Buffy dragged herself back to campus, getting odd looks from other students as she proceeded. She ducked her head and walked faster, not in the mood to deal with anyone at the moment, except Willow. She went straight to the dorm room and found the door ajar. Willow was sitting cross-legged on her bed, the phone plastered to her ear.
"Last night. ... Yeah, she's--" Willow's end of the conversation ended abruptly when she looked up and saw her roommate standing in the doorway. "She's back! I have to go!" She shoved the phone aside and ran over to grab Buffy in a tight hug. "You weren't in class today and you missed the big test. Then I heard this rumor that you hit Parker and he's in the hospital. I was really worried. Where have you been?"
Buffy withdrew from Willow's stranglehold and sighed. "Long story. Long, disgusting story." She then recapped the events dating from the previous night, ending with, "I can't believe Spike had the nerve to bring me to his dingy old lair. And he even *swore* at me. At least, I think he did, only he used British instead of regular English."
Willow, who had grown quieter and quieter throughout Buffy's recital, finally spoke. "What did he say?"
"'Dozy bint,' I think." Buffy crossed to the closet and began to root through it for fresh clothes. "What do you suppose that means?"
"You could ask Giles for a better translation, but my guess is something like 'stupid bitch.'"
"See?" Buffy shook her head. "I'm surprised he didn't drain me while I was there, only he must have still been playing his sick game. All I can think about is those cold, creepy vampire fingers crawling all over me while I was asleep."
"Room temperature," Willow stated in a flat voice.
"What?"
"I said Spike's fingers must have actually been room temperature instead of cold. You were indoors, in California, in the fall."
Buffy replaced the hanger she had selected and turned around. "The vibes of sympathy coming from you are overwhelming, Willow. Why are you acting like this?"
"I don't know, Buffy. It just seems to me that Spike didn't do much of anything wrong, but you sure did. You went to a party with a guy you barely know, on a school night, right before a big test in a class you're close to failing. You're underage, but you drank beer at that same party full of other underage people who were also drinking. Even worse, the beer you drank was handed to you, already opened, by this same guy you barely knew and you were warned about him ahead of time. What were you *thinking*? No, wait, let me answer for you. The lights were on, but no one was home. In fact, if Spike hadn't been around, who knows what would have happened to you."
"Why are you defending him?"
"I'm *not*. I'm just being honest. For whatever reason, Spike tried to help you, and you acted like an airhead."
Try as she might, Buffy could come up with no counter-argument. "All right, point taken. It was not one of my finer nights. But it's over now, and I promise I'll try to never do anything that stupid again. It's just that it was *Spike.* How was I supposed to know it was the one time I could trust him?"
"Yeah." Willow nodded. "But it looks like Parker is a bigger problem right now. We have to concentrate on taking care of him. So what exactly do you remember him doing after you had the beer?"
Buffy considered. "My memory's kinda fuzzy, but he was definitely groping me and he wouldn't stop. So I punched him."
"I guess he didn't account for Slayer strength when he gave you your dose."
"We don't actually *know* that he drugged me," Buffy pointed out.
"Exactly, which is why we're going to the hospital to get you tested, so we have proof."
At Willow's urging, Buffy changed clothing and together they set out for Sunnydale Hospital. As they cut across the quad, Buffy spotted two familiar figures exiting the library.
"Willow." She pointed. "It's Professor Walsh and her T.A. I have to see if she'll let me do a makeup test. Maybe if I talk to her right now, she'll say yes. It'll just take a minute." Without giving Willow a chance to protest, Buffy ran ahead and intercepted the instructor. "Professor Walsh, I have to talk to you. I know I missed the test in psych today and I'm really sorry. Is there any chance I can take a makeup test? *Please*."
The professor pursed her lips. "You know my policy--no makeups unless you have a valid medical excuse. Do you?"
Buffy looked down. "Well, not exactly."
"You're out of luck, then." Professor Walsh turned on her heel and strode away.
The teaching assistant, Riley, stayed behind. "Sorry about that, Buffy. She's not in a very good mood. But tell you what, I'll try to change her mind." He trotted after Professor Walsh, and Buffy watched as the two held a brief conversation that seemed to consist mainly of long-winded sentences from Riley and short answers from the professor. At the end of it, Riley caught Buffy's eye and mouthed "No" to her.
Willow walked up beside her friend. "Well? How did it go?"
"I am *so* screwed in that class," was all Buffy could say.
*****
Maggie Walsh was fuming as she stormed off to her car at the end of the day. She'd had to put with even more of the annoyingly stupid college students than usual, and foremost among them was Buffy Summers. The nerve of that girl, trying to get the schedule changed to suit her convenience after partying, drinking, and probably popping drugs the previous night, if rumor was true. And Riley, who used to be such a sensible, biddable boy, was making cow eyes at the child and trying to excuse her appalling behavior.
Maggie proceeded to the darkest, farthest corner of the parking lot, stopped beside her car, and felt in her jacket pockets for her keys. They weren't there. She had probably tossed them into her bag earlier. Heaving it onto the hood of her car, she began to root through the contents.
A soft scraping sound alerted her to the fact that she wasn't alone. Slowly, Maggie turned to the right, now feeling in the bag for a potential weapon. As her fingers closed around a cold, hard object, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was a young blonde man dressed in a leather jacket and puffing away on a cigarette. Probably a student, Maggie decided as she relaxed a bit.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"As a matter of fact, I believe you can. I understand Buffy Summers is a student in one of your courses." The man spoke with a British accent, and Maggie filed that information away. Getting no reply, he proceeded. "I also understand Buffy missed a test today, and you don't allow makeups. I think you should make an exception this time."
Maggie stiffened. "Oh? And why should I give Miss Summers a break?"
"Buffy is a very special student. Let's just leave it at that. And while you're about it, you might give her a little leeway with her next assignment, as well."
"Are you telling me to fix Buffy's grade?"
The blonde man exhaled a long stream of smoke. "No, of course not. You can give everyone whatever grade you want, as long as they're all lower than Buffy's. Think it over. I'm sure you'll come to the right decision all on your own."
As the stranger melted away into the darkness, Maggie forced her fingers to relax their grip on the gun in her bag. She couldn't say precisely why, but something about that young man greatly disturbed her.
end 14/?