"In the name of all religions, we thank Jesus Christ."
And, you know, Buddha, Vishnu, Muhammad, Yhwh, the Goddess, and the Tao.
I've decided I'm NOT going to get started on the "I-word". I'm borrowing my sister's friend Helen's stance, and avoiding it completely. It's only, after all, going to make me angry.
To skip the attempt at presenting any kind of suspense, I'm just going to say that I'm not going to jail. A full explanation (read: narrative) of the court proceedings can be found :
One thing I'm well and truly thankful for is that I decided to take the whole day off work for this Scheisse. I would not have been able to handle irate clients bitching about the IVR and how they never win their case when we get to the appeals on top of freaking out about my own court case. But, since most of you haven't actually heard this tale, I will go back farther than this morning.
It was September 30, 2004. I was driving back from stage managing Annie for DTC. Final dress rehearsal meant that I was in my backstage black. It was about 11:00 at night, and I was driving under the speed limit. There were cop cars pulling people over EVERYWHERE.
I was in the midst of belting out along to Berlin's "The Metro" and about to turn left onto Brink Road, when the lights appeared in my rearview. Like any good, conscientious driver, I pulled immediately over, and ransacked my glove compartment for my registration.
Was I nervous? Hell yes, and not just the usual "what the hell did I do wrong?" nervousness associated with cops. I was nervous because though I had been living in MD again for well over six months, I still had a Florida driver's license. I knew that this could result in a fine. I hoped to avoid that fine by lying my ass off.
The cop comes up, a guy a little older than me, with a blond buzz cut so close that he appeared at first to be bald. He shone his flash light in my face and told me my tag light was out. Then he asked for my license and registration. I handed it to him, and he went off.
He stayed in his cop car for a reeeeaaaally long time. Then he spent awhile chatting with the brunette he had with him, a skinny-teenaged-model sort of girl in a gray sweatshirt who giggled a lot. Then he finally came back to my car.
"So," he asked. "Why is your license suspended in Florida?"
These are words you never want to hear. I had no idea, of course, and told him. He asked how long I'd been in MD, I said I moved back up about a month before, he grunted something about how I had to get a MD license, then told me to call someone for a ride home.
My cell phone was dead, which resulted in my parents receiving a call at the late hour of midnight on a Thursday night from a police station. They didn't tell them why they had to come get me, just that they did. This, again, is not something you ever want to happen.
Picture this, sitting by the side of the road, dressed in a black t-shirt and black cargo pants, without a jacket. You're clutching your purse, and wishing the cop hadn't just said he was allergic to cigarette smoke, so you could at least attempt to kill yourself early with a tobacco OD. Your car is being towed by an upstart college looking kid with greasy hair. It has just been searched by the cop who is currently joking with his giggly ride-along. Another cop has stopped by to talk shop. Your parents are on their way, your car's muffler is scraping on the road. And you have to work tomorrow. It's now 1:00 in the morning. You're cold, you're tired, and as you finally start crying due to stress, the cop tells you that there is no fine for driving on a suspended out of state license, that it's a mandatory court date with possible jail time attached.
Let's just say it sucked and move on.
At home, my mom sticks to her conviction that you can find anything you ever needed to know about anything on the internet and discovers that the reason my license was suspended was because I hadn't paid a speeding ticket I received in Tampa in February. This was news to me, since I had paid the ticket, but since I was a just-post-college-what-is-this-'real-world'-you-speak-of? fuck up, I hadn't kept my receipt or my bank statements. I had to repay the ticket, plus extra money to get my license reinstated. But a week later, I made it to the MVA, got my MD license, and then got to sit back and wait for the court summons.
Now, picture this. It's a month and a half later. You've gotten the notice that tells you that you might need a lawyer. You come home every day after spending 8 hours arguing with nursing homes and state unemployment offices, to 30 some pieces of mail from glorified ambulance chasers, telling you that they are the best lawyer to handle your case. Your mom is asking her father, a former lawyer, about your case. Your sister is gossiping at the historical society about your case, and asking her friend, the high powered lawyer about it. Your best friend in law school can't give you legal advice, so instead just worries in an optimistic way along side you. And finally it arrives. The summons. Telling you that you have another two months of limbo before you actually get to find out if you're as screwed as you think you might be.
Fast forward again, and it's December. I run into my friend the cop. I tell her about my case. She basically tells me it'll be okay. Well, so long as the judge isn't in a funky mood that day. This does not reassure me, but I'm feeling better about NOT getting a lawyer.
And then, finally, the day comes. I can't find my summons, which says I have to bring it with me to the court house. I'm calling the MD District Court IVR every hour to find out if my court appointment has changed. I meet up with my mom at my sister's house, since she just happens to live two blocks from the court house, and we walk, our feet crunching on the salted sidewalks, to the traditionally pilared government building. The metal detector is no problem, but I get harassed by the security guard for not knowing which court room I'm supposed to be in.
"Don't you have your summons?"
Yeah, no. And I'm embarrassed enough as it is, thanks.
Mom and I look up my case on the CorkBoardOfDoom, then sit down for an hour to wait. Because I insisted on getting there an hour and a half early.
Eventually, we queue up to sign in with the State's Attorney. She's a short woman, even in heels, who looks vaguely like the brunette from Sex and the City. Her voice carries over the whole court room; there are no secrets here. I hear her say to someone who appears to be a lawyer "easiest money you've ever made, huh?" I step on something and look down. It's half a broken yellow crayon. For you BtVS fans out there, no, I'm not making that up.
As per usual, I'm reacting to my nervousness by noticing the small details. The frizzy hair of the older cop in the front row. The guy ahead of me who looks like a kid from my highschool. The woman who's here to see if her boyfriend will get out of jail after 35 days for shoplifting. The five-foot tall public defender with the receding hair line and bald spot, who's joking around with the aged bailiff. I like the bailiff, he was kind.
I get to the front of the line, and tell LadyLawyer my name. I sheepishly admit that I don't have my summons. "That's okay," she says. "You don't need it."
Well, thank you, Jeebus.
"Is your license still suspended?"
"No," I tell her, and hand her the form from the Tampa DMV that states that I have satisfied my obligation to Florida, as well as my new license. I'm tempted to thrust my social security card, passport, and birth certificate into her hands too, along with the copies in triplicate of every form I have.
I come from a family of boy-scouts. Mom and Dad both ran troops when I was little. Both my brothers didn't bother going for Eagle. I like to be prepared.
"Have you ever been arrested for anything like this before?"
"No, ma'am."
"Well, I'm going to drop the charges, since you fixed it and this is a first time offense. But this is only a one time deal, so--"
"I can assure you, this will never, ever happen again."
And it won't. When TwoDWIsInAWeek promised the judge that, I didn't believe him. When IShoplifted,ThenEndedUpInJailCauseISkippedMyFirstCourtDate said that, I didn't believe him, either. But I can damn well assure you that I will never let my license get suspended again. I will probably never speed again, either.
She didn't tell me I could go, so I sat back down with Mom in the back row and waited a half-an-hour for them to get to the traffic court part of the day's festivities. At which point, a series of four people proceeded me. Each one went the same way: the LadyLawyer would tell the judge that she's not pressing charges, because the license has been reinstated and it's the first offense. The judge says "Mr. So-and-so, see that your license does not get suspended again." The bailiff gestures for them to have a seat on the left side of the court room. Their lawyers, who all look VERY smug, sit next to them and start muttering in their ear, probably about their exorbitant fee.
