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46. Any port in a storm

Once she was out of the house she didn’t stop to put on the shoes she was still carrying. They were high heels anyway, and would probably only cause her to twist an ankle. Eschewing the uneven surface of the cobblestone driveway, she ran lightly along the grass at the edges.

The slippery footing forced her to slow down and think for just a moment. She’d either have to stop at the gatehouse and ask Jonathan to call a cab for her, or try to flag down a passing motorist. Glancing at the items she was carrying, she realized that she had grabbed up her bag with her shoes as she’d fled. She’d meant to put her cell phone in her bag last night. She prayed that she had.

Finally out of sight of the house, she fumbled with the drawstrings to the purse, her phone tumbling out onto the dirt before she could catch it. Clutching it to her as she continued her jog down the long driveway she considered who she ought to call.

Tara was the first thought that came to mind, but then she remembered that Dawn had gone over to Tara’s for the night. She didn’t want Dawn to see her like this. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this – but then she had little choice in the matter.

Like Buffy, Willow wasn’t much for driving, so that left Xander. Xander would blow his top if he saw Buffy in this state, but she didn’t know who else she could call. Cradling the phone in her hand, trying to summon the courage to dial, she started as it began to make that weird whirring noise that had woken her as it began to vibrate in her palm. Forcing herself to look, she made certain that it wasn’t Thorndale’s number. There was no way she wanted to talk to him. Ever again.

“Hello?” she answered tentatively.

“Oh, god, Buffy. I’m so glad that you’re all right. When I didn’t see you leave the party, I was worried about you.”

It took her a minute to place the voice. She hadn’t been expecting his call. It was Riley.

“Look, Riley, now is not a really good time…” That was certainly an understatement.

“You are all right, Buffy? Aren’t you? I tried calling earlier, but you didn’t answer. I even checked your house – you never came home. I wasn’t going to wait too much longer before I came up with some pretext to case out Thorndale’s house.”

“I’m fine Riley. Really. I can take care of myself.” Yeah, whispered that voice in her head. Just like I did last night.

“Of course. It’s just, if there’s anything you need…you’d let me know, wouldn’t you?”

“I…” what was stopping her? Riley was offering his help, and help was so what she needed right now. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask. She was coming up on the gates to the estate. She needed to call Xander. Get him to pick her up as soon as possible. If she had to wait here too long, Jonathan or Andrew, or even that creep Warren might see her out here. Or even worse, Thorndale might take it into his head to chase after her. After all, if he had been willing to drug her, what else might he be willing to do?

“Look, Riley, I need to make another call…” she explained, stepping closer to the stone pillar of the gates so she wouldn’t be so obvious standing there dressed in a t shirt and nothing else if any one happened to look out the gatehouse window. Of course that only made her more obvious to any one driving by.

“Shit,” she shrieked and dropped the phone just as the only car on this god-forsaken road came gliding to a stop just in front of her. Scrambling to recover her phone once again, she suddenly knew what she would find when she looked up.

The driver had leaned over and opened the passenger door. Of course it was Riley. He looked her up and down but didn’t say a word. Just sat there, with the door wide open waiting for her to get in.

Cringing, but accepting the inevitable, she slid in beside him, pulling down the t-shirt and folding her arms over her breasts to hide the lack of a bra, as if he hadn’t seen enough already. They drove back towards town in silence for a while. Finally Riley couldn’t stand it any longer. Here he had been worrying about Buffy all night, and she had obviously not been thinking about him.

“So, is that a new look I don’t know about, or did things not go exactly as you’d planned?”

“I really don’t want to discuss this with you,” she snipped.

“It’s just, well, I told you stay away from him. Doesn’t much look like you listened,” his superior attitude was so infuriating. “What happened, he throw you out in the morning?”

Why would he think that? Of course, it was better than the actual truth. No, wait, it wasn’t. Nothing that had happened had been her fault. She had been drugged and taken advantage of. She shouldn’t be ashamed of that. It could have happened to anyone.

Riley was right. The only thing she should be ashamed of was ever having trusted Spike Thorndale in the first place.

Still, she didn’t like Riley’s tone. He had no right to comment on anything she chose to do. They hadn’t been a couple for a long time now.

When she still didn’t say anything, Riley chanced a longer look at her. This was not the Buffy he remembered. Something else had happened last night. Something he didn’t understand. But he was beginning to.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he Buffy?” he asked, his voice full of the concern that had been missing earlier. When Buffy didn’t immediately answer, he drew his own conclusions.

“Look, I know we haven’t been close for a while now. And you might not be comfortable talking to me about this. But I’m going to take you to someone you will feel comfortable with. And I’m not going to take no for an answer Buffy. Have you ever met Fred?”

Uncertain, Buffy caught his eye, “Fred?”

“Don’t worry. She works for the Agency, same as you and me. And yes, Fred is a girl. Winifred Burkle. She specializes in cases like this.”

“Like this?” Buffy asked again, trembling. “Nothing happened, Riley.” The lie came easily. She didn’t know what prompted her to tell it. But she did.

“Then you can explain that to Fred. But you come out of the suspect’s house early in the morning, looking, well, looking like that. And I think you need to see Dr. Fred. She’ll help you, Buffy. She’ll make sure that you’re all right. No, I know. You say you’re fine. And if you are, that’s great. So we woke Fred up a little early on a Sunday morning. No big deal. But if you’re not fine, if you’re just the slightest bit of not fine – she’s the person to see. Okay?”

“Fine. Whatever you say. I don’t have the strength to argue about it.”

“Pretty much proving my point.”

**

It was the slamming of a car door that woke him. That, and the sound of the car speeding away. There was rarely any traffic on this quiet road, and the unusualness of a car speeding by so early in the morning was enough to drag Warren out of bed. He wasn’t fast enough to catch of glimpse of the early morning roadster, but he had an idea who it must be.

Grinning, Warren headed back to the security room. Last night had been his magnum opus. He had enjoyed himself more than he would have thought possible. The little minx had certainly put on a show for him. And he was sure that he would be treated to another round this morning, when he ran back the tape. He could hardly wait to see how Buffy had reacted when she woke up in Spike’s bed, after what had obviously been a vigorous night.

It felt good to finally get a little of his own back. Of course, it was only a small payback for what Thorndale had done to him. If not for his interference, Warren would still be with his wonderful Katrina. His life would have turned out so differently if Katrina were still alive to share it with him.

Returning to his room momentarily, he rummaged through his closet in search of her sweater. One cashmere sweater was all the he had left of the woman he had been destined to spend eternity with.

Excitedly, he speculated on what must have happened between the not so happy couple in order to precipitate Buffy’s hurried departure from outside his window. Although he hadn’t seen her, he had absolutely no doubt as to who was in the speeding car. It must have been even more of a row than he had anticipated. William Thorndale had always been such a gentleman about seeing that his trollops got home safely the morning after. Even if he had customarily delegated the task to one of his underlings.

He couldn’t wait to see what had occurred already this morning in the Thorndale bedroom. It almost made the long dry spell worth while. Different scenarios went through Warren’s head as he searched for the right spot on the recording. If the slammed door and the speeding car were any indication, it hadn’t ended too well for Spike. And that was just too darned bad, wasn’t it?





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