Chapter 3: Crash Course
He felt as though he was trapped in his hotel room. Questions kept on pounding his head from all angles. Why was his dream so distinct? So real? And why had he been able to smell her? His senses weren=t that enhanced for him to be able to use them in his dreams. And he could have sworn that she had a slight salt water scent that had clung to his hand after he touched her. She hadn=t been wet, so swimming was out of the question, and that chateau was not near the river, so what the hell? Checking the window, he grabbed his jacket, keys, cigs, and wallet, and headed out. Deciding that he needed to see her, to breathe her in, he walked to the door. He wouldn=t touch her, or let her know he was there with her, he would just look and leave. He got into his car, ready to leave this town, to go somewhere...somewhere near the sea.
Rubbing her eyes, she padded across the plush, white carpet to her kitchen. Mmm, coffee. Coffee good.= Not only was she drowsy from not being able to sleep after her dream, but she needed something that would knock her into sensibility. Nothing seemed different in the world around her. She could still hear her next door neighbor=s cat mewing outside on the balcony; she could hear her TV reporting about the latest killings; and boats in the harbor were coming and going as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But something had changed since last night. She could feel an emotional tug, like she had gained something, she just didn=t know what. Hearing the coffee pot sputter the last of the coffee into the container, she quickly made herself a cup and got ready for work.
Wearing a skirt and blouse, she sat behind her desk, looking down at a new client=s folder that had been dropped off by her secretary earlier. She had to work overtime today since they had caught a computer virus and all of their electronic files had been destroyed. She hadn=t planned on working until 6, but they needed her help in refiling everything. The folder she was looking at currently contained a client who=s reason for needing help was that there were bounty hunters out for him. He, the client, was a Kugharf demon. The species was renowned for its ability to do magic. A deal with someone had gone sour and Jurod, the demon in question, had fled, scared of what would happen. So, now, Jurod needed protection and he had asked for it from Slayers Inc. Buffy was going to give it to Xander=s department for financial and past investigations. She sent a memo out with the folder saying to investigate who the other person in the deal was and Jurod=s history. They needed to know everything about the demon, good and bad. Standing up, she put the folder outside on her secretary=s desk, getting ready to finish her day. Slinging her purse onto her shoulder, she walked out of the building. She slid into her Honda, and pulled out onto the freeway. Turning up the volume on her radio, she tuned out everything but the breeze blowing through the windows and the beat of the music pouring through the speakers. She closed her eyes for just a second, breathing in the moment. The next thing she knew, the front end of her Honda Civic was crushed under the back end of a black Mustang. Holy shit.=
He had been driving for hours, ever since he left the hotel early in the morning. Hauling his ass from one end of a state to another, he finally ended up in Oregon. He figured he would go and cruise the west coast first. Stopping at every major port on the way, he wasn=t able to force himself to discontinue his journey. He wasn=t able to feel her in any of his stops. So he continued, hoping that he didn=t need to go to the east coast to find her. Driving down the interstate, he was thrown into a harsh whiplash. What the bloody hell was that?= Pulling over to the side of the road, he put the car in park and breathed deeply. Don=t rip their head off mate. This is probably just someone who was talking on their bloody cell phone.= He wouldn=t morph or hit, he would just yell and scream and scare the shit out of them. I hadn=t even been able to find out all the bloody kinks in the car yet.= Getting out of the car, he turned to walk over to the little blue Honda that had crumpled underneath his stang. At least the body of the car wasn=t hurt. They really had out done this car.