FIC: Whither Thou Goest... (2/?)

[PB <pbnj@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

Title: Whither Thou Goest...
Author: Pink Rabbit Productions
Archive: Pink Rabbit, A Slayer/A Hacker
Author's Notes: This is the latest sequel to Spin, Spinning, Spun Out, It
All Depends On Your Timing, and Interludis Neanderthalensis. It's not
finished, but I'm going to start posting in segments since it's getting
close to the end (probably).
Disclaimer: The characters and show all belong to Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant
Enemy, Kuzui, and God only knows who else. This particular arrangement of
words in cyberspace belongs to me, however. Btw, it contains love between
two women, so if such things offend you, are illegal where you live or
somesuch, kindly don't read it and upset yourself, 'kay. It'll just make
life easier on all of us.
Spoilers: None that I can think of.
Rating: PG-13
Part: 2/?

Whither Thou Goest...


The Twenty-four/Seven was like most such places; small, cramped, full of
stale candy, overpriced sandwiches, canned beer, and underaged students
trying to buy all of the above using parentally paid for credit cards and
illegally altered I.D.s. Even as Buffy and Willow entered and began moving
among the narrow aisles, plucking up an assortment of the nastiest candy
and chips they could find, they were treated to the sounds of a pretty
young blond arguing vociferously with the clerk at the counter, who was a
hundred if he was a day.

"Dammit, all I want is one beer," she snarled in frustration, while the
clerk peered at her ID through coke-bottle glasses.

"I'll admit, it's a good fake," he allowed grudgingly.

Buffy peered over the shelves just as he looked up at his youthful nemesis
over the edge of his glasses. "But we both know it's a fake."

The young woman slapped a hand on the counter. "Look, just because I'm
cursed with good genes--"

"That's nice," the clerk said smoothly and tossed the card somewhere under
the counter. "But nobody has genes that good--"

"Now, wait one damn minute...."

Buffy ducked back behind the shelves, blushing with embarrassment as she
was reminded of her own adventures in beer-drinking.

Willow looked over to meet Buffy's gaze, her own cheeks flushing with her
own memories of that night--of being cuddled up against the warmth of
Buffy's body, the feel of primitively eager lips on her own.

"Heh," Buffy half-laughed on a nervous quaver. "Beer...now there's
something I'd just as soon go through the rest of my life not thinking about."

"I dunno, NeanderBuffy had her charms," Willow teased before she had a
chance to think about it and squelch the impulse.

Buffy's eyes rounded, her mouth forming a perfect O as she stared at her
friend in surprise. "Will," she croaked, because while she supposedly
didn't remember that night--though, in reality, it was clear as a bell, a
frequently ringing bell in view of how often it seemed to replay in her
head--Willow unquestionably remembered and didn't even have the protection
of feigned forgetfulness. "I...uh..." Not for the first time, the Slayer
wondered what her best friend thought of the whole experience. She
certainly didn't sound repulsed by the memory.

By then Willow had realized what she'd said and tripped right into babble
mode. "I...that is...I meant...."

Both girls fell silent, staring at each other, uncertain what to say or do,
both remembering the heated intimacies they'd shared in the darkness, each
wondering what the other was thinking.

"Look, will you at least kindly return my driver's licence," the young
customer's angry voice broke in on their unspoken conversation, saving both
girls the necessity of a response.

Buffy straightened, peering over the edge of the shelves once again,
automatically checking to make sure things weren't getting out of hand.

"Look, kid, look at it this way; I'm doing you a favor. A cop catch you
with that thing and you'd be in real trouble," the clerk lectured, though
Buffy noticed there was a certain malicious glee in his eyes. Working amid
frat rats and sorority chicks, not to mention all those goddamn GDI's had
not left him overly fond of the college age crowd.

The young woman leaned across the counter, her hands braced solidly on the
top. "Dammit, I don't have time for this..." She started to reach across
the counter.

Buffy tensed as she felt a familiar tingle of apprehension. "Will, stay
here," she snapped, dropping the half dozen things she was already carrying
and moving to round the end of the shelves. She slid her hand inside her
jacket, checking on the familiar weight of Mister Pointy where he resided
in an inner pocket.

The clerk reached out with a meaty fist, shoving the young woman back
several paces with an angry snarl. "Don't pull that garbage with me, little
girl!"

The tingle had become a raging shiver as Buffy moved forward, uncertain
where the danger came from, but knowing it was there.

The blond customer took a half step forward, her body language broadcasting
her anger as clearly as words and then suddenly pivoted, staring through
the broad glass panes that fronted the tiny store.

Buffy's gaze followed the other woman's less than a second later as time
shifted, slowing until it was measured in heartbeats instead of seconds.

