Indigo
Overture – Chapter Eight
Rating: Eventually NC17 – for this chapter – PG-13
“This totally
screws me, you know,” Buffy said, pouting dismally at her closet.
“Ew, stop and
rephrase. I’m laying here reading Cosmo,
which makes innocent statements like that sound like crazy sex-toy references,”
Xander sat up
eagerly, his weight causing the foot of the bed to squeak in protest, “And if she
happens to be right, I vote against stopping and rephrasing. I vote for
continuing.”
Buffy turned
to roll her eyes at him while
“Guys, seriously,”
Buffy whined, chewing her lip as she considered her clothes, “What should I
do.”
“Are you
really asking me what you should wear?” Xander asked in disbelief and Buffy
turned around.
“No,” she
said, “But the crisis is here, and you’re on my bed and…” Buffy trailed
off and scrunched her brows, “On second thought, let’s go back to that. Why are
you on my bed, Xan?”
“Well, I
brought in
“That was an
hour ago,” Buffy said, narrowing her eyes as Xander picked up a silky tank top
from a discard pile and rubbed it with his index finger while his mouth formed
a little ‘o’ of interest. When he failed
to explain his presence further, Buffy snatched it from him and used the front
of his shirt to haul him to his feet.
“Wait!” Xander
protested, as Buffy marched him towards the door, “This is discrimination! I can’t help that I’m a guy. This is the twenty-first century, Buff!”
“This is my
bedroom, Xander,” Buffy scorned light-heartedly.
“And why
should that matter?
“No boys
allowed,” Buffy said.
“Angel’s allowed,”
Xander objected.
“Angel’s a
man,” Buffy retorted stoically, and Xander straightened instantly.
“Oh, I’m a
man! I’m all man, baby!” he yelled,
waving a finger in the air, “In fact, I don’t even want to hang out with you in
the pretty room. Pfff…all those silky
clothes and perfume bottles. I don’t
know how you stand it. I’m gonna join
the rest of the men out front,” he
said, hooking his thumbs in his jeans, “Wrench on stuff, toss the pigskin,”
“Bye, Xander,”
she said, sparing him a quick grin before shutting the door in his face.
“Is it just
me, or is he even more weird than usual today?”
“I think he’s
nervous about seeing Anya again at the meet and greet,” Buffy mused, “Which I’m
still irritated about. I mean, why are
they doing a picnic?”
“I guess they
thought it would be more conducive to talking than a nightclub,”
“Yeah,” Buffy
agreed, flipping through hangers slowly.
“And then we’d
just have to find someone for Spike.”
Ignoring the
little buzz in her ear that sounded a little too much like jealousy, Buffy
laughed and pulled a pink strappy shirt from the closet, “Yeah, that’ll be real easy.”
“Why not?”
Buffy gave a
half smile while she fingered the pink shirt, “Yeah, kinda. He goes to my gym. Turns out he’s a kickboxer,” she pointed out
cheerfully, “which gave me a perfect reason to kick his ass.”
“I gotta say,
the fighting doesn’t surprise me,”
Buffy laughed
and shook her head, “It’s not real fighting, Will,” then she lifted her brows
speculatively, “Actually, it’s kinda fun.
Which, I know, strange to say the least.
But he’s pretty good. Not as good
as me, of course.”
Buffy
hesitated thoughtfully, then nodded, “Yeah, I guess he has.”
“So, since you
don’t think he’s that bad, surely we can find some discriminating female who
might actually think he’s Mr. Right.” At Buffy’s teasing eye roll,
“Well,
sure. He’s smart, and funny, has that
whole accent thing going, and he’s got the blue eyes, and a decent build, and
his face doesn’t exactly make you want to throw yourself in front of a bus, and
he smells good, and¾” Buffy suddenly looked up in alarm, noticing her ever
increasing list of Spike qualities, “but, he’s Spike,” she concluded with a derisive snort.
“Yeah, a girl
would be crazy to date someone smart and funny and good-looking,”
Buffy whipped
to the closet with a cough of a laugh, hoping her scarlet face would be hidden
from the redhead’s view, “Trust me, Will, I can not say “no thanks” fast
enough.”
“I’m just
teasing you,” she said, climbing from the bed to join Buffy at the closet, “But
it’s still nice to see you guys all friendly and stuff.”
Buffy abruptly
shook the pink shirt towards the redhead, “What about this?”
“What about
it?”
“Does it say
cute-but-intelligent-girl-with-an-eye-for-hipness-and-marketing?”
“It’s a tall
order,”
Buffy groaned,
“No khaki skirt.” Then she brightened
and pulled out something else that came to mind, “What about a khaki skort?”
“Skort?”
“I know,”
Buffy winced, “And I can’t believe I own one either. But, I don’t know what else to wear. And it is cute, in a dressy-for-a-picnic kind
of way.”
“True,”
“Dirtbikes?”
Buffy asked.
“You didn’t
know? That’s what loading up out
front. Where have you been?”
“I just got
out of the shower when you guys got here.
Who has dirtbikes?”
“Oz and
Spike. On the trailer out front,”
“But at a
picnic? Are they going to jump over the
hibachis and Jell-O molds?”
