Spike woke up, groggy with painkillers to see his uncle snoozing in a chair
next to his bed. Not realizing he was in the hospital, he wondered
internally, "Why the buggery is Rupes sitting in my room? And since when do
I have a telly bolted on my wall?" He looked around the room blearily,
searching for the posters of The Sex Pistols and The Clash he'd put up two
years ago. He attempted to sit up, trying to move his dominant arm to
support him, when he noticed said arm was in a cast in a sling, and
therefore, immobile.
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed as he finally took in his surroundings, which startled Giles from his slumber with a snort.
"Oh, er- sorry, drifted off there, for a moment, what time is it?" Giles blinked and looked around for the nurse he'd been conversing with a moment ago. He noticed the room was flooded in daylight, which was odd, since it was past midnight when his nephew had been transferred from the emergency unit to a regular hospital bed. Embarrassed that he'd fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation, he snatched his glasses from the bedside table, and noticed Spike was awake, and staring at him in consternation.
"Oh, hullo, Will. You're up," he stated cheerfully.
"Yes, and apparently, I'm in a sodding hospital," he said snappishly. "What the hell am I doing here, Rupert?"
Giles extended his hand towards Spike in what he hoped was a calming gesture, and encouraged him to lie back down in the bed. "Now, don't get yourself worked up, Will, er, Spike. Yes you're in a hospital, but you're going to be just fine, so don't worry."
Spike gulped nervously. He hated hospitals. They reeked of nothing but sickness and death. When his mum had been ill, he'd gone in and out of these places, his anxiety and the stress over her condition wearing him down to a hollow shell by the time it was finished. His mind strained to recall the events that caused him to land here.
"Can't remember," he muttered, shaking his head. "When did I get here?" He stared straight ahead, racking his brain while he listened to Giles' response.
"I believe Buffy found you around four in the afternoon yesterday-" Spike whirled his head to look at Giles, instantly regretting the dizziness the movement caused. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off nausea.
"Buffy?" He asked once the feeling passed. "What did she have to-"
"I spoke to her after the ambulance brought you in and Joyce told me you were to meet her at the museum. When you didn't show, Buffy went by your house to round you up. The door was unlocked so, she let herself in, and..." Giles trailed off, letting his nephew fill in the blanks.
Spike sat up slowly again, his memory jarred. "I'd gone back," he whispered. "I was going to grab some of my stuff to take to your place, and I was almost out the door when Da came home." Spike ran his hand through his hair, trying to cover up his distress at the memories of his raving, drunken father.
Giles sighed regretfully. "I thought as much," he replied softly. "I suppose there's no use asking it now, but why didn't you get me to come with you?" He leaned forward, wanting to understand the boy's denial that he'd needed any help.
"Dunno," Spike mumbled. "Didn't think he'd be home for a while, I guess. He's usually out until six at the pubs. Thought I had some time, and then I'd go meet Buffy." He toyed with a loose thread on his sling. "How long am I in here for?" He inquired as if determining a prison sentence.
Giles put a comforting hand on Spike's shoulder. "I think they'll let you out after one more day," he replied, and at the boy's disgruntled groan he emphasized, "one more day for observation to make sure you don't have any severe head trauma, and then you'll be released into my custody." This wasn't news to either of them, since they'd decided a few days ago that Spike would move in with his uncle permanently. On the night that Spike had shown up at Buffy's door, beaten and bloody, he'd gone through the main exit as Giles was entering. One look at his nephew, and Giles was ready to march over to Rick's and beat the bloody tar out of him, but Spike told him he had had enough, and was ready to fulfill his mother's request that Giles take guardianship of him.
Giles had spent the next few days working out the legalities of the situation while Spike stayed in the apartment recovering. Giles had insisted that Spike refrain from returning to his father's house to retrieve his belongings until Giles could accompany him. He knew that if Rick caught Spike alone, suitcase in hand, the results would be dire, and he'd been right. His nephew had been beaten senseless, and though his injuries were not life threatening, the damage they'd left would outlast any physical scars.
