Chapter 5
A/N – Sorry for the delay. Damn writer's block! Anyway, here's chapter five. BTW, I've quoted a few lines from the movie "Clueless" which was written by Amy Heckerling. Warning: unless you've seen that movie a few times, the first scene may not make much sense. And without further adieu...
William sat staring at the picture box, transfixed. His brows knitted as he wondered to himself, what was a "cake boy?" And more specifically, what was a "disco-dancing, Oscar Wilde-reading, Streissand ticket-holding friend of Dorothy?"
After several seconds of pondering, he decided that "cake boy" must be a complimentary term. He scrambled around the room until he found a scrap of paper and an odd-looking pen, and quickly wrote down the new phrases he'd learned.
Although initially fazed by the odd turn of events that had happened to him, he now found himself feeling—for the first time in his life—truly alive. And though he was absolutely 'clueless' about how he'd landed in such a strange and wondrous adventure, he'd decided to grab onto it with both hands, hold tight and see where it would lead him.
To passion…to wealth…to ultimate enlightenment..?
Oh hell, at least he'd escaped Mother.
A wide grin spread over his face at that thought.
William turned back to the picture box and the 'movie' the flappy-eared man had referred to as "Clueless". He found himself totally engrossed. Although the story was most foreign to him, something about it seemed familiar. He recalled a book written by a particular English author…Jane Austen was it?
And then towards the end of the movie, after he'd watched the young heroine, standing in front of a fountain, realize that she loved, of all people, her ex-step-brother and utter, "I am majorly, totally, butt-crazy in love with Josh!" he picked up his pen and jotted down "butt-crazy."
* * *
Klunk.
To Buffy's ears it was probably the richest, most satisfying sound she'd heard all day. Yeah, it almost made the hours she'd worked in her demeaning, depressing, dead-end job worthwhile. Or not.
Sighing softly, she slid her time card into the appropriate slot in the metal rack on the wall, and picked up the neat paper sack that contained Dawn's dinner—one that would undoubtedly be received with groans, a look of disgust, and finally, a stomping to the teenager's bedroom. "I already ate," she'd say, or "I'm not hungry" was another common response. Buffy had grown tired of it, but held her tongue. Lecturing or arguing or fighting could only drive them further apart. And they were already at shouting distance.
So instead, she continued to bring Dawn's dinner home, lovingly prepared, with an extra tomato slice and the crispest lettuce leaves. She'd leave it on the kitchen counter where it would sit until the following morning, when it would ultimately be disposed of—without a word or even a thought.
Clutching the paper sack, Buffy headed out the door. But she wouldn't think about Dawn just yet. She wasn't going straight home. She had a slight detour, a certain vampire to see. Yeah, that would cheer her up. At least there was one person on this Earth whose existence was actually more depressing than her own. She stopped and thought for a second.
Or was there?
* * *
Anya frowned as she sorted through racks of colorful bridesmaid dresses. "Nothing appeals to me," she complained. "These dresses are just so…"
"Hideous?" Halfrek said, holding up a full-length, lilac-colored satin gown with a large silk flower pinned to its front.
"Yeah," Anya sighed, "I'd actually had my heart set on the traditional burlap and larvae, but Xander got a little freaked about it. Said he'd never be able to explain that one to his parents."
Halfrek made a clucking noise and stuck the bridesmaid gown back on the rack. "Well, you already know how I feel about mixed marriages, Anyanka. I mean I hate to say it so late in the game and all, but…demon-human relationships, as a whole, just don't work. Take Spike for example—"
"Spike?"
"Oh, sorry. Little slip there." Halfrek made a zipping motion over her lips. "Not supposed to discuss my ongoing cases—you know—the whole 'wishee confidentiality' thing."
"But, we always used to…" The former demon's protest trailed off.
"Sorry, honey, but you know the rules."
"Right. And I guess since I'm not exactly a vengeance demon anymore, the whole mixed marriage issue really doesn't apply to Xander and me," Anya said quietly before turning her attention back to the rack of dresses in front of her. Halfrek did like-wise and browsed for several more minutes before pulling out a dress for closer inspection.
"Oh hey!" Halfrek's eye's lit up as she stared admiringly at a long, emerald green dress with a skirt full of ruffles that kind of resembled sea weed. "Look what I found!"
Anya's expression brightened as she gazed at the gown. "Oh wow," she said, getting a little teary-eyed.
"I think this is the one!" Halfrek chimed in a sing-song voice.
Anya nodded, wiping away a tear. "It's gorgeous!"
* * *
Spike tiptoed down the grand staircase leading to the foyer. It was morning and two voices could be heard coming from the dining room: one was energetic, light, and cheerful; the other was shrill, clipped and clearly agitated.
Emily and Mother.
