Buffy hurried into the classroom, already slightly flushed with her awareness that she was running late. The teacher, Mrs Dragonface, as she was affectionately known by the class, looked up at Buffy with an acidic glare. She tapped her claws on the desk, and asked. “Reason?”
Buffy flushed further. She wasn’t about to tell the old witch that her mother had been rushed into hospital last night, and that she’d only just been given the all-clear. “I don’t have one.” She said in a small voice. “Just… Running late.”
“Not good enough. Detention.” Dragonface said, with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “This afternoon at three. Perhaps then you’ll learn to be on time. Now take your seat.” She indicated the only available seat in the class, and Buffy grimaced when she realized it was positioned next to William Pratt. Or Spike, as he seemed to prefer being called these days.
“Oh, I’m not sure if I-”
“Miss Summers,” the old witch said in a warning voice. “This isn’t a democracy. You’ll take your seat, or you’ll leave and come back to see me every afternoon for the rest of the school year instead.”
Buffy sighed, walking over to her new place with resignation. Spike glanced at her with disinterest, then pushed the open textbook he’d been supposedly looking at, so that it sat directly between them. Buffy sat still in her seat, arms drawn in to lessen the risk of coming into contact with his. She felt as if she were holding her breath. Spike didn’t look at her again, and for that she was glad.
It was twenty minutes into that first lesson when Buffy felt the night’s fatigue finally hit her. Her Mom was fine, now, but she’d been diagnosed with epilepsy and Buffy knew that things were going to be different from now on. There were pills to remember, and a routine to follow, and Buffy couldn’t shake the memory of her mother’s face right after she’d had the seizure. She had looked at Buffy like she was a stranger. And she’d been so scared, like she wasn’t a mother at all and she didn’t know that she’d ever been one. No girl should have to see her Mom that way.
Buffy couldn’t concentrate on the words in front of her. Dragonface was talking, but Buffy hardly heard a thing. All she would ever remember from that class was the electrifying closeness of William Pratt as he leaned across her to flip the pages of their shared textbook. She caught her breath every time.
When the school bell rang, Buffy grabbed her bag and was out of her seat before anyone else in the class had even gathered their things. She pelted from the room without looking back. If she’d have hung around for just a minute or two, she might’ve heard Spike laying out a request for a change of seats, and Drangonface shooting that request down with perverse satisfaction.
Buffy was sitting in Dragonface’s classroom at five minutes til three, waiting for her detention to begin. She looked up and caught her breath when she saw William Pratt stalking into the room at three o’clock exactly. He glanced at her for just a moment, then slid into a chair across the room. Buffy looked away quickly, sitting up a little straighter.
The old woman walked into the room with a mug of coffee and a scowl. She shut the door behind her and set the mug down on her desk. “Good afternoon.” She said, in a clipped voice, giving both of her students a sharp glare. “Mr Pratt,” she said, “A pleasure as always. And Miss Summers,” she smiled grimly at Buffy, “Hopefully the last time.”
She picked up a stack of books and brought them over to Buffy’s desk, setting them down before her. Then she took a second stack and presented them to Spike. “All of these books have been filled with profanity.” She held up two erasers. “I want you to clean them. You can go when you are finished.” She placed an eraser in front of each of them, and then she was gone.
Buffy glanced over at Spike. He had the first book open and was already busy erasing graffiti from the title page. He had his head bent and his boot clad feet kicked out in front of him. Buffy bit her lip, then turned to her own book. She erased the word ‘supergay’, then sighed, and looked over at Spike again.
“What are you in for?” She asked.
He glanced up at the sound of her voice and looked at her with an arched eyebrow. For a moment, he said nothing, and then he said “Thought we weren’t talking.”
Buffy flushed. So he’d noticed the weird way she’d acted that morning. Well, of course he’d noticed. She’d been like a deer in headlights when she’d seen that the only available seat was next to him. “That’s not what I asked,” she said hurriedly. Spike just shrugged.
“I asked to switch seats. Old bint said No. I called her an old bint and here I am.”
Buffy felt a stinging pain on her cheeks, as if he’d slapped her. “You asked to switch seats?”
“Thought we weren’t talking.” He repeated, giving her a pointed look.
Apparently, Spike thought that this was enough to merit the end of the conversation, and he bent his head again to return to the task at hand. Buffy felt a lump rise in her throat as she realized something. The fact that she must have hurt him.
“I’m sorry.” She said. “I didn’t mean to be weird. It’s just… You.”
“Me?” He looked up again. “Aren’t you supposed to say that it’s not me? That it’s you.”
Buffy bit her lip. He had her all tied up in knots. She’d never even looked at him twice before, and she was sure that he hadn’t given her much thought either. But now, here she was, in this odd situation with a guy from a different league to her own. Someone with bleached hair and a black leather coat, who talked in cuss words and spent his life in detention.
“Yesterday…” She started out.
“Let me guess,” He said, “You were upset ‘bout your mum and it didn’t mean anything.”
