They entered Ozzy’s together, his arm draped casually around her shoulders. Buffy saw that Oz was, in fact, there—behind the counter, pouring a cup of coffee. She offered a small discreet wave as his eyes flew open wide as saucers. Buffy led Spike to a table in the back and Oz cursed as he over filled the cup he was pouring.
Oz took several deep breaths and approached the table where both his friend and personal rock god were currently sitting. He kept his face straight and his eyes trained on Buffy.
“Hey, Buff, what’s up?” He asked, his voice squeaking embarrassingly on the word “what” like he was still an adolescent going through the change. He cleared his throat.
Between hearing his band’s third album playing somewhere in the atmosphere of the coffee shop and the short redhead boy’s overzealous coffee pouring, Spike knew instantly that he was dealing with a fan. The casual, nonchalant type, apparently, which was far better than the hyperventilating oh-my-god-oh-my-god-it’s-you type.
“Oh, nothin’ much. Just having some early afternoon coffee. You?” Buffy’s eyes danced with that impish, mischievous light again and Spike knew she’d brought him here on purpose. He also instinctively knew that she knew that her friend would be cool. So he relaxed and went with it.
“Nothin’ much. Servin’ early afternoon coffee.” He replied, casually.
“Oh, Oz, this is a new friend of mine, Spike. Spike, this is an old friend of mine, Oz.” Spike cocked an eyebrow at Buffy and turned to look at the young man. He smiled brightly and offered his many-ringed hand.
“Nice to meet you.” Spike said casually. Oz’s hand trembled only a little as he shook the rock star’s hand.
“Likewise.” Oz replied, just as casually.
“Oz, as in Ozzy? As in the name over the door?” Spike asked.
“Uh-yeah- it’s my mom’s place. She used to call me that when I was a baby but I don’t really like it…” Shut up shut up shut up! Oz’s head started screaming mid-ramble. Well, rambly for him, anyway. “So, Buffy, you having your usual?” He steered the conversation suddenly away from himself and back to business. Spike smirked and Buffy grinned like a jackass.
“Yeah, sure.” She chirped.
“And-uh-what about you, man?”
“Coffee. Black.” Oz nodded and turned abruptly away, and left. Spike leveled his eyes with Buffy’s.
“Something tells me Buffy isn’t being a very good girl today.” He said in a sing-song fashion. Buffy just grinned wider.
“Remember my friend that took me hostage?”
“The one that’s in love with me?”
“Uh-huh. That’s him.” Buffy said, pointing. Spike turned his head for a second look at the boy.
“Hmm. I might have to give ‘ol Heidi a call after all, then.” He said, rubbing his chin. Buffy laughed.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” She asked, suddenly nervous. Spike turned back to face her.
“Nah. He seems cool enough.”
“That’s the understatement of the year. Oz is cool. Like, really cool. As in, ‘as a cucumber’ cool, not ‘drives a fast car and smokes cigarettes’ cool, though everyone generally agrees that Oz is cool cool, too… He doesn’t drive a fast car or smoke cigarettes, but he does play bass. That’s why I brought you here: first, as revenge for the hostage taking and second, ‘cause I knew it’d make his day and he wouldn’t cause a scene.”
“Well, I can respect anyone who chooses to play bass. They’re the red-headed step-children of the music biz. Literally, in his case, yeah?”
“Yeah. Oh, and FYI, you could make his life complete if you compliment the coffee or something. That is-if you actually like it. Oz would see right through insincerity and he wouldn’t appreciate it.”
“Sounds like my kind of guy already.”
“Don’t make me jealous, now. And the coffee really is good…” She trailed off as Oz returned with their coffees—or, in Buffy’s case, cappuccino with extra nutmeg and cinnamon. The slight rattle of Buffy’s cup against the saucer it was served on was the only thing that belied Oz’s famous and recently much talked about cool.
“Thanks, mate.” Spike said.
