Cordelia is on the left and I need to centre myself so I can fake to Cecilia and then sprint to Drusilla. If I run quick enough, maybe I can do it without Drusilla. Cor is coming up quick and I need to decide…Drusilla or myself? Nah, a job well done is a job done by myself.


Feet flying beneath her, her legs struggled to keep up with the accelerated pace of her mind. Her strategizing was playing out and she flew across the grassy green field. The grass had been neatly cut for the day’s practice and Buffy relished in the easy feel of cutting through it so fast.


The wind whipped at her face and she closed her eyes momentarily, the breeze cooling the perspiration trickling down her forehead and neck. Her back was soaked with sweat and as she ran, she reached up to shake her jersey a bit. A breeze moved through her body and she grinned as she deked wittily past Cordelia.


Winking, she changed her plans and instead of moving right, she looped around Cordelia and easily tripped her.


She glanced sparingly over her shoulder to ensure that the fall had been light and sure enough, Cordelia was back on her feet with narrowed eyes but a playful grin on her face.


She managed to course through the entire field with no problem, the ball dribbling dangerously fast between her practiced feet. Suddenly, Fred blocked her with quiet precision and she wiped out, sliding roughly onto her back. She did manage to keep the ball tangled within her ankles as she hit the ground hard. Fred struggled to kick the ball out of her firmly locked ankles and ultimately won the battle. She began to travel back down the field. But while they had been battling, Buffy had regained her adrenaline and jumped back up easily and chased Fred easily back onto her own side of the playing field. Buffy wondered momentarily where her team was but Fred took note of her distraction and began to move around Buffy. Buffy cursed herself.


Never get distracted, B. Never. It’s not worth losing a game over. It never is.


Buffy then gained the momentum to win the game again and was determined to get her game back. She jogged back to follow Fred but then she saw Willow on the other end and sighed in relief at the defence. She stood idly, knowing she would never have made it there in time and waited for Willow to intercept and pass the ball back. She did, diverting Fred’s attention with another deke and stole the ball deftly. She pulled her leg back in one swift motion and thrust it forward, allowing all of her strength to move the ball forward. Buffy nodded slightly in her direction, a gesture of thanks. She caught the ball with her cocked foot and quickly turned, running up with the ball and out of corner of her eye, she saw Harmony waving frantically for Buffy to pass.


Buffy rolled her eyes and couldn’t resist. “You’re not on my team, Harmony!”


Harmony’s eyes widened with the realization and she sheepishly waved her away as if to say “never mind”. Buffy couldn’t help chuckling at the blue eyed blonde as she plopped down wearily on the grass, examining her nails carefully. Then Buffy’s thoughts returned to the game once more. No distractions.


Deke Loretta and take for granted that Drusilla will be up ahead for offense. Maybe she can dribble forward to Lindsay and double fake a pass to Mari? No…too risky. I’ll have to take it up myself and just send it to Mari. Drusilla shouldn’t be by the goal anyways.


Buffy retained control of the ball and swiftly maneuvered her body sideways to keep the ball from Sam as she moved with it sideways. Once she was sure Sam was far behind her, she saw the goal posts and grinned. She had to make this shot. She couldn’t resist the temptation of a goal.
Now at the goal line, she saw how no one was there to defend.


They should have kept more people at the front than at offense. Then defence could pass to offense and part of defence moves up.


Smirking to herself, she shrugged mentally. Their loss was her gain.


She moved her legs with careful precision and pulled back her right leg with determination. Adrenaline pumping through her body, she swung it back and watched as it made contact with the ball. The impact caused the ball to fly forward and her foot hung forward in empty air where the ball had previously been only seconds ago. She watched with a triumphant beam on her face as the ball flew high past the goalie and into the net easily.


She could hear the victorious cheers of her teammates behind her and she grinned widely, turning around to face them with her palms up in a “what did I tell ya?” gesture. She saw Cordelia chuckle and Drusilla simply glared pointedly at her. She rolled her eyes. How was it her fault that she wasn’t in her position? Fuck her. She was going to celebrate, Drusilla present or not.


“Guys! Huddle!”


The sound of their coach’s call caused them all to quiet down and hurry toward the sidelines where she stood standing.


Mallory Walkman was a pretty little thing. With bronzed skin and one hell of a body, she was a good looking athlete. Her legs were long and though she was skinny, she had a healthy glow to her. Her eyes were the color of almonds and hazelnuts mixed together. She had beautifully slender arms and her fingers were dainty, her nails painted a pretty ruby red. Her lips were soft but thin, not quite full. The light brown lipstick she coated them with complemented her skin tone and eyes. Her nose wasn’t pointy but wasn’t softly rounded either. It was a pleasant mixture of the two. Her hair was always tied in a loose ponytail, her long hair hanging out of the tie with a tempting waviness. Her hair was a dark chocolate brown that framed her face.


Overall, Mallory was a beauty and Buffy admired her for her ability to be so formidable and seductive at the same time. Mallory could be a right bitch to the team sometimes but it was for their good and Buffy knew it.


“Okay guys,” she sighed, bringing a hand up to remove the Nike hat on her head. She ran her hand across her hair, as if wiping the sweat away from it. Replacing the cap back on her head, she looked ready to say what she wanted to say.


“That game, as fun as it may have been for some people,” she paused to look mock-pointedly at Buffy who chuckled.


“Well, it was a complete disgrace to the game of soccer. We can do better than this but I need to know something first.”


Closing her eyes, she brought her two hands up and folded them together, bringing up her index fingers to rest against each other. She raised them to her lips, as if shushing herself but Buffy knew she was looking for a way to phrase her question lightly. Finally, she rolled her eyes.


“Are you guys here to have a good time or is anyone here actually serious about soccer?”


The question hung in the air for about a split second before Cordelia raised her hand, with a perfectly shaped eyebrow cocked in mid-response.


Mallory nodded to her.


“I’m just trying to maintain my flat stomach.”


There was silence and then howls of laughter from the girls, including Buffy, filled the soccer field. Though Mallory looked slightly exasperated, she had a wry grin on her face.


Then as the laughter subsided slightly and Cordelia’s hopeless questions of “What’s so funny?” died down, Buffy raised her hand high in the air.


Mallory smiled. “Yeah Buffy?”


“I’m here to play soccer, Mallory.”


“So am I.” This was Drusilla. Her icy voice indicated her annoyance of Buffy.


Mallory nodded. “That’s where I was getting actually…” her voice trailed off uncertainly, as if afraid to say the rest of the sentence. Buffy was surprised; Mal was usually very confident and extremely scary. She was never unsure about being blunt to the girls.


Mallory squeezed her eyes shut and when she opened them, Buffy caught the slight guilt and regret flash past before placated friendliness replaced them. Buffy raised her eyebrows; what was Mal so nervous about?


Buffy glanced at her team members. They were a part of the Sunnydale’s Girl Soccer Team. Cordelia, Fred, Willow, Loretta, Lindsay, Harmony, Mari and Drusilla. They were all extremely pleasant girls, even Harmony despite her bimbo-ish blunders, with the exception of Drusilla.


Ever since Buffy joined the soccer team, challenging Drusilla as the best player on the team. Mallory had taken an instant liking to Buffy and this had only heightened the competition between the two young women. Both were the same age, eighteen years old and ripe young athletes. They were both at a time in their life when their chance at becoming big was waiting to happen. And neither was planning on letting the other have it.


Drusilla had liked the unspoken dominance she had had over the team, controlling the passes and goals. She didn’t like to pass to her fellow players for fear that they would miss and she would be embarrassed. With exceptions like today’s practice, in real games and tournaments she continually encouraged her fellow players to participate actively. She passed and didn’t care about misses. She made up for blunders by getting in another goal with the reluctant help of Drusilla and Buffy felt good that the girls were getting a chance to play while she was still getting a bit of glory. It sounded selfish but hey, she was only human.


In addition to being the most powerful component of the team, she was also the beauty of it. Although Cordelia was gorgeous and stunning, Drusilla could play well and be beautiful. Now Buffy had come and ruined that all for her. Drusilla wasn’t happy. Especially when her teammates befriended her so easily. Drusilla had never taken the time to bond with her fellow teammates because they were losers who didn’t deserve her time but seeing how Buffy was beautiful, skilled and popular made her skin crawl with rage.


“Okay.” Mallory’s voice cut through a reverie. “I have some bad news for you girls…”


Everyone straightened up from their kneed crouch on the grass and even Harmony was listening intently to Mallory.


“The Los Angeles Soccer Society has been observing our team since we’re the closest to them. They’ve been observing my coaching and they were happy with what they saw apparently,” she shrugged her shoulders in a flippant manner. “Anyhow, they asked me to choose two of my best players to join their team there.”


There was excited gasps throughout the girls and Buffy felt herself going into shock. Los Angeles could be her ticket to fame! L.A. was the it place where anyone worth knowing was discovered. But then her happy thoughts turned to dread. What if Mallory didn’t pick her?


Unlike Drusilla, she wasn’t egoistic and didn’t think hugely of herself. She was aware she was a good soccer player but she didn’t think she was the only one in the world. While Buffy’s head raced with thoughts of uncertainty, Drusilla was calm with triumph.


“I’ve decided to take Buffy and Drusilla,” Mallory waited for a second for it to sink in before Buffy’s eyes widened comically. She gasped and Drusilla simply smirked. The girls giggled and cheered loudly, hugging her and patting her shoulder in congratulations. Drusilla didn’t care about the slight jealousy that coursed through; she was going somewhere now.


“Thank you so much!” Buffy gaped at Mallory, aghast at how Drusilla ad Mallory could be so calm about everything!


Mallory smiled at her. “Just show me you deserve it.” She winked as if to say “I already know you will”.


Mallory then cleared her throat. “Anyways, there are a few things you two should know. The team is a gender-mix which they are trying for the first time. There has been complaints to the International Soccer Association that the males are being exposed much more than the women are. They wanted a mix so now girls play with guys.” Mallory grimaced as she realized the double entendre of her words and Harmony snickered.


Mallory gave a tiny smile before continuing. “So, you girls will be grouped with three other girls and six other guys. They are all the same age as you, seniors in high school. As for school, you’ll be placed temporarily at Hemery High School until tutors can be found for you. Other than that, you’ll be playing for the L.A. Slayers. When the season is over, they will decide if they want to draft you into national leagues,” Mallory let this information sink in for the girls.

She wasn’t impressed with Drusilla’s dry response to it all, as if she had expected it or something. Though she was loathe to choose her as one of two players, she had to take the best and this was her job. She anticipated that the hard challenges Drusilla would face would teach her a little bit of kindness and respect but she was unsure for now.


She clasped her hands together. “So, please speak to your parents about this and see what they say. If the answer is yes, you’ll be travelling to L.A. for eight months. We’ll place you in a hotel and from there, you’ll train and go to school. Here are permission slips and be sure to get them to call me if the answer is no!”

She passed out two slips to the two girls and they accepted them hungrily.


“So this means that I’m not going to be your coach anymore and you’ll be training amateur soccer with another person. I’ll miss you guys and I’m sorry to do this but…” her voice trailed off and she was relieved when she saw the understanding in her team’s eyes.


As the team went into the locker rooms to change and shower, Buffy stopped by Mallory and smiled gratefully.
“Mallory, I wanted to thank you so much for doing this for me,” she touched her arm lightly in a gesture of deep thanks.


Mallory smiled sideways at her, crooked and sweet all the same. “Buffy, I just want to make sure you get to where you want to be. Now go shower. You smell.” With a teasing grin, she shooed away a chuckling Buffy and returned to packing up.


Buffy entered the locker room and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the stench of sweat. She strode to her locker and quickly rolled the numbers around and loosely pulled it out. She grabbed her towel and a change of clothes and entered the shower that was already occupied by her team. Grimacing, she realized the only empty space was the last one.


Next to Drusilla.


Sighing, she undressed and left her clothes in her locker as she wandered through the stalls and awkwardly passed her naked team members as they showered. Reaching the last one, she brushed past Dru and turned on the shower.


Yanking the metal bar to the hot side she relished in the feel of the hot water washing over her exhausted body.
Feeling eyes on her, she opened her own and found Dru glaring at her. Buffy grinned back and leaned casually against the tiled wall, sticking her perky tits out slightly as she allowed the water to slide down her front, onto her taut stomach.


“See something you like, honey?” she asked, leering. She loved getting in lesbian digs, not because she was lesbian, but because Dru’s reaction was so damn funny.


Not to mention predictable.


Drusilla rolled her eyes. “I just thought you should know, Summers,” she walked up to Buffy until she was right in her face and looking into her hazel coloured eyes. “You’re not going to win here.”


Buffy snickered. “Lame, de Veer. Really. I would have expected something more slutty than that girl power bullshit.”


Dru narrowed her eyes. “Watch your back, Summers.”


Buffy smirked. “It’s hot, isn’t it?”


Dru growled and strode away from Buffy. As soon as she was out of the showers, Buffy allowed the shivers to come.

That girl seemed like a real threat to her now. Buffy would have to watch her back.


If she didn’t, who knew what Dru could be capable of?


*****

“I don’t know Buffy…eight months is awfully long.”


“Please Mom. This is my big break! I’ll be going to school still and I’ll get the chance to play for the L.A. Slayers!”


Buffy spent the evening begging to convince her mother she could go. Joyce Summers was apprehensive at the prospect of her daughter completely alone in Los Angeles. She trusted Mallory and since she was there, she knew Buffy would be relatively safe.


Relatively.


Joyce sighed and folded her hands neatly together in her lap. “You can go but there are conditions.”


Buffy squealed with joy and then calmed herself quickly to prepare herself for the prerequisites.


“You must maintain a 90 average and be with someone at all times. You must keep a curfew of ten o’clock and you are not to wander the streets alone. You’re not allowed to go out at night unless Mallory accompanies you. Understood?”


Buffy grinned. “Okay. Thank you so much Mom!”


“Give me the permission slip.”


And with that, Buffy handed over the piece of paper that would lead her to what would make her or break her.


*****

At the Giles’ residence...


“Oh do shut up and just give me the permission form, William.”


Spike grinned widely.


He was headed to L.A.


TBC

The two girls piled noisily into the backseat of Mallory’s Lexus and they pulled out of her driveway. Drusilla gave one last half-hearted wave to her pale faced mother who looked, well, kind of happy to see her go.

Buffy couldn’t blame the woman.

She sighed as she clutched her gym back closer to her, setting it comfortably on her lap. She peered out of the window, watching the last of Sunnydale suburbia pass by. She sighed again, nostalgia washing over but she forced it aside. She was leaving for the best, but she wasn’t leaving for good. She would be back in eight months.

Buffy’s nerves were set on edge about this thought. When she returned, would she be a famous soccer player? Or just another nobody athlete?

“So, guys,” Mallory’s cheerful voice cut through her reverie. Buffy smiled slightly at the brunette woman. She touched her own brunette hair and wished that hers was as pretty as Mallory’s. Popular athletes were usually good looking and though she wasn’t much of an exception, she still didn’t hold a candle to the two other knockouts in the car.

“Are you excited?” Though the question was meant for the both of them, Buffy could tell it was aimed at her. It wasn’t an ego-thing. It was just Mallory was staring at her in the rearview mirror when she asked.

“Yeah,” she said lightheartedly.

“Of course,” Drusilla purred.

Buffy took the moment to briefly observe Drusilla. As always, she was dressed entirely in black and Buffy wondered why such a beautiful girl would want to dress herself in such gloomy attire. Then again, she couldn’t exactly picture Dru wearing a pink bunny jumper.

She laughed out loud at the thought and was met by two questioning stares. “Nothing.” She pursed her lips but couldn’t help the amused smirk at Drusilla. She rolled her eyes and turned her pale face away.

Buffy tilted her head to one side, considering Drusilla for a moment. “Hey, Mallory?”

Mallory’s eyes glanced up at her fleetingly in the rearview mirror before returning hastily to the road. “Hm?”

“Is it possible that two players from the same team can be drafted? Or do they only choose one?”

Mallory smiled. “No, two players can be chosen. It’s unlikely. The competition usually hits so high that the two ‘best’,” She paused to use air quotes. “Well, let’s just say there aren’t two anymore. One ends up outshining the other.”

