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This is my first story. I would enjoy any feedback you have to offer. :) Thank you for the awesome beta job Puddinhead!
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The wheels of her shiny, red convertible made loud crunching sounds as she veered right into the old run-down trailer park that bordered the outskirts of Sunnydale, much to the chagrin of many. Buffy sped through the gravel lot, unconcerned about the way the rocks were clanging in her wheel wells and ruining her custom paint job. Not being seen by prying eyes was of more concern than her father’s wrath after he surveyed the damage, if he even noticed at all. There weren’t many things that caught his attention and even fewer that held it.

She pulled into the gravel drive of an old, decaying trailer at the back of the lot and followed the drive around back. The yellowed vinyl was peeling off the sides and the smell of rotting food permeated from a nearby dumpster. She didn’t care. She wasn’t here for the accommodations.

As Buffy quickly made her way up to the front door, Anne Pratt exited-- the screen doors unholy screeching only stopped as it slammed and settled against the frame. Anne couldn’t have been more than thirty-three, but she had the body of a twenty-two year old all soft curves and sex. Her face was heavily made up. Her eyes grew cold as she looked Buffy over and, taking the cigarette from her lips, she exhaled smoke and tossed her head toward the trailer, “He’s inside. I’m going to the store. Be gone by the time I get back.”

Buffy knew Spike’s mother didn’t like her. Their runs ins were few and ranged from volatile to almost pleasant. Sometimes insults were hurled, sometimes things were thrown and then there were the times when Annes behavior was almost amiable.

Anne Pratt was unpredictable. Buffy guessed most drug addicts were.

Not bothering to knock, Buffy let herself in and dropped her keys on the counter before making her way back to Spike’s bedroom. He was sitting on his twin size bed, back against the wall, unnaturally bleached blonde hair an unruly mess of tangled curls indicating that he hadn’t showered yet. She didn’t care. She unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor. He didn’t look up from the book he had perched in his lap, glasses hanging precariously low off the bridge of his perfect nose.

She swept her hair onto her shoulder before she reached around and unhooked the clasp of her bra, letting it fall off her arms, down beside her dress. He still hadn’t looked at her so she crossed the small room, not a feat-- it only took a step or two, and gently pulled the book out of his hands, marking his place with the bookmark on his nightstand before setting it down.

He glanced at her face briefly before he allowed his eyes to travel her body and she didn’t waste any time. She tugged him down flat along the length of the bed and was satisfied to notice his black plaid pajama pants were already tenting. She made quick work of those, not bothering with formalities or foreplay. This had been going on for long enough he didn’t even try to discuss trivial things with her. He never asked for more and she never offered it. It was just a bit of cold comfort in a harsh, unforgiving world. An escape from the status quo, the invisible restraints society had placed on them both since birth. His bonds were different than hers, but both sets of shackles were alike, neither set had any give.

She climbed up onto the bed and placed her knees on either side of his hips. He palmed her breasts and began murmuring silly, dirty things about her tits. She wished he wouldn’t, when he was quite it made things so much easier. She didn’t want to hear his stupid husky voice or the way he murmured her silly name and made it sound like something exotic and beautiful in that stupid British accent. This thing between them was supposed to be about acting out, breaking the rules. She cursed her traitorous heart as its beats quickened with his praise. No one had ever been so eager to praise her.

In a hurry to get him inside of her and make a quick getaway, she scooted her damp panties aside and gripped him in her hand. She lowered herself in one swift motion and they were off to the races, grappling for control, each of them eager to please the other just for the smug satisfaction of knowing that they could crack the frosty exterior of their exchanges if just for a moment. The exhilaration that came with knowing that there was something dangerous and formidable about the two of them together in these stolen moments outside the realm of normal and the stigma society placed on them.

He’d pushed her onto her back and was making her mumble sweet incoherent sentence fragments as he drove himself into her over and over. He was careful to keep his sweet nothings superficial,

‘So bloody gorgeous.’

‘Fuck baby, you feel so good.’

‘Ungh! Ungh! Ungh!”

There had been one awkward moment, the first time they had sex. He got drunk on the moment and before he knew what he was doing he’d given his hand away. Whispering reverently about how much he’d always wanted her and how much it meant that she was with him then. He thought he wouldn’t see her again after that. He thought that surely he’d ruined it, but she came back, guarded, but back. He made certain to keep his gob shut from the on. He knew better. Knew the rules and how the game was played. Knew his place was beneath her, not beside her. Knew that he was lucky to get even this tiny part of her, but he also knew that this small piece of her wouldn’t be enough for him forever.

She and him - they broke the rules. That’s what their entire relationship was: one big broken rule. And if she seriously believed that they could go on this way forever, that he could live off the crumbs she shoved his way and that they would satisfy him forever, she was even more delusional than he figured.

The morsels she’d been spoon-feeding him for years were enough to keep hunger at bay for a time but as their relationship dragged on, his appetite for her expanded to monstrous proportions. The time was coming nigh when their entire way of being would break down and crumble into dust because the same old crumbs weren’t going to be able to stave off his hunger for much longer.

He could feel his need to posses her heart and soul grow and pulse beneath his skin like a living, breathing thing. He delighted in her incredible body and romance be damned—scientifically they fit each other like two halves of the same whole. But physicality alone would only pacify him for a time.

“Spike I’m-- it’s—oh, I’m gonna!”

“Cumcumcum,” he chanted. And she obeyed and fell apart in his arms. He was quick to follow her, pulling out and spending himself on her belly-- even though she had assured him several times that she was taking the pill. There was no need to take unnecessary chances. No need to take such a risk over a few mere seconds of prolonged pleasure. He knew first-hand what being brought into the world by accident was like and he’d do his damndest to avoid putting anyone else in that situation. Well, his damndest as long as it didn’t require him wearing a condom. He couldn’t feel a damn thing through those things.

He sighed and flopped onto his back. Buffy quickly got up and made her way into the bathroom in the hall, unashamed of her nudity. It took a couple months before she warmed up enough to let him see her this fearless way. It would have taken longer but his unabashed worship at the alter of body put her fears and doubts to rest. He loved knowing that she was comfortable around him. It gave him something akin to hope, as dangerous as that was.

She walked back into the room and dressed, then leaned against his dresser. She smirked as she looked him over, eyes stopping to admire certain aspects longer than others. He flexed the muscle of his dwindling erection making it wave at her.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a pig Spike.”

“It’s Sunday,” he said.

She folded her arms over her chest and tossed her hair nonchalantly. “Yeah, so?”

“You never come on Sundays, not that I’m complaining.” He smirked. “I love every time you cum.” Dragging the last word out so there was no mistaking his double meaning. “Don’t you have Sunday School or something? What would Mummy say if she knew you were procreating on the Lord’s day?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Remind me again why I put up with you?”

“You love it. Not knowing what’s going to come out of my mouth next. I excite you.” He leaned off the edge of the bed and grabbed his pants shoving one leg in after the other before approaching her all cock and swagger, pajama pants riding low on his dangerously sharp hipbones.

He didn’t look like a teenager. There was nothing awkward or childish about him. He was all long lean muscles and sharp hard angles and she wondered briefly just how many other women had known the pleasure of his company. And she did mean women. Spike wasn’t one to bother himself with little girls.

He continued. “And you love putting your hands all over my hot, tight, little body. Say, ‘Yes Spike.’”

Buffy let out a short bark of a laugh. “I should go. It’s Sunday as you were so quick to remind me and I’ll be missed soon. We’ve got some dinner thing to attend tonight.” She added dryly, “I’m literally shaking with excitement.”

