Drinking your sorrows away, contrary to the popular pop-culture dogma, was about as close to the answer as Xander could get, and somewhere along Faith coming back and watching a bunch of dead cheerleaders doing that routine in his political class, he had made up his mind to accept the financial responsibility attached to perpetual numbness. Sure, alcohol didn't bring happiness or resolution, but what really could? At least it watered down his problem enough that they seemed the distant misadventures of Roger, his kooky persona on Cordy's show. Who cared if Roger was slowly turning insane? Nobody. Xander cared less with every gulp he swallowed.
He couldn't chase the memories away though, they kept flashing back before his eyes. Buffy, Willow, Jesse, Anya, Miss. Calender, Kendra, Joyce, and countless other names. It's funny how leaving someone behind, even though you probably will never see them again, is so much easier than to bury them, or watch them die in your arms. They all danced before his eyes, back from the dead, asking to be heard one more time.
The sword, protruding from Buffy's back.
Anya lifeless in his arms, no goodbyes. Deadboy full of sorrow and excuses..
Sending the medals in the mail, writing the vague letters of apology to the families.
Fingers turning into fists, over countless sufferings. Turning to fist over that nameless kid in the corner of the coffee shop who breaks up with his girlfriend because he's young and wants to see other people. You should be so lucky as to live long enough to fall out of love, thought Xander.
Asmodeus' unforgettable smile.
The warm blood splashing on his face, the browning 9mm, singing it's song.
Joyce lying lifeless in that casket.
The scream amidst gunfire, the bats flying away through the Bolivian night.
"Anybody else made it?" asked Xander shyly as he sat down in the cold metal chair of Lt-Colonel Finn's office. He was still in his muddy fatigue, thick stains of blood, not his own, covered him from head to toes. Riley sadly nodded.
"Heart."
"Well that's a given," said Xande smiling as he stared off, his eyes watering slightly, "I mean, he's a though bastard, ain't he?"
"Yeah… he's gonna be out of action for a month or so, though, hurt his leg."
"Anybody else?"
"Sorry."
"What the fuck happened out there, Riley!" yelled Xander as he pounced to his feet. "These things knew we were coming, they knew!"
"I don't know anymore than you, buddy. The intelligence we received was coded as being extremely accurate. There was no mention of these things."
"We were set-up, that's the only explanation," said Xander, suddenly noticing Riley flinching. "Shit! You know, don't you, you know who set us up!"
"Xander, now don't jump to…"
"Who was it, Riley! Tell me who the fuck is responsible for my men deaths!" yelled Xander as he slammed both hands on the desk, Riley rising to meet him eye to eye.
"Captain, your forgetting your place!"
"Fuck that bullshit Riley! I quit! You knew I was quitting the minute I stepped into your office. Who set us up!"
"I can't tell you that, Xander."
"Why not?"
"Because I know what you're going to do," said Riley sighing as he sat back down.
"Those were our men out there, Riley. My troops, Faith's troops. I was supposed to lead and protect them, keep them alive, and I didn't even have the decency to die with them. Now, you're gonna tell me who did it, or our friendship is over." Riley bought himself a moment before he answered, and then finally ceded.
"You already know who did it, Xander. You don't need me to point out the obvious. Who needed to shut you up for good? Who had the access and clearance to send us a tempered intelligence report. Even better, guess who that report was from?"
One name instantly came to mind, a hateful name he had instinctively suspected but had said nothing until now. Xander fell back, anger growing on his features as the letters escaped his mouth.
"NSA"
And Xander drank. He drank until the children playing in the park were musing pixies and funny anecdotes; he drank until those too were gone, replaced instead by the desertion of a darkening sky. He drank until she walked up to him, dressed in a purple domino and a mask of gore. He lifted his head in a nonchalant manner, barely responding to her presence. He met Willow's dead eyes with only a hint of difficulty, as if he'd resigned himself to this curse.
"I'm too drunk, you know?" he stated in a slurry speech. Willow's brow flinched in anger, her mouth curling for a snarl.
"Too drunk for me to destroy you? You must be joking, it only makes it so much easier to dive into your pathetic mind."
"No…" said Xander as he returned his attention to the near empty flask. "You got it all wrong. I'm too drunk to give a damn. Go ahead, Lecterize me, I don't give a shit anymore."
"Don't try to ignore me, Harris! I've got ways to make you care!"
He just giggled in response to her violent outburst, his left hand discretely slipping into his blue arm support, reaching in for the pistol he dissimulated there. He pounced to his feet, the gun cocking in Willow's face. She didn't seem bothered or surprised, her features, in fact, were relaxing as if this was what she had desired.
"I don't think you want me to care, bitch. Tickling my trigger is a one way road."
"Go ahead shoot me, Xander. Do it, if you got what it takes, Xand. Shoot your bestest bud in the face, make me your martyr again. Do it! You took everything from me, ignored my affection when we were growing up, hurt my feelings, let Buffy, let my best friend die. You're pathetic! Do it Xander, it's fitting that you'd be the one to finish it, Zeppo."
"Shut up, you fuckin' whore!"
