Sunnydale kinda reminds me of one of those unrealistic 50s television shows that come on at three in the mornin' during Nick at Nite. It’s kinda like Pleasantville, ya know, without the freaky color changes an' that annoyingly poncey Toby Maguire character—before he becomes Spiderman I mean.

It’s got this boring, yet homey sort of order t' it. And at the same time, it’s this place where dreams come true. Kinda like Disneyland without all the ridiculously long lines an' outrageously priced vending food. An' without those fucking Disney characters in huge costumes. Whose sodding idea was it anyway t' have those scary ass Disney animals running 'round the theme park pretending to be friendly creatures? They can bloody give kids nightmares for ages.

But I digress.

Sunnydale is a town where there’s probably only one high school, one diner, an' one un-fuckable brand of girl. Everyone probably knows each other, what with the whole never bein' able t' get out of this small town deal. And 'M sure the biggest pride and joy this little village has is its high school football team, which, not ta mention, probably hasn’t won a bloody game in eons.

All this kinda makes a bloke want ta heave.

“Anything interesting going on in that bleached head of yours?”

I break my gaze from the car window at my Aunt Jenny’s teasing question. I give her a sardonic smile. “Yeah. ‘M thinkin’ about how much I’m gonna hate this fucking place.”

She chuckles, stopping at a red light. “Yeah well don’t write this place off just yet. I’m sure you’ll learn to love this sunny little town.”

“Yeah, like a bloody hole in my bloody head,” I mumble, turning back t' the window.

She looks at me, her face suddenly turnin' a bit more serious. “You know why you’re father sent you here. If it wasn’t for all the trouble you were getting into back in England, you wouldn’t have to be here.”

I guess she was tryin' t' make me feel guilty or somethin'. Aunt Jenny's real good at makin' me feel guilty for things. She can be like that sometimes.

“My father’s a bloody wanker," I respond.

Aunt Jenny gives me a look. “Hey. That’s my big brother you’re talking about.”

“You’re big brother’s a big wanker,” I assure her. “And I don’ know what kind of trouble you guys are talkin' about.”

She gives me another look. “You don’t remember breaking into your headmaster’s house, stealing his valuable belongings, and then burning down his house?”

Oh yeah. That.

It’s really not what it sounds like. Sure I broke into the guy’s house. And yeah I may 'ave knicked a thing or two. An' the part about the burning of the house may be a bit true as well. I swear there was a reason for all this. But if I tol' you, you probably wouldn’t believe me.

'Member how I implied my severe dislike for the entity that seems t' be Sunnydale? Well there’s a reason for that too. Sure I’d like to go to all the football games and then after, maybe hit up the one diner in town, then grab a few drinks with a group of other good-for-nothing teenagers. I even look forward t' prying the knickers off those un-fuckable girls. Yeah, all that rot.

But I bloody well can’t.

Aunt Jenny pulls into the driveway of a quaint two-story house. “Home sweet home,” she says with a smile.

1628 Rovello Drive.

I get out of the car and grab my bags from the trunk as Aunt Jenny opens the door to the house. I stay behind, taking in my surroundings. It’s a nice neighborhood I’d wager. I peek around to the house next door. Three teens around my age are on the lawn idly kicking around a football...or what you misguided Yanks would call a soccer ball. The other two laugh as the red head kicks an' misses in an amusing show of un-coordination.

“That’s the second time you’ve done that Wills!” The other teen, a boy laughs. “Never realized foot-eye coordination was a problem for you.”

The red head in overalls smiles, sticking her tongue out at him. “I happen to believe in the theory that the third time’s the charm,” she says, foot finally connecting with the ball.

“Don’t listen to Xander, Wills,” says the blonde girl with amazingly sexy legs. “He’s just reveling in the fact that he’s finally better than you at something. And not much better at that!”

I watch as the three continue to laugh and joke, kicking the ball back and forth amongst themselves. But my attention is particularly focused on the hot blonde with the cute little ass and bouncing hair. She’s got this incredibly shiny blonde hair, you know, the kind that you see in those shampoo commercials. She smiles as they continue to kick the ball back and forth, laughing in a way that could really get a guy’s blood pumpin' if ya know what I mean. What I wouldn’t do right now to pry apart those dimpled knees.

I shake my head and chuckle at my sudden lapse in sanity. She was one of those un-fuckable Sunnydale girls. One who was probably too prude and pure to get involved with a bastard like me. You see, besides having what my father calls an intolerable penchant for swearing, I also can never keep my room clean, I procrastinate like nobody’s business, I rarely think before I act, and I’m a tad bit unreliable. I’m also a bit of a prick if you haven’t picked up on it yet.

“You comin’ in anytime soon William?” I hear Aunt Jenny call from inside the house.

I continue to shake my head and turn around to head into my new home.

Yeah, I could never allow myself t' be with a girl like her. I’m the Slayer after all. I don’t even really have time for a girlfriend anyway.

“Home sweet home,” I sigh softly, entering the house.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What’s with the Billy Idol reject?” Buffy asked as she spotted a shock of bleach blonde hair making its way into the house next door.

“Maybe Miss Calendar finally got herself a new boyfriend,” Xander guessed, kicking the ball to Willow. “The last guy was kind of creepy if you ask me. It’s about time she got a little nookie though. I’d definitely like to tie her up and do some things with her that would involve a snake skin belt and some miracle whip.” He paused and quickly looked up at the two girls, hoping that he’d only said that in his head.

Buffy and Willow stared back at him awkwardly, cringing at the thought. “In an effort to cancel out the now very vivid image of my best friend and my neighbor getting it on, I’d guess that she probably has some family visiting or something.”

Willow nodded. “I like that suggestion. Much more imagination friendly.” She went back to Buffy’s front porch, taking a seat on the steps. “Ooh, you think he’s our age?”

“Much more importantly, is he of the cute kind?” Buffy wondered, her and Xander sitting next to Willow.

Xander gave her a look. “Hello? Billy Idol reject? Remember? There’s definitely nothing cute about that.” The girls rolled their eyes.

“And he lives right there, Buffy,” Willow pointed out animatedly. “He could so be the boy next door and you guys could climb into the others’ window every night to console each other whenever you want to get away from your fighting parents. Like those bad teen movies from the 90s.”

Buffy nodded excitedly, playing along. “Oh yeah, and after years of being just friends, we’ll realize how deep our feelings are for one another!” The girls keeled over giggling.

Xander looked at them as if they were crazy. “Uh, hello again? Are we forgetting the very undeniable fact that this guy is Miss Calendar’s newest boy toy? And more importantly, are we forgetting about Angel, Buffy? Whom you like very, very much, I might add,” he reminded her.

Buffy clutched her stomach, trying to catch her breath from the laughter. “Lighten up Xander. I’m allowed to look at guys other than Angel. It’s not like you care for his feelings at all anyway.”

“I do care about Angel’s feelings!” he exclaimed, offended. “In the way that…. I don’t really. But still. No more jokes about next door neighbor hijinks. Makes me uncomfortable.”

“Probably about as uncomfortable as your whole miracle whip and snake skin belt fantasy with Miss Calendar makes us,” Buffy reminded him, “Which, by the way, I can go for the rest of my life not knowing about.” Willow nodded her head in support of Buffy’s stance. “And anyway, there wouldn’t be any next door neighbor hijinks occurring now would there? Besides the whole Angel semi-boyfriend deal, there’s also the busy with school deal, and of course, you know, the whole fighting demons deal.”

They all went silent, enjoying the sun setting behind the trees.

Willow nodded pensively. “Yeah, the whole Slayer thing can definitely be a turn-off.”

Again they were silent, listening to the stillness of the early evening.

“My mom’s making quesadillas,” Buffy informed, breaking the quiet. “You guys up for some?”

The other two shrugged, down for anything made by Joyce’s magical cooking hands. They all hurried off into the Summers household, leaving the soccer ball on the lawn to fend for itself in the midst of scary demons and vampires.

Spike woke up the next morning to the very pleasant sound of birds chirping outside his window. The rays of the sun shone in on him, greeting the teenage boy with an amiable dose of Sunnydale love. One of the blue jays floated outside the glass chirping gracefully and eyeing him with innocent curiosity.

“Bugger off!” Spike growled, throwing a pillow at the window. He groaned, rolling over so he wouldn’t have to see the dejected look on the poor bird’s face. Reluctantly he glanced back at the glass, seeing the blue jay still there. He growled again.

“What do you want then? You’ve already managed to wake me up this early!” He glanced at the clock.

11 a.m.

Shit. He hadn’t realized he’d slept so late. He got out of bed and headed to the bathroom, grumbling something along the lines of not being able to take this bloody awful Sunnydale cheeriness.

After hopping out the shower and getting dressed in a punk shirt and ripped jeans, he made his way downstairs in hopes of catching a late breakfast. Aunt Jenny was nowhere to be found. He shrugged and opened the refrigerator only to be met with expired milk and a shelf full of condiments.

Spike closed the fridge, wondering if his morning could get any worse. He spotted a note on the refrigerator:

Hey Will,

I’m out running a few errands. And then I’m off to the grocery store. Didn’t realize how much my food reserve was lacking. I’ll be home soon though. In the meantime you should go outside. Walk around. Get a tan or something. God knows you need it :-p.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Great. I’m here practically starving to death and she’s worried that I lack the proper skin complexion.” He sighed, putting on his shoes and heading out. It wasn’t that bad outside. In fact, it was actually pleasant. Definitely a far cry from the constant overcast of England.

He sat down on the porch steps, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up.

He looked around the neighborhood, noting that it was a beautiful day and no one was even out. For such a pretty town, the place sure was boring as hell. He glanced next door, remembering the three teens from yesterday. Of course they weren’t there. They were probably out volunteering at an old folk’s home. That’s probably what the kids did out here for fun.

He spotted the football that the teens were kicking around the day before sitting out on next door’s lawn. He smirked, flicking the cig to the ground and walking over to pick up the football.

“Hm. Nice brand,” he noted.

He began to juggle it with his feet, expertly bouncing it on his knees and his head. At his old school he used to be pretty good. Except the whole Slayer thing made it pretty impossible for him to find time to stay on the team. Warrick, being the stuffy prat he was, would have none of it anyway.

‘Football my arse,’ he would say. ‘What will be your excuse to humanity when the world comes to an end? That you were too busy running around on a field, kicking a bloody ball around?’

Yeah, Warrick could be kind of dramatic like that sometimes.

He continued to juggle the ball, not noticing the petite blonde standing on the porch.

“Do you make it a habit to trespass on peoples’ properties?” the girl asked, startling him. The ball fell to the ground.

It was the unfuckable blonde girl from yesterday.

He raised an eyebrow then scanned her from head to toe, appreciating her small yet somehow intimidating form.

She was wearing some cut off shorts and a pink tank top. It was one of those tanks that had those clever yet annoying little phrases on them. Hers in particular said “Cali Girl.” It wasn’t as annoying as the shirts that said things like “Your boyfriend likes me,” or “I like guys with money,” but it still made his eye twitch.

“Hello, cutie,” he purred, doing this thing with his tongue that he knew made the girls go crazy. “That’s not a very nice way to greet the new boy in town is it? M’ name’s Spike. What’s yours?”

She watched him appraisingly. Besides the freakishly bright hair and the horribly outdated punk shirt he was wearing, the guy was sorta cute. Not that she was interested in the guy’s appearance or anything but she wasn’t blind for chrissakes. She could definitely admit when a person had to-die-for cheekbones.

“Buffy,” she answered tentatively.

He snorted.

“No really luv. Your real name. No need to make up some outlandish and might I add, ridiculous, name to shut me up. Don’t be scared, I don’t bite. Not unless you ask me to anyway.”

The tongue thing again.

Buffy’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “That is my real name you pig.”

He stopped smirking. “Oh. Sorry ‘bout that. Guess your parents must have been sloshed the night of your naming ceremony eh? That’s too bad.”

She strutted off of her porch, stalking towards him and grabbing her ball from the ground. “Give me my ball,” she demanded rather childishly. “And get off of my lawn.”

Spike put his hands up defensively. “Calm down, Betty. It’s not like I was gonna steal your precious football or anything.”

Actually that’s exactly what his plan was, but she didn’t have to go around basically accusing him of it. That was just plain rude.

She looked up at him angrily and briefly had to catch her breath. He had these breathtaking blue eyes that could make a girl swoon if he wasn’t such a jerk.

“It’s Buffy. Bu-ffy,” she enunciated once she got over his hypnotizing azure orbs. “And it’s not a football you freaky Englishman. It’s a soccer ball. You live in America now. Get with it.”

“Oh I plan to ‘get with it’ alright. Just give me a few days and I’ll be getting with it real nice.” He raised his eyebrows up and down suggestively. Of course, he was teasing, knowing that a particular stick was wedged far up her particular ass. It was entertaining to get a reaction anyway.

She shot him a disgusted look and shook her head. “What is wrong with you, you demented pervert? Don’t they teach you manners where you’re from?”

“I have no manners thank you very much,” he boasted proudly. “Manners are for tossers who’re too scared to say how they really feel.”

“Well do us all a favor and…don’t….feel.”

He was about to retort when he heard a voice calling Buffy’s name from inside the house.

“Mom says lunch is ready!” A cute brown haired girl stepped outside the threshold and onto the porch. “You coming in or what?” The girl eyed Spike curiously. “Who’s he?”

“Nobody,” Buffy answered quickly. “Just a…homeless man I, uh, found on our lawn.” She turned to Spike. “Shoo homeless man!”

Spike looked at her like she was crazy. “Betty sure can be rude sometimes can’t she?” he noted to the young girl with a shake of his head.

The girl nodded. “You should see her when she catches me sneaking into her room and peeking at her diary. She goes into total ballistic mode. It’s upsetting really.”

“Lemme guess. Younger sister? What’s your name anyway? My name’s Spike.”

The young girl blushed at the hot guy’s interest in knowing her name. She may only have been 13, but she knew hot babe when she saw it. “It’s Dawn. Nice to meet you. And I’m sorry about my sister. She can be a real B-I-T-C-H sometimes.”

Buffy threw a dirty look her way.

Spike nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah, I know. ‘M hoping it doesn’t run in the family.”

Dawn shook her head reassuringly. “No, not at all. Buffy seems to have acquired all the bitch genes.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Still here. For those of you who care.”

They both ignored her.

“So what’s this I hear about lunch?”

Dawn’s eyes turned bright at that. “Well if you want you can come in. Mom won’t mind. I’m sure there’s more than enough sandwiches to go around. Plus, Buffy barely eats. You can have her portion.”

Spike smiled, breezing past Buffy and throwing an arm around Dawn’s shoulders. “I think we’re gonna get along lil’ bit. So where’s the food? I’m absolutely famished.” Spike and the irritatingly giddy Dawn made their way into the house.

Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed in defeat. “Great. First I have to deal with the little gremlin that is Dawnie. And now the psycho next door is asking for it.” Maybe he was a demon, she thought with delight. She could slay him! Nobody could be that humanly irritating.

“Come on now Betty! Mum’s made BLTs and if you don’t hurry up…!” Spike yelled from inside the house.

Buffy growled, but made her way up to the house anyway.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


“I absolutely love the artwork around the house Ms. Summers,” Spike gushed, mouthful of sandwich. “It brings out the sophisticated quality of your humble home.”

Joyce smiled, flattered. “Thank you, William. But please, call me Joyce. I’ve tried to collect a variety of different artifacts from all over the world.”

“Please Joyce, call me Spike. Much less formal yea? Well you’ve done a wonderful job with your collection.” He pointed to a mask on the wall. “Let me guess… Nigerian?”

Joyce nodded, impressed with his knowledge. “How did you know?”

“Just a lucky guess,” he replied with a shrug. “I like to dabble in the arts a bit.” He chose not to mention that he’d come across a mask quite similar to that one back home in England. Of course, that particular one was much more alive and evil than this one. He would remember to tell Joyce to keep an eye on hers.

“Do you happen to have any apple juice? I’m really thirsty.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at Spike’s pathetic display of fakery. Could the guy be any more of a suck up? It was disgusting really. And why didn’t her mom ever talk art with her?

“So tell us about yourself, Spike,” Buffy mocked. “What brings you here besides your daunting quest to aggravate and annoy the Sunnydale locals?”

He chewed his sandwich thoughtfully for a moment.

“Well, I’m 17 years old, born and bred in the mother country. For those of us who are clueless, the ‘mother country’ is England.” He threw a condescending look Buffy’s way.

She glared at him.

“I’m here in the States now because I needed a change in scenery and my Aunt Jenny was gracious enough to let me stay with her. Um… I enjoy long walks on the beach, pretty sunsets, and even prettier girls.”

He gave a cheeky smile to Joyce, making Dawn giggle.

“Well, you know school starts in a week,” Dawn informed. “It’ll be my first year in high school! You’ll be going to Sunnydale High, right?”

He nodded, absolutely hating the topic of school.

“I’m surprised they’re letting you attend,” Buffy chimed in. “Don’t you have to be mentally stable to get into the schools these days?”

He chuckled. “I guess not, blondie. And apparently you don’t have to be smart these days either… hence the whole ‘you’ going to school thing,” he added.

Dawn snorted, attempting to hide a laugh.

Before Buffy could answer back, the doorbell rang. Joyce got up to go get the door.

“You know I could kick your ass right?” Buffy whispered so only Spike could hear.

He snorted. “I’d like to see you try Summers.”

“There you are!” Aunt Jenny said, coming into the kitchen. “I was looking for you. I see you’ve made some friends huh?”

“No he hasn’t,” Buffy assured, shaking her head. “He just came by to pester us. But you can have him back now.”

“Be nice,” Joyce admonished lightly. “So Jenny, I hear Spike’s going to be a senior this year. So’s my little Buffy. It’s nice to know she’ll have a friend next door.”

“There goes that ‘friend’ word again guys,” Buffy interrupted, alarmed. “I assure you, he’s not, nor will he ever be my ‘friend.’ I have friends, remember mom? They’re of the Xander and Willow shape.”

“Oh, Buffy, you should introduce him to Xander and Willow. You’ll really like them, William.”

Spike put on a false smile. “Sounds good.” Truth was, he’d rather stay solo. There were things in his life that had prevented him from ever having real friends in the past. Mainly his being a Slayer. And although that was behind him, old habits were hard to break.

“Aren’t you guys going to the beach tomorrow?” Dawn asked Buffy. “You should take Spike with you.”

Buffy shot her a murderous look.

“That’s a great idea,” Joyce beamed. “You can show him around Sunnydale, and introduce him to your friends at the same time.”

Spike shook his head. “It’s ok Ms. Summers I don’t—“

“Nonsense. It will be fun.”

“Mom!” Buffy yelled, “He doesn’t want to go. And even more importantly, I don’t want him to go. And plus, there’s no room in Oz’s car, and he probably doesn’t even like the sun. I mean, look at his skin! It’s pasty!”

“I told you, you needed some sun,” Jenny joked. “The beach would be perfect for you Will.”

“Then it’s settled,” Joyce confirmed. “Anyone want apple slices?” She passed one to Spike, and then began conversation with Jenny.

“I want you to know that I really, really dislike you,” Buffy whispered, absently grabbing the apple slice from his fingers and eating it.

“Yeah well the feeling’s mutual Betty. Real mutual.”

