Title: Evidence Of A Good Time

Author: Karen Cooper

Feedback: If you like; if not, that's fine, too. Unless, of course, you're the Bunny, in which case I demand a critique in exchange for my labors.

Rating: PG-13 again, I think

Warning: Implied slash amongst lovely Englishmen. If that squicks you, perhaps you'd like to delete this.

Summary: Rachel finds Spike in a compromising position...

Disclaimers: Joss owns Ethan, Giles, Spike & Cordy. Gunbunny owns Rachel. I own the story, sort of, since it is a gift for GB, after all...

Distribution: List archives, Morgana & Candy Kane may have it if they so desire, our exalted Gunbunny may do as she likes with it, our Club & AB pals are welcome to it. Anyone else, feel free to ask.

Dedication: To Gunbunny, she of the flamethrowers and Ewan MacGregor obsession. Happy birthday, little sister. Play nice with your new weapons and don't set the neighbors on fire again, k? They don't like that.

Notes: This follows "Manly Brew", my response to GB's birthday challenge. Once I get on a roll, there's no stopping me. ; ) I've done my best to write something that'd fit with the tone of GB's own work, in particular her wonderful Title-Defying Series, from whence Rachel comes, and which is directly responsible for my worship of said Bunny. You can find the series, and some other great stuff, here: http://www.kabukivice.ndo.co.uk/index.htm/Kabuki.htm

Go now. You'll thank me later. : ) Again, not my usual style--just something I'm trying out. Not sure how well it works, but it's the thought that counts, right, GB? : }

Evidence Of A Good Time

by Karen Cooper

Phone rings. Grab it, eyes on the furball. She is determined to have my bacon. She shall not prevail.

"I'm not the slightest bit interested in changing my long-distance service, winning a two-week membership to a gym, or purchasing aluminum siding, but thanks so much for calling."

"As if I would telemarket for a living. I'd rather sell my vital organs."

"Cordelia?"

"I was just over at Giles', Rachel. Spike was... You'd better get over there."

Typical. "Shall I bring the first aid kit, a shovel, or bail money?"

"Just... Eww. Just go."

This does not sound good. "On my way."

Hang up, throw jacket on. Evil furball is standing in the middle of the plate, bacon in her jaws. I swear she's smiling at me. Demon cat.

"When I get back, we're going for a ride, cat. Will it be the pet store, or the taxidermist?" Pause for effect. "Live in fear, cat."

~~~~~~~~~

Door is unlocked. Not a good sign. Open it, stick my head in. No obvious signs of death and dismemberment so far. Enter slowly, leave door open.

Definite evidence of a good time here--empties, food, stained and sticky carpet. Nick a petit four on my way out of the room. Ethan must be in charge of snacks again.

There're drag marks in the carpet. Drag marks equal heavy thing not moving of its own volition. Spike wouldn't kill Giles or Ethan. Might've found *something* devious to do to them, though.

Check pockets. Stake in right, Taser in left. Ready for whatever is at the end of this hallway.

Drag marks stop at closed door. Sounds of giggling inside.

Also groaning.

Turn knob slowly, count to three, throw door open, fast.

Giles is sprawled across the bed the wrong way. Shirt wide open, belt unbuckled. I let my eyes rove as I cross the room. Ethan's a lucky man.

Floor, far side of the bed. Ethan, on his back, wearing Spike's Tweety Bird boxers and a smile. Spike, on *his* back, wearing nothing and draped over Ethan like a cat on top of a television set.

No use beating around the bush. "Made a new friend, have you, Spike?"

Groans, picks his head up, squints in my general direction. "Rachel? She just couldn't keep her gob shut, could she?"

"She thought you needed fetching, Oh Bleached One. Seems she thought right."

Ethan grins up from beneath him. "Rachel, love, feel free to join us."

"You are the king of all perverts. Ethan. Your boyfriend's getting awfully chummy with the undead bloke over here, Giles."

"Not to worry, love. We didn't leave Ripper out of the fun."

"Now *that* falls into the category of Too Much Information. Let's not *share* quite so much, OK, Ethan?"

Stand over Spike, pull him to his feet. "Up you go. Now, I'm going to wait out there." Point toward drawing room. "You get dressed. If I hear signs of any further *activity* in here, I shall be sick all over the furniture. Are we clear?"

Chorus of groans and grumbling.

"All right, then. Be quick about it, Spike. This was not how I was planning to spend my day."

~~~~~~~~~~

Ten minutes later. Spike lurches down the hall, grasping at framed photos for support. Giles follows, Ethan just behind him.

"Rachel, I would appreciate it most sincerely if this didn't get out..."

"Cordelia's been here, Giles. I'm fairly certain that all the colonies know by now, and she's moved on to Canada."

"She doesn't know the Spike and... me... bit."

Blink. Nod. "Right. Well. I can honestly say that I hope never to speak of this day again. Ever."

Nods gratefully. "Thank you, Rachel."

Ethan grins beatifically. "Such a sweet girl, Ka--"

"Ethan! You've been drinking again, haven't you?" Damn near called me by my real name. Sloppy.

"Just a little, to take the edge off the hangover, dear girl."

"Go sleep it off, Ethan. That's an order."

Stands ramrod straight, snaps off a perfect salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

Pivots, marches off down the hall.

"He's not nearly so cute as he thinks he is. Tell him I said so, when he sobers up, would you, Giles?"

"With pleasure."

"Oh, Rip-per..."

"Coming, Ethan." Rolls his eyes as he turns to go.

Shake my head. Whipped. Plain as day. "Here. Blanket over the head. Let's get you into the car."

"You brought mine?"

"I brought yours. Blacked-out windows and all."

"You're a saint."

Open door, guide him out. "Now, see, that's what *I've* been saying."

~~~~~~~~~

In the car. I'm driving. He's hiding under the blanket.

"Rachel, I... God, this is so humiliating."

Snicker.

"Excellent value for *my* entertainment dollar, though."

"Glad to see I'm good for *something*." Pouting now.

"Oh, don't start that, Spike. This is *not* the time to come looking for an ego stroke." Evil grin. "Besides, I should think you've gotten quite enough stroking already. That's how you got into this mess in the first place."

Glowers at me from beneath his blanket-hood now. "You're going to rib me about this for all eternity, aren't you?"

"That's my basic plan." Not telling him that I dreamed this a week ago. That I knew it was going to happen, and I didn't tell him. That I know everything he did, everything that was done *to* him. That a girl with a high-quality digital camera can get some amazing shots through a ground-floor bedroom window.

Nope. Not telling him. I like to work on a need-to-know basis, and Spike does not need to know this.

He'll find out when I redecorate the dorm room in contemporary English Threesome.

"Is there any chance Cordelia won't spread it around?"

"'Fraid not. She lives for this stuff."

"Any chance we could kill her?"

"Sorry. University rules. There's a strict policy against murder. I might get demerits or something."

"How about staking me, then?"

"Maybe later, if you're good."

"I'm always good."

"So I hear."

"Rachel..."

Snicker.

END