Pairing: Xander/Cordelia
Summary: Changes are afoot when Cordelia knocks on Xander's door. WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH.
Story Notes: Set in Season 2, AU following the events of 'Bewitched, Bothered Bewildered'.
Author's Notes: So very much obliged, Ten. Tom doesn't know how lucky he is to be in your hands (and not mine).
Disclaimer: They were never mine to begin with.
Xander tapped the eraser end of his pencil on the open page of his History textbook. He just needed to write an essay. He could get it done in an hour if he could find the right stuff in this book and copy the stuff all down - with a few amendments, of course: an extra comma here instead of 'and', a hyphen there instead of those adjoining sentence bits. He just needed to start with the copying - no, adaptive referencing - and he'd be all done, ready for school tomorrow.
Just needed to get started. Any minute now, he would get started with the homework.
As his pencil tapped, he rocked his head to the random snatches of rhythm in his head. His parents had taken his CD player and radio away. Mom and Dad seldom enforced real parental discipline, but after Mrs. Summers called them up to tell them that he'd helped destroy the Summers' front door, kitchen door, kitchen, and basement in the course of a scavenger hunt gone wrong, they resolved to mould him into a better person. They got as far as the yelling and belittling and threatening of bodily harm - a threat that would've been carried out if he weren't already standing taller than Dad - and banishing of equipment and dramatic wall thumping and door slamming. They lapsed back into disinterest, finally. But to play it safe, he figured he'd need to give it another week before trying to sneak the CD player off the top of the cupboard where Dad had stashed it.
It could have been worse. Mrs. Summers could've demanded that the Harrises pay for the damages. That would have gotten him banished from the Harris home, for sure, and with little chance of Willow forgiving him enough to offer room and board at her place, he'd have to resort to sleeping on the streets. And this being Sunnydale, he'd probably last a good half hour before becoming a hemoglobin snack.
He wished he could call Willow. He'd called her once during the day and she was still giving him the cold shoulder. She was speaking to him again, at least, but conversation was mainly made up of stiffly polite 'uhum's and 'mmhhmm's before the abrupt "I gotta go now, Xander, bye", as though she'd reached the Xander-limit that reminded her she was still mad at him. It didn't mean he couldn't try calling her again tonight, but she might be with Oz now. He'd be better off not trying to push his luck.
This homework was just not getting done! It didn't feel right to be doing homework without any Willow input, even if the Willow input were in the form of classic admonishment: "No, Xander, no copying. And hey! That subject's not even my paper!"
Well, he had put this off long enough. No escaping History anymore.
He was getting used to doing homework with Cordy input, although Cordy input usually meant that homework would most certainly not get done. Which couldn't be construed as a bad thing, really, since the proceedings that precluded homework getting done were very exciting and exploratory mutual proceedings.
But Cordy wasn't around this weekend - gone with her parents to a cabin somewhere, for some family something. She hadn't called him before leaving. He hadn't received any calls from her since she left either, but maybe the cabin didn't have a phone. He wondered if she'd call him as soon as she got home tonight. He hoped she would. He'd like to be sure that she was safe and sound.
To put it mildly, the situation was not good. Ms. Jenny Calendar was missing. Giles had apparently decided to give dating Ms. Calendar another shot, but Jenny never showed up at the restaurant Thursday evening. Giles checked: she wasn't at her apartment, but her car was still in its spot in the parking lot. Ms. Calendar wasn't at school on Friday, either, much to the delight of her students who were expecting a test, but very much to the dismay of Giles and Buffy and the Scoobies.
Since Ms. Calendar's people were the ones who had put the curse on Angelus in the first place, it would probably be a bigger surprise to everyone if Angelus weren't somehow involved in her disappearance. Giles went through the motions: reported her missing to the police, contacted her people about trying to use magic to track her down, dug out old maps and plans of every inch of Sunnydale territory he could think of to search. Last time Xander saw Giles was late on Friday evening, when the Scoobies returned from their respective sleuthing missions and reported their lack of progress to Giles at the library. He had dismissed Xander and Willow for the weekend, wishing to speak to Buffy privately. Giles had looked so haggard and lost.
