Indigo
Overture – Chapter Sixteen
Rating: Entire Fic NC17 –
for this chapter – R
Buffy scratched her nose and glanced nervously at Spike’s car in
the parking lot. She paced to the front
of the building, careful to stay off the sidewalk and thus, away from the
windows. Tucking herself in the corner
opposite the door, she cleared her throat and opted for a practice run.
“Hi, Spike. How’s the
laundry going? And you know, I was
thinking that maybe we should go catch dinner and a movie since we’ve had the
sex and all.”
“Yeah, that sounded really sincere and normal,” she said, with a
roll of her eyes, “I’m a natural.”
Tucking the borrowed clothes under her arm more tightly, she
tried again. “Hi Spike, bet you never
expected me here! Since I don’t drive
and would have to be really desperate
to beg a ride all the way down here off of my friends.”
She turned and tapped her head against the building. “I so
suck at this.”
She tried a wide grin, “Hey, Spike. I know it’s weird that I’m here, but I got to
thinking and part of that thinking involved the possibility of you and me going
on a date.”
Buffy took a deep breath and stepped up to the door. “It’s not going to get much better,” she
decided, tugging it open.
The shrieking lyrics of a song she’d never heard instantly
surrounded her. She spotted the source
of the racket perched on one of the folding tables. Spike. His arms were flailing, drumsticks battering
the table and the rolling laundry cart in front of him while he sang his little
heart out to whatever was playing on his headphones. Fortunately, he appeared to be the only
laundry driven soul in the apartment complex for the time being.
“I wanna be an-ar-chy! The only way to be!”
The vocals digressed into one of those whiny noises guys use
when they’re imitating an electric guitar.
Buffy wondered when her taste in men had switched from hulking, quiet
and Abercrombie-clad to jittery, screeching, and let’s face it, badly dressed. Spike continued in a succession of “ba na bah”s and twirled his drumsticks back and forth through his
fingers like batons.
Ooh,
nimble! Fingers like that don’t exactly
hurt his case.
“Stop with the distractions,” she scolded herself quietly,
“You’re here for talking.”
She covered the distance
between them and tapped his shoulder as he wailed out the beginning of another
line. He leapt up like a cat, drumsticks
flying from his hands and clattering against the dryer as he landed on his feet
and whipped around to face her.
Buffy bit back her laughter as Spike jerked his headphones down
around his neck, chest heaving beneath his snug t-shirt. He clicked the music off and managed a
somewhat normal, “Hey,” despite his breathlessness.
“Hey,” she said, suppressing a shiver as his eyes took a quick
journey up and down her pink tank and faded jeans.
“Well, you look even more smashing than usual
,” he said matter-of-factly, then froze as he seemed to consider the
statement. Cheeks flushed, he ducked to
retrieve the sticks and basket that had crashed to the floor. Buffy fought her megawatt grin and shifted on
her feet as he placed the items on the table.
“Oh, um…thanks.”
Um,
thanks? Tres chic, Buff.
Maybe next time she could twirl her hair on her finger and
giggle, too. He couldn’t say she looked
nice or pretty. No, no, it had to be smashing.
A word that would give any girl tinglies.
And, fine, tinglies were more in line with
eighth grade prom than mature twenty-something potential relationship
discussion, but that wasn’t her fault, now was it?
Buffy stiffened with the realization that she was actually
embarking into serious relationship territory again. It had seemed so simple during her pedicure
that afternoon. She had listed all the
pros and cons of being with Spike while she stroked on her brand new Cotton
Candy Pink polish.
This
is going to look like rebound city, con.
He drove me to my mom’s grave, pro.
He’s the drummer of my ex’s band, which I happen to be professionally
involved with, con. He does this thing
with his tongue, pro. Maybe
two pros on that one.
“How have you been?” she asked, then wilted a little, adding,
“Since…this morning.”
“I’m good,” he said, then gave her a smile that should have been
registered as a lethal weapon. “Better
now.”
Buffy tried to return his smile, but her jangled nerves only
allowed the briefest baring of teeth.
Having no idea where to begin, she started studying her surroundings,
fixating on a particularly unsavory trashcan that had exceeded its capacity for
empty detergent bottles long ago.
“So,” Spike said at length, interrupting her reverie with a
quizzical smile, “Since you don’t have a car, I’ll assume you were nowhere near
the neighborhood.”
“You caught me,” she agreed brightly, then dropped her eyes to
the floor.
Very
smooth with the total lack of smooth.
“Right,” he drawled quietly, “So, what made you decide to take
me up on my offer?”
Buffy squared her shoulders and moved forward, placing his
borrowed clothes on the table, “Well, for starters, I brought these back.”
He looked at them with an unreadable expression and Buffy
twisted her hands in front of her.
“For starters?” he asked expectant as he met her eyes.
Buffy clapped her hands together and added, “Oh! Did you happen to run into my boots getting
laundry together? I totally forgot
them.”
