Three
It was obviously late at night when the arrived, or whatever passed for night in that dimension, because it was dark, and there was a misty fog covering most of the ground. Muffled footsteps pattered in the dense air, sounding both near and far. Dawn stepped closer to Buffy, whispering, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas, Toto.”
When she started humming ‘Over the Rainbow’, Spike raised his eyebrow and glared at her, which stopped Dawn before she could start singing. Nervous laughter filtered from most of them, though both Spike and Buffy kept their silence. The vampire slipped out and to the side, away from the huddled girls, turning his head in an effort to track the movements. When Dawn spoke, he shook his head and arched an eyebrow, hoping no one was going to break into song again. His nerves were stretched taut, though the grip he had on the weapons bag was the only outward sign. “Keep it down. Tryin’ to figure out what’s out there.”
“Can you hear anything?” Buffy’s voice was barely more than a whisper, coming from next to him and Spike shook his head in response.
“Not a bloody thing. Somethin’s out there, but I’m not hearing heartbeats. Or breathing.”
“Great.” Buffy looked around, cataloging the scenery as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. “So now what do we do?”
“Perhaps we should find some form of shelter, since it appears to be rather late.” Giles replied in sotto-voce, as he stepped to Spike’s left. “Once we’ve secured that, we can work on a plan to find Xander in this.”
Inclining his head toward Spike, he asked, “are you able to see in all this muck?”
“A bit.” Was the terse answer. “C’mon, this way.”
Spike followed his nose, which had detected the faint smell of baking bread mixed in with the rainy air, and motioned the others forward. “Might wanna hold hands or somethin’. It’s a bit dark.”
Immediately the four girls linked hands, Dawn leading, sticking close to her sister and Spike, while Willow trailed at the end, next to Giles. “No noise, now. Don’t know what’s out there.”
A low ripple of sound was his answer and Spike marveled how they all seemed to actually listen to him – even Buffy. More importantly Giles was listening and willing to follow his lead. Spike stepped forward into the darkness, feeling the mist swirl sluggishly around him. His boots echoed dully on the paved street, with the others treading more lightly behind him. Three steps in, and he’d lost all sense of direction, the mist closing in almost sentiently around them. He closed his eyes, letting his smell and hearing guide him. He thought briefly about going into game face, but quickly dismissed the notion. Until he had no choice, he’d stay unchanged, since he had no idea what the effect would be in this dimension.
The hiss and crackle of a street lamp caught his attention. Spike angled his head in that direction, slowly opening his eyes. The light, dimmed by the all encompassing darkness, bloomed distantly to his far left, and as his eyes adjusted further, he could make out the hint of paler shades of darkness dotting the murk. Taking another minute, Spike inhaled deeply, searching for the illusive scent. It was stronger to his left, so that’s the way he headed. The others trudged behind him and it wasn’t long before they fetched up against something solid. And brick.
The smell of bread and other foodstuffs was heavy, almost overwhelming the mist, and behind him he could hear the softly muttered comments of the girls. Easing his hand out to trace the wall, Spike stepped around a corner and blinked at the brightness of the muted lights. Red neon scrolled and blinked the word ‘Vacancy’, in front of him, while the huge picture windows of the bakery appeared at his left.
Hand-drawn signs and red-checked curtains completed the storefront and he could see the screened door was opened, which accounted for the strength of the aromas. He reached back and pulled Buffy forward, “Food an’ lodging. Which do you wan’ to hunt down first?”
“Food.” Her answer was quick, which came as a surprise; though he figured it was more because of the delicious home-baked smell than a real desire on her part to actually eat. The others crowded behind her, clamoring softly to enter. With a shrug and a wry glance at Spike, she pushed her way into the bakery.
He shared a look with Giles, both of them worried that this might be Mrs. Lovetts’ place of business.
The ‘Vacancy’ sign was nothing but false advertising.
Not only were there no rooms, but the whole building was brimming with demons, and Buffy couldn’t even step foot in the door, her spider senses pinging from all sides. Spike and Giles had entered the lobby alone, while the girls stood just inside the doorway, while Buffy paced outside. While they were in the bakery, the mist had begun lifting, until it was only patches of swirling mist, hovering just at ankle level.
A soft breeze blew in from the right, bringing with it saltier, fresher air. It had a different taste than the ocean breezes from Sunnydale, but no one was complaining. At least the breeze enabled them to see further than the back of the person in front of them.
