Trading Insanities by DSDragon

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: None - It's a "fantasy" fic.

Summary: Buffy Summers and William Wirthington have been neighbors since childhood. When their parental figures decide to join a game show where teamwork is key, Buffy may just realize that "the last guy she wants is the only guy she needs."

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights for Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Mutant Enemy, Fox, FX, and UPN do. I also do not own the rights for Drive Me Crazy, but I don't know which big-wig company does. Last, but especially not least, I do not own the rights to Trading Spaces; that's all to The Learning Channel.

Also, I don't pretend to know how the whole choosing process of Trading Spaces takes place, I just know what the online application form looks like. I am not under any delusions that the designs for the two rooms at the end of this fic are in any way professional. I made them up myself. Seriously, do you think I would insult Vern and Frank that way? Not a chance!

Thanks: To my family, for actually agreeing on a show. Thanks also to my wonderful sounding-board beta, Lady Anne. I don't know how much this story would've sucked without you, and I'm not eager to find out, either.

Author's Notes: So, I was sittin' in the living room, checkin' my e-mail on my dad's old laptop (which he lets us use from time to time), watching While You Were Out with my dad, when a Trading Spaces commercial came on.

"I so have to write a Spuffy Trading Spaces fic!" I thought to myself. Quickly, I pulled up WordPad (since Word and Word Perfect don't work on the laptop, and Notepad doesn't have bulleted list features), and started to outline the first fic I'd ever actually planned before. Not to mention, my first "fantasy" fic.

As I started to flesh out the details, I had a wicked idea to double-cross the cross-over with the movie Drive Me Crazy, and, lo and behold, "Trading Insanities" was born. I hope you like!

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on which "camp" you're in), I couldn't find a way to fit Dawn into this story.

Feedback: Anywhere, anytime. or use the feedback form on my site.

Prologue
A Gathering of Peers

Ten friends and neighbors sat in the home of Rupert Giles and William "Spike" Worthington. Every Saturday night, the gang would get together to watch their favorite television show - the only show they could all agree on - Trading Spaces.

Little did six of them know, but this was not a normal Trading Spaces night. Joyce and Buffy Summers, in cahoots with the men in the Giles household, could barely contain their excitement.

Neither Xander, Angel, Cordelia, Anya, Willow, nor Tara had seen hide nor hair of their other four friends in over a week, outside the remaining classes of their senior year of high school, that is. They were all completely unaware of the surprise awaiting them when the night's new episode aired at nine o'clock.

And the Summers women, Rupert, and Spike, wouldn't have it any other way.

Now, the time was spent preparing in the traditional manner - gathering sodas, popcorn, potato chips, and other semi-edible items the two eldest of the group would never approve of on any occasion other than this one.

The guys sat around the various pieces of furniture in the living room, chatting, while the girls gossiped in the kitchen. Giles and Mrs. Summers were in the study, Joyce trying, unsuccessfully, to help her dear friend with his "infernal machine."

Finally giving up, Joyce went to the kitchen to ask Willow, the resident straight-A student, all around nerd - and proud of it - and hacker extraordinaire to give it a try.

She didn't get a chance, however, because at that moment, Spike bellowed, "It's on!" sending the group's wayward members to their usual perches in front of the Giles' big-screen TV.

It was only eight o'clock, but the gang didn't mind watching the re-run. It gave them a chance to see and compliment aspects of the episode they'd missed the first time.

That, and it gave the four an extra hour to keep their secret, sharing conniving grins and mischievous looks at each other the whole time, barely able to contain their almost-giddy apprehension.

Finally, the time was at hand. As agreed upon previously, the four neighbors distracted their six friends during the commercial for the new episode; nothing would spoil their surprise before they were ready for its revelation.

They knew their friends wouldn't have seen the earlier promotions for their surprise, since, after the newest episode the previous Saturday, everyone had promptly gone home, having more important things to do the next morning. The rest of the week, the gang was all too busy to sit and watch re-runs at all, much less check out the commercials during the repeats.

And so it was that when Paige Davis began to speak, her voice coming over a montage of photos of one very familiar and one not-so-familiar room, the six clueless coeds could do nothing but stare back and forth between their friends and the television.

Hello, the voice on the screen said, and welcome to Trading Spaces. I'm your host, Paige Davis. Today, we're going to the small town of Sunnydale, California, where our designers, Vern Yip and Frank Bielec, with help from our Master Carpenter, Ty Pennington, will do their best to transform the Summers' and Giles' dreams for Joyce's living room and Rupert's nephew, William "Spike" Wirthington's bedroom into a reality . . .

Chapter One
Why Don't You Ever . . .
(Two Months Previous)

"William!" Rupert Giles knocked on his nephew's door. He opened the door a crack, and tried again. "William, it's time for school."

With the door fully opened, Giles could see that William was, indeed, awake. His nephew stood by the dresser, trying desperately to reach something in the back of the top drawer.

"Uncle Rupes, 'ave you seen my lucky guitar pick?" the high school senior inquired.

"No, I have not, William, and how many times have I told you not to call me that?" Giles' stern words were off-set by the almost-imperceptible smirk on his face. If Spike hadn't been living with his uncle since he was a year old, the teen wouldn't have caught the expression.

Spike chuckled, turning toward the bed, and his school books. "No matter," he said, brushing off the topic easily. "It's just a g - Bugger!" The young man tripped over a large trunk at the foot of his bed, barking his shin on the corner.

"Are you alright, William?" the older man took a step closer to his nephew in concern.

"Bloody trunk," the teen replied, cringing from the raw skin he saw as he pulled up the leg of his jeans. "Sodding room is too small."

"Yes, William," Giles replied ruefully, hiding his small grin. "It certainly is."

What it is, the tweed-clad man thought to himself, is poor space management, not lack of space itself. Hmmm . . . I wonder . . .

"Honey, what do you think of this one?" Joyce pointed to yet another couch in the department store's seemingly-endless selection.

"Blech," her daughter replied, scrunching up her face and sticking out her tongue. "If you're gonna get a new couch, at least get one that'll match the other boring furniture in the room."

The girl had another thought, and before her mother could reply to the first thought, Buffy started speaking again.

"And what's wrong with the old couch, anyway? It's not broken, not lumpy - in fact, it's perfectly comfortable. Except for the whole 'eye sore' factor, it's the perfect couch. If we got another one, we'd have to go through that whole 'breaking in the couch' phase where no one can stand to sit on it for five minutes, let alone take a nap on it."

"Uhhh . . ." Joyce was blown away - not to mention, a little confused - by her daughter's speech. She thought about the logic behind her impulsive couch-buying trip, and decided that Buffy was right; there was no point to buying a new couch.

"Okay, no more couch shopping."

"Promise?" the teen was very convincing when she wanted to be. She gave an "innocent" little smile.

"Promise," her mother chuckled, knowing better. "And, since I'm not buying a couch, I seem to have a bit of cash handy. You hungry?"

Seventeen Years Ago

Briiing! Briiing! The telephone in the Giles household rang at 1:30 in the morning. A woman groaned. "What is it?" she yawned. "Don't they know what time it is?"

But the caller was insistent.

"Shh, Jenny . . . Go back to sleep. I'll get it."

Grumbling himself, Rupert reached toward the night stand, lifting the receiver off the hook.

"H-Hello?" he greeted groggily.

"Rupert Giles?" a rather professional-sounding British-accented voice inquired from the other end.

"Y-Yes, this is he," Giles replied, getting a little worried at the caller's tone. He woke up a bit more, thinking of the implications. "What is it?"

"Mr. Giles, my name is Wesley Wyndham-Price. I'm afraid there's been an accident. Your sister and her husband, unfortunately, didn't make it. They died in hospital half an hour ago."

"Good Lord," Giles was too stunned to say or do anything more, until he remembered the latest photographs that had come with his sister's letters the past Christmas. "And the baby? Is he alright?"

"Yes, Mr. Giles. The baby - William - was staying with some friends of your sister's, since his parents were out for an evening on the town. That is actually what I've called you about, Mr. Giles."

"What's that?" Giles sighed in relief when he heard of his month-old nephew's safety.

"Mr. Giles," the man over the line stated, "I am the executor of Emma and James Wirthington's estates, as well as a long-time friend of theirs. They wished, if anything were to happen to both of them, both aloud to myself, as well as in their Last Will and Testaments, that you would be named young William's legal guardian."

"I don't see how he can live in that room," Giles commented to Joyce during one of their after-work "chats." "He doesn't take the time to organize what he has, let alone anything new he receives. Something has to be done about it, and I think I've got the perfect idea."

"Really?" Joyce was intrigued, and as she took a sip of the tea she'd prepared for the both of them, she inquired further. "What's that?"

"I was thinking to surprise him with a chance to appear on that television show, Trading Spaces, but I'd have to have someone else to switch houses with." He seemed to be hinting heavily in that upper-crust British way of his, and Joyce could tell. She played along, just to humor an "old friend."

"I'd switch, Rupert," she replied. As though you didn't know. "Buffy's always complaining that the couch, although comfortable, doesn't match the rest of the living room. Not to mention, she thinks the room is boring anyway. I think it's a great idea to apply for the show. Buffy would absolutely flip!"

"It's settled then," Giles smiled, taking another drink from his own cuppa.

"We'll put in the application, then if we're chosen, we'll let the children know."

Trading Spaces Applicant Rules

Ror production purposes, participants must live near one another, preferably right next door.

You must either own the property or have written permission from the owner.

