Disclaimer: All songs and their lyrics from "Annie Get Your Gun" were written by Irving Berlin. "Californication" belongs to the Red Hot Chili Peppers (which, by the way, is something that I shouldn't have to tell you…), "Everyday" and "When the World Ends" belong to Dave Matthews Band, and "All You Need Is Love" belongs to the Beatles. Cheers. Go read the story.
"All right, Slayer," Spike muttered impatiently. "I've been here for *bloody* hour now, let's just get it over with…"
Spike stood alone in the middle of Sunnydale's usually more populated cemeteries, and the one that he himself resided in. On any normal day, Buffy would have been out patrolling at least an hour and a half ago, but so far she hadn't showed up.
All Spike wanted to do was let her give him the inevitable "If you hurt her, I'll kill you" speech and some punches for good measure so he could go home, to Willow, but of course on the one night that he *wanted* to see the Slayer, *wanted* her to beat up on him (just a little! Not a lot!), the bloody bitch was nowhere to be found.
She was always around when she wasn't needed, too. Bloody nosey idiot.
"Damn it!" Spike growled, sitting on a headstone. "Is it *really* so much to ask?"
Willow was probably at home now—listening to music, singing along, perhaps making some hot chocolate, all without him and why? Because the Slayer was skipping out on her sacred duty.
Nothing is worse than boredom except for boredom with the knowledge that your time could be spent far more constructively.
Kissing Willow, for instance.
Spike tapped his foot to some unknown rhythm against Haley Montague's final resting place and sighed. "Dum de dum…"
Singing in graveyards was no fun without Willow there.
"I don't care!" Spike announced to the graves all around him. "I don't care! Buffy can beat up on me tomorrow, then!"
He hopped off the headstone and turned west, heading towards Willow's house on Westminster Drive.
He'd only walked a few steps before Buffy showed up.
"Spike! Fancy seeing you here." She sauntered casually towards him, hands clasped behind her back.
"Slayer," Spike said, steeling himself. Then he did a double take. "You look nice."
Buffy looked surprised but pleased. "Thank you."
And she did. Look nice, that is. Today had been the day she and Willow had gone out together for some 'girl time,' and it seemed they'd taken it to the extreme. Buffy's hair was newly trimmed, layered and re-tinted with gold. Spike thought there were some strange shadows until Buffy turned her head and he realized that the darkness he'd been seeing streaked throughout her hair was actually chunks of green and blue.
She smelled strongly of nail polish, which made sense, as both her fingers and toes were French-manicured, and her clothes—knee-length maroon skirt, black tank top and platform sandals—smelled like they'd never been worn before.
"Willow and I had a lot of fun," Buffy said cheerfully, and then her mood abruptly changed. "Speaking of Willow," she said grimly. "Why the *hell* are you standing out here like a dork in the middle of the cemetery? Willow said she was expecting you!"
Spike was taken aback. "*What*? I was waiting for you to come and kick my ass so that I could go home!"
Buffy shook her head. "That makes so little sense it's pathetic, Spike."
"Excuse me?" Spike demanded, furious. "You're supposed to hunt me down, give me the same long, tiresome speech I'll have to get from all of you bloody White-Hats about how if I hurt Willow, you'll use my guts for garters—" (here Buffy made a face at the imagery. Spike ignored her.) "—And then you're supposed to give me a moderate beating, just to remind me who's in charge, and then I would crawl home to Willow and we would never, ever, ever talk about what transpired unless I did hurt Willow and then I'd meet the sociable end of Mr. Pointy!"
Thoroughly out of breath, though he didn't need to breathe, Spike paused and gave Buffy a loaded glare. She appeared to be amused.
Spike didn't much appreciate being a source of mirth for his worst enemy.
Buffy laughed. "Spike, Willow would wear *my* guts for garters if I beat up her boyfriend. Are you telling me you've been standing around for almost two hours waiting for me to whoop your ass?"