Faith swallowed hard. She had expected this conversation to swing down the path of insults, but this was degenerating faster than she had thought it would. The gun in her face, the sound of the NY's nightlife coming from beyond the trees of the empty park, she suddenly asked herself if Xander could really be all that pissed. "I did break his arm," she thought to herself, "and then there's the whole betrayal deal, but what's petty things like that between two old friends?"
"Boy Toy, just chill for a sec, will ya?" she said, her concern returning as she voiced her warnings a second time. "I don't think you get me, you're in trouble. Mason's got this witch pulling this mindgame on you. I came to warn you that I don't think she's interested in just…"
"Shut up! Who do you think you're fooling!"
"Xander?" said Faith weakly, a little more afraid this time.
Buffy stood before Xander, where Willow had been only moments ago. She winced in pain, the sword wound open wide on her belly. Blood flew like a river, and she gasped and moaned, seemingly in terrible torment.
"It hurts, Xander," she pleaded, "It hurts so much, honey! Please, make it stop."
"You know what to do," whispered Willow maliciously in his right ear, when Xander turned his head she had already vanished, speaking now in his left ear. "Free her, Xander, press the trigger. She needs you. Make her pain stop."
"Please Xander, it's me. Help me, please. If you love me you'll press the trigger."
"I don't love you! You're not Buffy. You're a cheap imitation. You're nothing like her, you're nothing period."
In an instant, it was as if the gun had disappeared. All her senses melted into oblivion, she heard only the words leaving Xander's mouth, over and over again. Words like a scalpel dicing her heart, stripping her naked to the essence of her being, suddenly she was exposed; the dreaded fears and secrets revealed for the world to see. She whished for a second the sound she had heard had been that of bullet shattering her skull. It would have been a sweet embrace compared to the words. They made her trembled, and she couldn't tell if she had been able to suppress the tears, or the look of hurt on her face.
Buffy. Always Buffy.
Anger grew inside her, a fury which hell had never known. Her face contorted into a mask of intensity, her body as tense as rock; her fingers cracking under the pressure of her clenched fists.
"You Son of a Bitch!"
"I'm not gonna give you the satisfaction," responded Xander, his eyes reflecting the seed of madness, the total insanity now scratching at the door of his soul.
"C'mon, do it! Pull the trigger. I'll be waitin' for you in hell, where we both belong. You best kill me Harris, cuz I ain't gonna be sayin' hello next time I see ya."
Xander's eyes lit up, what thought when through his mind Faith couldn't phantom, but her heart skipped a beat when she saw his finger tighten around the trigger.
"You there! Put down that weapon!" a voice yelled somewhere to her right. She turned her head and saw two policemen drawing their sidearms. Unfortunately for them, Xander had already spun halfway to meet their threats.
Xander fired at the two demons rushing him from the left. Their heads half-exploding as their respective bullet traveled through their craniums. Suddenly they lied dead, and a feeling of uneasiness, of nausea overcame him. A sick laughter, barely akin to Willow came storming from all around and after spinning frantically he spotted her standing over the bodies of two policemen. The realization of what he had just done hit him like a ton of brick. Horror and nausea overcame his mind as he stared helplessly at the gory tableau. He knew right away the shame he was feeling would only grow and deepen as sobriety took its evil toll.
Willow's laughter slowly came to an end, and silence escaped her mouth as she mouthed off a sentence before phasing out into nothingness. "I now rest on a bed of dead sparrows, realizing happiness lives in between shadows."
Xander was taken aback by a strange sense of familiarity, the words were known to him. Was this one of the poems Willow used to read him growing up, one of the many he had only half listened to? These thoughts clouded his mind as he instinctively jumped on his bike and tore off away from his murder scene, and instead toward the meat packing district, where he knew he'd be unlikely to be a threat to anyone but himself. Guilt rode along side with him as he looked back one last time at the two dead uniformed cops.
The poem. The answered lied in the poem, he was sure of that much.
As he disappeared away in the distance, Faith stood up from behind the tree she had dove behind as soon as Xander had been distracted. She cracked her neck from side to side, anger not giving way, but a cold resolve setting in nonetheless. Xander's words would not be forgotten, he could never be forgiven. She wasn't Buffy, she could never be Miss.Perfect-little-Buffy. But that didn't matter anymore. She wouldn't go away, her vengeance wouldn't wait. Damnation rang her doorbell tonight and she would open the door, once and for all, dragging him along with her.
"The key to focus is first understanding yourself," Xander remembered Hojiro saying this to him one August night as he struck him repeatedly with a bamboo stick. Xander was supposed to meditate under this duress, something he was nowhere close to mastering at the time. "But not in a superficial way, like all those self-help book suggest. You must come to understand every muscle of your body, every inches and molecules. You must be able to taste the very fabric of your soul."
"That's funny, my soul tastes just like blood-- no wait, that's the blood from you beating me in the face with a stick!" he had responded annoyed.
"Xander, I've already given you almost all the tools you'll ever require. Now you just need to develop them. C'mon again, take the position."
As he remembered this, Xander looked around the abandoned warehouse he had picked. She would find him soon, and it would all end, one way or another. The floor was a crooked maze of holes and discarded junk, some of which was long rotted meat. Rats were rampant but knew better than to approach the stranger invading their habitat as he knelt in the seiza position, right in the middle of one of the many squares of light that were projected from the broken windows above. Winter was coming and Xander could feel it's gentle presence in the dark of the night. Looking right and left, he realized he was roughly in the middle of the gigantic room.
