You Can Still Fight - August 6
Twisted Shorts August Fic-a-Day Challenge - Day 6
Title: You Can Still Fight
Author: hermione2be
Rating: PG/FR13/K+
Crossover: BtVS/LoT
Disclaimer: I do not own any of BtVS/Angel or DC’s Legends of Tomorrow people, places, or ideas. This fiction is done simply for pleasure and I receive no profit.
Summary: Xander is asked to join Rip Hunter. No powers for Xander.
Notes: Zeppos, the Legends are Zeppos and I thought they needed another.
Seasons: Post-Series/Season 1 “Pilot”
Characters: Xander, Rip Hunter, Firestorm, Captain Cold, Heatwave, White Canary, Hawkgirl, Hawkman, Atom
Word Count: 1662
Xander Harris faced the wall of his Council office, staring blankly at a picture of Willow’s wedding. He blinked, bringing his best friend’s happy face into focus. He needed to get out of his office, but time had not been terribly kind to his body. At thirty-six he had suffered dozens of fractures, breaks, and wounds - most of which had been insufficiently treated, if at all.
He stood, trying to ignore the stiffness in his right knee. But it buckled slightly under him, he slapped his hand on the desk, barely maintaining his balance.
“Damnit,” he muttered. His left hand flew to his cheek, rubbing the calloused area his eye patch had worn over the years. “I can’t spend the rest of my life staring at these walls.”
“Perhaps I can help,” a voice said.
Xander only caught a glimpse of the man, before a bright light flashed and darkness claimed him.
88888888
His head ached, not just his missing eye, but his entire head felt like it was being compressed.
“Aah! What a headache!” a gruff male voice complained.
“Stein?” a younger male said in surprise.
“What the hell are you doing here?” a cold voice asked.
“I’m as ignorant as you,” an older male said, “for once.”
“Where are we?” a female voice asked.
Xander sat up, his hand covering his eye patch, trying to press the pain away.
“Why don’t you ask the dude who knocked us out and kidnapped us?” a young male voice demanded. “British dude with a flashy thing? Ring any bells?”
“Doesn’t quite feel like the ringing has stopped,” Xander complained.
“The name’s Rip Hunter,” a British accent made them all look up. Some jumped to their feet, prepared for a fight. “I’m from East London. Oh, and the future.”
Xander leveled his gaze at the man. He wore a brown trench coat, black boots, black pants, and leather jacket layered with a gray shirt. Various brown straps crossed his chest and his right thigh. Holsters. Xander’s brain supplied. The man’s red hair was parted to the side, he had a narrow beard and mustache.
“Nice to meet ya, Rip,” the gruff voice said. It came from one of two men with shaved heads. He raised a weapon, pointed it at Rip and pulled the trigger without hesitation.
“Uh, yes,” Rip gave them all a tight smile, “while you were incapacitated, I may have tampered with your weapons.” He gave them just a beat before continuing. “I’ve assembled you all because I need your help.”
The young black man next to Xander looked over to find him still sitting. He reached out a hand, offering assistance. Xander took it, glad the young man was strong enough to pull him upright as his knee was unstable. Once he was standing he leaned against the low ledge around the roof they were on.
“Thanks,” he said to the kid.
“The future of the world is in peril because of a man by the name of Vandal Savage,” Rip told them.
“That can’t be,” the male of a warrior looking couple said. “We destroyed him.”
“Yeah,” the female warrior said, “the Green Arrow and Flash helped us do it.”
“And therein lay the problem,” Rip said, “Unless you or Mister Hall deliver the blow, Savage can be restore from but a single cell.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” the gruff man demanded.
“Vandal is immortal,” Hall said. “Kendra and I reincarnate.”
“Yeah,” a blond woman said, “I’ve done that.”
Xander’s brain dug for something. “Vandal…” he said, “Was he in Egypt in 1996?”
Rip turned to Xander. “We don’t know all his movements.”
“What’s this got to do with us?” the gruff man said impatiently.
“In the future, he will employ the evil he’s perfected over his long life, and the power he has amassed throughout history, to finally conquer the world,” Rip explained. “I’ve been tasked with assembling an elite team to stop him.”
“How?” the blond woman asked.
“To travel through time. To capture Savage before he grows into the monster he becomes.”
“You’ve got the wrong guy,” the cold voice said and walked past all of them. “Hero isn’t on my resume.”
“Or mine,” the gruff voice agreed as he made to follow.
“I know it’s difficult for you to fathom, but where - when I’m from, the year 2166, you and everyone on this roof aren’t just considered heroes…you’re legends.”
“Legends?’ a man in a robotic suit asked, taking a few steps forward.
