trousers and maybe a long sleeved blouse, then you'd match right in again."

Dawn pursed her lips and folded her arms over, glaring at the vampire as he waited for his meal to heat. "You are so lucky my sister likes you, Fang Face." Her glance swept disdainfully over the vampire's black jeans, black New Rocks and still unbuttoned, black shirt. "And for your information, normal, real people don't go around trying to look like they've just come from a funeral."

Spike looked up as Brandon made his way in through the back door, dressed from head to toe in ebony, even down to the nail varnish. "S'that right, pet. Must just be freaks like me an' Mikey here, then." The vampire smirked as he pulled his mug from the microwave and left it to Dawn to explain to her bemused boyfriend.








Giles tried unsuccessfully to remember the last time he'd been to a party where he hadn't felt as if he were playing the part of chaperone for Buffy and her friends. It was even longer, probably back in his Ripper days, since he'd actually socialised with anyone of the demon variety. It was all rather exciting and vaguely intimidating at the same time. He just hoped he wasn't going to be the oldest person there. well other than Spike who didn't really count since on occasion he seemed to have a mental age of about twelve. He glanced again at his watch. He had another three quarters of an hour before Anya and Xander were due to swing past so they could walk over to Lily's together. He picked up the handwritten journal that sat on top of his bedside table and continued reading from where he had left off at The Magic Box that afternoon.








Tara looked at the large, sad eyes of the woman in the mirror as she put on her make-up and wondered if Spike was right. Was there really someone else out there for whom she could care as much as she had cared for Willow? Even as she thought it, she berated herself inwardly for being so harsh as to put her feelings for Willow in the past tense, but she knew that in the past was where they belonged. It wasn't that her feelings had ceased to exist, that she suddenly didn't care. It was simply that the shy, sweet girl she had loved had lost herself in the power that had lain within her. Willow's power came so close to being absolute that if the old saying had any truth in it at all, Willow had long ago set herself on the road to perdition. Finally, Tara allowed herself to relinquish responsibility for trying to pull her back. She had done all she could in their time together. She had hoped that perhaps Willow had learned from their time apart. Then...

There came a time when you had to let go.

She forced a smile onto her face, knowing that with her friends around her once more, chances were it would soon be replaced by a genuine one. Pulling open the door of what was now her room she made her way toward the sounds of homely bickering coming from the kitchen.








"Spike. This isn't funny any more. You cannot follow the two of us round like some great big freak all night."

The vampire looked at Dawn from his seat in the centre of the sofa and raised an eyebrow. "You want to make a bet, Niblet?"

"Fine. If I go put on some pants, then will you stop following us?"

"You better already be wearing some bloody pants, missy, but if by that you mean jeans or something similar, I'm sure we could come to some arrangement."

Dawn shot up the stairs, passing Tara on her way, her voice echoing all the way down to the living room. "Buffy, your boyfriend is a freak. You know that, right?"

Tara smiled at the vampire as she walked into the room. "What have you done now?"

"Just gave her a demonstration of how closely I'd have to keep an eye on her if she wore that dress tonight. And speaking of dresses." Spike let his gaze travel up and down the Wiccan's length in an appreciative but brotherly way. "You're lookin' pretty good yourself, in a Stevie Nicks kind of way, except that probably means nothin' to a youngster like you."

Tara smiled. "I know my Fleetwood Mac from my Britney Spears," she teased. "My gran had a copy of Rumours."

"Save a dance for an old man, anyway?"

"I thought your dance card would be all booked up."

"I'm sure she'll let me off with one, or should she be the one dancing with you? What's the proper etiquette?"

"We all go out. We all enjoy ourselves and hang the etiquette."

"Sounds good to me."

Buffy picked this moment to make her entrance. "Am I intruding?" She raised an eyebrow, smiling at the pair as she swayed into the room in her high heels.

"Well, I was goin' to try to convince Glinda here to give the other side of the tracks a try and see if maybe she'd run off with me, but then you turn up, lookin' gorgeous as ever. an' well, who could expect anybody to look twice at some old codger with dangly bits when you're about?"