He lowered the pistol in front of him, slipping his broken arm out of the blue support. His fingers crossed roughly into the position he'd been taught to use to promote introspection. Fu. Wind. The Wind remembered everything; it carried the dust of the past and the memories of people and things long forgotten. Two years of running away, and now he had to dive back and embrace the pain once more. The answer lied somewhere in the poem and the poem lied in some long forgotten memory. The floodgate would be forever brought down, and Xander borrowed the sensitivity of the Wind element to bring the harmony he needed, now more than ever. There was no more running away.
Standing in the shadows of a sub-urban house, he watched coldly as Special Agent Clark ushered his kids in the backseat before jumping into the driving seat of the SUV. A late night run to the MacDonald no doubt, the fat little bald man did seem to love his kids very much. That sort of thing happened, Xander thought, a father loving his kids.
It had been a two weeks since he and Faith had quit Dragon-12. Riley hadn't blamed Xander for leaving, he had been tempted to do the same himself, and there was no question where Faith's only loyalty lied. Xander and Riley had used their high security clearance to rack up enough government and NSA dirt to ensure there wouldn't be a repeat of the assassination attempt. In case of either Xander and Faith's death or imprisonment, a package would be automatically delivered to every news organization in the world, effectively giving them the kind of immunity diplomats dream about.
Xander watched as Agent Clark answered his cell phone, his voice coming on Xander's own.
"Special Agent Clark."
"Guess who's not dead," there was only silence to answer Xander's question, and soon he continued. "But since your NSA, I bet you already knew that."
"What do you want, Captain? We already received your memo. I can assure you, you're quite safe from us."
"I know that Clark, but you see I got like… this anger management problem. Plus I warned you what would happen if you fucked with people I cared about."
"Captain I…"
"You should have come after me alone, I wouldn't have taken it personal then."
"Listen, if you want to come after me that's find I'm sure you already know…"
"I'm staring at you right now."
Agent Clark looked up and met Xander's eyes from across the street. Xander could see he was trembling, realizing from instinct what was going on. "At least let the kids get out of the car… please, they've done nothing to you."
"Neither had my men to you-- Sorry, Clark. It must be one of those days, because I just can't bring myself to care."
His finger slid onto the button of the remote detonator has Clark yelled for his kids to get out, but they never had a chance. The car exploded before Xander's eyes and in his drunken haze, he savored every snapshot of this fireworks. Inside his rage and hatred were soothed a moment, the filling sensation of a good meal quenching his hunger for vengeance. But it wasn't all, Xander took pleasure in the baseness of his action, the thrill of power rushing over him. For a moment he had been god, choosing who lived and who died, and he loved every second of it. His heart was cold as ice. He couldn't feel a twinge of remorse, and he wouldn't, not until the next morning.
Buffy couldn't face it, wouldn't face it. They were no more different, he and Giles. They didn't speak much of it, understanding the particular tragedy this was for Buffy. No one wanted to say it, but Angel's name came to everyone's mind. The solution was there though, for all to see, but only Spike brought himself to that realization. He stalked off one evening after debating it for about a week and decided the right thing to do was to take care of it himself. Sure, Buffy would hate him, probably even drive a stake through his chest, but when you love someone, sometimes you do what's best for them regardless of the consequences. He couldn't let her go through it again.
His only mistake to his little plan was the round of goodbyes he distributed as discreetly has he could. It didn't take long before the gang pieced it together. They went rushing after him, Buffy mad as hell.
Xander's eyes snapped open as he heard the rats squeaking in the distance. She was here, and it was by far too early, he hadn't found what he was looking for yet, but it didn't matter now, the wheels were in motion his mind would bring him the answer. He closed back his eyes, trusting his instinct better than his senses. He reached out with his feelings and found her presence somewhere, radiating hatred and power. Somehow he wasn't scared, he had the serenity of a samurai, waiting on his second to commit seppuku.
"Couldn't stay away from me, could you? I'm told I have this effect on women."
"Xander, you are the living proof that a sense of humor is not a sign of intelligence," she answered back, and suddenly Xander felt something gnawing at his mind. Somehow he could feel her reaching in, and without quite knowing how he fought back.
"Focus, Xander," he could almost hear Hojiro's thought, "Focus your thoughts."
"Go on, fight me. You can't keep me out for long, and I think I'd prefer to tear your mind apart."
Xander thought of fire, water, earth, air and of void. All the elements combined together and formed perfection, pure energy that flew through him and fueled his defenses. He was the mountain, the burning inferno, the white squall, the tsunami, the very fabric of the universe. He reached out and he felt her. Xander's eyes opened, and thought he could not see her, he knew where she really was. His left hand snapped like a whip and he picked up the pistol, drawing it like a sword, as if he were a Iado master. The shot that rang out was accompanied by a wail of pain. Seconds later, she appeared, her back to him, a figure in a purple domino, limping rapidly for safety, her leg bleeding from the bullet wound.. Xander fired once again but missed barely as she ducked around a corner, heading for the stairs.
