Still Grrr

Title: Shelf Life – part 2
Author: Beer Good (beer_good_foamy)
Prompt: 153: Crime And Punishment
Fandom: Buffy s5-ish, w/crossovers
Characters: Ensemble
Word Count: 1764
Summary: You take one Magic Box, one brand-new shelf of fiction, one spell gone slightly wonky, and suddenly our heroes find themselves fully booked. Geddit? Booked? Well, you will.

Book The First

Book The Second: In Which Nobody Gets Murdered

With the spell that had sent them into the narrative of one of Giles' books seemingly broken, the gang breathed a sigh of relief and started to get back to what they were doing earlier. In Buffy's case, that meant tying her hair back and going into the back room to work out.

She was back again ten seconds later. "Uh... guys? Didn't we use to have a back room?"

The others agreed, but couldn't deny that the back room was gone, and the door opened on a dirty alley that didn't look like any alley they'd ever seen in Sunnydale. When they walked out the front door, at least it had the good sense to open onto a street, even if it was a street where horse-drawn carriages drove by, men and women in fancy hats and headscarves walked by speaking politely to each other, and the occasional wild-eyed youth hurried past muttering to himself.

Xander sighed. "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

"We were never in Kansas, Xander."

"It's a figure of speech, Anya. It means -"

"Well," Willow offered, "seeing how we live in Sunnydale we were never really in Kansas figuratively speaking either. I mean, it's pretty much Oz 24/7. The place, not the... just the place," she quickly added with a self-conscious look in Tara's direction.

"Alright already. We're not in Sunnydale anymore. Again. So where are we?"

"Kansas?" Dawn guessed, pointing at a couple of farmers walking by. "Like, 19th century?"

"I don't think so," Giles mused. "Going by the buildings and how everyone is dressed, I would guess Russia, probably S:t Petersburg. If the spell is still active, that means we're probably in Tolstoy or Dostoevsky, though I'm not sure which novel exactly."

"So how come everyone's speaking English?"

"Well, obviously I only carry the English translations."

"Obviously."

"Right, so let's get back to the -" Buffy turned back to the Magic Box, then immediately turned back again with a frustrated moan. "Oh, that's just great."

Everyone looked. The Magic Box was gone, replaced by a storefront where an old toothless woman sold vodka, tea, and very black bread. Or to be precise, she wasn't currently selling it so much as refusing to give it – particularly the vodka – for free to the bald, heavy-set and rumpled-looking man who was leaning on the counter. He finally got the message and sauntered off, bumping right into Giles.

"A thousand pardons, Sir," he exclaimed cheerfully, dusting Giles off. "How very clumsy of me – you, clearly a gentleman of great bearing, and me, merely a former counsellor currently down on his luck. I really am ever so sorry."

"That's quite alright," Giles assured him.

"That is most magnanimous of you, Sir. Marmeladov is my name." The man bowed. "It pains me to ask this of a gentleman such as yourself, but you clearly understand about the plight of those less fortunate. Could I perhaps trouble you for just a few kopeks for something to drink?"

"I... uh... we don't have any..." It took Giles a few minutes to convince the affable drunk that they didn't have any 19th-century Russian currency. Eventually the disappointed Marmeladov bowed and wandered off.

Giles nodded to himself. "Marmeladov. That means we are in Crime And Punishment. I assume everyone is familiar with...?" he looked at a sea of blank faces, then cleaned his glasses while he did the exposition thing. "Crime And Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, considered by many to be one of the most profound dissections of human morality, is the story of a young student named Rodion Raskolnikov who axe-murders an old pawnbroker for her money and justifies it by telling himself he's superior to everyone else. He spends most of the book trying to avoid capture and his own conscience, becoming ever more unhinged, until finally a young, ahem, lady of the night -" he nodded in the direction of the departing Marmeladov – "that man's daughter, persuades him to let his own conscience to take over and hand himself over to the police, and in this, he finds peace."

Buffy frowned. "Huh. Why does that sound familiar?"

"Well, it is a very well-known story. And I dare say quite a few writers have borrowed freely from it."

"So how does that help us?" Dawn wondered.

Everyone looked at Willow.

"What? I told you, I have no idea how the spell works. We never got to read that far."

Giles sighed. "And it never occured to you to read the whole spell before trying to cast it?"

"Looking back, sure, but on the other hand – spoilers? No fun."

"Uh, I just thought of something," Tara said. "We were thrown out of Don Quixote after we stopped him from doing something everyone remembers from that book. So maybe the same thing would happen here."

"Uh-huh. Which means, literary guy...?" Buffy pointed to Giles.

"I suppose... we have to stop Raskolnikov from committing murder."

