Chapter 9
Chapter Notes: For the first time in a LONG while, I write an Angel that everyone can hate. I typically love Angel and don’t think he’s a jerk most of the time, and this isn’t really Angel bashing. I figure this time it’s cool, since he’s really not the main conflict, and also, I just love assholes!!!! Maybe you’ll LOVE what a prick he is, because I sure as hell do! 😀 I said in a comment yesterday that rich, bureaucratic assholes don’t have souls, so he’s really more like Angelus. But it’s current day, and Los Angeles, and I couldn’t see anyone naming their son Angelus. And…he’s not THAT evil, just an arrogant ass. Keep your pimpin’ hands strong, ladies. Anyway, enough about that. Enjoy the chapter, and let me know your thoughts when you’re done. 😀
“It’s not like my father will be upset if I go to Notre Dame, mind you, but until Yale wants me on a football scholarship like the ten other schools that are banging down my door, he’s just going to have to deal with his son going to Indiana instead of Connecticut. Not that I need the scholarship, I just love getting validation in paper form.”
Angel laughed, trailing off with a smiling sigh as if life were fucking fantastic, because it probably was, then he wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and put his meaty hand on Buffy’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“I may be taking Mr. Summers up on some investments once my trust comes through after I graduate college, but I don’t know if I can stand being away from Buffy that long. Wish I could convince her to come with me next fall.”
Spike and Rupert sat across from them, Joyce at the head of a very pretty mahogany dining table, listening to Angel brag about his many accomplishments with the modesty of Narcissus.
“Well at least you’re thinking ahead, Angel. I think you’re smart to take Hank’s advice. Look how well he provides for his family,” Joyce said, sipping her glass of water.
Hank, Spike noticed, was nowhere to be seen. In fact, he had yet to be mentioned until just then.
Buffy stared at her dinner plate and stabbed her steak with a fork. “There aren’t any good dance companies in Indiana,” she said, stuffing her mouth with a large bite.
Spike hadn’t touched his meal. He was far too busy bobbing his legs up and down under the table, glaring at Angel, trying to talk himself down from leaping over the mashed potatoes and showing this hulking fucker what boys in Hackney could do with only their boots and fists to aid them.
“She may just change her mind,” Joyce said with a smile. “I have a feeling she’d start missing her boyfriend and realize that dancing isn’t worth being alone.”
“Mom!” Buffy said incredulously. “Company.” She pointed with her forehead across the table. Joyce didn’t seem to catch the hint.
“Well, honey,” she said, raising her hands innocently, “you’ll see. Being alone and talented isn’t as fulfilling as being with someone and having a hobby.”
This was terrible advice, Spike thought to himself.
“You really believe that?” Rupert asked, clearly the only other sane person in the room. Spike sat up a bit straighter.
“Oh, don’t make it more than it is, Rupert,” she said, avoiding the question and digging into her food.
“Buffy, you’re a smart, talented young woman. You certainly don’t need to make life decisions based on where your boyfriend attends college.”
“Thank you, Mr. Giles,” she said, smiling cockily as she chewed on her salad. Spike smiled, too, but only because she started it. He was still very angry.
Angel did not like the older man’s supportive comment, Spike noted with a pleased smirk, not one bit.
“Now, no one said Buffy wasn’t talented.”
“Got that recital coming up, don’t you, love?” Spike asked, trying to lay down a bit of red carpet for her. “You’ll knock it out of the park and then you can do what you want. Screw these tossers.”
She looked at him in surprise, smiling gratefully, but Angel opened his fucking mouth.
“That’s if she gets the audition.” He leaned back in his chair and Buffy’s smile melted.
“She’ll get the audition. You will, Buffy.” Spike was certain about that, his posture brooking no argument.
“She better, because we all know her grades aren’t going to help her get into a good school. Which is why she should just come with me to Indiana and she can dance her little heart out at one of the local studios while I get my degree. Then we can get married, and she can have all the free time in the world to do what she wants.”
Buffy looked like she might scream, and Spike might do it right along with her.
“Angel has been trying to tutor her,” Joyce said quietly to Rupert, as if he’d asked. “He’s in the top percentile of their entire senior class. He’s so good for her, but she’s so stubborn.”
