Chapter Two
“I’m sorry, Buffy,” Angel cooed, sincerity coating his voice. Buffy lay sprawled out on her bed, dressed only in her underwear and t-shirt, twirling the phone cord between her fingers. “I got jealous. I hate seeing you with other men.”
“I told you. I was just being nice,” Buffy huffed, rolling her eyes. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered with Angel anymore. All they ever seemed to do was fight.
“I know. But the way he was looking at you, like you were a piece of candy, made me mad,” Angel insisted.
“I can’t help how he looked at me, Angel. And that doesn’t excuse the comment about me not ‘giving it up,'” she reminded him, anger and hurt lacing her words. She had spent the last summer, worrying about that. Angel was going off to school, and it seemed only natural for them to do it before he left. Only, she wasn’t ready, and he had said that he understood. However, every so often, he would let her know how he really felt about it.
“I told you I was sorry about that. It’s just. . .I want you so much. It’s getting hard to wait.” A whine had crept into his voice, and Buffy felt herself starting to forgive him. Again.
“I know. It’s hard for me, too,” she admitted with a sigh. “I’m just not ready yet,” she reiterated, wondering if it would ever sink in.
“I understand. I really do,” he reassured. In actuality, he didn’t have a clue. He normally would have moved on by now, but he never liked to admit defeat. And the fact that she was a virgin. . .well, that was too tempting to resist. Getting tired of groveling, he eyed the pretty brunette shimmying down the hall, a slow grin spreading across his handsome face. When she cast him a sloe eyed glance over her shoulder, he decided it was time to get off the phone. “Hey, Buffy, I’ve got to go. There’s a line for the phone.” He managed to inject the right amount of regret into the words, his eyes never leaving the dark haired girl. She had paused by the soda machine at the end of the hall, her gaze continually roaming back to him.
“Alright. I love you.”
“Yeah, me too. Call you later.” Then, he was gone, the click of the disconnect echoing in her ear. Her face twisted into a ‘blah’ expression, and she crawled across her bed to hang up the phone. She then flopped back on her bed, her golden hair fanning across the pillows, her mind replaying the last few days. It had been three days since their fight in the Bronze, and she had steadfastly refused to call him. Of course, by Friday night, she had worked herself into such a snit, that when he finally called on Saturday, she’d told her mother to tell him she wasn’t home. He had then proceeded to call every hour, until Joyce had tired of the game and made Buffy come to the phone.
After she had gone home Wednesday, an hour early, she had stormed into the house, then up the stairs past her surprised mother and smirking sister. They watched as she flew past them, flinching with the force that she slammed her door with. Neither one of them had dared venture up, deciding to leave her alone to sulk. She had cried herself to sleep that night, and had woken the next morning puffy eyed and cranky. Then, when she had met Willow in the library at school, she’d had to listen to her friend alternate between Angel bashing, and Spike gushing. She had actively participated in the Angel bashing, and had inwardly kicked herself for letting him ruin her evening with her friends, and the obviously entertaining Spike. She ignored the stab of jealousy that pierced her at Willow’s description of her game with Xander and the blonde. He had been patient with her, teaching her how to properly hold the cue, and line up her shot. The first time she had sunk a ball, under her own power, he had grinned and cheered her on. He and Xander had then proceeded to clean a couple of college punks out of their hard earned allowance.
Xander had joined them, then, adding his list of praises to the mix, making Buffy’s head hurt. He and Xander had apparently hit it off, and he was meeting Spike at his house after school to show him the rest of the town. The petite blonde suddenly felt like odd man out, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
But, by the end of the day, she realized she was being snotty. He had come to her rescue, so to speak, with Angel. And, despite his earlier surliness, had proven himself to be charming. Only brats got jealous when her friends found new friends.
Friday night, Willow had come over with a half gallon of double chocolate fudge chunk ice cream and a slew of chic flicks, prepared for some serious bonding time with her best friend. Xander and Spike had headed out to the track on the outskirts of town, to watch the weekly drag races that were held there. The girls were happy that he had found somebody to buddy with, especially since they hated that crap.
Then, Saturday came, and her conversation with Angel had come and gone. Her relationship was saved from extinction once again. Now, she found herself with nothing to do. Sighing, she pushed herself off the bed and slipped on some jeans, followed by her sneakers. Maybe she and Willow could take Dawn to the mall. Buy her a cd by one of those boy bands she was so crazy about.
