Title: Keeping Promises
Author: C-Man
Disclaimer: You can't sue me, I'm broke! Ha! But I still don't own these characters.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Xander fulfills a vow, but not in a way he ever wanted to. An alternate ending to 'Amends'. Angst. 'Nuff said.
Spoilers: 'Amends', a couple mentions of certain events in season 2.
Distribution: Hey, get your grubby hands away from my fic!!! Actually, I could care less. Want? Take. Have. Just lemme know first.
Feedback: Absolutely. It's like a drug.
Notes: Xander POV.
I really shouldn't be here.
Not that either of them are even aware that I exist at this point. Hell, I'm pretty sure that, as far as these two are concerned, the entire world has shrunk down to the top of this hill overlooking Sunnydale where they're engaged in the most intense argument I've even seen. And I've seen some doozies, growing up in the dysfunctional Harris household as I have. I guess that's part of the reason I'm here.
I was pretty much ... what's the word? Ecstatic? Yeah, ecstatic when Buffy said that I could forego my traditional sad little Christmas Eve camp-out and have a nice, home cooked dinner at Casa de Summers. Our friendship had been on extremely shaky footing since our ... disagreements of the past couple months, and finally, it felt like things were back on track. It gave me a warm, tingly feeling inside. I just hope it's a 'friendly' tingly feeling, and not 'more than friendly' tingling. My love life is enough of a mess without the return of Xander Harris, the Buffy-piner.
And really, those vague misgivings aside, it was shaping up to be quite the memorable (and for good reasons for once!) Xander Harris Christmas experience. Holiday music, roaring fire, trimming an actual, non-fake Christmas tree, and spending time with one of my three favourite girls and her really cool mom. Faith even showed up out of the blue, and I'd really been meaning to get to know her better. So, all in all, I was feeling pretty good about things.
It's times like this I reeeeeally wish we didn't live on a Hellmouth.
Buffy had a close encounter of the weird kind with Angel in her room. She wasn't about to go into specifics, but, considering what I've heard in the past couple days about Angel's recent erratic behaviour, I guessed that he'd finally jumped a bus to crazy town. So there I was, watching Buff get that determined "you're never gonna talk me outta this, so don't even try" look on her face as she got ready to charge off into the night after good ol' Deadboy, when I said something I'm definitely starting to regret.
"I've got your back."
It just goes to show how upset and in a hurry she was that she didn't even try to talk me out it.
The past couple of hours, we've been zig-zagging Sunnydale in Mrs. Summers car. I drove, of course. Noone's letting Buffy anywhere near the driver's side of any vehicle these days. We went to Giles' first and got the 411 on those blind priests again. Then Buffy showed that flash of inspiration that she always seems to exhibit when the chips are down and time's running short, and she figured out where they've been hiding. Across town we sped to the Christmas tree lot, Buff broke into the underground cave, kicked a little Helen Keller-on-a-psycho-trip ass and ye Gods, the First Evil showed up, looking a lot like Ms. Calendar. I really, really hate evil.
Before I knew it, we were breaking all kinds of speed limits on the way to Angel's mansion on the outskirts of town. Buffy was out of the car before we'd even come to a stop, and off like a bat out of hell. That girl can run when she puts her mind to it. I've only just caught up to her now, and she's knee-deep in the aforementioned intense confrontation with Angel.
Like I said, they've forgotten I'm here, and there's no way in hell I'm stepping into this minefield. So I'm just gonna stand here, by this tree, out of range of any splatters of blood and rivers of tears. I should leave, cuz this is a deeply, deeply personal thing for her that I have nothing to do with. It's wrong that I'm watching and listening to this. If she knew I was here she'd be giving me her patented glare of death that I've become all too familiar with since she returned.
But I can't. I'm transfixed by this. My feet are rooted to the ground. It's like I'm watching two run-away locomotives on the same track. There's no way it can end well, but morbid curiosity holds my attention.
