FIC History - Chapter Two
Yes. After a lot of really crap ideas, I've settled on the unthreatening title of "History" for this fic. As usual, many thanks to amarasaa for the wonderful job she does at betaing for me. It's top notch. 8D
I'd like to dedicate this chapter to evilawyer, since she's one of the few people who reads this, and had a near-horrible thing happen a few days/weeks ago. I was sorry to hear about that, but am glad it wasn't serious.
Anyway, previous parts can be found here, and Chapter Two, The People That We Love, can be found below.
Warnings: Death/grief, graphic violence (upcoming)
Speed kills coming down the mountain,
Speed kills coming down the street.
Speed kills with presence of mind, and
Speed kills if you know what I mean.
Got to feel - woke up inside again,
Got to feel less broke more fixed.
Got to feel when I got outside myself,
Got to feel when I touched your lips.
Breaking away from his smile, she looked back around the cavern. A residual glow hung in the air, along with an eerie silence. Before, the air had thrummed with subsonic growls, but now there was nothing.
His grip tightened on her hand, and she matched it, thankful for the support. She grinned, unable to do anything else, and breathed in the cleansed air. Her body trembled with aftershocks, but she barely felt them.
She turned back, wanting desperately to hug him…
And awoke.
Buffy hadn’t been looking forward to meeting Giles, but she hadn’t realised that she would have to wait. She’d told the snooty receptionist that she was ‘Mr.’ Giles’ Slayer, and had been told, ever so politely, that ‘Mr.’ Giles watched for many, many girls.
Huh. And she’d thought that there was only just a handful.
After scowling at Dawn (a convenient substitute for the woman), she had sat down on one of the over-stuffed leather seats. There was a cluster of them, all mismatched, in one corner of the barren reception, clashing horribly with the magnolia walls. She supposed the large room must’ve once been the main office, instead of what it was now: the empty, unwelcoming reception for COW Publications.
Looking around, she was suddenly blinded by sunlight. It was flooding in through a wall of windows, showing up wear in the carpet and the dust in the air. Squinting, she turned away, focusing her eyes downwards to her hands.
An endless ten minutes later, the call came, in mocking, precise tones:
“Mr. Giles will see you now.”
Rising from her seat, Buffy headed over to the desk, and the door beside it. She wondered if she could get away with tipping coffee all over the woman’s tweed skirt.
Probably not.
After a rabbit warren of corridors, Buffy found the door labelled “Mr. Giles”. Without bothering to knock, she walked in.
“Excuse me!” Giles said angrily, looking up. Seeing her, his face changed. “Buffy! What a pleasant surprise! When Meredith said a- Dawn! Come in! Do sit down, both of you.” He came over to meet them, and then paused, as he saw Andrew come through the door. “Ah.” He didn’t look pleased. “I thought I’d…you’d gone to Scotland…for at least another month.”
“Yeah.” Andrew looked sheepish. And oblivious to Giles’ almost-terror. “It turned out that the demon drugs ring, that would’ve taken months of undercover work with the Edinburgh team to crack, was just an ordinary drugs ring. They got busted while I was on the train up. The division head up there knew how important I was to London, so they sent me back the same day - first class!”
Buffy could’ve sworn that Giles muttered something like “jammy bastards” under his breath, before continuing;
“Still. I’m, ah, surprised that you didn’t try and renew your position here.”
Andrew blushed, “Sorry about that. I totally should’ve called you guys. But I’ve been hanging with Buffy and Dawn. You know how that goes.”
“Yeah,” Dawn muttered, “A bit different from when he hangs with you. We actually want him around.” It was loud enough so that Buffy could hear, though Andrew remained oblivious.
Giles coughed, flustered, “Do take a seat, the three of you. There’s a spare chair in the corner.” He went back behind his desk, and shuffled some papers into a pile.
Dawn went and got the chair (cheap: blond wood with blue upholstery), pointedly placing it next to Andrew’s.
