“Get
the presses going!”
Cocked
your head to the side and said, “I’m angry.”
“Few
more words to go!”
“Get
that together, come back, and see me.”
“Move
your ass! We’ve got a deadline. Need a definition?”
I
realized it’s all my fault, but couldn’t tell you
“Hey!
Language. We’re civilized people here.”
Yesterday
you’d forgiven me
“Since
when?”
“’Ey,
now. What’s that supposed to mean?”
As
I make you stop, think
“Exactly
what you want it to. Now stop running your mouth and get to typin’.”
I
summon fish to the dish, although I like the Chalet Suisse
“Hold
your bleedin’ horses.”
Hot
like wasabe when I bust rhymes
Big
like Leanne Rimes
Because
I’m all about value
“Too
many horses to hold. I’m serious! Tick-tock, man! Take a look at your
Rolaax!”
You
try to match wits, you try to hold me but I bust through
“Like
I’d wear it to work.”
Mine’s
about a Back-Hoe
There’ll
be a big sound from the pavement
“Ya
coupla’ girls done chattering? Some of us work here.”
I’d
like a stinkin’ achin shake
“Yeah,
I know. ‘Ts why you being
here still baffles me.”
I
like vanilla, it’s the finest of the flavors
Gotta
see the show, cause then you’ll know
The
Vertigo is gonna grow
Cause
it’s so dangerous, you’ll have to sign a waiver
“Funny,
princess.”
Tryin’
hard not to smile though I feel bad
“Damn
straight. Get. To. Work. Both of you.”
Can’t
understand what I mean? Well, you soon will
“Bossy
chit.”
I
have a history of taking off my shirt
“Hey,
isn’t that what that one critic called you?”
Threw
your arms in the air and said, “You’re crazy!”
“Finished.”
I’ve
still got the rug burns on both my knees
It’s
been three days since the afternoon
You
realized it’s not my fault not a moment too soon
“Oh,
it’s about time!”
And
now I sit back and wait till you say you’re sorry
“Enter…and
save. There, all done, O Bossy One,” Spike drawled, pointing at his battered
laptop. Man, he’d been meaning to get a new one, but this one was like a
safety blanket. It was, what, like eight years old? Never died on him either.
“Go give these disks to that wonderful editor of mine.”
“You’re
going to start paying me for being your personal assistant, you know. I come out
here for a visit and I end up carrying all your crap for you from one
office to the next,” the brown-haired female replied half-heartedly, smirking
at the mock-hurt expression on her best friend’s face. “Don’t give me that
face…”
“My
crap?” Spike exclaimed, uttering the words with unbelievable anguish.
“That…hurts.”
The
brunette smirked and shook her head as she set off to the said editor’s
office. ‘Ah, my good old drama queen, Spike,’ she thought happily. ‘Count
on him always.’
Knocking
on the door panel at the office, Dawn Summers poked her head into the office
swiftly. She disregaurded the half-shut door
as a sign of a hectic work schedule and stepped in, holding out a couple
of disks to the office’s occupant.
“Blondie
finally finished his last chapter. As his personal slave slash
assistant,” Dawn paused, accentuating the word ‘slave’, then continued,
“I’ve come here to deliver it to you.”
The
editor’s ever-existent, genuine grin on her face and spark in her eye never
ceased to amaze Dawn as she discarded the disks on cluttered desk in front of
her. After everything that had happened, she didn’t understand how Spike and
the whole gang had healed themselves and moved on from the shadows of their
past. Well…almost everyone.
“I
think I should just promote you to my job, Dawnie. He listens to you more than
does me,” the redhead at the desk suggested jokingly as she picked up the
delivered disks and popped one into her computer. “I should have had these
days ago.”
“Don’t
sweat it, Will. If you don’t meet the deadline for some reason, just blame it
on Spike,” Dawn suggested lightly as she grinned. “This is his ass
you’re trying to save because he wouldn’t get up this morning.”
“Or
any morning,” Willow Rosenberg added half-heartedly, scanning the contents of
the disk. Her brow furrowed as she brought her fingers to the keyboard and
punched in some keys. Her determination and thoroughness also amazed Dawn to a
full extent. No one thought that this was how their futures would pan out, yet
Willow seemed to be taking it the best of the whole gang. With her charming
attitude and infectious grins and dedication, Dawn honestly thought she looked
like she’d wanted to do this all her life. Like it was some dream
she’d accomplished.
After
Sunnydale, no one thought they’d accomplish their dreams anymore. That place,
in Dawn’s opinion, killed hope. It almost got to her, to Spike, to Willow…
Tearing
her thoughts away from the past Dawn thought she’d buried deep in her mind,
she looked at Willow’s frustrated face. Through all those complicated thoughts
piled up on top of each other, the brunette could tell that everything had
worked out for the best. Willow was happy. They were happy. That’s all
that mattered.
