CHAPTER TWO
"Mr. McCarthy?" The intercom in Angel's office rang.
"Yes, Fred?" Angel replied.
"I just wanted to remind you about your meeting on Friday, seven o'clock, with-"
"I remember, thank you Fred." Angel cut her off.
"Mr. McCarthy, this is a very important-"
"I know, Fred. Thank you." Angel swiveled in his seat to face his computer.
"All right, Mr. McCarthy."
Angel stared blankly at the screen, then glanced down at his rolex. Lunch break didn't start for another hour. He couldn't wait that long. He had to get out of the office. Angel stood up, straightening the tie that he hated wearing, and left the office. He walked down the busy hallways full of office cubicles and ringing telephones to his boss' office. He knocked gently on the door.
"Come on in." He did.
"Mr. Wilkins?" Angel inquired.
"Ah, Liam, just who I was about to call. Come on in, have a seat." Angel shut the door behind him and sat in the chair facing his boss' desk. "Now, down to business, boy. I've been fully aware of the hours you've been putting in lately. Working overnight, only taking breaks to go get food and water, sometimes skipping meals. It's unhealthy. But your work's great." Richard Wilkins smiled at him.
"Thank you, sir." Angel said, shifting in his seat.
"Now, as I've just said, you've been working your tush off. It's nice to know we've got someone as dedicated as you here, but I'm afraid that you're going to burn out if you keep at it at this pace. You follow?"
"Yeah..." Angel trailed off, wondering where this was going.
"So, in all fairness, I'm giving you the week off."
"What about the meeting on Friday, Mr. Wilkins?"
"None of this Mr. Wilkins crap anymore, Liam, call me Richard." Angel barely had time to nod before Ethan jumped back into the topic. "I can get Wesley to cover for you. You need a break, boy. You don't ever take vacations. Never take any time off. Not since you've started working here for two years. It's abnormal, boy. You follow? You're taking a break for the next few days. Don't worry about anything. Just relax. Enjoy the city. Go to... oh, I don't know, the Met, or something. Or go home to your folks. I'm sure they'll be psyched to see ya. Now, go on, get your stuff and get outta here." Richard turned to the window, looking out at the beautiful view of New York. Angel stood.
"Uh, Mr. Wil- Richard?"
"Yes, Liam?"
"Should I come back Monday?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course." Richard smiled at him. "Have a nice week. Go make some friends. I know you kids are into the club scene."
"Uh, okay, Mr. Wilkins."
Angel left the office and headed toward his own. On the way there, he stopped by Fred's desk.
"Yes, Mr. McCarthy?" The mousey brunette asked.
"I've got the week off. You'll take my messages?"
"Of course. Oh, and Mr. McCarthy?"
"Yes Fred?"
The secretary straightened her glasses and handed him a small piece of paper.
"Dr. Giles called you just a moment ago."
Angel glanced down at the paper. "Did he say what he was calling about?"
"No, he didn't."
"I'll give him a call."
"Rupert Giles." The british voice answered the phone.
"Hi, Dr. Giles, this is Liam McCarthy."
"Ah, Liam. You got my message, I presume?"
"Yeah. My secretary didn't say what it was about."
"Yes, well, I have been canceling all my appointments for the next two months to devote my time to... other matters."
Angel stopped as he approached his car. "What?"
"I am going to be at several conventions and such around the country, and will not be able to meet with you for the next two months."
"What? I mean, how am I supposed to- er, wait. No. I need someone to talk to. You don't understand!" Angel slammed his hand angrily against the BMW's window.
"I am very sorry, Liam, but I cannot allow exceptions."
Angel rubbed his forehead. "Well, you're my psyche, tell me exactly what I'm supposed to do about this!"
"I suggest, Liam, that you go make some friends. Put yourself out there a little more so that you have more people to talk to than just me," Giles stated simply. Angel sighed.
"Okay. That couldn't hurt. Thank you for calling, Dr. Giles."
"Not a problem." Angel hung up.
Rupert sat back in his office chair and smiled to himself as he put down the phone. "Have a nice two months."
~*~
Slam. Kick. Double punch. Roundhouse kick. Punch. Punch. Punch.