She watched his expression harden, his mouth becoming a thin
line as he nodded at the pile of clothes.
Crap. If there was an anti-degree
in serious conversation, she’d have it tacked to her wall. Provided she had a wall to tack it to.
“Thanks, pet,” he finally offered, then met her eyes with an
indifferent stare, “We can go fetch
them if you’re in a rush.”
Unsettled, Buffy pushed a loose strand back into her ponytail
and wandered over to examine a bottle of Clorox on the table, “Um, no
rush.” She scrunched her nose at the
bottle, “Why on earth do you need bleach?
Do you even own anything white?”
She eyed the sink in the corner suspiciously, “Tell me you don’t use
laundry bleach on your head.”
Spike moved forward, palming the edge of the table between
them. “No, I don’t,” he snapped. “Did you come all this way to critique my
laundry habits?”
“No,” she said, pushing the bottle away and ignoring the sudden
flood of heat in her cheeks, “It just doesn’t make sense, that’s all.”
Apparently not feeling the need to elaborate, Spike leaned back
against the dryers and crossed his arms.
Buffy stared at the chipped folding table and fingered a crack that ran
along the trim. She was hoping that he’d
start this for them, but his body language wasn’t exactly screaming
communicative. Isn’t this the part where
the guy takes over? That’s what they do,
right? They step up to the plate. Make the move. Take control.
Yes,
because that’s always been swell in the past.
“I’ve been thinking,” she
started quietly.
“About what?” he prodded evenly.
“A lot of things,” she said, fiddling with the hanging rack on
the side of the table and really wishing she’d written some of those things
down.
“What kind of things?”
he rattled back, putting a distinctly American and sinusy
spin to the last word. Buffy’s temper
flared and she eyed him irritably.
“If you’d give me two seconds, I’d tell you,” she gritted
out.
“If you’d get to the bloody point, we wouldn’t still be talking
about nothing,” he retorted angrily.
“Fine!” she said, shaking her head with a harsh laugh, “You
drive me insane, you know that?”
He stepped away from the dryers and yelled, “Well at least if
you ask me what I’ve been thinking about, you won’t need a psychology degree or
ESP to decipher my response!”
Buffy made a face and shook her head, finally smacking the
table, “You’re not even making sense!”
“I don’t make sense?”
he roared.
“Yes, you! You have this mystery bleach, yet I can’t see
a single article of white tumbling in those dryers. You practically worship all these freaky
bands that no one ever listens to, and God, I bet pregnant women have fewer
mood swings!”
“This after living with the Sultan of Sulk?” he interjected. “I
doubt it.”
“Oh, I think you could give him a run for his money,” she
barked. He opened up his mouth, clearly
outraged, but she poked a finger in the air and continued, “And this!” she
said, stabbing the finger back and forth between them wildly, “This almost
makes less sense than you.”
His anger dissolved so palpably that she almost heard a
“poof.” He smiled unexpectedly and she
deflated.
“What?”
“Thought I heard you say
there was a this,” he said, tilting his head as he
gestured at her. And the tinglies were back.
“I did hear you say that, didn’t I, pet?”
Buffy shuffled her feet and turned to stare really hard at a
well-used corkboard on the wall. Someone
was giving away free kittens and this was really scary.
“Maybe,” she whispered.
“Close enough.”
Buffy wrinkled her nose in confusion, surprised that he wasn’t
pushing her for something less vague. He
waved a hand and offered a sheepish smile. “Don’t look a gift horse in the
mouth and all that,” he explained.
She nodded and toed the dirty floor, catching a faint whiff of used
dryer sheets.
“So, what now?” she asked, and her voice sounded very
small.
He circled the table, and every step closer made her breath
close up her throat a little more. Then
he was right in front of her and she was turning towards him automatically. His hands dropped softly to her shoulders.
“I think that’s up to you, luv.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” she complained, “You haven’t even said
what you want.”
Spike moved in, hands sliding down her arms until his fingers
laced with hers. Her bones turned soft
as he leaned in, pressing a feather soft kiss to her mouth. One little flick of his
tongue against her bottom lip, and he pulled away to press his forehead to
hers.
“I think you know very bloody well what I want,” he said and the
relief washed over her.
Pro
number 18. The forehead thing.
He pulled away, squeezing her hands comfortably. Still affected from the kiss, she rushed
ahead while she still had courage, “Okay.
What are you doing tonight?”
His grin was like a beacon.
It almost made that sharp-cheekboned bad boy
disappear altogether. As soon as it had
come, it was gone, a lightning flash of joy fading into contemplation.
“Didn’t really anticipate this,” he admitted, scratching his
neck, “I didn’t sleep in much today, so I probably should nap before work if I
have any hope of making it through my shift.
What about tomorrow?” Buffy
nodded her interest and he walked her backwards through Laundromat as he
continued, “We could get back to
routine. Go to the gym for a workout and
go from there.”
