Giant Killer Flesh-Eating Insects of Doom
By Pouncer
A dead man sat across the coffee shop, drinking from a mug and reading a leather-bound book. Slayer awareness – a blessing or a curse? I'd never decided. I did a double take and blinked to clear my eyes, thinking my jet-lagged brain was overlaying reality with familiar faces. It wasn't the first time I'd seen a dead man walking (or sitting). For a while there, I talked more to dead men than to live ones, and I'm not even talking about vampires. In this case, the dead man was still sitting there. Wesley was alive. I took my iced latte from the "barista" (pretentious title for a college dropout slacker wannabe, if the tattoos and hair gel were any clue), and wound my way through the maze of tables toward my ex-Watcher.
He paid no attention to my approach, finally looking up when I dropped my knapsack beside an empty chair. I sat down across from him. "Wesley, what a surprise! I guess reports of your demise were exaggerated?" I put as much sarcasm into my voice as I could, but the truth was I was shaken by my relief that he was still around.
His face went startled for just a second before freezing into neutrality – the expression that had made me want to poke and prod him until he gave me a real reaction back in Sunnydale. "Faith. What are you doing in Washington?"
"Stopping the destruction of humanity, like always. What about you? Giles told me that you'd died in LA, in the same deal that took down Wolfram & Hart."
"Well, yes." He sipped at his mug – I sneaked a peek and verified that it was tea. He's so English.
"Yes, what? How'd you get here?"
"I don't know. I don't remember. I remember dying, and Fred was there. And then the next thing I knew, I was in a hotel room with no idea how I got there." The skin around his eyes was stretched thin, and he could use more sleep. The dark circles looked almost as bad as when I'd beaten him up. No. I tortured him. Admit it to yourself, Faith, even if no one else. He closed his book, finally.
"When was that?" Giles would want to know. He'd looked horrible when Andrew told him the news.
"As best as I could tell, it was fairly immediate. I was whole, and not dead, and I decided not to worry about the rest of it." He tried to change the subject, "How's humanity getting destroyed this time?"
I decided to let him get away with it. For now. I could use his help. "There's a killer insect dealie about to go down unless I can stop it."
"Killer insects?" His voice was a perfect example of puzzlement.
"Yeah, I could give you the unabridged version, but it's boring. Cliff's notes are: the return of the seventeen-year cicadas heralds the awakening of a much worse kind of insect, some kind of demon bug. They come out every six hundred or so years – Giles and Willow went on about the significance of the number seventeen and multiples and stuff, but I didn't pay a lot of attention. Anyway, when the bugs come out, they have to feast on human flesh. The last time it happened was before America was settled by the British, and the natives just went away for a month or so. But now there's a city here, and evacuation isn't possible. So I get to stop them."
Wesley looked as doubtful as I must have the first time I'd heard this nonsense. "Demon bugs?"
"The insect equivalent of piranhas, stripped bones and all. If they're able to eat human flesh, they keep going, like some kind of killer locust. If they can't, they die off and we get another few centuries of peace."
"How on earth did you find out about this?"
"Something about some Indian shaman reading the portents and contacting Willow by Wiccawire – I was busy teaching Slayers how to fight." I took a sip of my latte.
"I always thought you were a black coffee kind of girl," Wesley said.
"I need the protein. And the caffeine. I hate flying." And the trip from London was too long to sit still.
"Yes. You always liked to move." He fingered the cover of his book, running his hand over the leather. It smelled good, rich and deep, but not as good as my coffee. "What's your plan?"
"What?" I was more tired than I thought, to zone like that.
"Your plan. You must have one. Are you here alone?"
"Yeah, I'm supposed to suss out the sitch, talk to a local source, recon, that type of thing. If I need help, I call Slayer Central. But bugs? They're not intelligent, from what the Nause tribal guy said." Wesley was almost finished with his tea, so I gulped the last of my latte. "I'm going to meet this guy, the local expert. Want to come along?"
