"Thanks in part to some comments concerning how and I quote 'F-ing pointless P.E. is on the last week of school'," Coach Butler shot a very pointed look in the direction of Cordelia, "we've decided to give you people a final."

The gym erupted with load groans from the teenagers.

"Your grade will be determined by the time it takes for you to complete a mile run around the track," the coach spoke sternly as he paced back and forth in front of the students. Stopping suddenly, he looked down at the clipboard in hand and rattled off the names. "Group one: Chase, Connelly, Hope, Jenkins, Lockley, Lind, Monroe, Porter, and Summers; you're up, head outside."

Cordelia smiled sheepishly in an attempt to deflect the glares from the others. "What? It's not like I knew Coach Butler was standing right behind me when I said that!" she explained as they filed out of the gym.

"And I thought I could avoid communal showers today," Kate Lockely frowned, storming past the girls. "Thanks a lot, Chase!"

Angrily, Cordelia cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. "It's not my fault you have the armpit sweat of a man!" Turning to Buffy and Anya she added, "Biatch."

Buffy snickered. "Very classy, Cordy."

"What? Have you gotten a whiff of that girl post-gym?! There isn't enough degrees in Degree to melt that stink off," Cordy huffed. "I'm doing her a favor."

"Buffy!"

The three girls stopped dead in their tracks at the sound of Angel's voice,

"You guys go on ahead," Buffy sighed, reluctantly waving her friends off, "I'll catch up in a minute."

Quickly, he jogged to her side giving her an awkward smile. "Any particular reason why you've been ignoring me all day?"

"I haven't been ignoring you," she said nonchalantly. "I've just – chosen not to acknowledge your presence at this time."

Angel frowned. "Which eerily fits the definition of 'ignoring'."

"According to some people," Buffy replied curtly, turning away from him and continuing the hated walk to the track.

Angel hurried to her side once again, falling in perfect step with the tiny blonde. "What is this, Buffy?"

"What is what?"

"This!" he cried out, irritated. "This – this you getting morning rides from Wee-Willie, and picking fights with Cecily, and not calling or responding to any of the fifty or so messages I left on your phone, and now the ignoring me as if I've done something wrong!"

Buffy's feet came to a grinding halt and she stared at her boyfriend with eyes as hard as steel. "You. Told. Her."

His brow scrunched in confusion. "Told who what?"

"Cecily." Her teeth clenched. "She knew what happened…" with a snort, Buffy amended the sentence, "what didn't happen in the janitor's closet. You told her."

Angel shrugged. "She's a friend. I needed to talk to someone about it."

Fists clenching at her side, Buffy fought the very powerful urge to choke him. "The next time you feel the need to hug and kiss, share and grow, save it for a fucking diary. What happens between you and me is not her business."

"What is happening between us, Buffy?!"

"Absolutely nothing, Angel!" she threw her hands in the air. "That's been the problem for the last four years!"

He inched closer to her, closing the space between them, and lowered his voice. "I thought we agreed to take things slow."

Buffy let out a humorless laugh. "Slow? We're moving at the speed of a Special Olympics hurdler."

"So, you're saying you're ready?"

"Been ready."

"Okay," Angel smiled taking her hand. "My mom won't be home until six o'clock this evening – you could come over and…"

Her face fell. "I can't this afternoon – study thing…"

"Right. How could I forget," Angel sighed heavily.

"How about Saturday night? School'll be a distant, painful memory, graduation will be over and done for, and most importantly, no forced time with Willie." Buffy smiled brightly. "I'll be all yours."

"Saturday night…" Angel paused, mulling it over before a big grin appeared on his lips. "Sounds perfect."

I've won.

The thought sounded good. No, it was better than good – make that great.

I've won.

This time an involuntary smile curled on her pouty lips and Buffy found her step to be a bit more on the bouncier side of things as she caught up to Anya and Cordelia. The baking noonday sun, the awful required, standard maroon Sunnydale gym shorts, even the fact she'd forgotten her Lady Speedstick this morning didn't faze her now.

Come Saturday she would no longer be hymen-challenged and Spike would have to perform whatever task her brain could cook up; personal slave was sounding better and better by the minute…

"Why are you so smiley all of a sudden?" Cordelia asked, studying Buffy closely. Pushing a strand of damp, limp hair out of her face she cried, "Oh god! I'm breaking a sweat! I'm breaking a sweat – I hope Coach Butler gets one of those really bad jock related rashes in a region that's embarrassing to scratch in public."

"I take it things are okay between you and Angel," Anya said rather breathy as she jogged.

"Very, very okay." Buffy's smile, widened.

