Part Three

"I need a car," Spike declared as he walked into the kitchen. He'd recovered from his slight emotional breakdown from a few hours before, and now seemed calm and collected. He opened the refrigerator and grasped a bottle of orange juice, uncapping it and guzzling it down.

Giles looked up from his newspaper. "You have a car."

Spike wiped the remnants of his juice from his upper lip with the back of his hand. "No, Pops, Angel has a car. I don't. There's a 1958 DeSoto Sportsman in the paper, an' it's only three thousand."

"And does this DeSoto work?"

"Of course it does. What d'you take me for?" the blonde scoffed.

The older man sighed. "I'll have to dip into your college fund," he said, resignedly. "And you'll have to get a job, to pay for petrol and repairs."

"Thanks, Pops." Spike grabbed an apple, biting into it as he turned to go back downstairs. "Oh, and can I get a lift to school tomorrow morning?"

"Doesn't Angel take you?"

"Not anymore," the teen grumbled, seething at the thought of having to ride in the same car as his twin.

"I'll be leaving at 7:15, so if you're not in the car by then, you'll be walking."

"Right then. Thanks, Pops."

"You're�" Rupert glanced up, noticing the basement door shutting. "� welcome."

***

"� and the cause of this change was� anyone? Anyone?" The teacher paused for a millisecond before continuing in their extremely monotonous voice. "The Great Depression." Several of the students had fallen asleep during the droning lecture, and small puddles of drool formed beneath their open mouths. Once in awhile, they'd awaken, wipe the spittle from their mouths, then allow sleep to take them again.

A hand shot up in the back of the room. The teacher, who had taken on a distinct resemblance to Ben Stein, acknowledged the owner of said hand. "Yes?"

"Isn't there any way you could make this a bit more interesting?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Y'see, mate, the entire class is either A) in a coma, or B) wishin' they were. There's got to be a way to make this a class that they want to stay awake in." Spike stood, strolled up the aisle, and bent over, poking a football player in the arm as the teacher looked on. "This one's a goner," he declared, bending over. "Oi! Sleepyhead! Wake the bloody hell up!" he shouted directly into the peacefully snoozing student's ear.

The jock woke up with a snort, as did the other students who had been catching a nap in between first period and lunch. "What� what's going on?" the athlete asked blearily.

A few giggles began to bubble up here and there from students that had remained awake.

Spike continued up the aisle, plucking a textbook off an unsuspecting classmate's desk. "You," he said loudly, pointing at a meek-looking brown-haired boy sitting in the front row. "What's your name?"

"Jonathan," the boy squeaked. He cleared his throat. "Jonathan Levinson."

"Jonathan, what were three consequences of the Great Depression?" He leaned back on the teacher's desk, crossing his arms over his chest while he waited for an answer. "Quickly, we don't have all day 'ere�"

Jonathan straightened in his seat, raised his chin just a bit, and ticked off on his fingers: "Millions of Americans were uprooted, unemployment rates skyrocketed, and breadlines formed all over the country." He grinned, realized that he'd just been outspoken in class for the first time since third grade.

"Very good, Jonathan. Now�" he glanced behind him on the desk, scanned the seating chart, and turned back to the class as the teacher looked on in controlled outrage. "Cynthia Martin." A blue haired girl shot up in her seat, and he asked her a similar question.

Soon the students were all attentive, and some were raising their hands to be called on next. Spike stepped away from the desk, handing the book to the teacher. "And that, mate, is how you teach a history class." He swaggered down the aisle once more, plopping down in his seat. "Any questions?" he called from his desk in the back row.

"Thank you, Mr. Giles," the teacher said dryly. "I'd like to have a word with you after class." Several students booed and hissed. "Now, for next class, I'd like you to read Chapter 15, and you'll be having a quiz." This caused a collective groan to erupt from the class.

The bell rang, and the class emptied. Spike remained in his seat, a cocky grin firmly planted on his face. "You wanted a word, mate?"

"Yes. As� interesting� as your teaching methods are, Mr. Giles, I can't have you mocking my authority as the teacher of this class. I'm afraid I'll have to send you to Principal Snyder's office."

Spike shrugged. "Nothin' I haven't done before." He stood, gathered his books, and made his way to the front of the class.

"Mr. Giles, one more thing," the teacher said, stopping him at the door. "If you're free, I'd like you to be sort of a teacher's assistant for this class. Nothing like you'd see in college, of course, but I'd allow you to lecture once or twice a week�"

"I'll think on it," Spike replied, grabbing the doorframe with one hand and swinging himself out into the hallway.

He deposited his books in his locker before continuing on his way to the principal's office. The secretary immediately ushered him in when he arrived. It seemed that his history teacher had paged Snyder.

"Mr. Giles," the small man began.

"Spike," the teen corrected.

