Title:  Giftless

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating: PG

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Notes:  It's Valentine's Day, and Spike isn't just giftless, he's clueless. Inspired by my own incompetence when it comes to shopping for presents. Complete, about 7,000 words.

This is set in the same silly 'verse as Cubed, If it's Tuesday, this must be Sunnydale, and What's in a Name. Those fics were written for the Seasonal_Spuffy community on Live Journal. This was written for my Live Journal friends' list in general and for syderia in particular in enigmaticblues' 2007 Random Acts of Kindness Valentine's Day exchange. Like the other stories in this series, this can be read as a standalone.

Thanks: To Keswindhover and revdorothyl for the beta.

"What are you getting Willow for Valentine's Day?"  Buffy picked up a plate and rubbed it with a dishtowel. 

Tara rinsed off another plate and put it on the drain board.  "I'm taking her to dinner at that new French restaurant.  I think she really wants to go, so I saved up."

"That's nice."

Tara made a face as she scrubbed out a glass. "I should probably give you the money to have the dishwasher fixed instead.  I mean, we live here and—"

"We'll live here without a dishwasher." Buffy's voice was firm.    "Valentine's Day is very important."

There was a pause, and then Buffy added slyly, "Willow's been awfully mysterious about something lately."

Tara sighed. "That's worrying me. I think she's planning something magical.  Like at Christmas when she had all those little elves dancing around the house singing to us."

Buffy repressed the memory of those freaky elves.  She forced some enthusiasm into her voice.  "Well, the spinning dreidels the week before were kind of cute. And most people want magic on Valentine's Day."

"Yeah, but not that kind of magic.  They want the kind two people make between them when they love each other.  The kind that doesn't need spells or herbs or chicken feet—"  Tara was staring down at the dishwater.

"Oh."  Buffy couldn't think of anything else to say.

"It's just—  When she does things like that, it sometimes feels like she's doing it for her, not for me.  As if she wants to show how powerful she is, not how much she loves me."  Tara blushed.  "Saying it out loud sounds so awful.  I shouldn't be ungrateful—"

"No." Buffy gave Tara a quick hug.  "I get it.  Willow always did try to fix things with magic, but it's gotten worse lately."

Tara nodded glumly.  "There was this little turtle in a gift shop in the mall.  A ceramic thing, not expensive, but really, really cute.  I tried to hint that I wanted it, but—"  She shrugged.  "I just need to take whatever I get in the spirit she offers it."

"Look at it this way," said Buffy, as she went back to wiping dishes, "at least you don't have to worry about what your vampire boyfriend is planning."

Tara giggled and had to bite her lip to stop. 

"That's right, laugh!  You weren't the one who unwrapped that stuff on Christmas morning with your little sister watching!"  Buffy set a plate on top of the pile with a 'clink!' that nearly shattered it. 

"Well, Spike won't consider the adult superstore a gift shop again."  Tara took the towel away as an act of charity to the dinnerware.  "I think you made that pretty clear."

"No."  Buffy sagged against the counter.  "He'll think of something new and horrible.  He always does.  I mean, let's not even talk about what happened on my birthday."  She watched Tara put the stack of dishes away in a cabinet.  "You know how you'd like Willow to just give you something ordinary and normal?  Well, I'd settle for no present at all, or, best of all, some sign Spike was making, you know, progress.  On the not being evil front.  If he'd just do something nice, for once.  For anyone, it wouldn't have to be me.  Something that actually worked out right."

Tara was biting her lip again. 

Buffy frowned at her.  "What's so funny?"

"It's just—I had this image of Spike running around Sunnydale, performing random acts of kindness—"

They were both giggling now. "Yeah," snickered Buffy, "that could happen."

Spike ducked down a tunnel and navigated his way through several smelly passages until he found his way barred by an elderly wooden door with a shiny new lock.  He fished in the pocket of his duster, pulled out an equally shiny new key, and opened the door.  He stood for a moment, looking around the cellar of the Magic Box. 

There was plenty of stock down here, and he had no trouble viewing it in spite of the darkness.  But he scowled at the jars of herbs, the amphibians floating in formaldehyde, the mummified demon body parts, and the boxes of cheap made-in-China talismans.

Buffy won't want any of this rot.  He sighed and climbed up the stairs, only to be stopped by another locked door.  He dealt with this one in the same way as the last and slouched his way into the shop.