Buffy nodded
and turned as a knock sounded at the door.
Angel cracked it open and smiled pointedly at Buffy’s Yummy Sushi pajamas,
“I thought pajamas were a pre-shower thing,” he teased and added with a small
frown, “So, I’ll take it you aren’t ready.”
“Figuring out
the plan of attack now,” she said, holding up her outfit. He cocked his head appreciatively, then
tapped the face of his watch.
“Attacking now
would be prime,” he said, “We need to leave in twelve minutes.”
“Twelve minutes?”
“My turn to
say ‘don’t get me started’,” Buffy said with a wry smile.
“Well, at
least yours isn’t a male bonding thing,” Willow offered.
“No,” she
said, “It’s just a neurosis thing. You
should see him if the mail comes late.”
“We gonna get
you on one of these today, Sunshine?” Spike asked Angel, patting the wheel of
his dirtbike and sending a spray of dried mud flakes showering down.
“Nah,” Angel
said, dodging the dirt bath before sparing another edgy glance at his Rolex, “I
think I’ll just wander around or catch some rays.”
“You ever
consider bronzer?” Oz deadpanned, “I hear they’ve come a long way in the last
few years.”
“No,” Angel
said, thoughtfully, “Good idea.”
Spike traded a
knowing smirk with Oz and lit a cigarette, sitting up on the trailer and
squinting in the brightness of the day.
“Well, I’m not
one for baking,” Xander said, “So, I’ll ride one,” he announced proudly.
“You bloody
well won’t ride mine,” Spike said.
“Color me not
feeling the love today,” Xander said, mock-offended.
“I’ll color
you anything you want, but you’re still not riding my bike,” Spike retorted.
“What’s taking
them so long?” Angel asked, pacing back and forth.
“You can ride
mine,” Oz offered, ignoring Angel.
“Why, thank
you, Oz,” Xander said, with a pointed glare at Spike.
“We’re going
to be late,” Angel muttered, apparently to himself, still pacing like one of
those faceless plastic foosball players, running back and forth on the same
tired track.
“But I get
your car if you break it,” the bassist added, still ignoring Angel. He was always stressed about time. Well, unless it was practice, and he was the
one late.
“My car?”
Xander said, “My cherry red 1969 Camaro that I have nurtured back into health
from the clutches of rust and decay? No
way. It’s my pride and joy.”
“And if you
wreck my bike, it will be my pride and joy,” Oz said with a wink to Spike.
“So, are we
ready or what?” Buffy said, announcing her and
Spike turned,
his cigarette almost doing a swan dive into his lap. The girl was always a looker, but today she
was playing a whole new ball game. Her
hair was down and curly and oh-so-blonde against her bronzed shoulders. A scrap of pink fabric was pretending to be
her shirt, and her skirt, which was only marginally long enough to qualify as
clothing itself, was revealing lots of inches of tanned legs. Pink lips and softly lined eyes completed a
package that looked good enough to eat, in every sense of the word.
“Wow,” Oz
said, taking in
“You look
nice,” Angel said to Buffy, grazing her cheek with a peck. As Angel headed towards the van, Spike
noticed his eyes were more interested in his watch than his girl.
Everyone
trooped dutifully towards the vehicle, Buffy pulling up the rear. Spike’s entire body tensed as she passed, her
very presence making the air around her spark with some sort of arcane
heat. Okay, maybe that bit was just him,
but she definitely looked a hell of a lot better than nice.
“You coming or
what?” Buffy turned to ask him, her right leg poised on the step inside the
van.
Lift that leg a little higher, and I
just might.
Spike shook
his head and stubbed out his cigarette, trying to think about Margaret Thatcher
in a bikini. Playing lacrosse. With a Speedo-wearing Prince Charles. When that didn’t work, Spike blamed it on her
shirt, which was clearly some sort of feminine war device designed for the sole
purpose of rendering all male anti-horny tactics useless. Resigned to his wanton thoughts, Spike forced
a strangled, “Yeah, I’m on my way,” before plodding forward.
Oz was
driving, with
Buffy gave him
an impatient look. “Hey, Twitchasaurus, sit down before I kick your ass again,”
she grinned. As she teased him, Spike
noticed Angel gave her another cursory glance.
A glance, which, by the by, still
did not result in a comment on Buffy’s appearance. He had put his hand on her leg, but his eyes
were still on the window.
Unbelievable.
Spike cut off
that thought before his increasingly poncey inner self could fully form it,
instead flipping Buffy a two-fingered salute with a grin. She frowned uncertainly at the gesture as he
took his seat, “You’re being a pig, aren’t you?”
“Oh, it just
means I think you’re swell,” he said in his most placating tone.
Even though he
couldn’t see her, when Buffy snuffed behind him, Spike would have bet his hands
she was furrowing her little brows trying to figure out what it really did
mean. He took his place next to Xander,
sure he could feel the pinpoint of her annoyed gaze on the back of his head. Oz pulled away, and Buffy huffed quietly from
her seat behind him.
“Great. Now, I’m sure it’s something disgusting,” she
said, and he cracked a wide grin.
