Disclaimer: The usual stuff about Joss, Mutant Enemy, Sand Dollar productions, UPN. Also, the character of José Chung is copyrighted to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Entertainment. In other words, I don't own these characters, I just steal them in the dark of the night to do my evil bidding.
Spoilers: Everything through Season 5
Distribution: I'm not the modest type. Hell, anybody who has a direct pipeline to Amber Benson is free and clear to navigate my stories to her.
Pairing: W/T, maybe a little X/A
Feedback: I have greatly appreciated the feedback I've gotten so far. Contact me at cloister@earthlink.net
Notes: This is a Buffy/X-Files crossover, but one you've never read the like of before. That's because it does not involve Mulder and Scully, but a character that appeared in one episode: "José Chung's 'From Outer Space.'" If you have never seen this episode, let me assure you it is probably one of the most brilliant and over-the-top X-Files episodes ever. Please be advised forthwith that this story is going to be told from a variety of narratives, some of which being somewhat inaccurate or apocryphal. Just hang it there; I hope to have it all make sense in the end.
Setting: Hmmm…difficult to say. Definitely after "The Gift," but since this involves events told to a third party, the timeframe is a little shaky. Let's say two weeks for the "actual events," and a month after that when the gang tells the story to José Chung.
Summary: A famous writer comes to Sunnydale to interview the gang, mostly Willow and Tara, to find out the inside story of a mysterious flying dragon and a group of demons…
Rating: PG-13 for "spicy talk," as opposed to "potty mouth." As Grandma is wont to say, a filthy mouth is the sign of a limited vocabulary.
José Chung's "The Mouth of Hell"
Prologue
The boy and the girl, both within a loud shout of twenty, run through the maze of alleyways, maddeningly close to Sunnydale's main thoroughfares. They know if they can get to the street, they would be safe; too many people out, even at this hour, for them to get killed without a public spectacle being made.
"Which way? Which way?" the boy, whose name is Harold, cries.
The girl, name of Chrissie, shakes her head, too out of breath to answer. Although her casual blouse and jeans are fine for this little adventure, her clogs have a little too much heel for high-speed, run-for-your-life chases, particularly those without exciting incidental music.
Harold grabs Chrissie's hand again and takes off in a direction that he thinks is the correct one, or possibly just the first one he thinks of. Not that she has any better idea. Hard to believe these kids are locals, especially when the two them head pell-mell right into a dead end behind a Thai restaurant (closed) and a bookstore/curio shop.
Behind them, Harold and Chrissie can hear the strange, shuffling, clicking and hissing sounds that their pursuers make. There are three of them, each one about seven feet tall, skin more like the chitin of an cockroach, elongated heads like those of the monsters made popular in those movies starring Sigourney Weaver, the acid tang of their pheromones stinging the nostrils of their human prey.
Chrissie backs away, wondering if she has time to scream, or even if it will do any good. Harold suddenly feels that a change of underwear might become a priority, if breathing and keeping vital organs in proper places weren't about to be taken off the list.
The demons (classification unknown, so for now we will refer to them in the generic sense), shuffle closer to the kids, eagerly anticipating the taste of their soul-substance. Suddenly, above them, something growls...
The shape glides down with ancient grace, morphing from a bat-like creature out of a dark nightmare to that of an improbably blond man, slick hair flowing over the shoulders of a velvet frock coat, ruffled shirt and impeccable slacks, Edward VII meets Yves-Saint Laurent, coming to land a few feet behind Chrissie and Harold. The pair turn to meet this new apparition; the demons, not knowing their death when they see it, hiss loudly in approval of the prospect of dessert.
The new arrival is thin of face, with dancing eyes and a jaunty air born of centuries of experience. The last vestiges of fangs gleam through his wide smile.
"Spike is my name," the newcomer announces, in a public-school British accent that belongs more in Parliament than a pool-hall. "And you seem to be in a spot of trouble!"
About three feet to the left of Harold, a sudden plume of sulfur-laden smoke bursts out of nowhere. From it step two young ladies, a redhead in a burgundy leather catsuit, the blonde in a long black sheer dress that accentuates as many curves as her partner's outfit.
The red-head witch, for such she is, turns to the decadant dandy perched a yard away. "Spike," says she, "can it."
(I hope you like it. I'm still working out the particulars.)
