Between Shadows
Episode VII: Unforgiven…
Title: Between Shadows (Episode VII: Unforgiven…)
Author: Scb047 (scb047@hotmail.com)
Summary: Xander's spin-off series, set a few years in the future in New York. Prompted by a photo, Dawn starts to reveal some of Xander's past to the group, while guilt over Gabe's injury leads Xander and Marcus into a deadly situation that might cost them both their souls.
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Disclaimer: If you want to sue me, first you gotta catch me. Long live the joys of copyright infringements!!! Avenge Napster!!! We remember…
Special thanks to Calen Hawk for the Beta Reading.
Thu—thump. Thu-thump.
The darkness was shattered by the sound of his heartbeat. His breath was hollow and hoarse and muffled the sounds of battle all around him. The cloud of shadows ripped, streaking itself ruby red; the gleam of metal, the white of bones, thousands of shadows danced all around.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
His heart gave rhythm to the horse charging him, its rider twirling its sword theatrically. Xander was stuck in the moment, frozen in the forever. His death approached and he couldn't move no matter how hard he tried. One of the two ensnared armies chanted as his life shortened by the gallop.
"Ka-roosh! Ka-roosh!" They hung to that word like a prayer.
He watched in horror, breathless, as the sword came down to meet his neck.
Darkness.
With a bright flash of white light, Xander found himself standing in the same spot, the two armies now parted. The rider rode as he always did, déjà vu was getting déjà vu all over again. This dream had been plaguing Xander for months now, ever since the day he had slipped Skoll around his neck. Almost every night this scene unfolded with the unholy chorus chanting that now familiar name. Sulfur burned his nostrils while nausea chatted up his mind for a bit. The nightmare had become so eerie without ever changing; a feeling of belonging now clanged to Xander. He found himself reciting the words by heart along with the figure.
"I am the pale rider, and today, all hell rides behind me."
Xander found himself staring at the flame surging from the rider's left eye as if it called out the to him. It flickered ever so slightly in the wind, masking his owner's face, but Xander didn't need to see. He knew, he knew it in his bones. His hands trembled as he stared at the sword, a dark blade he had seen once before.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
Suddenly, the rider on his horse of bones wheeled around and for the first time ever, Xander saw his face. He didn't gasp or frown when he saw his features on him, when the face that gazed back at him turned out to be his own. Xander had known, he had just known.
"Boy toy."
He spun around to meet the voice and found Faith a few hundred meters away. She was dressed like she had been in Portmamock, her make-up gone and her attitude stoic. She stood staring at him, standing right by the Styx. Her bare feet were buried in its Brimstone shores, not far from where Buffy had died some years ago.
Buffy.
The word stung him more now then ever before.
"Ka-roosh! Ka-roosh!" continued the horde as the ground shook under their feet. The edges of Xander's vision were rapidly shrinking, disappearing back under the two armies rushing toward one another. He kept looking at Faith though, and he suddenly felt himself flying toward her at zooming speed.
"Stare long enough into the abyss, Boy Toy…" she spoke her face flickering into a skull increasingly faster as he neared, as if someone was playing around with the switch button of an X-ray machine.
Suddenly, there was only darkness.
Xander bolted up from his bed, his breathing erratic and his sheets soaked with sweat yet again. After the disorientation passed, he shut his eyes tight as his breathing relaxed a bit. It was only a dream, just a stupid dream like a hundred ones before.
"…and I'll be staring right back at you," whispered Buffy into his ear. Her voice had been hoarse though, demonic even, and Xander caught only a glimpse of her withered, decomposed form as he launched himself out of the bed.
She was gone by the time he spun around, his back firmly pressed against the farthest wall of his room. The image of the decrepit monster still crept in his mind, still lingered to his dread on the edge of his vision. Her beautiful face dug in hollow, half a skull protruding through her bluish skin, and an eyeball hanging out of the socket by its festering optic nerve. It felt so real, so present even now that it was gone, like an aftertaste, like the shadow of some terrible violence.
His erratic breath slowly relaxed, his chest heaving less and less with every intake. Suddenly, Xander burst into a nervous, almost insane laughter, before breaking into tears. His hands quickly moved up to cover his eyes as he slowly started sobbing. The poster, against which he leaned, tore as he slumped down to the floor, leaving the Irish landscape on it in a broken puzzle. Years of repressed emotions were flooding Xander, and he laughed and cried insanely, having lost all the control he had over them.
There was terrible woe in the sudden realization that time heals only the wounds that it pleases it to.
