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Fic's set in NYC... but for convenience's sake, I moved Sunnydale to New Jersey and made up a few names of towns and streets.)

(The band ‘I am the Sex’ is a fictitious)
Music Referenced (I’m trying to pick classics, but since it’s a modern fic set in today’s time, there’ll probably be references to songs that have just come out. Listen to them before or while you read… ):

Elvis Presley - “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”
Dean Martin / Frank Sinatra - “That’s Amore.”
Green Day – “Chump”


Chapter Three

Spike felt his mind exploding with questions he wanted to ask her. Questions like how do you know Dru? What’s a wealthy girl like you doing in a grungy club? Why don’t you like Dru? Who is Faith and why do you take care of her? Do you maybe want to kiss me again? But he kept his mouth shut and braved a fleeting glance at her.

They were walking in silence down the back alley of the club towards the alluring lights of Time Square. The city night sounds were always the same: swishing of tires as the cars thinned out and left the city, people talking rapidly to each other on the distant sidewalks, the usual hustle and bustle of the thriving, exciting nightlife. Spike had been to New York City often enough to have learnt to accept the noises and to have come to the conclusion that walking alone down a sidewalk was considered walking in silence, despite the millions of different noises around you.

Her face was almost perfectly shadowed in the darkness and the glow of lights cast a slight glimmer on her angled features. Her hair was messily pulled up, leaving some strands falling out of her thin hair tie in all the right places. He saw two studs in her cartilage and a small silver hoop hanging down her earlobe, catching the bright colors of the city before them. She was wearing a thin, beige T-shirt featuring a local band, ‘I am the Sex’, with a complicated design in the front and a pistol in the back over jeans that looked purposefully ripped. He had noticed all of this before, but somehow, in the serenity of the moment, everything seemed different. Something about her seemed completely casual yet completely intimidating. She wasn’t dressed like someone with money, but she definitely walked like one. And he was getting the feeling that she wasn’t from California.

He chose not to talk, so they kept walking in silence towards the dingy, fenced parking lot where his baby, the Desoto, was waiting for them. Well, silent with the exception of a particular giddy-when-drunk girl named Faith, who was slumped over on both of their shoulders, stumbling awkwardly along, and singing a bad impression of Elvis.

“Wise men say! Only fools rush in… But I can’t help, lah, lah, lah, laaah, laaaaah, lah,” her words were slurring into each other and she giggled between phrases, especially when she didn’t remember the lyrics. Then, she turned her head to Spike and leaned on his shoulder, never keeping her eyes off of his face.

It was funny. Normally, when he walked out the back door of a club with two hot girls in his arms, he would have been feeling a little bit proud. He chuckled to himself at the irony of it, because he felt completely unsexy. Maybe it was the stench of alcohol and something he couldn’t quite put a finger on in Faith’s breath as she opened her mouth again and asked him rather loudly, “Why is your hair so funny? It’s weird.”

Spike looked across her to Buffy, meeting her eyes as she tilted her head to look at the hair her friend was currently rubbing and inspecting. He saw her try and fail to repress a small grin, and felt more self-conscious than he had ever felt before in his life. So, he decided not to answer the question.

“Seriously, hair person,” Faith insisted with her reeking stench and her voice extremely sharp and in very close proximity with his ear. “You should, like, change it.”

They were at the lot, now, and Spike steered the three of them towards it. He saw Buffy looking back at the lights of the busy street they had been heading towards a little nervously and his respect for her grew an inch. Obviously, she wasn’t very comfortable entering a dark lot with only one dimmed street-lamp that looked like it was seconds from dying. And with a stranger, too, boyfriend or not.

Spike could tell she was checking out every car they were passing, hoping that it was his. There were run down Toyotas, Hondas in semi-good shape, and even a vintage Mustang that looked like it’s owner took care of it. But maybe not, because any owner who drove any type of Mustang wouldn’t be idiot enough to park it at this lot.

When they were at his car, she stopped dead in her tracks.

“What is that?” She asked, widening her eyes.

“My baby,” he answered with a proud grin, not paying attention to the look of pure horror on her face.

