Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot, I'm just borrowing the characters and making them jump for my amusement. Buffy and Co belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Spoilers: Everything Buffy Season 1-7, Angel 1-5.
Author's Note 1: The character of Dracula appears in a few chapters, but it isn't a crossover fic with the Dark Prince. This Dracula is from the Season 5 episode Buffy vs. Dracula which isn't counted as a crossover, so this isn't... In my mind he's just another Buffy Character I'm borrowing.
Pairings: F/X, but don't expect them to get together anytime soon, because, as usual, there are complications.
Prologue - No Teachers, No Help
She screamed again, the pain consumed her as a contraction hit, the second in only a few minutes. It was nighttime and dark in the library they found themselves in, the power having gone out as a storm raged outside. She looked at the skylight above her and the dark clouds and rain that pelted down.
Tonight had started off so well too.
It was their Senior Prom, an event she had been waiting for for almost four years, and she wasn't going to miss it. She had the perfect dress, the large limo, the corsage, the boyfriend, what did it matter that she was nine months pregnant?
The school had been understanding at her predicament, even if most of the student body had labeled her a slut or white trash. They had labeled her boyfriend with the same brush and he had just laughed it off.
'They're just jealous of our love for each other,' he would wave it off with a lopsided grin, an action he knew would cause her to smile as well. 'Plus you look hotter every day, so they all wish they were me,' he would laugh.
The limo had picked her up, her boyfriend looking stunning in his tux, rented though it might be, he had looked sharp in its black jacket, tie and ironically frilly dress shirt and cummerbund. He had stood on her front porch as she had opened the door to him and given her his best Sean Connery.
'Evening Moneypenny,' he gave her his lopsided grin. 'I'm here to pick up my date, but seeing you now, in that dress, I'll forget about her and take you instead.'
'Oh James,' she had played along, 'Won't your date get jealous?'
'Who cares about her, when I have the most ravishing creature I have ever seen before me.' He said kissing her hand and moving in to steal a kiss from her lips.
It was at this point her Mom and Dad had cleared their throats and both teens turned to noticed the large video camera attached to her Dad's shoulder, his face half disappearing behind the viewfinder.
'Dad!' She had almost screamed, looking into the lens as her mother giggled.
She was raked with another contraction and she was brought back to the present.
"I've called for an ambulance," the library doors swung open letting a small teenager in, his face a mask of furry. "But I don't know why I bothered, it's not like you scum deserve it" he sneered, stopping next to the couple as they sat on top of the library table.
"Shut up Ronald!" She screamed, sweat dripping down her brow, her breath ragged. She lay on her back, her legs apart, her boyfriend between them, watching her where her dress covered.
"Ignore the troll babe," her boyfriend said calmly. "You're doing fine."
"We should get a teacher!" Ronald pleaded with the couple. "They're all in the gym at the dance..."
"No teachers!" She cried out. "Just the a-ambulance, I don't want everyone knowing my w-water broke at Prom!"
"What does it matter?" Ronald had asked, looking at her dismissively. "Everyone already knows you're knocked up, what's another nail in the social coffin?"
"Ronny!" Her boyfriend had jumped off the table and grabbed the brown-nosing teen by the collar. "You want me to pummel you again?" He realised a fist in threat.
"To pummel me again, you would have had to have done it once before," Ronald sneered. "Which you haven't got the stones, Harris!"
"STOPPPPPP!" She screamed as another contraction overcame her.
Instantly her boyfriend let go of the troll of a teen and was back on the table, holding her hand and whispering encouragement.
"I-I don't think I can wait for the a-ambulance..." She said through clenched teeth.
"What?" Ronald yelled, wide-eyed, looking between her face and the tent that had formed from her dress draped over her spread knees.
"The baby's commmmmmmiiiiiiinnnnnnnggggggg, augggghhhhhhh!" She bared down.
"Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap," her boyfriend muttered over and over to himself, his bravado gone, now looking like a scared teen as he quickly took off his jacket and placed it down between her legs.
Unbeknown to the three teens something was waking below them, intrigued by the goings on that played out above it. New life was emerging over its seal and that pleased it. If it had a mouth it would have smiled, but despite it's name it had none. It cast its energies up and into the room, taking in the tableau that played out before it. Three teens, a pregnant slut, a future drunkard and an easily corruptible pawn stood over it as a giant storm beat out its vengeance on the town that now resided over it. It's metaphorical smile widened as it registered the life form being born, a boy...
