Story Notes: Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
This story is in the spirit of "Would you like milk with that?" but sadly I didn't have time to include the sexy. sad2 Still a bit of holiday fun. Hope you like it!


People are bloody stupid, they run round and round making up excuses, trying to paint a pretty picture and doing nothing but lying to themselves, rather than to just get on with things.


Holidays are just half-cocked excuses for behavior they, and their oh so poncey, consciences, wouldn’t allow them to enjoy otherwise. Dress something up as a holiday and suddenly everything bad is good again.


At Christmas they spend money they can’t afford on presents and feasts. On Valentine’s they purchase sex from each other with chocolate and flowers. Halloween is an opportunity to pretend to be someone else and not have to own up to your pranks on the days following. And here it is St Patrick’s Day with its own pile of sodden ridiculous lore that's just another excuse to get knackered and act up.


'Kiss me I’m Irish' gives them carte blanche to lay one on any passing lady, and the ones that aren’t wearing green and don’t qualify for a kiss, earn a well placed and very enjoyable pinch.


It was the 'get knackered' bit, that Spike was taking advantage of. He didn’t NEED a holiday as permission to act badly, but he wasn’t above benefiting from whatever foolery the humans had cooked up.


Usually he’d find himself at Willy’s, but Willy catered to the demon population, which didn’t much care for celebrating saint’s days. Spike took himself to the pub down by the dock where they were running a special on beer and whiskey. The beer was dyed green, but it was cheap and if taken in a large quantity would get the job done just as surely as amber brew would.


“Shot and a beer,” Spike said as he slid onto a stool, his eyes barely met those of the bartender. Spike was already scanning the bar for any women wearing “Kiss me I’m Irish” skin tight T’s or had forgotten to wear green and were therefore fair game for a pinch.


“Shot of what?” the bartender asked.


“What’s cheap?” It hardly mattered to Spike, as long as it was strong.


“In honor of the day, special pricing on all things green!” The barman said with a fake brogue that couldn’t be forgiven even on St Patty’s day.


“Yeah, fine, bring it on.” Spike was more interested in the bonnie lass over by the dart board than he was in the color of the drinks he got pissed on.


The barkeep smacked a shot glass down and filled it from a long necked bottle. He slid a tankard of green beer beside it. “May the luck o' the Irish be with ye!”


Spike rolled his eyes, grabbed the shot, slammed it back and began to hack and sputter. “Bloody hell, what is that? Sodding mouthwash?”

“No, it’s Crème de Menthe. High class stuff.” The brogue had disappeared now that the bar tender was taking insult.


Spike chugged down most of the beer to wash the cloying mint flavor from his palate.


The red haired gal’s bosom heaved in a delightful way when she took in a breath before she shot her dart. Quite lovely. A new green shot had materialized in front of Spike.


“MORE mouthwash?”


“No, try it. This one’s real good…”


Sour apple, not bad…too sweet and definitely NOT whiskey but it cut through the clinging flavor of the mint.


“You can bring another of that.” Spike motioned, still watching the ginger who’s lack of dart skills didn't diminish Spike's interest in her. 


Spike chugged his beer and grabbed the next shot. Absinthe, he would know that flavor anywhere. He’d had many a good night with like-minded mates under the buzzy haze that Absinthe, REAL Absinthe brought, not this half-cocked modern version with all the fun taken out of it. In HIS day Absinthe had real kick to it, drug, drink and tonic all in one; freeing humans of their pointless inhibitions and making them right fun to watch and far more interesting to drink.


This Absinthe was pale and bland, Spike drained the glass with a dissatisfied smirk. He drank it in honor of the good old days, when fun was to be had in ever so many ways with ever so few consequences. 


Spike reached for the second green beer the barkeep had placed in front of him.


The red headed bombshell sashayed over.


“You’re not wearing green.” Spike pointed out.


“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough.” She smiled and tossed her head.


A flirt, Spike quite liked that in a woman. He reached towards her, his hand hovering an inch above her flesh. His hand began to move. “Tell me if I’m getting warmer." 


The woman’s nose crinkled in a tipsy giggle. The bartender put two green shots down, Spike and the red head each grabbed for one. “To St Patty!” she said, not bothering with a brogue, fake or otherwise.


“To the luck of the Irish…or whoever else might be getting lucky tonight.” Spike said, letting his eyes roam over her with more intensity than his hovering hand.