There was a frosty silence in the car after Mallory’s explanation. Even Mallory looked uncomfortable with how the conversation had gone. Drusilla looked pensive and Buffy was simply aghast. What did Mallory mean, ‘the competition hit so high?’ Did things get ugly? Or did people just step it up a lot?

The rest of the car ride was made in thoughtful silence as Buffy and Drusilla ingested this new information. Both were fully prepared to step it up but at what price were they willing to pay for their success?

Buffy thought about it. All her life she wanted to become a famous soccer player. This opportunity would make her or break her and she knew she couldn’t screw up. She couldn’t have friends because that made separation and losing all the more painful. She refused to get involved with boys. They were nothing but a distraction and no guy was worth her success. Besides, her relationship with Parker had taught her that guys were nothing but overprotective moms in a guy’s body. They didn’t think girls were capable of anything and well, she didn’t care much for getting into that again.

She also knew that she couldn’t make any enemies. She would keep to herself and would do her best to stay out of the drama that usually went on in sports teams. She couldn’t risk anything. Not now.

*****
They arrived in L.A. three hours later, the beautiful sun replaced with a gloomy sunset blocked by numerous skyscrapers that amazed Buffy. The only other time she had been here was to see her uncle Hank, when she was twelve. It had been an amazing experience. The city, the people and the liveliness had excited Buffy and made her sad to leave it all behind. But now, six years later, she was back and for a reason so different.

She was here to make her dreams come true.

“It’s so pretty, isn’t it?” Mallory drove carefully, winding through the busy streets. The streets were packed, mostly with taxi cabs and buses but there were a few sedans idling by curbs. Pregnant women were waddling their way to patiently waiting husbands inside the cars, hands resting protectively on their bulging stomachs. Buffy smiled softly. She hoped that one day; she would be that pregnant woman, going to her husband. Then Buffy grimaced. That would affect her soccer career so badly though. Pregnancy meant a lot of things. It meant quitting for a few seasons. People forgot about you and then you became the soccer mom. And while you were gone, there was this new awesome player who stole your limelight and despite your best efforts, you don’t hold a candle to their spunk.

Buffy mentally shook her head vehemently. Nope. No way was she getting pregnant. It may have worked for the Beckhams but not for her.

“It is,” Drusilla agreed, twirling a strand of velvety black hair between her fingers. She stared out the window, watching the people pass her by and the incredibly tall buildings tower over everyone.

Mallory chuckled, driving left and pulling into a luxurious hotel parking lot. Buffy peered up at the sign. The Hilton. Sounded elegant and looked even more plush and posh than Buffy had expected. She couldn’t believe this was where she was going to stay for eight months. It looked so expensive. It probably is, she thought with a grimace.

The hotel was beautiful looking from the front. The architecture wasn’t creative; it looked a lot like other rich hotels. Beige colored bricks were cemented neatly together. Wide bay windows with forest green curtains hung from the inside. Those cool revolving doors were spread out along the front of the building. All in all, it was posh and more than Buffy ever hoped to afford. Luckily, they had received cheaper rates because they were coming in as a team.

The parking lot was packed and Mallory didn’t look like she was heading to the valet. It took a while before they found parking, looping around several sections before they found an empty spot and pulled quickly into it. Unlocking the doors, Mallory got out and the girls followed suit. They followed her to the trunk where she opened it with ease, pulling out Drusilla’s suitcase first and then Buffy’s. Drusilla’s was noticeably heavier.

“Jeez, Drusilla, what are you carrying in here?” Mallory was breathless by the time she had safely put Drusilla’s suitcase on the cement ground of the parking lot.

Drusilla grinned. “I’d like to tell you that those were only my undergarments.”

Mallory rolled her eyes. “Here Buffy.” She rested the much lighter suitcase at Buffy’s feet. Buffy smiled in thanks.

Mallory looked like a true athlete today. She wore expensive jogging pants with the Nike logo wide down the pant leg and a matching sweater. She wore stylish Puma shoes and an Adidas hat. She didn’t look junky or lazy. She looked hot.

Buffy and Drusilla followed Mallory through the revolving doors of the hotel and straight to the check-in desk. Several people of the male variety stopped and turned heads at the three beautiful women but were soon slapped back to reality by more than jealous girlfriends.

Mallory tapped her well groomed fingernails impatiently as they waited for a clerk to come back to the desk. Buffy took the opportunity to survey her surroundings. The floors were made of complete marble and the ceilings were adorned by crystal chandeliers.

“Good afternoon and welcome to the Hilton. How may I be of service to you today?”

Buffy turned to look at the young man now seated comfortably in the office chair. He looked to be in his early twenties and his black hair was slicked back. Buffy was a little bit creeped out when his eyes turned to her, raking her body naked with his intruding gaze. She stuck her chin out defiantly and stared him down with fierce eyes. He turned his gaze back to Mallory reluctantly.

“We’re here to check in. We’re the soccer team from Sunnydale. I’m sure you were informed?” Mallory was smooth, and confidence oozed out of her being.

The boy, Warren from his name tag, looked blank for a split second but when Mallory raised an unimpressed eyebrow, he quickly turned to the computer in front of him. In a flurry of fast typing and numerous clicks, he turned back to her with an affirmative smile on his face.

“Yes, we should be expected a…” he paused to scan the names. “Mallory Walkman, Drusilla de Veer and a Buffy Summers.”

“Present,” Mallory said with a twinkle in her eye as she winked at the girls.

Warren nodded. “The group will be divided in a certain way and I was told to send you to a meeting where you’ll be informed of accommodations.” He finished, pleased with himself.

Mallory waited for a second before raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow quizzically. “And where is this meeting?” Her voice held an undercurrent of sarcasm.

Warren looked surprise, resentment flashing over being patronized for a second before being replaced by false sincerity. “Room 212. That’s in the north tower. The door will be unlocked and you can let yourself in. If I am correct, everyone else is there.”

It was Mallory’s turn to look surprised. “You mean we’re the last ones?”

Warren shrugged. “Suppose so, ma’am.”

Mallory nodded. “Thank you.”

Warren shrugged again and watched them go, Buffy trailing after them. “Maybe we’ll meet again,” he leered at her. This went unnoticed by Mallory. Buffy rolled her eyes.

As Drusilla walked behind Mallory, a cruel smile drew upon her lips. Warren may be of good use to her…he seemed interested in Buffy for sex, probably of the forced kind, and if anything happened, she supposed she could count on him for some…assistance.

*****

They entered the room quietly and were shocked at the crowd already waiting inside. Though they knew to expect people to be in there, there were more people than the three girls had expected. Like them, other kids had brought their coaches which just added to the crowd.

The “meeting” was held in a hotel suite. The hotel had been courteous enough to allow the team to use the suite for a bit of time in order to sort things out. Mallory spied an empty space near the couch and they walked to it. Standing there, Mallory nodded to them and walked to the front where the other coaches were standing. A male coach stood in the middle of them and looked annoyed. Buffy winced. She had a feeling they had disturbed the group.

He cleared his throat and nodded to Mallory. “Welcome, Sunnydale. Thank you for deciding to join us,” he said with sarcasm evident in his voice. He was a big thing. His upper forearms were well muscled and he looked fit. His athletic build made him look to be about thirty but Buffy figured he was in his forties, judging by the aging in his face.

“Oh it was our pleasure,” Mallory shot back, a relaxed smile on her pretty face.

The guy rolled his eyes. “My name is Ethan Rayne and I will be your coach. You will no longer be playing for your hometown. You are now official members of the Los Angeles Slayers,” he said in a rough, chipped British accent. The kids in the room laughed nervously at this declaration. This was a major thing for every teen in the room. Buffy sensed they were all like her. They all had dreams of making it big. It was too bad only a handful, if they were lucky, could make it.

“Now, you will be training in the arena. This hotel serves only as a place to stay. Do not abuse your privileges here. Privileges can be taken away, if necessary,” he paused. “You will all attend Hemery High School. We may consider private schooling but that is yet to be determined.

You will play in this team. Scouts will come for the final game and they will select players they see fit to play in national leagues. From there, you are own your own.”

You are on your own.

Faith had said the same thing. In the end, it was you and you only. You couldn’t rely on anyone to pick you up. You were there to become your own man or woman. Faith had shown her that; she had died and left Buffy. But Buffy had been lucky enough to find Mallory. But still, if she got drafted, even Mallory wouldn’t be by her side like she was during this.

“Now, we agreed that it would be best if ladies and gentlemen were not paired together so we’ve decided you just stay with your own team. If you are a group of three, then you will be placed in a room where you are accommodated as such. Other than that, living arrangements have been decided.
Now, you are to be awake every morning at five o’clock for training. You are to meet us at the Central Sports Arena. You are not forced to come with your team or coach. You may come alone. All that matters is that you are present during practice. We practice from five to eight thirty. School begins at nine so you’ll shower and change and go directly to school from the Arena. School ends at two o’clock. You will return directly here for another three hours of training before going back to the hotel for homework or whatever you choose to do. We have dinner at seven in dining hall two.” He paused again.

“We are scheduled to play Miami in two weeks,” he saw a hand rise and nodded toward it impatiently.

“Isn’t that the first game of the season?” A boy with brownish blond hair asked, confused.

Ethan nodded. “Exactly. Los Angeles and Miami are opening up the soccer season which means we must not lose!”

The group snickered. What a pep talk.

Ethan’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “Is something funny?” he snapped. His lips were pursed together.

The group instantly quieted down. There was a chorus of “No, sir” and he smirked. “Right then. Moving on,” he thought for a moment.

“Ah yes. Positions.”

Buffy’s ears perked up. On her Sunnydale team, she had been co-captain with Drusilla, since no real captain could be determined. They had been forwards. She loved the feel of going up the field and scoring a goal with a fellow teammate, even if that meant Drusilla.

“During your first practice tomorrow, you will each be publicly tested for each position. We will then determine which position is best suited for you and we will let you know the following practice. We would now like you to take this opportunity to mingle while we get your room keys together.” He turned to the coaches and the teens looked at each other uncertainly.

“I said mingle!” came a barked order from Ethan. The group jumped. They instantly picked themselves up, to the concealed amusement of Ethan, and bumped awkwardly into each other.

Buffy left Drusilla standing by herself to walk around. She had no intention of mingling, but she had to look like she was doing something.

Then she felt a light tap on her shoulder and turned around to face a striking dark haired teenager, with a nervous smile playing on his face. She almost giggled at his overly sized forehead but he looked so eager, she didn’t have the heart to reject him.

“Hi!” he said. He had a nice voice, deep and manly.

“Hey. I’m Buffy,” She stuck out her hand awkwardly.

He took it with ease and shook it with a relaxed hand. “Angel.”

She smiled. “So you play soccer, huh?” Stupid question, Buff. No, he’s here for the circus, Buffy thought dryly.

Angel grinned. “Yep. Been playing since I was ten.”

“What position do you play?” She was curious to see what kind of competition she had for her position.

“Midfielder.”

“Cool. Well it was nice meeting you Angel,” she smiled at the nervous boy. He nodded excitedly and turned to the girl behind him.

Angel seemed genuinely nice. And plus, he wasn’t out for her position. That was always awesome.

She turned away from Angel to walk elsewhere, back to Drusilla maybe when she walked straight into a solid wall of hunky six pack.

She stumbled back and was about to fall when a hand shot out and caught her by the wrist. “Well hello, kitten.”

The rough, sexy British accent brought her back and she stared at the guy in pure awe. He was salty goodness, sex on legs. He had bleached blond hair that so couldn’t be his real hair color and he was clad in black. Adorning his upper torso was a leather duster, over top of a slim black tee shirt. He wore black jeans and Nike sneakers. But then Buffy remembered her promise to herself; no friends and no boys. That meant no Angel and no Sex on Legs. Or whatever his name was.

“Sorry about that,” she said coolly. She forced herself to keep her usually confident expression on her face, though she was practically trembling inside with desire.

He titled his head to study her. She was bloody beautiful. “No problem, luv.”

Buffy nearly shivered at the pet name. “Well, see you around.”

He looked like he was about to say something but she had already strode away, her long legs encased in dark jeans. His own eyes darkened with lust as his eyes undressed her. Damn, he thought, licking his lips.

Buffy felt his eyes on her as she walked away and she knew she was in trouble. A possible “friend”, a damn sexy guy and an evil loony out for blood, for her roommate.

Things were about to get interesting.

TBC

Buffy awoke sleepily, a wide yawn taking over her features. She rubbed her eyes and winced at the bright sunlight, shocking her sensitive eyes. She groaned, as she struggled to untwist the sheets from her body. In a haze of tiredness, she glanced at the alarm clock next to her bed.


And shrieked with shock.


“OH MY FUCKING GOD!”


Gasping in pure disbelief, she read the clock again. And again.


5:30 A.M. She was half an hour late! How did this happen? She had set her alarm clock for four last night! Then very slowly, she turned her head in the direction of Drusilla’s bed and understanding dawned on her. Her bed was empty. Buffy had gone to bed earlier than Drusilla had.


Of course. How could she have been so stupid?


Drusilla had turned off her alarm. And left without her. She was probably coming up with some sort of sob story. Scowling, she yanked herself out of bed and hurried to the washroom where she quickly groomed herself. Tying her dark hair into a messy ponytail, she dressed in her soccer uniform and headed out of the hotel room, gym bag hanging on her shoulder. Her cleats pounded noisily on the tiled floor of the Hilton as she hurried to the elevator. Pushing on the “down” button multiple times, she waited with thin patience as the elevator door finally opened. Rushing inside the empty box, she headed down to the lobby where she grabbed a cab and headed down to the Arena.


Ethan had warned that any late people were penalized and she cringed just thinking about what kind of physical torture he would make her do. Squats? Push-ups?


And then her anxiety turned to horror. Today was positions try outs. What if he wrote her off already for forward? Groaning, she dropped her head into open palms. She wanted to punch Drusilla! It was her first day and already she had fucked up on attending practice. Great. So this was her first impression, her first step to stardom.


The taxi driver looked at her nervously in the rearview mirror. He coughed, trying to get her attention. “You all right, miss? You look kind of pale.”


Buffy nodded. “I’m fine. Just drive. Really fast. Please.”


The guy nodded and turned back to his driving. After what seemed like hours, they finally pulled into the expanse of the parking lot for the Arena. Buffy checked her digital watch. 5:45. Shit.


Throwing a twenty into the driver’s hand, she mumbled a half hearted thanks and all but jumped out of the cab and sprinted across the lot to the doors of the arena. Hauling them open, she speed walked down the corridor, into the main doors. She was greeted by a secretary seated behind a desk. Her name tag read ‘Kate’. She peered up at Buffy with a weary expression.


“Are you the late one?”


Buffy winced. “Yes.”


“Go in.”


Nodding, she hurried quickly to the doors and straight into the locker room where she dumped her gym back carelessly onto one of the benches. Bracing herself, she walked out onto the open field. She was met by uninterested glances, except for one.


“Miss Summers.” Ethan’s loud and clear voice rang out sarcastically in the field. Buffy saw all the coaches, including a not-so-impressed looking Mallory, gathered at the side. They were in the middle of a tryout for some Texan girl. Great. Way to bring attention to herself.


“S-sorry for being late sir. My alarm didn’t-.”


“Enough. Drusilla here told me about how she tried so hard to get you up but then again, it’s not her responsibility to carry your weight, is it?” Ethan raised an eyebrow, as if challenging her to say otherwise.


Buffy glanced at the seated team; they had probably been watching the girl. Then she saw the bleached British guy and their gazes locked. Forcing herself to look away, she nodded miserably at Ethan.


“It won’t happen again, sir.”


“Of course it won’t,” Ethan said, as if he didn’t believe her.


Buffy wanted to roll her eyes. Whatever. If he really was stupid enough to believe Drusilla, she didn’t care what he thought. She wasn’t here for him. She was here for the soccer.


Plopping down on the grass, she saw Drusilla sitting on the opposite end of the crowd, a smirk on her face. Buffy narrowed her eyes at the woman and looked away, afraid if she looked at her smug face any longer she might do something she would regret.


