Time Travel for Pedestrians

By kalima

Chapter 10

"Hello?"

"Willow?"

"Anya?"

"Are Buffy and Xander back from the hospital yet?"

"Hospital! Why are they at a hospital?"

"Must I explain it again? The old man? Heart attack? Buffy went with? Xander went to pick her up on account of a new vampire in town?"

"O-kay... Some of this you're actually explaining for the first time."

"They haven't called?"

"Um...lemme... ? Nope. No messages anyway."

"Crap. Is Dawn there?"

"Jeez, y'know, Ijustwalked in the door. Hang on. I DAWN! DAWNIE ARE YOU HERE? DAWN/I Apparently not."

"Damn it! OK, look, here's the situation, and you're not going to like it. Tara just dropped me off, and I noticed something when I got out of her car, but I think the bitch put a spell on me or something becauseâ€""

"Excuse me! Did you just call my girlfriend a bitch?"

"Not Tara! The woman in the car with her."

"I thoughtyouwere the woman in the car with her. She was with a woman? Another woman?"

"Well, technically, not so much really. Iknewthere was something a little too foxy about herâ€""

"Foxy? Tara was with a foxy woman? When did she meet this foxy woman?"

"She came for a reading. Come to think of it, I'm not sure she even got the reading. Xander came to find Buffy because of a dead guy in a dumpster behind the Espresso Pump, and then we all left, and I had to sit in the back seat of Tara's car so she and this so-called woman could get cozy in the front seat even though I was the one getting out firstâ€" did you just swallow your tongue?"

"No. "

"Good, because you're going to need your tongue to cast a spell."

"I don't â€" why would I need to do a spell?"

"To find the car? Where they went?"

"Iâ€"I probably shouldn't do a spell for that. I mean she has every right to see other peopleâ€""Even people she can't see in a mirror?"

"What! "

"When we got to the apartment, Foxy Lady got out of the front seat so I could get out of the backseat, and when she was getting back into the car I noticed I couldn't see her reflection in the side mirror. Just as I'm about to point this out, the bitch flaps her hand at me and next thing I know I'm standing on the sidewalk all by myself with the neighbor's cat rubbing my legs, and it's been like...well, I don't know how long exactly, but longer than five minutes. Willow? Willow?"

"Yes. Yes. OK. Stay right where you are! I need to gather a few supplies and then I'm coming to get you."

"Wait! What about Dawn?"

"Is Dawn definitely in a car with a vampire right now?"

"Um. Right. I'll be waiting out front."

Spike was not in his crypt.

Or so Xander assumed as he put his new Adidas to the test fleeing from Spike's crypt with a demon hot on his heels. A demon that looked remarkably like the one he'd hit with the car. Thesame one for all he knew. Spike had lied. Big surprise.

His car was parked at the curb, on theotherside of the chain link fence he was now forced scrabbled up and somersault over. The passenger side door was stuck again, and as he jerked and pounded and kicked it in frantic frustration, the window slid down (as it was wont to do) into the door frame. He hopped through feet first, which was neither as cool nor as easy as it looked on the Dukes of Hazzard. In fact it was downright painful.

Fifteen minutes later, driving in circles in a run-down, poorly lit part of the warehouse district, he reconsidered the assumption that Spike had lied. It was possible that he had done what he said and that this demon was just one of thousands, an invasion from another dimension. Perhaps Spike had been caught unawares. Perhaps Spike was still in his crypt. . Perhaps that suspicious cloud of dusty substance he'd seen right before the demon came at him, was â€" or rather,had been -- Spike.

He pushed that tiny niggling worry deep into the back of his brain, as he crossed the railroad tracks much to fast and turned onto a nameless street that ran parallel to the tracks. Figured Spike would find a way to thwart his long cherished dream of staking the asshole himself.

Asshole.

Even so, the dust had seemed a little too ...shiny to be a vampire's. Also, now that he thought about it, there was a lot more dust than there normally was should have been. Plus, the dust seemed to hang in the air a bit too long, like dandelion seeds or soap bubbles. Also, the thing came at him, waving antennae, making weird burbling noises instead of coughing.

Also, he could see Spike walking along the tracks up ahead.

His hair was like a phosphorescent Q-tip in the glare of the headlights.

Spike heard his name being shouted and his shoulders immediately went up around his ears in the granddaddy of all cringes. If he hadn't had the stupid wedding invitation in the back pocket of his jeans he would never have felt the cursed, ancient grip of Victorian propriety that told him killing the wanker would be impolite. He could almost hear his mother's voice, telling him that, having accepted the invitation, he was now obliged to acknowledge the giver. He didn't. Not until the car drew up along side him.

"Harris. You're out late again I see. On another rag hunt for the missus?"

Xander kept one hand on the steering wheel, while the other dangled out the open window.

"On another mission. Looking for you. Dropped by your crypt a little while ago. You weren't there."

"Gosh. Hope I didn't leave any of my unmentionables strewn about."

"Well, not that I saw, but then, you already had a visitor."