He smiled and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture that was uncharacteristically intimate for them. “Go decorate your Daddy’s arm and charm the masses with your cool whit and admirable sense of decorum.”

She pushed away from him quickly and he followed her to the front door. She grabbed her keys off the counter. “Thanks for… well. Um, thanks.” They still struggled with the goodbye part. Most often she came over at night while his mom worked graveyard and she’d stay ‘till he fell asleep, which was never long after sex. These awkward daytime goodbyes made him feel dirty in a way her sneaking off in the middle of the night goodbyes never did.

At least he didn’t have to watch her leave without so much as a fond word then. There were no goodbye kisses or hugs. They hardly ever kissed and when he’d tried she was always quick to direct him somewhere—anywhere— else. He guessed that kissing was to close to liking him. Too personal, too revealing. Or maybe she just didn’t like the way he kissed.

He ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well you too. Guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

There was an awkward pause before she piped up, “Welp! Guess I’ll see you then.” And then she was gone with the banging of the screen door as it slammed shut behind her. He watched as she jogged around back to her red convertible Mustang and slid into the driver’s seat like butter. He kept watching as she tore down the gravel drive, past the other trailers, taillights blinking as she stopped at the sign and turned left out of the park.

He bummed one of his mother’s cigarettes and took himself outside to sit on one of their patio chairs, which was precisely where he was when his mother returned. Her trip to the “store” had really meant “dealer” as in, “I’m going to go to my dealer spend our grocery money on something I can get high with.” His mom hadn’t bought groceries in years.

“She gone?” Mom asked, cigarette dangling from her lips as she slammed the door to their old pickup. Her eyes were shinning bright and she looked good, happy-- high.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“At least I’m a paid whore.” She sucker-punched.

He stood up quickly and turned to go back inside. “Fuck you.”

She laughed and hurried after him. “Don’t be such a punk kid.” She nudged his hip with hers. “You know that you’re nothing but a flesh and blood dildo for that rich little bitch.” She said it with a smile, her voice laced with humor and not a trace of menace.

He shook his head. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Oh kiss my ass, prick,” she said as she slapped her jean-clad rear-end. “I keep telling you to drop that girl.” She grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with tap water from the sink. “She’s not good for you. You can do better.”

He barked out a short humorless laugh. “My God, the drugs have fried your brain. You remember who you’re talking about? Name one fucking person you can think of that’s better than Buffy Summers!”

She smiled slowly. “William Pratt.”



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AN: My Anne Pratt is NOT like the Anne Pratt in the series. Think girls gone wild, smoking body, hottest chick you've ever seen, girl version of Spike mixed with a little Faith.

AN: Thank you to those of you who took the time to review. I struggled a bit before I posted the first chapter here. I've been such an avid admirer of so many of yours for so long it was a bit intimidating to post. My welcome has been so warm that my posting jitters have mostly subsided. Thank you all for being so kind to a new writer.
As always :) I would love to hear your thoughts, if you feel so inclined.

*Thank you puddinhead for your wonderful beta talents! Any mistakes in this chapter are mine.
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2.
There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.

Oscar Wilde

When he was twelve, Spike’s mom came to visit him in London. She’d moved to the states many years before and he’d been discarded and left to live with his maternal grandparents. Anne Pratt couldn’t be bothered with trivial things like making sure he had enough to eat, or enrolling him in school, or sheltering him from her less than savvy relations with anything good-looking and male.

Spike, who’d gone by his given name, William, as a child was rather shy and bookish. He excelled in staying out of the way and making himself invisible. From an early age he’d known that something was wrong with his mother. That not all mothers stayed out and partied all night. That mothers weren’t supposed to need your help making meals, or drawing baths, or undressing when they were too wasted to stand. Something told him that mothers weren’t supposed to get wasted at all.

When he was six, his grandparents petitioned for custody. He wasn’t sure what took them so long, but was relieved when the courts awarded them with guardianship. He’d never forgotten the look on his mom’s face when he’d stood up in court and asked to be placed with her parents. It was like he’d struck her with the ultimate betrayal. Big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks as he listed all the ways she’d get sloshed and described in detail precisely the best way to smoke a bowl.

She couldn’t look him the eye for years after that. It was like she’d been awakened and for the first time had seen herself for what she was: a very sick, very broken woman. Even a six-year-old could see with perfect clarity that if he stayed with her he’d sink too.

When he was twelve and she came for one of her all too infrequent visits, he had forgotten about how bad it’d been. After all, it was a child’s natural tendency to forgive their parents anything. There was this deep yearning within his soul to be loved by this woman who’d born him. It was as if she’d been clued in to his secret desire. She began to profess her love for him she’d say it when she’d drop by or when they talked on the phone. She’d say the words and hug him and kiss his face but it felt like lip service.

When she offered to take him back to America with her because she couldn’t bear to be without him, for the first time in a very very long time, maybe ever, he felt wanted. It was a spectacular feeling that blinded him to her other less than desirable traits.

Spike spoke with his grandparents about his decision to leave with his mother but they declined his request to relocate. Even though he understood their concerns, his twelve-year-old brain reckoned that since he was the one who decided to live with them in the first place, he should be the one who got to decide when to leave. Unfortunately, they did not see eye-to-eye on this matter. His grandfather told his mother very firmly to leave and not come back until she got herself cleaned up.

Instead of the screaming match Spike had expected, the strangest, most wonderful thing he could have ever imagined happened. His mother checked herself into a rehab facility and stayed there for a year. After she left the facility she petitioned for custody of him and before he knew it he was on a plane to America. With his healthy, sober mother.

Unfortunately, her sobriety didn’t last long and Spike realized that she had never intended to stay clean forever, just for long enough. She relapsed before they’d been in the states a month and there he was… stuck with what he wanted.

At thirteen he began to slide into a downward swoop that he knew could only be depression. He was angry, too. Angry for being an idiot and believing that she could change, angry that he’d chosen this for himself, angry that the adults that were put in place to protect him had relinquished him so readily. His thoughts began to slip down, down, down until they hit “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” territory, which was a scary place for a thirteen-year-old living with drugs addicts and prostitutes.

One afternoon, shortly after his fourteenth birthday, he met this girl in the park. She was a runaway and made it seem fun and exciting, so he went AWOL for awhile. He packed his bag and he left his mother while she sat talking to herself on the couch, 3.2 seconds from morphine induced paradise.

The girl’s name was Dru and she, come to figure, was just a broken, younger version of his mother. He left her soon enough (the devil that you know…etc), but not before she’d left her mark.

He’d gone though a stage while he was with her, a stage completely influenced by her, where he’d been convinced that if he could alter himself in little ways, change himself to be what she needed, then they’d be fixed and he’d be happy. But he learned the hard way that he couldn’t fix anyone. That there was a deeper healing that had to take place in broken people, a healing that happened on a cellular, spiritual level. A level he couldn’t even hope to touch.

But he let Dru try to fix his broken places, and he tried to be the thing that fixed hers, until it all just fell apart and crumbled in their hands. They both lay hurt and bleeding at the end.

She was the first girl he’d ever loved, if you could call it love. It certainly didn’t hold to the definition of love in the more traditional sense. It felt more like needing or craving.
But sometimes he was sure he loved her, just as he was sure at times she loved him; it just wasn’t healthy or whole or healing. And just like anything soul-damning you had to claw your way out or surrender.
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When Spike was fifteen, he went back home to a mother who hardly recognized him but welcomed him with open arms anyway. He decided to choose to be happy. He finally realized that this was as good as it was going to get for him and he might as well have fun with the hand he was dealt, whether it be aces or a bust. His mother admired the changes she saw in him, remarking, “You go away and come back to me a man. Let’s order pizza.” At least he thought it was a compliment.

