Owen’s headlights illuminated the scene in bright relief for a moment as they pulled into the clearing already populated by a bevy of pickup trucks and cars. A fire to the side cast a reddish glow over the teenagers clumped in groups, cans of beer clutched in their hands as they engaged in the age old rites of the young.
“You ready?” Owen cut the ignition and turned to her.
She forced a smile. “Sure thing. Looking forward to it.”
She didn’t bother to wait for him to open the door for her, sliding off the vinyl seat that had been sticking to her bare legs in the still, close heat of the evening, and wrenching the old door handle before he could round the hood.
“Owen! Didn’t think you were gonna show, man!” One of the clumps broke apart to reveal what must have been half the Sunnydale football team, and Owen immediately headed in their direction, keeping a firm grasp on her hand.
“Hey, Larry. You guys remember Buffy, don’t you?”
Larry squinted in the dim light. “Right, met you at the Fourth. You’re the Summers’s granddaughter? From L.A.?”
“That’s me.”
“I’ll be back in a minute, babe, just going to get us a few drinks.” Owen headed for a couple of open coolers under one of the nearby trees. Buffy watched him walk away. Babe? That was weird.
Larry moved closer and took her in, before drawling with a leer, “Guess we know why Owen was late getting here.”
“Um, yeah,” Buffy shifted awkwardly, suddenly regretting the high heeled sandals she’d donned in a fit of petulance before she left. In fact, in retrospect, the whole outfit, from the daisy dukes, to the strappy halter, to the nose-bleed shoes, was hardly appropriate for some field in the middle of nowhere. She’d only gotten out the door past the evil eye of her Gram because the Thurbers were still sipping coffee on the living room sofa and she knew her grandmother wouldn’t make a scene with them there.
But standing in front of Larry’s knowing smirk, she wondered if the combination all said slut just a little louder than she’d intended. Or maybe not, since she’d fully intended all of it for Spike’s consumption as she strutted by him on Owen’s arm.
“Hey, Buffy. Haven’t seen you around. Your gram keeping you busy?”
Buffy turned in relief to the sound of a female voice. “Hey. Amy, right? How’ve you been?”
“Not to bad. Thought I’d come rescue you from these big lugs.”
Buffy tried to not let her evident relief show as she linked arms with Amy. “Sounds like a plan. Hey, Larry, would you tell Owen I’ve gone to chat with the girls?”
“Sure, Buff.”
Buffy was acutely aware of Larry’s eyes on her butt as she walked away. Pig.
The Thurbers had left shortly after Buffy had pranced out on the arm of that poof, and he’d excused himself moments after. Within minutes he’d changed out of the nicer dress shirt and pants he’d worn for dinner and into his usual t-shirt and jeans. He stared at the keys on the table.
Should he go after them? Did he have the right?
He’d thought her grandparents had seemed a tad uneasy about agreeing to the date. The details of the party had been sketchy and if the Thurbers hadn’t assured them that it was just some harmless fun, he doubted they would have consented. Buffy meant the world to them, and as he’d seen first hand, they were more than slightly overprotective at times.
So would it be wrong for him to just check things out? For their sakes?
He grabbed up the keys before he could second guess himself and headed for the door.
Buffy stared morosely at her can of Budweiser. She’d been nursing this one drink for so long, it ought to be toddling by now. Amy was funny and made her realize how much she missed Willow, someone she could giggle and gossip with, or at least listen to, since she didn’t really know who Jake and Jen were or why their breakup was the event of the year.
But after the first couple of hours, as the collective blood alcohol level rose and teenage hormones began asserting themselves, pairs began breaking off from the herd and disappearing into the darkness. Buffy started to feel edgy. She was ready to go home. She wasn’t ready for all this.
She just hoped Owen would feel the same way.
“Amy, looking fine tonight.” Larry staggered towards them, his arm around Owen, who looked to be not much better off.
“Always look this good, sugar.”
Buffy suppressed an eye roll. Amy’s previous protestations about what a lout Larry was to the contrary, it was clear which way that wind was blowing.
“You want a ride home with me, babe?”
Amy shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, I guess.” She hopped up off the log they’d been sitting on. “See ya, Buffy. Give me a call, we’ll have to get together some time.”
