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A MURDER IN SUNNYDALE


Chapter 10: Part I ‘Dinner At 7’


Buffy should have known, really, when at precisely 6:30 PM that Tuesday night, when her usually reliable 1973 Porshe did not start. It was an omen all right and it slapped her right up the side of the head, but did she listen? No. Did she take heed and say… ‘maybe I’m not supposed to meet with Angel tonight for our business dinner. Maybe this is a sign or something to cancel?’ Oh, no, not the intrepid, determined Buffy Summers. Instead, when the lime green monstrosity had not kicked over and started by 6:45 PM, Buffy just shrugged and called a cab on her cell phone.

Usually, Buffy could have opened up the hood of the Porshe, checked it out and fixed the problem herself. However, considering she was in a slinky, killer black dress, stiletto heels, her make-up perfect not to mention her vanilla washed shiny hair down and gorgeous? Well….what was she supposed to do? Exactly what she did do, of course, call a cab and keep her dinner appointment with Angel O’Connor ‘Super Assistant DA.’

By the time she had made it to La Tria Bellas, Buffy was already late, by fifteen minutes and Angel dear was already on his second bourbon and water. “Hey, Angel,” Buffy stammered as the ‘host’ sat her at the small, intimate table, across from her ‘date.’ Angel did not look too awfully happy to Buffy, but she really didn’t give a rat’s ass. This was a business meeting, to discuss the Holden Webster case, nothing more and if he couldn’t understand why she was late…TDB (too, damn bad!)! “You look beautiful, Buffy,” Angel smiled happily at her, taking in her dress, eyes, hair with appreciation.



“Thanks Angel,” she nodded as she nervously looked about the full restaurant, “sorry I’m late, car trouble. Had to hail a cab.” Angel eyed Buffy again, “I’ll pay for the cab fare, Buff,” she heard Angel mumble after her hasty explaination for her tardiness. “No!” Buffy cried out, a bit abruptly, but keeping her voice down. I’ve paid it, it’s a done deal.”

“Look, here’s some of the paperwork, some important aspects of the case.” Buffy eagerly set her briefcase up on the tiny table and unlocked it quickly to pull out the contents and place them in front of Angel. He, Angel, that is, actually gave her a ‘broody pout’ and reluctantly grabbed the paperwork. “Can’t we at least order, Buff,” he whined and shot her a puppy dog look, “before we delve into this mess?”

“Sure Angel,” Buffy responded weakly. ‘Should have known,’ she chided herself, ‘business dinner my size 3 ass!’ The waiter, who was quite amicable took their order quickly and hurried back to the table with a bottle of some lovely, expensive (no doubt), California Sparkling Wine, our best version of Champagne. Angel was the epitome of class, as usual, Buffy noted as he sipped the offerred taste of wine for his knowing approval. “It’s perfect,” Angel grinned at the waiter then at Buffy proudly, “nothing but the best for our Buffy Summers,” he winked at her. ‘Oh dear Mother of God,’ Buffy groaned inwardly.

After the waiter had poured them both an ample glass of wine, and departed to where ever waiters went to, Buffy pursed her lips and gave Angel a dubious glare. “I thought,” she began, hesitantly, “that this was business Angel.” The dark eyed man before her shook his head and raised his large hands in a gesture of innocence, “of course, Buff,” he chuckled. “Man’s got to eat, right?” If Buffy didn’t know better, she could swear that Angel gave her the old ‘double entendre smirk’ of his, but she overlooked it. For now, anyway. Frankly, Buffy was famished, the food here was delicious and she ‘had’ to try and convince the rising star of the Sunnydale legal community that poor little Amy St. Claire was ‘INNOCENT’ with a capitol ‘I!’

At precisely 7:50 PM, Spike Williamson drove his rented BMW into the valet parking area of La Tria Bellas. He threw the valet, a mere youngster of a bloke, his keys and sauntered through the wide door, right to the bar. Fortunately, the bar was to the side of the dining area, so, the object of his obsession, Buffy and her ‘business’ date, Captain Forehead, could not have seen him enter. Spike sat down at the bar, ordered a whiskey and patiently bided his time.

He, Spike, had a plan, of course. If this so called business date of Buffy’s and the ‘broody wonder’ lasted past 8:30, he would wheedle his way to their table and totally disrupt the whole thing. Spike had to chuckle softly, ‘I’ll be doing her a favour,’ he told himself, ‘that O’Connor is the worst excuse for an escort I’ve ever…”

The bartender leaned over the bar and whispered coolly, “Mr. Williamson?” Spike acknowledged the man, with little surpise. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the ‘couple’ in question,” the keep continued with a devilish grin. “Miss Summers is about as interested in being here with that moron, O’Connor, as I’d be,” the bartender finished with a gruff laugh. ‘Bless you cousin Wesley,’ Spike said silently as he tossed the bartender a fifty dollar bill. “Keep checking on them,” Spike ordered evenly, “I can’t be seen, just yet that is.”

