William Wyndham-Price fidgeted nervously with his tie. His palms were sweating, his throat felt dry. He hadn't been this anxious since the National High School Chess Championships. Not that that had gone at all well. William coughed, trying to dispel the flush that started to creep over his features. Get a grip, Will. She's still just a girl, right?
The airport was almost deserted, for a change. The hard plastic chairs in the waiting area were the same as always. Spike sprawled out, trying to ignore the unyielding chair arm that was digging into his ribs. He ached all over for a cigarette, but there was a security guard in the corner who was giving him the evil eye. He sighed heavily. Waiting sucked.
William glanced over at his twin brother and sighed. "You're not impressing anyone, Edmund. You might as well sit up. Father's flight won't be here for another fifteen minutes."
Spike scowled, debating whether his father would notice a black eye on the cheeky little snot. Probably. Damn. "Sod off, Will. And don't call me that. M'name's Spike." He narrowed his gaze into a menacing glare that would have sent a normal man running for the hills. William just rolled his eyes, accustomed to his brother's theatrical attitude.
The brothers went back to their introspections, ignoring each other as usual.
I hope Dad gets to stay awhile, this time. It's nice to have someone around who can string more than three words into a sentence without saying 'bloody,' 'bollocks,' or 'hell.' Will thought, a little resentfully. I wonder what it's been like for him, spending four months on location in New Zealand for a movie shoot. It must be nice...
Da is the biggest wanker on the planet. Spike shifted slightly, defeated by the pain in his ribs. Spends his life running around after some chit, picking up her soddin' cappuccinos and making her hair appointments. A bloody assistant to her Royal Talent-less-ness' manager. How ridiculous. Doesn't he have any pride left? ... God, I want a fag.
Caught up in their brooding, the twins looked up belatedly when they realized that people were pouring out of the gate. First out were a half-dozen burly men in casual black attire, their entire demeanor screaming "bodyguard." Next came a group of yawning dancers, makeup artists, and musicians. Who wouldn't be tired, with a red-eye flight arriving at 4am?
Will's pulse quickened as the private jet continued to empty, getting down to the last people to disembark. He would've tried to pretend it was his father he was so eager to see, but since he was only talking with himself, it seemed rather pointless. I wonder what she's like in real life? I mean, she's so careful about her privacy, I wonder if she has any friends. It must be lonely, traveling all the time, no chance to rest or set down roots... Oh, gods above, there she is.
Making her way out of the gate, chatting amiably with the twins' father and an older man, was the blonde goddess herself. Just back in the U.S. after shooting her first movie. Bronzed from the New Zealand sun, golden all over, Buffy Summers was a sight to steal a man's breath.
William's heart contracted, his internal babbling rushing full steam ahead. She's brilliant, no, glistening... gleaming? Is that the right word? Shining, shimmering, glowing... not quite right. So caught up with composing poetry in his mind, Will hardly noticed his father's wave.
Spike curled his lip at the sight of the teenybopper queen herself. Vapid bint. At his father's rather impatient gesture, he picked himself out of the chair and cuffed his brother.
William started at the contact, and then scowled at his twin. "What was that for?"
Spike just jerked his chin towards the gate entrance.
Flushing slightly, Will leapt to his feet and started towards their dad.
What's this? The little ponce has a yen for the princess? Oh, that'll be fun. Spike almost laughed aloud, flinching at his brother's horrendous taste in women. Bony and blonde. A total bimbo. Ugh. As he strode along in his brother's wake, a brunette in a security shirt caught his eye. Mm. Now there's a real woman.
Wesley Wyndham-Price adjusted his tie as he watched his two sons approach. He heaved a quiet sigh, looking them over. William apparently hadn't yet grown out of his shy phase, and Edmund... Well, the boy was still dressed in black leather. And his hair was still bleached that awful white. He'd hoped that his wife had been able to talk some sense into the lad while he'd been in New Zealand, but... oh well. Wesley cleared his throat. "Lads, I'd like for you to meet my boss, Mr. Rupert Giles. He is Miss Summers' manager and legal guardian."