“I apologize, my dear. Please continue Darla.” Buffy saw she was trying for goalie. Judging by the nervous expression on more than half of the kids’ faces, she figured that they weren’t too far into the tryouts. She knew that there could only be three forwards and that out of the crowd, she would probably have some good competition.


She felt a light tap on her shoulder, and turned her attention away from Darla as she saved yet another ball.


She saw Angel crouching behind her with a sweet smile on his face. “Hey Buffy!” he whispered.


Buffy grinned. “Jeez, I’m really in for it, huh?”


Angel chuckled. “Looks like. But it’s okay. It’s only your first day.”


Buffy sighed, rubbing her elbow. “Yeah but I have to train with this guy for eight months!”


Angel gave her a crooked smile. “Just show him what you got. Earn back his respect.”


Buffy nodded thoughtfully, considering his words. Maybe Angel was right. Maybe if she showed Ethan how she could play, what potential she hoped she had to offer, maybe she would get back into the good books.


“Drusilla de Veer.”


Buffy hadn’t even noticed how Darla’s tryout had ended and she watched as the infuriating brunette stepped up for her tryout. Dribbling the ball between her feet, she dodged easily around Mallory and Dirk, the stand in players. She sideway-stepped past Dirk and deked across the field but kept the ball to herself. She moved swiftly up to the ball, gracefully scoring and earning a loud cheer from some bimbo named Dawn. Buffy glanced at Spike who was watching her with a look of awe. She felt a pang of hurt but shoved it aside. Screw Spike. She had bigger fish to fry.


“Well done, Drusilla. You need to work on your technique though. Although you were playing by yourself, it was evident to me that you had no intention of passing that ball.” Dismissing her with a nod of his head, he glanced back at the list.


Drusilla stared at him, gaping with the brush off and forcing herself to sit back down, a pout on her face.


Buffy and Angel chuckled quietly to themselves and Buffy was surprised. She enjoyed Angel’s company. He was sweet and understanding. And he seemed to be genuine. Then Buffy felt a pang. He wouldn’t last long here if he kept up the innocent act. People would take advantage of it. Buffy tried to distance herself from the emotion of trust and felt that detachment was better than attachment. It hurt less. Especially in a game where people were being picked off like apples on a tree. In the end, only the best would be left standing.


“Spike Giles.”


Buffy’s head shot up at the funny name. It was so British yet so…gothic. And then she realized who Spike Giles was and gaped for a second at the full sight of him in his soccer uniform. The uniforms were all the same but he looked striking in his. The black brought out the paleness of his skin but in a good, sexy way. And those strong forearms and hot legs…


Buffy…her head warned her. Buffy snapped out of her thoughts and forced herself to become placated. He was just her teammate. Nothing more. But still, she was entranced in watching his tryout. He was trying for forward too.


She watched his masculine body move rapidly, yet gracefully through the field. He was almost dancing, the enjoyment on his face evident. He actually passed to Mallory before swiftly stealing the ball back, winking at her. She simply stared open mouthed at his incredible ball handling, the way he controlled it with his feet. He scored easily and Buffy couldn’t stop the proud smile from spreading across her face. Then she realized with dismay that she had some competition so far. Drusilla and Spike. She almost laughed out loud at the predicament.


“Angel Palmer.”


Buffy watched him close his eyes for a minute, calming his nerves before rising. She touched his calve in a platonic manner, a gesture of comfort. She smiled up at him soothingly and he returned the smile with one of his own. All the while, Spike watched this friendly exchange with a slight bit of jealousy.

****

As the tryouts went by, Buffy learned a bit about her team. Angel hoped to become a midfielder and he was an exceptional player. Dawn, Tara and Riley tried for fullbacks. They were good players as well. Darla was the only one who hoped to become a goalie. Goalies were usually the harder spots to get since the position was somewhat harder.


Doyle and Oz also wanted to be midfielders. And lastly, Buffy, Spike and Drusilla tried for forwards. The maximum size a team could get what eleven players. The amount of players per position depended on who the coach thought could play best. For instance, you could have two to four forwards but some teams only chose to have one, though that was very unlikely. Buffy thought the numbers were quite interesting. If he wanted to, Ethan could approve all positions and there would be no overboard of players playing a certain position. Three fullbacks, one goalie, three midfielders and three forwards. It was a pretty decent team.


“Well,” Ethan clasped his hands together. “It appears we have only one left, Miss Buffy Summers?”


Buffy felt her heartbeat speed up and felt Angel’s comforting hand on her ankle. He smiled at her and she nodded. Calm down or you’ll screw up. Faith’s words came back to her and she knew that Faith was right. Being nervous wasn’t worth risking everything.


“Seeing as you were late today, instead of acting as forward to two defense, we’ll put three in,” Ethan smiled as he called over Lina from Swampson Town.


Buffy’s jaw threatened to drop. Three defense? She had to score on three people? What the fuck? Then Buffy’s disbelief turned to grim determination. Oh, she would show Ethan she could play.


Then Buffy saw Ethan pull out what looked to be a stopwatch. As she rose from her crouch on the grass, she furrowed her brow. Is he actually going to time me? For being thirty minute late? Does he hate me that much? Dammit.


“Go Buffy!” Ethan started the watch and Buffy quietly assessed the three players in front of her. Mal was quick but she wasn’t focused enough. She lost the ball too easily but she had aim. Dirk appeared to be the muscle, the fighter of the team. He would be on offense. And then Nina seemed like the short and fast kind of player. Good. The odds were even; Buffy was capable. She could take them.


Dribbling the ball carefully between her two feet, her eyes darted back and forth between Mallory and Dirk. Nina was behind them, prepared to capture the ball with her feet when they passed to her. She almost snorted. If they passed to her.


She saw Dirk glance at Mallory and she took that split second to side step pass them and rip past them in one long run. She felt Dirk behind her, Mallory running up to the goal. She felt him come closer and she lost control of the ball for a second, stumbling and wiping out. She fell, throwing out her arms and using her elbows to keep from hurting herself. Her recovery was instantaneous, springing back up and turning to see Dirk pass to Mallory. Mallory passed to Nina but by that time Buffy had intercepted and regained control of the game. Moving up in the field, she deked in the direction of where Drusilla might be and saw Dirk roll his eyes at the move. He hadn’t fallen for it, instead signaling Mallory to move back up the field. She felt Dirk coming up behind and ran even faster, forcing her feet to carefully keep control of the ball. She grinned as she loped around Mallory, leaving the ball for a second and running around in a circle back to it, gaining momentum. She kicked it hard and it soared, hitting the goalpost and bouncing back in her direction. Grinning even more widely now, she jumped in the air and tilted sideways, her leg sticking out to catch the ball and kicking it back into the net. She felt a little bit shocked at the shot she had just made, it was so exhilarating. She heard Angel’s shout of “Yeah, Buffy!” and a few whistles and she felt so proud at that moment.


Exhausted by the workout, she forced herself to stay upright as she strode back to the crowd on the field. Flashing smiles at the three coaches, she approached Ethan on her way. Arching an eyebrow in question, she crossed her arms over her chest nervously.


“Twenty two seconds,” his voice was thick with amazement.


She smiled. “Cool.” Plopping down onto the grass, she was met by encouraging smiles of the people around her. Angel high-fived her and she grinned again. She was on fire. The adrenaline pumping through her felt incredible and she wiped the sweat from her forehead.


“Well done everyone. You are all exceptional players who have great potential. I congratulate you today,” he took the clipboard and stuck it between his arm and side. “We shall proceed to two more hours of practice and then you may leave for school.”


As the kids got up to start their warm-up of push-ups, squats, laps and other strenuous exercises, Ethan returned to talking quietly with the other coaches. They were possibly discussing who would be best for what position. Buffy hoped that Mallory would vouch for her. She wanted to be a forward so badly. The adrenaline and power that she had felt was so invigorating, she couldn’t bear to be put in any other position. What would be the point in soccer then, right?


Buffy found a spot next to Angel and began to start her push-ups, her body perfectly okay with the effort. She was used to this, the grueling exercise practiced.


“That was awesome, Buffy,” she heard Angel say through a tired breath. He was on his sixth push-up, his agile body moving quicker than hers. She admired the muscles on his arm, as they pushed up and down in effortless strokes. She wished, in a way, that her body could be as a strong as the average male’s. Not only would warm-ups be quicker, she would be stronger. She hated being the “short and fast” one on the team, like Nina was out on the field.


When she finished her push-ups, she sat up and feeling eyes on her, she looked up. Blue orbs met green ones and the shock of this somehow intimate “contact” caused Buffy to gasp. There was a gleam of lust in his eyes as his eyes raked her form with admiration. He was on the other side of the field, doing sit-ups with…oh my god, Drusilla? Seriously, what did guys see in her? Disgust flashed over her face and she saw confusion reflected back onto his. She rolled her eyes and rolled over onto her back, where she started to do sit-ups. Around her third, she sensed a presence beside her and she looked up to see Spike standing there. Narrowing her eyes, she pulled herself up, so she was sitting cross-legged on the grass. Raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow, she looked at him with a questioning expression on his face.


“You played awesome today, Buffy,” he said, crossing his pale arms over his chest. He smirked down at her and she quickly got to her feet. She hated being looked down upon.


“You did too,” she said stiffly, hoping the conversation would end. Anyone who was in Drusilla’s company was seriously fucked up. Even if they were kind of sweet, and totally hot. Like the whole bad-ass look really turned her on…


He grinned at her. “Maybe I’ll get to play with you.” The double entendre seemed intentional enough and Buffy’s eyes flashed.


“Maybe I’ll get lucky and you won’t,” she shot back, a snicker escaping her lips at the surprised expression on his face.


“Right then,” he coughed, looking taken aback. “I’ll-uh-see you around then, luv.”


She nodded boldness still alight in her hazel eyes. Spike continued to stare into her depths before she cleared her throat uncomfortably and he nodded back curtly. Walking away, her eyes remained glued on his lean form. She took a deep breath and returned to her warm-ups.


*****
After practice ended, she hurried out of the Arena to catch a taxi for school. Before she could open the passenger door, she felt a light tap on her shoulder and turned to see Angel, Drusilla-and Spike?- standing behind her.


“We can’t catch a cab. Can we come with you?” Angel asked, smiling sweetly at her.


Buffy caught the flicker of annoyance that passed over both Drusilla and Spike’s faces, though for different reason. Shrugging, she opened the door and allowed Drusilla to enter in the front seat. Spike piled in first in the back, then her and Angel came in last. Wedged between the two big guys, she felt suddenly uncomfortable and suddenly wished that she had declined them all. Angel, in all his naïve glory, was completely missing the possessive and challenging looks that Spike was sending his way. Drusilla was making moon eyes at the taxi driver and Buffy was simply stuck within it all.


With a quiet sigh, she watched as Spike’s right knee leaned unintentionally into hers, the contact making her shiver. She was confused about the way she was feeling about Spike. He seemed so mysterious but his emotions were like an open book to her.


Shifting away slightly, she threw him a murderous glance and he stopped with the cavemen looks at Angel. Smiling sheepishly at her, he tilted his head at her. The gesture was boyish and made him look so adorable.


Buffy quickly looked away. She focused on her fantasy of the letter that would tell her that she was being drafted. But still, Spike’s image didn’t go away and she growled inwardly in annoyance.


Finally, they arrived at Hemery High School with a resounding stop, the brake pedal being hit too hard. They all were pushed forward in their seat and quickly undid their seatbelts. They were going to be late for class.
Buffy waited for Spike to open his door and when he did, he held out a hand to help her out of the car. Shocked by the chivalrous gesture, she simply blinked. When he arched a questioning and not to mention extremely sexily scarred eyebrow, she was pulled out of her daydream of a Prince Charming who held doors for her and combed her hair for her. She rolled her eyes.


“I can get out of a car by myself just fine, thanks. Been doing it for eighteen years,” she muttered, pulling herself out of the car and blatantly ignoring his hand. She saw the flash of amusement on his face as he threw his hands up in mock surrender and allowed her to get out. He slammed the door shut and they headed into the school.


Buffy chuckled when she realized that they had all left Drusilla to pay the cab fare.


TBC

Buffy sensed Spike’s eyes on her as she made her way into the classroom. Spike followed, then Angel, then Drusilla. It had appeared that they were put in the same class. Darla, Dawn and the others were placed farther down the hall, separated by their swim mates. Buffy cursed her pitiful luck, being stuck with the worst possible people. Spike, a guy who was incredibly sexy and seemed relatively attractive to her, Angel with puppy dog eyes and sweet innocent that would make any cold soul befriend him and Drusilla, an evil bitch who just scared the hell out of everyone who met her. Except Buffy. Buffy found Dru’s antics quite entertaining and pitied anyone who went out with her.



“Welcome to Hemery High, kids. My name is Miss Caldwell and I will be your English teacher for year 12,” the woman was petite, her pixie hairdo suitably framing her pretty face. She had high cheekbones that made her look exceptionally young, but at the same time, she looked cutely bookish. She wore a tweed skirt and jacket set, with silk collared shirt to add. The spiked black heels she wore made her look just a little bit taller than she really was. Buffy liked her. She seemed like a nice, genuine woman.



The four nodded in response and proceeded to finding empty seats. Angel and Drusilla found two beside each other and Buffy spied one in the back of the class. Realizing with mild dismay that there was another empty one beside it, she knew Spike would be sitting with her. Great.



Plopping down noisily on her seat, she placed her books on her desk and ignored the stares that Spike were sending her way.



“Looks like I’ll be your company love,” she heard his sexy voice whisper, barely loud enough for her to hear. When she glanced up, she saw his face was turned in Miss Caldwell’s direction with intensive listening. She had to admit, he was stealthy.



“Oh joy,” she muttered and leaned back in her chair, arms folded stubbornly over her chest.



She saw the corners on Spike’s lips turn upwards slightly. “Really? I’m so touched, pet.”



Sighing with exasperation, she felt mild hatred for the annoyance beside her. “You really love hearing your own voice, don’t you?” she said under her breath, careful to be quiet.



“That I do, luv. That I do…” his voice trailed off, the playfulness evident in his obvious declaration.



“Miss Summers, would you care to tell us your opinion about Othello? I’d like to hear perspectives from different genders, ages and people respectively,” Miss Caldwell smiled up at her and Buffy sighed. She could see Spike looking at her curiously, waiting for her response. Buffy had always been an avid reader, loving books next to soccer. She loved coming home from neighborhood soccer games and collapsing on her bed with a good book in tow. She recalled Othello, a fun read a few years back. It had been a most interesting read. Revenge, misunderstanding, and misconceptions of people. It was so common and so easy to transfer to real life. It was a great metaphor for rumors and taking things for face value. Buffy had always yearned to discuss it intelligently with her friends or parents but they had more important things to do and she was left alone to ponder her own thoughts about emotionally and physiologically controversial books like Othello. Buffy relished in the thought that she would be able to openly share her thoughts with other people.



She cleared her throat, somehow uncomfortable with the crowd despite her easiness during a soccer game. It was kind of ironic. “Well,” she started, her tanned face glowing pink at the sound of snickers across the classroom. Drusilla was staring at her, reveling in her discomfort. “Could you be more specific?”



Miss Caldwell shrugged. “Okay, well, how about the themes presented in the story?”



Buffy tilted her head, thoughtfully considering this. “Well there was a number of themes presented in the story, of course. As per usual with Shakespeare,” she grinned with a sense of “geeky” pleasure in the conversation. “But, I think it all comes down to misunderstandings. People spiraled out of control the minute that one tiny misunderstanding went unexplained.”



Miss Caldwell pursed her lips in an approving gesture, nodding. “Yes, you’re right. Judging a book by its cover, that’s an adage that can be understood in a variety of forms. But misunderstanding something before actually getting the chance to immerse yourself in it, teach yourself…that is Othello in its purest form.”



Buffy gave a tiny smile and it faltered when she saw Drusilla’s hand rise. Beside her, Angel grinned approvingly at her.



“Nerd,” he mouthed playfully. Chuckling, she grinned back.



