FIC: Whither Thou Goest... Part 4/?

[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: 4/?

Whither Thou Goest...

Chapter Three

"Do you want to talk?" Willow questioned, her voice sounding curiously
hollow even to her own ears.

Buffy looked at her sideways. "Not really...you?" The question was dryly
asked, making it clear that the Slayer was in no mood to discuss anything.
She turned away and began digging through her closet, yanking out clothes.

Willow stared at her friend's stiff back, uncertain what to say or do. The
comforting closeness that had existed between them in the aftermath of the
attack had evaporated somewhere during the drive to the dorm, and the
hacker was far from certain why. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Buffy clipped without elaborating as she continued putting her
things together.

Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, Willow blinked back the tears
threatening to fill her eyes. "Yeah, I can see that," she said so softly
Buffy almost didn't hear the words.

Buffy froze, stiffening. A beat passed, and then she slowly turned enough
to look back over her shoulder at her friend, wincing as she saw the blood
that still stained Willow's clothes, a hauntingly tangible reminder that
she wasn't the only one who'd had a bad night. A muscle pulsed in the
Slayer's jaw and she started to say something only to fall silent at the
last moment. Finally, she just muttered, "I need a shower before I get to
class," and hurried out. Coward, that annoying inner voice whispered in her
ear, daring her to turn back, but for once, the Slayer wasn't up to being
brave. She just needed to run away.

Willow stared at the closed door that lay between them for a long time
before she finally staggered forward and grabbed her own clothes. Buffy
wasn't the only one in dire need of a shower and the thought of being alone
left her slightly nauseous.

* * * * * *

The day that followed was the sort that crawls--slowly--by. Willow sat
dazedly in her classes, barely conscious of what her teachers were saying
and perversely grateful that she only had one class with Buffy on Fridays,
the eminently ditchable Freshman Composition--her grade was so high in
there that she'd have to miss it for a month before she even dropped to a
B--and after the little scene in their dorm room, she just wasn't in the
mood to see her best friend.

When her four o'clock class, Principles of Concurrent Programming--a
whiz-bang paradigms course from the computer department that even she found
more than a little challenging--swung around, she was so tired of it all
that she almost scrapped it and took Giles up on his offer to use his
guestroom. If it weren't for the fact that Buffy's Watcher would have
wanted to know what was going on--and Willow honestly didn't have an answer
for that--she would have. So instead, she went to class, sat in the back--a
lonely position to say the least since the ambitious crowd that made up the
student-body tended to take the front rows--and spent the entire ninety
minutes doodling in her notebook and completely ignoring the professor's
lecture. Particularly somewhere during the last fifteen minutes when she
started crying and couldn't seem to stop: big fat, soundless tears that
fell from her cheeks and made her doodles blot when they hit her notebook.
Lost in her own private misery, she didn't notice class had ended until she
realized other students were filing out the door, most of them merrily
plotting a wild weekend of programming and hacking. The joys of Fridays in
the farthest reaches of geekdom. If she hadn't already felt so depressed,
it would have taken Willow down another notch. As it was, she just ducked
her head, letting her bangs fall across her forehead, and hoped no one
noticed the tears as she pretended to be finishing up her notes. Finally,
when everyone had gone, she stuffed her things together and hurried out. To
hell with it all. She was so tired she could barely stay on her feet and if
Buffy wanted to fight, she was comfortably certain she could just sleep
through it.

* * * * * *
Willow was already asleep--or at least she was in bed and feigning
sleep--when Buffy got in. It was barely dark out, making her feel guilty
for not being outside fighting the evils she knew ranged through the
night--Giles and Xander had both more or less ordered her to take the night
off, promising to take her place. Her hands fisted at her sides. She would
have preferred to just see to her patrol. It was her duty. Besides, the
notion of killing something was almost uncomfortably appealing. She'd been
hoping to blow off some of the angry stress that had settled in the pit of
her stomach and between her shoulderblades. Unfortunately, the both of her
friends had been insistent and even Anya had helpfully commented on how
awful she looked. After that, the walk back to campus had seemed longer
than she remembered. Unfettered by the strain of concentrating on the fight
at hand, the Slayer's brain had busied itself by pursuing any number of
mental paths she would have preferred to avoid.

