FF: The Tumbleweed Chronicles (2/?)

[Zephyr <winter_herald@xxxxxxxxx>]

Title: The Tumbleweed Chronicles (2/?)
Author: Zephyr (winter_herald@xxxxxxxxx)
Summary: Buffy and Willow go on a road trip through the desert. AU after
season 4.
Rating: PG-13 / R
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
motel manager is mine.

The Tumbleweed Chronicles - Chapter 2

* * *

I awake slowly, cocooned in smooth sheets. I think I can feel a few
bedsprings digging into my right side, but I ignore them. It's like when
we're out camping in the woods, and a few rocks get left under the tent,
except that these are sharp and metal and we're in a bed, not a tent, and
there aren't any birds outside singing out the new day through fresh
morning air that's crisp and cold as glass.

"Ghnn," I say. It sounded so much more eloquent in my head. I shift a
little now, and feel the sheets slide over me. But there's something else,
a warmth hanging over my... oh. It's Buffy's arm, which seems to have
become wrapped around my waist as we slept. She's cuddled up behind
me. That's nice. Her hand is warm as it rests on my stomach. Maybe I'll
just stay here a while.

Ohmygod, what's happening why is Buffy's arm around me?

You know, I think I just woke up.

I try to nudge her arm away, but she just moans in her sleep and hugs me
tighter. This is bad. Not in an immediate sense, 'cause that's just
peachy, but in more of a potential, what-if-she-wakes-up kind of
way. She'll probably wonder what she's doing practically groping her best
friend. And then she'll forget about it, and it'll be as if nothing
happened at all.

So I'd rather it happened a bit longer right now.

I relax into the springy mattress as best I can and gently tug the sheet a
little higher over my neck. I let my breathing slow down again, and pretty
soon I'm deep in another of my mental exercises. I close my eyes, but it
doesn't matter. I can see the things around me with an even greater
clarity than eyes would allow. I'm a little surprised that the exercise
worked this quickly; it requires relaxation on a most basic level. It's
not the kind of thing that I can just turn on while I'm walking through the
park.

Extending my senses, I feel... Buffy. No big surprise there. Her presence
is comforting, as always. It should be terrifying, I guess; she is the
Slayer after all. But I've never found it so. Only the vampires and
demons do.

I've never told anyone what she looks like to me. I guess I wanted a
little something to myself. A bit greedy, perhaps. But she's beautiful,
utterly beautiful, and if I didn't know it before I know it whenever I look
at her like this.

Most people's auras look like a motley collection of colors. They aren't
really colors, not like the ones you see with your eyes, but it's easiest
to describe them that way. Most of the time, one will dominate, with the
others swirling around it like the rainbow hues in a puddle of spilled
motor oil. But Buffy's colors are pure. She's an eggshell of perfect
golden light, gold like her hair, wrapped around a core that shines like a
black pearl.

Like I said, it's beautiful. But some part of me knows it could be her
downfall. She's always had trouble accepting the dark side of her, the
part brought out most by the Slayer. It scares her, makes her afraid of
what she is and what she can do, and she wraps it in gold because she
thinks she needs to protect people from it. But from what she told me of
the dream the First Slayer gave her, she may soon need it.

Outside is still darkness, both literal and mystical. It isn't giving me
as much of a headache as it did before, but it still makes me
uncomfortable. I huddle closer to Buffy, and now I hope she'll wake up
soon. But I can't leave because, well, arm-wrappage. And she's the
Slayer, so it's not like I could get out of bed without her noticing in
this position. Maybe if I just lie here a while and pretend to be
sleeping, she'll wake up on her own, and she'll roll over and it won't come
up in conversation.

Of course, this idea is from the same brain that earlier suggested driving
straight into the middle of a big cloud of darkness. But it's worth a try,
and I really can't think of anything else with Buffy's warm, soft... shut
up, Rosenberg. Just shut up.

So I settle down and wait. The "warm" and the "soft" that I'm shutting up
about -- really I am -- are still very much present, so it's not easy. But
eventually I just settle in and enjoy the feeling. It's like she's a big,
heavy, Buffy-shaped electric blanket. A Buffy-blanket.