Anya clapped excitedly. "Ooh, great! I have a present for you – but I wasn't sure if you would need it or not, and now you've clearly got a 'I'm going to get some' look on your face so everything worked out perfectly!"

Cordelia let out a very unlady like snort and Buffy frowned. "What kind of present? Is the mind-numbing fear I'm feeling right now irrational?"

"Completely irrational." Anya nodded smiling brightly. "You're gonna love me, Buffy."

It was like gazing upon the Holy Grail. If the Holy Grail were promised to hold wonderfully dirty, not meant for the good Christians' eyes, things.

Buffy looked on in pure wonderment as Anya pulled the metal box from the confines of her gym locker. Ceremoniously, it was placed in her hands and the blonde teen almost swore she could hear the 'Hallelujah' chorus sounding behind her.

"This is the Jenkins Sex Survival Kit," Anya announced proudly. "Everything you're sure to need to successfully survive your first time with intercourse."

Cordelia folded her arms over her chest, lip quirking upwards. "I never got one of those."

Anya gave her a look. "Oh please, Cordy. That ship had sailed long before I met you."

Carefully turning the box over in her hands, Buffy asked, "What the hell's in this thing?"

"You've got your standard stuff: condoms -- ranging from small to magnum, flavored lubricant, Monistat Seven…"

Buffy looked at her curiously. "Monistat Seven?"

Anya merely smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "Monistat Seven – you'll thank me later."

"What else is in the 'Anya-Box-O-Love'?" Cordy smirked.

"A few…non-standard things," she beamed. "Surprises, really. I'll let you discover those all on your own." Stern expression settling on her features, she added, "Above all else, Buffy, remember to be safe; and make sure you're doing this for all of the right reasons."

Buffy nodded, smiling. "Totally doing this for the right reasons."

"You're looking smug."

Shrugging innocently, Buffy piled into Spike's car. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He quirked a brow. "Uh-huh."

"There's no smugness here." She grinned. "Ready to get reacquainted with the boys of Color Me Bad?"

Narrowing his eyes, Spike turned the key in the ignition and peeled out of the parking lot.

"There will be no sodding Color Me Bad in this car ever again."

"I could always put on a little Boys II Men," Buffy laughed cheekily.

"I have half a mind to toss your scrawny ass right out of this car," he snapped good-naturedly. Smiling, Spike sneaked a glance at the metal box Buffy had practically been holding onto for dear life since the last bell of the day sounded. "Oi, what's in the box? A kidney?"

She turned away from the window to face him. "Huh?"

"The piece of tin," One hand left the steering wheel to gesture wildly, "you've been smothering it as if it were your long, lost puppy or something."

"Just a present from Anya," Buffy said simply.

"Oh, a present from Anya…" he smiled lasciviously, tongue curling behind his teeth, "given you a 'Kong' of your own, huh?"

She sighed disgustedly, "No you pig…"

"That's disappointing."

"It's a survival kit."

Spike gave her a look. "Survival kit?"

"I don't know everything that's in it, but Anya says it's 'essential and very helpful'."

"So open it."

"Here?! With you?!" Buffy squeaked.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Yeah, here with me. I'm not gonna be bothered by any feminine hygienic products. Go ahead, dump out the Tampax mountain."

"Tampons would be a walk in the park," Buffy mumbled as she unhooked the tiny lock and flipped the lid. Eyes widening to comically huge proportions, she took in the sight before her. Everything was arranged so nice, so neatly. Meticulously labeled and in rows:

And most importantly:

Instructional Videos.

"Well…" he began impatiently, "what the hell's in it?"

Her brain completely ignored all of the truly responsible, helpful things in the Jenkins Kit and chose to focus on one aspect only,

"Porn."

Spike's head quickly whipped around, eyes wide. "What?!"

"Porn," Buffy repeated. "Three, well stacked DVD's of porn." A beat, "Is Anya from this planet?!"

"I've never actually seen a porno…" he rambled offhandedly.

"I mean – she's like Pervy the Smut Fairy! With the – the traveling dildos and the sex kits, and the porn…"

"We have to watch it."

"What?!"

"We have to watch it," Spike repeated slowly as if he were speaking to a moron.

"Oh no we don't!" Buffy shouted, her voice raising an octave.

"Your mom won't be home until round six," an evil smile formed on his lips, "we've got plenty of time to make it through at least one of those things."

"Are you out of your mind?!"

He shrugged still grinning. "Curiosity has gotten the better of me. This little competition has got to be as even as possible, Summers, and if you're getting the sexual tutorial so should I."

Buffy swallowed the hardened lump that had formed in her throat the second the Volvo pulled into her driveway.

"After all, Princess, it's only fair."

That River in Egypt

"Let me get this straight...you were watching porn?!"