“And she’s so sitting right here,” she said, her cheeks red, eyes glistening, and Spike felt his heart start to burn. While the subject matter was different, the scenery was much flashier, and the volume of their voices were saccharinely sweet, Spike knew all too well what it was like to be the center of ridicule and disappointment.
“Calm down, Buffy,” Angel said, smiling and rubbing her back. “We’re not trying to pick on you. Your mom and I just love you and we’re worried about you. That’s all.”
“I’m fine.” Her lips stiffened. “Can we please drop it?”
“You have a lot to catch up on Monday when you go back to school,” Joyce said. “Have you done any of the work assignments that Angel took home from your classes?”
“I’ll do it,” she said, leaning forward and shoveling food in her mouth.
“Buffy Anne, you still haven’t done your homework?”
“I’ll do it, mom! Please, can we drop it?”
“If you get suspended again, I’m putting a lock on that dance studio!”
“No way she’ll get suspended again,” Angel said, trying to help his girlfriend out the wrong way. “Now that everyone in the school knows Buffy broke into the principal’s office, there’s no chance she could get away with something like that again.”
Buffy covered her face with her hands, letting her fork drop loudly on the china, and groaned. “I hate everyone so much. So much.”
While Spike knew she was suffering a serious case of finger pointing, he couldn’t stop the questions now swimming through his mind. He always thought rich kids could buy their way out of a mess, which still may be the case considering she’d only been suspended, but clearly Buffy had some skeletons that he was all too interested in discovering.
“Well, dinner was lovely,” Rupert said, smiling uncomfortably, trying to save the evening by changing the subject. “Joyce, shall we open that wine now?”
“That sounds fine. Children, the adults are going to visit for a while. Why don’t you go into the rec room?”
Buffy stood with a flash, grateful for the change of atmosphere, and Spike followed after her, not missing the way Angel sidestepped him to cut ahead.
Angel had his arm around her shoulder as they walked down a large hallway, whispering something in her ear. Spike tried to eavesdrop but he couldn’t make out anything, no matter how closely he followed. Then she opened a set of double doors, and every light she clicked on from the switch plate near the entrance illuminated a different area in the large room. There was a nine-foot billiard table, leather sectional couches, a 72” plasma television, a dart board, a foosball table with chrome handles, a lacquered mahogany bar stocked to the brim with spirits, and four sets of dark wood French doors that opened up to a patio in the back yard.
Spike couldn’t stop the awed gasp that escaped as he walked into the recreation room. He could easily spend the rest of his life in a room like this. No problem. Then he heard Angel murmuring something, so he started to back up towards the couple, pretending to look at the overhead stained-glass chandeliers as he listened to them.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“You’re such a jerk.”
“I don’t mean to—Buffy, you know I love you. I’m just looking out for what’s best for you.”
“Well, what’s best for me isn’t your decision! Can we talk about this later?”
“Do you love me?”
A sigh. “Yes, Angel. You know I do.”
“Then all right.”
Spike’s fingers curled when he heard a kissy-noise and he convinced himself that the couple had merely started sucking on hard candies. The lie helped to keep his fists from swinging.
“So, you play pool?” he said loudly, hoping they wouldn’t be entwined in a lover’s embrace when he turned around. They weren’t, thank God. Angel had wandered off to the bar in the corner and Buffy sat on the arm of a couch, smiling awkwardly.
“Yeah, I play a little,” she said, scratching her arm. “I suck, actually.”
“Don’t let her lie to you, Spike. She’ll kick anyone’s ass and take names at pool. She could hustle a room with that cute smile and mop the floor with ‘em. I’ve seen her make grown men cry.” Angel poured bourbon into a shaker. When he reached for the vermouth and bitters, Spike rolled his eyes. Of course he’d make some sissy mixed drink.
Buffy smiled as she looked over her shoulder at her boyfriend. “Ruin my fun!”
“So you think you’re good, do you?” Spike said, feeling a challenge coming on.
She looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. “Oh, don’t even.”
“What? You don’t know where I come from, love. I play dirty.” His eyebrows fluttered suggestively as he smiled at her.