He looked over at the door, but didn't answer.
"Hey, do you have anything better to do?" I tried to smile at him with my usual mix of seduction and confidence. It didn't work. The muscles in my face clenched into a Joker-like grimace. He was staring at the table now, gathering up grains of sugar with a fingertip, tracing patterns. They had some crazy obscure meaning. They had to. He knows so much, I feel like the dumb kid in the class sitting next to the most brilliant student when I'm with him.
Robin had told me that sincerity worked better than attitude, before we broke up. Maybe I should put his advice into practice. "Wes, I could use your help. Odd as it is, we make a good team. Getting Angel's soul back last year proved that."
He laughed this broken rasp, "Oh yes, that worked out so well. I almost got you killed, Faith. Why on earth would you want me around?"
"Wesley," I started.
He broke in, voice full of mockery. "I was ready to sacrifice you on the altar of my belief in Angel as this great Champion with no hesitation."
"Angel had to have done something right, what with the smoking crater where Wolfram & Hart used to be. Even Giles was ready to make up with him." Except then Angel had told Giles to shove it, after the way Fred died.
Wesley looked away. "So Angel survived. I wasn't sure; there was no place to contact him. And now he's back in Giles' good graces. What about Buffy?"
"You know B. She's decided she should live it up for a while. Angel seems okay with that."
"And Spike?"
"I'm not the gossip queen of the universe, Wesley! Talk to Andrew if you want up close and personals on everybody – he's the one who saw Angel. If you're this curious, you need an occupation. What have you been doing with yourself?"
"I've been resting. Reading. Taking in the sights of the nation's capital. I sleep a lot."
"Okay, time to get busy. Come with me." No attitude this time, I tried to let him see that I wanted his help. I had an itch in the back of my mind, whispering that I should keep him close. It must have worked, because he stood up and looked at me, even if he didn't seem full of purpose.
"Where do we go?"
"There's this shop a couple of blocks from here, on Connecticut Avenue. Come on."
We walked out into a stew of humidity and heat, reflecting up from the concrete sidewalks. "People tell me this isn't even very hot for June in DC. Apparently, it's usually well nigh unbearable," Wesley said.
It was hot enough for my taste as it was. I wished I'd picked lighter-weight denim for my jeans. At least the tank top kept me cool. We made our way across a traffic circle to a sad little park in the center. The statue of some guy named Dupont was covered in bird shit. A cicada decided to dive bomb my hair, making me shudder. It had beady red eyes and wings that looked too stubby to keep it flying. They looked like they were drunk, weaving all over the place, knocked around with each air current. It made me wonder how much trouble demon bugs could be.
After we crossed the other side of the circle, we kept walking past a row of shops – bookstore, salon, Japanese trinkets, wine, restaurants – this street was chichi. We finally came to the curio shop where my contact worked. "C'mon, let's go see what he has to say," I told Wesley. Bells jingled as I opened the door, making a dark-haired man look up from behind the counter.
"Can I help you find anything?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm looking for John Morris? I was told he could help me with a problem."
The guy looked Wes and I over for a few seconds before he replied, "I'm John. What kind of problem?"
"An insect problem? Willow Rosenberg said you were the person to talk to."
An almost invisible tension in his body relaxed at my words. "I'm really glad to see you. I thought there was only going to be one?"
"Yeah, I ran into a friend at the coffee shop down the street. I'm Faith, this is Wesley. He's the brains, I'm the brawn." I felt like laughing at the doubtful look that flashed over John's face. Was it because I was a girl, or because I was a small girl? No matter, all I needed from him was information. "What do we need to know?"
"Hold on a second, let me lock up so we won't be interrupted." He went to the door and flipped a sign to "closed", turning the lock in one smooth move. "Come on to the back."