After his return, his mother let him keep his “punk kid” look, as she was fond of calling it, and let him smoke her cigarettes. Unfit as she was, she never let him abuse any substance that was more lethal than smokes or peroxide.

They came to this crossroads in their relationship where he realized that the chance of his mother ever stepping up to play the adult in their relationship wasn’t at all likely. He would never be her first priority she had cast that role already. He was done going without electricity and running water. He was tired of going hungry because there was never any food in the house. His mother was a slave to her first priority, her all consuming addiction.

He got an after school job at an auto shop in their small town where he received under the table payment which he used to keep them in groceries and rent. His mother continued to do what she always did, selling whatever she had at hand for drug money, which he refused to think on, and that’s how they made it.

As he pulled into the parking lot of Sunnydale High he checked his reflection in the rearview mirror and flicked his cigarette butt out the window. Some days he felt too damn old to be merely a high school senior.

“Hey you English bastard! The fuck!? Thought we were supposed to go to Willy’s last night. You totally bailed on me, prick.” Declan, one of his only friends had jet black hair and bore a striking resemblance to Mick Jagger. Deck accosted him as he slammed the door of his junk yard classic 1957 DeSoto.

“Suck my cock, Yank.” He smiled fondly at the taller man. “Your weekend as shitty as mine?”

“Didn’t have to be as shitty if you would have shown up. I sat at a table all by myself for 20 minutes looking like some loser who got stood up before I realized you weren’t coming. Trouble in paradise?” They walked together toward the school building ignoring the majority of students who milled around them.

“Must have just slipped my mind, Deck.” The truth was Anne Pratt had gotten herself into yet another scrape with Sunnydale’s finest and had needed a ride and bail money. But he’d be damned before he uttered a bad word about the woman.

Spike sniffed and thumbed his nose. In mock seriousness, he goaded, “Anyway m’sure you didn’t stay lonely for long. Wasn’t Kelsey working last night? That woman can’t stay away from you.”

“Yeah, yeah, she was there. She’s also old enough to be my mother.”

“When has that ever stopped you before?”

“Point.” Declan laughed. “You see Faith this weekend? She was looking for you-- said she’d dropped by your house Friday night but you weren’t home… something about you being a poor ass boyfriend. Said some other things too but I value our friendship too much to repeat them.”

Spike let out a low moan. “I’m not her bloody boyfriend and the chit needs to stop coming by my home. Don’t want her pestering my mother or snooping around.”

Declan stopped and gave him a funny look. “What the hell is wrong with you? Faith Lehane has to be one of, if not the, most gorgeous girls in our class. She puts out without needing an emotional attachment and she wants to put out for you! Now I know you don’t give it up easy, man. You have ‘standards’,” he air quoted with an eye roll, “whatever those are. But an eighteen–year-old guy doesn’t say ‘no thank you’ to her. No one says ‘no thank you’ to her!”

“Well maybe it’s time that someone did. She really needs to stop telling people that we’re together. We’re not together. I don’t need any more crazy women in my life.”

They made their way into their first period English class and as he passed Buffy, a vision in pink and cream sitting in the middle of the second row, he didn’t even spare her a glance. They were strangers in this place - only acknowledging one another if they got into one of their knock down, drag out fights in the cafeteria or a harsh stage whispered argument in the library. There was that time she punched him square in the nose, right in front of everyone, in the center of the quad. He’d bled like a stuck pig and he’d never been so turned on in his life.

So maybe they weren’t strangers in this place, but they definitely weren’t friends. By some unspoken rule, they could never be friends. There was a hierarchy in their high school much like there was a hierarchy in their town. She was the shining star that graced the top of the pyramid and he wasn’t even sure he was apart of the pyramid at all.

They had little contact throughout the rest of the day, much like every other day. They only had two periods together and lunch. It wasn’t until after the final bell as he was making his way with Declan through the quad, on the way to the parking lot, that his ears perked up as they always did when she was in the vicinity and he caught the tail end of what she was saying.

“I said no Parker.” Her voice was a fervent whisper.

When he glanced her way and noticed the way she was struggling to free her arm from Parker’s firm grasp, Spike’s feelings were hard to describe. There was no thought - should he or shouldn’t he intervene? Without waiting to hear another word, he cut Declan off mid-sentence as he veered left in her direction, not stopping until he reached Parker Abrhams. Spike gave the boy a good hard shove that sent him sprawling on his ass.

“Spike,” Buffy shouted, clearly upset. Didn’t matter. He was going to kick the shit out of this motherfucker.

“Think the lady doesn’t want your mangy hands on her, you disgusting pillock,” he said, all cool as a cucumber as he lifted Parker by the front of his t-shirt and knocked him hard across the jaw.

“Spike!” Buffy tore at his right arm with both hands, trying to pull him away from Parker as his left cocked back for another go. “Stop it! You stop it right now. Do you hear me?”

Of course he heard her; she was screeching like a banshee right in his ear. He just didn’t care because you don’t ever EVER lay your hands on a lady after she tells you not to and you certainly don’t ever EVER lay your hands on Buffy Summers PERIOD. And if you broke either one of those rules, Spike would break your face… another one of those unspoken rules.

Declan jumped in and captured his left arm on the downward swing so it barely grazed Parker’s rapidly swelling face. There Spike was - caught between the two people that knew him best in the world - when a teacher bellowed from the school’s front steps, “What’s going on down there??”

“You need to go, now!” Buffy commanded as she dropped his arm and knelt next to Parker, touching his face all reverently as the crowd around them grew.

Spike looked on, aghast. Feeling betrayed and confused, he stood there like an idiot staring while Buffy tended to her abuser’s wound. Declan tried futilely to pull him away.

“So help me if you don’t get your ass out of here right now you’re going to get suspended. Leave now, you idiot!” Buffy’s tone and eyes brooked no argument

Spike finally let himself be led away by Declan. By the time they reached the parking lot, they were running like the hounds of hell were at their boots. Spike did a Dukes of Hazard slide across the hood of his DeSoto as Declan climbed into the passenger’s seat.

Settling behind the wheel, he gunned the engine and threw the car in drive. The DeSoto screeched out of the parking lot and down the street on their way to the outskirts of town as Spike and Declan hooted and hollered like bandits

Spike laughed. The entire debacle was all so incredibly ridiculous he couldn’t help himself. He had raced to Buffy Summers’ rescue like some lovesick pup and all the stupid girl could think about was making sure the asshole he was trying to save her from was okay. What a loony bitch!

Declan was shooting his friend nervous glances and Spike realized that his laughter had taken on kind of a desperate awful sound. He cut himself off abruptly.

“I can’t believe you hit Parker Abrahms! What the hell happened man? One minute we’re walking and the next you’re beating the shit out of the guy.”

“Buffy didn’t want him to touch her and he did it anyway,” Spike muttered, sinking a little lower in his seat. The adrenaline that coursed through his system was fading fast in light of the situation, embarrassment rapidly multiplying to fill its place.

“Buffy didn’t look like she minded his attention there at the end. You know, when she was yelling at you for hitting her boyfriend.” Declan smirked.

“Parker has never been and will never be Buffy’s boyfriend!” he replied vehemently.

Declan chuckled at this, “Man, oh man! How come I never noticed? You’ve got the hots for Summers! Is that why you wont bone Faith? Everyone knows her and Buffy don’t get a long so well. Afraid you might be cast out of Summers’ good graces?” Declan thought that last part was absolutely hilarious and burst out laughing.

“You’re a fucking prick, Deck,” Spike grouched as he sped down Main Street.

