"Xander, where were you?" Willow appeared out from Giles' office, and one glance at her friend sent her into major alarm-mode. "Oh my God, are you ok?!" she cried shrilly, running over to her friend.
"Fine . . . just . . . fine," Xander managed to say between deep, calming breaths. His head was so dizzy that she lost balance for only a moment, but Willow reached out to support him. The soft touch of her hands on his chest sent a searing pain through him, and Xander yelped in pain. "Ouch! Willow, off, off! Sunburn!"
Willow's eyes widened, and then she quickly pulled away. Xander was trying to accommodate himself in his chair when he noticed the size of the redhead's eyes. "Don't be so surprised," he said nastily, straightening his shirt.
When he saw Willow's hurt expression, he softened. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm just not in the best of moods." He sighed. "I went driving, and then I walked. A very long walk. All the way here."
"But you don't have a driver's license," Willow said slowly, trying to piece together what he was saying. Then she sucked in her breath. "You wrecked the car, didn't you?" she asked.
"No . . . yes." Xander lifted his head off the table and instead placed it in his hands. "I was leaving the rest station, not really looking where I was going, and BAM! Right into a tree." He chewed on his lip, which looked as though they had already been through several sessions. "But I lived. And there are worse ways to die."
Willow smiled weakly and him, and then glanced at the journal which was ominously discarded at the center of the table. "We found something," she said faintly.
"I trust it's not good," Xander judged from the tone of her voice. "Can I see?"
Willow was once again on the verge of tears as she handed Xander the floppy, ratty old journal. "Page's bookmarked," Willow said as Xander flipped through the thin, yellowed pages. She sat down next to him, waiting patiently as he read the passage.
When he was finished, he gently closed the book and placed it as far away from him as he could without having to stand up. He stared at it, eyes blank as if he were looking at something in another time and place. A little moan escaped his throat.
"So I guess now you know what to do," he intoned dully.
Willow gave him a startled look. "Huh? What?"
"Now you know what to do," Xander repeated, his voice slightly jagged. "Chain me up, find I'm a demon, slay, party, and then slay another soulless vampire the next night. And life goes on."
"How can you * say * that?" Willow asked, her voice rising higher and higher. "How can you think we can do that?"
"Easy," Xander said smoothly. "That's what needs to be done. And I'm sure Buffy'll be able to do it. She can't slay Dead Boy, but she'd slay me in an instant. She's sick like that."
"Lovesick," Willow added softly. Xander snorted rudely, and then looked away.
They heard footfalls on the steps, and Giles appeared behind them. "Xander," he said, nodding and acknowledging that he was there. "H-have you read . . .?"
"Yeah," Xander answered. "And I just have one question." He twisted uncomfortably in his seat and wiped his brow. "How many days do I have left?"
Giles hesitated, knowing that Xander would not like the answer. "One day," he said. "Two days if you are lucky. But the chances of that are very slim." He paused. "So sorry."
"Don't be," Xander growled, anger and resentment seeping into his voice. "This is my fault. * I * drank Angel's blood: I wanted to and I enjoyed it. And Buffy's the top contender: if she'd been thinking with her head and not her * hormones *, I wouldn't be sitting here now, worrying about sprouting fangs in 24 hours. And you, Giles, would be having smoochies and who-knows-what-else with Ms. Calendar." He shifted his gaze to Willow. "And you would have your fish."
The library was silent for a moment, then Xander plucked angrily at his shirt. "Dammit, is anybody else * hot * in here?"
"Listen to me," Giles said, breaking the heavy curtain around the trio. "This is not your fault at * all *. You were seconds away from death, and Angel offered you life once more. No matter what free will a human being is capable of, it cannot override the ancestral urge to survive, which is forever stamped in your DNA."
Xander looked at him, confused. Giles sighed, and continued.
"Think of someone who has survived a suicide attempt. 99% of them say that at their point-of-death, when they are that close to passing over, they do everything possible to survive. It makes you feel somewhat sorry for the persons who do die-but that is not the point. The point is that Angel's blood was * there *, and no matter how strongly you knew it was wrong, your mind was not functioning properly, and all you knew is that you wanted to survive. And that was the only way. It was not your fault at all."