Slipping a bra on under her shirt, in a move that baffled most boys, she adjusted her shirt, and picked up her brush. A few strokes, and a quick flip of her wrist, her light tresses were bound in a clip, the ends barely brushing her shoulders. Not wanting to fuss with make up, when all she was planning on was a girls’ day, she turned and left the room. She bounded down the stairs, and turned the corner to cut through the living room to the kitchen. She found her mother sitting at the table, a cooling cup of coffee in front of her.
“Hi, honey,” Joyce said, sliding her reading glasses off.
“Hi, Mom. Where’s Dawn?” Buffy asked, walking to the fridge to pull out the juice.
“Outside, I think,” her mother answered, getting up to get a glass for her.
“Mind if we go to the mall? Buy cd’s of bands that won’t be around in a year, and spoil our dinner with sugary food stuff?” she asked, smiling. Joyce laughed, and shook her head.
“No, go ahead. Just don’t be late. I have to go to the gallery tonight and do some inventory. I want you home before then.”
“I thought that was Mr. Giles’ job now,” the younger woman said, sipping her juice. Joyce leveled her daughter with a look, and adjusted her robe to sit down again.
“He just moved here, Buffy. I thought I would give him a couple of days to get settled before dumping a lot of work on him.”
“Oh,” was all she said, one slim shoulder raising in a shrug.
“Things alright with Angel?” Joyce asked, putting her glasses back on and picking up her pen again. She never looked up from her paperwork, but she was all ears as she waited for Buffy’s answer.
“Yeah. All made up.” Her mother noted the less than happy tone, but didn’t remark. She had to deal with this on her own, but Joyce would be there to listen when she wanted to talk.
“That’s good. Is he coming home for summer break?” Buffy scowled into her glass.
“I don’t know yet. If not, I’ll be in L.A. to see Dad. I’ll see him then.” Joyce made a non-committal noise at that. She didn’t want her daughters to get their hopes up as far as Hank Summers was concerned, but she was determined to let him dig his own grave. Buffy drained her glass, and put it in the sink, turning to brush a kiss over her mother’s cheek. “Bye, Mom. See you later,” she said, then turned to go in search of her sister.
“Bye, sweetheart. Don’t forget what I said,” Joyce called after her.
“Alright. Love you.” The door slamming was punctuation.
~*~*~
Spike pried one eye open at the sound of the knock on his door.
“Hunh?” he groaned, loud enough for the offender on the other side to hear. Giles pushed open the door, sighing at the pile of dirty clothes that blocked it.
“Will?” He sounded disgusted at his child’s slovenly habits. “A Xander Harris called,” he finished as he pushed the rest of the way into the room. Boxes still littered the floor and the surface of his desk. The only things seemingly unpacked were the cd player, his collection of cd’s, and various posters of bands that Giles shuddered to call music. People with names like Limp Biskit, Marilyn Manson, and Kid Rock graced the wood paneled walls. His clothes were strewn across the floor, the bed, and the dresser. His precious duster was the only thing hung up. One boot was laying next to the bed, the other thrown by the closet.
“Shit.” Suddenly, Spike was a flurry of movement, picking up clothes and tossing them on. Giles watched in amazement as his son, who only a moment ago was barely conscious, was now dressed and running a hand through his tangled mass of white curls.
“Might I ask what’s the rush?” he asked as Spike breezed past him, his heavy boots thudding against hardwood floors. Giles followed him down the hall, suppressing the sigh at the way his son dressed. His too tight, faded blue jeans had rips in the knees, and his black t-shirt had the sleeves and collar ripped off.
“S’posed to go with Xan out to the mall today. Then later out to the track.”
“Track?” Giles was baffled as he watched Spike pull the milk out of the refrigerator and take a swig straight from the carton. He sighed again, taking his glasses off and polishing them with the hem of his sweater. He’d never understand just where Spike’s manners had disappeared to. Probably went the way of the hair.
“Yeah, race track. We went there last night. Never seen anything like it.” Spike got a faraway look in his eyes for a brief instant, then shook it off, replacing the carton and pulling out a mug. His father only drank coffee at one time of day, and luckily, it was still warm. Drinking the bitter brew, black, he went in search of something to eat.
“And what exactly was racing?”
