Spike was wondering what impetus had made in change into different clothes. It was like one minute he was looking for an iPod case on the internet, and the next he was dressing all formally. Sure, a red button-down shirt and brown leather jacket might not be formal to some, but Spike saw it as a sign of weakness that he changed clothes.
That I’ve changed for Buffy.
He pondered the fuller meaning of that thought as he parked his black DeSoto in Buffy’s driveway. Buffy’s house was as normal and typical as houses came these days; two stories, adequately size, the lawn was dying (but what could you expect, really?), and a one car garage.
It’s bloody perfectly normal. Like her life. Her perfect life.
Spike hopped out of his car and started stalking to Buffy’s door. He was shaking a little, which he found unbelievably unnerving. Stay steady, ‘mate. Just Buffy. Just the girl you’ve desperately wanted to bang and screw over for years. Spike took a deep breath at the door and was about to knock when it opened.
Buffy had opened the door. She opened the door without him even knocking. Spike’s apprehension and clothes-changing seemed insignificant now, because not only had Buffy opened the door before he even soddin’ knocked, but she was also dressed completely different from school today. Now she was wearing a dark blue top and light blue jeans.
And her hair. Fucking orgasmic. She had put it up and her brilliant golden bangs framed her face perfectly. He dreamed about running his hand through her magnificent hair more times than he could count. In fact, Buffy’s hair was the staple of Spike’s wet dreams. He would give his kidney (and he sure as hell bloody needed it) for a lock of her hair.
Buffy started. “Hey, Spike.”
“Buffy...” Spike nodded, still a little too drunk on the image of Buffy.
“Can we just go upstairs and get started?””
Spike caught a hint of fear in her voice. Like she was trying to hide something that was downstairs that she didn’t want him to know about and if he found out about it that very thing would ruin her life and she probably also knew that Spike would be so happy about doing that if that happened so he just walked right in and sized the place up, trying his best not to give a rats ass about Buffy but at the same time knowing he cared too much about her if he wanted to do this.
His eyes circled the house. Stairs, kitchen, a room off in the left, and...
Spike blinked a little as he walked into the living room. An old guy was on Buffy’s couch. He looked pretty hammered. He had something up to his nose, but Spike couldn’t quite make it out. He looked old. Like around seventy old. If Spike were to size up his image, he’d saw a New Yorkian Jew. And that stereotypical outlook irked Spike a little.
That was until Spike recognized what the old guy had up to his nose.
He was sniffing it.
It was cocaine. Spike could clearly distinguish the white powder now.
Someone in Buffy’s house was snorting cocaine.
Buffy quickly yanked Spike’s arm. He resisted with a stifled and undistinguishable grunt, too interested in the portrait in front of him. The grunt made the old man throw his cocaine on the coffee table and cover it up with some porn magazines. He covered up cocaine with porn magazines.
The man glanced over curiously at Spike. “Who the hell are you?”
Buffy interjected as speedily as she could. “This is Spike; he’s tutoring me.”
Spike was about to nod when the old guy said something.
“You need it, Buffy,” the old guy bit with a point to Buffy. “You’re so dumb and worthless. Just like your mother. My fucking dead dog is worth more to me than you. You’re gonna amount to nothing and live with that fucking fag of a boyfriend you have and flip burgers at Doublemeat.”
Spike should be loving this, but he cringed just the same as Buffy. Perfect might not be the word for her life.
“This is my grandpa, Spike,” Buffy whispered to him as she pointed at the man. “You don’t want to know his name, trust me.”
Spike finally nodded. “Gramps...”
“Hey, fuck off. I could take you,” Buffy’s grandpa asserted harshly. He quickly softened a little, like he just figured out the last piece of a puzzle.
“Dinner’s at six, Buffy.”
Spike almost looked as shocked at that as Buffy. This wanker can make dinner? Spike thought about that for a second. Well, he’s probably an expert at making meth. But he doesn’t seem like the dinner type... maybe the drug dealing type.
Buffy quickly yanked Spike’s arm to the stairs.
Okay, maybe Buffy’s life is a little fucked up. That doesn’t mean anything. So her grandpa snorts cocaine. Everyone’s got their problems. That’s no bloody big deal. Cocaine is a soddin’ cliché now, anyway, a bandwagon jump like Guns n’ Roses. Millions of buggerin’ middle class sniff it because they think their problems are like the fucking crucifixion.
Buffy and Spike were in Buffy’s room now. It was completely different than Spike had anticipated. No boy bands or Britney Spears on the walls. The walls actually looked a little worn. The bed wasn’t the bloody Little Mermaid, but plain blue sheets that were stained with what look like blood. The carpet was stained heavily, also. The room looked kind of desolate, really. Like a guest room or something. Like a guest room that’s been shit on.
Spike also realized that he didn’t see Buffy’s parents. Or any siblings. Maybe they’re out?
They both sat down by her desk. Her rather shoddy and old desk. Buffy got some paper and Spike took out the Calculus book.
“So where are your parents, Buffy?” Spike asked innocently. “Any siblings?”
Buffy choked a little when he said that, pain obviously arising from the mention of a family. She started doodling something on her paper that Spike couldn’t make out. She kept darkening whatever it was that she was doodling while she spoke to him.
