+Prom Queen+
Summary: A/U, based on the movie "She's All That". Buffy Summers is turned from geek to chic (I always wanted to say that) when the popular class president, William 'Spike' Siler, makes a bet with his friends. But soon he begins to fall in love, and so does she; what will Buffy say when she finds out he's a liar?
A/n: Here's the next part. I'm stuck in a complete and total writer's block, and on top of that I'm so goddamn busy it's a wonder I haven't croaked, so don't get your panties in a twist when you read this chappy and it's total garbage, or at least boring . . . :) ok? Great. And by the way, reviews would *really* makes things all better. . .
Special note: Yes, this actually has a point. I just wanted to bring attention to something that has been, well, really bugging me lately. I obviously appreciate any reviews that you readers leave me, (actually I utterly adore them), but it really doesn't make me write faster when you leave like 5 reviews demanding that I better write more because you've been waiting. Please. As if that would make me, queen of rebellion and stubbornness, write faster. Just not happening. So just relax and remember people have commanding lives that don't always let them write new chappies ever single day. Okay? Good. :) That's all I wanted to rant about this week.
Ta-da!
+!+!+!+!+!+
"That would be three falafel balls with extra side order of sauce, along with two orders of our special home-made potato wedges. And would you like to super size that, sir?"
"Hmm. . . I think I need further time to decide on such an important decision, if you may."
"Of course sir, take all the time you need."
Buffy sighed as she adjusted her Falafel Hut hat, a large monstrosity that had a huge falafel floating on the top of it. In all, not incredibly attractive or even humane, but she still had to wear it along with her yellow-and-orange striped shirt, and bright blue pants. She began to get agitated as the hat slipped down over her face, obscuring her view. She impatiently pushed it back up again.
The man in front of her contemplated his decision in silence, sighing every once in a while. God. It wasn't like this was a life or death situation. Willow, who was seated at a stool by the counter, saw the exasperation on Buffy's face and she chuckled as she popped a carrot in her mouth. Finally, just as the man was about to finally answer, his mouth opening to respond, the stores door chimes jingled, signaling the entrance of another customer. Buffy saw the moment in slow motion, as she saw the 'customer' was none other than Spike Siler, in all his bleached hair glory. He walked in, leather duster just short of flaring behind him, and he seemed to pause as all eyes rested on him. He threw a cocky smirk just as a beam of sunlight shone across his face, illuminating those sharp cheekbones and highlighting his deep blue eyes-
Buffy gulped. She got a little carried away there. But the fact was, Spike was walking up to her now, flashing a little grin that made her stomach do weird flip flops. Most absurd.
"What do you want?" Buffy hissed to him, as he reached the counter and plopped down on a stool beside Willow. He just smirked at her, turning to flash Willow a small wave. She meekly smiled back, swallowing a chunk of carrot roughly. She then directed wide eyes at Buffy, who was trying to compose herself.
"Nothin'," Spike answered, in a tone that said anything but nothing.
"I will have you know-"
"Miss!"
Buffy was cut off by the nasally voice of the man she was serving. He was giving her a disapproving look, as if she was supposed to feel ashamed she had been speaking to anyone else that wasn't him at the moment. She took a calming breath, and then said as sweetly as she could muster without puking, "Excuse me, sir. One second." She forced on a smile.
Buffy stalked around the counter separating the kitchen and the eating area, so that she was facing a smirking Spike. The man looked at her in impatience, whining, still standing at the cashier.
"Miss, I'm ready to order now!"
"One moment, sir."
"But-"
"I said, one moment, Grandpa."
The older man abruptly shut up and turned so that he faced the front again. Buffy smiled tightly, grabbing Spike around the black collar of his duster and pulling him up from the stool. She gathered up whatever balls she had as she led him over to a corner, letting go as she stopped to face him. He followed along without comment, his scruffy boots clunking along the floor.
"What, luv? Can't a bloke get an innocent bite to eat nowadays?" Spike said in fake innocence, eyes open wide. Buffy scowled at him, as Willow watched the whole affair in extreme interest.
"Firstly, don't use the words 'luv' or 'bloke'. That's not proper American speech, buddy . . . it's some weird English slang and it freaks me out. Secondly, stalking is illegal in all fifty states." She punctuated her words with a hard poke to his chest. Idly she noticed that his chest was pretty hard.
"Stalking?" Spike snorted. "Who said anything about stalking you?"
Buffy looked at him incredulously. "Oh, so you just had the insane craving to go for a falafel ball, but only the ones in the place you knew I worked at. Right."
Spike shrugged his shoulders in defeat. He raised one eyebrow that Buffy noticed had a long scar running through it. A sexy, cool scar that seemed to enhance his gorgeousness. Buffy inwardly cringed. A bad, bad, ugly scar that made his face look deformed. That was better.
