Indigo
Overture – Chapter Thirteen
Rating: Eventually NC17 – for this chapter – R
Author’s
Note: I apologize for the length of time
between updates. I had some pretty
harrowing personal life stuff come up and it just had to take a back seat for a
bit. For those who knew about the
delays, thank you for your support and kindness. And for my beta, Angstchic…..as
always, you blow me away with your commitment and support. Thank you so much.
“Showtime,”
Buffy said, as she squinted at her reflection one last time. The Cherry’s ladies room wasn’t exactly the
picture of tidiness, so it was hard to be confident in her assessment. But despite the film of nicotine and lipstick
messages that generously coated the mirror behind the sinks, she was reasonably
sure she looked good. She scanned her
black boots and cheery red skirt, ending her survey at the teeny black shirt
that pushed the line between professional and sexy. Buffy pursed her red lips at the sliver of
midriff that the shirt revealed.
Okay, fine,
there wasn’t really a line, but the silver buttons that closed the front of the
skimpy garment did hint at once professional origins. Maybe. Besides, Cordelia had told her that it was
best to look better than any of the groupies.
Not that Live Bait had actual groupies, but still, it was the
principle.
Buffy gave an
approving nod at her image, then turned to lean
against the sink. She eyed the door
warily, her shoulders tensing at the memories of what had happened just beyond
it. She needed to get over it. It was just a door. The last time she’d walked through it, her
life had changed. But not today; today
it was just a door. And it was her job,
not Angel, that was waiting beyond it.
But door or
not, he was going to be here tonight, and thanks to IYF’s little last minute
rearrangement, she was going to be the head cheerleader of Team Live Bait instead of Wicked Twist Which was so very much the suck. Because she could really, really stand to have some distance from
Angel. After all, that’s generally what
a break-up meant. Distance.
The door she
was staring at flew open, cracking against the bathroom wall, “Buffy, what the
hell are you doing?” Cordelia asked as she entered the bathroom, “Please tell me you didn’t eat one of
the chalupas from Larry the Cart Guy, because I’m so not giving you advice under the door of stall four.”
Buffy shook
her head, donning a bright expression, “Nope, I’m chalupa free. Just made a quick stop but I’m ready.”
“Well, that’s
a plus. No one else seems to be,” Cordy
said, checking her neatly upswept hair and caramel nails in the mirror, then
handing Buffy a clipboard with her itinerary.
They made
their way back into the club, pausing at the stage, when Cordelia focused a
scowl on the crew gathered on it. The
stage lights flickered, then dismally faded to
darkness, followed by a few curses from the men who were trying to fix
them.
“Well, that’s
perfect,” Cordelia snapped, crossing her arms as she glared at the faulty
lights, “They’ll be playing in total darkness, which is really par for course
today since Michael is semi-drunk, his newest bimbos are fighting, and the
twins are too busy with their hair to tell me where the box of CDs is.”
Buffy lurched
forward cheerfully when the lights sparked to life. She pointed at them with a grin. “Ooh, look at the bright side! Literally.”
“One bonus in a string of crappy occurrences,”
Cordy relented, “Just be glad they switched you. Live Bait will be a piece of cake.”
“I’m sure
you’re right,” Buffy forced, donning a smile that was as big as it was false.
“Hey Cordy, a
couple of cars and a van just pulled up,” a waitress offered as she passed.
“Thanks,”
Cordelia said, “Well, that’d probably be your boys,” she paused, lifting one of
her perfectly shaped brows, “Oh. And girl. I forgot
about
Buffy
felt a tickle of nervous energy as she glanced at the hallway.
She couldn’t see anything, of course, and she didn’t even want to. Yep, she was all about prolonging the
inevitable, thank you. Because jumping
right back into talky stuff with Angel just seemed so icky. How the hell had this happened anyway? Wasn’t she supposed to be across the room
giving him snide looks while her new band fawned on her? Now, she was going to have to fetch him water
and stroke his ego. Oh, wait. Nothing new there.
“Buffy, are
you completely spaced out?” Cordelia asked and Buffy snapped her eyes to the
brunette, who apparently had been speaking while she was browsing the
Bitterverse.
“Sorry. My brain blipped,” she said, trying to focus
on her mentor.
“Clearly,”
Cordelia said, brushing a piece of lint off of the magenta sweater that was
even more microscopic than Buffy’s shirt, “Well, while you were off in La La Land, I was trying to be a good instructor and offer you
some friendly advice on setting the band up.”
“My bad,”
Buffy said apologetically, “Let me see if I can remember. I’ve already got their room ready. So, I need to check to make sure their
equipment is good, make sure they didn’t make any last minute changes to the
songlist, and…” Buffy paused, furrowing her brow and trying to recall the thing
that was eluding her.
Cordelia
rolled her eyes, then cocked her head impatiently,
“And what’s the most important thing in marketing?”
Buffy snapped
her fingers, “Appearance! Check their
outfits to make sure they look unique but…homogenized,” she finished brightly,
pleased by the word.
“Homogenized?”
Cordelia asked, her brows hooking like question marks, “Big word, Buffy. I’d give you a treat, but I’m fresh out.”
Buffy’s smile
wavered and the brunette continued, “Nice vocabulary, but we’re looking at
musicians, not dairy products. Just make
sure they look like a typical street urchin band, and for the love of fashion,
please make sure that drummer of yours is wearing at least one non-black garment. And once you do that, get them all grouped up
on stage for pictures, okay?”
“Check,” Buffy
said with a grin, clutching her clipboard to her chest and raising her hand in
a mock salute before she walked towards the hallway behind the stage. The clatter of things being unloaded and the
smattering of familiar voices reached her ears.
Funny how one little change can make the most routine event seem
insurmountable.
“You can do
this,” Buffy mumbled to herself, lifting her chin as she walked towards the doors.
“Sorry I
missed you at home,” she said as she pulled back, then took Buffy’s hands and
looked her over appreciatively, “Wow.
You look amazing!”
“Thanks,”
Buffy said, “You too.”
