Indigo
Overture – Chapter Ten
Rating: Eventually NC17 – for this chapter – PG-13
If he wasn’t a
rock and roll vocalist, Angel was pretty sure he’d be a music executive. Preferably one with a lobby
like this one. IYF Promotions had
a lobby dominated by light, most of it provided by the twin walls of windows
that flanked the east and west side of the room. The carpet was plush, the furniture was high
end and the air had that crisp sterile smell that Angel always associated with
money and power.
He pressed his
lips together and tapped the arms of his leather chair thoughtfully. At the
back of the lobby a wide cherry desk housed not one, but two
receptionists. One directed visitors
through a set of glass doors behind her; the other briskly managed the phone
calls that apparently poured in at an endless rate; or at least had been doing
so since he’d been here.
Angel checked
his watch. It was going on
“I’m so sorry,
ma’am,” a delivery boy said as he picked up a stack of overnight envelopes he’d
apparently dropped when they collided in the doorway.
“Don’t think a
thing of it,” the girl said as she pulled off her sunglasses and stepped around
the mess.
Angel furrowed
his brow as she walked past. She looked
familiar. Pretending to read his Wall Street Journal, he eyed her
surreptitiously as she passed.
“May I help
you?” the receptionist asked, and the raven-haired beauty rested an arm on the
cherry desk and sighed dramatically.
“Yes, I’m
Nicole Price, here for Mr. Sutherland,” the girl said and Angel frowned. He didn’t know the name, but she was still
strikingly familiar. Slender
and pale-skinned with big doe eyes.
The
receptionist glanced at the computer before responding, “Oh, yes, Ms.
Price. His office is the third door on
the left.”
“Thank you,”
she said and when she smiled, her eyes took on a kind of dreamy, faraway look
that practically made Angel snap his fingers in recognition. The girl resembled Drusilla, especially around
the eyes.
Nicole walked
through the glass doors and out of view, while Angel’s thoughts wandered to
days when a strikingly similar girl had lived in his flat. He could still picture her, her body lost in
her long flowing skirts, her mind lost to the celestial wonders she prattled on
continuously about. Funny
how a girl like that could end up in his life. Funnier still that she came
with a guy like Spike nipping at her heels.
Angel smiled
bitterly, remembering the night in the pub when he’d first met them. The place had been packed with the university
crowd, the smell of clove cigarettes and stale beer heavy in the air. Darla and he had watched the two of them from
a corner for several minutes before they’d even sat down.
“They’re babies, Dar,” he’d scoffed
looking across the crowded pub to the tall table where Drusilla and William sat
nursing what he would later discover were the first alcoholic beverages of
their lives, “They wouldn’t even be entertaining. Let’s just go.”
“No, no,” his then girlfriend had
protested, hand on his arm and a gleam in her eye, “I know they’re babies. Just look at them.”
“I’m looking at a pencil-necked geek
with glasses fawning over a very mediocre brunette.”
“Spike” was a far cry from his current
self with wire-rimmed glasses and longish curly brown hair that he obsessively
tugged and blew out of his eyes. Pretty
girls were damn near sprouting up from the musty wooden floor, but Spike was
oblivious with Drusilla in the room. His fingers picking at the cardboard coaster beneath his drink
while his eyes jittered back and forth between Drusilla and the table. She wasn’t hard on the eyes, but she wasn’t
the kind of girl that made a man stop in his tracks either. She was cute, big eyes and an endearing pout,
but her body was barely more than a slip of flesh in the yards of Gothic fabrics
she wore.
Darla had sighed dreamily, “I
know. They’re so innocent, so
bright-eyed and bushy tailed,” then she smiled coyly and added, “so ripe for
corruption. You know I’m right. I always know how to pick them.”
“Yeah, well I’m all about your plans of
debauchery,” Angel had laughed, eyeing Drusilla’s flowing skirt and William’s
wrinkled button-down, “But those two don’t look like party animals waiting to
happen”
Darla had shaken her head stubbornly,
“Oh, she does. Look at her eyes; she’s already a little
wild. She just needs a push through the
door.”
Angel surveyed Drusilla more
carefully. She watched the room with
rapt fascination, barely aware of the boy still sneaking glances at her across
the table. Her finely boned features and
vintage fashioned clothing did seem strangely unfitting when coupled with the
dark energy sparking in her eyes. Angel
was still skeptical about the potential roommate bit, but Darla always seemed
to know what she was doing. Maybe she
was right about this girl.