Giles was standing next to the cash register, holding the phone in one hand, and scowling as if he'd just learned that imports of Earl Grey had been outlawed.  Spike's appearance didn't seem to bring him any cheer; he moved the receiver far enough away from his face to say, "I'm quite sure I locked you out.  I took very specific steps to make sure you couldn't wander in here any time you like."

"Yeah.  Had to go to all the trouble of stealing the key again and having a copy made.  But don't worry, Rupert, you can make it up to me by—"

Giles spoke into the receiver.  "Yes?  Well, how soon can you—What do you mean, it's not a question of when, but if?  Yes, I know there was a big pile-up on the county road last week—" more scowls in Spike's direction— "and that quite a few people in town are without their cars at the moment, but—"  More scowls.  "Well, since you seem unable to perform the service that you advertise—"  There was a very audible 'click!' from the receiver.

Giles hung up the phone with another emphatic 'click!'  "There are no cabs available in this whole bloody town!"

"Car not back from the shop yet?" Spike asked with mild curiosity.

"My car is not coming back from the shop, which is not surprising because when I went to look at it, I discovered that it had gained a foot in height and lost three in width since you stole it!"

Now, this was unfair.  "Hey, Buffy and me were after a pack of demons!  And I'd think you'd be pleased I made sure she didn't get hurt when that great truck full of lumber jackknifed in front of us."

"I would have been more pleased if you'd been driving your own car instead of mine at the time!"

"Look, Rupert—"

This time it was Anya who interrupted him as she bustled in from the back of the shop.  "Don't bother, Spike.  You won't get him to talk about anything else until he manages to pick up his orgasm friend at the airport."

"Orgasm friend?"  Spike snickered involuntarily.

"Really, Anya—"  Giles objected.

Anya ignored him.  "It's true.  He won't even discuss the fifty-cent overage in the cash drawer last night, and usually he can't rest until he's worked out the day's take to the last penny."

Spike returned to the really important subject.  "Look, Rupert, I know I can't steal anything for tonight, because that would disappoint Buffy—"

"It's rather too bad you didn't consider last week that stealing and destroying my car might disappoint me."

"Yeah, well I'm not in love with you, Rupert, so disappointing you isn't something I'm worried about.  Buffy, on the other hand—"

Giles was paging through the phonebook. "Really, you'd think there would be more than two taxi companies in a town with such poor bus service.  And the concept of passenger trains is completely foreign to these people. The state of public transportation in this country is execrable."

Exasperated, Spike reached into his pocket for a pack of smokes and his lighter.  As he pulled them out, his key ring fell to the floor.

"And, I'll remind you, this is the second time you've wrecked one of my cars!"

Spike stood up, the keys in his hand.  There's no way I'm getting any sense out of the blighter until someone finds him a ride.  He tossed the ring at Giles. "Take mine, then, if it will stop your whinging!"

Giles held the keys gingerly, as if afraid they were contaminated.  "What, drive that black nightmare of yours?"

Spike was indignant.  "Nothing wrong with the DeSoto. It's parked behind my mausoleum. Even got gas in the tank."

"It's filthy!  And how am I supposed to see out the windows?"

"Well, I have to make sure I don't turn to ashes on the highway, don't I?  That would be a road hazard, if ever there was one.  But as a matter of fact, Buffy was bitching about the stains and smells so much that I traded a Himalayan and two Siamese for a detailing at Guppy's Auto Spa.  Forgot to tell the silly buggers not to wash the windows and haven't had the time to grease them up again."

Giles eyed the keys with more interest.  "Any port in a storm, I suppose."

"So now that's settled, mate, you can give an ear to my problems.  I need your advice—"  Spike stopped.  Giles was halfway to the door already.  "Where are you going?"

"The airport, you twit!  The flight arrives in twenty minutes."

Spike was still staring after Giles indignantly long after the little bell over the door stopped vibrating. 

"Well, at least he'll have a happy Valentine's Day," said a resentful voice behind him.

Spike turned to see Anya leaning over the counter, her chin resting on her fisted hands.  She looked ready to cry.

"What's wrong?  Xander done a bunk on you?  Or is it the bloody shortage in the cash register bringing you down?"