Buffy arched a brow, “It has been awhile since I kicked your
ass.”
“Been awhile since you tried.”
“Tried?” she said, laughing as her backside bumped into a
washing machine. He kept moving in,
until those tasty hard abs of his were melded against her and his hands were
stroking her ponytail.
“Plucky little thing, you are,” he mused, dropping a kiss to her
jawline.
Buffy moaned, then stiffened, “Crap.”
Spike’s kiss stalled and he murmured against her neck, “Beg your
pardon? I happen to know I’m very good
at this.”
Buffy smacked his shoulder playfully, “Not that. Tomorrow. I have to go apartment hunting.”
“
“No,” she said, “But there is something to be said about being
too close to your best friend and her boyfriend. Besides, I’ve put this off too long already.”
Spike nodded and chuckled, pulling one of her hands up to graze
a kiss across her knuckles, “Right, then.
Apartment hunting, it is.”
The dryer buzzed and he moved to retrieve his clothes, Buffy
following after him.
“Doesn’t sound very date like, does it?” she questioned and he
shrugged, tugging the door open and scooping the clothes out.
“You’ll be there,” he said, flashing a grin as he dropped them
on the table. “Sounds like a date to
me.”
Before she could answer, or melt to the floor like butter for
that matter, he rapped his fingers on the folding table, “Now if you’re
expecting me to take you back home at some point, you’ll have to earn your
keep. Start folding, pet.”
Buffy snorted and snatched a pair of black jeans from the
table.
Fifteen minutes after enjoying a decisive ass-kicking at the
hands of one Buffy Summers, Spike sat in the lobby of the gym, waiting for her
appearance. Figuring he’d be waiting
awhile, he ran a hand through his shower damp curls and reached for a magazine.
He’d only perused half of the article explaining the virtues of free weights
when she strolled into the room, filling the air with the smell of lilacs. He marveled at her transformation from a
heavy-fisted rival into this flaxen-haired goddess.
“I’m torn,” he said gravely, tossing the magazine aside and
standing. He continued to admire the
baby blue tank dress clinging to the bits of her golden flesh that were
covered.
“How so?” she asked, lifting her brow with a knowing smile that
said she was very aware of how good she looked.
“Can’t decide whether to chain you in a closet or just chain
you,” he teased, taking her bag and slinging it over his shoulder with his
before he leaned in to take her hand.
Satisfied at her pink cheeks and lowered lashes, Spike grinned
and tugged her towards the door. “Your
chariot awaits.
So let’s talk about food, that way we know what order to check out the
apartments. Are you in the mood for
something in particular?”
“Not really,” she said as they walked into the parking lot under
a cloudless
“Uh, didn’t think of that.
Probably should have, if I want to take you somewhere nice,” he said
with a frown.
She squeezed his hand and immediately shook her head, “No,
no! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just used to…” she trailed off as they
reached the car, fixing him in a warm stare as he reached around her for her
door handle.
“You know,” she said as she settled into the seat, “Take me
somewhere new. I’m sick of what I’m used
to.”
“Something new I can definitely do,” he said, winking as he
closed her in.
If
I have my way, everything about this will be new to you.
“So, what works for you?” Buffy asked, tugging the folded
newspaper from her purse. “Most of the
places are clustered pretty close to the IYF building on Fifth, but there are a
couple east of there, too.”
Spike frowned at that.
“Gets a bit dodgy east of Fifth,” he said, “Let’s check out the other
ones first, yeah?”
“Call it a plan,” she beamed.
“So, what are you thinking for lunch?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“A surprise could be good,” she mused.
Two hours, and three apartment tours later, he was pretty sure
that she was regretting those words. As
he paid the food vendor, he pocketed the drinks and watched her gauge her
loaded cheesesteak sandwich distastefully.
“Remember that thing I
said about surprises?” Buffy asked, “I think I might have changed my mind.”
“Only until you take a bite,” Spike said, grinning as he walked
them through the parking lot. “I still
can’t believe you’ve never been here.”
“Yes,” she said with an eyeroll, “Come
to
“Lady back at that first place could have told you all about
it,” he said with a wry smirk. “She had a postcard framed on her desk.”
“I thought we agreed never to speak of Ms. Spiderella
again?” Buffy sniffed as they scaled the
few steps that led to the main path.
“She was a nice enough bird,” he shrugged as they ambled down
the trail side by side. “She was
mentally undressing you the entire time we were looking at the apartment!” she
complained, then blushed and added, “Which, by the way, was very poorly lit and
had drafty windows.”
“The closets were nice,” he said, letting the jealous comments
slide, because hell, he might as well have her name tattooed on his ass. She offered him a sexy smile.
“Not as nice as the third apartment. That one had potential.”
“Won’t argue that,” he said, “But I still say you shouldn’t
trust the manager at that one.”
