Indigo Overture – Chapter Five
Rating:
Eventually NC17 – for this chapter – PG-13
Buffy frowned at
the mildew on the shower curtain as she tiptoed into the tub with her bucket
and brush. The bathroom was definitely
the worst. She didn’t mind most
cleaning; it was big on action, small on thinking, just the kind of work she
preferred. Besides, she got the distinct impression that
Angel had never scrubbed a sink in his life.
She had offered to do the cleaning right away, leaving Angel with cooking
duties, which was of the good, because her culinary skills redefined
scary. Sadly, none of that made the
bathroom less gross. Buffy sighed as she
squatted down in her ratty sweats, narrowing her eyes at the enemy.
“We can do this
the hard way, or we can do this the easy way,” she warned the mold, tugging on
her rubber gloves with a snap before spraying down the curtain and walls with a generous dose of mildew killer.
Halfway through
the curtain scrubbing, she heard the apartment door open and slam closed.
“Buffy? Buff? Where are you?” Angel called.
“I’m in the tub,”
she called, continuing to scrub as he loped towards the bathroom.
She pulled the
curtain back as his head poked around the doorway.
“Hey,” he said,
smile twitching at his lips, “Somehow when you said “in the tub”, this isn’t exactly what I pictured.”
“Did you picture
me up to my neck in jasmine scented bubbles?” she asked, sponging off the
scrubbed area of the curtain.
“Something like that,” Angel said with a flirtatious smile.
“Well, I did too,”
Buffy said, “But if I had tried a bath, the mildew would have tossed me out of
the tub on my ear.”
Angel chuckled, then jerked, clapping his hands together with a smack,
“Forget the bathtub. I’ve got big
news. You’re never going to believe
this,” he said.
“What’s the what?”
she asked, tugging off her gloves and climbing out of the tub.
Angel’s eyes were
absolutely dancing and his grin was wider then she’d ever seen it. “Go ahead, guess. What’s the greatest thing you could imagine?”
“Macy’s is giving
away a free pair of shoes for every pair of socks you buy?”
“No,” he laughed,
now rubbing his hands in anticipation.
“There actually is an all ice cream diet and it works?”
Buffy tried again and Angel quirked his head.
“Wha? No!” he said, taking her hands and pulling her forward against his
Italian leather jacket.
“We got the gig at
The Cherry,” he said, and she squealed in response, jumping into his arms and
wrapping her legs around his waist.
“Oh my God!” she
said as Angel stumbled back, trying to adjust to her weight.
“I
know, I couldn’t believe it. Lucy ran into me at the bank
this morning of all places. And after a
little cajoling…” Angel grinned, popping his head right and left “…well, we got
it.”
Buffy kissed him
with a “mmmmm” sound then
pulled back arching her brow to tease him, “First of all, I know your version
of cajoling, Angel.”
“What?” he said,
hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her sweatpants as she slid back down to
her feet.
“Don’t ‘what’ me,
pal,” she chided, “Second of all, why was Lucy at the bank? I thought bartenders worked under the
table. Or on the table,” she added with
a sneer.
“Lucy isn’t just a
bartender, Buff. She also handles the
line-ups for The Cherry, Stormstruck, and a couple of
other places on the south end. And
you’re just being mean because she’s pretty,” he teased.
“Jealous
girlfriend speeches will have to wait,” Buffy said with a shake of her
ponytail, “This is huge!”
“Damn right it is, we’re talking record scouts and tickets with our name on
it. We’ve got so much to work on, a lot
of fine tuning. And I’m going to have to
go to the bank, because we’ve got to get more CD’s”
“Business stuff
can wait. For now, give me the
skinny! When do you play? What did everybody else say? Did Xander pass out
or weep uncontrollably, and if so, did you happen to get this on tape?”
“We play in six
weeks. The rest remains to be seen,”
Angel said.
“You haven’t told
them?!”
“I came straight
here to tell you,” he purred, pulling on the waistband of her pants until she
snuggled into his chest again.
“Mmm….you might have to get a little something for that wise
and thoughtful decision,” she hinted, nuzzling at his neck.
“Something Buffy
flavored?” he prodded and her fingers tickled around to the small of his back.
“All things in
good time,” she said, pulling back to plant a chaste kiss on his chin, “First,
we have to spread this news! Gossip like
this must be released or it will fester.
