Distribution: Also posted at dancing-lessons.org. Feel free to archive, but please let me know where it's going.

Getaway

by cousinjean

***

The hiss of hydraulics as the doors swished shut and the bus geared up to leave sounded Spike's cue to turn away. He couldn't take watching it go. Watching it carry her out of his life.

He squeezed his eyes shut, holding back tears, holding at bay the image of her leaving, and leaned on the hood of his car. "Buffy," he whispered. Then, "Fuck!" He wiped at his eyes with the palm of his hand, balled it into a fist and slammed it against the hood. "Stupid ... sodding ... buggering ... stubborn ... bloody ..." With each word he pounded the car, again and again, until his hand bled. He reared back to kick it instead. "Bitch!" he finished, leaving a boot-shaped dent in the fender. He stumbled back, but regrouped to kick it again. Then he froze, leg in mid-air. He thought he could feel --

"You wanna say that to my face?"

Spike lost his balance as he spun to face her and fell against the car. He recovered and pulled himself together -- half sitting, half leaning against the hood, staring at her like she was a mirage.

Her eyes dropped to his damaged hand. "God, Spike." She took it and examined it. "What the hell did you do that for?"

He stood up and jerked his hand away. "Missed your bus," he said, shoving both hands in his pockets with a wince.

Buffy looked back to where the bus had been, and shrugged. She turned back to him. "Guess you'll have to take me home."

It took everything Spike had not to run to the passenger side and open the door for her, not to sigh with relief and smile and be grateful that she was still willing to have him in her life ... not to hope that this time, things really had changed between them. He wanted to do all of that, make no mistake; but he wouldn't. Not this time. This time, he knew better.

He stood his ground. "Why should I?"

Buffy rolled her eyes skyward, as if she might find the answer in the swarm of bugs buzzing around the lampost behind him. "How about, because you're the one who brought me here, and you're responsible for getting me home?"

"I paid your bus fare," Spike said. "I did my part. This was supposed to be goodbye. You want me to take you home? Then tell me." He stepped close to her -- too close. He could smell her, smell himself on her, could feel the hum and thrum of life coursing through her. It made her that much harder to resist. His eyes bored into hers as he carefully enunciated each word. "Why ... should ... I?"

Her bottom lip trembled, ever so slightly, and she looked away.

The knife twisted in his gut. He wished he could die from the wound, and to do it before the temptation to throttle her overwhelmed him. Why the hell couldn't she have just stayed on the bus? Then they could both be getting on with their lives.

He didn't die. He didn't throttle her. Instead he brushed past her, towards the bus depot.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To get you a new ticket."

"Spike --"

He stopped. There was a hitch of desperation in her voice, a pleading that, despite his best judgment, made him think maybe. Just maybe. One more try wouldn't kill him.

Without looking back at her, he said, "Say it, Buffy. For God's sake, just spit it out." He meant the words to sound harsh, but he was too weary. "If you want me to stay, love ... you know the magic words. Say them, and we can both go home."

He waited. He imagined that the silence that met him must be what it's like in that moment, after the stake pierces your heart, when you dissolve out of this world into nothing. Only this hurt a hell of a lot more. He wished she would just stake him and be done with it. It'd be so much kinder than this.

When the silence from her became too thunderous, he continued toward the station. He said nothing. If she couldn't speak the words he needed to hear, then there was nothing more to say.

He wanted to hate her. He tried to remember what that felt like. It seemed so long ago. It'd make this all so much easier, if he could just go back to that, return to what he was before. Before her, before the chip. But as he reached the ticket line, he knew he had only himself to blame. He should've just pulled up stakes and left Sunnydale, nice and quiet-like, instead of dragging her into this, setting them both up for such a painful goodbye.

He should have known it would all end like this.

***

Two nights earlier ...

Dawn bounded down the stairs, backpack slung over one shoulder. "Bye, Buffy!"

"Wait!" Buffy jumped up from the sofa and intercepted her sister at the front door. "You know the drill, right? Don't go anywhere after dark unless Janice's parents drive you there. And don't trust Janice's judgment in boys."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I know."

"You also know I'll be calling her parents to make sure you're really there."

"Yeah, I know. I'll be there. And you can lay off the über-mom schtick. I mean, just because you tried to kill me doesn't mean you have to smother me with parental concern."

Buffy pressed her lips together and looked at the floor.

Dawn sighed. "I didn't mean --"

"No." Buffy tried to keep her voice relaxed. "It's okay. I ... I have it coming."

"No you don't," Dawn said. "You weren't yourself. I know that. I do."

Buffy made herself look Dawn in the eye. She looked earnest, but she also looked so wounded, still. "Doesn't really make it hurt any less, does it?"

Dawn looked away. "It ... It'll be okay. We just ..." She sighed. "This weekend's probably a good thing for us, huh?"

"Yeah."

Dawn looked back at Buffy. "Have fun this weekend, okay?"