Maybe if I nudge her carefully with my elbow, she'll just start to wake up,
but she'll be groggy so she won't know I did it. I try it. It doesn't
work the first time; try again? You betcha. I nudge her again, a little
harder this time, but she just rocks a little and stays asleep. I shift a
little and try again... oops.

"Mmmm..." she moans. Damn. I didn't mean to nudge her there. I'm
beginning to become increasingly aware of her pressed warmly against my
back. I shift uncomfortably, but all that does is make more...
friction. "Mmmm," she moans again, "Riley?"

Well, that was enough to break me right out of fantasy land. Wait, was I
fantasizing? Okay, maybe I was. But now I'm not, and the fun's over. No
more fantasies for Willow.

Finally though, I've had enough. We're on vacation, just the two of us,
she rolled over to hug me in bed, and now she thinks she's back in
Sunnydale with beefstick? Well, I'm not stopping until she wakes up. And
since I'm pretending to be asleep and she's the one practically on top of
me, she won't know I did a thing.

I writhe against her, deliberately this time, aiming for maximum
contact. And for a moment, it's as if we didn't have silk and fluffy sushi
pajamas between us, as if we were rubbing skin to skin. I'm rewarded with
another low moan.

"Riley," she says, and through my annoyance I can hear that she sounds a
little annoyed as well. "S'it always sex with you?"

I freeze. What did I just do? She's my best friend, and she doesn't want
to be any more than that. And she was asleep.

But she started it.

I still shouldn't have done anything. I should have just gone back to
sleep for real, or woken her up, like a normal person. But after adding it
all up, I practically molested her. S'it just sex with you, Willow? And
as I lie here next to her, why am I shivering against a sudden urge to turn
around and lick her neck? I barely feel her weight rolling off me as she
wakes up for real. I start to panic, now. How much will she remember?

I don't realize my eyes are open until they're staring into hers. While I
was lost in thought she must have awoken and moved around the bed, and now
she's crouched by my side, watching me with a strange expression. She
probably realized what I just did, and now she's... she's... tilting her
head sideways so we're eye to eye, and I just know she's frowning because
of what she sees in me.

"Wills?" she says. "Wakey wakey?"

What? She's not going to ask what I was doing to her, why we were... like
we were? Maybe she really wasn't awake enough to remember. Or maybe she's
just not saying anything about it.

"Um, all Willow-parts accounted for," I say, almost coherently. Then I
feel my eyes go a little wider, and I hope I'm not blushing. Thinking
about parts would be a bad idea right about now. Buffy peers into my eyes
for a moment longer, then gives me a patented Buffy-grin and springs to her
feet. I lose sight of her, and then the sheets are being pulled away. Hey!

"Hey!" I say, grabbing half-heartedly at the departing sheets.

"It's morning, sleepy tree," Buffy says in a sing-song voice. She's in a
good mood today. Better than I expected. "Time to get up."

I push myself upright and swing my feet off the bed. It's still dark in
the room, but there's a faint illumination coming through the sheer
curtains. Maybe it's getting lighter out? I can only hope. Looking
around, I see that Buffy is already dressed. How long was I staring into
space, anyway? She's wearing another white shirt along with her black
leather pants, and she pulls on the jacket as I watch. And I should really
be thinking about something else right about now.

"Uh, no shower?" I ask.

"Not in this place," she says with a cute grimace. Not too cute, of
course, just friendly-cute. Not cute like her pouts. "You'd think it
would be a requirement or something, especially in a dust-bowl like this."

"Does that mean we're roughing it?" I say, trying to muster up some
enthusiasm for something other than Buffy-watching. "Like camping or
something?"

She stops fiddling with her suitcase for a moment to give me a strange
look. "Always looking on the bright side, aren't you Will," she
says. "Well, we'd better get to our nice, shower-having hotel room in
Vegas by tonight, or I'll have bad hair days for a month."

"Right," I say. "I'll just change into something less resembling pajamas
so we can go. Um?" I make a little spinning gesture with my finger, and
she turns around with a smirk, finishing the closing of her suitcase as I
dress quickly in the first thing that comes to hand.

By the time we're both packed up and ready, the clock by the bed reads a
little after nine. Sleeping late is the one advantage of not having school
that I'll actually acknowledge. It doesn't look much like morning though,
more like sometime just before dawn, when only a few rays of sunshine are
peeking through the windows.

