aeneas_fic

Necessary Simplicity, PG (Firefly)

2007-01-07T04:42:12Z

Title: Necessary Simplicity
Author: Aeneas
Fandom: Firefly
Rating: PG (language, implied violence)
Summary: Zoe is captured by an old enemy and Mal’s plan for getting her back all depends on Jayne…
Spoilers: Post-Serenity
Pairings: Gen. Slight Jayne/Zoe implied
Disclaimer: All characters (including the ship) are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, FOX, etc.
Notes: Written as a back-up gift for agilebrit in the random_urges Rare Pairings ficathon. Request was for post-BDM Jayne/Zoe and a gift.

Malcolm Reynolds knew a weapon when he saw one.

River didn’t click like the sound of a bullet sliding into the barrel when she was cocked, but she was primed and ready to fire nonetheless. He knew it the second he saw her in that bar on Beaumonde, had counted on it when he led them all into the hare-brained plan that nearly cost all their lives. And she weren’t the only of his crew that he didn’t always look to as a living, breathing human being with fragile skin that bled when cut. Jayne was a machine or creature of stone, made and bred to violence. Even Zoe.

Especially Zoe.

There were times he forgot that she weren’t just a beautiful, efficient weapon. She was more than that, so much more; his right hand man, his second in command, his only constant in a world of change. Zoe was career military; she could’ve gone where the money was, but she followed him out of Serenity Valley and made sure he didn’t do too much stupid.

The pilot’s chair was empty and silent in front of him and he hated that it was empty, hated the patched up hole in it that shouldn’t be. But right this moment, he was glad of it. Glad that Wash wasn’t sitting there waiting to be told that the job was done and they’d gotten paid enough to buy fuel.

Only Zoe wasn’t coming back this time.

“Mal?” Inara asked softly.

He hadn’t heard her come in and more than anything he didn’t want to face her questions. Didn’t want to see the look on her face when he told her that he’d failed. He’d been helpless; let Zoe slip through his fingers and into a hell he couldn’t bring himself to imagine.

“Jayne’s asking for you. Well, he’s shouting actually, and making it very difficult for Simon to work on him. Perhaps, if you...” she trailed off in that way of hers that meant he was supposed to fill in the blanks himself.

“Doc’s got restraints that work.”

“Maybe if you were there. It wouldn’t hurt.”

Her voice was soft and she was soft; even across the room and with his back turned he could see everything about her that was soft and smooth. From the curl in her hair to the curve of her face, the way her fingertips danced over everything she touched and how she glided along rather than walking like regular folk. There was nothing he wanted more than to bury himself in all of that softness and pray for it to take the edge off of losing the old, familiar weapon he’d taken for granted.

“Mal?”

“I’ll be there in my own time. Tell the Doc to knock Jayne out if he gets to be a hassle.” Once she was gone, he kept staring at the chair. Tried and tried to find a reason he could give the ghost of Wash, a reason why his wife wasn’t on board the ship.

Maybe Book was right and the happy couple were going to be together in heaven and he didn’t need to be standing there trying to explain. Except he knew Wash and his ghost wouldn’t be letting him sleep anytime soon if he couldn’t convince that chair he’d done everything in his power to save her. He wanted to convince the ghost that he’d had no choice but to leave, that Zoe would’ve done the same, and that he weren’t standing there because he was too much of a coward to go back.

Go back so they could bury her beside her husband.

He pushed that thought away quickly and left the chair to wait in silence, heading back to the Infirmary and whatever ruckus Jayne was raising. There were no reasons he could give, no reason in the ‘verse it were Zoe they’d left behind instead of him.

Familiar hollering echoed through the belly of the ship and Jayne was cussing up a storm about the stitches Simon was trying to put into his arm. The rest of the crew was there too, with worried expressions, knowing something had gone terribly wrong for Zoe to not be there.

“Mal! You tell him he can’t give me none of that gorram stuff makes me fall over,” Jayne grunted, still glaring at Simon.

Looking annoyed and exasperated, Simon jerked a little harder on the binding floss. “I need you to hold still.”

“Can’t be knocking me out when we’re goin’ to get Zoe. I’ll be ruttin’ useless.” Jayne finally turned to look at Mal. “We’re goin’ after her, right, Mal? Ain’t no way we’re gonna let that qingwa cào de liúmáng have her.”

“What happened to Zoe?” Kaylee asked worriedly. “Who’s got her?”

Mal didn’t look at her, couldn’t look at her. This weren’t the time to be showing any sort of weakness or uncertainty. They were counting on him to find a way and come up with a plan to get Zoe back. “Chances are he won’t kill her right off, buys us a little time to think. But you won’t be no use to me or Zoe ‘less you can do your job, so stop your squirming and let the Doc do his.”

Jayne winced visibly as Simon tugged on the floss again but stopped trying to get out of the chair. “Just hurry up with that. Got a mind to beat the fear of Jayne into a few of those ruttin’ bastards.”

All eyes were on him and he still didn’t have an explanation. He didn’t know how a simple transport job could go so wrong, didn’t know how they’d been made or how it had all fallen apart so quickly. Do the job, get paid; it was supposed to be simple. Then the bastard with one eye missing appeared out of nowhere and brought Zoe down with a brutal blow to the back of her head. In his mind, Mal could see her hitting the ground, blood on her skin and in her hair. She hadn’t gotten back up or opened her eyes, hadn’t moved a muscle, and gunfire cut her off, forcing them to run.

The possibility that she was already dead felt like a cancer eating away at his heart and stomach. Then he reminded himself of the man who was responsible for the ambush, of what would happen to Zoe if she hadn’t been killed, and he couldn’t convince himself that a quick and painless death weren’t the better option.

“Captain?” Kaylee’s eyes were wide with fear. “Who’s Jayne talking about?”

“Niska.”

***

The sadistic hundan must have known silence would be harder on Zoe’s nerves than torture. She’d seen what his idea of fun was and he knew it. He knew that letting her sit, alone and in the dark, would be a form of torture all its own. There’d been a tone to his laughter when his goon had thrown her into the small, dank room that made her grit her teeth. He was planning on breaking her, whatever it took.

If luck was on her side then they’d be looking to use her for bait for the Captain, which meant keeping her alive long enough for Mal to watch her die. Until then, there weren’t much she could do before Niska decided to start in on the real torture. They’d taken her weapons, none too gentle about it neither, and she was grateful to be left her clothes. Apparently, they were saving that particular form of torment for later.

Relentless aching in her head where she’d been struck made it hard to find a comfortable position in the cramped metal room posing as a prison cell. The wrist that had broken her fall was swollen. She’d wrapped it up best she could with the ripped sleeve from her shirt, but it left her hobbled if she did get a chance to escape. Not that she expected even the tiniest of windows. If Serenity, and by Serenity she meant Mal, could cause just a breath of distraction then she might get her wish.

If they came back for her.

She pushed that thought away quickly. They’d come. Mal would come because he knew if he didn’t, she’d be tracking him down from the afterlife to make his gorram life miserable. Until then, she would sit tight and stay sharp; all she needed was a moment.

Rest and sitting still proved too hard to stomach, even with the pain in her head and wrist. She felt her way around the room instead, finding the edges of the door and the air flow vents, which weren’t big enough to fit more than her boot inside. The control panel was loose but she didn’t have Kaylee’s gift for talking to circuits and she’d be more likely to seal herself inside than get out. Then again, that wasn’t entirely a worse fate than what was waiting for her and it might buy her some time.

The edges were slick and cut into her hands before she realized she was bleeding. Gritting her teeth, she dumped the panel and tried to ignore the stinging in her fingers. Bastard probably made sure the sheet metal was made to do just that. On the inside was a tangle of wires and connectors that went every which way with no clue as to what purpose they served.

Since it didn’t rightly matter which one she disconnected first, not knowing what any of them did, she started in one of the corners and felt her way from wire to wire. Nothing seemed to happen with most of them. One turned off the fresh air coming in, she made sure to put in back into place. Not a one opened the door; that wire was probably on a circuit buried deep and impossible to access. She found one that made a sound like a lock setting into place and hoped that did the trick.

Having done all the damage she could do, she crept back to the furthest corner and eased down with her back pressed against two solid walls. Her skin was flushed and sweaty and the pain spun her about when she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t be no help to the Captain once he found her if she was all worn out, so she laid down and waited for the spinning to stop.

***

“Why can’t we just go in guns blazing like we did when Niska had you?” Jayne demanded.

“He’ll be expecting that this time round; could kill Zoe right off just so we find her body and then grab the rest of us. No sense in all of us getting dead.” Mal desperately wished he could think of any plan at all, but his mind kept replaying the memory of Zoe falling to the ground until he couldn’t focus on anything. “We need a way to get in quiet.”

“How ‘bout supply ships? Skyplex gotta get supplies just like anything else,” Kaylee offered hopefully. “Could sneak inside of one maybe.”

“That’s good thinking, Kaylee. River?”

She was already on her feet and headed for the bridge, answering his unspoken question over her shoulder. “I’ll find out what’s in the air.”

“I could send a wave to the Councilor, see what help she might be able to offer,” Inara said.

“Weren’t much help last time, was she?” Jayne scoffed.

“Send the wave. Need information if she’s got it and a safe place to land Serenity. We can’t hide on the other side of the planet and rescue Zoe at the same time.” That left Jayne, Simon, and Kaylee sitting at the table with him and waiting for him to come up with something brilliant. “Doc, we’ll need you along for sure this time. Zoe was injured ‘fore they took her and I doubt Niska decided to patch her up.”

Kaylee shivered a little. “I know how to hold a gun this time, Captain.”

“We’ll be leaving Serenity in your care, it’ll be your job to make sure no one comes aboard ain’t one of us. Inara flies fair enough and has a place to shelter if needs be. If’n there’s trouble, you two get in the shuttle and get to safety.” He pondered that for a moment, trying to figure out a way to keep all his bases covered without putting any of his crew in more danger than they could handle.

“I can rig the doors no problem,” she said with visible relief.

“I’ll go pack my bag.” Simon left the table and Kaylee went with him, holding onto his hand for comfort.

“You think she’s still alive?” Jayne asked quietly once they were gone.

“Won’t be no fun to him if she ain’t.” Mal hated thinking about that, hated wishing Zoe weren’t alive to suffer what Niska had a mind to put her through.

Jayne grimaced. “We better make damn sure he’s dead this time. He’s gettin’ to be a right pain in my ass, popping up all over with those men of his, hiring folk to be following us around.”

“Believe me, it’s on my list of things to do, right after bringing Zoe home.”

“Mal?” River appeared in the doorway, not so much smiling as looking vaguely like a cat that just cornered a mouse and was looking to beat it to death before taking a bite. “Found something might do.”

***

“Do I need to remind you we’re trying to be stealthy, Jayne?” Mal hissed.

“You ain’t the one crammed into a bitty crate that smells like onions.” Shifting around in an effort to not press too hard on any of his weapons, Jayne tried breathing through his mouth but that just made everything taste like onions.

“No, mine smells of…something else. Ain’t rightly sure what and I ain’t gonna ask.”

“Shhh,” River hushed them both, her voice muffled by the slotted metal and packing sheath between them.

“We there yet?” Jayne grumbled, careful to be quieter this time.

“Estimated time of arrival is two minutes. Plus loading time,” River answered like she could somehow count the seconds and know exactly where they were. Course, Jayne reckoned she probably could. “Wait for my signal.”

He didn’t care much for waiting in particular, it made him anxious for more exciting things to start happening. Making matters worse was the itching in his trigger finger for one good shot at Niska. Bad enough that they couldn’t find a quadrant of the verse that didn’t have folk trying to kill them or just make getting by that much harder; back stabbers, thieves, or just folk with nothing of their own and looking for bones to pick at. But this was personal; this was Zoe.

For damn sure he’d never expected to see Mal fall apart or get sloppy like he was now, like he were half left behind himself. It weren’t the same as he got around Inara; that was a whole different kind of sloppy. Without Zoe, it was like Mal didn’t know what foot to put in front of the other; which was a bad thing since even on a good day he was more than likely to kill them all with one of his piece of go se plans.

“Get ready. Only have one chance before they put us in the stew,” River whispered loudly enough for them to hear her.

“Girl, you’s creepifying even when you ain’t crazy.” Jayne ground his teeth together to keep from cursing when the ship docked, sending them all sliding to the back wall and rattling them about. Weren’t no reason for the docking pilot to care what happened to crates of protein bars and packets of vegetable concentrate grown in a lab.

Once they were latched onto the Skyplex, all food supplies were loaded into the central pantry for storage. There was no reason for a pantry to have more than a light guard at most, nothing they couldn’t handle. It got tricky from there out. Had to find their way to Niska’s inner chambers and go as quiet as they could. If they didn’t have Zoe by the time the shooting started, they risked having only a body to take back home.

He focused on staying quiet while the crate he was in bumped down the loading chute and swallowed a groan when he finally hit the bottom. There wasn’t much light that he could see in the pantry, just enough to highlight the edges of the other crates. His skin was crawling with the struggle of being trapped up in a tiny space.

River gave the signal, a succession of light taps, letting them know they could move. “It’s clear. You can breathe now, Jayne.”

Letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, he twisted enough to reach the jimmied latch and open the top. The air in the storage hold didn’t smell much better than the synthesized onion packets but he could stretch his legs without setting off one of his grenades. He rolled his eyes at the glare from Mal when his holster scraped against the side of the crate; weren’t anyone around to hear it. If he’d had his way, he’d be strapped down with more than just a couple pistols and extra rounds, but he barely fit in the crate even without weapons.

While everyone else tried to get ready and stay quiet, River pressed her ear up to the storeroom door. “Two guards. Not watching the door, be gone soon. One stays behind.”

“Right. We gotta keep us being here to ourselves long as we can,” Mal whispered, looking intently toward Jayne with a gaze probably supposed to mean something.

“Go now,” River ordered softly.

Jayne was out the door almost before Mal and Simon had opened it enough for him to slip through. True to her word, the remaining guard was leaning against the wall with his back to the storeroom. It was a piece of luck that Niska didn’t feel like ponying up the cash to keep his guards in full armor. The unsuspecting guard when down smooth as butter once his head was facing the wrong way. Most noise was from the man’s boots scraping over the floor as Jayne dragged the body back into the storeroom.

The trap was easy enough to set into motion; the guard’s basic uniform fit Mal well enough and once his companion returned, his fit Simon nearly perfectly. That left two unconscious men behind the crates and Jayne and River still in their own clothes. He bit his tongue to keep from complaining out loud as they waited for the Mal and Simon to return with uniforms that would do.

“She’s alive,” River said suddenly, pulling her head away from the wall. “Locked herself in. They haven’t been able to rewire the door.”

Jayne swallowed the itchy feeling lump that seemed to appear suddenly in this throat. Zoe was alive. And she was safe for the time being if River was right about the door. All that mattered was that she was alive. “You got a read on where she is?”

River shook her head slightly. “Distances are fuzzy. The mind doesn’t have depth perception. Only one eye.”

“I’ll take your word on that one.”

“It’s them.” She took a step back only a moment before the door slid open a notch and then all the way, letting Mal and Simon back into the storeroom.

Mal tossed a pile of loose clothing toward Jayne. “We got a general idea of where she is and time to get to her. This gotta go smooth, Jayne, or we lose her.” He had that meaningful look again, but Jayne was too busy pulling on the stolen uniform to pay no mind to whatever River-like brain reading feat Mal expected of him.

Progress was slow. He did his part; kept the metal bits from hitting or brushing against the wall or anything else might make a bit of sound. Footfalls quiet even with sturdy boots and his breathing shallow enough to hang quiet in the air. He crossed things off the list, each line being something that might give them away and cost him Zoe. The wording of that particular thought jarred and stuck in his brain like a wrench caught in a gear. He’d thought about Mal falling to pieces, but he hadn’t actually put to words the gnawing at his gut that was only fixing to get worse if they didn’t get her back.

A hand on his arm, soft and light, startled him out of his confusion. He glanced back to see River watching him, her head tilted in that way of hers. “Wind’s changing.”

Mal glared at the both of them. “What’d she say?”

Her eyes widened for a moment and then she shook her head. “No time to run.”

The muscles in Mal’s jaw set hard. He nodded once and straightened up against the wall. After sucking in a deep breath, he motioned for them to follow before taking a wide step around the corner. A chorus of magazines locking in and bullets sliding into chambers greeted them. No voices; not even a whisper. Within moments, there were guards behind on both sides of them.

“Welcome back, Captain Reynolds.” Niska was smiling that infernally cruel smile of his. “I had hoped you would join us. To whom do I owe thanks for this happy reunion?”

River pulled away all sudden-like and stared at Jayne like he’d just grown another head off his shoulder. She didn’t say a word and she didn’t need to, the look on Mal’s face said everything he needed to know. Even if he could convince them he hadn’t betrayed them, he’d still get thrown out the damn airlock soon as Mal got him alone.

“Wait a gorram second--”

“Was Zoe part of your plan? What’d you get for her?” Mal snarled at him. His face was turning an ugly sort of red and the next thing Jayne knew, he was hard up against the wall with a bullet lodged in the armor under his shirt. The fabric around the bullet hole smoked a little, smelling of burnt fiber. Two guards had Mal restrained and others were in the process of disarming everyone else.

“Got your wish, Jayne. Should be happier,” River said coldly.

Jayne opened his mouth to say something, anything, that would make sense in the matter of convincing them it hadn’t been him. He knew it weren’t none of the crew so it had to have been that Counselor woman of Inara’s. Whatever he might have said was stopped dead in its tracks.

It took doing but Mal managed to untangle himself from the guards long enough to growl one last threat. “You speak another word and there won’t be a place in the ‘verse can hide you from me.”

Once the others were led away, Niska fixed his beady eyes on him. “A man’s reputation is heavier than gold, yet it is most fleeting. Your reputation is known to me, Mr. Cobb. There is perhaps a place for you among my men, should you prove yourself a man of your reputation.”

“And how exactly would I be going about doing that?” he asked as he grudgingly surrendered his weapons.

“Perhaps you know the location of Captain Reynold’s ship.”

***

The sound of voices woke Zoe from a restless sleep. Shouldn’t be hearing nothing but the breathing of the Skyplex as it spun about and wrested life from the dead of space. Her wrist was still aching plenty and the throbbing in the side of her head hadn’t abated with sleep. She swallowed down the dizzy nausea, forcing her mind to go still and listen to what it was that had woken her.

Voices. Tinny and far away sounding, like whispers through the walls, with bits of crackling static amidst the garbled words. It seemed to be coming the intercom panel near the door.

Stiff-jointed and sore, she felt her way back to the door and leaned closer in an attempt to make out the sounds. Men’s voices were all she could make out. The wires from her previous attempt to lock the door were still exposed. Experimentally, she reached out and brushed a finger over one of the wires. Static popped and then mutters collapsed into intelligible words.

“…found the ship alright, weren’t nobody on it though.”

“It is of no matter.”

Her hand pulled away involuntarily when she recognized Niska’s voice and the voices dissolved back into the jumbled mess of interference. Carefully, she tried the next wire over and heard what sounded like the mess hall, voices and clanging metal. Most of the wires did nothing. One of them filled the room with screaming; she winced and let her prison lapse back into flickering silence. Weren’t nothing she could do from inside the cell other than listen to fractured pieces of what was going on around her, but that was better than nothing.

She practiced moving from wire to wire until she could reach for the particular one she wanted without hesitation. Her hope was to hear something useful, something that might give her reason to believe Mal had come for her. The next voice she recognized was so incredible that she nearly moved on to the next wire before her brain told her hand to stop there and wait.

“Not bad for a floating hunk of metal.” There was no mistaking Jayne Cobb, especially when he was sounding ill at ease and more than a little paranoid. “You got your own bunk?”

“Ain’t much, but it serves, if’n you get what I’m meaning. Got our own supply of girls, pretty as you like.”

Zoe kept pressing the wire until the voices went out of range and any chance of an explanation as to why Jayne was getting friendly with the locals was lost to her. Couldn’t have been Jayne, weren’t no reason for it being Jayne. Unless, of course, Niska had offered him enough money to turn on them. Then again, she didn’t figure even Jayne was stupid enough to believe any offer of Niska’s. Intelligence aside, his healthy sense of self-preservation would have kept him from betraying Mal.

Wire after wire, she methodically scanned the channels until her head was spinning too much to stay on her feet. Easing down onto the floor, she gingerly prodded the gash on the side of her head. Must’ve gotten hit harder than she thought for the room to be spinning like it was. The thought occurred to her that Niska might just be aiming to leave her in that cell until she rotted.

Once her head had calmed somewhat, she shifted onto her knees so that she could reach into the control box without standing up. Forehead pressed against the cool metal, she started cycling through the wires again. At the very least, she might be able to hear what Niska had in mind for her.

Bits and pieces of the disembodied conversations kept sounding like Jayne until the conviction that it must be him settled into her gut. He didn’t sound like he was there against his will and, other than being a mite grumpier than normal, there was no indication this was anything other than a typical day for him. If Jayne was here, where was Mal? Where was the crew? None of it made an ounce of sense to her. They’d been to hell and back, all of them; Jayne had hauled her back from being ripped to pieces by Reavers. Weren’t no way he’d turn on them.

The thought unsettled her more than she conjured it should have, digging in under her skin and prickling like a spur she couldn’t scratch out. There’d been more than a time or two she’d thought better about bringing Jayne on board Serenity, but now she’d be hard pressed to imagine it without his grousing and bone-headed commentary. Weren’t a lot of folk in the ‘verse saw everything as simple as Jayne and there was advantage in having someone like that around. Not to mention he was a damn fine shot, which was worth near his weight in this line of work. She’d trusted him to have her back on more than a few jobs.

Maybe that’s why hearing his voice had her all stirred up. That maybe it’d just been a ship and a job to him, when Serenity and her crew were all Zoe had in the ‘verse. Home and family weren’t easy to come by.

A spark inside the exposed panel startled her and she pulled her hand back quickly. Someone was outside the door. She’d been too wrapped up in her thoughts to hear the footsteps. Another spark flashed between wires and she heard irritated cussing through the door.

“Gorram it, Zoe, unlock this thing and let me in.” an ever-familiar voice whispered forcefully.

“Jayne?”

“Ain’t got no time to explain. You gotta let me in ‘fore the guard gets back and wonders why I’m talking to the door.”

She dug through the wires until she found the loose connection, praying she was right about Jayne as she plugged it back in. The metallic thud of the lock sounded again and the door slid open. Sure enough, Jayne was standing in the hallway outside, but rather than give her a weapon, he tossed her a bundle of clothing he’d had stuffed under his shirt and told her to change.

“Jayne,” she started.

“Just hurry up. And don’t go locking the door again. I’ll be back soon as I can.”

The door hissed shut again, leaving her standing in the darkness alone and bewildered. Frowning at the strangeness of events, she slowly untangled the fabric and tried to make out in the darkness what it was he’d given her. Bits of the fabric fluttered over her fingers soft as butterfly wings while other parts felt stiff and structural. It took a bit to figure out which way it might go and once she did, she was none to happy to realize it was a dress. How was she supposed to be useful in a dress?

Muttering under her breath about how he was going to pay for this, she struggled to slough off her own clothing and climb into the far too delicate garment. After tugging at the fabric for a few minutes, she realized the flimsy loops at her side weren’t actually meant to go over her shoulders at all. She kept her boots on, refusing to abandon the last bit of sensible clothing she had.

By the time Jayne returned, whispering loudly that it was him before he opened the door, she was standing with her arms crossed and her temper raging to match the throbbing in her head.

“You ready to…” Jayne trailed off as he looked her up and down. “You ain’t never wore one of those before, have you?”

Now that there was light enough to see, she looked down and gaped at the atrocity masquerading as clothing. The butter colored fabric of the skirt wouldn’t have held up against a sneeze and it was cut straight down in several places, letting the cold air wrap around her bare legs. All structure was in the thicker, rust colored bodice that went from hip to bust with the rigidity of steel and there were bits of the filmy fabric popping out of the top like some sort of ridiculous flower. “Where exactly did you get this, Jayne?”

“That ain’t important. You tied it up all wrong.” He reached for one of the straps dangling at her side.

“You do and that arm won’t be coming back,” she warned him coldly. “I don’t suppose you got more to this plan?”

He scowled at her. “Rescuing folk ain’t really part of my job description, now is it? But I got a way to get you safe and then you can convince the captain I ain’t the one sold them down the river.”

“Jayne.”

“Come on.” He looked at her with exasperation, as though not sure what to do with her. “We gotta do something to make you less…Zoe-like. You ain’t never gonna pass for a one of the whores.”

“I’m heartbroken,” she said dryly. Since the other option was staying in the cell, she followed him down the hallway.

The sound of voices made her tense and she was grateful Jayne stopped before rounding the corner. His brow was furrowed with concentration and she could almost hear him thinking as he tried to figure out what to do. Before she could open her mouth to tell him he should have brought her a weapon instead of a dress, he reached out and tugged the band out of her hair so it tumbled down over her shoulders and into her eyes. With two quick swipes, he cut through the laces of her boots with a thin knife that seemed to appear from nowhere. He was pulling her right boot off before she could even lift her foot and, once he was done, he tossed both shoes into the nearest garbage receptacle.

“Jayne--” her protest stopped in her throat when he wrapped an arm around her legs and stood up. She gritted her teeth and swore to maim him later as he slung her over his shoulder like a sack of protein mix. Palms flat against his back, she managed to keep the nausea at bay by focusing all her attention on slow, shallow breaths.

A chorus of whistles and jeers greeted them as they rounded the corner. Jayne laughed and exchanged lewd comments with the men, even slapping her ass for emphasis when one of them mentioned her legs. She dug her fingernails into his side, satisfied to feel him wince. With her head down her thick curls bounced and swayed with each step, completely hiding her face from the room. It irked her greatly that they could see nearly all the rest of her.

She heard a door slide shut and beep as it locked. Grimacing as he set her down on her feet, she swayed unsteadily and nearly toppled over as she tried to clear the stars from her vision.

“You alright?”

“Got hit on the head is all.” She reached for the dried blood and swollen bump on the side of her head, pushing her hair aside gently. “Do you have any antiseptic?”

He held up a half-empty bottle of amber colored liquid. “Just liquor.”

“That’ll do.”

“Doc’s on board somewhere along with River and Mal. Ain’t sure where they’re keeping Mal. Not exactly free to roam about myself.”

“I’m interested to hear why it is you’re not with them,” she said carefully, watching his every move.

“Ain’t what you think, that’s for sure.” He frowned, hesitating a little as he spun off the cap on the bottle and liberally doused the rag in his hand. Tugging her over to the narrow bunk, he sat her down and lifted her hair away from the bump. “This might sting a little.”

She winced involuntarily as the alcohol bit into her wound and increased the throbbing by tenfold. “What happened?”

“I weren’t the one told that bastard we were coming. But River looked at me all funny and then Mal went and jumped to the wrong gorram conclusions.” He continued dabbing at the dried blood, much more gently than she would have thought possible. “Hell, I’m making this up as I go. You know I don’t got it in me to do nothing complicated. Even figuring out this far is making my brain wanna come out my ears. Ain’t never been one for all that thinking.”

Smiling a little in spite of herself, she nodded. “I believe you, Jayne.”

“Why’d I agree to get stuffed in a crate with those onion things if I were just gonna turn on everybody? Don’t make no sense…you what?”

“I believe you,” she repeated. “Though I’m not seeing how making me look like a whore is going to help rescue the Captain and the others.”

With a final dab, he finished cleaning her wound and took at seat across from her. The room was narrow and even with his back against the opposite wall his knees were up against the side of the bunk. It made for closer quarters than she would’ve liked, given that she was nearer to naked than she’d been with a man in quite some time. And this was Jayne, who probably didn’t think she’d noticed his gaze dropping down to the too-low line of the bodice a little more than was warranted.

“Niska don’t think women are of much account,” Jayne told her matter-of-factly. It was almost comical to hear those words coming from his lips, particularly given the serious and earnest manner in which they were delivered. “So there ain’t more than one guard on the girls and from what I can tell, more than a bit of changing up the line. That means no one ain’t gonna look twice at a new face. They got a man keeps track of their hours and the like, but won’t be no trouble for you to put the fear in him. Probably piss his pants if’n you put a blade between his--”

“I get the picture,” Zoe interrupted. “Not seeing how that helps us none.”

“Way I see it, Niska ain’t never gonna think to look for you there. No offense, Zoe, you’re a right fine woman and all, but you wouldn’t make much of a whore.”

“I reckon you’re actually attempting to be complimentary with all that but I ain’t gonna sit and do nothing. Last time Niska had the Captain, he killed him more’n a few times and cut off his ear just for fun.”

“Well, that’s where it gets all complex-like.” Jayne shifted uneasily and looked away from her guiltily. “Had to tell them where we left Serenity to get them to trust me some, now they got the ship docked. Weren’t no one on it though, so Inara and Kaylee must’ve got away no trouble. Captain warned ‘em it might come to that. Thing is, I can’t figure anyone else but that Counselor of Inara’s being the one telling Niska we were coming. Might be she and Kaylee flew right into a trap.”

The room seemed to chill slightly at the thought of Niska getting his hands on the ship and the possibility that both Inara and Kaylee were also in danger. She left the crew for a minute and all hell broke loose. “Can you get me onto Serenity?”

“Now you’re seeing what I’m thinking.” Jayne grinned at her and she was very glad that wasn’t literally true. “Since the girls need to be convenient, they’re right next to the docks and once you get in with them, should be easy to slip out and get on board the ship. But I got better than that too. Once you’re in, you’ll be able to get to River. Heard talk they were gonna see about prettying her up a bit. She’s young so more’n a few’ll be interested. She’s playing all docile-like now, probably luring them into one of those false senses of security.”

Zoe nodded. “What about the Captain and Simon?”

“Doc’s easy enough, they just got him locked up. Ain’t good sense torturin’ a man with skills like that.”

“They’ll probably use River as leverage, convince him that if he works for them it’ll be best for her.” She suppressed the shudder that wriggled up her spine at the thought of what Niska probably had in mind for River.

“He’ll play along, cause he knows River ain’t the one needs worrying over. That’ll keep him alive long enough for me to spring him. Problem is Mal.” Jayne frowned again, rubbing the back of his hand against his chin as he thought. “Niska’s probably keeping him close and getting to Niska’s a mite tricky.”

It was hard to block out the images of Mal from their previous run in with Niska. Harder still to force out the tumbling thoughts of Wash, battered and bloody and hell-bent on going back for Mal. The lump in her throat made it hard to breathe. She’d managed to keep all those thoughts out of her mind while she was locked in that dark cell, but now she had to struggle to focus on the present. Right now, Mal needed her at the top of her game.

“Won’t hurt to have River with us when we go after him,” she suggested.

“We won’t have much time once they realize she’s gone missing and Niska’ll double the guard around Mal. Only advantage we have is that Niska still thinks he’s got all of us that matter. Guard’s light on the ship; a couple men, easy to distract, and no more’ll be coming ‘less you make a ruckus.” Jayne was still frowning but his expression seemed to set solid before he nodded. “Once you get in with the girls, I’ll spring the Doc. I’ll be bringing him back to Serenity.”

“River and I can hold the ship. Don’t suppose you know where we can get some weapons?”

“They ain’t started stripping her down yet so once you’re in, you’re armed.” His broad chest rose slowly as he took a deep breath, something she didn’t recall ever seeing Jayne do before. Reaching down, he pulled the thin blade he’d used to cut her laces out of his boot and held it out to her. “Won’t do much unless it’s close range. Good for slitting throats if need be.”

“Jayne…”

“Take it. I can hit harder than you.” He grinned at her before standing up. “Now pretend like I just sexed you real good as we’re going out. Maybe giggle a little or something.”

She blinked at him, still trying to figure out where exactly she was going to hide the knife. “You want me to giggle?” Settling for the obvious, she dropped it down between her breasts and tried not to think about what Wash would have said.

“Just…I don’t know…pretend I’m,” he stopped, a bit of color appearing in his cheeks. “Hell, pretend I’m whoever you wouldn’t mind bedding, don’t matter to me none.” Despite the protest, she heard what might have been a little bit of embarrassed disappointment in his voice.

Feeling more than a little embarrassed herself; she got up and wrapped an arm around his waist. With his arm around her back, it was easy to press solidly against his side and bow her head against his chest enough that her hair once again would hide her face. She caught a fistful of his shirt with her free hand and cleared her throat. Oddly enough, he smelled clean, something she wouldn’t rightly have expected. “How’s this?”

“Ain’t bad. Try to walk more girly-like. Sway your hips a little,” he suggested gruffly.

“If you slap my ass again, I will break every bone in your hand.”

“Right. Now try giggling.”

She grimaced at the very thought. “I am not going to giggle.”

“You ain’t even tried it.”

“Jayne.” Partly to ignore him and partly because it would be a dead giveaway, she carefully unwrapped the torn cloth from her wrist. It still pinched and ached as she wiggled her fingers but she reckoned she’d be able to hold a gun.

“All right,” he grumbled. “But it ain’t gonna be as believable.”

“Not as unbelievable as the fact that we’ve only been in here for twenty minutes.” She managed not to laugh at the somewhat strangled look on his face. Before his ego got involved and he suggested they stay there longer, she cleared her throat again. “The longer we wait, the longer the Captain gets tortured.”

He blinked at her a couple of times before shaking his head like a dog trying to dry its fur. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Luck was with them on the way out. Either the rest of the men had taken Jayne’s cue and disappeared with whores of their own or they were actually doing their jobs. They passed by the mess hall and no one gave them more than a passing glance. Still, by the time Jayne stopped, she felt like there were a hundred eyes boring into her back.

“This is it. Through that door and then to the right. Serenity’s up ahead.”

She glanced around and recognized the lead-in to the docking area from before. “I remember.”

“I’ll be back soon as I can. If something goes wrong, sit tight and wait for me.” He ushered her through the door. “You tell River it weren’t me. Don’t know why she thought it were anyway, she’s the one supposed to be a reader and all.”

“Go,” she whispered forcefully.

Once the door closed, she felt alone and exposed again. She was surprised the girls wearing these ridiculous outfits didn’t spend their whole time catching cold. The floor beneath her feet was cold and hard, but she figured whores probably didn’t wear boots. It’d be none too soon to get back into sensible clothes again.

A turn to the right opened up into a wide lounge that looked about like every other backwater whorehouse she’d ever seen. Not that she’d seen all that many, but they seemed to be the same kind of place. Couches and cushions by the dozens; lots of dark fabrics with pretty patterns that’d stand out in a crowd like a brightly plumed bird surrounded by rats. All that sparkle in the dimly lit area had a dizzying effect, like falling out into the black might feel.

There were a few girls remaining, looking bored or strung out on something, but not a one of them looked like River. The one guard was too busy eying up a particular blonde to give her much notice. She tried to be casual as she started around the room in search of the man who might know she didn’t belong there. There was an office toward the back with a proper desk in the center.

Sitting on the desk and swinging her legs like she didn’t have a care in the world was River Tam. She smiled serenely when she saw Zoe and held a finger up to her lips before pointing toward the desk. “The mouse is hiding,” she whispered.

“There’s a mouse?” Zoe asked softly.

“Hello? Is someone there?” another voice asked desperately. “Help! This crazy girl is threatening to hurt me!”

“She don’t look threatening to me,” Zoe answered, smiling at River.

“Just wait ‘til she starts talking about what your insides look like.”

“Why don’t you go take care of that nice guard outside, River? I’ll see what I can do about the rodent problem.”

River hopped off the desk and sashayed past Zoe, humming lightly and winking on her way out. They’d dressed her in something very similar to Zoe’s dress, done in pale blue and white. She had managed to keep hold of her boots though, which convinced Zoe to make Jayne buy her a new pair the next time they hit Persephone.

The man cowering under the desk looked every bit the mouse and thoroughly terrified by River’s peculiar brand of creepifying behavior. Zoe smiled tightly as she bent down to peer under the desk.

“Is she gone?” he asked fretfully.

“I’d recommend staying right where you are for a pace. Gonna be much safer here than out there. Unless, of course, you’re aiming to get a good look at your insides. In fact, if I see you again after I leave this room, I’ll be cutting you open myself. No sounding the alarm, no calling for help. Understand?”

His face paled and he nodded rapidly. “I won’t move a muscle, I swear.”

“Good. Then I won’t have reason to kill you.”

She left him where he was, not anxious to kill anyone who didn’t have it coming. When she turned around, River was still smiling like a sphinx in the middle of the room while the other girls cowered behind the couches. The guard was collapsed in a heap against the wall. Zoe made quick work of disarming him and trussing him up. It felt good to have a gun in her hand again.

“We got no quarrel with you girls,” she assured them.

“Doesn’t mean we won’t kill you and eat you,” River added ominously.

Zoe reconsidered the idea of giving River a weapon, not that the girl actually needed anything other than herself. “River, honey, we ain’t in the business of eating people, remember? Why don’t you all go back into that room?”

Once they’d shepherded all the girls into the office, Zoe shut the door and slammed the butt of the rifle into the controls to lock it shut. Now the clock had started ticking. A smashed lock and unconscious man weren’t things likely to go unnoticed. She and River hauled the man behind a pile of cushions and hid him as best they could. From there, it was easy to slip silently out of the lounge area and head toward the docks. The dress fabric continued to be a source of annoyance, billowing out around her legs with even the tiniest of movements.

“He got the right size,” River observed.

“I suppose that’s some kinda miracle.” She realized that River didn’t seem particularly upset toward Jayne and hadn’t made any attempt to convince her that he was the one who betrayed them. “You wanna tell me whose brilliant idea this was?”

“The Captain’s.”

Zoe sighed, wishing she could be a little more surprised by the insanity of it all. “And when were you planning on telling Jayne?”

“When he’s played his part.”

“Did the Captain have a plan that didn’t involve getting himself tortured again?”

“That part was less clear.”

“Naturally.” When she peeked around the corner, she couldn’t see anyone in the guard’s station and the docking doors were wide open. Cautiously, she slid along the wall and risked a look inside. Serenity’s airlock door was open, the ramp was down, and the cargo bay appeared to be empty. There was still no sign of Niska’s men, which put Zoe on a knife’s edge because there should have been at least one of the bastards guarding the ship.

She decided it was better to be ambushed on Serenity than in the hallway and motioned River forward. With the inner door closed behind them, she allowed herself a moment of relief when she set foot inside the ship again. Just as Jayne said, nothing had been taken off yet. Even the cargo they were supposed to be delivering was untouched.

“Kaylee,” River called softly. “It’s River. And Zoe.”

Tousled honey brown hair appeared over top of one of the crates before Kaylee bounded out and pulled them to the side where they couldn’t be seen from the hallway. “Zoe, you’re safe! Had us all mighty worried.”

“Kaylee? Weren’t you s’posed to not be on the ship?”

“We’ve been hiding,” Inara said as she emerged from behind one of the hidden panels. “You’d think they’d at least tap on the walls, this being a smuggling ship.”

“Then this whole thing was a set-up.” Zoe gave them all a hard look. “You do realize Jayne ain’t gonna be happy when he finds out.”

Inara shrugged. “He’ll get over it.”

“Did you get tortured any?” Kaylee asked, wide-eyed with worry. “You look awful pretty in that dress though. Ain’t that thoughtful of Jayne?”

“This…thing…was part of the plan?”

“Well, no, but Jayne’s resourceful like that. We figured he’d find something. Didn’t have no idea he’d pick something so mêilì though. Brings out your eyes.” Kaylee smiled as though that made everything all right with the ‘verse.

Zoe changed the subject to more comfortable topics. “And the guards?”

“Unconscious inside the security room.” Kaylee beamed even brighter at the chance to explain the rest of the plan. “The Captain knows I’m useless with a gun so he had Simon rig up something we could attach to one of ‘Nara’s arrows. She shot right through the door once they opened it and put ‘em all to sleep real easy like. Never even had time to hit the alarm.”

“Uh-huh.” Zoe glanced at Inara, who also seemed pleased with her part of the plan. “And how exactly was the Captain expecting to get out of here?”

“Oh! That’s the best part,” Kaylee began.

“We’ve got company,” River interrupted quickly. Without further explanation, she took off toward the stairs and bounded up them two at a time.

“That’s our cue.” Inara pulled her bow and arrow out of the storage compartment and settled in beside a stack of crates, drawing an arrow against the string. “You might want to get ready. Jayne usually manages to attract a crowd.”

Zoe found a spot she could shoot from that had cover while Kaylee scurried off toward the engine room. Her brain was still trying to comprehend the bizarre plan Mal had hatched. This was insane even by his standards and reminded her none too comfortingly about their last run in with Saffron or Yolanda or whatever the hu li jing was calling herself at the moment.

It was laughable to watch Jayne come through door, one large hand wrapped around Simon’s collar in a death grip. Looked like there was no way he was going to be letting go of the Doc any time soon, even if it meant dragging him bodily onto Serenity. Even more strange was the fact that he wasn’t firing at pursuing men behind him. Zoe kept her finger on the trigger just in case Niska’s goons were more than their usual slow.

“I can walk on my own!” Simon protested loudly. It fell on deaf ears, his boots scraping over the metal as he tried to find purchase on the cargo bay ramp.

“You’re too rutting slow,” Jayne barked back at him before relinquishing his hold on Simon’s shirt. “You coulda stayed in that piss-hole. I ain’t caring for this whole idea of going about rescuing people ain’t grateful to be rescued.”

“I wouldn’t have needed to be rescued if--”

Jayne stepped forward menacingly and glared down at Simon. “I don’t fancy getting blamed for stuff ain’t my fault neither.”

“Jayne, stand down,” Zoe spoke up before it could escalate into something that might draw attention from a guard who might perchance be waking up from the drug-induced sleep. Not to mention she hadn’t any idea about how exactly Mal was going to get rescued in this cockamamie plan of his. She wouldn’t be surprised it he came running through the doors buck naked; in fact, she half expected to be waking up back in her cell any moment and realizing this was all a fevered dream.

“Zoe, are you injured?” Simon stopped, his head rolling to the side as he looked her up and down. “You look very…lovely.”

“Where’d you come from Inara? You ain’t s’posed to be here.” Jayne looked back and forth between her and Simon suspiciously. “I’m getting this sneaky feeling y’all know something I don’t.”

“Nothing you need to be concerning yourself with, Jayne.” Mal’s voice startled just about everybody and Zoe nearly shot him for his trouble well before he reached the top of the ramp. Shouting echoed in the hallway, muted by the airlock doors. He had that impish smile she’d learned could only mean they were about to run for their lives as he hit the button to close the cargo bay. As if on cue, the engine fired up and Serenity lurched, ready to leave the Skyplex behind as soon as the door closed.

Jayne frowned harder at Mal. “This some kinda joke? Cause I ain’t laughing.”

“It’s a mighty funny story--”

“Sir?” Zoe interrupted, suddenly realizing what looked different about the Captain. “Are you wearing lipstick?”

“That’s the funniest part actually,” Mal answered, scratching at the back of his head as he leaned forward enough to get a good look at Zoe’s legs. “Though now I’m wondering a bit about the parts of the story I don’t know.”

“Got a few questions need answering myself,” Jayne piped up.

Inara sheathed her arrow and dropped the bow to her side, stepping out from behind the crates with a bemused expression on her face. “Can this wait until we’re out of range? I’d rather not give Niska another chance to ambush us.”

“I don’t reckon he’ll be doing any more ambushing. Won’t be doing much of anything in fact.” Mal smiled but didn’t elaborate further before heading for the stairs and presumably the cockpit.

“Am I the only one don’t know what that’s s’posed to mean?” Jayne demanded.

“You ain’t the only one, Jayne,” Zoe answered, staring after the Captain and wondering when the whole crew had lost their damn minds. “Sure as shooting you ain’t the only one.”

***

Zoe noticed Jayne was behaving in an odd manner after he’d poked his head into the galley the sixth time but hadn’t made so much as a crack about the fact that she’d burned the soup.

She reckoned once the air handlers managed to get all the smoke out of the room, the rest of the crew would return with jibes already planned out. No matter the ribbing she got, there was no way she’d admit the reason why she’d gotten distracted and let the pot burn dry. There’d be no end of it if any of the crew knew it had something to do with the very impractical dress she kept hidden in her bunk. Nothing wrong with keeping a souvenir of being held prisoner by Niska and living to tell about it.

It hadn’t taken Jayne long to forgive the crew for playing him. True to form, once he’d gotten the explanation of what had gone on, he’d been pleased with the fact that he’d had an integral part in the plot. He was near getting annoying with how proud he was that he’d been right useful.

“Something on your mind, Jayne?” she asked after the seventh time he peered into the room. She was up to her elbows in scouring the blackened pot so she didn’t pay too much mind to him finally deciding to come in.

He tried to peer into the pot as he got closer to the table. “You got any that didn’t burn?”

“Few pieces here and there ain’t black as the rest, but none of it edible.”

“Gorram shame. Your soup ain’t half bad.” Even without the lure of food, he took a seat at the table and settled in to watch her scrub.

“You looking for something to do?” She offered him the scouring pad.

“Ain’t my mess, I ain’t cleaning it up,” he snorted, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Then as much as I appreciate the moral support, I’m sure there’s something needs doing on this ship.” She may as well not have said anything at all, since he didn’t seem to be getting the hint. Rather than get testy with him, she decided to keep scrubbing and reckoned he’d eventually get bored with watching her.

“You think Mal actually…you know.” He gave her a meaningful look.

“Actually might have something for you to do?”

“Nah. I mean that goodnight kiss stuff. It only work on lips? Or you reckon Mal just had to get it on him?”

“Conjure it just has to go on any bit of skin is all.” The mental image of Mal getting anywhere near enough to Niska to transfer the sleep-inducing compound wasn’t one she wanted to dwell on. He hadn’t elaborated on how exactly he’d done that neither.

She had to admit there was a brilliant insanity to the idea of using a hooker’s trick on a ruthless crime lord. That they’d counted on Jayne to merely be Jayne was possibly the most brilliantly stupid part of all. Of course, Mal hadn’t had much of an answer when asked what would have happened if Jayne had done different, but she’d learned long ago not to look too hard at Mal’s plans either before or after the mission. Crazy as they always were, he seemed to have an instinctive feel for how the ‘verse was going to twist out from under him.

Not to say that enigmatic smile of Mal’s wasn’t getting mighty irritating. Particularly when it was his only answer to her asking what he would’ve done if Jayne hadn’t come a-rescuing her.

“You gonna make more? Since this attempt didn’t count for much.” Jayne nodded to the pot she was cleaning.

“Might be doing so. ‘Less the others kick me out to protect the rest of the pots and pans.”

“Then you’re gonna be on your feet a pace.”

She paused in her scrubbing and looked up at him suspiciously. “You got some reason to be asking after my feet?”

“Just reckoned you might want more comfortable shoes,” he answered gruffly. He looked a mite uncomfortable as he reached down and picked up a box she hadn’t noticed him carrying in. It thunked down on the table with the sound of something good and heavy.

“Jayne?”

He stiffened a little, his arms back to being crossed over his chest. “Not apologizing or nothing, since those men never woulda believed you were one of the girls if’n you were wearing real shoes.”

Tossing the scouring pad into the pot, she set it aside and tugged the box top loose. Set inside were a pair of black utility boots still shining from fresh polish. She pulled one out and took a closer look. They had thick, sturdy soles with extra cushion on the inside and around the ankle to add support. She gave the laces a tug, pleased with the ease at which they slid through the eyelets and the strength of the woven fiber cord. Once the boot passed her inspection, she took out the other and set about putting them on.

She gave them a couple test strides, flexing her toes and ankles to get a feel for how they moved. “They’re a right good fit, Jayne.”

He grinned at her, obviously pleased. “Mama always said I got a good eye.”

“That explains the mystery of how it was you found me a dress fit just as well as these boots.” She managed not to smile at the embarrassed, and slightly panicked, look on his face as he tried to come up with an answer that wasn’t going to cause trouble. “It’s alright, Jayne. You done good and I ain’t one to quarrel with you over the particulars.”

“Didja keep it? The dress.”

“Got no need for a dress like that,” she answered quickly, hoping he didn’t noticed the catch in her voice.

The corner of his lips tipped up in an unrepentantly suggestive half-smile. “It’d look mighty fine with those boots.”

There were half a dozen answers waiting to be tossed out and even more reasons backed up behind them as to why he wasn’t ever going to be seeing that much of her skin again. From a scarcely veiled threat to a sincere admonishment about behavior onboard the ship and every degree between the two extremes; she had more than enough retorts that would remind him she was taken. It all stuck fast in her throat because Wash was gone and she wasn’t taken anymore.

His smile fell slowly into a rather worrisome seriousness that he usually reserved for Vera. “I know I ain’t nothing like Wash--”

“Got nothing to do with Wash. I had something special with him and that won’t ever change, won’t ever be something I forget.” She returned to the table and sat down, taking a deep breath as she tried to sort through her tangled thoughts. “But there’s no point in not getting on with my life neither. Just takes time and lots of it.”

“I ain’t going nowhere.”

She smiled because she didn’t have an answer beyond that. Maybe that’s why Mal just kept smiling, because he didn’t have answers to give.

Jayne cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, nodding toward the scorched pot. “You need help with that?”

“Won’t say no.”

He reached for the scouring pad, still watching her intently. “Ain’t asking for more than that.”

Fetching another scouring pad and a pan to collect the bits of soup-turned-charcoal, she began chipping away at the opposite side of the pot. He wasn’t Wash, that was for sure. She reckoned there wasn’t another Wash in the ‘verse, might be there never would be again. But nothing said he needed to be anything other than Jayne. She ducked her head to the hide her smile. It felt strange to be sitting across from him, working on something together. It was a feeling she decided she could get used to.

“You really threw it out?” he asked.

“Course not. Where else am I gonna get a dress like that?” she said as seriously as she could manage.

The sound of his laughter filled the room, echoing back and forth between the walls and bringing the others out of their hiding places to look in and see what was going on. She shook her head a little and kept scrubbing. Incorrigible as he was, there was no point in trying to change him and she reckoned there was no point in wanting to.

There was nothing wrong with Jayne just being Jayne.

No Good Unpunished Ch.1

2006-09-06T23:36:11Z

Title: No Good Unpunished
Author: Aeneas
Rating: R (language, violence, death, attempted rape)
Summary: Veronica and Weevil share celebratory milkshakes after he gets out of prison, not knowing their lives are going to collide in a much darker way only days later. (10,066 words)
Spoilers: All of Season 2
Pairings: Veronica and Logan are still together but not “onscreen”.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Rob Thomas and all the wonderful people who make Veronica Mars possible.
Notes: It’s an odd fic. A lot more happens in the spaces between the words than in the words themselves. Despite my best attempts, it’s Veronica-centric. Also, you can expect a follow-up that is Weevil-centric, but probably not until November.

Veronica Mars didn’t lie to her boyfriends unless it was absolutely necessary. This didn’t fall into either the absolutely or just barely necessary categories, but she managed not to look too guilty as she told Logan that she had few errands to run for her father. Boring stuff really; dropping off invoices and picking up those needed supplies like paperclips and file folders that kept a private investigator in business.

As it turned out, she didn’t need a cover story because Logan and Trina had yet another marathon session with the Echolls lawyers and accountants to determine the split of the estate. That left her free and clear for the afternoon, with no one but Back Up to see her leave the apartment.

Angel actually smiled when he saw her enter the yard and nodded for her to follow him through the winding stacks of cars and spare parts. He didn’t say much but that wasn’t unusual. Near the back fence, she saw a beat up truck that looked as though it had one last gasp before it dissolved into rust, but what make the pathetic pile of bolts and rust important was the familiar shape of a motorcycle wrapped in a tarp lying in its bed.

Hector was leaning against the side of the truck, looking a little bit uncomfortable and a whole lot nervous. There was a noticeable chill between him and Angel. He cleared his throat before pulling a key out of his pocket and holding it out to Veronica. “I kept it. You know. Just in case.”

“Very thoughtful of you. Keeping Weevil’s key after driving his bike into the ocean.” She snatched the key out of his hand.

“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t want to do that to him.”

“Yeah, you’re a real friend.” She wasn’t a fan of betrayal, regardless of who was on the receiving end, but took a deep breath and tried again without the hostility. It had been Hector’s idea after all. “Thank you for telling us where the bike was, Hector.”

“Least I can do. Weevil’s still...” he trailed off under the weight of Angel’s icy glare. With nothing more to say, he stuck his hands back into his jacket pockets and walked away.

“You okay alone, chica?” Angel asked once Hector was out of sight.

“Oddly enough, I have been to prison a few times. I can find my way.” She accepted another set of keys, these belonging to the battered truck.

“The clutch sticks. And watch third gear, it sometimes causes trouble.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The inside of the cab was just as dirty and old as the outside and it smelled of rust and motor oil, which weren’t the worst odors she could have imagined. She felt small behind the giant steering wheel and the shifter was not only archaic, it was almost too stiff for her to muscle into gear. By the time she nosed the old beast out of the junkyard, her teeth had nearly rattled loose from the chugging of the engine.

Once on the highway, the vibrating settled into a solid hum that acted as a pseudo massage if she was inclined to be a glass half full. Nearly an hour later, she found a parking spot toward the far end of the prison lot and braced herself for another visit to the Bighouse. It certainly wasn’t the most fun and exciting way she could think of to spend a Saturday afternoon, but it felt right. It felt good. And she was pretty sure she could use all the good karma she could get.

The stern faced corrections facility assistant redirected her from the visitor’s area to where she really needed to be. Strangely enough, her prison visits had never been to actually see someone get out of jail so she felt a little strange standing on the sidewalk beyond the fence gates. And she wasn’t alone.

“Your man getting out today?” her only other companion asked between draws on her cigarette.

“Just a friend,” Veronica answered. The woman’s painted on eyebrows were a close match to the purple eye shadow and her dangling earrings were mesmerizing in the sunlight, almost as bright as her bleached out hair. Lacquered and rhinestone embellished nails looked strong enough to do some serious eye gouging.

“Sure, honey.” She made some sort of noise that must have been the product of a one-night stand between coughing and snorting. “My man’s been in for armed robbery. What about yours?”

“He’s not,” Veronica stopped, deciding it was futile. “Assault.” At the sharp look from the older woman, she clarified, “not me. It was guy thing. You know men, tempers flare and fists fly. Next thing you know there’s a sentence hearing and someone ends up in prison orange.”

The woman nodded her approval, smoking curling out around the wicked nails as she exhaled. “You done right to stand by him.”

Veronica shifted uncomfortably, trying to avoid the inevitably gnawing question of why exactly she was waiting for someone who wasn’t her boyfriend to get out of jail. Did that fit under the standing by her man umbrella? Would she have waited for Logan if he were the one walking down the sidewalk toward the gate? Holding his hand during a trail for a murder he didn’t commit was one thing, jail time he actually deserved would have been entirely different.

Of course, watching Logan was never the same as watching Eli with or without jail being involved. Logan didn’t have the same intensity in the way he moved or that look in his eyes. He was a firecracker that burned hot and sudden once his fuse was lit, but Eli never stopped burning, he just managed to contain it. She could imagine him walking toward her with flames licking over and quivering beneath his skin. And then suddenly, he was standing in front of her in the same tank top and jeans he’d worn the day he’d arrived at Chino. The set of his jaw had only gotten harder with prison, his eyes colder and more intense.

“Can’t say I expected to see you here. This your good deed for the day? Your random act of kindness those bumper stickers are always on about.”

“Eli.” Her voice died there because he’d flinched at the sympathy in her voice, probably hearing pity rather than compassion. The woman with the purple enamel nails was watching her expectantly. Forcing herself to smile, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dropped her voice to a whisper only he could hear. “Welcome back, Eli.” He returned the hug hesitantly at first and then pulled her tightly against him, pressing his face against her neck.

Before she began to panic that the hug had gone on too long, he pulled away. “You smell like heaven, V.”

“Funny. I don’t remember putting any heaven on this morning. I’m more of a hellfire and brimstone kinda gal.”

“Laundry detergent. I’d forgotten how good that smelled.”

“Just try not to do too much sniffing, okay? I might start feeling like a hydrant or something. Come on. I bet you’ve missed chocolate milk shakes even more than fabric softener.” She started toward the truck, waving a brief goodbye toward purple eye-shadow lady.

“You have no idea.”

“You’ll have to forgive the stylin’ ride. It’s a loaner while the Le Baron’s in the shop.” She pulled the truck keys out of her pocket and ignored his laughter when he realized which vehicle she was heading toward.

“Hope you’re getting serious work done then.”

“Angel thinks it’s only a matter of time before the engine falls right out.” She smiled at the look of surprise on his face. “Before you hop in, take a look in the back.”

It required all the self-control she had in her entire being to climb behind the wheel and start the truck. She wanted to give him privacy to savor the moment of having his bike back, as rusted and water damaged as it was. Angel assured her that with a bit of polishing, make that a lot of polishing, and all new electrical work, it could be as good as almost new. The tarp rustled; she could see it moving in the rearview mirror. Her skin was practically breaking out in a rash with the exertion of not getting back out to see what he was doing, but she managed to stay in the cab until he climbed in.

“Hector tell you where it was?” he asked quietly.

“And he held on to this.” She held out the key. “It’s not much of an apology but from a guy? Trust me, that’s huge. That’s like standing outside your window with a boombox huge.”

“Not my life anymore, V.”

“Just thought you might need a hobby. Angel says it needs a lot of work.” She waited for an answer until she pulled onto the highway, but decided that an hour of silence was going to be far too boring. “And it’s not all about you, you know. Have you considered that I miss riding around on your big, old hog?”

“Don’t you have some 09er boyfriend to follow around? Or did you manage to go through them all while I was locked up.”

“You’re welcome, Veronica, for picking me up from prison and for finding my motorcycle and convincing Angel to drag it out of the ocean,”she snapped angrily, stung by his attitude and by the guilty twinge over the truth behind it. Not willing to give him the satisfaction of being anywhere near right, she didn’t mention her second-time-around with Logan.

“Guess I’ll owe you,” he scoffed.

“You can start by not being an ass.”

He didn’t respond for another fifteen miles. She focused on driving rather than how she could get the passenger door open and shove him out onto the highway. It was thoroughly ungrateful of him considering the long walk back home to Neptune. At the same time, his jabs were strangely comforting in their familiarity. What she didn’t know was how far she could push him before he really started pushing back.

“Still think Plan B was worth it?” It was a rhetorical question so she didn’t expect an answer. It wasn’t exactly a fair question to ask at the tail end of a prison sentence either, but Veronica Mars had never shied away from the unfair questions.

“You telling me you didn’t want Aaron Echolls dead after he walked? That it wouldn’t have been worth it to you to make sure he got justice for what he did to Lilly. Tell me you weren’t glad he got a bullet through his skull.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It’s exactly the same!” His voice rose slightly. “Just because you’re screwing one rich kid after another, you think that makes you better than the rest of us down here in the gutter.”

She jerked the wheel hard to the right and barely made the exit. Where exactly the exit was going, she hadn’t bothered to look; she just needed to get off the highway before she was too angry to drive safely and killed them both. Of course, if she could think of a way to just crash Weevil’s side of the truck, she might be tempted to give it a try. Instead, she made it into a convenient store parking lot before slamming on the brakes.

“Is there a good reason you’re being a complete bastard? Cause if there is, I’d really love to hear it. I didn’t come looking for a fight. I came to help you. Because I’m your friend, Weevil. Your friend.”

He continued to look straight ahead, the muscles in his jaw working and his clenched fist tapping against the doorframe. A couple of times he looked about to break the silence with an explanation or an apology, but his jaw was closed tightly enough that she wondered if his teeth had fused together. “Can we...can you take me to the cemetery? When we get back.”

“The cemetery?”

“I didn’t get to go to my grandmother’s funeral.”

She cringed, her anger fading. “Weevil, I’m sorry. I completely forgot. I’m horrible.”

“Yeah, well. We make a pretty good pair, don’t we?”

“Matched set. Like a pair of salt and pepper shakers with roosters painted on them. Or cows, if you’d prefer cows.”

