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buffyfic-digest       Monday, September 21 1998       Volume 02 : Number 329



In this issue:

       BUFFYFIC: Xander's Incredible Journey (6a/?)
       BUFFYFIC: Xander's Incredible Journey (6b/?)

See the end of the digest for information on (un)subscribing to the buffyfic
or buffyfic-digest mailing lists and on how to retrieve back issues.

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Date: Mon, 21 Sep 1998 20:06:49 PDT
From: "Cutter Kinseeker" <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: Xander's Incredible Journey (6a/?)

Okay, this is the third time I've tried to post this, and every time it
gets bounced. This go-round, I've broken the chapter up into three parts
instead of two. I hope it works!


TITLE: "Xander's Incredible Journey"
AUTHOR: Cutter Kinseeker
E-MAIL: [e-mail]
FEEDBACK: Yes! Yes! Yes! Tell me what you think, but constructive
criticism only please. No "it sucks" type messages.
DISTRIBUTION: Ask me first.
RATING: Mostly PG-13 for language and adult themes. A couple of parts
will be R.
DESCRIPTION: In the aftermath of "Becoming," Xander sets out after Buffy
and winds up "becoming" in his own right. Xander and Cordelia track
Buffy's trail to Bakersfield, where they learn a terrible truth and make
a new friend.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own jack. Correction--jack's probably the only thing
I do own. The rest belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the Frog
Network.
SPOILERS: Everything up to "Becoming".

S   S
P   P
O   A
I   C
L   E
E
R


Chapter Six
It's a Long, Hard Road Out of [the] Hell[mouth]


Except from the audio journal of Alexander LaVelle Harris:

    "Bakersfield was a bust in the sense that Buffy wasn't there, but at
least we managed to pick up a trail. Buffy turned her credit cards into
cash at about half a dozen ATM machines near the bus terminal. As far as
confirmation goes, we called Willow and got her to track the
transaction--not to mention a police report about an attempted mugger
winding up in the hospital with seven broken bones, a concussion, and
numerous small cuts and scrapes. Says that a 'cheerleader with blond
hair' beat the hell out of him when he tried to hold her up; serves him
right, and if that isn't Buffy, I don't know who else it could be.
    "From the times we got out of Willow's little online venture, we can't
have missed her by more than a few days. From Sunnydale to Bakersfield
by Greyhound bus takes a little over fifteen hours, plus the time we
spent debating over whether or not she had left at all. If she left the
night she killed Angel, that would give her a five-day head start; if it
was the day after, it's only four. Either way, I'm pretty confident that
Cordy's sports car can catch up with a slow-moving bus. The big problem
is figuring out which bus she took; the Greyhound people don't keep
accurate records of cash transactions, and after Bakersfield, there
won't be any paper trail to follow.
    "Another problem, of course, is sleeping arrangements. Even in some
sort of staggered sleeping pattern, me and Cordy wouldn't be able to
keep driving all the time... well, Cordy less than me, since she doesn't
know how to sleep in a moving vehicle. So that means that we're gonna
have to stop every night and find some sort of acceptable place to
sleep--acceptable to Cordelia, that is. And since Cordelia lied to her
parents about where she is, she had to turn one of her cards into quick
cash, too, and hope that they don't get the statement until after we get
back. For those of you in our studio audience, that means that we're on
a budget.
    "The idea gives me a wiggins. And I'm still trying to decide how I feel
about having to share a room with Cordelia. Yes, you heard right, since
we're on a... brrr... budget, I have to share a motel room with the
Cordelia Monster. I wonder how I'm ever going to live this down when we
get back to Sunnydale; I wonder how I'm going to live *through* it now.
Tonight is the first time we get to experience the joy of sleeping in
the same bedroom... Wait, that doesn't sound right; I should probably go
back and delete it... Anyway, hopefully, we won't have to do this very
often.
    "And if she snores, I will not be held responsible for my actions.
    "End journal entry for May 25, 1998, and it looks like about 5:30 PM."

