The breaks on the bus squealed, and Buffy's eyes shot open. She squinted against the daylight. "Mom." she mumbled. "Five more minutes...I promise I'll be ready for school then." She sat up, and everything came flooding back. Leaving Sunnydale. Leaving her mom, her Watcher, and her friends. Losing Angel.
"Morning." a friendly voice greeted. Buffy turned her head, recognizing the man beside her. Whistler.
"Where are we?" she asked, rubbing her neck. She'd never liked sleeping on a bus.
"Somewhere near San Jose." he told her, popping a stick of gum into his mouth, and rising. "C'mon, let's get out of here." Whistler said, gathering her coat and large black bag. Buffy rose slowly, and caught his arm.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"For now, I'm getting us some breakfast. I don't know about you, but I can't make big decisions on an empty stomach." Buffy nodded, and Whistler moved off the bus, bumping people as he passed by. "Sorry, excuse us..." he made his apologies, and Buffy followed behind him, slightly embarassed.
"I thought...I thought the bus was almost empty last night." she said, trying to make light conversation. She felt terrible. Buffy was going on almost no sleep, and the first pangs of homesickness were begining to hit.
"Yeah, we made some stops, picked up a few more people." he replied, shrugging it off. They made their way to a small, friendly dinner located on the outskirts of San Jose.
"Okay, what'll ya have?" he asked. Buffy glanced at the menu, and ordered fruit. "That's it?" Whistler asked, grunting disapprovingly. "You're skin and bones as it is. Eat something." he scolded. Buffy smiled indulgently. When her fruit salad arrived, accompanied with his large order of bacon, eggs, hashbrowns and toast, they got down to business.
"So, where are we gonna go?" Whistler asked, watching her carefully. She looked fragile. His first impression of her was not wrong. Buffy Summers was just a kid. She had also done some very difficult things in her short life, and he felt his heart swell with pity for her.
"We're close to San Francisco, aren't we?" she asked. Whistler nodded, dipping his eyes to avoid her gaze. He ended up studying the inside of his coffee cup. "I feel like there's something there..." Buffy considered her words. "Sounds crazy, huh? I just get out of one situation, and then...I'm so eager to get right back in it." The Slayer didn't need her Watcher there to tell her that whatever was waiting in San Francisco was just as bad as what had been in Sunnydale...maybe worse. Buffy just couldn't explain why she needed to go to that city. "I guess it's destiny." she said sadly. Whistler lifted his gaze to meet her one sorrowful one.
"Yeah, guess so." Whistler grunted, his mouth full of breakfast. He swallowed quickly, took a sip of thick black coffee, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Buffy winced. "Of course, I'm not here to make sure you follow your destiny. That's why I'm giving you the choice." He looked at her then, and Buffy felt at once how dangerous this 'man' was. She didn't know anything about him, really, only that he knew things about Angel, things about herself, that no one else had known. "I'm not your Watcher, kid." he told her. "If you don't want to go to San Francisco, just tell me. I don't think I need to explain the fact that there are dark things in waiting in San Francisco. There are other places we can go."
Buffy nodded glumly. For the first time since she had found out she was the Chosen one, she didn't feel an angry spurt of resentment towards her destiny. "We're going to San Francisco." she told him. And what's this 'we' stuff, anyway?" she asked. "I mean, I was going to do this alone."
"'Was' being the operative word. Look, you're not gonna get rid of me anytime soon." Whistler said as he took another bite of his food. "San Fransisco it is."
**************************************
The harsh sound of grating metal on metal made Buffy want to cover her ears. Now she knew how Giles had felt, recording that bat sonar when the praying mantis/teacher had tried to mate with Xander. Buffy closed her eyes against that memory. Any thought of her home was way too painful to deal with now, she decided. Instead, she concentrated on the present. Whistler threw open a large garage door, revealing what looked to be a car covered with a brown sheet. The man advanced into the garage, and Buffy followed, choking on dust, as he removed the sheet from the car. Underneath the decayed cloth was a beautiful blue 1967 Cadillac convertable. Buffy raised an eyebrow.
"I never pegged you for a flashy car." she said, teasing as she took in his lime-green shirt, shiny black jacket and 80's throwback hat one more time.
