About A Boy

Chapter 1: What's In A Name?

Cad, bastard, son-of-a-bitch, dickhead, asshole…

All names I've become quite accustomed to being called throughout my twenty-six years on this sodding planet. Some would actually say I've based my entire lively hood on those names, made good off of being the shallow, self-centered bastard people expected me to be.

I wasn't born this way, not by any means, this was molded and shaped. My supreme smugness was the byproduct of several misadventures with the opposite sex since about the age of fourteen. Yes, before I let women completely fuck me up, I was a sensitive, sweet sort of bloke. You know the kind who wept openly and wrote poem after sappy poem about the girl he fancied. That, was, me then in a bloody nutshell.

I can remember the death of 'sweet William Giles' as clear as day. The exact time was six o'clock p.m., the exact date was February 14th, and the exact place my school's gymnasium during a two- hour torture fest also known as an eighth grade social. It was a well known fact at that time that I was madly in love with Cecily Holmes, a rich, popular, glorious creature who was as far out of my league as one could get. Cecily was the epitome of unattainable and that of course only served to make me want her more.

Night after night, I toiled away on my utterly horrific poetry, trying to find exactly the right words to tell her how she made me feel, making myself even more lovesick in the process. The sheep she surrounded herself with couldn't begin to see the greatness that encompassed her; Cecily was beautiful, smart, and funny, with a touch of mystery, a delicate, rare flower. The rest of our schoolmates were vulgarians, they weren't like she and I…

Naturally with all of this bullshit swimming around in my brain, I cooked up the perfect plan to make my obvious love for her known. I crafted what I believed to be an amazing piece of prose that even Yeats himself would have leapt out of his grave to praise me for and I was going to hand deliver it to Cecily at the Valentines Social. Surely she would look up at me after reading it with tears in her eyes and throw herself into my arms….

Yes, sadly this is how delusional I had become.

So there I was, decked out in my navy blue turtleneck and brown corduroys, huddled against the wall with all of the other ponces who were as scared shitless as I was about asking a girl to dance. I spent the better part of that night on the wall, clutching my precious poem tightly as I watched all of the other blokes around me have the time of their lives. I'm not sure where it came from, maybe there was an odd message of encouragement hidden in the booming music of C&C Music Factory, but suddenly I was filled with the courage to make my dream happen. I quickly left behind my fellow sad sacks on the wall, and stalked over to the large group of popular kids which my Cecily stood directly in the middle of.

I've heard tales of people in an extreme state of panic, blacking out, I figure that's exactly what happened to me the second my odious poem was ripped from my hands.

Everything else that happened after that occurred in brief, painful flashes; the music suddenly stopping as that stupid git Riley Finn began reading the words I had taken so long to craft, that I had actually managed to rhyme (including 'effulgent' and 'bulge in it, as sad as that is). The sound of gut busting laughter that emitted from my schoolmates, and lastly, the sight of Cecily, my Cecily running out of the door in an attempt to escape the embarrassment.

Of course, me being the glutton for punishment that I am, I followed her, hoping to divulge my feelings in the right way. She let me ramble on and on with my hands shoved in my pockets, and my head down before finally stopping me cold…

"You're beneath me, William."

At that exact moment my entire, fragile, little fourteen –year old, world was shattered. The entrancing beauty I thought I had loved so dearly transformed into a snotty ice princess right before my eyes. Why hadn't I seen it? She was just like the others, only concerned with her precious reputation and sod all else, including other people's feelings.

Yep, 'sweet William Giles' was gone, time of death 6:00 p.m., status DOA

The next four years of my life were spent honing a decidedly bitter and jaded way of looking at the world, women in particular and striking out against all authority. This was done by dying my hair a brilliant white blonde, practically living in an old pair of my brother Wes' combat boots, and nicking my father's old leather duster, making it my own.

But, at eighteen I found the one woman who shared my punk rock sensibility, she understood where I was coming from, played by her own rules, she was the one…

Or so I thought.

Drusilla Edwards was a dark beauty who breezed her way into the Fish Tank, a fairly seedy North London nightclub, that I happened to frequent (all apart of my 'rebel' persona). From the second she walked in, she owned that room I had never seen anything like her. A vision clad in black from head to toe, a wicked vision, and she looked directly at me.

If I had known Dru would have spent the next three years slowly sucking out my soul, I would have turned away the second we made eye contact, instead of sending her my trademark smirk.

Three years of flowers and puppies kind of love, bookend by endless rounds of fighting and shagging other people on her part. I loved Dru with all of my being she was my black beauty, the very thing I lived for. And the day I came home to our flat only to find her in mid romp with our neighbor, I quietly stuffed a few of my clothes into a duffel bag and walked out without saying a word. After all, it would have been rude to disturb her.

I hopped a plane for good ole sunny California where my long absent father, Rupert resided in Sunnydale. I swore off women for good, sure they smelt nice and of course there was the wonderfulness that is sex, but they weren't worth the trouble. I was the confirmed bachelor, the man's man. I finished college at UC Sunnydale, immersed myself into my career as a writer, partied with my friends, fought like a rabid dog with my old man, evolved into the successful, selfish shell I am today, and I did it all without a woman to slow me down by tearing my heart out of my ass.

I had achieved my mission statement so naturally the next step was to destroy it all in one fell swoop, and I did exactly that the morning a baseball crashed through my front window.

Chapter 2: The Katie Couric Morning Routine

Generally, I like to start my mornings off with three things: a good piss, a couple of smokes, and a nice cup of black coffee…

I was in the middle of the Today Show (as strange as it sounds, Katie Couric is perfect for ‘walking the dog’ to) and finishing off my cuppa when it happened. The rather loud sound of glass breaking just to the right of me accompanied by the sight of my mug being knocked to the floor by a baseball.

The moment I moved into my home on Revello, I quickly gained ‘scary old bastard’ status among the neighborhood youth. I guess it was just assumed that I could be capable of standing on my front porch all day, screaming at those little buggers to keep off my lawn. The idea that one of those drooling, snot monkeys had the balls to go anywhere near my place, let alone damage property, managed to impress me and piss me off all at the same time.

I climbed to my feet, grabbing the ball and quickly headed for the door, eager to meet the brave little Bit, who had put the ball through my window, maybe shake their hand before wringing their tiny neck. The second I opened it, I was met with a pair of wide green eyes, which were nearly hidden under a mess of chocolate brown hair.

“Mister, I’m really sorry, it was an accident…HEY!"

Now, some might say it’s inappropriate and just in poor taste to pick up a child by the collar of their jacket, but unlike those blighters, I don’t go for that touchy-feely crap, a direct statement such as this gets your point across just as nicely.

I carried the thrashing kid by one hand off of my porch, ignoring his pleas for me to put him down, and watched his poncey little friend take off running full speed down the street, ball glove in tow, before I turned to my ‘hostage’.

“Point." I said gruffly, giving him essentially the same look old Rupes use to give me when I had done something incredibly stupid. He sighed loudly and made a half-hearted gesture towards the house across the street. As evidence of how bloody in-touch I am with the goings on in my neighborhood, I hadn’t even noticed someone had moved into that place.

Without another word I marched my bundle over there, carefully balancing the baseball in one hand and him in the other.

“Knock."

He let out another sigh and gave me an eye roll, but obeyed my order, bringing up a hand to bang on the door.

For the second time that morning, I was met with a pair of wide green eyes, only instead of blatant fear like the first pair had held, these were burning with shock and anger. Also, these came attached to a beautiful little blonde number…hey, it may be early, but you can’t fault a guy for looking.

“Do either one of these belong to you?" I held out both the ball and the boy, just to add a little dramatics to my presentation.

She cocked her head to the side, crossing her arms over her chest. “Put him down."

I obliged, naturally, I’m not completely horrid you know, and tried bloody hard to stifle my laugh as the kid practically ran to her side.

“Who the hell do you think you are?!"

“Who do I think I am?" I scoffed. “I’m just a bloke trying to enjoy his morning routine, which gets very bloody hard to do when you’ve been killed by a baseball!"

“It was an accident." The boy spoke up in such a meek voice, that I actually felt kinda bad for the way I had behaved. “Adam overthrew the ball and…"

I ignored the small twinge of guilt that had reared up, and refocused my attention back on the fiery blonde in front of me. There something about the way she glared at me, this may sound masochistic, but it was intense I never wanted to leave it. I just wanted to stand there all sodding day, fighting fire with fire…

“It would do you good to make sure your little brother and his friends don’t play so close to other’s property."

She broke the deadly stare we seemed to be locked into, turning to the boy at her side. “Honey, why don’t run upstairs and wash up, breakfast is ready."

“Okay, mom."

Mum? Mum?!

Before I had time to process what I’d just heard her attention was back on me again and the stare was deadly as ever.

“I’ll pay for the window." She said, slowly taking a step forward. There must have been only an inch between us now, and the way her tiny fists were clenching and unclenching were making me nervous. “But if you ever put your hands on my son again, I’ll rip your arms off and beat you over the head with them."

Manhood’s a funny thing. In my lifetime, I’ve faced numbers of wankers who were bigger than me, practically towered over me they did, and there wasn’t an ounce of fear in my body. But this girl, a sodding blonde for Christ sakes, had managed to instill genuine fear in me. Of course I bloody well didn’t show that on the outside, what kind of poofter do you think I am?

The corners of her mouth turned up into a vicious smirk as she gave me a quick once over, her eyes lingering for a bit on my lower half.

“I’ll let you get back to whatever it is you were doing." She grinned, turning back inside the house. “Let me know how much you want for that window, I’ll write you a check."

With a little snicker and another peek at my bottoms, she slammed the door in my face.

A smile slowly fixed itself on my lips, I couldn’t help it. She had so obviously been checking me out, that it made me want to laugh, I mean, it’s not every day a woman blatantly stares at your goods like that.

In my small moment of ego-induced reverie, I gave myself a once over, noting I had left my robe unbuttoned, among other things…

“Bloody hell!" I roared, quickly shutting it, and stalked angrily back towards my side of the street.

Can’t say William Giles doesn’t make a memorable first impression.

*********************************

“Katie Couric?"

I nodded solemnly, taking a sip of my latte.

“Katie Couric."

Xander gave me a nod of his own, a sign of complete male solidarity. Xander Harris has been like the annoying, not-nearly-as-good looking, American brother I’ve never wanted, but somehow ended up with. We’ve been best friends of sorts since we met on the first day of our freshman year at UC Sunnydale. I could always count on him to be there with a cold beer, ready to talk about anything pointless and therefore guy-like. How essential Katie Couric is to the male morning routine, included in our discussions.

“What’s this about Katie Couric?" Cordelia asked, flopping down into the seat next to him.

“Oh, Will was just telling me about his run in with the new neighbors earlier." Harris grinned, stuffing the rest of his muffin into his mouth like a pig.

Cordy raised an eyebrow at me. “Your new neighbor is Katie Couric?"

Xander laughed. “No, Katie Couric is who Will master….Ow!"

