.
Since being called as Slayer, Buffy had had a lot of weird experiences, but she figured road tripping with a vampire whose claim to fame was killing at least two of her predecessors had to be somewhere near the top of the list.
She sat ramrod straight in effort not to be lulled to sleep by the steady thrumming of the engine and her complete exhaustion, and stared at the blacked-out and cardboarded-over windshield. It was probably better, she thought, that she couldn't see the road. Maybe she wasn't the best driver, but she was pretty sure Spike wasn't even trying to follow the rules of the road. And how did he see through that tiny strip of clear glass anyhow?
After a prolonged swerve and a series of honks from an unseen driver, Buffy looked around for a seatbelt, again, but still couldn't find one. "How about slowing down? I'd like to get where we're going in one piece."
"Thought you wanted to outrun the demon? 'Sides, faster we get to Sunnydale, faster your Watcher can tell us how to kill the bloody thing."
"No!" Buffy said sharply. "Not Sunnydale."
Spike turned to look at her, head cocked.
"Eyes on the road," she said when he didn't stop with the scrutinizing. He returned to considering her after only a brief glance through the windshield, so she said, "Giles… isn't there."
He might've gone back to England. It was possible it wasn't a lie. Not that she would ever tell Spike the truth of why she wasn't going back, either way.
You walk out of this house...
No crying in front of the vampire, she chided herself, biting the inside of her cheek.
"Hey, I kept up my end of the bargain. He was plenty alive when you showed," Spike said, hands up in protest.
Buffy didn't correct his assumption. "Just… anywhere else," she said, too worn to care where. "As far as we can go."
"Get some kip, then, so you can take over in a bit."
Kip…? But, also… "Um… I don't have a driver's license."
"An' you think I do? Just don't get pulled over. As I recall, you don't much care for how I usually deal with law-and-order types."
Buffy grimaced, and shook her head. Had that really been only a little over a week ago? It already seemed like another life.
She thought about telling Spike that she couldn't drive, but decided against it. Just because she'd failed the written didn't mean she couldn't drive, and besides, she couldn't be much worse at it than he was.
"Get some sleep, Slayer," he said when he noticed she was still sitting upright several minutes later.
"Yeah, I don't think so." Buffy held her stake a little higher for emphasis, and pressed her now-bandaged foot against the floor, the resultant flare of pain bolstering her resolve to stay awake.
Spike rolled his eyes. "Much as it pains me to admit it, I need your help. Even between the two of us, it's going to be near impossible to kill the Grdnith, and until then, we're in it together. 'Sides, you're going to have to sleep sometime. So will I." When she still didn't move, he swore under his breath. "I swear to you on Drusilla's unlife, I won't try to kill you until after we've offed the demon. Alright? Now, can you sleep, because you won't be much good to me if you die from exhaustion."
"I really don't trust you."
"An' I'd be offended if you did. But you're going to have to anyhow."
Buffy let out a deep sigh. Any option that involved her being able to sleep without worry – namely, tying Spike up in some way, assuming he'd even let her – meant him not continuing to drive them as far and as fast as he could away from Furry.
And speaking of Furry… "How does the demon find you again, once it's lost you? I mean, it looked like it was tracking your scent, but now that we're out of range and long gone… are you sure it'll find us?"
"Without a doubt. It's what Grdnith's are famous for. Far as assassins go, they make the Order of Taraka look like bloody child's play."
"Xander took care of one of your lame assassins, so I'd say child's play is about right."
"Yeah, they were an overrated lot, weren't they? Standards just aren't what they used to be. Probably why they came so cheap." At her glare, he flashed her an unrepentant grin. "Lucky for you, eh, Slayer?"
"Lucky for you," she muttered. Spike's grin grew wider, and she glared harder, to no effect. Kill later, she told herself. Survive for now. "Okay, but how does the gridlock demon find you after it's lost your scent?"
Spike shrugged. "Dunno. Magic of some sort, I expect. One of those things a Watcher would doubtless know." He sent her another sidelong look.
You walk out of this house...
Sunnydale was out of the question. "We're just going to have to figure it out on our own. What did you do to earn yourself an assassination anyhow? I mean, other than existing, because that's more than enough reason for anybody who's ever met you." Ignoring his dirty look, she said, "But, come on, you must've seriously pissed somebody off to merit a Terminator demon."
"Not really your business, is it?" Spike said, suddenly very much interested in the road.
"Considering you dragged me into this, I'd say it is."
He stared forward, visage sullen, muscle in his jaw ticking. Finally he let out a frustrated huff. "If I tell you, will you quit your yammering and go to sleep?"