“They’re... gone,” Buffy managed. She had a hard time getting out the next words, like they were in some foreign language.
“They died in a fire a long time ago...”
Spike’s mind collapsed. What...? Did she... just say.... that?
Spike thought his head was playing tricks on him. Did I fall in the shower and have a nightmare?
He had to ask again. In a roundabout way, though. “How many siblings did you have?”
“Umm...” Buffy tried to act casual, but Spike caught the despondency in her face. “Two. One was about nine months, and the other was a year younger than me. So four.”
Spike gulped. So she’s lived with the grim reaper all her life?
“I’m sorry,” Spike finally blurted out. It was something that people were obligated to say in this type of situation, but Spike really felt sorry.
This explains a lot. She’s only had control of her life at school.
“It’s okay,” Buffy asserted, trying her best to smile.
She made it look painful to smile.
“It happened a long time ago. I’m over it. And life with grandpa hasn’t been that bad...”
Spike shrugged. If she’s okay with it. “Let’s get to work, then.”
Buffy nodded. “So I’m befuddled and perplexed on the concept of integration by shells. I surmise that it is akin to disks, but the affinity is just...”
Buffy trailed off as she realized that she’d just ruined her cover. “I’m bugged with shells.”
Spike had to blink at that. Not so stupid after all. Is all the Clueless lexicon just a cover up?
“Uh...” Spike started. “Well, you have to find the area between the two curves first.”
“Mmm hmm... go on...” Buffy moaned with a hint of pleasure.
What the fuck? Is she getting hot off of Calculus? But he continued anyway.
“And then wrap it around whatever axis they asked...” He demonstrated this by putting an arm up and circling with the other.
“Mmm... yeah,” Buffy surmised almost too happily. The words did have sexual suggestion, Spike had to admit. At least in the eyes of a really, really demented mind.
With the skill of someone who obviously knew what they were doing, Buffy started to caress his shoulder.
At first he welcomed her touch. She touched so softly and with such care, like she was touching the most delicate object in the world. Her touch electrified Spike. It was like the sparkplug in an engine. Spike was already horny from just the sight of Buffy, but now... now he was straining for control.
He finally pulled away. Do I really want to do this to her?
“What?” Buffy looked mad. Spike stared innocently at her.
“Don’t tell me you don’t want to, because I know—”
“Buffy, that’s not the problem,” Spike sighed out. Why am I not just letting her? “In fact, the soddin’ problem is suppose to be about Calculus.” He pointed at the book.
“And what would Riley think?” Spike threw his arms in the air. “And the bloody heartless school?”
Spike gulped after he said that. What the soddin’ buggerin’ bloody hell? This is what I want. To ruin her life. Why does her lack of family and abusive high grandpa make it any different now?
Maybe because she has a reason now? his optimistic side whispered from purgatory. He didn’t try to oppress the unwanted side this time, though. That side of him was right. She had a reason. A reason for everything.
He almost forgot Buffy was there.
“But I wanna, Spike,” she pitifully stated with a pout. “Seeing you... work out... all sweaty... and now...”
Fuck, it’s just like I soddin’ planned. Set this up too perfectly...
“No,” Spike declared in a tone of authority. “I’m not gonna... gonna do that to Riley...”
Buffy cackled at that. “But you hate Riley. And no one would know...”
“I would, Buffy, and that’s enough.” Spike couldn’t believe what he was saying. This was his chance, his golden opportunity to fuck over Buffy in both denotations of the word, and he was passing it up like he didn’t give a damn.
“Fine,” Buffy bit harshly, but Spike could hear hopefulness in her voice. “I’m gonna get some water.”
She got up from the chair and swayed over to the door. Another painfully satisfying image of Buffy. In motion this time. Buffy’s backside. In motion. He was really holding back now.
He gulped. What the hell? She’s trying to seduce me?
“You want anything?”
“No thanks, Buffy,” Spike tried to say in a non-squeaky tone, but he was sure he sounded like Mickey Mouse high on helium. Soddin’ hell... how can she do that to me?
Buffy smiled coyly, probably happy with how uneasy she could make him, and left the room.
“Bloody fucking hell!” Spike stifled loudly after she closed the door. “What the sod am I thinking? What I’ve buggerin’ worked up to for months, to screw Buffy, and I let it slip out of my hands...”
Spike’s eyes went back to the paper Buffy was doodling on when they were talking about her parents. He moved over to take a glimpse at the doodling on the page, a little too curious to care about personal space.
It wasn’t doodling. It was words. Clear words. Words with power. Words with meaning. Words that turned everything upside down. Words that tossed Spike’s world down the hill like Jack and Jill. The clocks weren’t striking thirteen; their weren’t any bloody clocks now. He wasn’t even breathing. He couldn’t hear anything, not even the probable yells from Buffy’s grandpa. It was just him and the words. The words...
They were just words. But they were big words.
They all died in the fire I started.
Oh, my! I tried to foreshadow this last chapter, with Buffy being so *perfect* in Spike’s eyes. I guess she isn’t. What does this mean, though? Can Buffy’s hellish life really make up for Spike’s suffering? The night’s still young... and it’s seducto-Buffy. Let’s see if she gets lucky...