Rescue
It's over.
Wilkins' men had decided to storm the cave Wesley and I had taken refuge in. Fortunately, the crude booby traps we'd managed to set up in that eventuality -- which consisted primarily of various ways to cave in parts of the tunnel -- managed to keep most of his men at bay.
Not all of them, unfortunately, as Wilkins and a particularly large henchman casually strolled through the carnage to our location and made short work of us.
Rather, the henchman made short work. Wilkins stood aside and watched. And occasionally chuckled.
As Wilkins stood over us, he told us he knew we weren't from Sunnydale, and even expressed his "theory" that we were somehow from the future. When neither Wesley or myself cooperated, he proceeded to threaten us with various forms of mystical torture until we did.
A spell transforming our internal musculature into sandpaper sounded particularly excruciating, I must admit.
It was when Wilkins himself lifted Wesley and myself off the cavern floor by our throats, exhibiting a surprising strength I had no idea he ever possessed, that I felt the end had finally come. I fully expected him to squeeze and end one or both our lives out of frustration.
Instead, he continued to talk. Gloat, even.
A truly despicable way to die, humiliated and bored at the same time.
And as I struggled to breathe, truly believing Wilkins had won the day, I saw a light wash over me. At first, I thought it to simply be an illusion, my imagination playing tricks on me as I shuffled off this mortal coil. I saw Wesley bathed in the same light, as well, and that light got brighter. Wilkins' grip seemed to loosen, and I felt myself floating...
...and then the light was gone, and I collapsed in a heap with Wesley in unfamiliar surroundings.
Once my eyes adjusted, however, I found those surroundings weren't so unfamiliar, after all.
We were home. Back in Buffy's house.
Much of what followed is still a bit of a blurry haze. I learned, in spite of the din, that Willow and Tara had been instrumental in our return, and that Anya had played some role, as well. There was much frantic celebration of our return, especially between Wesley and his wife. And I as assured that Ethan's presence was necessary and that throttling him could come later.
There was a lot to take in. I'm sure Buffy and the others will fill Wesley and I in on everything that's happened in good time.
For now...I so very desperately wish to rest. In a real bed, for the first time in what seems like ages, without fear that I'll be killed in my sleep by a wayward rattlesnake...or worse. And a bath would be in order, as well, as I feel as if my skin has been soaked through with dust and grit.
But we are home.
Wilkins' men had decided to storm the cave Wesley and I had taken refuge in. Fortunately, the crude booby traps we'd managed to set up in that eventuality -- which consisted primarily of various ways to cave in parts of the tunnel -- managed to keep most of his men at bay.
Not all of them, unfortunately, as Wilkins and a particularly large henchman casually strolled through the carnage to our location and made short work of us.
Rather, the henchman made short work. Wilkins stood aside and watched. And occasionally chuckled.
As Wilkins stood over us, he told us he knew we weren't from Sunnydale, and even expressed his "theory" that we were somehow from the future. When neither Wesley or myself cooperated, he proceeded to threaten us with various forms of mystical torture until we did.
A spell transforming our internal musculature into sandpaper sounded particularly excruciating, I must admit.
It was when Wilkins himself lifted Wesley and myself off the cavern floor by our throats, exhibiting a surprising strength I had no idea he ever possessed, that I felt the end had finally come. I fully expected him to squeeze and end one or both our lives out of frustration.
Instead, he continued to talk. Gloat, even.
A truly despicable way to die, humiliated and bored at the same time.
And as I struggled to breathe, truly believing Wilkins had won the day, I saw a light wash over me. At first, I thought it to simply be an illusion, my imagination playing tricks on me as I shuffled off this mortal coil. I saw Wesley bathed in the same light, as well, and that light got brighter. Wilkins' grip seemed to loosen, and I felt myself floating...
...and then the light was gone, and I collapsed in a heap with Wesley in unfamiliar surroundings.
Once my eyes adjusted, however, I found those surroundings weren't so unfamiliar, after all.
We were home. Back in Buffy's house.
Much of what followed is still a bit of a blurry haze. I learned, in spite of the din, that Willow and Tara had been instrumental in our return, and that Anya had played some role, as well. There was much frantic celebration of our return, especially between Wesley and his wife. And I as assured that Ethan's presence was necessary and that throttling him could come later.
There was a lot to take in. I'm sure Buffy and the others will fill Wesley and I in on everything that's happened in good time.
For now...I so very desperately wish to rest. In a real bed, for the first time in what seems like ages, without fear that I'll be killed in my sleep by a wayward rattlesnake...or worse. And a bath would be in order, as well, as I feel as if my skin has been soaked through with dust and grit.
But we are home.