“Yeah, no prob—uh, Buffy… there’s a phone call for you?” Oz said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the counter, and scrunching up his face in confusion.
“What? From who?” Oz swallowed.
“Uh, Will- Willow. Yeah. Willow.”
“What?” Buffy furrowed her brow and fished her cell phone out of her purse. “She didn’t try the cell…” Buffy commented, looking at her phone.
“Yeah, I know, it’s weird right? She says its urgent.” Oz gave her a look of pure desperation and Buffy got the hint to stop asking questions, just before she asked the all important “How’d she know I was here?”
“Okay.” She replied instead and, struggling to stifle her laughter, slid out of the booth and followed Oz behind the counter, past the phone, and into the back storage room.
“Spike Rock is in my coffee shop, Buffy!” He exclaimed, grabbing her shoulders and looking at her wild-eyed.
“I know, Oz. Breathe.” Buffy replied, still struggling to stifle her laughter.
“You brought Spike Rock to my coffee shop!”
“Surprise?” He looked at her, stunned, for a moment, then gathered her up in a fierce hug.
“I think I love you.” She laughed at last and patted his back in an exaggeratedly friendly manner.
“So are you finally leaving Willow and running away with me?” She asked, pulling back.
“Yep. Let’s leave later tonight. We’ll cross the border at dawn.” They grinned at each other. “Okay, spaz attack is through.” He said, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head.
“You sure?”
“Not really, no. I told you he didn’t do one night stands, though, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“So, what, are you guys dating now?”
“I don’t think we’re dating… more like… hanging out.” Oz nodded sagely. “And I should get back to that.”
“Yeah. Oh, don’t tell him I’m a spaz, okay?”
“Why not? I already told him you’d go gay for him.” Oz’s eyes flew wide and his cheeks flushed as red as his hair. He was still sputtering when she walked out of the storage room.
Buffy sat back down with a grin.
“What was the ‘emergency?’” Spike asked, voice dripping with knowing sarcasm.
“Oz is a spaz.”
“Ah.” There was a semi-awkward silence as they sipped their coffees. “So, what kind of music does Buffy Summers like to listen to?” He asked at last.
“What’s with you and the third person thing?” She asked back. He shrugged, but said nothing. Just looked at her expectantly. She shifted uncomfortably.
“I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t really listen to much music.” His eyes narrowed.
“Everybody listens to music, Buffy.” He said incredulously.
“I know, I just…” She let out a nervous little chuckle. “Chick music, I guess. Like, female singers, mostly. Sarah McLaughlin and Alanis Morissette—her later stuff more than the Jagged Little Pill stuff—and I like that new singer, Sarah Bareilles.” She shrugged nervously. He withheld any comment, as she looked very much like she had more to say on the matter. She looked at him. “There’s this song, called… ‘Hallelujah,’ I think… and this guy is singing about, well, music, and then he goes ‘But you don’t really care for music, do ya’?’ This… guy once gave me a CD with just that song on it, once, because of that line. I guess he thought he was being deep or something.”
Spike’s eyes narrowed and he felt a strange, flushing heat rush through his face. Yeah, he was familiar with the song. He’d listened to Jeff Buckley’s cover of it over and over while drinking himself into a stupor, all day, nearly every day, not so very long ago.
“Why?” Spike asked.
“’Cause he was an asshole.” Buffy replied bitterly.
“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Spike commented.
“Yeah, one that I do not feel like telling at the moment.”
“Fair enough.” He had his own stories that he didn’t feel like telling, either. “Ever heard of Joni Mitchell?” He asked casually, trying to cut through the tension that had suddenly arisen. She shook her head. “You’d like her, if you like female singers. She’s, well, she’s one of the original female singers, really. Brilliant lass.” Buffy smiled.