Each home must have a "team" of two people — spouses, parent and child, siblings, and friends are all welcome. All participants must be at least 16 years old.

The room must be at least 14'x14' — big enough for the camera crew to observe the work.

The room must already have furniture in it. Any furniture that should not be touched can be removed beforehand, but the room cannot be empty.

You and your neighbors must both be able to take the same two days out of your schedule. You might need to take off work, as these shows are not always filmed on the weekends.

Interested groups (with confirmed neighbors) should fill out an application.

In addition to submitting this form, please be sure to mail photos showing all angles of the room to be transformed, a picture of yourselves and the exterior of your house to:

Banyan Productions
Attn: Trading Spaces Application
225 Arch Street
Philadelphia, PA 19106.

You can also call our application hotline at (215) 928-2307.

Team 1 Info

Date of application: April 21, 1999
Your name: Joyce Summers
Age: 45
Day Phone: (555)555-1234
Evening Phone: (555)555-5678
Address: 1630 Revello Drive
City: Sunnydale
State: California
Zip: 55555
Country: USA
Closest metropolitan area: Los Angeles
Occupation: Owner of Art Gallery
Email Address: j.summersgallery. name: Buffy Summers
Age: 17
Teammate's relationship to you: Daughter
Day Phone: (555)555-5678
Evening Phone: (555)555-5678
Address (if different from yours):
Occupation: Student
Email Address: N/A
Names of neighboring team: Rupert Giles and William "Spike" Wirthington
Distance and directions between houses? Next door on the right side.
Room to be transformed: Living Room
Measurements: 16' X 14½'
Why have you chosen this room? The couch is an "eyesore," and the room itself is boring to my teenage daughter.
Do you own your home? Yes
When was your home built? 1980
What style is your home? Craftsman
Who else lives with you? My daughter Buffy
Has either of you ever attempted any decorating or do-it-yourself projects? Not since we moved in
Tell us a bit more about yourself (hobbies, interests, any funny stories!). I love art of many kinds, and my daughter likes to hang out with her friends at the local club, The Bronze.
Have you ever been on television before? No
How did you hear about the program? It's our favorite television show.

Team 2 Info

Date of application: April 21, 1999
Your name: Rupert Giles
Age: 49
Day Phone: (555)555-0910
Evening Phone: (555)555-1112
Address: 1632 Revello Drive
City: Sunnydale
State: California
Zip: 55555
Country: USA
Closest metropolitan area: Los Angeles
Occupation: High School Librarian
Email Address: name: William "Spike" Wirthington
Age: 17
Teammate's relationship to you: Nephew
Day Phone: (555)555-1112
Evening Phone: (555)555-1112
Address (if different from yours):
Occupation: Student
Email Address: nevermindthebollucksgeocities. of neighboring team: Joyce and Buffy Summers
Distance and directions between houses? Next door, on the left.
Room to be transformed: Spike's Bedroom
Measurements: 15¼' X 14'
Why have you chosen this room? William does not know how to manage his own space.
Do you own your home? Yes
When was your home built? 1980
What style is your home? Craftsman
Who else lives with you? No one.
Has either of you ever attempted any decorating or do-it-yourself projects? No
Tell us a bit more about yourself (hobbies, interests, any funny stories!). I enjoy researching ancient artifacts, and my nephew enjoys anything musical.
Have you ever been on television before? Once, on the local school broadcast channel.
How did you hear about the program? It's our favorite television show.

Due to the large volume of responses that we receive, we are unfortunately unable to respond to everyone who would like to be on Trading Spaces. If your story is chosen for Trading Spaces, we will contact you. Thank you!

The telephone rang while Joyce was making dinner two weeks later.

"Hello, Summers residence," she greeted once the receiver was to her ear.

"Mrs. Summers?" the person on the other end greeted. "I am a representative of the Trading Spaces selection crew. I've called to inform you that we've received your application, and you and Mr. Giles' rooms will be set for Wednesday and Thursday five weeks from now."

"That's great news, thank you," Joyce responded, smiling.

"Will there be any trouble with scheduling, Mrs. Summers? Will Buffy and William need to get out of school?" the caller inquired thoughtfully.

"No, those two days are the days after final exams; they should be able to take those days off without trouble."

"Great! I'm also calling to answer any questions you may have before the shooting dates. Did you have anything you wish to ask?"

"Yes, actually, I do."

"Go ahead. I'll answer what I can."

"Do you know who will be working on our rooms?" was the first question.

Joyce could practically hear the man's smile through the telephone. "That's the first question everyone asks, Mrs. Summers. Mr. Yip will be working on William's bedroom, while Frank Bielec will be working on your living room."

"Oh, good." We were hoping for those two," Joyce beamed.

"Did you have any more questions, Mrs. Summers, before I call Mr. Giles?" the representative inquired.

"Actually, would you let me tell Mr. Giles? That way, we can surprise the kids without risking Spike picking up the telephone."

"Sure, Mrs. Summers," the man chuckled. "I'll just give you the number here that either of you can call. If you have any more questions, my name is Bob, and don't hesitate to ask for me."

"Thank you, Bob," Mrs. Summers smiled. "I'll let Rupert know right away." She wrote down the number Bob dictated, and got ready to go next door, grabbing a light sweater.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Summers, Good bye."

"Goodbye, Bob."

Both people hung up their end of the line, and Joyce turned the stove down so that she could walk next door without worrying about burnt supper.

She walked out the kitchen door to the back yard of the Giles home. Joyce and her daughter had standing invitations to the place - just as Giles and Spike had open invitations to the Summers home - so she didn't worry about knocking before quietly opening the door.

"Giles? Rupert, are you here?" she called, smile never leaving her face.

"In the study, Joyce," she heard faintly.

Quickly, the woman walked through the familiar house to tell her friend the good news.

"Rupert, you'll never guess who called just now . . ."

Fourteen Years Ago

"Mommy," three-year-old Buffy Summers cried. "Will-um put sand in my shorts!" The little blonde child's hazel eyes threatened to spill over with unshed tears.

"Oh, Sweetie," Joyce replied, hugging her sniffling daughter on her lap. "Don't cry. William's just being a bully 'cause he doesn't know how to say he likes you."

"Ewww . . ." the girl scrunched up her nose. "Boys are icky!"

Joyce chuckled and sighed. "You won't think so when you're older."

And you," the woman sitting on the park bench next to Mrs. Summers chided her nephew. "It's not nice to put sand down people's shorts. Don't do it again."

"Yes, Auntie Jen," William replied, properly chastised.

"Apologize to Buffy, William," Giles interceded.

The three-year-old boy looked to the blonde clinging to her mother's shirt. His eyes got wide when they finally fastened on the girl. Pwetty, he thought to himself. The boy blushed as he almost-reverently whispered, "Sowwy."

"Uncle Giles?" Spike called as he walked in the door. "I'm home!"

Hearing voices from the study, Spike made his way down the hall, trying to hear what was being said.

"We're set for five weeks from now, on Wednesday and Thursday." Joyce was verbally beaming, and Spike bet to himself that, if he saw her, she'd be visibly beaming as well.

He opened the door wider, and the conversation stopped.

"'Ello, Mum." Spike had taken to calling everyone by nicknames lately. No one really minded. Except Buffy, everyone seemed to find the names endearing.

"Hello, Spike," how was school?" she inquired kindly.

"It was alright, I guess," he replied. "What're the pair of you talking about?"

"Well," Joyce started, but was interrupted by Giles.

"We'll tell you tomorrow," he said.

Joyce gave her friend and neighbor an inquiring look, one eyebrow lifted quizzically.

Quietly, so the teen wouldn't hear, he told Joyce, "When they're both in the same room, whether both of us are or not."

Seven Years Ago

There was a knock at the Giles' door. Jenny went to open it, her ever-gentle expression softening even more when she saw who was on the other side.

"Joyce," she said. "What's wrong?" She'd noticed right away, the drying tears on both blondes' faces.

"It's nothing," the other woman replied. "Can Buffy stay over here for a while?"

"Sure. Come on in, Buffy." She turned to put a comfortable guiding hand behind the ten-year-old's back. "William's in his room, you can go ahead on in."

She turned back to Joyce while Buffy walked away. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Buffy walked into the boy's room.

"William?" she called.

"Hi, Buffy," the boy replied.

"Whatcha doin'?" the girl asked.

"Playin' Lego blocks," William replied, stacking another piece onto the car he was building. "How come you here?"

"Mommy and daddy want to yell, but they don't want me to hear."

"Would you like some more chocolate?" Joyce asked her usual Thursday afternoon guest. "With the little marshmallows?" she bribed, knowing the bait would be taken.

"Thanks," Spike nodded with a grin, handing the woman his empty mug. "Oh, look," he mused, pointing toward the living room, where Trading Spaces was on. "It's the one where Frank painted that girl in the kitchen. Bloody brilliant!"

"You want 'brilliant?'" Buffy declared, having overheard on her way into the kitchen. "Check out Vern."

"No way, Goldilocks," Spike's newest nickname for her put a scowl on Buffy's face. "Frank is loads better."

"Pfft," Buffy gave her patented popular-with-a-capital-'P' eye roll. "Yeah. Right. Whatever."

"Enough," Joyce broke in before the disagreement could get out of hand. "You'll get your chance to find out whom is better in five weeks."

The two teens stared at the older woman with bug-sized eyes. The silence was finally broken by Buffy's incredulous exclamation:

"Get out!"