We traipsed after him into a small dusty room filled with boxes. "Sorry there isn't anyplace to sit." He pulled out a large map, unrolling it onto the cluttered surface of the desk. "My Nause ancestors were the guardians of the Laquasaquaw for ages untold. You have to understand, we had no writing, only an oral tradition that broke down after the English settled in Jamestown and began to encroach on our lands. The last time the Laquasaquaw emerged, we could travel away and patrol the borders to make sure no humans entered their territory. In the time since then, we have lost much of our history, but enough remains that I and my elders are very worried."
"Have you ever had to take these insects on in the past?" Wesley asked. "Some time when you couldn't get people to leave?"
John looked scared. "There is a tale that has come down telling of such a disaster. Entire tribes were wiped out. The demon bugs need to be stopped before they emerge from underground, or I fear that humanity will be destroyed."
"So where can we find these bugs?" I was getting cranky. The coffee hadn't helped as much as I'd hoped.
"They used to exist all over the area that is now DC, and into Maryland, but construction over the past three hundred years has reduced their range. The elders of my tribe, the ones with the ability to read the portents, performed a ceremony to locate the remnants and ask for aid. That was how we found Ms. Rosenberg. And they found that the larvae are between Rock Creek and Pinehurst Branch, in Rock Creek Park." He pointed to an outlined area on the map.
"Okay, we'll have to take a look." I'd reached the point where I just wanted to find a hotel and hibernate for a while. "I'm not going out there without weapons, though, so it'll have to be tomorrow."
Wesley was looking at the map. "Do you have any research materials on these insects? Legends, myths, hard fact? Anything could be helpful."
"We gathered up what we could find. I have copies here." John handed over a thick manila envelope. "Let me give you the shop's card, too, with my cell phone number if you have questions. Where can you be reached?" He gave me a questioning look.
"I need to find a hotel. I guess I can call you later."
Wesley said, "Faith, I have a guest bedroom. You're welcome to stay with me instead of trying to find a hotel. I know you're tired."
I was almost weaving, but I still wasn't sure if crashing with Wes was a good idea. "Are you sure?" I asked.
"Yes. And that way, if Mr. Morris thinks of any new information, we're together to hear it. Do you have a piece of paper?" Wesley wrote his phone number on the notepad John handed to him. "I'm just north of here, not too far away. If I have questions, will you be here tomorrow morning?"
"Yeah, we open at ten. Feel free to call at any time though. I can always get in touch with the people who know more back home."
"Thank you for your help, Mr. Morris. And for alerting us to this danger. We'll do our best." Wesley could always make nice. He'd learned something about sincerity too since I first met him in Sunnydale.
Wesley guided me the few blocks to his place, an apartment in a converted row house. The streets were busy with afternoon commuters driving through gridlock or walking along the broken concrete sidewalks. Trees cut down on the amount of sun hitting the ground, but it was still warm.
His apartment was chilly, air conditioning blasting through window units as he unlocked the door. Goose pimples rose up on my arms at the contrast, and I rubbed my hands up and down. Wesley noticed, and asked if I'd rather have it warmer.
"Nah. It's just different, you know?"
"Yes. I haven't gotten used to how hot it is here, even after all those years in California." He showed me to the spare bedroom, a model of Spartan simplicity with its twin bed and dresser. "I'm subletting from someone who's away for the summer."
That explained the difference from his place in LA. "I wondered where the books were."
"Probably in a consignment shop by now." He sighed at the thought of it. I'd always traveled light – why should he be sad about missing books? He can always buy more. "Would you like to take a shower? I think I've got something we could have for dinner."
"I'm too tired. I'm just gonna catch some zee's, if you don't mind?"
"That's fine with me. I'll look through the information Mr. Morris gave us and we can talk about it in the morning." He hesitated a second. "Should you call Giles, let them know you got here safely?"
The thought of explaining Wesley's presence made my head ache. "Tomorrow. I'll call tomorrow."
"Very well. Good night." He shut the door behind him, and I stripped down to tank top and panties. A minute later I was horizontal on the bed, mind hazy. I don't remember falling asleep.
