Fanfic: Walk This Street [Sliders]

[argentum_ls]

Title: Walk This Street
Characters: Wade Welles, Professor Arturo, Rembrandt Brown, Quinn Mallory
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1000
Content Notes: Written for angst_bingo prompt: dopplegangers.
Summary: They've been down this road before.


“Do you think it worked?” Wade asked. She stood up, brushed at the leaves that clung to her jeans and sweater from the rough landing that had sent her rolling across an unraked yard, and peered hopefully around. The suburban neighborhood the Sliders had landed in was so identical to the one they had left that Wade felt a flash of panic; maybe the slide had failed completely and they were still on the last world. The houses were the same faded colors, the sprays of heat-wilted flowers lining sidewalks and porches identical. Even the potholes in the street looked the same. Wade’s ankle twinged at the very recent memory of her foot landing in one of those potholes in the last world.

Beside her, Rembrandt, Quinn, and Arturo also struggled to their feet, loud noises of protest accompanying their efforts. “My dear, Miss Welles,” Arturo huffed, his breath labored from the exertion of racing to the portal before the police of that last world could detain him, “We have been here less than thirty seconds. I doubt that any differences are going to reveal themselves that quickly.”

“That’s good news, ain’t it?” Rembrandt asked. He was also breathing heavier than usual, him having been the reason Arturo made it to the portal at all. His fame on the last world had been enough to distract the police for the critical seconds that Arturo needed to make his escape. His eyes were still bright from the effervescence of that power, and Wade could see him start to preen at the possibility that this world, too, would fill his need for notoriety.

Quinn checked the timer, then held it up for the others to see. The red LED numbers dictated a thirty hour stay. “We have just enough time to find out,” he said. “But we have to get moving.” He set off down the street, glancing back once to make sure the others were following him. Wade, Arturo, and Rembrandt traded long-suffering glances before falling into line, Wade limping a little more than strictly necessary. Certainly, spending five minutes getting their bearings and developing a plan wasn’t going to prevent them from answering the critical question. Thirty hours was a lot of time, even considering that the Sliders were on foot and getting anyplace they could easily verify as “home” or “not home” was some distance away.

She kept her grumblings to herself, figuring that Professor Arturo’s were enough for everyone. Quinn wasn’t listening anyway. He had his attention focused on the timer as if he expected it to start giving them directions. Meanwhile, Rembrandt kept up a running monologue about his encounters with fans on the last world and how refreshing it was to meet people who recognized talent when they saw it.

Just as she climbed over the curb onto a crumbling stretch of sidewalk did she realize how utterly lost they were. The timer told them how long they were on a world; no more. Quinn had never expected to need a way to identify the worlds he visited. The Sliders had walked up and down versions of the street for months now, seeing it in all its multi-universal glory. She had seen giant oaks in one world replaced with palm trees in another; Colonial architecture in one world trade off undeveloped stretches of waving grass; the results of global and local devastations of every imagining.

Over and over they had met themselves, or variations of themselves as they could have been had history unfolded in other directions, had individual choices been made differently, had circumstances conspired in other ways. They had found worlds where their doubles never existed, and worlds were they had died. For half a year already, the Sliders had done little else but walk this street, their own lives on hold until they could get back home.

With each step, she lagged farther and farther behind. Arturo’s complaints and Rembrandt’s chatterings grew even less consequential, and Quinn? She shot a glance at him, only to find him holding the timer aloft as if beseeching the gods for help. She frowned at the incongruity of the genius physics student appealing for divine help before recognizing that he was squinting first at the display as if its readout had changed, then at the sky. He looked worried, his eyes creased and jaw tense.

He lowered the timer, his hand white knuckled around the casing. “Come on,” he said, with a sweep of his arm that was meant to pull everyone back in. His voice was as tense as his muscles, like he was terrified and trying not to show it. “We need to keep moving, find a place to grab a bite.” Such a typical set of directions, Wade thought, except there was an urgency to them that pulled her back toward the group. Quinn started walking again, a now silent Arturo and Rembrandt flanking him.

She flicked her eyes toward the sky, in the direction Quinn had been looking. The moon was peeking over the horizon, pale against the bright blue of the daytime. She shook her head and took a step. Her ankle folded, tearing a yelp from her lips. While squatting down and rubbing her ankle, her eyes went back to the moon. Something about it had been wrong enough to upset Quinn. She didn’t see any issue, until all of a sudden it clicked. The shadows that marked the geography of the moon’s face were more pronounced and a bright splotch glowed near the top pole like a distant fire. That wasn’t her moon, wasn’t any version of the moon she’d ever seen. They weren’t home.

“Miss Welles, do move along,” Arturo called.

Wade stood up carefully, testing her weight on her ankle. It held with only a slight ache of protest. Taking a fortifying breath, she stepped forward, needing to catch up to the only people who understood what she was missing. They had a long walk ahead of them.