“Yeah, maybe,” he had assented, with
another look at the boy staring wistfully at her, “But he’ll never be anything
approaching wild.”
“Oh, I think you’re wrong,” Darla had
said, taking his hand and starting towards them, “He’ll be anything she wants
him to be.”
Truer words
had never been spoken. Angel gave a bark
of rueful laughter, the noise breaking him from his reverie. He looked around the lobby to make sure no
one had noticed, hoping that if anyone had, they’d guess he’d read something
funny in the paper. Though given it was
the Wall Street Journal, the possibility seemed remote at best. Shrugging it off, Angel quickly slipped back
to the past, picking through the memories that only
enforced how right Darla had been about Spike.
One in
particular stood out from the rest. He
and Darla had been pubbing, as was typical for Friday
nights, and on this rare occasion, Dru and Spike had
not joined them. Juggling his party-hard
girl and his heavy workload were starting to wear on the younger man. Angel wasn’t surprised when he asked not to
go; his course work was heavier than the rest of them since he was a volunteer
tutor in addition to being a student. Angel
gave him a load of crap anyways, but in the end they left Dru
and Spike behind.
When they came
back home, it was crystal clear that Spike’s study plans hadn’t gone over well
with the lady. Angel and Darla stumbled
in singing a popular fifties bar tune to find Spike on the sofa nursing a
busted lip with a package of frozen peas, a haphazard stack of books beside him.
“Hey,” he’d offered lamely when they
both burst into laughter, pointing at his injured face.
“Get a little rough in the sack, Spikey?” Darla had teased, pausing only long enough on her
trek to their room to spare the guy a few extra snickers with the jab.
Spike’s eyes had followed her until she
shut their bedroom door, her drunken laughter still ringing behind it. He shifted his sock-clad feet up to the coffee
table and sighed at his own closed bedroom door, which, putting two and two
together, Drusilla probably locked seconds after slamming it in Spike’s
face. Angel looked down at his roommate,
who was in a ratty pair of jeans and t-shirt, looking
far too haggard for a twenty-one year old boy.
“She’s shitfaced,”
Angel said in half-assed apology, plopping down beside him with a jeering grin
of his own, “But you do look like hell.
What happened?”
“Bad night, mate. Rather just leave it be
if it’s all the same to you,” Spike rumbled miserably through his wound.
Angel laughed and shook his head,
toeing off his shoes and giving the younger man a sideways smile, “You don’t
think you’re getting off that easy, do you?
What happened?”
“Dru
happened,” Spike said a little bitterly with another pitiful glance at his
bedroom door and Angel laughed again.
“Yeah, I figured as much,” he said,
“What’d you do this time? Break one of
her damn dolls? Or, no,” Angel paused,
slapping Spike’s leg in amusement, “Wait, I got it. The moon told her to do it, right? Or better
yet, maybe it was the little birdies?”
Spike’s expression turned bitter. His sullen stare landed on the television,
which was on, but muted. Being young,
male, and exceptionally drunk, Angel did the sensitive thing and laughed all
the more. When his chuckling finally tapered off, he shook his head and offered
more sincerely, “Maybe it’s time to pull the plug on it, man.”
Spike’s eyes narrowed, “It’s just a
busted lip, Angel. I’ll wager I’ll
survive it.”
“Not on you, moron,” Angel said, “On
her.”
Spike turned to him then, and his eyes
were unreadable over the bag of frozen vegetables. Angel leaned in, eyeing both closed bedroom
doors furtively before continuing in a lowered voice.
“The girl’s no good for you. Cut her loose. You know there’s a whole world of skirt
outside this flat.”
“Not an option,” Spike said evenly, his
expression hardening with his tone.
“What do you
mean, not an option?” Angel asked incredulously, “There are always
options. Do you want to spend the rest
of your life chained to her side? She’s
a lunatic, man.”
“I know that,” Spike hissed, “You don’t
think I know that?” Then his gaze dropped to the floor and he sighed, rubbing
his free hand through his rumpled curls, “Doesn’t matter. Lunatic or not, she’s the sun and the moon to
me.”
The statement
had silenced him. What the hell could
you say to something that crazy? Being that wrapped up in any one person was
just begging for trouble if you asked him.
That kind of adoration wasn’t amazing, it was sick. It was a fool’s notion, and only someone weak
and mindless would follow it. No one
should live like that. Hell, other than
Spike, Angel was pretty sure no one did
live like that.
