By: Valkyrie
Rating: R/NC-17
Disclaimers: Standard…I don’t, they do…Hope I don’t get sued!
Summary: Buffy Summers and Spike Bradley are drifters, living life on the road. They meet up in a bar on some back highway and sparks fly. Yeah pretty lame summary, so sue me! Based loosely on the song ‘Roll Me Away’ by Bob Seger. (The song can most recently be found on the ‘Armageddon’ soundtrack.)
A/N: I have always loved this song and the story in it. I figured why not add my two favorite characters into the mental picture the song painted in my head. I hope you all like it.
Feedback: Definitely of the good, so…please? Chocolate covered Spike’s if you do!!!
Archive: Want, take, have. Just let me know.
* * *
The place was a dive. It was one of those bars you can find in any one-stoplight town along any truck route in America. This one was just off I-10 in some backwoods-farming town in Oklahoma. Buffy couldn’t even remember the name; she’d been through so many. After awhile they all start to look the same…the towns and the bars. Looked like a factory put them together and set them out along the byways…dirty glass doors led into a smoky atmosphere lighted by neon signs for American beer and hanging lamps over the pool tables. Cowboys and truckers, hitchers (like her) and bikers lined the bar and steadily dropped their quarters in the old Wurlitzer. They all had a grizzled barkeep and maybe, if the town was big enough, a waitress with frizzy hair and a voice tainted with too many cigarettes and whiskey filled nights. The music was always country and classic rock straight from the Midwest…Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Willie Nelson, a little Lynyrd Skynyrd and some Bob Seger. If there were some younger people there, you might hear John Mellencamp or maybe even some Tom Petty, but that was rare. The regulars all knew each other and the drifters kept to themselves. Every once in awhile a fight would break out, but unless it got truly violent no one paid any heed.
Places like this had been Buffy Summers’ traveling stops for the past two years. If she was low on funds, she could usually wait tables in the truck stops or at the bars themselves for a month or two before moving on. When the time came to leave, she had no trouble finding a driver to take her to the next town. This was life on the road. After awhile, you began to know by sight which drivers you could trust, and which ones expected reimbursement of the sexual kind. Her first few times hitching had nearly gotten her some close calls, but she had managed to keep herself from being raped or worse. Most of the drivers were lonely, and liked the thought of a pretty girl to talk to during the long lonely hours on dark highways. She kept them company and they took her as far down the road as they could before letting her off outside another truck stop or dive bar. The last driver, Big John, had been a huge bear of a man from Louisiana. He’d had pictures of his wife and two daughters taped to the visor and a massive German Shepherd named Rebel who owned the sleeping cab. He’d been nice, had even talked to the bar owner about giving her a place to stay for a few nights. So here she was, sitting in the shadows at the end of the bar, waiting for Gunn to have a spare moment to talk to her.
She noticed the door opening out of the corner of her eye, and turned to check out the newcomer. It was always a good idea to keep tabs on who came and went. Try and discern between the black hats and white hats…figure who to give a wide berth to. The man came through the door, running one hand through wind tossed platinum curls, and Buffy’s gaze locked on him. He seemed to fit right in, yet at the same time not. He was dressed head to toe in black, as most of the crowd was, and the outfit was topped by an ankle length black leather duster. He exuded an aura of mystery and danger that drew the eye. Buffy took in the lean frame and squinted through the haze of cigarette smoke to see his features. He stepped farther into the room and Buffy nearly gasped out loud when his face was highlighted in the glow of one of the hanging lamps from a pool table. Her eyes roamed over razor sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, and full lips. The only imperfections she could see was a harsh scar cutting through his left eyebrow and a nose that looked to have met a fist a few times. Neither of which detracted from his appeal, in fact they only seemed to make you that much more aware of how attractive he was. His gaze scanned the room and stopped when he saw her staring. His lips curled slowly into a smirk and she blinked before blushing and burying her eyes in her glass. ‘I am so busted!’ She focused her gaze on the bar and prayed to disappear.