Spike watched the exchange with a pang of jealousy, only half-understanding the placated teasing that was being exchanged. He shoved his own feelings aside and concentrated on how intelligent Buffy seemed to be. He had never met such a multitalented girl before, who had also been a fan of Shakespeare. He also indulged in the woeful tales of old William but found himself to be too ashamed of his passions for poetry and reading.



“Yes, Miss de Veer?” Miss Caldwell nodded towards Drusilla, a teacher-like smile on her face.



“Well,” Drusilla said in her seductively low and raspy voice. All heads, of the male variety, turned to stare at her in awe. Buffy rolled her eyes inwardly. “I must disagree. Othello was only acting like any human would. It is not human nature to question first, act later. We have a tendency to, well, act on our needs. We fail to realize that our partner’s needs outweigh ours. So, I think the main theme presented was human nature in all its glory.”



Buffy stared, aghast and realized she was now into a full force open debate with Drusilla. She was trying to embarrass her and Buffy was not prepared to let her win. She saw Spike looking at Drusilla with a mildly surprised expression on his face and rolled her eyes again.



“But Drusilla,” she started her rebuttal. “That is not human nature. Only the fools of mankind choose to ‘act first and then question’. We are not talking about human nature here. We’re on a completely different plane. We’re talking about the effects of human nature, the aftermath. Human nature has nothing to do with it. Human nature is like natural instinct and basic survival instinct. Othello was acting on misunderstanding, the basis for the story.”



Drusilla rolled her eyes and the class watched on as the two new kids battled it out.



“But the whole thing comes back to human nature. Whether you choose to recognize it or not, it is human nature. If only the ‘fool’s,” she paused to give a sarcastic expression. “Act first, question later then perhaps we all are.”



Buffy cocked her head, a challenging eyebrow raised, meeting her dark hairline. “Oh? So why is it that first instinct tells us that maybe we should consider consulting the involved people first before acting? It is our second thought that instructs us otherwise. It is our second thought that we consider and usually follow. That maybe be human nature but it’s so open to possibilities, it’s deeper than Shakespeare intended to go. Be that as it may though, the basis for this story is open for debate. But I truly believe that misunderstanding is the aftermath of human nature. It is not human nature itself.



Miss Caldwell laughed a soft whispery sound. “Okay kids, enough. I’m glad to see how enthusiastic you are about ol’ Shakes but unfortunately, class is over. We’ll be discussing more tomorrow!” Kids quickly picked up their books and headed out of class for second period.



Buffy slowly gathered her books together, warily aware of the fact that Spike was studying her relentlessly. “That was really brilliant, Buffy.”



He said it so sweetly and sincerely, she stopped for about a split second, considering for a tiny millisecond that this guy might actually be a pretty good catch. More than he let on. Then she remembered the arrogant smirk and annoying swagger and, well, her promise to herself.



“Thanks,” she said sarcastically.



He rolled his eyes, carrying his books under his arm and following her out of the classroom. A small growl escaped his lips. “You’re so bloody stubborn, Summers. Can’t catch a break with you,” he muttered, loud enough for Buffy to hear.



She narrowed her eyes and slowed her pace, allowing him to walk up while she waiting outside the classroom for Angel. She didn’t know why she was allowing this friendship to continue but anything was better than Spike’s sweet words of compliment.



“Hey,” Angel greeted her, books in tow. They headed out to second period gym and walked at a leisurely pace.



“Hey,” she said back, glancing at his dark exterior sideways for a moment. She mentally compared his dark looks to Spike’s and snickered inwardly. There really was no competition; Spike won, hands down. Then she remembered who she was and where she was and pushed all thoughts of Spike out of her head with great force. She refused to think about him anymore, and Angel was a nice distraction. She hated knowing that she would have to very slowly detach herself from him but all things considered, it wasn’t like they were best friends. It wouldn’t hurt him too bad but she’d have to do it in such a way that he wouldn’t get hurt and become her enemy.



“You were great in class today. Drusilla was stupid,” he brushed off the girl with a comically blank face, knowing well and good that Buffy disliked her.



Buffy chuckled. “Thanks. But she did have a point,” Frowning, she turned curiously to Angel as they approached the gym doors. “What do you think? Was it really all down to human nature? Or could it be more specific?”



Angel threw her an empty glance, shrugging. “I don’t know.”



Buffy was slightly disappointed but brushed it off. It wasn’t the first time one of her friends had responded similarly. Pushing open the gym doors, she and Angel entered. They studied the other students heading diligently to the change rooms and followed suit. Buffy was relieved that Mallory had ordered the school gym uniforms in advance. One less reason to stick out. Waving awkwardly to Angel, she headed to the girls’ change rooms. She saw Spike on the opposite side of the room, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at her as he entered the change room with a wink. Flushing furiously, she ducked her head and walked quickly into the change room.



The typical shyness that ensued for certain girls in the change room did not affect Buffy. Eleven years of being in change rooms had converted her into a fairly relaxed change room person.



Pulling off her clothes, she saw girls admiring her form with wary eyes. Buffy knew that all the physical exercise she got kept her in good shape. A flat stomach, non-flabby arms and shapely thighs.



She carefully put on her gym shorts and matting t-shirt, her tanned legs contrasting nicely against the navy blue fabric of the uniform. Ignoring the yearning stares from the weirdo girls, she exited the change room and into the gym where she followed suit and started running laps around the gym. She sensed someone running up behind her and in a second, Spike was beside her. He jogged at a light pace, his lean and athletic body moving easily with the slow speed of the relaxing run. Buffy almost admired him, his beautiful form in motion. Then she saw the smirk on his face and rolled her eyes. She flexed her arms and pounded her feet into the tiled floors of the gym as she maintained her run.



“Race you?” he tilted his head as he looked at her sideways from their run, but she could see his scarred eyebrow cocked in challenge.



Not being able to resist the grin that threatened to take over her face, she shrugged. “Not really a race if you don’t have competition.” She teased. Spike narrowed his eyes playfully and the race ensued.



Running long and fast, they made their laps, cutting corners before they were back to where they started. Spike stumbled in his near flawless run and ran into a triumphant Buffy, causing them both to collide and tumble onto the ground. Spike struggled to fall underneath her, to break her fall and succeeded as his hand shot out instinctively and caught her wrist, willing her on top of his body. They landed in a heap, him on his back and groaning. She placed her hands slowly on his chest and pushed herself upwards, staring down at him with mirth. Then she giggled, hysteria entering the laugh. Then they were both laughing, their classmates staring at the hot couple with amused glances.



Then their laughter subsided and they both realized the position they were in, causing Buffy to leap off of him with lightening speed. Spike slowly rose to his feet, dejection evident in his handsome features for a second before being masked by a cocky smirk. “Knew you liked being on top.”



Buffy scowled, but then she willed herself to be nice. He had, after all, broken what could have been a very painful fall. “Thanks,” she said awkwardly, referring to the fall.



He shrugged. “Was my fault anyhow.” He glanced up to meet her eyes nervously and got lost in her hazel depths. They stared at each other, unmoving.



“Okay class.” Their gym teacher forced their gazes to break and they turned reluctantly away from each other.



*****



That evening, after a weird day at school and a tiresome practice at the Arena with a most annoying Ethan, Buffy headed up to her hotel room. She dragged her feet down the hall. She knew that the entire hallway had been rented out for the team and wondered idly which room Spike was staying in.



Focus Summers, her inner Buffy growled. She could not afford to get distracted. She really couldn’t…so why was she thinking about him so much? About his beautiful face and cheekbones? Why was she still glowing from the compliment he had given her earlier, after English class? Why did she care so damn much?



As she slipped the key card through the slot, she heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Spike approaching his dorm room, which he was sharing with Doyle. Buffy remembered that Angel was staying with Oz. Cool guy but way too stoic for Buffy’s taste. Even though she was pretty laidback herself, it still annoyed the hell out of her that Oz could talk so coolly about everything. Maybe one day, she and Oz would become friends. Until then, he could keep his deadpanned comments to himself, thank you very much.



Buffy and Spike’s eyes met. His shocking blue depths and her beautiful green ones collided with electrifying force and for a second, Buffy forgot about everything. She forgot about her soccer career, forgot about her complicated friendship with Angel, her pacts to herself, she forgot about being worried about Drusilla, about everything. She simply forgot. All she could see now was blue. Purity. Serenity. Peace.



She shivered from the sensations she sensed from him, the intense desire in his darkened pools strengthened with every second they stared at each other. Silence had ensued in the hallway and Buffy continued to just look at him, her eyes straying to his masculine face. The crinkles in his eyes when he smiled, his oh-so soft and kissable lips, the striking and killer hot cheekbones. She loved the duster, the black. The bad boy looked drew her in, because she knew for a fact that it was all just a façade. He was probably some shy guy who just wanted to be happy. Isn’t that what everyone wanted, in the end?



To just be happy?



Spike’s silent eyes raked her form, his eyes undressing her with every movement. She shivered under his intent gaze and glanced back up to see her own desire reflected in his beautiful eyes.



Snapping out of her trance, she stuttered a quick hello before opening the door to her room and hurriedly closing it shut as she backed herself up against the door with fast breaths. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to be calm. It was just Spike. Just a guy.



You keep telling yourself that, her inner Buffy said sarcastically.



Buffy rolled her eyes when she saw Drusilla lounging on one of the hotel beds, laptop in front of her. Her dark eyes were glued to the brightly lit screen and she barely looked up when Buffy entered the central part of the hotel room on shaky legs.



“You’re here,” she said, dismay entering her voice as her eyes continued to scan the screen.



“And all dolled up for you,” she leered sarcastically, heading to the bathroom to freshen up before taking a walk outside in the streets.



Drusilla sighed. “Best be nice to me Buffy or I might decide to snag that pretty little prince of yours,” she said, nothing but venom in her velvety voice.



Buffy spun around on her feet, a mixture of confusion and rage evident in her expression. “Who the fuck are you talking about?”



For the first time, Drusilla looked up and studied Buffy with a mock-amused expression. “Oh please,” she rolled her eyes, leaning back onto the bed with her milky arms folded over her chest. “Like I haven’t notice you making moon eyes at Billy Idol.”



If the words hadn’t been said with such malice, Buffy would have almost thought they were girlfriends, talking about a new crush. She almost barked a laugh at that but shoved the feeling aside when she grasped Drusilla’s words.



“Stay away from him,” she said through gritted teeth. Then she was surprised. Where had that come from? Her inner Buffy asked, bewildered. She didn’t know why she cared to protect Spike. But she knew Drusilla was nothing but a maneater and the last thing she wanted was to set someone up for hurt, even if that person was the Captain of Peroxide.



Drusilla raised her eyebrows in enjoyment. “Please. Virgins such as yourself don’t deserve his talents anyways,” she laughed to herself.



Buffy jerked her face sideways. “Talents? You don’t even know him!”



Drusilla raised dark eyes to face her. “And you do?”



There was silence for a second before Buffy gathered her wits. “I know him enough to know that he deserves more than what a slut can deliver.” She glared at Drusilla and couldn’t help the smug smile that prevailed at her insulted expression.



“At least I can deliver.” Drusilla said, her lower lip jutting out.



Buffy rolled her eyes. “Fuck off Drusilla and stay away from Spike. We’re in L.A. now. That’s more than enough fuck toys at your fingertips,” Then she barked a laugh. “Hell, it’s like a fucking playground for you, huh?”



Without waiting for a response, she spun around and grabbed a key card. Striding smoothly out of the room, she closed the door quietly. She would not show Drusilla how riled up she really was.



As she travelled to the lobby through the elevator, she pondered how defensive she had been of Spike. Did she really like him that much? As much as Buffy refused to believe so, she had to admit it. She wouldn’t have defended him like that then, would see? Buffy wasn’t one to bullshit everything. She told the truth, fuck all else. If she liked Spike, she was sure as hell ready to admit it. But was she ready to accept it?




TBC

“It’s okay, Buffy. I’ll go easy on you,” he soothed her “worry” with calm words of comfort. She couldn’t fathom why this lousy hunk of jerk would think he could beat her. As if.


“Just get in net, Parker.” She gritted her teeth. She knew she had to break up with him. Today. She couldn’t put up with his condescending, patronizing attitude anymore.


Parker had finally agreed to play a round of soccer with her and she was excited. She hadn’t played all week since it was March Break and Mallory was on vacation. She had missed practice and well, Parker was really the only decent competition around. He was an intermediate soccer player, having quit lessons a year earlier so he could join the town’s band, Fear Revolution. He wanted to “invest his whole self fully and…uh…wholly”, to make the “band experience so much stellar, y’know?”


Buffy had always been a little bit concerned about his academic life. He didn’t seem to have much of one...


“Hit me with your best shot,” Parker taunted her, a leer on his features. She fought the urge to roll her eyes at the cliché and instead backed away from the ball and gained momentum as she quickly gauged his “favorite” spot. Faith had taught her that every goalie had a favorite spot, though they denied it. It was the spot they unconsciously defended better and more so. It could be the casual lean of their bodies in the direction of the spot or perhaps a flick of the eyes, but a player could always determine the goalie’s favorite spot. Buffy watched with hooded, careful eyes as he adjusted himself, his right arm leaning farther out into the right end of the net. She grinned inwardly.


Bingo.


Sprinting forward, she kicked the ball with measured strength, angling her foot in the right direction so it would land in the left-side of the net. She cheered loudly when he leaned in desperately to grab the ball, the right arm swinging around floppily to come to his net’s defense.


Groaning in defeat, he watched as the split seconds passed while the ball sailed into the net with a resounding “whoosh” and landed happily on the ground. He stared at it for a second, resentment evident in his features before spinning around to glare daggers at Buffy.


“I didn’t know you could hit like that,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of anger.


She shrugged. “I figured it would be the perfect touch to the end of our…well, whatever we have.”


His eyes widened in disbelief, the shock comically etched onto his face. Parker “Pretty Boy” Abrahms was getting dumped? No. Fucking. Way.


“What?”


She chuckled as she strode forward to collect her ball, turning to face him with her ball in tow. “It’s over. I’m sick of you and your attitude. Go find some other slut to fill the void in your life where the IQ is missing.”


Parker gaped at her, his jaw open with surprise. “Huh?” he stuttered, scratching at his head, not fully able to understand what was happening.


“See you around.”


And with that, Buffy walked off with a light bounce in her step and a smile on her face.


***


Faith had died just before Buffy’s first year of high school. She had recently turned fourteen. Buffy had been devastated to come home on the last day of school, a wide grin on her face knowing she could spend the entire summer playing soccer with Faith, only to find out that her most special friend in the entire world had left her.


Apparently, Faith had been diagnosed with breast cancer about a year after she had started coaching Buffy, when Buffy had been eight. She had told no one, considering she didn’t have much of a family and as far as Buffy knew no serious relationships either. She had kept the news to herself but as the years passed and the cancer had become progressively worse, Faith had been distressed to find out that it couldn’t be treated and it was now terminal. Initially, radiation therapy hadn’t been an option because of money but when Faith found out that the cancer was much worse than it had been six years ago, she had no choice but to enjoy the last few months of her life.


Buffy remember the day quite clearly, the painful emotions still swirled a torrent of grief deep within her…

(Flashback)
Sunnydale, California 2004


Buffy whistled cheerfully as she walked quickly down the street, her tiny body aching to move faster so she could find Faith to tell her all about how Johnny Ronson had kissed her as a “last day of school gift” or something like that. She couldn’t remember what he had said, still relishing the feel of his soft lips on her cheek. She squealed at the memory, blushing. She already missed Johnny’s cute freckles and adorable curly brown hair but brushed it aside. She’d see him in high school and they’d fall in love and get married, right?


Humming a cheap love song to herself, she wandered through the suburban area of Revello before finally reaching 1630, a wide smile on her face.


She entered her house with a loud “I’m home!” and closed the door quietly behind her. She was surprised to see her mother sitting on the couch, her face expressionless, her eyes empty and flat with…grief? Shock? Buffy couldn’t gauge her feelings and wondered if something had happened at the gallery.


“Mom?” she said the maternal name softly, watching as her mother looked up with lightening speed and a flash of emotions went through her face. Buffy’s naïve nature didn’t bother to analyze them all and settled herself next to her mom. She laid a reassuring hand on her arm.


