TITLE: Strange Places 3/6
AUTHOR: Jaydn Michelle
DISCLAIMERS: The characters of Buffy, Giles, Ethan and co. is the property
of Joss Whedon - only borrowing them.
For an instant, Buffy thought nothing had happened. She was still standing in a deserted library, and it was only the light slanting through the window that told her it was day rather than night.
She slid onto the wooden table, playing with the hem of her shirt. The boy, she noted, was perusing the back stacks, running his finger along a collection of spines. The library doors swung open violently and they both stared at the girl who marched in, features set as if facing down the legions of darkness.
Buffy couldn't get used to it - the twin that she had been shown in her own world had been an exact replica, but there were minor differences with this one. Her hair was more brown than blond, and there was a youthfulness to her that Buffy couldn't accredit to herself. The choice of clothing however made Buffy wince; long black boots and a mini skirt.
The twin rushed up the stairs and bellowed: "Hello? Anybody there!?"
And this was it, Buffy realised, the split between worlds, left instead of right - the boy had taken her to a parallel world.
This girl was a *student* at Sunnydale High, had never moved to Cleveland when her folks reconciled. Never lost all that she cared about.
Everything that Buffy loved had died, either by her own hand or by the hands of monsters, and it was easier shutting *down* when death became your only mainstay. This girl, unlike herself, was brimming with life - irritated at present - but it was still life. She couldn't think of her as Buffy, there wasn't a thread of commonality between them.
//Anne, call her Anne//, and Buffy bit her lip when she saw Giles emerge, dressed head to foot in tweed, as stilted as his starched shirt.
Anne didn't even hesitate: "You heard about the dead guy, right? The dead guy in the locker?"
"Yes."
Buffy snorted and called over her shoulder: "You're telling me these two are a workable team?"
The boy drifted down the stairs, squeezing through the pair arguing on the upper floor. "I never said they meshed straight away, but they're good for one another. Giles keeps her grounded - both feet firmly in this world - and she keeps Giles from taking himself too seriously."
"Right," Buffy said dubiously, watching the argument upstairs.
Anne cried plaintively: "…I didn't think there would be *vampires* on campus! And I don't care."
Giles leant forward, eyes blazing: "Then why are you here?"
The quiet intensity of the words shivered through Buffy's soul, curling her toes, and she caught the boy's eye, saying in soft wonderment: "She doesn't feel it, does she?"
"Who?"
"Anne, my twin."
The boy furrowed his brow: "I wouldn't say that. This Slayer is new to her trade and her instincts are not as honed as yours. Giles has a certain presence, but at this stage 'Anne's' abilities are too weak to pick up on it. By the time those senses develop she's…well…she's *used* to him and so…"
"Never picks up on it," Buffy finished dryly.
"Quite."
"Why did you select this world?"
"It's as good as any other."
Buffy narrowed her eyes until the boy relented.
"You come from a world that's designated 'grey'. This world is evenly balanced, and there is a third that has fallen into shadow. You get a slice of all three, child…take what you may."
Buffy tried to ignore the incongruity of being called 'child' by a boy of twelve. "None that are purely 'white'?"
"Quite a few, but they serve no purpose," his smile was all teeth. "No demons…no Slayer."
It felt like an abyss had opened before her: "I don't exist?"
"Bummer."
"Not the word I had in mind." She chewed on her lip, listening half heartedly as little Annie ranted in the background, and there was a certain truth to those words - an emotion that spoke to Buffy even now, watching as Anne stared her Watcher in the eye.
"…Prepare me for what? For getting kicked out of school? Losing all of my friends? Having to spend all of my time fighting for my life and never getting to tell anyone because it might 'endanger' them? Go ahead… Prepare me," and the girl stormed from the room.
Giles stood frozen for a bare second, voice soft as he whispered, "Damn," and then bolted after her.
Buffy swung on the boy, voice firm. "Alright, if we're going to do this, we're going to do it my way. I want to see the world in shadow first - at least that's something I can understand. Deal?"
The boy shrugged. "Deal."
And Buffy wasn't surprised in the least when the world dissolved into mist - she was however, more than a little alarmed when the boy failed to emerge with her.
That the world of shadows consisted largely of a pub was a mite annoying.
Talk about your anti-climatic fanfare, and Buffy was beginning to curse herself for letting her guard down and trusting the boy in the first place.
She stood uncertainly in the smoky confines, Janis Joplin purring in the background and English accents galore.
The door breezed open and she found herself face to face with Rupert Giles, dressed in the armour of a leather jacket and no older than twenty-three. His hair was longer, curling in a natural kick, and his eyes were sharp as he took note of the possible exits.
Buffy realised her mouth was agape and shut it.
A girl with coffee skin sidled into his flank, long limbs; the bare expanse of her stomach revealed by a cropped top. She was chuckling softly, her laughter falling like exotic music.
Buffy felt something dark stir in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't name it, just the cool assessment of a possible foe.
Giles stopped dead, and the colour visibly drained from his face as he said: "Oh, bloody hell - "
Alarmed, Buffy followed his stare.
" - Ethan's drunk."
A man sat slouched in a booth, foot braced against the opposite chair. There was a forest of empty beer bottles before him, one finger tapping gently with the music, and he was laughing softly to himself.
The girl's expression became quizzical: "And that should be a worry because…?"
Giles tugged her further into the pub, "Because Ethan's a mischief maker and has the power to back it up. A *drunken* mischief maker is twice as bad. Come on."
The couple skilfully weaved their way into the back and Buffy trailed them curiously.
