buffy in the city #3:
coming-out party

by SoulVamp

Disclaimer: Usual rules apply. Nobody belongs to me, situations herein are a mixed muddle of my silly head and those of the jolly folks associated with respective production companies and things.

Notes: This episode has been a little more tricky. I had resisting adapting this particular Caroline storyline for fear the result would be too odd for some folks. There's some comical Spike/Xander displays of affection here, which are incredibly mild, necessary to the plot, and to explain the reason for them entirely would spoil the storyline. Just know all will become clearer as one reads along. However, if you're offended by such things, I guess turn back now. Never fear, however, the little blond girl is still the apple of Spike's eye.

***

Spike had dragged a slightly-reluctant Buffy to an art gallery one afternoon, in the hopes of inspiring his writers'-blocked employer to get back to work. Not to mention getting paid to do something other than cater to her every pouty whim.

They stood in front of a large white canvas with the word "EXIT" painted on it in bright red letters.

"Okay, Mr. Art Expert, what the hell is this one supposed to mean?" Buffy asked.

Spike chuckled. "You've probably never read Sartre, have you? What was on your university reading list, anyway, Cosmo's Dating Guide?"

Buffy gave him a light whap on the arm.

"All right, all right, kiddin' aside, this is probably representing how humans are always secretly harboring a death wish." He looked down at Buffy, who was actually -- shockers! -- paying attention to him. "You know," he continued, "always lookin' for a metaphorical exit, a way out of this shoddy mess masquerading as life..."

Just then, two handymen appeared, each taking one end of the canvas and lifting it away from the wall. "Where'd Joe say the exit sign was supposed to go?" one asked the other.

"Over by the fire escape," his co-worker replied.

Buffy and Spike stood there, staring at the empty wall.

Spike cleared his throat.

"Right, then. It's about nothingness," he said, pointing to the blank expanse of white plaster. Buffy giggled.

***

Buffy and Faith sat at a table together at the Bronze, cups of espresso steaming in front of them. Buffy examined her reflection in a small compact mirror, experimentally fluffing up various sections of her hair, flattening others. It was a slightly choppy mess.

"When'd you get so vain, B?" Faith asked her.

"Huh? Oh, no, no," Buffy began to explain, dropping the mirror back in her purse, "It's just this haircut, kind of not-quite-Buffy-esque."

"New hairdresser?"

"No, same guy, but I think he's lost his touch," Buffy replied sadly.

Spike sauntered into the club, spotted the two girls sitting together, looked around helplessly for a table as far from them as possible. Too late, Buffy spied him attempting to skulk behind a large man wearing a "Frankie Says Relax" T-shirt.

"Hey, Spike!" she called happily, waving him over.

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, approaching their table with a disappointed frown.

"Sit," Buffy said, patting the empty chair between her and Faith. "Be an honorary girl, this being girls' night out and all."

"Oh, this invitation just gets better and better," Spike said, but sitting down anyway. He glanced at Buffy. "What the hell happened to your noggin, Summers?"

Faith pulled out her cell phone. "Got my hairdresser on speed dial," she said.

"Call. Now," Buffy said tersely. "This is now officially a hair emergency, if even he noticed."

"Aw, now, don't go by me," Spike said, patting her shoulder. "I'm only an honorary girl, after all."

At the next table, a young woman with dark blond hair angrily hung up her own cell phone. "Sorry, I've got to go soon," she told her companion. "There's an emergency at the gallery."

"Did you hear that?" Buffy whispered, poking Spike in the ribs.

"Ow!" Spike said, his unlit cigarette falling out of his mouth into his lap. "Unnecessary violence! Penalty, time out for this one."

"Sorry," Buffy said. "But, no, listen, that lady has a gallery. Hello, artist!" she said pointing at Spike. "Go talk to her! She might take some of your work!"

"Don't work that way," Spike told her. He sighed, gave Buffy a serious, resigned expression. "See, I know I'm not getting any props 'til the heart stops beating."

"God, that's morbid," Buffy said.

Faith shrugged. "Gives me something to look forward to."

Spike shot her a withering look.

"Go! Network!" Buffy insisted.

"Not happening," Spike said. He retrieved his cigarette and put it back in his mouth.

"Go!" Buffy said, louder, and with a tiny shove. The cigarette fell out of Spike's mouth again.

"You know, I could get workers' compensation if you keep injuring me all bloody night."