Let’s just say, a strong boot to his kneecap prevented Harris from finishing that sentence. Like I said before, we’re best friends ‘of sorts’, the fact he can’t keep his bleeding mouth shut when it needs to be is what keeps the ‘of sorts’ in that equation.

“Hey guys, what I miss?"

I was so busy laughing at the three shades of red Xander’s face was turning that I didn’t even notice when Willow plopped down in the chair next to me. Oh, I guess I should make the introductions. This is, for lack of a better and more grown up word, my clique. I met Willow Rosenberg not long after I met Xander, actually, they were like a package deal. Willow’s all round sweet personality and her adorable red hair meant that there was an instant attraction, and we did date for a short period of time before she dumped me (typical) for a girl in her Psych 101, Tara (not-so typical). Unlike all of my other disasters, Red and I parted on good terms and somehow remained great friends. Xander, Willow, and I were like the three Musketeers, that is, until Xander made the conscious decision to become Cordelia Chase’s lap dog, then our threesome became a foursome.

“Nothing much." Cordy grinned. “Will apparently got into it with his new neighbors and jerks off to Katie Couric in the morning."

I shot Xander a look, before glaring at the smug girl across from me. “Could you say that a little louder please?"

“You’re still talking about Neighbor Girl?!" Willow rolled her eyes at me, taking a sip of her coffee. “You’ve been blathering on about that all morning."

“I do not blather! Occasionally I run on, sometimes I yammer, but never, *ever*, Red, do I blather."

“I missed the story." Cordy piped up. “What’s this about Neighbor Girl?"

I slumped down in my chair, I could feel the sullen little boy look creeping over my face. Here we go…

“I was very nearly killed by a sodding baseball this morning!" I grumbled, tearing off a piece of my bagel.

“Yeah, so Will thought it would be a good idea to carry the poor kid by his collar back across the street." Xander chuckled.

“What?" I said, feeling like a total bastard off of Cordelia’s look. “Nearly killed, remember? Did any part of that register with you?!"

“Oh, please tell me Neighbor Girl kicked your ass." Cordy glared at me. Two death glares in one day, I think I’ve set a new record.

“You seem to forget about the me coming close to death part, Cordy. It’s not every morning where balls go whizzing by your face…." I paused, smirking at her. “Well, for you it is, but for the rest of us…"

“Asshole."

“Proud of it." I grinned. “But it’s just what I bloody needed, you know? More damn kids running about like screaming banshees…"

“You said it wrong." Willow playfully hit me in the arm. “You’re supposed to shake your fist in the air when you use the phrase ‘damn kids’."

Those are my friends for you. Every one of them a sodding comedian…

Chapter 3: Introductions

Even in my days of horrible poetry, writing was an essential part of me. ‘Sweet William’ may have died a fiery death but his passion for writing developed to astronomical and obsessive proportions. I buried the mediocre sonnets and took up good old-fashioned storytelling, something I proved to be rather good at.

The journals I kept from my early teens until about twenty-one were a gold mine. My bitter ramblings over my many, heartbreaks were exactly the fuel my muse needed and quickly manifested itself into Loves Bitch. The top of the New York Bestsellers list for twenty-two weeks, promotional spots on Regis and Kelly, every morning radio talk show in the bleeding country, and even a spot on Oprah’s Book Club.

Suddenly, every single viper from Los Angeles to New York wanted to date me and, every farmer’s, daughter in the, Midwest, wanted to take me under their wing and show me that a good woman actually exists…

That was two years ago.

I ignored all of the letters from desperate women across the globe (especially the ones that included underwear and/or bodily fluids), ignored the questions on whether I would ever get married or commit to someone ever again. In short, I shut the world out.

The asinine questions stopped, no more letters came, and before I knew it, two years had passed, and I was expected to produce another masterpiece. For months I’d been sitting in front of a blank Word document screen on my laptop and tonight was no exception.

When you’ve already pissed and moaned to the world and had them eat up, then you couldn’t present them with the same old dog and pony show. If I presented them with another opus on my dysfunctional love life, then my entire writing career would have been the equivalent to Britney Spears’ albums: trite, pointless, and formulaic.

There was absolutely nothing left to inspire me.

I felt a primal scream coming on, something full of piss and vinegar and frustration, and something damn manly. But the faint sound of a knock on my front door squashed it, along with the urge I had to hurl my computer against the wall.

“Hi."

For the second time today, that clumsy, little bugger from across the street had graced my doorstep. He gave me a small, nervous smile, shuffling his feet.

“Did you break something else?" I smirked, folding my arms over my chest. “Cause I can start running you a tab if need be…"

“No, I didn’t break anything else." He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I thought instead of getting my mom to pay that maybe I could work to pay for the window. I could do odd jobs and stuff…"

Now, the benefits of having a friend who does construction include getting free work done when you need it. Xander had already offered to replace the window no charge, but I couldn’t look this gift horse in the mouth. Here was someone who actually wanted to do the tedious chores I could be bothered with, and there were no pesky child labor laws to get in the way.

I smiled at the boy. “Alright, Bit, you’ve got yourself a deal."

He visibly relaxed, a wide grin spreading across his face as he pushed pass me and into the house, rambling on as he did so. “Cool! Please don’t tell my mom about this, she doesn’t know, and she’d probably freak if she knew I was in a stranger’s house, especially a stranger she called a ‘Bleached Bonehead’."

‘Bleached Bonehead’?! Why that skinny, stupid bint…

“Jeez mister, you’re house is really dirty, and what is that smell? Do you have a cat, cause it kinda smells like my old cat’s litter box when I’d forget to change it…"

I brought a hand to my head in an attempt to stifle the enormous headache I could feel on the horizon. What have I done? What have I done?! I shut the door, lingering there for a moment to bang my head against it.

“My name’s Liam by the way, what’s yours?"

“Bloody hell…" I grumbled, turning to face him. I really hadn’t taken the time that morning to study his features, he really was the spitting image of his mum. The same green eyes with tiny brown flecks, making them nearly hazel, the same distinctive nose…

Really, the only noticeable physical differences between them (aside from the obvious) were his lips, which were a bit thinner than her full and pouty ones, and of course there was the hair. Liam’s was a dark, chocolate brown (as I’ve said before), while his mum had these shimmering gold tresses, most likely the product of a bottle, but it fit her perfectly…

“It’s William."

Liam made a face, letting out a tiny snort. “William…"

“There’s nothing wrong with William. It’s a good, solid name. Liam on the other hand, is a poofter name."

He frowned. “It’s my dad’s name."

“Is your dad dead?" I asked, flopping down on the couch.

He gave me a look before finally shaking his head. “No."

“Good, so there’s nothing that’ll make me feel bad about saying this again; Liam’s a poofter name. I doubt I’ll be the only bloke to tell you that."

He shoved his hands into his pockets, pacing around amidst my rubbish for a while before he spoke again, breaking the silence that had built between us.

“You got a nickname?" Liam shrugged. “William’s too formal."

“Not really." I sighed, trying to focus on the telly. It was bleeding miracle his mum wasn’t completely bald and crazy, just one night with this kid and his endless questions and I was ready to tear my hair out.

“Can I give you one?"

“Knock yourself out, Sparky."

Before I knew it, Liam was in my face, eye to eye. He studied me closely as if I was something under a fucking microscope. He raised an eyebrow, grinning.

“Spike."

“Spike?!" Of all the ridiculous… “Where in the bloody hell did you…"

He laughed, reaching out and grabbed a handful of my hair. “You’ve got spiky hair. How do you get it so blonde? My mom dyes her hair too, but I’ve never seen it that blonde. It’s kind of unnatural looking…"

I frowned and removed his hand from my hair. “Don’t you have something to do around here, Liam?" I sighed heavily. “I mean, that window’s not gonna pay for itself…"

He smiled, nodding. “Right, I forgot. What do you want me to do first, Spike?"

“You said something about a bad kitty litter smell, find it and douse it with holy water or something." I sighed again, waving him off.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?!

Chapter Four: Something Like Bonding

Author's Note: I kind of feel like I’m moving at a snail’s pace with this fic and the Spuffyness I know you all want. So, I wanted to take the time to say that it’s extremely important to me to further establish Spike and Liam’s relationship before I bring in the other characters more. It’s a bit of a slow process, I know but you will see Will’s ‘clique’ again *I loved writing them* and of course Buffy.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been capable of taking care of myself. Even back in my school days, when the older chuffers were making a game of ‘Kick the Spike’, I found various ways to protect myself; pocket knives, sticks, simply running in terror. Whatever the case may be I was prepared to defend my interests and myself.

The key word there is prepared.

When one is startled out of bed by a rather loud and ungodly banging around the back of one’s house, then one can be decidedly unprepared to beat the living shit out of the thing that has decided to crawl onto one’s territory.

I flew through the house, what I perceived to be a dangerous weapon in hand, and flung the backdoor open with a forceful, action hero type of might. As I raised said dangerous weapon in the air I was met with a fit of giggles from Liam who stood amidst the toppled trashcans.

I could only glare and stutter as he doubled over in laughter and push my instincts to strangle the little wanker to the back of my mind. People tend to frown upon killing a child after all…

"What, what the bloody fucking hell?! You scared the living…!"

"I’m sorry," he snorted one last snort, his laughter finally dying down, "I didn’t mean to wake you. I was taking out the trash, which you have a lot of. It was kinda heavy and I knocked over the cans…"

"Taking out the trash?" I sighed, running a hand through my bed hair, "Liam, I’m going to ask this only once, pay attention: how in the name of all that is holy, did you get into my house where all of my trash lives, to be able to clumsily lug it out back?"

"That key you keep under your front doormat," he smiled briefly before turning to pick up the cans, "that’s a really bad place to leave a key, you know? You could get robbed that way."

"Is that right?"

"Mmm-hmm. And I don’t think any robbers would be scared away by that flyswatter."

Flyswatter? I sighed, grumbling a bit as I finally took notice of the ‘dangerous’ weapon in my hand. That’s it, from now on, I’m keeping a bat next to my bed.

The boy flashed me a brilliant smile as he walked pass me into the house, continuing to blather on about ‘breaking and entering’ and safer places to put spares and that sort of rot. I could only muster a loud sigh as I followed him. This was going to be the start of several long, long, long days.

He flopped down on my couch dramatically, wasting no time flipping through all one hundred and thirty-eight channels on my telly…

Funny, I don’t remember inviting him in…

"You ever watch the Crocodile Hunter?" he asked suddenly, his eyes glued to the screen.

"No, Liam," I sighed, "can’t say I have. Shouldn’t you be in school or something?"

"It’s Sunday."

Behold my luck, it’s still the bloody weekend.

I folded my arms over my chest and continued to watch him. His little ass was occupying my favorite seat in the whole house, so I had no choice, but what I found was borderline fascinating. He had a system as far as telly watching goes: rapid fire surfing through all of the channels (at what I counted about twenty times), stopping once or twice on a program, watching until a commercial, and then back to the surfing.