Like the way she'd treated Willow in the dorm room after Giles dropped them
off. She'd blown that one completely and she wasn't even quite sure why.
Maybe it was just the guilt, and the reminder that as the Slayer, she was
supposed to protect people, but from the moment she'd seen Giles she'd been
even more on edge. But, whatever the reasons, the fact remained that she
had failed and hurt Willow. One. More. Time.

Buffy ran a hand through her hair, mentally castigating herself as she
stared at her friend's figure where she lay coiled into her blankets. She
was fairly certain that she wasn't sleeping, there was just too much
tension in her position and her breathing seemed too controlled, but she
wasn't quite certain enough to risk waking her. Or maybe you're just afraid
that you've finally well and truly blown it for good, her personal Jiminy
Cricket whispered in her ear. And if that's the case, you've really screwed
up your life but good this time.

Buffy sighed softly, amazed that she could be so brave when faced with
death and so damn cowardly when faced with her own emotions. Finally, she
just turned away and readied for bed in silence before finally falling onto
her mattress in a heap. Despite the profusion of thoughts running unchecked
through her head, she was so tired that she was asleep in moments. She
never heard the soft movements less than an hour later as Willow slipped
from her bed to turn on her computer. She'd slept for awhile on returning
to the dorm, but Buffy's return had wakened her, and she just couldn't seem
to fall back asleep, so she decided to get some work done, hoping it would
distract her from her own thoughts and fears.

* * * * * *

Joyce Summers grunted softly as she hefted a heavy crate containing her
customer's missing painting from the hand truck she'd used to transport it
in from her trunk, up onto a work table in the back room of the gallery.
Several nails and one plank had come loose during the transport and they
needed to be hammered back together. She cursed softly as another plank
came loose while she was lifting the crate. The delivery staff had been
rough with everything, but by the looks of it, this piece had suffered the
worst of the group. Once it was stable, she grabbed a hammer and moved to
tap the nails back into place only to set it aside as she noted the packing
material leaking from the gap between planks. Poking at it to try and push
the shredded paper back inside the bounds of the crate, she succeeded only
in pulling more of it out through the gap. After another round of curses,
she used the claw on the hammer to pull up several nails, hoping that if
she released another plank, she could repack the whole thing properly and
then seal it up.

And froze. Joyce leaned closer, staring at what she could see of the
painting through the gap in the wood and packing. The painting was
obviously wrapped in thick felt padding to protect it, but the felt had
ridden up, revealing an ornate gilded frame and the bottom right corner of
the canvas. Joyce frowned, head tipping to one side as she saw the last
part of the signature. She leaned closer, frowning to make out the little
snippet of the name. "It can't be," she whispered to herself, not believing
what she was thinking. She brushed more of the packing material aside and
carefully pushed the felt out of the way until the signature was completely
revealed. "It can't be," the woman whispered, then glanced at her watch. It
was only a little past six. Four hours until her client was due to arrive.
Which left her with more than enough time to open the crate and then
repackage it. She paused for a long moment, debating whether or not she
should do it. She leaned closer to peer at the flowing script for a long
moment, then picked up her hammer and began removing nails.

* * * * * *
Buffy Summers was dreaming and half aware of the dream state even as she
watched the events unfold. She was at the Bronze, wearing something soft
and slinky that left her arms and shoulders bare and swirled around her
thighs in soft waves. Riley was there, dancing with her, his eyes
glittering with the familiar lights of lust that she'd learned to expect
from most men, while his friends were all around them, only they weren't
dressed like they normally did. Instead, they were wearing camouflage
fatigues and some kind of combat vests. She tried to pull away, and see
better, but he kept tugging her back, his voice smooth as he urged her to
ignore them.

"That's not important," Riley insisted, still moving to the music. "Only
this is important."

"Buffy!"

