"Now do we panic?" Xander cracked, turning away from the mirror. He didn't want to look anymore.
"I-I must consult my books immediately," Giles said robotically. He turned to look at Xander, with such a sympathetic face that it turned Xander's stomach. He must be in real trouble. "I'll find out what's happening, Xander. I promise."
Xander just nodded and watched Giles leave. Then he walked over to Willow, who was still staring dumbly at the mirror. He came up to her and touched her gently on the shoulder. "Willow?"
Willow stared into the mirror, and although she could feel Xander's hand on her shirt, all that appeared in the mirror was a slight dent in her bright red shirt, and not Xander's hand making it. "You're not in the mirror," Willow said, her voice trembling. "I know you're here but you're not * there *."
"It's ok Willow," he soothed, and then caught her as she fell crying into his arms. "Giles will find something on this, and he'll find a spell or something, and then we'll stop whatever's going to happen. * If * anything is going to happen. I'm not going to turn into a conscious-less killer like . . ."
Xander didn't dare say the name, but instead glowered at Buffy, who was still staring in the mirror. Since he had no reflection, she didn't see his scowl.
"Xander, you don't know what'll happen. You don't . . ." Willow didn't have the heart to go on. She was just quiet, occasionally hiccuping, but finding comfort just by being in his arms.
Buffy finally turned around, and looked at Xander with a face completely devoid of emotion. "Xander," she started her voice empty, but he cut her off.
"I don't want to hear what you have to say," Xander said, his voice like steel. "I don't care what you have to say, and for the remaining life of me, I would like to never see you again, except that's kind of hard now, but don't worry, if your boyfriend finishes what he's started you'll only being seeing me at night."
Buffy's mouth opened again, but if Xander's looks could kill, they would.
"Dooon't start with me!" Xander said loudly, "'cause you'll lose!"
Suddenly there was the loud bang as the swing doors opened and closed loudly. The three teens looked up to see who had come to join their bawlfest.
"Hey," Oz said, dropping his stuff by the counter. Then he noticed the looks on everyone's faces. "What's happened?" he asked innocently.
"I'm slowly, painfully, being turned into a vampire," Xander said with pure Oz blasé-ness.
Willow started up again, this time inconsolable. Buffy just kept staring at the place where Xander's reflection was suppose to appear. Giles was still searching for an explanation back in the stack, and poor Oz was left standing there, with but one question: "Huh?"
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Late into the night, Giles was still fervently searching through all his books, Buffy was out patrolling, and Willow was still crying with Xander at his house. Oz was left in the library with the Watcher, flipping through some old and musty books that possibly were not even written in English. Then a word caught his eye from a page.
HALF-BREED
Oz squinted and pulled the book closer to him so that he could read the tiny print. In the next ten minutes or so, he was engrossed in an interesting text about a cross between a human and a werewolf, which was caused only when a werewolf didn't completely bite it's victim. It seemed that a half-breed had complete control over when he turned into a werewolf or not, and could change without the need of a full moon: he could do it any time, anywhere, day or night. Cool.
Giles voice broke his concentration. "Did you find anything?" he asked, shifting the weight of the books in his arms and leaning over Oz's shoulder. Oz glanced over at him, and then back at the book.
"Um, no, but I did find something that could help me, I guess. About werewolves."
"Oh," Giles said somewhat detachedly, quickly scanning the page. Several wrinkles sprouted on his forehead. "Perhaps this applies to Xander . . ."
"So, what, he'd be like, half-vampire?" Oz asked. "Like Blade?"
"Hmm, what?' Giles said, coming back to Earth. He gave Oz a quizzical look.
"Um, movie, you wouldn't know. It's about a guy, w-who has all the good traits and some bad traits of a vampire. He can walk in the daylight, has supernatural strength and stuff, but still has to drink blood. I don't know about the reflection thing. Does that sound like Xander?"
Giles shook his head disbelievingly. "It could apply to him yes," Giles said, "but the answer is much too easy. To . . . clean and simple. Nothing is ever wrapped up in such a neat little package in reality."
"Well, who thought that vampires, werewolves, and Hellmouths existed in reality?" Oz tossed back at him, more in curiosity than to intentionally prove him wrong.