"Yeah. You're pretty good with the quick wit, you know." Whistler smiled. He was relieved to see this one sign of life from Buffy. She'd been so quiet on the drive all the way on the bus from the dinner to San Jose. She was actually kinda creepy, when she wanted to be. He smiled at that. A four-hundered year old demon being creeped out by a pouting seventeen year-old.
"Okay, only about a couple hundred miles 'til we hit San Fransisco, right?" she asked as he wiped the last traces off the dust from the car. Whistler glanced up.
"Eager to get there, huh?" he asked, looking back at the dustrag as it moved across the shiny metalic surface of the car. Buffy didn't reply. They piled into the Cadillac. Whistler guided the car right to a service station, got gas, and it wasn't long before they hit the highway. Buffy had already lasped into quiet medatation.
Whistler looked at her out of the corner of one eye. "Anyone ever tell you that you're quite the conversationalist?" he asked, a teasing note in his Brookland-accented voice. Buffy only smiled slightly, and he sighed. The Slayer had large dark circles under her eyes, and she'd only smiled once or twice in the three days on the road he'd spent with her. Whistler reached over and pulled a knob on the radio. A cheerful sixties tune filtered through the rush of the wind whipping around the open car. Buffy combed her hair through her fingers, letting the wind whip around the stray ends. "Want the top up?" he asked. She shook her head.
"So, what's in San Fransisco?" she finally asked. Whistler breathed a silent thank-you to whatever Gods there were. She was actually starting a conversation.
"I don't know." He noted the instant recoil in her body. Buffy had suddenly remembered that she really didn't know anything about Whistler, other than he kept following her all over the country and wouldn't let her be alone with her thoughts.
"So, you're as clueless as I am?" she asked, her voice cracking a little in fear.
"Uh, yeah, partly." he admitted, a little insulted that she didn't trust him more. But then, he thought, had he done anything to earn her trust? "I mean, I'm not gonna deliver you into the hands of certain death or anything."
"No guesses as to what the bad thing is in San Fransisco?"
"Besides the Greatful Dead revival?" he kidded, and she opened her eyes, glaring at him. "I don't know. I mean, I have an idea, but nothing's sure."
"Nothing's ever sure." she whispered. "That's the deal." Whistler looked at her in pity.
"We'll know when we get there. Say, can you find something less annoying on the radio?" he asked, feeling a headache coming on at the elavator music pumping through in glorious hi-fi. Buffy turned the dial a few times before he stopped her. 'Mrs. Robinson' came on, and he tapped his hands on the steering wheel to the upbeat tune. She rolled her eyes.
**********************************
Night seemed endless on the desert. Sunset and sunrise were the only times the area really came alive with small animals and the brilliant colors of the sun. Unfortunately, Spike missed those times, as he was otherwise occupied. Therefore, he was not a big fan of the Mojave Desert.
"It's a big, sandy, empty land." he muttered bitterly. He checked Drusilla. She was passed out in the backseat of the car. Dru had fought like a tigress as she woke slowly from the sleeper hold he'd use to knock her out in the fight against Angel. He'd had to use a bit more permanent method of getting her to be quiet. Luckily, he'd had some of the drugging medication Dru had given him during the first confining months in the wheelchair. "Laudinum. Beautiful name for the drug." he mentioned to the empty desert nighscape. A few animal carcasses littered the ground around him. He'd been feeding off the small desert animals for a few days now, sleeping in the car with the blacked-out windows during the intense heat of the desert day. He hadn't fed Drusilla at all, hoping to keep her weak in the off-chance that she'd wake up and try to kill him again.
Spike leaned back against the windsheild of the car, and lit a cigarette. He glanced up at the stars, struggiling to remember the last time he'd watched the night sky. Some faint memory from his human past crept up on him, and he recalled looking through one of the dirty skylight windows of the tenements he'd spent his childhood in, looking at the stars and making wish after wish. Spike extinguished the smoke on his hand, and jumped off the hood of the car. The metal was still hot from the sun that had set hours before. Spike moved around to the back of the car, and tried to peak through one of the blacked-out windows. Of course, he couldn't see anything. He opened the door.
Drusilla was curled up in a little ball in the corner of the backseat, shaking and whimpering to herself. Spike's heart melted at the sight.