"I know you won't like this, Will, but I had to notify the authorities, and they've arrested Rick," he held up a hand before Spike could protest. "I had no choice in the matter. You were unconscious with a gash in your head and a broken arm, and you're a minor; the hospital staff has to make inquiries, and the police must be told when a law is broken. I know he's your father, but Will, think what could happen if he's left to his own devices. He could come after you, and this time not leave you alive!" Giles finished his outburst, and stood up to pace. Spike stayed quiet for a moment and looked up, a question on his mind.
"Where did Buffy go, after they took me here?"
Giles turned, startled by the change of subject. "Hm? Oh, I sent her home. She wanted to come see you with her mother, to check on you. She was very distressed, though, so I thought it best that she go home."
Spike was surprised, to say the least, by Buffy's concern for him. He had thought she generally despised him, but he supposed anyone who found a person in the condition he'd been in would be anxious afterwards. Giles stepped closer to Spike's bed, his face revealing the weariness he felt after the events of the evening before. "I honestly don't know what would have happened if- if Buffy hadn't found you when she did," Giles said pointedly to his nephew. "I shudder to think about it." He stared out the small window, his glasses in his hand as he tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose.
Spike frowned, not comprehending his uncle's anguish. "I'd have been all right, Rupes, yeah? I mean, a little worse for wear, but-"
"Who knows how long you would have lain there, unconscious and losing blood from a head wound?" Giles cut in forcefully. "Every minute you stayed that way brought you closer to being in a coma and resulting in brain damage." The librarian tried to cover the break in his voice as his mind whirled with how close he came to losing his nephew. He focused his gaze on the boy, his expression serious. "We owe Buffy a great deal of gratitude for what she did." He held Spike's blue eyes with his own for a moment, then placed his glasses back on his face and moved closer to the bed, putting a shaking hand on Spike's shoulder, giving it a meaningful squeeze. He squashed the impulse to embrace him, thinking the boy was in too much pain now, and would probably feel embarrassed by the affection.
Spike averted his eyes to his lap, grasping his uncle's meaning. Although he knew that Buffy would most likely be even shyer around him than usual, he realized he needed to thank her. But, thanks didn't seem like enough for her actions, and his conscience urged him to make a concentrated effort to draw her out, and become her friend, despite her protestations that she didn't want any. He felt a slight tug in his heart, thinking about the tiny girl with the huge green eyes full of fear and pain. A sense of protectiveness filled him and he found himself wanting to take that pain away from her. He looked up at Giles, whose hand still rested warmly on his left shoulder, and he tentatively placed his right hand over the older man's. He looked up at his uncle with a shaky smile.
"I'll do right by her, Rupes. I promise."
Spike was checked out of the hospital the following day, painkiller prescription and suitcases in hand. He was installed in his Uncle Rupert's apartment with strict orders to take it easy for the remainder of the week and over the weekend as well. Giles salvaged the rest of Spike's belongings from the former home of his father. Rick had been arrested on charges of child abuse, and was due to stand trial in four weeks' time. Spike wasn't thrilled about having to testify, but he felt reassured when his uncle told him it wouldn't be like the court scenes on the telly. In all likelihood, he'd give his testimony in a closed courtroom without his father present.
Spike stayed in the apartment, not venturing out even to pay the Summers women a visit. He was unsure of what he wanted to say to Buffy when he next saw her, and he found he was extremely nervous about it. He'd given her a hard time when she'd first arrived, and he was pretty sure she didn't like him much. That thought depressed him somewhat, and he kicked himself whenever the feeling threatened to overcome him. He saw no reason why he should get into such a state over the chit, after all. Sure, she was attractive, and he felt all big and manly next to her diminutive form, but he wasn't about to fall at her feet. He tried to chalk his apprehension up to an embarrassing sense of gratitude, but a feeling deep down inside him knew better. Despite his callous attitude, she'd intrigued him from the first, and each time he gleaned something new about her like seeing the old photographs, hearing her laugh or listening to her talk about art with such passion, he became more and more drawn to her.
