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Ch. 3: When I Come Around



A/N: I just wanted to say that despite the lack of updates on ‘Feelings’ or any other WIP’s, I will never leave one unfinished. It may take awhile for me to update, but everything will eventually come to a conclusion. That being said, I may even decide to continue ‘Whisper’ and possibly ‘Yellow’. But I won’t unless I get feedback saying I should. Now that everything is cleared up...enjoy chapter 3!! And for all intents and purposes, Buffy’s singing voice isn’t Sarah Michelle’s singing voice. It’s much more haunting, like Amy Lee. For that matter, it pretty much IS Amy Lee’s voice. But whatever. Haunting is the key word.




*****


Buffy was a wreck. Her confrontation with Angel at the Bronze had happened over two weeks ago, but she still couldn’t escape it. The look on his face, the throbbing music, and the severe drop in the pit of her stomach that she had felt at seeing him with Cordelia were still vividly clear.

At school she plastered on her happy mask, as did Xander, but no one called them out on it. No one had the heart.

She was sitting at her usual lunch table with her friends, letting their giddy conversation wash over her as she hummed softly to herself. She didn’t notice when the conversation dropped out at first, instead she just continued her quiet humming.

“Wow,” Willow breathed.

Fred looked up with big eyes. “Buffy, that’s beautiful.”

Buffy blushed and ducked her head. “It’s nothing.”

Gunn squinted his eyes. “I know my music, but I gotta say, I’ve never heard that tune before.”

Buffy bit her lip and cast her eyes downward. “That’s because I wrote it.”

Oz looked up, a hint of interest on his face as he ran a hand through his eggplant colored hair. “I didn’t know you sang.”

“I don’t. Much. I write songs, and I play a little bit on piano. Nothing too serious.”

Fred’s face lit up. “So does Wesley! And Charles plays drums!”

Buffy sighed, knowing what was coming. “Okay, so who else plays something?”

Xander scratched the back of his neck. “I play guitar...some.”

Willow smiled at Oz. “Well, Oz plays bass, of course, so he’s trying to teach me. Personally, I think I’m gonna stick with bassoon.”

Fred nodded. “Yeah, trombone is so much easier than anything else. Well, for me, at least.”

Buffy’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as she examined Fred’s petite frame and tried to picture her playing trombone. Then, for the first time in weeks, she laughed. “I can’t believe it–all of my friends are music geeks!” Soon thereafter the whole table erupted in laughter.

They were still laughing when a deep British voice cut through to their ears.

“Sorry to interrupt the gigglefest, mates, but I was wondering if one of you lot could help me.”

Buffy looked up to identify the source of the voice. When her eyes met their target, they nearly met her jaw on the floor. Standing before her was a figure so statuesque, she wondered whether he was flesh or marble. He was a young man, probably a senior, Buffy guessed. And he was gorgeous. Standing a lean six feet tall, Buffy could see his defined abs and pecs through his skintight black tee shirt. He was wearing tight black jeans, heavy black boots, and a long black leather trenchcoat. His hair was a bleach blonde mess of curls that looked like he had just rolled out of bed. The thing that mesmerized Buffy the most, however, was the intense sapphire of his eyes, which were accentuated by the razor edges of his impossibly high cheekbones. He began to speak again, which broke Buffy out of her reverie.

“Just transferred from Epsom, just outside of London, so I don’t exactly know my way around. Was assigned to have some bleeding jock wanker Riley something-or-other show me around. Didn’t much care for him.”

“Join the club,” muttered Willow under her breath.

The yet unnamed Brit gave a crooked smile. “Part of why I decided to come to talk to you lot.”

Buffy finally found her voice. “A-and the other reason?” she breathed. “And your name, if you would be so kind.”

“William Matheson. But I prefer Spike, if you don’t mind. And you, kitten?”

Buffy’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly like a fish for a second before her voice returned to her. “I-I’m Buffy. Buffy Summers. And I’m gonna call you William, William. I don’t exactly know you well enough to call you Spike.”

William cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so, pet?” Buffy nodded. “Then what should I call you? Buffy sounds an awful lot like a nickname to me. And I don’t know you well enough to call you by a nickname, love.”

Buffy jutted her chin out defiantly. “Then what do you call ‘kitten’, ‘pet’, or ‘love’? Buffy is my real name. Hate to disappoint, but it’s on my birth certificate and everything if you don’t believe me.”

William chuckled, a hearty rumble that echoed in his chest. “Touche, pet. But please, call me Spike.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

Xander looked up at the new object of attraction for every female within a two-block radius. “So, bleach boy, why are you here again? Talking. To us. Like we’re some kind of talking buddies?”

Buffy scowled at her friend and Spike mimicked her previous action of rolling her eyes. “I need a new tour guide. That, and these two here,” he gestured to Oz and Gunn, “seem to be fellow musicians.”

