Bad Eurotrip, Chapter 6

[thedeadlyhook]

After a long hiatus - bad us! - "Bad Eurotrip" finally continues! Now entering the next phase of the story, where things really start to change.... (edited to put the previous chapters in front of the cut, duh) Previous chapters here. Original story, "Bad Trip," here.



ACT SIX: RUNAWAY

The next day, the sun finally came out.

Xander pushed aside the lacy curtains of his little room, and the warm light flooded in. It took a long minute for his eye to adjust, but he kept looking anyway, squinting against the glare. Everything was so bright now, the grass a vivid green, the sky a soothing blue, every leaf of every tree standing out in crisp relief.

He rose from the bed, still fuzzy but eager to get started, and after a quick shower he was bounding downstairs. Even the ache in his leg, behind the knee where the knife had cut him, had faded overnight. He rolled his shoulder, and found that pain too was gone.

Meg, the youngest of the three kitchen witches, greeted him as he entered the kitchen. "Morning, Xander. You look perky today."

"Must be all the bedtime stories," he grinned. "Very soothing."

It turned out they'd already prepared him a breakfast. Rather than baked beans and soggy bangers, today's gourmet spread consisted of a travel mug full of coffee and a handful of homemade donuts.

"Congrats." Meg scooped the donuts into a paper bag and threw in a generous dollop of powered sugar for good measure. "You're brown-bagging it today. Alexa reckons you need some fresh air."

"Sounds good to me," Xander nodded. "Gotta make the most of the half-hour I've got before it starts raining again."

"That's the spirit. Well, there you go then. Get you off to a good start." Meg gave him a suggestive wink. "Better polish that off quick. Never know what the day will bring."

Evidently Alexa was leaving nothing to chance. The older witch had even picked out a route for Xander's morning stroll, an easy ramble across the hills and into the woods. "Nothing too strenuous," Alexa explained, setting down her pastry to give Xander a fond poke in the stomach. "But it's time you had some exercise."

He recoiled in mock offense. "What do you mean? We've been exercising our mouths pretty much nonstop."

Alexa raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and Xander thanked them all kindly before bustling out into the hallway and away to the woods.

...........

Soon enough, Xander found the neatly packed dirt trail that led into the woods. He jogged down the hill toward it, donuts in one hand and coffee in the other, enjoying the spring of the grass, the give of the still-damp soil, the lack of pain in his limbs.

As he stepped onto the path, the bright sunshine gave way to a cool pattern of dappled green. Birds chirped in the canopy of trees, and the hot-sweet smell of fried dough and fresh coffee filled his senses. He closed his eye and just stood there for a moment, feeling the crisp air on his skin... tasting, feeling, listening.

He could hear voices.

The sound came from up ahead, where the path curved behind a thick curtain of trees. Another group of hikers, probably, coming from the other direction. They'd meet, nod politely, say "cheers," exchange observations about the weather. Xander reached into the bag and extracted a donut, took a bite to fortify himself.

He pushed through the leaves and rounded the corner, and once again the sunlight was almost blinding.

The path ended, he saw, at a deep pool of water in the middle of a clearing. A swimming hole of some kind, or maybe just a wide spot in a creek. As his vision adjusted to the light, he made out two people in the pool, treading water, splashing playfully, chattering at each other. They were girls' voices, and familiar ones.

"Hässliche Entchen! You swim like the beached whale!"

"Hah! Je suis un beau dauphin. Admire my flipper! Watch out for the water-spout!"

As Xander opened his mouth to greet the two Slayers, his eye drifted across the ground in front of him. There were clothes spread there, scattered around carelessly. A pair of shorts. Jeans. A T-shirt. Another T-shirt, and... were those panties? And that was definitely a bra.

He swallowed. "Hey, ladies. Good morning for a swim, huh?"

"Xander!" Dominique turned to wave at him, and and the brilliant sunlight made everything sharp, hyper-real; he could see the droplets of water on her suntanned arm, the tattooed inscription that snaked around her wrist. "Come and join us, Xander!"