“I don’t mean to nitpick,” a white haired man said, “but doesn’t a legend have to be dead?”
“Do they, Mister Harris?” Rip asked.
Xander grinned. “No, they really don’t.”
“See, death is a deal breaker for me,” the young man said, “so I’m gonna pass.”
“It’s dangerous for any of you to know too much about your own futures,” Rip told them, “but I am here because each of you, as individuals, is destined for greatness.”
Xander frowned. It sounded like a hard sell.
“I could get behind that,” the robot man said.
“And, because if you don’t follow me, this is what is in store for your world 150 years from now,” Rip pointed a device at the sky.
A red window opened to completely take over their view of the night sky. The sky of the future was red, the buildings destroyed or crumbling.
“I could have chosen any time and any place,” Rip told them. “Of all the people who ever lived, I chose you nine.” He closed the glimpse into the future. “I certainly hope that you won’t let me, and the world, down. If your answer is yes, meet me at this address in thirty-six hours.” He handed the white haired man a card. Then he turned back to Xander, “If you decide to join me, Mister Harris, please let the Council know.” He stalked away. “I don’t need a Slayer on my ass in any century.”
88888888
Xander found a hotel nearby and pulled out his phone. He stared at the list of contacts.
Andrew, Buffy, Dawn, Faith, Giles, Robin, Willow. There were more, but his eyes kept getting pulled to these few, the ones who had walked out of the Hellmouth with him thirteen years before. Together with a handful of Potentials-turned-Slayers, they had worked to create a new Council. One focused on the girls, thousands of them.
But they would worry, they would want to investigate or talk him out of it.
He scrolled up and down through his phone’s contacts a few more times before finally pressing a name. Tapping the call button, he sighed and brought it to his ear.
The phone was answered on the fourth ring.
“Are they okay?” the familiar accented voice asked.
“This isn’t about Buffy or Dawn,” Xander replied, his lips quirked, “for once.”
There was a moment of silence. “I’m likely to keel over from shock, Harris.”
“Did something happen to Buffy?” another voice asked from the background.
“Chill, Peaches, seems to be a social call,” Spike told the voice. There was a slight change in the audio, letting Xander know Spike had put him on speaker.
Xander sighed. “Do either of you know of someone named Rip Hunter?”
“Can’t say as I do,” Spike replied slowly. “Gramps?”
There was a beat before Angel replied, “No. What’s this about, Xander?”
“I’m leaving,” he said, surprising himself, he had not consciously made up his mind. “I don’t know if I’ll be gone for six hours or six months, but I needed someone to know.”
He could almost imagine their stunned expressions on the other side of the phone.
“Where are you going?” Spike asked. “Back to Africa?”
“No. I don’t know where exactly, but I’m going with Hunter.”
“Why tell us?” Angel asked.
“Because…” he paused trying to figure out why he had chosen to call Spike over his friends, “Spike knows what it’s like to feel useless and the power that comes from realizing you can still fight.”
“You’re human, Harris,” Spike reminded him.
“Which isn’t what this is about,” he told them. “This is about the fight, about something bigger than sitting in an office wondering if my knees are going to survive the trip to the kitchens or another sparring lesson with a mini-Slayer.”
“Are you putting yourself in danger?” Angel demanded.
“Probably,” he admitted.
“But you’re not going alone,” Spike guessed.
“No, there are ten of us.” He used his free hand to rub his cheekbone, adjusting his patch. “I am going to let the Council know I’m leaving.”
“Just not the truth?” Spike said.
“No. Just a leave of absence, probably back to Africa or maybe India. But I figured someone should know the truth in case Hunter contacts the Council.” Xander cleared his throat. “Someone who can keep a secret.”
There was a long silence. He could almost imagine Spike and Angel having one of their famous staring matches, raised eyebrows and grimaced expressions, seeming to communicate telepathically.
At last Spike spoke, “We’ll keep your secret, Harris.”
“But we won’t lie to Buffy,” Angel cut in. “If she asks what we know, we’ll tell her.”
Spike laughed. “Which is why he called me, Peaches, I’m the last person anyone would ask on his whereabouts.”
Xander grinned. “Thank you.”
“Have fun,” Spike said as Angel shouted, “Be careful!”
The line went dead.
He stared at the phone for a moment before opening his e-mail and drafting a letter for the Council. It indicated a long sabbatical - which was not a direct lie. He mentioned visiting India and cultural study - hopefully not lies. He promised to be careful but advised he would not have access to e-mail or phone starting now, and they probably would not hear from him for a while. He read it twice, correcting his grammar, then sent it to the heads of the Council board.