The first hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “I’d rather stay away from country chic if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Flaming skulls?”

“Might be a little over the top.”

“Obviously we can never decorate an apartment together.” She finally pried her fingers off of the steering wheel. “Friends?”

“Do we have to get some sort of charm bracelet?”

“Nah. It’d just clash with the rest of your bling.”

Twisting to the side, he raised an eyebrow as he looked at her. “So the bit about the chocolate milkshake. Was that for real or were you just being a tease?”

“I never tease.” She’d thrown the idea out there on a whim but it suddenly seemed like the perfect thing for a balmy fall afternoon. They didn’t speak on the drive back to the highway entrance but it didn’t feel as strained as before. The Dairy Freeze was just outside the Neptune city limits, still far enough away that she didn’t have to watch her back for anyone who might recognize her. She could pretend she was just out for an afternoon drive with a friend.

Once they parked, she sent Weevil to claim a table on the patio and ordered two gigantic chocolate milkshakes at the counter. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him tap his fingers on the table and avoid looking at anyone who walked by. It occurred to her that she probably should have done some research about dealing with someone recently released from prison. Until she learned to read his mind, chocolate milkshake bonding would have to do. Grabbing the shakes, she picked up a couple spoons and headed out to the table.

“One celebratory milkshake.” She set down the shakes and took a seat across from him. “Plus, there’s no hangover tomorrow and no risk of sexually transmitted diseases. Which is my way of saying I’m too cheap to take you out for an all weekend bash in TJ.”

“This is better, believe me.” Digging into the shake with a passion, he closed his eyes for a moment to savor the taste.

“They make fries here too.”

“You tryin’ to kill me? One thing at a time, one thing at a time.” He slurped up another heaping spoonful. “What about you? College treating you good?”

“I’m still getting used to it. I opted not to live on campus; it’s cheaper and that way I can still work for my dad.” The blended ice cream was cold on her tongue and reminded her of eating ice cream on the beach with Logan. Pushing those thoughts away, she licked her spoon clean and kept going. “Right now I’m majoring in journalism but I’m thinking of shopping around for something else.”

“Tired of digging up dirt on people?”

“It’s the deadlines. One of my professors thinks that giving us a paper due by three in the morning is just a taste of the real life experience.” Swirling her spoon absently, she watched him eat. “What about you? Got any big plans?”

“Court mandated community work. Car wash or some shit like that,” he answered with resignation.

“Well, you like cars, right?”

He rolled his eyes skyward but managed a strained laugh. “Right.”

Conversation petered out after that, lost amidst scoops of milkshake and sound of the world around them. There were questions she could be asking but it felt right to simply sit there and enjoy the sunshine. She was surprised at how good it felt to just be. He wasn’t demanding that she entertain him, wasn’t wearing her down with constant drama. Being quiet was not one Logan’s favorite things and she found that she’d missed having someone to be silent with.

Once their shakes were gone, she asked Eli if he was ready to go and for just a moment, she thought he was going to say no. When he didn’t, she realized that she wished he would have. Going back to Neptune meant going back to reality and the real world, on or off screen, was highly overrated.

***

“How was your day?” Keith Mars asked over his plate of leftovers.

“Same old, same old.” Another look at her phone and Logan still hadn’t called. It wasn’t unexpected. She just hoped that he and Trina weren’t doing any familial bonding that would end up as the front-page news.

“Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Trust me, it was boring college student stuff.”

“I wasn’t aware that boring college student stuff involved Eli Navarro.”

She set her book aside and got up, crossing the small living room to lean against the kitchen island. He was a bit skittish about meeting her accusing stare. “Statement like that…a girl might think you were having her followed. Are you, Daddy Dearest?”

“An acquaintance saw you at the Dairy Freeze.”

“Does this acquaintance have a name? Just so I know who I need to kneecap.”

“I thought we’d talked about Eli.”

Turning away, she headed back to the couch to gather up her textbooks and notes. This wasn’t a discussion she’d wanted to have the first time, let alone rehash it over and over again. “You told me he wasn’t part of my fabulous new college life or the dwindling number of my friends who don’t have criminal records. All that good stuff.”

“Not that you ever listen to a word I say, Veronica, but you’re not in high school anymore. And I hate to sound cynical but there aren’t a lot of options open to Eli, none of which are what I want you to be involved in.”

She could feel his stare boring into the back of her head. “You can stop the guard dog routine, Dad. I was picking up a friend who needed a ride and who hadn’t had a milkshake in six months. That’s it, end of story. There’s no dating, no bringing home to meet the fam, no picking out matching china. Absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“If you come home with a tattoo...”

“You know it’ll say I Heart Dad. Why are we even having this conversation?” Notes and books in hand, she stopped to wait for an answer.

He gave her his most winning campaign smile. “It’s what dads do.”

“You need a vacation.” That was all she had to say about the situation so she left him to his dinner and retreated to her room.

Friendship with Weevil had perks she wasn’t willing to give up just to sooth his paternal paranoia. Eli was one of the few people she knew she could count on when the chips were down, even if he was a pain in the ass more often than not. Maybe he wasn’t part of her father’s perfect world, but he was a part of hers and that wasn’t going to change without a more compelling reason.

Halfway through her journalism paper, Logan still hadn’t called and she was getting increasingly bored with the ethical implications of journalist-source confidentiality. Five thousand words were four thousand more than she needed to explain how she felt on the subject and her mind had other things to think about. There were cases to solve, midterms to pass, and the latest overprotective phase her father was going through. She stopped typing mid-sentence, frowning at the laptop screen.

The first few months, she’d chalked her father’s behavior up to guilt over standing her up at the airport; then she’d blamed it on starting her first semester at Hearst. But now she was a month into classes and he was still asking for her every movement. It was subtle; just enough to make her wonder if there were more pictures of her with bulls-eyes on her face that she didn’t know about. Whatever happened that day, whatever Kendall Casablancas said to keep him from taking their trip to New York, it was still lurking under the surface.

He’d never told her and she’d only asked once. The tone of his non-answer meant he’d just lie to her if she pursued the issue and he was changing the combination to his safe on a weekly basis now. She looked the other way because everything else was improving, but the end of her blind faith was rapidly approaching. If he had a good reason for wanting her to stay away from Weevil, then he’d better cough it up before she decided to test the fence for herself.

Chapter Two

Worthy, PG-13

2006-08-11T06:31:51Z

Title: Worthy
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Summary: It’s Felix who gets Eli home.
Spoilers: Through Rashard and Wallace Go to White Castle
Pairings: Weevil/Felix if you squint
Disclaimer: Everything Veronica Mars belongs to Rob Thomas and all the wonderful people who make the show happen.
Notes: Many thanks to kurukami for a lightning fast beta. This is for soundingsea and the Unconventional Pairings ficathon. Hope it was “pairing” enough…

It’s Felix who gets Eli home.

He doesn’t think about it, lying there with more broken than isn’t and the rest – make that all – of the PCH club roaring off into the distance. Brain function has been reduced to trying to breathe, trying not to pass out, trying not to be scared. One arm holding tight to ribs that feel like splinters; clutching, grappling with the other to find purchase enough to drag himself to his feet.

“Didn’t I tell you, man?” Felix has that silly grin on his face, standing above him with his head tipped to the side. “No way I was gonna get my ass killed by some 09er. Been tellin’ you all along.”

“You’re,” Eli chokes on blood, on the word dead, on the pain swelling up in his throat and cutting off air.

“’Specially after we got through with him, man. Weren’t no way he was gonna be walking away after what he did to you.” Felix shakes his head as he crouches down, elbows on his knees and resembling a misshapen grasshopper. “Not that I blame you for trusting Thumper. He was one of us boys, you know. Shoulda been able to take his word.”

Finding solidity enough to lean against, Eli counts sitting up as a victory and stops moving to gasp for breath. Salt-laden sweat is oozing into his wounds like a thousand stinging scorpions too small to see crawling over his skin. He figures his vision’s out of whack anyway, if he’s thinking that Felix is anywhere near him and actually moving about in a non-zombie-like fashion. Which means his hearing is blitzed as well, because he’s sure that’s Felix’s voice too.

“Shouldna ended this way, bro,” Felix commiserates sadly.

Eli grits his teeth to keep from moaning as he bends his knees, slowly pulling them toward his chest. “Fuck them.”

“Nah, you don’t mean that. You were just lookin’ out for ‘em, is all. Thumper’ll figure that out eventually. When the Fitzpatricks put him six feet under like Gus.”

“Hope I live to see the day,” he says, knowing he doesn’t really mean it. If something happens to Thumper, he wants to be the one doling out justice, not the Fitzpatricks. They’ll bury Thumper over a few missing dollars soaked with coke rather than Felix’s murder.

“What’s in it for you, man? Seeing Thumper get put down. What’s that get you?”

He looks at Felix like he’s lost his mind. “You’re the fucking ghost, you tell me.”

“Come on, man. Life don’t end after high school. You gotta think of something.”

“Like what? Trucking school? Think I should be like you and Molly, all cozied up and screaming at each other when you’re not banging each other’s brains out?” Wincing, he finds a sturdy piece of metal that’s strong enough to bear his weight and drags himself up with more willpower than strength.

“You got potential, man! All those teachers kept telling you. All you gotta do--”

“Is be someone I ain’t.” His legs are jello wobbly, almost too unsteady to hold him upright. “Don’t you think I want better than this? Come on, man. This is Neptune. Ain’t nothing gonna change for me.”

“Being out of the PCH ain’t the end of the world, Weevil. Ain’t the end of you. Hell, man, you’re just gettin’ started. Got the rest of your life ahead of you.”

When he opens his mouth to disagree, he sees nothing but darkness to argue with. He wipes blood out of his eyes and silently prays that whatever got hit hard enough to cause him to hallucinate isn’t going to be permanently broken. It takes effort to even think about how many blocks he has to cover to get home and even more effort to not think about what he’s going to tell his grandmother when he stumbles through the door. She’ll want to take him to the hospital.

They can’t afford it.

He prods his legs into action and eventually settles into a slow, steady pace that will get him home before dawn and doesn’t jar his injuries badly enough that he’s ready to pass out at each step. What he wants more than anything is to lie down and close his eyes. Somewhere in his mind, he knows that’s a bad idea. Fall asleep and never wake up, that’s what could happen if he stops moving.

Time gets all jumbled up in his brain, leaving him feeling as though the night is going to last forever. This night is going to last forever and he’ll always be the outcast, the left behind, the betrayed. At the same time, he knows how it must look to the others. Slumming with Logan Echolls isn’t exactly a shining accomplishment. But what hurts the worst is that a lying, pathetic 09er was the only person he could trust to tell him the truth about that night.

Thumper will get his. One way or another. The way of the world is that the snake eats the rat, not the other way around and he knows – he knows – that Felix is right. Out of the PCH isn’t the end of the world.

He stumbles on a crack in the sidewalk barely wide enough to fit his pinky finger into, but in his state of mind, it feels like the Grand Canyon. Head spinning, he stops and grabs onto anything stable as his knees buckle. Just two seconds. He just needs to close his eyes for two seconds to let the dizziness pass.

“Yo, Weevil!” Felix’s voice reverberates through his aching skull. “What’d you think of the tattoo, man? Of Molly.”

“Think you’ll regret it, man. Don’t never let a woman get under your skin like that. Told you a hundred times. That shit’s permanent and you’ll have to look at it forever once she’s left your sorry ass.” There’s pain and more blood as he hits the ground, barely able to catch himself before he lands face first on the pavement. Hopes that no one sees him, hopes that no one calls the cops. He just wants to get home – please, God, let him get home – and pretend he’s got the flu or something.

“That why you put Lilly’s name on your back? So you wouldn’t have to see it ‘less you turned around. Unless you looked back…faced your past,” Felix asks soberly.

“Now I know you ain’t really Felix.” Blinking up at the apparition or ghost or hallucination, whatever it was, he tries to loosen his hold on his ribs to see if that will ease some of the pain. “He never thought past what to put on his cereal.”

“Yeah, well. Ain’t much to do in the afterlife, you know. Other than think about shit and bug the hell out of the living.” There’s the crazy grin that always made Eli laugh, even on a bad day when he was trapped in a dead end life in a dead end town and Lilly Kane was accusing him of stalking her.

“Miss you, man,” he says softly.

“Don’t go soft on me now, bro. Still got plenty of years to live and more tats to get. Get up, Weevil. You can do it.”

“Go to hell.” But he forces himself back onto his feet, inch by agonizing inch, and Felix has once again vanished when he’s standing. Right foot, left foot. He counts each step as he takes it, not bothering to add them up because he can’t actually remember what number follows the last. Just one and two and four, then back to one again. He hits five once and finds comfort in being able to do that.

The promise of revenge keeps his feet moving when they feel as heavy as lead. Not for the beating, not for the betrayal, but for Felix and blood that shouldn’t have been spilt. Felix was a good kid who got slit open because he fell in love. And Eli desperately wants to believe in love, believe that it matters, that it conquers, and that there will be fucking fireworks when he finally finds it again. He wants to believe that he’d be willing to lie there on the bridge, a knife in his gut, and believe that she’s worth dying for.

He wants to believe that Felix died for something.

As soon as he closes his eyes, leaning against a streetlight for support, the voice – he’s losing his mind – is there again. “Got it all wrong, Weevil. You do want you’re thinkin’ about doin’ and it won’t change me being dead or nothing. Just land you in jail.”

“Shut up, Felix,” he replies hoarsely.

“I ain’t worth jail, man,” Felix insists.

“You are to me,” his voice breaks, snaps under the pressure of pain and hallucination. “Jesus, Felix. You are to me.” There are tears in his eyes that have nothing to do with broken ribs or black eyes.

He doesn’t fight it when he feels someone’s arm wrap around his shoulders and lift him back to his feet – when did he fall? – and his legs clumsily manage to function. Fingers are gripping warm leather, smooth and supple from wear. He recognizes the placement of the buttons, the shape of the lapel, and the subtle scent of those damn clove cigarettes that Wanda got Felix hooked on. For the first time, he doesn’t know what’s real and what isn’t.

“Felix?”

“I’ve got you, Eli, I’ve got you.”

Truth Itself, PG

2006-08-08T07:45:56Z

Title: Truth Itself
Rating: PG (mild language and mature content, e.g. mention of drug use, violence)
Summary: Sheriff Lamb brings Veronica in for questioning about her father’s whereabouts, which makes her even more determined to discover what’s happened to Keith Mars.
Spoilers: Through S2 – Not Pictured
Pairings: Veronica/Lamb
Disclaimer: All things Veronica Mars belong to Rob Thomas and everyone else who makes the show possible.
Notes: Many thanks to kurukami for a much needed beta. Prompt for playfullips: Veronica/Lamb. The interrogation room, extreme snark, at least a kiss, but if you'd like you can stop there. Well, I tried.

Sheriff Lamb tossed the notebook onto the table in front of Veronica and leaned back in his chair with all the arrogance he possessed. Which, being who he was, was quite a bit. “Let’s try this again.”

She kept her arms tightly crossed and stared him down. He had nothing to charge her with and no reason to keep her locked in this interrogation room other than his own sadistic pleasure. “And again, in case you didn’t hear the first ten times I told you…I have no idea where my dad is.”

The fact that it was the truth made it an easy story to stick to. She had no idea where her father was; all she knew was contained in the cryptic phone message she’d gotten moments before finding Sheriff Lamb and Deputy Sacks standing on her doorstep. Keith Mars saying I’m sorry and I need more time were all she could make out through the sounds of traffic and unfamiliar voices. More time where and doing what were questions that wouldn’t be answered until he was home. But until that happened, she planned on keeping Lamb thoroughly stymied. The more he thought that she knew something, the less likely it was he’d actually try to find her father.

“Or I could arrest you for obstruction of justice. How do you like the sound of that?”

“What justice would I be obstructing, exactly? And since you’re all about justice…remember Felix? Kid who was murdered on the bridge a while back? I’m sure you’ve got his murderer locked up by now, right?” She made a Ra-Ra motion for sarcastic emphasis, smiling sweetly at the tightening of his jaw. “Oh. That’s right. You never even arrested him.”

“If I find out you had anything to do with his death, I’ll have you charged with murder.”

“You couldn’t get more than assault on Weevil and you had two witnesses.” It was occasionally a good thing that the Neptune Sheriff’s Department was incompetent, since every blue moon it meant that the system actually worked the way it was supposed to. No proof that Weevil had killed Thumper, no life sentence for murder. That was the way it was supposed to work. He was still glaring at her so she continued to goad him. “Can’t say that’s my preferred method of dying, crushed to death by a falling stadium. I wonder if Thumper was a Sharks fan. I don’t know about justice but you’ve got to admit it’s kinda poetic.”

“Especially when you consider who pushed the plunger.” He smirked at her. “How’s your boyfriend by the way?”

“The one Thumper tried to frame for Felix’s murder? Who you wrongly arrested twice? He’s good, thanks for asking.”

He leaned forward, holding her gaze. “Actually, I was referring to the one who kidnapped Faith Manning and fled the country, actually. The one you helped orchestrate the entire scheme. Quite the track record you’ve got there.”

“Orchestrate. I love it when you use big words.” Shivering artificially, she batted her eyelashes and continued to smile.

“Just tell me where your father is, Veronica.”

“Do you really think I’d tell you even if I know? Especially if I’m the criminal mastermind you think I am. And I keep telling you that I don’t know, but you don’t seem to be hearing what I’m saying. Me…Dad…location…not a clue. Do you need me to draw a picture?”

The chair legs screeched as they scraped across the floor and suddenly he was only inches away, slamming his hand down against the desk melodramatically. “This isn’t a joke, Veronica. Tell me where he is.”

“Was I laughing? Cause I’m pretty sure I haven’t been laughing.” The air was uncomfortably hot with the drastically reduced distance between them. She’d expected him to reek of too much bad cologne, the olfactory embodiment of his arrogance and incompetence. But there was no foul odor, only the clean scent of fabric softener and the subtle hint of Lever 2000. It almost made him seem like a normal human being.

“We can stay here all day if that’s how you want to play this. But I know you. I know you’re hiding something.” His gazed swept up and down her face several times, which was still only inches away and much too close for comfort.

“Fine,” she sighed. Pulling away from him was made impossible by his hands pressing down on the armrests of her chair. “It was me. I’m you’re secret admirer. I guess I just figured that with Madison gone…well…I thought I might have a chance. Can’t arrest a girl for dreaming.” She met his eyes defiantly and waited for him to hurl the next insult in their perpetual verbal war. It was her way of getting revenge for turning her away the one time she had needed him. She had no idea what he got out of it.

“You like this little game of yours, don’t you?” His breath was warm on her skin.

“It’s my favorite.”

“Can’t say it’s mine. I ask you questions, you lie to me, and the bad guy gets away.” His jaw tightened again. “I’m tired of playing, Veronica.”

“That’s too bad. I’ll miss our little chats.” When he didn’t back down or pull away, she began imagining the expression on his face if she ever got to use her tazer on him. “By the way, my dad isn’t the bad guy. And I’m pretty sure you won’t catch the bad guy by invading my personal space.”

“You might be surprised.”

“What? Am I hiding the bad guy in my bra?” She glanced down at her t-shirt and then looked up at him through lowered lashes. “You wanna search me?”

“Don’t act like I’m stupid, Veronica,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“Who says I’m acting?”

“We can do this the hard way.”

“You talk big, but I’ve yet to see the action for myself. Of course, if it’s good enough for Madison…” she stopped when he pulled away.

It was a surprise when he sat back down and took a deep breath. She’d expected him to lob a few more insults before giving up. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You think?” There was no way she was going to let him switch tactics and pretend that he wasn’t a first-rate asshole. “I told you that I was drugged and raped and you went right out and found the bastard. Oh, wait…you didn’t. You did nothing. Because that’s all you ever do. Nothing.”

“That was a long time ago, Veronica.”

“That doesn’t make me any less of a victim and it doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t do your job. You got paid to sit there and do nothing. I guess you’ve got the perfect job then.” She had to stop there because her voice was beginning to shake with rising anger.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” She blinked at him, expecting to wake up and discover that it was all a bad dream. “Did you just apologize?”

“You heard me.”

She lifted her chin higher and held tightly onto the fury that had kept her hatred for him burning all this time. “Apology not accepted. You didn’t just turn your back on me. You’ve turned your back on everyone in this town who actually need a Sheriff. The people you’re supposed to protect and serve.”

“And you’ve never made a mistake? Veronica Mars, the saint. Come on, Veronica. Try a little reality on for size. This is Neptune, this is how it works. There are the people who matter and the people who don’t.”

“You’re everything that’s wrong with this town.”

“I don’t make the rules.”

“You don’t uphold the law either but what’s a little thing like that?” Her emotions were bubbling dangerously near the surface, threatening to spill out when she’d sworn on every fiber of her being that he would never, ever see anything but ice in her again.

“What did you expect me to do, Veronica?”

“Your job!” The shout burst out before she could stop it and suddenly she couldn’t look at him anymore. Couldn’t look at his smug expression and still feel the sting of betrayal; still hearing and seeing his condescension. She left her chair and got as far away from him as possible. It wasn’t far, since she was still trapped in the interrogation room with him.

He ran his fingers through his hair; neck cracking as he twisted his head from side to side. “If you tell me where your father is, I’ll look into it. A full investigation.”

With a bitter laugh, she shook her head. “You’re a little late. I already know who raped me. And I know you wouldn’t have arrested him even if you could’ve. Because he was one of those people who mattered.”

His expression was serious when he finally looked up at her. “You’re using the past tense.”

She sniffed, rubbing at her nose because it itched and definitely not because her eyes were threatening to produce unwarranted tears. “He took a swan dive off of the Neptune Grand after killing I don’t know how many people. The kids on the bus for starters.”

“Cassidy Casablancas,” he said softly.

“Just out of curiosity. If you had listened to me and if you had done your job, maybe even found out who it was although I won’t give you that much credit…would you have charged him? Or would you have taken one look at Big Dick’s bank account and let him off with a slap on the wrist? Would all those kids on the bus be here today if you’d done your job? Answer that question for me.”

“You had no proof that a rape even occurred,” he scoffed. “And we both know how much your word is worth in a court of law.”

The reminder of the Aaron Echolls trial was a slap in the face and she was grateful for it. She needed it to force her emotions back down, to bury them away where he couldn’t see them and use them against her. “You could have tested me for date rape drugs. Do you want to know what you would have found?”

“An illegal alcohol limit? Underage drinking is actually a crime, Veronica.”

“GHB,” she snapped.

“And how was I supposed to prove that you didn’t just go to a party, have a drink or six, experiment a little, and then feel bad about it in the morning?” His calm edge crumbled a bit and he was obviously agitated when he stood up, crossing the room to invade her space once again. “Now you’re telling me that you were on the roof with the guy who raped you and he just happened to jump off. Am I supposed to assume he didn’t have any help from you on that last step?”

Veronica’s heart nearly stopped, the room suddenly too cold. “Logan was there. He saw it.”

“The same Logan who’s your boyfriend, who stole evidence in his father’s murder trial, whose father was murdered after being acquitted. You think we’re not looking at Logan as a suspect for that?”

“You think Logan killed his own father? That’s crazy.” She was having trouble breathing, her back up against the wall and Lamb in front of her blocking the way out.

“Wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen in this town.”

Any comeback she might have had died in her throat. More than anything, she wanted her father to walk through the door and take her away. She wanted to be home curled up under a blanket with Back Up lying next to her and her father watching over her.

“Tell me what I’m looking at, Veronica.” His voice was low and for once, he didn’t sound like he was trying to hurt her. “Am I looking at a victim? Or should I read you your rights?”

“You wouldn’t even get a trial,” she whispered, terrified that she was wrong.

“Did Cassidy jump off the Neptune Grand or did you lure him up there and push him off? You could have made up the story about him causing the bus crash.”

“I didn’t!”

“But I can’t prove that.”

“He covered his tracks.”

“Which is very convenient for you. And I’m sure Logan will back you up. I’m sure you’ve told him exactly what to say if anyone asks,” he said cynically.

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice shook at the end, punctuating the question with horrifying vulnerability.

“Asking the tough questions is also my job, Veronica.”

Shaken, furious, and hurt all rolled into one awful ball of misery that left a pit at the bottom of her stomach. If she’d ever doubted whether or not he was out to get her, it had been definitively answered in the veiled threat to charge both her and Logan with murders they didn’t commit. Even though Cassidy’s death had been ruled a suicide, she wouldn’t put it past Lamb to reopen the case if he thought he could convict her.

“Tell me where you father is.”

“I don’t know,” she answered stoically.

“Veronica Mars, you have the right to remain silent. And I’m going to suggest you use that one.”

She met his gaze evenly. “I want a lawyer.”

***

Cliff McCormack grinned at her through the bars of her cell, raising his eyebrows paternally. “Do I even want to know?”

“I’m sure the good Sheriff enumerated my crimes.” Veronica sat up, wincing at the stiffness that came from lying on an uncomfortable jail cot.

“Obstructing justice apparently. I’ll be sending your dad the bill for your bail money and you’ve got a hearing set for two weeks from now.” He waited for the guard to unlock the door and let her out before continuing, holding up a plastic bag with her personal effects. “Mind if I ask what you were doing?”

“Me? I wasn’t even obstructing a doorway.”

“How’d you piss him off this time?”

“By being my normal charming self.” She smiled in spite of the knots her stomach was turning into. Her father was going to ground her for a decade.

The sun on her face had never felt so wonderful and she had a new appreciation for Logan’s praise of freedom and her virtues. She wanted to ask Cliff about her dad but kept those questions to herself. Beating the charges would mean proving that she’d known nothing about her father’s whereabouts.

“You have that effect on people. Do you need a ride or anything?”

“I’d love you forever if you could take me home. Lamb didn’t let me drive myself to the station. And could you not tell my dad just yet? He’s been working on this big case and he’s not supposed to be back in town until tomorrow. If you could just hold off a little.”

“No problem.” Cliff waved her to his car. “Big case? Anything interesting?”

“I don’t ask, he doesn’t tell.”

“I hardly believe that.”

“Alright, I asked. But he told me it was nothing and not to worry. Which is Mars speak for the world is about to end.” She buckled in and relaxed into the seat. “Now I’m wishing he’d at least told me where he was going. Might have spared me the night in jail since Lamb wouldn’t believe that I really don’t know where he is.”

“Yeah, you might want to make showering a first priority.”

“It’s number one, believe me. I think that cot had fleas.” Scratching at her itchy scalp, she watched the city pass by through the window and tried to remember any tidbit of information that would help her to find her father. “What do I need for the hearing?”

“Other than fresh underwear and your best innocent look? You just need to relax. And I need to get your side of the story so I can prepare my statement for the judge, but we can do that after you’ve showered. We’ll plead not guilty and see what the illustrious Neptune Sheriff’s Department has against you as far as evidence. Which, from where I’m sitting, looks like squat.” He gave her a sideways look. “One of these days, remind me to ask you what you did to get on Lamb’s bad side.”

“Better ask him yourself because I have no idea why he hates me.”

“Think it’s about your dad?”

“As in, he knows my dad was a better Sheriff than he is and likes to take out his frustration on me?” She waited for a better explanation but he merely shrugged and kept driving. The rest of the trip was silence, other than Cliff fiddling with his radio as it went in and out of static. She’d never been so glad to see her apartment complex in her life.

“You sure you’re okay, V?”

“I’m good. And thanks. You’re the best lawyer ever.”

“I’m the only lawyer you can afford.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not the best.” She pressed a quick kiss against his cheek before climbing out of the car. “And if you could let me be the one to tell Dad, I would totally owe you. Big time.”

“Just promise me that you’ll call as soon as he gets back.”

“Cross my heart and hope to spend another lovely evening with Lamb, which is actually worse than death in case you were wondering.” She waited until the car disappeared down the street before turning toward the complex. For all intents and purposes, this would be just another Sunday morning with her father out of town on a case. It happened all the time and there was no need to change her routine.

A hot shower helped wash away the grime and sweat from her skin but did little to erase the memory of her interrogation. As she lathered up the shampoo, she puzzled at the unanswered questions. Where was her father? Why had he called her to tell her that he needed more time just before Lamb had arrived? And for that matter, why was Lamb looking for her father at all? Something wasn’t right. She had a sneaking suspicion that if her father had been careful not to leave any clues for her to find then he was safe from Neptune’s finest. Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to turn the office inside out looking for even the tiniest shred of a clue.

Once she was wrapped up in fluffy towels and her bathrobe, she checked her messages. Several from Logan and one from Mac; nothing more from her father. She dialed Logan’s number but only got a busy signal. In a way, she was relieved, the silence of solitude was a welcome relief from a noisy holding cell.

There was nothing on TV other than bad movies and reruns. She curled up on the couch with a mug of hot tea anyway, flipping channels without actually watching what was on the screen. Her mind kept spinning around in circles, trying to find the answers. At the top of the list of unanswerables was why Sheriff Lamb had only charged her with obstruction of justice. Why hadn’t he been the vindictive ass she knew he was and charged her with the murder of Cassidy Casablancas?

That he hadn’t added any charges beyond obstruction of his own pigheadness would have be taken as a lucky break. Now she just had to pretend everything was business as usual. And since she was in the business of private investigation, business as usual just might get her some answers.

***

“Even I could have told you she wasn’t lying and I’m hardly her BFF. If Keith doesn’t want to be found, he’s far too smart to tell his own daughter where he’s going. Especially with the hatchet you’ve got waiting to bury in his back.” Cliff dumped the microphone wire and mini recorder on Sheriff Lamb’s desk. “Why the elaborate charade? Which I’m not comfortable with, by the way. I’m sure I just broke a dozen laws.”

“You did, but I’m not planning on charging you with any of them.” Lamb ejected the tape from the recorder, slipping it directly into his uniform shirt pocket.

“Right, since you falsely charged my client and then agreed to drop your insupportable charges if I played along. Somehow I doubt that the judge is going to be particularly happy with either of us for wasting her time. I have the advantage in that I don’t think Judge Frowns-A-Lot can actually dislike me any more than she already does. So let me in on why this was so imperative.”

“It’s for her own safety. That’s all you need to know,” Lamb answered briskly.

“You arrested her for her own safety? Forgive me if I can’t see the logic in that. The fact that you and she aren’t exactly bosom buddies isn’t exactly supporting your case.”

“Girl likes to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong and this time, she might just get it cut off. And you don’t need to trust me. In fact, you’d be best to keep out of this from now on. If I have what I need on this tape then the hearing will disappear.” He motioned toward the door and waited for Cliff to take the hint. “Tell your client not to be such a smart ass next time or I’ll arrest her for real.”

Once Cliff was gone, Lamb listened to the tape a dozen times before he was convinced that Veronica truly didn’t know where her father was and that she was going to make his job difficult. Each time through, he bristled at her offhand comment about her father being a better Sheriff, but it wasn’t unexpected. Whenever he pushed her buttons, she pushed right back. He didn’t hate Veronica Mars, he hated how she made him feel like a tiny bug underneath her shoe.

And he’d learned a few things in his time as Sheriff. One of which was that if you wanted to get to Keith Mars, the best way to go was through his daughter; chances were he wasn’t the only one who’d figured that out. Which left him with just one thing on his To Do list.

Keep Veronica Mars alive.

***

“I wish I could help, Veronica.” Mac shook her head at the screen, a deep furrow in her brow from the non-stop frowning she’d been doing. “But this kind of encryption needs a key to break. It’d take me weeks and I’m pretty sure your Dad will be back by then.”

Veronica hesitated, less sure of that eventually than Mac was. Since she’d gotten out of jail, she’d turned the apartment and office inside out searching for a clue to her father’s whereabouts. Anything that would point her in the right direction. Finding a partition on her father’s hard drive that was inaccessible was the only lead she’d found and it was a dead end. “You’re sure there’s nothing?”

“I’m sure. The computer randomly generates the encryption; the key provides a way to sync up the number loop. Otherwise, the encryption algorithm gives me a new combination every time I try to break it. It’s in impossible to get it, but it takes time, which you haven’t got.”

“And there aren’t any skeleton keys?”

“Might be, I can ask around.”

“Thanks, Mac.” Veronica sighed as she sat back on the couch. “I just wish I knew what was going on. Dad had to know that Lamb would come after me.”

“Guess he figured it was worth it?” Mac offered sympathetically.

“It’d better be, I tell ya or he’s gonna get an earful from me when he drags himself through that door.” She shuddered at the memory of her interrogation. “Anything less than dishes for a month would be too kind.”

“Lamb was that bad?”

“Words pale in comparison. He even threatened to charge me with the murder of Cassidy Casablancas.”

“What?”

“No proof that he actually went over the edge without help,” she sighed and pushed away the folder of receipts she’d already sifted through a hundred times.

“Don’t worry, he’d never get the charges to stick. And I’d testify, if you needed me to.” Mac’s cheeks turned a shade of pink.

“How’re you doing?” She waited for an answer, feeling slightly guilty about not making sure Mac was handling Cassidy’s death in a normal, teenage girl kind of way. Not that she knew what that was, exactly. Usually it involved hair cutting and new clothes shopping.

“I’m fine. My mom bought me a bunch of books on the grieving process. I guess they were all out of ‘What to Do When Your Boyfriend Turns Out to Be a Serial Killer’.”

Veronica didn’t have a ready response for that but Mac just shrugged and shook her head, signaling that no further questioning was required. Letting sleeping issues lie, she went back to organizing the stacks of receipts. “There’s only one thing that’s even out of the ordinary here and it’s not exactly a smoking gun.”

“What is it?”

“Well. Dad bought something, doesn’t say what, at the drugstore on the corner of Wiltshire Boulevard on Wednesday. Then again on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday before he left. So either that’s a great drugstore or he wasn’t there for their merchandise.”

“Maybe he forgot something the first time? And the second and the third. You’re right, that is strange.”

“That’s not like my dad. And he’s written the number four on the bottom of each of these. So I guess I’ll be paying a visit to el drugstore.”

The location was well out of 09er territory and verging on barnacle, but that just made it smell all the more suspicious. She knew in her heart that there was no way her father would have just forgotten to pick up a toothbrush three days in a row. There was something important about the store or one of the surrounding buildings. Keith Mars preferred to do his stalking without a pair of binoculars or a high-powered camera lens. Whatever had drawn him there had to be nearby.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Veronica? Your dad’s AWOL and Lamb wants to find him badly enough that he’s willing to charge you with obstruction of justice. What part of that means you should go looking? Just saying.”

“Dad’s in trouble. He has to be. And I have to help him.” It was a simple decision in Veronica’s world; one that she’d made years ago and kept making over and over again without deviation. Her father came first; occasionally he was a close second to Truth Itself, but he never fell lower on the totem pole than that and he never would.

“For the record, I have a bad feeling about this and I really hope you’re not going to ask me to come with you.”

“Leave the heavy lifting to the professionals. Thanks for trying though.”

“I’m going to tell you to be careful because there’s no one else here to do it and because you sometimes make people want to kill you.” Mac grinned over the monitor.

Veronica put on her best pouting face. “I’ll make sure to look both ways when I cross the street.”

“Good. Because Deputy Sacks was sitting outside in a patrol car when I came in.”

“You’re serious?” She had to see for herself and sure enough, there was a Balboa County cruiser parked down the street. “The nerve of that man. If he thinks he can get away with this, he’s got another think coming. And you know Lamb, too many thinks and that tiny little brain of his might just work itself to death.”

“Well, it is just Sacks. I mean, at least Lamb isn’t sitting out there himself.”

“That just adds insult to injury. Can’t even spare the time to follow me around himself? Where’s the respect?” She could practically hear the eye roll from Mac before she headed back to the couch. “I’m going to give Sacks a run for the money. You okay to hang out for a bit? Just take messages if anyone comes in.”

“Veronica!”

“You’re the best!” She was out the Mars Investigation door before Mac could list all the reasons she couldn’t man the fort for a half hour. It was doubtful that it would even take her that long to shake Sacks off her trail and there was no harm in driving past the drugstore on Wiltshire just to take a look.

It only took a few blocks to prove that Sacks was an amateur. She resisted the temptation to drive around in circles until he realized that he’d been made. But that would lead to his reporting to Lamb, which she didn’t want; better not to tip her hand until she could see the stupid look on his stupid face up close and personal. There was no way she’d pass up the opportunity to remind him that she was the smart one, especially after he’d tossed her in jail on trumped up charges.

Nothing stood out about the drug store or the neighboring stores, which was disappointing. She’d been half hoping for a large neon sign that said Look Here. The only interesting thing about it was that it was around the corner and one stop light away from Ocean Avenue, which had known connections to shady dealings. That hardly warranted the disappearing act by her father.

Deciding it was time to lose the good Deputy, she found the first parking lot with multiple exits and put the power steering in the LeBaron to good use. By the time Sacks was halfway through the lot, she had already doubled back and was pulling into the street. She drove a figure eight around two more city blocks just to be sure he’d fallen behind. To be even more thorough, she parked around the corner from the innocuous looking drugstore and walked the rest of the way.

It had all the right sounds and smells of a regular, run of the mill drugstore. Cheesy elevator music in the background, floors reeking of Mr. Clean, and the not-quite-antiseptic odor that always seemed to hang in the air; all the shelves were neatly stocked and there was even a mother struggling to control her toddler on aisle five.

She pretended to be looking for something as she wandered up and down the aisles, glancing surreptitiously at the Employee Only exits and the glass bulbs in the ceilings that housed the security cameras. Even the clerk on duty was stereotypical in his button up shirt, garish retro tie, and bored expression. There was nothing of interest on aisle four beyond diet supplements and bottles of crushed herbs. If had been the first aid aisle, she would have freaked as only a girl who’d lost her father can. When she was sure that there was absolutely nothing she needed, unless the raspberry oil drops actually would make her uterus stronger – who bought this stuff? – she headed for checkout stand Number Four.

Photos of movie stars with perfectly white teeth sparkled up from the trashy magazine covers with headlines about babies and breakups and more bullshit that she didn’t care about. That kind of sludge was her bread and butter; she just preferred the local flavor. Busting a guy with his pants around his ankles was much better when there was a year or two of his son’s crude heckling still pounding in her head.

Checkout stand Number Four was as unmemorable as the rest of the store. She bought a pack of bubble gum and a cigarette lighter because the clerk was giving her the look that dared her to actually make him do something other than stand there. Waiting for him to count change for a five, she glanced out the front window and realized that checkout Number Four had one thing the others didn’t; a completely unobstructed view of the office building across the street. No trees, no signs, just a straight shot clear up to the third floor windows.

Thanking the clerk absently, she grabbed up her change and purchases. Back on the sidewalk, she saw the sign for a travel agency specializing in exotica locales. She was pretty sure her father hadn’t been planning a vacation without telling her, not after standing her up for the trip to New York. He’d be on dish duty for the rest of his life if he pulled that kind of stunt again.

She followed the arrows to the underground parking and found the stairwell. In classic Neptune style, it couldn’t be a coincidence that the travel agency was on the third floor. There was no receptionist at the front desk and no on answered when she tapped the bell.

Brightly colored posters of beautiful beaches, desert landscapes, and lush rainforests decorated the walls, most of them adorned with pithy sayings about finding one’s destiny and seizing the day. Desk, lamp, filing cabinet; even the arrangement of fake flowers carefully displayed in the middle of the coffee table was standard for a travel agency. She couldn’t tell if the computer monitor was off or simply hibernating and couldn’t get a better look at the screen without getting behind the desk, something that was always hard to explain to anyone who walked in.

“Hello?” she called softly, leaning over the desk and letting her newly acquired lighter slip from her fingers. It clattered against the surface, sliding off onto the carpet on the other side when she reached for it. Her hand tapped the mouse almost imperceptibly as she pulled back. Sighing loudly, she circled around the desk and made a show of looking around for the wayward lighter. The monitor flickered and came to life, showing a beach themed desktop. She bumped the mouse when she leaned against the desk and accidentally double-clicked on an icon labeled Schedule as she bent down to reach under the desk.

“Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice froze her in her tracks.

“Found it!” Snatching up the lighter, she stood up quickly and smiled her most cheerfully innocent smile. “I am such a klutz. And you how you drop something and it’s like a rule that it has to roll under the furniture. I hate that.”

The man returned her smile as he stepped forward, holding out a handful of brochures. He certainly didn’t look sinister with his graying hair and the slightest hint of a belly hidden by his sports coat. In fact, he looked like a high school sports coach who probably took in troubled teens and taught them all about how football could change their lives. Which would be true in a truly Neptune fashion when they blew out a knee and ended up with no job skills or prospects.

“I was hoping to book a cruise to Tahiti. It’s our twentieth anniversary and I think I need to do something special this year.” He looked even more lost than she felt.

“Got her a power saw last year?” She winked as she took the brochures.

“Painted the bathroom.”

“And she hates it.”

“Won’t even go in the room.”

“Ouch.” Taking control of the mouse, she scanned the screen for anything that might be the right program. “But believe me, you’ll be amazing at how much a little Tahiti can make up for. Though you might want to have the bathroom repainted while you’re gone.”

“Good idea,” he said with obvious relief.

“When did you want to go?”

“It’s in two weeks. Is that enough time? I know these trips fill up fast.”

“I’m sure there’s something. Tell me more about what you had in mind. A cruise?” She was desperately stalling and hoping he wouldn’t notice that she’d opened several programs, none of which seemed to have the information she needed. He was going on about mosquitoes and coastal resorts when inspiration struck. “Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“It’s just that we upgraded our software and I still haven’t figured it out yet,” she said apologetically. “But if you leave your contact information and trust me just a teensy bit, I will find the most incredible vacation package for you. I promise your wife will forgive you completely.”

“That would be great. Better leave it to the professionals, right?” He jotted down his phone numbers on the back of one of the brochures. “I can’t thank you enough, Miss…”

“Jones. Samantha Jones.”

“Thank you again. You’ve saved my life. And my marriage.”

“Saving lives and marriages is what we do here. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” She waved and smiled until he was out the door.

Turning back to the computer, she began to scan the programs she’d opened for anything that looked shadier than family vacations to Fiji. For a company that rented downtown office space, they didn’t seem to be doing a lot of business. Of course, the price tags on each of the trips was astronomical so maybe they didn’t need to book more than one trip per month. She noted that they seemed to have a trip to Thailand leaving nearly every month. Four days, three nights. It was hardly worth the two nineteen hour flights there and back.

She tore out one of the bottom sheets of the notepad and jotted down the names of the clients who were scheduled for the Thailand trips. If they were business trips then she was interested in what kind of business they were doing. Just as she tucked the notepaper into her back pocket and gathered up the rest of her things, the office door in behind her.

“Oh. Hello.” A tall, sleekly groomed man leaned out of the doorway. “The temp agency said you wouldn’t be here for another hour.”

“I was just so excited to start,” she offered weakly. “I was just trying to get a feel for the desk, but if you’d like me somewhere else.”

“No, no, that’s fine. It’s Mary Beth, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I’m Mary Beth. Pleased to be working with you while…what was her name again?”

“Olivia. Guess that baby couldn’t wait,” he chuckled. “I thought I heard someone come in earlier?”

“You did! A man…Mr. Branson…was hoping to take his wife to Tahiti for their anniversary. He looked pretty clueless so I told him I’d find the perfect package and get back to him.” She held up the brochures as evidence.

The man smiled, revealing two rows of perfect teeth. “That’s what I like in an employee. A real go-getter. Well, I’ll just let you keep doing what you’re doing, Mary Beth. Hold down the fort while I step out for a coffee?” He grabbed his suit coat from the coat rack on his way through the room.

“Of course, sir. Nice to meet you.” The door closed before she finished.

Taking her cue from the smiling Toucan on the wall, she seized the moment and bolted from the office. Once the real Mary Beth showed up, things were bound to get a little complicated. Her footsteps echoed in staccato as she hurried down the three flights of stairs to the parking garage. The hinges squeaked as the heavy exit door swung open into the garage. She was almost free.

Her head jerked back, pain radiating through her scalp from the section of hair that had caught on something. She had time to reach up and feel a hand and an arm behind her before her assailant slammed her head against the doorframe and the world turned black.

***

“You lost her?” Sheriff Lamb ignored the coffee sloshing over the paperwork on his desk as he stood up. He’d make Sacks redo it all, since he was the reason for the mess. “Where exactly did you lose her?”

“On Wiltshire. I mean, she was there and then she…wasn’t. She’s slippery.”

“Where on Wiltshire?” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“She might have turned onto Ocean Avenue.”

“I want you to put out an APB on her and her car. Yesterday. I want her found.” Grabbing his keys and jacket, he stormed out of his office. “Next time I ask you to follow Veronica Mars, I don’t care if you have to handcuff yourself to her. Understand?”

“I thought it would be better if she didn’t know I was there,” Sacks explained.

Lamb didn’t bother to respond to that because it was absolutely ridiculous. He’d learned the hard way that underestimating any of the Mars family was a bad idea and inevitably came back to bite him in the ass. He should have followed Veronica himself, even if it did mean putting up with her childish pranks. The one advantage he had over Sacks was that he had an idea of where she’d be going and if she’d managed to find her way to Wiltshire Boulevard, there was a good chance that Keith Mars hadn’t covered his tracks as well as he’d thought.

That made him smile. Apparently not even the great and wonderful Mars could keep his daughter from sticking her nose into none of her damn business, which as far as he concerned, was the entirety of Neptune, California. He found her car around the corner from Wiltshire and wasn’t surprised when the clerk at the drugstore remembered a cute little blonde girl. The bored college student even remembered seeing her cross the street and enter the parking garage. He waited until he was out of the store to swear.

The untraceable cell phone in his pocket was ringing before even he reached his car. “She’s your daughter, Mars. Hate to say I told you so.”

“Actually, I was calling to ask what you were doing at the drugstore blowing our carefully planned cover.” Keith Mars sounded more confused than annoyed.

“Like I said, she’s your daughter. She lost Sacks and doubled back here, the clerk remembers her going into the garage across the street. Can you put the pieces together or do you need me to spell it out?” He stopped at the streetlight and waited for the light to changed, knowing that he at least needed to pretend to be out shopping.

“Don,” his tone was deadly serious now. “They know who she is.”

“Which is why I had Sacks tailing her. You’re the one who swore that she wouldn’t be able to find you.”

“I’m calling it off. Everything. The whole operation.”

“That’s a little premature.” He reached the end of the block and started back the other way, keeping his pace leisurely. “I’m going to check the garage, see what I can find. Besides, it’s not your call, remember?”

“If they have her--”

“I know where to look. If you don’t hear from me in half an hour, send in the cavalry.” The phone went back into his pocket well before he reached the entrance to the parking garage. He had to assume that he had extremely limited time before their entire operation was blown out of the water because Veronica couldn’t just stay home and be a normal girl. Maybe screwing up months of hard work by an FBI task force would knock some sense into her impossible skull.

The parking garage was quiet and empty of human beings. There was a particularly hot Jaguar that warranted a closer look; just to be sure she wasn’t tied up in the backseat. That was about as far as he could go without treading into the line of fire himself, which he wasn’t about to do for Veronica even if she was in trouble. Girl had it coming to her really.

One look in the stairwell wouldn’t tip anyone off anymore than wandering around the parking garage, so he opened the door and glanced around. No Veronica hiding under the stairs. No anything but trash, dirt-stained concrete floors, and a flickering exit light humming like a beehive. Someone had dropped an unopened pack of gum near the door. And left blood on the doorframe just below shoulder height. He remembered the clerk saying the blonde might have bought a pack of gum.

This time, he dialed the number for the Sheriff’s Department. “Put Sacks on the phone. No, I don’t care what he’s doing.” He waited impatiently for the transfer to go through. “Sacks, get the crime lab boys down to the parking garage on Wiltshire, stairwell. I need them here now. And send back up.”

“Sir?”

“Veronica Mars is missing, possibly abducted.” Saying the words out loud made them real, made the blood against the dark blue paint more real than it had been before.

He hesitated when he pulled out the cell phone to call Keith. Blood on the doorframe gave him probable cause to investigate further. She might still be on the premises. Bleeding, unconscious. The latter would be preferable because she never knew well enough to keep her mouth shut. Of course, if he backed out now then there might be hope for salvaging the sting operation and the FBI would be happy about that. But unlike Sacks, he knew what was going to happen if they didn’t find her. If she was lucky, she was already dead.

Slipping his gun out of the holster, he started up the stairs as quietly possible. The third floor travel agency was just the front. A pretty façade for the real trafficking going on behind the doors. Homeland Security had hoped it was a lead into terrorist movements, but unless the terrorists had switched from WMDs to STDs, the merchandise was outside their jurisdiction. Apparently foreign teenage girls being sold as indentured whores weren’t a matter of national security. By the time Keith Mars had stumbled onto the FBI task force, he’d also managed to get noticed by the bastards running the human smuggling ring.

The third floor hallway was empty but he kept his gun in hand. He smelled the smoke first, before he saw it roll lazily out under the door. Yanking off his jacket, he holstered his gun and hit redial on the phone as he raced down the hall to hit the building’s fire alarm. The thick fabric of his uniform protected his elbow from the glass surrounding the fire extinguisher. Not that it would be much help if the entire floor were on fire.

It was a stroke of pure luck that the door wasn’t hot to the touch. He prayed that meant the fire was still small and that if Veronica was inside, she was still alive. Bracing his shoulder against the door, he began to open it agonizingly slowly. The air inside was smoky. Covering his nose and mouth as he could with his sleeve, he ducked as low as he could and tried to see into the room.

There was a second closed door across the room with smoke pouring out through the gaps around it. He could feel the heat radiating from the office and knew it was probably a matter of seconds before the fire spilled out. The filing cabinet had been emptied and the room trashed before setting the fire. Even the computer had been opened up, lying on the desk with its guts exposed.

“Veronica?” He choked against the taste of smoke on his tongue. Muffled screaming and knocking answered him. Shit. The bastard had left her here to burn to death. “Where are you?” More knocking.

Behind the receptionist’s desk, he found her in the corner, duct taped to the water cooler. They’d wanted to make sure she couldn’t wiggle her way out of this one. Tears had formed tracks in the soot on her face; there was blood and the beginning of a nasty bruise on the side of her head. A puddle of water around her meant she'd been trying to tip over the cooler but, unfortunately for both of them, someone had bolted it to the wall. He grabbed a pair of scissors from the desk and started cutting at the duct tape.

Once her hands were free, she pulled the tape from her mouth. “Hurry!”

“Shut up or I’m putting the tape back on,” he snapped.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, that room is about to explode in a ball of fire. I think I’m justified in telling you to hurry up!”

“And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m saving your life.” He glared at her and kept cutting. The door behind him creaked ominously. Something was hissing overhead and it wasn’t the sprinklers that were supposed to be putting the fire out.

“He sprayed some sort of accelerant in the hallway. To make sure the entire floor burned.” Veronica tore away the rest of tape from her arms and legs, scrambling to her feet and coughing against the smoke.

“Stay down!” Pulling her down beside him, he shoved her toward the door and motioned for her to get moving. He kicked himself mentally for noticing her ass.

The door beginning to bulge by the time they reached the hallway. He heard the telltale crack and dove for cover, dragging Veronica with him. An instant later, a ball of fire erupted over their heads and turned the hallway into a blazing inferno. The speed of the flames stunned him and he could see the pattern of the accelerant as it was seared into the wall. With one hand still gripping her arm, he crawled toward the door leading to the stairwell. It was concrete; it would be safe if they could get there before the fire reached the carpet.

“Are you going to charge me with arson when we get out here?” Veronica hissed.

“Would you get over yourself for five seconds and pay attention to the burning building? And if,” he stopped long enough to yank her away from a falling chunk of flaming ceiling tile. “If we get out of here alive, I’m going to kill you.”

“Oh, that’s original.”

He ignored her jibe. Now was the time to focus on crawling the last ten feet to the stairwell and being able to breathe air again. Patches of carpet had begun to burn as the fire closed in around them. He thought he heard sirens but it might have been his imagination. If anything were audible over the sound of fire around them, it would be a miracle. Five more feet. Veronica was coughing hard against the smoke that was filling the hall and her face was rapidly losing color.

Sweat dripped down his face, the heat overwhelming all the rest of his senses until he wasn’t sure there was anything but fire. They were flat on their stomachs, inching down the hallway where there was still enough air to keep from passing out.

“Come on, Mars. Almost there.” He was beginning to feel light-headed himself, his throat was burning, and he was hoping against hope that opening the stairwell door wasn’t going to kill them both.

Fire roared over his head, nearly slamming the door closed when he tried to open it, and the smell of burnt hair nearly choked him. Mars was going to owe him big time for this. In fact, saving her ass probably made up for not finding her rapist. Or at least for not believing she’d been raped in the first place. Hooking one arm around her waist, he dragged her into the stairwell and forced the door shut with his feet. It wasn’t much better but he wasn’t surrounded by combustible material and that was something.

“Mars?” When she didn’t give him a smartass answer, he shook her a little and pulled her around to look at her. He could feel a pulse in her neck and she seemed to be breathing, but her eyes were closed and she was limp. “Veronica? Veronica?” No response. “Great time to be a girl, Mars.”

Blinking smoke out of eyes, he slipped his other arm under her knees and picked her up. The stairs were nearly impossible to navigate with low visibility and the extra weight. Flashing red and blue lights just beyond the parking garage were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. They meant that he’d actually walked away from a burning building, which didn’t happen every day.

Wiltshire Boulevard was chaos. The windows of the third floor had blown out, bathing the sidewalk in shattered glass, and the huge sprays of water aimed at the building managed to create a localized thunderstorm beneath them.

Lamb made it past the sidewalk, his eyes focused on the glaring white of the ambulance, before a fireman reached them. He resisted when the man tried to pull Veronica from his arms. He’d gotten her out of the building and he was damn well going to make sure Keith Mars knew who had saved his daughter.

“Sir, I need you to sit down,” the fireman shouted over the noise

“She’s unconscious, she needs medical attention,” he shouted back.

“Sir! I really need you to--”

At that point the words started to fade in and out and the fireman’s face got blurry around the edges. He swayed on his feet, struggling to stay conscious. The sound of Keith shouting his daughter’s name was no louder than a whisper amidst all the noise, but it was good enough for Lamb. He let the fireman take Veronica and promptly passed out.

***

“Does this mean I have to be nice to him?” Veronica held up the newspaper when her father came through the apartment door. There was a picture of Don Lamb front and center, with Veronica in his arms looking, as the rather obnoxious caption writer had decided, like a fallen angel. Small Town Hero was the title of the entirely too fawning piece of journalistic crap. “Here’s my favorite part...despite his own injuries, the valiant Neptune Sheriff refused to seek medical attention until Ms. Mars was attended to. Gag me. Or shoot me. You know I’m never going to hear the end of this, he’s going to be impossible.”

“Technically, he did save your life, Veronica.”

“Technicalities are highly overrated. And he wouldn’t have had to save my life if you hadn’t run off without telling me where you were going.” She scowled at him and tossed the paper away.

“I’m sorry about that, Veronica. And I’m sorry about having you arrested. Well, actually, I just asked him to bring you in for questioning but he thought the arrest would make it more believable. He does like to go the extra mile when it comes to you.”

“What? You asked Lamb to bring me in? I may never be able to forgive you for that.”

He smiled apologetically. “Once I was made, it was important that they believed that you didn’t know where I was. I asked Lamb to keep you safe until the FBI could make an arrest. They were running the show, I was merely a humble pawn.”

“The FBI hates me, don’t they?” She winced when his smile faltered ever so slightly. “You could have told me.”

“I knew the first person they’d come after to get to me was you. The less you knew, the safer you were. But I’m sorry. I should have remembered what a good detective you were.” Circling around the kitchen island, he hugged her tightly and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “And you should probably thank the good Sheriff for saving your life.”

“How about a card? Hallmark makes some great cards.”

“Veronica.”

“A fruit basket?” At the look on his face, she sighed dejectedly. “I really have to?”

“You really do. And get it over with before he gets too full of himself. Trust me, it’ll only get worse the longer you wait.”

“This is one of those life lessons, isn’t it? Right up there with putting my hand on the stove and playing on train tracks.” Realizing that she wasn’t going to get out of this no matter how she tried, she reached for her car keys. “If I ever meet Karma face to face, we’re gonna have words.”

“I’m sure you will, honey.” He nodded indulgently, calling after her just as she was closing the door. “Try to be nice!”

She planned out her speech down to the letter on her drive to the Sheriff’s station. Every word she was going to say, how she was going to say it, and how she was not going to let Lamb’s smug expression piss her off like it always did. And he would be smug. He would be the smuggest his smug face had ever been because now he had something to hold over her head. He, Don Lamb, had saved her life, had carried her from a burning building and spent two days in a hospital bed for his trouble. She wanted to not care at all but mostly she felt guilty. Guilty and foolish for sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, and for not trusting her father to know what he was doing.

“Veronica! You’re looking well!” Inga greeted her warmed.

“Thanks. Is the Sheriff in?”

“He’s in his office. Would you like me to get him?”

“I’ll just head on back if there’s no one else in there.” She was pretty sure from the beaming smile on Inga’s face that she and that everyone in the building knew why she was there. Hopefully they also knew how this was going to be as much fun as swallowing razorblades. She knocked once but didn’t wait for a response before opening the door and walking in.

“Veronica Mars.” Sure enough, Lamb had his best smug expression on and just as she’d sworn she wouldn’t let happen, it pissed her off.

She put her hand over heart and sighed dreamily. “Sheriff Lamb. My hero.”

“What? No fruit basket?”

“Damn. Here I thought you were more a Beer Of the Month kinda guy.”

He tapped his pencil on the desk, arrogant smile still firmly in place, and turned his attention back to the paperwork he was filling out. “Do me a favor, try not to get yourself taped up and left to die in the next six months. I can only take so much excitement.”

Taking a seat across the desk, she pretended to be trying to read his handwriting. “And miss out on the great photo ops?”

“I’m actually working here, Veronica.”

“I just love it when you...do your job.” She stressed the last three syllables. The memories of his fake interrogation were still perfectly clear in her mind and she intended to make him as uncomfortable as he’d made her. Just for the hell of it.

“This paperwork isn’t going to finish itself.” The pen bounced and rolled when he tossed it onto the desk. “Go waste someone else’s time.”

“No one else has time worth wasting.” Blatantly ignoring the dismissal, she examined the chipped polish on her fingernails.

“Veronica.” He nodded toward the door expectantly.

“Yes?”

“Fine.” Leaning back in his chair and resting his chin on one hand, he gave her his most patronizing expression. “What now? You’ve solved the Jimmy Hoffa case? Wait...you know who was on the grassy knoll.”

“I’m surprised you’re that culturally literate. The word on the street is that you’re shallow as a wading pool.” She shook her head and tsk-ed. “They just don’t know the real you, do they?”

“Do you actually have a reason for being here? Or did you really want to help out with all this paperwork you left behind after you screwed up the FBI taskforce?” The pompous, and a little vindictive, smile was back in full force and he popped his gum for emphasis. “You cost them six months of work on a sting operation. And I’m the one stuck cleaning up your mess. Damn right I deserved that photo op.”

He had her there. The fact that she’d stuck her nose in and now the Bad Guy was running loose was pretty much her fault. She’d probably earned her way onto an FBI watch list or two, if she hadn’t been there already.

“What? No smartass comeback?” Laughing a little under his breath, he shook his head with amusement. “All bark and no bite, that’s you, Veronica Mars.”

That was his idea of a lead-in for a lecture civic responsiblity, as if he actually knew anything about either of those words. The man surely loved to hear himself speak and if he didn't shut up soon, there was no way she was going to have the stomach for thank you. Of course, her options for shutting him up were limited and one of them involved inappropriate use of his stapler. There was another, less violent, option but it was insane and there was no way she wanted to do that. Then again, if she didn't do something, she might be stuck listening to his self-important prattle for hours.

All bark and no bite. Ha. She'd show him. Nodding absently at whatever he was rambling about, she got to her feet and moved around the side of desk, pretending to be interested in what was on the wall behind him.