------------------
Disclaimer: The usual stuff about Joss, Mutant Enemy, Sand Dollar productions, UPN. Also, the character of José Chung is copyrighted to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Entertainment. In other words, I don't own these characters, I just steal them in the dark of the night to do my evil bidding.
Spoilers: Everything through Season 5
Distribution: I'm not the modest type. Hell, anybody who has a direct pipeline to Amber Benson is free and clear to navigate my stories to her.
Pairing: W/T, maybe a little X/A
Feedback: I have greatly appreciated the feedback I've gotten so far. Contact me at cloister@earthlink.net
Notes: This is a Buffy/X-Files crossover, but one you've never read the like of before. That's because it does not involve Mulder and Scully, but a character that appeared in one episode: "José Chung's 'From Outer Space.'" If you have never seen this episode, let me assure you it is probably one of the most brilliant and over-the-top X-Files episodes ever. Please be advised forthwith that this story is going to be told from a variety of narratives, some of which being somewhat inaccurate or apocryphal. Just hang it there; I hope to have it all make sense in the end.
Setting: Hmmm…difficult to say. Definitely after "The Gift," but since this involves events told to a third party, the timeframe is a little shaky. Let's say two weeks for the "actual events," and a month after that when the gang tells the story to José Chung.
Summary: A famous writer comes to Sunnydale to interview the gang, mostly Willow and Tara, to find out the inside story of a mysterious flying dragon and a group of demons…
Rating: PG-13 for "spicy talk," as opposed to "potty mouth." As Grandma is wont to say, a filthy mouth is the sign of a limited vocabulary.
José Chung's "The Mouth of Hell"
Part One
"Thank you for agreeing to talk to me," the elderly, balding man said to the girls, peering over the spectacles that seemed to perpetually hang down to the end of his nose. "I had some trouble tracking you down; the university wasn't sure where you went for the summer."
"W-w-well, w-we're staying here, kinda," Tara answered diffidently, glancing to her right at Willow on the other end of the couch. The two were sitting slightly further away from each other than usual, but they seemed to have a wordless agreement to keep a "low" profile.
Willow nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, we're kinda watching Dawnie, uh, Dawn. Summers. She lives here, y'know, in the Summers house...so that's convenient for her." Nice job, Babble-On Five! "What I mean is, we're staying with her because her father is somewhere in Darkest...Europe, and, and, her mother is, uh, well, she's..."
"Yes, I heard," the man replied, genuine sympathy tinging his words. "Although an innate streak of honesty forces me to admit that, well, part of me is disappointed because I was hoping to interview this..." He hastily scanned his notebook for the name, although Tara got the impression that this was a perfunctory gesture. Regardless, he quickly located a page and appeared to read from it: "Buffy Summers. She died, too."
Tara managed, through long practice, to keep a surprised expression off her face. Willow, unfortunately, apparently thought "poker face" meant you had a hand filled with nothing but kings, queens and jacks.
"No, no, no! Not dead. She's just...out. She does this, y'know sometimes. I mean, this one time, in high school, she ran away from home, she was gone, like, the entire summer. Oh, my god, we were so worried, and we really bitched at her for it when she came back, pardon my French--"
"I found her gravestone."
"Oh, darn it."
Tara stepped up. "I-I know that this seems strange, Mr. Chung, but w-we have really good reasons for not making Buffy's...death, p-public knowledge."
"What possible reasons would you have?" Strangely enough, his tone was inquisitive without being accusatory.
Tara and Willow looked at one another, not sure as to how to proceed, when the front door opened. Dawn came in from summer school, where she had been making up the classwork she had missed by blowing off the classes and then her short hospital stay following her kidnapping by "crazed drug cultists."
"Hey, guys," the teenager said. Her gaze traveled from the two witches, who had stood up to greet her, to the stranger who had also stood up, all antique chivalry. "Who's this?"
"Oh, Dawn, this is José Chung; Mr. Chung, this--" Tara got no further than that when the teenager squealed, dropping her backpack and covering her mouth with her hands.
"José Chung? The José Chung? Omigod! I've read everything you've ever...wait! Wait right here!" The girl dashed upstairs, to the bemusement of her elders.
Willow turned to Chung. "Y'see, she's partly the reason. If...certain elements, shall we say, found out that Buffy's dead, we might not be able to protect her from them."
"Oh. I see," Chung said, sympathetically. The thunder of footsteps heralded the return of Dawn, with several books clutched in her hands.
"Can you autograph these? I mean, may I have your autograph on these?"
