Flood
by Valyssia
From Fatal Errors
[reviews]
I was wrong. This changes everything.
Reflexively pulling the sleeping bag snugly around him, Angel clamped his eyes shut against the brutal glare that seeped in. His skin began to itch and sting. It took him a couple of seconds to analyze that internally. There's something not right here. Sunlight: it burns—I'd actually feel my skin catching fire—this is more chemical. He inhaled and his eyes immediately started to water from the noxious smell of the air. He stuck his hand out into the light to test, drawing it back in after a few seconds. It's not the light, it's the atmosphere. That idea took hold. Where's Faith? She has to breathe and if this place is—
Panic struck and Angel tossed the sleeping bag aside. Freezing! Very, very, cold. So cold it's hard to move. He started to feel around on the ground and quickly located the slayer near his feet. After bundling her tightly in his sleeping bag, he searched through the pockets of his coat for sunglasses. I brought two pairs, hope they help. I got that this wasn't going to be good from the description, but I was half expecting to be reduced to a pile of ash. Didn't matter, I had to try. Buffy's too important not to try. Locating his gloves, he slid them on and instantly felt a little better.
Unconcerned by how foolish he might appear, Angel bounced and fidgeted. Moving—I gotta keep moving. I'm hoping it helps. I have no idea how this works. Finally coming across his sunglasses, he put them on and tentatively cracked his eyes. He was able to make out vague shapes in the harsh light. The others survived so there has to be something—something close that you'd just stumble across. He stooped to his knees next to the slayer and began to feel around.
Everything about this place was strange, starting with the ground they rested on. It was white and had a texture slightly coarser than ash, almost like fine beach sand, but with a reflective quality. Sort of explains the light. If everything around a light source reflects it, it naturally intensifies. Angel scooped up a handful of the odd material and let it flow through his fingers. I bet this place is a laugh a minute when the wind picks up. I need something to cover her mouth and nose. Breathing this crap won't be good.
His vision was acclimating to the bright illumination. As Angel blinked and glanced around, he began to make out shapes. What he had thought to be an empty wasteland began to take form. Instead of desolation, the landscape was lush and teaming with life. There were massive trees all around them, but the startling difference was the colors. We're in some bizarre perversion of a forest. Instead of being hued in shades of green and brown, what passed for plants here were pigmented in icy colors. Pale blues, greens and yellows began to appear as his eyes cleared. He watched a large, translucent millipede crawl across a ridge above them some twenty feet away.
As Angel turned, a white patch on the bottom of his coat caught his eye. He lifted the hem of the garment and ran his gloved hand over it. It was slick and sticky. His coat had come in contact with something and picked up the dust off the ground. Intuitively, he began to feel around and found the source. There were clumps of plants all around them that looked very much like a fern with yellow fronds, but what looked like leaves weren't exactly that. They were irregularly shaped, similar to a sea sponge, and hung from a hard, icy-blue stem. When he touched the lightly blue-veined growths, they dissolved, even in his gloved hand, leaving behind only the stalk.
Without thinking, Angel put his hands to his burning face. The strange, thick liquid was instantly soothing, despite making him colder. This must be it. There had to be something. He began to apply the liquid to his exposed skin. When nothing bad happened as a result, he moved to Faith and repeated the process. Her skin gradually started to lose its unhealthy blue cast and she even seemed to be breathing more regularly.
Okay, well, that solves that. Time to get moving. Angel began to pile their gear on, quickly finding that he couldn't cope with all of it. The two backpacks and various bags weren't heavy, but they were very awkward. Struggling determinedly, he couldn't find a way to load himself down in a manner that allowed him to pick up the most important package: Faith. This meant sacrificing something.
After dropping all of their gear in a pile next to the slayer, Angel began to dig at the base of a large outcropping of clear, green, crystalline stones that protruded from the earth close to where they had arrived. Once he was done moving enough of the sandy soil aside, he positioned the large duffle bag that contained the items needed to form the portal home into the hole. As he worked to cover the precious cargo, anxiety reflected sharp on his features. Leaving this behind makes me nervous, but it's not like I have a choice. I need to pay serious attention to the landmarks so I can find this place again.
After loading himself down again, Angel swept up the slayer and reluctantly turned his back to the milky, emerald shards of rock. When he finally started to move, progress was very slow. I hope she snaps out of it soon. But then, I don't even know which way to go, so I suppose it makes little difference how quickly we travel. I just need to keep moving. If I freeze—I won't even think about how bad it would be to be frozen. Finding some cover before night fall—if that even exists here—is a plan. 'Shadow-less' would suggest that there isn't. Best I can do is guess.
***********
I need a scarf. Willow ran her fingers through her hair as it blew in the wind, brushing it out of her face. She keeps giving me these weird glances when she thinks I'm not looking. What's worse—I totally get the 'why.' Diverting her attention from the road for only a moment, she ejected the cassette and put in another. When the music started, she began to tap her fingers against the steering wheel, keeping time with the music. I mean, just look at the details: We're in a convertible, in the desert, both wearing bikini tops. I've dyed my hair. We've changed our names. If this gets any more cliché, it might just be sad.
Willow casually took the hand her friend placed on the console, giving it a light, reassuring squeeze. Though, I'm not robbing any banks. I mean—not like we stole the car—why would we rob a bank? And if I see Brad Pitt I'm so totally running him over.
Food maybe? I'm starved. Squinting to see the sign in the distance, Willow read off, 'Deming, New Mexico — 18 miles,' to herself. I sorta got the 'convertibles make her happy' thing from Cordy. That and I kinda wanted one. I knew we'd need room for the luggage. She doesn't get how rare a convertible with a real trunk is. So, last detail...the one that probably has her really wigged: I bought a muscle car. Little Willow Rosenberg, the shy girl—or I suppose I should say Danielle Williams—owns a Mustang GT. It's scary. It's even black 'cause, well, I found a great deal on a used one, but—
Willow glanced over to see her friend fidgeting and asked, "Are you hungry?" See, thing she doesn't get—all these details—they make sense. The identity I stole—the girl was like totally Native American. Not that that's a bad thing, but I sorta gotta try to match. At least I'm getting some sun. Lots of suntan lotion so I don't end up looking like Sebastian.