“Spike…”
“Am I close?”
Buffy shut her eyes. She hadn’t meant for any of this. She’d never even imaged it.
“I don’t know what to say to you Spike. I don’t know what you want to hear.”
He slammed his book shut and stood up abruptly, pushing back his chair with a loud scrape. “I don’t want to hear anything, Summers. If you’re saying it ‘cos you think I want to hear it, then s’not worth hearing, is it?”
He stomped over to the door and ignored Buffy’s protests that he’d get in trouble for taking off like this. He didn’t bother casting a backward glance as he left the classroom and let the door swing shut behind him.
Buffy watched him go, and then dropped her head into her hands. She’d made a real mess of that.
The next morning Buffy made sure to be on time. She sat down in her newly assigned seat, and watched Spike arrive, just moments before the bell. He sat down next to her without a word. Buffy glanced at him, but he didn’t look at her, just stared forward as if he couldn’t feel her eyes on his pale face.
Dragonface came into the room a moment later and closed the door. Before beginning her day’s lesson, she skimmed through the books that Buffy had left on her desk the night before. All of them. “Good job, the two of you.” The old woman said with a grimace, nodding at Buffy and Spike. Spike didn’t say anything, but Buffy saw his expression as it altered. Then Dragonface began her lecture.
“Why’d you do that?” Spike asked out of the corner of his mouth. Buffy started at his question, then pulled herself together.
“It was my fault you took off.” She said, biting her lip again. Talking to him just seemed to make her nervous now. “Look Spike, I know you’re mad a me-”
“M’not mad at you.” He countered, shaking his head, “Mad would suggest that I’m bothered by you. Sunday evening meant no more to me than it meant to you.”
Buffy took a deep breath. “It meant a lot to me.”
Spike turned in his seat. “What?” He asked, his voice louder than it had been. Dragonface dropped her piece of chalk, and she slapped her hand against her desk in annoyance.
“Mr Pratt, Miss Summers, if you are planning to disrupt my class any further then may I ask that you please take your discussion outside? That’s it, up you get. And if you wouldn’t mind reporting back here at three o’clock please. There are plenty more books that need cleaning, thank you.”
Buffy shouldered her bag and hurried out of the classroom immediately. She was halfway down the hallway when Spike caught a hold of her elbow. “What do you mean, it meant a lot to you?” He demanded, spinning her around.
Buffy flushed a deep red. “I don’t know Spike,” she said. “I… I was upset, I know you know that. But that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t in my right mind. When I… When I kissed you it was because I was scared, and having you with me made me feel better.”
Spike stared at her, an odd expression playing across his features. “You’re not like me.” He stated bluntly, and Buffy flinched. It was true. They’d never spoken before that evening, and they’d likely have made it all the way through High School without becoming acquainted, had it not been for Joyce’s seizure. Spike had been working in Buffy’s neighbor’s garden for every Sunday of the last month. She’d seen him out there a few times, digging, raking and planting. She’d recognized him from school, and remembered his name. He was a guy with a reputation, and she’d joked with her Mom about making sure the good silver was locked away every time Sunday rolled around. But when Joyce had looked at her with those frightened, unrecognisable eyes after her seizure, Buffy had run into her front yard and called his name.
At first he’d looked at her like she was a crazy person, but then he’d taken both her and Joyce to the hospital, and he’d stayed with them all night. He’d been a stranger, but he’d acted like he cared. Like all this mattered to him.
Buffy had kissed him, not just because she was grateful, or because she was frightened and looking for comfort, or even because she’d seen something in him that she liked. Buffy had kissed Spike because it had felt like the right thing to do, and she had wanted to do it. They were strangers, but they’d shared something.
And then the next day she had been forced to sit beside him, and she’d acted as if he was less than a stranger. She’d acted as if he was beneath her.
“I’m not like you.” Buffy agreed, shaking her head a bit. “I…” She felt the moment as it broke. “I’m sorry Spike.”
He fixed her with a glare. “Me too.” And then he was gone.
She seemed to see him everywhere that she went that day. He was standing around every corner, with a scowl and a gothic girl hanging off of his arm. That looked like the kind of girl you’d expect to see someone like Spike with. Buffy was kicking herself for trying to talk to him like she had. She’d made a complete idiot of herself, and he’d probably told the girl on his arm all about it.
Buffy felt herself heading towards him with conviction, sometime around noon, but he gave her a hard look that warned her off, and she realized. He hadn’t told his girlfriend about their kiss. Of course he hadn’t.
“You following me?” He asked, when he showed up for their joint detention five minutes early. He sat down, and glared at her. “You’ve been everywhere today.”
“I could say the same about you!” Buffy protested, shaking her head. “I’m not following you.”
Spike arched a brow at her, then turned away. Buffy felt a churning of frustration in the pit of her stomach. What on earth was his problem, anyway? She’d said she was sorry, hadn’t she? What more did he want from her?
Buffy decided to address Spike with these questions.