Face twisting into a painful expression, Spike stopped pacing around Xander's bedroom and stared his friend directly in the eye.

"Uh, huh."

The brunette drew his lips in tightly. "And you didn't invite me!" he said sounding truly offended.

"Not the point, whelp." Spike narrowed his eyes.

"You're right," he nodded, "the point to all of this panic is through a combination of facial shots and sexual harassment, things got a little wiggy between you and Buffy."

"In a manner of speaking."

Xander eyed Spike carefully and fought the smile that was tugging at his lips. All of his life he'd had the distinction of being known as the dullest crayon in the box, the not so sharp tool in the shed -- the last person in the entire world to ever be the first to figure out what was going on...

Sighing heavily he laid back on the bed, casually tucking his hands behind his head,

And so endth my clueless streak. "Big deal," he shrugged, "you would've stopped even if Angel hadn't called." Xander raised a brow, adding, "right?"

Spike hesitated. "Right."

"Right,"Xand repeated with minimal snicker.

"You know, if she wasn't so bloody irriating the whole thing wouldn't have happened in the first place!" Spike roared, nostrils flaring as he returned to wearing a hole in the carpet. "I was fucking sick of her complaining and insults! I wanted to do something to shut that hole in her face for once. It was just a game -- was never supposed to go as far as it did."

"Of course," Xander said patronizingly.

"Summers' is like a sodding pilgrim at times -- all chaste and virutuous. Chit should be picketing Planned Parethood's and trying to convert gays or something she's so uptight and sexually repressed. I only wanted a little fun at her expense." Sighing heavily, Spike flopped down on the end of the bed in a boneless heap and put his hands to his head.

"There's no way I would ever intentionally touch Buffy," he said sternly. "She's hideously unattractive."

Xander gave him a sidelong glance. "And by 'hideously unattractive' you mean 'unbelieveably goregous'?"

"Right," Spike replied absently. Eyes widening at the realization of what he'd said, he quickly amended, "I mean no!"

Xander snorted loudly.

"That was a trick!" Spike glared pointing an accusatory finger, "Ignore what I just said."

"It's not just that river in Egypt, Spike." Xander grinned, sitting up. "Listen, a wise man once said 'hate leads to anger; anger leads to suffering and suffering leads to your friends being driven insane if you and Buffy don't cut the crap and start doing it like weasels'."

"And what 'wise' man said that," he spat sarcastically.

"I think it was Voltaire."

"Very funny."

"Glad you thought so."

"Cecily is the only one I'll be 'doing it like weasels' with," Spike said sternly, teeth gritting. "I'm gonna concentrate on forgetting this day ever happened, assume that you're very stoned, and put the rest of my energy into winning this bet -- where it should be."

"How could you possibly expect to sleep with a girl who a) has a boyfriend and b) has absolutely no idea you exist on the same planet?"

Spike climbed to his feet and a sly smile slowly curled onto his lips.

"There are ways."

To Be Continued

That Clarity Thing

Trig Flash Cards -- check.

Highlighter markers (various colors) -- check

Soothing Sounds of the Rain Forrest CD -- check and double check.

Willow was fully prepared to begin a study extravaganza; her thinking cap strapped on tight, ready to absorb major AP Physics material. All systems were a go and then...

"Hey Wills. Could I maybe -- come over?"

After the initial Buffy actually remembers my phone number?! shock, Willow of course agreed. She had sounded so distraught over the phone that there was no way she could've turned her former best pal away without feeling like she'd be cosmically punished (some poor puppy would meet tire-to-head with one of those Hummers unnecessarily looming down residential streets or her fish would suddenly turn belly-up).

Now, Willow was well on her way to getting whiplash as she watched the blonde pace back and forth in her bedroom.

"Anya makes sex kits?!" Willow said in disbelief. Frowning suddenly, she shook her head adding, "Carries dildos in the trunk of her car. Sorry, misplaced shock there."

"She's surprisingly really thorough," Buffy said absently. "But not the point."

"Right," Willow nodded, "back to the point." A pause, "What was the point again?"

"Spike's such an asshole!" she cried, throwing her hands in the air.

"He is?"

"Yes!" Buffy practically shouted at the top of her lungs. "Don't let all of that mild-mannered Wee-Willie crap fool you. It's just an -- an act! He's a disgusting, ego maniacal pig with an annoying accent and stupid, stupid hair!"

Willow opened her mouth to speak but was cut off before she could even squeak a syllable,

"It was his bright idea to watch the porn in the first place! And, god! Did I tell you what he said to me?!"

Lips pulled tight, Willow slowly shook her head.