Angel started shaking his drink loudly and finally poured it into a martini glass, never asking if anyone else wanted something, and then he took a large sip. “Spike, you’ve got a death wish, I’m telling you.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’ve had this pool table all my life. And when I’m not dancing? I’m doing this.” She picked up a cue stick, and he could have sworn she stroked it on purpose.
He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, slowly stalking towards her. “Lot of talk goin’ on. Something tells me you’re not so sure you can beat me.”
They stood facing one another for a long, prickly moment, sizing each other up. Then she reached beneath the table, grabbed the rack and tossed it to him.
Right as he caught it, she said, “Rack ‘em, Britty boy.”
* * *
Well. Buffy wasn’t lying.
He shouldn’t have let her break, because she pocketed two on the first hit, and continued sinking ball after ball before Spike ever had his turn.
“You know, this is a sport involving two people,” he said teasingly from the sidelines, watching her in amazement.
“Yeah, but…it never seems to work out that way,” she replied with a sad little sigh. Then she sank the last solid and aimed for the 8 ball. Spike saw that she was getting cocky, trying to do a bank shot into the corner pocket. She’d never make it from that angle.
He sucked in air through his teeth and shook his head. “Tricky shot, Buffy.”
“Shh!” Her eyebrows came down low in concentration, Angel sipped his drink, and then her pool cue lurched forward, made contact with the cue ball, which hit the side of the 8 ball, and it twirled towards the edge, coming to a stop against a yellow-striped 9 ball.
“Shit!”
Spike started laughing, chalking up his cue and walking around the table to make his first shot. “Uh oh…watch yourself, now.”
“Damn table isn’t level,” she said, pouting.
Angel laughed at that. “She always says that when she misses.”
Spike looked the table over, scratching his chin. He knew two people in the room were about to be either really pissed off, or really impressed. He made the first shot, sank two balls simultaneously into opposite corner pockets, and winked at Buffy. She glared at him, but he saw the smile, too.
“So, you live over here, Angel?” he asked, not really caring, as he made a bank shot into the side pocket.
“Bel Air, actually. Nice one!” he said sincerely when Spike made a long shot that managed to line up his next shot perfectly.
“And you play football, that right?”
“Yeah. Quarterback.”
“I think American football’s a bloody joke if you ask me.” He sank his last ball with a loud crack, and all that was left was a black and white ball on the table.
Angel puffed up predictably. “Football is our bread and butter, boy. The fuck would you know about it?”
Spike twisted a square of blue chalk on the tip of his cue, blew the excess away. He looked at Buffy, who was studying the table with wide eyes, then to Angel, who looked like he might be a little bit offended.
“Because I play sports for real men.”
Then he leaned over the table, smirked for good measure when his eyes met hers, and said, “Corner pocket, left side,” to call his shot. He knocked the white ball into a hard spin, and sank the motherfucking 8 ball right where he said he would.
“No way!” Buffy said in disbelief.
He dropped his cue on the table with an arrogant smile. “Oh, I’m sorry, did someone in this room talk up a big game and lose? Who was that again?”
“Shut up,” Buffy said, laughing as she pulled the rack out to play another game. “Cocky ass.”
“I’m only cocky when I win something, sweetheart.” He followed her with his eyes as she walked to the edge of the table.
“Let’s back it up for a minute,” Angel said, setting his martini glass down, “and get back to your snide little comment about football.”
Spike shrugged. “Just stating the facts. American football, you’re covered in padding and plastic helmets and shiny pants like little futuristic gladiators. It’s insulting.”
Buffy snickered, quickly sucking her lips into her mouth when Angel shot her a menacing glare, one he was still wearing when he turned to face Spike once more.
“And I suppose this is the part where you enlighten us on what’s considered manly, right?”
“I’m touched you’d ask, Angel,” he said with a toothy grin. Then he lifted the side of his Crass tee and turned his hips to the side to show the scar he had on the edge of his back. “See that? That’s from a flanker’s teeth during a forward push that turned nasty.”
Then he lifted his leg and slammed his boot on the side of the pool table, jerked up the cuff of his jeans, and showed the gnarly scar on his calf and shin that peeked over the top of his boots and sock line. “That’s when my tibia snapped from a tackle.” He adjusted his pant leg and stood straight.