There would be no more running.
" 'Figured you'd be here, Red."
"Spike, what a pleasant surprise," answered Willow has she dropped the dead body of a child on the floor. "What owes me this visit, business… or pleasure. I do hope pleasure, you wouldn't believe how flexible this body is." She stood at the old mansion, almost where Acathla had been standing years before. Spike had known the Soulburner would have a flair for the dramatic. Only a week had passed, it only had been allowed to exist for a week, and already the room was filled with the dead bodies of more people than Angelus had racked up in three months.
"Sorry, Red. Pure business," he answered as he raised the browning 9mm. He almost had time to fire it when his arm broke at the elbow with a wave of Willow's wrist. The pistol fell to the floor as a groan escaped his lips.
"Oh, I'm gonna have fun with you, William, Vampires do take so long to die," she smiled evilly as she approached him. Spike's face distorted itself into his vampire features as he set the bone back in. He roared.
"That's right, luv. I am a vampire, and I'm not dead just yet," said Spike as he took a swing at her head.
I planted a tree and watched
it grow, only to see it die and cause my sorrow.
The words rang out a distant truth in Xander's mind as he walked careful across the third floor of the warehouse. He stalked after his adversary with decisiveness, following the trail of blood her injured leg had left behind. He could still feel her striking at his mind, slowly prying every little defense he had left. Soon she would be inside once more, tearing whatever was left of his sanity to shred. He kept low, moving in a crouch out of some instinct for stealth that was probably wasted on a creature with these magical abilities. The floor creaked and moaned, as if wailing for the tragedy that was yet to happen. Somebody was going to die tonight and Xander had to hurry if he didn't want it to be him.
Suddenly she was there, standing in the middle of a darkened hallway, a dozen meters or so ahead of him. Her face was half hidden in the shadows and though he had a clear shot, Xander didn't take it. Something felt off, it was all too easy. She just stood serenely, waiting to die, inviting it. He started stepping carefully forward, and than faster, wanting to close the distance between them. A warmth invaded the skin on his chest, and as he took another step forward, Buffy appeared, her face was full of urgency.
"Xander! Stop!"
He looked down as his body jerked itself backward for balance, his foot hung over a break in the floorboard; where the floor had been moments ago, there was only a deadly fall to one's probable demise. When he looked up Willow was gone, but the image of Buffy remained smiling shyly at him.
"I can help you, if you let me."
Without saying a word, Xander navigated around the pitfall in front of him and continued his search for Willow. There was an added problem now, as she could already affect his mind. He fought hard not to let the realization that he probably had already lost this engagement, and harder not to look back at Buffy. Instead, he simply went on his way doubling his urgency.
I planted a tree and watched
it grow, only to see it die and cause my sorrow.
Xander saw images of a note suddenly. Yellowed paper, left on a bed somewhere, carefully plumed ink, tracing three lines of poetry.
"Anybody ever told you, you hit like a bird, mate?" asked Spike with false, almost comical bravado as he forced himself to his feet. He wavered like a drunkard, supporting himself with his hands pressed on his knees as he spat out some blood, catching the breath he didn't have. He raised his bruised and cut face, and charged once more at Willow with a roar. She still looked as amused by this display as she had had the last ten times he had tried this.
"I am a girl, Spike," she said as she casually backhanded him, making him crumple to the ground. "If you want, I'm sure we can find a way of proving that to you. Wouldn't that be so much better than this?"
The door broke down under Buffy's foot, and the entire Scoobie gang poured inside, all wielding weapons. Spike was lying on his back bloodied and fighting hard to retain consciousness as Willow towered over him, but Buffy was yelling way before she could take this sight into consideration.
"Spike! How dare you? You don't have the right to make this decision! I'm not gonna let you kill Willow!"
"Alright, Slayer," he coughed up as rolled onto his belly and raised himself painfully to a kneeling position. "I'll spare Red, but only cuz you're asking… Cuz I was totally kicking her ass."
Suddenly the sight of the deadbodies everywhere was taken in by everyone and even Buffy could hardly contain her disgust. "My god! Willow."
"I think I'm gonna hurl," stated Dawn, covering her mouth.
"Buffy," whispered Giles in her ear. "She must be stopped."
"Well I'm so glad you could all come," said Willow softly, "I've got something to share with all of you, but I won't lie, I doubt any of you will like it." The grin on her face grew as brisk wind blew the doors shut behind the gang.
I woke in sweat and saw a
grave man, holding my lover's bloodied hand.
He knew it. He could almost feel it, it was on the tip of his tongue. He felt the pang of guilt surging through the memory of that note. His bloodied hand crumpling it to a ball.
Pain.
Suddenly, he felt the lick of the fiery whip on his back once more. Where he had been standing in the middle of large room full of boxes, stacked like gigantic partitions, a labyrinth of discarded junk and rotten meat, he was now in Asmodeus torture chamber. The rancid smell of meat, replaced by the scent of sulfur.
"No," he told himself as he spun around firing in all direction. "She's playing with your mind, it's not real. You've got to fight it, push it down."
The sword protruding from Buffy's back.
His sword at Angel's throat. "I told you I'd be there."
