PROLOGUE
She hung upside down from the ledge above her balcony, outside the bedroom window. She started on one cigarette, but it only served to make her slightly dizzy. She lit another one, taking longer, faster drags. Slightly dizzier. “Fuck it,” she mumbled, lighting two at once and smoking them both. The head spin increased, but that was about it. “No one’s dying that way,” she said dryly, climbing back to her feet and crawling head first through the window, stumbling slightly as she tried to regain her balance. Her head cocked to the side at the sight of him in her bed, asleep. At that moment, the radio flicked on across the room and a groan was audible from somewhere amongst the pillows.
“Shit!” Angel groaned, sitting up in bed and seeing the time. “Buffy! Why didn’t you wake me up?!” He was out of bed now, frantically searching for his clothes. “Where are my pants? God, what am I gonna tell her this time?”
“How about the truth, that’d be a breakthrough for you,” Buffy replied sardonically, lighting another cigarette.
Angel stopped to meet her gaze, taking in her long blonde tresses, streaked with bright red and black, that hung down her back in waves. Her green eyes were smoky, with remnants of yesterday’s eyeliner and she was dressed in nothing but black, boy-legged cotton panties and a skimpy grey tank top. Her nails were painted a dark maroon. The look accompanied her natural defiance nicely. Angel licked his lips in appreciation.
“You know how hot you are when you’re pissed off at me?”
Buffy smirked as he made his way towards her, predatorily, turning away from him to head for the bathroom and leaving Angel alone and unsatisfied.
“Baby?” He called out. “Where are you going?”
He chased after her, only to be greeted by the bathroom door slamming in his face.
Buffy lay back in the empty tub, cigarette in hand, wondering how this had become her life. How reality had become so far removed from the future she had envisioned as a kid.
Angel broke through her reverie as he knocked on the door again. “Hey honey? You didn’t buy those tickets to New York yet, did you?”
“Why? Wait, let me take a stab in the dark here: there’s some big emergency and you can’t go? Big shock,” Buffy called through the door as she lit another cigarette.
Angel’s look was less guilty and more impatient. “I’m sorry sweety, Faith’s trip was cancelled, there was nothing I could do. We’ll reschedule for soon, ok, I promise.”
“Whatever, I’ll get over it.”
“You’re the best, Buff, I knew you‘d understand!” Angel yelled, as he walked out the front door of her apartment.
Buffy dragged on her cigarette, slumping down further into the tub. “Don’t mention it.”
Chapter 1
Buffy finally found her other high heeled boot, sitting on top of the dvd player, next to the fish bowl. It was then that she noticed that Charlie, her fish, was floating upside down on the water’s surface. She absentmindedly dropped the boot onto the floor, scooping Charlie into her hand and running a finger down his wet scales. “I’m sorry, Charlie.” Her eyes welled up. “I hope you’re someplace better than here now. I’ll miss you.”
She found a small take out box and put the goldfish into it, then picked up the phone. She suddenly had the urge to call her father.
“Hello?” Someone answered petulantly. There was the unmistakable sound of a baby wailing in the background.
“Hello? Dad?”
“Oh, hey sweety. Can we talk later, this really isn’t a good time. Ellie’s been up all night, she’s got gas.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Wow, gas. You must be so proud.”
“We are,” her dad said softly at the other end, clearly pre-occupied with his infant daughter. “She’s adorable. Aren’t you Ellie? Yeah, you are.”
“Dad,” Buffy cut in, trying to avoid anymore of the pathetic goos and gaas coming from her father’s end.
“Yeah? So can I call you back later? Is everything alright?”
“Well, not r-”
“Ok then, talk soon, bye hun.”
Buffy blinked at the dial tone assaulting her ear. A lone tear fell down her cheek. And suddenly she was so mad at every guy on the planet. She went into a frenzy, taking out a large garbage bag and throwing in everything that was remotely attached to Angel, whether she liked it or not. When she was finished, the bag was full, the apartment much barer and her sense of calm restored. She locked her apartment behind her and threw the bag across to the front passenger side of her car.
* * *
“We don’t qualify for the loan, do we? I knew it!” The husband said, looked defeated.
Buffy rolled her eyes. According to this guy, he knew everything. “I didn’t say that,” she replied, irritably.