Within minutes of entering the hotel, Spike and Giles were herding the girls out again. “C’mon, ladies, we gotta hoof it a bit further. No room at the inn.”
“Why not?” There was a general complaint from the other four, though Buffy kept her mouth closed. Spike could sense the growing agitation within the Slayer, and he too, was feeling the pull of so many demons in one place.
It was Giles who answered. “Too many demons. And there are, in fact, no rooms available. We were hard pressed to get an answer about alternative accommodations.”
For lack of a better alternative, they headed for the bakery. Once inside, the warm and inviting atmosphere countered their collective apprehension. The proprietor eyed them a bit warily, forcing Giles to placate him by purchasing more bread. Acting on an impulse, Giles queried about rooms or a private dwelling they could rent.
“Got an apartment over the store. Could let you have it for three bucks a day.” The baker was brusque, yet his eyes were kind.
“We’ll take it.” Giles handed over a twenty dollar bill, accepting the key with a handshake.
“Door’s outside, around the right.”
Giles herded everyone out, explaining what had just happened. “I’ve rented us a flat, over the shop.”
Xander stared at his reflection in the mirror. He tried hard to just focus on his face – the only part of him that wasn’t transformed into someone completely unrecognizable – but his eyes kept straying. The hair, which he’d had a bit of time to get used to, now struck him as not so bad.
But the clothes?
Those were . . .
Shoes. Shoes weren’t bad. Soft, supple Italian leather – or so he’d been told – they didn’t resemble what he thought of as ‘guy’ shoes. The toes were rounded, there were only four loops in the laces and . . . they looked really girly. He could live with the shoes. Maybe.
It was everything between his shoes and his hair that was causing the severe stomach cramps and shaking hands. And he was sure what was worse; the form fitting overalls or the skin-tight tee- shirt that showed every single muscle he owned and highlighted the ones he lacked. He squinted, trying to lessen the effect on his psyche.
The demon, who was still sporting breasts, stood quietly behind him, contemplating him.
He was wearing a purple lace, glittery tee shirt, that just . . . Xander shook his head, cringing when the movement caught the light, reflecting it back. The pants, which he thought at first was a scarf, were a bright, vivid shade of green, looked more like the kind of pants ballet dancers wore. And Xander knew he was not a ballet dancer. He wasn’t even graceful enough to be a slam dancer in a mosh pit.
“I can’t wear this.” He repeated it for the thirteenth time, glaring at the demon’s reflection. “No way. No how. I can’t do this.”
“Oh, honey, you look scrumptious. Delish. Delectable, even.” The demon moved closer, brushing off some imaginary lint from Xander’s shoulders.
“Not Delish, or delightful or any other yummy words. I cannot wear this. It’s unmanly!”
The demon reached around to cup his groin. “Nothing unmanly about it at all.”
Xander yelped, the pitch hitting dog-hearing decibels, and jumped away from the demon. “No touching! Hands off the Xander!”
“You really aren’t much fun.” A hand trailed across his chest. “Have to learn to loosen up and enjoy new sensations,” a snicker and a choked off laugh sounded from the demon, “coz you are gonna learn about a whole lot of new sensations. . . Lots of changes. “
“No. No changes.” Xander tried to take off the pants, only to find the demon’s hands blocking him.
“Mmmmmhhhh. Yeah. Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.” Once more the hand trailed over his torso.
Helplessly, Xander found himself humming, and then breaking out into song. “Still don’t know what I’m here getting into, and my thoughts are running wild. A million thousand crazy beats and . . . “ He swayed a little, hearing the music swelling in his head. “Every time I thought I’d get right out, it seemed the freedom was not to be. So I turned myself to face me, but I’ve never ever been this crazed, wondering how you really wanna change me. It’s way too fast to take that step.”
Together the two of them sang, “Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.” Then Xander sang alone, “I can’t face the strain. Changes!”
“Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.” Warbled out of the two throats, with Xander taking the lead. “Don’t want to be a different man!”
Again they sang, “Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.”
The demon looked at Xander, who blurted out, “Not gonna make me a different man! Don’t try and change me! And I can’t wear lime!”
In response to the last line, the demon threw back its head and laughed hilariously. “Oh honey, you certainly can. That particular shade looks luscious on you.”