“I LOVE your accent.” She purred. “Is it real or, you know, just for today?”


“I’m British luv, Ireland’s across the way, they have their own way of speaking.”


“I like your way…” she said finishing her shot and placing the glass back onto the bar.


Spike shuddered as the fruity syrup hit the back of his throat. Bleagh… Good god, what the hell rot did these people drink? What ever happened to good whiskey and real beer, with a real head and some body to it?


“Mmmm...” The girl licked her lips and motioned for her glass to be refilled.


The girl must be daft or already more than half pissed if she actually WANTED seconds of that abomination.


The next green shot tasted like medicine, plain and simple. It was an insult to St Patrick, not a tribute. It required several more pints of green beer to wash the foul taste away.


Spike was finally feeling his buzz, the flavor and color of the liquor didn’t much matter anymore. The very drunk woman at his side had grown tired of their game and had outright placed her ass in Spike’s willing hand.



It was right about the time that Spike declared he was going to drink to St Patrick’s good health never mind that he was long dead, that his companion bent close and furrowed her brow.  “You don’t look so good,” she said to him.


Was this daft bird actually suggesting that HE, Master Vampire couldn’t hold the sorry excuse for liquor the barkeep had been serving him all night?


“I can hold my drink luv,” he assured her. He got up, and stood on one foot to prove it.


“I don’t mean you’re drunk…it’s just…you don’t’ look so good.”


Clearly SHE was drunk if she could look at HIM, and not be bowled over by his sinister attraction.


“Are you sick?”


The bird was off her nut. Vampires don’t GET sick.


“I’m fine love, but you’re swaying a bit, maybe it’s you that has the problem.”


No matter, he’d be happy to see the girl home and finish their game of the wearing of the green and whether or not she was. The blood of drunk girls was particularly wonderful, it had an extra warmth to it.


“I mean it mister…somethings not right.”


Spike looked at the bartender. “Do I look…”


“God buddy, I’m cutting you off,” the man said with a decided tone of horror.


What was wrong with these people?


“I’ve always been rather pale,” Spike admitted.


“Pale is one thing…but this….” The girl backed off.


“Oh hell,” he growled. The drinks had been awful.  She’d been the highlight of the night and now she was going away. “I paid for your drinks…” he reminded her. Ungrateful hussy.


“Look, mister, I think it’s time you leave…alone. Go home, get some rest.”


Spike gave a withering look and stomped off into the evening muttering. He thought St Pat’s Day was the one day a year that you never got cut off at the bar; it was practically a crime NOT to get drunk.




He pulled up short. Maybe he was drunker than he thought because he could swear that was Buffy’s voice. She NEVER called for him, she was always too busy telling him to sod off. She must have been partaking of the free flowing booze herself.


Now, he had two options, the smarter one, turn in the opposite direction until she’d gone on her demon killing way, or answer her, and then she would send him, likely with a bloody nose, on HIS way.


He opted for the former, but she was too quick, in a second she was standing in front of him, wearing her usual superior smirk, then her face dropped with shock before crumpling from confusion. Buffy was rarely speechless, but she was now.


“If you’re going to tell me I’m too bloody drunk and should go home, don’t waste your breath, I already got the memo,” he sighed in exasperation.


Buffy’s brows drew together and she leaned closer. On instinct he backed away. Her eyes shifted to the top of his head.


“Spike, your roots are showing.” The way she said it hinted of something more ominous that him needing a trip to the hair dresser.


“Are you off your nut?” Spike knew she had to be, they CALLED him Captain Peroxide, but what they didn’t know was that he didn’t bleach his hair at all. The shocking white was the result of a curse. Angel got a soul, Spike got white hair…as if he’d waste his time coloring his hair like a nancy boy.


“No, I mean it. They’re dark, in fact all of you is sorta…dark.”


White hair, white skin and perfect white teeth, that was Spike, but here was The Slayer herself puzzled by his looks and  concerned about his well being, if the tone of her voice meant anything.


She was the third person, they couldn’t all be out of their minds.


“And your roots are getting..rootier!” Buffy’s head tilted and her mouth twisted. Something was wrong with her vampire. Sure, she despised Spike and he was a royal pain in the ass, but nevertheless he was HER vampire, to keep, kill or…


“Night time yeah?” He motioned to the sky. “Course I look dark.”


Now she put her hands on her hips and gave him that look that she reserved only for him. It screamed ‘why are you so bloody stupid? Buffy knows best. If you don’t fall into line immediately I’m going to make you hurt’.