I get called to the front, where I stand, alone, at the defendant's desk. LadyLawyer says her thing. The judge looks at me and says "Ms. [Temple], same thing." I smile slightly and nod, then look to my left. The bench is full. Bailiff looks flustered, then finally gestures for me to sit in a comfy, padded chair between the prosecution and the court transcriptionist. After about ten minutes, they finish printing out my "get out of jail free" papers, and send me on my way.
I went home, after getting lunch at Blimpies courtesy of Mom and laughing at the fact that my sister, who came to join us, had to have Mom pay so she could still be self-righteous with her "not one dime" protest of the I-word, and crashed.
And, while it isn't Proof of Giants, I do have a fic for you all. Something light hearted and humorous, sixth season BtVS. I call it
Text in italics represent foreign language. Think of them like sub-titles.
Tara wasn't certain what to expect as she approached the house on Revello Drive. She'd received a frantic call from Dawn about ten minutes before, but had managed to get little more than "something's wrong with Willow" out of the girl before a loud crash had interrupted them, and Dawn had simply begged her to come over.
Tara had had some time to get over the hurt at what Willow had done to her with the magic, but she was far from completely forgiving her former lover. She'd tried so hard to get Willow to see the mistakes she was making with the magic, but Willow hadn't trusted her. She hadn't been willing to make the effort it would take to patch things up properly with her lover, and had instead, as always, taken the "easy" way out.
And now she had broken Dawn's arm, and nearly gotten the two of them killed, with her addiction.
That was two weeks ago. From what she'd heard, living only on the fringes of the Scooby life as she was now, Willow was doing slightly better, trying to avoid magic properly, to the point of carefully excluding Amy from her life and forbidding the other witch to come visit her again. Tara was proud of Willow, but thoughts of her still hurt. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
Barely one knock, and the door was wrenched open by Dawn.
"Tara! Thank god you're here!"
Tara sucked in a breath at the sight of the teenager. Her arm was still in a cast, and her hair was wild around her face. Her shirt was ripped across one shoulder, but Tara couldn't see any blood.
What worried her most, though. . . .
"Dawn, you're. . . ."
"Green. I know." Dawn made a face. She puffed a lock of bright purple hair from her chartreuse forehead. "I really, really hope you can help fix this."
"Well, if it's a glamour, I could--" Tara shook her head. "Why would Willow. . . ."
Dawn shrugged. "I'm not actually sure it's her fault." She stepped to one side. "And we're not just talking the green Dawnie problem, here."
Tara stepped into the front hall, looking around. She could see what Dawn meant. A lamp ambled casually across the top of the stairs. Several pictures lay in shattered pieces on the floor. The actual photographs were shattered, not the glass. Buffy stood, frozen in mid-stride, in the center of the stairs.
"Oh my gosh, Buffy?" Tara approached her quietly, calling her name again. She touched the slayer on the shoulder, but encountered what felt like plastic. "Dawn, what's going on here? What happened to Buffy?"
A hiccup sounded from the master bedroom, and the banister erupted into bright, tropical flowers.
"That's what's happened. Is happening. Willow has the hiccups."
Tara turned to stare at Dawn, eyes wide. Dawn nodded. "Oh."
"Xander!" Dawn stepped around Buffy and headed for the top of the stairs. "Tara's here!"
The door to the master bedroom opened, and Xander peeked out. Tara wasn't certain what to expect from the man, what sort of magical accident had happened to him, but he looked perfectly normal. He caught Tara's eye and smiled, relieved.
"Tara!" Another enormous hiccup sounded, and they all winced. When nothing seemed to have happened, Xander half turned back to the room. "It's okay now, Wills. Tara's here. She'll fix everything."
Dawn and Tara stared at Xander. He turned back, grin still in place, but it slowly faded as he looked at them. "What's wrong?"
"Xander," Tara took a hesitant step further up the stairs. "Um, we can't understand you."
Xander's brow furrowed. He spat out a word that sounded, from his inflection, like it was most likely a curse. "I can't understand you."
Anya chose that moment to come bursting in the front door, her arms loaded with heavy, leather bound tomes. "I grabbed the books you asked for, Dawn, but I don't see what the--" She stopped, staring at the green girl on the stairs. "What's going on?"
"I'm green, Buffy's made of plastic, Willow has the hiccups, and now Xander's speaking. . . ." Dawn grimaced. "Um,"
"Guys, I can't understand a word any of you are saying!"
"Russian." Anya set the books down on the floor. "Well, I don't think we have any books in the shop that cover all of that."
"You speak Russian?"
"Come on, guys, help me out here? What's going on? What are you saying?"
"No," Anya sighed. "I did when I was a vengeance demon, but since I was posing as an American teenager when I lost my powers, all I can speak now is a little muddled Spanish. But it sounds like Russian."
"Anya, honey, please, throw me a bone here,"
"Or possibly Czech."
"Guys, I think we have more to worry about than just what language Xander's speaking."
"Okay, fine, whatever, I can't understand you. But Willow's going to--"
Willow hiccuped.
* * *
"This is terrible!" Anya clutched at Xander's arm with one tentacle as they sat around the Summers' dining room table. "What are we going to do?"
Tara tried to shrug, but both of her arms were still completely numb from the last hiccup. "I don't know." She glanced over at Buffy. Who was now three feet tall, but was at least no longer made of plastic. "I can't cast spells without using my hands, and it doesn't sound like the hiccups are going to stop any time--"
A hiccup echoed through the house. The dining room table started levitating four feet off the floor.
"Soon." Tara slumped back in her chair.
Anya continued to clutch at Xander and freak out. The long, blue tentacles which had replaced her hands were clenching on Xander's elbow, causing him to periodically wince. "How are we supposed to get married like this?! I mean, I know MY guests won't mind, but still! And I don't remember how to say 'I do' in Russian. What if he flakes out?"
Xander had given up on trying to follow the conversation in a language he no longer spoke, and chose instead to stare sullenly across the table.
"This sucks, guys. I know you can't understand what I'm saying, but this really sucks. Willow's freaking out, and I can't even calm her down. Every time I say something to her, she starts crying. We need to call Giles."
The group glanced at him at the last word. "Giles! That's it!" Dawn slapped her hands onto the table. "We need Giles. He can fix this." She grabbed the hand that wasn't trapped by Anya's tentacles. "Xander, you're a genius."
"I mean, I'm pretty sure Dawn complimented me, but how do I know? This sucks."
Dawn grinned at him, hoping that he had gotten the gist of what she'd said.
"No Giles." Buffy crossed her arms, looking like a petulant child. She hadn't quit forgiven her former watcher for abandoning her. "We can figure this out on our own."
Willow hiccuped. Dawn's skin turned back to it's normal color, but a pair of yellow horns sprouted from her forehead, just beneath her purple hair. She groaned. "Buffy, please?"
"No Giles."
"On the other hand, this could be seen as kind of freeing." Xander winced again. "Anya, honey, please, I can feel the bones in my wrist grinding together." She smiled and pulled him closer. "Aaaand you have no idea what I'm saying. I could be telling you anything at all, and as long as I say it in my usual, bright, cheerful manner, you think everything's okay."