“Thank you,”
Buffy nodded, then tilted her head to admire the green v-neck sweater that
looked really familiar in that familiar-because-it’s-mine kind of way. “And now I know why that shirt mysteriously
disappeared out of my laundry basket.”
The accused
flushed guiltily, but Buffy waved it off, “It’s not like I’ve been around much
to ask. Besides, it’s a perfect
choice…the green makes your eyes pop.”
“Pop?”
Buffy blinked
in horror, “Oh my God, I’m channeling Cordelia.”
Buffy nodded
numbly, and squared her shoulders as Angel stopped in front of her, his
habitual smile twitching into something stiff.
Looks like she wasn’t the only one wigged. Other than the wiggage,
he looked good. He was wearing a pair of
black cargo pants and an army green button-down. His hair was even more upright than usual,
and he was wearing a pair of black sunglasses that he did not remove as he
approached. Which was
fine with her. She really didn’t
want to deal with any look he might have been inclined to give her. And speaking of looks, she really wished he
looked terrible. If he looked terrible,
she probably wouldn’t be wondering if she did the right thing.
“Hello, Buffy.”
“Hi, Angel,”
she said, trying for a smile that died before it had a chance, “You look nice.”
“So do you,”
he returned half-heartedly as he pocketed his car keys. All she could do was nod, because she could
still hear the last words he’d said about her.
Could still feel her heart cracking beneath the weight
of them. “Well,” he continued, “I
should probably find Cordy.”
“Hm,” she
said, staring at the floor then jerking her head up when she remembered the one
valid thing she had to say, “Yeah, about that.
I’ve got a bit of a curveball for you.
There’s been a switch at IYF and I’m actually going to be your marketing
rep.”
Angel looked
at her like she’d announced her plans to take up armed assault as a hobby. “Great,” he managed as he absorbed the
information.
“Right,” Buffy
said, eyes widening enough to push that fine line between amused and manic, “So,
anyhow, how’s everything working?
Everyone else is here, I hope?”
“Yeah, we’re
all here. And everything’s functional,”
he said. After another awkward pause,
angled his head towards the hallway behind her, “So, are we still in the third
room on the left?”
“Yeah,” she
said with relief, “There’s some water and snacks set up for you already.”
“Appreciate
it,” he said with another nod as he moved down the hall.
Buffy exhaled
noisily and wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt as she faced the doors. Most of the drum set was already sitting in
the hall, and she could hear rustling just beyond them. She headed for the doorway, and poked her
head outside, where Xander, Oz and Spike were wrestling with
“Hey guys,”
she said and the three of them turned around in unison.
“Hello,
gorgeous,” Xander said as Oz and Spike agreed with low whistles.
“Thank you,”
she nodded with a smile, “So you survived Angel the Hun.”
“Barely,”
Xander said, “Boss Man was big with the tyranny this week.”
“I’ll
bet. I’ve got news,” Buffy said, leaning
against the outside of the door with a crooked smile, “I’m kind of the chick in
charge now.”
“In
charge of?” Oz
prodded.
“Of you guys,”
she said, “IYF made some changes and they want me to be your marketing
rep. That’s okay, right?”
Xander winked
at her saucily, “You can be in charge of me anytime.”
“Scary to
know,” Buffy said, “And before you say something more scary,
can you get the final songlist for me?”
“Yep.
Just give me a second to clean it up.
Oh!” Xander said, directing his attention to Spike, “Did you pick up
some extra sticks?”
Spike nodded
and tossed Xander his car keys, “They’re in the front seat.”
“Cool,” Xander
said, shaking the keys and wandering back to the parking lot.
Buffy took a
minute to look over the last two members of her crew. Standing beside the open doors to the van, Oz
was decked out in his typical gear, baggy jeans and a funky button-down. His hair, which was blue today, matched his
Vans, and somehow because it was Oz, that worked. He looked perfect.
She turned her
attention to Spike, who was crouched in the back of
the van, his ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips. She breathed a sigh of relief that he had
miraculously chosen the faded blue jeans that she hadn’t seen since the photo
shoot. Because everything else was
black, his duster, his boots, and even his vintage concert tee. On a brighter note, he hadn’t slicked his
hair back, and it was all a big mess of spikey curls, which was so much better
and made his eyes stand out and she really should be getting back to work now.
“You both look
great,” she said, and they gave her those awkward smiles that all guys offer
when complimented on their appearance.
Well, all guys except Angel.
“All the stuff
is working, right?” she double-checked,
“You’ve got extra mike cords, extra sticks, tons of tape?”
“All good,” Oz
said, moving past her to haul one of the smaller keyboards inside.
When the door
shut behind Oz, Spike hopped down to pace.
Buffy looked pointedly at his
jeans, “So, tell me the truth. Did a
fashion fairy haunt your dreams last night, begging you to put away those black
jeans of yours forever?”
He chuckled
and glanced ruefully at his attire, “I forgot to do laundry.”
Buffy laughed
and pushed her hair behind her shoulders, giving the door a speculative
glance. She should probably go. Going would be good.
“Uh…you do
look great,” Spike said off-handedly.
Buffy’s
eyes snapped back to him, but his were focused on the pavement. He stubbed out his cigarette hard, mashing the thing to little bits before
he looked at her. He tilted his head,
eyes warm with concern.
“Are you
alright, luv?”
Buffy smiled
automatically, then forced it away with a sigh, “As
well as I could expect to be.”
Spike nodded,
his hands rummaging awkwardly in the pockets of his coat until Xander
returned. “Here it is,”
he said, handing Buffy the list, “Let me know if you have questions, but I’ve
got to check in with Anya.”
“Whipped so
soon?” Buffy asked and Xander beamed.
“Whipped sooo
good,” he clarified with a smirk before jogging into The Cherry.
“There is so
much not right about that,” Buffy said, scrunching her nose.
Spike laughed
and scratched the back of his neck, finally speaking after another awkward pause,
“Uh, I guess I should get in there too.”