"Miss Edith....!" Dru wailed, and Spike crawled into the back of the car, ready for anything. He couldn't forget that Dru was awfully strong, and that she hated him now. "Spike!" she exclaimed, her beautiful grey eyes clouded by insanity. "All the dolls have left me." she said, as if that explained her peculiar change of mood. One minute, she'd been ready to scratch his eyes out; the next, she was crying for her dolly. "Where have my dolls gone, Spike?" she asked, her pleading gaze meeting his. Spike grimiced, and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, Dru was almost beside him.
"Spike, do you love me?" she asked.
"Of course, pet. Always." he told her, cursing the truth for what it was. Why did he love her, anyway? he asked himself. She was a royal pain in the arse, most of the time.
"Then, help me get my Miss Edith back!" she begged. "I can't, I can't live without him." Spike knew now that her crazed mind had confused her beloved doll with Angelus.
"There there, love." he whispered, taking her into his arms. "I'll get Miss Edith back for you. Promise." Spike said, brushing his fingers over her lips. Drusilla sighed, and lay back quietly in his arms.
"If you are going, To San - Fran- Cisco..." Drusilla hummed. Spike wondered at her choice of music. Since when had she become a fan of Scott McKenzie? As she continued the sixites theme song, he allowed his eyes to drift close.
"You're going to meet, Some gentle people there..." she sang. Spike finally relaxed his body, and fell asleep for the first time in three days. Drusilla grinned, and saw her chance.
*********************************
"Wow, that was just about the longest couple hundered miles of my life." Buffy groaned as she stretched out the kinks in her neck. And she'd thought sleeping on a bus was bad?
"Hey, I got a little lost." Whistler defended himself as he guided the car into a parking space. "So slay me."
It was about four o'clock in the morning, Buffy guessed. They'd driven all day, from San Jose to San Francisco, taking a little sidetrack to Oakland before backtraking across the Golden Gate bridge. "So, where are we gonna stay?" Buffy asked, looking around. Whistler had parked the car near a subway station. A few run-down buildings and empty lots lined the rest of the street for as far as Buffy could see. The warm air of the California summer carried an incredible stench of garabage their way. This was *not* the happy, hippy San Fran Buffy had seen on TV. This area of the city was crime-infested and dirty. She even felt a little nervous about the people around her. They looked scarier than any vamps she'd ever seen. Whistler followed her frightened gaze with his own.
"Hell's Angels." he whispered. Buffy glanced at him, a little fearful.
"Let me guess, they're fallen angels ready to do battle with any messenger of Heaven." she supplied one of Giles' pet 'demon explanations'. Whistler grinned, and shook his head.
"Nope. They're just a bunch of drugged-out bikers." he said, and Buffy took a closer look at the men in black leather across the street. "You've been on the Hellmouth *way* too long." Whistler told her, shooting a worried glance at the men. They may not be demons, but they seemed awfully interested in his beautiful Caddy. "Let's get inside." he whispered. Buffy looked around once more.
"Where?" she asked.
"In here." Whistler replied, motioning towards an abandoned subway tunnel. A few of the members of the Hell's Angels biker band started towards Buffy and Whistler. Looks like I don't have much of a choice, Buffy thought. She followed Whistler down into the tunnel.
****************************************
Spike woke up slowly, and raised his head even more slowly. He was lying in the middle of the desert. That was sand under his head which had made such a rustling he'd had to wake. Spike looked around. He was lying on moist, rough sand. Daylight was only a few hours away. And there was nothing, no shelter, no road, nothing but desert, for miles.
"Better get out of this one fast, mate." Spike told himself. "Or you're gonna toast." He got up quickly and began walking. In a few minutes of trugding through the frigid desert air, he came to the main road. Picking out the last of the fading stars, he headed west down the main highway. For the next half hour or so, all Spike did was walk. And curse Drusilla. She'd leapt upon him while he dozed, and before he knew it, she'd drained some of his blood and stuffed ten or twelved laudium pills down his throat. He was already weak, having fed off nothing but dead animals for days, and Drusilla had been fed by the inner strength of her insanity.
