Buffy in the City Episode One
Episode One: Clubbing Boys on the Head
by SoulVamp
Disclaimer: No characters are mine, except cursory passersby and what have
you. Buffy people and Caroline people were lovingly created by others of
more imagination.
Notes: I used to write a lot of Caroline in the City fanfic many moons
ago, all of which has been lost to various computer crashes and things. As
a first foray into Buffy-fic, I figured I'd return to something I knew as
a crossover. Lame? Yes, probably, and heavily borrows from the pilot
episode of Caroline. Basically a goofy exercise in slacking off at work.
More to come in series only if this inspires interest.
***
Buffy Summers was on the phone in her Manhattan loft, which was pleasantly
cluttered with vases full of dried flowers and overstuffed furniture in
warm earth tones. She tossed her long mane of ashy blond hair over one
shoulder. "Okay, I get how many words for the ad? All right, it should say
'Assistant needed for comic book artist.'" She paused. "No, it's not
Spiderman. It's Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's a superhero thing, but
it's, like, girl power and all that." She opened her mouth in slightly
miffed anger. "Well, fine, meanie, I think your classifieds are a lame
idea, too!"
Buffy was young to be a comic book creator and artist -- a mere
twenty-three -- , but she'd began drawing her namesake Fighter of Evil as
strips in her college newspaper. They gained a mini-cult following, which
led to a publishing deal, which led to, well, a slightly larger cult
following, a cool pad in New York and just enough dough each month to
break even. All in all, life was pretty good. Except that her primary
friend and neighbor in town was a slacker slut, her boyfriend was... okay,
her newly ex-boyfriend, was a goofball with commitment issues, and her
best friend on the planet was off studying the Pagan arts in Jolly Olde
England.
Maybe life wasn't that good after all. Lately, Buffy had been feeling as
though something was seriously lacking, and not just the fact that her
last assistant quit, leaving our heroine a little jangly and overtaxed. It
was something else, but she never could put her finger quite on it.
Later that day, she began the nearly-unendurable process of interviewing
potential assistants. One odd young man claimed to be the spawn of Satan,
giving Buffy the heebie-jeebies, but a nifty idea for next month's issue.
Needless to say, she swept him out as quickly as she could. It was
slightly icky to have to invite these strangers into her home, but since
her office and home were one and the same, she had no choice. Of course,
she could always attempt a cool martial-arts move on anyone too scary, but
that sort of thing seemed to work better for her alter-ego. The real-life
Buffy was a tad less graceful.
Then there was the applicant who was just a smidge too eager. Buffy didn't
let the interview with the hyper woman get far before urging her into the
hallway. "I've read every Buffy issue, I have every Buffy calendar, I just
live for Buffy!" she said excitedly, oblivious that she was being shoved
into the elevator by her potential employer.
"Um, I do have more applicants coming by," Buffy gently told her.
"Oh, Ms. Summers, you don't get it! I don't want to be your assistant, I
want to be you!" The woman's grin was huge.
Harmless, but in great need of medication, Buffy thought to herself.
"Please go home," she said.
"People even tell me I look like you!" the woman cried as the elevator
doors shut. Buffy giggled at this, as the woman was five inches taller and
a brunette. Not to mention pushing forty.
"Hey!" called Faith as she exited the apartment next door.
"Faith! I thought you were having a big gambling weekend!" Buffy scampered
up and hugged her friend.
"Yeah, I got back last night."
"Did you clean up?" Buffy asked.
"Mm, yeah, I guess you could say I found luck at the roulette tables."
Faith smirked, and a darkly handsome guy slipped quietly out of Faith's
apartment, planting a big wet kiss on her before trotting down the stairs.
"Ah, Faith, I can always count on you for some vicarious thrills." The two
young women entered Buffy's loft, where coffee began being prepared. Faith
stretched out comfortably on the sofa.
"So what's new with you, B?" Faith asked, blowing on her cup of
caffeinated goodness.
Buffy sighed, plopping down next to her. "Xander and I split."
"What?! No way! He's, like, the ultimate nice guy, and as much as I avoid
that type like the plague, you seem to go for it. What happened?"
"Oh, I know he's a total sweetie, but... it's weird," Buffy mused, gazing
off dreamily. "He's kind of immature, and... stuff just didn't feel right,
you know?" Buffy abruptly slammed down her coffee mug and stood up,
pacing. "I'm seriously going to take a major break from dating."
Suddenly, the intercom buzzed. Buffy went over to answer it. "Yes?" she
said into the speaker.
"Spike Williams," came a tinny voice. "I'm here about the job."
"Come on in," Buffy replied. She pressed the entrance button.
"Spike? What kind of a name is Spike?" Faith asked with a laugh.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "That's nothing. You should've met Devil Boy."
Faith bounced off the sofa and headed for the door. "I gotta jam, got
stuff to drink, boys to torture, but you have a good day."
"Not likely. I have a meeting with Xander this afternoon at the publishing
office."
"You know, I warned you not to get laid where you get paid."
"Yeah, well, your conquests are all unemployed."
Faith smirked. "If you weren't my friend, B, I'd seriously consider giving
you the stake just like one of your comic book demons."
Buffy bared non-existant fangs and hissed at Faith, then both girls
dissolved into laughter.
Soon after Faith left, Buffy heard a tentative knock at her door. When she
opened it, she found herself staring into the surreally blue eyes of a
slender man dressed all in black with a shock of platinum blond hair
bleached into crispy submission. For some inexplicable reason, she found
herself unable to speak.
"Spike," the man said after a moment. "Williams. We had a truly meaningful
conversation over your intercom." He had a thick English accent, Cockney
tinged, and one side of his lip curled up in a disarming half-smile,
half-snarl.
"Of course," Buffy said, snapping out of whatever weird spell she was
under. "Come in." She held the door open for him and watched him casually
take a seat. "So, do you know my comic book?" she asked him. She noted
with slight irritation that he put his clunky combat-style boots up on her
coffee table.
"I think one of my mates has your calendar. It's that woman in a rubber
cat suit, right?"
Buffy's face fell. "No, that would be Catwoman. Hence the whole
woman-in-a-cat-suit motif."
"Bollocks, I'm so embarrassed," Spike replied in a deliberately sarcastic
monotone. "Well, I s'pose you'll be wanting to check out my specs, then."
He handed Buffy his portfolio. She flipped through it, pages and pages of
slides of beautifully distrubing abstract paintings, and a resume that
would put Picasso to shame.
