Indigo
Overture – Chapter Twelve
Rating: Eventually NC17 – for this chapter – R
Buffy rubbed
her eyes and gazed wearily at the glowing Wal-Mart sign. How long could it possibly take to buy a
lighter? He’d been in there for...she
checked the cell phone and sighed.
Alright, it was only five minutes, but five minutes cramped in a smelly
car in the middle of the night was a really
long time.
A couple of
minutes after she checked her cell phone, Spike waltzed out with two plastic
bags in hand. Bags?! Was he stocking up in case of a natural
disaster? He opened the door, settling the bags between him.
“Sorry about
that,” he said, tugging his door closed.
“Must be a
really big lighter,” she mused, “Lots of really big lighters.”
“Yeah,” he
said, cocking his head in amusement, “Well, I grabbed a couple of things. Thought caffeine might be a good idea.”
With the amber
glow of the parking lot lights as his guide, Spike rummaged inside and handed
her a Mountain Dew. Which was nice and
all, but ever since an eighth-grade rumor about mountain goat piss, she hadn’t
been able to drink the stuff. And even
if she could get past the image of a goat relieving himself into a plastic
bottle, she seriously doubted her stomach could handle a sugary soda. Buffy firmly believed that she could replace
one of the five food groups with ice cream…as long as she stuck to diet soda. It was a trade off.
“Oh, thanks,”
she said, trying to sound more grateful than she felt.
“ ‘s not for
you,” he said, still rummaging in the bag.
Well, that figures. Stupid man.
“This is,” he
said, handing her a frosty bottle of Diet Coke that made her eyes gleam and her
mouth water.
“Oh, thank
God,” she said with a genuine smile as she twisted off the top of the soda and
downed a few eager gulps.
He pulled out
a canister of Pringles, a carton of Whoppers, and a bag of Atomic
Fireballs before starting the car and
putting it in reverse.
Buffy
chuckled, “Do a little grocery shopping while you were in there?”
“Well, it’s a
road trip. Gotta have munchies, yeah?”
he said, taking out a stack of chips before offering her the canister of
Pringles.
“True,” she
said taking a few chips, and moving to put the bags in the back. A bundle that seemed suspiciously floral in
nature caught her eye and she peered inside curiously.
“What all did
you get?” she asked, tugging at the plastic to get a better view in the murky
light.
“Nothing,
really,” Spike stammered, “Just munchies and what not.”
Buffy reached
in the bag tentatively, her fingers confirming that Spike had purchased a
bouquet of flowers. She pulled it out of
the bag and waved it at him pointedly.
“Call me
strange, but somehow I don’t picture your house stocked with fresh flowers.
Unless, of course, this is some hot new diet fad that I don’t know about.”
Spike tensed
mid-chew, his face apprehensive, “Right.
Well, I grabbed you something.
Something, to, ah…take.”
Buffy blinked
at the flowers and tried to figure out what planet she was on. Apparently, she had entered some alternate
universe where Angel was the devil incarnate and Spike was the kind of guy who
gets you flowers and soda, while driving you to pay your respects in the middle
of the night.
“You don’t
have to take them,” Spike said, wrestling with the Whoppers carton nervously,
“Just figured you might not want to go empty-handed.”
Buffy shook
her head and placed the flowers on her lap, tracing the petals briefly before
fixing him with an awkward smile.
“Uh, thanks,”
Buffy said, then her brows popped up as she joked, “So, is this the part where
you tell me who you are and why you’ve taken over Spike’s body?”
“Bugger off,”
he said, slouching in his seat and ducking his head towards the road. She
covered her smile with her fingers as he fiddled to light a cigarette and
accelerated onto the highway.
Two hours
later, they pulled into Sunnydale and Buffy’s breath caught in her throat as
they drove past scenery she’d seen every day for the first twenty years of her
life. They passed her school, her
favorite record store, and then the coffee house where Angel and she had
met. Buffy touched the window wistfully,
wondering at how something so familiar could feel so foreign.
“Uh, pet,”
Spike said gently, interrupting the comfortable silence they’d been enjoying
for the last few minutes.
“Yeah?”
“Am I just on
this road until we get there?” he said.
“Sorry,” she
said, remembering his lack of familiarity, “Turn left at the light.”
The
“Where now,
luv?” he asked gently and she shook her head.
“Turn right.”
“Sure thing.”
She could have
taken him another way. A thousand other
ways, really. But she wanted to see
it. She hadn’t planned it, but now that
she was here, it just felt right.
“That was my
house,” Buffy said casually and Spike slowed.
“Which one?”
“The one with
the porch light on,” she said, eyes welling at the sight of it as she
remembered stringing Christmas lights on the porch columns and skinning her
knees on the sidewalk.
Spike pulled
to the curb without further comment, the car idling as she took it in. It was the house she grew up in, and despite
the blue minivan in the driveway and the tricycle beside the steps, it still
felt like it should be her home.
“I bet you had
a lot of fun in that yard,” Spike said, and she looked at him. His face was contemplative, lips curved in
the barest hint of a smile, “Did you climb the tree?”
“Yeah, I did.”
she said, grinning as her gaze returned to the large tree. She probably still had bits of bark stuck in
her palms from her many endeavors to scale it.
With a last wistful look, she turned back to Spike, “Thanks. We can keep
going.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” she
said, “Take a left at the next stop sign.”
A few turns
later, they arrived at the empty main lot of the cemetery, and the engine that
had purred for so long rattled to silence.