"Starved...and if I don't get outta this car soon it might be totally bad."
Willow nodded. "'Kay...we'll stop for food and gas in Deming." I got to see that movie once before my parents took it. I made the mistake of asking why the little lobster had been cooked and well...no more Little Mermaid for me. But he was red and they only turn that color when they're cooked 'cause of the carotenoid-protein in the plankton they eat, so... I remember crying and Xander trying to comfort me. That happened a lot. My parents didn't get that it was more traumatic to not let me.
Giving the hand she held a gentle squeeze, Buffy cleared her throat and tried to make small talk, "You've been awfully quiet. Whatcha thinking about, Will?"
Shrugging before she spoke, Willow replied casually, "Just all those times we said, 'Thelma and Louise-ing it,' to describe our movie nights. Did you ever expect this?" She put on the best grin she could muster and faked a snicker. Buffy doesn't get it either. What's worse, we've been playing this game. It's like she has two modes: angry and weepy or sorta patronizing. Angry and weepy is harder to deal with so I let her play patronizing and just don't question. If I question, then badness. I placate, she patronizes, and we're stuck in this sorta quasi-hell-like existence together. It's a vicious cycle. But I can't really expect better until she actually starts to get better.
"Just do me a favor and pass up any cliffs you see." Buffy chuckled and turned to absently watch the desert terrain pass by.
"Total plan—right there with you," Willow responded, trying to mute the aridness from her voice. I don't think she gets how bad this is for me too. That's not fair, maybe she does. It's not really the school thing—I was telling the truth about that, or at least sort of. This is terrible 'cause I told her I didn't want to hide, now I am. Thing is, she's been right about everything. I'm doing this out of hope—hope that somehow we'll work out. I tossed Oz aside with little thought. I tossed Oxford and Harvard aside the same way.
Counting on the blonde to be still engaged in her favorite pastime of scenery watching, Willow blinked and quickly wiped away the tears that had formed. If I'm completely honest with myself—like brutally honest—it's all the same thing. I want to be with her. I'd do anything. If I end up alone, will I be able to not resent? I honestly don't know. I hope so.
Willow opened the console and took out a napkin to wipe the traces of mascara from her fingertips. Pandora's Box: I should've never looked inside. I'd probably still be here, but only half as conflicted and miserable. Worse, I wouldn't trade the memory of that glimpse for the world.
"Are you gonna be okay?"
Willow glanced over to see Buffy scrutinizing her. Fudge! So busted. The blonde's brow was furrowed with concern. Something quick—what can I say? "Just worried," she offered lamely. Yeah, that should slow her down for about a nanosecond.
"Will—"
Willow cringed. I hate that. That tone. It makes my skin crawl. Resolve. Where's 'resolve face' when I so desperately need it. "Yeah, Buffy?" she replied sheepishly.
"Talk to me," Buffy said with a demanding edge to her voice.
After flipping on the turn signal, Willow steered the car onto the exit ramp. "Let's get parked first. Pick a place."
"Eh, there's a Denny's. At least the bad's consistent. No startling surprises or blown expectations."
As she turned onto the frontage road, Willow replied, "Works for me." The moment she pulled into a parking slot, she looked over to see her friend staring expectantly at her again. Outta time. What am I gonna tell her? The truth? That'd be a laugh a minute. I have to tell her something true 'cause, lying? I suck at it. She put the car in park and averted her gaze before she spoke, staring at her lap. "What's not to be worried about, Buffy?" she offered honestly, "I mean, we're a couple of teenagers taking off cross-country, running from an organization that's—" sighing with disgust. "Y'know it's not even that though. What I'm most worried about is you." After a brief pause, she whispered, "Is us," in amendment.
There was a painfully long silence where Willow didn't dare look up. Finally she forced herself to chance a peek in the blonde's direction. Great! Just great! I made her cry again. Weepy and angry mode: check! Congratulations, Willow, you're good at pretty much everything you do except dealing with the person you care most for. There should be an award or something. I'm pathetic.
"I love you too, Will."
Reeling with confusion, Willow stammered, "What? Huh? What?" That's the last—that's— Back-peddling to recover from the unexpected reply, she quickly gasped, "Wait! Why?" and turned to her friend, appearing completely puzzled. Am I the one being placated now? That was exactly what I wanted to hear.
Buffy laughed with cheerful genuine amusement before responding, "I dunno, Will, it just seemed like you needed to hear it—doesn't make it any less true."
Well at least she's admitting it now. That was still sweet. Willow was amid recovery when the blonde's behavior turned even stranger. Two fingertips hooked under her chin, directing her to look into bright blue eyes. There was a twinkle of mischief in those eyes. The skin around them wrinkled and Willow didn't have to break eye contact to know her friend was smiling. When she smiles her whole face lights up. Funny, it looks real too. The smile transformed into something else. Is that—? Her brain froze mid-thought when the two fingers coaxed her closer and impossibly soft lips met hers.
***********
Shivering, Faith tried to lean casually against a rock, pulling out one of the nasty protein bars she'd packed because they were light and they'd keep her going. Shooting her captor a scathing glance, only to receive a smile in return, she gnawed a piece off of the hard, frozen bar. It almost stuck to her tongue. Fuckin' vamps. Soul or not, this one's evil. I'd stake him if I didn't need his dumb ass.