"You know you're like totally overqualified. I just need somebody to do
some coloring, lettering, maybe run a few errands, stuff like that," she
told him. "This is a pretty tiny, low-tech operation."
"I know bloody well I'm, as you say, 'like totally overqualified'."
"Why do you want this job, then?"
"Well, you know, I've grown rather fond of doing those simple things in
life, like eating and not being homeless. What they don't tell you in
university when you sign on to study art is that you can't make a living
at it 'til after you're all dead and dusty." He offered Buffy his snarly
smile again. "Bites, don't it?"
"Very much so." Buffy abruptly sat down on the arm of the sofa, feeling
slightly dizzy. Must be coffee and stress, she thought, suspecting it
really wasn't. She cleared her throat. "Well, ah, Mr. Williams, I have a
few more interviews, but I'll call you."
Spike took the hint, pulled his legs off the table, and stood up. "That's
quite all right, I know you won't call." He plucked his portfolio out of
Buffy's hands and started for the door.
"What?" Buffy asked, a little disappointed.
"Look, I know the drill. I'd be rather grateful if you'd just put me out
of my misery so I don't have to wait around wasting my time."
"Oh, no, Mr. Williams, I really will call you!" Buffy hopped up and
blocked the door so he couldn't leave. What am I doing? she thought, then
realized this guy was probably her best applicant.
A real artist, and really kind of...
She shook this little inappropriate thought away before it had a chance to
fully form. They stood there a moment more, looking at each other again,
Spike with one eyebrow raised a little in hopeful expectation. He looked
almost boyish.
"Okay, Mr. Williams, I'll give you a shot," Buffy finally said, smiling
perkily.
The eyebrow came back down, and Spike was suddenly all brusque business.
"Right, then, I don't come in early, I don't do overtime, and I simply
must have two hour lunches." He looked quickly at his watch. "It's one
o'clock now, I'll see you at three."
And then he was out the door, Buffy totally dumbfounded.
"Nice working for you," she muttered to herself.
***
Buffy's hands were sweating as she approached the office door marked
"Xander Harris, Graphic Novels Division." She blew into her hand and
smelled it to check her breath, pulled her skirt down a little, then
thought better of it. Make him suffer a little, she decided, and hitched
it back up. A final fluff of her hair, and she was ready for battle. She
knocked on the door, then entered without waiting for a response from
within.
"Hi," Xander said.
God, he looked so cute in his suit, Buffy thought. No, no, bad! Not
boyfriend anymore, just business things only from now on!
"Hi," Buffy said, her voice squeaking unintentionally. She squinted in
slight embarrassment, smiled nervously. "Wow, so, um, could this be more
uncomfortable?" she laughed a little.
"Maybe, if we were both naked and my mom was here," Xander replied dryly.
Buffy didn't laugh at his little joke, because the thought of him naked at
all, mom or not, was still a little bit of a mixed image of hot sexy
fantasy and sad wistful thought of losing seeing-Xander-naked priviledges.
She cleared her throat. "Hey, look, let's just get this work type stuff
over with, and we can attempt to avoid each other until after the cloud of
Post-Breakup Sludge has passed, hopefully to be swiftly followed by the
Pre-Friendship Professionalism, and then..."
"The Post-Professional Friendship?" Xander asked, looked bemused.
"Sure. Yes, but, ah, right now, we're still..."
"Cloudy Sludge. Got it. Yeah, so, what do you have to show me for the
cover art?"
Buffy unzipped her portfolio, and Xander came out from behind his desk to
get a better look. At the artwork, too. Buffy could suddenly feel his
breath on her neck. "Nice," Xander said. "I like this one."
"This cover?" Buffy asked, tapping one of the pieces.
"The cover's good, but..." Xander just barely nudged her earlobe with his
nose. "Why did you end it?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
"Xander!" Buffy put the artwork down. "Come on, can we please not do this
now?"
"Yes, we can not do this now, but we could also do something else now..."
Buffy elbowed him in the stomach. Gently-ish, but hard enough to make him
back up a foot.
"I ended it because ever since you broke up with what's her name --"
"Anya."
"Anya." Buffy said her name as though it were an insult. "Yes, Anya. Ever
since you broke up with Anya, you've been afraid of commitment, and even
though you have this great little job thing going here, you know you only
got it because of your father, not because of anything like skills or
perserverence or character or --"
"Okay! Okay!" Xander held up his hands as if to attempt to ward off the
Buffy's words. "Yes! I admit I'm a total underachiever and a wuss and...
and..." He approached her again, now that her wrath had simmered down to a
smaller mini-rage. "And I can't stop thinking about you, Buff. I miss
you."
"Xander..." She allowed him to come closer and begin to lean in for a
kiss, when they were interrupted by Xander's secretary...
Anya.
"Whoopsie!" she said, noting the proximity she discovered Buffy and Xander
in. "I will very much be getting right out of your hair, Xan, er, Mr.
Harris, but, ah, yes. Phone. Important. Mr. Harris The Elder, line three."
She nodded, blushing, in Buffy's direction. "Lovely to see you again, Ms.
Summers," she said with a mixture of embarrassment and bitchiness, an odd
combo Anya was particularly adept at.
"Oh, the feeling is mutual," Buffy rejoined, but Anya had already shut the
door. She turned back to Xander. "Clearly you have... work... or at least,
your dad does, so, yeah, I'm gonna get... gone."
"No, wait, Buffy, look, you want to grab some dinner? Just friends? See if
we can get past this whole Cloudy Sludge debacle?"
Buffy considered this a moment. "Just friends?" Xander nodded. "Okay," she
said, "how 'bout tonight?"
Xander immediately cringed. "Ooo, no can do on that one, Buff, I've got
a... plan. Plans. I have plans."
"Plans? Of the date variety, perhaps?"
Xander looked down at his desk. "Kinda sorta."
A brief moment of awkward silence was piercingly broken by Buffy,
laughing, a little too loudly. "Oh, god, I almost forgot, I have a date,
too! Tonight! Geez, that would have been bad, forgetting I had this...
scorching date planned! So, yeah, no big at all, you and I can hang some
other time!"
She forced herself to stand up straight as she turned and began to cross
to the door.
"Where are you going?" Xander asked, his voice sounded slightly wounded.
Buffy, her back to him, grinned before turning back around.
"The Bronze."
"Aw, um, eek, that's, like, where I'm taking Nancy. It might be a little
weird to run into each other..."
