Disclaimer: I own nothing. All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and Back To The Future characters are the property of their original owners.
“I really thought you’d be better at that,” groused Andrew, fulfilling his minimum daily requirement of stupidity.
Faith paused in the middle of her delicate manipulations with the slim metal rod she was holding. Only a quivering muscle on her cheek indicated just how much she was controlling her temper. In a dead-calm voice which would’ve still made Rambo change his damp camouflage underwear, the Slayer gritted, “It ain’t like this type of damn car was all over the streets of Boston when I was livin’ on my own there! Back then, I got a lotta practice breakin’ inta less fancy heaps to swipe anythin’ in ’em and later on, boostin’ the whole thing for a chop shop! It still don’t mean I can do it right away on the only one a’ these I ever seen outside the movies! Now, shaddup, or I’ll put yer head through the window, like I wanted ta in the first place!”
Sitting cross-legged on the bare ground next to the pile of cut bushes he’d dragged off their sought-for vehicle when Faith had been running her errand, Andrew made a disapproving face. He snottily replied in his usual death-wish fashion, “No, you won’t. The same thing applies over me talking you into heading for the nearest town and bringing back something to open it. You break the window with a rock or anything else, it might disqualify us. Willow said we had to take pictures of us sitting in there, and it was hinted the car had to be in one piece during everything. Now, can you do it or not? We don’t have all that much time before we have to cut our losses and go onto the next challenge.”
Growling under her breath, the woman bent over her task, glumly trying again for the dozenth time. She began muttering to herself as nimble fingers worked, “This Marty McFly guy’s for sure a lucky bastard, what with me missin’ him in that one-horse town. He travels back in time ta the Old West, hides his ride under a butt-load a’ branches which we gotta put back after everythin’, and goes off tryin’ ta be the big hero. Okay, fine, I can live with that. But not for what I’m seriously thinkin’ of huntin’ him down and kickin’ his head in! The little shit hadda lock the damn doors!”
As if those last irritated words had been a magical incantation, Faith felt a click run through the thin piece of ironwork she’d earlier stolen from a blacksmith’s forge. Leaving this object shoved deeply into the side of a famed vehicle to grope for the locking mechanism, the Slayer reached out to grip and pull on a door handle. In response, the gull-wing door of a seriously customized 1981 DeLorean DMC-12 now at last swung up to show off a former car thief’s latest success in jimmying this open.