“Oh, I like cheesy 80s rock, too.” She offered. “I mean, I’m not all ‘Yeah! 80’s rock!’” She made the rock hand sign, “but Xander and the gang and I like to cruise up and down Sunset Strip screaming cheesy lyrics at the top of our lungs to piss off all the annoying hipsters who think they’re so much cooler than us just because they paid too much for their used clothes and listen to a bunch of bands that start with ‘Thuh’” She said that last word with as much derision as she could muster, then immediately flushed bright red as her eyes went into backpedal mode. “I mean, I didn’t mean, you know, not your… shit. I forgot.” She said sheepishly. He laughed. He was charmed that she'd forgotten.
“’S okay pet. I know exactly the kind of people you mean. I like to think my band’s one of the ‘Thuhs’ they don’t like.”
“Yeah. And there are lots of good ‘thuh’ bands, too. ‘Thuh’ Beatles. ‘Thuh’ Rolling Stones…”
“’Thuh’ Clash. ‘Thuh’ Sex Pistols.” He chimed in. She crinkled her nose.
“What’s up with you British bands and ‘thuh’ anyway?” She interjected. He laughed. Loud.
“You know, I don’t know. Never really thought of it, ‘til now.” His accent suddenly switched into the so-called upper class and far more pompous version. “Naming your band ‘thuh’ something and talking in the third person are a few of the more curious traits of the native Briton, I suppose.” This got an appreciative chuckle out of her, and they shared a decidedly more comfortable coffee sipping moment. “So you listen to 80s rock ironically, then?” He asked at last.
“Oh, god!” She put a hand over her eyes. “That makes me as bad as them, doesn’t it? But, come on, anyone who, in all seriousness, wrote the lyric ‘Hit me like a bomb, baby, come on get it on’ probably meant for his music to be listened to ironically, right?”
“You’d be surprised, pet.”
“Oh, what has seven arms and sucks?” She asked suddenly, eyes all bright and childish and excited. Bloody adorable, she is, he found himself thinking for about the 87th time that morning.
“Def Leopard?” He didn’t miss a beat before replying. She squealed and laughed, then put her hand in the air. A high five? Seriously? She expects me to high five right now? He thought, then was quite surprised to find his hand rather enthusiastically meeting hers and laughter rumbling out of his chest, her enthusiasm for horrible, cheesy jokes apparently being infectious. What the hell is she doing to me? He wondered. Turning me into a bloody ponce, is what. Soon I’ll be writing stupid poems and buying her flowers. I wonder if she likes roses. Nah, too cliché. Every beautiful girl in the world has some idiot buying her roses. Lilies? Irises?
“That joke is so mean, but I love it.” She said with a laugh, interrupting his train of thoughts. He cleared his throat.
“That’s why it’s funny, pet… ‘cause it’s mean.”
“Yeah. Needless to say, Xander has helped to instill in me a healthy appreciation for novelty.”
“Xander’s into to cheese, then, is he?” Spike’s voice once again dripped sarcasm. Both times he’d met the bartender, the bloke had been wearing a garish Hawaiian shirt; a different one on each occasion, in fact, which was the thing that baffled Spike the most. Why anyone would choose to own one Hawaiian shirt, much less more than one, and much less to wear any of them was quite beyond him.
“Oh, yeah. Next to bartending, his dream job would be to run a joke shop. The Number 1 Fictional Character(s) that Xander identifies with most are the Weasley twins from Harry Potter.” Spike smirked. Buffy’s face grew nervous and concerned.
“You don’t… you don’t really think he’s in love with me, do you?” She looked at Spike earnestly. It was his turn to squirm. “God, I’d hate to think I’m just, like, constantly hurting his feelings. He’s my… He’s my brother, you know? I mean, yeah, yeah, step and all that, but… ever since we met, he’s always just been like… my big brother.” She looked miserable. Spike looked stricken.
Great. Not only is she a stubborn, fiery little minx who’s amazing in the bedroom, she’s a kind, compassionate, caring, stubborn fiery little minx who’s amazing in the bedroom. Good fucking luck, mate. He took a deep breath.
