A/N: I have no idea whether the Ramones played in London during 77' but what the heck! By the way go read The Werewolves of L.A. it's a fantastic AU B/A story.
Rupert Giles hurried across the staff car park, balancing a pile of books in one arm and a folder in the other. He was meant to be over seeing this weekend's detention, but he'd been running late. A cool breeze blew through the grounds; scattering litter and whistling a gentle tune to whoever took their time to listen. It was one of those rare cool spring days that reminded Giles of England. He pushed open the school doors and walked, quickly, down to the library to drop off his papers before facing Synder, this way Giles would have more time to construct his excuse for slacking off and Synder was bound to be irate. There was a group of bored teens sat there; he only recognised two of them, Willow Rosenberg who seemed to spend a lot of time in the library, she had even been kind enough to offer her IT talents when it came to updating the library's computer system. He idly wondered what ever Willow could have done to get a detention. She seemed such a shy young lady. The other student was Buffy Summers, who had a substantial fine on a copy of "Wuthering Heights" she'd borrowed last December. Giles took a deep sigh the only way into his office was through the main entrance of the library. He could deal with these kids Giles told himself. He'd been one of them, a long time ago.
He stepped into the library, only three students looked up and acknowledged his presence in the room with the briefest glance. Giles could smell cigarette smoke in the room and for some odd reason nail polish. Giles wondered for a moment whether kids still huffed solvents or was that particular narcotic out of fashion. He fumbled with the office key as he tried in vain to balance what he was carrying and open the door at once. But, alas, the pile of books tumbled onto the ground, the crash echoing through the library stacks. There was a snort of laughter from the young man with spiky white hair with a Ramones tee shirt; Giles had seen the Ramones play in '77, back in London. Giles scooped up what he dropped and finally made his way into his office.
It was a small musty smelling room, stacked full of books, paper, folders, magazines anything remotely considered literature. To anyone except Rupert Giles this room would look as if a hurricane had hit it and then been H-bombed it, but really it was strategically organised with utter precision. There was a collection of art deco prints on the magnolia painted walls, an over sized wooden desk and seat took up most of the space in the room, in the corner was a metal filing cupboard with a battered kettle balanced on top. It was a rather cosy room, if a little cramped but Giles considered it a home from home.
Giles took off his glasses and polished them as he peered through the little window to nosy at the members of this weeks Saturday detention.
"Hey!" Buffy poked Angel in the ribs, distracting him from various morbid thoughts.
His current favourite was where Angel did in his knee, helping the Razorbacks win the championship and he'd never play football again. But that would never happen, if it did he was sure his dad would find another reason to rag on him.
"What have you written?" She whispered smiling sweetly.
"Err..." Angel felt panic rip through his mind. Buffy Summers had asked his opinion. He'd always rather liked Buffy; she wasn't as self-centred as her friends. She was still smiling politely; Angel chewed the inside of his lip how long had he been silent now? Because her smile was starting waver, he really should say something before he came off as an idiot.
"Dunno." Angel answered lamely, turning his eyes back down to his paper.
A snigger came from Rayne's general direction, Angel felt his cheeks burn with the stupidity of his answer. Angel turned in his chair sharply; Spike was sat feet up on the desk grinning like the Cheshire cat.
"What the hell are you smiling at Rayne?" He snarled.
"Great, just great this is like a total repetition of your macho bullshit!" Buffy said with a roll of her pretty green eyes. "No way am I playing mediator again."
Buffy scooped up her stuff and walked off to find another seat. She didn't have much choice, Spike Rayne or Willow Rosenberg, Buffy settled in the chair next to Willow. Willow looked startled and tired in desperation not to make eye contact.
Spike was still grinning at Angel; the more Spike grinned the angrier Angel felt. Angel's eyes subconsciously flicked towards the library office to check whether the librarian was still watching them, for once Angel didn't care who saw him beat the living daylights out Spike. He sneered back at Spike's moronic grin.
"Will you knock it off, you little freak?" Angel told him.
"Gonna make me?" Spike spat back.
Angel stood up slowly; abandoning his letterman jacket sprawled across the back of the plastic chair, striding over to Spike, towering above him like a huge and stupid gorilla Spike thought. Though the problem with big stupid gorillas is that they tended to hit first pummel, think second. The key is, Spike told himself, is showing no fear. As he gazed upwards at Angel Donaldson.
"Yeah." Angel drawled, and in a swift movement Angel grabbed the front of Spike tee shirt, yanking him to his feet.
Spike pulled away, Angel let his grip on Spike's shirt as they stood glaring each other down. Spike straightened his tee shirt.
"You and how many friends?" Spike said with a quirk of his scarred eyebrow.
"Just me, just you and me. Two hits. Me hitting you and you hitting the floor! Anytime you're ready, Rayne!" Angel stated.
"That take you all week to think up?" Spike growled, his hand slipping into his jeans pocket, carefully pulling out something which he hid in his hand.
Angel let out a roar of rage, swing his balled up first towards Spike, who's deftly stepped out of the way and slammed Angel into the desk as he stumbled with the force of his right hook, pinning him to the desk. From his other hand, Spike flipped the catch on the flick knife; he always carried and buried the sharp tip of the knife into the desk inches away from Angel's ear. Spike saw that look of fear in Angel's eyes; he smiled again at the dumb jock.
"Oops I missed!" Spike chimed in his irritating sing song voice.
Giles watched a scuffle break out between the teens, he let out a heavy sigh, and he hadn't become a librarian to deal with angry teens in detention. Being a school librarian meant having next to no contact with students and Giles rather liked it that way. It had been like that before Principle Flutie died of a heart attack, and Synder had be employed to fill the gap, not a popular choice amongst teachers and students alike. Reluctantly Giles made his way the study area.
Angel staggered away from the desk, the knife glinting in afternoon sunlight, he could drag his away from the blade. He had never had a knife pulled on him, these sorts of things never happened in Sunnydale. He looked at Spike, his blue eyes had turned ice cold, his arms were crossed across his chest and was watching Angel as if he was some kind of fascinating insect.
"Hey guys," Xander said nervously, his eyes darting from Angel to Spike and back again. "The librarians watching."
All six students turned to stare at the librarian's office where he was looking at them curiously, peering through the tiny window.
Spike pulled the knife out of the desk, flicked the sharp blade away and dropped it back into his pocket and sat back down, drumming his fingers on the desk.
"I don't think we should mention this incident to the librarian." Spike suggested.
"Mr. Giles." Willow squeaked out loud while studying her sneakers, Buffy glanced at her.
"Excuse me?" Buffy asked Willow.
"Mr. Giles, he's the librarian." Willow said. She stole a quick look at Buffy; it would be nice to be that pretty and popular. Willow tugged on stray strand of hair and gave Buffy a shy smile.
"Well, let's not tell Giles then." Spike snapped sounding frustrated. He hadn't meant to pull a knife on Angel, but give the choice of having your nose broken or scaring the hell out of someone, Spike would always go for the latter.
"Scared of getting in trouble Rayne?" Angel sneered, his ego still smarting from the humiliation of being out done by a freak.
"What aren't you going to mention to me?" Giles asked, he'd been stood there for a while watching them bicker. He took of his glasses and polished them as he regarded the motley crew before him. It kinda reminded Giles of his old school days, getting into to fights and causing trouble hanging with the old gang.
"Well?" He demanded the students avoided his gaze. "You can either tell me or I can go find Mr. Synder." Still no reply came from the teens. "This is you last chance." It was only a matter of time before one cracked Giles told himself, and he waited for the inevitable.