The Mercy Seat (part 10)
Progress on this story is moving a little bit slower now, for two reasons. The one that's story related is that I'm getting closer to the part that I haven't figured out yet. I've got a lot of stuff I want to get in here, and I'm not sure exactly how it's going to play out yet. Also, the ending still escapes me.
The other is the fact that I've been selling flowers for my old dance studio, explaining to people the what/where/why of going to Prague, and, well, basically having my brain stuck in "holy crap, I'm going to Prague!" That will go away for a bit this summer, I think, when my job ends and I spend my time temping and all, and have other things to focus on. Then it will come back full force, and not go away again, likely until about the time I'm coming back home from Prague. If I come back home. I've been escape mode, from the US, especially, for awhile now, and ex-pat is suddenly a viable option....
But that's enough of that. Let's get on to what you're really here for:
Previous parts are here
Xander leaned heavily against the brick wall as the world came back into focus again. For the second (third?) time that day he found himself somewhere else entirely. The voices seemed to have quieted down, though, and Willow was nowhere in sight, so he allowed himself to slide slowly down the brick to the concrete beneath him and close his eye.
He was exhausted.
He wasn't entirely sure what happened, whether Willow had cast a spell on him, or if he was somehow still being affected by whatever had changed his circumstances so dramatically earlier. He could feel the lingering effects of magic throughout his muscles as quivered. The alley was dark, the sun having somehow set, keeping him from relaxing into his crouched position. He was in no shape to fight off any creatures that might decide he was easy prey. He had to be ready to run.
He still couldn't remember much of anything about the past four years. He had faint images of Kelly, his second slayer, in his head: of her death, and of Malia's, but they bled together. He now had a fairly strong memory of visiting his great-aunt in the hospital in Santa Barbara, but that memory was strange, too. Like he'd lived it only a few moments ago, between Willow and here, like he'd somehow time traveled before arriving . . . wherever he was now.
When he was in the hospital, though, he'd known what was going on. He remembered remembering, and the fact that he couldn't grasp those memories now disturbed him. He concentrated on breathing.
Willow was evil. He'd seen it in her eyes, and in the way she'd been so quick to cast a spell. He had to do something about that, had to find some other cute little anecdote about their shared history to bring her back. Of course, to do that he had to figure out where he was, and then figure out where she was, get to her , and get her to talk without casting spells that made him go away. He opened his eye.
There was something vaguely familiar about the alley, a stronger feeling than that he'd felt at the crater, and in the Hole. It nagged not just at his missing memories, but at the ones he still had as well. He'd been here before, possibly on a patrol. If he knew the alley, then he'd know the street, too. He slowly forced himself to his feet, using his staff for leverage and wishing he had shoes. He tucked the staff away and rubbed at his arm. The cool air raised goose bumps and made him shiver. He wondered how much time he'd lost this time.
Was he now in 2011? Or was he only a few months displaced? Maybe Willow had sent him to the other end of the world, where June was winter. He hoped not. He'd had enough trouble with inverse seasons when his mind was operating properly. He'd hate to have to deal with the winter in the summer months when he was as lost as he was now. It wasn't exactly cold out, but then, southern Africa hadn't exactly been cold, either.
He was in luck; he immediately recognized his surroundings once he reached the street. A few blocks away was a familiar stone bridge, surrounded on all sides by funky shops with graffiti styled signs. He was in Camden, only a few stops on the London Underground from the new Council offices in Soho. He could go find Giles, then, let him know, if he didn't already, that Willow had slipped. He could get a change of clothes there, and maybe even a shower. Things would be better once he was dressed and clean. Maybe his brain would start functioning again.
He started towards the tube station, his hand automatically slipping into his pocket, then he stopped short in the street and shut his eye again for a moment.