"It was an overage.  Overages bother Giles, not me.  After all, they mean more money.  And Xander hasn't run away."  She sighed.  "It's just—"  Her voice trailed off.

Spike had no interest in following up on this conversational gambit.  "Look, pet, I'd love to chat another time, but right now, I need advice on getting a present for Buffy."

"You still haven't gotten her a present?"  Anya was indignant on behalf of all womankind, and Spike couldn't really blame her.  It was Valentine's Day, after all.  Not an occasion to be mocked or forgotten.

"Can't think of anything.  At least, I can think of lots of things, but when I think some more, I'm not sure she'd like any of them." He waved his arm at the stock of the Magic Box.  "I can't get her any of this rot."

Anya bristled at the insult to her wares.  "We have the best stock of magical paraphernalia in—in—well, in the whole county, at least."

Spike rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, because you're the only surviving magic shop.  Or magic shopkeepers, for that matter.  But she won't want anything to do with magic or spells, or—"  He shrugged.  "Buffy's the Slayer.  This is work for her, not romance."

"Oh."  He was gratified when she actually looked interested in his words.  "Yeah, she wouldn't want any of this.  You should get her something like jewelry.  Non-talisman or cursed jewelry, I mean.  She'd like that."

"I can't afford to buy anything decent, and she'll dust me if I nick it.  I thought about clothes, but we don't exactly have the same taste and if I got her some dainty unmentionables, she'd complain they were really for me, not her.  I've got about enough cash for flowers and candy, but I don't want to be a bloody cliché."

"Clichés aren't that bad."

"No."  Spike could hear the note of desperation in his own voice.  "This has to be special.  To make up for Christmas.  And her birthday."

Anya frowned.  "I totally got Buffy's point about the birthday present, but I still don't know why she was so mad at Christmas.  I thought they were all very fun-looking, and it was good quality merchandise."

Spike was stalking up and down, running a hand through his hair.  "Seems like they were wrong, or it was the wrong place to give them to her, or something.  So this time, I have to get her what she really wants.  Something special, but ordinary.  Human-ordinary, I mean.  And I don't know how."

"Human-ordinary is nice."  A tear rolled down Anya's cheek. 

He stopped pacing, staring at her.  "Well, no need to cry over it."

"It's just—"  She was really sniffling now.  "It's just that I really want human-ordinary stuff too.  Like a wedding.  A wedding would be nice."

"Here, now!" He backed away, alarmed at the increasing volume of tears.  "Got the ring, haven't you?  A wedding can't be far behind."

"It can, if you never set the date.  If someone won't talk about the date."  She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.  "If someone keeps talking about how expensive weddings and honeymoons are, but keeps spending money on other things, and saying he has to be someplace else whenever I ask if June will work for his family, and, and—"  She was bawling now. 

Spike fled down the stairs, through the cellar, and back into the sewers.

Several hours and a journey through winding passages and a dash from one of the manholes on Revello Drive to the safety of Buffy's porch later, a slightly-singed Spike stepped into the front hall and called, "Little Bit?"

"In the kitchen!" yelled Dawn.  "What's wrong?  Is Buffy okay?"

"As far as I know."  Spike nodded at Xander, who was standing by the fridge. "'Lo, Harris."

"Why didn't you wait until dark, then?"  Dawn glanced at the clock on the microwave.  "It's just a few minutes before dusk."

"That late?"  Spike followed her gaze.  How had he managed to waste so much time in Sunnydales' sorry excuse for a shopping mall (also conveniently connected to the sewer system) without getting a shiver of inspiration? "Listen, pet—"

"Want to see the bracelet Xander bought Anya?"

"No!" said Spike emphatically, but Dawn grabbed a box off the counter and showed him anyway.

"It matches her engagement ring," said Xander with some pride.  "And don't touch it."

"Lovely," said Spike, barely sparing the sparklies a glance.  "She'll hate it, but it's lovely.  I have a problem—"

Xander snatched the box back and shut it with a determined click. "What do you mean, she'll hate it?  Do you have any idea how much I paid for this?"

"Enough to put off the wedding another six months while you pay it off," snapped Spike.  "But that's the point, isn't it?  Now you've been pushed into giving her the ring and announcing your bloody boring betrothal, you're going to make her whine and beg until you set a date for sometime after she hits menopause."