“You’re just mad because he didn’t flirt with you.”
“No,” he said, remembering very clearly why he didn’t like the pillock. “I just
think he had a lousy sense of timing for checking on us.”
Buffy paused on the path and nudged against him, pressing a hot
kiss to his neck before pouting up at him.
“Poor baby.
Are you feeling a little frustrated?”
He smirked and took her hand, jerking her off the path. “Just for that, I think we’ll be going off-road,
princess. Think you can handle it?”
“If it delays this experience, I’m game,” she said, frowning
again at her poorly wrapped sandwich.
Spike laughed and took it from her. Sandwiches in one hand and Buffy’s hand in
the other, He led
them quickly through clusters of trees and patches of overgrown grass.
“Aren’t we going to eat?”
Spike paused while she shook a few twigs out of her shoes. “We have to get to our table first.”
He led them around a small hill and waited for her to look
up. She started to mutter something, but
abruptly gasped as she took in the view before her. A steep drop off gave way to a spectacular
view of the
“I can’t believe I’ve never been here,” she exhaled, her fingers
tightening in his.
They enjoyed the view in companionable silence, Spike releasing
her hand. She ventured around the small
area while he laid out his coat as a makeshift blanket.
“It’s amazing,” she said as she wandered back to him, “How on
earth did you find it?”
“New town and all that,” he said, tugging two cans of soda out
of his duster pocket and handing her one, “I was looking for something a bit
like home. ‘Course, this isn’t a thing
like it, but I have to admit, it’s proof that every
place is magical from the right angle.”
“Yeah,” she said, treating him to a dreamy expression.
Spike gestured at the coat with the sandwiches. “Now you can eat without creepy crawlies
finding their way into your skirt.”
They settled down together and he offered her sandwich back to
her. Buffy stared contemplatively before
giving a little shudder and leaning in for her first bite of cheese-drowned
steak. After a tentative chew, she
rolled her eyes skyward and moaned in ecstasy.
“I should probably just inject this directly into my thighs,”
she mused, eagerly taking a second bite.
“Any food worth its weight is fattening,” he said around a
mouthful of food. “Not that you need to
worry about an extra pound or two.”
She shrugged off his comment, but continued to eat with gusto,
savoring every bite instead of nibbling on the edges the way he always noticed
her doing around Angel. Spike focused on
eating and reminded himself that she was with him and only a complete tosser would be thinking about her ex.
“When I was a kid, I used to have a place,” she said after
awhile.
“In Sunnydale?”
“Yeah, my dad and I found it.
We used to take these longs walks together, and once we discovered this
little waterfall in the woods near some railroad tracks. He made me promise to never go there without
him, because it was too close to the tracks.”
“Makes sense. Did you listen?”
“What do you think?” she said, wrapping up the uneaten half of
her sandwich and reclining on her elbows with a smirk.
Spike wadded his own wrapper and scooted around behind her. She sat up to give him room as he stretched
his legs along the sides of her body. “I
think you don’t listen to anyone when you make up your mind to listen to
yourself.”
She looked back over her shoulder and he followed the line of
her profile with his finger, admiring her soft skin.
“You’re right,” she said, catching his hand before he could
retract it. After the briefest
hesitation, she reclined against him and tugged his hand across her
stomach. Spike felt her nails tracing
each of his fingers. “What about
you? You’re kind of living the whole
stranger in a strange land, right?
What’s that like?”
“Suppose you could see it that way,” he said, resting his chin
on her head, “LA is a pretty far stretch from the motherland.”
“How so?”
“There’s more space,” he said, drumming his fingers absently on
her stomach, “Wider roads, bigger flats, cheaper gas. A lot of things.”
“Do you think you’ll go back home?” she asked, and her tone was
hesitant.
That little hesitation, or maybe the tight smile that she
immediately followed it with, was enough to warm him from his ears to his
toes. “Nah,” he said, “Got nothing to go
back to, really. I like it here. It’s loud and busy and the fish tacos are the
dog’s bollocks. I’m not sure I can see
me living anywhere but LA now.”
For
more reasons than I’m going to share he added silently as she
relaxed more against him.
“Okay, tell me something about you as a kid. Back in the days of
William. Did you have a nickname
then too? Oh, God, did they call you
Willy? They did, didn’t they? Little Willy.”
Spike dug his fingers into her ribs until she released a
ticklish squeal. “No, they did not
bloody call me Willy. What about
you? Though I fear any nickname
contrived from a gem of a Christian name like Buffy.”
She slugged his thigh weakly and sniffed. “Stop picking on my name! And no, I didn’t have a nickname either. Alright, what was your favorite school
subject?”
“English,”
he said, “You?”
“PE.”
“What’s that?”
“Physical Education,” she said, reclining against him as she
spoke.
He tightened his arm around her stomach and nipped at the back
of her neck, muttering, “That sounds like my kind of class.”