Spike

It’s a funny feeling a Slayer gets when someone’s followin’ him. Or in this particular case, something. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up an’ I get this feeling that something’s going to happen. Just like Peter Parker does before a fight. You know, with that whole Spidey sense business.

My sensitive ears pique at the sound of stealthy footsteps behind me. I turn ‘round.

Nothing.

Again I hear footsteps. This time farther out into the distant trees.

So much for a nice, bloody walk.

I reluctantly throw my cigarette t’ the ground and follow the sounds deeper into the dark woods.

After a few minutes of wandering aimlessly into the trees, I stop, sensing again that something is behind me.

“I don’t ‘ave time for games,” I state firmly. “Show yourself.”

I hear a snicker.

“Very intuitive for a soon-to-be victim,” says a voice cryptically. I turn around to face what I am sure is a vampire. If the horrid vamp face isn't an indicator then the putrid smell definitely is.

“Vampire huh?” I confirm. I shake my head in disappointment. “I expected so much more from Sunnydale. Was kinda hoping it was demon free.”

“Well let me lay all your expectations to rest kid,” he grunts confidently, attacking head on.

He misses of course, courtesy of my amazingly superior reflexes. I kick him in the back an’ he falls to the ground.

I smirk, thinking Sunnydale isn’t half as bad as I thought it would be.

“Thanks for showing up, mate,” I taunt, getting into fighting stance. “I needed a spot of violence t’ end the night.”

He looks up at me with fear in his demon eyes.

***


Spike walked onto the deserted street, brushing the vamp dust off of his shirt. He had a lot of thinking to do.

Where did that vamp come from? Were there more of them? What the hell was a vampire doing in Sunnydale? He thought he’d left the Slayer stuff back in England where it belonged. There were so many questions.

I wish Warrick were here to guide me. Never thought I’d ever say that.

“Bloody hell,” he mumbled, shaking his head and lighting up a cigarette to ease his suddenly frazzled mind. “One measly vamp and I’m turning into Spike the nancy boy.”

He suddenly spotted a figure in the near distance. Blonde hair. Admittedly sexy legs.

He smirked to himself.

“Looks like the night just got more interesting,” he said to himself, throwing the cigarette to the ground and quietly jogging up behind her.

“Hello, cutie,” he purred into her ear. Alarmed, she turned around quickly, punching him soundly in the nose.

---

Buffy

“Boys are such idiots!” I vent to myself, kicking a small rock on the ground. After spending an unsuccessful night patrolling, I decide, instead, just to head back home.

Not that I would have been able to focus on dusting vamps tonight anyway. Not with frustrating thoughts of Angel the frustrating frustrater on my mind. God, why did he have to be so confusing?

Here I am, throwing myself at him, and he’s either totally clueless, or totally cruel. Which would make him an idiot either way I guess. The thing is, I know he likes me. Probably more than I like him.

Then why won’t he have sex with me? Oh, right, because he thinks I’m too good for him. He thinks I’m too pure for him to take my virginity. He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had resembling a boyfriend, and he’s the only one who knows what I am. No one could ever understand except for him. And maybe Xander. But I don’t want to have sex with Xander.

So, after years of making eyes at each other and fighting demons beside one another, he still won’t take me, why? Oh yeah, I remember. It all comes down to guys being idiots.

Like that stupid British guy from today. What was his name again? Spike. What kind of name was Spike anyway? And he had the nerve to talk about my name?

I kick another small rock in irritation and hope that I never have to see him again with his shocking blonde hair and even more shocking blue eyes.

I continue to walk home in a deep funk, not even noticing when someone runs up behind me, whispering in my ear, “Hello, cutie.”

Quick as a flash, I spin around, punching the guy in the nose.

---

“Oi! What the hell Summers! What the bloody hell wazat for?”

She looked at him apologetically as he cupped his face. Nothing was broken she hoped.

“Sorry Spike! I didn’t know it was you!”

“Oh, so if you’d’ve known it was me, you’d’ve felt better about it? Where’d you learn how to hit like that anyway?”

His ability to sneak up on people was a talent he’d acquired over the years. How she was able to best him in the reflexes department, he did not know. He was actually suffering from hurt pride more than he was a sore nose.

She shook her head in slight confusion. How the hell did he pounce on her like that? Her sensitive ears should have picked up on his footsteps before he caught up to her. She must have been too involved in her thoughts.

“I shouldn’t even be saying sorry to you, you know? Who goes around following girls at night anyway, you big freak?”

“Oh, yeah. Right,” he continued to nurse his aching nose. “I spend my nights ominously stalking half-brained twits like yourself. You caught me.”

“I appreciate the sarcasm.”

They began to walk down Rovello, towards their houses.

“What’re you doin’ out here anyway Summers? Shouldn’t you be at home playing with Barbies or something?”

“Oh, yeah, of course, since I’m still in the 2nd grade and enjoy the activities of a 7 year old.” She shook her head. “I had things to think about so I’m out getting fresh air.”

“Right. An’ you decided t’ take a walk at night, by yourself? Smart one, princess. There’s a lot of nasties out there, ya know?” He skipped ahead, facing her and making creepy ghoul sounds.

“You’re a riot Spike,” she deadpanned. “I can take care of myself.”

He continued walking beside her. “Yeah, sure. That’s what the girl from the Thriller video said before Michael Jackson and his zombie mates attacked her.”

She laughed genuinely. With the full moon reflecting on her face softly, she looked even prettier than the other two times he’d seen her. Granted, the last time he’d seen her, she was a scowling bitch. Tonight she was cute.

She had on a short black skirt that revealed those amazingly sexy legs of hers. She wore a form fitting white tube top, one of those cute, trendy leather jackets, and a pair of what he liked to call “come-fuck-me boots.”

If her aim was to get assaulted tonight then, by golly, she was in luck because her outfit just screamed, “Come and get me predators!”

He would definitely have to keep an eye her. Make sure she didn’t get killed on her dim-witted and ill-advised nights out by herself.

“It’s fine, mom. I was out patrolling. I’m good at this,” she waved off absently.

“Patrolling?” He raised an eyebrow.

Her eyes went wide. “Uh, strolling! I… said, uh, I was out strolling. I’m good at the whole strolling thing. See? Here’s me strolling.” She laughed nervously.

He gave her an odd look. “I knew you were a bit daft Summers. I didn’t imagine you were a nut case too.”

“I’m not a nut case,” she cried, offended. “Like I said, I have things on my mind. Big, important, world-coming-to-an-end kind of things.”

He snorted. “Right. You prob’ly just got your knickers twisted over some twattish bloke.”

“He is not twattish!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms against her chest. “I don’t even know if he’s a bloke.” She pouted. “What’s a bloke anyway?”

He chuckled, thinking that she looked right adorable with her full lips jutting out like that.

“Trouble in paradise?” he wondered, uncharacteristically willing to lend an ear.

She eyed him suspiciously. “Like you care.”

“For a limited time only. Take it or leave it.”

“None of your business bleach boy.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself blondie.” They walked in silence for a moment.

“It’s just… I’m totally frustrated, and might I add, superbly confused with the male species!” she spilled finally. “I can’t take it anymore!”

Spike chuckled. “What’s this guy’s name anyway.”

“Angel.”

“Pft. Sounds like a poofter to me.”

She ignored that. “I mean, here I am putting myself out there. Like, way out there. And it’s like he’s majorly clueless. I know he likes me. I can tell. I mean, us women, we can tell these things, you know? We’ve kissed, made out a couple of times, but the guy’s like a freakin’ saint! I don’t know what to do.”

Spike thought for a moment. “Maybe he’s gay.”

She shook her head vehemently. “He’s not gay.”

“Well with a poofter name like Angel he has to be—”

“He’s not gay Spike.”

“You think he’s having sex with another girl?”

“No way.”

“Another guy?”

“Spike! You know what, never mind. I don’t know why I even brought it up with you. Maybe you’re right and I am a nut case.”

Spike sighed. “Look Betty—”

“Buffy.”

“Whatever. You women are so bloody fickle. You get a guy who wants to shag your brains out and you get all ‘oh, he only wants me for my body,’” he mocked in a high pitched voice. “Then you finally get a guy who doesn’t want to shag your brains out and you’re all ‘oh, why doesn’t he want to shag me!’ Really, you women make us men insane. You should be flattered this guy doesn’t wanna fuck you silly. Either that or he’s gay.”

“I don’t want him to… fuck me. I just want to go farther than the here and there kisses, you know? I think I’m ready.” She chose not to add the part about her being scared that nobody else would want her. Not knowing what she was anyway. Angel accepted her for what she was. Without fear. Without feeling inadequate.

They stopped at Buffy’s porch. “Well, if you want, I could be the other guy. The one who only wants you for your body.” He did the sexy tongue thing, raising his eyebrows up and down lasciviously.

She rolled her eyes at his antics, genuinely disgusted. And on the other hand, she wondered what exactly he could do with that tongue. She shook her head, trying to shake off the warm feeling she got at the thought.

“Goodnight, you pig.” She turned around, gladly heading into the house.

“Night my sweet little goldilocks,” he teased, knowing he was pushing her buttons. “Can’t wait for the beach tomorrow. And remember, if Poof won’t do the job, my offer’s still on the table.”

Buffy slammed the door on his voice, vowing never to confide in Spike ever again.

---

“ ‘Night, mom!” Buffy called before closing the door to her room.

A figure was already sitting on her bed.

“Angel,” Buffy gasped, not expecting him to be in her bedroom.

“Buffy, we need to talk.”

She sighed, taking off her jacket and hanging it up in the closet. “Don’t we always.”

“I’m serious Buffy. It’s not safe to go out there by yourself right now. I spoke to Giles. He said there’s been an unusually high amount of demon activity these past two nights.”

“I know Angel. I can take care of myself. Slayer is me remember?”

“Where were you tonight Buffy?”

“I was out patrolling. Where else would I be?”

“Didn’t look like patrolling from my vantage point.”

She looked up at him sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He looked back at her guiltily. “I saw you with some guy.”

Her eyes widened. “You were spying on me? God, Angel I can’t even believe you right now!”

He got up from the bed and walked to where she was standing. “No! I wasn’t spying on you. I was here in your room waiting on you to come, and I happened to see you through the window. You know I would never spy on you, Buffy.”

She calmed at that.

“So… who was he?” he asked tentatively.

Buffy sighed. “He’s Ms. Calendar’s nephew. He just moved in a few days ago. He’s icky and annoying, and I had the ultimate misfortune of running into him after patrol tonight. That’s all.”

“He knows you’re the Slayer?”

“No, Angel. No.”

She could see Angel’s body relax.

She eyed him teasingly. “What? Did you think he was my new boyfriend or something?”

“No,” Angel replied a bit too quickly. “Yes,” he admitted.

She wrapped her arms around his body, laying her head on his chest.

He embraced her.

“You know I only have eyes for you,” she assured him.

He shook his head. “You deserve so much better Buffy. Once I kill this demon inside of me—”

“Lay with me,” she whispered softly, cutting him off.

She took his hand, leading him to the bed where he held her all night.

---

Freshly showered, Spike threw on a pair of basketball shorts and crashed into bed. He grabbed the remote off the dresser and turned on the television, surfing the channels and finding absolutely nothing.

He threw the clicker somewhere onto his bed and began doing push-ups. It’s what he did to release nervous energy.

Tonight, while fighting the vamp, he seemed confident on the outside, but on the inside, he was shocked shitless. He knew there were demons out there in the world, but his hometown in England had its own Bouche d'Enfer. Or as Warrick used to call it, the mouth of Hell. Not many places could boast such a thing. He hadn’t expected to come in contact with any demons for a long time.

He finished his push-ups and began pacing the room uneasily. ‘I know what I’ll do,’ he thought. ‘I’ll call the Watcher’s Council tomorrow. As much as I hate those pillocks, they’ll know what’s going on here.’

He went to the window, opening it up to let some air rush in. As he was doing so, he glanced over at Buffy’s window.

It was open and he could see her with some guy. They were standing in the middle of her bedroom holding each other like they were in a soddy scene from A Walk to Remember.

He scoffed when he deduced that the guy was probably the poofy Angel character. He watched as she led him to the bed but he didn’t want to see any more after that. It was disgustingly romantic and he wanted no bloody part of it.

It looked like Buffy was going to get her wish after all.

He sighed, turning from the window and falling into bed dreaming about demons and green eyes.

Buffy woke up the next morning to an empty bed.

She groaned, rolling over onto the cold side of the bed where Angel’s warm body must have left hours ago. She wasn’t surprised. Angel never really stayed over. Not all of him anyway. He had this irrepressible and frustrating urge not to commit. She understood clearly why he wouldn’t, but it didn’t make her feel any better.

She sighed again and crawled out of bed.

After taking a shower and then getting dressed, she grabbed the phone and dialed up her best friend.

“Hey Wills,” Buffy greeted when her best friend picked up the phone.

“Oh, hey Buffy,” Willow greeted back cheerfully. “I was just getting ready to call you. How was patrol last night? Sorry I couldn’t make it. Oz and I had the whole 3 month anniversary thing.”

Buffy smiled. “It’s fine. Patrol was pretty much just me walking around twirling a stake and humming various show tunes.”

“Ooh, sounds fun.”

“Yeah, until I came home to Angel sitting on my bed.”

“Uh oh. That was either real good or real bad.”

Buffy sighed. “It was somewhere in the middle. He slept over and snuck out real early this morning. You know, the usual.”

“I know you hate ‘the usual.’ Give him time to come around Buffy.”

“As if 3 years hasn’t been enough.”

“Well, if you love him…”

Buffy sighed again. It’s not like she didn’t love Angel. To be honest, she wasn’t sure what she felt for him. But she knew that they cared about each other, and for now, that would be enough.

“So are you excited for our day-at-the-beach-extravaganza?” Willow asked enthusiastically.

Buffy chuckled. “It’s hardly an extravaganza Wills. But that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. There’s been a slight change in plans.”

Willow’s eyebrows furrowed. “Oh no! Don’t tell me you’re not coming Buffy! We planned this day for a whole week! Remember? Me? You? The gang? Last-week-before-school-starts-again-fun-and-shenanigans! I even made snacks and bought marshmallows and graham crackers and sandwiches and snicker doodles and I chilled drinks and even convinced Oz to bring the van and—”

“Wills,” Buffy cut her off. “You’re being overreact-o girl. Calm down. Breathe.”

She waited a couple beats while Willow took that deep breath. “Good now?”

“Good.”

“Ok, like I was saying. There’s been a slight change in plans. Remember the Billy Idol reject from the other day?”

“Ms. Calendar’s boy toy?”

“Yes, him. Except he’s more her nephew than he is her boy toy.”

“That’s good to know. It resolves potential future nightmares.”

“Well, he’s coming with us.”

“Oh, that’s good! I made extra sandwiches so—”

“No, it’s not good Wills! In fact, it’s very, very bad! The guy’s a total jerk!”

“Um, ok,” Willow answered. “Uh, don’t you think you’re being overreact-o girl now Buffy?”

“Not at all,” Buffy replied, then began to explain everything that happened the day before, from their ill-fated meeting, to his fakery during lunch, all the way up to his perviness last night after patrol.

“And to top it all off, Mom wants me to bring him with me today. Can’t he find other people to terrorize?”

“Well, look on the bright side Buffy,” Willow comforted. “At least we’s got s’mores!”

Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed. Obviously her best friend wasn’t fully comprehending her dire pain.

“Just kidding Buffy. Think of it this way. After today you probably won’t even see him that much.”

“I hope so,” Buffy sighed again.

“And if he starts coming around more often, I can whip up a quick repelling spell. Simple solution, right?”

That got a light laugh out of Buffy.

“Ok, well Oz and I will be on our way soon. We’re going to stop by and pick up Xander first.” After saying goodbye, Buffy sighed for the last time and headed downstairs. She only had a week left to be lazy before school started up again and she’d be damned if that bleached devil ruined it for her.

“Where’s mom?” Buffy asked Dawn when she got to the kitchen. She pulled out a bowl and some cereal from the cupboards.

“She’s at the gallery,” Dawn answered, chewing on a piece of toast. “She had to get some last minute inventory done.”

Buffy nodded, pouring milk into her bowl.

“So, you and the gang hanging out today?” Dawn prodded. “Sounds fun.”

“Oh, right. The beach day from hell, starring the next-door neighbor. Barrels of fun.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “You can be so sarcastically dramatic sometimes Buffy. I mean, for a Slayer you sure do let things bother you pretty easily. He’s cool…you’re not. Get over it.”

Buffy glanced at her annoying younger sister. “He’s vile,” she countered.

“And so are you. Lookie, you guys have something in common!” Dawn mocked before heading into the living room to watch TV.

Buffy just shook her head and continued to eat her cereal.

After a few minutes, the doorbell rang, catapulting her out of her seat and towards the front door. Maybe it was Oz and Willow! They could get out of there before Spike even woke up!

To her disappointment, she opened the door to find her spiky-haired, punk rock neighbor on the other side smoking a cigarette.

“Look Summers, before you get all Xena, Warrior Princess on me, please note tha’ I was forced t’ your doorstep this morning,” he preambled. “Aunt Jenny dragged me outta bed today an’ threatened me with mass bodily harm if I didn’ accompany you an’ your pals on your little outing today. And trust me, I put up the fight of my life so please, as much as I know you want to, don’t delude yourself into thinkin’ that I want t’ be here.”

He shook his head and looked away with indifference.

Truth be told, he was a tad bit irritated after last night’s peep show starring Buffy and her Angel. Not merely because he saw them together… no that wasn’t it at all. Hell, he’d seen girls with guys all the time! But because there he was, trying to get some sodding fresh air before going to bed, and he was bombarded by the gag-tastic sight of the two lovebirds engaging in a bit of pre-coital activities. If they weren’t already in a room, he would have told them to get a room.

And sure, he had no proof that they went from the pre-coital to the coital, but he didn’t have to be a brain surgeon to know what went on after he left watch from his window. And from what Spike witnessed last night, if the poof couldn’t peel off the knickers by then, then Angel was probably just as gay as Spike assumed.

Buffy raised her eyebrows in surprise at his long-winded soliloquy. “Sounds like you’re doing that thing people do where they doth protest too much. Get over yourself Spike.”

He eyed her and took a drag of his cig. “I’ll let you know when I do.”

She scoped him out quickly and saw that he was wearing one of those retro, cutoff jean jackets with a million safety pins stuck on it. He wore ripped jeans and heavy black boots to match. Not the kind of style this suburban town was used to.

Actually, now that she thought about it Spike wasn’t the kind of guy that Sunnydale saw too much of in the first place. Screaming 80s punk, brandishing black nail polish, overly-confident, and majorly hot (although Buffy would never admit that last part to herself), he was the kind of guy that the good-girls of Sunnydale High would fall all over because of his bad boy demeanor. And Spike would probably love having the girls all over him. Buffy had experienced enough of his teasing to know that he’d flirt with anything on two legs.

“See somethin’ you like, Summers,” Spike asked, catching her stare.

Buffy looked up at him quickly. Something she liked? Not freakin’ likely! Sure, since she’d met him, she’d had the rare and far-in-between moments in which his sexiness caught her off guard. But really, who wouldn’t falter at his seductive and confident swagger? Obviously not even the Slayer.

“I was thinking that it’s a bit too hot for you to wear that jacket Spike,” she covered. “We’re going to the beach, not a concert headlining The Misfits. You might want to take it off.”