“Are you even listening to me?” he asked irritably.

“Do I ever?” She made her move before he could start into another lecture, reaching out and sliding her hands behind his neck, pulling him to her as much as her to him. Lips met, gently pressing together with the barest brush of her tongue against his lower lip. She was pretty sure he’d be charging her with assaulting an officer soon enough, but it was worth the shocked look on his face when she pulled away. There was blissful and triumphant silence as she turned around to leave the office, pausing in the doorway just long enough to enjoy the fact that he was still stunned speechless.

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

Tequila Midnight, PG-13

2006-08-06T16:13:32Z

Title: Tequila Midnight
Rating: PG-13 (mild language, mild sexuality)
Summary: Because that's what Mac's all about - saving innocent boots from drowning and drinking tequila with Weevil. Well, okay, the tequila was Weevil's idea.
Spoilers: Post-Season 2, through 2x22 - Not Pictured
Pairings: Weevil/Mac
Disclaimer: All things Veronica Mars belong to Rob Thomas and everyone else who makes the show possible.
Notes: Written for the Create-a-Thon at vm_outstanding, prompt was - Weevil/Mac, Weevil's past or parents (especially how he came to live with his Grandma). Many thanks to kurukami for a much needed beta.

Veronica looked happy. More specifically, Veronica and Logan looked very happy in their bonfire-lit, tangled limbs of coupled bliss. Of course, it was their party and they could make everyone else feel bitter if they wanted to. Mac chose to look at them as little as possible, sitting on a beach chair at the fringes of the crowd milling around the fire pit. At least, she stayed in the chair until one of the guys from Veronica’s journalism class began giving her the Look that meant he was about to saunter over with beer in hand and hit on her.

The moment he started in her direction, she grabbed up the blanket over her legs and bolted from her chair, making a few desperate zigzags through the crowd in an attempt to lose him. With her natural predator confused about the direction of his prey, she pretended to be interested in whatever was tossed up by the rolling surf. Her intent was to get far enough away that she wasn’t going to smell like campfire smoke when she returned, then spread the blanket out and stare at the ocean. Once she was there, she realized it wasn’t far enough.

Not far enough away for the laughter to fade and stop reminding her of her single status. Reminders always brought up memories of Cassidy and those were unwelcome visitors. Who wanted to be remembered as the girlfriend of a murderer?

Sandals dangling loosely from her hand, she watched the water swirl over her feet and catch bits of moonlight as it curved and crested. It was cold but not unpleasantly so; a welcome contrast from the heat of the bonfire and crowd of people. But it was the blissful near-silence of no one trying to drag her kicking and screaming back onto the proverbial horse that made her solitary walk exactly what she needed.

She stopped once to look back and wish she’d remembered to retrieve her iPod from her car. Long walks on the beach were always better with sad, depressing music as a soundtrack; guitar rifts to augment the gleaming waves and melancholy piano solos to remind her that there would be only one set of footprints if she looked back.

An oddly shaped rock caught her attention several feet from the edge of the surf. Leaving the waves behind to get a better look, she discovered that the rock was actually a pair of boots, folded jeans, and a t-shirt. She scanned the beach for any sign of another solitary wanderer, but saw only sand and sea grass. Whoever it was had obviously forgotten that the tide was going to change and soon they’d be out a perfectly good pair of boots.

Feeling foolish, she gathered up the pile of clothes and boots and headed up the beach far enough to be safe. She planned to leave the clothes there and hope their missing human returned before the water crept high enough to reach them. When there was still no sign of anyone else as far as she could see, she set them gently on the sand and laid her blanket out to wait. It wasn’t like she actually had anything better to do than walk up and down the beach saving clothing in distress. Her mother called it 'being antisocial'.

Time passed; the wind picked up and chilled the air enough that she had to pull the blanket up around her arms to keep from shivering. Maybe they’d forgotten their clothes. Maybe they’d drowned and their body was going to wash up down shore. That thought made her stomach queasy so she pushed it away. They’d probably just forgotten them and gone home in their swimsuit.

Just as she was about to give up and leave the clothing to the mercy of the Pacific, she saw a strange light flickering in the water. It bobbed and danced back and forth as it neared the shore, then suddenly disappeared once it was almost near enough for her to see what it was. A distinctly human shape rose up out of the water and started toward her.

She was still trying to come up with a good way to say ‘hello, I moved your clothes’ when the heavy, underwater flashlight hit the sand a few feet away and she found herself staring up at a very nearly naked Eli Navarro.

“What’re you doing here?” he demanded.

“I…the tide…I didn’t want your clothes to get wet.” Her cheeks started burning and she kicked herself for sounding like an idiot.

“And you just happened to be on Dog Beach in the middle of the night.” He didn’t sound like he believed her.

She looked away when he reached for his jeans. “There’s a...I was sick of the party so I took a walk.” It sounded like a lame excuse even for someone lame like her. Who else would voluntarily give up an invitation to the kind of party that she’d been forbidden from attending most of her life? Doors opened for Logan and Veronica, she just followed along in their wake and pretended it was only a door.

“Not enjoying the company of the rich and famous, huh? Get tired of pretending to be one of ‘em?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she snapped, refusing to look at him when he dropped down onto the sand.

“You and Veronica, running back to your rich boyfriends soon as they’ll have you.”

“My rich boyfriend jumped off the roof of the Neptune Grand. So I guess that makes him a rich ex-boyfriend, doesn’t it?” The steel in her voice surprised her; she hadn’t known it was there and hadn’t heard it before.

She could tell that he was staring at her, but his face was unreadable in the darkness. “Hijo de puta…he what?”

“You didn’t know?” Now she was the skeptical one. “He killed all those kids on the bus and when Veronica found out…he left me in the hotel room; took my clothes, my cell phone. And, like an idiot, I’m sitting there wondering what I did wrong while he’s…” The words stuck in her throat like bits of glass she was still trying to swallow. “I thought everyone knew.”

“Been out of the loop,” he explained vaguely.

She knew he’d been in jail but it seemed kinder to leave it at vague. “When did you?”

“Wednesday.”

“Oh.” She relented, letting the indignant anger fade back into comfortably numb. No one could be expected to catch up with nine months of Neptune gossip in only two days; the psychotic kid who crashed the bus was old news by now. “Decided to celebrate with a little night swimming?”

He nodded toward the flashlight. “Looking for something.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier in the daylight?”

“Too many people.”

“Don’t want to share the treasure?” she joked lightly.

Picking up his t-shirt and boots, he got back to his feet. “You’d better get back to your party, chica.”

“I doubt anyone’s even noticed I’m gone. Besides, if I go back, this guy named Zane will hit on me and I can’t stand the way he laughs. It’s like a donkey on helium.” She shook her head and pulled the blanket tighter around her arms.

He hesitated for a moment before picking up the flashlight and starting up the beach. Assuming he’d kept walking, she was startled to hear his voice behind her. “I was gonna build a fire further up. If you’re cold. It ain’t what you’d get with the 09ers, but I don’t sound like a jackass when I laugh. At least, not that anyone’s told me.”

The smile, despite being small, was impossible to suppress. And she was beginning to shiver even with the blanket. She shook off as much sand as possible as she got to her feet and followed him up the beach. Further in, the sand was still warm under her feet and rows of bunched sea grass served as sporadic barriers against the wind off the ocean. There was a box of wood sitting beside a designated fire pit and a broken picnic table that was missing one bench was lying on its side, obviously having seen better days.

Eli dropped his flashlight beside a dark duffle bag that would have been impossible to see if she hadn’t been looking right at it. After a minute of looking around, he took one end of the picnic table and pulled it into the path of the gale coming off the ocean. “It’ll keep you out of the wind.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She huddled down against the bare wood, grateful that she wouldn’t have to push her hair out of her eyes every three seconds. It was almost warm enough to ditch the blanket when she didn’t have the wind trying to freeze her solid. No brilliant ideas for witty conversation were coming to her so she stayed quiet as he built the fire up from a tiny flame to a small blaze. She scooted closer to get more of the radiating warmth.

“Don’t have any marshmallows. Just,” he paused as he searched through the duffle, producing a bottle with a label she couldn’t read. “Tequila.”

“I’m not…” she trailed off when he raised an eyebrow and she remembered that he wasn’t exactly the legal age drinking either. Of course, neither was anyone back at the party she was supposed to be enjoying. “Does it really have a worm in it?”

His head tipped back as he laughed and he didn’t answer her, just shook his head and, still chuckling, opened the bottle. Rather than hold it out to her, he set it in the sand halfway between them and sat back, pulling on his t-shirt as he waited for her to decide. “You wait much longer and then you’ll have to worry about the fact that I didn’t bring glasses. Wasn’t expecting company.”

Someone else’s saliva was the least of her worries. She was pretty sure it was going to taste awful and that she was going to choke when she tried to swallow it, which would be highly embarrassing.

“Let me know if you change your mind.” He scooped up the bottle and raised it to his lips, taking a long swallow. When he was finished, he put it back at the halfway point and shook his head as if to shake away what he’d just swallowed. “Might want to go easy though, if you’re not used to it.”

“What’s the point? It’s not going to magically make everything better.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Never said it would. Though you won’t actually know until you try.”

Summoning up her courage, she reached out and grabbed onto the neck of the bottle. Forcing herself not to think about it, she tipped her head back and took a mouthful. It was sheer luck that she managed to get the bottle back on the ground without tipping it over. The alcohol burned down her throat like lava; eyes watering as she choked and gagged. “You’re drinking this on purpose?”

“Hey! That’s my favorite label you’re talking about. Although it might be an acquired taste.” He winked at her as he took another swallow from the bottle.

“Oh my God. That is…I can’t believe people actually drink that.”

“Well, usually not straight.”

She pulled a face, trying to get the taste out of her mouth somehow. “Now you tell me. Not that I can think of anything that would make that taste good.”

“A good Margarita can’t be beat.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I think I’d rather eat sand.”

“Suit yourself.”

The taste and burn of the alcohol were beginning to fade into a warm, fuzzy feeling on her tongue. “So what is this? You come out here…swim and then drink tequila?”

“Sounds about right.” He took another drink and set the bottle back down where she could reach it.

“My parents would freak if I came home smelling like tequila. How do you keep your grandma from finding out?”

That had him reaching for the bottle again. “Can’t exactly ground me from the afterlife.”

She waited until he’d put it back down before speaking again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Why would you? It’s Neptune. Who cares about some old Hispanic woman?” he asked angrily. A few stalks of grass smoldered in the fire as he ripped them apart, flicking each piece into the flames. “Her last memory of me was Lamb arresting me at graduation. That’s all she wanted, all she ever asked me for, was to watch me walk across that stage. Wanted me to have something better…a better life. Better than what I got.”

Mac wasn’t prepared for the sheer volume, or the content, of his admission and could only sit there watching him stare into the fire as though it held all the answers to life’s questions; he just had to catch them before they burned away. Unable to think of a response, she reached out and picked up the bottle of tequila. The second swallow didn’t burn as badly, but still made her eyes water and the taste hadn’t improved.

“Might get the hang of this yet, chica.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s a good thing.” She grimaced and put the bottle back down. “If it makes you feel better about your life…I was switched at birth with Madison Sinclair.”

His eyebrows rose, brow furrowing. “Que?”

“Yup. I should have been Madison Sinclair. The string quartets should have been for my birthday and all those pictures of her in Europe…should’ve been of me.” There wasn’t much of the old jealous and bitterness left, now she was just wistful for what might have been and opportunities she’d never have. “Do you think I’d be a bitch like Madison? If I’d gone home with the right family.”

“No way,” he answered quickly.

“What if I’d ended up dating Dick Casablancas? God.” Disgusted by the thought, she downed another swallow of tequila to wash it away.

“Yeah. You’re better off.”

“On the other hand, I’m pretty sure Dick wouldn’t have left me in a hotel room with nothing but a shower curtain while he committed suicide.” Her voice hitched at the end, betraying the emotions still churning under the surface. “Never thought I’d be glad that we never had sex, me and Beaver. I thought…you know…he was the one or something. Guess that makes me a complete idiot.”

“We all got one of those.” He twisted away from her and reached down to pull his t-shirt up to his shoulders so she could see his back. “One of these days I’ll get her name blacked out. Just haven’t been able to do it.”

She leaned in to get a better look at the tattoo under his left shoulder; a red heart with a rose and the name Lilly tattooed in pretty letters. “Lilly Kane?”

“The one and only. Now that was a train wreck.”

“Wow. I mean…wow. Neptune’s pretty small, isn’t it?”

“Some days…feels like the whole damn thing is closing in me. Know what I mean? Like if you don’t get out, it’ll fall down on top of you and you’ll be trapped here forever.” The shirt slipped back down over tattooed skin and he moved over to lean against the fallen picnic table beside her, dragging the bottle with him.

“Yeah. If I didn’t have college, even if it’s still in Neptune, they’d probably be scraping me off of a car hood at the Neptune Grand.” She took a deep breath and waited for the perpetual guilt to turn her stomach inside out. It wasn’t something that should be joked about, that could be joked about unless she was horrible, callous person. What kind of person joked about their ex-boyfriend’s suicide? She winced when the self-loathing finally hit, curling tightly into a ball in an attempt to keep it from overwhelming her. “I’m an awful person, aren’t I?”

“Helped me pass Algebra. That’s got to count for something.” It was the first time she remembered seeing him smile.

“Two more miracles and I’ll be a saint.” She managed to return a smile and ignored his look of mock outrage as she took the bottle from his hands. Despite being prepared for it, she couldn’t keep from pulling a face at the taste. “So both our exes are dead and we’re both stuck in Neptune. We have more in common than I thought.”

“Veronica Mars always asking you for favors?”

“Like every other week.”

“Yeah, me too. Not so much while I was in prison…” he trailed off, as though unsure how to finish the sentence.

“Was it bad? I mean, like Hollywood movie bad. Or was it worse than the movies?”

“I survived.”

She watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed down more of the tequila. “Is that why you drink? To forget about prison.”

Wiping his lips against the back of his hand, he turned his head to look at her. “Maybe I just like tequila.”

“There is no way I’m going to believe that.” Eye contact was too intense for her to handle so she looked away in search of something less intimate and noticed that she was beginning to feel strange. “Is feeling kinda fuzzy normal? With drinking, I mean.”

“Perfectly.”

“Good. Cause otherwise…this would be really weird.” Her muscles had started to feel warm and loose; a strange, giddy silliness creeping into her mood. “I tried beer once. At the graduation party. Just a little bit.”

“Nasty stuff.”

“Says the guy who drinks tequila straight and likes it. Your opinion on this is totally invalid.” She waved her hand at him in an exaggerated dismissal. “Other than drinking and diving for treasure, what’re you going to do now that you’re free?”

“Just keeping my head above water’s all I want.”

“Then you probably shouldn’t go swimming.” Her face got hot when he didn’t seem to react to the joke and she hoped she hadn’t offended him. She tried to think of a safer subject of conversation, but all of them seemed to be hiding land mines.

“It’s easy for you,” he said softly. “You got a place to go home to. A family. Hell, you got two of ‘em.”

“Don’t you have family? Other than your grandma, I mean.”

“Got an uncle, couple nieces and nephews.” He took a deep breath, tipping his head back to stare up at the sky. “Never knew my father. Don’t think my mom even knew who he was. She went out for smokes one day when I was ten…never came back.”

“She just left you?”

He shrugged and took another drink. “Might be dead for all I know. Not like anyone went looking for a strung-out hooker who didn’t want a kid.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t--”

“Don’t,” he cut her off. “I know she didn’t want me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Used to think about looking for her. Even thought about asking Veronica to try a couple of times.”

“You should. You deserve to know what happened to her.” Maybe it was the alcohol, but she couldn’t help feeling sad for him. She’d been loved, if perhaps not understood, by her family; he’d grown up knowing his own mother didn’t care enough to come back for him.

“What good would it do? You better off knowing what you should have had?” In the darkness, his eyes were nearly black as he watched her.

“Haven’t figured that out yet.” Warm and comfortable from the liquor, she leaned back against the table and smiled at him. “But I’m not bitter about it anymore because hey, no Dick. And my life is pretty okay being who I am. They say money doesn’t buy happiness.”

“Buys a helluva lot though.”

“Yeah. I never really understood why people said that. It’s kinda like saying that beauty isn’t everything, as if that actually makes up for not being beautiful.” She followed that train of thought for a while, wondering about other platitudes that were tossed around without actually being useful. Like most of her thoughts, her brain inevitably veered toward the past and Cassidy, still digging up bits and pieces as it tried to make sense of what had happened. ‘Tis better to have loved and lost, those with wisdom said. She wasn’t sure if she believed them. They didn’t seem to have a subclause for the case of loving a murderer.

“Where’d you go? Get lost inside that brain of yours?” Eli asked with a grin.

“It's a big place…easy to get lost in. I was just thinking. How Cassidy was this great big deal, like the whole world revolved around him. Even now, it’s like everything keeps coming back to him. Only not in a good way anymore.” There was a fleeting thought that her openness was tequila-induced but she brushed it away. “I know, in my head, that I didn’t do anything wrong. That it was because of what happened to him. It had nothing to do with me. But it still feels personal, you know?”

“Course it does. And he wasn’t exactly telling you the truth, ‘less he mentioned killing people being one of his hobbies.”

“I feel like I’m just being stupid.” She searched his face for sincerity but her concern was only mildly abated when she found it. “All I can remember is how it felt to see that he’d taken everything, even the sheets off the bed. Like he wanted to erase any trace that I’d been there. It felt like everything was just a cruel joke.”

“Sounds to me like you got away with your life.”

The thought that she might have been next, somehow being proof of what was wrong inside of him, had occurred to her. It made her feel frozen inside. He held the bottle up but she shook her head. “I’m good, thanks.”

There was something about the way he drank that caught her attention, eyes closed and lips around the rim of the bottle, and made her wonder what he was trying to forget. She saw what she thought was a shiver when he set the bottle down and immediately untangled herself from the blanket, handing over half of it. For a moment she thought he’d refuse but he slid closer and pulled the blanket over his legs. The heat from his body against her side compounded the fuzziness in her head.

“You probably shouldn’t be this close to me,” he said tersely, not looking at her.

“Because you’re a felon?” She giggled when he gave her a dark look. “Did you forget the part about all the people my one and only boyfriend killed? You’re practically a knight in shining armor compared to him.”

His expression was halfway between a smile and a scowl; the smile finally won out. “I’m sure the rest of Neptune will see it that way.”

“Screw the rest of Neptune. And hand me the bottle.” She matched his raised eyebrows and managed to get a swallow down without pulling a face or choking on the burn. “Yeah. That’ll clear the sinuses. And it still tastes like crap, by the way.”

“Be glad I didn’t bring vodka.”

“Is that worse?”

“Ever tried hairspray?” He spun the cap back onto the bottle and set it down in the sand.

“Only on accident.” The alcohol had worked its wonder and she felt completely relaxed as she leaned back against the wooden top of the picnic table to gaze up at the stars. “Where do you think you’ll be in ten years?”

“Hope I’m not still here in this goddamn hell.”

“I always thought I knew what I wanted, but…college is huge. And there’s so much. I didn’t realize how many options there were. There’s a girl in one of my classes who’s getting a degree in Latin. Latin! It’s a dead language!” Her smile faded a little when she saw that he was staring blankly at the fire. “And I’m being a total bitch, aren’t I? I’m sorry, Weevil. I didn’t mean to go on like that.”

“It’s cool. Least you ain’t stuck here.”

On a whim that was partly due to the inability to hold her head up straight, she leaned over and pressed a quick kiss against his cheek. “Thanks.”

He looked startled but didn’t pull away. “What for?”

“For not agreeing that I was being a total bitch.”

Warm and cozy under the blanket, it felt perfectly natural when he turned his head toward her and leaned in enough to press their foreheads together. When she opened her eyes, seeing skin and eyelashes, she noticed the small tattoos at the corners of his eyes and a little voice in her head whispered that she should put a few more inches between them. Very subtly, he tipped his head to the side, warm breath against her face and his lips close enough to hers that she could almost feel them.

“Weevil?” she asked in a whisper. “Are you going to kiss me?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Would you still want to if you were sober? I’m not exactly your type.” She cringed in anticipation of a negative answer. There was no blonde hair, no voluptuous curves, and she certainly didn’t have Lilly Kane’s sexual experience.

“Would you? I ain’t exactly your preferred zipcode.”

The alcohol muted the sting of his thinly veiled contempt. She figured that only Eli Navarro could take vulnerability and put a barbed wire edge around it. Her best guess answer was lame and she knew it even before the words left her lips. “I don’t care if you don’t.”

His hand brushed over her neck, curving around the back of her head, fingers digging into the base of her sloppy ponytail. It was an anchor against the spinning in her head. He wasn’t soft and fumbling the way Cassidy had been. She expected to taste tequila on his lips, his breath, and his tongue as it slid into her mouth, but there was only the barest hint of it. His scalp was rough with a day’s worth of stubble under her fingers when she timidly reached out to hold onto him.

The contact seemed to encourage him. His kisses grew bolder and more demanding; her ponytail coming completely undone as his fingers dragged through her hair. He leaned into her, pressing her back against the table and kissing her until she was having trouble catching her breath.

He broke contact suddenly, pulling away barely enough to fit a piece of paper between them. “Should ask...is Mac your real name?”

A laugh bubbled up in her throat, coming out as a girlish giggle once it got through the lack of air. “It’s Cindy. Cindy Mackensie. Mac is good though. My family’s been calling me Mac since I was four.”

“Mac it is then.”

Anything further she might have wanted to add disappeared against his lips. She shifted to wrap her arms around him, holding on tightly to anything she could get a grip on. The soft fabric of his t-shirt bunched in her fists, sliding up to his shoulder blades as she fell. At least, she felt like she was falling and all the stars were suddenly in the wrong place when she opened her eyes. And she could breathe.

The latter became immediately important when she felt his hand slip under the hem of her t-shirt and skim over her ribs. His other hand was still buried in her hair, keeping her head from sinking into the sand. Lips and tongue moved down her neck; she knew her heart was pounding loud enough for him to hear it. She couldn’t answer the question of how she’d ended up flat on her back, not that it mattered.

She jumped when his lips touched bare skin just below her ribs. “Wait...wait. Eli.” Hopefully he couldn’t see how red her face was in the soft light. He eased down onto the sand beside her, fitting against her like a puzzle piece, and watched her through lowered lashes. His hand stayed curved over her side, thumb trailing lightly just below her bra. “This is...I wasn’t...” her thoughts were derailed by his lips against her collarbone. “You’re being very distracting.”

He nuzzled her ear softly, his breath sending shivers down her spine. “That’s the point.”

“What if we hate ourselves in the morning?”

“We’ll get over it.” He kissed her again, pulling away only when she needed to come up for air.

“You realize this is completely crazy and irresponsible and...and...” She gave up at that point because his thigh was between her legs and he was sucking gently on the skin at the base of her throat. Rough fingers slid up and curled over the edge of her bra, brushing back and forth over the sensitized skin in an easy rhythm.

She wanted to believe the tequila had nothing to do with it, even with the taste of it on her lips. In one carefully smooth motion, he nudged her legs further apart and eased himself down between them. His full weight combined with the feel of his t-shirt against her bare stomach made what she was doing suddenly and intensely real. “Weevil?”

“Mmm?”

“Promise you won’t take my clothes,” she whispered, cringing at her own vulnerability.

His enigmatic smile was barely visible in the dying firelight. “How ‘bout I promise to put them back where I found them.”

Force of Gravity, Ch. 4

2006-07-25T21:08:39Z

Title: The Force of Gravity
Rating: R (language and sexual content)
Summary: It's a darker Neptune, a darker Eli Navarro, and Veronica's pretty sure that she's gotten darker too.
Spoilers: Up to Not Pictured.
Disclaimer: All characters, plots, etc. belong to Rob Thomas and the lovely people who make Veronica Mars possible.

The lifeguard looks surprised when Veronica climbs out of the pool earlier than usual. She smiles and waves on the way out, mentally counting down the small window of time that her father won’t question. But she has questions that need answers, even if asking them is a bad idea. Eli has an alibi, Eli’s alibi is unbreakable. Lamb nearly had an aneurysm; Logan Echolls is still broken and no one is going to be held responsible. Nearly a week later, she’s still trying to figure out which one of them to believe.

She sees the motorcycle stopped at an intersection and knows it’s Weevil when the black helmet turns toward her and nods once. The visor’s opaque, revealing none of the face inside, but she still knows. He turns right, tires squealing and bike roaring as he starts down the road. She follows.

By the time she parks and switches off her headlights, she’s pretty sure this was a very bad idea. The abandoned dock warehouse isn’t exactly a popular make out spot; it’s a good place for bloody secrets to creep around, staying forever in the shadows. She reaches for her taser and nearly jumps out of her skin when someone knocks on her window. Breathing hard, she rolls it down and glares up at Weevil. “Thanks. I didn’t really need that extra five years of my life.”

There’s no small talk; he’s all business. “Pull into that grove of trees up ahead. Out of sight.”

“Is there something wrong with this dark and scary parking space?”

“Just do it, V.” He’s already turning away and climbing back onto his bike, leading the way into the darkness.

“I’ve lost my mind,” she mutters as she closes her window and puts the car back in drive. The little voice in her head is whispering that this is not the Weevil she knew, not the Weevil who took his niece Ophelia to the Winter Carnival. This is the Weevil who breaks bones and sends people to the hospital. She makes sure the taser is in her bag after parking the car.

He’s barely an outline and without the subtle gleam of chrome under moonlight, she wouldn’t have guessed there was another soul around. The car door closes but stays unlocked behind her just in case; she shivers a little against the wind and takes a few cautious steps toward him. He’s still just Weevil.

“I hear you picked up some new moves,” she says casually. There’s movement in the shadows but she’s relying on senses other than sight now, unable to make out anything more than the rustle of leather. She’s startled when she feels him brush against her arm.

“You weren’t skittish the other night,” he murmurs in her ear, standing behind her. There’s no mistaking his intentions. His voice is velvet seduction sliding over her skin and she wonders how she missed that before. Correction, how she managed to ignore it before.

“That was…different.” She stiffens at his touch because her ex-boyfriend is lying in a hospital bed and those hands put him there.

He’s pulling her with him, fingers hooked over the waist of her jeans. Leaning back against her car, he twists her around and tugs her into the vee between his legs. She reaches out to keep distance between them, her hands gripping his arms tightly. Fingers tangle in her hair and he’s rough when he jerks her head back, hot breath against her cheek as he forces her close enough to whisper. “Don’t make me work for it.”

“Weevil.” Her throat feels like sandpaper. She can’t see anything but darkness around her and in him. If she says no, she can’t be sure he won’t ignore her and visions of the bruises on Logan’s face rise up in her mind. He’s stronger than she is, she can feel the hardened muscles in his arms. Also part of the new Weevil.

She lets go slowly. He doesn’t relax his grip on her hair and her neck is aching from the unnatural angle. Even more slowly, she eases down onto her knees. She can almost see his face, looking down at her, and now both of his hands are in her hair. Cautiously, she reaches up to brush her fingers over the fly of his jeans, stopping at the button. She can pull the zipper down with one hand while the other slides down his leg toward her bag.

His voice is even and almost amused. “You even try to use that thing on me and I’ll break more than your jaw.” It’s equal parts admission of guilt and terrifying threat, with an extra helping of knowing exactly what she was reaching for.

A cry of pain escapes her lips when he drags her back to her feet using his grip on her hair and spins her around to pin her against the car; her clenched fists tight and useless against her chest. Her bag is stripped away and tossed into the shadows. Tears well up in her eyes; she frantically tries to figure out what time it is and whether or not her father will start looking for her soon.

Her voice shakes, the words barely a whimper against him. “Please, don’t.”

“I didn’t bring you here to rape you.” The intensity of the anger in his voice hits her like the blow she’s expecting.

She tries to go completely still, tries not to make any movement that he might consider an attack. His answer, while it’s a relief that he doesn’t intend to rape her, implies that there’s method behind his madness. That his insistence on where she parked her car wasn’t a matter of preference; that he’d known she’d come looking for him. She sees that he’s watching her carefully. Just watching. She can’t read the expression on his face and suddenly, she has to know. “What happened to you, Eli?”

The question must surprise him because it surprises her. All of her skills of observation can only give her the after, the symptoms and the consequences. She can’t even begin to guess at what was eating away at his soul from the inside.

“Don’t, V. Just don’t…it doesn’t mean a goddamn thing.” He sounds tired, he sounds wounded. He sounds broken into battered pieces that will rip her apart if she tries to put him back together. Suddenly the death grip on her hair feels more like a desperate attempt to keep from drowning.

She opens her hands, palms down on his chest and tilts her head enough to press her lips against his. The kiss is gentle, almost chaste, and he doesn’t respond. Every muscle in his body must be tense and coiled; she can feel it in the solidity of him. He shivers almost imperceptibly when she kisses him again. He leans in this time, ever so slightly, and the pressure pushing her against the car relaxes enough for her to move her arms. They’re kissing slow and gentle, more like two teenagers trying to figure out how than two people who’ve already passed Go.

But she can’t shake the fact that the hands that are messing her hair up beyond repair are the same hands that broke Logan’s jaw. She wonders if he’s leaving blood streaked and dripping across her skin. It’s poetic in its imagery. They’re both responsible for what happened; the guilt between them as hot and slick as sweat. He’s MacBeth and she’s his Lady. She doesn’t know if the taste of blood on his lips is real or imaginary, but it turns her stomach and she pulls away.

Strong fingers leave her hair to pull her back. He’s kissing her hard now and his hand is clamped down as much on her neck as her jaw. Momentary gentleness is gone and he’s all razorblade edges again, slicing into her as she tries to hold on to him. The kiss breaks; his hand stays curved around her neck. His breath is warm and his lips are soft against her cheek, but his voice is jagged as a saw blade.

“You wanna say no…now’s the time.”

It’s a warning that she’s grateful for because she’s so far over her head that she can’t even see the surface. They’ve always jostled for control, always playing a game that seemed to change on a daily basis. He’d outsmart, out innuendo, and out maneuver her one week; she’d make she sure that come the next, he knew where he stood. But that was the old Weevil. She has a feeling this version doesn’t follow the same rules.

“I can’t,” she whispers, part of her wishing perversely that she hadn’t gone to the hospital. “What you did to Logan--”

He laughs bitterly but doesn’t let go, his thumb making arcing strokes along the length of her neck. “You think that was about you? Don’t flatter yourself, chica.”

What exactly he means is beyond her and she’s afraid to ask. She’s afraid to know. Her palm is against his jaw and she can feel the muscles work, a symptom of a raging internal war. Other than that and the lazy half circles he’s tracing down her neck, he’s completely still. Just staying still, locked together in what is more struggle than embrace, is overwhelming and she can’t force her mind to explain how she got here.

Everything about them is wrong. Dark alleys, abandoned warehouses; two people who just happened to collide on their way to elsewhere and, desperate to escape whatever was snapping at their heels, tumbled into the darkness together. She wonders if prison is still too fresh in his memory, if that’s the why behind the restless violence she can see and feel inside him. Some animals were never meant to be caged; she’s pretty sure he’s one of them.

If she doesn’t let go of him now, if she doesn’t get back into her car and drive home to light and safety, the darkness will seep into her as well and turn her black. She has to choose between letting go and watching him drown or holding on and drowning with him. The decision is easier than she expects it to be.

His skin is warm. She knows there are lines of ink beneath her fingers and wishes she knew where each of them began and ended, makes a silent promise to learn each and every one of them so she can trace them even in complete darkness. Her lips find his again, more insistent this time, and she’s soaking up his darkness with each caress of her tongue.

He doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t know what she’d tell him if he did. The truth is, she’s tired of swimming.

Force of Gravity, Ch. 3

2006-07-25T21:04:30Z

Title: The Force of Gravity
Rating: R (language and sexual content)
Summary: It's a darker Neptune, a darker Eli Navarro, and Veronica's pretty sure that she's gotten darker too.
Spoilers: Up to Not Pictured.
Disclaimer: All characters, plots, etc. belong to Rob Thomas and the lovely people who make Veronica Mars possible.

There’s a note on the fridge from her father and Veronica’s heart nearly stops when she reads it. She stuffs it in her pocket, heading back out the door without putting away any of the groceries she brought in. They won’t go bad and they can wait for her to find out just what the hell happened.

Driving to the hospital feels like a something a girlfriend would do. She convinces herself that it’s not. Her relationship with Logan ended with harsh words, a bit of screaming, and she’s mentally placing her bets that he was admitted for alcohol poisoning. He’d already started into the Jack Daniel’s well before he told her to find the door and use it. So it’s not a girlfriend thing, it’s just a friend thing and if her father left her a note then he probably thinks she should go.

Hospitals remind her of Meg and Abel and all those kids on the bus who didn’t make it. Cold tile floors and sterile walls bring back memories of her father, battered and burned from coming to her rescue. She used to think that Fate had a sense of humor. Now she thinks Fate is a lie. There is no right foot in, no shaking it about; they were born to die and molder away, that’s what it’s all about.

Inside the hospital room looks unreal. She can see Logan through the doorway with the TV remote in his hand and an annoyed expression on his face because the show he wanted isn’t on. That’s normal. What isn’t normal is the bruise that starts at his right ear and ends at his nose, the split lip, and the cast on his arm.

She doesn’t have to ask what happened now. As the temperature in the hallway seems to drop fifteen degrees, she realizes that she has a pretty good idea of who did the damage. She’s horrified, not sure if she’s more angry with Logan for being an idiot or herself for not thinking he’d go after Weevil. Bracing for the lashing that’s sure to come, she raps the door with her knuckles and enters the room.

“Look who’s come to see the fruits of her labors.” Logan tosses the remote onto the bed and leans back against the pillows.

Forcing herself to smile, she keeps her chin up and takes a seat in the chair meant for visitors. “I can’t take credit, Logan. This was all you.”

“Right. Because I get my jaw broken by Eli Navarro every third Tuesday. Good fun.” He winces as he speaks and she notices that he’s not really opening his mouth. “Guess he picked up a few tricks in prison. That and he had this tool…thing. What are they called? A wrench or something. Hurts like a motherfucker, whatever it is.”

“What were you thinking?” The knife in her gut at seeing him like this is beginning to twist and a herd of shoulds stampede through her mind. Should have known he’d do something stupid, should have given him some other reason for breaking up. Should have gone straight home after she finished swimming.

“It seemed like the thing to do at the time.” His voice is tired. “You’re the one who had sex with him.”

“I told you--”

“I don’t care that it was just a one time thing, Veronica.” The glare is accusing and she flinches because she deserves it. “I don’t care that it was eye-opening and made you realize that you didn’t love me. Or whatever bullshit you rambled on about last night. It’s Weevil, Veronica. Weevil. God. I’m going to be eating pudding and jello for a fucking month because you had to get your freak on with that asshole.”

Her teeth bite down almost involuntarily on her lower lip, keeping her mouth shut, keeping the words inside. Nothing he says changes anything at all and there are enough painkillers in his system to make him say pretty much anything. She wants to throw the blame off of her shoulders and back onto his, but she can’t even bring herself to shrug. She can’t tell him it’s all his own stupid fault because she knows Logan and she should have seen this coming.

She should have warned him that Weevil had changed.

“Thanks for coming. Could you go now?” Logan closes his eyes, settling into the bed. No more encouragement is needed; she’s almost to the door when he speaks again. “Stay away from him, Veronica.”

It’s not the words that stop her in her tracks; it’s the genuine fear in his voice. There’s no response to that; she leaves without saying goodbye and her mind is racing as she finds her way out of the building. Logan and Weevil were no strangers to fighting; beating each other up had been nearly a weekly event in high school. Had she counted on Logan being able to hold his own? Or had she simply hoped that a high school diploma would mean he’d think before going in with fists swinging. In the cold light of the hospital, she can’t answer those questions. She can’t even remember why she’d abandoned her sanity the night before.

Groceries have been put away when she gets home. She reaches out to set her car keys on the counter but can’t convince her fingers to let go. Broken bones aren’t going to go unnoticed; this wasn’t a fight between high school kids. Why would Weevil risk another strike?

“Veronica?” Her father comes out of his bedroom, still damp around the edges from a recent shower. “Sheriff Lamb called. He wants to ask you a few questions about what happened to Logan.”

“That’s…very Lamb. Ask the one person who doesn’t know anything.” Finally forcing her hand to relinquish the keys, she busies herself with making tea.

“Did you go see Logan?”

“I did.” The water sloshes in the kettle and she knows that he’s staring at her while she pretends to peruse the available flavors.

“Honey.”

“I really don’t know anything, Dad. Except that Logan is a moron, but all of Neptune’s figured that out by now.” Fingernails tap nervously against her mug until she realizes that it makes her look like a liar; she forces her hands to be still.

“Did you two break up?”

“Last night. He was drinking when I left.”

“Any idea what he and Eli Navarro would have that needs settling with violence?” His voice is too soft and too concerned for him to know the truth.

“They never needed a reason to beat each other up in high school. Is that supposed to change?” Boiling water gives her a few more moments of not having to turn around and face him. She pours it into the mug and heads for the sofa without looking at her father.

“This is serious, Veronica.”

“Dad, I get that it’s serious; I’ve seen him. But what part of this involves me?” That’s a valid question and doesn’t require lying; she has no idea why Lamb wants to talk to her. “Lamb must be ecstatic that he can go after Weevil again. Does he want me to jump out of cake or something? Cause I’m really not into that kind of thing.”

He sits down in the chair across from her, leaning forward in that fatherly way that always has her bracing for a lecture. “Eli has an alibi.”

That, she didn’t see coming. She’s not even sure anyone could have thrown her a bigger curve. “Then someone’s very confused and they’re not the only one.”

“Can you think of anyone else who has something against Logan? Enemies? Have you seen anyone unusual lately? Had Logan been acting strangely?”

She stares at him because she can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You want to know if I broke up with Logan because he was doing drugs and if Liam Fitzpatrick put him in the hospital. You think Logan said it was Weevil because he’s afraid to tell the truth. That’s it, right? That’s what I’m supposed to be reading between your lines.”

It’s his turn to stare at her. He smiles with a little too much pride as he leans back in the chair, visibly relaxing. “How far off am I?”

“Dad.” The lie is right there on the tip of her tongue and it tastes like ashes in her mouth. “If Logan’s doing drugs, I never knew anything about it. That’s not why we broke up. I don’t know what to tell you. If Logan said it was Weevil but Weevil has an alibi…someone’s not telling the truth. And with those two? It’s fifty-fifty on which one’s lying.”

“And you can’t think of a reason in particular why those two would be fighting? Unless there’s motive, the alibi will hold up.”

“Other than breathing the same air?” She hopes he doesn’t notice that she looks away from him, pretending to be watching the mug as she lifts it to her lips.

“Lamb’s still going to want to talk to you.”

“Of course. He wouldn’t miss a chance to ruin my day. What happens if he can’t break Weevil’s alibi?”

“Knowing Lamb, he’ll either let it drop or arrest Eli anyway, go for a lesser charge. Would you mind if I did a little poking around myself?”

“Not at all.” She smiles because if she doesn’t, it’ll look like she has something to hide. “Sorry I can’t give you more information. The last I saw Logan, when he wasn’t beat up, was when I broke up with him. Anything he did between then and now is a mystery to me.”

“Why did you break up with him? If you don’t mind my asking.” That was a private investigator question rather than a father question and she knows his mind was already puzzling over the minute details.

It wouldn’t be the first time he chose the job over her and she’s a little surprised to realize that she’s still bitter about that. Up until the disastrous trip to New York that hadn’t happened, she’d always been safe in the knowledge that she came first.

“We were fighting more and more about school, and it’s not like I can just throw over studying whenever he wants me to. I got tired of trying to appease him all the time.” It’s roughly the truth. The sane, logical, mature truth that had little to do with reality. But it looked good on paper and she can tell that it’s a reason he understands and respects. He pats her knee and smiles; his way of telling her that she made the right decision.

She wonders when he flips on the television if he wants his theory to be true so he can go after Liam Fitzpatrick or if he wants it to be true because he knows something she doesn’t. The odds are even between the two possibilities. She doesn’t ask because she’s still too worried about giving herself away. And the question that’s burning a hole in her brain isn’t one her father can answer.

Force of Gravity, Ch. 2

2006-07-25T21:02:41Z

Title: The Force of Gravity
Rating: R (language and sexual content)
Summary: It's a darker Neptune, a darker Eli Navarro, and Veronica's pretty sure that she's gotten darker too.
Spoilers: Up to Not Pictured.
Disclaimer: All characters, plots, etc. belong to Rob Thomas and the lovely people who make Veronica Mars possible.

It doesn’t take long for Logan Echolls to appear. He’s a whirlwind of squealing tires in that bumblebee SUV of his and Eli thinks that if any brakes in the world deserve overtime pay and a long vacation, those do. Barbed curses spew from Echolls’ mouth even before the door opens enough for them to be heard above the music blasting from the portable stereo. He waits, leaning against the table with the tool chest, as Logan storms into the garage bay spoiling for a fight.

“What the fuck is this? You planning on nailing all of my girlfriends? Is that what it takes to get you off?” Logan’s face is flushed and his eyes are a little too puffy to have not been crying. The odor of whiskey hangs off his clothes and on his breath.

“Might help if you tell me which one you’re talking about,” he says without flinching.

“Veronica.” He chokes on her name and the tears almost come back. “Is it true?”

Eli shakes his head slowly and examines the grease under his fingernails. “Should know better than to trust Veronica Mars, man. You tellin’ me she’s been nothing but honest with you? How about that time she thought you killed Lilly?”

“For all of five seconds.” Logan’s voice is hoarse and frayed, like a rope about to snap.

“Long enough for her to whisper it in my ear.” He lets that sink in just long enough. “Why’d you think I was after you, huh? That night on the bridge. Think I just happened to ride by with my boys? There ain’t no coincidences in Neptune, you know that.”

“She wouldn’t...” The protest is feeble.

“Wouldn’t what? Know that she had no evidence on you...know that you were the son of a rich, white movie star? You would’ve walked just like you did for Felix.”

“I didn’t kill Felix.”

“And you didn’t kill Lilly either.” He shrugs and forces himself to stop picking at the grease on his skin. “But she didn’t know that, did she?”

Logan’s floundering for solid ground and it shows on his face. Never did have much skill at poker, with or without the chips. “I don’t believe you.”

“Ask yourself one question, did you really think she could be with you? Knowing what your dad was, knowing you’re just like him.” Even with his voice lowered, the words echo like gunshots in the quiet garage. Picking up a dirty rag, he rubs at some of the stains and looks up at Logan with a bitter smile. “So yeah. It’s true. She came to me, like she always does when she needs it done right, and I fucked her in some filthy alley off Ocean. You must really suck, cause she practically begged for it.”

He’s surprised he got that far before Logan throws the first punch. It stings, cuts his lip on his teeth, and rattles his brains around a fair bit. Wiping the blood away with his thumb, he simply smiles and waits for the next shot.

“Guess prison was good for you. You used to have a glass jaw,” Logan sneers. Always a talker, that one.

The second punch connects just as hard; he savors the shooting pain of what will be a black eye in the morning. He refuses to agree with Logan, refuses to say aloud that prison was good for him. That it stripped away the tattered shreds of any hope, any optimism, any blind faith in the goodness or justice of mankind that he might have had going in. He went into prison as Weevil but he came out as Eli Navarro, and he’s a whole new animal.

“What is this?” Logan asks when he still hasn’t tried to hit back.

“Just lettin’ you warm up. You gonna start putting some weight behind those or do I need to pretend they hurt?”

Logan pulls back for another punch that Eli can see a mile away. He ducks back out of the way easily, grabs the handle of the torque wrench he deliberately left sitting on the edge of the table, and whips the business end of the wrench across Logan’s face. There’s shock and pain staring out at him but he just smiles again, tasting his own blood in his mouth. Logan’s looking around for a weapon of some kind. Eli beats him to it and slams the wrench down onto his forearm. Now he sees what he wants to see. Fear; enough of it that it cuts through the rage and the pain and seeps into his consciousness that this was a profoundly bad idea.

“Maybe you’re right,” he tells Logan casually, enjoying the sight of him cradling the arm that’s probably broken. “See, I learned a few things in prison. Might want to keep that in mind.”

“You son of a bitch.” Wincing visibly at the pain in his arm, he takes a step back to get out of range of the wrench.

“I’m the son of a bitch? I wasn’t the one who tossed a sick old lady out on the street, was I?”

“What are you...” The question dies as understanding dawns. “That wasn’t--”

Eli doesn’t let him finish. “I’ll fuck your girlfriend if I damn well feel like it. Hell, you’ll bend over and grab your ankles if I tell you to. Do we understand each other?” His grip tightens on the wrench just in case the idiot doesn’t, but he simply glares and limps back to the glaring yellow atrocity. Eli’s sick and tired of 09er bullshit and now he knows it doesn’t end after high school does. It never ends. He’ll always be the dark gunk underneath the shoes of people like Echolls.

Alone again, he runs the wrench under the tap and then pours bleach over it. The shop lights are more than enough to scan the floor and equipment for stray drops of blood. Even if they find blood on the floor or any of the tools, odds are it’ll belong to one of the mechanics rather than Echolls’. They’re welcome to look. He learned a thing or two in prison.

He rolls back under the car and gathers up the tools he used. The whole engine needs to be broken down and built back up; that’s what Angel’s paying him for now that he’s a felon and has no choice but to bite his tongue and join the family business. Everywhere he goes, that criminal record will follow and even though he knows it was worth it, it tastes sour in his mouth.

The timecard he clocks out with isn’t his. But he’d pay that much to see Echolls get beat up any day and Vargas is an asshole who thinks a woman needs to be kept in her place with a fist. There’s no motorcycle waiting for him in the parking lot; he walks the eight blocks to where he left it outside a house still full of lights and voices. He’s up the back stairs, quiet as a shadow, and slips inside. The party’s downstairs but his alibi is asleep in her bed.

Stripping down to skin, he eases into the bed gently enough that she stirs but doesn’t wake immediately. Another few moments, he waits and rolls onto his side, pretending to sleep.

“Did you go somewhere, baby?” Marla asks sleepily.

Making a show of yawning, he rolls over and snakes his arm around her waist. “Why would I leave when everything I want is right here?” That’s all he has to say to make her smile and she’s wide-eyed with trust in him. When the cops come knocking, and he knows they will, she’ll swear on a Bible that he was with her all night.

She snuggles up against him, stroking his arm and making those little sighs that make him want to break things. He doesn’t, of course, because she serves a purpose and he’s not done with her yet. Marla is all coy smiles and flirting; she makes sure he notices her breasts whenever he sees her. He tells her what she wants to hear more often than not, whispering it against her skin without meaning a single word. There are nights that he wants to, but once they’re spent and he’s free to roll away without hurting her feelings, he’s just as empty as he was before.

What she doesn’t do is ask him to press her up against a wall and do whatever he wants to her. She doesn’t say harder because Marla is all about sweet and slow. It’s hard not to be impatient with her constant sweetness and he’s beginning to wonder if he was wrong.

Marla was soft and gentle and he thought that’s what he needed to make him feel human again, but when he closes his eyes, he doesn’t see her. There’s a too skinny blonde whose skin tastes like betrayal stuck in his head. It’s her voice he hears; her flashing, angry eyes that he sees. She’s sharp angles and porcupine quills. Veronica Mars is a lot of things but soft will never be one of them. He’s beginning to crave someone with teeth and claws, someone who’ll cut into him until he feels alive.

He wishes he didn’t want her, wishes that he could bury the memories of her beneath sex or alcohol. Wishes that he’d done the smart thing and left her standing in that alley. Left without knowing the feel of her body against his because now it’s all he can think about. All the soft caresses and sweet Marlas in the world weren’t ever going to get under his skin the way Veronica does.

While he may not always do the smart thing, he’s not stupid either. He knows Veronica isn’t his for the taking. The alley was about leverage, about making sure she had the firepower she needed. Even knowing that it wasn’t him she wanted, just anyone but Echolls, he’d been angry and reckless enough to take the offer. He did it because he wanted to be the one holding the knife in Logan’s back. It was just a bonus that for one brief, desperate moment pressed against her, he felt alive.

It turns out that revenge is still bittersweet.

The Force of Gravity

2006-07-09T04:54:19Z

Fic Challenge - Pool (R) for mars_navarro
Title: The Force of Gravity
Rating: R (language and sexual content)
Summary: It's a darker Neptune, a darker Eli Navarro, and Veronica's pretty sure that she's gotten darker too.
Spoilers: Up to Not Pictured.
Wordcount: 3,423
Disclaimer: All characters, plots, etc. belong to Rob Thomas and the lovely people who make Veronica Mars possible.

Veronica discovers that one of Hearst’s many swimming pools is empty late at night. There’s a lifeguard on duty but he or she is usually trying to read at the same time and they learn soon enough that she’s a strong swimmer. No one else comes to this pool; it’s old and shallow, the tiles are chipped, and it’s in the furthest corner of the Physical Education building. She hears that they planning on tearing it down to make room for an indoor soccer field, but that just makes her swim harder.

Water is omnipresent in Neptune. There’s a pool in nearly every backyard and the population grows up with one form of water or another. She may have learned to swim before she learned to walk, but she’d have to ask her father about that one. It’s something she takes for granted now. How to kick her feet, move her arms, come up for a breath and then keep going.

She didn’t realize until college, until she found this pool, that water makes the rest of the world go away. It thunders past her ears; her heart pounds in her chest until she thinks it will break; and all that matters is getting from one end to the other. She stops to change strokes, holding onto the edge and wiping the water out of her eyes just enough to look around. Old habits die hard and she knows too well how to stay aware of her surroundings. The lifeguard is reading a book by Hawthorne; she files away the title for future reference before sliding her goggles back down and resuming her swim.

Life is clear when she’s in the water. It’s boiled down to the simplest of elements and there are none of the complications that she faces on dry land. When she’s swimming, it’s easy to forget the hurt in Logan’s voice that she can’t do anything about and the anger in his eyes because he thinks she just doesn’t want to. But scholarships have to be kept and that means her grades come before boyfriends, no matter how epic they may be.

He wonders if she’s pulling away from him deliberately. Sometimes, she wonders the same thing. Epics are long, epics are boring, and in an entire semester of Classical Literature, every single one that she suffered through ended badly. Still, he says he’s changed and she believes him. Until she stops by and smells Kendall’s perfume on the sofa pillows.

Logan blames it on Dick, saying that he reeks of her whenever he comes to see Logan and escape Casa De Killer. It’s the pot calling the kettle black, but she doesn’t remind him.

There are no tears over the death of Aaron Echolls and only a few over Cassidy Casablancas, most of which were shed by Mac. Veronica stays silent and focuses on the living, because she’s still trying to remember that her father isn’t dead. Still trying to forget the way she felt when the plane exploded and took her world with it.

She swims until all of those thoughts are too tired to keep up with her, leaving them behind to drown in her wake. Only once her mind is quiet does she reach up to the edge and pull herself out. She waves to the lifeguard on the way out, knowing they’re glad to shut off the lights and go home, but knowing isn’t enough to stop her from coming every night and swimming right up until the clock tells her to go home.

In the shower, she lathers up her hair to keep it from turning green and keeps her eyes closed tight. She makes lists in her head of everything she has to do. Assignments, papers to write, chapters to read, errands to run for her father. She tries to keep the list full enough that there isn’t time for idle hands or an idle mind.

Whether or not it’s actually over with Logan, she doesn’t know. Maybe this was their last fight, maybe not. Maybe he was telling her the truth about Dick bringing the smell of Kendall’s perfume on his clothes and his skin. And maybe he really doesn’t grieve for his father. Logan says that being alone is the best thing that ever happened to him. On his own, his own man; he can figure out what he wants from his life now and how he’s going to get it.

Veronica’s pretty sure that what Logan wants with his life isn’t even in the same hemisphere as what she wants, let alone in the same city. He talks of making movies sometimes, when he’s had a few beers, as a producer rather than an actor. He wants to know how it all comes together and all about the people listed in the credits who never see the red carpet. That means Hollywood, that means Los Angeles, and she’s pretty sure she’d rather stay in Neptune, no matter how much she wants out.

She fought it at first. Tried to keep them from tearing apart like two halves of a zipper, but tooth by tooth they slipped and she knows the end is coming, that maybe it’s already come and gone. But she’s not sure how she feels about that, if she wants to try one last time to patch them back together or if it’s come time to let go.

Running is her trademark and she can’t ignore the question that she’s doing it again. That she’s pushing him away from her so he won’t hurt her when he decides to leave. Stop loving him first, that’s the trick. It’s crazy logic that isn’t and she knows it. She just doesn’t know how to stop. Instead, she swims in the old, rundown pool at nights and spends too long shampooing her hair to avoid getting dressed again.

Even once the shampoo is long gone, she wastes time with lotions and blow-drying. Despite all of it, she still catches the smell of chlorine as she leaves the locker room and makes her way through the darkened building. It’s nearly midnight and the lights have all gone out by the time she slings her gym bag over her shoulder and fishes out her car keys. The taser is never far away and her father’s lectures ring in her head for hours afterwards. College campus, Red Zone, rapist who likes to cut off his victim’s hair; she knows each of the horror stories by heart now.

Her mind is still deliciously unoccupied as she gets into the car, locks the doors, and unpacks her camera. Midnight might be time for peace and quite for most people, but for the seedy underbelly of Neptune, the night is young and she’s due for an impromptu photo shoot.

She pretends not to notice, or mind, that her father is giving her fluff cases nowadays. Cheating husbands, unfaithful wives, those are still their bread and butter. She pretends that she doesn’t know there are other, more exciting cases she’s not supposed to know about. Nearly getting herself killed two years running apparently makes her father nervous and he’s keeping her on the sidelines for now. Part of her wishes she could thank him because she’s down two lives and hasn’t even reached her twenty-first birthday.

Neptune seems darker these days. The good die young and the guilty get acquitted. And the law, the authority, and everyone who should be control, can’t even figure out what’s going on soon enough to keep the hand basket from getting left on the expressway to Hell.

Then again, maybe she’s the one who’s gotten darker. The image in the viewfinder blurs a little but she knows it’s not the camera. Picture taken and one more marriage is going to be in shambles as soon as the prenup isn’t an issue. She leaves the camera lens resting against the car door; transfixed by the idea that one tiny piece of film is going to change this man’s life. His affair certainly didn’t make enough of a dent for him to pull his head out of the sand. Blind until forced to see. The human race has survived by putting off the inevitable and she’s no exception.

She’s putting off the final conversation with Logan. The conversation where she asks if it’s over and has to face the words and emotions that will pour from him like the Red Sea crashing back to drown her. She needs a Moses to raise his arms and keep her head above water.

Her father has been conspicuously non-committal about Logan. She knows that he remembers that summer, the broken lamp, and everything that Logan didn’t do right. As much as she tried to patch those old wounds, she knows they never really faded completely. He’s a father first and that means he’ll worry about his daughter until one or both of them are dead and probably afterward. She no longer expects him to get over it any more than she expects Logan to change his spots.

The camera is about to be disassembled and go back into its protective case when she recognizes the paint job on a motorcycle parked across the street. A motorcycle that should be at the bottom of the Pacific right now.

Curiosity wins like it always does and she does a U turn, pulling up behind the bike and leaving the safety of the car behind to get a closer look. It’s the same, she’s sure of it. Sure of the lines and the leather and every inch of its familiarity. Everything’s new and it glistens like a dirty diamond under the streetlights. She trails the tip of her finger against some of the chrome; it comes up clean and warm, which means the bike hasn’t traveled far or sat still for long.

“Admiring my paint job?” The question is familiar but the voice sounds different.

“How’d you find it?” she counters smoothly, surprised that she managed not to jump at the sound of his voice.

Eli Navarro steps out of the shadows; she tries not to wonder why he was in the darkened alley in the first place. He’s darker too. Dark and gritty and a little too noir even for Neptune. All black leather and tattoos etched into dark skin, he’s nearly a shadow himself, moving over the sidewalk and swinging his leg over the bike.

It occurs to her that she should ask how long he’s been out of prison but she doesn’t. There are words better left unsaid and he’s got that look about him that means she needs to heed that rule more than usual tonight.

“You’re out late, V,” he comments casually, ignoring her question as he straddles the bike with confident ease.

“Cheating husband across the street about to get skinned alive by the divorce lawyer.” The words don’t come out as light and funny as she’d intended and she almost wishes she could try again.

“Sheriff’s got you doing kiddie stuff again.”

“It’s not...” That’s as far as she gets because it’s true and she knows it, but she doesn’t want to talk about Aaron Echolls or Cassidy Casablancas or any of the very good reasons for the kiddie assignments. She’s just glad to be back in the business rather than left to wallow in food service.

“Right.” He looks away and his voice is devoid of emotion. The silence is about to become uncomfortable when he turns back to her. “Is it you that smells like chlorine or am I having some sorta flashback?”

“Swimming. There’s this pool,” she apologizes lamely.

“I forgot...you like ‘em with pools and SUVs. It’s all coming back to me now.” There’s an edge in his voice that’s new and now she knows he’s gotten darker and sharper around the edges.

“It’s on campus,” she tells him coldly and hopes he notices the ice in her voice.

He does. There’s wariness in his look and his hand stops, not turning the key to start the engine. “Heard you were back with Echolls.”

“Got tired of clean sheets. A girl needs variety.”

His laughter is low and bitter; he doesn’t believe her or if he does, he simply doesn’t care. “Let me guess, your boy went looking for greener pastures. Something in the Laker Girl category.”

It doesn’t surprise her that he knows about Kendall; Logan’s not exactly low profile, being Neptune’s favored topic of idle conversation. But she catches a note of derision when he says Laker Girl, like it doesn’t quite fit in his mouth without choking him and she wonders what he has against women like Kendall. The words are out before she can stop them and the bitterness is palpable. “Like you would even think twice if she spread her legs.”

His eyebrow goes up. “That a yes?”

“That’s an I don’t care who Logan fucks.” She has every intention of turning around and going back to her car. This conversation isn’t fun or entertaining and she wants it to end before he notices the cracks in her veneer.

“So you don’t know. But you’re going to assume he is because you see shit like this everyday.” He nods toward the hotel where the bastard had his tryst. “Is it all men that you hate or just the ones in Neptune?”

“Are they different once I cross the city limits? Cause if they are, I’m gone.”

“Come on, V. Apples don’t fall too far from the tree. If you wanted to make a go with Echolls, shoulda looked closer at where he came from.”

In the back of her mind, she’s pretty sure she should slap him across the face for that comment. For the insinuation that Logan and Aaron aren’t that different, that all that separates them are years and a name. The future resembles the past and Logan’s destined to follow in that murdering bastard’s footsteps. She doesn’t slap him because those very questions have kept her up at night and she’s not sure which she’s more afraid of, ending up like Lilly or ending up like Lynn.

“Have sex with me.” She doesn’t recognize her own voice and knows that she sounds completely insane.

“Que?” The shock is reflected in his eyes and he’s pulling away from her, waiting for the punch line.

“In the alley, up against the wall, whatever you want. I’ll get down on my knees, you can pull my hair and call me a bitch....anything. Just say yes.”

He shakes his head and his hand moves for the ignition again. “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

Catching his arm, she stops him from starting the engine. “Unless you got plenty of play in prison.”

“Fuck you,” he growls.

“The harder the better.” She ends it at that, her pride is already lowered far enough that it's dragging in the gutter behind her, and leaves him sitting on the bike. The alley is darker than she’d anticipated and her heart is in her throat with each step. There’s room enough for her to stand, back against the wall, where the ground isn’t completely filthy. She waits and wishes that she smoked, because there’s nothing to do with her hands except shove them into her pockets.

She almost changes her mind when the bike doesn’t start and he doesn’t drive away. But it’s too late then because she can see his shoulders outlined by the streetlight and he’s pressing her hard against the rough brick.

“Turn around,” he orders sharply.