“Always? Right from the very start, he’s just been… brotherly?” Spike asked.
“Yeah.” She said with an uncomfortable shrug. “I mean, we met for the first time at our parents’ wedding. He stuck out his hand and said ‘I’m Xander. I guess I’m your new brother.’ Then he shocked me with one of those hand buzzer thingies. So I dumped my paper plate of wedding cake on his head and said ‘I’m Buffy. I guess I’m your new sister.’ Then he said ‘Fair enough’ and went to the bathroom to clean cake out of his hair. I never told him he walked around all day with cake in his ear and that everybody could totally tell… but that’s the way it’s been, ever since. Sure we’re playful, but not, like, sexy playful. It’s always been more about practical jokes than ‘last one in the shower’s a rotten egg.’” Spike chuckled a bit, but cleared his throat when she gave him a look that said “I’m being serious here.”
“I think he gets it, Buffy, how impossible the situation is. I shouldn’t have said anything, it was just an off-hand remark. I’m brilliant at buggering up off-hand remarks. But, I can’t say as I blame him. I’d probably fall for you, too, if I lived with you, too.” Buffy blushed and suddenly became very interested in the bottom of her cup. He grimaced Case in point, he thought. “I think I might know just the person to introduce him to, in fact.” Spike said, not really realizing he was thinking aloud.
“You do?”
“What? Oh. Yeah, actually.”
“Who?”
“All will be revealed.” He said cryptically as he wiggled his fingers in the air. “So, when did your parents get married, then?” He asked, to distract her from what he’d just said. “Your mum and Xander’s dad, was it?”
“Yeah. When we were fifteen, just before my sophomore year of high school.”
“And what was Buffy Summers like in high school?”
“A lot like Buffy Summers is now, just younger.”
“Yeah? No cheerleading squad for you?” He asked, a dash hopefully.
“Nope, sorry. I do not have one of those little outfits stored away in the bottom of my closet. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
“Damn. Still, there are stores that sell them.” Her mouth dropped open in that cute little ‘O’ and she looked positively scandalized.
“Oh, no. I hated cheerleaders in high school. Sorry to ruin your sex fetish fun, but I have deep seeded issues that prevent me from ever wearing one of those little outfits.” He pouted.
“But you could be the stuck-up head cheerleader and I could be the devilishly handsome bad boy that yanks you down off your golden pedestal to roll around in the mud.”
“Why do I have a sneaking suspicion that this little scenario of yours involves actual mud?”
“’Cause it does.” He grinned and touched his tongue to the top of his teeth. She rolled her eyes and the blush he’d been thoroughly encouraging deepened.
“Nuh-uh. Parochial school girl and devilishly handsome priest, maybe, but no cheerleaders.” His nostrils flared and he shifted in his seat at the sudden onset of his very large, almost painful new erection. So much for being worn out.
“Were the cheerleaders in your school really that bad?”
“God, you have no idea. Poor 15-year-old Xander was so awkward and gangly and had dreams of being a pro-skater that he unfortunately had to abandon after two broken wrists and a broken ankle, and they were awful to him. Like, leading him on, asking him to the Sadie-Hawkins dance then announcing ‘Yeah, right, as if I’d ever go out with a horrible geek like you!’ in really loud, obnoxious, bitchy tones and also in front of everybody kind of awful.” Spike winced.
“Bloody hell.”
“Yeah. They were all on board to accept me into their little clique, cause, you know, cute, blonde, blah blah blah, until I stood up for Xander and punched the head cheerleader in the nose after that aforementioned incident. Then suddenly I was a social pariah.” And Spike could see her doing it, too. In vivid colour. And that turned him on more than imagining her in the outfit, anyway.
“Poor Buffy.” She laughed.
“Nah, I didn’t care. I’d rather have Xander and Willow on my side any day than those fake bitches. At least they come through, you know?”
“That is an important quality to have in a friend.” Spike agreed. Buffy’s face grew thoughtful and he could almost feel another random tangent coming on. Conversing with this girl was a game of verbal chance. You never knew what you were going to get.
