Disclaimer# 2: Prepare to be confused. It's part of the fun....just keep plowing through and all will make sense...like a fog lifting....heh...
Spoilers: None unless you haven’t seen Season six to date
Angst: Mild
Rating: PG 13 for adult humour, some nudity, and mild violence towards garbage cans….
Description: A strictly "what if" romp through Sunnydale…. Don’t be put off by weird times and places…everything written has a reason…or maybe that’s…nothing is reasonable… trust no one…la-la-la…etc.
Feedback: Of course! let me know if this is fun or just giving you a headache! lafemmenikit@hotmail.com
THE LATE SHIFT
Chapter One: William The Fuddy-Duddy
Wheat-a-bix, beer, and cheese…Buffy likes cheese. I pile more cheese into the basket, and figure that more cheese requires more beer. It’s a basic mathematical fact, I’m certain. Awfully nice of them to let you help out with the bloody research. Soon you’ll be trolling around town in an apron, Spike, you git.
I pay for the snacks at the counter, and pocket the change. I like to think of it as commission. Making me come out in a storm to fetch them ‘goodies’ is not my idea of ‘helping out’. I’m a hunter, a well-honed killer, and a mercenary of the dark forces…..and the extra change, well… It’ll be enough for next week’s Soap Opera Digest…..
In the parking lot, I strap the food down on my bike, looking, I’m sure, mysterious and unflappable in the rain, without any sort of protection. Even so…I’m freezing my yabos off out here…. Hey..even the undead get a little chilly.
" Spike?" Comes a voice from behind me. Tara. She is standing under a red umbrella, and bundled into an oversized coat and galoshes. I envy her that coat right now. I picture myself wearing it, furry collar and all. The freezing undead have no room for dignity. Of course, I’m not going to steal her coat. I’m actually very glad to see her. It wouldn’t look right, me bouncing around her like an overzealous puppy, so I do the next best thing.
" Well if it isn’t the good witch of the Northside. You put on weight, or is it the coat?" That came out all wrong. I mentally slap a palm to my forehead. She must know me better than I think because she smiles.
" I’m h-happy to see you too, Spike." She says. Now I figure it’s time for me to do it right.
" I haven’t seen you around since you dumped Red." Ouch. I’m starting to think I might have a bit of a problem expressing myself. Can’t bite? Well then, William, say things that do. This time Tara doesn’t smile. You’re a monster. A bleeding monster, Spike.
She drops her gaze from mine.
" Oh, hey, I’m sorry. You know me, always stickin a foot in it." I say and she gives me a half-hearted smile that I recognize right away. The same one Willow has been walking around with for weeks. They must shop the same aisle in that great big market called DE-NIAL.
" It’s alright." Tara says. Lie. It's not really alright. I don’t even need keen vampire senses for that one.
" They all miss you." I say, proud that I managed to get something out that doesn’t weep for chivalry.
" I miss… them too." She says, not so much to me as to herself. She smiles again. This time with a little more behind it. Not a lot, but enough to know that my hunter-gatherer skills are improving. Go out to buy snacks, come back with a much missed Scooby. I’ll be the hero of the hour. The Little Bit will be so happy. Willow will smile again, and all will be right with the world.…. I start my motorbike.
" Climb on." I tell her.
" I live right d-down the way here. I’ll be fine walking." She says. I can see it in her eyes. Fear, hope..the whole bit. Somewhere, buried deep in her subconscious, she wants me to lie to her. I rev the motor.
" It’s like in the movies. The surly rebel guy revs his bike..the girl hops on without question. They drive off. Don’t go ruining my moment." I say, and rev my bike again. She puts her small bag and umbrella on my snacks, and straps it down, then slips a leg over the bike and holds on.
" Home, right?" she says into my ear.
" Right!" I fib, pulling out of the lot. Home. Magic Box…Whatever.
Pulling up in front of the Magic Box, I park the bike. I noticed that the moment I had sped past her dorm, her nails had dug relentlessly into my sides. She was my prisoner and she knew it. The closer we came to the Magic Box, the harder she dug in those bloody talons of hers.
