FF: The Tumbleweed Chronicles (1/?)

[Zephyr <winter_herald@xxxxxxxxx>]

Title: The Tumbleweed Chronicles (1/?)
Author: Zephyr (winter_herald@xxxxxxxxx)
Summary: Buffy and Willow go on a road trip through the desert. AU after
season 4.
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Love it.
Archiving: If you want it. Just let me know so I can go see.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns Buffy, the show and its characters. But the
big blob of blackness is mine.

The Tumbleweed Chronicles - Chapter 1

* * *

I'm hot. We're cruising down the Interstate and the wind is blowing on my
face from the open window, but I'm still hot. It probably has something to
do with the big, bright sun hanging in the sky, happily gloating about the
complete lack of cloud cover. Hello, sun, nice to meet you. Maybe we can
see each other again -- some other time. No? Okay then, stick
around. See if I care.

I'm hot.

I've been watching sand and scrub whiz past for miles; occasionally,
there's one of those little trees that's just slightly higher than a
bush. Maybe they are bushes. We're somewhere in the middle of the Mojave
desert, doing about... wait a minute.

"Buffy," I say, "don't you think you're going a little fast?"

"My driving has been getting better, Will," she says. She doesn't look
over at me, which in this case is a plus. "And we're in the middle of the
desert. This is one of the few places in the country where you can go
really, really fast and get away with it. They do it in all the
movies." She sounds pretty satisfied with that little twist of logic, but
I have to disagree.

"Still, Buffy, I think eighty is pushing it."

"What? I'm not doing... you're just reading the kilometer scale...
oh." She finally looks down at the dash and reads it for herself. Then
she slows down. A bit. "Is that better Will?"

"Yeah. I guess." I sink down in my seat a little. I don't know how Buffy
convinced her mother to let us take her Jeep. Especially considering that
the last time she was behind the wheel, Buffy got into a not-quite-fatal
collision. Of course, that was because the other driver was chowing down
on nasty cursed band candy, but parents have a tendency to forget such
things when their children and damaged personal property are involved.

Still, we got the Jeep.

And we completely, totally, utterly forgot sunglasses.

I tear my gaze away from the oh-so-interesting succession of sand, shrubs,
trees, sand, and more shrubs, and start Buffy-watching. She has her eyes
fixed on the road, which for her is an accomplishment. Okay, that was
mean, but I don't have any desire to go off the road at... oh, look, she's
only going seventy now. It's a good thing the road is so
straight. Looking at the desert scrub brush may be boring, but tearing
through it would probably be a very bad kind of not boring.

Buffy is hot too. And I mean that in a temperature way. Not that she
isn't hot in a gorgeous way, but I really shouldn't think about my friend
like... which isn't to deny it, just... maybe I should start over.

I think she must be, though. Hot. She's wearing the black leather jacket
she gets out every so often, over a white tank top and beige shorts. I
don't know how she can wear a jacket in this heat, but she does. At least
she can hang her arm out the window without the doorframe burning a hole
through it. Ouch, hot metal.

I watch Buffy. Buffy watches the road. Things are of the good.

"Willow," she says, "could I have some more raisins?"

I smile as I bend over and root around in our day-pack. I don't know where
Buffy's obsession with raisins came from. She hardly ever mentioned them
until just recently, but now she can't get enough of them. She keeps going
on about how they're the California state fruit or something. I'm not so
sure about that, but she insisted. I couldn't bring myself to argue.

"Here," I say as I pass her a handful. "But if you're going to be eating,
couldn't you slow down a little more?"

"I can drive one-handed," she assures me. "I've been practicing. A
little." She scarfs down the raisins, then mischievously licks her
palm. I have to smile. She's been acting awfully cute ever since summer
began. Like a little teddy bear. Except that teddy bears don't lick their
palms, because their fur would get all wet, and they don't really have
tongues that can lick things. Okay, the teddy bear was a bad analogy. But
she's still cute. So there.

She's glancing over at me now. No, Buffy, eyes on the road, eyes on the
road! Oh, well, we're not careening off into the bushes, so I guess it's
okay. For now.

"What're you looking at?" she says, with that little half-smirk I remember
so well from high school. She's cheerful about getting away from
Sunnydale, I can tell.

"Not the road," I respond. "So that makes two of us."