It was like an advert for Ritalin playing out right in my living room.

"You’ve never watched the Crocodile Hunter?!"

He actually broke contact with the television to give me a look of disbelief, cocking an eyebrow. I rolled my eyes at him, sighing heavily as I made my way towards the couch, sitting down next to him.

"For the last time, I’ve never seen the sodding Crocodile Hunter. Hyper Australians in tiny, brown shorts scare me, and shouldn’t you be at home with your mum? Or really, any other place besides mine?"

Liam smiled at me for a bit before turning back to the telly. "She’s sleeping, I didn’t want to wake her."

"And yet, no bloody problem waking up William…"

"Spike," he quickly corrected.

******************************

I don’t bond.

If for some reason I end up spending more than one day or one minute with a person, it’s never bonding. They’re either one: fairly interesting to talk to or two: they can’t take a bloody hint and leave.

Two applied solely to Liam.

For weeks he made himself a staple at my flat, coming over directly after school, practically never leaving until around five in the evening.

Now, I expected him to come by, he was still under the impression that he was paying for the window. But, what I didn’t expect was after he finished ridding my place of various rubbish and unnatural smells that he would stick around to lay about on my couch and watch telly.

It became a routine of sorts. Liam would finish up and then plop down next to me, where we’d spend the next three hours roaming the channels and talking occasionally. Well, talking in the sense of he babbling and me grumbling.

Today was no different, like clockwork, Liam had bounded out of the kitchen and settled down onto the couch. As usual, he bombarded me with questions (‘Does the Hollywood Minute Diet really work?’ ‘What’s wrong with Ozzy Osborne? He moves like my grandpa and my grandpa’s way older…’ ‘Do all British people say "bloody hell" as much as you do?’ ‘Do you think Anna Nicole Smith should have a dog? I mean, I’d be afraid she’d eat it whole or something…’ ‘Spike, why aren’t you married?’). And as usual, I put my head into my hands and prayed until it was over.

"Don’t your mum and dad wonder where the hell you are at nights?" I groaned, "there’s got to be someone around your house noticing they haven’t been asked ‘why the sky is blue’ fifty times today."

He looked at me rather solemnly for a moment. "My mom thinks I’ve been going to the library to study," Liam turned his attention back on the Crocodile Hunter, watching that insane bloke yank a rattlesnake out of its hole by its tail, "and my dad lives in LA, not exactly around much."

For a split second, I felt a pang of guilt and before I had a conscious chance to stop them, the words tumbled out of my mouth:

"My dad wasn’t around much either."

We sat in virtual silence for the rest of his stay. An occasional word or a sentence even, making it out from time to time. Yep, just watching the telly, but never bonding.

I don’t bond.

Chapter 5: A Night Out

"You break, Harris."

Sunnydale isn't the bustling metropolis one might think it is. It's, one of those small towns sandwiched in between two major cities. You know the type Sunnyhell's all interstate and allies for some reason.

Within our 'one Starbucks town' is two clubs the locals herd, into like bleeding cattle to get pissed and grind up against each other. The teenage hormone bomb otherwise known as the Bronze, and the Warning, who's name stirred up memories of seedy, low-rent punk clubs in the East End for me, but turned out to be nothing more than a club for the 'older' crowd.

Namely pompous college kids make up the Warning, spewing off their intellectual crap as if they were the second coming of the sodding Beatnik generation when we all know they're just babies playing at being grownups until Spongebob Squarepants comes on.

The fear of doing jail time for child molestation (the max age at the Bronze is seventeen) is what keeps me going to the Warning, plus they have a really posh setup for their pool tables.

Xander gave me a cocky grin as he readied his cue. I swear the whelp sees 'Color of Money' one time and he thinks he's on the fucking pro circuit.

"Six, corner pocket baby," he said, sticking out his tongue in a sign of deep concentration.

It's sort of been a tradition of ours to spend Friday nights at the Warning playing endless rounds of pool.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit!" Xander cried out as he sent the cue ball bouncing hard right off the table.

Naturally I'm the only one who's any bloody good at it.

"Xander, I do believe that's a new record you've set there," Willow snickered, leaning against the table, "that one bounced way higher this time."

"Go ahead and mock," he scowled, "even Tom Cruise had to start somewhere."

I was about to join in on the Xander mocking when I felt it. A small tug at the hem of my shirt and the expressions on the faces of my best mates told me the thing doing the tugging wasn't a big-breasted blonde.

"Hey Spike!"

The one night, one fucking night I've had out with my mates in weeks and he has to show up?! As if his general pissing away of any of the quality alone time in my home wasn't enough.

"Liam.what the hell are you." I didn't even have time to finish my curse ridden grumble to the kid, as Willow blindsided me. Women are never immune to the evil that is a 'cute child'.

"William, who's your friend," she cooed.

"And what's a 'Spike'?" Xander added, knocking me out of the way as well.

Oh here we bloody go.

I could feel my sodding blood pressure rising, as the next few minutes, occurred in the same type of brief painful flashes I had when Riley Finn gave a special reading of my ode to Cecily. Me grumbling as I grabbed Liam by the arm, followed by the "but I wanna hang out and I followed you all the way here" whine that came from his mouth, and the bloody kisser from Willow.

"How about bowling?"

"Bloody how about the huh?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow. She did not just say what I thought she said.

"Well," she began, putting her cue back on the rack, "we play pool like every Friday and a bar isn't exactly the kind of place a cutie patootie like this should be hanging out. Bowling is family friendly, plus I'm really good!" Willow smiled at Liam, nudging him with her elbow. "Those two wouldn't stand a chance against us."

I couldn't stand it. The one, small thing in my world Liam had managed to stay completely clueless about was gone. Here he was laughing at Xander's 'Donald Duck' impression and talking shoe rental and bowling strategy with Wills and there I was stuck watching the last bit of privacy I had be sucked right out.

"NO!"

Suddenly everyone's attention was focused solely on me. Funny, I had no idea the internal screaming I had been doing had made it out side the confines of my head.

"There will be no bowling, okay! No sodding rented shoes, no bad 80's rock, no bloody nachos, and no stupid 'Donald Duck' impressions! Liam is going home where he can annoy that scary mum of his and we are going to play fucking pool, like we do every fucking Friday, and we are going to have a good, fucking time! Got it?!"

*********************************

I don't think I've ever been to a bowling alley that didn't play the hell out of every hair band from the late 70's to the late 80's. Is there some horrid unwritten bowling alley rule that Poison's 'Every Rose has its Thorn' must be played when the lights go down and the fog machines kick in?

I put my head in my hands and tried to shut out the sounds of 'Holy Diver' as Xander grabbed his ball and headed towards the lane. I happened to look up just in time to watch as the whelp flung the ball into the air and was lucky enough to get to stare with the same wide-eyed amazement as every other bloke in that place, as said ball careened across two lanes to the right.

"I see you don't just do that when you play pool, Harris." I snickered.

Xander frowned at me as he headed back to his seat. "Yeah, I like to consistently suck."

Willow gave him a sympathetic smile. "You get another shot, Xand." He gruffly waved her off, mumbling something about it being hard to bowl with all the damn fog on the alley, and motioned to Liam.

"You're up, kid."

"You know what," I began climbing to my feet. Now, was as good a time as any to get out of this hellhole, "it's late I should take Lee home. The little Bit does have school and whatnot."

"Spike, tomorrow's Saturday." Xander said giving me a look.

Spike?! Since when am I bloody Spike?!

"What," he shrugged, "it's a catchy nickname. It fits you."

********************************

During the weeks Liam had been coming to my flat, he'd never really talked about his mum. Sure, she came up a lot, usually in the form of 'my mom uses this hair dye' and so on, but he never really described what the woman was like to me. She remained a mystery to me I honestly didn't even know the chit's name.

The moment I pulled into 1630's driveway, she was there in the doorway. Arms crossed, impeccable scowl plastered on her face the moment she saw me. The bird's icy façade crumbled however, when Lee bounded out of my car, heading straight for her. I couldn't help but smile, it was like a bleeding Hallmark card or one of those Lifetime motherhood/menstrual cycle empowerment movies playing out in front of me.

"Lee where were you," she shouted, wrapping her arms around him, "and don't tell me you were at the library. I must've had a complete lapse in sanity to have ever believed that terrible lie in the first place."

"I went bowling with Spike and his friends, Willow and Xander. They're really cool even though they have weird names. Willow's really sweet, mom, you would like her, and Xander can do the 'Snoopy Dance' and..."

"That's great, sweetie," she said cutting him off, throwing a glance my way, "it's late, so get your little butt upstairs and ready for bed." She gave Liam a playful smile and a tiny swat on the behind as walked pass her, and into the house.

That playful and might I add adorable smile crumbled the second she laid eyes on me again. I made my way over to her, trademark smirk firmly in place and extended my hand. Hell, I've already gave the woman a peek at my goods, might as well be cordial this time around.

"Hello, luv," I drawled, "I'm Will."

My name barely made it out of my mouth before that stupid bint rammed her fist square into my nose.

"Ow! Bloody hell woman!"

She grinned, "I'm Buffy."

Chapter 6: My Lover, My Liver

Author’s Note: Part of the conversation Buffy and Spike have in this chapter is taken from the wonderful Indie movie ‘Tadpole’. I liked it and the flick a lot, so I thought I’d borrow. Sadly, the genius that is ‘My love, my liver’ doesn’t belong to me.

I’m convinced all women have a basic killer instinct. A protect the herd, their young, kind of thing. I don’t know if this sort of viciousness is the entire fault of the womb or maybe one of the fallopian tubes but its there. It’s that little nagging voice in the back of their minds that tells them starting riots at little Billy’s baseball game is the right thing to do. It tells them to raise hell about the wood chips on a playground until they’ve been replaced with those poncy rubber mats, and I’m absolutely sure that little voice is the reason why a bloke can’t even sit at a bar and enjoy a good smoke in California any more.

Buffy Summers had this killer instinct twenty times more than the normal woman.

“What kind of sicko, pervert are you?!"

In all honesty it took me nearly ten minutes to regroup from that shot to my face in order to understand anything this psycho bird was screaming at me.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you, woman!" was my muffled cry as I moaned, finally finding the courage to remove my hand from my nose.

There was always something fascinating about blood to me. Really, I think I might’ve been a doctor in a previous life or some rot, but when the blood is pouring from me, when it’s covered the inside of my entire hand in a deep crimson, it’s no longer fascinating. It’s scary and gross as all hell…and sod it all…I think the fucker’s broken

“What grown man pals around with a ten-year-old boy?!" she growled, clinching her fists again. “I swear to god if I ever catch you around my son again, I’ll…"

“Wait, wait, wait a goddamn minute, will ya!"

Behold my luck, she finally put down the fists of fury and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Look Betty…"

“Buffy."