When he returned to school the following Monday, Spike sought her out between afternoon lessons. He felt more confident that he wouldn't stammer or lose composure if others were present. He found her at her locker after lunch, pulling out the books for her next classes. Standing behind her, he raised a hand to tap her on the shoulder, when he remembered how jumpy she was about touching, so he stepped around to face her. Sensing his presence, Buffy looked up from stuffing her history book in her bag, and her eyes widened when she saw him. He watched as her eyes flashed surprise and relief at seeing him, then regret, and then the wall came up, and he couldn't read her emotions any longer.
"Hey, Summers. Uh, I mean Buffy," he started, suddenly feeling as if he were ten years old and in need of a Valentine.
Buffy zipped her book bag shut, and slung it over her shoulder. "Hey," she replied softly. "How are you feeling?" She eyed his left arm in its plaster cast, supported by the sling around his neck. She felt a twinge of guilt, but suppressed it, trying not to focus on herself.
"I've been better," Spike answered good-naturedly. "Have to write with my right hand, but I've never been one to back down from a challenge." He smirked down at her, but she continued to stare blankly at him. He cleared his throat and glanced down at his feet to gather his thoughts. "Listen, Buffy. I- I just wanted to say thanks. You know, for what you did and all." He shifted his weight awkwardly, and blew out his breath to relieve the tension.
"I didn't really do anything," Buffy objected. "I should have, but I didn't." She struggled to maintain her self-possession, but that wall was slowly crumbling. Spike looked up, hearing the tremulousness in her voice, and frowned in puzzlement.
"I don't know what you mean, Buffy, but you bloody well did do something," Spike insisted.
Buffy sighed, and looked down. Obviously, he wanted to get this obligation he thought he owed her off his chest, so she figured she should at least let him do that. "Okay, well...you're, um, welcome-" she was cut off by the arrival of one of the upperclassmen that dealt her a dose of torment for her shyness every now and then. The boy, named Parker, sported an earring and a ponytail, and leaned onto the locker behind Spike, smirking.
"Hey, Spike!" Parker clapped a hand on Spike's good shoulder, and the blond turned, startled and annoyed by the disturbance.
"What do you want, Abrams? I'm busy here," he gestured to Buffy who was tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve, as if the activity required her full attention.
"Oh, Summers. Didn't see you there." Parker let out an obnoxious chortle, and then turned back to Spike. "Some of the lads and me are gonna play a spot of rugby after school in the park. Want to join?"
Spike rolled his eyes in exasperation. "In case you haven't noticed, pillock, I've got a broken arm. The condition doesn't exactly lend itself to playing rough sports right now mate. Besides, like I said, I'm talking to Buffy, so piss off."
Parker grinned in sardonic amusement. "Summers talks? I didn't know that!" He stepped out from behind Spike to stand beside Buffy, and stared down at her derisively. He feigned contemplation, and put a hand to his chin. "Oh, that's right, you do talk, don't you? Spike told me your catch phrase. What was it? 'Don't touch me'? Right, you're the 'Don't Touch Me Freak'!" Parker burst into laughter, when Buffy's head snapped up, her eyes glaring at Spike in shock and accusation. Parker turned back to the bleached blond. "Who came up with that name, Spike; you or Xander? I can't remember what you told me."
Filled with indignation, Spike glowered at the chortling Parker, and growled. "Shut your gob, you twit!" he hissed, and shoved him backwards in order to pull Buffy away from the scene, but she was gone. He scanned the hallway for her, finally spotting her striding angrily around the corner and out of sight. He clenched his right fist, wanting to pound Parker into next Tuesday, but instead he threw the idiot a withering glare, and started after Buffy to explain.
"Oh, come on, Spike!" Parker called out after him. "What's got your knickers in a twist today?" Spike ignored him and racked his brain, trying to think of where Buffy was headed. He eventually found her in the art room, paintbrush and pallet in hand. She was standing in front of a blank canvas, glaring at it. Seeing her angry expression, he winced when it occurred to him that she was possibly contemplating painting an unflattering portrait of him. Possibly something involving disembowelment. He approached her cautiously.