“So.” Giles seemed to have regained some calm. “What is it you wished to see me about?”
Even if Buffy had had something to say, she would have been silenced by Dawn, who thrust the magazine out, running into an explanation:
“Basically, some archaeologist guy found this armband, saying it was an example of how much we’ve underestimated tribal craftsmen in prehistoric Africa. Like, way underestimated them. Which, though possible, is pretty suspicious, so I’m thinking it’s something demony: ‘cause that would make a whole load more sense. And, besides, Buffy had a Slayer-type-flashback when she saw it.”
“Really?” Giles had been scanning the article, keeping up with Dawn’s explanation. He stopped now, and looked at her over his glasses. “A flashback to what?”
“Well, it was less of a flashback.” It wasn’t a flashback at all. She’d just said that to Dawn to shut her up. “It was more of a dream, ‘cause it didn’t really happen. Only not a dream, ‘cause I wasn’t asleep. Sorta like a daydream. Or a vision. It was more of a vision, really.”
“And in this vision you saw…?”
Buffy opened her mouth, and then closed it. She didn’t want to talk to Giles about this. Thinking about it, she didn’t really want to talk to anyone about this. But it didn’t look like she would get that option;
“Buffy. I must know what you saw. Any dreams, or visions that a Slayer has can be…terribly important.”
She sighed. There was no use resisting, in the end.
Trying to gather her thoughts, she said, “There was me. And, I was in the cavern, you know, the one under Sunnydale: the Hellmouth. And I was wearing the bracelet-thing.” She rubbed her right wrist, half-expecting the weight to reappear. “Then I, er, killed all the vampires - those, um, Turkey-Harns - with it.” That wasn’t right. He’d killed all the vampires; she’d just been the conduit. But they weren’t to know that.
“How exactly did you do this? Kill the Turok-Han?” He emphasised the name, as if saying it clearly would make it any more memorable.
“Um, like, a load of sunlight, or something?” His soul, perhaps? He’d said something before the end. “It came out of the diamond-bits, and just…killed them.”
“How? Did they burn, or was it instantaneous?”
“I don’t know. I had my eyes closed.” If it was anything like she remembered the first time around, though…She only caught a glimpse of flame, but laughter wouldn’t stop burning in her ears…. She shook her head, growing angry. “Why does any of this matter, anyway? It didn’t happen.”
“Of course. Of course.” Giles began to clean his glasses. Buffy rolled her eyes. “It’s just that what you’ve told me isn’t very much to go on. It implies that this,” he glanced to the journal, “gauntlet is supernatural in nature, but other than that….”
“Giles, don’t you see?” Dawn broke in. “This,” she shook the magazine, “has something to do with the last apocalypse. And, with Buffy’s vision, don’t you think it’d be at least useful to find out what that something is? What if we have to fight the First again? What if this is the key to Buffy’s, to our-”
“No.” This was one point Buffy was sure on. “I’m not fighting the First again. The Slayer-torch has passed.” She wasn’t going to lose anyone else. Not that way.
Dawn looked at her as if she’d grown another head.
And again, Giles was looking at her over his glasses. She had an impulse to rip them off and shove them up his nose.
“Are you saying you wish to,” he paused, “retire from slaying?” He made it sound obscene.
“I’m not saying I want go and live in the real world, singing ‘la la la’ with my fingers in my ears every time I see a vamp, but yeah. I don’t want to deal with another apocalypse.” Since the last one killed…people. And left her with friends she couldn’t trust. Obscene or not, she thought she had a valid reason.
The others sat in silence for a moment, before Giles said, “Well. It doesn’t look like there are any portents of impending doom, just at the moment, so that shouldn’t be a problem.” Which meant it would be when there was impending doom. “So, back to your artefact.” His voice wavered. “I suppose there’s no harm in investigating it.”
Dawn leapt on that, and she and Giles began to talk about museums, books and other things. Buffy wasn’t really listening. She tried to concentrate, but was distracted by Andrew, who was staring at her, the look on his face telling her that his hero had just abandoned him.