Buffy held her head up. "Fine, be that way, you big baby." She glanced over at the woman's table, saw that she still sat there. "Spike Williams, do NOT say such things!" she shouted, still eyeing the back of the woman's head. "You're the best painter of your generation! You of all people deserve a gallery show!"

The woman turned, ever so slightly. It was clear she was now actively eavesdropping.

Spike covered his eyes with one hand. "Not terribly good move, Buffy," he said quietly. He got up and went to the bar.

Buffy sadly watched him go. "Just trying to help," she said.

"I know," Faith replied. "Hey, why don't we just go talk to her?"

"I don't want to bother her..."

"But I do!" Faith hopped off her chair, and went over to the woman's table. She pretended not to notice the woman 'til she'd already passed her, then did a double-take. "Oh, my god, Michelle?!" she cried.

"Huh?" the woman asked, confused.

"Michelle Fontana?! From Gamma Beta Phi?!" Faith squealed.

The woman laughed. "I think you have me confused with somebody else. Sorry."

Faith paused, looking at the woman. "Huh, I could swear I've seen you somewhere before."

The woman looked down bashfully. "Well, I have a little art gallery in SoHo," she admitted. "Maybe you saw me there."

Faith made like a lightbulb went on over her head. "That's it! Oh, god, I love art! I love your gallery! The, ah..."

"Tara Maclay Gal--"

Faith snapped her fingers. "Of course! The Tara Maclay Gallery!" She gasped. "So you're..."

"Tara Maclay."

Faith motioned to Buffy. "Look who this is!" she said. "It's Tara Maclay of the Tara Maclay Gallery!"

"Wow!" Buffy said. "Tara Maclay, I can't believe it!"

"Of the, ah, Tara Maclay Gallery," Tara said with a laugh.

"I'm Faith, this is Buffy."

"Of the Buffy Summers I-Have-No-Art-Gallery," she said, shaking Tara's hand.

Tara smiled, looking at them. "So you two have been to my gallery?" she asked.

"Of course!" Buffy said. "Oodles of times. It's so... with the art... yes. Nice. We love it."

"Nice to meet you."

"You know, it's so funny, us being such big fans of your gallery, we were just talking to our friend Spike..." Buffy began.

"He's an artist," Faith added.

"And you want me to look at his stuff," Tara said. She laughed. "I kind of figured. You guys aren't terribly subtle."

Faith looked injured. "You mean I was that transparent?"

"'Fraid so," Tara said. "So, ah, is your friend really, you know, right for my gallery?"

"Oh, totally," Buffy assured her.

"Definitely," Faith said more firmly.

Tara considered this a moment. "Hey, sure, why not. Have him stop by." She handed Buffy her card. "I've got to go, though. Nice meeting you two." Tara left, and Buffy and Faith returned to their table, little gleeful grins on their faces.

Spike came back from the bar with three bottles of Killian's. He set them down, one in front of each othem, then noticed the girls' smiles. He eyed them suspiciously.

"What did you do...?" he asked, looking quickly from Buffy to Faith and back again. "If you've been bad little girls, you don't get cookies before bedtime."

***

Spike entered Tara's gallery, looking around at the artwork on the walls. Tara approached him, tapped him on the shoulder, and Spike jumped a little, startled. "Sorry," Tara said with a shy smile. "Didn't mean to sneak up on you. Tara Maclay, we spoke on the phone."

"Spike Williams."

"So, did your friends come with?"

"Who, Lucy and Ethel?" Spike said with a smirk. "No, they let me out of the dungeon on a free pass today."

Tara laughed quietly. "Well, they gave you a great endorsement, said you'd fit right in here. Can I?" She indicated Spike's portfolio, which he was clutching protectively.

"Right, right, would probably help to see my stuff." He handed it to her nervously.

She paged through it. "Wow, these are very powerful images," she said. "I'm impressed. Very angsty."

"That's what I do best," Spike said. "Angst."

"You know, I've got a group exhibit coming up," Tara said. "Would you like to bring me some pieces to be considered?"

Spike's eyes widened for a second. "Would I?!" Realizing his over-eagerness, he checked his enthusiasm. "Sure, yeah, I mean, I haven't got anything better to do."

***

In her living room, Buffy was happily checking out her hair in the mirror above her fishtank. She flipped it around admiringly. Faith's guy had worked some serious magic to correct her own hairdresser's errors. A key clicked in the door, and Xander entered. Buffy grinned as she approached him, waiting to see if he noticed her hair.

"Hey, hon," he said, kissing her on the nose.