"Buffy," Tara shifted slightly in her chair. It was next to impossible to find a comfortable position without moving her arms. "I don't think we can fix this."
"I could, for example, make a comment about Buffy's new height. Or tease Dawn about her horns, and you wouldn't know."
"We have to try, Tara. I mean, maybe this will all blow over? I got fixed, and Dawn's no longer green."
"You're three feet tall, Buffy."
"That's not the point!" In fact, Buffy had a slight advantage over the others at the table with her height. She didn't have to slouch over to look at the others below the table. "We can do this on our own."
"This is actually kind of fun. Maybe I should grow a beard? Or learn to play the fiddle. 'If I were a rich man'--"
"Xander, would you please SHUT UP?!"
Everyone fell silent then, staring at the tiny slayer. Anya shifted one of her tentacles to the top of Xander's head, possessively.
It was, of course, Xander who finally broke the silence. "You know, I can still understand tone, Buffy."
So could they. Buffy had the grace to look somewhat chastised. "I'm sorry, Xan--"
He stood up. "You guys continue your pow-wow. I'm going to go check on Wills." He left without another word, but they could hear him singing to himself faintly from the stairs. "'All day long I'd biddy-biddy-bum, if I were a wealthy man,'"
"Fine." Buffy seemed to slump in her seat. "We'll call Giles."
* * *
An hour later, they'd managed to figure out that the phone in the kitchen was still a phone, even though it looked like a banana. Dawn had figured it out when, just before flinging it across the room, she'd caught the faint hum of the dial tone through the stem. It required a bit of work to get the phone unpeeled enough to find the buttons, but once that was done, everything seemed to be underway.
"Let me get this straight, Willow is spontaneously manifesting spells whenever she hiccups?"
Dawn sighed. "Yeah. So now I'm--"
hiccup
Dawn let out a squeak as she fell toward the floor. The banana dropped and splatted across the tiles, but she could still hear Giles' voice from the mush. She meowed angrily at it, then stalked off, tail swinging, to find Buffy.
None of the other phones in the house seemed to be working, so Buffy scraped the banana-phone off the floor with a spatula and put it on a plate. Dawn jumped up on the counter and curled up next to her as she stood on a chair and leaned over the mush. "Giles?"
"Buffy, is that you? What happened? Is Dawn alright?"
"Fine, Giles. She's just kind of. . ." Buffy looked over at Dawn, who peered up at her through half-lidded eyes. "A cat."
"And you're alright? You sound sort of--"
"You know in the movies, when they have someone shrink and their voice gets all high and squeaky?"
"Ah. I see."
"Yeah, well, Xander's upstairs with Willow right now, we were kind of hoping that if we stayed far enough away from her, the magic wouldn't hit us, but it seems to be affecting the whole house." Buffy looked to one side, where Tara was leaning against the door frame. The blonde witch had regained some use of her arms in the last hour, but was now without teeth. She looked thoroughly unhappy. "We're kind of without functioning witch at the moment, so we really do need your help."
"Yes, well, it does sound like that's the case. What, precisely, are Willow's symptoms? Is it just the hiccups?"
"I don't know." Buffy let out an angry breath. Another hiccup sounded through the ceiling, followed by a heavy thump. "I was going up to check on her when this whole thing started, and then the next thing I knew, the whole house had gone crazy. Xander's been sitting with her, mostly."
"Yes, perhaps you ought to put Xander on the phone."
"Might not work. He's kind of only speaking Russian."
She heard a faint rustling noise which she suspected signaled the removal of Giles' glasses. "We're in luck. I happen to be somewhat conversant in Russian. Please put him on the phone."
Buffy turned toward the hall. "Xander! Giles! Banana!"
"Banana?"
"Phone. I don't know if he caught any of that. We're not sure, but he doesn't seem to understand English."
"I see."
"Tara, could you go get--" Another thump, followed by Slavic cursing and the sound of something heavy falling down the stairs, and Xander was in the hall. He leaned heavily against the wall, hopping on both legs as though they were tied together. He looked up at Buffy and attempted a smile, but it came out as more than a grimace.
"She's not getting any better, Buff. Total black-eyed Wills. And her bed's on the ceiling."
Dawn stretched, then jumped down from the breakfast bar. She sauntered up to Xander and rubbed up against his legs, causing him to tilt forward. He would have landed flat on his face, if it weren't for Buffy jumping in to catch him. As it was, he found himself staring at the floor from three feet up.
"Good to know the slayer strength hasn't suffered any."
"Geez, Xan, maybe you should lose a little weight. What happened to your legs?"
"What was that you were yelling about Giles? And I could use a hand, my legs seem to be stuck together."
"Whatever. Giles speaks Russian, Xan. He wants to know about Willow." She pointed to the smooshed banana, and mimed talking on the phone. He nodded, so she hoped he understood. She helped him hop over to the breakfast bar, avoiding Dawn, who seemed intent on remaining under foot. She meowed up at them in an annoyed fashion when Buffy tried to shoo her away, and bit Buffy's ankle.
"Ow, dammit Dawn!"
Willow hiccuped, and Buffy vanished. Xander slammed his elbows into the corner of the bar, his breath rushing out in an enormous *whoof* as he tried to keep from hitting the floor again.
"Xander? Is that-er-you?"
"So, Giles. Total reversal from high school, huh? Looks like I get to be Mister Speaks Good, now."
"Xander, Willow is how doing?"
"Huh? Oh, she's okay. She's pretty upset by the chaos she's causing, but she doesn't really look sick. Though I think the hiccups are starting to hurt, you know? They're really loud."
"See. Yes. Magic happens when hiccups she?"
Xander closed his eyes. "Yes, Yoda, the magic happens when she hiccups." Another hiccup, and Buffy was back. Sort of. She was back to her normal height, but her nose had a distinctly piggish look to it. She was sitting in the sink. "You okay, Buffy?"
"Got to say, the walls? Much nicer looking from the outside." She pushed herself to her feet, rubbing her arms. Dawn sat down in front of her, and gazed up with wide eyes. "Does Giles know what's going on, yet?"
"What?"
"Not clear, but Buffy says do I know bad yet. I'm still working on that, Buffy!"
"What? Right. Giles, you REALLY need to work on your Russian." Xander ran a hand through his hair, careful not to shift too much of his weight from his elbows.
"Yes. Try holding breath?"
Xander blinked. "Holding her breath?"
"Or water from bottom,"
"'Water from--' Drinking water upside down? Giles, are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Willow hiccuped again, and Anya screamed from the other room. Xander jerked upright, spinning around in place, and toppled to the floor, where he was immediately trampled by a panic stricken Anya, who's tentacles were waving frantically. He closed his eyes. "Okay, that's it, I'm not moving until my legs start working again, or I'm dead. Whichever comes first."
The hair on Dawn's back bristled, making her appear much larger than she really was. She hissed at Anya, who stared down at her confused. "Bunny ears!" She spun toward Buffy. "I was going to the bathroom, and I HAVE BUNNY EARS!"
"Actually, those ears are kind of cute. Very anime. Have you noticed the tail yet, honey?"
Anya turned and stared down at Xander. "Oh my god, Xander, are you okay?"
"I'm rethinking my decision to stay on the floor. I have my very own Playboy Bunny. My dreams have come true. Maybe without the tentacles though."
Buffy stepped over Xander toward the banana. "He's fine. Giles, what do we do?"