***

    "Are you about done with that stupid audio thingie," yelled Cordelia
from across the Motel 6 parking lot. She began to stalk angrily towards
her boyfriend, drawing a harsh diagonal from the office to her sports
car, blatantly ignoring incoming traffic and moving vehicles. Xander
sighed, made sure that the mini-recorder was turned off, and chucked it
in his backpack.
    "Yeah, Cordy," he said with a rueful grin, "I'm done now."
    "I still don't see why you won't let me hear what's on those tapes you
carry around with you," she said testily. *Actually*, she thought, *I
know exactly what you're talking about--you're mooning over your
precious Buffy and complaining about me.* She supposed that she couldn't
blame him, really; habit was a hard thing to break, and he had hated her
for most of his life. Even dating her couldn't make him reshape his
habits and beliefs overnight. It was just the speed of his adjustment
that bothered her; he may be slow, but he wasn't normally this
slow--unless he wanted to be.
    "We all set?" asked Xander, attempting to derail what looked like the
beginnings of fury on Cordy's face.
    "Yeah. I got the manager to give me a single for the night."
    "A single? What about me?" Xander queried in half-hearted outrage.
    "You can sleep on the floor or something." She looked at the stunned
expression on her boyfriend's face. "Don't look like that; a single's
the cheapest thing they have, and we *are* on a budget, you know."
    "The 'B'-word again," Xander muttered darkly.
    "Besides," Cordelia continued, oblivious to his utterance, "he thinks
I'm traveling alone. How could I tell him that I have a guy waiting out
in my car that's going to spend the night in my room? Do you realize
what he'd think?"
    "Cordy, what does it matter what the manager thinks? We're never going
to see him again!" Cordelia looked at him, a slight moue of disdain
painted on her already-painted face.
    "Unlike *some* people," she stated archly, "I care what people think
about me."
    "And look where that got you: zapped by an evil witch, beaten up by an
invisible girl, almost chopped up for spare parts by a dead
ex-boyfriend, nearly eaten by a giant demon-snake in a frat
house--should I go on?"
    "Please don't," she said, somewhat abashed. "Let's just pull around to
the other side and get settled in. We've been driving all day, and I
need a shower and a change." Xander leaned in and sniffed lightly at her
hair.
    "A shower is most definitely called for," he informed her with a grin.
"But you, change? Never happen." To counterpoint his words, he gave her
a quick peck on the cheek and slid across the hood of her car to the
passenger's side. "We moving or not?" he asked as Cordelia continued to
stand in front of the car, unmoving.
    "Yeah, sure." Cordelia shook her head in wonder as she got behind the
wheel. After a decade of being his worst enemy, a year of being his
friend, and a few months of being his girl, she still doubted that she
would ever understand Xander Harris. *And maybe*, she mused, *it's
better that way*.