Buffy climbed
out of the van and stretched her arms over her head, enjoying the warmth of the
sun. Then she yawned, and grimaced at
the taste in her mouth. Her tongue made
a tentative sweep, and she made a
“bleeegh” sound when she discovered her teeth were wearing sweaters.
“Looks nice
enough,” Spike said speculating the surroundings and lighting a cigarette on
his way to the trailer with Oz.
“I knew
it. We’re late,” Angel said, anxiously
glancing at the handful of people that had already arrived while he gently
touched his hair. Buffy arched a brow,
bemused by his preening.
She turned to check
out the park and instantly agreed with Spike’s comment. There was a wide open grassy area dominating
the space just beyond the parking lot.
On the right, there was a long
open shelter house with picnic tables scattered in front of it. A little behind the tables there were several
built-in grills, two of which were already smoking.
Xander
strolled past Angel and slapped him on the shoulder, “Don’t blow a gasket, big
guy, we’re actually still early.”
“We are?”
Angel asked, turning as Xander opened the back door of the van. Spike and Oz were muttering about ground
conditions, and
Buffy stepped
forward to accept her mega-tub of potato salad, which Xander hefted with a
somewhat frightened look.
“I thought you
said it started at
“I lied,”
Xander said, handing Oz a cooler as he returned with Spike from the trailer,
“Easier for everyone if we can relieve you with the good news that we’re on
time.”
“Smart move,”
Angel agreed, his eyes still flickering between the people playing volleyball
and, if Buffy was right, her breasts.
The second of which was a plus.
His dismissive “nice” comment had made her wonder if he noticed she
still had them, so it was good to see him rediscovering such wonders. If he’d find his manners again, life would be
good.
“Oh!” he said
as his eyes lit up in recognition, and Buffy breathed a sigh of relief, ready
to hand him the pail of potato salad, “I
found the restrooms,” he said, nodding at the simple brick building on the
other side of the parking lot, “I’m going to make a quick stop, so I’ll meet
you guys up there.” The sigh turned into
a disbelieving sneer, as Angel strolled past them.
“Boys are so
unobservant,”
“Oi! Where’s the hot wings? Wasn’t someone supposed to bring hot wings?”
“That would’ve
been you,” Buffy said trying to keep her attitude with Angel out of her
tone. She turned to Spike, heaving the
tub of potato salad into his hands.
“Oh,” Spike
said as he eyed the size of the two gallon tub warily, “Well, I’m glad I
didn’t….the extra weight may have caused a blowout. It’s a wonder the ol’ engine hauled all
this.”
Xander nodded
his head, eyes locked on the tub in Spike’s hands, “My thoughts exactly.”
“Is it too
much? I couldn’t decide on the size, and the lady at the deli said it was a
good deal,” Buffy protested, and when Xander and Spike didn’t respond, she
turned to
“Well, it
might be a teeny bit too much,”
“Lots of
potato salad,” Oz said, contemplating the institutional-sized container.
“Ha ha,” Buffy
said, tugging out a box that contained napkins and Willow's giant, neatly labeled, Tupperware of
cookies that made Buffy wilt enviously. Aside
from a mean bag of microwave popcorn, she was severely kitchen challenged. Ergo the mondo bucket of potato goodness.
Buffy eyed her contribution with a frown, hoping that it actually was potato salad and briefly scolding
herself for not checking the ingredients.
Now loaded up, they started their trek to the
tables, but the boys wouldn’t let it die.
“Well, at
least it makes up for people the world over who foolishly overlook the
importance of mayonnaise-based salads,” Oz teased light-heartedly.
Buffy snuffed
irritably, trying not to grin, but
“We could
always use it as mortar in the event of an apocalypse that forces us into the
woods to rebuild civilization from scratch . You never know, it could save us
all,” Xander added and Buffy snickered despite herself.
“Or maybe we
can just convince the girls to wrestle in it,” Spike offered, followed by an
immediate burst of group laughter and Xander and Oz’s consecutive vote of,
“Good call!”
“Sounds like I
missed a funny,” Angel asked from a few feet away. He had apparently made it back from the
restrooms in the nick of time.
“Just a little
potato salad punnery,” Xander said, blowing his hair out of his eyes.
“Let’s head to
Anya,” Angel said, spotting the manager near the picnic tables. He started in her direction, before he paused
to remember the food. Then with barely
concealed reluctance, he added, “Do you guys need any help?”
“No, we’ve got
it,” Xander said, “Next time just remember to bring the packs and saddles for
us.”
Ignoring the
packhorse remark, Angel crossed over to Buffy, letting his hand graze the small
of her back. As he did so, Buffy noticed
how good he smelled. A bit too good for a picnic. Buffy gave him a look of disbelief as she
realized he must’ve brought cologne with him to make sure he smelled shower
fresh.
“Want me to
take the cookies?” Angel offered more sincerely, and she smiled.
“That’s
alright, you’ve got to do the intro thing.”
They stopped
at a table a few feet back from Anya, where the food items seemed to be
located. The group gathered around the
picnic table, depositing their picnic offerings. Spike made a show of squeezing in near her to
drop the infamous potato salad with a thunk.