"Sure," Buffy said. "Big fun in store. Willow's gone on a retreat with her support group, Xander's off looking for Anya, and Tara ... well, I don't really feel right calling her up, seeing as how I almost put her in traction."

"Tara also knows you couldn't help it, Buffy."

"Yeah." She forced herself to sound cheerful. "But don't worry. This'll give me a chance to catch up on sleep. Sleep is of the good."

"Right." Dawn looked doubful, but then shrugged. "Well, however you spend it, just ... try to relax, and enjoy yourself. And don't worry about me."

"That's going to happen." Buffy opened the door and made a "get out" gesture with her head. "Have fun with Janice. And I promise not to be psycho with the phone calls."

"See ya." Dawn pecked her on the cheek, and left.

Buffy shut the door behind her, then turned around and slumped against it. She'd meant it about the sleep. She had the Doublemeat breakfast shift in the morning, so she really should go to bed; but it would still be nice if she had an option to do something else. It depressed her to realize just how little of a life she really had these days. She felt lonely. For just the briefest moment she let herself entertain the thought of going to see Spike, before banishing it from her head. No matter how innocent her intentions, he was bound to take it the wrong way. The last thing she needed was to see that aching, hopeful look in his eyes.

A knot formed in her stomach as she remembered the last thing he'd said to her. "Either you tell your friends about us, or I will." Nevermind that there was no longer an "us" to tell them about. Or that they hadn't been much of an us to begin with. She supposed that was one good thing about her friends all being out of commission -- she didn't have to worry that they'd talk to Spike.

A knock on the door broke her reverie and she groaned. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. He had the most ironic sense of timing. Buffy straightened up and opened the door. "You can't come in."

Spike looked startled by the statement. Keeping a wary eye on her, he stepped a toe across the threshold. When it passed over, he stepped inside, looming over her with a mix of relief and self-satisfaction on his face. "Looks like I can."

Buffy planted a hand on his chest and shoved him back out the door. "I mean it. I'm going to bed. Directly to bed, without passing go. Or collecting any vampires," she added as his eyes drifted up the stairs towards her bedroom.

He looked her up and down. "You're back to your old charming self again, I see."

She crossed her arms defensively and gave a little shrug. "More or less."

"I was hoping for more. You recovered enough for some Slayer action?"

"I told you, I'm--"

"Going to bed. Right. You should. You look bone tired."

"Thanks." Her tone was sarcastic, but she frowned down at her pink elephant pajama-bottoms and ran a self-conscious hand through her sofa-flattened hair.

"Right, then. I s'pose Warren's hideout'll still be there after you've had your rest. Sleep tight, Love." He leaned in and grabbed the door handle and started to pull it shut.

Buffy yanked it back open. "What do you mean, Warren's hideout? You found him?"

"I spotted that van of his. Followed it to a farmhouse on the outskirts of town. I didn't stay to snoop around. Figured I'd leave that part to you. Them being human, not much I could do if they caught me."

"Right," Buffy said.

Spike pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. "I've got my car. Figured I could run you out there, have a quick look-see. But like I said, it can wait."

"No," Buffy said. "I've already waited too long for this. Just give me a minute to go put some shoes on."

"Sure, Pet. I've got all night."

Buffy left him standing at the door while she ran upstairs. She did more than just put on shoes. She changed into something less nap-on-the-couch-worthy and more slay worthy. She'd already touched up her face and was smoothing out her hair before she remembered that she wasn't supposed to care what Spike thought of how she looked. She grabbed a scrunchy and pulled her hair back in a loose ponytail to hide any evidence that she'd spent time on it. One last look in the mirror showed that she looked decent enough without looking like she tried. Which was really a stupid illusion to go for, considering Spike had just seen her looking all ratty and would know better. She frowned. Maybe she should change back.

"Oi, Slayer!" He hollered up the stairs. "We haven't got all night!"

Buffy stuck her head out the door. "But you just said that we did!"

"Figure of speech. Now come on!"

Buffy sighed and grabbed her bag, then headed downstairs. Spike hovered just outside the door, having a smoke on the porch. He dropped his cigarette and ground it under his boot as she reached him, then turned to her.

"Shall we?"

He offered his arm. Buffy resisted the impulse to take it. After a beat, he nodded and started for his car. She followed him, and held her tongue when he opened the passenger door for her. She'd come to learn that such small gallantries were just in his nature and it was better not to imbue them with greater meaning. Or to make a big deal about it when they did mean more.

They drove in silence, for which Buffy was grateful. He was always so eager to talk, and no matter how much she tried to deflect, their conversations always came back to the same thing. Still, even she could only stand the quiet for so long. "Are we there yet?"

"What is this, a trip to Disneyland? No, we're not there yet."

"We've been driving for twenty minutes. How far out of town is this place?"

"Um ... pretty far." Spike gave her a sidelong glance. "Another ten minutes, at least."

Something in his tone told her not to believe him. God, he was such a lousy liar. "Spike, where are you taking me?"