“I’ll check in
with you guys in a little bit,” she said, listening to the
clomp of his boots fade into the hallway.
Buffy took a
breath and let her eyes drift closed.
They shot back open almost immediately, “Crap! Pictures.”
She pushed
through the doors and marched for the dressing room, her eyes on her
clipboard. Immersed in her schedule, she
jumped when a montage of voices interrupted her focus. Buffy lifted her head and tensed as she
spotted a pair of girls fawning all over her boyfriend.
Whoa, not my boyfriend.
Buffy tried to
shake off the sight, the toss of her hair apparently catching her ex’s
attention.
Angel stepped
back from the girls apprehensively, then relaxed against the wall, looking
pointedly at the girls’ close proximity before sliding his attention slowly
back to Buffy.
“Buff,” he
greeted casually, “You need something?”
“Angel,”
she greeted flatly, her irritation heating into something it had no business
becoming. She bit it back and ground out
a cool response. “Yeah, you’re needed
for photos, pronto. I suggest you check
your hair, get your band and make your way to the stage.”
“I’ll be there
as soon as I’m done here,” he said with a smirk as she walked determinedly
away. Sticking around to indulge in
totally inappropriate jealousy really didn’t appeal for some reason. Buffy entered the main area of the club,
locating Cordelia who was sitting by the bar, sorting through a box of
CDs. She took a seat next to her at the
bar, waiting for her to finish counting before she spoke.
“How’s your
honey’s gang coming along?” Cordelia said, wiping the dust off her palms.
“He’s not my
honey,” Buffy said stiffly, “And they’ll be out any second.”
Cordelia
looked up, her cinnamon lips pouting uncertainly, “He’s not? But I thought you two were¾”
“¾Not anymore,” Buffy filled in,
following it with a smile and a blink.
“I see. Well, what happened to¾?”
“They went the
way of the dinosaur,” Anya supplied helpfully as she arrived from the back
room. She started stacking glasses on
the bar in front of them.
“Really not
wanting to talk about it,” Buffy said, then back-pedaled to Anya’s comment with
a confused look, “Wait, what does that even mean? Way of the dinosaur?”
“It means extinct,”
Anya said with a perky smile, “See, according to popular theory, dinosaurs are
extinct because a giant fireball slammed into Earth.”
Buffy blinked
and wondered what the hell she was talking about. Cordelia put her box on the floor, arching a
brow in disbelief, “Let me get this straight.
You’re saying some sort of meteor hit the greater LA area and the only
tangible affect was the tragic break-up of two lovesick twenty-somethings?”
“Goodness,
no,” Anya said with an absent wave, “That’s just silly. I’m making an analogy,” she explained, making little air quotes around analogy.
“You see, Angel lives in a warped version of reality that best suits
his needs. And Buffy’s figured out that
her needs just didn’t fit in the version anymore.”
Cordelia cast
a sideways glance at Buffy, who was suddenly intently focused on her
clipboard.
Anya tucked
her red hair behind her ear and polished the bar industriously, “Well, that and
your boyfriend trashing you in a public place when you’re celebrating a new job
probably helped the ol’ meteor along. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”
She flitted
away leaving Cordelia looking like she’d discovered part of a roach in her ice
cube and Buffy looking like she’d eaten the missing half.
“Moving
along?” Cordelia offered.
“Please,”
Buffy rushed with a nod.
A thumping
over the speakers diverted their attention.
Buffy looked up to see Angel in all his fully-gelled glory, in the midst
of the group on stage. While the band
laughed and chatted behind him, he tapped the microphone again.
“Are we a go
for pictures?” he rumbled and Buffy looked to Cordelia expectantly.
“All you,
girl,” she said, handing Buffy a digital camera which she accepted with a
curled lip.
“Wait…isn’t
there a photographer?”
“What, do
you think you’re working with Metallica here?” Cordy laughed as she unfolded
her cell phone to make a call, “Welcome to the bar circuit.”
Buffy blew out
a sigh and moved towards the stage. Her
eyes skimmed over the band, arranging themselves
around Angel nonchalantly. The lead
singer was predictably tilting his chin to catch the best light. She raised the camera and fumbled with the
controls, murmuring beneath her breath, “And the show must go on.”
The next hour
blurred by in fast forward. The doors were
opened. T-shirts and CDs were sold and
she and Oz spent a frantic ten minutes trying to locate a replacement for what
had to be the first broken bass string she’d ever heard of. String disaster and further ex-boyfriend
weirdness avoided, Live Bait made their way to the stage twenty minutes late,
but pulled their first six songs off without a hitch. Buffy made a few notes, but since the crowd
was doing a lot of clapping and yelling, she figured things were going well.
From the back
of the room, Buffy finally loosened her white-knuckle grip on her clipboard
when they made it through the last rough transition of their seventh song. She slouched into her chair, exhausted.
“Halfway
there,” she breathed to herself, straightening in her seat when she noticed
Cordelia moving towards her.
“Bad news and
good,” she shouted over Angel’s crooning, “Which do you want?”
“Bad,” Buffy
said, figuring it’d be best to get it over with.
“Nah,” Cordy
said, smoothing her hair, “I’ll go with the good. Scott Westings is here.”
“Great!” Buffy
chirped, “And he would be?”
“He is the LA
Times reporter that we discussed earlier,” Cordelia said pointedly, “Apparently
he likes your little rag tag group. I
set you up for a
“What?!” Buffy said, shooting up from the
chair, “What does that mean? What do I
do? Where do I go? Is it because someone is going to sign them?”
The music
ended and the club erupted in applause.
After the ruckus quieted, Cordelia raised her palms to Buffy, “It’s
called de-caf.
You might want to try it.”
“Sorry,” she
said, distracted momentarily as Angel’s voice came over the speakers.
“Thank you
very much. We’re going to take a quick
break, but don’t go anywhere…we’ll be back.”
A hot pink bra
flew at the stage and Buffy rolled her eyes when Angel caught and twirled it on
his pinkie.