The principal ignored him. "Mr. Giles," he stressed, "I'm not aware of how they do it in the 'mother country' as you call it, but here in Sunnydale, the teachers teach and the students don't, no matter how bored they may feel. Congratulations, you've made it onto my list of people I sincerely hope screw up one more time so I can have the pleasure of expelling them."

Spike smirked. "Thank you," he said sarcastically. "Did Mr. Burke also mention that 'e wanted me to be his teachin' assistant?"

"He didn't, no," Snyder said, obviously flummoxed. "I'm sure he'll realize what a mistake he's making," he smugly replied.

"And did 'e mention that for the first time in years, his students were actually payin' attention t' what was goin' on?" Spike leaned back slightly, stretching his legs.

The door opened and a very flustered and apologetic-looking Rupert Giles entered the room. "Principal Snyder, I'm terribly sorry about any trouble that my son has caused. I'm sure he'll be very willing to pay the price for his misdeeds, won't you, son?"

Spike chuckled. "Relax, Pops. I was just explainin' to the principal 'ere that students who pay attention usually learn things, whereas students who sleep through borin' as 'ell lectures� don't."

"And which category do you fall into this time, Spike?" his father asked.

Snyder pressed the tips of his fingers together. "I'm afraid it's neither, Mr. Giles. Your son had the unmitigated gall to take over Mr. Burke's history class."

"An' 'e's made me his teachin' assistant," Spike said, puffing his chest out proudly.

"Nevertheless, he does need to be punished. I think two days' in-house suspension ought to do the trick, don't you, Mr. Giles?" the principal asked, glaring at the rude, unruly student seated in front of him.

"Whatever winks yer willy, mate," Spike said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to miss my lunch period." He stood and strolled out of the room.

"Your son is an interesting character," Snyder commented. "Pity he's nothing like his brother."

"Yes, well�" Rupert said nervously, edging toward the doorway. When Snyder turned his attention to something else, he made a dash for it, escaping the office.

***

"Angel asked me out," Buffy said quietly to Willow, in the cafeteria. She took a sip of her chocolate milk. "We're going to the Bronze on Friday."

"Whoosh and you?" Willow asked through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. She swallowed and tried again. "Who's Angel?"

Angel sat down next to Buffy at that precise moment. "Hey," he said, kissing her on the cheek in greeting.

"Willow, this is Angel," she said as Willow stared in shock.

"Nice to meet you, Willow," Angel said.

Willow chose that moment to spit her milk all over her tray. She blushed beet-red and swabbed at the milk with her napkin, and Angel offered her his own. "Nah�" she said, completely embarrassed, "I'm okay. I think I was done anyway." She turned and hid her flaming face in Oz's shoulder shyly.

Angel smiled good-naturedly.

"Hey, man, I'm Xander." The two brunettes shook hands.

Oz gave a little wave. "I'm Oz." He stroked Willow's hair absently.

Meanwhile, across the cafeteria, Cordelia was fuming. "I can't believe him," she cried. "After all the effort I put into making him popular, he goes and hangs out with Buffy," she spat, "and her freakazoid friends."

"I can't believe he did that to you," Harmony offered.

Cordelia glared at Harmony. "I was speaking here� God, why can't I get a sentence in edgewise around you guys?!" The rest of the popular students stared at her, silently, as she continued her tirade. "What a freaking jerk. You know, if he weren't so cute, I wouldn't even be pissed off right now. But no� little miss art gallery had to sink her little claws into him. If she weren't the captain of the cheering squad, I'd probably tell her what I thought of her�" she trailed off as her attention was drawn to a latecomer. "Salty goodness, three o'clock�" she said, her knees going weak as the figure in black scanned the crowd. "I'll be right back."

A brunette girl in a revealing tank top and leather pants sidled up to Spike as he entered the cafeteria. "Hey there, Spike right?" He nodded. "I'm Faith. Heard about what you did in Mr. Burke's class this morning."

"News travels fast," he muttered.

"So, you going to the Bronze this Friday? Band from the East Coast is playing. Jeremiah Freed, you heard of them?"

"Yeah," he replied. "They're from Maine, aren't they? Took a likin' to their song 'Wash Away'."

Cordelia, having witnessed this scene unfold from her standing position next to her table, screeched in frustration and sat back down. "Dammit�"

"Anyway, it'd be cool if you showed. I think I know someone I could fix you up with," Faith continued.

Spike pursed his lips. "Not you, luv?" he asked suggestively.

"Sorry," Faith replied. "I'm with Anthony Wright." She crooked her neck toward a boy wearing all black, ornamented by several facial piercings and a few touches of black leather. Anthony's hair was mostly black, with a shock of bright red adorning the front left. Spike nodded at the boy, who nodded back. "You sittin' anywhere right now?" Spike looked at her pointedly and she laughed. "I mean when you get your food." He shook his head and Faith immediately invited him to sit with herself and Anthony. He got his food quickly and sat down with the couple, trading stories and immediately finding himself in comfortable company.