“So, we do qualify? I knew it!”
“Technically, yes,” Buffy nodded, trying to ignore the obese ten year old boy outside her window, who was busy pressing his chubby face up against the glass.
“Technically?” The wife asked, suspiciously.
Buffy turned suddenly, slamming her palm against the glass where the kid had his face plastered to it, scaring him off. “Yep, on paper you do qualify for this loan.”
The wife’s face lit up and she rubbed her pregnant belly excitedly. “Well, that’s fantastic!”
“So what happens now? When do we sign the papers?” The know-it-all husband asked eagerly.
“Hold up. I never said there would be papers getting signed.”
“But you just said-”
“What I said was that on paper you qualify. Before we go ahead with anything, I want you to be fully aware of what you’re signing up for.”
The husband looked at Buffy like she’d grown an extra head. “Of course we’re aware.”
“Are you really? Because this is a huge step to take, financially and otherwise. What if it all falls apart? What if your kid’s born with a significant disability and there has to be special schooling and one of you can’t work? What if you get divorced? Then we’ll be talking about two households. What if the child commits a major crime and you have to bail him out of jail, or pay for an attorney? Or one of you gets sick and there’s a hospital bill to consider? I just want you to consider all the options before taking on a debt this huge.”
The husband was suddenly looking very unsure of himself. He turned to his wife. “She’s right honey, we haven’t really thought this through properly.”
The wife turned angrily to Buffy. “What kind of a miserable person are you, anyway?" She rose to her feet before Buffy could reply, stalking out of the room. Her husband followed close behind, trying to reason with her. “Common honey, we could find a really nice condo,” were the last words Buffy heard, before the door to her office fell closed.
She sighed, opened her drawer and pulled out a bottle of vodka, now glad for the secret stash she had risked keeping. She did two shots before her eyes fell upon the hastily discarded bag of belongings in the far corner. She rose to her feet, grabbed the bag and stalked up to Angel’s office. He was her superior, therefore his office was much more stylish and larger than her own. She threw open the door, catching Angel off guard.
“Just you,” he sighed. “Geez, don’t do that.”
“Here’s your stuff,” Buffy replied nonchalantly, throwing it across the desk at him.
Angel put the bag down beside him, his eyes already on the work in front of him. “Can we talk about this later? I‘m kinda snowed under.”
“No, we can’t. It’s over.”
“Buffy, I get that you’re mad about the weekend -”
“That’s not it.”
“Then what?”
“This is a joke, Angel. It’s been a year, you, miserable, me, pathetic. I can’t even feel sorry for myself anymore,” Buffy explained, gesturing wildly with her hands.
“You can’t expect me to just leave Faith, it’s not that simple.”
“I know it isn’t and I don’t. That’s why I’m ending this freak show. In the hope that maybe we can hold onto what small fraction of sanity we have left.”
“Things are going to change, Buffy. You just have to be patient. Give me time with Faith. I’m married to her. And our affair is -”
The door was suddenly thrown open for the second time that morning and Buffy caught her breath when Faith entered the room. But she didn’t appear to have heard any of their conversation.
“Hey Buffy,” she nodded at the younger woman kindly.
“Hi.”
Faith approached her husband, leaning over his desk to plant a kiss on his cheek. “I just came to let you know that the check-up was fine. I scheduled the ultra sound for a week’s time.”
Buffy swallowed a gasp, staring hard at Faith’s back. “You’re pregnant?” she whispered in shock.
Faith turned back to her and smiled. “Yep. Eleven weeks now.”
Buffy closed her mouth, suddenly aware of the likelihood of her jaw hitting the floor. “Wow.”
At this point, Angel rose from his chair and came around his desk to embrace his wife. “Yeah, it’s amazing,” He smiled, kissing the top of Faith’s head.
Buffy’s head was beginning to spin again. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Angel had never said that he’d stopped sleeping with his wife altogether, but he’d pretty much implied it. The bastard.
Buffy looked up at them both one last time, before whispering “congratulations” and making a hasty exit.
Angel looked up as she disappeared through the door, calling out after her “we’ll talk about that other thing later!”
