Author's note; well, this is my first fic which I intend to keep on All the others had to be deleted for various reasons…Like almost every other fanfiction writer before me, I will beg you…
PLEASE, PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!
Xander opened his eye. He groaned as the world slid slowly into focus. He tried to move, but could only just. He felt nauseous, confused-and another strange and unpleasant sensation which he couldn't make out the cause of. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he realised he was upside down in somewhere very dark, somehow secured by his ankles. He could taste blood in his mouth, and his ankles were hurting like hell from the strain of holding his entire body weight. An indescribably foul smell hit his nostrils, making him cough and splutter. He cried out as he became more aware of his situation.
His memory came flooding back to him, and he remembered what had happened. God, poor Willow. He had to get back to her. It had been so close last time- she would surely disappear entirely if he didn't get back to her. She had taken it kind of personally when Michael had kidnapped Kennedy. Xander felt tears mingle with his blood as he remembered the pain he had seen in his friend's eyes as she read Michael's note. He had seen the darkness clawing at her insides, growing, desperate to be released… would Will be able to hold on this time? He remembered going with the potentials to confront Michael, remembered being hit with a curse in the fight.. what had the warlock done to him?
Incidentally, he added to himself, what sort of crappy name was Michael for an evil warlock?
Xander forced himself to concentrate on the problem at hand. Where was he? He was somewhere he knew-but where? He twisted around for a better view- and hit is head on the wall he was bound to. He swore, acutely aware of the silence that he had broken, his own curses echoing back at him, mocking him. Deciding to take advantage of his position, he studied the ceiling. It was impossibly high above him. When had he ever seen anywhere this big?
Suddenly, it hit him- He was in the Initiative. He gagged, realising that the smell was that of rotting bodies, demon and human.
But...what was he doing back in Sunnydale? A very small part of him was almost glad to be back. It was familiar, and brought back memories. It was the place he'd grown up in. Yet...this couldn't be Sunnydale. Sunnydale was now a giant crater. It couldn't possibly be Sunnydale. Could it?
A small, sudden sound in the gloom- a creaking noise which startled him out of his thoughts and back into panicking. Then there was a beam of light which cut like a knife through the empty darkness, which seemed to stretch out forever in all directions. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, he could make out a tall, muscular figure standing in the glow. He was about 30 metres away from where Xander lay, swinging around by his ankles, acutely aware of his vulnerability. The figure was carrying a torch in one hand and a gun in the other, and had entered through a small door, which suddenly slammed shut behind him.
"Mr Harris?"
The gruff voice echoed eerily in the stillness.
"Uh…"
Xander attempted to reply, but blood gurgled in his mouth, and he struggled to remain conscious, dizzy as he was. Spitting the blood out in disgust, he replied;
"Er…Who are you?"
"Answer the question,"
"Technically speaking, "Mr Harris?" Isn't a question. If I were to say
"Who the Hell are you?" Or, "Help! Can you untie me?" Or maybe a clichéd "how do you know my name?" That would be a question,"
Xander was babbling, and he knew it. He was pointlessly wisecracking, as he so often did. It was a combination of panicking, comforting himself, and stalling for time.
"Shut up, we haven't got time for lame jokes, Harris"
Please let that be royal "we", or Gollum "we", thought Xander. Please let there not be more guys with guns.
The door creaked open again, confirming Xander's fears. But the figure who came through the door didn't have an enormous, pro-wrestling build like the other man. He had a small and slight frame, and looked about 20 years old. As he walked into the beam of torchlight, Xander could see that the man had greasy blonde hair, a beard, and was wearing a suit. When the man spoke, it was in an upper-class English accent.
"Good evening, Mr. Harris. I am Mr Berwick, and am here representing the Watcher's council. Now, as long as you're just hanging there, pay attention. There are only two absolute rules- what a man can do, and what a man can't do,"
"Somebody saw Pirates of the Caribbean," Cut in Xander.
"Mr Worth?" said Berwick, nodding at the soldier-looking guy with the gun. Worth approached Xander, and dealt him a blow to the face that sent him crashing into the wall. Berwick smirked maliciously, but Xander could see that he was blushing furiously anyway. It was not the done thing at the Watcher's Council to use lines from movies when threatening a hostage. Because that must be why Xander was here- to be held hostage.
"Mr Harris, I would suggest that you treat me and Mr Worth with the utmost respect. As I was saying. Listen, the Watcher's council is regaining it's old strength, and we want you on our side. Mr Harris, we have a proposition to make, a…deal, as it were,"
"Shouldn't a deal be a little more contract-y, and having to do with fine print, instead of the swinging like a punchbag from the wall, and...with the threats?"
"The Council is at war, Mr Harris. The descendants of the deceased Watchers want to continue in the footsteps of their forefathers. But we need to recover lost documents, and, if possible, Watchers. That would take amazing amounts of mystical power. The only way to do it would be to summon them from the time and place in which they were destroyed. It would be very difficult, though, and dangerous. When our warlocks sensed a disturbance in the fabrics of time and space, I was sent here to… persuade you to help us out… because, Mr Harris, we need the assistance of someone like you…
someone who can travel through time,"
Suddenly, Xander realised. So that was what Michael had done to him.
"Oh, f-"