Well, I Sing

~Buffy: I'm, uh... in a band. A-a rock band with Spike here.
Spike: Right. She plays the uh. . .triangle.
Buffy: Drums.
Spike: Drums, yeah. She's, uh, hell on the old skins, you know.
Joyce: MmHmm. And, uh, what do you do?
Spike: Well, I sing~
                    Buffy, Spike & Joyce, Becoming Part 2

*~*

On the stage of the deserted Bronze, Spike lifted a set of drums piece by piece from the floor below, grumbling under his non-existant breath. It was Friday night, their first gig here in over a year.

And he was nervous. Him, Spike. William the Bloody. The Bid Bad- worrying like a poof about a stupid little thing like this.
Angel had assured him- between phone calls, at least- that the word on the street included nothing about last year's. . . incident, and that there was no one in town who wasn't psyched to hear that a real, live- or undead, if they knew the truth- famous band was playing in one of *their* clubs. Still, Spike worried. He couldn't expect no one from the previous night to show up. He just wasn't that lucky.

Hell, his drummer was the *Slayer*, for cryin' out loud. How bloody lucky was that? If she wasn't 'hell on the old skins' as he'd told her mother, he'd have taken her out back and ripped her head off long before this, chip or no bloody chip.

Growling quietly, the vampire shook his head at the slight pain caused by that image. No matter how much a part of liked the idea, it certainly wouldn't help them tonight.

Plus, he thought wryly, his Sire *probably* wouldn't appreciate him beheading his girlfriend. That was, of course, if he noticed. What with the amount of time Peaches spent on that bloody mobile phone, getting them gigs and contracts to promote Pepsi- or being *managerial* as he put it- Spike doubted whether or not he'd notice him setting Slutty's hair on fire and burning the whole club down.

Besides, if Spike had to choose, it would've been Coke every time.

"Hey, Blondie?" a voice called out from across the Bronze. "Quit daydreaming! This place opens in 45 minutes."

"Bloody hell, Slayer." Spike turned around to see the blonde Slayer leaning easily against the drinks counter on the other side of the dance floor, delicately sipping a pre-show glass of something he knew was almost pure alcohol. "I'm going as fast as I bloody well can. I don't see *you* gettin' off your ass and helpin'!"

"Spike, we talked about this," Buffy said rationally, swaying slightly as she walked towards him. "We take *turns* at setting our gear up. And this week, you're up!" She giggled as her eyes travelled down towards his crotch. "Well, maybe not yet, but Willow'll be here soon."

Spike's eyes narrowed. "You're bloody drunk again, aren't you?" he shouted, sniffing the air. "God, I can't *work* in these conditions," he raged to himself.

"Don't blow a blood vessel, Spikey," Buffy sing-songed, taking another swig from her glass. "Hey, you can't!" She giggled again. "'Cause you're a *VAMPIRE!*"

The blonde Slayer looked pleased with herself for figuring that out. Then she reconsidered, as a realisation hit her. "Say, you're not gonna eat anyone, are ya? 'Cuz I'd havta stake you then," she mumbled. "And we woldn't have a band
anymore. . ."

"PEACHES!!!!" Spike bellowed angrily, jumping down from the stage and knocking the glass out of Buffy's hand. "GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW!!!!"

From backstage, Angel appeared, dressed in his usual attire, looking- at least in Spike's opinion- like a total ponce as always.  But then, Angel insisted that as their manager, he had to look the part. How that included tailor-made Armani suits and shades, no matter where they were or what time of the day it was, was anyone's guess.

And of course, there was that damned mobile, held almost permanently against his right ear. If he wasn't already dead, Spike was certain his Sire's brain would have been well and truly fried by now. Then again, considering his choice of girlfriend, the vampire wondered if that hadn't happened already.

"Yes, I understand that," Angel was saying, frantically gesturing with his free hand for Spike to be quiet, "but what we have here is an opportunity that could be beneficial to- Yes, yes, but- No, I already told you that- You do?- Yes, well, I'm sure- No, I've already told him. There won't be a repeat of last year- Well, he promised- No, of course that doesn't mean anything, but- No, he wouldn't do that, he loves kids-"

Spike's eyebrows rose. What the Hell was his Sire talking about?

"Yes, we'll be there- Uh huh, I promise- No, really, he won't, I assure you- OK, yeah, we'll see you then- Yeah- Bye."

Angel punched a button on the phone and flipped it shut, concealing it in one of his suit's many pockets before turning to Spike. "Alright, what's going on, and it better be good, because I was just on the phone to-"

"I don't bloody well care, Peaches," Spike growled, his demon coming to the fore. "Your girlfriend is bloody pissed out her brain. Again! And if you don't sort her out, I'm going to bloody well RIP HER HEART OUT!"

Again the chip went off, leaving the vampire clutching his head in agony as his human features slid back on.