“I bet,” she said a little breathlessly, running her hand up his
leg. “Favorite toy?”
“My Chopper bike,” he said. At her confused pout, he amended,
“Just a bicycle. What was yours?”
“Make-up Barbie.”
“Too bad all that beauty practice didn’t pay off,” he teased and
she flipped over with a laugh, pushing him down to the ground with her motion.
“It is so lucky for
you that I know I’m cute,” she warned.
“Very lucky,” he agreed softly.
The feel of her was heavenly, her hands doing that mussing bit in his
hair while the sun added flecks of gold to her eyes. His hands slid to her hips and she tilted her
head towards him, sending a strand of honeyed hair over her shoulder and
against his neck. Buffy swallowed hard,
and Spike felt his heart stall briefly as he watched her.
I
am over the bloody moon for this girl.
“Whatcha looking at?” she whispered
when the silence had stretched too long.
“You,” he breathed, leaning in to steal a kiss.
Her response was more tender, lips parting and fingers trembling
at his neck. He held his breath as they
tentatively edged their way into their first real kiss. The intensity of it wasn’t lost on him. This time there was no going back, no
emotional shockwave or heated aftermath to blame it on. This time it was for real.
Their tongues met softly and with a tiny moan, she pressed in
for more. He tilted his head to kiss her
deeply and tried not to shiver when she stroked his cheekbones with her
fingertips. Spike crossed his arms over
her back and felt the Rubicon slip behind them, all hearts a-flutter and mouths
searching. And bloody hell if the whole
damn world wasn’t starting to spin.
They pulled apart for air, and she lifted her face enough to
flash him a wicked smile, “You know, I don’t have to go home right away.”
Spike considered this. Hard. Then, with a
reluctant groan, he sat up, shifting her sideways on his lap in the
process. “Luv,
you can’t possibly even understand the temptation you’ve just dangled in front
of me. But I’ve got to help a friend
with something tonight.”
For
God’s sake, you
Buffy squinted playfully, “This isn’t a girl kind of friend or a
naked kind of something, is it?”
“It’s a girl, but it’s definitely not a naked thing.” With a small shudder, “Bit disturbing to even
have it suggested.”
After the tiniest pause, Buffy nodded and narrowed her eyes,
slipping into an expression that screamed of mischief.
“Since I clearly disgust you, perhaps it’s best.”
“Yes,” he agreed, pressing his erection into her bottom
pointedly, “Clearly you do.”
“Well, time’s a wasting,” she said, hopping up and collecting
their litter with an exceptionally limber and revealing bend. She straightened and fluffed her hair. “We should go now.”
Half an hour and one frenetic make-out session against the side
of a tree later, they actually managed to get into the car. Another hour in Oz and Willow’s parking lot
and Spike finally let her go, his heart
flipping on top of itself when she turned at the door to blow him a kiss.
***
Cordelia
Chase was not in the mood for a Monday morning meeting. What she was in the mood for was a nonfat
latte and a blueberry sconce. Or
possibly a hydrating body wrap at Giovanni’s.
And after that, she could browse the shops on Robertson for something to
match that pair of Dolce and Gabbana beach slides
that she couldn’t resist. Too bad she
had that whole working for a living thing happening.
“Coffee, Cordelia?”
She looked up to see one of the newest of the bottom feeders entering
the conference room with a pot of coffee. While he set down a basket of
pastries, she idly placed bets on how long he’d make it. With a tie like that, she wouldn’t bet on a
month.
“Coffee would be great!” she chirped frostily, rolling her eyes
when the boy fumbled quickly for a cup for her.
“Of course, unless you’re planning on a run to The Bean, that just isn’t
an option for me, now is it?”
The boy’s brow furrowed as he stared at the coffee.
“Look, Michael,” she started with a sigh. “That isn’t coffee.”
“My name is Marcus.”
“Oh and now we’re talking about your name? Can we please get back to me for a minute
here?”
She pushed her hair behind her ear and continued, “Anyway that,” she said, pausing to wave a hand
at the pot dangling from his fingers, “is still not coffee and if you set a cup
of it in front of me, I’ll have you fired, even if I have to make up a name for
you while doing it.” Cordelia
smiled sweetly before closing with, “Got it?”
The intern swallowed hard and scooted the cup away from her
before backing out of the room, leaving the coffee on the table.
“I’ll take it I shouldn’t ask how your weekend was,” Buffy
mused, announcing her arrival in the otherwise empty room and reaching eagerly
for the pot.
“Trust me, you of all people should definitely not ask,” lip
curled and eyes horrified as Buffy poured a likely fatal dose of the liquid tar
into her cup.
The blonde frowned before settling in a chair opposite of Cordy. Of course,
she swiveled to say something anyway, but Tully arrived with a bright-eyed
secretary at his heel.
He sat in a chair across from them accepting the manila folder
and mug of coffee from his secretary before dismissing her.
“Morning, girls. You both look amazing.”