He's saying he's a monster. That, soul or not, he was made to hurt her. That it's the man in him, forever tainted by the demon inside, that yearns for the kill. He's pretty much saying everything I've ever thought in my most bitter moments spent contemplating Angel and his relationship with Buffy. But I don't feel any vindication. No puffed up pride that I was right all along. Because somehow, someway, I realize that he's wrong. Angelus hurts Buffy. Angel doesn't. Or he doesn't mean to, anyway. Why is this only becoming so clear to me now?
The horizon is getting brighter now. It's only a couple minutes before the first real rays of sunlight peek out from the hills east of town and God dammit he just tossed her to the ground. Why am I not running up to them, screaming at him for laying a finger on her, for daring to do that to the girl he loves? But then he's upon her again, screaming that he's deserves death, that the world doesn't want him. Is he stealing more lines from my subconscious?
But she wants him. I never have, and likely never will understand how and why she does. But she loves and wants him with everything that she is. That's Buffy for you. So passionate, so determined, so making me love her even more, even as she pledges herself to another man. She's talking more quietly now, but the wind carries her words to me. Her heart is being torn to pieces before my eyes and I don't care that there are tears rolling down my own face. I hate him for doing this to her. He does deserve to die. But, no, he can't. He's everything to her. He needs to live. For her. God, when did I get so bipolar?
She's on her feet again but she's not pleading anymore. He needs to be strong, to fight, she says. She'll help him, they'll fight together. She believes in him so much that it's mind boggling. And, amazingly, she's done it. I can see that she's convincing him. I can see ... hope flicker in his eyes.
But it's too late.
The tiniest sliver of the sun has slipped over the far horizon. I wouldn't be able to see it if I were in my room at home, but the town of Sunnydale is nestled in a little valley. Here, though, on the bluffs overlooking the town, there's nowhere to hide. There's no shelter, no respite from those bright rays of light that are vampire kryptonite.
He's running now, in a futile attempt to reach a large tree about thirty feet away. She catches him and tries to both speed him along and shield him from the sun. She's too small to cover him though, and his coat and pants are already ablaze. The fire is spreading quickly, and she's being burnt as she tries to tamp it out. I'm too far away to be of any help, and, in any case, I'm still rooted to the ground as I watch the final act of this tragedy play out. The proverbial locomotives speed toward one another...
He collapses finally and screams in pain, and she screams with him as she falls atop him...
...the two trains collide head on...
...his body disintegrates and she drops to ground, falling through the space his body had just occupied.
She stops screaming when the fire disappears, but her hair is still smoldering and her hands are shaking from the painful blisters forming on them. There's a long moment of silence as the universe looks on in shock and horror. It has to be. Because there's no way a just universe would've done this to her again. Why? Why her!? She's the bravest, most glorious human being I've ever met. She's fought for this world, she's died for this world, and this is her reward? To have her hopes and dreams obliterated time and again?
I guess at some point I decided to move again because I'm at her side now, crouching on one knee next to this spot she hasn't moved from, kneeling in his remains. She finally senses I'm there and her head turns to look at me.
Or look through me, because there's a thousand yard stare if I've ever seen one. There are tear tracks running down her cheeks, but looking in her eyes I can see she's not actually crying anymore. What's just happened hasn't quite processed for her yet, and I'm afraid of what's going to happen when it does.
"I'm sorry."
Did I just say that? It sure didn't sound like her voice, so I guess so. But why is my own voice so raspy? And what am I sorry for? Or maybe the question should be, what am I not sorry for, as far as Buffy and Angel are concerned. I imagine that for a moment like this, I'm probably the last person that should be here with her.
But my words seem to spark something in her. Her eyes lose that glassy look, and she blinks rapidly as she focuses on me. Her arms are still shaking involuntarily from her burns. A bird chirps somewhere behind us, greeting the rising sun. It's surreal
"I'm sorry."
I'm being a broken record here, but for the life of me, I can think of nothing else to say to her. My brain isn't exactly functioning on high levels at the moment.