Buffy groaned inwardly, yet again, as Angel munched on his Shrimp Scampi, his mouth going a mile a minute. She nibbled on her own Shrimp Pasta as she tried to avoid looking at her ex as he exercized his mouth in more ways then one. All’s the man had talked about, for the whole dinner, was himself, his family and career, Buffy and her family and the ‘old days’ when he and she, Buffy, were an ‘item.’ “I thought,” Buffy finally spoke up as she sat her silver fork down, “that this was a business engagement, Angel?” He closed his mouth, finally, and gave her a small pout, “well, yeah,” he stammered. “But, I thought maybe, especially since you’re without a ride home, I’d take you. Talk about the case there, at your apartment?”

“I see,” she murmered in response. “Angel,” Buffy swallowed hard and took a deep breath, “I would rather discuss the case here, and now. I’ll call a cab for myself. If you want to front me the cab fare, fine, I’ll gladly accept. But,” she sighed loudly, “let’s get this straight; you are in no way coming to my place. Tonight, or any other night of the week. Understand?”

Angel’s benevolent expression changed from friendly to irritated in a heartbeat. “I’d be careful, Buff,” he grumbled as as he went back to his shrimp, “might behoove you to be a bit more friendly with me. I know how much you want to play the saving Saint to poor little Amy St. C. If we could go to your place, have a nice ‘chat’ and come to some agreement about the bail bond, the whole case? I’m a betting man, Buffy, you know that. Right now I’m betting that you and me could ‘work’ things out tonight, in your favour, that is. All you have to do is…”

“Jesus,” Buffy hissed as she tossed her fine linen napkin down on the fine linen table cloth. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you Angel? Still the pompous, overbearing ass you’ve always been!” Buffy reached down to the floor and retrieved her Versace briefcase from it’s place under her chair, then slipped her Versace purse from it’s place on the her chair. “I’m going home Angel,” she whispered haughtily, “don’t worry about the cab. I’ve got it. Oh,” she leaned over to make sure only he heard her next words, “a little advice. Do not try and blackmail a Summers woman into your bed, Angel dear, it’s a futile mission. I wouldn’t sleep with you to save my dear old Granny from the ‘electric chair’ if I had to.”


Chapter 10: Part II ‘Dessert At 9?’


Spike sat at the bar, sipping his whiskey, a rather dour look on his face. The bartender hurried up to join him, “got some good news for you Mr. Williamson,” he almost giggled like a girl. “Call me Spike, mate,” Spike nodded at the chunky male bartender. “Okay, Spike it is,” the man grinned happily, “anyway,”he continued, “Lt. Summers, she just left the establishment.” Spike sat up and took notice of that quickly, “left?” The barkeep smiled warmly, “yeah, just now. Headed out the front door like there was a fire in the place. Mr. ‘DA’ O’Connor is lookin’ like he lost his last friend!”

With a satisfied laugh, Spike tossed another fifty at the man behind the bar, “thanks, mate,” he saluted the man and sauntered off to the dining area. It wasn’t that Spike wanted to rub O’Connor’s nose in his fiasco of a dinner date with ‘his’ Buffy, oh no. He wanted to grind this Angel’s face down into the mud, where it belonged.

“Hello O’Connor,” Spike grinned down at the morose looking dark-haired oaf slumped down in the chair. “Oh God,” Angel hissed, shaking his head miserably when he saw who geeted him. Spike sat in the chair Buffy had just occupied and waved at the waiter, “a whiskey and whatever this poor soul is having,” he grinned again at Angel. “What the fuck to do you want Williamson,” Angel groaned without looking into Spike’s eyes. “Simple,” Spike responded quickly, confidently, “I want Buffy Summers.”

Angel gave the man a nasty look and grimaced, “you’re beneath her, you know that right?” he hissed angrily. “Probably,” Spike answered evenly as he sipped his fresh drink, “but no more then you are. I mean, come on mate, dumping the delectable Miss Summers for another woman? Just to make it big in the DA’s office? Talk about beneath someone!” The dark haired man frowned, then sighed sadly, “don’t hurt her, please, Williamson.”

