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Out of Africa
by spikeNdru
Genre: Gen; Action/Adventure
Pairings: Xander and Ensemble; no pairings yet.
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Two years post-Chosen
Disclaimers: The characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox; they aren't currently using
them so I'm borrowing them for awhile.
Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25
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Chapter Twelve
They would definitely have to make a run to the store soon to reprovision, Xander decided, especially now that there were two additional people staying with them. And, they were down to the choice between mocha and regular coffee, Xander noted with dismay. Chocolate-flavored coffee for breakfast didn't really float his boat, so he went with the more normal Bold Roast—although the name sounded more like Sunday dinner with an attitude problem than a flavor of coffee to him. They were running low on eggs and milk, too.Xander rapidly peeled and sliced several potatoes and chopped an onion. He'd fry the potatoes and onion first, then scramble the remaining eggs and pour them over the potatoes to make the eggs stretch to feed more people. That should work.
The smell of the coffee percolating brought a sleepy Connor into the kitchen. He rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his fine, straight hair. He then balanced on one bare foot and used the other to pull down the leg of his sweatpants, which had ridden halfway up his calf while he slept.
“Mmm . . . breakfast,” he said and smiled sunnily at Xander. “Need any help?”
“I've pretty much got things under control for now,” Xander responded. “Grab a cup of coffee and I wouldn't say 'no' if you poured me one, too.”
Connor poured coffee into two mugs, carried them to the table and slouched bonelessly into one of the kitchen chairs.
Xander flipped the potatoes to allow the other side to brown, added another pat of butter to the skillet, and sat down across from Connor. “So,” he said conversationally. “Angel's son, huh? What's that like?”
“Look,” Connor replied. “Let's not make a thing of it, okay? I thought you guys should know, and I owe Angel big time for what he did for me, but Lawrence and Colleen Reilly are my parents, okay? I know Angel's my real father, and I respect him and appreciate what he did for me, but I never really grew up knowing him as my father, you know? In one reality, I had a happy life with a good family, and in the other I was taken to a hell dimension by a man Angel wronged before he got a soul. So, I know in my head that Angel is my biological father, but in my heart Lawrence Reilly is my dad. Angel's more like this cool, monster-fighting older brother, you know?”
“Yeah. Sorry, Connor. I didn't mean—”
“It's okay. We're good.”
“So . . . you have a girlfriend at Stanford?”
“Not really. Oh sure, I've dated and all, but I guess I've always had a thing for older women. How about you?”
“Me and older women? Well, I once had a crush on a teacher—but she turned out to really be a giant praying mantis that ate her mates. Then, there was a 500-year-old Incan mummy girl who sucked the life out of people. And my last girlfriend was an 1100-year-old ex-vengeance demon, so I think I'm cured of the older woman thing. Now, I'm looking for someone who's only been alive since the advent of MTV, rather than the discovery of the American continent.”
Connor laughed. “I meant, do you have a girlfriend? I thought maybe you and Willow . . .”
“Willow? She's always been my best friend. As long as there's no formal wear involved . . . Oh, and besides, she's gay now.”
Connor nodded. “Yeah. I thought there was some sparkage between her and Fred when she came to re-ensoul Angel. I can't wait till she meets Illyria!”
Xander looked confused for a moment, and then suddenly remembered his potatoes. He jumped up to check on them and was just in the nick of time. Xander turned down the heat and poured the eggs over them.
“You wanna tell the others that breakfast is ready?” Xander suggested.
“Sure.” Connor smiled. “Nice talking to you, Xander.”
“Same here.” Xander sighed as he sprinkled salt and pepper into the pan. “He seems like a nice guy—but I still miss Oz.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
After the breakfast dishes were cleared away and Connor offered to wash them later, Willow called a meeting in the living room.“So, Willow's in charge now?” Faith commented neutrally.
“There was this thing, with a plaque, with sparkles and stars and everything—never mind,” Xander replied. “I guess anyone with something to say can call a meeting, if they want. We're not real structured . . .”