“So, are we
ready to get coffee?” Buffy chirped pleasantly, announcing her return.
Angel jerked
in surprise at her arrival, jarred abruptly from his thoughts. He hoped she hadn’t been standing there long
as he caught her expectant gaze, “Oh, hey Buff.
So, how did it go?”
“Oh, you
know,” she said, taking his hand as he rose from the chair, “It was your
standard interview. We had the questions,
the answers, the glasses of water, and of course we had more sweating and
nausea than your everyday flu...”
Buffy trailed
off, pursing her lips thoughtfully as she walked out of the door Angel was holding
open before continuing outside, “Actually, the sweating and nausea was pretty
much me.”
“So what’s the
actual position you interviewed for?” Angel inquired as they made their way to
the parking lot.
“Actually,
there were three or four, I guess. All
of them were entry level marketey things, but beyond
that, I didn’t get much detail,” Buffy worried her lip, “Do you think that’s
bad? I mean it could be bad, right?”
“I’m sure you
did great,” Angel said with a smile, wrapping his arm around her shoulders,
“You look amazing and with your charm, they’ll probably call you today.”
“Actually they
will call today,” Buffy said, bumping her head affectionately to his shoulder,
“They told me so,” then she stopped and looked up at him, her green eyes clearly
asking for something, “I’m just so glad you were here with me.”
Angel returned
her gaze and smiled, unsure of what she was looking for.
“I’m glad I
could come,” he croaked when the silence stretched uncomfortably, “Gotta support my girl.”
“It means a
lot to me,” Buffy said, “This was hard.”
She watched
him a little longer, her expression still expectant
and Angel felt his neck stiffen in response.
What was she waiting for? He
heaved a quiet sigh of relief at her side when she finally continued their
journey to the car.
“So, about
that coffee,” she said and Angel checked his watch, stretching his neck left
and right in an effort to loosen the tension that had clamped like iron bands
on his shoulders. It was
“Do you think I
could get a raincheck and we could maybe do dinner?”
Angel asked as they reached the car, forcing a bright expression as he moved
past her to open her door.
Buffy’s face
fell instantly, her eyes wide with hurt.
She quickly tried to hide it with a playful pout, “Well, I was hoping we
could hang out for a little while now.
You could drink that horrible espresso stuff you like and I could bore
you into a coma with a play by play recount of the interview while you hang on
my every word and help me not be all anxious feeling. Which I know, not really the
most exciting way to spend a Wednesday.
But on the upside, it would avoid the nasty grooves I’m likely to pace
into the carpet if I stayed at the apartment waiting for the phone to ring, and
oh my God, I’m channeling
Angel
chuckled, closing the door behind her when she sat down in the passenger
seat. After getting behind the wheel and
closing his own door, he turned to respond, “Baby, you know I’d love a play by
play recount, but I have some errands I’m already late for. I’m going to be busy through late afternoon.”
Angel started
the car and tried to breathe deeply. He
reminded himself that tension was only a temptation; he could overcome it if he
stayed focused. Buffy fiddled with the
radio controls sending half-second blips of crunchy guitar and hip hop rhythm
through the stereo system. With each
little flash of noise, Angel’s fingers tightened on the wheel, the tension he
was fighting rearing up like a samurai on steroids. Okay, maybe if he stayed focused in solitude.
“What about a
little shopping therapy with
“Hm, sounds good, but last time I checked, substitute
teachers usually work Monday through Friday, you know, school days,” Buffy
teased with a smile.
“Oh!” Angel
practically shouted, smacking the steering wheel gleefully, “I’ve got a perfect
idea! Why don’t I drop you at the gym
for a bit? You can blow off some steam
and then we can meet up later for that dinner and the blow by
blow of the interview.”
Buffy’s expression
tightened instantly, “I’m not really feeling up to gym stuff today.”
She’d gone to
the gym on Sunday like she always had, hoping she could bump into Spike, like
she also always did, and get past the big weirdness that was the picnic. From what she’d witnessed and heard, Spike
hadn’t missed a Sunday afternoon at the gym in two solid years. When he hadn’t shown, she knew the big
weirdness wasn’t going anywhere soon. Which
didn’t matter, because hello, just Spike!
She could *not* have cared less. Really.
Angel rounded
a corner and tried again, desperate for this tactic to work, “Come on,
Buff. You’re telling me beating the crap
out of Spike wouldn’t make you feel better?
