Author's Chapter Notes:
Here's the 3rd chapter! hope you guys enjoy :) I know I don't really have a scheduled posting of any of these chapters, so I'm sorry about future hold ups and random postings.
Buffy walked out of Sally’s store at 12:30 and headed for home. She walked through the town square and waved to people as she enjoyed the warm sun beating down on her face. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed her mom’s number.

“Hey, mom.”
“Hi sweetie, you done at Sally’s?”
“Yeah, I’m heading home now. I might go out with Xander and the girls later.”
“Okay. Dawn and I just left. We’ll be back in a few hours. If you go out-”
“Make sure I have my phone, I know.”
“Thank you. Bye the way, you’re going to see the new neighbors before you leave, right?”

Yeah, like I’d forget about that. “I guess saying a quick hello wouldn’t be a bad idea, why?”
“Make sure you do. Mr. Pratt’s son, he seems… distant. I don’t think he was happy about the move. Be sure to be nice to him.”
“Okay, I will. Maybe I’ll invite him to hang out with me and the gang later.”
“That’s a good idea. I don’t think he has any friends here and well, he’s not exactly… I just think you’d be a good influence on him.”
Buffy laughed a little. “Okay mom, I’ll try. See you later.”

“Bye, honey.”

*CLICK*

Buffy walked the rest of the way home, all the while thinking about the mystery guy who had moved in on her block. She was getting curious-er and curious-er. The way her mom spoke…

How bad could he be? He’s probably no worse than most teenage boys his age. Buffy was confident all she had to do was talk to him, make him feel welcome, and he would gladly accept her offer to hang out with her and her friends.

The blonde approached her block and decided to go into her house to grab her purse before heading out and greeting the new neighbors. When she walked through her front door, Buffy took her cell phone out of her back pocket to call Willow and ask her where she was so she could meet up with the redhead and the others, hopefully with a certain new neighbor in tow.

***

Spike looked out of his bedroom window at the peaceful town and literally groaned. He hated this place and it was only the first day. He didn’t even go outside except to help his father carry crap inside from the rental truck. Other than that he stayed in his room trying to make it as comfortable for himself as possible. He hated this town and its cheery atmosphere, he hated that his dad drug him here. He missed the city. He missed the traffic and the people, he missed his racing buddies, and he missed the fast food. There wasn’t even a good gyro stand within ten miles of this sodding Twilight Zone. He couldn’t stand it.
He’d never admit to it, but he regretted being such a pain in the ass that he got kicked out of school back where he used to live. He loathed the fact that his dad felt it necessary to move him out here to a tiny little country town in order to keep him in check. Spike had buggered up his life back home, and now he was stuck in a happy little version of Green Acres, AKA hell, until he turned eighteen. Once he was eighteen, he was determined to get the hell out of here, and follow his dream in racing cars.

Spike couldn’t believe his old man had actually moved him out of the city. Given, his father never once called him Spike, a nickname he’d received from his racing pals back home, and would still always refer to him as William (much to Spike’s annoyance). And his father had taken away his car keys as punishment several times in the past for missing class (that was the worst thing you could do to him). But still, never once did Spike’s father try and convince him that racing cars was a dumb dream to have. Of course, Charles never found out about his son’s little car thieving habit that he was so good at, but still, the man never discouraged the teen’s love for cars. Spike never told his father this, but he respected him a great deal because never once had he been the kind of man to tell someone to give up on their dreams.

Good ole Charlie Pratt was a writer. He had written ten books and was also a poet, even though he never published any of his poems. Spike’s father was a dreamer, and even though he was stern and well, old, he was still a softy at heart. Spike and his dad didn’t exactly get along too well, mostly because Spike was the definition of rebellious, but they were close. Neither could or wanted to deny that.

But Spike was rightly pissed off at his dad as of late.
Spike groaned and ran his hand through his slicked back locks. Even though he planned on being as unhappy as possible for the next year living in this town, he didn’t plan on being bored. There had to be some normal people around, some guys that liked drag racing just as much as he did and didn’t like living in tiny towns, just as much as he didn’t. He was determined to go out and drive around until he found a place just like the one he had found back home. A place he could hang out and race and drink, some place he could be himself. Some place he could have a good time.

But Spike figured that would not be anywhere near the little community of Moon Stream. He’d probably have to do a long bit of driving; which didn’t bother him, as long as he could speed on the highway. But he wouldn’t leave until it got dark. He wouldn’t find a place like the one he was looking for while the sun was still up.

