Buffy had been lying limply on her rented bed when her cell phone rang, startling her. Quickly, she muted the black and white TV, and reached for her phone.
“Hello?” She was mildly curious at who would be calling her.
“Hi, Buffy? It’s Anya. Are you still interested in our job position here at ‘The Magic Box’?”
Blinking, Buffy took a moment before replying, “Yeah, I am…do you work there?”
She heard Anya sigh through the phone. “No, I’m a co-owner, and Giles is supposed to be a silent partner, but he won’t leave!”
“Um…oh.” How did one respond to that?
“He’s being clingy,” Anya told her, “Anyway, can you come down here this afternoon for your interview? Giles is busy and I swear to god I’m gonna pass out any second, so I’m closing early.”
“Sure,” Buffy replied, trying to sound chipper.
“Great,” Anya’s voice reflected her relief. “Okay, I have to go, but come in around three.”
“Sounds good,” Buffy echoed, the cheerfulness in her tone strained.
“Bye,” Anya said quickly, and as she hung up the phone, Buffy could hear her yelling to someone about leaving the cash register abandoned.
For a second, Buffy stared at her cell phone, feeling a little overwhelmed. An interview at three. As in four hours.
Exhaling sharply, Buffy rummaged through her bag from the drugstore that contained all basic necessities—starting with shampoo that didn’t make her hair stringy.
*****************
Hesitantly, Buffy pushed the wooden door open, hearing the same bell tinkle lightly. The store was fairly empty save for a Goth couple hovering over a shelf and a guy with dark hair in the back.
Buffy seized the moment of peace to run her hand through her freshly blow-dried hair and smooth her new shirt down. A white button down: wholesome, clean, and neat.
“Oh, Buffy, you’re here!” Anya appeared from behind the desk from a back room. “Have you seen an awkwardly tall teenage girl with shiny brown hair?”
“Jeez, Anya,” Dawn grumbled, climbing down a small set of stairs that led to a partial upper level. “I’m right here.”
“Oh good,” Anya said, looking satisfied, “I’m supposed to make sure you don’t resume your kleptomaniac tendencies.”
Rolling her eyes, Dawn brushed past the pregnant brunette. “Hi,” she greeted Buffy with a smile. “Are you starting today?”
“No,” Anya answered for the blonde. “I’m interviewing her.”
Conspiratorially, Dawn leaned forward to whisper, “As long as you say you’ll protect the money, you’re hired.”
“Dawn, watch the customers please, and don’t let any of your friends in, they scare away the old people,” Anya instructed, and then turned to Buffy. “We can go in the back.”
Buffy heard the teen huff and mock Anya under her breath as she walked past her into a different back room.
Glancing around, Buffy noticed the spacious area was designed for some sort of martial arts or boxing. On the opposite side, under the windows, was a desk with stacks of paper.
“This is Giles’s office,” Anya announced for clarification. “Your application is here somewhere…” she thumbed through the pile.
Buffy, curious, reached out and faintly touched the kicking bag. It was worn from use and had pieces of tape stuck on it in the shape of an ‘x’.
“Got it!” Anya said finally, holding up the blue sheet. Noticing Buffy’s interest, she added, “Giles and Xander do a lot of martial arts stuff. Plus, on Tuesday and Thursday nights, this girl teaches classes.”
“Hmm…” Buffy murmured. In LA, the fitness club she and Riley had belonged to had martial arts classes and Buffy had thoroughly enjoyed them. Maybe it was something to think about doing again.
“Ready?”
Buffy nodded. She sat down across from the brunette, her posture straight and her eyes focused.
“This is just a formality,” Anya confided with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Giles already knows he wants to hire you.”
“Oh.” Buffy frowned a little, perplexed. It wasn’t like she knew Mr. Giles very well. Maybe Willow or his daughter said something to convince him.
“First question,” Anya began with authority. “How do you perceive yourself as a worker?”
“Diligent,” Buffy responded, trying to remember her answers for her secretary interview in New York. “Capable and organized.”
Anya nodded, taking notes on her application. “And why do you think you’re the person for this job?”
“I’m a hard-worker and my previous experience has given me insight on the business world,” she answered, rather surprised by her responses. Damn, she was good.
“And what is the proper way to man the cash register?” Any asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Buffy halted for a second before saying, “Keep an eye on it all the time and keep it organized?” Her voice hitched at the end, giving the impression of a question as opposed to a reply.
