Lane
Spike lay on his back on a blanket in a field not far from the town, head pillowed on his arms, gazing up at the stars. Beside him was a coolbox of beer (and juice, because it didn't hurt to be prepared) and a basket with picnic food. And a small bag with a few other supplies.
He'd left a note for Lane to tell him where to find him, but he was prepared to wait. He was perfectly content to gaze up at the sky, taking the occasional sip of beer and listening to the sounds of the night. This was his time and he felt at home.