He didn't have any money. He'd have to walk to the council, if he could figure out the way. No money meant he couldn't get an A-Z, though, and the tube map wouldn't help much in the way of getting his bearings. It was a common joke that the colorful lines on the maps were little more than a fanciful pattern, bearing no resemblance to the real shape of London. Maybe if he called the council collect, someone could come and pick him up. Did England have collect calls? He wasn't sure.
"Harris!"
Xander started, spinning around, his hand going straight for his staff. A tall man wearing a wide- brimmed black hat grinned at him, showing an impressive array of impossibly white teeth. He squinted at him. "Do I know you?"
"Funny." The man stopped grinning. "You got the money you owe me?"
Xander took a step back. "What money?"
"I'm not in the mood for this, Harris." The man matched Xander's retreat with an advance, step for step. "I pull off your job, you assure me of payment, and then you disappear. Working like that doesn't get you any respect." The man grinned again, and Xander noticed his teeth were faintly pointed. "Working like that gets you dead."
Xander turned and ran.
His feet slammed down against the rough sidewalk, the sounds of his own footsteps filling his ears and combining with his fear, pushing everything else out of his mind. He didn't pay attention to where he was running, knowing only that he had to get AWAY, and he had to do it quickly. He didn't check to see if the man had followed, didn't even reach for his staff. He kept moving forward, out of Camden, across intersecting streets, without hearing or seeing the traffic that braked and careened out of his way. He kept running even when his side seized up in a stitch, even when his breath started rasping painfully against his dry throat, until he slammed into someone on the sidewalk, rebounded off, and went spinning into a wall.
He collapsed then, breathing hard and shaking. The woman he'd practically run over cursed harshly in a language he didn't know, struggling to gather together her spilled shopping. She spun on him, ready to berate him for his behavior, then seemed to freeze.
"Xander!"
He groaned and turned his face away. He really didn't want to face any more strangers who knew him. He could feel the world swarming up on him, overwhelming him with information through sound and smell. He clutched his hands around the staff, not even aware that he'd drawn it, and swung it blindly when a hand, not his own, landed on his arm.
"Xander, no, Xander, it's okay, it's me. Calm down. It's okay."
The voice repeated this litany over and over as Xander continued to swing wildly at the woman. Finally, the staff stopped moving as she caught it and was nearly pulled off her feet. She gripped it hard and twisted it out of his hands. He threw himself back against the wall, curling in on himself. She cursed again.
"Xander. Look at me, okay? Just look at me. Please?"
She crouched over him, and something in him finally realized she wasn't trying to hurt him. She hadn't even touched him after he'd reacted to her hand on his arm. She hovered a few inches away, her body shaking almost as much as his did. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and refocused.
"Dawn?"
She smiled at him. Her hair was cut into an attractive bob, falling to just below her ears, and she was wearing more make-up than he was used to, but it was her. He let himself fall forward into her, wrapping his arms tightly around her body, and she dropped the staff to get a better grip on him.
"It's me, Xan, it's okay. When did you get back?"
"Back?" Of course. He'd been missing, the slayers in the Hole had told him that. She didn't answer him, just carefully rubbed his back and murmured soothingly in his ear. Her voice didn't hurt or overwhelm him the way all the other noises did, but seemed to quiet everything that was going on in his head.
"Can you stand up?" She asked after awhile. He nodded, but didn't release her as they got to their feet. She gripped him back just as hard, then pulled away slightly to look him in the eye.
"We should go home."
Relief flooded through Xander, and without warning his knees gave way. Dawn tried to hold him up, but ended up back on the sidewalk with him. She let him rest for a long moment.
"Okay, walking is out, huh?" She smiled softly at him. "I'll get us a cab."
Xander didn't reply, just rested on his knees, feeling safe for the first time since he'd arrived in Sunnydale earlier. He could trust Dawn, even the whispering noises in his head seemed to agree with that. She'd take care of him, and they'd figure out what was going on.
Everything was going to be okay.
