Xander licked his dry lips, trying to make his voice steady, “Okay, it looks like its about time to land this thing,” his voice only quavering a little, “Anyone got some prayers they’d like to say?”
“That depends,” Alec commented darkly, “What rhymes with ‘immolation’”?
Buffy shot her brother a dark look, “Okay that’s it. Anyone who is not responsible for the landing of this plane, exit stage right; no, not you Wills,” Buffy called out as Willow was leaving, “You stay and lend moral support. Anya you stay on the radio.”
Willow gulped but nodded, “Moral support: right,”
Buffy stopped to squeeze Xander’s shoulder tightly, in a fashion that she hoped was reassuring and not terrified.
“You’ll do fine,” she told her friend.
Xander barked a short laugh even as Buffy exited the cockpit and closed the door behind her. He exhaled hard through his mouth.
“Wills, can you hand me the intercom?” he asked.
Wills nodded and after spending a few seconds searching, found the device and handed it to Xander. He nodded his thanks and with another sigh, depressed the button on the side.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “This is your…pilot speaking,” he figured that was close enough to the truth, “We’re going to be landing soon and it could get a little bumpy. Please keep your tray tables stowed, your seats upright and be prepared to assume the crash position,” he held the button down a beat longer, then licked his lips again and put it aside.
“You think that’ll help?” Willow asked. Xander shook his head.
“I have no idea,” he replied as he handed the com back to his friend. “Stick that someplace would you?”
Willow nodded and placed the microphone back in its cradle…
…and looked up in time to see one of the dead pilots standing up over her staring at her impassively.
Too startled to speak, Willow just stared: carefully she shifted her eyes to the dead body on the floor and then compared it with the bloody specter in front of her: it was a match.
“Wha-?” she began to ask.
“Tell him to empty the fuel tanks,” the ghost said in a voice as cold and lifeless as stone, “It will keep the plane from exploding if he crashes.”
Willow nodded numbly, “Hey Xander? I think you should empty the fuel tanks,”
Xander shot her a look like she’d lost her mind, “Huh? Why?”
“Because if we wipe out hard, the fuel tanks will explode and we all go ‘poof’,” she finished mildly.
Xander blinked a few times, “That’s…actually a really good idea. One question: how do I do that?”
Without any warning, Willow’s hand shot forward, grabbed a hold of a pair of red levers and pulled them out and up. There was a clanking sound from somewhere deep within the bowels of the plane followed by a low hissing sound.
“How did you know how to do that?” Xander asked astonished even as he watched with dismay as the fuel gauge slide down to ‘E’.
Willow looked up at the ghost who had her wrist in his hand and she was trying hard not to cry out as his freezing touch leeched all the warmth from her body. The ghost held her hand outstretched a moment longer then released her. With a small cry, she withdrew her numbed limb.
“Willow if we weren’t all about to splatter ourselves all over the tarmac I’d be worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Willow assured him.
“Tell him to decelerate to drop his speed and angle his nose downwards,” the ghost said again in his indifferent tone.
Willow relayed the instructions and Xander began to push the control yoke in.
“You know, with no fuel, we only get one shot at this,” he commented darkly.
“I didn’t think we were going to get a do-over with this if we messed up anyway,” Willow replied.
“They’ve cleared the runway in front of us,” Anya called out.
“Groovy,” Xander replied. He had both hands clutching the controls white knuckled.
“Tell him to lower the landing gear and to gently pull back on the stick enough to angle up the nose,” the ghost told Willow. Nodding, Willow continued to relay the instructions, Xander shot her a look.
“Where are you getting this stuff? Are you channeling Amelia Earhart?”
“Are you going to argue or fly the stupid plane?” Willow snapped back.
Xander’s grip on the controls got a little tighter as he brought the screaming jet down towards the speeding runway.
In a dark part of first-class, surrounded by the remains of all the chaos that had ensued earlier, Faith and Angel sat apart from everyone else straddling the aisle.
“Do you think they can do it?” Faith asked Angel quietly.
“Stranger things have happened,” he replied just as quietly.
“Like a slayer falling in love with a vampire?”
Angel nodded and smiled slightly at the memories, “Yes, like that.”
“Wanna know something stranger?”
“What?”
“Two slayers falling in love with the same vampire.”
Angel turned to meet Faith’s gaze. Her eyes shone in the darkness of the cabin.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
Faith nodded and wiped at her eyes, “I don’t want anything back in return. I just…want to love you. Can I…, I mean will you let me just-?“
Wordlessly, Angel reached across the aisle and opened his hand. After only a moment’s hesitation, Faith reached out and slipped her smaller hand in his and squeezed with all her might, Angel returned the gesture.