“No one is
signing anyone,” Cordelia said, jerking the blonde’s attention back where it
belonged, “If you’re damn lucky, your little band will get a two sentence write
up in the Club Buzz section. All Scott
needs from you is a list of names that will never make the editor’s cut
anyway. It’s all routine.”
“Not for me,”
Buffy said, shoulders slumping, “So what’s the bad news?”
“Ah, that,”
Cordelia said, “Since we started late and their first set ran over, they’re
finished for the night.”
“Finished?”
Buffy said, incredulously.
“Yep,” Cordy
confirmed with a enthusiastic nod, “As in finis! Done!
Through! So, get yourself a drink
and go tell Mr. MacArthur to stop straining his ears
for the encore shouts. You’re all done
tonight.”
“Uh,
okay. Thanks,” Buffy said as Cordelia
gave her a friendly salute before marching away. She followed the brunette’s path towards the
dressing room, wincing at her aching feet and swooning at the possibility of putting
down the wretched clipboard soon. The
bouncers smiled as she passed, but she was too distracted to return the
gesture.
She reached
the dressing room and peeked inside, watching the band silently.
“I have good news and I have bad news,” Buffy
said, mirroring Cordelia’s words as she announced her presence.
Five pairs of
eyes focused on her attentively, and she leaned against the doorframe as she
continued, “The bad news is everything’s way off on time, and we’ve been cut
short.”
Angel’s eyes
narrowed dangerously, and Xander sat up to perch on the edge of the couch.
“How short?” Xander
asked.
“Short as in
we’re already done,” she said, ducking her gaze as a collective sigh rolled
over the group.
“I knew we
didn’t have Lucky Strike down,” Angel glowered bitterly, and Buffy shook her
head.
“No, it was
fine,” she said, “You guys rocked. And I
would know, because I’ve heard you at your best and worst.”
Angel fixed
her with a disbelieving glare, but she shrugged, “It’s just the way it goes, Angel. It had nothing to do with you.”
“Okay, I vote
for the good news now,” Willow said, leaning against Oz’s knee forlornly.
Buffy flashed
a bright smile and decided to indulge in a little exaggeration, “Well, LA Times
has someone here and apparently he was very impressed with you.”
Okay, it’s a stretch.
“Really?” Xander said, and even Angel perked up
fractionally at the news.
“Yup,” Buffy
said, tapping her clipboard for emphasis, “I’m meeting with him on Monday to
fill him in on all the Live Bait skinny.”
Stretching right into a little white
lie, but they could use some good news.
“We found a
string for Oz, no one died, and someone from a real newspaper wants information
about us,” Xander mused, “I’m thinking we’re riding the Success Express
tonight.”
“You really
are,” Buffy said, frowning a little at Angel’s obvious disappointment. And she shouldn’t care. Someone should, but not her.
“You guys were
great tonight,” she said awkwardly, earning her a few half-hearted nods, “This is only the
beginning; don’t forget that.”
Pep talk over,
Buffy retreated to the darkness of the club.
The band filed out behind her to tear down their equipment. While they worked, she checked the CD booth
and jotted down some sales numbers, only deciding to find a seat when Wicked
Twist took the stage. She settled into a
quiet table in the back, the loathsome clipboard banished to the floor beneath
her chair. Buffy tapped her feet as the
band ripped into the chorus, smiling as she noticed Oz and
“Where’s
everybody else?” Buffy inquired as they sat down.
“Strapping the
drums into the van,”
“So are you
guys,” Buffy said, then turned, wide-eyed as the lead guitarist fired off a
solo that had the entire building screaming.
She blinked at
“I’d be even
happier to hear there’s room for us,” Xander said as he and Spike
approached.
“Hey,” Buffy
greeted, patting the chair beside her, “Grab a seat. A couple even.”
Spike nodded
as he sat down beside her, and Xander took a seat on his other side, his head
bobbing to the beat before he’d managed to get both buns on the chair. Buffy turned automatically to find
Angel. She quickly wished she’d
suppressed the habit when she spotted him leaned against a table wall
nearby. He was nursing a drink and schmoozing six or seven fans. Fans of the distinctly
female variety. She wrinkled her
nose and tried to turn back to the stage, but he looked up before she managed
it. Busted. Buffy forced a nod, but if the fire that she
felt in her cheeks and neck was any indication, there was no way she looked
nonchalant. Angel subtly cocked his brow
at the girls swooning around him. Then
he shrugged at her, flashing her what she assumed was
a “See what you’re missing” grin before he took a seat and welcomed a couple of
girls onto his lap for a picture.
Buffy hissed
out a breath as she directed her attention back to the table. She leaned in to the group, hoping to be
heard over the music, “So are you still bummed?”
“Well, I was
big on moping at first,”
“They’ve gone
all nasty on us, Harris,” Spike said, nudging Xander, “Tell us your dirty
secrets, Red,” he teased as the song ended.
“It’s not like
that!”
“With nasty
things,” Xander added, nodding at Spike.
“With a fruity
drink,” Oz corrected, tipping his beer towards the glass in front of his girl.
“The smoochies will come later,”
“Sooner than
later for some,” Buffy scoffed, biting down the uninvited spark of irritation
as she glanced around to find Angel gracing a few more fans with quick pecks
for the camera. And why was she still
watching him?
“I’m sorry,”
“Nah,” Buffy
said, blowing her hair out of her eyes, “I’d just like a drink.”
“Oh, Anya’s
back,” Xander said, with a none too subtle glance at
the bar.
“Just go,
already,” Buffy chuckled, “I’ve hit my quota on orgasm stories.”
“Speak for yourself,” Spike said with a smirk as Xander jogged happily
to the bar. He stood up, settling a warm
smile on Buffy, “I’ll get you a drink. Your usual?”
“Surprise me,”
she said and he nodded as he strolled away.
God, she was
tired. She wondered if she’d always be
this tired at the end of gig nights that forced her to deal with Angel for
hours on end. Even more importantly, did
she want to spend an endless string of Friday nights sitting in icky metal
chairs, hoping she didn’t have to pee after the ladies room runs out of toilet
paper for the night.