Her body is already exhausted from her swim so she doesn’t fight him. Hands up to brace herself, brick cutting into her palms, she tries to breathe as he works the button and zipper of her jeans. It’s tawdry and dirty and she knows she’s in over her head when he tugs her jeans and panties down over her hips. He’s solid against her back, hot breath against her neck. One hand finds its way under her shirt and pulls her bra down to get to her bare breast. Teeth bite down on the flesh at the base of her neck at the same time his hand slide between her legs, feeling every inch of her.

She bites her tongue and closes her eyes as he presses her harder against the wall, simultaneously pulling back against her hips so that she’s arched toward him. His thumb is rough, flicking over her nipple mercilessly, and she can feel that she’s getting wet when his finger dips inside her. More teeth sinking into her skin; his fingers sunk completely into her as the heel of his palm grinds against her.

But this isn’t what she’d expected.

His fingers are moving easily, slick with her desperation to feel something, when he pulls his hand from her breast and braces himself against the wall. There’s no gentleness in his touch, no waiting or hesitating when he pushes into her. He’s breathing hard and nearly slamming her into the wall with each thrust. Spanish words tumble into her ear as his fingers find her clit again, making tiny circles and tipping her world on end.

“Harder,” she manages to get out before she’s pressed against the wall again.

He obliges and she can feel the brick digging deeper into her skin. It’s all that makes sense. Brick against skin and cool air hitting her stomach. His hand and his cock buried inside her don’t make any sense at all. At a basic level, she knows the mechanics of what’s happening but even the reality of that thought is lost when she realizes she’s going to come. Her breathless moan is followed by several thrusts that she can feel through her entire body and then he’s leaning against her, panting and pressing soft kisses against the back of her neck.

“Why?” he asks, barely loud enough to be a whisper.

Because he wouldn’t call her in the morning, because he wouldn’t break when she didn’t call him back, and because there was nothing epic about them. All the answers she has will take too much time. Longer than it takes him to pull his jeans back up and button them, longer than it takes her to reclaim her own clothing and reorient her bra. She’s acutely aware that he never kissed her lips, not even once, and somehow that makes it impersonal.

Even once their clothes are back in place, she keeps her words to herself. He doesn’t need to know that she wanted a clean break, a sharp line between being part of a couple and leaving it. A moment she could point to and say, that was the end. It was the deal-breaker, the single event she could use to make Logan see that they were over. Like a whore, she’d turned around and let Eli Navarro fuck her hard up against a wall in a dirty alley. There was no part of that that wouldn’t make Logan see a hundred shades of red.

He’s watching her when she turns around, not giving up on getting an answer to his question. She keeps her mouth shut and shakes her head just enough to tell him she can’t. Silently, he takes her hand and turns it over to expose her wrist. His lips are warm and soft against the sensitive skin; his thumb brushes bits of brick from her palm. “One of these days, Veronica...let me do you right. No alleys, no getting back at Echolls.”

“Weevil--”

“I want to see you on your knees.” There’s the edge again. The ferocity that didn’t used to be there and makes her heart beat just a little bit faster.

“As long as you promise to pull my hair,” she says softly and pulls her wrist away from his lips.

“Count on it, chica.” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, just the barest hint of the old Weevil showing through before he turns away.

She stays in the shadows until the sound of the bike is long gone and she’s beginning to shiver. Her car and camera are where she left them, safe and normal. When she gets home, she leaves her camera on the kitchen island to let her father know she got the money shot. Face washed and teeth brushed, she collapses into her bed and buries herself as deep under the covers as she can get. Tomorrow, she’ll have to face Logan and make sure he knows that it’s over. As she drifts off to sleep, pretending those aren't tears on her cheeks, she realizes that it will be easier now.

Spitfire

2006-06-02T05:05:27Z

Title: Spitfire
Author: Aeneas
Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
Rating: PG (minor cussing)
Summary: An unusual job leads to an equally unusual customer with an unexpected tie to the crew of Serenity.
The Challenge Was: What happens when a natural disaster separates the crew from Serenity.
Disclaimer: A crossover universe that I started a few months ago has eaten my brain. This belongs to that universe. So if it reads like you’re just seeing a sliver of a bigger picture, that’s why. Also, it’s written as one continuous POV, which is very unusual for me.

Location: Silverhold Colonies

“Don’t need to tell you folk to watch your backs. Ain’t likely we’ll find none friendly to us,” Mal barked as he clomped down the stairs, face permanently set to a glower.

Jayne’s grunt echoed the sentiment and he was none too gentle with loading the crates onto the mule. “This job ain’t been nothing but go-se from the set out. Had to keep ‘em flat, had to make sure nothin’ bumped ‘em. What in the ‘verse needs that much gorram babying--”

“Paying customer’s orders,” Zoe interrupted. “Part of the job.”

“Got a mind to be tellin’ this paying customer a thing or two.”

“That how you’re leaning then it might be that you’re staying on Serenity.” Mal gave him a weighted glare and crossed his arms. “Gettin’ good money for a few crates and I ain’t gonna do nothing to ruin the chance they might give us another job. We got precious few friends as it is; don’t need more enemies.”

Kaylee saw the brewing tempest and intervened before two short tempers could turn into one big brawl. “Aw, ease up there, Mal. Ain’t none of us had the sun on our faces in weeks. Jayne’ll play nice, won’t he?”

“Do I got a choice?” Jayne snorted.

“No,” Mal answered sharply and headed for the mule. “Everybody wanting to see what this fine establishment has to offer better gun qui.”

Zoe and Jayne followed Mal onto the Mule, with Kaylee taking the last seat. She was torn about leaving Simon for even a second but Serenity wouldn’t keep herself running and chances for picking up spare parts didn’t come around too often. River had come down to see them off and waved a little shyly as they eased down the ramp out into the crimson hued landscape.

It was a strange place even in a strange ‘verse and Kaylee found her eyes watering with the assault of red. In the back of her mind where the memories of Wash made her sad, she remembered him wanting to visit Silverhold one day. Out of the dozen planets and hundreds of moons in the ‘verse, only a few had been host to any sort of indigenous life forms not of the green and leafy variety. Greenleaf, with its plentiful plants and rivers, had been one of them. The fact that the two moons spinning round it were near barren was one of those ironies Mal seemed to find amusing in particular. Vicious, lizard-like critters rumored to spit acid had once called the jungle planet their home before the Alliance wiped them out. Scary or not, they would’ve been the closest to a dinosaur one could hope to get and since access to Greenleaf itself was Alliance controlled, Silverhold would have been close enough for Wash.

The township could barely be called anything but a handful of red brick shanties huddled together under the sun. Weren’t much that could be called life as far as Kaylee could see; even the trees, with their deep magenta leaves and gnarled limbs, seemed alien. A clapboard sign advertised the general store and saloon, everything necessary for the townsfolk shoveled into a single building. This part of Silverhold mined the iron ore that fed into the backbone of Alliance progress and they’d done well to get a few smelting and processing plants that brought jobs other than mining.

She caught sight of a few determined flowers with pink petals fluttering in the kick-up from the Mule. They seemed to be growing out of the rock itself, their cores red as the dirt around them and probably just as full of iron. She was more than a little disappointed that there didn’t look to be any place that would have much of use when it came to Serenity.

“These folk don’t seem to even have electricity, let alone anything I need,” she mused, careful to keep her voice low so she didn’t offend nobody.

“Seems that way.” Mal jumped off of the Mule and glanced around warily. “You and Jayne stay with the cargo while Zoe and I ask around for our customer.”

Jayne propped his feet up on the side of the Mule and squirmed until he found a comfortable position. “Thought you always had a meeting place set up ‘forehand. Ain’t that the smart thing?”

“Job said we could ask for directions and find our way without no hassle.”

“Right. That way we don’t get no look at the place we’re gonna die until we get there. Smart thinkin’ there, Captain.” He rolled his eyes at the dark look Zoe gave him but settled in to wait and pulled his cap down over his eyes to block out the red.

“Waiting won’t be no problem.” Kaylee smiled and folded her hands in her lap patiently. Soon as Mal and Zoe had disappeared into the store, she was careful not to disturb Jayne as she climbed out to pick one of the tiny pink flowers. It smelled of dust but she conjured it looked pretty tucked into strap of her overalls. Any place with flowers had to be worth liking. And she could stick it in the mouth of one of Wash’s dinosaur toys once she got back. Then part of him would have been to Silverhold after all.

“You found something interestin’ on this go-se moon or you just wanderin’ off to make Mal angry? Cause if it’s the latter, I ain’t gonna stop you,” Jayne drawled without lifting his cap to look at her.

“Just picking one of the pretty flowers is all.” She climbed back into the Mule and tried not to fidget in her seat. “Suppose they shoulda been back by now?”

“I ain’t movin’ until Mal says so. Or someone tries to shoot me.”

“You’re just cranky is all.”

“All this way for two bitty crates? And we gotta be here at a certain time? Gorram right I’m cranky. Plenty of jobs we passed up to take this one.”

“Job’s a job, Jayne. And this one were good and legal.” She readjusted her flower so she could see the dark red core better.

“Fact that the Alliance has an interest in this place don’t make it safe. Even if it were legal.”

Kaylee thumped his arm, growing weary of his grousing. “You see any Alliance round here? Ain’t much of nothing but red and more red and a few pretty little flowers, which you wouldn’t care for, being all cranky and such.” He shifted away from her and made a big show of arranging his cap to ensure he couldn’t see her even if he did turn her way.

She nudged him with her boot toe just to be contrary. “’Sides, you know better than to pick a fight with Mal when he and ‘Nara’s been quarreling. Course, it’s not like they do much else even now that--”

Mal and Zoe’s return cut short any further gossiping she might indulge in to pass the time. Neither of them seemed inclined to do much talking once they were back on the Mule and they were racing off across the dusty landscape. She thought about asking where they was going but Mal didn’t look none to happy about it so she kept her questions to herself and assumed he’d tell her when the time was proper. Until then, she kept her eyes looking down to keep some of the red out.

Away from the township, they found a twisting path that had obviously been worn by forces other than wind and rain. It wound about the boulder strewn plain for a good while before turning toward a jagged outcropping of rocks thrust out of the ground and streaked with red and yellow. The ground here was a swirl of yellow and white with only slashes of the vibrant red iron. At the base of the outcropping was a tiny shack that couldn’t hold more than a person at a time and was decorated with a sign that had been white once upon a time. She couldn’t make out the words until they had pulled up next to the hut and she could peer at it with squinted eyes.

“Eggrolls, five…something. There’s some sorta little symbol there.” She rubbed her eyes and read it several more times before deciding that she wasn’t hallucinating. “Does that make sense to anybody? Cause maybe it’s just me who can’t figure it out.”

“Ain’t just you, Kaylee. But it means we’re in the right spot.” Looking a tad more worrisome than she figured he ought to, Mal reached out and rapped his knuckles against the door. When no answer came, he began looking around for the surprise to jump out and start firing bullets at them.

“Seems to me I was saying somethin’ about this being a stupid idea,” Jayne muttered, drawing his gun as he stepped off the path to peer around the shanty.

Mal was a mirror image, gun in hand and scanning the terrain for an ambush. “That might be, Jayne, but I never conjure you got anything worth listening to.”

“What crawled into both your--” Kaylee was cut short by a slot opening at the bottom of the shack. A small, red dirt stained hand reached out and dropped a thick wad of folded bills onto the ground.

Mal eyed the money with suspicion. “You touch something Kaylee?”

“Leave the crates,” a voice said from inside the structure. “You’d better hurry. Fly toward the night side. If it hits you in the air, you’ll all be dead.”

“Shenme?” Crouching down to pick up the cash, he poked at the slot and tried to find a way to open it from the outside. “Mind telling me exactly what’s goin’ on here? I’m used to meeting my customers face to face.” He waited in vain for an answer. Finally giving up, he brushed dust from his clothes irritably and waved them all back to the Mule.

“Well, if that ain’t the darnedest thing.” Jayne was eying the shed distrustfully as they unloaded the crates and piled back onto the craft. “What did that shingdingbing mean about us ending up dead?”

Mal frowned, but his eyes stayed focused on the narrow path. “I would surely love to know.”

“Payment’s all here,” Zoe shouted over the noise of the Mule before tucking the folded cash into her pocket.

Kaylee grabbed onto the side to keep from being thrown overboard and wondered just who thought it’d be a shiny idea to let Mal behind the controls. This certainly was shaping up to be one of the more unusual jobs they’d taken, right up there with the cattle and a few other animals that turned out to not be what they was supposed to. She wisely kept her mouth shut about any of those, not wanting Mal to get it into his brain that they needed to take corners any faster than they already were. Midway through the mining settlement, Mal hit the brakes hard enough to drive the nose near into the ground and kick up dust all around them. Coughing against the thick haze, Kaylee waved at the red particles in an attempt to push them away from her face.

Jayne coughed violently. “Gorram it, Mal!”

“Shut it, Jayne. Aiya, women wanle. “

Blink dust and grit out of her eyes, Kaylee realized that River was standing dead center in the wide corridor through the township with a rifle in her arms and a hauntingly familiar look in her eyes. Simon batted at the dust cloud around him, approaching River with one hand up in surrender and his scuffed medicine bag in the other. Even Inara had left Serenity and was standing carefully to the side trying not to get her skirts dirty.

River saw them but seemed no less intent on whatever had driven her off of Serenity. "Seomthing's coming."

“We been told that. Means we need to be in the air pronto, little albatross.”

“Not enough time.” She scanned the nearby storefronts with a dark look. The windows were now boarded up and not a sign of life stirred in the heat.

“Sir? These folk got a reason to close up shop that we don’t know about?” Zoe’s hand fell to her holster.

“Who knew it was coming? Who told you?” River demanded.

“Customer,” Mal answered with audible trepidation. “Told us to drop the crates and gave us our payment. That’s the way it works.”

“We have to go back. All of us. Can’t be above ground when it comes.” River motioned to the Mule with the rifle and started jogging in the direction of the narrow trail. “Hurry!” she called back over her shoulder.

“Jayne, lighten up and let Inara take your place.”

“Mal!”

“She can’t barely walk in that confounded get up, let alone run. Drop the hardware and get moving.”

Once Jayne had unloaded and jumped off, Kaylee reached out a hand to help Inara up into the Mule and clung to her even once she was seated. Mal kept the Mule going fast enough that they didn’t bury Jayne in dust but slow enough that they could see if he fell behind. River seemed to leap from boulder to boulder, taking the crow’s path rather than the one they followed.

The tiny shack came into view with a new sense of urgency. River was waiting for them, rifle slung around her back, and carefully running her hands over every inch of wood. Her lips were moving but there was no sound beyond the stomping of boots and Jayne’s panting once he rounded the corner.

“No…gorram…reason,” he gasped, leaning over to grab his knees. “Next time, you get…to run…gan ni niang.”

Mal ignored him completely. “What you got, River? And I do hope you got something cause otherwise, there’ll be a big I Told You So later. Providing we don’t all die. In which case, I told you so.”

“Makes no sense. Shouldn’t be here; not out here buried in dust,” River mumbled.

“Doc? She go crazy again while we weren’t looking?”

“She’s been fine ever since…River?” Simon hurried forward to pull River away from the shack. She resisted and banged on the door with both fists hard enough to rattle the wood frame.

“Simon, you don’t understand…” she trailed off when the slot opened.

“I told you to get out of here,” the now-familiar voice snapped at them.

River dropped to her knees and pressed her hands to the slot. “Li Li? It’s me. It’s River, remember? River Tam.”

The slot slammed shut and the tiny shack seemed to shiver from the inside. To their right, whole boulders sloughed off inches of thick white dust and rose, impossibly, up from the ground. What began as a dark crack along the ground expanded into a wide, rectangular mouth wide enough for all of them plus the Mule. River scrambled up and waved them into the opening. Cascading dirt and debris nearly coated them as they shuffled and jostled into what turned out to be a freight elevator hidden beneath the ground.

Once they were all safely inside, coughing and brushing away the layer of dust, the platform beneath them began to descend with a horrific groan. Darkness was broken by sparsely placed track lights mounted on support bars spanning the shaft around them. With each shudder, more dirt seemed to trickle in around them in a very ominous way.

“We gonna ask crazy girl what exactly it is we’re doin’ here?” Jayne peered into the darkness around them, jostling Kaylee into the corner as he tried to get a better look at their surroundings.

“Customer obviously knows River. Which I’m sure one of you will be explaining shortly.” Mal gave Simon a dark look before rocking back on his heels and smiling tightly. “Can’t really conjure how exactly that works, seeing as how River don’t know anyone in the ‘verse outside this crew. But strange happenings do tend to follow her about. Then there’s the matter of what’s outside might could kill us and why y’all left Serenity when I distinctly remember--”

“We called her Li Li. She was at the Academy,” River said suddenly. She didn’t turn around, her attention fixed on whatever was outside the elevator. It shuddered as it reached the bottom and ground to a shrieking halt.

“The group that contacted me…some of them had family at the Academy. Maybe they got her out too.” Simon was a step behind his sister and the rest followed close behind as they all shuffled out of the elevator into a dimly lit corridor, leaving the Mule behind in the darkness. “River? Do you know where you’re going?”

Cautiously moving along the side with gun in hand, Zoe kept a watchful eye on the supporting beams and each trickle of dirt that fell down around them. “Looks like an abandoned mine shaft.”

“Great. We’re gonna die down here ‘stead of up there.” Kaylee didn’t manage to keep the tremor out of her voice even though she was trying something fierce. It helped a little that Inara was still letting her hold onto her arm and the two of them had to move slower on account of the pretty skirt. The fancy fabric would be ruined for sure once they got back to Serenity, which gave Kaylee a worry other the earth caving in around them to fret about.

Light appeared at the end of the corridor, filtering in from a side channel, and they could hear distinctly mechanical noises in the distance. Jayne adjusted his grip on his gun and paused before peering around the corner. “Before anyone does anything stupider than we already done…you’re saying that this Li-whatever is from where River was from. Don’t that mean she’s loony tunes too? Could be she’s what’ll kill us all.”

“I’m sure she won’t--”

“He’s right,” River interrupted Simon, as calm as the black itself. “She might not like Jayne at all. He’s very loud.”

“Won’t be a trouble, no one really likes Jayne.” Mal straightened his shoulders and started forward. “’sides, if’n it means watching Jayne here get himself beat up by a little girl…again…well worth our time.”

“Little girls happenin’ to be Alliance weapons don’t rightly count, now do they?” Jayne groused loudly enough that his voice echoed through the corridor and brought down a fresh shimmer of dust around them.

“Well, you are loud and tend to be awful obnoxious.” Kaylee glared at him and passed by to follow after Mal. She was so focused on the glaring that she was run up against Mal’s back before she realized he’d stopped. Stepping out around him, her eyes widened at the view stretching out ahead of them. “Wo detain, a.”

Perhaps only Mr. Universe would have appreciated the swathes of cabling that swept and looped above them, draping in the same fashion as the fabric in Inara’s shuttle. Each bundle sprouted like roots from bits of machinery left over from the mining operation; most had been obviously taken apart and put back as the guts of hybrid machines. Huge display panels with bits missing illuminated the cavern around them; one of them was seemingly focused on the giant red star that Silverhold, its fellow moon, and its planet orbited. It didn’t look nothing like any picture of sky that Kaylee had seen, all greens and yellows.

The disembodied voice that belonged to their customer was accompanied by the sound of tools working. “No chairs. Some of them bite if you…if you sit too hard.”

Mal looked around with alarm. “You got chairs that got teeth?”

River caught his arm, moving past to head further into the maze of screens and machinery. “Live wires. Electricity.”

“Course. Chairs ain’t got teeth…knew that.” He relaxed enough to take his hand off the handle of his gun. “Li Li? That your name? You were nice enough to warn us of trouble a-brewing…don’t s’pose you could elaborate on what that would be?”

Ahead of them, Li Li crawled out from a tangle of wires and gears like a tiny creature emerging from its burrow. Jet-black hair had been tied back at one point but had come loose in thick ribbons that hung straight as arrows. What skin wasn’t covered with worn fabric was dark with dirt and grime from the machines. Almond shaped eyes had the same wild look as River’s but were clouded over with a milky white layer. There was a visible scar in the center of her forehead that she seemed to rub unconsciously, as though trying to erase it.

“Don’t believe we’ve formally been introduced. I’m Captain Reynolds and this is--”

“No names. Don’t need names. Just labels and numbers that take away your names. Don’t you have them?” She pulled away from them, nearly pressed up against the wall as she scurried toward the largest of the monitors. “River Tam. Tam River. Used to tap messages through the wall before they cut into our brains and didn’t need tapping anymore.”

“Doc? You bring any of the fancy chemicals made River here a little more sane?” Mal asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“A few.” He glanced at River and then back at Li Li. “How did you escape, Li Li? Did someone get you out?”

“Didn’t. Didn’t escape.” The rubbing against the scar in her forehead intensified and she was all but curled into a ball over the gibberish controls. “Threw me out with the trash. Heart stopped...too broken to keep, not a success like River. Swallowed dirt and drank oil until I landed here. Burrowed into the ground where they can’t see. Down in the earth where even the darkness is afraid of their secrets. Secrets have eyes that see the darkness for what it really is.”

“Well, ain’t this shiny. Another crazy girl. You wanna keep this one too? See how many secrets she’s got in her head that’ll kill us?” Jayne cleared a place to sit, crossing his arms over his chest as he plopped down without regard to the tools he sent clattering to the ground.

River’s face had turned ashen and her hands trembled when she reached out to grab hold of a supporting beam. Immediately Simon was at her side, checking her pulse and brushing her hair out of her face as he tried to calm her. Whatever the source of her distress, it was locked inside the head of Li Li, who continued to work at her controls without taking notice of the people standing behind her.

She stared up at the huge image of the red sun and the rubbing at her forehead abated. “Soon now. Won’t be long.”

“I seem to be repeating myself today.” Mal moved closer to squint at the screen. “What exactly won’t be long?”

“There.” Pointing up at a particularly dark region of the star, she smiled with child-like affection. “Magnetic flux buildup. Explodes with the energy of a million bombs and sweeps the land clean, burning up anything with electricity in its veins. Kill you slow and painful. Bits falling off, brain cut through, and molecules ripped apart.”

“Come again?”

“It’s a solar flare.” Simon turned away from River. “I thought they weren’t dangerous.”

“This star is dying. Gasping like a fish, coughing up its insides.” There was a level of creepiness in her blatant adoration of the star. “Moon made of iron draws them like moths; pulls them in and focuses. Once it’s spent, you can walk the ground again.”

“What about my ship? Ain’t nothing going to happen to my ship, right?” Mal asked with alarm.

“Hull will shield most of it. Might lose a few circuits.” She looked away from the screen to blink in Kaylee’s general direction. “I have spares.”

“Much obliged.”

“Hold on a minute,” Jayne interrupted. “Go back to the part where the big glowing thing in the sky is dying. Don’t that bother anyone else?”

Li Li turned his direction. “Fire doesn’t age in years or seconds. Human time means little. We’re nothing. Just specks and bits of dirt floating about.”

“I think that means it’s probably a few million years until the star dies.” Simon looked to River for confirmation, seeming uncomfortable that he was stuck as makeshift interpreter for the crew. Watching her carefully, he shifted closer while still maintaining a safe distance away from the complicated controls. Something he saw made him frown and that made Kaylee a bit more nervous than she’d been before.

“Oh. Well, that’s good. What she doin’ now?”

Information panels flashed up on the monitors as Li Li’s hands flew over the controls, adjusting and readjusting the complex series of commands. “Alliance will be too late; see it coming but only have time to scramble. They’ll lose more.”

“Can you do it?” River asked suddenly.

“There’s a window. Tiny one, only a minute. Has to be enough.” Li Li’s hands hovered over the control panel.

Mal waved his hands. “None of this psychic stuff. If the both of you would use words so the rest of us has an idea of what we’re walking into, we’ll all be very less likely to get in the way.”

“Not like River.” Milky eyes turned on Mal but didn’t focus. “Can’t read people or hear what’s in your head. You’re blank and empty to me. But I hear them. The circuits and the wires, hear them humming and whispering and telling me where they’ve come from.”

Simon waved his hand in a slow arc through her vision and got no response. “She’s blind, Mal. That’s probably why the Alliance didn’t consider her a success. They blinded her.”

Thin, dirty lips curled into a manic smile. “Didn’t know I could hear their secrets humming in the walls.”

Mal looked unsure of whether or not he should keep listening or find a way to tie the girl up good and proper. “Doc, that safe word you got work on her too?”

“If she’s had the same conditioning as River.”

Li Li turned back to her monitor, muttering about vectors and flux pinning and seeming to completely forget they were there. Once she had cycled through her screens another dozen times, she seemed to slip away into a trance. Her slender hands remained poised over the controls, sightless gaze directed at the screen above her, waiting for a signal only she would recognize.

A sad smile appeared on River’s lips. “Found a back door to slip through when the Alliance is looking the other way. Ships in orbit will sense the solar flare; they’ll have to shut down important systems to protect them. It’ll be chaos. They’ll forget to follow protocol, won’t have time.”

Understanding dawned and Mal took a new interest in the small woman. “Burrow in and dig up their secrets. She means to hack into the Alliance itself?”

“Everything’s connected through the Cortex,” Zoe added softly.

Jayne snorted and rolled his eyes at them all. “Can’t break into an Alliance whatsit, can she? Ain’t those all in the Core? How exactly she supposed to hack into anything that’s worlds away?”

“There’s an Alliance post here on Silverhold,” Simon answered. “Do you know what she’s looking for, River? What information…I mean, we already know about Miranda.”

“Mighty hopeful of you, thinkin’ that’s the only skeleton in the Alliance’s closet, Doc.” Mal found a relatively sturdy chunk of machinery to sit down on, making sure there were no live wires to cause problems. “But I would be interested in knowing exactly what she’s lookin’ for. Or if she’s just in the mood to air a bit of dirty laundry.”

“She wants to know about the Academy. About the Academies other than ours. The first, a long time ago, ended in blood. Something went wrong.” River pulled away from Li Li with a nervous look and moved closer to Simon, as though something in the girl’s head was creepifying even for her. “The Alliance is just the customer. She’s looking for the puppet master.”

Kaylee loosened her grip on Inara’s arm enough to peer at the bits of machinery. “You get all that from her thinkin’?”

River shook her head but gave no further explanation as to the meaning of the gesture. The cavern fell silent except for the whir and hum of machinery. All eyes were focused the picture of the red star and the deceptively innocent looking dark spot that would be lethal if they were above ground. It was surreal in the faint light, surrounded by thick bundles of cables and bits of machinery buried deep in the ground. The humming of electricity around them was almost palpable, filling the air with a strange tension and polarity.

Kaylee pointed up at the screen as the dark patch began to blossom into eye-searing white. “Look! Is that it?”

The impact of the distant explosion was anti-climactic, muted by the silence. A mass of swirling lines dancing gracefully across the screen and out from the star’s corona, reaching toward the tiny moon before contorting and plunging back toward the surface as they were reined in. The apex of the curve continued to balloon until it covered nearly a quarter of the star’s image, still shivering and twisting wildly. Static appeared on the monitor, all but obscuring the image. Li Li’s hands flew over the controls like darting birds pecking at the control screens.

“She can hear it screaming in the black,” River whispered.

“What about all the people?” Suddenly remembering the town they’d come through and all the rest of the mining communities on the planet, Kaylee glanced back at the corridor they’d come through.

“Fair bet she gave them warning already; that’s why the place was cleared out. Probably how she gets what she needs.” Zoe motioned to the electronics around them.

The static on the screen exploded and engulfed the entire image. Li Li pulled her hands away from the controls to cover her ears against the onslaught only she could hear and sunk down to the ground. She curled up against the cables with her eyes shut tight and more nonsensical muttering coming out of her lips. In an instant, River was crouched down beside her. A beat behind her, Simon opened his medical bag with a soft click and managed to clean a spot of skin on the girl’s shoulder, revealing china white skin beneath the dirt. She barely flinched when he injected her.

“That will calm her. It should get her through the worst of it,” Simon assured River.

Mal moved his hand away from a section of gears and eyed them distastfully, as though they might try to grab hold and pull him in. “Then we sit tight, wait for this thingamawhatsit to blow over. Everybody try not to touch nothing you don’t know what is. Which is...most everything, I imagine.”

Even Jayne relaxed once Li Li was quiet, propping his feet up as he settled in to wait. “How we s’posed to know when it’s over anyhow? Ain’t she the only one who knows?”

“Solar flares are transitory phenomena.” River stroked Li Li’s hair gently.

The answer didn’t seem to make Jayne feel any better about their situation. “Still leaves us stuck underground ‘til Lu Lu here wakes up and tells us how to get out. And what if the ship’s fried all to hell?”

“Bi zui,” Mal snapped at him. “You got nothing but questions today, Jayne, and none of us know better’n what you seen with your own eyes. Girl wakes up, helps us get Serenity in the air and then we’re on our way. Chattering like a chuin-zi ain’t gonna help us none. Doc didn’t give her enough of the stuff to keep her out too long, right, Doc?”

“A hour maybe. She’s quite small.” His fingers could near circle around her whole arm and touch together.

“We should get her cleaned up,” Inara spoke for the first time since they had descended the tunnel. “There has to be water somewhere. I’m assuming she lives down here so there must be. And we can’t just leave her like this.”

Jayne perked up. “Think there’s somethin’ worth eating around here too?”

“Unless you brought it with you, I don’t want to see it in your mouth, Jayne. In fact, why don’t you stay here and make sure she stays calm while the rest of us take a look about.” Ignoring Jayne’s grumbling completely, Mal motioned for the rest of the crew to fan out and start investigating the rest of the cavern.

Kaylee lingered because she wanted to get a better look at a set of ancient gears that were well oiled and cared for. Crazy girl must have loved those gears an awful lot to keep them tended even when they were old and long outdated. She supposed that she shouldn’t think of Li Li as Crazy Girl but shoes fit every now and then even in this 'verse. The apologetic look was directed at River, since it was River who could read her mind and know she was thinking unkind thoughts.

“Mal...”

“No,” he answered before she could even finish the question.

“But you didn’t even--”

“Don’t need to. Got plenty of crew as it is. Don’t need one more who ain’t altogether right in the brainpan.”

She followed him along a thick bundle of cables to the far side of the cavern. A hollow had been carved out of the rock just big enough to shelter a pile of dirty and torn blankets. “Just look at this, Cap’n. Inara’s right, can’t just leave her here. Can’t no one live like this.”

“Seems happy enough. If folk whose brains been addled by the Alliance even have a concept of happy.” He shifted uncomfortably and poked at the blankets with the toe of his boot to see if there was anything living hidden inside. “’Sides, we already got men wearing mighty strange gloves, Alliance assassins, and more bounty hunters you can shake a compression coil at chasing us. Last thing we need is to give them another reason to shoot us out of the sky. Hell, half the folk we consider friendly are likely as not to shoot at us.”

“Maybe she just needs to find whatever’s in her head. Worked for River, didn’t it? Once we found Miranda, she was shiny again.”

“And we lost two of our own.” His expression was hard but not without sympathy when he turned to face her. “Answer’s no, Kaylee. I ain’t gonna risk losing no more of my crew. Barely have enough to keep Serenity in the air and work a job as it is. We’re down to bare bones and I need every pair of hands I got.”

The logic of it weren’t something she could argue against. They had enemies a-plenty in near every patch of the black and one more fugitive would attract unwanted attention. Rather than admit defeat, she set herself to tidying up the blankets and shaking as much dirt from them as she could. With that done, she busied herself looking around the rest of the place. She stayed within eyesight of Mal cause it felt safer just in case she got herself into some kind of trouble.

Other than the tight feeling in her chest that came from being too far under ground for her liking, it was a right interesting place. There were more than enough bits and pieces for her to poke at and wonder over. Some of them made sense right away. Fans and pipes brought in fresh air to replace what smelled of earth and lubricating oil. Barrels of the stuff seem a-plenty. A few vertical shafts might have stretched clear up to the surface, full of tangled chains dangling like those floating bubble fish she’d seen in a picture once. There were some pieces that seemed to be in the middle of changing, not quite one thing or the other. She followed a batch of cabling down a narrow corridor off the side of the hollow that served as a bunk, keeping one hand lightly on the cords themselves so she wouldn’t lose her way. There weren’t too many lights this way and her ears were picking up a low thrumming noise that reminded her of Serenity’s engine when it was ramping up to speed. Curious, she pushed on even when it was nearly too dark for her to see and she felt as though she’d been walking forever.

The cavern at the other end of the corridor only had a few flickering lights hanging from crevices above her head. Barely enough for her to see enormous cylinders turning in the center, making the distinctive thrum-thrum-thrum sound like tops set down off center, and that the walls were tinted red with the omnipresent iron that was the lifeblood of Silverhold. All the of the cable bundles seemed to begin in this place, piled nearly as tall as she was and caged with old mining pikes so they wouldn’t roll about.

“Well, I’ll be...ain’t that somethin’?” Mal whistled softly as he emerged from the tunnel behind her.

“Generators of some sort, gotta be. Spin round and make electricity, using the iron in the ground.” She motioned to the cylinders. “Got a few parts on Serenity function on the same principle. There’s a fancy name for it and everything.”

“One little girl couldn’t do all this.”

“Maybe the townsfolk helped her. In exchange for her telling ‘em when those solar flower things were gonna come. And a lot of what I’ve seen looks to be old parts fitted up to be something different. Could’ve been part of the mining, left behind.” It was the best explanation she could offer, seeing as how she couldn’t put sense behind a person as tiny as Li Li lifting even one of the cable bundles.

“Could be,” he said offhandedly and unconvincingly.

“Did anyone look in the crates we brought her? To see what was in them?”

“You know it ain’t good business etiquette to inspect the merchandise, Kaylee.”

She started back toward the main cavern, one hand on the cables as a safety line. “Never stopped you before.”

“Just want to get back to Serenity and see the sky again. Longer we stay, the better the chances the Alliance’ll catch up with us.”

“They ain’t gonna be catching up with their own selves any time soon if Li Li was right about what’s happening up there. Fried to crispy critters and all their ships dead in the water if they didn’t get out the way in time. Least we had more than a minute for warning and I made sure Serenity was shut down proper ‘fore we left.” She elbowed Mal when he prodded her to move faster in the darkness.

“Hope that’ll be a help. I got a feeling about this place...don’t mean to stay longer than I have to.”

“Caves give me the creepies too, ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. All that dirt over your head and just one tiny pebble could bring it all down. Conjure you’d be squashed pretty flat...all those rocks.” She breathed a sigh of relief when they emerged into lighter and more familiar surroundings.

Inara and Zoe had conscripted Jayne into carrying Li Li, albeit grudgingly, to the blankets that Kaylee had straightened and were carefully cleaning what skin they could with bits of cloth and a pail of water. Zoe was concentrating hard and a great deal more awkward with the task than Inara. Behind her, Mal cleared his throat, looking like he was about to face a firing squad.

“Don’t nobody go getting attached. We don’t got room for a stray. I’m the Captain and that’s final.”

“She wouldn’t know what to do out there in the ‘verse even if we did take her, Mal.” Inara’s tone made it clear that he was pitching a tantrum before he had reason to. “And she’s safer here. The Alliance believes she’s dead; it’s best that we keep that secret.”

“Glad you agree with me.” Mal waited a beat. “I am right that you’re agreeing me...cause I can’t never tell with you.”

“For once. Don’t get used to it.”

The frosty edge in Inara’s voice meant that the Captain had done something to vex her and hadn’t managed to make it right yet. Not that he ever did. Kaylee conjured that Inara got weary of being angry before Mal ever made amends. Course, it didn’t seem to be Inara’s way to let him in on what it was he’d done in the first place. The two spun round and round each other without never seeming to make a connection the way they ought to. Despite Kaylee’s hope to the contrary when Inara had come back to Serenity to stay.

“We just gonna sit around or we gonna do something?” Jayne was watching the cleaning a little too closely, probably hoping he’d see something interesting. “Kaylee here can probably figure a way to get us back topside.”

“And if Serenity is dead in the water? We’ll need someone who can patch her up. Just as soon wait here where my molecules stay intact until we can get some help from the little lady.” Mal kept staring at Li Li like he was trying to figure where she fit in all of this. “Doc, got any ideas about how she...does whatever it is she does? Alliance make her this way?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. If she really can sense or hear electricity in any way, it’s unprecedented.”

“They made River a reader. Could be it’s not that much different.”

Simon pondered that for a few long moments. “They must have cut into another part of the brain. Or made a mistake. Millimeters, fractions of millimeters, is all that separates parts of the brain. It could have just been a mistake. If they’d known, they never would have thrown her away like...” he trailed off.

“Like garbage.” Mal's gaze travelled slowly over the walls. “Something ‘bout this ain’t right.”

“What part of cutting into a someone’s brain is right?”

“T’ain’t what I mean. There’s something going on here that don’t make sense and it’s beginning to be worrisome to me. Look around folks, ain’t no mining equipment I know of needs all this and even with every hand up in that township, it’d take the better part of ten years to hollow this out. We all know she can’t have been here more than we’ve had River with us.”

“Mal’s right.” Frowning at the electronics around them, Jayne shifted from foot to foot uneasily. “Something don’t add up here and that usually means we’re about to get humped.”

“Joo koh! Could you stop?” Inara snapped, an outburst that caught everyone by surprise. “We might be alive because of this girl and you have nothing better to do than stand around being paranoid? Does it really matter where all this came from? Where any of it came from? You’ve shown more interest in these pieces of machines than you have in a human being.”

Mal blinked at her, frowning. “Not that I ain’t used to being on the wrong end of your temper but I’m not seeing how me doing a bit of wondering warrants this particular attack.”

“I know her, Mal.” She looked away from them, her hands tightening on the bit of cloth in her hand until dirty water dripped from between her fingers. “I knew her. At the Guild House in Sihnon. She was...look what they've done. Look what they've...” her voice trembled and then fell away into the silence.

There was a long look between Zoe and Mal that didn’t do much to lighten the frown on his face. Inara had no more to say and returned to cleaning away the dirt from Li Li’s skin with gentle strokes. Everybody who wasn’t working on the dirt and grime drifted away from the suddenly intimate scene. Kaylee found her way to Simon’s side and reached down to lace her fingers through his, squeezing his hand tightly. One more piece of Inara’s mysterious past and it seemed that the ‘verse had just gotten a whole lot smaller.

They settled into uneasy waiting, with Simon periodically pulling away to check Li Li’s vital signs. Jayne managed to find a groove in the wall and soon his snoring was echoing around their ears. Inara had taken to staring at the ground and didn’t seem to be planning on saying anything more. Minutes crawled by at an agonizingly slow pace until Li Li stirred, the tension returning instantaneously and making the silence heavy once again.

“Are you all right?” Simon asked gently. He checked her over one last time with careful, soft hands. “There might be some dizziness, that will pass.”

“Don’t make me go back, don’t make me go back,” she whimpered.

“You’re safe now, Li Li. You’re safe.” Even he didn’t sound convinced of the fact. “Do you remember your name?”

“Or how to get us out of here?” Jayne yawned and stretched his neck. “Don’t know about the rest of you but I sure ain’t looking to stay here until the next one of those things shows up.”

Li Li bolted away from Simon quickly. “Need stabilizers. All charged up and no good; not as shielded. Won’t land with feet on the ground.” She hurried back to the main area of the cavern, hugging the stacks of equipment either to stay away from them or to get closer to the humming electricity inside the cables.

A battered, empty crate scraped against rock as she pulled it out from beneath one of the consoles. Muttering too quietly to hear, she dug through piles and crates of strange electronic gizmos, selecting one here and there that went into the crate. Once half a dozen pieces had disappeared into the box, she pushed it toward them and wiggled herself through a gap in the gears. She all but disappeared from view, only her voice and the quiet clang of tools giving away her position inside the tangled belly of the machines.

Mal picked up the box, trying to peer through the gears to see where she’d gone. “Uh...thank you.”

“One little thing and you’ll fall out of the sky. Tiny little thing...doesn’t look like much. Got to watch though. Got to listen.” Her voice got softer and more distant.

“There’s this elevator we might be needed. If you could show us...”

“Sir?” Zoe nodded her head down the corridor that led to the freight lift. “Seems to have powered up.”

“Shiny. Let’s get the hell out of here. This place is beginning to make my skin crawl.” Jayne led the way with long, jaunty strides that underlined his gratefulness for being able to get back to Serenity.

The ride up the elevator was silent excepting Jayne’s off tune whistling and all but Zoe and Mal loaded up on the Mule. Kaylee kept looking back to make sure River hadn’t gotten too far ahead of them, a-wondering what it was they were talking about that needed them to be alone for. Whatever it was about the place that had spooked Mal certainly had her curiosity itching, but she doubted he’d share until he was good and sure of what it was.

Jayne cursing under his breath caught her attention and when she turned to chide him, she realized why. Every boardwalk and step of each building in the township was occupied and every one of the residents was holding at least one gun. They looked none too friendly and River slowed the Mule down to barely a crawl.

“Think they’s looking to start something?” Jayne whispered.

River shook her head. “Making sure we’re not taking her with us. Need her here to warn them when they come.”

“They’s welcome to crazy girl. I mean there’s crazy like River and then there’s crazy like somethin’ else. That girl’s most definite something else. Don’t know what, don’t wanna know.” He remained tense until they had passed the edge of the township and were well on their way toward Serenity’s hiding place in a shallow basin obscured by boulders.

It was a relief to finally see the familiar shape of the Firefly and Kaylee nearly got out and kissed the hull, she was so glad to be back. Once the Mule was secured in the cargo hold, she hurried to check on her baby while River took the box of bits to the cockpit to replace the stabilizer controls. In the engine room, she started with those parts she thought would fry easiest if there were a power surge through the grid. Sure enough, there were a few fried capacitors and a couple more pieces seemed to behave strangely enough to be worrisome. Nothing that weren’t easy to fix or replace, a small piece of mercy on a planet without much beyond but red rocks and dust.

Once the engine was purring like a kitten, she let herself breathe deep and relax some of the tension that had built up in her shoulders. While it hadn’t been the most dangerous or tricky job they’d ever had, it sure had been strange.

Mal wasn’t on the bridge and River was still half buried in the control box replacing more bits and running every diagnostic check there was to run on a Firefly. Kaylee hummed a little, cheerful now that she was back in her home and with all sorts of familiar surrounding her. Not to mention the absence of more earth than she could imagine just waiting to cave in on her head if it had the mind to. Deciding to check the cargo hold, she just about rounded the corner when she heard Mal’s voice. He was standing on the catwalk with Inara, both of them looking away from her.

“We can never come back to this place,” Inara told him urgently. “Whatever offer, whatever job...I’ll match the payment you’d receive. But we can never come back.”

“You gonna tell me why you got such a powerful urge to protect this girl?”

She lowered her gaze and smiled ever so slightly before turning to walk toward her shuttle. “Because I couldn’t.”

Once Inara was gone, Kaylee figured it was safe to creep out of her hiding spot. “Cap’n? Came to tell you the engine’s shiny. Soon as River’s through putting in those fancy bits, she’ll be good as new.” He nodded but didn’t say anything, still watching the spot where Inara had stood as though she was still there. “You don’t s’pose we’ll ever know why she left, will we?”

“I doubt it, little Kaylee. Every woman’s got her secrets.”

“Conjure Inara has more’n enough for both Zoe and me. Since we don’t got any of our own.”

“Don’t sell yourself short there, bao bei. 'Tis a wonder to me how you keep this boat in the air sometimes.” He shook off whatever trance had held him captive and grinned at her. “Can’t say I dislike these more interesting jobs. Learning new stuff about stars and such. It’s...educationing.”

“You’re just disappointed you didn’t get to shoot nothing.”

He thought on that a moment before giving her a wink. “There is that.”

Fin

The Last Time I Died, Pt. 1

2006-05-15T09:58:57Z

Title: The Last Time I Died
Author: Aeneas
Pairing/Character: Riddick/Buffy
Word Count: About 17,900
Rating: R
Summary: After the defeat of the First Evil, the universe has plans for Buffy.
Spoilers/Warnings: Through Chosen and Chronicles of Riddick.
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox, I just play there. All things belong to Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy and David Twohy/Universal, respectively.
A/N: Challenge prompt was – “There is no death, only a change of worlds.” American Indian Proverb, Duwamish. Note to the requester, I tried Angel meeting Riddick first and got completely stuck at about 10,000 words. This was intended to be a much shorter alternate fic when it became apparent that I was going to miss the deadline. Famous last words.

Buffy let go of Spike’s hand, pulling her fingers out of the flames engulfing his skin and running as fast as she could for the narrow staircase that curved up to the surface. The basement had turned into a series of deathtraps waiting to snap down around her and the upper levels of the school were rapidly crumbling to pieces. Stairs ended and she skidded into the hallway, searching for any friends who might have fallen behind.

Tiles split with a shriek as a gaping mouth opened up, spreading out a vicious smile that swept the floor out from under her feet and sent her spiraling down into the darkness. Her cries for help echoed between the sides of the chasm and rocks crashed against the walls, set loose by her attempts to find stone or root strong enough to slow her fall.

The sudden stop at the bottom felt like a battle with a freight train. A battle that she lost and left her spitting dirt and blood along with the air knocked from her lungs. She winced, moaned, and tried to breathe with what felt like several cracked ribs. This was the perfect end to a really sucky apocalypse. There was no light above her and no sight of the edge she had plummeted over. All she could do was hope that the rest of her tiny army had made it out of Sunnydale alive.

“Ow, ow. This was so not the plan.” She tried rolling and twisting to ease up into a sitting position. There was blood soaking through the elbow of her jacket and a jagged tear in her jeans just below her knee. One of her heels had broken in the fall. “Great. I’m probably an entire hell dimension away from a decent shopping mall.”

Every inch of her body ached as she climbed to her feet, holding her elbow to stem the flow of blood, and peered into the darkness around her. There was wind blowing toward her left, whistling faintly as it twisted through the rocks. It was as good a direction as any so she started that way, feeling for the solidity of the walls as a guide. Her boots scuffed against rock and dirt clods and she bumped her head several times, unable to see the obstacles coming before she walked headlong into them.

When she realized that she was actually seeing the vague outlines of boulders, she thought it was her mind playing tricks on her in the darkness. The narrow pathway she was following hit a solid wall with light trickling down from above.

“Can’t I fall into a hell that doesn’t have a climbing wall? How about marble tile? Or some nice linoleum,” she muttered to no one.

Hand over hand, she worked her way up over the wall, ignoring the stinging pain in her arm and leg as best she could. She was sure there was a cosmic rule that she couldn’t possibly escape the apocalypse without ruining at least one outfit.

Her hand reached a flat outcropping that felt large enough to put both feet on. It was lighter above her head as she wiggled onto the landing. Roots snagged her hair and sent more dirt sprinkling down. She coughed against the dust, reaching up to dig her fingers into the soil and pull away chunks of it. More light poured in, making her eyes water and burn. It was going to take forever to get all the dirt out of her hair and pores. And there was no way she had been lucky enough to land in a hell that carried Oil of Olay facial cleansers.

More of the ground gave way as she forced her way up through the surface and into the sun. Coughing and choking, she spat dirt out of her mouth and eyed the gigantic orange sun burning above her. That was not her sun. Way too big and way too orange-y to be her sun. She looked around at the barren landscape. It consisted mostly of rock worn smooth under the constant onslaught of wind and gnarled trees with bark blacker than pitch. No grass, no roads, and no California in sight.

“Well. This sucks.”

The wind howled in answer. It was colder above the surface than it had been underground; her stomach beginning to rumble as she crawled out of the earth and climbed to her feet. Since it didn’t particularly matter which part of nowhere she started toward, she hoped it was the part with a Starbucks and a Marriott. The dream of thousand thread count sheets, fluffy pillows, and a jetted hot tub kept her limping across the barren landscape.

By the time the sun had begun to slip over the horizon, she had blisters on her heels from the awkward limping due to her broken heel and there were only more of the ugly trees as far as she could see. She kept trudging along because it was either that or sit down on the filthy ground and wait for whatever went bump in the night to eat her.

In the sharply angled light of the setting sun, she realized that what she had thought was a gigantic tree was too oddly shaped to be organic. It was a structure, top heavy and crafted by tools rather than nature. She altered her original course, heading straight toward the towering colossus and whatever may have built it. If they were friendly, maybe they had a shower and if they weren’t, well, then she’d say hello the old-fashioned way.

The shadow of the tower dropped the temperature of the air a solid ten degrees and gave her a taste of what night would bring in this strange world. She passed by one of the black trees close enough to see that they bore small, dark green leaves clustered into groups of four or six, each with razor sharp edges. Even the patches of grass seemed to slice and cut as they shivered in the wind; the whole landscape was made of blades.

As she got nearer to the monstrosity, she could see flickering lights and either her ears were playing tricks on her or there were human-like voices carried along by the wind.

“Please don’t be demons. No horns, no fangs, no scaly things with uber morning breath,” she muttered.

Lumpy boulders strewn about the mammoth tower turned out to be spaceships hunkered down in a tableau of mechanical obeisance; the source of the voices was an army milling about the empty space between the craft with jaggedly ridged armor and heavy boots crunching the twisting grass into splinters. There were no horns or tails in sight, but she slowed her approach and warily searched for anything that would give her a hint as to what kind of people they were. Armor and weapons weren’t usually good signs when one was wandering through an unfamiliar hell dimension.

She froze when a soldier began shouting and pointing in her direction. There were far too many of them for her to fight and outrunning them with one broken boot heel wasn’t particularly likely. She held her ground and tried not to look worried as a group of them surrounded her, weapons pointed steadily in her direction.

“Take me to your leader?” she requested with false cheerfulness.

The man who appeared to be in charge towered over her, his face permanently set in an angry scowl. He studied her with blatant suspicion for several moments before nodding to the others. “Bring her to the Basilica. Let the Lord Marshal deal with her.”

“There doesn’t happen to be a shower at this Basilica thing…hey!” She glared back at the soldier who had jabbed her in the back with a wicked looking spear, but allowed them to herd her toward the largest of the strange ships. As long as all their weapons were pointed at her, the best idea was to play along and see what hand she’d been dealt.

A female or two appeared as they neared the Basilica and Buffy could tell from their skintight apparel that these people weren’t exactly equal opportunity. The men did the fighting and, well, she had no idea how the women even managed to breathe in the elaborate dresses. If they expected her to give up her jeans in exchange for painted on latex, they were in for a big surprise. A series of retractable steps led up to wide double doors with baroque detailing.

Inside, her eyes were drawn everywhere at once, trying to take in the enormity of the sculptures and the internal structure of the ship. It was a transportable city, like the galactic equivalent of a mobile home, only a thousand times bigger. None of the sculptures were her style. Each one was an image of pain and self-inflicted agony frozen forever in several tons of stone and metal. The floor was equally, although more pleasantly, decorated in mosaic tiles of slate and gold. Wide corridors stretched off to the side like empty tubes extending forever in space. She shivered a little and wondered how they lived in a place as cold and unyielding as this.

The big, angry guy pushed her toward a grotesquely ornate dais with an equally ugly throne sitting front and center. “We found this woman.”

She opened her mouth to let this Lord Marshal guy know exactly what was on her mind but the words turned into a single, almost unintelligible vowel sound.

The man on the throne was only wearing partial armor, no metal covering up his muscular arms or shaved head. He had skin the color of caramel mocha and eyes like the silver lining on a storm cloud. She blinked several times and awkwardly tried to straighten her torn jacket. He continued to watch until she finally dragged her voice out of its hiding place.

“Hi. I’m Buffy. And I have no idea how I got here, I’m not really sure where here is exactly. But this is since this is so not California; I obviously took a wrong turn. There was this whole end of the world thing, you know how those can be confusing.” She laughed at her own embarrassing rambling.

“Hold your tongue,” Angry Guy snarled.

“Hey!” She rubbed her shoulder where he had prodded her and gave him a scowl of her own. “Do you mind? It’s bad enough I’m stuck in the only hell dimension without a decent shower.”

“This is no hell. This is the Underverse and you have no place here.”

“Right. Whatever. No Starbucks and no mall? Trust me, this is hell.” She tried to turn back to the hot guy sitting on the throne but stopped short when the Angry Guy swung his spear around to point it directly at her throat. “You might want to get that out of my face.”

“Kneel before the Lord Marshal,” he ordered.

Buffy sighed tiredly and rolled her eyes. “I crawled out of my grave for this? All I want is a hot shower and new clothes.”

The tip of the spear poked into her neck. “I said kneel.”

“Have it your way.” She caught the end of the spear, twisting and yanking it out of his hands. In the blink of an eye, she had the pointy end aimed at the gap in his armor just below his helmet. When he reached for the gun holstered at his hip, she shook her head and jabbed his armor with the spear. “Unless you want to be breathing through a hole in your neck, keep your hands where I can see them.”

The man on the throne finally spoke. “Vaako. Stand down.” He stood up, walking slowly and deliberately toward her. Taller and larger than she’d guessed when he was sitting, there was something magnetic, if a little intimidating, about the way he moved.

“She is not one of us, Lord,” Vaako snarled. Strangely enough, he looked at the Lord Marshal with more distaste and hatred than he had leveled at her.

“Leave her.” The Lord Marshal reached out and took the spear from Buffy’s hands. He nodded toward the main entrance to the ship. “You have a job to do, Vaako. Are you waiting for a direct order?”

“No, sir,” Vaako ground out through clenched teeth. He was nearly vibrating with fury as he turned on his heel and stalked off with the rest of the men in tow.

“He doesn’t like you much, does he?” Buffy observed.

“It’s mutual.” He was still holding the spear, turning it over in his hands with unexpected thoughtfulness, as though he was trying to figure out how it worked.

“The sharp end is the dangerous one,” she quipped before realizing it might be a very bad idea to piss off the guy in charge. “Not that you didn’t know that. Of course you knew that. So…what do I call you? Lord Marshal? Is your name Marshal or is that just a title?”

He stared at her long enough that she began to wonder if he spoke English as a second or third language, but just as she was about to try again, he answered. “Riddick. Richard B. Riddick. The Lord part is their idea, not mine.”

“So it’s like King or President. Good for you, moving up in the world.” When he continued to look at her as though she had sprouted purple antennae from her head, she gave up. It was just her luck to land in a hell dimension where the only hot guy was dull as a table lamp. “Look. I really just want to shower and change. And if you’ve got anything that isn’t Saran Wrap meets Night of the Living Dead, that would be fabulous.”

There must have been some understanding of what she’d said because he motioned for her to follow him and headed off to the left side of the chamber. Standing beside one of the enormous pillars was a woman dressed in a shimmering white gown and translucent veil that billowed with even the slightest wind.

“Take care of her,” Riddick told the woman gruffly.

Buffy watched him walk away with more than a little annoyance at being dumped off on the nearest bystander. At least this woman was dressed in more comfortable clothing, which was a cause for optimism. She managed her brightest smile regardless of the less than cushy situation. “Is he always so chatty?”

“Consider yourself fortunate. You may call me Aereon.” She glided away from the pillar, parts of her becoming transparent as she moved down the hallway.

“Not to be rude…but what are you? And what’s up with this place, haven’t they heard of color?”

“I’m an envoy from the Elemental race and this is the home of the Necromonger army. The man you met, Riddick, defeated the previous Lord Marshal.”

“That explains the weirdness.” A set of carvings had caught her attention and she had to hurry to catch up. “So they came here on purpose?”

“This is their heaven, if a rather unusual vision of such a place. An alternate universe of sorts they believe to be their destiny.” Aereon led her through a smaller set of double doors into a vast suite. “You may wash through there and I will find you replacement clothing. I’m afraid the Necromongers care little for luxury so there is precious little of it here in the Necropolis.”

Buffy wandered into the room, eyes wide as she tried to take it all in. It was done in the same omnipresent shades of gray, silver, and gold with copious amounts of black for good measure. The flat surfaces were cold stone and even the fabrics looked hard to the touch. When she tested the bed covering, she was relieved that it was actually smooth and silky against her fingers. More of the ugly statues had been positioned about the room but, oddly enough, had been placed with their contorted faces turned toward the wall.

Another door led into an equally unwelcoming bathing area. What passed as a shower took up nearly half of the room and the six inches of raised stone serving as a border provided no privacy at all. Praying that no one would come in, she hurried out of her clothes and stepped over the low wall. It took her several minutes and a few blasts of icy water to figure out how to operate the strange controls jutting out of the walls. The temperature of the water remained on the cool side but once it was warm enough that her teeth weren’t chattering, she began scrubbing vigorously at the coating of dust on her skin and hair.

Blood and dirt sloughed off, swirling past her feet to disappear through the grate in the floor. There wasn’t anything that looked like soap so she did the best she could without it. Her hair was going to be a nightmare without conditioner.

“Stupid hell dimensions,” she complained loudly. The echo of her voice muted by the sound of falling water.

Satisfied that she was relatively clean, she managed to turn the water off and find a rectangular block of fabric that would do for a towel. It felt more like wrapping a leather glove around her body, but sucked away the moisture as well as terrycloth. One hurdle had been leapt with marginal success, the next being finding clothing that was actually wearable.
She was no longer alone when she emerged from the bathroom. A dark-skinned woman painted into a form fitting gold dress was perched at the end of the grand bed, smiling like a boa constrictor.

“So, you’re the creature the Lord Marshal chose to keep?” the woman purred. “I must say, I am…disappointed in his taste.”

“As long as you’re not referring to whether or not he likes me with ketchup, I don’t really care about his taste. You haven’t seen any spare clothes lying about, have you? The towel look is so white trash.”

An icy smile firmly in place, the woman held out a pile of dark fabric. “Of course. It’s hardly befitting a slave, let alone a consort. But our Lord insisted that you wear it.”

Buffy took the clothing with a superficial smile, trying not to show her relief that the fabric was warm and supple as cotton. She ducked behind one of the gigantic statues to strip off the towel and try on the new clothes. The outfit turned out to be a tunic style sleeveless dress with a long flowing skirt and a floor-length jacket woven out of fuzzy threads. It was even softer against her skin and gave her enough freedom to run or even fight if she had to. There was a strip of the same cloth to tie her hair back.

“How…lovely,” the woman told her with barely concealed venom when she stepped out from behind the statue.

“A gal can’t be choosy when she’s in hell. Now that I’m clothed, who are you?”

“I am Dame Vaako.”

“Ah.” Buffy nodded with understanding. “Is your husband the guy who got his ass kicked? The last Lord Marshal. He doesn’t seem to like the new one very much.”

Dame Vaako stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “Our previous Lord Marshal is dead. In this religion, you keep what you kill.”

“Then this Riddick guy killed the last guy and now he’s in charge of everything? Can I say, whoa, hottie. I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Buffy sighed with exaggerated dreaminess before returning her attention to Dame Vaako. “You don’t seem too happy about it. Were you expecting the hubby to get a promotion?”

“You’d be wise to watch your tongue,” she hissed.

“Look, I just want to go home, where they have hair care products and the Home and Garden Channel. So go be Lady MacBeth in someone else’s room.”

The gold clad viper in human form swept haughtily out of the suite, leaving Buffy to wonder who her next uninvited guest would be and exactly what kind of political nightmare she’d wandered into. Post-coup was really never a good time to enter a religious dynasty. There was nothing she could about that at the moment so she focused on what she could do, and that was attempting to get the stains out of her own clothing.

Returning to the alien bathroom, she stared at the remaining fixtures for several minutes before deciding one of them was a sink. It sort of looked like a sink. Finding similar controls for the water, she dumped her clothing into the wide, shallow basin and fiddled with the dials. Water bubbled over the entire length of the basin and from several holes along the side, creating a slow current in the pool. Again, there was no sign of soap so she settled for old-fashioned scrubbing and rinsing. It took an eternity for the black stains to begin to fade and she finally despaired at getting the blood out at all.

She held up her ruined jacket with a mournful sigh. “It was on sale too. Stupid apocalypse.”