May not have to, this place is just all too weird for words. Faith watched the vampire tear open a pouch of frozen blood and begin eating it like a popsicle. Now that's just gross. After ripping another bite from the brick in her gloved hand, she opened her pack, looking for something to entertain her while she ate. Oh, I'd totally forgotten this. She fished out the small bag Willow had packed for her. Go figure. What with the unconsciousness and the waking up to find that Hell's actually a meat locker.
"What's that?" Angel asked with marked curiosity.
Shrugging, Faith replied indifferently, "Something Giles gave me before we left." After opening the bag, she pulled out two pieces of carefully folded paper, setting them aside. The rest of the contents were hunting arrow heads with vials of colored liquid carefully adhered in the hollow spot where the two blades met. They were all neatly wrapped to avoid breakage. I should read the note before I lose a hand 'cause, knowing Red, none of this stuff— She wrapped the arrowheads up the way she found them and returned them to the pouch, breaking off another piece of her 'meal' when she was done.
One of the pieces of paper was labeled; 'Angel,' so Faith quickly passed it off, offering a chilly, "Here," then she opened the one marked for her. Something fell to the ground when she unfolded the crisp page. Swooping down, she scooped the item up and wrinkled her nose. She's giving me jewelry now? I thought she was all hot for blondie. She stuffed the locket in her coat pocket. Whatever. After ripping off another chunk of the energy bar, she began to read.
'Faith — I'm gonna keep this short because I know that last thing you want is some peppy little talk from me about how you're doing the right thing.'
Faith struggled to chew the cold, sticky food, not really caring how it tasted. You just don't even know how true that is, Red. If you were here, I'd be pushing you into that big hole over there. Not that it'd do any good—what, with the flying, but...it's the thought that counts, right? She glanced at the edge of the canyon that opened up not fifty feet from where she was perched. It's kinda weird how pretty this place is. Her gaze fixed on the pale green and blue hued crystalline ridges that jutted up from the deep gorge. It's the nastiest place I've ever been, but—
'Besides, I just tried to kill you, so I'll spare us both. You'd be dead if I wasn't for her.'
Faith read the words over again not even needing to ask who the 'her' was. Red's one tweaked bitch. Why write this right after—?
'I know what you're thinking. The 'why' is pretty simple; it's even something you'll appreciate. It's called 'hedging my bets'.'
Faith grinned and ripped another piece from the softening brick in her hand, chewing vigorously. Well alright, Red, I getcha. Gotta respect that some. I wouldn't have guessed that a mousey little thing like her could've turned so ballsy, but—guess there's not much that won't bite if you threaten somethin' it loves.
'The arrowheads are pretty simple too: the green ones are poison and the red ones go boom. They need hydrogen to work, so use them on the bad guys. They should work pretty much anywhere. Natural laws sort of exist everywhere according to the Law of Uniformity and hydrogen is one of the most common elements. Don't get any on you! It'll be bad if you do. Simple chemistry made nastier with magic, but I won't bore you. I'd run after the red. I can only speculate how bad it'll be. Educated guess: If you hit something really hydrogen rich (like a glass of water) it'll leave a crater.'
Wrinkling her nose, Faith read the paragraph over again. I'll get Angel to translate the geek code. He'll be able to figure it—I hope.
'Funny feeling, being a hero, huh, Faith?'
Faith chuckled wryly. I'm no hero, Red. I'm only here 'cause the Boss is a bastard.
'Doesn't matter why you're there.'
Rolling her eyes, Faith read the sentence again. Get outta my head, Red!
'Seriously, it doesn't. Point is: you're doing the right thing. I know I said I wouldn't say it, but the reasons are meaningless. You know me, I'm a bookworm. I've read an awful lot of history, the good and the bad. I don't think that anyone we call 'hero' now did what they did for the reasons they give us. There was always something else. People aren't naturally brave. They don't throw themselves into bad places on purpose unless they're suicidal and you'll never hear about a suicidal hero. We tend to look at that sort of thing differently.'
Faith shoved the last bite of the energy bar into her mouth and continued to read as she chewed.
'Here's the thing: When you get back I'm going to have to thank you...and it's going to totally irk me. There's your reason to go on: the look on my face when I have to say 'thanks.' It's going to seriously hurt.'
An amused grin warmed her features as Faith crinkled up the wrapper to her 'dinner' and shoved it in her pack, continuing to read.
'The last thing is the locket. There's this old tradition that I sorta like. It usually only happened because of love, but I'm making an exception because I think you'll need it. The locket belonged to my grandmother. It's one of the few things I have to remind me of her. She was an amazing woman. The locket means a lot to me. I'm giving it to you as a reminder of why we fight. We fight for the things we believe in and love. It's what makes us different. Right now, you're fighting for something I love. The reasons: they don't matter. The only thing that really matters is that you are.'
Faith fished the tiny silver locket out of her coat and stared at it for a few moments completely stunned, then slipped it on, tucking it under the layers of clothing she'd put on to stave off the bitter cold. I'll get it back to ya, Red. Thanks. Glancing one last time at the neatly scrawled signature, she folded the page and put it carefully into the inside pocket of her jacket, zipping the garment up against the cold when she was done. "You about ready, big guy?" she asked nonchalantly as she picked up her back pack and slung it over one shoulder. Moving the bow that hung from it aside when it swung in her way, she put her arm through the second strap and cinched it down.
"Yeah," Angel replied as he quickly read over Willow's letter again. "She says: if it moves, shoot it. Something about 'translating science nerd for the layman,' whatever that means," he noted with a chuckle.
Faith countered amusedly, "If I shoot it, we run. That's what mine said." She snickered softly to herself as she watched Angel fidget and bounce. He can't even begin to imagine how dorky he looks. This might just be worth it on some level just to watch GQ act like a total spaz.
Shortly after Faith turned and started to follow the vampire down the crude trail into the ravine, something hard struck the back of her head. She collapsed onto her knees as Angel sprung to action, leaping over her to kick her unseen attacker. Her vision spotted and she slumped onto her chest. The last thing she heard was Angel grunting painfully, then everything went black.