Buffy gave a wave and watched the pair saunter away, then turned her attention back to Owen, who was smiling at her with a somewhat goofy grin.
Buffy breathed deeply and rose to her feet. “Well, guess it’s last call, huh? Thanks for bringing me out tonight, Owen, but I think I’d better head home.”
She headed towards his truck without a backward glance.
Spike glanced at his watch, the illuminated dial glowing faintly. He’d been driving for a few hours now, still with no luck at finding where the party was. Some place by the river had been the vague location he’d had to go on, and there must be dozens of those in Sunnydale.
It had been a stupid idea anyway. He should probably just turn around and go home. She was probably there already, snuggled up tight in her bed.
A turn-off up ahead looked promising, an old dirt road that veered in the direction of the river. He’d try it. No luck, and he’d go home.
He pulled down the bumpy road into a small clearing that was entirely deserted. He slammed his hand into the dashboard.
“Damn it, where did they go?” He killed the engine and threw open the door, walking to the edge of the river, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply.
“Why can’t I find you, Buffy? Where have you gone?”
Why do you care so much? The voice in his head was loud and impossible to ignore. It shouldn’t matter. She was a big girl. Where she’d gone tonight, lots of people, typical party, nice guy as her date, none of it should have him out riding all over the countryside in the dead of the night. From what he’d seen of Owen, he was a nice kid. Probably would take real good care of Buffy.
So there was only one reason he was out here. He was jealous. He threw the cigarette on the ground and ground it out thoroughly before walking back to the car and sliding behind the wheel.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. In the dead of night, alone like this, he could admit it to himself, even though he’d deny it all over again come morning.
He was in love with Buffy Summers. Hopelessly, completely in love.
It didn’t change anything. He knew from experience that just loving someone wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t change the distance between them, her age, the obligations he had at home waiting for him.
There was some irony there. If he cared less, it wouldn’t have mattered. They’d have had their fling and life would go on. Just some hot summer nights as memories of something good while it lasted.
But he couldn’t settle for that. It wouldn’t be enough.
He glanced at his watch. It was after two now and he was supposed to be on the road headed to L.A. in less than five hours for the meeting at UCLA. He needed to get home and get some sleep. He slipped the key back in the ignition and turned the car around.
Owen was grinning like crazy as he opened the door and slid onto the seat beside her. He made no move towards the steering wheel, instead inching closer towards her, his arm snaking across the back of the seat behind her.
He reeked of alcohol and she was pretty sure he’d had more than he could handle to operate the truck.
“Owen, tell you what, why don’t you give me the keys and I’ll drive?”
His response was a sloppy kiss that missed her mouth by a few inches. She shoved him back and swiped at the drool he’d left on her face. “Owen, seriously, give me the keys.”
“Aw, Buffy, babe, what’s the rush?” He leaned in for another pass.
Enough was enough. Buffy hit the seatbelt release and tumbled out of the cab. “Owen, why don’t you see if you can sleep it off, ‘kay?”
She turned and saw him staring at her blearily as though he wasn’t quite sure what was happening. Then he passed out on the seat. She sighed, shut the door and started down the road. It was a good thing the moon was nearly full, at least she could she where she was going. Maybe she’d catch up to one of the other cars, get a ride.
Twenty minutes later she was seriously regretting the heels as she finally reached the main road. She glanced at her watch. It was after two a.m. Her grandparents were going to be furious when she got home. She got her bearings and turned to walk along the shoulder of the road, when her heel caught the edge of the pavement and she felt her ankle twist as she ended up in a heap.
She couldn’t help the tears that burst out. This night had been a disaster and she was still miles from home. The tears continued to flow as she surveyed her slightly swelling ankle and broken shoe strap.
Could things get any worse?
She froze as the sound of a car engine grew and car lights emerged over the slight crest of the road behind her.
He almost didn’t see the huddled girl on the side of the road, but the bright red of her top caught his eye and sparked recognition as he hit the brakes, screeching to a stop and flinging the door open as he rounded into the beam of the headlights.
“Buffy? Is that you? Are you alright?”
She turned and he could see the tears streaming down her face, smears of mascara leaving tracks of kohl marring her cheeks.
He swore under his breath and ran to scoop her up. “Sweetheart, are you alright? Where’s Owen? What did he do to you?”
