Can anything good come from calling a number you found written on a bathroom wall?

All human AU inspired by 'Bathroom Wall' by Faster Pussycat

Bathroom Wall

Chapter One – Number on a Wall

"Hello?"

"Oh… hello. Um… I wasn't really expecting anyone to answer, and you don't know me, but I found your number written…"

The woman sighed tiredly, "Another one? Look, whatever it says, it's not true. I'm not available for… that. My ex-boyfriend wrote it because he's an enormous douchebag, so please leave me alone and lose my number."

"All right, pet." Spike dug in his back pocket for the Sharpie he kept on him to sign autographs for fans. "I'll just scratch it out with a Sharpie then, yeah?"

The woman's surprise came across in her voice. "You'll… scratch it out? Why?"

Spike dragged the Sharpie over the phone number written on the wall until it was nothing but a swath of black ink. "Just somethin' I do. If the number doesn't work, I'll leave it, but if it connects to someone like you, I make sure no one else will be able to phone, although, you're only the second person to actually answer."

The woman's voice was full of relief and gratitude. "Thank you. I've had so many disgusting calls because of this. I really appreciate what you're doing."

He tucked the Sharpie back into his pocket. "Not a problem, luv. I have to admit, though, I'm a bit curious as to why you didn't just change your number. That seems to be what most people do."

Now her voice was full of steely determination. "Because I've had this number longer than I had Riley, and I'm not going through the hassle of changing it on every single account I have because he's a dick."

"Well, judgin' by what he wrote next to your number, I'd have to agree 'bout him bein' a complete tosser."

"What did he write?"

Spike cleared his throat uncomfortably, "You sure you want me to tell you? It's not exactly… polite."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Based on some of the calls I've gotten, I sort of have an idea, but I'd still like to know."

"He… uh… he wrote, 'Can suck peanut butter through a straw and loves cock down her throat,' and he misspelled 'through.' Wanker."

She sighed tiredly again. "That's new. How many skeevy bathrooms did he write my number in? Where are you?"

Spike chuckled, "Think you've sussed that out, pet. I'm in a 'skeevy bathroom,' but if you mean geographically, I'm near Charlotte, North Carolina."

She gasped. "North Carolina? That's all the way across the freaking country!"

"Don't mean to be intrusive, and you don't have to say if you don't want to, but… where are you?"

"California… and… you're actually IN the bathroom right now? You're talking to me while you're…"

"On the throne… yeah. Was hopin' you wouldn't pick up on that. I'm not tryin' to… the numbers don't usually work, you see, and it… passes the time?"

She laughed. "Because you can't just scroll Instagram or TikTok like a normal person, I guess."

"I uh… have someone who manages my social media presence, and she gets rather shirty with me when I post or comment somethin' she hasn't approved, so I tend to stay off those sites 'less she's with me."

"Social media presence? Who are you?"

"I'm… uh… I'm a musician. I play guitar and sing and what all, and I'm on tour with my band."

"Which band?"

"You've probably never heard of us, luv."

"Try me."

"Dingoes Ate My Baby."

She squeaked, "Dingoes? And you sing?" She squealed, "Spike! Oh my god! You're Spike!"

Spike pulled the phone away from his head with a wince then sighed and put it back up to his ear. "Yeah, that's me. Slightly deafer than a few moments ago, and considerin' what I do for a livin', that's sayin' somethin'."

She clapped a hand to her mouth then dropped it and said quietly, "Sorry. I just can't believe I'm actually talking to you." She giggled. "Especially when you're…"

"And on that note, I… uh… should probably ring off. Your number has been covered and the lads are waitin' on me. Was nice talkin' to you, luv."

"Spike, wait… I'm sorry for fangirling on you, and I want to thank you again for what you did and for not being a creep. It was nice talking to you, too. My name's Buffy, by the way, and if you want, you can call me again sometime. I promise to turn my squee knob all the way down."