“Whatever, Buffy," I rolled my eyes, “I’m not some disgusting wanker luring Liam in with sweets and kittens, okay. The truth is, your son has been coming round mine everyday after school for weeks now. I don’t invite him, and I bloody well don’t want him there. As for tonight’s little adventure, I was out with my mates having a good time when Liam shows up out of the blue. Willow wanted to take him bowling. I don’t know what the Bit’s been telling you, but there’s truth."

I paused, sighing heavily,

“Now, can you do me a favor and get me some medical attention. I think I may be bleeding internally here."

*******************************

“Ow!"

Buffy raised an eyebrow at me, smirking a bit. “It can’t hurt that bad, you big baby."

“My entire nose is on fire, you silly bint," I growled adding, “ Plus, you’re rubbing too hard."

She laughed chucking the rag she was using to clean up the blood on my face to the side and picked up a handful of tissues, holding them to my nose.

“Its not broken, you’ll live," she smiled, “Hold those up and tilt your head back."

“How do you know it’s not broken? I don’t see a Ph.D. hanging above your kitchen sink or anything…"

“School nurse," Buffy said quietly, moving about the kitchen to clean up the great bloody mess I made everywhere.

School nurse, huh? Back in my day, all of the school nurses looked like gorillas in white tights. I would have goaded the other kids into kicking my ass every day of the week instead of the standard Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday beatings, if I had a nurse that was half as beautiful as Buffy…

Lucky little buggers.

“Oh."

She disposed of the garbage, then quickly washed her hands before heading over to the freezer, pulling it open. “Can I get you a Popsicle or something? I have to ask, it’s like standard procedure as far as my patients are concerned."

“Sure," I chuckled, “I’ll take an ice lollie."

“You’ll take a, huh?" she asked, giving me a confused look over her shoulder.

I sighed, shaking my head, “Bloody Americans…" I mumbled, “Yes, Buffy. I’ll have a Popsicle. Cherry in fact if you’ve got one."

Buffy tossed me the lollie, grabbing one for her self and jumped up on the kitchen counter, next to me.

“So…what did you almost say your name was?" she grinned.

“Ha, bloody, ha. It’s Sp-- er, William."

There was that look again she did so well. Half-mocking, half confused as all hell…

“SperWilliam?" Buffy snorted, “Is that a family name?"

“No, no it’s William. William Giles, actually, but Lee calls me Spike…"

Suddenly, her eyes widened to bleeding comical proportions. Great, here we go. I knew, sooner or later someone would take the ammunition that stupid nickname provided and run with it…

“William Giles?! The writer, William Giles?!"

I felt a wave of pride wash over me. Here I thought this chit was going to rake me over the coals, instead I find out I’ve still got fans left in this world. Makes a fellow kind of proud actually.

“Yeah," I beamed, putting the tissues off to the side. “You’ve read my work?"

“Read it? I did a thesis on Loves Bitch for my Women’s Studies class."

“Really?!" I had no idea my bitter ramblings constituted as college material…

“Oh yeah," Buffy said absently, licking her grape lollie. “We had to write a paper on ‘Misogamy in the Contemporary Media’, your book was a prime example. I should probably thank you for getting me an A in the class."

I scowled, “No need, Buffy. Just glad to know my sad life could help someone out."

“I’m sure women aren’t to blame for all of your problems," she rolled her eyes. “But wait, you have a penis, therefore it’s unheard of for you to fuck up."

“HEY! Were you there?! No, I bloody well don’t think so. You don’t know my story."

“I read the book," she shrugged.

“Yeah," I snickered, “but you didn’t live it."

We sat there in total uncomfortable silence for a while, just eating our lollies, and not even bothering to look at each other. I hate silence like this. It always feels like someone should be saying something, and even though I would like nothing more than to choke the bint right now, I opened my mouth to speak,

“So, what’s your story?"

“So you wanna know my story now?" Buffy snickered, “Here I thought we would just continue to sit here and silently plot the others death."

“Well, I’ve done that. Now I’m terribly bored and, god help me, I want to hear you talk. So what’s your story Goldilocks? I know you’ve got one being a young mother and all. Unless you’re one of those chits who are really forty years old but can pass for like twenty-two…"

“Twenty-four," she laughed, “And yes, I’m a living, breathing teen mom statistic." Buffy sighed heavily, wrapping up the wooden stick in the paper from the lollie. “I was the ripe old age of fourteen when I had Lee. His, dad was older than me three years older to be exact, but we had been dating for nearly eight months and I just knew I was ready to take things to that next step.

Angel’s such a great guy, you know? Most of the time you hear about the father’s running away screaming when the girl tells them she’s pregnant, but Angel…he stayed. We were together and it worked, for a while anyway. He went to college and was meeting new people, I was meeting new people…there were a lot of new people," Buffy laughed bitterly. “And it got to the point where Angel and I couldn’t function without ripping out the other’s heart, so he stayed in LA and Liam and I came here,"

She paused letting out another long sigh,

“There’s your story, William."

What a bloody great genius I am, asking for conversation. Things probably would’ve gone better if I had just asked her to put a bullet in my head.

“I think the heart’s time is up, you know?"

Buffy gave me a look, “Believe me when I say, ‘uh-uh’."

“As the sodding symbol for love and rubbish like that. Why does it have to be the heart? I mean, what makes it more fucking romantic than all of the other body parts?"

Buffy continued giving me that look, but a smile slowly formed on her lips, and she nodded, a sign of complete understanding. “I think you have point."

“I know I have a point," I smiled. “What about the liver? It’s as good as the bleeding heart…"

“My liver burns for you." Buffy chuckled, batting her eyelashes coyly.

I grinned, placing my hand over my heart. “My love, my liver."

Chapter 7:

I was becoming comfortable, maybe a little too comfortable…

Liam wasn’t so much a guest in my home anymore as he was a part of it. Sort of like the dog you come home to find jumping up at the gates from the sight of you. Uh, not that Lee’s like a dog, for one he’s never barked or pissed on my furniture. It’s just, somewhere along the way he became a companion of sorts, the person I came home to…

But we never bonded, because like I said before, I bloody well don’t bond with anyone.

“I win!" Lee cried out triumphantly. “Your money’s all mine, sucker."

I frowned, turning my gaze from the cards he’d laid out on the floor to the Bit’s grubby little mitts, which were scooping up my cash.

“Wait a bloody minute there, mate. You can’t win a hand with a pair of sixes and a pair of twos! Lee, I’ve been over the rules a million times already…"

“I know," he shrugged, “but the rules are stupid, plus you owe me five bucks."

“I thought we settled the five bucks in question with that banana split I bought you the other day?!"

Liam snorted and shot me a look, his little upper lip curling into a sneer. “Come on, Spike! I’m not stupid."

There is such a thing as having too much influence on a child, isn’t there? Liam was becoming slick, witty, and a fucking crook in training; in short he was a much shorter version of me.

Great, now I’ve created a sodding clone. Spike bloody version 2.0…

I should’ve known when I lost a hand of poker to a cheating ten-year-old that the rest of my day was doomed to be blown to hell.

Once upon a time, my father, Rupert Giles was a stuffy, tweed-clad librarian for the London Library. My earliest childhood memories consist of me nearly choking to death from the thick dust among those musty stacks, but his love of books seemed to skip a generation, right over my brother Wesley and straight to me. Though my severe alergies almost made the library a blasted death trap, I loved being there because he was there. The books, his job, they were my da’s passion…seeing him work…I swear the old blighter’s eyes would light up every time the Dewy Decimal System needed explaining.

But, when I was eleven, Rupes decided that the tweed, the books, the sodding Dewy Decimal system, my mum, Wes, and I weren’t good enough. Didn’t make him happy enough, I suppose and he split. High-tailed it for the good ole USA and Sunnydale.

When I caught up with him years later, he was in full mid-life crisis mode. No longer, sweet, dowdy, Rupert Giles, he was ‘Ripper’ a bleeding fifty year old man going on eighteen. He was sporting an earring and every dumb bimbo under twenty-five like it was a fucking package deal.

“Whoa, Spike! Who’s the guy pulling up in the Porsche?!"

“Wha--?" I began, turning around to see the machine that had Lee literally going through puberty before my very eyes. “Bloody fucking hell…" I mumbled, climbing to my feet. I should’ve known it was dear old dad; I could hear Pink Floyd’s ‘Dark side of the Moon’ blasting from a whole mile away.

“What? Who is it?" Lee asked, following me to the door.

“My sodding dad…"

He gave me a quizzical look. “I didn’t know you had a dad…"

“I don’t," I sighed, opening the door.

“William, my boy!"

Truthfully, there were only a handful of times when I felt truly helpless. My complete and utter humiliation in front of Cecily, my one and only trip to the DMV, and now in this very moment when Rupes threw his arms around me. I’m not a big hugger, sure at one point in time I must’ve been, since I was as sensitive as a bloody daisy, but now I prefer to initiate the hug if I deem you worthy enough. Being pulled into a bear hug against one’s will, only makes one even less enthused about seeing that person than they were in the first place…

“Dad…" I choked out, “air becoming a bit of an issue."

Rupert quickly let me go, grinning sheepishly. “Terribly sorry, Will. It’s been a while since I saw you last, got a little carried away and…oh my, who do we have here?" He smiled at Lee, exchanging looks from me to the boy. “Will, you haven’t gone too far in sowing your wild oats, have you?"

“No, old man," I ground out, rolling my eyes. “He’s not mine…"

Lee smiled brightly, extending his hand. “Hi, I’m Liam Summers."

“Very nice to meet you, uh, Liam Summers," he smiled, shaking the boy’s hand. “I’m Rupert Giles."

“Well," I sighed dejectedly, “won’t you come in, Rupes? Help hurry this little visit along."

Dad gave me a look, making his way inside. “I didn’t come here to fight."

“Of course," I snickered.

His hand suddenly shot out, stopping me from shutting the door,

“Wait, Anya’s grabbing her…"

“Hold that door! Pregnant woman with a breast pump coming through!"

Oh, I guess I neglected one little detail as far as Rupert is concerned. For the past year and a half, he’s been shacked up with this bird Anya Jenkins. She’s all right, I suppose, no where near as bad as any of the other bints under twenty-five he’s been with. Six months ago we found out Anya was pregnant, who knew the old bastard still had a few in him?

“Hello, William!" she said brightly, rushing past me. Anya set her sodding breast pump on my coffee table, flopping down onto the sofa, and gave a look in Liam’s direction. “Well, hello little boy whom I’ve never seen before. I didn’t know you had a child, William."

“I don’t. Anya, this is Liam, he lives across the street."

Liam smiled at her as he headed over to the coffee table. He stood there for what seemed like an entire five minutes, closely inspecting the breast pump that was taking up space on my furniture. Finally, he broke out of whatever trance the thing had him under and turned to Anya.

“What in the world is that?"

“That little boy, is a breast pump," She stated matter-of-factly, then laid a hand on her swollen stomach, beaming with pride. “See, when a woman is pregnant, her very perky and well rounded breasts fill with milk for the baby. That pump, takes out the milk so that the woman can store it for the baby to drink, when her nipples have become to sore for her to take it any more."

