Angel decided to go to class on Monday but he was painfully hung over. He couldn’t believe what a fucking dumbass he had been. A quick grope session with Darla was not worth losing Buffy. Nothing was, but he was a day late and a dollar short.
As he headed home, he happily realized that her things were still at his place. At least he could beg her to come home when she came back for them. After all, she had launched her key at him at the party. She had no way back inside.
He was still comforting himself with that thought as he made his way up the sidewalk to his apartment building. He met Lorne, the super, coming out the front door.
"Hey," Lorne said with a bright smile.
Angel grunted.
"Oh, Angelcakes," Lorne tacked on hastily. "You need to have another key made. I had to let your hottie little girlfriend into your apartment this morning."
Angel stopped and stared blankly at his super. He opened his mouth and then closed it. He felt like screaming. "You let Buffy into the apartment?" he demanded.
Frowning, Lorne said, "Yes I did. As a favor. Just like the favor I did when I didn't charge you the extra two hundred dollars for adding a roommate without putting her on the lease."
Clamping his mouth shut, Angel nodded tersely and quickly turned, heading for his apartment. He was already feeling defeated by the time he unlocked his apartment. He thought he'd steeled himself for what he was about to see, but he hadn't. The sight of his leather jacket hung neatly over the back of one of the chairs almost sent him crashing to his knees. In a daze, he walked into the bedroom and found half the closet empty. All of Buffy's things were gone.
"Fuck!" he bellowed, turning and punching the wall. His hand throbbed, but it wasn't nearly enough. Nothing could wipe away the pain of losing Buffy. He'd been an idiot, a total fucking idiot. He had the best thing that would ever happen to him in his arms and he let her get away - no, worse, he pushed her away.
He'd been so idiotically freaked out by her past that he let it destroy their future. He'd hidden her away like some dirty secret rather than shouting his feelings from the rooftop. She was right to hate him. He was scum. He'd left her alone, asked her not to go to the party. Then he'd gone with the intention of finally breaking things off completely with Darla, only to find himself the unwitting victim of her affections. He hadn’t instigated and he was just moving to push her away when Buffy saw. But he’d never be able to convince her of that. And why should she believe him? After all, he had lied to her and gone to the party without her.
Gods, he was disgusted with himself. He tried to imagine the situation in reverse, imagine seeing Buffy in the arms of another man. He would have killed the son of a bitch, no questions asked. Yet, he had the gall to beg Buffy to take him back.
Even though Angel knew he wasn't worth it, he couldn't stop. He had to get Buffy back, no matter the cost. He knew how wrong he had been. He just had to make her understand that.
***
Buffy looked at the pile of clothes strewn on the floor. None of them fit right. Everything felt awkward and wrong.
She crumpled to the floor, tears streaming down her face. No, the clothes were fine, it was her own skin that felt wrong. She'd made a clean break from Angel. She gave him back his key and his jacket. She took her clothes. She had her own place. Jenny arranged a job for her working in one of the administrative offices on campus. She was even enrolled in classes for the spring semester that started in three weeks. But her new life felt wrong - so, so wrong. She didn't belong in this nice apartment wearing these nice clothes. She wasn't the kind of girl who went to college. What was she thinking?
Buffy looked at the clock. It was shortly after eight in the evening. She was supposed to go out for coffee with Willow. Buffy couldn't help but laugh. Six months ago Willow wouldn't have given her the time of day. She sighed. No, that was wrong. Willow was one of the nicest people she knew. Willow probably would have given her the time of day, but Buffy wouldn't have deserved it then. And she didn't deserve it now.
Cursing, Buffy dug through the rest of her clothes. The cargo pants were long discarded, but she found a pair of vintage jeans she had bought a few weeks ago. They were faded and worn, just like her. She slipped them on, but she couldn't bring herself to strip out of the shirt she wore, one of Angel's undershirts, soft and still holding the faintest trace of his scent. Buffy had worn it all week. Now, she simply knotted the end of the shirt so it didn't look like a dress and slipped into a jean jacket that Angel had bought for her but she had never worn. Her old army boots completed the outfit and she was out the door, heading for Spike's.