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She would be surprised if the thing even started, it looked so old. Even by just standing three feet from it, she could tell it was about ready to break into ten million Desoto pieces. New Boyfriend – William, Willie, Will-yum, was it? - shifted Faith so she was leaning, half-conscious by now, on the side of his car and Buffy heard it groan. It was definitely not a healthy groan. It was definitely a very sick groan.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” she muttered to herself. He jammed the key into the lock and wiggled it until his door swung open with a mean creak. Then, he reached his arm behind the seat to unlock the back door, looking triumphant when it made a clicking sound, indicating that yes, it was open!

“Yes! Thanks, Ms. D,” he grinned, sounding so cute Buffy wanted to laugh and kiss him again. The edge of Will-yum’s eyes crinkled when he smiled and she couldn’t help thinking about what a nice guy he seemed to be. Seriously vulnerable and open. She could read him like a book.

Buffy had to admit, this wasn’t what she expected one of Drusilla’s castoff’s to be like. He wasn’t forward or pushy like most of her men were like, expecting groupies and fans and everybody adoring them. This one seemed sensitive. Maybe even human. Huh, she thought, I bet he even writes his own songs.

“Ms. D?” she choked on her own laugh and snorted very unattractively. He didn’t seem bothered by her unfeminine side, but she brought her hand to her mouth in embarrassment, anyways.

“A right beauty she is, yeah?” He moved Faith over so he could open the back door. It’s his accent, Buffy decided, taking a step back to examine the New Boyfriend she had picked up.

Noticing that he was a bad dresser had been something that she had overlooked earlier. He was wearing a leather jacket that ended where his faded jeans started. Like one of those singers who were still walking a fine line, indecisive of whether or not they should stop shopping at Abercrombie & Fitch since they were now in a rock band and had to be badass.

It was a fucking gorgeous jacket, though. She wanted to touch it, but she wasn’t sure if that would be appropriate. It was soft and looking almost a little worn. It screamed a soft innuendo, ”See, I would go eat dinner with you Saturday, but my band really needs to practice. Oh, did you know? I’m in a rock band…”. But the bottom half of him seemed to reek of something incredibly metrosexual. Maybe he had bought it in the old days when he wasn’t cool enough to say, “I’m in a band!” She looked a little harder and decided that they weren’t Abercrombie & Fitch. They were probably Guess. The label near the belt-loops was a little faded, so she kneeled down to get a better look.

Wrong on both counts. They were Armani Exchange. Old and worn and probably off the clearance rack. The poor boy. It wasn’t that she minded the rock star clothing or the metrosexual clothing. It was the fact that they were worn together that kind of bothered her.

But she disagreed with Faith on the hair. She actually liked his hair.

Will-yum was hauling Faith into the back seat and this time, she didn’t even put up a fight. Buffy was relieved. Faith would be out of it for the next hour or so. Plenty of time to get to Sunnydale … she looked at her New Boyfriend again, this time a little nervously. She had a feeling he was from Jersey. If his clothing choice didn’t already imply it, she knew for a fact that Oz, the bassist in his band, was from Turnington. Only about a fifteen minute drive in no traffic down I-78.

So it theoretically shouldn’t be a problem for him to go over the Lincoln for her because… that was where he was headed for anyways, wasn’t it? Will-yum got into the driver’s side and she walked around to the passenger seat as he reached across to unlock her door.

After a few hard pulls, it finally gave way and she carefully got into the car. Not bad, she thought, What a surprise. He keeps this whacked up jalopy sparkly clean.

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Okay, Ms. D. Don’t fail me now. Spike said a silent prayer as he inserted his key into the ignition. It didn’t help that Buffy was silently staring at him from the next seat over and his hands were a little shaky. He turned it a quarter way and his car made a deep guttural sound as if trying to start. Then failed.

“Shit,” he swore, then tried again. It made that horrible noise again. Followed by failure again. Buffy was now raising an eyebrow apprehensively and he felt his hopes go out the window. Any minute, she was going to be getting out of the car and flagging down a taxi. And for some strange reason, he didn’t want her to do that.

There was something about her that was intriguing, so much so that he could almost forget about Drusilla. Almost. But now she was turning her head and zeroing in on the handle of the door, probably about to say Forget about it to him and leave with her friend.

He tried a third time, but the Desoto just grumped and sighed tiredly. Faith stirred in the back seat and yawned loudly.

“B, where are we going?” she asked. Buffy turned slightly and said, “To Africa. Now be quiet.”

“Oh good,” Faith murmured, “Are we taking a taxi there?”

“Yes. Go to sleep.”

