Chasing Cars

Chapter One: Déjà vu


Her fingers gripped the bone white china coffee mug, absorbing the heat through her chilled body. Damp strands of blonde hair clung to her face. A shaky sigh escaped between her lips.

What was she doing?

Her eyes closed and a shiver ran through her body.

Why did she come here?

She tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear as her eyes stayed trained on the dark liquid. She brought the mug to her lips, tasting the bitter flavor.

“Hello?”

She looked up at the man with the kind brown eyes. “Um, sorry. What was that?”

Concern flickered in his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” Her voice lacked conviction and the man tried again.

“Do you need anything?”

She let out a murky laugh. “Directions to the nearest shithole of a motel.”

The man’s brow furrowed. “Well, there’s always Sunnydale Motel.” He studied her for a moment. “You look kinda familiar, and at the risk of sounding like an idiot: do I know you?”

She focused her gaze on his face. “I doubt it.”

He didn’t believe her, she could tell. “Okay, well, have a good night.” She watched as he said something to a sweet-looking redhead and walked out the door. As soon as he disappeared, the redhead glanced over at her.

She blinked. Hard. She knew that girl.

The redhead’s look of confusion morphed into recognition. She hesitantly walked over to her table. “Buffy?”

Oh shit.

“Um…” Damn, why hadn’t she thought of people remembering her? Surely not everyone from the class of 1998 had left Sunnydale.

“Buffy, right? I’m Willow, Willow Rosenberg. We had computer class together with Ms. Calendar…” The redhead, Willow, trailed off. She didn’t dare venture too far into the past. “How have you been?”

“Uh…um, fine.” Overstatement of the year, Buffy thought.

Willow nodded, the same concern rippling in her eyes. “Right. Where’ve you been?”

She had no choice but to answer. “LA, mostly. Sometimes in New York.”

Willow smiled. “Wow, big cities.”

Buffy stared at the overly bright smile. Yeah, she thought sarcastically. Living the life. “Just simple stuff.” Change the subject. “What about you?”

“Oh! I’m working here, obviously. Xander, you remember him, right? He saw you and asked me if I recognized you, and sure enough!”

Buffy just smiled weakly, waiting for her to continue.

“Anyway, he and his wife own the place, but she’s pregnant and sometimes asks me to fill in when she’s not feeling too good. But my actually job is computer repairs, stuff like that. It’s nice; I can pretty much do it from my house.”

Buffy let Willow babble on about her girlfriend, Tara, and their new kitty. It sounded so…normal. The ache of wanting the normalcy startled her.

“…to him?”

Shit! She’d missed what Willow had said. “Huh?”

Willow’s expression was somber. “Have you talked to him?” There was no question who the ‘him’ was.

“Not recently,” Buffy answered, trying to sound normal. “But, you know, we kinda lost touch after high school and…” The unspoken second reason hung thick in the air.

“Well!” Willow nearly shouted, breaking the unease. “What brings you back to Sunnydale?”

Good question. “Business,” Buffy lied with a shrug. “I didn’t really know if anyone was still here.”

Willow slid into the vacant seat. “Yeah, I know. I thought about leaving, but Tara and I love it here. Plus, we’re looking to adopt and better to raise a kid here than in LA.” Her eyes widened as she glanced at Buffy. “Not that it’s bad! It’s just…different.”

At her stricken expression, Buffy’s lips twitched. “I don’t have any kids.” Then the brief grin disappeared, the frozen face back.

Willow seemed oblivious. “Oh, trust me. I never thought I would either, but Tara loves them.” Suddenly her expression turned curious. “So, where’re you staying?”

“At…Sunnydale Inn,” Buffy lied, punctuating her words with an obligatory smile.

Willow’s eyes brightened gleefully. “Nice! They have the best scones at breakfast. Anya gets a shipment in the morning from them and they’re gone by 8:30.”

“Anya?” Buffy echoed in confusion.

“Xander’s wife,” Willow explained and then paused thoughtfully. “You know, you might remember her. She came midway during senior year. Cordelia Chase was always sucking up to her because of her stepdad.”

Buffy nodded absently. She actually had no idea who Anya was. “Listen, I should get going.”

The five words prompted Willow to spring out of the seat. “And I should get back to work. But, hey, the four of us are going to the Bronze tonight, wanna join us?”

Every thought in Buffy’s mind was screaming ‘No! Get away!’ “Sure,” the word slipped out. “What time?”

God, she was an idiot.

***************

“Forty.”

Buffy stared down at the crumbled bills in her hand and let out a low sigh. “Okay.” She pressed the money into the dyed blond woman’s weathered, old hands.

Her heavily made-up eyes blinked as she counted the bills. Buffy couldn’t help but stare at her red lacquered nails.

“Eighty?” the woman asked her in the same monotone voice, making her question sound more like a statement.

“Yes.” Buffy cleared her throat. “Two nights, please.”

The crayon eyebrow rose at her impeccable manners. She slowly turned around and grabbed a seemingly random key and handed it over. “Room 217.” She placed the money into the register and looked up with a blank face.

Buffy could feel the heat spreading across her cheeks as she pocketed the key and backed up, moving towards the elevator. “Thank you.” The words felt so out of place and awkward.

The woman just nodded tiredly, resuming her crossword puzzle.

Buffy located the elevator and pressed the UP button. Goosebumps trailed up her bare arms. What was she doing here?

A job, she thought firmly as the doors slid open. She needed a job that didn’t involve drunken idiots pawing at her. She stepped in the rickety elevator and let out a deep sigh. Had she ever thought she’d be staying here of all place?

Visions of home baked apple crisp and cider danced behind her closed eyes. Her mother’s specialties. No, she decided swiftly, she wouldn’t tell her mother she was here. If she did, there would be coddling, scolding and her mother’s desperate attempts to get her daughter to talk about him. The other him.

The doors groaned open and Buffy followed the numbers to her room, unlocked it and pushed the squeaky door open.

It was dirty and dusty. The covers were stained and there was a distinct smell coming from the closet. She didn’t even venture into the bathroom.

“Welcome home,” she murmured and pulled back the covers. The pillow was annoyingly flat and the bed was hard, but she fell asleep instantly.

Chapter Two: Tequila


“Gotcha!”