"Me and Katrina happen to think you're doing just fine, New York," said Dawn as she pushed Gabe's wheelchair around the corner of their house. Gabe for himself, was smiling . "It's been only four months, New York, you can't expect to go all Miracle network on us so fast. "
"Well, I'm just anxious to have that dance you promised me."
"You know, I don't think you'd be such a flirt if you knew about my track record."
"What? You got a male version of Faith lurking around somewhere?" The question was answered by a gentle slap to the back of his head.
"Faith isn't that bad, once you get past the though girl act, which I admitted is a considerable gap. But no, I don't think the world could handle a male copy of Faith. I have my own demons, thank you."
"Such as?"
"Well the first boy to ever kiss me turned out to be a vampire, so needless to say it turned out to be a rather messy, not to mention dusty affair. But you got to do, what you got to do."
"So you killed your first boyfriend? Man, that must have been harsh on you."
"Well," she said shrugging her shoulder dismissively, "he was hardly my boyfriend, I barely knew him. Anyways, I guess that those are the hearts filthy lessons."
"Big David Bowie fan, huh?"
"Hey, at least I listen to music with actual words in it. You know, the real kind."
"So I guess Chopin and Beethoven had the whole music concept all wrong, huh?"
Their voices dissipated slowly into murmurs as they came around to the backyard where they surprised Xander in the middle of an elaborate kata. He didn't seem to notice them, or at least refused to acknowledge their presence, instead continuing on with a breathtaking display of strikes. They quietly watch as Xander spun and launched himself at blinding speed, fighting off hordes of invisible adversaries.
Shirtless, his tanned muscles glistened in the June sun, contracting and expanding as the sweat carved itself around Xander's scars. He seemed like a whirlwind, a sacred wind killing everything in his path. There was something unique about the dance, its tempo surprisingly fast even for Xander. The strikes were elaborate and complicated, the sheer volume unimaginable. The entire display was simply mesmerizing.
Xander's wooden sword suddenly came down before moving up more slowly forming a few large circular motions as Xander spun himself into a slow stop. The sword pointed its wooden tip obliquely at the ground and Xander stared at that point with intensity. There was something of a confusion and a surprise in his eyes as he tried to catch his breath.
"Bravo!" The call came with the applause of the two onlookers. Xander threw them a glance before his bewildered eyes returned to the tip of his sword. "What the hell was that, California? That was fucking amazing. How come you've never done that kata before?"
"What"s wrong Xander?" suddenly added Dawn when he failed to response. It took a moment for him to answer her as he continued to look dazed.
"I… I was never able to pull it off before. It's the last kata Hojiro ever taught me; I was never able to finish it. He always said I lacked the concentration—that and something about pain management, but he was always kind of obsessive about that."
"So good, you're getting better," replied Dawn, perking up as she picked up another wooden sword that laid about. She studied it playfully for an instant before turning it in Xander's direction. "So you think you can defeat my Shaolin sword?"
"Your kung fu is strong but it cannot hope to defeat my drunken baboon technique." Xander's face lit up with a smile for a moment as he played along with Dawn, faking bad kung fu movie dubbing. She playfully charged and they started exchanging attacks and parries, laughing as they went.
Moments flew by, and as Xander gently slapped Dawn's bottom with his sword, he suddenly realized he felt truly happy for the first time in a long while. As he stared into her beautiful face, lit up by her smile and the afternoon sun, his many worries vanished and he pretended to be a kid again. He and Willow had often played that game growing up, and it all felt like family and home cooked meals. He listened carefully to Dawn's cute laughter before she bit her lower lip and tried a swipe at his head.
"Well, I guess I'll let you two have fun." Interrupted Gabe as he wheeled himself back into the house. There wasn't any maliciousness in his voice, but the sadness and the longing was apparent. "I'll be inside."
All the joy had been wiped from Xander's face, and he suddenly felt that terrible burden that had plagued Buffy all these years. Guilt, like extended family, always made sure to overstay its welcome.
"Now," spoke Buffy as she dusted a female vampire before her helpless companion. "Are you more of a striking or a grappling type?"
The remaining vampire pulled himself to his feet, growling and looking seriously unhappy that his mate had met such an unfortunate ending. Buffy, for herself, watched him calmly with a smile, tipping her head from one side to the other as she waited for him to make his move. He finally did, charging her while screaming like a banshee.
Buffy sighed, severely disappointed by her opponent's attitude. She made a quick calculation and her stake landed firmly into the ground a few feet from her the pointy end pointing straight up at the sky. The vampire was but a feet away when she simply ducked down, letting the poor bastard trip right over her. He flew a few feet before landing, heart-first, onto the wooden death that waited him there.