Spike clenched his jaw and decided that some statements were far too ridiculous to be graced with answers.
"That's so pathetic!" Buffy was really cracking up now. Spike rolled his eyes and crossed his arms and waited impatiently for the Slayer to get ahold of herself.
"Are you quite done?" he asked politely when there seemed to be a break in Buffy's hysterics.
Buffy looked up at him, panting, and gasped, "You are the funniest guy, do you know that?"
She started laughing again.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Spike swore under his breath, and then swore again when he realized he'd used one of Angelus' favorite expletives.
"Look, Spike," Buffy said consolingly after she'd got herself under some kind of control, "Under normal circumstances—say, if you were human—I might make some sort of threat. But really, you know what I'd do to you if you hurt Willow, and you can also figure that whatever I'd do, I'd be doing it to whatever Anya's vengeance friends, Giles with some archaic weapons and Xander with a four-by-four would have left. So…"
"How comforting," Spike remarked sulkily.
"Look, Spike, if you really want me to, I'll beat you up next week. It's just—" Buffy sighed and looked despairingly at her French manicure. "I just got my nails done, and no matter how careful I was punching you, I'd probably break one. So you'll have to wait."
"Oh, that's lovely!" Spike exclaimed. "Put on hold for the Slayer's bloody manicure! Just peachy." His jaw clenched again.
"If you're not careful," Buffy pointed out kindly, "You'll grind your teeth down like that. Come on, I'll walk you back to Willow's." She winked at him, giving Spike a glimpse of silver eyeliner. "She looks great, by the way."
Spike, utterly bewildered, walked next to Buffy quietly for a good seven minutes before he said, "I still don't get it."
"I think you really like her," Buffy said. "And she really does like you. You don't seem that bad, now that you're not trying to kill us anymore, and… Yeah."
Spike raised his eyebrows and lowered them again, surprised. "I've got the Slayer Seal of Approval, then? Is that it?"
"Don't sound so disappointed," Buffy said tartly. She sneaked a mischievous glance up at Spike. "If you feel like you haven't really *earned* the Slayer Seal of Approval, then tell me exactly how you feel about Willow."
Spike paused, confused. "What?"
"You have to *sing* it," Buffy explained gleefully. "Pick a song, any song, and make it good!"
Spike's jaw dropped. "You're joking."
"Nope." Buffy looked disgustingly pleased with herself. "Hop to it!"
Spike was completely incredulous. "You can't be serious."
"You bet I am, buster. Dancing's a plus."
Buffy pushed herself up onto a nearby headstone and sat expectantly, swinging her legs back and forth.
Shit. She *was* serious. She meant it!
How do I get myself into these messes? Spike wondered silently, and without warning, dropped into a tense crouch. Buffy snickered.
" 'My defenses are down—'" Spike stood and began walking around casually. " 'She's broken my resistance and I don't know where I am!'"
Here he executed an impressive impromptu backflip. " 'I went into the fight like a lion, and I came out like a lamb…'"
* * *
"You look gorgeous!" Spike exclaimed when Willow opened the door. She'd had her hair redyed with henna (Spike could smell it) and streaked with gold. She, too, had a French manicure, but hers was sparkly, with little studs towards the bottom of each fingernail.
"Hey!" she said happily, and gave him a hug, waving to Buffy, who stood behind him. "What took you guys so long?"
"Spike was waiting in Restfield for me to beat him up," Buffy said matter-of-factly.
Willow shot Spike a confused look before standing aside and letting him and Buffy enter. "Okay…"
"It was this whole thing," Buffy said, obviously relishing the chance to describe Spike's foolishness. Spike shot her a death-glare, but it didn't work. Fortunately, Buffy had some pity on him and said, "Spike'll explain. But he sang! From 'Annie, Get Your Gun.' It was great."
Willow looked thrilled. "Really?"
Spike rolled his eyes. "It wasn't that wonderful, love. You didn't miss anything."