Buffy makes sure we have the room key, and we head down the hall to the
lobby. The place is quiet, and we're the only people in the hall. I think
I hear a few snatches of sound behind some of the doors, probably the
televisions. But everyone seems to have the volume on low.

The lobby is much as we left it. The greasy man looks up from his book as
we approach. He doesn't look like he's made it far since yesterday. I try
to make out the title, and he shoots me a yellow grin.

"How ya doin' this morning, sweetums?" he asks. He's leering at me now,
and I've had enough of him.

"The morning's fine," I say. "But it would be a lot better without you in it."

"Ooh, touchy, aren't we Red?" he says, putting on an expression of mock
horror as I just glare at him. "C'mon. What are you going to do, have
your girlfriend beat me up?"

Girlfriend? He thinks we're girlfriends? Maybe I'm not hiding it as well
as I thought. Or maybe he's just assuming that we're together, even though
we're not, because Buffy would never think about me that way. I'm about to
throw a retort back in his face when Buffy comes up behind me and puts a
possessive hand on my shoulder. At least, I think it's possessive. And
that's not a bad thing... except for the part about us not being
girlfriends beyond the part about being friends who are girls.

"It's sounding like a better idea every second," she says. I twist my head
around and see that she has a small smirk on her face. It's the same smirk
she wears when she's out fighting newbie vampires. She's probably trying
to decide whether to waste one of her puns on this guy.

"C'mon," the guy says. "Like a little squirt like you-"

He never gets to finish. I don't even see Buffy move as she tosses him up
against the wall, which is behind the desk and about six feet away from
it. Now she's leaning on the counter with one hand, casual as can be,
checking out the nails on the other hand with a frown. As the guy stumbles
to his feet she looks up at him, and I can practically see her shift into
Slayer-mode. But mean as this guy is... he's human. This can't go on.

"Buffy." I say. "Buffy! Don't do this. Just ignore the prick." Ooh,
look at me. I swore. Out loud. Happens every so often.

She seems to be ignoring me at first, but then my hand is on her shoulder
and she backs off slowly. The guy gets up and brushes himself off.

"Geez," he says, apparently not quite in tune with the dangerous nature of
his circumstances. "What is it with you butch typ-"

Buffy's sudden motion surprises me, and I almost let go of her
shoulder. Then I squeeze tighter, fearing what might happen next. When my
mind catches up with me fully, I see that the motel manager has been
thoroughly distracted by a fist about two centimeters away from his
nose. Buffy extends her fingers and grabs his chin, yanking his head up to
meet her eyes. Then she gives him a gentle shove in the chest. That's
gentle in Slayer terms, which translates to him stumbling back several feet
and almost falling over his chair.

She tosses our room key on the counter, spins around and starts to walk
out. And even though she's just wearing her leather jacket, I can almost
see a trench coat swishing behind her dramatically as she turns. She'd
look pretty good in one, really. Maybe we could go get one in Vegas.

I shake my head to clear it. Clothing thoughts can come later. For now, I
throw the manager a cheery little wave and walk out after Buffy. As I
clear out of the dinky little motel, I hear one last comment from him.

"Now," he says, "I know why I make them pay in advance."

She's waiting outside. I try to figure out the best way to strike a
reasonable balance between talking about what happened inside and... not
talking about what happened inside.

"Well, that was an interesting place. Kind of... quaint?" I say, and she
gives me another strange look. "Maybe 'quaint' isn't the word I'm looking
for."

She smiles and looks back at... hey, what's she looking at? I look around
too, and there are stars.

"Buffy," I say, "there are stars!"

"Yeah," she says. "Whatever this night is must be advancing. Slowly, but
still advancing."

"Is that a... a good thing?" I say. "I mean, if it's going on like a
regular night, just slower, than in a day or two it should be morning
again, right?"

"Maybe," she says. We fall silent and keep stargazing. It's an amazingly
clear night. It's like we're out in the mountains, or the middle of... the
desert. I should probably have thought of that first.

Something's been bugging me. Her reactions to what the motel manager said
were pretty knee-jerk, but... I want to know.