Something's happened though. Her entire body is shaking now and her lovely hazel eyes are filling with tears. She's starting to breath heavily and she's making an odd murmuring noise in her throat. I think I've snapped her out of her shock. I've brought it all crashing down on her. Is this a good thing?
Without even thinking about, I raise my hand to tentatively touch her quaking shoulder. If my words were chipping away at her restraint, then it seems my touch seems to be the proverbial sledgehammer that crushes it to powder.
She screams. She squeezes her eyes shut and lets loose a wail the likes of which I've never heard before, and if God is kind, I'll never be subjected to again. A wordless expression of rage, frustration, grief, madness and, above all, pain. Pain, pain, pain. It feels like my ears are bleeding from hearing it.
I don't know how long her cry has lasted, but by the end of it, she has segued raggedly into gut-wrenching sobs. She doesn't even try to hold them in, to suppress her emotions like the good little Slayer she thinks she's supposed to be.
I don't hesitate in dropping to both knees now and taking her in as strong an embrace as I can. She's the Slayer, it won't hurt her. She doesn't react at first, beyond burying her face in my sweater to muffle her weeping. I don't say anything - there are no words of comfort that will sooth her shattered heart.
What she needs now is strength, the strength to go on, just like she was saying to him ... before. I've never possessed a great deal of it myself, but whatever I have I'll give to her in a heartbeat. Take it, Buffy, please.
Whether she hears my silent plea or simply can't find the energy to hold herself up anymore, she collapses into me. Her arms circle around my chest and she grips me in a bruising hold that's probably going to hurt tomorrow. I don't care. Break my ribs, Buffy, just don't let go.
I remember a situation similar to this one. In the funeral home earlier this year, when we fought that girl that Angelus had turned to torment Buffy. She let down her defenses then and allowed me to comfort her for a moment. I remember feeling my heart swell with love and pride that she'd let me in like that, even for a second.
I don't feel anything like that now. It had been a selfish thought I'd had back then, turning her misery and need for solace into something that made me feel good. Now, though - well, this couldn't be any less about me if I tried.
It's about her. It's about ... him.
Another memory comes to me, and I come to a realization.
Not anything earth-shattering. I just figured out why I was with her tonight. Why I didn't turn my back on their confrontation and walk away like I should've. A promise I'd never stopped hoping would be kept.
"You're gonna die. And I'm gonna be there."
I remember saying those words to Angelus in the hospital, and thinking that I just wanted to watch Buffy jam a stake into his black heart, or somehow manage to do it myself without getting killed in the process. I wanted to look down on his ashes and spit on them. And I thought it would feel so good.
Now, here I am, kneeling in his remains, hugging a devastated Buffy and all I feel is sick.
I'm really am such a selfish bastard. It's all I've been all year. Dating Cordy while always keeping a roving eye on a lonely, miserable Buffy. Snapping at Buffy every chance I had after she returned, because I thought I was so hurt and abandoned. And, of course, ruining a great thing with Cordelia because I couldn't keep my tongue out of my best friend's mouth.
And I'm still doing it! Buffy's crying her heart out here and I'm locked in a self-pity fest. Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it.
She needs help. If I know her at all, after she's finished purging her system of this immediate grief, she's going to clam up and try to push us all away, to deal with her heartache all by her lonesome and not force her 'petty' problems on others.
I can't let her do that. I'm hardly the best person to judge what's right and wrong for someone, but I'm sure of this.
So, I'll be there for her. I'll let her talk to me. I'll let her cry on me. I'll let her scream and yell at me. I'll let her hate me if that's what it takes. I'm not Angel, and I'll probably never be able to give her what he gave her. Or ... she'll never want what Angel gave her from me. But that doesn't matter. Anything she does need, she'll get from me. It's the least I can do.
Hmph. Guess I've got a new 'vow' now. A fresh, new Xander Harris promise.
I hope this one works out better than the last.