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Music References:

“Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats” – Musical “Cats!”
“Memory” – Musical “Cats!”


Chapter Six

The performers on stage were wailing and hissing and the crowd was softly talking to one another and the lights were dimmed to a foggy blue, making everything softer and shady and beautiful. And all she could think about was the fact that her pockets were void of everything save a fifty dollar bill in the back left of her jeans. She felt around desperately for a hard, plastic, something that resembled an I.D. The singers were dancing and the dancers were touching each other, oozing sex and rock and classy-trash. Jellicle cats are queen of the nights / Singing at astronomical heights / Handling pieces from the Messiah / Hallelujah, angelical choir. It was like nothing she had ever heard before.

”Shit,” She swore under her breath. The ‘cats’ onstage hissed and purred and she was certain they had the ability to make any Broadway song blush-worthy. But Spike was looking at her with a “oh fuck” expression on his face and the green man in the snazzy yellow suit was holding his hand out expectantly, waiting for an I.D. An I.D. which she didn’t fucking have. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You don’t have it,” Spike stated the obvious. She could hear his voice near her through the growing noise of the club below them.

“Shut up,” She said sharply, “Let me think.” Spike gave her a look. A ‘Like if I stop talking, you’ll be able to think better through all the other noise’ kind of look. But he closed his mouth and silently stared.

“Um…” Buffy stammered, glancing nervously at the green man who had retracted his hand by now and looked like he was about to shake his head and order them out. Then, before she could think of something to say, he leaned forward and squinted his eyes at her.

“Wait… Buffy?” The Green Man asked uncertainly, scrutinizing her face. Buffy let out the breath she was holding, because she definitely did not have a fake I.D. She stared at him for a moment. Lorne? There was some resemblance in the eyes… and the nose… and the mouth…

“Oh my God, Lorne?” Buffy brought her hands up to her mouth, feeling like she could laugh and squeal in excitement at the same time. She threw her arms wide opened and launched herself onto him for a tight embrace as she mentally thanked the Powers That Be that her father was the head of a major record company. Most of the major honchos in the music industry knew her by name and it really came in handy sometimes.

Back in the day, when Lorne had been a singer, he had signed on with her father. But after a year, he had decided that fame was definitely not for him and looked into opening a local music joint. Buffy looked around her, impressed at what he had accomplished.

“How are you, Sweet-cheeks?” Lorne held her out at arm’s length and whistled at her shirt. “Wow, definitely not Daddy’s little girl anymore, are ya? Somehow, I don’t think your father would like seeing the logo of his competitor’s main band on his daughter…”

Buffy shrugged. “What can I say? I developed my own taste. And anyways, I am the Sex is amazing. Who cares if they’re mainstream? Have you heard their bass player? Freaking insane.”

“Oh, I’ve heard, cupcake, I’ve definitely heard,” Lorne grinned, then leaned in and lowered his voice, “I’ve also heard another one of your favorites is coming in at about… midnight. Power's in the Pistol, right? You didn’t hear it from me.”

He glanced down at the I.D. in his hand, then looked past her shoulder at Spike, who was looking a little confused, and said, “25? California? Give me a break, muffin. I’d be surprised if you’ve ever even seen the sun. But you kids have a good time and head over to the V.I.P. section that doesn’t exist. Drinks are on the house.”

Lorne gave Buffy another quick hug and kissed her on the cheek, smearing some face-makeup on her in the process, then walked away to greet the crowd that had just walked through the door.

Spike followed Buffy down the stairs of the balcony to the slightly elevated dining level that was separated from the dance floor with a translucent, flashy plastic-like curtain that was drawn up from the side to make it look like they were on a stage.

“Wow,” Buffy said, admiring the setup. The bar was on the far end of the dining level and there were round, modern-looking tables all spread out, making the scene look like a darkened, sex-inducing, music-loving, light-flashing restaurant. Past the fake stage-curtains and three steps down was a few barstools surrounding ten handfuls of people dancing to the band elevated on the real stage before them. Well. Band in the least literal sense of the word.

“Is it me, or does that bloke have really sharp teeth?” Spike whispered in Buffy’s ear and she turned her head to look at what he was pointing to.

“Sharp teeth,” she nodded in affirmative. “It’s like Halloween in the summer. Next time we come, we should dress up.”

She didn’t even realize she was planning a ‘next time’ for them before the words came out of her mouth. After she realized what she had said, she bit her lip and tried to wait out the awkward moment of silence.

Finally, Spike gave her a little smirk, “I agree.” And her shoulders sagged in relief.