I also forgot to mention how tactless and blunt Anya can be, but I guess that minor detail can bloody go without saying…

I cocked an eyebrow, “Anya, you’re only six months along, why are you using the pump?"

“Anya had this idea to freeze the milk," Rupert piped up.

“Is uh, that safe, da?"

Anya shrugged, gazing lovingly at her chest. “It’s convenient."

I could almost feel the blood vessel in my brain getting ready to burst, but the sound of my doorbell going off put that on hold, for now at least…

“Hi," Buffy grinned, walking inside, “I figured I’d give you a break from my wayward son and bring him home…and oh, you’ve got company."

“It’s okay," I began, shutting the door. “Buffy this is my father, Rupert and his girlfriend, Anya, dad, Ahn, this is Buffy, Lee’s mum."

She waved shyly, “Nice to meet you, I’m so sorry for barging in like this. Lee and I will be on our way…"

“No, dear it’s no bother at all. In fact, have a seat, I was just about to order dinner."

Dinner? Who the hell said anything about dinner…?!

“Uh, da…"

“Will, you don’t mind if Buffy and Liam join us for dinner do you?"

Great, just bloody great.

**********************************

I think I’m one of those few lucky people who already know what their ninth circle of hell will be. I, William Giles will be forced to sit and listen to my father tell every embarrassing story of my childhood he knows for all bleeding eternity.

“So, Will and Wesley decide to play a game of daredevil," the old man laughed, taking another bite of his eggroll. “Now, they’ve got their mother’s best towels tied around their necks as capes, and their just zipping around the backyard on their bikes, jumping over everything in sight. Will decides he wants to one up his brother, so he sets up the little ramp near the fence, looking to jump it," he chuckled. “He goes racing across the yard heading towards the ramp; and apparently got scared about jumping it, because as soon as Will hit that ramp, he crashed right into the bloody fence!"

I sighed, putting my throbbing head into my hands. Well, maybe that blood vessel will burst tonight after all…

“The poor lad gashed his eye clean open, gave his mum and me quite the fright. And that’s how William got that scar in his eyebrow," Rupert shook his head. “Ten stitches, I remember clear as day."

Liam looked up from his beef and broccoli, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you said you got that scar in a bar fight?"

I laughed nervously, “Bar fight? Bullocks, I never said anything about a bar fight. Hehe; kids, always making up crazy stories…"

What? A bar fight is damn well more manly than crashing into the backyard fence.

****************************

“Buffy, it was very nice meeting you."

Buffy smiled brightly as dad shook her hand. “It was nice meeting you too, Giles…" she made a face, shaking her head. “Uh, I mean, Mr. Giles. I dunno why the hell I called you ‘Giles’."

“It’s fine," he laughed. “I rather like Giles, sort of like Sting or Madonna, isn’t it, Will?"

“More like, Bon Jovi, da," I sighed as I plopped down on my couch. “You and Anya have a safe trip back home, make sure that bint doesn’t get to carried away with that pump."

My head made its way back to my hands as I heard the door close and the nearly sweet purr of that Porsche pulling out of my driveway. I had survived another unwanted visit from my dad; I swear I could almost taste the bloody freedom. I lifted my head up in utter relief only to be met with a semi-glaring Buffy, complete with her hands on her hips.

“What?" I asked wearily.

“I like your dad," she said, taking a seat next to me. “I don’t see why you’re so hard on him."

I gave a little snort, rolling my eyes. Of course she doesn’t see…

“Did he leave you to look after a crying mum at eleven?" I shook my head. “Rupert’s all talk. He’ll leave that crazy bint just like he left my mum. Anya will have nothing but a crying baby and a freezer full of sodding breast milk, mark my words, luv."

“You know, my dad left too," Buffy let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, when I was sixteen actually. Took off for Spain with his secretary, living the cliché. But, you wanna know the difference between your dad and mine?"

“What’s that?"

“Yours still cares," she said softly.

“Well," I laughed, “wasn’t that just Hallmark movie-of-the-week touching."

“I’m serious, Spike," Buffy playfully smacked me in the arm. “You should really consider giving him a chance again…"

“Mmm-hmm."

“Come on," she grinned, “he may let you drive that sweet little car of his."

“The Penile extention?!" I snickered. “That thing practically runs on semen, no way I’m driving that."

Buffy laughed, rolling her eyes before casting a glance down at her son, who, was currently unconcious in the middle of my living room floor.

“I should wake him, huh?"

“Nah," I smiled, “he looks so peaceful and innocent. Plus, knocked out this way, he can’t ask fifty million bloody questions."

“Oh, don’t I know it…" she sighed, climbing to her feet. “As tempting as it is to let him sleep, I just can’t leave him in the middle of your floor," Buffy threw me a wicked grin over her shoulder as she bent down to gently shake Lee. “From what he told me, there’s no telling what could be crawling around in your place."

“Ha, bloody, ha."

She managed to wake the boy, helping him up on his feet as he groggily wiped at his eyes. Buffy carefully led him over to the door.

“Thanks for dinner, Spike."

“Hey, Buffy," I called out, “is freezing breast milk a good thing?"

Chapter 8:

“… ‘Said you a gangsta, but you ain’t never popped nothin’; said you a wanksta and you need to stop frontin’…" Xander bobbed his head as we made our way into the Espresso Pump.

All I could do was shake my head as he continued to make a very white attempt at rapping. That’s something I never understood; Eminem comes out and all of a sudden every kid in Malibu whiter than Casper thinks he’s straight out of Compton. Sadly, Harris included…

“You are the whitest bloke in America, you know that?"

He shrugged giving me a goofy grin. “You’re just jealous because I’m down and therefore more gangsta than you."

I laughed. “Slim Shady, why don’t you go grab us a table before the girls get here."

Xander rolled his eyes and gave me the finger before he walked away, scouting the café for a good spot. It’s bloody unavoidable, between this and Harris’ stirring rendition of Nelly’s ‘Pimp Juice’ on the way over, I’m going to have to find a new best friend…

“What can I get for you today, sir?" I plastered on a smile for the overly perky chit behind the counter. I realize she’s in the customer service end of the business and all, having to smile and rubbish like that, but the sun was practically reflecting off of this bint’s teeth. I’m pretty sure she’s been guzzling coffee grounds for the better part of the morning.

“Yeah, luv," I drawled, leaning forward. “Give me three mochas, all with whipped cream. One light on the chocolate, one medium chocolate, and one heavy. I also want one regular coffee, cream, no sugar, and two chocolate chip muffins." I wet my lips just a bit and gave her my most winning smile. Suddenly, I felt like flirting with ‘Coffee Grounds Girl’. Sometimes the male ego needs to be fed to be able to keep going. “Think you got all that, pet?"

She giggled, blushing slightly. I may have put my self out of commission as far as dating is concerned, but it’s always good to know I’ve still got it… “I think so. Your order will be ready in just a minute."

“Think you got all that, pet?" a mocking voice called from behind me.

I rolled my eyes as I turned around, a little glad to see her so early in the morning but still wanting more than anything to call her every four-letter word in the sodding book.

“Does that shit actually work?" Buffy smirked at me as she slipped off her sunglasses, her perfectly arched brow quirking upwards.

Funny, Buffy always seemed to leave me wanting to spout every curse I ever learned. Even the ones that weren’t in fucking English…

I shrugged, grinning, “What are you doing here, Summers? Shouldn’t you be spraying that bloody awful bactine on some poor little bastard's knee, or throwing sawdust on vomit or something?"

“ ‘Little bastard’, huh? My, Spike, you’re going to make a great father someday," she snickered, giving me an eye roll of her own. “Three glorious words everyone who works at a school longs to hear: ‘Teacher’s In-Service’," she smiled. “That means no school for the ‘little bastards’ as you put it, for today and Monday; Liam’s in LA for the extended weekend, and I have four days of Buffy alone time." Buffy frowned suddenly and punched me bloody hard in the arm.

“Ow, woman!" I glared, clutching my now throbbing arm. I swear to god, this chit’s half superhero or something. “What the hell was that for?!"

“Sawdust on the vomit is the janitor’s job, not the nurse."

“Jesus, two months of knowing you and it’s a fucking wonder I’m not a walking bruise," I snorted. “You might wanna look into some anger management classes, luv. Winning friends through broken bones and internal bleeding never works."

Buffy opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by ‘Coffee-Grounds Girl’, who managed to repeat my order back to me at the speed of light. In all honesty, I’m a little worried about this bint; she looks as if either her heart should stop or she should start foaming at the mouth at any second.

“Here you go, sir. Three mochas, whipped cream, one light, one medium, and one dark; one regular coffee, cream no sugar, and two chocolate chip muffins."

I smiled at the cheerleader behind the counter doing my best to suppress a groan. Maybe I over did the charm just a bit. She was giving me that schoolgirl in love look and it was enough to make me want to heave…

“Thanks ever-so, luv," I said, slipping her a twenty.

“Gee, that’s a lot of coffee for a man with no friends," Buffy snickered, moving up to the counter. “I’ll have a regular coffee, cream no sugar, please."

I frowned, “Are you always this bloody funny on your off days? See that table over there with the adorable little redhead, the poncy looking guy with the floppy hair, and the Rodeo Drive fashion queen?" I sighed, “Those are my friends. Yes, I have adult ones, no they’re not finger puppets, nor did I make them up."

“That was one regular coffee, cream and no sugar," Perky interjected once again, “that’ll be $3.50, Miss."

“I never thought they were finger puppets," Buffy grinned.

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Do you wanna join us for a bit? See how they talk and breathe just like normal folk…"

“Sure," she smiled. “I’d love to meet the kind of people brave enough to put up with you on a regular basis."

“You’re bloody full of ‘em this morning, aren’t you?"

“Mmm-hmm…" she smirked at me.

We made our way over towards the gang and I almost wish I had a blasted camera to capture the moment. Their expressions were a mixture of awe and pure shock like one might get if he were to walk in on his Gran getting out of the tub.

Is it that fucking shocking to see me with a woman?!

“Guys, this is Buffy Summers, Liam’s mum…"

“So this is ‘Neighbor Girl’," Cordelia smiled warmly at her. “It’s nice to finally meet the chick Will goes on and on about…"

“I don’t go on and on, Cordelia. I’ve brought her up, I’ve relayed stories, conversations, but I’ve never, ever gone on and on about her," I said in a clipped voice, turning to face Buffy. “I don’t go on and on…"

“Yes you do…"

I narrowed my eyes. “Shut your gob, woman."

“This is the nurse?!" Xander squeaked. I swear, sometimes I think the Whelp is still thirteen years old, spraying his shorts every time a pretty bint comes around. His face settled into that goofy grin he does so well, and he waggled his eyebrows a bit. “Hellllooo, Nurse!"

Off of Cordy’s glare of death, Xander laughed nervously, giving his girlfriend a loving look.

