PIXILATED
Author: Rabid/Raeann
Special Thanks To: Keswindhover
for her donation.
Beta Babes: Caia
and Zyrya
Couple: W/T
Rating: NC-17 eventually with FemSlash and everything...but this part is PG
Season: 4
Raison d’etre: Writercon. Kes bought my services and she wanted a W/T fic with new love blooming and library inside info. Thank you Kes for your support of the scholarship fund at Writercon…some of my dearest cyber-friends are making the trip thanks to you. Hope you enjoy this little attempt of mine to say THANKS!
Summary: Just prior to THIS YEAR’S GIRL, Willow talks Tara into transferring her work study job to the library where Willow volunteers for credit. But when something goes wrong in the stacks and Buffy is too busy with Riley to help, Willow may just bite off more than she can handle.
“This is going to be so much fun,” Willow said. Her short crop of red hair flared as she pirouetted around to face her new friend. “You and me. Me and you! Magic incorporated, working together. You’ll see…the library is a much better place to work than the stuffy old Registrar’s office. We can research magical symbols on our break. Oh!” Struck with a gleeful inspiration, she shot out a hand to take Tara’s arm. “Oh! And have book cart races. I always thought there should be some kind of Library Olympics. You know with shelving events and timed reference questions.”
Even in the face of Willow’s contagious enthusiasm, Tara could only nod shyly. Hair veiling her expression, she glanced down at the fingers clasping her bare arm. Willow’s strong grip sparked a tingle that raced to Tara’s heart but the thrill was followed immediately by a stir of shame. Tara took herself sternly to task. Willow was her friend. They had a lot in common but there was never going to be anything between them but friendship.
For the tenth time that day Tara reminded herself that Willow wasn’t gay. Their time together wasn’t romantic in nature. There was no growing infatuation on the part of the other girl. In fact, Willow was still mourning the loss of her oddly named boyfriend. Tara was struggling to be supportive. It was difficult in the face of her growing attachment and the joy she felt in Willow’s company.
Tara had lived so much of her life on the sidelines. She was used to playing the wallflower but Willow’s exuberant nature was like a tonic. It seemed as if the vibrant beauty had led Tara to the metaphoric center of the dance floor. The world was spinning and singing. Willow would take Tara’s hand or toss an arm around her shoulders, leaning close to share a secret and there would be bright music behind her words.
More and more, Tara dreamed of real dancing, slow dancing. She dreamed of Willow’s lips. They were soft and pink and her lean, long-fingered hands were sure in their grip. Willow didn’t lower her chin when she spoke or hide behind her hair. Her eyes sparkled with impish good humor. She held her head high and dressed to draw attention. Today for the library, she was wearing silk chiffon threaded with silver under a shag-carpet cardigan of Pepto-Bismol pink. Tara did her best to ignore the way Willow’s slight curves swayed provocatively beneath the trim cut of her ankle-length skirt. She knew better than to indulge her fantasies. Willow would never be her girl.
Internal lecture heeded, Tara felt strong enough to venture a remark.
“I hope w-w-we ha-have fun.”
“There is not a smidgeon of a doubt,” Willow said with airy confidence as she turned to press the button for admission to the library workrooms.
A distant, droning noise, like angry wasps, echoed until she lifted her finger from the button. They waited expectantly for the steel door to thud open. Ten minutes and three more pushes of the buzzer later they were still waiting.
“N-n-nobody home,” Tara said.
“That’s odd,” Willow said, frowning in slight worry. She cupped her hands to shade her eyes and tried to peer through the tiny rectangle of meshed glass in the heavy fire door. “The lights are on. There should be a dozen people in there.”
“It is Sunday,” Tara offered. “M-maybe some of them left campus.”
“Student workers have to get their hours in on the weekend. Like you. And Mrs. Kutcher knew you were starting today, right? So she should be here.” Willow took a giant step back and looked up at the sky. “Is it daylight savings?”
Tara shook her head. “Maybe she forgot,” she said. Her tone indicated she was used to being forgotten.
