Dyeing Young
by The Mad Poetess

Sunnydale, California. Wal-Mart. Midnight. Summer. Two girls in the 
middle of the hair-care aisle, arguing good-naturedly about the 
colors in which the world gets painted.

Said the redhead: "No, hon, this is as bright as I go. 'Ocean 
Sunset.' Anything else, and I'll look like a straight-haired version 
of Little Orphan Annie." She picked up the box of hair color and 
showed her girlfriend the naked-to-the-shoulders model on the front, 
who looked far too happy for somebody posing in cold water up to her 
nipples. You could almost pick out the goosebumps on the woman's skin.

"Yes, she's very pretty, Willow, but I think you'd look great in 
something a little...redder. You've...got the skin tones to pull it 
off." The blonde smiled, dark lips curved up in the innocent cupid's 
bow that was coming ever closer to making the redhead lose all 
interest in conspicuous consumption at the local retail haven and 
instead dragging her fellow witch off to some deserted corner to pull 
off something more enjoyable than a brighter shade of red.

"Well, what about you? You wanna try a new shade? It's about time, 
isn't it?" Willow fluffed Tara's bangs, which had a good inch and a 
half of dark roots showing above the ash-blonde.

"I don't know. I kinda like 'Plain Vanilla.' Sounds like me, smells 
like you... It's my shade. But yeah, it's about time. I'll do you if 
you do me..." Tara ducked her head when Willow's raised eyebrow 
communicated exactly what she thought of *that* proposition. "That's 
n...not what I... okay, it is what I meant, but... first I'll do your 
hair."

"You get your shade, then, and I'll get some Vaseline and cotton 
balls." Willow turned to head around the corner to the cosmetics 
aisle, but was frozen by the sight of a familiar figure in unfamiliar 
surroundings. Rounding the corner of the aisle, black coat swinging 
behind him, humming the chorus to "Whiter Shade of Pale...", was 
Spike. 

"And so it wa-as...that later..." the vampire sang softly to 
himself, scanning the rows of boxes at the terminally blonde end of 
the aisle. 

"Spike?" squeaked Willow, staring at the slender man in the leather 
duster, who spun around to face the two women with a snarl, then a 
half-embarrassed grin.

"Red. Fancy meeting you here. And your little... friend. Come to re-
visit your roots, as it were? Here's to good times, then." Spike 
returned his attention to the selection of super-bleachy lightener 
thingies, tapping a pale finger on the box of "Summer Blonde..." 
before shaking his head disgustedly. 

"Nobody sells plain old dump-it-over-your-head peroxide anymore, do 
they. No, it's all Maxi-Blonde...Super-Sunny Blonde... Honestly, do I 
look like a sunny blonde to you?" Spike asked, turning back to the 
witches and grabbing a handful of his short, white-blonde hair. Which 
was, indeed, showing the faintest traces of dusky roots at the 
hairline.

"No, more like an *ash*-blonde," another familiar voice. "Or maybe a 
*dusty* one." Five-foot-and-not-much-more of Chosen One stood a few 
feet away from him, just about to enter the aisle. Her hands were 
empty, but she had that itchy-stake-finger look to her, like she was 
just *this* close...

Spike moaned. "What.... I can't even go *shopping* without you 
following me about keeping tabs on me? I'm buying hair-dye, Slayer, 
not plotting your bloody downfall. I do spend a few minutes away from 
the drawing-board every so often."

Buffy sniffed. "I'm not following you, I'm..." Then she looked 
around. Realized where she was and who she was talking to, noticed 
the friendly witnesses a few boxes of haircolor away... "Okay, I'm 
following you."

"Oh, c'mon, Buffy..." Willow grinned. "Everybody knows you blea..."

"I do *not* bleach my hair. I maybe... highlight it a little, but 
that's just to bring out the natural glow..."

Spike snickered. "Yeah. Highlight. Right." He leaned over to the 
right and pulled a box off the top shelf of L'oreal 
products. "Champagne Blush, right? Should be enough in there to do 
the mustache, as well."

