~~ Prologue ~~

Michigan International Speedway, Michigan/ March 2002

Cruising around the track, doing 150 and in first place by three seconds, William ‘Spike’ Giles was in Heaven.  Just ten short laps away from his first victory of the season, life didn’t get any better than this.

“Spike, look out at the bottom of turn two.  The number 8 and the number 15 got into each other.  There’s a lot a smoke.”  The tinny voice of Rich Sanders squawked in his ear.

“Just get me through it, Rich.”  Spike bit back at his spotter, the accident coming into sight.

“Go straight through the middle.” Rich replied.  Spike slammed on the accelerator, and prepared to just that, when Rich’s voice came back through the ear phone.  “Shit, Spike, go high.  GO HIGH!.  10 Car just got tangled up.  GO HIGH!”  But, it was too late.  Just as Spike veered the wheel, the 10 car came spiraling at him through the smoke.

“Bloody hell!”  He spat, yanking the wheel hard.  The screech of wheels and metal hitting metal, along with the smell of burnt rubber and smoke filled the air around him as the 10 car careened into him.  The car went into a spin, and Spike struggled to regain control.  The last thought he had before he hit the wall was a name.

“Buffy.”

The small group gathered in the Summers living room watched in horror as the crash wiped out fifteen cars.  The announcers were talking rapidly, trying to find out any information they could on the drivers involved.  The yellow flag had come down, signaling the caution, and the other cars that had made it through began to make their pit stops.

But, all their attention was riveted to one car.  The black #29 Grady Hardware car.  The one that was crumpled like an accordion in the wall at the top of turn two.  The one that nobody was getting out of.  The one surrounded by ambulances and rescue workers.

Buffy sat on the couch, eyes riveted to the screen, hands clamped over her mouth as her mind screamed NO, over and over in her head.  This was why she let him walk away.  She couldn’t take the fear slamming into her, the tears threatening to spill, or the scream raging to be released.  Her attention was focused solely on the tv, her brain not registering the feel of her sister’s fingers digging into her shoulder, or the stunned faces of her friends.  Giles sat in the recliner, terror clawing through his chest as they peeled the hood of his son’s car back in a desperate attempt to get him out before it exploded from the gas leak.

He prayed silently, begging God to listen.  He’d already lost his wife, please not his son, too.

They watched silently as the unconscious figure was pulled from the wreckage, and his helmet removed to reveal his ever present spiky, white hair.  Blood stained the pale locks on the right side of his head and across the sharp planes of his face to mingle with the soot covering his handsome features.  The black clad figure was then placed gingerly on the stretcher, then hurried to the ambulance.

As the medical vehicle sped off the track, Giles pushed himself up from his chair and walked to the phone to find out where they were taking his son.

Buffy, Dawn, Willow, and Xander continued to stare silently at the screen as the race was red flagged so they could clear the debris of the track.

“‘ello, Dad.” Spike said, his voice a little slurred from the painkiller they were giving him.  Giles nearly staggered with relief as his eyes searched his child’s face.  Aside from the bandage covering the whole right side of his head, and the scar in his eyebrow from a wreck five years ago, his face was perfect.  The crystal blue eyes were foggy with medication and pain, but, there was no sign of trauma in them.

His body, however, hadn’t fared to well.  Thick, white bandages encircled his chest, securing his three broken ribs.  A cast covered from his wrist to just above his elbow on his right arm, and his left leg was similarly encased to immobilize the crushed limb.

Giles removed his glasses, and began rubbing them furiously, the nervous habit causing Spike to smile.

“How are you feeling?” Giles asked carefully, his voice controlled.  Spike looked at his father, finding comfort in his usual stiff British ways.

“A bit of alright.” He said with a ghost of his smirk.  Truth be told, he hurt like hell.  The meds they gave him only half controlled the pain, and they wouldn’t give him anymore before their little charts told them to.

“Well, that’s. . .er. . well, you bloody well don’t look alright.  You nearly got your foolish self killed.  And for what?”  Giles lost his hold on his fear and anger.  He pushed his glasses back up on his nose, his hand gripping the railing of the hospital bed.  He had brought his son to this country in hopes of a fresh start after the death of Rosemary.  Not so the little git could get himself killed racing a car around a track.

Anger flashed in Spike’s eyes at his father’s outburst.  This was the same old tune, just sung by a different person.  Buffy had said something similar to him before he left Sunnydale.

“Don’t start.”  He said through clenched teeth, the action making his head throb.

“Why not?  You want to kill yourself, why don’t you find a less flashy way of doing it.  You scared me.”  Giles finished quietly, averting his eyes when they started to swim with tears.  “I’ve already lost your mother.”  Guilt sliced through Spike with a crippling force, and he had to close his own eyes against tears.

“I’m sorry.  There was nothing I could do to get out of the way.”

“I know.”  Confusion marred the younger man’s face at that.  His father NEVER watched him race.  Thought it was undignified and uncivilized.