"So maybe I do have ulterior motives then. Sue me. Can't blame a guy for just trying to . . . uh . . ." Spike stuttered in trying to fabricate an excuse for following her around. He couldn't exactly tell her that he had five weeks to make her socially acceptable, and the Prom Queen. He looked around the store for some help, and landed on her tie-died shirt under her half-buttoned uniform shirt.
"Art. I wanted to ask you if you could help me in art, and all that rot."
Buffy arched an eyebrow. "Art?"
"Yeah, art. What, you saying a person like me can't be into art?" Spike shot back defensively. "Just because I happen to be unusually handsome and into soccer doesn't mean that I can't do art." (A/n: Sorry, I have a little fetish with soccer players. Just imagine Spike as a soccer player. . . all sweaty and intense. . . oh yeah. Um, I'll just go now. Continue on with the reading.)
Buffy stifled an amused chuckle. "No, no, of course I would never say that. It's just I've never seen you in any of my classes, so I was unaware you had such a vested interest in visual arts." Buffy said sarcastically.
"Well, I do."
"Okay, whatever you say." Buffy just shrugged, and Spike fidgeted in his spot. It was almost funny to see a leather-clad Billy Idol look a like in the middle of a brightly lit Falafel Hut, nervous look branding his usually cocky face. Would be, if Spike wasn't asking Buffy to help him in art. She knew that it had to be some sort of scheme or plan to humiliate her in the end. It always was with these things.
But then her well-meaning friend had to interrupt, breaking Buffy's concentration on thinking up an excuse to turn Spike away.
"Well," Willow started from her stool, "she can begin helping you if you went to one of her art shows. There's one tonight at Revello Gallery, which her mom owns. You can totally have my ticket," Willow said, smiling at Spike, ignoring the death glare Buffy was shooting her.
Spike smiled gratefully at the red head, moving forward to take the little slip of paper from Willow's outstretched hand. "Thanks, Red." Willow beamed at the nickname. He pocketed it, and turned back to Buffy who was sullenly standing with her arms crossed. Spike chuckled.
"I guess I'll see you tonight then, right sweets?"
"Yeah, I guess." Buffy muttered, stalking past him to move back around the counter to the man that was still waiting there. Spike ambled toward the door, hands in his pockets. He turned back at the last minute, hand on the glass door as he got ready to head out.
"Hey, you maybe wanna grab some dinner or something-"
"No. Bye."
"Okay. Bye then." Spike waved goodbye, wicked grin on his face. Buffy only allowed herself to smile when he was gone. Willow caught the smile, and she shared an amused look, until Buffy caught the look and scowled deeply.
"I'll deal with you later, girl." Buffy warned, and Willow sheepishly ducked her head. Buffy sighed deeply and then finally turned back to the man, hand poised over the cash and cheery smile plastered on her face.
"So, sir, what will it be?"
"Super size my balls." He said clearly, and Buffy faltered, her eyes widening as she looked at him. His face remained neutral.
"Um . . . oh. Oh." She said, recognition washing over her. She made a little squeaking noise in the back of her throat and started punching in the numbers.
"Of course. That will be $6.15."
+!+!+!+!+
Spike sighed as he sauntered into the art gallery, amid clumps of stuffy looking people that were old and wrinkly. He seemed out of place among the suits and dresses, he himself adorned in dress pants and a dress shirt; but the dress shirt was opened to reveal a black t-shirt underneath, and he had on his favorite duster overtop. He scowled as an old man sniffed at his attire, giving Spike a chastising look.
Spike growled at him, or did something that quite closely resembled a growl, and the old man faltered, and quickly turned away and walked fast in the opposite direction. Spike chuckled to himself, strolling down a dark hallway as he followed a sign proclaiming, "The Artistic Works of Buffy Summers".
Maybe there was some fun to be had, after all.
He entered a brightly lit room, filled with beautiful paintings of various themes. Spike had never been one for art, but he could recognize immense skill in the paintings and sketches. He was a bit blown away when he remembered that this was Buffy's art, the geeky girl who now was a top priority in his life. Feeling strangely insignificant amid all the beauty, he ambled over to the snack table. Grabbing a platter of cheese to himself, oblivious to all the distasteful glances, he went up to a particular painting that seemed to call out to him.
Munching on a piece of cheese (probably cheddar), he studied the curving lines and intense color. It seemed to scream pain and loneliness, though Spike couldn't understand why. Still, in all its morbid and dark glory, it was deeply affecting and beautiful.