“Relax. I'm good,” Faith responded.
“Okay,” Willow began. “I just thought we should all get together and talk about what we need to be doing. We could maybe make a list? Any suggestions?”
“Grocery shopping,” Xander offered. “We're out of just about everything.”
“Okay. Groceries,” Willow said, writing it down. “Who wants to—”
“Dawn and I can take care of that,” Xander hurriedly volunteered. “We know where the stores are and stuff.”
“Groceries—Dawn and Xander. Check,” Willow said. “What else do we need?”
“Maybe Faith and I could take a run down to Palm Springs to talk to Lorne?” Connor suggested. “I know him, and he'll remember briefly meeting me, and I could probably find him if he's there.”
“Good idea,” Willow said. “And I'll give Giles a call later to see if he's turned anything up that could be useful, or if he has any ideas I could be looking into. When you guys get back, maybe Connor and I could talk to Harmony, too? Oh, and I'll see if Althenea knows any spells to open portals that don't involve anybody dying. Any other suggestions?”
The words I can talk to Wesley appeared on the list.
“Okay. Dennis can see if Wesley has any info. Anything else?”
“If Connor's going to Palm Springs, I'll do the dishes,” Dawn offered.
“Okay. Looks like we've got today planned out. I'll be Command Central, since I'm going to be here. Does everyone have the number of my cell? Good. Good luck, everybody. Meeting adjourned.”
“Well,” Connor commented as he headed toward Xander's room to change for the roadtrip. “That was fast. That may have been the shortest meeting I've ever attended.”
“That's 'cause there weren't any unnecessary, boring motivational speeches involved,” Faith muttered under her breath.
There was a hastily muffled snort of laughter from behind her. Faith turned her head, met Dawn's eyes and grinned.
“Pardon?” Connor said. “I don't quite understand what you mean.”
“That's okay.” Faith patted him on the shoulder in a gesture just shy of patronizing, but that didn't quite cross the line. “You kinda had to be there.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
It was decided that Xander and Dawn would drop Connor and Faith at his Jeep in the parking garage before going shopping. When everyone had cleared out to begin their various missions, Willow washed the breakfast dishes and stacked them in the drainer to dry. She poured the last three-quarters cup of coffee and heated it in the microwave, then carried the cup into the living room, sat down on the couch and stared at her laptop. She was anxious to begin researching. She and Giles had always maintained a friendly—and sometimes not so friendly—rivalry regarding the value of the Internet verses ancient tomes as the best way to research, and she'd love to get the jump on him with information about Quor-Toth, but maybe she should call Kennedy first? She hadn't talked to Kennedy in nearly a week, and sure, she'd been busy reconnecting with Xander and Dawn, and then there'd been Harmony and finding Connor and Faith's arrival . . . but why hadn't Kennedy called her?Willow hoped everything was okay at home, and Giles had spoken to Kennedy yesterday, so she was probably fine—not injured or anything, but still . . . why hadn't she called?
No sense dithering about it, Willow decided as she picked up her phone and keyed in the numbers for an International call. The phone rang four times and then the answering machine kicked in. Willow sighed. She hated the outgoing message Kennedy had left on the machine. They'd even argued about it. The first time Kennedy had called home and gotten the original message Willow had recorded, she'd gone through the roof. Apparently Willow had done everything wrong, from identifying them both by name, to giving out too much information, although Willow still preferred the cheery Hola! You've reached Casa de Willow and Kennedy to the current brusque 'greeting': If you're hearing this, we're unavailable right now. Leave a message at the tone.
“Kennedy? Hi, it's Willow . . .” she began, when the phone was picked up.
“Hey, babe. Didn't know it was you. I was just on my way out, so I thought I'd let the machine get it.”
Babe? “Oh, sorry. Is this a bad time for me to call?”
“No, it's okay. I can't talk too long, though, 'cause I've got a job and don't wanna be late.”