***

Making their way across S:t Petersburg had been easy but time-consuming; the city and its inhabitants were described in minute detail, and every other block they were stopped by characters who wanted to share their life stories. By the time they reached Raskolnikov's house, it had already become dark. They quickly made their way inside and up to his door, from which they could hear faint moans.

"Aww, crap," Anya said. "We're too late. He's already killing her."

Giles frowned. "Funny, I could have sworn he killed her in her flat, but -"

"Not if I can help it." Buffy kicked the door down and rushed inside. "Alright, axes down, time's up. Turn in your -" She froze.

Raskolnikov was in the room, and he did have female company, but it wasn't the old pawnbroker. And he wasn't killing her, either – if anything, it was Raskolnikov who sudenly looked like he might die of embarrassment. He quickly withdrew and covered himself up in a blanket, while the naked woman who'd been sitting on top of him turned around, wiped her hair back from her flushed face and looked at Buffy. "Oh. Hey, B. I was wondering when you'd show up."

"FAITH?" Buffy stared as the other Slayer casually stepped off the narrow bed and pulled on a t-shirt. "What... how... what are you doing here? How are you doing here?"

"More like who," Faith shrugged and shot a glance at the cowering Raskolnikov. "I've dreamed some funky shit since I've been in jail, but this is a new one. But now that you're here," she grinned, "same procedure as last time? Or are they joining us?" She nodded to the others.

Everyone looked at Buffy.

"Um... staying on non-icky topic – you're just dreaming this? You're still in jail?"

Faith shrugged. "That's what the big guys in uniform tell me. Atonement and all that, yo."

"WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?" Raskolnikov had finally found his bearings. "What are you all doing in my room?"

Xander stepped up to the skinny Russian. "We're here to stop you. That's right, game's up, axe boy. We're not going to let you kill her."

"Kill who?"

"The old pawnbroker upstairs."

Raskolnikov stood dumbstruck. "The... pawnbroker, you say?"

"Yeah." Xander crossed his arms, looking intimidating, not noticing that Buffy was wincing and miming "cut" with her hand across her throat. "You were going to chop her up with an axe, take her money, and tell yourself it was OK since you're, like, Napoleon or something."

Raskolnikov cocked his head. "I hadn't thought of that, but now that you mention it..."

"Nice job, Xander." Dawn, Buffy and Willow gave Xander an admonishing shove.

"After all," Raskolnikov was warming up to the idea, "she's a villain, pure and simple; she squeezes money from the poor, her life is useless, but the law says she's in the right. Why shouldn't I kill her?"

"Um, it's illegal?" Buffy looked at Giles. "It is illegal here, right?"

"Of course."

"Illegal!" Raskolnikov laughed. "Laws, made by those in power to keep the people in servitude. Laws, controlling only those who dare not break them. Would a Mohammed let himself be hindered by an accident of lowly birth? Would Napoleon say 'Oh, I cannot become emperor, it's against the law'? No!" He banged his fist on the table, almost dropping the blanket protecting his modesty in the process. "They did not stop short of bloodshed, and they were right not to! We need new laws if society is to move forward, and so great men are required to break the law! Because something made them different. They are warriors, built to - OW!" Faith smacked him over the back of the head hard enough to have him reeling dizzily for a few seconds. "What did you... um... where was I?"

Faith shot him a death glare. "You were talkin' about how killing people is wrong."

"I was?"

"Oh yes," Giles quickly added. "You were being quite eloquent. A master orator, in fact."

"Yeah, he was doing that when I showed up," Faith said.

"I said master orator, not -"

"All in favor of changing the subject?" Buffy raised her hand, as did everyone else except for Faith, who was amused at the whole deal, and Raskolnikov, who was busy holding the blanket up.

Giles cleared his throat. "Right then, um, Rodion Romanovich. Are we agreed? Killing is wrong?"

"Of course, Sir." Raskolnikov cast a quick look at Faith, flinching slightly. "Everybody knows that. In fact," he quickly reached for a bottle and a couple of glasses, "may I suggest we drink to it?"

He poured them each a shot of vodka and started handing them out. Buffy intercepted the one headed for her little sister, but when she wasn't looking, Faith quickly snatched it up and passed it to Dawn with an encouraging smile. They all drank. They all choked on the very cheap and strong vodka, that may originally have been intended for removing paint. They all felt the room spin and dissolve into a myriad of pictures. And suddenly...

"Woah," Willow said. "Yikes. Rough trip."

They all looked around. "Well, at least we're back at the Magic Box," Buffy said. Then her eyes widened. "Dawn! She didn't drink the vodka, she's still back in -"

"Um, standing right - hic - here."

"Oh good." Buffy relaxed. "It worked without the vodka. Well," she looked around, "at least Faith didn't come back with us."

"No, I guess she's back in prison," Xander nodded. "Sleeping, perchance dreaming..."

Buffy's look shut him up before he got any further.