* * *
Buffy stomped up the stairs that led to the rooftop of the bank, her vodka under one arm and her smokes under the other. She wished she could take the steps two or even three at a time, but her skirt prohibited that. When she finally threw open the door and stumbled out into the sunlight, she was gasping for the fresh air that assaulted her lungs and unscrewing the lid on the vodka. She took large gulps as she made her way unsteadily over to the ledge that looked over the street, several floors below. Then she collapsed against it on the ground, the tears making rivers down her cheeks. She struggled to light a cigarette, inhaling from it and taking swigs of the vodka between sobs.
This was it. She was so utterly through with it all. Human existence was an utterly cruel joke. Buffy could not for the life of her figure out why the world hated her. Sure, she was a little narcissistic at times, but who wasn’t. Did she really deserve to be punished for that? And yeah, she was miserable… having an affair with a married man, secretly hating her father, lonely…
Buffy wobbled to her feet. She turned and looked out over the ledge. The fall would definitely kill her. So no risk of ending up crippled and even more bitter than she already was. She climbed up onto the ledge, almost losing her balance. She took another swig from the bottle and closed her eyes. This was it. She bent her knees, ready to jump. Then turned and stepped back onto the rooftop. Not yet. She wasn’t ready just yet.
* * *
In a law firm across the street, someone looked out their window and was just looking back towards his computer screen when something dragged his gaze back again. On the roof of the bank across the street stood a pretty young woman, with long blonde, black and red hair, that was blowing about behind her in the morning breeze. She wore a fitted black skirt-suit and fishnets. She was holding a cigarette and a bottle of something and very obviously crying, as she tottered precariously on her stilettos. The man realised she was going to jump. “Holy shit!” He cried out, jumping to his feet and picking up his phone. He dialled 911 and explained the situation and location.
* * *
“Alright guys, we’ve got a jumper. She’s situated on the roof of the bank on Connor street. Just got the call. Round up the psych department and tell them we’re leaving now. Move out!” The sergeant bellowed, watching his men jump into action. He shook his head. He would never understand how young people were driven to these extremes. He just hoped they could save this one in time.
* * *
“How could you say that Dean Cain was a better superman than Christopher Reeve?! You are seriously over the cuckoos nest my friend,” Jonathon argued with the blonde, effeminate guy beside him.
“Am not! Dean had the charm and the body… Lois was hot too!”
“Reeve was the master! The role was always his, no matter who else tried to play it!”
“Was not!” Andrew argued.
“Would you two children shut the bloody hell up?!” A British, cockney accent bellowed from the front seat.
The two young men were startled from their argument and looked at the floor of the car guiltily. “Yes, Spike,” the mumbled in unison.
“I sincerely hope you twits know what the soddin’ hell you’re doin’ when we get there!” Spike went on, keeping his eyes on the wheel.
“Of course we do, Spike,” Andrew said eagerly, bouncing slightly in his seat. “Me and Jonathon are going to go through the front doors, I’ll get the smaller money and keep the people occupied, Jonathon will get into an office, use that decoder thing on the system that controls the main safes and then you’ll come in through the back and hit the biggest safe on level 9. If we get split up, we meet back at the docks at 2pm.”
“Yeah, what he said,” Jonathon quickly put in.
Spike nodded to himself, more than them. “Right. Least you listen to the bloody important stuff,” he mumbled to himself.
They pulled up in the small alleyway next to the bank and climbed out. Spike went around to the trunk of the car and removed three pistols from it. He handed one to Andrew, who promptly fumbled with it, almost dropping it to the ground.
Spike rolled his eyes and took the gun back, flicking the safety back on. “And safety for you it is, Andrew.”
“B-but what if I need to use it?” Andrew questioned worriedly.
Spike eyed the boy mockingly. “You wont.”
“But what if-”
“No more bloody ’what ifs’, ’right?! Jus’ do as I say, you’ll be fine,” Spike said firmly, handing the other pistol to a large eyed Jonathon, who promptly gulped.
“Can I have my safety switch on too?” He asked, underlying fear in every word.
Spike closed his eyes and counted to ten. Slowly. “No. You. Can. Not. Someone has to have a bloody gun they can actually fire. Now move it, we got a job to do, yeah?”
The motley trio pulled on balaclavas and split up, taking their separate routes into the bank.
