Drive It Like You Stole It by Verity Watson

Chapter #1 - Ch. 1: Acceleration

I’m so getting my driver’s license. Tomorrow. I’m going to corner Xander and explain that I had to bum a ride from Spike because no one else was around to chauffeur the Slayer one town over. I could’ve walked. But hoofing it 12 miles, fording an interstate and then wandering around a strange town until I figured out where they put their animal shelter? Not effective slayage. Instead, I’d tried every number in my cell phone before stumbling on Spike and his floppy-eared friend. We’ve just crossed Restfield to the crumbling garage where Spike stashes his vamp mobile. “Wot’s this thing you’re after again, Slayer?” Floppy offers me the front seat, but I slide into the back instead. “It’s a Genthner pup.” “Ooh. Vicious,” Floppy says from the passenger seat. “And you reckon it’s en route to Dilliner precisely why?” “I told you. It looks like a puppy dog. Like a big, shaggy mutt. Except it has blood-red eyes and fangs that would put yours to shame.” Spike snorted. “Don’t know about that, pet.” I roll my eyes, even though his back is to me. “Anyway, I was just about to pounce when two do-gooders lured the thing into their minivan.” “And they called over their shoulders that they lived in the town over?” “No. They had a bumper sticker for the Dilliner Animal Rescue Society and their vanity plate read LUVDOGS.” “And we don’t let the good Samaritans try to foster out the pup because …” “Because it’s harmless enough by night, but in the sun? Big, fuzzy white freak out. It’ll attack anything that comes near. Which is why I was suppose to capture it at night, chuck it back into the Hellmouth and then get home and actually do some of my required reading.” We pull onto the highway, and Spike tromps on the accelerator. Floppy grips the dashboard, but I fly backwards, slamming into my seat. “Ow!” I shout. “Drive it like you stole it, Spike!” cheers Floppy. “You all right back there, Slayer?” “Yeah. Great,” I mumble as I search for a seatbelt. I’m so getting my driver’s license. *** We find the animal shelter in a matter of minutes. Turns out Floppy – I mean, Clem - can smell cats and kittens. I don’t want to know. The minivan with the bumper sticker is parked outside, and without a plan, I leap from Spike’s backseat and try the shelter door. It swings open, and words spill out of my mouth. “Oh, Sparky, Sparky! You gave me such a fright!” “Hey, we’re closed. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.” A man and a woman have the Genthner in the lobby area. The woman is typing into the computer while the man is dangerously close to the demon, trying to get it to drink some water. “But this is my dog! I saw you pick him up in Sunnydale.” “This is your dog?” The Genthner isn’t exactly overjoyed to see me. “Well, actually he’s my stepmom’s dog. They’re away and I’m supposed to be taking care of him.” “Him?” Suzy Samaritan looks skeptical. I realize my mistake immediately, but I decide to just shrug it off. “Look, my dad will have a fit if I don’t have Sparky back when they get back from their trip tomorrow.” Just then Spike saunters in. “Yeah, her dad can be a right prig. So are you the night dogcatchers?” “No.” The woman blushes. “I just … I’m the Assistant Director here and so if I find an animal off hours, I sometimes bring them directly in.” “And you’re the boyfriend.” The guy nodded. “Well, this has all been just one big misunderstanding, hasn’t it?” He pulls out his wallet. “I’d like to make a contribution to the shelter. For your time and trouble.” “Well, we’ve already checked her into the system, so you really need to come back in the morn-” The Assistant Director sees how much cash Spike is holding. My jaw dropped as he peeled off three hundred dollar bills. All of a sudden it is perfectly fine for us to make off with Sparky. *** Clem is waiting in the car. He’s