Spike woke up the next morning to the very pleasant sound of birds chirping outside his window. The rays of the sun shone in on him, greeting the teenage boy with an amiable dose of Sunnydale love. One of the blue jays floated outside the glass chirping gracefully and eyeing him with innocent curiosity.
“Bugger off!” Spike growled, throwing a pillow at the window. He groaned, rolling over so he wouldn’t have to see the dejected look on the poor bird’s face. Reluctantly he glanced back at the glass, seeing the blue jay still there. He growled again.
“What do you want then? You’ve already managed to wake me up this early!” He glanced at the clock.
11 a.m.
Shit. He hadn’t realized he’d slept so late. He got out of bed and headed to the bathroom, grumbling something along the lines of not being able to take this bloody awful Sunnydale cheeriness.
After hopping out the shower and getting dressed in a punk shirt and ripped jeans, he made his way downstairs in hopes of catching a late breakfast. Aunt Jenny was nowhere to be found. He shrugged and opened the refrigerator only to be met with expired milk and a shelf full of condiments.
Spike closed the fridge, wondering if his morning could get any worse. He spotted a note on the refrigerator:
Hey Will,
I’m out running a few errands. And then I’m off to the grocery store. Didn’t realize how much my food reserve was lacking. I’ll be home soon though. In the meantime you should go outside. Walk around. Get a tan or something. God knows you need it :-p.
Spike rolled his eyes. “Great. I’m here practically starving to death and she’s worried that I lack the proper skin complexion.” He sighed, putting on his shoes and heading out. It wasn’t that bad outside. In fact, it was actually pleasant. Definitely a far cry from the constant overcast of England.
He sat down on the porch steps, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up.
He looked around the neighborhood, noting that it was a beautiful day and no one was even out. For such a pretty town, the place sure was boring as hell. He glanced next door, remembering the three teens from yesterday. Of course they weren’t there. They were probably out volunteering at an old folk’s home. That’s probably what the kids did out here for fun.
He spotted the football that the teens were kicking around the day before sitting out on next door’s lawn. He smirked, flicking the cig to the ground and walking over to pick up the football.
“Hm. Nice brand,” he noted.
He began to juggle it with his feet, expertly bouncing it on his knees and his head. At his old school he used to be pretty good. Except the whole Slayer thing made it pretty impossible for him to find time to stay on the team. Warrick, being the stuffy prat he was, would have none of it anyway.
‘Football my arse,’ he would say. ‘What will be your excuse to humanity when the world comes to an end? That you were too busy running around on a field, kicking a bloody ball around?’
Yeah, Warrick could be kind of dramatic like that sometimes.
He continued to juggle the ball, not noticing the petite blonde standing on the porch.
“Do you make it a habit to trespass on peoples’ properties?” the girl asked, startling him. The ball fell to the ground.
It was the unfuckable blonde girl from yesterday.
He raised an eyebrow then scanned her from head to toe, appreciating her small yet somehow intimidating form.
She was wearing some cut off shorts and a pink tank top. It was one of those tanks that had those clever yet annoying little phrases on them. Hers in particular said “Cali Girl.” It wasn’t as annoying as the shirts that said things like “Your boyfriend likes me,” or “I like guys with money,” but it still made his eye twitch.
“Hello, cutie,” he purred, doing this thing with his tongue that he knew made the girls go crazy. “That’s not a very nice way to greet the new boy in town is it? M’ name’s Spike. What’s yours?”
She watched him appraisingly. Besides the freakishly bright hair and the horribly outdated punk shirt he was wearing, the guy was sorta cute. Not that she was interested in the guy’s appearance or anything but she wasn’t blind for chrissakes. She could definitely admit when a person had to-die-for cheekbones.
“Buffy,” she answered tentatively.
He snorted.
“No really luv. Your real name. No need to make up some outlandish and might I add, ridiculous, name to shut me up. Don’t be scared, I don’t bite. Not unless you ask me to anyway.”
The tongue thing again.