“—just watch
his hands,” Oz said. Buffy tried to
catch up with the conversation, watching as
Buffy gave
the stage a cursory glance, but was honestly a little watched out when it came
to rock bands. She let her attention
drift back to the bar, because what she really wanted was a drink. Which was
too bad, since Spike was busy getting hit on.
Buffy huffed
irritably. Drink prospects
were looking dubious at best.
Her
irritation quirked to concern, however, when she saw Spike jerk backwards at
the girl’s touch, his shoulders hunched up near his ears.
The girl kept her hand on his sleeve, pulling him back when he tried to
turn away. Buffy frowned. This girl was looking less like flirty and
more like trouble every second.
***
“Oi! Anytime now,” Spike groused, waving his
twenty at the bartender. Too bad Anya
was off with her boy. That bird was
bloody efficient.
Spike sighed
in relief as the bartender finally started to fix his drinks. His eyes were focused on the scotch as it
tumbled over the ice cubes in his glass until he felt a hand press into the
small of his back. Shocked, and more
than a little intrigued by who might have touched him, he turned around. The room closed in around him so fast he
forgot to breathe.
“Look at you,
still pretty as a picture,” the girl said, chewing demurely on a nail as she
raked her eyes up and down him.
Spike’s
stomach rolled and his throat constricted as his mind desperately tried to
process the actuality of the girl standing in front of him. Because it just couldn’t be happening. He could not be running into her.
Spike blinked, wondering when he’d wake up,
because this whole thing had that sickening surreal feeling you only get from
dreams. Well, dreams, and life-shattering
moments like the one he was stuck in presently.
“Drusilla.”
Saying her
name made it far too real.
“Surprised to
see your princess here, aren’t you?” Drusilla said, tilting her head coyly.
“Hey,” a
guy behind her said, tossing a sloppy arm around her shoulders, “I thought we
were headed back to your place.”
“Something’s
come up,” Drusilla said, her eyes still pinned to
Spike. Touching her tongue to her upper
lip, she added, “Mustn’t be impatient.
Good things come to those who wait.”
The exchange
broke Spike from his stupor. He yanked
his drinks from the bar, and plowed through the crowd, his long strides a
smooth contradiction to his trembling fingers.
He stopped at
the end of the bar when a group of girls congregated just in front of him, blocking
his path with their affectionately linked arms.
He swore under his breath and the sound of Drusilla’s laughter floated
to his ears. He turned to see them
heading his direction.
Why the fuck won’t she go away?
Spike
shouldered his way through the girls, looking for the nearest exit from Club
Hell. The crowd was thick, but he
continued pushing, stopping short when he realized he’d boxed himself in. Wall in
front, table on the left, and a throng of thick-necked men gathered around a
couple of pool tables. He was trapped.
“Oh, I like
this much better,” Drusilla said and he turned warily to face the music, “Here
away from prying ears. Now, tell your
princess you missed her.”
Spike swallowed, his tongue swollen and dry, stomach rolling
beneath his ribs.
“You didn’t
know I was a princess, did you, Percy?” Drusilla said flirtatiously, her eyes
focused on her inebriated admirer.
“Oh, I’ll just
bet you are,” Percy snickered suggestively, but his eyes were darting to the
pool table with longing. He exhaled
impatiently, “So why don’t we head out of here, princess?”
“What the hell
do you want, Dru?” Spike finally said, his voice hissing out like a withered tumbleweed.
He narrowed his eyes and added, “Better yet, why don’t you head out like
Perky suggested?”
“Had to come
see,” she said, gazing over him with a mixture of interest and amusement, “My
dreams whispered that you’d be different, but I still wanted to look for
myself.”
Drusilla
backed into the boy behind her, Spike’s jaw ticking as she gyrated into her
plaything but stared
meaningfully at him, “My poor Spike. All alone in this big dark place. I can feel your loneliness…you’re all hollow
inside, aren’t you?”
Spike hunched
and sloped his shoulders, pain and frustration
battling for position in his heart. He
felt sick, acid burning up his throat, stomach groaning as if he might heave
onto her shoes at any moment. Which
would be a vast improvement over this, this poncey
trembling mess he’d become. He needed a
way out of this; right bloody now.
“Baby, there
you are!”
Spike felt a
slim arm slide around his middle.
Flabbergasted, he looked down to see what new lunatic had wrapped herself around his waist.
Blonde hair, green eyes, and a million dollar smile met his
perusal. Buffy.
“Sooo,” Buffy
breezed, flashing him a conspiratorial grin before she batted her eyes at
Drusilla, “Who’s this?”
While Spike
sputtered, Buffy pushed and nudged him closer to the table, finally clamping a
hand on his shoulder and shoving him into a chair. Some of his drink sloshed over his hand and
onto her shirt, but she ignored it.
“Drusilla,” he
replied, so confused he didn’t know where to start sorting. Drusilla seemed focused on Buffy’s arrival
now, her brows arching in interest.
Buffy wrenched
both glasses from his hands and set them on the table, plopping into his lap
and wrapping her arms around his neck. Gobsmacked, Spike gawked at her.
“Hm,” Buffy
tried, playing with his hair, “I don’t think you’ve mentioned her, baby.”
She dropped
one hand to pull his arm around her waist, and that’s when he finally got
it. She winked at him surreptitiously
and after a briefly grateful look at her, his lips spread in his trademark
smirk.
“Yeah, well,
not much to tell, kitten,” he said, tracing figure eights on one of the smooth
golden thighs stretched out over him, “Former flame from the old country.”
“Should I be jealous?” Buffy asked.
Drusilla sat
down across from them, smiling cattily, “Oh, yes, I think so. Moths are always
drawn to the flame, aren’t they? Pretty
wings all singed off.”
Spike barely
spared Drusilla a glance before responding, “Not of anyone I’ve ever known.”
Buffy warmed
under his comment.
