Title: The Duo
Author: Kazolus
Rating: PG for some language, nothing worse that what you get on Buffy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy and Angel or any of their characters.
Summary: I don't know if this would be set in a parallel universe, because it doesn't directly contradict anything that happens in season six or seven, but I don't think it quite fits in with the natural flow of the Jonathan & Andrew storyline. You can decide for yourself. Anyway, the plot - it's set after season six when Jonathan and Andrew are in Mexico. They eventually decide to start their own mission of redemption, fight the good fight and generally try to act really heroic in a sort of pseudo-Superstar-meets-Storyteller kind of way. Along the way they confront an old nemesis, and seek help from a mysterious Klingon-speaking man. As usual, reviews are always greatly appreciated. Chapter three coming soon. Enjoy!
Chapter one - Fugitives
Ah, Mexico. Home of the sombrero, the chihuahua, burritos, and, of course, those really big moustaches. How is it, you may ask yourselves, that we came to such a strange new world? Well, our story began with an organisation. An evil one. A kind of "evil organisation" if you will. I, along with my evil sidekicks Warren and Jonathan, formed the Trio. For months we plotted against the Slayer, but with each attempt she thwarted our evil schemes. But then Warren, acting alone, in a hasty attempt to kill the Slayer, accidentally killed one of her friends instead. This forced Willow, the attractive lesbian witch, to turn to the dark side in order to seek blood-lusty vengeance. After submitting Warren to a slow, painful and incredibly messy death, she then proceeded to track down Jonathan and I. We were forced to face the dark witch, and after a battle of epic proportions, we, unfortunately, were defeated. And so it was that we fled to Mexico, where so far we've been hiding out for three weeks. And things are just about to get interesting...
"Your turn," said Andrew.
"I spy," said Jonathan, "with my little eye, something beginning with M."
"Okay, erm..." Andrew thought for a moment, "Mantle?"
"No."
"Hmm," Andrew continued looking around the abandoned shack, "Mould?"
"Where's there mould?" said Jonathan, seeming surprised.
"Well," Andrew looked around, "there," he pointed to a small patch of green mould growing in a damp corner of the wall, "there," he pointed to another patch a little further up, "Oh, there's a big patch over there!"
"Okay," Jonathan interrupted, "point taken. One of us should probably clean that up."
"Not it!" said Andrew, sharply raising his hand.
"Why do I have to do everything?" Jonathan moaned, "You're the one who noticed it."
"Well, yeah," said Andrew feebly, "but you suggested cleaning it."
Jonathan sighed and let his eyes wander about the room. This was all that they had now. A dilapidated old shack which had been, understandably, abandoned by it's previous owners many years ago. The plaster was crumbling away from the walls all over the place, revealing areas of brickwork underneath. They had running water, but it only worked when it wanted to. Sometimes the pipes would just make worrying groaning noises and then relax into an eerie silence. And they only had one bed: an old, creaky double bed which they were currently sitting at the foot of.
"Morecombe and Wise slept in the same bed," Andrew had said when they first arrived, "they never seemed to mind."
"Yeah, but they never had to listen to your snoring," Jonathan objected.
"I don't snore!"
"Yes you do! Remember that time you fell asleep in front of the TV? You heard the recording."
However, they eventually decided that there was no other option. One of them could have slept on the floor if it weren't for the fact that they'd seen an interesting variety of disturbing creatures scuttling across it which had caused Andrew to shriek like a little girl. As the weeks went on they slowly began to get used to it, and Jonathan started using cotton wool in his ears.
Jonathan looked at the bed.
"Well you know what homophobia really says about you..."
These were the words that echoed through his mind. Warren was the one who'd said them. Almost a year ago. Things were different back then.
"We deserve this," said Jonathan with a deep sense of remorse and fear.
"Yeah," said Andrew faintly, with the same sense of remorse.
"After what we did, I'm just glad Willow didn't kill us like she did Warren."
"Yeah," Andrew thought for a moment, "Money?" he said, noticing a small pile of coins on the bedside cabinet.
"No," said Jonathan.
They were both silent for a moment.
"D'you think our stuff will still be there when we get back?" said Andrew, "Cos it'll be hell trying to replace those Babylon 5 collector's plates."
"Maybe we shouldn't go back," remorse again crept into Jonathan's voice, "if Willow or any of the slayer gang catch us we're dog meat. Besides, we don't need that stuff. We only took what need to survive: money, a few changes of clothes," he paused, "and the Limited Edition Star Wars Figurine Collection." He nodded in the direction of an old chest of drawers which had Star Wars figurines standing, evenly spaced, on top of it.
Another moment of silence.
"Well, Willow could still come after us," said Andrew, shuffling uncomfortably.
"It's been three weeks," said Jonathan, trying to sound calm, "I guess Buffy must've stopped her by now."
"But what if she didn't?" Andrew turned towards Jonathan sounding worried, "What if the dark witch killed the slayer and her friends and for the past three weeks she's been hunting us like animals? She could burst through that door at any moment..."
They both stared in silence at the old, crumbling door that hung loosely from it's hinges.
"I have to go to the bathroom," they both said in unison. They looked at each other.