Once it verified leaving his outbox, he powered off his phone.
Title: You Can Still Fight
Author: hermione2be
Rating: PG/FR13/K+
Crossover: BtVS/LoT
Disclaimer: I do not own any of BtVS/Angel or DC’s Legends of Tomorrow people, places, or ideas. This fiction is done simply for pleasure and I receive no profit.
Summary: Xander is asked to join Rip Hunter. No powers for Xander.
Notes: Zeppos, the Legends are Zeppos and I thought they needed another.
Seasons: Post-Series/Season 1 “Pilot”
Characters: Xander, Rip Hunter, Firestorm, Captain Cold, Heatwave, White Canary, Hawkgirl, Hawkman, Atom
Word Count: 1662
Xander Harris faced the wall of his Council office, staring blankly at a picture of Willow’s wedding. He blinked, bringing his best friend’s happy face into focus. He needed to get out of his office, but time had not been terribly kind to his body. At thirty-six he had suffered dozens of fractures, breaks, and wounds - most of which had been insufficiently treated, if at all.
He stood, trying to ignore the stiffness in his right knee. But it buckled slightly under him, he slapped his hand on the desk, barely maintaining his balance.
“Damnit,” he muttered. His left hand flew to his cheek, rubbing the calloused area his eye patch had worn over the years. “I can’t spend the rest of my life staring at these walls.”
“Perhaps I can help,” a voice said.
Xander only caught a glimpse of the man, before a bright light flashed and darkness claimed him.
88888888
His head ached, not just his missing eye, but his entire head felt like it was being compressed.
“Aah! What a headache!” a gruff male voice complained.
“Stein?” a younger male said in surprise.
“What the hell are you doing here?” a cold voice asked.
“I’m as ignorant as you,” an older male said, “for once.”
“Where are we?” a female voice asked.
Xander sat up, his hand covering his eye patch, trying to press the pain away.
“Why don’t you ask the dude who knocked us out and kidnapped us?” a young male voice demanded. “British dude with a flashy thing? Ring any bells?”
“Doesn’t quite feel like the ringing has stopped,” Xander complained.
“The name’s Rip Hunter,” a British accent made them all look up. Some jumped to their feet, prepared for a fight. “I’m from East London. Oh, and the future.”
Xander leveled his gaze at the man. He wore a brown trench coat, black boots, black pants, and leather jacket layered with a gray shirt. Various brown straps crossed his chest and his right thigh. Holsters. Xander’s brain supplied. The man’s red hair was parted to the side, he had a narrow beard and mustache.
“Nice to meet ya, Rip,” the gruff voice said. It came from one of two men with shaved heads. He raised a weapon, pointed it at Rip and pulled the trigger without hesitation.
“Uh, yes,” Rip gave them all a tight smile, “while you were incapacitated, I may have tampered with your weapons.” He gave them just a beat before continuing. “I’ve assembled you all because I need your help.”
The young black man next to Xander looked over to find him still sitting. He reached out a hand, offering assistance. Xander took it, glad the young man was strong enough to pull him upright as his knee was unstable. Once he was standing he leaned against the low ledge around the roof they were on.
“Thanks,” he said to the kid.
“The future of the world is in peril because of a man by the name of Vandal Savage,” Rip told them.
“That can’t be,” the male of a warrior looking couple said. “We destroyed him.”
“Yeah,” the female warrior said, “the Green Arrow and Flash helped us do it.”
“And therein lay the problem,” Rip said, “Unless you or Mister Hall deliver the blow, Savage can be restore from but a single cell.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” the gruff man demanded.
“Vandal is immortal,” Hall said. “Kendra and I reincarnate.”
“Yeah,” a blond woman said, “I’ve done that.”
Xander’s brain dug for something. “Vandal…” he said, “Was he in Egypt in 1996?”
Rip turned to Xander. “We don’t know all his movements.”
“What’s this got to do with us?” the gruff man said impatiently.
“In the future, he will employ the evil he’s perfected over his long life, and the power he has amassed throughout history, to finally conquer the world,” Rip explained. “I’ve been tasked with assembling an elite team to stop him.”
“How?” the blond woman asked.
“To travel through time. To capture Savage before he grows into the monster he becomes.”
“You’ve got the wrong guy,” the cold voice said and walked past all of them. “Hero isn’t on my resume.”
“Or mine,” the gruff voice agreed as he made to follow.
“I know it’s difficult for you to fathom, but where - when I’m from, the year 2166, you and everyone on this roof aren’t just considered heroes…you’re legends.”
“Legends?’ a man in a robotic suit asked, taking a few steps forward.