“Uh, not that I meant that in a sexual way," he fumbled. “I was saying ‘Hello nurse’ to um, get Buffy’s attention. I think I pulled a muscle and it might need to be looked at. My intentions were strictly medical, Cordy…"

“Shut up, Xander."

“Buffy," I began, “this dysfunctional threesome is Willow, Xander, and Cordelia, my friends," I paused, smirking. “Well, not Cordelia so much…"

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Buffy!" Willow piped up, climbing to her feet. “Here, have a seat, I’ll go grab an extra chair."

“It’s nice to finally meet all of you as well," Buffy smiled brightly, taking a seat. “I’ve known Will for about two months and, I’m surprised I hadn’t met any of you before now," she laughed. “I was starting to think he’d made you guys up, and you were all finger puppets or something."

The four of them had a bloody great laugh at my expense as I sipped my coffee. Really, the morning just wouldn’t go right if there wasn’t, a round of drive Spike around the fucking bend…

“So, single-mother, huh?" Cordy said bluntly, taking a bite out of her muffin. “That’s gotta be a total drag. Most of the women I’ve seen in your situation have bags under their eyes deeper than black holes; how do you keep so well moisturized?"

****************************

I think a part of me always looked at my circle of friends as some sort of impenetrable fortress. We were superheroes of sorts, I suppose, doing fantastical things and living lives no one outside of it could comprehend or ever be a part of. Even though said fantastical things consisted of mornings at the Espresso Pump sipping on overpriced Java like we were those soulless wallies on Friends, playing rounds of pool at the Warning, and making fun of B-Science Fiction movies Mystery Science Theater 3000 style on every other Saturday night.

Despite my Super Friend’s lack of, well super…it still felt like we were doing things the other sods in this world didn’t do and wouldn’t get because they wouldn’t be part of this group… And then there was Buffy. In spite of what Cordy blabbed earlier, I do not go on and on about the little woman across the street, though, the more I see of her, the more amazed I get. By the end of the morning, Buffy had effectively made herself one of the gang. She and Willow were gabbing like old friends, she was trading fashion and bloody skin care secrets with Cordy, and when he wasn’t secretly drooling, Xander was cracking jokes and giving off that protective big brother vibe in Buffy’s direction.

How did she do that?

Maybe somewhere in between the introduction and the ‘Hey Buffy, why don’t you come over to Will’s tonight? We’re all gonna hang and watch videos,’ I got turned around. She’d slipped into my circle, made herself a full time part of my life.

Buffy wasn’t just Lee’s mum any more, my mates would want to see her again, she, would want to see them. The days of casual acquaintance were gone. She was a friend now.

Jesus-Tap-dancing-Christ, I’d made another friend.

“Hey, bleach-boy, you’re bogarting the popcorn," Buffy reached for the bowl in my lap with her greedy little fingers. I grinned wickedly and lifted the bowl over my head and completely out of her reach.

“I’d like to see you come and get it, Goldilocks," I waggled my eyebrows at her.

Buffy gave me a look before she scrambled onto my lap in her attempt to reach the bowl. I’m not exactly the tallest bloke in the world, I probably top out at around 5’8, but mercilessly teasing those who are shorter than me, gives me a strange warm feeling. Almost tingly…

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Hey, why don’t you two go grab a room, the rest of us are trying to watch a movie here."

Buffy immediately stopped her reaching and climbed off of my lap.

“We don’t…need a room," we mumbled simultaneously. She scooted away from me as I shifted rather uncomfortably on the couch; the whole playful, friendly climate between us now changed thanks to Queen C.

I glared at Cordy and plopped the bowl in Buffy’s lap. For a second there, I was tempted to see just what kind of sound my boot would make upon impact with a human head, Cordelia’s head in particular…

“You have the attention span of a blasted gnat, Cordelia," I sighed. “Besides, ‘Army of Darkness’ doesn’t require one’s full attention. It’s not like you’ll blink and miss the deeper meaning behind the bloke with the chainsaw hand."

Xander’s head shot up from the pillow he was resting it on, and he turned it ever so slightly, tossing me a dirty look over his shoulder. “I’m gonna pretend that you didn’t just indirectly insult the ‘Evil Dead’ series, in your attempt to insult my girlfriend."

Willow giggled, “Cordy, do you even know what’s going on?"

Cordelia shrugged. “Nope," she sighed as she climbed to her feet, taking the popcorn bowl away from Buffy. “There’s no creepy bushes in this one, right?" she shuddered. “Those bushes were just…wrong."

“Cordy, did sort of have a point…" Wills, gave, me a knowing smile, alternating her look between Buffy and I.

“About the bushes?" Buffy asked.

“No," Wills rolled her eyes, “about you two. You did look all snuggly wuggly a minute ago. Is there something you guys aren’t telling us?"

“Come on, Wills, you know Spike doesn’t date," Xander said, stuffing popcorn into his mouth. “Remember, yadda, yadda, yadda, all women ever do is hurt me, yadda, yadda, yadda, they’re all wicked bitches, yadda, yadda, yadda…"

“You really feel that way?!" Buffy’s arms were starting to cross over her chest and I could see that look forming in her eyes. Silly me for actually thinking I could make it through a sodding day with her and not get that look.

“No…I don’t really…" I stuttered a bit, desperately trying to save face. Maybe my boot/head noise question will be answered tonight after all… “Look, Xander’s just spouting all the crazy things I’ve said post breakup. I don’t think all women are like that, if I did, Willow and I wouldn’t be friends."

“Darn tootin," Willow gave me an affectionate smile.

“But your whole ‘Women are the devil’ attitude was practically the driving force in your book…"

“My book was about relationships in general," I shrugged. “They all either crash and burn or you end up with two extremely bored people who are in it simply because they don’t know anything different; like a bloody worn out shoe it all is. It’s not worth it, so I remain alone."

Cordelia grinned wickedly. “Hence why Will’s right hand and Katie Couric are his best friends."

I scowled at Cordy before turning to Buffy, “Pay no attention to Cordelia," I smirked, “the syphilis makes her talk crazy."

“Fuck you, William!"

“I haven’t found a woman worth making a fool out of myself for," I continued talking to Buffy, completely ignoring the endless stream of curses flowing out of Cordelia’s mouth. “And I don’t really expect to…"

Buffy suddenly turned away from me. “Xand, did you get ‘Killer Klowns From Outer Space’?! I haven’t seen that movie in years, and I suddenly have the desire to never look at cotton candy the same way again."

“Hey! I thought we were having a bloody conversation here!"

“We were," Buffy grinned. “But you’re still trying to rename your ‘women are the devil’ point of view, and I’d much rather watch a bunch of oogly clowns kill unsuspecting teenagers with balloon animals, than listen to the shit you’re trying to spin on me, Spikey." She patted my thigh patronizingly, and I could literally feel the climate between us shifting back to the comfortable/friendly air it had before Cordelia and her mouth.

Humph, Buffy actually saw through my bullshit.

“Don’t call me Spikey," I playfully pulled her hair. “Goldilocks."

Amazing…



Chapter 9

Chapter 12:

“No man is an island. You can be your own cruise director, schedule your own activities and pick your ports of call, but there is one thing that I have learned after many years spent excelling at the Robinson Caruso lifestyle. Island living, for all of its self-relying benefits is bloody madding in its loneliness and I didn’t want to do it anymore."

I cringed inwardly under Willow’s gaze. She had that ‘aww – puppy’ look in her eyes. As if she were about to take my face in her hands and start bloody weeping any moment. I was practically helpless as she dramatically brought a hand to her chest and heaved a great sigh –

“Oh, William…"

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“Wow, Will, this wasn’t what I was expecting at all," Oz, my publisher, spoke up, thankfully managing to stop the symphony of screams that were going on inside of my head. He tucked away the few pages of my manuscript on his desk and raised his brow in question at Willow who was dabbing her eyes and nearly convulsing.

In the world of publishers, Daniel ‘Oz’ Osborne was like a godsend. He was never concerned about making his sodding commission like all of the other, slick, corporate bastards I’d had the displeasure of being acquainted with when I was first starting out. Oz was laid back; he came to work with electric blue hair and black nail polish and played lead guitar with his band ‘Dingoes Ate My Baby’ on the weekends. The man could name every Husker Du album known to man in order and date released. He was the one stoically silent bright spot in a world full of wankers.

I smirked at him. “Thought you’d get something about how I would rather bleed from my asshole than be with another woman?"

He cracked something akin to a wry smile. With Oz, one could never be sure. The wry smile looked very much like the happy one, the sad frown, the crazed look of panic, and the constipated scrunch of discomfort.

“From you, references to rectal bleeding are to be expected," he said dryly. “But this is – the public is never going to see this coming from you. That’s potentially a good here."

“I’m just happy I managed to scribble down something that didn’t turn out a complete disaster," I sighed and regretfully spared a glance over in Wills’ direction. Her hand was resting on her chest and her eyes seemed watery – with my fucking luck, the bint really would burst into tears.

“Is she okay?" Oz asked, actually looking worried.

“Dear god," I muttered, rolling my eyes. “She’s fine, forgot to take her meds this morning is all. Pay her no attention."

“This is Buffy’s doing! It’s all Buffy!" Wills shouted suddenly, excitedly pointing at the space on my mate’s desk where my scribblings from the night before lay.

“What’s a Buffy?"

“A neighbor," I quickly told Oz before turning back to my insane friend, a frown on my lips. “And it is not her doing!"

“Yes it is!" She gave me a stern look. “Will like likes Buffy and wants her to join him on his self-imposed little island," she said casually to Oz.

“Are you at all in control of the rubbish that’s spewing out of your mouth?!"

Willow smiled. “See? Whenever he’s trying to hide something he gets really British and Rupert sounding," she paused, “kind of like he is now."

“I do not sound like my father!" I roared, nostrils flaring. I watched Willow give Oz a look before she turned back to me, patronizing grin plastered on those red lips of hers, and I resisted the very primal urge to find the bluntest object I could and beat her over the bloody head with it.

“Of course you don’t, honey," she cooed and I grit my teeth.

“I’ve been pretty damn self-reflective over the past few months, Oz. And yeah, Buffy and Liam have had a hand in it…"

“Liam?" Oz shot me something like a quizzical look, but like I said with him, it’s hard to tell. “Your island’s sorta kinky, huh?"

“Liam’s Buffy’s son," Willow handily supplied. “He’s ten, cute as a button…"

“Oh."

“But that doesn’t mean my ‘island’ includes Buffy running around in some fucking gold, string bikini!" I shouted and had to grit my teeth once again in an attempt to keep the vision of Buffy in said gold, string bikini out of my mind.

Wills smiled sweetly before pinching my cheek. “Of course it doesn’t, sweetie."

God help me.

****************

At some point, somewhere, something had drastically changed in me.

This change wasn’t just manifesting itself in my writing, but in my life in general. It was as if my final, honest declaration of not wanting to be quite so alone anymore had a snowball affect and I was beginning to see everyone and everything in a new light.

