.
"Give me one good reason I shouldn't just kill you now," Buffy muttered when she caught up with Spike two blocks later.
Now that she was no longer in immediate danger of being ripped apart, she could feel each patch of seared flesh, each bruise and contusion, each cracked disc, all clamoring for her attention along with her shredded foot. Buffy stifled her urge to cry, and directed all her misery Spike's way with a vicious glare.
Spike spared her no more than a yellow-eyed glance before draining the bag of blood he'd been sucking on. He tossed the empty bag over his shoulder and bit into a new one.
"Hey!" Buffy said, and turned around to pick it up. Furious, she stormed back and cut him off, blocking his progress.
Eyeing the sword pointed at his chest, Spike coughed out a raspy, gurgling hiss of air that, with a liberal dose of imagination, Buffy deciphered as 'need me'.
She'd already decided she did, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about it. "No I don't, asshole. You're worse than useless, and you and I both know there's a good chance you're going to turn on me the second I let my guard down. So, again, why shouldn't I just kill you now?"
Spike tried to answer, but was no more intelligible than before. With a frustrated huff, he reached for her, but stopped short when she pressed the sword against his chest. He rolled his eyes, then mimed walking with his fingers and jerked his head in a clear request to flee now, discuss later.
"Fine," she said, because he did have a point. Furry wouldn't be far behind. Damn it.
Buffy restarted her way down the street, moving as quickly as her throbbing foot allowed. "One wrong move, though…"
He gave her a toothy, bloodstained grin that was far from reassuring and limped along in step, slurping up his blood with revolting enthusiasm.
The occasional sideways glance revealed that the blood was doing its job: Spike's skin appeared less waxy, his gait less shaky. Buffy wished she had some way of expediting her own healing, but other than the Tylenol and bandages, her only choice was to wait for her body to do its job. Her belly growled, reminding her she didn't even have food, unlike certain undead bloodsuckers who'd sucked up the last of her cash. She pressed a hand to her stomach and trudged on, wondering how much of a lead they were maintaining on the demon.
Spike seemed to be wondering the same, turning to look over his shoulder every few seconds, and Buffy began to hurry her step despite the nearly unbearable pain. Spike broke into a shambling run the moment he'd drained his bag of blood, and Buffy followed along, neither reprimanding him nor stopping to pick up the bag when he tossed this one over his shoulder too. With the jaws of hell who knew how close behind, stopping the evil vampire from littering no longer seemed important. Better to save her breath for running. And planning.
Except she didn't have a plan, and she didn't think Spike had one either. Caught in the grip of shared panic, they ran without rhyme or reason, Buffy's breath coming in gasping hitches and Spike making wheezing noises to match. Corner after corner, Buffy didn't slow. She was positive she could feel Furry's hot breath on her back, but she was too busy fleeing to look behind her and find out just how close the demon was.
They began to hold each other upright as they ran. Buffy didn't have the energy to marvel over their seeming newfound trust that each would support the other. Instead, she gripped Spike's arm more tightly and wondered how much longer they could go on.
Up ahead, a garbage truck rumbled through the empty intersection, and her brain finally clicked into gear.
"Spike," she gasped. "Garbage truck. Go!"
He nodded grimly and put on a new burst of speed, pulling her with him. Twenty feet, ten, five… Buffy threw her duffel bag into the back and leapt to the ride-along step. Spike crowded on beside her and together they turned to face the way they'd come.
A shadowy blur resolved into the monstrous form of the demon bounding down the street after them, half a block back. Furry came to a halt right where they'd mounted their rescue vehicle and turned in a circle, snuffling. Body quivering, the demon raised its head and craned its neck left and right, scenting the air in each direction. Furry took a tentative step their way, and Buffy held her breath.
The demon took a second step, then hesitated. It scented the air again before dropping its head and snuffling from side to side, the world's largest and ugliest bloodhound.
The truck trundled on, putting half a block between them and Furry, then another. Buffy let go of her breath and, after realizing what she was doing, Spike's hand. She wiped her palm on her sweats, and, pitching her voice to nearly inaudible, said, "Do you think…" The demon raised its head in their direction, and Buffy tensed.