The iron gate that led inside filled Buffy’s vision, her insides
suddenly knotting at what she had come to do.
Move already, Buff.
“Okay,” she
said, pulling the flowers off her lap, “I’m ready.”
Spike got out
of the car and walked with her to the gate, opening it and stepping back for her
to pass. She led the way through the
access roads and gravel paths, Spike a silent sentry at her side.
Buffy paused
at the gentle roll of earth where her mother was laid to rest. She noticed that the grass hadn’t yet grown
completely back, and that made it a little too real, but strangely comforting
at the same time. Because if the grass
wasn’t back to normal yet, why should she be?
“It’s up
there,” she said unnecessarily.
“Would you
like me to stay here?” Spike asked, studying her face, “Or come with you?”
“I think I’m
going to go up alone,” she said, fiddling with the plastic wrapping on the
flowers. Spike saw her take a steadying
breath.
“Alright. I’ll be over there on the bench if you need
me,” he said, gesturing to one of the many stone benches that flanked the
walkways.
Buffy
hesitated, turning for one last glance at his back as he strolled away, his
hair a shock of white in the glow of the moon.
He settled on the bench and lit a cigarette, the cherry like a single
glowing eye, watching her as she made her way to her mother’s grave. What had happened to the twitching, snarky
bad-boy? Because now, Spike was
different….he was….well, she couldn’t even think of what he’d become. A chauffer?
A guardian? A friend.
She turned
back to her mom’s grave with a sigh, and began to walk up the incline. She had found her feet tonight; and maybe
coming here would help her find her way.
Before she
knew it, she was there, standing on her mother’s grave, still not quite understanding
how it all came to be this way. Buffy
knelt on the ground, placing the flowers in front of the tombstone’s soft
scalloped edges. And after a few awkward
starts, and what felt like endless rambling, she unbolted the door to her
heart, setting free things that had been locked inside for far too long.
It was a long
time before she rose, pressing a final kiss to the cold granite that bore her
mother’s name.
“Happy
Mother’s Day,” she said, “I promise I’ll be back soon.”
She wiped her
eyes and turned to walk back to the bench where Spike would be waiting. With a fragile heart and heavy legs, she made
her way down the hill, ready to find a Kleenex so she could blow her nose.
Buffy checked
the bench for Spike, who was reclined and after further inspection seemed to be
asleep.
What kind of weirdo sleeps in a
cemetery?
She crept up
on him carefully, managing to get within a couple of feet without waking
him. Buffy watched him sleep, noticing
absently that the moonlight only served to emphasize his beauty. His eyes were closed, but that didn’t
matter. It just made him look like one
of those Greek statues, with his pale skin and chiseled features. If it weren’t for the stark contrast of his
dark brows and lashes, you’d have to look twice to be sure he was real.
Okay, an attractive weirdo, but a
weirdo, nonetheless.
“Spike,” she
whispered, with a gentle nudge at his shoulder, “Time to get up.”
His eyes
drifted open, gaze bleary and features still soft from sleep. He greeted her with a drowsy smile.
“Must’ve
nodded off,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice.
“Sawing logs,”
she teased halfheartedly.
Spike
chuckled, sitting up and rubbing his hands over his messy curls, which was a
vast improvement over the slick stuff anyways.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked gently.
“Yeah,” she
said, feeling bone-weary and emotionally spent, “I’m ready.”
“Alright,” he
said, standing up and taking his place at her side.
They walked to
the car without speaking. Spike opened the
door for her, and Buffy ignored his self-conscious shuffling, her legs
gratefully relenting to the worn leather of the seat. She was sniffing and searching her bag for
tissue when Spike settled into his own seat, reaching beneath the seat and
handing her a napkin.
“Not fun, is
it?” he said softly and she nodded, blowing her nose into the Burger King logo.
He hadn’t
started the car, yet, which was fine.
Moving slow was good for her right now, since the whole world seemed to
be tilting out of balance. She lifted
her gaze to the visor.
“It wasn’t
supposed to be like this,” she said, wiping her eyes and tucking the used
tissue in her bag. In her peripheral
vision, she could see Spike nod. She
blew out a sigh and continued, “My mom was supposed to get better.”
“She had
cancer,” she explained, lowering her stare to a crack in the dashboard, “There
was a really long fancy name for her particular kind, but it was cancer when
you got down to it. A tumor in her
brain. Anyways, there was a surgery, and
they said they were pretty confident they had gotten it all out. We were on top
of the world,” she said, trailing off to swallow her tears.
“I can
imagine, luv.”
He said it so
gently that it made her want to cry all the more.
Buffy sniffed
back the tears and turned into fact mode, “They called it a post-operative
complication. She survived the surgery
to be taken out a couple of weeks later by a glitch. I just feel like we had no time, you know?”
She turned and
Spike wore an expression so tender it made her throat constrict, “Yeah, luv, I
do.”
She watched
him expectantly, waiting while he fiddled with his keys and shifted
uncomfortably on his seat. After a stiff
shrug, he awkwardly blurted, “My mum had cancer, too; bone cancer. She had been having symptoms, but nothing
that seemed too serious. When she
finally realized something was really wrong and got it checked out, it had
advanced too far…”
Buffy nodded,
but he kept his eyes on steering wheel, “The doctors gave us a few weeks to a
month, at best.”
“What did you
do?”