tuned the radio to an oldies station and is drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. And singing. “You ain’t never caught a rabbit and you ain’t no friend of mine.” More drumming. His voice isn’t bad. “Elvis was a hero to most, but he never meant shit to me.” Spike smiled at his friend as I wrestled the pup into the backseat. I had no idea what he was talking about, but it seemed like a familiar joke between them. “Spike, you have no respect for the classics.” “Shove over, Clem.” “Glad to see you grabbed the pup, Slayer. You sure you don’t want to keep him as a pet?” Clem smiles at me as I slide into the back seat with my hellhound. I snort, wondering once again how I’ve gone from slaying demons to bumming rides from them. “Um, no. No, I think we’re going to stick with Plan A.” “You want a ride past the old high school then, Slayer?” “You could just drop us …” He turns and he’s giving me an exasperated look. “Yeah, that’d be great. Um, thanks.” I relax into the seat. The Genthner sticks her head out the window. “So things have been quiet since Drac cleared out, yeah?” Is Spike making chit chat? “Um, yeah. I guess. Are you making chit chat?” “Just trying to keep abreast of the developments.” “No developments. Just the usual. And this little doggy.” “And how come Fearless Finn didn’t sign up for dogcatcher duty?” I scowl. Does he know about our latest argument? Then again, there isn’t any shortage of spats between me and Riley these days, and Spike, well … he has his faults, but he’s observant. “Slayer?” “He went home to Iowa. For his cousin Marybeth’s wedding.” “And you opted not to meet the parents on this joyous occassion.” This time I shrug, because he’s got it exactly right. Just as I’m thinking about flinging myself out of the DeSoto and wrestling the Genthner back to the Hellmouth myself, his voice softens. “Let’s get Fido home then, shall we?” *** Clem asks Spike to drop him off in the bad part of town. “Will he be okay?” “Oh yeah. He lives in that boarding house.” “Out in the open?” “Yeah.” “But what about the, erm …” “Skin condition?” “That’s what he tells everyone? That works?” “Call it Sunnydale Syndrome, pet, but yeah, it works.” “Oh.” “Wanna come sit up front?” I don’t, or at least I don’t think I do, but the Genthner is shedding and drooling and who knows what else it might get up to? I’m wearing my new Sevens and would really rather not have to remove doggie detritus from them. “Sure.” I slide in next to Spike, but since his car is such a boat, I’m still miles away. Yeah, this is okay. And it’s nice to be in a car instead of on foot, especially since it is getting late. “So, thanks. For the chauffeur service.” “Least I can do, Slayer.” “Look out!” The big Genthner appears out of nowhere. You remember Clifford, the Big Red Dog? Taller than a brownstone? Like that, except really pissed off. Spike swerves to avoid Momma Doggie, and I slam right into him. He pulls back around. “Release the hound!” he calls, and I’m on it. I’ve leapt out of the car and swung open the back door. The puppy bounds off the black vinyl and into Momma Dog’s waiting paws. Fortunately, we’re not far from the old high school, and as I stand there, I can see both canines heading back into the warmth of the Hellmouth. As their tails disappear into another dimension, I realize that Spike has parked. And he’s standing next to me. Very close. A/N: Yeah, I know. The lyric Spike quotes is Public Enemy. (Clem, of course, is singing along to Elvis.) And while it isn't as far fetched as Spike quoting, say, Celine Dion, it probably strikes some of you as OOC. I'm sticking with it on the theory that Spike loves punk rock because he sees himself as an outsider and a rebel; and so he's likely to appreciate other genres that represent the same point-of-view. That said, I do solmenly swear that I will never write a fic where Spike pops in a Coolio CD.