Spike smiled. "Might do, luv, might do. Gotta go… uh… I mean, I need to leave the loo, not…"

Buffy laughed. "Hope everything came out all right. Maybe I'll talk to you later. Bye, Spike."

"Bye, pet." He ended the call and quickly typed Buffy's name into his contact list.

XXXX

"Hello?"

"Buffy? It's Spike."

"Hi! I was hoping you'd call again… not staring at my phone hoping or anything, but…"

"I'm not interrupting anythin', am I? I could phone at a more convenient time if I am."

"No, it's fine. I have a few minutes to talk. I'm glad you called."

"You might change your mind 'bout that in a moment. I found another one."

Buffy groaned. "Somewhere near Atlanta, right?"

"Uh… yeah. How'd you know?"

Buffy giggled quietly. "Your tour schedule is posted on your website."

"Oh, right."

"You're not talking to me from the throne again, are you?"

Spike chuckled, "No, I'm back on the bus. We're headed to Jackson, Mississippi."

"Yeah, I know. Tour schedule, remember?"

Spike very nearly smacked himself in the forehead. "Right. Uh… what's your ex-bloke do, anyway, that he'd be drivin' around the South?"

"Do? I have no idea. He was in college when we broke up, but he dropped out and left town after he… Never mind, not important. What did this one say?"

Spike coughed uncomfortably. "Somethin' havin' to do with your… uh… bum, and that's all the details I'm givin' you."

"I don't need the details. I've gotten a few calls from that one, and the guys who called went into really detailed detail about what they wanted to do to me."

"I'm sorry you've had to deal with that, luv, but it's been covered, so you shouldn't get any more of those calls, or, depending on where else the prat scribbled it down, you should get fewer calls."

"Thank you, Spike. So, how's the tour going?"

"Good. Sold out shows so far. My main guitar was damaged, though, so I've been usin' my backup."

"Your red and black guitar with the skulls on it? How'd it get damaged?"

"Was my fault. I didn't latch the case properly and it fell open in the car park. It's been sent in for repair and I should have it back in a week or so. I… uh… I don't really know what you do, so how are things in California?"

"Sunny and warm, like always. And things are good at the small novelty shop slash bookstore slash coffee shop I own. Steady business."

"You own a business? You don't sound very old, luv. I'd figured you for early twenties, about the age to be finishin' up university."

Buffy laughed. "You figured right. I graduate next month from UC Sunnydale and I've been legal to drink for almost five months now. I don't, though, because I'm such a lightweight that I get buzzed just watching someone else drink."

"So you run a business and go to university full-time? That's amazing, pet. I count it as a good day if I drag my arse out of bed before noon. I can't imagine havin' it together enough to purchase and operate a business as well as keepin' up with my studies. I don't even know where I am half the time, and if it weren't for the band's assistant – although she's more governess than assistant – I'd likely never have clean laundry and I'd exist on take-away and crisps from the vending machine."

"I don't do it alone. I inherited the shop from my mom when she died, and a few of my friends help me run it so we can all go to school. And you shouldn't be so hard on yourself for sleeping until noon. You're a rock star. You're supposed to sleep late because you get to bed late." The volume of her voice dropped to nearly a mumble, "And the groupies probably keep you busy, too."

Spike rubbed at his forehead. "You read that article then, I take it? The one in that rag?"

"I didn't really read it; I just saw the headline while I was waiting to check out at the grocery store. It's not true?"

"No, it's not. I don't bring groupies back to my room. I'll hang about a bit after a show, signing autographs and the like, and I'll attend after parties, but the only birds allowed in my room are my manager and the aforementioned governess, and my manager usually only pops round to nag me 'bout somethin'. When we first started this, I may have gotten a bit too friendly with fans, but that's not what I'm about any longer."

"What are you about?"

"You're not a reporter, are you? 'Cause my manager would be livid if I were to inadvertently give an unscheduled, unscripted interview."

Buffy laughed. "No, I'm not a reporter. I read a lot – 'cause, you know, college and the whole owning a bookstore thing – but I only write papers for class."

