TITLE: Dark Room (5/?)
AUTHOR: Wicked Raygun
E-MAIL: wicked_raygun@yahoo.com
SUMMARY: Where does a person draw the line between love and obsession?
RATING: R. Just to be safe anyway. Nothing *really* bad is going to happen… Trust me.
SPOILERS: General spoilers for seasons 1 through 6. Any spoilers from season 7 simply happen because they fit with the story I want to tell.
DISCLAIMOR: I refuse to believe this is necessary. Does anyone here actually believe I own this stuff in any way? Well… To the folks who do own a piece of the Buffster and/or her friends and enemies, I mean you no harm. I'm simply borrowing your toys to put on a little puppet show. I promise to bring them all back in near-mint condition. Even Spike.
FEEDBACK: Everyone needs a little love. It makes the world go round and writers post faster.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: If you're expecting fluffy bunnies and cute endings run away in fear right now. I'm writing a mature story, where adult themes such as violence, rage, obsession, stalking and, yes… gasp, even sex are mentioned. If you cannot deal with that, please, go somewhere else. Or better yet, just grow up.
Special thanks must be given to my online friend Lori Bush, who is an amazing writer who for some reason that I cannot begin to comprehend seems to actually want to read my work and help me improve it. Here's hoping her sanity doesn't kick in anytime soon. For those of you who are interested in reading one or ten of her fabulous stories, they can be found here:
http://tedjoxertimandmore.homestead.com/XanderStories.html
Please leave many, many reviews so that she may be inspired to write many more stories.
Also, for those who are interested in some of my other work, including Hero Complex, and Nonsense, it can be found here:
http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=79383
And here:
http://wickedraygun.herocomplex.co.uk/
That's my brand spanking new website, created by the wonderful and talented Joanne W. and was the coolest Christmas gift ever! Please, go to her site, read her fine work and leave many reviews for her as well.
http://www.herocomplex.co.uk/
Now, onto the show.
************
Chapter Five
************
Morgan stepped into her apartment, threw the many, many bags in her hands on the floor, walked over to her couch, grabbed one of the soft, round pillows that decorated it, shoved it against her face and then proceeded to scream.
Her therapy finally complete, she removed the pillow from her face and gasped for air.
That had easily been one of the most humiliating experiences of her life, she reflected.
She had gone out to get herself made over. Hair, nails, some stylish clothes: the works. She didn't think it was going to be very hard. Of course, she hadn't anticipated all the snide comments she would get. The various clothing stores were pretty bad, but in the end once she had established that she had a credit card with a ridiculously high limit and that she had no qualms over spending some money, the retail people all but fell over themselves trying to help her and claim the commission.
The beauty salon had been a completely different experience, however. It was nothing but two hours of reprimands about not taking care of herself. The manicurist took one look at her toenails and then theatrically looked to the sky and asked God if she were being punished for something. The hair stylist just kept going on and on about various conditioners and hair treatments involving an assortment of fruits, vegetables and grains. At one point, she asked her if she at least brushed her hair once a day. When Morgan lied that she did, the stylist scoffed sarcastically and muttered something along the lines of, "They never admit it." In the end she bought half the products the stylist had suggested just to shut her up.
But of course, through it all, she could all but hear her mother's voice making remarks that may have been intended as compliments but nevertheless only resulted in her feeling more dejected. It was as if her mother had been there in spirit to make her feel small and miserable.
But now she was home. The nightmare was over. She was safely anonymous within the walls of her apartment again. And after looking herself over in the mirror, she had to admit to herself that she did feel a little more confident. She smiled lightly to herself and mused that it really hadn't been all that bad. Not something she would want to repeat in the very near future, but all in all not so bad.
She stepped closer to the mirror and admired her hair's new length. Just a little past her shoulders now, and smoother to the touch than it had been before. Well, maybe she would make more of an effort and actually use those expensive shampoos and conditioners she bought. The stylist had also suggested a lighter coloring to her hair, but looking at herself now, she was glad that she had elected to stay with her natural hair color. Her brown hair felt much more vibrant now, and it felt good to know that her own hair could do that.
