~*~
Needless to say, Spike wasn’t exactly looking forward to the interview. He was rather embarrassed about his half-assed attempt at a good argument at lunchtime. He’d expected that teasing her would help her get back to normal. If the chit was anything like him, arguing would help her feel normal.
Sodding hell. Since when did he care about helping her?
Spike stabbed his fag out on the metal plating of the vent in the roof of his bathroom. He was crouching on top of the toilet and had been smoking into an air vent. Since his Da had cracked down on what he termed “rebellious actions”, Spike’d had to practically bend over backward just to sneak a smoke.
He hopped off the top of the toilet seat and arched his back, wincing as his vertebrae cracked. Or bend over forward.
“Spike!”
He cringed as he heard his father’s voice. “Yeah?” he hollered back, trying to keep the animosity out of his reply.
“There’s a girl downstairs who wants to speak with you!”
“Uh—yeah, just let her in,” Spike called back. “Be down in a few.”
Christ, now his clothes’d smell like smoke. Trust Summers to show up early for something neither of them wanted to do...
He shoved his pack of Camels in a pocket of his duster and slipped out of the bathroom. When he heard his father and mother interrogating Buffy, he winced. The other reason he hadn’t wanted her to come anywhere near his house was because of his insipid, idiotic parents.
“So, Buffy, what is your career path once you exit high school?” he heard his mum ask as he came down the stairs.
“Well, I haven’t really—that is, I—“
“Hm, interesting,” the older woman murmured. “Refusal to answer implies an inherent fear concerning life after the school environment is displaced,” she said offhand to her husband.
“Uh-huh,” was his Da’s response.
“No! I’m not being avoid-ey, I just haven’t though about it is all,” Buffy babbled. “I mean, I have a very—very simple philosophy. I’m big on the living in the moment, and day-seizing, and stuff.”
Spike sighed impatiently. Poor girl sounded like she was ready to melt into the floor. Better go help her, he thought, striding into the foyer—and stopping right before he walked into the light.
His parents had finally succeeded in driving him bug-shagging crazy. He’d come within an inch of actually helping Buffy Summers. He’d felt sorry for her and then gone off to play the white knight.
Bloody hell.
He would have slunk back up to his room and waited for his mum to finish interrogating Buffy before sending the blonde’s remains up, but unfortunately for him, his dad heard him. “Come on in, son.”
He grimaced and walked into the foyer, keeping his shoulders hunched. “Yeah, Da?”
“Who’s the lovely young lady you’ve brought home?” his father inquired.
Spike rolled his eyes. Despite the fact that his father was ten years younger than his mother and hadn’t even been man enough to take her name when they’d gotten married, he still treated Spike in this idiotic proprietary manner that drove him mad. “Name’s Buffy, Da.”
“That we know, William.” His mother sounded dryly amused, which was actually worse than his father’s idiotic condescending.
“She’s a cheerleader at school. We’re doin’ a project together for English. Which is why she’s here, so we’ll just—go now.”
“Is that the only reason she’s here, William?” his mother inquired, studying him with sharp eyes.
“Uh, yeah.” Suddenly the room felt a bit too hot. Buffy was wearing a very short skirt, he noticed suddenly, and the way she was biting on her lip was really very adorable.
He couldn’t take it any more. There was no was in hell he was gonna get a hard-on standing in his parents’ foyer. Hard-on...Buffy....Buffy on his hard-on...
Bleeding hell, he was gonna go insane. Hurriedly he grabbed Buffy’s hand, trying hard to ignore the way just touching her hand (which was admittedly rather a lot more than he’d ever done before) was making his skin feel like it was on fire.
“Hey! What are you—“
“My room’s this way,” he interrupted, tugging her towards the staircase. “We’ll go up there, yeah?”
“I don’t see what your problem is,” Buffy whined, following Spike upstairs. “I was just talking to your parents, which by the way is part of the stupid project, and—“
“Mum was psychoanalyzing you,” Spike informed her. “And I didn’t drag you out of there ‘cuz I felt sorry for you, I dragged you out ‘cuz I don’t fancy hearin’ about your shortcomings for the next sodding week. So lay off it, a’right?”
“Whatever,” she snapped, following him into his room—or to the doorway, anyway. Spike was halfway to his desk when he realized she wasn’t following.
He turned around. “You comin’, or what?”
“Your room’s...” she looked around, wrinkling her nose. “Weird,” she finished.
His eyebrows went up. “Weird?” He repeated almost incredulously. He looked around his room. Black walls covered with posters of the Sex Pistols, the Ramones, and AC/DC; black carpet, littered with black clothing; black sheets, rumpled from sleep; desk covered in—oh, bugger—books...with the exception of the desk, which he knew damn good and well was out of place with his rep, it was a pretty ordinary room.
And Buffy wasn’t coming in. For some reason, that was really gettin’ on his nerves.
“Yeah, weird. It’s all black and stuff.”
“Black’s m’ color, luv, in case you hadn’t noticed,” he informed her with a smirk on his face.