* * *
When detective Johnson and detective Sparrow showed up at the bank, it was in utter chaos. They looked around, confused. People were screaming and ducking low behind their counters. Why would someone wanting to jump from their building make them all cower behind their desks? Then they were hit with a stark realisation: the bank was being robbed. There was a suicidal woman on the roof of a bank that was also being held up. Detective Sparrow suddenly saw a wiry man, wearing a balaclava, pointing a pistol at him.
Johnson had his own gun out before the burglar could react. “Police!” He yelled. “Drop your weapon!”
There was a moment of utter stillness before Andrew squealed and dropped his gun, turning to make a run for the front door. The detectives raised their eyebrows at each other in amusement, before giving chase. He got onto the sidewalk, the detectives hot on his heels. He ran around the corner, seeing that Jonathon already had the car started, having fulfilled his part in the break in. He was just pulling the door to the passenger side open when one of the police guys open fired at him. He cried out as a searing pain unlike anything he had ever experienced tore through his left butt cheek. He fell to the ground just as Jonathon pulled out and sped off in the car, leaving him to face his doom. “Oh man,” he mumbled between gasps of pain.
* * *
Spike came out into the hallway, grinning under his mask, the bag stuffed full of money over his shoulder. His grin faded as he walked directly into two armed policemen. He immediately swung around, making a run for the stairs to the roof.
“Hey!” They yelled out behind him.
He didn’t look back, which was a good thing, since they started shooting at him. He took the stairs three at a time. They seemed to be gaining on him, he didn’t know how. He looked up. Two more flights ‘til he reached the roof.
* * *
Buffy was standing on the ledge again, looking at all the cops and paramedics standing below. “You can’t stop me, you pigs!” She called out drunkenly, swaying on her feet. She bent at the knees once more, raising her arms back behind her to propel her forward. She was just pushing off from the hard surface, just felt the air beneath her feet, when someone grabbed her from behind, pulling her roughly back down, onto the roof. She turned around fiercely to face the person who had interrupted her suicide attempt.
“What the fuck?! Are you crazy?!” She screamed in his face, not phased by either his gun or his mask.
He shoved the guy up in her face. “Shut up! Do as I tell you, else I’m gonna have to shoot you, ‘right?!”
“What are you, stupid?!” Buffy continued to scream. She grabbed the end of the gun, holding it directly over her heart. “Go ahead and shoot! SHOOT!”
Spike slowly lowered the gun, surveying her with disbelief. “You for bloody real? The only hostage I could get is a stupid, suicidal bint?”
“Looks that way,” Buffy got out between gasps. “So, are you gonna shoot me or what? ‘Cos I was kinda in the middle of something here, otherwise.”
Spike shook his head at her and sighed. “I’m between a rock and damn hard place here, luv. So you‘re gonna be my hostage.”
Buffy shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, well, like I said, I’m busy.”
“Pfft, busy tryin’ to off yourself? Look, I’ll make you a deal. You help me out ‘f this, I’ll kill you later, yeah? Promise.”
Buffy eyed him suspiciously.
“You’ve got nothin’ to lose, right? I’ve got everythin’. You help me, I’ll help you. Otherwise, those cops catch me, put me in jail and then I’ll die too. I really don’t want to die. Please. Will you help me?”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe this crap.”
“You do me this favour, I’ll shoot you clean through the skull, make it quick, you’ll never feel a thing,” Spike begged, fully aware of how odd this argument was.
Buffy looked him directly in the eyes and he felt compelled to take off his balaclava. She almost gasped at the sight of him. Prominent cheekbones, below intensely blue eyes. He was one hot thief. “You ever shoot anyone before?” she asked him.
“Pffft, yeah, do it all the time, ‘tis my favourite hobby.”
“Sarcasm will get you nowhere.”
“Look, I said I could bloody shoot you, I can. You don’ believe I’d do it?”
Buffy started to walk away, then turned back to him, her eyes clouding with a darkness that almost frightened him. “I’m counting on it.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
*This fic is derived from the movie “Kill Me Later”. The script is not much different from the movie at first, but some of the content has been changed to accommodate the different personalities of the characters. This fic is not intended as a copyright infringement on the makers of "Kill Me Later" or "Buffy", it is purely for fun, not for proft*