She rolls her eyes at me, but she fastens them back on the highway in front
of us. How much farther do we have to go? I think I saw a mile marker,
but it went by too fast to read. I scrunch down in my seat some more.

Suddenly, I feel the Jeep slow down, fast. I'm pressed against my seat
belt, and as I look ahead of us to see what's going on, my eyes see only
darkness. My heart starts to pound. I make sure my hands aren't between
me and the airbag, and I try slide into a more upright position so that I
don't go flying the wrong way if we crash. My hair starts blowing around
into my eyes, and I shake my head to clear them but that only makes it
worse. I can't see a thing now, so I close my eyes and brace myself.

We stop.

Seconds tick by.

Which is weird, since the clock in the car is digital, but I swear I can
still hear them tick.

"Will? Wakey, wakey." Buffy's voice is still light, but tinged with
concern. I open my eyes and look over at her to let her know I'm
okay. "All Willow-parts accounted for?" she asks, and I nod.

We both turn back to face the road, and stare. I'm the first to say it.

"What... is that?"

"Well, as Giles might say," Buffy responds, "it appears to be a large-scale
manifestation of darkness in an otherwise typically illuminated area." She
does a fairly close imitation of Giles' accent, and I try not to
giggle. She's really having way too much fun with this.

"In other words," I say, feeling strange to be the one phrasing things
plainly for a change, "it's a big blob of nighttime in the middle of the
daytime." Buffy nods enthusiastically. Way too much fun.

But that's what it is. Behind us, the sun is casting down big, bold rays
of sunshine. Ahead of us, everything is as dark as a starlit night, only
without the stars. There are no clouds, it's just... dark. My eyes are
adjusting slowly. Other than the sudden lack of light, the road ahead of
us looks the same as the road behind us.

"Guess we don't need the sunglasses after all," Buffy quips. I can only glare.

"Maybe," I say, "if we just keep on going, it won't last." That was
probably a mistake. I don't really want to go through it. It's just not
right. And it's wrong.

"Yee-haa!" Buffy yells, and I find myself pressed back into my seat as we
accelerate. I make a silent promise to myself not to look at the
speedometer. At all. So I find myself with my eyes glued straight ahead
as we speed forward into the dark.

* * *

We've been inside this dark cloud for an hour now. All these shadows, with
the overhanging sense of the supernatural, reminds me of graveyards. I
don't see any headstones... yet. Buffy doesn't seem to mind the
dark. With her Slayer bonuses, she can probably see just fine.

"Buffy," I say, breaking the silence. "It's seven thirty. Maybe we should
think about stopping somewhere soon?"

"Hmm, good idea Will," she says. "The last exit I saw was a ways back;
there should be one coming up soon enough."

And that's it for now. We settle back into silence, and I try to practice
the relaxation techniques I've been working on. They're good for doing
magic, and getting in touch with the world around you, and right now I'm
sensing... darkness. Surrounding, smothering darkness. Whatever this is,
it's definitely magical, and I don't like it. It feels a little like
standing up after lounging on the couch all evening, all tingly and
weird. Finally I can't take it anymore, so I open my eyes and try to shake
it off.

"Buffy?" I say, and some of what I'm feeling must have come through,
because she gives me another concerned glance. And she actually slows down.

"Yeah Wills? You all right?"

"I'm okay, yeah," I respond. "I'm just... I don't like... it's
stupid." I'm back to staring out the window now, a faint blush crawling up
my cheeks. This shouldn't be worrying me. We do this sort of thing all
the time back in Sunnydale. It's just darkness, even if it is
supernatural. And I'm here with Buffy, my protector, right next to me.

"You're never stupid, Will," she says softly. I turn and meet her
eyes. The twilight is falling in just the right way to make them glow a
bit, like a cat's, but deeper green. "I've been inattentive-Buffy, haven't
I?" she continues. I nod, just a little. I can't help myself. "I'm
sorry, Will. Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Well," I say, "you seemed like you were having fun with the whole
it's-night-even-though-it's-not situation."

"It keeps the sun off our backs," she jokes, and I grin back. It's
certainly cooler here. It's still hot, but not nearly as hot as it was out
in the open desert.

"All right, I'll give you that one," I say. "But aren't you just a little
worried about where this is coming from? If Giles were here..."