***

    The Carlsons were not having a good vacation.
    Setting out from their Nevada home in their ancient, bedraggled
Winnebago, they had intended to be at their destination--Anaheim,
California, home of the Giant Rat--almost two days ago. Bad weather and
worse driving conditions had pushed their estimated time of arrival back
over and over, until they were counting their lucky stars that they had
made it to the state they were headed to, let alone the city. With any
luck, they would be in Anaheim by tomorrow; after all, Bakersfield was
just a hop, skip, and a jump from there.
    The oldest of the Carlson children was lounging in her Winnebago bunk,
contemplating all of the events of the last half-week; at the very
least, this would be a vacation all four siblings would remember. On
their way out of the driveway, they had blown a tire on a chunk of metal
so twisted that they couldn't even discern its original function,
pushing their departure back by a full day. As far as Jack, the youngest
of them, was concerned it was a sign--if not from God, then from someone
He knew pretty well. Jack was too young to leave at home alone, but just
old enough to complain about family trips. His twin sister, Jill, older
by less than two minutes, kept haranguing him about his lack of
maturity; in truth, she just wanted a chance to worship at the altar of
the Mouse-Ears.
    The next day had been a terrible one on which to start a trip of any
sort, but Miles Carlson, the patriarch of the family, was something of a
trooper and insisted on pushing forward--full speed ahead and damn the
dust storm. While his wife of twenty years, Emily, shared the concern of
her children and the radio weathermen for the serious nature of the
storm, she had always been preternaturally supportive of her husband and
certainly wasn't about to desert him on their first real vacation since
the twins had been born, eight years ago. It had been her idea to name
them Jackson and Gillian, but it took her husband's quirky sense of
humor to catch the joke; for as long as they could remember, the twins
had been Jack and Jill.
    For the next couple of days, the road seemed to be populated by a
combination of weather-maddened drivers and simply careless ones. A
series of near-misses, cut-offs, enraged motorists, and minor engine
complaints had caused them to lose nearly another full day of traveling
time. Kurt, the stereotypical middle child, had declared that the entire
trip was cursed and they were better off turning back while they still
had the chance. They were just snotty words from a snotty child, but
they would all have cause to remember them later on.
    At long last, they had entered the sunny state of California, except
that the state didn't seem all that sunny. In fact, it seemed decidedly
dreary, with low-hanging storm clouds that threatened to burst forth
with their wet cargo. The hours they had lost in fighting both weather
and the traffic caught up to them in Bakersfield, where it was decided
that they could afford--indeed, needed--to hole up in a motel for the
night. It would give them a chance to separate for a little while, spend
some time apart before they started the actual vacation, stretch their
legs after three days in a cramped Winnebago. The truly ironic thing was
that Bakersfield hadn't been on their itinerary at all; a wrong turn-off
on one of the interstates had caused them to approach Anaheim at a wide
parabola, cutting a path through rarely-seen areas of California.
    Weary beyond most senses of the word, with a short fuse from all of the
infighting among his children, Miles Carlson stopped at the first place
that happened to cross his path--the Bakersfield Motel 6. Even here,
however, the "curse" of their vacation wouldn't seem to leave them
alone. A careless pedestrian stepped out in front of them in the parking
lot, and Miles had barely managed to miss both her and a potential
lawsuit. Cursing under his breath, he only just restrained his urge to
lean out of the window and vent some of his anger on the girl verbally.
Driving on, the girl was forgotten to Miles in moments.
    While the Winnebago idled, the oldest of the children started looking
out the window at her surroundings; if she was going to spend the night
here, she wanted the layout of the place beforehand. The girl who had
walked out in front of their hugely ugly recreational vehicle was still
in the parking lot, talking to a boy with a cast on his arm. *Strike
that*, thought Miles Carlson's oldest child, *she's putting that poor
boy through the wringer*. The girl in the parking lot was stunningly
beautiful, wearing a form-fitting dress that would be illegal in parts
of the country with more stringent public decency laws. Her
boyfriend--for surely no one else would put up with so much verbal
abuse--didn't have the girl's model-like good looks, but he had a casual
handsomeness about him and a disarming smile; his good humor was almost
infectious, even from this distance.
    As she so often was, the eldest Carlson child found herself wondering
about these people that she knew nothing about: Who were they? Where
were they going? What motivations drove them? Her mother had often told
her to mind her own business, but she found all too often that her
curiosity got the better of her; there were so many stories just begging
to be written, so many people to use as characters in those stories.
Even before their room was ready, the girl knew that she was going to
find these two and talk to them; there was just something about them
that demanded attention, as though they had a secret so big that you
could almost see it hovering around them like a halo. They would make
fascinating characters in a story, she was sure, or maybe even her
novel, which she hadn't even begun to write but knew was in her
somewhere. And someday, she would write down that novel and then
everyone would know her name.
    Stacy Carlson had always known she was destined for greatness.