"So, Buffy," I say, trying to sound casual. "That guy inside thought we
were..." I trail off, letting her fill in the rest and trying to watch her
face closely without looking like I'm watching her face closely.

"Yeah. He was, you know that... type," she says, avoiding eye
contact. "He was just trying to rile us up because he knew he didn't have
a chance." She tries to put a light-hearted spin on the last part, but she
still doesn't look at me.

Well, now Doctor Rosenberg must examine the evidence. No eye contact, not
really trying on the humor. And that guy? Just trying to rile us up?

"Yeah," I say, trying not to sound too disheartened. "That type."

Some lousy, greasy, probably lice-ridden motel manager in a place that
doesn't even have showers can see it.

Why can't Buffy?

I turn my gaze back up to the sky. Even living in a fairly small town like
Sunnydale, we usually see only a few stars and the really bright
constellations. I wonder if vamp dust contributes to smog? But here,
now... there must be thousands of stars, big and small, bright and
dim. All twinkling ever-so-faintly.

I think Buffy was right. It's like whatever artificial night is hanging
over this place is advancing. I wonder if the moon will come out. Right
now I can even see the blurry band of the Milky Way. This brings up one
more important concern, which Buffy voices first.

"Willow," she says. "Why is the Milky Way red?"

And I'm supposed to know? It's true, though. In place of the normal blue
streak, I can see a deep red stripe across the sky. But it's in the right
place... I think.

"I don't know," I say. "Probably just another part of the darkness
manifestation. That, or we're in some sort of alternate universe."

"Let's hope not," she says. "From what I've seen, those aren't generally
of the good. And Giles seemed normal enough on the phone." She's silent
for a moment, then continues. "It's like... it's like someone slashed a
hole in the sky, and it bled."

Morbid, much?

"Morbid, much?" I say. Buffy smiles faintly, and we start walking back to
the Jeep. Though I hate to admit it, there's something about what she said
that seems to just click. It is like blood, in a way.

"Buffy," I say, "when you were tossing that guy around, did you feel...
normal?" She frowns, probably trying to figure out what normal means in
this instance.

"I was angry at him," she says. "But he was being mean to you. So yeah,
pretty normal."

Aww, that's sweet. She was defending my honor. But still, she usually
doesn't use her powers on humans, however offensive they may be.

"It's just that... I've been sensing something here," I say. "Something
dark. Primal. Like the first Slayer, but... not." It's not much to go
on, I know, but I can't phrase it any better right now. We both slide into
our seats. Buffy puts the key in the ignition and just leaves it there.

"I guess I know what you mean," she says. "I've been feeling it too."

"Do you think it is the first Slayer?" I ask. She'd probably know better
than I would. "After those dreams..."

"No. This is something else," she says, sounding pretty sure of it.

"YAFOD," I agree, and she gives me another strange look. I've been getting
a lot of those recently.

"Aphids?" she asks. "You think aphids did this?"

"No," I say with a smirk. "YAFOD. Yet Another Force of Darkness." We
look at each other for a few moments, then she turns the key in the ignition.

"But not another Willow," she says. "Not in the whole wide world."

"Darn tootin!" I say. "Not since we sent vamp-me back to her own
dimension." Though I'm beginning to wonder if I could share more with her
than being a little gay. Especially considering how much I wanted to lick
Buffy's neck earlier. But that was the darkness' fault. Totally and
completely.

Buffy pulls out of our parking space and heads out of town. Goodbye Scrub
Valley, population 592, of whom about 591 are staying indoors and out of
sight. It's only a short distance back to the highway from here.

"Um, Buffy?" I say. "Headlights?"

"It's not that dark," she says, and now I'm the one giving her an odd look.

"It's nighttime." I say. "Even if it's not. I pretty much had to follow
you to get to the car without a flashlight."

"I can see fine," she says a little defensively. "And it's not like
there's anyone else out here anyway."

"For me?" I say.

She turns on the headlights.

And so here we go. We're off to the city of gambling and lights, through a
starry night that shouldn't be, the source of which we cannot see. Hey,
that's pretty good. I lean back in the seat with thoughts of becoming
Willow the Poet dancing through my head, as we speed forward under a bloody
sky.

* * *


Zephyr

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


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