“What’s wrong?” she asked carefully, an encouraging smile on her features.


Joyce stared at her daughter through regretful eyes, hating how her daughter was so happy and how she had to be the one to destroy it. She placed her shaking hands in her lap and braced herself for what the next few hours were about to be like. She knew she had to be strong for her baby. Six years wasn’t just some friendship to quickly mourn and get over. It was a friendship, a bond that could pull anyone into deep depression. Joyce was determined not to let that happen. Not to her Buffy.


“Sweetie, there’s something I have to tell you,” Joyce said gently, wishing desperately for an easier way to say this.


Buffy’s eyes narrowed with confusion but she nodded with trust. “Okay,” she said, her voice small with uncertainty.


“Sweetheart, Faith…she died today.”


There. She had said it.


And the destroyed look, the anguished sobs that had followed…Joyce had never hated herself more.


****
Faith had been Buffy’s coach, friend, confidante, strength, and guide. She had been everything Buffy strived so hard to be and while Faith was a bit more than fucked up, she had her share of lessons that she stressed Buffy to learn.


Never have sex when you’re sixteen. It will kill you, your reputation and your future career.


Don’t talk garbage about other people. They might find out and one day, they might be your boss.


Make like a tree and leave people’s problems to their problems. You’re not here to carry the entire weight of the world. You’re here to fend for yourself and that means keeping your nose in your business only.


Don’t play soccer like it’s just a game.


Play it like it’s your life.


TBC

Buffy couldn’t sleep that night. Tomorrow, Ethan was going to announce who got what positions. She was so excited and worried, anxiety coursing through her veins. She knew that her spot wasn’t guaranteed. Forwards could sometimes be chosen as goalies or midfielders and Buffy hated to think that Ethan would do that to her. Hopefully, her little performance during try-outs had proved to him how well she could play.


And besides. She would never live it down if Drusilla made it and she didn’t.


She glanced over at the digital alarm clock that sat on the expensive bedside table and winced. It was two a.m. and she was still awake. She needed to get some sleep if she didn’t want to be tired during practice. She had to get up in three hours and still make it to school.


Buffy rolled over onto her back, arms folded behind her neck as she stared up at the ceiling blankly. There was no way in hell she could get a 90 average. Not with practice, the competition being so high. She couldn’t afford to work for something she didn’t even need for her soccer career. Her mother had always disapproved of her intense focus.


“You need to consider your options, Buffy. You’re a very bright girl and if soccer doesn’t work out, you need to have a fallback.”


It was clear to Buffy that Joyce didn’t believe in her. Joyce had always been a skeptic and trying to convince her that she would make it to the big leagues was none too easy. Luckily, Faith had reinforced her focus with encouraging pep talks about how her mother’s face would look when she did make it to the national leagues.


When Faith had been hired to coach Buffy, she had distanced herself from Joyce. For six years, they maintained a civilized relationship but nothing like the one that Faith and Buffy had. Some people often wondered if Faith was an older sister, or perhaps one of those young moms. Buffy hadn’t really noticed what effect this had had on Joyce. Joyce hadn’t seemed too fazed, too concerned with her gallery to worry about anything else. Buffy had resented Joyce’s hypocrisy. Joyce wanted her gallery to become global, like the Louvre. It was a damn near impossible feat, but Buffy had always had nothing but optimism set aside for her mother. So why did she feel so compelled to discourage Buffy? Buffy figured the only reason Joyce had allowed her to go on this trip was because she didn’t want to sever whatever relationship they had left. Not because she actually believed in Buffy. No one but Faith had genuinely believed in Buffy, not even Mallory. Mallory was too concerned with becoming a big-time coach to worry about her students. Buffy hated thinking bad thoughts about Mallory; she was such a sweet person but like everyone else, was focused on her own success before anyone else’s. Buffy couldn’t blame her. If she was faced with the decision to recommend Mallory as the Slayers’ coach or signing herself on, she had no doubt that making the choice would be hard.


But the choice itself wasn’t.


****


Buffy had finally drifted off to sleep when her blasted alarm clock rang out. She bolted upright in bed, surprised to hear it. Glancing over instinctively at Drusilla’s bed, she saw her form huddled underneath the layers of blankets. Raising an eyebrow, she wondered idly why Drusilla hadn’t reset the alarm again. Shrugging inwardly, she slowly pulled the covers off of her and lightly jumped out of bed. She groaned softly as the blood in her arm rushed back with a force, causing pins and needles. She tried to shake it off and rolled her eyes.


Two hours of sleep. What a great morning, Buffy thought sarcastically.


She entered the bathroom and closed the door with a resounding click. She turned on the faucet and quickly brushed her teeth. Pulling her hair into a messy but chic ponytail, she reached for her uniform and dressed. It was 4:45. She had to leave soon or she was going to be late. Quickly lacing her Adidas cleats, she grabbed her gym back and backpack and glanced back at the bed where Drusilla snored in blissful ignorance to the concept of time.


Furrowing her brow, she contemplated waking Drusilla or getting a little revenge for what she had pulled on her yesterday morning. Buffy pursed her lips, hating herself as she walked briskly to the bed and whacked Drusilla’s hidden form.


This elicited a loud groan and a flop of the covers as Drusilla’s head peeked out, peering up at Buffy with dazed eyes. “What do you want?” she asked sleepily.


Buffy rolled her eyes. “You have ten minutes before practice starts. Good luck making it in time.” Winking, she gave the shocked and comically wide eyed Drusilla the finger as she paraded out of the room with a wide grin on her face.


****


Buffy willed her body to do one more push-up to complete all forty five reps. But her body was too exhausted from such little sleep, protesting with every attempt she made to lift her body into the air. Groaning, she allowed herself to rest for a few seconds, face down on the grassy ground of the Arena.


“Did someone wear you out last night, pet?”


Taking a deep breath, she willed herself not to jump up and strangle the throat of the most infuriating man alive. Rolling over onto her back and folding her arms behind her neck, she stared up at him with a cheeky grin.


“I wore myself out, if you catch my drift.” With a sly wink, she set out to do some crunches.


She didn’t miss the shocked, wide eyed expression on his face and giggled inwardly. That showed him!


She could hear him plop down next to her as they did their push-ups together in awkward silence. After her witty comeback, neither was quite sure what to say.


“Have you ever read Lord of the Flies?”


The question was so out of the blue, so random that Buffy’s fast crunch pace faltered slightly as she was caught off guard. Huh? The guy reads? Seriously? He doesn’t spend all day getting off?


“Uh…yeah.” Smooth, Summers.


“Yeah I always wanted to know which character was favored the most.” His British accent had completely abandoned the rough edge and was now an elegant flow of old-fashioned speech. She liked it.


“Well,” she thoughtfully pondered the question, continuing her crunches in an easy manner. “I think Piggy.”


She could almost see the scarred eyebrow rise to his dark hairline. She wondered idly what he looked like with brown hair and shook the thought off. The bleached look had won her over since day one.


“Piggy?” The rough edge was back and he was scoffing at her.


“Yes,” she said defensively. “Did you have a problem with Piggy?”


Spike snorted. “Hell yeah. He was a rotten pushover who was too loyal for his own damn good.”


She couldn’t help the sardonic laugh that escaped her lips. “Well, that’s one way to sum him up.”


Spike chuckled. “Please. You honestly think that he would have survived in the real world with his innocence and complete trust in people?”


Buffy exhaled, the crunches finally wearing her down and she slowed her pace considerably. “Well no, not exactly,” she argued indignantly. “I’m just saying, he was honorable.”


Spike snorted again. “Yeah, honor really got him somewhere.”


“Honor will get you a lot of places,” Buffy said, her voice soft as she recalled the memory of her father who had left her mother for another woman. If he hadn’t escaped into the world for a bit of cheating and just talked it out like you were supposed to in marriages, she doubted the divorce would have even happened.


She could feel Spike’s probing eyes on her. “S’ppose, but not so much anymore. You need to have a ruthless want and ambition to get you anywhere.”


Buffy pondered this, wondering if Spike was really right. How far was she willing to go in this chase for the top?


Then Ethan’s voice rang out in the field. “Okay, time to announce positions!”


Buffy took a deep breath and with one last glance at Spike, she strode over to where Ethan stood.


Ethan went through the names slowly and meticulously, as he made sure everyone understood what they would be doing for the next eight months. Then came the moment of truth. Buffy listened as Spike and Drusilla were crowned forwards which left one position open.


“Buffy Summers,” Ethan glanced at his clipboard. “You will be playing…”


Buffy gasped in shock.


TBC

“Goalie.”



And her world came tumbling around her. Nonononono, Buffy thought, internally moaning with grief. This couldn’t possibly be happening to her. She had taken on three defensemen! How was this fair? How?



Life isn’t fair but if you gotta deal, you gotta deal. Don’t be a pussy and become the waterboy of the team. Live with your chin up and you’ll get what you want. Faith’s kind, cheery words.



But despite Faith’s command, Buffy hung her head low in disappointment and shock, not allowing anyone to see the unshed tears glistening in her hazel eyes. Her shoulders slumped, and her tall stance faltered slightly in the wake of her bruised pride. She could feel the eyes of her teammates boring into her back as she stood in front of the crowd. Then, she realized how pitiful she was acting about everything. She could cry in self-pity and wallow in her depression later, in private. For now, she could not allow anyone to see her vulnerable. She would stand strong.



She hunched her shoulders back, stuck out her chest in a show of almost manly strength, and lifted her chin with a smug expression on her face, as if becoming goalie had all been part of some mastermind plan of hers. She relished in the confused expressions, as they expected her to break down and create some sort of dramatic scene. No, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of that.



Her eyes flickered back to Ethan’s, and their gazes locked. His steely grey ones reflected no sympathy or warmth at all. There was simply a flat, cold bleakness that insinuated he wanted nothing more than to penalize her for something Drusilla had done. God, she was pissed. But she forced herself to remain expressionless, though she was aware her eyes were most likely alight with a fiery blaze that threatened to burst at any moment. She was not good at controlling her emotions, especially when she was angry but for now, Ethan would only succeed in bruising her ego. He would not be the reason for her to embarrass herself either.


“Now,” Ethan said, looking away from Buffy with the traces of a smug expression leaving his face, only to be replaced with a cold and gritty one of determination. “The next two weeks will be filled with some of the hardest work and training that any of you will ever experience. Probably more than the amount you may experience should be drafted to a competitive league.” He looked at everyone as he spoke, but his gaze lingered slightly longer on Buffy’s face before scanning the coaches. Buffy had neglected to see Mallory’s reaction to the announcement of her position and she glanced at her in curiosity.



Her eyes met the disappointed ones of Mallory’s and she almost flinched. Intuition told her that at this moment, she was probably more proud of Drusilla than her. After all, Drusilla had arrived on time and ready, and gained her spot on the team. Buffy, on the other hand, had been late and had been reduced to something less than what she wanted. Faith would have been so disappointed, like Mallory.


Buffy recognized, however, that being goalie wasn’t actually so bad. Forwards were sometimes considered as goalies because of their abilities to pinpoint the location of a ball at all times. They were constantly watching the ball and determined how they wanted the ball to enter the net. They had to practice more in “safe” positions (positions that needed to be practiced for specific shots) but otherwise, they were suitable candidates. Buffy sighed inwardly and forced herself to pay attention. There would be time for self-reflection later.



“Now that you have all been assigned your desired positions,” he continued. “We will be kicking into hardcore training. Each of you will be grouped into your appropriate positions and I will train you individually with the skills you need for the Miami game. I will assess your playing level and raise it higher than you can ever expect it to be. Understood?”



There was silence for a moment before murmurs of assent sounded throughout the crowd. Ethan nodded, satisfied, and started barking orders.



“I want mid-fielders in this section of the field, forwards in the right, fullbacks in the centre and the goalie in the far left.” The crowd scattered fearfully in the provided direction. Buffy watched with wistful eyes as Spike and Drusilla ran over to the right side of the field, their backs to her as she turned away, sullenly walking to her spot on the field. She saw Dawn and Riley talking animatedly as Tara hung back, a closed off expression on her face. As if sensing eyes on her, she glanced up to meet Buffy’s eyes and smiled tentatively. Buffy gave a small smile back but kept her eyes grim, watching with a sliver of satisfaction as she turned away disappointedly, as if sensing her detachment.



Buffy folded her arms protectively across her chest, underneath her full breasts, as she viewed everyone chatting happily before her. Doyle, Oz and Angel seemed to be getting along well. Buffy took a liking to Oz since he seemed relatively laid back and relaxed. She liked that; no pressure to have a great conversation. Just relax and be yourself and Oz could become your next best friend. Then Buffy turned her eyes onto the forwards, the most painful group to watch. Darla, who had originally tried out for goalie, was chosen as forward and looked equally as disdainful as Buffy had been. However, her disdain had quickly grown to smug satisfaction as she appeared to connect well with Drusilla. She watched with hurt as they talked flirtatiously with Spike, who also appeared to be returning the innuendos.



Whatever, Buffy thought with a roll of her eyes, refusing to second think the “hurt” she had felt when she saw Spike’s reaction to the two girls.



Buffy sighed again, her ruined and tarnished day going into overload as she waited to hear Ethan’s instructions. For some reason, when Ethan kept looking at her, she felt as if he had wanted her to be goalie for a reason that meant more than just penalizing her. She didn’t know what it was, but deep down beneath her bruised pride and her boiling anger, she felt he was planning something for her.




She didn’t know how right she was.



TBC

(Flashback)
She sat on the beanbag, her feet swinging before her as she bit her lip eagerly. Her eyes feasted on the carefully crafted words she was reading and they widened comically when boom! Desdemona was dead and all the lies were pulled together to achieve the death of Othello.


Gosh, she thought with a small frown. People sure weren’t smart then. I mean really, can’t you figure out where to place your loyalties and where not to?


Buffy pondered this, putting the book down in her lap as her gaze shifted outside the window, watching with interest as a youthful family approached the Sunnydale Public Library. Her thoughts drifted from Othello to love and she was instantly entranced as she witnessed the husband look at his wife with such honest and raw emotion, affection.


I want that one day, Buffy thought wistfully. I wanted to be taken care of eventually. I may never admit it but I think everyone does. The strongest tend to fall the hardest, so what better reason to fall in love than to have someone there to always catch you?


(End of flashback)


Buffy had been fifteen years old then. She had just had her second kiss, with Johnny Ronson again. They had decided to “go steady” when the school year began again. Buffy had been desperate to find some sort of distraction from Faith. Her death had caused Buffy to relapse. She hadn’t made it past the shock stage just yet, and was having trouble coping. She refused to talk to Joyce about anything. Their relationship had always been a rather tremulous one. Everything was fragile between them; when they spoke to each other, it was almost mechanical speech, as if every word had been carefully selected to be spoken.


Now, at eighteen years old, with her whole future ahead of her, she wasn’t so sure she agreed with the idea of having someone take care of her. There were a lot of things to consider; did she want to get into a relationship with someone? What if it went wrong, and all that time went wasted? Or what if it ruined her climb to success? She didn’t want to deal with all of that just yet. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to deal with it at all. What she did know was that this Spike Giles guy posed a big problem for her. He was sweet and funny, and a gentleman too. Not to mention he was the hottest thing alive since Farrah Fawcett. But still, she couldn’t risk everything, her entire future, just because a pretty boy came along and stole her heart…right?


Buffy groaned inwardly as Mr. Rockfield prattled on about useless history that would mean absolutely nothing to her when her soccer career was launched. Though she was interested in other subjects like calculus and English, her main passion still remained as soccer and she yearned to go to practice. Then she grimaced.


Never mind, she thought depressingly. Why would I want to go to practice? It’s not like even that’s fun anymore. I should have never come here. It was all a mistake.


She wanted to smack herself for being so damn negative and whiny but really, soccer has just been so much more fun without all the added pressure, stress and worst of all, disappointment. She hated the feeling of being defeated, and not being able to do anything about it. It annoyed her that Ethan had made her taken on three defensemen when he had never intended to give her the position she wanted anyways. It was as if he were taunting her in a painful way that had her blood boiling with rage. But, she forced her demon to control itself. Now was not the time to vent. She could do that later, as well as have her own pity party where she could wallow in self-pity.