She examined her face, in particular her once thick eyebrows, which had been plucked and now were only soft curving lines. Plucking her eyebrows on a regular basis was not very appealing, but if this alluring effect was the outcome, then she would make the time. Turning her head this way and that, she had to admit that she never felt so feminine in her life.
She smiled again, and thought that perhaps tonight she would go out to be seen.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
"There's never going to be an 'us,' again, he says. We both know it, he says. Well, what if I didn't, huh?!?" Anya nearly yelled before grasping the bartender by his sleeve. "Did he even think of that? Or was the overwhelming pain of us being around each other just too much?"
"Ma'am, if you don't let me go, I'm going to have to call the police," the bartender said warily. He'd been told that some of the clientele at The Bronze could get a little rowdy at night.
Anya did let him go, but more in a gesture of distaste than any fear of the wrath of Sunnydale's finest being brought down upon her. "And, oh, God! Look at me!" she continued, while looking over herself as if she had grown new appendages. "I'm ranting and raving to some bartender in The Bronze who's probably going to be eaten very soon!"
At this, the bartender, sounding a little panicked, interjected, "I'm sorry, what? Eaten? Who's getting eaten?"
Anya broke off from her rant-induced stupor long enough to unconvincingly placate him. "There, there, I'm sure it'll be painless."
The bartender just looked at her oddly, and mouthed, "Eaten?"
"But back to me! I can practically feel the vapors of pain and desperation coming off of me. And he did this to me." She paused for a moment, her anger subsiding long enough for the hurt of it all to go through her. "He did this to me," she repeated sadly. "How dare he!?!" she seethed, her anger returning to her like the great defense mechanism it was.
The bartender scratched his head. Now that he thought about it, many of his coworkers did have an alarming habit of just not ever showing up again… But eaten?
"I mean, last time I checked, he was the one who left someone at the altar. And even I know that's a big no-no with humans. He should be on his knees thanking every god in existence that I didn't flambé his testicles, but, instead, he tries to make me feel bad. Me!" she said before downing a shot of scotch. "And doing a really good job of it," she finished somberly. She held up the shot glass to the barman. "More."
As he poured her drink, the bartender started to think back to when he used to frequent The Bronze when he was younger. He realized that, even though, he used to come by almost every single night, he couldn't ever remember seeing any of the employees working there more than once.
"I mean, he could've mentioned before we went out that he was the most difficult man to hate on the planet. And believe me, I've tried. Sold my soul and everything, not that that helped at all," she said as she stared into her shot glass. "Because, surprise, surprise, still in love with him. And I can't tell you how annoying that is."
The bartender looked around, finally noticing the faded, ancient-looking "Help Wanted" sign that had hung there since he got this job a month and a half ago. And with a little effort, he realized that the sign had been there since when he was frequenting The Bronze as a teenager. It was never ever taken down. Almost as if the owner knew that the help wasn't going to stick around for long, he thought with a grimace.
Anya threw back the shot of scotch, closing her eyes and wincing as the liquor made its way down her throat. She shivered and the hand holding the shot came down, while the other raised itself into the air to hold up one finger, as if to ask for a timeout for her system to accommodate the alcohol. She gasped for breath, once that had passed, and then indicated for the bartender to hit her again.
The bartender looked at her, then at the bottle in his hands, blinked twice, and then set the bottle in front of her. "You know what?" he said, "Go ahead and finish the rest of the bottle. Seriously, go nuts. Because I quit." He undid the apron around his body and then threw it atop the counter. "I am not going to be eaten," he muttered to himself repeatedly as he walked out, remembering to give the owner the finger on his way out.