“Cars, Dad. Late model American cars.” This was said in a dreamy voice. Giles was glad that his son was adjusting to the move so well, and had made a friend so quickly, but he didn’t know if he liked the way he was so enamored with the race. “It was done on this dirt track, and it was amazing. There were three wrecks, and one car flipped completely over.” Spike’s voice was filled with awe. Giles looked shocked that his son found amusement in the endangerment of others.
“Were they hurt?” he sounded appalled. Spike slid his blue eyes over to his father, smirking at the almost prim disapproval.
“No,” was all he said, shoving a banana in his mouth. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do until they got to the mall. He threw the peel in the trash, then put his empty mug in the sink and walked towards the door when the knock sounded.
“W-w-when will you be back? I thought we might have dinner,” Giles stammered, wondering when he had lost control. *Rosemary would know what to do,* he thought numbly as he again watched Spike’s retreating back.
“Not too late. Don’t wait up.” Then, he was gone. Giles blinked back the tears at finding himself suddenly alone in the house, his hopes of reconnecting with his son dashed once more. He made a mental note to ask Joyce about this Xander Harris, since he was one of Buffy’s friends.
He wandered aimlessly around the living room, his gaze coming to rest on the picture above the mantel. Rosemary Giles had been a vibrant, life-loving woman. Her light brown hair hung in gentle waves around her shoulders. Eyes as blue as corn flowers were alive with laughter, and her milk and honey complexion radiated almost from within. The same sharp cheekbones that she had given to her son gave her face an angular appearance, her full mouth always set in a wide smile. She had an inner beauty that made the people around her smile. She always seemed to know the right answer, or what to say in a difficult situation. She never would have let William become so unruly, and she would know how to reign him back in.
Rupert had met her during his junior year at Oxford. She had been backpacking through Europe with a small group of students from the states. They were on their last stop in London, before heading home. He had been walking down the street, nose buried in a book as usual, not noticing the small woman in the flowing purple dress until he had almost run her over. He had stammered over an apology, smiling when she giggled at him. They had spent the next three days in bed. By the fourth, they were married. It was the first impulsive thing he had ever done, and he had never regretted a minute of their eighteen years together. Then, she had gotten sick, her beauty never fading even as the cancer ate her from the inside out. Rupert had been too involved in his own grief over losing the love of his life, to see his son was drowning. Mother and child had been inseparable, and her easy affection had been passed down to her son. However, when she passed, that easiness William had passed with her. Almost immediately, he started to get into trouble at the private school he attended. They finally expelled him when he set fire to one of the bathrooms after improperly disposing of a cigarette. The day after they had buried Rosemary, he had emerged from the bathroom with his hair bleached, and his clothes torn. He’d run the streets all hours, mouthing off whenever Giles tried to question him. It was when he was brought home by the police, for breaking the window of a shop, that Rupert decided it was time to leave. He had decided that he would take his son back to the place that birthed the woman that had loved them both. To California. Both her and William had duel citizenship, she had insisted should he ever wish to live there. So, it was an easy decision to make.
He was just afraid that things weren’t going to change, and he had no idea how to fix them.
“I miss you,” he told the framed portrait of his wife, running a gentle finger over the lines of her face. “I don’t know what to do, Pidge. I’m bulloxing it all up. How do I get him back?” he asked the image. Sighing heavily, he gave it one last longing look, then turned to change. Might as well go to the gallery, and see if there was any work to be done, since he wouldn’t see Will for the rest of the day now.
~*~*~
Dawn, Willow, and Buffy laughed together as they rode the escalator down to the main level of the mall. Their arms were laden with bags, all three having studiously saved their allowances for just this purpose. Every two months, they would head out to the mall for a shopping spree, blowing their money on all the trivial things teenagers, and one pre-teen, just HAD to have. Dawn always felt special during these times, because they wouldn’t treat her like a kid. They would gossip and laugh, eat lots of junk, and sometimes go see a movie, usually one that Joyce would have disapproved of for Dawn. Buffy would take her into the department stores and use the ‘try me’ display make-up to help her sister feel older. Stupid sister stuff that always made Dawn happy.
“Hey, isn’t that Xander and Spike?” the eleven year old asked, liking the way her heart bounced in her chest at the sight of the blonde. Buffy and Willow turned in the direction Dawn was pointing. Sure enough, coming out of the arcade were the two in question, arms flailing as they raved about whatever game they had been playing.
“Xander!” Willow called, drawing their attention. Wide smiles greeted the girls as they walked over to them.
