Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, UPN and WB Television Networks own the television shows, "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Angel". Dark Horse and IDW own the Comics. No copyright infringement is intended, no money is being earned by the owners of BuffynFaith.Net.


Chapter 61: Birthday

Author's Notes: I know it’s been an age but I promise to finish this. Please send emails of the fiery kind if I fail to keep my promise.

PROMPT SIXTY: Birthday

What do you get the Slayer that has everything?

Three years ago, after several strategically placed catalogues had found their way into your laundry, you had bought her the newest, most state of the art crossbow. She had been delighted, all dimples and grins and you had felt like the girlfriend of the year. It had seemed like the perfect gift until Xander had nearly lost his other eye when she had decided it would be a good idea to try out its range and accuracy by shooting at a rubber nose placed upon the carpenter’s face. When you had admonished them both he had looked appropriately chagrined but she had remained adamant that she had never backed down on a bet and wouldn’t be starting now.

“Plus, he’s fine B, it’s only a scratch,” she had shrugged, “And I shot it from two rooms away. This thing has mad range!”

She didn’t talk to you for three days after the crossbow had gone mysteriously missing.

Two years ago the Red Sox were playing in town and you had surprised her with tickets to the game. After she had spent five hours explaining the rules of the game to you she had disappeared. You found her later in your bedroom, surrounded by clothing, all baring the logo of her favourite team.

“Did the Red Sox merchandise store throw up in here?” you asked her, picking up one of the shirts, which hung off the doorknob.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she muttered picking through the apparel on the bed.

“Did we switch bodies again?” you asked, smiling in amusement at her furrowed brow.

Once she had (finally) decided what she was going to wear, and what you would wear the two of you headed to the ballpark. Even with the lecture she had given you you had no idea what was going on but you still had a great time watching how much enjoyment she got from it. It was all going great, she was lapping up the atmosphere and you were once again praising yourself for your supreme birthday gift giving skills. Then the Sox started losing and it all went downhill from there. Two drunken men behind you started throwing insults (you two were the only ones dressed in Sox garb amongst a sea of Indians fans) and someone managed to drop a plate of nachos onto her lap and suddenly you were dragging her out of the stands to avoid what would have been an all out brawl.

She didn’t talk to you for two days because the Sox lost and you made her miss the last innings.

Last year you were determined that things would be different. You had decided that since gift giving wasn’t maybe your thing that you would take her out on a date instead. She wasn’t the dress up and go to a fancy restaurant type (although she still will go with you on occasion because she knows how much you like it) so you had convinced the owner of her favourite tavern (who was forever in your debt after you saved him from a horde of Palstus demons) to let you have the place for the night.

According to her the place served, “The most fanfuckingtastic chicken wings in the world,” and as you were going through a ‘I won’t eat anything with eyes’ phase she had them all to herself. The new chef Marco had been delighted when she ordered plate after plate of the things and you had watched on, mentally crowning yourself girlfriend of the year, as she devoured them all with a satisfied grin on her face.

Four hours later when you were holding back her hair as she emptied her stomach she wasn’t so keen on the chicken wings and you weren’t so keen on new ‘food poisoning giving’ chef Marco.

She didn’t speak to you for one day as she had been too busy going between heaving into the toilet and listing all the ways she was going to kill Marco when she was better.

This year you were determined to break the spell of disastrous birthday gifts, only you had no idea what to get her. She found you in the kitchen as you tossed back a couple of aspirin.

“You okay B?” she asked coming up behind you and sliding her arms around your waist.

“Birthday gift migraine,” you mumbled, leaning back against her as she nuzzled her face into your neck, “You know how hard you are to buy for?”

“You don’t have to get me nothing,” she said her hands moving lower.

“Yeah,” you gasped as she nipped at your neck, “Why’s that?”

“Cause I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted right here.”