Chapter 4
“I don’t know what the heck he’s talking about.” Buffy’s nose scrunched up as she looked over a handwritten list that Rupert had given her and Spike.
The day before, Spike finished organizing the boxes in the storeroom and Rupert rewarded him with the rest of the day off. Spike wasn’t a fool. He knew that his melodramatic exit had been the real reason for the reprieve, but he hadn’t been in the mood for a heart-to-heart with the old man, so he’d simply said thanks and took the break.
Today, however, Rupert wrote a very detailed list and thought that through the power of teamwork, Spike and Buffy might get things sorted out more efficiently.
“Let me see it.” Spike wiped his sweaty brow with his arm and extended his hand.
She jerked the list out of his reach and scowled at him. “No! I can figure it out.”
He looked at her blankly and moved his open hand closer towards her.
Buffy sighed and slapped the list into his hand. “Fine. I don’t want to help you anyway.” She folded her arms and leaned against the counter.
“Aww, you’re cute when you pout.” He grinned at her before he turned his focus to the list, missing the blush she’d hidden with her hair.
“Makes perfect sense,” he said after he’d read it. He backed away from the shelves in the storage room to look them over, then back at his list. He gestured wildly with one hand. “All right, so all the trinkets and whatnot from the top shelf get sorted and put into categories, all the records, posters, and paper materials go in their appropriate categories. Then we sort through the books and…are you even listening?”
“Huh?” Buffy dragged her eyes away from the lock of hair she was twirling around her fingers and looked at Spike. “Oh, uh…yeah. Old stuff, crap, piles. Got it.”
“You’re just going to sit there while I do all the work again, aren’t you,” he said, not asking, more or less settling on his statement as fact.
She smiled brightly and hopped up onto the counter. “Now you’re gettin’ it! My delicate little hands aren’t fit for work that only people with a below-average IQ can do.”
He laughed humorlessly. “And somehow you still manage to make it through each day with that stick up your ass. You’re so brave.”
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of all those violins. Oh, wait-wait,” she said, tilting her head theatrically as she tried to hear something in the distance. “Did you hear that? I think a phone is ringing.” She looked at him in shock. “Spike, it’s 1980. They just called and want their hair back.”
Spike shot her a saccharine smile that quickly melted into an expression of hate before he turned back around to get started on the work he was apparently doing himself. “Could at least help me sort the big box. It’s nothing but books.”
“And we all know how those give you a headache,” she said, groaning as she jumped off the counter and walked over to him. “All right, I’ll help you with this box, but then I’m out.”
“However will I repay you for your kindness?” he said, smiling as he leaned down to tear off the packing tape that sealed the box shut. He grumbled a little complaint, placing his hands on his hips as he looked inside the now opened box as if it were full of disappointments. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and idly played with loose change and his lighter, pursing his lips.
“You look just like your uncle,” Buffy said as she knelt onto the floor to start unpacking the box.
“I do not!” His hands came out of his pockets and he folded his arms clumsily.
“Yes, you do,” she said, smiling. “He stands just like that when he’s thinking about something.”
“I’m nothing like that wanker,” he said angrily, squatting down opposite Buffy and he began digging through the box. “Ashamed to say we even share the same blood. He’s a selfish fucking bastard and a complete twit and—”
He looked at Buffy abruptly then, taking in her wide eyes, her hand clutching a book that was frozen in mid-air, and he sighed. “Never mind.”
“Tell me how you really feel,” she said with an awkward expression, setting her book down and reaching for another.
“Look, Rupert isn’t what you think he is. That’s all I’m going to say about it.” He couldn’t look her in the eyes right then, so he busied himself with his work, reading over titles and separating them into sloppy piles according to the categories Rupert had suggested.
“I don’t know him that well,” Buffy said. Her curiosity was as plain as day when she chewed on her lip and gave him a sideways glance. “I mean, I’ve known him for a couple of years and my mom is like, in love with him or whatever but—”
“Wait, wait, wait. Back up, sweetheart. Your mum? Joyce?”
She shrugged and pulled her hair back behind her shoulders, looking at the floor.
“I thought your mum was married. Rupert made it out to sound like she was off limits.”
Buffy laughed airily, plastering on a fake smile. “Oh yeah, she’s married. I’m sure there’s a certificate or an honorable mention ribbon somewhere to prove it.”
Spike thumbed the pages of the book in his hand before he read the title: A House of Pomegranates by Oscar Wilde. He very, very carefully sat that one down in the rare first editions pile. However, in his quest not to ruin an expensive book, he’d missed the sarcasm in Buffy’s voice, and that she’d laid the groundwork for him to pry.