***

    Xander did his absolute best to stay out of Cordelia's way as she
rummaged through her carry-on in search of something that wasn't so
wrinkled she would disown it, but in the end, it was his complete
ignorance of fashion that did him in. He quickly came to understand the
terrible pressure and stress on a guy whose girlfriend was trying to
pick out an outfit while he was in the room. The horrors that a member
of the "fairer sex"--especially one as fashion-minded as Cordelia--could
inflict on a fashion-blind male were legendary, but they could all be
summed up in one simple sentence, an interrogative so subtle that it
could almost be a genuine question instead of a test:
    "What do you think of this one?"
    After sitting through nearly half an hour of the interrogation, the
innuendo, the disparaging remarks about his fashion sense (or lack
thereof), Xander felt much like a survivor of the Titanic: adrift on a
turbulent, half-frozen sea, full of hazards and perils, except that the
sea was Cordelia's shifting, mercurial mood. He was casting about for
something, anything, that would pull him out of this situation when his
eyes lighted upon a small plastic bucket on the small sink outside the
bathroom.
    "Ice," he interjected quickly, apropos of nothing, putting in his
single utterance so quickly that Cordelia wasn't sure she had heard
correctly; she asked him to repeat. "We need ice. I just thought that
I'd find the machine while you take your shower and pick out your outfit
and everything. You realize," he added in false concern, sidling slowly
towards the bucket and trying not to make any sudden movements, "this is
a big place; I should start looking for the ice machine right now, and
it still might take me, oh, I don't know, an hour to find it. You know
how bad I am with directions, and navigation, and pretty much anything
that has to do with finding your way around someplace--did I ever tell
you that I got lost in my own house one time?" He reached out, snatched
the ice bucket, and darted for the door in a series of motions so fluid
and swift that Cordelia never had a chance to say anything--a true
rarity. "I'llbebackinalittlebitbye."
    And then he was gone.
    Cordelia just stood there a little while longer, shaking her head in
mild amazement that her plan had worked as well as she planned. Well,
not quite as well; she originally thought that Xander would crack in
less than fifteen minutes, but he had held out for almost twice as long.
She would make a note of that and file it away with all of her other
gimmicks and tricks. If she hadn't scared Xander off, she would have had
to change clothes and shower with only a thin wall between
them--practically in the same room, and Cordelia wasn't quite sure if
she could handle being nude that close to Xander yet. Hell, she couldn't
control their not-infrequent makeout sessions, and that was a lot
heavier than she had ever gotten with most of her boyfriends. At least
it had worked; Xander was so freaked out that he wouldn't be back for at
least thirty minutes, maybe even an hour. With that much time on her
hands, she could afford the luxury of a bath.
    Who said that Cordelia Chase couldn't be subtle?

***


ATTENTION: This is not the end of the chapter or even a major break in
the action. It is just where I had to make an awkward page break. The
second part of the chapter will be marked Chapter 6b.


Cutter Kinseeker
- -Chieftain of the Wolfriders
- -Holder of New Moon, artifact sword
- -Slayer of the dreaded beast Madcoil
- -Keeper of Xander's firm belief that he could take Angelus with the help
of a bunch of orderlies, cops, doctors, and nurses (KBD)
- -Keeper of Xander's derisive sneer at Angelus (KBD)
- -Keeper of Xander's jaunty stake-whittling tune ("School Hard")
- -Keeper of Willow's longing gaze at Xander while he talks about the
unattainable ("Some Assembly Required")
- -Keeper of Giles' masochistic need to spar with Buffy
- -Keeper of Cordelia's divine request for aspirin ("School Hard")
- -Keeper of Buffy's need for a warning label (KBD)

"AYOOOOOOOOAAAAAAHHH!!!!"
          --Cutter Kinseeker

"From famine to feast and back to famine again."
          --Skywise

Visit the Holt of Cutter Kinseeker
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Chamber/2234/


______________________________________________________
Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com

------------------------------

Date: Mon, 21 Sep 1998 20:09:41 PDT
From: "Cutter Kinseeker" <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: Xander's Incredible Journey (6b/?)

TITLE: "Xander's Incredible Journey"
AUTHOR: Cutter Kinseeker
E-MAIL: [e-mail]
FEEDBACK: Yes! Yes! Yes! Tell me what you think, but constructive
criticism only please. No "it sucks" type messages.
DISTRIBUTION: Ask me first.
RATING: Mostly PG-13 for language and adult themes. A couple of parts
will be R.
DESCRIPTION: In the aftermath of "Becoming," Xander sets out after Buffy
and winds up "becoming" in his own right. Xander and Cordelia track
Buffy's trail to Bakersfield, where they learn a terrible truth and make
a new friend. (This is part two of a three-part message.)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own jack. Correction--jack's probably the only thing
I do own. The rest belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the Frog
Network.
SPOILERS: Everything up to "Becoming".