He’s probably there, you know. In
fact, you could bore him to tears and then kick the crap out of him.”
“Actually,”
she said quickly, “I think I might be feeling a little tired. That interview took more out of me than I
thought. I think I need sleep.”
And I still don’t care that stupid
Spike didn’t show up Sunday.
“You do?” he
said, far too brightly, then attempted to cover by casting a concerned look at
her.
“Yes,” she
said with a nod, then yawned pointedly, “See!
Totally zonked.
Maybe you should just drop me at home for a nap and then we’ll do dinner
later.”
“If rest is
what my lady needs,” Angel said, turning the car to head for home, “Your
wish is my command.”
********
Buffy yawned
and rolled over, blinking at the clock on the VCR. It was
Obsess much?
Buffy rolled
her eyes at herself and stood up, stretching in the sweats she had changed
into. Then she glanced out the window,
eyes going wide as she saw the little white postal truck pull up to the
apartment mailbox. Buffy squinted
through the window, watching the mailman deposit little paper bundles into box
after box. Then it was her box. She arched her brow in interest as a thick
stack of catalogs was shoved into her slot.
Mmm…catalog
shopping. Shopping therapy + couch
potato therapy = just the ticket.
The mail truck
pulled away and Buffy pushed her feet into her Oscar the Grouch slippers before
she headed to the door. She paused
briefly, wondering if she should take the phone in case IYF called, but
deciding she’d only be a second, she rushed out the door. Buffy walked to the mailbox, unlocking it and
tugging out the catalogs which, cha-ching! did include a
She scrambled
back to the apartment, shutting the door and plopping down on the sofa. As she dropped the rest of the mail on the
end table and noticed the blinking light of the answering machine.
“Oh my God, I
missed it!” she screeched, reaching for the play button. Just before her thumb hit the button, the
phone rang and she snatched it off the cradle.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Summers,
it’s Tully Blevins from In Your Face Promotions?”
Buffy’s
fingers tightened on the handset, heart rattling behind her ribs, “Yes?”
“I’m calling
regarding your interview today,” he said and Buffy gave a little eyeroll.
As opposed to calling regarding my
budding career as a country/western guitar player?
“Yes, thanks
for calling,” she said, unsure of what else to say and quite sure that if she
tried for anything more complex, she’d produce a stream of senseless babble.
“We’d like to
offer you the position as a Junior Marketing Assistant,” he said and Buffy
instantly leapt onto the couch, pumping her fist into the air and opening her
mouth wide in a silent scream.
“Hello?” he
said and Buffy dropped to her butt on the couch cushion, stammering, “Yes, I’m
sorry! That’s wonderful news!”
“Good! We’ll look forward to having you join our
team, Ms. Summers.”
“Oh, please
call me Buffy,” she said, back on her feet again and doing a little jig around
her coffee table.
“Okay, Buffy,”
Tully agreed, then continued, “The position requires three days a week in
office, preferably Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. The weekends are evening shifts since you’ll
mostly be assisting with shows.”
”That sounds
really great,” Buffy said, “Will you be training me?”
“No, I’m going
to leave that to the experts,” Tully laughed, “Actually, I’m thinking of
placing you under one of our top promoters, Cordelia
Chase. She’s been handling one of our
bar bands and she’d be perfect to show you the ropes. Since your focus is going to be the local
nightclub scene, I think The Cherry will be a perfect way to get your feet wet.”
Buffy’s grimaced
as if he’d offered her a chunk of rare skunk butt on a slice of moldy
bread. She shook her head forcing
herself to be positive, “I actually had the opportunity to meet Cordelia at a recent get together with my boyfriend’s
band.”
“Yes,” he
said, “She mentioned that to me earlier this week. You should enjoy working with her on Wicked
Twist. They’ll give you a good taste for
the industry.”
“Sounds
great,” she forced, though the idea of working with Cordelia
made her consider whether or not a job involving deep-fried chickens might have
been a better option.
“Good,” Tully
said, “Well, I’m glad you came in. We’ll
send you the salary and benefits information and we’ll see you next Monday at
“Monday at
After a few
silent seconds, she let out a hearty “Aaaaaaaaiiiiiiigh!”, jumping back onto the couch and bouncing three or four
times for good measure.
“I got a jo-ob, I got a jo-ob!” she sang,
doing a little cha-cha back and forth on the sofa.