"Giles isn't here. And this isn't the small town of Sunnydale. It's the
middle of a huge, expansive, gigantically big desert. At night. Sort
of. Whatever's causing this could be anywhere." She looks over at me
again and smiles softly. "Tell you what, if you want I'll call Giles when
we get to a place to stay. He can be remote-research guy."

"Okay," I say. Really, I should have said something earlier. She's being
so agreeable. She's being... Buffy. She only listens to Giles on
occasion, but when it comes to good old Willow...

For the first time since we came to a screeching halt outside a big blob of
blackness, I feel completely safe.

Then Buffy slams on the brakes again. This had better be good.

When the dust settles, we're once again stopped in the middle of
nowhere. I try to peek through the windshield over the hood and see if
there's anything in the headlights.

"Is there something out there?" I whisper, as terrifying visions start to
dance through my head. It could be some sort of darkness-generating
monster with horns. Or a darkness-habitating creature with
horns. Possibly tentacles.

"No," she says. "I missed the exit." I look over at Buffy with an
incredulous expression, but her grin snatches away any possible
reproach. When she smiles, it seems to light up the room, and I can't help
myself glancing around to see if the darkness around us has been pushed back.

"Maybe tomorrow I should drive," I say. Still grinning, she puts her foot
back on the gas pedal and spins us into a U-turn. I shake my head at her
seemingly reckless driving, but something tells me she'll get us where
we're going in one piece. She always does.

* * *

We reach the exit without further incident, and in a couple of miles we
reach a small town. Scrub Valley. Unincorporated. Population 592. Can't
forget the 2. The other 590 wouldn't be the same without them.

As we drive into the town -- thankfully, Buffy slows down to a reasonable
town speed first -- I notice that the streets are empty. A few cars are
parked here and there, but this apparently isn't a town with a lot of night
life. Considering they don't live on a Hellmouth, the sudden darkness must
have put a scare into the people here.

With dusty streets and the occasional tumbleweed drifting by, Scrub Valley
looks like a town from a western flick. Except for the cars... and the
big, flickering neon sign in front of us, which reads, simply,
"Motel." How original. Buffy finds a parking space. She slides the Jeep
into it, and we both get out. I notice her casting a glance over the doors
to make sure they're locked. We pop the trunk and grab our bags, then go
inside the motel.

The lobby is nothing fancy. It's illuminated by a couple of dim ceiling
lights with more dead bugs in them than watts. There's a very, very fake
oriental rug on the wooden floor. A few chairs sit in the corner, along
with a half-dead potted plant I can't quite identify. I don't even see the
almost obligatory stand full of brochures and pamphlets that you would find
at any respectable hotel.

Buffy walks over to the counter, and I follow. As we approach a man stands
up behind it and puts aside a book. It's hard to describe him, except that
he matches the rest of the decor perfectly. Though some brochures might
bring out what color there is in his dark little eyes. He rubs a hand over
his greasy hair, which looks like it was slicked back with excess sweat.

"Hello, young ladies," he says, in a tone that suggests he isn't used to
dealing with ladies at all. "What can I do you for?" Oh, now that's original.

"We need a room for one night," Buffy says. Straight to the point. I
don't think she likes him any more than I do. Though maybe we're doing him
an injustice. He could be a perfectly nice gentleman, forced through
circumstance to-

"Sure. Need any... company?"

Scratch that. He's a jerk.

"I got all the company I need," she says in a lethal tone, leaning over the
counter slightly. I start to blush, before I notice the guy isn't looking
at me. He's looking at the pocket Buffy is patting. There's probably
nothing in it, but he doesn't have to know that. And Buffy could take him
out with her bare hands, anyway.

"Sure, sure, whatever you say," he drawls. "That'll be forty, up front."

Wordlessly, Buffy pulls out two twenties and slaps them on the table, not
letting go of them until the greasy man pulls a key off its hook and hands
it to her. It looks like there are about twenty rooms, and half of the
keys have been taken down. Funny, it doesn't seem like that many people
could be here.

"Down the hall on your left," he says.

"Thanks," Buffy drawls right back at him, and we head down the hall. Buffy
flips the key around in her hand to get a look at the room number, and
stops when we reach room 3. She sticks the key in the lock and twists,
then pushes the door open and steps inside.

The first thing I notice about the room is that it's small. The second
thing is that there's only one bed.

"Um, Buffy?" I say. "There's only one bed." She probably noticed already,
but I thought I'd mention it.

"Guess we bunk together then," she says. "I'm not sleeping on the floor in
this place, anyway."