"You seem on edge, D." Faith commented to her friend as she held the punching bag that was taking quite a brutal beating from Drea Lawrence's fists of fury.
"What would make you say that, Faith?" Kick. Kick. Punch. Drea stopped her actions, panting.
"Oh, maybe the fact that you're treating the punching bag as bad as you've treated all your exes. What's up?" Faith let go of the punching bag and handed the brunette her purple Nalgene bottle, which she took a long swallow from before responding.
"I dunno. I just don't know what I'm gonna do without him."
"Oh boy." Faith sighed as the two girls sat down on the bench in the back room of the Marchione Gymnasium.
"I mean, I need someone to talk to. Dr. Giles can't just... take off for two months and leave me all alone."
"You can talk to me." Faith shrugged.
"You're a blabbermouth." Drea smiled back.
"Very true, Dre, very true."
A bell sounded from the back, signaling the bell from the desk out front.
"I'll let you take this one, Dre. I'm sure a customer could sure use your bad mood to perk up their day." Faith smiled at her friend, who stood reluctantly, smoothing her hair down as she took out her hair tie.
"How shitty do I look today?"
"Ya look fine. And since when do you start caring what other people think about your appearance?"
Drea shrugged. "I don't, I guess. Just don't like to look like shit."
"Join the club. Now go make whoever that is out front do so too."
"Fine." Drea rolled her emerald green eyes as she walked out to the front desk. "Hey, can I help you?" She asked, and looked up. Two intense brown eyes stared back at her.
"Uh, yeah. I wanted to ask about working out here. Do I have to join to be able to do stuff, or can I just come and work out, or what?" Angel asked the girl, stammering and repeating words from his normally extensive vocabulary.
"Oh, well, you can work with a personal trainer. Or you can join, or you can do both. Whatever's on here, really." Drea said, handing him a pamphlet and leaning her bare forearms on the countertop. Angel glanced down at the paper that the girl just handed him.
"Thanks, well, I'll keep this in mind."
"Yeah, whatever." Drea responded, pushing some very nasty thoughts out of her mind about Mr. Tall Dark and Gorgeous and walking over to where a chair was pushed in behind a desk. She flipped on the music button and the radio came on, playing an old Led Zeppelin tune. Faith came out the door from the back room.
"D, cut the oldies crap. Nobody can work out to the Who."
"For your information it's Zeppelin. Go fuck yourself." Drea joked, turning up the volume with a wicked grin on her face.
"Dre, you know I drive st-" Faith looked at Angel, who was still standing there, observing the two girls playfully arguing. "Has she been ignoring you?" Faith asked sweetly, turning on the charm. Drea scoffed and rolled her eyes.
"Uh, no, she's been a great help." Angel replied. This girl was pretty, but not nearly as gorgeous as the one who was fiddling with the radio. Her long, dark brown hair was pulled up into a long high ponytail that hung down to her shoulders, and her startling green eyes and long, slim legs were enough to drive him crazy.
"OK. Well, if you need anything else, we're both here to help." Faith smiled.
"Okay." Angel turned and started to leave, and once he was out the glass doors and onto the street, Faith pounced on Drea.
"Was he hot or was he HOT?" She almost shouted.
"I'll give you the fact that he was hot." Drea replied. Faith grabbed her shoulder.
"I mean, he was totally checking you out, too!"
"What?" Drea asked.
"While I was trying to flirt he was checking out those legs of yours, ya little slut!" Faith laughed.
"Calm down, Faith, he's not the first."
"Oh, my god. If he comes back, you should totally offer to give him some PT."
"Yeah, um, no." Drea said quickly, taking the sports jacket off the back of her chair.
"Why not? Total hottie plus sweat equals..."
"Stop right there. I don't want to start thinking dirty thoughts before I go to my other job." Drea said, standing and pulling on the black cross country sweat.
"I'm not so sure you aren't thinkin em already." Faith winked.
"Screw you."
"Are we gonna go out tonight? Dingoes are at Triple Threat."
"I don't think I can. You see, theres a whole lot of not having a life that I need to take care of."