Buffy squinted at him with a look that dared him to make another
comment. Spike just shrugged and
whispered, “Well at least now I know what you feed his ego,” his eyes flicking
to Angel on the ‘his.’
Torn between
genuine amusement and that sense of girlfriend duty that prevented her from
laughing, Buffy just looked at the ground.
She ran her tongue over her teeth again and smacked her lips
unpleasantly, turning over her shoulder to Spike.
“Can I borrow
a piece of gum?” she asked him, tugging on his t-shirt sleeve impatiently with
a fleeting notice of how snugly said shirt was fitting.
“Please,” he
teased, pulling a pack of Big Red from his pocket, “I thought you’d never
ask. Your breath is chasing away the
squirrels and puppy dogs.”
“I hope a
squirrel poops in your pocket,” she snarled playfully, snatching the gum.
“Hi!” Anya
said, moving towards them.
“Anya,” Angel
greeted, taking her hand with a firm shake and a head tilt that made his jaw
look even more square and manly than it really was, “It’s good to see you.”
Angel flashed
her an eager grin and straightened his shoulders. He really did live for this, didn’t he? Then again, someone needed to be the spokesperson,
and with his freshly spritzed self, he was the best man for the job.
“Yes, it is
good to see me, isn’t it?” Anya responded happily, “I’m glad you’re here. And, oh good!
You brought food. It’s for
everyone, right? We’re hungry, but
Michael told me it would be rude to eat without you.”
“Michael?”
Xander inquired, and Buffy bit her lip nervously for her friend as a tall,
undeniably gorgeous man strolled up, placing a hand on Anya’s shoulder for a
familiar squeeze.
“I’m Michael,”
he said to the group, eyes scanning the crowd and settling on Angel with a nod,
“I’m the lead singer for Wicked Twist.”
“Nice to meet
you,” Angel said, and they shook hands easily.
Buffy noticed with a quirk of her lips that Michael looked a lot more
“rock and roll” with his careless hair, his ratty jeans and his threadbare
Metallica t-shirt. But it was all tucked
under a vintage button-down that hinted at good fashion sense.
“Well, now
that we’re here,” Angel said, turning to his band with a wide smile that
promised introductions, “Here’s my crew.
This is Xander, our manager,
“Seems like a
great bunch,” Michael said amiably, looking at Anya, “Of course, Anya told me
as much. And she’s always right.”
“Yes, that’s
true,” Anya said, “But I’m really quite hungry now, so I’m going to finish supervising
the grilling.”
Michael
chuckled as Anya left to check on the food.
“So, where’s
your crew?” Angel asked, and Michael flipped his ebony hair, stepping back to
whistle his own group over. They dropped
their volleyball game, picking up their beers to head over.
“Um, kinda
hot,” Buffy whispered to
“I think it’s
safe to drop the kinda,”
“Hey, I heard
that,” Oz whispered in half-serious objection, but the redhead pouted at him
and kissed him quickly before turning back and trading a “if you know what I
mean” look with Buffy.
“You’ve got to
be kidding,” Spike said as he eyed the newcomers with something akin to
disgust.
“You’re just
jealous, shortstop,” Buffy chortled, then pursed her lips as he saw Spike’s
eyes narrow at the approaching line of people and turned to see what had
garnered his remark.
Buffy saw
three remarkably similar guys marching behind Michael. They were all wearing baggy jeans and
colorful t-shirts. And they were all
tall, sandy blonde, and pierced in so many places that Buffy’s fear of needles
twitched sympathetically. But she
doubted Spike was referring to them. Then she saw her. He was probably referring to member number
four. The blonde one wearing a baby blue
tube top and a pair of shorts that Buffy could probably find a photograph of
underneath “Daisy Dukes” in the dictionary.
“Be still my
heart,” Xander sighed as the girl pulling up the rear wiggled into view.
“Be
professional, Xander,” Angel sniffed, trying to look unimpressed by the new
arrival.
But Buffy knew
better. She was attractive, leggy and
decidedly voluptuous. She was swimsuit model material and no guy she knew would
be unimpressed.
“Pick up your
jaw, honey,”
“I’ll be
buggered,” Spike added, and Buffy turned to him with a playful frown.
“Let me guess;
you ‘want a piece’,” Buffy guessed, rolling her eyes at him and sticking out
her tongue in a pretend heave.
“Already had
one,” Spike retorted flatly as Wicked Twist gathered in front of them.
“This is
Danny, Jason and Jimmy,” Michael said, placing a friendly hand on each of the
musician’s heads in order, “They dabble in almost everything, but for Wicked
Twist Danny does drums, and Jason and Jimmy handle guitar and bass.”
“Don’t let him
fool you,” Jason said with a smirk, “We’re actually his back up dancers.”
Everyone
laughed and Michael finally turned to the blonde who, despite the laughter
completely dying away was still giggling and twisting a little strand of her
hair around her pinky. Even Xander
looked a little less enthusiastic as it became painfully clear the girl’s IQ
was roughly on par with your average houseplant.
“And this is
my lady friend, Harmony,” he said, stretching out his well-muscled arm, which
she promptly bounced forward to wrap her hand around, “My date for the
afternoon.”