Oh, come on, man. Since when have you ever given two shits about that self-righteous, uptight little bitch? Who cares if Parker holds her a little longer than she likes? She’s the one who let that snake get close in the first place.” Declan reached down and started fiddling with the radio. “And don’t think your lack of denial of the serious crime committed here has escaped my notice.”

“She’s just a girl.”

“A girl you’re going to get expelled over all because another boy was touching her arm!” Declan was quick to point out.

“Still, just a girl and I would have done the same for any other girl. It’s about the injustice, them being too weak to defend themselves, damsels in distress-- all that rot. To think that I have some secret crush on Buffy Summers is flat out crazy and just shows how little you know me.” Spike scoffed.

Declan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right man.”

It wasn’t a lie. He didn’t have a crush on Buffy Summers. What he felt for her was so complex it went far beyond something as simple as that. Spike turned up the volume on the radio and the Sex Pistols screamed the tumultuous thoughts right out of his head.

I'm excited and nervous, to share, all at the same time.
This chapter has been my baby. If you ever review one of my chapters let it be this one.
This is the first time in this story where you really get a lot of meat with our two favorite characters interactions.

A special thanks, as always, to puddinhead for taking the time to correct grammar, sentence structure, and give gentle instruction on how I can improve this little story of mine. Your time and thorough critique are invaluable and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
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She was going to kill him, for real this time. Buffy violently chucked her workout bag into the backseat of her cherry red Mustang then kicked her front tire and stamped her foot for good measure. She climbed behind the wheel and began to drive.

From day one, Spike had been a pain in her ass. He’d transferred to Sunnydale High when she was a freshman. She’d been sitting in her third period English class, studiously not paying attention, when the Principal escorted a new student in. A hush fell over the room as all eyes were drawn to the new kid.

Safety pins held his shirt together and his threadbare, black jeans had holes in the knees. Buffy felt her eyes grow wide as she took in the blinding white mess of curls that occupied the top of his scalp and she made a note to ask where he got his dye job- it was fabulous, a tad Billy Idol-esqe but fabulous none-the-less.

He looked a lot like trouble, if trouble could look like a fifteen year old boy. Mrs. Gibson, English teacher extraordinaire, asked him to introduce himself.

“I’m Spike. Spike Pratt,” he said all nonchalant and the class began to whisper.

“Very funny, Mr. Pratt. Class, this is William Pratt and he will be joining us for the rest of the school year. Would you please tell the class three things about yourself, William?” Mrs. Gibson folded her arms across her chest, perched a wide hip on her desk, and gave him her “go ahead” smile.

“Sure.” He smirked all sickeningly sweet and Buffy’s tummy did this flip-flop thing that she didn’t know tummies did. “First!” He clapped his hands together and began to strut back and forth in front of the class, “It’s Spike. Spike Pratt.” The boys in the class began to snicker. “Second! I think school’s a waste of time and third--”

“That’s quite enough Mr. Pratt!” Mrs. Gibson spoke up, mild irritation tainting her usually sweet voice. “I would hate for us to get off on the wrong foot, wouldn’t you?”

Several seconds passed and the class began to titter as Spike continued to stand there silent, smiling like an idiot at Mrs.Gibson.

Eventually their teacher sighed, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“Buffy, please raise your hand,” Mrs. Gibson addressed her and Buffy debated the merits of pretending like she didn’t hear her.

“Buffy? What’s that then, some kind of poodle?” Spike asked, looking straight at her, stupid smile still in place, as the class burst out into laughter.

Face flaming she gave him her nastiest glare and replied, “No, you idiot, a poodle’s the thing that crawled up on top of your head and died.”

Her remark earned a collective “oooohhhh” from the class and several “buuuurn”s. Spikes cheeks reddened and he ducked his head as Mrs. Gibson chastised them both and directed him to the middle of the classroom, to the empty desk right beside Buffy’s. Buffy was instructed to allow “Mr. Pratt” to follow along in her English book.

Scooting her chair closer to his, she placed her book on his desk and pointed to the relevant section. He didn’t give any indication that he even realized she was there. Never one to be ignored, Buffy rolled her eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “Look, I don’t think your hair looks like a poodle. Radioactive, maybe. Poodle? Not so much,” she whispered as Mrs. Gibson continued her lecture.

He leered at her. “Oh! You think you hurt my feelings?” He grinned. “Poodle, that’s precious!”

She scowled. “First, my name is Buffy, Buffy Summers. Second, I think that you are a waste of time and third--”

“Ms. Summers is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Mrs. Gibson stopped lecturing and all eyes went to Buffy.

She slouched down in her chair, ducked her head, and mumbled, “No ma’am.”

As their Freshman year progressed, Spike only confirmed her initial impression of him. He was arrogant, egotistical, and had a general lack of fashion sense that rivaled 80’s hair bands. Buffy wasn’t ashamed to admit that where he came from factored into it too.

Popularity was like a curse that plagued beautiful, well-to-do people with a constant need for the approval of their peers. The approval of others was like water to Buffy’s soul.

In layman’s terms Spike Pratt = social pariah.

Spike wasn’t a complete loser. He was actually quite popular, but he didn’t run in her circle. That alone didn’t make him off-limits, but factor in his crazy mother, his trailer park upbringing, and his harsh exterior—signed, sealed, delivered a glowing neon sign that read “Keep Away Buffy Summers.”

It was Sophomore year when Buffy began to suspect there was more to Spike than first met the eye. Mr. Leonard began a unit on English poetry in the 1800’s, wild horses couldn’t drag Spike away from that class.

Buffy watched with interest as Spike reached into his backpack and pulled out a notebook and a number two pencil. He set the notebook gently on his desk, and began to take notes. He’d squint as he tried to read the black board and every few minutes or so he’d nod and make this “mhm” noise in his throat like he was agreeing with their teacher.

A bad boy with a knack for English? Did he rescue puppies and volunteer in his spare time too? Buffy didn’t know what to make of him.

She watched him closely after that. She saw how hard he worked, how hard he tried. He threw himself into his studies and kept out of trouble, opting to be more of a loner than adhere to a social cluster. He got along with their teachers and spent most of his lunches in the library. He refused to vie for anyone’s approval.

Buffy felt like she’d been conned. The more she observed the more she was convinced that Spikes bad boy exterior was fashioned to deflect others from realizing what a closet nerd he was. Normally she wouldn’t have paid so much attention to anyone who was so far removed from her circle but Spike was like a flame and she guessed that made her the moth.

For years all their encounters were as volatile and combative as their first. She never passed up a chance to humiliate or ridicule him, she always got the feeling that he was amused by her more than anything. Then Junior year happened and everything changed.

“Oh my gaaah!!” Harmony Kendall whined as half the cheer squad carried her to Buffy’s mustang. “I can’t even believe this is happening to me! It’s broken! I just know it is!”

“Good God Harmony! You’re going to be fine. It’s not even swollen, you big fat baby.” Cordelia Chase strolled along next to the group of cheerleaders inspecting her nails and rolling her eyes. The Chase’s were the second wealthiest family in Sunnydale, second only to the Summers.

“Everyone just calm down.” Buffy slid into the driver’s seat. “I’ll take you to get it checked out. Your Mom is going to meet us at the hospital. I’m sure everything is going to be just fine.”

Buffy was beyond elated when Harmony’s mother’s arrived. Back-tracking her way through the ER, she almost didn’t see him sitting there in the corner of the waiting room; head down between his knees, shoulders shaking.

She couldn’t have controlled her feet even if she’d wanted to. In a heart-beat she had crossed the room and was at his side, feeling awkward and nervous. “Spike?”

His head shot up and he quickly wiped at his eyes. “What the hell are you doing here, Summers?” he growled.

