An Englishman in New York
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
6,094
Reviews:
76
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
6,094
Reviews:
76
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk
A/N: All right, so the rude NYC cabbie is a stereotype. When I was there, I met a great driver, but most of them... eh.
Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk
After the long flight from New York to LA, both Buffy and Spike wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed – alone in their own beds or together in the backseat of the taxi, it no longer mattered – and sleep through Christmas break. Buffy had fallen asleep on Spike’s shoulder during the cab ride from the airport to 1630 Revello, and he had quickly dozed off as well.
“Hey, we’re here,” the cabbie, an elderly black man with only a sprout of white hair left on his head, said as he parked the car in the driveway. When the pair continued to sleep, he smiled and popped the trunk, depositing their bags on the doorstep. It wasn’t necessary, he knew, but they looked so content that he hated to make them carry their own bags when they were obviously so tired.
Returning to the cab, he knocked on the window. “Hey, we’re here,” he repeated. When the man stirred and eased away from the door, he opened it. “Your stuff’s by the door. Didn’t think you or the little lady’d feel up to carrying it around after a long flight.”
“Thanks,” Spike muttered warily. He wasn’t at all used to random strangers being kind to him, and after living in New York, the very idea of a friendly cab driver was almost laughable. When Buffy didn’t seem inclined to wake, he eased out of the car and lifted her into his arms, glancing up when he heard the front door open.
“You must be Spike,” said Joyce, smiling fondly at the young man holding her sleeping daughter.
“Mrs. Summers,” he acknowledged. “Look, mate, I’ve kinda got my hands full right now. Wallet’s in the left pocket of my duster.”
“This one’s for free, son. It’s my last day, and driving a happy couple home is a good note to end it on,” the driver replied with a grin. Closing the door, he slid behind the wheel and drove away before Spike could even consider asking Joyce to dig out his wallet for him.
“She looks so happy,” Joyce noted as she carried the bags inside. “Come in, Spike. I have hot chocolate ready.”
“Does it have those little marshmallows?” he asked hopefully, carrying Buffy inside. He followed when Joyce ushered him into the family room, and he carefully lay the sleeping blonde down on the couch.
“She’s a heavy sleeper,” Joyce explained, “but you know that already. It must be odd having a girl for a roommate. When I was your age, the schools never would have dreamed of having a co-ed dorm much less co-ed roommates. Listen to me, I sound like an old woman.”
For some reason, Joyce’s rambling put Spike at ease, and he grinned in response. “No, you sound a bit like my dad.”
At the mention of Spike’s father, an inscrutable smile, very much like that of her daughter’s, curved Joyce’s lips. “Just let Buffy sleep. Come on and we’ll have some of that hot chocolate.” Refusing to take no for an answer, she took Spike by the arm and all but dragged him into the kitchen after her.
Spike was greeted by the sight of a pretty girl with full lips and long, perfectly straight brown hair. Though he had only seen photos of her, and they had been taken during her awkward stage, he immediately recognized the girl as Dawn, Buffy’s fourteen year old sister. “ ‘lo there,” he greeted.
“Whoa.” Dawn took one look at Spike and decided that he was the coolest person to ever walk the planet – possibly even cooler than Xander, whom she’d had a crush on since she could remember.
“It’s not nice to stare, honey,” Joyce scolded, pushing a mug of steaming hot chocolate and an ashtray in Spike’s direction. “Buffy told me you smoked, so I had to find my old ashtrays and –”
“Mom! You smoked?!” Dawn cried indignantly.
“Oh, no,” Spike commented with a teasing smirk. “She never smoked, never drank, never did anythin’ bad. See, mums all come from a factory, and they get activated so they can have kids. Your mum didn’t even exist until someone flipped the give-birth-to-Buffy switch.”
Laughing, Dawn stole a shy glance at him over the rim of her mug. If this was Buffy’s roommate, she couldn’t wait to see what her boyfriend looked like.
As he lit a cigarette, Spike took a sip of his hot chocolate and actually moaned. “You’re a genius. How’d you get it to taste like this?” he inquired, something akin to reverence in his tone. He’d always had a weakness for anything chocolate, and this was divine.
“That’s Mom’s secret,” Dawn offered. “She’ll never tell anyone how she makes it.”