"I may not have been very clear with Xander, I'm afraid, but I recommend you try some basic home hiccup remedies. It may be that Willow simply has a mundane case of the hiccups, and it's her recent brush with magic addiction that is causing such a strange reaction. I suggested holding her breath, or drinking water upside down."
"Really? Do you think that would work?"
"It certainly cannot hurt to try."
Willow hiccuped. The house spun three times counter-clockwise, then settled again. Buffy picked herself up off the floor, then had to sit down on it again to try and gather up the flung banana mush that was the phone. "We're willing to try just about anything right now, Giles."
"Er, yes. Let me know how it comes out?"
"Gotcha."
* * *
"Did that help?"
Willow looked at Xander, teary eyed. He was still only speaking Russian, though his legs were once again two separate limbs. Unfortunately, her latest hiccup was causing his arms to spasm randomly, often resulting in him striking one of the others. Buffy tied them behind his back, and now he simply jerked against the ropes. She hiccuped again. The alarm clock exploded.
"It didn't work. And now I'm all wet."
Buffy sighed and rubbed her forehead, careful of her third eye. They'd tried every hiccup remedy any of them had heard, except possibly Xander, but since he couldn't even write in English, they had no way of knowing if he had any suggestions.
"I hear pickle juice works. That's what Uncle Rory used to make me drink when I got the hiccups." Xander sighed, his arms twitching again. He was starting to develop rope burn. "But, of course, none of you has a clue what I'm saying. You think you could find a Russian to English website, or something?"
Anya was once again sitting next to him possessively, this time draping her tentacles across his shoulders. "I think Xander has an idea."
"Xander's idea is in Russian, Anya." Buffy crossed her arms and snorted, then jerked her hands up to cover her pig nose. "Dammit, we've got to fix this."
Tara spoke up for the first time since her teeth had vanished. Her natural shyness, coupled with an inability to enunciate well, had turned her back into the silent observer she'd been most of her life. "Um, maybe we could check online?"
"I'm telling you, pickle juice."
Willow hiccuped, and Dawn sat up straight. She was suddenly human again, though her finger nails looked like they could carve wood. "Janice's mom always says that hiccups mean that someone is thinking of you. All you have to do is think of who it is, and they go away. Um, the hiccups. Not, you know, the someone."
Willow shook her head. "That could take-hic-hours!" Xander jerked against his ropes, then leaned over, coughing. After a few moments, he spat out a paper-clip, which hung on his lips. He kept coughing until Anya managed to grab the paper clip with the tip of one tentacle, and pulled out ten more attached to it in a chain. Xander gasped in a deep breath, then sat upright.
"Is there any way I could get you people to understand that we should try pickle juice?"
Everyone stared at him.
"Okay, now what? The paper clip thing, yeah, it hurt, but it's no weirder than anything else that's happened,"
"Xander," Dawn grinned at him. "You're speaking English!"
"I am?" He blinked. "Yes! Communication has been reestablished!" He tried to jump up from his chair, but his arms spasmed again, jerking his whole upper body backward. "Pickle juice, please, a table spoon of pickle juice. I swear, it works."
Buffy nodded. "Dawn, do you know if we have any?"
"There's an old jar in the back of the fridge." Dawn bounced up, clicking her nails. "Um, Tara, you wanna help me? I'm afraid with these things I'd just cut the glass or something."
Tara nodded, her whole face brightening. They returned a few moments later carrying a jar with a lone dill pickle and a measuring spoon. Willow made a face.
"Do I have t--hic,"
The room plunged into darkness. Willow sighed. "Guess that answers--hic" The lights came back on, as rain started to fall from the ceiling. "That question."
She took the spoon full of pickle juice, pinched her nose, and tossed it back. They stared at her for a long moment. She took a deep breath, then another, then a third. After a full five minutes, they all started to relax. The rain stopped, the water evaporated, Xander stopped twitching, and everything slowly returned to normal.
Willow grinned, her eyes starting to return to their normal green. "It worked!" She jumped up and hugged Xander. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome."
The other five shot him a dark look.
"Kidding!"
* * *
Five years later. . . .
Xander slammed through the door of the Slayer's Council headquarters, gasping for breath. He caught Buffy's arm as she passed by, and all of the other people who'd been lounging in the front room turned to face him, looks of alarm on their faces.
"Xander, what's wrong?"
"Big problem." He sucked in another breath, his eye wandering over the gathering crowd of slayers. "You know, all of you are way to young to be so hot. Buffy, why do all slayers have to be hot? I've made peace with being surrounded by females, but it's tough when they're all so damned physically attractive, and for the love of God, please gag me now."
"What?" Buffy frowned at her friend, while the slayers either grunted in annoyance at being treated like pieces of meat, or giggled girlishly. Or both. "Okay, Xander, what's going on?"
"Willow has the hiccups again. And I really don't need to be fluent in Russian again. We both know what a major mess that was last time, though Anya really did look cute with those bunny ears and I still miss her, you know? It's been years since Sunnydale, but I still miss her like crazy and--"
Buffy slammed her hand down over Xander's mouth, and he gave her a thankful look. "You're sure Willow has the hiccups?" He raised an eyebrow. She removed her hand.
"My lack of brain-to-mouth filter isn't an indication? I mean, I know, this is me we're talking about, but I usually have a lot more tact than this. I at least can shut up, you know? But no, for the last five minutes, it's been continual talking, and I'm starting to annoy even me, so please, just gag me and fix Willow before I really put my foot in my mouth and start mentioning how much I like Dawn's new, skimpier--"
Buffy's hand returned to his mouth. "I so don't need to hear that."
Xander nodded.
"Right then." Buffy turned to the assembled slayers. "Rona, go get the jar of pickles out of the back of the fridge. No one goes near Xander or Willow but me until this is all over, you hear me?"
The slayers nodded and scattered, Rona heading toward the kitchen. Buffy turned back to Xander. "Now, where is she?"
"Her apartment. I went over there for a movie fest, since she's feeling lonely now that Kennedy's on assignment and isn't there for them to--"
Buffy replaced her hand. She nodded absently, working on the best way to get both herself and Xander over to Willow's apartment without Xander driving her completely bonkers. She noticed Andrew, then, hovering in the doorway to the basement. "Andrew! Come keep Xander company while I go check on Willow, would you?"
Andrew grinned and bounced over. Xander gave Buffy a pained look as she smirked at him. She sat him down on the couch, waited for Rona to return with the pickle jar, then started edging her way toward the door, getting as close to it as possible without removing her hand from Xander's mouth. She glanced around for something to replace her hand with, then finally just grabbed Xander's wrist and slapped his hand over his mouth. "Don't worry, we'll get you and Will fixed right up."
Xander nodded. She bolted out the door. Rona glanced from Xander to Andrew and back, then dashed for the stairs.
For a long moment, neither of the two men spoke. Xander concentrated on keeping his hand over his mouth. Andrew tried to think of something to say.
"So, have you seen Star Wars, Episode VII yet?"
Xander ran a hand through his hair, then belatedly realized it was the one that was holding his mouth shut. "You're gay." He slapped the hand back down on his mouth.
Andrew stared at him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Yeah, I am."
They sat in silence until Buffy called to let them know that everything was alright.
The End
As I was typing and editing that, my brother came home. He didn't even get arrested. I mean, come on. What kind of anarchist isn't willing to get arrested, or at the very least, brutally peppersprayed by the Man for his cause?