“I’m feeling a bit off,” he lied, “I’ll be on my way then..” He’d sort this out on his own.


Buffy stopped him. She pulled out her cell phone and shone light onto the back of his hand. They both looked at it speechless, his skin was green.


It was a short walk to the Magic Box. Heads turned and faces passed through the same expressions as the people at the bar and Buffy’s had, shock, confusion, horror.


“Why are you holding Spike’s hand?” Anya put words to her surprise.


Buffy was dragging Spike behind her. Short of brute force, nothing would have induced him to parade his new unhealthy glow to the Scoobies.


Xander, surprisingly, was less concerned by the body contact than the fact that Spike was now shockingly green, all of his skin, and nearly to the tips of his once snowy hair.


“Where did you pick up the verdant vampire? Green hair Spike? At least your fashion sense has progressed a few decades. Still... not a great look on you, have you considered going red? Or purple?”


Spike was looking at his arm; in the light, it was unmistakably grass green.


Buffy gasped when she saw just how green his skin was. His hair was now colored to the very tips of it, as if he was wearing a divot on his head.


“Who did you piss off?” Anya wondered, "I mean this reeks of a spell. You didn’t snack on any leprechauns by any chance, they’re known for short tempers and penchant for pranks."


Giles, for good measure, was wiping the lenses of his glasses to make sure that what he thought he was seeing, was actually real. “Good god.” Yes, it definitely was.


Spike looked at his hand and gulped, of course he couldn’t SEE his hair but if it was anything like this…he would never live this down. He couldn’t be seen this way.


It was just about then that Xander broke into hysterical laughter, and Willow’s face began to curl into a smile, Giles joined in.


Between labored breaths Xander snorted out “Well, no one will pinch you, but maybe you’ll get lucky and some cow will give you a kiss...or nibble."


It was the beer of course. It made sense now, all the blasted dye in the beer and the color in the shots, and who knew how bloody long it could take for the color to fade. It wasn’t ON him, it was IN him.


“Maybe we could bleach it.” Buffy said, “pour some peroxide on it.”


“It's IN my skin luv.” His own face was twisted in consternation.


“Or you could DRINK some peroxide,” Xander suggested. Sure it wouldn’t kill a vampire but in the name of research it would be fun to try it and see what happened.


Anya walked over and was inspecting Spike carefully. “Is it the same all over?”


“Well, I wouldn’t know would I?” Spike reminded her that he cast no reflection. He shrugged out of his coat, his arms were green, pulled up his shirt and his skin was definitely carrying a shamrock vibe right down to his waistband.


Buffy gave an involuntary gasp. “Well, we can do something right?” She looked to Anya, then Willow, then Giles. She didn’t even acknowledge Xander’s suggestion, she was going straight to the magics.


Spike was flabbergasted, Buffy…trying to help HIM? Maybe as a Slayer she felt some responsibility to protect him now that he was harmless, but there was no clause that said she couldn’t rejoice in his humiliation.


Truth was, for all its lame retro 80’s scream for attention, she always liked Spike’s hair. It was a look he rocked. It was HIM. And while she’d often thought he could benefit from some color in his cheeks, green wasn’t the color she had in mind.


“If we know what’s causing it,” Willow offered, “and it’s a spell we can probably reverse it.”


“But if it’s a curse you’re screwed,” Anya finished happily.


“It’s beer.” Spike cut to the chase. “I was at the bar, they were serving green beer.”


“You must have drunk a lot of beer,” Willow noticed. The color was still darkening. All of his hair was green and now the color was beginning to build up at the tips to a dark forest green.


“Well then…you can drink something clear. Vodka, or water…lots of water.” Buffy babbled.


“Or peroxide, don’t forget peroxide,.” Xander offered helpfully, “or better yet bleach. Wait, what about holy water, It’s a Saint’s Day, holy water should clear it right up.”


“Sod off Harris…”


“Would that be sod, like the grass that’s growing out of your head?”


Spike lunged at him, Buffy grabbed his arm.


“And who is going to pay for this bathtub of vodka that Spike would have to drink in order to clear up his…condition?” Giles asked.


“I’d nick it like I usually do, but I’d sort of stick out, what with the being green,” Spike replied.


“Yeah, because your white hair was so inconspicuous,” Xander pointed out. He was loving this, just loving this.