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Something jerked me out of a dream in the middle of the night. It faded the moment I opened my eyes, but I knew I'd been running through woods. The trees were aware, their branches attacking me with razor-sharp twigs. I'd had to get away, get safe.
I was wide awake, thirsty, and needed to pee. I padded out into the hall, glad Wesley had left the kitchen light on. I opened cabinets until I found a glass, then winced at the flat taste of the tap water. The bathroom was next to a half open door that led to Wesley's bedroom. After I took care of my pressing business, I turned to go back to my room when I heard a gasp from inside his partway open door. He was tangled in the covers. I watched his head jerk back and forth for a long time before I went back to my own bed.
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The sun woke me the next morning, brightening the room. It was still early, just after dawn. I felt like a small animal had crawled onto my head and died, so I went straight to the shower to clean up.
Wesley was in the kitchen cooking eggs when I came out, combing my damp hair. "Morning," I offered.
"Good morning," Wesley said in return. "Did you leave the shower whole?" Only a small, sideways quirk of his mouth told me he was teasing.
"No reason to be angry right now. We'll see what happens after bug recon."
"Yes, I did some additional research last night." Wes waved towards a laptop computer that was open on a desk in the living room. "Little is known about the Nause Indians, but what I could find was interesting. They're mentioned as practitioners of witchcraft, and as poisoners of great skill. Records are non-existent prior to English settlement, but I was able to infer quite a bit from Mr. Morris' information." He got out two plates and scooped scrambled eggs from the frying pan. Toasted bread came out of the oven. "I don't have coffee, but I do have tea, if you like."
"Yeah, tea's fine. This looks good," I said as I sat down at the tiny table. He put out butter and jam and cutlery, and poured boiling water into two mugs.
"Thank you. When do you want to visit the insect site?"
"This afternoon, once I'm armed. One of the Slayers came from DC, and she told me where to go to find weapons. I wish I could have brought my usual over, but airplane security is intense these days."
"Where did she say to go?"
"Somewhere off the Green Line of the Metro. A few blocks away from the Navy Yard?"
Wesley hesitated for a minute, chewing his toast. "Faith, that's in Southeast. It's a very dangerous neighborhood."
"Yeah, Kelly told me that. I can take care of myself, Wes." I could feel defensiveness creeping up my back. Like I can't handle a rough neighborhood!
"I know that, but you aren't immune to bullet holes. Take care, will you?"
"Yeah, yeah. What'll you be doing?"
"I thought I'd procure some supplies for jaunting through the woods. Do you want to rendezvous back here?"
"Sounds good."
He pushed his chair back, "Let me get you the extra key."
I ate the last of my eggs. Wes hadn't finished his breakfast. His wrists looked bonier than I remembered.
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I returned at noon, triumphant. My man Levon hooked me up with a sweet crossbow, a wicked knife, and a small axe, just in case. He couldn't understand why I didn't want a nice Sig Sauer or Uzi, and he threw in a duffel bag so I could carry them all back on the Metro.
The apartment was empty, and I bummed around, checking out the cable. Daytime TV sucks. It's all ludicrous soaps or news or "my boyfriend cheated on me with my sister". I wonder what they'd make of the adventures of the Slayers? For a while there, B and I had everyone beat for most outrageous relationship ever.
Speaking of Buffy, I needed to give London a call. Giles went quiet when I told him my news, and promised to get word to Angel about Wesley's revival. He asked me to keep him updated on what we found in the park.
Wesley came back a few minutes later, loaded down with survival gear.
"Going camping in the Yukon, Wes?" I was kind of stunned at all the stuff he had.
"I thought it better to be prepared. We can always return what we don't use. I've also rented a car."
"Where are you getting the money for all this? I'm salaried now – I could submit an expense report?"
"Oh my, things have changed with the Council, haven't they? My father must be scandalized."
"He's not exactly calling the shots anymore. Buffy was determined we should be able to do our jobs, and it turned out the Watchers had a lot of liquid assets. Anyway, beside the point. Give me receipts or something."