Spike could only think of one visitor that came and went as she pleased on a regular basis. The anxiety and the surge of relief that followed startled him.Here it comes, he thought,all out in the open now. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Big guy? Antennae? Looked like a refugee from some Children's Television Hell Dimension? Ring any bells?"

"What?"

"Thought you said you took care of them."

"I did? I mean. Right. Yeah. I. Did." Fuck. They were after him now. Oh fuck. "How am I to know how many of the buggers there are? Could be hundreds. Thousands for all I know. I'm just one guy, all right? I'm not a bleeding army! And anyway, didn't see you out there, doing your part, helping me exterminate 'em!"

"You told me you didn't need my help!"

"Yeah. Well..." He thrust his hands into his hair and tugged hard, hoping he didn't look as wild-eyed frantic as he felt. "What- what did it want then? What was it doing? Did you see?"

"Um...I didn't really stick around."

Shit fuck piss. 'Course he didn't. Stupid twat probably wet himself in terror before fleeing the scene. Suddenly Spike was there, again, kneeling in the street beside the dying demon, feeling himself being pulled into the creature's eyes, seeing what it saw. Seeing himself in a pillar of flames, burning.

He heard Harris start to giggle and he whirled on him. Felt a fleeting satisfaction in the resultant gasp. "What's so fucking funny?"

"Sorry, sorry. It's justâ€"your hair's kind of gone all...Buckwheat from the Lil' Rascals."

Spike tried to pat his hair into submission with one hand, and pointed a shaking finger at Harris with the other. "This is your fault! You and your stupid car."

"I don't think you can blame my car for your hair."

"Those demons wouldn't be after me if you hadn't hit one with your stupid, fucking car! I was doing you a favor, and now I'm on some demon shit list!"

"At least I gave you a heads up. I didn't have to, you know!"

"Oh. Ta. You're a fucking prince, you are! What the hell were you doing at my crypt anyway?"

Xander sighed. "There's some new vamp in town, and Buffy kind of hoped you'd check it out."

Spike started walking again. "Why? Her staking arm broken?"

"She's...busy." The Buick coughed as he tapped the gas pedal to keep even with Spike's quickened pace. "Look, it wasn't my idea. She asked me to find youâ€""

"Right. Slayer cracks her pussy whip and you hop to."

"Like you don't jump when she cracks her puâ€"" He broke off with a loud gulp. "I meanâ€""

Even though Spike had jerked to an abrupt halt at the boy's words, the car rolled on for a couple of feet before Harris remembered the brakes. The heat of his embarrassment hit Spike like a furnace blast. Engine idling, Xander revved up the hostility to compensate. "You--you aren't exactly Mister Autonomous, are you? Smoking and drinking and pining away under her window. She's never gonna give you what you want, and still you cling to hope like a big bloated tick."

Spike felt his mouth fall open. He could see only one tick here who fit the bloated category. He chuckled, surprised by the lack of bitterness in his laughter, and spread his hands wide. "Look at me, Harris. Skin and bones. I'm starving, here. So cheer up. Clearly, hope offers me no sustenance whatsoever."

Harris looked and then looked away, the muscles in his jaw jerking. Spike cocked his head, and squinted at the boy behind the wheel who still dreamed of a golden girl, but settled down with the fishwife. "We're a pair, aren't we? Neither with a chance in hell of ever getting what we want from her."

"Wanted," Xander corrected. "Once upon a time. I got over it."

"Did you now?"

"Screw you. I have vampire hunting to do." He put the car in gear, but kept his foot on the brakes. "You coming or not?"

"Just so happens," Spike said strolling around to the passenger side, "I heard tell of a party in the old Wilkins Tool and Die." He got in the car and slammed the door. The window dropped down into the door frame with a thunk.

Xander sighed heavily. "You want me to give you a ride to a party?"

"Yeah, well, if I were a new vampire in town that's where I'd be."

Tara eased the little Datsun around the corner onto yet another side street. Her nerves were jangling, but not because she was afraid. She suspected she ought to be. She suspected a trap, a spell. She suspected a lot of things â€" but only with her hindbrain. And she was studiously ignoring it.

"I suspect your hotel is nowhere near here," she said, seeking the right note of indulgent chiding.

Sorcha (for that was the beautiful woman's beautiful name) smiled, dark red lips sliding back showing a hint of wicked tongue behind a cage of pearly whites. She lowered her lashes, then looked up through them. "I confess. I have deceived you. I was told there is a club near here. With dancing. I thought you might enjoy it. With me."

Tara tired not to swallow because she knew it would be loud, a dead giveaway that she was far from cool. Of course, why was she trying for cool when what she wanted was heat... Hot. Hotness.

Oh god.

Her right hand pulsed against the steering wheel, like there were little lightning bolts striking the lines in her palm.

"If I only could remember the name of the streetâ€"" Sorcha murmured, all throaty and exotic. She made a show of peering into the darkness, her brow attempted the vaguest of furrows. Botox, Tara thought, but her hindbrain was screaming something else.