Terrific. I’m getting swoony
over a fake boyfriend.
Drusilla
glowered at the atmosphere between Buffy and Spike. She brightened suddenly, her eyes gleaming as
she turned to the guy behind her, “Percy, be a darling and get us drinks, will
you?”
Percy
hesitated, his attention now riveted on the dance floor full of shimmying
girls. Drusilla wrapped her fingers in
his collar, tugging his face and attention down to her level. She nuzzled into his throat with a little
murmur.
“Uh, what
kind?” he squeaked and Drusilla leaned to whisper into his ear. By the look on Percy’s face, Buffy guessed
there was a little tongue placed with the order. She winced as Spike’s grip tightened on her
thigh.
“We’re having
drinks?” Buffy asked sweetly, “I hope yours involves lithium, ‘cuz it really wouldn’t hurt.”
“No,
there’s nothing here to drink to,” Spike said with a curt shake of his head as
he pushed Buffy forward on his lap, “Let’s go.”
“Don’t be
prickly, William” Drusilla whined as she stood up with them, “It’s been such a
long, long time. We have so much to
catch up on.”
She tipped her
head forward, letting her ebony hair hide her face in shadow as she walked
around Buffy, “You even have a new toy for us to play with. Her innocence is so refreshing. What fun we could have with her. Don’t you want that, my Spike?”
Buffy had a
comment on her lips, but Spike was faster to the draw, gritting out, “Watch your step. Her
name is Buffy. And what I want is to
never see you again, Dru.”
The brunette
moved from Buffy to Spike, circling behind him and sliding her palms up the
back of his leather duster until her fingers were toying with his curls,
“Mustn’t lie, Spike. You’re mine and you’ll always be
mine. In down deep, where none of the others can touch.”
Buffy found
that her fingers were itching to punch Drusilla. Maybe a good knock to the head would get her
to talk like a normal human being.
Before she could follow through on her thoughts, Percy returned,
dropping a paper plate on the table.
“Body
shots, anyone?” he offered with a lascivious smirk and Buffy frowned at the
assortment of goodies laid on the table.
Glasses, sugar packets, lemons. What was this? Shot paraphenalia? Appetizers, maybe?
“Oh,
goody!” Drusilla
said, moving to Percy and clapping like a school girl.
Buffy’s
forehead wrinkled and she looked to Spike for explanation. He shook his head, his expression sharpened
into distinct apprehension.
Drusilla
walked to Percy, planting her hand on his arm, and giving his Adam’s
apple a little lick. Then she tsked at Buffy mockingly, “Can’t play if you don’t know the
rules.” She turned her attention to
Spike with a predatory look, “We can teach her, can’t we
my Dark Knight?”
“Oh, I don’t
think so,” Buffy said, fingers tightening to a death grip on Spike as her
expression turned malicious, “He’ll be doing his shots with me.”
“Buffy, are
you off your¾” Spike said, but she cut him off with a discreet elbow to
his ribs.
“Don’t be
silly, honey,” Buffy forced through gritted teeth, “I love body…”
“….Body
shots,” he ground out irritably.
“Whatever.”
Drusilla
tilted her head and suppressed a giggle with her hand, “Mustn’t forget my
manners. Remember please and thank
you. Please, you, go first.”
“Um,” Buffy
said, flushing as she realized she had no idea what to do with a regular shot,
let alone a body one. She glanced
nervously at the packets and lemons on the plate and sniffed, “We want to go
second.”
“You don’t
want to bloody go at all,” Spike hissed into her hair, but Drusilla was already
arching her brows.
“Only if you
think you might can outdo us,” Percy said, puffing up
his chest as if he were actually a part of this conversation.
“Oh, I think
we might can,” Buffy said snidely,
fire renewed in her stare.
“You’re no
match for me, little girl,” Drusilla said, sliding her palms up Percy’s shirt
and turning him to make sure everyone had a really good view. She winked at Buffy as she arched her
neck. Percy leaned forward, making a
really big show of…oh my God. He was
licking her. There was licking. Licking all the way up the neck and she was
doing this next and was there any way she could order another drink for guts?
Percy
ripped open a packet of sugar with his teeth, still balancing the plate with
his free hand. He tapped the crystals
onto the damp path he’d left on her neck as Drusilla whimpered in ecstasy.
“I can see the
stars,” she said, “They’re dancing for me.”
Buffy
mocked her with a derisive snort as Percy placed a wedge of lemon between
Drusilla’s teeth.
“Oh,” Buffy
whispered as Percy leaned back down licking the sugar, downing the shot, then
sucking the lemon out of the girl’s mouth, letting his tongue linger on her
full bottom lip for good measure.
Buffy gave
herself a lightning fast lecture on the importance of looking before she leapt
off the cliff of sanity into the Grand Canyon.
Being that it was too late this time, she took a deep breath and plucked
the remaining lemon, glass, and packet off of Percy’s plate. Her hands were shaking as she turned to hand
them to Spike.
He shook his
head fractionally again, and opened his mouth, ready to refuse. But she leaned in and shot for a vixen smile. Her voice was for him alone, “C’mon, Spike. You’re not going to let
someone else fill me in on this little bit of pop culture, are you?”
“Well, when
you put it like that, pet…” he trailed off, face dancing with a sincere smile
and what looked very much like a bit of mischief
Buffy looked
over Spike’s shoulder, aiming to send a minxy wink in
Drusilla’s direction. Until, of course,
he actually moved. Kind
of hard to do the minxy stuff when Spike’s moving in
so close that you can smell him.
And he was still all soapy and smoky with a hint of cinnamon gum. And before she got settled into the startling
closeness of his scent, his tongue was on her skin.
Slick and hot,
he worked a quick trail up the column of her throat, his breath sending a
frisson through her spine when he paused just beneath her jaw.
Well, look at that. There are stars.
Lots
of them, in fact. Her hands flailed for something to steady her
suddenly wonky balance, and she sighed when she found something to grip. It was him, naturally, his waist, arms,
shoulders, hell, she didn’t know. It was
some part of him. Something
to hold her up so she could try to blink away the twinkly
lights.