Xander eked the weekend away by worrying about Ms. Calendar and Giles, and how Buffy was looking more and more like the whole weight of the world would crush her soon. Giles was attempting something - Xander didn't have the details - but anyway, Giles had been adamant about Xander and Willow not getting involved. Willow was sorely disappointed about being cut off - another reason for her moodiness these couple of days. Xander wished he could help too, but he intuitively understood that there were some things that Giles just had to do on his own.
He wondered about Cordy, up in her rich people's cabin. Xander was more than a little hurt that Cordy hadn't even asked if he'd have liked to come along. They'd been on a couple of real dates at the Bronze, where she let him hold her hand in open view of everyone, and they'd been having many more study sessions together, but when the opportunity came for her to invite him to experience something he'd never ever afford, she never even asked. Not that he'd have gone, anyway - pride wouldn't have allowed him to accept a pity offer - but at least she could have asked.
He propped his textbook up on its spine. Pages of History stared back at him. If he could just get started on this homework, he would, conceivably, finish it.
Sharp rapping on his door distracted him from his almost successful reading of an entire paragraph, along with its accompanying footnote. He sighed, dropped the book and called out, "Come in!"
The door opened and Cordelia walked in, elegantly dressed in a buttoned-up white blouse with its loose bottom flaps tied at the front, and off-white slacks.
Xander had braced himself to expect Mom in full nag mode; he was, he knew, only about a couple of hours late in taking out the trash. Surprised, he exclaimed, "Cordy? What are you doing here?"
"I thought I'd drop by. Your mom let me in."
He grinned, thrilled to have her. He was about to get up and give her a hug, and maybe cop a feel, but she sat down on the edge of his bed.
"Well, how was the trip?" he asked, turning around so that he was sitting astride his chair. He crossed his arms on the backrest and rested his chin on his arm.
"Trip? Oh, right. That trip. I didn't go."
He straightened up. "You didn't go? You mean you were right here in Sunnydale the entire weekend?" A stray wisp of wisdom stopped him short of demanding, 'Well, why didn't you call me?' That would have been a surefire way to start a fight without gaining any answers.
"Something came up. I was going to call, but there wasn't quite the right time." She smiled at him. "I missed you. I spent the whole of today thinking of you."
That made him grin again. He was still a little annoyed though, so his admission was only made grudgingly. "I missed you too."
"You did?" She looked pleased. She suddenly realised what he'd been doing, sitting at his desk, pencil in hand. "You're doing homework?"
He chucked the pencil over his shoulder. It landed with a clatter on his desk. "Homework just seemed like something to do."
"You're doing your homework on your own. You are capable of independent thought and doing more than last-minute copying."
"Hey, I do do with the homework. On occasion." In response to Cordelia's incredulous gaze, he threw his hands up in defeat. "Well, okay, there was nowhere to go and nobody to go with. Buffy's got something going on with her mom that she can't get out of, and Giles' been searching for Ms. Calendar all weekend. There's still no news about her."
Cordelia smiled, a strange, contemplative smile that wasn't quite appropriate with what he'd just said.
"My father has an Asian employee," she began, "Who told us this story. Where he's from, people believe that forty days before the day you die, the Angel of Death is already waiting, hovering there over your shoulder. You don't know Death is waiting, but his presence makes you do and say strange things and everyone around you won't understand why you're acting so out-of-character, and maybe they'll be curious. But it's only after you die, that everyone will realise all those funny little out-of-character things you were doing, were the very strange little last things that you will ever, ever do. The last forty days before you die."
Xander blanched. "Um, okay. Cordy, majorly creeping a guy out - that's not exactly the way to catch up after a weekend apart." He shuddered and frowned. "And anyway, what was that for? That - that, that creeping out?"
Cordy looked surprised. "I was just telling you a story. Something one of my father's employees told."
"We've got Angelus on the loose and we're living on a Hellmouth. Even during the best of times there isn't a best time to be telling stuff like that."
"We were told that story while we were at dinner two weeks ago. My father had the restaurant booked for our whole entourage. Everyone had the salmon."
Xander usually tried to be appreciative of Cordy's little off-topic quirks, but there was only so much empathy he could have. "What the hell does that have to do with you just creeping me out?"