“I don’t mean to nitpick,” a white haired man said, “but doesn’t a legend have to be dead?”
“Do they, Mister Harris?” Rip asked.
Xander grinned. “No, they really don’t.”
“See, death is a deal breaker for me,” the young man said, “so I’m gonna pass.”
“It’s dangerous for any of you to know too much about your own futures,” Rip told them, “but I am here because each of you, as individuals, is destined for greatness.”
Xander frowned. It sounded like a hard sell.
“I could get behind that,” the robot man said.
“And, because if you don’t follow me, this is what is in store for your world 150 years from now,” Rip pointed a device at the sky.
A red window opened to completely take over their view of the night sky. The sky of the future was red, the buildings destroyed or crumbling.
“I could have chosen any time and any place,” Rip told them. “Of all the people who ever lived, I chose you nine.” He closed the glimpse into the future. “I certainly hope that you won’t let me, and the world, down. If your answer is yes, meet me at this address in thirty-six hours.” He handed the white haired man a card. Then he turned back to Xander, “If you decide to join me, Mister Harris, please let the Council know.” He stalked away. “I don’t need a Slayer on my ass in any century.”
88888888
Xander found a hotel nearby and pulled out his phone. He stared at the list of contacts.
Andrew, Buffy, Dawn, Faith, Giles, Robin, Willow. There were more, but his eyes kept getting pulled to these few, the ones who had walked out of the Hellmouth with him thirteen years before. Together with a handful of Potentials-turned-Slayers, they had worked to create a new Council. One focused on the girls, thousands of them.
But they would worry, they would want to investigate or talk him out of it.
He scrolled up and down through his phone’s contacts a few more times before finally pressing a name. Tapping the call button, he sighed and brought it to his ear.
The phone was answered on the fourth ring.
“Are they okay?” the familiar accented voice asked.
“This isn’t about Buffy or Dawn,” Xander replied, his lips quirked, “for once.”
There was a moment of silence. “I’m likely to keel over from shock, Harris.”
“Did something happen to Buffy?” another voice asked from the background.
“Chill, Peaches, seems to be a social call,” Spike told the voice. There was a slight change in the audio, letting Xander know Spike had put him on speaker.
Xander sighed. “Do either of you know of someone named Rip Hunter?”
“Can’t say as I do,” Spike replied slowly. “Gramps?”
There was a beat before Angel replied, “No. What’s this about, Xander?”
“I’m leaving,” he said, surprising himself, he had not consciously made up his mind. “I don’t know if I’ll be gone for six hours or six months, but I needed someone to know.”
He could almost imagine their stunned expressions on the other side of the phone.
“Where are you going?” Spike asked. “Back to Africa?”
“No. I don’t know where exactly, but I’m going with Hunter.”
“Why tell us?” Angel asked.
“Because…” he paused trying to figure out why he had chosen to call Spike over his friends, “Spike knows what it’s like to feel useless and the power that comes from realizing you can still fight.”
“You’re human, Harris,” Spike reminded him.
“Which isn’t what this is about,” he told them. “This is about the fight, about something bigger than sitting in an office wondering if my knees are going to survive the trip to the kitchens or another sparring lesson with a mini-Slayer.”
“Are you putting yourself in danger?” Angel demanded.
“Probably,” he admitted.
“But you’re not going alone,” Spike guessed.
“No, there are ten of us.” He used his free hand to rub his cheekbone, adjusting his patch. “I am going to let the Council know I’m leaving.”
“Just not the truth?” Spike said.
“No. Just a leave of absence, probably back to Africa or maybe India. But I figured someone should know the truth in case Hunter contacts the Council.” Xander cleared his throat. “Someone who can keep a secret.”
There was a long silence. He could almost imagine Spike and Angel having one of their famous staring matches, raised eyebrows and grimaced expressions, seeming to communicate telepathically.
At last Spike spoke, “We’ll keep your secret, Harris.”
“But we won’t lie to Buffy,” Angel cut in. “If she asks what we know, we’ll tell her.”
Spike laughed. “Which is why he called me, Peaches, I’m the last person anyone would ask on his whereabouts.”
Xander grinned. “Thank you.”
“Have fun,” Spike said as Angel shouted, “Be careful!”
The line went dead.
He stared at the phone for a moment before opening his e-mail and drafting a letter for the Council. It indicated a long sabbatical - which was not a direct lie. He mentioned visiting India and cultural study - hopefully not lies. He promised to be careful but advised he would not have access to e-mail or phone starting now, and they probably would not hear from him for a while. He read it twice, correcting his grammar, then sent it to the heads of the Council board.
Once it verified leaving his outbox, he powered off his phone.