***
He whistled, lounging comfortably in the doorway. "Well, lookie what the cat dragged in," he said with a dark smile.
"Fuck you," Buffy cursed, pushing past him and into the dingy basement apartment.
"Fuck me?" Spike demanded, obviously irritated. "You fucking disappear on me for months without so much as a goodbye shag and I’m just supposed to invite you in with open arms?"
Buffy ignored him, throwing herself down on the disgusting couch. "I need something," she said, her tone flat and businesslike.
"You always need something, pet," Spike drawled, closing the door and walking around the coffee table to take a seat next to her on the couch. "But maybe I’m not interested."
Buffy snorted. "You're always interested."
"Before," he admitted. "But maybe now I don't want Angelus Chase's sloppy seconds."
Buffy's eyes shot to him and she clenched her jaw to keep it from trembling.
Spike merely smiled like a cat in cream. "Yeah," he said with a satisfied sigh. "I heard about you and the pretty boy. Everybody has. It's all over how you cleaned up and then got in a catfight with Darla Weston at the Alpha party. Seems like you're the hottest thing going now. Everybody wants a piece of you. Even the ones that have already had a piece … which would be just about everyone, now wouldn't it, pet."
"Fuck you," she spat.
"That would be the idea, yes," he replied coolly. "At least if you want anything from me, that is. Like I said, usually I wouldn't touch Chase's cast offs with someone else's dick, but in this case, I think I'll make an exception. Everybody knows how much he wants you back. I like the idea of having something he can't have, even if it's just a little used up whore like you."
"You son of a bitch," she cursed, rising to her feet.
"Easy, pet," he placated, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. "We're old friends. No need to get uppity."
"Screw you. I don't need a goddamn thing from you." She turned on her heel and stormed out of the apartment.
Spike let her go. Buffy knew he did it because he figured she'd be back. Well, he was wrong. Buffy had money and she had been intending to pay him for the drugs, any drugs. But the idea of sleeping with Spike - she just couldn’t handle it. She was pissed enough at Angel to kill him, but the thought of going back to Spike, of reliving the hell that used to be her life. She couldn't do that. She couldn't go back. Not like that.
She needed to move forward, she thought as she stalked down the sidewalk, her cheeks once again wet with tears. She needed to keep herself out of the gutter. But she couldn't keep wallowing over Angel. She had to get over him, get on with her life.
***
Lindsey's expression was decidedly apprehensive as he opened the door to his upscale condo. "Buffy," he said warily.
She smiled at him tightly, knowing she probably looked like shit since that was definitely how she felt. "I, uh," she said. She shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Abruptly dropping her hand, she shook her head, once again meeting Lindsey's gaze. "Can I come in?"
He stared at he for another few heartbeats, his expression shuttered. Without a word, he stepped aside so she could enter his home.
"I'm not interrupting, am I?" she asked tightly, feeling like a fool for having come here. No doubt Lindsey knew what this was. They weren't friends. It was close to eleven and she was showing up at his place. Lindsey wasn't stupid. He knew this was a booty call.
Buffy didn't exactly know how she had gotten here. Yeah, from the small talk they'd made while working together, she knew where he lived. But she'd never been here before. All she knew was that she couldn't go back to an empty bed. Neither could she sleep with Spike. She needed some comfort, some oblivion. She wasn't willing to troll the frats or college parties looking for someone. She couldn't go back to that. Hooking up with Lindsey would be moving forward.
Right?
"Can I have a drink?" she asked, looking around his place. It was neat and tidy. The furniture looked expensive.
He took a deep breath. "I don't generally make a habit of giving alcohol to minors," he said tightly.
"I'm not a minor," she countered.
"You're not old enough to order something in a bar."