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow. “You’re already requesting that I undress? So soon, Summers? Well, usually I don’ take my clothes off ‘til after the first date, but for you, pet, ‘M willing t’ make a deal. I take off my jacket, an’ you take something off. It’s only fair,” he added innocently.

Buffy fought back a blush and failed, which only served to make her angrier. She knew he was teasing. And if anyone else had said it, she would have laughed. But when things came from Spike’s lips, they sounded downright… dirty.

“You’re a pig Spike.”

“I try.” He smirked, catching her blush.

She shook her head and looked away in disgust.

“Geez Summers get a grip.” He dropped his cigarette to the ground and buried it under his commando boot nonchalantly. “’M only joking. I promise I won’ try t’ sully your precious virtue. Wouldn’t dream of it actually. Although if I won’t, ‘M sure your poof Angel will soon. Did he get past the knickers last night?”

Buffy’s eyes widened. But before she could respond, he brushed past her and into the house, sitting on the couch next to Dawn who was perched on the floor watching television and snacking from a box of cereal.

Buffy shook her head and closed the front door, joining them on the other couch.

“Hey Spike,” Dawn greeted, eyes glued to the TV. She grabbed a handful of Fruit Loops from the box and popped them into her mouth.

“Hey lil’ bit,” he replied, grabbing the box and filching a handful of his own. “What ya watchin’?”

She shrugged. “I’m getting in my anime fix. They’re doing a marathon on Cartoon Network. Dragon Ball Z and Cowboy Bebop all afternoon. Needless to say, I’ll be camped out in front of the TV for the remainder of today,” she said with glee.

“Yeah, well lucky you. What I wouldn’t do t’ hang around the house watchin’ Sailor Moon an’ all that rot.”

“It’s not rot!” Dawn defended. “It’s smart, sophisticated television. Ask Buffy, she watches this stuff all the time.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in embarrassment. “That is so not true!... Not all the time.”

“You actually watch this stuff?” Spike asked, surprised and amused. He figured Buffy to be more of a General Hospital type of girl. Of course, he was a Passions type of guy, but he would never admit that to the girls.

“Well, it can be quite entertaining. And useful,” Buffy answered.

Spike chuckled. “You call it ‘entertaining.’ I call it ‘crap.’”

Dawn shook her head, eyes still on the TV. “You can’t knock it ‘til you try it. Right Buffy? I mean, he hasn’t even seen all the wonders that anime has to offer.”

“Yeah well, I’m sure Spike has better things to do. You know, like impersonating The Ramones.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Enough with the 80s punk band jokes Summers. I’ve heard them all. And I’d like t’ think you’re a bit more original than that.”

Buffy leaned her head to the side and smiled. “Nope. Unoriginal Buffy, that’s me. All with the un-originality.”

Spike smiled at that. She could be right adorable when she wasn’t being such a scathing b-word.

Buffy took a mental breath. She’d never actually seen him smile before. Not unless it was teasingly and at her expense. He was…dare she say it…kinda cute. Apart from the whole bad-boy appeal (which, just to let you know, she had absolutely no attraction towards), he also had this boyish appearance to him. His deep blue eyes sparkled attractively as he laughed. Coupled with to-die-for cheekbones, and that sexy accent, he was almost tolerable.

Almost.

“So when’re your mates comin’? ‘M tired of waitin’ an’ my clothes are goin’ out of style.” He smiled again, anticipating her obvious retort.

She just looked at him, refusing to take the bait.

He jutted out his lip as if he begging her to spar with him verbally.

At that moment however, a car honked on the street. They both looked outside the open window to see Oz’s van pull up to the curb.

“Hey Buffy!” Willow called from the passenger’s side.

“C’mon!” Xander shouted enthusiastically from the back window. “The fun day awaits!”

“Try not to embarrass me,” Buffy said to Spike after they’d said bye to Dawn and began to make their way towards the van.

“Embarrass you? I’m the one who has t’ be seen around town in this god-awful vehicle for the day. You owe me an apology when this is all over.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Is that right?”

“Yes. An’ it doesn’t even ‘ave t’ be the conventional type of ‘sorry.’ Contrary t’ the claim that you’re unoriginal, ‘M sure you can get real creative if you know what I mean.”

Buffy just rolled her eyes. She had a feeling she’d be doing that a lot for the next few hours.

Spike

“Oooh, pretty water,” Buffy’s mate, Xander, marveled as we finally got out of the van and onto the beach.

The guy was kind of a whelp like that.

I’d ignored the hell out of them during the car ride over here. Not because they were soddy people or anything, no nothin’ like that. In fact, the red head in the front was a sweetheart of a girl if you wanna know the truth, A bit too anxious for my tastes, but a sweetheart anyway.

No, me ignoring them had everything t’ do with me bein’ held against my will. Like one of those prisoners from Taiwan or something. I’d much rather’ve been home listenin’ t’ music or even watching those crappy anime shows with the lil’ bit.

“Don’t forget about the pretty birds too Xander,” Buffy teased. “Today they might even do that thing where they wave their arms around real silly-like and fly into the air.”

Xander’s eyes lit up. “Can’t we see the pretty birdies today? Oh, please mommy!”

She patted him on the head. “Only if you behave like a good boy.”

Pft. ‘M sure Buffy’d fancy a good boy, wouldn’t she? She probably loved controlling the easy ones. I’d wager it’s why she couldn’t stand me much, what with the whole not being able t’ get the best of me aspect of our newly found friendship.

Xander smiled and grabbed one of the coolers that Willow packed. “Geez Wills. Whaddaya have in here anyway? Food made of heavy, heavy bricks?”

“She over-packed again,” Oz explained simply. I guess Oz was s’posed to be the super silent type of bloke. While the other three went mad with the chattering during the drive here, he’d only thrown in a word or two. It was easy t’ be good mates with a guy like that.

“Hey,” Willow said, offended, “you’ll be glad I brought a lot of food once you all fall under the evil clutches of hunger and thirst.”

“They can’t be that evil,” said Buffy, “it’s not like they bite.”

I watched as Xander continued to struggle with the cooler. As much as I wanted t’ not partake in any of today’s activities, I figured it was pretty pathetic that this Xander character was having so much trouble with such a menial task. And it’d be pretty damn rude of me t’ not offer a helping hand.

Not that I ever really cared much about being rude or anything like that.

“Need help mate?” I offered.

Xander shook his head, still exerting a lot of energy just t’ pick the damn thing up. “No *grunt*… I *grunt*… got it.”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the cooler with ease.

Xander looked at me with surprise. “What the hell? Are you some kind of super human or something?”

I snorted. “Yea, that’s it. A super human.” What was I s’posed to say? I mean, I couldn’ bloody well be like, “Yea, I’m a super human who has super powers and kills super villains, now pass me the cooler” now could I? He’d probably think I’d gone bat shit mad. Not that I cared what he thought.

Now that I think about it, I don’t care much about a lot of things. Except maybe killin’ vamps. That used t’ be my favorite until everything got fucked up. And I like t’ shag beautiful girls if they let me. I’d probably want to shag Buffy if she wasn’t so maddening. The chick couldn’t even really take a joke. But now that I consider it again, I think I would like t’ shag ol’ Buffy Summers.

Anyway, those are two things I do care about, killin’ vamps and shaggin’ beautiful girls. And ‘M sure if you gave me more time, I could think of other things I cared about just as much.

I turned ‘round and saw Buffy in the process of grabbin’ the other heavy cooler from the back of the van, her cute little ass wavin’ at me in one of those sarong things girls like t’ wear as she reached into the back of the vehicle.

Now, ‘M no male chauvinist or misogynist or whatever they’re called, but I’ll admit, I’d checked out her backside a few times since I’d met her. And it was a damn fine one at that.

Anyway, I figured, since I was on a roll with this whole helping people bit, I might as well help the girl in carrying the thing. It wasn’ like she’d be able to do it herself anyway.

But before I could get to it, Buffy already had it in one hand, gracefully carrying it as if it were an empty container.

My eyes furrowed in confusion.

Earlier, while I was sitting in the back seat of the van ignoring everyone, I’d done my nosey bit, sneaking a peek into the two coolers. Both were filled t’ the brim with food and drinks. Heavy food and drinks might I add.

I shook my head. I must have miscalculated the weight. Either that or she was just as “super human” as I was. I brushed off the thought with a laugh.

Once we finally got all our stuff, we began to walk down the beach to find a nice place to spend our day-at-the-beach-extravaganza (as the red headed chit kept calling it).

---

Cordelia Chase loved being rich. And she loved being beautiful almost as much.

Not a lot of people could understand the lifestyle she lived. Many would call her wasteful, arrogant, demanding, and the opposite of punctual. But what did she care? She only ate at the finest restaurants, shopped at the most fashionable and expensive clothing stores, and only socialized with the best Sunnydale had to offer (which wasn’t much). She rarely wore the same thing twice, never said yes the first time a guy asked her on a date, and wouldn’t be caught dead wearing those horrendous croc sandals (what was with people these days?). And she never had less than one BFF at a time. Yes, these were just a fraction of the many rules that Cordelia lived by.

She was, on a good day, bitingly blunt. But she liked to call it “being honest.” Not afraid to tell it like it was, Cordy had earned herself many an enemy. Simply put, she was a scathing bitch. But she didn’t care what people thought of her. Half of these losers worked for her father anyway. And those who didn’t work for him, had parents who did.

She sighed in pleasure as the sun beat down on her back. She loved her life.

“I think I want to seduce Mr. Pryce this year,” Anya, one of Cordy’s newest and current BFF’s said, breaking the silence. They’d both gone to the beach that day to tan and pick up hopeless teenage boys. It was one of their favorite games: having guys drool over them and then turning them down quite brutally.

Anyanka Keane, younger sister of the totally hot Liam “Angel” Keane, was wonderful to be around. Sharing Cordelia’s unabashed appreciation for beauty, older guys, and wealth, the two made an unbeatable pair.

“You mean Wesley Wyndham-Pryce?” Cordy inquired.

“Yes. He has a very rugged quality about him.”

Cordelia opened one eye through her sunglasses to look at her friend. “And by ‘rugged’ you mean ‘nerdy’ and ‘bookish,’ right?”

Anya rolled her eyes. “No, Cordelia. By rugged, I mean ‘impossibly suave,’ ‘debonair,’ ‘vulnerable,’ and ‘British.’ I find those qualities incredibly sexy in a man. I hope for him to pass those traits on to our future children.”

Cordelia mulled it over. Mr. Wyndham-Pryce did have a sort of forbidden sexiness to him. Forbidden, of course, because he was their English teacher. But he did have a kind of sweet vulnerability to him. He was older (which almost automatically equaled sexier), British, and was a member of the intelligencia. Sure, he only wore stiff suits to class, but she was positive that under all that fabric was a damn fine body.

“I can see the attraction. I approve.”

Anya smiled smugly in a way that said “I told you so,” and closed her eyes as she continued to tan. “So what about you, Miss Chase? Who do you have your eyes set on this year?”

Cordelia sighed and said in a faux-pained voice, “I don’t know. It’s like, such a tragedy that Sunnydale high is so lacking in the hotties department. I mean, here we are, attending that god-awful, loser-infested school 5 days a week, toiling and slaving over useless schoolwork and physical education, and all we ask for are a few cuties to pass the 7-hour days we spend there. But, no, we get stuck with rejects like Xander Harris. Why can’t I just find a hot, mature, chiseled guy from a wealthy family who knows how to wine and dine me, and make me feel like a woman?”

“And what about the orgasms?” Anya wondered, seriously.

“Yeah! He has to give me those too. I mean, is that too much to—”

Cordelia’s words stopped in her throat as she caught sight of one of the finest specimens she’d seen in her 17 years of existence walking towards her.

The first thing she noticed was his shocking white hair that contrasted attractively with his all-black attire. Her eyes moved swiftly over his hot body, stopping at the tight jeans that left little to the imagination. And boy, what an imagination she had! She watched as a warm breeze tousled a few strands of his hair, giving him a slightly soft edge to his rugged appearance.

“Aye carumba,” Anya marveled. “I’d like to take a hard lick off of that hot body.”

“Helllloo salty goodness. Can I order some whipped cream to go with that hard lick?”

Staring at the bad-boy hottie, she almost didn’t notice who he was with. Her eyes zeroed in on Buffy Summers, loser and weirdo extraordinaire.

“Is that Buffy Summers and the Freak Brigade I see with the Blonde Hottie?” Cordelia scoffed.

She would never get over the rejection she suffered when Buffy refused the honor of becoming one of her BFFs, opting instead to make friends with the biggest freaks one could find in all of Sunnydale.

She wondered if the eye candy was Buffy’s new guy.

“Don’t your brother and Buffy still have that thing going on between them?” Cordelia asked her friend.

Anya snorted. “If by ‘thing’ you mean the not-having-any-sex ‘thing,’ then yes, they still have that thing going on between them.”

Cordelia smiled. “Well then she won’t mind me stealing her platonic guy friend over there. I mean god, either this guy is a loser magnet or he’s being held hostage. And heaven forbid that hunk of salty goodness be held captive by the geek squad. Look at his face. He’s practically begging for someone to rescue him. Let’s do it.”

Before Anya could stop her, Cordy was sitting up and calling to the group. “Buffy? Buffy Summers is that you?” She shielded her eyes from the sun for effect.

The girl in question looked over, surprised that Cordelia was calling to her.

“I thought that was you,” Cordelia continued. “Oh-Em-Gee I haven’t seen you guys all summer! You have to come join us right now.”

Anya rolled her eyes, amused at Cordelia’s transparency. Cordy was easiest to read when she started talking in italics.

Buffy raised an eyebrow and looked at the others. “Is she joking?” she asked, out of hearing range.

“I doubt it,” Xander answered. “Cordelia only finds humor in the pain of helpless others.” He scrunched his eyebrows as a thought hit him. “Although now that I think about it, forcing us to spend more than 2 minutes with her can be considered torture indeed. She must be joking.”

“She’s not that bad,” Willow defended her. “I mean, sure, she can be a bit rude, mean, conniving, tactless, and stubborn, but at least she’s not a murderer.”

Spike snorted. “If not bein’ a murderer is grounds for friendship ‘round here, then you all ‘ave pretty low standards.”

“Trust me,” Buffy answered, “if you’re searching for true friendship around here, Cordelia is the lowest standard of them all.”

She turned to answer a waiting Cordelia after they got into hearing range. “Uh, no thanks Cordelia.. We’ll be fine hanging out right over there.” She gestured towards a different section of the beach.

“Nonsense!” Cordelia insisted. “I’m sure your new friend wouldn’t mind meeting new friends of his own.” She pointed to herself and Anya.

Spike smirked that sexy smirk of his, eyes grazing appreciatively over Cordelia’s bikini-clad body. She noticed and grazed right back.

Buffy sighed, looking unsure, at Xander, Oz, and Willow, hoping that they would back her up with the whole declining Cordelia’s invitation thing. Of course, being the scaredy cats they were, they didn’t.

“Fine,” she answered, knowing that Cordy wouldn’t stop pestering until she got what she wanted. They could stay for a bit. Not that she thought Cordelia Chase was even slightly interested in their company. Cordelia had some sort of ulterior motive, and Buffy guessed that that motive’s cheekbones were sharp as razors.

“Oh great!” Cordelia beamed as they all spread out their blankets and got comfortable on the sand. “So are you guys going to continue being rude or are you going to introduce us to your new friend?”

---

Buffy loved to flirt. In fact, back in her heyday she made a sport of the flirting game. She was a master at it, really. So if there was anyone who knew about flirting, it was Buffy Summers.

But what she was witnessing right now was more than just shameless: it was downright insulting! Could two people be more obvious? It was kinda disgusting if you asked her.

“You’re from England?” Cordelia gushed. “I think that is so sexy. Are all the guys out there as sexy as you or what?

Spike smirked. “How ‘bout this, luv. I’ll give you a test drive, and you can judge exactly how sexy you think I am.”

That one was so lame that even Xander had to laugh at that one. And Xander was the king of lame innuendos.

Buffy should have known Spike would go for a girl like Cordy. Hell, she was the queen of Sunnydale High. As head cheerleader and Junior Homecoming royalty, she was the most popular girl in school. But even besides all that, the girl was damn gorgeous.

So yeah, she should have known Spike would go for a spoiled princess like Cordy. And although he could be an infuriating gremlin, she was a bit surprised to see that his tastes lacked substance. He seemed smarter than that.

Not that she cared who he was interested in. She just thought he was smarter than that, that’s all.

“So, Spike,” Willow inquired, “are you ready for school next week? You’ll love it at Sunnydale High.”

“Oh, puh-leeze,” Cordy scoffed. “Only a loser would say that… Not that you’re a loser or anything, Willow.” Of course, she did think Willow was a loser, but if she said that out loud, she would never be able to ask Willow to write papers for her this year.

“ ‘M sure ‘ll love Sunnydale High. It’s obviously got some very beautiful ladies attending.” Cordy blushed at Spike’s words, not noticing when he turned to look pointedly at Buffy.

Buffy flushed and turned away from his gaze. The guy was so annoying! He purposely did and said things just to bother her. She didn’t understand why she let him get to her so much.

“Well I hope you like it here,” Oz said. “It’s not Europe where you get to smoke and drink at 16, or where prostitution is celebrated as a fine art, but at least we have freedom fries.”

“Actually, in England, I think they call them freedom ‘chips,’” Xander reminded, munching on some Doritos.

Buffy scrunched her eyebrows in thought. “They call ‘fries’ ‘chips’? So what do they call chips?”

Spike chuckled, “We mostly call them crisps, luv. We’re a sick, sick country, we are.”

“Well, you won’t see me in the UK anytime soon,” Anya said. “I hear their currency is well below that of the dollar. Consider me an avid citizen of America where we let capitalism and freedom ring.” She twirled her finger in the air.

“Aren’t you half Irish?” Oz asked.

Anya pretended not to hear him.

“Anyone up for a game of football?” Willow asked, pulling out the football from one of the bags. She didn’t know the first thing about football, but she was determined to make sure the day was full of extravaganza.

“Oooh, football! I’m down,” said Buffy.

“Football?” Spike snorted. “You mean that nancy boy game where no one uses their feet?”

“Oh, right,” Oz remembered. “You guys call ‘soccer’ ‘football.’”

“Wait,” said Buffy. “If they call ‘soccer’ ‘football,’ then what do they call football?”

“Rugy,” Xander answered.

Willow shook her head. “No, I think rugby is a whole separate entity of it’s own.”

Buffy was still confused. “So they don’t even have a name for football? What kind of country is that?”

“One that doesn’t practice freedom or capitalism,” Anya answered.

Spike laughed, amused by the conversation. “I’m down t’ play your Yank football. Will we be playing tackle or no-tackle?” The pervert he was, he was hoping for the former option. Only so he’d have an excuse to let one of the girls jump him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on,” Cordy halted. “I’m definitely not playing. Besides me being extremely delicate and fragile, I don’t know anything about football. That’s why I do the cheering.”

“That’s alright, luv.” Spike said, stroking her arm, “I’ll show you the basics.” He called for the ball and took Cordelia’s hand to pull her away from the group where he showed her how to throw it.

“Sooo Anya,” Xander began once the two shameless flirters were out of the way, pulling out some Capri Suns and passing them around. “I see you’re frolicking with the princess of all that is evil nowadays.”