"Oh well, I guess you were more of your garden variety charging-I'm-gonna die type."
Buffy sighed again as she looked around into the distance of Sunnydale's cemetery number 12. Somehow, she was failing to appreciate the beauty of the moon, shining down on the wet grass—the last telltale sign of a light afternoon drizzle. She was getting bored again, and if it continued, she would seriously start considering letting Dawn come on patrol.
"It's almost as if they come to me to die."
"Well you know B.," said Faith as she stepped around from one of the graves. "Some people never learn."
The shock of seeing Faith was incalculable. Patrol had truly become the lonely occupation Buffy had always claimed it should be. Save for Spike occasionally dropping in, she spent her evenings visiting old ghosts and thinking back on how things were in the good old days of the Scooby gang. Suddenly, it seemed an old ghost had decided to visit her for a change.
"Aren't you gonna say anything?" Faith stood uncomfortably before Buffy's gaze, unable to meet it. She looked just like Buffy had remembered her, her clothes black and skin tight, leaving little to the imagination. Her demeanor though, smacked of growth; the Faith she knew would never had been quaking in her boots like that.
"It's nice to see you again, Faith," finally managed Buffy, a quiet smile on her lips. This seemed to relax Faith, who instantly regained some of her renowned bravado.
"I'm nice to see period. You're not looking too bad yourself, B."
"Thanks, Faith. I try. So how long has it been?"
"I dunno, a year, a year and a half. Last I saw of you was from the wrong side of a plexiglass window."
"Yeah, that time I came to see you about Xander," Buffy paused, the name chocking up in her throat. It took a moment, and some serious feet staring before she could regain her composure. "You know, I wrote you after that, every week. You never wrote back. When I finally called up to see if something happened, they told me you'd been pardoned."
"Yeah, lucky me, huh? Sorry about the letters, I never got them."
"Why didn't you come and visit when you were released. Or you know, pick up a phone or something?"
"I'm sorry B., I just didn't know if I'd be welcome here. Anyways, I needed more time to myself." Faith shrugged her shoulders.
"I understand. It's not like all's forgiven, but I want you to know that you are welcome here. Listen, the slaying's been slow lately, and I was going to pack it in for the night. Maybe we can continue this at the Bronze or something? Give me a chance to guilt you up good, what do you say?"
"Sure thing B., but first, I have a little gift for you. I think, as far as squaring things for the non-communication, this little baby might do the trick." Faith sported a sly, but somewhat nervous grin as she took a step to the side. Her arm went up in a clumsy and ungraceful presenting fashion, and a dark haired man in a leather jacket appeared from behind the tombstone.
Suddenly, Buffy's mind screamed ambush. Her body tensed as she rapidly went on the defensive. She was getting ready to bolt when the man's voice sounded out her name.
"Hey Buffster." Buffy's heart skipped a beat, as she suddenly recognized the man before her. Xander had changed ever so slightly. Shorter hair. A little more muscle. Clean shaven. His wardrobe had definitively been influenced by Faith. And a scar now ran down from his mouth to his throat where she'd last seen a bloody gash.
"Xander," She could only speak his name, overwhelmed by a panoply of emotions. His expression left her unsure as to whether he was happy to see her or not, he seemed sad and uncomfortable. However, unable to resist the impulse, she ventured. "Can I run over there and hug you?"
"I was starting to think you'd never ask."
Xander winced but said nothing as Buffy practically crushed his ribs. He caught a whiff of her perfume as she lifted him high in the air. It had been years, but the still familiar scent put a smile on his face. Buffy was tearing up ever so slightly, overwhelmed by joy and relief. They stay locked in the embrace for what seemed like forever, as Faith watched somewhat enviously.
"I was afraid you were dead," said Buffy as she tried to discreetly wipe away her tears.
"Sorry, didn't mean to worry you… okay maybe I did, but I'm sorry, I really am."
"No, I… I deserved it, I shouldn't have…"
"Buffy," he interrupted, lifting her chin so she would look into his eyes, "as much as I hate having to stop you from apologizing—something I've fantasized about many times in the past—you don't owe me one on this. I was in the bad, in fact I was the bad. By the way, since when did you start apologizing to anyone? Where's my favorite little self-centered martyr went to?"
"I think she left with her best friend, you know the overbearing jerk with the ever constant, but secretly flattering, sexual innuendos. Maybe we shouldn't be talking about this anyways. It's all past tense, right? Here we are, all new and improved, and monochrome in your case, but maybe we can catch up over something alcoholy, overpriced, and preferably non-cavemen making?"