She forced herself to return her attention to Rockfield. She remembered her mother’s words and tried to register the information he was giving to the class. Though Buffy was typically interested in class lessons, today she just didn’t feel up to the exertion of having to process so much. She already have enough on her plate. She just wanted one day off to recuperate but she knew that wouldn’t fly in the real world. She put on a steely expression of grim determination and forced herself again, to pay attention to Rockfield. Today was going to be a long day but damn it, Ethan was not going to win this!


******


Meanwhile, Spike was sitting in Principal Snyder’s office, a bored expression on his usually cocky and arrogant face. His head was tilted in a fashion of forced interest and he rested his cheek on his arm, leaning back into the sticky leather chair as Snyder yelled at him.


“Delinquency is not promoted here at Hemery High!” Snyder snapped, his voice cold and flat as he stared hatefully at the young man before him.


“It’s brats like you who ruin my school,” he rasped, his voice growing raw after the morning’s yelling. He had had to speak to six kids already about misbehaving and adding Spike to the list had only increased Snyder’s dislike of the boy.



Spike merely shrugged and smirked, obviously satisfied with himself. “It’s also brats like me that become rich and famous, and laugh at people like you.” He dared to say the words, keeping up his proud façade, and watched with amusement as Snyder quivered with barely concealed anger in response.



“You better watch out, Giles. The next failing grade you get, you’re out of this school, you hear me?” Snyder spat out. He hated that he was being forced to take the kids. The coach, Mallory-whats-her-name, had cautioned him that no expulsions or suspensions were permitted. Since the kids were just finishing off their senior year, it made no difference where they were. As long as they were in school and attending classes, the soccer administrators wouldn’t raise any issues. Snyder didn’t want to raise attention to himself by causing a ruckus if he expelled Giles but still, the boy was a sacrilege to all things good and pure!


Spike was sent out of the office and ordered back to class, but since it was only fifteen into second period, he decided he would skip out until lunch and return for his afternoon classes. Though high schools usually requested the standard three courses per semester, his failing grades had permitted him to take the full day for extra credit. Snyder had ordered him to bring his grade up or else he would be expelled but they both knew this was just an empty threat to somehow ‘motivate’ Spike into doing better. Spike was bright but he, unlike Buffy, did intensely focus on soccer. He had no other options as a future career. He was crappy at all things math and his writing didn’t do well for his reputation, as an old and past love had taught him that all too well. Science was boring for him and history just didn’t interest him. All he had was soccer and his spot on the Los Angeles team was his opportunity to make his dreams come true. But before he did that, he had a lot of problems to work out.


Spike snuck out through the back door, the one that only the custodians utilized to get to the shed in the far end of the field. He glanced up at the shining sun and the clear blue skies, a tentative smile forming on his lips as he relished in the beauty of the day. Why would he want to go to class when it was so beautiful outside?


He reached into his leather duster and pulled out his pack of cigarettes and walked across the sidewalk, as far away from the school as possible. He had a lot of thinking to do, but between school and classes, there wasn’t much time for that as there used to be. The stress was definitely getting to him but he forced himself to picture the day when he would be the one chosen to get drafted to a big league.


That day will come, he promised himself confidently, inhaling the cigarette as he strode. He proceeded into the city, interested at the busy traffic and life around him. He watched a group of young twenty-something women shriek over an enormous diamond that one of them sported. He turned his attention to a grey area on the building beside him, watching the smoke drift out of his cigarette with blank eyes.


He hated to think about his mother. It was too painful to dwell on and he tried to reserve thoughts for her when he was alone, lying in his bed and staring at the ceiling. That way, no one would be bound to see the tears pouring down his face. He recalled the memory of her body being placed on the stretcher, into the ambulance to be taken to the hospital. He couldn’t forget, could never forget, the blood running between her legs as her battered and beaten body was covered in a white sheet of plastic. It covered his beautiful mother forever, and all the love she had in the world was gone, under a sheet of plastic. He closed his eyes, leaning against the building as he took another deep drag of his cigarette, the recollection pulling him into a deep reverie…


(Flashback)


Spike laughed loudly, his beer bottle slipping clumsily from his grasp. He wondered idly why everything was so dizzy, why he couldn’t see straight, but he shoved the troublesome thoughts away with another belch from deep in his stomach. God, maybe he should have stopped at the tenth or eleventh. Or had it been twelve beers? Whatever. Either way, he was rather stoned, but he felt pretty damn great.


He watched his two best friends, Wesley Price and Whistler McNeil, roll around on the ground, shirtless. They were both trying to do something that involved pinning the other to the ground and sticking their finger in the other’s ear but it wasn’t going very well. Spike was slumped lazily on the couch, glancing hazily at the collection of empty beer bottles at his side.


“Guys?” he slurred, giggling girlishly at the sound of his voice.


Wesley and Whistler stopped their fighting and looked up at him, dazed and with equal haziness in their eyes, from their position on the floor. “Yeah?” they both responded in unison.


“Wha’s the legal age for drinkin’ again?” Spike asked, his head drooping awkwardly as the alcohol took its toll on his fourteen year old body.


They shrugged, disinterested by his inquiry, and returned to their squabble. Spike’s uncle, Rupert Giles, had been out for a conference taking place in Switzerland, which left the house completely bare of existence for the whole weekend. Except for Spike, of course. Spike’s mother was in downtown New York, modeling the showcase of her latest collection for Donna Karan New York, which would last until Sunday. Spike had located the booze and well, that was that. Voila, and you had three very drunk fourteen year old boys.


That’s when the phone rang. Spike looked at the phone with childlike amusement, jumping to pick it up gently.


“Giles residence,” he slurred in greeting.


“William?”


The tone of her voice, the fear in it. Spike, in his drunken haze, he did not recognize it. He only recognized his hated name being said and was instantly put into defense mode, determined to not be nice to the person at the other end of the line.


“I-I think someone is coming after me!”


Spike mumbled a response, “No. You’re mean. You keep calling me bloody William.”


“William. B-before he c-comes b-back, I love you. I’ve called 9-1-1 but in case they don’t make it in time, I love so much-.”

“Yeah well, I bloody well don’t. Mean woman, callin’ me William, you are!”
Then the line went dead.


6 Hours Later…


“Apparently, according to her cell phone records, she made a phone call home two minutes before the attack,” the officer said, his words only adding to the numbness that Spike felt, shoulders slumped and head hung in devastation.


“Who did she call?” Rupert asked, willing his voice to be strong.


“She called 9-1-1 first, then her own house,” the officer replied, sounding flabbergasted.


Rupert slowly turned to his nephew, who had recovered from his drunkenness, enough to understand the hatred of the stare that his uncle was directing his way. He flinched and lowered his eyes again.


“She told me she loved me, I said I didn’t, then I hung up on her,” He mumbled.


The officer nodded. “Her phone call was interrupted when he attack her from behind. According to a witness, she had sensed that a man was watching her all evening. At one point, he made a sexual threat to her and she left the gallery to make the phone call outside. Her purpose was to hide in the alleyway so he would think she had left. He found her, raped and beat her and then killed her. He said that she looked like one of his old girlfriends. You know, those sadistic murderers. He’ll definitely be locked up for a long time.”


The words were empty, and so was his heart now.


He had told his mother he hadn’t loved her when she had been seconds away from death. He was worthless.

He hated himself.


Every. Single. Damn. Day.


TBC

Spike was the kind of guy who prided himself on being the friend who you could trust and rely on. You know, the one you went to for all your little problems and worries. It wasn’t that he wanted to actually deal with his friends’ personal issues, it was just the principle of it. He was a good friend, and he liked that.




Well, except for times like now.




A hard tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie, and he whirled around in swift anger, his cigarette dropping from his fingertips.




What he saw surprised him.




“Connor,” he said, his casual voice belying the obvious question in his crystal blue eyes.




Connor nodded briefly at him, running a hand nervously through his already bushy brown curls. He refused to meet Spike’s eyes as he said, “Can we go for coffee or something?”




Spike frowned and studied the boy. Connor McGuffin was the son of Richard McGuffin, one of his closest and well-trusted poker friends. Richard and he met one stormy night, after Spike had been kicked out of his father’s house, for the first and final time. Spike had needed the extra cash, since he clearly didn’t have a resume. His street gang friend, Ice, had told him about an underground poker club that could easily earn him a few bucks. Spike had gone, played, and won. His outstanding skills in gambling made him an easy target to eliminate, but Richard, for whatever reason, had respected and protected him, ensuring that he would continue to play as long as he wanted to. Connor was a year younger than Spike, and Richard had forbidden the boy to play in the club. Connor was the kind of kid who was a rich preppy, taking daddy’s earnings and spending them nicely on himself. Richard had been fairly relaxed with this arrangement; after all, what did *he* need with the money?




What Richard hadn’t known was something Connor was about to reveal to Spike.




****




“Where is he, you rats?” Snyder’s voice was like a cold splash on a hot summer’s day. All three teammates were more than surprised to hear of Spike’s disappearance.




“We don’t know,” Angel tried to explain. “He must have skipped or something.”




Snyder’s grey eyes flicked to Buffy, his suspicious glare causing her to lift her chin defiantly, as if in challenge. His nostrils flared, her eyebrows rose. The standoff was obvious.




“You two can leave. Summers!” he barked, when he saw the lithe brunette exiting the room with Angel and Drusilla.




Buffy halted in her pace, her back to Snyder as she had been *so* close to making it out of the door. She glanced at Angel before turning away, taking comfort in the soothing brown of his warm depths.




She folded her arms protectively across her chest and watched as Snyder paced across the floor with amused eyes. “I want to know where Spike is!” he complained, his voice bordering on just plain childish.




Buffy shrugged. “Well, I don’t know where he is, sir. And, I’m not quite sure why you’d want to know. You don’t seem to like him very much.”




Snyder turned hatefully cold eyes on her figure. “You bet I don’t,” he said, in a low voice that threatened to send shivers up and done her spine. Buffy refused to be intimidated by this rodent-like man, however. It would be an utter disgrace for a Summers girl to fear such an insignificant creature.




Buffy raised questioning brows in his direction, her arms tightening across her chest as he began to walk toward her slowly. “So, why do you care where he is?”




Snyder stopped when he was directly in front of her, too close for comfort. “Because,” he breathed, watching Buffy through suddenly appraising eyes. “I do not tolerate delinquency and utter lack of respect for rules.”




Moving away from him towards the door, the distance provided her with newfound confidence. “Look, Mr. Snyder,” she said, her confident voice belying the discomfort that was reflected in her hazel eyes. “I honestly don’t know where he is. And even if I did…” she trailed off, not sure if she should have even continued.




The withering look Snyder threw her was enough to send her strolling out of the room, her head held high with the determination to fight off any drifting thoughts about Snyder’s ulterior motives for keeping *her* behind specifically.




Buffy knew that it was unwise to cut class, *especially* since her mother had warned her to keep her average up in the 90s. But, it was almost lunch time and she was desperate to escape the suffocating environment of the high school. As much as she enjoyed going to school, Hemery High just wasn’t cutting it. Plus, she was curious, like Snyder, about Spike’s whereabouts. She knew that the chances of her running into Spike in a city like L.A. was more than unlikely, but it didn’t really matter; this wasn’t really about Spike. She just needed some time to think things over. Between school and practice, she was always dead tired and never really had the opportunity to go over things. She fondly recalled her old team mate back at her Sunnydale Team, Cordelia, scolding her for being too “broody and stuff”.




Well, now was just one of those times when Cordelia would have to stuff it, because Buffy sure as hell needed to reflect over recent events in order to get her thoughts sorted. Besides, it was a beautiful day and she *was* in L.A. What could possibly go wrong?




****




Sitting in the coffee shop with his body leaned back comfortably in the chair, Spike reached into his pocket for his package of cigarettes. Catching the warning expression on the barista’s face, he sighed and occupied his fidgeting hands with a small pack of sugar in front of him. He looked at Connor expectantly before checking his watch; seeing that it was almost lunch, he figured he should probably get back to Hemery. He had been forced to take afternoon classes, despite the required three per semester, since he had been averaging a 60% back in New York. He knew that skipping class *probably* wasn’t the best way to rectify his failing grades but what did it matter? Soccer was his future; it always had been. He had no other options if the Slayers didn’t work out. If he didn’t make it, what would he do?




“Look, man,” Connor was saying, and Spike was pulled abruptly out of his gloomy thoughts. His attention snapped over to Connor, whose eyes were wide and panic-struck.




“Shit’s happened, dude. A lot of it.” Connor ran a hand over his hair, and though Spike was tempted to snap at the boy for calling him “dude”, the serious expression on his face caused him to reconsider.




“Yeah? What of it?”




Connor leaned forward, his hands folded together, his knuckles a rebelliously white hue. “I’ve been buying from Ace,” he said, his voice low and his tone solemn.




Spike’s eyes widened. “What the *fuck* is wrong with you, boy?” Several heads turned in their direction, but Spike merely glared at them in response.




Connor gave him an annoyed look. “Don’t be so goddamn loud about it, Spike,” he snapped. Then, he added, “And don’t call me ‘boy’. I’m only a year younger than you.”




Spike looked bored. “Look, mate, ‘m not the one who’s making friends with chaps like Ace.” At this, his expression grew very severe.




“What are you doing with people like Ace, anyhow? You’re a rich boy, you seem well-off. Why fraternize with that sort?”




Connor sighed. “Okay, so you know Blaize Jeffrey?”




Spike nodded. “Yeah, he was in my tenth grade English class.” He paused, thinking a bit. Then, he continued, “But he moved from New York around June.”




Connor stared down at his coffee with blank eyes. “Turns out,” he said, in an oddly flat tone of voice, “He’s Ace’s adopted baby brother.”




Spike gaped at him. “Seriously? Wow, I did *not* see that comin’…” his voice trailed off as he recalled the funny, hormonal guy that everyone loved. The girls fawned over him, the guys wanted to *be* him. Not only was he great comic relief from the hectic world of high school, he was simply comfortable to be around. His presence calmed you, somehow; it also occasionally caused you to laugh your ass off. Blaize was the best thing that ever happened to New York High. And then, before school had even ended, he had disappeared. No one had heard from him since.




Connor nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I can imagine your surprise.”




Spike furrowed his brows, giving Connor a strange look. “How would you know? You didn’t even know him.” He paused, then added, “Hell, I didn’ even know *you* and your da then.”




Connor’s expression became distant. “Dad was traveling a lot then,” he explained, his tone indicating that he had not enjoyed “traveling” with his father. “He was doing some…” He paused. “…business, and I ended up going to this street bar, off of Fifth, with him. He needed to talk to some of his old clients. You know how Richard is.”




Spike smiled wryly. He had met Richard in his grade eleven year, when his father had kicked him out. At that state in time, both father and son were still mourning the death of his mother. His father, Carlton, had blamed his son heavily for the death of his wife.




(Flashback)




“She called *you*, of all people, to say goodbye. Un-fucking-believable,” Carlton Pratt sneered, his dark features twisting in an ugly fashion.




Spike drew himself up to his full height. He was sixteen years old and recalling the reckless days of his fourteen year old self was not only painful, but humiliating. Still, he was a different person now; he didn’t need the crap his father had abused him with for the past two years. After his mother’s death, Spike had been convinced it had indeed been his fault. Submerged in this belief, his father had taken advantage and did his best to make Spike feel as guilty as possible for his wife’s murder. Spike and Carlton had never gotten along, even when Anna had been alive. Anna had served as a barrier, being the one to stop a dangerously progressing argument. Now, with Anna gone, no one was here to stop the two from erupting into a mass of hurtful blame.




“Look, Da,” he said, his voice low. His eyes were trained on his father’s sapphire ones.




“I don’ know where you get off tryin’ to do this to me. I know what I did-”




“Do you? *Do* you, Spike? Do you *really* know what you’ve done?” At this, his father’s voice cracked and his eyes welled with unshed tears. The vulnerable expression that crossed his face disappeared, the instant it came when he realized Spike was still present.