"Rock-paper-scissors?" Andrew suggested.
"Fine," said Jonathan.
They both shook their fists three times. Andrew had paper, Jonathan had rock. Andrew went to the bathroom, which was just next door to their room, so they could still hear each other if they spoke loudly enough.
"I still keep thinking about what that trucker said," said Jonathan.
"Yeah, me too," said Andrew.
Somewhere outside Sunnydale, three weeks earlier...
Jonathan and Andrew had hitched a ride with a trucker, and were being driven across a vast area of desert on their way to Mexico.
"So, you boys goin' a Mexico, huh?" the trucker asked in a loud, rugged voice.
"Yeah," said Andrew nervously.
"You know," the trucker slowly raised his eyebrows, "I've got a niece out in Mexico, an' she's single."
Jonathan and Andrew looked at each other awkwardly.
"No, not that thing," said Jonathan.
"Oh, sorry," Andrew's voice came from the bathroom, "Hey, is it mildew?"
"There's no mildew in here," Jonathan sounded confused.
"Oh, well there's a lot of mildew in here," said Andrew.
"You're cleaning that," said Jonathan before Andrew could dump the job on him.
"Fine," Andrew moaned.
"Anyway," said Jonathan, "I was thinking of the other thing he said..."
"Could you maybe go a little faster?" Jonathan asked nervously, constantly looking in the rear-view mirror, "We're kinda in a hurry."
The trucker glanced at the speedometer and accelerated slightly. He glanced at the two hitchhikers. They seemed terrified of something.
"You boys ain't on the run from somebody, are ya?" he asked in what he thought was an inviting tone of voice.
Jonathan and Andrew looked at each other and after a long pause Jonathan finally said: "Well, uh, yeah, actually we are."
Andrew nudged Jonathan.
"Dude, what are you doing?!" he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
"Don't worry, stay cool," Jonathan whispered back.
A worried look crossed the trucker's face.
"Anybody dangerous?" he asked.
Suddenly Jonathan and Andrew both got a shocking mental image of what the trucker would look like with no skin.
"Er, nobody worth worrying about," said Jonathan with a poor attempt at a casual shrug, "just some guy, you know..." he trailed off.
There was a painfully long pause as the trucker eyed them both suspiciously. He suddenly realised that he shouldn't be eyeing them suspiciously, he should, in fact, be looking at the road. He snapped to attention.
"You know," he finally said, "my grandfather always used to say that there's a kinda natural order to the universe. Karma, or some crazy fortune cookie crap like that. As if wrongs are all put right somewhere along the line. I never believed any o' that. Another thing he told me once was that when he was a kid he once stole his best friend's hotdog. His best friend never found out it was him. And what happened to my grandfather? He died, aged sixty-one, when he was hit by a car shaped like a giant hotdog. Coincidence?"
He stared gravely at Jonathan and Andrew who shrugged nervously.
"All I'm saying," said the trucker, suddenly looking back at the road, "is that if you boys did something wrong, an' I ain't saying you did, don't get me wrong there. But if you did, then you can either set things right or you can pay the price. Cos sooner or later, justice will be served."
Jonathan and Andrew shuffled awkwardly away from the trucker, who managed to keep one eye on the road whilst staring at them gravely. Satisfied that he had embarked his wisdom upon them, the trucker gazed out into the desert which stretched into the distant horizon. He scratched his butt.
Silence.
An unpleasant creaking sound.
Silence again.
A sound like that of an unspeakable creature stirring in it's sleep.
More silence.
The sound of an unspeakable creature waking up, stomping around, burning several thousand people alive, then going to sleep again.
Yet more silence.
The sound of a toilet flushing.
"Finally!" said Andrew with relief, "It took four tries to get that thing to flush."
He walked back into the bedroom and adjusted his trousers. Jonathan was still sitting on the bed lost in a trail of thought.
"Set things right or pay the price," he reflected, "that's what he said."
He noticed Andrew was back and went to the bathroom. Andrew sat on the bed.
"Well what are we supposed to do?" he said sarcastically, "Just go and apologise to Willow? Cos that probably won't work."
"I know," said Jonathan as if he had a better idea which was infinitely more obvious. He tried to think of a better idea.
"Mattress?" said Andrew.
"No."
Andrew looked around for something else beginning with M.
"Well..." said Jonathan, feeling as though he should have thought of an idea by now. And suddenly he did. "Hey," he said with a little excitement, "we could be, like, superheroes!"
Andrew thought for a moment in excitement.
"Really?!" he said.
There were a few more unpleasant noises, then the toilet flushed.
"Why not?" said Jonathan, coming back into the room, "It beats sitting in this dump waiting to die."
There was a moments silence as they thought of the possibilities.
"We're hunted men," said Andrew with a glint in his eye, "pursued by evil forces, fighting against the dark side, seeking redemption..."
"...By helping the helpless," Jonathan continued, standing in the centre of the room, trying to look as tall as possible, "fighting the good fight, putting right what once went wrong, so that we may finally defeat the forces of evil."
"Er, dude," said Andrew nervously, "your flies are undone."
Jonathan looked down, quickly did his flies up, and gazed very embarrassedly into middle-distance.