Willow pouted, but then grinned. "Okay. Buffy!" she said, shifting her attention to her best friend. "Don't you have somewhere else to be at…" She checked her watch. "Eleven-thirty PM?"
Buffy sighed but took the not-so-subtle hint. "Yeah, yeah. I'll go patrol." She winked at Willow and Spike. "You kids behave, okay?"
Spike coughed. Willow smacked him lightly on the arm and gave Buffy a hug and peck on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
Buffy grinned and returned the peck. "Sure thing. And if he sings any more, promise you'll tell me all about it."
"You betcha." Willow smiled brightly at Spike. He grinned back, happy to finally be back with her.
Buffy left, closing the front door softly behind her.
Spike waited for a moment, listening for returning footsteps in gigantic shoes, but they were thankfully not forthcoming. He bent a little to press his lips to Willow's. She kissed him back softly and then said, " 'Annie, Get Your Gun,' huh?"
"Oy!" Spike exclaimed. "Is that gonna haunt me for the rest of my days? Because I've got a lot of them left."
"What did you sing?" Willow asked.
"I sang 'My Defenses Are Down,' and then Buffy sang 'You Can't Get a Man With a Gun,' which was actually really funny, and then we finished off with a resounding chorus of 'I Can Do Anything.'"
Willow raised her eyebrows, impressed. "Wish I'd been there."
Spike groaned. "My singing talent has become a laughingstock."
Willow looked surprised. "No, it hasn't. I just wish I'd been there for 'I Can Do Anything.' The two of you are such rivals anyway…"
"Mortal enemies, maybe," Spike said, bristling slightly, "But not *rivals*. That sounds so trivial."
"Hey, cutie, calm down," she said with a smile, taking his face in her hands. "It's okay," she added patronizingly, and then eliminated any further protests he might have had by kissing him soundly.
"My defenses *are* down," he remarked smugly once they separated.
Willow had an even more self-satisfied look on her face. "Oh, indeed?"
Spike grinned. "Indeed. Is there hot cocoa? With the marshmallows?"
Willow rolled her eyes, but took his hand. "Let's go make some."
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, they sat in Spike's bedroom on the carpet, mugs of hot cocoa on coasters beside them. Spike held his guitar in his lap and was tuning it intently.
"There is something *wrong*," he muttered, annoyed.
Willow held her arms out for the guitar, strummed a chord, twisted a knob incrementally and handed it back. "There."
Spike's mouth twisted ruefully. "How is that fair?"
Willow grinned. "It's not. I just have perfect pitch." Her smile grew.
"Fine, rub it in." Spike strummed a chord. "Perfect." He started fluidly picking out the introductory notes to "Californication." " 'Psychic spies from China try to steal your mind's elation, little girls from Sweden dream of silver-screen quotation, and if you want these kinds of dreams it's Californication…'"
Willow joined in. " 'It's the edge of the world in all of western civilization. The sun may rise in the East, at least it settles in a final location. It's understood that Hollywood sells Californication…'"
"Oddly appropriate, seeing as we're mere miles from Hollywood itself," Spike said, pausing to take a sip of his cocoa.
"I'm sure every single other person in California has thought of that," Willow pointed out, amused.
Spike rolled his eyes and put the cocoa down. "Probably." He peered at her half-full mug of cocoa. "Are you going to drink that?"
"Yup. Sing something else," Willow half-commanded.
Spike looked thoughtful as his fingers wandered across the strings of the guitar, stroking out notes so soft they were barely audible. "Hmmm… 'When the world ends, collect your things; you're coming with me when the world ends. You tuckle up yourself with me, watch it as the stars disappear to nothing. The day the world is over, we'll be lying in bed…'"
Spike lifted his eyes from where they were intently watching the guitar strings to meet Willow's clear gaze. " 'I'm gonna rock you like a baby when the cities fall. We will rise as the buildings crumble, float there and watch it all. Amidst the burning, we'll be churning… You know, love will be our wings. The passion rises up from the ashes when the world ends…'"
Wow. That was all Willow could think. She loved Dave Matthews Band and had listened to all of their CDs so many times, but somehow she'd never realized exactly how sexually loaded "When the World Ends" was until Spike sang it, looking at her like… like…
" 'When the world ends, you're gonna come with me, we're gonna be crazy like a river bends, we're gonna float through the criss-cross of the mountains, watch them fade to nothing when the world ends. You know that's what's happening now, I'm gonna be there with you somehow, oh…'"
Willow gulped when the look in Spike's eyes intensified at the next chorus. He looked like he wanted to devour her.