"You can not have a life any old night. Come on. Purdy please? Just show. Okay?"
"Okay. Whatever."
"You're the shit. Meet you there at nine?"
"Yeah."
~*~
Spike sauntered down the streets of the Lower East Side, taking long strides and long puffs of his cigarette. He'd lived here for five years, and yet every single street looked exactly the same and yet, at the same time, completely different, for all five of those years. They'd been long, hard, painful ones, full of struggle for money to get to pay his mother's medical bill. And the fact that he hadn't been able to sell any of his work or get it published didn't help much either.
He looked around at the people walking down the street. Some hurrying to get to wherever the hell they were getting off to at three thirty in the afternoon, and some were taking their time, like Spike was, just casually strolling and enjoying the exhaust filled air, car horns blaring, cell phones ringing, and people talking. He really couldn't stand the world. He hated it so much, and everyone in it. Sure, Dr. Giles was doing his best to help Spike through his mild depression, which he sort of needed, what with his mom being sick, and using his father's inheritance to pay for therapy and food and rent. But he couldn't help but notice there was some strange glint in the man's eyes every time Spike spilled a secret... Sooner or later, Spike found himself at Livingston High School. Students hanging out on the steps, waiting to be picked up, or just loitering. Different cliques stuck to themselves, but all were together as a whole. He walked past their main four story building, and walked by their fields, enclosed by chain link fences with signs and flyers for various clubs and activites roughly taped to the fence. He walked slowly, inhaling his cigarette and then blowing the smoke out of his mouth expertly, and he kept his eyes on the ground. It was this not paying attention that almost got him run over by Livingston's cross country team.
"Move it, nicotine!" A student at the front of the crowd shouted, pushing Spike to the ground, knocking his cigarette askew.
"Bloody hell!" Spike grumbled as the team laughed.
"Hold up, Lions!" A female voice shouted to the group, who stopped and listened to the voice respectively, about the opposite to how they'd treated Spike. "What did I say about running over pedestrians?"
A voice from the group shouted "Do it and run?" Sniggers were heard as Spike stood up.
"No. I said don't do it, Marx. Team, run to the A field and give me twenty minutes of firefeet. Doyle, you call the drops."
"Ok, Coach. Let's go, cross country!"
The team ran into the fields through the gate, while the coach, an average height, muscular, tan brunette came over to Spike.
"I'm sorry about my athletes. They're a little rowdy." She said to the bleach blonde.
"S'all right." Spike shrugged. "Brats'll be brats." He lit up a cigarette, which earned him a dirty look from the brunette, as well as her taking the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it to the pavement and squishing it with her trainers. "What is it with you people? Let sleeping dogs lie!"
"That's cancer in a box, right there. And secondhand smoke is just as bad. So have a little respect for those around you and don't smoke."
"I'm not one of your punk-ass 'athletes', luv. I'll do what I please. I don't take orders from others. Not to mention the fact that you're a complete stranger."
"Whatever. But don't smoke near impressionable youth."
"'Whatever', bitch."
"Bitch has a name."
"Yeah, what's that?"
"None of your business, Billy Idol."
"Fine then, Mia Hamm."
"Thanks for the compliment. Mia Hamm's one of the greatest athletes of our time."
"Yeah, well, Billy Idol was one damn good singer, so sod off..." Spike paused, thinking of something to call this annoying bitchmonster. He looked at the black t-shirt she wore, on which in yellow lettering were the words: LIVINGSTON LIONS CROSS COUNTRY 2002 COACH LARSON "Larson."
Drea furrowed her brow and looked down at her shirt. She shrugged, scoffed, and walked through the gate to where her team was doing their excersizes.
Spike continued on his way down the street, lighting up another cigarette and mentally bitching about that obnoxious, nosy, brunette, cross country coaching bint.
Oh, fuck, he liked her.
AN: Crappy, I know, but I hope that sort of introduced Drea's character a little bit. Don't worry, Buffy, Willow, Oz and more are still a comin! I would have included them, but the chp would be reeeallly long and i havent written them yet... mite not get a chance to before the weekend due to mass amounts of homework. So I wouldn't look for an update till then. Please tell me wat u think! CAFFEINE TED
"Mr. McCarthy?" The intercom in Angel's office rang.