A bastard.
Perfect.
It had been almost a hundred years since the last time something so perfect had happened above it, not since Wilkins had dropped a town on it or the Vampire, Nest, had tried to control it some 45 years earlier.
Many people and beings believed the seal was evil, and they were right in a way. Many evil things flocked to it, evil things tried to open it, serve it, worship it. But the seal did not care for these things. It only wished to exist. For it had to, the very world's balance depended on it. Yes it was true, it had a lesser twin somewhere in the northeast, and an opposite seal in Italy somewhere near some supposed holy city.
But it saw the potential of the new life that was being born above it, the babe that was coming forth bathed in its presence. So the seal made a decision. It poured its power into the new life, forever changing the baby's base nature and the effect it had on the world.
The baby would be an Agent of Chaos.
A Wild Card.
An Avatar of its latent energies.
A Demon Magnet, just like the Hellmouth that touched him with its power.
The baby let out a wail as it came into the world, the small life shivering as it was quickly wrapped in the suit jacket by its father.
"It's a boy!" Her boyfriend exclaimed, gently picking up his son and handing him to her. He jumped off the table to stand next to his girlfriend.
"Little bastard..." Ronald muttered under his breath as the couple ignored him.
"You did it babe," her boyfriend kissed her forehead.
"We did it," she smiled, running a finger across her son's face. "He's beautiful..."
"What should we name him?" Her boyfriend asked.
"Just give him your last name Harris," Ronald sneered. "Then the world will know how useless his future is..."
"Bite me Snyder!" Her boyfriend hissed quietly, not moving from his girlfriends side.
"Alex," she said as the doors to the library opened, two paramedics and a stretcher coming through. "Alexander..."
"Alexander Harris," her boyfriend smiled looking down at the pair as the paramedics began to take her vitals. "Nice Jess..."
And so the Hellmouth retreated back on itself, it's job done. It's energies would live on, wherever the boy went, no matter what happened to it.
The seal smiled again.
It looked forward to the future for the first time in its millennia old life.
Chapter One - No Feelings, No Crying
Her body was numb as she entered the bedroom. She had gotten through it in one piece, no tears, no screaming, no shouting or pleading. Nothing. What could she do? He was gone. The only man she had ever really loved was gone.
And she loved him. She was sure of that now. Why else was she dressed in a skirt? It was for him. She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her reflection in the mirror of the closet. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, subtle makeup was applied to her face, gone were the dark mascara, occasional eye shadow, and the full dark red lipstick she usually wore.
He would have loved to have seen her like this.
She wore a white blouse with a small dark light coat over it; her skirt was a dark black that went all the way down to her shins. She had worn pantyhose for the first time today, pantyhose and a pair of moderate black high heels. Not as high as some she had worn in the past, but high enough for polite company.
Everything she had worn was for him, right down to the sensible, non-frilly, non-peekaboo, absolutely non spectacular bra. Although, the g-string she wore under the skirt, that, that was for both of them. The thought of him finding out she had worn that under her clothes to his service brought a smile to her face, she just knew he would find it funny. Funny, and a turn on. The smile was short lived though, as her thoughts went back to the whole outfit and why she was in this get up to begin with.
Because everything she wore, all of it, was a sad joke from long ago...
"Why don't you ever wear skirts Faith?" He had asked her one day as she was getting ready for patrol.
She looked at him lying in bed, the sheets bunched up around his waist, covering up his modesty. She grinned as she finished tying her boot strap and stood up to brush her hair in the mirror. "I wear skirts."
"No, you wear scraps of material around your waist," he grinned back. "Nowhere does that equal a skirt."
"So you want me to stop?" She asked as she looked at him in the reflection of the mirror.
A thoughtful look crossed his scared face as he contemplated her question.
"Hey!" she warned as she picked up and flicked his eye patch at him.
"I'm thinking, I'm thinking!" He said quickly as the black patch hit him in the chest. "Maybe... Not right away though. But I would like to see what you look like dressed like a muggle." He said drinking in her white wife beater, leather jacket, jeans and army boot clad body.