“My mum’s been married a bunch of times. Not a big deal.” He sorted out and categorized the last three books in his lap.
Buffy tucked her hair behind her ears and reached into the box, pulling out a large stack of books. “Forget it.”
He blinked, confused by her sudden personality switch. “What’s with you?”
She glanced at him briefly, but he could tell she was growing increasingly uncomfortable. “Nothing. I’m bored with this. You finish it.” She stood up and went back to her perch on the counter, ignoring Spike as he continued to stare at her. “Don’t worry about it!”
“All right,” he said, snorting. “Not like I care anyway.”
“Yeah. Not like you care,” she said softly, her fingers digging into her hair again for another round of twirling.
An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Spike didn’t particularly know what to say to her and Buffy seemed like she had a million things to say that she was keeping to herself. Her movements were loud and distracting as she sighed and got more comfortable on the counter, and Spike tried to take no notice of her as he continued to work.
He didn’t have to wait long before she broke the silence.
“So…I mean…” She was fidgeting like crazy now.
“What is it, Buffy?” Spike said calmly, evenly, setting his books down and clasping his hands together between his bent knees as he looked at her.
She changed position on the counter again, crossing her legs and gripping the edge with her hands, tilting her head quizzically. “Well…my mom said that you were a jock in prep school or something.”
Spike didn’t have anything to say to that. His mouth tensed and he scratched the side of his white blond head.
“And I don’t know what it’s like in London or anything but…I’m pretty sure jocks don’t dress like you do over there.”
Spike’s mouth spread into a smirk as he looked at her challengingly. “No, they don’t. But it’s sweet that you talked about me with your mother. Paint your fingernails and gab about boys often?” He winked at her and went back to his task.
“I wasn’t talking to my mother about you,” she said, scoffing at the thought. “As if I’d give a crap about you and your stupid rugby or whatever. Mom and Mr. Giles just talked about you a lot before you came here.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. He used to talk about his favorite nephew all the time, how he wished the two of us might meet one day because he just had this feeling we’d hit it off.”
Spike started to laugh. “Now you see his judge of character is supremely lacking, ergo, don’t trust a bloody word that comes out of his mouth.”
“And I should trust you?”
He wondered if she had any idea how alluring she was when she figured something out, and he smirked at her. “Got nothing to hide.”
“Really? Then tell me. Were you a sissy private school boy who played sports with the other sissy boys?”
He shouldn’t be telling her anything, shouldn’t be giving her ammo for later. “I was never a sissy.”
“Aha! You didn’t deny the rest. Mr. Punkass used to be a jock. I can’t believe it.” She started laughing, and that beauty he’d seen in her earlier had vanished, immediately replaced with cold, calculating evil. She tapped her lip with her finger in thought. “Unless they let you wear nail polish and dog tags on the field…”
“Well, it’s all lies, Rupert’s a cock, you’re a bitch, and I’m going for a smoke.” He stood up and pulled out his cigarettes.
“Wow, nice save,” she said knowingly, hopping off the table and walking past him to the books in the big box.
He popped a square in his mouth and looked at her with uncertainty. “Come again?”
“Well, if it weren’t for your addiction to nicotine, you might actually have to share something.”
“If you cared about anything other than yourself and if my life was any of your business, I might stick around to tell the tale. Unfortunately for you,” he said, cigarette bobbing up and down, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops, “my life remains a mystery.” Then he sauntered out of the storage room, feeling pretty pleased with himself.
“Ooh, so mysterious,” she said, wiggling her fingers creepily as she followed him into the store.
“Well you can’t come with me!” he said, turning around and looking rather annoyed.
“Why not?” She bit her lip playfully, put her hands behind her back and he rolled his eyes and turned back around.
“All right, but I’m exhaling in your face if you start with another twenty questions.”
“You know, you could ask me something,” she suggested, trying to look cute when they got to the front door.
He laughed a bit, didn’t realize he’d opened the door for her until she ducked beneath his arm and wiggled outside. Then he said, “I know enough about you, Buffy. For instance, how incredibly aggravating you are and how much I hate you.”
The sound of Buffy’s giggling was abruptly cut off when the door closed behind them. Joyce and Rupert gave each other an inquiring look.
“She’s giggling,” Joyce said, letting out a long, worried breath.