Buffy shrugged. "'S okay, my date and I'll just stay at my place."
"No!" Xander said. "I mean..." He laughed nervously. "We should be adult
enough to be okay with running into each other. In a public place.
Where... groping is only socially permitted to go to a certain level and
no actual sexual contact can occur."
Buffy smirked. "At least not out in the obvious open." She picked up her
portfolio.
"Ta!" she called merrily as she left, being sure to slam the door behind
her.
Hard.
***
Spike was busily at work on Buffy's latest book, coloring, lettering, and
basically being completely bored out of his mind. Across the desk, Buffy
sighed heavily. When Spike failed to look up, she sighed again more
heavily. "Golly, Buffy, what's wrong?" she said, imitaking Spike's accent.
"Oh, nothing, Spike, but thanks for asking."
"D'you want me to stick around?" Spike asked without looking up, "or do
you want to be alone with the voices in your head?"
"Spike, don't you ever just like to talk?"
Spike finally looked up, as though seriously considering the question.
"Eh, no. No, not really." He returned to his work.
"Look, if you will just let me prattle a little, I'll pay you extra."
He immediately dropped his pencil on the desk, sat back with arms folded,
looked astonishingly attentive. "Get it all out, then. I'm, what's it,
yes, I'm here for you."
"That's convincing."
"Just spill it, blondie."
Twenty minutes later, and Spike had been filled in on all the decidedly
un-sordid details of the Saga of Buffy and Xander, not to mention Buffy's
white lie about having a date.
"So, what am I supposed to do when I have to be at the Bronze, all clearly
dateless?!" Buffy whined, dropping her head onto the desk in despair.
"I'm afraid your time is up, dear patient. That means it's time for old
Spikey to be released from servitude." He stood up from his chair and
began to put on his coat.
"But... but... what am I supposed to do?" Buffy asked. Then she noticed
Spike's work. "Hey, you didn't finish the issue."
He shrugged. "I'll be back in your employ at ten tomorrow. I'll get it
done straight off."
"Normally, that'd be fine, but we're on deadline." Buffy went to her purse
and fished out her spare key. "Take the stuff with and bring them back
when you're done. Shouldn't take more than an hour, really."
Spike sighed. "I had all kinds of fun scheduled."
"Torturing small children?" Buffy asked.
Spike took the key in a huff. "You're a buzzkill, Summers."
Faith bounded in abruptly. "Hey, B, no go on finding you a fix-up. Sorry,
I gave it my best."
"That's okay, thanks for trying."
Faith noticed the strange man putting sketches into his portfolio. Her
gaze swept from face to crotch and back again. "Who are you, tall blond
and slightly creepy?" she asked with a flirtacious smile.
Unenthusiastically -- but why? she thought -- Buffy said, "Faith, this is
Spike."
"Ah, the new assistant with the weird name."
"Ah, the annoying slut from next door. This one," Spike said pointing to
Buffy, "talks. A lot."
"Wow, he's bitchy," Faith said. "Good hiring practices, girl."
Having collected all his things together, Spike headed quickly for the
door. Faith nudged Buffy, gave her a pointed look. Buffy, as though
something had just dawned on her, began to go after him. "Hey, Spike, want
to earn some overtime and do me a fav--"
"Not a bloody chance in hell," he said without stopping. Buffy shut the
door, leaning heavily against it.
"What'm I gonna do?" she moaned.
Faith shrugged. "Pick up a guy when you get there. Tell him what's up,
he'll go along, and maybe you'll wind up luckier than you thought."
"I can't do that!" Buffy replied, mildly scandalized.
"Well, then, pick up a guy beforehand."
"It's not the where or when I pick the guy up that's the problem, it's the
whole picking up a guy concept in general," Buffy explained. "I'm not like
you, Faith, I can't just club some poor boy on the head and drag him back
to my cave."
"But I can," Faith said with a grin. "Just this once, I'll drag him back
to your cave."
***
An hour later, and Faith reappeared at Buffy's door, a fish-eating grin on
her face and a small piece of paper in her hand.
"I got digits, B. I got digits from a hot hunk o' man, and he's all
yours." With much ceremony, she set the paper in Buffy's hand.
"Where? How? Wow, that was quick!"
"Remo's, a little eye contact and flattery-chattery, and of course it was
quick... I work fast."
"I'll say." Buffy examined the paper. "Riley?"
"Riley Finn, military jock type, probably a frat boy in a former life.
Cute, dumb, but most importantly, he'll get the job done." Faith made for
the fridge. "You can thank me by letting me steal all your beer." She
rummaged around inside. "Rolling Rock?! Holy crap, girl, could you be any
more square?!"
Buffy was on the verge of asking Faith exactly why they were friends, but
thought better of it looking at the hastily-scribbled name and number. Not
many pals would do this, and hey, this Riley guy... as Faith said, Buffy
might wind up luckier than she thought.
***
The Bronze was relatively well-lit for a change, since it was -- somewhat
unfortunately -- open mic night. A boy with bright orange hair strummed
away at a battered guitar onstage, singing something about full moons and
lost loves. Buffy sauntered in alone, as she and Riley had agreed on the
phone to meet at 8. She found a table and checked her watch. 7:50. He just
better get here, she thought, before...
"Hey, Buff!"
She looked up. "Xander!" Buffy struggled to smile, but the result was more
pained than pleased.
"Nancy, this is my friend Buffy Summers and... her... date. So you
indulged your Invisible Man fetish, huh?"
"He's on his way," Buffy assured him.
Nancy was a lean brunette who looked more than a little bored. "So, you
draw comic books?" she asked Buffy with as much politeness as she could
muster. Which wasn't much.
"Yes, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Do you read it?" Buffy asked.
"God, no. Comic books are for loser teenage boys with no life and bad
taste," Nancy sniffed.
"So probably all your ex-boyfriends must be into it, then," Buffy replied.
***
Spike quietly entered Buffy's loft without turning on the lights. He
dropped the now-completed work onto her drawing table. "Taskmaster," he
whispered, but punctuated the remark with a little smile. As he turned to
go, the phone rang, and Buffy's chirpy voice announced through the
answering machine speaker that callers should leave a message and "Have a
nice day!"
Spike paused. I shouldn't listen, he thought, which made him all the more
tempted to stay and wait to hear the message.
"Hi, it's Riley Finn, Faith's, um, friend. Hey, I'm really super sorry...