It was only a few days later, when Buffy found herself in the ‘New Acquisitions Department’ of the British Museum. They’d been sent, hastily, through several doors marked ‘Private’, and then left there, while their stressed-looking escort had hurried away. Buffy didn’t mind, but wished that one of them had had the forethought to ask how long they were likely to have to wait this time.
The room was pretty gloomy, and housed what looked like thousands of cardboard boxes, lined up neatly in rows of shelves. The open area, which they were now standing in, consisted of one long wooden table, pushed against some windows, which had thick velvet curtains drawn across them. There no chairs, and dust littered most of the surfaces.
Buffy was beginning to get impatient, but after a moment the doors at the other end of the room opened. Two men entered, both carrying boxes. One of them, with brown hair, was laughing; obviously at something the other, blond, had just said.
The blond turned on a light switch, and after a brief flickering, the strip lighting began to glow high above them. The other placed his boxes on the table, and turned to look at them.
“Hello.” He said, walking over, “You must be the ‘specialists’ from, er, across the pond?”
Buffy and Andrew nodded, while Dawn made a squeaking noise.
“Yeah,” she said, after a cough. She was still trying to look cool, but was blushing furiously and kept fiddling with the strap on her digital camera. Buffy winced for her.
The guy looked sceptic, “Right.” Buffy nibbled nervously on her lip, and he glanced at her, “You know, I hate to say it…but you do look more like the American auxiliary of the Famous Five than anything else.”
He looked at her bemusedly, and she looked back, blank.
“Dave,” his friend said, coming over to join him, “We’re ‘sposed to “help them in any way we can”, not take the piss.” He stuck out his hand, brushing some dirty blond hair out of his eyes. “Alex Wright. Pleased to meet you.”
“Buffy Summers,” she managed to get out, as he shook her hand. He concentrated on her for a moment, and then moved to Dawn and Andrew.
“Dave Chapman.” The other guy’s grip wasn’t as firm as his friend’s, though, to Buffy’s mind, his weasel-like features were much more friendly. “Sorry about the Blyton crack.” He smiled again, and Buffy found herself smiling back, even though she had no idea what he was talking about.
“Dave just loves showing off his crap taste in literature, don’t you, Dave?” Alex smirked at his friend, who squinted, fractionally,
“Yeah, well at least I don’t just look at the pictures.” He seemed unconcerned, though Buffy herself wondered why the insult had been necessary. Alex grinned a little more, however, and glanced over at Buffy, before replying;
“I’ll have you know, mate, that pictures can be very…what’s the word…oh yeah…stimulating.” He chuckled, and Dave just shook his head, obviously a little uncomfortable. It took a moment for Buffy to understand why. When she did, she blushed, and looked worriedly at Dawn, who seemed to be oblivious.
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments.
“Anyway,” Dave said, moving back to the boxes on the table. “Which artefact were you interested in, particularly?”
“It’s the bracelet, I bet you,” said Alex, putting his hands in his pockets. “Hell of a find, that. Plum’s gonna have us writing papers on it for years.” His expression changed, and he suddenly looked worried.
“Actually, yeah,” Dawn said apologetically, joining Dave at the table. “We just wanted to get some pictures. You know, for a, a study we’re doing. At, um, Harvard.” Buffy wished Giles hadn’t said that about them. She doubted any of them looked exactly like Harvard material. And she could practically see the Legally Blonde comparisons going on in their heads as they looked at her.
Still, college name-dropping seemed to have some effect, and Dave unhesitatingly began to show Dawn, and a now curious Andrew, various objects. She remained at the other end of the table, leaning on the edge. Alex came over to meet her.
“So, Harvard,” he said, standing next to her and crossing his arms. “Bit of a long way to travel, isn’t it? Just for a few pictures of some bangle.”
