AUTHOR Vivienne
RATING PG-13 ....for the moment!
DISCLAIMER All BTVS characters and certain other aspects of this story belong to Joss Whedon, Fox, ME and associates.
SPOILERS Diverges from canon somewhere early in season six.
THANKS To Wayland (Clare) for her unstinting beta-ing.
FEEDBACK I have read so much first-class feedback on the kitten board. I would be delighted to be on the receiving end of some of that.
The Highgate Tunnels
Chapter 1
Rupert Giles opened the French windows wide and took a deep breath of the early morning air. He leaned against the door jamb, thrust his hands deep in the pockets of his dressing gown and took in the view.
Beyond the Italianate patio the autumn sun caught the garden in a still moment, warming the bones of the old oak at the bottom and spotting the lawn with gold.
Below in the valley, a coil of white mist hung over the river. It snaked up the hills on the other side, not quite making it to their tops which stood like a row of green cushions along the horizon. The air was soft with a tang of leaves and wood smoke.
Giles was more relaxed than he had been in years. He felt he deserved this time in his beloved Devon. His secretary at the British Museum in London was the sole person in possession of his telephone number. She had strict instructions to reveal it only in an emergency. Giles had been quite specific about what constituted an emergency. Other than that, he was incommunicado; alone and at peace to complete the pleasurable task of writing up his research from his recent field trip to a little known area of south-eastern Europe. He took another deep breath, pushed his glasses up his nose and went inside.
In the kitchen Giles went about preparing breakfast, humming ‘Les Feuilles Mortes’ as he scrambled eggs and warmed the teapot. Presently, still humming, he carried a tray laden with eggs, toast and a pot of Earl Grey onto the patio where he sat facing south toward the river. He poured a cup of tea and, with a contented sigh, picked up a fork and plunged it into a heap of fragrant, steaming scrambled egg. As he lifted it to his mouth, closing his eyes in anticipation, the phone rang.
‘Giles.’
‘Willow?’
‘Giles, oh Giles.’ The strain in Willow’s voice was evident.
‘Willow my dear girl, what on earth is wrong?’ Giles asked, even though he knew that there was only one circumstance under which his secretary would have given Willow the ex-directory phone number.
Willow must have used the codeword.
An elite handful of people were in possession of a unique codeword. For one of them to use it meant that a threat existed that they could not deal with alone. Given the well-developed, if unusual, talents that each of them possessed, the threat would have to be very great.
‘We have to see you. We need help. Your kind of help.’
For Willow, this was so short and to the point Giles consigned his peaceful academic holiday to the recycle bin in the space of a heartbeat.
‘Yes, yes of course. I’ll get the first flight from Heathrow. Tell me what to bring.’ He was already adding the time of a possible side trip back to the Museum to fetch rare books onto the flight time and the drive to Sunnydale at the other end.
‘I should be able to get there by,’ he looked at his watch, ‘ten o’clock this evening, LA time.’
‘No, no, we’re here. That is here here, if not exactly where you are but not where we usually are. Um, we need to come to you, but don’t tell us where you are.’
‘Willow, you mean you’re actually in... .’
‘No! Not over the phone! Are you in that pretty place with lots of trees where I got better that one time? Because if you are then I know how to get there.’
‘Yes Willow. Willow, who are we?’
‘Me, Tara. Later, I mean soon. Stay there.’
Giles took the phone away from his ear and looked at it thoughtfully.
‘I’m not going anywhere, apparently,’ he said to the dialling tone.
***
Willow replaced the handset in its cradle. She turned to Tara, relief smoothing the anxious furrows that had lately appeared across her brow. Tara straightened up from the wall she had been leaning against in an effort to look relaxed and nonchalant. In reality, she had been covertly scanning the busy stream of people traffic heading in and out of the airport entrance. She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind one ear and looked at Willow, hoping for good news.
‘He’s at his Devon house,’ Willow said in a low voice. ‘We can go straight down there. We need to get on the train from Paddington station.’ She adjusted her small back pack on her shoulders and picked up her bag. Tara hefted hers and moved closer to Willow.
‘Are you ok? I-I mean, you look better for having spoken to Giles.’
Willow smiled. ‘Sure, well, you know Giles. He has that way of making you think the world isn’t really crazy, maybe. Or if it is, he knows how to fix it. It’s a British thing.’ She turned and started following the signs for the rail link into the city.
