thedeadlyhook | Dirty Back Road Sequel, Part 9

Not one hundred percent happy with this chapter. For those who care, I might run off at the gums about why, but it basically boils down to eventually deciding to not stress so hard about making this an important moment after spending a lot of time stressing about exactly that. Sigh. Previous chapters here.

Chapter Nine

"Angel," Buffy breathed.

And there he was. Tall, dark, and agelessly handsome. Dressed in black. Standing by the side of his shiny red car like a knight just descended from his horse. Angel.

She hadn't expected him to arrive so fast. Like a genie summoned from a bottle, he was just there.

Buffy's eyes widened. Oh. Here. Angel was here. With Spike. With her... oh, god.

She hadn't thought about that at all when she'd called. When Spike had told her to call--what had he been thinking? They'd just needed help, and she hadn't wanted to argue about it. And now--

This was it. The first time that she and Angel and Spike were all together in one place. This was a moment. Her heartbeat accelerated.

She'd avoided this in Sunnydale. Put it off, sent Angel home rather than deal with it, with their egos. Gee, how about I take the two most important men in my life and watch them tear each other apart as a warm-up to the apocalypse? No thank you. Angel's reaction to Riley had been bad enough. Spike would have sparked off World War Three, and no way did she have time for that, the two of them posturing and preening like chest-beating gorillas. Especially not back when she had no idea, really, what she was going to say to either of them about the other--it was just... way too complicated. She could make jokes about them wrestling in oil--and okay, that was a pretty nice mental picture--but those only become funny after she'd dodged that particular bullet.

Buffy tensed, and shot a nervous look at Spike. He was still standing a couple of paces away, not looking at her, and she experienced a moment of nauseous indecision as Angel slammed the car door shut and walked around the Lamborghini, leather coat flaring. Should I go stand by Spike and help him? Or would he hate that in front of Angel, think it made him look weak or something? Only... well, he is weak right now--what should I do?

"Buffy."

Buffy blinked. She'd zoned out for a second, hadn't seen Angel approach, and now he was right in front of her. The three of them formed a little triangle in the middle of the dimly lit street.

Angel gave her a single nod in greeting along with her name. Buffy lifted her own chin and nodded back. "Angel."

Angel pursed his lips, and shifted his gaze immediately to Spike. "Spike," he said. Another nod. "Mind telling me what happened here?"

"What's it look like, gramps?" Spike croaked, eyes on the pavement. Without Buffy's arm around him for support, he'd balanced himself on his feet in a slightly knocked-kneed pose, like an extra from Night of the Living Dead. "Runnin' on empty here. Been trapped in another dimension without so much as a boy scout kit." Just the effort of speaking made him sway unsteadily.

Angel's arm shot out; he grabbed Spike by one shoulder to steady him. "Could've guessed that just by looking at you. How'd it happen? Demon fight?"

"Uh, no, that was my fault," Buffy cut in, waved a hand. "We were talking, and... got kinda distracted."

Angel shot Spike a look. "Distracted."

"Not that kind of distracted," Spike mumbled. "Just... talking."

"At sunrise. And you what, forgot that day follows night?" he said. "You know you've had a hundred years to get used to that."

"Um, can we do this later?" Buffy interjected. "Angel, please, right now--" She blew out a sigh. "Can you help?" Us, she wanted to say. Can you help us? She stepped forward and slid an arm around Spike's waist, pushed him upright with a hand on his stomach. Now she and Angel were standing on opposite sides of Spike, both helping to buoy him up.

Angel nodded. "Let's get you both in the car. I brought plenty of blood along. Nothing wrong with him that won't fix."

Spike snorted something unintelligible from between them. His head hung low, like a boxer who'd been K.O.ed.

"Are you sure? I mean, he's been kind of... out of it." Buffy met Angel's eyes over the top of Spike's head.

"Well," Angel said, lips quirking in a smile. "There is the possibility of brain damage, if you go too long without blood. Not that it'd be easy to tell on brain trust here--"

"Hey!" Spike said faintly.

"Brain damage?" Buffy repeated.

"Ah, I wouldn't worry. From the looks of it, he couldn't have been in there more than a year or two."

"Says you," Spike mumbled from between them. "Felt like... a lot longer than that."

"You'll live." Angel repositioned his grip, slung an arm around Spike's back and lifted him off his feet. Buffy nearly stumbled, off balance, her own arms suddenly empty.