She shrugged and decided to go for it. Lindsey was obviously going to need some coaxing. Slowly, she sauntered over to him. Lindsey didn't move as she approached. She walked up to him, their chests almost touching and she scraped one neatly filed fingernail down his sternum. "You look lonely, Linds," she said in a near whisper.
He swallowed thickly and took a half step back, far enough to open her jean jacket. Buffy sucked in her breath, but let him. Slowly, he worked the material off her shoulders until it fell to the floor. He splayed one large hand across her stomach and leaned in close. Buffy's heart was hammering in her ears.
"You're still wearing his shirt," Lindsey whispered in her ear before turning and walking over to the bar.
Tears stung Buffy's eyes and she shook her head, trying to regain composure. She watched Lindsey pour himself a drink and down it on one swallow. This wasn't playing out the way she had planned.
Fuck it. In one fluid movement, Buffy pulled Angel's undershirt over her head and dropped it to the floor. She turned to face him wearing only the pair of tight, low-slung jeans and a pale pink demi-cup bra. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled the tie out of her hair. She shook her head so the long locks bounced free.
Lindsey watched her in silence. He poured himself another drink and threw it back like the first. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to her again. "Put your clothes back on, Buffy," he said. "I'll call you a cab."
"I don't want to leave," she said brashly.
"You don't know what you want," he countered, his voice hard.
"Fuck you," she snapped. "I know. I'm not some stupid kid. I've played this game before."
Lindsey looked at her for a long time and Buffy had the sensation that he was looking right through her. She couldn't meet his gaze and opted for staring at the wall. "I'd bet everything I have that you've never played it like this before," he said with finality.
Buffy's eyes snapped to him again. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.
He laughed mirthlessly. "You show up at my apartment in the middle of the night looking for some alcohol and a fuck," he said crudely. "But you do it wearing his shirt, wearing the underwear he bought you. Hell, you even want to fuck me because I remind you of him."
She shook her head, trying to convince herself. "That's not true," she swore.
Lindsey stepped closer again, getting right in her face. "I'm not Angel," he said.
"I know that," she replied as haughtily as possible.
"Do you?" he asked with a cold smile.
Before Buffy could react, he had grabbed her. His lips descended upon hers with bruising pressure. She struggled, pushing at his chest and Lindsey released her, pushing her away. She stumbled and landed on her butt on the floor. He smirked. "Yeah, Summers, you really want me."
She opened her mouth to argue, but clamped it shut. "Gee, you're a real gentleman," she snapped.
"Fine," Lindsey said with a shrug. "You want to do this, then we'll do it. But I'm not going to get you drunk first. You want to fuck me, you're going to do it stone cold sober. We'll go into my bedroom and turn on the lights so we can see each other and I'll take off all those pretty little clothes that Angel bought you and then I'll fuck you."
As he said the words, the images formed in Buffy's mind. By the time he finished, tears were streaming down her cheeks.
Lindsey looked at her tears and sighed. Dropping into a squat, he handed her back the undershirt. "Fucking me won't be the same as making love to Angel," he said, his voice softer. "And it won't make the pain go away. It'll only make you hate yourself more."
She looked up at him, her cheeks wet. "I just want it to stop hurting," she whispered pitifully.
Lindsey looked away. "Put your clothes on, Buffy," he said. "I'll drive you home."
***
Lindsey had walked Buffy to the door and was heading back to his car when Angel stepped out of the darkness. "You fucking start something and I swear I will beat you to death," Lindsey growled.
Angel stopped short. Why was Lindsey pissed? That shithead didn't have any reason to be mad. Angel was the one who had the right to be mad!
Lindsey took advantage of Angel's confusion and continued. "I didn't touch her," he bit out. "She wanted me to, but I didn't. You better fucking remember that."
Angel watched Lindsey storm off to his car and he yelled, "What the fuck is your problem?"
Lindsey stopped in his tracks and turned to face Angel. "You stupid son of a bitch," Lindsey cursed. "You had to lose her before you had a fucking clue. You don't deserve her. You don't deserve any of them. It's all one big game to you."
"None of this is your business," Angel said darkly.