Anya rolled her eyes, flipping through the Cosmopolitan magazine she had with her. “Oh, please Harris, you’re one to talk. I can feel the lusty hormones oozing off of you just from her presence. Congratulations, you disguise it well. And anyway, you can’t fault me for wanting to be around normal people.”

“First of all,” Xander retorted, “there is nothing oozing off of me, alright? Let’s just get that straight. And secondly, Cordelia is not normal. She’s like a demon in disguise.”

“Right, and you guys are normal? Give me a break.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

Anya sighed and put down the magazine. “Buffy, you’re the Slayer. It’s pretty much impossible to take a simple walk down the street with you without someone getting attacked by a killer vampire. Willow, you’re a witch. And a hazardous witch at that, what with you never getting the spells right and all.”

“Hey!” Willow exclaimed, offended. “I’m still learning, ok? No need to get all mean and sarcastic.”

“Oz, you’re a werewolf whose inability to control himself leaves us all in danger,” Anya ignored Willow. “And Xander, you’re the biggest loser in Sunnydale. If I’m looking for a normal, healthy life, I can’t just go around cavorting with you guys.” She said all of this matter-of-factly.

“You want to talk normal?” Xander countered. “If I do remember correctly, you’re a demon yourself. Just like Angel, Doyle and the rest of your folks. You guys are about as normal as the Addams Family.”

“Hey, my boyfriend looks nothing like Fester Addams!” Buffy exclaimed.

“Sorry,” he apologized, “I had to make a point.”

Anya glared at him. “My brothers and I are only half demons. Let’s not go overboard here.”

“Half, quarter, full? Does it really matter nowadays?”

Anya just glared at him. “I’d rather be half demon than full loser. I can’t believe I ever went out with you. If I had the power, I’d make something really bad happen to you, Harris.”

“Yeah, I know. But you can’t, can you? What’s your demon power again? The inability to care about anything but money?”

She rolled her eyes. “For your information, I can see the present.”

Xander laughed, as he always did when she announced her powers. It was still funny to him, to this very day.

Anya continued to glare at him. “I can see the emotions of the present, you loser. And my powers told me that you were oozing lusty emotions towards Cordelia, and very jealous ones towards Spike.”

She smiled smugly and turned back to her magazine as Xander flushed.

“You gotta admit,” he whispered to Oz as explanation, “Cordelia’s hot.”

Oz put both his hands up defensively. “Hey, no need to explain to me, dude.”

Buffy and Willow giggled. They always had the distinct impression that Xander had a thing for Cordelia ever since sophomore year.

“You lot ready?” Spike asked, apparently done with his football lesson with Cordy.

“Yes, ‘us lot’ are ready,” Buffy answered, pulling off her shirt to reveal a cute bikini top to go with her shorts.

Spike did a double take.

He knew she had sexy legs and exceptionally well toned arms, but he didn’t realize the girl’s figure was practically flawless. Did Joyce really let her go out of the house like that? He was getting that feeling he got the first day he saw her on her front lawn. The feeling he got where he wanted to shag the hell out of her. But then again, he always went around wanting to shag people. He’d probably want to shag Cordelia too if he wasn’t so busy glancing at the blonde haired brat every 5 seconds.

Last night, he’d made a mental note to keep an eye on her in case she made a habit of walking out at night alone. Now he’d have to keep an eye on her during the day to make sure perverted old men didn’t sexually harass her on a daily basis.

Of course, he was only doing it for Joyce. He liked the lady.

They chose teams, but since there were only seven of them, Oz opted to be all-time quarterback. Buffy ended up with Xander and Anya, while Spike’s team consisted of Cordy and Willow.

Needless to say, the game was a terrible mess.

Xander spent most of the time trying to wrestle Cordelia down to the ground (whether or not she had the ball. But hey, she didn’t know the rules anyway).

Willow, with all her enthusiasm couldn’t catch the ball. She spent the majority of the game contemplating whether or not to cast some sort of floating spell.

Anya decided that the game was stupid. It wasn’t fun and no one was going to win any money at the end of the day. So she did as little as possible.

As messy as the game was, they all had wonderful fun (excluding Anya that was). Even Cordelia, who’d been tackled unnecessarily by Xander a dozen or so times, was enjoying herself.

Buffy and Spike, were of course, the most competitive.

“I think ‘ll be guardin’ you this time princess,” Spike said, out of breath after a hopelessly disastrous play that brought them back to the line.

“Let’s hope you can do that,” Buffy answered with a smirk, deciding that she’d put on a bit of her speed this time around, just to wipe that silly grin off of Spike’s face.

“Hike!” Oz yelled, swiftly propelling Buffy past Spike. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and grinned.

This girl is bloody fast! he thought before chasing after her. He turned on a burst of speed and finally caught up to her, grabbing her around the waist and picking her up for the tackle.

Buffy squealed, laughing as he fell to the ground with her.

“I didn’t even have the ball!” she laughed, not even stopping to ask herself how he was able to catch up to her.

“Hey, I couldn’ risk it, now could I? Couldn’ face the shame of lettin’ my team down.” He grinned above her, breathing hard.

Buffy was breathing hard too. Although now she wasn’t sure if it was because of the game, or because of the way Spike looked above her, hot, dark blue eyes, the sun shining behind him like a halo.

Of course, she knew there was absolutely nothing even remotely angelic about this guy.

She tried not to notice the way his body felt on top of hers, his leg conspicuously wedged between her thighs.

She could vaguely make out her friends in the background. Xander had found a way to playfully push Cordelia into the ocean, while Oz and Willow also abandoned the football game altogether to jump into the water.

“If you wouldn’t have cheated, Oz woulda thrown me the ball,” Buffy teased softly.

He gave her a devilish smirk. “Cheated ‘eh? I’ll show you cheating.” He took off his jacket (and she couldn’t help but notice how his black wife beater showed off his lean body), kicked off his boots, and picked her up once again, making his way towards the water.

Buffy’s eyes got wide. “Oh, no you don’t!” She laughed and struggled against him, kicking and squealing. But before she knew it, she was dumped in the water, soaked as all hell.

She grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him in with her.

“Now who cheated!” Spike exclaimed over the waves after he finally broke the surface.

Buffy stuck out her tongue at him, deciding that she could set aside their feud and have fun with him. For an hour or two anyway. “Turnabout’s fair play. Haven’t you ever heard of that one?”

She shouldn’t have stuck out her tongue like that, Spike thought. Now he was thinking of all sorts of naughty things.

He grabbed for her but she dodged him. He groaned inwardly as she stuck her tongue out again and swam away from him, joining the others.

‘This confusing chit is gonna be the death of me,’ he thought before chasing after her.

On the shore, Anya shook her head. There were a lot of emotions coursing through that little group there. And she didn’t need to ask Doyle for a peek through the future to see that the next few months would be a boiling pot of drama.

Surprisingly, Spike was having a damn good time.

By the end of the day they'd already played three games of volleyball (Cordelia adamantly declined, refusing to participate in any activity where balls flew at her face. Xander proceeded to make vulgar jokes about that one), had a castle making contest (Anya's castle was by far the best, consisting of a backyard, a pool, indoor plumbing, and a local bank), ate barbeque (grilled by Willow and Oz on one of those beach-owned grills. The way they got the fire to work was like magic if anyone asked him), competed in a round of foot races (he could swear that Buffy was some sort of Olympian she was so bloody fast!), and played go-fish (the only activity that Xander dominated with glee).

Yeah, he was having a damn good time. Not that he'd openly admit that to any of these wankers.

They sat around a small fire as the sun began to set, allowing a soft chill to breeze over them comfortably.

"Hey Wills can you please pass me another juice box?" Xander requested to the red head cuddled up next to her boyfriend.

"Isn't that like the 10th beverage you've had today Xander?" Buffy wondered as Willow tossed him the drink.

"No worries here," he answered, poking the juice box with a straw. "My bladder is capable of holding large amounts of fluid."

They all looked at him oddly.

"Ok... I probably should have left my bladder out of this one huh?"

"Here’s me wishing you had,” Buffy agreed.

“I second that,” added Anya.

They sat around some more, laughing and recounting some of the day's events when they heard some music start up from a nearby boom box.

"Oh my god, I love this song!" Cordelia exclaimed when the beginning riffs to the song played. "Let's dance!" She grabbed Anya and dragged her a few feet away from the group. "Don't bother joining us!" She yelled back. "I'm sure you losers don't know how to dance anyway!"

Buffy and Willow shared a smile across the fire. "I think that's Cordy's way of inviting us to join them," Willow deciphered.

Buffy stood up and extended a hand out to her best friend. "Would you care to take this dance m'lady?" she offered with a bright smile.

"Well of course, kind sir," Willow answered, taking the other girl's hand. They skipped to where Cordelia and Anya were and began to dance and giggle like girls do.

"I'll say this was a good day," Oz affirmed to the other two boys, lightly strumming on the guitar he'd brought with him.

"Well how could it not've been?" Spike agreed, pulling out a cigarette. "I mean, look who we were with." He nodded to the beautiful dancing girls in the near distance. By the middle of the day Anya and Cordelia had finally bullied convinced him to change into a pair of swimming shorts. He had a sneaking suspicion that it had less to do with him being comfortable and more to do with them being able to ogle his goodies.

Xander sighed. "I think I'll chock this up to being one of the top three days of my life. You know, right after my birth and the day I eventually get married."

"Oh, you mean when you get married to Cordelia?" Spike teased, receiving a well-aimed beach ball to the chest. "I'm just sayin'!" Spike laughed, tossing the ball back at Xander. "I saw you givin' her the sexy eye, mate."

Oz chuckled, continuing to strum his guitar.

"I was not giving her the sexy eye, mate! She likes guys like you. You've got the whole sexy Hugh Jackman British bad boy thing going for you."

Spike gasped, putting a shocked hand to his chest. "Why Xander, you think I'm sexy? Well I never! Don' usually swing that way but for you--"

"Finish that sentence and I think I may just have to kill you."

"Hugh Jackman's Australian, not British," Oz corrected.

Spike shook his head and puffed his cigarette thoughtfully before sharing, "She fancies you, mate."

Xander snorted. "Yeah she fancies me. About as much as she fancies knock off purses."

"She likes you, Harris. Trust me, when a girl lets you jump all over her repeatedly during a game of faux-football, she wants you. Of course, she has t' put on an act, on account of you bein' such a loser an' all. But she fancies you."

"Even after the shameless flirt fest you two were having?"

“Yes,” he answered simply.

Xander smiled smugly, resting his hands behind his head and lying back into the sand. “I knew it. It must be the chocolate hero looks that did it.”

Spike and Oz shared amused glances.

“So what about you Spike-O?” Xander wondered. “What kinda girls are you interested in?”

Spike glanced over at the dancing girls, focusing on a particularly petite and fiery young blonde. He watched as her hot little ass rocked fiercely to the music. That shampoo commercial hair of hers bounced around wildly a she danced with the other girls. Still wearing a sexy bikini top and shorts, she made Spike want to do all sorts of illegal things.

'Get a hold of yourself, mate,'' Spike thought. 'Illegal things are what got you here in the first place. An’ besides, this is Buffy we’re talkin’ about—bitchy, unfuckable, and not your type.

He tore his gaze away from her. “What kind of girls am I interested in?” he repeated. “The ones that don’t expect a call after I shag ‘em once or twice.” The other two chuckled and shook their heads at him. Spike was pretty much hopeless.

“Don’t let those girls hear that,” Xander motioned toward the dancing foursome. “Buffy’d probably tear your head off. She hates your guts enough as it is.”

Spike snorted. “I’d like to see her try. Don’t know how that poofter Angel puts up with her.” He tossed his cigarette off to the side and tried to appear nonchalant when he asked, “Hey what’s the deal with them anyway?”

Xander and Oz sighed simultaneously. How could Spike ever understand their tumultuous relationship? Spike could never understand Buffy's destiny as Slayer and Angel's status as a half demon. He could never comprehend what it meant to be forced into a life of killing demons and then finding yourself falling in love with one. What it meant to love someone who couldn't love himself.

"Let's just say there's baggage there."

Spike shook his head. "Don’ know why the bloody wanker won’t just shag the girl. She’s obviously hot for it."

Xander shook his own head. "She's more than just a 'shag,' Spike. And, for the record if you say anymore about her, I’ll probably have to do something macho like threaten to kick your ass.”

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow in a way that said, "I'd like to see you try."

"Hey, I could so kick your ass. I was in the army!"

Spike raised another eyebrow. "You were in the--"

"Forget it." Xander didn't feel like explaining how things worked in Sunnydale. One minute you were innocently trick-or-treating, and the next minute you were going all Private Ryan on everyone. "Just keep in mind that she's not your average girl."

"Well, 'M not your average guy." And he meant it too.

At that moment, the girls came back in high spirits, still giggling.

"Well I'll admit, this day wasn't a bust like I thought it would be," Anya conceded, taking a seat on the sand.

Cordelia nodded. "Yeah, it actually wasn't that bad. I mean, as freaky as you all are, you're ok. With that said, however, I wouldn't dream of hanging out with you losers again. Excluding Spike, of course.” She stroked his arm. “I mean, I do have a reputation to uphold." Cordy smiled, convinced she'd just given them a compliment.

"It was great spending the day with you too Cordy," Xander responded. "And by 'great' I mean 'I'd've rather frolicked within the deep gates of a hot and burning hell.'"

"Oh please Xander," she answered back. "This is probably the last time I'll be around you on purpose. I suggest you cherish this moment."

Spike shook his head at the pair. So much for his Cordelia-fancies-Xander theory.

“Anyone wanna tell ghost stories?” Willow asked, determined to finish the night off with one last sprinkle of extravaganza. “It’s getting dark…a perfect time for scary tales.”

“Oh great,” Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Creepy scary stories with creepy people.”

“I fancy m’self a nice ghost story,” Spike agreed. “I don’t scare too easily though. I just like when the girlies get all frightened and jump into my arms.”

“I’d like to vote a big ‘nay’ on the story telling time,” Buffy said, ignoring Spike’s comment. “For some reason I just can’t get into all the death and blood that comes with those stories.”

Spike glanced at her. “What’s wrong luv? You scared? Monsters don’t exist you know. It’s all make-believe.”

“No, I’m not scared,” she answered. “I see enough blood and death on a daily basis. No need to hear stories about it.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “You see blood and death on a daily basis? What are you, Sunnydale’s village mortician?”

Buffy realized she’d said more than she’d meant to. “Uh…no…I…uh…”

“She’s a volunteer for Sunnydale hospital,” Willow covered. “Wherever there’s death and blood, Buffy’s your hospital, volunteer girl,” she finished a bit lamely.

Spike nodded skeptically.

Anya rolled her eyes. "Well, it's been fun," she announced, packing her things, "But I'm leaving now. School starts in a week and I must draw up plans to seduce Mr. Wyndham-Pryce."

They all looked up at her.

"You mean our English teacher, Wyndham-Pryce?" Buffy asked. "Isn't he like, a decade older than you?"

Anya sighed, as if she were dealing with small children. "Of course he's older than me Buffy. That's kind of the whole point. I'm sure you understand since Angel's a few years older than you."

"Yeah. But Angel wasn't around when Milli Vanilli was the hot new thing."

“Or when those God-awful looking guys from Tears For Fears ruled the 80s,” Cordelia chimed in.

"Oh! Or uh, when Madonna was still like a virgin," Willow added helpfully.

Xander laughed. "Or when Molly Ringwald was considered a babe."

"Molly Ringwald was cute," Oz defended. "She was a babe in the one with the candles."

Willow gave him a curious look. "I didn't know you thought Molly Ringwald was 'a babe'."

Oz smiled. Willow was so adorable when she did the pouty lip, kinda jealous thing. "What can I say, I have a thing for red heads."

Willow smiled. That made her feel better.

Anya rolled her eyes. "And this is exactly why I avoid you guys. I'm ready to make my exit now. You coming Cordelia?"

"The answer to that is a definite and resounding 'yes,'" she answered. "As soon as I find my sunglasses. They seem to have gotten misplaced after a certain someone decided he wanted to tackle me all over the place." She glared at Xander for emphasis.

He smiled back at her smugly, taking a slurp from his juice box.

Anya sighed. "Meet me at the car," she said before grabbing her things and walking off without so much as a formal goodbye.

"Ya know, Cordy," Xander began, still slurping his drink in that irritating way, "I'm sure you have another pair of those glasses lying somewhere around Daddy's mansion."

Cordelia glared at him. "They're custom Prada," she said as if that were all the explanation needed.

He put his hands up in defense. "Yikes, Prada. My mistake. Look, Cordy, why don't I help you find your sunglasses? Maybe they're somewhere by the water. We could search along the shore or something."

She eyed him suspiciously.

"C'mon Cordelia. It could be like a designer scavenger hunt! And plus, it'll probably be the last time you're around me on purpose, right?" he finished, tossing her words back at her.

She mulled it over for a second. "Fine Harris. No funny business though."

Spike winked at Xander as the two got up to leave. Xander gave him the thumbs up and proceeded to argue with Cordelia all the way down to the shore.

"What was that all about?" Buffy asked Spike.

"What was what all about?" he feigned ignorance.

"That whole secret-winky thing you just did with Xander.”

"Oh, that?" He sighed in that irritating way. "It's a guy thing. You wouldn't understand princess."

She sighed right back and wondered why she even tried with this guy. Anyway, she would rather make conversation with Willow and Oz, who were unfortunately immersed in each other. Willow giggled as her boyfriend softly sang some silly lyrics to her while playing the guitar. He whispered something in her ear, which made her laugh even more.

"We're gonna head to the van," Willow announced to Buffy and Spike as her and Oz began to pack up their things. "Catch up to us soon?"

"Sure," Buffy agreed, although she wanted to beg her friends not to leave her alone with the infuriating bleached wonder. "I'll just be here. Waiting for Xander to get back." She watched as the two left, her last hope for intelligent civilization fading into the distance.

"So what do ya think? Van sex?"

Buffy looked at him. "What?"

"Your mates. Red and Oz. You think they went off t' have a quick shag in the van?"

"God, is that all you think about?"

"What? Van sex?"

"No, sex in general. It's disturbing."

He chuckled and moved closer, making her shiver when his arm brushed against hers softly.

“Look Summers, I can't help it if I'm a teenage boy with a perfectly healthy libido.”

“Yeah, well it would help us all if you toned it down there, Ron Jeremy.”

He laughed and leaned back on his elbows as they both looked out to the horizon. The sun was finally setting, painting the sky with vibrant pink and purple hues. Out in the distance he spotted a small sailboat. Hopefully it’d get back to dry land before it got too dark out, he thought idly.

He glanced at the girl next to him. She had her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them with her chin resting on her arms. She looked to be in deep thought.

He couldn’t help but notice how pretty she looked, strands of her hair gently blowing in the mild breeze, the bonfire softly lighting up her face. If only she could be like this all the time.

“So what’s this thing goin’ on between you an’ me then?” he asked curiously.

She turned to him, surprised at his blunt and sudden question. “Between you and me?”

He nodded.

There may have been a little flirting going on earlier after the football game, she thought. But as far as a thing going on between them?