“Are you crying?” she asked with a terrifying amount of concern.

“No, I’m not crying, you stupid bint.” He stood so fast he almost knocked her over. “Why are you here?” Spike gave her the once-over. Noticing she was in her cheer uniform he quickly began to scan the waiting area.

“I dropped off one of the girls, she got hurt during practice. I was just leaving when I saw you-”

“Well far be it from me to stop you. Go on, scamper off.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, then sat down and angled his body away from her. His face was a red splotchy mess.

“Did something happen?” she asked softly as she sat down beside him and folded her fidgeting hands in her lap.

He heaved an exasperated sigh and ran his shaking hands through his hair. “Do you care?”

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate.

He turned back toward her, his beseeching blue eyes made her shiver. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “But I know that when I saw you sitting here I wanted to come sit beside you.” She was surprised at her transparency and blamed the tear tracks on his cheeks.

She didn’t know what to make of his expression. He looked a little startled, maybe a little unsettled, definitely a little pleased. He cleared his throat and schooled his face in an expression of indifference, one she was much better acquainted with. “It’s my mum. She OD’ed. I found her on the couch when I got up this morning.” He hastened to add, “And if you go spreading that around school-”

She shook her head. “I won’t. I wouldn’t.”

“They won’t let me see her. I’ve been sitting here for hours.” He let out an amused chuckled. “She’s such a stupid bitch. I told her this would happen.”

“Is there someone I can call for you?” she asked quietly.

He laughed like she’d told a joke. “Nah. Thanks though. Don’t look at me with those sad eyes. We’ve been fine by ourselves for this long.”

“This doesn’t look fine to me, Spike. This looks like you sitting all alone while you wait to hear news on a really hard situation.” She reached to squeeze his hand but he batted it away and stood quickly.

“You don’t know anything about it! What do you suggest I do, all-knowing Buffy? Please enlighten me on how I should handle this ‘situation’!”

“I didn’t mean-”

“No, you did mean.” He collapsed back in his chair and ran his hands through his messy hair. “Please, just go. You’re the last person I want here.”

All that accompanied her quick get away was a sharp intake of breath. She was surprised that her feet took her in the opposite direction of her car. Spotting a couple vending machines at the end of the hall she spent all her lose change on soda and chips. Arms full, she made her way back to the waiting room.

She struggled toward him and laid her junk food offering on the chair beside him. “You should probably eat something.”

He looked puzzled as she popped the top of a Diet Coke and sat down beside him. “You’re a total asshole and your manners are poorer than my little sister’s, which is seriously saying something. I’m going to sit here because if I don’t I’m going to spend the rest of my Saturday wondering if your mom’s okay and I just can’t handle that kind of stress.”

He let out a short barking laugh. “Have you ever met my mother?”

“Well… no.”

“Then why, might I ask, do you care what happens to her?”

“Because I have to meet the woman who willingly lives with such a colossal douche bag.” She smiled and took another sip of her coke.

Spike threw his head back and laughed. Buffy thought he looked like a little kid and smiled smugly when he grabbed a bag of Doritos and inclined his head toward her in gratitude.

It wasn’t long until the nurse invited them back to see Anne. Buffy was surprised when Spike lied and told the nurse that she was his sister. She guessed he just needed the support of someone else’s presence when he saw his mom.

The nurse directed them through a maze of hallways, to room 317. She motioned them through the door and told them that she’d give them a little privacy, before she left.

Spike’s mom was sleeping. Buffy hovered awkwardly near the door as Spike rushed to his mother’s side. He stopped just short of touching her and let his hands hang limply at his sides as he stared at her, drinking the woman in with his eyes.

Buffy didn’t know what to expect: a thin, diseased, old junkie, a shriveled up old woman? But by God she was like a real life Aphrodite. Her pale long blonde hair spilled over her shoulders in careless perfection; she had a flawless symmetrical face with sharp cheekbones, shaped eyebrows, and luscious red lips. She was like Spike with breasts and Buffy wondered if you had to make some kind of deal with Satan to look like that. It didn’t seem fair.

“How old is she?” Buffy couldn’t help herself.

“Thirty-two.”

She wanted to ask more questions but figured now wasn’t the time. Spike seeing her inner struggle threw her a bone. “She was fifteen when she had me.” His eyes were glued to his mothers face. “Whether or not I was the worst or the greatest thing she ever did still remains to be seen.”

“Was she in love?” Buffy asked quietly, meaning, ‘Was she in love with your Father? Is that why she threw away her childhood at fifteen and saddled herself with a kid? Where is he anyway? Who is he anyway?’ but she didn’t want to step on his toes or offend him.

“Isn’t that the only reason anyone’d risk damnation?” He sighed. “Her and I, we have this in common.”

Why did he always have to make things so complex? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was he in love with someone? Was it someone she knew?

Unable to voice any of these questions she simply said, “Oh.”

Then the nurse quietly poked her head in and said, “You can stay if you’d like but she’s heavily sedated. I’d recommend going home to get some rest and coming back in the morning.”

“Thank you, a shower and a change of clothes sounds good.” He winked at Buffy and grabbed her hand as they made their way back toward the waiting room. She let him hold in until they were outside in the parking lot. The hot bright California sun shed some light on the fact that she should not be walking hand in hand with Spike Pratt out in the open. Anyone could see. If Spike was offended, he didn’t let on.

“Well, I guess this is the end of the line. Thanks for sitting with me Buffy.” Spike began to walk away from the parked cars and toward the road.

“Wait. Do you need a ride?” Buffy told herself that she was just being nice; it wasn’t because the further he walked away from her the colder she felt.

“Nah, it’s a nice day. I could use the walk. Thanks though.” He waved and continued down the sidewalk.

She let him go and spent the rest of the evening trying to forget the way his hand seemed to fit perfectly in hers.

Buffy was a wreck on Monday after Spike didn’t show up for school so she told the school nurse she got her period and asked for a note excusing her from her last two classes. Pass in hand, she left school. Torn between looking for Spike at the hospital or his house she opted to try the trailer park first.

Never having been to his house, she was relieved when she spotted his Desoto parked in the gravel drive of an old run down trailer. She pulled in behind the junker and tried not to scrunch her nose at the smell permeating from the dumpster that stood upwind of the house.

Gathering her courage, she knocked and didn’t have to wait long.

“Buffy?” Spike looked completely shocked to see her. “What the hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you in school?”

“What are you, my father? I could ask you the same question.” She tried not to notice the way his jeans clung to the v of his hips and the nakedness of his chest. Holy abs, Batman!

Spike squeezed himself out the door and closed it behind him. “Yeah, but I asked you first.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and she tried her best not to let her eyes wander to the place of his anatomy that his hands were currently framing rather nicely.

“You didn’t show up for class, you always show up for class. I thought you were murdered or something.” Buffy felt silly for coming.

Spike grinned that big bad wolf grin of his. “Don’t tell me you were worried about me. Goldilocks. You’ll get my heart all a-flutter.”

She smiled and shoved him, “Worried? No. Hopeful of the above mentioned scenario, yes.”

Spike heaved a mock sigh, “Quit playing games with my heart, Summers. Your words they’re like poetry and they make me feel all tingly inside.”

“Masochist.” She folded her arms underneath her breasts, she knew they looked nicer that way.

“Kitten, are you flirting with me?” He leaned back against the house, pulled out a lighter and a crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds, and lit up.

“I flirt and you learn poetry: it’s clear who will get into heaven, isn’t it?” She twirled her hair and batted her eyes. “Speaking of boring school subjects, I didn’t see you in class today. How’s your mother?”