"So you came," a voice said behind him. Spike, startled, started choking on his cheese, almost dropping the cheese plate in the process. He coughed hoarsely a few times and spun around to meet the voice.
It was an amused Buffy, looking like she was surprised that he had taken time out of his schedule to show up. Thinking about it, Buffy realized that she was.
"Hey," Spike managed to get out, before breaking into another coughing fit. Buffy just stood there, rolling her eyes and grabbing a piece of Gouda from the platter in his hand while he recovered. Finally he stopped coughing.
"You okay?" Buffy asked him, cheese waving in the air with her hand movements, slight concern etched on her face. He scoffed, brushing it off.
"Course," he said off-handedly. Buffy gave him a look, then pointed to something on his mouth. "You have some spit on your mouth, there."
"Oh . . . thanks, luv." Spike frowned and wiped at his mouth with his hand.
"Good work," Spike said when he turned back around. He motioned at the painting. "I love all of the darkness, the sadness . . . " Spike seemed to get lost in the painting, to the surprise of Buffy. She watched him in fascination as he gazed at the work, in his own world for at least a few minutes. Finally he snapped out of his trance, ducking his head sheepishly.
"Um, yeah. It's a really good painting, it is," he said softly, eyes straying back to it before he looked at her. Buffy took a deep breath, hoping she didn't melt into a puddle right then and there. She was hoping that all of his depth and understanding of her work was really just a ploy. If it wasn't, then this guy had to be absolutely perfect, and she couldn't fathom that fact. No one as cute and charming as Spike, could know art, and feel it as deeply as he seemed to.
"Thanks," she replied, looking at her painting as she came to stand beside him. "I wanted to show depression and . . . and the pain of utter isolation even when you're surrounded by hundreds of people. You're all alone, because no one understands who you truly are . . ." Buffy trailed off.
Spike looked at her in surprise. He had felt that way many times before, almost always when he was with his friends, or when he had been with Cordy. Strange she had felt it too. Well, maybe not so strange cause she is a geek 'n all, but I still get where she's comin' from.
"I understand it," Spike answered, even though she had asked no question. Buffy had an ironic little smile on her face as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Yeah. I know." They stood in silence for awhile, the only noise was of chewing and breathing. Spike felt strangely content, just being, and not having to impress anybody or live up to their expectations. It was nice.
Buffy shifted abruptly, looking at the gathering people around her. "Well, I have a little speech thing to do, so I'm going to go now. I'll see you after, if you decide to stick around." Buffy said, gesturing to the viewers. Spike nodded. "Of course. Go ahead luv. Knock 'em dead, an all." Spike said, smirking, and Buffy rolled her eyes but turned away with a smile. She walked to the front of the room, to a little stage, and she called for everyone's attention.
Spike tuned out as she started talking about her experience in painting, and he looked around the room at the different paintings. He shoved another piece of cheese in his mouth while he studied each one. All communicated unspoken volumes, speaking to him directly. Hmm. Funny how a girl he had nothing in common with could understand so much about his own feelings.
Funnier still how he genuinely cared.
+!+!+!+!+
Buffy felt happy, content even, as she helped her mother clean up the gallery after everybody left. Well, everyone except for Spike, who was waiting outside for her so he could drive her home. Buffy hid her smile as she tossed some food wrappers in a nearby garbage. For some inexplicable reason, she was really, really glad Spike decided to stick around to wait. Even though she didn't care at all, whatsoever.
Mmmhmm. I'm sure you don't care. Have you *checked* out his pecs lately? Shut up, BadBrain. Oh, touchy. At least you realize he's a major catch. Maybe he is.
Buffy felt incredibly stupid as she internally debated Spike. Glad that no one was around except her mother for the moment, she hurriedly finished her task to keep her mind off things.
Finally she and her mother were done, the room spotless. Her mother sighed as she flipped curly blonde hair out of her eyes, glancing at Buffy as she did so with a motherly smile on her face, eyes crinkling.
"You did a great job tonight, Buffy. I'm so proud of you."
"I know mom." Buffy smiled at her mother, desperately hoping she wouldn't get all teary and sentimental. It was an art show for god sakes. "Glad you liked it. I think everyone else did too."
Just as the mist started to overtake her mother's eyes, Buffy quickly interrupted. If her mother started this now, she wouldn't be able to meet Spike for another hour, at least. "Well mom, thanks so much for helping me clean up and everything. But I'm really tired, so I'm just going to go now."
Her mother sniffled and brushed away an errant tear, smiling brightly at her oldest daughter. "Of course sweetie, you go right ahead. You've had a long day and you should get some rest for school tomorrow."
"Yeah mom. I will. Bye." Buffy said, pulling on her gray coat over her splatter painted smock-and pants ensemble. It was one of her own creations. Just as Buffy was about to walk out the door, her mother called to her.
