"She's gonna have it tough, that slayer. She's just a kid and the world's full of big, bad things…" Whistler.
Ryan Walker was doing the best he could. He was surrounded by idiots wherever he went, home, at work, everywhere. Still, he was doing the best he could, like a man has too.
He sat in the bar with all his work buddies. They had on similar uniforms of jeans, heavy boots and tee shirts. The sweat had dried on them hours ago, but the smell remained, rooted deep. Ryan almost felt like his body odor was a badge of honor. It showed that he did honest labor for a living. Just like his dad had.
Honest labor, if the truth is to be told, is back breaking and soul killing toil unless a guy was lucky enough to get into one of the skilled trades. Ryan wasn't an electrician or plumber, so he by-God worked and worked hard for every penny he got. After work, he liked to go to the bar with the guys from work. It was a comfort, something a man needed. The dim, red light from the beer signs was soothing, the murmur of talk broken by occasional laughter or a too-loud opinion. The ball game was always on and there were no kids to whine about changing the channel. It was a refuge, almost the only one he had. Just like his dad.
He threw his head back and laughed deep at what the new guy from work had said. Ryan thought he was a funny kid, for a Mexican. A good, long pull finished his beer, so he waved at Joann behind the bar. She didn't speak as she poured his draft and Ryan tried to figure out a way to get into her pants. God knows he needed it. A guy needs a little strange from time to time.
Suddenly, the bar got very quite. Like all the others, Ryan looked around for the cause. He saw and his heart fell into a pit from embarrassment and fear at the same time his face went ruddy with rage. His son, his goddamn seven year old son, stood looking in the door, nervous and afraid.
"Daddy," the boy said diffidently, "Mommy says she wants to talk to you at the car." Ryan stood slowly. So she thought embarrassing him like this was funny. She most likely intended to teach him some kind of lesson. Ryan stood, determining that a lesson would indeed be learned tonight. There was a stunned silence in the bar and a few patrons shook their heads in amused surprise. His son preferred his hand to Ryan to hold as they walked. He took it. They crossed the parking lot to his wife's car. As they went, he moved faster with each step. The little boy protested, stumbling to keep up. Ryan didn't slow, gripping the small hand hard enough to elicit a cry and lifting the boy so that his feet barely touched the ground. He was almost running when he reached the car. Ryan stopped quickly, giving his son no chance to slow down. The boy hit the car, not hard enough to injure, but hard enough to jar him. The small boy fell to the ground and didn't make a sound. He quickly jerked the door open and pulled his wife out, taking her by the shoulders and cursing as he shook her.
In silence and shadow, Buffy stood and watched the man abuse his family and her throat felt tight. She began to step out of the shadow, but a hand gently gripped her wrist.
"Don't," Xander whispered.
"What? Can't you see…" Buffy said in amazement.
"I can see just fine," he replied.
"I have to go. I have to do something."
"You can't help," Xander said quietly.
"I can make him stop." Buffy said.
"For now, sure. But what about after you leave? Men like that, they feel weak. No, scratch that. They are weak and they know it. So, you're going to fix it by beating him up and make him feel worse about because he got beat up by a girl? He'd just take it out on them. You'd just make it harder for them. For you to do any good you would have to watch them and do something every time it started. If you did that he'd just have you arrested." She looked at her long time friend with conflicted feelings.
"Should we call the police or child protective services or something?"
Xander laughed cynically. "The police would come out. If the wife pressed charges, which she most likely wouldn't, they could take him away for the night. Next day, he's right back and mad. Child protective services would be called. They would investigate and the bastard would just start hitting in places it wouldn't show." Xander's voice was hollow and his eyes were looking elsewhere then at her. "Sometimes there isn't a goddamned thing you can do about something that sucks."
Many times, Buffy had seen hints about Xander's home life as a child. She had sometimes wanted to ask, but he had made it clear that he didn't want to discuss anything. Buffy suspected that this was part of what Willow and he had, one of the bonds between them. The deepest darkest parts of their souls were always reserved for each other. Willow and Xander would never be lovers; they would always be something else that Buffy didn't really understand.
The horrid noise still came from the parking lot. The man wasn't hurting them badly, at least not physically. He shook his wife hard and cursed at her while his son looked on, eyes wide. Buffy looked at Xander and saw that he staring intently. In a flash, she saw a young Xander, probably sloppy and dirty almost all the time, but energetic and mischievous and loving. She saw his father, whom she had met for the first time at the wedding, dragging a small Xander across some filthy, broken glass covered parking lot by his arm.
Violent fantasies played themselves out in the slayer's mind. Vividly, she could see herself hitting that man again and again; hurting him, making him bleed, crippling him… killing him. Oh, how she wanted it. A tremor ran up her arm, through unnaturally strong muscles, and her hand twitched in anticipation. He would never, ever do it again. She could make it stop, right now and for all time. One less abused child; wasn't that a noble goal? Wasn't it worth her life? She might be caught and go to jail, but wasn't that worth it? The moral cost would weigh on her; she knew that, no matter what the man's transgressions. Was her conscience more important then that little boy? Was her life?
She took a half step forward but stopped and realized that they were. Selfishly, necessarily, they were more important. She couldn't take a chance on throwing her whole life and duty away for that one woman and child and she was ashamed. The feeling burned her throat and her eyes. She wouldn't and couldn't do anything. She had often felt fear as the slayer. Hopelessness was an old friend. She wasn't used to feeling helpless and cowardly and she didn't like it. Sometimes, she realized, you can't do a goddamned thing about something that sucks.
For the first time in years, she said a prayer, begging anyone who was listening that the little boy in the parking lot could rise above the things being done to him, as the man standing with her had done. She prayed that somewhere he could find a , she turned away and took Xander's hand in both of hers, clinging to him, leaning on him, leading him away. This, at least, she could do. "Xander," she said hesitantly, "please tell me about your parents."
In the parking lot, Ryan Walker's son finally had more then he could take and began to cry.