Out of my way, you little--! Look where you're going, you'll fly over the bloody edge!

On a reflexive impulse -- save her -- Spike jerked the wheel to the right, deliberately impacting with her car to stop its trajectory.

They came to a crashing halt at the mountain's interior shoulder.

* * *

The squealing and crunching noises finally subsided, but the screaming didn't.

Oh, that's because the screaming was coming from her.

She clamped her mouth shut.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Am I alive? Am I on solid ground? Oh my god, my car! My car!

Holding the steering wheel tight, Buffy looked up at the black monstrosity that was now wedged into her front fender. Old, dirty, with crustily painted windows. And some idiot inside.

Whoever was in there was so going to jail.

* * *

Spike peered through the window at the blonde, tan, bare-shouldered, thousand-dollar-sunglass-wearing bint he'd just saved from certain death.

His eyes narrowed. Oh yeah. He was Pissed. Off.

"Stupid--" he kicked the car door open, "bitch!"

Buffy's jaw dropped. "Bitch? Hello? I'm the bitch?" Hands shaking, she picked up her phone, saw that the connection with her friend had been lost, and scrambled out of the car. "You come out of nowhere and crash my car--"

"No, you came out of nowhere and got in my way!"

"You've got a battleship -- it's hardly even scratched and--" she glanced at the damage she didn't want to see. Front right side snarled beyond recognition. Hyperventilating now. "Oh my god, look what you did to my brand-new car!"

He didn't miss a beat. "If you weren't yammerin' on your bloody cellphone --"

"Don't you turn this around on me!"

"--there a law against that?"

"No, but there IS a law against going a hundred miles an hour down the wrong side of the road!"

"You should've stayed out of my way!"

Buffy got a whiff of alcohol-breath and stepped back, repulsed. "You're drunk!"

"So what if I am?" He stepped forward menacingly. "What are you gonna do? Tattle on me?"

"I really, really am." As she dialed 911, her phone blipped off, the screen going blank. "Shit!"

He sniggered. "Right then."

God, he was disgusting. Wrinkled clothes, long black leather coat -- in California? -- deliberately-dyed white-blonde hair, cheeks streaked with black eyeliner... He was a disaster. A big, drunk, hideous disaster. "You are so gonna pay for this. My dad's a lawyer--"

"Bully for him." He turned around.

"Where are you going?"

"Far away from you as I can," he said, opening his right passenger door and shoving piles of clothing off the seat.

"Don't you dare hit and run me!" She followed him. "I know your license plate number--"

"Good thing it ain't mine."

She gasped. "You stole--?" She bent forward into the car. "Look you freaking psychopath, there is no way I'm letting you--"

He'd scooted over to the wheel. "Not about letting me, pet. Bye now." He looked behind him, ready to back up.

Buffy jumped in.

"What the -- Get out of my car you nit!"

She folded her arms. "You first."

He growled, "Get. Out!"

"No!"

Spike backed up enough to disengage the interlocked cars, saying, "Fine, have it your--" Looking ahead again, he gasped.

She followed his gaze.

Her car was rolling backward.

"Oh my god! No! No no no no no--"

She jumped out, ran after it. But it was too late.

Her brand-new Bright Red BMW Z4 roadster equipped with Sycamore Wood Trim, Leather Interior and Sport Suspension sagged once, twice, then disappeared off the cliff's edge.

Buffy stared, open-mouthed, incredulous.

She took off her sunglasses.

Spike watched her, a strange niggling in his gut. What should he care about some rich bitch's daddy-bought ride taking a swan dive? What did he care about anything anymore? And why didn't she think to put on the bloody parking brake?

Smartest thing right now would be to go. Gun the engine and drive away, get back to his sorrow-fest, maybe find another cliff.

But, standing there in the middle of the roadway, she looked so... bereft.

Go, go, now, a voice told him. She'll be fine. Just go!

Rolling his eyes, he turned off the car and got out.

When he appeared at her side, she went berserk, hitting him with her phone and sunglasses and screaming, "You did this! This is all your fault! You stupid, white-haired, makeup-wearing jackass! You worthless piece of--"

"Will you hold on a minute?" He pushed her backward, holding her arms down.

"No! I will not hold on!" She was crying now, eyes wide and wet. "Because my car is gone forever!"

Spike hated seeing girls cry, so he shook her roughly. "Get a grip, girl!"

She seethed through clenched teeth, "My graduation present and everything inside of it just plummeted down a thousand-foot mountain! Don't tell me to grip! And don't touch me!" She jumped out of his grasp.

"It's just a bloody car--"

"Yeah, you'd say that wouldn't you, with your stolen crapmobile--"

"Look. Better the car than you, alright?"

"Are you kidding? My dad's gonna slaughter me when he finds out! I'm as good as dead."

He sighed, patience running out. "Daddy will understand when you tell him a big bad man did it."

"You're not big and bad," she spat. "You're short and pathetic."

He stepped back, breathed in. "Have a nice walk home."

She registered this. Glanced at the cliff's edge, down at her dead phone, and at his back, walking away from her. "Wait!"

"Maybe someone'll come by and pick you up." He slid into the driver's seat and added under his breath, "Axe-murderer, I hope."

"But -- hey--" she ran up to the passenger's side -- the door was still open.

"I said someone. Not me."

"Look, I'm -- the things I say, I don't always mean them--"

"Oh, that's truly riveting."

"Okay, so I do mean them, I just -- Why can't you just give me a ride?" It was unbelievably rank in there. But what choice did she have? "Isn't it the least you can do? You obliterated my car!"

"Goodbye."

"I'll -- I'll pay you! Whatever you want!"

"Don't need your daddy's money, princess."

She took a deep breath, whispering an "Oh god" as she geared up for the humiliation of the following word: "Please?"

He shut his eyes, turned to look at her. This was the last thing he needed today. The company of some shiny-skinned, bouncy-haired, venom-tongued Hollybrat.

He exhaled heavily. "Get in."

"Oh, thank god." She hopped in and shut the door, regretting it the second her Jimmy Choo heel stuck in something gummy.

"On one condition."

"What? Oh, no way. I am not having sex with you."

He laughed, "Please! Don't flatter yourself, blondie."

"Shyeah." She put her sunglasses on her head. "As if."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means 'in your dreams'."

"Hardly," he gruffed. "Condition is, you promise you won't press charges. Or tell dear old Da anything about me."

She rolled her eyes, sighed, "Fine."

"I want a promise."

"I pro-mise," she drawled. "God, you're vile."

Before peeling out, he hinted, "Might wanna be careful of that door. Flies right open without warning."