I look at the floor. Neither am I.

"Dibs on the left side!" I say, and hop across the room with the intention
of jumping onto the mattress. I'm stopped by a gentle but firm hand on my
shoulder.

"Willow," Buffy says, sweet as sugar. "Do you want to have a bed left to
sleep in tonight?"

I look down. Right. No jumping.

"No jumping," I confirm, as Buffy still hasn't taken her hand off my
shoulder. She shakes herself slightly before patting me lightly and
crawling onto her side of the bed. Now my shoulder is all tingly. I sit
down next to her.

"Wanna see what's on?" she asks, and I notice for the first time that
there's a television in the room. In my defense, it's easy to
overlook. It looks like one of the little TV sets they use for security
cameras in gas stations. After a long day on the road, I'm tempted, but I
just remembered something.

"We should call Giles first." I point to the phone on a little -- emphasis
on little -- table by the bed. Buffy pouts, but I keep pointing and she
complies.

The talk with Giles is short. He's glad we're okay, if somewhat concerned
about the strange region of darkness. It's made the regional news, and the
authorities are blaming it on a soot cloud. I get the feeling that Giles
thinks having the Slayer in the middle of it might be a good thing, though
of course he'd never, ever say it in so many words. He promises to look
into the matter, and we all say goodnight.

Then Buffy turns to me with a grin. "Now do you want to see what's on?"

She's incorrigible.

After hopping through the available channels -- all eight of them, whoopee
-- we finally settle on an old martial arts flick. Some guy with a really
badly dubbed voice is wiping the floor with about ten other guys, and doing
that thing with the umbrella. I could swear we've seen the movie before,
but Buffy doesn't mind and neither do I. Her, because she has so much fun
complaining about how unrealistic martial arts flicks are; me, because I'm
mostly watching her.

She's beautiful. The words "cute," "adorable," and even "amusing" pass
through my head as she complains about yet another punch, and shows the
actors how it should be done. Hey, don't rock the bed, Buffy. And they're
all true. But the one I finally settle on is beautiful.

I finally tear my gaze away from her, as the word "involved" comes up. It
is followed closely by "Riley." I should never have helped him! I should
never have told him she likes cheese! It might have been the deciding
factor in the formation of their relationship.

Oh, who am I kidding.

She's my best friend. Has been since the day I met her, way back in the
high school on the Hellmouth. She's quite happily involved. With a
guy. And with much kissage, I might add.

But even if I can't tell her, I should at least be honest with myself,
right? That's what they always say... at least, I'm sure someone says it,
and possibly often.

I'm in love with Buffy.

There, that feels better, right? No. Because I can't say it to the one
person I most want to say it to. The one person I most want.

Shut up, brain.

The movie is over now. Buffy flicks the off switch on the remote and sets
it on the table. She turns to me, and gives me another one of her patented
light-up-the-room grins, and for a moment everything is perfectly all right.

"Willow? Is everything all right?" she asks, the smile fading. Maybe it
doesn't look like it. So I smile back at her. I put everything into it,
and I make it reach my eyes. It's meant as a best friend smile; I can do
that. She tilts her head and gazes at me for a moment, and I wonder if
I've gone too far. But then she smiles again and says one word.

"Pajamas?"

Whoo boy.

I dig mine out of my suitcase and change in the corner. Somehow, I manage
to make it into my pajamas without thinking about... without
thinking. When I turn around, Buffy is already changed. This is a good
thing. But it's not her usual fluffy faire. It's black silk, just a bit
tighter than normal in all the right... wrong places. I look down at my
sushi pajamas and sigh. Buffy just smiles and says, "C'mon Wills, to bed
with you."

I readily follow her, and soon we're not-quite-snuggled under the
sheets. I stick to my side of the bed, and she sticks to hers, and soon
enough I feel myself start to drift off. Behind the curtains, I can see
only darkness. Which is natural now, since it's nighttime and all, but I
can't help but be reminded of what we just drove into the middle of. What
are we doing here? This isn't what I imagined when Buffy said we were
going to Las Vegas. But I guess this is what's here. Before I fall asleep
completely, I think I hear a voice beside me.

"I love you Willow."

Probably just a dream.

* * *


Zephyr

"Don't worry, Will, you still wear the smarty-pants in the family."
-Buffy, in "Out of My Mind"


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