"Maybe you wanted to let her go, mate." Spike said in the quiet desert air. He walked, and thought, and walked, untill the first hues of daylight appeared in the eastern sky of the Mojave Desert. "I'm going to die out here." Spike whispered, thinking of it for the first time. He wondered if being burned to death by the sun would hurt. Certainly seemed to hurt the Annoying One, Spike thought, a faint smile playing along his lips as he imagined the death of that vamp-child. His smile vanished as his alert ears caught the sound of an approaching vehicle. Headlights in the pre-dawn light flashed not far down the road, and Spike moved into the middle of the highway. Soon, he could discern the faint outlines of the fast-approaching car. It was an ugly orange volkswagon van. He smiled. Loud rock music pumped from inside the van as it screeched to a stop. The door of the car opened, and some smoke came billowing out.
"Hey man!" a slightly slurred voice called from behind the cloud of smoke. Spike caught the very noticable aroma of marauana. "Want a ride, or what?" the voice asked. Spike considered the choice. A slow, painful death from the sun, or a short ride in a van with a bunch of drugged-out teenages. Spike was about to refuse when he had the presence of mind to ask an important question.
"Going anywhere near San Francisco?"
*******************************
The subway tunnel wasn't as bad as Buffy had thought it would be. Like most underground subways, the odors of rotting food and urine were noticeable, but this one had been deserted long ago, so the stench wasn't overpowering. She kept close behind Whistler and tried not to think about what lurked in the dark. Ever since her last confrontation with Angel, she hadn't wanted to fight, or think about fighting. Buffy wondered if she was losing her slaying powers.
"Hey kid, I wouldn't worry about that." Whistler said ahead of her, his voice a becon in the dark of the tunnel.
"Hey, could you stop doing that?" Buffy demanded, stopping and turning Whistler around so she could talk face-to-face with him.
"Stop doing what?" he asked innocently. Buffy rolled her eyes.
"You know what I mean. Listening to my thoughts, reading my mind. Whatever you want to call it, stop doing it, okay?" she ordered. Whistler shot her a confused look, a glint of amusment in his eye. He turned around, and moved on. Buffy followed. They walked another hundered feet before Whistler stopped again.
"Here we go." he said. Buffy looked around. They were in a very dark, smelly, decaying subway tunnel. Thirty tons of re-inforced concrete separated them from the busy streets of San Francisco above their heads.
"Here where?" she asked. "There's nothing here!"
"Hey, you've trusted me so far, right?" he mentioned, walking to the side of the tunnel. Whistler began feeling the wall, testing it for a certain pressure point...."There!" he exclaimed. Buffy heard a slight whirring noise. It sounded like a subway train whizzing past on the other side of the wall. Then, the track just beneath her feet dropped away, revealing a set of stairs. She looked at Whistler in amazment.
"How did you...nevermind." she said, deciding that there were some things she didn't want to know about Whistler. He looked at her once, carefully, then started down the set of stone steps. She followed him, once again.
"Know anything about the history of this city?" he asked her. Buffy shook her head. "Four hundered years ago, this area was wild, uninhabited for the most part except for a few Indian tribes." Whistler said as they descended into darkness. Buffy shivered as a spiderweb brushed across her bare arm. No one had been down here in...years. Whistler continued his narrative as he flicked open a cigarette lighter and held the wavering beam up to reveal the descending steps.
"Anyway, this city was founded on one of the old Indian burial grounds. A mass graveyard. Some lucky San Franciscans still find mummified corpses when they put in a new swimming pool in their backyards." Whistler told her. "You think Sunnydale was built on a center of mystical convergence? Check this place out. Over five million Indian bodies were buried in this area. The Shamen of the various tribes each placed a blessing, and a curse, over this land."
"Over San Francisco? The Sunniest Place on Earth?" Buffy asked, recalling a billboard back on the highway bearing that slogan to attract tourist dollars to the city. She believed Whisperer, however. Something radiated from this place, an evil force she couldn't begin to describe. As they continued their passage into the underbelly of the city, Buffy began noticing a rapid drop in temperature. Also, she no longer heard the scurry of rats in the dark tunnels around her.
"Why do you think all those hippies headed here in the sixties?" Whistler asked. "It wasn't the love, peace or freedom this place promised, you can be sure of that."
"Oh." Buffy whispered as the cigarette lighter flickered out.