Fester and rot!” she said, waggling her index finger for emphasis.
He started
fiddling with the drawstring of her sweatpants while Buffy slapped at his
hands, “Hey! Festering,
rotting…any of this sounding familiar?
We have people to call…news to spread!”
“Fine, you win,”
he said, leaning against the wall with a mock-sigh.
“No,” Buffy said
seductively, pressing herself against him for one last kiss, this one lingering
a lot longer than the first one, “You
win,” she breathed, then wrinkled her nose at the lingering smell of cleaner, “Just
not til later tonight.”
Then she smacked
his stomach playfully and wandered towards the kitchen, calling over her
shoulder, “I say we call them and invite them over to celebrate on Sunday.”
“Sunday won’t
work, babe,” Angel said following after her, “It’s Easter.”
“Well, yeah,”
Buffy said, a shadow briefly passing over her expression, “But I don’t really
have family to go home to; and Willow is Jewish, so no Easter worries there,
and no offense intended, but Spike and Oz don’t strike me as church types.”
She opened the
fridge and pulled out a Tab, which always made Angel’s stomach churn. She leaned back against the counter and
continued, “I thought maybe we could get together and be all celebrate-y after
your family stuff.”
“Won’t work,”
Angel said, “My family has dinner on Saturday night, church on Sunday morning,
and then a big lunch banquet after the services that usually lasts until early
evening”
Buffy gaped a little, setting her Tab on the counter with a tap, “Sheesh,” she said, then after a pause hinted, “So, do I
need to plan for an overnight trip?”
“Trip?” he asked
with a blank look, “For what?”
“Well,” she said,
hoping that she was somehow going to finagle a good answer out of the ickiness thus far received, “For Easter dinner, or
actually, Easter dinners it seems.”
“Oh,” he said with
a wave of his hand, “Don’t worry, you don’t have to go to Easter dinner. Or dinners.”
Buffy smiled,
missing the point entirely as she moved forward, encircling his waist with her
arms, “I know I don’t have to, but I’d like to.
I’m looking forward to finally meeting your family.”
“Uh, Buff….about
that. Don’t you think it’s a little
soon?” he asked, his voice squeaky.
After a pause, her
grip loosened, arms falling away as she looked at him a little sadly, “Oh.”
“What,
‘oh’? That was hardly ‘oh-worthy’.” Angel said.
“That was
definitely ‘oh-worthy’. You not wanting
me to meet your family is not the first issue of its kind, you know,” she said,
moving back to her Tab, her lips a thin line of disappointment.
“What are you
talking about? And when did we start
having issues?” Angel asked, putting the last word in little finger quotes as he moved
in front of her.
“Since you’ve
decided you’re ashamed of me,” Buffy said with a prim sniff.
“Ashamed?! I’m
not¾” Angel broke off to lower his voice and feather his hands over her
hair, “I’m not ashamed of you, Buffy.
Why would you think that?”
“Because,” she
said, her anger dissolving into a pout, “When we met, you used to talk about
all the fun holiday traditions of yours that I just had to try. You talked about
the bigs.”
“The
bigs?”
“Yeah, the big
house, the big cars, the big horses or whatever. But now, six months later, you haven’t even
introduced me to any of your friends or family except the band. And they don’t exactly go way back.”
“I’ve known Spike
over five years,” he defended and Buffy rolled her eyes irritably.
“Oh, come on. Spike doesn’t count.”
“I’m sure he’ll be
happy to hear it,” Angel smirked, then tilted his head mildly,
“Actually he won’t care. He can’t stand
you either.”
“Yeah, well he’s a
piece of…” she started, then narrowed her eyes at Angel, “Nice try, buddy, but
don’t try to deflay my anger on the Bleached Wonder.”
“Deflay?” he asked with an teasing
tone.
“Defray?” she
said, her brows furrowing, “Defuse?
Deflect?” Buffy nodded. “Okay, it’s deflect. And, by the way, still not
going to work, Angel!”
“I’m not trying
anything!” he said half-heartedly.
“Yes you are,” she
whined pouting into his shoulder when he sighed and pulled her into a hug,
“You’re trying to hide your dumb blonde girlfriend from your family.”
“I’m not doing
that,” he defended, “I swear. It’s just…bringing
someone home is a big deal around my house.”
“I thought I was a
big deal,” she said softly, trying not to let him know just how much this was
hurting her.