"Hey," she said. "Well?!"

"What?"

She pouted. "You can't tell?"

Xander looked her up and down. "Um, um, sure I can. New... outfit?"

"No..."

"Wonderbra?" he tried again.

"No, my hair!" she finally said, then looked down at her chest. "You think I need a Wonderbra?"

Xander looked at her hair more closely. "It doesn't look any different."

Faith came in, heading straight for Buffy with a squeal. "Your hair looks so rad, B! What did I tell you?"

Xander rolled his eyes. "Okay, girl land is not so super fun for us non-girls. Time for boy to go on Pizza Procurement Patrol." He went to the phone.

"So what'd you tell your old guy?" Faith asked.

"I, ah... well, people move to Finland all the time," Buffy said, embarrassed.

"Buffy!" Faith said admonishingly. "You have got to get better at dumping people." She threw Xander a quick glance. "Case in point..."

"Faith..." Buffy said with an edge of warning.

"Right, extra mushrooms," Xander was saying into the phone. "So that'll take how long?"

There was a knock at the door.

"Damn, you guys are fast!" Xander said, hanging up. He opened the door, only to find Spike standing there with two large canvases. "Aw, man, you're not the pizza guy!"

"No, nor are these pizzas. Very observant, Harris, you're really recovering from that childhood head injury." Spike pulled the paintings inside. They towered over him by a foot, and were only just barely narrow enough for him to get a good grasp of them at both edges.

"Hey, what's this all about, Spike?" Buffy asked, coming over to where Spike was propping the canvases up against the desk.

Spike lowered his head a little, looked at Buffy almost shyly. "Ah, I'm gonna say something to you that I don't say very often, ducks, so listen up."

"Wow, this should be good," Faith said.

"Well, this, as much as I hate to admit it, involves you, too, slag, so get your ears peeled." Spike took a deep breath. "Thank you both for pokin' your noses in where they didn't belong. Tara's gonna have me in her next group show, and this would not have been possible if you two hadn't gone all sneaky-like." He paused.

Buffy and Faith were both rendered speechless by the rarity of this generous appreciation.

"All righty then!" Spike said loudly, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "That sugar-coated tripe out of the way..."

"Knew that side of Spike couldn't last," Buffy said to Faith with a wink.

"Yeah, I know better what to do with the side that turns to ashes in the sunlight," joked Faith. They giggled.

"So, if I may indulge in requesting a bit more of your attention, which one d'you think I ought to submit to the show, eh?" Spike had turned the canvases around.

Xander walked up to the paintings. "These are, like, totally creepy," he remarked.

"Creepy!" Buffy said, getting a closer look. "Xander, they are not either creepy, what a dumb thing to say."

Spike cocked his head. "I dunno, I kind of was going for creepy, actually."

"Oh." Buffy reconsidered the paintings a moment. "Well, then, this left blobby deal is actually pretty creepy."

"I'd love to stick and look at these myself, but, well, I don't want to," Faith said. "Later, skaters," she said, nearly colliding with Anya in the hallway.

"Skank," Faith muttered.

"Slut," Anya shot back, then flashed a beamy smile as she entered Buffy's loft. "Oh, my, such... large artsy things!" she said brightly. "Who's the..." She fell silent when she got close enough to see the paintings better. "Who's the completely warped weirdo who did these pieces of crap?"

Spike raised his hand and took an exagerrated, sweeping bow. "Ah, dear lady, what a terribly open-minded opinion you have of the abstract," he said, leaning to mock Anya further by kissing her on the hand.

She pulled it away. "Ew. And abstract? No, sorry. If it cannot be described through rational means, it doesn't deserve to exist." She then noticed Xander, who was trying very hard to ignore her. "Much like my former relationship with Mr. Harris here," she said.

"Hey, now!" Xander snapped his head in her direction. "I thought we agreed not to talk about all that stuff anymore."

"We did. I shall cease and desist." Anya shrugged. "It was all pretty boring anyway."

"Um, hello, let the record show another disgruntled 'hey!' from the ex-boyfriend! How was it all boring?!"

Anya gave him a simpering smile. "Xander, zip it. And we aren't at work right now, so I can say that, and you cannot fire me." She turned to Buffy. "I'm actually here for you." She handed her a manilla envelope. "Contract stuff."

"Thanks," Buffy said.

"Wait just a gosh-darn minute here," Xander said, moving closer to Anya and pointing at her accusingly. "You came here on a work-related errand, no?"