“A job? You mean a mission of some kind?”
“Nah. Just a job. It's temporary, but it seemed like it'd be fun and you weren't here—and you know how I hate being bored.”
“Oh. Well . . . good. What kind of job is it?”
“Bodyguard.”
“A bodyguard? You'll be careful, won't you, Kennedy? Oh—and you're sure it's not some kind of drug lord or anything, 'cause that could really be dangerous—”
A burst of laughter made Willow hold the phone away from her ear.
“A drug lord? Babe, give me some credit!”
“Well, they do have them, and who else besides political figures and drug lords need bodyguards? Okay, probably also people planning military coups, but I'm guessing they don't use civilian bodyguards—”
“You forgot rich people, entertainers, movie stars, public figures . . . lots of people.”
“Oh. Okay. I guess I'm not up on the latest requirements for personal security in South America. So . . . who are you working for? How'd you hear about the job? Oh! Are you like undercover because vampires are involved in some way?”
Kennedy sighed. It sounded like one of those here-we-go-again sighs, usually-accompanied-by-an-eye-roll to Willow.
“Y'know, Willow, there are actually people in this world whose lives don't revolve around vampires and demons and other assorted nasties.”
“Of course there are! And that's why there are people like us—so their lives can revolve around normal things.”
“Whatever. Look, babe, I gotta go. It was nice talkin' to you—we'll have a nice long visit when this gig's over.”
“Wait!” Willow exclaimed. “You never did tell me who you were working for!”
“Oh. It's Shakira. She's on tour near here and she's got an interview in like twenty minutes, so I really gotta go. Say 'Hi' to Xander for me. Love ya. Bye.”
Willow stared at the phone in her hand until the annoying B-z-z-z sound reminded her to disconnect. When had Kennedy started calling her 'Babe'? And who was protecting the ordinary people from 'vampires and demons and assorted nasties' while the assigned slayer was gallivanting around with Shakira?
~*~*~*~*~*~
“So you go to Stanford, huh?” Faith asked, after they had navigated the Freeway system in silence and were on the open road—or as open as any road got in Southern California.“Yeah. How about you? Are you thinking of going to school? 'Cause Stanford is a really good school.”
“Nah. I never finished high school. That, along with doin' time, plus the fact that I wasn't exactly released sorta makes signin' up for anything official a really bad idea.”
“I guess so. But you have that whole slayer thing going on, so I guess you don't really need to decide what you want to be when you grow up, do you? You're out there saving the world on a regular basis, even if most people don't know it or give you any props for it—it's still pretty cool.”
“Thanks. I hear you got a secret identity thing of your own goin' on. Nice moves last night, by the way. You wanna maybe get in some training together—spar a little or something—when we get back?”
“Sure. I'd like that.”
“Five by five.”
That apparently concluded the conversation, Connor decided, because Faith leaned forward and began to fiddle with the radio until she found a station she liked. The next half hour of the drive was accompanied by Metallica, Rob Zombie, and other bands that made conversation impossible. Faith leaned her head against the seat-back and closed her eyes, lost in the music.
When Connor was sure she was asleep, he reached forward to change the station. He felt a brief, stinging pain on the backs of his fingers and snatched his hand back. Apparently Faith hadn't been asleep after all.
Faith looked at him through the screen of her thick lashes and indolently shook her index finger at him.
“None of that emo-shit,” she demanded. “That's not even real music.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Connor said with a grin. “You wish is my command.”
“And don't you forget it, unless you're ready to go a few rounds with Mistress of Pain.”
Connor's eyes sparkled with laughter, but he remained silent.
“Well?” Faith asked impatiently.
“I'm thinking. Can I let you know my decision later?”
Faith laughed with the full-bodied, honest enjoyment of a child. “You're a real firecracker, aren't you?”
Connor grinned. “I have my moments.”
But he made no attempt to change the station again.