Buffy’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “That is my real name you pig.”
He stopped smirking. “Oh. Sorry ‘bout that. Guess your parents must have been sloshed the night of your naming ceremony eh? That’s too bad.”
She strutted off of her porch, stalking towards him and grabbing her ball from the ground. “Give me my ball,” she demanded rather childishly. “And get off of my lawn.”
Spike put his hands up defensively. “Calm down, Betty. It’s not like I was gonna steal your precious football or anything.”
Actually that’s exactly what his plan was, but she didn’t have to go around basically accusing him of it. That was just plain rude.
She looked up at him angrily and briefly had to catch her breath. He had these breathtaking blue eyes that could make a girl swoon if he wasn’t such a jerk.
“It’s Buffy. Bu-ffy,” she enunciated once she got over his hypnotizing azure orbs. “And it’s not a football you freaky Englishman. It’s a soccer ball. You live in America now. Get with it.”
“Oh I plan to ‘get with it’ alright. Just give me a few days and I’ll be getting with it real nice.” He raised his eyebrows up and down suggestively. Of course, he was teasing, knowing that a particular stick was wedged far up her particular ass. It was entertaining to get a reaction anyway.
She shot him a disgusted look and shook her head. “What is wrong with you, you demented pervert? Don’t they teach you manners where you’re from?”
“I have no manners thank you very much,” he boasted proudly. “Manners are for tossers who’re too scared to say how they really feel.”
“Well do us all a favor and…don’t….feel.”
He was about to retort when he heard a voice calling Buffy’s name from inside the house.
“Mom says lunch is ready!” A cute brown haired girl stepped outside the threshold and onto the porch. “You coming in or what?” The girl eyed Spike curiously. “Who’s he?”
“Nobody,” Buffy answered quickly. “Just a…homeless man I, uh, found on our lawn.” She turned to Spike. “Shoo homeless man!”
Spike looked at her like she was crazy. “Betty sure can be rude sometimes can’t she?” he noted to the young girl with a shake of his head.
The girl nodded. “You should see her when she catches me sneaking into her room and peeking at her diary. She goes into total ballistic mode. It’s upsetting really.”
“Lemme guess. Younger sister? What’s your name anyway? My name’s Spike.”
The young girl blushed at the hot guy’s interest in knowing her name. She may only have been 13, but she knew hot babe when she saw it. “It’s Dawn. Nice to meet you. And I’m sorry about my sister. She can be a real B-I-T-C-H sometimes.”
Buffy threw a dirty look her way.
Spike nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah, I know. ‘M hoping it doesn’t run in the family.”
Dawn shook her head reassuringly. “No, not at all. Buffy seems to have acquired all the bitch genes.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Still here. For those of you who care.”
They both ignored her.
“So what’s this I hear about lunch?”
Dawn’s eyes turned bright at that. “Well if you want you can come in. Mom won’t mind. I’m sure there’s more than enough sandwiches to go around. Plus, Buffy barely eats. You can have her portion.”
Spike smiled, breezing past Buffy and throwing an arm around Dawn’s shoulders. “I think we’re gonna get along lil’ bit. So where’s the food? I’m absolutely famished.” Spike and the irritatingly giddy Dawn made their way into the house.
Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed in defeat. “Great. First I have to deal with the little gremlin that is Dawnie. And now the psycho next door is asking for it.” Maybe he was a demon, she thought with delight. She could slay him! Nobody could be that humanly irritating.
“Come on now Betty! Mum’s made BLTs and if you don’t hurry up…!” Spike yelled from inside the house.
Buffy growled, but made her way up to the house anyway.
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“I absolutely love the artwork around the house Ms. Summers,” Spike gushed, mouthful of sandwich. “It brings out the sophisticated quality of your humble home.”
Joyce smiled, flattered. “Thank you, William. But please, call me Joyce. I’ve tried to collect a variety of different artifacts from all over the world.”