"Why, certainly," Chung replied, taking out his pen and reaching for the proffered books. "You've read all these?"
"The Lonely Buddha? I've read this twenty times! Oh, and, and The Caligarian Candidate, that was so great, the movie they did of it, echhh…"
"You know," Chung replied, not missing a beat as he signed his name to various paperbacks, "I wrote the adapted screenplay for that movie."
"Oh…uh," Dawn babbled, turning several interesting shades of Embarrassed.
"Actually, only the first draft of the script. After that, it was total trash." Chung winked at her, then Willow and Tara, while he signed the last book with a flourish. He handed the stack back to Dawn.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Chung," Dawn gushed, while Tara smiled and Willow discreetly rolled her eyes. Usually, Willow's tastes in books meshed with Dawn's far better than they ever had with Buffy, but Dawn's fascination with (what Willow considered) cheap thrillers was something she never understood. More than once over the past few months, she had to wonder if this quirk, or some others in Dawn's personality, was something the monks who has "created" her had deliberately put in, or some random quantum fluctuation, if such could be applied to mystical energy matrices.
"Anyway, as I was about to say," Chung said, turning back to Willow and Tara, "I'm really not here to write about your friend Buffy, exactly."
Tara and Willow, with charming simultaneity, blinked in surprise. "You're not?" they both asked, again in stereo.
"Jinx!" cried Dawn suddenly.
Willow whipped around, looking for the minion of Glory. "Where? Where?" She readied an attack spell in case any hobbits-with-leprosy decided to come through the windows.
Tara grabbed her girlfriend's arm, forcing her to cancel whatever bolts of bedevilment she was conjuring up. "Honey, no, not that Jinx; y'know, wh-when two people say the same thing at the same time…"
"Oh, oh, sorry, I thought…good ol' Willow on a hair-trigger again," the redhead muttered self-deprecatingly.
Dawn shook her head. "No, no, my bad, I just…" The teenager broke off suddenly into a fit of giggles, which both startled and pleased her guardians, as this was the first time since her sister's death (or maybe even her mother's) since she had laughed. Tara smiled, knowing that this might be the first sign of healing for the girl who had truly been through too much in one year. After a minute, she got herself under control, wiping tears from her eyes that for once in seven months were not borne of fear or grief. She cleared her throat through a last chuckle. "Sorry. Must be the booze."
"Dawn!" Willow riposted, fairly sure Dawn was kidding but not sure Mr. Chung would understand.
"It's all right," the oldster said sympathetically. "As I was saying, I was hoping the two of you could give me some insight into an incident that occurred to two young people of my…acquaintance. Their names are Harold Lamb and Chrissy Giorgio…do you remember them?"
Tara nodded. "Oh, yeah, they kinda…m-met up with some…" She looked at Willow, unsure how far to go with this.
Dawn, who had been looking at the books in her hand, suddenly grabbed at both hands at one particular title, causing the other books to topple to the floor. "Yes! I remember them both! They were in here! Look, look!" She shoved the book towards Tara and pointed at the title: From Outer Space. "They were the two teenagers who got kidnapped by aliens!"
Tara bit her lip, glanced over at Willow who was taking this in with wide eyes. "Uh…"
Willow muttered, "She is so losing it."
Tara nodded. "Did you give all those restraints you used on me back to the hospital? We may need 'em."
José Chung, for his part, was looking through the paperback that Dawn was showing him. "Y'know, I originally didn't want to do this book," he said to Dawn, "but my publisher thought it was a great idea, and I have to hand it to him, it was my biggest seller in ten years. Knocked The Bone Collector right off the shelf! And the great thing was, I didn't have to make up a thing – except for the pseudonyms of the federal agents. Some kind of official secrets thing."
"Wait wait wait," Willow said, holding up her hands. "All that stuff in that book," pointing at From Outer Space, "actually happened?"
"Well, I can't really say that Harold and Chrissie were kidnapped by aliens, or by some covert government operatives pretending to be aliens, but they believe something happened to them, and that's what I wrote about. And the guy who believed a creature from 'inner space' spoke to him and inspired him to start a cult about himself. But don't ask me to verify the existence of the mysterious men in black, one of whom apparently looked like Alex Trebek."
"The-the game show host?" Tara replied, completely mystified.
"Yeah, I remember that!" Dawn said, laughing again.