The neighborhood kids, which, I used to lovingly refer to as ‘fucking germ encrusted piles of stunted growth’ had become more endearing than annoying and I didn’t even mind when suddenly hoards of them starting showing up around my flat asking if “Spike could come out and play".

My days became divided between teaching Liam how to play football in the evenings after school and working on my book at night. Of course spending time trying to stop Lee from referring to the greatest game on the face of the planet as ‘soccer’ (bloody, buggering Americans) also meant spending more time with Buffy – by default.

Just because I was admittedly physically attracted to the girl, didn’t mean that I got some kind of weird happy whenever she decided to pop by my backyard to watch Lee and I sweat it out –

Okay, so it did give me a happy, but it wasn’t in a gross, vile way.

“You need a haircut," Buffy said absently running a hand through Liam’s long, dark locks.

“No I don’t," Lee grumbled and stuffed another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

After the day’s football lesson, the three of us decided to head out and cram ourselves into one of the booths at the local Coldstone Creamery. As more proof of my change, I didn’t even mind being lodged into the same, sticky ice-cream filled space as fifty or so minivan moms and dads and their perfectly blonde Aryan daughters named ‘Catlin’.

“Spike doesn’t think I need a haircut, do you, Spike?"

I gave Lee a crooked smile and snatched the cherry from atop Buffy’s hot fudge Sunday. “You are starting to look a little bit like Shaggy there, Bite-size."

Buffy playfully swatted at my hand. “Keep your mitts off my food!"

Liam shrugged. “But Shaggy’s cool." He stuffed another great, big spoonful of peanut butter fudge into his mouth and began to sway in his seat, singing. “ ‘Pass the dutchie on the left hand side – past the dutchie on the left hand side…’ mom, what’s a dutchie?"

“Uh-um…" Buffy stuttered. “You’ll find out in college, eat your ice cream."

“Do you think I’ll be good enough to get on the sixth grade team next year?" Liam asked me, dipping his spoon into my ice cream.

“Here mate," I said pushing my bowl towards him and taking his, “we’ll switch for a while. Yeah, you should be good enough. Better than good even. For a clumsy bugger, you’ve got pretty graceful footwork out there on the field."

Buffy grinned. “Wow, that was almost a compliment." She nudged Lee, laughing. “Who knows, Spike may even start hugging if we’re not careful."

“Very bloody funny."

Lee giggled, turning towards his mum, who wiped a glob of chocolate ice cream from the corner of his mouth the way only mum’s can.

“Should I ask him now?"

She shrugged. “It’s up to you."

“Ask me what?"

“There’s this thing at my school – they want our dad’s to come in and talk about what they do for a living and stuff…" Lee trailed off, swirling the spoon in the newly formed puddle of ice cream. “It’s stupid and you don’t have to – it’s just my dad can’t make it…"

I don’t consider myself to be a nice person. ‘Sweet’ William Giles was roasting comfortably in the fiery bowels of Hell for all I bloody cared so I don’t know exactly what force of nature propelled the words:

“I’ll do it, Bit"

out of my mouth but it must’ve been the fault of my sudden changes.

Chapter 13:

"Have you lost your fucking mind?!"

"Quite possibly…"

"I mean, you’re completely bat-shit insane, Spike!"

"I’ve realized that."

Xander paced around in front of me, I’m sure wearing a hole in my plush carpet and alternated between wringing his hands together and giving me the deadliest of looks.

"But, what the hell was I supposed to tell Lee, Xand?!" I sighed, narrowing my eyes at him. "He pulled the manipulative wide-eyes on me and practically cried ‘Be my fill-in Daddy’. I couldn’t turn the kid down!"

"So, a bunch of ten and eleven year olds are going to give you their undivided attention as you give them overviews of chapters such as ‘Mailmen Are Not To Be Trusted’ from your appropriately titled book Loves’ Bitch?"

That thought hadn’t actually occurred to me. I guess I was so caught up in the casual ice cream swapping, sticky floored, perfect, happy family atmosphere of the day, that I didn’t realize exactly what I had signed myself up for –

Two years ago when I was on my book tour, I frequented hundreds of college lecture halls. Had discussion after riveting discussion on what it was that ultimately compelled me to sit down in front of a computer screen and type out all of my thoughts, my feelings, my frustrations, and my endless tragedies. I owned those rooms; those kids kept me on my toes and I knew I had their distinct attentions and interest.

But the comprehension gap between a twenty-two year old college senior and, an, eleven year old elementary school fifth grader was as wide as the goddamn Grand Canyon…

I know times have changed somewhat since I was that age, but I’m pretty sure eleven year olds aren’t into discussing how one is an ‘enabler of their own intimacy problems’.

My head fell into my hands as I grumbled loudly,

"Bloody fucking hell…"

"My sentiments exactly," Xander snorted and plopped down on the couch next to me, grabbing up my remote like he lived in the place. "Is Password on yet?"

"I’m going to be surrounded by Firemen and Police with their buggering drug-sniffing dogs," I moaned. "And with my luck, a sodding Astronaut back from drinking bloody Tang on his bloody space station will probably swing round just to hand out patches to the kids and show them videos of him being fucking weightless and all that! Of course there’ll be a carpenter, who’ll construct a whole goddamn state-of-the-art playground right before their very little eyes…."

Xand gave me a look. "So Career Day now includes the Village People?"

"And what did I do?" I continued to ramble, ignoring him. "Wrote a book…"

"A very good book."

"Big sodding deal!" I sighed, "I’ll be the most boring nance up there."

Xander gave me a reassuring pat on the back. "You’re not boring, Spike. You are the least boring person I know. Mainly because you’re so screwed up – but still, neuroticism keeps things interesting."

"Bloody fucking hell…"

"Again," Xander smiled wearily, "gonna have to echo those sentiments."

Chapter Fourteen




**

Author’s Note: Sorry about the wait, but I wanted to devote a little of my time on some of my newer fics *sigh, the writing bug never stops does it*. But, I promise to have regular updates for AAB from now on. *Puts a hand to my ear in hopes of hearing screams of joy, instead hears one lone cough and the echo of crickets…*

And a special thanks to Hazel_Nut who helped out when I was completely stuck with this chapter *bear hugs Hazel*.

**

If I didn’t choose to be such a bastard, it would simple things up in my life so much more.

If I’d only had it in me to give a hardy laugh and some fucking stupid Ward Clever smile, with a "those crazy kids" rolling off my tongue the second Lee’s mate put that ball through my window, then I wouldn’t be stuck in this shithole position once again.

But no, the healthy sadist in me roared and wanted to disembowel the guilty, little fucker, wanted to scare them so badly, that they’d never want to step foot out of their bedrooms let alone play bloody baseball ever again –

If for once I could of held off on my dickhead tendencies, Buffy and Lee would have never waltzed into my life and everything would be exactly the way it always had. By being a royal asshole, I succeeded in overcomplicating my very existence.

In short: Buffy Anne Summers was lucky #13 on the ever-growing list of women I would act a damn fool over.

"Lets give Commander Abrahams another round of applause!"

I cringed and slumped down in my seat as the screams and cheers for that wallie Abrahams echoed in my ears. Unfortunately, I decided to look towards my right and caught Xander’s attempt at a sympathetic smile.

Goofy, mocking, sardonic as all hell, that smile was anything but sympathetic.

He shrugged. "Who knew there really would be an astronaut in the class?" Xander snorted, shaking his head. "Those kids were totally bored, you could see it in their eyes! You see the chubby one over there in the corner, I caught him nodding off through Commander Abrahams’ ‘Weightless in Space’ video about five times. What the hell kind of name is Parker anyway…?"

"Shut up, Xander," I grumbled.

"Excuse me, Mr. Giles, can I have a word with you for just a minute?"

Lee’s teacher was everything I feared she would be. The dowdy, slightly, overweight kind of bint with at least ten cats at home and one of those Fabio, supermarket romance novels glued to her bleeding hand. Best of all, she had read my book cover to cover. Had all of her favorite passages highlighted and memorized and wanted me to autograph some picture of me straight off a plane in an airport, that she’d cut out of a tabloid –

"Of course you can."

I eased out of my chair and made a mental note to look into the restraining order filing procedure as I followed her outside of the classroom.

"Mr. Giles," she began smiling, "you know I’m a huge fan of yours."

"Yeah," I nodded, "caught on to that fact after the first thirty two times you told me…"

She laughed. "Right, right – and though I’m extremely honored to have you in my classroom, well, just standing in front of you is an honor…"

"Thank you…"

"I just," she paused, frowning suddenly, "I don’t think the material in Loves Bitch is appropriate for a fifth grade class to hear," chuckling she put a hand on my shoulder. "I mean, even the title’s a little too much."

I managed to shrug out from under her mitts without being overly rude and let out the fakest laugh I could muster,

"You’re quite right."

"But, I would love it if you stayed for our Career Day…"

Looking through the tiny window on the classroom door, I caught a glimpse of Liam. Just six months ago, I would have gladly taken this get out of jail free card, and hightailed it down the maze of stick figure drawings and pictures of rainbows that is a primary school hallway. But now – I had made a promise, told him that I would play the father figure just for today so that he wouldn’t feel left out and I couldn’t let him down.

I was so screwed.

"Um, Mrs. Barrett…" I began.

"Ms. Barrett," she quickly corrected. "I’m not married you know." The bint’s eyes had this half leer, half crazed look in them; it was enough to make my skin crawl…

"Right, of course you’re not," I muttered. "Ms. Barrett, if you wouldn’t mind, I would still like to do something for the class. See – I kind of promised Liam that I would…I’ll keep it strictly G-rated," I put my hand over my heart, "swear on my mum’s life."

**

"Alright, our next speaker is Mr. William Giles…"

As I walked the tiny little path in between the desks, I felt very much like a death row inmate being lead down the ‘Green Mile’ towards his certain death. I could feel their beady, little eyes burning holes into my back and it took every ounce of strength in my body not to run out of that room screaming…

A lecture hall filled to the brim with three hundred people I could do fine, but an elementary classroom of about twenty had me on the verge of passing out.

"Mr. Giles is a published author," Ms. Barrett prattled on. "I’m sure many of your parents, especially your mothers…" She turned and gave me that skin-crawling grin after the word ‘mothers’, "have read it."

"Bring back Commander Abrahams!"

"Yeah!"

Who would’ve guessed it would’ve taken a sodding eleven-year-old to crush every measure of self-esteem I’d managed to build up.

I swallowed the hardened lump in my throat and threw a helpless glance in Xander’s direction. Like a true git, he couldn’t even make eye contact with me; he merely coughed, scratched his head and turned away…

I knew I should have brought Willow…

"We want Commander Abrahams!"

"Please bring back the astronaut!"

I could feel tiny beads of sweat breaking out on my forehead –

Fucking Abrahams and his fucking zero gravity adventures…

Fucking Liam Sr. for being a high and mighty absentee father…

And fucking me for letting my inner, sensitive wanker surface long enough to attempt to impress a beautiful girl and her son…

"Hey! Spike’s the best storyteller I know!" That lone voice of support came from Liam (fucking un-supportive best friend, Xander…) who, looked at me with such hopeful eyes. "Aren’t you, Spike?"