"Well, yes, I suppose technically..."

"So you are at work right now, so you can't push me around and be mean!" Xander folded his arms and looked very proud of himself. "For I am your boss."

"Oh, please, Xander, I'm Spike's boss, and that never stopped him from being mean," Buffy said.

"Fairness, here, Summers," Spike chimed in, "I don't think I'm exactly mean. Bitter and sarcastic, yes. Mean, no."

Anya turned to Spike. "I don't know you very well," she said, "but if you painted these scary things, I'd say you're pretty mean."

"You all act as if I eat kittens for breakfast!" Spike said in frustration.

"Kittens! Eating! No!" Anya cried.

"Well, I don't! For god's sake!" He sighed. "Hang it, I don't want you lot's opinions now!" He started to take the paintings away from the desk, but Buffy stopped him.

"Come on, we're just kidding around," she assured him. "Weren't we?"

"Sure," Xander said.

"I wasn't," Anya replied. "You're odd."

"Odd but not mean," Buffy said. "Come on, we want to help you pick out a painting for your show."

"Oo, where's your show? You've got your own show?" Anya asked, suddenly smiley again.

"What do you care?" Spike asked.

"I don't, but, you know, chance to wear a cute dress..."

"Who among us would take you, Anya?" Xander asked.

She looked at each one of them. "Good point. But, you know, if it's a public showing, I could still just show up wearing a cute dress. So, where?"

"Tara Maclay Gallery," Spike told her. "But I'm not tellin' you when."

Anya's face fell. "Rats and drat. Cute dress wasted on going there." Then she looked slightly confused. "Wow, I had no idea! I usually can tell such things," she said to Spike.

Spike knit his brows. "Come again, dizzy? You can usually tell what?"

"Oh, you know, I have what the plebians refer to as gay-dar."

He looked for a second like he couldn't quite get a handle on what Anya had said, then Spike abruptly broke into a roar of laughter. "My dear, sweet little bird," he said to Anya, "you really don't know me at all, do you?" He took a step towards her. "I can very much assure you..." He raised an eyebrow at her.

Buffy deftly stepped between them. "Down, Hormone Harry," she said to Spike. She turned to Anya. "He's not gay," she said, pushing the two of them further apart. "Why'd you think he was gay?"

"Because only gay and lesbian artists are at Maclay, duh!" Anya said. "My cousin had a showing there. Ah, well, maybe I'll try out my cute dress anyway, seeing as how I haven't had much luck on the boy team..."

"Again, 'hey'!" Xander said. Buffy went over to him and patted him on the back comfortingly.

"So, well, time drags when you're having an incredibly wretched few minutes, so off I go," Anya said, breezing out.

***

At first, Spike had no reaction. He sat down, but remained quiet and expressionless. Buffy and Xander hovered slightly, waiting to see what he would say when it finally hit him that his dream of a show was kaput.

"Remember that whole thanks bit I gave you earlier, blondie?" he finally said.

Buffy rushed over to him. "Yes?"

"Well, you can take my thanks... and you can cram it."

"Spike, I had no idea!" Buffy said. "But, hey, on the other hand, maybe you can, um, stay in the straight closet until the show's over..."

"But that would be, you know... wrong," Spike said. "Oh, you think I'm so mean, maybe I should just lie, terribly mean thing that, lying and defrauding people and belittling a place s'posed to do good for their people, of whom I am not one. Yes, yes, a mean person would take advantage of this situation, wouldn't they?" He glared at her, and Buffy sighed.

"Spike, c'mon, man, lay off her," Xander said. "Who's it really gonna hurt anyway, you know?"

"I didn't mean you were mean," Buffy interrupted.

"Well, then what did you mean, hmm?"

"You guys, cut it out!" Xander said. "Listen, for real, why not go along, Spike?"

"Because, gimpy, I am not ashamed of who I am!" Spike said, getting up. "This is the bloody twenty-first century. I should be able to swagger into the gallery with a gorgeous woman on my arm and not feel like I'm being gawked at and judged!"

"So you're just gonna be a quitter, then, is that it?" Xander asked.

"No, not a quitter," Spike replied. He looked pointedly at Buffy. "I am going to do the right and noble thing. Very un-mean, then, right? Points awarded?"

"Let it go already!" Buffy said, dropping her head onto the coffee table.

***

Spike crept into the gallery, which was already in the midst of being prepared for the group show. "Hello?" he called, somewhat weakly. "Ms. Maclay?"