“Nice segue. She’s good. Still in the hospital. They’re going to monitor her until tomorrow and then release her.” Spike exhaled a cloud of smoke and Buffy voiced her distaste. She was surprised when he immediately dropped the cigarette and ground it out underneath his boot. “Sorry. Nervous habit.”

“Do I make you nervous, Mr. Pratt?” She said all pouty and seductive, expecting him to laugh at her.

“All the time.” He sounded as serious as a heart attack, and looked at her for one long, sobering second - seemingly trying to convey all that meant with just one look. She was disappointed that by the time he turned back to his house and opened the front door she was none the wiser.

“Look, you can come in if you want. You drove all the way out here. Least I could do is offer you a drink.”

“Ok.” She let him lead her inside his home; it was so much smaller than hers. Furniture was sparse. Things were clean but still looked dirty.

He glanced around, clearly embarrassed and mumbled an apology while he grabbed a white t-shirt off the back of a chair and slipped it on. “I’ve got Jim, Jack, Johnny Red, Johnny Black, and Jose.”

“Water?”

He smiled, ducked his head, and rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah, got that too.” He grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with tap water.

Buffy wandered the tiny hallway of a living space, noting the lack of décor and family photos. “So,” she drug the word out as she ran her hand along the edge of a small end table, “you’re from England, right?”

Spike laughed, he set down the glass of water, leaned back against the counter, and folded his arms over his chest, “Yeah pet, I’m from England. Are you trying to make small talk with me?”

Buffy shrugged. “Maybe. What was it like there?”

“Colder.”

Buffy paused her meandering to look at him, “You don’t really want to talk about that do you?”

“Not even slightly.” He sighed. “Look, you came, you’ve been reassured that I still have a pulse. Is there something else you’re after here?”

“Well excuse me for trying to be friendly.” She fisted her hands on her hips.

“See that’s the thing, Buffy. You and I,” he pointed between them to emphasize his point, “aren’t friends.”

“You’re exactly right! Idiot Neanderthals don’t have friends.” She stormed past him to the door and he went after her.

“Oh, I have friends. I just think too highly of myself to associate with stuck up little rich kids who’d sell their own mothers for a bit of spotlight and popularity.”

She turned. “There’s only one of us here who sells their mother and it’s not me.” No sooner did the words leave her mouth that she wished she could take them back. Her hands flew up to cover the lower half of her face.

Spike just starred at her. Seconds went by that felt like hours and her tummy got this empty vicious tugging feeling in it that felt suspiciously like guilt, but she couldn’t apologize to Spike! He was rude and gross and mean….

But there was such a thing as taking things too far, lines you don’t cross etc. She felt like a dick. “I’m-” she stared.

“Don’t.” He said right before he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her.

There were several things that Buffy imagined happening in that moment. Spike might maim and kill her, then bury her body in his overgrown flowerbed; her final resting place would be a trailer park. Awesome. He could have always just shoved her out the door, or cussed her out, or thrown that stupid glass of tap water in her face.

But he chose option E: Kiss Buffy Senseless. He was doing a damn good job of it, too. All her of good sense must have been gone, because that was the only way to explain why in the whole wide world she’d be kissing him back.

“You’re so mean,” Spike whispered as he pulled back, breathing a little heavy. He rested his forehead against hers.

“I never claimed to be nice. That’s merely an assumption people make because I’m pretty,” she whispered.

He chuckled and then they were off to the races. Before she knew it, they were in his bedroom making out like crazed affection-starved maniacs. She was letting him steal bases that boys in their grade had only ever dreamed about, for no other reason than it felt right.

What’s a little hanky-panky between mortal enemies anyway, right?

“I want you,” Spike said while drawing nonsense patterns with his tongue on her tummy.

Where did her shirt go? She couldn’t remember. The smells coming from his pillow were short circuiting her brain: cigarettes, cheap shampoo, and that musky masculine smell that belonged to him alone. “Mmmm,” was all she could get out as his fingers danced their way up her thigh and under her skirt.

“I’m going to touch you now Buffy.” He warned but all she could think was Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? and then Oh! There. You’re touching me there. In that place I’ve never ever let anyone touch before now.

His fingers feathered over her panties and very gently smoothed them aside as he continued to kiss and worship her belly button. When he touched her bare folds for the first time she got a shiver that ran from her head down to the tips of her toes. She felt him smile against her skin.

“You’re so pretty Buffy.” He slid his finger along her dripping slit and gave her clit a gentle rub. She made a little wailing noise she didn’t know she could make and for the first time ever she wanted to have sex. Her insides felt empty and in need of filling.

Uncertain of how to proceed she took her mother’s favorite advice: fake it till you make it. “Spike,” she smiled when he raised his head to look at her. “Lose the jeans, it’s only fair.” As he hurried to do her bidding, she slid her skirt and panties off and quickly got under the covers.

He climbed in after her and they went back to first base, trying to get rid of the jitters that came with such momentous occasions. He was such a good kisser. She never really cared much for kissing before, not that she had tons of experience but she had a fair amount and there just wasn’t anything awesome about it. Until now.

She felt his… thing pressing against her thigh and it made her feel all nervous, and giggly, and really really sexy . Maybe he’d let her see it later.

He rolled on top of her and started tugging on her bra strap. She shook her head. “No, I want it on.”

He gave her that puzzled look of his for a moment and then smiled “Ok. I bet you have really pretty tits though.”

She blushed. “They’re really small, microscopic almost.”

He chuckled but sobered quick at her death scowl. “I don’t believe you, but I understand if you want to leave it on.”

She looked him in the eyes, his were so blue. “I do.”

“Not a problem.” He grinned as he pressed his… thing into her mound and she squealed. “You sure you want to do this?”

She nodded.

That was the green light he needed. Spike made quick work of getting her all wound up and in the mood again. She didn’t know if the way he was able to read her thoughts was instinct or experience, but he seemed to be sure of himself and comfortable in his own skin which in turn made her feel more at ease.

She felt him try to enter her a couple times but he was just off center. She gathered her courage, reached down, and helped guide him in. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to relax as he slipped slowly inside of her.

She felt a sharp prickling pain for a moment and then it was gone. It was uncomfortable and she felt really, impossibly, full. She wondered why people were so obsessed with sex so far it was just a big ole ball of ouch. Perhaps she should be doing something? She experimented by pushing her hips back toward him and he took that as his cue to begin a leisurely pace.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” he asked.

She thought about it for a second. Things were starting to look up; it was actually beginning to feel kinda good. There was a certain spot that he kept hitting that made her toes curl. She wanted to tell him to keep up the good work but she said, “No, feels good.” instead.

They were in this Buffy and Spike shaped bubble. The rest of the world had been muted and put on hold. Something revolutionary was in the making as she began to let herself get lost in their sweaty primal dance.

Spike sped up his pace a bit and she matched every thrust. Her breath came in short little gasps every time he hit that lovely little spot inside her core. She couldn’t even bring herself to feel embarrassed as he wrangled little “Mmn!” sounds from her mouth. She wished he’d kiss her again.

He captured her lips in fervent, heated, open mouthed kisses. Dear God in heaven he can read my thoughts! She wished he’d kiss her neck. Spike continued kissing her mouth with his bruising, sloppy, open mouthed kisses.

Not a mind reader than. Mmm lips of Spike.

“God, Buffy, I’ve always wanted this, always wanted you. You’re so perfect. My girl.” He whispered sweetly as he continued to love her body.

It felt like someone poured an ice cold bucket of reality on her. The bubble burst, what was she doing here? What was she doing with Spike? Spike who lived in a dirty old trailer, who didn’t own a single article of clothing that didn’t have holes in it. Spike who she loathed and who loathed her back.