"I told you, Pet. Farmhouse, outskirts of town. Warren's hideout. We'll be there soon, just keep your shirt on." He gave her an appreciative glance. "That last part's optional, o' course."

"Spike."

"Yeh?"

"We're heading down the coast. There are no farmhouses along the coast."

"Oh. Ah ... bugger. Must've gotten turned around."

Buffy sighed. "Okay. What the hell is this?"

"This? This is, well, it's ..." He looked over at her, then rolled his eyes. "Okay, you got me. Consider yourself kidnapped."

"Again?"

"What, again? I've never kidnapped you before."

"No? What do you call last year, with Drusilla?"

"Desperation. And you came to my place of your own free will."

"Whatever," Buffy said. "Just stop the car."

"No."

"Spike, I'm not kidding. Stop the car."

"I think you fail to see the principle behind the whole kidnapping concept, Love."

"Stop the car right now, and don't call me Love."

"Look," Spike said. "Here's the deal. You are going on holiday, whether you like it or not. You're going to get the hell away from your life for a while. Away from bills, your job, social services, away from Red's co-dependency and Harris's fear of commitment, away from the whole hero bit. No responsibilities. Just you, me, and the open road. How 'bout it, Slayer?"

"I have to work in the morning," Buffy said. "I can't do this. Dawn --"

"Is staying with a friend all weekend and will be just fine without you."

"Spike, no. I can't just leave like this. Take me home."

"See, that's the beauty of it. You don't get a choice. You're the victim in this, hence you're absolved of all responsibilities and consequences of your absence."

"Oh, my God," Buffy said. "You really put a lot of thought into this, didn't you? How long have you been planning this?"

"Not that long."

"Do you have any idea how messed up this is?"

"Yeh," Spike said, "I do. Just don't care." He looked at her. "Evil, remember?"

Buffy took a deep breath, then calmly said, "Spike, I'm going to give you one more chance before I cause you severe pain. Turn the car around, and take me home."

Spike chuckled and shook his head. "What part of 'you've been kidnapped' don't you understand, Pet? Look, I'll make it real simple for you." He reached into the back seat and rummaged through the trash that littered the bench. "You can sit back, relax, try to enjoy the ride, and -- God forbid -- maybe have a little fun and get some fucking perspective about your life. Or..." He bit his lip in concentration as he lifted off the seat, bending further over the back and reaching into the floorboards.

"Or?" Buffy prompted.

"Give us a sec'." He must've found what he was looking for, because his face lit up with satisfaction. "Or," he continued, producing an all too familiar looking toy, "you can go nighty-night and spend the rest of the trip in the trunk." He pushed the button on the cattle prod and made the electric currents crackle for emphasis.

Buffy's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

He zapped the air between them again. "Try me."

"You psychotic son of a bitch. You're insane, you know that?"

"Only because you drive me there. What's it gonna be, pet?"

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later. Now answer my question."

Buffy just looked at him for a long, hard moment. Then she snatched the cattle prod out of his hand and tossed it out the open window. Spike stared at his empty hand in disbelief as Buffy turned back to him. "First pit stop, I am so gonna kick your ass for that."

Spike nodded, and put his hand back on the steering wheel. "Fair enough." He fought the smile that tugged at his mouth.

Buffy crossed her arms and slumped in her seat. She looked out the window so he wouldn't see her fighting one of her own.

***

The first pit stop occurred just before they reached the Interstate. The car's tank was almost empty, and Buffy's bladder was full. "So," Spike said as he pulled up to the pump, "you wanna kick my ass now, or after I fill up the car?"

"Too many people around," Buffy said. "Guess it'll have to wait. Besides, I have to pee." She started to open the car door, but stopped. "You want to come in with me? Keep watch, make sure I don't call home or try to slip somebody a 'Help, I've been kidnapped' note?"

Spike considered this, then waved his hand. "Nah. You won't do that."

"What makes you so sure?"

He held up his pinkie. "One, there's no one at home to call. And two," he raised his ring finger to join it, "you don't want to be rescued." He smirked at her, then got out of the car.

Buffy stared after him a moment in amazement. So, he was right on both counts. Did he have to be so damned smug about it? She got out of the car and headed inside. How did he know she'd be alone this weekend, anyway? Probably because he made it his business to know these things. Did it really matter how he found out? She was probably better off not knowing. Inside the store, she turned back to look at him. He had one hand on the nozzle, while the other one worked his lighter, igniting the cigarette that dangled from his lips, heedless of the "No smoking or open flame near pumps" sign posted right behind him.

That's my Spike.

She frowned at the thought. He wasn't her Spike. He wasn't her anything. Not anymore. She shook her head and headed to the ladies' room. After finishing up and washing her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror. So then, what the hell was she doing here? They were obviously still something to each other. She knew what she was to him. He made that clear every chance he got, and it never changed. No matter how she treated him. But what was he to her? Sex wrapped in leather, an orgasm waiting to happen? Wasn't he more than that? It would be so easy sometimes to let him be. Whatever else he was to her, could she rightfully call him a friend after everything they'd been through together? Everything she'd put him through?

