Wouldn't we all like to wipe our slate clean and start again? Buffy gets that chance, but will her new life be better or worse than the old one?

Clean Slate

Chapter One – Potatoes

"My fault? You were there, too! So how is this MY fault?"

"You were supposed to take the damn pills so this wouldn't happen!"

"I have been taking the pills! Every freaking day! The doctor said they weren't a hundred percent, so maybe you should've gotten yourself fixed if you were that worried about it instead of blaming me because the pills didn't work!"

"I'm not going to mutilate myself, Buffy. That option isn't even on the table." Parker took a deep breath. "Okay, since the pills didn't work, there's only one option left."

"Which is?"

"You'll have to get rid of it."

"What?! Are you crazy?"

"One of my Dad's friends is a doctor who has handled things like this for me a few times. He can probably get it done this afternoon."

"A few times? How many girls have you knocked up?"

"I don't know. Five or six. One was our maid. My Dad made the arrangements with the doctor and paid them for their silence. All of them came from poor families, so it didn't take much; about fifteen thousand each – well, except for the maid. He had her deported. Anyway, it was a hell of a lot cheaper than the damn kids would have been, and my family's reputation wasn't compromised."

"Oh my god, Parker! You're disgusting! I don't care how much money your father throws at me, I am not getting an abortion!"

"If you want to stay with me, you have to."

"Then I don't want to stay with you! I don't ever want to see you again! Get the hell out!"

"You'd better think about this, Buffy. Without me, you have nothing. You don't have a job and your parents are dead. This isn't even your apartment. Remember where you were living when we got together? In the back room of that little shithole bar out by the interstate, waiting tables and letting shit-faced frat boys grab your ass to pay for the roof over your head. How are you going to do that when your belly is out to here? You gonna stash the kid behind the bar while you serve drinks and let the drunks feel you up? Is that what you're going to do?"

"I don't know, Parker, but I'll figure it out. I don't need you or your money. I can take care of myself and I can take care of MY baby." She pointed to the door. "Leave. Now."

"Fine. Have it your way, but you'll miss me." Parker waved around the apartment. "You'll miss all of this when you're living on the street because you chose your brat over me. And don't even try to come after me for child support if you ever want to see the kid again. By the time my lawyers get done, you'll be in a mental institution and the brat will be in foster care on the other side of the country." He walked to the door and pulled it open then turned back and said, "I'll give you a week to clear out, Buffy, but if you're still here on Saturday, I'll have you arrested for trespassing." He turned and started stomping down the hallway towards the elevators.

Buffy stepped quickly forward and shouted down the hall at his retreating form. "I can't believe I wasted six months of my life on you! Fuck you!"

Parker stopped and turned around, wearing a sneer, "You already did. And you loved it."

A few neighbors had poked their heads out of their apartments to check out the commotion. Buffy sneered back at Parker and said sweetly, "I faked it, Parker. Every time. The only thing in this apartment that has ever made me come were the jets in the Jacuzzi. Why do you think I spent so much time in there?"

Parker's face turned crimson with rage and his hands clenched into fists. "You bitch!"

Buffy smiled. "Goodbye, asshole, and good riddance. We don't need you." She backed up and slammed the door.

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**Two months later**

Buffy sat back from the toilet, wiping her mouth as she flushed. This one hadn't been too bad. The morning sickness – that was a laugh, it was more like all-day sickness – seemed to be finally easing off, but sadly not before she'd been fired from the job she'd managed to get for spending more time hunched over the toilet than standing over the fryer.

She scooted back and leaned tiredly against the wall, one hand rubbing lightly over her still flat stomach. She'd read every pregnancy book she could get her eyeballs on at the library, so the continuous morning sickness wasn't a worry. She knew it was normal for some women to be sick throughout their entire pregnancy, but Buffy sincerely hoped she wouldn't be one of those women. She looked down at her belly. "What are we going to do now, baby?" She had no job, no savings, no family or friends she could call for help, a baby on the way, and the rent for the tiny room she'd found was due at the end of next week.

Parker had broken his word to give her a week to move out, and he'd come back to the apartment two days after the shouting match in the hallway – waiting until she'd left for her brand spanking new job, of course. He'd packed up her clothes, shoes, and toiletries and had taken them down to the lobby. When she'd entered the building after getting off work, the property manager had stopped her on her way to the elevators and had informed her that he was to escort her from the premises or Parker's father would have her arrested.

Buffy had hocked the earrings, necklace, and bracelet that Parker had given her, bringing in enough cash to pay three weeks rent on her new room and buy a few groceries, if you counted peanut butter, bread, and potatoes as groceries. Her job had paid just enough to keep up with the rent, the bus fare to get to work and back, and more potatoes, bread, and peanut butter, but now she was out of money and had nothing of value left that she could sell.

