A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I hope you're all back for round three! I can't wait for this fic to take off; I have some *kick-ass* ideas...
Disclaimer: Song lyrics used are (in order of appearance): "Evaporated" by Ben Folds Five, "How's It Gonna Be?" by Third Eye Blind, "Only Time" by Enya, "Love Lift Us Up" by Joe Cocker and Jennifer Rush, "Santeria" by Sublime, and "Yellow"by Coldplay.
"I'm sure back home they think I've lost my mind ... I'm only pretty sure that I can't take anymore ... Who can say where the road goes ... All we have is here and now ... When it's love you don't leave, my soul will have to wait ... Did you know for you I'd bleed myself dry? ..."
"Anya! Would you leave the radio alone for five bloody seconds?"
Anya shoots Spike a sulky look and leans back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. "*Sor*-ry," she says. "I was only trying to occupy myself. I should have stolen the magazines from our motel room so I'd have something to read."
"We'll stop off at the next exit. Then you can steal anything you want from wherever we go."
"You've been saying that for three hours now," she tells him. "Well, not the stealing part, but the part about stopping. How can I be sure we're *really* going to stop this time?"
He looks over at her, half amused by her flaring obdurance. "Because, *darling*, I'm about ready for a meal and a quick stretch myself."
She glares at him. "Oh, how considerate of you, *honey*. I see we're on male chauvenist time."
He glares back. "You got that right. *Pet*."
"Wonderful. Would you like me to lick your shoes clean for you? *Sweetie*."
"You can lick more than that. *Dear*."
"Jerk!" she exclaims.
"Whore," he retorts.
"Prick!" she shoots back.
"Tease," he tosses at her.
"Asshole!"
"Bitch!"
"Brit!"
"Fu-- *Brit*?"
Her scowl deepens, and for a moment he wonders if she's going to smack him. But instead of getting angry, her face breaks into an abashed smile, and the tension evaporates like water on a hotplate. "That was a stupid one."
He lets out a chuckle. "It certainly was."
She giggles too. "Yeah."
They catch each others' eye and start laughing again, and soon they're engulfed in hysteria, the kind of laughing that is that much too loud and goes on for much too long. Tears run down their faces as they clutch aching abs, releasing all their pent-up frustration and irritation.
Spike pulls the car over to the side of the road, blinded by laughter and not exactly in the mood to crash the DeSoto.
"Bloody hell," he gasps. "Haven't laughed like that in... ever."
Anya cracks her jaw. "Me neither! That was sorely needed."
He nods in agreement. "Things were getting a bit heavy, weren't they now?"
"Oh, yes. We could have ended up beating the hell out of each other."
"Yeah," he says, smirking. "That or *screwing* the hell out of each other."
Anya considers this a moment. "That could have been fun, too. I'll keep it in mind for next time we get all snappy and unpleasant."
"Please do," he says, taking the car out of park and getting back on the highway. "But don't even think about touching the radio."
Anya pulls her hand back and gives him a faux-sheepish look. "Yes, dear."
**************************
The diner they choose to eat in is pretty nice, considering it's one of those obnoxiously flourescent 24-hours-a-day joints. It's a decent-sized place for an off-ramp diner, with the standard bare-bush landscaping and wood siding. They park the car right under the buzzing red letters that haphazardly spell out "Big Mama's Place", walk into the nearly-empty restaurant, and take a seat in a booth near the back.
"Well. At least this is higher quality than the Incest Inn," Anya comments, looking around.
"Let's not jump to conclusions until we've seen the food, luv." Spike inhales deeply. "Don't smell any rodents of any type, though. Good sign."
Anya wrinkles her nose. "Ew. Let's leave rodents out of the pre-meal conversation, please."
Spike shrugs. "Fine by me. Although they *are* quite filling when you want a light snack."
"That's disgusting."