You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other till it makes you quiver ...

"But you'll never be friends," Buffy finished the thought aloud. She sighed, and dried her hands.

She came out of the bathroom just as he was coming in the store. As he entered, a middle-aged guy in a ponytail "tsked" at Spike's cigarette and pointed at the no smoking signs. Spike looked at him, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and blew smoke in the man's face. As Ponytail coughed and sputtered a stream of indignant curses, Spike put the fag back in his mouth and sauntered over to Buffy, his body language daring anyone else to try and make him put it out.

"Rude much?" Buffy asked as he reached her.

"Tell me about it. People these days don't know how to mind their own sodding business."

"I meant you."

He looked genuinely surprised. "What? It's not like I vamped out and threatened to eat the tosser."

Buffy considered this, and decided he had a point. You hang with the soulless undead, you have to pick your battles. This was an offense she could let slide.

He pointed at what was fast becoming an armload of toiletries as they made their way down the aisle. "What's all this, then?"

"Stuff I'm gonna need." She reached for a tube of deodorant. "It's not like you gave me a chance to pack a bag. I don't know what I'm going to do for clothes this weekend. At least if these get all stinky, you don't have to inhale."

Spike got distracted by a Frito-Lay display stand at the end of the aisle and went to load up on chips. "Don't worry about that," he said as he inspected a bag of Funyuns. "Everything you need's out in the car." He held up the bag. "You like these, Pet?"

Buffy stopped in her tracks and gaped at him. "You packed me a bag?"

"Oh, no. The Bit --" His eyes widened, and she could see him trying to backpeddle. "Um, that is, the bint" -- his enunciation lingered on the 'n' -- "Harmony, see. She left some of that stuff in my crypt, and I knew you'd be needing it, so I brought it along." He nodded for emphasis.

Buffy rolled her eyes in disgust as she dumped her items on a shelf. "I can not believe that Dawn was in on this."

"No, no she wasn't. She had nothing to do with this. It was all my idea."

"She is so grounded when I get home." Buffy balled her fists and rested them on her hips. "What did you say to her to get her to go along with this?"

"I didn't --" Spike stopped, and sighed. "Don't suppose I can plead the Fifth?"

"No, that copout's strictly for living, American criminals." She crossed her arms and waited.

"Fine." Spike put down the chips and moved closer so he could lower his voice. "Apparently when you went on your little rampage the other day, you said something to Dawn about us."

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, God."

"Not in so many words." He managed to sound wounded and irritated even as he tried to reassure her. "But enough to let her put two and two together. And believe it or not, she's okay with it. Has this silly notion that you and me could actually be good for each other."

"She's young. What does she know?"

Spike pointed, as if Dawn were standing off in the corner of the store. "She knows enough to think that it'll be good for you to get away for a few days. And I happen to agree with her."

Buffy's eyebrows shot up. "Are you telling me that she masterminded this whole thing?"

Spike folded his arms. "I'm not telling you anything. And you didn't hear any of this from me."

"Whatever." Buffy pushed past him and grabbed a bag of Doritos off of the display. "Let's just go while I'm still insane enough to agree with both of you."

***

TBC

Getaway

Part Two

by cousinjean

***

A 44 oz. Coca-Cola didn't keep her from getting sleepy. The back seat was too cluttered for her to stretch out there, so instead she curled up in the front, using his balled up duster for a pillow. She could've used his lap. He wouldn't have protested. Still, she used his coat. It was a start.

He reached down and brushed her hair out of her face. In the moonlight it gleamed almost as white as his. He missed the way it used to cascade over her bare shoulders, but even so, her chopping it off hadn't made her any less beautiful. Of course he didn't tell her, out of fear that she might go and shave her head. He tried to imagine her with the Sinead O'Connor look, and smiled. Still gorgeous.

His finger lightly traced a pattern along her upper arm. A sigh of contentment escaped her lips, and Spike rested his hand on her shoulder. He was crossing a line. He'd broken the unspoken "look but don't touch" rule, and he knew it. Now ask him if he cared. Not even Buffy could be so unreasonable as to expect him to be near her for this long without touching her. Couldn't be done. Her skin drew him like a magnet. He could only resist its pull for so long.

She stirred beneath his hand, then whimpered. Her breathing grew rapid. Here it comes. With a great gasp for air her head jerked up, and her hand shot out and gripped his knee like a vice.

"Shh, Buffy." He rubbed her arm, tried to draw her to him. "It's okay, Love. It was only a dream."

For an instant, she relaxed against him, but then she sat up and pulled away to her side of the car. Spike sighed, and put both hands on the wheel. He hated her nightmares as much as she did, if only because it killed him that she wouldn't let him comfort her. It was always the same. She'd awaken in terror, and for the tiniest moment, she'd let him hold her, let him soothe her fear. Then she'd remember who they were -- or what they were -- and pull away. This was usually the part where she'd get dressed and go home. Except this time, she had nowhere to go.

