Roomies

Buffy frowned as the door slammed in her face. All she had done was to ask Spike his opinion of the outfit she was wearing. She looked down at her tight, low rise jeans and shimmery strap top. Was it that bad?

Spike had been cranky and distant all week, she knew that the living conditions were irritating him, but she wasn’t that bad of a roommate. Was she? Her thoughts were sharply interrupted by a knocking at the door and she bounded forward to let Willow in.

“Hey.” The redhead greeted, “Ready to wow Riley?”

Buffy pulled a face in response. She was going on a date with the star basketball player. He was actually interested in her, had spent all week ‘accidentally’ bumping into her wherever she went. If that wasn’t interest then she didn’t know what it was. It’s Stalkerish! a little voice inside her head jibed but Buffy was well trained in ignoring this voice by now. The voice of Bad!Buffy was there to be ignored, whatever she suggested about a certain roommate.

Buffy shook her head, focusing on what her best friend was telling her.

"Glad you went with the pants."Willow was saying as Buffy’s mind returned to the conversation.

"You don’t think it looks too casual?” Buffy queried, her hips swivelling from side to side as she tried to see her outfit from all angles in her mirror. She turned away from the mirror, grabbing her clutch bag and filling it with her necessities for the night.

"Do you think I’m a bad roommate?” She asked the whining lilt of her voice evident. She had sat down on the edf thf the bed, looking closely at Willow for telltale signs of lying. Willow stopped her rambling and regarded the young blonde closely.

"No.” She said finally, “Why?”

Buffy shook her head, laughing it off. “Just thinking. Spike’s been in a strop all week, wondering if it was me.”

Willow laughed, unsure of what to say. The bleached guy hadn’t really seemed that bad when Willow had met him and Oz had said he was an ok guy so the only one with a problem was Buffy.

“He’s probably just stressing over college work.” The young redhead assured her friend hastily, it was a plausible explanation for the way the Englishman was acting when he was around Buffy.

Spike knocked politely on the door; he didn’t want to just walk in anymore as she had been entertaining guests all week. His mother answered, ushering him in with a broad smile on her face.

He was greeted by Joyce who was sitting on the opposite sofa, he smiled and said hello as he weaved his way through the furniture to the kitchen to grab a drink.

Emerging from the tiny kitchen with a can of Dr.Pepper in his hand he stood on the perimeter of the room, eying the room and the clutter of books and knick-knacks that filled every available space. Making a mental note to buy some shelving for the room, he wound his way back to the sofa his other was perched on.

Pulling him down into the seat beside her, Anne picked up thok ook off the sofa next to where Joyce was sitting and handed it to him.

Spike’s face fell as he recognised the faces staring back at him. Faces he had tried so hard to forget. Small sepia photographs of his father playing with a young William, arms around Anne and in various other poses. The father that had betrayed them so badly. He flipped the pages furiously. Why would he ever want to see that face again? He read the captions as he flipped through, settling on the last page. This was a photo album from 1986. His young face stared into the camera, floppy sandy hair hanging round hide bde blue eyes and his arms wrapped around his childhood best friend.

Elizabeth Summers.