The Leap To SunnydaleBy Meltha
Buffy's speed through the suburban streets of Sunnydale kept Al constantly on the move. In fact, she moved so fast that Ziggy kept having to replot her coordinates, causing Al to get a very jolting, uneven, and, even for an admiral, motion sickness inducing ride.
"Geez, there, Buff!" he yelled. "Where's the fire? Slow down! Boy, nothing tuckers this girl out."
As Al was taking a moment to ponder all the good things that could be possible due to that, he realized that the scenery around them had changed dramatically. They were no longer passing trim little lawns and pleasant Cape Cod style homes. Instead, they were progressing rapidly through the very last place Al wanted to be on this particular leap.
"A cemetery?" he asked pointlessly as he stared at the blonde head that was speeding between tombstones. "Um, honey, people in a cemetery generally don't care if you're late or not, so just hold your horses a little, okay?"
Almost as if in response, Buffy sped up. At last, after running at least a good five miles without ever breaking her stride or, Al noted, breaking a sweat either, she had stopped in front of a mausoleum with a thick metal door. She stood outside of it for a moment, her hand resting on the door handle, and Al could tell she was fighting some sort of inner battle. Eventually, she pulled the heavy metal door open with an abrupt yank, the hinges squeaking loudly.
"Spike!" she called as she disappeared into the darkness.
"I really don't want to go into the dark, creepy crypt with the vampire inside," Al declared shakily, staring up at the blue sky. "You don't want me to go into the dark, creepy crypt with the vampire inside, do You? I wasn't talking to you, Gushy! I don't care that he can't hurt me! It's the set up for every horror movie ever made, and I am not going to fall for..."
But Al's tirade was cut short by a female cry of distress from within the crypt.
"I'm coming, Buffy!" he yelled as he plowed into the tomb, his fear, as usual, overcome by his big smooshy heart.
It took him a moment to realize that the crypt was rather well lit and homey... for a crypt. Buffy was sprawled on the floor, and Al kneeled down next to her immediately.
"What's wrong?" he asked in concern, taking in the scene.
"Stupid shoe! Stupid crack! Stupid man who invented high heels because he must have been a man!" she complained loudly as she wrestled with a two inch stiletto heel that had become embedded in a seam between two of the concrete slabs of the floor.
"Oh, you caught your heel, huh?" Al commented as he watched her pry the shoe out. "I guess that could be a bummer. Made you fall on your butt there, kiddo."
When the shoe popped free, Buffy sighed as she surveyed the damage. The heel was absolutely ruined. There was no way she could walk on it. She tossed it away in disgust and hoisted herself to her feet, rubbing her back for a moment before taking a few steps.
"At least the only thing hurt is your pride," Al said in relief. "And there was no one here to see it but me, and you don't even know I'm here, so no harm done. I won't tell. Really, though, you shouldn't go jogging in those things."
"Spike!" she called again as she looked around the empty room.
When there was no answer, she walked over to a set of stairs Al hadn't noticed before and went down them. Al pushed a couple buttons on the comlink and slowly descended through the floor and into the basement.
"Hey, nice chair!" he said as he admired the red pleather monstrosity that was Spike's favorite seat.
Buffy, meanwhile, was continuing to search the lower level only to find that there was no one there. She stood motionless in the middle of the room, her eyes flitting in every direction.
"It's the middle of the afternoon," she said slowly. "He can't be anywhere else."
"Who? Oh, the vampire. So they really can't go out in the daytime, huh? That's good to know," he said as watched her carefully.
Suddenly, Buffy practically flew over to the large, completely stripped bed that occupied most of one wall. She inspected it carefully, running her hand over the matress top and then bending to smell it deeply.
"He didn't sleep here today," she murmured softly. "His scent's cold."
"His scent?" Al asked, his eyebrow raising. "He's got a scent? Well, I suppose I'd have a scent too if I lived in a crypt."
With shaking hands, she opened the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed, and found nothing inside.
"His keys are gone," she said, and her voice sounded strangely tiny.
The next few minutes were spent throwing open an array of drawers, and the same result came from each: they were empty.
"Aw, geez, looks like the guy bailed on ya," Al said, sorry to see her so upset.
Buffy, however, took another long breath, and he could almost see her shoulders sink under yet another weight. What scared him though was that it seemed like this time she'd reached the breaking point.