“Mrs. Kutcher never forgets,” Willow said assuredly, making it sound as if the librarian’s memory was as legendary as that of the elephant.
“Is she always so…?”
“Proper?”
“Daunting...I guess,” Tara said with a soft smile.
Willow returned the grin but wafted a trivializing hand. “Wait ‘til you meet Giles. He can daunt. Mrs. K.’s not so bad once you get to know her. But if she ever pulls the pin on her bun…look out…”
“Kaboom?” Tara snickered.
With a laughing hum of agreement, Willow threaded her arm through the crook of Tara’s elbow and snuggled close. “It’s coiled pretty tight. But there’s a big secret: it comes undone. One of the grad students told me Mrs. K. moonlights as a porno writer. He said she wears a leather bustier under her designer suits and after the library closes she strips down, fluffs out her hair and settles in to write skin scripts on her office PC.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “Everyb-body knows that about librarians,” she said, with just the right touch of sophistication. Then, to Willow’s dismay, her expression turned thoughtful and she mused, “I wonder if she’s the same Lydia K. that wrote Studs in the Stacks.”
“Is there really a dirty movie called…?”
Tara couldn’t keep up the charade. She broke into a wicked giggle and shoved playfully at Willow’s shoulder. “Like I would know.”
“Oh, right…sorry. ‘Cause…Studs…”
Willow flushed slightly and a flash of embarrassment skittered into her eyes. As far as she was aware, Tara was her first lesbian friend. Sometimes it was awkward.
“Not because of that,” Tara said. Aware of Willow’s discomfort, she tried to keep the reproach out of her voice. “Just because of me. I don’t feel comfortable watching that kind of movie. My friend Christina though…she’s got this huge collection of porn on her computer…men, women…kangaroos…whatever.”
“Like Xander…except no computer. His are all bootleg video copies. One time Buffy and I were over at his house and I turned on the TV and…oh, boy…” Willow scrunched up her face for a second and then let the expression dissolve into laughter. “Plus, I’ve never seen Xander move that fast…or yelp that loud…even when he was being chased by all those charmed women.”
“There were cha-charmed women?”
“Scads of them,” Willow said. She ticked off the names on her fingers. “Gloria Simons, Miss Queen of the May, me, Buffy, Mrs. Summers…even Drusilla.”
“Dru-drusilla?”
“Quentin Tarantino does Anne of Green Gables. She’s Spike’s surrogate sire.”
“What’s a surrogate…what?”
“…Sire. When a vampire bites you and turns you into a ‘creature of the night’,” Willow said putting on a faux Transylvanian accent for the quote. “They call that siring. Well, according to the Watcher’s diaries Drusilla did the deed for Spike but she had no follow through. Because…truthfully…she’s a few pixels short of the full picture. So Spike had to pick up the demoning trade, learn the lingo and all from someone who could…you know…form a complete sentence.
“Then, sometime in the late 1800’s, Spike decided to declare himself emancipated and he latched onto Angelus, who was like the big Swiss cheese of undead cool, and started playing the adopted son…going around referring to Angelus as his sire. So he could…I don’t know…pick up chicks or whatever. And voila, Spike is suddenly somebody. Because apparently in the vamp world it’s all about who sucked you into the game.”
“Oh…,” Tara said on a breath. “And Spike’s the one with the chip?”
“Yep! That’s him. You’ll probably meet him soon. When you meet my friends. He’s a big ol’ party crasher.”
“What if he…tries to bite me or something?”
“Spike?” Willow waved off the threat. “He’s mostly harmless…like the rest of us earthlings. Chipped, remember? And anyway, Buffy has his number…don’t worry.” She got a darkling look in her eyes. “Besides, if he gives you any trouble I’ll just threaten to put the love spell on him again. He’s still going on about that…you would think Buffy had hoof and mouth or something.”
“Vengeance c-cas-ting is dangerous, Willow.”
“Well Spike doesn’t have to know that,” Willow said airily. She tugged at Tara’s elbow. “Nobody is coming. We should go around to the front.”
Tara nodded her acceptance of the suggestion and they started for the break in the hedge border. They hadn’t taken five steps when the metal door behind them clanged open and a harried sounding female called them back.