"That knowledge was ignored by the human race until it existed only in mythology, but very few know that it is real. Because it * is * real. This 'Blade' you speak of, or a half-breed vampire, exists only in screenplays, and the minds of horror authors and the minds of the majority of the world's population. What's happening to Xander is truly happening, in real life, and not in a motion picture."
"Just a suggestion," Oz muttered under his breath and Giles walked away, taking the book with him just in case Oz's hypothesis was indeed correct. Oz pulled another book from the pile resting on the table and proceeded to look for another case like Xander's, eyes open and aware for the slightest mentioning of lycanthrophy.
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"Willow," Xander asked softly, "are you awake?"
The soft breathing sound from the person who lay next to him told him all that he needed to know. Willow was fast asleep, snuggled next to Xander on his bed, right on top of the remote so that the TV kept switching channels whenever Willow tossed or turned. And she was doing that a lot.
Careful not to wake his best buddy, Xander slowly eased out from beside Willow and got out of bed, all those annoying bones and muscles popping as he stood up and stretched his arms. Yawning widely, he stumbled across his room and into the bathroom.
He sat there, not looking in the mirror, of course, because he was not there, but instead at a photo of him, Buffy, and Willow. He looked at his smiling face and tried to imagine it contorted into the shape of a vampire's face. Then he tried to imagine fangs. He shuddered.
Then a sudden image flashed in his mind. Him, holding Willow, and slowly but surely draining the blood out of her-
With a sudden yelp, Xander threw the photo across the bathroom. One sharp edge met with the wall and the photo tumbled to the floor, ending up stuck in an odd position underneath the clothes hamper-Xander was hidden from view, while Buffy and Willow were still in the picture, smiling widely. If there ever was a metaphor, it was there in plain sight.
"Oh Xander, what are you going to do?" he mumbled to himself, putting his face in his hands. In no way imaginable could he ever deal with this crisis.
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For hours now, Buffy had been calling herself names, telling herself what a horrible person and awful slayer she was, and had generally been piling herself with emotional self-destruction all night long as she patrolled the graveyard, staking the newly-risen vamps easy and with nonchalant indifference. The real problem at hand was that possibly, in a very short while, she might be adding Xander to the "dusted vampire" list.
"Aw, lover, is something wrong? Why so down in the dumps tonight? Is it because your little friend is becoming a soulless demon?"
Buffy froze, and then before turning around, she collected herself. And then she turned around, stake held high.
Angel was only a few feet away from the Slayer, and he chuckled when he noticed the stake she held. "Who are you kidding," he sneered at his ex-girlfriend. "You're not going to use that on me. You can't kill me."
Buffy knew that was true, but she wound her hand tightly around the stake until she thought she would crumble to dust it in her hand. "Why did you come after Xander?" she whispered in a deadly voice. "Why not me? It's me you're after, it's me that you're looking to pay back."
Angel grinned, and it was hideous-looking when he did that with his game face on. "Hurting your friends is hurting you, and you know who I'm looking to hurt. 'Sides-Willow as a vampire? Didn't see it. And who wants Cordelia for an eternity? Don't even get me started at the Watcher of yours."
"Why don't you make me a vampire?" she asked, still with that deathly calm.
"Is that a request?" Angel teased. "I think not, though. I'm having fun torturing you, and if you go and be a demon, they'll be no innocent little thing of a Slayer-" he reached out to touch her ever-so-gently on her chin-"for me to mentally destroy." He stopped touching her and backed away. "And take a hint from Dru-don't try to resist! I always win!"
By the time Buffy collected her wits, Angel had already left. Her bottom lip quivered as she realized how completely helpless she was around him. Who was she kidding? Although Angel was gone, she still held on to the hope that there remained the tiniest vestige of Angel in Angelus, somewhere. But it wasn't true, and it would never happen-yet Buffy continued to fool herself, because love and reality never truly fit together. Two puzzle pieces that look like they match, but no matter how many times you shove them together, they never fit. And eventually, you break one of the pieces, and the puzzle is forever ruined.
"I-I love you, Angel," she whispered to the wind. "I just wish I could let you go."