Both her jacket and her jeans were in sore need of a sewing needle and unless these Necromongers had stocked up on super glue, she wasn’t going to be able to repair the broken heel of her boot. And she was pretty sure there wasn’t a decent place to shop in this entire universe. It was a pity that she never got sucked into the dimension where the natives worshipped Christian Dior as a God and built temples to Prada.

With aching arms and skin turned wrinkly by exposure to water, she finally abandoned her battle against the evil stains and returned to the main chamber of the suite. The bed wasn’t direct from the Hilton but it felt good to stretch out on her back and relax.

Relaxation hadn’t made plans to stay, however; the rumbling in her stomach and the racing in her head chased it away. Food was probably the least of her troubles, since even bizarro armies needed to eat. The more insurmountable obstacle was how to get back from whence she’d come when she had no clue how she ended up here in the first place. She remembered the cavern and Spike being on fire and then the ground split right out from under her feet. The only problem was that she’d climbed out of the Hellmouth into an entirely different world.

She frowned at that thought, realizing that everyone would believe she simply hadn’t made it out of the building before it imploded. They might come back to look for her body, but would think that she was buried under the rubble of one former high school. Maybe they’d plant flowers. Regardless of how they chose to mourn her, she doubted they’d think to look in an alternate dimension. On the plus side, she hadn’t seen any vampires.

The whoosh of the doors swinging open and subsequent thud of boot steps didn’t improve her mood. Bracing for whatever unpleasantness was coming next, she rolled up into a sitting position and glared at the intruders.

Riddick motioned to the guard who had followed him to put down the tray of food he was carrying. The guard obeyed, setting the tray on the corner of the bed and leaving the room quickly. Behind him, Riddick secured the door so that it couldn’t be opened from the outside without a great deal of trouble or firepower.

Eyeing the food with skepticism, Buffy moved down to the end of the bed and sniffed at it. “Is it edible? Cause you people have no concept of basic amenities. Did you know that you have no soap? How can you have no soap?”

He surprised her by laughing. It was a rough and edgy laugh that made her think of bad horror movies with psychos bearing chain saws. Since he was noticeably lacking in the chain saw department, she decided that he probably wasn’t planning on killing her and turned back to the food. The only utensil provided was a slender knife topped with an elegantly carved ivory handle.

“They look like vegetables.” She peered at the round, turnip-like thing at the end of the knife blade. It had a pleasantly spicy aroma and when she nibbled at it, the taste was a cross between a potato and an onion. Her stomach growled in anticipation of food, regardless of what it was or where it came from. “I don’t wanna know what this is, do I?”

She swallowed hard when she saw that Riddick was stripping off his armor. Beneath the layer of hammered steel was a black tank top and dusty gray cargo style pants that had definitely seen better days. He didn’t seem to be bothered by her watching him and nearly made her choke on her food when he pulled the tank top up and over his head. More caramel skin, more muscles, and abs to die for. She was a little disappointed when he disappeared into the bathroom.

“Bad Buffy,” she chided herself quietly.

Wishing that Willow was there to gossip with was the equivalent of throwing a wet blanket over her fantasies. She turned back to her food listlessly. It was hardly fair that she’d saved the world and ended up in hell anyway. Karma was a bitch after all.

Focusing on chewing her way through the plate of strange vegetables kept her from curling into a ball and crying like a baby. Maybe later when there was no one around and she didn’t have to worry about looking like an idiot in front of any hot men. There were always more pressing matters, like whether or not the Necromongers intended to keep her alive. And whether or not she was actually being kept as a consort, which she was pretty sure was just a fancy word for whore. If that’s what he intended then she’d have to dissuade him of that notion. That part didn’t worry her. Breaking a wrist or two was always easier than finding the Stargate and dialing home.

She finished off the vegetables but refrained from licking the plate clean. A few days of this food and she’d kill for a Big Mac. A new possibility occurred to her. What if she hadn’t been the only one to get swallowed up? Could the others have found their way out of the ground as well? That made her slightly more hopeful about her very gray, drab, and entirely fashion-less future. There could even be a chance of getting home if Giles could figure out where they were and Willow could work the mojo.

Her mind had been so focused on the what ifs that she hadn’t heard the water stop running or the soft footsteps as Riddick returned. The sound of scraping against stone startled her enough that she rolled onto her side and hurled the knife as hard as she could. Riddick twisted out of the way, the blade missing his head by inches and embedding into the wall behind him.

“Not bad,” he said noncommittally as he dislodged it from the wall with a sharp twist, remarkably calm considering that she’d just thrown a knife at his head.

She caught the knife by the handle when he tossed it back to her. “Not bad? That was better than not bad.”

“How did you get here?” He settled into a chair beside one of the enormous statues with the grace of a large cat stretching out in the sunshine. A simple tunic and leggings combo in slate gray and large enough to drape over his large frame had replaced his well-worn black clothes. His feet were bare despite the cold floor. A pair of black goggles dangled loosely from his hand, swinging back and forth ever so slightly.

“Fell into a hole and when I climbed out…voila. Here I am with the crazy people living on a dead planet.” She curled her knees up against her chest, very aware that she was far away from home and unlikely to see any of her friends or family again. Better lay down the ground rules before she got in over her head. “So what is this? You feed me and give me clothes…what exactly do you expect in return?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Fair enough, she thought. He barely seemed to understand the words coming out her mouth so he may not have decided if she was useful or not. “Is there anything else in this world? Other than you and your army.”

He nodded slowly. “There are more of them. Each Lord Marshal who’s ever led a crusade has his own army.”

“Let me guess, they’re all fighting each other. Fabulous.” She rubbed her arms against the sudden chill in the air. “I don’t suppose you’ve even heard of planet Earth?”

“Earth?” he repeated. “It’s a dead planet now. Has been for nearly a hundred years.”

Keep reading...

Full Service Treatment

2006-04-27T05:44:51Z

Title: Full Service Treatment
Pairing: Veronica/Weevil
Rating: R to possible NC-17 (not really but I'm being safe)
Disclaimer: None of it’s mine. Sadly. But I’ll take Weevil in a heartbeat if Rob Thomas decides he doesn’t want him anymore.
Summary: Veronica takes Weevil up on his offer of a full service treatment. Spoilers for Pilot episode only.

The Calculus made her do it.

At least that was the excuse Veronica used to explain why she was raking her fingers through her hair in an effort to tame it. The mussed look was so very white trash. She figured the hastily buttoned cardigan would be giveaway enough if she forgot to fix the mismatched buttons before walking through the door. Not that she ever forgot, but it was the deeply seated fear that she would that made the mental reminders pop up every five seconds.

She’d always imagined it happening with long hair. How it would tumble over white sheets and fluffy pillows and how her gorgeous long hair would glisten in the moment. None of her fantasies included short handfuls clutched tight in hands that were nearly pulling it out. Too rough and tangled for all those white sheets, but oddly appropriate for the backseat of a freshly chopped luxury sedan. She had to hand it to Lexus; they must’ve had exactly that kind of tumble in mind when they put in all those curves and angles. Places to put hands, feet, or a shoulder, in the attempt to find better leverage.

There was no reason for worry when she finally reached the front door and let herself in. Her father’s bedroom door was closed and the light was off. The South Park movie was sitting on top of the television, there would be take-out in the fridge, and she knew she’d be up most of the night trying to find a lie that would sit still on her tongue long enough to tell it. He’d want to know why she hadn’t come home for some father-daughter bonding and that left her in a jam.

Couldn’t tell him it was because of the lie about her mother, not because it wasn’t, but because she didn’t want to play that card this early in the game. She couldn’t tell him the truth because that involved Neptune’s criminal element and the backseat of a Lexus.

She paused at his door just long enough to listen for snoring. Sometimes he let her think she’d gotten away with it long enough to get her guard down. When all she heard was silence, she hurried through her night’s routine before settling down at her desk with her AP English reading assignment. It wasn’t like she was actually going to get any sleep so she might as well read. Or pretend to read.

The music in her earphones was verging on optimistic, which was not part of the new Veronica Mars, and words blurred on the page, shaken out of focus by the humming of her skin. It didn’t matter; the book and the desk lamp were mostly for show. Now she knew for sure she’d been drugged at Shelley’s party because she would have remembered that.

Heat, skin, the taste of someone else’s sweat on her lips, and the pressure. Confusing at first, not knowing which way to move or where to put her hands and forced to put her trust, and her body, into someone else’s hands. As it turned out, someone else’s very capable hands. Then again, maybe the villain from Shelley’s party had been lousy in bed and her brain was doing her the favor of wiping out those memories before they could give her more intimacy issues than she already had.

She shook it off long enough to read another stanza of Pope before her skin reminded her that there had been lips involved. That was the reason for the hair pulling, to get her head away so he could press those lips against her neck along with teeth and tongue. Maybe it was because he liked to pull her hair; some boys never grew out of the schoolyard, they just got older.

“Veronica?”

“Huh?” Dragged from her stupor of not-reading, the book slipped away along with the trip down memory lane and she tugged out the ear buds.

“I’m sorry. I made you lose your place. It’s a little late to be studying, are you alright?” The genuine concern in her father’s tired voice doubled the heaping of guilt already weighing on her conscious.

“Yeah, but I’ve got this due on Friday. Look, I’m sorry about tonight. It took longer that I expected.” What should have been a fast service headlight change she could walk away from in under fifteen minutes turned into exactly what he’d promised. Full service treatment.

“There’s always tomorrow. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine. And I’m almost done here so stop worrying and go back to bed.” She kept her smile on until he closed the door behind him and let out a sigh of relief. One of these days he would realize she’d learned to con him; she just hoped it was later rather than sooner.

The good that had come of it was that he wouldn’t see broken headlights on the LeBaron when he left in the morning and for what felt like too little time, she hadn’t asked herself any of those burning questions. Her mind had been occupied with whether or not ooo or ahhh was the right response, twisting all her sentences around, and cringing when her voice came out breathier than usual. There were even a few words that got dropped completely amidst the Ohs and Don’t stops.

Even if she had intended to catch up on her reading, a very dead Alexander Pope didn’t stand a chance at keeping her attention with the soundtrack of heavy breathing running in her head. Hers, his; he’d whispered her name soft and quiet against her skin. Not that it mattered. There was no relationship waiting to bud into a flower only to wilt and die sooner rather than later. Just two people in the backseat of a Lexus trying to forget everything wrong in their lives.

Earlier That Night

There were lights on inside the body shop and a familiar motorcycle still sitting outside when Veronica drove into the parking lot. It wasn’t a place she deliberately visited in the daylight and most of Neptune would think she was crazy to end up there at night. Crazy was probably a step up from super slut and at least there was truth in the rumors of her insanity. She’d almost changed her mind when Weevil stepped out of the garage, wiping his hands on a cloth so dirty it couldn’t possibly get anything clean.

He gave her a lazy smile that was half challenge and half dare. Without a single word spoken, she knew the silent question in that smirk. Did she have what it took to get out of the car and step into his world?

Stepping out was the easy part. A smile of her own and nodding toward the headlights was all it took. He waved her into the adjacent bay and disappeared long enough for her to reach for the taser. The night was colder than she remembered and inside the garage didn’t change much; she rubbed her arms against goose bumps not due entirely to the temperature of the air.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” Weevil told her as he set down a pair of cardboard boxes. “You coulda waited ‘til the sun was up, Mars.”

“And risk someone seeing me while I’m getting the full service treatment?” It was meant to be a joke; she even made quote marks, but the look on his face left her questioning her delivery. She heard the clink of metal tools and got out of the car to watch, or at least poke around the tool bin. The unfriendly look faded from his eyes and the smooth smile was back before she could continue wondering what exactly about the joke had upset him.

“Might ruin that spotless reputation of yours. Couldn’t ask you to lower yourself like that.” He was back to playful again.

“Are you kidding? If my reputation’s anything to go by then you have no idea what you’re missing.” She leaned forward a bit and tried a look that might or might not have been provocative. It was rewarded with a wide grin before he turned his attention back to replacing her headlight.

Watching someone else do it, she figured it was easy enough that she could have learned how to do it herself. It would have spared her a drive into the barrio and the late night chatting with the leader of the PCH. Then again, witty banter was a scarce commodity in a town of trust funds and bimbos, but she could always count on Weevil to at least bring the innuendo. He wasn’t afraid of her and that counted for something in this world. Idly, she wondered what he was afraid of. The list of his phobias obviously didn’t include needles or razor blades.

The question was rolling off her tongue before she could engage her brain. “What scares you, Weevil?”

“Why? You gonna put spiders in my helmet?”

“Of course not. I hate spiders.” She shuddered at the thought of collecting eight-legged crawlies for the sake of a practical joke. “But you were mighty quick to get defensive. Are you afraid of someone getting to know you?”

“Is that what this is? Are you getting to know me, Veronica Mars?” He tipped his head to the side to look up at her. “I can think of a better way.”

She almost forgot to answer him; watching his hands work and marveling at the deft twists of the tools in those fingers. Good hands, strong hands. Watching him caress those tools in an entirely professional manner was sent her brain down an entirely unprofessional road. He finished just as she was fighting to eradicate all the questions about whether or not he handled a woman the way he handled his tools. She really needed to keep the conversation going before things got out of hand. Getting to know him, that was the question.

“I’m interested…because I’m sitting here in a garage while you’re fixing my headlights. And there’s another question. Why the big show with Logan? Why fix my headlights at all? That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Echolls was for my own enjoyment, V.” He winked as he tossed the second broken headlight into a plastic bin. “And these? Reason you got them was because you were helping out my boys.”

“I got them because Logan is an ass,” she corrected lightly.

“Got that right.” He shrugged and pulled another new headlight out of the box, working on making the connections. “’Bout done here, hop in and turn them on when I tell you so I can make sure they’re pointed at the road.”

Grateful for the chance to put some distance between her and those hands, she did as she was told and waited for him to signal that he was done aligning the headlights. If she’d been able to think of a way to stay in the car she would have, but that nagging little cricket started poking at her with his umbrella. She only had two twenties on her and she doubted that Weevil’s uncle took checks.

“Let me pay you. For the parts at least. How much are they?” Digging through her bag, she found the money and looked back up. He was leaning against the driver’s side door; arms folded where the window should have been.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re going to have to tell your uncle something about where those headlights went.”

He grinned at her. “Headlight assemblies are forty a piece.”

“Forty? Forty bucks for a headlight?” She choked out. “This is all I have with me so I’ll have to owe you. But I will get you the rest tomorrow.”

“V.”

“Don’t V me, just take the money and I’ll get you the rest tomorrow. I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me.”

His fingers closed around hers, held her there just long enough to make her nervous before he pulled the bills out of her grip and tucked them into his pocket. He didn’t move away, still leaning against her door and watching her. She found herself staring again, this time at his eyelashes.

“Have you ever tried mascara?” she blurted out, her brain obviously not on the same side as the part of her interested in staying alive. “I mean, you’ve got incredible eyelashes and with a little bit of mascara they’d be totally drag queen worthy. Not that you…can I strike that one from the record?”

“Do you even listen to what comes out of your mouth?”

“But sometimes it’s really good. Sometimes I repeat the same phrase over and over because it was just that good.”

“Really?”

“I’m off my game tonight, I know. It’s gotta be the whole wrong side of town vibe throwing me off. And I don’t know any mechanic lingo that isn’t a euphemism for a sexual act that’s illegal in half of the fifty states.”

He laughed for real this time. Not the controlled chuckling for when people were watching or the snide snickering over an inside joke; a real, honest to goodness laugh of a human being finding genuine amusement in life. Strong fingers curled over the door as he stood up.

“I’m gonna get cleaned up. Got something you might be interested in seeing. But you can head out if you need to.” His voice was casual and his hands were working at the dirty cloth again. There was more to those words than he was saying. A silent invitation, an offer extended, and the acknowledgement that what she needed and what she wanted might not be one and the same. No use wondering how he knew; it was decision time.

Good daughter Veronica, the rational one of the bunch, was shouting about driving away. Not quite so good daughter Veronica, who had stayed up most of the night before a Calculus test completely ignorant that her missing mother was the woman in question, wasn’t in such a hurry. She wasn’t particularly inclined to follow Good Veronica’s preaching or get home to the father who was misguidedly trying to protect her with his lies.

Shoving Good Veronica into the background, she left the keys in the ignition should she decide to bolt and got out of the car. There was a sofa that looked as though it had been through two wars and countless Nickelodeon shows against the far wall. She took a seat, holding her breath in the hope that none of the filth would transfer to her jeans. The blue jumpsuit he wore peeled away to reveal a white tank top and jeans before it disappeared into a locker and once again her eyes were drawn to his hands as he lathered up his arms in the sink along the wall. She waited until he was nearly dry before asking any sarcastic questions, the last thing she wanted was to be washing dirty soap bubbles out of her hair.

“Is this what I’m supposed to see? Cause I’ve already seen plenty of you. Did you get a new tat?” She eyed him critically for a second before reaching out to turn his arm, squinting at the ornate letters inked down his forearm. “Ooo…these are interesting. Is it show and tell? Cause I didn’t bring anything to show.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” The grin was nearly a leer. He jerked his thumb toward one of the cars in the garage. Hidden under a dark gray car cover that whispered as he lifted it up, this one was unusual and looked to be several income brackets out of his range. “Take a look.”

“You’re showing me a car.”

“Not just any car, go ahead and look.”

“What is it with men and cars?” She tried not to look impressed by the sheen of new car under the dim lights of the barely legal establishment.

“Backseats,” he answered playfully before opening the side door to reveal the inside of the car.

She didn’t quite manage to suppress the widening of her eyes as she looked in on perfect leather seats and she climbed in without further urging. Even the seats screamed luxury sedan, the smell of new carpet still crisp and fresh. She was probably sitting in one count of grand theft auto but that didn’t detract from the experience of a fully customized Lexus. When he followed her, she swatted gently at his arm. “Don’t get it dirty!”

“My clothes are clean. That’s why we wear the outfits.” He rolled his eyes as he shut the door and hit the button for ceiling lights. Settling back against the seat, he breathed the scent of new leather deep into his lungs and gave her a slightly delirious grin. “You can’t tell me this isn’t the best. Feel these seats.”

“I am feeling them, I’m just not enjoying them as much as you are. Backseats? Not really my thing.” She could tell he wasn’t buying her cover and figured it had something to do with the fact that she was nearly sprawled over the seat.

“What is your thing, V?” Dark eyes focused on her, his face shadowed in the dim light. “What turns you on?”

“Is that a car metaphor? Because usually you at least try to hide the sex in the subtext and that wasn’t in the least bit subtext.”

“Maybe I’m curious about what I’m missing. With your reputation and all.”

“Of course.” She leaned back, letting one hand stroke the perfectly supple surface of the seat. “Well, that depends on who you talk to. Some will tell you that it’s all about the whips and the chains. Another little bird might chirp about what a few shots will get you if you’ve got the liquor. I guess it just depends on my mood.”

“And your mood right now…would be?”

She frowned at him, trying to decide if she was reading too much into that. “Is this another guy thing? Does leather turn you on? Or is it just the backseat.”

“It’s not a hard question, V. You got this look about you tonight. Losing a little bit of that Mars cool around the edges. What’re you looking for?”

The truth was on the tip of her tongue. Her mother had come back to town and hadn’t even told her. She’d been the hussy at the Camelot with Jake Kane that Veronica had spent half a night trying to get a picture of. Then there were the lies and the tangled web of the past. So many questions and she could barely think with all their clamoring.

“What makes you think I’m looking for something?”

“If that jackass Echolls' had broken your headlights last week, would you be here?”

“Would he have broken my headlights if I hadn’t been helping you?” she countered.

“It’s a school night, V, and you’re here. You haven’t looked at your watch once but even I know you should be home. Don’t suppose I’ll be getting a visit from the lights and sirens any time soon?”

“Dad’s not the Sheriff anymore.” She looked away, still a little uncomfortable saying it out loud.

“Doesn’t mean he’d kill me any less if he knew you were here.”

“You mean if he knew what I was doing.” The words were heavy in her ears, strange and sudden in their meaning. Her heart picked up the pace in anticipation.

“Can’t say we’ve broken any laws just yet. Night’s young if you’ve got something in mind.” There was that suggestive lifting of the eyebrow again, his lips turned up at one corner, and he wasn’t quite able to hide the fact that he wasn’t looking directly at her face. He seemed to have gotten closer and the proximity was distracting.

The words came tumbling out, slipping past her defenses amidst the confusion of trying to answer him. “I have so many questions and you’re just giving me more and I don’t have answers for any of them. Do you? Cause I really wish you did. Tell me what I’m looking for; tell me what I’m in the mood for because I don’t know anymore. And please tell me to shut up because me talking right now is a really bad idea.”

She saw the shift in his eyes and met him halfway. Those amazing hands tangled in her hair as he swallowed down her words, leaving her speechless against him. Good Veronica made one last stand, feebly protesting against the kissing that should not be happening and the bad cliché of backseat sex.

“Don’t think about it,” he murmured against her lips before yanking back on her hair to expose her neck.

“This…I’m not…” The feel of his hands on her skin, firm, demanding, the touch of a winning jockey handling a thoroughbred racehorse, only egged on the rebellion that her brain had started. In one last gasp before rationality drowned, she told herself it was because she was tired and lonely and they were both powerless against quality leather. It was because she didn’t want to think about her parents or the Calculus homework she should be doing.

His skin was warm and electric beneath her fingers. The problem of where to put her hands was solved quickly, the answer being anywhere she could find bare skin. Shoulders, arms, sliding over his shaved head and down his neck. They broke apart long enough to slide and yank clothing up over heads and arms; always coming back to kissing each other breathless. She gripped his shoulders, fingernails digging into his skin, as his lips moved down from her neck and headed for territory that was definitely new.

With a deft move, he maneuvered her onto his lap without breaking the contact between his mouth and her skin. It was a heady combination. His hands on her hips, guiding her to the right rhythm, while his tongue rasped over her right nipple until she thought she was going crazy.

“This is so wrong,” she gasped, eyes closed and palms pressed flat against the ceiling just inches above her head.

He pulled away to watch, hands still driving the rocking of her hips. “Then tell me to stop.”

“Don’t stop. God, don’t stop.” She didn’t know if the fact that it was wrong was actually what made it right or if she was simply a slave to the hormones that started pumping through her blood at the smell of leather and the touch of his hands.

She must have said the right thing. His arm wrapped around her back as he tipped and rolled her to the side. With her back against premium leather, she lifted her hips when he reached for the zipper of her jeans. He didn’t seem to have any trouble stripping the denim away and was equally proficient in ridding her of the pale blue cotton underwear.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve done this a few times.” Suddenly she felt awkward in the backseat of a stolen car, naked as a jaybird and legs spread wide open with the leader of a motorcycle gang between them. Was she supposed to undress him now? The thought of trying to undo the buttons made her mouth go dry. What if she couldn’t get her fingers to stop shaking?

He erased all awkwardness by pushing the virgin territory idea even further. Luckily, before she could ask him what he was doing, her voice got lost in the gasp resulting from his tongue doing something entirely new. It was all she could do to hold on and not ask how the hell he’d learned how to do whatever he was doing. She was completely incoherent by the time she felt his fingers slide into her and bucked against him involuntarily. This was definitely an ooo moment and before she knew it, it had turned into an ahh moment with her head thrown back and every muscle in her body beyond her control.

There was barely time to regain her breath before he was pulling her into his arms and lap, holding her against his bare chest. At some point he’d removed his own jeans but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Forehead pressed against the back of the seat, she savored the feel of his breath on her shoulder and his hands skimming over her back. She didn’t intend to open her eyes and look down at what she knew would be there.

Dark curls were soft and tickled her skin ever so slightly. She wrapped her fingers cautiously around the shaft of his cock and felt him tense beneath her. Deep breaths, she was supposed to be good at this thing. There was a moment of terror when she realized that he might be expecting her to return the oral favor and she had no idea what to do with that in her mouth. She moved her lips to his neck to buy some time, pressing kisses up to his ear while she ran her thumb lightly over the head of his cock.

“Whoa there, girl,” he whispered, his voice low and husky.

She heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper and swallowed down the sigh of relief. He wasn’t expecting her to give him a blowjob, just to have sex. That, she might be able to handle. There didn’t seem to be much too it other than moving her hips. Her cheeks were flushed with more adrenaline than embarrassment and she couldn’t help her curiosity as he rolled on the condom. It didn’t look any harder than the banana exercise they’d had in health class and she’d been pro at that.

The kiss was a surprise; she’d figured he’d want to get right to it. Instead he was back to teasing her with his tongue until her hips started rocking of their own accord. Once she was having trouble breathing again, he pulled her up against him and sucked her left nipple into his mouth. When he didn’t seem to be making any move to get on with the sex, she caught his face in her hands and forced him to look at her.

“Are we going to do this?” she asked, only slightly afraid he was going to say no.

“Never knew you were so demanding, V.” He grinned lazily up at her; his head back against the seat.

She felt his hands move to her hips and tried to relax. It wasn’t like she was a virgin or anything. Seconds passed by like hours until she felt him pressing against her, her grip on his shoulders tightening involuntarily as she sunk down onto his cock. This was new. This was definitely new.

“God, V,” he moaned, eyes half closed.

That seemed to be a good thing and she was only half listening to his murmured words anyway. Lilly would have known. She would have been able to explain it to her. That is, if Veronica would ever have had the nerve to tell Lilly she’d had sex with Eli Navarro. She pushed those thoughts away, the more immediate issue being the sex she was having. Sex without drugs or alcohol, just hormones and the backseat of a car.

They fell into an easy rhythm and she caught on quickly to the telltale signs in his breathing and on his face, learning as she went what he liked and what put him over the edge. He was gripping her as hard as she had held onto him, his fingers digging into her hips.

It was crazy, the whole thing was crazy. The world had jumped into its merry hand basket and gone mad. Knowing it was crazy didn’t change any of the facts so she ignored the insanity as best she could. Watched his eyes and mouth open, the look on his face something that she had never seen on anyone before. It was gone too fast for her to memorize, leaving her only with the impression of amazing and beautiful. Then he was pulling her against him, holding her and stroking her hair as he nuzzled her neck.

She realized that the true awkwardness had just begun. How was she supposed to look him in the eye again? And how was she supposed to find her clothing and get them all back on when she barely remembered removing them. The second one proved to be the easier of the two.

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen a bra?” she asked, glancing around elaborately. “It’s blue. Matches the panties. And there’s a little flower on the front. It’s my favorite bra.”

“To your left.” He nodded in the general direction and let her pull away from him in search of her clothes. “Hand me my jeans if you find them.”

“One pair of jeans coming up.” She tossed the jeans at him and kept collecting her own clothing, struggling into them with as much modesty as she could manage considering the circumstances. It devolved into a tangle of limbs and bumped heads as they both attempted to dress in the limited amount of space. Once she pulled on her cardigan, she leaned back against the seat, rubbing the bump her head and grinning at him.

“Think you gave me a black eye, V.”

“Was that when I was trying to put on my bra and you kept trying to take it off again?”

“Ungrateful. I was just trying to help,” he protested.

“Right.” She took a deep breath and eyed the door reluctantly. “I don’t suppose that was worth a headlight?”
Shaking his head, he was obviously trying not to laugh as he reached over to open the door. “Not gonna answer that.”

“Come on. That had to be worth one headlight at least.” She climbed out after him, not looking back because she didn’t want to wince if they’d ruined the upholstery. The door closed and the car cover whispered back into place. Was that all it took to turn this into a dream?

“Look at me.” His hands settled on either side of her and he leaned in, pressing her back against the car. He was still as warm and enticing as ever, smelling of sex and leather. “I’m not stupid, Veronica. Don’t treat me like I am.”

“Where did that come from?” His words startled her out of the trance threatening to engulf her.

“Once that sun comes up it’ll be like this never happened. You know it, I know it. Don’t insult me by pretending you give a damn about me.”

He took his warmth away and left her spinning on her feet, staring after him as he started closing up shop. There was nothing coming to mind, no witty comebacks or counter attacks. No denying that he was right and come tomorrow it would be business as usual in both of their worlds. It stung more than she’d thought it would even though she’d known it couldn’t really end any other way.

“That’s the thing. The problem with fucking the leader of a motorcycle gang is that at the end of the day, he’s still the leader of a motorcycle gang.” She slammed the door of the LeBaron a little harder than was necessary.

He didn’t answer and she didn’t wait around to see if he would. More than an hour had passed since she’d left the office and her father was home waiting for his daughter to return. Waiting for the Good Veronica who studied hard and went to school and didn’t take her clothes off for anyone. She figured the guilt would come sooner or later so she might as well get a head start on the self-flagellation. It was on the drive home that she realized what he’d said, his lips against her skin, muffling the word enough that she doubted her own ears.

Why would he call her Lilly?

Stormy Weather, Pt. 2

2006-04-25T07:14:34Z

Title: Stormy Weather
Author: Aeneas
Pairing/Character: Mac/Weevil, Veronica-Weevil friendship
Word Count: 1,224 and running...
Rating: PG to R (at the most)
Summary: Veronica investigates a stalking case, but the most interesting case might be happening right under nose.
Spoilers/Warnings: Up to I Am God - 2x18.
A/N: The song prompt was "My Girl" by the Temptations.

The story was relegated to the third page of the paper and Veronica wasn’t surprised that Lamb had managed to put a spin on it that made him look like the hero. The noble Sheriff who had doggedly kept after the murder of a kid from the wrong side of the tracks, never giving up until he could finally issue an arrest warrant for Thumper. Her smile faded when she read that Thumper had been missing and was assumed to have fled the city. Patience wasn’t Weevil’s strong suit.

Lamb wasn’t the only one who came out smelling like roses. Logan Echolls went from Neptune’s Teflon villain to the wronged hero in the town’s greatest tragedy. Abandoned by his mother, betrayed by his father, and fresh off the success of a prize winning essay on freedom; his life had all the makings of a great Lifetime original movie.

“Must’ve been why they dismissed the charges against Logan,” her father commented without looking up from the page he was reading.

“Because Don Lamb is the picture of dedication and competence.”

“He has his moments.”

She looked over at him skeptically. “You’re not defending him, are you?”

“We should support our elected officials, Veronica. It’s part of our civic duty as citizens of a democracy.” He gave her the smile that meant she was either too young or too naïve to get the joke.

“Is that your punch line? If it is then you probably need to work on your delivery.” The paper closed with a whoosh and the smell of fresh ink. Her book bag slung over her shoulder with comfortably familiar weight.

“Got any big Friday night plans?”

“Nah. Shift at the Hut and then home for some beauty sleep.” There seemed to be more he wanted to say but when she paused at the door and waited, he merely smiled at her before turning back to his coffee. Dads were weird and hers was no exception. His mind was working on something important that required her to hold his calls more than usual. The unspoken rule, and one that she usually failed to observe, was no prying until he gave her the signal that he was ready to field questions.

School was school. The routine had gone on long enough that, despite the brewing frenzy of impending graduation, she didn’t think about it anymore. All she really noticed was the new energy buzzing amongst the seniors that was equal parts annoying and exciting. She was still holding her breath that someone would blow up the high school on graduation day and spare her the agony of walking across the stage in front of her peers.

Mac interrupted her daydreaming. “Must be a happy thought.”

“Wistful, really. Where’s Buffy when you need her?” She grabbed the books she needed and shut her locker. “Did you work things out with Cassidy?”

“He broke up with me.” Mac looked like she was smiling but her eyes were red and her voice trembled.

“What? What happened?” Steering her through the hall and into the girls’ bathroom, Veronica quickly grabbed a handful of paper towels to stem the flood of tears. “Tell me what happened.”

“I just wanted to know if it was me, if he didn’t find me attractive or if I’d done something wrong.” Tears spilled down her cheeks and her words were nearly unintelligible. “I wasn’t trying to ruin everything, Veronica. I just wanted to know that he thought I was pretty.”

She held Mac awkwardly as she began crying in earnest, patting her back gently and continuing to supply paper towels. “I’m sure you didn’t ruin anything. Once he’s thought about it, and realized how stupid he is, he’ll come around.”

“I ruined everything!” Mac’s lip trembled from her effort to control her tears.

“No, you didn’t. He could have told you what’s going on, he could have lied to you about having a rash or something. He’s the one who chose to throw away what you guys had.”

Mac sniffed and blew her nose loudly. “I got your message. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. Haven’t been up to talking to anyone.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She waited for Mac to regain her composure before continuing. Hopefully getting her mind off of Cassidy was just what she needed.

”I have a disk with some fairly voyeuristic entertainment and I think the creep could have started out as a cyber stalker. The girl who got the video sent me links to all the websites she posts at. She writes fanfiction? Whatever that is.”

“Oh yeah. There’s tons of it online. Some of it’s pretty crazy.”

“Well, apparently our flower child writes some of it.”

“Wait a minute…you don’t mean Star Flowers, do you?” Mac’s brow furrowed with concern.

“You know her?”

“I know her fic.” She looked slightly guilty at the admission. “She writes under the pseudonym Starlight Cat.”

“Starlight Cat?”

“There are worse names, believe me. Is she okay?”

“She’s pretty shaken up. It is terrifying knowing someone’s been following you around. I think it’s a case of devoted fan gone overboard. The soundtrack for the video is My Girl; which is pretty old fashioned and naïve for a stalker. That says puppy love gone wrong to me.” Veronica didn’t elaborate further. Watching the video sent the same chills up her spine that finding surveillance photos in her mother’s safe deposit box had done. The stalker hadn’t made contact other than the video and hopefully she’d be able to find out who it was before their obsession turned dangerous.

“You’d think the Police would be the song of choice if you were going to stalk someone.”

“That’s so passé; everyone knows that’s a stalker song.” Veronica grinned. “They probably don’t think of themselves as a stalker. What do you know about her fanfiction?”

“Mostly in the Buffyverse. I haven’t read any of her Spike and Angel or Spike and Xander. There's even Xander and Giles fanfic, if you're into that. But she has all sorts of stuff other than slash.”

“Spike and Angel? Is that slash? What is slash?”

“Slash is male male character pairings. You know…romance, sex.”

“Oh!” The light bulb came on suddenly and then Veronica immediately had to wipe a host of disturbing images from her mind. “Xander and Giles is a joke, right? Tell me that’s a joke, cause that is wrong on so many levels.”

“Sorry, you can find any pairing you can think of it. Some of them are really weird. But Star’s actually pretty good as fanfic goes. There’s a lot of really bad fic out there.”

“I’ll take your word for it. What I need are digital footprints. I’ve got some emails from a very enthusiastic fan, probably a good place to start. If we can track him back to Neptune then we may just have something.” She dug through her bag for the disk with copies of the email and forum information. “I’d like to start with her routine, her neighbors, friends.”

“The enemies you know.” Mac nodded as she took the disk. “I’ll get you everything I can.”

“Thanks. You’re the best, Mac.”

“Is there a timeline I need to stick to?”

“As soon as you can get the info to me is more than good. Hopefully he’ll be content with harmless voyeuristic fantasies for a while longer. And I’ve asked to maintain the status quo until we have something to go on.” She continued to pay close attention to Mac’s expression, half-expecting the tears to begin at any moment. “Is anything else you can tell me about Ms. Flowers?”

“She’s really quiet. I think her mom is a sculptor or something but don’t quote me on that one.” Once the disk was tucked away in her jacket, Mac attempted a smile that came out a little lopsided and more than a little sad. “Thanks. Maybe this’ll help me…you know.”

Veronica nodded. “If you come by the Hut tonight, I’ll give you more chocolate cream pie than you’ve ever seen in your life. Nothing’s so bad that it can’t be cured by chocolate cream pie.”

“Thanks, Veronica.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose one more time. “I think I will if you don’t mind. It’s either that or sit in my room and listen to really depressing music.”

“I have an official break up album if you’d like to borrow it.”

Mac gave her another sad smile. “Sorry to cry all over you. I didn’t have anyone else who wouldn’t laugh at me and tell me I should’ve known. With him being…you know, who he is.”

“I know.” She patted Mac’s shoulder again and tipped her head toward the door. “Ready to face the world?”

“Staying here does have the advantage of avoiding class.”

“There is that. But somehow I think we’d have to go all Trading Spaces on the walls by the end of school. The green and yellow? Really not the most flattering color scheme.” Veronica waited for Mac to compose herself and clean up streaked eyeliner before heading for the door. “And if you’re not completely busy with the post-break up vegging, I’m going to be retracing our stalker’s steps this weekend. Want to tag along?” The question slipped out before she could think it through and the hopeful look on Mac’s face made it impossible to retract the offer.

“Are you serious? Cause that would really help take my mind off of sharp objects. And I promise I won’t get in the way.”

“I could use the company. Might be a lot of walking though,” Veronica cautioned.

“I’ll be sure to wear sensible shoes.”

“Then it’s a date. I’ll pick you up at the reasonable hour of ten in the morning and promise to have you home before curfew, so you can tell the rents not to worry. Hopefully it won’t take that long.” She kept smiling until Mac reached the other end of the hallway and then headed for the library to play catch up on her researching for English Lit. Slipping in the room was easy and she headed for the stacks, crouching down to peruse the bottom shelf.

“There you are, Veronica. Why didn’t you check in with me when class began?” Mrs. Tuft held out the clipboard with the roll sheet.

“Sorry. I was just in a hurry to get to all the books.” She signed the sheet quickly and turned back to the books before the teacher could ask any more questions. As long as she kept the homework coming in on time and didn’t smart off in class more than occasionally, they didn’t look hard enough to see through her flimsy excuses.

It took less than a minute to gather the books she needed, check them out, and settle into a table in the far corner of the library. One essay on the imagery of Wordsworth’s poetry coming right up. It wasn’t exactly her cup of tea as far as poetry went but the hoops kept coming and she kept jumping like a good little sheep. Graduating with the Kane scholarship was the only way she’d be getting out of Neptune and if that meant five thousand words on Wordsworth, so be it.

Her mind wandered mid stanza and chose to return to the unsettling events revolving around Weevil. There were moments where he seemed to be just another high school student and then there was the Weevil who was beginning to scare her. And what was her part in all of this, if she knew he’d been involved? It was possible that he was banking on her not turning him in and that made her uneasy. She was pretty sure that eventually he would do something that she couldn’t pretend not to see.

The chance that he hadn’t been behind Thumper’s disappearance was too much to hope for and she just prayed that his body wouldn’t be washing up on shore any time soon. One of those was more than enough. She was still undecided about whether or not she believed Weevil was responsible for Curly’s death. Even if he hadn’t landed the fatal blow, he still could have injured him badly enough to put one foot in the grave. The driver of the mysterious car could have set up the whole thing and written her name on Curly’s hand after the PCHers left. It had to be a message. Someone wanted her to take notice.

It could be that Curly had lied and really was behind the bus crash or it could be that someone wanted her, and apparently the PCHers, to think that he was. If her name in permanent marker was to throw her off track then the killer could be someone who knew her. That was a terrifying thought. If Curly hadn’t been lying and he had known who was behind the crash, then the bomber had neatly tied up at least one loose end.

“Got any answers?” she asked Wordsworth quietly. Of course, he’d been dead for decades and didn’t care about a busload of dead kids or the frighteningly thorough mastermind behind their deaths.

“Talking to yourself again, Mars?” Logan plunked down in the chair across from her with the ever-familiar smirk. “You really should seek professional help if you’ve reached that stage.”

“Who needs therapy when I have you?” She shut the book and smiled guardedly. Things had seemed to be getting easier between them but the predatory vibe he was giving off triggered all of her alarm bells. She’d learned long ago to be wary of his mercurial moods. She never knew if it was his day to pull her close or push her away and there were days when Logan seemed to manage both at the same time. “Did you need something or are you just spreading sunshine into my dark little corner of Neptune?”

“I’m crushed. After that dance we shared under the crepe paper and festive lighting? I thought we had something.” Logan put his hands over his heart dramatically.

“Emphasis on the past tense.”

As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t deny that there was something between them, whatever it was. But leopards didn’t change their spots and, at the end of the day, Logan would still be Logan. That meant more drama and heartache than she needed. Maybe some day, if she were strong enough to take it, she’d buy another ticket for that ride. Loving Logan Echolls was a guarantee that her life would never be dull and her heart would never be truly safe.

“Some things never change, do they, Veronica? You still won’t give me a chance.” There were those spots showing again. Lashing out because he was hurt or angry and didn’t know how else to deal. She was mystified as to exactly what he was upset about this time but that wasn’t unusual either.

“Are you trying to be my friend again or did you need a favor? I get confused.” She turned back to her book and waited for him to leave. When he didn’t storm off in his usual Logan fashion, she looked back up and waited.

“And you’re the expert on friendship,” he muttered sarcastically and stared up at the ceiling as though she wasn’t even there. His ability to dismiss anything and anyone who wasn’t immediately relevant to his ego had always gotten under her skin.

“It’s all about what’s most important to you, isn’t it? And that would be…you.”

“You really don’t know me, Veronica.”

“I really don’t.” She gathered up her books and stood up. If he wasn’t going to relocate then she would.

“And the girl has always loved her exits,” he called after her.

She ignored him and the looks she was getting from the rest of the class. They’d gossip behind her back once she was out of earshot. Had to love the status quo. She wasn’t sure if she was more or less of a leper now that she didn’t have the 09er boyfriend accessory to go with her bag. There were still rumors and looks cast over shoulders; people still whispered her name and fell suddenly quiet when she passed by.

Their teacher had disappeared into the stacks so Veronica took the chance and slipped out of the library, glancing around the corner before hurrying down the hall to her locker. Needed textbooks procured and she was headed the other way. Footsteps that sounded too deliberate to be a student sent her veering to the right and into the undesirable wing of the school. Auto shop, wood shop. The creative arts room would be the last door on the left and empty. If she could stay ahead of Clemmons for another twenty feet then she’d be home free.

She winced as the door handle made an audible click, slipping into the darkened room as quietly as possible and praying that the noise hadn’t been noticed. The footsteps slowed and then faded away. Breathing deep, she picked a desk by the window and pulled out her Wordsworth to read in peace. Apparently fate didn’t have peace and quiet in mind.

Weevil’s voice startled her. “Didn’t think you cut class, V. Figured it wasn’t your thing.”

She could barely make out his silhouette in the darkness. “Is this gang up on Veronica day? What are you doing here, Weevil?”

He left his chair in the corner and crossed the room to lean against the wall beside the desk. “Same thing you are, apparently.

“And that thing would be?” When he tipped his head and lifted an eyebrow suggestively, she shook her head. “Don’t answer that. I saw that Lamb issued an arrest warrant for Thumper. Guess he’s missing.”

“If I was facing a murder charge, I’d be underground too,” he answered noncommittally.

“If I asked you whether or not you had anything to do with it, would you tell me the truth?” She hadn’t realized how terrified she was of that answer until the words were out of her mouth. It wasn’t the fact that Weevil had lied to her on more than one occasion that rankled; it was that he always had a reason for lying. Those reasons were what terrified her.

“You think I said the magic words and made him disappear? Believe me, if it were that easy, I woulda done it a long time ago.” He shook his head, refusing to meet her gaze.

“Luis came in and told Lamb everything. If you’d just waited.” She left her books on the desk and tried to approach him. He pulled away from her as soon as she got close enough to reach out him. “If you do see him…let Lamb deal with it. It’s the right way.”

“Yeah. Sure it is.”

“Weevil. If you do something to Thumper, you could go to jail. Have you thought about that?” She caught his arm and stopped him from walking away. “Fine. We won’t talk about. Just tell me you won’t rush into anything. Lamb knows it was Thumper.”

“If I say yes, will you leave me alone?”

She managed not to roll her eyes and gave up trying to give Weevil the pep talk on justice. After all, she couldn’t really blame him for being cynical. There had always been an edge to Weevil that had nothing to do with leather or tattoos and everything to do with growing up in the wrong zip code with the wrong color skin. But this couldn’t be the same Weevil who had picked her up from Logan’s with no questions asked just because she’d called. This Weevil was jagged stone just waiting to cut and scrape anyone who dared get close.

Since there was nothing about Weevil that didn’t involve some sort of moral conundrum, she decided on a temporary ceasefire and changed the subject. “What are you doing hiding in an empty classroom anyway?”

“Math doesn’t really turn me on.” He stared at her hand on his arm but didn’t pull away.

“I feel your pain. I may kill myself before I finish these.” She motioned to the stack of poetry books. The conversation was almost back to normal high school caliber and topic. Small talk, weather, all those good things that never meant anything. The thought of him ending up in prison didn’t actually appeal to her so she made the choice to go out on a limb and keep an eye on him. After all, Veronica Mars was a marshmallow. “While you’re here, care to play a round of quid quo pro?”

“Whaddya need?”

“One of our illustrious classmates has a particularly enthusiastic admirer that I need to persuade to back off. Might need someone to look intimidating once I find the creep.” The bell rang and announced that school was over.

He finally stirred and followed her out of the classroom. “You’ve got my number. Be happy to break a finger or two.”

“I don’t think we’ll need to go that far. Just practice your threatening look.” She smiled brightly at his glare. “That’s the one.”

The smile on his face didn’t last long and she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him as he walked away. He looked years older than his age and part of her was sad that she couldn’t take any of that away. Of course, she’d felt the same way about Logan the summer before and that had gotten her approximately nowhere.

Heading for the parking lot with books in hand, she turned her attention toward formulating a plan. She had to catch a stalker, stop Weevil from doing anything stupid, and get Mac out of her slump. That was a tall order even for Veronica Mars.

Stormy Weather, Pt. 1

2006-04-15T02:30:22Z

Fragile - Part III

2006-03-19T23:20:03Z

Fragile - Part II

2006-03-19T23:11:29Z

Title: Fragile
For: ruuger
Author: Aeneas
Rating: PG-13, violence.
Timeline: Season 6, beginning during Seeing Red and going wildly off canon from there.
Disclaimer: It’s Joss’ sandbox, I just play there. Also, Ruuger? I’m pretty sure this was about the last thing you expected to get because it was the last thing I expected to write. Really hope you’re not too disappointed. *worried look*
Summary: The smallest choices can cause the greatest consequences.
Warning: Very dark with character death(s).

The last piece of broken glass came loose in her hand, picking up a reflection from the afternoon sun outside as Buffy dropped it into the wastebasket. She taped the plastic trash bag to the missing windowpane as neatly as she could. No more Xander to fix her windows, he’d died in route to the hospital. Willow had been gone when the police going over the crime scene found Tara’s body lying on the floor in the bedroom. There was a chalk outline on the carpet and, other than taping up the window, Buffy wasn’t allowed to touch anything else in the room.

She collected the roll of masking tape and the garbage can of broken glass, closing the door softly behind her. A sign on the door to remind Dawn that she couldn’t go in there might be a good idea. Not that the yellow crime scene tape wouldn’t be enough. School would be getting out soon and she hadn’t thought of a good way to tell her that Xander and Tara were dead, Willow was missing, and a frightened telephone call from Anya wasn’t helping her be optimistic about the latter.

“You gonna lie to her? To the Bit,” Spike spoke up casually, sitting on the kitchen counter as though he had always been there.

“How did you get in here? And no, I’m not going to lie to her.” she told him wearily and dumped the glass shards into the kitchen trash.

He ignored her question completely. “What’re you gonna tell her then?”

“The truth.” The word felt heavy and awkward on her tongue, rolling around her mouth like a lead marble that never managed to leave her lips.

“Right. Cause you’ve been so good with that these last few months. Been tellin’ them all lie after lie after lie. You even know what the truth is anymore?”

“I know that Tara and Xander are dead. How am I supposed to make that easier for Dawn?” She glared at him with frustration.

“That wasn’t what I was talking about. What are you going to tell her about the witch?”

“I don’t know anything to tell her. Willow’s gone. She sucked all the words out the Dark Arts books at the Magic Box and did something to Anya. Froze her? Something…Anya wasn’t too clear. And that’s all I know. I don’t know where Willow’s going or what she’s doing.” Taking a deep breath, she turned away from him to stare out the kitchen window at the setting sun.

“And about how Warren magically escaped the boys in blue? You gonna mention that at all?”

“Dawn doesn’t need to know that.” The police had called to tell her and offer her protective custody. Warren had vanished right after the patrol car he was being transported in mysteriously swerved into a tree, sending both officers in the front seat to intensive care.

“Not even when Willow’s fallen right off that pretty wagon? Tara’s dead, Slayer. You remember what happened when Glory turned her all mushy in the head? If you think Willow’s going to be any different this time then you’ve got your head buried deeper in the sand than I thought--”

“I remember,” she cut him off irritably. It was all she had thought about while she waited for the police to leave. The sound of the front door opening caught her attention and she fixed Spike with another glare. “You’d better be gone by the time I come back. I don’t want Dawn seeing you here.”

“Buffy?” Dawn called from the entryway.

“Coming, Dawnie.” Buffy didn’t look back, praying that Spike would have the decency to leave.

“What’s going on? There’s crime scene tape in the back yard.”

“Sit down. Please, Dawn. Just sit down and I’ll tell you.” She waited for the girl to take a seat on the sofa, sitting on the edge of the coffee table and trying to smile. “Warren came back and he had a gun. He was trying to kill me.”

“Oh my god, Buffy. Did anyone get hurt?”

“Dawn.” She looked down at her hands. They’d been pretty useless today. She hadn’t reacted soon enough to get Xander out of the way of the bullet. It was her fault they were dead. “Xander and Tara were hit.”

“Are they okay? Why aren’t you at the hospital? You could have come and gotten me out of school!” Dawn tried to stand up.

“Wait, wait.” Buffy gently pushed her back onto the couch. “They’re gone, Dawnie. Tara died almost instantly and Xander died on the way to the hospital. They’re gone.”

Wide, disbelieving eyes searched her face for a moment and then Dawn’s expression hardened. “You don’t even care. Look at you. It’s like you’re telling me that it’s going to rain tomorrow. They’re dead because Warren was trying to kill you and you don’t even care.”

“Dawn--“

“Why aren’t you out looking for him? For Warren.”

“The police are looking for him, Dawn. All we can do is wait.”

“They haven’t been able to stop him so far.” Dawn pushed her hands away and stood up. “I can’t believe you’re just sitting here doing nothing when he…” The words died in her throat.

“Dawn, please.”

“Does Willow know? Or were you even going to tell her.”

“Willow was…she was here, Dawn. She was with Tara when it happened.”

“Where is she?” Dawn looked even angrier when she didn’t get an immediate answer. “She’s your friend and you’re not with her. Figures. It’s not like you care about anyone but yourself anymore.”

“Dawn.” Buffy winced at the stomping footsteps up the stairs, followed by the bedroom door slamming. The words pricked and prodded at her, making sense and not making sense at the same time. Maybe she’d been hoping that Willow would come back sooner rather than later. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted to face Willow’s grief, too worried that it would join forces with her own and bury her forever under its weight.

She was lost, floundering without any sort of guidance or insight. Grudgingly admitting that Spike was right, she pulled on a jacket to keep the impending evening cool at bay and left the house. If going after Glory was any indication, Willow would want Warren to pay for killing Tara and his death was probably on the price tag. The thought of it didn’t turn her stomach as much as she thought it should. She wanted to summon up righteous anger, wanted to see Warren locked in jail with the others to suffer for his crimes, but instead she found herself almost hoping that she didn’t find Willow in time. Only the memory of what too much power and too much magic had done to Willow the first time kept her feet moving.

The lights were on in the Magic Box. Anya barely glanced up from her straightening, her eyes red and puffy from crying. “I’m not going to tell you where Willow is. I’d like to kill Warren myself, but she’ll make it much more painful than I could even begin to dream of. I want him to suffer.”

“Anya,” Buffy stopped, unable to think of anything else to say.

“I know you’re going to try to talk me out of it because you’re Willow’s friend and you don’t want to see her turn into a murderer. But I’m not going to help you. He deserves to die.”

“The human world has ways of dealing with people like him. It’s not our choice.”

“You’d rather see him get out on parole after five years?” Anya shook her head with disgust and continued stacking books. “I’ve seen how the human world deals with murderers and they haven’t done a good job of it for hundreds of years. Too afraid of being uncivilized, too afraid of hurting the poor murderer’s feelings. They used to burn people at the stake for less than that, you know.”

“I can’t burn him at the stake, Anya. The police will take care of him.” She stepped out of Anya’s path to avoid getting run into. “I’m trying to help Willow. You know what dark magic can do; it’ll destroy her. Please, Anya, I’m trying to save the friends I have left.”

Anya paused and softened a bit, sniffing as she rubbed her nose. “She’s in the woods. But you probably won’t get there in time to save Warren.”

“In the woods? Can’t you give me anything else?”

“Near the cave where the Gnarl lived, Warren must have been headed there. Stupid human. It’s not like he can hide from a witch.”

“Thank you, Anya.” She hurried out of the Magic Box. The sun had gone down while she’d been inside the store, turning the finding of a witch in the woods into a needle in a haystack proposition. She hurried through town as fast as she dared, not wanting to draw more attention than necessary, and took a shortcut through one of the many cemeteries. Halfway through the graveyard, she caught sight of the familiar blaze of bleached hair. She picked up her pace, not particularly in the mood for anymore of his cryptic warnings, veiled threats, and generally bizarre conversation.

“Won’t be enough, Slayer,” he called from the shadows.

“I don’t have time, Spike.”

“You know you can’t stop her.”

“Do you have anything useful to say? Because if you don’t then I suggest you get out of the way.” She ignored the comfortable familiarity of him falling into step beside her. It was indicative of how far she’d let herself go with Spike that she felt safer with him there.

“You don’t have what it takes to stop her and you know it.”

“She’s my friend.”

“Not anymore. You know what that kind of power can do. You know how it changes someone, twists them into something dark and evil. Do you really think you’ll find a human being when you reach her?” He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling into a speculative smile.

“She’s still Willow,” she told him stubbornly.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Slayer. Wrong about her the way you were wrong about me.”

That stopped her in her tracks. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Thought you had me house trained, didn’t you? All broken in like a good little dog. Heel, fetch, guard the sis…just a dog to you. But I proved you wrong. Seems to me that you were wrong about Angel too, back when you let him kill that teacher of yours.” He smirked at her, carefully extracting a cigarette his pack and placing it between his lips. “Now Willow’s got the power and you can’t tell her to heel, can you?”

“Willow’s not a vampire; she’s not evil.”

“Evil’s a state of mind, luv.”

She turned away and walked faster. “I’m going to stop her.”

“From doing what? Killing the wanker who shot her lover and her best friend? Then what. Do you really think eating ice cream and having a good cry will make it all better?”

“She’s not the enemy, Spike!” She whirled around to face him and wished she had the time to wipe the smug look off of his face.

“She is now, Buffy. The sooner you get that through your blonde skull, the sooner you’ll be able to do what needs to be done.” He tipped his head to the side and watched her for a long moment. “It’s already over, Slayer. All that’s left is to decide who can be saved and who has to die. That’s your job; sacred calling and all that rot.”

“I won’t hurt Willow.” Her voice faltered, betraying her determination.

“Who said anything about hurt? I’m talking about dead, luv. Six feet under and pushing up daisies. Won’t be able to if you waste more time trying to talk it out of her. It isn’t Willow anymore. Remember that.”

He was right about one thing and that was about wasting time standing in a cemetery talking to him. Taking off at a run, she cleared the fence at the border and headed into the woods. Slivers of panic were beginning to pierce through the numb blanket that had enveloped her. Was he right? Was Willow already too far gone to be saved? She didn’t even know if she had the slightest idea how to save Willow, how to convince her not to do something that felt more like justice than a hollow prison sentence.

The wind carried the sound of voices, faint and too jumbled to understand the words. She strained to hear them, not caring about the snapping branches under her boots as she frantically searched for any sign of Willow. A scream cut short was almost buried under the sound of her heartbeat.

Air caught in her throat, feet slipping on leaves as she tried to stop. Willow’s face was blank when she looked away from the skinless body that was left of Warren; her hair and eyes as black as the night around them.

“Willow…what did you do?” The words stuck, almost choking her.

“Two to go,” Willow answered.

Then she was gone in a whirl of black smoke, leaving Buffy standing alone with an oozing body. There was no choice but to turn back toward Sunnydale and run as fast as she could. Willow was slipping away from her with each passing moment and she was taking what little was left of Buffy’s world with her. She couldn’t let Spike be right; she wouldn’t let him be right.

Her lungs were burning when she hit pavement and the city. She ignored the strange looks from the people she passed on the sidewalks and streets. Gunfire and shouting destroyed what otherwise would have been a normal evening in Sunnydale. A gaping hole, as though a bomb had gone off, was a new addition to police headquarters and she knew it couldn’t be a good thing. Several officers were nursing gashes from falling cinderblock. They paid no attention to her passing by and into the chaos inside. More officers and staff were running past her to get out of the building, more shouting and gunfire heard above her.

The noise led her to what was left of Andrew and Jonathan. Willow hadn’t taken their skin, preferring to pin them up on the wall as bloody butterflies with shards of jail bars for pins.

“What do you think, Buffy? A little avant guarde.”

“And a whole lot wrong.” She stepped cautiously forward. “Willow, listen to me. I know today has been awful. Beyond awful. I know that you’re hurting, I am too.”

“Really.” Black hair fluttered as her head tipped to the side. “And telling me all about how you’re hurting too is going to make me feel better? Maybe we can sit down and have a good cry. Is that your big plan?”

“This isn’t a plan, Willow. This is me…your friend. I’m trying to help you before it’s too late. You’ll lose everything if you don’t stop. This magic, you know what it does to you. If you let it control you…I know you’re trying to make it all go away, all the pain, all the grief. But you can’t, it doesn’t work. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Willow laughed harshly. “Do you even hear the bullshit that is coming out of your mouth? You’ve lied to your friends, tried to kill them, and you’ve been screwing yet another vampire just to feel. You thought an insane asylum is a comfy alternative to this life.”

“You’re right, it’s been hard. It’s still hard, every day. But this isn’t the answer.”

“Do you have the answer, Buffy? Do you? I seem to remember that you were happy being dead, lying in the ground with your skin rotting away. Do you remember what brought you back? Me. With magic.” Willow shook her head with disgust. “You’d better try harder than that.”

Buffy hesitated. She had no plan, no strategy for attack and didn’t know how to grapple with what had happened. “It takes time.”

“Not for me.” She stepped forward menacingly and then seemed to hesitate, shaking her head as if to shake away cobwebs.

“Willow?”

“I’m fine.”

“Willow. It’s the magic. You know what it does to you. You can’t keep this up.”

“Shut up,” Willow commanded, her hand rising up. A force pushed Buffy back several inches, which didn’t seem to satisfy Willow. “You’re right about one thing. It’s time for a little boost.”

“Wait!” Buffy tried to grab hold of some part of Willow before she disappeared but her fingers only caught empty air. “Great. Now what?”

Neither the dead bodies pinned to the wall nor the rubble of what was left of the front of the police station had an answer for her. The returning police officers looked at her dazedly as she hurried out of the station. Heading for the Magic Box was the only thing she could think of, hoping to either convince Anya for help finding Willow or even something that might stop her.

Anya only sighed when the bell jingled and continued to put away the drained magic books without looking up. “Is he dead?”

“Very. And she shish-kebabed Jonathan and Andrew. She said something about a boost. Does that mean she’s looking for more power?”

“Probably. She’s bound to burn out sooner or later, start draining. It’ll happen again and again and if she keeps finding power boosts, eventually it’ll kill her.” Anya put down the books, looking genuinely concerned for the first time.

“Where would she go? I mean, she has to get power from somewhere and if she’s done with this place, what’s left?”

“Well, she’s not quite done here. But all that’s left are protection spells, which is something she isn’t interested in.” She moved behind the counter and unlocked the cabinet beneath the cash register.

“We might need those. Can you use them?”

“I can try. I don’t know how much of it I’ll be able to read. Maybe nothing.”

“Do what you can. I need to find Willow. If I can get to her before she powers up again, I might be able to talk her down.” Buffy looked around the store. An entire shop dedicated to magic, there had to be a way.

“Have you tried her supplier? When she was heavy into the magic before, she had to get it from someone.”

“Rack. I think that was his name.”