The screams of his men.
Feeling pleasure as he watched Clark and his two kids burn to a blacken crisp.
"It's not real, keep fighting it, push it all down," he kept repeating to himself as he bounced from stacks to stacks, breathless, looking wild as an animal.
The fight was horrible. Fighting Willow felt like fighting a part of themselves, and they lost no matter what happened. She matched Buffy in every way, laughing as if bringing herself down to face the Slayer physically was all a big joke. Every once in a while, she throw a quick spell that Tara did her best to nullify. Willow would wave a hand and a magical force would propel someone through the air and into a wall or a pile of dead bodies.
Spike and Xander paused a moment, watching the stalemate between the Slayer and her once best friend. As he watched, he realized quickly what Spike voiced discreetly to him.
"She's not giving it all she's got, mate. Bloody hell, she's gonna get herself killed soon."
"What do you suppose we do?" asked Xander angry and annoyed, "Tell her to fight harder? Cheer her on?"
"I say you provide a little distraction, just give me a clear shot, I'll take care of it."
"You're insane!" yelled Xander as he grabbed the vampire by his shirt. "I'm not gonna help you kill my best friend. We're not killing, Willow!"
"You're right, we're not killing Willow. She already dead, Harris. We're killing a puppet, that's bleedin' all. I couldn't care less if she killed a hundred people a day, Harris, but eventually, she's gonna kill one of us. She might even kill Buffy or Nibblet and I'm not gonna let that happen. You're gonna have to get it through your thick head that Red is gone. Ask yourself what she would have wanted."
Giles yell of pain interrupted their conversation, as his arm folded backwards breaking severely in two places.
I now rest on a bed of dead sparrows, realizing happiness lives in between shadows.
Yes! Yes! He could almost remember now. The paper, he read it…
That evening in Faith's arms. Walking away from her in Portmammock.
The drugs.
The violence.
The women.
Waking in sweat.
Anya's face, sudden death, without any goodbyes.
Kissing Buffy's bloddied mouth, kissing her one last time.
The warm blood splattering on his face.
Guilt.
Vertigo.
His mind was being torn apart and he roared. Willow's laughter vibrated all around her image was everywhere. He knew from instinct he probably only had one round left, and he was tempted to end it all by turning the gun on himself. He felt as if in a madhouse, the room spinning around him with dreadful clowns everywhere.
"I can help you, if you'll just take my hand," said Buffy, the warmth returning.
"You're not Buffy, you're Skoll. Take another shape. I want nothing to do with you otherwise."
"Stop being immature, Xander. I am Skoll, but I am also Buffy. I have no form, no voice, no existence, I needed to borrow one from you. I brought to life the part of Buffy that was still with you. And here we are, as one, and it is too late for me to change persona, for as far as I'm concern, this is me. I am Buffy and have always been, but at the same time I know I'm Skoll and it's all very confusing. But let me help you, please. I don't think the part of me that has crossed would want you to give up. Take my hand, let me show you."
Xander stared at her hand. She didn't sound quite like Buffy, but somehow he still trusted her image. Somehow he knew she wasn't lying, that she would keep him safe. Free him from the pain and the mind rape he was being subjected to. His hand slipped into hers and as she pulled him forward and kissed him, he felt warmth come over him. He saw his life, as if it were a movie, flash before his eyes, and for the first time in years, he felt a brief moment of peace coming over him. He accepted it finally; he accepted everything that had happened. He had reached, for now at least, a Zen-like state.
Spike's body bounced of a wall before falling unconscious on a top of dead children. He was out for the count and Xander felt something coming over him, a strange kind of dread, as if he could taste the morrow.
Buffy and Willow were at a stand still. Buffy stood on one side of the room, Giles crossbow in her hands, as a drained Willow theatrically offered herself up as a target. She laughed and scowled at Buffy's reluctance to fire.
"Do it Buffy! There's no other way," yelled out Giles. He held back a furious Tara, while Dawn stood by helplessly, unsure of what to do, or whom to side with.
"She won't do it, Ripper. She might be a slayer, but let's face it, she's pathetic. She barely has any killer instinct at all."
"Giles… I can't…"
"Ah C'mon, don't give up so easily. C'mon, take your best shot, you'll never get me so weak again. Tara there sure looks like she won't help you drain me next time, guess you had her real confused about what you came up here to do. Stop playing slayer, do or do not, there is no try, as nerd ass Xander over there would put it."
There were no puns, no comebacks. Xander never heard Buffy's reply, his eyes instead fixed on the Browning 9mm on the floor, his yet to be given wedding gift from Spike. It lied there, carrying a message, a beckoning for the task it had been brought here to accomplish. Slow motion settled in; he threw a glance at the unconscious vampire, and then one at a trembling Buffy. Then the corpses all around invaded his visions, a terrible guilt and disgust rising in him. His eyes finally met up with Giles, who seemed almost taken aback by the sight of tears forming in Xander's eyes. The young man nodded, and Giles returned it, completing a silent exchange, an instinctive understanding.
"Dawn," yelled Giles, "help me get Tara out of here. Now!"
"Noooooo!"