"Yes, Fred?" Angel replied.
"I just wanted to remind you about your meeting on Friday, seven o'clock, with-"
"I remember, thank you Fred." Angel cut her off.
"Mr. McCarthy, this is a very important-"
"I know, Fred. Thank you." Angel swiveled in his seat to face his computer.
"All right, Mr. McCarthy."
Angel stared blankly at the screen, then glanced down at his rolex. Lunch break didn't start for another hour. He couldn't wait that long. He had to get out of the office. Angel stood up, straightening the tie that he hated wearing, and left the office. He walked down the busy hallways full of office cubicles and ringing telephones to his boss' office. He knocked gently on the door.
"Come on in." He did.
"Mr. Wilkins?" Angel inquired.
"Ah, Liam, just who I was about to call. Come on in, have a seat." Angel shut the door behind him and sat in the chair facing his boss' desk. "Now, down to business, boy. I've been fully aware of the hours you've been putting in lately. Working overnight, only taking breaks to go get food and water, sometimes skipping meals. It's unhealthy. But your work's great." Richard Wilkins smiled at him.
"Thank you, sir." Angel said, shifting in his seat.
"Now, as I've just said, you've been working your tush off. It's nice to know we've got someone as dedicated as you here, but I'm afraid that you're going to burn out if you keep at it at this pace. You follow?"
"Yeah..." Angel trailed off, wondering where this was going.
"So, in all fairness, I'm giving you the week off."
"What about the meeting on Friday, Mr. Wilkins?"
"None of this Mr. Wilkins crap anymore, Liam, call me Richard." Angel barely had time to nod before Ethan jumped back into the topic. "I can get Wesley to cover for you. You need a break, boy. You don't ever take vacations. Never take any time off. Not since you've started working here for two years. It's abnormal, boy. You follow? You're taking a break for the next few days. Don't worry about anything. Just relax. Enjoy the city. Go to... oh, I don't know, the Met, or something. Or go home to your folks. I'm sure they'll be psyched to see ya. Now, go on, get your stuff and get outta here." Richard turned to the window, looking out at the beautiful view of New York. Angel stood.
"Uh, Mr. Wil- Richard?"
"Yes, Liam?"
"Should I come back Monday?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course." Richard smiled at him. "Have a nice week. Go make some friends. I know you kids are into the club scene."
"Uh, okay, Mr. Wilkins."
Angel left the office and headed toward his own. On the way there, he stopped by Fred's desk.
"Yes, Mr. McCarthy?" The mousey brunette asked.
"I've got the week off. You'll take my messages?"
"Of course. Oh, and Mr. McCarthy?"
"Yes Fred?"
The secretary straightened her glasses and handed him a small piece of paper.
"Dr. Giles called you just a moment ago."
Angel glanced down at the paper. "Did he say what he was calling about?"
"No, he didn't."
"I'll give him a call."
"Rupert Giles." The british voice answered the phone.
"Hi, Dr. Giles, this is Liam McCarthy."
"Ah, Liam. You got my message, I presume?"
"Yeah. My secretary didn't say what it was about."
"Yes, well, I have been canceling all my appointments for the next two months to devote my time to... other matters."
Angel stopped as he approached his car. "What?"
"I am going to be at several conventions and such around the country, and will not be able to meet with you for the next two months."
"What? I mean, how am I supposed to- er, wait. No. I need someone to talk to. You don't understand!" Angel slammed his hand angrily against the BMW's window.
"I am very sorry, Liam, but I cannot allow exceptions."
Angel rubbed his forehead. "Well, you're my psyche, tell me exactly what I'm supposed to do about this!"
"I suggest, Liam, that you go make some friends. Put yourself out there a little more so that you have more people to talk to than just me," Giles stated simply. Angel sighed.
"Okay. That couldn't hurt. Thank you for calling, Dr. Giles."
"Not a problem." Angel hung up.
Rupert sat back in his office chair and smiled to himself as he put down the phone. "Have a nice two months."
~*~
Slam. Kick. Double punch. Roundhouse kick. Punch. Punch. Punch.