The three men who came rushing through the double doors to the small store
were all dressed in black from the tips of their steel-toed jackboots to
the collars of their black dusters and the knit of their ski masks. The
only trace of color was a tiny rim of red stitching around the eyeholes of
the ski masks, Buffy noted with the perverse attention to detail that she'd
learned as the Slayer. Each carried a pump action shotgun, held high and
pointed at the tiny group of people.

Before Buffy could do more than draw a breath, the barrel of a shotgun was
shoved in her face.

"I wouldn't move, little girl," her assailant snarled, his voice ragged
with stress, his eyes both scared and excited where they gleamed behind the
rough knit of the mask.

Near the counter, the young woman who'd been arguing with the clerk was
receiving similar treatment, which meant Buffy didn't dare try anything.
She was certain she could disarm her attacker without injury, but there was
too much chance the others would get off a shot or two before she could do
anything to stop them.

The clerk apparently wasn't so cautious, because he made a dash for
something under the edge of the counter, only to crash headfirst into a
shotgun butt. The force behind the blow knocked him backwards into the
cigarette display, sending packs flying everywhere and upending a rack of
adult magazines. He hit the floor hard and before he could even think of
trying anything else, the third assailant vaulted the counter, slamming a
hard kick into the man's chest.

"Man, that was stupid," the thief snarled as he heaved a final kick at his
victim, then began hammering on the cash register in an apparent attempt to
get at the money inside. Finally, he grabbed the clerk by the collar,
hauling him to his feet as he ordered, "Open it!"

Buffy risked a sideways glance out of the corner of her eye, mentally
willing Willow to stay down and quiet, as she tried to see if there was any
sign of her friend.

Still hidden behind the shelves, Willow crouched down, trying to think of a
way to help and coming up with absolutely nothing. Despite the generally
deadly quality of Twinkies, she was comparatively certain that throwing
them at someone wasn't likely to do much damage. Still crouched, she
glanced up, noting the rounded security mirror in one corner of the store
which let her see where the bad guys were positioned. Of course, if any of
them looked up, they'd also see where she was positioned, but there wasn't
really much she could do about that. She mentally calculated the distances,
then eyed the shelves that formed her scant cover. They were light enough
that she thought she could probably shove them over. If a couple of the
thieves would just--

"You're pretty, little girl," the sneering leering voice broke into
Willow's half-formed plans and she peered up into the mirror just as the
one holding a shotgun on the would-be beerdrinker sidled up to the young
woman near the counter, jamming the barrel of the weapon against the
underside of her jaw. "Maybe we should just go in back and have a little
party of our own."

She tensed, but didn't respond as he backed her against the counter, using
his body to pin her in place.

The clerk had finally gotten the now-battered cash register open, and the
thug behind the counter was merrily stripping the money out of the drawer
and shoving it in his pockets. "Hey, go for it, man." He turned, leering at
Buffy. "Maybe we should all have a party and..." And then he trailed off.

Willow felt her heart skip at least a half a dozen beats as she realized he
was staring back at her reflection in the mirror.

"Shit, there's another one back there!" he shouted to his buddies as he
vaulted the counter.

Willow scrambled, stumbling backwards, but had neither the time to escape,
nor any available route. Somewhere in the distance, she heard Buffy call
out her name, but knew there was nothing the Slayer could do to help since
she was as vulnerable to a shotgun blast as anyone else. Her attacker was
on her in a second, rough hands grabbing at her clothes, and slamming her
this way and that, sending bags of chips and bottles of designer water
flying. She tried to fight, but he was too strong and too fast and she
never had a chance. Upended by her attacker, the world tumbled by at
dizzying speed until suddenly she was hurled forward to go skidding across
the floor, not stopping until she bodily slammed into a warm barrier. Her
ears ringing, Willow pushed up on one hand, leaning against the legs that
had stopped her wild skid, momentarily thinking they were Buffy's until she
realized the Slayer was in front of her, her head tipped back by the
pressure of the a shotgun barrel, every muscle in her body tense with the
barely leashed need to do something.

"Buffy, don't," Willow croaked, her voice sounding rough to her own ears.

A hard hand dug into crimson hair, dragging Willow's head back as the one
who appeared to be the leader taunted, "Yeah, Buffy, don't."

She was shaking hard, dazed, tasting blood. God, they couldn't even go to a
quickie mart without something bad happening.

"Well, this is a nice development," the leader continued as he leered down
at her. "A dance partner for each of us."

A hand curved to Willow's shoulder, steadying her when she might have gone
down and she risked a glance up at the would-be beerdrinker. She was
ghostly pale, her hand cold and clammy where it was braced on Willow's
shoulder. Willow recognized the look of disbelieving horror on her face all
too easily. When she'd first known Buffy she'd felt that way on more than a
few occasions. Of course, those had been otherworldly villains, not garden
variety thugs, but the terror wasn't so different. After all, most twenty
year-olds consider themselves immortal whether they've ever met
otherworldly dangers or not.