“Well,” she tried to remember their cover story, “We’ve been in Africa quite a bit, and we, er, came over here a few weeks back. For, um, seminars and stuff. And to see the museums. It’s kinda like a field trip. Only, y’know, not.” He nodded, looking, to her, a little over-enthusiastic.
“Right. You see, I was wondering,” he scanned his eyes across her, and she crossed her arms, uncomfortable. “We don’t get many girls like you who’re into the African thing. I mean, no offence, but, to me, you look more like one of those Greco-Roman birds: less interested in the culture, and more interested in the size of a statue’s -”
“Yes, well.” She decided it was probably time to cut him off. “Africa’s always been in my blood.” Where the hell had that come from?
“Really?” He seemed impressed, and she had to wonder why. “Can’t say the same of myself. Me, I was just an Egyptology undergrad who got sick of all the mummies.” He grinned, and she offered a weak smile in return.
He coughed, “So. Where’re you from then, originally?” He turned to face her slightly, hip leaning on the edge of the table.
“Well, um, I’m not sure where originally, but I was living in California…” She blushed, “I mean, when I wasn’t at college. Y’know: just couldn’t bear to be away from home, had to go back every year, and stuff….” She hoped her slip wasn’t noticeable.
“California, eh?” He seemed to accept it. “Whereabouts? Anywhere near Los Angeles, Hollywood an’ all that?”
“Um, not too far. It was this little town called Sunnydale. But that was,” She swallowed. How had she gotten onto this? “That was before….”
“Oh, I know Sunnydale! That place with the massive earthquake: swallowed the whole town.”
“Yeah.” So that was what they’d called it. An earthquake. Now she had even more reason to hate them.
“You know who you should talk to, if you were at Sunnydale? My mate Christie - ‘s all right, we’re not going out or anything - she’s completely mad about earthquakes.” Why would she care if they were ‘going out’ or not? She wasn’t going to talk to them about Sunnydale anyway.
“Yeah, um, if it’s OK with you, I’d prefer not to…”
“I mean, she’s absolutely obsessed with all those plate movements and seismographs and what ‘ave you.”
“Look, no offence to you, or “Christie”, or anyone, but I really don’t want to talk about…” The pulse in her head began to throb.
“You should come down the pub one night, ‘s what you should do, with me an’ Dave. I can introduce you to everyone.”
“That sounds very nice and everything, but…” Was that nausea?
“I mean, there’s Christie an’ Dom, Ben an’, what’s-‘er-name, Michelle, Brian an’ -”
“I’m sorry!” She said it loudly, silencing the room, though the echo was absorbed by the boxes. She winced. “I’m sorry. But there’s a lot of stuff going on right now, and…and….” She turned away. “Dawn, how are the pictures?”
Dawn was looking at her, as were Andrew and Dave.
“The pictures are, um, good.” Her expression was inscrutable.
“Well, we should probably…go then. We’ve got to do that thing.” She knew she didn’t sound convincing. She didn’t really care.
“Huh?” Apparently Dawn had forgotten every social grace she had ever known.
“You remember, Dawn, don’t you?” Somehow, though, Andrew had picked up a few. “We’ve gotta be somewhere after lunch.” He grabbed hold of Dawn’s elbow, and began to move her towards the door. “Thanks, Dave,” He called over his shoulder.
“Yeah, thanks,” Dawn did the same. “And you, Alex.” Alex nodded at her, still looking a bit shocked. He looked to Andrew, who simply glared at him. Disconcerted, he turned to Buffy once more;
“I’ll see you around then.”
“Yeah, um, maybe. Thanks for, um, all your help. And you, Dave.” She looked over to the other man, who nodded with something like understanding in his eyes. She smiled slightly, and followed the others out of the room.
As the door swung behind her, she heard some final, hushed words,
“Well, you buggered that one up, didn’t you? Poor cow.”
“What d’you mean “poor cow”? I’m the one she bloody insulted!”
“You really do have the perception of -”
The door settled closed.