His eyes showed his approval of the short, fitted dress in shimmering pale green, even more than his words, and with her hair piled casually atop her head his mark was bared for all to see. Spike looked at her footwear. "My guess is you're not planning on walking anywhere tonight?"

Buffy turned to Tara. "Would you believe it? Not only does he have a certain rough charm, but he's psychic as well."

Spike very temporarily fixed his attention on Brandon. "You got your car licence as well as your bike one?"

"Yes, sir-Spike."

"Well, since you're under age, I guess that makes you our designated driver for the night." Spike tossed him his car keys. "An' since you don't even want to think about what might happen to you if there was a scratch on my baby tomorrow, or I decided you were a bad influence on the Niblet you won't even consider drinking anything other than soda."

"Can you fit four in the back of your car?" Tara asked.

"Legally, no. But do you really think there are any cops on night time traffic patrol in Sunnydale? So the real answer is... you can if two of them are built like Buffy an' the Niblet. Guess the hero of the hour gets to ride shotgun." Dawn came clattering downstairs. Spike gave the inch of bare flesh between her top and her jeans a pointed glance, but decided to pick his battles. He grabbed his coat and began to usher the others out. "Niblet, get the dog on that extendable lead an' put her in the front of the car. Reckon she'll have to sit between the Watcher's feet. Buffy, you lock up, love. I'll go see what's keeping the guest of honour."








Wes hesitated as the doorbell rang and then grabbed the Aran sweater that lay on the bed, pulling it over his head as he made his way downstairs. Spike gave an amused half smile as he pulled open the front door and he just knew that the vampire had picked up straight away on his ambivalence about the evening.

"Trying to hide the sex appeal under a fuzzy jumper, are we?" the vampire asked as Wes locked up.

"I really don't know what you find so amusing."

"How about the sight of a man who's old enough to know better trying to run for his life?"

"This is all your fault, you know?"

"Yeah," the vamp drawled with a smirk. "I worked that bit out all on my own. Hate to say it, but the idea of bite-size with a proper dad again kind of gives me the warm fuzzies."

"For God's sake, don't you start!" the watcher told him.

"But it's just so much fun watching you squirm," the vamp responded and then effectively ended the conversation by joining the women in the back seat of the car.








Marie helped her friend transfer all the hot food into casserole dishes and placed them atop stands designed so that small night-light candles would keep the food warm while it was on display. Everything was put out ready on tables in the living room which was lit by several strategically placed table lamps. The exception was Bee's "special" brownies, which had been stashed away in one of the kitchen cupboards that was too high for Rosa to reach.

A music system had been set up in the yard, and was currently blasting out one of several compilation CDs that Bee had provided. The doorways from both Lily's kitchen and the main stairwell had been wedged open, probably contravening several fire regulations but allowing access to the high-walled yard for all once they were actually through the main door into the apartment block.

A large jam-making pan of Lily's had been filled with ice and then topped off with a case of beer. A cooler held cans of soda, and Marie's margarita mix had been bulked out with crushed ice until it now filled two large pitchers next to which there were a stack of plastic glasses, half of which had been rimmed with sea salt.

Bee looked round. "Okay. Everything's under control. This place looks like the eat all you can buffet at Chiquito's, only better. Lori'll be here soon, and you've got ten minutes before the first guests are due to arrive. Go find that little angel of yours and get your party clothes on, girl. I'll cover for you if anyone shows, and if you see the cat point him in this direction."

"Your cat worked out where you were a while ago." Marie nodded to where a Siamese cat lay sphinx-like on top of the wall surrounding the yard, watching them as if they were only of mild interest to him.

The blonde frowned. "I'm sure he only goes up there because I can't reach."

As they were talking, the intercom for the door buzzed. "Go and get changed. I'll see who that is, and unless it's something incredibly evil like The Jehovah's Witnesses, I'll let them in and feed them alcohol."

"Just so long as you card them first. Rosa isn't the only underage guest that's coming."

Marie dashed for the stairs to her own apartment, and Bee made her way to the front door. The party was about to officially begin.
 
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