I guess you've already left, but I can't meet you tonight. I tried to call
the Bronze --"
Suddenly a female voice cut in. "Riley, who're you calling?"
"Honey, it's nobody, just --"
"You're on your way to meet some other woman, aren't you?"
"Just hang up the phone, Harmony! Sorry, Buffy, I'll call you later!"
The machine clicked off. Spike beamed with devilish glee. "This officially
beats an evening of torturing small children."
***
A waitress approached Buffy's table as she fidgeted nervously. It was
nearly a quarter after 8. "Can I get you anything?" the waitress asked.
"Huh? Uh, sure, I'll have a Rolling... No. No, on second thought, I'll
have a --" She felt a small tap at her shoulder and whipped around.
"Spike!" she said, totally surprised. "What the hell --"
He took a chair from Buffy's table, spun it on one leg, and straddled it
backwards. "Scotch, neat," he told the waitress, "and the lady will have
a..."
Buffy was still looking at Spike with complete confusion. "Draft?" she
said tentatively.
Spike blanched. "No, no, she'll have a Guinness." The waitress nodded and
left.
"I will?" Buffy asked.
"Trust me, dove, you'll thank me later," Spike said. He pulled the ashtray
on the table closer and retrieved a pack of menthols from the pocket of
his jacket.
Now more annoyed than confused, Buffy tipped her head and clenched her
teeth. "So, Spike, please, sit down, horn in on my date, order me drinks,
stink up my air, and generally --"
"Save your arse."
"Excuse me?!"
Spike lit a cigarette, took a long drag. The waitress returned with their
drinks. "Thanks, luv," he said to her with a wink. The waitress smiled
shyly and scurried away. Spike held out his glass to Buffy's, which
remained on the table. "Cheers...?" When Buffy continued to scowl, Spike
shrugged and downed his drink in one gulp.
Buffy watched him swallow, forgetting for a second why she was angry...
right! Yes! Interloper!
"Spike..."
"Riley isn't gonna show," he said.
"What?"
"I was dropping off your work, which, by the way, you're welcome, and he
called while I was there."
Just like Faith to get an unreliable guy. "What dumb-ass excuse did he
come up with?" she asked, dejected.
"I'm sure it woulda been a whopper, but his wife cut him off."
"He's married?!"
Spike chuckled. "Doubt it'll last."
"Hi," said a voice to Spike's right. He turned, a bland-looking young man
with dark hair stood above him. "How are you? Xander Harris."
"Spike Williams." Spike reluctantly shook hands with Xander.
"Spike's my --" Buffy began.
"Lover," Spike interjected uneasily. Buffy's eyes turned saucer-sized, and
Spike gripped her by the shoulders and gave her a smoldering kiss that
left exciting little tingles coursing through her. "Sorry, ah, my
little... cream... puff... I would've got her earlier but I was in...
class... all day. Those med students sure as hell need help dissecting
corpses." He gave Buffy a strange nervous grin, then turned back to
Xander. "So, join us, mate?"
Xander stood there with his mouth open, not quite believing what he'd just
seen. "No, thank you," he finally managed haughtily. "I've got to get back
to Nancy." He stalked off.
"Spike, I-I don't know what to say!" Buffy said, resisting as best she
could some nameless urge that was swiftly turning her mind to prurient
matters.
"Whatever you say, don't thank me, Summers," Spike replied, lighting
another cigarette. "I'm still on the clock, and I'm seeing several more
drinks on your tab before the night is through. Expensive ones."
***
"So, Paris was pretty much a wretched scene, but I didn't want to hang
around there anyway, what with Dru leaving me," Spike told Buffy as the
two of them rode up the elevator and exited in front of the door to her
loft.
"She must've really broken your heart," Buffy said, her voice all dreamy
sadness.
Spike reluctantly nodded. "She was The One, you know? Or at least I used
to think so," he said quietly.
"Gosh."
Buffy and Spike looked at each other. His eyes were softer now, his whole
demeanor more real and almost tender... was this the same rude guy who
walked into her life just twelve hours ago?
The elevator doors opened and Xander appeared in the hallway. "Oh, hi. I,
ah, tried to call you, Buffy, but you didn't answer, so I thought you guys
were, maybe..."
"Shagging like mad ferrets in heat?" Spike asked. From sweet to bastard in
two seconds flat, Buffy noted. This was intriguing.
"Or something," Xander said, deliberately not looking at Spike. "But,
you're not..."
Feeling ornery, Buffy chimed in. "Not shagging like mad ferrets in heat?"
Spike gave her a quick glance of surprise -- slightly aroused surprise, in
fact.
Xander gritted his teeth against the repetition of the phrase, and plunged
ahead. "I figured I should return your key." He took it out of his pocket
and held it up triumphantly to Spike. "I have a copy of her key!" he told
him spitefully.
Spike held his up, too. "So do I. Well, what do you know. Wonder what else
we have in common, mate."
Xander clenched and unclenched his fists, looked from Buffy to Spike and
back again. "This was clearly a mistake. I'm leaving."
Seeing Xander so upset, Buffy bit her lip, her face now belying her sudden
worry and guilt at the ruse.
"No, stay, man," Spike said, the cruel tone gone now. "I'm just leaving.
Early... surgery... or, hell, whatever." He pushed the elevator button,
and the doors slid open. "See you tomorrow, Buffy."
When the doors shut, Spike fell against the back wall of the elevator car
and let loose a heavy, pent-up sigh.
***
Xander and Buffy stood in the hall together, neither one looking at the
other. "How'd you meet him?" Xander asked.
"Xander, no, you don't get it. It wasn't true," Buffy admitted. "Spike's
not my new boyfriend, he's my new assistant."
"Then why..."
"I didn't want you to think you were the only one who was over... us."
"Buffy..." Xander finally looked up at her. "If I was over us, I wouldn't
have ended my own date early."
Buffy looked at him, wondering what the right thing to do was. She'd
shared so much with Xander... was it really fair to not give him another
chance?
Was Xander The One after all?
"Do you want some coffee?" she asked.
***
Spike left Buffy's apartment building and started down the sidewalk toward
the subway station. Something made him stop in his tracks and look up to
the second floor, where he spotted the light streaming from Buffy's
windows.
As he looked up, the light turned off.
Spike looked away, staring off into space. He stood there motionless, then
shook his head firmly.
"Damn you, blondie, get the hell out of my head," he whispered.
He lit a cigarette and continued for home.