"Go away, Spike," she spat out softly, and he jumped.
"Look Buffy, I'm sorry about that, okay?" His apology sounded a lot whinier than he'd intended it to. She closed her eyes and sighed, and he continued. "I did call you that, but-" he blanched at the murderous look in her eyes at his admission. "Well, that was before I knew you, and-"
She cut him off harshly. "And you know me so well now, do you?" She finally turned to face him, her fury radiating from her being. "You don't know anything about me, and you never will!" Other students in the room took notice of this altercation, and began to stare and whisper, but the two combatants disregarded them.
"Pet, look. I understand you're brassed off, and I don't blame you, but we've got to work together, right?" He was starting to plead, and he began to resent her for making him beg, but he swallowed it down, knowing he'd dug a hole for himself. "I fucked up, but I'd like to be friends if you'll just-"
Buffy let out a sharp laugh, and turned back to her canvas. "Yeah, I know, you need my help to graduate," she smiled cynically and took a moment to compose herself. "But that's it. I'll tutor you, but that's all. I don't want friends, as I believe I've told you, and even if I did, I certainly don't want you as my friend." Spike recoiled at her harsh, cruel tone and threw up his hands in capitulation.
"Fine!" he yelled, not caring about who heard him. "Do what you like, then, Summers! I don't give a bloody goddamn!" With that, he stalked angrily from the room.
Buffy tried to keep her mouth tightly closed to ward off the sobs that threatened. She had felt so guilty regarding her inaction on Spike's behalf. She'd worried and fretted about his condition constantly ever since seeing him and Giles off in the ambulance. Her relief at the news that he would be okay came as a surprise, and she realized that despite her attempts to cut herself off from people, she couldn't help caring about them, especially him, for some reason. When he approached her at her locker, she felt so embarrassed by his gratitude, yet thrilled at the same time. Then that jerk Parker had ruined everything. His revelation of Spike's cruel nickname for her stung, and she could no longer bear to remain in his presence. She dropped the brush and pallet on the table, and grabbed her bag. She left the classroom without so much as a by your leave to the teacher, and made a beeline for the school exit. Buffy needed desperately to be alone, school and Spike be damned.
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed as he finally took in his surroundings, which startled Giles from his slumber with a snort.
"Oh, er- sorry, drifted off there, for a moment, what time is it?" Giles blinked and looked around for the nurse he'd been conversing with a moment ago. He noticed the room was flooded in daylight, which was odd, since it was past midnight when his nephew had been transferred from the emergency unit to a regular hospital bed. Embarrassed that he'd fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation, he snatched his glasses from the bedside table, and noticed Spike was awake, and staring at him in consternation.
"Oh, hullo, Will. You're up," he stated cheerfully.
"Yes, and apparently, I'm in a sodding hospital," he said snappishly. "What the hell am I doing here, Rupert?"
Giles extended his hand towards Spike in what he hoped was a calming gesture, and encouraged him to lie back down in the bed. "Now, don't get yourself worked up, Will, er, Spike. Yes you're in a hospital, but you're going to be just fine, so don't worry."
Spike gulped nervously. He hated hospitals. They reeked of nothing but sickness and death. When his mum had been ill, he'd gone in and out of these places, his anxiety and the stress over her condition wearing him down to a hollow shell by the time it was finished. His mind strained to recall the events that caused him to land here.
"Can't remember," he muttered, shaking his head. "When did I get here?" He stared straight ahead, racking his brain while he listened to Giles' response.
"I believe Buffy found you around four in the afternoon yesterday-" Spike whirled his head to look at Giles, instantly regretting the dizziness the movement caused. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off nausea.
"Buffy?" He asked once the feeling passed. "What did she have to-"
"I spoke to her after the ambulance brought you in and Joyce told me you were to meet her at the museum. When you didn't show, Buffy went by your house to round you up. The door was unlocked so, she let herself in, and..." Giles trailed off, letting his nephew fill in the blanks.