"Oh, hey, Spike!" she said brightly, coming around a pillar and joining him.

He smiled gently at her. "Hey, listen, can I bend your ear for just a sec?"

"Of course! But first, I have something to show you." She took his hand and led him across the room. "This," she said, indicating the blank wall in front of them, "is going to be all yours."

He stared at the expanse of white with awe. "My god, my own... wall?" He put his hand on it.

"Which was just painted this morning," Tara added.

Spike removed his hand, now covered in a thin film of white paint. "I, uh, I meant to do that," he mumbled. Tara smiled and pointed at a dropcloth, which Spike wiped his hand on. "Listen, really, though, I have a problem here..."

Tara's phone rang. "Sorry, Spike, just one second." She pulled it out of her pocket. "Hello? No, no, Bernie calm down... Don't worry, your work won't go for less than thirty --"

"Excuse me, what?" Spike asked, tapping her on the shoulder. "D'you mean... thirty... ?"

"Thousand," Tara said with a nod. She went back to her call. "Now, Bernie, remember, I told you each item won't go for less than twenty to thirty --"

Spike let out a strange little chuckle. "I-I'm sorry, but that doesn't include the entire pad here, plus utilities, does it?"

Tara smiled at him again and held up her index finger, indicating he should wait a moment. "Right, right, Bernie, it'll be fine." She hung up.

"Lemme just take this in," Spike said, leaning against a stepladder. "You're gonna sell my stuff for three hundred thousand... dollars?"

Tara looked sad. "Oh, no, Spike, I think you misunderstood," she said. "No, you're a new artist. Your painting probably won't get more than twenty thousand. I'm sorry. Now, what did you want to tell me?"

Spike's mind was suddenly as blank as the gallery walls. "Um..." Why was he here again? Twenty thousand dollars... thoughts swirling. Something about not being mean? Screw that, you could buy a lot of nice for twenty thousand dollars. "Yeah, I, uh, d'you mind if I bring a date to the show? My boyfriend's just been dying to see my work exhibited!"

***

Buffy, Xander, and Faith entered the gallery. "Wow," Faith said appreciatively. "Check out all the cute unavailable men. Wonder if I could convince any of 'em to try something new."

"Yeah, just tell them you're a drag queen," Spike said as he approached.

Faith considered this. "Worth a shot," she said, splitting from the others.

"Spike! Where's your painting?" Buffy asked excitedly. He took her by the hand and led her to his wall.

"There it is," he said like a proud father.

"So you opted for the blobby thing," Xander said. "Good choice. The splattery thing wasn't exuding the same level of disturbingness."

Spike leaned in and whispered to Buffy, "Your sitter canceled, eh?"

She giggled, in spite of herself. "Hey, c'mon, picture time," she said, pulling a camera out of her purse.

"Aw, no, no," Spike said, trying to wave her away.

"Pretty please?" she said, her eyes big.

He softened. "If I must." He stood next to the painting. "Shall I strike a big meanie pose for you?" he asked as the flash went off. "Nice warning, pet." He blinked away the stars forming in his field of vision. "You get the price tag in the shot?"

Xander leaned over and examined it. "Holy --"

"Xander!" Buffy cut in. She leaned over to see it, too. "Holy's right, wowza!" She straightened up again. "Oh, you are so getting a raise, mister!"

"Can I have that in writing?" Spike asked.

"Geez, how much are the rest of these going for?" Xander asked. "This place is worth more than my parents' house!" He wanderd off to look around.

"So how's it feel to be big shot artist guy?" Buffy asked Spike.

Spike looked around at the patrons milling about the gallery. "It's all kinda surreal, you know?"

"Oo, surreal, I know that one... Salvador who's-it with the floppy watches," Buffy said excitedly.

"Ah, somebody's been studying!" Spike said. "Very good, little one."

"You're like my Jedi art master," Buffy giggled. "God, I'm so proud of you! Is... is it okay if I... hug you? You know, congrats-ish. I know you're not a big hug kind of --"

"Go ahead, luv, I told them all you were a lesbian." He reached down and embraced her. Her hair brushed his cheek.

I am so decidedly not gay, Spike thought to himself, amused and slightly turned-on by how good Buffy smelled up close.

"Buffy?" came a voice behind them. With great reluctance, Spike let go of her.

"Oh, hi... Steve..." Buffy said with zero enthusiasm.

"I thought you moved to Finland," Steve said.