“We get out of this, you’re taking me on a night on the town,” Faith commented with a wry smile.
“As opposed to what, a sunny afternoon stroll?”
Faith’s laugh was real and it banished the fear in her heart.
But she did not let go of Angel’s hand.
Alec and Spike had made their way down to the depths of the plane, searching for something that would aid the group once they had made it down safely. If they made it down safely that is.
Alec was now navigating the storage area. He tossed aside suitcases and the like, searching for something that would…
Perfect! His eyes locked on to what he was looking for. Hunched over due to the low ceiling, he made his way over and took something firmly in hand and pulled hard.
And his entire hand tore free from his body and dissolved into ropy strands of black viscous slime.
He stared in horror at the stump; he could see little shreds of pale skin writhe like tiny tentacles in the dark. Suddenly he was seized by a sharp pain in his chest and he could start to literally feel himself beginning to melt away into darkness.
“No!” he cried out in a gurgling scream. He fell to the cold metal deck of the plane and curled into a ball, stuffing the stump of his arm in his armpit. He could feel something slippery pressing up against his fingers as if his insides wanted to break free and escape. “No,” he said through gritted teeth.
With agonizing slowness, the pain in his chest faded. His breathing came easier. Gingerly, he removed his hand out from underneath his other arm. His hand had regenerated and now was once again whole.
Alec breathed raggedly and ran both his hands through his hair then sighed once more, not terribly surprised, when he was rewarded with twin handfuls of his own hair freshly fallen out.
Dusting off his hands he gently took a hold of the prize he had discovered and dragged it back up to the flight deck.
“Okay,” Xander called out, “Moment of truth.”
Everyone in the cockpit had their eyes glued to the altimeter as it dipped ever lower. Xander did his best to keep his hands steady even as the plane shook and lurched like a horse pulling at its reins.
In this case, a 500,000 pound plus horse with several hundred people on board.
“No pressure,” he said to himself through gritted teeth.
Willow took a moment to stare up at the ghost. He stared back at her impassively, perhaps aware, as she was, that it was entirely possible she would be joining him on the other side of the grave.
The altimeter dropped as Xander cut the speed and everyone held their breath.
And with a jarring smash that nearly shook Xander’s teeth loose, the plane hit the tarmac.
“Brakes! Brakes!” Willow cried out.
“Yes, thank you I know!” Xander shot back even as he pulled back on the brake levers as hard as he could.
They hit a hard bump and, with a cry, Anya was deposited onto the floor of the cabin.
“Ahn!” Xander called out and turned to face her.
“Face forwards you lunatic!!!” Willow screamed nearly hysterical. Xander whipped himself around, they were still going so fast and he wasn’t dumb enough to believe the runway would last forever.
It didn’t.
Xander saw the flashing lights marking the end of the runway, heard more than felt the rasp of metal on metal as the plane tore through the cyclone fence those lights were mounted on.
And finally, with a loud, WHUMP, the plane pitched forward, slamming everyone forward in the cockpit as the plane dug itself into a bank of raised earth just beyond the fence. For a moment it seemed as if the plane’s momentum would cause it to bury itself in the sand.
“Kill the engines!” Willow yelled. Hurriedly, Xander dove for the kill switches, gracelessly slapping them all with an open palm. The engines whined and then died down and silent. The sudden silence, aside from the trickling of sand against the canopy, was deafening.
Hesitantly, Xander raised his head up over his instruments.
“Are we alive?” he croaked.
“Yes, my body is in too much pain for the sweet mercy of death to have graced me with its presence,” Ahn groaned from her position on the floor. On shaky legs, she got to her feet. She was bleeding from a gash in her forehead but was otherwise unharmed.
Xander tore his restraints off, rushed to her and held her tightly kissing her fiercely and doing his best not to collapse or throw up.
Willow smiled tremulously as she got to her feet and she turned to face the ghost.
“Thank you for-“
“Do not thank me, Willow Rosenberg: the dead know your fate. You’re suffering shall be legendary even in Hell.”
Chilled to the bone, Willow drew away from the grim proclamation but suddenly the apparition vanished, simply melting away into nothingness. Willow had only a moment to look surprised before Xander drew her up in a crushing hug.
“We are ah-live!” he cried out in glee, “And who said years of video games wouldn’t pay off?” his grin was so wide it looked like he was ready to swallow his own face.
“Right on,” Willow replied weakly as she followed them out of the cockpit.
Twenty minutes later, the group had assembled in what was left of the first class section. The ice from Willow’s spell was melting away, letting in a warm breeze from outside which was quickly getting brighter and brighter with every passing moment.
“Well, if anyone has any brilliant ideas, now would be a good time,” Buffy commented. Once they had confirmed that beyond some bumps and bruises, no one had been seriously hurt in the crash, the number one priority was finding a way for Angel and Spike to get off the plane without being incinerated by the sun.