"He starts asking me all sorts of personal things -- private things, non of his goddamn business things about what Angel and I do when we're alone!" she continued to rant. "All while pinning me to the dresser and practically feeling me up!"

Brows shot to the top of her head. "What?!"

"Uh-huh," Buffy said, teeth clenched. "If Angel hadn't called..."

"I can't believe Spike would do something like that! Did you push him off?"

Feet coming to a screeching halt, Buffy looked in the direction of the redhead, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. "Um...no."

Willow cocked her head to the side. "Did you even try?"

She hesitated before answering, "No."

"Oh."

"But, I was in major disbelief mode!" Buffy tried to explain. "Clinically catatonic."

"And Angel called in the middle of this?" Willow asked.

"Yeah." she nodded. "Wanted to know if I were up for Bronzing tonight." Buffy sighed, "I still don't think he bought that 'I'm watching the Discovery Channel' lie."

Willow smirked. "I wonder why."

"Hey!" Buffy cried out in mock offense. "I like a little obscure African tribe retrospective every now and again. Plus, Shark Week. That's exciting and educational."

"Uh-huh," Willow chuckled. "So... what would've happened if Angel hadn't called?"

"I shudder to think," she sighed heavily as she flopped down next to Wills on the bed.

"You would've pushed Spike off eventually," Willow said with firm nod of her head.

"Damn straight."

"As soon as the catatonic state wore off."

"Of course."

Willow put a hand to her chin. "But..."

"There's a but?" Buffy raised a brow.

"I dunno, it's just I find it a little bit -- not a whole lot. Enseey-weensy, really..."

"Spit it out, Willow."

"Buffy, it's kinda hard to believe that you wouldn't have pushed Spike away if you really didn't want him in that kind of close proximity. You're a strong-willed person. The Buffy I know would've given him a swift kick in the hairy stepchildren."

"Like I said..."

"I know," Willow smiled, "catatonic."

"Shock is a powerful thing," Buffy began, wringing her hands in her lap, "I mean, if I had been thinking clearly, Spike's skinny, bleached ass would've been flying across that room..."

"Darn tootin," Willow handily supplied.

"There's no way I would ever consent to having Spike-parts anywhere near me!"

"Not even if you had spent a whole afternoon snacking on those mushrooms growing out near the football field."

"Exactly." Buffy nodded firmly.

A sudden gasp broke the silence that had settled between the two girls. Wide-eyed and mouth agape, Buffy turned to her friend. "Wills..."

Willow smiled knowingly and slipped an arm around her shoulder. "I knew that clarity thing would kick in sooner or later."

"Oh god,"Buffy put her face in her hands, "I..."

Willow finished with a grin,

"Kinda like Spike and his parts?"

To Be Continued...

Crushed

"I'm insane!"

"You're not insane..."

"Okay then; I'm seriously disturbed. How's that one sound?"

Amused, Willow quirked a brow. "Crazy and irrational?"

"That's an extreme abuse of sarcasm, Wills." Buffy frowned.

The redhead chuckled, "So, you really like him in a more than friend-y..." A disgruntled sigh followed by the sound of Buffy's head meeting the wall caused Willow to quickly amend her choice of words, "I mean - kinda like Spike. In a meaningless, almost non-existent it's so tiny, sorta way."

"It's all of this damned forced civility!" she shouted, hands flying in the air.

Brown eyes widened in genuine shock. "You two were civil...?!"

"The very second I was a teensy bit nice to 'Sir Bleach A-Lot', I lost all god-given common sense." The petite blonde shook her head with a sigh. "Nice-ness is evil."

"There is no evil," Willow chuckled. "You've got a crush, Buffy; it happens. Besides, I think it's cute how you're all panic-y and borderline psycho."

Buffy's eyes narrowed in a sign of annoyance. "It can't be happening. Remember that Boyfriend-shaped guy, Angel?"

"Oh. Right," Willow said, her grin rapidly fading.

"And in no way is this cute!" Pausing, Buffy added, "What are you? A sadist?!"

Willow shrugged. "Boyfriend shaped guy factor aside, empty crushes come and go all the time. This thing for Spike - if it's really nothing..."

"Totally nothing."

"Then it too shall pass."

Willow's words rang in her head as Buffy slammed the front door. Never in her entire eighteen years of existing had she been this happy to see the inside of her home; all she wanted to do was crawl upstairs, take enough Tylenol PM's to kill a horse, and not wake up until it was time to suffer through another day of Scantron bubbles and number two pencils.

"Buffy," Joyce smiled sardonically as she walked in from the kitchen, "should've known you were home when I felt the house slide off its foundation."

She rolled her eyes with a hint of a grin. "Funny."

"I like my doors, honey; please try not to break them."