Xander raised his eyebrows. "You haven't convinced me," he said sadly.
Giles sighed. "Xander, you-"
Xander held up his hand as the hair on the back of his neck rose. He turned to his left and to his right, and then stared at the Journal in front of him. He looked as though he was listening to something far away.
"Buffy's coming," she said in an odd, detached voice.
"How do you know?" Willow asked.
"I have * no * idea," Xander said, still listening to whatever he was hearing. "But-she's right outside now-"
Buffy entered the room, dressed in a long overcoat and high pumps. She saw Xander at the table and then demanded, "Why weren't you at your house?"
Xander's eyebrows shot up. " * What * ? When do I suddenly have to report to * you * as to where * I'm * going?"
Buffy's shield was a little thrown off by the furiousness that seethed in Xander's voice, but she held on to her own. "I didn't know where you had gone or what you happened to you," she replied. "I care what happens to a friend."
Xander was absolutely still-no breathing, no shaking, no blinking whatsoever. Then he sucked a deep breath in.
"Oh, so, Buffy, you care about a friend. You care about * all * your friends. Yeah, right, I can believe you. If you really * cared *, you would've sent Angel off to Malaysia or whatever, getting us rid of him forever. Instead, you had to do the Mattress Olympics with that * vampire * . Now your little world is crumbling around you, but you can't see past the falling walls. All you can see is Angel in that killer of an ex-boyfriend, and lemme tell you, he's a killer, all right. And he's showing you just how great a killer he can be."
Buffy was hurt, but she was about tired of Xander's cruel mentions of Angel. "Leave Angel alone," Buffy said, matching the spite in her friend's tone. "And he is not after you he's after me."
"We already had * that * discussion," Xander sighed, narrowing his eyes and remembering the ordeal at the cemetery.
"Angel came to me again last night," Buffy said. "And he says that you were his target to hurt me, Xander. You were right. And I'm so sorry. But I'm going to make up for it, I swear. Angel's going down."
Xander laughed, one so cruel and calculating that Willow had to refrain from gasping. "I hear 'going', so I say that you didn't kill the bastard last night while you two were having you're little talk. Obviously, if you couldn't do it then, you'll never do it later. And Buffy, I blame you. Blame you for everything. But go ahead and * not * kill Angel. Wait'll you see the carnage, and then you'll * know * what the hell you were doing wrong then."
Buffy was smarted. This was a crueler version of an already tactless Xander, and she wasn't sure how much she could take from him/it. "I'm going through a lot, too," Buffy shot back at him. "I can't just forget all that I ever felt for him!"
" * It * !" Xander practically yelled at her. "What you felt for * it * ! And now * it's * out there, probably killing tens of people around town, while you're here arguing with me about fuzzy feelings for this * monster * ." He cupped his hands around his mouth. " * Angel died the night you f-ked him! Now there's Angelus, and he is * using * him against you. Let * go * ! Don't dwell on what * was * !"
The Slayer and the vampire-to-be were there, just glaring at each other, shooting daggers with their eyes. And then Xander shot up out of his chair and strode to the doors.
"See you tomorrow," he growled as he left. "I'll be ready for the chains."
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"Nothing like the Bronze to cheer me up."
Xander Harris stood outside the Bronze, hiding in the shadows cast in the alleys. He watched teen after teen enter the Bronze and pal around with the new bouncer, a meek little man who didn't really do what his job entitled. * That used to be me * Xander thought.
Then Xander gave himself a mental slap in the face and told the thinking idiot that it was * still * him. He had one day left as a mortal, and since he didn't want to see anybody but a quarantined Cordelia, the only things left to keep him busy were brooding or going to the Bronze. And he sure as hell wasn't going to turn into Angel in five seconds flat. Give it five days.