Connor took the top off the Jeep when they stopped for gas. The sun beat down on them and the wind tossed their hair around their faces as the strains of Enter Sandman, Papercut, and Living Dead Girl made a bubble of sound that encompassed the Jeep as they flew down the road.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“So. You got any ideas how we're gonna find this Lorne dude?”Connor thought. “He used to be an entertainer—he even played Vegas—so we could check the hotels and lounges. And he had his own club before he hooked up with Angel, so maybe we can check small, out of the way clubs, too.”
“Lorne! You mean that green demon guy? Shit! I didn't remember his name and I never put it together till now. How about you check the swanky hotels—see if he's the entertainment—and I'll see what I can find out from the demon underground. I figure this dude's either gonna be in plain sight where the normals think he's got a weird act goin' on—you know, like Liberace—or, if he's hidin', some demon or other has to have seen him. If we split up we can cover more territory.”
“Okay. Let's say we meet back here in . . . how much time do you think you'll need, Faith? Two hours? Three?”
“Let's go with three, to be on the safe side. See ya later, kid.”
Faith flashed Connor a grin, flexed her fingers as if she were already imagining the enjoyment of eliciting information from recalcitrant demons, and took off. Connor locked the Jeep and entered the hotel next to the lot in which they had parked. He bought a newspaper and an entertainment guide, chose a booth in the bar—grateful that he had just missed the lunch crowd—ordered a Coke and began to research.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Connor spent a fruitless afternoon cross-checking the advertised entertainment at all the large hotels and clubs. He'd made phone calls, when possible, and did the legwork of personally visiting the places that didn't answer the phone. He hoped Faith was having better luck.Connor wearily returned to the hotel where he was to meet Faith. A thought had been teasing at his mind for the last hour. Maybe Lorne doesn't actually live here. Maybe he was just visiting for the weekend like Eve had been.
Connor ordered a tuna sandwich, fries and a Coke. He was generally always hungry. Must be my metabolism, he decided. You don't get superpowers for nothing. Connor laughed and began to eat.
Thankfully, he had finished his sandwich when Faith blew in. She grabbed a handful of fries and dragged him out of the booth.
“Come on,” she said. “I got a line on Lorne—unless there's two Pyleans livin' in Palm Springs. But, even if there is, he'll probably know Lorne, so let's go!”
Faith caught his hand and ran to the Jeep. “Gimme the keys,” she said. “I got directions, but I didn't have anything to write them down, and it's kinda outside town in the desert.”
Connor handed over the keys and slid into the passenger seat.
“Don't talk to me, okay? I gotta concentrate on the directions.”
Connor shrugged and fastened his seat belt.
Faith was actually a pretty decent driver, Connor decided. Oh sure, she missed a few gears here and there, going from first to third without stopping at second on the way, but her hands were sure and steady on the wheel, and she didn't try to hot dog.
They soon left Palm Springs and were heading out into the desert. They drove for about twenty minutes before seeing any signs of habitation. Connor was beginning to wonder if Faith had gotten the directions mixed up, when he saw something that made him blink, rub his eyes and look again, in case what he had seen was a mirage. A large, decrepit hotel loomed over a defunct golf course. It was built in a style that could only be described as Gothic, in which Miss Havisham would have felt right at home as a guest. An algae-encrusted pond, located at what one time had been the 7th hole, was now home to a houseboat that defied description. Connor and Faith stared at it with their mouths open. The houseboat could have begun life as a barge in the Elizabeth Taylor extravaganza Cleopatra, and then been redesigned by the decorator who had done Pee Wee's Playhouse.
Connor blinked several times, but the apparitions remained. Faith brought the Jeep to a halt and stared.
“Wow,” Connor said. “Lorne lives here, huh?”
“Unless my source was shittin' me. In which case, having two heads isn't gonna help him, 'cause I'll rip 'em both off!”
Connor glanced at Faith and then said dryly, “You want to try 'The House of Usher' before it falls, or go with the Carnival cruise?”
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Continue to Chapter Thirteen
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