“Girls?”
Willow glanced around a squeak of surprise catching in her throat.
“Mrs. Kutcher?” she exclaimed. “What happened to you?”
Willow could scarcely believe the evidence of her eyes. The usually prim and proper librarian was dressed in her customary uniform, a pastel Anne Klein silk suit with a scarf knotted at the throat. Today’s color was lavender and the one shoe she was still wearing had been dyed to match. But the salient point as far as Willow was concerned was the other shoe was missing. And instead of exuding her typical air of calm assurance, Mrs. K was staggering like a refugee. There were dark smudges of dirt on her blouse and face. Three long scratches marked her cheek. Her bun was more or less intact but the halo of hair surrounding it was a fright wig of disarray and both legs of her stockings were laced with runs.
“It’s a long story,” Mrs. Kutcher sighed, in response to Willow’s query. Motioning the girls toward her with one hand she braced the other against the doorframe for support, propping the door open with her hip. “And I’m afraid we don’t have the luxury of a spare moment. The library is scheduled to open in less than an hour and I don’t see how we can manage it.”
Willow and Tara exchanged a concerned, if puzzled glance. Now that the heavy security door was open they could hear a cacophony of sounds emanating from the interior of the building, people shouting and loud distant bangs. Someone was singing a sea chantey over the intercom. As the girls ducked under the bridge of Mrs. Kutcher’s arm, a shower of electrical sparks blasted out of one of the overhead fixtures and all the lights flickered. Tara flinched and nearly stopped on the threshold. Her weight dragged mulishly against Willow’s pull on her arm.
“It’s okay,” Willow assured softly. “We have to investigate this. We might need Buffy.”
“Couldn’t we just call her, now?”
“Not ‘til we find out what’s going on,” Willow insisted.
Tara swallowed hard but allowed Willow to lead her further into the shadowy workroom. Mrs. Kutcher let the door swing closed and they followed her through the maze of cubicles. She kicked off her remaining shoe, leaving it under a desk, and then led them into the main stacks of the library.
The lights continued to flare sporadically. During the dark moments computer screens glowed blue or green or showed lines of static. The intermittent flashes of brightness proved disorienting. Tables, displays and carts seemed to shift position each time the overhead fluorescents blinked. The tall rows of bookshelves cast ominous shadows that seemed to stretch out clawing fingers before pulling back like a closing fist. More than once Tara thought she caught movement from the corner of her eye. It was all she could do to remain calm when Willow, after giving her arm a quick squeeze, trotted ahead to question the librarian about the onset of the phenomenon.
“From what we can gather it started last night around ten,” Mrs. Kutcher replied to Willow’s query. “I wasn’t here, of course. But Margo…Mrs. Underhill? My assistant?” Willow nodded her recognition of the name. “Tells me the first thing she noticed was the computers going offline a little past ten. A short time later, books started falling off shelves and carts started rolling around on their own. Some of the workers began acting very strange indeed. And it’s gotten progressively worse.”
“Were you scanning anything into the system?” Willow asked. “Like ancient scrolls or books on the occult?” Both Tara and Mrs. Kutcher shot her quizzical looks. Willow’s explanation had a defensive edge. “Things can be scanned into the system,” she said. “Bad things like…viruses.”
“I see,” Mrs. Kutcher said. Her tone was humoring but her response was polite. “No, nothing like that. It was apparently business as usual. Unless…perhaps a student…?” She broke off unsure of her previously ordered world. Her steps slowed to a meander. They were making their way through the fiction section and she let a fingertip stroke along the spines of several volumes. “I’ll check into it. Margo is behaving very strangely, I’m afraid. She seems to be under the influence of…something…just now. She isn’t making a great deal of sense. But I don’t think she did anything to set this off. I think…I….”
Mrs. Kutcher paused halfway down the Pa-Pes aisle and turned a penitent face to the skylight. She seemed to be weighing the need for discretion in her mind. “I think,” she repeated, “That is…I wonder if it could be…”
“What?”
“If we can help you….”