Willow shook her head. "Uh, guys, this is officially crossed the Neutral Zone into the Oddball Empire. Let me guess: the other Man In Black looked like the pro-wrestler-turned-politician—"
"Willow," Tara said, in her best take-charge voice. "I think Mr. Chung should hear about what happened…if," she continued, turning towards the novelist, "if he agrees to keep Buffy's death a secret." She looked at Dawn for any adverse reaction, but the teenager shrugged and turned away.
Chung nodded. "Fair enough, since she doesn't seem to have that much bearing on the story I came to write about. Are you game, Ms. Rosenburg?"
Willow looked directly at Tara, who unflinchingly returned her gaze. Usually, Willow could take her in Eye-Contact Chicken, but this bout went to the Blonde in the Blue Corner. Turning back to Chung, Willow nodded and sat down.
------------------
Disclaimer: The usual stuff about Joss, Mutant Enemy, Sand Dollar productions, UPN. Also, the character of José Chung is copyrighted to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Entertainment. In other words, I don't own these characters, I just steal them in the dark of the night to do my evil bidding.
Spoilers: Everything through Season 5
Distribution: I'm not the modest type. Hell, anybody who has a direct pipeline to Amber Benson is free and clear to navigate my stories to her.
Pairing: W/T, maybe a little X/A
Feedback: I have greatly appreciated the feedback I've gotten so far. Contact me at cloister@earthlink.net
Notes: This is a Buffy/X-Files crossover, but one you've never read the like of before. That's because it does not involve Mulder and Scully, but a character that appeared in one episode: "José Chung's 'From Outer Space.'" If you have never seen this episode, let me assure you it is probably one of the most brilliant and over-the-top X-Files episodes ever. Please be advised forthwith that this story is going to be told from a variety of narratives, some of which being somewhat inaccurate or apocryphal. Just hang it there; I hope to have it all make sense in the end.
Setting: Hmmm…difficult to say. Definitely after "The Gift," but since this involves events told to a third party, the timeframe is a little shaky. Let's say two weeks for the "actual events," and a month after that when the gang tells the story to José Chung.
Summary: A famous writer comes to Sunnydale to interview the gang, mostly Willow and Tara, to find out the inside story of a mysterious flying dragon and a group of demons…
Rating: This section should really be rated R for nudity and sexual situations. Hey, I had to do something to get you guys to read this...
Jose Chung's "The Mouth of Hell"
Part 3
"We were finishing up some of our back-up classwork that we had missed because of…well, a previous…adventure…thingy," Willow began, recalling a night only a couple of weeks after the final battle with Glory. "Tara and I were heading back to our dorm when we, uh, ran into Spike…"
Chung looked up from his notepad, where he had been scribbling in a strange shorthand. "Spike…that's that friend of yours," he ventured.
"Um, he's not so much a friend as, as…" Tara stumbled, looked at Willow who was herself struggling with the right term to describe their convoluted relationship with the vampire.
"…as a colleague!" Willow concluded, incorporating a half-shrug into the word. "Anyway, we met up with him while we were –" She broke off as Tara nudged her (not gently) in her ribs and glared at her. "What?" Willow said, sotto voce. "I wasn't gonna tell him!" Tara merely rolled her eyes in answer…
******
"W-we really shouldn't be doing this," Tara protested, although more for form's sake than any real objection to Willow's dastardly plan. The redheaded witch favored her girlfriend with a warm yet wicked smile and completed her minor incantation, springing the lock to the campus gymnasium. Tara did not hesitate, either, in following her partner-in-love-and-crime into the building.
"Hey, this is the UC Sunnydale pool. It is for the exclusive use of the students of UC Sunnydale. We're students of UC Sunnydale. Therefore, we have a perfect right to be here." Willow strode towards the room containing the Olympic-size swimming pool, complete with three-meter diving board. A few underwater lights like the perfectly flat water from below. The cooler air inside the building mixed with the delicious moistness of the vapor coming off the pool. She laid her bookbag on the bottom-row bleacher and started to take off her shoes.
Tara laid her bag down beside Willow's, but then crossed her arms and gave a stern look. "Nice syllogism, darling. I suppose that explains why the doors are locked."
Willow waved a dismissive hand. "Aw, that's just for insurance purposes. Y'know, no lifeguard on duty. But we're both excellent swimmers." She strode over to wrap her arms around Tara's waist. "You're not afraid of drowning, are ya?"
