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Author's Chapter Notes:
Hi guys! This isn't actually my first ever fic. I had one on another website, but I lost it because the site went funky and my harddrive broke. I won't rewrite it because the plot was seriously iffy. I have plans drawn up for 3 fictions including this one, and as I've finished school with a baby, you'll probably be getting alot of work from me in the near future.

As a note, this story is kinda angsty, so if you can't bear the thought of waiting for the Spuffy loving, this isn't the story for you!

O, and by the way...

Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story are my own. They are owned by Joss Whedon etc... the lucky gits xx

Bear with me in this chapter, because it's just the history of the story, but I'm afraid that it's a necessary evil!
I dunno who to trust no surprise
Everyone feels so far away from me
Heavy thought sift through the dust and the lies
Trying not to break but I’m so tired of this deceit
Every time I try to make myself get back up on my feet
All I ever think about is this
All the tiring time between
And how trying to put my trust in you just takes so much out of me

Take everything from the inside
And throw it all away
Coz I swear for the last time
I wont trust myself with you

Tension is building inside steadily
Everyone feels so far away from me
Heavy thoughts forcing their way out of me
Trying not to break but I’m so tired of this deceit
Every time I try to make myself get back up on my feet
All I ever think about is this
All the tiring time between
And how trying to put my trust in you just takes so much out of me

Take everything from the inside
And throw it all away
Coz I swear for the last time
I wont trust myself with you

I wont waste my self on you
You
You
You
Waste my self on you
You
You
You

I’ll
Take everything from the inside
And throw it all away
Coz I swear for the last time
I wont trust myself with you

Everything from the inside
And throw it all away
Coz I swear for the last time
I wont trust myself with you
You
You

**

It was their biggest problem. The girl couldn’t trust him, Spike knew it, Xander knew it, Willow, the girl’s best friend, knew it. Then again, he also knew that she had absolutely no reason to trust him at all, and that lack of trust was the be all and end all of the friendship. Yet, another thing he knew was that it wasn’t just him that Buffy refused to trust. It was everybody. Ever since her dad had left two years previously, she had been the most paranoid person anybody ever had the unfortunate chance to meet.

Buffy’s father, Hank Summers, from whom she took her second name when she was born (her parents still being married when they wrote on her birth certificate), had left their home when she was 15 on the day of August 16th, leaving her, her mother, Joyce - a most lovely lady whom every one of her and her daughters’ friends adored - and Buffy’s ‘bratty kid sister’, as the elder would describe her, Dawn - who, like her mother, was actually a very nice and beautiful young lady – to fend for themselves.
Dawn had inherited her mother’s facial features, but not her curly hair. Instead it was brown and sleek with a shiny tone to it that gave a hairdressers finish. It was actually much the same as Buffy’s if the elder sister hadn’t insisted on dyeing it Barbie blonde, leaving her subject to many ‘dumb blonde’ jokes, especially from Spike when she lived up to the title, including the numerous times she forgot her history homework (a class she continued to bunk for fear that she would turn into an intellectual like her mothers good friend, Rupert Giles, father to the ever annoying William, or Spike as he had named himself).

It was this abuse of her trust that had changed Buffy’s attitude towards her father enormously. At the very beginning, she had tried, in spite, changing her name from Buffy, the name her father had given her when she was younger, to Lizzie, another version of her full name, Elizabeth. However, this plan had failed miserably as too many people had become accustomed to calling Elizabeth by the nickname her father had appointed her with at the park, swinging across the monkey bars on a hot and sticky summers day, desperately trying to swing faster so that she wouldn’t burn her 7 year old hands.

This failure to change the name made the 15-year-old even more determined to change other things about herself. She became everything her father had hated. She changed her hair, she changed her clothes, she hung around with people less desirable, in other words, Spike. Spike was the notorious ‘bad boy’ in school with spiked bleach blonde hair, all black clothes, an old black Desoto and the disgusting habit that was smoking. Although William Giles’ father was her mother and father’s good friend, it did not mean that Hank had to like Rupert’s son, which he allowed everyone to know, opening (though not bluntly) announcing his dislike for the then 15-year-old. It was because of this dislike that Buffy made a reluctant friendship with the bleached-brain menace. Her father had promptly called upon hearing this news demanding to know whether she was ‘hanging around with the cockroach of a boy’. Her father always had been good with his words.
The friendship had slowly developed, Buffy and Spike sparring verbally everyday, Xander and Willow, Buffy’s best friends, all egging the young woman on, yet they all knew that it was Buffy’s version of sanity, stopping her from crying constantly. Xander, the brown-haired ‘clown of the class’, a title he formally received later on at junior prom, constantly tried to cheer up Buffy with his silly acts and jokes, constantly cracking himself up (occasionally also Willow and Spike) but only ever managed to draw a tight lipped smile from Buffy. Willow, Buffy’s red-headed ‘geeky’ friend, head of the class, was there to support her throughout the whole ordeal, and continued through until the present day, but never really managed to get the blonde to open up.