“Well, if it isn’t the three most beautiful ladies in all of the Golden state,” Xander exclaimed.
“Oh, surely you mean the world, don’t you Xan?” Spike corrected, blue eyes sparkling as they came to rest on Buffy, who seemed to be having trouble breathing again. Willow blushed to the color of her hair and giggled, and Dawn smiled in pleasure.
“Oh, absolutely. How could I have been so foolish?” Xander scolded himself, making a great show of dropping to his knees before the girls. Mortified giggles erupted from them, as the other people in the mall started to stare. “Can you ladies ever forgive me?” he asked imploringly.
“Get up you dork,” Dawn exclaimed.
“Oh, you wound me,” the brunette exclaimed, clasping both hands over his heart as if he had been shot. Spike snorted from behind him.
“She’s right, you are a dork, get up before you run the birds off, and I’m left with just you for company again.”
“You know, if it wasn’t for the fact that you are incredibly cool, and the ladies all swoon over you, thereby making my chances of scoring better since I hang with you, I would take offense at that.” Xander replied, returning to his feet.
“Whatever,” Buffy said, rolling her eyes. Her gaze had continually locked with and averted Spike’s throughout Xander’s pathetic display. Just then, a group of four girls strode up to them. The leader, a tall, leggy brunette with the face and body of a model looked down her delicately tipped nose at them. The three other girls looked like your basic followers. One blond, one redhead, and another brunette, each with practiced looks of bored disdain on their rich bitch features. Cordelia Chase stared directly at Xander, the scathing remark she was about to let loose obviously meant for him. Harmony Kendall, the blonde, stood to her left, arms crossed over her chest, trying very hard NOT to stare at Spike. Tiffany Colbert, a medium height redhead, with oriental features glared at the group from Cordelia’s right. The last girl, the brunette, almost mousy looking girl, with wide grey eyes stood just behind the taller girls, her look of disdain not quite as solid as the others.
“God, can’t you find a better place to put on your little display of patheticness? Somewhere else, BESIDES the middle of all the premium walking space?” Cordelia snapped, glaring at Xander, then pushing forward to practically knock him out of the way. Willow rolled her eyes dramatically, then mimicked the bane of her existence’s words. Spike watched the group leave, flashing a winning smile at the blonde as she passed. He chuckled when she blushed, then hurried off to keep up with her friends. Buffy scowled at his actions, shaking it off when she reminded herself that she had a boyfriend.
“She wants you, man,” Spike told Xander. The look on the brunette’s face rivaled that of a gasping fish.
“Who? Cordy? Yeah, right. Only in my drea. . .er, uh, nightmares,” Xander quickly covered. But he didn’t quite wipe the hopeful look off his face. One of Spike’s brows shot up, a smirk curving his lip. Dawn felt her heart trip again at the look. Buffy caught herself staring, and Willow nearly laughed out loud. She’d known forever that Xander had a crush on Cordy, he just used his insults to cover it up.
“No, I mean it. The way she looked right at you when she was insultin’ us. Then, the deliberate knocking into you,” Spike nodded, smiling. “Yeah, she’s got it bad.”
“You think?”
“Nah. But, it was funny to make you think so.” The blonde snorted at the glower his new friend directed at him.
“So, what are you boys doing here?” Willow asked, wanting to change the subject from Cordy and her snot brigade.
“Just killing time. Heading back out to the track tonight,” Xander told them. Buffy felt her face flame when Spike’s eyes came to rest on her again. “What about you?”
“Shopping,” the three girls responded with giggles, brandishing their shopping bags like spoils of war.
“We were thinking about going and seeing a movie,” Buffy said, when she finally found her voice.
“Yeah, want to come with?” Willow asked. The two males glanced at each other, then shrugged.
“Don’t see why not,” Spike answered.
“Yeah. As long as it’s not some chick flick. Can’t handle Fried Green turnips or whatever.”
“Steel Brassiers,” Spike offered with a smirk. Xander snorted, and the girls glared.
“Could you two be any more juvenile?” Buffy inquired.
“Probably,” they said together. The girls rolled their eyes simultaneously, and Spike briefly wondered if you could get brain damage from doing that too often.
“Well, lead on McDuff,” he said, giving a grand sweep of his arm. The trio giggled once again as they moved past the two boys.
“How do you DO that?” Xander whispered as they started to follow them.
“Practice, my friend. Practice.”