"Sure," Buffy said. She didn't even cross her fingers – lying to vampires didn't actually count as lying, as far as she was concerned.
"Fine. Some pissant sewer-crawler was getting too forward with Dru, so I figured to take him down a peg or two. Teach him a lesson he wouldn't forget. How was I supposed to know the git was Archduke Sebassis' nephew?" he said, and snorted in disgust.
Based on Spike's stormy expression, Buffy was certain his ho-bag girlfriend hadn't minded the sewer-crawler's attention one bit. Not to mention, she figured she finally had a pretty good idea of where Dru had run off to. She didn't think Spike would appreciate her insights on Dru not really being worth the trouble, though, and besides, it wasn't like she cared if a vicious demon's love life was less than perfect. He deserved to suffer.
He deserved more than suffering; he deserved death.
But not today, Buffy told herself, yawning so widely she was afraid her face might split in two. Forcing herself to remain upright, one eye on the killer next to her, was draining the last of her reserves. She couldn't – wouldn't – sleep, but maybe she could at least lie down for a while. With a warning shake of her stake, she said, "You even think of coming near me, and it'll be the last thing you do," and climbed into the backseat. Which, huh. Was surprisingly clean. She stretched out on the bench, duffel as a pillow, and stared at the back of Spike's head.
Buffy let her eyes drift shut –
just for a few seconds
– and slept.
.
.
Hand-in-hand, they strolled down the street while stars twinkled overhead, barely visible beyond the glow of the streetlamps. Angel slowed and drew her close, encircling her with his strong arms, nuzzling into her hair with whispered endearments.
Buffy sighed, content. It was so nice to have this time to just be. No apocalypses, no looming danger, just… the two of them. Finally getting to be.
"I love you," Angel said.
Buffy looked up, into his warm eyes. "I love you too."
Something caught her attention, and she dropped her gaze to Angel's chest. A patch of red bloomed on the white of his shirt, right over his heart, spreading outwards. She took a step backwards. "Angel?"
Strips of flesh hung from his face; his arms and legs twisted at odd angles. "You did this." His voice broke, radiating pain and betrayal.
Buffy took another step backwards, shaking her head. "I – I didn't mean to."
Their surroundings faded to grey-black, leaving only the horrifying visage of Angel and nothing but empty, silent mists beyond.
"You should be here, with me. If you really love me. I saved you a seat, just like you asked." As Angel spoke, his head listed to one side, dangling precariously. "Don't forget to bring the duct tape."
"I already used it all," she said helplessly.
"What kind of Slayer are you?" The words didn't come from Angel, who started at her with cold, empty eyes, but from above and all around. The voice of God passing down judgment. "WHAT KIND OF SLAYER ARE YOU?"
Buffy shrank back further, huddling in on herself as the empty world trembled and shook under the reverberations. "I'm not," she whispered, eyes shut tight. "I'm not, I'm not, I'm -"
"Oi!"
She opened her eyes and stared without comprehension, sun-cast shadows melding with the grey mists in her mind's eye. Her makeshift bed shook from the force of a booted kick.
"Come on, Slayer, wakey wakey."
"Huh?" she said, unable to focus on the pale face swimming in her field of vision.
"Time for you to drive."
Buffy swallowed, or tried to around her thick tongue and dry mouth. "Spike?"
"No, it's the tooth fairy. Daylight's burning and I'm all tapped out. 'Less you want to cuddle up for a nap together in my big backseat, it's your turn to drive."
She looked around his shape in the open door, to see they were behind a large building, parked in deep shade.
"Car's full of petrol. Should last you a few hours before we have to refill. Now if you don't mind pointing that somewhere else?" he said, gesturing to the stake she'd unconsciously raised in self-defense.
Thoughts still muzzy, Buffy sat up slowly, forcing her rigid muscles to relax. It was no exaggeration to say that every single part of her hurt. And none of it compared to the ache in her chest. "Where are we?"
"Honestly don't even know anymore," Spike said wearily, and Buffy could see that he was swaying on his feet, hanging onto the doorframe of his big black monstrosity of a car for support. "Miles and miles north. Passed Sunnydale a few hours back, an' Sacramento maybe an hour ago."
"Oh. Okay." She did her best not to react to the mention of her hometown. "So the plan is to just keep going north?"
"'Less you have a better one."
"Not really."
"Great. Keys are in the ignition. Don't scratch the paint." With that, he dropped through the door and began to crawl in beside her.