“Tell me, Da! Tell me what I could have possibly done!” Spike shouted, his hands waving about. “We know she called 9-1-1 and I was drunk! *Drunk*! Does that mean nothing to you?”




“Why the *fuck* were you drunk, anyhow…” Carlton did not phrase this is as a question.




“I-I don’ know, Da…” Spike’s voice was cracking now, too. The emotional stress was becoming too much for either male and Spike found himself staring deeply into his father’s eyes, willing him to help him get through this pain. The silent pleading his father ignored; his words, on the other hand, he did not.




“You don’t know!” His bitter laugh filled the strangely empty living room.




Spike flinched and lowered his eyes. “I already said I was sorry. What more do you want from me?”




“Leave.”




Spike’s head snapped upwards, his eyes wide and his expression a mixture of shock and hurt.

“W-what?” Spike *never* stammered. Ever.




“Do us both a favor and leave,” he replied, collapsing on the couch and raising his eyes to his son’s figure.




“Why?” Spike’s voice was barely a whisper.




“My son has more honor than what you’ve so eloquently proved to show me. You are not my son and you never were. I never want to hear from you again, Spike. All you do is bring pain, suffering and hurt to the people around you and I’m sick of it. Like I said, do us both a favor and quit while you’re ahead. I won’t love you; I never did.”




Spike’s shoulders dropped, his stance faltered. His father’s words hurt worse than any possible blow; no torture device could inflict as much pain in comparison to what he was currently feeling.




Shoulders slumped and head hung, ashamed, Spike shuffled out of the house alone.




(End of flashback)




His uncle had eventually taken Spike in, when he had discovered his exile *and* his gambling career. Although Spike was dimly aware that Giles still resented him slightly for what had happened to Anna, he knew that it couldn’t be helped. Anna had been his sister and it was only natural to feel everlasting resentment. But Giles had been the better man, unlike Carlton, and had taken in the lost, damaged, and troubled boy who had no place to call home.




Spike gambled a little bit sometimes, though he had “sort of” promised his uncle he would stop. It was only to re-establish valuable connections, like Richard McGuffin and Lawson McAvenue, and the monetary gain was purely productive.




“Spike!” Connor’s annoyed voice brought Spike out of his thoughtful reverie with a bang. Spike’s eyes snapped over to Connor and he nodded slightly.




“Look, mate, I don’ know wha’s goin’ on with you, but you either tell me now or find another pal to chitchat with. I don’ have all day to hear about Blaise’s life story.”




Connor nodded hastily, his expression turning panicked, as if fearful of the thought of Spike leaving. “I didn’t know who else to go to,” he whispered. He placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his upturned palms. “I have a debt with Ace. Six thousand dollars. I need it…well, I need it as soon as I can get it.”




Spike nearly choked on his own saliva. “What the bleedin’ hell did you go to him for? What have you been spendin’ Daddy’s money on, boy?”




This time, Connor did not dare to correct Spike, for he knew his actions were purely childish and irresponsible. “Drugs,” he replied meekly.




Spike let out a laugh that resembled a bark. “Right,” he said, standing from the table.




“No, no! Don’t leave, man! Hear me out! Please!” Connor desperately tried to persuade Spike to remain.




Spike gave the boy a withering look. “’m on a national team, Connor. I can’t risk gettin’ involved with drugs and all that rot,” he paused, seeing the withdrawn look on the kid’s face. “Look, if ’s money you need, I don’ see what the problem is. Daddy’s loaded, in’t he?”




Connor shook his head. “Dad knows what I’ve been doing,” he confessed ashamedly. “He refuses to even *talk* to me, Spike. He can’t believe his son, the son of Richard McGuffin,” Spike noted the faint resentment on Connor’s face, “Is doing drugs. It’s like an embarrassment to him or something.”




Spike sighed. “I can’ give you money like six thousand dollars, mate.”




Then, for good measure, he added, “Even if I *did* have six grand, ‘s not like ‘d be givin’ it away, or anythin’. ‘s jus’ a lot of money.”




Connor nodded in agreement, a bright smile in place. “I know,” he agreed. “That’s why I want you to *win* it for me.”




Spike groaned and raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t do that, Connor. You need the money now,” At this, he shot Connor a pointed look. “And winnin’ six grand in one shot is risky, mate. My ass is on the line, too. The people I gamble with, I don’ rightly know their tempers yet. I win a good amount each night and it adds up. But ‘d never be stupid enough to try it one night.”




“But-”




“’m still a street kid, okay, mate? Rich may like me, but that doesn’t mean he’ll go to great lengths to protect me, or anything. I can’t help you, Connor. Period. ‘m sorry.”




Connor slammed his fist down on the table, a light of hysteria in his dark eyes. “Whatever!” he shouted, attracting the attention of several people seated nearby. “I can do this on my own, then! Since no one wants to fucking help, I’ll find my own way!”




Spike sat back, slightly surprised at Connor’s actions. He knew that Connor was being over-dramatic as a result of withdrawal from whatever drugs he was taking, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t genuinely scared shitless. He had the biggest drug dealer in L.A. out for his ass, and his money, and that didn’t really qualify as a good day. Spike sighed and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a minute.




*Don’ feel guilty. ‘s his fault, anyhow, for getting himself into this shit, anyways. Six grand is a helluva lot to ask of someone.* He struggled to convince himself that Connor’s situation had nothing to do with him and that he really had no reason to worry about the kid. Unfortunately, the undercurrent of dread rolling around in his stomach didn’t go away.




Sighing again, Spike stood from the table and exited the coffee shop. He had to get back to school; he had about ten minutes before he would be late for fourth period. Glancing once more behind him in the direction he had seen Connor stalk off, he crossed the street in the direction of Hemery.




As if public education meant anything these days, especially to an aspiring famous-to-be soccer player.




****




Buffy was vaguely aware that being in a dangerous city like L.A., unaccompanied was unwise and quite frankly stupid. Still, she felt compelled to roam the streets and explore every inch of the city. Back at Sunnydale High, she had had a 70% average, which was rather remarkable for an athlete. “Jock, she remembered being called. She knew that a 70 would probably get her into a low-class community college, nowhere near an Ivy League, but what did she need school for? She was a jock, an athlete, who didn’t need trigonometry. Her mother, who seemed to be convinced that Buffy would not make it, though she refused to admit this, demanded she take courses like calculus, chemistry, etc. They were tedious, pointless, and complete wastes of time for a person like her.




She knew that, in ten minutes, fourth period would commence and she would be missing her art class. She had had to take the extra class to earn the extra credits that her poor average failed to provide. She knew that she was definitely capable of pulling a 90, but time was restricted and scarce.




Rolling her eyes at the moody direction of her thoughts, she struggled to enjoy her afternoon before practice. Her mood officially ruined now, she sighed and decided that her first “real” day in L.A. should be spent on a better occasion. Turning back, she headed to Hemery for art.




Whoopee.




TBC

“The next few weeks will be intense and incredibly hard,” Ethan announced, his eyes skimming the group of adolescents before him. “The opening game is always the most important, the most sacred. It is the mark of a new beginning of a soccer era; new players will play for the first time and old players will continue to live the dream.”




He paused, a small smile playing on his lips. “Perhaps, by next season, we shall see a few familiar faces on a strong team.”




Doyle raised his hand, moving into a kneeling position on the grass so he could see Ethan better. “When exactly will we be drafted? How exactly will we be drafted, I mean.”




“The very last game before play-offs, there will be important representatives from international teams who will come to observe our team. Every year, the L.A. Slayers traditionally bring in young, new players for drafting purposes. It’s why we’re so highly recognized; many of the greatest, strongest players you see today were once on our team, and went through the same training processes you will go through. Additionally, if you were interested, for those of you who are not drafted, some of you will be asked to return home. A select few may be asked to stay and remain on the team until the next season rolls around, where you can be re-evaluated. We rarely do this, considering there are so many young players out there who need the spots on our team.”




“And if we make it to play-offs?” Oz asked.




Ethan shrugged. “Then, you play simply to win. Evaluation ends before play-offs. Obviously, it will no longer make a difference if we win the play-offs and you’ve already been chosen to be drafted once the season officially ends.”




Everyone digested this information as Ethan and other coaches hurried to set up the Arena with pylons, rope and other things to create sectors across the field.




Buffy was seated on the grass, her legs drawn up to her chest as she leaned her chin heavily on her knees. She watched wearily as the goalposts were set up; Mallory, who was helping to align it on the field correctly, glanced swiftly in Buffy’s direction. Buffy saw the faint traces of disappointment on Mallory’s face and resented this; what did Mallory’s opinion matter anyhow? *Faith* would have been more optimistic, in her oddly sarcastic, bitter way. She would have told Buffy that, no matter what, at least she was on the team and she would be able to play.




Sighing, she stood and stretched, watching her fellow team mates did the same as Ethan ordered them to their respective positions on the field. Staring longingly at Darla, Drusilla and Spike, she forced herself to look away when Spike’s gaze met hers. She didn’t like the way this boy made her feel; he was oddly comforting and frustrating at the same time and she was worried. She couldn’t allow her feelings for him to escalate further; if making it to superstardom in the soccer realm meant severing any possible ties with Spike, so be it. Right?




“Right, the first lesson I’d like to get to today is playing as a team,” Ethan was yelling. The team had been dispersed throughout the field, and everyone strained to hear the outspoken coach. Buffy had yet to determine her true feelings for her new coach; she knew that deep down, she *should* resent him for taking away her desired position. But, what did that say about her character? Did it mean she assumed herself incapable of adapting? She snorted inwardly at this; no, she would not resent Ethan for his choice. She settled with pity, for his misunderstanding of her true abilities. The arrogance in Buffy emerged and a blissful smile blossomed over her face. Oh, she would show him she could adapt, all right.




“I think many of you are used to playing as an individual,” Ethan said. He looked around at everyone before adding, “Not all of you, but *many* of you.”




He walked around the field as he spoke. “The first step to building a strong, unbreakable team is to learn how to work together to create one.”




He gestured to the midfielders, Doyle and Oz. “These young men have to be able to work with the forwards,” he motioned over at Darla, Dru and Spike, “in order to be successful. They play between the midfielders and they must be able to communicate with them effectively.”




Then, he nodded his head in Dawn, Tara and Riley’s direction. “The fullbacks’ responsibility is to defend their net. They, in turn, must be able to communicate with their forwards, if they wish to do this successfully.”




Looking around at everyone, a strange smile appeared on his face. “So you see,” he continued, waving his hands about. “A *good* team scores a lot. A *great* team scores a lot, as a *team*.”




“Now, before we go into a more grueling introduction to this lesson, I’d first like to be able to get a glimpse of what you are all like when you are in playing mode.” Ethan clapped his hands once. “So! I’m going to ask you to play five minutes of game time.”




Several hands rose into the air.




Ethan nodded. “Yes, yes, I know. Who will play the opposing team? Well, let’s divide positions a bit.” He glanced at everyone, mentally sorting everything out before voicing his orders. “Darla, take the second net, since you and Buffy are equally apt to defend.”




Darla glanced swiftly at Buffy with a trace of smugness in her pretty features, before trudging to the net, looking back at Spike with a longing expression.




“Tara will defend Buffy, since she definitely has an advanced skill level that Dawn and Riley have yet to attain,” Ethan declared, waiting impatiently for Tara to run over to Buffy’s position. Dawn and Riley exchanged resentful looks at Ethan’s flippant comment, before heading over to Darla at the opposite end of the field.




“Spike will act as forward for Darla’s team, and Drusilla will, correspondingly, be Buffy’s,” Ethan affirmed, waving Spike over to Darla and watching Drusilla head to Buffy’s side, taking her appropriate spot on the field.




“Ah, yes, and then our midfielders,” Ethan said, studying the three men before him. “Oz and Doyle will take Darla’s side, and Angel can be Buffy’s.”




Buffy nearly gasped at the wording that Ethan had chosen. Angel, hers? She saw Angel staring at her with an oddly amused expression on his pale face, as he strode to his position on the field.




Ethan nodded, looking satisfied. “Good, good.” He looked over at Swampson, gesturing for her to throw the soccer ball that she was clutching to her chest. She obliged, tossing the ball over. Ethan caught it gracefully, returning his attention back to his team. “All right, five minutes! You have *five minutes* to show me what you’ve got. Ready?” And with that, he tossed the ball in the center, leaving Spike and Drusilla to kick it. Drusilla’s determination overpowered Spike’s strength, causing the ball to fly over to Darla’s side of the field. It landed near Dawn and Riley, who bumped into each other in the process of running for the ball. Riley shot Dawn a contemptuous glare and shoved her away, advancing toward the idle ball and kicking it to his midfielders, Oz and Doyle. Doyle caught it in the curve of his shoe, running with it for a few seconds before he decided that it was safe to pass back to Spike.




Spike handled the ball well with his feet, spectacularly dodging Drusilla’s desperate attempts to steal it. Finally, before Spike had reached Angel’s section of the field, Drusilla managed to roughly seize his arm and spin him around, throwing him slightly off balance due to surprise at her violent actions. Drusilla took advantage of his pause and stole the ball, traveling across the field with Angel running fast behind her, prepared to assist his forward in any way. Drusilla refused to acknowledge him, instead maneuvering the ball up and into the space between her legs as she jumped over Oz, who slid on his stomach on the ground. She barely heard Angel’s determined shouts to pass it to him, since he was wide open. Then, Doyle managed to collide with Drusilla, in such a way that she was still standing, but he had moved around her entire body, taking the ball with him.




He quickly passed it off to Spike, who nodded in brief thanks, before turning away to travel up the field. Drusilla, who was more than exhausted at her little trip from one side of the field to the other, was busy arguing loudly with an angry Angel.




“What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you know how to pass?” Angel was saying.




“Why were you even up here? You’re not a forward! Keep to your fucking position!”




On and on they went, neglecting that Spike was quickly taking the lead with Oz, who was running about three feet away from him. Spike saw Tara running up to him, the only defender on Buffy’s side, since Angel and Drusilla had so carelessly abandoned their posts. He glanced sideways at Oz, making several hand gestures, who nodded in understanding at Spike’s desperate attempt at silent communication.




Tara did not acknowledge Oz; she saw Spike running up with the ball, thinking he would probably try to get around her, pass to Oz and then shoot. She mistakenly tried to steal the ball away, the heel of her shoe sliding against the ground dangerously as she slipped onto her back. Groaning inwardly, she watched with dread-filled eyes at Spike instantly passed to Oz, causing him to simply jump over Tara’s fallen form with caution. Oz ran up a bit, before passing back to Spike, who prepared to make his shot.




******




Buffy watched with interest as the game played out before her; she had to admit, she did feel more than envious that it was not she who was enjoying the exhilaration of the game. Watching Drusilla course the field like a pro lit a fire deep inside of her, one she intended to keep alive forever. The same fire was her motivation to play, her competitive streak and her will to do anything it took to become a professional soccer player. Still, if Ethan felt she should be goalie, perhaps this was a test of sorts. And Buffy, being Buffy, was determined to pass. She sensed this game was not only to test the teamwork level, but to gauge the skill level of each player. Buffy knew that each player was individually gifted; why would they be here otherwise? However, she knew that this didn’t necessarily mean they knew how to play as a team. She figured Ethan wanted to cut his work out for him.




Buffy’s attention grew sharper, more focused, when she saw that the offensive side, Darla’s team, was rapidly approaching the net. She was furious that Drusilla and Angel had actually *left* their positions, she couldn’t even imagine where their heads were. Despite her budding friendship with Angel, it pissed her off that they hadn’t even made an effort to keep as a team. What kind of impression were they making on Ethan? Didn’t they care? Buffy entertained the thought that perhaps she was only one of a few who was actually serious about being drafted; others appeared to be more relaxed. If they weren’t, she wondered why they were making so little effort to prove to Ethan that they were good players.




These thoughts were barely considered for another moment when Buffy was forced to pay much closer attention to the game. Alarmed, she watched as Tara wiped out on the field and left the net open to Spike and Oz, who were skillfully passing back and forth to each other. The pass ended with Spike, and their gazes locked as he prepared to take his shot. Buffy tensed and coiled her body, waiting to spring when he made his shot.
Bringing his left leg back, Spike drew it forward with as much force as he could muster. He angled his foot to a 45 degree angle, hoping to catch just the inner corner of the net. Watching as the shot was made, he viewed Buffy preparing to make the save.