“How’s that?”  Giles looked back at his son, a look caught between pride and shame crossing his face.

“We usually get together to watch.” He admitted.

“We?”

“Willow, Xander, Buffy, Dawn and myself.”  Spike flinched at the sound of Buffy’s name, and smiled at Dawn’s.

“How’s the Nibblet?”

“Scared to bloody death if you must know.  She was crying her eyes out when I left the house to catch the plane to get here.”  Spike’s jaw clenched yet again, and he looked away.

“Yeah, well.  You can go home and tell ‘em I’m fine.  Be right as rain in a few weeks.”  His voice was thick as the face of his friends swam through his memory.

“Why don’t you tell them yourself.  Come home.”  Wide blue eyes met older, lighter ones at that.

“Go home?  Why?  There’s nothing there for me.  Plus, I’ve got to make sure those wankers fix the car properly.  And, they aren’t going to let me sit on my arse forever.  Don’t get paid for warming the sheets in a hospital bed.  I get paid to win races.”   Giles had looked away during Spike’s speech, his heart constricting at what he had to tell his son.  He had talked to the doctors before coming in, and the prognosis was not good.  “So, thanks for visiting.  Tell them all I said hello.”  The blond finished.

“William, I am afraid that I have some bad news.”  He began, taking off his glasses once more.  The younger man’s eyes narrowed in to slits, and he felt his heart start to pound painfully in his chest.

“Wha?”  He didn’t want to know, he could tell by the look on his father’s face.  His whole world was getting ready to crumble.  Heaving a sigh, Giles moved around the bed and gently sat on the edge.  He refrained from reaching for Spike, as the boy didn’t feel any more comfortable with affectionate displays than he did.  Spike eyed him warily, blinking to try to clear the fuzz out of peripheral vision.  Deciding that the best course of action was just to tell him, Giles began.

“The doctors told me that it will take close to a year for your leg to heal properly.  They had to reconstruct the bone, and there are five pins holding it together.  But, I am afraid that is not the worst.    The bump to your head damaged some of the nerves behind your eyes and your vision has been permanently altered.  You will never be able to see clearly in your peripheral again.”  Spike stared stoically at his father through the whole report, never blinking, never grimacing.  No expression whatsoever crossed his face until he was done.

“They’re wrong.” He said quietly, taking deep breaths, fighting the tears again.

“Will, I know. . .”

“You know nothing.” He spat, jerking his head to the side.  He stared blindly down at the cast on his arm, the names of his crew covering the surface.  They blurred as he looked at them, one lone drop falling to splash on the plaster.

“William, I am sorry.  They were very specific.  The chances of you ever racing a car again are slim at best.”  Giles told him firmly.  He softened once more as he watched his son struggle with the information.  He hated to be the one to crush his dreams, but, he figured that Spike would take it better from him, than any one else.  Save Buffy.  But, they had burned their bridges long ago.  “Come home.  We have some of the best rehabilitation centers in the country, there.  Come home.” He said again, hoping his voice didn’t sound as pleading to Spike as it did to his own ears.  Spike’s eyes never returned to his father, they stayed, staring at his arm, his jaw clenched tight, his entire body shaking.  When the tears refused to be stopped, and slid down his face despite his attempt to control them, Giles hazarded pulling Spike to him.  As soon as he felt his father’s arm around him, the blonde just gave in.  The room filled with the sound of grief ridden sobs, and soft whispers as he broke down, everything he had ever wanted falling from his grasp.

Buffy stared out the kitchen window, and into the night drenched back yard.  Her hands were still emerged in the soapy water she had been washing dishes in.  She had just hung up the phone with Giles, and her world had just been spun on its axis.  He was coming home.  With Spike.  It would take a couple of months, the doctors wanted to casts off before they would clear him for travel, but, the prodigal son was returning.  She didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Buffy?” Dawns quiet voice broke her from her thoughts, and she pulled her hands out of the water, turning to dry them.

“Hey.  What’s up?” She asked her sister, plastering on a false smile.

“What’s wrong?” Dawn demanded, the look of sixteen year old petulance on her face.

“Nothing.  Why do you ask?”

“Don’t give me that.  I know that was Giles on the phone.  He’s coming home, isn’t he?”  The younger girl asked hopefully.  She missed Spike, and she had never quite forgiven her sister for breaking up with him.  Sighing, Buffy put the towel down on the kitchen table.

“Yeah, he’s coming home.  But, Dawnie,” she started, talking loud to be heard over the sixteen year old’s delighted squeal.  “He’s not going to be the same.”

“What do you mean?”  Worry marred the young face staring back at her.  Quickly, Buffy told her the extent of his injuries.  Horrified blue eyes locked with sad hazel ones as the seriousness of the situation sunk in.  “Oh, God.  Poor Spike.” She breathed.  Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought of what he must be going through.