“Th-there’s nothing going on between…you and me,” she sputtered. “I happen to have someone already, and his name is Angel. I don’t know how you do it in England, but here in the States we like to keep it monogamous, although I’m sure you’re more of a have-sex-with-more-than-one-girl-at-a-time kind of guy. And by that, I don’t mean, like, you having actual sex with more than one girl, like a threesome or whatever, but I meant you probably like to date more than one girl at the same time. Not that a threesome is bad or anything it’s just not my thing, but to each his own right? I mean, it’s not my penis, it’s yours.” Her eyes widened in embarrassment. “Not that I’m worried about your penis, or that I’ve even thought about your penis in any context. It’s not like…”

She stopped when she finally noticed his irritatingly cocky grin. “I meant friendship, Summers. We did enjoy almost a whole day of not arguing. I don’ know how my penis got anywhere into this conversation. Unless, of course… you want t’ be friends with my penis.”

She flushed in embarrassment. That was definitely a Willow moment if she’d ever had one. What was it about this guy that got her so worked up? “Oh, friendship.” She pretended to ponder for a moment. “I think I’ll pass.”

He nodded, conceding. “Can’t handle the fact that I’m a sexy beast, I presume?”

She rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. “The ‘sexy’ part…not so much. But the part about the beast? A definite yes.”

“Liar.” He laughed quietly and leaned back on his elbows. He scooped up a handful of sand and let it slip through his fingers slowly into the wind.

“So you’re sure about that whole ‘no friends’ thing right?” he pressed after a silent moment. She didn’t answer him. “C’mon pet. Once in a lifetime opportunity here. If I’m prepared to live with the fact tha’ you’re a spoiled brat, then you can at least attempt t’ tolerate my irresistible charm an’ unchallenged wit.”

Buffy bit back another smile. She didn’t want to encourage him too much. “Fine,” she finally answered. “We can be friends.” She shook his hand, trying not to notice how his blue eyes twinkled with mischief.

“So what do we do now?” she asked, arms still wrapped around her legs. “Make with the secret BFF handshake?”

“I dunno.” He moved even closer to her, leg brushing up against hers this time.

She tried to keep her breathing in check. She’d noticed that Spike was not at all uncomfortable with getting close. Maybe it was some kind of malfunction in British social cues, but whatever it was, it was making her feel all hot inside.

“Guess we’ve gotta spill our deepest darkest secrets, an’ all that rot. It’s what friends do right?” Spike waited a moment before asking, “So did you ever give Angel the goods that night?”

She continued to watch the sky turn dark, and shook her head, immune to his vulgar speech. “No.”

Spike breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. “You two seemed pretty cozy from my window.”

Her eyes widened. “Spying much? Geez Spike, I knew you were odd, I didn’t think you were stalker material.”

He scoffed. “Look Summers, ‘M sorry if you had your window wide open for everyone in the neighborhood t’ see. The scene just screamed Joey and Dawson by the way, if you wanna know the truth.”

“Yeah, well you spying on me from your window screams freaky Mark Wahlberg in that movie where he was stalking Reese Witherspoon.”

He ignored her. “So what’s the story with you two? We’re friends now so you ‘ave to tell me.”

She sighed, wondering if she should take back that whole friendship vow. “I don’t talk boyfriends on the first date.”

“Is that what this is? A date?” he asked in a low voice.

Her heart did this funny fluttering thing and she refrained from looking at him. “I was being sardonic.”

“You should brush up on those sardonic skills.”

“How about this? What are your hobbies? What do you like to do?” There, that seems like a safe topic,” she thought.

He pondered for a moment. Dust vamps. Kill monsters. Train. Fuck girls. No, that won’t do “I play music. Like the guitar an’ stuff like that,” he answered. “What about you?”

“I like to dance. I used to do the whole cheerleading thing.”

He nodded. “Figures.”

She finally glanced at him. “Figures? What does that mean?”

“I mean that ‘M not surprised. A girl like you, you prolly spend most of your time shoppin’ an’ cheerleadin’ an’ doin’ your nails. Let’s be honest.”

“A girl like me?” The warmth she was feeling in her stomach quickly began to dissapate.

“Yeah. No responsibilities. Not a care in the world. Rely on Mummy and Daddy to get things done. That kind of girl. No offense.”

“You have no clue what you’re talking about Spike.” She stood up, angry at his sexist comments.

He stretched his neck to look up at her. “Sure I do. The only thing you ‘ave to worry about is how your hair looks. Once again, no offense. We’re friends, so we can be honest with each other right?”

Buffy grabbed a nearby water bottle, opening it up and pouring its contents onto his head. “You can forget about that friendship thing, Spike,” she growled, packing up her things and walking away angrily. “I should kick your ass and show you just how friendly I can be.” She was going to patrol for a few hours. God help the vamps that crossed her path tonight.

Spike sat there drenched and confused about what he’d said wrong. Girls were just so damn sensitive nowadays.

Spike

Not to sound like total bender or anything, but sometimes the stars look bloody brilliant sitting from the rooftop. If you lie on your back an’ concentrate hard enough, it feels as if it’s just you and the stars, y’know? Like you could close one eye, reach out, and grab one in between your thumb an’ index finger. Capture its effervescence.

That is, if you like that sort of poofy thing, of course.

I sighed an’ took a slow drag of my cigarette, breathing in the warm air outside. Aunt Jenny had been complaining earlier about my smoking in the house. Had it been anyone else, say, my excuse for a father, I’d’ve said piss off. But since it was Jenny, I found a spot on the roof to enjoy my nasty habit. I’d called the Watcher’s Council in an attempt to learn more about demon activity in Sunnydale. No answer. Here I was, Watcher-less and bored as all hell, and those duffers couldn’t even pick up their phones.

I shook my head and took another puff before realizing that nothing particularly earth-shattering was bound to happen out there on the roof. I might as well go inside and have myself a wank before fallin’ asleep. First day of school was tomorrow, after all. As I began to climb through my window, a flash of blonde on the street caught my eye.

Bouncing golden hair. Admittedly sexy legs. Typical bitchy demeanor.

Definitely Summers.

I squinted my eyes to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. What the hell was Summers doing leaving her house this late at night? I quickly decided that I was going to find out. Not because I was worried about the bint’s safety, mind you, but because I was bloody bored and somewhat nosey.

After scaling down the nearest tree, I began to follow her from a safe distance, watching as her hips swayed impatiently to get to her mysterious destination. For a few minutes I traced her, and noticed that we were heading towards Sunnydale’s main cemetery.

‘Why the hell is Summers heading to the cemetery?’ I wondered.

I smirked to myself, letting my thoughts drift off inappropriately. The view from back here wasn’t too bad if I were to be honest with myself. Buffy had assets that could turn a git like me into her willing slave. Sex slave, that is. But of course, she had to ruin that by going around dousing innocents like myself with bottles of water. It was a lack of couth is what it was. I’d long decided that I would stop trying to be friends with the girl and try a career out of pestering her ‘til she went mad. That’d teach ol’ Summers a thing or two about mistreating foreigners.

Now let me interject and warn you, for future reference of course, that it is not a particularly smart idea to think such idle thoughts while tracking a girl at night. Because, as your mind begins to wander, you may just get caught off guard by a huge dark figure who tackles you to the ground and renders you helpless. Said dark figure may crawl on top of you and begin to punch you senselessly as you struggle to get him off of you.

That, my friends, is exactly what happened to me, if you hadn’t already figured it out.

All I could think of while the man with the large forehead and broad shoulders pummeled me into the ground was ‘Buffy better be damn grateful I was here to protect her.’ Not that I cared or anything, but this ass kickin’ oughta make up for whatever I said to her at the beach.

---

“Get off of him Angel!” Buffy cried, pulling the bigger man off of Spike.

Angel stumbled back, confused. “This guy was following you Buffy!” he explained as the other man got up from the ground.

“I was not!” Spike denied in offense, dabbing a finger at his bloody lip. ‘So this is Angel?’ thought Spike, giving him the once over. ‘Nothing special.’

Angel approached him in anger. “Yes, you were you lying bastard!”

“I was not following her all right Angel,” Spike assured, stepping up to the taller man. “I have better things to do than mindlessly pursue your little girlfriend in a bout of boredom.”

Angel huffed. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he clarified.

Buffy flinched slightly. Was it so important to Angel to make that particular point so clear?

“Assuming I was following her, which, I’m obliged to repeat, I was not, how would you know? Looks like someone was doing a bit of stalking of his own.”

Angel faltered. “Who is this guy, Buffy?” he demanded, keeping his eyes on the man who was still standing inches away from his face. “I already don’t like him, and I’m contemplating burying him into the ground.”

“Try it,” Spike challenged.

Buffy rolled her eyes, bored with the display of machismo. She stepped in between the two men and pushed them away from each other rather forcefully. “He’s Spike. The annoying neighbor I warned you about. And obviously you were both following me. What the hell were you doing, Angel? We already talk about how I can take care of myself!”

“Buffy it’s late. You should know not to go…” he glanced at Spike, “…strolling alone.”

She shook her head in frustrated confusion. “What’s up with this sudden bout of paranoia? The other night I find you in my room and tonight you’ve gone all private agent on me?”

“I care about you, Buffy,” he answered in a low voice. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

She crossed her arms. “For someone who’s not your girlfriend, you sure do care a lot.”

Angel sighed. “Come on Buffy. That’s a low blow. You know I care.”

“You care enough for me to wake up in the morning and you not be in my bed? And then to not pick up my phone calls? And then for me not to hear from you until tonight when you’re mysteriously trailing me? Your version of caring sucks.”

Angel glanced over at a very interested Spike. “Can we have this conversation some other time? Say, like when he’s not here.”

Spike shook his head. “No, this is riveting! Just pretend I’m not even here. C’mon Angel, answer the question. Why didn’t you pick up her phone calls?”

Buffy shot Spike a glare, to which he smugly made a zipping motion across his lips and threw away the imaginary key. “And what are you doing out here anyway?” she wanted to know. Angel breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have Buffy’s anger focused on someone other than him.

“I hear it’s a free country,” Spike huffed cheekily. “If I so choose to explore my surroundings, I don’t see anything wrong with that. Frankly, I’m offended that this brute of yours ruined my peaceful walk.”

Buffy took a deep, frustrated breath. It looked like she’d have to forego patrol tonight. She was looking forward to it too, on account of the fact that she was filled with anger. And the two sources of her rage were standing right in front of her.

“I’m going home,” she announced, “and nobody even think about following me.” She stormed off, boots furiously stomping on the pavement.

A few moments passed as the two young males watched her angry retreating figure in silence.

“Now look what you did,” Spike accused.

“Me? You’re the one who was all ‘It’s a free country,’” Angel replied, mocking the accent.

“Yeah, well you’re the one who wouldn’t return her phone calls, and that, mate, makes you the bigger jackass between the two of us.”

Another few moments passed.

“So now what?” Angel wondered out loud.

“I’m gonna follow her.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“She’s going the way of my house. And I refuse to find a different route just ‘cause your bird is PMS-ing.”

Angel sighed. “Whatever Spike.”

“Cheers, mate,” he responded mischievously, taking off in Buffy’s direction.

Angel shook his head and began towards his house. A few minutes later, he was on the ground screaming from the intense visions bursting behind his closed eyelids. After the vision passed, he lay there breathing heavily.

Something was not right about Spike’s past, and he had to warn Buffy before the mysterious bleached wonder got any closer.

---

“So that’s Angel, eh?” he asked when he finally caught up to her, a slight tease in his voice.

“What part of ‘leave me alone’ do you not understand?”

“His forehead’s a bit massive, but I guess you like what you like. All brawns and no brains is what he is. I may have been right about the gay thing though. Bloke seemed a tad bit comfortable while he was on top of me just now.”

He felt his heart flutter when a small smile crept its way across her lips briefly. It was so brief he almost missed it.

“Not funny.”

“Sure it is,” he insisted, with a triumphant smile of his own. “C’mon Summers, don’t tell me you’re still angry about those silly things I said the other night at the beach. Did you really take me seriously?”

She didn’t answer him.

“Sometimes I can be a right tosser,” he continued at her silence. They finally made it to her front door and she opened it, stepping into her house. “Can we call another truce?” he practically begged.

She rolled her eyes, only slightly amused by his antics, and closed the door without giving him an answer. He really was too much.


After saying goodnight to Dawn, Buffy opened the door to her room to find Spike sitting on her bed. “What is it with girls and flower wallpaper?” was the first thing out of his mouth. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice. But a bit too girly for my liking.”

Buffy’s face was shocked. “How the hell did you—”

“Your window was open,” he explained matter-of-factly, “and the tree outside works like a virtual ladder. Care to share why you were roaming the unsafe streets of Sunnydale? I’m beginning to think you’re either a superhero or a hooker.”

She folded her arms menacingly. “Get out Spike.”

“Not until you call a truce.”

“What kind of crazy person breaks into a girl’s room? This is practically robbery.” She quickly glanced around her room to make sure she didn’t have any stakes lying around. Or even worse, bras!

“Vote for the truce,” he insisted infuriatingly. He tilted his head to the side calmly and eyed her, indicating that he was ready to challenge her if the need arose.

Buffy shook her head and went into her private bathroom to change and brush her teeth. “How about I ignore you until you go away, you…freaky…person,” she called from the bathroom. She was seriously contemplating throwing him back out of the window herself.

“I should warn you now, Summers. Women find it hard to ignore me. I have a quality that makes them fall at my feet.”

“What? Body odor?”

“Psh. As if.” He picked up a stuffed animal from her bed. ‘Do teenage girls still keep stuffed pigs in their rooms nowadays?’ he thought idly.

“Y’know, I could probably call Xander to haul you out of here,” she thought out loud as she pulled her shirt over her head and slid off her bra.

Spike snorted and lazily fingered a small cross necklace on Buffy’s quaint jewelry rack. “What’s he gonna do? Threaten me with his lame jokes until I leave? Puh-lease.”

Buffy laughed inwardly, not wanting to encourage him. She was developing a very bad habit of allowing him to make her smile. It bothered her. “Don’t underestimate the Xan-Man. He has military training,” she said, throwing on a white tank-top and pajama bottoms.

Spike chuckled. “So I’ve been told.” He heard the tap run as she began to brush her teeth.

“Are you naked in there?” he wanted to know after a few minutes. “’Cause that would be really sexy.” He could just imagine Buffy in one of those hot little boy short knickers he found irresistible and a cute bra with pink polka dots on them or something. He let his thoughts wander, telling himself he would definitely need that wank before going to sleep tonight.

She came out of the bathroom to see him lying down on her bed with his head resting on his hands comfortably, apparently lost in thought. Why did Spike lying in her bed make her feel so nervous? Angel slept in her bed all the time. ‘Yeah, except with Angel, the possibility of anything sexual happening is slim to none,’ said a pesky, yet accurate voice in her head. ‘But with Spike…’

She shook that though out of her mind and pulled his boots off her bed. “No I’m not naked in there. Are you leaving yet?” For some reason her earlier thoughts of the boy in her bed made her angry with him.

“Not until you like me again,” he teased. He eyed her sleep-wear with appreciation and licked his lips. She looked absolutely delicious. Buffy blushed, wishing she hadn’t worn the white tank-top with her yummy sushi pajama bottoms. Spike smirked, noticing her nipples poking through her shirt.

“Cold Summers?” he laughed, wagging his eyebrows up and down.

Buffy looked down at herself and covered her chest angrily. “You pig!” she yelled, shoving him off of her bed and wrapping herself under her covers. She reached over and turned off the light, hoping that maybe he would disappear.

Spike stood there in the moonlight for a few minutes, unsure of what to do now. This girl just couldn’t take a joke apparently. He didn’t know why he was so drawn to her. He hated her, but that didn’t stop his pull towards her. It probably would have made sense for him to leave, but he wouldn’t admit defeat just yet. He sat back on the bed.

“Summers,” he whispered after a few more minutes passed by. “You still up?”

Buffy groaned, her voice muffled by the huge comforter. “You’re still here? I thought that was a nightmare.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about the things I said at the beach,” he ignored her. “Y’know, about you havin’ no responsibilities an’ all that. Well maybe I was…” he struggled to find the right word.

“Wrong?” Buffy suggested from under the covers.

“That’s the word!” he snapped a finger. “Warrick always said I had a problem with apologizing.”

“Warrick?”

“Never mind.” A few minutes passed by in silence. “Look Summers, if I could, I’d take it back, but since I can’t, why don’t we try this whole friends thing again? Friends forgive each other right?”

Irritated, Buffy pulled the covers off of her head and sat up to glare at him. But she wasn’t prepared for how beautiful he looked with the moon shining off of him. His white hair looked even whiter in the pale light and his hopeful blue eyes shone with sincerity. The shadows in the room highlighted his cheekbones, tempting her to reach out and touch his skin.

“Your apology kinda sucked,” she told him softly, brushing her hair from her face.

He grinned. “With you around, I’ll have a lot more practice, I’m sure.”

She grinned back reluctantly. Spike’s breath caught at the look on her face. It was a rarity for him to see her genuine smile, and when she did, it was breathtaking. As if on its own, his hand reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, lingering to brush against her cheek. Buffy’s heart beat a little faster. “This doesn’t mean I like you,” she assured in a whisper.

“Of course not,” he agreed, still staring at her. “I don’t like you much either.”

She bit her lip, wondering what those butterflies were doing in her stomach. “Good.”

He slowly dropped his fingers from her face. The next thing she knew, he was gone, out the window without so much as a good-bye.

She looked around her silent room wondering if he’d even been there. She fell into a restless sleep.

---

Angel watched furiously as Spike climbed out of Buffy’s window. He’d warn Buffy tomorrow. This guy was bad news.

Prison, Pupils, and Passions

“I love the first day of school,” Aunt Jenny told Spike as they pulled up to Sunnydale High in her bright red jeep. “I always get this strange tingly sensation right before the first bell of the year rings.”

Spike made a face. “I’d prefer to know as little as possible about your before-school tinglies, thanks.” He grabbed his backpack and opened the car door, dreading his first day of senior year.

“Hey,” Jenny called, still smiling at him. “Have a good day. And try not to burn the school down?”

He pretended to think for a second and answered, “Can’t make any promises. You can keep an eye on me if it makes you feel better. I’ve got you for fourth period.”

“I’ll try not to make your life too miserable,” she offered before driving off to the faculty parking lot.

He turned around and looked up at his new school. Or as he liked to call it, “prison.” ‘A sunny prison with hundreds of smiling teens, nicely paved walkways, and brilliantly colored flowers,’ he thought, ‘but a prison nonetheless.’ Some students cheerfully reunited with classmates they hadn’t seen since the summer began, while the freshmen looked around nervously, searching for friends they’d known in middle school.

Spike smirked. It was always easy to spot the freshmen. He wondered how many of them he could terrorize before school let out.

He tried to ignore the looks he was getting from some of the students. With his large combat boots, bright hair, and potentially dangerous jacket, it was hard not to stare. As much as Spike seemed to crave attention, it always made him a bit uneasy to have all eyes on him. Before he was called to Slayerdom, the only time his classmates paid any attention to him was when some bully was pummeling him into the concrete.

“Spike-O!” he heard a voice call from a few yards away. He turned and spotted Xander and Oz who were headed towards him. “Fancy catching you here,” Xander greeted when they caught up to Spike. “We sort of made a bet on whether or not you’d show up.” He grabbed a bill from his pocket and reluctantly placed it into Oz’s outstretched hand.

Spike chuckled as they walked through the hallway among a crowd of students. “You almost won that bet, Harris.”