………

A little while later, they were sitting at a table in the corner with a virgin Strawberry Daiquiri for Buffy and a glass of water for Spike. She had to admit, his choice in drink both surprised her and disappointed her at the same time. Maybe it was just another strange Buffy-trait, but she always felt that people resembled the drink they liked. Like if Spike had ordered a Jack Daniels, he would exude that party-boy, I-get-drunk-and-I-get-drunk-often feeling, which would tell her to put some distance between them. Or if he got Sex on the Beach or a Cosmopolitan in public, she would probably question his sexuality. But then, if he ordered, say, a slick martini, he’d look like the epitome of high-income, wealthy, business-man class.

But she expected him to order a beer, the typical teenage-guy beverage of choice. So when he said, “I’ll just have a glass of water… on the rocks,” with a wink to the bartenderess, eliciting a laugh from her and a funny look from Buffy, she was slightly disappointed. He got five cool points for going the non-alcoholic path, but at the same time, had lost seven cool points for ordering water. How boring. I mean… we’re at a club for Christ’s sakes, she thought. Oh yeah, and also two cool points off for flirting with the lady bartender.

“And I thought British guys liked it ’Shaken! Not stirred…’,” she said wryly, raising an eyebrow at him. Spike laughed at that and shook his head.

“As much as I hate to admit it, pet. Bond can remain clear-headed after downing a handful of martinis. I’m not so slick. Yet.” he cocked his head to the side and swirled the ice in his water around, “I wanted to stay clear-headed tonight. Don’t feel much like getting drunk and missing something.”

He did that half-smile thing and she nearly swooned. Okay… all cool points redeemed.

A female had slithered her way onstage and pressed the microphone to her lips as she started to wail out the first few words of “Memory.”

“I had no clue that song was so… seductive,” Buffy observed. The woman had the microphone stand tipped and between her legs and was sliding her hand slowly over the curves of her body as she sang about how she ‘was beautiful then’.

“It’s not,” Spike said. “I just think she’s looking to get laid tonight.”

“Or that.”

After a few minutes of staring at the entrancing performance, Spike turned to her. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“What?” She looked at him, surprised.

“Tell me about you,” he pointed at her with his straw and leaned back into his chair.

“Well…” Buffy wasn’t sure what to say, “What did you want to know?”

“Everything,” he stated, a little too softly for her to hear. “Anything.”

She didn’t know where to begin. How does someone tell somebody else about themselves? Suddenly, she felt like she was falling back in time to September of her Senior year in High School, when she was writing college applications and going through the “Getting to know you” process on paper. Was this different? Should she talk about her life’s goals, how she was ambitious, that she was valedictorian, smart, the daughter of a well-known musical producer?

“I graduated first in class from the most pretentious private high school in this country, if not in the world, which makes me a Type A first-class snobby bitch.” She started, matter-of-factly.

After a pause, she decided to just go with whatever came to mind, “I drive stick shift. I’ve watched Fight Club twelve times and have not gotten sick of it, yet. My father’s a big corporate hippie in the music world and has acclimated me into the industry since I was two years old, so I blame him for making me into a music junkie. I think he expected me to be a music-making pothead, but apparently, I’m a disappointment since I can’t sing unless I’ve had ten wine coolers and I’ve never bothered to do drugs. I have a secret crush on J.J., Power’s in the Pistol’s very own drummer. I dislike the taste of alcohol. I planned to go back-packing across Europe next year, but that plan was shot to hell a few months ago. The shirt I’m wearing now is a promo of my dad’s worst business decision ever – not signing on I am the Sex because their lead singer, Fred, was an obsessive compulsive, clean, non-drug-using-and-abusing neat-freak with a bad case of acne. Which is really too bad, because Fred is a genius when it comes to writing songs. Anything else you need to know?”

Spike didn’t waste any time asking, “So why is back-packing across Europe shot to hell?”

“Well, mainly because I was supposed to go with …” She paused mid-sentence because at that particular point in time, she had looked out onto the dance floor and had caught sight of Reason # 2 why she rejected Columbia (aside from the fact that they had originally chosen Drusilla over her. Those bastards.) walking in a direct line towards her. There was absolutely no mistaking the broad shoulders, the spiked brown hair, the charismatic grinning, and the worst-timing-ever ability he was always so good at.

She swallowed the words back into her mouth the second he was two feet away and looking down at her with those huge soulful eyes of his.

“Hello, lover,” Angel smiled. How she hated that sleazy smile. Hated and almost loved it at the same time. Memories of the two of them came rushing back to her, almost drowning everything else out. Fun memories, loving memories, memories of post-sex disappointment, memories of him spitting spiteful words at her, memories of catching him in a lip-lock with Drusilla, memories of him running after her as she ran away, memories of a terrible break-up, memories of her forgiving him a month later, memories of him leaving for college and never returning phone calls. Then the memories ended. Up until now. “I’ve been looking around for you. Never thought all I had to do was enter a queer loser’s club to find you.”