Spike sat up slowly again, his memory jarred. "I'd gone back," he whispered. "I was going to grab some of my stuff to take to your place, and I was almost out the door when Da came home." Spike ran his hand through his hair, trying to cover up his distress at the memories of his raving, drunken father.
Giles sighed regretfully. "I thought as much," he replied softly. "I suppose there's no use asking it now, but why didn't you get me to come with you?" He leaned forward, wanting to understand the boy's denial that he'd needed any help.
"Dunno," Spike mumbled. "Didn't think he'd be home for a while, I guess. He's usually out until six at the pubs. Thought I had some time, and then I'd go meet Buffy." He toyed with a loose thread on his sling. "How long am I in here for?" He inquired as if determining a prison sentence.
Giles put a comforting hand on Spike's shoulder. "I think they'll let you out after one more day," he replied, and at the boy's disgruntled groan he emphasized, "one more day for observation to make sure you don't have any severe head trauma, and then you'll be released into my custody." This wasn't news to either of them, since they'd decided a few days ago that Spike would move in with his uncle permanently. On the night that Spike had shown up at Buffy's door, beaten and bloody, he'd gone through the main exit as Giles was entering. One look at his nephew, and Giles was ready to march over to Rick's and beat the bloody tar out of him, but Spike told him he had had enough, and was ready to fulfill his mother's request that Giles take guardianship of him.
Giles had spent the next few days working out the legalities of the situation while Spike stayed in the apartment recovering. Giles had insisted that Spike refrain from returning to his father's house to retrieve his belongings until Giles could accompany him. He knew that if Rick caught Spike alone, suitcase in hand, the results would be dire, and he'd been right. His nephew had been beaten senseless, and though his injuries were not life threatening, the damage they'd left would outlast any physical scars.
"I know you won't like this, Will, but I had to notify the authorities, and they've arrested Rick," he held up a hand before Spike could protest. "I had no choice in the matter. You were unconscious with a gash in your head and a broken arm, and you're a minor; the hospital staff has to make inquiries, and the police must be told when a law is broken. I know he's your father, but Will, think what could happen if he's left to his own devices. He could come after you, and this time not leave you alive!" Giles finished his outburst, and stood up to pace. Spike stayed quiet for a moment and looked up, a question on his mind.
"Where did Buffy go, after they took me here?"
Giles turned, startled by the change of subject. "Hm? Oh, I sent her home. She wanted to come see you with her mother, to check on you. She was very distressed, though, so I thought it best that she go home."
Spike was surprised, to say the least, by Buffy's concern for him. He had thought she generally despised him, but he supposed anyone who found a person in the condition he'd been in would be anxious afterwards. Giles stepped closer to Spike's bed, his face revealing the weariness he felt after the events of the evening before. "I honestly don't know what would have happened if- if Buffy hadn't found you when she did," Giles said pointedly to his nephew. "I shudder to think about it." He stared out the small window, his glasses in his hand as he tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose.
Spike frowned, not comprehending his uncle's anguish. "I'd have been all right, Rupes, yeah? I mean, a little worse for wear, but-"
"Who knows how long you would have lain there, unconscious and losing blood from a head wound?" Giles cut in forcefully. "Every minute you stayed that way brought you closer to being in a coma and resulting in brain damage." The librarian tried to cover the break in his voice as his mind whirled with how close he came to losing his nephew. He focused his gaze on the boy, his expression serious. "We owe Buffy a great deal of gratitude for what she did." He held Spike's blue eyes with his own for a moment, then placed his glasses back on his face and moved closer to the bed, putting a shaking hand on Spike's shoulder, giving it a meaningful squeeze. He squashed the impulse to embrace him, thinking the boy was in too much pain now, and would probably feel embarrassed by the affection.