William blinked once at the tall, graying gentleman, and immediately extended his hand. "How do you do, sir?"
Mr. Giles smiled. "Quite fine, thanks. And yourself?"
"Fine as well, thank you." Will released the man's hand after an appropriate amount of time, and fell in behind his father.
Spike just stood there.
"Yes, well, and this is Edmund," Wesley pushed his son forward.
"The name's Spike," he rumbled, half to his father and half to the prat in the tweed coat.
The man actually laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Spike it is. Please, call me Giles. Everyone else does."
"Alright then, Rupes," Spike looked back at Wes. "Can we go now? I'm dying for a fag."
Wesley scowled, but didn't say anything. It would be horribly uncouth to get into an argument with his son in front of his employer. Even if Mr. Giles seemed to have taken a liking to the irritating lad.
At that moment, Buffy Summers concluded her conversation with the pilot, turning to the men with a yawn. "Is it just me, or is it time to be asleep already?"
William felt like he was shrinking into his skin. Was he melting, or disappearing? Perhaps sinking down into the floor? He would look around to check, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from... her. She. Buffy. He'd seen a hundred music videos, heard her voice on a dozen different CD's and radio stations, but he'd never... Will gave himself a mental slap. Alright, nancy-boy. Stop drooling and behave yourself. Will grimaced. It was uncanny how much his inner voice of "stop being such an idiot" sounded like his brother.
Spike managed not to laugh out loud at the look on Will's face. The little snot had it bad, did he? For Buffy Summers. Oh, this is rich. He snorted, eyeing her from top to bottom. Decent rack, but too skinny. And the highlights are completely overdone. Please. I thought she had the best hairdressers money could buy.
Wesley cleared his throat conspicuously, breaking the awkward silence. "Miss Summers, these are my sons, William and..." He trailed off at Spike's glare. He sighed. "Spike."
The bleach blonde twin smirked. "So you're Britney?"
Buffy flinched as if she'd been slapped. William was completely appalled at his brother's rudeness. Everyone knew about the arch-rivalry between Buffy and that talent-less whore, Britney Spears. To many early-career comparisons between the plastic pop princess, and Buffy. It's not even like their music was similar, at least, not after the first album. He made as if to say something, but his father beat him to it.
"Edmund Winston Wyndham-Price! Stop embarrassing me this instant. Take your brother, go wait in the car." His eyes flashed. "I'll be there in a mo'."
This time, Spike did laugh. Nevertheless, he grabbed Will by the elbow and began dragging him towards the exit. "Finally. Thought I'd never get to have my smoke."
William was caught in an emotional turmoil, torn between outrage on Buffy's behalf, fury at his brother for being such an ass, and sorrow that he wouldn't be able to spend more time with ... her. Why does he have to ruin everything?
Wesley turned towards Buffy, stumbling all over himself in apology. "I am dreadfully sorry, Miss Summers. I can't imagine what got into him, he's normally... well, er, he didn't used to be like this, I swear to you-"
Buffy just shook her head, and smiled. "It's okay, Wes. I should be used to it by now, right? And I can't believe I forgot that high school guys are morons." Her wide grin took any sting out of the words.
"Er, quite," Wesley faltered, glancing at Giles for guidance.
"Is everything set for her stay here? You say that Sunnydale is a quiet little town. We shouldn't have any problems, right?"
He nodded frantically in response, eager to return to good graces. "Oh, yes. Very quiet here. Just the place to relax for the next month, before we start the world tour."
Buffy just shrugged. "If the hotel's got a weight room and room service, I'm good." She stretched her back, wincing at her knotted muscles. "Ugh. Speaking of rooms, I want to sleep. Can we do that, please, Giles?" Her big hazel eyes were aimed full-force at her manager.
Giles smiled fondly. "Of course, dear."
Wesley inclined his head towards their retreating backs. "Goodnight then, all. I'll just be... I'll be in tomorrow." Squaring his shoulders, he headed towards the parking lot, and his sons.