Shaaaaame.
I've decided I'm NOT going to get started on the "I-word". I'm borrowing my sister's friend Helen's stance, and avoiding it completely. It's only, after all, going to make me angry.
To skip the attempt at presenting any kind of suspense, I'm just going to say that I'm not going to jail. A full explanation (read: narrative) of the court proceedings can be found :
One thing I'm well and truly thankful for is that I decided to take the whole day off work for this Scheisse. I would not have been able to handle irate clients bitching about the IVR and how they never win their case when we get to the appeals on top of freaking out about my own court case. But, since most of you haven't actually heard this tale, I will go back farther than this morning.
It was September 30, 2004. I was driving back from stage managing Annie for DTC. Final dress rehearsal meant that I was in my backstage black. It was about 11:00 at night, and I was driving under the speed limit. There were cop cars pulling people over EVERYWHERE.
I was in the midst of belting out along to Berlin's "The Metro" and about to turn left onto Brink Road, when the lights appeared in my rearview. Like any good, conscientious driver, I pulled immediately over, and ransacked my glove compartment for my registration.
Was I nervous? Hell yes, and not just the usual "what the hell did I do wrong?" nervousness associated with cops. I was nervous because though I had been living in MD again for well over six months, I still had a Florida driver's license. I knew that this could result in a fine. I hoped to avoid that fine by lying my ass off.
The cop comes up, a guy a little older than me, with a blond buzz cut so close that he appeared at first to be bald. He shone his flash light in my face and told me my tag light was out. Then he asked for my license and registration. I handed it to him, and he went off.
He stayed in his cop car for a reeeeaaaally long time. Then he spent awhile chatting with the brunette he had with him, a skinny-teenaged-model sort of girl in a gray sweatshirt who giggled a lot. Then he finally came back to my car.
"So," he asked. "Why is your license suspended in Florida?"
These are words you never want to hear. I had no idea, of course, and told him. He asked how long I'd been in MD, I said I moved back up about a month before, he grunted something about how I had to get a MD license, then told me to call someone for a ride home.
My cell phone was dead, which resulted in my parents receiving a call at the late hour of midnight on a Thursday night from a police station. They didn't tell them why they had to come get me, just that they did. This, again, is not something you ever want to happen.
Picture this, sitting by the side of the road, dressed in a black t-shirt and black cargo pants, without a jacket. You're clutching your purse, and wishing the cop hadn't just said he was allergic to cigarette smoke, so you could at least attempt to kill yourself early with a tobacco OD. Your car is being towed by an upstart college looking kid with greasy hair. It has just been searched by the cop who is currently joking with his giggly ride-along. Another cop has stopped by to talk shop. Your parents are on their way, your car's muffler is scraping on the road. And you have to work tomorrow. It's now 1:00 in the morning. You're cold, you're tired, and as you finally start crying due to stress, the cop tells you that there is no fine for driving on a suspended out of state license, that it's a mandatory court date with possible jail time attached.
Let's just say it sucked and move on.
At home, my mom sticks to her conviction that you can find anything you ever needed to know about anything on the internet and discovers that the reason my license was suspended was because I hadn't paid a speeding ticket I received in Tampa in February. This was news to me, since I had paid the ticket, but since I was a just-post-college-what-is-this-'real-world'-you-speak-of? fuck up, I hadn't kept my receipt or my bank statements. I had to repay the ticket, plus extra money to get my license reinstated. But a week later, I made it to the MVA, got my MD license, and then got to sit back and wait for the court summons.
Now, picture this. It's a month and a half later. You've gotten the notice that tells you that you might need a lawyer. You come home every day after spending 8 hours arguing with nursing homes and state unemployment offices, to 30 some pieces of mail from glorified ambulance chasers, telling you that they are the best lawyer to handle your case. Your mom is asking her father, a former lawyer, about your case. Your sister is gossiping at the historical society about your case, and asking her friend, the high powered lawyer about it. Your best friend in law school can't give you legal advice, so instead just worries in an optimistic way along side you. And finally it arrives. The summons. Telling you that you have another two months of limbo before you actually get to find out if you're as screwed as you think you might be.
Fast forward again, and it's December. I run into my friend the cop. I tell her about my case. She basically tells me it'll be okay. Well, so long as the judge isn't in a funky mood that day. This does not reassure me, but I'm feeling better about NOT getting a lawyer.
And then, finally, the day comes. I can't find my summons, which says I have to bring it with me to the court house. I'm calling the MD District Court IVR every hour to find out if my court appointment has changed. I meet up with my mom at my sister's house, since she just happens to live two blocks from the court house, and we walk, our feet crunching on the salted sidewalks, to the traditionally pilared government building. The metal detector is no problem, but I get harassed by the security guard for not knowing which court room I'm supposed to be in.
"Don't you have your summons?"
Yeah, no. And I'm embarrassed enough as it is, thanks.
Mom and I look up my case on the CorkBoardOfDoom, then sit down for an hour to wait. Because I insisted on getting there an hour and a half early.
Eventually, we queue up to sign in with the State's Attorney. She's a short woman, even in heels, who looks vaguely like the brunette from Sex and the City. Her voice carries over the whole court room; there are no secrets here. I hear her say to someone who appears to be a lawyer "easiest money you've ever made, huh?" I step on something and look down. It's half a broken yellow crayon. For you BtVS fans out there, no, I'm not making that up.
As per usual, I'm reacting to my nervousness by noticing the small details. The frizzy hair of the older cop in the front row. The guy ahead of me who looks like a kid from my highschool. The woman who's here to see if her boyfriend will get out of jail after 35 days for shoplifting. The five-foot tall public defender with the receding hair line and bald spot, who's joking around with the aged bailiff. I like the bailiff, he was kind.
I get to the front of the line, and tell LadyLawyer my name. I sheepishly admit that I don't have my summons. "That's okay," she says. "You don't need it."
Well, thank you, Jeebus.
"Is your license still suspended?"
"No," I tell her, and hand her the form from the Tampa DMV that states that I have satisfied my obligation to Florida, as well as my new license. I'm tempted to thrust my social security card, passport, and birth certificate into her hands too, along with the copies in triplicate of every form I have.
I come from a family of boy-scouts. Mom and Dad both ran troops when I was little. Both my brothers didn't bother going for Eagle. I like to be prepared.
"Have you ever been arrested for anything like this before?"
"No, ma'am."
"Well, I'm going to drop the charges, since you fixed it and this is a first time offense. But this is only a one time deal, so--"
"I can assure you, this will never, ever happen again."
And it won't. When TwoDWIsInAWeek promised the judge that, I didn't believe him. When IShoplifted,ThenEndedUpInJailCauseISkippedMyFirstCourtDate said that, I didn't believe him, either. But I can damn well assure you that I will never let my license get suspended again. I will probably never speed again, either.
She didn't tell me I could go, so I sat back down with Mom in the back row and waited a half-an-hour for them to get to the traffic court part of the day's festivities. At which point, a series of four people proceeded me. Each one went the same way: the LadyLawyer would tell the judge that she's not pressing charges, because the license has been reinstated and it's the first offense. The judge says "Mr. So-and-so, see that your license does not get suspended again." The bailiff gestures for them to have a seat on the left side of the court room. Their lawyers, who all look VERY smug, sit next to them and start muttering in their ear, probably about their exorbitant fee.