Spike averted his eyes to his lap, grasping his uncle's meaning. Although he knew that Buffy would most likely be even shyer around him than usual, he realized he needed to thank her. But, thanks didn't seem like enough for her actions, and his conscience urged him to make a concentrated effort to draw her out, and become her friend, despite her protestations that she didn't want any. He felt a slight tug in his heart, thinking about the tiny girl with the huge green eyes full of fear and pain. A sense of protectiveness filled him and he found himself wanting to take that pain away from her. He looked up at Giles, whose hand still rested warmly on his left shoulder, and he tentatively placed his right hand over the older man's. He looked up at his uncle with a shaky smile.
"I'll do right by her, Rupes. I promise."
Spike was checked out of the hospital the following day, painkiller prescription and suitcases in hand. He was installed in his Uncle Rupert's apartment with strict orders to take it easy for the remainder of the week and over the weekend as well. Giles salvaged the rest of Spike's belongings from the former home of his father. Rick had been arrested on charges of child abuse, and was due to stand trial in four weeks' time. Spike wasn't thrilled about having to testify, but he felt reassured when his uncle told him it wouldn't be like the court scenes on the telly. In all likelihood, he'd give his testimony in a closed courtroom without his father present.
Spike stayed in the apartment, not venturing out even to pay the Summers women a visit. He was unsure of what he wanted to say to Buffy when he next saw her, and he found he was extremely nervous about it. He'd given her a hard time when she'd first arrived, and he was pretty sure she didn't like him much. That thought depressed him somewhat, and he kicked himself whenever the feeling threatened to overcome him. He saw no reason why he should get into such a state over the chit, after all. Sure, she was attractive, and he felt all big and manly next to her diminutive form, but he wasn't about to fall at her feet. He tried to chalk his apprehension up to an embarrassing sense of gratitude, but a feeling deep down inside him knew better. Despite his callous attitude, she'd intrigued him from the first, and each time he gleaned something new about her like seeing the old photographs, hearing her laugh or listening to her talk about art with such passion, he became more and more drawn to her.
When he returned to school the following Monday, Spike sought her out between afternoon lessons. He felt more confident that he wouldn't stammer or lose composure if others were present. He found her at her locker after lunch, pulling out the books for her next classes. Standing behind her, he raised a hand to tap her on the shoulder, when he remembered how jumpy she was about touching, so he stepped around to face her. Sensing his presence, Buffy looked up from stuffing her history book in her bag, and her eyes widened when she saw him. He watched as her eyes flashed surprise and relief at seeing him, then regret, and then the wall came up, and he couldn't read her emotions any longer.
"Hey, Summers. Uh, I mean Buffy," he started, suddenly feeling as if he were ten years old and in need of a Valentine.
Buffy zipped her book bag shut, and slung it over her shoulder. "Hey," she replied softly. "How are you feeling?" She eyed his left arm in its plaster cast, supported by the sling around his neck. She felt a twinge of guilt, but suppressed it, trying not to focus on herself.
"I've been better," Spike answered good-naturedly. "Have to write with my right hand, but I've never been one to back down from a challenge." He smirked down at her, but she continued to stare blankly at him. He cleared his throat and glanced down at his feet to gather his thoughts. "Listen, Buffy. I- I just wanted to say thanks. You know, for what you did and all." He shifted his weight awkwardly, and blew out his breath to relieve the tension.
"I didn't really do anything," Buffy objected. "I should have, but I didn't." She struggled to maintain her self-possession, but that wall was slowly crumbling. Spike looked up, hearing the tremulousness in her voice, and frowned in puzzlement.
"I don't know what you mean, Buffy, but you bloody well did do something," Spike insisted.
Buffy sighed, and looked down. Obviously, he wanted to get this obligation he thought he owed her off his chest, so she figured she should at least let him do that. "Okay, well...you're, um, welcome-" she was cut off by the arrival of one of the upperclassmen that dealt her a dose of torment for her shyness every now and then. The boy, named Parker, sported an earring and a ponytail, and leaned onto the locker behind Spike, smirking.
"Hey, Spike!" Parker clapped a hand on Spike's good shoulder, and the blond turned, startled and annoyed by the disturbance.
"What do you want, Abrams? I'm busy here," he gestured to Buffy who was tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve, as if the activity required her full attention.