To find yourself in a foreign land:
Another refugee, outsider refugee.
What happened to you?
-Bush, The People That We Love
[Chapter 3]
I'd like to dedicate this chapter to evilawyer, since she's one of the few people who reads this, and had a near-horrible thing happen a few days/weeks ago. I was sorry to hear about that, but am glad it wasn't serious.
Anyway, previous parts can be found here, and Chapter Two, The People That We Love, can be found below.
Warnings: Death/grief, graphic violence (upcoming)
Speed kills coming down the mountain,
Speed kills coming down the street.
Speed kills with presence of mind, and
Speed kills if you know what I mean.
Got to feel - woke up inside again,
Got to feel less broke more fixed.
Got to feel when I got outside myself,
Got to feel when I touched your lips.
Breaking away from his smile, she looked back around the cavern. A residual glow hung in the air, along with an eerie silence. Before, the air had thrummed with subsonic growls, but now there was nothing.
His grip tightened on her hand, and she matched it, thankful for the support. She grinned, unable to do anything else, and breathed in the cleansed air. Her body trembled with aftershocks, but she barely felt them.
She turned back, wanting desperately to hug him…
And awoke.
Buffy hadn’t been looking forward to meeting Giles, but she hadn’t realised that she would have to wait. She’d told the snooty receptionist that she was ‘Mr.’ Giles’ Slayer, and had been told, ever so politely, that ‘Mr.’ Giles watched for many, many girls.
Huh. And she’d thought that there was only just a handful.
After scowling at Dawn (a convenient substitute for the woman), she had sat down on one of the over-stuffed leather seats. There was a cluster of them, all mismatched, in one corner of the barren reception, clashing horribly with the magnolia walls. She supposed the large room must’ve once been the main office, instead of what it was now: the empty, unwelcoming reception for COW Publications.
Looking around, she was suddenly blinded by sunlight. It was flooding in through a wall of windows, showing up wear in the carpet and the dust in the air. Squinting, she turned away, focusing her eyes downwards to her hands.
An endless ten minutes later, the call came, in mocking, precise tones:
“Mr. Giles will see you now.”
Rising from her seat, Buffy headed over to the desk, and the door beside it. She wondered if she could get away with tipping coffee all over the woman’s tweed skirt.
Probably not.
After a rabbit warren of corridors, Buffy found the door labelled “Mr. Giles”. Without bothering to knock, she walked in.
“Excuse me!” Giles said angrily, looking up. Seeing her, his face changed. “Buffy! What a pleasant surprise! When Meredith said a- Dawn! Come in! Do sit down, both of you.” He came over to meet them, and then paused, as he saw Andrew come through the door. “Ah.” He didn’t look pleased. “I thought I’d…you’d gone to Scotland…for at least another month.”
“Yeah.” Andrew looked sheepish. And oblivious to Giles’ almost-terror. “It turned out that the demon drugs ring, that would’ve taken months of undercover work with the Edinburgh team to crack, was just an ordinary drugs ring. They got busted while I was on the train up. The division head up there knew how important I was to London, so they sent me back the same day - first class!”
Buffy could’ve sworn that Giles muttered something like “jammy bastards” under his breath, before continuing;
“Still. I’m, ah, surprised that you didn’t try and renew your position here.”
Andrew blushed, “Sorry about that. I totally should’ve called you guys. But I’ve been hanging with Buffy and Dawn. You know how that goes.”
“Yeah,” Dawn muttered, “A bit different from when he hangs with you. We actually want him around.” It was loud enough so that Buffy could hear, though Andrew remained oblivious.
Giles coughed, flustered, “Do take a seat, the three of you. There’s a spare chair in the corner.” He went back behind his desk, and shuffled some papers into a pile.
Dawn went and got the chair (cheap: blond wood with blue upholstery), pointedly placing it next to Andrew’s.
“So.” Giles seemed to have regained some calm. “What is it you wished to see me about?”