Author's Notes

Please, please, please, review!

Yes, that is the questions the online application asks for Trading Spaces. I wanted to include a non-functional version of the form itself, but it would've made a mess.

There actually was an episode of Trading Spaces where Frank painted a girl on a kitchen wall... I don't know which one it is though.

I set this story in 1999, because that's the year that Buffy actually graduated... And I wish I could've fit Dawn somewhere, but the story said "No," so I left her out.

Not to worry... Most realistic questions will be answered in time. :)

Wanna know what happens next? Say so! Review, review, review!

Chapter Two
Four Friends, Two Rooms

Author's Note: Text in italics is the gang watching the show on television. Anything in normal text is Buffy, Giles, Joyce and Spike remembering things.

"Four friends . . . Two rooms . . . $1,000 . . . 2 designers . . . 1 carpenter . . . 2 days . . ."

The gang was so familiar with the opening credits of their favorite show, that they had no trouble ignoring them to stare at their friends.

When the four neighbors showed up on screen, giving the hostess an idea of their desires for the rooms, Xander got the other five clueless individuals' attentions, and the six of them gave Giles, Joyce, Spike and Buffy looks that clearly said, "You've got some 'splainin' to do, Lucies!"

"Now," Paige began. "What is it you want done here, Mrs. Summers?"

The three women sat on Joyce's couch, looking around the room for possible improvements.

"Well," Joyce began. "I'm not really sure myself, but Buffy's complained a lot that the couch doesn't match."

"So, we'd be looking to do away with the couch then?" Paige clarified.

"No," Buffy interjected, a bit vehemently. "It's comfy," she seemed to blush a bit at her outburst. "It's just . . . really ugly."

The women laughed.

"Okay," Paige chuckled. "What else?"

"The whole room is boring. I mean, look at it." Buffy gestured to a nearby wall. "One picture on that wall, and none on the others. Very snore-worthy."

"Okay then," the hostess continued. "How do you think it could be made less boring then?"

The teen grinned. "That's the guys' job."

Six Years Ago

Every time the Summers' fought, their daughter would go next door to the Giles' house. She had been there so much in the past year or so that she - and indeed Mr. and Mrs. Giles - Felt as though she had a second family.

Usually, when Buffy came over, she spent some time with William, and today was no different.

The pair had become fast friends over the years, and even if her parents were not fighting - which was rare - Buffy and William spent copious amounts of time in each other's company.

Today, Buffy had proposed a trip to a nearby park. Since it was only a couple of blocks away, and the pair had been walking much farther to school by themselves for years, they were allowed to make the journey without adult supervision.

The blonde girl had fallen unusually quiet after her suggestion, however, and William was worried.

"Buffy?" he asked quietly, so as not to startle the girl. "What's wrong?" He pulled his hands out of the pockets of his black Levi's and swung them as he walked.

"It's nothing," she said, playing with her fingernails as she walked along, watching her feet on the sidewalk.

By this time, they had reached the park, and William turned to sit on a picnic table, facing Buffy, putting one foot on the attached bench.

"C'mon, Buffy," he prodded. "This is me you're talking to. What's wrong? I know it's something." The eleven-year-old was very perceptive for his age. He reached for his best friend, pulling her down next to him.

The girl sighed. And sighed again.

"You're stalling," William chided.

"I know," she replied. "It's just that . . ." Her voice broke on the last word, her eyes filled up with tears and her bottom lip started to tremble.

The boy pulled her into a hug. "Shhh . . . What's the matter? You can tell me."

She started to sob. "My parents . . ." she choked. "They're . . . They're getting a . . . a . . ."

"A divorce?" At the nod he felt at his shoulder, William pulled the girl tighter, hugging her as her sobs got louder and more frantic. "Oh, Buffy," he comforted, not knowing what else to say as the girls cries abated a bit so she could speak.

"They've been fighting so long . . . since I was seven, I think . . . I just got used to it. And then they stopped talking, and that was really scary." The girl rambled a bit between whimpers.

"But mostly, they just fought about . . ." she trailed off, remembering. Then, as though she was coming out of a trance, William felt her shake herself before she - seemingly - changed the subject.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Buffy began again. "They told me not to tell you, and we were all waiting for a long time. I think I waited the longest, because the fighting started before I realized it wasn't coming."

"What wasn't coming?" the boy asked gently.

Buffy sat up and looked at her friend, eyes sad and sodden. She sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve before opening her mouth to speak again, this time, in a whisper.

"My baby sister."

"The main problem is space," Giles told the woman. "He needs more places to put things."

"Good," Paige nodded. "Anything you can think of, Spike?" she hinted obviously.

"Nope," the seventeen-year-old commented, purposely ignoring the hint. "Space seems about it."

The other two adults in the room looked around at the dark curtains, almost-black posters, and black sheets.

"Come to think of it," Giles voiced the reason behind the hint, "A bit of color couldn't hurt either."

"Alright," Paige started. The hostess stood in the street between the front yards of the Giles' and Summers' houses. "You know the rules, but I'm going to review them anyway."

"Each team has two days to complete the other team's chosen room. Your budget is $1,000, and you have no say in what happens to your own house from here on out."

Joyce and Buffy, Vern is waiting next door to get started, and Frank is waiting for Spike and Rupert."

Once she finished her speech, Paige held up a set of keys in each hand and crossed one arm over the other. Joyce, holding a duffel full of clothes and toiletries, like the other three participants, took Rupert's house key from the brunette. Rupert took the Summers' keys, and the teams parted to enter each other's houses.

Once in Spike's room, the Summers women found an Asian-looking man arranging different fabrics on the bed.

"Hi," Vern greeted. "How are you today?"

"Good," Joyce answered.

"Okay," was Buffy's response.

"Great. Well, we've got a lot to do, but first, we need to figure out just what that is. Any ideas?" Vern asked.

"Well," Joyce answered first, "I know Giles wants more color, but really, Spike's taste actually leans toward darker tones. Maybe we could add just a couple of colors, but only to 'break up' the black?"

"Great idea. What colors do you think we should use?" The designer was already pulling a can of paint out and pulling off the lid. "I was thinking maybe true red and blue, and a nice, dark green." He turned to the teen, who'd been looking around the room she hadn't been in for years. "Buffy? What do you think?"

Startled, the teen barely managed to put the photograph of the five neighbors - Joyce, Jenny, Giles, Buffy, and William - back on the night stand before it fell.

If she turned her head just so, she could see the poster she'd given Spike for his eleventh birthday. A turn in the opposite direction, and she faced the corner she and Spike had played Legos in, on that night so many years ago. Facing straight ahead, she found another picture, just the two of them in the sand box at age three.

Why do I have to go on my favorite show, just to change Spike's room? Why not the kitchen? The study? Anything but this room . . . She tried hard to hang onto her indifference, but the photo brought back memories she had hoped to keep locked up until long after the ordeal in the memorable room had finished.

"Huh?" She looked up. "Oh. Yeah. It's great." The girl wasn't very enthusiastic.

"Perfect," Vern clapped his hands enthusiastically. "Let's get started. Grab something, and get it out of here." The playback sped up as the ten friends watched Joyce and Buffy play around with Vern as they emptied William's bedroom.

Joyce, Giles, and Spike had noticed - this time around - Buffy's pensive look, and wondered what she'd been thinking about.

Five Years Ago

Jenny hid her illness well. She still taught computer classes every day at the high school, and did the housework every evening. In fact, just the week before, the five neighbors had all gone on a picnic, where they'd been as rambunctious as ever, and even took a few photographs for posterity.

And so, it was rather unexpected to Buffy when her mother told her that Mrs. Giles had died. The twelve-year-old didn't know what to do; first, her father left, and now, Jenny - almost a second mother to her - was dead.

Joyce had known of the other woman's illness, but she didn't tell her daughter, for the one reason: to save Buffy present pain, so that she'd be able to grieve over the two most devastating events in her life - her parents' divorce, and Jenny's illness and death - one at a time, instead of both, head on.

William took it pretty hard as well, although he had had a bit more warning.

Throughout Jenny's battle with Cancer, the young pre-teen had distanced himself from everyone. His moods - as well as his clothing - had become darker and darker.

He had known Jenny's fate the day Buffy had told him of her parents' divorce - nay, longer than that - but, to save the girl more grief for the present, he kept the knowledge from her, once again proving the wisdom held beyond his years.

Buffy didn't know how to talk to William anymore. So, she didn't, and the two best friends eventually couldn't help but wonder how they had drifted so far apart.

The two men walked into the Summers' front door. Taking a left, they met Frank in the living room.

The balding Mr. Bielec was fiddling with a large piece of canvas that looked thick enough to make a rather water-proof tent.

"Ah," he spoke. "You must be Rupert and William."

"Yes," Giles replied, shaking the - even to himself - older man's hand. "So, I take it you have an idea of what to do here?"

"Actually, I do have a bit of an idea, but first, I'd like your input. What do you think needs to be done here?"

"Art," Spike spoke up finally. "Mum - Mrs. Summers - likes art."

"Ah," Frank smiled. "I have just the thing for that too." He unfurled the off-white canvas to reveal a conglomeration of carefully-arranged lines and color, centered on the heavy fabric.

Giles, regarding the piece, asked, "Mondrian?"

"A replica," Frank admitted, nodding at the other man's knowledge.

"Clever. But what do you plan to do with it?"

"I thought maybe cover the window?" Frank deferred to the team's better judgement when it came to matters of personal taste for the other team.