I get called to the front, where I stand, alone, at the defendant's desk. LadyLawyer says her thing. The judge looks at me and says "Ms. [Temple], same thing." I smile slightly and nod, then look to my left. The bench is full. Bailiff looks flustered, then finally gestures for me to sit in a comfy, padded chair between the prosecution and the court transcriptionist. After about ten minutes, they finish printing out my "get out of jail free" papers, and send me on my way.
I went home, after getting lunch at Blimpies courtesy of Mom and laughing at the fact that my sister, who came to join us, had to have Mom pay so she could still be self-righteous with her "not one dime" protest of the I-word, and crashed.
And, while it isn't Proof of Giants, I do have a fic for you all. Something light hearted and humorous, sixth season BtVS. I call it
Text in italics represent foreign language. Think of them like sub-titles.
Tara wasn't certain what to expect as she approached the house on Revello Drive. She'd received a frantic call from Dawn about ten minutes before, but had managed to get little more than "something's wrong with Willow" out of the girl before a loud crash had interrupted them, and Dawn had simply begged her to come over.
Tara had had some time to get over the hurt at what Willow had done to her with the magic, but she was far from completely forgiving her former lover. She'd tried so hard to get Willow to see the mistakes she was making with the magic, but Willow hadn't trusted her. She hadn't been willing to make the effort it would take to patch things up properly with her lover, and had instead, as always, taken the "easy" way out.
And now she had broken Dawn's arm, and nearly gotten the two of them killed, with her addiction.
That was two weeks ago. From what she'd heard, living only on the fringes of the Scooby life as she was now, Willow was doing slightly better, trying to avoid magic properly, to the point of carefully excluding Amy from her life and forbidding the other witch to come visit her again. Tara was proud of Willow, but thoughts of her still hurt. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
Barely one knock, and the door was wrenched open by Dawn.
"Tara! Thank god you're here!"
Tara sucked in a breath at the sight of the teenager. Her arm was still in a cast, and her hair was wild around her face. Her shirt was ripped across one shoulder, but Tara couldn't see any blood.
What worried her most, though. . . .
"Dawn, you're. . . ."
"Green. I know." Dawn made a face. She puffed a lock of bright purple hair from her chartreuse forehead. "I really, really hope you can help fix this."
"Well, if it's a glamour, I could--" Tara shook her head. "Why would Willow. . . ."
Dawn shrugged. "I'm not actually sure it's her fault." She stepped to one side. "And we're not just talking the green Dawnie problem, here."
Tara stepped into the front hall, looking around. She could see what Dawn meant. A lamp ambled casually across the top of the stairs. Several pictures lay in shattered pieces on the floor. The actual photographs were shattered, not the glass. Buffy stood, frozen in mid-stride, in the center of the stairs.
"Oh my gosh, Buffy?" Tara approached her quietly, calling her name again. She touched the slayer on the shoulder, but encountered what felt like plastic. "Dawn, what's going on here? What happened to Buffy?"
A hiccup sounded from the master bedroom, and the banister erupted into bright, tropical flowers.
"That's what's happened. Is happening. Willow has the hiccups."
Tara turned to stare at Dawn, eyes wide. Dawn nodded. "Oh."
"Xander!" Dawn stepped around Buffy and headed for the top of the stairs. "Tara's here!"
The door to the master bedroom opened, and Xander peeked out. Tara wasn't certain what to expect from the man, what sort of magical accident had happened to him, but he looked perfectly normal. He caught Tara's eye and smiled, relieved.
"Tara!" Another enormous hiccup sounded, and they all winced. When nothing seemed to have happened, Xander half turned back to the room. "It's okay now, Wills. Tara's here. She'll fix everything."
Dawn and Tara stared at Xander. He turned back, grin still in place, but it slowly faded as he looked at them. "What's wrong?"
"Xander," Tara took a hesitant step further up the stairs. "Um, we can't understand you."
Xander's brow furrowed. He spat out a word that sounded, from his inflection, like it was most likely a curse. "I can't understand you."
Anya chose that moment to come bursting in the front door, her arms loaded with heavy, leather bound tomes. "I grabbed the books you asked for, Dawn, but I don't see what the--" She stopped, staring at the green girl on the stairs. "What's going on?"
"I'm green, Buffy's made of plastic, Willow has the hiccups, and now Xander's speaking. . . ." Dawn grimaced. "Um,"
"Guys, I can't understand a word any of you are saying!"
"Russian." Anya set the books down on the floor. "Well, I don't think we have any books in the shop that cover all of that."
"You speak Russian?"
"Come on, guys, help me out here? What's going on? What are you saying?"
"No," Anya sighed. "I did when I was a vengeance demon, but since I was posing as an American teenager when I lost my powers, all I can speak now is a little muddled Spanish. But it sounds like Russian."
"Anya, honey, please, throw me a bone here,"
"Or possibly Czech."
"Guys, I think we have more to worry about than just what language Xander's speaking."
"Okay, fine, whatever, I can't understand you. But Willow's going to--"
Willow hiccuped.
* * *
"This is terrible!" Anya clutched at Xander's arm with one tentacle as they sat around the Summers' dining room table. "What are we going to do?"
Tara tried to shrug, but both of her arms were still completely numb from the last hiccup. "I don't know." She glanced over at Buffy. Who was now three feet tall, but was at least no longer made of plastic. "I can't cast spells without using my hands, and it doesn't sound like the hiccups are going to stop any time--"
A hiccup echoed through the house. The dining room table started levitating four feet off the floor.
"Soon." Tara slumped back in her chair.
Anya continued to clutch at Xander and freak out. The long, blue tentacles which had replaced her hands were clenching on Xander's elbow, causing him to periodically wince. "How are we supposed to get married like this?! I mean, I know MY guests won't mind, but still! And I don't remember how to say 'I do' in Russian. What if he flakes out?"
Xander had given up on trying to follow the conversation in a language he no longer spoke, and chose instead to stare sullenly across the table.
"This sucks, guys. I know you can't understand what I'm saying, but this really sucks. Willow's freaking out, and I can't even calm her down. Every time I say something to her, she starts crying. We need to call Giles."
The group glanced at him at the last word. "Giles! That's it!" Dawn slapped her hands onto the table. "We need Giles. He can fix this." She grabbed the hand that wasn't trapped by Anya's tentacles. "Xander, you're a genius."
"I mean, I'm pretty sure Dawn complimented me, but how do I know? This sucks."
Dawn grinned at him, hoping that he had gotten the gist of what she'd said.
"No Giles." Buffy crossed her arms, looking like a petulant child. She hadn't quit forgiven her former watcher for abandoning her. "We can figure this out on our own."
Willow hiccuped. Dawn's skin turned back to it's normal color, but a pair of yellow horns sprouted from her forehead, just beneath her purple hair. She groaned. "Buffy, please?"
"No Giles."
"On the other hand, this could be seen as kind of freeing." Xander winced again. "Anya, honey, please, I can feel the bones in my wrist grinding together." She smiled and pulled him closer. "Aaaand you have no idea what I'm saying. I could be telling you anything at all, and as long as I say it in my usual, bright, cheerful manner, you think everything's okay."
"Buffy," Tara shifted slightly in her chair. It was next to impossible to find a comfortable position without moving her arms. "I don't think we can fix this."
