Part Four

“Excuse me,” a female voice called from behind Xander as he stood at his locker, attempting to open it. “Excuse me,” the voice said again when he didn’t respond, this time accompanied by a finger poking him in the shoulder.

He turned around slowly. “Yeah?” he asked the girl who stood before him, a petite brunette with Grecian facial features.

“Do you have a date to the Homecoming Dance?” she asked.

Xander looked around him, noticed the relatively empty hallway, and then looked back at her in confusion. “Um… no…?”

She extended a hand. “I’m Anya Christina Emanuella Jenkins,” she said, shaking his hand firmly. “Would you like to escort me to the dance? I believe that it would be profitable for both of us, and possibly lead to many orgasms.”

Xander scratched his head, staring at the girl as if she’d just sung a loud Italian aria. “Sure?” he feebly answered.

“Wonderful. I will be wearing salmon.” She reached into her purse. “Here is a fabric sample, so you can match your clothing to it, and bring me expensive flowers.”

“Okay…”

Anya briskly walked away, leaving Xander standing next to his locker, completely flummoxed and holding a scrap of bright, salmon-colored satin.

~*~*~*~*~ <

The chords of ‘Anarchy in the UK’ were audible long before the classic car rumbled up the drive of Sunnydale High School. Long, slender fingers clasped a half-burnt cigarette, lifting it sporadically to a full, masculine mouth. Lips wrapped around the orange-colored filter and sucked nicotine into strong lungs, then curved into a perfect ‘o’ as they blew the smoke out into the air.

Spike’s free hand wrapped tightly around the steering wheel of the DeSoto and turned it sharply to the left, pulling into a parking place. He killed the engine, then got out of the car and dropped the cigarette, grinding it out with his heel. The long leather folds of his duster flapped in the slight breeze as he closed the car door, then walked around to the other side, waiting as Nef got out. He wrapped an arm lazily about her shoulders as they approached the entrance to the school gymnasium.

Two older alumni greeted them at the doors, which had been propped open to allow the cooler, outside air to circulate. A long banner, painted in the maroon and gold of the Sunnydale Razorbacks and pronouncing the Homecoming dance, fluttered slightly in the cross-breeze.

The two teens made their way toward a table in the corner of the gym, where Faith and Anthony were already waiting. Spike shed his duster, laying it over the back of his chair, then flopped down into the seat and fiddled with the collar of his light blue, button-down shirt. He fixed his gaze on the entrance, every once in awhile responding to conversation.

“… and I couldn’t even believe that he tried to come onto me…” Faith was saying. “Good thing Anthony was here to protect me…”

Spike glanced at Anthony, who was sporting a fresh shiner. “Got clocked, eh mate?”

“Yeah,” Anthony responded. “But you should see the other guy. Nobody hits on my girl,” he purred as his mouth descended on Faith’s throat. Spike tuned them out when they began to kiss passionately, his attention once again resting on the doors.

Oh, bloody ‘ell, there ‘e is… Spike thought as he saw Angel enter the room, with Buffy in tow. An’ ‘e brought Malibu Bitchy with ‘im. He stood quickly, knocking the table with his knee. Some of Faith’s punch spilled onto the tablecloth, seeping in and spreading a dark red stain on the pristine white fabric. He glanced around the gym and noticed Nef with a blue-haired boy. Shrugging into his duster, he made for the exit, frowning when he noticed Angel taking a swig from a silver flask, and then stealthily putting it back into the pocket of his suit coat. He tilted his head, watching Angel stumble about like the drunken lout he was, then sighed and left. There would be no confrontations for him tonight.

“Hey, wasn’t that Spike?” Willow asked Oz as the bleached-blonde teen stalked past her, his coat billowing behind him dramatically.

“Looked that way,” Oz murmured. “Wonder why he’s making an exit?”

“I don’t kno–oh!” the redhead exclaimed. “He must’ve seen Buffy and Angel. I guess since that big blow-up at the Bronze, it’s been pretty much…”

“Bad, right?”

Willow smiled sweetly. “Right. But the important thing is, Buffy’s happy with Angel, and you’re holding me. Nothing could be better.”