"There's no need. I have access to my bank accounts, and they're flush with blood money. I might as well use it to do some good." There was so much bitterness in his voice that I didn't know how to respond. He kept fiddling with the backpack and thermoses and compass and I don't know what else, while I stood there feeling inadequate. A change of subject was needed.
"We should get to Rock Creek soon."
"Lunch first," Wesley said. I gave him a look. "I'm hungry."
So we went and got lunch at a burrito place a few blocks away. They were decent, but not California good. Wes ate everything this time.
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Wesley didn't know the city that well yet. We drove around in circles for ages, trying to find our way to the park. He was driving, and I was navigating, and we kept getting caught in one-way streets that went the wrong way. "Wes! Rock Creek Parkway, next turn. That has to get us there, right?"
"God, I hope so," he muttered, veering over and cutting off an SUV. The road ran under a bridge that looked like giants had built it, big white blocks arching up into the sky. After a few more wrong turns, we finally found a place to park. Wesley got out his map and pointed us towards the demon bug breeding grounds.
The park felt like nothing much had changed since the dawn of time. Roads and buildings were only temporary, and the woods would be there long after they were gone. We only saw a few people around, but I was intensely aware that hundreds of thousands were within miles. We walked on hiking trails for about half an hour, trying to get close to the area John had pointed out. Finally, Wesley pulled this charm out of his pocket.
"Directional finder," he said when I looked at it weird. He set off through the woods, forging through the underbrush. The trees had just finished leafing out, and they almost glowed. I never thought green could be that bright. There was this high-pitched buzz like the ray guns from those bad sci-fi movies I watched when I was waiting for my mom to get home from her dates. I went over to a tree to take a closer look.
"Don't touch that," Wesley said.
"Touch what?"
"That." He pointed at a plant with three leaves winding partway up the tree trunk. "Poison ivy."
"You really do know everything, Wes."
"I was a Boy Scout. Horrible in the field, mind you, but I knew all the theory. Come on, it's tugging to the left."
Before I followed him, I looked closely at the tree trunk. Cicadas were swarming all over. Their bodies black, and their wings copper. Their eyes looked like twin drops of blood, ruby beads decorating their heads. More were flying around us. It made me twitchy.
We paced out the boundaries of the Laquasaquaw grounds, winding through the trees. Squirrels ran around us, and a woodpecker tapped a fast rhythm above our heads. The larvae weren't spread too widely, maybe an acre.
"Why don't we take a closer look?" Wesley asked. He pulled a spade out of his pack and excavated one of the larvae. It was buried almost a foot under ground, and it was the grossest thing I'd ever seen (which is saying something). This pale gray blob, curled up in a ball, about the size of a cantaloupe. A transparent sack covered it, and it was pulsing or something. I wanted to smash it under my foot. Wesley looked kind of nauseous, but he pulled a trash bag out and used the spade to transfer the bug to it. "We might need to experiment."
"Yeah, I guess so. Oh god, how the hell are we going to get rid of these things? They're all over the place."
We hadn't been watching the sky – mistake. While we were digging in the ground, storm clouds had rolled in. Thunder rumbled only a couple of minutes before rain came down so hard that no amount of leaves could protect us.
"We should find cover," Wesley yelled over the thunder. "Let's try this way." He headed off through the brush. My hair straggled into my face, and caught on branches. My dream from last night came back to me – it was this. And I knew where shelter was.
"Wesley, through here!" Only a few more minutes found us at a deserted picnic area. Wooden tables were covered over with open-sided pavilions. Not perfect, but better than nothing.
We were both out of breath when we got under the roof. I wrung out my hair, knowing I looked like a drowned rat. I wished I'd brought a jacket, hot day be damned.
"Do you have a towel in there?" I asked, gesturing towards Wes's pack.
"I wish. Next time."
"And you the Boy Scout."
"I told you I wasn't a good one."