Tara took a second and affected a thoughtful expression. "If I do start to drown, are you going to give me mouth-to-mouth?" she asked with a saucy, cheeky grin.
"Mmm-hmm," Willow murmured, nuzzling Tara's nose with her own. "And if that doesn't work…vigorous chest massage."
"Oooh…sounds like fun." Tara returned the embrace and kissed Willow briefly. "You are aware that I don't have a swimsuit w-with me, unless you planned really far ahead."
Again the sickle-sharp grin. "I won't tell anyone if you won't."
The blonde smiled back. "Deal. Last one in is a chaos demon!"
Less than a minute later, two sleek forms were gliding through the lightly-chlorinated water like dolphins, chasing and circling one another. Tara had to admit that Willow's idea was a good one; after all they had been through, the sensation of being in the water, without even a swimsuit to come between her skin and the water, was incredible, refreshing, like being reborn.
A few feet away, Willow swam underwater and watched her girlfriend's body silhouetted by the pool lights. Even backlit and dressed in wavy shadows, Tara was incredible. For the thousandth time Willow marveled that no one had ever noticed the shy beauty before, and that this beautiful soul found something equally enticing in her.
Then came the other thought, the one Willow kept trying to force away from her consciousness with only limited success: the thought that she came so close, only a hair's-breadth, to losing that beautiful soul forever. She and Tara had been incredibly lucky in recent weeks. But if the death of Willow's best friend had left her with anything, it had left her with the hard-won knowledge that luck runs out.
Willow surfaced, blowing out breath with a pahh of released air, and turned to float on her back, staring at the darkened ceiling. No. I'm not going to think about that now. This is our moment. We have a little bubble of time all to ourselves, and I'm not going to spoil it with negative energy. She closed her eyes and drifted with the gently waving water, like floating in her mother's womb.
Two hands came around her and pulled her to an upright position. She gasped involuntarily before realizing that she knew these hands (and they knew her) intimately.
"Sorry. Just me," Tara said behind her, cupping a breast in one hand and tracing small circles on Willow's tummy with the other. Willow leaned her head back and sighed with pleasure, her voice growing lower and huskier as Tara's hand circled lower and lower on her abdomen. She nuzzled her lover's wet blonde hair and reached an arm around to caress the wonderfully ample backside. As limber as Willow was, it was a bit awkward, and the sensations coming now below her waist made it difficult to concentrate on the proper angle for her shoulder to go…
"Hang on," she said, turning to face Tara. "Let's do this right, shall we?" Willow leaned in to kiss her and wrap one arm around her back, while her other hand stroked the blonde's globular breast, teasing the already-erect nipple. Tara moaned even as she returned Willow's kiss and finally reached her target between Willow's legs, gently moving apart delicate folds of flesh to the treasure within.
For many minutes the two continued in mutual stimulation, all the while holding each other against the terrors and uncertainties of the outside worlds, feeling, needing this moment together, their breaths commingling above the pool water, the sounds of their pleasure and need echoing off the cavernous walls. The water surged in wave after wave, at times lapping over the edges of the concrete sides, as if sent into motion by the very force of their souls.
Finally, the moment came when neither could contain the climax. Somehow both knew that the force of their screams could shatter the windows, the walls, the pillars of heaven itself. Wordlessly, they counted down to each other, and at the point of explosion they sank beneath the water.
For a good half minute, there was nothing left to mark where Willow and Tara had been, save the massive torrent of bubbles, as the water muted their cries of delight and defiance. A few seconds later, the witches surfaced, arms wrapped around one another, their foreheads resting against one another. They didn't bother to wipe the water from their eyes, letting the water slide off their hair and faces. Both girls heaved in air to replenish their lungs after their underwater orgasms.
"Love you," Tara murmured, when she got her breath back.
Willow opened her eyes and was about to reply when a sharp clapping sound erupted from somewhere in the room. Both girls shrieked and looked around wildly…to find a slim figure in black t-shirt and pants and a head of bleach-blonde hair, applauding like he's just seen a performance of The Mikado. Willow bellowed: "Spike!"
The vampire took no notice, or appeared not to, of Willow's ire, or for that matter, Tara's embarrassment. "Soddin' wonderful, ladies! I tell you, if Esther Williams was still kickin', she's be out of a job! You two should get a gold medal. I can see it now: Synchronized Shagging!"
"W-w-what are you doing here?" Tara cried, trying to cover herself under the water.