Greta paddled towards the shore, sleek as an otter, her wet hair plastered to her head and neck. "The water is fine! Refreshing, yes?" She swept an arm across the surface of the water, sending up a spray of glittering droplets.

Xander raised his hands defensively, brandishing the coffee mug and bag of donuts like tiny shields. "Um, that's okay, really. I, uh, didn't exactly bring my swim trunks with me."

The two Slayers exchanged glances. Then Greta laughed, touched her toes to the bottom of the pool, stood up. She held her hands coyly over her breasts, like a magazine cover model. "Oops! I forget, too." She made a half-turn, and Xander could see the tattooed inscriptions on her shoulder blades, two verses of Willow's protective charm. "Lucky Xander. Now you see my magic writings at last."

There were birds singing in the trees. A cool wind tugged lightly at Xander's hair. His comfortable sweatpants suddenly felt way too tight.

Dominique came up alongside her comrade and splashed her, and Greta collapsed back into the water with a squeal. "Oh, you are the big tease," Dominique cried. "Sans scrupule!"

Then both Slayers were laughing, and splashing each other, and wading toward the shore. They looked like a pair of Venuses, rising from the ocean. Or Ursula Andress in that Bond movie, whichever one that was, where she had that bikini and the knife strapped to her thigh. Except for the knife. And the bikini.

Dominique slid out of the water like a seal, came up to him in one smooth motion. A verse of the magic charm was inscribed just below her navel, fanning out like wings. Je suis la pluie d'épuration, Xander registered idiotically. Her skin was lightly tanned, the color of coffee with cream, and she was reaching up under his shirt to run her nails gently across his belly.

"Xander," Dominique sighed. "Please swim with us." Her fingers brushed the scar where the knives had cut him, and an electric thrill ran down into his groin.

Now Greta was at his other side, his blind side, and he could feel her hand caressing his shoulder, squeezing it gently. Her hand was very strong. "Maybe you do not know how? Is okay. We teach you."

Xander stood there like an idiot, his hands full of breakfast, his knees growing weak. He could feel the heat pouring off the women's bodies, the water streaming off them. It seemed unreal, like a beer commercial gone crazy, like one of those hidden-camera reality shows. But he could feel their hands, hear their laughter.

"Okay. Now I've got it figured," Xander croaked. His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. "This is a dream, right? Any moment now this is going to turn into a ménage à Spike, and then the whole thing gets a lot less sexy."

Dominique laughed. "Maybe we are dreaming you, Xander." She slid her hand down his arm to the mug of coffee, pushed at his wrist, made him spill the liquid onto the ground in a long slow trickle. "See? You should do as we say, just in case."

He heard Greta giggling, felt her fingers working at the waistband of his sweatpants, loosening the knotted cord, tugging at the fabric. "We are in control now, Xander. In our dream, unser schöner Traum, you swim with us."

Dominique was lifting Xander's shirt up now, pushing it over his head. She had to stand on tiptoe to do it, her breasts brushing against his chest, and they felt cool for a moment and then very warm. "This is how it always starts," he said, as the empty mug and the bag of donuts fell from his nerveless fingers. "I shouldn't do this again." He hopped on one foot as Greta slid one leg of his pants free, then the other. "I... I want you to know I'll still respect you afterwards."

Greta's hand cupped him for a moment, squeezed very gently, and Dominique nipped his ear with her sharp teeth. "Blah blah blah," she whispered, and then, laughing, they tossed him into the water.

...........

And meanwhile, far away from the clearing in the woods, Giles walked with Sharon Fleet Foster across the gently rolling fields. They continued quietly for a while, listening to the chatter of the birds and the distant whoosh of traffic, feeling the sun on their skin and the wind in their hair. Giles waited patiently until the seer was ready to talk.

At length, they came to a wooden fence. Giles began to guide Sharon around to the gate, but she squeezed his hand, motioning him to stop, and they paused to lean against the fence.