"How are you going to get home?"
Buffy spun around, smile plastered on her face. She didn't want to lie about Spike, but her mother would get all gushy and giggly, and would insist to meet Spike even though he and Buffy weren't even going out. Basically she would embarrass Buffy horribly, and Spike would never want to see her again.
"Well," Buffy started, pulling on a sweet and open face, "Willow's uncle is picking us up, and he said he would drop me off at home."
Her mother frowned, her forehead creasing in thought. "Willow? I didn't even see Willow here tonight."
Shit.
"Well," Buffy started, trying to think quickly, "she did come, but she came later, after the show started. But then she felt a little sick and went to go wait in the lobby, just in case, she, you know," Buffy finished, gesturing in a puking motion. Joyce bought it.
"Aw, poor dear. I hope she's all right then. You make sure you tell her I said hi then, alright? I'm just going to stay an extra hour to go over some financial work."
"Yeah mom, of course. Bye!" Buffy breezed out the door, relieved.
"Bye, honey."
Buffy walked briskly through the dimly lit hallway, her footsteps echoing off the ceramic tile. A smile slid over her face before she even realized what had happened. Though she had no reason to be, she almost felt nervous about being alone with Spike. He was one of 'them', yes, but he could be so nice at times, and he had really surprised her tonight.
"Maybe he's different," Buffy whispered to herself.
But when she stepped outside into the cool night, her smile dropped and all of her doubts about Spike were affirmed. She stopped in the doorway, feeling a fleeting instant of regret and hurt before she remembered she didn't care about Spike anyways.
He was leaning against his black convertible, huge smile gracing his features as his eyes sparkled in the night. In front of him, closer then she had any right to be, was a pretty girl with dark raven hair and pale skin. She was extremely thin and frail, but she had an almost ethereal beauty to her. Spike was shamelessly flirting, touching her arm and using his megawatt smile to his advantage. She seemed to be responding well, if the fact she kept licking her red lips and moving closer to him were any indication.
Buffy snorted in disgust, angry at him for being such a bastard, even though he was single and had every right to be flirting; mad at this girl for intruding and taking Spike away from Buffy, even though he wasn't hers anyways; but most of all, Buffy was mad at herself for expecting him to be different, and for caring so much that he was talking to another girl while he was waiting for her.
Extremely confused, Buffy stepped off the door ledge and started walking down the other way of the street, looking for a taxi to hail. She checked her black bag to make sure she had enough money to get home; thankfully, she was covered.
Spike seemed to notice her a couple of minutes later, standing at the edge of the street with one arm waving in the air. He quickly apologized to Drusilla, telling her he would be right back. She pouted but said she could wait. At her words Spike took off, jogging up to Buffy just as a cab rolled up beside them. He grabbed her arm just as she opened the yellow door.
"What do you want?" she snapped at him, her eyes swirling with emotions he couldn't recognize. He looked at her confused.
"I though I was driving you home, luv," he said slowly, as if maybe he had misunderstood and she wasn't going home with him, after all. Buffy just rolled her eyes, hand still on the open door.
"No, Spike, you're not. Just go back to your new friend, and I'll find my own way home. Okay?" Buffy said tensely, preparing to get into the taxi. He was confused about her reaction, but decided to let it go.
"Okay," he said, backing off, still frowning. This seemed to enrage her further, and she scowled at him before flopping down into the car seat and slamming the door behind her. He watched the taxi zoom off, still confused. He stood there for a couple of seconds before turning and starting to walk back to his car.
It was when he caught sight of Drusilla, fidgeting impatiently, that it suddenly hit him why Buffy seemed so mad. But it wasn't like that all. Drusilla was just a good friend of his, and she had happened to walk by just now . . . and he would never imagine dating her. So why would Buffy get so mad? Spike couldn't see why Buffy would even care at all; it wasn't like she had any feelings for him. She probably hated him.
But what really got him was that he seemed to feel bad she had gotten angry, and guilty. He had no reason to feel guilty because he had done nothing wrong, and he shouldn't have even cared about Buffy's feelings. She was just a project. A stupid bet. Nothing more. Spike sighed loudly, deciding that it didn't matter anymore because Buffy had already gone home anyways.
He reached Drusilla, and smiled at her. "Sorry, Dru."
"That's okay, Spike. So tell me more about Connor and his latest girlfriend," Drusilla requested, giggling at his younger sex-crazed brother. Spike grinned, trying to forget about Buffy and the hurt on her face.
As he leaned back against his care, and telling Drusilla about Connor, he realized that her pained face was still burned on his memory. He just couldn't understand why.
+!+!+!+
*To be continued . . .