Xander danced past with Anya, wide-eyed as her wandering hands kept discovering new and exciting body parts.

Willow giggled, turning to look at Oz. He was gazing at her intently, and her smile faded. “What?” she asked self-consciously. “Do I have something…”

He pursed his lips slightly, shaking his head. His arms tightened slightly around her as he dipped his head toward hers. Their mouths brushed gently once, twice, and then he pulled away slightly. “I love you,” he murmured.

“I – ” Willow began, but was cut off at a familiar and rather grating voice.

“Simmer down, you two. This is an educational institution, not a brothel.” Willow and Oz pulled apart, turning to look at Principal Snyder, who was standing before them with a self-satisfied smirk firmly planted on his face. He turned and walked toward another couple that had been grinding suggestively against each other.

Oz shook his head, then took Willow’s hand and led her toward a fairly secluded corner of the gym.

Buffy noticed the couple’s new location, a happy grin spreading over her face as she imagined Willow’s reaction to the promise ring. She slapped away Angel’s hand, which had been traveling up her inner thigh, then turned to Xander.

“She’s gonna be so excited,” Buffy declared.

“Who?” Angel asked loudly. He beckoned Anya to come closer, and when she leaned toward him, he declared drunkenly, “Buffy’s gon’ be the excited one. I gotta hotel room fer after the dance, so we can go up and screw.”

Buffy cursed the fact that she was stone sober as she blushed, embarrassed.

Anya turned to Xander. “Your drunken friend has good ideas,” she said suggestively, raising an eyebrow at the bewildered teen. “Perhaps we should go to a hotel as well, and have some orgasms.”

Willow and Oz approached the table at that moment, preventing the scene from becoming more awkward than it already was.

“Look, look!” Willow cried, bubbling with excitement. She displayed the promise ring that Oz had given her.

“Pretty,” Buffy commented. “What’s the stone?”

“The promise ring was a custom created by Mexican soldiers in the 1800s,” Anya recited. “It was made of turquoise and silver, and when the soldier gave it to his lover, it would tell other men that she was taken.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow, and then jumped when Angel’s hand landed on her breast. She peeled his large fingers from her tender flesh, placing his hand in his lap instead. She then straightened him up, moving his nuzzling mouth away from her neck.

Willow frowned, embarrassed for her friend. A microphone squealed as it was adjusted, and the teens cringed at the feedback.

They turned their attention to the stage, where the Homecoming king and queen were about to be announced. Not surprisingly, the winners were Cordelia and her date, and they walked to the middle of the dance floor for their spotlight dance.

Most of the students rolled their eyes and turned back to their dates. Buffy glanced at Angel, who was taking another long swig of his flask, then sighed. “You guys wanna get out of here?” she asked suddenly.

“Yeah, maybe we could go to one of those hotels,” Anya suggested.

Angel tipped to the side and fell out of his chair, landing on the floor with a thud. He looked around, disoriented, then began to giggle.

“I just want to get my date home,” Buffy said tiredly. At the shocked looks of her friends, she quickly amended her statement. “To his house. So I can leave him there and he’ll wake up with a hangover?”

“Okay, Buffy,” Willow said, plucking her wrap from her chair.

“Hey Oz, Xander, can you get Angel to his Jeep?” The boys nodded, walking over to Angel, grasping his arms and pulling him to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily for a moment, his legs threatening to deposit him face-first onto the hardwood of the gym floor once more.

“Come on, Angel man,” Xander said. “Let’s go.” He and Oz supported the inebriated soccer player, ushering him outside. Once they’d made it to the SUV, they propped Angel up against it, waiting for Buffy to reach inside his pants pocket to retrieve the keys.

Buffy stepped forward, her hand disappearing into the front pocket of Angel’s trousers. He chuckled. “Getting’ frisky already, huh? I like that in a girl.” He reached for her, kissing her thoroughly. Buffy disentangled herself from him, then motioned for Xander and Oz to heave him into the Jeep. Buffy discreetly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then opened her purse and popped a breath mint into her mouth to cover up the taste of the highly potent grain alcohol that Angel had been drinking. Once Angel was in the car, with his seatbelt buckled, Buffy walked around to the driver’s side.