“I believe I might have that one covered, sis,” Alec commented before proceeding to explain his plan.
“You’re not bloody serious,” Spike said when he was all finished.
“Funny, I had a similar reaction towards this whole flying business,” Alec favored his friend with a nasty smile, “Consider this karma.”
“Bugger karma.”
“Look the local constables are going to be here any minute,” Alec frowned peering back into coach where people milled about looking generally lost and confused, “In fact, why they’re not here already to stem the bad PR flood that is sure to come with this, I have no idea,” he turned his glace back to Spike, “But we need to get out of here, like NOW.”
Spike gritted his teeth and swore.
“Too bloody perfect…”
A few minutes later, the pair discretely made it from the tarmac to within the airport itself and passport control.
Willow took the lead, pushing Alec in his wheelchair. He claimed he was feeling drained after all that had occurred and had asked for her help again. She was happy to do it of course but lately there was something…off. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, it was like waking from a bad dream that you only half remembered, but know that it was unsettling enough to be afraid to go back to sleep.
I’m just tired, she thought to herself. We all are. He’ll be fine.
The group fell in behind her and waited in line quietly until their turn was up. Willow and Giles handed the personnel their passports and answered the obligatory questions: they were on vacation and to take in the sights. The younger members of the group were here for academic reasons, the older were acting as chaperones. Things were going smoothly…
…until they reached Alec’s passport.
“Ah, a moment senor,” the man called out as the group began to file past. They stopped and Willow wheeled Alec around so he could face the man.
“Yeah?” Alec asked.
“It says here in your passport you are 1.8 meters tall, that is 6 foot and 2 inches where you are from, yes?” he said this with a grin like it was the funniest thing in the world.
“So?”
“So?” the bureaucrat exclaimed with humor, “even if my conversions are a bit off, it would appear that you are definitely a bit shorter than that,” he guffawed as he gestured to Alec and his chair.
The other men working station thought this was tremendously funny and the room filled with raucous laughter and rapid fire Spanish.
Then they saw the look on Alec’s face. The skin on his face was pulled taunt; his teeth were bared in a rictus snarl of pure hatred. There was a palpable aura of malice, of menace that seemed to contrast sharply with the mirrored blankness of his visor. Shaking with rage, Alec began to drag himself up to his feet and menace the other men who were backpedaling away.
And just as quickly, Buffy set down the steamer trunk she was dragging and placed a hand on his shoulder and push him back down. She gasped inwardly, she could feel sharp metal pressing up against her palm, cutting into her skin but she maintained her grip on her brother even as she gave the men before them a lethal look.
“My brother is tired and we have had a hell of a night, so either you will process our passports and get the hell out of our way or I will rip out your spine and use it as a hat!”
“Hello to the imagery, very nice,” Faith commented with a grin as she dragged a similar steamer behind her.
“Of course, senorita,” the man swallowed a few times doing his best not to stare at the monster in the wheelchair as he stamped the last of their passports and hurried them past, mopping his face with a handkerchief.
Glaring murderously at the men as they walked past, the Scoobies continued out into the lobby and out onto the street in front of the airport.
Suddenly Dawn whirled on them, “I’m casting a vote right now for going back in there and hurting them. Badly,” she bit out. No one needed to ask which ‘them’ she meant.
“Seconded,” Faith commented.
Giles nodded, “Normally, administering a lesson in civility to those cretins would be a source of great satisfaction. However we have neither the time nor the ability to do so discreetly. I want our arrival to remain undetected.”
“Does leaving no witnesses behind qualify as ‘discreet’?” Faith commented.
“Certainly qualifies as ‘fun’,” Dawn replied darkly.
Buffy turned on her younger sister, “I don’t need you to start going down that path Dawney,” she stroked her sister’s hair, “It doesn’t help us and it’ll mess you up and I need you to not be messed up, okay?” she tried to smile bravely, but the strain of the last twenty-four hours was taking its toll and the smile came out shaky.
Dawn’s lip stiffened, her chin thrust out in ‘full argument mode’ when a soft voice silenced.
“Dawn,” Alec whispered placing a thin hand on her wrist, “Listen to your sister, she knows what she’s talking about.”
Dawn looked at Alec with concern; he looked so frail lately it broke Dawn’s heart.
Fumbling with his shades, Alec met Dawn’s glance with a slightly self-mocking smile, “Don’t look so grave petite and don’t let these great poofs….” He gestured back towards the airport, “….take and twist the things that make you special, the things that make you good,”
Dawn smiled and nodded, giving his hand a squeeze…and nearly dropped it when she saw a flash of pain flicker across Alec’s face.