Then her eyes
went wide and she leapt the coffee table, “Gotta call
Angel.”
She tapped out
the number to his cell phone, pacing furiously back and forth through the
living room while she waited for the connection. His voicemail picked up immediately, so she
hung up and redialed, growling when the same message instantly greeted her
ears.
“Where are
you?” she
whined, then shook her head, tapping out the next number that came to
mind. Two rings later,
“Hello?”
“It’s me,”
Buffy said excitedly, “Guess what I just got?”
“Hey,”
“Nope, think
less, ‘hip for cool summer nights’ and more ‘perfect for the everyday grind.”
“No!” Buffy
said, exasperated, “Let’s try something less clothing, less appliance, and more
‘I might actually be able to buy that coat, because I’m going to have a
paycheck, because I got the job,’.”
There was
another pause while
“I got a job!”
Buffy agreed, and they squealed together, Buffy bouncing in her slippers.
“Oh my gosh,”
“Um, Junior
Promotions Assistant, unlikely, really unlikely, and um, hello, this is a job I
actually got, not one were reading about in Cosmo,” Buffy responded, ticking
off the answers with her fingers.”
“Doesn’t
matter,”
“Exactly!” Buffy said.
“I’m so
excited for you, Buff! So, what did
Angel say?”
Buffy sighed
irritably, “He said to leave a brief message after the tone,” she grumped, then explained, “His cell phone is dead, or he’s out of area
or something.”
“Oh,”
“Totally
stoked?” Buffy asked, her brow arched in amusement.
“It’s an Oz
thing,”
Buffy’s
stomach tightened at the mention going out.
Because Spike was definitely a part of ‘everyone’, and though she knew
it was inevitable to see him, it still made her stomach churn to think about it.
“I don’t
know,” Buffy said reluctantly, “Probably not this weekend since it’s Mother’s Day.
I’ll have to check with Angel.”
“We’ll figure
something out. Everyone is going to be
so happy for you! So, when do you
start?”
“Next Monday,”
she said with a grin.
“Cool,”
Buffy
winced.
“Buff?”
“Sorry,” she
responded, “Yeah, I’ll call them.”
“Okay, well
give me a buzz when you talk to Angel about going out.”
“I will,”
Buffy said.
“And
Congratulations,”
“Thanks,
Will,” Buffy said, smiling as they exchanged their goodbyes.
She knew she
was going to have to explain this situation to
Buffy focused
her attention back to the phone, dialing Angel’s number again and exhaling
noisily when his voicemail picked up.
She dialed Xander’s home number and after
three rings, the other end of the line crackled with someone picking up the
phone.
“Hello?” a
voice answered. A
voice which definitely did not belong
to Xander.
Only one person she knew had a British accent and a voice that made her
stomach go flippy.
She pulled back the phone, checking the number she dialed in
horror. Okay, right number; wrong
person.
“Hello?” the
voice called again, irritably and Buffy forced herself to speak.
“Hello,” she
said, “Spike?”
Maybe she was
worried for nothing, maybe everything would be okay
between them.
There was a
pause and Buffy tensed, sure she heard him sigh. “Hey,” he said flatly, “Xander’s
in the loo.”
Yeah, things
were several hundred miles from okay.
Buffy clutched the phone a little more tightly, forcing a bright tone, “Oh,
well, are you guys on your way out?”
“Yeah,” Spike responded
in monotone, “Helping Anya move a desk. Do you want me to give him a message?”
“Oh,” she
said. The tension was so thick, she was
waiting for it to clear its throat and introduce itself. Buffy rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness
of the situation, then forced herself to focus on the reason she called, “Yeah,
could you? Have him give me a call as
soon as he can. I got some good news
today.”
“Yeah?” he asked,
still monotone. Buffy frowned. This was stupid. Why didn’t she just tell him? Was she trying to perpetuate the already
painful weirdness between them.
“Yeah,” she
said, deciding to step up to the plate of maturity and give the news to Spike,
“Well, really, you can just tell him¾”
“Actually, you
can tell him yourself,” Spike said simply and Buffy gasped, shocked by his
abruptness. Before she could regain her
composure, the other end of the line jostled and Xander’s
voice came through her handset.
“Hello?” Xander said.
“Hey, Xan,” Buffy said, trying to keep a cheerful tone despite
her frayed nerves.