Ethan's eyes crinkled as he spotted Giles: "Ripper!" He sat up, letting his foot drop to the ground, voice cheerful.
Buffy would have been amazed if she could have seen the identical look of suspicion on her and Giles' face.
Ethan certainly saw Giles, because he snorted into his beer, smile lazy. Giles scooted in beside him and Olivia followed suit after a pause, Buffy, in what was becoming her trademark, merely hovered.
She couldn't quite figure out the dynamic between them, but there was an easy familiarity that spoke of long association. The only hiccup occurred when the girl, Olivia, finished the last of Ethan's beer.
Ethan stood with an imperious wave and weaved, with the steadfast concentration of the truly inebriated, to the bar. Promising to bring back enough lager to quench them all.
Giles watched him with an expression equal parts annoyance and affection.
"Have the Watchers contacted you, yet?"
Buffy knew she didn't imagine the hunching of Giles' shoulder.
He seemed to paradoxically tense as he sprawled out, an unconscious imitation of Ethan's slouch. "Yeah, they seem to think that a portal is about to be opened in some town outside of L.A. They've dispatched Malcolm and his Slayer, Kim, to deal with it."
Olivia's dark eyes became assessing, "And are you going to tell the Council where this new infant Slayer of yours is located?"
They were talking about her, Buffy realised, and she edged a little closer.
"Originally, I wasn't going to but…I don't know, Liv. She feels a little too *close* to wherever that disturbance is," Giles frowned, one finger running along the lip of an empty bottle.
"Uhm," Olivia sat back, and with an abrupt change of subject, said. "Ethan's gone to buy beer?… Did you know he left his wallet behind?"
Giles' head jerked upward, eyes narrowed, and Buffy could see the thought clear as day. //How much trouble could a drunken mystic make between here and the bar?//
Ethan emerged from the crowd as if catapulted, an expression of feline smugness on his face as he took his seat beside Giles.
Giles stared at him hard and apparently found his answer, because he climbed *over* the other man as he retraced Ethan's footsteps.
Olivia nudged Ethan with her foot: "What did you do?"
"The owner of this particular establishment is going to feel incredibly generous in one…two…three…" nothing happened. "Damn that boy is getting good. You're a terrible influence, Liv, two years ago Ripper would never have given a damn."
Olivia laughed softly: "I don't think he cares now, but the owner *is* a friend…do you want to send Phillip bankrupt?"
"No chance of that, have you seen the price of the beers?" Ethan sniffed.
The world shivered - cool air expelled on a final exhalation - and the earth grew still. Voices muted as the fine hairs on Buffy's arm stood on end. Ethan caught Giles' eye as the man appeared from the crowded bar, face a smear of white on the periphery of her vision, and every window shattered *outward* as the beer bottles toppled onto the floor.
The tremor lasted scant seconds - Olivia's hand clawing into Ethan's arm, the screams of startled civilians - a pop like a change in pressure, and a stench of decay flooded the room. Sickly sweet and vaporous. Giles had pushed to his feet and was out the door before it stopped. Ethan cursed, vaulting over debris as he hurtled after him, shoving pedestrians aside. Buffy sprinted after him, dimly aware that Olivia was right beside her. She had a runner's grace, out-paced Buffy with a smooth stride, and there was naught but darkness and the blare of car horns on a ruined street.
Giles had vanished from sight.
They skidded to a stop, and there was the edge of hysteria to Liv's voice: "What happened…we don't…we don't get earthquakes here."
Ethan's features were blank as he answered: "It wasn't an earthquake."
"What then?"
"A portal…Hellmouth."
Her mouth opened, closed, and Buffy knew it wasn't because she was lacking for breath.
Buffy's mind was screaming //That had been in L.A though, not here. Surely they wouldn't have felt the Hellmouth open from here?//
Olivia's voice became worried: "And Giles?"
"Is off to find his Slayer…before something else does."
"Then find him…you know how. He needs help."
A brittle smile, Ethan's eyes became considering, "Really?" he shrugged nonchalantly. "Pity. I don't do heroics," and strolled away.
Buffy snapped back into herself like an elastic band, and the disorientation almost sent her to her knees.
For an instant she had been part of that world - feeling it, breathing it - incapable of interaction but *there*, and now she wasn't. It left an ache behind; she had shut herself down so long ago and…
…she recognised this place.
Snatches of photographs taken when her parents were young. The first home Buffy had ever lived in and couldn't recall. But she *recognised* it, or parts of it - a gnarled tree with threadbare branches, stretching crooked fingers to the sky. It always seemed like winter in those photographs - never the riotous red and gold of Fall, never a new leaf in sight.
Buffy shifted uneasily, staring at the white picket fence and the home that lay beyond. The house backed into an empty lot that acted as a no-mans-land between civilisation and wilderness. Those woods would be gutted by a bushfire in three years time, but by then her parents had moved twice over, doggedly following Hank's work. Buffy knew *where* she was, so the question became *when*, how much time had lapsed, and more urgently, were they still in the world of shadows?
The house lay in darkness, an eerie silence that dominated the street - and there was more than reluctance dragging at Buffy's bones. To be given back her dead, even for an hour, could be the cruelest trick of all. Her parents lay somewhere within, or a warped, fucked up version of them.
1981.
Joyce had been barely twenty when she gave birth to Buffy, married to her high-school sweetheart and living the American dream. Twenty, and there was something about the number that seemed so terribly young.
Buffy couldn't bring herself to step forward.
The wind shifted, a mournful keen as tree-tops whispered distantly, and with it, came a different sound. A low 'harummph', as channelled by a predator…and the blood in her veins ran cold.