Swish. Flick. Click.
Pause.
Swish. Flick. Click.
Pause.
Swish. Flick. Click.
Pause.
“Day going well, Spike?” Angel asked curiously from across the lunch table in the cafeteria.
Spike flicked open his silver Zippo another time with a swish. (What did you think was happening, you dirty little kid, you?) He was perfectly content with staring at his lightning movement in opening and closing the lighter. It was starting to become incessant and annoying, really. The swishing and the clicking, the flicking, like some student tapping a pen in class. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You just seem a little... I dunno, lost.”
Spike knew Angel got that idea from his Zippo flicking, but he continued to do it anyway. To show that he was a little angry, Spike put a little more viciousness into flicking open and close the lighter now. Not only did a swish and flick occur, but now a louder, more cacophonic, swish and flick occurred.
“See, that’s what I mean,” Angel pointed at the Zippo. “You’re gonna break the hinge...”
“Hinge is already broken,” Spike replied with a bored glance at Angel. He wish he hadn’t.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like looking at Angel. I mean, seriously, Angel was a pretty good looking guy. He certainly wasn’t Brad Pitt or Jude Law or James Marsters or anything, but his spikey hair and black attire had a certain character to it. Spike surely wasn’t thinking about Angel’s look, though. He didn’t have a bisexual preference or anything like that. No, that would be weird. Super weird. It was the stuff in the periphery that he didn’t want to see.
It was Buffy.
It. Was. Always. Soddin’. Buffy.
She and Cordelia were walking over to his table.
“Three o’clock, Buffy and Cordy,” Spike spurt out in a subterfuge-esque whisper. Angel immediately turned around.
“No, no!” Angel swung his head back at Spike’s warning. “Don’t look. Just act... casual. Eat your potato salad.”
So Angel took a big bite of his potato salad and Spike continued the Zippo flickage, looking again perfectly content with the street chrome exterior and amazingly soothing swish sound. They were both trying to act as “casual” as possible.
Buffy cleared her throat to get Spike’s attention. He didn’t look up.
“How’s that potato salad going, Angel?” Spike asked, desperately not wanting to acknowledge Buffy.
“Pretty good,” Angel replied as he took another bite. “Kind of soft, though.”
Spike nodded, agreeing on the notion. “Yeah, the harder stuff is always better.”
Buffy and Cordelia giggled at the sexual connotation of the words. Spike shot a look at them.
Buffy held her ground. “Mind if we sit?”
“I don’t think you should...”
“Why not?” Cordelia sprung in with a carefree and preppy smile. How did you smile “preppy,” anyway?
Spike took a glance at Riley’s table in the cafeteria. “People might get the wrong idea.”
Cordelia chuckled. “Oh, it’s okay!” A little popularity decline was fine, right? Especially when you were a hot cheerleader that could get any guy and had money and threw parties and had a car and were the prom queen and...
“Maybe for you,” Spike glimpsed up at Cordelia, eyes looking right through her. He was implying, of course, that the presence of a certain B and C at his table would somehow, in some jaded and twisted way, lower his popularity. Well, maybe his infamy...
“I, um... I can’t sit over there anymore,” Buffy gestured to Riley’s table, “considering I, um, kind of broke up with him.”
Spike’s eyes went wide and his mouth went agape. He tried to blink but his mind wasn’t giving out any commands. She broke up with him? his mind raced. To what... to be with me? He laughed inwardly. How could she possibly think he wanted to be with her, in any formality at all? He made it clear in every soddin’ exchange with her that he didn’t want to have a “relationship.” No homecoming dance or school cruises. Walks on the beach, making out at the movies, Spring Break vacations to some Central American country in poverty. Giving her a corsage or a Claddagh ring or some other bullshit. He didn’t want that. Not with anyone, and especially not with Buffy.
She knows what I want.
He finally blinked and it seemed like when he opened his eyes the world had changed. Both Buffy and Cordelia were sitting down at the table. It was a round table, so Angel was across from Spike and Buffy was across from Cordelia. Kind of like a zigzag of sorts. Angel must have let’em sit down.
“...so you?” Spike mumbled, still trying to wrap his mind around the weight of Buffy’s words.
Buffy nodded slowly, her brilliant golden bangs wagging a little. She had her hair up today.
“Why?”
“Oh, um...” Buffy squinted her eyes, thinking of the right thing to say. “Someone else, I guess.”