He glanced over at her. She huddled against the door, her head part way out the window, looking up at the stars and letting the night wind blow through her hair.

"You okay?"

She shrugged. "I hate that dream."

"Yeh. Me too."

She looked at him, her eyes asking him to elaborate.

"I still dream about waking up in my coffin sometimes."

"Great." Buffy sighed, and looked back out at the passing desert. "It never goes away."

"No." God, he wanted to hold her. Instead he reached down and punched the car's lighter in to heat up. "But the good news is, it stops being so terrifying. Eventually."

"How long is 'eventually'?"

"In my case? About twenty years."

"Swell. Something to look forward to."

He unfurled his coat until he found the pocket that held his cigarettes, then dug them out. "We've still got a few hours until sunrise. Then we'll find some place to hole up for the day and you can get a proper rest."

"Sounds like a plan." She sounded a bit more cheerful. "Hey, where'd the music go?"

"Radio stations out here are worthless." He pointed to the back seat. "Should be a crate full of CDs back there, and a player. Car kit's in the glove box."

Buffy turned around and leaned over the back of the seat. As he lit his cigarette, Spike stole a long glance at her rear end waving in the air while she rummaged through his things. "Here we go," she said. "Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Ramones, The Clash, more Ramones ... God!" She turned back around and slumped in the seat, disgusted. "What the hell ever made you think we'd be compatible?"

Spike laughed. "Believe me, pet, if there's one thing makes me doubt you're the girl for me, it's your taste in music."

"There's nothing wrong with my taste in music. Just because it's not older than I am ..."

"Feh. The trouble with your generation's music is there's nothing new."

"That's not true."

"Yes it is. Everything you hear these days is a throwback to a bygone era, no matter how much they try to spice it up and call it 'modern rock.' It's all been done before. At least the blokes I listen to were innovative."

"Right." Buffy nodded seriously. "You should know, as often as you listen to the crazy noise the kids like to make these days."

He gave her a sidelong glare, then shook his head. "I do go to the Bronze, y'know. I know whereof I speak. 'Sides, it's all become so bloody homogeonized, nobody stands out. I mean, pick any subset of the genre. One band sounds exactly the same as the next. P.O.D., Linkin Park ... who the hell can tell the bloody difference?"

"And meanwhile the Clash and the Ramones sound nothing alike."

Spike suppressed a smile. The girl made sarcasm an art. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she was being sincere. But he knew the difference. He pointed his cigarette at her. "You watch your mouth, missy."

"Fine." Buffy sighed, and leaned her head against the door. He was losing her. They were becoming fewer and farther in between, but she still had these little episodes sometimes, where she'd slip inside herself for a while and nothing in the outside world could penetrate. Spike had become pretty good at recognizing when she was about to take one of her mental holidays and calling her back before she was too far gone.

"We don't have to listen to anything, y'know," he said. "We could always talk."

Buffy blinked, coming back to reality. She looked at him, and fear crossed her face. Then she brightened. "Hey! How 'bout some of those Sex Pistols?" She started to climb over the seat again.

Spike put a hand on her arm to stop her. "Why don't you want to talk?"

Buffy pulled her arm away from him. "Because I don't want to talk about ... what you want to talk about."

He refrained from rolling his eyes as he flicked some ash out the window. "I just meant a ruddy conversation, Pet. About anything you want. Doesn't have to be about us."

"Just a conversation?"

"Yeah. Like we were just having not one minute ago."

She considered this, then shrugged and relaxed. "Okay, fine."

"Fine."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"You pick."

"I don't know. You go first."

"Bloody hell, Slayer!" He threw his cigarette out the window for want of anything more substantial to throw. Gripping the steering wheel tightly in both hands, he looked over at her. "Why do you always have to do this?"

She looked surprised. "Do what?"

"Make everything about a billion times more complicated than it has to be!"

Now she looked defensive. "I thought we weren't gonna talk about us!"

"I'm not talking 'bout us, pet. I'm talking about you."

"I don't want to talk about me," she said. "I'd rather talk about you."

Spike sighed. "Right. Fine. What about me, then?"

"How many people do you suppose you've killed?"

Okay. Not what he expected. He looked at her again. "What?"

She didn't sound upset, or disgusted, or terribly put-off. She kept it casual. "I mean, I figure one person a day from the time you got vamped until you got your chip is a pretty conservative estimate, but even then that's like ... a whole lotta people."

"Forty-three thousand, give or take. And you're right. It was a lot more than that. Your point?"

"No point. Just ... tens of thousands of people dead. Because of you." Her face clouded over, and there was something in her voice he couldn't quite make out. "Sometimes I forget that."

Shit. What brought this on? They were getting along too well, he supposed. Starting to make some forward progress, so she had to knock them back a few steps. This time he was determined to keep his footing.