Upon reflection, that didn't sound too bad.
" 'I'm gonna tie you up like a baby in a carriage car… Your legs don't work 'cause you want me so you just lie spread to the wall, the love you got is surely all the love that I would ever need! I'm gonna take you by my side and love you tall 'til the world ends…'"
Spike tilted his head a little and closed his eyes for the next few lines. " 'But don't you worry 'bout a thing…'"
Willow cut him off by leaning forward over the guitar and kissing him. He smiled against her mouth and moved the guitar away so that he could pull her into his lap. "What, don't like my singing?" He pouted.
Irresistible! Willow kissed him again. "No. I like your singing a little *too* much."
"Oh, really? Am I making you all hot and bothered?"
The glee on his face was almost palpable. Willow grinned and touched her nose to his. "You're so cute."
Spike looked offended. "I'm not cute! I'm dangerous, sexy, irresistible, gorgeous, indescribably handsome and I have, on occasion, been accurately called adorable but I am *not* cute. Pets are cute. I'm not a pet."
"You're my pet," Willow said. She chuckled. "I've got a pet Spike!"
Spike snorted and reached for his guitar. Willow shifted in his lap so he could hold the guitar on top of her legs. "Can you actually see the guitar?" she asked. "I don't think I'm quite that skinny."
"I'll manage," he said, and fumbled on the guitar strings for the right note. "…If I could just get started…"
Willow laughed and sucked her stomach in. "Does that help?"
"No." Spike finally settled on a chord. "Here we go. 'Pick me up, love!'" he began.
" 'Pick me up, love,'" Willow responded, " 'Everyday!'"
Spike's arm brushed against her stomach every time he moved it. Willow smiled and laid her hand over his gently, thankful she wasn't too ticklish.
" 'Pick me up, love, from the bottom, up to the top, love, everyday. Pay no mind to taunts or advances; I take my chances on everyday. Left to right, up and down, love. I push up love, love, everyday. Jump in the mud, oh, get your hands dirty with, love it up on everyday.'"
Willow loved singing with Spike. They sounded so… right together, their voices twining so perfectly, in harmony.
" 'All you need is, all you want is, all you need is *love*… All you need is, what you want is, all you need is *love*, oh…'"
Willow could only play a few chords on guitar—the main one being E flat diminished ninth. It seemed to greatly amuse Spike that while she couldn't manage a basic A minor, she could tune and pick out an E flat diminished ninth in half the time it took him.
Willow twisted around to kiss Spike again, trying to keep a hold on the guitar at the same time. Spike leaned forward to meet her and put the guitar to the side. " 'All you need is love…'" he hummed, changing the tune.
" 'All you need is love,'" Willow echoed.
" 'All you need is love—love,'" they sang together. " 'Love is all you need…'"
There wasn't much more talking—or singing—that night.
Whew! I finished "Everyday." Yay. Be proud of me. I'd love to know what you think (of course), and also: collecting a consensus. Should I write a sequel? 'Cause if I do, I'll have to write another one, and we'll have what's the beginning of 'The Musical Adventures of Willow & Spike' or 'Willow & Spike's Singy & Songy Adventure' (I'd assume you've all read "The Erotic Adventures of Willow & Spike" by Laure Alexander, and "Willow & Spike's Wacky & Wild Adventure" by Lisa Drexel…). So, yeah. Tell me what you think, and have a good summer, everybody!