"Sounds like a plan," chimed in Faith, taking the opening to enter the conversation. She didn't like to be the third wheel, but she'd be damned if she was going to let herself be ignored.
"Let's go then, and you can tell me all about how Dawn's doing in school, and if G-man's still on his wacky mid-life crisis, alright?"
"Alright," she answered with a smile.
Faith watched quietly as Xander smiled back, as that moment gave birth to something unexpected within her.
Faith twirled her hair, as she chewed the last life out of a piece of bubble gum. The flavor still fading in her mouth, she stared out at the orange sunset coming through the window of Mason's office. The beauty was lost on her as she readjusted herself constantly in her seat. Instead of awe, she thought of solitude and of the smell of gunpowder. She wondered why she had to fuck up everything in her life.
Mason stood a long time in the doorframe of his office, staring carefully at the pensive slayer. She hadn't noticed him, and the thought of that was strongly displeasing. Cool and collected Mason felt a surge of hatred rising through him. He took a long breath and reminded himself that it would soon all be over.
"Faith," said he, waking her from her reverie as he came around his desk He placed his baby soft leather briefcase on it, and pulled some documents out. "You weren't there when I woke up—again."
"Buy yourself a therapist, go see if she cares." Faith didn't seem to, still staring out the window and looking preoccupied.
"Why is it you feel such a need to be hostile all the time? Sometimes I really wish you would do without the attitude."
"Well it's a package deal, take it or leave it." Her tone was venomous.
"Alright, I see we're not going to solve this any time soon, we're just going to have to put it off until after the meeting. Jeanine," spoke Mason into the intercom on his phone, "send them in."
The door opened on two young men in dark suits. It didn't take a second look on Faith's part to figure out they were lawyers, and she already knew who they worked for. The oldest one of the two, a clean shaven Asian, go getter type, extended his hand.
"Mr. Koenig, I'm Mr. Park, we've spoken on the phone. This is my associate Mr. Gibson. I've got all the paperwork ready, all we need is your signature, in blood, of course." He handed Mason some large yellow papers, and Faith caught a flash of the intricate calligraphy on it.
"You guys Wolfram and Heart?" she asked.
"Yes," answered Mr. Park, "You must be Faith. I understand you had some run-ins with our firm in the past."
"Yeah, can't say I've got too many fond memories of it."
"Well that was under previous management."
Mason handed back the signed documents, sucking hard on the finger he had slashed open with a knife. As he applied a bandage to the wound, Mr. Park shuffled through the papers until he encountered some brand new ones he hadn't expected.
"What's this?"
"It's a formal written request, we want to add someone onto the tribunal."
"This is news to me. Did you notify our office?"
"No, this is last minute."
"Mr. Koenig, with all due respect. Getting Mr. Harris on the tribunal was hard enough, I don't think we can accommodate another, especially this late."
"What the hell's going on?" asked Faith suddenly interested by the conversation, "What's that tribunal thingy?"
"I'll explain to you in a moment, Faith," answered Mason. "Now Mr. Park, I want you to know I fully appreciate the precarious nature of the time dilemma I'm putting you under. Unfortunately, there was no getting around the lateness factor; we had to see how successful the surgery would be. However, I do not think I need to remind you of which account I'm operating under."
"No, your employer has been one of our best and most appreciated clients for, well, what I understand is a very long time. It was also made very clear to me that he is considered to be a personal friend of the firm and the senior partners. That said, you should keep in mind that I was sent straight here from our main office in Los Angeles as a show of just how important this is to us. That said as well, I just simply think it can't be done."
"Trust me, this particular individual won't be any trouble to get in, in fact they should welcome her addition to the list. Of course, your firm will be more than compensated for the trouble. That said, this issue is not debatable."
"Who exactly are we talking about?"
"Melinda Posey."
"The serial killer?" asked Faith surprised.
"Actually," commented Mr. Park, "She's technically a mass murderer. Regardless, I don't think getting her on the tribunal, will be any trouble at all."
"Alright, that's it, somebody's gonna give me the lowdown on this tribunal you all keep yammering about, or I'm gonna start making some mass facial adjustments."
"As always Faith, you find new ways of impressing me with your patience," replied Mason, rubbing his eyes before giving in. "Very well. The tribunal is a contest that can be called upon to, well, force a number of contestants to be judged for their sins. All one needs to do to call one is submit a list of names, at least twelve, and offer the proper sacrifices and offerings and an amazingly long and painful amount of rituals and paperwork. Of course, only the most despicable individuals are accepted, and unfortunately, since Xander fell short—though not by much—of their requirements, I had to have the case argued before them."