“Hey Buff,” Xander said, “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing
much,” Buffy said, then with forced cheerfulness added, “Oh, except I got a job at In Your Face
Promotions.”
“You got the
job?” Xander said, then she
heard him hit Spike, “Dude, why didn’t you tell me she got it?”
“Didn’t get
that far, mate,” Spike rumbled in the background and Buffy’s belly clenched at
the sound of his voice.
“That’s
awesome!” Xander said to Buffy, “The Buffster is a bonafide career
woman, now. So, are we all going out to
celebrate or what?”
“I don’t
know,” Buffy said, blushing, “Is a job a reason to go
out and whoop it up?”
“A
job flipping burgers?
No. A job promoting
the hippest most happening music out there? Uh, yeah, I think a drink or two would be in
order.”
“Okay,” Buffy
chuckled, cheered by his enthusiasm, “We’ll see.”
“Talk to the
big man and get something together. Your
first drink is on me,” Xander said and Buffy laughed,
“Now, here, let Bleach Boy congratulate you.
I’ve got to get my keys.”
The phone was
clearly thrust into Spike’s hand and Buffy gaped, gripping her handset
uncomfortably. Could
this painfully awkward experience come to an end sooner rather than later?
“Uh, okay,”
Spike said stiffly and Buffy squeezed her eyes shut.
“Hi again,”
Buffy said uneasily, surprised when she felt the sting of tears teasing at her
eyelashes. This was so stupid. She didn’t even care what he thought! And it’s not like she was losing her best
friend or something here. He was just
some guy she fought with.
“So, you got
the job,” Spike said blankly and Buffy’s lips thinned irritably.
“Yeah,” she
snapped, and heard Xander shouting in the background,
“Just a second, I got to find my wallet.”
“Well,” Buffy
snipped, “I know you need to go, so¾”
“Yeah,” he
agreed uncomfortably, following it with a forced, “Congratulations, Buffy.”
“Thank you,”
she whispered, more than ready for the conversation to end, “See you later.”
“Yeah,” he
said softly, “Later.” After a couple more seconds of oppressive silence, the
phone clicked to dial tone.
Buffy slammed
the handset on the cradle, scowling at her aching knuckles when she pulled back
her hand. She shook her head, furiously trying to recapture her mood, then remembered
the flashing message light on the answering machine, which was a welcome
distraction from the sinking feeling in her gut. Maybe it was Angel. She really needed to hear his voice.
She pressed
the play button and sat down on the couch, “Hey,
Angel, it’s Cordy.”
Buffy’s head
whipped towards the answering machine suspiciously.
“I was hoping to catch you so we could
change our lunch to Carson’s instead of Tres Chez
since I have a meeting with a client in that area. If you get this before
Buffy zoned
out as Cordelia provided a number she could be
reached at and an apology for springing the last minute change.
“Okay, can’t wait to see you. Bye!” Cordelia finished and Buffy
felt a wave of nausea come over her as she recalled every inch of the curvy
brunette.
With strangely
calm detachment, Buffy contemplated the possible reasons she wouldn’t have
known about the lunch. None of them
seemed promising, but she was determined not to jump to conclusions. When Angel got home, he’d explain
everything.
“God, that’s
great news isn’t it?” Xander said as he drove them
towards The Cherry.
“What?” Spike
said, rubbing the back of his neck, which was aching like a bitch.
“Buffy’s
new job!” Xander said.
Brilliant, let’s have a nice long chat
about Buffy.
Spike nodded,
flexing his fingers and wishing to God they’d just get there so he could have a
cigarette.
“I mean, talk
about opportunity for the band! Having someone on the inside is going to give
us major hook-up potential,” Xander said, then added
quickly, “And for Buffy. I mean, that’s
the best part.”
Spike gave an
agreeable grunt and shifted his feet in Xander’s
truck.
“Wow,” Xander said, “Is it possible that you’ve run out of things
to say? And while I realize I should be
counting this as a rare and treasured blessing, I’ve got to say, it’s a wee bit
ooky.”
“Got a
headache,” Spike said, and he wasn’t lying.
He’d pretty much had a headache since Saturday night when he’d gotten
home. Since several doses of ibuprofen
hadn’t done the trick, he was guessing that the headache was a permanent
addition to his miserable existence.
Then again, perhaps if he laid off the scotch for a day or two, he might
not feel like utter horseshit.
