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Author's Chapter Notes:
I saw Harry Potter yesterday and it was amazing!!! Sorry for the randomness, just had to get it off my chest. ;) Anyway, here's more!

Beta'd by the lovely All4Spike.
Chapter 3

“I saw what you did,” she heard someone behind her say. Buffy froze for a second before exhaling and slamming the locker door shut.

She struggled to look indifferent as she turned around to face the owner of the voice. And of course, it was the girl who had seen her push Harmony’s face into the dirt. Not like Buffy’s life could ever be easy.

“Yeah? So?”

She tilted her head, observing. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Out of all the things Buffy had expected her to say, this was the last. Was this some kind of ploy? A way for her to… “Is this whole thing leading into some kind of blackmail? What do you want from me?”

She rolled her eyes, but her voice was teasing instead of mocking as she said, “What part of ‘I’m not going to tell’ did you not understand?”

“The part where someone like you would not want to get someone like me into trouble.”

“Has everyone ever told you that you’re very paranoid? And what’s with the ‘someone like you’? It’s not like I have herpes. I support safe sex, you know. With condoms. And birth control.”

Ignoring that strange remark, Buffy shook her head, unable to comprehend the bizarreness of this situation. “So if you’re not going to tell on me—which, jury is still out on that one—why would you even tell me?”

A crease appeared between her brows, disappearing just as quickly. She shrugged. “Just thought you’d like to know, that’s all.”

“I don’t trust you,” Buffy told her, watching as the cheerleader tensed slightly at those words, her lips thinning. Guilt churned in Buffy’s stomach and for a second she regretted her harsh tone. Then she remembered that the girl most probably had an ulterior motive.

“I figured,” the girl said. “Well, I should go. Math class and all.”

She was about to leave when Buffy asked, “What’s your name?”

She tossed Buffy a glance over her shoulder, tucked a strand of shortish, dark brown hair behind her ear.

“Anya.”

*******

After classes were over, Buffy walked over to her sanctuary and climbed onto the low hanging branch of the tree. For some reason she couldn’t get the girl out of her head. Anya. Obviously, the girl was new because Buffy didn’t remember seeing her at school ever before.

Why the hell would Anya talk to her? Had someone put up her up to it? Remembering her words, Buffy reluctantly smiled.

Maybe she really was paranoid. And Anya was most definitely blunt in a weird, sort of refreshing way.

Buffy pulled the sketch book out of her bag and flipped through the pages. The sense of déjà vu she’d been experiencing lately created a recurring theme, she noticed. The male hands. Always the same hands, as though belonging to someone she knew.

Trying to remember when she’d seen them was as easy as swallowing nails. All it did was give her headache. After a while, Buffy gave up. With a groan, she leaned back against the trunk and watched as the wind picked up in speed, the force making the branches around her wheeze in protest. Leaves writhed around on the ground, the skies above darkening.

She stared into the distance as the grey clouds rushed into each other, blanketing the sun. It was going to rain soon. As soon as she thought it, water started to drizzle down. Buffy quickly stuffed her sketch book into her bag and climbed down.

For a moment she hesitated, glancing between the road into the woods and the abandoned mansion. Her mind made up, she took off running towards the old building, not very eager to get soaked again. It would probably pass soon, and then she’d be able to get home all safe and more importantly, dry.

The air was stale and a bit chilly, making her shudder as she let the door bang shut behind her. She folded her arms over her chest in a futile effort to get warmer. If there really were any ghosts, the least they could do is keep the place habitable.

She wandered off into the huge living room then stopped to stare at the big, terribly tacky family portrait above the fireplace. Fascinated in spite of herself, she trudged closer. It looked very old fashioned, definitely from another era. The man in the picture had a big moustache that curled up at the ends and Buffy raised her eyebrow in amusement. Good thing most men avoided such a look these days.

Well, except for the sleazy ones.

Her gaze dropped to smaller photo frames that rested in a thick layer of dust. She took in a deep breath then blew it out. Motes of dust fluttered up in little clouds, flying up her nose and into her eyes. Buffy sneezed twice in a row and rubbed at her sore eyes. Really, what did she expect would happen?