“Oh!” Xander
said too brightly, and Buffy grinned as the brunette glanced eagerly back to
the grills where the still available Anya was busy putting burgers on a
plate.
Harmony waved
jubilantly at their band, “It’s very nice to meet y¾Spike?” she suddenly called, staring
just over Buffy’s left shoulder. Buffy
turned around to see the drummer in question checking out the toe of his boot,
Harmony
grinned and squealed in delight, “Oh my God! It really is you, Spikey!”
“Spikey?” Oz whispered with an amused interest.
“Not another
word,” Spike warned, before eyeing her with a smirk that spoke of carnal
knowledge, “Hey, Harm. You look well.”
Michael
watched the exchange with very little interest, adding a quick, “Well, now
we’re all acquainted, so we can probably eat.”
Buffy’s
stomach did a little rumba at the mention of food. The low-fat yogurt at nine really wasn’t
cutting it anymore. She turned to Angel,
as the rest of the group worked their way to the plates.
“Hey, pretty
girl,” he said with a smile, “I’m going to ask Michael about their song list
real quick. Do you want to grab us some
drinks and we’ll get some food in a bit?”
Angel had that
look, the big brown-eyed eager look that still never failed to work, so Buffy
ignored her growling tummy and gave him a polite smile, “Sure, I’ll just
wait with the guys.”
Angel winked
at her again before jogging to meet up with Michael by the grill. What was with all the winking, anyways? Was that some sort of picnic thing? He didn’t wander around their apartment
randomly winking at her.
Buffy sighed,
walking past the tempting food trays to pluck a beer and a Diet Pepsi out of
the coolers. Then she turned, noticing
“These cookies
are great, Willow!” Harmony chirped, taking another bite.
“Thanks!”
Harmony made
an “mmmm” sound that sounded more like a sexual sound effect than cookie
appreciation and Buffy and
To Willow’s
left Oz snickered, and Buffy felt
“Still a
sucker for sweet stuff, I see,” Harmony said with a giggle and Spike shrugged
absently.
“Maybe it
won’t be as hard to find someone after all,”
Buffy rolled
her eyes dismissively, “God, let’s hope this isn’t going to go there.”
“I think it
already has,”
Buffy narrowed
her eyes as Spike spared Harmony a sidelong glance. He looked tense. Which made sense, because his ex-ho or whatever
was practically ready to climb in his lap.
And right under Michael’s nose, who was majorly swoon-worthy. Buffy was pretty sure no guy was good enough
in bed to distract a girl from a date like Michael. Especially not Spike.
Oz made a
remark about the trails and the weather being perfect for riding. Spike nodded eagerly, and when he licked some
potato salad off his finger, Buffy saw Harmony bite her lip wistfully.
Okay, or maybe he was. And so much the “ew” for going there.
“Yeah, I can’t
wait to get out there,” Spike said, jittering his legs under the table.
“We should
probably check that chain of yours,” Oz commented, “I think it might have come
loose the last time we took them out.”
While the men drifted
into gear talk, Buffy watched with growing irritation as Harmony lingered over
Spike’s every word. Clearly, whatever
their “thing” was, Buffy was pretty sure he was over it and she needed to get
over it too. Sure, he was irritating and
listened to some god-awful music, but he at least deserved a girl who had an IQ
above your average fern.
“Oops!”
Harmony said too loudly, rolling her eyes in false embarrassment as she dabbed
at a blob of baked beans that had conveniently landed on her inner thigh. Spike and Oz
watched her quizzically as she sucked it off her thumb.
“Wow,”
“Yeah,” Buffy
hissed, keeping her eyes fixed pointedly on Harmony, “I’m thinking if we’re
going to find someone for Spike, we need more girl, less slut.”
Buffy jumped
when Angel arrived behind her, clamping a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Buffy,” he
said, “Hey, there’s some new people we should say hello to, including, I would
imagine, some IYF people.” he added with a pointed smile.
Buffy turned
to her boyfriend and accepted his hand as he pulled her up from her seat. Her attention drifted to the tables on the
other side of the grills where a handful of new arrivals were milling
about. She briefly wondered if that
yogurt from earlier would have to tide her over until Christmas, then put on
her best supportive smile as Angel led her into the fray.
Angel was
meant for this. He smoothly introduced
himself to a sound guy and Anya’s DJ with his special brand of charisma that
Buffy wished she could bottle and sell on infomercials. Charisma not being so much her gig, she just
kept her hand linked with his and her smile fixed through both painfully
friendly introductions.
“Oh my God,” a
female voice chirped excitedly as a long-haired brunette stepped around Dave,
the sound guy. She approached them
purposefully, extending a perfectly manicured hand, “Angel MacArthur.”
Angel took the
hand, eyes sparking with familiarity, “Cordelia Chase.”
“My God, it’s
been ages,” she mused, tapping her free fingers to her chin, “When did I see
you last? Was it
“I think it
was the French Riviera,” Angel said and Buffy shrunk into his side, a little
irritated and a lot intimidated.
“That’s
right,” Cordelia said with a smile that was every bit as crisp as her white
linen shirt, “That was a crazy summer,” she laughed, with an absent glance at
her Manolo Blahnik sandals,
“If the concierge
hadn’t lost my favorite Prada bag, it would have been perfect.”