“Don’t boss me around…” and she then she was asleep, snoring quite audibly from the back and leaving an awkward silence between Buffy and Spike. Spike had so much he wanted to say, still. But his engine wasn’t starting and he was becoming frustrated.

“So,” he began, trying for a fourth and final time, “How do you know Dru?”

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“So, how do you know Dru?”

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably and pressed the power button on the radio. Dean Martin’s deep, languid voice flowed out and eased some of the tension. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to answer the question. After all, the guy did go out with Drusilla. She wasn’t sure for how long, but any guy who went out with Drusilla seemed to never be able to cut strings. And she didn’t want to do that much damage to his poor ego. At the same time, the poor guy deserved to know the truth about his ex. And she had never gone this long without saying something.

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie / That’s Amore / When the world seems to shine like you’ve had too much wine / That’s Amore.

She sang along softly for a few moments, trying to think of how to summarize her complicated relationship with Drusilla in one sentence. How do you tell someone about somebody else who has stolen everything that meant anything to you ever since you could walk? She wasn’t so sure.

“She stole my crayons in first grade,” Buffy finally said, shrugging and opting for a light tone, “And it’s been that way ever since.”

“Oh, is that right?” his lips tightened into a silent smile. “That’s a big deal… stealing crayons.”

“Yeah, it is,” she grinned and relaxed. ‘That’s Amore’ kept playing on at volume 4, which was low compared to the pounding music still emulating from the club. Reality set in for a while and Buffy wondered how she was going to get Faith home, now, with his car shot.

“Look,” she sighed and looked at him, “You seem like a nice guy and I’m sorry about whatever it was you had with Drusilla. But I need to bring my friend home, so –“

“Where’s home, anyways?” he asked, cutting her off. Buffy gnawed on her bottom lip for a bit before answering.

“Sunnydale.”

He stared. “Sunnydale? All the way in New Jer-“

“Yeah, sorry,” she said, her defenses going up at the shocked and irritated expression written across his face. “I just figured you were probably from Turnington or Hoboken.”

“Well, yeah, but a heads up would have been nice, pet,” he slumped back on his seat. “I was hoping you’d say South Street or something along those lines.”

Buffy perked up a little at this, “Well, my dad owns a condo by the Seaport… you can probably just – “

“Yeah, but the engine…” he gestured dejectedly at the dashboard and gave it a good glare.

“Sorry, Will-yum – “

“Spike.”

“Spi-“ Buffy started, then stopped. Spike? Spike! The Spike, also known as the best boyfriend any girl at Sunnydale Prep ever had? She couldn’t believe her bad luck.

Back at the club, Drusilla had called him ‘William’, and she had just come to the conclusion that William was one of Drusilla’s many short affairs and flings while she was still dating the infamous Spike.

Every girl at the Prep knew about Spike because every Monday of every week, Drusilla would proudly show off mixes her perfect boyfriend had made for her, presents her perfect boyfriend had bought for her, poetry her perfect boyfriend had written for her. And every girl at the Prep was envious of the boy none of them had gotten to meet.

Before she could respond, they were both blinded by two headlights of a white van turning into the parking lot, bringing with it a loud rendition of Green Day’s “Chump” blasting through it’s stereos. Probably at volume 11.

You're the reason for my misery / Strange how you’ve become my biggest enemy / And I’ve never even seen your face

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He couldn’t help glaring at Ms. D’s dashboard, feeling as if he had been betrayed. Not only had she made him look like a complete awkward idiot in front of a really, really high class girl, but she had broken his heart.

Buffy was staring at the approaching headlights and he allowed himself a few seconds to replay what she had told him. She lived in Sunnydale. Of course she lived in Sunnydale. She had to live in Sunnydale! Sunnydale was the one hot spot in New Jersey. Well, if there was such thing as a hot spot in New Jersey, Sunnydale would be it. It was where all the big shots retreated to when they wanted to escape the glittery life of Hollywood. The directors, the producers, the singers, the actresses,… they all relocated their million dollar homes to Sunnydale after retirement. Or sometimes just as a tenth home just for the heck of it and because they had the money. It was the Malibu of the north. The fucking melting pot of all things that screamed beaches, tans, diamonds, money, moolah, riches, everything. Fuck.

But heading towards the car right now was his band’s van and Spike could not be happier to see it. It was like a miracle handed to him. In a few minutes, Oz could help him jump-start the Desoto and they would be on their way.

Perfect.





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