S   S
P   P
O   A
I   C
L   E
E
R


Chapter Six
It's a Long, Hard Road Out of [the] Hell[mouth]

[section two]

***

    Xander leaned against the door of their room for long moments, catching
his breath and contemplating the "fate worse than death" from which he
had just escaped. When he returned to full awareness, he realized that
he was still grasping the plastic ice bucket in his good hand, holding
on to it as though it were a lifesaver and he were a drowning man. The
irony of being saved from the ice queen by an ice bucket was not lost on
him, and in other circumstances, he might have laughed out loud at it.
    Right now, he was just too busy being grateful to escape Cordelia's
grasping clutches.
    He began to walk away from the room, as much to clear his head as to
find the ice machine. After all this time with Cordelia, over a year of
fighting the forces of darkness together, and half of that as boyfriend
and girlfriend, he was still slightly intimidated by her. Of all of the
frightening things he had faced, few terrified him more than his
relationship with Cordelia Chase. He was never sure from one moment to
the next what her mood would be, and roughly half of their time with one
another was spent catering to her whims; the other half was evenly
divided between angry makeout sessions and incessant arguing,
interspersed with vampire slaying and monster hunts.
    Also, he was never sure from one moment to the next exactly how serious
their relationship was. Sometimes it felt like a really casual thing,
something that was just for the moment; every now and then, they would
be like a real couple, just walking and talking or doing nothing but
sharing comfortable silence, but those moments were few and far between;
and very rarely, he would half-sense a greater seriousness, something
that could--with a lot of work and time and effort from both of
them--become permanent. He just wasn't sure if he wanted it to be or
not; after all, he had admitted to himself, and all but admitted to
Cordelia, that he was deeply in love with Buffy and not with Cordelia.
    Xander shook his head; no, until he could resolve all of the problems
in his own life, he didn't need to contemplate adding Cordelia's to
them. And thoughts like these were better left for a time when they
weren't on some sort of life-and-death race against evil. Xander smiled;
if they waited until their lives weren't in danger, neither of them
would ever have a real relationship with anyone, let alone each other.
He was so busy wrestling with his own thoughts that he never noticed the
girl until he ran into her.
    They both reeled back from the force of the impact, and Xander's arm
jarred painfully. He dropped the ice bucket, and she dropped what looked
like a notebook and handful of pens and pencils. Xander started to
apologize, looked at her, looked at the scattered writing implements,
began his apology over, and bent down to pick up the lost objects as he
did so. Unfortunately, she had started to apologize as well, so that
their combined words became meaningless cacophony that degenerated into
embarrassed giggles; and as he bent over, she did as well, causing their
heads to collide with a resounding "thunk" reminiscent of a coconut
hitting a concrete floor. They both staggered back once more, again
trying to apologize over each other's voice. Finally, Xander gestured
for her to stand back and managed to recover everything without mangling
it too badly. He held the ice bucket gingerly between the thumb and
forefinger of his cast-encased hand and picked up her things with the
other.
    As he stood to hand her things back to her, he noticed her careful
scrutiny of him. Quickly and casually, he checked to make sure that his
fly was zipped; finding that it was, he started to wonder why she was
staring at him like she was. To defuse the tension he felt and to make
her break her close examination of him, he spouted out the first thing
that came to his mind.
    "You seem familiar. Have we run into each other somewhere before?" *Oh,
smooth, Harris, real smooth*. At least it was better than how he had
first greeted Buffy. To his amazement, the girl laughed out loud at his
line and clapped her hands lightly. Feeling more foolish than usual as
he did so, Xander took a slight bow and announced, "And the award for
most clichΘd line goes to... me! By the way, I'm Xander." He made to
offer her his good hand in greeting, then remembered that he was still
holding her things in it. He saved himself from further embarassment by
continuing through in the move and simply handing everything back to
her.
    "I'm Stacy," she said as she recovered her possessions. Xander took a
moment to evaluate her in much the same way she had done to him. As he
did so, it occurred to him that she might have been checking him out,
but he instantly dismissed it as a combination of wishful thinking and
hormones. He decided that she was probably pretty, but he admittedly
didn't have a lot of experience in checking out "real" girls; he was too
used to pining after girls he already knew. The desert-dark tan she
sported made her seem more exotic, even as it detracted from her beauty,
so he supposed it balanced out. Under the motel's flourescent lights her
hair looked dark blonde, but it was her eyes that really struck Xander.
As she moved, they almost shimmered, changing color like oil on water,
but that had to be an optical illusion. When she noticed his
observation, she had the good grace to blush slightly, though it hardly
showed through the tan.
    "And," she added, "I don't think the line was that clichΘd, certainly
not enough to win an award for it."
    "You must not get out often," Xander said good-naturedly.
    "Actually, no. I'm from New Mexico, a little town Skyview. They built
most of the place back in the early 40's as temporary housing for the