Spike allowed his smirk to turn into a full-fledged smile when the petite girl he caught staring ducked her head. Good to know he still had it. He made his way to an open space at the bar, sliding his lean frame between two burly truckers, and raised a hand to catch the barkeeps attention. The man came over, wiping his hands on a bar towel, “What’ll it be?”
“Jack, neat,” He answered, reaching into his pocket for some money. The keep thumped a tumbler of amber liquid in front of Spike, and it was quickly downed and refilled. Spike tossed a few bills on the counter, picked up his glass, and eyed the crowd. Typical group for a place like this. With a practiced eye, he scanned the crowd and noted a pretty serious group around the back pool table. Big money sharks…just what he was looking for. He tossed back his whiskey and strolled to the table.
“How much to get in, mate?” Spike raised an eyebrow at the man he took for the leader of the group.
The larger man eyed him up and down before answering, “One hundred to start, fifty more with every win. You win, you take but if you lose, you lose it all. You can quit anytime. Side bets are between you and your opponent.”
The bleached blonde nodded and pulled a roll of fifties out of the inside pocket of his duster. Handing two to the man, he jerked his head to the door, “Gotta get my stick. When’s next game?”
“There are two ahead of you,” The shark answered. “I say you got about an hour. You gotta name, English?”
“Spike,” He responded, watching the table for a moment before flicking his gaze back to the man before him. “You?”
“You can call me Angel,” The dark haired man nodded and shook Spike’s hand. “You’re good for it, right? We don’t take kindly to welchers here.”
“Never made a bet I couldn’t cover,” Spike answered. “I’ll be back before my turn.” The man nodded and returned his attention to the game.
Buffy, keeping her head lowered, watched surreptiously as the blonde man left the bar only to return a few moments later with a pool stick case in his hand. He was a shark, she noted. Buffy had run into a few of those in her time on the road. They went from bar to bar, town to town, making their money by suckering others out of theirs at the tables. She had noticed the group clustered around the back table when she had arrived, but after being on the receiving end of a few suggestive looks from the hulking ringleader, she had taken her place at the bar and kept her back to them. The blonde she’d been watching got himself another glass of whiskey and suddenly turned his head to lock eyes with her. Her breath caught and her hazel eyes widened slightly as he pushed away from the bar. He prowled- that’s the only way she could describe the way he moved- towards her, coming to a stop and looking down at her. She tried to make her gaze cool and look unaffected by the blatant interest in his eyes but it was an effort in futility.
“Mind if I join you, pet?” An involuntary shiver ran down her spine at the accented purr of his voice. The deep tones caused a flutter in her stomach and she couldn’t seem to make her voice work, so instead she just nodded once and gestured to the empty stool next to her.
“Thanks,” Spike eyed the well-worn jeans, battered denim jacket, and the bag at her feet and immediately pegged her as the hitcher she was. She looked a bit young to be cab hopping, but then again she wasn’t the youngest one he’d ever seen. Innocence floated around her like an aura and his gut instinct told him she wasn’t the type to whore herself for a ride. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what had started her on this way of life, but decided not to question. In this world, history was personal and no one asked the details.
Taking the offered stool, he rested his elbows on the bar and tilted his head to look at her. Holding a hand out he introduced himself, “Name’s Spike.”
Buffy eyed the hand in front of her warily before settling hers in his grasp, “B-Buffy.” Electricity and awareness tingled where his hand held hers and she pulled away as soon as possible, returning her gaze to her now empty glass of water. Spike noted her empty glass and signaled the keep. When he arrived, Spike ordered another glass of whiskey and had the man refill her water. After the man left, Spike returned his gaze to the petite blonde next to him and asked, “Not a drinker, eh?”