He grins and continues. "They squirm a bit at first, but once you break the spine it's like eating a nice, warm jelly donut. Mice are a tad crunchy, like popcorn, and rats are more stringy, while gerbils tend to be on the chewy side. Always preferred a fat, juicy hamster, myself..."
Anya reaches up to her neck and strokes her pendant. "Keep talking, Spike, and you'll *be* one."
He grins at her. "You wouldn't."
Her eyebrows go up. "Oh wouldn't I?"
"No, you wouldn't. You *couldn't*."
"Oh couldn't I?"
He frowns mockingly. "There an echo in here?"
"Shut up," she says. "You don't believe me, try me. Wish for something."
He gives her a skeptical look. "Like what?"
"Anything. Wish for one of your friggen hamsters for all I care. Just wish for something."
He thinks a moment. "All right, then," he says. "I wish a waiter would appear with a dozen hot wings and a bottle of beer. And whatever *you* wanted to eat."
Anya's pendant begins to emmit a soft chartreuse glow. Her veins enlarge and her skin tints a light shade of lavender as her eyes grow round. Spike can feel the power radiating off her body in intense waves; it surpasses his by unmeasurable amounts.
"Done," she annunciates, voice deep and husky.
Anya slips back into human form and glances down as a young man in a black international male shirt and waist-apron appears next to their table with a basket of wings, a bottle of Coors, and a grilled-cheese sandwich.
"Here you go," he says, setting the food down on the table. "Enjoy your meal."
"Thank you," Anya replies. "We will."
Spike grins at her as the waiter walks away. "Well done, luv. That's a very useful trick."
She shrugs. "Takes the unbearable waiting right out of the late-night dining experience. And also teaches you a valuble lesson."
"What's that?" he asks through a mouthful of chicken.
"Don't question my power."
He laughs. "Lesson learned. Now you eat up, *you* were the one bitching about wanting to stop."
She rolls her eyes and picks up her sandwich, taking a small bite.
"Good?" he inquires.
"Good," she tells him.
"Good."
But she's lying. The food is like cardboard in her mouth, bland and unpleasant. Her insides feel uneasy and upset, like when you've broken rules and you're sure everyone else realizes it. She knows her powers aren't supposed to be used for trivial things like this; she's a vengeance demon, not a genie. 'Don't worry,' she tells herself. 'Things will pick up again once we've settled somewhere and I can find some nice scorned women to make proper wishes. Then no more worrying over silly things like this. Just forget all about it.'
It's hard to forget, though, what the punishments for idle vengeance demons look like.
***************************
Spike knows something is bothering Anya. She went all quiet after the food arrived at their table and she hasn't really gotten back to anywhere near full throttle yet. He thought at first that she was just tired, but it's been nearly twenty minutes since they left the restaurant and he has yet to see her yawn or show any signs of fatigue.
He glances over at her, bathed in the pulsing orange from the rapidly passing streetlights. She's got her legs up on the dashboard and her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes are closed, but he can tell she's not asleep; her heart is beating too quickly.
"Ahn," he says. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she replies, not moving. "I'm just tired."
"Don't lie to me," he tells her.
"I'm not."
"Yes you are. Your body isn't trying to relax, I can hear it going a million bloody miles an hour. What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. My mind is tired."
"What are you thinking about?"
She shrugs, still not opening her eyes. "It doesn't matter. I don't feel like talking."
"Why not? You always feel like talking."
"I don't right now. Enjoy the silence."
He furrows his brow concernedly. "Hey. Look at me."
She obeys, turns her head and opens her eyes. "What?"
"Tell me what's wrong."
His expression is so sincere she wants to cry. Instead, she shakes her head. "It really is nothing. Just a late-night low. I'll get over it soon enough."
He sighs. "All right. But don't go all depressed on me, okay?"
"Don't worry." She kisses him on the lips for reassurance. "I won't."
'As long as I don't reach the maximum number of sans-vengeance days,' she adds mentally. 'But then again, I don't believe there would be enough of me left to be depressed.'