“Alec, are you okay?” She asked.
He nodded as he cradled his hand and pushed his sunglasses back up into place awkwardly with his wrist. He then looked around,
“So who are we meeting here?” Alec asked, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. Everyone took a few minutes to take in the new sights and sounds: the air was warm, not unlike that of Southern California, which made sense. It had a sour tang to it, a combination of open-air vendors, human sweat, and air pollution. The lights of the city stretched on for miles in every direction, interspersed amongst them were the shadows of slums and barrens like veins streaking through the city. The whole city was slowly being illuminated as dawn became full day.
“I like it,” Faith commented, “its got kind of a funky, exotic vibe to it,”
Xander turned to her, “You don’t get out much, do you?”
“Yeah, prison’ll do that to you.”
“So what’s next?” Buffy asked.
Giles cleared his throat and gestured, “We meet out contact – a gentleman named Ramos,” the others turned to see where he was pointing.
There was a large, old, dirty and dinged up van, looking like it was on its last wheels.
“Wow, ‘she may not look like much…” Xander commented.
“… ‘but she’s got it where it counts’.” Alec finished the immortal quote.
Giles headed over to meet with the man standing beside it: he was squat and burly, with dark hair and a dark mustache, and was wearing an obnoxiously loud tropical shirt. The Watcher cleared his throat to speak,
“Ahem, excuse me-“
Suddenly the other man turned on him and grinned broadly arms outstretched, “Ah Americanos! Welcome! Welcome Americanos! I am Ramos, I drive very good taxi. Anywhere you go, just call Ramos,” he proclaimed in a rhyming pun that would do a used car salesmen service, “Where you to go Americano?”
Looking dubious, Giles continued, “Yes, well, Pan-“
“Oh, you’re Pan’s friends,” Ramos interrupted and just like that his entire demeanor shifted, “Nice to meet you.” He stuck out a hand which Giles took hesitantly, “Sorry for the schtick, it’s just something I use to get the touristas who the closest they’ve ever been to Mexican culture is Taco Bell.”
Giles nodded and even chuckled a little; he could appreciate the joke as he led Ramos to meet with the others. Before introductions could begin however, Buffy stepped forward.
“Hey not to be a jerk but can we get all our stuff into your van before we do intros? We have some…cargo that needs offloading,” she explained.
Ramos wasn’t ruffled in the least, “Of course,” he said, waving a hand dismissively, “I can understand not wanting your luggage to linger here on the street. I love this city, but it’s got a little bit of a crime problem.”
It was at that moment that there was a burst of noise from somewhere behind the group and to the left: shouts in Spanish followed by two short gunshots. The Scoobies whirled around, searching for trouble even as Ramos casually reached down to the steamer trunk Buffy carried.
“I’ll help you with this-“ he began than frowned. He couldn’t move it an inch. “Chiquita, what have you got in here, rocks?”
Buffy shrugged and casually lifted the massive trunk up towards the back of the van. Ramos whistled low even as he raced to open up the doors.
“Kid, if you ever decide to get into show-business let me know, you could make a killing doing lucha libre,” Ramos registered the blank stare he was getting from Buffy, “Mexican cage wrestling, usually done with a mask.”
“Could be worse,” Faith commented as she slid in the other trunk she was carrying besides Buffy’s, “he could have suggested porn.”
“Yay,” replied Buffy as she turned back to the others, “Okay, pile in.”
One by one the others hopped into the back of the van. It was well cushioned except for…
“Hey Ramos,” Xander commented, “Um, where are the seatbelts dude?”
“Seatbelts? You’re kidding, right mijo? Ramos grinned broadly showing white teeth, “You don’t need to worry about seat belts with traffic in this city.”
Xander thought back to the car chase with the golem in New York, “That will be a nice change of pace,” he commented.
Finally it was just Willow and Alec in his wheelchair. Ramos sent Alec a sympathetic look,
“I am sorry amigo, my van she is not wheelchair accessible,”
“I’ll cope,” Alec commented and struggled to get to his feet and climb into the van.
“Hold it right there mister,” came his sister’s commanding voice. She climbed out of the back of the van and knelt before her brother.
“Now I am going to help you into the van and you are going to be quiet and still and generally behave or I am going to tell Willow to cut you off for a week, comprende?”
“Wench.”
“Jerk.”
Alec sighed and smiled half sardonically as he let himself go limp. Buffy bent down and hefted him up, wheelchair and all and put him into the back with the others. Willow quickly curled up with him on his lap and stroked his hair back, occasionally dotting his forehead with small kisses.
“Vamanos!” Ramos called out and the van began to lumber forward and merged into traffic.
And right into a monstrous four-lane traffic jam.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Please R&R!