Dawn complied as Tara fought only more arduously. Giles dragged them out of sight, throwing one last sympathetic glance at the young man, who swallowed hard, his own gaze fixated on Buffy.
"What? You can't handle another Angel, is that it?"
"Please, I'll give you anything you want. Take me instead… please."
"Oh for crying out loud! Are you still on negotiation? Are you still at that stage of grieving. For someone who deals with death all the time, you sure don't go through the steps very quickly. You people are…"
Her sentence was stopped midway by the sound of a gun being cocked. Simultaneously, she felt cold metal being pressed against her temple. She turned her eyes slowly, to see Xander trembling as he held the pistol. He looked horrified, yet determined.
"… pathetic."
"Do you really want that to be your last words?" asked Xander nervously stalling.
"Can it Zeppo," said Willow dismissively. Buffy was frozen across the room, staring at the scene with complete confusion as what to hope for, but a resolve to stay as far away from any decision as possible. "You don't have what it takes. Even the slayer here can't do it."
"I'm not her."
"That's right, Xander. You're not, you're just the pathetic sidekick. Why don't you put the gun down, you're embarrassing yourself. You're not gonna do anything, and I'm just gonna keep on killing, and killing, until I decide to finally come after you. Did you really believe, you could shoot me Xander? You couldn't live with the guilt…"
"Maybe not…" he replied weakly.
The blood. The warm blood splattered on his face. The loud pop of the Browning 9mm in his hands was distant and hollow. And he watched, filled with horror and guilt, as Willow' head jerked back, slingshoted by the force of the bullet traveling through her brain and ripping the back of her head as it exited. A red mist floated down long after her body hit the ground; she would never to hear him complete his sentence, "… but I'll learn to."
Willow had a look of disbelief on her face, blood starting to flow over her features. He turned to Buffy, as the pistol slipped out of his grip. She stood frozen across the room, tears in her eyes. He could hear desperate wailing coming from outside.
"That's what she would have wanted," he said, his face drained of all colors, but the tears still firmly held on the edge of his eyes. He turned away before she could say anything and managed a few steps before collapsing to his knees. He made no sound, staring intensely at the floor, until he felt Buffy's arms wrapping around him, pulling him into a tight hug.
And Xander broke down. They both started crying in each other arms, looking for comfort they weren't sure they could find.
Suddenly there was only silence, the chattering voices having died with the visions. He now stood at a crossroad between four wall-sized stacks of boxes, and he turned slowly when he caught a glimpse of a woman in a purple robe. Waving her arms in frustration, repeating incantations after inactions, with no apparent result. He felt her attacks, but they were pointless, drained away just as fast by Skoll. He slowly walked toward her, his face relaxed, a somewhat sad expression on it.
"Work, Dammit! Work! I'm not done with you yet, Murderer!" she screamed at him. "Goddess Hecate, grant me thy…"
"Stop it—it won't work anymore," he said softly, his voice full of sympathy.
"No! You're gonna pay for what you did! Goddess Hecate, I b…"
"Stop it, it's over, now. You're magic won't work on me, not anymore."
"…I b-b-bind…th-thy Goddess Hec-hecate"
"Stop it-- Tara."
Tara looked up when she heard her name; she pushed the hood of her face, revealing her long blond hair. Her face had become hardened over the years since Xander had last seen her; gone was the sweet and shy young woman he had known. He remembered now, the note he had found on her bed when he had went to her apartment, after escaping Buffy's watchful guard, after wandering the streets for hours and taking on those three vampires attacking that Japanese kid, and after meeting Hojiro at the hospital. She had already packed up and left, and the words on that yellowed parchment had told the tale of her departure.
"I planted a tree and watched
it grow, only to see it die and cause my sorrow.
I woke in sweat and saw a
grave man, holding my lover's bloodied hand.
I now rest on a bed of dead sparrows, realizing happiness lives in between shadows."
Her eyes were full of rage, with only a hint of surprise at the use of her name. He stopped within arm reach of her, and gave her another sad smile.
"Don't look so surprised, it's not like I got smart or anything. You're the one who told me. You wanted me to know it was you, so you could truly have your revenge; you needed me to know it was you that was doing this to me. That's why you were mouthing that poem."
"I thanked the goddess when I found out you where the guy Mason had hired me to burn. It was fate, giving me what I've longed for, for the past five years. I was going to get paid to make you suffer. You're a murderer, Xander Harris, and it's time you give the devil his due. And don't think because my magic isn't working on you that you're safe, there are other ways for me to kill you."
"You're right about that, Tara," said Xander, and he suddenly raised the pistol toward her, presenting the butt of the weapon.
"Wh-what do you think you're doing?"
"My life is yours, Tara. It always was, all you ever needed to do was ask."
"No…" she spat after a moment of shock. "No, I'm not going to l-let you g-get all noble. You're gonna pay, you deserve to die like a dog."
"Tara, you've just been inside my mind for the last twenty-four hours, I think you'd agree with me that noble, isn't exactly something you'd pin on me. I deserve to die. I failed her, just like I failed Cordy, Anya and Buffy… and Faith too. If my death can bring you a smidget of peace than do it, because frankly, I'm not sure I can keep on going anyways. I loose… I fail everybody I love, I watch them slip away and die…"
"You didn't love her! Don't lie! You didn't love her. If you did you wouldn't have killed her."