The clerk, bleeding from his nose and mouth pushed unsteadily to his feet,
an arm braced across his midsection. "Look, you've got the money you
wanted. Just go."

Before anyone could move, the leader slammed the butt of his shotgun into
the clerk's face, sending him crashing to the floor in an unmoving heap.
"When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it, old man." The leader chuckled,
enjoying his triumph.

Buffy's eyes gleamed with the promise of revenge. If she could just find a
way to distract them and get those shotguns aimed away from Willow and the
other woman, they'd learn that her Slaying skills weren't limited to vampires.

Somewhere in the distance, the pulsing wail of a siren could just barely be
heard and three would-be thieves tensed. "Well, damn," their leader cursed.
"Looks like we ought to take this show on the road." He grabbed for the
blond where she was pressed against the counter, yanking her close and
grinning when she flinched in distaste as his alcohol sour breath washed
across her face. Emboldened by his actions, the other two started to do
likewise.

"I don't think so," the Slayer's angry growl cut through the taut silence
of the quickie mart, drawing the attention of all three of the would-be
thieves as she yanked her arm back from her assailant.

Willow wondered if her mouth was hanging open. Didn't Buffy realize there
was a shotgun-- actually, three shotguns, the hacker realized as she noted
that all of them had swung their weapons toward the Slayer--pointed at her
and these people were nuts.

The leader was visibly startled by the refusal, his eyes narrowing through
the holes in the ski-mask. "Excuse me?" he drawled, his tone thick with
sarcastic rage.

The blond shook her head stiffly. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she
said, her voice menacingly low. "If I'm going to die, I'd just as soon do
it here...on camera." She nodded toward the security camera hanging
inconspicuously in one corner. "And not out in the middle of nowhere after
you and your friends have all had a couple of turns."

Willow saw the fury in his stance. He was going to kill her. She could feel
it like a black cloud hanging around him. And then she felt the leader
move, bringing his arm back as he raised the weapon to strike out with it
the way he had before. No! She couldn't let that happen! The shotgun stocks
were made of wood, and Willow reached out without even knowing she was
doing it. As he slammed the butt end of the weapon forward with enough
force to rend flesh and break bone, she grabbed it back with her mind. It
was like solid wall went up between the gun stock and its intended target,
stopping it several inches short of the Slayer's face even as she lifted
her hands to block the weapon.

For a long moment, they all froze, each of the participants staring at the
scene in shocked disbelief.

The thief stumbled back a half step, shaking the gun as though it had
somehow malfunctioned. It was all the distraction Buffy needed as her own
attacker looked away from his prey and toward his confused friend.

In that instant, time warped and slowed until each moment took an hour to
pass. In the first second the Slayer brought her hand up, slapping her
forearm into the gun barrel pressed against her throat and knocking it
aside. Before he had a chance to respond, she turned her hand, wrapping
inhumanly strong fingers around the barrel and wrenching the weapon away
from her attacker. He barely had time to blink before she snapped it into
his face, knocking him backwards into a rack of snack packs of chips where
he lay unmoving.

As another second passed, Willow saw the two nearest attackers aim their
weapons at the Slayer--they wouldn't be using them as clubs anymore--and
gritted her teeth--mentally shoving them up and away from herself with
panic driven force only an instant before they went off with deafening impact.

With ceiling tiles raining down on them, a third second ticked by. Buffy
leapt at the men flanking Willow where she knelt, her back pressed tightly
against the counter, her shoulder pressed into the blond beerdrinker's
hip. The Slayer hit the nearest man hard, the impact throwing them both
into Willow, the blond, and the confused leader of the trio like a trail of
human dominoes.

As the fourth second passed, Willow lost all sense of what was happening in
the scramble of bodies and limbs flailing randomly in desperate combat. A
shotgun went skittering harmlessly across the floor as the Slayer disarmed
one of the two men. Caught in the middle, the hacker was knocked about with
little control over the situation until, suddenly, a hard hand dug into her
shirt collar, hurling her aside.

Willow tumbled free of the fray just as the fifth second ticked away,
twisted and looked back in horror as she saw the leader--at least she
thought it was him--pull a long, slender stiletto from the back of his
belt. The Slayer's back was to him as him as she blocked a roundhouse swing
from his partner in crime. Willow heard the tortured sound of her own voice
screaming in warning, "BUFFY!!" as she lunged forward, bounding to her feet
and hurtling herself at her best friend's attacker with raw ferocity,
determined that he would not harm her.