Xander looked down.  "Uh, no, I wouldn't—"  He stood up straighter. "Marriage is a big step! And Anya wants a big wedding—"

"Anya wants a wedding, full stop.  And she knows she's not getting it any time soon, so you could give her the Koh-i-Noor and she'd burst into tears on you.  So now we've established how your Valentine's Day is going to end, can we pay attention to mine?"

But Xander just stared at him blankly, so Spike gave up and turned to Dawn.  "Bit, I need your advice."

"Later, Spike."  She turned away and started up the stairs. 

As he followed her, he heard the bang of the kitchen door signaling Harris' departure.  "Dawn—" he said, halfway up the stairs.

"I said, not now, Spike.  I have to change."

"Into what?"

"Ha. Ha.  I have a date for the dance tonight."

"I need— Wait a minute!  What dance is this?"

She turned to face him in the upstairs hall.  "The one at school. You know, the totally safe one chaperoned by teachers that not even Buffy managed to object to?"

How had he forgotten about this?  "You're not going with that wanker who I caught trying to paw you on the couch last week?"

But Dawn looked determined.  "Dwayne was holding my hand, Spike, and it took me two days to convince him that you wouldn't really tear his head off for that.  Don't mess things up for once!  He's nice, he's taller than me, and he's really human.  I got Tara to do a spell to make sure.  I'm going out with him, we're going to drink Kool-Aid that someone spiked with cheap vodka and eat cookies, and step all over each other's feet.  It's what kids do at my age, even if they have paranoid older sisters with insane boyfriends.  So you can just deal."  She shut her bedroom door in his face.

Spike realized he wasn't going to be able to talk sense into her until she'd primped and preened for a party he was bloody sure he wasn't going to let her attend, so he let himself be distracted by voices down the hall.  The witches were going at it.

Curious, he walked over to the door to their room and, with his customary level of respect for others' privacy, pushed it open. 

He blinked at the scene.  Dozens of red candles with heart-shaped flames were dancing around the room.  He ducked back, away from the fiery menace.  "Here, what's this?"

"It's my present to Tara, Spike."  Willow stood next to the bed, looking annoyed.  "And none of your business."

Spike looked at Tara, who was standing with her back against the wall, breathing hard.  He smirked.  Willow's annoyance wasn't only caused by his entrance.  "Scared your girlfriend silly, did you?"

"They—they're very pretty," said Tara in a determined tone.

"Yeah, well be careful they don't catch your hair on fire," Spike advised her.

"It—they're magical illusions, and perfectly safe!" snapped Willow.

"Perfectly daft, if you ask me."  Spike pointed at Tara.  "You're giving your lady the willies."

Abruptly, the candles disappeared.  "I'll bring them back later."  Willow's voice was firm.  "To create the right mood.  When there is no vampire in the room."

"Yeah, that'll create a mood, all right.  You showing off, and her having to admire you.  Just the thing to thrill a pretty girl."

"Like I'm going to take advice from someone who did what you did on Buffy's birthday!" Willow turned to Tara. "Honey, tell him why they're special.  That they're a reminder of the candle, you know the one, from our first night—"

"Oh," was all Tara said. 

"See?"  Spike jeered at Willow.  "Any fool can see she doesn't want an army of candles dancing about like the brooms in Fantasia. She wants something that's all about her, that says you've been paying attention to what she's been thinking and saying."

"How am I supposed to do that?  She never asks for anything, and the last thing she even said she liked was a silly ceramic turtle at the mall, or—" Willow stopped, staring at Tara.

Tara was looking down, embarrassed.  "I liked the turtle," she said in a soft voice.

"There.  That's settled.  Lady wants a turtle.  Now if you can spare me a moment, I need some advice.  Seeing as you're Buffy's best friend, maybe you can tell me what she really wants."

It seemed Willow couldn't spare that moment, because she ran into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. But Tara looked up, still blushing, and asked, "What's wrong, Spike?"

At last.  Someone was giving him the time of night.  He opened his mouth, but before he could launch into an explanation of his problem, he heard footsteps pounding down the stairs and another door opening and being slammed shut.  "Balls!  Dawn must have been looking out the window, waiting for that little bastard to show!"

"What?  Her date?"  Tara looked bewildered. "Spike, it's okay, I checked him out, and Buffy talked to his parents and everything—"

He didn't hear the rest because he was on his way down the stairs and out the door.