"It was a very important dinner and we were meeting clients and visitors from Europe and some Asian places. I thought it was very interesting."
"It might be, if it weren't for creeping people out."
"Whatever. I thought it was interesting cultural exchange."
"So what was the American story? How Red Indians used to scalp the White Man?"
"Whatever," she repeated, dismissing his lack of cultural appreciation. She stood up, and took a small step forward. "Actually, Xander, I've been thinking. I'm your girlfriend."
He nodded, and stood up as well, safely shifting his chair to the side, out of the way.
"You're my boyfriend," she continued.
He nodded again, wondering where she was going with this. She stepped closer, close enough that if he stepped forward too and swooped her into his arms they could already be kissing.
"Don't you think it's time to consummate the relationship?"
"Con ... con..." He swallowed and tried again. "Con - "
"Con-sum-mate. It means you and me. And you getting very lucky."
"I know what it means," he said, much too hastily.
"Oh good. But since it's you, it's better to check and be sure."
He could shoot off a blustering rejoinder to that, but since that would impede his chances of getting very lucky, he held his tongue. Besides, her tongue held more interest. He should let this one insult pass. She was still standing an infuriating step and swoop away, grinning coyly at him. He tried to think of a sufficiently romantic thing to say to reel her in to him, when, most unfortunately, it occurred to him.
"Hold on. Cordy, you are being Cordy, right? As in, Cordelia? And you know who you're talking to? You know who you're with?" He spread his arms wide. "Me? Xander Harris."
"Xander, while it is a fact that I don't have much of a regard for you, I do think that you should have enough regard for me to know that when I'm ready for something, I am ready for something. Unlike say, lame-o-you, who apparently wouldn't know a lucky thing even when if it smacks you in the face. You should be grateful I'm even in the same room with you. That I even want you. You know, actually, I don't know why I'm surprised. Suave, Xander, is so not you."
It wasn't Cordy at her snarkiest best, but it reaffirmed his warmest affection for her. He quickly shook his head and reached out to stop her from turning away. He caught the soft sleeve of her blouse and tugged.
"No, no. I was checking," he assured her. "Had to be certain. Don't want this to be anything about spells or you expecting something you ... don't ... uh..."
Cordelia had apparently forgiven the faux pas. She was running her hands slowly up the front of his t-shirt: seducing, teasing.
"It's me, and it's you. For this, Xander, we don't need anymore talking." They were standing toe-to-toe. "You hide a nice body under there," she observed. She looped her fingers just beneath the back collar of his t-shirt. He could feel the back of his neck tingling. Her face was waiting right in front of his.
He gulped. He was pitifully aware that he didn't actually know the best way to do this. The bed was right there, and thank God he had made the bed this morning, although he hadn't understood why he was going through the trouble while he was doing it. Well, he understood now. It was all about serendipity. They could get on the bed. That well-made bed. Get in bed. Get undressed. Get undressed and then get in bed? He'd never gone all the way.
He stole a glance at his door. Unlocked. He should secure it before Mom decided to look in or something. When it came to situations like these, one's parents could never be trusted to steer clear away.
Or perhaps the two of them could consider alternative arrangements.
"Do you think maybe we should get into your car and go somewhere?"
Cordelia seemed mildly offended. "I know a lot of girls opt for that, but I'd much rather the first time be somewhere far more comfortable."
"I was just thinking more on the privacy side of things."
"We're in your room."
"Yeah. But Mom's downstairs and I'm - " His brain had finally caught up with keying in Cordy's quotes. "Did you say 'first time'?"
She gave a shrug of her shoulders and shyly averted her eyes.
"Did you mean that in a 'I'm your first' kind of way?"
She tilted her head to one side and didn't answer, but that was fine enough to warm him up even as he turned all abashed. He confessed, "You're my first."
She grinned, and confident brassy Cordy reasserted herself. "Of course I am."
They giggled. He could start by nuzzling her. And those buttons on that blouse ... he would very much like to do something about her buttons.
"Oh." He groaned. This was not going well, if his brain insisted on keeping up with the thinking instead of proceeding with the doing. "I don't have a condom."
"Doesn't matter," she replied. She pulled him to her.
"You're on the pill?" He was pinning a lot of hope on her response.