Snorting, Lindsey countered, "When your business shows up on my doorstep asking me for a fuck, it becomes my business."
"I swear, if you touched her - "
"I didn't touch her, you asshole. She showed up at my place looking so damn sad and vulnerable and so fucking sexy even her goddamn tears got me hard, but I didn't touch her."
Angel growled, but Lindsey ignored him. "I didn't touch her because even though you're the biggest fucking waste of space I know, she loves you. You don't deserve a bit of it, but she does. And I know that even though you were late to the game, that you love her."
Angel stared at Lindsey in undisguised confusion. "What's your deal?"
"I loved Darla," Lindsey spat. "You knew that and you fucked her. And she fucked you back because your dad is a hot shot businessman and mine was a goddamn janitor."
Angel opened his mouth to defend himself, but he couldn't. Lindsey was right. Slowly, he closed his mouth. "My dad always respected your dad," he finally said.
"You and Darla are a pair of fucking vipers," Lindsey swore with disgust. "And you have no idea how much I wanted to screw your little girlfriend. But I didn't because even though Buffy thought she wanted it, she never would have forgiven herself. And as much as I want to get even, I'm not going to destroy her to do it."
Disgusted beyond belief, Lindsey turned and walked to his car. Angel stared after him. "Thank you," he said quietly.
"Eat shit and die," Lindsey replied without slowing down.
***
"You look like shit," Doyle said, stepping over leftover pizza boxes to take a seat on Angel's couch.
"Thanks," Angel said dryly. He needed to be prepping lessons for Professor Kerr, but he couldn't seem to get motivated.
"You're fallin' apart, man," Doyle said seriously, shaking his head.
Angel shrugged. Doyle, of course, was right. Angel was falling apart. And he had no one to blame but himself. What had he thought? That he could keep Buffy like some goddamn house pet? Of course she wanted to go out. Of course she wanted to be seen. But he'd pushed aside so many of her needs because of his ridiculous damn pride. Because he didn't want people to think of him as the schmuck who was landed by some dirty little druggie who had fucked half the UCLA student body.
Angel knew that he deserved whatever misery he got. And he was in misery. Misery that tore at his very soul. He hadn't realized it until he'd shouted it at her in front of three hundred witnesses, but he did love her. He loved her so much that the thought of his life without her in it was enough to make him crawl inside a bottle and never come out.
So now he followed her around. A lot. Buffy was right, it was stalking. But he also knew that she wasn't anything if not a woman of means. If she hadn't wanted him following her, he wouldn't be following her. The fact that she allowed it at all was proof of the fact that she still cared a little.
Wasn't it?
***
“Buffy please,” Angel pleaded from his car window as he followed her down the street from her apartment towards campus. “Just get in the car and we can talk.”
“We've been over this before, Angel. This is stalking,” she rebuffed, keeping a steady gait. “It's illegal. I could have you arrested.”
She sighed. This was a daily ritual. Every day when she left the house he was waiting for her and every day he followed her all the way to campus, begging her to talk to him. The first week was the hardest of her life. She wanted nothing more to climb into that car, to climb back into his life, but she steeled her resolve. She couldn’t let him win. She’d let every last motherfucker in her life destroy her, tear her down, make her feel like nothing and even though she loved him with every last fiber of her being, he was the last person on Earth who was ever going to make her feel like that.
So she walked. Every day, she walked alone and he drove slowly beside her. Weeks turned to months and he wouldn’t give up and neither would she. She risked a glance over at him. It was also part of the ritual. He took it to mean she was weakening and he was right, but she didn’t ever climb into his car.
“If you would just give me a chance, Buffy,” he called out across the yards that separated them, “I could make everything up to you. I love you. I know you care about me too. Please, baby.”
“No, Angel,” she said, not slowing or speeding up her pace. She didn’t know why she answered him. She didn’t know why she didn’t just ignore him. She just couldn’t. Just like she couldn’t tell him she didn’t love him.