Spike tailed Dawn and her sad excuse for a date to the high school.  He would have confronted her and dragged her back home before then, but she and Dwayne met up with two other couples, and both the Little Bit and Buffy had had Strong Words with him recently about Embarrassing Dawn in Public.  And nothing was going to happen while they were all in one big, giggly crowd like that.

Besides, even Spike had to admit the kid that Dawn was with didn't look like an evil seducer.  Too gangly, and barely comfortable enough in his own body to know how to set about seriously groping anyone else's.  And his name was Dwayne.  How dangerous could he be?

Still not entirely trusting Dwayne, despite his unprepossessing name and appearance, Spike strolled into the high school gym behind a crowd of teens.  The woman at the door who was taking money and stamping hands took one look at him and, instead of demanding an entrance fee, went off to whisper in another woman's ear.

Spike scanned the gym, which had been turned into a very unconvincing dance floor with the aid of lots of hand-lettered signs and some balloons. Not exactly a den of vice.  And there were respectable-looking teacher-and-parent types all around.  At least, he counted two of them. 

"What are you doing here?"  Dawn was suddenly in front of him, hissing like a cobra and waving her arms dramatically.  "Go away!"

"Just keeping an eye on you, that's all."  He backed away. "Don't want anything to happen to you."

"Spike, do you know what's going to happen to me if you go away?  I'll actually get to enjoy my first Valentine's Day with a real date, and at a real dance, and—"  She looked ready to cry.  "Why can't you let me have what I want?"

Bloody hell.  He couldn't stand to see her miserable.  He swallowed hard and forced out the words.  "All right."

"What?" She looked incredulous. "You mean it?  You'll leave?"

"Well—"  He thought about it.  "Might hang about for a bit.  Might leave and come back later to make sure you get home safe."

"Spike—"  She looked prepared to argue, then sighed, her hands on her hips.  She shook her head.  "I'll take what I can get.  But you don't talk to me or even come near me for the next two hours.  Got it?" 

As she turned and walked towards her friends, Spike looked around.  He could just stand against a wall somewhere and keep an eye on things.  But that would mean wasting hours that he needed to find a present for Buffy.  Somewhere.

The sound system turned on with a nasty screech, followed a moment later by the even nastier screeching of Britney Spears.  Spike put a hand to his head, wincing as if his chip had gone off.  The bitch was insisting over and over that she loved rock and roll.  But sometimes love hurt, and this was one of those times.

Britney settled it.  There was no way he was listening to that for two hours.  He'd trust Dawn to the chaperones here, run to the flower shop for a maudlin, clichéd bouquet, cruise by the candy store, and be back in time to see the Little Bit safely home.  It wouldn't be the valentine he'd hoped to give Buffy, but since he hadn't been able to figure out what that was, he'd settle for something that, if it wasn’t exactly right, at least wouldn’t be wrong.

He knew he was still getting it wrong most of the time, but except on days like today it didn’t matter, because once he and Buffy were alone it wasn't about right and wrong any more.  And Dawn might complain, in fact, she hardly ever stopped complaining, but he knew she liked having him around anyway. 

But the Scoobies, they were just annoyances, although sometimes they were also good entertainment, and Tara made brilliant fudge brownies.

He realized vaguely that Buffy would like him to play nice, or at least a tiny bit nicer, with her friends, but he also knew that it would be easier to sprout wings and fly.  Look at what had happened today.  He expected people to be self-absorbed; they were people, weren’t they? But not only hadn’t they paid any attention to his problem, they’d also been so bloody incompetent at working out their own that he’d lost his temper even sooner than he expected. 

Not that he was a paragon of competence when it came to this gift-giving business. The debacles of Christmas and Buffy’s birthday weren’t going to fade from memory soon.  So it was off to the flower shop for him.

He was going to go out the gym the way he'd come in, but he noticed a cluster of what looked suspiciously like teachers staring at him.  He ducked out another door.

The alternative exit led to the locker rooms, but there must be another way out from there.  He followed a drab corridor past the smell of old socks, only to realize he was heading deeper into the building instead of towards an exit.  He turned back just in time to see something sneaking out of a locker room.

The demon was dressed in a football jersey and sweatpants that Spike would have guessed were stolen even if they hadn't fit so badly.  Either there really was a shortage of clean socks to heist, or it preferred to keep its hairy rear paws bare, because its twisted toenails scraped on the cracked linoleum floor.  It turned to face Spike, its snout opened in dismay.