There was no way she'd be able to keep the room if she didn't find a job… like today… but nobody was likely to hire someone who'd be popping out a kid in just over six months. And then there'd be daycare, and formula, and diapers, and clothes, and doctor visits… The tunnel just kept getting darker and darker and Buffy was afraid that if she ever did see a light at the end, it would only be a train about to mow her down.

She climbed slowly to her feet and rinsed out her mouth then pulled her hair back into a messy pony tail before stepping out into the small room that served as her bedroom, living room, and kitchen. She needed to eat something before she could even think about finding a job, but since she'd scraped the last of the peanut butter out of the jar last night and wouldn't be eating the daily hamburger and fries that came with her job, she was going to have to swallow what little bit of pride she had left and go to the soup kitchen. Up until this point, she'd been avoiding public assistance like the plague – wanting to prove that she could take care of herself and her baby – but now she was out of options and it was either accept help or starve.

She contemplated her wardrobe – what was left of it, anyway – wondering what she had that would be suitable for the outing. She didn't want to look completely destitute, but she also didn't want to look like she was mooching or trying to cheat others out of anything. She had one nice outfit that she was thankful she'd saved from the 'sell for food' pile. She'd need it for job interviews… if she even got that far. There were also two pairs of kind of nice jeans, one pair of torn and paint covered jeans, four shirts on the nicer end of the scale, and two old ratty t-shirts. None of those would do. She shifted over the small pile of jeans and smiled as she saw the comfy well-worn track suit left over from her days as a high school cheerleader. That would work.

She slipped the sweats up her legs and absentmindedly scratched at the little bits of school logo that still clung to the fabric. A few more flaked off and drifted to the floor as she pulled the matching sweatshirt over her head. The logo on that article of clothing had worn off completely a year or so ago, leaving behind nothing but a darker patch of cloth that was mostly hidden by the hood when it was down.

She picked up her small clamshell wallet, wondering why she even bothered to carry it. It wasn't like there was any money in it or anything; all it held was her state issued ID card and the key to her room. She considered just leaving her room unlocked so she wouldn't need to carry the wallet, but then she tucked it into the pocket on the front of her sweatshirt with a shrug. Even though she didn't have much, it was hers, and she didn't want it stolen.

She headed out, making sure to lock the door behind her, and set off for the soup kitchen. It was about a ten minute walk, and if the line wasn't too long, then she'd be able to eat and get back to her room to change into her job hunting clothes by one or so. That would give her a solid four hours to spend looking through the listings and filling out applications at the employment assistance center, and she might even have time to drop into the temp agency down the street to see if they had anything available.

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She ate quickly, not taking the time to savor her meal even though it was actually pretty good. She'd been getting some appraising glances from a few of the men at her table, one man in particular looking at her like she was a juicy steak, so she was anxious to get gone before he decided to try a bite.

She stuffed the last bite of mashed potatoes into her mouth… heartily sick of potatoes in any form, but the baby needed whatever nourishment she could give it… and stood up, quickly carrying her tray to the disposal area. She tossed her napkin and empty milk carton into the trash then handed her tray and silverware to the smiling woman standing behind the counter. "Thanks. Tell the cook that it was really good."

The woman nodded. "I'll let him know. Will you be back tomorrow? We're having beef stew."

Buffy shrugged. "Maybe… probably… but I hope not."

"I hear you on that, sweetie. Good luck."

"Thanks."

Buffy made her way to the exit, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder then hastening her steps when she noticed Steak Guy handing off his tray. She turned right as soon as she stepped onto the sidewalk, thinking that she'd take a shortcut through the alley that led behind the building. She'd scurried past the open kitchen door on the side of the building and had just rounded the corner into the alley when a meaty hand landed on her arm and spun her around.

"You left awful fast there, sweet thing. Didn't even get a chance to say hello."

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Spike had nowhere in particular to be and was in no great hurry to get there as he cruised down the street, thumping his thumbs on the steering wheel in time with the music blaring from the stereo.

The song ended just as he approached the intersection by the South-Side soup kitchen and he heard a loud clang come from the alley behind it. He hit the power button on the stereo then glanced at the mouth of the alley just in time to see a small blonde woman come stumbling out of it… and right into the path of his car. He slammed on the brakes, the tires squealing in protest as he skidded to a halt. She kept stumbling along, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she'd nearly been killed, and he threw the car into park with one hand, wrenching the door open with the other.

He bolted out of the car, already yelling before he'd even cleared the door. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you? Didn't your mum teach you to look both ways, you daft bint?"

She was bracing herself with her hands on the hood as she shuffled around the front of the car then her knees buckled and she crumpled to a heap, nearly landing on his boots as he stopped in front of her. He wrapped his shaking hands around her upper arms and jerked her back to her feet. "Didn't you hear me? What the bloody hell is wrong with you? Are you high?"