She was giving her virginity to Spike?

Spike stopped with the sweet nothings. Unsure of how long they were supposed to keep going she tried to keep pace with him and tried to get back into their moment, but she wasn’t having fun anymore.

What if he tells someone what you’ve done?

She was glad when his breathing sped up. He made a couple jerky movements and then pulled out.

She rushed to find her clothes and put them back on. She heard the snick of his lighter as he lit a cigarette and that tobacco smell, that merely an hour ago she found abhorrent, permeated his sardine-can bedroom.

“So that’s it, huh?” Spike exhaled a stream smoke through his nose. His back was against the wall and his elbows rested on his sheet covered knees.

Buffy pulled her designer t-shirt over her head. “Yeah Spike. That’s it. And if you utter a word about this to anyone so help me-”

“Right,” he said.

She couldn’t look at him. She knew his jaw would be all tense and his eyes would be all angry. She just couldn’t deal with that while trying to act calm when all she wanted to do was cry.

She grabbed her shoes and her purse and was surprised when he let her go without a word. Her hands shook as she started her car and sped away from the colossal mess that was the last hour.

She wouldn’t cry, there was nothing to cry about. She was a grown woman, who made her own choices. She could sleep with whoever she wanted. It didn’t mean she was bad; it didn’t make her a slut. She was empowered, liberated, and tremendously bad at lying to herself.

The soles of her shoes pounded out a steady beat on the treadmill as Buffy tried to shake off the debacle between Spike and Parker at school. Mile two. She was going to have to stop by Spike’s place after her workout to remind him about their agreement and how he wasn’t supposed to approach her at school. Spike getting all territorial wasn’t a good look for either of them. Working out was her current form of procrastination.

A few weeks ago her dad had invited Parker Abrham’s family over for dinner. During the meal her dad had made it overwhelmingly apparent that he wanted her to get with Parker. Buffy was experienced when it came to rejecting the advances of the guys her dad forced upon her.

Hank Summers was an old fashioned fool and loved to play match maker. He believed that it was in his daughter’s best interest to find a man from a family of good means and get her married as soon as legally possibly. If the match happened to put him in better financial or social standing, so much the better.

Buffy had never had much of a problem with his matches before. If she voiced her disproval loudly enough, her dad typically moved on to the next suitor. But Parker was different. They went to school together; he was well liked, and popular. Any girl in her class would have jumped at the chance to date him.

Unable to find any believable reason to say no, she agreed to one date. She thought about telling Spike but didn’t want to have to deal with the way he’d get all grumpy and mopey; it wasn’t like she was really dating Parker, after all. She’d use Parker as a smoke screen for a couple of dates. It’d get her dad off her back and it would deflect the unwanted attention she’d receive if she were to tell him no.

In hindsight she should have just declined his offer and dealt with the fallout. Parker Abrhams didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Two days after she told him that she didn’t think it was working out she found him in her father’s study. He was talking with her father about politics and golf like a world class suck up. When she knocked the men stood. She was startled when Parker came to greet her with a kiss on the cheek and a smile.

Her father, beaming at the gorgeous couple they made, insisted that Parker attend a charity gala with them that weekend.

“Oh! Dad, didn’t Parker tell you he has plans this weekend?” she asked, fake smile plastered to her face, elbow in Parker’s ribs.

“Thank you Mr. Summers for the extraordinarily generous offer. Sweetheart, I believe you’re thinking of next weekend. I’d love to accompany you to the gala.” Parker grinned a snake oil salesman’s smile and she knew that getting rid of him wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d planned.

Buffy’s relationship with her father was complicated. When he wasn’t trying to arrange her marriage they got along famously. She’d always been a daddy’s girl; he’d been her closest confidant and friend. They’d talk business, politics, religion and he’d always crow his praise of her to anyone who’d listen. Buffy was his favorite which drove her younger sister, Dawn, crazy.

There was always an underlying layer of competition between any two sisters. But between Buffy and Dawn Summers there was no competition when it came to their daddy’s heart. Buffy had won it, fair or not, the moment she was born. The fact that she was practically Hank Summers carbon copy and Dawn favored their mother only made things worse.

The summer before Freshman year, during a family vacation to Cabo, her invincible dad became human right before her eyes. They were having lunch, just the two of them, when he fell out of his chair moaning and clutching at his chest. It was the most terrifying moment of Buffy’s life. After getting help and arriving at the hospital they were told that Hank Summers had suffered a heart attack.

Things changed between them after that. Buffy distanced herself from him. He was no longer her late night companion, staying up to eat junk food, and watch scary movies. They needed to concentrate on Hank’s health and a late-night lifestyle wasn’t part of the picture.

Her dad’s healthier life style choices weren’t the only reason for Buffy’s increased distance from her father. Following Hank’s heart attack, there was an all encompassing fear that took hold of Buffy’s gut and never really let go. She lost the ability to speak frankly with him, joke, and mess around. What if she trigged his sickness? What if she was the cause of his stress and grief?

The realization that she could have lost one of the most precious people in her life manifested itself in her desire to please her daddy at any cost. Buffy was determined to do anything to make him happy, even if that meant carrying on a fake relationship with Parker Abrhams.

She didn’t need to disclose the thing with Parker to Spike because it wasn’t a real relationship. She didn’t want to listen to him go on and on about how she needed to stand up to her father; Spike didn’t know the whole story. She didn’t feel like sharing either.

After the spectacle at school she knew there was no way around it. She was going to have to tell Spike about her relationship with Parker. She just hoped he didn’t blow a gasket when she told him. He wasn’t likely to forgive her trespass of their agreement easily. Spike hated Parker, which made matters so much worse.

She used the towel hanging around her neck to wipe the sweat off her face. Mile three, she kept going. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation with him. Their relationship was so massively screwed up. She was only 18. Life wasn’t supposed to be this hard yet.

Things with Spike had never been easy though. They’d been a mess from the start.

Tuesday morning, the day after the first time they’d been together, Spike was already sitting in his desk when she strode into homeroom. They didn’t make eye contact; they didn’t speak. Even though it was exactly what she said she wanted, his lack of acknowledgement made her feel stupid. He should have at least had the decency to smile in her direction so that she could give him the cold shoulder.

Buffy had chosen a desk adjacent to his so she’d be less likely to stare at him during class. He was talking animatedly to Declan Bell, gesturing wildly with his hands while Declan clutched his sides and guffawed. She shifted to the right and started a conversation with Willow Rosenberg, determinedly putting Spike out of her thoughts.

As the day dragged on, Buffy became more aggravated. Spike normally spent his lunch hour in the library but today he decided to eat in the cafeteria. Natually, out of all the tables he chose to sit at Faith Lehane’s and just to ice that cake he had Faith perched on his lap.

Buffy wondered where a teacher was when you needed one because lap sitting was so not allowed in the cafeteria. He was obviously doing it to piss her off. Everyone knew that Faith and Buffy didn’t get along.

There was a party freshman year that Buffy wasn’t allowed to attend because there wasn’t going to be adult supervision. Faiths mom apparently didn’t care about adult supervision because she was allowed to go.

During a rousing game of truth or dare Faith dared Buffy’s boyfriend to kiss her, so they went into a closet… for a half and hour. Or at least that’s what Cordelia told her later that night after the party was over.

Buffy didn’t want to believe it. Angel was the love of her prepubescent life, he wouldn’t cheat! But alas, Faith let him round second base, and all Buffy ever let him do was hold her hand. Suffice to say, Buffy’s relationship with Angel “he could’ve be the one” O’Connor ended in a dramatic AIM chat where he begged her forgiveness and Buffy cried real tears as she typed an angst filled response, spouting fourteen year old nonsense, about how it only hurt when she breathed.