She let him down. "No."
Xander stared at her lips, the way her lips puckered up to say 'No'. They could really just start with the kissing and not talk about this at all. They really should just. Do. This. He was certainly aching enough to get to the doing this. But there was still just enough blood going to the brain cells in Xander's head that he knew he couldn't afford to make a mess of this. He drew back.
"Wait, Cordy. I don't believe I'm actually saying this, but maybe we shouldn't. Unless ... you have a condom?" God, could he sound even more desperate?
"Xander, trust me. It doesn't matter. I trust you."
"Right. Thank you. No, I mean, right, I trust you too, but what about - " He wrung his hands, trying to find a proper way of saying it.
"Xander, it's fine. It doesn't matter."
"It does. Especially with my kind of luck."
"Xander - "
"I mean, it's me. Murphy's Law states that whatever that can go wrong, will go wrong, and I'm sure you've noticed that the story of my life kinda abides by that law. Not that I'm trying to say that this is wrong - this can't possibly be wrong - but we might need to take a step back here. I don't think we want anything to come out of, well, you know."
"Xander, I wouldn't if I weren't sure."
"How sure are you sure? Unless you've been monitoring your daily temperature for the past three months, how can you be absolutely certain that you haven't ovulated in the past 24 hours? Or that you won't be ovulating in the next 24 hours?"
Cordy arched her eyebrows. "You really were paying attention in class. And you actually did extra reading on your own."
"Cordy, seriously."
"Seriously, I'm sure. Do you really think I'd come on to you right now if I thought there'd be any chance that I'd lose my figure for the next nine months? And stretch marks? I mean, hello. Stretch marks!"
"No?" He cleared his throat. When she put it that way, everything clicked perfectly into perspective. "No. No, of course not. No to stretch marks."
"No. But you know what?" She smiled brightly at him. "It is kind of sweet of you to still wanna think about that." She leaned in and whispered into his ear, "Anyway, I'm sure. Are we?"
They looked into each other's eyes. There was no way they were not doing this. She was holding her breath. He raised his hands to cup her face and kiss her.
There came a crashing sound of glass from downstairs. Xander let loose a mirthless chuckle. This wasn't happening. He should have known that it wouldn't be happening. He dropped his hands to his sides. Embarrassment burned his cheeks. Cordy's eyes were flat, expressionless.
After the requisite moment of silence, he spoke. "Gimme a minute. I'll just go see what's going on."
He knew Dad wasn't home yet - tonight was bowling night and Dad usually stopped by the bar for a few drinks before driving home, and when he got home he liked to announce his return by slamming the front door in a great shuddering test of doorframe fitness. Mom liked to stay up and wait for him to get home so that she could shriek at him for being late. They would scream at each other for a solid half an hour. They had the whole routine down to fine precision, and he knew his parents weren't the sorts who liked to break out of habit. Sometimes, he thought that maybe that was their unique way of expressing their warped deep-set passion for each other. Two people so determined to hate each other, insisting on staying married to each other. It was sick enough to make his life make sense.
He guessed Mom must've dropped a bottle of something on the floor. He could at least help her clean it up before Dad got home. He wasn't sure how they'd get rid of the smell, and he wasn't looking forward to Mom's stammering excuses about how the bottle really wasn't actually there, that she was just keeping it for a friend or a special occasion.
"Xander, you could just not," Cordelia suggested. "It's only your mother."
He stared at her, momentarily stunned silent. He accepted that she was one to lack tact more often than not, and there were many blithely scornful things she was always prepared to say whether right to his face or behind his back, but that was low. There wasn't even an audience for her to have put on a show of disdain about his family's dysfunctions and how much she deplored them - there was only him. She didn't need to be caustic with him. She'd shown consideration and even kindness to him before when it came to his family; that she was sparing none for him now was clearly deliberate.
He kept his voice low and controlled. "That's right. It's my mother. She's downstairs alone and she might need help." He didn't want to look at Cordy anymore, not right now. Forget lucky. He didn't need lucky if lucky was with her. "Excuse me," he said, as he moved to step around her.
"She's not alone. Ms. Calendar is with her."