“Oh, come on Spike. Sunnydale High isn’t that bad. The food’s only slightly toxic and the principal has toned down his Nazi ways. You’ve come at the perfect time! Plus, this school’s got some real hotties.”

“Hotties?” interrupted a familiar female voice. “You wouldn’t know a hottie if she pounced on you, which, she wouldn’t.” Cordelia stood beside Anya and another blonde girl by their lockers, taking a break from gossiping about first-day fashions.

Xander eyed Cordy. “Oh, Cordelia. What a ray of sunshine you are. School hasn’t even started yet and already you’ve managed to insult me.”

“Oh please, Xander Harris,” she responded, “you insulted yourself with that tragic shirt you’re wearing.” The other two girls giggled. Cordy turned towards Spike, completely ignoring the other two boys. “Spike I don’t believe you’ve met Harmony, a very good friend of mine.”

The blonde girl held out her hand in that dainty way that Spike hated. But that didn’t matter. She was cute and he could see himself in between her legs in the very near future. He took her hand and gave it a kiss. “Nice to meet you Harmony.” She blushed and giggled again.

“Well,” said Anya, “We must go. Operation get-Mr. Wyndham-Price-into-bed goes into full effect today. Must prepare.” The girls quickly made their exit.

“That was nice,” Oz said.

--

“Oh my God I can’t believe I’m starting my first day of high school!” Dawn squealed as they made their way into the building.

Buffy and Willow shared amused glances. “She’s been like this all morning,” explained Buffy. “I caught her downstairs munching on coffee grounds. It might explain the hyperness.” Willow nodded in understanding.

“I did no such thing,” Dawn denied indignantly. “You’re just jealous school makes me happy.” She squealed again when she saw her best friend Janice, and left the other two without so much as a “see you later.”

“So,” began Willow, “what happened after Spike left your room?”

Buffy sighed, not sure if she wanted to relive the entire confusing experience all over again. “I just sat there, wondering if that last part even happened. I mean, he was all nice and gentle. Which is a far cry from the arrogant jerk he tends to be. The whole thing made my stomach go all floppy.”

“Floppy like you-ate-something-bad, or nervous-before-a-test floppy?

“Floppy like given-the-chance-I-think-I-would-have-made-out-with-the-annoying-neighbor-last-night.”

“Oh, of course.”

“I don’t understand Wills. He gets on my nerves and makes me so angry! My stomach shouldn’t be doing any sort of flopping.”

Willow felt bad for her friend’s confusion. “He’s a nice guy, Buffy. I still don’t see what you find so agitating about him.”

“Speaking of the devil…” They spotted him with Oz and Xander as he placed a kiss on Harmony’s hand. “Looks like he’s already getting acquainted with the floozies of Sunnydale High.”

For some reason, a small pang of jealousy went through her, which only served to make her angrier. As the other three girls left, Buffy and Willow approached the guys. Oz wrapped his girlfriend into a warm hug.

“Nice to see you too,” Willow smiled at him.

“A whole two days of being apart,” teased Xander. “Must have been torture.”

Willow stuck her tongue out at him. “Hater.”

Spike shook his head at their silly antics. “Harris’ encounter with Cordelia put him in a sour mood.” He looked over at Buffy and smiled hopefully. “Hello, friend.”

Buffy nodded in his direction, trying not to blush, but probably failing miserably. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help thinking about their last encounter. “Spike,” she replied in greeting.

Spike’s grinned at the pink color that rose in her cheeks but decided not to comment. He didn’t want to get on her bad side this early on in the day. No, he’d wait until later before risking her rage.

“I’ll see you lot later,” Spike said as the first bell rang. “I’ve got a date with Principal what’s-his-face.” They all grimaced. “That bad huh?” he guessed.

Xander nodded. “Let’s just hope Snyder is fond of ripped jeans and safety pins.”

--

“I absolutely detest your pathetic excuse for jeans,” Principal Snyder told Spike from across the desk. “And are those safety pins on your jacket? What exactly are you trying to hold together? My mother always said a man with too many safety pins is a man who cannot be trusted. God rest her soul.”

Spike stared at the older man, wondering if this guy was for real. He’d spent 45 minutes listening to Snyder talk about his hatred for teenagers and his obsessive suspicion of British people. Spike could tell that he and this man would not get along.

“I’m keeping my eye on you Calendar. One wrong move and you and your pretty blonde hair are out of here. You can take your Aunt Jennifer along with you. Lord knows I’ve been trying to fire her for the last year.” He handed Spike a note. “Meet with Mr. Giles, our librarian, after school and he’ll give you all your books and get you caught up.” He eyed the student as if he were a cockroach. “You look like you need all the help you can get.”

Spike grabbed his bag and made his way to 2nd period. He had the strong urge to skip class altogether but had this creepy feeling that Snyder was actually watching him. He sighed and wondered how many drinks it would take him to get through the rest of this day. His fingers itched to grab the flask he’d hidden in his backpack that morning.

He found his English Literature class and entered the room. As soon as he walked in, all eyes landed on him.

God, he hated it when all eyes landed on him.

Spike spotted Buffy sitting off to the side and breathed a sigh of relief. He was pretty sure this was the most relieved he’d ever been to see her. He made a beeline for the empty seat next to her, ignoring the feminine giggles following him.

“I miss anything?” he whispered as he slid into the seat next to her.

She shook her head and continued to doodle into her notebook. “Not unless you enjoy the uncomfortable ritual of first-day introductions,” she answered.

He breathed out gratefully. “No, definitely don’t enjoy that.” He watched her for a moment as she scribbled some things onto her paper and pretended to listen to the teacher up front. Her chin rested on her palm, a look on her face that said she was at that place teenage girls go to when they have things on their mind.

Spike wondered what that place looked like.

“So what’s this guy on about then?” Spike broke into her thoughts, nodding towards the teacher in the stiff black suit.

Buffy rolled her eyes, still not looking at him. “What do I look like, your personal secretary?”

He chuckled, leaned back in his seat, and placed his hands behind his head confidently. “Do you want the position, pet?”

“I’m sure the applications are just flooding in.”

“I’ll put yours at the top.”

She smiled and turned to look at him. He was grinning at her with that cocky look on his face that should have incited within her a feeling of annoyance. But it was sexy as hell. Not to her though, of course. Just in general.

“We’re reading The Catcher in the Rye,” she finally told him. “Ever read it?”

He shrugged flippantly, implying he’d never heard of the book. He didn’t mention that he’d read it when he was eight years old. And six times more since then. He instead focused his attention toward the front. Their teacher sounded British and looked too young to be instructing a room full of high school students.

Spike strummed his black-polished nails on the desk, trying to listen to the man at the front of the room. But after a few minutes of paying attention, Spike decided he’d rather bother Buffy. His eyes drifted to her doodling pen. He leaned over to see what she was writing, but caught a hard kick to his leg.

“Nosey much?” Buffy admonished, satisfied that her kick left him rubbing his shin in pain. She closed her notebook and geared her attention to the teacher. Spike winced. “That’s a tough punishment for being curious don’t you think luv?” She didn’t answer him.

“So, for the first half of the semester,” continued the teacher, who Spike learned was named Mr. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, “we’ll be looking at works of prose, especially within the realm of American Literature. The second half, we’ll analyze poetry in which you all will master a number of different literary devices. And now, I’ll leave you to your own devices.” He chuckled at his clever play on words. No one else did.

A girl in the front row raised her hand. “Anyanka,” Mr. Wyndam-Pryce called on her.

“Will you be offering one-on-one tutoring sessions?”

He thought about it for a second, never once having heard that request from a student. “Of course, if a student finds it necessary.”

“Oh, it’s necessary,” she answered with a slow smile.

The bell rang, bolting the students from their seats. Wesley watched the students leave the classroom, thinking he’d already started this year on a good note.

--

“So where you headed to next Summers?” Spike asked, leaning against the locker next to hers and scoping out Sunnydale High’s female population. It was that awkward time of year right before summer ended and autumn began, where girls still wore their cute little shorts and miniskirts, but topped them off with form fitting sweaters to even it all out. Spike had a thing for the sweater-miniskirt combo.

“Well it’s lunch time, so I’m guessing I’ll be somewhere lunch-oriented,” she replied, stuffing her books into her locker. “You coming with?” she invited, looking at him with those eyes. “We’re seniors now so the gang is going to journey beyond school grounds.”

Spike snorted. “That’s a bit too much excitement for me. I think I’ll pass.”

She shut the locker door and shrugged. “Suit yourself. Although you could stand to put on a few pounds.” She pinched his arm to emphasize her point.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, offended and grabbing the spot where she’d pinched him. “I happen to be sinewy. Ladies can’t seem to get enough of this body.”

She raised her eyebrows and nodded in a way that said she didn’t believe him. “I’m going to meet the guys outside. If you change your mind, then that’s too bad because the invitation’s closed.”

He smirked at her retreating figure. She really knew how to make a guy feel wanted. It was just another thing he found sexy about ol’ unfuckable and somewhat unlikeable Buffy Summers.

He went outside to take a smoke.

--

“What are you doing Angel!” Buffy exclaimed as he pulled her into an empty classroom. He shut the door and peered through the glass to make sure nobody had seen them.

“What’s going on Angel?” she demanded again when he didn’t answer.

“Where’s Spike?” he asked, ignoring her question. He was scaring her with how jumpy he was acting. Angel was supposed to be the level-headed counterpart in their relationship. Friendship. Whatever.

“I don’t know,” she told him. “He was out by the lockers a few minutes ago. Mind telling me what this is about?

Angel sighed like he was about to reveal a bombshell. “Spike’s evil.”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah, I know right? It’s the same thing I’d been trying to tell Willow. I mean, his irritating qualities are just bordering on evil. But then we made this truce last night, and he sat next to me in class, and yeah, it was still pretty irritating but, to tell you the truth, tolerable if only—”

“Buffy!” Angel interrupted, exasperated. “He’s really evil. Like Hellmouth evil.” And the intensity in his eyes—the one he got when he was really serious; the one she’d imagined he’d be wearing when he finally professed his love for her—forced her to pay attention.

“How do you know?” Her eyebrows furrowed as she turned on her no-nonsense Slayer switch.

“I had a vision,” he told her. Her eyes softened and she reached out to brush a finger across his temple. Although he rarely talked about it, she knew how painful those visions were for him.

He flinched away from her touch.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. He hated when she did that. Hated when she looked at him with those pity-filled green eyes. “In the vision, Spike was standing outside of a burning house. Somewhere close, there were dead bodies all over a carpet. Blood everywhere.” He closed his eyes and tried to remember the disjointed details. “There was a fight. Hooded figures, a man with glasses, and a sword with intricate carvings. Spike’s bloody hands. His bloody hands and utter pleasure at the death caused by him. I can still feel that bliss.” Buffy breath caught in disbelief.

“And there was Spike. Standing outside the burning house with a cigarette in his mouth and an unreadable face.”

“Are you sure it was Spike?” Buffy asked after a moment.

“Yes,” he answered. Buffy couldn’t explain why she felt her heart drop. She should have expected this. New people don’t just stride onto the Hellmouth everyday being all normal.

After a short silence, Angel remembered something else. “There was a sphere. A glass sphere. It was glowing. Burning red. It meant something.” The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.

Buffy nodded. “I’ll round up Giles and the gang after school. If Spike’s evil, then we have to take him out.”

--

After doing some reconnaissance, Spike found an empty room in the school’s basement. It was small, dirty, and looked like it hadn’t been used in years. But it had a television set and that was damn cool.

He watched Passions during lunch-time, fell asleep, and missed his last two classes. ‘Wonder how bad Aunt Jen is going to kill me when I get home,’ he thought idly upon waking. He remembered he was supposed to meet with the librarian after school, and headed upstairs. His stomach growled as he made his way through the almost empty hallways. He probably should have taken Summers up on her offer to have lunch. He’d pick up some food on his way home, he decided as he opened the double doors to the library. Willow, Xander, Buffy, and some guy with a tweed jacket and glasses sat at a round table in the middle of the library, apparently in the middle of some sort of conversation.

“I’m not sure we can be friends if you guys spend your free time in the library,” Spike said as a greeting.

They didn’t laugh.

“Tough crowd,” he mumbled to himself. “Did I miss something?”

“Who might you be?” asked the tweed-guy.

“That’s Spike,” Xander told him, sharing a look with the older man that Spike didn’t care to decipher.

“Oh, Spike,” tweed-guy recognized.

“Yes, Spike,” the owner of the name echoed slowly. “Although, faculty, as I assume you are, may know me as William Calendar. I’m looking for a Mr. Giles. I have an appointment with him to pick up some books and useless information.” He grabbed a note from his back pocket and waved it in the air.

“Ah, yes,” said the tweed-guy. “I’m Mr. Giles.” He looked at the other three teenagers in the room. “Go along now. I’ll contact you all if I learn anymore information on the… ah, book you’ve all been wishing to check out.”

Buffy glanced at Spike then leaned in towards Giles. “Are you sure?” she whispered. “He is capable of eating you.”

“I can do a repelling spell,” Willow offered.

“That won’t be necessary,” he assured, watching the young bleached man finger a few books distractedly.

“We’ll be right outside the door,” said Xander. “Just scream if he tries anything funny.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Giles replied, although he didn’t plan on doing any screaming.

The three brushed by Spike without so much as a goodbye. Confused, the young teen watched them leave. “See you lot later,” he called after them, not expecting a response. He looked over at Giles. “These Sunnydale folk confuse the hell out of me. One minute they’re hot, the next minute they’re cold. Kind of reminds me of the girls back home.”

Giles didn’t look amused.

“I take it your not one for British humor.”

Giles grabbed a list of book titles from the table and gave it to Spike. “When you’re done gathering these, come and find me so I can give you that ‘useless’ information.” With that, the older man walked away and headed into his office.

Spike sighed. And just when he thought he was starting to like this place.

--

Spike and Buffy were once again so close to starting an actual friendship. Darn.

Ack! I’m sorry for the long wait. On a really really good note, I have a whole bunch of other chapters written! Thank you so much to all who reviewed last time! They were all so thoughtful and thought-out. You guys continue to be awesome and you give me brilliant ideas for stuff I can write into the plot. In the meantime, click that cool little button at the bottom that says ‘Review’ and give me your opinions!

You Can’t Disappoint A Vampire

Spike breathed in the smoke and exhaled into the night. Today had started out like shit and had ended up even shittier. Forget the fact that he’d started his first day at that God-awful prison they called school. But he’d also received the odd treatment from Buffy, Willow, and Xander, and came home to a pissed off Jenny. Apparently she didn’t appreciate his skipping two classes, especially her ceramics class.

“I fell asleep,” he admitted when he finally made it home that day. He found that it was far safer to tell Jenny the truth and risk a lecture, than to lie and risk her disappointment.

He hated when people he cared about got all disappointed with him. It gave him this soddy feeling in his chest that he couldn’t quite shake off. When he was seven and visiting Jenny in America, he’d accidentally knocked over one of her hand-made vases, shattering it onto the floor. When she asked him later if he’d done it, he told her it wasn’t him. She never said anything about it, just shook her head in disappointment.

Since then, he’d never lied to her.

“You fell asleep?” she repeated. “Not a good enough excuse. Next time you decide to fall asleep through your last few classes, don’t even bother coming home.” With that, she began to make dinner. He was just glad she didn’t mention his consistent tendency to be a perpetual fuck-up. “Don’t go disgracing the family name in the States,” his father had said in that uptight British accent of his, giving his son a disapproving look. “Although I’m sure I’m wasting my breath.”

Spike sighed again as he walked through the barely lit streets. Shitty day. He still wasn’t too sure what had happened in the library with the other teens. Did he do something? Not that he cared too much. He made it a point to emphasize how much he didn’t care about things.

He just thought maybe he and Xander could’ve possibly become good mates. Possibly. But not if the welp continued to have girly mood swings. He expected those mood swings from Buffy who could turn from sweet to bitchy at the drop of a hat. He couldn’t understand why that turned him on so much.

Spike puffed his cigarette resignedly. He really needed to get laid. He perked up a bit when he remembered the blonde girl from school today. Melody? Symphony? Harmony?

Harmony.

He’d get her number tomorrow and see if she was willing to do the naughty things he had in mind. He smirked, wondering if she knew how to get her legs in that one position he enjoyed so much. She looked pretty flexible.

Spike heard a scream in the distance, which brought him out of his musings. His ears perked up as the voice screamed again. He threw his cigarette down, ran down an alleyway to where he thought he’d heard the shout, and spotted a young girl in the arms of what looked to be a tall man. The man, whose face was buried in the girl’s neck, looked sharply up at Spike.

Vampire

Spike recognized the way the face was vamped out, and cringed at the blood dripping from the monster’s lips. “Go away kid,” the creature snarled.

Spike walked slowly toward the vamp, discreetly pulling out the stake from the back of his pants. “’Fraid I can’t do that mate.” He glanced at the girl’s terrified face and wished he could tell her it would be okay. “Wouldn’t be too responsible of me if I left without making an effort. Would you let her go if I said ‘please’?”

The monster dropped the girl to the cement and charged towards Spike, tackling him to the ground. Spike fell with a muffled ‘oomf,’ and tried to push the vamp off of him. Despite his strength, the other man was two times bigger and exceptionally strong. He managed to roll the guy off of him and plunge the stake into his heart.

‘Still got it,,’ Spike thought smugly as he climbed to his feet and brushed the dust off of his jacket. He rushed to the young girl and picked her up in his arms. If he ran fast enough, he could get her to the hospital in time.

His fingertips brushed her face. Cold. Almost ice cold. Her dead eyes looked back at him, blaming him for not getting there sooner. There was so much blood.

Spike dropped to the ground, the girl still in his arms. He brushed her soft brown hair out of her face. She was younger than he thought. Not more than fourteen. She’d probably snuck out of the house to meet a friend, not knowing that the night would end up like this. He’d seen a lot of death during his calling as the Slayer. But never, never did he think he could get used to witnessing the death of an innocent.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, watching her in his arms. Minutes? Hours?

“So you are evil.”

Spike looked up at the voice. “Buffy.”

Buffy glared at him, some sort of weapon in her hand. There was a look on her face. Anger mixed with…disappointment? Disappointment.

“Looks like I have to kill you after all,” she announced, before brandishing a weapon and stalking towards him.

Never Hit A Girl…Unless She Hits You First

Buffy would never tell her friends this, but sometimes she just wanted to patrol alone. Yes, there were the times in which they’d proven to be liabilities, and of course there were instances when she was forced to hesitate in battle because they were with her, but those weren’t the reasons why she’d have rather been alone.

This was her job. It was who she was. Xander and Willow had the privilege of choosing whether or not they wanted to go out with her and save the world. They got to go to bed at night without worrying about the fates of innocent people on the Sunnydale streets. She didn’t have that luxury. She hated herself for it, but sometimes she resented her friends for that. She hated that they had the choice of backing out.

And at the same time, it was hers. Not having that choice was hers and in an odd way, Buffy felt comforted by that finality.

She let out a breath. No one could ever understand what it meant to be the Slayer. They would never understand how it tore her up inside to make the tough decisions. Like her recent decision to kill Spike. If he was evil. Which, she was sure he was.

It was a shame since she’d been getting used to his inappropriate jokes, his deliberate teasing, and mischievous smirks. All those things made her want to punch his face in, and at the same time it made her want to…to what? She couldn’t even begin to decipher her ambivalent feelings toward Spike.