Summary: A/U, based on the movie "She's All That". Buffy Summers is turned from geek to chic (I always wanted to say that) when the popular class president, William 'Spike' Siler, makes a bet with his friends. But soon he begins to fall in love, and so does she; what will Buffy say when she finds out he's a liar?
A/n: Here's the next part. I'm stuck in a complete and total writer's block, and on top of that I'm so goddamn busy it's a wonder I haven't croaked, so don't get your panties in a twist when you read this chappy and it's total garbage, or at least boring . . . :) ok? Great. And by the way, reviews would *really* makes things all better. . .
Special note: Yes, this actually has a point. I just wanted to bring attention to something that has been, well, really bugging me lately. I obviously appreciate any reviews that you readers leave me, (actually I utterly adore them), but it really doesn't make me write faster when you leave like 5 reviews demanding that I better write more because you've been waiting. Please. As if that would make me, queen of rebellion and stubbornness, write faster. Just not happening. So just relax and remember people have commanding lives that don't always let them write new chappies ever single day. Okay? Good. :) That's all I wanted to rant about this week.
Ta-da!
+!+!+!+!+!+
"That would be three falafel balls with extra side order of sauce, along with two orders of our special home-made potato wedges. And would you like to super size that, sir?"
"Hmm. . . I think I need further time to decide on such an important decision, if you may."
"Of course sir, take all the time you need."
Buffy sighed as she adjusted her Falafel Hut hat, a large monstrosity that had a huge falafel floating on the top of it. In all, not incredibly attractive or even humane, but she still had to wear it along with her yellow-and-orange striped shirt, and bright blue pants. She began to get agitated as the hat slipped down over her face, obscuring her view. She impatiently pushed it back up again.
The man in front of her contemplated his decision in silence, sighing every once in a while. God. It wasn't like this was a life or death situation. Willow, who was seated at a stool by the counter, saw the exasperation on Buffy's face and she chuckled as she popped a carrot in her mouth. Finally, just as the man was about to finally answer, his mouth opening to respond, the stores door chimes jingled, signaling the entrance of another customer. Buffy saw the moment in slow motion, as she saw the 'customer' was none other than Spike Siler, in all his bleached hair glory. He walked in, leather duster just short of flaring behind him, and he seemed to pause as all eyes rested on him. He threw a cocky smirk just as a beam of sunlight shone across his face, illuminating those sharp cheekbones and highlighting his deep blue eyes-
Buffy gulped. She got a little carried away there. But the fact was, Spike was walking up to her now, flashing a little grin that made her stomach do weird flip flops. Most absurd.
"What do you want?" Buffy hissed to him, as he reached the counter and plopped down on a stool beside Willow. He just smirked at her, turning to flash Willow a small wave. She meekly smiled back, swallowing a chunk of carrot roughly. She then directed wide eyes at Buffy, who was trying to compose herself.
"Nothin'," Spike answered, in a tone that said anything but nothing.
"I will have you know-"
"Miss!"
Buffy was cut off by the nasally voice of the man she was serving. He was giving her a disapproving look, as if she was supposed to feel ashamed she had been speaking to anyone else that wasn't him at the moment. She took a calming breath, and then said as sweetly as she could muster without puking, "Excuse me, sir. One second." She forced on a smile.
Buffy stalked around the counter separating the kitchen and the eating area, so that she was facing a smirking Spike. The man looked at her in impatience, whining, still standing at the cashier.
"Miss, I'm ready to order now!"
"One moment, sir."
"But-"
"I said, one moment, Grandpa."
The older man abruptly shut up and turned so that he faced the front again. Buffy smiled tightly, grabbing Spike around the black collar of his duster and pulling him up from the stool. She gathered up whatever balls she had as she led him over to a corner, letting go as she stopped to face him. He followed along without comment, his scruffy boots clunking along the floor.
"What, luv? Can't a bloke get an innocent bite to eat nowadays?" Spike said in fake innocence, eyes open wide. Buffy scowled at him, as Willow watched the whole affair in extreme interest.
"Firstly, don't use the words 'luv' or 'bloke'. That's not proper American speech, buddy . . . it's some weird English slang and it freaks me out. Secondly, stalking is illegal in all fifty states." She punctuated her words with a hard poke to his chest. Idly she noticed that his chest was pretty hard.
"Stalking?" Spike snorted. "Who said anything about stalking you?"
Buffy looked at him incredulously. "Oh, so you just had the insane craving to go for a falafel ball, but only the ones in the place you knew I worked at. Right."
Spike shrugged his shoulders in defeat. He raised one eyebrow that Buffy noticed had a long scar running through it. A sexy, cool scar that seemed to enhance his gorgeousness. Buffy inwardly cringed. A bad, bad, ugly scar that made his face look deformed. That was better.