He quickened his pace at the sound of the former then slowed at the thought of the latter. A pain, like the one emitted by the chip only dull and constant—and alcohol related—made him stop completely and hold his head in both hands. He fought the urge to howl like a bloodhound. Mother was already plenty angry. No need to upset her further.
Get it together, Spike. Get it—
"William?" His mother's voice, sounding eerily similar to the Wicked Witch of the West's, interrupted his thoughts, cut through his pain and made him stand at attention. How was it that she could sense him lurking more than ten feet from the dining room entrance. What was she? Some sort of demon?
Hmmm. That would explain a lot.
"William? What are you doing out there? I can hear you shuffling about. Get in here this instant! I wish to have a word with you!" said the Wicked Witch.
Spike slunk over to the dining room, pausing in the doorway. Mother shot him a disapproving look: eyes narrowed, lips pursed. Upon examination, she not only sounded like the Wicked Witch, but she resembled her as well. Although she lacked the pointy black hat and wasn't green, she had the same hawk-like nose, hollowed out cheekbones, and eyes that bore into you, sending a message. And the message was clear. Don't f*!@k with me. And people rarely did. Father on occasion. Emily once or twice. But William never.
Mother had been a beauty once. In her day. But now, barely forty, she was hardened by life and its disappointments. William was her biggest.
Emily, his sister, suppressed a giggle and covered her smile with a delicate hand. Spike turned to her and his eyes immediately softened. Emily was fifteen, the same age as Dawn. Her warm brown eyes mocked him.
"So," his mother barked, "our William has decided to join us at last." She glanced at the clock on the far wall. "Emily and I have already finished our breakfast, but we'll linger on here and keep you company."
"Oh, there's no need," Spike began, sounding hopeful.
"Nonsense!" She waved her hand in an imperial manner. "Now, sit down!"
He opened his mouth to protest—something he would never have done in his pre-vampire days—thought better of it and quickly seated himself across from his sister and to the left of his mother.
"Now," his mother said, tilting her chin up a fraction so she could look down her nose at him, "do you mind telling me where you were last night and why you came home at such an ungodly hour?"
"I, uh, I…" Spike stammered.
Oh, c'mon, be a man!
He contorted his mouth into a wooden smile and blinked back his fear. "I was out, as all," he said finally.
"Out?" Wicked's eyes bulged. "Out? What kind of answer is that?"
"Well…"
Emily laughed. "Oh Mother, don't you understand?" Her eyes gleamed like an evil child's. "Our William's in love. Can't you see that? Obviously, he was with Cecily last night."
"Cecily?" Mother's dark arches shot together.
Spike scowled and sent a warning look to Emily. "Well actually, I was at a party. Lost track of the time."
"I'll bet Cecily was there," Emily added.
"Now, Little Bit," he said to his sister, "I'm not sure where you're getting these crazy ideas about Cecily—"
"From your journal," Emily explained matter-of-factly, "and, William, how many times have I told you not to call me that horrible nickname! I'm fifteen for heaven's sake!"
* * *
"Spike?" The door flew open after she'd given it a good "take that" shove. Slayer eyes narrowed, she scanned the dusky crypt and spotted the vampire sitting in his favorite, garbage-dump-find recliner. He immediately scrambled to his feet and stared at her, eyes wide, surprised.
"It's you," he said, voice filled with wonder. "You're…Buffy…"
"Uh huh," she grunted, eyeing him with uncertainty. She took five slow steps towards him.
"I'm," he began, took a deep breath, and then smiled, "I'm glad you came."
"Yeah, well, Clem thought you were acting pretty freaky earlier. He thought I should come talk to you."
"Freaky?" he asked, baffled. He bent down and picked up a scrap of paper and started scanning it.
"Yeah." She inched closer, her eyes never leaving his face. His perfect, chiseled, beautiful face. She suddenly felt, as she often did when in his presence, drawn to him.
Drawn—as if by gravity.
"I'm not sure I…" His blue eyes locked with hers. Gravity pulled her closer.
And closer.
But she was here to talk.
Oh yeah.
Buffy frowned. But talking wasn't something they normally did. Well he talked, obviously. He talked a lot. But what he usually said, she didn't like. Things like, "you belong in the dark with me…" Okay, maybe she did kind of like some of the things he said. In a strange, twisted, "you came back wrong" kind of way. But she hadn't come back wrong. She'd come back right. Right?
Hmmm.
Buffy's eyes strayed down to the vampire's lips. Those thin but sensuous Spike lips. And damn gravity kept pulling. Getting stronger as she got closer. Until…
Wham!
Their bodies collided. Lips locked. There was tongue action. Arms winded around torsos. You couldn't defy the laws of gravity, right? After all, it was freakin' physics. She'd talk to Spike…after. She pushed thoughts of his earlier strangeness to the back of her mind and concentrated on their kiss. A kiss, which, oddly enough, tasted like cheetoes.