"You love it!" she said, hands on her hips as she cocked an eyebrow at her man in the bed. "Tell you what BoyToy," she said crawling across the bed towards him. "We'll make a deal, I'll wear normal clothes the day of your funeral, how's that?" she asked before giving him a quick peck on the lips.
"Sounds like a plan." He smiled back and kissed her again.
She stared at herself and her clothes in the closet mirror. She had fought so hard within herself that morning as she got dressed, but now... Now she never wanted to take them off. Because if she was to take them off... Then that would mean that the day was over.
The Day they had buried a Friend... A Watcher... A Soldier... A Hero... A Leader...
And despite all that, the most important to her, it was the day she had buried Her Man.
Earlier that day...
The sun hung high in the sky as she moved along the grass aisle between the rows of chairs set up for the service. Faith was oblivious to all the eyes of her fellow mourners as she approached the front of the gathered Slayers, Watchers, Demons and Normies. She stopped at the front row, her eyes fixed on the open casket that stood on the small raised platform before the congregation. She took a single step forward before stopping again, turning slightly towards her seat then back to the large display that was the body of her man. Faith kept her body stiff as she stared intently at the large wooden box that would house him for the rest of time.
Could she go up and say good-bye? For good? Say a silent prayer for him, as she wished his soul could have the rest all of them hoped they would receive in death? Or would that just prove what she had been dreading, deep down in the place in her heart that she always tried to deny existed, that he had finally left them, left her, for good...
What was she to do?
What could she do?
Silence gathered over the crowd as Faith had her silent battle with her feelings. In the end her pride was the victor once again. She turned back to the rows of chairs and moved to sit down. She felt him then; she could always feel him when he was near. Angel was watching her.
A small pang of regret washed over her as she tried to open the connection more, the connection that had stayed with them after they had both helped save the other in a shared dream all those years ago. She looked up slowly, as if she was a naughty child about to be scolded by a parent. Angel stood slightly hunched over, watching her from the back of the gathering, hidden from the suns rays under the safety of a large canopy set up for the sunlight challenged mourners, of which there were only four; Spike, Harmony, Angel himself, and much to Faith's chagrin, Dracula, Her Man's some time Master.
Angel watched her, his large black coat open as he stood with his hands in his pockets. Faith gave him a look that she hoped conveyed the struggle she felt inside. Angel shrugged his shoulders before pacing slowly. Faith smiled slightly, understanding his worry for her. He turned around, looking at her, his hand on his chin in thought. She shrugged her shoulders, looking at her feet as she felt the true weight of his gaze. When she worked up the nerve to look again he had his arms crossed and nodded towards her, then in the direction of the coffin, a silent command in his soft eyes. Faith looked away quickly, and then back once again, his face not wavering in his meaning. She looked to her feet again before letting out a small sigh. Not looking at her sponsor for redemption again, she nodded her head, turning back to the small platform and Her Man's final resting place.
Time seemed to slow for her as she stepped up onto the platform and before him. He looked... Well, he looked... She didn't finish the thought, because more sadness and anger lay down that path. Instead she tried to remember him as he was, not as the empty shell he had become. She remembered how he handled a work tool, how he handled a weapon with the same confidence, how no matter how many days he had been out bush on safari, or on the hunt of a demon clan or just a routine patrol, he always smelled of sawdust and oil. How he still found the time to goof around, even in a time of stress, a quality she had once hated, now she realised she would miss. How he himself had mourned every fallen slayer that had been in his charge, no matter how long he spent with them. And how he had finally managed to move into her heart, a day he had claimed was as worth celebrating as any other major holiday.
"I..." Whispered Faith, her voice cracking as she tried to sum up her feelings. "I-I should hate you. For doing this to me, for putting us all though this... Pain." She placed a hand on the edge of the coffin, her fingers millimetres from his shoulder. "I told you this would happen... This hurt we would all feel. That I feel. This is why I always kept people at arm's length you idiot." She said looking deep into his closed eye. "I should hate you... But I don't. I should hate you for breaking the first rule, cos it wasn't like you didn't know it." Her gaze turned angry before softening. "But that's the thing... I can't stay mad at you, and that-that's your fault."