“We have to fix this.” Buffy gave Xander a stern look. Her hand was still clamped around Spike’s bare arm. Oh the irony, he thought, that THIS was what it took to get her to touch him.  The girl really did have funny taste in men.


“There must be a spell…”


“We could try to do a glamor on him, but that would only work for a little while,” Willow offered.


“It’s really not a bad color on you,” Anya chirped, “Though you might want to change your wardrobe. Earth tones would go very well with it.”


“I’m not sodding changing my wardrobe!”


“He’s not changing his wardrobe!” Buffy said indignantly at the very same time. Just like his hair, Spike really rocked the black on black look. His hot looks were the only thing that made him bearable, and green and brown were the farthest thing from sexy.


Spike again looked at her in shock, why the bloody hell did she care?


“It’s St Patrick’s day,” Anya began, “Everybody knows that if you catch a Leprechaun they have to grant your wish. You’ve got a few hours to nab one.”


“And how do we catch a Leprechaun?” Buffy asked, her brows jumped “You mean they’re actually real?”


“Oh, they’re real alright and despised,” Anya assured her.


“They’re known for having very bad tempers and twisting one’s words around so they don’t get what they think it is they’re wishing for,” Giles warned. “Their curses are particularly hard to undo, you should only turn to them as a last resort.”


Spike and Buffy shared a look. “This is a last resort,” they said together.


“They you’d better summon one, but you’ll need a trap, and some bait. Do you have any gold? They’re money grubbing little things, WAY worse than me. Come to think of it they’re sort of vengeance demons on steroids. They love their gold and they love watching people suffer,” Anya gave them the low down.


“I’ve got some jewels, but I’m fresh out of gold,” Spike informed them.


“There’s a legend that if you collect a dozen four leaf clovers and summon them they are bound to show up, of course you still have to catch one and hold onto it, and they bite…boy do they ever bite.” Anya apparently knew this from firsthand experience.


“Well, we’re strong. Right?” Buffy pointed out. “And there’s two of us, and we’re fast. No Leprechaun is going to get away from us.” She smiled up at Spike. Her behavior was odd, but very engaging, he wondered if maybe being green wasn't entirely a bad thing.


“So, a dozen four leaf clovers,” Buffy said, looking at Anya expectantly.


“Yes, that’s right, a dozen.” Anya smiled.


“OK, so where are they?” Buffy motioned to the rows of jars behind the counter.


“I don’t carry four leaf clovers.” Anya looked at her as if the very idea was absurd. “They only have power if you find them yourself.”


“So we’re supposed to find a dozen four leaf clovers, in the dark?” Spike checked.


“OK, Willow…can you do a locator spell?” Buffy looked to her trusty friend.


“Well, maybe I could, but I’d need at least one four leaf clover to start with, and you know how locator spells are, they’ll show us a spot on the map but you’d still have to find the clovers yourself.”


“So you’re telling me you did a spell that restored Angel’s soul but you can’t locate a four leaf clover?”


Buffy looked into all their blank faces. “Anya, is there any other way to summon a Leprechaun?

“Gold, four leaf clovers…well, there is desperation, like I said they’re sick little creatures, they’re all about taking advantage of some good old desperation. Of course they still require gold in payment. If you just want to attract one to catch it, you’re going to need the clovers, or a very pretty and surprisingly rare female Leprechaun. Good luck catching one of those.”


“Oh, oh wait…I just thought of something!” Willow’s face brightened. “You know how in art class back in grade school, we’d mix paints and make new colors. Maybe we could have Spike drink some purple water or orange, then he’d turn brown. Brown is nice!”


“And so we’re back to earth tones,” Buffy pointed out.


“Witch has got a point, I’d take brown over green,” Spike allowed.


“Yeah, I remember some of those color experiments in grades school and we never ended up with a pretty brown, it was always some gross brown, like…poop brown.”


“Hey, you never know, baby diarrhea might be a good look on him,” Xander offered cheerfully.

“We are not turning Spike poop brown.” Buffy glared at all of them.


“Black then. Spike looks good in black. We could make him all black,” Willow said brightly.


“With some sparkly highlights he’d look very nice,” Anya agreed. “And he’d be harder to see in the dark, a big plus for hunting demons.”


“Yeah, why didn’t we ever think of this before? Something that will make Spike practically invisible for 12 hours out of 24 is a good thing, right?” Xander was all on selling the idea.