The Slayer twisted and caught a glimpse of red hair, before her line of
sight was blocked by camouflaged men. "That's Willow," she exhaled and
started to pull away only to have Riley yank her back.

He smiled down at her, hips swaying with the rhythm. "Don't worry about
her," he insisted.. He leaned down and nibbled on Buffy's bare shoulder.
"She's not like us."

Buffy tried to subtly pull away, but his grip was too strong as he pressed
against her. She heard a pained cry and looked back in time to see Willow
try to break through the camouflaged wall of flesh, only to be grabbed and
yanked back.

"Ignore her," Riley muttered, trying to drag her back into the dance.
"She's just a distraction from what's really important...us...you belong
with a real man..." His hands slid over her shoulders and she couldn't pull
away even though she wanted to. It was like something held her there and
wouldn't let go. She braced her palms on his chest, trying to push, but
somehow unable to make her body obey the dictates of her mind, she found
her fingers digging into his vest--"vest?" her dream mind questioned--and
dragging him closer.

Willow cried out again, her voice thick with pain this time. "Buffy!" She
grunted, and the Slayer heard the sound of flesh striking flesh as Willow
cried out, "Let me go!"

And then the Slayer did find the strength to twist away, stumbling back
from Riley to turn toward her friend. Willow was being held between two of
Riley's camo-pals and they laughed cheerfully as she struck at them and
tried to break free. Parker was standing behind the girl, and he threw a
leering wink Buffy's way as he slid an arm around her friend.

"Buffy, please," Willow whimpered, still struggling with her captors. "I
need you!"

"No she doesn't," Riley whispered near Buffy's ear and yanked her back
around. "She's not important," he repeated. He gripped her by the hips. "My
friends will teach her what she needs to know."

Willow screamed then, the sound panicked and angry, and Buffy twisted away
from Riley, breaking his hold as she spun around.

The camo-creeps had lifted Willow onto a pinball machine, and Parker was
standing next to her, only now he was dressed all in black.

"Now, isn't this a revolting development?" a soft voice whispered near
Buffy's ear. The Slayer glanced back into pale green eyes. It was the blond
who'd died in the Twenty-Four/Seven, a wry smile on her mouth, an ugly gash
still marring her midsection. "Don't you think it's about time you get over
it and do the hero thing...before it's too late?" she asked dryly, then she
disappeared as Riley stepped right through her.

"Don't you get it, Buffy," he demanded, dressed all in camouflage now. "We
belong together...and she's just in the way." He grabbed her one more time
at the same time that Willow screamed. Parker was climbing on top of her,
pulling back his fist to hit her.

And Buffy lost it. She slammed an elbow back into Riley's face, thrilled by
the satisfying crunch of bone that echoed through the Bronze's
loudspeakers, then leapt at the men holding Willow, to send them flying
like tenpins. She hit, punched, and kicked with raw ferocity, taking them
all down with vicious glee until Riley's voice pulled her up short.

"You just don't get it," he growled, the words punctuated by Willow's tiny
cries and Buffy slowly turned to face him. He was dressed in black now, an
arm wrapped around Willow's slender body, a sharp stiletto pressed against
her throat. "You don't have a choice in this...and if I have to kill her to
get that through your thick skull...." He trailed the point of the blade
down Willow's torso. "Then I guess that's just what I'm going to have to
do." He shoved the point of the blade upward under the bottom edge of
Willow's ribcage so hard he lifted her off her feet.

Buffy couldn't move. It was like she was caught in cold tar as she heard
Willow's agonized cry and saw the way her breath caught. The hacker's face
twisted with shock, while her blood spilled over the blade where it was
thrust into her body.

"I was just following orders," Riley said and flung Willow's body aside.

"NO!!!" Buffy's scream echoed back to her as felt the awful paralysis lift
and she leapt at him, tackling into his body, taking him down hard. She
pinned an arm across his throat, his answering gags music to her ears, and
chalked her fist back, fully intending to kill him.