"You seem on edge, D." Faith commented to her friend as she held the punching bag that was taking quite a brutal beating from Drea Lawrence's fists of fury.
"What would make you say that, Faith?" Kick. Kick. Punch. Drea stopped her actions, panting.
"Oh, maybe the fact that you're treating the punching bag as bad as you've treated all your exes. What's up?" Faith let go of the punching bag and handed the brunette her purple Nalgene bottle, which she took a long swallow from before responding.
"I dunno. I just don't know what I'm gonna do without him."
"Oh boy." Faith sighed as the two girls sat down on the bench in the back room of the Marchione Gymnasium.
"I mean, I need someone to talk to. Dr. Giles can't just... take off for two months and leave me all alone."
"You can talk to me." Faith shrugged.
"You're a blabbermouth." Drea smiled back.
"Very true, Dre, very true."
A bell sounded from the back, signaling the bell from the desk out front.
"I'll let you take this one, Dre. I'm sure a customer could sure use your bad mood to perk up their day." Faith smiled at her friend, who stood reluctantly, smoothing her hair down as she took out her hair tie.
"How shitty do I look today?"
"Ya look fine. And since when do you start caring what other people think about your appearance?"
Drea shrugged. "I don't, I guess. Just don't like to look like shit."
"Join the club. Now go make whoever that is out front do so too."
"Fine." Drea rolled her emerald green eyes as she walked out to the front desk. "Hey, can I help you?" She asked, and looked up. Two intense brown eyes stared back at her.
"Uh, yeah. I wanted to ask about working out here. Do I have to join to be able to do stuff, or can I just come and work out, or what?" Angel asked the girl, stammering and repeating words from his normally extensive vocabulary.
"Oh, well, you can work with a personal trainer. Or you can join, or you can do both. Whatever's on here, really." Drea said, handing him a pamphlet and leaning her bare forearms on the countertop. Angel glanced down at the paper that the girl just handed him.
"Thanks, well, I'll keep this in mind."
"Yeah, whatever." Drea responded, pushing some very nasty thoughts out of her mind about Mr. Tall Dark and Gorgeous and walking over to where a chair was pushed in behind a desk. She flipped on the music button and the radio came on, playing an old Led Zeppelin tune. Faith came out the door from the back room.
"D, cut the oldies crap. Nobody can work out to the Who."
"For your information it's Zeppelin. Go fuck yourself." Drea joked, turning up the volume with a wicked grin on her face.
"Dre, you know I drive st-" Faith looked at Angel, who was still standing there, observing the two girls playfully arguing. "Has she been ignoring you?" Faith asked sweetly, turning on the charm. Drea scoffed and rolled her eyes.
"Uh, no, she's been a great help." Angel replied. This girl was pretty, but not nearly as gorgeous as the one who was fiddling with the radio. Her long, dark brown hair was pulled up into a long high ponytail that hung down to her shoulders, and her startling green eyes and long, slim legs were enough to drive him crazy.
"OK. Well, if you need anything else, we're both here to help." Faith smiled.
"Okay." Angel turned and started to leave, and once he was out the glass doors and onto the street, Faith pounced on Drea.
"Was he hot or was he HOT?" She almost shouted.
"I'll give you the fact that he was hot." Drea replied. Faith grabbed her shoulder.
"I mean, he was totally checking you out, too!"
"What?" Drea asked.
"While I was trying to flirt he was checking out those legs of yours, ya little slut!" Faith laughed.
"Calm down, Faith, he's not the first."
"Oh, my god. If he comes back, you should totally offer to give him some PT."
"Yeah, um, no." Drea said quickly, taking the sports jacket off the back of her chair.
"Why not? Total hottie plus sweat equals..."
"Stop right there. I don't want to start thinking dirty thoughts before I go to my other job." Drea said, standing and pulling on the black cross country sweat.
"I'm not so sure you aren't thinkin em already." Faith winked.
"Screw you."
"Are we gonna go out tonight? Dingoes are at Triple Threat."
"I don't think I can. You see, theres a whole lot of not having a life that I need to take care of."
"You can not have a life any old night. Come on. Purdy please? Just show. Okay?"