“You are a big
deal,” Angel said, kissing her hair and pulling back to look into her eyes,
“And someday if we get really serious, you’ll meet them.”
Her face darkened
as the words washed over her. Angel
shook his head, backpedaling furiously, “No, no,
wait. Not what I meant. We are serious.”
“Sure feeling it,
too,” she snapped with wounded eyes.
“We are serious,
Buff. Very serious. I just think meeting family should be
next-step serious.”
“Next step
serious?” she asked, a flicker of hope dancing amidst her sour expression.
“Well,” he said
awkwardly, dodging her eyes, “I don’t know.
Next step.
When we’re really really serious.”
“Oh, good, that
extra ‘really’ makes it crystal clear,” Buffy replied sarcastically.
Angel exhaled and
fiddled with his pockets, “You know what I mean, Buff. I mean serious with declarations and jewelry
and all that.”
“Are rings
jewelry?” she asked obstusely.
“Uh, yeah,” Angel
said, tugging at the cuffs of his coat and paling at the prospect, “Rings are
jewelry.”
He swallowed hard,
but Buffy didn’t notice. At the word “ring” her eyes had glazed over, visions of wedding
dresses dancing in her head. Sure
it was early, but for any girl, hearing the possibility of that word was a
dizzying prospect.
“I’m not saying
anything,” he said, “I mean I’m saying something, but nothing concrete. Nothing set in stone, you know. It’s just one possibility in a world of
them.”
“Nevermind,” she said, big smile that screamed ‘supportive
girlfriend, here!’, “I didn’t mean to be pressure girl. I just wanted to be there with you.”
He smiled and
interlaced his fingers with hers, “I appreciate that, I really do.”
“So maybe
someday,” Buffy said, coyly lowering her lashes.
“Maybe someday,”
Angel agreed, abruptly changing modes, “So, about the guys.”
“Yes, phone
calls! I’m the queen of phone calls.”
“Good, call Spike
first,” Angel teased and Buffy scrunched her nose up.
“Forget it; you
call.”
She should have
just stayed in bed. Actually, things got
bad before she even got out of bed.
Buffy cracked her eyes open at
Buffy,
The Café latte is for Sleeping Beauty. See you later at practice – and bring a
calculator. I don’t know where you put
it away and we’ll need it to estimate prices of anything we need to replace
before the big show.
See you soon.
Angel
“Practice,” she
croaked, tugging on the edge of the latte drenched fitted sheet. Then she looked at the clock again. Yes, practice. The one that started
fifteen minutes ago.
Buffy ripped the
sheets off and tossed them into the washer.
Then she jogged back to her bathroom, pulling off her socks and Angel’s
shirt as she waited for the water to warm up.
Five minutes into her shower, Buffy yelped and hopped out of the spray
as the water turned to ice. Gasping for
breath, Buffy scowled as she remembered the sheets in the washing machine. Apparently it was rinse time.
After a frigid
rinse of her own, Buffy was back out of the shower, wiggling into a pair of
denim shorts and a threadbare pink top, which was the only thing that appeared
to be clean, besides the sheets, of course.
Blowdryer in hand, she scanned the room for
her purse, tripping over the cord as she searched and located it in the window
sill. Reaching inside, she felt
something moist and retracted her hand, screaming for the second time as she
saw her fingertips covered in blood.
Okay, not
blood. Apparently, her brand new
lipstick had melted in the morning sunlight, leaving a waxy red mess all over
the bottom of her purse.
“Did I miss the
memo on Hell Day?” she griped, dropping the blow dryer and rushing to back to
the bathroom with still-damp hair.
After scrubbing
her hands, Buffy checked out the mirror.
Her hair, much like this day, was beyond saving. She pressed her hand to her face and sighed,
taking a few moments to indulge in a little well-deserved self pity before she
snatched an elastic hair tie and dashed out the door. If she didn’t miss the bus, she’d be less
than an hour late. Looking like hell,
yes, but she’d show up before the second set, hopefully.
She made it to the
bus stop as its doors hissed open, then rode the
fourteen blocks to the warehouse wondering if there had ever been a stinkier vehicle.
And furthermore, was it even possible to open those big bus windows with
the weird latches? Would it even
help? Judging by the greenish tinge of
smog hanging in the sky, she doubted it.
