prologue: everything was strange and new
"Come on," Willow said excitedly, tugging Oz behind her. "I can't wait for you to meet her."
"If you keep this up, I might have to start getting jealous," Oz warned, though there was a small smile playing on his lips.
Willow stopped for a minute to look at him. "Would you really?" She'd never had a boy get jealous over her before. It was kind of flattering, actually. Then she felt bad about feeling good about making another person feel bad.
Oz seemed to be thinking about it. "Only if there's real danger," he said after a moment. "Otherwise, it's too much energy." Relieved, Willow grinned at him and started walking again.
They were on a street one block away from the heart of downtown Sunnydale. There weren't a lot of people this way—which was why people didn't come this way in the first place—but there were a few stores open, the small kind that stayed afloat by drawing a few loyal customers. Willow headed straight for the one on the corner, whose dark gold window letters declared it THE BOOK NOOK.
The bell at the door tinkled pleasantly as Willow opened it. Taking a moment, she breathed in her favorite smell in the world: the smell of books, old and new. She barely registered Oz walking in, closing the door behind him as he took in the store calmly.
To Willow's disappointment, however, there was no one at the counter. "Hello? Piper?" she called. She thought the shop was open. The sign said the shop was open. The door was open.
Moments later, a bright blue head popped up from below the counter. "Tops, Maple," Piper Pierce greeted. (Piper didn't seem to like her name very much, but Willow had no idea why. She thought it was cool. Then again, when pretty much everything about you was cool, maybe stuff that was still cool but not as cool as other cool stuff didn't seem as cool…time to stop before she got a headache.) The older girl seemed perplexed, and she had a fuzzy look in her eyes that Willow had learned was her I'm-still-in-the-book-I-was-reading look. "I didn't know it was Wednesday today."
Willow blushed. She usually only came to the Nook on Wednesdays, when Oz had band practice and Xander was being delegated to yard work at home. "Actually, it's Tuesday," she said, willing her blush to go away. "I wanted to introduce you to Oz."
Piper's face cleared somewhat. "Oh, okay. Just gimme a sec." She bent back down, and for the next few moments Willow and Oz heard a lot of shuffling and muttering.
"Maple?" Oz asked quietly.
Then there was a loud bang (Willow jumped) and a word that would've made Mrs. Rosenberg wash Willow's mouth with soap. "What's one tree versus another?" Piper said as she reappeared, looking sheepish and disheveled. "Sorry. I don't want Mr. Spitzer to find out that I read in front." Mr. Spitzer was the kind old man who owned the Nook. They'd only met once or twice—he was usually handling stock and orders in the back—but he was very grandfatherly.
"Oz Osbourne, right? Welcome to the Nook." Piper made a sweeping gesture with one arm. "The romance section is to my right, nonfiction's in the back, and if life in Sunnydale isn't thrilling enough for you, mystery and horror is in the far right corner."
Oz and Willow exchanged a significant look. "I guess I'll keep out of the far right corner, then," Oz said.
"Wise man," Piper agreed. "Oh, hello, welcome to the Nook. Can I help you with anything?"
She directed her words to an entering woman and child. The little girl beamed. "I want the new book on ponies!"
"She's been talking about it all afternoon," her mother sighed. "I asked her to wait until the weekend, but four days is too long, it seems. Alicia, at least say 'please,'" she chided her daughter.
Alicia obliged. "Please can I have the book on ponies?"
Piper got off her stool. "Well, let me see if I can get it for you…"
While she assisted the pair, Willow and Oz drifted off to explore the bookstore shelves. Eventually, she rang them up and sent them out the door with a polite, "Hope to see you again soon! Enjoy your book!" Then she turned her attention back to the pair of redheads. "So, what can I help with? Anything I can look up for you?"
"Um…" said Willow. For someone who read so much, Piper could be awfully dense.
Oz saved her. "Actually, my girlfriend met this girl who works in a bookshop, and she really likes her. The girl seems cool, and any friend of Willow's is a friend of mine, so I was wondering you could tell me anything about her." He paused contemplatively. "And also, how the blue hair happened."
For a moment, Piper looked honestly surprised, as if electric blue was a natural hair color and she'd never been asked that question before. To be fair, it did look good on her, even though she kept it in a bun all the time.
Then she turned to Willow.
"I'm your friend?" she said, sounding stunned.
Oh. So it wasn't the hair thing, Willow thought.
Then the meaning of what Piper had just asked hit her. It felt like being punched in the stomach. Almost exactly that, in fact—Willow had been punched in the stomach before, and this was the same feeling, a combination of pain, breathlessness, and a little nausea.
