__Fantasic Voyage__
By Blue Zen
A few miles back, there had been a service station,
proclaiming "Drive-in Saturday" and advertising movies
from the late sixties. Giles' mood had quickly
slipped when browsing the posters at forty miles and
hour; now all he felt was sorrow, remembering the
prettiest star who had been yet another rock `n' roll
suicide. A lump formed in his throat, a seemingly
permanent fixture since Buffy's death. His blue
condition was not helped by the silence that
overpowered the car. It was hard to imagine but the
two men had agreed to this with hopes of getting to
know each other better, but, of course, there had been
problems from the outset.
Wesley had, seemingly, chosen the only rental car that
came without a radio. The Audi's handicap hadn't been
a problem during the afternoon but as soon as the dusk
had descended on the desert - proclaiming "here comes
the night" - Giles had to cast aside his Tales of
Great Ulysses, rubbing his eyes. Now, he stared at
the sky through the scattering of bug carcasses that
formed a strange brew on the windscreen, looking for
satellites. For a moment, he thought he saw a space
oddity, a flicker of light that danced a magic dance
then disappeared as soon as he blinked and his vision
cleared. He smiled to himself, toying with the idea
of life on Mars. Giles, although an atheist, believed
that somewhere, across the universe, his Slayer was
watching, smiling down on them all - watching her
sister, almost grown, stumble through life.
Giles promised this celestial Buffy that, even as the
world falls down, he would protect Dawn - anyway,
anyhow, anywhere. After all, Dawn was Buffy. In some
strange way, ashes to ashes was a misnomer - in
passing, Buffy had given her sister, her blood, the
most precious gift in the world. Like all the madmen,
Giles saw clearly that Dawn was something beautiful.
For five years, he had smiled proudly as he watched
the baby of the group blossom into a carbon copy of
her sister - determined, loving, a future legend with
a lust for life.
Day in, day out, as a teen, the Slayer had been
fascinated by fashion, babbling about designer wear -
mostly awful suits that defied mass production. Giles
and Dawn would share a sigh and a knowing look as she
marched out to hunt in platform boots and tight
trousers. When they fought, he was the man in the
middle, trying to keep the peace with well chosen
words and a raised eyebrow. Before Sunnydale, he was
like a rolling stone but now he found himself longing
for the drudgery of everyday life. He wanted to be
home, to be reading in his study or listening to dusty
vinyls, not trapped in a car, heading towards some
Godforsaken town in middle America.
Giles came out of his reverie to find Wesley saying
something, muttering under his breath.
Blah, blah, blah, thought Giles, bringing his eyes
from the stars to rest instead on Wesley's frowning
face. "Something wrong, Wesley?" he asked, leaning
back into his chair.
For a moment, Wesley was lost, still in his own train
of thoughts: girls, glass spiders and God only knows.
Seeing the wistful look on his colleague's face, Wes
felt both touched and repelled - a voice in his head
kept saying, "He was so close to her. He had a
relationship with the Slayer that I could neither
fathom nor repeat, I must be a failure. I'm glad I've
got nobody." It was a mantra that kept repeating
itself in his background to his thoughts, a little
tune to listen to while on hold.
"I said," he stated, at length. "We're going wrong.
The last sign I passed said forty seven miles, while
the one before was only forty two."
Giles shrugged, he was back to staring out of the
window, thinking about heroes.
The two men let the quiet engulf them once more, the
only break in the monotony of the road was the fact
that, every few hours, a car full of young Americans,
would court the sensibly driven car, swaying to and
fro for a moment, before overtaking the Watchers in a
burst of song.
It was two o'clock by the time Wesley pulled over,
handing Giles his jacket from the back and opened the
car door. He was just about to slide out of the
driver's seat when the sound of breaking glass
startled him back into the car, a loud explosion
raping the silence.
The older Watcher slid lower in the passenger seat,
fumbling in the dash for a stake before a gnarled hand
reached through the broken window and plucked him from
the car. Giles found himself eye to eye with the
decaying neighbourhood threat, a tall, twisted zombie
with black teeth and red hair - in short, nothing to
be desired. A cross bow twanged, its bolt flirting
with Giles' chin before hitting the zombie square in
the forehead. The corpse dropped Giles and became
more traditionally deceased.
"One shot - that was. impressive," the older man said,
wiping a sliver of blood from his neck, respect
emerging in his tired eyes.
The two men stood side by side for a moment, both a
little shocked at the swiftness of the whole affair.
Wesley looked around, taking in the deserted streets,
embarrassment colouring his movements.
"Mr Giles, I'm sorry to bring you out here. I thought
it would take longer. more of a challenge."
Giles shook his head and opened the car door. He took
off his leather jacket and laid it carefully across
the seat, glad that most of the glass had been carried
with him, out of the car. He turned to Wesley,
blushing in the moonlight. "The drive home'll be a
little uncomfortable," he commented, slipping back
into the passenger seat. "But I think, overall, the
journey was worth while - don't you?"
Wesley smiled as his hero closed the door. "Whoever
said road trips weren't fun?"
* * *