Everything is relative. Even reality.
At the side of a certain road in California, not very from Los Angeles, a family has stopped for a picnic lunch. A young girl is about to read the first novelization of her favorite TV series (not realizing the place they have chosen for their meal is spatially coexistent with the setting of the story in a different universe). Suddenly a freak storm blows up out of nowhere, forcing the girl to run for the family's car, dropping the book in her haste to remain dry in the downpour. The storm ends as quickly as it came, but on leaving the car the girl can find no trace of her book.
*Sunnydale High School Library*
Giles had arrived early that morning to clean up that the mess the previous night's battle had left behind. While Angel had removed the Master's skeleton, the damage still had to be assessed before the janitorial staff arrived Monday morning and made their report to the little dictator. Amazingly enough, none of the book shelves seemed to be badly damaged, but many had been shaken enough to dump their contents on the floor. The fallen books would have to be checked for damage, sorted and reshelved. //Oh well, that's what I get for choosing the cover of a librarian,// he thought with a sigh as he set to work.
He was about half way through the debris from the second row of bookshelves when he saw it; facedown among the hardcover textbooks was a slim, dark covered paperback with a red gothic headline over the blurb on the back cover. //Someone must have left their latest novel behind,// he thought as he picked it up to take a closer look. Suddenly he froze in horror as he read the description of the book's contents, and flipped it over to see the title. "Good lord," he said aloud as he stared at it, "this is ... unbelievable!"
* * *
This is where they found him two hours later; sitting in the middle of the aisle between the shelves, with an orderly pile of books on one side and a scattered heap on the other. He had read it through three times already (it wasn't a very large book) and was half way through his fourth perusal. The first rather panicked scan of it was barely remembered, except as confirmation that the book was printed from cover to cover. The second and third readings were much more detailed; a desperate and ultimately unsuccessful attempt to find some evidence that the book was a fraud or a joke, perpetrated by either his enemies or his friends. Having finally accepted that it was what it appeared to be, this last reading was simply a check for accuracy (at least, that's what he told himself) as he considered how best to tell the others of his discovery. But as usual, events took this out of his hands.
"I see it, but I don't believe it," came a voice from the end of the aisle, "Rupert Giles, sitting on the floor, engrossed in a paperback novel. Buffy, are you *sure* we averted the apocalypse last night?" Looking up, Giles saw Buffy, Willow and Xander standing there, the latter having spoken.
"I don't know," replied Buffy, "I thought I had, but now I'm not so sure. So what is it, the latest effort by Jeremiah Defoe?" At this, Willow inexplicably giggled, but was ignored by the others.
After a moment's thought, Giles decided against delaying the inevitable. "Actually, you could consider this a little gift from the Hellmouth," he said, noting with some small satisfaction the looks of consternation on their faces. "Apparently, when it opened up last night it swept along a few small items from neighboring dimensions, including this book. Hopefully, nothing more dangerous came along with it."
From a few feet away the book *looked* innocent enough, but Buffy had learned how deceiving appearances could be. "Exactly how do you know it's from another dimension?" she asked.
"It's all about us," Giles answered, "or more precisely, it's the novelization of the pilot of a television series about us. It starts the night before Buffy arrived here, and ends the morning after she thwarted the Harvest." Ignoring their stunned expressions, he showed them the cover. Sure enough, there was the title, "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" written in gothic lettering carved in stone, above a picture of the four of them plus Cordelia. "Not a very flattering picture I admit, but it is probably a reduction of a publicity shot."
"It looks like we have terminal sunburn," commented Xander, fascinated with the idea that somewhere he was famous.
"Ugh," groaned Willow, "I look like I'm wearing *way* too much rouge. Any more, and I could run for hooker of the month."
"What about me?" asked Buffy indignantly. "I'm supposed to be the star of the show, and there I am, slouching in front of the rest of you wearing an icky yellow dress I wouldn't be caught dead in. Cordy is the best looking person there, and she wasn't even one of us until last night! And where's Angel? I would have died that night without his warning."
"Hey, you know vampires can't be photographed," answered Xander smugly. Seeing his humor was not appreciated he admitted, "Okay, so it's a lousy picture. What are you going to do; go the the other dimension and stake the photographer? Anyway, at least we're a *HIT* series. Let me see," he said, reaching for the book.
Giles pulled it back. "Sorry, I'm afraid I'll have to keep it for a while. While most of it is just dialogue or action scenes, some of it is personal observations or private thoughts. I'm sure none of you wants to invade the others' privacy or have them invade yours."
