Part Two

Buffy scowled as Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous set his tray down at the table where Cordelia Chase and her giggling minions sat. She looked down at her own lunch tray, poked around in the macaroni and cheese surprise for a moment, then frowned and pushed the tray a few inches away from her.

"Who's that girl?" Angel asked, tilting his head in the direction of the corner where Buffy and her friends sat.

Cordelia looked up, then scoffed. "You don't want to have anything to do with her," she began. "That's Buffy Summers. She's completely freaky. Hangs out with her loser friends all day. The only normal thing about her is that she's a cheerleader."

"I went out with her for a week, freshman year." Angel looked across the table at a dark-haired boy with brown eyes.

"And you are�?"

"Scott Hope," the boy replied. "She got all clingy, man. Bad news."

As the teens dished out more dirt on Buffy, Angel drowned them out, every so often glancing over in her direction. Their eyes met for a second and she smiled slightly.

"Oh my god," Willow squealed on the other side of the cafeteria. "The new guy is checking you out."

"I know," Buffy murmured, running a hand through her hair and grinning. "This whole school thing is looking up."

Xander's chair scraped against the tile floor as he pushed it back, standing. "I'm taking my tray up," he declared. "Who's done?" Immediately, Buffy and Willow pushed theirs toward him.

Oz, who'd been silent thus far, stood and picked up his tray. "I'll go with you, man."

The two boys walked up to the tray depository, placing their lunch trays on the conveyor. As they turned around to return to the table, Oz stopped Xander with a hand on his arm. "Hey, so I got this promise ring for Willow� Think she'd like it?"

"I think she'd love it," Xander replied honestly. "What brings this up?"

"Well, you know, I'm in love with her� and the promise ring is just me saying that once the Dingoes get big, she's getting a diamond engagement ring."

"That's mighty wordy of you, Oz man." Xander paused. "As long as you invite me to the wedding."

Oz smiled and they walked back to the table, sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chairs once more.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and the cafeteria emptied quickly. Buffy and Willow headed for their lockers, dropping their bags off and closing them again. "So I might move in on the new guy, sometime when Cordy and her cronies aren't following him around."

"Good for you. Carpe diem, that's what I� never said up until this point, but carpe diem anyway."

"Fish of the day?"

"No, silly. Sieze the day." Willow giggled at her friend.

"Okay, so I'm not up on my French."

"Latin."

"Whatever. I've gotta get to the drawing studio."

"Meet you by my car after school?" Willow called as Buffy walked away.

"You know it," Buffy called back. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and walked purposefully down the hall, turning a corner and entering the fine arts wing of the school. Passing by the band room, she heard them attempting to play an instrumental version of 'Secret Agent Man' and failing miserably. She continued her trek down the hall, passing a class that was forming crude models out of red clay, another that was exploring painting through the eyes of Jackson Pollock, and a group of students that were attaching various pieces of junk to a large metal pedestal with blowtorches. Finally, she reached the drawing studio, and she traipsed inside, and glanced up at the board. She noted the words ORGANIC FORM underlined three times. Underneath, in smaller letters, the teacher had written, GO OUTSIDE AND DRAW A TREE, USING PENCIL AND THE GRAYSCALE FOR SHADING.

She walked to the back of the classroom, pulling out a drawing board, a roll of masking tape, and three pieces of drawing paper. She then plucked two pencils and a gum eraser out of their respective baskets and carried her loot outside, where she walked over to the nearest bench and sat down, taped the paper to the drawing board by two corners, and began to draw.

About fifteen minutes later, she had completed a very realistic drawing of the tree, so she handed in the assigned drawing to her teacher, who had been sitting on the other side of said tree with a large, empty box. The teacher placed the assignment into the box and smiled briefly up at Buffy, who smiled back before turning and walking away. She returned to the bench, gathered up her things, and walked back inside. She deposited the art supplies in the drawing studio and returned to her locker, retrieving a sketchbook and some pastels, as well as a small bottle of hairspray.

Buffy then went to the student lounge, where she began to create an image of an auburn-haired girl standing on the edge of a cliff. It appeared that the wind was pushing her backwards from the edge toward firmer ground. She drew furiously, completely in the zone as she completed her latest piece of work. She signed her name in the bottom right corner with a flourish, then pulled the cap off the hairspray bottle. She placed the sketchbook away from her on a nearby table and sprayed the page down with the sticky liquid, coating the pastel to prevent smudges.

She replaced the cap and checked the clock, noticing it was close to 2:00 PM, so she once again gathered up her supplies and carried them to her locker, putting them in and taking her bag out. She left the school building, slipping her sunglasses on and walking toward Willow's convertible.

Xander was already leaning against the car, and he greeted her as she approached. "Ah, the artiste approaches," he teased. "You've got a little blue pastel on your cheek."

She pulled a hand mirror out of her bag and checked it, then licked her fingers and wiped the pastel away. "Thanks, Xand. So how was the first day back?"

"Got mugged for my money by Larry after lunch. Good thing I only had fifty cents in my pocket. Also, it should be illegal for biology teachers to assign homework the first day back to school."