"Well," Spike stepped in. "It s a bit more modern than Joyce usually likes, but it's also sort of fun, so Buffy might actually go for it."

"I agree," Rupert replied. "And perhaps we could add different pieces around the room that Joyce would like."

"And to make it more amusing, maybe give the room a museum, or gallery-like feel?" Spike suggested.

The three men chuckled, and Frank spoke. "Those are great ideas, but I'm afraid this is the only actual 'art' I have with me."

"Not a problem," the seventeen-year-old grinned smugly. "I happen to know where Mum-" he didn't correct the nickname this time, "keeps her personal stash . . . And she's always telling me how she wishes she could put more out for others to see anyway."

"Well, aren't you a sly one?" Frank chided good-naturedly.

"Yes, yes, quite the schemer," Giles nodded in amusement. "I take it that you're going to say we have quite a bit of work to do?" He grinned, replacing the spectacles on the bridge of his nose.

"Of course," Frank nodded. "So, let's all grab something and get to work."

The playback sped up again, and the six clueless friends couldn't help staring at the television through the commercial break.

Author's Notes

Well, what do you know? I managed to fit Dawn in anyway. It was completely by accident, mind you . . . That scene was supposed to stop right after the revelation of the divorce, but then I had this idea bugging me through the rest of work yesterday, and I just couldn't let it slip through the cracks.

Just as an additional disclaimer, I don't own the rights to Levi's Jeans, or to any of Piet Mondrian's work. I just used them in this story because they fit. No infringement is intended.

Hope you like! There might be a little longer delay in the next chapter (I have to figure out whether I actually want to research the budgets, or just make them up), but I'll get it out as soon as I can.

Please review!

Chapter Three
What Did You Call Me?

Author's Note: Okay, here, the flashback years get a little weird. If you're one of those people who like to try and keep the history straight, then keep in mind that it's the end of May of their Senior year in high school. So, if you see a ½-year flashback, then just count the number of years back, and it'll be the end of the year I'm going for... Then the half year makes it around the beginning of the second semester of school. Capice?

"While Spike and Giles paint the Summers' living room," Paige's voice came over the image of the balding designer walking toward the carpenter's workspace. "Frank looks as though he has a project for Ty."

"Okay, here's what I need," Frank told Ty later that morning.

"A cabinet of some sort?" The carpenter looked through the drawings with a professional's eye. He noticed something strange and asked the designer about it before he could walk away. "What's with the rounded faces and stuff?"

"The rounded faces of the cabinet doors are going to simulate the appearance of stone columns," Frank answered. "I'll also need a decorative capping with a flat top to go with the overall column feel of the short cabinet. The two tall cabinets will need not only the capping, but also shelves at various intervals to hold video tapes and other entertainment paraphernalia."

"Looks pretty straightforward then," Ty nodded. "I'll get started on it right now."

"Well, the party's in full swing, and the men pass the time wondering, as probably all men do, what the women will think," Paige's voice chuckled to the audiences around the country watching. Especially an audience of ten friends sitting in the living room of Rupert Giles and Spike Wirthington.

The six formerly-clueless individuals were still struck speechless more than ten minutes into the show.

"Do you really believe they'll like the idea?" Giles struck up the conversation with his nephew as they painted the walls and ceiling of the Summers' living room.

"It's a great idea," Spike replied, stopping to refill the roller in his left hand with burgundy-colored paint. He stood up and started rolling the color on the wall again. "What do you think Frank's up to?"

"When he left," Giles began, getting down off the ladder to fill his own roller, "he said something about speaking to the carpenter." The older man climbed the ladder - or the first rung at least - again, rolling the paint on the low ceiling.

Nephew and uncle worked in silence for a few more minutes before they heard a ringing sound. Spike had received a cellular phone for his birthday two weeks before, and it was ringing. Quickly, he carefully set down the roller in the paint tray and fished in his shirt pocket for the gadget.

"H'Lo?" he queried after pressing the "Send" button and putting the contraption to his ear.

"Spike! Hey, it's me, Xander."

Spike rolled his eyes as he covered the receiver to mouth the other teen's name to his curious uncle. Turning around for a bit of privacy, the bleached blonde responded, "Harris, I'm kinda busy right now. Can I call you back later?"

"Sure, I just wanted to see if you were up for some Bronzing on Friday," Xander spoke quickly. He knew better than to try and keep Spike in a longer conversation when he was "busy."

"Sure, Whelp. See you then."

"Alright, Spike. Bye."

Both teens hung up, and Spike put the phone away, but not before setting the ringer on silent, making sure that any callers would have to go through the voice mail before he'd get back to them.

"Just to let you know, Uncle," Spike remarked, going back to work. "I'll be out Friday night at the Bronze, so don't worry if you don't see me after dinner."

Four Years Ago

"Hi, I'm Xander," the brunette introduced himself to William, putting a hand out to be shaken. "I just moved here with my mom and dad."

"Hello," the blonde returned, hands shoved into the pockets of the black leather duster Jenny had given him before she died.

"Uh," the brunette stuttered, pulling back his offered hand. "You wouldn't happen to know where room 310 is, would you? I can't find it."

"Sure," the blonde answered, walking away. "You comin' Whelp?" he threw over his shoulder. "It's this way."

"Hey!" the other eighth-grader answered, catching up with William. "I'm not a - whatever that is you said, I'm not it!"

And thus began a lifelong friendship - although neither would admit it.

"Back in Spike's room," the hostess commented on the screen, "it looks as though only one of the ladies are as attentive to instructions as they should be."

The gang was starting to come out of the shock of seeing their friends on television, and started to comment on their usual critical Trading Spaces subjects like originality of ideas and techniques, as well as the behavior of the participating teams. The last subject was an extremely interesting one, since the four participants were in the same room this time, instead of in places the group would probably never go.

"I don't get it," Buffy complained. "Why are we painting the ceiling black?"

"I don't know," Joyce answered. "But I have a feeling we'll find out when Mr. Yip gets back from speaking with Ty."

"Alright, Mom," Buffy challenged, carefully crossing her arms so as not to get paint from the roller onto her official Trading Spaces shirt. She didn't want to ruin it; it was quickly becoming her new favorite "grungy" shirt, and she planned to wear in on the nights she decided to kick back and do nothing but relax. "You're so smart, what are we gonna do with the red and green paint?"

Joyce rolled her eyes, turning to her daughter. "Weren't you listening earlier, Buffy? We're going to paint the walls black, with a large red and green stripe going around the middle of each wall, which is probably why 'taping the wall' is on the To Do list right after 'waiting until paint dries.'"

"Well, what about the door then?" The teen frowned at the white slab of wood hanging on its hinges to her left.

"Good question," Joyce answered, brows scrunching in curiosity.

Paige's voice came over the speakers again as the group watched the Asian designer walk toward the carpenter's area. "Looks like Ty has his work cut out for him now. With projects from both designers, things can get very interesting around here.

"Uh oh," Ty chuckled when he saw Vern walking toward him. "Looks like that afternoon nap I had planned is off."

Vern chuckled with the carpenter for a minute, then pulled out his blueprints.

"Whatcha need, Vern?" Ty stood next to the Oriental designer to get a look at the papers.

Gesturing to the plans, Mr. Yip began to explain the shelf system he had in mind for Spike's bedroom.

"I need a combination of a cabinet and a closet bar. Basically, one side will be a bar or two to hang clothes on, while the rest will be various drawers and shelves that Spike can store most of his less frequently used stuff."

Just to be sure, Ty asked, "Are you sure this will fit in the closet?"

"Absolutely," was the confident reply. "See, it's pretty much a walk-in with just the one bar along the back, and the floor. He'd been trying to stack some of the stuff against the closet walls, but there were so many awkward shapes to stare that it all toppled over and probably tripped him up whenever he went to change clothes or something. With this cabinet, he could have a place for anything, and won't have to worry about it all falling."

"Alright," Ty nodded, thinking. "Well, right now, I've got a project to do for Frank, but that shouldn't take too long. Tell you what," the carpenter proposed. "Once I get to a good stopping place on Frank's project, I'll come and see the closet, double-check a few measurements, and get started on this. Sound good?"

"Perfect," Vern replied. "If you have time after the cabinet's done, then I'd also like to see if you can install a few more clothing bars on the other walls in the closet."

"Sure, no problem."

"Well, I'm getting bored," the hostess remarked about halfway through the show. "So I guess that means it's time for me to find something to do. Sounds like the women are having fun. Wonder what the laughter's about?"

"Hey, how's it going?" Ms. Davis greeted as she came up behind Buffy and Joyce outside the Giles' house.

Buffy, who was holding a lamp Vern had asked her to paint dark green, seemed to be giggling way too much to contribute her mirth to a paint fume high. Paige noticed a rather strange accessory around the lamp's base, and correctly deduced the cause of the girl's laughter.

"I - I didn't even -" Buffy's own giggles interrupted her explanation. Dabbing at her laughing tears with her Trading Spaces shirt, the girl took a deep breath.

"Did you ever wonder," she asked Paige as she and Joyce prepared to reminisce, "why we call William 'Spike?'"

Three and One Half Years Ago

William sat with Joyce in the Summers' kitchen, drinking his usual mug of hot chocolate. The two had been having a "chat" about Joyce's gallery when Buffy walked in, digging through the cabinets for a snack.