“It’s not a color,” she shot back, still teetering at his doorway, rocking on her toes and clutching her hot pink clipboard but refusing to enter.
“Bloody hell, Summers, would you just come in here already?” he burst out impatiently.
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head in an astonishingly childish manner, still rocking back and forth.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Spike snapped impatiently. Fine, then. If she wasn’t gonna come in on her own, he’d help her out. Lunging forward and grabbing her wrist, he yanked her inside.
*
Okay. One of the reasons Buffy had been way scared to go into Spike’s room was because of the clothing that was like all over the floor.
The other reason was because, well, it was Spike, who despite his bajillion shortcomings was still really hot. And this was his bedroom, for crying out lout. His very soft-looking bed was only a few feet away! And Spike just expected her to walk in, cheerful as you please.
There is no way.
Unfortunately there was a way, in the form of Spike’s hand getting a-hold of her wrist and pulling it forward.
Almost in spite of herself she shrieked and flew forward. She would have been able to gracefully stumble into his room—well, okay, there was no such thing. But she would have probably been able to get away with just stumbling if it wasn’t for a pair of black jeans that caught on her heeled sandals and sent her flying forward—
Humiliatingly enough, right into Spike’s arms.
She generally didn’t believe in the fireworks-and-freeze-frame routine, but she could have sworn that for a fraction of a second the only things in the world that existed were her, Spike’s incredible blue eyes, and his steely arms, holding her tight.
Oh. And her heart, which was thumping so wildly she swore it was about to break out of her chest.
“Eeek!” She shrieked again and hurriedly jumped back. But it was too late. For an eye blink, she hadn’t thought about Spike as her arch-nemesis. He’d just been a really, really hot guy whose bedroom she was in.
Wonderful. Now the interview’s gonna be a Buffy Blush-a-Palooza.
He settled himself down on his bed, pointing to his desk chair. “Sit.”
Why did it sound more like an order than an invitation? But Buffy, being flustered and horny and therefore in no mood to argue, sat anyway.
“So...um...” she looked down at the clipboard. As Spike had told her, Mr. Giles had given them a list of questions, but a note at the bottom said they could also ask whatever questions they liked as long as they were related to the project—so she had a little wiggle room.
Wiggle. Her wiggling in Spike’s arms. Yum...
“No,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head.
Spike cocked an eyebrow at her. “Though I was supposed to be the one answerin’ questions, luv.”
“I—you are. I was just thinking,” she snapped. “Okay. Um. Question number one: how is your relationship with your parents?” Yeah, that was it. Stick to the teacher’s questions and she’d be okay.
“You saw the buggers, think you can answer that.”
She gave an impatient sigh. God, he was annoying...” Yeah, but I have to have an answer from you for the project.”
“Right, then. M’ mum’s a control freak. M’ da’s such a cowardly ponce that he let m’ mum give me her last name instead of his. They fight all the time, and when they’re not at each other’s throats they’re givin’ me hell. That tell you what you need to know?”
She was scribbling as quickly as possible, trying to get it all down. “Um...what’s a pounce?”
“Ponce,” he corrected. “’s an idiot, a nancy-boy.”
“Oooh, I get it,” Buffy said. She wrinkled her nose. “That’s kinda mean.”
“’s the truth,” Spike said peacefully. “Next question.”
“What is your home life like?” she read in her best serious-reporter voice.
Apparently it wasn’t as serious as she’d thought it was, because he burst into laughter.
“What now?” she snapped, more than irritated.
“You sound like Pamela Anderson when she was hawking that book of hers,” Spike explained, smirking. “Dumb blondes tryin’ to be serious...’s a laugh riot.”
She glared at him. “Hello—interview?” she reminded him, holding up the clipboard.
“Right. Home life. Eat, sleep, repeat,” he snapped. “Sodding hell, Summers, can’t you come up with anything more interesting?”
“They’re the same questions you were gonna ask me if I hadn’t kicked you out,” Buffy told him, pouting, “So shut up and answer.”
“How the bleeding hell ‘m I s’posed to do both at once?” Spike inquired, grabbing a black baseball from his nightstand and tossing it up in the air.
“Just answer the question, then,” Buffy ground out. God. How could she ever have thought he was even the tiniest bit hot? He was an annoying pig!
“Already did,” he drawled.
She blinked. He was right. Dammit. “Okay, fine.” She looked down at the clipboard. The next question was, what is your relationship with the interviewer?
“Wonderful,” she muttered, before saying out loud, “Mr. Giles wants you to tell me what your relationship with me is.”
“What?” Was it just her, or was his voice higher than usual? “That doesn’t make any sodding sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Buffy agreed, frowning down at the paper. “Wait, hold on—it also says, ‘Please specify as to when you met the interviewer and what your feelings were towards him/her at that point in time, as well as detailing your present relationship.’”
“So Brit-Boy wants our whole history, then?” Spike threw the baseball up so hard it hit the ceiling. Buffy blinked and bit her pen. Wow. He could get violent really fast.