“So, when he gets back, you might want to give him some time.  This is not going to be easy for him.  Let him decide when he wants to see you.”  Dawn looked like she was going to argue, but, she just shook her head, her long, shiny hair slipping off her shoulder.  Nodding herself, Buffy gave into the urge of wrapping her sister in her arms, heartened that the girl didn’t stiffen or turn her away like she had been doing since their mother died the year before.  After a few minutes, she did pull away to give Buffy a watery smile, then turned and walked away.  Watching her go, Buffy let out a sigh, and turned to check that the house was locked for the night.  She wearily climbed the stairs, her young body to tired for a girl her age.  She was twenty two years old, and raising a sixteen year old alone, with a crap job.  At least they had the money from her mother’s gallery coming in.  And thank God for Giles.  Without him, she would have had to sell it, and watch her mother’s dream die.  Just like Joyce had.  Dawn seemed to be interested in art, so, maybe one day, she could take it over, and continue where her mother had left off.

Stretching her tired muscles, she went into her room and closed the door, stripping to her panties as she walked.  She picked up her nightgown from the bed, which was really just an oversized t-shirt, she slid between the sheets, and flicked off her light.  She moaned in frustration when her tired mind kept conjuring up images of the crash.  That was all it could seem to do, since Saturday.  Over and over, she would see the spin out, the impact, and the vision of his limp body being pulled from the tin can that was once a race car.  Her heart had nearly pounded out of her chest when the phone had finally wrung tonight.  She’d been so scared at what Giles was going to tell her.  And even though she knew she didn’t have any right, she still worried about him.  Hell, she still loved him.  It was her own fear that drove them apart.  A fear that had been validated with the crash.

Tossing restlessly, Buffy tried to get comfortable, memories of another time swooping in to torment her now.  Tears leaked from her eyes as she gave into them, her heart breaking once again.

~ ~ Chapter 1 ~ ~

Sunnydale, 1996

“Mom!” Seventeen year old, Buffy called, walking into her mother’s gallery. She glanced around the large showroom, ignoring the elaborate pieces of art around her, looking for Joyce.  Dawn moved around her, rolling her large blue eyes at her sister, and moving to study one of the new pieces.  It was a weird one.  A large, rusty motorcycle frame was poised on it’s back wheel, a small, and equally rusty oil can perched on the top.  The title was “Surreal” and the price tag was in the eight digit range.  Buffy hated it.  Dawn thought it was cool.

Buffy wove her way through bronze statues of horses and gods, displays of Native American pottery, and other modern art pieces.  Exquisite still lives lined the walls along side of paintings that looked like the artist just threw the paint at the canvas.  Buffy just ignored the beauty around her, not noticing the value of any of it.  But, Dawn lost herself in it.  She was a lonely child, forever feeling as if she was in her older, prettier, more popular sister’s shadow.  Not that Buffy ever made her feel left out.  In fact, except for a few things, she often allowed Dawn to tag along with her, Angel, Willow, and Xander.  She had found it hard to make friends when they made the move from L.A. to Sunnydale after the divorce.  Even Buffy herself, had been shut out of all the tightly formed cliques that she had dominated in her old school.  They had both had to adjust, and only Buffy had made it look seamless.  The divorce, and the subsequent loss of luxury, had forced them all to stop worrying so much about THINGS, and focus more on each other.  Not in all, a bad thing.  But, it was sometimes hard for them to be outcasts, instead of the ones everybody envied.

“MOM!” Buffy called, again, leaving Dawn to wander on her own.  She through the open doorway on the other side of the gallery, that led to the back.  She moved past the storage rooms filled with crates, and undisplayed art, to her mother’s office.  The door was closed, so, she knew her mother was in with someone.  She knocked softly, instead of barging in like she normally would.

“Come in.” Buffy swung the door open, her smile stalling on her face.  Her mother was sitting behind her huge, over piled desk, her current ‘painting of the week’ hung on the wall behind her.  Her honey blond hair was done up in a sleek twist, her make up only slightly faded.  Her rose colored suit accented her still trim body, as well as complimenting her skin.  A open file sat in front of her, and she had a pen poised in her hand.  “Hi, honey.  Buffy, I would like you to meet Rupert Giles, and his son, William.  Mr. Giles will be taking over Betty’s job.”

“Hi.” Buffy managed to get out to the older man, her eyes barely registering the sandy, brown hair, the sad, tired blue eyes, to the face that carried lines of worry.  Her hazel eyes were had met and stuck to the most fiery set of blue eyes she had ever seen.  William sat next to his father, a stark contrast to the proper looking gentleman.  White, blonde hair spiked out from his head, stubbornly curling in a few places.  Dark eyebrows topped the bottomless orbs of his eyes.  Sharp, razor like cheek bones slashed out, hollowing his cheeks and making them seem chiseled.  His nose would have been straight, save for the slight bump that indicated a prior break.  The strong line of is jaw led to a square chin, which one, long fingered, black tipped hand was cupping.  His full lips were set in a hard line, and he had a well practiced bored look on his face.   A long leather duster covered most of his body, except for the faded, tight, torn blue jeans that hugged his thighs and calves.  A pair of scuffed, black combat boots adorned his feet.