scientists involved in the Manhattan Project so they could commute back
and forth to Trinity. After the brains and military left, there were a
lot of civilians left in the area--shopkeepers, merchants, suppliers,
that sort of thing--and they just sort of stuck around. My grandad was a
technician at Trinity, and when he retired he came back to Skyview."
*Why am I telling him all this?* Stacy wondered to herself. *I came here
to question him, not tell him my life story*.
    "Trinity..." Xander muttered. "Why does that name sound familiar?"
    "It's where they detonated the first atom bomb," Stacy informed him.
After living in that area her whole life, she often forgot that many
people didn't remember Trinity.
    "And your grandfather was there?" Xander asked. Stacy nodded her head.
"Jeez... How terrible for him..." Noticing Stacy's confused look, he
continued. "What I mean is, how terrible to be part of something that
destructive and have to go along with it. I remember the Manhattan
Project from history class--it's actually one of the only things I do
remember, in fact--and even Einstein, who wrote the formula that made
the whole thing possible, thought it was a bad idea. Most of the other
scientists in it said the same thing after they realized what they were
doing had a real-life effect and wasn't just some mind game they were
playing around with at a MENSA dinner party."
    "I've never heard it put like that before," Stacy said thoughtfully.
"What was your grandfather doing around that time?"
    "Dodging the draft," he said automatically. "Actually, he called it
'advancing the cause of human knowledge' in his official protest to the
government, but they called his number anyway. Fortunately, he was out
of the country at the time, so they couldn't make him come back.
Unfortunately, he wound up getting stuck behind Nazi lines and had to
dress up like a harem girl for the better part of a year to avoid being
captured."
    Stacy burst out laughing at his story, clasped her hand over her mouth
to stop, and continued to giggle anyway, many of the giggles revealing
themselves as snorts and shuddering shoulders. Xander smiled his crooked
smile and said nothing. That was always the way he told other people the
story, because he knew it would get a laugh; the truth was a little more
complicated, but they didn't really have time for it right now. When she
finished laughing, she asked the question that had been on her mind
since his introduction.
    "Xander's an odd name. Is it a nickname or something?"
    "Sort of," he said with a slight grimace. "My parents named me
'Alexander', after a story my grandad used to tell my dad, but no one
except them calls me that anymore." Seeing the unspoken question in her
eyes, he continued. "When I was five, I met a girl named Willow, and we
became best friends--still are, really. She had a mild speech impediment
at the time, and she couldn't pronounce 'Alexander', so she shortened it
to just 'Xander'. After a while, that's how everyone knew me and the
only name I really answered to. Which is yet another sign of exactly how
clueless my parents are," he concluded.
    "Aren't everyone's parents clueless?" Stacy asked in a voice so
innocent he couldn't help but laugh. "My parents are pretty cool,
really, but sometimes they don't understand that they aren't my age
anymore."
    "I know how it feels. Rather, I would know how it feels if my parents
were ever around, or if they were a little more like other people's
parents. I don't even know what my dad does for a living; my mom either
for that matter." His good mood quickly turned introspective and glum;
it always did whenever his parents came up in a conversation. Sensing
this, Stacy moved quickly to derail the train of his thoughts.
    "Who's the girl you're with?" Xander jumped as if stuck with a pin. "I
saw the two of you come in together. Actually, my dad sort of almost ran
her over."
    "You were the people in the Winnie!" he said, snapping his fingers.
    "Yeah," Stacy replied, seemingly surprised. "How did you know?"
    "Well, a bunch of cars swerved to avoid Cordy, but the Winnie was the
only thing big enough to hold more than a couple of people, and somehow
I don't think you're old enough to drive anyway."
    "I'm fifteen," Stacy sniffed derisively, "and I'll be sixteen in
August."
    "I was just kidding," Xander said, holding his hands up as if to
deflect her anger. Noticing that he still held the ice bucket in his
hand, he started looking around. "Do you happen to know where the ice
machine is? I came out here to look for it when I, um, ran into you. And
if I'm not back soon, Cordy'll burn me at the stake. Assuming, of
course, she can find a stake to burn me at. Failing that, she'll resort
to strangling me with a designer belt, but I hope to be back long before
she starts picking out one that goes with my shoes, and is it just me,
or have I once again become a bibbling idiot?"
    Stacy seemed ready to make a reply, but before she could, a hideous
scream cut through the tranquil night. She half-turned, glancing over
her shoulder in the direction of the disturbance. As she did so, her
eyes became large as saucers and she paled visibly beneath the
desert-dark tan; her mouth fluttered to her mouth like a butterfly on
its way to her stomach, then dropped back to her side and clenched in a
fist.
    "That came from where we're at... Oh, God!" Ignoring Xander, she took
off towards the source of the sound, running as though the devil himself
were at her heels. She took no time whatsoever to think that it might
not be her family that was in trouble, or that even if it was, there was
little that she could do to help. All of these thoughts occurred to
Xander, passing through his mind in a blur, leaving a numbing calm in
their wake, before he decided on a course of action.
    He immediately turned and ran the other way as fast as he could.

