Part Two
by cousinjean
***
A 44 oz. Coca-Cola didn't keep her from getting sleepy. The back seat was too cluttered for her to stretch out there, so instead she curled up in the front, using his balled up duster for a pillow. She could've used his lap. He wouldn't have protested. Still, she used his coat. It was a start.
He reached down and brushed her hair out of her face. In the moonlight it gleamed almost as white as his. He missed the way it used to cascade over her bare shoulders, but even so, her chopping it off hadn't made her any less beautiful. Of course he didn't tell her, out of fear that she might go and shave her head. He tried to imagine her with the Sinead O'Connor look, and smiled. Still gorgeous.
His finger lightly traced a pattern along her upper arm. A sigh of contentment escaped her lips, and Spike rested his hand on her shoulder. He was crossing a line. He'd broken the unspoken "look but don't touch" rule, and he knew it. Now ask him if he cared. Not even Buffy could be so unreasonable as to expect him to be near her for this long without touching her. Couldn't be done. Her skin drew him like a magnet. He could only resist its pull for so long.
She stirred beneath his hand, then whimpered. Her breathing grew rapid. Here it comes. With a great gasp for air her head jerked up, and her hand shot out and gripped his knee like a vice.
"Shh, Buffy." He rubbed her arm, tried to draw her to him. "It's okay, Love. It was only a dream."
For an instant, she relaxed against him, but then she sat up and pulled away to her side of the car. Spike sighed, and put both hands on the wheel. He hated her nightmares as much as she did, if only because it killed him that she wouldn't let him comfort her. It was always the same. She'd awaken in terror, and for the tiniest moment, she'd let him hold her, let him soothe her fear. Then she'd remember who they were -- or what they were -- and pull away. This was usually the part where she'd get dressed and go home. Except this time, she had nowhere to go.
He glanced over at her. She huddled against the door, her head part way out the window, looking up at the stars and letting the night wind blow through her hair.
"You okay?"
She shrugged. "I hate that dream."
"Yeh. Me too."
She looked at him, her eyes asking him to elaborate.
"I still dream about waking up in my coffin sometimes."
"Great." Buffy sighed, and looked back out at the passing desert. "It never goes away."
"No." God, he wanted to hold her. Instead he reached down and punched the car's lighter in to heat up. "But the good news is, it stops being so terrifying. Eventually."
"How long is 'eventually'?"
"In my case? About twenty years."
"Swell. Something to look forward to."
He unfurled his coat until he found the pocket that held his cigarettes, then dug them out. "We've still got a few hours until sunrise. Then we'll find some place to hole up for the day and you can get a proper rest."
"Sounds like a plan." She sounded a bit more cheerful. "Hey, where'd the music go?"
"Radio stations out here are worthless." He pointed to the back seat. "Should be a crate full of CDs back there, and a player. Car kit's in the glove box."
Buffy turned around and leaned over the back of the seat. As he lit his cigarette, Spike stole a long glance at her rear end waving in the air while she rummaged through his things. "Here we go," she said. "Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Ramones, The Clash, more Ramones ... God!" She turned back around and slumped in the seat, disgusted. "What the hell ever made you think we'd be compatible?"
Spike laughed. "Believe me, pet, if there's one thing makes me doubt you're the girl for me, it's your taste in music."
"There's nothing wrong with my taste in music. Just because it's not older than I am ..."
"Feh. The trouble with your generation's music is there's nothing new."
"That's not true."
"Yes it is. Everything you hear these days is a throwback to a bygone era, no matter how much they try to spice it up and call it 'modern rock.' It's all been done before. At least the blokes I listen to were innovative."
"Right." Buffy nodded seriously. "You should know, as often as you listen to the crazy noise the kids like to make these days."
He gave her a sidelong glare, then shook his head. "I do go to the Bronze, y'know. I know whereof I speak. 'Sides, it's all become so bloody homogeonized, nobody stands out. I mean, pick any subset of the genre. One band sounds exactly the same as the next. P.O.D., Linkin Park ... who the hell can tell the bloody difference?"
"And meanwhile the Clash and the Ramones sound nothing alike."
Spike suppressed a smile. The girl made sarcasm an art. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she was being sincere. But he knew the difference. He pointed his cigarette at her. "You watch your mouth, missy."
