Chapter 2

            As the sun slowly crossed the sky, bringing on the afternoon, Buffy elbowed her passenger lightly in the ribs. Pulling over to the shoulder of the freeway, she unfastened her seatbelt, grinned at him impishly, and announced, "Time!"

            Rubbing his face, Spike undid his seatbelt and got out of the car. He came around to the driver's side and swapped places with Buffy. As soon as the passenger door shut and her seatbelt was fastened, the car took off at breakneck speed, leaving behind tracks of rubber and clouds of dust in its wake. Buffy turned a wide-eyed gaze at the new driver, who had a self-satisfied grin on his face.

            "My god. And they accused me of flunking drivers' ed!"

            He said nothing. Simply winked at her and flipped the car radio on to the 80's rock station. For the next half hour he sang along to rock tunes that she never knew existed before. He spared her a brief glance. "Do you like the Ramones?"

            He got a blank stare in return. "The who now?"

            Rolling his eyes, he lounged back in the driver's seat and bobbed his head to the music. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, for the sake of mutual peace and prevention of bloodshed."

            A corner of her mouth quirked upward, but she said nothing.

            The afternoon tolled on in silence, brief conversations cropping up here and there, but not really amounting to any deep thoughts between the two. As it grew towards late afternoon, they branched onto a smaller highway, towards a motel and diner complex.

            "He doesn't want her to stay," Spike was patiently explaining to Buffy. "That's why he put the bint on the plane."

            "I don't think she wanted to stay," Buffy insisted.

            "Of course she wanted to stay," Spike protested, giving her an 'are you serious?' look. "Wouldn't you rather be with Humphry Bogart than that other ponce?"

            Buffy ignored the look, staring out the passenger window while twirling a lock of hair around her finger idly. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life in Casablanca married to a man that runs a bar. That probably sounds very snobbish and Cordelia Chase to you, but I don't."

            "You'd rather have a passionless life…"

            "As first lady of Chzechoslovakia," Buffy reminded him, interrupting.

            "…Than married to a man that you've had the greatest sex of your life with, just because he runs a bar and that's all he does." Spike shook his head in disbelief as he pulled the car in front of the diner, which looked like it was pulled straight out of the 1950's.

            Buffy peered at the diner briefly before she began to undo her seatbelt. "Yes," she retorted, keeping the debate alive. "And so would any woman in her right mind. Women are very practical, and so is Ingrid Bergman, which is why she got on the damn plane at the end of the movie!"

            Spike rolled his eyes as he unfastened his seatbelt and got out of the car. He pulled off the graduation robe he'd been wearing and threw it in the back of the car, reaching in and retrieving his leather duster. Shrugging into the long leather coat, he smiled patronizingly at her. "Oh, I understand." He turned and walked towards the diner.

            Her brow creased and she followed him, shutting her car door behind her. "What?"

            Innocently shaking his head, he opened the door and smiled. "Nothing."

            Placing one hand on her hip, she yanked the door out of his grasp and stared at him. "What?"

            He said nothing in reply, just laughed and shook his head, entering the diner while she held the door. Frustrated, she followed him, determined to hear what he "understood."

            The atmosphere of the place was thick with Elvis and Marilyn Monroe pictures, peppered with album covers from Fabian and Doris Day. A few Beatles portraits hung on the wall behind the hostess in front of them. Smiling, the girl flipped her brown ponytail and grabbed two menus, waiting for them to approach.

            As they walked up to the podium where the girl stood, Spike half-turned to her. "Obviously, pet, you haven't had great sex yet." Turning to the hostess, he flashed his most charming grin. "Table for two, please, luv."

            Giggling and blushing, the hostess ducked her head and smiled, turning to the area where the booths were. "Right this way."

            Buffy stood there for a moment, fish-mouthed, then followed Spike angrily. "Yes I have!"

            "No, you haven't," he smiled back, sitting down at the table that the hostess gestured to.

            Buffy stared at him. "It just so happens, Mister Bottle-Blonde, that I have had plenty of great sex!"

            Patrons stopped eating momentarily to stare at her in disbelief while the hostess giggled behind a menu that she was holding. With her outburst, Buffy had single-handedly stopped all conversation in the place. Flushing bright red, and doing her best to ignore Spike's snickering, she took her seat opposite him, taking a menu from the hostess.