Spike was thinking that out of all the half-cocked ideas, Xander’s original one of drinking peroxide made the most sense. He’d heard stories about Leprechauns and they were not to be trusted, if  Spike wished he was no longer green a leprechaun was likely to turn him purple with orange spots and yellow hair.


“Look on the bright side Spike, for one day a year you’ll be the envy of everyone Irish, and you’ll never get pinched,” Xander offered comfortingly…NOT.


“Well, if you have all exhausted your ideas, I think I’ll go home and begin on that bathtub of vodka.” At least he’d stay buzzed until the dye was worked out of his system. The problem was, Spike didn't have a bathtub.


“Once when I was a kid and we were dying Easter eggs, I got some green on my favorite bunny shirt, my mother tried everything and it NEVER came out,” Buffy said with a look of dismay. Spike couldn’t figure out why she cared so much.


“There are other demons you could make a bargain with,” Anya said, “but some of their fees are pretty high, first born, blood of a virgin, 100 years of servitude…” she ticked off on her fingers.


Buffy looked at Spike’s attractively muscled arm which was now the shade of tree leaves on a Sunny day. The shade was rather pretty…on a tree. His hair was nearly all forest green with Spring green roots, a nice look on a golf course but an unsettling look on a vampire.


“Bugger this,” Spike said. He shook free of Buffy’s grasp, something he never thought he’d do. Standing here wasn’t going to fix anything and he’d best get started on the most enjoyable of the suggestions…drinking…a lot. He was half way down the block when Buffy caught up to him.


“Spike,” she called for the second time that night.


“Yeah Slayer…” he said dejectedly. “I can give you a hand on patrol if you really need it, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather not advertise my new look to the demon community.”


“We could start on the clover thing, tomorrow…”


“You never met a leprechaun, they’re evil little things, you heard what Anya said, they’d likely make it worse.”


Buffy wasn’t used to hearing defeat in his voice, every minute he was growing less like Spike and more like…she wasn’t sure what, but everything that defined Spike to her was quickly seeping away.


“It doesn’t look THAT bad,” she lied.


“Funny yeah? Over a century as the Big Bad and the thing that takes me out is green beer.” He gave a scornful laugh. 


They were walking side by side. “Never got to ask you," he realized, "how was YOUR day? Don’t see any Kiss Me I’m Irish gear on you…bet you got your fair share of pinches. If you plan to celebrate later tonight, stay away from the beer.”


“Yeah, I already kinda do,” she reminded him, "Beer, bad. There's a thing at the Bronze for St Patrick’s day. There’s even a costume contest. Hey, you know, you should come. I’ll bet you’d win the prize for having the most St Patrick’s Day spirit!”


“Yeah, right, very funny. Harris is in heaven now, new game of humiliate the Spike. He’ll have a new crop of names for me I’ll wager.”


Buffy stifled a giggle over his use of the word ‘crop’. “You never cared what Xander thought anyway.” She reached for Spike’s arm again. “We’ll figure out something.”


Spike stopped, right there. Maybe he had had too much to drink. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe he was passed out drunk and this was all a very weird hallucination. The green skin was bad enough, but what was up with The Slayer? The Buffy he knew would be having nearly as much fun as Harris taunting him about his condition, she surely wouldn’t be voluntarily touching his arm and trying to comfort him.


So, this was a dream or a nightmare. He looked down at Buffy’s face and hair, he breathed in her scent- oh how he loved the way she smelled. He pretty much loved everything about her, fool that he was, he even loved the way she despised him. She made it bloody adorable and VERY arousing.


If this was a dream then it didn’t much matter what he did as long as he woke up before Sunrise and found his way to cover, but in the meantime…


“So Slayer…” He used his most innocent tone to test her out, if she didn’t sock him for that he’d proceed recklessly. “I don’t see a thread of green on you, unless you’re wearing it where the Sun doesn’t shine.”

Buffy gave a snort of laughter. “Do I look like the kind of girl who wears green…knickers.” She wrinkled her nose up at him, then she turned away;  she couldn’t bear to see his green face. His usually stunning blue eyes were lost and pale against the green skin. Even when he’d looked at her “that way”, the way that made her have to sock him, she’d appreciated those eyes- eyes a girl could get her freak on over.


A jolt went through Spike at the sound of her saying “knickers”. She made could make anything sound enchanting and sexy.


