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[A/N: I’m really hesitant about this chapter, so make me feel all giddy and warm inside with reviews. I wrote what I knew. And I know a lot about working out. Just an fyi: squats are the king of all exercises, taking enormous effort for each repetition. In the exercise, with the weight on your back, you lower yourself to a squat position and fire back up. If you don’t know anything about exercising, you might be a little lost this chapter. Just take it as Spike and Angel doing incredible feats at huge weights. I tied in working out with Spike’s past. I also included a flashback here, to clarify the oppressiveness of Spike’s life as a result of Buffy. Title from the killer band.]



Gym at Sunnydale High was probably different than most schools. Here, students were only segregated by gender for their freshman year; after that, the school assumed they were mature enough not to act out and mixed everyone together. The school was bloody stupid.

Which means Buffy will be in this class, too Spike almost sighed out as he put on a black tank top in the locker room. The last thing he needed right now was more painfully satisfying images of Buffy bouncing around. She made him feel that way, and he didn’t want to feel that. Not with her or anyone else, for that matter. But especially not with her. Stupid valley girl probably has a perfect life outside of school. Perfect parents that are probably still together, two perfect siblings, and that nice perfect picket fence I’ve driven by more than a few times. Everything’s bloody perfect. Bloody perfect life.

And the plan. Bloody hell, the plan... Spike didn’t even know if it would be successful or not. I mean, really, Faith was spearheading the damn thing. How much could you expect, really? But if it works... I might finally have my revenge.

He smiled a little at that as he walked into the weight room. Well, the facilities are okay, I guess. No t-bar, but how much can you expect from public schooling? The room had all the necessities of a gym: a few squat racks, a ton of benches, a plethora of barbells and dumbbells, and a slew of treadmills.

Like any other Weight Training class in high school, Spike was sure that all the guys would work out with shit-poor form just to impress the ladies. They would swing their whole body into their bicep curls, which were, sadly, the staple of their routine. Their spotter would practically pull up the entire weight while they were benching. And the squats, fuck, the squats...

You couldn’t even call them squats. The stupid gits just went down two inches and popped back up, acting like they were the best thing in the fucking world. And, yeah, they could do 275 pounds with that, but so could anyone with a death wish for a broken back. The guys did that stupid grizzly bear impression before they squatted, flexing and all and it just pissed Spike off beyond belief. Time to show them all sissy squats soddin’ suck.

Spike and Angel loaded the squat rack as the remaining students and the teacher arrived in the room. Surprisingly, the teacher was a woman. She had dirty blonde hair, heavily tinted sunglasses, and a tan Spike only saw in Southern California. She looked fit. I’d do her.

“Okay, class, this is weight training,” the teacher declared. “I’m Mrs. Gonzalez.”

Every man in the room let out an inward sigh. Mrs. That meant it’d be that much harder to...

“Today we’re going to go over form,” she continued didactically. And what bloody fucking work on form they need.

Spike and Angel stopped paying attention. The bar was finally loaded at 225 pounds. Angel ducked down and did his warmup set rather quickly, pumping out fifteen repetitions without much of a sweat.

Spike let the weight rest on his trapezoids for a few seconds, reveling in the challenge. He quickly shot up and down fifteen times to complete his warmup set. Spike didn’t even look fazed as he finished.

The teacher was going over the fine art of the bicep curl when she saw Spike and Angel.

“What are you two doing?” she managed, gawking at the plates on the bar. “Although that weight is rather impressive, we’re over here working on curls.”

Spike snorted at that. He and Angel put another 45 pound plate on each side, bringing the total to 315 pounds.

“That’s... that’s not safe,” Mrs. Gonzalez asserted. This made everyone in the class turn away from what they were doing and stare at the two men. Angel and Spike both looked intently at one other when they were performing a set; they were spotting each other.

Angel was working on his set of twelve when Spike saw Buffy. And fuck, was she a vision. Nice little strappy white tank top, hair still down, and baby blue shorts. Bloody hell, those shorts. Every inch of Buffy’s thigh, to Spike, was like a mile of heaven. Her legs just looked so delicious, tanned perfectly and shaped heavenly. He wanted to screw her right there, on the ground in the weight room with everyone watching. Then he saw Riley.