The cold hatred he felt toward Cordy swiftly gave way to bewildering anger and confusion. Mom would have to wait a couple more minutes after all. "What!"
Cordy looked like she regretted having said anything, but she did elaborate. "Ms. Calendar's with your mom." She gestured. "Having a drink."
"Ms. Calendar. She's here? In my house, with my mom?" He waited for Cordy to respond with a slight nod. "She came with you? And it didn't occur to you to mention this?"
"Well, it didn't really have anything to do with you and me."
He exploded. "Ms. Calendar's been missing for days. We've all been looking for her. Giles is going crazy! We've all been looking for her and you didn't think to mention it?" He stopped, breathed a couple of times, and tried to calm himself down. "Is she all right? Where was she?"
"It's a long story," Cordelia muttered.
"Fine. Whatever. I'll just call the others and let them know. Buffy should be home by now. If she's not, then at least we can get Willow, and maybe Willow will know how to get Giles if Giles isn't home yet."
It occurred on him how unlikely it was that Cordy should be the one to turn up with Ms. Calendar after all the searching high and low that everyone had done. Maybe Ms. Calendar had been back in town but no one had told him. Maybe the reason he hadn't heard from Giles was because Ms. Calendar was safe now, and there was nothing for the Scooby Gang to do anymore. Giles didn't need to tell Xander that the search was over. But Willow would have told him, unless she was being spiteful - purposely withholding news from him so that he'd be left out. No, Willow was never that petty. He was being paranoid.
He should go downstairs, check on Mom and Ms. Calendar, then call Giles and Willow and Buffy. But Cordy wouldn't get out of his way.
"What about us?" she asked softly.
She seemed so bereft and disappointed, so dashed by this turn of events, that despite it all, a flicker of kindness seeped through. "Cordy - "
"I wanted to see what'd it be like, you and me, before everything changes."
"Cordy, you and me - there'll be another time."
"It'll be different. Right now, it's us."
"Cordy," he said, his voice firmer. Any points for kindness that she'd earned were fast being spent. "Right now there're bigger things than us. We have to call the others."
Cordy tossed her head in frustration. "Of course. You know, I don't know why I thought this change might make anything different. I should just learn to accept it. It will always be them first, and us second."
Xander wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, but he had a finely developed sense of intuition that had helped him survive Sunnydale thus far. And right now, his intuition was piping up to tell him that perhaps he might have a bigger problem here than just having an insensitive bitch for a girlfriend. What was she doing with Ms. Calendar, anyway? More specifically, why the hell were Cordelia and Ms. Calendar here together? He narrowed his eyes.
"What's this change that you're talking about?" he asked her. He watched as regret washed over her face - yet again, she'd revealed something that shouldn't have been said. "Just what are you doing here, Cordy?"
"I wanted to be with you." He could almost believe that she was genuinely needy and wanting.
"Yeah." He took a step back, away from her. His brain was cataloging clues as fast as it could go, and his intuition was becoming shrill with blooming dread. The clues were stacking up, pointing to how many things were wrong. He should have realised how wrong things were sooner, but to be fair, he had been effectively distracted. He smiled stiffly. "That's sweet, Cordy. Thanks for coming. You know, I really appreciate it."
Cordy stepped forward to bridge the gap that Xander was putting between them. "Xander, I - "
He kept talking as he backed away from her. "How was your weekend? Get plenty of sunshine?" He stumbled into his chair. Without taking his eyes off her, he shoved the chair away. He backed up some more, and bumped into his desk. "How are your parents? Say hey to them for me."
She never answered. But he thought she did look just a little bit chagrined. That was the last piece he needed. All clues were in, and the rest was just elementary. Oh God. God help them all.
"How did it happen, Cordy? Did he get to your house just after dark when you guys were getting into the car? Did he send his lackeys over? He needed your wheels and decided to take the driver with it? Was that how, Cordy?"
Cordy shook her head sadly. "Xander, I didn't want it to be this way."
"I don't want it to be this way, either," Xander said, feeling behind him for the pencils that had to be there on the desk. She was coming at him. He managed to palm two, and swiftly raised the pencils before him in a cross. He pushed forward. Cordy hissed and shied away.
She vamped.