But before she could strike, the scene wavered, colors running like wet
paint in the rain, slowly morphing into another scene: Willow staring up at
her in horror, her hands held protectively in front of her face, her eyes
huge and terrified in her face. The Slayer frowned, uncertain what was real
and what wasn't. She glanced around herself, spotting the familiar
landmarks of her dorm room--the desks, posters, Willow's open, dully
glowing laptop, Mr. Gordo--then back down at the woman lying pinned beneath
her on her bed. "Will?" she croaked at last and dropped her fist,
self-consciously uncertain what to do with it. A dream...it had just been a
dream.

The two girls stared at each other, both breathing hard and shaking with
shock and fear.

"Oh, God...Will..." Buffy exhaled heavily and yanked her arm back from the
hacker's throat, bracing it on the mattress near Willow's head. They were
lying stretched out on her bed, Willow closest to the wall, Buffy half on
top, pinning the hacker to the mattress. "I...I was...dreaming... I
guess--" By the look of it, she had grabbed her friend, attacking her in
place of the dream-Riley.

"More like a nightmare," Willow coughed, her voice rough in the wake of
Buffy's choke hold. "I...I was getting some work done when you screamed...
I just came to see what was wrong..."

Buffy brushed a few strands of hair off of Willow's brow with a gentle
hand. "I am so sorry," she croaked in a voice suddenly thick with tears. "I
didn't even know it was you...I-I thought...I thought...someone...was
trying to hurt you..." Without thinking, Buffy let her head fall forward
until her forehead was resting against Willow's upper chest. "...and I
couldn't protect you..." Her hands were braced against the bed on either
side of Willow's waist and she shifted them to cling tightly to the
hacker's slender frame. "I tried..." she whispered as though still caught
in the nightmare. She could feel salty tears sliding away from the corners
of her eyes. "But I couldn't...." She couldn't think straight, still
overwhelmed by the awful horror of the nightmare, the image of Willow's
dead body still burning brightly in her mind. She just needed to hold on
and reassure herself it wasn't real...that Willow was okay.

"Buffy," Willow whispered and lifted a hand to the back of the Slayer's
head, ruffling her hair gently. "It's okay...I'm okay..." She brought
Buffy's head up with a light touch, stroking her cheek and then along her
brow, staring deeply into the Slayer's eyes as she tried to soothe her
fears. She felt the wetness of the Slayer's tears on her finger and stared
at it in awe. "You...you're crying," she exhaled at last.

"I couldn't handle it if anything happened to you," Buffy breathed, her
voice so soft Willow had to strain to hear her. The Slayer stared down into
the hacker's upturned face, taking in the softness of gamine features, the
sweet beauty of her worried expression. Kiss the girl, her inner voice
urged, now, let her know how you feel.

For once Buffy was too tired and too steeped in need to resist the siren's
song of her own hidden desires. With hungry passion, she ducked her head,
tasting soft lips. She felt Willow tense and gasp, and only pressed the
kiss deeper, drinking in her friend's startled breath.

The hacker whimpered low in her throat, momentarily confused, but Buffy
just kept kissing her until she was lost in the burst of heat that flooded
her veins. She arched up against the Slayer, instinctively seeking more
contact. Had she been less tired, or less depressed and in need of comfort,
Willow might have been able to resist the sweet temptation, but not at that
moment. She needed the closeness...the feeling of being loved. Willow
surrendered completely to their passion, working her fingers into thick
blond hair as she pulled Buffy closer.

Warm curves neatly dovetailed together, the two girls kissed, caressed,
stroked and explored, the soft sounds of their lovemaking filling the room
as they surrendered to the need flooding through them. Buffy pressed soft
kisses into the valley between rounded breasts, stroked the curve of
Willow's hip, trailed her lips along the arch of the hacker's
ribcage--pressing tiny kisses over the precise spot where the dream-Willow
had taken the knife as though to wash away the imaginary injury--then slid
back up, shuddering and moaning softly as Willow's hands and lips slid over
her skin until she could barely breathe.

And for once, the voice in Buffy's head just sat back and applauded.

* * * * * *

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

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