“Spike,
I’m going to kill you,” Willow’s voice sounded through Dawn’s
building thoughts. The brunette tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ear
and smirked at the editor’s threatening tone.
“Ooh,
death threats,” Dawn replied with fake giddiness. “What did he do now?”
Willow
rolled her eyes and popped the disk out of her computer. Stretching out her hand
in Dawn’s direction, she shook her head.
“Sweetie,
sorry, but could you take this back to His Bleachiness?” Willow requested
sourly. “He replaced my corrections for chapter 13 with his original writing
and used some weird word processor for the the last two chapters that my
computer can’t read. Again.”
“Sure,”
Dawn said, giggling as she plucked the disk from Willow’s hand and grinned
wider as the redhead winked at her. Ah, how no one ever imagined Willow and
Spike to have a friendship like the one they have now. It was like Spike and
Dawn reunited, red hair included.
Dawn
sighed in annoyance as she once again got stuck at Spike’s delivery girl, but
calmed as she thought about Willow and Spike’s relationship. Since she was
away at college and only visited occasionally, she was happy to see that the
redhead and vampire developed the same bickering and loving relationship she’d
had with Spike before she’d started college. Before what happened…
“Hey,
Spike!” Dawn called out to the slim form who was now reclined back in his easy
chair, engrossed in a magazine. Off Spike’s ignorant mode, Dawn rolled her
eyes and approached Spike only to snatch the magazine out of his grasp. Looking
at the cover, she raised an eyebrow and snorted.
“Sports
Illustrated Swimsuit issue?” she asked incredulously, then shook her head.
“What am I going to do with you? You’re such a guy!”
Spike
raised his own eyebrow at that statement and retrieved his magazine from
Dawn’s unsuspecting hold. “May I rule out a sex change?” he joked.
“Possibly,”
Dawn warned, then threw the disks in hand at him. “Willow says you’re being
moron again.” Off Spike’s questioning look, Dawn shrugged and pulled up her
innocent face.
“What?
It’s the shortened version,” she explained meekly.
“Right,
Bit. Just like you,” Spike retorted half-heartedly. Dawn rolled her eyes and
folded her arms over her chest huffily as Spike referred to her lack of growth
spurt for the second year in a row. Looks like she’d be inheriting Buffy’s
shortness after all…
“Spike,
I wouldn’t go there. You leave my height alone,” Dawn cautioned as she got a
gleam in her eye. “Or I’ll tell Alexis that you were looking at Carmen
Electra in a thong bikini. Closely.”
Spike’s eyes shot up to look at his surrogate kid
sister in panic, but then calmed. “That’s where you’re wrong, Bit. Lexi
and I have a mature relationship. She wouldn’t care if I was looking at the
swimsuit issue of a magazine.”
Dawn giggled and pulled out her cell phone. “Mmm-hmm,”
she patronized as she pulled up Alexis’ number on her memory. “Let’s just
see, shall we?”
Spike darted out of his seat and pounced on Dawn
before she knew what was going on. ‘Damn vampire speed,’ she thought as she
tried to fight him off all the while giggling uncontrollably.
“Mercy! Mercy, mercy, mercy, mercy,” she yelled
incessantly. “Stop! No tickling, that’s not fair!”
“I’m a vampire, luv,” Spike said, getting a
playful gleam in his eyes as he watched Dawn retreat towards the door quickly,
trying to catch her breath. “I don’t do fair.”
* * *
Tucking back a loose strand of dirty-blonde
hair behind her ear, the woman lazily stretched to the ancient-looking coffee
table in search of an interesting magazine. God help her, she couldn’t stand
reading one more Teen Beat or her head would explode. It seemed that public
waiting rooms really lacked some…quality in keeping people entertained.
Finally deciding on a People Weekly, the
blonde sat back in her cushiony chair and crossed her legs, bobbing one foot up
and down. Scanning the magazine, the woman’s eyes fell on an article about a
book signing New York that happened a couple of weeks ago. Suddenly interested,
she glanced at the name of the author and her eyes widened a fraction before
putting the magazine back on the coffee table.
She didn’t need to have read the
author’s name to know it was William Walthrop’s book signing. For the life
of her, she didn’t know why she always seemed to ‘run across’ that man’s
name in magazines and newspapers. She knew why she’d be drawn to him, but that
was part of the past now. Pushing her thoughts of the sudden hit author in the
book world, the blonde decided to divert her mind to something else that
wouldn’t sting to think about.
It seemed nowadays that being reminded of
everything in her past stung.
Rubbing her face slowly with her hands, the
woman almost missed her name being called as a tall, slim auburn-haired man
stepped out of his office.
“Buffy Summers?”
Buffy’s head shot up as she stopped
rubbing her face and she immediately drew herself to her feet. Grabbing her
handbag shakily, she made her way over to the middle-aged brunette who had
requested her attention.