Angel sighed, giving his childe a consolitary pat on the shoulder, beforeturning to Buffy, who was back at the bar, making a new drum set out of upturned glasses and an ice bucket. Rolling his eyes, he lifted the tiny blonde out of her seat and placed her on the floor, holding her up as her eyes slid shut and she turned green at the movement.

"Buffy? Honey? Can you hear me?" he asked, searching her face for any sign of awareness.

The Slayer's eyes half-opened. "Angel?" she asked.

"Yeah, baby, I'm here," his voice soothed her. "Now, come on. You wanna go up on stage like this?" he chided her gently, stroking her back.

"Uh. . . Peaches?" Spike said impatiently, his arms folded. "We've got less than half an hour before this dump opens. How long you plannin' on takin' to get her sobered up?"

Angel turned to face his childe, letting Buffy go in time for her to reach the ice bucket, into which she promptly threw up. He grimaced at the noise.

"Look, Peaches, I'm gettin' bloody sick of this," Spike said, trying not to watch the Slayer bring up everything that was in her stomach. "I mean, *every* *bloody* *time*! It's too much!"

Angel was about to reply when the door to the Bronze opened to reveal Willow and Xander, their arms full of supplies.

"Hey, guys- whoa what's that smell," Willow greeted them, her nose wrinkling up as an all-too-familiar stench hit her senses.

Xander stepped out from behind her, dropping his load by the side of the stage before making his way over to the Buffy, who was looking only slightly less green.

"Aw, Spike," he whined, as he caught sight of the ice bucket, "you were supposed to be watching her. You know how she gets before a performance."

Spike ignored him, too busy kissing his witch to be listening.

"Hey, hey, hey," Angel broke them apart. "Not until after the performance."

Spike scowled at his Sire, but did as he was told.

"Now, let's get on with it," the dark-haired vampire told them. "Willow, you get Buffy sorted out. Spike, hurry up with those drums. We've only got 25 minutes, and I still have to-"

Angel's mobile sang out the tune to Old McDonald Has A Farm, letting him know someone was trying to get through. With a move he'd practised in front of the mirror at home- regardless of the fact that he couldn't see himself in it- he flipped the phone open in a way he considered extremely cool and turned away to answer the call.

Spike rolled his eyes and turned back to the set of drums he'd been arranging earlier. Willow's gaze lingered on him a moment longer, watching his muscles ripple underneath his T-shirt as he lifted the final part of the instrument into place, before she reluctantly turned away and walked towards Buffy, rummaging in her bag for the set of herbs she needed for her spell.

If the Slayer was ever going to be able to lift a drumstick again in the next few minutes, the witch needed to work fast. Luckily- or not, Willow couldn't decide which- she was well-prepared with everything she needed. And this time, she could leave Buffy with the mother of all hangovers afterwards, and teach her that she wasn't always going to be able to count on other people to sort out her messes.

Xander watched as his best friend set up all she needed for her spell, grinning at the thought of how Buffy would feel the next morning. Willow had told him her plan on the way here, both of them knowing how they'd most likely find their friend when they arrived, and he was glad the Slayer was finally going to learn what a real hangover was. After all she'd put them through on other nights like this, she deserved it.

Watching as Willow chanted the words she'd memorised a long time ago, Xander made his way back over to where he'd left his gear, knowing that if he didn't help set up the rest of the equipment, he'd never hear the end of it. Besides, he had to polish up his own instrument before they started.

Next to him, Spike, who'd finished with the drums, was doing his voice exercises, a sheet of paper clutched in his right hand. "La, la, la, la, la, la, la." The vampire's voice rose from low to high, and then fell back to low. "La, la, la, la, la, la, la."

"Soundin' good there, Junior," Xander said, knowing better than to laugh. The last time he'd hinted that Spike was getting. . . well, poofy, to throw his own word back at him, the teen had found himself suspended upside down, hanging from Buffy's roof dressed in woman's underwear. The victim of drugged Twinkies.

After that little incident, *no one* teased Spike about his voice exercises.

The vampire turned ice blue eyes to Xander, searching his face to see whether or not the boy was teasing him. He didn't think the whelp would even dare think about it after the last time. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, Spike smiled. "Thanks, mate. That's good to know."

Xander raised his eyebrows as he turned back to pull his instrument from its soft leather case. Either Spike really was going soft, or-

"Xander!!" He was cut off mid-thought by Buffy cannonballing into him, knocking him flat on his face as she squealed his name in delight, her arms hugging him tight. "You came! You came to see me play!"

Whatever his reply was, neither Spike nor Willow, who had been running after the Slayer, could hear it as anything more than a muffled half-sentence.

"What the bloody hell.?" Spike asked, amazed, as he watched the tiny blonde almost smother Xander by sitting on his head.

Willow looked sheepish. "I think the spell may have worked just a *little* bit too well."

*-*-*-*

To be continued. . .