“I mostly lost
my mind, you know? Spent half my time
raising hell with doctors or God or whoever else came near me. Otherwise, I just functioned on automatic
mode, doing what needed to be done.”
“That must
have been awful for your family,” Buffy said.
“Well, it was
just mum and me since I was a baby,” Spike said, his eyes narrowing, “I did go
back to London to get my girlfriend, Drusilla, but she was preoccupied,” Spike’s said, his tone turning to ice with the last
word.
“Preoccupied?”
Buffy prompted, her curiosity piqued.
“With a game
of slap and tickle in our bedroom. Too
bad I wasn’t there to enjoy it.”
“Oh, my God,”
Buffy said, dumbfounded.
“Actually,”
Spike said with a bitter smirk, “That particular phrase was one of the little
nasties I got to hear from the wrong side of the door.”
“I can’t even
imagine,” she said, with her forehead creased in astonishment. “How long were
you together?” she asked.
“Really
together?” Spike mused, “Hell, I don’t know.
For me, it was forever. I can’t
remember a time I wasn’t crazy about her.
We grew up together; she was the center of my sodding universe, the only
girl that existed, as far as I was concerned.”
Buffy giggled,
“Color me surprised to think of you pining hopelessly for someone.”
Spike’s
expression turned flinty, “Things were different then. I was different.”
“It must have
been hard to lose her,” Buffy said, “Especially with all the other stuff.”
“Well, it
wasn’t a walk in a rose garden,” Spike said with a sardonic smile. “After that it all went up the spout. I went home to be with Mum and stayed until
the end.”
Buffy nodded,
fingers picking at the leather seat beneath her, “Did you ever talk to
Drusilla?”
Spike sighed,
“No, I never did. She called the house
when her parents told her about my mum, of course. But I couldn’t…” he trailed off, jaw
twitching angrily, though it was hard to tell if the anger was directed at the
memory or at his own difficulty expressing it.
He shook his
head dismissively, “Well, Angel was with me, and I had told him the long and
short of it. So, he offered to handle
it, and wrong or not, I let him. Don’t
think I could have done it. Not then.”
“No one
could,” Buffy said, face drawn in sympathy, “I’m glad you weren’t alone.”
“Well maybe
somebody could,” Spike said, “But not me, not the way I was,” Spike said, his
tone still self-depreciating. He cocked
his head thoughtfully, “But I did go back to
She nodded and
he continued, finally turning to face her, “Had Angel box up my stuff, and
wandered the streets on some sort of self-destruct mission. Before I achieved much success at it, Angel
bailed me out.”
Spike arched a
brow in irony, “And that’s how I became a Californ-i-an,”
he finished affecting a very poor American accent.
Buffy
chuckled, then her gaze slid back to the smattering of graves she could see
from the car. She sighed and turned to
him tentatively.
“Does it get
easier?” Buffy asked, afraid of the wobble in her voice but needing to get the
question out. “I mean, does time make it
hurt…less?”
He turned to
face her, noticing her attention was on the cemetery again. Her eyes held the promise of a fresh wave of
tears, and Spike wondered if he should reach for her. He knew he wouldn’t, knew it wasn’t his
place. But what was he supposed to say
to that? When you strip away the pretty
little lies, how do you tell someone it really doesn’t get better. Just different.
“It changes,”
he offered, because that much was true.
It got a little less raw, a little less shocking with time. Buffy turned to him, her brows furrowed in
confusion.
“I wager it
will always be there,” he said, eyes settling comfortably on her, “Here’s the
thing; you can’t change what happened.
You can’t stay there, you can’t go back, so the only way out is
through.”
He bit his lip
thoughtfully before continuing, “You’ve got to keep living, yeah? So you dig in your heels,” he paused, sparing
her back a quick look that he swore didn’t mean a thing, “You find the things
that make you tick, the people you can love, you know?”
I thought I had, Buffy thought, ducking her stare to
the seat between them.
“I guess you
have to just find the new place you fit,” he finished and her gaze lifted,
floating past him to her trusty dashboard crack.
“What if you
don’t know where you belong?” she said, wishing she didn’t sound so small and
frightened.
His patient
silence stretched until she finally dragged her gaze back to him, finding his
head tilted and eyes soft and deep, “Then you hang in there until you figure it
out.”
“Yeah,” she
said with a small smile, quickly turning away to let her head drop back on the
headrest with a yawn she couldn’t suppress.
Spike reached back
over the seat to locate his duster. She
opened her eyes and rolled her head sleepily towards him as Spike hauled it
over. He offered her the coat with a
smirk.
“Uh, the maid
hasn’t brought me fresh pillows,” he started and she grinned. “But you can use this for your head.”
“Thanks,” she
said as he started the car, carefully and almost reverently folding the leather
before she propped it between her seat and the door. By the time they pulled out of the parking
lot, she had apparently plumped the leather into something that suited her and
had nestled in. Ten minutes later, as he
made his way back onto the interstate, her soft snores were filling the car.
Seven
cigarettes and two hours after that, Spike turned into Buffy and Angel’s
apartment complex. He rolled to a stop
near their parking lot entrance and reached over, nudging her arm gently,
“Buffy, wake up. We’re almost there.”
Buffy lifted
her head and blinked blearily, “Almost where?” she asked, her voice as
sleep-rumpled as her hair.
“To your
place,” he said, his headlights leading their entry to the parking lot. While she rubbed her eyes and went through
the motions of waking up, he parked in a spot in front of her apartment, noting
with a frown that Angel’s car was missing.