“Hey, no fair!” Buffy shouted, gingerly touching her skinned knee. “I tripped!”

“Too bad, Summers,” Angel called out as he ran through the thick grass, chasing William.

At last, he tackled the younger boy, knocking his glasses off. Quickly, Buffy ran over and picked up the glasses, handing them to William.

He took them from her and shoved them on. “I’m it,” he announced.

Buffy placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t wanna play anymore, it’s boring.”

“Stop being such a girl, Summers,” Angel replied, pushing her.

“Am not!” Buffy shouted. “You can’t even jump off the cliff, scaredy-cat.” She stuck out her tongue for emphasis.

“I can!” William boasted as he kicked off his sandals. “Watch me.”

Angel laughed. “No you can’t, Willie. You can’t even jump of the diving board at the pool.”

William’s chin jutted out definitely. “Can too.”

Buffy pursed her lips. “Well, I’m gonna jump too. Come on, Will-yum.” She pulled her shoes off and tossed her shirt and shorts in a pile.

“Well, I am too,” Angel announced, shedding his clothes. The three scrambled up the hill, the hot, lazy sun glinting off their golden skin. They stood on the edge of the cliff, staring down at the lake below.

Buffy felt for each boy’s hand, grasping tightly.

“On the count of three,” she said seriously.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

Noise erupted in the cramped club, booming from the speakers. Buffy nearly covered her ears at the sudden bang of drums.

“You made it!” Willow shouted over the blaring music.

“Yeah, I did,” Buffy replied, seating herself at the small bar.

“Tara will be here soon, and Xander and Anya are at a doctor’s appointment, but it’s almost over,” Willow informed her.

Buffy nodded, surveying the Bronze. It had barely changed. A few new tables and chairs, but it was the same. Possibly the only major difference was the absence of the pimply teenage crowd. From a lone glance, Buffy guessed it was 21 and older.

“Wanna drink?”

Buffy started to shake her head, but stopped. A little drink might be nice, she conceded. “A shot of tequila,” she told the redhead who giggled a little at her choice of drink. As Willow leaned over to order their drinks, Buffy took the opportunity to straighten her thin ribbed tank top, spotting a coffee stain on the hem.

Her sudden departure from LA had meant no packing. She had her bare necessities packed away in her ever-handy tote bag along with two pairs of underwear.

A small glass filled to the brim with a clear liquid slid in front of her, and she readily accepted the shot, tipping back her head and pouring the burning liquid down her throat.

“Wow,” Willow commented in slight awe. “You’re good at that.” It was strange compliment, and Buffy could feel a prickle of resentment. She was the girl who could do shots. Not repair computers, run a shop or teach. Just drink herself into a bitter haze of stupidity.

“Thanks,” Buffy responded setting the glass down. It was too late. The words had hung in the air too long, turning awkward.

“Sorry,” Willow spilt out in a rush. “I didn’t mean it in a mean/drunk way. I just meant…” she trailed off helplessly.

“I know what you meant,” Buffy told the redhead. She tried to make the words sound reassuring, but they came out half-hearted.

Willow swallowed a gulp of her fruity drink. “So are you gonna be visiting the high school? You know, for old times’ sake?”

Buffy shook her head. “A world of no. I still have nightmares about-“

“Snyder,” they said in unison. A burst of laughter came from Willow, and Buffy managed a half-smile.

“God! He was a horrible little idiot,” Willow said, shuddering. “I wonder what happen to him?”

“A giant snake ate him,” Buffy suggested.

Willow snorted. “I wish.”

Surprise flittered through Buffy at the words. This was a different Willow. From the few memories Buffy could recall, she had always been the shy, mousy brain of the class. She liked this one better.

She fingered her empty shot glass as her mind automatically went to him. Would it ever stop?

“You okay?” Willow’s voice was softer than before.

“Yeah,” Buffy answered, clearing her throat. “I just need another shot.”

Willow motioned for the bartender and handed the empty shot glass over. Seconds later, it was returned, filled with Buffy’s good friend Jose. She went slower on this one. She wouldn’t want anyone to think she was an alcoholic.

All the sudden, Willow gestured to someone over Buffy’s shoulder. “Tara!” Willow shouted over the music. Buffy straightened and spotted a dark blonde walking towards them.

Tara was a shy-looking, curvy dark blonde wearing a flowing skirt and almost corset like top with sweeping sleeves. Nothing Buffy could pull off in a million years, but it worked for her.

“H-hi,” Tara greeted her with a warm smile.

“Hey,” Buffy replied, trying to return the smile. When it didn’t come, she busied her self with another taste of her shot and resisted the urge to gulp it.

“Where’s Anya and Xander?” Tara questioned her girlfriend, pulling up a chair.

“Doctor’s,” Willow answered and kissed Tara’s cheek.

A sting of jealousy zinged through Buffy as she watched the exchange. Why couldn’t she have that? Why did her relationships suck beyond comparison?

“How long have you been together?” Buffy asked, keeping the conversation going.

“Almost seven years,” Willow responded, squeezing Tara’s hand. “We met at UC Sunnydale.”

“Wow.” Buffy was actually impressed. Not many people had that, including herself.

“Yeah,” Tara said, but her eyes were on Willow.

Buffy took the opportunity to gulp her drink, swallowing hard. She had to get out of here. Out of the Bronze, out of Sunnydale.

But as much as she wanted to, the shitty thing was there was nowhere else to go. She’d given up her job in New York to be with Riley in LA. Now, she didn’t have Riley and she sure as hell didn’t have her job.

“Um,” Buffy began, concocting an excuse, “I should probably-“

“Oh!” Tara announced. “I see them.”

Damn, damn, damn. She couldn’t get out now.

Both Willow and Tara stood up to greet the mother-to-be that waddled up to their table followed by the same dark-haired guy from the coffee place, Xander.

“Fuck, I need to pee,” the mother-to-be announced loudly, her hand resting on her rounded belly.

No one seemed particularly shocked by the tactless comment as she shuffled off towards the bathroom. Xander watched his wife go before turning to hug Tara. Buffy, feeling like the tipsy fifth wheel, gathered that Tara had been out of town for the last couple of days for a lecture in Seattle.