Buffy decided to take the long route home. She crossed into a familiar alleyway but stopped when she noticed a dark figure hunched on the ground in the near distance. She squinted her eyes and stepped closer to get a better look.

There, on the ground was Spike, blood soaking his shirt and hands, and a dead girl in his arms. He was breathing rapidly, his forehead resting on the victim’s own. Buffy’s heart began to thump as she pulled out her stake. This couldn’t be happening. She had held out the slightest tinge of hope that perhaps Spike wasn’t who Angel said he was. She was wrong.

“So you are evil,” she breathed into the shadows.

He looked up at her with those piercing blue eyes. Were those…sad eyes? “Buffy.”

“Looks like I have to kill you after all,” she announced, before brandishing the weapon and stalking towards him.

Spike’s eyes briefly widened in surprise before he placed the body gently on the ground and backed away. Was that a…stake? What the hell was Summers doing with a stake? “I don’ know what you think you just saw luv, but I assure you it’s not what you think it is.”

“That’s what they all say,” Buffy responded before placing a well-aimed kick to his gut. Spike hunched over in pain and received a forceful elbow to the back of his head before he could recover.

‘What the bloody hell is going on here?’ he thought as his face slammed into the ground. He rolled over and caught her foot as it came close to making contact with his head. She lost her balance when he twisted her leg, and fell on her ass with a hard thud.

Spike got to his feet and backed up. “I don’t want to hurt you Buffy,” he warned, still shocked and disoriented. He felt like he was in some kind of nightmare. Was Buffy a monster?

“You don’t want to hurt me?” she repeated incredulously as she pulled herself from the ground. “Just like you hurt that girl over there? What are you Spike? What kind of demon are you?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he answered. The air around him had grown hot, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of a sudden burst in humidity or if it was the anger rolling off of Buffy in palpable waves.

He could tell she wouldn’t believe him if he tried to explain. And he wasn’t sure he wanted another one of her inexplicably forceful blows to his stomach. “If it’s a fight you want, heaven knows I won’t pass up the opportunity to have a pretty girl’s hot hands all over me.” He got into fighting stance, wondering if she was strong enough to call his bluff.

He knew it was generally frowned upon to hit girls, but Buffy’s unusually powerful elbow to his head gave him the impression she wasn’t a normal girl. He decided he’d shut her up with a good ass kicking and then ask questions later.

She charged at him with a flurry of kicks and punches that he blocked with his arms. When the opportunity finally presented itself, he aimed an unrelenting fist to her chest. But she was too quick. She leaned her body to the side and proceeded to block his offensive attacks.

“So much anger hiding in that small frame, pet,” he mocked between grunts. “Makes me wonder if you’ve got Daddy issues, or if it’s just that time of the month.” With a stealth he wasn’t accustomed to, she whipped behind him and kicked him in his spine. His body collided violently against the brick wall. When he turned around, she was there with her forearm forcefully against his throat.

“Take your pick Spike,” she breathed. “You’re just giving me more reasons to kill you.” His breath stilted as the arm against his throat increased its pressure.

“We’ll see ‘bout that pet,” he answered, using both of his hands to remove her limb from his trachea. He wrapped her right arm behind her back, eliciting a pained groan from her lips. “It’s not smart to be so arrogant during battle. Didn’t they teach you that at the dojo?” he teased, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. Her warm scent drifted past his nose and he shivered in the heat. She damn sure smelled like a girl.

Buffy felt his breath against her neck and imagined he was just inches away from biting her flesh.

With a grunt, she flung her legs backwards, catching him in between his legs. He let go of her arm and fell to the ground, clutching his privates and groaning in pain. “Pet, I ‘ave to be honest with you, that’s against the rules.” When he finally arose, Buffy was on him again, throwing a series of quick attacks at him.

Spike couldn’t help but notice how hot Buffy looked as she concentrated on kicking his ass, sweat dripping between her chest. If Harmony wasn’t flexible enough to reach that position he enjoyed so much, he’d now confirmed that Buffy was. Heh.

While his mind strayed elsewhere, Buffy was finally able to pull him to the ground. She straddled his hips, stake in hand, ready to plunge into his heart. They both panted hot breaths in the silence.

“What are you?” She demanded again, poised to kill him.

He couldn’t answer, mesmerized by the woman on top of him. The streetlight shone behind her like a halo, belying the fact that she wasn’t as innocent as he thought she was. What was it about this girl that confused the hell out of him?

“He tried to save me.”

Spike and Buffy’s gazes whipped toward where the third voice came from. It was the dead girl.

“It’s a good thing he didn’t. I’d still be a human.” The bones in her face warped sickeningly as she vamped out. Spike pushed Buffy off of him as the dead girl rushed towards them, poised to kill. He got to his feet and kicked the newly made vampire into the brick wall. She was still weak. Spike grabbed Buffy’s stake and stalked over to the sprawled out demon.

“I’m sorry I couldn’ save you,” he apologized before plunging the stake into her heart. Spike dropped to his knees and breathed heavily. He could hear Buffy’s stunned silence behind him.

“Who are you?” She repeated, for the last time. Her voice sounded unsure. She watched his crumbled figure as he let out a shaky breath. He kept his eyes on the pile of dust. Questions needed to be answered by the both of them. He sighed and decided to go first.

“I’m what they call the Slayer.”

He didn’t hear her jaw dropping behind him.

Cheetahs and Panthers Aren’t Meant To Be Friends

Spike threw the stake to the ground beside him and slowly turned around towards Buffy’s shadowed figure. ‘She’s shocked,’ he thought, sympathetically. It was clear she had never seen a vampire before and she must have been paralyzed with fear.

“What did you say?” she repeated, his words still ringing in her ears.

He wiped the dirt from his jeans. “I said I’m what they call the Slayer. Look, Summers, I know you ‘ave a lot of questions, an’ I want to explain, but Lord only knows how many other monsters are out here this late at—” Spike was cut off by a firm stake positioned to his chest.

‘Fuck,’ he thought. He hadn’t even seen her reach for the weapon she was so bloody quick!

“Tell me the truth,” she demanded, a dangerous edge to her voice. “Who the hell are you, and how do you know about me?”

He pushed her away from him, suddenly losing his temper. He was learning that he hated being on the other end of that stake—and she’d put him there quite enough times tonight. “I don’ know shit about you, Summers. An’ I don’ care to. If you didn’t notice, I was too busy saving your life.”

She pushed him back hard with a grunt. “I don’t have time for your games, Spike. How do you know about me? How do you know about the Slayer?” Her eyes were angry, yet uncertain, fearing the next words poised to escape his mouth.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. How the hell did she know about the Slayer? Did she know about him? The earnest tilt to her voice suddenly scared the hell out of him.

‘How do you know about me? How do you know about the Slayer?’ Her words reverberated back through his ears and an explosion of images and conversations throughout the past few days sped through his mind.

“I’m not scared. I see enough blood and death on a daily basis as it is.”

“They can’t be that evil. It’s not like they bite.”

"Just keep in mind that she's not your average girl."

“Looks like I have to kill you after all."

His head spun as he remembered Buffy’s late night outings, her uncanny speed and impossible strength, her telling him she’s not normal. All of those small details and slip-ups rapidly came together. And something in his bones, something in his gut—something he couldn’t quite explain—suggested the impossible, knocking him back.

‘Care to share why you were roaming the unsafe streets of Sunnydale?’ he’d asked her only the night before. ‘I’m beginning to think you’re either a superhero or a hooker.’ He’d only been joking then. But he was beginning to feel he’d been half right.

He didn’t answer her, just watched the fear in her eyes. He allowed her to grab his collar and pin him up against the brick wall. “Who are you?” she demanded, once more.

He waited a beat, before answering the only way he knew how: “In every generation, there is a Chosen One. He alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, an’ the forces of darkness,” he recited, although he had a feeling she knew the rest.

Her grip on his shirt faltered considerably. “She is the Slayer,” Buffy finished quietly. She looked into his eyes, finding only sincere confusion, disbelief, and truth. Finding only those same blue eyes she discovered to be so striking when he was being genuine. Buffy’s heart beat faster and she lost her breath as her world shook around her.

Could it be? Was Spike the Slayer? Then what was she? Who was she? No. It couldn’t be. He was lying, and she would find out why. And then she’d kill him.

She let go of his shirt, pushing him further into the wall. “Don’t you dare come after me.” With that firm warning, she left Spike in the alleyway, just the sound of his ragged breath and his heart thumping.

--

Giles could only count on one hand the number of times he’d been totally and utterly clueless on a matter. When faced with a cunning and mysterious demon, he could always consult his books. When dealing with Sunnydale High’s students, there was always faculty protocol. And when courting a woman…well, he’d been around long enough to know the ins and outs of that arena. But this…this he had no answers for.

He watched the two teenagers from the other side of the library as they eyed each other suspiciously from across the table. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the two disliked each other more than they did the day they met. When Buffy told him last night that Spike had claimed to be the Slayer, he’d been rendered speechless. So he’d called a meeting today after classes. Needless to say, he was still speechless.

Wesley nudged him and whispered, “The Watcher’s handbook holds no mention of two Slayers. I must say, I’ve read the thing front to back multiple times. If I remember correctly, ‘In every generation there is a Chosen One.’ ‘One’ implies that there is only, well, ‘one.’ In addition, it affirms that the Chosen One must be of the female orientation. With the risk of sounding facetious, Spike is most definitely what one would call a male. The Watcher’s handbook is quite accurate in the laws of…” But Giles tuned out the Watcher-in-Training, pondering again, how to deal with the situation.

“Look at them doing the whole stare-down thing,” Xander pointed out, as they all watched them from across the room. “I’d bet that’s what it would look like if a panther and a cheetah met in the jungle.”

“That would never happen,” Oz said. “Panthers live in the forests. Cheetahs live in the grasslands.”

Willow nodded in confirmation.

Xander shook his head in defeat. He was sandwiched between a master of trivia and an all-out genius. And anyway, a panther-cheetah brawl sounded awesome.

“So what’s going to happen now, Giles?” Willow asked, not knowing if he could answer that. “Is Spike lying?” Giles sighed, and made his way over to the two scowling teens. They looked up at him hopefully, expecting answers.

“I’ve called the Watcher’s Council. There’s been no response.”

“Figures,” Spike muttered. The buggers still hadn’t returned his phone calls. “They’re bloody useless.”

“He’s right, they are useless,” Buffy agreed. Spike’s scarred eyebrow rose high on his forehead in surprise. Buffy never agreed with him. “If they were half as competent as they should be, they would have known that Spike is an imposter.”

Spike almost laughed. It was vintage Buffy Summers to throw him under the bus. “Imposter? You’re the imposter. You’re prob’ly not even a real blonde.”

She glared daggers at him. She was so too a real blonde! As far as he was concerned anyway. “Is your name really even William Calendar?” she retorted. “Giles, can’t we lock him up while we investigate?”

Giles put a thumb to his temple as the two began to bicker again. His head was beginning to throb in confusion and irritation.

“Spike, I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

The cocky teen threw his combat-booted feet onto the table and crossed his arms. “Ask away.”

Before Giles could interrogate, the library doors burst open, revealing an out-of-breath Angel. “Did I miss anything?” he asked the group anxiously as he took a seat next to Buffy.

Spike sighed theatrically and turned to Giles. “Can you tell him to piss off?”

Giles put a hand on Spike’s shoulder. “He’s a friend.”

Angel smirked at the blonde teen. “I don’t know if he can call me a friend just yet, Giles.”

“Trust me, I most likely won’t ever.” Spike let out another exaggerated sigh. To tell the truth, he didn’t like the position he was in. It was difficult enough for him to have to prove himself to these wankers, but adding another wanker to the bunch (one he didn’t particularly care for) just made things worse.

Giles sighed, his headache threatening to get worse. “Spike, tell me about your Watcher. Did you have one?”

“Don’t all Slayers?” was his brisk reply. He sighed again. “His name was Sheldon Warrick. An’ he was a pain in the arse, Warrick was. I was his first Slayer, but he made it seem like he’d been training them for ages.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms dramatically. She really hoped Giles wouldn’t fall for Spike’s lame story. The idea of a second Slayer—a male Slayer at that!—was absolutely ridiculous!

“What happened to him?” Giles asked, racking his brain for a Sheldon Warrick but coming up with nothing.

Spike hesitated before answering, “He’s dead.”

“Sorry to hear that. As a Watcher, there’s always that risk of death.”

Spike smiled to himself nostalgically. “That’s something the ol’ bastard would’ve said.”

Buffy watched Spike as he remembered his old Watcher. She could almost believe him when his eyes softened like that. But quickly, his look of reminiscence disappeared, replaced by his persistent nonchalant expression.

“So what is the name of your new Watcher?” Giles continued.

Spike looked confused. “New Watcher?”

“Yes. The Watcher’s Council must have issued you a new guardian.”

Spike fidgeted uncomfortably. He hated when others knew things he didn’t. And right now, there was a lot he didn’t know. “Right. A new Watcher. Well it’s only been a month. The pillocks at the Council must’ve forgotten. You know how they can be. Forgetful an’ all that,” he finished lamely.

Angel and Buffy shared an amused look that said they didn’t believe him.

“A Slayer without a Watcher?” Angel inquired. “Doesn’t seem like much of a Slayer to me.”

Spike swung his feet off of the table and leaned forward. “If I ever lower my pride enough to ‘ave to prove anything to you, I’ll slit my wrists first.” He leaned back in his chair once again and trained his eyes on Buffy. “If anything, I should be asking you the questions Summers. For someone who claims to be the Chosen One, you sure as hell have a load of people in on your secret. A true Slayer keeps his secrets under wraps.”

Buffy, along with the rest of the occupants of the room, fidgeted guiltily. Spike was right. He smirked, relieved to know he’d finally gained the upper hand, even if only temporarily.

“How did your old Watcher die?” Wesley asked. “Perhaps we can understand the situation a bit more if we gain more information on his death.”

Spike hesitated again, still disoriented from learning that his English teacher was in on this. He didn’t know for sure if he could trust these people. He glanced over at Willow who was perched on top of the small island. She gave him an encouraging smile. Spike shook his head and silently laughed to himself. The only one who believed in him was a redheaded genius who would probably trust a con-artist given the chance.

He decided to take the leap. “One month before I left England I killed my Watcher,” he began.


--
Spike took a long drag of his cigarette as he watched the boys on the practice field race after the football. The gits were bloody slow as hell, he thought. If it’d been him out there, he’d show those benders a thing or two about how to play the game. But he had more pressing matters to attend to. He glanced at his watch. The school’s headmaster was expecting him in a few minutes. Probably to scold him for not taking care of his responsibilities.

Spike flicked the cigarette out of his mouth and made his way to the headmaster’s office.

“William,” the man greeted when the teen entered the room.

“Warrick,” Spike answered back, opting to stand rather than take a seat in front of his Watcher’s cherry oak desk. “I assume you called me in here to further suck the fun out of my social life.”

Warrick chuckled. “You and I both know you scoff at the idea of a social life,” he responded in that uptight way of his. “As much as you pretend to hate both me and your Slayer’s destiny, I know you need us both.” Despite his steady tone, today the older man’s graying hair looked even grayer. His fierce eyes looked significantly duller. His usually impeccable suit sported visible wrinkles. His steady hands shook slightly. And Spike saw it all.

“What’s going on, Warrick?” Spike wanted to know, concern suddenly marring his brow. Warrick did not look Spike in the eyes. He just reorganized a stack of papers on his desk. Spike knew something was wrong. Warrick never fidgeted like this. In fact, he never needed to reorganize a damn thing because he was so neat on the first try. This was a man who taught Spike the importance of detail. The small details could mean the difference between winning and losing. Succeeding and failing. Living and dying. For two long years Warrick had taught him everything. So it was hard to miss the details in the man’s odd mannerisms today.

“What do you most fear, Spike?” Warrick asked all of a sudden, still not looking the boy in the eyes.

Spike wasn’t expecting that question. “I don’t know. What does this ‘ave to do with anything?”

“You don’t know what you most fear. Then what do you most desire?”

Again, Warrick’s words confused him. In fact, they down right weirded him out. Was that really a question a man should be asking a young boy? He didn’t answer. He didn’t even know how to answer.

Warrick continued to fiddle with the papers on his desk, his hand now shaking visibly but his voice steady. “Drive to my home. In the desk of my study there will be a small red box. Take that box and run. No one else should get a hold of it. Hurry.”

Spike’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Warrick was never one to speak in codes. He spoke straight and to the point. But he didn’t have much time to ponder that as the window behind the Watcher exploded, spraying shards of glass all over the office. Spike quickly grabbed his Watcher as more glass shattered and several hooded figures forced themselves into the room.

“Leave me!” Warrick demanded as Spike dragged him into the school’s empty hallway. “You need to locate that box!”

“You knew they were coming didn’t you!” Spike accused, hearing the footsteps of the dozen demons behind them. They made it to the parking lot and quickly found Warrick’s car. Despite his reservations, Warrick took the driver’s seat and pulled out onto the road.

“What’s going on?” Spike demanded, in the passenger’s seat. The sky had grown dark and it looked like it was going to rain. “Who the bloody hell were those demons back there!” He looked behind him only to spot three of those hooded figures outside flying in pursuit of the car. Flying!

Spike’s heart thumped hard. He’d never seen Warrick this scared before. Hell, he’d never seen Warrick scared period! The vehicle lurched to the side with a screech as one of the figures let loose a silver blast from its hand.

“Bloody hell,” Warrick cursed as he swerved to the other side. “The prophecy is coming true.”

“What prophecy!” Spike yelled as another silver flare blasted off the mirror on his side of the car.

“He’s back. He’s coming for you and it’s not only for revenge. These are the years of the Slayer’s return. You. You need to find her or you have no chance of winning.” Warrick wasn’t making any sense.

Spike frantically looked behind him again and saw that the figures had disappeared. He sighed in relief and practically jumped out of the car when they reached Warrick’s two story Victorian home.

“Let’s get this box and get the bloody hell out of here!” yelled out Spike, who still didn’t understand what was going on. They reached his study and sure enough, the fire-red wooden box rested securely in the compartment in his desk.

“We must leave now,” said Warrick when the small container was tucked away safely in his grip. But when they turned to exit the study, three hooded figures stood in their way.

“Give us the sphere, Sheldon,” one of the demons demanded firmly, one grotesque hand outstretched. His voice filled the room with a deep, distorted baritone.

Warrick clutched the container closer to his chest. “Abbadon.” he gasped.

“So you’ve heard of me,” he answered with a dark laugh.

Spike took in the man’s demeanor. The dark blue hooded cloak concealed his face. But as disgusting as his hand looked, Spike guessed that the hidden face was only a blessing. His eyes zeroed in on the long sword hanging from the scabbard on the demon’s hip.

Abbadon’s two henchmen flew hauntingly toward the ceiling, their cloaks trailing gracefully behind them and stopping inches from Spike and Warrick’s heads. One of the figures released a powerful silver blast from his hand, whizzing by Spike’s ears and knocking the box out of Warrick’s hands. It hit the floor with a thud and rolled to a stop.

“Who knew it would be this easy to kill a Slayer and his Watcher?” Abbadon boasted. “It looks like the prophecy will come to fruition, won’t it Sheldon?”

Warrick eyed the cloaked man with disdain, his earlier fear dissipating into an indignation only he could feel in the present situation. “Believe me, the Perennial will see his second death.”