= Turning his head to the culprit in the other automobile, he decided he would only yell his head off, not scare them. He walked closer to the driver=s side window. And that=s when he died one more time. The culprit wasn=t a culprit. It was Buffy, and she was passed out. He didn=t know what to do. He couldn=t think, let alone call someone. Sinking to his knees beside the car he prayed that she wasn=t dead. His throat was burning him from the inside out. Tears started forming in eyes, unable to keep them out, they rolled down his cheeks. Wiping them away, he got himself together, he had to take care of Buffy. Pushing himself up, he opened her car door. Her unconscious form crumpled to the side, held up only by her seatbelt. He quickly checked her pulse, a smile breaking through his tears, happy to have found one. Unbuckling the belt, he cradled her in his arms, hefting her body out of the car. Walking over to the passenger side of the Mustang, he opened it and gently laid her down, not wanting to jostle anything that could have been broken. After cleaning out her car of anything that might be of value and putting in the trunk of his, he left a note for the police. Hopefully they wouldn=t ask questions and just tow it. The last thing he needed was for the police to get caught up in his life, especially after working with Angel at Wolfrom. He had raided her wallet, trying to find out where she lived. Taking a map out of the backseat, he followed the interstate over to the turn-off that he needed. Going against his pride, he had to still ask for directions. Now, she was stretched out on her bed, fully clothed in her office attire. Frantically running around the spacious apartment, he was able to locate a glass of water, aspirin, and a washcloth. He put the wet cloth on her forehead and walked over to the window. Portland was the last place that he would have thought Buffy would be. It was just so different from Sunnydale. Where Sunnydale was dark and ominous, Portland was calm and beautiful. But I guess that=s why you like it here, huh Goldie?= He threw off his jacket and sat in the chair across from her bed. The fact that Buffy had stumbled into his lap right after he had a very powerful dream of her was too much of a coincidence. The Fates had to have his number or something for they just didn=t want him to be left alone. Guess I=ll have to take it then, I get the bloody hint.= God but was she gorgeous. Even after years of not seeing her, not being able to be with her, she still was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Her golden hair had been kept long, and had spilled over her shoulders and around her head as if it was creating a halo. Her skin was still flawless and had paled a little because she was no longer in sunny California. Yet nothing could take away her flawless beauty. She had filled out in figure and all he could do was stare in wonder at how well it suited her. She was just as pretty skinny as she was now, but her chest, thighs and buttocks had rounded so well that it was all that he could do to not touch her. Sighing, he realized that she still could melt him with one look and mold him with one smile. Hell, one kiss made him hers in everything. She was his world even after a couple of years. After an hour of staring at her, wondering what would happen once she did get up, he went into the living room. Slouching down on Buffy=s cream butter-leather sofa, he turned of the TV. Quickly he flipped through channels, not finding anything interesting. Leaving it on MTV2, he put his arm over his eyes and fell asleep.
He felt as though he was trapped in his hotel room. Questions kept on pounding his head from all angles. Why was his dream so distinct? So real? And why had he been able to smell her? His senses weren=t that enhanced for him to be able to use them in his dreams. And he could have sworn that she had a slight salt water scent that had clung to his hand after he touched her. She hadn=t been wet, so swimming was out of the question, and that chateau was not near the river, so what the hell? Checking the window, he grabbed his jacket, keys, cigs, and wallet, and headed out. Deciding that he needed to see her, to breathe her in, he walked to the door. He wouldn=t touch her, or let her know he was there with her, he would just look and leave. He got into his car, ready to leave this town, to go somewhere...somewhere near the sea.
Rubbing her eyes, she padded across the plush, white carpet to her kitchen. Mmm, coffee. Coffee good.= Not only was she drowsy from not being able to sleep after her dream, but she needed something that would knock her into sensibility. Nothing seemed different in the world around her. She could still hear her next door neighbor=s cat mewing outside on the balcony; she could hear her TV reporting about the latest killings; and boats in the harbor were coming and going as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But something had changed since last night. She could feel an emotional tug, like she had gained something, she just didn=t know what. Hearing the coffee pot sputter the last of the coffee into the container, she quickly made herself a cup and got ready for work.
