CHAPTER 43: Quality time with good friends

Spike dragged his feet all the way across the yard, apparently not so eager to reach his destination. He stopped and took a moment to look around, taking in the familiarity of the surroundings. The California sun was shining brightly in the sky, almost obscenely cheerful in the gloomy décor that was the prison‘s yard.

Two guards were patrolling along the walls and were looking down at the prisoners. Khaki uniforms, shotguns strapped to their backs and mirror sunglasses on their faces. They probably thought it made them look tough, but in Spike’s eyes, they still looked like pathetic poofters on a power trip.

All around him, the guys were enjoying a lazy weekend morning under the sun, walking around aimlessly, sitting on benches, smoking cigarettes, and exchanging lewd jokes. The obnoxious laughter and utter lack of education surrounding him was normally hard to bear, but this morning it only made him want to rush back inside and lock himself in his cell. Stay alone with himself and pretend this world didn’t exist or if it must, that he wasn’t part of it. God, he hated this place. Buffy would probably point out that it was one more reason to keep walking and go talk to Gunn so he wouldn’t lose the only friend he had inside these walls. And she would be right, of course.

Spike pulled out a cigarette, lit it and after taking a long drag, resumed his trek. He could see Gunn on the other side of the yard, shooting hoops by himself. He was alone, no one anywhere near him, so it would be a perfect time to talk without being overheard.

As he got closer, he shoved his hands in his uniform pockets to try hiding his discomfort. Cigarette dangling casually from his lips, Spike stopped a few feet away from where Charles was dribbling.

“Hey mate, can we talk?”

Charles stopped dribbling. He caught the ball with both hands and straightened up, holding it at his chest. “You wanna talk?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine, let’s talk.” With one sharp move, he threw the ball at Spike.

Hands still in his pockets, Spike watched the basket ball come at him with an indifferent eye. It bounced off his chest and rebounded on the pavement a couple of times. Charles rolled his eyes.

“You’re supposed to catch the ball.”

Spike raised an eyebrow at his friend. “Have I ever given you a reason to believe that I have any interest in playing with a ball? I watch football… European football. That‘s as far as my involvement with sports goes, mate.”

“Dude, I have images of your nasty white ass burned in my mind, I think it’s only fair that you’d make an effort and play a little basketball with me.”

Spike sighed and rolled up his sleeves. “There’s nothing nasty about my ass, mate.”

He bent down to pick up the ball then threw it hard and fast at his snickering friend. Charles raised his arm to protect himself against the attack. “Hey!”

Spike shrugged his shoulders, trying his best to look innocent. “It slipped out of my hands?”

Gunn picked up the ball and started dribbling. Spike got closer to him and after following his friend’s every move for a few seconds, found an opening and used it to steal the ball back. He dribbled around Gunn and without any effort or hesitation, threw the ball in one smooth, precise arch, right through the hoop.

“’said I didn’t like playing sport, never said I wasn’t bloody good at it.” He smirked and after taking a last drag of his cigarette, he dropped it and crushed it under his boot, ready for action.

His pride in jeopardy, Gunn picked up the pace and focused his attention on the game. The two men circled each other, looking for weaknesses and opportunities to steal the ball back and score. After a good fifteen minutes of running around the court and very few words exchanged besides taunts and empty threats, Spike had enough. One good feint, he ducked, side stepped Gunn, ran to the hoop, jumped up and slammed the ball through its intended target.

Spike picked up the ball and kept it in his hands, turning to face Charles.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to hold it for that long. You can’t ignore the rules because you’re British, you know.”

After a long moment of silence, Spike finally spoke. “You might have the image of my nasty white ass burned into your mind, but I have to deal with the fact that my friend assumed I’m the kind of man who would rape a woman.”

Gunn visibly deflated under Spike’s piercing gaze. “I guess letting you win wasn’t enough to make you forgive me then?” He tried to joke, clearly uncomfortable.

“You didn’t let me win, you pansy, and we both know that. And try being bloody serious for a minute. This is important. Buffy was right, avoiding the topic won’t make it go away. We‘ve been avoiding it for a week, it‘s time to talk now.”

He hesitated for a moment, looking down at the ball he was still holding. Charles waited patiently for his friend to finish speaking his mind, not knowing what to say himself.

“What were you thinking, mate? What in the bleeding world would make you jump to that conclusion? Did I ever give you any reason to believe that I’m that type of guy? I don’t get it.”

“I don’t know, OK? I just don’t know. I didn’t think, I just reacted. It’s not like I had the chance to pause the moment, sit down and try to figure out what was going on. How was I to know you had an affair with…” Realizing he’d raise his voice, Charles looked around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear their conversation before continuing. “Ya know… her. Dude, believe me… If you’d been the one to walk into the room that day, you would have drawn the same conclusions. You would have done exactly what I did. It has nothing to do with friendship.”