Buffy stretched her arms above her head, trying to loosen some of the tension that filled her body. The sports bra and shorts combo she wore were faded, comfortable. While the gym she was standing in was unfamiliar, some things remained constant. Treadmills, all lined in a row. Free weights. And the same combination of lycra and cotton covering her important bits. Re-wrapping cloth around her fists, she bounced on her toes as she squared off against the punching bag.
Right punch, left punch, three jabs, high kick. Again. She settled into a rhythm of blows and kicks, taking out her frustration on the hapless sandbag.
Why am I letting that jerk get to me? I mean, he was obviously just trying to piss off his dad, but why did he have to say that? And why is it so impossible for me to imagine that leather-clad, bleached monstrosity to have come from a guy like Wes? Ugh. Anyway. Doesn't anyone understand that I've grown up? I'm not just some flaky Mouseketeer - I haven't been, not for years. She grimaced, recalling her first release, and the sticky-sweet bubblegum bullshit on it. But every one's allowed to have one mistake, aren't they? And I made up for it, didn't I?
Her second album had been like putting a spigot into her soul, and turning the tap. Maybe it had been because she was older, maybe because now she had something to say, but suddenly, people were listening. People were buying. People wanted to hear Buffy Summers.
Wince. Is it too late in life for a name change? I mean, no wonder every one thinks I do pretty princess pop, with that name. I love you, Mom, but what the hell were you thinking?
"Should I speak up? Should I be silent?" A female voice drawled out, breaking Buffy's introspection.
The singer looked up, startled, but relaxed when she recognized one of her security staff. "Oh, hey Faith."
The brunette grinned. "Hate to interrupt, B. You were lookin' pretty pensive." Hands outstretched, she approached.
"Ooh, gold star for the big word. You getting smart with me?" Buffy teased. Faith wasn't just an employee, she was a good friend.
The bodyguard snorted. "Like you would be able to tell."
"Ouch, that hurt bad." By now, the two young women were standing about three feet apart, squared off on the mat. "You going to wound me with words, or are you going to try to hit me?"
Faith's eyes lit up. There was nothing she loved better than to spar. In a flash, she launched a blinding combination of punches at her erstwhile employer. Buffy moved to block each one, returning in kind. As they traded kicks and blows, the blonde suddenly spoke up.
"Do you think I should change my name?"
"What?" Faith never faltered in her assault, driving the other girl across the floor of the gym.
"Should I change my name? I mean, do people even try to take me seriously as an artist? I don't know anymore. But I do know that the name 'Buffy' doesn't exactly have the kind of edge I want to convey." She made a face, partially because of her quandry, but also in part because Faith planted a foot in her gut. "Ugh."
"I don't know, B." Faith followed up with a roundhouse, Buffy dodged. "I mean, yeah, your name is kind of goody-goody, but isn't it kind of pointless by now? People associate your face and your style with your name. It'd kind of be a repeat of the whole 'Prince' thing. Who cared when he changed to 'The Artist Formerly Known'? I sure as hell didn't."
Buffy fell back, looking vaguely confused. "What? You had me up until the Prince analogy."
Faith advanced, bouncing on her toes like a prizefighter. "Your name. Don't bother. People already connect it to you. If you want them to know who you are, they have to remember who you've been." She threw a punch, and Buffy retaliated by landing a fist across her cheek.
"When did you get so insightful?" the blonde marveled, her spirits somehow lighter.
Faith gave a lopsided grin. "I call 'em like I see 'em, B. Just don't tell anyone, I've got a rep to protect." She dropped back, lowering her fists.
Buffy smiled. "You've got it, F." She too fell back.
"Thanks. Now I've got to get back to wandering around the hotel, keeping the screaming fans from stealing the plates from your room service tray." Another quick grin, and Faith sauntered off.
Buffy smiled, shaking her head. Something about the girl always struck a chord, made her see more clearly. Squaring her shoulders and shaking her limbs, the singer felt some of the tension draining away.