"Okay. Whatever."
"You're the shit. Meet you there at nine?"
"Yeah."
~*~
Spike sauntered down the streets of the Lower East Side, taking long strides and long puffs of his cigarette. He'd lived here for five years, and yet every single street looked exactly the same and yet, at the same time, completely different, for all five of those years. They'd been long, hard, painful ones, full of struggle for money to get to pay his mother's medical bill. And the fact that he hadn't been able to sell any of his work or get it published didn't help much either.
He looked around at the people walking down the street. Some hurrying to get to wherever the hell they were getting off to at three thirty in the afternoon, and some were taking their time, like Spike was, just casually strolling and enjoying the exhaust filled air, car horns blaring, cell phones ringing, and people talking. He really couldn't stand the world. He hated it so much, and everyone in it. Sure, Dr. Giles was doing his best to help Spike through his mild depression, which he sort of needed, what with his mom being sick, and using his father's inheritance to pay for therapy and food and rent. But he couldn't help but notice there was some strange glint in the man's eyes every time Spike spilled a secret... Sooner or later, Spike found himself at Livingston High School. Students hanging out on the steps, waiting to be picked up, or just loitering. Different cliques stuck to themselves, but all were together as a whole. He walked past their main four story building, and walked by their fields, enclosed by chain link fences with signs and flyers for various clubs and activites roughly taped to the fence. He walked slowly, inhaling his cigarette and then blowing the smoke out of his mouth expertly, and he kept his eyes on the ground. It was this not paying attention that almost got him run over by Livingston's cross country team.
"Move it, nicotine!" A student at the front of the crowd shouted, pushing Spike to the ground, knocking his cigarette askew.
"Bloody hell!" Spike grumbled as the team laughed.
"Hold up, Lions!" A female voice shouted to the group, who stopped and listened to the voice respectively, about the opposite to how they'd treated Spike. "What did I say about running over pedestrians?"
A voice from the group shouted "Do it and run?" Sniggers were heard as Spike stood up.
"No. I said don't do it, Marx. Team, run to the A field and give me twenty minutes of firefeet. Doyle, you call the drops."
"Ok, Coach. Let's go, cross country!"
The team ran into the fields through the gate, while the coach, an average height, muscular, tan brunette came over to Spike.
"I'm sorry about my athletes. They're a little rowdy." She said to the bleach blonde.
"S'all right." Spike shrugged. "Brats'll be brats." He lit up a cigarette, which earned him a dirty look from the brunette, as well as her taking the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it to the pavement and squishing it with her trainers. "What is it with you people? Let sleeping dogs lie!"
"That's cancer in a box, right there. And secondhand smoke is just as bad. So have a little respect for those around you and don't smoke."
"I'm not one of your punk-ass 'athletes', luv. I'll do what I please. I don't take orders from others. Not to mention the fact that you're a complete stranger."
"Whatever. But don't smoke near impressionable youth."
"'Whatever', bitch."
"Bitch has a name."
"Yeah, what's that?"
"None of your business, Billy Idol."
"Fine then, Mia Hamm."
"Thanks for the compliment. Mia Hamm's one of the greatest athletes of our time."
"Yeah, well, Billy Idol was one damn good singer, so sod off..." Spike paused, thinking of something to call this annoying bitchmonster. He looked at the black t-shirt she wore, on which in yellow lettering were the words: LIVINGSTON LIONS CROSS COUNTRY 2002 COACH LARSON "Larson."
Drea furrowed her brow and looked down at her shirt. She shrugged, scoffed, and walked through the gate to where her team was doing their excersizes.
Spike continued on his way down the street, lighting up another cigarette and mentally bitching about that obnoxious, nosy, brunette, cross country coaching bint.
Oh, fuck, he liked her.
AN: Crappy, I know, but I hope that sort of introduced Drea's character a little bit. Don't worry, Buffy, Willow, Oz and more are still a comin! I would have included them, but the chp would be reeeallly long and i havent written them yet... mite not get a chance to before the weekend due to mass amounts of homework. So I wouldn't look for an update till then. Please tell me wat u think! CAFFEINE TED