"Sorry," Buffy apologized sheepishly. "Long day."

Joyce placed a sympathetic hand on her daughter's shoulder. "You wanna talk about it? I was cleaning out some of that old junk down in the basement -- hey, why don't you come and help me? We can do that mother/daughter bonding thing." She smiled.

"Just a word of advice mom," Buffy began, shooting her a look as they headed into the kitchen, "manual labor -- never a good way to cement relationships."

Joyce motioned towards a dank pile in the corner of the room while her daughter trailed down the steps behind her. "Unfortunately all of those boxes are unmarked..."

Buffy made a face. "Mental note: invest in Sharpies."

"...So you're gonna have to sift," the older woman finished. "Set aside anything worth keeping and I'll come and take a look at it later."

"You have to approve my keepables?" she gave her mom an amused smile.

Joyce grinned. "And this comes as a shock to the girl who still has a moutain of New Kids on the Block pinups in the back of her closet?" She shook her head. "I'm starting to think you were a rat in a previous life."

"Those pictures are classic!" Buffy sounded truly offended. "I could make a killing on Ebay."

"Uh-huh," she chuckled, turning to head back up the stairs, "get started and I'll go and order us some Chinese."

"Don't forget my beef lo mein!," Buffy called over her shoulder. Grudgingly she kneeled down before the worn cardboard boxes and pulled the smallest one towards her opening it with a sigh. "No Angel, I don't feel like Bronzing tonight. You go on -- have fun and a life without me. I'll just stay home and -- ooh, pictures!"

Scattered haphazardly at the bottom of the box were stacks of polaroids, who's origins could have only been a bulky, instant-cam circa 1990.

"This is part of the 'job' after all," Buffy said with a shrug, dumping the photographs onto the basement floor. Sifting through the pile, she randomly grabbed a handful of pictures and sat back on her knees prepared to flip through moments frozen in time.

Her shiftless, absentee father in all of his green, reindeer jumperd glory smiled back at her -- one hand holding a champagne glass while the other was keenly wrapped around her mother's waist.

"If it wasn't for all of that cheating on her he did, I'd swear mom signed those divorce papers based on that outfit alone."

There was a pigtailed, three-year-old version of herself grinning from ear to ear on her first pair of ice skates, and a more recent shot of she and Joyce posing with a mall Easter Bunny --

But it was the very last photo in her hand that practically knocked the breath out of her lungs.

Two, tiny Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, one with distinctly curly, brown hair and glasses that seemed to swallow his painted face, proudly held up pillow cases full of candy for the camera:

"That's the seventh Twizzler I've come across all night," Buffy made a face as she tossed the unwanted candy to the side, "what's wrong with these people?!"

It was quickly ripped open. "What's wrong with them?!" William began, chewing, "what's bloody wrong with you?! Twizzler's are the best candy there is!"

With a snort she cocked her head to the side. "You'll eat anything."

"I will not!"

"Will-yum, you put beans on your eggs!" Buffy said, tongue sticking out in a sign of disgust.

"It's a Brit thing." He shrugged. "We just have better taste than you Americans."

Emerald eyes narrowed into slits. "You do not."

Blue eyes matched in repsonse. "We do too."

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do..." William stopped with a sigh and shook his head. "Can we please put our attention back where it belongs?"

"Fine," Buffy nodded, "back to the candy count."

Reaching deep into the sack he pulled out a handful of candy and sorted through one by one. "Five Kit-Kats, two Fireballs, one Sugardaddy, five Crunch Bars, three Butterfingers..." face suddenly screwing up in disappointment, William tossed a candy over his shoulder, "that's Smartie number twenty!" Shaking his head he mumbled, "Cheap wankers."

"Jackpot!" Buffy cried out.

"What is it?"

Beaming as if she had found the Foutain of Youth or the long, lost Jimmy Hoffa, the little girl slowly opened her hand --

"How the bloody hell did you get a Ring Pop?!" William's eyes widened.

"It's simple; I'm cooler than you."

"Yeah. Right," he scoffed.

"You want it, Will-yum?" she said, grinning wickedly. "I'll let you have it..."

Brows quirked upwards. "What's the catch?"

"No catch." Buffy shook her head and tossed the package into his waiting hands. The second the boy tore it open she spoke again. "Except...now you've gotta marry me."

William coughed loudly. "What?!"

"I'm giving you a ring, so now you've gotta marry me," she stated simply. "That's the way this works."

"Maybe I don't wanna marry you," he smirked.

"Oh well," Buffy sighed, reaching for the sucker in his hand, "guess you don't like watermelon flavor as much as I thought..."

Dodging her grasping, little fingers William gave a loud and defeated sigh of his own. "Okay, I'll marry you, you looney bint! What do I have to do?"