"Yeah, well, better than me. The only time I remember woods was this school field trip." I sat down on top of one of the tables in the center of the pavilion. The rain beat down outside like it was trying to drown those stupid bugs. I watched puddles form for a few minutes. Lightning sheeted across the sky. It made me jump.
"They took us to Concord, to see the battlefield, and then to Walden Pond." I didn't know why, but I wanted to tell him this. "I usually skipped, but it was so different, you know? I wanted to go, last blast before school ended. Hell, I forged my mom's signature on the permission slip."
I stared out at the rain hitting the puddles, the way the splash formed little crowns. Wesley stayed silent. "It was spring, and the guides told us all about the battle at Concord, and then we went to this bridge, close to the pond. The Minutemen had to stop the British from getting over it, I don't remember why. It's at the end of this long row of trees, and you feel like a musket could have fired at you from anywhere."
"Did they get over?" Wesley asked.
"Huh?"
"The British. Did they cross the bridge?"
"No. At least I don't think so."
The rain got louder then, beating down on the metal roof so hard that I couldn't hear a rhythm anymore. The wind blew harder, making the tree tops sway around so much I thought they'd fall over. Thunder boomed nonstop.
"Kendra died the next week." I watched the storm rage. "I learned real fast what it was like to hold the bridge."
When I looked over at Wes, he had this look on his face, like he knew exactly what I was talking about. He got up and walked the perimeter of the pavilion. "I was so proud when the Council sent me to Sunnydale. As if I knew anything at all. As if I'd manage to contribute to keeping the Hellmouth closed. I did so much harm, and I had the best of intentions."
I'd hated him in Sunnydale, but then again I'd hated everyone in Sunnydale. "I had a lot of time to think in prison. And Angel and I talked about things, you know? I'd been angry forever. You got in the way, and you wanted to control me and I hated it, and you, because I felt like I'd never been able to do things my way. It took a lot for me to realize that my way was bad. Not just for me, either."
Sometimes I think about what I did to him, and I feel sick. That stolen apartment was the lowest I'd ever gone, and I'd taken Wesley with me. A picture of him tied up in that chair, blood running down his face, flashed before my eyes.
How do you apologize to a man who still bears scars you gave him? Deliberately gave him. Who you tortured for hours, for pleasure, out of some twisted need for revenge? Would it make a difference if I told him I was sorry? That I regretted every instant that I'd hurt him with fists and fire and broken glass? Did he know that I'd changed? God, he must, or he'd have killed me by now.
"I've learned everyone makes mistakes, Faith. Good or bad intentions, it doesn't matter. Sometimes our judgment is just wrong." He looked at me, now, and I couldn't read his expression. "We have to keep fighting. Maybe that's why I'm here."
"What do you have to make amends for, Wes? You've more than balanced the scales. Not like me." The rain started to slow down, and the wind calmed a little. "Don't you want to know why you're alive? Don't get me wrong – I'm really glad you are, but I can't figure it."
He shook his head, "Neither can I."
I reached over and touched his arm. "How 'bout we go forward together, okay? At least for now." I smiled at him. A stray gust of wind made me shiver.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
"Yeah. Nothing to do about it, though." I turned and looked out again, trying to see if we could head back to the car. His arms surrounded me, and he pulled me back against his body.
"Of course there's something to do about it." He rested his chin on top of my wet hair. "As you say, we're in this together." His hands chafed the skin of my arms, and my shudders stopped as he warmed me.
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No plan to save the world came to mind on the hike back, or the drive back. I could barely look at Wesley. I wanted his arms around me again.
Instead, I found a dark, smoky club that night, after telling Wesley I was going out and don't bother to wait up. I danced and let the music pound through my bones. This blond guy kept buying me tequila shots, hoping for an easy lay. I kissed him on the dance floor; twining my tongue around his while he groped my ass with clumsy hands. I dissed him at last call, told him to fuck off, and watched, disappointed, as he turned away. Three vamps tried to grab me on the walk home, and we had a nice tussle before I dusted them.