"Got hit, huh?" Buffy asked sympathetically. "That's sucky. So why were you and Oz talking all secret-like today at lunch?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he lied.

"Don't give me that innocent crap. I saw you, Alexander�"

"Promise you won't tell Willow?" Xander asked. At Buffy's stern nod, he continued. "Oz is gonna give Wills a promise ring."

"Aww� that's so sweet!" Buffy exclaimed.

"What's so sweet?" Willow asked as she approached, keys jingling.

Buffy's grin faltered slightly. "Oh, you know� chocolate."

The redhead climbed into her car. "Chocolate� right�" Willow said, her tone of voice clearly saying 'You're telling me later, missy, or no more rides for you.' "Okay, everyone in," she ordered. Buffy hopped in the back of the car, Xander stretched out in the front seat, and they drove away.

***

Spike stood by Angel's Jeep, his hand cupped over the tip of his cigarette. He flicked his lighter and it flared, then he brought the flame up to the cigarette, lighting it. He pocketed the silver Zippo lighter, then took a long drag of nicotine. As he exhaled, a look of calm replaced the tense expression that had been on his face for most of the day. He took another drag as Angel walked up, then shed his duster, tossed it into the backseat, and climbed into the Wrangler.

"All black, on a hot, sunny day, Spike? Sometimes I really don't understand you." Angel got into the Jeep, putting the keys in the ignition.

Spike looked over his twin's ensemble. He chuckled at the khaki pants and the Hawaiian-print shirt that Angel wore. "Someone has to 'ave a fashion sense, Angelus," Spike retorted sarcastically.

Angel glanced over at Spike. "And I don't think it's you, Cornelius," he said loudly as he turned the keys. The engine roared to life and an alternative-rock station filtered through the powerful speakers. Spike scowled as Angel put the Jeep in gear and drove out of the parking lot, the tires spitting up a cloud of dust.

"So why aren't you bein' a good little American and tryin' out for their poncy rugby with helmets team, dear brother?" Spike asked, flicking the ashes from his cigarette.

Angel changed lanes and took a left turn onto 15th Street. "Because I'm trying out for the soccer team instead."

"Football, you mean," Spike corrected. "Don't know why these Yanks call their sport 'football' if it has nothin' to do wit' the foot," he muttered as he took a drag.

"Right. Well, I'm trying out for the world's favorite sport, not 'poncy rugby with helmets'," Angel said, mimicking Spike's North London accent perfectly. He pulled the Jeep up next to the curb and got out, then made his way up the walkway. "Coming?" he called over his shoulder at Spike, who took one final drag from the cigarette before dropping it to the sidewalk and grinding it out under the sole of his Doc Marten. He grabbed his duster out of the Jeep and stalked up to the front door of their home, then brushed past Angel, walking through the kitchen to the cellar door. He flipped on the lights and stomped down the stairs, into the finished basement. Opening another door, he entered his bedroom and tossed his duster on the easy chair that sat next to the doorway.

He pulled his lighter out of his front pocket, lighting a few cream-colored pillar candles throughout the room. The candlelight cast a glow over the deep red walls of the room, illuminating the various posters that covered the walls.

He stepped into his closet, emerging a few moments later, shirtless and shoeless, wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants. He flopped down on his bed, reached for the remote for his stereo, and pointed it, pressing the power button.

Moments later, the sounds of English punk, muffled only slightly by the floor and carpet, filtered up to Angel's ears.

***

A knock on the door, promptly at 6:30 PM, had Rupert folding his newspaper and placing it neatly on the coffee table, then scurrying towards the foyer. He opened the door and smiled politely. "Ah," he said, beaming at his guests. "Joyce, won't you come in?"

"Thank you, Rupert," she replied, ushering in her daughters. "Rupert Giles, these are my daughters, Buffy and Dawn. Buffy, Dawn, this is Mr. Giles."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Giles," Buffy said sweetly, smiling at the man. She extended her hand and he shook it firmly.

"Likewise, Buffy. But call me Giles, everyone else my sons' age does." The older man smiled and released her hand and then turned to Dawn. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dawn," he said.

Dawn was silent, staring at her feet sullenly. She hadn't wanted to come tonight, and in fact had broken plans with her best friend, Janice, in order to meet the seemingly stuffy Englishman. Buffy elbowed her in the ribs discreetly. "Ow! I mean, hi." She shot a dirty look at her sister and vowed to get her back later.

"Yes, well, come in," Giles said, stepping aside and allowing the three Summers women into his house. "Angel," he called, "get your brother, would you?"

Buffy's knees went weak for a moment as Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous stepped into her line of sight. "Sure, Dad," he replied, walking into the kitchen. Buffy immediately decided that men's cream-colored khakis were the best article of clothing ever invented. Then she wondered how the two men, who looked completely dissimilar, could be father and son.

Giles ushered them into the living room. "Can I get you something, to drink? We've got soda, juice, milk, brandy, scotch�" he listed off. "Also, water."

"Water, please," Buffy requested.

"You got root beer?" Dawn asked. Giles nodded.