Seeing the ball coming to her right side, she hastily lunged forward, bringing her body off of the ground for a moment. It was enough time for her to gain even more momentum, sending her in the direction of the inner corner of the net. She thrust her arms forward and curled her calves to maintain her position for a split second longer…and caught the ball in her waiting arms.




She nearly crashed into the right goalpost as she landed but managed to fall sideways, on her left side, the ball clutched tightly in her hold. Her breath coming out in gasps, she realized with growing shock that she had made her very first save as a goalie; a damn good one at that. Standing with shaking legs, she raised her eyes to her team mates. Spike’s face met hers first; his expression looked positively…proud? She quickly looked away, refusing to dissect the meaning of *that*. She decided she wanted to see Ethan’s expression; what she saw was very interesting, very interesting indeed. He looked smug, haughty and self-satisfied, as if he had expected her beautiful save beforehand.




He tore his eyes away from her, his expression returning stoic. “Okay, everyone come over here!” he called. Everyone shuffled over to where he was standing and collapsed on the grass, watching him expectantly.




“*That* was pitiful,” he announced bluntly. “With the exception of Miss Summers’s stunning save, I can’t say I’m happy with the productivity of that particular game.”




Buffy’s expression was one of utter astonishment. He, Ethan Rayne, the man who had placed *three* defensemen on her, the man who had taken away the exhilaration of being a forward, the man who *seemed* to faintly favor Drusilla over her, had praised *her*?




Well, fuck *that*. She hadn’t made the save for him, not really. She knew that moments before she had made it that it was her intention to impress him, to prove to him that she could do anything. But when she had actually been in the moment, making the save, all thoughts of Ethan Rayne, Spike Pratt and Drusilla de Veer had disappeared. Only one thought remained: make the save!




She suddenly had a newfound respect for her position; she had never before attempted the position of goalie. Her infatuation with being a forward had closed her off to other possibilities, other positions. Nevertheless, the immensely proud sensation that had taken over, the knowledge that it was *she* who had saved her team from the shame of a goal…well, it was a fucking *fantastic* feeling.




Buffy listened with slightly deaf ears as Ethan droned on and on about teamwork and the different tactics that each position, with the exception of goalie, could use to operate as a finely tuned team. By the end of practice, Buffy had never felt prouder.




******




As Buffy headed out of the change room, freshly showered and changed, she made way for the doors. She was hungry and eager to eat dinner soon. Although she had a *ton* of homework, she really didn’t feel like doing it. Thoughts of her mother flashed across her mind and she felt immediately guilty. Despite Joyce’s lack of support for her soccer career, she knew that the only reason she was even here in L.A. was because of her. She supposed she only owed it to Joyce to keep her grades decent. As she mentally planned her post-dinner homework schedule, she pushed open the doors to the Arena and headed out of the main entrance. She gave Kate Lockley a half-hearted wave, which was obviously not returned from the stony-faced secretary, and left the building. It was November and a little bit chilly out; Buffy shivered slightly, pulling her Nike hoodie closer to her body.




Hailing a taxi cab, she jumped inside, relishing the warmer atmosphere of the car. Heading back to the hotel, she reflected idly on practice that afternoon.




TBC

“Spike! Can you make it to New York right now?”




“Uh…yeah, mate, see… I’m in L.A., remember?”




“Fuck. I forgot.”




“Yeah…what’s going on, Rich?”




“You can’t make it to Lakely?”




“’m in *L.A.*. ‘s like a three day trip by bus. There’s no way I can come, not now.”




“Dammit.”




“Rich, what’s goin’ on?




“Oh, fuck it. Spike…my God, why was I such a fucking jackass?”




“What the hell? Rich! Rich, talk to me! What the fuck happened?!”




“God, Spike…it’s Connor.”




A pause. Then, “Richard, what happened to Connor?”




“He’s…he’s d-dead, Spike.”




******




Spike had made it back to the hotel late at night, around seven-thirty, skipping dinner and heading straight to his room to mull things over. After a good “thinking session”, regarding Buffy’s magnificent skill level and adaptability, he had additionally entertained Connor-related thoughts. He couldn’t say that he was completely rid of his guilt from their talk that afternoon.




Connor’s behavior had been unsettling, to say the least. Spike knew that if he were in Connor’s shoes, he would be scared shitless. Getting on bad terms with a guy like Ace was just begging for trouble; even worse, not being able to pay up and disappear until Ace forgot about you (which was *highly* unlikely) meant your death was not far. Spike was troubled and he felt an unreasonable surge of hatred go through him, all of which was directed at Connor. He knew that he couldn’t *really* blame Connor; after all, the boy had only asked Spike for help because he thought Spike was his friend and he could be trusted. It was unfortunate that Spike had been unable to assist him. Before he had left for L.A., his uncle had warned him that if he headed to New York with any intentions to gamble at Vi’s, the hub of crime, sex, and violence, Spike’s second home, he would immediately be sent home




Then, around one a.m., Richard McGuffin had called him. Spike recalled that Connor had spoken to him at lunchtime, which meant that in the last twelve hours, God knows what may have happened. Ace wasn’t known to be a patient guy, especially when it came to money. When he had spoken to Rich, he had sensed that something bad had gone down that night; the tone of Richard’s voice was incredibly unlike him. Richard McGuffin was the co-owner of Vi’s, the result of being the all-famous gambler in their basement, and was known to be cool, controlled and calm. He was like a snake; conniving, smart, smooth and slick.




And then, Rich had said the words that had slammed the lid on Spike’s coffin with a loud finality: ‘He’s dead, Spike.’




After another half hour of comforting, on Spike’s part, he finally managed to calm Rich down. Spike decided that now, lying in his bed with an incredibly loud snorer of a roommate, was never a better time to think about what had gone down.




*When Connor asked me for money, I refused; he never even told me it was Ace, or that it was money for a debt. I knew it had to do with drugs, but I misunderstood him; I thought he needed money to buy drugs, not to pay off a debt.*




Spike remembered Connor talking about how his father had refused to give him the cash to pay off his debt with Ace. He figured that it probably explained why Rich had said no; trust Connor to fuck up explaining why he needed the money. Spike knew for a fact that had Connor been honest and told Rich he needed the money for a different reason, his father would have probably, if not grudgingly, handed over the cash.




*Connor was pissed at me; he told me he’d be in L.A. for a few days. I asked him why, he said he needed to see a friend. He left before I could tell him anything. I think I have to take the blame for his carefree attitude with his life; I never really paid attention to him, not *really*. I should be ashamed; I’m his fucking *father*, for fuck’s sake!*




Spike felt a pang of remorse; “he needed to see a friend…” Spike snorted inwardly, some friend *he* had turned out to be.




*While he was gone, I began hearing these weird stories floating around Vi’s. I don’t usually heed the rumors; they are, if not always, silly gossip that the gamblers like to spread about one another after a shitty game. It was different this time, though. God, I heard his name. Connor’s, you know. They were talking about how the “Ice King’s pretty boy son” had signed his own death sentence. I beat up a guy or two, asking for information. They told me that Connor was involved with Ace, buying drugs and stuff, which I already knew. I just didn’t know it was *Ace*, of all people. It takes *my* fucking son to go to the most dangerous dealer in all of New York. I mean, there are some pretty lowlife dealers out there, who just care about the cash. They’re not into the whole power rush; Ace, on the other hand, well, I used to help Ace. I got him started, getting the drugs imported and all that. I helped him with accounting, since I’m damn good with numbers, you know. It kicked off like a rocket; we ended up selling really cheap at first, and people came. You know, the usual target crowd; street kids, alcoholics, laid-off workers who were looking for a way out of this world without *really* leaving it, because they still had a kid or two to support.*




The irony of the situation was near painful; Connor had been murdered by the very man who had, essentially, been supported and encouraged by his own father!




*No wonder he feels like shit. I mean, it’s one thing to lose a kid; it’s another to lose a kid to the guy who you used to work with*, Spike thought, a grimace upon his handsome features.




*Then, I get a call from Ace. He tells me that he killed my kid and that he’s ‘real sorry’, ‘cause he didn’t know Connor was my boy. He told me what went down; Connor went down to a youth shelter, where a couple of his friends, who bought from Ace as well, stayed. He tried to get the money from them, but obviously, they couldn’t help them. That’s not to say they probably didn’t *want* to; these kids spent their money on drugs. Any other expense would have seemed an utter waste to them, I suspect. Anyways, he told me that he and his gang cornered Connor on Sixth Avenue. They beat him, and eventually, Ace pulled the trigger. I didn’t even get to say anything past the expected obscenities before Ace hung up on me. He fucking *knew* that Connor was my kid, he *knew*, Spike! He knew, the minute Connor bought from him, that he was my kid! He led Connor on, getting him into drugs, spreading bullshit about me and how I’d raised a “crackhead” for a kid. Then, I stopped gambling at Vi’s for a bit, taking care of business elsewhere until I came back, you know? I guess Connor didn’t have the cash, and God, Spike…my *son* is *dead*…”




Then came the crying, the inevitable weeping that broke Spike’s heart. He was yet again the reason for another death, for the end of the life of a loved one. Sure, he hadn’t “loved” Connor, but he had been the son of the man who had saved him, who had protected him from thugs and dealers. That meant a lot, and Spike suspected that deep down, the “pretty boy crackhead” did have a good heart. It was just a shame that he had taken the wrong path in life.




Spike had done his best to soothe Rich, until he calmed down. They agreed they’d talk in a week or two, after arrangements were made and other business was attended to. After hanging up, it was nearly half-past one and Spike was dead tired. But he knew he would get no sleep tonight, oh, no, he definitely would not. The guilt and grief that filled his entire being was overwhelming, too much to bear. Like his mother, he had disappointed yet another person, and it had resulted in their death. Spike hadn’t realized the wetness on his face, until he lifted his fingers to touch his cheek in a tentative fashion. Wet, salty tears ran their course down his face until Spike angrily wiped them away, furious for his lack of control.



He couldn’t risk leaving the hotel, but he was so tempted to. The room was suffocating and, glancing over at Doyle, while he was assured that his roommate had not eavesdropped on his conversation, he *could not* be assured that Doyle wouldn’t awaken to his broken sobs. Besides, he was a man. He could hold his own without breaking down like a blubbering little child.



Taking a deep, calming breath, Spike willed control over his bursting emotions. He closed his eyes, but did not sleep. He simply lay on the bed, the room filled with deafening silence, as he could only hear the pounding of his heart.



And the disappointing words of his father…



*All you do is bring pain and suffering to the people around you.*




*Truer words were never spoken*, Spike thought miserably.




******




Buffy was *exhausted*. It was one o’clock in the morning, and she was still in the process of finishing her calculus homework. It was the last of the work, but it was so tedious, it felt as if she had been working on it for hours. She had to admit, she was rather proud of herself for finishing her homework. Although she didn’t quite grasp some of the concepts because of lack of focus and attendance during today’s classes, she found that most of it was pretty simple. She was a smart girl, when she chose to apply herself.




She snorted inwardly at her Joyce-like thoughts. Her mother always said that about her, as if implying that she didn’t take her life seriously enough. Her thoughts drifting from calculus, she recalled an argument that she and her mother had engaged in, about two years after Faith’s death. She had been sixteen, just finishing grade ten at Sunnydale High…




(Flashback)




*Sunnydale, California: June 14th, 2006**




“Buffy Anne Summers, explain yourself! *Now*!” Joyce shouted, her face red from the exertion of yelling at her daughter. Clutched tightly in her left hand were Buffy’s exam results. Her marks ranged from low sixties to early seventies and her mother was furious, to say the least.




Sixteen year old Buffy stood in front of her mother in the living room, her eyes darting from her mother’s face to the paper in her hand. Then, she drew herself up to her full height. “Mom, I did my best! I studied like crazy for those exams, you know I did!”




Joyce merely laughed, a horrible sound laced with bitterness and disappointment. “Please! Your *best*?” she sneered, then continued, “What *is* that anymore? Not moping around like you used to? Not failing every damn course?”




Buffy flinched at her mother’s harsh words. It was true; after Faith’s death, she had changed dramatically. She had taken a much more serious perspective on life, learning early on that even those that loved and supported you had to leave at some point, whether you liked it or not. “I did! I tried! I just…I didn’t understand-”




Joyce exploded. “Then you ask questions! When you don’t understand something, you ask questions! You don’t hide it within yourself, waiting until your lack of understanding reflects upon your marks!” She waved the exam paper for good measure.




Buffy sighed. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said miserably. “Soccer just got in the way of things, I guess.”




Joyce clenched her jaw tightly, throwing the paper down roughly. “It always does, doesn’t it?” she said bitterly. “But what would it say about me, if I took my daughter out of the one thing that made her happy?”




Buffy looked surprised at the sudden change in Joyce’s mood. She seemed suddenly morose. “You complain about me, about my marks. Why don’t you just take me out of soccer, then?”




Joyce’s eyes welled with tears as she stared at her daughter unhappily. Her expression was one of regret, mixed with disappointment. “Because,” she said, turning for the stairs. “If I did, what difference would it make?”




“W-what do you mean, Mom?”




“You’d fail, anyhow.”




Buffy watched, shocked, as her mother travelled up the stairs. Hearing the bedroom door slam shut, she collapsed on the couch, not yet realizing the tear tracks on her face. She was too busy thinking about the condemning words of her own mother, who had no faith in her succeeding in *anything*, be it soccer or school.




*Oh, Faith. I need you. Why did you have to die? I need you…* Buffy’s thoughts of grief mingled with her tears as she wept silently on the couch, before leaving for the park, hoping to relieve some stress with some personal soccer practice.




(End of Flashback)




******




After another half-hour of excruciating problem solving, her calculus homework was finished and Buffy was elated. Then, she deflated accordingly when she realized the time. What could she possibly do for fun at this hour? Then, a brilliant idea came to her and her mood instantly brightened. Grabbing her sweatshirt, she pulled it over head and shoved the hood onto her back. She glanced fleetingly at Drusilla, who appeared to be sound asleep in her bed. Although it occurred to her that if Drusilla actually was awake, she could *easily* rat Buffy out to Ethan about leaving the hotel after hours, which was strictly forbidden, she really couldn’t find it in her to care. She knew that her soccer career was greatly at stake, but she really needed time away from the Arena, Ethan, Drusilla, Spike, *everything*.




She tiptoed to her bedside table and reached for her hotel keycard, iPod and cell phone, sliding them in the pocket of her hoodie before quietly turning off the lamp. She shoved her feet into her low-top Converse sneakers and reached for her favorite Nike soccer ball in the closet before silently exiting the hotel room. She shut the door gently when she was outside and carefully made her way down to the elevators, hoping she hadn’t awoken anyone with the sound of her exit. She punched the “down” button near the actual elevator and quickly stepped inside, allowing the doors to close before she pressed the button that would lead her to the main lobby. Despite her case of claustrophobia, she found herself rather calm as she waited to be lowered to her destination. Today’s practice had been strangely satisfying and her mood had been relatively good all evening. She knew it wasn’t wise to leave so late, considering it meant she would only earn a few hours of solid sleep before practice ensued.




*Duty calls*, Buffy thought wryly.




She pushed the worrisome thoughts out of her head and strutted across the floor of the main lobby with confidence; pushing through the revolving door, she made her way out into the city of L.A. Ignoring her mother’s warnings about travelling into the city without Mallory, she strode down the sidewalk. She clutched the ball tightly to her chest as she made her way further into the throng of the L.A. crowd. She wondered idly why so many people were up and about at this hour, and almost laughed out loud at the irony. She supposed many of them were like her; people who were just trying to get away from the awful confusion of daily life.




And then, as she turned down a darker sidewalk, hoping to find a deserted street to kick the ball around, she yelped as a sharp sensation reverberated throughout her skull. With a suddenly violent fight to remain conscious, she found herself failing miserably. Her eyes slowly closed, but not before she saw the leering man staring over her with a sleazy smile on his face…




TBC