***********
Smiling broadly, James walked into the security office fresh from his routine after-lunch-flirt with Francine, the pretty receptionist. He entered the room and his face went slack. His partner Harold was slumped over the desk. A puddle of drool had collected under his cheek. There was a very fat, black and white rat sitting next to the puddle. When James walked into the room, the rat put its paw in the drool, causing his partner's body to twitch. Instead of running, the rat stepped calmly back, watching the unconscious man tremble.
Rubbing his eyes hoping they'd clear, James took a step into the room and shut the door to trap the intruder.
The rat took one final bite of Harold's hamburger and scurried down the prone man's form, leaping onto the floor. He slipped under the door before James had a chance to react.
James threw the door open and sprinted to the end of the short hallway in hot pursuit of the rat. When he reached the end of the hall, he ran squarely into Francine as she rounded the corner, knocking them both to the ground. Coffee sprayed from the cup she was carrying, showering them both. The scalding liquid burned his chest and he screamed, "Damn it!" at the top of his lungs. Realizing moments too late exactly how horrible the entire scene looked, he hastily apologized to the coffee-sodden, shrieking receptionist.
***********
Stretching, Buffy reclined back as far as the luggage behind her seat would allow. Hope Will hurries up, I want a shower. All day in a convertible, in the desert—it's a bad. Her gaze fixed on a young Hispanic man in a black Stetson and she sighed. And I can't believe we're in Texas. She smiled and winked without thinking when the guy glanced her way. He's sorta cute.
He turned to make his way over with a broad smile on his face.
As Buffy quickly smoothed her skirt over her legs self-consciously, her expression filled with distress. Oh, hell no! Please no. Go away. I'm so not interested. My life is a thousand times more complicated than—I so don't need any help. After quickly checking the button-down shirt she tied around her waist to make sure it was covering the orthopedic brace, she tried to look casual.
"Hola, chica," the Hispanic man said flirtingly, nipping his lower lip suggestively at the end. He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, replacing it before he added, "Como estas?"
"'Kay, so...first thing: I don't speak Spanish, so much more of that and you're gonna lose me. Second thing: I'm so not interested. It was a total mistake. I'm sorry you wasted your time. Nice to meet you and all, but—" Buffy offered apologetically. Please, oh please, take the hint.
The Hispanic man rested against the top edge of the door with his forearms, leaning partially into the car as though he hadn't heard her. "You sure? Pretty girl like you here all alone?" After blatantly checking out her cleavage, he glanced at the empty driver's seat and turned his attention back to the blonde, leering wolfishly.
Buffy shrunk away toward the center of the car, propping herself against the console. Appearing more than a little annoyed, she countered, "Absolutely, completely, one-hundred percent positive. If I were more positive, there'd be a camera crew documenting my sureness for posterity."
The Hispanic man leaned in a little further and smiled. "I think your man's being pretty careless, leaving a pretty girl like you here all alone. I may just have to take you for myself if he doesn't get back soon," he offered smoothly, reaching in the car to sweep a lock of hair out of the blonde's face when he finished.
His hand didn't make it to Buffy's face. Bearing down on his wrist, she wrenched his hand away and snarled, "Y'know, it really doesn't pay to be nice." After taking a deep breath, she continued to explain, "It never seems to get me anywhere but screwed with. So here's me—not being nice. I tried—I really did, you gotta gimme credit—but touch me, and draw back a stump. Dent the car—and stump. We clear?"
Struggling to wrestle his arm free, he drawled in a slick tone, "Easy, chica, I just want to take you for a test drive."
"Oh! Eww!" Buffy sputtered and twisted the arm, forcing him out of the car. "A world of 'no'," she gasped with marked distress, "A whole, great big, massive ick!" Seconds later, her brow furrowed with confusion and she asked somewhat more calmly, "Jeeze! That line actually works?" The disgust on her face changed to amusement and she prompted, "We clear?" clamping down even harder. We're right on the edge of wrist breakage. I wonder if he'll grow some smarts.
A tear threatened to slip out and he put his free hand over the blonde's trying to pry her fingers away. After working futilely to release himself with both hands, the Hispanic man replied, "Clear," and the blonde let go of his arm.
"'Kay. Bu-bye now," Buffy chirruped with a smile. Pausing in hopes he'd take the hint, she shook her head and encouraged, "That would be your cue to walk away while you still can," as he stared dully at his wrist, clenching his fingers repeatedly. I can't believe I just said that. She watched him take off quickly down the walkway of the strip mall towards a department store. Cute, but not very bright. Seems to be how it goes with boys. Shame really.
Turning back as he moved, the Hispanic man spat, "Puta de mierda loca!" stabbing his finger through the air.
Buffy rolled her eyes vaguely watching him turn back and keep going. Yeah...he's a real prize. Sorry I let that one go. Bendejo. Grow up in L.A. and you at least learn enough Spanish to know when to run. It's a thing.
When he finally disappeared into the department store, Buffy turned her attention back to the UPS Store directly in front of the car. Willow was still standing patiently in line. I don't know why I did that. It's not like—even if he had been a nice guy—I could've done crap about it—not that I would. It was a stupid impulse, just adding to the drama.
Frustration sullied her features and Buffy propped her elbow against the door, taking her head into her hand. More drama: I kissed Will earlier and it was nice, but I so don't want anything else. I couldn't—it'd just be pointless right now. Funny thing is, I kissed her and I meant it, but then not— I mean, she so obviously needed something...something nice...I don't know what I mean. Hell, I don't even know if I'm gay. I might just be leading her on.