"Oh God, Cordy." He knew this thing wasn't Cordelia anymore, but he couldn't start thinking of her as anything else. He had to, but he couldn't. He didn't want to. Not yet.
She did a double-take, then sneered. "Those are pencils."
"That's right. Best quality in the market - writes well but easy to erase. Made from good wood too. Wanna chew on it?"
He kept the pencils crossed in front of him as he edged slowly to his door. His first priority was getting downstairs to Mom. The Cordy vampire stayed where she was in the middle of the room, watching him as he tried to slink out of his own room right under her very nose. Xander didn't know if it was really the makeshift cross keeping her at bay, or if she was playing some twisted game where she'd only pounce on him at that last split second before he could get his door open - the mockery and bemusement he was reading in her eyes did not bode well. But he had to take the chance. He kept his eyes on the vampire, and breathed a quiet prayer of gratitude to whatever powers that be in this world that the strange spurt that moved him to make his bed had also coerced him to tidy his room. He didn't have to worry about tripping over anything on the floor.
Xander had about three feet to go when the door opened. It wasn't the smartest thing to do to turn his back on Cordy, but he did, with the crossed pencils held up before him against this new threat.
It was Ms. Calendar. She calmly took in the scene before her, looked at Cordelia and chided, "Cordelia, he is not for you."
Ms. Calendar had a careless dribble of blood down her chin. Dark fury filled Xander's heart as he suddenly understood Cordy's earlier pun.
"It's not what you think," the Cordy vampire argued. "I - "
"Cordelia, I don't care to know." Ms. Calendar's voice was cold, emotionless. She stood in the centre of the doorway with her hands propped on either side of the frame, effectively blocking Xander's escape route. "Enough games. It's time we got to Giles'."
Ms. Calender turned to Xander. She curled her lips in distaste at his cross, but wasn't as perturbed by it as Xander would've liked. "Whatever are you planning to do with that? Write us off?" She chuckled.
There was no comeback line. So he laughed too, a couple of fake dry laughs. He wasn't going to panic. He forced resolve into his face and gripped the pencils tighter. Cordelia started in his direction again, but stopped when he shoved the cross toward her.
Ms. Calendar smiled seductively at Xander and crooked the fingers of her right hand in invitation. "Don't be silly. Put those away. Come with us."
"Fuck off," he spat. Mild words when the rage he felt within should have been able to feed more venom to his vocabulary.
No, no time for words, anyway. He was up against two vampires who had gained access into his home. His very own home. His mother had been compromised and it was all he could hope that she might still be all right. That he might be in time to save her. He had to get out there. He had to help his mother, and he had to get word out to Buffy and Willow and Giles.
Damn Angelus. Angelus was coming at them one by one, breaking them from within. The bastard had finally done it.
Xander had to get a stake, but the stake was in his knapsack beneath his desk. There was no way he could get that stake out and be ready to use it while two vampires rushed him. He had to get out of this room. The window was open but he wasn't going to have time to clamber out of that before these two grabbed him. It had to be the door. Out the door, downstairs to Mom. There was another wooden stake in his jacket pocket; his jacket was downstairs somewhere - he was pretty sure he'd slung the jacket over the backrest of one of the chairs in the kitchen when he got home Friday evening. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't actually remember seeing his jacket in the kitchen. Oh please, don't let that mean that Mom tidied things up. He didn't have time to go digging for where the jacket should really be hanging.
He had to move now. He didn't dare hope that Mom might still be safe, and he knew he would barely have time to try and warn Buffy and Willow and Giles.
He feigned a lunge towards Cordy, only to toss the pencils at her at the last instant, making her squeal in surprise. He quickly dropped into a roll and smashed his whole weight into Ms. Calendar, sending her tumbling out into the hallway. He lashed out at her before she could recover - ignored the fact that she had been someone he used to know and gave her two solid punches to the face. He belatedly realised he should have held on to one of the pencils - he could have tried to stake her with it; even if it didn't work, it would have still been worth the attempt. No, no time to regret strategies either. In one smooth motion he got to his feet, pulled his room door shut - for whatever good that might do to delay the now furious Cordy - and gave Ms. Calendar a couple of hard kicks to the head just to be sure.