"Hey!" yelled Xander violently enough to make Tara jump back, "I loved Willow, I will always love Willow. I loved her years before you even knew she existed. Say what you want about me, I am scum, I am a worthless murderer, but I loved Willow, and you damn know it too. Killing her was the hardest thing I ever had to do, and if I was given another chance I wouldn't go through with it. I would have died instead of her if I could had, I would still, and more than that, looking back, I'd gladly trade the lives of hundreds of people a week just to have some piece of her still be with us… but Willow wouldn't have wanted it that way…"
"How d-dare you!" spat Tara as tears flooded her face, "How dare you! Willow wouldn't have wanted this! She n-never would have left me…"
"Willow wasn't the only one that died that evening, Tara. If you want to finish the job…"
"Shut up!" shrieked Tara as she launched herself at Xander. Her hand flew wildly as she inexpertly flailed him with punches and slaps at his faces and his torso. Xander took them without protest, his sad smile returning as Tara's sob pierced through the sound of her intermittent yelling. "Shut up! I hate you! Fight back dammit, I want you too sufferer." Her voices weakened and so did her blows as the sobs grew louder and louder, eventually overcoming her. "You bastard! She wouldn't have wanted this, she never would have wanted this."
She fell and Xander caught her, he pulled her into a tight hug that she hesitantly returned after trying to fight her way out of it for a moment. "She never would have wanted to leave me, she never would have done this t-to m-me…n-never w-would have left me a-lone."
"You know that's not true, Tara. Willow knew you had us to take care of you. If only you'd let us. I would have left if you'd asked." Tara's arms tightened like iron around Xander's torso and she buried her face on his shoulder, her crying becoming one long wailed.
"I just w-want her b-back… I loved her so much."
"I know, Tara, I know." They stayed there for a moment on their knees, amid a palace of broken things and discarded junk. They knelt in an hallow of light coming from above holding on to each other as if kingdom came, their stares fixed in opposite direction of the hallway. They were frozen in time, their skin in this light taking on the a pale gray color of marble, as if they really were some statue abandoned with the rest of the trinkets.
"I'm s-s-sorry… I hated you so m-much, thought I could k-ill the p-pain along with y-you. I just wanted my Willow back."
"No, I'm sorry, Tara. I wish there was a way I could give her back to you… to us."
"Oh my god," said Tara as she cupped her mouth in horror. "The t-two c-cops… I-I was s-so blind with rage…I made y-you"
"Forget about it," said Xander as he pulled her back into the hug. He stared of into the distance as she clung to him like salvation itself. "I took the shot. Shit happens, good people die; the whole world is gonna burn anyway."
"But I m-made you… the things I did to you…"
"I can live with a little more guilt, Tara. That's the funny thing about guilt, once you reach a certain amount, you sort of plateau. Anyways, all you really made me do Tara, is realize that some things aren't meant to stay in the past. Shit happens…"
"… Good people die…" she said joining in.
"… Love fades away…"
"… Friends t-turn to enemies…"
"… But sometimes, just some times…"
"… Families are reunited…."
The dust had settled in the gang's little house in the Bronx where Garrett, his nose and pinkie all bandaged up, whined loudly at the damage that had been dealt to his precious rug and sofa. Katrina rolled her eyes, but still indulged him in his complaining, while Marcus grunted as he and Sanaz placed down the new television they had just purchased to replace its deceased predecessor.
"You know, maybe you should ease up on Xan a bit, I mean there is the whole 'not on purpose, just sort of crazy because something is messing with my mind' excuse that kind of give him my votes on the forgiveness scale."
"Listen, Katrina, I'm not one to be self-centered, much less to hold a grudge," said Garrett, raising a few eyebrows in the room, " but in this case, I'm willing to make an exception—He shot the TV, that makes it personal. Nobody shoots my TV."
"Ah c'mon, we got a brand new one, dog. High definition, digital, better picture…. Man, I can't wait to see how Cordelia Chase is gonna look on this thing."
"Listen, the new TV is all good and all, but who gets suckered into paying for it, huh? Just because I'm rich, it doesn't mean you guys can just keep exploiting me like this."
"I-I'll pay for it," said an unfamiliar voice from the hallway. The group turned around to see a blonde woman in her mid-twenties, dressed in blue jeans and a purple tank top. She fiddled with her hair nervously and was careful to avoid their stares. Xander stood next to the strange woman, laying his hand on her shoulder to offer some support.
"Guys, I'd like you to meet my friend Tara."
Xander sighed as he sat on his bed, slipping off his shoes and dressing down to his boxers. He couldn't wipe the smile off his face. Tara had agreed to stay in town for a week so they could catch up before heading back to Seattle where she lived now and tonight had been so much fun, though he did feel a bit guilty about fueling Garrett's fantasy that he had a shot with Tara. However, imagining the look on his face once he would find out just how much he didn't come close to being her type by far made up for it.
After she apologized for what she had put them threw, the awkwardness quickly faded and soon the evening had turned into a small shin-ding. His friends never pried into her reasons or tried to dig for more than a few funny anecdotes about Xander's past; they respect his privacy and he took note of that and the fact he was so lucky to have friends that were so understanding.