Home
Episode One: Clubbing Boys on the Head
by SoulVamp
Disclaimer: No characters are mine, except cursory passersby and what have
you. Buffy people and Caroline people were lovingly created by others of
more imagination.
Notes: I used to write a lot of Caroline in the City fanfic many moons
ago, all of which has been lost to various computer crashes and things. As
a first foray into Buffy-fic, I figured I'd return to something I knew as
a crossover. Lame? Yes, probably, and heavily borrows from the pilot
episode of Caroline. Basically a goofy exercise in slacking off at work.
More to come in series only if this inspires interest.
***
Buffy Summers was on the phone in her Manhattan loft, which was pleasantly
cluttered with vases full of dried flowers and overstuffed furniture in
warm earth tones. She tossed her long mane of ashy blond hair over one
shoulder. "Okay, I get how many words for the ad? All right, it should say
'Assistant needed for comic book artist.'" She paused. "No, it's not
Spiderman. It's Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's a superhero thing, but
it's, like, girl power and all that." She opened her mouth in slightly
miffed anger. "Well, fine, meanie, I think your classifieds are a lame
idea, too!"
Buffy was young to be a comic book creator and artist -- a mere
twenty-three -- , but she'd began drawing her namesake Fighter of Evil as
strips in her college newspaper. They gained a mini-cult following, which
led to a publishing deal, which led to, well, a slightly larger cult
following, a cool pad in New York and just enough dough each month to
break even. All in all, life was pretty good. Except that her primary
friend and neighbor in town was a slacker slut, her boyfriend was... okay,
her newly ex-boyfriend, was a goofball with commitment issues, and her
best friend on the planet was off studying the Pagan arts in Jolly Olde
England.
Maybe life wasn't that good after all. Lately, Buffy had been feeling as
though something was seriously lacking, and not just the fact that her
last assistant quit, leaving our heroine a little jangly and overtaxed. It
was something else, but she never could put her finger quite on it.
Later that day, she began the nearly-unendurable process of interviewing
potential assistants. One odd young man claimed to be the spawn of Satan,
giving Buffy the heebie-jeebies, but a nifty idea for next month's issue.
Needless to say, she swept him out as quickly as she could. It was
slightly icky to have to invite these strangers into her home, but since
her office and home were one and the same, she had no choice. Of course,
she could always attempt a cool martial-arts move on anyone too scary, but
that sort of thing seemed to work better for her alter-ego. The real-life
Buffy was a tad less graceful.
Then there was the applicant who was just a smidge too eager. Buffy didn't
let the interview with the hyper woman get far before urging her into the
hallway. "I've read every Buffy issue, I have every Buffy calendar, I just
live for Buffy!" she said excitedly, oblivious that she was being shoved
into the elevator by her potential employer.
"Um, I do have more applicants coming by," Buffy gently told her.
"Oh, Ms. Summers, you don't get it! I don't want to be your assistant, I
want to be you!" The woman's grin was huge.
Harmless, but in great need of medication, Buffy thought to herself.
"Please go home," she said.
"People even tell me I look like you!" the woman cried as the elevator
doors shut. Buffy giggled at this, as the woman was five inches taller and
a brunette. Not to mention pushing forty.
"Hey!" called Faith as she exited the apartment next door.
"Faith! I thought you were having a big gambling weekend!" Buffy scampered
up and hugged her friend.
"Yeah, I got back last night."
"Did you clean up?" Buffy asked.
"Mm, yeah, I guess you could say I found luck at the roulette tables."
Faith smirked, and a darkly handsome guy slipped quietly out of Faith's
apartment, planting a big wet kiss on her before trotting down the stairs.
"Ah, Faith, I can always count on you for some vicarious thrills." The two
young women entered Buffy's loft, where coffee began being prepared. Faith
stretched out comfortably on the sofa.
"So what's new with you, B?" Faith asked, blowing on her cup of
caffeinated goodness.
Buffy sighed, plopping down next to her. "Xander and I split."
"What?! No way! He's, like, the ultimate nice guy, and as much as I avoid
that type like the plague, you seem to go for it. What happened?"
"Oh, I know he's a total sweetie, but... it's weird," Buffy mused, gazing
off dreamily. "He's kind of immature, and... stuff just didn't feel right,
you know?" Buffy abruptly slammed down her coffee mug and stood up,
pacing. "I'm seriously going to take a major break from dating."
Suddenly, the intercom buzzed. Buffy went over to answer it. "Yes?" she
said into the speaker.
"Spike Williams," came a tinny voice. "I'm here about the job."
"Come on in," Buffy replied. She pressed the entrance button.
"Spike? What kind of a name is Spike?" Faith asked with a laugh.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "That's nothing. You should've met Devil Boy."
Faith bounced off the sofa and headed for the door. "I gotta jam, got
stuff to drink, boys to torture, but you have a good day."
"Not likely. I have a meeting with Xander this afternoon at the publishing
office."
"You know, I warned you not to get laid where you get paid."
"Yeah, well, your conquests are all unemployed."
Faith smirked. "If you weren't my friend, B, I'd seriously consider giving
you the stake just like one of your comic book demons."
Buffy bared non-existant fangs and hissed at Faith, then both girls
dissolved into laughter.
Soon after Faith left, Buffy heard a tentative knock at her door. When she
opened it, she found herself staring into the surreally blue eyes of a
slender man dressed all in black with a shock of platinum blond hair
bleached into crispy submission. For some inexplicable reason, she found
herself unable to speak.
"Spike," the man said after a moment. "Williams. We had a truly meaningful
conversation over your intercom." He had a thick English accent, Cockney
tinged, and one side of his lip curled up in a disarming half-smile,
half-snarl.
"Of course," Buffy said, snapping out of whatever weird spell she was
under. "Come in." She held the door open for him and watched him casually
take a seat. "So, do you know my comic book?" she asked him. She noted
with slight irritation that he put his clunky combat-style boots up on her
coffee table.
"I think one of my mates has your calendar. It's that woman in a rubber
cat suit, right?"
Buffy's face fell. "No, that would be Catwoman. Hence the whole
woman-in-a-cat-suit motif."
"Bollocks, I'm so embarrassed," Spike replied in a deliberately sarcastic
monotone. "Well, I s'pose you'll be wanting to check out my specs, then."
He handed Buffy his portfolio. She flipped through it, pages and pages of
slides of beautifully distrubing abstract paintings, and a resume that
would put Picasso to shame.