Tara let the offer trail away but forced her chin up so she could catch and hold the librarian’s eye. Tara wasn’t a big fan of eye contact but she wanted to be brave like Willow, brave like an Amazon. To her surprise, Mrs. Kutcher was the first to look away, staring blindly along the row of books as she spoke again.
“I feel so silly suggesting this,” she said. “But…well…I think it’s pixies.”
“Pixies?” Tara said, swallowing the middle of the word.
“I know,” Mrs. Kutcher sighed. “It sounds so…ridiculous.”
“No,” Willow said quickly. “No, it doesn’t. Not to us. But why do you say…? I mean…what makes you think…?” Her fingers did a little dancing flourish as she said, “Pixies!”
Mrs. Kutcher peered left and then right in a quick check for eavesdroppers before stepping closer. Her next words came in a confidential whisper. “I’ve seen them,” she confessed. A sudden clattering caused her to shoot a sharp glance over her shoulder. Satisfied that the noise wasn’t a professor with tenure she continued addressing the girls.
“Before this all started. I would see them fluttering, in the stacks and even in my office early in the morning. I’m usually the first one here. I prefer to work in the quiet.” A roar of noise echoed through the immense room causing all three women to hunch their shoulders and cover their ears. When the sound died away, the librarian sighed. “It used to be quiet.”
A young man with closely cropped blonde curls was hurrying along the end of the aisles but came to an abrupt halt as he passed their row. “Mrs. Kutcher,” he called. “We need you at Circulation. There’s a problem with the book drop.”
“Damn,” the librarian muttered. “That’s it. I’ll have to call the Dean. We can’t open like this.” Gathering her wits, she turned again to Tara and Willow. “There’s a horrible mess on the second floor. Can the two of you attend to it?” As soon as Willow nodded, Mrs. K moved off with the young man who’d come to fetch her but she’d only taken a few steps before turning back to say, “Girls, please don’t discuss what I’ve just told you.”
“We won’t,” Tara said.
“And don’t go looking for trouble,” the librarian warned before continuing on her way. “Just keep an eye out for anything unusual,” she called. “And you had better take the stairs up to the mezzanine. The elevator is too dangerous.”
Both girls murmured some acknowledgment of the orders as the librarian disappeared around the far end of the aisle. Tara gave a sober nod and slight wave but Willow just grinned and bounced around a little.
“There are pixies!” she exclaimed once she was sure she wouldn’t be overheard. “I’ve always wanted to see one. Or well…not pixies exactly…fairies! But it’s almost the same thing, right? Oh, do you think…maybe we can catch one? We could find a jar or a cardboard box and….” As she ticked off her wish list for fairy hunting she trotted toward the central staircase, Tara trailing in her wake.
“Shouldn’t we…I mean…your friend Buffy…isn’t she the one to call?”
“Buffy is more like for monsters. These are just little pesky pixies.” Willow took the stairs two at a time. She spoke with a confident air as she bobbed along. “And besides, I just remembered Buffy and Riley were going on a driving date today. They’re probably gone already. I’m sure we can handle this. There are some occult texts on the second floor. Maybe there’s some kind of Pixie Potion we can whip up…like a magical delousing.”
“Fr-rom what I’ve read…fairy magic is pr-pretty strong,” Tara cautioned. “What if we make everything worse? What if the card catalogue starts shooting out drawers like in Ghostbusters? What if there’s slime?”
“Silly,” Willow said. “Libraries don’t use card catalogues anymore. It’s all computerized.”
“Oh,” Tara mumbled. She didn’t sound even slightly reassured. “There could still be sli-ime.”
“No…or at least…I’m almost completely certain there will be very little slime,” Willow said. Tara’s continuing hangdog expression punctured her buoyant mood. She sagged a bit. “If you don’t want to…”
“I-I di-didn’t say…I mean…I want to. I do. B-but…”
“Maybe we could just do the reconnoiter,” Willow suggested as they reached the mezzanine. “Because maybe it’s not even pixies…maybe it’s something monstrous.”