Haha, bloody ponce has a big bruise on his face now. His thoughts of Riley still didn’t keep his shorts from bulging, an erection forming from the likes of Buffy. Fuck, how am I gonna workout now?

Angel finished his set, huffing and puffing a little. An experienced bodybuilder could see that this was Angel’s ideal weight. He barely got the twelfth rep out, letting out a deep hoarse breathe as he pushed up with every ounce of strength in him. On every repetition, Spike and Angel went down as deep as possible. Ass-to-grass, bodybuilders called it. This way, the quadriceps received more work, and the remainder of the thigh – the glutes and hamstrings – also received a harsh workout.

When one did deep squats they quickly figured out that they were a ruthless, painful exercise. The descent to the calves and ascension back up was one filled with arduous labor. Most people couldn’t even do full squats. They either weren’t flexible enough and they made up some excuse like their doctor told them it was bad for their knees. But full squats... full squats were the king of all exercises. Full squats could turn a skinny 100 pound fourteen-year-old into a 200 pound beast.

Spike finished his set at 315 pounds without a noticeable struggle. Everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing and watched the twosome blast the hell out of their legs. Both Angel and Spike did another set at 315 pounds before they put even more weight on the bar. Everyone in the room whispered doubts to one another.

They put another 45 pound plate on each side, bring the total to an amazing 405 pounds. You just didn’t do this weight in high school with perfect and deep form, unless you were on steroids or something. Everyone thought it was their maximum effort. That they would only do one repetition and that was it. They were wrong.

The weight of the bar on Angel’s back made him lean forward a little. He did three repetitions with stifled grunts and was about to do a fourth when he caught Cordelia staring at him in the mirror. His face immediately turned bright red as he racked the weight.

Everyone in the room glanced over at Spike now. They thought he would only get a few out, too.

My turn. Spike got under the bar and lifted it off the rack’s hinges. The weight of the world, 405 pounds, was on his back. And fuck, this shit’s heavy as hell. The bar bent a little because so much weight was on each side. The steel bar bent because of the weight. Normal people would collapse to the floor, but Spike stood ramrod straight, loving the feel of the iron on his back. He knew who his enemy was when he had this much weight strapped to him.

Spike took a deep breath and started. Here’s for the time they called me names. He plummeted to the ground and shot back up, rage plastered all over his eyes. He was starting to look like some berserk animal.

And here’s... here’s for the soddin’ time they beat me up. He shot up for a second time, this time with such force that the bar flew up in the air a little. He didn’t need no key. He’d fucking break in.

Here’s for the time they... but his mind was swept in a flashback.


William had just finished reciting a poem in front of the class. A love poem. And everyone was laughing at him.

“You’re so lame, Bozo,” Parker bit out between giggles.

“My dog can write better than you,” Scott added in the same bitter tone.

Cordelia took her hand from her mouth. “Really, did you write that for anyone?”

William looked to the side. He had written it for Buffy.

“Like me, William?” Buffy eerily completed for Cordelia, like she could read his mind. She was twisting the knife in his gut. Throwing salt on the wound. Kicking him while he was down. She knew that he liked her.

Buffy batted her eyelashes mockingly. William reddened to a deep purple. It seemed impossible to redden to a color besides red, but William did it. Everyone took that as an answer and openly laughed. William hung his head low.

“You’ll never have her, Bozo, she’s mine,” Parker declared possessively, wrapping an arm around Buffy. She openly showed comfort in his embrace.

William looked beyond crushed. He put his head down, fighting back tears. His mom had told him that when a girl picked on him, they were just flirting with him and that they were actually interested in him. But it didn’t look like Buffy was flirting with him now. Or that she was interested in him. At all. Her disgusted stare at him had answered any ambiguity that was still up in the air.

William sat down at his desk in the front of class with his head down. Everyone was still laughing at him. He started to cry on his sleeve. Somebody threw a wad of paper at him, which quickly turned into a shower of spitballs and assorted school supplies. You’d think the bloody teacher would do something, but she found it funny, too. And that was cruel. The teacher was laughing at him.

At lunch Parker and Scott beat him up. They cornered William and started taking cheap shots at his gut. When he fell to the crowd after a barrage of kidney shots, they kicked him a few times. They said Buffy didn’t want him. William just took it.