She waved a hand around her face, feeling glad no one was around to witness it. Her nose wrinkled when she noticed flaking dark red-brown smudges on the surface. If she hadn’t known better it would almost look like bloo—

“What are you doing here?”

Buffy jumped, barely registering she’d dropped her bag. Her heart hammered so fast she thought she was going to be sick. She whirled around and her eyes clashed with bright blue. She hadn’t thought she’d see him again after he shopped for chili at her father’s grocery store. Thought he’d be long gone from the town by now.

“Y-you,” she said in a somewhat accusing tone while trying to calm her breath.

His eyes narrowed as he stalked towards her in long confident steps until he was merely inches away. He wasn’t much taller than her, but she still had to tilt her head back a bit to be able to look him in the eye.

“Yeah, me. Missed me, have you?”

He wasn’t touching her but she felt as though his very presence was sucking the oxygen out of the already stuffy room. Buffy tried to back away but her back encountered the iron of the fireplace’s edge. She winced.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he said, pinning her in place with a gaze even more unyielding than the metal digging into her back. “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

Now that her mind started to clear a little, she could feel anger surging to the surface. Who was he to go all Alpha male on her?

“Excuse me? Why the hell would I follow you?” she asked with what she hoped sounded like menace. “This is my place. I should be asking you what you’re doing here.”

Clearly, he was unimpressed. “Little girls shouldn’t be sticking their noses where something might bite them off.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Like you’re going to do anything to me.”

The blue of his eyes seemed to melt into black as he stepped even closer to her, his hands closing around her shoulders painfully.

“Love, you know nothing about who I am. And you’d better keep from challenging me or I just might want to prove you wrong.”

It was impossible to wriggle out of his grasp. Instead she settled for glaring daggers at him and hissing, “Let me go.”

“Or what? You gonna scream?” The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk, and he did relax his hold. Just not enough to grant her freedom.

Her personal space? Very much off limits, especially to him. But it wouldn’t do to let him know of the panic rising in her gut. So she did the only thing she could come up with.

She kneed him in the groin as hard as she could, given the limited space.

“I’ve never been much for screaming,” she said with a defiant lift of her chin.

Even though blood drained from his face, he recuperated much, much sooner than she expected. It was like he absorbed the pain, drank it in and before she could as much as blink, the length of his body pressed hers against the wall beside the fireplace, successfully immobilizing her.

Another attempt at bruising his manhood was swiftly blocked.

“W-what are you doing? Let me go!” She started to wriggle, heat rushing into her cheeks from exertion.

“Stop trying to emasculate me, and I will.”

“You deserve to be emasculated! Who do you think you are? You have no right to—”

“To what?” He tilted his head, just looking at her, his nostrils flaring.

For the first time Buffy noticed how dark and thick his eyelashes were. How the way he bit his full lower lip made her stomach tighten. How completely out of control his proximity made her feel.

At that moment she realised how much she hated this man.

With a passion.

“To what?” he repeated the question in a quiet, raspy voice. It was… almost sensual. The way the syllables slid off his tongue. She opened her mouth to answer when he reached out, his fingertips grazing the jagged scar across her lips. “To touch you?”

She trembled, swallowing heavily as she jerked her head away from his gentle touch. Cold sweat broke out at the back of her neck, and she felt herself succumbing to sheer panic. Nobody touched her scars.

Nobody.

Her whole body recoiled in disgust. Disgust at him for touching her scar. Disgust at herself because she liked the warmth of his fingertips on her skin. Only then she noticed he had stepped away, frowning as he observed her hyperventilating.

Buffy shot him a look full of hatred before she smacked him across the face. The sound echoed in the vast living room, her inability to hit him properly mocking her.

She’d hit him the way she felt at the moment.

Like a girl.

There was a red handprint already forming on his cheek, but he looked more surprised than hurt and her bottom lip quivered. Horrified, Buffy realised she was going to cry. Before he could witness her utter humiliation, she ran past him without a backward glance, only stopping when she finally made it home.