"Exactly." Anya added as she moved next to the Slayer. "I-I was always saying he would get himself killed by doing the right thing." She said as tears moved down her cheeks, her eyes puffy and red. "But he would never listen. He was stubborn that way..." Anya sniffed as she put an arm on Faith's shoulder. "But at least he made up for it in The Sex."
Faith let out a small laugh at Anya's bluntness despite the feelings she felt for his passing. "Yes," she smiled. "He definitely made up for it in The Sex."
"Goodbye Xander," Anya croaked in a whisper. "I'll miss the way our parts would interlock."
Faith flinched as Anya said his name. It felt wrong, saying goodbye. It was final and cold to her ears. Never would someone mention his name again unless it was in remembrance or in past tense. Always 'Xander use to...', never again 'Xander will...'. She'd never wake up next to him again; a smile on his face as he slept snuggled close to her. Never would she tell him how she felt, in those three words she told him she would never say, to anyone, even if he told her repeatedly that he already knew how she felt. She looked down into his peaceful face, her heart breaking as she tried to picture him as he was in life.
"I..." Faith tried to say, her voice small, self-conscious as she tried to do what she couldn't when he had lived. "I-I... I Love..." her voice trailed off, her face a mask of emotions as she tried to say the last words.
"He knows." Anya told the Dark Slayer.
Faith gave the Vengeance Demon a weak smile that quickly turned into a grimace of pain and sadness, her eyes threatening to let the tears start to fall. The pair embraced in a hug filled with pain, loss and sympathy for the other who had lost the man they had loved at different times of his life. Together Faith and Anya turned, both holding onto the other as they made their way to the front row and to where the rest of the remaining Scoobies sat waiting for the pair to say their final good-byes.
Once they were seated Giles gave a slight nod to the old African man that stood off to the side of the large congregation. The man was dressed in a loin cloth and a shawl, both made up from various animal furs and leathers from the plains of his ancestors. On his head he wore a headdress made from the black feathers of a vulture and various beads and bones, the same on his wrists and ankles. Around his neck more beads, these blessed by various witch doctors of his tribe spanning back thousands of generations. All this he wore in honour of his ancestors, and in honour of the man who had earned the respect of his tribe all those years ago as he travelled the plains of his people. The Old Man gave a small bow to Giles and then to Xander's body before bringing a large buffalo horn up to his lips.
The large horn reverberated out over the gathered mass of mourners as the Old Man began to make his way to the platform and his fallen brethren. Taking a breath the Old Man continued to blow a long note and circled the coffin, beginning the blessing of the vessel with the guardians of his forefathers, the spirit guides and protectors of the plains. He sent his breath out through the horn, reciting the silent prayer that would send it to the blessed one to fill their lungs in the afterlife. As the last gasps of air left his lungs he removed the horn from his lips and slung the strap over his shoulder, the horn resting on his back.
The Old Man moved to Xander's body then, his left hand moving to the pouch, the medicine bag, around his neck. Beginning the prayer of remembrance and wellbeing he licked his thumb, dabbed it into a compartment in the bag and smeared a long line of red earth across Xander's forehead. He continued to mutter his prayer louder as he danced from foot to foot, adding more lines under his eyes and across his nose, and dots on his chin and jaw line. With a loud squeal of triumph he opened the second compartment, spat into his hand and emptied a dark yellow powder into his palm. Letting the bag hang around his neck again he mixed the powder and spit across both palms, making a small layer of paste. Once he was done he raised his hands to the sky, asking the gods to watch over his brethren in his native tongue. When he was satisfied the gods had heard his plea he placed his hands on either side of Xander's face, smearing the paste onto his ears and neck.
The Old Man stepped back then and called for his fellow tribes' men to step forward. Four tall young African men in similar loin cloths and beads stepped up to the platform, one on each of the four sides of the coffin. The Old Man again raised his hands up to the sky, calling in his native tongue to the evil spirits to leave this man and for the gods to scare them away so that his soul will never be tormented with the evils he fought in life.
The Casket lid was moved slowly as all five men called the evil spirits away. They continued to chant, louder and louder as the lid was closed slowly. They moved back and forth in place calling the spirits out, their chants making some of the more darker magic and demon beings in the congregation uneasy in their seats. Just as the casket was an inch from closing all five men let out a large, loud, "Ha!" to scare the last of the evil away, the lid slamming shut with a thud. The four young men began to circle the casket then, each chanting his prayer to look after the soul contained within.