"Here, you!"  Spike couldn't remember the demon's name, but either this pile of mange had skipped out on him after losing a poker game last week or there were two nattrif demons in Sunnydale who'd had their left ears chewn off. 

The demon's guilty start confirmed its identity.  It dropped to all fours and scampered through a nearby door.  Spike followed, in hot pursuit of his poker winnings.

He was expecting a passageway, and swore when, instead, he barreled into a treadmill, tripped, fell onto a stationary bicycle, rolled over a pile of weights, and finally managed to get safely back on his feet near the door.

At least, he got to one foot, hopping as he rubbed a sore knee.  "Bugger this!"  After running through his entire vocabulary of curses, he stepped back into the room, this time looking carefully before he leapt.

But one glance was enough to show him that leaping was a rotten plan.  The room was so full Spike wondered how even a scrawny nattrif had managed to wedge itself into a hiding place.  It could be behind a piece of broken exercise equipment, or curled up in a torn wrestling mat, or even lurking behind a box that seemed to hold nothing but deflated basketballs.  Or any of a dozen other places in this indoor junk yard.

The only sure thing was that the nattrif had to still be in this room somewhere.  Even if there was another exit hidden by all that rubbish, burrowing to it would have taken some time and made plenty of noise.  So all Spike had to do was find the twit, drag him out, and kill him. 

He couldn't pinpoint the location by smell, so he cocked his head and listened.  Nothing, not even breathing.  Of course, a nattrif could hold its breath for hours.  On the other hand, they didn't have nearly as good night vision as vampires, which meant the bastard had to be practically blind.

Spike shut the door, picked up a nice, heavy metal rod that was meant to hold weights, and leaned it against the wall by the door.  Then he leaned against the door and pulled out pack of smokes.  He shook it.  Enough to keep him occupied for a bit.  Not for too long, but he was betting his quarry had even less patience than he did and would crack before the last fag had been smoked.  The sparking wheel on his lighter flashed. 

Spike waited, thinking some more about Valentine's Day and what a balls-up his first one with Buffy was turning into.  With Dru, finding a gift had been easy, even if she hadn't always liked his gifts best.  He pushed that thought away.

But the Slayer was another matter.  No, not the Slayer.  Tonight, of all nights, he had to get something for Buffy, the human girl.  He'd given up on finding the perfect gift, but he had to at least find something she'd like.

He knew she liked flowers.  And chocolate.  She really liked chocolate. And since he didn't have a complete list of things she didn't like...

Suddenly he realized he was down to his last fag.  He'd been standing there like a pillock for who knew how long, rejecting possibility after possibility, while some lesser fool was probably snagging the last dozen long-stemmed roses in town.  He was about to give up his vigil and make a dash for the flower shop when one of the deflated basketballs teetered on the top of the pile and fell to the floor, trying for a bounce, but managing only a sad squish.  A half-second later, there was a clang of metal and one of the exercise machines tipped over.  The nattrif was getting restless.

When Spike went back into the gym to check on Dawn, he found a woman waiting for him.  She was small and closer to elderly than middle-aged.  She was also wearing clothes only a school teacher would buy, and she had a smile that could have made the Master uneasy.  "Hello," she said in a tone that meant, "Don't even try to avoid this conversation."

"Uh, 'lo," he muttered, trying to remember where he'd seen her before.  No specific place or time came to mind, but his memory associated her with Buffy's voice saying, "Damn it, Spike, behave or I'll clock you!  That's Dawn's principal over there."

Instinct told him to flee, but he was obedient to Buffy's voice even in her absence.  He wasn't so stupid he couldn't understand the consequences of letting any of Dawn's army of teachers or social workers start questioning the fitness of her home environment.

Just hope I'm smart enough not to say the wrong thing anyway.  Past experience didn't give him much confidence in that arena.

"Were you in the old equipment room just now?" she asked.

"Uh—"  he searched his mind for the best excuse.  Can't say I was trying to nick stuff.  For one thing, no one would want any of that rubbish.  Going for a smoke has the advantage of being a half-truth, but—

Before he could come up with anything, she said, "We've had something of a—a pest problem in that part of the school.  It's become very noticeable the past few days."