“Ah, well, you
seem to have managed alright without it,” Angel said in a way that made Buffy
tense instantly. She studied the
slightly flirtatious curve of his smile and narrowed her eyes jealously.
“You’re with IYF, right?”
“Yes,”
Cordelia said breezily, “I’m every bit as successful as I knew I would be,”
then her eyes flicked to Buffy, “So, who’s this?”
Angel jerked
his hand, and Buffy shuffled forward awkwardly at his gesture, “This is my
girlfriend, Buffy Summers,” he said, kissing her temple, then turning back to
Cordelia, “She’s actually applying for a job with your company.”
“Oh,” Cordelia
said, with no enthusiasm at all, “Good luck with that. You’ll need it.”
Angel laughed
and shook his head, “You haven’t changed a bit, Cordy. Do you think you’d be interviewing her? What do you do there?”
Cordelia waved
her hand airily, rolling her eyes at Wicked Twist, “I’m too busy scouting tour
opportunities to do interviewing.
Generally, I work with higher exposure groups. Wicked Twist is a personal favor to my boss
since he’s a big fan.”
“Well, maybe
you could put in a good word for her,” Angel said coyly.
“Oh, God, no,”
Cordelia said with a laugh, running her hand over her sleekly styled hair, “I
mean, she’s not a great dresser, but she’s way too young and attractive for me
to take chances.” She gave Buffy the
barest hint of an apologetic smile, “Sorry, sweetie, but I really like being
the queen bee at IYF, so encouraging competition is pretty much out.”
“Wow,” Buffy
said with the fakest smile she had in her arsenal, “Not sure whether to be
somewhat complimented or really offended.”
“A little of
both, I’d guess,” Cordelia said matter-of-factly, then turned to Angel, “My
word wouldn’t mean much anyways. It all
depends on my boss’s mood.”
“Oh,” Angel
said, looking deflated.
“But, look on
the bright side,” she said to Buffy, clapping her hands quietly together, “If
you put Angel down as a reference, he’ll probably interview you.”
“Does he know
Angel?” Buffy asked, a little surprised by her sudden burst of decency.
Cordelia’s
eyes twinkled with amusement, “You’re really not from around here, huh?”
When Buffy
shook her head, she continued, “Right.
Which explains why you’d wear those,”
she said with a sympathetic look at Buffy’s platform straw sandals, “And why
you don’t know that Tully knows your boyfriend.
Angel’s a MacArthur, sweetie.
Everyone knows them.”
“Not everyone,”
Angel scoffed, but his look said the protest was token at best.
“Everyone who
matters,” she said simply, then nodded to the rest of the crowd, her eyes
narrowing as she caught site of Harmony, who had miraculously detached herself
from Spike’s orbit and was now hanging on Michael’s arm.
“You’ve got to
be kidding me,” Cordelia snapped, “If I have to deal with one more Anna Nicole
wannabe, I’m going to slit my wrists.”
Buffy bit back
a grin as Cordy shook her head and said with a tight smile, “If you’ll excuse
me, I have to go lynch another bar bunny looking for a meal ticket.”
Cordelia moved
towards the offending couple with crisp efficiency while Buffy sulked at her
pricey shoes and perfect hair.
Remembering the little vacation conversation, she turned to Angel.
“So,” Buffy
said icily, “I gather that you two were close.”
“What?” Angel
asked blankly, his eyes still following her.
Buffy crossed
her arms, her words clear, “Oh, I’m sorry, did ‘close’ vague it up too
much? You dated her, didn’t you?”
Angel’s eyes
narrowed, “No, I didn’t.”
Buffy rolled
her eyes, “Right, which explains the crazy summer at the
“
“I have an act
now?” Buffy asked, lowering her voice only marginally, “Funny, because I don’t
remember once complaining about the fact that when my boyfriend goes to work, girls
literally line up waiting for the chance to seduce him.”
“It’s part of
the job, Buffy,” he snapped, a whisper-scream while his eyes darted nervously
to see who was in earshot.
“I know that,”
she said quietly, instinctively protecting his reputation, “which is why I don’t have a jealous act at the
shows. But since I have to share you
every time you go on stage, I think I’m entitled to a teeny bit of
possessiveness when I actually get to be your date.”
Angel huffed in
frustration, finally turning to her with eyes full of accusation, “Are you
trying to ruin this for me, Buffy? Do
you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this opportunity?”
Jaw ticking,
Buffy waited while guilt and fury played out a bitter battle in her heart. Guilt won and she let out a slow sigh, gaze
falling to the grass at her feet, “I’m sorry.”
Angel
softened, leaning in to run his palms over her arms, “I don’t want to fight,
baby. And I’ve never been involved with
Cordelia.”
“She’s pretty
though,” Buffy pouted.
“Yeah,” Angel
said, “But not the same way you’re pretty.”
“Is that good
or bad?” she asked with wide eyes.
“Well, I’m
with you, aren’t I?” he said impassively.
She shrugged and he took her hand, “Look, I’d like to talk to a few of
these guys. Do you want to come with?”