“N-No,” Buffy answered without meeting his eyes, instead focusing on a place just past him. “Alcohol and Buffy are definitely un-mixy things.” Her fingers traced random patterns in the condensation on the side of her glass, as she thought about the reason she had never touched a drop of alcohol in her whole twenty years. An alcoholic parent can do that to you. Risking a glance at the man next to her, she added, “You obviously don’t have that problem.”
He curled his lips in a smile and answered, “Been drinking since I was a tyke. In England, we had wine with supper most every night. Build a tolerance after awhile.”
“Oh,” She said. “I imagine you would. How long have you been in the states?”
“Three years. Moved to New York after university, left there about a year ago to hit the road…see the country. Where are you from?”
“California. Just south of L.A., a little town called Sunnydale,” She allowed a small smile at the thought of her home. She hadn’t seen it since two weeks after graduating high school.
Her soft expression caused Spike’s stomach to drop. She really was a beautiful girl, all soft curves and golden hair. Despite her attempt to seem blasé about her life, he could read her loneliness in the sad eyes and hunched shoulders. She missed her home, he could tell. Did she have family? Friends? People she had left behind that cared for her? She didn’t seem like the type to have been left alone for long. In fact, he could easily picture her as the pretty popular cheerleader, surrounded by loads of people and bathed in sunlight. Once again, he wondered what had pushed her to head out on her own. He nodded in response to her statement, “You miss it.” It wasn’t a question.
She met his eyes, startled by his ability to read her so easily, before nodding her head in affirmation, “Yeah, sometimes. When I get stuck in some town…or I’m having a bad stretch…I think…”
“What if?” Spike finished her statement softly. “What if you just called it quits and headed home? Go back to where they know you and you know them.” He wondered whom he was speaking for…her or himself?
“Yeah…” Buffy’s response was a whisper. He read her lips more than heard her words. “But then, I remember why…and I go find another ride.” Her lips turned up in a sad smile. “Sometimes, I wonder if I’m even missed, ya know? If I showed my face back there, would they even want me back? Could I even go back?” Buffy heard herself saying the words and couldn’t understand why she was telling this to some stranger she had just met.
Spike placed his fingers over hers on the glass for a brief moment, “You can always go back, luv. What’s that saying? Home is the place where they always have to take you back? I have a feeling you’re probably very missed.”
“Maybe,” She sighed before shaking off the melancholy and straightening her shoulders. “One day that’s not today, maybe I’ll go back.”
Spike smiled and took back his hand, “Right. One day.” He nodded to an empty pool table. “You play?” He asked, trying to come up with a topic that wasn’t as distressing…to either of them.
Following his gesture, she shook her head, “Not in years. My dad taught me when I was a kid, but I never bothered to keep up with it. Why?”
“Well, I just got myself in on the game in the back, and I could do to warm up some. Thought you might want to go a round? Help me get prepared?” A scarred eyebrow raised in query as he waited for her response.
Buffy debated for a moment before giving him a rueful smile, “If you don’t mind playing with someone who hasn’t a clue what they’re doing, I’m game.”
“Good,” Spike stood and held out his hand to her. She hesitated for a moment before placing her hand in his and allowing him to lead her to the table. He pulled the balls from the pockets and racked them, watching her from under lowered lashes as she chose a stick off the wall. He took his time removing his stick from its case and screwing the two pieces together. When he was finished, he turned to her to find her watching him. He smiled, “You wanna break, pet?”
Buffy shrugged, “I’ve never been good at it, but what the hell?” She grabbed the cue ball and set her shot. Spike couldn’t keep his eyes from roaming over her backside and down her legs as she leaned over the table to hit. Her jeans were well worn and clung in all the right places as she leaned on her toes to line up. With a smooth stroke, cue hit ball, and the tight triangle of colored balls…didn’t scatter much. “See what I mean?” She turned to him and offered a lopsided smile.