"Um, yes, yes, I went to the great... northern... um, it was really dark there, and..."

"Hey, this isn't my style!" Steve circled her, examining her hair. "You're seeing someone new!"

"It's-It's not what you think!"

"Puh-leez!" Steve said, crossing his arms and turning his back to her. "After all our time together? How could you!" He started to walk away.

"Steve, wait! I was drunk!" Buffy called, chasing after him. "It only happened once!"

***

Xander spent several minutes looking at paintings in the next room of the gallery. Where's all the hot girl-girl ones? he wondered, then, spotting a particularly interesting watercolor, grinned. There you are, he thought, heading for it. Suddenly, Spike was tugging at him "In public?" Xander asked. "Spike, you rascal, can't you wait 'til we get home?"

"Har har," Spike said flatly. "Where's Buffy?"

"Dunno, why?"

"I'm about to get bought, Harris!"

"Wow, first you're gay, then you're a gigolo. How entrepreneurial you are!"

"My painting, you gimboid," he said, chuffing Xander on the back of the head.

"First, ow, and second, really? Cool!"

"Congratulations!" Tara said happily as she walked up to Spike. "Mr. Jones just loves your piece!"

"Thank you so much, Tara," Spike said warmly.

"You're sure you only sold your painting?" Xander asked. Spike pushed him away.

"I can't tell you how good it feels to be able to give fellow gay artists a place to exhibit and be appreciated!" She smiled with happy excitement.

"I... yeah, um..." Spike looked down at the floor.

"It's selling new artists like you who have commitment and bravery that just... fulfills me, you know?"

Spike sighed, shut his eyes a moment, then looked back at Tara. "This is gonna be a rough one," he began. "I have got to be open here --"

Xander came up behind Spike. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you --"

Spike whipped around to Xander. "Yes, I bleedin' well do!" He turned back. "Tara, you can't sell the piece --"

Xander squeezed Spike around the shoulders. "He can't because it was an anniversary present to me," Xander said to Tara. He gave Spike a slobbery smooch on the cheek, and Spike's eyes bugged out. "Oh, my sweet Spike, go ahead and sell it! I don't need it, I just need you!"

"Harris... what the hell... " Spike said through clenched teeth. "We have to talk. Elsewhere."

"Sure thing, pooky!" Xander said. "I think we're having a tiff," he said to Tara. Spike grabbed his wrist and pulled him forcibly away from her.

"Listen here, greedy, I am not going to sell!" Spike hissed. "It's not... look, I'm just not selling."

"Um, 'k, but look on the other hand. Like, a barrelful of cash. Gee, what's better, doing the right thing, or --"

"Or doing things your way?" Spike interrupted. "Bug off, mate, I'm takin' the high road for once." He returned to Tara. "I can't do this," he said. "I'm not gay."

"What?" she whimpered.

"You tell me this now?!" Xander cried. He threw his drink in Spike's face and flounced out.

Spike rubbed his hand over his wet face. "I don't know what to say here," he admitted.

"I'm just glad you were honest." Tara smiled ruefully. "Hey, you know, be proud of who you are. But I do have to go tell Mr. Jones the deal is off." She started to leave, then turned back. "Thanks for not waiting 'til it was too late. That was really big of you."

"You're welcome," Spike said in a hushed tone. He kept his head down as he walked out of the gallery.

***

Outside, Buffy sat on the stoop. Spike plunked himself down next to her. "Where's the others?" he asked. "I presume Xander told you what happened."

"Yup," Buffy said. "They went home, Faith found the one straight guy in the place and split for parts unknown, and Xander has an early meeting tomorrow." She watched him for a second as he looked up at the starry night sky. "Spike, I'm very proud of you," she whispered.

"Didn't you get the bulletin?" he asked, pulling his obligatory pack of cigarettes from his suit jacket. "Didn't sell. Still a starving artist. No fame, no fortune, no sale." And I probably don't get the girl in the end, either, he added to himself.

Buffy looked him dead in the eyes. "I've never been more proud of you."

He lit a cigarette, snapped his lighter closed with a metallic click. "Does this mean I'm off the list of meanies?"

Buffy looked at him with a twinkle in her eye, but said nothing. She stood up and nudged him. They started walking together, a slightly-snuggly silence between them.

"Let it go, already," she said at last.

"Aw, come on, blondie, after all that trouble I went to! Nobility! Honor! All for the respect and admiration of --"

"Let it go," she said again, but this time she was grinning broadly as the autumn night swept them off together.