"Mom, I'm gonna go to the Bronze. Be back by midnight." She glanced at William, noticing his attire - black jeans, black t-shirt, black dog collar studded with dulled-metal spines, bleached hair, and leather duster. She scowled at the fashion victim that was William before speaking again, unwittingly giving him a nickname that would stick to him forever.

"And lose the dog collar . . . Spike."

"Now, if that isn't the weirdest story I've ever heard about a nickname, I don't know what is," Paige spoke again as Spike glared at the Summers women for telling his secret on national television. He may have been man enough to admit he was Love's Bitch, but that didn't mean he wanted it advertised to the world that he had kept the name just because Buffy had given it to him. He did have some dignity, after all. "Let's see what the guys are doing," the hostess continued.

"Wow, Paige exclaimed at the Summers' living room. "Look at this!" The hostess went to a corner where a statue sat on a stone pedestal. "This is neat. What's it supposed to be?" she asked, turning to look at the men in the room.

"That is - er -" Giles stuttered, a bit flustered. "That is Kokopele."

Spike chuckled, rolling his eyes as the hostess asked what the name meant.

"It's an idol of a fertility god," Spike told her, giving his usual smirk and a playful leer.

Paige drew her hands back from the statue as if burned. She laughed, covering her embarrassment.

"Oh, don't worry," Spike continued. "It only works if you throw it out."

"That's a really weird way to activate a fertility god," Paige mused.

"Really, why?" Giles wondered aloud.

"You'd think that the god would be so angry at being kicked out, it'd want to keep the woman from being blessed with children."

"The teams are starting to wrap up for the day, and Frank has a last-minute project for Ty."

"Oh, Ty!" Frank called that evening as the carpenter was closing up shop for the day.

"Whatever it is, Frank," Ty said. "It'll have to wait until tomorrow. Probably after lunch, since I still haven't finished the other projects you and Vern gave me earlier."

"That's fine. I just wanted to make sure to show you this project before I forget tomorrow. How's the cabinet coming, by the way?"

"I've got everything but the door faces and the two taller cabinets' crown pieces done," Ty replied. "Now, what else do you need?"

Quickly, Frank spread out his new blueprints on the worktable.

"I need something to go around the couch arms that has the same pillar-like look as the cabinet," he replied, pointing to the appropriate sketches.

Off Ty's confused look, the older man explained further. "See, I want them to wrap around each side of the couch, and fasten to it, so the couch looks as though it's sitting between two columns."

Mr. Pennington nodded, understanding. "So, do you want two separate mirror-image pieces, or do you want a piece connecting them in the back or front?"

"Whichever way makes it easiest to keep them attached to the couch. But the basic idea is mirror-image pieces, yes," was the reply.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do about that tomorrow, although I might not get to it in time to finish before the day's over."

"Buffy and Joyce enjoy their after-dinner break while waiting for Vern to assign their jobs for the evening."

"Whatever happened to her, anyway?" Joyce and her daughter were conversing about bygone days as they waited for Vern's instructions for the night. Earlier that day, Vern had had Joyce sewing throw pillows the shape of electric guitars, while Buffy finished painting the room black. The two blondes had sat down for a snack while they waited.

"I don't know," Buffy answered the question about one of the girls she met in school. "We didn't hang out much. She mostly just stayed around Spike and Xander."

Three Years Ago

Buffy walked with the gaggle of semi-popular girls at Sunnydale Junior High, gossiping with Willow - her best friend - and Cordelia Chase - the most popular girl in school - about anything and everything.

"Have you heard about the new girl?" the redhead asked bubblingly.

"No, what about her?" the blonde answered.

"I don't know, I haven't met her yet."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Then why did you bring her up?"

"No reason," Willow shrugged. "Just a heads up. Oh, and she's supposed to be from England."

"Uh huh," the blonde didn't seem to be paying attention, and her redheaded friend noticed Buffy's far-off stare and tried to find out what - or who - had taken the blonde's attention. When her eyes locked on the obvious choice, Willow giggled.

"Buffy . . . Earth to Buffy . . . Come in, Buffy." She waved her hand in front of the blonde's face, chuckling.

"What? Huh?" The blonde snapped out of her trance, eyes still a bit glazed over.

Willow rolled her eyes. "Angel O'Doyle? Buffy, you know his reputation as well as the rest of us do."

"I know Wills," Buffy sighed. "But I can't help it. Have you seen him on the court?" she sighed.

Willow sighed as well, remembering the numerous times her best friend had dragged them to see the captain of the SJH basketball team play, and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. So he's hot . . . So what?"

As the two continued their conversation, neither noticed that the brunette with them had stalked off in search of a broom closet.

The gang started to breathe normally again - they had been holding their breaths in anticipation - when they heard Paige announcing the end of the first day. Not wanting to spoil the moment, the watched the next few minutes' events unfold as their friends reminisced on-screen.

"Yeah, it was good having someone else from the mother country to talk with beside you," Spike responded to his uncle's assessment of the girl Spike had most recently broken up with. "But she had to go back . . . She only had two years of abroad study, and that ended the first term of school this year."

Giles mentally rolled his eyes as he joked with his nephew. "William, you haven't been to the "mother country" since you were four, and even then spent less than a fortnight. Why do you insist on keeping that bloody accent? Every one of your friends knows you've been living here in California almost your entire life."

"What can I say?" Spike wiggled his eyebrows comically. "The ladies love it."

Three Years Ago (A Few Hours Later)

Later on, Xander was telling Spike about the new student. He'd heard about her from Cordy, although the head cheerleader hadn't said much more after that.

"Don't know much about her, but she's supposed to have this class next. I wonder what she-"

He was interrupted by the blonde's hand suddenly clamping on his shoulder.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?!?" Xander looked at the other fifteen-year-old's face, noticing Spike's wide eyes and open mouth. The brunette looked in the same direction as his friend, and beheld a leggy brunette with large, doe eyes, decked out in a long, red, black, and lacy dress.

The girl was headed their way, and when she spoke, it was music to the blonde's ears.

"Pardon me," the girl asked in an accent not unlike Giles.' "Is this Mister Danbury's class?"

Spike took his hand off of Xander's shoulder and took a step toward the girl.

"Sure is, Luv," he replied, giving her a rare smile. God, she's beautiful, the fourteen-year-old thought to himself. But what about Buffy? Another part of his mind wanted to know. She doesn't want you anyway, Mate, he told himself. Too busy with her parties and her sheep-y friends to pay any attention to ol' Will like she used to. He offered his arm, which the girl wrapped her had around as he spoke again. Nothing to worry about. Chit won't care anyway. Just go for it, Man!

"I'm Will," he introduced himself, heading for a couple of empty seats, eyes still locked on the brunette girl who had no idea of the thoughts running through the young man's head. "But everybody calls me Spike." He had completely forgotten about Xander, who had spluttered until he realized William wasn't going to introduce him.

"Drusilla," the girl replied once the two had taken their seats.

"Pleased to meet you, Drusilla," the blonde took her hand giving the back of it a light kiss.

The girl blushed, ducking her head a bit at the gesture. "Likewise."

"So, tell me," William spoke as the bell rang. "Which part of England are you from?"

"Looks like it's homework time for Giles and Spike too," the voice intoned over the screen.

"Terribly sorry I asked," the librarian remarked drolly to his nephew's supposed overconfidence with the ladies.

Just then, Frank decided it was time to assign over-night work to the two Americanized Brits.

"Alright, gentlemen. You watch the show, so you probably know that it's time for me to tell you what needs to be done tonight." He clapped his hands as the other two men nodded.

"Okay, Spike, I need you to finish hanging the curtain painting and lug the rest of the stone columns to their proper places. Rupert," he continued, turning to the other middle-aged man in the room. "Once you've got the slip cover on the couch, you and Spike can find whatever art you think the girls would like in here, and I'll come look at it in the morning."

"Vern has arrived," Paige cheerfully announced, "and it looks like the Summers women won't be able to say they got too much sleep tomorrow morning."

"Wow, Ladies," the designer gushed in that masculine way only Asian men seem to be able to pull off. "It looks great!"

Buffy groaned, knowing what would be coming out of the Asian man's mouth next. "I thought Graduation meant no more homework?" she joked drily.

"Not on this show," Vern smiled.

"Alright, Buffy capitulated. "Lay it on me."

After a small list of tasks, Vern completed his list for Buffy with, "And if you have the time, go ahead and paint the stripes between the tape strips on the wall. It really doesn't matter whether red or green is on top, just as long as it's the same all around the room."

Buffy pouted as the designer turned to Joyce.

"And for you, Mrs. Summers, I have a special project to start of with. Are you familiar with Van Gough's Starry Night?" he asked the gallery owner.

"Of course, what art lover isn't?" Joyce asked, wondering where the questions were going.

"You know the big, swirly group of stars, right in the middle of the sky?" At Joyce's nod, Vern turned around to grab something off the floor outside Spike's bedroom door.

"Think you could even remotely replicate that group of stars on the ceiling?" He showed his hand then. In it, he held a can of UV-Sensitive paint and a small brush. "With this?"

The screen showed colored walls, shifting around, marking the end of the first work day, and the beginning of the last, and Xander, Anya, Cordelia, Angel, Willow, and Tara couldn't wait to see the rest.

Author's Notes

I just thought I'd take this chance to answer a few of the reviews I've gotten from various people. But before I do that, I want to apologize for the long delay in getting this chapter out. I'd gotten a few books for Christmas, and the only time I really sit down to write is during lunch at work, but I wanted to finish the books first, so I didn't get the stories confused.

And now, the reviews!