“Please Joyce, call me Spike. Much less formal yea? Well you’ve done a wonderful job with your collection.” He pointed to a mask on the wall. “Let me guess… Nigerian?”
Joyce nodded, impressed with his knowledge. “How did you know?”
“Just a lucky guess,” he replied with a shrug. “I like to dabble in the arts a bit.” He chose not to mention that he’d come across a mask quite similar to that one back home in England. Of course, that particular one was much more alive and evil than this one. He would remember to tell Joyce to keep an eye on hers.
“Do you happen to have any apple juice? I’m really thirsty.”
Buffy rolled her eyes at Spike’s pathetic display of fakery. Could the guy be any more of a suck up? It was disgusting really. And why didn’t her mom ever talk art with her?
“So tell us about yourself, Spike,” Buffy mocked. “What brings you here besides your daunting quest to aggravate and annoy the Sunnydale locals?”
He chewed his sandwich thoughtfully for a moment.
“Well, I’m 17 years old, born and bred in the mother country. For those of us who are clueless, the ‘mother country’ is England.” He threw a condescending look Buffy’s way.
She glared at him.
“I’m here in the States now because I needed a change in scenery and my Aunt Jenny was gracious enough to let me stay with her. Um… I enjoy long walks on the beach, pretty sunsets, and even prettier girls.”
He gave a cheeky smile to Joyce, making Dawn giggle.
“Well, you know school starts in a week,” Dawn informed. “It’ll be my first year in high school! You’ll be going to Sunnydale High, right?”
He nodded, absolutely hating the topic of school.
“I’m surprised they’re letting you attend,” Buffy chimed in. “Don’t you have to be mentally stable to get into the schools these days?”
He chuckled. “I guess not, blondie. And apparently you don’t have to be smart these days either… hence the whole ‘you’ going to school thing,” he added.
Dawn snorted, attempting to hide a laugh.
Before Buffy could answer back, the doorbell rang. Joyce got up to go get the door.
“You know I could kick your ass right?” Buffy whispered so only Spike could hear.
He snorted. “I’d like to see you try Summers.”
“There you are!” Aunt Jenny said, coming into the kitchen. “I was looking for you. I see you’ve made some friends huh?”
“No he hasn’t,” Buffy assured, shaking her head. “He just came by to pester us. But you can have him back now.”
“Be nice,” Joyce admonished lightly. “So Jenny, I hear Spike’s going to be a senior this year. So’s my little Buffy. It’s nice to know she’ll have a friend next door.”
“There goes that ‘friend’ word again guys,” Buffy interrupted, alarmed. “I assure you, he’s not, nor will he ever be my ‘friend.’ I have friends, remember mom? They’re of the Xander and Willow shape.”
“Oh, Buffy, you should introduce him to Xander and Willow. You’ll really like them, William.”
Spike put on a false smile. “Sounds good.” Truth was, he’d rather stay solo. There were things in his life that had prevented him from ever having real friends in the past. Mainly his being a Slayer. And although that was behind him, old habits were hard to break.
“Aren’t you guys going to the beach tomorrow?” Dawn asked Buffy. “You should take Spike with you.”
Buffy shot her a murderous look.
“That’s a great idea,” Joyce beamed. “You can show him around Sunnydale, and introduce him to your friends at the same time.”
Spike shook his head. “It’s ok Ms. Summers I don’t—“
“Nonsense. It will be fun.”
“Mom!” Buffy yelled, “He doesn’t want to go. And even more importantly, I don’t want him to go. And plus, there’s no room in Oz’s car, and he probably doesn’t even like the sun. I mean, look at his skin! It’s pasty!”
“I told you, you needed some sun,” Jenny joked. “The beach would be perfect for you Will.”
“Then it’s settled,” Joyce confirmed. “Anyone want apple slices?” She passed one to Spike, and then began conversation with Jenny.
“I want you to know that I really, really dislike you,” Buffy whispered, absently grabbing the apple slice from his fingers and eating it.
“Yeah well the feeling’s mutual Betty. Real mutual.”
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