*******

Buffy barged into the house, rain dripping from her tangled hair to soak into the foyer carpet. Her dad ducked out of kitchen, his brows creasing in concern when he noted her distress.

“Are you all right?”

He approached her and the warmth of his hands seeped through her clothes as he clasped her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just… memories,” Buffy half-lied and watched him avoid her gaze. He thought she was talking about the time back in LA, and she suddenly felt like she needed to talk about it. Needed it so desperately it was making her shake.

“You’re shivering. Go change your clothes before you catch pneumonia.”

“Dad…”

“Buffy, please do as I say for once,” he said, tired.

She relented. For now anyway.

Resigned, Buffy went up to her room and slipped out of her soaked clothes before putting on black leggings and a baggy Led Zeppelin T-shirt that had seen better days. In five minutes she walked down the stairs and handed Dad her wet clothes. She followed him to the kitchen where he tossed them into the drier.

“I know you’re angry with me,” she whispered and leaned against the kitchen counter.

Hank ran a hand through his light brown hair and leveled her with steady eyes.

“I’m not angry, Buffy. It’s just… you know how much I don’t like talking about her.”

“I know. Neither do I. She never was a good mother, from what I remember, and I know she hurt you, but… she hurt me too, you know.” She absentmindedly touched the scars on her face. “I’ve got nobody to talk to but you. Except you never want to. Not about this. And I don’t—”

Her breath caught in her throat and she felt everything around her crashing down as tears gathered in her eyes. It had all been too much recently, and she’d bottled it all up without even realising it. All it took was the simple touch of a stranger and she was breaking. She pressed her lips together, determined to push it back. As she always did.

Then Dad was drawing her into his embrace, warm and solid and familiar.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Buffy clutched at his T-shirt, unable to stop the flow of tears. For the moment she allowed herself to be weak, to be comforted, clinging to the solace he was giving her. But how could she ever explain to her dad the reason for her breakdown? How could she possibly tell him that one touch of a stranger made her realise… made her realise how terribly lonely she was.

That she always would be.

“Why have you never said anything before? If I knew how important this was to you…”

“W-why? Why did she do this to me? Did she hate me so much?”

Dad pulled away just enough to be able to look at her, his eyes glazed over. “She wasn’t right in the head, got tangled with all sorts of wrong people, you know that. It wasn’t your fault.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “It was mine. I should hav—”

“No. You couldn’t have known she would go all psycho.”

“But I should have been there. Should have stopped her from hurting you anyway,” he said in a low angry voice. “I loved her, was stupid enough to think I could help her. That you’d be safe from her because she was your mother. But I should have left and taken you with me long before she… you wouldn’t have had to suffer.”

“I’ve never blamed you for what happened.” Buffy wiped the tears from her cheeks, feeling defeated and exhausted. “You’ve always been a great father to me. I just wish I could understand.”

“So do I. God, the day I was told you were taken away in an ambulance… you were so little, lying in that big hospital bed.” He swallowed audibly, haunted by a memory only he could see. “I didn’t understand how she could hurt you that way. I wanted to kill her after I found out she did it.”

Buffy smiled though she was anything but amused. “She did the job done herself, didn’t she?”

The paramedics had found her mother lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood after she’d slit her throat. It was suicide, they had claimed. To be expected from someone as unstable as she had been. They couldn’t have saved her. Buffy and her mother had been the only family Dad had had, so he’d been left to deal with the aftermath. The arrangements. The funeral. All of it. She could still see how it tormented him. The way his world had shattered within a few days.

“Want to watch a movie?” he asked after a while, and Buffy nodded, letting him pull her away from the counter.

They settled down on the couch in the living room, pretending to be immersed in the on-screen plot. But she knew better. Knew that both of them were drowning in memories, kicking and desperate to reach the surface.

However blurry the memory, she would never forget the night when everything went straight to hell.

TBC


Chapter End Notes:
So, what do you think of the first Spuffy interaction?



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