Vette, I don't know about being an "old and wise spirit," but I'm nineteen, if that means anything.

Yes, Carly, I know about Changing Rooms... I even saw an episode of it once... Believe me... Trading Spaces is much better. They're too serious on Changing Rooms. And the theme song is better too. :)

Black Goddess, yes Spike in this fic is Spike.

To whoever wished I'd've used Frank and Hilda instead of Frank and Vern... I don't usually like Hilda's work. Sure, she has her moments, but most of the rooms I've seen her do weren't that great to me. Vern's my personal favorite, and Frank did that room with the girl on the kitchen wall, and that was cute, so I chose those two.

Rosie, I'm glad you like the flashbacks. They're my favorite parts to write.

Evelyn and Christabel, I hope you got the explanation you needed. Do you understand the show now?

And to Snapdragongrrl, HM, no1inparticular, and SpiderChick, and anyone else... THANKS BUNCHES for your reviews!

You all are the best!

Chapter Four
Process of Reintegration

"Well, it's the beginning of Day Two, and it looks as though the Summers' are off to a great start."

The six eager friends leaned forward in their seats, as though getting closer to the already-large picture would help them understand how the Summers and Giles families could've kept such a huge secret from them for so long.

The glowing idol of the living room was silent on the answer-giving front, however, and the show went on.

"Wow!" Vern exclaimed, looking up as Joyce put the finishing touches on the ceiling. "The room--and ceiling, of course--looks great!"

"You have 'but' face," Buffy frowned.

Vern nodded, a tiny, apologetic smile coming to his lips. "But we still have a lot of work to do."

Buffy groaned. "I knew you were gonna say that. I just knew it."

"Of course you did. But do you know what we still need to do?"

"A lot of things," Joyce put in, coming down from the ladder. Overhead, starting in the middle of the ceiling, a large, swirling cloud of "stars" spiraled toward the corners of the room . . . Not that it could be seen at the moment, but it was there, nevertheless.

"We just don't know anything specific."

"Well," Vern smiled. "I guess I'd better remedy that. Buffy, you remember the lamps you painted yesterday?"

Buffy nodded as the designer continued.

"Well, most of the 'normal' light in the room will be from the window, and the desk--or table--lamps. The standing lamps will have black-light bulbs in them, and will focus on the ceiling while the other lights are off.

What I want to do now," Vern got to the point, pulling something from behind his back, "is put this lantern-type light in the very center of the ceiling, with a black-light inside it, right where Spike's fan used to be.

And that, Ladies, is your task for the moment--lighting."

A little while later, while the women were screwing the top of the lantern into its designated position, Joyce broke the silence with another question.

"So, how's Willow?" the older woman asked. "I haven't seen her in a while."

"Well, you know," Buffy shrugged. "All those college-level classes, she hasn't had much time between studying for her finals. I think she's planning on hanging with the gang on Friday, though."

"Where at?" Joyce inquired, the way a good mother usually does.

"Probably the Bronze," the teen responded. "I heard Xander talking about going earlier this week."

Two Years Ago

"Hey!" The brunette teen kept walking when he heard Willow's voice calling him. "Hey, wait! Stop!" he heard her calling over the "clip-clop" of her trendy, plat-formed heels on the school's linoleum.

She caught up with the young man and put a hand on his shoulder, startling him.

"Hey, you . . ." she panted, "Stop. I need to . . . talk . . . to you."

He turned, a questioning look plastered on his face. "Why," he chuckled, "would Willow Rosenberg, sidekick to the all-important Buffy Summers, speak to a lowly minion such as moi?" His tone went from curious to mocking in the space of less than a second.

The answer provided was rather unexpected to the brunette.

"I know about you and Cordy," the redhead began, careful to speak quietly since she wasn't one to gossip behind her best friends' backs.

Xander hid his surprise well, after the initial shock, of course.

"Yeah, so?" the teen challenged.

"Nothing, really," Willow started to stutter. "I just thought that, you know, since Cordy obviously likes you, then you must be a nice guy and all, and I thought, well, since I already know about the two of you, it might be a good thing if I got to know you. Y'know? Be supportive?"

Xander was almost struck speechless. As it was, he had trouble closing his mouth far enough to be able to speak coherently. "Uh . . . Um . . . Okay."

Willow smiled, genuinely happy with the brunette's response.

"Great!" You ever been to the Bronze?"

"The Giles/Wirthington duo starts Day Two a little more enthusiastically than the Summers women, I see," Paige spoke as the group watched Frank walk up to the two Brits.

"Alright then," Frank walked in, noticing the two British men debating over a few paintings and sculptures leaning against the wall. "Looks like everything from yesterday is done, so let's start some more!"

Spike merely looked at Frank as though he had two heads. "Right. Uh . . . What would that be again?" Giles just scrubbed his glasses at his nephew's insolence.

Frank chuckled. "It would be good for me to tell you, wouldn't it?"

"Quite," Giles chirped Britishly as he replaced his glasses.

"I'm still waiting on a cabinet from Ty, so we can obviously hold off on painting it for now, but let's see what we can do about this artwork, shall we?"

"Oh, William," Giles remarked absentmindedly, once Frank had left them to their own devices again. "I meant to ask you, do you think you could ask Willow to come take a look at the computers this weekend? The one in the study is being quite cantankerous."

Anya, Xander, Willow, Tara, Angel, and Cordelia watched as Ty crossed the screen, carrying the aforementioned cabinet. Secretly, the women--besides Willow and Tara, of course (although, if they admitted it, they could appreciate a fine male specimen)–drooled over the carpenter's lean, muscular physique. They stared even harder when the man's shirt rode up, revealing a perfect six-pack to their hungry, teenaged, hormone-drowned senses.

"Okay, Frank," Ty called to the balding designer. "Here ya go!"

"Great!" Frank smiled. "Let me know about the couch columns when you get to that."

"Will do," Ty called over his shoulder as he walked away.

Just then, one of the men walked up, ready for something to do.

"Ah, Spike," Frank called. "Since you're here, would you please paint this white?"

"Sure, Frank, no problem," the teen accepted the task, turning toward the workbench to fetch the required can of paint and brushes.

"Ty is on a roll," Paige's voice-over remarked. "He's got Vern's closet system done as well, and is headed over now to install it in Spike's bedroom."

"Well," Ty remarked, dragging a rather large piece of furniture toward the Asian-American designer. "It took a while, but it's finished.

"Wow!" Vern approved. "It looks great! Thanks! But do you think I could get you to make a bookshelf for me?"

"Sure," Ty acquiesced. "I've just got one small project left for Frank, but I should be able to squeeze in a simple shelf today. How big do you need it?"

"Just big enough to sit over a desk. When you're ready, just come on over, and I'll show you the desk so you can take the necessary measurements." Ty nodded at the Asian's words, and walked away as the older Summers woman made her way to Vern.

"Ah, Joyce," Vern smiled on his way back to the Giles home. "Since Buffy's working on the lights, would you be so kind as to paint this that lovely red?"

"Sure, no problem, Vern." Turning back to get the necessary supplies, Joyce gladly went to work.

As the projects piled up on the screen, the suspense in the Giles living room piled ten-fold. None of the three originally-oblivious couples could take their eyes off the screen, for fear of missing some small detail in the work. They couldn't wait to find out how the rooms turned out, but all the same, they dared not tear their eyes from the screen long enough to get up and look for themselves.

"Okay, Spike," Frank began, later that morning. "Could you please paint the table, and these column pieces with the white we've been using? You can leave the table's legs bare, since we're just going to attach the false columns over them."

"Sure, Frank." The teen got to work on the table, while Giles finished another project nearby.

"William," the young man's uncle called, a question in his tone.

"Yes, Uncle?"

"I don't mean to pry, but what really happened with Drusilla? I know she had to go back to England, but it just seems that there's more you're not telling me."

"Yeah, Rupes," Spike sighed, then continued. "There was more."

One and a Half Years Ago

"Dru?" Spike did his best to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat at the sight before him. He had come around the building to get to a class in one of the portables, and found his girlfriend of a year and a half making out with none other than the nancy-boy wanker, Scott Hope.

The culprits pulled apart, only a little guilty.

"Spike, I can explain," Drusilla begged, noticing the peroxide blonde's clenched fists.

"Don't bother," he gritted through equally-clenched teeth. Swiftly, he turned away, coat billowing behind him with every angry step.

"We need to talk," Spike threw over his ex-girlfriend's shoulder as he came up behind her a few days later.

"I know," Drusilla replied, turning around. Looking down at her hands, she spoke clearly. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Then why did you do it, Dru?" he pleaded.

"Because you did it first." Spike was obviously confused and dumbfounded by her reply, so Dru plugged on. "You've been so distant, and every time you're with me, all you're thinking about is that Summers girl, I can tell. The way you look at her . . . Why don't you look at me that way anymore, Spike?"

Moved by the tears he saw building in the brunette's eyes, he pulled her into a hug.

"Oh, Dru," he apologized. "I'm so sorry. Do you think we could ever try again?"

He felt her head shaking "no" against his chest as she spoke.

"No, Luv." It was her turn to be wise. "It would hurt too much, knowing we both want someone else, and I go back to England at the end of school this year."

Hugging his dark beauty one last time, Spike nodded.

"I understand." He gave her a light peck on the cheek. "Friends then?" She managed to muster a watery smile as his hand passed lightly over the same cheek.

"Always, Dear William, always."