“Let’s see,” Spike began. “Met you—um, five years ago.”
“You so did not. I didn’t even move here till I was a sophomore, dumbass,” Buffy insulted him.
“And I met you in eighth grade. Cordelia’s pool party, remember?”
Buffy frowned. Eighth grade...pool party...oh yeah, she remembered that. Tyler had been there, it’d been the first time she’d seen him. He had looked sooo cute in his black trunks—but...”I didn’t see you.”
“Well, okay, saw you, then. Didn’t talk to you. I was only there to put the purple dye in the bint’s pool.”
“That was you?” Buffy scowled at him in renewed outrage. “It took her like three months to get the stain off!”
“Stupid chit’d insulted me a few days ago, what the hell was I s’posed to do?”
“Whatever.” Buffy dismissed it with a wave of her hand. She so didn’t feel like taking a walk down memory lane right now. “Anyway, specify your feelings towards me, please.”
He gave her a funny look. It was clear he thought she sounded silly, saying what Giles had written in her normal voice. Which, she’d admit, it kinda did. “Dunno. All I remember is seeing you...thinkin’ you were...” he trailed off, staring into space.
“Thinking?” Buffy prompted, doodling on the paper in front of her.
He sighed. He sounded irritated, even impatient. “Thinking you were the most stuck-up chit ‘d ever seen in m’ life.”
The pen slipped on the paper, causing her to draw a huge, ugly black line through the cute little rainbow she’d been drawing. Buffy made a face and quickly scribbled down what he’d said. For some reason, his answer has surprised her—maybe even hurt her a little. Well, come on, Buffy. What were you expecting him to say, that he was madly in love with you and wanted to spend the rest of eternity in your arms? Get a grip, her inner Cordy snapped at her.
“Fine, then.” Her voice was brisk, but not as brisk as she wished it was. She still sounded all...girly. Hurt, even. Which I’m not. Nope. Not one little bit. “Present relationship?”
“You’re a bitch an’ I know it,” Spike said casually.
Buffy sighed. “Do you always have to be like this? Before you got all mean, we were almost having a conversation!”
“All the more reason to start fightin’ again, don’t you think?” Spike inquired. “God knows, the day we become friends is the day the soddin’ world ends.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Okay...describe your friends.”
“Right, then. ‘ll start off with Red...”
The interview went on for almost an hour. At the end of it, Buffy’s hand was cramped, her eyes were tired, and she was fairly certain that the ceiling was gonna crack and fall down on their heads if Spike hit it with that baseball one more time. “That’s the end.”
He glanced over at her. “What d’ya know. Time flies when you’re bored to tears.”
“Ha-ha,” Buffy said sarcastically, but even she noticed that her reply wasn’t exactly as mean as it could have been.
In fact, it sounded almost friendly.
At that thought, Buffy leapt up. “It’s late, I should go.”
Spike sat up and looked at her, smirking, clearly amused. “’s only six o’clock,” he pointed out.
“And I have dinner, and homework, and—stuff,” Buffy said defensively. “So I’ll just—go now.” She edged toward the door, once again super-aware of the fact that Spike’s bed—with Spike on it!—was only a few feet away.
He stood up and sauntered towards her. “I’ll just walk you out, then,” he said, still wearing that infuriating smirk.
“I think I can walk downstairs all by myself, thanks,” Buffy said sarcastically.
“Wanna end up talkin’ to my mum for the next hour?”
Buffy almost shuddered at the image. A few minutes with that uber-bitch had been more than enough. “Okay, point taken. Let’s just get this over with!”
“Right.” Spike’s face, which up until then had been playful, suddenly became closed off, almost hostile. He pushed past her and led the way downstairs.
Buffy followed, wrinkling her nose at his back. She didn’t think she’d ever met anyone who got so mad at eensy-weensy things before. It was kind of cute...in a super-annoying way, of course.
He opened the door and stepped aside, clearly wanting her to leave. Just before she stepped out into the evening light she paused and said, “Spike...” she trailed off, unsure.
“Yeah, pet?”
She took a step forward so that she was only about six inches away from him. Tilting her head up, she smiled a little and said, “Thanks for not kicking me out.”
“Any time,” he said, his face completely devoid of any sardonic expression.
His eyes were really very blue...almost unaware of what she was doing, Buffy began to sway forwards. She was less than an inch away from touching Spike when—
“Spike Walsh, get in here!” His mother’s voice pierced the stillness.
Buffy jumped away like she’d been burned. She blinked, there was a flurry of movement—and then she was facing a closed door where Spike’s body had been.
She should have been mad. All things considered, she really ought to have been utterly furious.
But instead, only one thought was in her mind as she walked home: What the hell just happened?
~*~
A/N: Hope you liked =) Just thought I’d get the relationship moving a bit quicker. Reviews are always great. Thanks SO SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed last time, I swear I’m not kidding when I say reviews make me smile almost as much as chocolate!!! *grin* So keep ‘em coming =) I love you guys!
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