Buffy’s face
went sour and Angel put his arm around her waist, “A little greeted out, huh?”
Buffy nodded
and he continued, “Well, looks like the rest of the gang is done eating. You could probably grab a plate and head over
to the trailer. Or you could play
volleyball with the guys from Wicked Twist.”
Buffy frowned
at the volleyball group that had reunited, and due to Cordy’s prompt situation
management skills, already included the ever-bouncing Harmony, “No thanks, I’m
a little bimbo-ed out, too.”
Angel laughed
and nodded, “Alright, well maybe you can hang out with Willow for a
while.” When she brightened a little, he
leaned in for a kiss and added, “Okay, well, I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Okay,” Buffy
said, watching as he melted back into the crowd.
She winced as
she noticed Cordelia make a beeline for him again. A distant, and clearly morbid, part of Buffy
noticed that they looked good together.
They sort of matched, what with all the linen and the expensive
shoes. And they both had hair that
against all laws of physics, did not budge an inch in the slight breeze. Buffy pushed her own flyaway hair behind her
ear with a frown, turning to the dirtbike trailer where she spotted Willow.
By the time
she got a plate and wandered back to the trailer, Oz and Willow were already on
a bike, apparently getting ready to go.
Buffy stifled a sigh and grinned at the little redhead as she wrapped
her arms around his waist and squeezed.
Oz turned and checked her helmet, kissing her nose before taking
off. Something quirked in Buffy at that
little kiss, her insides aching at the seemingly mundane contact. A connection.
Why did it
seem to be so easy for them? Buffy tried
to remember how stressed Angel was about the upcoming show. That had to be
it. Once the show was over, he’d be
doing all kinds of cutesy things like nose-tip kisses and random acts of
affection.
They pulled
off and Buffy sat down with her plate, trading a nod of greeting with Spike who
was on the ground next to his bike. He
was ratcheting or hammering, or something.
Meanwhile, across from him Anya and Xander were barely disguising their
flirtation at all. She listened in as
the easy conversation between the three of them drifted to her ears.
“Do you have a
problem with the woman being in control?” Anya asked brightly.
“No,” Xander
said, flushed as red as his t-shirt, “I’ve had women bosses, they were cool.”
“Oh, I’m not
talking about work,” Anya said with a cheerful blink as she picked at a cookie
from Xander’s plate, “I’m talking about sex.”
Xander
sputtered and Spike laughed, dusting off his jeans, “I gather you don’t play
coy,”
She shrugged,
leaning against the trailer in her low-slung jeans and periwinkle t-shirt Xander was sitting next to her, his legs
dangling. Buffy noticed Anya’s hair was
darker now, hints of auburn streaking through the neatly trimmed layers.
“I don’t see
the point,” Anya said, “Being coy doesn’t give you more orgasms.” Then, as if she’d been talking about making a
club sandwich, she smiled easily at Buffy, “Hi, Buffy. Where’s Angel?”
“Mingling,”
she said around a mouthful of hot dog, “I’m really done with the mingling for
now and suddenly more about the eating.”
“Well, I did
do a really good job on the grill,” Anya said.
Xander was
still gasping and darting desperate looks at Spike. Finally, he turned to Buffy, “Can we rewind
this please? Do normal people say orgasms at picnics? I am gonna go out on a limb and say that just
seems wrong.”
“If you’re
really uncomfortable with orgasms, I think I should stop flirting with you,”
Anya added pointedly, “They are an important aspect of the dating process.”
Xander hopped
off the trailer and shook his head, “Who is comfortable with.….wait,” he said,
wild eyes going soft with questioning as he turned to her, “You’re flirting
with me?”
Anya quirked
her head playfully, “Well, duh. And
you’re flirting with me. We’re just all
milling about playing this silly little game until you get the nerve to ask me
out.”
“I’m glad I
didn’t wager on it,” Spike said distractedly, “I even guessed the little wanker
would have done it by now.”
Buffy and Anya
exploded in laughter, as Xander flushed and tried to be good humored about
it. With a content sigh, Buffy finished
her potato salad, which was pretty good after all. She gave Spike a sideways glance, noticing
his fingers were smeared with grease. He
was still fiddling with something that she guessed might be the bike’s engine.
“So,” Xander said
to Anya, rubbing his hands together, “Do you want to maybe go for a ride when
Oz and Willow get back?”
“Yes,” Anya
said, “And I’ll even go with you.”
“Oh!” Xander
said brightly, “Good. With me is good
since I did mean that in a ‘asking you out’ kind of way.”
“I know,” Anya
said, then smiled at Buffy, “Boys are so fun to fluster!”
Buffy nodded
in bemused agreement as Anya glanced at the car while picking up her purse from
the trailer, “I’m just going to go lock up my money since it appears I’ll be staying
and I’ll be back.”
Xander flashed
a maniacal grin and thumbs up at Spike, then called to Anya’s back, “I’ll keep
the backseat warm for you.”
“Oh,” Anya
called back, “That won’t be necessary.
I’m driving.”