"I went looking for you two at your dorm room, and since you weren't there I thought I'd catch you at your last classes, I got the schedule from Dawn, and forget it, Blondie, your hands aren't big enough to hide what you got." He grinned as Tara blushed even deeper and swam over to the side nearest him, conveniently hiding her body from his sight. Willow followed suit a second later, still looking mad enough to chew glass and spit sand. "Took a look around for you, and only got here a minute ago, didn't I? So I really didn't catch the whole show." He really didn't look terribly apologetic as he said it, though.
"Spike," Willow said in very measured tones, "you want to get your undead ass out of here post-haste before I get ultra-cranky."
"Now is that anyway to talk to your mate? Especially your mate who brought you towels?" Sure enough, there were two fluffy towels on the bench right next to him. The girls exchanged a chagrined look; they had forgotten to bring towels. "Or we're you planning on heading home soppin' wet?"
Tara shrugged. "Thank you, Spike. Now why were you looking for us?"
The animation went out of the vampire's face like wine from a broken bottle. "Because she asked us to look after each other, didn't she."
Tara and Willow looked at one another. Unfortunately, Spike, deliberately or otherwise, had played the one card that they had virtually no defense against. They knew Spike had no reason to stay in Sunnydale after Buffy's death…unless he felt obligated to her, and to them.
"Okay," Willow said, the anger having left her voice, "you found us, we're fine, now please go."
A smirk returned to Spike's face, somehow more suitable than his somber expression. "Oh, come on. Let me help you outta there. I promise, no funny business. Just bein' a bleedin' gentleman," he said, walking over to sit on his haunches at the pool's edge, extending a hand to each of them.
Willow almost chuckled, drew in a breath, and was about to say something on the order of "In your dreams, Dust Bunny!" when she felt Tara's leg nudging her own. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that her girlfriend was having trouble hiding a grin, and in a moment that needed no communication, understood what she was up to. Sometimes Willow thought, You'd think butter wouldn't melt in her mouth , and then…what does the melting point of butter have to do with…oh, never mind. She extended her hand upwards, along with Tara, who said, "Okay. Be a gentleman."
Spike's superhuman strength quickly lifted the two wet witches out of the water. "There we go, ladies," he said, as his eyes involuntarily slid downwards for a quick thrill. "Blimey…"
Two other hands clamped around his waist, two pairs of feet pushed against the side of the pool and two voices simultaneously cried "Suckerrrr!" Whatever Spike's reply might have been was lost in the impressive splash of two witches and a vampire falling into the pool.
------------------
Disclaimer: The usual stuff about Joss, Mutant Enemy, Sand Dollar productions, UPN. Also, the character of José Chung is copyrighted to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Entertainment. In other words, I don't own these characters, I just steal them in the dark of the night to do my evil bidding.
Spoilers: Everything through Season 5
Distribution: I'm not the modest type. Hell, anybody who has a direct pipeline to Amber Benson is free and clear to navigate my stories to her.
Pairing: W/T, maybe a little X/A
Feedback: I have greatly appreciated the feedback I've gotten so far. Contact me at cloister@earthlink.net
Notes: This is a Buffy/X-Files crossover, but one you've never read the like of before. That's because it does not involve Mulder and Scully, but a character that appeared in one episode: "José Chung's 'From Outer Space.'" If you have never seen this episode, let me assure you it is probably one of the most brilliant and over-the-top X-Files episodes ever. Please be advised forthwith that this story is going to be told from a variety of narratives, some of which being somewhat inaccurate or apocryphal. Just hang it there; I hope to have it all make sense in the end.
Setting: Hmmm…difficult to say. Definitely after "The Gift," but since this involves events told to a third party, the timeframe is a little shaky. Let's say two weeks for the "actual events," and a month after that when the gang tells the story to José Chung.
Summary: A famous writer comes to Sunnydale to interview the gang, mostly Willow and Tara, to find out the inside story of a mysterious flying dragon and a group of demons…
Rating: PG-13 for "spicy talk," as opposed to "potty mouth." Yes, the rampant wiccan sex portion of this fic is over.
José Chung's "The Mouth of Hell"
Part 4
Tara looked at Willow, somewhat mollified at the edited version of events that she had told José Chung, especially with Dawn in the room. "W-we went to the Espresso Pump after we...met up with Spike. It's pretty much the local coffee house."