            Spike did the same, and faced her, not about to let the subject drop. "Yeah? With whom?"
            "What?"

            "…Have you had this great sex?"

            She blushed three shades darker. "I'm so not going to tell you that!"

            "Fine, don't tell me." He shrugged nonchalantly and engrossed himself in his menu. Minutes passed as they pretended to read the items and silence took over the table.

            Finally, she sighed. "Liam Connor."

            "Liam?" Spike laughed. "Liam 'Angel' Connor?" He chuckled. "No, pet, I'm sorry, but you did not have great sex with Angel."

            "I did too." She crossed her arms across her chest in defiance, glaring at him.

            "No," he snickered. "An 'Angel' can bring you flowers. An 'Angel' can possibly even write you a soddin' love poem. But between the sheets is not Angel's strong suit." Mimicking a high-pitched, female tone, he continued, "I love you, Angel. Do it to me, Angel. Oh, I just can't get enough of you, Angel!" He shook his head at the flustered blonde across from him. "It just doesn't work."

            A waitress approached their table. "What can I get for you?"

            He handed her his menu and flashed his charming grin again. "I'll have the Number Three."

            "What kind of bread do you want that on?" the waitress smiled back.

            With his eyes wide, he shrugged. "Surprise me."

            Buffy looked up at the waitress and handed back her menu. "You know, I think I'll have the apple pie, a la mode."

            Writing down her order, the waitress repeated, "Apple, a la mode."

            "But I'd like the pie heated," Buffy continued, "and I don't want the ice cream on top, I want it on the side. And I'd like strawberry instead of vanilla, if you have it. If not, then no ice cream, just whipped cream. But only if it's real. If it's out of a can, then nothing."

            The waitress raised an eyebrow at her. "Not even the pie?"

            Buffy smiled. "No, just the pie. Just not heated."

            Shaking her head, the waitress walked back to the kitchen, leaving Spike staring at Buffy in utter disbelief.

            Catching him staring at her, Buffy spread her hands in surrender. "Okay, I give up. Now what?"

            Spike shook his head and sighed. "Nothing. So, why'd you break up with Angel?" He lounged back in the booth and folded his hands in his lap.

            "How do you know we broke up?" Buffy played absently with a lock of her hair.

            "Because," he smiled. "If you hadn't broken up with him, you wouldn't be here with me. You'd still be with Angel the Wonder Schlong."

            "First of all," Buffy replied, leaning forward, "I'm not with you." She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. "Second of all, it's none of your damn business why we broke up."

            Spike held his hands up in front of him, palms outward. "You're right, luv. You're absolutely right. I don't want to know."

            The was a moment of silence, then Buffy said softly, "If you must know, it's because he was very jealous and I had these Days of the Week underwear."

            Spike stared at her with wide eyes before making a buzzer sound behind his hand. "Bzzz! Judges are ruling on this: Days of the Week underpants?!?"

            Rolling her eyes, Buffy sighed. "Yes, they make these pairs of underwear with the days of the week on them, and I thought they were kinda funny and cute and all. Then one day, he says to me, 'Where's Sunday? You never wear Sunday.' And he got all suspicious. Where had I left Sunday? And I told him, but he never believed me…"

            Laughing, Spike raised an eyebrow. "What?"

            She shrugged her shoulders and stared him straight in the eyes. "They don't make Sunday."

            "Why not?"

            "Because of God or something."

            "And that's what broke you two lovebirds up?"

            "Yes."

            Waiting a beat, he toyed with the napkin container. "How many men have you slept with, pet?"

            "I'm not going to tell you that!" she gasped.

            "Okay then, don't tell me," he shrugged.

            After a pause, she whispered, "Two."

            He snickered. "You've been with two people, and based on that, you know whether or not you've had great sex?"

            She flipped her hair back over one shoulder. "Well, how many have you slept with?"

            He shrugged. "I don't know."

            "You don't know?"

            "That's right, I don't know." He smiled wickedly, winking at her.
            "Well, is it between one and three, four and ten, or ten and one hundred?" she insisted.

            He shrugged again. "Ten and a hundred."

            Her eyes widened. "Is it closer to ten or closer to one hundred?"

            As the waitress approached, he paused, then muttered, "Ten." The waitress set their food down and they ate in silence, stealing glances at one another occasionally.

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wicked cackle TBC! Bwah ha ha… Read and review, si vous plait!