“Thank you,” they said in unison. Cordelia shot Buffy
an irritated look before continuing with a wide smile, “So do you.”
“Lies,” he laughed.
True. He looked like a
bulldog in a suit that really needed to see the sticky side of a lint brush,
what of it? He was rich and he paid
her. Not to mention, overly generous
compliments should always be forthcoming when dealing with someone who drives a
Maserati.
“Tell me about your weekend,” he said, leaning back and tapping
the folder on the table.
Cordelia
narrowed her eyes and gauged her boss, who was focused on Buffy. Which made sense as she’d
already gone over the details of her weekend with Tully on the phone after the
show. After
waiting for a moment for Cordelia to begin, Buffy
launched into monologue.
“I really enjoyed my first show.
It was busy and crazy, and there was this whole drama with a broken bass
string…” She seemed to catch herself, her eyes widening as she quickly amended,
“Which I was totally on top of and made sure it did not affect the show. Much.”
“Looks like you’ve been hard at work training this one,” Tully
said, winking at Cordy surreptitiously across the
table.
Cordelia
relaxed immediately at the friendly gesture.
Okay, moving down from Defcom One. The creepy blank folder contents were not
looking likely to be pink and slippy in nature. She smiled and nodded.
“I like to earn my check,” she said and Tully laughed. She loved his laugh. It sounded like money and generally smelled
like spearmint. In addition to the
distinct possibility of a Swiss bank account, he also possessed remarkable
dental hygiene. He was damn near
perfect. Well, except for the jowls and
the wife of twenty years.
“So, Buffy, I got a reference call for you this weekend. Doing some job shopping, are you?” he prodded
with a wolf’s grin. Cordelia
stared at her quizzically. If that
little bimbo actually was looking for another job in the middle of her
training, she’d be regretting it to the tips of her bleached hair the minute
this meeting was over.
“No! God, no! It was for an apartment. I looked at this adorable little apartment
just a few blocks from here,” Buffy said.
Everyone else in the room gaped openly.
Tully looked amused as the blonde tilted her head and seemed to get lost
in her thoughts. “Well, actually we looked at it. He’s just a friend. I don’t know, maybe he is more¾”
What
the hell is this? Story time?
Buffy stopped abruptly and lifted a horrified look to the room
before meekly concluding, “And now I think I’ll shut up and look for a hole to
die in.”
“Or I could just strangle you,” Cordelia
volunteered cheerfully.
“Well, that won’t work,” Tully replied matter-of-factly, “And
neither will your cute apartment, Buffy.”
Cordelia
noticed Buffy shooting him a terrified look before he opened the manila folder,
“Girls, you’re going on the road.”
“On the road as in the tour deal went through?” Cordelia screeched.
“Tour deal?” Buffy said quietly.
Tully ignored her and reached forward to pump Cordy’s hand, “All due to your relentless work on the
proposal. Wicked Twist has been getting
better press by the day. I ran into that
Times reporter Scott Westings.”
“The guy I was supposed to talk to today?” Buffy asked, coffee cup halfway to her lips.
“Not necessary now,” Tully said with a wave of his meaty
hand. “Now that you’re both heading out,
I scheduled you for a full interview with him next week.”
“How did this happen?” Buffy whispered, taking a drink of the
coffee and blinking at the table.
“Friday’s show sealed the deal.” Tully said, tapping the table
in front of Cordelia.
“The two of them together was a good recommendation.”
“And the fresh baked muffins for the execs?” Cordelia
prodded with a grin.
“They didn’t hurt,” he admitted, “You ready for the skinny?”
“Ready? I’m practically
drooling here!”
Tully reached into the folder and retrieved thick packets for
each of them.
“Wicked Twist headlining with Live Bait
opening. Three
months, twenty eight cities, with a couple of weeks off in
“Oh, tempt me more,” Cordelia said,
jotting down notes. Now, what’s our
travel per diem and do you have a list of the radio stations and venues for our
promo work? God, I can hardly believe
it. Wicked Twist. On tour at last!”
“A tour deal?”
Buffy repeated very quietly, and Cordelia finally
turned to her apprentice with an impatient sigh.
“Yes, Buffy, a tour. It’s this thing that bands do when they
actually decide to make money. What is
your damage?”
“It’s just so sudden. And
long. Three months is long.”
“It’ll be longer for you,” Tully supplied, and Cordelia softened marginally, trying to fill her in.
“We’ll be doing initial prep work. We’ll have to check out the places they’ll
play, approve flyers and then get the word out to various radio stations. It’s just easier to do it if we go before the
band so we can hook back up with them when the actual tour begins. So I’m betting we’re leaving in, what? Two or three weeks?” This last part was directed at Tully, who
nodded sagely.
“Two.”
“Two weeks?” Buffy repeated weakly.