“It’s weird, Oz was the only one who was ever able to navigate the cliques in high school, truly get along with everybody, hence the cool thing. But I think he got special immunity ‘cause his dad was famous and his mom was this ultra cool new agey type that bought kegs for his parties as long as everybody stayed overnight and paid off the cops to stay away.” She mused, and Spike’s ears perked up.
“Oz’s dad is famous?” Buffy grinned.
“Yeah. His full name is Leonard Osbourne Rockstein the Second.” Spike’s eyes widened and it was his jaw’s turn to drop open.
“He’s Leonard Rockstein’s son? The same Leonard Rockstein who died in a plane crash in the early 90s?”
“Way to somber it up, but yeah.”
“And he chooses to play bass?”
“Hey Oz!” Buffy called out in reply and started waving the redhead over. Once Oz had sauntered up, hands in his pockets, Buffy very casually asked, “Why don’t you play guitar again?” Oz shrugged.
“That was my dad’s gig. If I’m gonna make it, I don’t want it to be because I’m somebody’s kid, you know?” Oz replied. Suddenly Spike was the one who was nervous and staring at the other slightly in awe.
“You-uh… you probably hear this all the time…” Spike chuckled nervously, “but your father was a huge influence on me.” Oz nodded.
“Yeah. I know. I read that somewhere.” He replied.
“I-uh- I’m real sorry about what happened to him. Real tragedy that.” Oz just nodded, again, more solemnly this time.
“Yeah. Oh, hey, man… I was sorry to read about your mom last year. That sucked.” Spike clenched his jaw and looked down, trying to suppress the irrational burst of anger that swept through him. “Oh, shit. Lame. That was pretty tactless of me, huh?” Oz added, quickly.
“No, it’s only fair.”
“Nah. My dad died when I was a kid. I’ve had time to get over it, not to mention a short lifetime of people saying ‘Oh, I was so sorry when I heard about the crash.’” Spike managed a small smirk.
“It’s not even that. She was sick for a long time… it was almost a relief when it happened. Just… that was the start of a pretty rough year.” Oz nodded again, sagely.
“More coffee?” He asked.
“Sure.” Spike replied gratefully.
“Buffy?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Oz.” Spike kept looking down after Oz walked away.
“Don’t worry. I won’t ask.” Spike smiled bitterly and looked up at her.
“Thanks.”
“But, if you do want to talk, you know, ever… feel free.” He just nodded. “Jesus, listen to me. Like you don’t have plenty of people to talk to if you want.”
“You’d be surprised how few there are, pet.” He said softly.
“So it really is lonely up at the top, huh?” She said, trying to keep her tone light. He shrugged and took her cue.
“’S not so bad, really. Got all the free booze you can drink up here, plus any other vice you might want to participate in.”
“Get your money for nothing and your kicks for free, huh?” She asked with a smirk.
“Chicks for free, too.” He amended with a smirk of his own, though, if he thought about it, her version actually made more sense. “Can you smoke in here?” He asked, looking around.
“Yeah.” He went about pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his inner coat pocket. “So… what are your vices?” She asked, hoping she sounded casual and nonchalant as he lit one. “Besides those.” She added, fanning smoke away from her face.
“What are yours?” He asked back after taking an abnormally long drag and considering her with a tilted head and narrowed eyes.
“I asked first.”
“Tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“All right. Xander’s blue Mai Tais, the never ending quest for the perfect pair of shoes and matching hand bag, guys that never call, and Godiva Cappuccino with Chocolate Hearts ice cream, mostly.” She raised her chin as she listed them off. “Pushy rock stars are kind of a new addition to my repertoire.” She made sure to add.
“Don’t forget cheesy 80s rock.” He reminded.
“And cheesy 80s rock.” She conceded with a grin.