Spike scowled slightly, “hurt her?” he asked harshly. “I’d rather die myself then hurt Buffy. She’s an angel, perfection, my salvation and…” he abruptly stopped his ranting and eyed the dark man, cautiously. “Give what Buffy says a thought, O’Connor,” Spike changed the subject quickly, “think about what she says. If Buffy, who knows this little suspect chit the most of anyone says that she is innocent? Then, you can probably bet that she, Buffy that is, is right.” With that, Spike stood up, threw a hundred dollar bill on the table and hurried out the front door of the La Tria Bellas in search of his angel, Buffy.

Buffy had exited the restaurant as fast as she could, sailing right past the door man and down the street towards the direction of her place. The thought of waiting around for a cab, even for five minutes, disgusted her and made her feel weak. She scurried past the door man, down the block and turned the corner as fast as her stiletto heeled shoes could carry her, never once looking back to see if she’d been followed by Angel. ‘Hmmphh,’ Buffy snorted sardonically, ‘as if Angel O’Connor would follow anyone but a stepping stone for his career!’

Spike sped out of the restaurant like a mad man and tapped the valet on on his shoulder. “Did you see a little blonde, mate?” he asked anxiously, “tiny, gorgeous and hotter then lava?” The valet grinned and nodded, “she took off that way, Sir,” he pointed down the block to the east. “Tried to tell her to grab a cab, but she would have none of it. Took off on foot.” Spike pulled another hundred from his pocket and his ticket, “thanks,” he hissed, “now get me the BMW, gray with black leather seats.”

By the time Buffy had made it, three blocks down from the restaurant, she realized that she had probably made a big mistake by not calling a cab. Something she intended on remedying immediately when she pulled her cell phone from her purse and speed dialed the Sunnydale Cab Company. After the dispatcher answered, Buffy looked up to check the street signs and saw Spike Williamson leaning against a gorgeous BMW, parked across the street from where she now stood.

“Never mind,” Buffy told the cab dispatcher, “I’m fine.” She clicked off the cell phone and stared at the platinum Brit with a certain sense of exasperation. Spike sauntered over to her side of the street and stood right in front of her. “Date over so soon?” he asked with a grin that Buffy just wanted to slap off of his face. “Well,” she whispered, looking about the fairly empty street, “yeah, I guess it is. Not much of a date, though,” she assured him, though God only knew why.

“You know, Buffy,” Spike began smoothly as he closed the gap between them, “it’s not safe to wander around even the streets of Sunnydale by yourself. But,” he raised his left brow slightly, “you know that, right?” Buffy blushed despite herself, “sure,” she answered unevenly, “but I can handle myself.” Spike chuckled behind her as she sidestepped him and tried to continue down the darkish street. “No doubt,” Spike called, “but just think how much safer, more comfortable you’d be in a BMW, luv?”

Buffy was stubborn, she was determined and liberated as far as females went, however, she was not stupid. It was true, she would be safer and more comfortable in Spike’s BMW, especially since her own apartment was more then three miles from the place she was at! “All right,” Buffy sighed in defeat, “you can give me a ride…in your BMW that is, but nothing more. Understand Spike?” He grinned at her and nodded with enthusiasm, “course, luv,” he responded sincerely enough.

The first thing Buffy noticed as she and Spike drove ‘towards’ her apartment, was that they were going in the opposite direction. Of Buffy’s apartment that is. “Uhm, Spike,” Buffy stammered quietly, “wrong way?’ She pointed at street signs to elaborate on her confusion. “It’s okay, luv,” Spike nodded to her, “just going to get some dessert. For you that is.” Buffy felt completely helpless, something she detested beyond anything, “dessert?” she squeaked. “There’s a Baskin and Robbins, just up ahead,” Spike chuckled wickedly, “and I know how much you love chocolate!”

The little girl joy in Buffy tried to rear it’s appalling head, but she pushed it back down again, “I want to go home,” she almost whined stubbornly. “You will,” Spike laughed heartily, “when I take you. For now, you’re going to have dessert with me, period.” He pulled into the small 31 Flavors parking lot and turned off the car engine. “Come on,” he ordered firmly, “if anyone needs chocolate right now, it’s you. I can tell.”

Spike watched as Buffy exited the door he had gone around and opened for her, ‘chivilarous as usual William,’ he scoffed at himself, ‘next you’ll be spoutin’ poetry and layin’ your duster down for her to walk on.’ He was pleased, Spike that is, when Buffy allowed him to give her his hand and help her out of the rented BMW.

