Time Travel pt. 4
Author: Ivy Gort
Part 4/?
Rating: PG B/F
Spoilers: Enemies
Note: Faith loves Buffy. The entire story is contrived and most likely won’t
work. In no way am I trying to be historically correct. If I insult anyone
I am very, very sorry and I wasn’t trying too.
Note Two: The name Crowley means Crow-like. I am not using the Crow the way
the TV show does, nor am I referring to A Crowley’s form of Wiccian. I am
using it the way D. Bouvier does in her ritual poem “Crow.”
Title: Time-travel for right now. But I will take other suggestions.
Feedback: Please!!! Oh, please, because I am a beginner and need help and
encouragement.
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy, Faith, Willow or the Mayor. Joss owns the
world, though Fox thinks it does!
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Part 4
Willow followed Oz into the library. They were supposed to meet with Buffy
at the Ice Cream Bar after her patrol with Faith. Willow really wanted to
hear how Buffy’s “date” with Angel had gone. Willow had a hard time keeping
up with her friend’s relationship with its on-again-off-again nature and
tonight she wanted the “lo down.” Oz, of course, drove Willow to the
meeting place and then stayed while she waited. After an hour of waiting
she called Mrs. Summers to see if Buffy had forgotten about the meeting, but
no one answered the phone.
Then the storm started; seemly out of nowhere the wind started blowing and
shortly there after the rain came. Not just a storm, a hurricane! Willow
thought as she walked up to the table, looking for Giles. The lights were
still on so he had to be around here somewhere, she thought to herself.
Then her lights went out, the last thing she saw as a sweet smelling cloth
was forced over her face was Oz lying unconscious on the floor by the
doubles doors with an El Eliminati sword's man standing over him.
“My love should she not be awake by now.” A deep masculine voice echoed
through Willow’s head reeking havoc and causing her pain beyond her
tolerance. She groaned softly as her stomach roiled and her head exploded
into a starbursh.
“Oh, god, just kill me now!” She whispered clutching the sides of her head
trying to keep her brains inside it.
Willow heard a gentle chuckle above her, the chuckle turning into the frail
voice of an old woman, “dear sweet Willow, never could deal with physical
pain.”
Willow tried to open her eyes but a small dry hand covered them and
kept them closed.
“Willow, dear, keep your eyes closed for just a little while longer, until
the drug is out of your system.” The frail voice said above her. She felt
a puff of air on her face as the voice continued in a stage whisper by her
ear, “Oh and it’s not the best of ideas to tell a room full of vampires to
kill you.”
Willow’s eyes snapped open and she sat up expecting to see the hordes of the
undead ready to rip her apart. Instead she had to clinch her mouth shut to
keep the nausea at bay while she looked around the room, or as her vision
cleared she found out she was in a warehouse. There were about 20 vamps
wearing the uniform of the El Eliminati but they were doing decidedly unvamp
like things, like openly smiling as if she were the brunt of a huge joke.
“Oh great Vamp humor, “ she said under her breath continuing to scope out
her situation. She could barely hear the raging storm through the warehouse
walls.
“Not normal vamp humor,” the woman’s voice said behind Willow causing her to
turn around on the table she was sitting on. The witch’s mouth dropped open
as she looked at what must have been the oldest person on the face of the
planet. Yet, Willow noticed, the woman’s green eyes were clear and bright
with intelligence.
“All these vamps were made from one American-Indian tribe: when they lived
they were the original inhabitants of Sunnydale.” The woman waved her arm in
an expansive gesture to include the 20 odd vamps in the warehouse. The
frail woman continued in a soft voice as if trying to put Willow at ease.
The softness of the woman’s voice creating an extreme contrast to the shear
power that radiated off her in waves.
“They believed that the creator put them here to guard the “hellmouth” which
is really a vortex to other realities.” The woman motioned for Willow to
follow her over to what looked like a ritual working space. One Willow
would have loved to create for herself.
“It’s so simple,” Willow said in awe even as she noticed the runes and
symbols of protection from her own studies. The red headed witch was
wondering at her own reactions to the situation, here she was a prisoner to
this old lady with her army of vamps and she wasn’t totally panicking or
terrified. Then she remembered Oz and quickly glanced around.
“Yes,” the woman continued speaking about her ritual circle ignoring Willow.
“Most of the time simpler is the best way to go in dealing with magic.”
The woman turned to face Willow, and the Witch got the distinct impression
the frail lady was measuring her.
“You may call me Crowley, no I do not practice his magical ways, the name
was given to me.” She explained, still holding Willow’s captive with her
eyes. Crowley sighed and swayed as she turned away, immediately one of the
vamps was at her side, towering protectively over her and supporting her
with his massive arms.