Then he pointed to the scar on his eyebrow and said, “And that’s from winding up the referee from a miscalled lineup. You ready to make your shot, Buffy?” He looked at her casually, taking in her stunned-still expression.
“Yeah, I think so.” She put the last ball in the rack and smiled slyly. “Better do it now before one of you starts pissing on the furniture.”
He laughed with her as Angel bristled from the outskirts of their friendly banter. “So you think injuries make you a man? That’s just stupid.”
Spike looked at the bigger boy exhaustedly. “You live in your padded bubble, and I live on the edge. Nothing wrong with a rough and tumble now and again to remind a man he’s got a pair.”
“Oh, you like to fight, do you?” Angel walked forward, trying to look scary.
“Buffy, come to think of it, I’m breaking this time,” he said errantly, then turned to face his new enemy without any hesitation. “Yeah, if it’s worth it.”
Angel pointed at both of Spike’s eyes with two long fingers. “I’m watching you, freak.”
Spike snickered. “All right, man…whatever.”
Then he was suddenly very close, staring him down. Spike wondered why everyone felt they had to get up against him to make their point. This time it just pissed him off.
Angel spoke so only Spike could hear him, his eyes hardening. “You touch my girlfriend again like you did in that dance room? I’ll break every fucking bone in your body.”
“Guys?” Buffy said nervously from behind them.
Spike sneered, his much shorter frame looking taller than ever. “I’d like to see you try.”
Buffy giggled in fright, coming over to try and stand between them. “Ok, I think we’re all just a little tense right now…”
She rubbed Angel’s chest soothingly and he backed up a bit, but Spike kept his hard eyes trained on him.
“Spike, you can smoke on the patio if you want,” she said, her eyes pleading with him to take her up on the offer. “Maybe cool off a bit?”
Still staring at Angel, he took out his smokes. Angel was fuming and he really, really wanted to push him over the edge, but since Buffy had asked, Spike exhaled sharply and nodded his consent.
“All right. I’ll be back in a minute.” He turned to leave, hearing Buffy whisper something angrily to her boyfriend as he flung one of the patio doors open and walked outside. He was grateful for the reprieve, just then realizing how bad he needed a cigarette.
“What a night,” he said to the sky, inhaling right as the automatic sprinklers that lined the perimeter of the patio turned on.
“Shit!” He backed up so he didn’t get too wet. Then he cursed again when he realized his smoke got soaked and he’d have to light another.
As soon as he’d replaced the soggy square, a door opened and closed behind him and Buffy emerged, her shoulders hunched up and apologetic.
“He’s…a little competitive.” She rubbed her arms and came to stand beside him. It was a bit chilly outside that evening and she still had on the cropped tank and drawstring pants. He’d probably be putting his arms around her to keep her warm if her boyfriend wasn’t there. But he was there, and Spike needed to get over it.
“Guess you’re a fair match then.” He looked at the ground and flicked the butt of his cigarette anxiously.
She sighed heavily. “Spike, I…”
He could easily see the frustration marring her forehead, feeling guilty all of a sudden that he’d been the cause of it after witnessing the verbal attack over dinner. Though he was furious with the interruption in the dance room, heartbroken that he no longer had a real chance with her, and quite certain he could take that git in a fist fight, he had tried to be civil for her sake until the caveman started pushing his buttons. Now he just felt out of place.
He smiled encouragingly at her and lightly tapped her on the shoulder with his fist. “It’s all right.”
Her eyes told him she was uncertain that he was being honest with her, and he smiled warmly before he looked back at the sky. “Different playing field. I get it now.”
“What?”
He shook his head clear of his uncle’s words, the warning he’d given him. “Ready to play? Pool?”
She stared at him, trying to read him carefully when her eyelids lowered a fraction. “What are you hiding?”
His smile turned into a roguish grin. “When you’re ready to find out,” he said, his mouth teasing her ear, “you’ll want Mr. Universe to be very, very far away.”
She blushed a bit and looked away, the sight of which filled Spike with pride. “Until then…” He sniffed, tossed his cigarette into the puddle of sprinkler water by his feet, and turned to her to say, “You’ll just have to settle with my sexy body, titillating your every waking thought until you come to your senses.”
He walked back inside before she could ruin the moment.