"All right then." Spike lifted a hand to the back of his neck. "Uh… what I'm about. I'm a bit old-fashioned, I suppose, and I'm not wired to do that 'friends with benefits' thing that's so popular. When I'm with someone, I'm faithful to them and I give them my whole self. That's apparently been a bit much for the birds I've dated, which is why I'm currently single. My second ex and I are still on friendly terms, aside from the naggin' and whatnot; she's the band's manager, but Cecily, the bird I dated in high school, she's most likely the one who gave that rag their misinformation. She's a bit of a vindictive bitch." Buffy was silent and Spike said quietly, "Probably too much information to unload on you all at once, considerin' we don't really know each other, but… what are you about, luv?"

"Are you asking if I'm single?"

"Uh… not if you don't want to share that information."

"You don't even know what I look like. I could be completely hideous."

"I'm not about looks either, pet. I've enjoyed talkin' to you, and I'd like to get to know you better."

"The funny thing is, I thought I did know you – from articles and stuff on the internet, but you're really nothing like I imagined."

"Am I better or worse than you imagined?"

"You're a lot more intelligent, for one thing. Most of the stuff I've read has you pegged as the party-hard rock star who's only interested in loud music, drinking, and slutty groupies. But the way you talk… Sometimes you sound like my old high school librarian. He's English, too, and uses ALL the big words."

"The party-hard rock star persona is mostly a marketing ploy, pet. Management doesn't think the fans would want to pay to see a bookish nerd who has as many Shakespeare plays crammed into his cranium as he does guitar chords. The hair, the piercings, the tattoos, the clothes, lettin' the rumors circulate that I imbibe my weight in liquor every night – it's all part of the deal. I'm a commodity, packaged and sold to the payin' public. Don't get me wrong; I love the music, the crowds, the energy of a show, but I'd be just as happy runnin' a small music store and givin' guitar lessons or somethin'. Maybe a music store with an attached bookstore. That way I could do both the things I love every day."

"First you ask if I'm single, now you want me to expand my shop and give you a job?"

There was a shocked silence for a few seconds then Spike sputtered, "No! I wasn't sayin' that at all, I promise."

"I'm just messing with you, Spike. And I totally get where you're coming from. I don't think I'd like to be famous, having everyone all up in my business all the time, people going through my trash or hiding out in my bushes or following me in the grocery store trying to get a picture. It sounds like it would be exhausting."

"It can be, but there are some perks. The money, for one. It's rather nice to see somethin' I want and know I can buy it without takin' dosh away from somethin' else. After my father died and left us with nothin' but his gamblin' debts, I spent my teenage years watchin' my mum try to figure out how to feed us and keep the lights on at the same time. Now she doesn't have to worry 'bout money. At all. I've set her up in a cozy little pensioner's community and her biggest worry is which neighbor to have in for tea."

"That's so sweet, and it's one more thing I didn't know about you. None of the stuff I've read ever mentioned your mom. Do you get to visit her much?"

"I moved her back across the pond 'cause she wanted to go home, and I try to get over there at least once a year, more if I can manage it. We phone regularly, though, so I talk to her at least once a week." He paused then said quietly, "Sorry to hear 'bout your mum, pet. How old were you when she passed?"

"Eighteen. I'd just started college, and with planning the funeral, selling the house, settling her bills, and everything else, I didn't do very well that year. I still miss her every day, and she's still the first person I want to tell when something happens. The first time you called, I'd actually dialed our old house phone before I remembered."

"Sorry, luv. That has to be difficult."

"Some days are harder than others, but aside from the shop, I also inherited her strength. She pushed through a lot of situations that would have broken a weaker person, so when things fall apart, I ask myself, 'What would Mom do?' and then I pick myself up and keep moving."

"Sounds like both our mums are amazing women, pet."

"Yeah, they are. It's been great talking to you, and I hate to cut this short, but my few minutes to talk are up. I have class in ten minutes."

"All right, luv. Talk to you later?"

"I'd like that, Spike."