Willow paled at the thought. "But ... but ... you've already read it! Just how detailed is it?"
"Not very," Giles explained, "and the only thing in there I didn't already know was the Master's name ... Heinrich Joseph Nest. This makes me the natural custodian of the book. While I can't confirm it of course, I suspect the book follows the shooting script of the show very closely. Since the book is classified as young adult, the show probably is too."
Buffy's expression suddenly became grim. "You know, I thought after last night, nothing could bring me down any time soon. I should have known better. What you're saying is everything that's happened to me, to *us*, has happened because of a *TELEVISION SHOW?* Is that what you're telling me? That people have *DIED* just to entertain some interdimensional voyeurs?"
"It could work the the other way," replied Giles, trying to calm the furious Slayer. "Instead of them influencing us, maybe *WE* are influencing *THEM!* Perhaps this Joss Whedon fellow is receiving images of our exploits through the Hellmouth, and believes they are his own ideas. If he had a hand in casting the show, naturally he would pick actors who resembled the `characters' in his mind."
"You don't suppose they really know *EVERYTHING* that's happened to us, do you?" asked a anxious Xander. "You know, like the nightmare thing?"
"I doubt it," responded the Watcher carefully. "Unfortunately, if we are projecting images through the Hellmouth, they are probably the most emotionally laden ones. However, if the images he receives are as accurate as the ones in this book, the audience is likely to be rather impressed with all of us. After all, when you think about it objectively, we've done some pretty impressive things."
"True," said Xander, only partly mollified. "Still, it's a bit weird, thinking that they could be watching anything we are doing at any time. Maybe they are watching us right now."
"I doubt it," said Buffy, "it would much to self referential. Not to mention being a blatant plug for the book."
"Not if it were fanfic," interjected Willow helpfully. "I mean, if our lives are a hit show, then we've got to have fans, right? And fans write fan fiction."
"Fans," said Xander thoughtfully, "I never thought about fans. Too bad they are in another dimension."
"T take it fan fiction consists of amateur stories about the program without official sanction," asked Giles. After Willow nodded, he added, "Sounds rather innocuous, really."
"Some of it is," admitted Willow, "but a lot of it can get rather ... twisted. Remember, fan is short for fanatic, which means that their feelings for the show and its characters are by definition somewhat...intense. It used to be confined to fan clubs photocopying some stories, stapling them together and selling them at cost to people at conventions as fanzines, but now it's all over the Internet. It's quite a phenomenon. There was recently an article about it in the New York Times."
"But why would an amateur want to write about a professional's work?" asked the puzzled librarian.
Willow shrugged. "Admiration? Envy? Maybe just to let others know it's available? Some forums for fanfic have strict rules about what can and can't be posted, so off topic announcements have to be written into stories. Some of the best fanfic I've read recently involved announcements and requests for aid for a popular fanfic archive."
"So what you are saying is, someone could be writing about us right now?" asked Buffy. "Just to tell people about that book?"
"It's a possibility, I suppose," answered Willow uncertainly.
"How could I get him to stop?" Buffy was getting seriously wierded out by this whole conversation. //A TV series I could handle, but fanfic? Why, he could make me ...// She brought her thoughts to an abrupt halt, as she blushed furiously.
"You could always threaten to stake him," replied Xander. Seeing Buffy's glare, he quickly added, "Okay, bad idea! What about reading the information about the book aloud, then going to lunch."
"That should work," said Buffy. "I can't think anything more boring to write about than people eating."
"But it's only ten o'clock!" protested Willow.
"Brunch then," said Buffy with finality. "Giles, since you are the librarian, would you do the honors?"
Feeling the whole idea was rather absurd, Giles decided to humor his Slayer this once. He read the information from the binding, "Buffy the Vampire Slayer number one. The Harvest. A novelization by Richie Tankersley Cusick. Based on the episodes by Joss Whedon. $3.99 US / $4.99 Canadian. That should be enough, don't you think?"
"Probably Giles," replied Xander, "unless you imagine your fans are gasping for more." In response to this comment, the fabric of two universes shuddered, and a low moan sounded from below their feet as the book in Giles' hand crumbled to dust. "What did I say?" asked an astonished Xander.
"I think we had better not find out," said Buffy as she headed to the door. "I'm hungry. Let's eat." The other followed her quickly, leaving behind an empty library, and a relieved readership.
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