"The story from the Abyssinian Codex," Sharon began. "You were disappointed by it, weren't you?"

Giles sighed. "Frankly, yes. I was hoping for something more tangible, something we could use against The First. But Dawn's given us little more than a colorful fairytale."

"We have weapons, Rupert. What we lack is understanding. If Dawn's research can give us any insight into the nature of our enemy, its ultimate goals..."

"Yes, I know." He jammed his hands into his pockets and stared down at the ground, brow furrowed in concentration. "So, assuming we can derive accurate intelligence from a ten-thousand-year-old legend..."

The seer nodded. "Go on."

"To begin with, there's the depiction of The First as being at odds with the Old Ones, the demon gods who once ruled this world." Giles levered himself away from the fence and began to pace in a tight circle. "In fact, if the myth is accurate, then it appears The First played a major part in their expulsion from this plane of reality."

"By creating a champion..."

"...By creating a champion, imbued with The First's own essence, who could battle the demons on their own terms." Giles frowned. "And whose creation mirrors what Xander and Willow told us of the origins of the Slayer line."

"The blood ritual," Sharon said. "And then the infusion of the The First's own essence into its chosen champion."

"Although the Slayers, of course, came later. First there was a primordial champion, the Destroyer, who expelled the Old Ones." Giles paced out another circle. "And then later, when it turned out that the demons had left their spawn behind--the vampires, the halfbreeds--then the ritual was revived. And a new line of warriors was called into existence..."

"Enter the Slayer," Sharon concluded. "Courtesy of humanity's very special friend, Mister Beneath-You-It-Devours."

"The First Evil."

"The worm." Sharon's expression was thoughtful. "I wonder why Dawn translated it that way?"

Giles shrugged. "We've heard it characterized as a serpent, a dragon... 'worm' would be an acceptable synonym for either."

"You know what it reminds me of?" The seer held out her arm, and Giles stepped forward to take it. "The story of the Lambton Worm. Don't laugh--my nanny used to scare me with that one when I was a little girl."

Giles guided Sharon up to the gate in the fence, and steadied her as she stepped through it. "I'm afraid I don't remember the details. All these dragon-slaying tales tend to blur together after a while."

"I lost my sight when I was five," Sharon mused distantly. "I don't remember much of what I saw--really saw--before then. But when Nana told me stories, I could picture everything as clear as day. Those memories, those images... It's funny, but they're so much more vivid now than the things I saw with my own eyes."

"So," Giles prompted gently. "The Lambton Worm."

"One Sunday morning," Sharon began, "the Heir of Lambton was fishing in the river. He was something of a juvenile delinquent, you see--always getting into trouble and causing his dear old dad no end of disappointment." She grinned. "I used to know a lad like that, some thirty years ago..."

Giles gave her a faint smile. "That young man is, I think, long gone."

"More's the pity." Sharon returned to her story. "So the poor God-fearing townsfolk are on their way to church, scandalized by the sight of this heathen punk who'd rather fish than pray. Young Lambton is having terrible luck, though, and he lets out a vile stream of oaths--cursing God, the Devil, anyone else who comes to mind. Next thing he knows, he's got a bite."

"The famous worm, I presume."

"Exactly. Young Lambton takes one look at this hideous creature, and then pitches it down the town well in disgust." Sharon searched her memory for the next passage. "Time goes by, and our hero straightens out, cleans up his act. To atone for his misspent youth, he takes up the cross and goes off to the Holy Land as a crusader."

"Ah, the good old days," Giles said dryly. "When one could earn absolution for all one's sins by simply marching off to the Middle East and butchering a few harmless foreigners..."

"There's the rub, though. When young Lambton returns from the Crusades, the worm's still there waiting for him. Of course, it's grown in the interim. It's too big for the well now, so it wraps itself around a hill." The seer traced a loose spiral in the air. "It eats everything in sight, and no knight can defeat it in battle."

"Except for our hero, naturally."