Spike turned away from his window to examine his room. It was the same size as the one he had back at home. He admired his decorating skills. The room itself was a dark mallard green with white molding. His queen sized bed was toward the back of the room against a wall, with a trunk at the foot of it, and the bathroom was to its right. His closet, which had mirrored doors, was on the opposite side of the bed. There was a stack of car magazines right next to his laundry basket by the entryway, and his guitar was on its stand right near the window seat. His radio was on a table opposite the door, and there were dozens of CDs stacked underneath it. On the walls there were posters of cars, but no girly posters. Spike felt posters like that were kind of lame; tacky even.

He didn’t need pictures of girls hanging all over his bedroom; he had never had trouble in the chick department. Okay sure, one time this bint named Cecily turned him down, but after Spike had gotten into cars, he got to give her the brush off. He never got serious with girls after Drusilla. After her, the others had just been free lance flings. He didn’t need another relationship or any headaches. After what he went through with Dru, he never thought about seriously dating someone again. Girls were like ice cream flavors in Spike’s head, you sample one and then you move along. But he made sure any girl he messed around with knew the score, knew that he wasn’t relationship material. He certainly didn’t need another Harmony fiasco…

So yeah, no girly posters; he had too much pride for that. Spike preferred the real thing.

The bleached blonde went to his radio, popped in a Sex Pistols CD, and grabbed a car magazine. He plopped down on the surprisingly wide window seat and was about to close the window when he saw a girl walk by.

He was struck.

Frozen.

The first thing Spike noticed was her hair. She took a clip out and the golden strands fell around her shoulders and down her back, making Spike wish he could run his fingers through her long mane. She was built incredibly, petite and curved in all the right places along with toned arms. The girl looked as if she would mold perfectly into his embrace. She dropped the bag she was carrying and bent over to pick it up, giving him a perfect view of her perfect rump. He suppressed a groan and sat completely entranced by this girl. She had to be around the same age as him… and she was hot as hell! But there was something else about her that drew in his focus. Just the way she walked made his eyes follow her, study her. He kept watching until the angle of his bedroom window made it impossible to see her any longer. Spike forced himself to stay inside instead of going after her.

Oh, but he really wanted to go after her!

Get a grip, mate. Don’t be a ponce. If you meet her face to face and you still want her, you can get her no problem.

Spike closed the window, cranked up his stereo, and walked over to his bed. He sprawled out and flipped through his magazine pushing all thoughts of shiny hair and perfect curves out of his mind.

***

Buffy quickly brushed her hair, reapplied lip gloss, grabbed her purse, and headed out the door. She headed straight for the house now owned by Mr. Pratt and his son. They only lived three houses down from her.

Buffy rang the doorbell to the large house and waited patiently. She fixed a stray bra strap and looked at her reflection in the window of the front door. She was wearing a pair of dark jean shorts, red tennis shoes, and a red tank top. She held a small white purse in her hand, and her blonde hair was hanging down her back and around her shoulders.

She smiled when an older man came to the door and opened it. He was tall with blue eyes, brown hair, and a kind face. His sideburns were slightly grayed and he had on round glasses. He was wearing a pair of old sweat pants with paint stains on them, and a grey T-shirt.

“Hi, I’m Buffy Summers. I’m Joyce’s daughter.”
“Oh, yes. It’s nice to meet you. Your mother said you might be dropping by. Please, come in.” The man gestured.
“Thank you.” She smiled.

The man walked up a short flight of stairs and through another doorway, Buffy followed. She took in the sight of the living room. It was a dark maroon color with dark brown molding. The couch was brown leather with two chairs to match. The coffee table was low and made of a solid dark wood. There were black and white photographs all around the walls and a few boxes that hadn’t been unpacked yet beneath the large television screen hanging on the wall.

“Wow, the first day you moved in and already you’re pretty much all unpacked.” She smiled warmly.

He laughed. “Oh hardly, dear. The kitchen and dining room are still quite a mess, along with the basement. Anyways, it’s very nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Summers. My name is Charles Pratt, but you may call me Charlie.”

She liked his accent. It sounded just like Giles’, very proper and very British. Buffy shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. I just wanted to stop by and say hello. I didn’t get a chance to earlier with my mom and sister; I was helping out a friend. I hope I’m not bugging you.”

He chuckled. “Oh of course not, dear. You’re not a bother at all. I’ve been receiving visitors all day in fact. All of them have been quite friendly. It really helps when you move to a new place if your neighbors are kind.”

“Well then you’ve moved to the right place. Everyone in Moon Stream is nice, it’s kind of impossible to find anyone unkind here.”

“Well that so far has been proven true. Now, it might be a little hard to find the glasses but if you like, I can get you something to drink. Perhaps iced tea? Or water?”