Even if Buffy had had something to say, she would have been silenced by Dawn, who thrust the magazine out, running into an explanation:
“Basically, some archaeologist guy found this armband, saying it was an example of how much we’ve underestimated tribal craftsmen in prehistoric Africa. Like, way underestimated them. Which, though possible, is pretty suspicious, so I’m thinking it’s something demony: ‘cause that would make a whole load more sense. And, besides, Buffy had a Slayer-type-flashback when she saw it.”
“Really?” Giles had been scanning the article, keeping up with Dawn’s explanation. He stopped now, and looked at her over his glasses. “A flashback to what?”
“Well, it was less of a flashback.” It wasn’t a flashback at all. She’d just said that to Dawn to shut her up. “It was more of a dream, ‘cause it didn’t really happen. Only not a dream, ‘cause I wasn’t asleep. Sorta like a daydream. Or a vision. It was more of a vision, really.”
“And in this vision you saw…?”
Buffy opened her mouth, and then closed it. She didn’t want to talk to Giles about this. Thinking about it, she didn’t really want to talk to anyone about this. But it didn’t look like she would get that option;
“Buffy. I must know what you saw. Any dreams, or visions that a Slayer has can be…terribly important.”
She sighed. There was no use resisting, in the end.
Trying to gather her thoughts, she said, “There was me. And, I was in the cavern, you know, the one under Sunnydale: the Hellmouth. And I was wearing the bracelet-thing.” She rubbed her right wrist, half-expecting the weight to reappear. “Then I, er, killed all the vampires - those, um, Turkey-Harns - with it.” That wasn’t right. He’d killed all the vampires; she’d just been the conduit. But they weren’t to know that.
“How exactly did you do this? Kill the Turok-Han?” He emphasised the name, as if saying it clearly would make it any more memorable.
“Um, like, a load of sunlight, or something?” His soul, perhaps? He’d said something before the end. “It came out of the diamond-bits, and just…killed them.”
“How? Did they burn, or was it instantaneous?”
“I don’t know. I had my eyes closed.” If it was anything like she remembered the first time around, though…She only caught a glimpse of flame, but laughter wouldn’t stop burning in her ears…. She shook her head, growing angry. “Why does any of this matter, anyway? It didn’t happen.”
“Of course. Of course.” Giles began to clean his glasses. Buffy rolled her eyes. “It’s just that what you’ve told me isn’t very much to go on. It implies that this,” he glanced to the journal, “gauntlet is supernatural in nature, but other than that….”
“Giles, don’t you see?” Dawn broke in. “This,” she shook the magazine, “has something to do with the last apocalypse. And, with Buffy’s vision, don’t you think it’d be at least useful to find out what that something is? What if we have to fight the First again? What if this is the key to Buffy’s, to our-”
“No.” This was one point Buffy was sure on. “I’m not fighting the First again. The Slayer-torch has passed.” She wasn’t going to lose anyone else. Not that way.
Dawn looked at her as if she’d grown another head.
And again, Giles was looking at her over his glasses. She had an impulse to rip them off and shove them up his nose.
“Are you saying you wish to,” he paused, “retire from slaying?” He made it sound obscene.
“I’m not saying I want go and live in the real world, singing ‘la la la’ with my fingers in my ears every time I see a vamp, but yeah. I don’t want to deal with another apocalypse.” Since the last one killed…people. And left her with friends she couldn’t trust. Obscene or not, she thought she had a valid reason.
The others sat in silence for a moment, before Giles said, “Well. It doesn’t look like there are any portents of impending doom, just at the moment, so that shouldn’t be a problem.” Which meant it would be when there was impending doom. “So, back to your artefact.” His voice wavered. “I suppose there’s no harm in investigating it.”
Dawn leapt on that, and she and Giles began to talk about museums, books and other things. Buffy wasn’t really listening. She tried to concentrate, but was distracted by Andrew, who was staring at her, the look on his face telling her that his hero had just abandoned him.