"'Course," he pointed out, "since meeting you I've helped avert three apocalypses. Not to mention all the demons I've killed since I got chipped, and last summer playing superhero with the Justice League. So that's billions of lives saved thanks to yours truly. Kinda balances out, don't it?"

Buffy shook her head. "It doesn't work like that."

"No. Because that would be too simple. So, how does it work? Please. Enlighten me."

She sighed. "Are you sorry for the people you killed?"

"Will my being sorry bring them back?"

"No."

"Right. Sorry's a waste of time."

"No it's not!" She made a little frustrated groan. "You just don't get it, and I can't explain it to you. But the only reason you're not still killing people is the chip. If it stopped working tomorrow ..."

"What?"

She looked at the road straight ahead. "You know what."

"No, I don't. But I guess I don't need to, do I? 'Cause you're bloody well certain enough for both of us."

Buffy looked back at him. "Look, I don't believe you'd turn on us. You've come that far, and if there's one good thing I can say about your character it's that you're loyal."

"Oh, thanks ever so."

"But are you telling me you wouldn't sink your fangs into the first non-friend-of-Buffy human you see?"

Spike considered this, then looked at her. Looked her in the eye. "No. What I'm telling you, Slayer, is that I don't know what I'd do."

Buffy just looked at him, her bottom lip pouting just a little, her eyes disbelieving but hopeful all at the same time.

He looked back at the road, and sighed. "I tried it once."

"What? When?"

"When I found out I could hit you, without any pain. I thought the chip quit working. So I hunted."

"You're not exactly disproving my point, here." Did she sound disappointed?

"I found this girl," Spike continued, determined to get the story out. If she was going to judge him, she might as well know it all. "Young. Tender. Alone and scared. I could smell the fear coming off of her from clear across the street." He smiled a little at the memory. "God, it was delicious. So, I cornered her, and tried to bite her. That's how I found out the chip still works."

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I didn't bite her."

"Because of the chip."

"Right, yes. But also because as much as I wanted to, I also didn't want to."

"Huh?" She looked at him again, confused.

"I had to talk myself into it." He wasn't smiling now. His voice trembled a little, but he pressed on. "Had to remind myself that I'm evil and this was what I was made for. And all the while ... All the while I kept wondering what her family would do when she didn't come home. How they'd feel when they found her dead body. If they'd hurt as much as I did when you --" He glanced at her and cleared his throat.

"But you still tried to bite her," she said quietly.

"Yeh. But aside from the rush, there wasn't any joy in it. Not like there used to be. And I still don't know if ... if I'd've drained her dry or stopped before I did any real harm." He glanced at her, and gave her a rueful smile. "So honestly? Chip stopped working? I haven't a clue what I'd do."

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Buffy processed it all. Then she leaned back against the seat and sighed. "I hope we never have to find out." She looked at him. "For both our sakes."

Spike held her gaze for a moment. "Yeh. Me too. So." He looked back at the road and smiled. "Your turn."

"Who huh?"

"I just shared a secret. Now it's your turn. Spill."

She raised an eyebrow. "What is this, truth or dare?"

He smiled slyly. "It could be."

"In that case, I'll take the dare."

"Right then. Next car we pass, show 'em your bum."

She gaped at him. "You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack." He pointed up ahead. "Here comes one now. Better get ready."

"You want me to moon somebody?"

"It's that or answer my question."

"Fine. What's your question?"

"Ah, ah, ah. That's not how it works, Love. You pick first, and you already picked. Better hurry, we're about to pass this car."

Buffy just glared at him.

"'Course, we don't have to play if it's too much for you."

Buffy continued to glare at him, but she started undoing her pants. Spike grinned. "Atta girl."

Spike changed lanes and pulled up alongside an open-air Jeep. It was full of people, hard to make out in the dark, even under the full moon. Buffy, her eyes still shooting stakes at Spike, climbed up in the seat, stuck her rear-end out the window, and lowered her knickers. Hoots and hollers came from the Jeep. Buffy closed her eyes. "Oh, God!" She pulled up her pants and dropped down in the seat, hiding her face from the other vehicle. "Go!"

Spike laughed as he sped up and went around the Jeep. Buffy hazarded a glance back at them, then shook her head. "I can't believe I just did that."

"Neither can I." Spike couldn't stop laughing. "I never thought you'd go through with it. Color me impressed."

"Color me embarrassed," she muttered.

"Oh, relax. Believe me, Pet, your bum is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Thanks, I guess." She pouted. "Maybe next time you can wave your bony white ass at them instead."

Spike glanced in the rearview mirror, then nodded. "Take the wheel." He let go of the steering wheel and started undoing his belt buckle.

"What? No! No taking the wheel!" She reached over to slap his hands. "Stop that!"

"Fine!" He gave it up and went back to steering the car. They sat for a moment in silence, then they both burst into laughter.

"So, did you see the looks on their faces?" Buffy asked.