Anya watched him leave, and spoke to his retreating form. "Oh, sure, why don't you abandon me too?!? It's not like I have any issues with that!" she said loudly. "Or that I need anyone, right now," she finished sadly before pouring herself another shot of scotch.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
She looked miserable, Morgan thought from the shadowy corner she had been watching her from. Good, she thought. She deserved to feel miserable. Morgan remembered seeing her a few times when she watched Xander. He always seemed to look especially hurt after being around her. And that bothered her. A lot.
It was obvious to her that the two of them had some sort of relationship; possibly, a very serious one from the way they acted around each other. While it was true that she didn't know the circumstances of their falling out, she couldn't help but feel sympathetic toward him.
So right now, seeing her being hurt, gave her no small amount of pleasure.
Morgan smirked a little. She wasn't sure what was happening anymore. All she knew was that she was tired of watching from behind her lens. Her mind made up, she walked up from behind her.
"Morgan," she practically said in her ear.
Anya sat up straight and then turned around to face Morgan. She looked at her for a moment before she realized who she was. "Oh, it's you." Anya smiled contemptuously at her, dismissing her completely, then turned around again to pour herself another shot. Morgan tapped her shoulder. Anya turned around slowly and attempted to blink away the woozy effect from all the alcohol as she regarded Morgan again. After a semblance of sobriety kicked in, Anya said confused, "You're still here?"
"My name's Morgan."
"Yes, very fascinating," Anya said sarcastically. "Now, why are you still talking to me?"
"You're hurting him. And it's not right."
Anya laughed. "Me? Hurt Xander?" She laughed again with a hiccup. "In what wish-granted reality?" Anya stopped laughing, and looked to the floor, sulking. "Leave me alone now," she said while turning to the bar again.
Morgan for some reason she couldn't even justify to herself, didn't move. Anya sensed this and turned around again, angrier than before.
"Look, I think it's real cute that you went through the trouble to try and impress me and mark your territory like those strange, shaggy, smelly dogs that pee on trees, but, believe me, you're wasting your time with him. I know that better than anyone," she said, slurring some of the words.
When Morgan didn't do anything except seethe, Anya continued, her voice sounding much more sober than it had only moments before, "No matter what you do, he'll never really love you. He'll want you; he'll need you; he'll use you; but he'll never love you. He just doesn't have it in him for that."
"Maybe he just needs someone who understands him," Morgan offered acidly.
Anya laughed hard, her guffaws eventually developing a snort to them as she struggled to reclaim her self-control. When she was almost calm again, her breathing hitching with half-chuckles, she spared a glance to Morgan and began laughing even louder than before.
Morgan, meanwhile, was struggling to maintain the anger that had kept her here, talking to this woman she didn't know, despite the hated embarrassment and attention it drew to her. With each laugh reminding her of uncomfortable and painful memories of her past, Morgan's resolve to stay waned. Mustering the last of her dignity, she turned to walk away.
Anya saw this, and stopped her with a raised hand, asking for the time to compose herself. One last chuckle and then Anya breathed deeply, ready to continue.
"You don't know him. Besides, if you did, you'd know that he'll only ever love them," she said bitterly. She paused for a moment, obviously upset with what she had said. "Actually, he'll only ever love her," she growled.
Morgan's anger shifted to confusion at that. Which "her?" she thought. Buffy? Willow? Then she shook her head throwing the thoughts to the farthest recesses of her mind. None of that mattered, she told herself.
"It doesn't matter what you do," Anya said more to herself than to Morgan. "I was there for him, when no one else was, when even 'they' wouldn't be around him. And no matter how many times they hurt him, he'd always go back for more, like some stupidly cute, little puppy…" Anya's eyes moistened as she held back tears, determined not to cry over this man again.
"And that's what'll get you, in the end," Anya said, her voice shaking and breaking. "That's what'll rip and tear you like something eating from inside of you."
Morgan shivered at the thought of that, but didn't interrupt.
"That no matter what you do, how you change for him, how you try to be there for him… he'll always choose her," she continued slowly. "You'll never really have him. He could be inside you and still be a million miles away."