She made it to campus yet another day and disappeared across the quad. Angel drove off without a word, but she knew in the evening when she got off work he would be there again to follow her home. She waved at Willow as she approached the fountain by the administrative building and smiled. Her newfound friend was a bright spot in her life now. She accepted the coffee her friend held out, thanking her.
“Angel there again today?” Willow asked.
“You know he was,” Buffy answered dryly. “Where else would he be?”
“I saw him over the weekend,” she said as they sipped their coffee perched on the edge of the fountain. This was also becoming a daily ritual. Buffy treasured both in their own way.
“So?” Buffy said, trying to sound more callous than she felt. By now, Willow saw right through her and didn’t bother being offended.
“He’s drinking more and more. He doesn’t even look at other women,” Willow said. “And he’s started doing the strangest thing.”
”What?” Buffy asked, turning toward Willow curiously.
“He tells everyone he meets that he’s in love with you.”
“What?” Buffy asked, astounded. “What, like, ‘Hi, I’m Angel and I love Buffy?’”
“Uh, yeah,” Willow said, shaking her head. “Pretty much.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Willow concurred.
***
Angel was taking his nightly swing past the apartment Buffy shared with Jenny in the off chance he might see her when a familiar bleached blonde got out of an old beat up car and headed for the door. Angel slammed on the brakes, threw it into park and ran up to where Spike was a few steps from the door.
“Hey!” Spike shouted as Angel grabbed the labels of his leather duster and yanked him roughly away from Buffy’s door. “Watch it, mate,” Spike said, pulling himself away from Angel so suddenly, they both stumbled.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Angel snarled.
“Just stopping by to see an old friend,” Spike said, straightening his coat. “Can’t see how it’s your business, since you’ve been dropped like a bad habit and all.”
“So have you,” Angel said. “I don’t want you or the shit you pimp anywhere near her.”
Spike looked over the rich boy for a second before chuckling. “It must just kill you that I got there first, Angelus,” Spike said, looping his thumbs in the pockets of his black jeans, smiling into the memory. “I had the bint when she was fifteen and high as a kite, with those dimpled knees of hers spread for me. Yeah, I bet you wish-“
Spike’s words were cut off when Angel pounced, knocking Spike to the ground with one sucker punch to the nose. Spike howled on the way down and found to get his bearings, but Angel kept hitting him again and again, punctuating his words with each punch. “Don’t. You. Ever. Come. Near. Her. Again.”
“Angel!” Buffy shouting, running out the apartment and pulling him back off of Spike’s bloody form. “What are you doing?”
He opened his mouth to speak but she immediately spoke again, “Never mind. I don’t care.” She looked from Angel to Spike and back again before backing away.
“You aren’t welcome here,” she said. “I just want to be left alone.”
“And make sure you don’t ever fucking come back,” Angel growled out as Spike made it to his feet.
“You too, Angel,” Buffy said. Angel’s mouth dropped open and Spike grinned happily despite his broken face. “Neither one of you are welcome here,” Buffy said before going back inside.
Angel stood there and stared at her door with his mouth hanging open in shock and Spike laughed all the way back to his car.
***
Buffy gasped, pushing herself back from the table she shared with Willow as a cup of steaming coffee splashed over the front of her shirt and pants.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Darla cooed with obvious enjoyment. "I must have slipped."
Buffy stared up at the woman, shaking with rage and pain. The coffee had been scalding hot and she could feel burns forming where it had splashed on her bare forearms. "Bitch," Buffy hissed.
"Yes," Darla replied with a smug smile. "And isn't payback wonderful? Hope the coffee keeps you warm at night, because I know Angel isn't. He may have had some little fling with you. Every man needs variety. But in the end, I'm the one that fits in his life, not you. Have a nice evening."
“Hey Darla,” Buffy said, using a napkin to pat the coffee casually on her arms as if it didn’t burn. She waited as Darla pivoted gracefully to face her.
“Angel’s with me every fucking day, bitch,” Buffy said, baring her teeth. “How often is he with you?”
***
TBC
on to part 8