For the last time The Old Man opened a compartment in the medicine bag and emptied a powder into his hand, this time a dark colour, and proceeded to scatter it around the casket in a large circle. He did this quietly, muttering to himself as he worked and prayed to the gods. Once he was finished he stood again in front of the coffin and brought the buffalo horn to his lips, letting the note out loudly and with all the strength in his old lungs, a strength he transferred to his fallen brethren.
As the last of his breath past through the horn he dropped it to his side and stood at attention. With a quick flick of his right wrist the Old Man let off a quick salute to the fallen soldier before him, an action he had done many times in his youth as a soldier in the Imperial Army. Slinging the horn back over his shoulder and onto his back like a rifle he made his way to Faith in the front row.
"He is safe now," the Old Man said in a heavy African accent, his voice gruff with a life time of use. "He is one with my Ancestors, and they will look after him, just as he looked after my Tribe and your People."
"Thank you," Faith croaked as the Old Man held her hand. "He would have welcomed your protection."
"As we did his." The Old Man said. "As we did his..." he repeated before raising a hand before Faith's forehead. He gave a muttered chant before placing his hand on the top of her head. As he finished he smiled and looked into her eyes. "On behalf of My People I welcome you into our Tribe and the Adopted Tribe of 'The One Who Sees'. Welcome Sister."
"T-thank you..." Faith said in shock. "I did not think..."
"It is what he would have wanted." The Old Man interrupted. "You were his, as he was yours, may all in your line and his be forever bonded in our Tribe."
"Really, Thank You." Faith said again.
"It is our honour. We can discuss the Pain and Blood Rites after the service." With a small smile the Old Man patted her hand again in sympathy and moved down the aisle to where his brethren sat.
"Pain and Blood Rites?" Faith whispered to herself.
After a moments silence an old Watcher, Gordon Wyiles, moved to a podium and cleared his throat. "We are gathered here today to remember our fallen brother," he began. "A fallen soldier of the light, Xander Harris, 'The One Who Sees'..."
As Faith sat, reliving one of the hardest days of her life, she felt the presence of someone enter the room. She didn't look up; she didn't want to acknowledge the person, because to admit she had heard them enter meant she would have to interact with them. And she'd had enough of people to last her a lifetime. All sad faces and condolences, some crying, some worried, some babbling, some trying to rationalise what had happened and others doing three, four, even five of those things all at once. She had come upstairs to get away from everyone. Away from the polite talk, family and friends eating and drinking, some to excess as they related stories of her man.
She couldn't stomach it, she didn't want it. She only wanted him. And since she couldn't have him... Then all she wanted at the moment was to be left alone.
Left alone in her 'Xander Funeral Clothes'.
She felt the eyes of the person watching her. Watching her shallow breathing as she tried in vain to hold it together. She was stronger than this.
"Quite a gathering down stairs," came the voice she wasn't expecting. "Glad I sneaked in, I can't take another of Giles' Demon Summits. God I'm tired, me and Kate were up for almost 72 hours this mission, I'm beat."
She was stronger than...
"Then again it could be worse, Kate got some kind of Demon goo stuck in her hair." the voice chuckled. "Doesn't smell that bad, but you know slayers and their heightened senses... So, what are you all dressed up for?" it yawned as it dropped a sword and scabbard by the bedside table, a familiar sound when he returned home from a patrol.
She didn't move.
She wouldn't.
She wouldn't give the poor imitation the 'Thing' was performing the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her.
She was strong.
"Faith?" the 'Thing' spoke again in his familiar tone as it stepped closer.
She wouldn't act.
He deserved the dignity of this not happening. Her Man deserved better.
"Faith?" the 'Thing' asked again and again it moved closer. "Are you ok?" it placed a hand on her shoulder.
She closed her eyes; the tears that had threatened to come all day were on the brink of finally arriving as warmth from the hand warmed her shoulder.
She would be strong. For him.
"Faith?" concern was in the voice now, a concern that didn't belong.
She opened her eyes slowly, not wanting to give in to the 'Things' illusion of familiarity. But that was before she caught a glimpse of the eye patch.
