Story Title: Black
Author: TestaALT (TestaALT@aol.com)
Rating: 18 (adult language, sexual situations)
Summary: Buffy has picked on Spike for years of high school, blackening his very existence and making life hell. The skittish little guy just takes everything she throws at him and bottles it up. He has, amazingly, found love for her, despite her harassment and valley girl persona. But when Spike’s parents split, he decides to make a few changes, one of which includes having her. All human; set in high school; really angsty at times.
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Email me for permission to post this story.
[A/N: This is my second fic and first all-human fic. An idea kept reverberating in my brain, despite finals and a term paper, and I decided to act on it. If you're just starting up on this, please don't hesitate to review past chapters if they speak to you. Nothing makes me more giddy than seeing someone review work from a previous chapter. Well, maybe reviews for the current chapter, which I'm always a little scared about, but that's a different... err... story. Title of story is ambiguous; it can mean a hell of a lot of things. Got it from Pearl Jam's "Black," but I was also thinking "Paint It Black" and "Fade to Black" and the state of Spuffy, the state of people's lives, and the stereotypes at school (being "black and white"). So it's open-ended. ^_^]
Spike hated this. He hated that he liked her. She had tormented him throughout middle school and the first half of high school. She had ruthlessly picked on his fuzzy brown hair and love for poetry. It wasn’t just poking fun; she took great pleasure in inflicting pain on others. She scarred Spike for life. And Spike hated to feel this way for her.
But things are different now he thought with a smirk as he climbed the steps of Sunnydale High School. I ain’t no bloody whippin’ boy anymore. True, Spike had changed immensely over the summer of his sophomore year. His parents had done more than just separate; they abandoned him completely. He lived by himself in their old house, while Mom was off in Cabo partying it up and Dad was back in England probably shaggin’ some prostitute listening to old U2 albums.
At least they give me money his mind replied optimistically. Spike hated the optimistic part of his mind more than anything else. That was the part of him that gave him hope, and hope inevitably shattered. He tried to purge the optimistic side of him as much as he damned well could over the summer, but it had always crept back to him. Spike had changed his appearance; now, instead of brown fuzzy hair, he bleached it yellow and slicked it back, and he mostly wore black clothes, with a matching trademark duster.
And the outside appearance had, amazingly, changed his outlook on life. He was no longer going to eagerly complete assignments to please teachers. No more doing homework for other people. No more letting people walk all over him. He was going to be a badboy. He smoked. He drank. And he was only seventeen. Spike had mastered the art of sarcasm and, as a result, earned what apprentices of the art called “the sardonic grin of death.” He used this often.
But as much as he changed himself, he couldn’t cleanse the optimistic side of him. Or his apparent love for her. Love’s bitch doesn’t even begin to soddin’ describe me. Spike no longer made poems about her, but he felt that even the sight of her would make him tremble and revert back to the Bozo the Clown days. It wasn’t that she had picked on him. It was that he liked her in spite of it.
Spike walked through the front door of the high school. He bumped into a tiny freshman and yelled “Sod off!” with a gesture of his hands before he continued going again. The freshman cowered in fear and ran away.
Junior English he said wistfully to himself. And she’ll be there. She’s always in my bleedin’ classes. Spike wondered what they’d read this year. Probably some stupid Salem witch book, some Shakespeare again, and some Steinbeck. The teacher’s always assigned books that Spike had already read, and it made him angry the school system had to attend to the idiots more than the gifted. Spike wanted to read Catch-22, not The Red Pony.
His mind wandered back to her again. The valley girl. Cheerleader. Inevitable Prom Queen. Fiesta Girl in middle school. If Spike gave Riley, her senior boyfriend, a punch in the gut every time she said “oh my gosh,” Captain Cardboard wouldn’t have any blood left in him. She was superficial. She had no deep thought or meaning. She had terrorized him for years. Stupid golden hair and golden skin. And those eyes... fuck, those eyes.
He hated this. He hated feeling this way for her. He didn’t want to like her. He shouldn’t like her. She treated him like the cake on her shoe when she wasn’t tormenting him. She had called him names, threw spitballs at him, and even questioned his masculinity a few times. I should hate her... So why don’t I?
Spike opened the door to the classroom and moseyed directly to the back of the room. He didn’t give much thought to the archetypical classroom. It had beige desks with connecting burgundy chairs, a blackboard, and a big window with a view of the parking lot. She was in the classroom, just like he knew. He could feel her presence before he even opened the door. With great regret, he also saw Riley. The big Poofster probably failed English and had to take it again.