He dashed off, down the stairs; tried to take the last four steps in a single leap and landed awkwardly, almost smacking his face into the floor but for a quick reflex extension of his arm. His elbow complained bitterly about the jarring impact, but he immediately jumped up and ran into the living room.
Mom lay crumpled on the floor, glassy eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling, stunned fright stamped plainly on her face. Blood tricked from the puncture wounds in her neck and stained the collar frills of her housecoat. Broken shards of a Christmas vase from two years ago were scattered on the floor. She'd brought it crashing down with her when she fell. Or when she was thrown aside.
A choked sob escaped his throat. He had expected the worst, but he hadn't been prepared to have to see it. Mom had let those demons in. Cordy had gone upstairs to him, and Mom would have offered Ms. Calendar a seat and apologised for the poor surroundings. Mom would have tried to make small talk with her son's teacher. Mom wouldn't have known what hit her. Mom never had a chance.
His trembling rage gave way to defeated sorrow, and he forgot about fleeing for his life. Forgot about warning his friends that a new nightmare had begun.
Mom, murdered. Right here in their own home. He stood there, wasting precious seconds staring at his dead mother before it occurred to him to start calling for help. Call 911. His every instinct screamed at him to run. But he couldn't leave Mom. Not like that.
It was Cordelia who tackled him from behind and brought him down, and pressed her knee into his back so that he couldn't buck her off. She was strong, so very strong. She pulled his arms behind him, flexing them at an angle that made his shoulders scream. She kissed his neck and nibbled gently on his ear, and then she punched her sharp new incisors into his jugular.
The pain shocked him more than he'd have imagined, and the draining of his blood ebbed him into a strange semi-conscious state, as he grew weaker and weaker. It took quite a while for complete darkness to claim him.
XxX
When Xander opened his eyes, it was much too bright, so he squeezed them shut again. Fingers brushed his shoulder and he tried to jerk away, but he found that he was too weak to move. He could barely feel his limbs. He could barely even draw breath. His chest hurt in a frightening, pinching way that made him feel like he was on the verge of a heart attack - but he was too young for that. He knew he was too young.
He was lying on a bed, but he knew it wasn't his. He was dying. He knew that beyond any doubt. He wasn't in a hospital - he couldn't smell any of the familiar scents of medicines and antiseptic rinse, and in a sickening rush, he accepted that this was par for course for whatever had happened to him, whatever it was that had landed him here.
A voice spoke, as a hand firmly gripped his shoulder. "Xander? My goodness. You are awake."
That was Giles. The bright light stabbing against his eyelids dimmed suddenly, and he blinked his eyes open. Giles' face hovered over his, and Giles was smiling. He wasn't wearing his glasses.
"My, you are resilient," Giles declared.
Xander licked his lips and tried to speak. He couldn't remember what had happened, why he was so weak, or where he was, but he had a strong sense of impending doom. There was something he had to warn Giles about. If Giles would just let him.
"I had my doubts, initially, about recruiting you, but pesky teenage irritabilities aside, I believe we could make this work. You do have that unbridled enthusiasm that the very young possess - thus far channeled into rather dismal pursuits, I must say - but with proper discipline and training, I'm sure we could rectify the situation. I am a Watcher after all. I have the skills which should be shared beyond the jurisdiction of one teenage girl." Giles sat down beside Xander's bed. That smile was still on his face. Xander could see now that the smile was far from friendly. Xander's eyes widened and he unconsciously made a small keening sound.
"Oh, no, don't be afraid. But I will tell you that it was almost touch and go for a while there. Cordelia is, I'm afraid, still somewhat incapable of controlling her ... lust."
Giles turned his head to look to the side, and unbidden, Xander's eyes tracked in the same direction. Cordelia stood at the foot of the bed, ready with her indignant retort, but Giles snapped, "Leave us."
Cordy scowled, but she kept her silence and obediently walked away. Giles' attention returned to Xander.
"Discipline will need to be entrenched," Giles stated. He was most apologetic as he continued, "She was instructed not harm you, but that early lust is unquenchable, so perhaps I am being too hard on her. She did spare you, so that is saying quite a lot. Although, really, it was Jenny's timely arrival on the scene that saved you. Speaking of which, the resistance you put up was most admirable - that indomitable spirit to survive. I'm happy to inform you that that did help assure me that my plans for you are indeed the best. So, let's get to the matter at hand, shall we?