"You know you're like totally overqualified. I just need somebody to do
some coloring, lettering, maybe run a few errands, stuff like that," she
told him. "This is a pretty tiny, low-tech operation."
"I know bloody well I'm, as you say, 'like totally overqualified'."
"Why do you want this job, then?"
"Well, you know, I've grown rather fond of doing those simple things in
life, like eating and not being homeless. What they don't tell you in
university when you sign on to study art is that you can't make a living
at it 'til after you're all dead and dusty." He offered Buffy his snarly
smile again. "Bites, don't it?"
"Very much so." Buffy abruptly sat down on the arm of the sofa, feeling
slightly dizzy. Must be coffee and stress, she thought, suspecting it
really wasn't. She cleared her throat. "Well, ah, Mr. Williams, I have a
few more interviews, but I'll call you."
Spike took the hint, pulled his legs off the table, and stood up. "That's
quite all right, I know you won't call." He plucked his portfolio out of
Buffy's hands and started for the door.
"What?" Buffy asked, a little disappointed.
"Look, I know the drill. I'd be rather grateful if you'd just put me out
of my misery so I don't have to wait around wasting my time."
"Oh, no, Mr. Williams, I really will call you!" Buffy hopped up and
blocked the door so he couldn't leave. What am I doing? she thought, then
realized this guy was probably her best applicant.
A real artist, and really kind of...
She shook this little inappropriate thought away before it had a chance to
fully form. They stood there a moment more, looking at each other again,
Spike with one eyebrow raised a little in hopeful expectation. He looked
almost boyish.
"Okay, Mr. Williams, I'll give you a shot," Buffy finally said, smiling
perkily.
The eyebrow came back down, and Spike was suddenly all brusque business.
"Right, then, I don't come in early, I don't do overtime, and I simply
must have two hour lunches." He looked quickly at his watch. "It's one
o'clock now, I'll see you at three."
And then he was out the door, Buffy totally dumbfounded.
"Nice working for you," she muttered to herself.
***
Buffy's hands were sweating as she approached the office door marked
"Xander Harris, Graphic Novels Division." She blew into her hand and
smelled it to check her breath, pulled her skirt down a little, then
thought better of it. Make him suffer a little, she decided, and hitched
it back up. A final fluff of her hair, and she was ready for battle. She
knocked on the door, then entered without waiting for a response from
within.
"Hi," Xander said.
God, he looked so cute in his suit, Buffy thought. No, no, bad! Not
boyfriend anymore, just business things only from now on!
"Hi," Buffy said, her voice squeaking unintentionally. She squinted in
slight embarrassment, smiled nervously. "Wow, so, um, could this be more
uncomfortable?" she laughed a little.
"Maybe, if we were both naked and my mom was here," Xander replied dryly.
Buffy didn't laugh at his little joke, because the thought of him naked at
all, mom or not, was still a little bit of a mixed image of hot sexy
fantasy and sad wistful thought of losing seeing-Xander-naked priviledges.
She cleared her throat. "Hey, look, let's just get this work type stuff
over with, and we can attempt to avoid each other until after the cloud of
Post-Breakup Sludge has passed, hopefully to be swiftly followed by the
Pre-Friendship Professionalism, and then..."
"The Post-Professional Friendship?" Xander asked, looked bemused.
"Sure. Yes, but, ah, right now, we're still..."
"Cloudy Sludge. Got it. Yeah, so, what do you have to show me for the
cover art?"
Buffy unzipped her portfolio, and Xander came out from behind his desk to
get a better look. At the artwork, too. Buffy could suddenly feel his
breath on her neck. "Nice," Xander said. "I like this one."
"This cover?" Buffy asked, tapping one of the pieces.
"The cover's good, but..." Xander just barely nudged her earlobe with his
nose. "Why did you end it?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
"Xander!" Buffy put the artwork down. "Come on, can we please not do this
now?"
"Yes, we can not do this now, but we could also do something else now..."
Buffy elbowed him in the stomach. Gently-ish, but hard enough to make him
back up a foot.
"I ended it because ever since you broke up with what's her name --"
"Anya."
"Anya." Buffy said her name as though it were an insult. "Yes, Anya. Ever
since you broke up with Anya, you've been afraid of commitment, and even
though you have this great little job thing going here, you know you only
got it because of your father, not because of anything like skills or
perserverence or character or --"
"Okay! Okay!" Xander held up his hands as if to attempt to ward off the
Buffy's words. "Yes! I admit I'm a total underachiever and a wuss and...
and..." He approached her again, now that her wrath had simmered down to a
smaller mini-rage. "And I can't stop thinking about you, Buff. I miss
you."
"Xander..." She allowed him to come closer and begin to lean in for a
kiss, when they were interrupted by Xander's secretary...
Anya.
"Whoopsie!" she said, noting the proximity she discovered Buffy and Xander
in. "I will very much be getting right out of your hair, Xan, er, Mr.
Harris, but, ah, yes. Phone. Important. Mr. Harris The Elder, line three."
She nodded, blushing, in Buffy's direction. "Lovely to see you again, Ms.
Summers," she said with a mixture of embarrassment and bitchiness, an odd
combo Anya was particularly adept at.
"Oh, the feeling is mutual," Buffy rejoined, but Anya had already shut the
door. She turned back to Xander. "Clearly you have... work... or at least,
your dad does, so, yeah, I'm gonna get... gone."
"No, wait, Buffy, look, you want to grab some dinner? Just friends? See if
we can get past this whole Cloudy Sludge debacle?"
Buffy considered this a moment. "Just friends?" Xander nodded. "Okay," she
said, "how 'bout tonight?"
Xander immediately cringed. "Ooo, no can do on that one, Buff, I've got
a... plan. Plans. I have plans."
"Plans? Of the date variety, perhaps?"
Xander looked down at his desk. "Kinda sorta."
A brief moment of awkward silence was piercingly broken by Buffy,
laughing, a little too loudly. "Oh, god, I almost forgot, I have a date,
too! Tonight! Geez, that would have been bad, forgetting I had this...
scorching date planned! So, yeah, no big at all, you and I can hang some
other time!"
She forced herself to stand up straight as she turned and began to cross
to the door.
"Where are you going?" Xander asked, his voice sounded slightly wounded.
Buffy, her back to him, grinned before turning back around.
"The Bronze."
"Aw, um, eek, that's, like, where I'm taking Nancy. It might be a little
weird to run into each other..."