Some other time in Tara's life (like the day before yesterday) she would have been panicking about now. Probablybeforenow. Because cruising the warehouse district at the behest of a complete stranger? -- a completely beautiful stranger with the most gorgeous lips â€" Not something she was likely to do. Like, ever. But she was a changed woman. In a car with another woman. A woman who was not Willow. A woman who was, very possibly, a â€"

Quiet brain.

A nightclub in the warehouse district. Bound to be full of artistic, bohemian types, right? The sort of people who grabbed life by the horns and did summersaults over its back, like the bull leapers in Minoan frescos.

Like Sorcha with her long black hair, her wide dark eyes, wide lips, hard little nipples poking out from round firmâ€"

"Wait," Sorcha said, touching Tara's wrist where her hand loosely gripped the steering wheel. Tara gasped. The fingers were cool and dry as talc. And she knew what hindbrain was telling her, even as the touch made her melting hot between the legs. "Can you hear it?" the woman asked

And then she could. A bone deep thump, thump, thumping. Music. Voices. Somewhere close by, brave souls were leaping bulls.

Even if they hadn't heard the music, it was obvious from the dozens upon dozens of vehicles packed bumper to bumper, they were getting close to a great party in full swing.

"Wow,' Harris said, "You're right. Looks like a rave's going down. Haven't been to one of those in â€""

"Ever," Spike finished for him.

"How would you know?"

"For one, a rave doesn't 'go down.' And for two, they haven't been called raves since '95."

"Oh, cuz you're such the expert." At Spike's look, Xander flushed. "Fine. Whatever. Guess all the cool stuff passed me by. Too old for it now anyway."

"Oh for the love ofâ€" Why don't you just hitch your trousers up under your armpits and call yourself Grandpa?" As if by example, the Buick lurched along, grumpily mindful of young whippersnappers spilling out onto the streets. "You're what? Twenty? Twenty-one? Most of this lot are, at the very least, legally drunk."

And a lot of the legal drunks were girls too. Pretty girls. Sparkly butterflies in hip-hugging demin.. Or transparent twirly skirts. Or really short skirts. The bass thump of the music got suddenly louder and colored flashing light spilled out over the street along with the sound as people came and went. And there, illuminated by the light was a dark-haired honey in short skirt. leaning over the hood of a Bonneville like she was trying to give it a great big hug. Or possibly, licking it. Next to her, a guy, barefoot, with jeans hanging from his hipbones, laughed and stroked the back of her thigh.

Spike shuddered. "Damn," he whispered.

Beside him, Xander nodded his complete and utter understanding. "Double damn," he said as barefoot boy's hand disappeared under the hem of hood-hugging girl's skirt.

Spike flew out of the car. And that was no exaggeration. "Oi!" he roared, momentum carrying him to the lovers and their car in a blink. "You'd best not have your fingers in that pie,Jackor I'll be forced to bite them clean off your sneaky little hand!"

Xander shut off the motor and left the car double parked as he bolted across the street, dodging merrymakers that Spike seemed to have transported through. Even though he knew, intellectually that Spike couldn't actually bite off any fingers, he wasn't sure he couldn't sever a couple before the chip kicked in. Hewasn't sure why Spike wanted to, at least not until he got closer and heard the girl emit a strangely familiar squeak. She rolled onto her back over the hood of the car, and his entire body erupted into a jerky, electrified dance of horror. He emitted a squeak of his own, like an aging castrati. "Dawn!" She started to slide down the fender and he grabbed her up. "Oh my God, Dawn! What the hell? What the hell!"

"Oh, hey...you." Dawn said, her eyes making a valiant effort to focus. Her head lolled over her shoulder and she grinned. "And Spike."

"Little Bit," Spike acknowledged without looking at her. He had Barefoot Boy pressed up flat against the driver's side door, arms on either side of the kid like thick steel bars,hovering over him, smiling, though it was difficult to tell what with the ridges and fangs.

"Spike..." Xander warned as he struggled to hold Dawn, the human Slinky, upright. "Careful of your head now."

"Not touching." Spike growled softly. "Don't have to. Little tweaker's pissed himself in terror." He pulled backslightlyin disgust, but otherwise didn't move the cage of his arms. "Say? You're a carpenter. I'll wager you have tools in the boot of your car. Screwdrivers? Pliers? Maybe a saw?"

"Wow. Yeah. You know, you're right. I do. Why don't you take Dawn, and I'll take little Jack Horner here and we'll go have looksee."

"Is that your name?" Dawn said, trying to crawl over the hood of the Bonneville again. "I like your car, Jack. It's big. Let's take Jack's car. Okay, guys?"

"Shit. Oh shit, man," the kid blubbered. "I didn't do anything to her I swear. It's not even my car! Don't kill me, please don't kill me man, pleaseâ€""

"Nobody's killing anybody here, Jack," Xander said.

"We're just going to saw off your fingers a little," Spike assured him.