Anya looked to Morgan and smiled sadly. "And you can't hate him, no matter how much you want to, because you know that he can't help it."
Then she pointedly turned her head away from Morgan to look at the floor, a sad, lost look on her face. After a few moments, she reached for her purse and dropped some bills on the counter. She then left without saying another word.
And Morgan was left there, standing by the bar and unsure of how she should feel.
Looking at the place Anya had been earlier, Morgan noticed that the sad, nearly broken woman had apparently left something. A small stack of business cards was laying there. She picked them up and read them:
Anya E. Jenkins, Co-Owner
The Magic Box
Your one-stop spot to shop for all your occult needs.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
She had seen the store a few times on various trips running errands around town; although, she never thought much of it really. She just assumed that it was one of those new age places that sold odd herbal remedies and pungent incenses, which pretty much meant that she all but dismissed it entirely. As far as she was concerned, it was just a place where she could often observe Xander, in hopes of another moment of awe-inspiring emotion for her camera.
But that was before she had been kidnapped… And then rescued.
Morgan thought that she was beginning to put the pieces together. This place was some sort of base of operations for them. She remembered seeing Xander and the rest reading large, ancient-looking books from time to time. Perhaps that was how they prepared, she mused. It made a sense. Xander had mentioned that pretty much everything she had ever heard of was real. From there it wouldn't be hard to assume that many other things she had never heard of before were also real. If one were going to fight them, it would make sense to learn about them first.
Morgan vainly struggled to remember the words to some quote she had heard in a movie about "knowing your enemy." She shrugged inwardly, dismissing the thought.
She hadn't seen Xander at the Bronze, mostly because she left almost right after Anya had. Everything she said just overwhelmed her, and she just wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about it. Morgan ended up walking, unconsciously coming here, to the Magic Box.
Morgan felt dazed, and although she was clutching a cross in her hands and fingering the newly acquired crucifix around her neck the entire time it took to get there, she was all the same very happy not to have run into one of the many vampires Xander had told her were in this town.
She took a steadying breath and then looked at the Magic Box a little more thoughtfully. Magic, according to Xander, existed. It was also powerful, unpredictable and, therefore, dangerous. Still, she couldn't help but find the idea fascinating. Just snap your fingers and… poof.
Morgan frowned. Or maybe magic didn't work that way? she wondered curiously.
Still, she had to admit that as a child she sometimes wished that she had a magic wand to wave around and make things better. One wave and… poof… parents who cared. Another wave and… poof… friends who loved and respected her. One more and…
Poof… Xander would love her.
Morgan's face tightened in anger. She looked for something. Anything! There, a rock! she snarled in her head. She went to it, picked it up and then hurled it against the Magic Box window. It shattered, pieces of glass falling on the ground in tiny shards.
She stood there, clenching her fists and shaking, admiring the destruction. "Good," she sneered, then walked away.
Good.
******To*Be*Continued******
"God's voice spans time, space, and life. If a mortal were to hear his voice, their head would blow up. Not a pretty sight, but it sure was a bitch for him to figure out why every time he tried to talk to humanity, our heads would explode. Just to say, the crusades? Not a nice picture."
Xander Harris - Fanfic "All Good Things" By Jai L
AUTHOR: Wicked Raygun
E-MAIL: wicked_raygun@yahoo.com
SUMMARY: Where does a person draw the line between love and obsession?
RATING: R. Just to be safe anyway. Nothing *really* bad is going to happen… Trust me.
SPOILERS: General spoilers for seasons 1 through 6. Any spoilers from season 7 simply happen because they fit with the story I want to tell.
DISCLAIMOR: I refuse to believe this is necessary. Does anyone here actually believe I own this stuff in any way? Well… To the folks who do own a piece of the Buffster and/or her friends and enemies, I mean you no harm. I'm simply borrowing your toys to put on a little puppet show. I promise to bring them all back in near-mint condition. Even Spike.