"How many dead?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Her voice dropped to a whisper.  "None, so far, but the second string quarterback got bit and needed stitches, and there were a few other injuries.  You are a friend of Buffy Summers, aren't you?  Dawn's sister has been very helpful this school year, but when I called her house earlier, the girl who answered said she was at work, and I don't like to mention these little—problems to people I don't know."

"Yeah."  As he waved a hand at the dance floor, it struck him that it was pretty sparsely populated.  "Since Buffy's busy earning a living and making sure Dawn's well cared for and all, I was just checking to see that little sister got here and home safely and—"  suddenly, he knew just what the principal was getting at— "and I thought I might do a bit of extermination work while I waited.  Just a hobby of mine, you know." 

"Oh!"  Her smile suddenly seemed more genuine.  "So that nasty pest--?"

"Won't be making a pest of itself again."  And it was hardly worth the effort.  The stupid bugger had less than 10 dollars in its wallet.

She was saying something else, but Spike was looking over her shoulder and he caught a glimpse of Dawn.  She was heading for the door with Dwayne. 

He thought he said something to the principal before heading after Dawn, but he wasn't sure. 

Dawn and her date took ages to walk the short distance between the high school and Revello Drive.  At first, Spike tried to eavesdrop on their conversation, but it was so mind-bogglingly boring and full of embarrassed pauses that he wound up dropping further behind them so he couldn't overhear any of it by accident.  He spent most of the trip fretting that the shop would be out of roses by the time he got there.

They arrived at last, and after an attempt at a good-bye kiss that was so inept even Spike's hackles couldn't rise at the scene, Dwayne stepped off Buffy's porch as Dawn went inside. 

And now—

Spike was about to leave when he sensed something lurking nearby.  As Dwayne walked down the street, something emerged from between two nearby houses and followed him.

Spike contemplated leaving anyway.  It would be one way to ensure Dawn didn't see that hapless git again.  On the other hand, if she was going to insist on dating, hapless was a quality he liked to see in her boyfriends.  And if Dwayne were killed--

Balls!  Good thing I thought that through.

He wasted a valuable ten minutes slaying the other vampire, and at some point in the proceedings Dwayne screamed and legged it for home. 

Which meant it was time for Spike to leg it to downtown Sunnydale.  He raced to Main Street at a speed even the Slayer would envy. 

The flower shop was closed.  So was every other damn shop in this miserable little town.  They'd all rolled up the sidewalks and gone off home, probably with presents clutched in their paws for their valentines.  Leaving him with nothing for his.

He stared at the flimsy door barring him from a dozen or so roses.  What had been too trite to contemplate a few hours ago now seemed more desirable than a Holy Grail.  Definitely more.  The bloody Grail probably would be full of holy water.

I could break into the shop.

No, he couldn't.  Buffy had ways of finding out whenever he stole or vandalized something, and he hadn't yet found out what all her ways were and just who they involved.  (Clem was high on his suspect list, though.)  Buffy would be royally brassed off if she learned he'd nicked a present for her.

Out of ideas and time, he made his way back to Revello Drive, even though his sense of self-preservation was telling him it might be safer to do a bunk. 

You can't, mate.  Your lady isn't afraid of much, but you know she's terrified of being abandoned.  

So the one thing worse than showing up with nothing would be not showing up at all.  He trudged back to her house without so much as a candy bar or a treacly card from Hallmark to offer her.

You're for it, mate.  Women don't forgive things like this.  Ever.

He tried to slip in through the kitchen door, as if that would somehow be better than barging through the front door empty-handed.

But Buffy was there in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of juice.  Spike stood in the doorway, staring at her.  She was wearing satiny pajamas that clung to her amazing body, and her hair was piled on top of her head in a soft, romantic style.  She'd done something subtle with her makeup that made her eyes luminous as she turned to smile at him. Or maybe she looks like that because she's glad to see me.  If only I had a posy or even a bloody ceramic turtle to offer her.

"Sorry I'm late, love," was all he could manage.

"That's okay.  Dawn and I figured out where you were when her boyfriend called to say that scary blond guy who dates her sister had started following him home and then got into a fight with someone."

"Oh.  Yeah.  I sensed a vampire following him.  Besides me, I mean."

"Did you stake it?"