“Yes? Is it serious?”
The brunette in the starched, white coat
looked down at his clipboard once for good measure, then back up at Buffy.
“No, Mrs. Summers – “
“Miss,” Buffy corrected him, her voice
never wavering.
“Ms. Summers,” the doctor obliged, “your daughter is fine. There’s nothing to worry about. She has a simple case of the chicken pox with a nasty temperature. Now, it’s a good thing you brought her in, but this isn’t a critical condition. Just put some chamomile lotion on her and prevent her from scratching and everything should be just fine.”
Buffy’s relief was evident on her face as
offered a slight smile to the doctor. “Thank you, Dr. Burns.”
The doctor nodded at her warmly and motioned
for her to follow him. “Now, I’ll give you some anti-biotics for her
feverish symptoms, but they should really clear up on their own. Just make sure
to give her lots of fluids,” the doctor instructed as he led his patient’s
mother down a blank, white hallway and rounded the corner. “Your daughter is
right through there, to your left.”
Buffy smiled at the doctor gratefully and
offered another round of ‘thank you’s.
“It’s my pleasure, Ms. Summers,” Dr.
Burns replied kindly. “Oh, and if the symptoms worsen or there is no change in
the condition within a week, I suggest you bring her back here and we’ll see
what we can do.”
“Alright,” Buffy agreed, a tad impatient
to go in and see her daughter. “Thank you.”
Dr. Burns nodded at her and left.
The blonde followed Dr. Burns’ directions
and found herself in a tight, almost-cramped patient room with her daughter
propped up on a bed covered with a layer of wax paper. That always annoyed her
for some reason. Something about sitting on a fresh sheet of wax paper in the
doctor’s office still didn’t make it as sanitary as the doctors believed it
to be, in Buffy’s opinion.
Staring at the short, little blonde girl
with pinkish cheeks and curly hair up in pig tails, Buffy burst into tears. She
didn’t know why. It was so abrupt and out of the blue that the little girl
looked up, her eyes glazed from her fever yet still penetrated with worry.
“Mommy? Mommy, what’s wrong?” she
asked, her high-pitched voice ringing in Buffy’s ears. Buffy quickly wiped her
eyes and questioned what in the made her so emotional. She wasn’t even
pregnant and still she was having mood swings out of nowhere?
Picking up her child by the armpits and
situating her on her hip, Buffy shook her head and brushed a loose bang out of
the girl’s face.
“Nothing, Emmi. Nothing’s wrong,
honey,” Buffy assured her daughter, planting a big kiss on her cheek.
“Let’s go home, okay?”
“Okay,” Emily Summers answered softly,
her fever causing her to close her eyes occasionally. “Ice Skweem at home?”
Buffy chuckled lightly and looked at Emily.
“Maybe. We’ll see how you’re doing, okay? Maybe we can get Uncle Xander to
pick it up. How does that sound?”
“Soun’s good,” Emily replied tiredly
and rested her head on Buffy’s shoulder.
Within a minute, Emily settled into a peaceful sleep on her mother’s
shoulders, allowing Buffy to move out of the doctor’s office and to her car.
She stared at the vehicle with contempt. She
actually knew how to drive a car know, compliments of Xander, but she still
never liked it. Supposing it could ever feel ‘free’ to just drive down the
highway, Buffy first had to learn how to drive without being as tense as a
salted pretzel. The whole experience was nerve-racking for her and was avoided
at all costs. Except for health of her child.
Strapping Emily down in her car seat, Buffy
moved to the driver’s seat and sat down behind the wheel. She stared for a few
long minutes straight ahead of her, heedless of the lack of scenery that was the
parking garage. After putting in one last stare, she sighed deeply and put the
car in drive, immediately tensing up. ‘God, driving sucks,’ she complained,
and pulled into the on-coming traffic. ‘Demons aren’t this
annoying.’
Finally rounding the corner of Caster
Avenue, Buffy turned off the engine and unfastened her seat belt. After she
removed a still motionless Emily from her car seat, she locked the doors and
stepped onto the front stoop of the old, brick apartment building she was gazing
at. The Casper Steps apartment complex was all too familiar for the blonde and
she smiled to herself unconsciously as she buzzed in for the door to open.
“Yeah?” the voice sounded through the
muffled speaker at the door.
“Guess who?” Buffy replied quizzically.
“Al Pacino? I’ll buzz you right up,
man,” Xander Harris deadpanned, already imagining Buffy’s eyeroll as he
spoke.
“Can’t even tell Robert DeNiro apart
from Al Pacino,” Buffy scolded, pushing open the front door to the complex as
she got buzzed in. “Tsk tsk.”
“Well, what can I say. I’m too in demand.”
Go
on to Chapter 2...
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