"They do the best iced-mocha!" Willow added. "They add, like, this hazel-nut syrup, which sounds gross but it's really great!"
"Wait...that's not the Espresso Pump, hon-- Huh. Huh huh huh. Um, that's the student café at the university. Remember, w-w-we saw that screening of Better Than Choc--. Oh, boy." Tara slumped, sure she had truly spilled the Magic Lesbian Beans.
Dawn rolled her eyes and stared in the general direction of Messier 31. "Oh my god, this is gonna take all night." She addressed Chung, but indicated Willow and Tara: "You picked up on the fact they're more than just friends, right?"
Willow nearly fell off the couch. "Dawn!"
"Oh, yes. Plainly obvious." The old man nodded sagely.
Tara looked equally shocked. "Mr. Chung!" Then she realized what she was doing, or rather that she was shouting at a guest. "I-I-I mean..."
"No, no, I should apologize," he said, the soul of old-time chivalry. "That's none of my business. But why don't you go on with your story?"
*********
Squelch squelch squelch. "Y'know, that was a soddin' dirty trick you played on me. I mean, these are me best pair of boots, and listen to 'em!" Squelch squelch squelch. "Whoever heard of a creature of the night, who lives by stealth and cunning, walking in wet boots?" Squelch squelch squelch. "Bloody embarrassin', is what it is."
Willow took a sip of her iced mocha and held up her other hand, holding an imaginery tricorder. "Captain, I'm registering no sympathy for your sorry, soaked ass. Try another planet, Spike." She mimed stowing the "tricorder" away, even making the ratcheting sound out of the side of her mouth, sharing a grin with Tara, who was shaking out her still-damp hair.
"You really had it coming, you know," the blonde witch said, reprovingly but not at all harsh. Given that she didn't have the history with this vampire that Willow and the others had (or at least, not first-hand), she often found it hard to understand why the others were so hard on Spike. Even during the incident in the Magic Box, after his rather disturbing feelings for Buffy had been were revealed, she really could not mirror the others' hostility towards him. She had suggested, if forcefully, that he leave more to avoid a nasty scene than any animosity towards Spike.
Spike, ever-vigilant observer of the human animal, picked up on Tara's faint sympathy towards him. Besides Buffy and Dawn, if it could be said that he felt affection for any of the Scooby gang, Tara would be the most likely candidate.
Most of the time. Squelch squelch squelch. He knew damn well that little stunt at the pool was her idea. "Oh, you. I just hope that if my hair turns green, yours does too!"
Tara gulped and pulled a hank of her hair in front of her eyes, looking for any indication of the pool chlorine doing its evil work. Willow put her hand on Tara's arm. "Don't worry, babe. We'll get a shower soon."
"Oh goodie, Round Two," Spike leered.
Willow rolled her eyes. "Oh, god. Are you that hard up, Spike? Need 'Quick Thrill, Part Deux?'"
That caught Spike right in the middle of a long draught of the hot chocolate that the girls had bought for him at the Pump. He coughed and spluttered, forgetting his discomfort from his wet clothes in the hilarity of that sentence.
"Do not get delusions of goddesshood, Red! I don't need to peek at you and your girlfriend's--" Uncharacteristically, he stumbled, looking for a suitably scathing metaphor for intimate parts.
Tara supplied, "Snoochie-boochies?"
"Yeah, snoochie-boo-- Thank you," he asided to Tara, who giggled and shrugged to Willow. "Snoochie-boochies. I can see 'em on lots of lovelies any time I fancy, okay? So don't keep yourself up nights, Red, 'cause you ain't keeping me up nights."
"That's 'cause you sleep all day," Willow countered.
"Wel-- Sod off!" Squelch squelch squelch. The girls stifled their giggles.
"You heading to the Magic Box?" Tara asked when she had full control again.
Spike nodded. "Yeah, probably see Giles workin' late, and Demon-Girl countin' the till for the twelfth time. Girl's got an itch for the cabbage. I just hope your mate Harris can keep her in the greenery."
"You hoping to go to the wedding?" Tara asked. Willow blinked at her girlfriend, who gave back an non-committal expression. To the redhead's greater surprise, the vampire didn't derisively dismiss Tara's question.
"Why not? I love a good bleedin' wedding."
Willow almost chuckled. "Emphasis, of course, on the "bleedin'"
"Well, yeah. All those people, dressed to the nines, sozzled as a judge, it's like a buffet. Only better stuff than beef brochettes and chicken a la cardboard." Spike paused to reminisce. "I remember this one reception Drusilla and I crashed. Sicily, wannit? Yeah. 1962. 'Course, Dru and her Italian food..."