“Yes!” Cordy said, her smile edging
into something threatening. She lowered
her voice to a whisper while Tully shuffled papers, “Should I feed you a
cracker or is the parrot routine going to stop?”
“I’m sorry,” she offered, glancing back at her boss when he
looked up again. “It’s just really
unexpected. My guys have jobs and
apartments and…what do we do if they can’t leave?”
“Angel will leave,” Cordelia supplied
matter-of-factly, then looked away in response to
Buffy’s questioning gaze. She shrugged
nonchalantly, “I’d imagine anyone else could be replaced.”
“She’s right,” Tully said, “And kid, if you think it’s a bit
much, I can always put a more seasoned rep on the tour. I’m only agreeing to send you because our Cordelia here is just that damned good.”
Buffy shook her head firmly and squared her shoulders. “No, it’s totally fine. This is an amazing opportunity. Kind of threw me for a loop, is all.”
She offered him a charming smile and Cordelia
watched Tully buckle like men always do to blondes with pretty smiles. Cordy rolled her
eyes, but patted her papers happily.
“I can’t believe you kept my
“I can’t believe you convinced me to have such a no-name band to
open,” Tully returned.
“What can I say? I’m
good,” Cordelia said.
And
Angel, you owe me big.
Tully’s pulled another stack of papers from the folder. “Now, let’s start talking compensation and
commission.”
“They’re getting paid?” Buffy asked, brightening
substantially.
“Some of them are,” Tully said cryptically, before directing
them to page two.
***
Spike was pretty sure that shoving a drumstick up his left
nostril would be more comfortable than this practice. He couldn’t have felt more like the elephant
in the room if he tried. From the moment
he stepped through the door he’d been on the receiving end from everyone. Angel glowered in his general direction,
“Hold it, hold it,” Angel complained into the mike in his hand, then turned around
when the band members faded into silence.
Spike cocked his head and waited for…
“I think you’re off, Spike,” he rumbled over the speakers.
…that.
Spike snorted and tapped his feet.
“Really?” Xander said guilelessly from the floor in front of the
stage, “I need to get my ears checked. I
thought he sounded great.”
“Could be playing like John bloody Bonham and he’d say it was
off,” Spike muttered and Oz snorted.
Angel’s eyes darted to the bass player who offered him a
shrug. Angel rolled his shoulders and
glanced at his wrist. A wrist, Spike
noticed, that was sporting a thick white tan line in
place of its regular Rolex.
Maybe he got mugged.
Enjoying the thought immensely, Spike grinned and relaxed on his stool.
“Does anyone know what time it is?” Angel finally asked and Xander shuffled to his feet, downing the last of his carton
of leftover fried noodles. “Shouldn’t
our manager be having that big
interview right about now?”
“It’s 1:00,” he said, “Hardly time to
call out the dogs on Buffy, but past time for me to scram. Can you believe my luck nailing the contract
at Dragon Wok and Roll? In addition to a
paycheck, I get all the fried noodles I can eat.”
“That’s a lot of noodles,”
Spike heard the door to the warehouse swing open and craned to
see who was arriving.
“Buffy! I thought you
were working at the office today.” Xander said and
Spike tuned into the tell tale click of her high heels approaching.
“I was,” she said quietly, “But I’ve got some news I thought you
all should hear in person. Xander, can you hold up for a minute?”
“Big news?”
Xander guessed, following her back to the stage.
“Huge news,” she corrected, her voice
strangely devoid of emotion.
“Band news?”
“Nice to see she could work us in,” he said, still not looking
at her as he plucked a water bottle off the floor.
“Right,” Buffy said with a confused shake of her head. Spike moved in closer until he could get a
good look at her. She had on a
combination of beige and black that achieved a nice mix of professional and
sexy. Sliding into place beside Oz,
Spike offered her a wink, but the smile she offered in response was merely a
twitch of the lips. What the hell was
she so nervous about?
Angel coughed in a manner that was anything but subtle and Buffy
jerked her attention back to the rest of the group.
“We need to get back to practice, so why don’t you fill us in?”
Angel asked tersely.
Spike bit back a spiteful comment, watching Buffy as she briefly
touched her temples and sighed before looking over everyone on the stage.
“It’s amazing news with a catch,” she
said, taking a deep breath. “Wicked
Twist wants us to open for them on their tour and IYF agrees that it would be a
good match.”
“A tour? Are you kidding?” Xander
said, dropping his empty carton in surprise, “Amazing may be an understatement
here, Buff!”
“I can uh huh that!”
“So who shot the dog?” Oz said and everyone in front of them
turned to face him. His gaze level on
Buffy, he continued, “You, uh, still look like someone shot your dog, so I’m
guessing we haven’t heard the catch.”
Buffy nodded and straightened her shoulders.
“It’ll start in
“Three months,” Angel said dreamily, then
flashed a grin. “We are actually talking
about making it, here.”
“Think you’re forgetting something, mate,” Spike piped in and
Angel bristled.