“Then what color are they then?” he asked a very suggestive question in the least suggestive tone he could manage, hoping to find a balance that might actually get an answer out of her without him paying for it with a broken nose.


“A nicer color than you skin,” she said wryly.


Ok, there it was now. He knew she’d get round to teasing him. He couldn’t half blame her, if this had happened to any of the Scoobies, barring Buffy herself, he’d be turning himself inside out finding jibes to dig in to the sufferer.


“People at the bar thought I was sick,” he snorted. “They ought to see me now, 10 shades darker…”


“Hey, you never know, maybe this will make demons MORE afraid of you.”


“Yeah, because the Jolly Green Vampire gives off such a menacing vibe. How am I supposed to walk into the butcher shop looking like this?.. never mind the liquor store.”


They walked on a minute then he asked in a worried tone “That stain on your bunny shirt…did it EVER go away?”


Buffy shook her head.




“OMG, are they green too?” She sounded as horrified as he felt.“Green just isn’t a sexy color. Not down there anyway. It’d look like a an asparagus….I can’t believe I said that,” Buffy gulped.


“Yeah…well…” They took few more silent steps. “Then you’re not wearing any green?” he checked once again.


“What are you looking for solidarity here?”


“No, just looking for an excuse.” A smile curled his moss green lips.




He grabbed her ass. “A pinch.”


She should slug him. She really should. There was no situation on earth he wouldn’t take advantage of.


“Well, no one is going to be pinching you, any time soon, or maybe for the next century,” she assured him.


“No, but I’ve got 'kiss me I’m Irish' written all over me.”


What the hell, the guy was having a bad day...Buffy looked up at her vampire, gone was stupid Spike with his stupid white hair and pallid 'glow' and god how she missed the way his eyes used to gleam azure against his pale skin. Now even his lashes were green, maybe his teeth were green by now.


“Happy St Patrick’s Day.” She went up on her toes to kiss him.


So this was what it took. He’d been right, must be the crazy Slayer had a thing for green, what with her talking about his…Buffy deepened the kiss and Spike resumed pinching or more accurately kneading her derriere.


“We have this crazy holiday vibe going,” she sighed, remembering Valentine’s Day.


“Seems like it.” He pulled her to him hungrily.


“Maybe this is another stupid spell,” she gave in.


“Hardly stupid.” was his honest opinion.


God, when she kissed him, he felt..he felt..nearly alive again, everything surging and coursing and…


“Wow.” Buffy said when their lips drew apart.


“Yeah…” he had to agree.


“No, WOW, I mean…you’re…fading!” she said in amazement.


He looked at his arm, “Bloody hell.” He roared in relief. “Kiss, broke the spell?” he guessed. 


“No, you’re NOT fading…” Buffy realized with a grimace, “you’re sweating.” The color was leaving his skin and forming droplets.


“That’s all your doing, getting me hot and bothered…” he was by no means complaining.


“I thought vampires didn’t sweat.”


“Only under certain circumstances.” Their eyes met, he batted his lashes hopefully.


“You still look kinda Irish,” she rationalized. “And I sorta miss your hair.”


He squeezed her butt “And you still feel like you could use some more holiday spirit.”


“This is so much better than being bitten by a Leprechaun,” Buffy pressed against him.


“And you can tell everyone you once shagged a guy so hard his hair turned white...” Spike was nuzzling her neck, green rivulets were trickling down the back of his.


“You sort of taste like mouthwash.” 


“It was those damned green shots..” He picked her up and carried her the rest of the way to his crypt.


Never was the term “walk of shame” more accurate than the one Buffy made come the wee small hours of March 18th.  Her mother was making coffee when Buffy got in.


“Is that you? How was your night?” Joyce stopped short when she saw her daughter. It wasn’t just that Buffy looked tousled, it was the condition of her clothing, and her skin.


“You look so…GREEN.” Joyce said needlessly.


“Yeah, uh…St Patrick’s Day…there was this…Leprechaun…it was a thing. A thing that WON’T happen again…” She looked down and her damp stained clothing. “Darn it, this was my favorite shirt.”


“But Buffy, your SKIN!” Joyce motioned to the irregular greenish blotches.


“Yeah, we sort of wrestled…you know I think I’ll just go take a shower now…do we have any peroxide?”

















Chapter End Notes:

Happy St Patty's Day! Hope you get more kisses and less pinches and lots and lots of luck! 

Reviews are like finding a pot 'o' gold at the end of the rainbow! Let me know what you think.

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