“Said you were sorry?!” Spike repeated, his tone sharp, “Oh my, you’re right. Well, Summers, I’m glad you’re sorry that you kissed me, but that doesn’t change it, does it? Still happened.”
“You’re mad about that?” Buffy asked, incredulous. He hadn’t seemed to mind it at the time. She felt her face heat up. “Well, then, I’m even more sorry. And for the record, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend. I never would’ve… If I’d known, I mean. I’m not like that, Spike.”
He scoffed, without looking at her. Buffy felt the anger rise up in her gut. “What?” She demanded, in regards to his derisive laugh, “If you have something to say, Spike, how about you just say it?”
“Fine.” He said, standing up and coming over to slap his hands down on her desk and look her right in the eye. “I’ve seen you around, Summers. I’ve seen you with your friends, with your boy toys, flickin’ your hair and giggling. You’re a moron, if I may be so blunt. What I don’t understand, is why you had’ta make a target outta me. I was happy, you know. Now you’ve come along and messed it all up with your stupid shampoo commercial blonde hair and your mini skirts. You’re in a world of your own Summers, and so am I.”
Buffy’s jaw had dropped, somewhere around the word ‘moron’, and she had no comeback. She just stared at him, feeling a prickling of tears in her eyes.
At that moment, Dragonface came in and Spike returned to his seat. They both got to work on their books in silence and were out of the room within the hour. Buffy didn’t look at Spike as she shouldered her bag and took off. He didn’t watch her go.
For the rest of the week, Buffy sat next to Spike and did not look at him. She tried not to notice him around the school, and she didn’t look his way if she did. Things were just as they had been before. Except that they weren’t at all.
Even when she wasn’t looking at him, she knew that he was there. She was aware of him from a ten foot distance. She knew if he was making out with his girlfriend. She knew if he was looking at her, and she knew especially if he was trying not to.
She couldn’t help it. Spike Pratt had become hers to observe, and she just couldn’t seem to help herself.
On Sunday afternoon, she couldn’t keep from glancing out of her window at him. He had his shirt off, and his stupid body was glittering in the streaming sunlight. Absently, Buffy wondered why she’d never really noticed him before.
“That’s the boy who took us to the hospital, isn’t it?” Joyce Summers asked, coming up behind Buffy at the window and making her yelp out in surprise. Buffy dropped the curtain and backed away hastily when she saw Spike glance up at her hiding place.
“Yeah.” She said quickly. “Spike.”
“I had a word with Cindy next door. She said she was going to have to let him go because he’d taken it upon himself to leave early last week. Don’t worry,” she added, at the anxious look that sprang up on Buffy’s face, “I explained about what he did for us. Cindy’s not heartless.”
“I wasn’t worried.” Buffy said, looking away from her Mother’s face.
“Right.” Joyce Summers agreed. “You know, Cindy told me some interesting things about that boy. She said, and I’m not sure that your ego really needs to hear this at all, but she said that he approached her about the job, not the other way around. Apparently he’s been jonsing for the girl next door for a while now, and he thought that this might be a good way to catch her eye. As far as Cindy can tell, he’s been in love with you for a long time, Buffy. Just doesn’t know how to tell you.”
Buffy’s jaw had dropped once again. “What?” She asked, half breathless. “You’re joking, right? He hates me!”
“Is that what you think?” Joyce smiled.
“But… He called me a moron. He said that…”
Buffy thought back to their conversation. To the way she’d apologized for kissing him. Maybe he had thought that she regretted it. She remembered his very first words to her, ”You were upset ‘bout your Mum and it didn’t mean anything”. Buffy cringed.
“He told me that I’m in a different world to him.” Buffy protested weakly.
“How about you just go and talk to him.”
Spike was turning over the new flower beds when he heard her approach. There was a fierce look on her face, and for a split second he was afraid. He gave himself a mental shake, then stalled himself, ready for the slap he knew that he probably deserved.
She was close enough to touch, then suddenly, close enough to smell. And then her lips were on his, and he dropped the shovel in his hand. It clattered to the ground, and she was wrapping her arms around her neck.
Hesitantly, he took a hold of her waist. And then the kiss was over. She took a step back, and once again he prepared himself for the slap. Again it didn’t come. But the words were just as bad.
“Why did you pretend that you hated me?” Buffy asked, her voice sharper than he’d imagine her capable of.
Spike felt like a different person. “Self preservation.” He shrugged, not looking her in the eye.
She seemed to think this over for a very long time, but eventually, a smile broke out across her face. “I don’t hate you, either.” She said, going back for a second kiss. The third kiss really. “In fact, I think that I might like you.”
Spike pulled back and stared at her. His gaze was sharp, as if he thought that she was playing with him. But then he saw the expression on her face. The earnest look in her eyes. And finally, he let himself go. This was what he’d always wanted, after all.
And God knows, he’d waited for her.
Author's Chapter Notes:
This is just a quick one-shot that I knocked out whilst in Scotland last week. I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter End Notes:
Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you thought =)