Probably failed just so he could take it with her. Stupid git.
Spike was amazed that nobody said anything to him as he sat down in the back, cocking his head up a little too high. Usually Parker or Cordelia would make some half-conceived insult pointed towards him. He would have ignored it in the William days, of course. But it didn’t help. They just glanced and giggled at him and made him feel even more inadequate after that.
But this time, they didn’t even notice him. It was like they were afraid of him. None of them made any glance at him whatsoever. In fact, whenever they had to look in his direction, they did it purposely fast. That was, at least, until Riley came up to him.
“Hey man, that’s my seat,” he pointed at the desk, superiority in his voice.
Spike snickered. “I don’t see your soddin’ name on it.” He glanced at Riley with a mad, almost crazy look in his eyes.
Riley shuddered. He usually got what he wanted. Football captain. Dumb as a cheerleader but he was big. And strong. No one knew to mess with him. Not like he had his own Fight Club after school and he had never proven himself in a fight, but he was a big pile of man at six-three.
Just as Riley was about give some lame-ass response, Spike fumbled for his Zippo in his pocket and a cigarette from his duster and quietly lit up. He puffed some air into Riley’s face and gave him his best wicked grin as he draped his arms over the desk. This feels great, standing up to him. Riley glared at him for a few more seconds and silently walked away from Spike with his tail between his legs. Spike would have laughed, but he didn’t want to start anything. Not yet, anyway.
“Um... sir?” The teacher called from his desk in the front. He looked apprehensive although his voice was authoritative. “You have to put that out.”
“Oh, come on, ‘teach,” Spike replied dogmatically. “I just need a lil’ to ease my mind. You know what I mean?”
Everyone in the class was staring at him now and the teacher looked a little annoyed.
“Put that thing out or you’ll go to the principal’s office,” the teacher bit, but he had lost some of his confidence. Probably flustered from having to send someone already. New teacher, perhaps?
Spike looked like he wasn’t going to put it out for a second. Everyone was still staring at him. They weren’t thinking “this guy is stupid,” but “this guy is a total badass.” After a handful of seconds, Spike sighed and got up from his chair.
He strolled over to the trashcan at the front, smoking along the way, and threw it in the bin. The teacher had to put his foot inside the trashcan to make sure it was out. He didn’t want the school to burn down.
Spike snickered. New teacher.
“You got a name, teach?” Spike called as he stalked back to his chair in the back.
The new teacher took this as an opportunity to introduce himself to the class. “Yes, I’m Mr. Davis.” He said this as he wrote his full name, “R-I-C-H-A-R-D D-A-V-I-S,” on the board.
“Mind if I call you Richard?” Spike shot from the back of the class. The teacher glared angrily at him. “Or Rich? Richie? Dick?”
The last name had the class laughing on the ground. The teacher called for order.
“One more quip from you, Mister—Mister...” he lost his thunder as he didn’t even know the student’s name.
“Spike,” Spike replied coolly. “And no mister, either. Titles are for people with sticks up their arse.”
The class erupted again. Mr. Davis—err, Richard and Spike leveled a gaze at each other. The stare-contest lasted a handful of heartbeats. The whole class was watching them both intently, switching back to each face every few seconds. Mr. Davis finally admitted defeat by looking down.
“I’m going to do the roll,” he sighed out. He quietly called everyone’s name as they said they were here. He decided to do it backwards, because he was new and he wanted to be cool like that.
“Buffy Summers?” Mr. Davis called.
“Here,” she replied with a wave of her hand. It made her long blonde hair tumble a little and as a result made Spike quiver. Damnit, her again his mind raced. Oh, bloody hell, stop that he told his straining erection.
Spike gulped a little as his name came up. “William Giles?”
Everyone in the class searched for him. They didn’t see William here.
“Here,” Spike responded from the back of the class with a small wave of his hand.
Everyone turned their heads – Buffy, Riley, Parker, Scott, and Cordelia included – and looked at him in awe. The clocks had just struck thirteen. A small grin escaped Spike’s lips.
Did you like it? How do you think everyone will respond to Spike's new image? What does this mean for Spuffy? Will Spike be kicked out of class before the bell rings? Reviews are appreciated. ;)