Spike turned
to Buffy as he turned off the car, finding her focused on her apartment door
with a wrinkled nose. She passed the
duster back to him and he tossed it in the back.
“I am so ready
to brush these sweaters off my teeth,” she said with a grimace as she undid the
seatbelt.
Spike
chuckled, “You want me to walk you up?”
Buffy sighed
and stretched awkwardly in the cramped space of the car, “No, I’ll be fine.”
Her fingers
curled over the door handle, then she hesitated, turning back to him
purposefully. “Spike, about tonight…”
she trailed off quickly.
He wanted to
tell her not to worry about it, but she moved forward too fast, scooting across
the small space left between them on the seat.
Before he could even think of what to do with that development, he found
himself chest to chest with her. Her
arms went around his neck and her face pressed against his shoulder, his body
returning the squeeze with no actual direction from his mind.
“Thank you,”
she said, her voice muffled in his cotton t-shirt, her perfume invading his
senses with a very tangible reminder of how close she was.
Buffy pulled
back just a little, her face so close that he inhaled sharply and froze, having
no sodding clue what the hell else he should do. Then her lips grazed his cheek and as soon as
it had started, it was over.
She slid back
across the seat. Halfway out of the car,
she paused and as her profile appeared she muttered haltingly, “Tonight meant a
lot to me.”
Then the door clicked
closed behind her, and Spike finally released the breath that was now burning
in his lungs. He watched her walk to her
door, then fiddle with the lock and finally disappear into the soft glow of her
apartment. That’s when he let his head
drop to the steering wheel with a thud.
“Bloody hell.”
Buffy shut
the door behind her, noting that the lamp in the living room was on.
She kicked off
her shoes and walked to the coffee table, depositing her keys and loose change
next to a used glass. With a sigh, she
picked it up and looked dubiously at the thin layer of liquid still lingering
at the bottom. Buffy gave the glass a
cursory sniff as she walked to the kitchen, her nostrils flaring at the pungent
odor.
“Well, looks
like someone else didn’t have a good night,” she said to herself as she placed
the glass in the sink. On the counter
there was a bottle of Prabàn scotch, a
bottle that, if she remembered correctly, had been at least two inches higher
the last time she checked.
“Drink much?” Buffy said with a distasteful pout at the bottle as she
slid it back into place. And would it
kill the man-lush to put something back?
After a
brief diversion to the bathroom for a much needed teeth brushing, Buffy padded
to her bedroom. She dropped her bag on
the floor and then her clothes in the hamper as she peeled them off. After snatching a shirt to sleep in, Buffy
snuggled into her bed and pulled the covers to her chin, indulging in a brief,
sad awareness of being in bed alone before she succumbed to sleep.
She was jarred from her cocoon of unconsciousness when the phone
rang. Buffy cracked an eye open and shut
it when the room proved too bright for her taste. The phone rang again, jingling with an
annoying persistence. She would have
smashed the damn thing if she’d had a hammer.
Since one didn’t seem to be tucked beneath her pillow, she answered the
phone on the third ring.
“Hello?” she said, her voice a crackle.
“Hey baby,” Angel said, his tone cheerful enough to make bile rise in the
back of Buffy’s throat, “What’s going on?”
“I’ve been sleeping,” she replied, blinking to try to clear her vision.
“Well, that’s good,” he said, “Sleep is always a good thing.”
Buffy made a noncommittal mmph
noise and sat up, tucking the blankets under her arms.
Angel sighed
on the other end of the line, “Look, Buffy.
I wanted you to know that I’ve been thinking about the Sunnydale
thing. I really want to make this up to
you. I still want to go down there on
Monday. We can make a day of it.”
Buffy narrowed her eyes irritably, “Save it,” she snapped, her morning
voice making the words even harsher, “In case you’ve forgotten, I have to be at
work on Monday. And besides, I’ve
already been.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he said, then added, “Wait, did you say you’ve
already been?”
“Yes,” Buffy said, enjoying the mental image of Angel with his mouth
gaping.
Finally, he broke the silence, “You’ve already been to Sunnydale and
you’re back?”
“Yeah,” she said, “I went last night.”
“Last night? Buffy, do you have
any idea how dangerous bus stations can be at night? God knows what kind of lunatics wander around
those places.”
“Angel, calm
down. Spike took me,” she said, some
small part of her hoping that stung some male pride. Common sense and thoughtfulness he lacked,
but Angel was all stocked up on the pride.
“Oh,” Angel said flatly. After a
long and pensive pause that Buffy guessed was filled with Angel trying to
figure out how the hell Spike got involved, he continued, confirming her
suspicions.
“Did you tell him, Buffy?”
“No, I didn’t have to,” she snapped, “I’m guessing he overheard us and
followed me.”
After another beat Angel responded, “I see.”
He paused again and Buffy rolled her eyes. What, was this a silence contest?
“Well, I’m glad you’re home safe.”
“That’s all you have to say?” she asked.
“What do you want me to say, Buffy?
You stormed away from me,
remember?”
“Yeah, because you blew off our plans!
Remember that, Angel?”
“What did you expect me to do?” Angel hissed.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe tell your family you were going out of town with
me?”
Angel laughed
bitterly, lowering his voice, “Yeah, sure, tell my family no. It’s just a bit more
complicated than that.”
Buffy blinked,
“And yet it sounds so simple.”