I hand her her umbrella as she gets off the bike.
" I told you home." She says.
" Millons of years of evolution, and you still don’t get the whole ‘be specific’ thing." I say, rubbing feeling back into my sides.
" MY home, Spike. The Magic Box is no one’s home." When she’s really pushed out of shape, she looses that endearing little stutter. It’s my signal that I’ve done my job… and well.
" Home is relative…if you want to be picky about it…the whole bleedin Earth is home…" I motion for her to come inside. She hesitates, looking like a wet cat. Angry, and sullen, and unpredictable.
" You tricked me Spike."
" Then I’ve still got it." I say and held open the door wider. I believe it takes a little cunning and trickery to make things run smoothly on the Hellmouth.
I think it is less my charm and good will that brings Tara in and more the terrible clap of thunder that rattles the light posts on the street and sets off car alarms all down the block. She rushes into the shop just as someone..or something… else is leaving. I don’t so much see them, as feel them brush by me, and rush out into the night. Demon? Ghost? What is bloody hell was going on in here?
" Spike?" Tara says from the shop, and now I start to worry.
It was dark inside. I try the lights, but they are already switched on. Power must be out. I feel Tara side up to me and take my arm.
" Something’s wrong." She says.
" Hullo?" I call out. No answer. I had left them all sitting around the table doing research not twenty minutes earlier. Something is indeed very wrong. I take out my lighter. It lends a miniscule amount of light to the store, enough to see that the table is empty, and that there are clothes everywhere. The clothes that they had been wearing…All of them. Around their chairs. Xander, Willow, Buffy, dawn, and Anya. All gone. Deteriorated.
" What’s going on?" Tara said. Her voice sounds a little soggy, like she is going to start the water works any minute. She was now holding onto my arm as though I too might disappear.
" Everybody’s gone." I say and realize that my voice is sounding a little watery around the edges too.
" Where did they go?" She asks, more to herself again than to me.
" This is Sunnydale. They are most likely in the worst imaginable circle of hell right now….
" You always this optimistic?" Tara grouses.
" Yes." I say, and look for some candles to light.
Chapter Two: That’s What little Girls are Made of
Wake up Xander. Something is very, very wrong.
Sometimes I hear Anya say that in her sleep. It usually ends with " ….the cash register is gone…it’s just gone…!" Signaling me that she is having one of her nightmares again. It is then my duty as the burly man-fiancé-type to save her from a world where she has no money, and everything in the store is marked down to half price…or, heaven forbid…free.
Today the little voice in my head sounds much more like my own. I pull the blankets over my head, trying to block out the morning sun.
Morning sun?
Minutes…ago…seconds maybe…we were sitting around the table…researching…what?… something about the storm…and .. then there was light..light everywhere..and Dawn was screaming…and…. I’m reaching for Anya…but I can’t find her….and….
And now I’m in bed? I’m in a strange bed…in a strange place…an oddly familiar….but wholly strange….
Before I can make the connection on my own, the bedroom door bursts open.
" Are you going to sleep all day?" The woman at the door says.
" N-no." I squeak.
" Up-Up-Up! You’ll be late for school."
" School….?" The eerie feeling is leaving….now cold dread is seeping in. I KNOW this room.
And why isn’t she looking at me like the Big bad Wolf who just ate her daughter. No boys allowed! I’m not supposed to be in here! I pull back the blankets.
Nightgown: Pink.
Fuzzy, knobby socks: shaped like pigs with cute, droopy, eyes.
Legs: ….bald…
Oh God…. This isn’t….happening….
" Willow? Are you sick? Is there something wrong?" Mrs. Rosenberg asks from the door.
" I’m….(just a little Xander this morning) …fine….Mom." I manage.
She shuts the door and I bound out of the bed and to the wall mirror. The reflection that stares wide-eyed back at me is not only Willow….but Willow from…oh
God….. oh God….
High school.
I’ve died and gone to Sunnydale High.
To be continued…….
[This message has been edited by wiccachica (edited February 01, 2002).]