“This can’t be so hard,” she said under her breath. “Turn the key, press the gas, steer…”

“Are you okay?” Xander asked worriedly.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, once I figure this driving thing out,” Buffy said weakly. “Can you guys follow me to make sure I don’t kill myself?”

“Sure,” Oz said, one hand flying up in the air to catch the keys that Willow tossed in his direction. “We’ll tail you until you get to Angel’s, then you can ride home with us.”

Buffy climbed into the Jeep, watching as Xander, Anya, Willow, and Oz squeezed into the little, red convertible. The blonde slid the key into the ignition, beaming as the engine started on the first try. She put it in drive, pulling out of the parking lot slowly, then stopping at the end of the school’s driveway and waiting for the others to catch up. “This driving thing’s not so hard,” she mumbled as she put on her blinker. She pulled out into the rather empty roadway, slowly making her way toward the residential side of town.

Angel reached over and attempted to pull her toward him. She squirmed in his embrace. “Angel, not now. I have to drive,” she protested as his determined hands traversed her form.

He pressed a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder. “C’mon, Buff…” he coaxed drunkenly, his mouth traveling toward her collarbone. The seatbelt restrained him from moving further toward her, and he shrugged, deciding to give her a love bite.

His teeth latched onto her flesh and she gasped in half-pain, pushing at his head with one hand as she attempted to steer with the other. The Jeep approached a blind hill, with the convertible trailing fairly close behind. Halfway up the hill, a large truck came barreling down, swerving all over the road. Buffy cranked the wheel to the right, coming to a screeching halt inches from a large stonewall. She looked back in her mirror, her eyes widening in horror as the truck collided with the tiny convertible, pushing it backwards down the hill. A shaking hand flew to her mouth as the truck swerved, leaving the red car at the bottom of the hill, looking much like a piece of crumpled aluminum foil.

Buffy put on the parking brake, and then yanked at her seatbelt. She grabbed her purse as she scrambled quickly from the Jeep and raced down toward the crushed car, which contained her friends. She skidded to a halt a few yards from the car, repeating “Oh my God” over and over.

A muffled groan came from the rear right of the car, and she approached the vehicle. “Xander?” she asked.

“… Buffy…” he wheezed. “Where are you?” he asked.

His arm hung out of a broken window, and she clasped his hand. “I’m right here, Xander. Are you okay?”

“I think my leg is broken,” he ground out as a wave of pain flooded through him. “Anya’s okay, she’s got a couple of cuts on her face, but she’s not talking. I… I think she’s catatonic.” He paused, taking a shuddering breath. “But Oz and Willow won’t wake up, Buffy. You’ve got to help them…”

Buffy opened her purse and pulled out her cell phone, calling 911. “Hi,” she said shakily. “My friends were in an… an accident…” she said quietly. “Xander thinks his leg is broken, and his date is okay but she’s not talking… but he can’t wake up Willow or Oz…” She listened to the operator for a moment, subsequently glancing around. “I’m at the bottom of Porter’s Hill, near the Shell station… yes, okay, I’ll try to wake them.”

The blonde shuffled toward the passenger door, looking inside. Willow had a large, freely bleeding gash across her abdomen, and her eyes were closed, her chin resting on her chest. Her face was swollen and beginning to bruise. “Willow is cut…” Buffy told the operator. “How do I check for a… pulse?” she asked. “Oh, okay,” she said, complying by reaching through the broken passenger window, pressing two fingers to her friend’s throat. “I can feel something… it’s slow…” she reported, as the high-pitched whine of sirens assailed her ears. “Should I… should I check Oz?” she asked the operator. She walked around the car, reaching through the window and feeling for a pulse. Her fingers came back bloody, and she wiped them on her long-dirtied formal dress, uncaring. She checked again. “I can’t feel anything,” she said, looking up as three ambulances, a police car, and a fire-rescue truck raced toward the scene. The EMTs exited their vehicles, and two particularly burly ones began the task of prying back the top of the convertible. “They’re here,” Buffy commented into the phone, closing it absently.