“You don’t understand my family, Buffy,” Angel
whispered, “You don’t understand the kind of expectations they have of me.”
“Maybe I would
if I’d ever met them,” she said.
“It’s not
about that!” Angel said, “You can’t imagine what they expect from me. I am a MacArthur,
Buffy. I can’t just live my life however
I please, shirking all the responsibility that comes with the name. It has nothing to do with you, it’s them.”
Buffy smirked
wryly, “Well, that’s the first thing you’ve said that I can agree with.”
Angel huffed, “I have no idea how to make you understand this.”
“Oh, I think I’m getting the word picture,” Buffy said, fingers
tightening on the phone.
“Don’t do this, Buffy,” Angel said, and she paused, hoping against hope
that he was ready to concede, “I realize that this hurt you, and I wish it
hadn’t, but¾”
Buffy interrupted impatiently, “¾You know, Angel¾”
“¾Hang on a
second,” Angel said and she heard his hand go over the speaker.
Buffy’s mouth dropped open incredulously.
Unbelievable. He had her on hold.
“Yes, mother?” his muffled
voice carried through, followed quickly by, “Be right there,”
The phone unmuffled and Angel returned,
“Buff, I have to go,” he said, “Lunch is ready.”
“You’re going to go,” she said, not sure why she was even shocked at this
point.
“Yes,” he said, “I have
to. We’ll talk when I get home.”
“Whatever,” she ground out.
“See you then,” he said and the phone went dead.
Buffy held out the dial-tone emitting receiver and screamed at it,
“Jerk!”
After tossing the phone back on the cradle, she stumbled out of bed and
took a brief shower. No sooner had she
brushed her teeth and pulled on sweats when the doorbell chimed.
“What now?” she asked the mirror grouchily. Buffy yanked a hair scrunchie from the medicine
cabinet and walked to the door, pulling her hair into a ponytail on the way.
She swung the door open to reveal
“Hey,”
“You thought right,” Buffy said, ushering her in, “I’m so glad you’re
here.”
“Me too,”
“I’ll get spoons,” Buffy said and
Buffy returned with utensils and they settled into the couch, Buffy on
one end and
“So, how are you doing?”
“Really nasty?” Buffy finished and when
“Oh, Buffy!”
“Yeah, well, not to worry. Spike
came to my rescue.”
“Spike?”
Buffy licked her spoon and nodded, “Yep.
I think he must have overhead the end of it. Then I think he kind of stalked me, but not
in a creepy way.”
“Yeah, he
called,” Buffy said, “We sort of got into it, but it didn’t go anywhere. Lunch was
served,” she finished with a roll of her eyes.
“Did he
apologize?”
“Not really,”
she said, digging into her carton with renewed gusto.
“I’m really sorry,”
Buffy pursed her
lips, “More angry than hurt, now. I
don’t think talking about it is going to do much, though. Angel is…” Buffy paused, looking thoughtful,
“Well, he’s just Angel. When he makes up
his mind that he’s right, there’s no changing it.”
“I’m worried
about you two, Buff,” she said, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I know,” she
said, bumping her knee into
“Even if…”
Willow trailed off, afraid to say anything that sounded like ‘breaking up’, “I
mean if…well, no matter what happens, you belong here, Buffy. You’re a part of us, and nothing will change
that.”
Buffy
swallowed the lump in her throat, giving Willow a watery smile.
“I mean that,”
Willow said, pointing her spoon for emphasis.
“I know,”
Buffy said, “And now that we’ve hashed the ick, do you think we could talk
about something to cheer me up?”
“Will,” Buffy
prodded and when the redhead looked up, added, “Rambling.”
“Sorry.”
Buffy
swallowed another bite and counted off the answers, “Okay, first, I think I’m
wearing the blue blazer we got over my beige sundress. I think it has the perfect blend of
I’m-cute-and-trendy-and-all-about-the-business-savvy.”
“Plus it has
that whole leg showing thing which is good for male clients.” Buffy raised her brows and Willow blushed,
“What? It’s true!”
“Moving past
the sexual harassment possibilities of my wardrobe,” Buffy said, then thought
back and darkened, “Oh, right. The
celebration.”
Buffy
hesitated for one second, thinking she should probably check with Angel. Then, with determination, she shook the
thought away, “When are you thinking?”
“I say
tomorrow,” Willow said, “It would give us all a reason to look forward to
Monday for a change.”
“Alright,”
Buffy said with a nod, “Tomorrow it is.”
Spike walked
into Chili’s at 6:05, spotting the group at a large tall table by the bar. Red noticed him and waved him over. As he moved towards them, he did a quick
headcount. Red, Oz, Xander, Buffy,
and…well surprise surprise, no Angel.
“Hey, career
girl,” Spike said with a nod and a grin in Buffy’s direction.
She beamed at
him, “That’s me!”
He took in her
pretty beige dress with an appreciative smile, “So how’d your first big day
go?”
“I was just
getting there,” she said, turning back to the group with a little bounce of her
hair, “So, where was I?”
“The copier,”
Willow prompted, moving her arm out of Oz’s way so he could dip a chip in the
steaming pot of queso at the center of the table.
“Right!” Buffy
said, grabbing a chip and waving it as she spoke, “So after going through a
process that I’m guessing is more complex than launching a space shuttle, I got
the stupid thing open. And there I was,
up to my armpits in copier guts, trying to find the paper jam.”