“I think the
chemicals have finally bled through your skull,” Xander
concurred, then tightened his grip on the wheel as he turned into the parking
lot. “Do I look alright?” he asked,
eyeing his reflection in the rear view mirror nervously.
“I’ve seen
dogs with better haircuts,” Spike teased dryly.
“Ha ha,” Xander said, then frowned at
him, “Seriously, the outfit, the grooming.
Am I saying, ‘Yes I’ll help you with your desk, and hopefully later your
pants?’”
Spike laughed,
then added sarcastically, “Yeah, you’re a nummy treat.”
Xander
sneered at him, and they got out of the truck, Spike lighting a cigarette the
moment his door was closed.
“She said to
meet her at the back entrance,” Xander said, leading
them around the back. They took a few
more steps and he continued, “I guess there’s a big chair that needs to go
too….Oh. my. God.”
Spike looked
up from the dirt and tilted his head appreciatively at the site that had frozen
his friend in his tracks. Side by side
they admired the barely covered backside of Anya
Jenkins. She was struggling with a desk,
leaned over and tugging with all her might, her cut off jean shorts inching up
a little higher with each tug.
“Now that’s a nummy
treat,” Spike mused mildly.
“So very much
the yes,” Xander said, his tongue practically rolling
out onto his shoes.
Anya
suddenly stood upright, turning her flushed face to them crankily, “Well, are
you going to stare at my backside or help me with the desk?”
“Probably a
little of both,” Xander managed with a flirtatious
grin as he shuffled forward.
Spike climbed
over the desk, to step inside the dark interior of the bar, leaving the end
closest to Anya free for the brunette. The tosser could
never say he’d never given him anything.
Just as soon
as they had squatted down to get a good hold on the desk, Anya
whipped upright again and turned to Xander.
“Wait a
minute,” Anya said dubiously, “You aren’t going to
require any sort of payment here, are you?”
Xander
winked and tipped an imaginary cowboy hat, “Well, ma’am I might settle for a
kiss from a pretty lady.”
Spike smirked
at the move, which was pretty ballsy for Xander. His brows rose in greater amusement when Anya responded thoughtfully, “Well, alright. Kisses are free, and I’m certainly
pretty. And a lady,
too. Besides, we’re supposed to
do that soon, anyways.”
She stepped
towards Xander with purpose and lifted herself to her
tiptoes. Xander’s
wide-eyed shock was priceless enough to break through Spike’s funk. Or at least it would have if Anya hadn’t curled her hand around his collar just before
she kissed him.
The memory of Buffy’s
hands fisting in his t-shirt sent his headache into overdrive. After enduring a
few seconds of their lip smacking, Spike heaved a sigh of relief when they
separated. Today wasn’t a good day to
lay off the scotch….maybe he’d try Excedrine.
The catalogs
in front of her were open, but Buffy wasn’t shopping. She really wasn’t doing much of
anything. She had failed to get
interested in shoe shopping, and had proceeded to pass the time perched on the
edge of the couch, crying a little, fuming a lot, and watching the clock. Three hours after she’d listened to the
message, Angel walked in the door with a smile.
“Hey,” he
said, dropping his keys and sunglasses on the coffee table before pressing a
kiss to the top of her head.
“Are you
planning on wearing Oscar to dinner tonight?” he asked with a grin towards her
feet.
Buffy looked
at him blankly from her perch on the couch, “I got the job.”
“You got the
job?” Angel said, sitting down next to her and embracing her warmly, “That’s
fantastic, baby! I knew you’d get
it! What did I tell you?”
Noticing her
stiffen beneath his squeezes, he leaned back, “Buffy, what is
it? What’s wrong?”
“How was your
day?” she asked evenly, ignoring his question, “Do anything fun?”
“Not really,”
Angel said with a shrug.
“Did you get
lunch already?”
“Yeah,” Angel
said, “I grabbed a bite with my stockbroker.”
“Oh,” Buffy
said, and after a brief hesitation added, “So, does Cordelia
use your stockbroker too?”
Angel waited,
watching her warily until she continued, “Why didn’t you tell me you were
having lunch with Cordelia today?”
Angel paused,
and Buffy watched him speculatively.
So that’s why they call it dumbstruck.
At last, Angel’s
brown eyes flashed and his lips thinned, “Were you going through my planner,
Buffy?”
Buffy gave a
gasp of disbelief, “Your planner? No,
Angel, I was not snooping through your precious planner. She called.”