Eventually it was Spike who got Buffy to cry. For a whole year she had bottled up all of her emotions concerning the to-do. Even when her father had left initially, she had refused to cry, getting caught up in doing what her father didn’t want her to do, being what he didn’t want to be (he had always wanted his ‘little angel’ successful, beautiful and polite. She aimed to skive off as many lessons as possible, be sexy, rather than beautiful, and as a rebel was rarely polite to people, with the exception of her mother, generally being a ‘little devil’, rather than the heavenly version she used to be, the version her father had envisioned she would always be). She would lie in her bed at night, and rather than think about what had happened, she would plug in her headphones and listen to the heavy punk that Spike had introduced her to (rather than the light pop that she used to love) and scowl until her eyes would close and she would fall into a deep sleep, where she didn’t have to concentrate on not thinking, it would just happen automatically, and she was always glad for the reprieve.

It was one summer’s afternoon, only a small space of time from the anniversary of her father’s leaving that Buffy finally let everything go. Joyce had invited Rupert and his son round for Sunday lunch. They had finished the meal and left the table to sit in the living room when there was an unexpected knock on the door. It was Buffy who opened the door, only to find her father standing behind the wood, a sheepish expression on his face.

“Bugger this,” she had said initially (a word that she had picked up from Spike as he used it so often), beginning to shut the door in his face before she realised that she couldn’t. Hank had already managed to get his pristinely shoed foot in the door, his elder male arms holding the door open.

“I want to talk to you Buffy. William said to come round today.” Hank had never liked Spike’s nickname. From the very beginning, when Rupert and he had come to Sunnydale from England, living down Henlow Drive, the next road over from Revello, he had refused to call the bleached blonde by his chosen name, and obviously, he was sticking to that, even then. “He said it would be a good time-” Buffy, by then, was fuming, seriously angry with her male partner in crime. She held out a hand to stop her fathers talking, afraid that her mother and sister would hear. She planned that they never find out that he was here. When he stopped talking, she smiled sweetly, popping down her thumb and three fingers.

“One, what the hell do you think you’re doing here, you have no right!” When it looked as if her father would start talking, she gave him a look that said ‘don’t you bloody dare’ and he shut up immediately. A second finger popped up “Two, his name is Spike, not William. It has been for years, and you, again, have absolutely no right to look down on him for his choice, even if it may be a little odd.” A third and final finger appeared. “Three. Your time is up. Leave now.” That was when she closed the door in his astonished face.

Buffy had stormed into the living room, demanding the location on the bleach blonde who had set her up, before locating him on the back porch, giving him a well earned smack on the face. Another verbal fight ensued, Spike giving the excuse that she had to face him, let her anger out (although he had heard that she had not really unleashed her anger, having hid around the wall of the house, listening to the exchange, and she had not raised her voice once, at best sounding a little anguished – although he was glad that she had defended his title, he really hated the name William) and that seeing him would allow her to let it out, let out all her anguish about it. No teenage girl could survive through her parents divorce without crying at least once (he knew that some need not cry more than once as they worked through their pain in other ways), but he insisted. Buffy was adamant that she was fine, that she had been ever since the divorce. It was always her excuse that she didn’t talk, not because she was upset and bottling things up, but because she didn’t want to. Spike had always described her as a ‘stubborn bint’ (a British term that no-one but his dad understood, although she had certainly lived up to the stubborn part of it that night). It had eventually broken down into a screaming and beating match, where Buffy would pound pointlessly on his chest, breaking down and sobbing clutching to Spike’s shirt, although he really didn’t mind that she soaked his favourite t-shirt. She had finally let go and cried her heart out, a period that lasted about 10 minutes, going from loud sobs, to silent tears, to hiccups and back again. It had ended up with her being seriously dehydrated. Besides, he had never understood why it was his favourite shirt. It was exactly the same as all his others (Buffy had teased him about this countless time, constantly insisting on him wearing colour, which he eventually appeased, buying a red shirt to wear over his black attire).

Needless to say, Joyce, Dawn and Rupert found out about Hank’s impromptu visit, but he was long gone by the time they reached the door, the only trace left of his presence the skid marks on the road where he had left in haste, driving his pretty silver Ferrari out of Sunnydale and back off to wherever he had been for the past year.

It was also needless to say that although Buffy finally became herself again after that day, still staying friends with Spike and his friends from before they mad their truce (Angel, captain of the soccer team (though defiantly not the usual football captain that you saw in movies), Drusilla, Spike’s slightly insane ex-girlfriend with dark, almost black eyes that could hypnotise a stranger at first glance, Riley, a rather normal bloke that most girls would kill to get one date with, and Darla, Angel’s marvellously naturally blonde girlfriend), Buffy refused to trust Spike at all, feeling more than a little betrayed. Two summers in a row she had been betrayed by a main man in her life, and she wasn’t pleased about it. And this mistrust carried on, Buffy having to go through one of the others if Spike tried to tell her something, fearing that he was deceiving her, and this paranoia slowly got to all her friends, especially to Spike, until, after a year, in September of their Senior year, it all came fruition. All the built up frustration that both Spike and Buffy felt, Buffy from hating not being able to trust Spike, Spike from not being trusted by Buffy, came bursting to the surface in the greatest confrontation Sunnydale High, the only High School in Sunnydale, the ‘Happy little town’ 3 hours from LA, would ever see.


Chapter End Notes:
The song is From the Inside by Linkin Park. Look it up on YouTube to get a nice feel for it.



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