"Fine." Buffy sighed, and leaned her head against the door. He was losing her. They were becoming fewer and farther in between, but she still had these little episodes sometimes, where she'd slip inside herself for a while and nothing in the outside world could penetrate. Spike had become pretty good at recognizing when she was about to take one of her mental holidays and calling her back before she was too far gone.
"We don't have to listen to anything, y'know," he said. "We could always talk."
Buffy blinked, coming back to reality. She looked at him, and fear crossed her face. Then she brightened. "Hey! How 'bout some of those Sex Pistols?" She started to climb over the seat again.
Spike put a hand on her arm to stop her. "Why don't you want to talk?"
Buffy pulled her arm away from him. "Because I don't want to talk about ... what you want to talk about."
He refrained from rolling his eyes as he flicked some ash out the window. "I just meant a ruddy conversation, Pet. About anything you want. Doesn't have to be about us."
"Just a conversation?"
"Yeah. Like we were just having not one minute ago."
She considered this, then shrugged and relaxed. "Okay, fine."
"Fine."
"What do you want to talk about?"
"You pick."
"I don't know. You go first."
"Bloody hell, Slayer!" He threw his cigarette out the window for want of anything more substantial to throw. Gripping the steering wheel tightly in both hands, he looked over at her. "Why do you always have to do this?"
She looked surprised. "Do what?"
"Make everything about a billion times more complicated than it has to be!"
Now she looked defensive. "I thought we weren't gonna talk about us!"
"I'm not talking 'bout us, pet. I'm talking about you."
"I don't want to talk about me," she said. "I'd rather talk about you."
Spike sighed. "Right. Fine. What about me, then?"
"How many people do you suppose you've killed?"
Okay. Not what he expected. He looked at her again. "What?"
She didn't sound upset, or disgusted, or terribly put-off. She kept it casual. "I mean, I figure one person a day from the time you got vamped until you got your chip is a pretty conservative estimate, but even then that's like ... a whole lotta people."
"Forty-three thousand, give or take. And you're right. It was a lot more than that. Your point?"
"No point. Just ... tens of thousands of people dead. Because of you." Her face clouded over, and there was something in her voice he couldn't quite make out. "Sometimes I forget that."
Shit. What brought this on? They were getting along too well, he supposed. Starting to make some forward progress, so she had to knock them back a few steps. This time he was determined to keep his footing.
"'Course," he pointed out, "since meeting you I've helped avert three apocalypses. Not to mention all the demons I've killed since I got chipped, and last summer playing superhero with the Justice League. So that's billions of lives saved thanks to yours truly. Kinda balances out, don't it?"
Buffy shook her head. "It doesn't work like that."
"No. Because that would be too simple. So, how does it work? Please. Enlighten me."
She sighed. "Are you sorry for the people you killed?"
"Will my being sorry bring them back?"
"No."
"Right. Sorry's a waste of time."
"No it's not!" She made a little frustrated groan. "You just don't get it, and I can't explain it to you. But the only reason you're not still killing people is the chip. If it stopped working tomorrow ..."
"What?"
She looked at the road straight ahead. "You know what."
"No, I don't. But I guess I don't need to, do I? 'Cause you're bloody well certain enough for both of us."
Buffy looked back at him. "Look, I don't believe you'd turn on us. You've come that far, and if there's one good thing I can say about your character it's that you're loyal."
"Oh, thanks ever so."
"But are you telling me you wouldn't sink your fangs into the first non-friend-of-Buffy human you see?"
Spike considered this, then looked at her. Looked her in the eye. "No. What I'm telling you, Slayer, is that I don't know what I'd do."
Buffy just looked at him, her bottom lip pouting just a little, her eyes disbelieving but hopeful all at the same time.
He looked back at the road, and sighed. "I tried it once."
"What? When?"
"When I found out I could hit you, without any pain. I thought the chip quit working. So I hunted."
"You're not exactly disproving my point, here." Did she sound disappointed?
"I found this girl," Spike continued, determined to get the story out. If she was going to judge him, she might as well know it all. "Young. Tender. Alone and scared. I could smell the fear coming off of her from clear across the street." He smiled a little at the memory. "God, it was delicious. So, I cornered her, and tried to bite her. That's how I found out the chip still works."
Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I didn't bite her."
"Because of the chip."
"Right, yes. But also because as much as I wanted to, I also didn't want to."