"What I envision is my mastery of magic and years of experience as Watcher, combined with your latent Army skills. We would form an exceptionally formidable partnership and reclaim this town. This is our town. Our Hellmouth. Between the two of us, and Jenny's insurmountable grasp of modern technology, the task of ridding Angelus and his two hangers-on should be a piece of cake, as the saying goes in these parts. And once those imbeciles are dealt with, we shall turn Sunnydale into a fortress. This town is ours. It is up to us to initiate proper utilisation of the Hellmouth. It really is a painful shame to be sitting on the very mouth of hell and not work it to our advantage."
Xander tried to swallow but his throat was parched. The twisting ache in his chest was persistent. But no, this wasn't real. This couldn't be real. He had fallen into a bad dream. He was in a nightmare. He closed his eyes. Every nightmare ended before it became too real. This should end soon. Something would wake him up.
"So there you have it." Giles' voice was clear, his tone clipped and precise. "Our primary goal: Angelus. We shall be done with him. Can you believe - that petty Irish ponce had the temerity to presume that I would join forces with him? Me. Work for him?" Giles snorted at that thought. "I dare say I'm quite looking forward to putting him in his place. Ridiculous has-been. It was a simple thing to change Jenny's mind - to point out to her where her alliance should lie. And now I'm anticipating what ideas you might bring to the table."
Xander opened his eyes. This was no nightmare. There would be no waking up. The thing that had been Giles gave him a smile that managed to be both taunting and benevolent at the same time. Fear was drowning him and the vise around his chest tightened. Xander started gasping for air.
Giles continued, unconcerned. "You are, no doubt, thinking about Buffy. I have not forgotten her. I'm as yet undecided about what should be done, however. I have some initial strategies, but it would really have to depend on whether I desire a diabolical outcome or if I wish to convert her into an equal partner. The problem with having her join us is that it would make her all the more powerful than she already is. I certainly have no desire to ever have to give in to her impertinence and whims and fancies merely on account of the fact that she would have more sheer brute strength: the Vampire Slayer as a Vampire would be much too much to handle.
"No. Enough of her uncouth temperaments and rebellions; all that cheek. There would be much excitement, I do believe, and far more challenges, certainly, to watch her fight us than with us."
Xander got his breathing under control. Shallow pants were all he could manage, but he wasn't panicking anymore. He could think. His mind was clear.
"Now, Willow." Giles steepled his fingers against his pursed lips, and reflected on his options. "She would be a useful ally. She has a sharp intelligence that we could easily pervert into darker channels. Admittedly, that intelligence is a double-edged sword, for I would not wish to risk her conceiving of loftier goals than what I set for her. As for Oz, he's already a perversion of nature. We must eliminate him. A werewolf vampire would be far too much trouble than the novelty might be worth.
"Oh, listen to me. I do go on and on, don't I? I finally understand now why those in authority talk and talk and talk and never stop. There is great pleasure in listening to yourself when you are secure in the knowledge that everything is at your beck and call. As they shall forever be.
"You too will discover this. Power. Beyond all you might have thought possible."
Xander had managed to raise himself up on his elbows and pull away from Giles. If he could just roll off the bed, if he could just get on the floor ... he knew there was no hope of escape. No hope at all. He was too weak. There would be no help, either. No last minute rescue. But perhaps there could be a way for him to just die. He would not become one of them. He could not.
Giles shook his head, almost fatherly in his disappointment. "Xander, don't resist. It's an entirely new existence. I will lead you there. I waited for you to wake up so that I could tell you and help you understand." Giles was authoritative, gloating, and yet kindly considerate. "I shall be your Sire, and you shall be my Soldier."
"No, please," Xander whispered. He tried to move.
Giles grabbed him roughly by the arm. "Xander, come now. Shouldn't you be grateful that you're wanted?"
Xander would have fought if he had the strength. He would have. But there was no hope. None at all.
Save the hope that he would be staked before he could ever hurt Buffy and Willow.
Giles' bite stung as fiercely as Cordy's had.
- End -