Spike’s
expression was unreadable, but his eyes were scorching her with…was it
want? It looked a lot like want. It couldn’t be want. He coaxed a wedge of lemon between her teeth
and she closed her eyes.
“Tilt back
your head, luv,” he commanded, voice all sexy gravel and silk and, oh God, how
did she get herself into this?
She obeyed his
command, tipping back her chin until there was a tickly feeling of sugar
against her skin. That wasn’t so
bad. Very manageable. Until his tongue returned,
and with it the stupid stars. If
he did this much longer, she was going get her very own galaxy. Buffy moaned, then
wondered if the sound had only been in her head.
Spike’s mouth
trailed its way up her neck for the second time, but this time he moved a teeny
bit slower. All the while music pumped
through the air, throbbing in Buffy’s ears the way her pulse was throbbing in
her bones.
Spike pulled
back and she instinctively dropped her head forward to follow him, catching a
blurred vision of him slinging back a shot.
Then his hand snaked up her spine and tangled in her hair, tugging her
forward until their lips were touching.
There was a fierce pressure, then a tugging sensation as he sucked the
lemon from her mouth, his tongue skimming the seam of their lips just before he
pulled away.
Buffy made an
unintelligible sound and promptly blushed six shades
of red.
A giggle to
her left, brought her screeching back to the here and now. Otherwise known as the place where she was pretending to be Spike’s girlfriend, the
key word being pretending.
“My poor
William,” Drusilla said, a touch of sadness in those wide eyes of hers, “I hear
the music all around you, but you’re the only one dancing. You look around, but all you see are
shadows. You don’t have to dance alone,
you know.”
Buffy
frowned at Drusilla then smirked as she noticed Percy give a final shrug and
wander to the pool tables. With a mean
look, she inserted, “No, but it looks like you will be.”
Drusilla
looked over her shoulder, barely managing a half-frown at Percy’s disappearance
before her focus was on Spike again. She
slinked forward, dragging her hands up Spike’s shirt until they rested on his
shoulders, her voice dropped to an intimate whisper, “Poor William, always
playing a part. Always searching but never finding, just a lost little boy when
it comes to matters of the heart. I
could help you find your way, my Spike,” she said, moving her face close to
his, her eyes bright with interest, “It could be real again. You’d like that
wouldn’t you?”
Buffy moved to
get a look at Spike. His eyes were tortured, face twisted into a mask of vulnerability that
stung Buffy’s soul. The pain glimmering
behind the blue of his stare was too much for her to bear. Her sanity made a mad dash for the exit and
she grabbed him.
“Oh, I’ll show
you real,” Buffy snarled, yanking him away from Drusilla with hostile
force. Her hand hard on the back of his
neck, she kissed him, lips covering his with nearly brutal force. He stiffened beneath her fingers and mouth,
and Buffy softened her lips, wincing at her own stupidity for doing this. Because this wasn’t going to solve anything
and when he dumped her on the floor in shock, the act was definitely going to
be up.
She curled
her fingers in his hair gently, hoping it would serve as some odd apology
before she broke off this bizarre half-kiss and crawled under the floor to die
of shame. A moan rumbled in Spike’s
throat as her fingers twined in his hair and Buffy’s eyes flew open just as
Spike’s drifted shut.
One of his
arms wrapped around her waist and the other returned to her nape, sending a
bone-rattling shiver from her feet to her ears.
And the arms weren’t even the start.
As soon as the moan died away, the kiss changed. Everything changed. Right there with the music pounding out the
hammering of her heart, the entire world turned inside out and upside down at
once.
His mouth
slanted over hers while his fingers splayed wide against her ribcage. Buffy’s hands moved to catch his arms, her
fingers digging into the leather as she opened her mouth to him. They were dancing. Tongue to tongue, lips pushing and sliding,
searching and finding something neither one could define.
Her stomach
tightened in need and Buffy pushed into him, crushing his mouth to hers as
their tongues continued to move curiously and desperately against each
other. She moved her hands to his
stomach, sliding them inside his duster and around his waist until her nails
scraped against his shirt. She pulled
him forward and his hands returned to her neck, thumbs trailing at her jaw,
fingers stroking through her hair.
Oh, she tasted
good. Sweet and soft and warm and good.
God, she was pulling him even closer, pushing her tight little body against him
until he could feel the buckle of her skirt pressing into him enticingly. The girl was intoxicating, a bloody elixir
that was making his knees weak and his hands shake. Buffy. Something in
him winked out an alarm but she curled her tongue against his with a little
mewl and he was undone.
Heat
and passion, tempered by the softness of her skin and the silk of her hair.
Spike let his hands trail all the way down her sides, until his palms
were stroking the satiny skin of those golden thighs he’d been tempted by for
months now, maybe forever. And he had
not one sodding clue what was happening or why, or
hell, even where he was. He only knew he
wanted this. No. Needed this.
“Oh, this is
fucking priceless,” Angel bit out, and the couple lurched apart as if struck by
lightning, inhaling sharply and donning matching expressions that rode a fence
between shock and lust.
Buffy spun to
face Angel, cheeks flaming and body aching with desire, “It’s…it’s..” she stammered, her breath still coming in ragged gasps.
“She was
helping me out,” Spike said, more steadily, but not without his own fair bit of
panting.
“With
what? You have something stuck in your teeth?”
Angel said sourly to the drummer before turning his attention to Buffy and
saying gently, “Look, I know our break-up has been traumatic for you, but this
is concerning. Buffy, I think you might
want to consider talking to someone. Let
me give you the name of this guy I know,”
Buffy
sputtered incredulously, but he went on, “He’s very professional, and totally
discreet. Therapy can be a good thing,
Buffy.”
“Therapy?!” Buffy howled and behind her Drusilla clapped and giggled.
“There it
is! I found it,” she cooed, looking
between Buffy and Angel knowingly, “I found the missing piece.”