“Hey.” Xander had noticed Buffy sitting at the bar with her empty glass. “I knew I knew you. Buffy Summers.” He shook his head. “Man, in high school, I was in love with you. Tell her Wills, I was going to ask you to the some dance in sophomore year, but I chickened out.”

Willow laughed. “You were just intimidated by-“ She stopped herself cold.

A silence stretched between them, blanketing everything with discomfort. Tara looked a little lost. And why should she know what they weren’t talking about? Nine years had passed.

“I’m back,” Anya announced. “And I need a cherry coke.”

Buffy couldn’t even remember this woman and yet she was eternally grateful for her arrival. “I’ll get it,” she offered and ordered another shot for herself and the cherry coke.

When she spun around, Anya was regarding her with curiosity. “You look different. I like your hair, did you dye it?”

“No,” Buffy answered. “Undyed it.”

“Same,” Anya said, holding up a shoulder-length lock of brown hair. “I liked my blonde better. So did Xander. It worked better for Naughty Nurse.”

She really wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Um…okay.”

Xander chuckled nervously. “Ahn,” he spoke gently, touching her hand.

“Oh right.” Anya gave a dismissive wave. “You don’t like me talking about us and sex.” She sat down on the barstool and grabbed her drink. “Anyway, I would’ve kept it, but my OB/GYN advised me to not dye my hair while pregnant.”

“She also told you to cut back on the cherry cokes,” Willow added with a mother-like frown.

“It’s a craving,” Anya whined with a pout. Her pretty black blouse flowed over the volleyball-sized bump in her belly as she leaned back into the bar. A yawn escaped between her pink-glossed lips.

Buffy felt out of place as she listened to the four friends discussing Xander and Anya’s coffee place. Seriously, why did she come out with them? In the end, it was all bad memories. She drank her shot, and this time she felt a little woozy.

“I’m gonna use the restroom,” she stated for anyone listening. She saw Willow nod at her distractedly before she stood up, heading for the vague direction she remembered.

“Down the hall, second door on the right,” Anya clarified for her. “I practically live there with this baby pressing on my bladder.”

Like she needed to know that, Buffy thought as she stumbled a little, squeezing through the crowds. The bathroom was exactly where Anya said it would be, and Buffy pushed the door open.

The florescent lighting highlighted her dark circles and slightly greasy skin. Realizing that this bathroom was a million times better than the hotel one, Buffy took the opportunity to use the toilet and wash her face, sticking a piece of gum in her mouth for good measure.

Her hair was limply hanging around her thin face, so she pulled it back with an elastic. Making a face, she pulled it out. With her hair up and no make-up, she looked about 12.
She should just go. Any excuse would work. They weren’t close enough friends to call her bluff, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could take that ghost feeling of being at the Bronze.

With a sigh, Buffy pocketed her gum, and closed up her bag. Why had she ever accepted in the first place? To torture herself maybe?

She returned moments later, holding her bag a little tighter. Xander and Willow were discussing a favorite show that vaguely rang a bell.

“Please, that scene was totally unrealistic,” Willow scoffed.

“It was pretty fake,” Tara agreed.

“No! You two are missing the texture, the meaning behind it,” Xander urged.

“You know,” Buffy interrupted. “I think I’m gonna head back.” She swore she saw a look between Willow and her girlfriend.

“Okay,” the redhead said, keeping her upbeat tone.

“I’m just really tired,” Buffy explained lamely.

“That’s okay,” Willow chirped. “We weren’t planning on staying long anyway.” She fished through her small purse, pulling out a pen and paper. “Here’s my phone number, call me before you leave. We can do something.”

Buffy accepted the slip of paper, fumbling to shove it in her pocket. “Yeah…um, see ya.”

Quickly, Buffy shoved her way out of the Bronze, inhaling deeply as she stepped out outside. The air felt cool against her hot skin, and slowly, she walked towards the motel.

The sign flickered like a blinking light, signaling her to turn into the building. Buffy headed to the elevator only to see a piece of paper tapped to the door proclaiming ‘BROKEN. USE THE STAIRS’ in a messy scrawl.

After climbing up the dingy stairwell and walking to room 217, Buffy struggled to open it, jiggling the doorknob until it released.

The bed was the way she had left it, her dirty underwear and pants thrown across it. Suddenly, she heard a beep from inside her bag.

Setting it down, Buffy searched her bag, finding her cell phone with the words ‘1 new voicemail’.

Opening it, she heard the sound of Riley’s, her ex-fiancée, concerned voice.

“Hi, Buffy, it’s me. I know we agreed that we would wait a couple weeks before talking, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you…I wanted to make sure you were okay. Anyway, you can call me if you need someone to talk to…” There was pause, like he was waiting for her to pick up the phone. “Okay, bye.”

Slamming the phone shut, Buffy snorted. His concern for her used to be endearing, but now it was just annoying. He knew exactly where she was, hell, he was the one who told her to go.

Flinging the bathroom door open, Buffy turned on the shower as hot as it would go. She shrugged off her top and bra, and slid out of her pants. Testing the water, Buffy decided that it was warm enough, and jumped in.

Soon the water was scalding hot, but Buffy didn’t care. She stood there, her chest tight, her eyes burning. She lifted her face to the spray, so it was impossible to tell the difference between her tears and the rivulets of water.

Even when the hot water disappeared, she stayed in. Maybe if she remained in there long enough, it would wash her away.

Chapter Three: Job


Squinting up at the faded sign, Buffy let out a long sigh. It was the third, or fourth if she counted the S&M store she didn’t even bother stepping into, that was hiring.

In her hands were two separate applications: one for a bar (definitely not) and another for a jewelry store (maybe.)

Warily, Buffy eyed the new store in front of her, unsure of the name ‘The Magic Box’. It seemed a little too spiritual for her, but the desperate need for a job and money won.

Stepping in, Buffy heard the bell jingle, and suddenly a head of long brown hair popped up from behind the desk.

“Oh!” The teen gasped. “Shit. Um, I’ll be right there. ” With the movements of a girl who hadn’t quite grown into her long legs, the teen ducked under the desk and walked up to Buffy.

“Hi. Welcome to The Magic Box, how can I help you?” She reiterated, flashing a wide smile.