Had she been the only one who thought they were friends? Sure, they'd only met because Piper worked the counter at the Nook and Willow had wandered in on a plan-less Wednesday, and they'd never tried to hang out outside of the shop, but they had great conversations and had once spent three hours discussing the prospect of artificial intelligence. Willow liked Piper. She was older and cool, but still easy to talk to, and she was really smart and good at giving advice and recommending books and she reminded Willow of… Well, in any case, the thought that Piper might not like her back had never even occurred to her. Who would spend so much time with someone they didn't like?
Someone who was getting paid for it, that's who, dummy, a mean voice in her head whispered. Embarrassment brought heat to Willow's cheeks, but she valiantly managed not to run out of the store right then and there, mostly by clutching Oz's hand as tightly as she could. He squeezed back, but she didn't dare look at his face, because she didn't want to see him thinking that she was an idiot.
Piper must've seen the look on Willow's face, though, because she rapidly backtracked.
"Wait, no, I didn't mean—I just—oh, man, I'm such a screwup," she sighed, running her fingers through her hair. She stood and jumped onto the counter, sending some papers flying, and hopped down on the other side. Then she walked over to Willow and hugged her.
Hesitantly (she wasn't used to getting hugs unless something either really really good or really really bad had happened), Willow reached up and hugged her back. Piper was a good inch taller than Willow and a little bony, so the hug wasn't very comfortable, but it was comforting.
Piper pulled away, but kept her hands on Willow's shoulders as she looked her in the eye. "I'm sorry, Maple. Of course you're my friend. You're probably my only friend in this whole godforsaken place." She smiled sheepishly. "I just didn't know I was yours, that's all."
"I dunno," Oz observed in the ensuing silence. "Friendship seems like it has to be a mutual thing."
Piper laughed. "You're good people, Ix. But…" She shrugged her own shoulders, letting go of Willow's to spread her arms out wide. "Come on, look at me. I'm ancient. I don't know how you kids can stand to hang out with me."
Willow had to laugh. "How old are you again?"
"Twenty," Piper said, pulling a dramatically disgusted face.
"That's only three years older than us," Willow pointed out. Definitely not as ancient as Angel. Whoops! Bad thoughts. Don't think about Angel.
"Three years can make a great difference, my young grasshopper," Piper said in a grave voice. She couldn't hold it for long, though, because Willow broke into giggles and that made her smile.
"Ix?" Oz asked. It took Willow a moment to remember that Piper had called Oz that, but when she did, her heart swelled. She knew they would get along! Then again, Oz got along with just about anyone, as long as they weren't undead, or trying to kill them, or both.
Angel, another voice whispered in the back of her mind. Oz got along with Angel.
Angel didn't count, Willow argued mentally. Angel had been good. He'd had a soul, and he'd loved Buffy just as much as Oz loved Willow. And he would've had one again, if Willow had only been fast enough… But that way led to really bad thoughts, so Willow pushed it out of her head.
Piper was shrugging. "It was one of the countries that Baum wrote about in his other books. You know. Besides The Wonderful Wizard of Oz."
"Huh." Oz pondered that for a while. Finally, he said, "I like it." Piper grinned at him.
"I didn't know there were other books," Willow said, trying to get back into the conversation. "I mean, I kind of did, but I never read them."
"I'm pretty sure you can find copies in the children's section, if you wanna catch up on your childhood," Piper offered. There was a mischievous look in her eyes. "Special discount for friends only."
Willow grinned back, feeling light and bold. "Some friend," she teased. "I'm starting to feel like the only reason you want me in here is so you can make money off me."
"That and your killer good looks, Maple. Brings in more customers." That made Willow turn red. She wasn't used to compliments, even joking ones, but Piper dished them out like they were candy. Free candy. "Oh, right, Ix. You wanted to know about this, right?" She reached up reflexively to tug on her bangs. "I was at a sleepover with my friends, and we decided to dye our hair together, so I was waiting for it to finish bleaching, but I got really sleepy, so I took a nap and made my friends promise to wake me up with the bleach was done, and instead," she paused to take a breath, "they dyed my entire head blue. I've been trying to wash it out, but it must be magical or something, because it's taking forever." She eyed Willow solemnly, despite the fact that the redhead was giggling. "And that, my young friends, is why you should always sleep with one eye open."
She climbed over the counter again. Mr. Spitzer probably would have scolded her.