Buffy raked her fingers through her matted hair in disgust, sweeping it out of her face. She's cute and all, but I'm clueless. Actually Mom was right, she's pretty much everything—all the stuff I could wish for, except— But right now it's just stupid to even consider—utterly pointless. Trouble is, I know she needs it. She needs those little bits of reassurance to string her along. Worse, I don't know what the reassuring's about. That things will work out fine? That we'll have some fairy tale romance? I don't even know that. How am I supposed to reassure her when I don't even buy it myself? But I love her, so I try.
A bitter smile formed on her face as Buffy watched her friend move to the counter inside the store. It's funny, there's this stupid expression, 'Y'know it went okay—insert whatever 'it' fits—if you're still able to wiggle your toes when it's over.' So my question is, what happens when you can't? What do you do? How do you get over that? 'Cause I'm still clueless. Do you live your life and fall in love like a normal person? Give the person you love half 'cause that's all you got? Then slowly fade away 'cause half just isn't enough? I really don't understand and I wish someone would explain it to me 'cause it seriously wigs me out.
The clerk passed a large, elongated box over the counter to her friend and Buffy slumped back into her seat, trying desperately to recover. It scares the hell out me that someone like her would want to waste her time on a freak like me. A tear slid down her cheek and she disgustedly smeared it away.
Willow lifted the box, tucking it under her arm, and started for the door.
Buffy returned the smile her friend offered her, struggling to make it look genuine. I feel like I'm stuck in a loop. Every time I think about this stuff, I come back to the same couple points. It's always the same. Yet somehow in all the sameness—the complete shit heap that is my life—she makes me feel special. Like someone actually cares. Someone takes the time to really see me—to try and understand.
Pushing the door open with her back, Willow swung around with a cheerful expression on her face and made her way to the car.
Buffy groaned with disgust, trying desperately to force herself back into character. Then, if we follow the same spiral, I start to feel bad 'cause she could be so much more without a boat anchor like me. That's actually a perfect way to look at it too. I weigh her down—hold her back. She'd be out there swimming with the dolphins without 'Boat Anchor Buffy.'
After stowing the package on top of their luggage in the back seat, Willow slid into the driver's seat and remarked, "There's a hotel just down the street. I know how much you want to get cleaned up, so—"
Still working a hammer herself into cheerful-mode, Buffy nodded absently.
Willow glanced over as she started the car. The internal debate showed on her face.
Please drop it, Will. No good can come of this and you know it. Buffy gave her friend a mock reassuring smile.
Willow sighed and put the car into reverse, commenting as she backed out of the parking slot, "Tomorrow's gonna be a long day. I wanna try and hit San Antonio. It's about 550 miles. Not so much. Anyway, we need to get some rest. I get how crazy this is making you."
Breathing out a deep sigh to let the remainder of the unrest go, Buffy replied nonchalantly, "'Kay, Will, you're the one driving." She pushed her sunglasses back up her nose and offered apologetically, "Sorry. There was this guy and he was—well, he was just crass in new and imaginative ways. It was a thing. I didn't slay him." She chuckled amusedly before adding, "I might've been doing the female population of El Paso, Texas a huge disservice, but he lived to annoy again another day."
After looking over to survey her friend, Willow put the car in drive and pulled into the exit lane of the strip mall parking lot before she replied, "I'm glad you allowed him to continue annoying. Okay, so, maybe not so much with the annoying. What is it with some guys?"
Buffy rolled her eyes. Score one for the blonde. Diversion successful, now I just have to keep her talking and it'll all be good. "Dunno, Will. I have this theory that testosterone causes brain damage, but proving it—it'd be messy. What with the dissection and the—"
***********
Joyce sat at her desk, mindlessly looking through paperwork. She didn't actually read the words, but it kept her hands moving while her mind circled, My little girl's gone.
Absently reaching for another stack, merely because she'd unseeingly reached the bottom of the current one, her hand brushed against a small statuette of a figure skater, a treasured gift from an eight-year-old Buffy. She didn't notice it teeter on the edge of the desk, or it falling off. With the sound of her heart breaking, it shattered on the floor.
She stared at the broken shards of thin porcelain for a few seconds, before breaking down into anguished sobs.
A soft knock sounded, not disturbing the weeping mother.
The door slowly opened a few inches. "Mrs. Summers? Are you all right?" came Giles' voice from the other side.
"You!" Joyce screamed. She stood and rounded her desk. Throwing the door fully open, she ranted, "You drove my little girl away! You and your stupid—" self-consciously falling short because of the others in the gallery.
A gasp made Giles look over to see the clerk and a customer standing at the front counter, looking at him in shock.
"It's all your fault!" she accused. She stood there with tear-stained cheeks and the fierce mien of a mother's righteous indignation.
Giles gently steered Joyce back into her office. "Joyce!" he said sharply, once the door was shut.
Joyce answered tightly, "Giles," shaking his hands off her.
Giles tried to counter, "You know that isn't—" falling silent when Joyce cut him off. He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
"If it wasn't for you and your damn council, Buffy'd be home, where she belongs, instead of out there, running across the country." Her voice was strident, but reserved enough not to carry.
"You know that— I wish it wasn't necessary just as much as you," he patiently consoled her.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. "She doesn't deserve this. Why did this have to happen to her?" Joyce whispered sadly.
"Oh, Joyce." He reassured her, "She will recover. You have to believe that."
"No thanks to your damned council," Joyce growled.
"Wesley and I are doing everything in our power to assure that she does. The quest that Angel and Faith have undertaken should guarantee her recovery. You will have your daughter back, hale and whole."
Joyce restrained a wince at the mention of the second slayer's name, asking sadly instead, "But why did she have to leave?" Plaintively, she whispered, "Why does she always leave?" I just got her back. We were just starting to talk again.
"She'll be back soon," Giles promised. "Please believe that. We did everything in our power to guarantee their safely. Unfortunately, sometimes that means allowing them license to leave."
Joyce sank back into her chair, looking poignantly at the fragments of the figurine.