"So maybe I do have ulterior motives then. Sue me. Can't blame a guy for just trying to . . . uh . . ." Spike stuttered in trying to fabricate an excuse for following her around. He couldn't exactly tell her that he had five weeks to make her socially acceptable, and the Prom Queen. He looked around the store for some help, and landed on her tie-died shirt under her half-buttoned uniform shirt.
"Art. I wanted to ask you if you could help me in art, and all that rot."
Buffy arched an eyebrow. "Art?"
"Yeah, art. What, you saying a person like me can't be into art?" Spike shot back defensively. "Just because I happen to be unusually handsome and into soccer doesn't mean that I can't do art." (A/n: Sorry, I have a little fetish with soccer players. Just imagine Spike as a soccer player. . . all sweaty and intense. . . oh yeah. Um, I'll just go now. Continue on with the reading.)
Buffy stifled an amused chuckle. "No, no, of course I would never say that. It's just I've never seen you in any of my classes, so I was unaware you had such a vested interest in visual arts." Buffy said sarcastically.
"Well, I do."
"Okay, whatever you say." Buffy just shrugged, and Spike fidgeted in his spot. It was almost funny to see a leather-clad Billy Idol look a like in the middle of a brightly lit Falafel Hut, nervous look branding his usually cocky face. Would be, if Spike wasn't asking Buffy to help him in art. She knew that it had to be some sort of scheme or plan to humiliate her in the end. It always was with these things.
But then her well-meaning friend had to interrupt, breaking Buffy's concentration on thinking up an excuse to turn Spike away.
"Well," Willow started from her stool, "she can begin helping you if you went to one of her art shows. There's one tonight at Revello Gallery, which her mom owns. You can totally have my ticket," Willow said, smiling at Spike, ignoring the death glare Buffy was shooting her.
Spike smiled gratefully at the red head, moving forward to take the little slip of paper from Willow's outstretched hand. "Thanks, Red." Willow beamed at the nickname. He pocketed it, and turned back to Buffy who was sullenly standing with her arms crossed. Spike chuckled.
"I guess I'll see you tonight then, right sweets?"
"Yeah, I guess." Buffy muttered, stalking past him to move back around the counter to the man that was still waiting there. Spike ambled toward the door, hands in his pockets. He turned back at the last minute, hand on the glass door as he got ready to head out.
"Hey, you maybe wanna grab some dinner or something-"
"No. Bye."
"Okay. Bye then." Spike waved goodbye, wicked grin on his face. Buffy only allowed herself to smile when he was gone. Willow caught the smile, and she shared an amused look, until Buffy caught the look and scowled deeply.
"I'll deal with you later, girl." Buffy warned, and Willow sheepishly ducked her head. Buffy sighed deeply and then finally turned back to the man, hand poised over the cash and cheery smile plastered on her face.
"So, sir, what will it be?"
"Super size my balls." He said clearly, and Buffy faltered, her eyes widening as she looked at him. His face remained neutral.
"Um . . . oh. Oh." She said, recognition washing over her. She made a little squeaking noise in the back of her throat and started punching in the numbers.
"Of course. That will be $6.15."
+!+!+!+!+
Spike sighed as he sauntered into the art gallery, amid clumps of stuffy looking people that were old and wrinkly. He seemed out of place among the suits and dresses, he himself adorned in dress pants and a dress shirt; but the dress shirt was opened to reveal a black t-shirt underneath, and he had on his favorite duster overtop. He scowled as an old man sniffed at his attire, giving Spike a chastising look.
Spike growled at him, or did something that quite closely resembled a growl, and the old man faltered, and quickly turned away and walked fast in the opposite direction. Spike chuckled to himself, strolling down a dark hallway as he followed a sign proclaiming, "The Artistic Works of Buffy Summers".
Maybe there was some fun to be had, after all.
He entered a brightly lit room, filled with beautiful paintings of various themes. Spike had never been one for art, but he could recognize immense skill in the paintings and sketches. He was a bit blown away when he remembered that this was Buffy's art, the geeky girl who now was a top priority in his life. Feeling strangely insignificant amid all the beauty, he ambled over to the snack table. Grabbing a platter of cheese to himself, oblivious to all the distasteful glances, he went up to a particular painting that seemed to call out to him.
Munching on a piece of cheese (probably cheddar), he studied the curving lines and intense color. It seemed to scream pain and loneliness, though Spike couldn't understand why. Still, in all its morbid and dark glory, it was deeply affecting and beautiful.
"So you came," a voice said behind him. Spike, startled, started choking on his cheese, almost dropping the cheese plate in the process. He coughed hoarsely a few times and spun around to meet the voice.