“You’ll need a demon to find him. He cloaks that pathetic hovel he lives in.” She closed the book with a sigh. “Let’s hurry so I can get back to trying to figure this out.”

“Anya?” Buffy frowned, convinced that she couldn’t have understood the subtext. “Are you…?”

“What do you think? Without Xander there was nothing left for me and vengeance is what I know so yes, I went back to it.” She was already heading for the door. Flipping the sign to Closed, she motioned out to the street. “Are we going to do this or not?”

“Why are you helping me?” Buffy tried not to look uncomfortable passing through the doorway.

Anya gave her an irritated look. “Because what Willow is doing isn’t vengeance. She’s beyond vengeance now.”

“Is there anything I need to know about this Rack?” She fell into step beside Anya. “I mean, is he human? Silver, wood…he doesn’t need anything fancy, does he? Cause I’m not really prepared.”

“He’s human. Or at least he was; I’m not sure you could call him human now. Which is what will happen to Willow if we can’t stop her.” Anya was focused on the buildings around them, searching windows and shadows for someone only a demon could find.

“Anya…”

“If you’re trying to think of a good reason why Xander died instead of you, don’t bother.” Her voice was icy with contempt. “You’re the Slayer and bad things happen to the people around you. That’s how it works. You’re a magnet for pain and death. Giles, Willow, Tara, Xander. Is there anyone who hasn’t gotten the short end of the stick just because they had the misfortune of meeting you?”

Buffy stayed silent. There was no point in interrupting the catharsis of ranting when she had no explanation that would make any difference. It was hard to argue with a body count that might have been prevented if she’d never come to Sunnydale. A little voice in the back of her head reminded her of apocalypses averted and demon plans thwarted, but it was rapidly being drowned out by the whispers of Xander and Tara. She’d saved the world from evil, why couldn’t she save them from a tiny piece of metal? It was a real, if painful, question.

“Here it is. Just walk through the wall and you’re there.” Anya gestured toward a particularly dirty building. “This is as far as I go. Rack gives me hives.” She disappeared in a shimmer.

Taking a deep breath only served to fill her lungs with a noxious combination of gasoline fumes and whatever was rotting under cover of darkness. She gagged at the vile combination, holding one hand against her nose as she stepped toward the wall. Her ears buzzed when the wall shifted around her, air becoming thick with the stench of incense once the scene changed to an equally filthy waiting room.

“Why can’t evil just use a door like everyone else?” she asked the empty room, rubbing her arms against the chill that had nothing to do with temperature.

There was only one exit other than the wall behind her, a brown door stained with grime. The door opened with a creak and swung away to reveal the twisted raisin of a corpse spinning slowly in the air. Sunken eyes stared lifelessly at her, making her wonder where the gigantic spider that had drained him was spinning her dark web now.

“Wondered when you’d show up. Lost something?” Willow’s voice turned her attention from the hovering body.

Whatever ideas of comfort or diplomacy Buffy had vanished when she saw Dawn struggling against an invisible fist around her throat. Willow’s eyes and hair were black, dark veins running beneath white skin.

“Let her go.”

“What? You’re not going to give me another heart to heart about how wonderful life is? Come on, Buffy. Convince me.”

“Whatever your problem is, it’s with me, not Dawn. This has nothing to do with her.”

“It has everything to do with her.” Willow’s eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced toward Dawn. “She’s the reason you died, the reason I had to bring you back. Dragged you out of heaven. All because of one little girl. Only she’s not even human, is she? Did you forget what she really is?”

“She’s my sister,” Buffy answered levelly.

“You can’t tell me you’re not sick of the whining. Mom, Buffy, Tara, wah! Wouldn’t your life be easier without her? Be honest…if you still remember how.”

Tears were rolling down Dawn’s cheeks, lips trembling with fear despite the pressure on her neck. She couldn’t speak and only her eyes gave any indication of what was going through her mind.

“You’re not giving me any choice, Willow. I don’t want to hurt you.” Buffy moved further away from Rack’s body, trying to be subtle as she glanced around for a weapon of some kind. There had to a chink in Willow’s armor, a weakness she could find and exploit just long enough to get Dawn away from her. Because whatever she was now, it wasn’t friendly and it wasn’t safe.

“Forget to bring Mr. Pointy?” Willow sneered. “There are other ways to hurt people, you know. Watch and learn.”

Dawn whimpered and her eyes widened a second before they rolled back into her head, hands falling limp from her neck. The color drained from her skin until she was porcelain as Willow but it didn’t stop there. White faded into translucent; bones began to fade as well, only pulsing red blood still trapped beneath and beginning to shimmer with a pale green light. Another second ticked by and there was only green blood flowing, turning the room the same shade. Then there was nothing but a bright green ball of energy spinning inches away from Willow’s upturned palm. She closed her fingers around it, snuffing out the light and life.

Her lips curled into a sneer when she turned toward Buffy, “how do you feel now, Slayer?”

Frozen with horror, the contents of Buffy’s stomach were well on their way back up her throat when the room spun around her. The floor she collapsed onto, shaking and retching, looked like the tile of the Magic Box. She wiped her mouth on the back of her jacket sleeve and got unsteadily to her feet.

“If that wasn’t enough pain for you, I could always do this.” Her fingers splayed open and streams of dark lightning burst from her palms. They stopped only inches away from Buffy, sizzling and evaporating into the air. Willow looked puzzled and annoyed, trying again with the same result. “However you’re doing that, it won’t stop me.” She redirected the dark energy toward herself, chanting in what might have been Latin. The swirling cloud whisked away once she was done and she turned her attention back toward Buffy. “Now we’re even.”

“Are we really gonna do this?” There was the slightest tremor in Buffy’s voice, barely noticeable. The idea that Willow was deliberately trying to hurt her was like an ice cold shower, leaving her frozen and in shock.

“Six years as a side man and now I get to be the Slayer. Gotta tell ya, I’m a little excited.”

“You have no idea what it means to be the Slayer.” Buffy glanced around for Anya first, knowing she had to be nearby to be working the spell. There was no sign of the vengeance demon and she hoped that it meant that Anya was safely concealed.

“Why don’t you show me?” Willow moved like a cobra, almost gliding and swaying side to side.

“Give me what you got.”

The first strike was Willow. There was enough pain from blocking the punch that Buffy knew it was going to leave a bruise. Training kept her moving, trying to maneuver Willow into a good position. She had raw power and fury but lacked years of practice to hone her technique. The blows were clumsy and easily read, but when they connected they had enough force to make her ears sing. She got in a kick of her own, knocking Willow to the floor.

“That all you got, Slayer? So far I’m not impressed.” Willow waved her arm and sent Buffy flying against the bookshelf. More books and whatever else was on the shelves came hurtling toward her.

Buffy held her arms up to protect her face and rolled out of the way. “You know you can’t beat me without magic, without all your tricks.”

“Nice try.”

Another flick of her hand sent Buffy crashing through the glass display case next to the cash register. Shards of glass cut into her palms as she got to her knees and looked up to see Anya crouched beneath the register, book clutched tightly in her hands as she chanted in a whisper.

“Look what we have here.” Willow grinned as she peered over what remained of the counter. “Have I been beating on the wrong gal?”

Buffy used the shelf as a springboard, catching Willow’s shoulders and sending them both sprawling onto the hard floor. She had to keep Willow away from Anya long enough for her to get away. At least, that was the only shred of hope that kept Buffy clawing after Willow’s ankle to keep her away from the cash register.

“Get off, bitch!” Willow snarled, twisting around to kick Buffy away.

Her ribs were throbbing in a new bruise about the size and shape of Willow’s boot tread and the pain her back made her wince when she got back to her feet. Willow’s attention was on the counter, shards of glass rising ominously from the ruined case. Buffy braced herself for the attack but Willow only shook her head with a cruel smile. The shards moved in slow motion as they carved through the air, hanging still and glittering for just a moment before they turned toward their target.

“No!” Buffy’s shout was lost amidst Anya’s screaming. Blood sprayed against the wall behind the counter. “Willow! Stop!” She was thrown back with another casual wave.

“You never did get it, Buffy. The Slayer gig? It’s not about violence, it’s about power. And now there’s no one in the world with the power to stop me.” She advanced on Buffy, black and purple lighting forming between her hands.

The air was thick and heavy. All Buffy could think as she watched Willow come toward her was that Spike had been right. This wasn’t Willow. Her Willow, their Willow, was lost forever. Like a vampire, the real Willow had been swallowed up by the power inside her and only the shell remained. Only this time there was no curse that could bring back her soul and no wooden stake that could stop the monster inside. A blast of energy hit Willow squarely in the back, breaking the trance and hurling her across the Magic Box.

“I’d like to test that theory.” The voice was so unexpected that Buffy couldn’t believe she was actually seeing Giles in the doorway.

Willow wiped at the blood on her upper lip as she sat up, looking as surprised as Buffy. “Uh oh, Daddy’s home. I’m in wicked trouble now.”

“You have no idea.” Giles moved closer, making no indication that he saw Buffy at all. “You have to stop what you’re doing.”

“But I’m just getting started.” She moved to get up.

“Stay down.”

She frowned when she had no choice but to obey him, eyes narrowing to near slits. “How’d you do that?” After studying him for a moment, she seemed to relax. “Borrowed power. Won’t be strong enough to stop me, Ripper.”

“I’m here to help you.” Giles continued to move slowly toward her.

“Don’t need your help. Might want to check on your precious Slayer though, I’m pretty sure she does.” She moved to stand up again, waving away his command to stay down. “I was done with her anyway. Now I want to fight you. Remember that little spat we had before you left? When you were under the delusion that you were still relevant to me? You called me a rank, arrogant amateur. Well, buckle up, Rupert.” Her eyes turned solid black once again, voice lowering to a rumble and strange light shimmering around her. “Cause I’ve turned pro. Asmodea, bring forth—“

“Vincire!” A single word from Giles produced a ball of green goo that quickly wrapped around Willow and spread, keeping her from moving or casting any spells. It bathed her entire body in a green glow and her head fell back, only her eyes still under her complete control.

Buffy grabbed onto one of the few intact shelves and pulled herself up. “What is that?”

“It contains her and her powers within a binding field. Puts her in a kind of stasis.” He finally looked toward her. “Are you all right?”

“How long will it last?”

“I can’t say. She is very powerful.” He tipped his head to the side for a moment before asking, “did you cut your hair?”

“Oh, yeah. Look…Anya!” Buffy hurried behind the counter, remembering what Willow had done. “Anya?”

“That book was very rare,” Anya answered sourly. Her demon visage gave her an even more dour appearance as she pulled shards of glass out of her skin one by one. The book had been shredded into worthless bits of parchment and leather binding.

“Are you okay?” Buffy grimaced at the blood stained clothing.

“Vengeance demons are hard to kill. It comes in handy.” Another bloody piece of glass clattered against the tile.

“Anya?” Giles leaned over the shattered counter, brow furrowed with concern.

“Can you take care of her Giles? Willow tore up the police station earlier, I want to make sure she didn’t kill anyone.” Buffy started toward the front door of the Magic Box.

“Are you sure that’s wise, Buffy?”

“I won’t be long, I promise. I just have to know if anyone’s dead.” She hurried away before he could try to reason with her and waste more time. If his spell didn’t hold Willow long enough for them to get through to her then their troubles would be just beginning. The fresh bruises on her ribs slowed her down. She couldn’t stop Willow with fists and she was no match for her magic. Taking a shortcut, she started down an alley that cut through the city block.

“Guess I was right after all.” The burning end of a cigarette fell onto the sidewalk like a shooting star just inches from her feet. “Didn’t mean to startle you, Slayer.”

“I didn’t see you.” Buffy sidestepped the smoldering cigarette butt. “If you came to say I told you so, don’t bother.”

“Then I was right. Nothing left of our pretty little witch, is there? Pity.” Surprisingly, there was no animosity in his voice. “Now what?”

“What do you mean? I have to stop her from destroying herself.”

“Right.” Spike raised one eyebrow and looked at her sideways. “You know you’re no match for her.”

“What am I supposed to do? Run away.”

“You’ve done it before.”

That brought back painful memories of Dawn. She slumped against the dirty brick wall and slid to the ground. Glory had been stronger and more powerful and as difficult as it had been, she’d known that running was their only hope. In the end it hadn’t mattered one way or the other. Willow had been the one to snap her out the quagmire of guilt she’d fallen into after Dawn was taken. Now there was no one to pick up her pieces if she fell apart. No one left to save.

“Except you,” Spike interrupted as though reading her mind. “No one’ll blame you for saving yourself, Slayer. Live to fight another day and all. Always more vamps to kill elsewhere.”

“What about Giles?” she whispered, unable to look at him.

“Wanker didn’t have much trouble leaving when you needed him, did he?” He settled down on the pavement beside her and lit another cigarette. “Watcher’ll be just fine. Probably head back to soggy old England to be with the rest of the stuffy Council gits. You really think he wanted to come back to save your sorry ass?”

“Maybe.”

“Orders from the Council most like. And you remember how well those blokes plan things out.”

Buffy pulled her legs against her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her head. “It’s my fault. I should have stopped Warren, I should have saved Xander and Tara.”

“Right. Save the world and all the furry woodland creatures.” He shrugged dismissively. “Way I see it, Slayer, you stay here and you end up cashing it in. Think you’ll go back to that pretty heaven now you’ve let everyone die? Think they’ll take you back? Maybe this time you will end up in a hell dimension. Just like Angel.”

She blinked at him, stung by his words. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what, luv? Telling you the truth you’re so bloody determined not to see? Someone’s got to do it. What’ve you got left to lose? Not family, they’re all dead. Not friends, not many of those left and the witch wants you as a bloody trophy. Anya? She’ll be gone soon as she heals up enough to teleport.” He finished the role call with a harsh laugh, “ain’t nothing left worth fighting for, Slayer. Just going through the motions is all you’re doing now.”

“I have to try.” She pulled away from him and stood up. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Because an evil, soulless thing couldn’t possibly see the writing on the wall.” The corners of his lips curled up in a sneer. “You go up against Willow and you’ll die. You run and you might survive. Nothing’s keeping you here.”

“I’ll find a way.”

“Always said you were resourceful.” Spike’s expression turned thoughtful. “Just hope that’s enough this time.”

Fragile - Part I

2006-03-19T22:58:53Z

Happy Fluffython Day!

2006-02-14T05:00:37Z

Title: Rum and Coke
Characters: Wesley, Cordelia. (I really tried to do pairing but only ended up with friendly snuggles – sorry!)
Rating: PG
Timeline: Set in Season 1 of AtS, after Sanctuary
Thanks: To agilebrit for beta-ing, because semi-colons? They mystify me.

“Are you sure you don’t want more popcorn, Wes? Dennis loves to make popcorn.” Cordelia’s perkiness was surprisingly easier to handle when taken with several beers and a few shots of some amber liquid she had provided. It was either whiskey or tequila and tasted foul unless liberally watered down with whatever was in reach. Currently that was orange soda and the remainder of the microwave popcorn.

“If it’s not too much trouble, Dennis.” Wesley glanced around in search of a sign for where to focus. If he could actually focus at all. He pulled off his glasses and squinted at them, trying to judge how dirty they were. Was he really that drunk?

“I told you popcorn fixes everything. Another beer?”

“No, no, that’s…” he trailed off when she bounded off into the kitchen and eyed her drink suspiciously, wondering exactly what it was she’d been sampling while he was getting liquored up. The lecture about underage drinking had gone about as well as all lectures went with Cordelia but he could tell that she had barely touched her own beer.

The rich smell of buttery popcorn filled the apartment and he was far too inebriated to even bat an eyelash when the plastic bowl floated into the room, heaping with hot popcorn. He fumbled as he took it, spilling a few of the exploded kernels. Feeling around for them before they ended up ground into the carpet, he discovered a nearly empty two-liter bottle of Coca-Cola. That might explain some of the pep in Cordelia that evening. He peered over the edge of her sofa, head spinning from the alcohol, and found another bottle barely opened.

“Cordelia? Do you intend to drink this entire bottle?” he asked when she reappeared with another beer and a glass of ice.

“Like one bottle is anything for a Starbucks girl.” Her ponytail bounced as she sat down on the couch beside him. “Rum and coke?”

“Is that rum I’ve been drinking? And why on earth are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Trying? Wes, if you were any more of a lightweight this wouldn’t even be funny.” She smiled cheerfully as she mixed his drink.

“You’ve hardly had a drop yourself. Forgive me if I’m a tad suspicious of your motives.”

“Not nearly drunk enough; you still sound British. Here.” She handed him the glass with an expectant look.

“Fine. One more. But you should be forced to endure this torture as well.” He grimaced at little at the fizzy mixture. “There’s something about drinking alone that is profoundly depressing. I might as well be at a pub staring into a pint and waxing philosophical about coasters and former lovers.”

“Aren’t you glad you’re here with me instead? We’ve got popcorn and bad movies. What more could a stuffy ex-Watcher possibly want?”

He threw her a sour look and went back to sipping his drink. She was unfazed, refilling her glass with Coke and hitting “Play” on the remote. Onscreen was a pretty nurse screeching at a pulsating blob the color of a dried cranberry that appeared to be oozing toward her. It took him some squinting and a few headshakes to remember that Cordelia had insisted they watch The Blob. There were worse movies in the stack on her coffee table and he was sure there had been a good reason for the choice.

“You know. I expected Steve McQueen to be better looking. Do you think he’s attractive?”

He nearly choked on a piece of popcorn, washing it down with more of his drink, which only made his eyes water even more. The wide-eyed innocent look on her face made him sure that she was teasing him but he pretended to take a better look at the television screen.

“He’s not really my type, Cordelia. I prefer brunettes.”

“Right. Because there’s a man on this planet who isn’t secretly searching for their own Marilyn.”

“But that has nothing to do with the color of her hair.”

“Wesley!”

A piece of popcorn hit him on the side of the head, followed by nearly a handful of it when he
merely shrugged. He gave her his own version of the innocent look and picked up the popcorn piece by piece to pop it into his mouth.

“What does she have that I don’t? Other than worms and rotting flesh, since she’s dead and all,” she huffed.

“I don’t believe this is a fight I can win. You’re a lovely girl, Cordelia, I’ve always thought so. There?”

“That’s better.”

The silence that settled over the room was either a little awkward or the alcohol was making him hypersensitive to lack of words. There was more screaming coming from the television, another female cowering from the amorphous blob with an appetite for human beings. Amazing the things that Hollywood could dream up with too much free time on their hands. He considered a few chemical compounds that might have been used to create the goo used for the special effects, most of which could be brewed in a bathtub.

“Who would believe a giant, sentient blob from outer space? It’s ridiculous, really.” He waved noncommittally at the television. “Of course, people believe in the yeti too and the frogmen in Ohio. A man with webbed feet? Utter rubbish. Or the Mongolian Death Worm. It’s astounding what people will believe.”

“You work for a vampire,” she reminded him pointedly.

“Yes, but vampires make sense.”

“Wesley? Maybe you have had too much to drink.” She made no move to take his glass away, sipping at her own drink and casually eating popcorn.

“Have I told you my theory about vampires?” His head lolled to the side, fuzzy and warm from drinking. “I have a theory.”

“You always have a theory. That’s what I like about you, Wes. With your big brain and your big theories.” She held her glass against her temple and smiled indulgently.

“Well, if you’re going to be that way, I suppose I won’t be telling you about my theory.” He tried to roll his eyes but only succeeded in vaguely glancing at the far wall. The fictional conversation coming from the television registered as social commentary but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what they were trying to espouse. And Cordelia’s perfume was highly distracting.

“So no Mongolian Death Worm, huh? Probably a good thing. My luck, it would move to L.A. with all the rest of the wannabes and then Angel would have to kill it. Which, of course, means that I’d be stuck with clean up duty. You’d think he’d pay me extra for all the slime I’ve had to scrub out of my clothes.” She shuddered at the thought.

“It’s supposed to shoot lightning out of its eyes.”

Her smile widened and she reached out to gently trail her fingers through his hair. “You really are drunk.”

“Someone did make it a point to give me an absurd amount of alcohol.”

“That was hardly absurd.”

“And why is it, exactly, that you were so dead set on getting me drunk?” He waited for an answer but she just shrugged and smiled the movie star smile that always made him a little hazy.

“I never got to say I’m sorry. About asking you to come with me and getting kidnapped by Faith and then tortured.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Cordelia.”

“But it was my apartment and I should have known that Dennis was trying to tell me something.”

“Cordelia.” He sat up with a minimum of wobbling and awkwardly patted her shoulder. “It was not your fault. And regardless, I must say that getting me drunk is an interesting way of saying you’re sorry.”

“Maybe I did go a little overboard with the rum. You kinda suck at the whole relaxing thing, I was just trying to help. Is this what guys do? Minus the strippers. I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”

“I appreciate it, really I do. But I don’t blame you for what happened and as lovely as being drunk on your couch is…I believe I’ve missed most of the movie.” He was a little surprised when she moved closer and curled up against his side. She was warm and smelled heavenly, silky hair brushing against his neck. Most of all, it was comforting to be sitting on a couch watching a bad horror movie with a friend who cared enough to get him drunk.

“I’ll keep it as long as you want, but you’re paying the late fees.”

Africander - Niger

2006-01-30T00:30:39Z

Title: All Who Wander
Author: Aeneas (aka Jerib_78)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: It's Joss's sandbox, I just play there.

Author's Note: This is for the Scatterlings and Orphanages Ficathon.

All Who Wander

The bush taxi driver’s name was Zainab. He spoke in fractured sentences of English, French, and Hausa, and with a zest for life that was mirrored in his breakneck driving. His smile was marred by missing teeth, giving him the look of a crazed and slightly drunk pirate steering a metallic vessel through the Sahel. They left Lake Chad and all other sources of water for hundreds of miles behind, careening down the dusty roads like a Peugeot bat fresh from hell.

Time wasn’t on their side and the border patrol had taken an early night off from their hard job of intimidating people and taking bribes. It didn’t faze the irrepressible Zainab or the rest of the passengers; they merely collected their belongings and hiked off the road to make camp. Xander kept his distance and ended up staring into his tiny scrub brush fire until the sky above was an endless blaze of stars. There might have been sleep but he couldn’t feel it when the sun began its daily ritual of attempting to murder them all.

He buried his face in his duffle to hide from the sun but the shouting of his fellow passengers made that impractical. When he roused himself enough to peer blearily around, he saw them wandering away in various directions. They followed the road toward Niger or back into Chad, which didn’t make any sense if they’d paid their way. A few of the men spent quite a while investigating the taxi but eventually removed their belongings and drifted away with the rest. Their driver seemed oblivious to what was going on around him.

Brushing himself off as he stood, his back cracking in several places when he stretched tired and sore muscles. The world was already beginning to heat up; soon there would be nothing but heat and sand enough to drive a man mad. He’d already guessed the outcome before he rolled the dice and reached out to shake Zainab.

Heart attack, maybe a stroke. He stared at the peaceful expression on the man’s face with envy. Quietly in his sleep with no demons and no bullets. The duffle settled back onto the dirt and Xander got to work. In his head, there was a silent commentary on all the dead he’d left behind since arriving in Africa. All he needed were some black robes and a big curvy scythe thing to complete the outfit. If he were smaller, he could hop on the back of the rat and merrily spread plague across the continent. Not that Africa needed any more microscopic baddies.

None of the others had stayed to bury the man; they were only concerned with getting to their destination. Further down the road, further down their lives. Time wasted burying a stranger would expose them to more of the sun’s wrath than need be. He noticed that someone had tried to hotwire the vehicle while he was collecting bits of twine from the roof rack. Zainab must have hidden the key. The twine secured a flat, scoop shaped rock to a twisted branch and creating a cross between a spade and a shovel.

He did his best to remember one of the prayers Muna had taught him, figuring any prayer at all was better than nothing, and buried Zainab in the shallow grave. Anything of value inside the car had been stripped by the tiny dots in the distance that had once been passengers.

The car seats were worn and coated with grime but it was partial cover from the sun so he settled in the backseat and stared at nothing in particular. He should have been on his way back to England where there was enough rain to sustain life. Indoor plumbing had been singing its siren song in his ears since he’d left Tripoli but it sounded hollow now. He couldn’t go back without an answer, without something he could tell them about Muna.

His focus fell on the gris-gris hanging from the rear view mirror, swaying lightly from a breeze he couldn’t feel or vibrations in the earth itself. They were for luck, Zainab had explained, filled with blessed soil and other bits of hoodoo. It wasn’t polite to ask about the contents and forbidden to take a look inside. Never use for money, the man had warned him adamantly. Apparently that made the Demon Road mad enough to open up its jaws and swallow a car whole. Ghost stories.

He knew more ghost stories than a man should ever know. It was part curiosity and part suicidal bravado that made him reach for the small leather pouch. Zainab was fertilizing the Sahel and there was no one around for nearly a mile to see him break one more cultural law. The contents of the pouch fell into his palm, lips cracking as he smiled. A rock, a tiny rodent skull, some plain brown dirt that had probably been blessed by a Shaman, and one key to a Peugeot station wagon. He didn’t need any more cosmic encouragement to climb behind the wheel and turn the key in the ignition.

Money made the border crossing easy even with papers that weren’t his own, not that he believed the men with automatic weapons could even read what was written on them. They scanned for official seals and pretty pictures but paid no attention to the squiggly lines.

Driving across Niger felt like becoming one of those toy mice careening down a track while being sand blasted. The road was a hundred year old tattoo fading away into the brown earth, ragged green bushes, and bright yellow grass, at times completely washed away by sand. It was easy to see how the stories began. Whispers about demons and ghosts haunting the roads, luring unsuspecting drivers unto traps. An old woman, a black dog, a man riding a stallion with fire for eyes, even a furious eighteen wheeler hurtling down the road.

The sides of the roads were spotted with hollowed out wreckages of cars less fortunate and it was no wonder there were stories. No one came to haul them away; they were stripped of useful parts, anything worth a red cent, and left to rust away in the desert. Maybe they didn’t rust. Maybe they just sunk into the earth or maybe they stayed there forever.

It was easy to let his mind slip into neutral. Concentrating on roads with no stop signs and no traffic laws took precedence over any philosophical meanderings he might be tempted to take. He saw monster-sized military trucks piled twice as high with fabric cargo bags; human heads wrapped in turbans covering the top like a cluster of mushrooms. Smaller cars flew with the same reckless speed that Zainab had been fond of, the same terrifying darting between cars and potholes. It was the closest to playing a racecar video game that he’d ever gotten.

What would have happened if he’d run out of gas before reaching Zinder didn’t occur to him. He barely realized that the gauge was bobbling dangerously toward empty when he drove into the motor park; missing being sideswiped by inches and rear-ended by less than that. It was a maze of cars barely running or tricked out Niger style, with their respective owners bartering fiercely in French or Hausa for coveted spare parts.

He parked, keeping the key with him, and went in search of fuel. The rumbling in his stomach reminded him that he was hungry enough for motor oil to smell good. Food was easy. Most drivers didn’t dare get too far away from their cars and the motor park spilled into the marketplace, young girls moving between the two selling their wares in the flat bowls balanced on their heads. He bought hard boiled eggs, a sad looking red pepper, and chunks of seasoned bread. Petrol was forty cents a liter and prized like china white.

The other drivers held handmade signs to advertise their locations, whichever routes they had staked out as their territory. In his driving, he’d seen no railroads and not a single plane. Bush taxis were the only option for transportation across the desolation.

Wide dark eyes stared at him from behind a car. Small hands and a face that seemed stretched too tight over the skull, ribs standing out in relief beneath dark skin. His stomach lurched uncomfortably but the child’s mother whisked it away from the light skinned stranger before he could react. This country hadn’t been his destination and he knew very little about it. So far it was dusty and the traffic was a nightmare.

With a full tank of gas, he reluctantly took the dirty money pressed into his hands from strangers who had crowded around his car. Most of the motor park regarded him with a level of hostility. He wasn’t one of them, the interloper. The ones who piled into his car were those without enough money for any of the other bush taxis and desperate enough to overlook the color of his skin. He didn’t speak, didn’t participate in idle conversation as he drove, just listened to the cadence of languages around his ears.

Route Nationale One had a colorful history. He listened with half an ear as the passengers regaled him and the others with tales of its creation. A bit of the French was familiar and he could guess at patterns in the Hausa language, but they seemed content to complete whole pieces of their story in English. Whether or not it was for his benefit didn’t matter. Perhaps they wanted to scare him.

Colonel Paul Voulet had carved Route One out of the sand with guns and blood before they laid down the tar. The bodies of children had swung from trees and the wells turned toxic from the dead left to rot at their depths. Gone mad from too much sand and too much sun, the rogue commander had taken the idea of making way for an interstate highway to a lethal extreme. Whole villages were slaughtered; worn and battered crosses still barely visible where innocent blood had watered the earth.

He found himself filtering the stories automatically, breaking them down into their parts and searching for the kernel of truth that always lay at the heart of folklore. Vampires were real, that was truth. The rest that had been built up around them filled in the fantasy that kept them safely obscured from the world’s eyes. Men dreamt up fantastic elaborations when they were left without rational explanations. Turning into bats, controlling wolves, singing lead for rock and roll bands; those were all the comfy lies that sold movie tickets and bad novels.

No skeletons remained in the trees along Route One but it wasn’t hard to imagine bodies hanging like gruesome Christmas ornaments, strung up by a pale-skinned foreigner who probably just wanted to get out of the godawful desert. Madness came easy in a place like this.

Eventually the conversation lapsed into the sound of the wind and the motor. All four windows were frozen in various states of open and he could feel the sand burrowing into him like tiny maggots. There was green around them, or at least the illusion of green, and what passed for fertile land in this hell. Mostly there was nothing but dirt and more of those prickly bushes. Endless road reminded him of the open stretches of Nevada with sagebrush and Hell’s Angels. Although he was pretty sure there were no giraffes standing along the side of US interstate fifteen. There were no mountains, nothing to break up the monotony but blackened carcasses and the occasional tree.

Night came, the passengers fell asleep, and he kept driving like a man possessed. Part of him hoped to see one of the notorious demons that would send him off the road to be burnt and stripped like all the other cars. He wondered how many of the wrecks contained dead bodies, how many people had been trapped inside and murdered by the sun above them. Had they too gone mad as they waited for death?

In darkness broken only by headlights, he imagined their souls trailing after him as they recognized his mythical scythe. Death had come to Niger wearing an American’s skin and driving a Peugeot. For some reason, that made him smile.

***

Xander lost count of the times he made the trip between Zinder and Niamey and beyond. He learned to barter for motor oil, cut with water and full of grit, and shoulder his way through the frenzied crowd for the purest petrol. They still looked at him sideways but there was newfound respect in their scowls. This American wasn’t just passing through; this American was driving the same roads and wearing the same gris-gris around his neck.

“Comment ca va, Xander?” A familiar wizened face asked him in the market at Zinder, most of the teeth missing from his grin.

“Ca va bien, Fayid. Il fait chaud comme enfer.” Xander gave him a little extra when he paid for the petrol.

“Niger ne se rapelle pas la pluie. Merci, merci…my children will eat tonight.”

“Vous n’avez aucun enfants.” He winked at the older man. It might have been a tasteless joke but the older man didn’t seem offended. Fayid’s sons had died before reaching adulthood and now he cared for a ragged little band of orphans. Most of them would die before the year was out; there simply wasn’t enough life in the place to sustain them.

He bought bread and sagging vegetables for the road. The memories of produce aisles and crisp lettuce were dim enough to be dreams from some other life. Recollection of ice cream was all but lost forever. There were no mirrors or scales but his clothes only fit with the help of baling twine, hanging from his bones as loosely as those around him. Taking on passengers kept his money at a rough equilibrium, dipping occasionally when his indifference cracked and a pair of wide eyes threatened to revive the Xander of the past.

That Xander was still on a street in Chad with a teenage girl bleeding to death in his arms. Helpless and hopeless and lost. The Xander behind the wheel of the Peugeot was a Reaper of souls, driving Route One to collect those who were lost and drifting across the desert. He’d found the bones of a steer near one of the haunted villages during one of his runs and strapped the skull to the hood of the car as a hollow-eyed ornament.

His passengers were still those too poor to pay for any other taxis but he didn’t mind and they kept coming; clutching their gris-gris and whispering their prayers for Allah to protect them from the road. They never connected the burned out wreckages, as common as cattle in Texas, with the maniac drivers behind the wheel. It was the road and the demons in search of human barbeques that were to blame.

If petrol was heroin then water was cocaine. Every waking moment was spent in pursuit of those two things. One to keep him alive and the other to keep him on the road. It was a delicate balance. The guards at the multiple checkpoints along Route One were as likely to drag him from the car and beat him to a pulp as they were to look the other way. Most wanted bribes; which Xander had converted into American dollars for the hell of it and was sickened to realize that keeping his nose unbroken was worth far less than a dollar.

After driving the highways half a dozen times, the guards became used to seeing him and they relaxed enough to lower their weapons when they stopped him. He understood bits of what they said now. Mostly they wondered what the crazy American was doing in spending his time in hell. He didn’t think about it much.

This place truly was hell. It was hell in sand and dirt and death. He’d stopped wondering why people clung to the futility of carving out an existence in a place that gave them nothing in return. It redefined hell and gave it new meaning. It was a hell of desolation and endless nothingness.

In the south, there were places where fields of sorghum and millet stretched out for miles. Patches of hell grew the wilted peppers and shriveled dates that he bought at the market places. Some towns raised goats and cattle, as scrawny as the humans but surviving nonetheless on yellow grass and prickly bushes. The people always had one eye to the sky, looking for rain that may or may not come. None of that seemed reason enough to stay in a place that could no longer sustain life the way it had once.

He had stumbled onto the fossils in the market at Niamey and asked questions in broken French. Stones with bits of fish and plants; pieces of what the Sahara had been thousands, maybe millions, of years ago. A place of trees, flowers, and water beyond imagining. Then the Sahara had died and was exacting bitter revenge on every living thing it touched from a dusty grave.

In the north, the Tenere was a picture postcard at dusk when the desert turned purple and crimson, bits of wreckage lighting up with the last gleaming of the sun. It was the stuff of movies and dreams of grand adventure. He stopped wishing for a camera, stopped noticing more than the road ahead. No flowers to smell, nothing to do but keep driving until all the dead of Niger were trailing behind the battered Peugeot. He wasn’t sure what to do with them, although in his most lucid moments he recognized the insanity of his wondering. Maybe they would tell stories of him years from now, how he had gone mad under the Saharan sun.

They were disjointed thoughts that seemed normal enough that they made no pause in his eating or wandering. Markets were places to get lost in and that was what he wanted. He’d made the wardrobe switch to the flowing robes everyone around him wore and a turban sloppily wrapped around his head. The knack for that particular skill continued to evade him.

He patted the nose of a camel as he passed by. The heavily lidded eyes merely stared at him; jaw working as it chewed on some unidentifiable grain. Coarse fur was dirty and matted with oil and dust; it didn’t seem to mind. Theirs’ were simple lives, the camels that walked across the desert with a quiet acceptance borne of adaptation. Beside the camels for sale were little goats bleating and gnawing at their tethers, the seller swatting them with a thin branch when they tried to escape. At the other end of the market, away from livestock and petrol fumes, he could find memories of home in the second hand European goods and bootlegged CDs. So-called civilization was even found in hell. There were women wearing dresses that had come from a department store long ago and far way.

Remembering wasn’t something he cared for. What was there to remember? An ex-fiancée cut in half, a hometown turned crater, and another mission to find yet another girl who was just going to die once he found her. Viva the life of Xander Harris, zeppo turned bush taxi driver.

One thing was unusual about that day in the market. There were several men at the edges with automatic weapons, watching the horizon with unusual intensity. Guns weren’t uncommon but guarding a marketplace was. He finished off his meager meal, enough to survive but no more than that, and started back toward the Peugeot. Buying food felt like buying three luxury sedans a day, the sticker shock never really wore off. He kept an eye on the nearest armed guard and caught Fayid’s attention when he neared the selection of painted pots the man sold along with the petrol.

“Les hommes avec des…assault rifles.” He didn’t know the French words for assault rifle so he nodded to one of the guards. “Pour quoi?”

Fayid glanced around nervously before he leaned closer to whisper, “Tuaregs. Il sont agites. They come at night, steal our cattle. And a man died last night, his neck torn by an animal.” So much for his luck holding. He thanked Fayid and returned to his car.

The history of Zinder, with its decoratively carved mud buildings and beehive huts with millet thatch for a roof, was full of legends and myths about the Tuaregs. Many of the nomads had settled in the city after the French invaded but they had taken the brunt of Niger’s civil chaos. Talk of economic distress was hardly useful in a country with no viable economy to begin with and a string of dictators had driven, or slaughtered, the Tuaregs from one end of hell to the other. According to the bits and pieces he’d heard while driving, there was no love lost there.

Camel trains could still be seen passing through the desert with men wrapped in indigo robes, some riding beautiful Arabian horses and others mounted on camels. They had been the scourge of the Sahara at one point, attacking parties along the trade routes and stealing spices, minerals, or people. Times had changed and most had settled. Some were still pirates stealing and murdering their way through the sands with Jeeps and automatic weapons. Ironically, one more thing to add to the list of why they were a different culture was the power of their women. If legend could be believed, it had been that way since Tin Hanan, a woman, united the Tuareg tribes. He was willing to bet money she’d been on the side of super strong and super fast.

A few of his passengers had been tourists lured to the country by the promise of a romantic desert adventure with the Tuaregs, only to find themselves hostages of the very men who had promised to be their guides. Xander took them to Niamey free of charge and dropped them off at the American Embassy without telling them how stupid they were. Most of the time, returning with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and passports in hand, he was pretty sure they’d figured that part out. Then he’d taken to storing a few odd weapons in the Peugeot. A long knife for butchering cattle that was dinged in a couple places, a tire iron that doubled as a club, and the requisite collection of wooden stakes. Wood was an invaluable commodity in a land with few trees.

The life of vampires and Slayers was over and done; he was retired now and had a bush taxi service to run. He wasn’t looking for them and he wasn’t planning to, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t find him and think he’d make a nummy treat. What he didn’t understand was why any self-respecting vampire would come to a place where the sun was everyone’s enemy and the victims were more like shriveled up human raisins. Their blood probably tasted of dirt and sand. Everything else did.

Anxious to get away from possible inclement supernatural, he left without filling the Peugeot to the bursting point. Most bush taxis were more like cans of tightly packed sardines than real taxis. More fares meant more money and more money meant more food. It was never as real for him as it was for the native drivers. He would always know that he didn’t really belong there even after they’d forgotten. But he was content to be there until he figured out where he did belong. After all, Africa was a big place and he had all the time in the world to get lost in it.

He almost kept driving. There was a moment where his foot didn’t respond, still pressing the gas pedal to the floor, and he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to get involved. Maybe it was because the girl couldn’t have been older than thirteen or maybe it was because the color of her dress was the same green as the scarf knotted loosely around his neck. The passengers in the bush taxi complained loudly and in several languages as he slowed and pulled off of the road.

The girl stared at him, dried blood spilling down over her collarbone from the puncture wounds in her neck. Dark eyes were glassy and she had probably been standing out in the sun far too long. When he got out of the car to approach her, she whispered two words.

“Aidez moi.”

There was room for her in the back seat. He ignored the grumbling of the other passengers and resumed driving. An hour to Niamey; he let everyone but the girl out blocks away from the motor park and turned the car around. Traveling toward Zinder, he stopped at approximately the spot where he’d found her and once again pulled over. He fished a bottled water out of the glove box and handed it to her.

“Do you speak English?”

No response.

“Is there anyone left?” His grip on the steering wheel tightened involuntarily. “In your village. Is there anyone left alive?” Finally she nodded once. “How many came back? After they were dead. How many?”

“One.” She looked down at the water in her hand, dazed and blank.

“Your family?”

She shook her head, the first signs of sadness appearing. The water bottle lolled against her forearm. He could see the signs of dehydration in her skin and lips, knew she must be near delirious with it. Either she was too weak to lift the bottle or she’d lost the will to survive.

“Does anyone in your village know how to kill them?”

Blinking with surprise, she met his gaze squarely for the first time. “Ils ne meurent pas.”

“Believe me, they do. I can tell you how.” He looked away to avoid seeing the tears forming in her eyes. There was no reason to ask her name, he neither needed nor wanted to know what it was. That would only make watching her die harder on him. “Drink. And climb into the front seat, show me the way to your village.”

Clumsily switching to the front seat, her hands trembled as she unscrewed the cap on the bottle. Not a single drop was wasted. She gestured with her hands to give him directions, occasionally speaking to him in Hausa but quickly learning that he only understood the basics of that language.

There was a dirt road off of Route One and more of the endless flat land with bushes, the odd tree, and more dust. He had to drive slowly over the rutted and pocked earth, avoiding dips, jutting rocks, and quagmires of desert sand. It took them nearly an hour to arrive at the village. She must have been in shock to have walked that far under the blazing sun. The village itself was more like a ghost town than someone’s home. He heard shouting when he stopped the car and got out.

They had spears and hunting knives, that was a start. Even if they were pointed at him for the moment. Post vampire attack was never a good time to be the new kid in town. He kept his hands up, palms out, and let the girl do all of the talking in rapid Hausa. A word here, a phrase there; he knew the word for demon in a hundred languages. They turned away from him to converse amongst themselves and he nearly took the chance to bolt. No one could fault him for running away, at least, no one within several hundred miles. He was just human; he wasn’t chosen or destined to fight vampires. This wasn’t his village and it wasn’t his fight.

It had never been his fight.

Those thoughts were pushed away with the closing of the window for escape. Voices were asking him questions and spears were still looking too ready to stab him if he sprouted fangs.

“They want know…how to kill.” The girl told him brokenly.

“Pay attention. May I?” He reached for one of the spears and looked for a patch of sand to use as a canvas. The first stick figure had over-sized fangs to represent a vampire. Stick figure number two’s head was on the ground, number three had a stake through its heart, and number four was lying dead under a smiling sun. The men scrutinized the sand drawings. He went back to the car for a stake, demonstrating where to strike. That seemed to spur some sort of understanding in them and they began speaking heatedly to each other.

“Don’t invite them inside. Ne les invitez pas…and my work here is done.” He wiped away the stick figures and started to leave.

“Attente! S’il vous plait!” The girl came after him.

“I’ve had enough people die for one lifetime, I don’t want any more. You know how to kill them…good luck. I don’t do this anymore.” He watched her struggle to piece together words with as little English as he had Hausa, barely hearing her fragmented pleas for help. Just because he knew how to kill them didn’t mean he cared to try.

With a heavy sigh, he looked around at the thatched huts and weary faces staring him. More than one of them had blood on their clothes and necks. They had fought hard just to stay alive and he was a little shocked that any of them had survived. It was doubtful a vampire raiding party would attack the same settlement two nights in a row; they were probably long gone by now. That didn’t support his desire to leave so it wasn’t helping him any. He reluctantly allowed himself to be led through the cluster of beehive shaped huts, swallowing hard when he realized what he was seeing.

Bodies had been wrapped lovingly in rich fabric; makeshift tents set up to shade the living as they constructed a burial mound for those who had left corpses. Experience had taught him to be wary of the dead. From the size of the village and the number of dead, he realized that they had been decimated. There were more dead than alive and most of the survivors were women and children. The men had died trying to protect their families.

“I don’t want to see to this,” he said to no one in particular, stomach churning at the sight and the smell. They were looking to him for help, for answers, and he had nothing to give them. He couldn’t tell them why they had lived and others had died, why the vampires had chosen them as dinner. He didn’t even know how to tell them that it wasn’t personal; it was just about survival. They were on the menu, simple as that.

“S’il vous plait, monsieur.” The girl was gripping the water bottle tight enough for the plastic to buckle.

“I can’t help you.” He turned away and started back toward the car. “Maybe I could show you how to whittle a stake but you’re human. They’re faster, stronger, and you’re their food. Vous comprendez?”

“Monsieur.” She trailed after him determinedly.

“You’ll need wood. Bows and arrows? Is anyone here a good shot in the dark? And fire. Feu? They probably won’t come back so you don’t need me.” The scarf around his neck was suddenly uncomfortably tight. He struggled to undo the knot, balling it into his hand in an attempt to hide the fabric from view. There were still stains from the blood he hadn’t been able to wash out. The blood of someone who could have helped these people, who should have been there to help them and would have if he’d left well enough alone.

Dark eyes were still staring up at him like the lost little puppy he was trying to send off to the pound to be put to sleep. He thought he’d stopped seeing Muna’s face, her ghost, in the weeks of driving Hell’s highways. Now, his mind was pulling out all the stops and he not only saw her pleading with him, he saw all of the dead he’d collected standing behind her with blank eyes staring at him. Rubbing his eye didn’t help, they were still there when he looked back up and he had to face the fact that he’d gone completely round the bend.

“Fine! But this is where you get off. No more following Xander around with the staring thing!” He ignored the puzzled looks of the villagers around him. “We’re going to need wood and lots of it. Rope, if you’ve got it.”

There were a few hours until the sun started to wane and night began. He planned to be long gone when dusk hit, with all of the dead far behind him. The Reaper was ready to unload a few souls via an act of good karma. He’d dug enough graves for one lifetime and had no intention of sticking around to add to that burial mound. The villagers had a small supply of tools and he set them to tasks with vaguely sketched directions in the sand. A few of them knew bits of English and French, so they managed to struggle through with creative hand gestures and stick figures.

He was whittling his fifteenth stake when he realized that the reason he was having a hard time seeing was because the sun was dipping down over the horizon. Working hurriedly, he finished off the stake and brushed the shavings off of his robe. When he stood up, he saw the others working stoically and steadfastly on their own stakes. They had gathered every one of their bows and arrows, the tips wrapped in dried grain and tied with bits of twine. Their precious store of wood was assembled to feed a small fire, just enough to act as an undead bug zapper and light the arrows. He made a mental note to bring them more when he returned to check on whoever was left. Preferably with the sun still in the sky.

“They probably won’t come back.” It was hollow comfort considering how many they’d lost the night before and it was a lousy way to say goodbye. They murmured goodbyes and well wishes as he left. Everything useful he had was now theirs and, sadly, that consisted of Vampire Slaying one-oh-one. The sidekick was never supposed to fight the Big Evil, he was just supposed to provide the comic relief and possibly hit something with a frying pan.

If he thought about it, he could probably trace his craziness back to when he’d stopping being content with his sidekick status, when he’d tried to take a step out of that mold. Go collect Slayers on your own, Giles said. You’ll be fine, Buffy said. Both of them had indoor plumbing, safe houses, and real weapons. What he’d give for a good battle-axe. He squashed the guilt pooling in his stomach and drove faster than was wise down the dirt road toward Route One. Sunlight could be measured in minutes now; this was no place to be when night dug its claws into the earth.

A shape, about the size of a dog, darted in front of his car and caused him to swerve. The car went up and over a rock with an ugly scraping sound between metal and stone. His heart thudded in his chest, brakes squealing as he stopped. Just an animal, just an animal. Dust swirled through his headlights, the sun long gone and leaving the world to the shadows. He could have sworn he saw Muna standing on the road ahead. He shook his head several times, trying to shake the image out of his mind, the sound of her laughter out of his head.

“I can’t help them,” he told the silence around him. “I’ve done everything I can. I’m not the Slayer.” No one answered him and he didn’t actually expect an answer.

The night brought relief from the sun, the incessant heat that boiled blood and addled brains. He felt exposed, far off the familiar roads that seemed safer than the middle of nowhere. With the engine idling and the barest caress of a breeze cooling the sweat on his face, he stared into the night and for the first since he’d set foot on the continent, it stared back.

There was a quote in his mind somewhere about looking into the abyss and the abyss looking back into him. Beneath that was an object lesson that he hadn’t learned. He’d always thought it was about knowing the nature of evil, being able to stare it down at the price of evil learning about him. It had never worried him before. What did evil have to fear from Xander Harris, zeppo and all time screw up? What did the abyss see when it stared back into him?

He fingered the gris-gris around his neck and thought of the man it had belonged to; the real owner of the Peugeot and the man who should have been behind the wheel instead of him. His mind cleared some of the fog he’d been living in, enough to wonder if he had truly gone insane. It had been comforting to hide in the madness of the desert, driving Route One with Captain Paul Voulet’s ghosts trailing behind him. As if he could actually put those souls to rest just by driving up and down the same road.

“What the hell.” He cranked the wheel of the battered Peugeot, dirt spinning as the tires cut into the desert. Niger was a good a place as any to start fertilizing the flora; it certainly could use the help. What did he have to lose? A car that wasn’t his and a life that consisted of hard-boiled eggs, red peppers, and driving a haunted highway.

The headlights lit up the outlying huts as the village came into view, the faint light of a flickering fire at the center. He skidded to a halt and leapt out of the car with stake in hand. There was one man at the center, acting as a decoy just as Xander had mimed for them to do; the rest would be inside their huts in relative safety. He dodged a stake in the doorway of the nearest hut.

“Whoa, there! That was good. Next time, aim a little higher.” He readjusted the man’s angle as he stepped inside. “Couldn’t let you guys have all the fun.”

He was still half convinced that the vampires wouldn’t strike the same village twice but the undead weren’t exactly known for their deductive reasoning skills. There couldn’t be many of them. They weren’t exactly big on sharing and people would be higher on the food list than converting to the undead list in a place where food was scarce. Against two or three vamps and they might have a chance of living through it.

A game of hurry up and wait ensued, broken up by intervals of stretching and cracking joints when sitting in one place extended for too long. Minus the cramping and the scratchy eyeball peering into the darkness, it was positively riveting. By what felt like two in the morning he was wishing for Doritos and someone to trade late night patrolling quips with. Come dawn he would be feeling ridiculous for charging in to be the hero when no one needed saving.

He heard a howl that set the hair on the back of his neck on end. Someone had just found themselves tangled in one of his snares. It wouldn’t stop a vampire but it would slow them down. He took a deep breath, tightened his grip on the stake, and edged to doorway to peer out. The decoy was still sitting near the fire, the spear in his hands shaking badly enough to be seen fifty feet away.

Xander kept his gaze moving, watching for shadows with odd shapes moving in ways they shouldn’t. An idea of how many and where they were. The snares would slow them down and the decoy would draw them into the center of the village. Surprise might be the only advantage, however brief, that they had. Three, four, maybe more. He could hear growling; the angry and hungry kind of growling that gave him just the barest hope for getting out alive. Anger usually made them even more stupid than normal. Maybe they’d gloat for a bit, that would be just like old times.

The first vampire finally stepped out of the shadows, just enough light from the moon and blazing stars overhead to illuminate his outline and broad features. Even the demons in this country were emaciated, wearing the title of Walking Dead with a flair for the macabre. There were four of them; dressed in dark robes with only fangs and eyes truly visible in the darkness. Secure in their superiority over the weaker humans, they carried no weapons and closed in around the decoy with cruel smiles.

Just when the suspense had nearly become too much for him to bear, the decoy shouted into the night and drove his spear into the fire. Bundled grain and twigs caught fire, blazing suddenly. He swung the spear around him, halting the approach of the vampires, and screamed again as he lunged forward to drive the spear into the chest of one of the vampires.

Xander grimaced as it missed the heart by inches; humans didn’t have the luxury of making mistakes. The rest of the villagers poured out of their huts with spears, arrows, and stakes. They threw rocks and gourds, even bags of dust meant to open on impact and blind the enemy. It took seconds for the vampires to regroup and start attacking everything that moved. Mud cracked and thatch went up in flames, filling the air with oily smoke.

A large rock to the head sent one of the vampires to the ground, shaking his head dazedly. Xander was there in an instant, driving his stake into its back as hard as his could. Splinters cut into his palm but his pain was rewarded with a burst of dust at his feet. One down.

Unearthly howling made his skin crawl; one of the vampires’ robes had caught fire and the creature was flailing against the flames licking at his skin. Xander grabbed a spear from the hands of a dead villager, driving it through the burning vampire’s torso and pinning him to one of the mud huts to burn. Shrieking with pain and rage, it managed to land a solid kick that sent Xander flying back. Breath knocked out of him from the impact with the earth, he barely rolled out of the way when another body came hurtling through the night toward him.

They’d managed to kill two vampires, a third was cowering blindly under a hailstorm of stones and dust, but the forth was tossing people away with furious snarls. Xander crept around the side of the hut, peeking around the corner in time to see it snatch one of the men and sink its fangs into his neck.

“Hey!” The fist-sized rock hit the vampire square in the forehead. It couldn’t have hurt much but it was enough to make him let go of the man and focus on Xander. He shouted all the insults he’d managed to learn in French during his stay in Niger, ignoring the increase in growling as the vampire stalked toward him. Stumbling backwards, he kept taunting the creature while he led him away from the center of the village and the rest of the people.

There was light enough from the stars and moon that the desert was silvery around him and the outline of the battered Peugeot glistened. He was running now, imagining the sensation of hands catching him and fangs cutting through his skin. It was half a slide and half a dive into the car. Metal clanged loudly as the vampire leapt onto the hood of the car and punched through the windshield.

Xander dodged the groping fist and fumbled with the key in the ignition. The engine whined to life, headlights illuminating the village ahead of him. He threw the car into reverse, pulling the wheel back and forth to keep the vampire off balance. When he hit the brake, a head plunged through the broken windshield and the vampire spit blood and glass at him. He swung the car around, simultaneously smacking the vampire on the head with the tire iron, and floored the accelerator. Dirt flew, tires spun, and he was racing off toward Route One through the moonlit night. Miles flew by, measured in heartbeats and snarled threats pertaining to his throat. He hit the vampire again as they bumped onto the highway, tires squealing as he cranked the wheel. It glowered at him from the windshield, shaking freshly loosened glass out of its hair.

“Thought you might want to go for a drive,” Xander shouted over the wind and the engine. He could barely see anything through the cracks in the windshield, peering through the hole the vampire had made with his fist to see if he was in the right lane. The vampire growled and got another smack to the head for his trouble. “The whole attacking innocent people thing? I’m really not a fan. Not that you care, you’re just a demon, a parasite.”

More growling.

“I guess I could just drive until the sun comes up.” That seemed to get the creature’s attention and it looked wary for the first time. Xander grinned at it. “You really should see a sunrise on Route One, it’s spectacular. What? Not your thing? That’s too bad.” He hit the vampire a few more times until its head bowed and didn’t raise back up.

Relative peace gave him a moment to readjust his grip on the wheel and the tire iron and to consider his situation fully for the first time. He had no idea when dawn would arrive but he couldn’t drive into Niamey with a vampire stuck through his windshield and there were headlights coming down the road the other way. The best option would be to pull over and dust the creature before someone saw him driving with a body on his hood. He poked at the head with apprehension, knowing that the sleeping routine could be just another trick. There was no response.

“Hello? That’s not very nice, falling asleep on me there.” He poked it again and when there was still no response, he eased off on the gas to begin slowing down.

It must have been waiting for him to do just that, playing opossum until it though Xander wasn’t paying attention. Inhumanly strong fingers clamped around the steering wheel, tugging against him and trying to send the car careening off into the desert. He heard the tires squeal as the car swerved, fighting for control over the steering wheel with both hands.

He saw the headlights ahead of them get suddenly bright, heard screeching and howling before a gigantic invisible fist hit him squarely in the chest. Everything went black. He could taste oil and blood in mouth and hear the screaming of someone dying.

Maybe this is what he’d been hoping for, driving up and down Route One with the reckless abandon of someone who had nothing to go back to. Maybe he’d been hoping all along that this demon road would open up and swallow him down into nothingness. There was pain. Too much to tell where it was coming from and why. Too much heat and blood and oil. The sun had risen early just to taunt him, to shrivel him up and turn him to dust along with the vampire.

“Xander. You have to move.” It was a familiar voice but he couldn’t find a name inside his spinning head. “Now, Xander. You have to move now.”

Somehow he did. He was crawling blindly on hands and knees, gris-gris clutched in one hand. Bushes scratched his face and he could smell the earth beneath him. The voice urged him on, telling him to keep going and keep going until his lungs burned and he couldn’t move another inch.

“You’re going to be all right, Xander,” the voice whispered.

He fell to his side, rolling onto his back in an attempt to ease some of the pain. It was too much to even blink, his eyeball felt like it was on fire and he wasn’t sure if it was blood or tears running down his face. He could feel someone there, whoever it was who had coaxed him out of the car. Hot air rushed past him smelling of gasoline and death.

“You’re going to be just fine. I’ll stay with you until they get here.”

“I think I was supposed to die. Back there.” He coughed against the dirt and blood in his throat.

“You can’t keep punishing yourself, Xander. It wasn’t your fault that Muna died. You didn’t fail her. It’s so like you to run away from your problems, to wallow in your misery. Did you think I’d forget?”

“Anya?” He finally recognized her voice and reached out to find her.

“You can’t feel me. I’m dead, Xander. You’re not. At least not yet and you’re not supposed to die on me in some middle of nowhere African country. You have to hang on.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They’ve been looking for you, the others. Buffy and Giles. They’ve been searching for weeks while you’ve been off gallivanting around pretending to be a taxi driver. They need you.”

He shook his head. It was getting cold now and pain was fading to numb. He couldn’t feel the ground beneath him, almost as if he was floating on a cloud high above the earth. This was it. He could feel Death creeping down from Route One to collect another soul that would haunt the highway forever. His soul.

“Do you remember our wedding day?” Anya’s voice cut through the haze. “Do you remember my dress? All those little flowers. And you looked so handsome in your tux. Your parents got drunk and I’d invited all my demon friends, like that’s going to go over well at any wedding with humans involved.”

“There was this guy…” he trailed off. The memories were surprisingly vivid even with years past and blows to the head.

“Who wasn’t real. And then you had go all noble on me.”

“Noble?” He would have laughed if his lungs hadn’t turned to jello at some point.

“Well, you thought you were being noble and saving me from a life with you when all you were really doing was being a scared little boy. That’s what you do, you get scared and then you run away.”

He didn’t have an answer for that one. If he hadn’t run away from the market where Muna had died, he wouldn’t be lying in the desert waiting to die. Vaguely remembering that there had been a vampire on the hood of his car, he tipped his head toward where he thought Anya was. “Is it dead? The vampire.”

“Yes, they’re all dead. Some of the villagers made it. The little girl is still alive. I think she’ll be just fine once those wounds heal.”

“Good.”

“I never understood why you insist on fighting vampires. Why not let the Slayers handle it? It’s not your sacred calling. You were supposed to be my husband and we were supposed to have a family. A nice, normal family. We were supposed to grow old together and die peacefully in our sleep in a retirement community in Florida.”

His lips cracked as he smiled. “I miss you, Ahn.”

“I know you do.”

“Take me with you. I’m tired…so tired.”

“I wish I could, Xander. I wish I could.”

It might have been his imagination but he thought he felt her take his hand and kiss his forehead. He could smell her perfume and the shampoo she had decided on after trying every bottle on the shelf. Her hair had always been so soft, curling around his fingers the way her hand was now. Having her there was more comforting than he could have imagined, just to not be alone when he died suddenly meant the world to him.

He wondered if Muna had felt the same way, if she had been glad he was there to hold her. The sting in his eye this time was definitely due to tears, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to blink them away. What good would crying do anyone? It wouldn’t bring her back and it wouldn’t keep him alive.

A soft hand stroked his face. “It’s okay, Xander. I won’t tell anyone you cried.”

The half laugh and half sob nearly choked him. He shook as he cried, holding her hand tightly as he curled onto his side. Tears and blood soaked into the dirt beneath his pummeled body. She was whispering in his ear, pleading with him to stay awake, to listen to her voice and stay with her. He tried to listen but her words got softer and softer and the feel of her skin faded away.

Then there was only the silence of the desert.

Africander - Chad

2006-01-22T10:55:10Z

Title: All Who Wander
Author: Aeneas (aka Jerib_78)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: It's Joss's sandbox, I just play there.

Author's Note: This is for the Scatterlings and Orphanages Ficathon.