"You must believe in your daughter now. She's a remarkable young woman. Willow as well. The two of them are fiercely protective of one another. I'm certain that both of them shall return in good health, inordinately pleased with themselves over their grand adventure."
Joyce nodded with half-hearted agreement. Damn him! He's right about how pleased she'll be. She could almost picture the self-satisfied expression on her daughter's face. It's not his fault that she's growing up—that we've grown apart.
"The quest the others are on was completed over a thousand years ago by primitive humans; it shouldn't be too much of a challenge for the combined forces of a vampire and a slayer. They'll return with the means to restore Buffy to full health quite shortly."
With slightly more conviction, Joyce nodded again. A sigh crept out as she glared at the shards. I refuse to trust Angel and Faith. I know Angel means well, but Faith? How can Rupert expect me to trust the one that caused this to begin with? Place my daughter's fate in the hands of her enemy? Stifling any outward signs of her inner monologue, she remarked, "I better clean this up before someone gets hurt." After wiping her eyes with a tissue, she got out a whiskbroom and dustpan.
"Right," Giles agreed. He stood and went to the door. "I'll leave you to it, then. And be confident; there's little to worry about."
Offhandedly dismissing a portion of what Giles said, Joyce glanced up from where she stooped to sweep up the debris. I have to say something. I was just awful. Her voice was laced with sincerity as she offered, "I'm sorry, Rupert. It was just— Honestly, your timing was terrible."
"Think nothing of it," Giles returned graciously and made his way out the door.
Joyce watched the door close out of the corner of her eye while she cleaned up the mess. Setting the dustpan on top of the stack of paper on her desk, she stared bleary-eyed down at the tiny shards of porcelain. Giles is welcome to his opinions. The fact is: if something isn't done I may never see my little girl again. A tear dripped down into the dustpan, mingling with the shattered figurine.
***********
Angel fixed his gaze on a distant, stark-white mountain shrouded in a layer of mist. It was somehow strangely beautiful set against the hazy, orange and yellow hues of the sky. He watched as it gradually slipped from view around a bend in the trail. Then he turned his attention to the top of Faith's head.
Faith hadn't moved since the attack and Angel was starting to worry not that there was a lot he could do about it. The demon that had jumped them had lashed them each between two poles. When he woke up, Faith had been tied on top of him so that her head was roughly at his chest level. He hadn't seen more than a glimpse of the creature and all he could see of Faith was the crown of her head. The rest of her body, like his, appeared to be cocooned between the two poles. The one positive thing about their predicament was that at least he was warmer.
As the make-shift travois swayed with the movement of their captor, Angel grew gradually more angry and desperate. He struggled uselessly against the mesh of tightly-woven, fine fibers that held him in place. Moving anything besides his head was completely impossible. He growled in frustration and the demon surfaced.
Eventually Angel forced himself to calm and his face shifted back to human. He went back to lazily observing the landscape. At least I can keep track of where we are so we can get back if and when we find our way out of this mess.
Time drifted languidly by. The only thing that changed was the view, albeit slowly. The light level had remained unchanged as they traveled. He glanced up to look at huge, glowing orb directly overhead, unable to view it for more than a second through squinted eyes. It was far too large and bright to be similar to the sun he once knew.
They had made it to the bottom of the gorge, traveled half its width, and were crossing a river on a ferry manned by a decrepit old creature similar to their captor. As the two demons interacted, Angel became gradually more uneasy. There was an extremely high-pitched buzzing sound that accompanied their cooperation, sounding in pulses. Angel imagined that this was some sort of communication, but it only served to make him more aware of exactly how alien this place was. The sounds were right on the edge of his ability to hear and were actually giving him a headache.
The river passage gave Angel a better idea how they had been so easily taken. The creature that held them was roughly eight feet tall when fully erect but, despite his great height, he was proportionally very slender. He moved about on four of his six limbs normally, but was able to stand on his back-most legs and use the other four to manipulate things. His entire body was covered with fine, white hair that blended neatly into the landscape. We must've walked right past him. The thing that was most striking about their captor was his head. The vaguely insect-like appearance of the rest of his body led to expectation that his head would be insect-like as well, but instead it appeared more mammalian. His large eyes were forward-facing and solid green, with no clear pupils or irises. While a sectioned carapace structure was perceptible, the white, downy layer of fur made him appear dog-like.
Angel grumbled while he watched the two demons work in tandem to move the ferry. These things look weak. They've got that mousey sort of appearance that makes you think 'low end of the food chain.' If I wasn't stacked here like cord wood with my wacky slayer pal I could probably kill them both myself.
As the demon stretched to reach the other dock and tow the ferry inland, Angel spied something unusual. Between the two main sections of the creature's body was a clear chunk something foreign embedded in the soft tissue. Angel peered at the oddity, watching the insect-demon's internal organs work through the strange view port. When the creature resumed his normal stance, the crystalline growth was once again hidden by his carapace. Okay that was weird.
Their captor raised them up to continue on his way and Faith started to come around. The only remark Angel made was, "Don't bother. Save your strength."
Faith groaned weakly in reply.
Angel watched the slayer's head move, surveying their current predicament as they set off again being towed. Soon they were ascending the other side of the ravine and Faith was significantly more alert, though uncharacteristically silent. Angel felt her thrash, despite the advice not to, and could hardly blame her. He could feel the anger welling up inside her. Maybe she'll have more luck than I did. I can hope. If she does, I have little doubt she'll kick bug-boy's ass. And, with any luck, when she's done making a meal of him, she won't do the same to me.
Gradually the buzzing noises returned as they rose. Instead of just two separate voices, there were many. They grew louder the farther up the trail they climbed. "Do you hear that, Faith?" Angel asked in a soft careful voice.
Faith stopped struggling just long enough to say, "Hear what?" and went back to trying to break free.