“Actually, I’m here for the job opening,” Buffy replied, shifting her bag.

“Job opening,” the girl repeated, looking a little nervous. “I’m so sorry! My boss isn’t here right now, but I can give you an application.” Without waiting for an answer, the brunette raced back to the desk, knocking over a display in the process.

“Dammit!” The girl fell to the ground, picking up the fallen candles.

Feeling sorry, Buffy bent down to help her.

“Oh god, thank you. I’m such a freakin’ klutz. This is the third display I’ve knocked down this week. God, my dad is gonna kill me,” the girl bemoaned.

“Your dad?” Buffy couldn’t help but ask with a puzzled look.

“Well, not kill me,” the brunette conceded, “but I’m so gonna be spending my weekend alphabetizing 20-pound Sumerian tomes.”

Glancing around, Buffy took a leap and guessed that the girl’s father owned the store. “Your dad’s your boss?”

With a roll of her eyes, the brunette stood up. “Long story. Anyway,” she continued, setting the last of the candles on the desk, “let me get the application.”

Buffy watched the slender teen disappear into a back room. She took a moment to study the books on display, running her eyes over the titles.

Magick for Beginners…Love Potions for the Experienced Witch…Eye of Newt: History of Witchcraft…Demonic Forces in the Modern World…

Frankly, the titles were a little more than strange.

“Here,” the girl had reappeared, a light blue slip of paper in her hand. “The number’s on there, so if you have questions, just call.”

“Okay, thanks,” Buffy gave her a fleeting smile.

“I’m Dawn by the way,” the girl said, holding out her hand.

Instead of saying her name, Buffy just shook the slim hand. “Nice to meet you.” Quickly, she backed out, hearing the bell jingle once more.

Returning to wandering down the main street, Buffy looked down again at the sheets in her hands, telling herself, again, that any job was better than none—except for her last one.

She shuddered a little at the memory of the darkened building with grimy walls and sticky floors. It had been a strip joint where, thankfully, Buffy had only been a bartender/waitress. Unfortunately, drunken men had a trouble discerning her from the nearly naked women on stage, and would paw at her with meaty hands.

It had only lasted a couple weeks and got her the quick cash she needed, but it’d seemed to last forever.

Buffy heard her stomach growl, and she blinked, looking around for a place to eat. Tilting her sunglasses down, she spotted a familiar place simply called FOOD in neon lights. If she remembered correctly, they served cheap, but fairly tasty burgers.

The blast of air-conditioning sent goosebumps across her skin as Buffy stepped in. At the counter, she placed her order with a pimple-faced teen.

“D-do you want anything with your burger?” The boy stuttered a little.

“Nope,” Buffy replied, snatching a packet of ketchup.

He slid a red, school-style tray at her and smiled, revealing a mouth full of braces. “Enjoy your lunch.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled in reply.

On her tray was a burger and empty fountain cup, as requested. She filled the cup with Diet Coke and sat down in the back corner.

Her mood improved slightly after the first few bite of her burger. It was even better than she remembered.

Swiping at her mouth with her napkin, Buffy leaned back, feeling more satiated than she had in a long time.

In recent years, greasy or fatty indulgences had depleted as her relationship with Riley grew. He was a wholesome, military man complete with vitamins and early morning runs. They were near opposites in terms of their lifestyles, but Buffy had been willing to make the adjustments.

And now she was alone again, and determined to find herself—whatever, whoever that was. Maybe that was why she’d come back to Sunnydale. Once it had been a part of her, just like her life with Riley in New York and LA.

Crumpling up the wrapper, Buffy stood up and deposited her tray on the shelf. With her somewhat cleared mind, she decided to head back to the motel and pay for a few more nights with the rest of her money, and then fill out the applications.

Buffy slipped her sunglasses back on, looking at the world through a black-tint. Her movements were brisk, a change from earlier. Her golden hair fluttered, ripping in the breeze.

At the street crossing, she stopped, tapping her foot impatiently.

Then she heard it.

A voice, slightly accented and rough, and as familiar as her own called out in stupefied disbelief.

“Summers?”

Buffy could feel her heart lurch and clench. Swallowing hard, she turned. “Hello, Spike.”

He looked exactly the same, yet not. His hair was still bleached blond-white, but a little shorter, his clothes were all black, but minus the holes. His face was the same, but a little more worn and older, but that was what ten years did.

Scrutinizing her, his sharp blue eyes narrowed. “I called, you know.”

“I know,” Buffy replied in a rare moment of honesty.

There was a pause, uneasy and uncomfortable, but he broke it with so few words.

“What’re you doin’ here?

The question was gigantic, monolithic, and there was no simple answer.

So, Buffy shrugged, giving a safe answer and a lie. “Business.”

“Right,” Spike drawled. She knew that tone of voice; he didn’t believe her.

Glancing down at her metal watch, Buffy spoke, “I-I actually have to go.” She moved to leave, but Spike stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Summers, wait.”

She jumped back at the touch, shaking her head. “I really need to go.”

“Would you at least give me your bloody number?” He demanded, almost angry.

Buffy put more distance between them and pretended not to hear. “I’m sorry, I can’t be late.” She could feel his eyes burning into her skull as she turned her back to him.

She walked faster, her arms pinned to her sides, her head ducked low. She didn’t slow down until she was outside the motel, its dirty white door in her sight.

As she slipped inside, Buffy realized she was shaking a little from the tension in her, the apprehension that if she turned around, Spike would be right there behind her.

(A/N: Yep, it's a little shorter, but Spike showed up)

Ch. 4: Bonding

Buffy woke around noon, which she judged by the light streaming in her eyes, by the sound of incessant knocking.

The last thing she remembered was finishing the last application before passing out in a mercifully dreamless sleep.

Grumbling, she slid out of bed, bleary eyed, and stumbled to the door, peering through the peephole.

Willow.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Buffy held her breath, hoping she’d go away.

“Buffy?”

Suppressing a groan, Buffy squared her shoulders. Open the door, she told herself. Slowly, her hand moved to unlock the door and slid the chain.

“Hi,” Willow greeted her with her arms crossed.

Buffy chose to cut to the chase. “How’d you find me?”