“Thanks,” she murmered softly as she sidled on past him and into the Baskin and Robbins. When they reached the counter, Spike gave her a raised eyebrow and asked what she ‘wanted’ for dessert. “Fudge Brownie Chocolate. Three scoops in a bowl,” Buffy giggled to the young boy behind the counter. Spike pulled out his wallet and tossed a ten dollar bill on the counter, “keep it,” he barked at the kid. “Just puttin’ up with the two of us is enough to earn a good tip.”

“You’re not getting anything?” Buffy asked in surprise as they sat at one of the small tables for her to eat her treat. “That remains to be seen,” Spike purred as he tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind Buffy’s ear. “Ooooohhh,” Buffy growled lowly, “always with the sex jokes, huh? You men, never change.” Spike reached out and stopped Buffy from tasting another spoonful of her ice cream, “give us a taste,” he order gently. Buffy couldn’t help it, she dipped her pink plastic spoon into her ice cream and held the delicious coldness out for Spike to taste. He took her tiny hand in his and sucked the ice cream from the spoon, a little slowly.

Spike watched Buffy as he licked her plastic spoon clean of it’s chocolaty goodness. Truth was, Spike loved chocolate and ice cream, he adored, but he couldn’t let Buffy know that. Not yet, anyway. For some reason (though he had a good idea why) Spike loved to tease this golden Goddess. He just enjoyed pushing her buttons (one in particular he’d love to push!), and felt that this blonde, beautiful Buffy just might be the answere to his prayers.

Buffy watched, mesmerized, as Spike Williamson licked her pink plastic spoon clean of it’s chocolaty goodness. “Oh,” she squeaked involentarily. He, Spike, the blonde updated version of Billy Idol, gave her a naughty smirk, “oh?” he repeated at her, his scarred left brow raised slightly. “I mean, well…” she hesitated, embarrassed by her blush she felt overcoming her face and neck, “I mean, just oh I see,” she finished with a bright red face.

When she had finished her dessert, Buffy looked out at the BMW parked in the otherwise empty lot. “I should get home,” she murmered softly, avoiding Spike’s blue eyes. “Yeah, you should,” he agreed reluctantly. They drove to her complex, which consisted of ten exclusive units and Spike turned off the motor to the BMW.

“Walk you up?” Spike asked quietly, almost afraid to look into Buffy’s dark green eyes. “Not necessary. Thank you for the ride,” she replied abruptly and turned to go into the apartment stairwell. “Buffy,” Spike murmered, “ask me in?” She stopped in midstep and turned around to meet his gaze, in the moonlight, her eyes looked like huge, green opals. Buffy’s eyes, however, were filled with an emotion that Spike could not quite pin point. A little confusion, maybe, some insecurity, definitely, but something more lay hidden in the green depths of her beautiful eyes. ‘Fear,’ Spike realized, a sympathetic pang tugged at his heart. He stepped closer to Buffy, held out his hand to her and stated rather then asked, “invite me in, Buffy.”

“I, uhm,” she began, her voice just a little shakey, “I don’t think…” Then, suddenly she just blushed slightly and asked, “would you like to come in for a drink or something, Spike?” Spike smiled softly at her and nodded, happily, “yes, definitely, sweetheart.” He followed her up the stairs to her second story apartment, thanking God, silently, all the way that she had agreed to his coming in.

Spike did not really have any intention of making a pass at Buffy, tonight, that is. Okay, he did, kind of, have an intention of at least getting a kiss goodnight, but he actually did want to see where Buffy lived. How her place was decorated and if it revealed any more of her personality or feelings. In other words, Spike desperately wanted to find out how Buffy lived, privately and all. It just seemed so important, at that moment, to be inside Buffy’s inner space.

Buffy led Spike into her small, but cozy apartment. She was proud of her place. Proud of the way she had it decorated, Asian motiff; the way everything matched perfectly and went so well together. However, having him, Spike Williamson in her own private space, alone with her, well, it did make her a tad nervous. That’s probably why when Buffy went to get them some wine, she almost dropped the bottle and spilled it all over the white tiled floor of the kitchen. “Nice place,” she heard Spike call from the sofa in the living room. “Thanks,” she squeaked out, her hands shaking as she tried to uncork the wine. “Uhm, Spike,” she grabbed two glasses and hurried into the living room, “could you open this?” she asked shyly, embarrassed at her sudden loss of composure.

“Sure, luv,” he chuckled and took the bottle and corkscrew from her. He had the damn bottle open in a heartbeat, causing Buffy to feel even more overwhelmed. “Thanks,” she whispered softly, allowing him to pour the wine into her favorite stemware. “I like wine,” she mumbled anxiously, sitting next to Spike on the couch, but not too very close. “Me too,” he responded simply, rewarding her with that killer smile of his.