Her head lolled back as he held her up and he gasped as the hair that had been covering her face fell back, exposing the bright red blood that was sliding down her cheek and dripping off her jaw from a gash on her temple. She breathed out, "Please help me," then slid to the ground again when his hands suddenly lost all their strength.

"Oh… balls." He gaped at the woman currently lying on the ground at his feet then his gaze flew to the mouth of the alley when he heard another person approaching.

A rather large man stumbled out of the alley with his hands cupped over his privates. "You little bitch! Get back here!"

Being the quick study that he was, it didn't take Spike very long at all to size up the situation. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath to steady the adrenaline surging through his body then he bent down and carefully hefted the woman into his arms. He quickly deposited her in the driver's seat and her head lolled to the side, smearing blood on the seat back as he reached underneath it and pulled out the sawed-off pool cue he kept stashed there. "Stay here, luv. I'll be right back." He brushed her bangs out of her dazed eyes then backed up and shut the door.

The man was leaning against the building, half bent over as the pain from her surprisingly well-placed kick pulsed and churned in his belly. He looked up angrily when a pair of scuffed boots stopped in front of him. "That little bitch kicked me!"

Spike nodded. "Yeah, I can see that, and from the looks of her head, you deserved it."

The man straightened up, towering over Spike, and clenched his hands into fists. "What the hell do you know about it, you little shit?"

Spike sneered as he took a step back to give himself enough room to use the pool cue. "I don't know, but I can guess… You made advances, she refused those advances, and you tried to convince her otherwise, yeah? That why she's bleedin' all over my soddin' car?"

With absolutely no warning, the man swung his hammy fist right at Spike's head, catching him square in the jaw. Spike was spun around and he stumbled toward his car, slamming into the passenger door with a grunt. He leaned there for a few seconds as he shook his head then he looked over his left shoulder and tightened the grip on the cue in his left hand before stepping back, spinning sharply as he brought the cue around in a wide arc. The cue contacted the man just under his left ear and he dropped like a stone.

Spike stood over him, panting as he flexed his hand around the cue. "Bloody wanker. You don't hit women!" He launched a kick at the man's sizeable midsection with his steel-toed work boot. "Ever!"

A crowd was starting to form, having gone completely unnoticed by Spike until someone shouted, "Hey! Get away from him or I'll call the cops!"

Spike turned slowly, pinning the man who'd shouted with an icy glare. "You'd do better to teach that git some soddin' manners." He pointed the cue at the blonde woman slumped in the driver's seat of his car. "Wanker was knockin' 'round a bird less than half his size, and if she hadn't managed to punt him in the goolies he'd probably be rapin' her right now." He stepped toward the man who was now looking at the would-be rapist with something akin to disgust. "Get the bloody hell out of my way. Got to get her some help."

The crowd parted and Spike walked around the car and gently pulled open the driver's door. He leaned down and laid his hand lightly on the woman's shoulder as he stuffed the cue back under the seat. "Can you slide over, pet? Want to get you out of here."

She nodded groggily and started to slide toward the open door, mumbling quietly, "Sorry. I'm sorry."

Spike stopped her by placing both hands on her shoulders. "Didn't mean for you to get out, luv. Just slide over so I can get in and I'll take you wherever you need to go."

She looked up at him and the tears swimming in her hazel-green eyes nearly undid him. "You will?"

"'Course I will. My mum raised a proper gentleman." His angry eyes flicked to the still unconscious man sprawled on the sidewalk. "Unlike some others I could mention. Bloody tosser."

She swallowed hard then scooted back until she bumped up against the passenger door. Spike leaned into the car and fished something out of the pile of stuff covering the back seat then wiped up the blood that was smeared on the leather. He tossed the soiled cloth into the back then slid into the car and slammed the door. The roar of the engine scattered the few people standing in front of the car, and those who turned to watch it leave saw Spike's hand stuck out the window flashing a two finger salute as the car turned the corner and sped out of sight.

Spike looked over at the woman hunched against the passenger door. "Where do you want me to take you, pet? The hospital?"

She started to shake her head then thought better of it and whispered instead, "No. No hospitals. Please."

He reached over the seat and fished around again, coming up with a sort of clean t-shirt. "Here, luv. You can use this to try to get the bleedin' to stop." She took the t-shirt and pressed it gently to her head. "You sure you don't want the hospital? You took quite a nasty knock."

"I'm sure."

"All right. Um… my name's Spike, luv. What's yours?"

The woman sat motionless for a few long minutes then the hand holding the t-shirt to her head clenched tightly in the fabric as she whispered. "I don't remember."