Buffy stepped off
the bus to discover the greenish tinge did not mean smog, it meant rain. And
her umbrella was in Angel’s car, of course.
The sky opened, pouring a torrential sheet of rain onto her sloppy
ponytail and thin pink t-shirt.
“It’s not supposed
to rain in LA!” she screamed at no one in particular. And it hadn’t. Not since that first day she’d arrived, that
she could remember. Apparently, God was
catching up now. It felt like the
Buffy continued
sloshing her way through the downpour, losing and recovering her left shoe
twice on the last half a block. When she
finally rattled up that damned metal staircase, she was ready to tear off
someone’s head, maybe chew on it for awhile too, just for good measure.
She flung open the
door, and was assaulted by….silence? The
door clicked quietly closed behind her and she shivered while she looked
around. The stage was dark and
empty.
She slopped a few
feet forward, taking off her squicky shoes at the
door. There was a little noise and light
coming from the far right corner of the building, where they had a table set up
for keys, cell phones, and other assorted junk. Including a black and white TV, which was the source of the light and noise. Discovering the TV, Buffy also discovered the
band. Or a third of
it, anyways. Spike and Xander occupied two of the three metal folding chairs in
front of the table. They were in the
exact same position, elbows on knees, chin in
hands. She padded forward in the
semi-darkness.
“Can I at least
get a ‘hey’?” she said irritably, knowing they had heard her enter.
“Hey, Buff,” Xander said, not turning around. Spike barely gave an “Mmmm,”
in greeting as he bobbed his knees up and down.
She wondered how he didn’t bite his tongue with all that jittering and
then kind of wished he would.
“It’s pouring
outside,” she added, tucking the sopping hair that had escaped her ponytail
behind her ears.
“Oh,
really?” Xander asked, and he couldn’t have sounded less interested.
“No, I’ve just
been swimming with my clothes on,” she said, and after a few seconds, both
heads slowly turned as if they were connected by a wire. Xander’s eyes
flicked down, then shot up to her eyes followed by a
guilty flush. Spike didn’t have such grace;
he openly stared, his mouth dropping open a little as he watched her. She could see his tongue at the inner edge of
his bottom lip as he lasciviously stared her down. To her horror, she felt her traitorous
nipples harden further under his gaze.
“Do you mind?!”
she said crossing her arms over her chest with a scowl.
“Not at all,”
Spike smirked, and she smacked the back of his head as he turned back to the
TV.
“Ow,” he complained, turning back, “What’s that for? You didn’t hit Xander!”
“He looked away,
unlike you, Peroxide Pig,” she snapped.
Spike glared at Xander, but he lifted his hands in his defense, “I was all
about the chaste!”
“Bollocks!” Spike
argued, shaking his head at the brunette before
shouting as something happened on the television. Xander burped and
Spike yawned, and somehow it was all so mundane that it completely deflated
Buffy’s itchiness for a fight.
“Where is
everyone?” she asked with a sigh, slumping into the empty metal chair between
them. She plucked her shirt away from
her chest, frowning as it suctioned right back to her breasts.
“Angel’s grabbing
burgers,” Xander said, “Oz and
“What about
practice?” she asked, “And why is it so dark?”
“We blew a fuse,” Xander said, accepting a beer that Spike was handing over Buffy’s middle, “And
since it’s an old building, I won’t be able to get the replacement fuse until
Monday.”
“Then why does the
TV work?” she asked with a curled lip.
“Each fuse controls
a difference section of the electrical grid--,” Xander
started and Buffy put up a hand.
“Forget I asked.”
“Forgotten,” he
agreed, taking a long swallow.
“So, we’re sitting
around on metal chairs watching…” Buffy paused to squint at people running around
a patch of darker gray she assumed was a field, “…baseball?” Buffy wrinkled her
nose, “Except no bats. Or gloves.”
Spike turned to
her with a look of revulsion, “Tell me you’re joking.”
“Okay, it’s not
baseball,” she said with a shrug, “It’s some other sport type thing.”
“Hello?
Buffy curled her
lip at him, cringing at his enthusiasm, “Isn’t the Effay
Cup a hockey thing?” Buffy’s asked, then recoiled
towards Xander, whispering, “This isn’t hockey, is
it?”
“That would be no
and no,” Xander supplied, “That cup is
“Football, you wanker,” Spike hissed, pulling out a beer for himself, then flicking his eyes at Buffy, “As in Football Association
Cup.”