Shrugging, the redhead answered, “It was pretty easy. You asked Xander for a ‘shithole motel’ and this being Sunnydale, it’s the only motel. Also, three people are checked in: some French guy, a brunette and you.”

“Sure you aren’t a detective?” Buffy asked sarcastically.

“Funny,” Willow shot back before her face softened. “Why are you staying here?”

“Well, I’m not exactly rolling in money,” Buffy answered with a look.

“You could have stayed with us,” Willow told her.

Sighing, Buffy ran a hand through her hair. “No offense, but we aren’t exactly close. I mean, we went to high school together but that’s, like, it.”

Willow paused, and then proposed, “Then have lunch with me, my treat.”

Buffy studied her intently. “Why are you doing this?”

Averting her gaze slight, Willow admitted, “Spike.”

“Spike?” Buffy repeated questioningly.

Willow nodded. “He told me he saw you yesterday, and said that since you weren’t talking to him, he wanted me to.”

“You and Spike are…friends?” Buffy asked, a little bewildered.

Willow shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t until after high school.” Changing the topic, she gave Buffy a pointed look. “Lunch?”

How could she say no? Suddenly, Buffy found herself curious about this Willow Rosenberg.

“Just let me change.”

*************

No more than a half hour later, Willow and Buffy were seated at modern-looking café, a rarity in Sunnydale.

Buffy was twisting the cloth napkin her lap, feeling underdressed in jeans and a sweater. Her hair was clipped back, the waves tumbling messily. She finally gathered the courage to ask, “How did you…?

“Computer usage issues,” Willow responded, knowing exactly what she was getting at. “He’s technology impaired,” she paused, musing, “Maybe it’s a British thing.”

Buffy frowned. “Huh?”

Willow gave a dismissive wave. “Nothing, just…do you remember Mr. Giles?”

Scrunching her nose, Buffy asked, “The librarian?”

“Yep, he and any technology created in the last twenty years have major issues,” Willow said with a laugh. “He’s also British, and he’s daughter is so sweet.”

“That’s nice,” Buffy replied politely, sipping her water.

“Anyway, Giles and Anya co-own a new store, and it’s been doing pretty well,” the redhead continued, “So what do you do?”

“I’m working at a law firm, secretarial work,” Buffy answered, then mentally corrected herself: was. She had left the law firm behind in New York.

“Are you going to law school?” Willow questioned, genuinely interested.

“I thought about it,” Buffy admitted, “but after college, I wanted to take some time off, and then the timing was never right.” She shrugged.

Willow gave her a sympathetic look. “I know what you mean. It’s like you have all these plans, and then one thing goes kablooey and everything’s different. Not,” she added quickly, “that I don’t love my life or Tara, but sometimes…”

“Sometimes,” Buffy affirmed softly.

Two steaming plates of pasta were set in front of them, and silence settled between the women as they enjoyed their food.

Buffy thought about what Willow had just said about things not going according to plan, and wondered what the redhead was referring to in her own life. Maybe it had something to do with the change in her sexual orientation, she thought. Buffy vaguely remembered Willow dating Oz, a sort-of friend.

“So,” Willow spoke gently after sipping her drink. “Have you seen his—“

“No,” Buffy cut her off quick and sure. “No, I’m just…I don’t think I will right now.” Her gaze fixed itself to her pasta.

Willow reached out ever-so-slightly, her brown eyes warm. “It looks beautiful. Someone planted a rosebush there and—“

“Please,” Buffy told her with a tight voice, a hand in the air. “Stop.”

Biting her lip, Willow stared hard at her. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d like to know…it’s really pretty,” she finished lamely.

“I don’t,” Buffy said firmly. She ate a mouthful of pasta, so she didn’t have to say anything else.

There was another lengthy pause before Willow broke it, smiling a little. “Have I told you about Miss Kitty Fantastico?”

At the sound of the ridiculous name, Buffy let out a burst of sputtering laughter. “No. What’s that?”

Willow grinned. “Our new kitty. She’s absolutely adorable and is a huge fan of catnip. Tara used to have a cat before she left for college, but our apartment for years was pet-free. Finally, we have our own house.”

“Where?” Buffy asked, surprisingly enjoying the lighter conversation.

“Applewood Lane,” Willow answered, wrinkling her nose. “We’re kinda dubious about the name, but the house is perfect. Do you remember Mr. and Mrs. Jensen?”

Recalling the sweet old couple with a generous sweet tooth, Buffy nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Well, they moved to Florida to be closer to their grandkids and gave us first bid on the house.” She lowered her voice, “It still has that old people smell.”

Buffy gave a fleeting smile. “Not exactly pleasant. My fiancé and I stayed—“ she stopped abruptly, recognizing her mistake. “Ex-fiancé,” she corrected, “we stayed at a cabin that was owned by this seriously old guy.”

“Sorry,” Willow said, her brow creased. “About your fiancé, I mean.”

Buffy shrugged it off. “It never would’ve worked anyway.”

Willow grew silent, fiddling with the silver bracelet on her wrist. Finally, she opened her mouth. “Oz and I were engaged,” she began quietly. “It was a month before our wedding and I went to this meeting on campus. It was pretty boring, but I met this girl. Tara.”

Buffy’s lips parted in soundless surprise, listening intently.

“The night before…I realized what Tara meant to me, and I couldn’t go through with the wedding, so I called it off,” she continued, “My parents were furious, my friends were shocked, and Oz…well, I didn’t hear from him until just a couple years ago.”

“I didn’t know,” Buffy said dumbly.

“How would you’ve?” Willow asked honestly.

“Yeah,” Buffy murmured. “Riley, my ex-fiancé, and I kinda came to a mutual decision.” Sort of, she thought.

Willow finished the last of her pasta. “That’s good at least, right?”

Shrugging, Buffy reached for her drink. “I guess.”

Their waitress reappeared and placed the bill on the table. Willow grabbed it, sliding her credit card in. “My treat,” she reminded the blonde.

Buffy held her hands up in mock surrender. “No arguments here,” she said as the waitress returned, taking their plates.

Willow swirled her cup, looking at her. “Maybe we can do this again?”

Tense, Buffy readied herself to decline, but Willow cut her off.