Chapter #2 - Ch. 2: Velocity

Thanks to a bunch of lucky breaks – Spike being Mr. Let’s-Make-A-Deal at the shelter, the Genthner pup finding her way back to hell unassisted – we’re standing outside the ruin of the high school with hours to go before sunrise. And we’re standing far too close to each other. “You’ll be needing to report this episode to your Watcher then?” he asks, his voice neutral. I shrug. “It can wait. Giles likes his eight hours.” He nods. We’re standing there, knowing that we ought to go in our opposite directions. But somehow … somehow my feet are stuck to the asphalt of the abandoned high school parking lot. “Or maybe I should patrol.” “Hop in.” I do, even though there’s really no need. I’ve trekked from school to the graveyards a million times. But lately … lately Spike’s company feels comfortable. And even though there’s probably nothing out there, I don’t mind a little back up. Part of me thinks this is good Slayer thinking, and part of me casts about desperately for a distraction. Because as we hit the open road – a shortcut looping the long way towards St. Mary’s Cemetery on the edge of town - and the night air spills in the windows, this feels good. Too good, and I can’t tell if I’m scared of going so fast in this antique, or if I’m worried about just feeling good in general. I notice Spike’s hands on the steering wheel, and something Clem said comes back to me. “So when did you steal this boat?” “You’re so certain I stole it?” He quirks an eyebrow. I remember Spike’s bribe at the shelter, and I’m not so sure. Then he’s reaching across – one of those weird, super-quick vampire reaches – and opening the glove compartment. Along with napkins from In-N-Out Burger and empty cigarette packs, there’s a slip of official looking paper. It’s an owner’s card, dated 1961, indicating that Mr. William Pratt IV purchased the DeSoto fair and square. “Oh,” I say stupidly. “Had a 1929 Faeton before this. Won that one in a poker game.” “They had cars in 1929?” He smiles at me. “Yeah. Had electric lights and running water, too.” “Whatever,” I respond. But I’m really curious now. I mean, here I am trying to stay alive long enough to graduate from college and Spike’s been around since the birth of the automobile. “Still have it, stashed in a garage in Arizona. Doesn’t run anymore. Tough to get parts for it.” I nod. “Had a bunch of others, over the years. Won ‘em in races. And yeah, stole a few. But this one? This one’s my baby. Been all over the continent with her.” We’re back at the garage. As we park the car, then fall into step next to each other, Spike looks sheepish. This is a funny look for a wolf. “Didn’t mean to jaw on ‘bout my cars, Slayer.” “It’s okay. Kind of good to know that you’ve got a hobby besides killing Slayers.” “Ah, but Slayers are my first love.” We’re not quite at the gates to Restfield. “Maybe you’ll tell me about it sometime.” “Maybe.” *** We do kill things. Couple of vampires and a scaly, overgrown lizard demon. It isn’t much of a fight, not with an extra set of fists. I’m waling on the last vamp – a scrawny thing with a mop of unruly curls – while Spike lights up a cigarette and watches. “Nicely managed, pet,” he tells me as the dust settles. I frown, but I guess I don’t really mind. There’s not a lot of applause in my line of work. Maybe I’m used to being unsung, but tonight, I kind of like the praise. Just as the silence borders on the uncomfortable, a newbie vamp built like a linebacker drops from the rooftop of the Hannon crypt. I’m wriggling free as Spike is prying the big guy from my back. It takes forever – just when I straddle the vamp in killing position, he bucks me off. A minute later, Spike narrowly misses his shot and goes flying into a tree trunk. Somehow, we’ve both burned through our stake supply. “Gonna be the hard way then.” He winks at me and lashes out for another attack. Finally, I’m twisting Biggie’s neck while Spike pins the vamp’s arms back. Too many vampire dustings have become routine. This one felt like a victory. “Think he brought the rest of the defensive line?” I look around. Nothing is stirring, not even a bulky, pulse-deprived former varsity athlete. “Nah. Not tonight anyway.” “Well, then, something to look forward to for tomorrow.” We fall into step together. It’s close to sunrise now. Close enough that the flammable members of our party really ought to seek shelter. “Are you walking me back to campus?” I ask. “Cause, really, I’m good.” “I know, pet. And I’m just walkin. Don’t see it’s your concern how I wear out my shoe leather.” I stop. “Spike.” He stops, too. “You’re a vampire. And a … a … car thief.” “Not exactly news, Slayer.” “You help me. And I … I like that you help me. But we can’t be friends.” He looks hurt for a millisecond. “Never said I wanted your friendship, Slayer.” And then we’re close to each other, very close. I know what comes next, what’s been building since the Genthner leapt out of the car, maybe since his first threat back in the alley years ago. His lips are on mine, just a brush, and then he’s increasing the pressure. I close what little space remains between us and part my lips. The kiss takes my breath away, breaks down my resistance, whispers things to me. And even as I know this is a mistake, a bad idea, something that I’ll regret for however long I manage to live, I can’t push away. My blood is rushing, adrenaline pumping, like I’m back in the DeSoto on the open highway again. Only this time I’m not afraid. I can’t wait to feel what comes next, what he’ll ask of me. What he’ll do. Except that he doesn’t. Instead he breaks our kiss, gives me a look I don’t understand and walks away. I watch his back, the leather duster flaring out behind him like a cape. And the words that form on my well-kissed lips? “Like you stole it.” ~ Finis ~