<--{10}-->
As for Fannon Fodder: man, comedy can be HARD. However, if anyone has any particular battles/crossovers they'd like to see me tackle, let me know. I may have to (gasp!) read more Marty-Stu fic to write it. The things we do for art.
The other is the fact that I've been selling flowers for my old dance studio, explaining to people the what/where/why of going to Prague, and, well, basically having my brain stuck in "holy crap, I'm going to Prague!" That will go away for a bit this summer, I think, when my job ends and I spend my time temping and all, and have other things to focus on. Then it will come back full force, and not go away again, likely until about the time I'm coming back home from Prague. If I come back home. I've been escape mode, from the US, especially, for awhile now, and ex-pat is suddenly a viable option....
But that's enough of that. Let's get on to what you're really here for:
Previous parts are here
Xander leaned heavily against the brick wall as the world came back into focus again. For the second (third?) time that day he found himself somewhere else entirely. The voices seemed to have quieted down, though, and Willow was nowhere in sight, so he allowed himself to slide slowly down the brick to the concrete beneath him and close his eye.
He was exhausted.
He wasn't entirely sure what happened, whether Willow had cast a spell on him, or if he was somehow still being affected by whatever had changed his circumstances so dramatically earlier. He could feel the lingering effects of magic throughout his muscles as quivered. The alley was dark, the sun having somehow set, keeping him from relaxing into his crouched position. He was in no shape to fight off any creatures that might decide he was easy prey. He had to be ready to run.
He still couldn't remember much of anything about the past four years. He had faint images of Kelly, his second slayer, in his head: of her death, and of Malia's, but they bled together. He now had a fairly strong memory of visiting his great-aunt in the hospital in Santa Barbara, but that memory was strange, too. Like he'd lived it only a few moments ago, between Willow and here, like he'd somehow time traveled before arriving . . . wherever he was now.
When he was in the hospital, though, he'd known what was going on. He remembered remembering, and the fact that he couldn't grasp those memories now disturbed him. He concentrated on breathing.
Willow was evil. He'd seen it in her eyes, and in the way she'd been so quick to cast a spell. He had to do something about that, had to find some other cute little anecdote about their shared history to bring her back. Of course, to do that he had to figure out where he was, and then figure out where she was, get to her , and get her to talk without casting spells that made him go away. He opened his eye.
There was something vaguely familiar about the alley, a stronger feeling than that he'd felt at the crater, and in the Hole. It nagged not just at his missing memories, but at the ones he still had as well. He'd been here before, possibly on a patrol. If he knew the alley, then he'd know the street, too. He slowly forced himself to his feet, using his staff for leverage and wishing he had shoes. He tucked the staff away and rubbed at his arm. The cool air raised goose bumps and made him shiver. He wondered how much time he'd lost this time.
Was he now in 2011? Or was he only a few months displaced? Maybe Willow had sent him to the other end of the world, where June was winter. He hoped not. He'd had enough trouble with inverse seasons when his mind was operating properly. He'd hate to have to deal with the winter in the summer months when he was as lost as he was now. It wasn't exactly cold out, but then, southern Africa hadn't exactly been cold, either.
He was in luck; he immediately recognized his surroundings once he reached the street. A few blocks away was a familiar stone bridge, surrounded on all sides by funky shops with graffiti styled signs. He was in Camden, only a few stops on the London Underground from the new Council offices in Soho. He could go find Giles, then, let him know, if he didn't already, that Willow had slipped. He could get a change of clothes there, and maybe even a shower. Things would be better once he was dressed and clean. Maybe his brain would start functioning again.
He started towards the tube station, his hand automatically slipping into his pocket, then he stopped short in the street and shut his eye again for a moment.
He didn't have any money. He'd have to walk to the council, if he could figure out the way. No money meant he couldn't get an A-Z, though, and the tube map wouldn't help much in the way of getting his bearings. It was a common joke that the colorful lines on the maps were little more than a fanciful pattern, bearing no resemblance to the real shape of London. Maybe if he called the council collect, someone could come and pick him up. Did England have collect calls? He wasn't sure.