"Looks like crunch time is coming early in the Giles' residence. Vern seems to be making sure he has time to get everything he wants just right," came Paige's voice.

"Okay, Ladies," Vern chirped. "It's time to decide where exactly we want everything. I know not everything is finished, but we can place that as it's done. So, take a piece of furniture, and move it around until you think you've got it. But, try to keep in mind that Spike needs this space for at least three separate purposes. Sleep, entertainment, and study."

"Maybe, we could sort of 'divide' the room that way, then?" Joyce suggested. "Maybe, have his bed and clothes against one wall, the desk and shelving against another, and a third space along one of the remaining walls to put his stereo and guitar?"

"Sounds good to me," Vern nodded. "Buffy? Any ideas?"

"Nope. Sounds good."

A couple hours later, the women finished their latest projects, laughing about old times.

"Looks like Ty's finished the shelf system Vern requested. And in record time, too," Paige's voice penetrated the fog of shock in the Giles' living room a little better than before. They watched the carpenter install the piece of carpentry onto the teen's old desk.

"Here's the shelf, Vern," Ty carefully set down the monstrosity he'd made on top of the desk it was built to fit, fastening it securely.

"Anything else you need just now?"

"Not that I can think of, but I'll let you know," was the reply.

"Would you like me to paint that the same color as the desk, Vern?" Joyce queried, walking up behind the designer.

Vern jumped imperceptibly.

"Joyce!" he laughed. "You scared me!"

"Sorry," she giggled, a bit embarrassed.

"It's alright. Why don't you go ahead and paint this, like you suggested? I'm sure I can find Buffy something to do while you work out here."

The ten friends, six who were speechless, and four who were mentally giving themselves pats on the back at their sneakiness, watched as Spike and Giles both sat in the living room, and paced the screen, hanging artwork in the Summers living room, at the same time.

"One thing still puzzles me," Giles remarked as he straightened the painting he'd just hung on the living room wall.

"What's that?" his nephew asked as he drove a nail in to hang another painting.

"The eight of you could barely get along more than two years ago, and now you're all the best of friends," Giles mused. "How would you explain such a situation?"

"Well," Spike stalled, unsure how to answer, himself. "I guess, once Xander and the cheerleader came 'out of the closet,' and Red became all supportive, it just got harder to see who belonged to which group. So, we all just hung out together, I guess."

"Hmmm." Giles pondered that thought for a moment, until Spike spoke again.

"All except one, that is."

One Year Ago

"Hey, Buffy," Willow greeted her best friend one night at the Bronze. "Hi, Scott," she also greeted the blonde's long-time, on-again, off-again boyfriend. Must not have gotten the memo, she thought to herself about the incident earlier that school year with Drusilla.

"Hey, Wills." The blonde was obviously having a good night, if the hundred-watt smile she gave the redhead was any indication.

"Xander, Cordy," she nodded to the now-not-so-clandestine couple. "What's up?"

"Not much," the brunette male answered, his arm around Cordy's waist. "We were actually just stopping by on our way to Spike's house. Wanna come?"

Buffy rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"We've been neighbors since we were a month old. Why would I want to spend more time with that loser?"

Xander shrugged. "Your loss." He turned to his girlfriend and the other two girls at the table. "Will? Dru?"

"Sure, I'm in, if Dru's okay with it."

"You go on ahead, Dearie," the raven-haired beauty encouraged her newest friend. After Xander and Cordy had become public, the two groups had found themselves mixing a bit more than they originally had. "I'll join you later; I have the sudden, inexplicable urge to dance."

"The women seem to have everything in hand as they break for lunch," Paige's voice came over the screen.

"Why do you always push Spike away?" Joyce dropped a bombshell on her daughter while they reminisced about life, the universe, and everything.

"What are you talking about?" Buffy's face scrunched up in a mixture of confusion, and something else Joyce couldn't identify.

"I mean, you and Will used to be the best of friends. Now, all you ever seem to do is insult him. What happened?"

Thinking of Jenny, her parents' divorce, and William's self-isolation, Buffy replied as her eyes focused on something far away in time and space.

"Junior High, Mom. Junior High happened."

Wondering what the blonde teen had been talking about, the six friends sat back for the commercial break.

Author's Notes

Okay, I KNOW that they don't usually show such personal conversations on Trading Spaces, but this is my fic-world. And becides... I've got an explanation for that:

It's not actually everyone watching these moments of the show. The parts of the show where the four are talking to one another is their MEMORIES of the taping of the show itself (except for the last scene from this chapter, pretty much). The parts with just the designers and Ty are the actually show being watched by the entire gang. :)

Chapter Five
Repairing Humpty Dumpty

Author's Note: For those of you wondering "What happened in Junior High?" GO BACK AND READ THE FLASHBACKS! It's ALL there. :) If you still don't know by the time you've finished reading this fic, then I'll tell you.

"Well, it's the end of day two, and Joyce and Buffy look confident enough to joke around as they finish up a few last-minute projects," Paige's voice once again came over the television after the commercial break.

"And then," Joyce explained through her giggles. "She walks up, and smooches the poor guy on the mouth! It was hilarious!"

Buffy was confused; she couldn't find "the funny" in her mother's anecdote.

"I don't get it," she frowned, thought lines creasing her forehead, just above the bridge of her nose. "We are talking about the same Tara, right? Tara Maclay, Willow's girlfriend, was kissing this guy? Where was Willow?"

Joyce rolled her eyes as though she were the teen in the room, and opened her mouth to explain, but Vern's speculative comment beat her to the punch.

"Probably hiding somewhere nearby, trying not to laugh, am I right?"

The two blonde heads swivelled to the Asian.

"How'd you guess?" Joyce smiled.

Buffy groaned.

"What's the matter, Honey?" Joyce asked. "Are you okay?"

"You've corrupted her! All of you!" Buffy began to trail off, losing steam as Paige came in the door.

"She was so sweet and shy back then . . ."

Nine Months Ago

"Hi, you must be Tara." The school receptionist smiled at the teen standing at her desk. "Why don't you fill out these papers while I get your schedule into the system?" The bubbly woman handed the shy girl a small stack of multi-colored papers and went back to the computer, only to be interrupted by the stuttering blonde.

"C-Can I borrow a p-p-pen?"

"I've got one, Ms. Gallagher," a voice spoke up from a few feet behind the new student. "Hi, I'm Willow Rosenberg. I'm an aide this block," the voice's owner introduced herself to the blonde, handing her the requested utensil.

"Nice to m-m-meet you," Tara took the pen, nodding appreciatively. "T-Tara Maclay." She nervously switched the pen to her right hand, in order to shake the redhead's hand.

"Oh! You have to meet Xander! He's an aide too!" Waving toward the door, where a brunette had just walked in, Willow called, "Hey, Xander, come over here!"

Xander did as requested, and was introduced to the new student as well.

"Alright, you three," Ms. Gallagher interrupted. "Here's Tara's schedule." She handed the aforementioned document to the blonde, continuing. "Would you two please show her where her class is?"

"Sure, Ms. Gallagher," Xander answered, turning back toward the blonde. "Well, Ms. Maclay, what torture does this institution inflict on you for fifth period?"

"M-M-Math," Tara answered after consulting the document in her hands. "With Ms. Stroper."

"Great!" Willow exclaimed with another smile. "Spike, Buffy and Cordelia are in that class. We'll introduce you!"

"Spike and Rupert seem to have things under control at Casa de Summers as well, at the end of day two," Paige spoke from the television screen. "Let's see what Frank has them doing, now that it's crunch time."

The two Brits helped Frank put the finishing touches on Joyce's living room, continuing their discussion from earlier.

"I don't remember seeing that Angel fellow very much before six months ago. Would you care to share how he came to be part of the group?"

"Not particularly," Spike answered. He still remembered Buffy's early crush on the basketball team captain.

"But, since it's you askin', I will anyway . . ."

Six Months Ago

"Mmmm . . . Angel," a feminine voice filtered through the air vents in Xander's History class. It was a good thing Xander was the only one who could hear it, since he sat right next to the vent.

Or, it would have been, if he hadn't recognized the voice as his girlfriend's rich, feminine tones.

"Mr. Dukes?" Xander raised his hand. "I don't feel well; can I go to the nurse's office?"

At the teacher's nod, Xander made his way out of the classroom, but instead of going to the nurse's office, he snuck to the broom closet he knew so well.

Call me a glutton for punishment, Xander thought to himself, but I have to know.

On his way to the closet, the brunette ran into Spike - literally, who was an aide that period.

"Whoa! Hey Whelp, where's the fire?" the blonde called after his friend, following the stomping teen.

"Hey! Harris! Where you off to?"

He didn't need an answer, because at that moment, Xander stopped and flung the broom closet door on its hinges, exposing the make-out session inside.

Spike glared at the couple while Xander did nothing but walk away, head hanging.

The blonde caught up with Xander and put an arm around the brunette's shoulder in a friendly gesture of comfort.

"Want a beer?"

The sheer absurdity of the question had the brunette sputtering, trying to hold in his laughter.

"Nah, I'll be okay. I kinda suspected - she's been kinda weird around me lately - but I knew when I heard it through Mr. Dukes' air vents."

"What're you gonna do?" the blonde asked.

"Dunno," Xander replied. "But one thing's for sure."

"What's that?"

"Cordy and I are now an 'either-or,' instead of an 'and,'" the brunette sighed.

"You're not gonna try to get her back?!?!?"

"Why bother? If she's gonna let her hormones override her faithfulness, why should I force the issue?"