“Don’t say no, okay? I know that at the Bronze it was really awkward, but I mean just me, you and maybe Tara, if you don’t mind,” Willow clarified.

“Maybe,” Buffy allowed, then added, “I’m just not sure how much longer I’m gonna be here anyway.”

Taking her credit card back, Willow shrugged amicably. “Just call, we’re pretty flexible.” As they stood up and walked to the front of the café, she asked, “Do you need a ride? I have an appointment in your area.”

Buffy shook her head no. “I’m gonna head to the store, pick some stuff up. Um, thanks for lunch.”

“No problem,” Willow gave a small smile. “It was nice.” She glanced at her watch, and backed away with a wave. “Call me later before you leave.”

Making a noncommittal response, Buffy waved back. Nice wasn’t quite what it’d been, she thought as she exited the café, veering off in a different direction.

Maybe okay, she conceded, walking at a steady pace. That was a change at least.

Chapter Five: Alone



Buffy had been lying limply on her rented bed when her cell phone rang, startling her. Quickly, she muted the black and white TV, and reached for her phone.

“Hello?” She was mildly curious at who would be calling her.

“Hi, Buffy? It’s Anya. Are you still interested in our job position here at ‘The Magic Box’?”

Blinking, Buffy took a moment before replying, “Yeah, I am…do you work there?”

She heard Anya sigh through the phone. “No, I’m a co-owner, and Giles is supposed to be a silent partner, but he won’t leave!”

“Um…oh.” How did one respond to that?

“He’s being clingy,” Anya told her, “Anyway, can you come down here this afternoon for your interview? Giles is busy and I swear to god I’m gonna pass out any second, so I’m closing early.”

“Sure,” Buffy replied, trying to sound chipper.

“Great,” Anya’s voice reflected her relief. “Okay, I have to go, but come in around three.”

“Sounds good,” Buffy echoed, the cheerfulness in her tone strained.

“Bye,” Anya said quickly, and as she hung up the phone, Buffy could hear her yelling to someone about leaving the cash register abandoned.

For a second, Buffy stared at her cell phone, feeling a little overwhelmed. An interview at three. As in four hours.

Exhaling sharply, Buffy rummaged through her bag from the drugstore that contained all basic necessities—starting with shampoo that didn’t make her hair stringy.

*****************

Hesitantly, Buffy pushed the wooden door open, hearing the same bell tinkle lightly. The store was fairly empty save for a Goth couple hovering over a shelf and a guy with dark hair in the back.

Buffy seized the moment of peace to run her hand through her freshly blow-dried hair and smooth her new shirt down. A white button down: wholesome, clean, and neat.

“Oh, Buffy, you’re here!” Anya appeared from behind the desk from a back room. “Have you seen an awkwardly tall teenage girl with shiny brown hair?”

“Jeez, Anya,” Dawn grumbled, climbing down a small set of stairs that led to a partial upper level. “I’m right here.”

“Oh good,” Anya said, looking satisfied, “I’m supposed to make sure you don’t resume your kleptomaniac tendencies.”

Rolling her eyes, Dawn brushed past the pregnant brunette. “Hi,” she greeted Buffy with a smile. “Are you starting today?”

“No,” Anya answered for the blonde. “I’m interviewing her.”

Conspiratorially, Dawn leaned forward to whisper, “As long as you say you’ll protect the money, you’re hired.”

“Dawn, watch the customers please, and don’t let any of your friends in, they scare away the old people,” Anya instructed, and then turned to Buffy. “We can go in the back.”

Buffy heard the teen huff and mock Anya under her breath as she walked past her into a different back room.

Glancing around, Buffy noticed the spacious area was designed for some sort of martial arts or boxing. On the opposite side, under the windows, was a desk with stacks of paper.

“This is Giles’s office,” Anya announced for clarification. “Your application is here somewhere…” she thumbed through the pile.

Buffy, curious, reached out and faintly touched the kicking bag. It was worn from use and had pieces of tape stuck on it in the shape of an ‘x’.

“Got it!” Anya said finally, holding up the blue sheet. Noticing Buffy’s interest, she added, “Giles and Xander do a lot of martial arts stuff. Plus, on Tuesday and Thursday nights, this girl teaches classes.”

“Hmm…” Buffy murmured. In LA, the fitness club she and Riley had belonged to had martial arts classes and Buffy had thoroughly enjoyed them. Maybe it was something to think about doing again.

“Ready?”

Buffy nodded. She sat down across from the brunette, her posture straight and her eyes focused.

“This is just a formality,” Anya confided with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Giles already knows he wants to hire you.”

“Oh.” Buffy frowned a little, perplexed. It wasn’t like she knew Mr. Giles very well. Maybe Willow or his daughter said something to convince him.

“First question,” Anya began with authority. “How do you perceive yourself as a worker?”

“Diligent,” Buffy responded, trying to remember her answers for her secretary interview in New York. “Capable and organized.”

Anya nodded, taking notes on her application. “And why do you think you’re the person for this job?”

“I’m a hard-worker and my previous experience has given me insight on the business world,” she answered, rather surprised by her responses. Damn, she was good.

“And what is the proper way to man the cash register?” Any asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Buffy halted for a second before saying, “Keep an eye on it all the time and keep it organized?” Her voice hitched at the end, giving the impression of a question as opposed to a reply.

Smiling brightly, Anya reached forward, slapping a nametag in her hands. “You’re hired!”

Buffy laughed weakly. “Thanks.” She sounded empty and hollow even to her own ears.

Wasn’t this part of her whole reestablishing her life plan? Get a job and get money? Then why did she feel like nothing had changed? Buffy wondered as Anya wrote down her hours.

A desperate need for a drink overcame her as she walked out of the store. It was only four o’clock, but she knew a bar that would be open, Willie’s.

Buffy walked at a hurried pace, trying to follow her mental map memory. Sunnydale really wasn’t big enough to truly get lost, so moments later, she was standing in front of a dirty brick building with one burnt out light.

Stepping in, Buffy’s nose crinkled at the thick, smoky, bitter smell coating the room. Her white shirt looked yellow with age in the light at the bar.

“Excuse me,” she called out, raising her hand to the heavyset bartender. He lumbered over to her, his stoic face coming closer as he waited for her order.