“She called here?” Angel pressed, and Buffy felt the
threat of tears returning, knowing in that instant he had given Cordy his cell phone number instead of their home number.
“Yeah,” Buffy
snapped, “She called here because she wanted to change to Carter’s, didn’t she
mention it?”
“No, she
didn’t,” he said quietly, and Buffy rushed on.
“Well, she had
this big meeting with a client near there, so that really would have worked
better and why the hell did you lie to me?!”
“That’s
enough,” Angel said, voice low with warning, “I went to lunch with Cordelia to try get an inside scoop on how far Live Bait
could go with IYF from someone who would give it to me straight. It was for the group, Buffy.”
“Do you
honestly expect me to believe that?” Buffy asked.
“It was a business lunch, Buffy. I don’t appreciate what you’re
insinuating.”
“You know
what, Angel,” Buffy said softly, “Maybe you don’t appreciate it. And maybe it is all about business. I want to trust you; you know I do! But when you don’t let me in and you lie to me, how can I?”
Angel’s face
darkened, but his voice was aloof, “Why am I not surprised we’re going here
again? What do you want me to do,
Buffy? Call you every time I make plans
with someone other than you? This
paranoia of yours is getting tedious.”
“I’m not
paranoid,” Buffy said, face burning at his cool attitude, “I just don’t
understand why you wouldn’t tell me if it was all business.”
“I shouldn’t
have to tell you!” Angel said, with a touch of exasperation, “For someone who
says you want to trust me, you sure don’t seem to do much about it.”
“That’s not
fair,” Buffy said, voice trembling, “I don’t need to know about everything you
do, Angel. I just don’t want to be an
outsider in your life anymore.”
Angel sighed,
pressing his fingers to his temples impatiently, “Buffy, I live with you. Do you have any idea what kind of step that
is for me? Why isn’t it ever enough for
you? Do I have to give you everything?”
Tears welled
in her eyes, choking her throat, “There isn’t anything I don’t want to give
you, isn’t anything I don’t want you to be a part of. It breaks my heart to think you don’t feel
that way.”
Angel’s face
remained stoic, but he managed a softer tone, “I know that, Buffy; no one has
ever loved me like you do. But I don’t
know what you want me to say. I’m giving
you all I can right now.”
Buffy wiped
furiously at her tears and stared at her feet, her Oscar slippers pissing her
off to no end. Angel added more gently, “I’m
sorry I didn’t tell you, but there is really nothing going on.”
She lifted her
face, searching for deception in his gaze.
She didn’t find any, but anymore she wondered what she did find in his
eyes. She was beginning to wonder if
she’d ever know all of him, and if she wouldn’t, could she deal with that?
“Let’s not do
this, baby,” Angel said, reaching to stroke her hair, “I love you. There is nothing going on with Cordelia and me.
You’ve got to believe that.”
Buffy sighed,
leaning into his embrace hesitantly, “I believe you,” she whispered, snuffling
into his shirt, “I just don’t understand why it’s so hard for you to let me in.”
“I’m just not
good at this, but I’ll try harder,” he said, but she didn’t miss him stiffening
beneath her cheek.
She leaned
back and he pressed a soft kiss to her lips, “I don’t want to fight anymore.
Why don’t you take a shower and let me take you to dinner? I want to celebrate the new job with my little
career girl.”
Something
about his choice of words made her twitch irritably, but Buffy forced a smile,
“Can we just order in? I’m not really up
for a night on the town.”
“Sure, baby,”
he said, charming smile back as if the fight had never happened. And that was making her stomach hurt worse
than Cordelia’s message. How could it be over, just like that for him?
“How about
pizza and hot wings?” he said, winking rakishly as he offered her favorite.
Feeling a new
wave of tears coming, Buffy nodded with a flash of a smile before getting up to
walk to the bathroom.
Once inside,
she turned on the faucets, stripped off her sweats and moved into the bathtub,
wincing as she stepped beneath the hot stream of water.
Score for the
day. For Team Yay,
the new job and the
The score was
even, so why did she feel so damn bad?
Buffy let a
few tears stream down with the water, hoping the steam would somehow save her
from puffy eyes and a red nose. Truth
was, she didn’t really care about how her eyes looked,
and no matter how great it was to get a new job, the crap part of her day was
winning hands down.
Buffy pressed
her hands to her face and sighed. This
was as close as she was ever going to get to him. That much was crystal clear. The part that was still fuzzy? Was it close enough to live with?
Indigo
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