“Speaking of
therapy,” Buffy mumbled as Angel turned at the sound of Drusilla’s voice. Something pale and fearful crept into his
expression as he saw her.
“And now
our little picture is complete,” Drusilla chuckled, tip-toeing forward to Angel
and nodding her head excitedly, “One big, happy family.”
Angel did a
double take, eyes wide with shock. He
swallowed so hard that Buffy actually heard it.
Then he finally managed an awkward nod at Drusilla, “Dru. What brings you here?”
“I’m on
holiday,” Drusilla said merrily pulling a creased Live Bait flyer out of her skirts, “I found this and thought it
would be fun to pay a visit to my lovely boys.”
Buffy frowned
as she noticed Angel cross his arms. He
was visibly bristling at her closeness.
“Yeah,” Angel
said, shifting on his feet restlessly, “Well, we’re here. I see you’ve run into Spike and his latest
indiscretion.”
“Now, I’m an
indiscretion?!” Buffy intoned, “You are way
out of line, Angel.”
“Indiscretions,”
Drusilla muttered to herself, looking between the three of them with interest,
“Nasty things. They float around like
stardust. Gnaw like little mice at your
ankles.”
“I’m out of
line?” Angel said, “Gee, how long did it take for you to get your tongue in
some other guys mouth.
And Jesus, Buffy, this is Spike!”
Angel’s
expression was incredulous, and Spike narrowed his eyes, “What the hell does
that mean?”
“It means
he has an ego the size of a horse,” Buffy ground out, staring a suitably timid
Angel down viciously, “Dates me for half a year and thinks he owns me forever.”
“Own you?!’
Angel shouted, throwing his hands up, “I didn’t say that. But it’s clear you’re still upset. And maybe a little unhinged.”
“Well,”
Drusilla purred, stepping forward to walk her fingers up Angel’s shirt, “Can’t
blame the girl, Angel. You were both
such fun, always knew exactly how to keep a girl entertained.”
Spike’s head
recoiled, his attention riveted on Angel and Drusilla, eyes flicking between
the two of them suspiciously. He spoke
low and dangerously, “What in the hell is she going on about?”
“Nothing,”
Angel snapped too quickly, “I haven’t seen her in years.”
“Yes,”
Drusilla purred, biting her lip with delight, “But our last encounter was…” she
trailed off to arch her neck suggestively, “…well, the stars danced that night,
didn’t they?” A siren’s smile curled on
her lips, “Both of us so deliciously naughty.
I wonder what should’ve happened if I hadn’t been sent away. But Spike was ever so cross, weren’t you?”
Drusilla
lowered her lashes, cutting her eyes to Spike.
Buffy felt sick to her stomach.
“Oh my God,”
she said to Angel, “That night. It was
you that night, wasn’t it?”
Angel’s face
was carefully schooled to blankness, but his eyes burned with the truth of her
statement.
“Angel?” Spike
pleaded, voice strained and rasping, Buffy’s heart aching in empathy. His face was so pale it almost looked gray,
his expression a mask of anguish.
Angel couldn’t
meet his eyes, instead dropping his gaze shamefully to his feet.
“It was a long
time ago,” he mumbled, “Things were different.”
“All this
time,” Spike said, then laughed bitterly, “I should have known.”
Spike spun
away, shoving through the crowd for the door.
Buffy turned to follow him, and Angel called after her.
“Let him go,
Buffy.”
Buffy
whirled to face him, her lips cold and thin with her fury, “Don’t,” she said,
holding up an unsteady palm to him. Then
with a final shake of her head, she finished, “You disgust me, Angel.”
She didn’t
look back. She had nearly caught up with
Spike by the time he pushed open the doors.
He stormed into the parking lot with Buffy hot on his heels.
“Spike, wait!”
she said, but he ignored her, gaining distance with every long stride. She sped up to a jog, or at least the best
jog her go-go boots would allow.
Buffy stumbled
to a halt when he turned down a row for his car. She spotted it too, and wove diagonally
through the lot to reach it.
He didn’t
turn, but addressed her as he steered for the
Heedless of
the warning, Buffy pounded across the asphalt in her crazy boots until she was
able to wrench the passenger door open.
“Go back
inside,” he growled, now approaching the driver’s side of the car, his voice
low and dangerous, “I mean it.”
“Nope,” she
said, plopping down in the passenger seat and yanking the door closed behind
her.
Spike yanked
his door open and fixed her with a hostile glare, “You need to get the hell
away from me!”
“I can’t do
that,” she said
softly.
“Get out of
the fucking car, Buffy!”
“No.”
“Goddammit!” Spike roared, hands flying into his hair, “What in the fuck is
wrong with you?”
He hauled back
and kicked the gold sedan next to him and Buffy cringed.
Don’t have to be psychic to know a body
shop is in Angel’s future.
“Son
of a bitch!” Spike
shouted, tossing another kick at the passenger door of the sedan, “Bastard has
been playing me for three sodding years!”
“How could I
be such a fucking idiot?” he screamed, slamming another kick and then a fist
into the well-dented door, “Stupid. Ignorant. Wanker!”
He finished
his tirade with a left hook into the window.
Buffy heard the glass shatter, followed by Spike’s maniacal
laughter. She lunged across the seat,
fisting the black leather sleeve she found and hauled Spike bodily into the
car.
“We need to
go,” she said as he panted in angry confusion, shifting in his seat and
slamming his door shut. He flexed his
fingers and Buffy winced as blood dripped from his knuckles.
Spike started
the engine roughly without comment, squealing backwards with so much force that
Buffy tumbled forward into the dashboard.
The engine shifted gears and she was launched back into the seat as he vaulted
them to the edge of the parking lot. He
screeched to a halt and finally looked at her contemptuously.
“Get out
here,” he commanded, “Last chance.”
With shaking
hands, Buffy managed to fasten her seatbelt.
She thinned her lips in resolve and stared straight ahead. She wasn’t going anywhere. Spike swore under his breath, stomping on the
accelerator until the
Indigo
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