She was a total drama queen freshman year.

Buffy’s previous non-existent relationship with Faith became existent in the worst way. The Superman vs. Lex Luthor way; if Lex Luthor was a troll who liked to make out with Supermans ex-boyfriends.

So seeing Faith throw her head back and laugh at something Spike just whispered in her ear was the worst kind of torture a girl could endure at lunch hour in the cafeteria.

“Do you ever flex your foot wrong and it cramps and you’re like; ‘This is it. This is how it ends’?” Harmony asked Buffy. The girls all nodded sympathetically at the table.

Buffy leaned over to whisper in Willows ear. “Hey Will, I need to get some air. I’m gonna go sit outside for a bit, kay?”

“Uh, sure Buffy. Do you want me to come with?” Willow had that glint in her eye that said, ‘Please don’t make me.’

“Nah,” Buffy smiled. “I just need to clear my head; I’ll see you in P.E.” She swung her backpack over her shoulder, picked up her lunch tray, and emptied it into a nearby trash can.

Buffy pushed through the cafeteria doors. Several students were scattered around, eating lunch on the grass in the quad. Buffy made her way to one of the bigger trees and sat down underneath it. The shade was a welcome relief from the California sun which was a a blazing 90 degrees even in December.

Winter? What was that?

Winter formal was coming up, Riley Finn had asked her to go with him but she told him she wasn’t sure about her plans yet. She really needed to get back to him. It wasn’t fair to keep him in suspense.

She idly shredded blades of grass and leaned her head back against the tree. She was supposed to go to Newport with Cordelia and the girls this weekend but she wasn’t really feeling up to it. Not after yesterday. She was liable to spill her guts all over Cordy’s Jimmy Choos. She’d be excommunicated then for sure.

She wondered what Spike was doing this weekend. Probably something that involved some kind of debauchery: drinking or stealing or parties. She smiled. Or he might just be reading. He was such a closet nerd. His room burst at the seams with books. He had them stacked in every corner and on every surface. Maybe she could get him a bookshelf, help him organize a bit.

She gasped. Get him a book shelf? Help him clean his room? Something was seriously wrong with her. How did he keep sneaking into her thoughts after she barred him from them? Yesterday was a mistake, a fluke, a complete monumental lapse in judgment. She’d been confused, his mom was sick, and he kissed her first.

There were dozens of reasons to not like Spike. He was dirty. His fashion sense was deplorable. He lived in a trashy little tin can in the ghetto. He smelled like cigarettes. He actually liked school, and he was a complete a-hole. So why, dear God, did she want to be with him again?

Because she was a glutton for punishment, that’s why.

She heard something hit the ground on the other side of the tree and then sigh as someone presumably copped a squat. “So, are you gonna be my girl?”

She rolled her eyes and tried to stop the thousand watt smile that his stupid British voice inspired. “Where’s Faith? I thought you two were attached at the pelvis?”

“Buffy Summers, are you jealous?”

She didn’t even have to see his face; she could hear the stupid grin in his voice.

She scoffed. “As if! I just thought someone should tell you to burn those jeans. Faith totally has VD. Removing them before you light them on fire is completely optional.”

He laughed. “Ouch. What’s it with you and her anyway?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m just a concerned citizen looking out for my fellow man, but if you ever hook up with her, I’ll never speak to you again.” She meant it to sound like it joke, but it came out more like a threat. Oh well.

She heard a rustling sound and looked to her right to see him scoot around to her side of the tree. He placed a hand over his heart, looked her in the eye, and serious as a heart attack said, “This tree as my witness, I will never hookup with Faith. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

She bristled. “You didn’t hurt my feelings! Why would you say that?”

He sighed. “Look Buffy, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

He shifted and lowered his voice. “Yesterday, uh,” he cleared his throat. “We didn’t use a condom… do you-”

“Oh! Geeze Spike! You’re such a freak. I’ve been on the pill since middle school, gosh!”

He visibly relaxed.

“So that’s it? You just followed me out here to make sure your ass was covered?” She didn’t know why his question upset her so, but her stomach had a sinking feeling that she really didn’t like. She grabbed her backpack and stood.

Spike grabbed her hand and pulled her back down to the ground beside him. “Just wait a second, you loony bird! I think you’re gorgeous and funny and very smart. You’re kinda a bitch too, which makes things rather interesting.” Seeing that she was about to interrupt he pressed a finger to her lips. “Let me finish,” he said, “please.”

She nodded.

“Yesterday was about the biggest shock of my life. When you came over, when you kissed me back, when we…” She marveled at his face as his cheeks reddened, well go figure. Spike Pratt was blushing over sex.

He cleared his throat and pulled at the collar of his black t-shirt. “Then you left and I didn’t know what to make of it. I felt like you wanted space so I gave you space. I pulled a dick move in the cafeteria with Faith. I just wanted to get some kind of reaction out of you. I’m sorry for that.” He actually looked contrite and she felt like he was sincere.

“Listen, you have to understand. What happened yesterday can never happen again. It was wrong.” She watched him deflate.

He looked down and nodded. “Yeah.”

“You’re not the kind of guy a girl like me dates. It just doesn’t make sense.”

His head snapped up, “So, let’s not date.”

“Huh?”

“Let’s just keep it between us. You have to admit Buffy, you liked what we did yesterday. I bet you’ve never had it so good.”

She snorted, “You’re awfully sure of yourself there Sparky.” Act cool. He doesn’t know that you were a virgin. Act cool.

He grinned, “Go ahead, turn me down, but I’m in your system now, Summers. You’re going to crave me like I crave nicotine. Mark my words you’ll be back. You felt something last night.”

“Yeah, revulsion.”

“Buffy!” Cordelia’s loud voice rang out through the quad. Buffy and Spike both jumped up like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. “Where the hell are you?”

“Leave now,” Buffy whispered harshly. She gave Spike a shove back toward the other side of the tree.

“S’a free country. I can stand where I want.” Spike stayed put and weathered Buffy’s death glare.

The bell rang and suddenly it wasn’t just Cordelia she had to worry about but the entire student body as everyone began to slowly make their way to their next class. Buffy glanced over her shoulder to see Cordelia and a group of girls coming toward them. Buffy panicked, knowing they’d already seen her with the bleached freak.

”You’re a pig, Spike,” Buffy shouted. Panic apparently made her a little violent because before she knew it, her fist was on collision course with Spike’s nose.

“Bloody hell! What was that for?” Spike clutched his nose and Buffy winced. Everyone in the quad stopped what they were doing and all turned to stare.

“Buffy! Was this baboon harassing you? Are you alright?” Cordelia was upon them, as regal as ever in her Dolce & Gabbana red cordonetto lace dress.

“Is she alright? I’m the one who got punched in the nose!” Spike exclaimed.

“Buffy! Are you okay? Is this guy bothering you?” Riley Finn called as he jogged over.

Buffy smoothed down the front of her top and took a deep breath. No, she wasn’t okay. Her hand hurt like a mother and Spike probably thought she was a psycho for hitting him for no reason. “I’m fine everyone!” She held her arms up in a ‘see?’ gesture. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

She tucked her arm in Cordy’s and silently listened as Cordy and her friends bad-mouthed Spike all the way to their next class.

~*~

Mile six. Buffy slowed the treadmill to a jog and then a walk, as she went through her cool down. After a moment, she hopped off the track and took a swig from her water bottle. It was time to hit the showers and head over to Spike’s. She was going to let him know that yes, she was seeing Parker, but that it wouldn’t interfere with…well, with whatever she and Spike had.