I opened my mouth and only managed a squeak in response.

"Then tell us a story if you’re so good…"

I took a deep breath, narrowing my eyes. The pudgy bastard in the corner of the room that Xander had pointed out earlier, who had been reduced to riveted silence all throughout Abrahams’ presentation was now the goddamn mouthpiece for my shame and complete humiliation. A brief fantasy involving me bashing his tiny skull in with the history book on his desk was pushed aside; I instead, took another deep breath, moving from behind the podium and grabbed Ms. Barrett’s chair, rolling it out in front of the desks.

"Alright," I began taking a seat, "what are you Bit’s waiting on, gather round."

I tuned out the sound of desks and chairs scraping across the bare floor and concentrated on pulling a good story out of my ass: no outline, no first draft, and no time for my anal retentive, perfectionist crap.

Lee gave me a supportive smile as I leaned forward and opened my mouth, blurting out the first thing that came to mind –

"Any of you ever heard of ‘The Scourge of Europe?’"

"No…"

"What’s that…?"

I smirked, lowering my voice. "I’m surprised – you should all have heard this story." I shrugged and leaned back against the chair. "Oh well, if you haven’t heard it by now, it’s probably because it’s way to terrifying for such young ones like yourselves…."

"Hey! We’re not too young!"

I smiled; it seemed as if I had offended Pudgy Bastard…

"Tell us the story, Mr. Spike."

"I dunno. Wouldn’t want any of you getting nightmares…" I paused, a mock thoughtful expression on my face. "You all really think you’re old enough to hear this tale?"

"Yes!" they answered in unison.

I leaned forward again, hands on my knees, and I smiled as I settled into that cliché storyteller mode.

"Once upon a time…"

**

"…So, he’s got the hubby by the throat…"

"D—Does he let him live?"

I smiled an evil smile and titled my head towards the meek little girl who’d asked that question. "What do you think?" I said dropping my voice a couple of octaves. I let the uneasy climate in the room further marinate with that comment before I slipped back into my hastily thrown together tale of terror without missing a beat.

"But then, he realized someone was missing. Supposedly a little girl – no bigger than any of you, really. He got real quiet, strained his ears, and that’s when he heard it. This tiny noise coming from the coal bin. This little sigh…" I locked eyes with that same meek, little girl, "it’s very, very quiet…"

And that’s when the loud, not – very pleased sound of Buffy clearing her throat caught my attention.

I whipped my head up and came face to face with her; standing at the back of the room with Harris, her arms folded, she raised that threatening eyebrow at me and I gave in completely…

"And what happened?! What did he do next?!"

"Yeah, what happened!"

"Don’t stop there!"

"Um…" I slunk back in my seat, head dropping at Buffy’s disapproval, "well, he – uh, he heard her in the coal bin, right. So, he, um…he took her out and – and gave her to a good home, nice family where they were never mean to her and he didn’t lock her in a coal bin."

I spotted Pudgy Bastard’s face screwing up and braced myself.

"What?!" he screamed. "That’s so lame!"

**

"Jesus Christ, woman! You’ve been giving me that evil eye all night, can’t it take a break?!"

Buffy frowned. "Gee, which one of us is going to be up all night with the screaming ten-year-old who thinks he’s been locked in a coal bin?"

I smiled sheepishly and shrugged my shoulders as I followed she and Liam into the house.

"I said I was sorry."

"I will not be up screaming!" Lee pouted, flinging his backpack in the corner of the room. "The story wasn’t even that scary…"

She gave him a look. "This coming from the boy who was terrified of the lady on the pancake syrup bottle until he was eight."

Liam paled. "What? Mrs. Butterworth was creepy. Besides, Auntie Dawn told me that right before we all come down for breakfast, Mrs. Butterworth climbs off of the bottle and sharpens all of the knives in the kitchen and…"

"Run upstairs and put your PJ’s on," Buffy laughed shaking her head, "it’s late and the further you go with that story, the more reasons I have to kill your aunt."

"It’s not that late…" Lee sulked as he slowly headed towards the stairs.

"It’s 9:30 and a school night – you’re lucky I let Spike and Xander keep you out at the PutPut course for that long."

"But, I wanna watch a movie! Can I stay up long enough to watch one movie with Spike, pretty, please?" He threw a helpless look in my direction, begging for my support.

"Don’t look at me, Bit," I shook my head and pointed at Buffy, "I’m totally in the dog house with this one, no way I can help you."

She looked back and forth between us for several minutes before she sighed and throwing her hands up in the air. "Oh, alright!"

"Yes!" Liam shouted racing up the stairs. "I get to choose the movie!"

"But just one – no conning mommy into a second or a third! And you go straight to bed right after!" Buffy shouted after him.

"So," I began grinning, "for the record, Mrs. Butterworth always looked kind of shifty to me, too."

She chortled. "Gotta love my sister. I think because she’s the baby and didn’t have anyone smaller to torture, she’s taking it out on my son."

"Let me guess, you also told her breakfast tales of terror?" I laughed.

She smiled wickedly. "Once, I told her the powder on French Toast was ground up monkey feet."

I nodded and gave her a look. "You Summers women are a depraved lot, aren’t ya?"

"Oh yeah."

That strange level of comfort crept upon me again, allowing me to toss aside reality and give into a healthy slice of delusion.

At some point during 'A Nightmare Before Christmas' I’d ended up with my legs lazily stretched out on the couch and with Buffy resting comfortably against me, a huge bowl of popcorn in her lap. While, Liam curled up on the floor in front of us and pretended not to be asleep.

It was this perfect picture of familial bliss that led to my imagination running wild. For just a moment, Liam was my son, and Buffy was my wife and life was a bloody bowl full of cherries…

"Did I thank you for today?" she asked stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

"Well, yeah," I slipped a hand around her waist, aiming for the bowl and deftly left it there a moment longer than it should have been before snatching up a few kernels, "but don’t let that stop you from doing anything else you feel necessary."

Buffy rolled her eyes, smiling. "Seriously, despite scaring the hell out of a bunch of fifth graders, you were great today. And I know how much you hate being known as a good guy, so, I’ll stop being all schmoopy."

"There’s nothing wrong with ‘schmoopy’ especially when it involves praise for me," I grinned and eased that hand around her waist again. "Go ahead, kitten, be ‘schmoopy’. Don’t let me stop you."

"Ego maniac."

"Proud of it."

"I should probably put him to bed, huh?" Buffy asked, tilting her head, up towards me and then down at Liam.

"You’ve been ‘mummy’ for ten years and now you’re asking for my advice?"

She shrugged. "I just don’t wanna get up. How horrible is that?"

"It’s not horrible," I chuckled.

"Yes it is. I’m willing to leave my only child on the cold floor because I’m comfortable – I’m terrible. He could get pneumonia…"

"First of all, it’s 80 degrees outside – and second, I’m sure that thick, plush carpeting you’ve got down there is working to keep the ‘cold’ out. Pneumonia would be impossible."

Buffy narrowed her eyes at me in mock anger. "You’re making fun of me."

I smiled. "A little bit, yeah."

"You know, if I were evil I would bring up Ms. Barrett pinching your ass on the way out of the class this afternoon."

My mouth dropped open and she gave me that wicked smile.

"And you thought I didn’t see that."

It was my turn to narrow my eyes. "That cow should be put away for all eternity…"

She laughed and patted my cheek patronizingly. "Aww, poor Spikey. He can’t help it if he’s just so darn sexy."

Again, it might’ve been the ‘bowl full of cherries’ delusion I was stuck in, but I was suddenly feeling right bold. I didn’t want to hold back everything like I’d done so many other times. Somehow I managed to play it cool and I didn’t even need C&C Music Factory to build up my courage –

"You think I’m sexy?" I smirked.

Buffy’s eyes widened. "No! I didn’t mean it like that – I…"

I nodded, smiled, then leaned in and kissed her.

Quick, closed mouth, sweaty palms, I felt like I was a bleeding fourteen-year-old nance all over again. Buffy stared at me like deer caught in the headlights of a redneck’s pickup truck and it felt like an excruciatingly painful millenium had gone by before I was able to mutter:

"I’m – uh sorry ‘bout that." If I wasn’t a wanker before…

Finally, she blinked – a sign she was still fucking alive.

Pulling her lips in for a second a thoughtful look crossed her face.

"Don’t be."

I won’t be cliché. Fireworks didn’t explode and Beethoven’s Fifth didn’t ring in my ears and all that rot, but Buffy kissed me back and my stomach did this wonderful little floppy thing…

That’s the closest I bloody get to cliché.

Slow at first, our lips kind of fumbling over each others; a cautious first kiss between two people who were used to things going to shit afterwards. Deciding to go for broke I pulled her closer and ran my tongue across her bottom lip. There was this heavenly mix of popcorn and Cherry Coke on her lips, and I smiled into the kiss like the dopey sod that I am when she opened her mouth for me.

One would think with all of my wisdom, that I would be prepared for the possible moment my utter happiness and contentment kicked me in the balls farewell…

But oh no…

I was here with Buffy Summers’ hot, little tongue in my mouth…

Wise!Spike was nowhere to be found…

She pulled away and took in a deep breath giving me an uncharacteristic coquettish smile.

"I guess this changes a few things."

I opened my mouth to speak, but a loud knock at the front door quickly cut me off.

Buffy curiously raised a brow. "Okay – the only person who would knock on my door at eleven at night is already here…"

//Knock, Knock, Knock…//

She gently set the popcorn bowl down on the floor before she climbed off of the couch and pulled me up with her.

"Oi! Why do I have to get up, it’s your door their knocking on."

"In case this is a psychopath and I need you to do something manly, like wrestle him to the ground."

//Knock, Knock, Knock…//

"I can let out a manly shriek if you want," I smiled, grabbing her hand, "perhaps a bellow."

Buffy shook her head opening the door. "You’re completely hopeless…"

The second she froze at the sight of him, I knew this was worse than opening the door to some sick fuck with a butcher knife or a whole gang of clowns...

Hands shoved in his jean pockets he gave us a lopsided, uneasy smile. "Buffy."

"Angel," she breathed and dropped my hand like a ton of bricks.

My happy ‘bowl full of cherries’ delusion crumbled in that instant and the ‘bowl full of shit’ reality that was life returned with a bloody vengeance.

Chapter 15

Author’s Note: Egads! That was an evil cliffhanger of death, wasn’t it? What’s even more evil is the wait I put you guys through, and I’m sincerely sorry about that. But, I’m shirking all sorts of responsibilities (namely a 6+ page sociology paper) to give you guys a new chapter cause I feel so bad about the lack of updates. I hope to have more coming your way next week, since it’s Thanksgiving break for me, and I will definitely be an updating machine through December (Winter break—whoohoo!). Thanks for being patient and for sticking with me…now enjoy!

...h.o.m.e...