He thought about that for a moment, and realized the pain of this experience had really brought him some wisdom. He wouldn't run from his past anymore.
He pulled out his photo album, and other articles he had kept buried inside his drawer; no longer would he allowed them to lie dormant. After today they would be displayed for the world to see. He slipped a photo of the old gang inside a silver frame; Buffy, Willow, Giles, Riley, Dawn, Joyce, Tara and Anya. He hadn't known which one to use at first but this one had called out to him for some reason, probably because that was the last time he remembered everyone being happy and alive. Then came the second frame, a golden one that someone called for a terribly hard decision to be made. After careful deliberation, he realized there had only really been one option all along and slipped the photo of him and Faith together in Portmammock. Somehow, it felt like the right one to pick.
As nostalgia came over him from staring at Faith's beautiful face, he dug into his treasure chest once more and pulled out a familiar CD, not noticing the sound of his window being gently slid open.
Faith had climbed up the side of the house with ease and had waited carefully for the right moment to sneak into the room itself. As Xander busied himself with his stereo Faith swung a leg inside the room and then the other, her feet landing soundlessly on the floor. Her mind was chattering with angry screams and hundreds of images, slow motion replays of her killing Xander in more and more creative ways. She silently drew her pistol; sometimes creativity isn't worth the trouble. She had a thirst for his blood; her features cold as the same ice her heart had been carved out from. She raised the pistol and aimed it at his unsuspecting head.
"Here's a health to you bonny
Kellswater, where you get all the pleasures of life,
Where you get all the fishing and fowling, and a bonny wee lass for your wife."
Xander had just pressed play when he felt a presence behind him; he had been so lost in his thoughts that he had let down his guard. He was about to spin around when he heard the cocking of a pistol. He tensed up, for an instant and then resigned himself just as the first notes from "Kellswater" started playing. Somehow he knew who it was.
"Oh it's down where yon
waters run muddy, I'm afraid they will never run clear,
And it's when I begin for to study, my mind is on him that's not here."
"What are you waiting for, Faith? You got me," he asked without turning to face her. His body relaxed and he waited patiently and with very little fear for her to finish the job. "If it means anything to you… I'm sorry."
"And it's this one and that
one may court him, but if any one gets him but me,
It's early and late I will curse them, the parting lovely Willie from me."
"Shut up! I don't need your pity!" she yelled, loosing her cool. At hearing "Kellswater" come onto the stereo, her resolved face at instantly melted to confusion. She trembled shifting her weight back and forward, unsure of what to do now. Between the anger and the memories rushing in, she had no idea of what she wanted anymore.
"Oh a father he calls on his
daughter, two choices I'll give unto thee,
Would you rather see Willie's ship a sailing, see him hung like a dog on yonder tree."
"I know you don't… so why don't you get on with it?" he stated stoically.
Through an acre of fire I would travel, along with the lovely Willie to be."
She raised and lowered the pistol a few times cursing herself silently, jumping back from one desire to the other, and round again. She raised the gun one last time, and put on a brave face, her features reflecting anger. Her breathing accelerated, becoming more and more audible. Her finger started to tighten around the trigger when she suddenly caught a glimpse of the picture in the golden frame…
"Oh hard was the heartbreak
I'm finding, she took from her full heart's delight,
May the chains of old Ireland come find them, and softly their pillows at night."
The pistol made a large thud when it hit the ground. Xander's eyes shot opened in surprise; he had been wondering why this was taking so long, but now he was positively confused. He slowly turned around and took an instant to analyze the strange expression on Faith's face.
"Oh yonder there's a ship on
the ocean, and she does not know which way to steer,
From the east and the west she's a-blowing, she reminds me of the charms of my dear."
"How 'bout a time out?" she asked almost pleadingly, her voice as weak as he'd ever heard it.
"Oh it's yonder my Willie
will be coming, he said he'd be here in the spring,
And it's down by yon green shades I'll meet him, and among wild roses we'll sing."
Faith's heart skipped a beat when Xander turned away from her without saying anything. "I'm so stupid!" she thought to herself, "I should have known better." Her thoughts were halted by the sound of the door being locked. She looked up from the floor and saw Xander staring deeply into her eyes. She had never been more scared in her life.
"For a gold ring be placed on
my finger, saying love bear this in your mind,
If ever I sail from old Ireland, you'll mind I'll not leave you behind."
Without saying another word they moved simultaneously into each other's embrace, as if they were pulled by some gravitational force. Their lips met in a passionate kiss that grew exponentially, their hunger for each other consuming them completely. Faith hurriedly discarded her clothes as they made their way toward the bed, breaking their passion only for the briefest of moments. Their breath accelerating together, their hearts becoming synchronous; they entered a dance they had both long forgotten. For an instant in their troubled lives, nothing mattered anymore but the thirst they felt for each other, and how many hours they had until morning.
"Here's a health to you bonny
Kellswater, where you get all the pleasures of life,
Where you get all the fishing and fowling, and a bonny wee lass for your wife."
COMING SOON!!!
BETWEEN SHADOWS episode VI THE ART OF WAR