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"


_________________________________________________________

Do You Yahoo!?

Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com