"What about the Wanker? You at least gonna rough him up a bit for stealin' your girl?" Spike asked.

"Nah," Xander shrugged. "Angel's a good guy. Plays a mean game of pool," he answered. "And besides, Cordy'd murder me if I tried."

"And Anya?" Giles prompted as they set the last statue in place. "What of her?"

"Ah," Spike reminisced with a smile as he saw Paige coming to get them for the revealing. "The day I found out the Whelp isn't so dumb after all . . ."

Two Months Ago

"I don't get it!" the girl screamed at her tutor. "Why do we need Calculus anyway?"

"Come on, Anya," the tutor replied. "It's not that hard . . . Here, why don't you try substituting all the confusing stuff for stuff you like?"

"Willow?" The blonde cocked an eyebrow skeptically. "This is Calculus, not Arithmetic . . . There isn't much to substitute for derivative problems."

"Er . . . right . . . You're right," the redhead stuttered.

She sighed, and, realizing something, shook her head.

"What?" the sometimes-brunette asked.

"For the first time in my life, I have no idea how to explain something."

"Woah!" a distinctly-male voice spoke up from the next table over. Xander got up from his chair to look over the two girls' shoulders.

"Willow Rosenberg can't explain something?!?!? That's never happened before!"

"Keen observation, Captain Obvious," Willow's student quipped. "If you're not going to contribute to the academic achievement at this table, would you please leave?"

"Well, what are you working on?" The young man craned his neck even further over the girls' shoulders, catching the directions in Anya's math book.

"Derivatives?" he remarked, snorting in a bit of disdain. "Cinch."

Willow was speechless. She'd never been shown up in math . . . especially not by Xander, of all people.

"I've gotta see this," the redhead scooched closer toward Anya, while Xander pulled out the chair on the girl's other side.

"My name's Xander, by the way," the brunette remarked, realizing they hadn't been introduced.

"Anya. Anya Jenkins."

"Nice to meet you." They shook hands, and he grabbed a pencil, beginning his explanation.

"Alright, all you have to do is . . ."

"What happened to Scott?" Joyce asked, fluffing the guitar pillows one last time. "I haven't seen him around in a while."

"Uh . . . Mom?" Buffy looked skeptically at the other woman. "We broke up."

One and a Half Months Ago

"This isn't working," Scott startled his girlfriend with the sudden revelation.

"W-What? You're breaking up with me?" Cocking her head, she added, "Again?"

Scott nodded. "For good, this time. It's just not working out, and it hasn't been for a while."

"What do you mean?" Buffy asked.

"You know what I mean, Buffy." Scott took her hands, looking the blonde in the eyes. "It hasn't been working for a while now, and I don't really think it was in the first place. We fight almost once a week - the chess club sets its meetings by them - we've broken up more times than either of us can count, and it's obvious we're not in love - especially to our friends. It wouldn't be fair to keep up the charade . . . to either of us."

"What do you mean, 'We're not in love?' We could be, sometime!"

"No, Buffy," Scott retorted. "If it hasn't happened yet, it's not going to. You've been pining over the basketball team's captain since Junior High, and I think it's time we both stop fooling ourselves into thinking we'll ever want each other that way."

Buffy nodded. "Okay, I guess this is 'See ya 'round,' then, huh?" She deliberately ignored the Angel comment, because she didn't want to deal with having to figure out the real reason she wasn't in love with Scott.

Scott had only used Angel as a scapegoat. He knew Buffy hadn't had a crush on Angel since ninth grade's end - she had just pretended to for far longer - but he didn't think Buffy would react well to his "Buffy's in love with Spike" theory.

"Yeah," Scott sighed, letting her hands go. "Friends?"

"Maybe later," Buffy answered thoughtfully. "I think we both need to sort some things out before we start over, even a little bit."

"Well, that's it," Paige said. "The end of day two, and we're finally ready to see the rooms completed."

A few "before and after" photos transitioned on-screen, and the group heard the hostess speaking again.

"Will Spike find his new room the perfect place to jam? Will Joyce and Buffy feel at home in their living room museum? We'll find out, after this."

Xander, Anya, Cordelia, Angel, Willow, and Tara all sat on the edges of their seats - if they had one - eager for the commercials to end.

Epilogue
Lemme See! Lemme See!

As Paige went through the budgets with the designers, the group found themselves - for the first time in their lives - wishing that the show would just hurry up and get over with.

"Alright!" Paige exclaimed, holding Joyce and Buffy's hands to lead them into the living room. "Open your eyes!"

Two gasps filled the television screen as the blondes perused their new living room.

On the window, a large canvas, bearing a colorful geometric painting announced its presence as Paige pulled the drape cord closed. Off to the right, the women saw their television, sitting atop what looked to be two stone columns, and flanked by two more, taller columns. Their couch and coffee table had had face lifts as well, they could tell, and neither woman failed to notice familiar artwork gracing even more columns with its presence.

Belatedly, Buffy and Joyce realized that they were being spoken to, and turned back to Paige.

"So . . ." Paige wheedled enthusiastically. "What do you think?"

"Cooooooool . . ." Buffy's opinion came first.

"How about you, Joyce?" the hostess turned to the older blonde.

"I knew the guys would do a good job, but this is better than even I imagined! They even used the art I'd been trying to find a way to display around the house!"

"Is that why you told Spike where it was, and not me?" Buffy asked, coming out of her shocked stupor.

Joyce chuckled. "Yup."

"Well," Paige spoke again. "I've gotta go and get the guys, so you two sit tight, and I'll come get you once they've seen Spike's room, alright?"

More budget talk was ignored, and the six friends seemed to get more fidgety with each passing moment, as Paige led Spike and Giles across the screen into the teen's room.

"You ready?" Paige asked the two Brits, pulling them into Spike's bedroom.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Spike joked. "Hope it's not too girly."

"Open your eyes, guys."

Both men opened their eyes, gaping at the room's drastic transformation.

"Bloody . . . Hell . . ." Spike whispered.

In the far corner, just to the left of the room's only window, sat his bed, covered in black and red with the two guitar pillows Joyce had made sitting overtop the comforter, crossed at their fabric necks. To the right of said window sat Spike's dresser, with pictures of friends and family sitting on top, along with, he noticed, the lucky guitar pick he'd lost nearly seven weeks before.

In the corner directly to Giles and Spike's right sat Spike's re-painted desk, complete with extra shelving. The men noticed the paint job done on the desk lamp as well, and Spike was relieved to find out Buffy had returned the collar to its home after the lamp had dried. Finally, in the corner, just in front of the bed, sat Spike's music equipment.

Awestruck though they were, the men actually heard Paige speaking to them.

"Does it meet with your approval, Mister Wirthington?" she tried - and nearly succeeded - to imitate a stuffy, British accent.

The men laughed with the hostess.

"It's bloody brilliant!" Spike exclaimed.

"You haven't seen anything yet," Paige said, walking over to open the closet. "Storage space."

The Brits nodded appreciatively. "Anything else I should know about before you lot leave?"

"There is," Paige nodded, "But I'll let the women show you that."

Paige went to get Buffy and Joyce from the Giles' living room, and came back a few moments later.

"So," Spike wheedled, staring openly at Buffy as the cameras rolled. "What's this surprise I hear you've got for me?"

Buffy just smirked as Joyce and Paige walked to the corners, flicking on the lamps, and she switched off the overhead lights.

"I don't get it," Spike mused. "It's dark."

Although no one could see, Buffy rolled her eyes. "Look up, Moron."

As the cameras focused on the design overhead, Xander, Tara, Willow, Anya, Cordelia, and Angel seemed to come alive.

They didn't bother watching the credits. Instead, each of the six looked incredulously at one another, then at their traitorous friends, before bursting into a flurry of action.

Xander, Anya, and Tara went in the direction of Spike's room, playing with the lights, opening the closet's cabinet, and generally just being dumbfounded, while Angel, Cordelia, and Willow ran out the door and through the front yards toward the Summers' house. A few seconds later - after the girls and Angel had seen the contents of the column cabinets - the six friends met in the Summers' and Giles' backyards, babbling incoherently about what they'd seen.

Almost as if on cue from some cosmic puppet master, the two groups split again, crossing to visit the room they hadn't seen.

When the six finally made it back to the living room at 1632 Revello, they noticed the distinct absence of the two legally adult members of the "gang."

And, instead of a bickering blonde duo, the six friends found the most popular blonde from Sunnydale High, sharing a lingering - and from the looks of it, loving - lip lock with the school's resident punk.

Oh, every one of the six stunned friends knew that Spike and Buffy had a history of non-fighty-ness, but they had never believed the stories.

Never, that is, until now.

Author's Note:

That's it! That's all I wrote!

Still wondering about Junior High? Just think "divorce," "Jenny," and "Introvert William," and you've got it.

Also, thanks BUNCHES to my beta, Lady Anne. I never could've gotten through this without it sucking if you hadn't helped!

Thanks also to Snapdragongrrl, Evelyn, susan, Carly, Vette, cassiel, Q.AnnesLace, and Emily from SpuffyArchives, HM, Christabel, no1inparticular, BlackGoddess, Rosie, Spider Chick, carol, latrala, Port Charles Slayer, Duster, and melissa from SpikeS Childe, shadowz, and youcamebackwrong from Crumbling Walls, Deb Bloom (from my hometown), and anyone else who reviewed this fic! You all are great!

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ON TO THE SEQUEL!!!!!

While You Were . . .