Spike had completed nine more repetitions on that memory alone. It filled him with such rage and hate that he just wanted to pound out repetitions until his legs broke. Spike turned his hate into some type of furious force. A force that could squat the world and punch out the sun, making it a black hole in the bleak sky. It almost made him crazy. Like rabid dog crazy. Feral. He felt like he could break the barbell in half right about now, and if it wasn’t on his back, he probably would have. He felt like tearing off Parker’s arms and beating Scott with them.

His legs were screaming at him, telling him to stop, on the verge of collapsing, but Spike’s mindset was one of ferocious determination. I’m getting this last fucking rep out if it’s the last bloody thing I do. If Spike didn’t do this, he was afraid he wouldn’t have drained all his rage that was recently kindled by the memory. And that would be bad. At least for anyone who had terrorized him in the past.

“Spike, stop this!” Mrs. Gonzalez screamed at him. She probably had been yelling at him the entire time, but Spike’s flashback completely drowned out everything, even his motions with the weight.

“You’ve obviously gone over the point of failure!” she continued loudly.

“Fuck off,” Spike bit lowly, the bar’s weight not allowing him to turn and give the teacher a death stare. Angel did this for him, luckily. The teacher slowly backed away with a sigh and ignored them for the rest of the period, happy that at least they weren’t her problem anymore.

Spike looked at himself in the mirror. He was shaking, not from the weight but from the anger of the memory. His eyes were bloodshot red and he could see all the veins in his body. The vascularity in his arms looked disgusting. A big puddle of sweat was forming, dropping like piercing raindrops, on the ground.

And then he saw it. He saw Buffy in the mirror. She was staring at him. She looked impressed, which made Spike feel great but at the same time filled him with rage. Spike was so confused about everything. He had this rage to kill her – to desolate her and mercilessly rape her perfect existence – and yet a part of him loved her.

Stupid bitch!!

And with a fiery and explosive passion he pushed up his last rep.

Angel helped him rack the bar, but it still made a cacophonous crash as it slammed back on the squat rack. Everyone in the room jumped at the sound, but they went back to their bicep curls and tricep extensions after a few angry looks from the twosome. Arm exercises don’t do shit.

But Spike and Angel weren’t done yet. They both quickly stripped the bar back to 315 pounds and started again. Angel got out three reps. Spike got out six.

And then it was back to 225 pounds again. The warmup weight was now tiring them out because they had demolished themselves already. Spike’s legs had finally stopped screaming; they knew now, with perfect clarity, that when Spike had this type of mindset, nothing could stop him. Not a teacher, not the police, not a bullet, not a meteor shower. Angel pumped ten reps and Spike pushed twenty.

By the time they were done, half of class was already over. Buffy, Cordelia, and Riley were on the treadmill now, trying to hold a conversation with each other but still taking isochronal glimpses at Spike and Angel. In fact, everyone in the room was constantly aware of the two insane individuals, impressed by the daunting weight. It was hilarious that Riley was on the treadmill; you’d think he’d be man enough to actually pump some iron.

Spike and Angel finished the day with some lunges, stiff-legged deadlifts, and leg press. The lunges didn’t seem that impressive to everyone, but anyone who did them knew that having 100 pound dumbbells in both hands while lunging across the room was a bitch. The deadlifts and leg press were more like the squats; done at unbelievable weight with perfect form.

They were both back in the locker room now. Spike took off his tank top and thought he heard some of the men in the room gasp in pleasure. Closet cases... probably too scared to tell anyone. Especially here, in wankerland.

“You wanna do something after school?” Angel asked casually.

“Nah, man, going over to Buffy’s house,” Spike replied in the same casual tone. It was a huge thing, but he said it like he was walking his dog. Well, maybe...

He knew what Angel’s face would look like. Complete unadulterated shock. But he just didn’t expect the paramount of awe in Angel’s face; it was like he found out where the Holy Grail was located or something. Spike grinned in a devil-may-care fashion as he put on a black shirt.




School’s finally out! Bring on the tutoring! I’ll probably have a little bridge before we go to Buffy’s place, so the tutoring scene, in its entirety, won’t be next chapter. It will probably be a partial attempt, with a nasty little cliffhanger at the end or some other evil thing I can think up. But don’t fret. It will be great when it comes. I promise.





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