“Can I get a shot of…whatever’s cheap,” Buffy requested without enthusiasm.

The bartender made a noise of acknowledgment and poured a clear liquid into a shot glass, putting it in front of her.

She gulped it, feeling the liquid fire blaze down her throat. Her eyes closed briefly, letting the drink warm her skin.

“Well, fancy seein’ you here.” His tone of voice contrasted his words. He sounded calm and collected and a little subdued.

With her eyes closed, Buffy shook her head. “Go away, Spike. Please.”

Instead, she heard the swish of leather and smelled a mixture of cinnamon gum, whiskey and touch of smoke. It wasn’t good or bad—just...Spike.

The bartender reappeared and Spike ordered two shots—one for him and one for her.

“Never pegged you a drinker, Summers,” Spike commented, watching as she hesitantly picked her refill up.

“How’d you know I was here?” Buffy asked, still fingering the shot glass.

“I didn’t,” Spike replied with a shrug. “I was just here for a drink, a break from writin’.”

“Writing?” Buffy echoed, finally looking at him. “You’re an author?”

“That surprise you?” Spike questioned, swallowing his shot.

“No,” Buffy replied, “I always thought you would be one some day.” In her mind’s eye, she could see him in black jeans and no shirt, hovered over a computer, the glow turning his skin milky blue.

Spike paused, studying the etchings in the fake wood. “Been one for a while.” Shaking his head, he turned to her. “What’ve you been up to? Takin’ the world by a storm?”

His mocking tone cut her, and, miffed, Buffy replied coolly, “Actually, yes. I’m going to law school.” A blatant lie, but how would he know?

“Well aren’t you the studious one,” Spike said dryly.

Buffy swallowed, not risking a glance in his direction. She never had been the smart, assiduous student—that was Spike or William or whatever he was going by. “I had to start sometime. I took a crime class in college and liked it.”

“So…” Spike stared at the water rim his glass left behind. “You’re gonna put the evil blokes behind bars, an’ keep the world safe for Christmas and puppies.”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy tilted the drink in her mouth, feeling words tumble out. “What? You gotta problem with that? And why are you still here?”

“Summers,” his tone of voice echoed the scolding one he used on her years ago. “I bought you a bloody drink. Least you can do is let me sit here an’ enjoy mine.”

“Whatever,” Buffy mumbled impassively, turning her face away.

After a moment of silence between them, Spike spoke again, his voice low. “What the hell happened to you, Summers? It’s bloody pathetic.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed in his direction for a moment, before returning to her task of staring at the wood grain.

“You used to have a…fire,” Spike continued, ignoring her look. “You’re were animated, alive, an’ now…you look like death warmed over.”

“Hey!” Buffy slurred, “I’m not the one who’s in love with me!” Her face was flushed, and she didn’t even register the magnitude of her retort.

Swiftly, Spike shoved his chair back and stood up. He stared hard down at her, his jaw tight. “I’m in love with her. I don’t even know who the bloody fuck you are anymore.”

Buffy blinked, watching Spike walk away, his trademark black coat billowing like his anger. Slowly, her inebriated brain caught up with her mouth. She swallowed hard, feeling guilt seep under her skin.

Lifting her hand up, she motioned for the bartender. “’nother one, please.” As the small glass filled, she added with a murmur, “And keep ‘em coming.”

Chapter Six: Coffee

*

Buffy glanced around, watching as students slowly made their way up the steps. She stretched on her legs, resting her back on the cement block behind her. Suddenly, she felt Angel sit down next to her, sliding his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers.

“Hey,” she said, smiling up at him. “What’d Jason want?”

“He’s having a party tonight,” Angel replied with a shrug.

Laughing, Buffy bumped his shoulder. “You so wanna go.”

His lips curled in a heart-stopping smile. “Is that bad?”

Buffy gave a mock-contemplative look, her glossy pink lips pursed. “Hmm…not if you take me with you.”

Angel leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. “Of course,” he whispered in her ear, sending shivers up her spine.

With a reluctant sigh, he pulled back. “Have you seen Will yet?”

Buffy shook her head, her ponytail swishing. “Nope. I haven’t talked to him since, like, two weeks ago. I called on Friday, but he just told me he was busy and hung up.”

“Maybe he was.” Angel paused, and then added, “I called on late on Saturday after I got back from LA, and I’m pretty sure I heard a girl giggling in the background.”

“At home?” Buffy questioned, her brow furrowed.

“Yeah.”

“The TV?” Buffy tried, knowing what her boyfriend was going to say.

“I don’t know…I doubt it.”

“Well, maybe he’s gotta girlfriend,” she grinned, thinking of her best friend with a shy girl. “That’s so cute.”

Angel still looked discontented. “Yeah…I guess.”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy lightly swatted his arm. “What? You don’t think Will can get a girlfriend? I think I’ve seen that redhead in his physics class looking at him.”

“It’s not that, it’s…come on, when does Will just ignore us?” Angel asked, and then they both went silent.

Maybe since his two best friends started dating, Buffy mentally answered, trying to look preoccupied studying the masses walking by.

Angel squeezed her hand sweetly. “Buffy, he’s not mad, okay?”

“I know,” Buffy replied quickly, her eyes drawing back to Angel. “But it’s still gotta be pretty weird. I mean, if I—“ she stopped, her gaze sliding over his shoulder. “Who’s that?”

Angel turned around, looking at the guy approaching with bleached hair and dressed head-to-toe in black. A pale-skinned, thin brunette was enfolded in his arms. Frowning, he stated the obvious, “I think it’s Drusilla’s new boyfriend.”

Buffy’s nose crinkled. “Ew, I can’t believe a guy would—oh my god.” Her last three words came out in a gasp. She met Angel’s face with wide eyes. “It’s Will!”

Angel laughed a little. “No, it’s not…” he did a double take as the black-clad pair came closer. “Holy shit.”

They watched in stupefied silence as Will jerked his head in their direction, a vague acknowledgement. Then, Drusilla whispered something in his ear that made him snicker.

Buffy felt her stomach knot in a ball as Will headed up the stairs, his arm wrapped possessively around the brunette’s small waist. She stared at the back of his head, his newly white-blonde slicked back hair gleaming. Instinctively, she tightened her grip on Angel’s hand, taking comfort in his solid presence.