"Nothing really. You just have to swear to be my friend until we're both worm food."

William smiled. "We'll definitely be friends until we're worm food."

"And..." a pause, "you've gotta kiss me."

"What?!" he roared.

"It's what married people do, moron." Buffy rolled her eyes.

Tiny shoulders slumped. "Fine," he grumbled. "All of this for a sodding Ring Pop..."

"On the count of three..." she instructed moving closer.

William nodded and shut his eyes tightly.

"One..."

"Two..."

"Honey! Food's here!"

Joyce bellowing from the top of the stairs instantly brought Buffy back to reality. Swallowing the hard lump that had mysteriously formed in her throat, she managed to shout "I'll be right up!" with minmal squeak.

The old Halloween photograph still gripped tightly in her right hand, Buffy shakily climbed to her feet.

This was worse than accidentally seeing Spike naked; more distrubing than locking eyes with him during her blowjob education, and far, far more horrible than the porn and the admission Spike and his parts weren't half as bad as previously thought:

Oh. God...

The realization that her thing -- the 'nothing' thing for the bleached wonder was more - much more than a simple crush hit Buffy like a Mac truck.

To Be Continued...

All Bets Are Off

Giggle. Smack. Giggle. "Can you believe I'm the peace keeper in the group?! Do I look like Gandhi to you?" A beat. "And god help you if you answer 'yes' to that question..."

A purely male laugh rung out over the pounding bass of the dance music, and strong, bulky arms deftly wrapped themselves around her tiny waist. "When I look you, bald, emaciated, Indian man immediately springs to mind."

That earned him a playful smack in the chest.

"You've become so abusive." he grinned.

"But seriously -- you should've seen the two of them this morning," she continued. "You know, if I had to bet on which one would win in a Dynasty showdown, Buffy would so kick Cecily's ass."

A sigh. "Why are we talking about her..."

"And it's not just me wishful thinking it -- Buffy's pretty spry..." she trailed on.

"Here we are spending some much needed time together, I'm trying to get romantic and all you can talk about is Cecily." Riley rolled his eyes. "The last person on the planet we should be thinking about right now."

Detangling herself from his grasp, Cordelia gave a flip of her hair, frowning. "Cecily wouldn't be an issue if you'd just break up with her already."

"I told you, after graduation I'll end it." He took the opportunity to flash Cordy the puppy-dog eyes in combination with an innocent, unassuming smile and drew her body closer to his. "Please don't give me that look; I hate that look."

"You deserve that look," she said sternly.

Riley chuckled, "What can I do to get rid of it?"

Pausing briefly, Cordy's face suddenly lit up with an almost sickeningly sweet smile and she batted mascaraed eyelashes at him. "Tell CeCe to fuck off and die?" she offered with mock innocence.

Sandy blonde hair fell over his eyes as he shook his head. "After graduation," a beat, "and - uh, not in those exact words."

"Boyscout." she pouted.

Hi, this is Riley -- please leave a message and I'll get back to you.

The call was abruptly ended -- not because she had already left ten voicemail messages within the last thirty minutes, but Cecily now knew exactly where her boyfriend was.

After all, it was kinda hard to miss him standing in a not-quite-so-dim corner of the Bronze greeting Cordelia with his tongue.

"How could you possibly expect to sleep with a girl who a) has a boyfriend and b) has absolutely no idea you exist on the same planet?"

"There are ways."

It was official; he was hereby the smuggest, most delusional asshole on the planet. Volvo still parked in the Harris driveway, Spike sat inside, filling the silence with the dull thud of his head hitting the steering wheel.

"There are ways," he repeated his words with a snicker. "Too bad you can't think of any that don't involve roofies or handcuffs."

Right then, in that moment he wanted nothing more than to call up Summers and end this entire thing. His first, honest sexual experience should be based on flowery shit like love -- it should be the most earnest expression of feelings two people could share, not a cheapened romp to make your not-quite arch-enemy look like an ass...despite how appealing that sounded.

He felt like an idiot.

Grade A. 100 Fucking id --

The loud ringing of his mobile interrupted his thoughts and Spike arched his hips to dig the phone out of his front pocket.

"Hello?"

A beat. "Whatcha doin?"

He smiled. "In the middle of my fifty laps around the block, Buffy."

"Oh," she chuckled. "Maybe I should let you go then -- I know how cranky I get when someone interrupts my cardio."

Hesitating, Spike took a deep breath. "Listen, Buffy, about what happened earlier..."

"Forget it," Buffy replied quickly. "It's water over the bridge -- or, uh, under the bridge. I can't remember the way that expression goes, but the point is, what happened is a dead issue."