"Oh, Summers. Didn't see you there." Parker let out an obnoxious chortle, and then turned back to Spike. "Some of the lads and me are gonna play a spot of rugby after school in the park. Want to join?"
Spike rolled his eyes in exasperation. "In case you haven't noticed, pillock, I've got a broken arm. The condition doesn't exactly lend itself to playing rough sports right now mate. Besides, like I said, I'm talking to Buffy, so piss off."
Parker grinned in sardonic amusement. "Summers talks? I didn't know that!" He stepped out from behind Spike to stand beside Buffy, and stared down at her derisively. He feigned contemplation, and put a hand to his chin. "Oh, that's right, you do talk, don't you? Spike told me your catch phrase. What was it? 'Don't touch me'? Right, you're the 'Don't Touch Me Freak'!" Parker burst into laughter, when Buffy's head snapped up, her eyes glaring at Spike in shock and accusation. Parker turned back to the bleached blond. "Who came up with that name, Spike; you or Xander? I can't remember what you told me."
Filled with indignation, Spike glowered at the chortling Parker, and growled. "Shut your gob, you twit!" he hissed, and shoved him backwards in order to pull Buffy away from the scene, but she was gone. He scanned the hallway for her, finally spotting her striding angrily around the corner and out of sight. He clenched his right fist, wanting to pound Parker into next Tuesday, but instead he threw the idiot a withering glare, and started after Buffy to explain.
"Oh, come on, Spike!" Parker called out after him. "What's got your knickers in a twist today?" Spike ignored him and racked his brain, trying to think of where Buffy was headed. He eventually found her in the art room, paintbrush and pallet in hand. She was standing in front of a blank canvas, glaring at it. Seeing her angry expression, he winced when it occurred to him that she was possibly contemplating painting an unflattering portrait of him. Possibly something involving disembowelment. He approached her cautiously.
"Go away, Spike," she spat out softly, and he jumped.
"Look Buffy, I'm sorry about that, okay?" His apology sounded a lot whinier than he'd intended it to. She closed her eyes and sighed, and he continued. "I did call you that, but-" he blanched at the murderous look in her eyes at his admission. "Well, that was before I knew you, and-"
She cut him off harshly. "And you know me so well now, do you?" She finally turned to face him, her fury radiating from her being. "You don't know anything about me, and you never will!" Other students in the room took notice of this altercation, and began to stare and whisper, but the two combatants disregarded them.
"Pet, look. I understand you're brassed off, and I don't blame you, but we've got to work together, right?" He was starting to plead, and he began to resent her for making him beg, but he swallowed it down, knowing he'd dug a hole for himself. "I fucked up, but I'd like to be friends if you'll just-"
Buffy let out a sharp laugh, and turned back to her canvas. "Yeah, I know, you need my help to graduate," she smiled cynically and took a moment to compose herself. "But that's it. I'll tutor you, but that's all. I don't want friends, as I believe I've told you, and even if I did, I certainly don't want you as my friend." Spike recoiled at her harsh, cruel tone and threw up his hands in capitulation.
"Fine!" he yelled, not caring about who heard him. "Do what you like, then, Summers! I don't give a bloody goddamn!" With that, he stalked angrily from the room.
Buffy tried to keep her mouth tightly closed to ward off the sobs that threatened. She had felt so guilty regarding her inaction on Spike's behalf. She'd worried and fretted about his condition constantly ever since seeing him and Giles off in the ambulance. Her relief at the news that he would be okay came as a surprise, and she realized that despite her attempts to cut herself off from people, she couldn't help caring about them, especially him, for some reason. When he approached her at her locker, she felt so embarrassed by his gratitude, yet thrilled at the same time. Then that jerk Parker had ruined everything. His revelation of Spike's cruel nickname for her stung, and she could no longer bear to remain in his presence. She dropped the brush and pallet on the table, and grabbed her bag. She left the classroom without so much as a by your leave to the teacher, and made a beeline for the school exit. Buffy needed desperately to be alone, school and Spike be damned.