FEEDBACK: Everyone needs a little love. It makes the world go round and writers post faster.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: If you're expecting fluffy bunnies and cute endings run away in fear right now. I'm writing a mature story, where adult themes such as violence, rage, obsession, stalking and, yes… gasp, even sex are mentioned. If you cannot deal with that, please, go somewhere else. Or better yet, just grow up.
Special thanks must be given to my online friend Lori Bush, who is an amazing writer who for some reason that I cannot begin to comprehend seems to actually want to read my work and help me improve it. Here's hoping her sanity doesn't kick in anytime soon. For those of you who are interested in reading one or ten of her fabulous stories, they can be found here:
http://tedjoxertimandmore.homestead.com/XanderStories.html
Please leave many, many reviews so that she may be inspired to write many more stories.
Also, for those who are interested in some of my other work, including Hero Complex, and Nonsense, it can be found here:
http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=79383
And here:
http://wickedraygun.herocomplex.co.uk/
That's my brand spanking new website, created by the wonderful and talented Joanne W. and was the coolest Christmas gift ever! Please, go to her site, read her fine work and leave many reviews for her as well.
http://www.herocomplex.co.uk/
Now, onto the show.
************
Chapter Five
************
Morgan stepped into her apartment, threw the many, many bags in her hands on the floor, walked over to her couch, grabbed one of the soft, round pillows that decorated it, shoved it against her face and then proceeded to scream.
Her therapy finally complete, she removed the pillow from her face and gasped for air.
That had easily been one of the most humiliating experiences of her life, she reflected.
She had gone out to get herself made over. Hair, nails, some stylish clothes: the works. She didn't think it was going to be very hard. Of course, she hadn't anticipated all the snide comments she would get. The various clothing stores were pretty bad, but in the end once she had established that she had a credit card with a ridiculously high limit and that she had no qualms over spending some money, the retail people all but fell over themselves trying to help her and claim the commission.
The beauty salon had been a completely different experience, however. It was nothing but two hours of reprimands about not taking care of herself. The manicurist took one look at her toenails and then theatrically looked to the sky and asked God if she were being punished for something. The hair stylist just kept going on and on about various conditioners and hair treatments involving an assortment of fruits, vegetables and grains. At one point, she asked her if she at least brushed her hair once a day. When Morgan lied that she did, the stylist scoffed sarcastically and muttered something along the lines of, "They never admit it." In the end she bought half the products the stylist had suggested just to shut her up.
But of course, through it all, she could all but hear her mother's voice making remarks that may have been intended as compliments but nevertheless only resulted in her feeling more dejected. It was as if her mother had been there in spirit to make her feel small and miserable.
But now she was home. The nightmare was over. She was safely anonymous within the walls of her apartment again. And after looking herself over in the mirror, she had to admit to herself that she did feel a little more confident. She smiled lightly to herself and mused that it really hadn't been all that bad. Not something she would want to repeat in the very near future, but all in all not so bad.
She stepped closer to the mirror and admired her hair's new length. Just a little past her shoulders now, and smoother to the touch than it had been before. Well, maybe she would make more of an effort and actually use those expensive shampoos and conditioners she bought. The stylist had also suggested a lighter coloring to her hair, but looking at herself now, she was glad that she had elected to stay with her natural hair color. Her brown hair felt much more vibrant now, and it felt good to know that her own hair could do that.
She examined her face, in particular her once thick eyebrows, which had been plucked and now were only soft curving lines. Plucking her eyebrows on a regular basis was not very appealing, but if this alluring effect was the outcome, then she would make the time. Turning her head this way and that, she had to admit that she never felt so feminine in her life.
She smiled again, and thought that perhaps tonight she would go out to be seen.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
"There's never going to be an 'us,' again, he says. We both know it, he says. Well, what if I didn't, huh?!?" Anya nearly yelled before grasping the bartender by his sleeve. "Did he even think of that? Or was the overwhelming pain of us being around each other just too much?"