“Come on, the bell’s gonna ring soon.”

*

Buffy’s eyes fluttered open slowly. Her mouth felt dry and her head pounded viciously. A small moan escaped as she struggled to sit up. She couldn’t remember the last time she had gotten this drunk. Sure, she had drinks, but not enough to pass out or forget patches of the evening.

Her hand slid over silky material as she shifted positions. Frowning, Buffy focused on the bedding, which was far more elegant than anything she would buy or the motel would provide. Her stomach sloshed and churned dangerously as she sat up completely and observed her surroundings with growing panic.

A thick glass paper weight sat on the dark nightstand, and Buffy picked it up, its heaviness giving her courage.

Slowly, Buffy slid her legs out of the large bed and onto the cool wood floor. Ignoring the protests from her head, she walked to the door and turned the knob gradually.

She held the paper weight tightly as she stepped out into the hallway. Unfamiliar framed pictures and posters hung on the walls. A guitar was leaning against a corner. Buffy tried to swallow against her scratchy throat and took another step towards the sunlight.

“Did you sleep well?”

Wincing at his all-too-loud voice, Buffy turned around and saw Spike standing a few feet behind her, arms crossed.

“Fantastic,” she managed sarcastically, relaxing her grip on the paper weight.

Spike’s eyebrow rose, his chin jerking to her hand. “Stealin’ my paper weight?”

“No,” Buffy snapped and then regretted it as her head throbbed. She continued softer, “I didn’t know where I was.”

“Did you see the note under the weight?” Spike asked, emphasizing her stupidity.

A faint flush worked its way up her neck. “Uh no,” Buffy admitted, taking a step closer to him. “What…how did I get here?”

“Well,” Spike answered, his voice still harsh. “Funny thing. See, after I got royally pissed off at this chit, I went home for a bit. A few hours later, I went back to the bar, and I see said chit bloody near passed out at the bar right where I left her. Now bein’ the gentleman I am, I tried to take her home, but she didn’t exactly give me an address. So I bought her here, seein’ as we were once friends and all.”

Buffy flinched at the cold recounting of her drunken evening. She was surprised at Spike’s generosity, and realized she couldn’t just let that go ignored. “Thanks,” she murmured, hoping that sufficed.

“Welcome,” Spike replied dispassionately. He paused for a moment and then asked with a kinder tone, “how’s your head?”

Buffy gave him a look. “There’s a stampede of elephants accompanied by little people with gongs.”

Spike let out a small chuckle. “Want some coffee?”

Buffy astonished herself by accepting. “Yeah, that’d be good.” She followed Spike into a small kitchen, the blinds thankfully drawn shut. Gently, Buffy placed the paper weight on the table.

“Cream? Sugar?” Spike asked, holding the two out as evidence.

“Sugar and a dash of cream,” Buffy replied automatically.

“Hmm, I remember when you would pour a soddin’ cup of each in your coffee,” Spike reminisced, handing her a cup. “Guess things change.”

“Yeah,” Buffy echoed, “I guess they do.” Cautiously, she lifted the cup to her nose, inhaling the smell. Her stomach jostled again, but she was determined to drink it.

A small plate appeared in front of her, scrambled eggs still steaming. “I’m not that hungry,” Buffy told Spike, eyeing the eggs with trepidation.

“Eat ‘em,” he instructed, swallowing a sip of coffee. “It’ll help.”

Her apprehension didn’t waver. “Seriously, I’m really not hungry, in fact, I’m pretty much the opposite—“

“Buffy.” Twin pieces of smoldering ice forced her to halt mid-sentence “Eat.”

With an exaggerated show of reluctance, Buffy forked a tiny piece and chewed it slowly. She repeated her movements after each swallow, finding herself enjoying a semblance to a real breakfast.

“Good?” Spike asked, his tone suggesting he already knew what the answer would be.

“They’re okay,” Buffy allowed, a tiny smile trying to sneak up on her.

Spike scoffed as he poured himself another cup of black coffee. “Yeah bloody right. They’re delicious, Summers, an’ don’t pretend otherwise.”

Buffy rolled her eyes half-heartedly. “Whatever you say, Spike.” Her voice was jokingly patronizing.

Their light banter was more complex than it appeared, Buffy knew that. The two of them were avoiding anything beneath the surface; they were skimming and dancing around what had been said and what hadn’t been said the previous evening.

Or the past ten years for that matter.

And even though it couldn’t possibly be good or healthy, Buffy wasn’t sure she could find the strength to go deeper.

Straightening her spine, Buffy pushed the empty plate away and stood up, suddenly very aware of her morning breath, mussed-up hair and wrinkled shirt.

“I should get going,” she announced, drawing herself back into her comfort zone.

Spike looked startled by her change in attitude. Even the air seemed to have dropped several degrees. “Right, yeah,” he said quickly, “I gotta do some stuff this mornin’.”

Buffy glanced down at her bare feet. “My shoes?” She asked pointedly.

Spike gestured to the room she had woken up in. “They’re in there.”

Nodding, Buffy went in and again noticed the mercifully closed drapes. She bent over, picking up her flip-flops that had been set neatly at the foot of the bed. A blush blossomed on her cheeks. The image of Spike taking her shoes off and setting them there seemed so…intimate.

The thought made her jumpy, and Buffy quickly exited, shutting the door firmly. Spike led her down the hallway to his front door. Her hand was poised over the handle as she looked up at him. “Um, thanks again for…you know,” she said lamely, loosely gesturing to the small house.

Spike opened his mouth and then shut it as if he was going to say something that might disrupt their delicate equilibrium. Instead he nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Buffy was almost disappointed he didn’t say any more. Immediately, she chided herself for the impetuous notion. “Bye,” she murmured quickly, stepping into the unexpected gray morning.

“Summers,” Spike called out as she descended the small porch. “Go to the Bronze on Friday.”

At the random and bizarre request, Buffy stopped, scrutinizing him suspiciously. “Huh?”

Spike shrugged from his position against the doorframe. “Just be there ‘round ten-thirty.”

With a tone that suggested uncertainty, she replied, “I’ll try.” But even as she formed the words, Buffy knew exactly where she would be—curiosity always won out in the end.