Buffy munched
the chip and took a drink of her soda while the group waited. Eyes bright, she continued, “I never thought
a copier could mutilate a piece of paper, because well, not really in the job
description. But, I was wrong. Copiers can, and this one did.”
The table
groaned in commiseration and she nodded gravely, though her eyes still sparked
with humor, “Yeah, big groan. Which got
even worse when I pulled out this little mangled nub of the original just as my
boss walked in.”
“Busted,”
Xander said dramatically.
“Did you get
in trouble?”
“Actually,
no,” Buffy mused. “He actually came in to
ask me if I could make a few calls to find a full list of where you guys have
played this year. Which I just so
happened to know,” she said with a smug grin.
“Why don’t I
get questions like that?” Xander whined and Buffy blinked at him perkily.
“Because I
do. And that question saved me from
probable copier-induced termination, so I think it was all for the good.”
Xander
shrugged and reached for a chip, finding the bowl empty. He looked left, watching
“Anyone teach
you how to share, Bleach Boy?” Xander jabbed.
“Same person
who taught you how to dress,” Spike snarked, reaching over him to dip three
chips in the queso, dripping them on Xander’s hand with an “oops” before
cramming the entire stack into his mouth.
Xander yanked
the queso bowl towards his chest, “No one gets queso until I get a chip.”
“Harris, you give
me that bowl, or I’m going to pound these chips into your eye sockets,” Spike
teased, now chucking ice cubes from his water glass at him.
“This is war,”
Xander said, pulling his straw out of his soda with his teeth and blowing a
spray of sugary water in Spike’s direction.
“You’re one
step away,” Spike warned, switching to his beer and swirling it menacingly.
“Quit bugging
him, Spike. And Xander, relax,” Buffy
teased, “It’s a chip shortage, not a famine.”
“He’s trying
to starve me!” Xander complained.
“You might try
ordering something,” Oz said, with a pointed look at the waitress who had
arrived at their table, setting down a fresh bowl of chips which Xander
gratefully snatched.
“Are you
ready?” the waitress asked.
The group turned
to Buffy, their eyes avoiding the one empty chair that remained at their
table. She acknowledged the chair with a
brief frown. He said he’d try to make it
when he called this morning. Then again,
it wouldn’t be the first time Angel had something more important come up. It would just be the first time she didn’t
care.
Buffy turned
back to the waitress with a deliberate grin, “Yeah, I’ll have the Number Four,
extra cheese and no onions, please.”
By the time
they stepped under the awning to The Cherry, the sun was a sliver of red in the
western sky. They shuffled through the
ID checks and stepped inside, greeted by the flashing lights and throbbing beat
of the club.
“Let’s get a
table,” Buffy said, and Spike nodded, leading the way to a cluster of tables
near the dance floor.
Halfway
through the bar, Xander cocked his head and called to the group, “Hey, isn’t
that Angel?”
Spike turned a
wary eye to the bar, where sure enough, the Grand Git was in-residence. He was nursing a drink, eyes all dark and
gloomy and cell phone glued to his ear.
“Yeah, it is,”
Buffy noted without interest, “So, where do we want to sit, guys? How about the corner?” she said, gesturing to
a table near the dance floor.
“Corner it
is,” Spike said with a smirk. Girl had
grown some stones.
They were just
settling into their chairs when Angel snapped his cell phone shut and noticed
them. Xander lifted his hand in
greeting, and
“So, who’s
getting drinkies?” Buffy asked, and
“I’m voting
Purple Hooters for us,”
“Just get me a
beer,” Spike said, “And not any of that American crap.”
“I’ll have a,”
Xander’s face abruptly pinched, “Angel.”
“A wha?” Buffy
said, then turned over her shoulder to see that Angel and his glass had
arrived, surrounded by the Fog of Doom.
She turned away to study the table.
“Hey,” he
greeted and the rest of the table offered him half-hearted smiles, “Bad news.”
“Do tell,” Oz
said sarcastically as Angel took a chair and nodded, unaware.
“Give me a
second” Angel continued, pausing dramatically, “It’s serious.”
“Really? And here we thought you were coming over to
celebrate Buffy’s new job with us,”
Angel looked
momentarily strained, casting Buffy a feeble attempt at an apologetic look,
“I’m sorry, I got tied up.”
“Color me not
surprised at all,” she said with an ambivalent shrug.
“I’m going to
see about drinks,” Spike said, rising from his chair.
“You need to
hear this too,” Angel said, frowning at him.
Spike dropped
into his chair and stared at the ceiling, “Yeah, I’m on tenterhooks.”
Xander blinked
a little impatiently, “So, what’s the up, Chief?”
Angel took
another drink and set his glass deliberately on the table before leveling the
band with a somber stare, “It’s the gig.
We’re not playing next
Friday. We’re playing this Friday.”
“Did I miss the
bad part?” Oz asked, his brow arched in consternation, “Or are we building up
to that?”
“Uh, that
would be no,” Xander said, then turned to Angel, “Look, the gig’s still on,
that’s the important thing. So, we can
get back to the Buffy celebration now and get things into high gear tomorrow
morning.”
“This is
serious!” Angel protested.
“Dire,” Oz
agreed facetiously, and the rest of the table hid their snickers with their
hands.
“Look,”
“Sounds like a
plan,” Xander said, grinning as Anya approached the table with a tray, “Hey,
An! Say, any reason you didn’t mention
the change in schedule this afternoon?”
