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Crash and Burn

Crash and Burn
By NautiBitz

Info and Author's Notes: See introduction.

Spike sat up, awakened by intermittent moans coming from the bedroom. Right, the Harrises. Thin-as-fuck walls.

He scratched his head, sniffed his armpits and made for the shower.

Today was gonna be a good day.

* * *

"It's no fair," Dawn whined, stomping her foot. "She crashed her car! How come she gets to stay and party, and I have to go to San Diego?"

"Because she's old enough to make her own decisions." Hank turned to his older daughter. "Buffy? Remember the rules."

She nodded soberly. "No boys inside the house, no booze, no drugs, no sex, no wild orgies."

"Do you have to say it like that? In front of a fourteen year old?"

"Sorry. No bacchanalian cavorting?"

Dawn said huffily, "You guys, I know what an orgy is."

Hank frowned at Dawn.

"Well, not from experience!"

"Okay orgy girl," Buffy said, shooing them out the door. "Go. Have fun at Grandma's. I'll see you in two weeks."

Dawn whined again.

* * *

"Dru?" Spike called out, confidence high as he hopped up the steps of his apartment, two at a time, avoiding the usual obstacle course of sheet music, drumsticks and articles of clothing. "Dru, baby--"

When he reached the loft, his heart stopped. There they were, writhing and glistening in the early evening light.

Shock turned to blind rage. "Get your grubby hands off my girl!"

Shoved against the wall, Lindsey's eyes widened, arms raised in white flag. "Whoa, Spike; buddy, she told me -- I thought you were--"

"Well you thought wrong."

Something hit Spike on the head.

"Get out! Get out of here! Leave us alone!"

He turned to see Dru picking up another paperback on the bedside table.

"Dru--" He ducked the flying object, letting Lindsey slide down the wall.

"I told you it's over, Spike! I don't love you anymore!"

"Gonna tell me you love him now?"

She hummed and smiled naughtily at Lindsey, "Mmmm, I enjoy him."

The target of her affection made a sick little snigger in response.

Spike took a deep breath, nostrils flared, eyes shut. Then he punched a nice, satisfying hole in the wall where Lindsey's face had been, and felt even better when plaster fell down and the guy recoiled in fear.

"She's all yours, Drummer Boy. Enjoy."

* * *

"Lying, cheating, two-timing WHORE!"

The car rocked as he thrashed around, kicking and throwing things about. He picked up something cool and hard, about to pound it into the dashboard, until he recognized it as not his own.

The hell?

Thin, glittery-gold cellphone.


He ran his fingers over it for a second, came to a conclusion, and started the engine.

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Title illustration by Mike Segawa
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