Joyce watched her daughter blatantly study the good looking boy in front of her, and tried to hide her smile.  She couldn’t say why, but she preferred the troubled young man in front of her to Buffy’s current boyfriend, Angel.

“Buffy, is it?  How do you do?” Giles began, rising to shake Buffy’s hand. She tore her eyes away from the bleached blonde and shook his father’s hand, offering him a wide smile.

“Fine, thanks you, Mr. Giles.  Nice to meet you.”  He gave her a small, tight smile, released her hand and turned towards his eighteen year old son, who was still staring at Buffy, an almost hostile curiosity in his eyes.

“William, can’t you say hello to Ms. Summers?” Giles asked, his voice stern.  William rolled his eyes, sighed heavily, and shifted in his seat, the movement causing the duster to fall open to reveal a Rob Zombie t-shirt.

“‘lo” He forced out, returning his eyes to the spot on the wall behind Joyce’s head that he had been studying.

“William!” Giles snapped, embarrassed by his son’s rudeness.

“Wha’?” He turned petulant, stormy eyes back to his father.  “I said hello.” Buffy arched a brow, but said nothing.  It wasn’t too long ago that she was the new kid in town, and by the sound of their accents, they were pretty far from home.

“Did you need something, honey?” Joyce asked, trying o draw attention away from William.  Buffy looked over at her mother, her brain finally reminding her what she had come in here for.

“Oh, yeah.  Can I go to the Bronze tonight?”

“Buffy, it’s a school night.” Joyce reminded her.  A pretty put appeared on Buffy’s lip, and despite himself, William found himself staring.  “Pretty little chit.* he thought.  Her long, golden hair hung in waves past her slender shoulders.  Hazel eyes sparkled from underneath dark honeyed eyebrows.  She had a lightly rounded face, with a nose that tipped up at the end.  Her wide, full mouth was slicked with some sort of glass that made them a shiny pink.  A dark blue, spaghetti strapped tee and tight jean shorts hugged her slender curves and exposed her perfectly tanned limbs.  Open toed sandals showed off her tiny toes polished bright red.

“I know.  But Angel’s got to go back to school this weekend.”  Joyce barely managed to refrain from rolling her eyes.

“Are Xander and Willow going to be there?” She asked, feeling herself start to cave.

“Yeah.” Buffy tried not to sound to excited.

“Good.  Why don’t you take William with you?  That way he’ll know some kids when he starts school on Monday.”  Giles looked gratefully at Joyce, but, the reactions of the teens was a little less than enthusiastic.  Both of their faces were comical.  Buffy recovered first, her mind coming up with a multitude of reasons ‘why not’.  Then, she remembered again what it was like to be the new kid.

“Sure.” she said, sounding less than enthusiastic.  William got up in a flurry of black leather, a scowl crossing his handsome face.

“Don’t need charity.”  He spat, brushing past Buffy with enough force that he nearly knocked her over.

“GOD!  Rude much?” She snapped at his retreating back.

“Ms. Summers, allow me to apologized for William.” Giles stammered, mortified by his son’s lack of manners.  He pulled off his glasses and began to rub them furiously with a handkerchief.  “Ever since my wife. . .” he took a deep breath, faltering over the word.  “Well, I’m afraid he’s been a bit of a handful.”  He finished, his voice tired.

“That’s okay, Mr. Giles.  It can’t be easy moving to a new country, and all.  I know it was hard for us, and we only moved two hours.”  Buffy assured him, smiling.

“Buffy, I want your homework done before you go out to night.”  Joyce interjected, feeling sorry for the obviously flustered man.  “And home by ten.”

“Mo-om.”  Buffy started to whine.

“Want to try for not at all?”  Buffy quickly shook her head, deciding, wisely, to take what she was given.

“No.  Ten’s fine.  Thanks mom.” She hurried around the desk, gracefully dodging the boxes littering the floor the brush a kiss across her mother’s cheek.  Giles watched the action, a faint trace of jealousy hitting him at the easy affection between the two women.  It had been like that between William and his wife before she died.  Afterwards, well, nothing had been easy.

“Send Dawn in here, before you go home.  Let her know that it would be nice if she would remember on her own to say hello to her poor old mother.”  Joyce told Buffy as she left the room.

“‘kay.” Buffy called over her shoulder.

“Again, Mrs. Summers, I am sorry about Will’s behavior.”  Joyce waved a hand, dismissing it.

“Call me Joyce.  And don’t worry about it.  Buffy wasn’t exactly a joy to be a round after the divorce.  But, then we moved here, and she met Willow and Xander.  Things will work out, just give him time.”  She gave him a wide smile.  “Now, let’s just finish up this paperwork, and you can go home, and finish getting settled.”

William stomped through the gallery, his footsteps echoing loudly through the large space.  He didn’t see the wide eyed, brown haired girl peeking around on of the statues, her gaze owlish.