"Bloody right," Sharon agreed. "Because it's his responsibility, isn't it? After all, it's his sins that created it." She gave him a mischievous smile. "It's actually a rather subversive little story, when you think about it. The church may say that young Lambton can pay his debt to society by going off to the Holy Land, but as it turns out, you can't escape the sins of your past by running away to join a crusade... or some ancient order of mystical toffs, for that matter."

Giles bristled. "Running away? Is that what you think I did?"

"I believe we've come to the road," Sharon replied evenly. "Be a dear and check for traffic, would you?"

After making sure the lanes were clear, Giles led Sharon across the road toward Miss Harkness's house. "Running away," he repeated. "Is that what you think I'm doing now? Is that what they think?"

"I have no idea. Why don't you ask them?" She turned her face in his direction. "But one can't help noticing that your Slayer is running wild in Europe, and you're over here in England. Researching, planning, strategizing... watching. Perhaps the Council trained you too well, Rupert."

"One doesn't always have the luxury of choosing one's fights," Giles snapped. "And carrying out your duty requires making difficult choices. To forgo your own satisfaction, your own happiness... In the end, even Buffy came to understand that."

"And look where it got her," Sharon said sadly, as they made their way up the slope that led to Miss Harkness's garden. "She really is her father's daughter."

"I don't think you--"

"Well, hello there!" Giles looked up to see three women descending the hill from the direction of Miss Harkness's house. After a second, he recognized them as the three witches from the kitchen--young Meg, dotty old Tish, and glamorous Alexa, the one who'd just hailed them.

"Good morning, Alexa." Sharon raised her head to address the other woman. "What's up?"

"You have a call," Meg volunteered. "From Devon."

"Not from heaven," Tish giggled. "Not yet, anyway."

"We'd better get back to the house," Giles said, taking Sharon's arm.

But Alexa stepped in front of them as they ascended the slope. "That's alright, love. Meg and Tish will run her back to the stately manor." The witch raised her hand, and Giles saw she was carrying a wicker picnic basket. "Meanwhile, I was hoping I could impose on you for a bit. I made us a little something for lunch."

"Lunch?" Giles gave her a dubious look. "I think it would be better if I--"

"That's okay, Rupert," Sharon grinned. "You run along now. I suspect you'll think more clearly on a full stomach." She turned her attention to Meg and Tish. "Okay, girls. Let's go hear what the coven's got to report."

The three women trotted up toward the house, leaving Giles and Alexa behind. Giles watched the others go, frowning slightly, until his concentration was interrupted by an attention-getting cough.

Giles turned to look at Alexa, and she stared back at him evenly, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her glossy dark hair rustled in the breeze, brushing back and forth across her shoulders, and he was reminded for a moment of Jenny Calendar. Hadn't Alexa's hair been longer the last time he saw her? Today she was wearing a bright sundress, exposing the warm olive skin of her neck, her shoulders, her arms...

Alexa smiled, showing perfect white teeth. "Come on, Rupert. The day's a-wasting." She set off across the fields, away from the house, picnic basket swinging merrily in her hand. After a moment, Giles followed.

...........

Xander staggered back toward the house on rubbery legs. The two Slayers trailed behind him, whispering and giggling. It seemed like they'd been giggling and laughing for hours, except of course for the moans and the shouts and Greta's tears--"I always cry," she'd murmured in his ear--and even then there'd been laughter, and some of it was his.

"Deux filles," Dominique had grinned. "This is the big thing for a boy, no?"

And yes, he'd had that fantasy, but the reality was nothing like the scenarios he'd imagined--it had been awkward and embarrasing and exhausting and intense, and it had left him numb and tingling, and there was gritty sand in his pants and it didn't seem like his feet were touching the ground.

"You are okay, Xander?" Greta asked.

"I'm fine," he said. And yeah, he was fine. One foot in front of the other.