Smiling brightly, Anya reached forward, slapping a nametag in her hands. “You’re hired!”
Buffy laughed weakly. “Thanks.” She sounded empty and hollow even to her own ears.
Wasn’t this part of her whole reestablishing her life plan? Get a job and get money? Then why did she feel like nothing had changed? Buffy wondered as Anya wrote down her hours.
A desperate need for a drink overcame her as she walked out of the store. It was only four o’clock, but she knew a bar that would be open, Willie’s.
Buffy walked at a hurried pace, trying to follow her mental map memory. Sunnydale really wasn’t big enough to truly get lost, so moments later, she was standing in front of a dirty brick building with one burnt out light.
Stepping in, Buffy’s nose crinkled at the thick, smoky, bitter smell coating the room. Her white shirt looked yellow with age in the light at the bar.
“Excuse me,” she called out, raising her hand to the heavyset bartender. He lumbered over to her, his stoic face coming closer as he waited for her order.
“Can I get a shot of…whatever’s cheap,” Buffy requested without enthusiasm.
The bartender made a noise of acknowledgment and poured a clear liquid into a shot glass, putting it in front of her.
She gulped it, feeling the liquid fire blaze down her throat. Her eyes closed briefly, letting the drink warm her skin.
“Well, fancy seein’ you here.” His tone of voice contrasted his words. He sounded calm and collected and a little subdued.
With her eyes closed, Buffy shook her head. “Go away, Spike. Please.”
Instead, she heard the swish of leather and smelled a mixture of cinnamon gum, whiskey and touch of smoke. It wasn’t good or bad—just...Spike.
The bartender reappeared and Spike ordered two shots—one for him and one for her.
“Never pegged you a drinker, Summers,” Spike commented, watching as she hesitantly picked her refill up.
“How’d you know I was here?” Buffy asked, still fingering the shot glass.
“I didn’t,” Spike replied with a shrug. “I was just here for a drink, a break from writin’.”
“Writing?” Buffy echoed, finally looking at him. “You’re an author?”
“That surprise you?” Spike questioned, swallowing his shot.
“No,” Buffy replied, “I always thought you would be one some day.” In her mind’s eye, she could see him in black jeans and no shirt, hovered over a computer, the glow turning his skin milky blue.
Spike paused, studying the etchings in the fake wood. “Been one for a while.” Shaking his head, he turned to her. “What’ve you been up to? Takin’ the world by a storm?”
His mocking tone cut her, and, miffed, Buffy replied coolly, “Actually, yes. I’m going to law school.” A blatant lie, but how would he know?
“Well aren’t you the studious one,” Spike said dryly.
Buffy swallowed, not risking a glance in his direction. She never had been the smart, assiduous student—that was Spike or William or whatever he was going by. “I had to start sometime. I took a crime class in college and liked it.”
“So…” Spike stared at the water rim his glass left behind. “You’re gonna put the evil blokes behind bars, an’ keep the world safe for Christmas and puppies.”
Rolling her eyes, Buffy tilted the drink in her mouth, feeling words tumble out. “What? You gotta problem with that? And why are you still here?”
“Summers,” his tone of voice echoed the scolding one he used on her years ago. “I bought you a bloody drink. Least you can do is let me sit here an’ enjoy mine.”
“Whatever,” Buffy mumbled impassively, turning her face away.
After a moment of silence between them, Spike spoke again, his voice low. “What the hell happened to you, Summers? It’s bloody pathetic.”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed in his direction for a moment, before returning to her task of staring at the wood grain.
“You used to have a…fire,” Spike continued, ignoring her look. “You’re were animated, alive, an’ now…you look like death warmed over.”
“Hey!” Buffy slurred, “I’m not the one who’s in love with me!” Her face was flushed, and she didn’t even register the magnitude of her retort.
Swiftly, Spike shoved his chair back and stood up. He stared hard down at her, his jaw tight. “I’m in love with her. I don’t even know who the bloody fuck you are anymore.”
Buffy blinked, watching Spike walk away, his trademark black coat billowing like his anger. Slowly, her inebriated brain caught up with her mouth. She swallowed hard, feeling guilt seep under her skin.
Lifting her hand up, she motioned for the bartender. “’nother one, please.” As the small glass filled, she added with a murmur, “And keep ‘em coming.”