"I could, for example, make a comment about Buffy's new height. Or tease Dawn about her horns, and you wouldn't know."
"We have to try, Tara. I mean, maybe this will all blow over? I got fixed, and Dawn's no longer green."
"You're three feet tall, Buffy."
"That's not the point!" In fact, Buffy had a slight advantage over the others at the table with her height. She didn't have to slouch over to look at the others below the table. "We can do this on our own."
"This is actually kind of fun. Maybe I should grow a beard? Or learn to play the fiddle. 'If I were a rich man'--"
"Xander, would you please SHUT UP?!"
Everyone fell silent then, staring at the tiny slayer. Anya shifted one of her tentacles to the top of Xander's head, possessively.
It was, of course, Xander who finally broke the silence. "You know, I can still understand tone, Buffy."
So could they. Buffy had the grace to look somewhat chastised. "I'm sorry, Xan--"
He stood up. "You guys continue your pow-wow. I'm going to go check on Wills." He left without another word, but they could hear him singing to himself faintly from the stairs. "'All day long I'd biddy-biddy-bum, if I were a wealthy man,'"
"Fine." Buffy seemed to slump in her seat. "We'll call Giles."
* * *
An hour later, they'd managed to figure out that the phone in the kitchen was still a phone, even though it looked like a banana. Dawn had figured it out when, just before flinging it across the room, she'd caught the faint hum of the dial tone through the stem. It required a bit of work to get the phone unpeeled enough to find the buttons, but once that was done, everything seemed to be underway.
"Let me get this straight, Willow is spontaneously manifesting spells whenever she hiccups?"
Dawn sighed. "Yeah. So now I'm--"
hiccup
Dawn let out a squeak as she fell toward the floor. The banana dropped and splatted across the tiles, but she could still hear Giles' voice from the mush. She meowed angrily at it, then stalked off, tail swinging, to find Buffy.
None of the other phones in the house seemed to be working, so Buffy scraped the banana-phone off the floor with a spatula and put it on a plate. Dawn jumped up on the counter and curled up next to her as she stood on a chair and leaned over the mush. "Giles?"
"Buffy, is that you? What happened? Is Dawn alright?"
"Fine, Giles. She's just kind of. . ." Buffy looked over at Dawn, who peered up at her through half-lidded eyes. "A cat."
"And you're alright? You sound sort of--"
"You know in the movies, when they have someone shrink and their voice gets all high and squeaky?"
"Ah. I see."
"Yeah, well, Xander's upstairs with Willow right now, we were kind of hoping that if we stayed far enough away from her, the magic wouldn't hit us, but it seems to be affecting the whole house." Buffy looked to one side, where Tara was leaning against the door frame. The blonde witch had regained some use of her arms in the last hour, but was now without teeth. She looked thoroughly unhappy. "We're kind of without functioning witch at the moment, so we really do need your help."
"Yes, well, it does sound like that's the case. What, precisely, are Willow's symptoms? Is it just the hiccups?"
"I don't know." Buffy let out an angry breath. Another hiccup sounded through the ceiling, followed by a heavy thump. "I was going up to check on her when this whole thing started, and then the next thing I knew, the whole house had gone crazy. Xander's been sitting with her, mostly."
"Yes, perhaps you ought to put Xander on the phone."
"Might not work. He's kind of only speaking Russian."
She heard a faint rustling noise which she suspected signaled the removal of Giles' glasses. "We're in luck. I happen to be somewhat conversant in Russian. Please put him on the phone."
Buffy turned toward the hall. "Xander! Giles! Banana!"
"Banana?"
"Phone. I don't know if he caught any of that. We're not sure, but he doesn't seem to understand English."
"I see."
"Tara, could you go get--" Another thump, followed by Slavic cursing and the sound of something heavy falling down the stairs, and Xander was in the hall. He leaned heavily against the wall, hopping on both legs as though they were tied together. He looked up at Buffy and attempted a smile, but it came out as more than a grimace.
"She's not getting any better, Buff. Total black-eyed Wills. And her bed's on the ceiling."
Dawn stretched, then jumped down from the breakfast bar. She sauntered up to Xander and rubbed up against his legs, causing him to tilt forward. He would have landed flat on his face, if it weren't for Buffy jumping in to catch him. As it was, he found himself staring at the floor from three feet up.
"Good to know the slayer strength hasn't suffered any."
"Geez, Xan, maybe you should lose a little weight. What happened to your legs?"
"What was that you were yelling about Giles? And I could use a hand, my legs seem to be stuck together."
"Whatever. Giles speaks Russian, Xan. He wants to know about Willow." She pointed to the smooshed banana, and mimed talking on the phone. He nodded, so she hoped he understood. She helped him hop over to the breakfast bar, avoiding Dawn, who seemed intent on remaining under foot. She meowed up at them in an annoyed fashion when Buffy tried to shoo her away, and bit Buffy's ankle.
"Ow, dammit Dawn!"
Willow hiccuped, and Buffy vanished. Xander slammed his elbows into the corner of the bar, his breath rushing out in an enormous *whoof* as he tried to keep from hitting the floor again.
"Xander? Is that-er-you?"
"So, Giles. Total reversal from high school, huh? Looks like I get to be Mister Speaks Good, now."
"Xander, Willow is how doing?"
"Huh? Oh, she's okay. She's pretty upset by the chaos she's causing, but she doesn't really look sick. Though I think the hiccups are starting to hurt, you know? They're really loud."
"See. Yes. Magic happens when hiccups she?"
Xander closed his eyes. "Yes, Yoda, the magic happens when she hiccups." Another hiccup, and Buffy was back. Sort of. She was back to her normal height, but her nose had a distinctly piggish look to it. She was sitting in the sink. "You okay, Buffy?"
"Got to say, the walls? Much nicer looking from the outside." She pushed herself to her feet, rubbing her arms. Dawn sat down in front of her, and gazed up with wide eyes. "Does Giles know what's going on, yet?"
"What?"
"Not clear, but Buffy says do I know bad yet. I'm still working on that, Buffy!"
"What? Right. Giles, you REALLY need to work on your Russian." Xander ran a hand through his hair, careful not to shift too much of his weight from his elbows.
"Yes. Try holding breath?"
Xander blinked. "Holding her breath?"
"Or water from bottom,"
"'Water from--' Drinking water upside down? Giles, are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Willow hiccuped again, and Anya screamed from the other room. Xander jerked upright, spinning around in place, and toppled to the floor, where he was immediately trampled by a panic stricken Anya, who's tentacles were waving frantically. He closed his eyes. "Okay, that's it, I'm not moving until my legs start working again, or I'm dead. Whichever comes first."
The hair on Dawn's back bristled, making her appear much larger than she really was. She hissed at Anya, who stared down at her confused. "Bunny ears!" She spun toward Buffy. "I was going to the bathroom, and I HAVE BUNNY EARS!"
"Actually, those ears are kind of cute. Very anime. Have you noticed the tail yet, honey?"
Anya turned and stared down at Xander. "Oh my god, Xander, are you okay?"
"I'm rethinking my decision to stay on the floor. I have my very own Playboy Bunny. My dreams have come true. Maybe without the tentacles though."
Buffy stepped over Xander toward the banana. "He's fine. Giles, what do we do?"