Dear Penthouse Forum, Xander said to himself. I was minding my own business one day, walking in the English countryside, when these two superpowered girls pushed me in the water and then rode me like a bucking bronco. First the one, and then the other, and then kind of both at once, and by the time they were through, I felt like I'd been running a marathon, only lying down, and with orgasms. It was the best day of my life. The End. He signed off with a mental flourish. Yours truly, Xander Harris, Lucky Bastard.

As they made their way over the gentle curve of a hill, Xander glanced back at the two Slayers. Greta smiled and waved a hand in greeting; Dominique peeked out from beneath the towel that she was using to dry her wavy dark-brown hair, and there was something in that sight that filled him with tenderness. Just a girl, he thought, not a goddess. Here we go again.

"Xander! Hey, Xander!"

He looked up at the sound of his name. "Hey, Dawn. What's up?"

He hadn't even realized until that moment that they'd arrived back at Miss Harkness's house--or rather, the street right in front of it. Dawn was standing there, looking tense and impatient, dressed in shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. Hiking boots. Her long hair cascaded down her back.

The two Slayers pulled up alongside Xander, took an arm each. Greetings were exchanged, a chorus of Hello and Bonjour and Guten Morgen. Dawn gave Xander an intense stare, almost frowning, and for a moment he was sure she was onto him, seeing or smelling or using some weird Key power to suss out what he'd been up to.

But evidently that wasn't it. "Gotta talk to you for a minute," Dawn said. She grabbed his hand and pulled him away, dragging him around the side of the house with nothing more than a fast "Excuse us" to Greta and Dominique.

Xander followed her, still in a pleasant haze. "Alright, Dawnster. What was--"

"Okay, now listen to me," Dawn interrupted. Her voice was low and fast and urgent. "I don't have a lot of time, but I wanted to tell somebody what I was doing, and I figured I could trust you."

He boggled. "Trust me? Did I miss an episode? Trust me with what?"

"I've given this a lot of thought, okay? So don't try to talk me out of it." Dawn balled her hands into fists, put them on her hips in a determined pose. "I'm leaving. I've got all my stuff packed and ready to go. I'm heading out on the train this morning."

Xander stared at Dawn's face, and it occurred to him how much she looked like Buffy right now. That same expression that Buffy wore when she'd made up her mind and there was nothing you could do about it, nothing at all but play along...

Her words finally sank in, and Xander's head was suddenly crystal clear, the muzzy warmth draining away like water.

He put a finger in his ear and wiggled it. "Excuse me?" He pitched his voice a little too loud, ignored her desperate shushing sounds. "It kinda sounded like you said you were taking off on your own. Although I know that's not what you said, because that would mean you're out of your mind."

"Think what you want. I'm still going."

"Going to do what?" Xander tried to place a calming hand on Dawn's shoulder, but she shook him off. "Look, I get that you're worried about Buffy. We all are. And yeah, I know it seems like we're just doing a lot of sitting and talking right now, but..."

"No seems about it. We're talking ourselves to death here, Xander. Can't you feel it?" Dawn glanced away, but he glimpsed the anger in her eyes. "What if this is the last chance we have to help her?"

"And if you go running off and get yourself killed? How is that gonna help anyone?" He circled around, stepping into her line of sight. "Look at me, Dawn. We don't know what could be waiting for us out there, we're in a foreign country..."

"It's not like I can't speak the language, Xander. And I'm not just going off at random." Dawn's face was pale, apprehensive, resolute. "The translations I've been working on... I have a lead. A clue. I have to follow it."

"Unless," she added, "you think you can stop me."

Xander let out a long sigh. "I know better than that, kiddo." He jammed his hands into his pockets and stood for a moment, thinking.

And all of a sudden, he knew exactly what to say.

"Well, if there's one thing I've learned," he said at last, "it's that if you can't beat 'em, keep trying until you do, and if that doesn't work, join 'em. So I guess I'll just have to tag along."

"Really?" Dawn stared at him, relief and suspicion warring in her face. "I-I mean that's great, but... What about Giles? And Willow...?"