"Yeah."  He shuffled his feet.  "Uh, Buffy—"

"Nice of you to keep Dwayne alive, even though you don't like him."

"Wasn't for him!"  He was indignant at the thought.  "If something happened to the git, the Little Bit would be upset."  It occurred to him after saying the words that they weren't the attitude most likely to please Buffy.

But she looked amused, instead of angry.

That's going to change.  He cleared his throat again, but she began talking before he could speak. 

"You missed Anya's phone call.  It seems Xander showed up tonight with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a calendar in the other.  She was so excited, she couldn't wait to tell us they'd set the date for their wedding."

"Did he?  Well, I'm sure she's pleased.  Told me it was what she wanted this morning."

"So she said.  Then, of course, she described exactly what sex act she was going to perform on Xander to thank him and hung up."

Spike repressed an impulse to ask for details about the sex act.  No point in dwelling on the fact that Harris was going to have a more enjoyable evening than he was.

Buffy went on.  "Dawn had a good time tonight, and I got a phone call from the principal.  She thanked me for sending someone to help with one of the little problems I usually handle for her."  She leaned back against the counter.  "What was it?"

"Stupid bugger who owed me twenty dollars." 

She seemed to find this funny.  "Well, she said that now that's off her mind, she'll be able to really enjoy the trip to Las Vegas her husband surprised her with for Valentine's Day."

Spike tried to imagine the woman he'd met earlier kicking up her heels in Vegas.  His brain rebelled at the idea.

"Oh, and Giles called to say your car is parked on the street behind his apartment and if you need it, the keys are under the flowerpot by his door.  I think there was something else, too."  She sipped her juice, looking thoughtful.  "Oh, yeah, he'll stake you if you bother him while his guest is still here."  She rinsed out her glass and put it in the sink.  "And Tara and Willow have gone out.  They're having a long, romantic dinner at that new French place.  But first Willow wanted to rush to the mall before it closed.  Something about a turtle.  I hope they made it in time."

He let her talk because he wanted her to keep looking like this as long as possible.  Because once he confessed, she'd stop being warm and welcoming, and it would be back to a cold and lonely crypt for him for the rest of the night.  If he was lucky. 

If he was really lucky, he'd only be exiled for one night.

"I got you something."  Buffy took him by the hand and led him to the living room, where she picked up a small, wrapped package from the coffee table.

He took it reluctantly, clearing his throat and starting to object.  He couldn't take a present when he didn't have one to give.

"Oh, please open it right away.  I want to see if I got the right one."

He ripped the red and silver paper off the little square package and stared down at a CD.  "The Sex Pistols." 

She looked anxious.  "I'm sorry I couldn't get anything else, but money's been so tight lately, and I remembered you telling Dawn that Harmony burned your copy.  Of course, there's no way I'm letting you play that dreck around her, or me for that matter, but I thought you'd like to have it replaced." 

"It's perfect, love."  This just made things worse, of course.  He couldn't put it off any more.  He took a deep breath and said, "Buffy, I'm sorry, but I ran out of time and there wasn't enough money to get much without breaking the law or one of your stupid bloody rules and—"

He stopped for a moment to gauge her reaction so far and decide if he should ready himself for immediate flight.  But she was still smiling at him with what looked like approval. 

"And I had to follow Dawn, and then I couldn't get away, and the shops were closed, and I knew you'd go spare if I stole something, so—"  Another deep breath.  "I didn't get you anything."

He waited for the inevitable explosion.

She stepped forward, took his hands, and stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his lips.  "No worries.  You can get me some flowers or candy as a special surprise one day.  It's always fun to get a present when it isn't a holiday." Her head tilted to one side as she thought the matter over.  "Dove bars would be good.  You can consider that a hint."

He stepped back and hit the side of his head, not sure he'd heard right.  "Buffy, I fucked up royally.  On Valentine's Day."  She was still smiling that disconcerting smile, so he repeated, loudly, "I didn't get you a present!"

"Like I said, you can make it better."  She smiled impishly and took his hand again.  "Come on upstairs, and I'll give you a few suggestions how."

This is impossible.  As Spike let Buffy lead him to her bedroom, he wondered if she could be under some kind of spell.

She pulled him inside her room, wrapped her arms around him, and opened her mouth for a long, passionate kiss.

If she's under a spell, I have to find out how to break it.

First thing tomorrow… 

The End

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