“Oh no, that’s okay. I’m fine. I noticed your accent, did you move here from England? My mom never said.”

“Oh no, my son and I moved from England to the States years ago, but we just moved here from Chicago. Beautiful city.”
“I’ve got some relatives who live there.” Buffy pointed to a chair. “May I?”
“Oh, yes, yes, of course. Please.”
“Thanks.” She sat. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, why’d you move?”
“Uh… Actually it- My son, mostly.”
“My mom mentioned that- um, your son… was my age.” She smiled shyly.
“You’re seventeen, as well?”
She nodded. “I’ll be a senior in the fall.”
“Lovely. My son, William, will be going to your school come autumn.”

“Yeah, my mom said that, too. She doesn’t leave much out.” Buffy laughed a little. “So um, is William around? Since you guys just moved in and all, he probably needs someone to show him the town, and I know this place like the back of my hand. I’d be happy to show him around if he wants.”

Charles smiled. He liked this young lady. She was sweet and polite, and he knew that his son would take a quick liking to her as well. “Really? That would be splendid! I wouldn’t want to put you out, though.”

Hmm, haven’t heard the word “splendid” in a while. “Oh please, it’s fine! He’s gonna be going to my school and it’d be nice to meet him now. Besides, I love playing tour guide.” She offered another sweet smile.

“That is very generous of you, Miss Summers. My son, well he… He wasn’t too happy about the move. Maybe if he got used to the town he’d feel a little more relaxed. I’m afraid… he isn’t very good at adjusting.”

“Well, I’m happy to help! And please, call me Buffy.”

Charlie smiled warmly and fidgeted with his glasses.
“Alright, well I’ll go up to his room and see if he’s up for it. Sometimes he can be very… um…”
“Stubborn?” Buffy offered after a moment.
Charlie chuckled. “Oh, you did hit the nail on the head there.”
Buffy blushed slightly despite herself. “I’m sorry. I just guessed.”

Charlie chuckled. “And it was a brilliant guess.” He headed for the staircase. “I’ll be back in a moment, dear.”

“Sure thing.”

Buffy sat waiting as she tried to listen to the goings on upstairs. She heard footsteps. Then she heard very loud music. She wrinkled her nose at the sound. She’d definitely never heard that song before. Suddenly the music stopped. She heard the men’s voices but they were very faint. Then she heard someone yell. She jumped slightly; and again when she heard another shout. Then she heard a door slam, again she jumped. Suddenly she felt like she should be going, no, running from the house. Thankfully the shouting she heard wasn’t Charlie’s voice; it must have been William’s.

Charlie trudged down the steps and faced Buffy. “I- I don’t suppose you heard that?”
Buffy smiled sadly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
“Oh, no dear, it wasn’t you. As I said before, William is, well the word you chose still fits. He’s a stubborn git of a son. I’m sorry. I really do appreciate your offer to take him out.”

Buffy felt a pang of remorse for Charlie. He looked so disappointed, sad even, at his son’s actions.
“It was no problem. But ya know what, it’s probably better that he stays home today. You need help unpacking everything anyways.” She tried to reassure him.

“Yes, I suppose, if I can get him to focus on something besides his anger. He was indeed not happy about the move.”
Buffy stood. “He’ll adjust.” She smiled kindly. “It was nice to meet you, Charlie. Let me know if William changes his mind?”
“I will. Thank you, Miss- Buffy.”
She smiled again. “No problem.”

Charlie let Buffy out then banged his head against the wall. What was he going to do about his son?

***

Spike listened to his dad walk down the stairs. He listened to the muffled voices of his father and the chit who had offered, apparently, to show him around town.
Spike’s response to this had been, “not bloody likely.” Of course, Spike yelled it, though. He also yelled to his father to get out when he tried to push on the subject.

He didn’t feel guilty for yelling at his dad. It was his decision to bring him to this damn town, and he certainly didn’t need to get a tour of it to know he hated it.
Spike was a little curious as to who this girl was, though. His dad said her name was Buffy Summers. What kind of name was Buffy? Apparently she’s a neighbor. There had been a lot of neighbors traipsing in and out of this house all damn day. He had only seen a couple of them, though. He didn’t really talk to any of them.

Spike went to his window and watched as he waited for the girl to leave his house. When he saw her, his jaw dropped. It was that same girl who he’d seen outside his window earlier. Suddenly Spike felt like an idiot.
She must think I’m such a pillock. Good job, mate.

Wait. Stop.

She’s just a girl, nothin special about her. Why should I care what she thinks? I don’t. God, he needed a drive. Staying in the house was making him desperate for human contact.

Spike grabbed his keys, a pack of cigarettes, and headed downstairs.