"Nothing," Angel replied sullenly. Hope she manages to do whatever she plans to do soon. We're about to have a lot of company. Time slipped away again. Faith's efforts and the growing din encouraged him to begin again with his own attempt at escape. At least time passes by faster if you're doing something. He was no closer to breaking free when the cottony treetops came into view on the other side of the canyon. He made a vague mental note as he thrashed. That's where we arrived.
The slight buzz had turned into a veritable symphony of annoying noises that made Angel feel like his head might explode at any second. He was desperate to put his hands to his ears, but no closer to being able to move. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of these demons lay dead ahead on their current path, though all he could see was the misty layer of haze that hung above the canyon and crept into the forest beyond. When they crested the top of the plateau, the distant, majestic-looking mountain he'd seen earlier peeked up from behind a column of craggy, green rock that rose up from the canyon floor. Again I'm thinking beautiful, but this is nastiest place I've ever been in my life.
Movement ahead made him tense. Then suddenly he and Faith were falling. As they crashed to the ground, Angel reeled and tried to make sense of what was happening. Glancing left and right, his gaze fixed on the head of their captor lying detached from his body in a thick puddle of milky-blue liquid. In no way is that a good sign.
Angel observed their new captor lean over and rip the eyes out of their previous captor's head. The two demons were similar in many ways, but there was a sinister, capable appearance to the new threat that made Angel extremely apprehensive. Loud cracking noises issued from above his head and he reflexively winced.
A sick feeling in the pit of his stomach accompanied their being lifted from the ground. Angel watched the body of their previous captor disappear from view as they moved down the trail. There was a gaping hole in his side about where the crystalline growth had been located. The same milky-blue fluid seeped from the hole, pooling on the white ground under his body.
All too soon they were passing through a pair of heavy gates. The symphony became a piercing wail once they passed inside the walls. Angel briefly clamped his eyes shut desperate to cover his ears. Similar demons of all shapes, sizes and colors swirled around them. Some stopped to peer at them with puzzlement, or with marked greed.
I just hope we're not a delicacy or this could be a really short trip. They changed directions, passing between slabs of rock that were being used as tables to display a variety of colorful odd looking wares. Demons were gesturing animatedly at one another, obviously haggling over prices. Yeah, maybe we'll get lucky and be sold to the one stupid bug-dog-demon thing in all of Hell, so we can escape and... Dream on. We're screwed.
Quickly enough, they were on a table being bartered for. Angel couldn't see the potential buyer. He prayed that it wouldn't be as nasty as their current captor. The build of this creature screamed 'fighter.' The demon looked as though he were made to remove heads. There was one truly strange thing about his appearance that jumped out at the vampire. On his right, top-most arm was a very human-looking hand where there should've been a sharp, three-fingered claw. The demon used this appendage with marked dexterity to manipulate small items, while the claws on the other three arms appeared to be built-in weapons.
Angel watched the demon, who had been their temporary captor, draw still. They appeared to have settled on a price. A pile of strangely shaped rocks slid across the table toward their captor. He picked them up in the human-looking hand and walked away.
Faith's voice was thick with anxiety as she asked in a hushed tone, "Did I just see what I think I saw?"
Angel clamped his eye shut again to concentrate through the din. "If you think you saw us being sold for a handful of rocks, then yes," he replied, carefully muting any edginess from his voice.
"We're screwed," Faith commented aridly.
Yup.
***********
A strange sensation caused Buffy to stir. She groaned and cracked her eyes. After glancing around the dimly lit hotel room for only an instant before she prompted, "Will, wake up." It felt like ants were crawling all over the arch of her right foot. She was too groggy to immediately put the pieces together, instead it annoyed her. When she started to speak again, "Please, Wiill..." the details connected and she sprang to sitting position, tossing Willow carelessly aside.
Willow came to rest near the edge of the bed. After rolling grumpily onto her side, she croaked, "Wha—?"
Buffy was torn between annoyance, amazement, and sheepishness for having thrown Willow. Finally, she managed to offer feebly, "My foot," glancing over at her friend.
Willow appeared completely puzzled, even in the low light. "Huh? What foot?" It took her a few moments to process what was happening. She studied the expression on the blonde's face carefully before she sat up and drew the covers back. After moving down to the bottom of the bed, she took Buffy's right foot in her hand and began to rub it, questioning with marked curiosity, "Where?"
Buffy was near tears when she responded, "Mostly along the arch, but I can sorta feel my toes too." The sensations were strange and distant, but there.
Ceasing the gentle massage, Willow asked, "Can you move your toes?"
"I dunno." Buffy closed her eyes and focused on what she could feel of her foot, wrestling internally with forcing movement from the injured limb. After several moments of strained effort, she released the breath she'd unconsciously been holding as if admitting defeat.
"It won't all come back at once, Buffy, but this is good. This is really, really good."
Buffy didn't need to open her eyes to understand what Willow was feeling—the emotion ran thick in her voice—she was happy, a little too happy. She listened to the stifled sounds of her friend's weeping. Moments later, when the gentle caress resumed, the slayer surrendered to her tears.
***********
Faith was alone in the dark box, still strapped to the poles she'd been bound when she regained consciousness. It seemed like hours had passed since Angel had been removed and taken away. An old familiar feeling was consuming her: fear. In the past, fear had been like a friend to her. It had bought feelings of desperation, then finally anger. Anger was something she could've worked with. Somehow the wires in her brain had crossed this time and she wasn't angry. Instead, feelings of weakness and terror threatened to consume her. She could barely form coherent thoughts and the ones that did form were the stuff of twisted nightmares.
Finally, the box slid open again and she was ripped from isolation. She caught a glimpse of a black head crowned with spines and oversized, reflective black eyes as she slid into the light. Then the demon turned away, sweeping up one of the poles to drag her along behind him. The crippling terror leapt up, causing her to hyperventilate. She struggled to regain control.