All Who Wander

There was no duct tape this time and Xander was grateful for that. He had no illusions that he was any less a prisoner but the uniformed Texan didn’t seem to feel compelled to put a bullet through his skull and he didn’t intend to make waves that might change his mind. It was a newer Toyota and this time Xander got to ride up in front with seatbelts, something his bruised body was thankful for.

“Lot of open border here,” the man who identified himself only as Jasper, Marine Corps, shouted over the noise of the engine. “All sorts come in and out of Chad real easy like. Not every day we catch ‘em.” He cackled at that last part and gave Xander a wicked grin.

“I’m a tourist.” Xander yelled back. “I was kidnapped in Tripoli.”

“It happens.” He didn’t seem surprised by that, jerking the wheel to take a hard left. “Goddamn sun ain’t the only villain in this fucking place. Lucky you didn’t get your throat slit. Can’t throw you back over the border without pissing Libya off, best plan is to get to the U.S. Embassy in N’Djamena and go from there.”

“Is that where we’re going?” Xander was trying to think of a good excuse to give the Libyan government for why he’d left the tour and the country.

“Nah, next stop is my patrol outpost. Ain’t much but it’ll get us on our way. See those mountains?” He pointed to a string of hazy peaks nearly obscured by dust and the shimmering heat off the desert. “Use to be active volcanoes, beyond that ain’t nothing but dust thick as soup. Look close and you’ll find burned out tanks, dud missiles; some of ‘em left over from the second World War. Then there’s all the fucking landmines. Few years back, Libya made a grab for the strip of land we just came through and this area’s still full of rebel fighters. Beats me why they give a shit who owns this piece of hell.”

“Sounds like a great vacation spot.”

Jasper laughed at that, harsh and gritty with too much exposure to heat and sand. “Long as you don’t bring the kiddies. This end of Chad ain’t particularly friendly. Got rebels from three countries plus the homegrown kind, all up here just looking for something to use as target practice. What about you? Why come to Libya?”

“Roman ruins. I was on a tour,” he lied without batting an eye.

“That’s some fucked country, ain’t it? Outlawin’ liquor. Who’s brilliant idea was that?” Jasper shook his head with amusement.

“Those crazy Muslims.” Xander managed not to roll his eye sarcastically. Disagreeing with the nice man holding the gun was never a good idea.

“Ain’t got nothing against them but not everybody walks the same line, you know. Taking away people’s choice, turning them into clones of something, that don’t ever work in the long run. Can’t control people forever.”

Xander wasn’t sure he had anything to say to that so he changed the subject. “How many kidnap victims have you seen?”

“Still alive? Not many. Had one a few days back, just a little thing. Gutsy though. Stopped the Jeep and she made a break for it, fast as a jackrabbit. Reminded me of my niece back home.” He shook his head tiredly. “Probably planning to sell her off once they got here.”

“Do you still know where she is?” He barely dared hope that coincidence might be on his side.

“Back at the outpost until my run is up and I head south. There’s a consulate in Faya-Largeau. Arrange to send her back if they can contact her family. Might be they’re the ones arranged the kidnapping in the first place. Fucking crazy what some people will do, you know.” He squinted at the horizon ahead of them and gunned the engine. “Looks like we got ourselves a dust storm. If we can’t beat it, we’ll have to sit tight until it blows out. Those things are hell on the engine. Some of the bastards are big enough you can see ‘em from space.”

Xander held on tighter to the passenger door handle and tried not to panic at the wall of sand building to the southwest. The air outside was getting hazier, filling with a fine white dust that seeped through every crack and began to coat the inside of the truck.

“Dustiest place on earth south of those. You ask me, dust is dust but they’ve been sending a bunch of National Geographic types to study it. Bunch of geeks with cameras and test tubes.” He fished through one of his jacket pockets and produced a crumpled plastic bag with some kind of food wrapped inside. “Camel jerky?”

“No, thanks.” Xander grimaced and was treated to another of Jasper’s cackles.

“Ain’t half bad. Nothing like the steak back home. Man, I’ll be glad to have a t-bone again.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I’m a long-termer,” he shouted as they took another hair-raising turn and tore down a hill toward the rocky plain and the ominous dust cloud. “Counter terrorism training runs through summer but some of us have to stay to keep the ball rolling. Been on border patrol for six months now.”

“Counter terrorism?” Xander was less surprised than he thought he should have been.

“That’s what the paperwork said. Lately we’ve been training the Presidential guard. Had one attempt at a coup last year and it’s about time for another one. Hate those fucking things, man. Blood and bullets and no one in this goddamn country knows how to shoot worth shit.” Jasper shuddered with horror and disgust. “Now we got ‘em running drills, shooting AK’s. Kids like to collect the shell casings, make little necklaces out of ‘em and stuff.”

“Which side are we on? In the coups, I mean.”

“Guy in power ain’t much but he’s better than whatever asshole would take his place. Mostly we’re just trying to keep a lid on it.” He gave Xander a sideways look. “I always forget you guys stateside probably don’t know shit about this.”

“I’m bad with the news. Since Rather retired and Jennings took the job as news anchor in the sky, it’s just no fun anymore.”

“Right,” Jaspar chuckled. “It breaks down like this. The country’s split down the center like California. North and south don’t exactly agree on what’s good. North has desert but the south gets rain enough to have a lake and rainforest. ‘Sides that, Exxon runs a big pipeline out of southern Chad and oil money’s good for everyone if they don’t tear the place apart.”

“So they’re fighting over oil?”

“Ain’t just that. Muslims in the north, Christians in the south. And those two ain’t never gonna stop killing each other. Southern border’s got tribal warfare spillin’ out all over.” He squinted at the wall of dust and grinned. “Looks like we’re just gonna make it. Hold on.”

Their destination was a rather odd looking set of what must have been buildings. To Xander they looked like gray-blue beehives squatting amidst the brown rock and sad little scrub bushes barely managing to hold onto to life. They nearly spun to a halt, throwing gravel and sand as the tires dug in for traction. It came to mind that his rather odd guide might have rodeo somewhere in his past and not just because he had the sneaking suspicion that all the sand had gone to Jasper’s brain.

“Home shit home.” Jasper grinned as he hopped out of the truck.

The wind had picked up and Xander choked on the dust in the air, blinking futilely to keep it out of his eyes as he followed the Marine through a narrow opening in one of the beehives and down a set of stairs carved out of the earth. Beneath the surface was a hollowed out room of surprising size and doorways leading into dark passageways.

“Whoa.” Xander looked around the weapons adorning the walls and boxes of ammunition piled haphazardly.

“When in Rome.” Jasper motioned for him to follow down one of the corridors. “There’s a whole goddamn city built underground in Libya. Heard about it from some of the guys. Berbers do it too. Keeps them out of the sun and the dust. Winter’s a bitch too, gets fucking cold out there.”

Fumbling through the pitch black wasn’t unusual for Xander but he was glad to come out into another chamber that seemed to be the kitchen area. There was a rickety card table and some empty ammunition crates for chairs. Food seemed to consist of canned and processed goods, anything that wouldn’t rot or go bad in the miles of nothing that surrounded them. He accepted a canteen of water gratefully, realizing how thirsty he’d gotten.

“The desert always wins.” Jasper cut open a can of baked beans and dumped them into a battered pot over a kerosene burner. “It’s like Everest. You’re dying just as soon as you set foot on the goddamn mountain. May take years but this place’ll kill you sure as shooting.”

“That’s a happy thought.”

“Gotta be something, right? Ain’t none of us lives forever.”

Xander glanced around, hoping to find an innocent little Libyan girl who could snap him like a toothpick. “I’m partial to the quietly in my sleep route.”

“Long as I’ve still got my boots on.” He dumped the heated beans unceremoniously into three misfit bowls and handed two of them to Xander. “Maybe you can convince the kid to eat something, she don’t seem to like me much and I don’t speak Arabic. Chad’s got more languages than the US has states so I got my hands full just tryin’ to say hello in those. There ain’t no pork in this shit so should be fine for her. Can’t never remember what all they don’t eat. Through there.”

That explained the chatting on the drive. This might have been the first time in weeks Jasper had a captive audience who spoke English as a first language. Xander took the bowls and started down the dark corridor with hesitant footsteps. The next chamber room was darker than the last two, lit only by a single lamp run on batteries. Rolled up blankets and sleeping mats were stacked against the far side, providing minimum protection against the rough floor.

It was a relief to see the girl huddled against the wall; her head cloth and tunic stained the color of the dust outside. He kept a safe distance as he set down the bowl of beans and sat down to eat his own. His stomach growled but he figured it was probably just happy for something other than oranges and date bread. Vaguely, he wondered when he’d gotten used to eating without the luxury of utensils but figured it didn’t matter.

“Salaam aleikum,” he said after swallowing down a mouthful. She didn’t answer, turning her head away from him. “Maa ismuk?” He was trying to formulate the question of whether or not she had been kidnapped in Arabic when she slowly reached for the bowl.

“I speak English,” she told him quietly.

“Good, because my Arabic? Pretty scary.” He gave her his most comforting smile. “I’m Xander.”

“Muna,” she said, her face nearly buried in the bowl as she ate.

“Pleased to meet you, Muna. The nice man with the gun tells me you were kidnapped. I bet your family is worried about you.” He waited patiently as she ignored him. The girl couldn’t have been older than fourteen and her wide eyes reminded him of Dawn Summers. “Muna? Are you all right?”

“They are glad to be rid of me.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and set the bowl down, curling tighter into a ball.

“Do you have a brother named Hassan?”

Her eyes got a little wider and he thought he saw something close to fear in them. “You know Hassan?”

Xander swallowed hard as he remembered what he would have to tell her. He’d been half hoping this was a different kidnapped little girl. “He asked me to look for you.”

“I cannot go back. I dishonor my family and Allah.” Tears brimmed her eyes and the raw misery in her voice made him ache.

“No, you don’t. You’re different. I know you’re different, that’s why I’m here. You’re special, you’re chosen.”

“I am evil,” she sniffed despondently.

“Trust me. I’ve seen enough evil to know what it looks like and it’s not nearly as cute as you are.” He moved the slightest bit closer to her. “You’ve been having nightmares about people you know but you’ve never met, about things that can’t be real. Monsters that come out at night.”

“Yes,” she answered warily.

“You’re not alone. There are others like you. That’s why I was sent to find you, so you can be with girls just like you. You’re not evil, Muna.”

“It is not against Allah?”

“I think he’ll make an exception for you. There’s the whole greater good thing and gods tend to go for that, most of them anyway.” He debated putting off the worst of the bad news, wondering if the band-aid method was really the best in this situation. If he didn’t tell her now, he risked her believing later that he had lied to her. A win-win scenario wasn’t coming to mind so he decided on cautious honesty. Taking the lie in the past had only left him on the wrong end of a Slayer’s temper.

Tears left streaks of dust on her face as she wiped them away. “Did you really speak with Hassan?”

He tried not to wince, setting his bowl on the ground and focusing on her. “Yes. I’m sorry, Muna. Your brother and your father were killed a few days ago.” He watched her face go through an array of emotions from disbelief to rage and finally to sadness.

“It is because of me,” she whispered, her lower lip trembling.

“No, no! It’s not your fault, don’t ever think that.” He sat there awkwardly not knowing a way to comfort a sobbing teenage girl from a culture he didn’t understand. It wrenched at his heart to be there and unable to do anything at all. If he’d never come to Libya, her brother and father might still be alive and she might be in the back of someone else’s truck on her way to who knows where.

He waited until she cried herself to sleep before he finished what was left of his meal, laid a blanket gently over her, and gathered the bowls to return to the kitchen room. These were the times he wished for Giles or Willow. Even Buffy would be handy when it came time to breaking the bad news. Someone who didn’t fumble with words as much as he did and didn’t come up feeling inadequate in the face of tears. He couldn’t even tell her that everything was going to be fine because he knew better and lies wouldn’t keep her alive. It was a pity he couldn’t just slip her into an envelope and mail her back to Giles.

There was no sign of their host but he figured Jasper had better things to do than wait on them hand and foot. He set the bowls on the table for lack of knowing what else to do with them. The truth was that he was about dead on his feet anyway and even the stone floor was looking good. He grabbed the duffle he’d abandoned in the kitchen and headed back to the sleeping chamber.

Compared to the bed of a pickup, a sleeping mat was nearly heavenly bliss and his duffle served as a lumpy pillow. Muna was still huddled up beneath the ancient wool blanket, shivering against cold reality rather than the temperature of the room. He wiggled until he found the right combination of grooves in the floor and settled in to attempt sleep. With the bone deep weariness and the darkening bruises from the rollover, he doubted he’d be able to do more than stare at her and think of ways to get her back to Giles, thereby dashing what was left of her hopes for a normal life.

Xander hated that part of the job.

It was surprising how comforting it felt to be underground, safe in the solidity of the earth around them. Dust storms and war came and went but the earth stayed. He drifted to sleep listening to the wind howl as the dust storm raged over them, lost in darkness without the small lamp; his dreams full of shadows and faces he never quite saw chasing after him. Somewhere in the dark, he heard a voice calling his name and vaguely remembered that he wasn’t alone.

“Harris!” It was a man’s voice, accented and rough.

Dragging out of sleep, he squinted when the beam of a flashlight hit his eye. “Wha? What’s going on?”

“Looks like rebels stirred up by the dust storm headed our way. Best get going and stay ahead of them, never know what they’re in the mood for. You got the girl?” The flashlight revealed a terrified Muna cowering away from the Marine.

“I’m on it. We’ll be out in a second.” He fumbled for the lamp and began rolling up his mat. “Can you trust me, Muna? Enough to come with me? You’ll be safe with me, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She waited for the sound of Jasper’s boots to fade away before carefully folding her blanket and setting it aside. “Where else am I to go? I have no home now.”

“I know it feels like you’ve lost everything, like your whole world was ripped away in one morning. But you won’t have to do this alone. I have cool friends in odd places and most of them are even human.” Seeing the look of fear return, he laughed nervously and picked up his duffle bag. “We’ll get to the human versus not human part later. I have a speech. I like to think of it as motivational really.”

“You are strange, Xander.” There was the barest hint of humor in her dark eyes.

“It has been said. You ready?” He waited for her to adjust her headscarf before leading the way through the dark corridors.

The outer room had been stripped of everything but the battered furniture and from the coating of dust on Jasper, he must have spent the time while Xander slept hauling it out of the underground post. A tarp was stretched over the bed of the Marine’s truck as flimsy protection from the desert. He didn’t seem to know what to do with Muna there, far more used to fully-grown and heavily armed men than teenage girls. With the duffle stowed away, they piled into the cab with Muna, eyes wide and suspicious of the Marine, nestled between them.

Jasper seemed less inclined to talk this time and slid a beat up Johnny Cash CD into the player to fill the silence. It gave Xander a welcome break from trying to make idle conversation and freed up his brain to think about what he was going to do. The paperwork alone would be enough to give him a migraine. He had to get to the US Embassy in a country he didn’t have a visa for with a girl who’d been kidnapped from Libya. None of that was going to look good to Chadian authorities regardless of how he explained it. There was always the option of letting them send her back to Libya and following her but somehow he doubted the people behind her kidnapping had given up.

Somewhere between desert and scrub brush, she felt asleep against Xander with one hand holding onto his arm even in her sleep. There was dust on her face, turning her dark lashes to a lighter hue of brown. He wondered what would happen to her once he got her back to the others. Would she take up painting her nails and gossiping about boys? Maybe she’d be one of the serious Slayer types who talked shop and ambush tactics at their enormous sleepover parties. Part of him hoped he’d be there the first time she killed a vampire and really understood what it meant. Part of him hoped she’d never have to.

That was the trick, the one rule of the game. Go get the girl and bring her back but don’t start to care and don’t get attached. Even with the Slayer Club to make sure all the girls had someone at their back, it was still a cutthroat business. They all had expiration dates and the vampires weren’t going anywhere. There had been talk, idle dreams, of ridding the world of evil, but who were they kidding? Apparently Evil didn’t have anywhere else to go.

He brushed a strand of hair that had fallen away from her headscarf out of her face, patting her hand lightly in an inadequate gesture of comfort. It was one thing that he certainly hadn’t learned from his parents or non-existent siblings. How to tell a child that monsters were real and it was all okay in the same hypocritical breath. The larger message was that there was light in every darkness and hope in every pothole.

Buffy, good old stoic Buffy, encouraged them to befriend and form bonds with the girls. Get to know them, give them something to fight for. He listened to it with half an ear, believing that she believed it but pulling away at the same time. A friend, a family, an eye, not to mention at least one high school he’d spent a good number of hours rebuilding from nothing. How much more was he expected to lose? If staying at arm’s length didn’t make the pain less then he figured nothing would short of a stake to his heart. That was the road best left un-traveled; one always ended up soliloquizing to the skulls of dead friends if those thoughts took root.

“There’ll be a convoy headed south to pick up supplies.” Jasper kept his eyes on the road, looking and obviously expecting some trouble. “Main base is out of Loumia, it’s south of N’Djamena so they can drop you at the embassy. Paperwork’s gonna be a bitch but they know where to find me and they’ll be getting my report.”

“Thanks. For everything.” He didn’t expect a response so he wasn’t surprised at the somewhat awkward silence. It was understood that being in a foreign country surrounded by languages you didn’t speak made a face from home a welcome relief. There were trips when Xander had been so glad to see an American that he could have hugged the poor person. They were united by the love of McDonalds, Starbucks, and Gap jeans. There were those stars and stripes as well but even where the flag didn’t fly there was usually a place to find a Big Mac.

Soon the Marine from Texas who was homesick enough to treat a kidnap victim like a guest would be just another ghost from his past. Africa had a way with ghosts. It took away everything it gave, burned it away under the roaring sun and left nothing behind but memories and footprints.

***

Xander wasn’t exactly heartbroken that the convoy didn’t leave until the next morning. It gave him time to formulate a plan for taking Muna with him and he had no desire to die on a poor excuse for a road in the middle of Chad. The accommodations left a great deal to be desired but it was a free ride to a place that might get him back on track and that made being sandwiched in another truck bed with empty crates and pallets worth the discomfort.

It had worked out well for him to sneak Muna into one of the crates with a blanket and he had the whole trip to think of a way to get her out. She’d given him a look that meant she thought he had scrambled eggs for brains but climbed in and curled up in the corner. He figured that it worked out well this way. She had no desire to return to Libya where her family thought she was unnatural and evil, and he wasn’t about to let her slip away from him until she was safely with the others.

He wasn’t used to how small and timid she was, like a frightened bird he was trying to coax out of the nest. This was no badass Buffy or powder keg Faith; there had been no sign that she even had Slayer powers. If the Coven was wrong about this one then Giles owed him a week at a spa getting massages and mud wraps that didn’t include complimentary flesh-eating parasites.

The aching in his muscles as the miles passed gave him the appreciation of what it meant to travel a country twice the size of Texas. Just looking at a map didn’t convey the magnitude of endless landscape. He watched the desert and sand gradually fade into brown with patches of date palms and ugly little thorn bushes. It was a dusty, dirty green at first. The green of things eking out of living from next to nothing and barely finding enough water to drink. A darker green infused the landscape as they continued to move south and new species of trees began to appear. This was the Africa they sold in brochures for safaris and wildlife trips, with dense grass and oddly shaped trees.

Increasing traffic was the first sign that they were getting close to their destination. Traffic was a loose definition of the chaos on the roads. Beat up station wagons piled high with suitcases and crates of chickens zoomed like racecars around the larger military truck. It also meant more annoying insects buzzing in his ears and dive-bombing his head in crazy zigzags. N’Djamena itself was the closest he’d seen to a sprawling, smog-ridden metropolis since Tripoli and he was surprised what a relief the sound of civilization was after too much time in the silence of the Sahara.

The soldiers in the front of the truck spared him the hassle of devising a clever plan by pulling over and banging on the side of the door. He dropped the side of the crate open and helped Muna out of her hiding spot, easing her over the back of the truck bed and onto the pavement. Metal echoed as he struck the tailgate to let them know he was out and then they were gone.

He watched Muna self-consciously adjust her headscarf and patted her shoulder a little awkwardly. “How about some food? There’s bound to be a market around here somewhere.” She only nodded in response, watching the bustling city around her with wide eyes.

There was a large open-air market nearby full of rickety little booths selling anything under the sun. Paved ground radiated the sun’s heat back up again, turning the walkways into one continuous oven. There were girls dressed in rainbow robes carrying wide bowls of nuts and biscuits on their heads. Everyone, it seemed, was dressed like some sort of brightly colored tropical bird. He bartered for dates and seasoned bread, picking up a few cans of European canned peas or petit pois as the vendors called them. His spirits soared considerably when he found a young boy selling bottles of Coca-Cola. Muna didn’t seem convinced that it was worth drinking and stuffed her mouth with dates and nuts instead.

“So what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asked as they settled under the scant shade of a wizened tree to eat their bread.

“You are making a joke?” Muna looked up at him with date juice on her chin.

“Yes, I am making a joke. And we might be stuck with each other for a while so I should warn you that I make a lot of jokes. Some good and some not so good.”

She hesitated and glanced around as though waiting for the secret police to arrest her. “My father does not believe that women should make jokes.”

“Why not?”

“He says it is not our place.”

“What is your place?” He sipped the warm Coke with relish.

“To be a good wife and a mother some day. Take care of the home, feed my family. That is a woman’s place,” she told him seriously.

“Then you’re in for shock. You’re different and your life is going to be different from now on. Do you understand?” He didn’t expect an answer. The girls who had never heard of Slayers or vampires always took a few hours or even days to come to terms with the idea that they were different. There really was never an easy way to explain a world gone mad.

“You say there are others like me?” Muna asked.

“Just like you. I’m part of a group that travels around the world to find them and help them.”

“The man,” she paused again to consider her words. “The man who took me from my home. He said others would come and they would try to hurt me. He said I mustn’t trust any of them.”

“There are bad people looking for you too, Muna. I can help you if you can trust me. Do you think you can trust me?”

“You are nicer than the other man,” she said matter-of-factly as she finished off the dates. “Where are we going now?”

“We are going to the American Embassy and we’re going to ask for a phone. Then we’re probably gonna sit in some stuffy chairs for awhile, fill out a bunch of papers, and eventually we’ll go to England.” He had no idea how he was supposed to get a Libyan girl with no passport out of Africa and into England but that was for Giles’s big brain to figure out. And if there wasn’t a neatly red-taped solution, not all of Xander’s mission exits had involved sitting in a comfy seat and smiling for customs.

“What is America like?” she asked suddenly, her dark eyes wide and inquisitive.

“It’s big. There are a lot of roads and people. And there’s a Walmart for everyone.”

“Walmart? I have heard of this. What is it like?”

“Like a marketplace where you can get anything you want. Food, clothes, bicycles, DVDs. Even new tires for your car.” He laughed when her eyes got wide enough that he thought they might pop out of her head. “Don’t you have markets like that?”

She shook her head quickly. “My mother stands in a line for bread and eggs. There are some markets that have vegetables now. Mother says it’s better than it was when I was a baby. Xander…will I ever see my family again?”

“Of course you will. Once we’ve convinced you that you’re not evil and taught you how to use a stake, you’ll be homeward bound just like the movie.”

“Good.” She smiled hopefully up at him. “I will show them I am not evil.”

“That’s the spirit.” Tousling her headscarf didn’t have quite the same effect as hair but she giggled and swatted his hand away, rearranging the lightweight fabric carefully. He hoped that once she’d seen the truth about who she was, she wouldn’t lose the sparkle in her eyes or that laugh. There was laughter among the Slayers now but the dark times were all too fresh in his memory.

Once the food was gone, they found their way back through the hellishly hot marketplace to the American Embassy. It took some convincing and name-dropping for the guard to let Muna follow him into the building. They would have to contact Jasper to verify that she was a kidnap victim and even then, Xander would have to answer to why he hadn’t left her with the Libyan Consulate in Faya-Largeau. He pushed the protective older brother angle on that one and vehemently argued that he was only trying to ensure that the girl was safely returned to her family.

In the end, he had the impression that the Embassy was even more interested in keeping it quiet than he was. This would be just another state secret that never made the light of day or the evening news, completely taken care of behind closed doors. A final agreement was due mostly to a calming voice from England assuring them that Xander wasn’t trying to start an international incident, he was just profoundly stupid.

They were pointed to a small room with a prayer mat and a sofa with lumpy cushions. It would be their home until many more phone calls were sacrificed and the gods of paperwork finally smiled.

Hours ticked by, the waiting room was traded for a back office that wasn’t being used and a carpeted divider between two ancient army cots. The harried Embassy official couldn’t give them an estimated time of departure so they made the best of being stuck with each other. He claimed a prayer mat for Muna and pointed her toward Mecca as best he could with the decorative compass hanging on the Embassy wall and his shaky knowledge of geography. North and to the right, he marked a spot on the far wall with a little smiley face and remembered to stay quiet while she was praying. She tried to teach him a prayer but couldn’t stop giggling at his fumbling Arabic.

At night, when the city was quieter and only the security night shift patrolled the building, he told her about Sunnydale, demons, and the Slayers. She took it all in, eyes wide and serious as she listened to every word and every story. The bottom of the spray-on deodorant can twisted off and he gave her the small stake stored inside to practice with. Like all the others, she had an inherent gift for wielding a weapon and she took to fighting like a fish to water. There was still hesitation and she was far too timid to last long once the real patrolling started, but time was on his side. Since arriving in Chad, he had seen no sign of vampires or demons despite the fact that countries with body counts due to civil unrest usually served as breeding grounds for all sorts of nasties. He hoped his luck would hold until the paperwork got sorted.

He was their first glimpse into the world, their first Watcher in a way, and it was an experience he was still honing. Don’t be a Wesley. That was what Faith always shouted at his back when he left for another girl. At first he’d assumed she was telling him not to be useless but after the first few retrieval ops, he decided that she was really telling him not to forget that they were still teenage girls. Teenage girls who’d woken up one morning as aliens among their own family, their heads filled with nightmares about to knock on their doors.

Some nights he knew she cried her self to sleep, quietly enough that he might not have noticed if he hadn’t expected it, and there was no further mention of home or family. Those were wounds a long time healing and there were no patches for that kind of thing.

It took three days before he was allowed to speak to Giles directly instead of sitting idly by and wondering what was going on at the other end of the phone. He could hear the weariness with bureaucracy beneath the static and frequent breaks for nose pinching and glasses cleaning.

“How much longer, Giles? Not that I’m in a hurry to get out of a country that’s been tearing itself apart for the last twenty years.” He held the phone away from his ear long enough to avoid the inevitable sigh.

“It’s not that easy, Xander. You have to understand.” There was the sound of nose pinching. “I can’t even explain how much trouble you’ve caused diplomatically. There are four countries involved and none of them are particularly happy that you have absconded with a teenage girl.”

“Hey! There’s been no absconding. I was kidnapped too. I’m just making sure she gets home safe.” He glanced around to see where the Embassy official was. The little man with bits of gray in his black hair always seemed to be listening in with round, bunny-style ears. “If we’re going to be here much longer, I don’t suppose you could wire me some moulah. Just enough to get some food and a change of clothes for Muna.”

“I’ll do what I can. Strangely enough, getting you money should be easier than getting you out of the country. There is no British High Commission in Chad but the Commission in Cameroon has ties to the American Embassy, I’ll send it through them.”

“Thanks, G-man. And send my love to the gang, wish they were here and all that. If I find some postcards, I’ll send them your way. Hopefully I’ll be back before they arrive but I may be an old man by then.” There was small talk after that but Giles was no more inclined to explain the diplomatic complications than Xander was to listen to it. He wished they were speaking in a secret code, saying glamorous and spy-like things rather than exactly what the words meant. Simplicity was a small favor in a complicated world.

Two more days brought a diplomatic pouch with money and ad hoc visas for him and Muna that allowed them to stay in Chad until further arrangements were made. The Embassy official looked more and more harried with each phone call, disappearing into a back office for hours at a time and reappearing only when he needed signatures. It seemed that none of the countries involved could come to an agreement about who was going where and how. The stars and stripes wanted Xander’s kidnappers accounted for and were in no hurry to return Muna, who was obviously in danger in her own country. Libya wanted her back and for Xander never to return while England and Chad just wanted them anywhere other than where they were.

Trying to rush the process would get him nothing but an ulcer. Life and government worked a bit differently in Africa. That had been his first lesson bestowed by the continent and he doubted it would be his last. The pace of life could vary from mile to mile, hectic and chaotic going to languid and heavy with no signs or road markers to give a warning. He’d seen iPods, cellphones, and clothes stamped at Old Navy; then there were villages with no running water or electricity, anything that might be considered civilized still years away from those who would benefit. Heat, sun, and insects were the only constants over all twelve million square miles.

“Xander!” Muna emerged from the back room with an excited smile on her face.

“Guess what?”

“I get something new to wear?” She brushed ineffectually at the dirt on her smock.

“And the teenager gets it in one.” He held up the pouch with the money. Most of it would be tucked inside the inner pocket of his equally dirty trousers but he gave her enough to pick up new clothes. “Go wild. Get something plaid.”

“Plaid?” The look she gave him was classic teen girl.

“Something with color at least. You blend in with the desert any more and I won’t be able to find you.” The money and Muna were out the door before he could say another word. He slipped the rest into the inner pocket and grabbed his coke bottle before heading after her. A change of clothes wasn’t a bad idea for him either since doing laundry consisted of rinsing his shirts and pants in a pail of muddy water.

When he caught up with her, she had a paper basket of figs in one hand and was frowning studiously at her clothing selection. He rolled his eyes at the fabric and she stuck her tongue out in return. Another coke and some nuts and he figured he was good to go for at least twenty minutes of shopping with a teenage girl. Five minutes later and with no more nuts, he was reevaluating that time estimate.

He found a lightweight cotton shirt and a pair of knee-length shorts in a bright blue cousin to paisley to add to his collection of travel couture. In the back of his mind, there was always the sneaking suspicion that the reason Buffy had chosen Europe as her round-up territory had something to do with the proximity of high fashion. A girl had to have her stylish boots for kicking demon ass. Theoretically, once the Slayers had gone through boot camp, they’d head back from whence they came and complete the global network. Some would be welcomed home and some would build homes where they were needed. Girls like Muna would never belong in a culture where women were dogmatically inferior; her worst enemy would be her own people.

It was a sobering thought and it stopped him in his tracks. A few yards ahead of him, she was just a normal teenage girl looking at a pretty green scarf to wrap over her hair. He had to smile as she bartered stubbornly with the vendor until she was happy with the amount. There might be hope for his hummingbird-sized Slayer yet.

The sight of Caucasian skin caught his eye, standing out like a sore thumb amidst the palette of brown to black. He craned his neck to get a better look and recognized two middle-aged subjects of the Queen. It took the space to two heartbeats, which he felt in his chest like drum beats, to think that Livvy Marchant didn’t look friendly and to come to the conclusion that they couldn’t be in Chad on a lucky coincidence. Nothing happened by accident in this line of work.

He started pushing through the crowd, elbowing his way toward Muna with his eye still trained on the Marchants. Muna waved when she saw that he was headed toward her, calling his name and holding up her new headscarf for him to see. He saw Edward Marchant turn toward the sound of his name and didn’t wait to see if he was reaching into his hip pack for a gun with a silencer.

“Xander?” Muna clutched the scarf, realizing that something was wrong the moment he reached her.

“We have to go. Stay close.” He circled his arm around her back protectively and started the complex dance of weaving and darting back through the market.

“What is wrong?” She glanced back over her shoulder with a frown.

“Let’s just say it’s getting a little too crowded for me.” Pulling her closer, he tried to be reassuring. They just had to make it back to the Embassy and they would be safe enough. He could venture out later to look for the Marchants and hopefully find out what they were doing in Chad.

A familiar wide-brimmed straw hat appeared several feet ahead of them and he veered right down a narrow passage between the stalls. One behind and one ahead of them, cutting off the direct route to the Embassy. They would be able to outrun them if they could get clear, but they couldn’t outrun bullets. He stopped at one of the stalls, looking both ways before he motioned to the pile of woven baskets being sold.

“Hide behind those, stay low and keep quiet. I’ll come back for you when they’re gone.” Once she had crawled behind them, he rearranged several baskets to ensure she couldn’t be seen before heading back toward the heart of the market. They probably wouldn’t kill him until they’d tortured her location out of him. It wasn’t much to look forward to but he figured his odds weren’t too dismal against two middle-aged Brits, even if they did have guns.

He bought a handful of dates and found a place to wait. A few minutes later they converged about fifty feet away from him, their gestures agitated as they spoke. Leisurely chewing on one of his dates, he strolled toward them and waved cheerfully when they saw him.

“You’re a little off the beaten path if you’re looking for Roman ruins. What brings you to Chad?” He smiled brightly.

“Xander! We were worried sick about you.” Livvy covered quickly.

“I bet you were. So tell me, with one of you is the lousy shot? Cause I counted six bullets that missed me at Leptis Magna. Pretty sloppy.” He continued to smile as their expressions turned ominous.

“Where’s the girl?” Edward kept his hand in his hip pack.

“Who can keep track of a teenager? I need a locator beacon for that girl, I turn my back and she’s off. I’m sure you know how that goes, since you lost her once yourself.”

“Our associate lost her,” Livvy informed him coldly. “And if you value your life, you’ll tell us where she is.”

“Just out of curiosity, what’re you gonna do with her? You know she’s a Slayer. Got some vamps need dusting?” He casually popped another date in his mouth. “Or is this another one of those assassin recruiting deals? Cause I’m really not a fan of those and they never work. Those Slayers can be quite the handful, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know and I don’t particularly care. We were hired to collect her and to kill anyone who tried to stop us, so I suggest you cooperate.”

Xander noticed that the British accent had vanished from both of their voices. “Who hired you? Wolfram and Hart? More of those robo-ninja guys? Come on, you can tell me. Who’s putting up the dough for this little pleasure cruise?”

She glared at him before turning to scan the crowd for any sign of Muna. “You really are the most annoying Watcher I’ve had to kill.”

“Exactly how many have you killed?” he fired back to cover his surprise at being called a Watcher.

“Not enough. You’re all alike. The Slayer is Chosen, the Slayer is supposed to fight evil. It’s pathetic. Times change and the Council is still a thousand years behind. Best thing that ever happened was most of them getting blown to bits three years ago.” Livvy shook her head with disgust.

“You’ve got a better plan?” He waved her off before she could respond. “Don’t bother. I’ve heard it all and it’s always some sick variation of wanting control over the Slayers. I’m not buying and I never will. I was there when the Big Evil swallowed up my hometown, fighting the good fight and getting the most out of my HMO. Which side were you on?”

She bristled visibly. “The side that isn’t about to let the Watcher’s Council make a mockery of the Slayers for another thousand years. Even with most of them dead, it’s still made up of shortsighted, pompous idiots. They have a weapon and they refuse to use it.”

Xander took a step closer, ignoring the emerging gun in Edward’s hand. “They’re human beings, not weapons.”

“This is ridiculous. Give us the girl, and we’ll let you live,” Edward interrupted their stand off irritably and jabbed the barrel of the gun into Xander’s side.

“Not happening.” He crossed his arms and stared them down defiantly. “I grew up on a Hellmouth with vampires, Hell Gods, and the Preying Mantis Lady so it’s going to take more than one little gun to scare me.” If there was anything he was supremely good at, it was being stupid and causing international incidents. Getting shot in the middle of a market in Chad sounded right up his alley.

He saw Muna peer around the corner of a stall and couldn’t decide if he was furious at her for leaving her hiding spot or proud that she’d shown initiative. If he’d had time to decide, he probably would have come down on the side of pride. She had a good arm and the gourd hurled at Edward’s head was a solid hit. Marchant lurched forward and to the side, eyes turning glassy and the gun sliding back into his pack. Xander grabbed onto the older man’s shoulders and pushed him into Livvy, using the diversion to dash around them and shove his way to Muna.

Crates of fruit and vegetables clattered to the ground behind them as he and Muna rounded the corner, sprinting through the corridors as fast as they could through the crowd. He held tightly onto her hand, ignoring the angry shouting that followed them. It was not the time for please and thank you or even a simple get out of the way. He wouldn’t know what language to shout in anyway.

They were steps away from the edge of the market and the wide street that would lead them down to the front of the American Embassy. He felt the heat and heard the whistle of a bullet as it whizzed past his ear. The Marchants could fire at will now that they weren’t surrounded by people.

Muna hesitated. He pulled her along without looking back; just two more buildings and they would be safe. When she continued to resist him, he paused just long enough to hook his arm around her shoulders to encourage her. Almost there. His heart was pounding and there was sweat pouring down his face and down the back of his neck. His palms were slick with it, sliding easily along the fabric of her tunic even as he tried to tighten his grip.

She stumbled against him and he felt another bullet fly by. Scrambling desperately to the side of the road for cover, he pulled her behind a stack of crates and out of harm’s way.

“We’re almost there, Muna. Don’t be afraid, okay?” He reached out to brush away a lock of hair that had escaped her headscarf. The green scarf she had picked out was limp around her neck, her head bowed against his shoulder. “Muna? Muna!” When he pulled his hand around to take her shoulder, there was blood on his forearm and palm. There was no resistance as he pulled her forward, her head lolling against his shoulder. Blood had soaked through her clothes from her shoulder to the small of her back, blossoming out from a single bullet hole between her shoulder blade and spine.

He waited for a pulse beneath his fingers. Something, anything, even if it was faint and slow. There was nothing. His mind imagined her skin cooling under his touch. He pulled her to him as he slumped against the wall of the building, numb and ice cold. There was no ambulance to call, no doctor who could bring her back from where she’d gone. The busy market had barely even noticed their flight, let alone the death of one little girl.

There were footsteps somewhere at the edge of his senses but he didn’t feel inclined to care or look up. If it was the Marchants, they’d lost what they’d come for and there was no one to blame but themselves. How long he stayed curled up against the building with Muna in his arms wasn’t important.

In the heat and the sun, the flies found her soon enough and that made him furious. He hid her behind the crates, curled up in a ball just like he’d found her in the military outpost, and returned to the market. A bou bous that a toucan would have been proud was his for far more than it was worth but he had no heart for bargaining. It was another quick jaunt back to the Embassy to collect their few belongings and then he returned to the crates. He tucked the green scarf into his pocket, wrapped her tightly in the bou bous, and carried her back through the market to the yard of waiting bush taxis.

He looked back only once, to watch the American flag shiver above the Embassy building. Maybe it was the air shivering with the heat instead of the flag. He paid the driver for two, arranged himself and Muna in the backseat of the battered Peugeot, and waited. Once they were out of the city and into the scrub, he left the taxi behind and carried her away from the road.

The scent of water and marshland was heavy in the air. Vaguely remembering the map, he guessed they were near Lake Chad. He found a quiet place in a small thicket of bushes and laid her down. There was no way to bury her according to her faith. He didn’t know her customs, he didn’t understand her belief. The next best thing was all he knew how to do and he hoped that would be enough for her.

It took him until nearly dusk to carve out a dent in the earth big enough to lay her body in and he filled in the grave by starlight, collecting rocks to pile on top that would keep the animals at bay. He changed into the clothes he’d bought at the market, miraculously not soaked in her blood, and tossed the bloody clothes far away from the thicket. By dawn his eye was dry and scratchy with dust and too little sleep. He was tired enough to ignore the insects and scratching claws of unseen critters.

What was he going to tell Giles? He didn’t know how to explain that he hadn’t been able to protect her, that he’d been powerless to stop it. The feeling of utter uselessness had been dormant for nearly three years stirred and breathed once again. He thought he’d left it behind in the crater that was Sunnydale. But now he had a pile of rocks staring him in the face as a reminder of just how useless he was.

He could almost see Buffy’s face and hear the heartfelt but ineffectual pep talk about none of it being his fault. Except he’d come to Africa and set the ball rolling. His meeting with her brother and father had gotten them bullets as well. The piece of metal in her body was meant for him. He couldn’t even get shot and that didn’t take any particular talent at all. In fact, it was hauntingly similar to bullets he had failed to prevent in his equally worthless past.

The sun drove him from the thicket by noon, eye watering in a poor attempt to remove the grit. He ached with every step back to the road and sat down with his duffle as a cushion. His lips had started to crack before he remembered that he had water bottles in his pack.

In the silence and heat, he barely remembered to speak when a bush taxi pulled over; a battered Toyota sedan with suitcases piled five deep and strapped on with baling twine. There was room enough to stuff his bag between two of the suitcases and he slid into the front passenger seat. Landscape went by but he didn’t see anything other than green and brown blurs. The back seat emptied and refilled again with new faces, new voices. N’Djamena appeared on the horizon, swooping toward them like a monstrous anthill.

When they arrived, he found he couldn’t move or reach for the door handle. Couldn’t do anything but stare at the city and wonder what he was supposed to tell them. He’d nearly imploded four countries when he had a live teenager with him; explaining that he’d buried her body in the countryside would cause more than an international incident, it could start a war.

He became aware that the driver of the bush taxi was speaking to him in broken English, asking him where he was going. There was no easy answer to that question. Maybe there was no answer at all.

“North,” he finally managed to get out. “I’m going north.”

Africander - Libya

2006-01-21T05:25:54Z

Title: All Who Wander
Author: Aeneas (aka Jerib_78)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: It's Joss's sandbox, I just play there.

Author's Note: This is for the Scatterlings and Orphanages Ficathon.

All Who Wander

It wasn’t hard to imagine what the Mediterranean would have looked like hundreds of years ago, dotted with triremes ferrying gold, spices, and anything a Roman heart could desire. Rows of oars dipping in and out of the water with sails catching the driving winds; it certainly wasn’t the fastest method of travel known to man. Given the turbulence Xander Harris had experienced since leaving London, he wasn’t convinced that flying was the better option.

Squirming in the uncomfortable airplane seat, he pulled his eye away from the glittering Mediterranean below him and looked for something else to occupy his mind. Giles had informed him that he was very lucky to be flying in rather than the methods of border crossing that had been utilized under the international air embargo. No hiding under canvas bags in dusty jeeps for him. He was waltzing through Libya’s front door with all the chutzpah of the glorified Labrador retriever he was. There might be a Slayer in disease-ridden jungle? Send Xander. There’s a revolution going on? Xander laughed in the face of military coups.

He barely managed to bring one girl home before they sent him globe trotting off to collect another and somehow he ended up with all the jobs that ended in Africa. It had been exciting at first, with the lions and the crocodiles and the people who made clicking noises with their tongues. But the real Africa never made it into the brochure and there were more days than not that he’d give anything to be back in the land of indoor plumbing.

A garbled voice speaking Arabic came over the intercom and either announced the beginning of their descent or that the snack cart would be making the rounds with peanuts and fruit cups. The flight attendant had passed by him earlier without a word or glance but Giles had warned him about that as well. Just because airlines were flying from London to Tripoli didn’t mean frosty relations between Libya and the western world had thawed. It had taken Giles the better part of six months to get Xander a passport and a visa that meant he wouldn’t be arrested upon setting foot in the county. Since being an American would get him exactly nowhere in this country, he’d been given a crash course on being stuffy and wearing tweed. Of course, defeat of the attempts to make Xander more British had been inevitable. It ended with Giles pinching his nose in that irritated fashion of his and proclaiming that Xander was butchering the language to such a degree that even Spike would have been appalled.

That left Xander with an American passport, a visa, and only his wits about him. There was also the eye patch, which not only worked as an impromptu costume at Halloween parties; it also gave him a certain air of danger. This was someone who had lost an eye and lived to tell the tale. People wondered, people whispered. Had he been captured by revolutionaries? A wild animal encounter perhaps. He smiled at his own musings. Maybe they just didn’t want to look at the poor man who’d lost an eye in a work related incident. Whatever it was, the world didn’t seem to pay him mind as he went about his merry way.

He fastened his seatbelt as the airplane began to bank, swooping over the city of Tripoli like a great albatross in search of a perch. Beneath him were towers in various shades of off-white, contrasted with the dark green speckles of date palms lining roads and the gray of the highways. Even the coastline was creamy beige and sparkling in the sunlight, as though a giant toddler had gone wild with the pastel crayons. It was a far cry from the dense green of the rainforest and the retina searing cinnamon of the desert. Towering skyscrapers spoke of the wealth and prosperity that came with the oil pumping out of what would otherwise be useless land.

The touchdown was uneventful and he bade a less than fond farewell to the dirty seatbelt that had refused to clasp properly. Little good it would have done him had it been an interesting landing. He kept his mouth shut and his eye toward the ground at a forty-five degree angle as the passengers disembarked. Low enough to be unthreatening to the armed guards watching over their progress through the airport but high enough to see anything short of an attack by seagull. Off to the side of the runway, he caught a glimpse of what could have been pieces of military aircraft but a stoic glare from one of the guards wearing Top Gun glasses kept him from looking too hard.

There was the familiar jostle of elbows at the luggage collection and he was glad for the single, army style duffle slung over his shoulder. He could tell from the latch that it had been opened and searched. If they wanted to rifle through his underwear, more power to them.

Passport and visa in hand, he began the slow crawl through the queues and hoops: security check, metal detectors, all the while under surveillance of the men with shiny sunglasses. Voices around him spoke Arabic in rapid-fire sentences that were both elegant and chaotic as the painted letters adorning the walls and posters. Several of the far walls had patches of mosaic or painted murals peeking out from beneath the propaganda. He was definitely not in Kansas anymore.

With his one eye open wide, he was still trying to soak up all the nuances of another foreign airport when he arrived at the older gentleman who would decide if he could stay in the country. Giles had assured him that all the paperwork was in order and hopefully the decision wouldn’t be based on what the man had eaten for lunch. He didn’t smile, merely slid his papers through the opening in the pocked glass and waited patiently.

“Maa ismuk?” The man asked as he peered at the passport and visa.

“Alexander Harris.” The next questions that rattled off of the man’s tongue were beyond Xander’s ability to infer their meaning or keep up with the vowel sounds. Hoping he wasn’t completely butchering the pronunciation, he tried Arabic, “hal tatahaddath al’ingiliiziyya?”

The passport officer eyed him with newfound intensity. “I speak English. What is your purpose to this country?”

“Tourist,” Xander answered matter-of-factly. Keep it simple. Giles had all but pounded the mantra into his skull, simple, straightforward, and no funny business.

That seemed to satisfy the man and he stamped his passport with vigor. “Welcome to Libya. Please enjoy our beautiful country.”

“Shukran.” Xander collected his papers and moved out of the queue.

One more country in a long list of countries where he didn’t have a clue what was going on. The major disadvantage of not speaking the native language fluently was that he could be listening to someone talk about removing his limbs and think they were discussing stew recipes. Fluency was a relative term as well. Dialects varied with shifting sands and twisted the already twisty sounds around in his mouth until his tongue was tied in knots at the back of his throat.

He dug the guidebook out of his duffle bag and started at the chapter about not offending the natives. Despite his very western cargo pants and lightweight cotton shirt, he was pleased to see that he blended well in the smattering of tourists and locals alike. Forget vampires, the Gap was eventually going to rule the world with their classic fit button up shirts and relaxed fit jeans. He wiggled his toes in his sandals, already feeling bits of sand slipping in between them. The lack of an ever-creeping Sahara was the best thing about England.

“Mr. Harris?” The voice startled him out of his guidebook reverie and he was relieved to see a young Arab man standing beside him. He was dressed casually in jeans and an open neck shirt of soft linen, just another teenager collecting tourists for sightseeing trips. In fact, Giles had informed Xander that registering with a vacation group was the only way into Libya but he had arranged for him to join the group that would travel to where his Libyan contact would be. Seeing Xander’s recognition, he motioned for him to follow the tour group assembling at the entrance doors.

“Salaam aleikum,” the young man said as he reached Xander’s side.

“Aleikum as-salaam.” The greeting seemed to either please or amuse the man and Xander wondered if he’d managed to emphasize the wrong syllables again. A folded newspaper appeared in the man’s hands and was handed casually to him with only the faintest of smiles.

“Shukran,” Xander took the newspaper. In the time it took to glance down at the paper the young man vanished into the crowd and he was left with printed Arabic soup. Wistfully, he thought back to simpler days that didn’t involve covert hand offs in airport terminals. He tucked the paper into the guidebook and joined the tour group. At least two of the other tourists were obviously British, middle-aged, and more than a bit overwhelmed by their surroundings.

“I don’t suppose they can stop us from speaking English, do you?” the woman nervously asked the man next to her.

“Of course not, dear.” The man gave Xander the wearied look of a bedraggled husband. “It’s not as if we can just start speaking Arabic, is it?”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Xander assured her. “They’ll probably just think we’re silly tourists and talk behind our backs. So…what are you excited to see?” He tapped his guidebook for emphasis. This model of Xander came complete with peppy attitude, bright smile, and a liberal dash of naivety that was always a big hit with the older female audience.

“Oh, the ruins at Leptis Magna are said to spectacular.” She beamed at him and held out her hand. “Where are my manners? I’m Livvy Marchant and this is my husband, Edward.”

“Xander Harris.” He shook their hands quickly.

“I say, you’re a Yank.” Edward seemed to light up as he recognized Xander’s poorly disguised accent.

“Don’t tell anyone but yes, I’m guilty of being born on the wrong side of the ocean.” He winked at Livvy before motioning toward the tour guide, who had finally arrived and was shepherding the group out the doors.

“Smart lad. Being an American isn’t what it used to be with today’s political climate.”

Xander smiled noncommittally and redirected the conversation back to the many attractions Libya had to offer. “What about this Leptis Magna? Do you think they’ll let us roam about the ruins?”

“I do hope so.” Livvy dug her itinerary out of her oversized traveler’s bag. “Did you remember sunscreen, Mr. Harris? I dare say I brought enough for the entire tour if you happened to forget.”

“I’m covered but I’ll keep you in mind if I run out.” He offered to help Edward with loading their suitcases into the storage bins of the bus. Rule number one of being a tourist was to make friends with the other tourists, especially the middle-aged British women who usually carried tea, biscuits, and occasionally chocolatey goodness in their handbags.

***

None of the tiny pictures in his guidebook prepared Xander for the magnitude of Leptis Magna. At its height, the city had contained eighty thousand people and served as a major shipping port between Rome and the heart of Africa. Once the defensive walls fell to a massive earthquake and raiding Vandals, the desert had swept in to overtake the city. Sand preserved the mosaics and murals, keeping the Roman city mostly intact beneath the shifting surface.

Standing archways imbued a silent grace to what would otherwise be stacks of carved limestone and provided hints of what the ancient city must have looked like. The tour group wandered through the parts of the ruins that had been excavated and were open to tourists. A spacious amphitheatre, extensive public baths, even a racetrack whispered of a history filled with life. Winged griffins guarded one of the archways and the columns of the basilica were a playground for intricately carved cherubs waving palm fronds. He tried to keep track of who had built what arch and which God had the temple with rows of Corinthian columns.

The wide brimmed hat kept the burning sun off of his face and neck but nothing could keep the heat of the desert away for long. After a while, he got used to the taste of salt and sand on his lips when he took a sip from his water bottle. Their group was moving slowly around the ocean facing side of the ruins when he spotted the young man from the airport. A quick look at his watch and he saw that he was right on time for the clandestine meeting that had been scheduled via newspaper hand off. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to being handed innocuous objects and having bizarre notes fall out of them later. It was just his luck that one of these days someone would hand him a shoebox with a bomb inside.

He pretended to be fascinated by one of the wall sculptures and drifted away from the rest of the group toward what had once been the atrium of the marketplace. The corridors within allowed some shaded respite from the fierce sun. He whistled softly to himself as he explored and waited for the young man to appear.

A few minutes passed, giving Xander time to investigate more sculpture and consult his guidebook for trivia. He heard footsteps coming toward him and hushed voices speaking Arabic. Hopefully one of them spoke English with more skill than he spoke Arabic. Two men turned the corner and the familiar young man greeted Xander warmly. His companion was older, with graying hair, and bore a striking resemblance to the younger man.

“Mr. Harris, this is my father. He does not speak English, I will translate.”

“Great. What’s your name? Maa ismuk?” The stilted Arabic seemed to make the older man slightly less hostile toward him.

“I am Hassan, my father is Muhammed.”

“Good start, pleased to meet you. Since I’m here for a girl, I’m guessing that girl would be a member of your family.” Xander frowned when Muhammed seemed to get more agitated after Hassan translated what he’d said. “Everything okay?”

“My father believes that it does not honor our family to speak of my sister to a stranger and a Westerner,” Hassan explained apologetically. “It is most important that you understand. My sister was to be married into a good Muslim family, Mr. Harris, but she is gone. Disappeared. I do not believe she would leave to avoid the marriage.”

Xander tried not to let his confusion show but he was completely lost as to how this pertained to finding lost Slayers. “You think she was kidnapped?” The older man began speaking in Arabic fast enough that he only caught a few of the more familiar words. Hassan responded just as emphatically, leaving Xander to watch the argument with growing bewilderment.

“Mr. Harris.” Hassan finally said something to quiet his father and turned back to Xander. “My sister is, how do you say…different.”

“And that would be why I’m here. I’m assuming there’s some super strength and speed going on?” He breathed a sigh of relief. At least this hadn’t been just a wild goose chase.

“She has become strong as a man. Stronger. It has been a great burden on my family; it is unnatural. It is against Allah.”

Xander turned the scenario over in his head, trying to fit the pieces together and form a theory of the girl’s life. Very few of the Slayers’ families had been jumping for joy when their child began manifesting inhuman powers. Mostly he found it to be based in fear, but at least this girl’s family was still trying to find her whether or not she had frightened and shamed them. However, it also made it more likely that she had disappeared of her own free will rather than being kidnapped. Dishonoring her family and alienating her fiancée never went over well in the teenage girl bracket.

“She is my sister still, Mr. Harris,” Hassan continued with his voice lowered. “I do not believe, as my father does, that she has sought to bring shame on our family by refusing to marry. I believe that she has been taken. Before she disappeared, there were men who came to our village asking questions. I did not think on it until your Mr. Giles contacted me.”

The plot was thickening like milk left out to curdle and Xander was pretty sure it would soon be just as unpleasant. A few of the recruited Slayers had mentioned being approached with offers from an unknown organization. It was possible they were connected to the sophisticated robots executing strategic assaults on well-known elements of the demon world. And while they might have the same enemies, whoever was behind the androids had differing methods and, most likely, a very different endgame in mind. Mutual enemies did not mutual friends make.

“Tell me about these men. Were they foreigners?” It could also have been Wolfram and Hart trying to wedge another foothold in the world after Angel and crew took out their Los Angeles branch. What better way than recruiting their own Slayers? The groups in Rome and London had discussed the frightening idea in depth, almost as much as the topic of what exactly they were going to do with all those Slayers themselves.

“Can you find my sister?” Hassan was interrupted by his father once again and another argument sprung up between the two of them. After it passed, he had another question for Xander. “Can you stop what has happened to her?”

For every Slayer and every family, the same question was asked in a hundred different languages and a thousand different ways. Could he put her back the way she was, take away her power and make her the girl she used to be. He used to wish he could tell them what they wanted to hear. Seeing the disappointment and fear in their eyes, and knowing that their daughter could also see it, was something that he never became accustomed to. Instead of the truth, he learned to be very serious and tell them that he didn’t know if he could help. It was a lie that allowed them hope and gave him time to convince them it wasn’t the work of evil spirits or the devil.

“I’ll need to see your sister first,” he answered cautiously. There was always the chance that she wasn’t a Slayer, merely a very strong girl. Until he had proof, he would let them hope. “Can you tell me anything about the men who came to your village?”

“They were Americans.” Hassan’s eyes widened suddenly and his body jerked as though he’d been struck from behind. Blood sprayed hot and thick as a bullet tore through Muhammed’s throat. The man collapsed to the ground like a rag doll as Hassan sunk helplessly to his knees beside him.

Xander dove for cover behind a pile of toppled stone, the round meant for him popping like a champagne cork. The heels of his hands scraped across the limestone as he scrambled, bits of rock exploding into dust and shrapnel for each bullet striking the stone above him. He looked back to see Hassan’s lifeless eyes staring after him, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and spreading out from the bullet wound in his back. Nauseated and shaking, he scrabbled sideways like a crab down the inner corridor until he reached the far side of the ancient marketplace.

He took off at a dead run along the rows of columns, his sandals slapping as he ran. A bullet whistled past his head and sent him ducking behind a fractured sculpture. He whipped his head from side to side, compensating for the loss of peripheral vision on his left side. Visibility was a joke with the piles of chiseled rock and columns filling the landscape. He kept low, dashing from hiding spot to hiding spot as he made his way through the ruins toward the entrance where the tour bus would be waiting.

The presence of other people might not deter his attacker but he’d take that chance. Regardless of whether or not the assassin followed him, an American involved with two dead bodies in Libya could only end badly. The dusty, battered bus finally came into view through another ornate archway and he made the last dash with his lungs burning.

“Xander?” Livvy Marchant stopped folding her map and stared at him as he skidded to a halt beside the bus.

“Am I late?” he panted and made a show of checking his watch. “This thing is always losing time. Boy…I’m glad I didn’t get left behind.”

“Are you all right? Dear boy, you could have been hurt running like that!” She clucked at him as she handed him a handkerchief to wipe his face. “Do you need a bottled water? Running about in this heat, you’ll get heatstroke.”

“I’m good.” Thankfully his brightly colored shirt camouflaged the spray of blood and the dust coating his cargo pants covered anything but the color of the sandstone. He winced at the jabbing pain in his side, only slightly paranoid that it was the sensation of a bullet piercing his skin. Waving her off, he readjusted his travel pack and fished out his own bottled water. Keep it simple. Simple, straightforward, and nothing resembling the truth. “What do you think of the place? Bet it was pretty cool when the Romans were here.”

She didn’t look quite ready to drop the subject of his strange behavior but finally gave him a tolerant smile. “Yes, it must have been wonderful. Did you see the archway built to honor Emperor Severus?”

“Is that the one with the big, winged things?” He drained his water bottle and tucked it back into his pack. His thoughts were a million miles away as she corrected his arch identification and began rattling off whole chapters of the history of the Roman Empire.

His heartbeat had nearly returned to normal when the tour guide began to call for the group to board the bus. A bus seat had never felt so comforting and despite straining, he couldn’t see anyone suspicious lurking in the ruined city. None of the guide’s words managed to find their way through his jumbled thoughts on the ride back to Tripoli and his stomach was still threatening to heave what was left of his lunch all over the seat in front of him.

It wasn’t the first time they’d had trouble collecting one of the girls, but it was the first time he’d seen two of her family members shot down in front of him and the first time he’d been unable to do anything but run away. Even the options of notifying the family or burying the bodies were lost to him. This wasn’t the time or the country for him to make an appearance on the local authorities’ radar. All he could do was return to the tour hotel, make contact with Giles, and hope for all he was worth that Buffy and the Brain would be able to think of a plan.

He functioned on autopilot, laughing and making idle small talk with the rest of his tour group until the bus arrived at the hotel and he managed to slip away. Shaking fingers sabotaged his hurry to get out of the blood stained clothing. A fresh pair of cargo pants and another loose cotton shirt only marginally decreased the sick feeling in his stomach.

There wasn’t time to use the hotel phone before he was supposed to meet the group for dinner. He forced himself to take several deep breaths. The dead weren’t going to be any less dead in an hour and he couldn’t risk appearing as anything other than a bumbling tourist.

“Walk in the park, Harris,” he told the image in the cracked bathroom mirror. “You’ve seen worse. Vampires, demons, Hell Gods. What’s a few bullets? Stick with the crowd and none of them will have your name on it.”

He managed to keep his smile and carefree stride out of the hotel and while the group meandered through the nearby souk. None of the merchants seemed interested in bartering, standing with their arms crossed and passing the time before they could close up their narrow booths. There were rugs and lengths of decorative cloth that he wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do with even if he did buy a few yards. No trinkets or frivolous items adorned the booths, only the necessities of living. By the time he escaped the claustrophobia inducing corridors, he’d noticed the ubiquitous presence of the color green. All the shampoos and soaps in his small bathroom had been wrapped in green packaging, all the vendors' booths were painted the same, and along with the ever-present gaze from Qaddahfi’s portraits, it seemed to be a national decorating requirement.

