Title: Tear in Time
Author: Jinni (email@example.com or firstname.lastname@example.org)
Genre: BtVS/Hercules-Xena Crossover
Disclaimer: All copyrights remain firmly in the grubby little paws of their copyright holders. I own nothing except, perhaps, this plot; and I make no money from writing fanfic – as enjoyable as that idea may be.
Distribution: WLF, WLS, NHA, BMP, Aislin.
Author’s Note: Pairing #57 at The Quickie Challenge: http://quickie.moonlitpaths.com
She had done it again.
She felt her black magic dye job start at the roots of her red hair and bleed it slowly to black. Her eyes were cold and dark now, twin pools of ebony darkness.
And it felt good, that loss of control, that absolute power.
Willow smiled, the darkness that had filled her soul for so long coming once again out to play.
She raised her hands, calling on the forces that now resided within her.
This time the entire earth would feel her pain, her wrath.
But the unexpected happened. Those powers that were so enormously thick with energy tore through the very fabric of time and space, ripping a whirling hole in the makeup of the universe.
And it wanted blood.
She screamed, digging her heels into the ground, looking around for something to hold onto.
It was not to be stopped, however; and the churning inky blackness reached out hand-like tendrils, grasping at her waist, her ankles. They pulled her feet right out from beneath her, yanking her towards the tear with a violence that made her body ache.
Her screams were cut off in the blinding nothingness of the tear.
And then she wasn’t even thinking, consciousness gone the way of the light.
Ares was having a bad day.
Actually, all days were bad days with his little brother out roaming the face of Zeus’s green earth.
Today just happened to be one of the more horrible days he had faced in recent times.
So, okay, the idea to incite a little civil unrest between Sparta and Thebes was not the brightest idea he had come up with recently. He owed the idea, in reality, to Strife, who had mentioned it on a whim, saying it sounded like ‘fun’.
And it would have been. . . save for the fact that his dear, dear little brother interfered.
He growled, throwing a goblet across his empty throne room. What good was it to be the God of War if there was a troublesome little would-be god running around fixing all the chaos he caused? It just wasn’t right. There had been times when he had been able to start wars, bring pain and suffering, and just cause overall trouble without having to worry about Hercules ruining it.
He didn’t even have a good handmaiden of War now that Xena was off playing the part of do-gooder. He frowned. Maybe that’s what he needed. Another pretty young thing to run around causing havoc *for* him. Someone that was not only cute, but vicious as well.
Something like –
A crackle of power ripped through his chambers and he looked up just in time to see a portal open, spit out a woman, and then close again. She landed heavily at his feet, black hair streaming around her head in a fan of darkness.
And what power she had rolling off of her, like a perfume of the supernatural. He smirked and knelt beside her, running a finger over the veiny skin of her face, smoothing out the discoloration until all he could see was smooth white perfection, framed by a halo of darkness.
She was lovely.
Today was looking up, it seemed.
Willow woke slowly, the dreadful part of it being that she knew she was waking slowly. She could feel her fingers and toes begin to wriggle and took a deep lungful of air. Her brain was content with just this for that moment, and she allowed herself to continue with the languid pace of waking, feeling neither the desire nor the compulsion to hurry things along.
Until she remembered the tear she had made in reality.
Her eyes snapped open quite suddenly then, taking in the black stonework of the ceiling overhead. There was a pillow behind her head, and her hand was resting on something soft, very sensuous. Silk, she decided, without even looking down to confirm her guess.
But where was she?
“So sleeping beauty has decided to wake up.”
The ebony haired witch frowned, sitting up slowly to look at the man that was lounging, as though he had not a single care in the world, only a few feet from the bed. He had a half-eaten apple in one hand and a smirk on his lips.
She narrowed her eyes at this man; a stunning specimen of rugged looks in the shade of evil. The shirt he was wearing was black leather, with little silver studs on it. Very manly, she decided.
“Who are you and where am I?”
He raised an eyebrow at her, dropping the apple. It disappeared inches from the ground, fading into nothingness. She watched with eyes that widened only slightly.
“The name’s Ares. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”
“Ares?” She sputtered, her mouth twitching up into a smile. Before he could utter another word she was laughing outright, her breathing soon labored with the effort of such extreme amusement. “Dear Goddess…. You think you’re the God of War.”
Her hair bleached itself back to red, the anger that had caused her downfall being replaced by so much good humor.
And when she quit laughing she found that he was just staring at her.
“You think this is ‘funny’?”
She smirked, nodding.
“I’m in a room with a guy that thinks he’s the God of War. Of course I think it’s funny. You would too if you were me.”
“Let me tell you something,” he growled, standing in one smooth motion and then moving to within only a few inches of the bed. “I don’t ‘think’ that I’m the God of War. I –am- the God of War.”
Willow, for her part, just looked confusedly behind him, at the other man that was standing there. Or, well, not really a man. More like a creepy looking high schooler. He couldn’t possibly be a man because he didn’t look very manly. The thing that bothered her the most, outside of the leather, was the fact that he had appeared out of nowhere. She could do that trick, true; but it took a helluva lot of power – and the last thing she wanted to believe was that either of these guys had a lot of power.
Because that could possibly not bode well for her at all.
“And who is he? One of your loyal minions?”
The man, Ares, turned to glance over his shoulder, a sneer passing across his handsome face.
“Strife, did you need something? I thought I asked not to be disturbed.”
“I can see why.”
The freaky little man gave a high-pitched laugh that sent unpleasant shivers up Willow’s spine. She grimaced, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by her captor, or host, whichever the case was to be.
He gave her a sympathetic smirk and turned to face Strife.
“So why are you disturbing me, then?”
“I thought you’d like to know that Hercules is about to help the rebels in that little village near the Athenian border.”
“The one we’ve been grooming for combat for the past month?”
Willow felt her mouth drop open as the two continued to converse, the ruggedly handsome man she had laughed at so readily minutes before becoming more and more incensed. She believed him. Though it was hard as hell to believe and meant that she must have gotten thrown back in time, if not into another plane of reality entirely, she believed him.
He really was the God of War.
She felt a wicked grin steal across her face and leaned back, watching the two through hooded eyes. He was handsome. A God. Powerful. Dark. He looked like he was perfect in just about all ways. She observed them quietly, their mannerisms and conversation alone bolstering her belief that he was who he said. Why else would they carry on such an intricate diatribe? Not for her benefit, she was sure.
He turned back to her, dismissing the other man with a wave of his hand.
“So. . . problems?” She raised an eyebrow, intoxicated by the angry power she felt rolling off of him, like waves of warm pleasure.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” He growled. But the growl was replaced by a smile almost immediately, all charm. “I have to go. Stay put.”
“Wouldn’t dream of moving for the world,” Willow purred with a wink. She tried not to let her mouth drop open when he disappeared right before her eyes, just as Strife had only moments before. She closed her eyes, stretching languidly on the bed and recalling the feel of his darkness near her. She wanted another taste, preferably coupled with a taste of his mouth.
No – she wouldn’t be moving a muscle.
Not until he got back anyway.