Spike looked away, obviously unwilling to respond to this. The logical part of him couldn’t help but agree with Charles. But feelings aren’t logical by any means.

“Spike, man, try for two seconds to put yourself in my shoes. You walk into a room, it’s dark, and you see me holding, I don’t know--let’s say that guard, Faith. You see me half naked, holding Faith down, and she’s saying ‘stop’. Wouldn’t you act first, ask questions later?”

Spike sat down with a sigh, his back against the brick wall of the prison. He mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said, maybe… Fine, you’re right. That’s what I would have done too. Are you bleedin’ happy now?”

“Happy would be stretching it a bit, but I’m sure glad you very reluctantly try to see my point.”

“Doesn’t change anything though. I know admitting this will earn me the poofter of the year title, but… you hurt my feelings.”

“And I feel really bad about it. And no matter how big a poofter you are, you’ll always be my buddy.” Charles smiled and punched Spike‘s arm playfully.

“Watch it, you wanker.” Spike scolded.

“You know…” Gunn hesitated, unsure if he should say what he was about to say, but taking the risk anyway. “None of this would have happened if you had told me about you and the warden having a little thing on the side.”

Spike narrowed his eyes at Gunn, not sure what he wanted to react to first: the ‘little thing on the side’ comment, or the fact his friend was saying this whole mess was all his fault in the first place. “I cannot believe you just bloody well said that.” he finally managed to say.

Charles swallowed hard when he saw the look on his friend’s face. The way his jaw was twitching and his neck muscles tensed were never a good sign. He put his hands up and opened his mouth to explain himself, but Spike didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“It is not a ‘little thing on the side’.” He spat the words as if they were poisonous. “Buffy and I are in love. Do you seriously think she’d be dumb enough to risk her bloody job over a meaningless shag? And how dare you blame all of this on me? Suddenly it’s all my fault for being the trustworthy type of bloke and keeping my mouth shut about something that could hurt the woman I love if it ever comes out?”

“I’m your friend, man. Why would you think I’d rat out on you?”

“Listen to me, wanker. Just by discussing this here and now, we’re taking the chance that someone might overhear our conversation. There’re a lot of people in this prison who are just dying to have something against Buffy. It’s a risk I can’t take. The more people know, the more dangerous it gets. One slip, one guard overhears and happens not to like her, and it’s over for her. You get what I’m saying? That‘s why I didn‘t tell you anything.”

Charles nodded his understanding. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

Spike ran fingers through his hair and sighed. “I’m always worried, mate. It feels like all I ever do is look over my shoulder to make sure no one is getting suspicious. I’m in my cot at night, wondering if I forgot to sign out of my email account. What if I forgot and the guy using the computer after me reads my soddin’ emails? She never uses her real name of course, but it did happen in the past that some of our emails had details in them that could lead to her. I‘m even paranoid when I write in my own journal. I‘m this close from losing my soddin‘ marbles, you know.”

“Don’t bite my head off, but--is it worth it? Is seeing that woman once in a while worth all the headaches and the stress?”

“Every second of it. Did you miss the part where I said I’m in love with her?”

“Nope I didn‘t miss that part. In fact, I wanted to write it down somewhere, but I left my notepad in my cell. I think I’ll manage to remember though.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Cute.”

“I have a lot of practice.”

The two men grinned at each other, finally relaxing.

“Are we good, man? This week sucked with all the awkwardness, I don’t want things to stay like that.”

Spike stood up and took another cigarette out of his pack. “Yeah, we’re good.” He said before lighting it. “Under one condition though.”

Gunn stood up as well and gave his friend a curious look. “What‘s that?”

“You never make me play basketball again.”

“What?” Charles exclaimed with disappointment. “But you’re so good at it! It’d be crime to let that talent go to waste.”

“I’m also good at kicking your arse, doesn’t mean I have to do it.”

Spike started walking in the direction of the main building, leaving Charles a few feet behind.

The tall black man shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess you have a point there. Hey,” He said, trying to catch up with Spike. “You‘re gonna give me details, right? I‘m your buddy, that‘s what we do… We share raunchy details about our sexy encounters. Except that in this case, you‘re the only one who gets sexy encounters. But still…”

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow while giving Gunn a disbelieving look.

“Oh come on! Anything at all will do. I live vicariously through you now.”

Spike laughed at the look on his friend’s face. “Sorry mate, not gonna happen.”

Gunn shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked at some gravel.

“Selfish bastard.”

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Dawn stood behind Willow, who was seated at Buffy’s kitchen table. She was examining the shoulder length tresses with a critical eye, as if she was an expert in hair styling, and running her fingers through Willow‘s coppery mane. On the table in front of them were what Willow referred to as the torture instruments. Both Buffy and Dawn’s entire make-up collection combined: nail polish, fake nails, fake lashes, and the scariest items of all, scissors and a box of crimson hair dye.

“Uh hum.“ Dawn nodded, the wheels turning in her head. “Yes… I see.”