“Joyce Summers, international woman of mystery,” the eldest Summers said jokingly. “That’s me.”
Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk
After the long flight from New York to LA, both Buffy and Spike wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed – alone in their own beds or together in the backseat of the taxi, it no longer mattered – and sleep through Christmas break. Buffy had fallen asleep on Spike’s shoulder during the cab ride from the airport to 1630 Revello, and he had quickly dozed off as well.
“Hey, we’re here,” the cabbie, an elderly black man with only a sprout of white hair left on his head, said as he parked the car in the driveway. When the pair continued to sleep, he smiled and popped the trunk, depositing their bags on the doorstep. It wasn’t necessary, he knew, but they looked so content that he hated to make them carry their own bags when they were obviously so tired.
Returning to the cab, he knocked on the window. “Hey, we’re here,” he repeated. When the man stirred and eased away from the door, he opened it. “Your stuff’s by the door. Didn’t think you or the little lady’d feel up to carrying it around after a long flight.”
“Thanks,” Spike muttered warily. He wasn’t at all used to random strangers being kind to him, and after living in New York, the very idea of a friendly cab driver was almost laughable. When Buffy didn’t seem inclined to wake, he eased out of the car and lifted her into his arms, glancing up when he heard the front door open.
“You must be Spike,” said Joyce, smiling fondly at the young man holding her sleeping daughter.
“Mrs. Summers,” he acknowledged. “Look, mate, I’ve kinda got my hands full right now. Wallet’s in the left pocket of my duster.”
“This one’s for free, son. It’s my last day, and driving a happy couple home is a good note to end it on,” the driver replied with a grin. Closing the door, he slid behind the wheel and drove away before Spike could even consider asking Joyce to dig out his wallet for him.
“She looks so happy,” Joyce noted as she carried the bags inside. “Come in, Spike. I have hot chocolate ready.”
“Does it have those little marshmallows?” he asked hopefully, carrying Buffy inside. He followed when Joyce ushered him into the family room, and he carefully lay the sleeping blonde down on the couch.
“She’s a heavy sleeper,” Joyce explained, “but you know that already. It must be odd having a girl for a roommate. When I was your age, the schools never would have dreamed of having a co-ed dorm much less co-ed roommates. Listen to me, I sound like an old woman.”
For some reason, Joyce’s rambling put Spike at ease, and he grinned in response. “No, you sound a bit like my dad.”
At the mention of Spike’s father, an inscrutable smile, very much like that of her daughter’s, curved Joyce’s lips. “Just let Buffy sleep. Come on and we’ll have some of that hot chocolate.” Refusing to take no for an answer, she took Spike by the arm and all but dragged him into the kitchen after her.
Spike was greeted by the sight of a pretty girl with full lips and long, perfectly straight brown hair. Though he had only seen photos of her, and they had been taken during her awkward stage, he immediately recognized the girl as Dawn, Buffy’s fourteen year old sister. “ ‘lo there,” he greeted.
“Whoa.” Dawn took one look at Spike and decided that he was the coolest person to ever walk the planet – possibly even cooler than Xander, whom she’d had a crush on since she could remember.
“It’s not nice to stare, honey,” Joyce scolded, pushing a mug of steaming hot chocolate and an ashtray in Spike’s direction. “Buffy told me you smoked, so I had to find my old ashtrays and –”
“Mom! You smoked?!” Dawn cried indignantly.
“Oh, no,” Spike commented with a teasing smirk. “She never smoked, never drank, never did anythin’ bad. See, mums all come from a factory, and they get activated so they can have kids. Your mum didn’t even exist until someone flipped the give-birth-to-Buffy switch.”
Laughing, Dawn stole a shy glance at him over the rim of her mug. If this was Buffy’s roommate, she couldn’t wait to see what her boyfriend looked like.
As he lit a cigarette, Spike took a sip of his hot chocolate and actually moaned. “You’re a genius. How’d you get it to taste like this?” he inquired, something akin to reverence in his tone. He’d always had a weakness for anything chocolate, and this was divine.
“That’s Mom’s secret,” Dawn offered. “She’ll never tell anyone how she makes it.”
“Joyce Summers, international woman of mystery,” the eldest Summers said jokingly. “That’s me.”