Title: Queen of the Highway
Author: meagan
Summary: Someone is running from Sunnydale. Pretty short, but that's what it wanted to be, so I let it.
Spoilers: Everything plus season four rumors about Spike. Specifically, this was written after "Graduation Part 1."
Disclaimer: Of *course* they belong to someone else. I could never come up with characters like this. Specifically, they belong to Mutant Enemy, Fox, WB, and anyone else I forgot.
Rating: G, I think.
Distribution: Please ask.
Feedback: Um, please, I think. I'm not really a writer. I'm just trying to sort out what the voices in my head want me to do. There are just so *many* of them, telling me all sorts of different things, and I'm not sure which ones to listen to. Feedback would probably help. So would therapy, but I can't afford that right now, so I'll just try to keep on writing.
Note: Yeah, the title comes from a Doors song. I have quite the track record with naming things (pets, cars, computers) after Doors stuff. Ray Manzarek is a god, by the way.
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Damn him! Stupid guy. She pounded the steering wheel, furious that after all these years she found someone that made her care about something other than herself. And furious at herself for caring.
Well, even if he wasn't willing to save himself, she wasn't about let herself to die. Nope. Too many new feelings to sort through. Feelings. She was doing so well without them. This driving thing sucked, too. All by herself, with only the radio for company. Far too much time for thinking. She wasn't sure what state she was even in anymore. After driving for days on end, she counted herself lucky to know she was driving away from Sunnydale. Oh, look. An all-night coffee shop. Maybe stopping for something to eat would take her mind off everything behind her. Everything that had haunted her thoughts and dreams since her flight.
She pulled into the parking lot, noting the relative emptiness of the parking lot. An extremely dirty blue Mazda (probably some college students pulling an all-nighter, in need of sustenance), a shiny green Ford (a salesman, perhaps?), a large black battered car of some make she couldn't identify, a couple of pickup trucks -- one beige, one gray. On one hand, good. Fewer people to deal with. On the other hand, bad. Fewer people to deal with. If she had to sit next to a screaming two-year-old, she may want to strangle the whole family, but at least her mind would be on getting the brat to shut up. If the diner contained only herself and the employees, she could eat in relative peace, but she would be nearly as alone as she was in the car. But at least she would have her meditations interrupted by coffee refills.
Entering the establishment, she took a seat at the counter. She glanced around the room, assigning people to vehicles. The rowdy table at the back went with the Mazda, for sure. Bits of conversation drifted her way, identifying them as recent attendees at some concert earlier in the evening. At another table, a somber-looking man -- early thirties, perhaps -- concentrated on reading what appeared to be some sort of report. The Ford. That left three vehicles. The employees, she assumed.
The newspaper on the counter caught her attention. At least it was *something* to keep her mind occupied. She opened it, thumbing through it, not really looking for anything in particular, when a small block of print near the bottom of one of the back pages caught her eye. "Mysterious Explosion Rocks California High School." Folding the paper to make it more manageable, she began to read.
"If anyone can get them through it, she can." A voice with a British accent broke her concentration.
Startled, she could only reply, "I don't know what you're talking about."
He sighed, making himself at home in the seat next to hers. "Sure you don't. That's why you have that same look of fear -- terror, really -- that she had last year. That's why you're reading the newspaper, zeroing in on a tiny blurb about that high school." He paused to take a healthy swig of coffee. "Same reason I did." He stared into space, silent for enough time for her to decide that he was going to leave her alone. Then, "But I'm going back. It's not over, I know, but I have to make sure. She's saved the world many times, even after she died. Did you know that? She died, but then she was... resurrected, just in time to do the impossible." Silence again. "And she's special. Not just because she can save the world. Because she has friends who help. Yeah, sure, they can research and fight, but that's not all. They give her a *reason* to fight." He was thinking out loud, working through logic she couldn't see. "They're why she wants to see tomorrow. Sacred duty? Yeah, right. She doesn't care about that. She only cares about seven things: her mother, her Watcher, her boyfriend -- as if that's going to last -- and her friends. It's just happy coincidence that they happen to be part of this world." Coffee cup drained, he shrugged his way into a black leather coat, studying her for a moment. "I know you." He shook his head. "You and I were hit by the same train, I think. Humans. Friends. Feelings." He leaned closer to her, as if he was sharing the secret meaning of life, very softly, so softly she almost didn't hear him, "But they're worth it."
She watched the bleached blond pay his check and leave. His words, despite her best efforts, stuck in her mind. Friends. Who would do anything for each other. Who considered a world without each other to be a world not worth having. She sighed.
After over eleven hundred years, she finally understood the passions that inspired all those women to make the requests they did.
And realized that she wanted to feel the same way.
~~~~ the end ~~~~