Ooky as it
was, Buffy felt her nipples tingle again, so she crossed her arms over them
once more, “Wait a minute, football has goalpost¾” she started, but Xander
interrupted.
“¾ot-nay ame-say in itain-Bray.”
Buffy blinked
while she processed. “Oh,” then she
turned to Spike, who was popping the cap off of his beer bottle, “What’s the
diff? You know what? On second thought, forget that. Just give me a beer. My day’s been of the vile, hell-bound
variety.”
Xander and
Spike both turned to eye her dubiously.
Buffy lifted her chin confidently, “What?”
“Beer?” Xander prodded
quietly.
“I drink
beer! I drink lots of beer.”
“Lots of rootbeer, maybe,” Xander said and
Spike snorted.
“I had beer at
frat parties back in Sunnydale. It’s no big,” she said, swiping the bottle
from Spike’s hand before he had the chance to take his first drink.
She was waiting
for him to object, but he just leaned towards her, drapping
his arm along the back of the chair, his eyes glittering at her mischieviously, “Well then, don’t be shy, little
bunny. Chug-a-lug,
now.”
Noting his
intensity, Buffy made a mental note not to play future games of
Chicken with Spike under any
conditions. She sniffed the bottle
opening. The smell gave her a bad
feeling that she wasn’t going to like what came next. She didn’t remember beer smelling like roadkill. But,
determined to prove herself, she then tipped the bottle to her lips, because it
was just beer, right? Then she sucked
down a long gulp and promptly spit it all over the TV.
“Someone peed in
that,” she complained with a sour face, wiping her mouth.
Xander
jumped up frantically, dabbing at his equipment with an old Live Bait t-shirt
left on the table, while Buffy sputtered as if she’d swallowed a live
roach.
“Easy
on the electronics, lady!”
Spike just
chuckled and patted her shoulder when he retracted his arm from her chair. It was a low, rumbly
sound that made her belly feel almost as funny as his little patting did.
“Can I have it
back now, luv?”
Buffy fisted the
bottle tightly, instinctively ready to defend her pride. Then, after another wary glance at the black
bottle in her hands, she nodded at him.
Her pride could up and move to
“Be my guest,” she
said, “But I’m telling you there’s something wrong with it.”
“It’s Guiness,” Xander supplied,
dropping the shirt on the floor and scooting the TV a bit further back on the
table, “It’s supposed to taste that way.”
“Actually, it
isn’t,” Spike mused, wrestling in one of his pockets before pulling out a pack
of cinnamon gum, and absently offering it to a grateful, yet surprised Buffy.
She slid out a
piece and tried not to think about what the mingled flavors of smoke and
cinnamon might taste like. And what else
did he have hidden in those pockets, anyways?
“It’s supposed to
be freshly drawn in a cozy pub back in
Buffy watched him
move the bottle to his mouth, his very pink tongue flicking up the side to
catch the bit that had spilled from her own sloppy drink. She was fixated by the slow journey his
tongue was making towards the opening of that bottle. Suddenly, she realized her lips had been
there, right there where his tongue was licking, and that was making her a
little squirmy on that metal chair.
“Gross much?” she
croaked hoarsely. He met her eyes with a
curious arch of his brow, and she shifted her suddenly unbearably warm
legs. When the chair squeaked with her
adjustment, his lips and tongue formed around the opening and he took his first
swallow.
She took a breath,
their eyes still locked while the tinny commentary from the TV rumbled into the
quiet expanse of the room. Then the door
burst open at the back and she snapped around, her smoky expression instantly
forced into a wide smile.
“Hi there,” she
said, straightening like a rod on her chair as Angel crossed the room with a
bag from the local burger joint.
He tossed the bag
at Xander, who caught it on her left with a hearty,
“Sweet!” Then Angel put his hands on
Buffy’s shoulders, kissing her upside down when she tipped her head back to see
him.
“I stopped by the
apartment hoping to catch you,” he said, and she all but melted under those
warm brown eyes, “Baby, you got all wet,” he said, and she swallowed hard at
the instant lump in her throat. She
crossed her legs self-consciously, as Angel held out the sodden rope of hair
that her pony tail had become. She
laughed a little too loud, then cleared her throat
with a wavering smile.
“Yeah, I got
caught in the rain.”
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