*Stupid little, bint.* he cursed inwardly, pushing through the glass doors to stomp outside. *Thinking I need her to introduce me around like some kind of git.* He scowled again, slumping his lean frame onto the bench outside, and digging in his pockets for his forbidden cigarettes.  Striking a match, he touched it to the end, not noticing the little girl that had followed him outside.  It wasn’t until he had inhaled the first greedy puff, and had flung his arm over the back of the bench that he saw her.  She stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to the doors, hands clasped in front of her, one scuffed tennis shoe kicking at the ground.

He sat back, and smoked his cigarette, studying her the same way she was studying him.  Openly and without guilt.  He guessed her to be about ten or eleven.  Tall for her age, and awkward with it.  She was all arms and legs, and skinny to boot.  She had long, shiny brown hair that was as straight as a pin, and wide eyes that were bluer than his own.  Her jeans hung loosely on her bony frame, as did the white Disneyland T-shirt.  She’d probably be a looker if she ever filled out, he decided.  As it stood now, she was cute.

“Why’s your hair that color?” She asked, bluntly.  His lips quirked into the closest thing to a smile he had worn in a year.

“Got in fight with a bleach bottle and lost.” He answered flippantly.  She snorted at that.

“My name’s Dawn.” She offered, looking at him expectantly.

“Spike.” He returned, shortly.

“That’s a funny name.”  She shifted on her feet, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m a funny guy.”  A smirk curved his lip, and her eleven year old heart tripped din her chest.  She had never seen a guy as cute as him before, much less had a conversation with one.  She thought she was doing pretty good.

“You’re English.” She said proudly, happy she could place the accent.

“British.”  Spike corrected without thought.  The reminder of his home didn’t cause any sadness to cross over him.  He had been glad to shake the dust of the rain drenched streets of London off.  The picture of his mother that floated through is mind, did.  Scowling again, he slumped further into his seat, and took another drag from his cigarette.  Watching the glowing orange tip, he barely registered that she had moved to sit next to him.

“Oh.  Sorry.”  She mumbled, noticing the change in his mood.  “So, what are you doing in California?”  He waved a hand towards the gallery.

“Father’s getting a job.”  He answered shortly.

“Oh, then we might see each other. My mom own’s it.”

“Maybe.”

“Dawnie?”  Buffy came flying out of the gallery, her eyes worried.  Dawn’s face twisted sourly when her sister appeared, sure that her conversation with the cute stranger was done for now that her gorgeous sibling had appeared.  When all Spike did was shift, and look away, her young heart expanded with hope.  “Dawn, you know better than to leave the gallery.”  Buffy admonished.  When all she got in response was rolled eyes, Buffy shook her head in disgust.  “Mom wants to see you.  Says it would be nice if every once in a while you remembered that she was here, as well as the art.”   With an exaggerated sigh, and a second rolling of the eyes, Dawn pushed up from the bench, and turned towards Spike.

“It was nice to meet you Spike.” she said, smiling.  Buffy’s brow popped up at what her sister called him.

“Yeah.”  He replied.  “You too.  Go on before your mum worries.”  He urged, flicking the cigarette down and snuffing it with his boot.  With a shy, but still radiant smile, the pre-teen turned to shoot up the steps, a smug look on her face.  Buffy watched her sister fly up the steps, her feet seeming to never touch one.  A soft smile curved her mouth, and Spike found himself again, staring.

“Well, you’ve certainly charmed her, Spike.” She said, before turning around to face him, a touch of laughter dancing in her eyes.  She suddenly found it hard to breathe, as she became entranced in the bottomless orbs of blue.  Her mind screamed at her to remember Angel, and finally she did.

“She’s a cute kid.” Was all he said, shrugging a shoulder.  He looked away, not liking the way his brain was pondering the smooth curve of her throat.  They stayed like that, the uncomfortable silence swirling around them until Buffy thought that she would scream from it.

‘Hey, look.  I really don’t mind if you come tonight.  Willow and Xander are great.  And Angel, my boyfriend.  He won’t care.”  She lied.  Actually, Angel would probably seethe with jealousy, but, it would serve him right.  He would know how she felt every time she talked to him on the phone and he mentioned his ‘friend’ Julie, or the girl in his class, Suzanne.  Spike looked back at her then, barely restrained contempt making his eyes turn sapphire.

“Don’t need to take pity on the new boy.”  He practically growled.  Her eyes shot sparks as she felt her temper shoot up to meet his.

“Don’t be such a jerk.” She snapped back.  “I’m not.  I just thought you might like to get to know some of the people you’ll be going to school with.  Or, would you rather stick with the ‘I’m a bad ass, don’t fuck me’ attitude?”

“What the fuck do you care?”

“I don’t.  Be an dick, after all, you’re so good at it.” She shot at him, turning to storm up the steps.  “And by the way, the Billy Idol look is sooo eighties.” She got out before storming back inside.  A true smile split his features as she disappeared.  She sure was pretty when she was mad, he thought.  Maybe he would find out where this Bronze was, and make an appearance.  Couldn’t hurt.  Taking out another cigarette, he settled back to wait for his father, thinking that maybe Sunnydale was a little more interesting than he had first believed.