Willow’s mouth opened. “Holy crap. We were just discussing that before you came along.”

Oz stood up, though it did little for his height, and stuck out his hand. He smiled when Spike took it. “I’m Daniel Osborne. Call me Oz; everyone does. I, uh, play bass.”

Spike nodded, a look of thought crossing his beautifully carved face. “Good to know.”

Gunn followed suit and stood up, which was much more impressive, and also shook Spike’s hand. “Charles Gunn. I play drums. So, what about you? What’s with the quest for musicians?”

Spike smirked. “Well, I play guitar. And sing, believe it or not. I just figured since I’m living in California, what better place to start a band?”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Willow, and the beginning of Buffy’s name spoken before the name’s holder clapped her hand over her friend’s mouth.

Spike merely raised an eyebrow at the little exchange. “So, who else plays a useful instrument?”

Xander and Wes exchanged a look before tentatively raising their hands.

Spike pointed to Xander. “You?”

“G-guitar,” he stammered.

Spike nodded and looked pointedly at Wes.

The quiet Brit rubbed his chin. “Um, piano, keyboard. Anything to that effect.”

Spike sucked his cheeks into a grin. “Right. Names. Guitar Boy!”

Xander jumped and nearly fell of his chair. “Yeah?”

“Name.”

“Xander Harris.”

“Great. Brit Boy?”

“Wesley Wyndham-Price.”

Spike clapped his hands together. “Very good. Now, the question is, do you four wanna join the band?”

The four young men looked at each other. Gunn smiled and spoke up first. “I think I speak for all of us when I say, ‘Hell yeah!’”

There was a murmur of assent at the table and Spike nodded. “Right. What do you say, first rehearsal next weekend, my garage?” He pulled out a piece of paper and wrote down his address four times. “Well, I’ve got to go find my next class and decide if I want to go. I’ll talk to you lot later.” Buffy watched, mesmerized, as he walked away.

Xander looked around at the table, then at the slip of paper in his hand. “Did I just join a band?”

*****

Spike’s mind was reeling. Not only had he gotten a band together, but he had met the most beautiful girl he had ever seen as well. His Uncle Giles had never told him about the beautiful American girls that attended school in Sunnydale. He had been quite shocked to find another Brit at school, but got the impression that Wesley would get along much better with his librarian uncle.

Ever since his mother died, Spike had been bounced between relatives before taking matters into his own hands. He had finally decided that, if allowed, he would move to California and live with his mother’s brother. There was no one remaining on his late father’s side who would take him, so he abandoned the refined English upbringing that had been a part of him for so long.

Friends and relatives had been shocked when his cultured upper-class accent was replaced by a rougher cockney lilt. Little color was included in his wardrobe, and punk rock soon became his passion. In the time that he lived on his own before he moved to America, he made new friends, and though they may have reflected poorly on him, he didn’t care about others’ opinions. He didn’t let anyone get close to him, because if he did, he felt like he was somehow insulting his parent’s memory. So he built a wall around his blackened heart. A wall that had yet to be broken, but was already being worn down by a petite blonde with emerald green eyes.


He was walking down the hall, lost in thought, when he ran into something quite solid.

Spike growled in frustration. “Oi, watch it, mate!” He glanced up to find a man about two inches taller than himself glaring down at him.

“You’re new. I get that. So I’m gonna lay down the rules nice, okay?” Before he knew it, Spike was shoved up against the lockers. “Stay the hell away from Buffy.”

Spike opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a dark-haired girl latching herself to his attacker’s arm.

“Oh, Angel, leave Billy Idol alone. Now if you’re a good boy and follow me, I might have a special surprise for you.” She bit her lip and raised an eyebrow seductively before running off.

Not surprisingly, Spike found himself free from the big oaf in a matter of seconds. He shook his head and laughed before bending down to retrieve his scattered books. He was startled yet again when small hands covered in black lace gently deposited the books in his outstretched arms.

“Here you go, my pretty William. Miss Edith and the stars told me I might find you here, and Miss Edith is never wrong. So, my pretty William, why did nasty Angel knock down someone as ... effulgent... as yourself?” The strange girl had not blinked her enormous eyes the whole time she had been speaking, but they were closed now. A gentle smile was on her face as she swayed back and forth, as if she was dancing to and unheard melody.

Spike studied her a moment before speaking. “I beg your pardon, but what is your name? And for that matter, how do you know mine?”

Her eyes opened languidly. “Sweet William, you ought to know! Naughty boy!” She shook an accusing finger at him. “I am Drusilla, of course. And you...” She reached out to touch Spike’s face, but recoiled as if she had been burned. A look of horror and disgust marred her features. When she spoke again, her voice was hollow and sounded haunted, and shook slightly with every word. “You taste like ashes.”