It was an amused Buffy, looking like she was surprised that he had taken time out of his schedule to show up. Thinking about it, Buffy realized that she was.
"Hey," Spike managed to get out, before breaking into another coughing fit. Buffy just stood there, rolling her eyes and grabbing a piece of Gouda from the platter in his hand while he recovered. Finally he stopped coughing.
"You okay?" Buffy asked him, cheese waving in the air with her hand movements, slight concern etched on her face. He scoffed, brushing it off.
"Course," he said off-handedly. Buffy gave him a look, then pointed to something on his mouth. "You have some spit on your mouth, there."
"Oh . . . thanks, luv." Spike frowned and wiped at his mouth with his hand.
"Good work," Spike said when he turned back around. He motioned at the painting. "I love all of the darkness, the sadness . . . " Spike seemed to get lost in the painting, to the surprise of Buffy. She watched him in fascination as he gazed at the work, in his own world for at least a few minutes. Finally he snapped out of his trance, ducking his head sheepishly.
"Um, yeah. It's a really good painting, it is," he said softly, eyes straying back to it before he looked at her. Buffy took a deep breath, hoping she didn't melt into a puddle right then and there. She was hoping that all of his depth and understanding of her work was really just a ploy. If it wasn't, then this guy had to be absolutely perfect, and she couldn't fathom that fact. No one as cute and charming as Spike, could know art, and feel it as deeply as he seemed to.
"Thanks," she replied, looking at her painting as she came to stand beside him. "I wanted to show depression and . . . and the pain of utter isolation even when you're surrounded by hundreds of people. You're all alone, because no one understands who you truly are . . ." Buffy trailed off.
Spike looked at her in surprise. He had felt that way many times before, almost always when he was with his friends, or when he had been with Cordy. Strange she had felt it too. Well, maybe not so strange cause she is a geek 'n all, but I still get where she's comin' from.
"I understand it," Spike answered, even though she had asked no question. Buffy had an ironic little smile on her face as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Yeah. I know." They stood in silence for awhile, the only noise was of chewing and breathing. Spike felt strangely content, just being, and not having to impress anybody or live up to their expectations. It was nice.
Buffy shifted abruptly, looking at the gathering people around her. "Well, I have a little speech thing to do, so I'm going to go now. I'll see you after, if you decide to stick around." Buffy said, gesturing to the viewers. Spike nodded. "Of course. Go ahead luv. Knock 'em dead, an all." Spike said, smirking, and Buffy rolled her eyes but turned away with a smile. She walked to the front of the room, to a little stage, and she called for everyone's attention.
Spike tuned out as she started talking about her experience in painting, and he looked around the room at the different paintings. He shoved another piece of cheese in his mouth while he studied each one. All communicated unspoken volumes, speaking to him directly. Hmm. Funny how a girl he had nothing in common with could understand so much about his own feelings.
Funnier still how he genuinely cared.
+!+!+!+!+
Buffy felt happy, content even, as she helped her mother clean up the gallery after everybody left. Well, everyone except for Spike, who was waiting outside for her so he could drive her home. Buffy hid her smile as she tossed some food wrappers in a nearby garbage. For some inexplicable reason, she was really, really glad Spike decided to stick around to wait. Even though she didn't care at all, whatsoever.
Mmmhmm. I'm sure you don't care. Have you *checked* out his pecs lately? Shut up, BadBrain. Oh, touchy. At least you realize he's a major catch. Maybe he is.
Buffy felt incredibly stupid as she internally debated Spike. Glad that no one was around except her mother for the moment, she hurriedly finished her task to keep her mind off things.
Finally she and her mother were done, the room spotless. Her mother sighed as she flipped curly blonde hair out of her eyes, glancing at Buffy as she did so with a motherly smile on her face, eyes crinkling.
"You did a great job tonight, Buffy. I'm so proud of you."
"I know mom." Buffy smiled at her mother, desperately hoping she wouldn't get all teary and sentimental. It was an art show for god sakes. "Glad you liked it. I think everyone else did too."
Just as the mist started to overtake her mother's eyes, Buffy quickly interrupted. If her mother started this now, she wouldn't be able to meet Spike for another hour, at least. "Well mom, thanks so much for helping me clean up and everything. But I'm really tired, so I'm just going to go now."
Her mother sniffled and brushed away an errant tear, smiling brightly at her oldest daughter. "Of course sweetie, you go right ahead. You've had a long day and you should get some rest for school tomorrow."
"Yeah mom. I will. Bye." Buffy said, pulling on her gray coat over her splatter painted smock-and pants ensemble. It was one of her own creations. Just as Buffy was about to walk out the door, her mother called to her.