"I found this the other day," she said, plopping a thick book down in front of them. "Turns out a new edition was published this February. Ever heard of GEB, you two?" When they both shook their heads, she pushed it forward. "Godel, Escher, Bach. It's complicated stuff, but worth trying to get through. It's all on networks and cognitive science and it's pretty meta. I have a feeling you'd like it, Ix."
How Piper had guessed Oz's reading preferences right after meeting him, Willow had no idea, but there was no mistaking the way Oz's eyes lit up with interest.
"I don't have my wallet on me," her boyfriend admitted.
Piper waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Just make sure to bring it back when you're done."
Oz glanced at Willow, who nodded. "She lets me do it all the time. I do feel bad, though," she added, turning to Piper remorsefully. "You keep lending me all these books, and it's not like this is a library…"
"We don't get that much business," the older girl said, which Willow knew was the sad truth. "Mr. Spitzer's not going to notice that one copy's missing. And anyway, what's the point of having all these books if they're not being read?"
"Good point," Oz said. He took the book carefully. "Thank you."
"You can send it back with Maple," Piper said with a grin. "I trust her impressively strict conscience. She's probably never broken a rule in her life."
Willow had to wince at that one. Piper had no idea.
They talked for a while longer, periodically interrupted by customers, before they all noticed that it was getting dark out. Piper waved them off, saying that she had to close, and Willow promised to come back next week with the book she was currently reading.
"So what do you think?" she asked Oz as they walked home together.
Oz shrugged. "I like her. She's good people." Hearing him echo the same phrase Piper had used for him made Willow grin. "She doesn't know anything, huh?"
"Nah," Willow said. "She's just a normal person." On second thought, she added, "With blue hair."
"What a weird concept," Oz said, and Willow laughed, making him smile.
Several blocks away, as she flipped the OPEN sign so that it read CLOSED to the curious pedestrian, Piper Pierce (God, what had her parents been thinking when they chose her name?) sighed.
Only three months in this world and my plan to lay low has already been blasted into itty bitty pieces. She rubbed her nose, a habit that betrayed her irritation. That's the Hellmouth for you, I guess.
She shouldn't have been surprised, really. It was practically impossible for anyone within a three mile radius of Sunnydale (or seventy miles, give or take, if one considered Los Angeles) to avoid the Plot, whether they participated as a villain (9%), a white hat (1%), or an unwilling victim (89%). The Hellmouth's power was just that strong. Eventually everything around it became evil, fought evil, died, or any combination of all three.
That was why after Piper had woken up in front of the sign reading WELCOME TO SUNNYDALE, the first plan she'd made (after pinching herself multiple times, and then sitting there for a few hours because she was convinced that this was a very bad trip, despite having never done drugs in her life) was to get the hell out of there.
She didn't want to be dead, and as she was neither a villain nor a white hat, her death probability was probably increasing every millisecond she stayed in this literally godforsaken place. Piper wasn't stupid; there was nothing cool about being in a world that was constantly on the verge of annihilation. Considering that Sunnydale was still a town and not an actual hole in the ground, she could guess that she was somewhere before or during Buffy the TV show, which was unfortunate, because Sunnydale was actually safer as a hole in the ground.
She couldn't even use an encyclopedic amount of knowledge about the future to plead asylum with the Scoobies—she'd only watched the series on and off as a kid, which she now rather deeply regretted. Though she had an excellent memory, even she couldn't recall every detail about a show she'd only seen once. Note for the future, she thought sarcastically. If you're going to watch something, either commit yourself so deeply that you could survive if you were suddenly trapped in said show, or don't watch it at all and be happy in ignorance.
After walking into town (and getting a lot of weird looks—it wasn't her fault that whatever weird magic that pulled her into this world had done so while she was in her pajamas), she'd picked up some back copies of the Sunnydale Press people had thrown in the trash (yes, her pride was just that low) and combed through the obituaries for some clue about her location in the timeline. It had only taken her a few issues to find an obituary for one Jenny Calendar, Sunnydale High School computer teacher.
Oh, fuck, she'd thought at the time. She was in season two or season three, when the characters were still in high school and Angelus was going batshit because he and Buffy got down and dirty. Calendar's death was good, because it meant the Big Bad of the year would be defeated soon, but it was also bad, because until that happened, any vulnerable looking girl on the streets was free game to the undead population of Sunnydale. She had to get out, and fast.
Unfortunately, it turned out that taking the bus took money and proper attire. In addition, it turned out that although officers couldn't actually arrest you for wearing your pajamas on the street as long as they covered the appropriate areas (she was in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boxers—don't judge, they're comfortable), they could take you aside very politely and warn you that Sunnydale didn't tolerate this kind of behavior and you should at the very least get some pants unless you wanted to be suspected of prostitution, and eye your hair dubiously while they were at it.