The city of Tripoli itself was torn between ancient vibrancy and modern desolation. He saw no billboards telling him to eat right or drink Coca-Cola, only more pictures of the head of government and a few cartoonish men smiling as they worked on an assembly line. Buildings that had looked impressive from the air were rendered harsh and utilitarian once on the ground; rising up around him with all the personality of giant concrete iceboxes. He tried not to look at the ground, which was covered almost entirely with discarded candy wrappers and garbage bags of fly delight. Apparently beauty was even more subjective than usual in Libya.

Dinner was to be had at a small restaurant with mosaic walls barely visible in the dusky interior and rather than ordering from a menu, he was informed that he would get what every tourist got for a meal. Considering that the next booth over ended up with pan-fried fish complete with eyeballs and guts intact, he was relieved to get a slice of date bread, bottled water, and a small bowl of spicy vegetables and rice.

The small restaurant seemed unnaturally silent and his fellow travelers whispered their tales of adventure, trying to simultaneously achieve the Western tradition of conversation over a meal and respect the silence of the Libyans around them. He heard stories of parts of Tripoli that weren’t bogged down with concrete and trash. In the Italian quarter, one could find Belgian chocolate, clothes that hadn’t come from the seventies in shops playing Western music over their tinny speakers, and fewer eyes watching every move.

It struck Xander as surreal to be sitting in a darkened restaurant of a totalitarian state with people from all corners of continental Europe. People who knew nothing of vampires and Slayers or why he was really in Libya touring ancient ruins. They hadn’t stood beneath carved stone archways and watched two innocent people die. He wanted to say he was numb to violent death almost as much as he wanted to say he wasn’t. Was becoming insensitive to human tragedy a fate worse than a bullet? That, he thought as he looked around at the somber faces of the native Libyans around them, was an ironically relevant question.

The world he walked was different. He’d known from that first day in the library and watched it confirmed over and over. There were days when it was subtle. When he found himself sitting in a group of people pretending to be something else but never quite able to believe his own lie. Which was the real Xander? The mask he wore for the normal world or the mask he wore for the world where things went bump in the night.

Movement shook him out of his metaphysical stupor; the group gathering up their belongings and heading back to the hotel before nightfall settled. It had been a long day of traipsing about a foreign country that felt like an oven even in the shade. He stocked up on bottled water and made some excuse about calling his family. Two operators and ten minutes of waiting for a connection that wasn’t ninety percent static later and he heard Giles’ voice faintly through the receiver.

“G-man! How’s England? Cold and rainy?” He glanced around the lobby to make sure no one was within earshot before pulling into the corner as far as possible. The man who guarded the metal detector at the front door and the suit watching people get on and off of the elevator both seemed too bored to bother listening in.

“Xander, have you located the girl?”

“There’s been a little bit of a complication.” He hesitated and took a deep breath. “I met with her father and brother. They said she disappeared after some men in black started nosing around.”

“Do they believe she was kidnapped?”

“One did, one didn’t. Look, Giles. There’s something else.” Eye closed and counting to ten helped ease some of the nausea. “They’re dead. Shot right in front of me. Pretty sure I was supposed to be lying face down in the sand right now.” The silence on the other end of the line didn’t do much to make him feel at ease. “Giles? You there?”

“We’ll send back-up.” There was the briskly concerned tone that always meant the situation had just gone to hell. “It may take awhile but I might be able to pull some strings. Stay away from exposed areas and continue with the tour. Notify me if anything changes.”

“Sure thing, Giles.”

“And Xander. Do be careful.”

“Careful’s my middle name.” He felt slightly better after hanging up the phone. Sometimes the scariest part of collecting newly minted Slayers was being alone in a strange country where his white skin stood out like a neon sign. There were hundreds of languages he didn’t speak and hundreds of customs he couldn’t hope to learn.

He believed in the work. This was a chance to make sure none of the girls had to walk that road alone, never had to hide under the covers and not know what the monsters outside were. They could know why they were different, why their world had suddenly gone topsy-turvy without warning. It was the chance to make that difference, to make sure the girls knew they weren’t evil or possessed by demons, that kept him from finding some nice sand to stick his head under.

The adrenaline that had been keeping him upright vanished suddenly with barely enough time to open the door of his hotel room and start for the bed. Sweet bed with clean enough sheets and a minimum amount of lumps. He wanted sleep without nightmares. It wasn’t likely to happen but a man could dream.

His duffle bag was lying on its side at the foot of his bed when he could have sworn that he left it leaning against the wall and the afternoon’s events made him reach for his pocket where he would normally be carrying a stake. No such luck and a faint creak behind him was all the warning he had before the back of his skull exploded with painful stars. There was time enough to wonder why the floor was getting closer before the room was sucked down a giant drain.

***

Xander became aware of heat first. Then the painful bumping as he sloshed back and forth in the bed of the truck. He could taste motor oil on his tongue, spitting sand and dust as he blinked his eye. Reaching for the back of his head came with the discovery of duct tape around his wrists. There was more around his ankles and it took a series of awkward wiggles and twists to get him into a sitting position.

One look through the tinted windows of the cab made him grateful to be inside. Stretching out on all sides was an ocean of cinnamon colored sand dunes and islands of rock like the humps and spikes of gargantuan sea creatures. The road he was traveling had been paved at some point but the cracks and potholes were nearing critical mass and the desert sands would soon snap their jaws down over the worn pavement. His only gauge of time was the stiffness of his joints and muscles from lying on his side, and if they were any indication, he was miles away from Tripoli.

Inside the truck was slightly less desolate. He found a battered canteen half filled with brackish water, a handful of bruised oranges that had seen better days, and some dried out chunks of date bread. The oranges eased the growling in his stomach and the water soothed his cracked tongue even if it did nothing to help get the taste of sand out of his mouth. It was some mercy that his kidnappers had thought to bring along his duffle bag; its contents having been thoroughly searched but otherwise intact. There was hardly anything there anyone else would want. A can of spray on deodorant and the same scent in stick form, a guide book for Libya, sunscreen, sunglasses, a hat, an empty water bottle, his notebook for taking notes when he remembered, and a handful of clothes that would do if he wasn’t picky about cleanliness. Strange that his kidnapper hadn’t taken his money and watch, which didn’t bode well for why he’d been knocked over the head and dumped in a truck bed.

He pulled the duffle around behind him to ease some of the pain in his back and got to work chewing at the duct tape around his wrists. Maybe he was alive because they’d found what they were looking for and maybe he was alive because they hadn’t. One thing he did know was that the desert outside, not the duct tape, was the real prison.

He passed the day watching the shadows shift through the back of the truck, unsure if it was due to the sun’s arc or the truck changing directions. It stopped once and he saw a veiled figure in robes and a headdress climb out to add gas to the tank before continuing on. There was no window to the cab of the truck, no way to see or communicate with the phantom driver.

Sunset turned the desert ocean into a spray of purples and pinks that would have been beautiful on another day, in nicer surroundings, and possibly when he wasn’t being kidnapped in a foreign country. A man could disappear out in this land with no one the wiser and no idea where to look even if they were; just sand and dust were all anyone would ever find of him if he was dumped out in the middle of it. He peeled another orange and ate the pieces one by one, savoring the sticky juice with more relish than usual.

Even with the sun dipping below the horizon the heat was still oppressive, sweat and salt coating most of his skin and saturating his clothing. When the truck came to a halt again he was surprised to see the man come around to the back and drop open the tailgate, motioning for Xander to come out.

“Nice day for a drive through the Sahara, isn’t it?” Xander asked as he climbed out, taking note of the gun in the man’s hand and smiling as cheerfully as he could manage.

The gun flicked toward the desert and the man spoke. “Five minutes.”

“To do what exactly? Enjoy the non existent breeze?” Xander wandered to the edge of the road, grateful to be stretching his legs despite the heat and sand. Bending forward to ease the ache in his back, he recognized another reason to be glad to be out and about. He could hear the man doing something in the back of the truck and wasn’t surprised to see that he wasn’t being watched. There was no point in watching if there was nowhere to run. Muttering about the lack of bathrooms in African countries, he was as discreet as possible in heeding the call of nature.

Standing in the silence of evening, he saw the first subtle hints of life. The retreating sun gave way to the critters that came out at night. It took him a moment to realize that the funny rock that looked like it had legs was actually a scorpion and before he could react, it had scuttled out of a hole in the sand and hurried away. He wondered how many things lurked beneath the sand just waiting for nightfall.

When he zipped up and turned back to the truck, he was back to staring into the barrel of a gun. “Maybe we didn’t get off on the right foot. I’m really a nice guy once you get to know me.”

There was no response and he climbed back into the bed of the truck without needing further encouragement of the bullet variety; watching as the tailgate and window slammed shut once again. He found that the canteen had been refilled and his dwindling stock of oranges and date bread replenished. His captor must want him alive if he was feeding him, but alive for what? There wasn’t much to look forward to if he was only being kept alive to be tortured for information. Especially since he doubted there was any valuable information he could give anyone. He couldn’t tell them where all the Slayers were as he didn’t have the slightest idea where the one he was supposed to be collecting was, let alone the rest of them. If they wanted to know how to kill a vampire, well, he’d tell them that torture free.

He watched the shadows on the sand dunes darken, turning everything into an inked comic book world of contrasts. The air cooled without the sun beating down and soon he was curled up against his duffle bag with clothes draped over him for warmth. Despite the uncomfortable accommodations, the hum of the engine was a strange mechanical lullaby that eventually slowed the thoughts in his head enough that his eye closed and he slept.

Passage of time was marked by truck stops and by the growing collection of orange peels and date pits. The view outside the back of the truck changed from towering mountains of sand to rocky boulders littering unforgiving ground and back again to sand. He remembered seeing what had looked like lily pads on a pond, green circles swept out over the blinding sand that meant there was water beneath the desert. They stopped there and he rubbed futilely at the windows of the truck, trying to clear away enough of the dust to get a better look.

Heat made him lethargic and lack of humidity gave him nosebleeds at random intervals throughout the day. Despite the flask that was refilled every day, he was pretty sure that he wasn’t getting enough water to counteract the desert and wondered if anyone who lived there ever managed to get enough water.

Even the sunshine was different. In sunny California, it was a happy smiling sunshine that meant surfing and beach volleyball. It was playful and friendly, kissing skin and hair with the familiar touch of a lover. This sun was a bear roaring fearsomely down on the world with claws made for stripping skin. The ground beneath was trapped in the vengeful gaze that boiled the life away. There was no volleyball here although the mental image of polo played on the backs of camels amused him for a while.

He began to appreciate the silence. His own voice seemed to have gone into hibernation, sensing that it would be both useless and unheeded. The desert swallowed up words as quickly as water.

The truck lurched at the same moment that he heard the echo of a rifle shot. Jarred by the rough road beneath them, he pressed against the bed of the truck and clutched his bag. There were more gunshots and the old Toyota engine roared forward with increasing speed. Just as he thought his teeth were going to be rattled out of his skull, the vibrations suddenly stopped. He began sliding as the bed tipped to the left and twisted around just in time to hold his bag between him and the roof of the truck bed.

Fiberglass crunched and splintered around his ears. He buried his face against the heavy canvas and fervently wished he was back in soggy old England. The breath was knocked out of him as the truck started another roll and he slammed into the bed only to start sliding again. Somewhere in the chaos, he wondered if clothes in the dryer got seasick from the spinning. He couldn’t be sure if it was his stomach or his head spinning.

The truck cap didn’t survive the roll and light hit his eyes with the crack of a baseball bat. There was sand in his mouth and nose, he could taste blood and hear gunfire. Years of chasing vampires nearly blind in the darkness had him scrambling toward the nearest hazy cover. A misshapen boulder barely large enough to hide behind was enough for a moment. Long enough to spit sand and blood and cover his head as the truck was enveloped in a roaring ball of gasoline-fueled fire. The stench of burning skin reached him but all he could think was that the fire was the same temperature as the desert air.

Shouting voices carried over the crackling fire. He slunk down lower against the boulder knowing that they’d probably already seen him and he was a goner. What a way to go, shot to death in the Sahara. He’d always figured he end up with teeth in his neck or possibly crushed under some random Hell God’s fashionable footwear. There were fantasies of being an integral part of a grand battle although most of those had faded after losing his eye.

He braced himself for the bullets when they found him. Men in dark green uniforms with assault rifles that looked old but well cared for. They were shouting in a language he didn’t understand.

“I was kidnapped!” he protested, holding up his hands.

That spurred another round of shouting between them and one of them called out to someone else toward the wreckage of the Toyota. He kept his eye on the triggers of the guns; cautiously optimistic that being still alive was a good sign. They were joined by an older man with lighter skin under the military desert camouflage and blue eyes looking out from under a turban. It was a slightly disturbing blend of cultural implications.

“American, huh?” The man said with a distinctively Texan accent. “Welcome to Chad, son.”

Some Kind of Crazy, Ch. 7

2006-01-01T17:27:20Z

Some Kind of Crazy, Ch. 6

2006-01-01T17:24:09Z

Title: Some Kind of Crazy
Author: Aeneas
Fandom: Firefly/Pitch Black crossover
Disclaimer: Everything Firefly belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Everything Riddick is property of David Twohy and Universal Pictures.
Rating: PG-13 (Violence and language)
Timeline: After the series Firefly, before the movie Serenity. After Pitch Black, before The Chronicles of Riddick. (Dark Fury and Escape from Butcher Bay not included for simplicity and continuity.)
Summary: Serenity has a job and a passenger willing to pay cash for the transport of a wild animal to New Melbourne. They say curiosity killed the cat and, this time, it just might kill the crew.

Peas In A Pod

The blast slammed Kaylee against the railing of the stairs with enough force to knock the breath right out of her. She crumbled back onto the floor stunned and terrified, unable to move her limbs or force any words out of her mouth. Gasping like a fish, she could see Riddick lying across the room. He’d been closest to the grenade and she could see a dent where he’d hit the wall. Her fingers scrabbled for some sort of handhold to pull herself along the floor until she saw boots and gun barrels.

“Look what we have here.” A disembodied voice floated down. “Well, ain’t she just the sweetest thing.”

She cringed, trying to count boots and divide by two. There were too many of them and they kept blurring together, the pain in her back making it hard to keep track of her numbers. In the background, she could hear Inara protesting being dragged from her shuttle and Simon demanding to be with River. She wanted to cry but couldn’t get the air before she was dragged across the floor.

“Kaylee! Kaylee, are you all right?” Simon tried to get closer to her as the men tied them together.

“Simon?” The ship was spinning around her head and she lolled against Inara, unable to sit up straight on her own. “Where’s the Cap’n?”

“Inara, are her pupils dilated?” Simon asked.

“I can’t tell. Kaylee, open your eyes sweetie.”

“Everything’s…blurry. ‘Nara, is the Cap’n back yet?” She breathed in the scent of Inara’s perfume and smiled, “cherry blossoms.” To the other side was Riddick, the large man’s head bowed and chin resting against his chest. Their captors were watching him closely, most of their guns pointed toward him should he wake.

“She could have a concussion.” Simon sounded far away and tiny. “Can you tell if she hit her head?”

“Thinks I’m meili, Simon. Why don’t you?” Kaylee tried to lift her head from Inara’s shoulder, shooting pain in her back bringing tears to her eyes. It faded to a throbbing between her shoulder blades and then she noticed she couldn’t move her toes. “Simon? Can’t feel my legs. Can’t feel nothin’ no more. What’s wrong with me, Simon?”

“She must have hit her spine, compressed the spinal cord. She needs medical attention right away. I’m a doctor.”

Kaylee grimaced when she heard Simon get hit with something; sweat was dripping down her face and stinging her eyes even though she was cold as the black itself. Good news was that she seemed to have stopped falling.

“She won’t be any use to you if she’s paralyzed,” Inara pleaded with the men around them. “She’s the only mechanic in the verse who can keep this ship in the air, I suggest you let Simon tend to her.”

They seemed to think on that and then Kaylee was moving again, settling on the floor and looking up. Voices were starting to tangle in the air like vines growing together.

“Hold still, Kaylee. I’m going to check your spine.” Simon bent over her with concern.

“Simon,” she whispered. “Where’s the Cap’n?”

“He’s coming. Just stay with me.”

She closed her eyes as Simon felt along her neck and shoulders, rolling her to her side and sliding his hands under her shirt. World was too blurry for her to enjoy it and she wished it were under different circumstances. She knew something had gone wrong, job had gone south, and there was trouble. Trouble meant the Captain would be needing her to talk to Serenity so she lay still and waited for Simon to finish.

“I can’t feel any broken vertebrae, it could be a fracture. Can you feel anything at all in your arms and legs?”

“Kinda tinglin’.”

“That’s a good sign. If there’s no damage to the spinal cord, feeling should return on its own. She needs to be kept lying down. Any more movement and she could be paralyzed.” Simon’s hands were gone and she was back staring at the ceiling.

“You, back with the others.” One of the armed men pulled Simon away and bound his hands behind his back like the others.

Kaylee watched, unable to do anything but blink as they assembled the rest of the crew and bound them. The bad guys were talking quietly as they rifled through the supply crates, a few casting lecherous glances toward Inara. She strained to hear what they were saying but only caught pieces of the conversation. Wash was the last person to join the crew, dragged down the stairs unconscious and bleeding from a cut on the back of his head.

The men thinned out as they spread through the ship and she could hear the squawking of their communicators. Waiting for a signal. Perhaps waiting for the Captain to return so they could tie him up too. Him and Zoe and Jayne. She kept miserably still, praying she could move her fingers if she tried really hard.

“Simon!” River sounded frightened and pulled away from the men prodding her with their boots.

“Leave her alone!” Simon struggled against his bindings, trying to protect her but only succeeding in rousing the laughter of the men and getting another boot tread to the face.

“Prefer the dark haired one myself. S’posed to be one of those fancy Companions,” one of the men leered. “That one’s too scrawy.”

“Nah, I like ‘em scrawny. And young.” That one had dark, curly hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed since the day he was born.

The two began to laugh and discuss details in particular they liked about Inara and River. Curly liked River’s long legs and round lips while the one who looked like a rodent liked Inara’s curves. The rat faced one caught a lock of Inara’s hair and breathed the scent deep into his lungs. Turned Kaylee’s stomach so she looked away. Her eyes widened as she saw movement beside her head. A curved blade was working its way through the cords binding Riddick’s hands, his head still bowed and eyes closed. She blinked away sweat and salt, watching with her breath held as Riddick finished cutting and repositioned the blade in his hand.

“Don’t touch her!” Simon was on the floor with one of the men’s boots against his throat, blood on his lips and nose but still trying to stop Curly from sliding his hand along River’s leg.

“Shouldn’t do that. Making crocodile very angry.” River told the man, her expression turning dark and ominous.

“Who’s gonna stop me, sugar?” Curly laughed, crouching down to lean in close to her. “You’re just a little thing.”

There was a blur of movement and Kaylee winced, half afraid she was going to be stepped on by one of the pairs of boots. Snarling furiously, Riddick caught Rat Face and snapped his neck with a brutal twist. Curly barely had time to scramble to his feet before the blade sliced clean through his throat. The man holding Simon to the floor scrabbled for his gun as Riddick’s hand wrapped around his throat, lifted him up off the floor, and hurled him against the wall with a crunch.

He crouched down and sliced through the ropes binding River’s wrists, her small hands taking the blade as he handed it to her. Staying low, he pulled the gun and another knife from Curly’s belt. River began cutting through Simon’s restraints.

“Riddick!” Inara shouted a warning as two men appeared at the top of the ramp to investigate the noise.

The men dropped with a single bullet to each of them, Riddick’s footsteps echoing as he hurried to the control and hit the button to close the cargo hold. Without a pause in his steps, he grabbed another of the dead man’s guns and headed back toward for the stairs. Kaylee saw movement high above her on the catwalk but before she could speak, she saw Riddick raise the guns to each side and fire without a hitch in his step or a look to where he was aiming. More bodies fell from both of the catwalks, dead as can be. He was up the stairs like a panther, disappearing into the corridor with only the sound of gunfire trailing behind him.

“Kaylee, stay still!” Simon coughed, blood dripping down his chin.

“Simon, did you see that? Did you see?”

River smiled down at her as she worked to cut through the rope around Book’s wrists. “Crocodile fell off the same cherry tree into the orchard grass.”

Book took the blade from her hands as soon as he could and began working on freeing Inara. “We should get everyone to a safer location.”

“My shuttle. There aren’t any of them in there and it will be more comfortable for Kaylee. Can we risk moving her, Simon?”

“Kaylee? How are you feeling?”

“I can move a little in my toes and fingers, ain’t sure I can walk about though.” Kaylee moaned at the pain in her back.

“Help me find something we can set her on to carry her, something that will keep her flat.” Simon winced instinctively at the sound of gunfire even though it was far away from them.

“Would a blanket work?”

“It might. If we each took an corner.” He wiped the blood away from his lips as soon as his hands were free. “We should get her to the infirmary, strap her into the chair so she’s stable.”

“Good idea, I’ll get a blanket we can use.” Inara hurried away.

Kaylee smiled and tried to laugh even though it felt like nails pounding through her ribcage. “River ain’t the only can do that, Simon. That means somethin’, right? Means ain’t nothing wrong with her, don’t it?”

“Hush, try not to talk.” Simon stroked her hair lightly.

“Just special training, could be the Alliance taught her how. But don’t mean she’s an assassin.” She looked between the anxious faces hovering over her. “Could ask him where he learned it, might be he could tell us something useful.”

“Later, Kaylee. We’ll discuss this later.” Book moved away to drag bodies toward the sides of the cargo bay where they wouldn’t be stumbling blocks.

Inara returned with a heavy blanket and unfolded it on the floor. On the count of three, all four of them lifted her up onto the blanket and took a corner. It was agony to be moving at all but she kept her lips shut tight and didn’t cry even when they lifted her onto the chair in the infirmary.

“I’m going to strap you in, Kaylee, and give you something for the pain.” Simon looped the restraints over her and reached for a syringe.

“Wash! What about Wash?” Kaylee winced at the needle prick.

“He also needs your attention, doctor,” Book said as he and Inara half carried and half dragged an unconscious Wash into the room.

“Put him on the side bed,” Simon directed. He checked Kaylee’s eyes one more time with a flashlight before moving to take care of Wash.

“Hold on to something,” River warned, looking up at the ceiling. “Serenity’s tired of standing, needs to see the sky again.”

The room tilted to the right and Kaylee could here Serenity’s engines fire up outside the ship. Medical supplies rattled in the cupboards and her stomach flip-flopped as the landing gear left the ground, lifting into the air.

“River?” Simon held on tightly to the wall. “Who’s flying the ship?”

***

“Sure was a grand idea you had, Mal,” Jayne grunted as he ducked down after laying another spray of bullets over their enemies’ heads. “Takin’ on an army…jing chai. Got anymore of those ideas?”

“More bullets, less talking, Jayne.” Mal spun up and took down another of the hired guns. “These men ain’t exactly provin’ themselves worthy of jio weh sung chiuh. You noticed we’re winning, right? ”

“Strange idea of winnin’ you got there.”

“We ain’t dead yet.” He cringed as a bullet whizzed over his head and shouted into his comlink. “Wash? Anyone? I’d take anyone at this point.”

“They got the ship, sir,” Zoe reminded him, ducking low to reload her shotgun. “Ain’t nobody there to answer who’s friendly to us.”

“Least they could trade witty banter.”

“You’d like that, sir?”

“I’d like for them to realize we got a battle on our hands here and for them to come join the party. Brings the ship to us. All part of my brilliant plan.” He grinned and raised his arm up over what was left of the wall they were using for cover and fired into the fray. All at once the bullets stopped; they heard shouting and the sound of footsteps headed away from them. Mal fired a few more rounds just because and peered over the wall to see the rest of the men running away. He eased up to his feet cautiously before looking down at Jayne and raising his eyebrows with a grin. “I do believe you owe my brilliant plan an apology.”

“Sir?” Zoe nudged him with her elbow and pointed to the sky behind them. Serenity was bearing down them almost low enough to skim the tops of the trees, swinging over them with a roar and sliding into a hover above the field. “That ain’t my Mister flying.”

“You can tell?” Jayne started reloading again.

“Conjured it wouldn’t be. Just watch who you’re shooting, our own people are still on board that ship.” Mal started toward Serenity, steel in his hand and his eyes. He weren’t about to let some flower peddling lowlifes steal his ship and lay a hand on his crew. “Be ready for it, they’ll come out guns a blazing.”

They were a picture of defiance, three of them standing beneath the ship with guns in hand as she landed and the cargo door lowered. Book was standing at the control, a tuft of gray hair come undone from its binding. He waved them in and got back to dragging bodies across the cargo bay floor to dump them over the edge. Mal gave a low whistle as he surveyed the carnage.

“Guess we were wrong. Maybe Wash’s havin’ an off day.” He shrugged but Zoe didn’t seem to be convinced, her eyes still narrowed suspiciously.

“There are more bodies if you head toward the bridge,” Book told them as he reached the edge.

“Guess ‘Nara was worth it,” Jayne snorted.

“Bu zui. Eyeballs do all this, Shepherd?” Mal was half hoping that Book would tell him someone other than Riddick had at least helped.

“That he did.” Book looked toward the infirmary with a pensive look. “Kaylee was injured but Simon is looking after her and--”

“Shiny. Jayne, Zoe, there has to be somethin’ worth stealin’ left in that house. What do you say we get paid?” Mal grinned as he started back down the ramp. Zoe hesitated for a moment before following after him. “Show some hustle, they’ll be back ‘fore long and they’ll bring more guns.”

It didn’t take long searching through the bullet-ridden ranch house to find plenty worth taking in payment, including cash money and some supplies would come in handy in the black. Once the bodies were dumped, Book joined the line hauling valuables through the field into the safety of Serenity. Mal took stock as they returned with the last load of valuables, making sure everything was stowed away and glancing in to make sure Kaylee was still breathing.

“Simon says she’ll make a full recovery,” Inara said as she stepped forward.

“Good. We’ll be needin’ her before long.” Mal stared at his feet for a bit before motioning to the empty hold. “Guess I should be thankin’ you. Doin’ what you did. I know it ain’t somethin’ you’d normally have to face.”

“It is what I do, Mal.”

“But you did it for Serenity and I appreciate that.” Inara didn’t smile, averting her eyes as she walked past him and up the stairs to her shuttle. He saw Book watching him and shrugged. “Think it was something I said, Shepherd?”

“Possibly something you didn’t say,” Book responded, moving to his side and gazing up at her shuttle. “It was your idea to put her in that situation, knowing full well the kind of man she was dealing with. You had to have considered that he might ask for her as payment.”

“I was s’posed to give him Kaylee, that it?”

“Usually the man stands between the woman and the dragon, not the other way around.” Book gave him a somber look before walking away.

“He’s a dragon now? First a crocodile, now a dragon. Can’t he just be a gorram man for a change?” Mal muttered under his breath as he stomped up the stairs and headed for the cockpit. As he stepped past the kitchen, he felt Serenity pitch and sway, lifting off the ground. “Wash! What the gorram hell are you doing?” He jumped out of the way as Zoe stormed out of the cockpit. “Zoe?”

“I’ll be in the infirmary, sir.”

“Zoe?” He didn’t get any answer and turned back to the bridge. “Wash? You and the missus havin’ an argument? That what’s making you fly all…” The words stuck in his throat as he stepped into the cockpit and saw who was flying the ship. “Tama de!”

“Might want to hold on to something,” Riddick said over his shoulder.

“Thought you said you ain’t got no skills past killin’ people!” Mal grabbed onto the console as they leveled out and started across the terrain.

“I said…I’m a fast learner.”

Some Kind of Crazy, Ch. 5

2006-01-01T17:18:26Z

Title: Some Kind of Crazy
Author: Aeneas
Fandom: Firefly/Pitch Black crossover
Disclaimer: Everything Firefly belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Everything Riddick is property of David Twohy and Universal Pictures.
Rating: PG-13 (Violence and language)
Timeline: After the series Firefly, before the movie Serenity. After Pitch Black, before The Chronicles of Riddick. (Dark Fury and Escape from Butcher Bay not included for simplicity and continuity.)
Summary: Serenity has a job and a passenger willing to pay cash for the transport of a wild animal to New Melbourne. They say curiosity killed the cat and, this time, it just might kill the crew.

Flowers For Swine

Serenity was approaching the dusty looking planet when Inara heard her screen buzz to alert her to an incoming wave. She pulled a robe over her shoulders, tied it at the waist, and pulled her hair up into a knot. It buzzed again impatiently.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” She settled onto her footstool and made the connection. Mal’s face filled the screen looking unpleasant as always.

“You gonna be coming out of there any time soon or will you be needing the cavalry?”

“As much as I appreciate your concern, Mal, I can assure you that I have everything under control. Or did you forget that this is my profession?” She smiled out of habit rather than desire.

“Hope you left him intact enough to be of use to us. Ain’t worth the price if he can’t hold up his end.”

“He’s fine. Is there anything else or were you just concerned for my welfare?”

“Just thought I’d wake the lovebirds. Coming up on Santo and Jayne’s lookin’ to get the toys out. Want to make sure that yang qui zi knows which end of a gun to hold.” Mal didn’t manage to disguise the loathing in his voice.

“I’ll send him right out.” She disconnected the wave and looked back over her shoulder at the man in her bed. It wasn’t an unusual sight. Bare shoulders and back, muscled and obviously male, amidst the silk sheets. What was unusual was that she’d spent the last three hours tidying her shuttle and packing away the items she didn’t use on a regular basis.

She’d done some thinking as well and had come to the conclusion that they had vastly underestimated this mere escaped prisoner. He was rough and callous and there was more fury in his eyes than she’d ever seen in a man whose name wasn’t Malcolm Reynolds. But he was also controlled and calculating. She was certain now that he had never desired Kaylee as payment, that he had played her as skillfully as she had sought to play him. He’d realized that the crew of Serenity was her weakness, that she cared, and he’d used that against her. It was the very reason she so desperately needed to leave.

There was a killer lying in her bed, of that she had no question, but she had begun to wonder what kind of life had turned him to blood and what had happened to rattle him as completely as he was now. Something had shaken him to the core. This man knew violence, he knew blood and pain and there was no fear of death in him. But there was fear of something else and that teased at her curiosity.

“Riddick?” She settled beside him and reached out to touch his shoulder. Faster than her eyes could follow, his hand clamped down on her wrist and stopped her from touching him. “Riddick, you’re hurting me.”

Silver eyes blinked and once he recognized her, he let go quickly. He glanced around to get his bearings, tense and ready for an attack. When he spoke, his voice was almost too rough for her to understand. “Three hours already?”

“I’m afraid so.” She placed her hand on his arm comfortingly. “Mal’s in a particularly foul mood so you might want to watch your back.”

“Appreciate the warning.” He climbed out of bed and finished dressing. Joints cracked as he stretched and twisted to warm stiff muscles. There was a looseness in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before and a new purpose in his steps.

“If you’re ever in my corner of the verse again,” she called as he headed toward the door.

“I won’t be.”

He didn’t look back, disappearing from her shuttle as though he’d never been there and leaving Inara to forever wonder.

***

It was more than tempting to punch the speculative leer off of Jayne’s face as their follically challenged not-quite-enemy emerged from Inara’s shuttle. Mal had to admit there was something different about the man’s footfalls that made his vision go hazy with red and green. None of that was going to help him be rid of the cargo and get paid for it, so he forced it to the furthest corner of his mind.

“You…Jayne here will give you the tour.” He nodded toward Jayne’s spread of guns and other weaponry.

“Name’s Riddick.” Silver eyes met his with an unspoken challenge.

“That may be, don’t figure I’ll have need for your name.”

Kaylee’s cheeks were bright red as she came through with an armful of extra ammunition. “Can’t y’all play nice ‘til this is over? Actin’ like a bunch of babies is what you’re doin’.”

“Don’t recall asking for your opinion neither.”

“You didn’t.” Jayne peered down one of the gun barrels before twisting it off so he could clean it out. “Kaylee here just likes to be nosy.”

“I know that,” Mal ground out between clenched teeth. “Get to work, ju tou.” He turned away before his fists decided to do something mighty stupid and headed back to the cockpit to watch Wash land the ship.

“So, Inara, huh?” Jayne prodded. “Bet she was somethin’, all that trainin’.”

Mal hesitated at the doorway, listening for Riddick’s answer. When none came and he couldn’t bear Jayne’s badgering any longer, he left them to clean the guns and prayed the both of them would end up shooting themselves clean through. Couldn’t get a handle on which of them he wanted more dead at the moment but he wouldn’t say no to either of them meeting an untimely end.

“Talk to me, Wash.” The planet’s atmosphere seemed to race toward them at incredible speed as their pilot maneuvered them into a landing trajectory.

“Smooth sailing from here to dirt, Mal. Got good weather and they just waved us the coordinates.” Wash kept one eye on the console and the other on the view in front of him.

“Hadlow seem a little iffy to you? Like maybe he’s springing a trap for us to walk into.”

“Most definitely. Said he had payment ready and waiting.” Wash glanced up with a cheerful expression. “Looks like a good day for Jayne, he’ll be so happy that he gets to rain violence down upon people as thuggish as he is.”

“Good for Jayne,” Mal snapped.

“Na de xin qing bu hao.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“You mean if my wife just spent three hours…three hours? I mean, one or two, yeah, but three…never mind.” Wash turned back to the console.

“You expectin’ to still have a job once you land this ship?”

“Sorry, sir. Yes, sir.” There was silence for a few moments before Wash glanced up again. “It was for a noble cause, right? I mean, you could have asked Kaylee…”

“Jian ta de gui! That hundan ain’t never touchin’ Kaylee long as I have say in the matter.” Mal scowled out at the rising planet, forced to hold on to the console as they thundered into the atmosphere.

“But Inara’s free game?”

Mal ground his teeth together to keep from shouting. “Inara knows how to handle a man. More likely she weren’t in danger.”

Wash considered that for a moment. “Wonder why he didn’t want money. It’s not like he has any of his own.”

“That is a mighty good question, Wash, but you might be attributing him more brains than is warranted. Man has escaped from prison, after all. Ain’t likely they have any like Inara where he come from.”

“Good point. She’s really more of the one in a million kind of deal.”

“That she is,” Mal agreed softly.

They were coming up on what looked to be the nearest major settlement. It had all the characteristics of a bustling outer planet metropolis, surrounded by fields of what Mal hoped were actual food-bearing plants. Bad enough that Badger hadn’t given them proper warning about what they’d be walking into, they didn’t need any more surprises than they already had. Time to rouse the rabble.

“Comin’ up on the landing, people. Don’t have to tell you none that we ain’t expectin’ smooth sailing. Stay on your toes and mind your backs.” The hand unit clicked back into place. “Wash, you keep her ready to go at a moment’s notice. Chances are we ain’t gonna get a moment.”

“She’ll be waiting, sir.”

Mal worked on clearing his mind of any distraction on the way back to the cargo hold. Serenity swayed as they landed and he grabbed hold of the wall to keep himself up. Simon and River were holed up in the kitchen where they weren’t out in the open for anyone to see and knew where to hide if they got boarded. He found Jayne and Zoe gearing up in the cargo hold. Kaylee was watching anxiously from the side and the person he least wanted to see in particular was leaning against one of the crates looking too casual for his liking.

“Here’s how it’ll go down.” Mal checked his gun over as he addressed them. “Once we take the crates off, there’s a chance they’ll make a play for the ship. These folks are vultures; pick clean to the bone anything they can find. Might just want our supplies, might just want our women. Might just be they’re in the mood for killin’. Your type of folk, Eyeballs, sure you’ll fit right in. Jayne and Zoe will be with me making sure we get paid for our trouble so it’ll be left to you to make sure ain’t no harm comes to the rest of my crew.” He took a menacing step toward Riddick. “I find out you laid a finger on Kaylee, there ain’t no words in the verse for what I’ll do to you. We clear?”

“Crystal,” Riddick said dryly.

“Goes without saying that applies to River and everyone else we leave behind. Odds are they have more firepower than we do, so we need the extra gun. Don’t mean I care for you none.” Mal sensed Zoe at his side and glanced over. “You got somethin’ to add, Zoe?”

She held out Riddick’s goggles. “He won’t be much use to us if he can’t see, sir.”

Mal wasn’t sure what he hated most, having to deal with scum or having to rely on that scum to watch those he cared for. “As much as it would pain me for you to encounter an unfortunate accident, that would mean exposin’ my crew to whatever hero saved me the trouble. You cross me and mine, you won’t live to regret it.”

“Anything else?” Riddick took the goggles from Zoe and slipped them over his head.

“Yeah. Point the thing that shoots bullets toward the bad guys and try to hit a few of ‘em, would you?”

“This end?” Riddick held up the gun and nodded toward the open end of the barrel.

“That's the one. Zoe, let’s get this started.”

The big doors of Serenity opened with a clang and a groan, pouring sunlight into space that had seen only the black for too long. Mal led the way through the crates, his boots sending vibrations down the ramp with each step. No sooner had he reached the bottom than they were met by two odd looking hovercrafts and a smaller passenger transport craft. He waited at the end of the ramp with Zoe and Jayne at his side until four men climbed out of the smaller craft and started toward them. Armed from the look of them, more than one piece of hardware each, and solid clothes built for hiding knives.

“Captain Reynolds.” The man in front was medium height and build with no distinguishing characteristics other than a nose that had been broken at least once. “Happy to see that you found your way to our humble world.”

“Voyage weren’t bad,” Mal answered cautiously, eyeing the other two crafts suspiciously.

“They’re for the crates. Those things can be tricky on the ground. Don’t worry, my men will take care of hauling them.”

Mal couldn’t see a way to turn them away even though it meant they were more outnumbered than he’d anticipated. The crates were too heavy for a man to move on his own and there didn’t seem to be more than a handful of men on each craft. Numbers weren’t in their favor but they weren’t under fire yet. If Kaylee’d done her job, they wouldn’t notice the cracks in the crate and the sewn up packages had been hidden deep inside.

“Sir?” Zoe watched them unreel thick cable from the hovercrafts.

“Don’t worry,” the man assured them. “Crates are made to hook in and drag out. Might scrape up the floor of your ship, sorry about that.”

“Plenty of scrapes already there, a few more don’t matter none.” Mal waved his crew to the side of the ramp to wait.

It went three crates per craft; one at a time strung up with the cables on two sides and dragged slowly out of Serenity’s belly. Metal shrieked and howled as each one bumped down the ramp, then only the sound of wind as they were hauled up to dock into the craft. It was a perfect fit. They held their breath as the damaged crate slid along the floor and tumbled out onto the ramp. Still holding as it teetered through the air and finally locked into place.

He tried not to be too obvious in exhaling and smiled tightly at their welcoming party. “You got yours, how’s about we talk payment.”

The man smiled, tipping his head to listen to one of his henchmen before turning back to Mal. “Got your payment all set but it ain’t with us.”

“See, that don’t make me too comfortable dealing with you.” Mal stepped back to the end of the ramp, protective of his ship and the suddenly exposed inside.

“So suspicious, Captain Reynolds. We’re merely offering hospitality in an inhospitable world. Might make a man wonder if you’d be trying to pull a fast one.” He took a moment to size up the three of them. “Come with us, collect your payment and take whatever you need to continue on your journey; water, fresh food. Finding transport willing to come here ain’t commonplace.”

“We ain’t lookin’ to burn you, just want our payment and to go on our way.” Mal was getting increasingly nervous at the man’s desire to get them away from the ship.

“I have my orders. I’m to bring you back. If you refuse to come with us then I’m afraid you won’t get paid.” The man shrugged. “Your choice, Captain.”

“Sir?” Zoe shifted closer to him.

Mal spared her a glance and nodded. “Right then, we’ll take your hospitality but make no mistake, we will be paid.”

“Mal? You sure that’s a good idea?” Jayne hissed.

Mal looked back into the cargo hold at the man standing inside, head shaved and goggles down over eyes he would never trust. He took a deep breath and motioned for Zoe and Jayne to follow. “Let’s just hope Inara’s worth her weight in bullets.”

They climbed into the rear compartment of the smaller transport vehicle and buckled in for the ride. Fields and buildings sped by through plastic darkened by red dust, barely ghosts in the mud of civilization. He could see the hovercraft up ahead and watched as they cut away while the transport ship kept on a straight path. Trees crowded the view but eventually opened up to reveal a rambling style ranch with fruit trees in flower.

The transport came to rest and they climbed out, brushing off the dust that had risen during the landing and covertly looking around for new guns. Their welcoming committee led the way into the house; cool, processed air hitting their faces as they stepped through the door.

“Malcolm Reynolds.” This man was distinguished, stood out in a crowd with sandy hair cut short and broad shoulders framed by a fancy suit

“Don’t believe I know you,” Mal responded carefully.

“Raif Hadlow. Sort of governor in these parts. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you agreed to transport my merchandise.” Hadlow held out his hand and waited for a beat until it became apparent that Mal wasn’t going to shake. He smiled again and waved them into a large dining area.

“Bit of overkill, you welcomin’ us like this. Not that we ain’t appreciative but we’re a mite unaccustomed to such finery.” Mal looked around uneasily.

“I’m trying to win you over. Does the idea of steady work appeal to you?” Hadlow motioned for them to sit. “One shipment every month, a personal account on Persephone you can draw on from anywhere in the system. I make no requirement on any other jobs you take so other than my one shipment, you’d be free to do as you please.”

“Sounds mighty temptin’ but temptation usually come with entanglements.”

“You’re a smart man, Captain Reynolds. There is one small catch.”

“Mind tellin’ us what that is?”

Hadlow motioned to one of his men, who produced bottles of liquor and several bowls of fresh fruit. “The catch is that I’m not asking.”

Mal felt the hair on his neck stand on end and noticed that they’d been joined by several more armed men who weren’t looking friendly. “I decide what my ship transports and for who.”

“I respect that and again, I’m only asking for one shipment a month.”

“No how, no way.”

“Are you turning down an offer for steady work?” Hadlow cocked his head to the side and took a sip of his drink. “Life out here can be mighty tough on smugglers like yourself. Serenity’s a good ship, you’ve taken care of her.”

“Won’t be handing her over any time soon if that’s how you’re lookin’ to take this conversation.”

“Captain Reynolds,” Hadlow began pleasantly. “As soon as you left, my men fired a concussion grenade into the cargo hold of your ship, took care of that hired gun of yours. He wasn’t on your crew manifest and my man seemed to think that an indication that you’re aware of the contents of those crates.” He didn’t notice Mal twitch and continued with the smug assurance of someone who was always in control. “They have taken control of Serenity so she’s my ship now. Look around, I have you surrounded and there are ten more for each one of these men. You will transport my cargo as I ask and in return you will be allowed to keep your ship and you will be handsomely paid for it. I fail to see how this is anything but a good deal for you.”

Mal ground his teeth furiously. They’d known it was a trap and still walked into it blind. He looked to Zoe and Jayne, seeing the same frustration echoed in their faces. All that was left to do was bide their time and hope for moment enough to break free and fight their way back to the ship.

Some Kind of Crazy, Ch. 4

2006-01-01T17:12:39Z

Title: Some Kind of Crazy
Author: Aeneas
Fandom: Firefly/Pitch Black crossover
Disclaimer: Everything Firefly belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Everything Riddick is property of David Twohy and Universal Pictures.
Rating: PG-13 (Violence and language)
Timeline: After the series Firefly, before the movie Serenity. After Pitch Black, before The Chronicles of Riddick. (Dark Fury and Escape from Butcher Bay not included for simplicity and continuity.)
Summary: Serenity has a job and a passenger willing to pay cash for the transport of a wild animal to New Melbourne. They say curiosity killed the cat and, this time, it just might kill the crew.

The Requests of Dragons

The girl had a grace to her that Riddick hadn’t seen before, but beneath that was the kind of training he was all too familiar with. Military, experimental. A single spin of the pipe through her hands and he knew he had to test her, had to know how fast and how strong she was. There had been no recognition in her eyes of what she was doing, in her world she really was dancing. It was the muscles that remembered when the mind was lost.

He’d heard stories of tests run on prisoners in Tangiers, shooting them full of chemicals and cutting into their brains. Like the doctor, he’d believed them to be no more than stories told to keep the rest of the prisoners terrified and quiet. The depravity of mankind no long horrified him. He didn’t expect men to act like anything other than the animals they really were. Faith, hope. Neither had any meaning to him now; he’d murdered them as surely as any of the corpses he’d left behind.

It was a strange world he’d woken up in. The crew of Serenity was unlike anything he’d seen before. They’d turned the ship into their home, no longer a husk of metal and skin used to move from rock to rock. It closed them up safe and secure like a womb. They’d gotten too comfortable, safe in the belly of the sturdy little Firefly.

Comfortable enough that they sometimes forgot he was there, watching and listening to them. He wasn’t familiar with the mix of languages that seemed to blend and blur into one. Picked up a few words here and there, figured their meaning from the rest of the sentence, and tried them out on his own tongue. Dong ma. He understood. A ship had never been more than a go-to vehicle for him so this raggedy band of outlaws intrigued him. They knew what it was to be always running from something.

There was military in Mal as well, and the dark skinned Zoe, but they lacked sophistication. He could see war in their eyes and knew better than to push them when he wasn’t looking for trouble. As for the rest of the crew: the man they called Jayne made up for what he lacked in brains with sheer physical talent for violence, the preacher man had kept to himself and Riddick wasn’t about to look that gift horse in the mouth. A holy man had no use for a convict and a convict had even less use for a holy man.

Their resident Companion, as she called herself, was a study in contradictions. He had an inkling that she could be as treacherous as she was beautiful, the crew was her weakness. Her family. It was easy to see how it happened, how someone could get to feel at home within the ship’s walls. Then there was Simon; swallowed up in the care and tending of River, not trusting anyone else with her safety and impervious to the longing looks that Kaylee gave him.

Thinking about Kaylee made him jumpy. Thinking about people at all wasn’t something he cared to waste his time on. The pixie mechanic had looked up at him with sympathy in her wide, innocent eyes as if he was actually one of them. Last person who’d looked at him that way ended up cut to ribbons and swallowed down into some monster’s belly.

He was furious that River had seen into his head and known about Carolyn, known that it haunted him every time he closed his eyes. Those were memories he wanted to drown and bury and rip out of his skull if he ever found a way. He’d lost count of the nights he’d woken up in a cold sweat watching her get torn away from him over and over. It wasn’t right, it should have been him. It was his blood that had drawn the creatures to them and it was his time. Should’ve died on that planet.

He shook those thoughts away, knowing they’d creep back in but still hoping they wouldn’t. It had been years since he’d hoped for anything at all. The jagged piece of metal in his hand gleamed faintly in the shadows and he returned to dragging the file in slow strokes over the edges.

The furthest corner of the cargo hold gave just enough space between the crates and Serenity’s walls for him to stretch out his legs, and it was dark enough that his eyes didn’t hurt. Half his life in one slam or another meant he was used to cramped quarters. Once he was done, the shiv would curve down around his fingers in a single, elegant arc. It was both familiarity and suspicion that made him fashion the weapon. He didn’t trust them and they didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust himself either.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried. The three survivors of hell made it to New Mecca, a world of sun and light that was supposed to known throughout the universe as a place of acceptance. Mercs caught up with him within two months and the hot sands of New Mecca had turned red with murder. Once a killer, always a killer. He was relieved to have a reason to get off the brightly lit world that had no place for him. Left the little girl, Jack, behind with the holy man. Imam would do right by her, raise her to be something other than a monster, and the further he was away from them the better off they were.

Crocodile wants to be human again, doesn’t know how. Has to choose.

Apparently the word for that crawling sensation down his spine was creepifying and, he had to admit, the little girl’s luminous eyes and uncanny knack for pulling thoughts out of his head definitely made his skin crawl in a creepifying way. It also made him angry. Angry because they’d broken her. Whoever it was, this Alliance they spoke of, had shattered her into little pieces. She was only a kid; with big, sad eyes and skinny as a rail, just like Jack.

He heard the swish of silk long before he saw her come round the corner and didn’t bother to hide the evolving blade in his hand. She in turn gave no indication of being afraid of him or unnerved by the sight of his eyes in the darkness. Some found it unsettling.

“I thought you might want to freshen up. Perhaps a change of clothing. They’re a loan from Jayne, I’m afraid, but I made sure they’re relatively clean.” She held out a pile of clothing. “And if you’d like to bathe…it’s not much but I can assure you privacy. These Fireflies aren’t luxury ships by any means but it can make the journey bearable. If there’s one thing I won’t miss once I’m gone, it’s the lack of plumbing.”

“Lead the way.” Riddick set the shiv and file down on the floor carefully, getting to his feet to take the clothing from her hands. He had an idea where she was going, having been over every inch of the ship outside of the cockpit. Even prison boots could be silent when they needed to be.

“You don’t have to hide in the corner like a…” she trailed off, giving him a sweetly apologetic smile.

“Like a rat?” He made no attempt to hide where his gaze had settled. It had been a very long time.

“I could charge you for that look, Mr. Riddick.”

“Just Riddick.” He was reluctant to leave the darkness of the crates but followed her out of the passage and up the stairs. The way she moved was captivating, lithe and graceful, each step calculated to draw a man’s eye and keep him bound. He hadn’t expected to be brought to her shuttle and hesitated when she motioned him inside.

“I did promise you privacy and this is as good it gets on this ship.” She smiled good-naturedly at his reluctance. The woman was capable of more types of smiles than there were stars.

He tried not to look awkward among the silks and velvets but he was acutely aware that he did not and would never belong in a world of such soft things. A large bowl of water was sitting on the floor beside a carefully folded towel. She motioned him toward it and unfolded a screen from behind one of the drapes that would wrap around to hide him from view.

“It’s primitive but it’s heated. I wish I could offer you more.”

“Ever seen inside a slam?” Riddick marveled at silvery drapes. “Don’t figure you have. Only running water is what comes out of the ground.”

“I’ll return in a suitable amount of time. Please make yourself comfortable.”

“Stay.” He set the clothing down on one of the cushions of the bench and sat down to unbuckle his boots.

“I really don’t,” Inara began.

“Don’t like my conversation, xin gan?”

She smiled as she settled onto her bed, soft and graceful as a cat. “You are a fast learner. I can barely hear your accent.”

“Most slams, the inmates speak more languages than a man can count. Good ear comes in handy.” He shucked off his boots and stood up to strip away the shirt he’d worn to point of it joining with his skin. She was pretending to examine the pattern on the bed cover.

“You’re an intelligent man, Riddick.”

“If you believe that, cut the bullshit. Tell me why you’re comin’ anywhere near me.” He stepped behind the screen to remove the heavy pants, trying not to let them ruin the pretty fabric as he set them down. The sponge took a bit of getting used to but, despite her apologies, it was more of a luxury than he’d seen in years.

“I’m sure you’ve already guessed by now. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” Her voice was light and casual but he could hear undertones of seriousness. “You frightened Kaylee yesterday.”

“Funny. Told me she wasn’t scared of me.” Water splashed and trickled down over his shoulders, washing away the grime and sweat of too much time in space.

“I thought, perhaps, if you felt more at ease with us that it might be better for everyone. Not all of us are like Mal.” There was a bit of a dig in there that had nothing to do with Riddick.

“Keep talkin’.”

“You’ve been running from bounty hunters for a long time. Mal showed me the wave about your history; I think he was trying to scare me. That kind of life is difficult. It must be hard to trust anyone.” She paused and he heard the rustle of silk, her voice much closer when she spoke again. “Sometimes kindness and civility is a breath of fresh air. It can change the direction of a man’s path.”

He had to swallow his laughter, wiping the sponge down his arm and taking a moment to notice the burns on the backs of his hands from the welding torch. Firey bits, Kaylee had called the sparks of molten metal. Firey little Kaylee who had looked at him with terror in her eyes and stood her ground in spite of it. Now he was being handled with the proverbial silk glove by a very well trained whore. He had to hand it to her, she was very good and it had been since before he’d seen his first slam that a woman had tried her hand at controlling him. The fact that everyone on the ship was completely insane continued to amuse him.

The water was nearly black and Inara was talking about a mountain covered in cherry blossoms by the time he finished. It felt better to be clean than he’d remembered. The thick towel wicked away the water like a thirsty desert and he wrapped it loosely around his waist before stepping out from behind the screen. She immediately averted her eyes.

“This game of yours would be more effective if it were more than just talk.” The borrowed pants were a bit long since Jayne had a few inches on him. He figured the shirt would fit snug and postponed pulling it on. Instead, he sat down on the bench and rubbed his feet against the soft rug, enjoying the feel of it on his skin.

“I didn’t have you for a moment, did I?” Inara asked with an amused smile.

“Wasn’t bad effort though. Now you know that I don’t exactly speak your language.” He picked up one of the little pillows to inspect it curiously, wondering about its purpose. “Probably don’t teach you how to deal with my kind on that mountain of yours.”

Inara refolded the screen and took a seat beside him on the bench. “Forgive me, but since I have obviously failed at all attempts in subtlety...Mal doesn’t trust you. And you shouldn’t trust him. He’s a good man but he’s fiercely protective of his crew. The delivery is scheduled in a few hours and, well, the nature of the cargo changes the nature of the men who will be receiving it.”

“You here to distract me?” His gaze raked over her body.

“I’m here to ask for your help,” she answered simply. “I know that you’ll turn on us the moment things don’t go your way. I see it in your eyes. We mean nothing to you and there’s no reason why we should. But you mean nothing to Mal and he will turn on you just as quickly.”

“Honesty. I like that in a woman.”

“Mal’s plans are somewhat lacking. He has a gift for…how do I put this delicately? Well, his plans don’t always work,” she finished somewhat apologetically. “Serenity has to land for the crates to be unloaded. Mal, Jayne, and Zoe will follow the cargo and ensure that we get paid for the job. They’ll be careful and they’ll plan for the unexpected but once they leave the ship, the rest of us will be vulnerable.”

“What’s this got to do with me?” Riddick was beginning to get uneasy.

“The last thing these men want to do is give us the money so they’ll be looking for a way to cross us. And the Alliance has sent River and Simon’s holograph to every corner of the verse, someone is bound to recognize them if they come on board. You see my concern.” She placed a hand on his bare shoulder. “I believe you’re a man who can take care of himself. Whether or not you and Mal kill each other is not my concern.”

“Long as we kill each other afterward.” He allowed one small smile because she entertained him.

“Exactly. I’m here to ask you to be on our side until we’re all safely back on Serenity. Mal is aware of my request and, while he takes no pleasure in it, he knows the value of an extra hand.”

“Not my fight,” he told her coolly.

“You would be compensated, of course. I would see to that.”

Riddick caught the flicker of light behind pale fabric but didn’t make any indication that he’d noticed. Behind the shawl was the communication screen he had seen before. Their conversation was being relayed to somewhere else on the ship and there was no doubt in his mind who was listening at the other end. Knowing this crew, probably all of them were there. No other reason the man called Jayne would have willing parted with anything or the Companion would have invited him into her quarters. Strangely, it put him at ease to know the crew of Serenity wasn’t actually any different from the rest of mankind. All lies and deceit regardless of language or creed.

“We’ll need your answer as soon as possible.” She was smiling inscrutably and watching him with those wide, beautiful eyes that had been made to bend a man to her will.

He studied them for a moment, interested in the odd plays of light that his shine job cast on her face. She had kept the lights dim so they weren’t painful, part of the web she was spinning around him. “You’re doing this for him.”

“I’m doing this for the crew and for Serenity,” she said a bit too loudly.

“You said compensation. What exactly did you have in mind?”

“The Captain is prepared to include you in the division of payment, in exchange for your help.”

“And if I ain’t interested in money.” He lowered his gaze to the bodice of her dress.

Inara stiffened almost imperceptibly. “I’m afraid my agreement with Captain Reynolds doesn’t allow me--”

“I was referring to Kaylee,” he interrupted her and tried not to smile at the faint squawk from behind the shawl.

She seemed to be thrown for the first time since she’d begun their game. “If that is what you desire in terms of payment then I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for me. You understand, of course.”

He pretended to be disappointed. “You’ll do. Don’t suppose this deal gets me a weapon?”

“You will be armed.” She waited a beat. “Then you agree to help us.”

“Won’t stab you in the back and I ain’t got a problem killing people.” He got to his feet and leisurely stretched his shoulders and spine. “Since I’m getting off this ship once the job’s done and I doubt Captain Reynolds is interested in sticking around to wait if it comes down to a fight…might be wanting that payment in advance.”

“That’s perfectly understandable.” There was something close to panic in her eyes.

“Mind turnin’ that thing off?” He nodded to the screen. “Don’t care much for an audience.”

“Of course.” Her face was white as she moved to the screen and removed the shawl to turn it off. The careful smile had returned when she crossed back toward him. “Where would you like to start?”

“Three hours of sleep without having to watch my back. You keep them out and you stay the hell away from me. Can’t guarantee you won’t end up dead if you lay a hand on me.” He eyed the bed with longing, easing his weight down onto the silky sheets.

“I don’t understand.”

“Slept with one eye open all my life.” He looked up at her, suddenly very aware of how tired he was. Cryo sleep was a bitch if it was all ice and no sleep like it was for him. “All I want is knowing I’m not gonna wake up with a knife at my throat. Not that you aren’t meili and if you were actually willing, might be a different story.”

“If I were...” She stared at him incredulously. Finally she gave him the first genuine smile he’d seen on her pretty face. “I can help you sleep. Don’t worry, they’re ancient herbs and perfectly safe. I’m not trying to drug you.”

“Not that you were planning to.” He grinned as he stretched out on the bed.

“Believe me, I had every intention of doing so. I prefer my men with a little more refinement.”

“Less blood on their hands.” The ceiling had never caught his eye before but he wasn’t surprised that it was just as decorated with swathes of fabric as the rest of the shuttle.

“Larger bank accounts,” she corrected with blunt humor. “What about you? I understand you fought in a war?”

It was back to idle small talk again, although he didn’t have a clue why she would think that question was either idle or small. He considered refusing to answer; they were memories long buried under blood and pain. Maybe the silk against his skin was going to his head. “Your little psychic tell you that?”

“She did.” Inara smiled over her shoulder, carefully carrying a cup of something to him.

It didn’t smell half bad and it was hot against his throat as he swallowed it down. He waited for her to put the teacup back and return to sit on the bed beside him. She was trained to get information from every word he said and every move he made. Normally he would find that threatening but he’d be off the ship soon enough and then Serenity would just be another distant memory he wanted to erase.

“Hooked up with a platoon during the Wailing Wars. I was the only one got out.” He turned his eyes back up to the ceiling.

“That must have been terrible.”

“Five hundred in my unit; cut to ribbons. Only one who could see it happen,” he stopped when he felt the familiar sickness in his stomach that meant he was saying too much, trusting someone too much. People got close to him, they died. Sometimes he killed them, sometimes just knowing him got them killed. Always ended badly for them.

His whole world had been turned upside on that hellhole planet with three suns and not enough light to stay alive. Nothing made sense any more. He could still see Carolyn’s smile and the look of relief on her face as she was yanked away from him to die. Every time he closed his eyes he saw that smile, tasted blood in his mouth, and knew that he could kill a hundred thousand of those demons and never slay the demon on his back. Carolyn hadn’t given him a chance to live; she’d cursed him with something far worse than that.

Hope.

“Riddick?”

Her voice was soft and her hand was stroking his cheek in a way that simultaneously put him on edge and eased him into sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time someone’s touch hadn’t been intent to kill. Just three hours without the nightmares was all he wanted.

“Just relax.”

The room was getting darker and Inara’s voice was getting further away. A voice in his head was screaming that he shouldn’t have taken the drink, shouldn’t have trusted a whore in love with the ship’s Captain. It shouted until it began to twist into River’s voice and he could hear her eerie whispers echoing in his head.

She died for you, died for nothing. Crocodile wants to be human again, doesn’t know how. Has to choose. Has to choose...