"You killed everyone there?" Tara asked.
Spike shook his head. "We were gonna, but then this other family...and by that, I mean family," he stressed, pulling down his lower eyelid in the time-honored sign of old-world organized crime; "these guys crash the place, and they bring their own poppers, and I don't mean Dom Perignon. Start hosing the place with gunfire. Me and Dru, we scarpered outta there, I remember her tearing one paisan's arm off and beating another with the wet end..." He took another sip of his drink. "Now that's a party."
Willow turned to Tara, who judging by her pale complexion had rapidly regretted following this line of questioning. "Doesn't he just paint those Kodak moments?"
Tara smiled weakly. "Well, at least it avoided those silly cake-fights."
"I love those!" "That's the best part!" Spike and Willow ended up speaking over one another, then glared at their accidental accord. Spike looked as if he was going to say something cutting when he abruptly stopped, as if something had captured his attention. Suddenly, his features melted from his human face to his usually-hidden demon aspect, making Tara, not as used to it as Willow, step back involuntarily.
"What's with you?" Willow asked.
"Do you smell that?" Spike said, his voice roughened by his changed features. Both girls shook their heads. He looked out across the street they were walking on, then turned back to them. "Something's out there. Near us. Don't know what the hell they are, but I don't like the smell of 'em" He looked back and forth from the buildings across the street to Willow and Tara. "You sure you don't sense-- Never mind. I keep forgetting...you aren't slayers."
"No...we belong to a different union. They have strict guidelines about us using slayer senses." Willow turned to Tara, who was suddenly looking stricken. "Baby, what is it?" She realized that Tara's mystical senses were far more well honed than her own.
"I think Spike's right. Something's over there, maybe in those alleys."
Willow dug in her bookpack, pulling out a couple of stakes and a few small bundles of pre-made spell powder. "Don't worry. We're packing heat, girlfriend."
Spike looked at the paraphenalia derisively. "Thank God. Cancel that call to SWAT. Come on, then."
**********
"Which way? Which way?" Harold cried, trying to figure out how the hell they could have gotten lost in the alleys. Of course, being chased by otherwordly creatures probably did things to your sense of direction.
Chrissie was too out of breath to answer, which was probably just as well, given that she probably would have started in on how she should have never taken his sorry ass back, especially after that whole kidnapped-by-secret-government-agents-masquerading-as-aliens bullcrap. Bad enough, but then it had to be reprinting as a bestseller and sold in a Barnes & Noble Near You. If she lived to be a hundred, she might just be able to live down the humiliation of being "Dr. Spock's Blind Date."
And then, of course, she had to let Harold the Pathetic talk her into taking a road trip and ending up on this Smallville of Terror. If she lived through this, she promised herself, I'll feed him through a woodchipper.
Now Harold was dragging her by the arm, which given the shuffling sounds behind her and the acid stench of Whatever-They-Were becoming more pungent, was probably not a bad idea.
No, that came with Harold's choice of escape route...right into a dead end. Nothing here but a couple of closed security doors and a locked dumpster. How could you have a dead end in an alley? Aren't they supposed to go right into the street?
Chrissie was just gearing up to give Harold an earful when They came around the corner. If you took that creature from ALIEN, spray-painted it orange, and gave it one of those Borg body-suits, it could pass for one of Them.
They shuffled towards Harold and Chrissie, hissing all the time, which made Harold think it was some kind of language. In the back of his mind, from somewhere in his childhood, came the word: Sleestak. Where that came from, he didn't know. It certainly looked like he would not have the chance to search the Net for a webpage about it.
A sudden loud thump behind (or ahead, depending on how you were oriented) made Harold and Chrissie turn back towards the dumpster. A man was squatting on top of the cover, looking as if he had justed jumped from the roof of the building...which sounded plausible if one disregarded the two stories he would have had to fall before hitting the dumpster.
The guy, wearing a vinyl duster and black t-shirt and jeans (which seemed to be wet, for some reason), straightened up from his crouched postion. He practically ignored the terrified couple, looking directly at Them. "Well well well. What do we have here. Not local talent, that much I know."
The creatures hissed even louder, and the man, his face suddenly changing into a nightmare-mask, leaped off the dumpster at Them.
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