"So what happens now, Xander gets a trial? His soul goes all purgatory?"
"No, you see. The ancient Sumerian gods that manages the tribunal believed in a more simple and effective method of redemption: trial by combat. Twelve walk in, one walks out. I would think the simplicity would appeal to you."
"Why wasn't I told of this? And what exactly do you think this is going to do, piss him off again. We've left him alone for months and now, out of the blue, you want to go spit in his face. He's just gonna come back madder."
"Darling," answered Mason, making sure to be as patronizing as possible, taking great delight in watching Faith's eyes narrow down into fine slits. "You weren't told because we feared you might try to warn Xander. Of course, now it's too late Mr. Park here made sure that some irresistible information made its way to Xander, in effect, luring him into our trap."
"It seems Mr. Harris has been searching for a way to help his friend Mr. Shiraz regain the use of his legs," added Mr. Park.
"He'll never fall for that, you're wasting your time. I hope you got an epitaph picked for your tombstone Mason."
"I wouldn't worry about that. I am afraid Xander will not be coming back from his little journey." Mason paused, as Faith's face seemed to drain. "Miss Posey will be there to make sure of that."
"You're tripping if you think this bitch's got anything on my Boy Toy, mass murderer or not?"
"That is a rather valid point," chimed in Mr. Park, "We have a file over at Wolfram and Heart on Mr. Harris. Suffice to say he's a surprisingly dangerous individual."
"Miss Posey will have a considerable advantage. You need not worry about that?"
"So, why exactly am I wasting my time up in here?"
"You're here to give us your expert opinion on something."
"What?"
The answer was given with the push of a button. The side door to the office slid open and revealed a surprise that took Faith's breath away. She pounced to her feet, unable to reconcile what she knew to be truth with what stood before her eyes. She just couldn't believe the face staring back at her.
"Hey, you must be Faith," said the person before her. Even the voice was just right. "I'm a big fan of your work."
"Meet Miss. Posey, new and improved. You have the admit, the plastic surgeons did an amazing job, not to mention the vocal chords readjustment."
Faith was tongue-tied.
"Xander will never fall for that."
"Marcus, you're not going to believe what I just heard!"
Xander barely closed the door behind him as he ran up to Marcus who sat on the couch watching the last minutes of ET. The look of pure joy on his face turned to slight confusion as he observed Marcus pounce to his feet, already sharing his excitation.
"Yo, I already heard, man!" Xander was positively bewildered by Marcus' reaction; there was no possible way for him to know. "They just said it on ET. Cordelia Chase just broke up with Carson Daly. Right on, brother!" Marcus' raised hand never received the high five it demanded; instead it was only met with the coldest of glares. "What? That ain't your good news?"
"Marcus, shut up," answered Xander relatively calmly before moving to the TV to shut it off. When he turned around, the smile was back on his face. "There's this famous Shaman healer in town."
"Great. What's that got to do with Cordelia Chase breaking with Carson Daly?"
"C'mon Marcus, we can get him to cure Gabe."
"They can do that?"
"This one apparently can. He's not staying in town long, so we got to go right now. I got his address from this bartender at the Dying Light. So c'mon grab the keys you're driving."
"But wait, why do you want me to come?"
"Well I need a sacrifice," said Xander stone faced, delighting himself at Marcus sudden dread. "Relax, I'm kidding. What? You don't want to come?"
"Yeah, sure, but generally you're all like "I need to do this myself," and "you'll only slow me down," and all that crap that ain't true but you keep saying 'cause you don't want us around."
"Marcus, I know I'm an asshole sometimes, but I could use your help on this one. So what do you say we hurry so we can have the surprise of a lifetime for Gabe when he comes home?"
"I dunno. Aren't we moving a bit fast, I mean this could be an ambush for all we know."
"Don't worry so much, it's been four months since we've had anything more than a few vamps to worry about. Anyways, even if this is an ambush, we have to take this chance."
"That's what I don't like about it. Alright," said Marcus with a sigh, "I'm down."
As Marcus came back from getting the keys to Garrett's jeep, the telephone in the living room started ringing. Suddenly, Xander felt a chill as he gazed at it from the doorway. Something stirred in him like a bad omen; Skoll hot on his skin. He could glimpse at Buffy's reflection in the nearby windowpane, and his heart chanted an Irish lullaby, but he refused to listen or take heed. Desperation, the insatiable beast, had his scent.
"Aren't you going to answer that?"
"No time," he lied, stone faced, "we'll let the voice mail pick it up."
The door closed on the empty house, the phone still crying its lonely plea.