An Englishman in New York

A/N: I realize that the 'coming out' scene leaves much to be desired, but poor Tara is a bit shy, and they were all dead tired. Realization will set in later on.
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The Build-Up


Cups of beer and empty candy wrappers were strewn amidst several unconscious frat brothers, and as the band loaded their equipment up, Spike had to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

A little less than five hours earlier, he and Buffy had been arguing about something, and now he couldn’t remember what it was. Now, she was sound asleep on the sofa, her head on Willow’s shoulder, Willow’s head in Tara’s lap.

“That’s bloody adorable,” he murmured.

Oz, whose hearing was surprisingly sharp, nodded his agreement. He had long since figured out that the witches were more than friends, and rather than being upset by it, he had encouraged them. There was nothing in the world he loved more than Willow, and if Tara could fill some void he wasn’t capable of filling, then he would be happy for them – even if a time came when he no longer fit into the equation.

“When are they going to come out of the closet?” inquired Anya bluntly.

“Anya!” Xander scolded, dragging a hand through his curly black hair.

“Well, it’s obvious! Oh, your roots are showing,” she added, indicating the growth of dark brown closest to Xander’s scalp. “Yours, too, Spike.”

“I’ve got it covered,” Oz, who never had fewer than ten different shades of hair dye at one time, commented. “And, when they’re ready to.”

“That’s no fun! Waiting is never fun,” Anya muttered. “Unless you’re waiting for an orgasm to build up, in which case –”

“ANYA!”

“What?! I was just saying!”

“Well, don’t. Not everyone wants to hear about it.”

“Fine,” the woman snapped. “But you’re not getting any sex tonight.” With that, the blonde flashed a knowing smile in Spike’s direction and stormed out of the room.

“Guys, will you load my –”

“Go get her,” Oz replied.

“Anya, sweetie, I didn’t mean it that way!” Xander’s begging could be heard even as he hurried outside, though the words soon became unintelligible.

“Got ‘im wrapped around her finger, she does,” Spike commented as he helped load the equipment into Oz’s van. “How much does it cost to park that clunker of yours, or do I want to know?”

“Trust me, you don’t,” the newly blonde man answered. “Speaking of being wrapped around someone’s finger…” He gestured to Willow and Tara; the former was still asleep while Tara gazed down at her adoringly as she stroked her burnished copper hair. “She loves her as much as I do.”

“Yeah,” Spike replied absently, too caught up in watching Buffy sleep to pay attention to the witches. In spite of being so close to her best friend, the blonde looked troubled, as though she were having a nightmare. Crossing the room to the sofa, Spike shook her shoulders gently. “Ground Control to Major Tom.”

“Huh?” Buffy jerked awake immediately, still too groggy to understand what he’d said. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she accidentally batted Willow in the arm, causing the redhead to whine in her sleep.

“I said, ‘Ground Control to Major Tom,’ but you probably have no bloody idea what I’m talking about.”

“This is Major Tom to Ground Control, I’m stepping through the door,” Buffy answered confidently, easing her head off of Willow’s shoulder.

“Well, fuck me.” Spike was taken aback. She had actually heard of David Bowie. There was hope for her, after all. Now, if he could just get her to listen to the Ramones… “Come on, sleepy kitty.”

“Will, time to get up,” the petite blonde nudged her friend awake when Tara seemed loath to do it.

“Oz could have carried her,” Tara objected softly.

“Mmm,” Willow murmured, placing a gentle kiss on Tara’s lips before she fully realized where she was. Her eyes flew open. “Oh, my God…”

Tara blushed the color of Willow’s hair and glanced nervously at Oz, who merely smiled benevolently and inclined his head.

“No biggie, Will,” Buffy stammered, her eyes roughly the size of Gollum’s. “It’s not like I didn’t already have it figured out, Will. Honestly, Will, it’s nothing.”

“Then why do you keep saying my name like that?”

“She’s got you there, pet.”

“Really. It’s okay.” Now fully awake, Buffy realized that she had in fact figured it out long before, it was just seeing two of her best friends kissing – two of her best female friends kissing each other – that threw her for the biggest loop she’d ever known.

“I was thinking,” Oz began, suddenly standing behind Willow, “that maybe I could take both of you home.”

Spike had to hand it to the bloke; in spite of all that his offer implied, Oz’s voice never wavered. He wasn’t even blushing.

Willow glanced at Tara questioningly and was greeted by a warm smile.

“We’ve talked about it,” the woman said bravely, “and I just want you to be happy, Willow. You have me, you know that.”

“And me,” Oz added.

Willow, who had once been so shy that she’d blushed at the very mention of kissing, pushed to her feet with the confidence of a goddess, taking Tara’s hand in one of hers, Oz’s in the other. “Let’s go home. Night, Buffy; night, Spike.”

“Night, guys,” Buffy said, watching Willow lead her boyfriend and girlfriend outside to Oz’s van. She was amazed, amused, even, but not disgusted.

“She’s got the right idea, I reckon.” At Buffy’s doe-eyed look, Spike corrected himself, Going home, I mean.”

“Oh.” Blushing to the roots of her hair, Buffy shoved to her feet and grabbed her purse. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that, but when you guys did Golden Slumbers, it was bye, bye, Buffy,” she apologized.

“There’s somethin’ to be said for the power of suggestion,” he teased, grabbing his guitar case as he hurried to open the door for her. Oh, shit. Now I’m opening doors for her?! Not good.

Buffy politely stopped to say goodbye to several of the students who lived there before following Spike outside. “They were cheering you on, but you never even stop to say hi or thank you or fuck you…”

“Got a bad boy image to maintain, Summers. What would you do?”

“I would at least say something, even if it was just to tell them to fuck off.” A moment later, she inquired, “Is it? Just an image, I mean.”

“What do you think?” he answered her question with one of his own.

“I really don’t know, Spike. I don’t know.”