Xander gaped
and Buffy chuckled, running her hands over the soft grass, letting each blade
tickle across her palms. She felt so
much better now. It was better
here. She felt like she fit here, even
with her cheap straw sandals. Why
couldn’t it have felt this way earlier, rubbing elbows with Angel?
“She’s
driving?” Xander asked, his eyes on Spike.
“That’s what
she said, mate,” Spike affirmed, grunting as something clicked into place.
“That’s not
all she said,” Buffy mused, shaking her head in an attempt to process Anya’s
abruptness, “I hope you’re taking your vitamins, Xan.”
“Be serious,
people,” Xander said, eyes flicking to Anya as she made her trek back from the
car, “She’s a little crazy. I could die,
here.”
Spike leaned
back and lit a cigarette, “Well, she’s hot and for God knows what reason,
willing,” he offered.
Xander stuck
his lip out and waggled his head back and forth, “True.”
“Which is not
a typical combination trait in girls after you,” Buffy added.
“Ouch,” Xander
said slowly, then with a nod of his head added, “But sadly, also true.”
“You’re
telling me the pillock has actually had girls
after him?” Spike snarked, and Buffy let out a guffaw that earned her a sharp
glare from Xander.
“Well,” Anya
said as she arrived, apparently catching the last bit of their conversation,
“I’m after him.”
“You are?”
Xander asked, looking at her hopefully.
Oz and
“That was
awesome!”
“Oh, I don’t
know,” she waved back, grinning at
“You thirsty?”
Oz asked her, handing the keys to Xander.
“Big time,”
“Do you guys
want anything? It’s a great day out
there. We’re definitely going back out,
after we get something to drink.”
“I’m good,”
Buffy said and Spike shook his head.
“You get your
chain back on?” Oz asked, looking over at the bike.
“A little tug
and pull and Bob’s yer uncle,” Spike said with a nod.
“Oz has an
uncle named Bob?” she asked with a confused expression.
Spike chuckled
and stubbed out his cigarette, “It’s an expression, luv.”
“Another
British thing,” she concluded, adding a quick shrug of disdain.
“You have
something bad to say about the mother country?” he jeered, wiggling his greasy
fingers towards her menacingly.
“You do, you
die,” she said, lifting her fists in warning.
“Careful,
pet,” he said, curling his tongue behind his teeth, “This time I might not go
easy.”
“You were not going easy,” she said, punching him
in the arm to release some of the new energy zinging through her veins at his
little tongue curl. He lunged towards
her and she squealed.
“Don’t you
dare!” she screeched and he froze just centimeters from her torso, her arms
going goosebumpey, which had to be because it was cold. Well, not cold. Well, it had to be because of something. Probably because Spike was the kind of guy
that liked to ride that edge of fun and scary, which was really a rush to be
around when you lived with a guy like Angel.
“Don’t worry,”
he said, noting the sudden reappearance of her nipples with satisfaction. Then he climbed to his feet, wiping his hands
down thoroughly with a rag, “I’m not going to muck up your prissy clothes.”
“Prissy?”
Buffy said, standing up with her hands on her hips.
“Fluffy? Girly?
Whatever you want to call that skirt,” he said, depositing the rag and
lifting his leg to straddle his bike easily.
“It’s not a
skirt!” Buffy protested, lifting up the flap to reveal the shorts beneath,
“It’s a skort.”
Spike’s brows
furrowed, “If you ever want me to fight you with a straight face again, promise
me to never use that word again,” he said with exaggerated sincerity.
Buffy smirked,
“That I can do. Skort is out.”
Spike grinned
and put on a pair of sunglasses that made his cheekbones stand out like razor
blades. Heaven forgive her, he was
hot. Almost hot enough to make her knees
a little wobbly. Buffy shifted in her
suddenly stifling skort. Or skirt short
thing.
“Well, now that
we’ve settled that bit,” Spike said, cocking his head at her, “Get on.”
Buffy felt a
rush of anticipation, but she crossed her arms and tried to play it cool, “What
if I don’t want to?”
“If you didn’t
want to, you wouldn’t have told me about the skort,” he said, and she chewed
her lip guiltily, looking through the picnic area to find Angel.
“I should
probably stay close,” she said, noticing that Angel was still near Cordelia. They
weren’t touching or anything, and they seemed all wrapped up in Michael, but it
bugged her all the same. A girl that
looked like she just stepped off the cover of Vogue wasn’t the most appealing
company to leave her boyfriend with indefinitely.
Buffy sighed,
ready to be away from the pressure of the social scene she should be a part of
and just as eager to be away from the jealous feeling curling in her
belly. She turned to Spike and found him
offering her a helmet he had pulled from the ground.
“Shouldn’t you
wear this?” she asked as she took it, her fingers brushing his with that crazy
electric zing she always got when she accidentally touched him.
“Can’t bring
you back to Angel with a dent in your pretty little head, can I?” he asked and
she quickly put on the helmet.
Yeah, this was
what she needed. A little speed and
distraction. She spared one last glance
at Angel. Since Cordelia’s boss wasn’t
here, there was no point in her schmoozing.
Angel wouldn’t care if she left for a few minutes. She watched him working his audience like a
pro, his wide hands gesturing smoothly.
Come to think of it, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t even notice.
Indigo
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