“What’s that?” he replied, not sparing him a glance.
“Most jobs don’t have leave of absence plans for rock and roll
tours.”
Buffy glanced over the group with a nod before settling on Angel. “He’s right.
You’ll be paid, but it’s highly dependent on promotional and ticket
sales. So, there is a risk. It’s something everyone is going to have to
think about.”
Angel laughed incredulously, “Think about it? What, do you think we’ve been playing band, here, Buffy?”
Before she answered, he shook his head, “I don’t need to think
about it. I’m in. Just let me know when and where I need to
be.”
“Not all of us have trust funds, Big Guy,” Xander
said, his expression sobered, “And I’m guessing not all of us are being offered
the chance at a paycheck here.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve signed a contract with IYF,” Buffy supplied sadly. “They are your managing group, and unless I
screw stuff up, I guess I’m technically your manager. Or maybe Cordelia,
but I’m the one who works for you, now.”
The group fell silent and Buffy stepped closer to Xander. Spike craned
his head to hear them.
“I didn’t want to tell you like this, Xander. I didn’t know any of that until this
morning. I think I’m in way over my
head.”
Xander
dropped his hands to her shoulders, “Look, I knew this day would come. And I used to think I’d have to hand them
over to a complete stranger, instead of a good friend. I couldn’t have dreamed of someone better.”
Buffy smiled and Xander pressed a kiss
to her forehead.
“You guys!” she cried, “You can’t leave us, Xander. I just can’t imagine there even being an us without you.
Who will eat the stale donuts and leave Cheetos
crumbs in the van?”
Oz
nodded sagely,
“You are the Master of the Snack.”
“He has a special belt.
I’ve seen it.” Spike teased, and Xander tucked
a girl under each arm and laughed good-naturedly.
“Ha ha ha,” Xander said, “Admit it, Spike, you’ll miss me.”
“That I will,” he said softly, sighing as the girls squeezed Xander tightly.
Angel finally broke his silent vigil. “Before we go, you’ll need to make sure Buffy
has a full list and understanding of our equipment and sound specs.”
Spike noticed every set of eyes in the warehouse focused on
Angel instantly.
“Angel!”
“That would be shocking coming from anyone but you,” Buffy
ground out viciously.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, offering Xander an apologetic shrug.
“Why is everyone making such a big deal out of this?”
Angel opened his mouth to speak, but Buffy cut him off.
“Why don’t you just not talk,”
Buffy said, “ever.”
“No, Buff,” Xander said, touching her
arm before moving closer to the stage with a steeled expression. “Go ahead, Angel. How did you mean it?”
Angel opened his mouth, and spread his arms defensively. He gave a nervous laugh, “It’s not like I
don’t care that you’re not coming with us.
I’m just trying to look at the big picture.”
“Funny,” Oz said, “It’s sounds an awful
lot like not caring from here.”
Angel shook his head and gave a bitter laugh, “Fine, whatever
you say. You know, this is what we’ve
been working for. I’m here for this
moment right now. I’m here to make
it. You have no idea what kind of
pressure I’m under, and I’m not here to win friends. This is business and you
have to learn to keep it separate.”
Xander
and
Xander
snorted, “I’m getting your word picture real
clear, Mr. Rock Star. Since you’ve
already climbed this rung in the ladder, I think I’ll be on my way.”
Xander
threw down the carton and stormed out of the warehouse ignoring Angel’s
half-hearted, “Don’t do this.”
When the door slammed behind him, Spike snorted derisively at
Angel. “Good form, prick.”
“Oh, and you think you’re in a place to talk to me about form?”
“Knock it off,” Buffy ground out, her fists tightly clenched at
her sides. She took a quick breath
before she continued. “Okay, now for the
last part of this wonderful ride. I need you all to think this over and get
back to me as soon as you can.”
Her eyes flicked to Spike and he hid a smile as he caught the
trepidation in her expression. Tilting
his head, he spoke softly. “I’m not sure
I see myself in LA, anyways. I’m in.”
For one brief instant, her whole face seemed to shine. Then the fearful expression returned,
knitting her pretty little brows and clouding her eyes. Spike frowned as he contemplated what other
nasty surprise was lurking in that look.
Seeming to avoid his gaze, she looked at
“Right now? Mostly about fried noodles,” Oz said, with a
sad look at the door.
Buffy smiled ruefully. “I
mean about the tour.”
“Yeah,” Buffy said softly, “I get that.”
She clasped her hands in front of her and took a deep breath,
“Thing is, I kind of need to know what you decide by next Friday.”
“Why next Friday?”
Spike asked, and his voice was strained with a wary edge.
The shimmer in her eyes belied her calm tone when she responded,
“I have to go ahead of the band. Next
Saturday is when I leave.”
“You’re leaving next Saturday,” he repeated woodenly. Without giving her time to respond, he stalked
back to his drumset, reeling in shock.
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