Piper told them to get out of her face.
It was a free country and she could wear whatever she damn well wanted. Mayor Whatshisface's secret police, traditional Christian values and ridiculous slut shaming (though she knew very well the term wouldn't come into use until at least a decade later) could go fuck themselves.
Of course, she didn't say that last sentence out loud, because she had no intention of being detained in Sunnydale, or in Sunnydale at all. However, the bus was out, and she had to find some shelter before dark. So she did the only thing she could think of, which was heading to the closest not-shady looking shop and beg for a job.
It wasn't the most dignified thing she'd ever done, but it wasn't the least, either. The shop owner, Mr. Spitzer, was very kind. It turned out that he had a daughter of his own, now all grown up, and seeing a young woman in trouble aroused his fatherly instincts. (Piper had never been more thankful for her childish looks.) In addition, it turned out that there was a real shortage of retail workers in Sunnydale, probably due to the fact that most of them tended to die in crime or gang-related activities (Piper had burst into a fit of coughing), discouraging others from pursuing the open jobs. Even better, Piper had experience working in a bookshop—she'd been doing it to help pay for college, though that was a moot point now—and The Book Nook was in need of a full-time seller in front so that poor old Mr. Spitzer wasn't running himself ragged. He hired her. Even though she had no papers, no identification, and neon blue hair.
Such was the way of the Hellmouth. Depending on how it felt, it could completely screw you over or offer you unprecedented luck—or both.
She took the advance pay he offered her and went to buy a set of clothes that she could work in and, even more importantly, a cheap cross that she immediately put on. Then she came back, got to know the shop and how Mr. Spitzer liked it to be run, and sat in front under his supervision. By that time the sun was getting dangerously close to the horizon, so they closed up (they had no official hours, but it was Mr. Spitzer's policy to close before sunset; Piper suspected he knew more about Sunnydale than he let on—it would explain how he'd survived it to such an old age) and Piper went to a seedy motel, where she showered and spent most of the night praying not to be eaten while trying not to breathe in the smell of sex and cheap cigarettes. God, that sounded like a bad noir film.
She checked out of the motel as soon as the sun rose. Now that she had a job, something to anchor her, she was much less panicked.
Plan A obviously hadn't worked. And it suddenly occurred to her that even if she got away somehow, she might not survive. From what she remembered of the original series, demons existed outside of Sunnydale, too. And she had no documentation, no papers, nothing that would allow her to get a job or buy an apartment outside of the Hellmouth's ridiculous law-bending powers. In addition, the prices of the listed apartments she started scanning after she helped Mr. Spitzer open were ridiculously low. She supposed no one wanted to buy real estate in a town with one of the highest mortality rates in the U.S.
That was settled, then. She would have to earn money, try to figure out the stuff about papers and documentation, and then, as soon as she could, get the flying fuck out of Sunnydale.
Initially, Plan B went well. She found an apartment within walking distance of the bookstore after only two tries. The bookstore turned out to be fairly quiet; they mostly handled personal orders, which were in higher demand since Amazon hadn't gone big yet. She spent more time reading than she had in college, surprisingly. She bought more clothes and living supplies. She wasn't stopped by any more policemen. And, wonder of wonders, she hadn't run into any vampires. (Just in case, though, she found a piece of sharp wood to carry around at all times.)
It was with great relief that she found a small notice in the Press congratulating the Sunnydale High Class of 1998. Graduation meant summer, and from what she remembered, summer was the low point of supernatural activity due to Buffy the series centering around school year drama. Piper had no idea what the explanation for it was in this world, but she was grateful for it regardless.
One day in July, she was sitting at the counter, buried in Don Quixote de la Mancha (the translation, unfortunately—she had zero talent for foreign languages) when the chime rang, indicating that the door had been opened. "Hi, welcome to the Book Nook," she said, hastily shoving Don Quixote on a shelf under the counter. "Let me know if I can—"
She stopped dead.
A girl with silky red hair and a shy, sheepish smile walked into the store, glancing around nervously. Her eyes involuntarily lingered on Piper's hair. "Um…hi."
Even in her own world, Piper would recognize Alyson Hannigan anywhere. She swallowed, unable to stop staring. Help her, help her and get her out of here, was her only numb thought. Aloud she said, "Let me know if I can help you with anything."
"Oh, no, it's okay, I just wanted to look around," Willow Rosenberg said. "Do you have an occult section?"