The Slayer glared at him. "Oh...bite me, you big bleachy pointy-
toothed weirdo."

He held the box above her head. "You want it or not, you little 
bleachy corset-wearing tart?"

Buffy reached for it huffily. "This is *not* a corset, and yes, 
dammit, give it to me, 'cause I can't reach that shelf."

Spike dropped the box into her hands with a smirk and returned to his 
contemplation of the available super-lighteners. The assembled women 
gradually drifted towards him to peek around at the selection.

"I never thought you were a Miss Clairol kinda guy, Spike..." Buffy 
jeered. "Then again... I haven't seen Harmony oozing around your 
crypt recently... Maybe you've gone the other way after all. You 
lonely for a man, Spikey?"

The vampire just smirked at her. "Hey, I'm an equal opportunity 
employer..." Paused to take stock of what he'd just said... "Not that 
I have to pay for it..."

Tara picked up a box of Ultra-Blonde. "This stuff's expensive! How 
often do you have to do your hair?"

Spike glanced at her. "Every couple of months. My hair grows slower 
than your lot's. Then again, you look like you've gone a few without 
it yourself."

Tara shrugged defensively. "Well... yeah. It's a big hassle, so I 
usually l..let it grow out for a while."

The blonde vampire snorted. "Right. Big hassle. My sympathy, witchy-
poo. You try setting your bloody scalp on fire every two months, and 
then talk about a big hassle."

"Sweet and Low." The Slayer said quietly. Spike turned around to 
stare at her.

"Do what?" asked the British vamp incredulously.

"Throw a couple of packets of Sweet and Low in the bleach, and...I've 
heard... it won't burn as much. Not that I've ever bleached my hair."

He shook his head wonderingly. Sweet and Low? Who knew?

Into the coffee-klatch of hair-dyers strode a small, thin girl with a 
determined look on her face, and no time for chit-chat. She closed 
her eyes, spun around three times, opened them, and pulled the box 
she was pointing to off the shelf.

"I always wondered..." Willow said with a giggle. "Hi, Anya."

Anya looked up. "Oh. Hello. Another party I haven't been invited to? 
I have to go color my hair now, so I can remain mysterious and 
alluring to Xander. Excuse me." She made as if to walk back out the 
far end of the aisle, but her way was blocked by a tall form, head 
bent over a shopping list. Sensing that someone was in his path, he 
looked up.

"Er...hello. Did someone call a meeting without telling me in 
advance? Because those sorts of meetings are usually held in my flat, 
generally when I'm expecting company..." Giles smiled somewhat 
sleepily at the group.

Willow stared at him. "Giles... not you, too? Say it isn't so..."

The ex-Watcher tilted his head at her. "Not me... oh. I just thought 
perhaps... something to cover a bit of the gray? Dunno. Never tried 
it before, really."

She shook her head. "Oh, no. Nuh-uh. That gray stays right where it 
is. Very...distinguished."

He winced.

"Um... or... sexy?" Tara offered with a blush and a shrug.

"Oh, yeah," Willow smiled. "That too." 

Buffy sort of cocked her head at that... Giles? Sexy? Well... no. 
Eew. Such thoughts do not enter the mind of a Slayer with a hunky ex-
commando waiting in the car. Such thoughts are *not* even invited in. 
Crosses and garlic await such thoughts.

Giles, on the other hand, played with his glasses suddenly, re-
settling them on the bridge of his nose, looking more reassuringly 
Watcherish than ever. "Well...if you lot say so... but really, this 
is just a meeting of Hair Dyers Anonymous? No dire emergencies of a 
prophetic nature?"

"Would I be joining the Scooby-Doo bunch if there were?" Spike put in 
with a derisive snort. "You just hit the black hole of late-night 
shopping that we've all been sucked into."

"And if you'll all excuse me, fun as this hasn't been, I have to get 
back to..." Anya began, trying to slip past Giles. "Xander!"