"How are you going to get home?"
Buffy spun around, smile plastered on her face. She didn't want to lie about Spike, but her mother would get all gushy and giggly, and would insist to meet Spike even though he and Buffy weren't even going out. Basically she would embarrass Buffy horribly, and Spike would never want to see her again.
"Well," Buffy started, pulling on a sweet and open face, "Willow's uncle is picking us up, and he said he would drop me off at home."
Her mother frowned, her forehead creasing in thought. "Willow? I didn't even see Willow here tonight."
Shit.
"Well," Buffy started, trying to think quickly, "she did come, but she came later, after the show started. But then she felt a little sick and went to go wait in the lobby, just in case, she, you know," Buffy finished, gesturing in a puking motion. Joyce bought it.
"Aw, poor dear. I hope she's all right then. You make sure you tell her I said hi then, alright? I'm just going to stay an extra hour to go over some financial work."
"Yeah mom, of course. Bye!" Buffy breezed out the door, relieved.
"Bye, honey."
Buffy walked briskly through the dimly lit hallway, her footsteps echoing off the ceramic tile. A smile slid over her face before she even realized what had happened. Though she had no reason to be, she almost felt nervous about being alone with Spike. He was one of 'them', yes, but he could be so nice at times, and he had really surprised her tonight.
"Maybe he's different," Buffy whispered to herself.
But when she stepped outside into the cool night, her smile dropped and all of her doubts about Spike were affirmed. She stopped in the doorway, feeling a fleeting instant of regret and hurt before she remembered she didn't care about Spike anyways.
He was leaning against his black convertible, huge smile gracing his features as his eyes sparkled in the night. In front of him, closer then she had any right to be, was a pretty girl with dark raven hair and pale skin. She was extremely thin and frail, but she had an almost ethereal beauty to her. Spike was shamelessly flirting, touching her arm and using his megawatt smile to his advantage. She seemed to be responding well, if the fact she kept licking her red lips and moving closer to him were any indication.
Buffy snorted in disgust, angry at him for being such a bastard, even though he was single and had every right to be flirting; mad at this girl for intruding and taking Spike away from Buffy, even though he wasn't hers anyways; but most of all, Buffy was mad at herself for expecting him to be different, and for caring so much that he was talking to another girl while he was waiting for her.
Extremely confused, Buffy stepped off the door ledge and started walking down the other way of the street, looking for a taxi to hail. She checked her black bag to make sure she had enough money to get home; thankfully, she was covered.
Spike seemed to notice her a couple of minutes later, standing at the edge of the street with one arm waving in the air. He quickly apologized to Drusilla, telling her he would be right back. She pouted but said she could wait. At her words Spike took off, jogging up to Buffy just as a cab rolled up beside them. He grabbed her arm just as she opened the yellow door.
"What do you want?" she snapped at him, her eyes swirling with emotions he couldn't recognize. He looked at her confused.
"I though I was driving you home, luv," he said slowly, as if maybe he had misunderstood and she wasn't going home with him, after all. Buffy just rolled her eyes, hand still on the open door.
"No, Spike, you're not. Just go back to your new friend, and I'll find my own way home. Okay?" Buffy said tensely, preparing to get into the taxi. He was confused about her reaction, but decided to let it go.
"Okay," he said, backing off, still frowning. This seemed to enrage her further, and she scowled at him before flopping down into the car seat and slamming the door behind her. He watched the taxi zoom off, still confused. He stood there for a couple of seconds before turning and starting to walk back to his car.
It was when he caught sight of Drusilla, fidgeting impatiently, that it suddenly hit him why Buffy seemed so mad. But it wasn't like that all. Drusilla was just a good friend of his, and she had happened to walk by just now . . . and he would never imagine dating her. So why would Buffy get so mad? Spike couldn't see why Buffy would even care at all; it wasn't like she had any feelings for him. She probably hated him.
But what really got him was that he seemed to feel bad she had gotten angry, and guilty. He had no reason to feel guilty because he had done nothing wrong, and he shouldn't have even cared about Buffy's feelings. She was just a project. A stupid bet. Nothing more. Spike sighed loudly, deciding that it didn't matter anymore because Buffy had already gone home anyways.
He reached Drusilla, and smiled at her. "Sorry, Dru."
"That's okay, Spike. So tell me more about Connor and his latest girlfriend," Drusilla requested, giggling at his younger sex-crazed brother. Spike grinned, trying to forget about Buffy and the hurt on her face.
As he leaned back against his care, and telling Drusilla about Connor, he realized that her pained face was still burned on his memory. He just couldn't understand why.
+!+!+!+
*To be continued . . .