Xander fell in step behind a pair of necking lovebirds, and waited as they convinced the guy to let them on in free of charge. The bouncer, after trying to talk them out of convincing him, gave up and stamped their hands before they were allowed to enter. Then Xander stepped up, rooting around in his pant pockets for cash.
"Uh, that's ok, sir," said the bouncer quickly. Xander looked up to give the man a confused look. "You go on in right ahead." He motioned for Xander to enter, and without putting up much of a fight, Xander shrugged and headed on in. If he was lucky, he could also get a free beer or two at the bar.
He walked onto the dance floor, which was thick and pulsating with couples dancing to the rhythm of the CD songs they were playing on-stage. No live entertainment tonight. Xander tried to squeeze through the dancing persons when he felt someone grab his shoulder.
"Hey," said a voice behind him, and Xander turned around to see a kid about his age grinning widely and nodding towards two girls standing on a dark corner of the far wall. "Twins. Wanna share?"
"Uh, no thanks." The kid shrugged and then brushed of his jacket, saying "It's cool" and walking over to the girls. Xander gave him a strange look, and then decided that he needed a drink really fast.
He headed over to the bar, ready to order a Coke and a sandwich or something. He sat up on one of the stools and waited till a pretty blond in something red and velvety that pushed beyond the limits of a miniskirt came in front of him.
"So, what do you want?" she asked, totally somewhere else and smacking her gum loudly. She looked at Xander with a bored expression on her pretty face.
"Um, Coke and a sandwich," Xander muttered. The girl raised her eyebrows.
"Sure you don't wanna beer?" she asked.
Now it was Xander's turned to be confused yet again. "How old do I look?" he asked, wondering what the hell was going on tonight.
"27, jeez, that's what mirrors are for. Do you own one?" The girl set about to pouring him a mug of frosty beer, with the froth foaming over the top of the can, running into a sticky puddle already on the counter. She grabbed a wrapped sandwich from a pile in a basket and slammed it down before him. "Anything else?"
"No," Xander said, tossing a few dollar bills on the counter. Velvet Blond scooped them up and stuffed them into her apron. She grabbed a plastic cup from the stack next to the soda machine and began to fill it with Sprite, humming some tune from a movie.
Xander had slid off the counter and turned away when he heard Velvet Blond scream out in pain. He turned back to see the cup of Sprite tossed away on the counter, and Velvet Blond holding her left hand with her right. The left hand was sliced down the middle, and blood was trickling out from the thin, perfect cut.
Xander stood there, frozen to the spot, and other girls in the bar rushed to help her. All he could hear, suddenly, was the heartbeat of the Velvet Blond that thrummed loudly in his ears. He suddenly felt a hunger he had never experienced before, and he licked his lips at the faintest sight of the blood. He wanted to lick it off her hand; he wanted to bite down hard and draw more blood. He wanted to eat.
Something growled, and at first Xander feared that it was him, but it was instead his stomach. The room had gone kaleidoscope on him, and all he could smell, hear, and see was the blood.
And then he ran.
Xander just dropped all his food, and as the beer mug crashed to the floor, he was already out of the Club The next thing Xander knew he was lying in a pile of overturned trashcans, hands clamped tightly over his mouth and slowly counting to ten.
By the time he reached ten, he had calmed significantly down. The lust was gone, and he barely remembered what had happened in there. It was ok . . . and then the image of the girl's hands dripping with the sweet blood filled his mind, and the strangest thing happened.
At first, it felt as though someone were pricking his face with needles. Then it felt as though his skin had taken on a mind of his own, and so rapidly he hardly felt it, it just * moved * across his face with it's own accord. Suddenly the alleyway around him twisted into a square and then stood upright again, although this time he could see everything from the tiniest speck of dirt on the wall several feet away to the large "Say No To Drugs" sign hanging on the same structure. His mouth felt like suddenly he had sprouted a million more teeth, and his cheekbones must have risen an inch or so.
Although this happened in mere seconds, Xander realized what had happened. He had no mirror to look into to justify his guess, but he would bet his remaining hours of living that he had his game face on.