"I may not have been very clear with Xander, I'm afraid, but I recommend you try some basic home hiccup remedies. It may be that Willow simply has a mundane case of the hiccups, and it's her recent brush with magic addiction that is causing such a strange reaction. I suggested holding her breath, or drinking water upside down."
"Really? Do you think that would work?"
"It certainly cannot hurt to try."
Willow hiccuped. The house spun three times counter-clockwise, then settled again. Buffy picked herself up off the floor, then had to sit down on it again to try and gather up the flung banana mush that was the phone. "We're willing to try just about anything right now, Giles."
"Er, yes. Let me know how it comes out?"
"Gotcha."
* * *
"Did that help?"
Willow looked at Xander, teary eyed. He was still only speaking Russian, though his legs were once again two separate limbs. Unfortunately, her latest hiccup was causing his arms to spasm randomly, often resulting in him striking one of the others. Buffy tied them behind his back, and now he simply jerked against the ropes. She hiccuped again. The alarm clock exploded.
"It didn't work. And now I'm all wet."
Buffy sighed and rubbed her forehead, careful of her third eye. They'd tried every hiccup remedy any of them had heard, except possibly Xander, but since he couldn't even write in English, they had no way of knowing if he had any suggestions.
"I hear pickle juice works. That's what Uncle Rory used to make me drink when I got the hiccups." Xander sighed, his arms twitching again. He was starting to develop rope burn. "But, of course, none of you has a clue what I'm saying. You think you could find a Russian to English website, or something?"
Anya was once again sitting next to him possessively, this time draping her tentacles across his shoulders. "I think Xander has an idea."
"Xander's idea is in Russian, Anya." Buffy crossed her arms and snorted, then jerked her hands up to cover her pig nose. "Dammit, we've got to fix this."
Tara spoke up for the first time since her teeth had vanished. Her natural shyness, coupled with an inability to enunciate well, had turned her back into the silent observer she'd been most of her life. "Um, maybe we could check online?"
"I'm telling you, pickle juice."
Willow hiccuped, and Dawn sat up straight. She was suddenly human again, though her finger nails looked like they could carve wood. "Janice's mom always says that hiccups mean that someone is thinking of you. All you have to do is think of who it is, and they go away. Um, the hiccups. Not, you know, the someone."
Willow shook her head. "That could take-hic-hours!" Xander jerked against his ropes, then leaned over, coughing. After a few moments, he spat out a paper-clip, which hung on his lips. He kept coughing until Anya managed to grab the paper clip with the tip of one tentacle, and pulled out ten more attached to it in a chain. Xander gasped in a deep breath, then sat upright.
"Is there any way I could get you people to understand that we should try pickle juice?"
Everyone stared at him.
"Okay, now what? The paper clip thing, yeah, it hurt, but it's no weirder than anything else that's happened,"
"Xander," Dawn grinned at him. "You're speaking English!"
"I am?" He blinked. "Yes! Communication has been reestablished!" He tried to jump up from his chair, but his arms spasmed again, jerking his whole upper body backward. "Pickle juice, please, a table spoon of pickle juice. I swear, it works."
Buffy nodded. "Dawn, do you know if we have any?"
"There's an old jar in the back of the fridge." Dawn bounced up, clicking her nails. "Um, Tara, you wanna help me? I'm afraid with these things I'd just cut the glass or something."
Tara nodded, her whole face brightening. They returned a few moments later carrying a jar with a lone dill pickle and a measuring spoon. Willow made a face.
"Do I have t--hic,"
The room plunged into darkness. Willow sighed. "Guess that answers--hic" The lights came back on, as rain started to fall from the ceiling. "That question."
She took the spoon full of pickle juice, pinched her nose, and tossed it back. They stared at her for a long moment. She took a deep breath, then another, then a third. After a full five minutes, they all started to relax. The rain stopped, the water evaporated, Xander stopped twitching, and everything slowly returned to normal.
Willow grinned, her eyes starting to return to their normal green. "It worked!" She jumped up and hugged Xander. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome."
The other five shot him a dark look.
"Kidding!"
* * *
Five years later. . . .
Xander slammed through the door of the Slayer's Council headquarters, gasping for breath. He caught Buffy's arm as she passed by, and all of the other people who'd been lounging in the front room turned to face him, looks of alarm on their faces.
"Xander, what's wrong?"
"Big problem." He sucked in another breath, his eye wandering over the gathering crowd of slayers. "You know, all of you are way to young to be so hot. Buffy, why do all slayers have to be hot? I've made peace with being surrounded by females, but it's tough when they're all so damned physically attractive, and for the love of God, please gag me now."
"What?" Buffy frowned at her friend, while the slayers either grunted in annoyance at being treated like pieces of meat, or giggled girlishly. Or both. "Okay, Xander, what's going on?"
"Willow has the hiccups again. And I really don't need to be fluent in Russian again. We both know what a major mess that was last time, though Anya really did look cute with those bunny ears and I still miss her, you know? It's been years since Sunnydale, but I still miss her like crazy and--"
Buffy slammed her hand down over Xander's mouth, and he gave her a thankful look. "You're sure Willow has the hiccups?" He raised an eyebrow. She removed her hand.
"My lack of brain-to-mouth filter isn't an indication? I mean, I know, this is me we're talking about, but I usually have a lot more tact than this. I at least can shut up, you know? But no, for the last five minutes, it's been continual talking, and I'm starting to annoy even me, so please, just gag me and fix Willow before I really put my foot in my mouth and start mentioning how much I like Dawn's new, skimpier--"
Buffy's hand returned to his mouth. "I so don't need to hear that."
Xander nodded.
"Right then." Buffy turned to the assembled slayers. "Rona, go get the jar of pickles out of the back of the fridge. No one goes near Xander or Willow but me until this is all over, you hear me?"
The slayers nodded and scattered, Rona heading toward the kitchen. Buffy turned back to Xander. "Now, where is she?"
"Her apartment. I went over there for a movie fest, since she's feeling lonely now that Kennedy's on assignment and isn't there for them to--"
Buffy replaced her hand. She nodded absently, working on the best way to get both herself and Xander over to Willow's apartment without Xander driving her completely bonkers. She noticed Andrew, then, hovering in the doorway to the basement. "Andrew! Come keep Xander company while I go check on Willow, would you?"
Andrew grinned and bounced over. Xander gave Buffy a pained look as she smirked at him. She sat him down on the couch, waited for Rona to return with the pickle jar, then started edging her way toward the door, getting as close to it as possible without removing her hand from Xander's mouth. She glanced around for something to replace her hand with, then finally just grabbed Xander's wrist and slapped his hand over his mouth. "Don't worry, we'll get you and Will fixed right up."
Xander nodded. She bolted out the door. Rona glanced from Xander to Andrew and back, then dashed for the stairs.
For a long moment, neither of the two men spoke. Xander concentrated on keeping his hand over his mouth. Andrew tried to think of something to say.
"So, have you seen Star Wars, Episode VII yet?"
Xander ran a hand through his hair, then belatedly realized it was the one that was holding his mouth shut. "You're gay." He slapped the hand back down on his mouth.
Andrew stared at him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Yeah, I am."
They sat in silence until Buffy called to let them know that everything was alright.
The End
As I was typing and editing that, my brother came home. He didn't even get arrested. I mean, come on. What kind of anarchist isn't willing to get arrested, or at the very least, brutally peppersprayed by the Man for his cause?
Shaaaaame.