“Mom?”  Buffy started, slicing a tomato for the salad.  She was sitting at the island table in the kitchen, helping he mother while she cooked dinner.

“Yes, honey.”  Joyce said, stirring her spaghetti sauce, and checking the noodles that were boiling.  The kitchen was filled with the scent of spiced tomatoes, and garlic bread.  The smell always made Buffy think ‘home’.

“What happened to Spike’s mother?” She asked, dumping the tomato into the salad bowl.

“Who’s?” Joyce turned confused hazel eyes to her daughter.

“You know, William.  From earlier?”

“Oh.  Yes, why did you call him Spike?” she asked, turning back to the stove.

“Well, that’s what he told Dawn to call him.  Guess it’s some sort of nickname.  Suits him.” She said, wondering why she cared.  “So, what happened?”

“She had cancer.”  Was all Joyce said, and Buffy felt an immediate surge of sympathy rush over her.

“Oh my God.  That’s terrible.  When . . .” She found that she couldn’t finish the sentence.

“About a year ago.  I don’t know exact details, but, it was hard on them.”

“Of course it was.  No wonder he was such a jerk.”  She finished, almost to herself, grating cheese into the bowl

“Buffy!” Joyce snapped, dumping the pasta into the strainer in the sink.

“What?” She shrugged, waving the block of cheese and the grater in the air.  “He was.” She defended.  Her mother softened a bit.

“Well, he was a bit abrupt.  But, this is a lot for a young man to deal with.  His mother passed away, then he has to move to a new country.  Not to mention, he seems to be going through some sort of rebellion.  What with the hair, and the name.”

“I like the hair.”  Dawn said, coming into the kitchen and snatching a cucumber out of the bowl.  Buffy whacked her fingers with the grater.  “Ow!” the adolescent whined, popping the stolen treasure triumphantly into her mouth.

“Girls, stop.”  Joyce scolded, scooping noodles into bowls.  Dawn walked over to help her mother.

“I like the name, too.” She finished, dropping Buffy’s bowl with a clatter in front of her.  The blonde glowered at the younger girl.  Suddenly, a smile lit up Buffy’s face.

“I think somebody has a little crush.” She exclaimed, delighting in the blush that crept up her sisters neck.

“I so do not.”  Dawn objected a little too vehemently.

“Oh, yes you do.  Look at that blush.  Mom, Dawnie’s got a thing for an older man.” Buffy teased, evilly.

“Buffy, leave your sister alone.” Joyce took her own bowl, and joined her daughters at the table.  Dawn waited for her mother to look away before sticking her tongue out at her sister.  “I saw that Dawn.  Stop bickering and start eating.” She demanded, eyeballing both girls with her ‘I’m the mom and I said so’ stare.  Both girls bowed their heads, and dug their forks into their bowls.

“Sorry, mom.” Buffy said, before shoving her mouth full of pasta.

“Yeah, sorry.” Dawn mumbled, doing the same.

“Alright.” Joyce began eating herself.  “I wish he had decided to go with you tonight.  It might have been good for him.”  Joyce said, a touch of regret in her voice.

“ I asked him again, when I went to get Dawn.  He said no.” Buffy told her with a shrug.  “Maybe he’ll come by anyway.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you think he’ll be at the gallery a lot?” Dawn asked, trying not to sound to hopeful.  Buffy snorted, then tried to cover with a cough when Joyce sent her ‘the look’.

“I don’t know, honey.  I hired his father, not him.  He probably likes to do other things besides hang around a stuffy old gallery.”

“It’s not stuffy.” Dawn said, pouting a little.  “I like it.”

“Oh, I know, honey.” Joyce quickly said.  “It’s just, a boy his age, might like to do different things.”

“Yeah, I guess.”  Joyce made a mental note to talk to Dawn later about her crush.  It was okay to have, she just didn’t want her youngest to get her hopes up.   William was eighteen, legally a man, and she hadn’t even reached puberty yet.  He was a senior in high school, and she was in fifth grade.

“So,” she started, looking to change the subject.  “How was school?”  They finished the meal on this, each giving her a play by play on their day.

“So, what was he like?”  Willow Rosenberg asked for the third time, speaking up to be heard over the din.  It was no cover night, and the place was packed.  “Was he really cute.”  Buffy rolled her eyes, and sipped her drink.  Her best friend leaned close, the long ends of her red hair brushing the table.  Her wide, green eyes were curious, and she was chewing on her bottom lip.

“I guess.”  She answered, in a non committed tone, still a little unnerved by her struck dumb reaction to him.

“You guess?  How can you NOT know for sure?”  Willow asked, gesturing with her hand.

“Willow, need I remind you that I have a boyfriend?”

“Oh, and that little malady has turned you blind all of a sudden?”  Willow gave her a ‘yeah, right’ look.  Buffy ducked her head, thankful for the dim lighting in the club.