Spike let his head fall back, curly hair draped over Angel's leather-clad arm. "Oh, right," he said thickly, regarding Angel through unfocused eyes. "You're the expert. Your... hunn'erd years in a hell dimension. How'd you know it was a hunn'erd years anyway? Bring a digital watch?"

"Can we just... Angel, can we just get on with this?" Buffy was starting to feel a little frantic. Spike was in no shape to be trading insults with Angel, and she felt oddly out of place, unable to really get a word in. The situation was slipping out of her control.

"It's okay, Buffy. Don't worry." One-handed, Angel opened up the Lamborghini's passenger door and--none too gently--began to stuff Spike into the seat.

Alarmed, Buffy pushed herself forward, tried to wedge herself in between them.

"Get your paws off me, you big oaf!" Spike was cursing and struggling. He seemed to be having some issue with the seatbelt, namely not wanting it around him. Angel had a hand on Spike's chest, pinning him against the seat, while he tried to strap in the struggling body with his other hand.

"Quit wiggling around, you idiot!" Angel said.

"I can do it myself, lay off," Spike barked.

"Spike, stop--you're gonna hurt yourself--Angel, quit doing that, would you both just stop?" Buffy squeezed herself under Angel's outstretched arms, her small shoulders pushing Angel's much larger frame aside. The space inside the car was close--all gleaming leather and glowing instrument panels and Spike's blue eyes and blood-stained mouth right in front of her as she hovered over him, her hands falling onto his shoulders. He stilled immediately.

"Please, let's just get through this," she breathed, just loud enough for Spike to hear while her hands searched his body for the seatbelt clasp. She buckled it closed.

From behind her, Angel made a throat-clearing sound.

Spike, who'd been staring at Buffy half-hypnotized while her hands were on his belt buckle, promptly broke eye contact and craned his head around to glare at Angel.

"Nice going bringing the two-seater, genius," he jeered. "Where's Buffy going to sit?"

"She'll sit on your lap," Angel said flatly. "You got a problem with that?" As an afterthought, he shot a glance at Buffy. "You think you can fit?" he asked her in a reflexively softer tone of voice.

Buffy opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Angel wanted her to sit on Spike's lap. Okay, well, that was about the only practical solution here. Best to just get in the car and not think about it, get home and figure out what she was going to do then.

Resolve firmly in place, Buffy gingerly slid a foot into the car, and clambered over Spike's body, trying to find a workable position.

"Is this all right?" Buffy asked Spike as she wedged herself on top of him lying partly on her side, one of her legs thrown over both of his, her jeans-covered butt jutting out into the empty air space over the stick shift.

"Works for me," he said, and slid an arm around her waist, hugging her to him. It was a little more intimate a gesture than she felt really comfortable with in Angel's presence, but she couldn't bring herself to complain about it, given the circumstances.

The door on their side of the car slammed shut. There was brief silence as Angel walked around to the other side.

"Am I too heavy for you?" she whispered. She shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, and let her head settle into the crook of his shoulder.

"Never," he murmured, and then he lifted his chin so her forehead was pressing into the side of his neck. The close quarters in the car made her viewpoint fairly restricted--aside from a narrow slice of the windshield all that was in her field of vision was Spike's chest and legs, both swamped under his currently too-loose clothes.

Behind her, Buffy heard the driver's side door open, and Angel settle himself into his seat. Leather rustled and creaked, mechanical sounds heralded the sudden roaring of the engine, and she let out a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding.

"Where to?" Angel asked.

"My place, I guess," Buffy said, speaking into Spike's shirt.

Angel grunted an affirmative and then Buffy felt something brush firmly against her ass. Her eyes widened.

"Sorry," Angel said then. "It's just, ah, I need to work the stick shift. It's... a little tight in here."

"That's... okay," Buffy said through her teeth, trying to curl herself in closer to Spike. "Let's just... get going." She felt Spike's arm tighten around her waist as if in answer, and she felt very glad at that moment she couldn't see his face. She had an uneasy feeling that the two men were glaring at each other over the top of her head.

Angel moved the stick a couple more times. The engine growled and purred in response. Buffy tried not to make a sound, closed her eyes.

"Sorry," Angel said again, and shifted into drive.

The car peeled out with a roar.

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Hee. Angel must be seething!

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