Buffy scooted hastily backward, out from under Spike's long black coat that she hadn't noticed had been draped over her until now. Which – weird. A little too much like thoughtfulness for her comfort, not to mention disconcerting that she hadn't even been aware he'd done it. She kept scooting, right out the other door as Spike settled in and pulled the coat over himself, covering up any exposed skin.
She stood there staring at him, noting in the back of her mind that he must've changed into fresh clothes at some point since the ones he wore now were no longer tattered and torn. The duct tape had been missing from his neck too, she realized. How often and how long had they stopped without her waking? Just how hard had she slept?
And, just as wigsome, why hadn't Spike tried to kill her? She'd been easy prey. Sure, he'd talked a good game about needing her help, but…
The coat shifted, and one blue eye peered out at her. "There a problem?"
"Just – waking up," she said, and slammed the door shut.
Buffy stretched for a moment, trying to work out the kinks, then hobbled on her still-throbbing foot around the corner of the building, hoping for – there. A bathroom. It was just as scary as one would expect a highway gas station to be, but it was that or the bushes. After, she eyed the sink with some trepidation before shrugging and bending over to take a drink from the faucet. A lack of cash meant no bottled water, never mind food, and she was too parched and hungry to be picky. She'd just have to hope her Slayer constitution would prevent any supergerms from taking hold.
Outside once more, she stared at the door to the store with longing, while her stomach gave a particularly loud growl. Buffy sighed and turned back to the car, wondering how Spike had paid for the gas. If he'd paid?
He must've, otherwise somebody would've come after them by now. Unless –
Buffy paused. He hadn't eaten anybody, had he? She whirled around and charged into the store, scanning for signs of a struggle.
Two surly attendants stood behind the counter ringing up purchases while a handful of customers milled about, unpanicked. Everything looked to be in order.
She let out a sigh of relief. Of course, Spike had probably stolen a credit card or something, but it seemed trivial after the sharp terror that he'd killed somebody while she napped, unaware. She looked around the store again, reassuring herself that all was as it should be.
Her gaze lingered on the racks of food. Her stomach gurgled. Her mouth watered. So much food, just sitting there. Would anybody notice?
Buffy shook her head, and strode back out of the store before she could give in to temptation. Obviously Mom had been right about bad influences. Mom would be so thrilled to hear her admit it –
She drew up short.
You walk out of this house...
Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't -
Buffy forced her feet onward, back to the car, and leaned against it as Spike had earlier, her breathing shaky. She noticed a handful of cigarette butts scattered on the ground around the driver's door. A faint wisp of smoke curled up from one of them and Buffy ground it out, wondering just how long Spike had stood outside the car, smoking. And why? Letting her sleep longer?
It was a mystery best left unsolved. She didn't have the energy for trying to puzzle out the weirdness that was Spike. Outrunning Furry, staying alive – those were taking what little she had left.
She slid into the driver's seat and checked around for spare change, hoping to find enough to buy a candy bar at the very least, but no luck. Buffy couldn't say she was surprised; it wasn't like Spike's car would collect the usual post-McDonald's drive-through window change that other cars did. Her search of the glove box revealed a pair of what appeared to be tinted, old-fashioned airplane goggles, and she pondered them for a moment before realizing Spike probably used them for daytime driving.
God, he was so weird. And, she reminded herself, dangerous. Very, very dangerous. She couldn't forget that, not for a second, no matter how many truces he called for or how often he seemed almost human. Spike was clearly intelligent, unlike the majority of the bloodsuckers she'd staked, but he was still no more than a cold-blooded killer at heart. The fact that he was cunning and resourceful, and willing to do the unexpected in order to see his own goals through, only made him all the more dangerous.
She couldn't let her guard down. Not again.
Buffy readjusted the rearview mirror, aiming it at the backseat. She couldn't see Spike, but then, she hadn't expected to. One more reminder he wasn't human. She twisted in her seat to study him, but he remained immobile beneath his coat, and Buffy forced back the fear that he'd attack her while she was driving. As she'd just reminded herself, Spike was far too intelligent to do something that would at best leave him stranded on the open, sunny highway in a wrecked car, and at worst result in his own fiery death alongside hers.
This left her with only the fear of driving itself – not entirely unreasonable given her history so far and the huge, ancient car with blacked-out windows now given into her care. Buffy sat there a few minutes, familiarizing herself with the pedals and the controls and giving herself a mental pep talk. She'd taken the class. She'd watched her mom do it countless times. She knew the theory… in theory. And besides, she had Slayer reflexes. How hard could it be?
She mashed her foot to the break, and turned the keys.
.