"The nonfiction books are in the back, and occult should be to the right," Piper said, slightly dazed.
An hour later (the occult section isn't even that big, Piper mentally whined), Willow reappeared with two books and two twenty dollar bills. Piper rang her up and all but pushed her out the door.
"Hope to see you again!" she lied with the brightest fake smile she'd ever made. Please don't come back.
Willow came back.
She came in for more books. Piper peeked at her selection—she couldn't help herself. At first, they were all from the occult section; Piper sometimes wondered where Mr. Spitzer had gotten so many books that a regular who dealt in the supernatural considered legitimate. She probably didn't want to know. Eventually, though, Willow began branching out, looking into other parts of the nonfiction section. Computer science seemed to be her area of choice, but she also purchased a couple books on chemistry and biology, so Piper couldn't be sure.
"You don't read fiction?" she asked one day, unable to stop her curiosity.
Willow paused in the middle of taking her change, clearly startled. "Um, no," she said shyly. "I used to. Read fiction a lot more, I mean. But I think science and history are really interesting."
"Huh," Piper said, and that was the end of their first conversation.
A few weeks later, Willow wandered in, but started heading out without buying anything. Instead of pausing to think, Piper blurted: "Have you ever read So You Want to Be a Wizard?"
Willow looked startled again, but answered no, she had never read the book. Piper promptly dumped the book in front of her, and said Willow should give it a try, because she would probably enjoy it, and that if she didn't like it she could return it the next week. To her surprise, Willow bought the book.
And came back the next week, a smile on her face as she jabbered on about how cool and magical the concept of Wizard's Speech was. Then she asked if there were any other books like it.
Piper knew the whole series by heart.
And so it went. Around a month later, though, Piper noticed that Willow didn't display her usual enthusiasm when she recommended a few volumes on psychology theory. Call her conceited, but Piper liked to think that she knew people's literary tastes pretty well, and Willow's lack of reaction rankled her a bit. She shrugged it off, though, and moved to hand her purchase over. Then she stopped.
Willow had a look on her face that Piper recognized. She'd seen it in the mirror often enough: it was the sad, empty look of someone who was lost and had lost. On Willow, it made her look like a kicked puppy.
Piper had an incurable soft spot for small animals.
She mentally sighed. I'm not interfering in the Plot, she told herself firmly. I'm just helping a teenage girl who's going through a tough time. "What's the matter?" she said, and then winced. There were probably more tactful ways she could've said that.
Willow looked up. That look was still on her face. "Huh?"
Piper sighed, out loud this time. "You look like someone kicked your puppy," she said, not mentioning that Willow actually looked like the puppy itself. "What's wrong? Are these books boring you?"
"Huh?" Willow said again, and then immediately started stuttering and waving her hands frantically. "Oh, no, not at all! I love these books, really! They're so fascinating! I especially love reading about learning theory, and he's got some really good ideas, and—" She caught sight of Piper's raised eyebrow, and slumped. "It's not the books. I swear."
Piper waited. When Willow still didn't say anything, she weighed some pros and cons, and at last decided to throw caution to the wind. "What is it, Willow?" she asked, as gently as she could.
Willow's bottom lip trembled. Then, to Piper's utter horror, she burst into tears.
Before long, the whole thing came spilling out: how her best friend had run away after some particularly traumatizing things had happened to her (having to kill the guy you're infatuated with is pretty traumatizing, Piper allowed), how her other best friend was dating a girl who'd bullied her for years, how she finally had a boyfriend but didn't know anything about being in a relationship. How her favorite teacher had died a few months ago. By the end of it all she was crying, collapsed in an armchair Piper had hurriedly pulled over for her.
Piper simply sat next to her, stunned. And then angry. How could none of the Scoobies have seen how all this? Okay, so Buffy was AWOL and Cordelia wasn't the most sensitive girl her age, but Oz was a sensitive guy, right? And Xander had been friends with Willow since they were in diapers, or something. Why hadn't he picked up on her distress?
Kids are wrapped up in their own problems, she rationalized, trying to calm herself down. I was pretty self-centered when I was in high school. She mentally scowled. Well, if no one's going to be there for this poor thing…
They talked. And talked. And talked. She managed to calm Willow down enough to send her home, though the redhead was still sniffling a little. When they were finished, it was dark—the latest Willow had ever stayed in the shop, and past closing time. Piper decided to take the girl home—Willow was probably better with a stake than she was, but there was still safety in numbers. And if the girl stuck a little closer to her than was comfortable, she let it go. There was nothing wrong with being a good person, after all.
She just hoped it wouldn't get her killed.