“You see what exactly back there Dawnie? Not that I don’t trust you but… I don’t trust you.” Willow’s panicked green eyes were fixated on the pair of scissors that were gleaming menacingly in the afternoon light. “Buffy?.. Help?”

But Buffy was too busy painting her own nails a lustrous shade of burgundy to spare her friend a look.

“Don’t worry, Will.” She said dismissively without looking up at her terrified friend. “Dawn has cut my hair many times. She’s good.”

“But…”

Before another word could cross her lips, Dawn had snatched the scissors from where they were sitting on the table, and unceremoniously cut the first strand.

Willow let out a strangled squeak, and shut her eyes tight. “Let me know when it’s over.”

“Stop acting like a big baby, you’re making me nervous. I’m holding scissors to your head, you don’t want me to be nervous, do you?”

“Dawn, don’t tease her.”

Willow put on a brave smile. “No, it’s fine. I trust her. After all, it’s just a hair cut, right?” She said, her fingers holding on to the edge of the table so tightly that her knuckles were white. “Why am I getting a hair cut again?”

Buffy put the lid back on the nail polish and put the tiny bottle down on the table before starting to blow on her nails to make them dry faster. “I told you, you looked too nice. You looked all sweet and innocent with your hair like that.”

“Maybe it’s just my face that looks sweet and innocent. You’re not going to tell me that Dawn is a good plastic surgeon too, are you? Because I’m sorry but no matter how much you tell me to trust her, if she comes anywhere near my face with a knife, I’m out of here.”

Both Buffy and Dawn chuckled at the idea.

“You guys are making fun of me. That’s not nice. I’m not feeling the love here. I need moral support; this is a very traumatizing experience.”

“Sorry, Will.” Buffy apologized. “But you should relax and enjoy. This is supposed to be fun. Pampering ourselves and doing girly stuff. Come on, isn’t it fun?”

“I think she needs another Margarita.” Dawn commented, her eyes still on the task at hand.

Buffy served Willow a Margarita. After another fifteen minutes, the kitchen floor was covered in red hair, and Dawn’s masterpiece was done. When Buffy grabbed the hair dye box and took Willow’s hand to make her friend follow her to the sink, the red head didn’t even bother to complain or argue. She knew she had no chance of winning against two Summers women. So she let Buffy apply the bright red concoction to her newly shorn hair and waited the required thirty minutes patiently until Buffy could rinse the stuff out of her hair.

“I better not look like a clown. I promise that if I look like a clown, this clown is not going to any party with you tonight.”

Buffy smiled down at her friend while running warm water through her now deep crimson colored hair. “With a cute face like yours, you’d be pretty even with blue hair… Which it is NOT… Blue I mean. It’s not blue so don’t freak. It’s actually pretty cool. I think you’ll like it.”

“You think so?

“I don’t think so, I know so. Come on, let’s go blow dry this so I can show you the final result.”

After another fifteen minutes of blow drying, applying some pomade to make the choppy bob even choppier and edgier, Buffy started doing Willow’s make up.

“But, Buffy, it’s only 2 in the afternoon. The party is tonight. Isn’t it too early to be doing her make up?” Dawn asked.

“It’s just practice for tonight. Besides, I want the look to be just right when she sees the hair.”

“Could you guys please not talk like I’m not in the room? It’s creepy.”

“Sorry, Will.” They both said at once.

Buffy applied the final touch to Willow’s make up. The black smoky shadow around her eyes made the emerald green of her iris brighter, almost translucent, and a neutral peach lip gloss put the finishing touch to her new, edgier look.

Finally, Buffy gave Willow a handheld mirror so she could admire the result.

Buffy and Dawn stood by, waiting anxiously for the verdict as Willow looked silently into the mirror. Finally, Dawn couldn’t take it anymore.

“So? You like it?”

Willow was blushing bright red. “It’s just… so… I don’t know what to say. What--what do you guys think?”

“Will, even if I tell you I think you look incredibly hot, it doesn’t matter. It’s what you think that matters.” Buffy said, trying to be sensible and stop herself from squealing and jumping up and down like an excited teenager. The truth was Willow looked incredible.

“Come on; at least tell me if you like the hair cut.” Dawn pleaded with the speechless woman who was still staring in the mirror.

Then, Willow started giggling like a mad woman. Buffy and Dawn looked at each other, wondering if she’d lost her mind.

“Is it… that bad?” Buffy asked.

“No, it’s awesome! I love it. I feel like a new person. I feel like I can go to this party tonight, and not stick out like a sore thumb. Do you have any idea how much I regretted telling you I’d go with you? I was so nervous. But this makes me feel so much better. Who would have thought a makeover could have such an effect on a girl?”

She stood up and went to hug Buffy and Dawn, wrapping one arm around each one of them.

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

“All right! So, what am I wearing?” She asked cheerfully. “This party’s gonna be fun!”

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CHAPTER 44: White trash just wanna have fun

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