She sobbed in relief as she felt his strong arms pick her up and cradle her close. She let herself relax for a minute as he carried her and gently sat her in the passenger seat, running his hands over her as he searched for what was wrong.
“Buffy, tell me what he did to you.”
“Nothing, Spike, I’m okay.” She gestured to her dangling shoe. “I just twisted my ankle, broke my strap. He didn’t do anything.”
He didn’t look as though he quite believed her as he gently lifted her ankle and examined the slight swelling. “Should be alright if we get some ice on it. Now, want to tell me why you were hitching along the road at this time of night? This may be Sunnydale, pet, but there are big bads out there. I could have been anyone.”
She shrugged. “Owen had too much to drink and passed out. I didn’t know where his keys were, just figured I’d walk. It’s alright.”
The explanation was hardly satisfactory, but he accepted it. She caught his hand as he started to rise. “Spike? Why was it you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why were you out here, at this time of night?”
Her question seemed to catch him entirely off guard. He shut his eyes, blocking out the emotion she had glimpsed and gave a little chuckle. “Would you believe I couldn’t sleep?”
Before she could respond, he shut the door and walked around to his side of the car.
She wasn’t going to let this go. “Spike, seriously, why were you out? Were you going somewhere? Or . . . coming from some . . .one?”
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “If you must know, I was looking for you, Buffy.”
“For me?” Her forehead wrinkled as she shot him a sharp glance. “Why were you looking for me?”
He shrugged. “Worried about you. Wanted to be sure you got home okay. Guess that was valid, huh?”
She gave a little huff, entirely forgetting that he’d just rescued her from a several miles walk with a swollen ankle. “Why do you care, Spike?” She practically spat out his name. How dare he, he, well be all noble and ride up on a white steed, or black car in this case, to rescue her when he’d made it perfectly clear he wasn’t her Galahad.
“Because I do, Buffy. You know that.”
“Yeah. You care alright. You bastard.”
They had reached the turnoff for her grandparents. He pulled into the driveway and stopped the car.
“Look, Buffy, I’m sorry, alright? Is that what you want to hear? That I’m sorry for what happened? Because I am. I’m sorry that I met you. I’m sorry that we became friends. I’m sorry that I kissed you that day, down by the stream.” He turned to her, his face shadowed so that she could barely see the set of his jaw as he fought to keep his emotions under control. “But you know what I’m most sorry for?”
She waited in silence.
“That I’ll never know for sure where this could have gone, because I can’t let it hurt more than it does right now. It’s like tearing my heart out to leave, but I have to. For both of us.”
She almost couldn’t breathe as what he said washed over her, a bittersweet wave of mingled longing and regret. “What if I don’t care, Spike? What if it doesn’t matter that you’re leaving? Can’t we at least be together for a little while?”
“Buffy . . . I’m leaving for good on Monday, as soon as I finish up in L.A. I‘ll be gone in the morning.”
“Oh.” She tried to draw a breath, but it seemed too hard, that there was no air left in her lungs. He was really leaving. Not at the summer’s end, still so far away it didn’t seem pressing yet. He was leaving now. And she understood then, the weight of what that parting meant, how hard it already was, how hard it was going to be.
“So I guess this is good-bye?”
He nodded, almost as if he didn’t trust himself to speak, then softly pressed his lips to hers, a gentle, almost chaste kiss that made her eyes fill with tears all over again.
She leaned her forehead against his as he pulled away, trying to prolong the contact. “Spike, wait. Can I ask,” she swallowed hard, trying to choose the right words. “If things had been different, could you have loved me?”
She could see his eyes now, and she knew he wasn’t lying. “I already do.”
He’d carried her in to her frantic grandparents who were on the verge of calling the cops, and had already woken the Thurbers demanding to know where Owen had taken her.
She let them believe the tears were from the ankle, whose throbbing she’d forgotten about until Spike set her down at the kitchen table and wrapped some ice in a towel for her.
He carried her up the stairs to the bedroom he’d never seen before, and laid her carefully on the white eyelet comforter. Her grandmother was right at his heels and he just squeezed her hand before whispering he’d see her on Sunday night when he came back to pack up.
She’d nodded and tried to stop more tears from falling as she watched him walk away.