Spike shook his head. "Too dark. Yours was pretty priceless, though."

"God, what if there were kids in the car?"

"Then you probably traumatized them for life. They'll spend years in therapy trying to forget about the blurry bare ass that was inflicted on them. Poor children."

"Shut up." Buffy put a hand over her eyes and shook her head, though a grin remained on her face. "I've never done anything like that before."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" He smirked at her. "Guess I'm a bad influence on you, Slayer."

"Yeah." She looked sideways at him, and smiled. "You really are."

His smirk melted into a genuine smile as he held her gaze for a moment. The mood was broken by a set of extraordinarily bright headlights coming up behind them a bit too fast for comfort. The Jeep was right on them, practically riding his bumper.

"Bollocks!"

Buffy turned in her seat to look at them. "What do you think they want?"

"I dunno. Maybe you really did scare their kids. Put your seatbelt on."

Buffy looked around, then shook her head. "Does this antique even have seatbelts?"

Spike rolled his eyes skyward and sighed. "Then, brace yourself and hang on." Just as he was about to slam on his brakes, the Jeep switched lanes. "Um, nevermind." It sped past them, then got back in front. "No, on second thought --" The Jeep slammed on its brakes, forcing Spike to do the same. He swerved off of the road, just barely missing them. They spun and skidded to a stop in the sand, ending up about twenty feet from the road, facing the highway. "Brilliant," Spike muttered. He looked over at Buffy. "Are you okay?"

She looked shaken, but unharmed. She nodded, then looked at the Jeep. "Okay, what the hell was that? People have mooned me before, it never made me want to go all Fast and the Furious on them."

"Yeh, well, that's 'cause you're mostly in your right mind," he said as several figures unloaded from the Jeep and started towards them. "Something tells me these pillocks can't say the same. Right then. If it's a tussle they want ..." He looked at Buffy, and grinned. "They picked the right car, didn't they?"

Buffy just looked at him. "I'm not fighting. I'm on enforced holiday, remember?"

"I think we might not have a choice, Love."

"Oh, I've got a choice all right. It was your idea to pull that stunt back there. Why should I stop them if they want to kick your ass?"

Spike stared at her. "You know, Slayer, I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that when the chips are down, I've got you to watch my back."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Fine. Let's do this."

***

The five shadowy figures formed a semi-circle in front of the car, just out of reach of the headlights. Buffy opened the car door and got out. Spike followed her lead, pulling on his duster as he stalked towards the front of the car. He tried to look menacing. She tried to look apologetic. "Hey, look. We were just playing around back there. We really didn't mean to offend --"

"Oh, we weren't offended," a deep voice said. The voice's owner took a step forward, and she could make out a pair of snakeskin boots poking out from beneath leather chaps. The light illuminated his giant belt buckle. "Roy" was engraved across it in big letters. "My posse and I enjoyed the show. Thought we'd catch an encore."

Buffy took a second to glare at Spike. He rolled his eyes and started patting his pockets. Great. He was going to smoke. Again. Was that his answer for everything? "Sorry." She looked back at Roy. "That was an exclusive, one-time engagement. But thanks for your interest."

"Come on, don't be that way," he said. "Show us a nice piece of white meat like that, you can't let us go away hungry." He stepped all the way into the light, revealing his vampiric features.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Buffy muttered. She held up her hands. "Look, guys. I'm on vacation. What do you say we all just get back in our cars and forget we ever saw each other?"

"Right. That's gonna happen." Roy grinned as his "posse" moved into the light. They were all dressed similar to Roy, like they'd just come from some kind of vampire rodeo. Buffy squinted at their faces, half expecting to see Lyle Gorch among them.

With a sigh, she reached for her stake, but it wasn't there. She'd left it in the car. She looked back up at Roy. "Um ..."

"Slayer!"

She looked at Spike just in time to see a stake flying at her head. She reached up and plucked it out of the air. "Thanks!"

The others all took a step back. Roy's grin faltered, but then it widened. "I've always wanted to try on a Slayer."

"I'll bet you have," said Spike. He threw a punch that landed square on Roy's nose, knocking him back a couple steps. Roy recovered and spun around, aiming a kick at Spike's midsection. Wonderful. Roy knew how to fight. Well, so did Spike. Buffy decided to leave them to each other for the moment and turned her attention to the other four. She made the decision a split-second too late. One grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms -- and her stake -- behind her. Two more rushed her, while the fourth hung back and watched the action with a deer-in-headlights look plastered on his face.

Buffy slammed her head into the face of the one holding her. He hollered in pain, but loosened his grip only enough to allow her some maneuverability. As the other two reached her, she kicked her foot up and planted it on one's shoulder. Using it as leverage she swung her other leg up and kicked the second vamp in the face. Her momentum carried her up and over Number Three's head. She held on to his arms as she went, and heard his screams of pain mixed with the satisfying pop of his shoulders as she wrenched them out of their sockets. Her feet hit the hood of the car and she was free. She reached down and grabbed Number Three by the hair, yanked him back onto the car, and dropped to one knee beside him, plunging the stake into his heart.