"Ma'am, if you don't let me go, I'm going to have to call the police," the bartender said warily. He'd been told that some of the clientele at The Bronze could get a little rowdy at night.
Anya did let him go, but more in a gesture of distaste than any fear of the wrath of Sunnydale's finest being brought down upon her. "And, oh, God! Look at me!" she continued, while looking over herself as if she had grown new appendages. "I'm ranting and raving to some bartender in The Bronze who's probably going to be eaten very soon!"
At this, the bartender, sounding a little panicked, interjected, "I'm sorry, what? Eaten? Who's getting eaten?"
Anya broke off from her rant-induced stupor long enough to unconvincingly placate him. "There, there, I'm sure it'll be painless."
The bartender just looked at her oddly, and mouthed, "Eaten?"
"But back to me! I can practically feel the vapors of pain and desperation coming off of me. And he did this to me." She paused for a moment, her anger subsiding long enough for the hurt of it all to go through her. "He did this to me," she repeated sadly. "How dare he!?!" she seethed, her anger returning to her like the great defense mechanism it was.
The bartender scratched his head. Now that he thought about it, many of his coworkers did have an alarming habit of just not ever showing up again… But eaten?
"I mean, last time I checked, he was the one who left someone at the altar. And even I know that's a big no-no with humans. He should be on his knees thanking every god in existence that I didn't flambé his testicles, but, instead, he tries to make me feel bad. Me!" she said before downing a shot of scotch. "And doing a really good job of it," she finished somberly. She held up the shot glass to the barman. "More."
As he poured her drink, the bartender started to think back to when he used to frequent The Bronze when he was younger. He realized that, even though, he used to come by almost every single night, he couldn't ever remember seeing any of the employees working there more than once.
"I mean, he could've mentioned before we went out that he was the most difficult man to hate on the planet. And believe me, I've tried. Sold my soul and everything, not that that helped at all," she said as she stared into her shot glass. "Because, surprise, surprise, still in love with him. And I can't tell you how annoying that is."
The bartender looked around, finally noticing the faded, ancient-looking "Help Wanted" sign that had hung there since he got this job a month and a half ago. And with a little effort, he realized that the sign had been there since when he was frequenting The Bronze as a teenager. It was never ever taken down. Almost as if the owner knew that the help wasn't going to stick around for long, he thought with a grimace.
Anya threw back the shot of scotch, closing her eyes and wincing as the liquor made its way down her throat. She shivered and the hand holding the shot came down, while the other raised itself into the air to hold up one finger, as if to ask for a timeout for her system to accommodate the alcohol. She gasped for breath, once that had passed, and then indicated for the bartender to hit her again.
The bartender looked at her, then at the bottle in his hands, blinked twice, and then set the bottle in front of her. "You know what?" he said, "Go ahead and finish the rest of the bottle. Seriously, go nuts. Because I quit." He undid the apron around his body and then threw it atop the counter. "I am not going to be eaten," he muttered to himself repeatedly as he walked out, remembering to give the owner the finger on his way out.
Anya watched him leave, and spoke to his retreating form. "Oh, sure, why don't you abandon me too?!? It's not like I have any issues with that!" she said loudly. "Or that I need anyone, right now," she finished sadly before pouring herself another shot of scotch.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
She looked miserable, Morgan thought from the shadowy corner she had been watching her from. Good, she thought. She deserved to feel miserable. Morgan remembered seeing her a few times when she watched Xander. He always seemed to look especially hurt after being around her. And that bothered her. A lot.
It was obvious to her that the two of them had some sort of relationship; possibly, a very serious one from the way they acted around each other. While it was true that she didn't know the circumstances of their falling out, she couldn't help but feel sympathetic toward him.
So right now, seeing her being hurt, gave her no small amount of pleasure.
Morgan smirked a little. She wasn't sure what was happening anymore. All she knew was that she was tired of watching from behind her lens. Her mind made up, she walked up from behind her.
"Morgan," she practically said in her ear.