“You know what’s monstrous?” A masculine and distinctly British voice drawled from the depths of one of the swivel chairs in the reading area at the top of the stairs. “You young heathens treating books like this. Is this any way to catalogue? Looks like a pack of hyenas has been at your collection.”
Willow came to such an abrupt stop that Tara slammed into her and they both stumbled forward. Tara peered over Willow’s shoulder and saw a pale, lean figure, shrouded in black leather. He was slouching all over a chair just ahead. One booted foot had toed into the carpet and spun the chair to face them as they arrived. Noting he had their attention, Spike swept an arm in a flamboyant arc to indicate the several hundred volumes strewn about the floor.
“In my day,” he declared, “The student body had more respect for the written word. There’s been a marked decline in the education of young people since the universities went co-ed.”
“Spike?” Willow exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“Where else would I be, Endora?” Spike drawled. He rose from his chair with fluid grace. Inhaling deeply, he threw his arms wide as if embracing all of creation. “Can’t you just smell the chaos in the air? Pain, suffering, heartbreak…? It’s bracing…like a bloody day at the beach.”
His body language did another mercurial switch. He took on a confiding air as he let his arms fall to his sides. “Plus, I needed something new to read,” he said. After sliding one hand up his thigh, he used the pinch of his thumb and index finger to draw a book out of his duster pocket far enough to show them the title: Victorian Erotica.
“You’re stealing books?”
Spike’s mouth tipped up on one side and he gave a tiny, self-effacing tilt of his head. “Well…yeah,” he said. He released the book, letting it slip back into his coat pocket. “I come from a different generation, Red. When the telly’s in reruns I can make my own fun.”
“I meant….” Willow began in a growl but then she just shook her head. “Oh, never mind!” She sighed. “What do you know about pixies?”
“Helluva band,” Spike replied. He squeezed his eyes shut and played a few chords of air guitar as he sang, “As loud as hell, a ringing bell, behind my smile…” He cracked one eye open to assess their reactions. Both girls were staring at him in an unflattering kind of horror. Straightening out of his band soloist stance, he shrugged off the sting. “Giles has the vinyl if you’re interested. You know he’s not as much of an old stick as he looks…musically, anyway.”
“Not the band. I didn’t even know there was a band….”
“See? Lack of education,” Spike said.
“The little flit-tering ki-kind,” Tara prompted.
Her broken, softly breathless comment seemed to draw Spike’s predator out of hiding. His constantly wandering gaze dropped like a stone to focus on her and he lifted onto the balls of his feet as if readying for a pounce. His grin broadened into a display window of sharp white teeth. Tara shifted in discomfort and Spike started to slink toward her, his hips doing a slow samba roll. If he’d been a cat, his belly would have been low to the ground. Tara fell back a few steps in the face of the implied threat. One heel hit air and she had to windmill her arms for balance or risk a tumble down the stairs. Willow was at her side in the instant with a stabilizing hand.
“Fairy hunting, are you?” Spike purred, his perceptive gaze taking their measure. “Idn’t that…ironic?”
“Spike!” Willow snapped, stepping forward while at the same time protectively tucking Tara behind her. “Just you watch it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll make you in love with Buffy again.”
“Oh, now I’m shaking.” His stabbing finger, stopped just short of Willow’s nose. “If you ever spell us up like that again I am going to have my way with your little Slayer pal…in as many different ways as I can imagine. And I bet she’s extra bendable.”
Willow bristled up like a startled puffer fish. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Spike sneered. He tapped his chest. “Evil, remember? The way I see it, the Slayer and me were engaged. Once the bans have been read, I reckon it’s okay to start milking the cow.”
“You touch Buffy’s…cow and you’ll regret it,” Willow said. “Next time she’ll stake you before you can even start…or maybe finish…pulling…uhgh…do we have to go with the cow metaphor?”
Spike ignored the obviously rhetorical question. “No, she won’t,” he said in a cocksure manner. “’Cause I have the perfect alibis. Gonna blame it all on you.” He paused to leer. “Jus’ like I did the last time.”
“Wh-what? What?”