***

    The door to the motel room burst open roughly, not as though it had
been broken down, but as though someone had not turned the key
completely before forcing it open. Cordelia let out a small shriek of
protest, then remembered her current state of dress--namely that she
wasn't--and covered herself with a  crude bedsheet toga. She prepared to
let whoever was entering have it with the first thing that came to hand,
a heavy (and tacky) lamp. She relaxed when she saw it was Xander, but
only slightly, not releasing her grip on the lamp; it was a long moment
before she decided not to hit him with it.
    She began to complain, but Xander was in and out of the room so fast
that he only had time to make one wisecrack: "Let's try to keep this
whole thing PG-13, huh, Cordy?" After that, he grabbed his natty
backpack and rushed out again. His speed confused and worried Cordelia;
normally Xander only moved this fast when there was free food in the
offing, or when he was... No, that was impossible, not here...
    Then a scream of mortal terror came through the half-open door, and she
realized that in this, as in so many other things, she was wrong.
Quickly, she dressed, completely ignoring all laws of fashion and even
neglecting the need for undergarments. If that scream was what she
thought it was, she wouldn't be much help, but she had to know: Was
there anyplace they could go that would be safe? Anyplace that would be
sane? Anyplace that didn't have monsters?
    And in the end, she wasn't sure which sort of monster would terrify her
more: a vampire, or one of the human variety.

***

    Xander rummaged through the backpack as he ran, a task that was made
harder by the fact that he only had one arm to work with. Finally, he
found what he was looking for and tucked it into the sleeve of his cast.
Grasping another object tightly, he threw the pack to one side; if he
survived, he could always pick it up later, and it wasn't as though
there were anything in it worth stealing.
    After what seemed an interminable amount of time, he arrived at the
rooms Stacy had indicated and found the first door he came to open. The
lights inside flickered and flashed, casting an eerie glow on the
sidewalk. Gathering all his courage and gripping his weapon tighter,
Xander walked forward, into the proverbial jaws of Hell.
    And Hell it seemed to be, for the sight that greeted his eyes was
certainly an incarnation of one of the tortures of the damned: when the
lights were on, the walls of the room were spattered with blood, seeming
almost to be a madman's idea of art nouveau; the carpet under his feet
was soaked in the stuff, squishing faintly as he walked; the air was
heavy with its foul, coppery stench, so that even when the lights went
off he was still aware of exactly where he was. *Oh, man... Stacy...*
    Xander was so keyed up that he very nearly screamed himself when he
heard the door reopen behind him.
    "God... what happened here?" asked Cordelia in a voice much smaller
than he had ever heard her use before. He looked over his shoulder at
her; she stood in the doorway, apparently unwilling to commit to the act
of crossing the threshold. Her eyes darted about the charnel pit in
terror, and she seemed quite ready to blow her lunch on the floor. *What
the hell?* thought Xander in a sort of panicky amusement. *It's not like
it can be stained any worse*. He almost laughed out loud at that, but
the only noise that came out was a sickly moan.
    His own eyes cast about, searching for anything left living in this
nightmare of blood and death. In one of the longer periods of
illumination, he finally sighted what looked like a woman's hand,
gripping the bedsheets of the farthest bed in a grasp so tight the
sheets were bunched together. He made his way there, being careful not
to trip; it wasn't what he might trip over that worried him, but what he
might land in. Finally, he made it to the other side of the bed. Groping
about in the dark, he found the woman's hand and checked for a pulse.
When the light came on again he saw that he shouldn't have bothered.
    The hand was intact and perfect, totally unblemished up to just below
the elbow. And there it simply stopped, ending in a ragged stump so neat
it appeared to have been cut with surgical precision. Xander dropped the
ghastly trophy as fast as he was capable and took an involuntary step
backwards. His mouth opened, but nothing came out, and he was left
standing there with his mouth open wide, looking for all the world like
a land-bound goldfish.
    And this time, when a hand touched his shoulder, he did scream.

