August 20th, is James Marsters’ birthday and some people decided it should be a time of no kerfuffles; no arguing amongst fans, just for one day. This fic is to mark the occasion.




Giles glanced around the Magic Box and sighed wearily. They had gathered for a meeting to discuss strategy in light of information that a pack of vampires had made Sunnydale their destination in the vampiric equivalent of an 18 to 30 holiday. Except in this case the numbers applied to number of victims, not age. It had started out promisingly enough, until Spike had wandered in, bored and restless, ready to make mischief.

It wasn’t all his fault, though, Giles reflected. Buffy had wandered over to look at Dawn’s homework and found her doodling on a note from a teacher complaining about her falling grades. They were now face to face, screaming at each other in a corner, hair tossing madly as they threw themselves into the quarrel.

“Mom did always prefer me! She said you were a burden and a blight and you never picked up after yourself!”

“Oh? And I suppose the reason she named you after the only person ever to get dropped from her Christmas card list was a coincidence?”

Anya and Willow, too; they had crossed swords after a chance remark by Willow about Xander’s preference for cheese rather than salami on his sandwiches. “So you’re saying that he’s been throwing away the lunches I give him?” Anya was shouting. “Would you like to tell me how he likes his socks folding too?”

“Not rolled into a tight ball, just the tops -”

“Shut up! I wish you were a crawling beetle and I was wearing boots! I wish -”

Tara came between them, smiling gently and got hit in the face by Willow’s wildly waving hands, as she prepared to turn Anya into a frog.

“Hey! Willow, I told you, you’re using too much magic. The consequences can be -”

“She deserved it!”

“Then just do this instead -” Tara doubled her fist and prepared to get physical.

Spike and Xander had gravitated towards each other, experts of snark, loftily ignoring the amateur night antics around them.

“Do you know why you’ve never been bitten, Harris? Because one look at those shirts you wear and the average vampire’s struck blind. Fact. There’s a charity box for them on Willy’s bar. ‘Give generously for the victims of Harris’ sartorial cruelty.’” I threw in a quarter only the other night after I saw the one with the orange blobs.”

“They were carrots, you moron. And I’m not taking fashion advice from a vampire who started out wearing white and forgot to wash. Get you in a good rain shower and you’d run.”

“Do you mind? I bathe regularly and -”

The waves of rancor washed around Giles’ despairing feet. He tried calling for silence but his voice was lost amongst the ire, anger and irritation.

Then the clock ticked forward and a certain time arrived....Giles looked around, stunned into polishing his glasses for the third time in as many minutes.

Dawn and Buffy were embracing. “I never meant it! You can borrow any of my clothes, anytime. And that math homework? I’ll get Willow to do it for you.”

“Having you for a sister is so cool, Buffy!”

His eyes travelled to the trio of enraged women. They were laughing, tears in their eyes, pledging a weekly girly night, with Willow offering to tell Anya all of Xander’s ticklish spots.

Beside him, Spike was smiling sheepishly. “Course I didn’t mean it Harr- Xander. You’re a bloody good fighter and you’ve got balls. Plus, you hate Peaches. Should’ve known we’d find a bond eventually.”

“Want to go for a beer?” Xander suggested.

A spell. It had to be. Giles began to set out a research plan, a list of books that might be useful...

Spike turned to Giles and smiled. “Maybe later. I think Giles here looks like he could use a cup of tea. Want one brewed by a fellow Brit, then?”

Giles found his lips curving in response. The words, ‘I’d dehydrate before I drank anything you’d made,’ came out as, “That would be delightful, thank you.”

And across dimensions, No Kerfuffle Day worked its magic...


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