When the demon didn't immediately follow, she snuck a peek at Spike, who exhaled slowly and went perfectly still. Buffy had the sense that if she hadn't been looking directly at him, he would've disappeared from her sight. Even knowing he was right there, he seemed no more than a shadow as he edged his way from the ride-along step into the open mouth of the garbage truck. He split one of the big black bags down the middle, and Buffy gagged at the sudden overpowering, foul smell.
He raised a finger to his lips, then motioned for her to join him.
Buffy made a disgusted face, but did as he bid, doing her best to move as gracefully and silently as he had. The truck rounded a corner right as she lifted her good leg into the back, and she fell the rest of the way with an undignified plop, releasing another blast of noxious odors.
"Ugh," she grunted, despite herself. She'd shown pure restraint, really, considering how close she was to leaping back into the street and running for the nearest shower, barfing all the way.
She turned to peer down the street with Spike. Several long, tense moments later, Furry appeared in the intersection where the truck had turned, nose still to the ground, but didn't round the corner after them. The demon turned in a circle several times, then turned back the way it had come and didn't reappear.
Spike shot her a triumphant grin and twisted to rifle through her duffle. When he'd found the rest of his blood, he sat back and bit into a bag with more gusto than Buffy could stomach. Between the almost-indecent slurping noises he was making and the overpowering stench of the garbage, her own appetite had fled, and she turned away from the sight, wishing she could block out the sounds and smells as well. She slumped against the inner wall of the truck and let her eyes drift half-shut. There was no way she could sleep with a vampire less than a foot away, but she took what rest she could, letting the vibrations of the rumbling engine soothe her into an exhausted trance.
When it seemed like Spike had had his fill, if the sudden, loud belch and satisfied sigh were any indication, she sat back up. "I think we need to get out of town," she said. "I know you said there's no point in running because the demon will just follow, but we might be able to buy some time. At least a few days to heal up and figure out a plan of attack. A car's gotta travel faster than Furry can, don't you think?"
Spike sucked the remnants of his meal from his fangs, head cocked, as he considered. "Don't know, but worth a shot," he rasped, his voice gravelly and just barely intelligible, but intelligible all the same.
"You can talk! How does the rest of you feel?" Buffy said, waving a hand at his bandaged middle.
"Better than when someone dropped an organ on me. But not by much."
"Yeah, not sorry."
Spike gave her a backwards victory sign, and Buffy puzzled over that for a moment before deciding it was probably some weird vampire thing. "So we just need a car. Or bus tickets, or maybe we can hitch a ride…" She trailed off as Spike reached into his pocket and dangled a set of car keys in front of her face. "A car it is. Where?"
He shrugged. "A good walk from wherever we are." Buffy groaned at the thought, and he added, "Not to mention hoofing it will give the Grdnith demon more'n enough time to sniff us out."
"I have my bus pass… If we can scrounge up fare for you, maybe a bus will get us close?"
"Before sunrise? Rather not take my chances."
"So what do you – Spike?" She peered around the side of the truck to where Spike now balanced on the ride-along step.
"Be right back," he said, then leapt to the ground and dashed to the driver's door. He threw it open and disappeared into the cab before she could call after him to stop.
The truck lurched side to side, tumbling Buffy backwards into the garbage. A moment later it ground to a halt, and then Spike was back, reaching out a hand to her.
"We are not stealing a garbage truck," she said, ignoring his hand.
"Only borrowing. It'll get us where we need to go in minutes instead of hours." When she glared at him, he said, "I am taking it, Slayer. Up to you whether you ride along or walk. If you want the driver's nap to be temporary instead of permanent, I suggest the former."
"You are everything that I hate," Buffy said.
"Yeah. Innit great?"
Buffy settled for slapping away Spike's outstretched hand instead of his smug grin, though she really, really wanted to sock him hard enough to knock his head clean off. She shouldered her duffel and clambered out of the back on her own, and set to work brushing off the garbage on her clothes and in her hair, doing her best not think about the sticky gunk that she couldn't get off. She knew the smelly nastiness had saved her life, but… gross.
Almost as gross as the disgusting, evil vampire still grinning at her.
"You have a condom wrapper in your hair," she said, and limped to the cab with what dignity she could muster, nose in the air.
.