"Huh?" She looked at him again, confused.
"I had to talk myself into it." He wasn't smiling now. His voice trembled a little, but he pressed on. "Had to remind myself that I'm evil and this was what I was made for. And all the while ... All the while I kept wondering what her family would do when she didn't come home. How they'd feel when they found her dead body. If they'd hurt as much as I did when you --" He glanced at her and cleared his throat.
"But you still tried to bite her," she said quietly.
"Yeh. But aside from the rush, there wasn't any joy in it. Not like there used to be. And I still don't know if ... if I'd've drained her dry or stopped before I did any real harm." He glanced at her, and gave her a rueful smile. "So honestly? Chip stopped working? I haven't a clue what I'd do."
They sat in silence for a few minutes while Buffy processed it all. Then she leaned back against the seat and sighed. "I hope we never have to find out." She looked at him. "For both our sakes."
Spike held her gaze for a moment. "Yeh. Me too. So." He looked back at the road and smiled. "Your turn."
"Who huh?"
"I just shared a secret. Now it's your turn. Spill."
She raised an eyebrow. "What is this, truth or dare?"
He smiled slyly. "It could be."
"In that case, I'll take the dare."
"Right then. Next car we pass, show 'em your bum."
She gaped at him. "You can't be serious."
"As a heart attack." He pointed up ahead. "Here comes one now. Better get ready."
"You want me to moon somebody?"
"It's that or answer my question."
"Fine. What's your question?"
"Ah, ah, ah. That's not how it works, Love. You pick first, and you already picked. Better hurry, we're about to pass this car."
Buffy just glared at him.
"'Course, we don't have to play if it's too much for you."
Buffy continued to glare at him, but she started undoing her pants. Spike grinned. "Atta girl."
Spike changed lanes and pulled up alongside an open-air Jeep. It was full of people, hard to make out in the dark, even under the full moon. Buffy, her eyes still shooting stakes at Spike, climbed up in the seat, stuck her rear-end out the window, and lowered her knickers. Hoots and hollers came from the Jeep. Buffy closed her eyes. "Oh, God!" She pulled up her pants and dropped down in the seat, hiding her face from the other vehicle. "Go!"
Spike laughed as he sped up and went around the Jeep. Buffy hazarded a glance back at them, then shook her head. "I can't believe I just did that."
"Neither can I." Spike couldn't stop laughing. "I never thought you'd go through with it. Color me impressed."
"Color me embarrassed," she muttered.
"Oh, relax. Believe me, Pet, your bum is nothing to be ashamed of."
"Thanks, I guess." She pouted. "Maybe next time you can wave your bony white ass at them instead."
Spike glanced in the rearview mirror, then nodded. "Take the wheel." He let go of the steering wheel and started undoing his belt buckle.
"What? No! No taking the wheel!" She reached over to slap his hands. "Stop that!"
"Fine!" He gave it up and went back to steering the car. They sat for a moment in silence, then they both burst into laughter.
"So, did you see the looks on their faces?" Buffy asked.
Spike shook his head. "Too dark. Yours was pretty priceless, though."
"God, what if there were kids in the car?"
"Then you probably traumatized them for life. They'll spend years in therapy trying to forget about the blurry bare ass that was inflicted on them. Poor children."
"Shut up." Buffy put a hand over her eyes and shook her head, though a grin remained on her face. "I've never done anything like that before."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" He smirked at her. "Guess I'm a bad influence on you, Slayer."
"Yeah." She looked sideways at him, and smiled. "You really are."
His smirk melted into a genuine smile as he held her gaze for a moment. The mood was broken by a set of extraordinarily bright headlights coming up behind them a bit too fast for comfort. The Jeep was right on them, practically riding his bumper.
"Bollocks!"
Buffy turned in her seat to look at them. "What do you think they want?"
"I dunno. Maybe you really did scare their kids. Put your seatbelt on."
Buffy looked around, then shook her head. "Does this antique even have seatbelts?"
Spike rolled his eyes skyward and sighed. "Then, brace yourself and hang on." Just as he was about to slam on his brakes, the Jeep switched lanes. "Um, nevermind." It sped past them, then got back in front. "No, on second thought --" The Jeep slammed on its brakes, forcing Spike to do the same. He swerved off of the road, just barely missing them. They spun and skidded to a stop in the sand, ending up about twenty feet from the road, facing the highway. "Brilliant," Spike muttered. He looked over at Buffy. "Are you okay?"