Spike laughed, “It’s okay, luv. You just have to use more power.” He racked the balls again and guided her back to the far end of the table. Setting his stick aside, he motioned her to take her shooting stance and leaned in behind her. Placing his hands over hers on the stick, he took a moment to savor how well she fit against him before speaking in her ear, “Don’t hesitate…” He pulled their arms back, feeling her body tremble slightly against his chest. At the apex of the back motion, he said, “Use your shoulder to push it forward, not your arm. And at the end, don’t stop on contact…follow through.” He pushed the stick forward, adding a bit of his strength to hers and the satisfying crack when the cue ball hit the others and they scattered across the table had her smiling. She laughed and the shaking it caused had him biting back a moan as she moved against him. He bit the inside if his cheek and stepped back, forcing a smile to cover his urge to pull her right back against him, “See? Not so hard, luv.”
Buffy grinned, completely oblivious to his hormonal overload, “Nope. You’re a good teacher…better than my dad. All he did was yell…Paul Newman he was most definitely not.” At his raised eyebrow, she rolled her eyes, “Paul Newman? In ‘The Hustler’ and ‘The Color of Money?’”
Spike smirked and quoted, “I just came to play pool, Fats. Yeah, pet…seen ‘em both. Just amazed you have.”
“My dad loved them,” Buffy said with a shrug. “I could quote ‘em by heart before I was ten. Plus…Tom Cruise? Major hottie.” Spike snorted and she rolled her eyes again, “Okay, not so much now, but back then I thought he was. Oh and…your turn.” She gestured to the table and he shook his head before eyeing the lay of the balls.
The game went on in this fashion, Spike sinking a few before purposefully missing a shot so she could have a turn. Every once in a while he would step up behind her to guide her shots, neither one oblivious to the physical attraction brewing under the calm façade of playing the game. Clacks of connecting balls and thuds as they sunk into the pockets were interspersed with jokes and quotes from various movies as they tried to stump each other with trivia. Spike couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself this much, and was actually upset when Angel came over to tell him he was up. He didn’t miss the leer the brunette cast at Buffy, or the way she studiously avoided him, turning her back to put away her stick.
“I’ll be right there, mate,” Spike met the man’s eyes, stepping into his line of sight to Buffy, and waited until he’d left. Turning around to face Buffy, he smiled, “Well, that was fun, pet.”
“Yeah,” She returned his smile. “So, you gotta go?” She waved her hand in the direction of the other table.
Spike looked over his shoulder and saw Angel and the others watching and waiting on him, “Looks that way. Um, you wanna come watch?”
“Oh, I don’t know…it’s kinda like a testosterone party over there.”
“Pfft,” He waved off her objection. “All the more reason to be there. You can be my secret weapon…distract my opponents with your beauty.” She rolled her eyes. Spike tried another tack, “You could be my good luck charm?”
She narrowed her eyes slightly, debating. The thought of being around a bunch of leering men and spending more time with Spike or going back to the bar and sitting by herself…hmm, what to do? What to do? She shrugged, “All right. Come on, Fats…let’s win you some money.” She linked her arm through his and they walked to the table.
* * *
Four hours, six wins and nearly a grand richer, Spike walked Buffy around to the back of the bar where the entrance to the one room apartment overhead was. Gunn had tracked her down during Spike’s third game and gave her the key. His only rules had been 1) she was her own maid, and 2) she had to agree to bar back at night. If she worked, there was no charge for the room, and he’d pay her $40 a night plus twenty-five percent of the tips. She had gladly said yes after warning him she wouldn’t be around for long, three weeks, a month at the most. Gunn said he understood, she wasn’t the first drifter he’d made this arrangement with.
So, now here she was standing at the base of the outside stairs with Spike. She gave him a shy smile, “Thanks for walking me around…it’s kinda wiggy out here.”