The young man in question looked up guiltily from behind Giles' 
back. "Um... what?" he rattled off in a jumpy voice. "I wasn't coming 
down this aisle! Nobody can prove a thing! I'm just looking for 
the..." He trailed off as he came to the conclusion that fully half 
the people he knew best were standing in the hair-dye aisle in Wal-
Mart, at midnight.

Anya glared at him. "I *told* you not to follow me. Now you've seen, 
and... oh, dammit, Xander. I can't be with a man who knows I dye my 
hair. A girl's got to have *some* secrets. This is *over.*" She ran 
out the opposite end of the aisle, past the assembled Scooby Gang and 
Spike, who stared after her disbelievingly.

"Who the hell was her *last* boyfriend... Stevie Wonder?" the vampire 
asked with rolling eyes. "She's been through four shades just since 
*I* met her."

Xander leaned back against the shelf that held the hairspray and 
mousse. "Okay...and it's time to re-set the scale on the weirdness 
meter now...Can't say I'm not a bit...relieved. We've been dating for 
ten months, and she was starting to go on about mortgages and mutual 
funds. When she wasn't discussing boils. And making guys into 
eunuchs. And other disturbing pillow-talk."

Buffy stalked toward him. "What I want to know is...what are *you* 
doing here, Xander? Did you just show up to prove that yes, Buffy 
does bleach her hair, or what?"

The tinge of redness creeping over the dark-haired boy's face gave 
testimony to the fact that it didn't have a damn thing to do with 
getting confirmation of the freakin' obvious. Willow groaned.

"You couldn't wait another twenty minutes, could you. Then everybody 
would've been gone, and you could do your thing in complete 
privacy..." She stomped over to the men's hair color, and pulled a 
box of "Dusty Sable" from the shelf, tossing it at Xander.

"Wh...what are you doing? I don't..." Xander babbled.

"Oh... I'm sick of it. I've kept your secret since kindergarten, and 
what's it ever done for either of us, huh? You keep ending up with 
psycho demon women, and I have to cover for you every time somebody 
finds a box of dye in your bathroom. 'Oh no... that belongs to me... 
I was thinking of going darker...' Get a life. Come out of the 
follicle closet."

Everyone was staring at Xander now, especially Spike, who had an 
expression on his face that was a mixture of interest and pre-
hysterical laughter.

"What is she talking about?" Buffy asked with a jab at the box in his 
hand. "Xander? Care to enlighten us?"

He had turned the color of a well-grown tomato by this 
time. "Um...well...I'm a...naturalblonde..." he let out in a barely 
audible whispered rush.

Spike choked on nothing. "You're a *what*?"

"He's a natural blonde." Willow stated with a bit of 
exasperation. "He's been dyeing it since he was *five*.

All eyes were riveted to the young man across the aisle. He shrugged, 
embarrassed. A little petulant at having been found out.

"Yeah... well... People think I'm an idiot already. They always have. 
I don't need the added bonus of my hair color shaving off another 
fifty IQ points in everybody's eyes."

"Oi!" Spike interjected in an aggrieved complaint. "Nobody thinks 
*I'm* an idiot just 'cos I've got blonde hair."

Xander studied him. "Yeah, but you've got the whole dark-eyebrows-
scar-accent-cheekbones-leather-jacket thing going for you. It's your 
look." 

Spike raised one of those dark eyebrows, as a bizarre idea flitted 
though his brain. His look? Xander Harris had been paying attention 
to *Spike's* look?

"If it helps, Spike, *I* think you're an idiot," Buffy assured him, 
turning away from Xander and carrying her box of hair color down 
towards the empty, non-Gilesy end of the aisle. "And this whole 
thing is getting too bizarre for me. I'm outta here. Riley's waiting, 
and with any luck, in the morning I can convince myself this was all 
a dream." She exited the aisle with a swing of her short skirt, and 
all eyes turned back to Xander.

Giles clucked at him. "Nobody thinks you're an idiot, Xander. A bit 
of a...well...self-destructive git, at times, but..."