“He’s using his manners,” Rupert said, smiling slyly as he closed the cash register and handed his customer their bag and a receipt. “Thank you for coming, enjoy your purchase.”
The customer nodded and exited, and Rupert rounded the corner of the checkout counter to meet Joyce who was dusting the carved filigree on the wooden armoires. “And did you notice he didn’t say a single curse word?”
Joyce lowered her feather duster and tsked. “If you judge that boy’s progress by the number of curse words he says, then we’re all in trouble.”
He cleared his throat, glossing over her astuteness. “Yes, well…it is possible that we’re reading into it too much. They have only known one another a couple of days.”
“I’m afraid for Buffy. That’s all.” Her duster flitted quickly over the next piece of furniture. “She’s in this rebellious phase and with the suspension and everything, I just don’t want her to get involved with someone who could potentially exacerbate those urges. He’s just so…not what I want her associating with. Thank God she’s got Angel to keep her straightened out.”
Rupert pursed his lips, folding his arms and feeling a bit overprotective. “I realize that Spike is quite abrasive and difficult to manage at first, but he’s not a bad kid.”
Seeing the hurt in his eyes, Joyce was quick to say, “I didn’t mean—”
However, Rupert was just as quick to stop her from speaking. “Perhaps we don’t have the luxury of living in Holmby Hills and attending private dinners with the city’s elite, but you shouldn’t judge him based on his appearance. You of all people should know that.” Rupert removed his glasses furiously and turned away from her, wishing he’d kept his damn mouth shut.
“Rupert,” she said quietly, waiting for him to take a breath and turn back around. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t be so judgmental, not when I don’t know him.”
“He needs a friend. He won’t listen to me because I’m old and stuffy and related to him. Maybe Buffy can help pull him out of his shell, I don’t know.” He shrugged, starting to feel stupid for ever having said a word.
Joyce was mostly right about his nephew. He was a criminal for lack of a better word, completely disrespectful, and a bad boy to a tee. He was a lot like Rupert at his age, which might be why he sympathized with his nephew’s current situation so much and why he’d bent over backwards to get the courts to allow him another chance. She had reason to worry, considering Buffy’s behavior the past few months.
“I think Buffy’s just intrigued with him.” At Rupert’s confused expression, she swatted him lightly on the arm with the duster and said, “Oh, you know how women are, especially women in our neighborhood. They’re so used to everyone looking exactly the same and doing the exact same things that they get excited when a rebel comes along to stir things up.” She was smiling flirtatiously at him and Rupert returned the gesture, laughing a bit.
“Then I guess we shouldn’t worry for Buffy and instead worry for Spike.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because we know how that will turn out, don’t we?” His pointed expression had Joyce looking away, fluffing her bangs and dusting the furniture once more.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Joyce had successfully ended the conversation with a hard press on the nozzle of her wood polish. Rupert smiled, putting his hands in his pockets and playing with the change he had inside.
“At least they’re not screaming at one another,” he said, turning the topic to something more lighthearted. “Thank the Gods for that small favor. We might just leave today without a headache to nurse for the remainder of the evening.” He walked back to the counter, his eyes darting to the front door when it swung open abruptly.
Buffy stormed through it, her face pinched in rage as she said, “I hate you!”
Spike was right behind her, a smug smile painted on his triumphant face, taking his time to stroll after her. “Not my fault you can’t take a bloody joke!”
“The only joke here is you!” She huffed, hands balled into fists at her sides, and then she was a blur of skirt and hair as she whipped around and marched to the back room.
Spike snickered, leaning against the counter, fingers idly playing with the jar of pens Rupert kept by the register, and he shook his head. “God, she’s so melodramatic. What?”
Rupert sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. Then he looked over at Joyce, smiling when he saw her shoulders bobbing up and down as if she were laughing.
“What?” Spike’s head darted back and forth between them. “What’s so fucking funny?”
Joyce started cackling, hiding her face in an armoire. Rupert wiped beneath his eyes, chuckling. “Nothing, Spike. Back to work.”
Spike made a pfft noise with his lips, pushed away from the counter and walked off. “Probably wasn’t very funny anyway.”
Reviews are like butts. Everyone has one, but sometimes they don’t like how stinky they are, so they hide in shame. I am not afraid of your butt. Share unto me. And oh yeah, before I forget! Buffy/Other. I hate spoilers which is why I didn’t indicate it in the warnings (because if you really can’t handle that, then we have bigger problems) and I’m sure you figured it out in this chapter anyway. But don’t worry. Angel makes things more fun! 😀