***

By the time Friday night had rolled around, the tension between Spike and Angel had almost reached breaking point. They left for the club in separate cars, Angel leaving with Buffy and her friends; Spike with Faith, Anthony, and their friend Nef, short for Jennifer. As Spike entered the Bronze, he allowed the final strains of 'Fly There' to wash over him. The band quickly launched into 'Can't Live', and after shedding his duster, Spike grasped Nef's hand and led her onto the dance floor. He pulled her hips to his, then began to lead her in a rather seductive set of movements that had them grinding up against each other.

"Disgusting," Angel commented from his seat next to Buffy at one of the tables. He watched his twin disdainfully as he dry-humped a Goth girl on the dance floor.

Buffy followed his gaze, then shrugged. "That's nothing. One time, there was this couple that was totally schtubbing out there. I mean, everyone could tell."

Angel scowled as he continued to glare at his brother.

Buffy regarded him carefully. "Okay, what gives? Why the twin loathage all of a sudden?"

"We had a fight. He has a few opinions that I felt were unnecessary, and we haven't spoken since Monday night." Angel ran a tired hand through his hair.

"What kind of opinions?" Buffy paused, frowning. "Tell me if I'm being too intrude-y here."

"About you," Angel muttered. "He doesn't like you."

"Oh," Buffy replied. She stood suddenly, turning to her friends. "I'm gonna go get a drink. Anyone want?"

"Coke, please," Willow requested. The others indicated they were fine.

The song ended and Spike pulled away from his now-breathless date. "Thirsty, pet?" he asked. Nef declined a drink, heading instead for the bathroom. Spike shrugged, walking toward the bar.

"Orange soda," he ordered, sitting down at a barstool.

"Well if it isn't my date's brother," a soft, feminine voice declared on his left. "Hello again, Spike."

Spike ignored her, rolling his eyes.

"When someone says hello, it's customary to respond," Buffy persisted. "Usually with a 'how are you doing' or an explanation about why you don't like me."

The bleach-blond teen scowled, drinking some of his soda.

"Or maybe you could tell me why you had an argument with Angel about me."

He sighed, turning to face her. "Possibly because I think you're a Princess Barbie doll wannabe with aspirations of making Angelus your Prince Charmin'," he offered snarkily.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Buffy said. "But in a way it's convenient, because this finally gives me an opening to say what I've thought about you since day one."

"And what's that?"

"You're an egomaniac, for starters, completely full of yourself. I'm pretty sure a lot of people will get sick of the badass, holier-than-thou attitude that you've got. But underneath it all, I see a scared, little boy who misses his dead mother so much it kills him," Buffy said, a slightly smug look on her face.

"Never," Spike hissed, standing up and squaring his shoulders defensively, "talk about my mother again, you little bitch."

A flash of fear was visible on Buffy's face as she observed the angry teenager, but she stood her ground as he glared at her.

"I don't care if you're playin' house with my twin," he growled distastefully, "from this day on you are less than nothin' to me. Got that, Summers?" Spike stormed off, leaving Buffy standing there in shock.

Faith noticed as Spike stalked past her and grabbed his duster, leaving the club. She stood to follow her, but felt Anthony's restraining hand on her arm. "Let him go," he advised wisely. "He needs to be alone."

With shaking hands, Spike pulled his cigarettes from the pocket of his coat, placing one between his lips. In his over-emotional state, it took him several tries to get his lighter working, but when a flame appeared, he lit the cigarette quickly. He inhaled deeply, taking the smoke into his lungs, and exhaled it on a sigh a moment later. His agitated, destructive state of mind eased somewhat, but not enough to prevent him from kicking the side of a rather expensive-looking sedan. He stepped back and surveyed his work, satisfied when he noticed a large dent in the passenger door.

"Bint," he muttered between drags as he walked on. "Prob'ly cryin' to Angelus right now. 'Spike's such a big meanie!'" he mocked. "'Angel, you're big and strong, beat him up for me?'"

Back at the Bronze, Buffy carried Willow's Coke over to the table. "Um� I don't feel so well. I think I'll go."

Willow and Xander immediately looked concerned, and Angel laid a gentle hand atop hers. "I'll walk you home," he offered. Buffy nodded.

They retrieved their coats, and Angel shrugged into his quickly, then helped Buffy into her own. He reached for her hand and held it within his as they walked into the night.

Spike's words echoed in Buffy's head as she strolled with Angel down the sidewalk. � less than nothin'� They haunted her all the way to her front door at 1630 Revello Drive. Angel's gentle kiss soothed her nerves somewhat, and she walked inside, still slightly dazed at the undiluted hatred that had laced Spike's voice.

� less than nothin'�

� nothin'�

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