She wasn't strong...
She looked at his eye patch on his face.
She could never be this strong...
Her Man's Eye Patch...
No one could be that strong...
...On His FACE!
She didn't think, just reacted. Fists clenched, muscles bulged, right arm cocked back, her face a mix of shock and anger, right arm moving forward, his chin exposed, a look of concern on his face that didn't belong. Fist and chin getting closer, eye patch blocked the blow from view, shock as a loud smack filled the room, fist and chin meeting, each flesh moulding to the other as his body was forced across the room.
She jumped to her feet, her left hand catching him by the collar in mid-air, his body airborne from the weight of the first blow. Left arm pulled him back, her right arm cocked back again, fist aimed at his gut, moving quickly towards loose clothing that hid a battle hardened, scar covered body. The wind was knocked out of his lungs from the blow as her left arm let go, the body flew out of the room, the kinetic energy from the strike carried him into the hallway wall with a crash.
"Fa-" was all it managed as the thing tried to pick itself up.
"DON'T!" Faith half yelled, half screamed.
Muffled gasps carried up the staircase as their commotion filtered down through the floorboards to the mourners below.
The 'Thing' with the face spat blood as it gasped for breath, its eye tried to focus on her. "Faith..."
"I said..." she began as she grabbed it by the neck and threw it towards the staircase landing. "...Don't!" she growled.
The 'Thing' hit the rail protecting the void between the two levels; the wooden banister broke into kindling as its body toppled into the open space and down into the large foyer below. More gasps echoed as her feet pounded across the floor, halting at the landing to look down at the crumpled imposter on the ground floor.
"Faith?" Buffy looked from the dark haired Slayer to the body on the ground as it tried to get up amongst the broken timber.
She didn't understand what was going on. 'Faith was fighting?' Buffy wondered as she looked at the mess on the floor. "What's going on?" she asked Faith before a loud gasp escaped her mouth, her eyes finally taking in the appearance of the man on the floor.
By now a group had gathered. Dawn looked on in shock, her hands covering her mouth as her breath was suddenly gone. Andrew sniffed as he looked at the man on the ground, a small smile beginning to appear on his tear soaked face. Giles stood ready for a fight, his hand around the hilt of a sword that hung on the wall, but his body was frozen as he realised who was on the ground. Willow just stared, her mouth agape, her eyes bloodshot from her tears, her body not responding as her first instinct was to rush to the man and hug him with all her heart, but somewhere deep down she knew she would never be able to do that again.
Silence fell over the house as guests stood apart from the main group. Slayers stood ready for a fight at the first command from the core Scoobies, Demons watched the Slayers every move, not wanting to draw the girl's attention on themselves and risk a missing limb. Fellow magical folk watched everyone, smelling power from somewhere, none of them getting a lock on the source, and then there were the normies; family and friends of the bereaved who just didn't know where to look.
"Red!" Faith called out, her fists still clenched tight as she locked eyes with Willow as she stood shocked next to Buffy. "Contain that... That Thing!" she spat.
"Wha..." the 'Thing' groaned as It tried to rise to Its feet again. It managed to plant both hands on the ground to push itself up before one of its arms gave way and it rolled over onto its back. It looked up at its friends, its mind only half registering the strange dark coloured formal clothes each of them were dressed in. "Huh...?" It said in a huff.
"What's going on?" a familiar voice called out to the room at large. "You're ruining the Wake!" the familiar female shrill said annoyed as it looked at each of her friends.
The thing groaned again, trying to focus its eye on the newcomer. But it was difficult, her hair was longer then it had ever been when they were together, but it still held the same dark blonde colour he had grown fond of as he snuggled close to her in bed in the apartment they had once shared. Her face was a welcome one to his tired eye, even if it was currently looking at him with shock and fear.
"Xander...?" the familiar female voice said as his vision solidified.
"Anya...?" the thing; Xander said with a gasp of shock.
"B-but...?" Both said together. "...You're dead...!"
A/N 2: This is what I began writing when I abandoned my 'Gloves' fic. I'm gonna try to write both at the same time because both stories have been bouncing around my head lately, here's hoping I can do this!
This was just a taste of what this story is about, so hit me up with a review if you want me to keep posting!