"It is?"

"Very dead. Jean-Claude-Van Damme career, dead."

"Well, that's a good thing, I suppose," Spike said as he turned the keys in the ignition.

She laughed sheepishly, "Anyway, there was a point to this phone call. Believe it or not."

"Do tell, luv."

"We need to talk," she continued, "and preferably in person."

"I'm leaving Xander's now; I can be around your's in about fifteen..."

"No good; I'm heading to the Bronze to do some much needed relaxing."

"Fine," he said absently, "I'll meet you there."

"Fine."

"Fine," the words were repeated.

Silence...

"I think it's safe for one of us to hang up now, luv," he finally spoke up.

"Right, of course," she said, and Spike swore he could hear the smile that must have been on her face, in her voice.

Silence...

A snicker. "You first, Bleach Boy."

"Oh, come on, Princess -- a font of nothing such as yourself surely knows how to press the 'end' button." He grinned. "It's the first thing they teach your people."

"On three?" Buffy chortled. "One..."

"Two..."

Spike's cell lit up signaling the end of the call and he shook his head, smiling.

"Bloody strange girl."

With a sigh Buffy ran a weary hand through her hair and tucked the phone back in her purse. "No, that wasn't awkward at all."

The art of avoidance was the one character flaw she'd spent years perfecting; uncomfortable issues rear their ugly heads -- Buffy made sure to stick them in the 'things that never happened' file in her brain and move on without so much as a moments hesitation...

And her new found insane-o feelings for Spike were no exception.

But first, she had to call off this bet.

It was the key to getting Spike out of her life and uncomplicating her existence. The sooner this whole thing was over, the quicker she could put her focus back on her relationship with Angel; where it should be.

Buffy trotted down the stairs heading for the front door. "Mom, I'm gone!"

"Home by eleven...!" Joyce yelled from the kitchen.

The teen groaned in response.

"Not a minute later!"

And with a determined nod of her head she left.

Time to finish this thing.

It was impossible to tell what made Cecily angrier: the fact neither Riley or Cordelia had come up for air in the last fifteen minutes or that they were doing it in public.

In the Bronze of all places! The one and only place in this pissant town where people were dying to be seen - where they expected to spot and envy the elite of which she was queen. Word would no doubt be all over school the next day and she would look like a complete fool...

The second the Brit spotted a stark patch of bleached hair in the crowd, she knew exactly how she would remedy this situation.

To Be Continued...

The Unexpected Turn Of Events

So this was what it took to finally be noticed for reasons other than having his dick get up-close-and-personal with Sunnydale High's flagpole on a regular basis.

His hair -- a wild mess of blonde curls thanks in part to being shoved under a beanie for an entire day; the baggy, bland shirt that served as a "Wee-Willie" disguise earlier that day had been tossed aside in favor of a form-fitting, black, wife-beater tank, an ordinary pair of jeans and wire-rimmed glasses topped off the look. Nothing special in Spike's eyes.

But to those of the female population in the Bronze, his appearance somehow warranted stares. Leers. Lusty, googily eyes even!

It was unnerving for a boy who'd become so accustomed to going unnoticed.

The feeling of a hand on his shoulder caused Spike to stop in his tracks. "Bleeding hell, Summers, I hope you've got a table..." he began turning around to face her, " I've never seen so many people in this rat hole..."

Cecily smiled, a real, genuine meant for him only smile. "Rat hole? As a regular patron here, I'm gonna kindly ask that you not talk about the Bronze that way. It's got it's charms -- not many places will give you a free drink for every cockroach you kill. Counts for something, doesn't it?" She chuckled, "You're, Spike, right? Buffy's stepbrother? We've met before, I'm Cecily."

And at that point, his whole world stopped spinning and exploded.

"Buffy, you have officially reached a new low. Congratulations on being a pro at the patheticness."

Eyes shooting heavenward, Buffy let out a humorless laugh and casually rocked back and forth in the porch swing. Fifteen long minutes had passed since she'd walked out of the house and she'd yet to technically leave her yard (making it to the end of the driveway and then running back didn't count).

Ending this idiotic bet with Spike -- hell, just the seeing and subsequent talking to Spike was quickly becoming the hardest thing she had ever been faced with. A semi-awkward phone conversation she could do fine, in that aspect she wasn't seeing him -- wasn't faced with those eyes or that smile and she didn't have to think about the twisting in her gut and the many reasons why said twisting shouldn't be there. The guilt was minimal and Buffy could deal.

Facing Spike in person, however, was a whole other story.

The inner coward was currently kicking the ass of the brave part of her being who wanted to do the right thing and end the bet, return the focus back to Angel, and shelve Spike permanently in the friend zone...