When he headed toward the back door to go to the garage his dad called to him.
“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“So you’re not going to help me unpack, then?”
“You wanted to move, you unpack.”

And with that, Spike left, slamming yet another door.
The bleached teen walked to the garage and got in his Desoto. He started it up and drove off, closing the garage door with the electronic key he now had on his key chain.
He pushed all thoughts of golden locks, sexy legs, and sashaying hips from his mind.

***

Buffy and her friends had spent most of the day at the batting cages, mostly laughing at Anya’s failed attempts at hitting the ball and instead her successes at hitting herself in the back of the head. After they were done there, they headed out to Greg’s for a bite to eat.

Greg’s, a 50’s styled diner complete with a juke box and waiters on roller blades, was their usual place to eat and hang out. Buffy always felt like a character from Happy Days when she ate there, but hey, she liked that show. Xander had showed it to her plenty of times; he owned a couple of the seasons on DVD.

Buffy was finishing off her chocolate milkshake when Willow asked her if she could have a sip.
*SLURP*
“Oops. Sorry, Wills. Too late.” She smiled apologetically.
“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll just get a small one for myself.” She called over to a waitress and ordered.

The bleached blonde waitress with pineapple earrings wrote down the redhead’s order. “Okay, Doll. One small shake, any a the rest a you cats want anything?” The waitress pointed her pen at the table of teens, popping her gum while she waited for answers.

Tara spoke up. “I’ll have another coke, please.”
“Kay, coke. Anyone else? No? Okay, be back in a flash.”

With a quick roll to the kitchen the waitress was gone.
Buffy wrinkled her brow. “I’ll never know how they get used to those things. I’d fall on my butt at least ten times a day.”
“Probably thirty.” Xander quipped.
“Watch it, Xander.” Buffy smirked and threw a rumpled napkin at her friend.

Anya approached the table from the bathroom and sat down next to Xander, brushing up against him none too subtly. She gave him a flirtatious smile that went apparently unnoticed by him, but not by the others.

Tara raised her eyebrows. “Hey, Xander, um could you go and ch- change the song on the jukebox for me?”
“Sure, what song ya want?”
“Uh…” Tara spotted a poster on the wall of the King. “Elvis.”
“Okay, what Elvis song?”
“Oh… just an Elvis song.”
He eyed the girl questioningly.

“I’m just in a- an Elvis mood, I guess.”

He shrugged and went to change the tunes.
The girls were on Anya immediately.

Tara: “Did you talk to him?” Willow: “Has he said anything?” Buffy: “Do I need to hurt him?”

Anya took a deep breath and exhaled hurriedly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him! I making all the right moves! I am not being subtle at all! I always ask him to walk me home after we hang out, alone, and- and- I just- Ugh! Men!” She dropped her head to the table and covered it with her hands.

Tara patted one of Anya’s hands calmly. “Oh, sweetie, it’s okay. I’m sure he’ll notice soon.”
Anya’s head flew up. “Oh what are you, stupid?! The only way he’s going to know that I like him is if I walk into his bedroom one day, strip down, and tell him I wanna have sex! Plain and simple!”

A beat.

“Wait… that might actually work.”

Tara slapped herself in the forehead, Willow looked to Buffy with a panicked expression, and Buffy just laughed.

“What? What’s so funny?” Anya eyed her giggling friend.
“Nothing, it’s just… You might actually be right.”

Suddenly Anya’s eyes sparkled and Willow hit Buffy’s arm. “Buffy! Anya can’t just-”

Anya cut her off and spoke in a matter of fact tone. “Yes I can. I want Xander. So, what do I do? I take Xander. Simple. Little. Equation. It’s perfect!”

Tara was speechless, Buffy kept laughing, and Willow gave up with a large sigh. The redhead could tell by Anya’s face that this idea was not going to leave her brain anytime soon.

Xander approached the table again. “Hey, Buff, what’s so funny?”
“Oh,” *SNORT* “nothing.”

The waitress arrived with Tara’s pop and Willow’s shake before rolling back to the kitchen. The group continued laughing and talking as the sun set in the rainbow colored sky.

***

Spike had been driving around for hours, only stopping once to get gas and some snacks. When the sun was just about to set, his friend from Chicago called him and told him he had some buddies who lived in Connecticut. They were just the type of crowd Spike was looking for, too. His friend gave him the address of a small restaurant where he could find a guy named Gunn working in the kitchen. Apparently Gunn was his friend’s cousin and would be expecting Spike to show around sundown.

With an emphatic thank you to his old friend, a U turn, and a stomp on the gas pedal, Spike was on his way to some restaurant called Greg’s.





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