………………
………………
………………

The more words that came out of her mouth, the more Spike liked her. She was blunt, she was funny, she was smart, she was talented, she made him work for her attention. Most of all, she was so different from Drusilla or any other girl he had ever dated for that matter. Never in a million years had he expected to be attracted to a girl like her. I better watch it, he thought mildly, I only knew her for a few hours and already, she’s beginning to change me. Not that she tried. Just by looking at her, he wanted to be what she wanted him to be.

Was that healthy? Because right now, at this very particular instant, this fraction of a second in an entire galaxy of moments, he had forgotten completely about his broken heart. It had to be healthy.

Then a hard, condescending voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Hello, lover. I’ve been looking around for you. Never thought all I had to do was enter a queer loser’s club to find you.”

Who the hell did he think he was? Spike thought, looking up from a stiffened Buffy to the Tall, Dark, and Broody standing practically over her. Sensing the ‘We have a deep, dark history’ vibes coming off of both of them, he kept his mouth shut and waited for Buffy to tell the git to fuck off. From what he had learned about her so far, she didn’t take shit from anybody. So, he was sitting there, expectantly, just counting the seconds until Buffy came up with a smart, sharp reply to the ignorant, dominating voice coming from the hulking figure in a really bad-ass leather duster.

Hm. Maybe I should get one of those, he noted. As devoted as he was to his current leather of choice, the duster did have flair.

The words hadn’t come out of Buffy’s mouth, yet, and Spike was beginning to get a little nervous. He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table.

“Can I help you?” Spike asked, making his voice just as commanding and just as sharp. The guy didn’t take his eyes off of Buffy.

“I was talking to the lady, so back off, buddy,” he said.

“That’s how you talk to a lady?” He pushed his chair back and got up. Bloody hell, he’s taller than me, Spike thought, irritably. It didn’t matter. He could be pretty damn scary if he wanted to be. Buffy stared up at him and widened her eyes. “And from looks of it, this lady doesn’t want to talk to you right now. So fuck off, Peaches.”

The guy finally looked at him and raised his eyebrows, making his forehead crinkle up. “Who the hell are you?”

He turned back to Buffy, “Who the hell is this, Buff?”

Spike thought he heard Buffy mutter under her breath something about a ‘five-minute boyfriend,’ but then she stood up and with a defiant, angry look on her face, pronounced, “Not that I have to answer to you, but he’s The. Man. I’m. Currently. With… Angel.”

Buffy turned to him with a slightly apologetic look, “Sorry, I’m rude. I should make with introductions. Spike, this is Asshole. Asshole, this is Spike.”

Angel – what the fuck kind of sodding name was that? – backed off a step or two and stared at the two of them, a little surprised. Then, he let out a sharp laugh and turned to Spike.

“Sorry, buddy. I didn’t know she was ruining another guy’s life already, or I wouldn’t have rendezvoused with you guys and broke up this lovely party.”

“Apology accepted, mate,” Spike bit out, annoyed, “Now be an angel, Angel, and sod the fuck off.”

“Leaving,” Angel did a half turn, then swiveled back to face him. “But I just gotta warn you… you’re dating a polar ice cap. Sub Z, frigid, icebox bitch of a woman.”

Buffy looked like she could shoot fire at him from her eyes and she clenched her fists. “Fuck you.”

“Already did,” Angel laughed, “It wasn’t very good, but hey, why don’t I call you back in a few years. Maybe you’ll have learned a thing or two about how to keep a man happy by then.”

It was a well established fact that Spike despised men like him. Guys who talked like that to women because they were obviously insecure themselves. So it was no surprise when he kicked back the chair in his way, pulled his arm back, and threw Angel a good one in the face. The satisfying smash resounded in his ear and Angel fell back.

“Fuck,” he snarled, straitening and wiping the blood dripping from his nose. He looked like he was about to attack, but Lorne was approaching, followed by two burly men that looked like they were made out of solid steel. “I’m not going to waste my time with Billy Idol and his frigid bitch. Can’t say I didn’t warn you, pal. The girl speaks a fine line, but when you enter the field, you realize it’s fucking empty. Empty.”

Then, he left, shoving himself through a concerned looking Lorne and his entourage. Though a small crowd had grown around them and the bang of the club door swinging shut rang out, the music kept playing and the dancers on the floor kept dancing.

Spike’s hand was sore and when he turned to look at Buffy, he saw a mix of sadness, anger, and admiration. The first two directed at the bastard who had just left, and the last one directed towards him.

And that felt pretty damn good. Maybe even better than how punching the guy had felt.





Author’s Note: The last line Angel says is a direct quote from the book this story is based on. I thought it was a pretty amazing line.

So, yeah. Spike’s not the only one who needs a little bit of healing. You’ll learn the history between Buffy and Angel in time, throughout some parts of the story.





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