“No. I can’t do this. You have to find something else for me to wear. I can’t do this.” Xander didn’t dare look at the demon, afraid that he would see the tears flooding his eyes. He couldn’t. This was just. . . he fisted his hands tightly, holding a tight rein on his fear. “Please?”
A deep sigh rattled through the demon. “Very well. I’ll give you something a bit more . . . Just a bit more, alright?”
“Yeah. I can live with . . . no, wait. I wanna see what you give me before I say yes.”
Bristling at Xander’s tone, the demon’s features hardened. “Look, I have my orders about what you’re supposed to wear and I am not going to get in trouble for not following them. The best I can do is change the pants to black and maybe give you a pink shirt.”
Defeated, Xander gave in. “Black is good. I can live with the pink.”
“Good.” The demon waved a hand, and Xander blanched.
Pink. . . He’d never worn this kind of pink.
There were ruffles.
Pink ruffles.
The first locator spell fizzled. Completely. There was a mark of charred ashes on the floor of the bathroom, where Giles had insisted they perform the spell and the acrid smell of burnt nettles filled the small area. Anya bit her lip and fought tears, while Tara and Willow shared a look. Willow, moved by Any’s obvious distress, promised they would try again, saying, “Maybe what we need is a map or something of this place.”
Giles agreed, and the two headed back down the stairs to the shop.
Buffy started to follow, but instead found her feet leading her to the roof, where she found Spike. “Why are you up here?”
“Needed some breathin’ space.” He ducked his head, peering at her from beneath his lashes.
“You don’t need to breathe.” The nasty retort sprang without thought, and Buffy pretended she didn’t see the hurt flash in his eyes.
“Just a figure of speech, Slayer. No need to play the bitch over it.” He moved away from her, momentary anger overriding his usual need to be near her.
Buffy swallowed, briefly closing her eyes. She hadn’t come up here to fight with him; she’d come up looking for an escape from all of them. He knew how hard it was for her to be around them. If pressed, she couldn’t explain why it was easier to be with him, why it eased the fractured part of her to be around him; all she knew and understood was that it did. Before she could formulate an apology, Spike started humming softly.
His deep baritone rang through the early morning darkness. “Tried to love you, I thought I could. I tried to own you, I thought I would. I want to peel the skin from your face, before the real you lays to waste.”
While the imagery wasn’t pleasant, Buffy understood what he was trying to tell her. It was his words that brought tears to her eyes.
“You told me . . . I’m the only one. Sweet little angel, you should have run. Lying, crying, dying to leave . . . Innocence creates my hell!”
His voice dropped again, and Buffy moved closer to him. Finally, Spike turned to look at her, anguish, love, hate and some other undefinable emotion swirled in his eyes. “Cheating myself . . . still you know more. It would be so easy with a whore. Try to understand me, little girl, my twisted passion to be your world.”
Spike pointed a finger at her, trying to make her understand. He wailed out the next words, almost screaming them to her, to the heavens to anyone who would listen. “Lost inside my sick head . . . I live for you, but I’m not alive. Take my hand before I kill. . . I still love you, but, I still burn!”
He growled out the next words, his arms spread wide. “Yeah, love, hate, love . . . Oooh, love, hate, love . . . Yeah, yeah, love, hate, love!”
Spike stared at her, his chest heaving from the effort of breathing, his eyes flaring with all the emotions he’d just exposed to her. Buffy stared at him, unable to think, his words echoing in her ears. He. . . They. . . In that moment she understood how much he’d gone against his own inclinations. . . how he’d grown to love her. How much alike they truly were. He hated her. He loved her.
She loved him. She hated him.
Maybe she could feel something, after all.
Liner Notes:
Over the Rainbow – music by Harold Arlen, lyrics by E. Y. Harburg, from the soundtrack to The Wizard of Oz; first recorded by Judy Garland, 1939; covered by everyone from Ray Charles to Buckethead.
Changes: music and lyrics by David Bowie, originally released on the album Hunky Dory in December 1971 and as a single in January 1972; covered numerous times by various artists.
Love, Hate, Love: music by Jerry Cantrell, lyrics by Layne Staley (Alice in Chains), released on the album Facelift, August 21, 1990.
I know I'm a slacker, but really, right now? Any kind words would be adored, appreciated and make me oh, so grateful.