“Well, I assure you that casual encounters with handsey blondes are new to my repertoire as well. There’s these.” He held up the hand with the cigarette, “Jack Daniels and most of his companions, girls that are batshit insane, and anything home baked. Cakes, cookies, turkeys… I’m an absolute sucker for a home-cooked meal.”
“That’s it?” She asked, incredulously.
“That’s it.”
“You’re pretty square for a rock star, then.”
“If you base squareness on substance abuse, then you’re pretty square for an L.A. girl, you ask me. Figured you would have graduated from rum and ice cream to snorting coke off the toilet seat in bloody grammar school.”
“I have no problems being square, thank you. And, also, ew.”
“You’re not square, luv. Not where it counts.” He said in a low, sexy tone of voice coupled with a suggestive leer as a particularly vivid image of her head craned around to look at him as he plowed vigorously into her from behind, while she screamed “Harder, goddammit, fuck me harder!” came to mind. She looked down and blushed deep crimson, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking at that very moment. God, she is adorable. He thought, yet again. “And neither am I, for that matter.” He added.
“Okay, so we’re not squares. Unless it’s hip to be square…”
“Stop quoting cheesy 80s songs.” She blushed and grinned.
“Sorry.”
Oz sauntered back to their table to check-in on them again, looking much more relaxed than on previous check-ins.
“Can we get the check, mate?” Spike asked. Oz looked confused.
“Buffy doesn’t get checks here.” He turned to her. “You know that.”
“Well, well. Looks like I’ve found a girl with connections.” Spike commented.
“Only for coffee and free drinks, within reason, at Xander’s club.”
“You also got a late bat mitzvah, too, thanks to Willow’s dad.” Oz reminded. Buffy laughed.
“Right. So if you ever need a Jewish coming-of-age ritual performed despite the fact that you’re not Jewish, I’m your girl.” Buffy said, grinning at Spike.
“You lead a charmed life, pet. Or so it would seem.”
“So not.” Buffy said with an eye roll. Then Oz casually placed a CD down on the table in front of Spike, whose heart then sank a little. Not a bloody demo, mate. I was just starting to like you. He thought to himself. Oz leaned in conspiratorially.
“In high school, Buffy, Willow, and Xander were forced to be in the school’s talent show. They performed a scene from Oedipus Rex. To date, it is the funniest thing I have ever seen. I bequeath it unto you.” Then Oz straightened up and trained his gaze on a rather wide-eyed Buffy. “You violated the sanctity of the top five, Buffy. You should have known better. Nice hickey, by the way.” Then, with a grin that could only be described as cool, he turned and walked away.
Spike picked up the CD and eyed it like a kid eyeing the cookie jar.
“You are so not watching that.” Buffy said with all the authority she could muster, which was quite a lot, considering her petite frame and pretty face.
“Oh, I certainly am.” Spike said back joyously, not phased in the least.
“No. Give it to me.” She swiped at it. He jerked it out of reach.
“Uh-uh-uh.” He tutted.
“Spike, I’m not kidding.” There was venom in her voice now.
“Neither am I.” Her eyes never left the CD, until he slid it into the inner pocket of his duster. Buffy considered her options. She couldn’t just attack him in the coffee shop… the car. She’d get it back in the car. This guy did not know who he was messing with. Spike could see the gears turning.
“Come on, Buffy. You embarrassed the boy. You earned it.” She huffed.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is, pretty much, just a shit-ton of talking. And a little bit more Oz. I know most writers and movies and what-not do the whole fade to black while the couple's laughing thing, but I, personally, like dialogue and all the fun little conversations that can happen in coffee shops, so I've included most of what Buffy and Spike say to each other here. Though, I do, eventually, fade to black. Oh, and most of this stuff comes into play later, anyway, so...
But, if you hate dialogue, I'd skip this chapter, but more sex will be coming absurdly soon, so hang in there, folks!
But, if you hate dialogue, I'd skip this chapter, but more sex will be coming absurdly soon, so hang in there, folks!