"And to do that, I would have to see him," she grumbled to herself. Head tilting upward she added sardonically, "You really hate me don't you?"

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Glancing sidelong, Buffy smiled at her mother. "People still say that?!"

Shrugging, Joyce sat down beside her. "Only those like me who hail from the Jurassic period."

That got a laugh.

"So, around twenty minutes ago my eighteen year-old daughter flew down the stairs and told me she was on her way out, and I find her brooding on the porch." The older woman smiled gently. "I know it's been a long time since I was that age, but the definition of 'going out' hasn't changed, has it?"

"Nope," Buffy sighed, "still the same debauched, electric kool-aid, funky Satan groove it was when you were sneaking out of Grams' to go to Juice Newton concerts."

"I thought I told her never to tell you about that," Joyce said offhandedly.

"I'm just having a hard time getting my legs to function past the end of the drive."

A chuckle. "Oh, is that all."

"Yeah," Buffy nodded gloomily. "It's surprising how quickly the little scamps can go all lame on you."

"Any particular reason why your legs decided to stop working?" she asked.

The teen hesitated before finally answering - her mouth opening and closing like a fish. "Well, see I have this friend -- who's not me..."

"Uh, huh."

"And this friend of mine has been spending time with this guy lately," Buffy continued. "A lot of time - time she never wanted to waste on him to begin with..."

"I see," Joyce interjected.

"So anyway, they're seeing each other on an every day type basis and my friend starts developing feelings for this guy. This irritating, arrogant, big, dumb, stupid - guy! And she's got the most amazing boyfriend on the planet, but lately all she can think about..."

"Is big, dumb, stupid guy?"

"Exactly."

Buffy sighed heavily. "She knows she should get this guy -- the stupid guy, out of her life."

"And why should she do that?" Joyce cocked her head.

A pause. "Because then she can focus on the great boyfriend."

"Why?" her mom asked simply.

Buffy stammered, "Be-because that's the way things are supposed to be. Big, dumb, stupid guy is throwing my friend's world askew."

Smiling, she nodded. "Tell your friend, things change. She should confront her feelings for this particular guy head on. It may seem scary, but good things could come out of it."

"And what about her boyfriend?"

"Honesty goes a long way," Joyce said as she slipped an arm around her daughter's shoulders," I'm sure he would appreciate it."

As many times as Cecily had, had the starring role in his fantasies, Spike's fevered imagination never dreamed up something this perfect.

By the grace of god everything seemed to be falling into place. Cecily, his Cecily had come up to him -- smiled, started conversation. She'd laughed at his jokes, playfully touched his arm, and nearly caused him to have a heart attack when she asked him to dance.

Here was Wee-William Hall: distinguished #5 on Cordelia Chase's 'Know and Recognize Your Losers List' with Cecily Holmes wrapped in his arms.

It didn't matter that her eyes seemed to be focusing other-where; she kissed him and that instantly shut down any part of his brain that wanted to question the situation.

Confront the feelings head on. It could be a good thing...

Buffy's new mantra repeated over and over as she headed into the Bronze. For once in her life she was going to deal with the scary instead of running away from it. Sure, the thought of telling Spike how she felt caused a vomit-y taste in her mouth but today she was working through the vomit.

Working through the vomit? She made a face at the thought.

And, hey, if Spike happened to feel for her even a crumb of what she felt for him it wouldn't be all bad...

The happy-wanking of her thoughts, however, came to a screeching halt when she spotted Cecily swabbing out his mouth with her tongue in the middle of the dance floor for all to see.

Yoda, my mom is not.

Oh Mandy, well you came and you gave without taking...

Angel lay sprawled out on his bed, mouthing the words to the Mannilow classic; he knew he should be getting ready to meet up with Buffy at the Bronze, but Barry was on the radio! And as far as he was concerned, the world stopped turning when the Mann-ilow was playing.

The faint sound of a knock at his door, sent the teen scrambling toward the stereo on his dresser; quickly he turned it down (his love for Barry was and would remain a well kept secret).

"Uh, come in!" Angel called out.

The door creaked open and he immediately jumped to his feet at the sight of her.

"Hey," he smiled, "I thought we were meeting up later?"

Buffy shrugged, closing the door behind her. "Change of plans."

"Okay, well, let me get dressed and we can get ready to go..."

She shook her head. "Actually, I don't feel like going out."

"That's fine," Angel replied. "We'll stay in - watch a movie."

Swallowing the hardened lump that had formed in her throat, Buffy slowly unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall to the ground. "I'm really not in the mood for a movie."

Off of Angel's wide-eyed look, she added. "And, I don't wanna wait until Saturday."

To Be Continued...