Tara looked at her retreating back wishing, not for the first time in recent weeks, that she still had the ability to make Willow feel better. With a sigh, she slung the soft holdall over her shoulder and followed.
They went to separate ticket booths on Paddington station; Willow bought a ticket to Plymouth and Tara one to Penzance. Both destinations were beyond Exeter, where they would actually leave the train. They stayed apart after that, being careful to keep within sight of one another.
Willow got doughnuts and coffee while Tara watched from behind a newsstand. Then Tara ate, sitting where she could see Willow briefly call Giles to let him know what time to pick them up from Exeter station. Tara was as sure as she could be that they had been neither followed here from Sunnydale, nor spotted since they had arrived, but they both felt it wise to be cautious. They used different doors to board the train, arriving in the same carriage from opposite ends.
Tara stuffed her holdall into the overhead storage and sat down. She put her big, squashy purse next to her on the window seat, hoping that no-one would want to sit there. Fortunately, the noon train was not the busiest and Tara not only had the space to herself, but also an unobstructed view of Willow, who had taken an aisle seat about ten rows in front. Willow settled in and, with her backpack on the table in front of her, took a dog-eared paperback from it and began to read.
She didn’t even try to catch my eye, thought Tara. Under other circumstances this might have been a very pleasant game, pretending they were strangers meeting on a train. As it was, Tara felt lonely, which was stupid, she told herself. Willow was less than thirty feet away; in a little over two hours they would be together in the back of Giles’s car and on their way to his lovely old Devonshire house. Even so, when Willow moved aside to let a young woman sit beside her in the window seat, Tara felt a stab of jealousy. She, a real stranger, would have the pleasure of proximity to Willow for the journey. Tara knew it was unreasonable, but she felt shut out.
She looked in her purse for something to read, but there was nothing. In the scramble to get the first available flight, packing had been low on the priority list. The book Willow was reading had most likely been lurking in her backpack since their last trip.
Tara tried to remember the last time she and Willow had gone away together on their own, not just to L.A. to see old friends. It was always great to catch up with Buffy and Angel, Cordelia too, but it wasn’t the same as closing up the Magic Box for a holiday weekend, throwing a pile of stuff into the back of the car and heading off to the lakes for a few days of heavenly isolation. Lately, that kind of thing had seemed like too much effort. Somehow, it had become easier to stay at home and slouch in front of the TV.
The sound of voices floating down the carriage broke into her thoughts. Tara looked up. The young woman was talking to Willow. They were too far down the carriage for Tara to hear what she was saying, but Willow looked interested enough. She had put down her book and seemed to be listening intently.
The young woman was slender, and well-dressed in a russet wool jacket and light-green silk skirt. Her nut-brown hair was styled in a neat bob, framing her little heart-shaped face. Tara sighed. A girl anybody would be proud to take out on the town, she thought, scrubbing furiously at a streak of something on her faded jeans that might have been ketchup.
Giving up on the stain, she glanced up at Willow who was now deep in conversation with the other woman. Willow had also travelled in what she happened to be wearing when they left Sunnydale. In Willow’s case that was a well-worn check shirt over an old tee, jeans and battered sneakers. She could wear a garbage bag and still look totally wonderful, Tara thought. A painful longing to be near Willow rose up in her. Maybe I’ll go get a coffee or something when we get moving, she thought. Then I’ll have to walk past her – twice.
The idea almost made her smile, then she saw Willow’s hand flutter, just for a moment, to her neck. This sharp reminder of the reason for their journey cleared Tara’s head instantly. She turned to the carriage window, anxiously scanning the platform for any sign that they might have been followed. Please don’t shut me out, Will, she thought, none of this is your fault.
Whistles blew, doors closed. The 12:06 Paddington to Penzance slowly pulled out of the station into the October sunlight. Tara looked at her own face reflected in the window and told it to stop worrying. Right now they needed one another more than ever; it was not the time to navel-gaze over the state of their relationship. It was time to focus on what lay ahead.
I love it that you are asking questions. I like being dropped into a story right in the middle of the action, so I thought I would start this one the same way. I hope all will be answered as the story unfolds. If not, please tell me! Thanks for responding.
I am not liking that car there however...! Can't wait for the update.