“Alright, fine.  He was hot.” She admitted, sending them both into a peal of giggles.  Xander Harris walked over to them, slipping into the chair next to Willow.

“Dare I ask what’s so funny?”  He inquired, leaning into the table.

“Buffy was telling me about the incredibly hot guy she met today.”

“Willow.” Buffy said, exasperated, waving a hand to tell her to hush.  Willow just smiled.  Xander turned his dark eyes on her, brows shot up in mock astonishment.

“YOU noticed somebody other than the great Angel Connor?  Somebody call the paramedics! She’s sick!” He declared, slapping a hand against the table.

“Would you stop it?!” Buffy huffed, fighting the smile tugging her lips.  “He wasn’t all that.”

“That’s not what you said, you said he was hot.”  Willow reminded her.  Buffy stuck her tongue out at her friend, eliciting giggles from the red head.  Suddenly, her eyes widened once more.

“What?” Buffy asked, glancing over her shoulder.  There stood Spike, looking around the bar, an unlit cigarette dangling in his mouth.  When his eyes came to rest on her, a slow, wicked smile spread.

“Is that him?” Xander asked, pointing to the blonde.  Buffy nodded her head.  He let out a groan as he watched Spike light his cigarette.  “Oh, great, he isn’t only hot, he’s cool!” He cried in dismay, thumping his head on the table.  Willow giggled again, the sound nervous as Spike prowled towards their table.  And that’s how he moved, like a large predator, every sense tuned into his prey.  Right now, it seemed his prey was Buffy.

“Hi,” She managed, smiling.  She really didn’t like the way she reacted to him.  Like she didn’t have a boyfriend.  Like she wasn’t in love with said boyfriend.

“Hello, luv.” He purred.  His entire attitude seemed to have changed since that afternoon.  Gone was the snarky, bitterness.  In it’s place was smooth charm.  Willow blushed furiously when he turned his sea blue eyes on her, his disarming smile still in place.  His attire had also changed.  Gone was the duster, and Rob Zombie t-shirt, although the jeans and boots were the same.  In their place was a black button down, tucked into his jeans.  The first few buttons were undone to exposed a smooth expanse of chest.

“Uhm, Spike.  This is Willow Rosenberg, and Xander Harris, my best friends.  They go to Sunnydale High, too.” Buffy stammered, finally finding her voice.

“Hello.” he said, offering them a salute with his left hand, smoke curling around him head.

“Hi.” Willow breathed, blinking her emerald eyes.

“Hello, and welcome to the land of women who can barely speak in sentences.” Xander said, holding out a hand.  Spike took it, after putting his cigarette in his mouth.  “Ow!” He exclaimed, when Willow kicked him under the table.  Rubbing his shin, he looked back at the smirking Spike.  “Take a seat, come share in the abuse.” Xander pulled out a chair, glaring at his best friend of forever.  Spike folded his long frame into the chair, tapping his cigarette out.

“Buffy says your from England.” Spike nodded to Willow’s question, hand tapping lightly on his knee to the beat of the music.  “What part?”

“London.” He answered.

“Ooh, I’ve always wanted to go there.  What’s it like?”

“Foggy most of the time.” He chuckled a little at her disappointed look.  “It’s alright, if you like your day interrupted every time the Queen Mum splits her knickers.”  Buffy snorted at that, picking up her drink.

“What do you think of our fair burg?”  Xander asked, thankful to have another male around to bond with.

“The weather’s good. The girls are pretty.” He slid a smile in the direction of the two at the table.  They both blushed, giggling despite themselves. *He’s flirting!* Buffy realized with a sudden clarity.  Too bad she didn’t know who with.

“Buffy!” She turned toward the sound of her name, smiling as she watched Angel make his way over to him.  She bit back the urge to yell at him for being late, not feeling arguing in front of Spike.  She got up and rushed over to him, moving into his open arms.  Xander sneered, and rolled his eyes at Spike, who snorted in response.  His gaze returned to the embracing couple, picking up the instant dislike he felt for the brunette hulk that was dwarfing the tiny blonde woman, and running with it.  Something about Angel made him bristle.  Buffy slid out of his arms and took his hand, smile never faltering as she led him back to the table.

“Angel, I would like you to meet Spike.” She said, when they reached the small group.  The two men eyeballed each other, like fighters vying for a prize.  Xander, being the other male at the table, picked up on it immediately, and found himself silently rooting for the peroxide blonde.  He’d detested Angel from the first second Buffy had brought him into the group.  All the girls in school had panted over him when he was a senior, and the star quarterback.  Once he had chosen Buffy, they hadn’t stopped, and he basked in the attention.  In Xander’s opinion, he always seemed to treat Buffy like he was doing her a favor by being with her.

“Spike, huh?  What kind of name is that?”  Angel sneered, taking in the blonde.