An armed police officer stepped from his car, pulling Buffy gently away from the accident scene. “I’m Officer Cohen with the Sunnydale Police Department. Can you tell me what happened here, Miss…?”

“Summers,” Buffy responded. “Buffy Summers.” She took in a shuddering breath. “We were at the… at the Homecoming Dance, and Angel got… he was drunk. I had to-to drive his Jeep, and I’m not a good driver, so Oz said he’d follow us…” Her eyes filled with tears, but she quickly wiped them away, smearing her eye makeup. “We got to the hill, and a truck… it was swerving all over the road… I got out of the way in time, but it… it hit them head-on, and… And then I put on the parking brake… and ran down to see if they were okay… and I called 911… And then you came.”

“Thank you, Miss Summers.” The young officer closed his notebook. “Would you like to check on… you said his name was Angel, right?”

“Is Oz okay?” she asked, panicked. “I… I tried to check for a pulse, but there was so much blood…”

Officer Cohen glanced over her shoulder, scanning the proceedings of the rescue. The paramedics had begun to wrench the doors from the crumpled vehicle using the Jaws of Life. “I’m sure, Miss Summers, that the paramedics will do all they can for all four of your friends.” He led her up the hill toward the Wrangler, where it still idled. Angel was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s your friend?” the officer asked.

“He’s gone,” Buffy articulated. Her eyes widened. “Is he gonna get in trouble?” she asked.

“He did flee the scene of an accident,” he replied gently. “But right now I’m much more concerned with the welfare of you and your friends than finding him. They’ll be taking your friends to the hospital soon,” he said with a glance down the hill. “Can I give you a ride home? We can leave the Jeep here and have someone pick it up for you in the morning.”

“Sure…” Buffy said quietly. “I live at 1630 Revello…”

~*~*~*~*~

The police cruiser pulled up outside Buffy’s house, and the teen climbed out. Officer Cohen killed the ignition and got out of the car himself, accompanying Buffy as she walked toward her front porch. She opened the door, and walked into the house, the officer close behind her.

Joyce, having heard the car doors closing, hurried toward the foyer. The sight that greeted her was not one she was prepared for. She took in her elder daughter’s appearance in shock. Buffy’s beautiful dress was torn and covered in grime and blood, her makeup was smudged, tear-tracks marred her cheeks, and her hair was a mess. “What happened?” she asked.

“There was an accident…” Buffy mumbled, not looking at her mother.

“Mrs. Summers? Officer Cohen with the Sunnydale PD. Your daughter was driving ahead of her friends, and a truck struck their vehicle. They’re being escorted to the hospital right now. I thought you might want to get her cleaned up, and then if you could bring her into the hospital, I’m sure they’ll have news about her friends. Now, I’m going to need to contact their families about the accident.” He turned to Buffy again. “Could you give me the names of your friends?”

Buffy sniffled, then half-whispered “Daniel Osborn, Willow Rosenberg, Anya Jenkins, and Alexander Harris.”

“Thank you, Buffy.” Officer Cohen turned back to Joyce. “I’m sorry, I have to go now,” he said. He walked from the house, closing the door behind him.

“Mom…?” Buffy asked, breaking down in sobs. Joyce immediately gathered her up in her arms, rocking her and whispering soothing words.

~*~*~*~*~

A knock on the front door of their home awoke Nancy and Michael Osborn, who had been asleep on their couch with the television on. They stood and stretched, walking out of the living room as the knocking sounded again. Michael opened the door, coming face-to-face with two uniformed policemen.

“Are you Michael and Nancy Osborn?” one of the officers asked.

“Yes…” Michael said warily. “Is our son in trouble?” He turned to his wife. “See, Nancy, I always told you that he’d get in trouble with that rock band of his one day…”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news – ”

“No…” Nancy gasped, horrified. She wrapped one arm protectively about her waist, bringing the heel of her other hand up to her temple. “No…”

“… but your son, Daniel, was involved in a serious automobile accident. The paramedics did everything they could, but they were unable to revive him.”

Michael staggered backwards, leaning against the banister of the stairs. He slipped and landed in a seated position on the first step as tears welled up in his eyes.

“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” the officer said.

“No… no… no…”

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