She looked shaken, but unharmed. She nodded, then looked at the Jeep. "Okay, what the hell was that? People have mooned me before, it never made me want to go all Fast and the Furious on them."
"Yeh, well, that's 'cause you're mostly in your right mind," he said as several figures unloaded from the Jeep and started towards them. "Something tells me these pillocks can't say the same. Right then. If it's a tussle they want ..." He looked at Buffy, and grinned. "They picked the right car, didn't they?"
Buffy just looked at him. "I'm not fighting. I'm on enforced holiday, remember?"
"I think we might not have a choice, Love."
"Oh, I've got a choice all right. It was your idea to pull that stunt back there. Why should I stop them if they want to kick your ass?"
Spike stared at her. "You know, Slayer, I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that when the chips are down, I've got you to watch my back."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Fine. Let's do this."
***
The five shadowy figures formed a semi-circle in front of the car, just out of reach of the headlights. Buffy opened the car door and got out. Spike followed her lead, pulling on his duster as he stalked towards the front of the car. He tried to look menacing. She tried to look apologetic. "Hey, look. We were just playing around back there. We really didn't mean to offend --"
"Oh, we weren't offended," a deep voice said. The voice's owner took a step forward, and she could make out a pair of snakeskin boots poking out from beneath leather chaps. The light illuminated his giant belt buckle. "Roy" was engraved across it in big letters. "My posse and I enjoyed the show. Thought we'd catch an encore."
Buffy took a second to glare at Spike. He rolled his eyes and started patting his pockets. Great. He was going to smoke. Again. Was that his answer for everything? "Sorry." She looked back at Roy. "That was an exclusive, one-time engagement. But thanks for your interest."
"Come on, don't be that way," he said. "Show us a nice piece of white meat like that, you can't let us go away hungry." He stepped all the way into the light, revealing his vampiric features.
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Buffy muttered. She held up her hands. "Look, guys. I'm on vacation. What do you say we all just get back in our cars and forget we ever saw each other?"
"Right. That's gonna happen." Roy grinned as his "posse" moved into the light. They were all dressed similar to Roy, like they'd just come from some kind of vampire rodeo. Buffy squinted at their faces, half expecting to see Lyle Gorch among them.
With a sigh, she reached for her stake, but it wasn't there. She'd left it in the car. She looked back up at Roy. "Um ..."
"Slayer!"
She looked at Spike just in time to see a stake flying at her head. She reached up and plucked it out of the air. "Thanks!"
The others all took a step back. Roy's grin faltered, but then it widened. "I've always wanted to try on a Slayer."
"I'll bet you have," said Spike. He threw a punch that landed square on Roy's nose, knocking him back a couple steps. Roy recovered and spun around, aiming a kick at Spike's midsection. Wonderful. Roy knew how to fight. Well, so did Spike. Buffy decided to leave them to each other for the moment and turned her attention to the other four. She made the decision a split-second too late. One grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms -- and her stake -- behind her. Two more rushed her, while the fourth hung back and watched the action with a deer-in-headlights look plastered on his face.
Buffy slammed her head into the face of the one holding her. He hollered in pain, but loosened his grip only enough to allow her some maneuverability. As the other two reached her, she kicked her foot up and planted it on one's shoulder. Using it as leverage she swung her other leg up and kicked the second vamp in the face. Her momentum carried her up and over Number Three's head. She held on to his arms as she went, and heard his screams of pain mixed with the satisfying pop of his shoulders as she wrenched them out of their sockets. Her feet hit the hood of the car and she was free. She reached down and grabbed Number Three by the hair, yanked him back onto the car, and dropped to one knee beside him, plunging the stake into his heart.
Before she could straighten up, Number Two grabbed her by the arm and flipped her off of the car. She landed badly, her left ankle giving out as it hit the ground. Still, she rebounded and brought that foot up, kicking Number One in the side of the head. She yelped as the impact sent pain shooting through her leg and foot. She didn't lose any momentum, though, and finished the spin, bringing the stake home right through Number One's tacky fringed leather vest.
Number Four looked like he was finally working up the nerve to join in. Buffy took a step towards him and stumbled. A pair of arms caught her from behind, then lifted her in the air and body slammed her onto the hood of Spike's car, knocking the wind out of her.