“So,” Spike sat his glass on the coffee table, on the coaster Buffy had placed there, “what did Forehead have to say about the case thing? Or did he piss you off before anything could get discussed?” He could not help himself, Spike just had to smirk and laugh a little at the thought of that loser, O’Connor, sitting in that restaurant, all down in the mouth and pouting. Buffy looked at Spike in disbelief, “oh my God,” she gasped, “you were there, weren’t you?” Spike quit smirking and felt a little blush of his own coming on, “yeah, luv. I was. Wanted to check out the competition for your time and attention. Sorry…kind of. I guess.”

Buffy almost dropped her glass, but composed herself and set it on the table. “Spike,” she sighed in exasperation, “Angel is not competition for you or…” Spike grinned again and actually looked relieved, causing Buffy to stammer more protestations. “I mean, that Angel is no competition, for any man who comes my way…I mean, that I’m not interested in Angel O’Connor ‘that way’ anymore. It’s so over, done and finished. He wrote the death certificate when he dumped me for Darla Walsh. I do have some pride you know!” she finished in a huff.

Spike gazed at Buffy, soulfully (at least he hoped it was soulfully). “I know, Buffy, you’re very proud, and fiesty and beautiful and, well, everything about you just draws me in.” He reached out and tenderly stroked her soft cheek, his hope renewed when Buffy lay her cheek into his hand. “I really am drawn to you, Buffy,” he stated the obvious, “since the first time I saw you.”

Buffy scrunched her eyes closed, fully aware of what could happen if she let it. But, she didn’t dare allow it. No way. This man was dangerous, that much Buffy knew. However… Before she could think another thought, Spike pulled her face towards his and brought their lips together in a bruising kiss. For some reason, Buffy couldn’t help but kiss him back, somewhat reluctantly anyway.

“God Buffy,” Spike moaned into her mouth as he moved his hands down to the straps of her dress. Without asking, he pulled the thin straps down over her shoulders and then nearly yanked the top of her dress down to reveal her creamy breasts. He pushed her, gently of course, back against her own couch and raised her sweet bottom up enough to pull the dress down past her thighs and off of her. Buffy, to her credit, thank God, was not putting up much of a resistance and Spike took this as a sure go ahead to proceed.

“Spike,” she hissed as his very nice lips left hers and traveled down her neck to her right breast. There, much to Buffy’s pleasure, he began to kiss and suckle it, causing her to nearly buck up off of the couch under him. While his mouth was busy with her right breast, Spike’s hand was busy brushing her left breast. He didn’t hesitate after that, he went right for Buffy’s surely soaked core with his right hand and fingers. All the while, Buffy was busy running her hands down Spike’s neck and back, trying hard not to scratch his skin with her freshly manicured fingernails. That in itself was nearly impossible as he was making her convulse with pleasure. ‘This is wrong,’ she kept telling herself, ‘so very wrong on so many levels.’

“Spike,” he heard her hiss his name and assumed it was in consensual pleasure. So, he kept up his ministrations and began to push Buffy even further into pleasurable moans and groans. It didn’t take long, however, for him to wake up from his sexual lust and realize that Buffy was not begging him to go on, she was pleading with him, tears and all, to stop.

“What?” he rasped as he broke contact of her breast with his lips. “Why not?” he asked with stubborn dissapointment. “Please, Spike,” she whimpered sorrowfully, “I don’t want to. Not now, so soon. I’m, I’m frightened. No,” she shook her head and he swore he saw tears in those beautiful green eyes, “I’m terrified of you Spike.” Buffy looked away from him and he could see she was searching for her dress, to cover herself.

The next words out of Buffy’s mouth did not necessarily surprise Spike, but they certainly dissapointed him:

“I’m tired of hurting, Spike,” she said quietly, trying to cover what parts of her body she could with her tiny hands and slim arms. “I don’t want to hurt, or be hurt anymore,” she finished sadly. Spike felt his heart breaking into a million pieces, more for her then for even himself.


A/N: Long, long, long (the chapter that is! Tee Hee!) Okay, I left this on a rather odd note, but I’m famous for that…(snicker). I just can’t bear to have Spike and Buffy hit the sheets so soon after they’ve met. Makes me feel like I’m sticking to some BTVS canon! Please read and review, makes the next chapter which will reveal some surprises (Spuffy too) be submitted faster. Thanks. Luv, Spuf





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