It was only a few days later, when Buffy found herself in the ‘New Acquisitions Department’ of the British Museum. They’d been sent, hastily, through several doors marked ‘Private’, and then left there, while their stressed-looking escort had hurried away. Buffy didn’t mind, but wished that one of them had had the forethought to ask how long they were likely to have to wait this time.
The room was pretty gloomy, and housed what looked like thousands of cardboard boxes, lined up neatly in rows of shelves. The open area, which they were now standing in, consisted of one long wooden table, pushed against some windows, which had thick velvet curtains drawn across them. There no chairs, and dust littered most of the surfaces.
Buffy was beginning to get impatient, but after a moment the doors at the other end of the room opened. Two men entered, both carrying boxes. One of them, with brown hair, was laughing; obviously at something the other, blond, had just said.
The blond turned on a light switch, and after a brief flickering, the strip lighting began to glow high above them. The other placed his boxes on the table, and turned to look at them.
“Hello.” He said, walking over, “You must be the ‘specialists’ from, er, across the pond?”
Buffy and Andrew nodded, while Dawn made a squeaking noise.
“Yeah,” she said, after a cough. She was still trying to look cool, but was blushing furiously and kept fiddling with the strap on her digital camera. Buffy winced for her.
The guy looked sceptic, “Right.” Buffy nibbled nervously on her lip, and he glanced at her, “You know, I hate to say it…but you do look more like the American auxiliary of the Famous Five than anything else.”
He looked at her bemusedly, and she looked back, blank.
“Dave,” his friend said, coming over to join him, “We’re ‘sposed to “help them in any way we can”, not take the piss.” He stuck out his hand, brushing some dirty blond hair out of his eyes. “Alex Wright. Pleased to meet you.”
“Buffy Summers,” she managed to get out, as he shook her hand. He concentrated on her for a moment, and then moved to Dawn and Andrew.
“Dave Chapman.” The other guy’s grip wasn’t as firm as his friend’s, though, to Buffy’s mind, his weasel-like features were much more friendly. “Sorry about the Blyton crack.” He smiled again, and Buffy found herself smiling back, even though she had no idea what he was talking about.
“Dave just loves showing off his crap taste in literature, don’t you, Dave?” Alex smirked at his friend, who squinted, fractionally,
“Yeah, well at least I don’t just look at the pictures.” He seemed unconcerned, though Buffy herself wondered why the insult had been necessary. Alex grinned a little more, however, and glanced over at Buffy, before replying;
“I’ll have you know, mate, that pictures can be very…what’s the word…oh yeah…stimulating.” He chuckled, and Dave just shook his head, obviously a little uncomfortable. It took a moment for Buffy to understand why. When she did, she blushed, and looked worriedly at Dawn, who seemed to be oblivious.
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments.
“Anyway,” Dave said, moving back to the boxes on the table. “Which artefact were you interested in, particularly?”
“It’s the bracelet, I bet you,” said Alex, putting his hands in his pockets. “Hell of a find, that. Plum’s gonna have us writing papers on it for years.” His expression changed, and he suddenly looked worried.
“Actually, yeah,” Dawn said apologetically, joining Dave at the table. “We just wanted to get some pictures. You know, for a, a study we’re doing. At, um, Harvard.” Buffy wished Giles hadn’t said that about them. She doubted any of them looked exactly like Harvard material. And she could practically see the Legally Blonde comparisons going on in their heads as they looked at her.
Still, college name-dropping seemed to have some effect, and Dave unhesitatingly began to show Dawn, and a now curious Andrew, various objects. She remained at the other end of the table, leaning on the edge. Alex came over to meet her.
“So, Harvard,” he said, standing next to her and crossing his arms. “Bit of a long way to travel, isn’t it? Just for a few pictures of some bangle.”
“Well,” she tried to remember their cover story, “We’ve been in Africa quite a bit, and we, er, came over here a few weeks back. For, um, seminars and stuff. And to see the museums. It’s kinda like a field trip. Only, y’know, not.” He nodded, looking, to her, a little over-enthusiastic.