Wesley was asleep when I got back. He'd left a note on my bedroom door telling me dinner was in the fridge. There was a plate of sandwiches, covered in plastic wrap.
What the fuck was I supposed to do now?
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If I dreamed, I didn't remember it the next morning. No hints on how to defeat the Laquasaquaw, no advice on how to deal with Wesley – my subconscious was as much of a bitch as I could be at my most surly. I had a headache. Not a really bad one, but enough to make me feel grumpy.
I avoided Wesley's eyes, throwing myself down on the couch and turning on the TV as he moved around the kitchen. If nothing else, the apartment wouldn't be silent.
He brought over a plate piled high with cheese toast, and put it on the coffee table. I muttered my thanks and continued to flip channels on the TV. I settled on some random movie that didn't look too bad. Wesley brought over two mugs of tea and sat at the other end of the couch. Why was he such a good host when I was such an awful guest? I nibbled on toast and watched the TV screen without really seeing it.
The movie broke for commercials – the local kind that you never see anywhere else. A used car dealership in Alexandria, a tree cutting service, an exterminator. I blinked at the smiling man with the chemical tank and jumpsuit, and turned to find Wesley had mirrored my reaction. We stared at each other for a long minute, and then I said, "It can't be that simple. Can it?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe we should go see Mr. Morris and ask him if they considered it."
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John was on the phone when we got to his shop. Wes and I waved, and browsed the shelves until he hung up. John took a deep breath before he said, in a thin voice, "Hello. Have you made any progress?"
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"I don't know. My uncle Mike died this morning. My cousin just told me. He raised me, after my mom left."
I didn't know what to say, but Wesley did, like always. "I'm very sorry for your loss. Would you rather we came back later?"
John shook his head. "No, Uncle Mike was the one who realized the Laquasaquaw were coming back. He'd want me to help however I can."
I said, "I get that. I'm sorry he's gone. We were wondering, had you considered spraying the bugs?"
John looked puzzled. "Spraying? With what?"
"Insecticide." Wesley looked confident. I felt like the larvae were going to crawl up my legs at any minute.
If John's eyebrows went any higher, they'd be in the ceiling. "Insecticide – my God. We never even considered that."
"Sometimes the idea of defeating mystical forces with modern weapons takes a while to develop," Wesley offered.
John said, "Wait a second, let me call my cousin back. I'll have him ask more of the elders about this idea."
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In the end, it was pretty simple. Insecticide plus sacred chants to corn and fire killed off the demon bugs. We tested it on our bagged bug and watched him dissolve into goo. Wes and I had to be careful to avoid park rangers when we went back to Rock Creek. We left the car outside the park borders at dusk and walked in, each of us carrying a tank of broad spectrum insecticide that the Nause had prayed over. We found a fallen tree trunk to sit on while we waited for dark. A doe picked her way through the underbrush, her fawn on her heels, like a shadow.
"Are you cold?" Wesley asked.
The day had been cooler, but not enough to bother me.
"What?" I didn't get why he was asking, until he put his arm around me. "Oh. Maybe a little."
"We can keep each other warm," he said.
"Yeah. That sounds good to me."
--end--
Notes: This was written for argante, as part of the Wes/Faith Ficathon. She asked for trouble between them, and no fluff. I hope there was enough conflict for your taste.
The Nause as portrayed in this story are my imaginary creation –the Nanticoke tribe was mentioned as practicing witchcraft, and the Nause might have been an offshoot. Check out for more information about the native population at the time of the Jamestown settlement – it's an area of history that deserves wider recognition. Thanks to Kuzibah for her help, and to Grim for naming the demon bugs. Thecuckoo gave me a swift and speedy last minute beta – I hope you feel better! Issaro also gave me wonderful editorial comments - thank you again.
Disclaimer: Wesley and Faith belong to Joss Whedon, not me.