Anya rolled
her eyes and set the tray on the table, tucking her currently red hair behind
her ear, “Honestly, Xander, do you expect me to interrupt my pursuit of orgasms
to discuss your band? Drinks, anyone?”
Xander’s eyes
widened into the size of dinner plates as Oz lifted his brows, “She’s direct.”
“That she is,”
Spike agreed and Buffy chuckled.
“Two purple
hooters, please,”
“Can we focus,
here?” Angel pleaded, “Do you have any idea how much we have to do?”
“So over
this,” Buffy said, rolling her eyes as she stood up and faced
“Definitely,”
The rest of
the guys ordered drinks, Angel lifting his glass in a despondent request for
more of the same. Anya shrugged at his
frown and headed back to the bar.
“This bass
line is brilliant,” Spike mused, listening to the music, “Can you do that?”
“Not sure,” Oz
said, “It’s a hell of a span.”
“Four days,”
Angel muttered grimly, rubbing his forehead.
“Yep, four
days,” Xander said, “So! How about Buffy
the career girl?”
Angel looked
at him blankly and nodded, “Yeah, it’s great,” he said, words slurring around
the edges, “Are you going to be available the rest of this week?”
“I’m clear,”
Xander replied, tilting his head at Oz.
“I work until
“What about
you?” Angel asked Spike as Anya returned with the drinks.
“I don’t work
until
Angel downed
half of his drink and set the glass on the table with a satisfied grunt, “So,
we’ll clean up the sets on Tuesday and Wednesday, and polish things on
Thursday.”
“Yeah-yeah,
we’ll get it sorted already,” Spike said, exasperated, “Now would you get your
head out of your ass and go dance with your girl?”
Oz leaned back
in his chair, watching with interest as Angel’s expression heated.
“I think there
are more important things to do right now than dancing,” Angel retorted.
“Right,” Spike
sneered, “Fans to please, hair to groom and all that; definitely worth botching
the celebration of a job she got because you asked her to.”
Xander shifted
nervously on his chair, “You know, I think I’m going to go see Anya.”
Angel took
another drink as Xander left, his face malevolent. Spike glowered back relentlessly.
“What’s your
problem, Spike?” Angel said at last and Spike bristled.
“You.” he
said, standing up from the table and pacing with his beer.
Oz pursed his lips,
but remained a silent observer to the barely veiled hostility.
“Get over it,”
Angel offered, getting up and nodding at Oz, “I’m going to make a pitstop. If Anya stops by, order me another, would
you?”
Angel marched
towards the restrooms before giving Oz a chance to respond. After a split second of hesitation, Spike
charged after him with daggers in his stare.
He reached Angel at the hallway, fingers digging into his sleeve to
announce his presence.
“I think I can
handle the bathroom alone,” Angel slurred, and when Spike’s grip tightened, he
stumbled to turn around, “Care to explain what the hell your issue is?!”
“About to get
into that, mate,” Spike barked, his anger burning hotter with every step he
took. Just past the bathrooms, Spike saw
an open storeroom, just some shelves with paper towels and what not, but it
would work. He shoved Angel in and
followed, leaving the door open, but blocking the entrance with his body.
“Are you
insane?” Angel said, whirling with a scowl, “You looking to fight me?”
“Oh, don’t
tempt me. If you hadn’t just taken a
swim in the bottom of a scotch bottle, I probably would.”
“You’re a fine
one to be talking about drinking, Spike.
How many times did I have to peel you off the floor of our flat. I’ve cleaned your puke off my shoes more than
once!”
“Would you
shut your hole for a minute?” Spike said impatiently, shoulders tensing.
“Why? You got something to say?” Angel challenged,
puffing up his chest.
“I’m getting
there,” Spike said as he began to pace the narrow room, “But it’s hard to sort
anything out with you rabbiting on like the drunken fuckwit that you are.”
“If you’ve got
a point, I suggest you make it. I’ve got
shit to do.”
Spike moved in
like a boxer, dancing back and forth barely a foot from Angel’s face, “Like
what? Need to scamper off to drive your
girlfriend even further around the bend?”
“You don’t
know what you’re talking about,” Angel said, his eyes sliding away from Spike
defensively.
“Oh, I bloody
well think I do, mate. And you might too
if you’d belt up about the damn gig long enough to realize what you’re about to
throw away.”
“And what’s
that, oh wise one?” Angel sneered.
“Buffy,” Spike
said simply.
“Hate to break
it to you, but she’s not the sweet kid you all think she is,” Angel slurred.
“No, she’s
not,” Spike said, “She’s not a kid at all.
She’s a woman, no, sorry, not just a woman. She’s a lady.
And I’ll give it to you Angel, she’s a league above any of the other skirts you’ve dragged in.”
Angel snorted
derisively, but Spike continued, his words running together faster as his
temper flared, “And though she could wrap any guy in this city around her
finger with just a single pout of those pretty lips of hers, she chose you.
Guys would fall down on their knees for a chance with a girl like her,
but not you. No, you’re preening around
like a peacock, too busy with your sodding hair and your fat wallet to tend to
your girl.”
“I’ve paid for
her whole life since she’s been here!” Angel argued.
“And what kind
of life is it, Angel? A life she spends
wandering around in your shadow, stroking your ego and parading around on your
arm like some sort of trophy. You treat
her like a fucking accessory!”
Angel squared
his shoulders, “She’s my girlfriend, Spike, not my life. You should know better than anyone that you
have to look out for number one.”