"Gee, thanks, *Dad*," Xander smiled ruefully. "That was totally 
inspiring. Next week on Confidence-Building with Rupert Giles, you 
too can learn to make your surrogate children feel both loved and 
moronic at the same time."

"I don't believe it," Spike said suddenly.

"You what?" Xander asked, swinging his head around to look past the 
witches at the de-fanged vampire, who was now tossing a box of Ultra-
Blonde up and down in one hand.

"Don't believe you're a natural blonde. You've got five-o'clock-
shadow at two in the afternoon."

"Yeah, well. It happens. Freaky genes. Whatever."

"Bollocks. You just feel left out of the hair-care club. You could go 
join the mousse-master in L.A, or something, I s'pose."

"No, he *is* a natural blonde. I've been helping him do his hair for 
years..." Willow insisted.

Spike grinned. "Can you prove it, then?" This to Xander, ignoring the 
red-headed witch.

"Prove it? Aside from Willow's word?" Xander crossed his arms over 
his box of hair-dye.

"Yeah. Prove it."

The boy smiled suddenly, a sly little twitch that slipped onto his 
face from one side, slid across his lips, and was gone just as fast 
off the other side.

"I have the *ability* to prove it, yeah."

"Got the stones to?" asked the vampire, grinning even wider.

Xander seemed to be considering this with great deliberation. Giles 
was giving his best vaguely paternal "What am I going to do with this 
boy' look, and the girls were watching the interplay between the boy 
and the vampire with barely disguised... something-or-other.

At last Xander quirked up one side of his mouth. "Maybe..."

Spike frowned. "And that means?"

Xander tossed the box of hair color down the aisle at him, and he 
caught it with supernatural reflexes.

"That means... you owe me a box of hair dye for doubting my word, and 
I'll be in the car. If you're there in ten minutes, we can...talk 
about it." The dark-haired (?) human strode around the corner with a 
cheery "Night, Giles. Witch-ladies," and disappeared.

Spike glanced at his fellow Brit with hopefully narrowed eyes. "What 
exactly does 'talk about it' mean in American teenspeak these days, 
Rupes?"

Giles exhaled disgustedly, as if the question weren't even worth 
answering.

"Right then," said Spike, suddenly purposeful. "Sweet and Low. 
And..." he caught Giles' eye again. "Er... don't shop here much. 
Where would the..."

Giles rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Three aisles down, on the 
wall next to the pharmacy. Not that I have any idea what you're 
talking about." 

"Ta." Spike took off at a rejuvenated pace, hum-singing softly... 
what.. something about collars and cuffs?

The two girls stared after him.

"Well, at least it's not a psycho demon *woman* this time..." Tara 
finally ventured.

Willow...had thoughts going through her head. Bad thoughts. Pictures 
of Xander and...Thoughts that made her want to go back to Tara's room 
and firmly convince her that "Plain Vanilla" was *not* the shade for 
her at all. "Um...I'm thinking we should go. Now. Right now. Back to 
your place. And maybe do our hair in the morning."

She grabbed Tara's hand, and pulled the unresisting blonde down the 
aisle. "Night, Giles."

"Good night, ladies..." he answered with a shake of his head. He 
wandered over to the men's hair color, and stared at it for a minute 
or so, then ducked his head round the end of the cosmetics 
aisle. "They're gone now. You can come out..."

"Kind of already did that..." replied the slight young man who joined 
him, running a hand through his vaguely reddish hair.

"Have you chosen a new shade yet?" Giles asked, reaching out to 
finger the spiky tufts himself.

"Not a lot of chance, with the gang's-all-here being... all-here." 
The boy shrugged. "I'm thinking maybe blonde this time. Seems to be 
working for Spike."

"Well then. You pick a shade, and I'll... just go see if Spike found 
what he needed over by the pharmacy...?" Giles said with the same 
question in his eyes and voice.

The werewolf nodded and smiled. "Yeah. Sounds good. Be there in a 
minute."

And Oz stood alone in the hair-dye aisle, staring at the abundance of 
choices. Blonde...or blue, even...then again, sable was a nice look 
too...


Finis...