"Now, Buffy," he said cautiously, "don't go jumping to conclusions. There could be some other completely logical explanation for all this. Like... like he suddenly decided to do all of his laundry at one time?"
With downcast eyes, Buffy trudged back up the steps and into the first room again, Al right behind her. As she pulled open the door to the crypt once more, she turned around and took a last look around the room.
"I always make them leave," she whispered sadly. "I'll always be alone."
The door clanged shut behind her, leaving a very unhappy hologram standing in the middle of the dark crypt.
"Poor kid," he said softly. "I don't know what the story is on this guy Spike, but whatever it is, he sure shouldn't have left her. If I ever saw that guy again, I'd give him a lot more than a good piece of my mind."
Suddenly, a loud thudding followed by a sound of splintering wood and a great deal of groaning echoed from the lower level, and Al was frightened half out of his wits.
"What... what... what..?" he repeated over and over as he whirled around and around, trying to find the source of the tortured moaning.
A white-blond head appeared at the opening to the basement. It lurched unsteadily into view until Al was able to recognize the face of the vampire he'd seen the night before.
"Hey, Spike! You didn't run out on her! Good for you, but why didn't you answer her when she... ooh, you're not looking so good there, pal," he said as soon as Spike faced him fully.
The vampire looked like hell. Someone had obviously worked him over but good. Blood was pouring in a stream from one temple, his shirt was shredded, his eye was nearly swollen shut, and he looked extremely sticky.
"Stupid poncey Fyarl demons," the vampire grumbled as he painfully slouched to the opposite corner of the room. "Use paralyzing mucus rather than put up a fight, lock me in my own trunk, and rob me blind. Oh, for pity's sake, they even took the fridge! Where the bloody hell am I supposed to keep my blood now!" he screamed at the vacant wall as he kicked it, chipping the stone.
"You got robbed! That's great! I mean, well, great's not the word to use, but that explains a lot and bleh you really, really, really need a shower," Al said as he looked at the decidedly unkempt Spike.
"I need a shower," Spike said as he thumped his head several times against the wall, "but I don't even have any sodding towels!"
"Geez, this gives new meaning to the term bad day. Wait, what am I doing here with the drippy vampire? Gushy, catch me up with Buffy!" Al ordered, and he immediately popped into being a good mile from the crypt.
Buffy was plodding along barefoot, not even noticing the cold January chill of the sidewalk under her feet. Her expression had gone completely blank. What little spirit had been left in her eyes seemed to have died completely.
"Uh oh. Blondie, it's not the end of the world. Your boyfriend, or whatever he is, isn't gone! He's just all covered in goo!" Al tried to persuade her, but it had no effect. She just walked right through him.
Al followed along in silence for a while, noting how much more slowly she moved now that the only thing she had to look forward to was slinging chopped meat onto a grill. He found he missed the motion sickness from her earlier gallop in comparison. Taking the most roundabout way possible, she eventually arrived at the Doublemeat Palace just before her 5:00 shift.
Mindlessly, she got behind the counter and began pressing the timing button and flipping patties, completely on autopilot. After a few minutes of total boredom, Al figured that nothing much was going to be happening for a while, so with one last concerned look, he rejoined Sam.
It didn't take Al long to fill in the good doctor on all of the details of the miscommunication between Spike and Buffy. By the time he was done, Sam's cute little tail was drooping.
"It's pretty obvious what the real problem is here," he said with a fluffy sigh. "I don't think the vampire just happened to bite her. I think she let it attack her."
"Yeah, I think you're right, Sammy," Al said. "She's so depressed. Something's got to snap her out of it."
"How am I supposed to snap anybody out of anything? I'm a stuffed pig!" Sam yelled in exasperation.
"Look, Sam," Al said as he sat down next to his now much smaller best friend. "Every time you've leaped into somebody, it's always been the right person for the job. If you wound up inside Mr. Gordo, there's got to be a good reason for it."
Sam nodded his head in agreement. "Okay, I see your point. I'm just completely out of ideas here. I've got nothing, zero, zip, nada," he said, punctuating each hopeless word with a wave of his hoofs.
"I think we're just going to have to wait and see," Al said, then glanced at the clock. In only twenty minutes, Buffy was going to lose her job.