Joyce offered to help him get the drinks, and the two adults walked into the kitchen, leaving Buffy and Dawn standing awkwardly in the living room, surveying their surroundings. They turned at the sound of someone clearing their throat. Angel stood there, with a bored looking Spike standing slightly behind him to the left. Buffy noted that Spike had changed his shirt - he no longer wore the ripped black tee held together with safety pins, and instead had donned a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced," Angel said, stepping forward. "I'm Liam, but everyone calls me Angel."

"I'm Buffy," the blonde girl replied, offering her hand to another Giles man. Instead of shaking her hand, as she'd expected, he took it gently in his larger palm and brought it to his lips, dropping a soft kiss along her knuckles. "Nice to meet you," she said as a light blush stained her cheeks. Angel released her hand and Spike stepped forward. "I remember you. William, right? What does the C stand for?"

"None of your business," Spike said tersely. "And it's Spike."

"Spike," she said, testing the name. "Right. It's� interesting� knowing you."

He raised his scarred eyebrow at that. Dawn, meanwhile, was gaping openly at him. She'd never seen a boy that looked quite like him, and she decided that he was definitely crush-worthy. She stepped forward boldly, extending her hand straight out in front of her. "I'm Dawn."

Spike looked at her hand for a moment before taking it in his and shaking it. "'Ello Dawn ," he said.

Oh my God, Dawn thought. He touched me! And he said my name! Wait until I tell Janice�

The meal went relatively smoothly, with Angel and Buffy silently flirting throughout. By the end of the night, he'd worked up the courage to ask her if she was seeing anyone.

"So� Buffy, are you� I mean, do you have a boyfriend?" Angel asked shyly as they sat in the garden behind the house.

Buffy smiled. "No," she replied, equally as shy.

Angel grinned suddenly. "Phew," he said. "That makes it much easier for me to ask you if you want to go to the Bronze with me sometime."

"Sometime� like�?" she asked.

"Friday night? There's a great band playing, and - "

Buffy cut him off. "I'd love to," she replied. "What time?"

"Eight?" he suggested.

"Sounds great."

"Buffy? Are you out here? We're leaving, honey�" Joyce's voice came from the back door.

The blonde stood reluctantly. "I guess I have to go," she said, disappointed that her evening with Angel had been cut short. "Goodnight," she half-whispered as she began to walk toward the door from which Joyce had called.

"Um� Buffy," Angel called softly. She turned around, and he strode purposefully toward her. He lowered his head, brushing a kiss across her cheek. "Goodnight, Buffy," he said quietly.

"Goodnight, Angel," she said, walking out of the garden.

***

Spike watched from an upstairs window as his brother fumbled around the Summers chit. "Gee, it'd sure be swell if we could go hold hands at Lovers' Lane, Buffy," he mocked. "Pfft." He turned from the window, staring at the bookcases of his father's library.

Voices filtered up through a grate in the floor. "Thanks for having us, Giles," he heard the Barbie wannabe say cheerfully. "It was really nice of you." Mumbled goodbyes were said, and the front door opened and closed.

Spike strode from the room, loping down the stairs and making his way to the basement access door. He got into his room and immediately unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, then pulled it over his head, not bothering with the rest of the buttons. He scratched his stomach through the material of his black tank-top and flopped face-first onto his bed, pulling his leatherbound journal out from underneath his pillow. He removed the pen and was prepared to begin writing a new entry when his door flew open and Angel strode inside.

"I've got a date for Friday with Buffy," he declared.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Forgive me for not jumpin' for joy," he replied, "but I'm paralyzed with not carin' very much."

"She's so pretty," Angel gushed, "and she can draw almost as well as I can!"

"Not to mention she's just your type," Spike grumbled, annoyed that his brother still hadn't left. "Blonde, perky tits, vapid as hell - " He was cut off as Angel hauled him off the bed, slamming him against the wall.

"Don't talk about Buffy that way," he growled, nose-to-nose with his twin. "She's sweet, and beautiful, and smart enough to want me instead of you."

Spike shoved Angel away from him with more force than he'd intended, causing him to stumble backwards before regaining his footing a few feet away. "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, you overgrown poofter?"

"I mean, dear brother," Angel said condescendingly, "that every girl who has ever gotten involved with you has regretted it."

The blonde's eyes darkened as he scowled at Angel, trying to think of a response. "Oh� oh, right. Right. Name three."

"Rachel," Angel said, ticking off on his fingers. "Melissa. Also, Therese� and does the name Drusilla ring a bell? At least Cecily was smart enough not to get involved, no matter how much you tried to charm her. That's four. Do I need to go on?"

"I think you've made your point. Now get the hell out."

Angel attempted to have a stare-down with Spike, but after a few moments he realized that it was futile, backing down and leaving the room.

When the door clicked shut, Spike reached for the first hard object he could get his hands on, and hurled it at the wall with all his strength. The tinkling of glass brought him back to his senses. His bright blue eyes widened and filled with tears as he realized he'd just destroyed the small, abstract glass sculpture that his mother had bought him on their last outing together, mere weeks before her death.

A tortured scream echoed through the house.

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