Spike chuckled. “Could be the smokes, pet”

“Shh! I can see her, surrounding you. She’s everywhere, laughing. She’s all around you...inside you, even, and you don’t even know it.” Drusilla sniffed pitifully and stood up. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, sweet Willy. Goodbye.” And with that she left, as quiet as a shadow.

“Quite the odd bird, she is,” Spike muttered to himself before standing and walking in the opposite direction of the peculiar British girl. He had no idea of the weight that her words carried until he passed by Buffy in the hallway after school. Then, suddenly, the pieces slowly began to fall into place.

*****

Buffy had barely made it down the stone steps in front of the school before she heard a rich British voice calling her name. She whirled around to see Spike jogging up to her. “Um...hi, Spike.”

He gave Buffy a lopsided grin. “Are you walking home?”

Uh, yeah. Driving and Buffy are like...unmixy things, so...” She trailed off and looked up sheepishly.

Spike laughed and jammed his thumbs into his belt loops. “Well, what do you say I give you a ride instead, yeah?”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Spike, we just met!”

“Well, call it an opportunity to get to know each other, then.” He bent down slightly to look into her eyes. “Please?”

“Alright, fine. But if you try anything...”

Spike raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise.” Buffy laughed and began to follow him to his car. They walked in silence for a little while until Spike spoke up again. “So, who’s this Angel bloke I ran into? Friend of yours?”

Buffy sighed and began to speak, but faltered when she realized Spike was holding the car door open for her. “You drive a DeSoto?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Nothing.” She climbed in and buckled her seatbelt as Spike closed the door and walked around to the other side.

He got in and closed the door before turning to look at Buffy. “You never answered my question, love.”

Buffy continued looking out the windshield. “What question?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell. You know what question, pet. Who’s Angel?”

She snapped her head around to look at him. “Why do you even care?”

“Let’s just say we...ran into each other, and he made it very clear that I am not to be anywhere near you.”

Buffy chuckled and looked back out the windshield. “He’s my lowlife, cheating, jerk of an ex-boyfriend.” She turned in her seat again. “You know what? I used to think his eyes were all beautiful and soulful. But they’re not. They’re big and dumb, like a cow’s. He has big, dumb, cow eyes.”

Spike smiled, but stayed silent. After a minute or two he quietly began to speak. “He hurt you real bad, didn’t he?”

Buffy’s lip began to tremble, and before she knew it, she had unbuckled her seatbelt and flung herself onto Spike. “I just wish it would stop. It all hurts so much, and I just want it to stop. I loved him. I gave him EVERYTHING I had, and he threw it all away to be with Cordelia.”

Spike did nothing but hold her while she cried. He rubbed her back soothingly, but he couldn’t coax any words to spill forth. So he held her while she cried and clung to him as if her life depended on it. When her breathing returned to normal. He felt her pull away.

“Will you take me home now?” Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, and silent tears still fell.

Spike reached out a hand and wiped her tears away with the pad of his thumb, and smiled when she leaned into his touch. “Of course, love. Where do you live?”

“1630 Revello Drive.” Buffy took a steadying breath and smiled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all Lifetime story of-the-week on your shirt.”

Spike chuckled softly and looked down at his soaked T-shirt. “It’s alright, kitten. I’ve got plenty more at home.” With a small smile in Buffy’s direction he turned towards the front of the car and started the ignition.

The two blondes were silent for the entire car ride. When Spike pulled up to Buffy’s driveway, she smiled gratefully.

“Thank you.” Spike nearly nodded in response. Buffy was nearly out of the car when she felt a hand come to rest softly on her elbow. She turned and gave Spike a quizzical look as he handed her a scrap of paper.

“It’s my private phone number. I, uh, have my own line. But, Buffy, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call. I don’t care if it’s 1:30 in the bloody morning. If you need someone to talk to, or just a shoulder to cry on, whatever it may be, call. Okay?”

Buffy didn’t even realize that she was leaning forward until she felt her lips brush softly against her cheek. The spark that passed between them did not go unnoticed by either teen, but neither of them commented on it. “Thank you.”

Spike watched in silence as she walked up the stone path to her house. When she disappeared through the front door, he let his head fall back. “What the bloody hell have I gotten myself into?”

TBC in Chapter 4....

A/N2: I would just like to say, I realize that Cordy isn’t as evil as I’m making her, but I figured I needed to get her out of the way in order for Anya to enter the picture, and she sorta ended up with Angel anyway. I realize that this story is probably really cliche, but give it a chance. I also realize that James Marsters isn’t 6 feet tall, but I don’t really care. It was a round number. Also, should Dru come back, just for a bit of psycho humor? Feedback is always appreciated!





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