“It’s not a poofter name like Angel.” Spike returned pleasantly.  Buffy rolled her eyes and shared a glance with Willow at the amount of testosterone that was coating the air.  Xander barely covered the laugh that erupted from him at Spike’s comment.  He was seriously starting to like the Brit.  Angel’s eyes narrowed, and just as he was getting ready to say something, Buffy interrupted.

“Let’s dance.” She said, pulling him away from the table.  Angel smirked as he let her pull him away.  Spike watched them go, a look of hostility plain on his features.

“Wanna play a game of pool?” Xander offered.  He felt like commiserating.  “I’ll give you even more reasons to hate him.” He said, lowering his voice to a more conspiratory level.

“Why not?” Spike answered, rising to follow the brunette.  “Care to join us?”  He asked Willow.  She looked flustered, and ducked her head.

“Oh, I. . .I don’t know how to play.” She admitted, looking apologetic.  Mock outrage crossed his face.

“Pish posh.” He said, exaggerating his Britishness.  “Come on, then.  I’ll teach you.”  He held out his hand, blue eyes imploring.  He didn’t want to leave her sitting at the table all by herself, looking like a wallflower.  Her green eyes widened slightly, and she worried her lip before taking his hand.

“Okay.” She said, and she let him move her in the direction Xander went in.

Out on the dance floor, things weren’t going so well.  Buffy was trembling with anger as she listened to Angel explain why he was late.  Apparently, a girl he had graduated with last year had cornered him at the gas station, and had proceeded to talk his ear off.  The problem was, he didn’t sound to upset.  The other problem was, it was his ex girlfriend.  The one that he had broken up with before asking Buffy out.

“So, I finally got her to shut up long enough to slip away.  Told her I had to come spend my last night in town with my girl.” He finished, waiting for her to gush about how considerate he was.  When all she did was murmur “uh huh.” he got angry.  “If I’d known you would be like this, I wouldn’t have made the effort.” He ground out, turning stiff in her arms.

“Maybe you shouldn’t of, since it seems that you didn’t want to, to begin with.” She snapped back.

“Oh, whatever, Buffy.  Who found who with a strange person tonight.”  He asked, glaring down at her.  She glared right back, stopping her movement.

“Don’t even start that shit.  He’s new in town, and I was just being nice.”

“Yeah, real nice.  All blushy and giggly.  Didn’t think I would see that when I came in?  You were flirting.” Her jaw dropped at the accusation.

“I was not.  You were the one having a conversation with your EX girlfriend, while I was sitting here, waiting for you to show up.  If any body should be worried about any flirting that was going on, it should be me.” She spat, pulling away from him.  Angry brown eyes clashed with equally angry hazel.

“Oh, really?  You don’t trust me?”  He stared down at her, his eyes incredulous.  “Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to look at other girls if my girlfriend, who supposedly loves me, would quit holding out.”  Buffy’s cheeks flamed at the turn of the conversation, and at how many people were getting interested in it.

“Shut up!  Not here.” She hissed, glaring furiously at Angel.  Crossing her arms over her chest, she started to storm away, crying out when his arm banded around her bicep.  He whipped her around to face him again.

“Why NOT here?  God knows I can’t get you alone with out your loser friends hanging around.  So this is as good a place as any.”  Buffy was stunned speechless.  How dare he? Her mind snapped furiously.

“Why don’t you leave the lady alone?” A clipped British voice asked from behind them.  Angel whirled to face the blonde, who was watching the taller man with interest, the pool cue he was holding resting lightly across his body.  A feral smile curled his lip, and his blue eyes were snapping.  Willow and Xander watched from their position by the pool tables, Willow’s face clouded with worry.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?”  Angel shot back.  The dancers around them had formed a tight circle around them, in anticipation of a fight.  Buffy eyes widened with alarm, and she moved forward to place a hand on Angel’s arm.

“It’s alright, Spike.” She told him, her eyes silently begging Angel to ease off.  The brunette looked down at her, his face furious.  With a shake of his head, he started to storm away.

“Why don’t you give me a call when you grow up, Buff.” He shot over his shoulder, leaving the two blondes staring at each other.  Buffy felt the tears rush to her eyes, and she blinked them back, not realizing right away that Spike was talking to her.

“I’m sorry, what?”  She said, her voice thick.  The people around them had gone back to dancing, the entertainment having been cut short.

“I asked if you are alright?”  Spike repeated, stepping closer.

“Yeah, I’m fine.  He’s not really like that.” She began, stopping herself when she realized that she was making excuses.  Besides, he really WAS like that.

“Yeah.” Spike returned, not sounding the least bit convinced.  “Wanna come play?” He indicated the pool tables where her friends were waiting.  She looked over at them, and saw Willow’s sympathetic face, and Xander’s restrained one.

“No, thanks.  I think I’m just gonna go home.” She said.  “I’ll see you at school on Monday, okay?”  He nodded, and watched her walk away, anger at the brunette for making her cry rippling through him.  When she finally disappeared from sight, he sighed, pulled out a cigarette and went back to finish his game.