“No problem, pet,” Spike smiled back. “Wouldn’t want some big nasty takin’ a chunk out of you. Just remember to lock up.” His tone was gentle, but his warning was serious. If he were honest, he’d tell her to forget the apartment and crash at his hotel. He’d take the couch if it meant nothing would happen to her. For some reason she made him feel a very strong need to protect her. He’d felt a tug of possessiveness every time that hulk, Angel, had turned his leering gaze in her direction.
“I will,” She promised as she turned to go up the steps. Stopping to turn back to him, she gave him another shy smile, “I had fun tonight.”
Spike took in the slight blush staining her cheeks and was instantly charmed. He reached out and caught one of her hands in his, lifting it to press a soft kiss to the back of her fingers, “So did I. More than I’ve had in a long time.”
His actions caused her to shiver slightly and she stumbled over her next words, “Me, t-too…and I’m glad that you uh, liked…or enjoyed…and maybe um, if you want…or if-if you’re gonna be in town…maybe you might w-want to…”
“Do it again?” Spike finished her question, effectively ending her nervous stumbling around the point. She blushed even more and looked down at where he still held her fingers in his grasp. He squeezed her fingers gently and when she returned her gaze to his again, he gave her a soft smile, “ ‘d love to, pet. I know you start working tomorrow night, how about I treat my good luck charm to dinner before that?” The smile she gave him was blinding, and he felt his heart jump crazily in his chest. He had a momentary thought of just how dangerous this girl could be for him. He’d only known her a few hours and already she’d managed to make want to do nothing but make her smile like that forever.
“Dinner sounds good, really good,” Buffy smiled in relief. She had been terrified that he would laugh at her ineptitude or just turn her down flat. She didn’t know which would be worse, but either one didn’t really give her the warm fuzzies.
“Good,” Spike squeezed her hand once more before dropping it. “I’ll come by and get you at say…five? That should give us enough time before you have to go in, right?”
“Yeah, five’ll work,” Buffy replied and turned to finish her trek up the narrow stairs. She didn’t turn around until she reached the door, and when she did she found him watching her from the bottom of the steps. She unlocked the door and gave him a small wave, which he returned with a smile, before shutting the door behind her and turning the lock.
Buffy leaned her forehead against the door while she tried to tone down that little voice shouting with glee in her head. She’d just met this guy, he was a complete stranger to her, and yet she felt more comfortable with him than any other man she’d known. She felt it on a gut level, like spidey-sense, that Spike was the type of guy a girl waited their whole life to find. He was that mix of danger and poetry that swooning teenage girls fantasized about and grown women only thought existed between the pages of some romance novel. She had found him, like a lost treasure, drifting on these dirty lonely back roads…and that reminder effectively shut up the happy voice. This wasn’t some novel, and she wasn’t going to be swept off in some romantic gesture. The two of them were drifters…she knew that in a few days, or weeks, he would roll on to the next town and she would find another ride out of here and that would be it. No white picket fence, station wagon, and 2.5 kids. That wasn’t in her future and she seriously doubted it was in his. With a resigned sigh, she pushed away from the door. She dropped her bag on the floor next to the bed and flopped onto her back.
“Great, just great,” She muttered to herself. “Buffy’s bad luck strikes again.”
Spike waited for the sound of the lock tumbling into place before turning away from the stairs. He pushed a hand through his bleached hair and sighed. Figures, he’d meet, what seems to be, the perfect girl in some dusty no-name town that neither one of them planned on staying in. The knowledge that they would both being going their separate ways in a matter of weeks put a definite damper on his good mood. He held no illusions that it would be any other way. They both had their reasons for plodding across this country alone and he, for one, had no urge to temper that wanderlust just yet…no matter how much the girl upstairs made him want to rethink his whole purpose for disappearing into the great Midwest. With a final run of long fingers through blonde locks, he straddled his motorcycle and kicked it into gear, heading for the motel at the end of the town.
“Forget the white washed fantasies, mate,” He grumbled under the roar of the engine. “Enjoy it while you can and then move the hell on.”