"Willow's got Kennedy to look out for her. And vice versa. As for Giles..." Xander smiled. "Giles can deal. We'll send him a postcard. Having a lovely time saving the world, wish you were here, love and kisses. P.S. Don't forget to feed the cat."

Hearing this, Dawn's expression gradually brightened, and now she was smiling back. Shyly, as if she wasn't sure she could trust this, but it warmed Xander's heart to see it. He stretched and yawned, regretting that he hadn't followed Meg's advice and finished his morning coffee. Well, too late now.

"Okay, boss," he continued. "You're the one with the plan. What now?"

Dawn pointed over the hills. "Well, I was gonna hike over to the train station and go from there. Westbury connects to most of the regional lines, so we should be able to get to pretty much anywhere from here."

Xander scratched his head. "Right. Now if we only had two Euros to rub together."

"It's still pounds here, doofus." Dawn gave him a fond smile, then looked away evasively. "Anyway... I, uh, got some money from Giles."

"How'd you manage that? What did you do, pick his pocket?"

She didn't answer.

"You picked Giles's pocket?"

"I'm using my shoplifting powers for the greater good," she said dryly, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Okay, so we get on the train. Then what?"

"Well, once we get to London, I--" Dawn glanced over Xander's shoulder, then froze in horror.

"Excuse me." Xander turned, following Dawn's gaze, and saw a smiling Dominique standing behind them. In one hand she held an overstuffed backpack, dangling it like something disgusting she'd found under the sofa cushions. "Is this belong to you?"

Dawn stared at her own name, emblazoned in big sparkly capital letters across the top of the backpack. A google-eyed Sanrio character dangled from the zipper. The game was up.

"Uh... yeah, that's... mine," Dawn ad-libbed. "I've got... some laundry to take to the--"

"I get our things from the room, okay?" Greta popped up behind Dominique. She waved at Xander. "We come with you."

"What?" Xander stared in helpless confusion as Greta dashed off toward the house. "Aren't you going to... I mean, you heard what we were talking about, right? You're not going to, I dunno, tell on us?"

Dominique just laughed. "Of course not, silly Xander. This will be fun. Une grande aventure, no?" She gave him a wink. "And perhaps we like you the little bit more than Mister Giles."

"We are the Slayers," Greta added, appearing as suddenly as a genie and laden with armfuls of bags. "Superheroes, ja? The waiting and talking is not, how do you say, unser Stärke. Our stronger suit."

"Uh, wow. Gosh. I don't know what to..." Dawn eyed Greta's load of luggage. "But, uh, all those bags? I don't know if we can..."

Dominique tossed her hair dismissively. "Oh, is no problem. We take the car." And with that, she and Greta began marching off in the direction of Giles's Land Rover.

Dawn and Xander exchanged startled looks. "Now hold on," Xander began, hurrying after the two Slayers. "Wait up a minute. You can't just... You're gonna steal Giles's car?"

Greta giggled mischievously, and Dominique glanced back over her shoulder, dangled a set of keys from one hand.

"Perhaps we liberate it, no? Poor car, sitting in the mud." She reached out a hand and patted the Land Rover's hood affectionately. "Is okay, little car. We set you free."

Greta popped the trunk open and began tossing in the luggage. Xander recognized his own worn duffel bag in the pile; evidently the girls had taken care of that as well. He shook his head in dumb amazement.

"Liberté!" Dominique slid in through the unlocked driver-side door, brandished a triumphant fist. "Egalité," Greta cried, slamming the trunk closed and vaulting into the shotgun position.

Dawn laughed brightly. "Sororité!" She ran to the car, hopped into the back seat, and the two Slayers turned to her with welcoming smiles.

Then Xander, finally, easing himself into the back seat next to Dawn. He looked around at Dawn, Greta, Dominique, taking in their beaming faces, and he raised his clenched hand in a gesture of solidarity. "Uh, Girl Power!"

And with that, they peeled out of the muddy driveway and onto the road.