Wearing a skirt and blouse, she sat behind her desk, looking down at a new client=s folder that had been dropped off by her secretary earlier. She had to work overtime today since they had caught a computer virus and all of their electronic files had been destroyed. She hadn=t planned on working until 6, but they needed her help in refiling everything. The folder she was looking at currently contained a client who=s reason for needing help was that there were bounty hunters out for him. He, the client, was a Kugharf demon. The species was renowned for its ability to do magic. A deal with someone had gone sour and Jurod, the demon in question, had fled, scared of what would happen. So, now, Jurod needed protection and he had asked for it from Slayers Inc. Buffy was going to give it to Xander=s department for financial and past investigations. She sent a memo out with the folder saying to investigate who the other person in the deal was and Jurod=s history. They needed to know everything about the demon, good and bad. Standing up, she put the folder outside on her secretary=s desk, getting ready to finish her day. Slinging her purse onto her shoulder, she walked out of the building. She slid into her Honda, and pulled out onto the freeway. Turning up the volume on her radio, she tuned out everything but the breeze blowing through the windows and the beat of the music pouring through the speakers. She closed her eyes for just a second, breathing in the moment. The next thing she knew, the front end of her Honda Civic was crushed under the back end of a black Mustang. Holy shit.=
He had been driving for hours, ever since he left the hotel early in the morning. Hauling his ass from one end of a state to another, he finally ended up in Oregon. He figured he would go and cruise the west coast first. Stopping at every major port on the way, he wasn=t able to force himself to discontinue his journey. He wasn=t able to feel her in any of his stops. So he continued, hoping that he didn=t need to go to the east coast to find her. Driving down the interstate, he was thrown into a harsh whiplash. What the bloody hell was that?= Pulling over to the side of the road, he put the car in park and breathed deeply. Don=t rip their head off mate. This is probably just someone who was talking on their bloody cell phone.= He wouldn=t morph or hit, he would just yell and scream and scare the shit out of them. I hadn=t even been able to find out all the bloody kinks in the car yet.= Getting out of the car, he turned to walk over to the little blue Honda that had crumpled underneath his stang. At least the body of the car wasn=t hurt. They really had out done this car.= Turning his head to the culprit in the other automobile, he decided he would only yell his head off, not scare them. He walked closer to the driver=s side window. And that=s when he died one more time. The culprit wasn=t a culprit. It was Buffy, and she was passed out. He didn=t know what to do. He couldn=t think, let alone call someone. Sinking to his knees beside the car he prayed that she wasn=t dead. His throat was burning him from the inside out. Tears started forming in eyes, unable to keep them out, they rolled down his cheeks. Wiping them away, he got himself together, he had to take care of Buffy. Pushing himself up, he opened her car door. Her unconscious form crumpled to the side, held up only by her seatbelt. He quickly checked her pulse, a smile breaking through his tears, happy to have found one. Unbuckling the belt, he cradled her in his arms, hefting her body out of the car. Walking over to the passenger side of the Mustang, he opened it and gently laid her down, not wanting to jostle anything that could have been broken. After cleaning out her car of anything that might be of value and putting in the trunk of his, he left a note for the police. Hopefully they wouldn=t ask questions and just tow it. The last thing he needed was for the police to get caught up in his life, especially after working with Angel at Wolfrom. He had raided her wallet, trying to find out where she lived. Taking a map out of the backseat, he followed the interstate over to the turn-off that he needed. Going against his pride, he had to still ask for directions. Now, she was stretched out on her bed, fully clothed in her office attire. Frantically running around the spacious apartment, he was able to locate a glass of water, aspirin, and a washcloth. He put the wet cloth on her forehead and walked over to the window. Portland was the last place that he would have thought Buffy would be. It was just so different from Sunnydale. Where Sunnydale was dark and ominous, Portland was calm and beautiful. But I guess that=s why you like it here, huh Goldie?= He threw off his jacket and sat in the chair across from her bed. The fact that Buffy had stumbled into his lap right after he had a very powerful dream of her was too much of a coincidence. The Fates had to have his number or something for they just didn=t want him to be left alone. Guess I=ll have to take it then, I get the bloody hint.= God but was she gorgeous. Even after years of not seeing her, not being able to be with her, she still was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Her golden hair had been kept long, and had spilled over her shoulders and around her head as if it was creating a halo. Her skin was still flawless and had paled a little because she was no longer in sunny California. Yet nothing could take away her flawless beauty. She had filled out in figure and all he could do was stare in wonder at how well it suited her. She was just as pretty skinny as she was now, but her chest, thighs and buttocks had rounded so well that it was all that he could do to not touch her. Sighing, he realized that she still could melt him with one look and mold him with one smile. Hell, one kiss made him hers in everything. She was his world even after a couple of years. After an hour of staring at her, wondering what would happen once she did get up, he went into the living room. Slouching down on Buffy=s cream butter-leather sofa, he turned of the TV. Quickly he flipped through channels, not finding anything interesting. Leaving it on MTV2, he put his arm over his eyes and fell asleep.