She was being awfully cavalier about the whole thing. Buffy and Riley had been going out, albeit on and off, since Riley was eating crayon. Since they still had that “skin” colored crayon. Maybe even before that lawsuit. “And who exactly has someone else? You or him?”
“Me,” Buffy blurted awkwardly.
Spike cocked his head quizzically, but it was Angel who replied.
“But you’ve been going out with Riley since he ate paste.”
“I think he still does,” Spike quipped in a low, mocking voice.
Everyone openly laughed at that. Not only did Spike’s statement have some actual real world credence, but it also attested to the not-so-much brightness that is Riley.
Now that the ice was broken, Spike figured he’d just go in for the kill. “I assume Cordelia knows?”
“Yep.” Buffy knew he was referring to their “relationship.” Or lack of, really. She pointed at Angel. “Him?”
“Yeah, even you’re passssss...” but Spike held the consonant and trailed as he saw Buffy’s mad look. He finished anyway. “Past.”
“You told him!?” Buffy shouted angrily. It wasn’t loud enough to alert the entire room, but it definitely conveyed that she was pissed off. Spike hadn’t fully realized that her dirty little secret was probably also one of her biggest fears. Next to not winning as homecoming queen and icky little spiders he thought, trying to calm his mind a little by making Buffy seem superficial.
“Well, yeah,” Spike replied casually. She still looked mad, so he shrugged and continued. “Woulda probably mentioned it when I was drunk, anyway.”
Spike desperately wanted to get away from a subject that most obviously haunted Buffy. Another topic was still beating him with a bat in his mind, anyway. A nice diversion, too. “So I assume this someone that you were talking about before...”
“...is you,” Buffy finished for him.
“Definitely in an only-platonic, usability way, though, right?” Spike asked honestly and bluntly. He was glad that they got away from Buffy’s past, but he wasn’t so glad that Angel kicked him. Under the table, smack in the center of his shin, with a small crack. Pretty damn hard, too. Man must have steel toe boots on...
“Hey!” Spike glared angrily at Angel, but Angel only held his stare. “The truth, ‘mate.”
Angel snickered. “If you only knew the truth about—”
“Thing’s change,” Spike cut him off, still holding the glare. “People change.” When it looked like Angel wasn’t going to let up, Spike just figured he get a little threatening. “Drop it or I’ll recite the poetry that you made about—”
“Okay sorry sorry!” Angel blurted, scared for his life. Or life with Cordelia. Which was, sadly, probably most of his life. Goals, dreams, and ambitions, if that could generally be classified as “life.” She was sitting right next to him, after all, and probably wouldn’t respond well to his obsession. “Won’t say a word.”
Spike smiled happily back at his friend. Buffy and Cordelia watched the whole little scene with interest.
“Well I’m, like, having a party at my house tonight,” Cordelia started enthusiastically. “Mom’s in rehab and Dad’s out of town. You’re all, like, invited, I guess.”
Spike cocked his head to the side, a little bit annoyed. “Why would I soddin’ wanna—”
But a quick kick from Angel silenced him. Spike knew that Angel wanted this more than anything in the world. I mean, seriously, the man worshipped the ground in the hallway that Cordelia walked on. He was kind of similar to the old Spike, really. With inspecting the girl’s gum that was stuck to the bottom of a table and all. Going to her house would be... well, it would be like catching a ball at a baseball game. And then having it signed by all the players on the team. And then having all the players give the exorbitant amounts of money they made by wearing tight little restricting pants and hitting a little ball... giving all that money to you. It’d be pretty cool. Awesome, even.
“Err... sure,” Spike said finally. “I guess we could make an appearance... free beer is always good.” He didn’t want to give Buffy any ideas. He wasn’t doing this because of her or anything. No, it was just for the alcohol.
At that moment, Spike was hit by a really enticing idea. Maybe also a tad bit cruel - if you weren’t as dark and cynical as Spike, of course. “Mind if I bring any friends?”
“Not at all,” Cordelia replied automatically, not knowing what she was getting herself into.
Spike grinned wickedly. “Well, I’m gonna go...”
And he got up and left an apprehensive Angel alone with Buffy and Cordelia at the table.
Spike exited the cafeteria and immediately streamlined for Faith’s group.
Par-tay! To be crashed by Spike or not to be crashed by Spike, that is the question. Sadly, next update might not be for a half week, because I have a few examens and quizzitos on Monday and Tuesday. You’ll just have to cherish this little drabble of writing until then. :( As always, reviews are greatly appreciated and revered until the end of time. Which could be tomorrow or today or in five minutes or... *loud explosion* Hey, I called it!