Before she could straighten up, Number Two grabbed her by the arm and flipped her off of the car. She landed badly, her left ankle giving out as it hit the ground. Still, she rebounded and brought that foot up, kicking Number One in the side of the head. She yelped as the impact sent pain shooting through her leg and foot. She didn't lose any momentum, though, and finished the spin, bringing the stake home right through Number One's tacky fringed leather vest.

Number Four looked like he was finally working up the nerve to join in. Buffy took a step towards him and stumbled. A pair of arms caught her from behind, then lifted her in the air and body slammed her onto the hood of Spike's car, knocking the wind out of her.

"Buffy!"

She looked over at Spike just in time to see fear become rage. He stopped screwing around and vamped out, really laying into Roy. She just lay there for a second, trying to recover, watching Spike fight the other vampire from the vantage point of hanging her head backwards off of the car. It looked like some kind of upside down ballet. Or professional wrestling match. Roy got him in a headlock. Spike responded by sinking his teeth into Roy's forearm. He elbowed Roy in the gut and broke free, then pulled out a stake.

Just as it was getting good, Buffy felt a hand tangle in her hair. She looked up into the grinning face of Number Two. He yanked on her hair, dragging her off of the car, but she brought her legs up over her head and locked her knees around the vamp's neck. She twisted until she heard bones crack, then flipped him forward. He flew over the car and landed in a heap on the other side. Buffy sat up and slid off of the car, and limped over to stake him.

She stood up and looked over at Spike. He was brushing Roy's remains off of his clothes. He started towards her, but stopped when he noticed the remaining vamp. Buffy noticed him too. He looked back and forth from her to Spike, then turned around and took off running. Buffy was about to tell Spike to let him go, but he was already hot on the vamp's heels. She sighed and did her best to chase after them.

She made it about fifty yards from the car before she decided to just sit down and wait for Spike. Her ankle hurt like a bitch. She could make out the back of his head, almost silver in the moonlight, as he tackled his prey. Then they both disappeared behind a boulder. Buffy sighed, and took in her surroundings. She leaned back on her elbows so she could look up at the stars. Last time she'd seen them shine so bright was when --

She sat up straight, struck by a sudden sense of deja vu. When Giles had brought her out here on her vision quest -- that was the last time she'd seen the stars look like this. She looked around again. No way this could be the same place. Yet it felt so familiar. The memory of what had been revealed to her that night caused her to shudder. Death is your gift, her guide had said. Buffy leaned back again, and pouted. "Indian giver."

She squeezed her eyes shut against the memory, but she couldn't block out the First Slayer's words.

Love ... give ... forgive. Risk the pain.

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "Except for recurring guest shots in my visions, you got to keep your gift." She opened her eyes to see Spike trudging back towards her through the sand. "You get him?"

"Yeh. He, uh ..." He looked back the way he'd come, then looked back at her and shrugged. "He's dust."

"Sounds exciting."

"Oh, it was. You should've seen it." He squinted down at her. "Why didn't you? You okay?"

"Yeah." She took his extended hand and let him pull her to her feet. "Just -- ow!"

"You're hurt."

"Sprained my ankle." She waved a dismissive hand. "It'll be fine."

He looked skeptical. "Can you walk on it?" She nodded, and took a step towards the car to prove it. Pain exploded through her entire lower leg, and she stumbled. Spike caught her before she fell. "I'd call that a 'no'. Here." He wrapped an arm around her waist and bent to put his other arm behind her knees.

Buffy hopped back a step. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like? I'm gonna carry you to the car."

"I don't need you to carry me. I said I'm fine."

Spike sighed, stood up, and held his hands in the air as he backed away from her. "Suit yourself, Pet. You want to limp back, be my guest."

She nodded, then took another step forward. "Aah!" Her ankle buckled and she went down on one knee. "Spike ..."

"Oh, for --" He cut himself off as he stooped down and swept her up into his arms.

"Spike --"

"Shut up, Summers."

She frowned, and looked towards the car. "I was just gonna say thanks," she said as they reached it.

Spike just looked at her. Buffy suddenly became intensely aware of his nearness. Slowly, she turned back to face him. When her eyes locked on his, her heart took off like a jackhammer. She knew he could feel it. She licked her lips and swallowed. It was an unconscious gesture that she became aware of only after the fact. In Spike's arms, her mouth an inch away from his, his shoulders flexing beneath her arm, adrenaline from the fight still coursing through her veins ... it was a very bad place to be.

Actually, it was a very good place to be. Hence the problem.

His eyes drifted down to her mouth. Without thinking, she parted her lips. His eyes met hers again, and without a word, he set her on her feet. With one arm still around her waist to support her, never taking his eyes away from hers, he opened her car door.

"You're welcome," he said softly, then helped her inside and shut the door.

***

TBC

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