"Harris!"
Xander started, spinning around, his hand going straight for his staff. A tall man wearing a wide- brimmed black hat grinned at him, showing an impressive array of impossibly white teeth. He squinted at him. "Do I know you?"
"Funny." The man stopped grinning. "You got the money you owe me?"
Xander took a step back. "What money?"
"I'm not in the mood for this, Harris." The man matched Xander's retreat with an advance, step for step. "I pull off your job, you assure me of payment, and then you disappear. Working like that doesn't get you any respect." The man grinned again, and Xander noticed his teeth were faintly pointed. "Working like that gets you dead."
Xander turned and ran.
His feet slammed down against the rough sidewalk, the sounds of his own footsteps filling his ears and combining with his fear, pushing everything else out of his mind. He didn't pay attention to where he was running, knowing only that he had to get AWAY, and he had to do it quickly. He didn't check to see if the man had followed, didn't even reach for his staff. He kept moving forward, out of Camden, across intersecting streets, without hearing or seeing the traffic that braked and careened out of his way. He kept running even when his side seized up in a stitch, even when his breath started rasping painfully against his dry throat, until he slammed into someone on the sidewalk, rebounded off, and went spinning into a wall.
He collapsed then, breathing hard and shaking. The woman he'd practically run over cursed harshly in a language he didn't know, struggling to gather together her spilled shopping. She spun on him, ready to berate him for his behavior, then seemed to freeze.
"Xander!"
He groaned and turned his face away. He really didn't want to face any more strangers who knew him. He could feel the world swarming up on him, overwhelming him with information through sound and smell. He clutched his hands around the staff, not even aware that he'd drawn it, and swung it blindly when a hand, not his own, landed on his arm.
"Xander, no, Xander, it's okay, it's me. Calm down. It's okay."
The voice repeated this litany over and over as Xander continued to swing wildly at the woman. Finally, the staff stopped moving as she caught it and was nearly pulled off her feet. She gripped it hard and twisted it out of his hands. He threw himself back against the wall, curling in on himself. She cursed again.
"Xander. Look at me, okay? Just look at me. Please?"
She crouched over him, and something in him finally realized she wasn't trying to hurt him. She hadn't even touched him after he'd reacted to her hand on his arm. She hovered a few inches away, her body shaking almost as much as his did. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and refocused.
"Dawn?"
She smiled at him. Her hair was cut into an attractive bob, falling to just below her ears, and she was wearing more make-up than he was used to, but it was her. He let himself fall forward into her, wrapping his arms tightly around her body, and she dropped the staff to get a better grip on him.
"It's me, Xan, it's okay. When did you get back?"
"Back?" Of course. He'd been missing, the slayers in the Hole had told him that. She didn't answer him, just carefully rubbed his back and murmured soothingly in his ear. Her voice didn't hurt or overwhelm him the way all the other noises did, but seemed to quiet everything that was going on in his head.
"Can you stand up?" She asked after awhile. He nodded, but didn't release her as they got to their feet. She gripped him back just as hard, then pulled away slightly to look him in the eye.
"We should go home."
Relief flooded through Xander, and without warning his knees gave way. Dawn tried to hold him up, but ended up back on the sidewalk with him. She let him rest for a long moment.
"Okay, walking is out, huh?" She smiled softly at him. "I'll get us a cab."
Xander didn't reply, just rested on his knees, feeling safe for the first time since he'd arrived in Sunnydale earlier. He could trust Dawn, even the whispering noises in his head seemed to agree with that. She'd take care of him, and they'd figure out what was going on.
Everything was going to be okay.
<--{10}-->
As for Fannon Fodder: man, comedy can be HARD. However, if anyone has any particular battles/crossovers they'd like to see me tackle, let me know. I may have to (gasp!) read more Marty-Stu fic to write it. The things we do for art.