“Yeah, mate,
you’re absolutely right. But you aren’t
number one. She is. She is the best thing about you anymore, the
only thing that makes you worth the air you use.”
Angel shook
his head, a sardonic smile spreading on his lips, “You have no idea how
transparent you are, do you?” Spike
paused, cocking his jaw warily as Angel continued, “Don’t confuse drunk for
stupid, Spike, I’m plenty aware of your little agenda, here.”
“Oh, you are,
are you?” Spike said, eyes narrowing into fierce slits, “Why don’t you
enlighten me, Your Greatness?”
“Don’t play
coy,” Angel snapped, “All the sparring sessions and your little dirtbike ride
at the picnic? Oh and let’s not forget
you saving the day yesterday, whisking her off to Sunnydale in the middle of
the night. Buffy might buy your nice guy
charade, but I don’t. You want in her
pants as bad as any other guy, but you’d be wise to remember that she belongs
to me.”
Spike’s breath
hissed and his cheeks flushed before he ground out a response.
“Buffy doesn’t
belong to anyone, least of all you.”
“No,” Angel
corrected, wagging his finger haughtily, “That’s where you’re wrong. She does belong to me. She is my
girl, and this is my business.
I’ll handle it.”
“Yeah, you’re
doing a bang up job of handling it, aren’t you?”
Angel arched
his brow arrogantly, leering at Spike with his clenched fists and gritted
teeth.
“You think you
could do better?” Angel asked with a caustic smirk, “How many girls have loved
you the way Buffy loves me?”
Angel laughed,
and lifted his chin scathingly, “I am her
life, Spike. It’s everything you
ever wanted with Dru,” he said, eyeing him cruelly, “Too bad you weren’t man
enough to hold on to her.”
Spike lunged
forward, fingers wrapping around Angel’s collar as he simultaneously shoved him
into a shelf, rolls of toilet paper raining down. Angel threw a sloppy punch in retaliation. Spike dodged it, backing away with clenched
fists.
“Nice try,”
Spike said, cracking his neck irritably, “But you aren’t going to toss that
trump card onto the pile now.”
“Looks like it
worked,” Angel sneered, “You’re looking like a kicked puppy, Spikey.”
Spike leveled
him with an icy glare, “I don’t give a monkey’s ass about how I look,
Angel. This isn’t about me. It’s about Buffy. Mark my words; you need to make this right
with her. Either treat her right or cut
her loose.”
“Is that a
threat?” Angel asked, straightening his collar nonchalantly.
“It’s a
warning,” Spike snarled.
“You couldn’t
take me if you tried,” Angel scoffed, eyeing the doorway purposefully.
Spike stepped
slowly forward, undaunted by the inches of height that Angel had over him,
“You’re right,” he conceded, “In a fair fight, you’ve got the advantage, but
you’re forgetting something.”
“What’s that?”
Angel said, trapped between the fiery blonde and the shelf behind him.
“I won’t fight
fair. I’ll never give up and I’ll never
give in. You hurt Buffy again, and I swear
to God you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your fucking life.”
With nothing
left to say, Spike turned away in a whirl of leather, strolling out of the
storeroom. He nearly smacked into a
red-faced Buffy and a horrified
Spike gaped
for a moment, wishing he could turn back time to keep Buffy from hearing
everything that had been said in the last ten minutes. He searched desperately for any words that
might have been appropriate, but gave up when Angel stumbled into the
hall. Spike backed into the wall,
Angel
stiffened as he caught sight of her, his lips twitching into a hesitant smile,
“Hey, baby, I was just coming to find you.”
“Don’t even
start, you son of a bitch,” Buffy warned, her voice ragged with both fury and
anguish. Spike sucked in an angry
breath, and it was
“How long have
you been here?” he asked.
“I heard everything,”
Buffy snapped back viciously, hands balled into fists at her sides. The shimmer of tears in her eyes was the only
hint at the pain that swelled beneath her rage.
Angel huffed,
then paled, ducking his head to her, “Can we talk about this at home?”
“Oh, I don’t
think so,” Buffy said, pinning him with a scathing stare, “I’m not going home
with you. And I think you’ve said everything I need to hear.”
She turned
back to
“Of course,”
Angel’s eyes
burned, and he cocked his head scornfully, “So, what? You’re done?
Just like that? You might want to
think real carefully about what you’re doing here, Buffy.”
“I’ve done
enough thinking,” Buffy said, her expression steely with resolve, “And thanks
to your little tirade, I’ve finally come to some conclusions.”
She tipped her
head to watch him through narrowed eyes, “You are not my life.” Buffy paused,
waiting for Angel to meet her gaze. He
finally relented, shame-faced and scowling, and Buffy finished, “And you sure
as hell aren’t the best thing that ever happened to me, Angel. Not even close. ”
Angel took a
breath, as if he might interject something else, but Buffy turned away. Angel crossed his arms and looked sullenly at
Buffy’s back as she walked towards
“Do you have any
idea what you’re doing here?” Angel called after her.
Buffy tossed a
gaze over her shoulder, “Yeah, I do. If
you ever step off that pedestal of perfection and figure it out yourself, you
know where to find me.”
Angel laughed
bitterly, his eyes rolling skyward as Buffy walked away. Spike held his breath as she passed,
startling as he felt her fingers brush against his, giving him a gentle squeeze
before she let Willow take her away.
Indigo
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