Willow’s sputtering uncertainty stirred Tara’s maternal instincts. She didn’t completely grasp the situation but she knew it was her turn to comfort. She stepped up confidently, took Willow’s arm in a tight grip and started tugging her toward the center of the room.
“Come on, Willow,” she said. “We can’t stand here talking. We have work to do.”
Still fixated on the cocky Spike, body twisting to keep him her sight, Willow reluctantly stumbled along as Tara escorted her to the far side of the reading area. “He can’t mean…he can’t…” she muttered somewhat incoherently.
“He’s just trying to cause trouble,” Tara said with more assurance than she felt. “You said he likes to do that. You said he’s just an old neutered vampire with nobody to talk to anymore. He probably just wants some attention.”
“Hang on a minute,” Spike said, affronted by Tara’s attempted soothing. “I got loads of friends. Don’t need you lot. And,” he called after them, “I know a few things about pixies, too. Fairy magic. That’s the real deal. They got this dust, see? It makes you bladdered…drunk-like…what they call ‘pixilated.’ You lose all sense of propriety.
“I’m telling you, Red, you don’t want to go up against that. Not at your level. Best get Buffy to sort this out.” When Tara and Willow continued to ignore him, he suddenly pouted. “No, wait. You’re right. You go ahead and work it out on your own. You don’t need any help. Why bother the Slayer?” He pointed over his shoulder toward the staircase. “I’ll just toddle off then…before the building collapses.”
After waiting a moment for a reaction that wasn’t forthcoming Spike slipped silently down the stairs. Willow held her temper in check until she was certain he was gone.
“Like…ooooh…the building might collapse,” she said mincingly. She shoved her bangs back with an impatient hand and pushed air out in a rude sniff of disdain. “I am so worried about that.”
Though Tara was privately troubled by the idea of tangling with pixies, she didn’t want to add to Willow’s sour mood. They never seemed to have much time alone together. Other people dominated their evenings in Wicca group and when the meetings broke up Willow was always running off to visit with her long time friends. Tara didn’t want to spend this one morning they had together arguing. She wanted to make this a happy time, a time to bask in the glow of camaraderie and so she encouraged Willow instead of voicing her concerns.
“He just doesn’t know what a powerful witch you are,” she said. “If he did he would be shaking in his silly coat.”
“I know. Can you believe how he’s all ‘Oh, look at me…I could get away with doing Buffy…’cause I’m a punk rock star. I’m David Bowie’? Like punk isn’t completely dead…deader than him even.”
“Is David Bowie punk?”
“Not anymore,” Willow huffed. “Because punk is dead.”
Tara decided to let it go. She levered an overturned book cart back onto its wheels and started loading it with books. After glaring after the departed Spike for another few seconds Willow moved to help. The first cart was filled in a matter of minutes and the girls separated to find two more, Tara toward the copy machines, Willow toward the stacks. As Willow approached the metaphysical section something fluttered across the aisle, just in front of her but slightly below eye level. Willow tensed, leaning forward to stare into the gloom. There was definitely something moving along the shelves. A faint blue glow danced on the spines of the books.
Noting Willow’s preoccupation, Tara paused in her work. “What is it?” she hissed.
Willow didn’t answer. Tara watched as she tiptoed into the dark valley between the high shelves of books, the swish of her red hair and the silver threads in her skirt holding the glint of light to the last.
“Willow?”
“There’s something in here,” Willow called out of the darkness. “Oh, I see it. It’s like a little…GAHACkah!”
A blinding flash of blue light accompanied the loud, choking cry that cut off Willow’s sentence. Tara threw a hand up to guard her vision but the light was gone almost as soon as it registered on the eye. A powdery blue mist was raining down at the end of the aisle Willow had entered a few seconds earlier. Tara felt terror closing her throat.
“Wi-Wi-Willow?” she managed to croak as she stumbled forward, numbed feet tripping over the books in her way. When she neared the stacks she called again louder and with more urgency, “Willow, answer me!”
The only reply was the escalating repetitive thumps as a shelf-load of books cascaded to the carpeted floor. With a squeak of alarm, Tara rushed to help her friend.
END THIS PART