"Buffy!"
She looked over at Spike just in time to see fear become rage. He stopped screwing around and vamped out, really laying into Roy. She just lay there for a second, trying to recover, watching Spike fight the other vampire from the vantage point of hanging her head backwards off of the car. It looked like some kind of upside down ballet. Or professional wrestling match. Roy got him in a headlock. Spike responded by sinking his teeth into Roy's forearm. He elbowed Roy in the gut and broke free, then pulled out a stake.
Just as it was getting good, Buffy felt a hand tangle in her hair. She looked up into the grinning face of Number Two. He yanked on her hair, dragging her off of the car, but she brought her legs up over her head and locked her knees around the vamp's neck. She twisted until she heard bones crack, then flipped him forward. He flew over the car and landed in a heap on the other side. Buffy sat up and slid off of the car, and limped over to stake him.
She stood up and looked over at Spike. He was brushing Roy's remains off of his clothes. He started towards her, but stopped when he noticed the remaining vamp. Buffy noticed him too. He looked back and forth from her to Spike, then turned around and took off running. Buffy was about to tell Spike to let him go, but he was already hot on the vamp's heels. She sighed and did her best to chase after them.
She made it about fifty yards from the car before she decided to just sit down and wait for Spike. Her ankle hurt like a bitch. She could make out the back of his head, almost silver in the moonlight, as he tackled his prey. Then they both disappeared behind a boulder. Buffy sighed, and took in her surroundings. She leaned back on her elbows so she could look up at the stars. Last time she'd seen them shine so bright was when --
She sat up straight, struck by a sudden sense of deja vu. When Giles had brought her out here on her vision quest -- that was the last time she'd seen the stars look like this. She looked around again. No way this could be the same place. Yet it felt so familiar. The memory of what had been revealed to her that night caused her to shudder. Death is your gift, her guide had said. Buffy leaned back again, and pouted. "Indian giver."
She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory, but she couldn't block out the First Slayer's words.
Love ... give ... forgive. Risk the pain.
"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "Except for recurring guest shots in my visions, you got to keep your gift." She opened her eyes to see Spike trudging back towards her through the sand. "You get him?"
"Yeh. He, uh ..." He looked back the way he'd come, then looked back at her and shrugged. "He's dust."
"Sounds exciting."
"Oh, it was. You should've seen it." He squinted down at her. "Why didn't you? You okay?"
"Yeah." She took his extended hand and let him pull her to her feet. "Just -- ow!"
"You're hurt."
"Sprained my ankle." She waved a dismissive hand. "It'll be fine."
He looked skeptical. "Can you walk on it?" She nodded, and took a step towards the car to prove it. Pain exploded through her entire lower leg, and she stumbled. Spike caught her before she fell. "I'd call that a 'no'. Here." He wrapped an arm around her waist and bent to put his other arm behind her knees.
Buffy hopped back a step. "What are you doing?"
"What's it look like? I'm gonna carry you to the car."
"I don't need you to carry me. I said I'm fine."
Spike sighed, stood up, and held his hands in the air as he backed away from her. "Suit yourself, Pet. You want to limp back, be my guest."
She nodded, then took another step forward. "Aah!" Her ankle buckled and she went down on one knee. "Spike ..."
"Oh, for --" He cut himself off as he stooped down and swept her up into his arms.
"Spike --"
"Shut up, Summers."
She frowned, and looked towards the car. "I was just gonna say thanks," she said as they reached it.
Spike just looked at her. Buffy suddenly became intensely aware of his nearness. Slowly, she turned back to face him. When her eyes locked on his, her heart took off like a jackhammer. She knew he could feel it. She licked her lips and swallowed. It was an unconscious gesture that she became aware of only after the fact. In Spike's arms, her mouth an inch away from his, his shoulders flexing beneath her arm, adrenaline from the fight still coursing through her veins ... it was a very bad place to be.
Actually, it was a very good place to be. Hence the problem.
His eyes drifted down to her mouth. Without thinking, she parted her lips. His eyes met hers again, and without a word, he set her on her feet. With one arm still around her waist to support her, never taking his eyes away from hers, he opened her car door.
"You're welcome," he said softly, then helped her inside and shut the door.
***
TBC