*******************
TBC...
Disclaimer: Song lyrics used are (in order of appearance): "Evaporated" by Ben Folds Five, "How's It Gonna Be?" by Third Eye Blind, "Only Time" by Enya, "Love Lift Us Up" by Joe Cocker and Jennifer Rush, "Santeria" by Sublime, and "Yellow"by Coldplay.
"I'm sure back home they think I've lost my mind ... I'm only pretty sure that I can't take anymore ... Who can say where the road goes ... All we have is here and now ... When it's love you don't leave, my soul will have to wait ... Did you know for you I'd bleed myself dry? ..."
"Anya! Would you leave the radio alone for five bloody seconds?"
Anya shoots Spike a sulky look and leans back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. "*Sor*-ry," she says. "I was only trying to occupy myself. I should have stolen the magazines from our motel room so I'd have something to read."
"We'll stop off at the next exit. Then you can steal anything you want from wherever we go."
"You've been saying that for three hours now," she tells him. "Well, not the stealing part, but the part about stopping. How can I be sure we're *really* going to stop this time?"
He looks over at her, half amused by her flaring obdurance. "Because, *darling*, I'm about ready for a meal and a quick stretch myself."
She glares at him. "Oh, how considerate of you, *honey*. I see we're on male chauvenist time."
He glares back. "You got that right. *Pet*."
"Wonderful. Would you like me to lick your shoes clean for you? *Sweetie*."
"You can lick more than that. *Dear*."
"Jerk!" she exclaims.
"Whore," he retorts.
"Prick!" she shoots back.
"Tease," he tosses at her.
"Asshole!"
"Bitch!"
"Brit!"
"Fu-- *Brit*?"
Her scowl deepens, and for a moment he wonders if she's going to smack him. But instead of getting angry, her face breaks into an abashed smile, and the tension evaporates like water on a hotplate. "That was a stupid one."
He lets out a chuckle. "It certainly was."
She giggles too. "Yeah."
They catch each others' eye and start laughing again, and soon they're engulfed in hysteria, the kind of laughing that is that much too loud and goes on for much too long. Tears run down their faces as they clutch aching abs, releasing all their pent-up frustration and irritation.
Spike pulls the car over to the side of the road, blinded by laughter and not exactly in the mood to crash the DeSoto.
"Bloody hell," he gasps. "Haven't laughed like that in... ever."
Anya cracks her jaw. "Me neither! That was sorely needed."
He nods in agreement. "Things were getting a bit heavy, weren't they now?"
"Oh, yes. We could have ended up beating the hell out of each other."
"Yeah," he says, smirking. "That or *screwing* the hell out of each other."
Anya considers this a moment. "That could have been fun, too. I'll keep it in mind for next time we get all snappy and unpleasant."
"Please do," he says, taking the car out of park and getting back on the highway. "But don't even think about touching the radio."
Anya pulls her hand back and gives him a faux-sheepish look. "Yes, dear."
**************************
The diner they choose to eat in is pretty nice, considering it's one of those obnoxiously flourescent 24-hours-a-day joints. It's a decent-sized place for an off-ramp diner, with the standard bare-bush landscaping and wood siding. They park the car right under the buzzing red letters that haphazardly spell out "Big Mama's Place", walk into the nearly-empty restaurant, and take a seat in a booth near the back.
"Well. At least this is higher quality than the Incest Inn," Anya comments, looking around.
"Let's not jump to conclusions until we've seen the food, luv." Spike inhales deeply. "Don't smell any rodents of any type, though. Good sign."
Anya wrinkles her nose. "Ew. Let's leave rodents out of the pre-meal conversation, please."
Spike shrugs. "Fine by me. Although they *are* quite filling when you want a light snack."
"That's disgusting."
He grins and continues. "They squirm a bit at first, but once you break the spine it's like eating a nice, warm jelly donut. Mice are a tad crunchy, like popcorn, and rats are more stringy, while gerbils tend to be on the chewy side. Always preferred a fat, juicy hamster, myself..."