Buffy shrugged. "'S okay, my date and I'll just stay at my place."
"No!" Xander said. "I mean..." He laughed nervously. "We should be adult
enough to be okay with running into each other. In a public place.
Where... groping is only socially permitted to go to a certain level and
no actual sexual contact can occur."
Buffy smirked. "At least not out in the obvious open." She picked up her
portfolio.
"Ta!" she called merrily as she left, being sure to slam the door behind
her.
Hard.
***
Spike was busily at work on Buffy's latest book, coloring, lettering, and
basically being completely bored out of his mind. Across the desk, Buffy
sighed heavily. When Spike failed to look up, she sighed again more
heavily. "Golly, Buffy, what's wrong?" she said, imitaking Spike's accent.
"Oh, nothing, Spike, but thanks for asking."
"D'you want me to stick around?" Spike asked without looking up, "or do
you want to be alone with the voices in your head?"
"Spike, don't you ever just like to talk?"
Spike finally looked up, as though seriously considering the question.
"Eh, no. No, not really." He returned to his work.
"Look, if you will just let me prattle a little, I'll pay you extra."
He immediately dropped his pencil on the desk, sat back with arms folded,
looked astonishingly attentive. "Get it all out, then. I'm, what's it,
yes, I'm here for you."
"That's convincing."
"Just spill it, blondie."
Twenty minutes later, and Spike had been filled in on all the decidedly
un-sordid details of the Saga of Buffy and Xander, not to mention Buffy's
white lie about having a date.
"So, what am I supposed to do when I have to be at the Bronze, all clearly
dateless?!" Buffy whined, dropping her head onto the desk in despair.
"I'm afraid your time is up, dear patient. That means it's time for old
Spikey to be released from servitude." He stood up from his chair and
began to put on his coat.
"But... but... what am I supposed to do?" Buffy asked. Then she noticed
Spike's work. "Hey, you didn't finish the issue."
He shrugged. "I'll be back in your employ at ten tomorrow. I'll get it
done straight off."
"Normally, that'd be fine, but we're on deadline." Buffy went to her purse
and fished out her spare key. "Take the stuff with and bring them back
when you're done. Shouldn't take more than an hour, really."
Spike sighed. "I had all kinds of fun scheduled."
"Torturing small children?" Buffy asked.
Spike took the key in a huff. "You're a buzzkill, Summers."
Faith bounded in abruptly. "Hey, B, no go on finding you a fix-up. Sorry,
I gave it my best."
"That's okay, thanks for trying."
Faith noticed the strange man putting sketches into his portfolio. Her
gaze swept from face to crotch and back again. "Who are you, tall blond
and slightly creepy?" she asked with a flirtacious smile.
Unenthusiastically -- but why? she thought -- Buffy said, "Faith, this is
Spike."
"Ah, the new assistant with the weird name."
"Ah, the annoying slut from next door. This one," Spike said pointing to
Buffy, "talks. A lot."
"Wow, he's bitchy," Faith said. "Good hiring practices, girl."
Having collected all his things together, Spike headed quickly for the
door. Faith nudged Buffy, gave her a pointed look. Buffy, as though
something had just dawned on her, began to go after him. "Hey, Spike, want
to earn some overtime and do me a fav--"
"Not a bloody chance in hell," he said without stopping. Buffy shut the
door, leaning heavily against it.
"What'm I gonna do?" she moaned.
Faith shrugged. "Pick up a guy when you get there. Tell him what's up,
he'll go along, and maybe you'll wind up luckier than you thought."
"I can't do that!" Buffy replied, mildly scandalized.
"Well, then, pick up a guy beforehand."
"It's not the where or when I pick the guy up that's the problem, it's the
whole picking up a guy concept in general," Buffy explained. "I'm not like
you, Faith, I can't just club some poor boy on the head and drag him back
to my cave."
"But I can," Faith said with a grin. "Just this once, I'll drag him back
to your cave."
***
An hour later, and Faith reappeared at Buffy's door, a fish-eating grin on
her face and a small piece of paper in her hand.
"I got digits, B. I got digits from a hot hunk o' man, and he's all
yours." With much ceremony, she set the paper in Buffy's hand.
"Where? How? Wow, that was quick!"
"Remo's, a little eye contact and flattery-chattery, and of course it was
quick... I work fast."
"I'll say." Buffy examined the paper. "Riley?"
"Riley Finn, military jock type, probably a frat boy in a former life.
Cute, dumb, but most importantly, he'll get the job done." Faith made for
the fridge. "You can thank me by letting me steal all your beer." She
rummaged around inside. "Rolling Rock?! Holy crap, girl, could you be any
more square?!"
Buffy was on the verge of asking Faith exactly why they were friends, but
thought better of it looking at the hastily-scribbled name and number. Not
many pals would do this, and hey, this Riley guy... as Faith said, Buffy
might wind up luckier than she thought.
***
The Bronze was relatively well-lit for a change, since it was -- somewhat
unfortunately -- open mic night. A boy with bright orange hair strummed
away at a battered guitar onstage, singing something about full moons and
lost loves. Buffy sauntered in alone, as she and Riley had agreed on the
phone to meet at 8. She found a table and checked her watch. 7:50. He just
better get here, she thought, before...
"Hey, Buff!"
She looked up. "Xander!" Buffy struggled to smile, but the result was more
pained than pleased.
"Nancy, this is my friend Buffy Summers and... her... date. So you
indulged your Invisible Man fetish, huh?"
"He's on his way," Buffy assured him.
Nancy was a lean brunette who looked more than a little bored. "So, you
draw comic books?" she asked Buffy with as much politeness as she could
muster. Which wasn't much.
"Yes, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Do you read it?" Buffy asked.
"God, no. Comic books are for loser teenage boys with no life and bad
taste," Nancy sniffed.
"So probably all your ex-boyfriends must be into it, then," Buffy replied.
***
Spike quietly entered Buffy's loft without turning on the lights. He
dropped the now-completed work onto her drawing table. "Taskmaster," he
whispered, but punctuated the remark with a little smile. As he turned to
go, the phone rang, and Buffy's chirpy voice announced through the
answering machine speaker that callers should leave a message and "Have a
nice day!"
Spike paused. I shouldn't listen, he thought, which made him all the more
tempted to stay and wait to hear the message.
"Hi, it's Riley Finn, Faith's, um, friend. Hey, I'm really super sorry...