“My love you must rest and conserve your strength,” The vamp said in the
same deep voice Willow remembered from earlier. And once again Willow’s
mouth dropped open because the Vampire in question was most beautiful
person, man or woman, she had ever seen. He had silky long black hair tied
away from his face by a leather tong and his bronze skin seemed to glow with
health and vigor. He was in every way a total contrast to the old woman he
held so lovingly in his arms. Crowley’s silver hair and parchment like skin
seemed stretched to tightly over her bones and she looked like a walking
corpse. Which was strange because it was her lover who was the corpse,
Willow thought to herself. But it was the way Crowley and the vamp were
looking at each that should have given Willow the biggest case of the
wiggins instead she marveled at the devotion that shone through as the two
lovers were lost for a moment in each other. Crowley and the vampire looked
exactly like Buffy and Angel—before Angelus. Then Willow knew: all these
Vamps were not part of the demon Balthazar, army. They were El Eliminati,
but they all had their souls and had chosen to follow Crowley.
“Wow,” Willow whispered. “Why did you ensoul all these vampires?”
At Willow’s whispered question Crowley turned towards the witch with her
eyes flashing green fire. “Because all their deaths were your
fault—everything they loved and believed in and protected was nearly lost
because your selfishness!” The old woman spat out in a rush and Willow
could see a faint glow of light shining from the woman as her aura flared
with anger.
Willow had to step back away from the woman and her words. And Willow knew
that the woman before her was a Shaman, a very powerful deranged Shaman at
that. Still, Willow felt a need to defend herself to Crowley. “How could I
cause their deaths, they must have died sixty, seventy years ago….”
Crowley waved her hand to silence her, “exactly 100 years ago tomorrow.”
The witch was even more confused and now getting very frightened, did the
lunatic want some kind of revenge for Willow’s imaginary actions? She
backed farther away from the Shaman her eyes glancing around the warehouse
for an escape route.
Finally the vamp Crowley spoke. “Be still little tree, the Lady will
explain, somewhat.” For some reason Willow believed him. Crowley turned to
her vampire lover and pulled his face down for a kiss. Again, Willow
thought she should have been grossed out by what appeared to be a very old
woman kissing a young man—but she wasn’t—she wondered if this was what Buffy
and Angel would have looked like in eighty years if not for Angelus.
At last Crowley pulled away from her demon lover and approached Willow by
the ritual space. The Shaman looked down at the circles of protection.
“This is what I am going to use to help you make things right.”
Willow looked at her confused. “What do you mean? How can I be responsible
for something 100 years ago!” The frustration boiling over at the fact a
lunatic held her prisoner.
The Shaman looked at Willow, her cold green eyes dismissing her. “We have
been watching you ‘little tree’ you hold so much power within your hands,
power that could have changed lives for good.” The old lady paused,
breathing deeply, and Willow was struck once again how fragile the woman
looked. If you discounted the magical energies she held in her hands.
“Instead of welcoming the new slayer, you were driven mad over jealousy at
the possibly of losing your friend.” Crowley continued, her green eyes
beginning glow. “You never once thought of what your best friend needed or
wanted, only that you were threatened—“
“Faith is a psycho!” Willow shouted. Then added in a mumble, “she killed a
man and then tried to kill Xander.” The witches voice rising with each word.
“I still don’t see why what this has to do with me. Why did you bring me
here and where is Oz.”
The beautiful vamp behind Crowley smiled; “Your Wolf is safe, little tree,
and if you give your word to try and make amends he will released in the
morning, unharmed.” Again Willow believed the vamp.
“Enough of this, we are wasting time.” The shaman interrupted. “You will
go back exactly one hundred years and try to fix your mistakes with the
other slayer.” Willow started to shake her head no, but Crowley held up her
hand to stop her protest. “I said enough, child!” The shaman shouted.
“Because of your jealous actions the slayer Faith has become ensnared in
Wilkin’s plot and has gone back. If you do not go find her—help her--then
the timeline he remembers will become real.”
The red headed Witch just stood there in shock, not really understanding all
she was being told. Crowley continued, “ if his reality becomes this one,
all your friends will die horrible deaths and it will be all your fault.”
With a flare the shaman walked away from Willow to the center of the circle.
Willow shook herself out of her shock and confusion: “Look this isn’t
going to work. Faith hates me; she will never trust me. Wouldn’t it be
better if we just left Faith there and then Buffy….” At the mention of
Buffy’s name Crowley, the great Shaman, seemed to deflate in front of
Willow. And Willow knew then that Faith had Buffy with her, a hundred years
ago and if Faith was in with the mayor then something was terribly wrong
with her best friend. Willow sighed, and knew she had to go back to past if
for no other reason than to try and save Buffy—because that is what best
friends did.
“Do you know how I’m going to get Faith to listen to me?” Willow asked, now
trying to gain wisdom from the old woman.
“No, but I would suggest asking for forgiveness and if that doesn’t work try
begging. Are you ready?”
“No….” But the storm that had been raging in the background suddenly grew in
fury and loudness until Willow could only hear the booming thunder.