When they came to a halt, the demon came briefly into view again when Faith was lifted onto a clear slab that reminded her of an ice cube. She was centered on the slab and the demon moved out of view. All she could recall of what she'd seen were large black eyes that looked like chunks of obsidian; the rest had been a blur of darkly hued movement. Looking up, her vision spotted against the blinding white light overhead. When she tried to turn and glance around the room, something seized the top of her head, clamping it into place. Defensively, she closed her eyes against the light.
A pointed object pressed against her chest and ran with mechanical precision down to her groin, laying open all the layers of restraint and clothing down to bare skin. A rush of bitter cold caused her body to thrash, exposing her even more. Agonizing pain coursed through her each time she touched the table with her arms or legs. As she flailed her limbs, searching for something to grab onto, they were seized one at a time and clamped down, until she could no longer move. The remains of clothing were ripped from underneath her and the frigid slab contacted her bare skin. The pain went away when she came to rest.
Her teeth chattered as something was forced into her mouth. She gagged as the invading object snaked down her throat. Breathing came with mechanical ease after the object was inserted and she no longer felt like she was suffocating.
Tentatively, Faith tried desperately to open her eyes again. She caught a glimpse of a mechanical arm reaching down before she was forced to close them again by the overwhelming light. A scream caught in her throat as a sharp object pressed against her breast bone. The excruciating pain blurred as the blade cut into her, finally turning muddy when she succumbed to unconsciousness.
***********
Seemingly unfazed by the absence of clothing, Angel rolled painfully onto his back. He was cold, but not terribly so. His chest ached. Opening his eyes, he peered muzzily down at the new, white skin that was growing in place of the section the demon had removed. It was a perfect oval, right in the center of his chest. He removed my sternum and cracked my chest. I passed out when he spread my ribs. Wonder why he stopped? Must've been the chunk of dead meat that passes for my heart.
Oh God! I hope he's not doing that to Faith! Desperation set in and Angel started to move with difficulty. After propping himself up on his elbows, his attention turned to looking around the featureless, square cell. His gaze fixed on the rough, clear bars that enclosed the front and one side of his prison. A coarse-rock walled hallway and two additional cells were all that was visible beyond the perimeter.
I'm not alone. Two cells down, another man lay curled in a ball, sleeping on the glossy, white stone floor. Before Angel could react, a loud clank echoed from the other side of the wall, causing the strange man to jump to his feet. Angel remained silent when he got a good look at the man's chest; in the center was a clear port like he'd seen on their first captor. His eyes fixed on the perfect oval window. His expression sagged with disbelief as he watched the man's heart beat and lungs move. The tissue around the port had long ago healed, fusing to the implant.
They studied each other for what seemed like an eternity before Angel came back to his senses and asked, "How long have you been here?"
Movement on the other side of the solid wall caused the strange man to shrink into the back corner of his cell.
Angel rose to his feet, standing ready for attack as the demon moved into view, dragging Faith along behind him by her ankle. Unlike the previous two, this demon moved on his hind legs, standing erect like a man. He wasn't much taller than Angel himself, but there was an air of sophistication about him that was lacking in the earlier examples.
Angel's attention quickly turned to Faith when it occurred to him that sizing up their captor was the last thing he should be worried about. The demon waved his hand and the bars on the empty cell slid into the floor and ceiling. Once they were clear, he slung her limp body into the empty cell and walked away. Angel moved to the edge of his cell to get a better look.
Faith's skin tone hand an unhealthy blue cast to it. Angel quickly became aware that he couldn't see her heart beating through the view port between her breasts but, with the bars separating them, there was nothing he could do. She's dead. Shock and desperate powerlessness consumed him as he stared at the lifeless organs.
Clicking noises issued from beyond the wall and the hair on Angel's body stood on end. As the air around them charged, the port in the center of Faith's chest began to emit a low luminescence. He stared helplessly at the slayer, relieved to see her heart stir slowly to life. When she gasped and choked, clutching her arms to her chest, Angel was struck with sudden awareness that something else was very wrong. Both of her hands were missing.
Angel's mouth fell open in alarm. He peered up at the strange man in the next cell. His eyes fixed on the boney looking, partially re-grown hands graphed to the stumps at the end of the man's arms. The growths were unlike anything he'd ever seen, the tendons were corded blue fiber and the bones looked clear and cloudy. A milky-white layer of outer skin had just begun to form on the man's right hand. The tendons underneath were clearly visible through the thin epidermis.
After several moments of dumbfounded study, Angel's attention returned to the slayer. Something strange was happening to her. The clear port began to blur with a strange, black, misty substance. He glanced up to look at the clear port in the center of the other man's chest, quickly turning back to Faith. The port continued to cloud over until it was completely black and opaque. Fine tendrils of black fiber began to grow out of the oval implant, cording and weaving randomly together as they snaked across her breasts.
Angel leaned forward against the bars while he watched the thin fibers cover their host, yelping when a jolt hit him, knocking him to his knees. He slumped, reflexively gasping at the severe pain the unconscious action had caused. Once he managed to climb to his feet again, Faith's chest was entirely encased in a corded, translucent, matte-black cocoon. The hair-fine fibers continued to trail outward. He observed with interest as they coiled into her navel, emerging on the other side, leaving behind a thin black coating that clung tightly to her skin.
Shame reflected on his features while he studied the metamorphosis. It was like watching a train wreck. No matter how much he wanted to, Angel couldn't seem to tear his gaze away.
Damning himself to avert his eyes, Angel turned his attention to the bloody stumps where her hands had once been. As the black fibers crept down her arm, he found himself once again praying that her hands would return. I should know better. Praying and vampires—it's a bad combination. When the fibers reached the ends of her arms, they wove around the stumps and stopped. Damn it! No good ever comes of my praying.
A/N: A big thank you to whoever nominated this story for the Sunnydale Memorial Awards.
http://sunnydawards.dragonydreams.com/nominees.html