I guess you've already left, but I can't meet you tonight. I tried to call
the Bronze --"
Suddenly a female voice cut in. "Riley, who're you calling?"
"Honey, it's nobody, just --"
"You're on your way to meet some other woman, aren't you?"
"Just hang up the phone, Harmony! Sorry, Buffy, I'll call you later!"
The machine clicked off. Spike beamed with devilish glee. "This officially
beats an evening of torturing small children."
***
A waitress approached Buffy's table as she fidgeted nervously. It was
nearly a quarter after 8. "Can I get you anything?" the waitress asked.
"Huh? Uh, sure, I'll have a Rolling... No. No, on second thought, I'll
have a --" She felt a small tap at her shoulder and whipped around.
"Spike!" she said, totally surprised. "What the hell --"
He took a chair from Buffy's table, spun it on one leg, and straddled it
backwards. "Scotch, neat," he told the waitress, "and the lady will have
a..."
Buffy was still looking at Spike with complete confusion. "Draft?" she
said tentatively.
Spike blanched. "No, no, she'll have a Guinness." The waitress nodded and
left.
"I will?" Buffy asked.
"Trust me, dove, you'll thank me later," Spike said. He pulled the ashtray
on the table closer and retrieved a pack of menthols from the pocket of
his jacket.
Now more annoyed than confused, Buffy tipped her head and clenched her
teeth. "So, Spike, please, sit down, horn in on my date, order me drinks,
stink up my air, and generally --"
"Save your arse."
"Excuse me?!"
Spike lit a cigarette, took a long drag. The waitress returned with their
drinks. "Thanks, luv," he said to her with a wink. The waitress smiled
shyly and scurried away. Spike held out his glass to Buffy's, which
remained on the table. "Cheers...?" When Buffy continued to scowl, Spike
shrugged and downed his drink in one gulp.
Buffy watched him swallow, forgetting for a second why she was angry...
right! Yes! Interloper!
"Spike..."
"Riley isn't gonna show," he said.
"What?"
"I was dropping off your work, which, by the way, you're welcome, and he
called while I was there."
Just like Faith to get an unreliable guy. "What dumb-ass excuse did he
come up with?" she asked, dejected.
"I'm sure it woulda been a whopper, but his wife cut him off."
"He's married?!"
Spike chuckled. "Doubt it'll last."
"Hi," said a voice to Spike's right. He turned, a bland-looking young man
with dark hair stood above him. "How are you? Xander Harris."
"Spike Williams." Spike reluctantly shook hands with Xander.
"Spike's my --" Buffy began.
"Lover," Spike interjected uneasily. Buffy's eyes turned saucer-sized, and
Spike gripped her by the shoulders and gave her a smoldering kiss that
left exciting little tingles coursing through her. "Sorry, ah, my
little... cream... puff... I would've got her earlier but I was in...
class... all day. Those med students sure as hell need help dissecting
corpses." He gave Buffy a strange nervous grin, then turned back to
Xander. "So, join us, mate?"
Xander stood there with his mouth open, not quite believing what he'd just
seen. "No, thank you," he finally managed haughtily. "I've got to get back
to Nancy." He stalked off.
"Spike, I-I don't know what to say!" Buffy said, resisting as best she
could some nameless urge that was swiftly turning her mind to prurient
matters.
"Whatever you say, don't thank me, Summers," Spike replied, lighting
another cigarette. "I'm still on the clock, and I'm seeing several more
drinks on your tab before the night is through. Expensive ones."
***
"So, Paris was pretty much a wretched scene, but I didn't want to hang
around there anyway, what with Dru leaving me," Spike told Buffy as the
two of them rode up the elevator and exited in front of the door to her
loft.
"She must've really broken your heart," Buffy said, her voice all dreamy
sadness.
Spike reluctantly nodded. "She was The One, you know? Or at least I used
to think so," he said quietly.
"Gosh."
Buffy and Spike looked at each other. His eyes were softer now, his whole
demeanor more real and almost tender... was this the same rude guy who
walked into her life just twelve hours ago?
The elevator doors opened and Xander appeared in the hallway. "Oh, hi. I,
ah, tried to call you, Buffy, but you didn't answer, so I thought you guys
were, maybe..."
"Shagging like mad ferrets in heat?" Spike asked. From sweet to bastard in
two seconds flat, Buffy noted. This was intriguing.
"Or something," Xander said, deliberately not looking at Spike. "But,
you're not..."
Feeling ornery, Buffy chimed in. "Not shagging like mad ferrets in heat?"
Spike gave her a quick glance of surprise -- slightly aroused surprise, in
fact.
Xander gritted his teeth against the repetition of the phrase, and plunged
ahead. "I figured I should return your key." He took it out of his pocket
and held it up triumphantly to Spike. "I have a copy of her key!" he told
him spitefully.
Spike held his up, too. "So do I. Well, what do you know. Wonder what else
we have in common, mate."
Xander clenched and unclenched his fists, looked from Buffy to Spike and
back again. "This was clearly a mistake. I'm leaving."
Seeing Xander so upset, Buffy bit her lip, her face now belying her sudden
worry and guilt at the ruse.
"No, stay, man," Spike said, the cruel tone gone now. "I'm just leaving.
Early... surgery... or, hell, whatever." He pushed the elevator button,
and the doors slid open. "See you tomorrow, Buffy."
When the doors shut, Spike fell against the back wall of the elevator car
and let loose a heavy, pent-up sigh.
***
Xander and Buffy stood in the hall together, neither one looking at the
other. "How'd you meet him?" Xander asked.
"Xander, no, you don't get it. It wasn't true," Buffy admitted. "Spike's
not my new boyfriend, he's my new assistant."
"Then why..."
"I didn't want you to think you were the only one who was over... us."
"Buffy..." Xander finally looked up at her. "If I was over us, I wouldn't
have ended my own date early."
Buffy looked at him, wondering what the right thing to do was. She'd
shared so much with Xander... was it really fair to not give him another
chance?
Was Xander The One after all?
"Do you want some coffee?" she asked.
***
Spike left Buffy's apartment building and started down the sidewalk toward
the subway station. Something made him stop in his tracks and look up to
the second floor, where he spotted the light streaming from Buffy's
windows.
As he looked up, the light turned off.
Spike looked away, staring off into space. He stood there motionless, then
shook his head firmly.
"Damn you, blondie, get the hell out of my head," he whispered.
He lit a cigarette and continued for home.
Home