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“You!” Buffy screeched, stumbling back a step. “What are you doing here?”

Joyce, surprised by her daughter’s vehemence, spoke. “Buffy, I told you about him, remember? He’s the artist I’ve hired, and…”

Buffy interrupted her, speaking acidly to Spike. “Oh, so you think you’re an artist? You’re going to hang out at my mom’s place of work now, too? You’ve already stolen my homework, followed me to class, and nearly killed me in a car crash! God, are you stalking me?”

Spike crossed his arms, leaning back against a wall as he spoke angrily back to her, “Okay, if it would please you to think that everything is not about you, Princess, allow me to explain.” He held up one finger. “One: I gave the teacher your homework and some redhead in a very fuzzy sweater the notebook to give to you, so the first accusation is out.”

Up went the second finger. “Two: I have a fucking schedule, sweetheart, and trust me, I would not bother following you to a class, especially when I’ve only just met you. Also, did you notice that the teacher expected me? Hmm?” A third finger lifted. “And again, I was driving my car when you swerved in front of me. I stopped and asked if you were o-fucking-kay, and you yelled at me – again! Not to mention the fact that you managed to get stuck on the curb all on your own afterwards, which makes me think you aren’t the best driver.”

Spike stood up fully now, and glared at Buffy. “Also, I had no way of knowing that this was your mother’s gallery, as I didn’t know your name until this afternoon, and I had been supposed to meet Joyce since almost a month ago. I am a fucking good artist and I don’t appreciate you making light of one of the things that’s important to me just because you somehow got it into your head that through all three of our meetings in just one day, I was bloody stalking you! Get your head out of your ass, Barbie, and look around! I don’t fucking like self-obsessed, stuck-up girls like you, let alone stalk them. Especially when all they’ve done since I’ve met them is yell at me, kick me, and nearly run me over.”

Turning to Joyce, the angry teen sighed violently, and added, “Sorry, Mum. Not gonna say I’m not insultin’ your daughter, cause I am. But doesn’t mean I don’t like you or anything, and I’m not trying to offend you or some such shit. Listen, I’d better go. You can keep those sketches and I’ll come by later this week with some other stuff – and to work, o’ course.” He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, muttering, “I need a fag…” as he stomped out of the room.

***

For a moment, Buffy and her mother stood very still, gaping at the empty space where Spike had stood, then Joyce exploded.

“Buffy Anne Summers! What on earth were you thinking, accusing such a nice young man like that! Are you honestly that self-absorbed? And what did he mean, kicking him, yelling at him, and what happened to my car? I thought that you were going to get a ride from Cordelia, seeing as you have no license and are a terrible driver?”

Buffy winced under her mother’s verbal onslaught. Finally, she spoke, cautiously. “I’m really sorry about the car. Cordy’s busy, so I took it this morning. Don’t worry, there’s just a scratch on the side.”

Joyce nodded. “And what about William? Where do you get off behaving like that to such a nice young man, who’s done nothing to you?”

Buffy flushed. “Did you hear what I said? He –”

“Explained everything quite fully, if a little angrily,” Joyce interrupted, “whereas you just spun off a string of senseless accusations. What do you have against him, Buffy? I certainly don’t know. I want you to apologize to him. He deserved none of that – and on his first day here, too.”

Buffy pouted. “But, Mo-om…”

Joyce glared at her. “No ‘Mom’ing me. It’s either that or a grounding.”

Buffy swallowed. “Fine. I’ll go apologize.”

***

Buffy sighed. She couldn’t believe she was here. Maybe I can just leave… But Mom will double-check. Sighing again, she rang the doorbell in front of her. After a few minutes, the door opened to reveal…

“Mr. Giles?”

The school librarian gave her a questioning look. “Ms. Summers, what brings you here?”

Buffy gulped, taking a step back. “Well, I was looking for somebody, but I don’t think…”

Giles smiled. “Oh, are you looking for my nephew?” When Buffy looked confused, he added, “He goes by the name Spike.”

Buffy nodded, “Oh, yeah! That’s who I was looking for…”

Giles stepped away from the door. “Do come in. Would you like some tea?”

Buffy shook her head and was about to answer when she noticed something.

Spike was descending the stairs, wearing only a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips. His torso was dripping, proving that he had just come out of the shower. He began to head towards what looked like a kitchen, not noticing either Buffy gawking at him or Giles sighing and cleaning his glasses.

Finally, Giles called out, “William, you have a visitor.”

Spike emerged from the kitchen holding a soda. He stopped short when he saw Buffy. Rolling his eyes, he turned away from her and began to climb the stairs again, waving at her over his shoulder. Buffy glanced at Giles, before following him.

He led her into his room, waiting until she walked in before closing the door loudly. “All right, what’s it now, Barbie?” he almost snarled.

Buffy gulped, trying to avert her eyes from his torso. He seemed to notice and snarled again, walking over to his dresser and pulling on a black t-shirt before leaning against the wall.

Buffy kept looking away from him, examining the room. One wall was entirely windows, with thick red drapes hung over them. The two walls on either side of the room were painted black, but the last one with the door was a slightly lighter shade, almost gray. The ceiling was black.

He had a large bed, with black blankets spread messily over the red sheets. Directly across from it was an open door that led into a walk-in closet. However, it didn’t look like a closet; apparently he kept all his clothes in the dresser, as the closet, instead of clothing, contained a mini-fridge, and a comfortable chair and TV.

There was another comfortable-looking chair near the window-wall, with a guitar leaning up against it. The last thing in the room that Buffy noticed was the easel and desk covered in papers.

Spike stepped into her line of sight, arms crossed.

“Can you answer a simple question, and tell me why you’re here, or are you just going to ogle” Oh god, he saw me looking at him! Buffy thought, but he continued, “my room? Spit it out and get out, Goldilocks.”

Buffy flushed bright red and turned away from his burning blue stare. “Um… I came to say sorry.”

Spike barked harsh laughter, invading her personal space even more. “Yeah, sure. An’ who made you do that?”

Buffy spun her head to glare up at him, before realizing he was right. “My-mom-did-but-I-really-am.”

Spike blinked. “Care to repeat that, Blondie?”

Buffy flushed further. “My mom sent me… but I really am sorry. I’ve had a totally bad day.”

His eyebrow quirked at her and he chuckled slightly. “As opposed to only partially.”

Buffy frowned at him, uncomprehending, and he shook his head, humor now dancing in his eyes. “Nothin’.”

For a moment they both stood there, but then Spike suddenly stepped back, lighting up a cigarette. Buffy cried out in disgust, “Eww, don’t do that in here!”

Spike laughed at her. “What? In my bedroom? We’re on my turf here, Princess. Only… I’d really rather you weren’t.” He paused, then added bluntly, “That means get the fuck out, by the way.”

Buffy blushed yet again and turned to the door, stumbling out without another word. Spike watched her silently as she went, suddenly leaping forward when she tripped and fell onto the desk, smashing something.

Spike rushed over to her and gripped her harshly by the shoulders, yanking her up and shoving her away from the desk before bending over to examine what was obviously a very broken locket.

She took an instinctive step back at the look in his eyes when he turned around. She racked her brain for anything to say, even as he advanced menacingly towards her. Finally, he was only a step away, hands clenched in tight fists as he tortured and killed her with his eyes.

Finally Buffy smiled weakly. “Whoopsies?” she asked perkily.





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