Listening with one ear, Spike fingered the lighter in his pocket as the two men spoke about things he couldn’t even begin to understand. He pulled the lighter out, flicked it on, and raised the flame to the trail of cloak dangling above him. The demon above him called out in agonizing pain as the flames rapidly ripped through his cloak and burned his already-disfigured skin. He dropped to the ground with another ear-shattering shriek, setting the curtains and surrounding furniture on fire.

In the confusion that ensued, Warrick grabbed the box from the ground while Spike launched a swift and forceful kick to Abbadon’s chest. But the demon didn’t flinch. He grabbed Spike by the neck and lifted him up.

“So you think a Slayer is any match for the Perennial’s men?” he taunted as Spike struggled against his grip. Spike’s face turned red as Abbadon’s hand closed tighter around him. If he didn’t get away now, he’d surely pass out, and not from the fire and smoke that was quickly filling his lungs. He remembered the sword on the other man’s right hip. Leveraging his weight with one hand, he grabbed the sword, pulled it out of its sheath, and plunged it into Abbadon’s leg.

In a pained scream, he dropped Spike to the ground, clutching his thigh. Spike scrambled to his feet and tossed the sword to his Watcher. Warrick began to lay into the last henchman, gracefully slicing out his legs from under him. Dark green blood splattered onto the burning walls. The Watcher began to cough as the smoke began to burn the insides of his chest, making his eyes tear up.

“Let’s go Warrick!” Spike shouted over the roaring flames that were beginning to make their way throughout the house. Warrick tossed Spike the box and the sword, trusting they would be safe in his hands. Spike caught the container, but the sword twirled ungracefully, slicing a deep gouge into his hand. “Shit,” he cursed, reaching to grab the weapon from the ground.

But the demon was faster. Abaddon snatched the sword from the floor and with a speed neither Spike nor Warrick had expected, spun with wicked grace, plunging the weapon into Warrick’s stomach.

Spike watched in paralyzed horror as his Watcher fell to his knees, the glowing sword lodged in his body.

Abaddon chuckled, still favoring his right thigh. “No one will be able to stop the Perennial. Not one Slayer. Not two Slayers. Not even one hundred Slayers. He will carry out the prophecy.” With that dark promise he blasted through the large window and into the rain.

Amidst the shattered glass and fire, Spike stood immobile in invisible cement, transfixed as blood spilled from his Watcher’s lips.

“Spike,” the old man called through a gargle of blood. “Help me.”

He snapped out of his paralysis and hurried to his Watcher’s side. He grabbed the intricate handle of the sword. “This is gonna hurt like fucking hell, Warrick. Just breathe.” Spike yanked the weapon out of his belly with the sickening sound of tearing insides.

The man fell into Spike’s arms, his breath coming out in uneven gusts.

Spike’s head swiveled frantically, his eyes searching for something to stop the bleeding. But he knew there was just too much blood.

“There’s not much time,” Warrick’s voice warned weakly. “Take the sphere and go.”

Spike shook his head. “Even on the verge of dying you still find the heart to boss me ‘round, you ol’ bastard.”

Warrick’s chuckle was barely audible. “William. Be strong enough to face what you most fear, and even stronger to face what you most desire. In the end, you’ll find that they are the same.”

His breathing died out then.

Spike couldn’t feel the flames as they continued to eat through his surroundings. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. Tears traced silently down his cheeks as he surveyed the lifeless body of his Watcher.

He allowed himself one full minute of grieving before he picked up the box containing the sphere. As a last second thought, he also grabbed the sword and exited the house, forcing himself not to look back lest he lose his resolve.

He would wait outside in the rain until the police and fire trucks arrived. He took a puff of his cigarette and eyed the red wooden box that Warrick had given his life for. He opened it, revealing a small crystal sphere. After a few seconds of examining it with his eyes, he finally held the sphere in his palms. The crystal began to hum and turn bright red. A strange feeling of bliss poured over his body, filling him from the blondes of his hairs to the very tips of his toes. Despite the night’s occurrences, he suddenly felt a fullness that he’d never experienced in his life. Spike closed his eyes and breathed in the crisp night air that seemed to warm the very insides of his lungs. He wanted to feel this way forever.

The thought scared the hell out him.

He quickly placed the sphere back in the box and watched it change from red to clear again. The blissful feeling left his body. He breathed heavily and decided right then to destroy the crystal. If those hooded demons wanted it so badly, he needed to get rid of it. He took one last look at the box and launched it into the burning house. He could hear it burst into a hundred pieces.

Spike took another drag of his cigarette.

--

“There are many times I think of ways I could’ve saved him. If I’d’ve caught the sword. If I’d’ve protected him better. That sort of thing eats at you. It makes you feel responsible. An’ I do feel responsible for his death most times.”

Buffy felt an acute sense of pain in her heart as Spike finished telling his story. She touched her hand to her chest and took a deep breath to ease the unusually expanding pain. For a brief second of insanity, she wanted to comfort him and tell him it wasn’t his fault.

Giles removed his glasses again, wiping them uselessly on his dress shirt. Like the rest of the room, he remained fixed in a stunned silence. Everyone had moved closer to the table now, captured by the young teen’s words.

“That must have been what I saw in my vision,” Angel pieced together. “Spike outside of the burning building, the blood, the sphere. All of it.”

Spike’s agitated eyes landed on Angel. “Perhaps you should do a bit more investigating of your visions before spreading rumors that I’m a demon. I mean, a bloody demon!” he huffed incredulously at the thought.

Buffy felt Angel flinch next to her. And it wasn’t because of Spike’s anger, but his words that hit too close to home.

“I still haven’t received an apology for Buffy trying to kill me, which, I must stress, was never a possibility due to my stealth. I don’ wanna brag but I am quite the stealthy Slayer.”

“Didn’t seem like it last night,” Buffy retorted.

“Give me another try and you’ll see how stealthy I can be, luv.”

Xander coughed. “We are still talking about fighting right? Otherwise, I think the rest of us should leave you two alone.”

Giles placed his glasses on the table in front of him. “Well, there are obviously a few issues we must address. The first one being the issue of yours and Buffy’s positions as Slayers. My goodness, I can’t believe I’m even saying that.”

Buffy’s eyes caught Spike’s own in uncharacteristic hesitancy. It was the first time anyone in the room had verbally acknowledged that there might actually be more than one Slayer.

“Two Slayers,” Oz mused. “Huh.”

Xander patted Spike on the back. “Welcome to the Hellmouth, my friend.”

Spike looked up at the other boy, not sure if he was in a forgiving mood. Xander had treated him quite shabbily the day before. “Hellmouth?”

“It’s an area dense in supernatural and demony activity,” answered Willow. “Sunnydale sits right on top of one. But we’re only one of many.”

“So I must’ve lived on one of those Hell-mouthy things in England then?”

Willow nodded. “It’s possible.”

“Since Spike claims to no longer have a Watcher, it will be difficult to discern whether or not his story is true,” said Giles. “Our only option is to contact the Watcher’s Council. In the meantime, we will conduct our own research. Willow and Wesley, I’d like you to take the lead on this.” The two nodded in affirmation.

“Spike, how much do you know about this prophecy? About this Abbadon character and The Perennial?”

Spike uncrossed his arms and frowned with uncertainty. He felt insulted having to prove himself, but decided he’d cooperate until he didn’t feel like it anymore. “Jus’ everything I told you. Most of it sounded like rubbish. I couldn’t figure out what Warrick was saying. Something ‘bout the year of the Slayer. The Perennial’s revenge. Finding a girl.” he shook his head in frustration. It all made little sense to him.

“The Perennial,” Angel said slowly. “Is that a person? A group of people? An event?”

“Whatever it is, it’s chock-full of not good,” Xander said. “Spike, your Watcher said something about The Perennial’s second death?”

“Yes,” Spike answered. “Which means it must’ve had a first death. Believe me, I’ve gone over this in my head a thousand times and I still can’t come up with anything worth holdin’ on to.”

“And who could it possibly want revenge from?” Angel wondered. “Revenge for what?”

“Finding a girl,” Buffy recalled. “Giles, do you think the ‘girl’ is referring to me?”

Spike rolled his eyes dramatically. “Not everything is about you Summers…but yes, it probably has something to do with you,” he added.

Buffy wished she were close enough to kick him under the table.

“If this prophecy mentions the Slayer and a girl, could it possibly explain why there are two Slayers?” Willow wondered.

“That’s still not confirmed,” Buffy said stubbornly. “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves here. There’s only one Slayer. And she’s usually a ‘she.’ Spike is a ‘he.’ Not a ‘she.’ He must be under a spell. Maybe he just thinks he’s the Slayer.”

Spike looked up at the ceiling, annoyed by her rationalizations. “Good luck with that theory, Bets.”

“I’m just saying, I think we need to know a bit more about you before we honor you with the Slayer title.”

“Oi! No one needs t’ honor me with anythin’!” he exclaimed, his accent growing deeper in offense. “I’ve told you everything. I still don’t know sod all about the lot of you. For all I know, you’re all monsters waiting to kill me in my sleep.”

Buffy smiled saccharinely. “If we wanted to kill you Spike, we’d do it while you were awake.”

“Good. At least then, I’d get in a few good licks before my wrongful death.” He sighed exasperatedly. “Can I go now? I need to be home before the streetlights come on.”

“Yes, Spike,” Giles said. “We will all meet again tomorrow after school to discuss more details of that night.”

“Sounds like fun.” Spike gladly left his chair and made his way toward the library doors.

“One more thing,” Wesley called out before Spike made his exit. “Whatever happened to the sphere?”

Spike hesitated before answering, “I told you. I destroyed it. I figured they wanted it so badly, I had to get rid of it.”

“Well, that will make it a bit more difficult for research purposes. Is there anyone else we can talk to? Someone who knows a bit more about your old Watcher? Those who attended his funeral?”

Spike faltered again. But it was so slight that Buffy couldn’t tell if anyone else had noticed. “There was no funeral. They never found the body.” Buffy once again felt that odd pain grow deep in her chest.

Wesley nodded apologetically.

“Anything else, oh persistent ones?” When no one answered, Spike saluted and turned to leave. Buffy watched him finally go, feeling a strange pull to the boy who just walked outside of those doors.

“Everyone go home and get some rest,” Giles told the room. “We’ll begin researching tomorrow. Oz, it’s a full moon tonight.”

Oz nodded. “I’m cage bound.”

As everyone packed up to leave, Angel placed a soft hand on Buffy’s shoulder. “We’ll figure out what’s really going on. I’m not sure how much we can trust Spike. He may be hiding some things.”

Buffy only half heard him, her eyes fixed on the doors Spike had just disappeared through and her chest burning with that dull ache. She turned around to face Angel and plastered a large smile on her face. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to walk home alone. Too much has happened since yesterday, and I need some time to think.”

He smiled back at her and stroked her hair. “I’m here if you need me.”

She didn’t answer, just walked brusquely out of the library doors.

Angel dropped his arm to his side, suddenly feeling as if today would mark an unexpected shift in his relationship with Buffy. He just needed more time.

--

“Now who’s following whom?” Spike said into the setting sun.

“How did you know I was there?” Buffy asked, her voice bouncing softly off the back of Spike’s worn leather jacket.

“I’m the Slayer, remember? I hear everything.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Spike chuckled when she fell into step beside him. “No you won’t Summers. If you saw it, you’d still fight it.”

“I’m the Slayer, remember?” she tossed back at him. “Fighting is in my nature.”

“That’s why I can’t hate you as much as I want to.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, both aware of their ambivalent feelings for one another but too mentally drained to fight their pull towards each other. Although the revelation should have been mind boggling—and it was—it also filled them both with a strange sense of peace that couldn’t be achieved with a room full of curious friends. Their contemplative silence was filled with an agreement of a temporary truce.

“Your boyfriend really fancies me,” Spike said sarcastically. “He was sending me hot glances. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to fight me or shag me.”

“He’s not my boyfriend and he doesn’t want to shag you.”

“What’s the deal with him then? He doesn’t trust me? He’s the demon.”

“Half demon,” she corrected. “He has those visions.”

“I know. I was the victim of one of ‘those visions.’ Y’know, you’re little Sunnydale Posse forced a lot out of me today. I think it’s only fair that I know a bit ‘bout you all.” She mulled over his request for a few silent moments and decided it wasn’t so unreasonable. She told herself she was so far deep tonight, she might as well go all in.

“Well, as I was saying before your lips got a huge case of the ‘talking again’ syndrome, Angel has those visions. He can’t control them. They’re very painful.” Spike watched her eyes grow soft as she talked about Angel. Her eyes never looked that way when she was talking about him! You’d think after antagonizing her for the past few days, she’d at least hold some sort of soft spot for him! It took a lot to impress girls these days, even the ones you couldn’t stand.

She continued, “But his visions have helped us hunt down demons before. Doyle, his brother, has visions of the future variety. And Anyanka can see the feelings of the present.”

Spike tucked his hands in his jeans and thought back to the day at the beach. He damn sure hoped Anya hadn’t picked up on his lusty feelings towards Buffy. And if she did, could she blame him? He was a guy for Pete’s sake!

“What a talented family,” he remarked dryly. “What happens when their parents birth another sibling? The Powers That Be didn’t think about that, did they?” he joked. “So is that the reason you an’ Mr. Big-Arse-Forehead aren’t dating? ‘Causes he’s a demon?”

Buffy waited a moment before answering. “I don’t care that he’s a demon.”

‘She doesn’t mind that he’s a demon, ’ Spike thought. ‘But does he?’ Although Spike was curious as all hell, he’d never reveal that by asking further questions about her and her gelled-up beau. He had way too much pride for that. “I’m sure Angel and Anya aren’t the only odd ones in your bunch. Now that I think about it, Xander is a bit off.”

She shook her head. “Xander lives in normal-teenage-boy land. Now Willow…she’s another story.”

“What, she’s a child prodigy? A Pulitzer Prize winner? A debate champion?”

“A witch.”

“Which what?”

“She’s a witch.”

Spike laughed unbelievingly. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Summers. Our redheaded, sweet-tempered Willow flies brooms and does the whole double double toil and trouble routine?”

Buffy made a face at Spike’s antiquated imagery. “I think you need to lay off the watching of the Hocus Pocus. And that’s nothing, Her boyfriend is a werewolf.” She looked over to catch his reaction. She waited for Spike to tell her werewolves were dangerous, the same way that Xander and Angel had told her before.

But Spike couldn’t even be surprised anymore. He looked up at the full moon. “Oz is a bloody werewolf then. If I’da known Red liked bad boys, I’d’ve tried a go with her. She’s a cutie.”

Buffy smiled to herself and shook her head. Leave it to Spike to think with his raging hormones.

“You lot are quite the Scooby Gang aren’t you? So our English teacher. What about him?”

“He’s a Watcher-in-Training. He’s shadowed Giles for the past year, learning the ins and outs of Watcherdom.”

“Great, two Watchers on my arse. It was bad enough dealing with just Warrick.”

But he said it with a sad smile in his eyes, not that he was even aware. She watched him silently, wondering if he truly was the.. a Slayer. Spike, who made his mark by aggravating the people around him. Spike, who fell asleep through his last few classes. Spike, whose conscience told him it was fine to jump into girls’ room windows without their permission. Spike, who was rash, unreliable, vulgar, and addicted to cigarettes. Was he really what she was?

“I’m sorry about your Watcher,” she offered.

“That was over a month ago. I’m over it now.” But the furrow in his brow told a different story.

“It’s surreal, the idea that there might be a Slayer besides me. I can’t even wrap my head around it.”

“You scared, Summers?”

“Scared of what?”

“Scared that you’re not special anymore? Scared that you might be part of a Chosen Two instead of the Chosen One?” She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure what her answer even was. But he was right about one thing; she was scared.

Spike smiled to himself and decided to lighten the mood. “If it makes you feel any better pet, this changes my whole perspective on things. I never realized girls could be so strong. I thought they worked best in the kitchen.”

She punched him hard in the arm, understanding him well enough to know he was joking, and grateful that he’d changed the subject.

“Oi Summers! You hit like a guy!” he exclaimed, rubbing his arm painfully.

“Serves you right, you pig.” She looked forward, allowing a smile to pass her lips, and taking his breath away. As much as he hated to admit it, Buffy was damn beautiful. It was all he could do not to grab her by the hand, push her up against the nearest tree, and kiss her the way that poofter Angel wouldn’t dare to.

“Well Summers, something tells me we’ll be working together really soon.”

“I’ll try to avoid it at any cost.”

“Liar.”

The sun finished setting and the streetlights came on as they strolled onto Rovello Drive. It was an unusually cool night, reminding them that summer was ending and fall was taking its place. Spike peeked over at her, satisfied that her skirt fell below her knees and her tight-fitting white sweater covered up the length of her arms. Yes, he knew she could take care of herself, but a little back up never hurt anyone.

Buffy discreetly looked over at Spike, taking in his confident walk and arrogant swagger. It was the first quiet moment in which she’d observed him without a cigarette in his mouth. He seemed to be contemplating something.

“This is my stop,” Spike said once they reached his house. “I’m surprised I got here in one piece. Last time we were out this late you tried to kill me.” He began to head onto the porch and into the house but was stopped by Buffy’s voice.

“I’m sorry about the way I acted last night. When I tried to kill you. And I know people don’t usually have to apologize for things like that but with me, it comes with the territory.”

Spike turned around to look at her. There was Buffy all alone in the full moonlight, trying to apologize for something he didn’t think he’d ever get an apology for. She looked so lonely, extending her unspoken truce, and in the process, admitting that he was a Slayer.

“I don’t know how to deal with this. And I can’t promise you I’ll ever learn how. I’m used to being the only One. I’m used to being alone.” He felt it in his chest. Her loneliness. It ached somewhere in his heart and burned through his shirt. He put a hand to his chest to stop the sudden pain. She looked like she wanted to say more. But she turned around and left before he could answer her.

The poet in him wanted to shout out to her that with him, she’d never have to feel so lonely again. He stopped himself. Tomorrow he’d feel different.

The pain faded. He sighed and entered the house, climbing the stairs to his room. After a long shower, he got dressed and glanced over at Buffy’s window. The lights were off. He switched off his own and climbed into bed, but couldn’t go to sleep after ten minutes of rolling around.

He got up and did some pushups to get the loose energy out of his system. A few minutes of that didn’t help. He took a deep breath and looked over at his study, then moved towards it and pulled out a drawer. He stared at the small, red wooden box sitting in the compartment. Hesitantly, he reached out for it, grabbing it with both hands so it didn’t fall.

Spike opened the box, revealing the sphere. He hadn’t touched it since the night Warrick died because he was right scared of the thing. He examined the crystal ball and slowly took it from its resting place in the box. Quickly, he felt his body warm up the same way it did that night. His body burned with desire, pulsating with a bliss he’d felt only once before. With a strength he didn’t know he possessed, he dropped the humming sphere back in its box. The ball, which had begun to burn red, turned clear again.

Spike breathed heavily and tucked the box back into its compartment. That was a powerful sphere and he would find out what it was. He wasn’t sure if he trusted Buffy and the rest of them enough to tell them he hadn’t actually destroyed it. If Warrick died protecting it, he’d sure as hell make sure it stayed safe.

He climbed back into bed, not realizing he’d missed Buffy’s green eyes shining from the bright red crystal ball.

--