Her (Not So Dirty) Little Secret
Her (Not So Dirty) Little SecretAuthor:
Buffy/Fast and the FuriousRating:
He was her secret, and she never did share well with others.Disclaimer:
Don't own Buffy or the Fast/Furious franchiseWord Count:
Visiting family all day so just a quick one for you all tonight so I can get it in before the deadline. Hopefully enjoyable.
She'd first seen a street race when she was seventeen and on her way from work at Hell's Kitchen. Well, Helen's, but they called it what it really was. She'd taken a shortcut home, and the alleyway had let out just where a shit ton of cars were parked, facing the street and with their hoods open. It was kind of cool, and kind of surreal to her. This was definitely not her scene. She was preppy girl, Miss Popular of Hemery – at least before she was called – and even now she was more valley girl prep than leather and hot rods. But the excitement was there, calling to her blood. The speeds that were awe inspiring. The cars that handled perfectly at the slightest touch. Her mother hadn't liked the dent she'd put into the SUV, but Buffy knew that if she had a car that responded like these did, then she wouldn't have a problem. Slayer reflexes and Mom Cars were unmixy.
Her tacky, polyester blend uniform stood out in this crowd, and she was getting looks and looks
from girls and guys. She edged along as she watched the cars racing down the street, a look of awe and wonderment on her face. It seemed that somebody noticed how much she was liking things so far, though, because a young man came up to her. He didn't look to be much older than her, but he seemed nice enough. He wasn't undead, at least. He was wearing a sleeveless top and a beanie, with a cigarette dangling from fingers with chipped black polish. He was most definitely one of those
kids. The ones she would never had associated with before. But he came right up to her, fearless in the face of her burgeoning love of street racing and started talking. Instantly, a mental image of a redheaded girl overlaid her vision of him, and she nearly cringed. He must have noticed something, though, because he stopped talking abruptly.
“Why do I make you sad?”
“You remind me of someone.”
“Okay.” And he was off again, talking about engines and mods and programs like she would understand any of it.
She smiled as he talked. He didn't ask her about the person he reminded her of. He didn't ask her about her sadness again. He just told her about what he loved. She enjoyed the passion in his voice; the desire to share his world with this stranger. To make someone see what he saw.
Jesse became her first new friend in LA since she ran away from Sunnydale. He would be her only one, too. He gave her a ride home after the races were done, and gave her his number. She never called it but knew it by heart anyway.
They spent every day of that summer together, and he helped her to begin healing. He never pressured her to talk, and she never felt the need to ask him to be anyone but Jesse around her. There were days where they would sit in absolute silence, and days when he couldn't shut up to save his life. She was quieter, more introspective most of the time, but there were also times when she needed a distraction and talked nearly as much as he did about whatever came to mind. He was a good friend and she kept up with him via letters and, later, email. He was her little secret. Not because she was ashamed of him, but because she couldn't bear the thought of sharing him.
Five years on, when Buffy again left Sunnydale for LA, she found herself wandering the streets one night. She was supposed to be patrolling, but with as many minis as there were in the city, she knew she'd be fine. Of course, she'd kill something if she came across it, but that's not what she was hunting that night.
Her ears picked up the sounds easily. The engines idling, the engines roaring and purring and flying at a speed she could only dream of. A few blocks later found her once again at the edge of a street race. She made her way up towards the head of the line, where the racers were all coming from and all congregating. It was there that she saw him. Beanie on his head, sleeveless shirt. Shoulder tattoo, that was knew. Cigarette dangling from his lips instead of his fingers, but it was definitely him. Someone in his group nudged him and pointed at her, at the girl who was staring at the smaller, more wallflower Jesse instead of the magnetic and powerful leader of their little team. Jesse turned and blue eyes widened. Then he was walking towards her, closing the space between them in twenty feet, ten, three, zero. Her arms wrapped tightly around him and she buried her face in his neck.
His team were staring at him with something akin to shock or bemusement. She glanced up once and found all eyes locked on their embrace and groaned.
“They're watching us,” she murmured against his neck. He laughed and pulled back.
“I'm glad you got out safe,” he said softly. She grinned at him and it took cares and pains away from her face that he hadn't even noticed were there until they were gone.
“You wanna get out of here?” he offered her, and with one more glance at the staring friends, she nodded and took his extended hand.
“I could do with some not-here time.”
Jesse smiled at her, looked once at Dom (for permission, perhaps?) then led the smaller blonde away. His Jetta roared to life and they were gone. It was good to find her friend again. To finally be able to share her secret.