Anya reaches up to her neck and strokes her pendant. "Keep talking, Spike, and you'll *be* one."
He grins at her. "You wouldn't."
Her eyebrows go up. "Oh wouldn't I?"
"No, you wouldn't. You *couldn't*."
"Oh couldn't I?"
He frowns mockingly. "There an echo in here?"
"Shut up," she says. "You don't believe me, try me. Wish for something."
He gives her a skeptical look. "Like what?"
"Anything. Wish for one of your friggen hamsters for all I care. Just wish for something."
He thinks a moment. "All right, then," he says. "I wish a waiter would appear with a dozen hot wings and a bottle of beer. And whatever *you* wanted to eat."
Anya's pendant begins to emmit a soft chartreuse glow. Her veins enlarge and her skin tints a light shade of lavender as her eyes grow round. Spike can feel the power radiating off her body in intense waves; it surpasses his by unmeasurable amounts.
"Done," she annunciates, voice deep and husky.
Anya slips back into human form and glances down as a young man in a black international male shirt and waist-apron appears next to their table with a basket of wings, a bottle of Coors, and a grilled-cheese sandwich.
"Here you go," he says, setting the food down on the table. "Enjoy your meal."
"Thank you," Anya replies. "We will."
Spike grins at her as the waiter walks away. "Well done, luv. That's a very useful trick."
She shrugs. "Takes the unbearable waiting right out of the late-night dining experience. And also teaches you a valuble lesson."
"What's that?" he asks through a mouthful of chicken.
"Don't question my power."
He laughs. "Lesson learned. Now you eat up, *you* were the one bitching about wanting to stop."
She rolls her eyes and picks up her sandwich, taking a small bite.
"Good?" he inquires.
"Good," she tells him.
"Good."
But she's lying. The food is like cardboard in her mouth, bland and unpleasant. Her insides feel uneasy and upset, like when you've broken rules and you're sure everyone else realizes it. She knows her powers aren't supposed to be used for trivial things like this; she's a vengeance demon, not a genie. 'Don't worry,' she tells herself. 'Things will pick up again once we've settled somewhere and I can find some nice scorned women to make proper wishes. Then no more worrying over silly things like this. Just forget all about it.'
It's hard to forget, though, what the punishments for idle vengeance demons look like.
***************************
Spike knows something is bothering Anya. She went all quiet after the food arrived at their table and she hasn't really gotten back to anywhere near full throttle yet. He thought at first that she was just tired, but it's been nearly twenty minutes since they left the restaurant and he has yet to see her yawn or show any signs of fatigue.
He glances over at her, bathed in the pulsing orange from the rapidly passing streetlights. She's got her legs up on the dashboard and her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes are closed, but he can tell she's not asleep; her heart is beating too quickly.
"Ahn," he says. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she replies, not moving. "I'm just tired."
"Don't lie to me," he tells her.
"I'm not."
"Yes you are. Your body isn't trying to relax, I can hear it going a million bloody miles an hour. What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. My mind is tired."
"What are you thinking about?"
She shrugs, still not opening her eyes. "It doesn't matter. I don't feel like talking."
"Why not? You always feel like talking."
"I don't right now. Enjoy the silence."
He furrows his brow concernedly. "Hey. Look at me."
She obeys, turns her head and opens her eyes. "What?"
"Tell me what's wrong."
His expression is so sincere she wants to cry. Instead, she shakes her head. "It really is nothing. Just a late-night low. I'll get over it soon enough."
He sighs. "All right. But don't go all depressed on me, okay?"
"Don't worry." She kisses him on the lips for reassurance. "I won't."
'As long as I don't reach the maximum number of sans-vengeance days,' she adds mentally. 'But then again, I don't believe there would be enough of me left to be depressed.'
*******************
TBC...