“Right. You see, I was wondering,” he scanned his eyes across her, and she crossed her arms, uncomfortable. “We don’t get many girls like you who’re into the African thing. I mean, no offence, but, to me, you look more like one of those Greco-Roman birds: less interested in the culture, and more interested in the size of a statue’s -”
“Yes, well.” She decided it was probably time to cut him off. “Africa’s always been in my blood.” Where the hell had that come from?
“Really?” He seemed impressed, and she had to wonder why. “Can’t say the same of myself. Me, I was just an Egyptology undergrad who got sick of all the mummies.” He grinned, and she offered a weak smile in return.
He coughed, “So. Where’re you from then, originally?” He turned to face her slightly, hip leaning on the edge of the table.
“Well, um, I’m not sure where originally, but I was living in California…” She blushed, “I mean, when I wasn’t at college. Y’know: just couldn’t bear to be away from home, had to go back every year, and stuff….” She hoped her slip wasn’t noticeable.
“California, eh?” He seemed to accept it. “Whereabouts? Anywhere near Los Angeles, Hollywood an’ all that?”
“Um, not too far. It was this little town called Sunnydale. But that was,” She swallowed. How had she gotten onto this? “That was before….”
“Oh, I know Sunnydale! That place with the massive earthquake: swallowed the whole town.”
“Yeah.” So that was what they’d called it. An earthquake. Now she had even more reason to hate them.
“You know who you should talk to, if you were at Sunnydale? My mate Christie - ‘s all right, we’re not going out or anything - she’s completely mad about earthquakes.” Why would she care if they were ‘going out’ or not? She wasn’t going to talk to them about Sunnydale anyway.
“Yeah, um, if it’s OK with you, I’d prefer not to…”
“I mean, she’s absolutely obsessed with all those plate movements and seismographs and what ‘ave you.”
“Look, no offence to you, or “Christie”, or anyone, but I really don’t want to talk about…” The pulse in her head began to throb.
“You should come down the pub one night, ‘s what you should do, with me an’ Dave. I can introduce you to everyone.”
“That sounds very nice and everything, but…” Was that nausea?
“I mean, there’s Christie an’ Dom, Ben an’, what’s-‘er-name, Michelle, Brian an’ -”
“I’m sorry!” She said it loudly, silencing the room, though the echo was absorbed by the boxes. She winced. “I’m sorry. But there’s a lot of stuff going on right now, and…and….” She turned away. “Dawn, how are the pictures?”
Dawn was looking at her, as were Andrew and Dave.
“The pictures are, um, good.” Her expression was inscrutable.
“Well, we should probably…go then. We’ve got to do that thing.” She knew she didn’t sound convincing. She didn’t really care.
“Huh?” Apparently Dawn had forgotten every social grace she had ever known.
“You remember, Dawn, don’t you?” Somehow, though, Andrew had picked up a few. “We’ve gotta be somewhere after lunch.” He grabbed hold of Dawn’s elbow, and began to move her towards the door. “Thanks, Dave,” He called over his shoulder.
“Yeah, thanks,” Dawn did the same. “And you, Alex.” Alex nodded at her, still looking a bit shocked. He looked to Andrew, who simply glared at him. Disconcerted, he turned to Buffy once more;
“I’ll see you around then.”
“Yeah, um, maybe. Thanks for, um, all your help. And you, Dave.” She looked over to the other man, who nodded with something like understanding in his eyes. She smiled slightly, and followed the others out of the room.
As the door swung behind her, she heard some final, hushed words,
“Well, you buggered that one up, didn’t you? Poor cow.”
“What d’you mean “poor cow”? I’m the one she bloody insulted!”
“You really do have the perception of -”
The door settled closed.
To find yourself in a foreign land:
Another refugee, outsider refugee.
What happened to you?
-Bush, The People That We Love
[Chapter 3]