The sixth second saw the Slayer slam an elbow into the other thief's face,
shattering his nose as she tore the shotgun away from him with her other
hand. With only one of the attackers left, she spun toward her friend's
call, horror twisting her features as she saw the knife turn toward Willow
even as she was barreling straight toward it. There was no way Buffy could
reach them in time and she didn't even get a chance as the downed thief
behind her managed to get a hand around a free-standing shelf full of snack
cakes and upended it into her back.

As the clock counted down the seventh second, Willow saw Buffy skid and
fall forward while she was backpedaling wildly in an effort to escape the
knife thrust toward her. Her feet slid on the slick tiles, sending her
crashing backwards into a magazine rack. There was nowhere left to go and
no time left to go there anyway. Pain rattling through her back where she'd
hit the sharp edged metal rack, Willow's eyes instinctively snapped shut
and she turned her head away, blindly trying to escape the sight of the
silver blade aimed toward her.

As the eighth second fell away, Willow was startled to feel a body impact
into her instead of the sharp blade of the stiletto. She blinked her eyes
open as blond hair touched her cheek, automatically wrapping her arms
around the slender figure that had somehow stumbled between her and
imminent doom. For the briefest moment, she thought the blond hair that
dusted across her face was Buffy's, that somehow the Slayer had made it in
time to put herself between Willow and death one more time, but then she
realized it was too short, while the dead weight figure in her arms was
dressed all wrong. Unable to support the other woman's weight, she could
only cushion her boneless collapse to the floor even as she heard her own
voice screaming Buffy's name. Her eyes lifted to where the thief stood over
her, staring down at his victim with a wide-eyed look.

By the time the ninth second passed what he thought or didn't think was
irrelevant. Buffy took him down so quickly and so hard that it was unlikely
he'd be moving again on his own for at least a week. She scrambled past
their attacker, skidding to one knee beside Willow. "Will?" the Slayer
panted, terror making her eyes glitter with wild lights. All she knew was
that in one instant the knife had been headed for her friend, and then by
the time she was done with the bastard, Willow was cradling another victim
in her arms.

Time began to collapse again, gaining momentum as the tenth second counted
off, the seconds moving by more quickly, tumbling away, never to be seen
again. "She needs an ambulance" the hacker panted. The woman in her arms
lay half on her side, shaking, her mouth working soundlessly as she
instinctively coiled her body around the knife still stuck in her gut.

The eleventh and twelfth second slid by while Willow comforted the bleeding
victim. "An ambulance?" the young woman croaked weakly, her body trembling
violently while her blood continued to spill onto the speckled floor tiles.
"Doctors...hospital...yeah...." She coughed heavily, blood spilling onto
her lips.

The clock ticked down the thirteenth and fourteenth seconds as Willow
promised, "It's going to be okay," trying to offer what scant comfort she
could, her hands quickly drenched in the flow of dark blood she was trying
in vain to staunch.

Another three seconds passed as the young woman struggled to speak. "Don't
think so," the blond groaned, her expression twisted by the pain from her
injury."Gotta stop zigging when I oughta zag...." She looked up at Willow,
meeting the hacker's frightened gaze with one that was oddly calm. "It's
okay," she whispered weakly. Then she shuddered and went horrifyingly limp
in an instant.

More seconds came and went as Buffy felt for a pulse, fingers searching the
woman's slender throat. "Will," she whispered after a beat. "I think she's
dead."

The hacker shook her head slowly, wanting to deny the obvious; that another
human being had died in her place. "No...maybe there's a spell--"

Buffy kept searching, but there was no trace of a pulse and the skin
beneath her fingers was already cooling. "Will, she's gone." Buffy slid an
arm around Willow's shoulders, hugging her hard.

Less than thirty seconds worth of explosive violence and a woman lay dead.

And the frightening part for Buffy Summers was the fact that as angry and
disgusted as she was, a part of her was profoundly grateful that it wasn't
her best friend lying dead on the floor. Admit it, her inner voice pressed,
you couldn't survive that.

In one of the odder coincidences that had long dominated Buffy Summers'
life, that was the moment the police chose to arrive, guns drawn, ready for
action, and about a half a minute too late. As the first officer burst
through the door, barking a sharp order, "Hands in the air," Buffy barely
contained the urge to laugh hysterically.

Soon enough they hauled the still-unconscious, handcuffed thieves out.
Apparently, the clerk had managed to trip some kind of silent alarm to
summon them, but they hadn't come quickly enough to do anything but clean
up the mess and send the clerk to the hospital. The officers that took both
girls' statements, were appropriately sympathetic, but there were a lot of
details to go over, especially when a detective pulled Buffy's name and
file from the police computer. As the questioning continued, in the
background a forensics team carefully took pictures of the dead woman, then
zipped her into a plastic body bag. It was going to be a long night.


* * * * * *
TBC

--"If I was all that fond of real life, I would never have majored in theater"

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