***

    Cordelia entered the room gingerly, doing her best not to think about
where she was or what she was doing. She had become quite good at
repressing unpleasantness through the years, and this skill proved
invaluable under the circumstances. Focusing on shopping at Sach's,
having a cafΘ lattΘ *anywhere*, even at the Bronze where they never got
your order right--anything to avoid the realities of what was making
that sloshing-mud noise beneath her feet, that what was coating the
walls wasn't paint, that... She squashed the ideas before they could
fully form.
    Quietly, too quietly perhaps, she made her way to Xander, who seemed to
be moving to help someone. Seeing the look on his face after an
especially bright flash of the room's lights, she steadfastly refused to
look down, instead using Xander's face as a beacon. As far as metaphors
went, this one wasn't too bad; he was certainly pale enough to be a
beacon, and his dark eyes reflected the flickering lights mixed with a
sour revulsion and a pitiful expression of deflated hope. She reached
out and touched his shoulder to gain his attention.
    She almost screamed himself after he did.
    "Come on," she said frantically, "let's get out of here and call the
cops."
    "But what if it's-" he began, even as he walked toward the door with
her.
    "Don't even say it," she pleaded. "We're not in Sunnydale anymore, and
even if we were, it's not our job. And if it isn't... them... we could
be destroying evidence or something." Xander's eyes cleared slightly at
this, then hardened into the eyes of a soldier. With the calm demeanor
of a military officer, he responded to her.
    "Our first duty is to aid the survivors; that means checking the other
rooms. Then we secure the area and set up defensive fortifications.
Next..." He shook his head violently to clear it, and when he looked at
her again he seemed more pitiful than ever. "Cordy, a person didn't do
this. I- I just can't believe that a person could do this."
    "Whatever," she said in a doleful voice, "just stop channeling Patton
or whoever and come on!" Xander moved faster, forcing her to match pace
to keep up with him, but when they reached the door he turned left
instead of right.
    "What are you doing? Our room and the phone are this way!"
    "But the other rooms are this way," he replied calmly. His tone brooked
no argument, and when Cordelia showed the least resistance to his
movement, he shook her arm off of his and continued on. She sighed and
stood stock-still for a few moments, then moved to follow him, slowly at
first then almost as fast as him. He might be a fool, but he was her
fool.

***

ATTENTION: This is not the end of the chapter or even a major break in
the action. It is just where I had to make an awkward page break. The
final part of chapter six should be in the message marked Chapter 6c.


Cutter Kinseeker
- -Chieftain of the Wolfriders
- -Holder of New Moon, artifact sword
- -Slayer of the dreaded beast Madcoil
- -Keeper of Xander's firm belief that he could take Angelus with the help
of a bunch of orderlies, cops, doctors, and nurses (KBD)
- -Keeper of Xander's derisive sneer at Angelus (KBD)
- -Keeper of Xander's jaunty stake-whittling tune ("School Hard")
- -Keeper of Willow's longing gaze at Xander while he talks about the
unattainable ("Some Assembly Required")
- -Keeper of Giles' masochistic need to spar with Buffy
- -Keeper of Cordelia's divine request for aspirin ("School Hard")
- -Keeper of Buffy's need for a warning label (KBD)

"AYOOOOOOOOAAAAAAHHH!!!!"
          --Cutter Kinseeker

"From famine to feast and back to famine again."
          --Skywise

Visit the Holt of Cutter Kinseeker
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Chamber/2234/


______________________________________________________
Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com

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