Anya sat up straight and then turned around to face Morgan. She looked at her for a moment before she realized who she was. "Oh, it's you." Anya smiled contemptuously at her, dismissing her completely, then turned around again to pour herself another shot. Morgan tapped her shoulder. Anya turned around slowly and attempted to blink away the woozy effect from all the alcohol as she regarded Morgan again. After a semblance of sobriety kicked in, Anya said confused, "You're still here?"
"My name's Morgan."
"Yes, very fascinating," Anya said sarcastically. "Now, why are you still talking to me?"
"You're hurting him. And it's not right."
Anya laughed. "Me? Hurt Xander?" She laughed again with a hiccup. "In what wish-granted reality?" Anya stopped laughing, and looked to the floor, sulking. "Leave me alone now," she said while turning to the bar again.
Morgan for some reason she couldn't even justify to herself, didn't move. Anya sensed this and turned around again, angrier than before.
"Look, I think it's real cute that you went through the trouble to try and impress me and mark your territory like those strange, shaggy, smelly dogs that pee on trees, but, believe me, you're wasting your time with him. I know that better than anyone," she said, slurring some of the words.
When Morgan didn't do anything except seethe, Anya continued, her voice sounding much more sober than it had only moments before, "No matter what you do, he'll never really love you. He'll want you; he'll need you; he'll use you; but he'll never love you. He just doesn't have it in him for that."
"Maybe he just needs someone who understands him," Morgan offered acidly.
Anya laughed hard, her guffaws eventually developing a snort to them as she struggled to reclaim her self-control. When she was almost calm again, her breathing hitching with half-chuckles, she spared a glance to Morgan and began laughing even louder than before.
Morgan, meanwhile, was struggling to maintain the anger that had kept her here, talking to this woman she didn't know, despite the hated embarrassment and attention it drew to her. With each laugh reminding her of uncomfortable and painful memories of her past, Morgan's resolve to stay waned. Mustering the last of her dignity, she turned to walk away.
Anya saw this, and stopped her with a raised hand, asking for the time to compose herself. One last chuckle and then Anya breathed deeply, ready to continue.
"You don't know him. Besides, if you did, you'd know that he'll only ever love them," she said bitterly. She paused for a moment, obviously upset with what she had said. "Actually, he'll only ever love her," she growled.
Morgan's anger shifted to confusion at that. Which "her?" she thought. Buffy? Willow? Then she shook her head throwing the thoughts to the farthest recesses of her mind. None of that mattered, she told herself.
"It doesn't matter what you do," Anya said more to herself than to Morgan. "I was there for him, when no one else was, when even 'they' wouldn't be around him. And no matter how many times they hurt him, he'd always go back for more, like some stupidly cute, little puppy…" Anya's eyes moistened as she held back tears, determined not to cry over this man again.
"And that's what'll get you, in the end," Anya said, her voice shaking and breaking. "That's what'll rip and tear you like something eating from inside of you."
Morgan shivered at the thought of that, but didn't interrupt.
"That no matter what you do, how you change for him, how you try to be there for him… he'll always choose her," she continued slowly. "You'll never really have him. He could be inside you and still be a million miles away."
Anya looked to Morgan and smiled sadly. "And you can't hate him, no matter how much you want to, because you know that he can't help it."
Then she pointedly turned her head away from Morgan to look at the floor, a sad, lost look on her face. After a few moments, she reached for her purse and dropped some bills on the counter. She then left without saying another word.
And Morgan was left there, standing by the bar and unsure of how she should feel.
Looking at the place Anya had been earlier, Morgan noticed that the sad, nearly broken woman had apparently left something. A small stack of business cards was laying there. She picked them up and read them:
Anya E. Jenkins, Co-Owner
The Magic Box
Your one-stop spot to shop for all your occult needs.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
She had seen the store a few times on various trips running errands around town; although, she never thought much of it really. She just assumed that it was one of those new age places that sold odd herbal remedies and pungent incenses, which pretty much meant that she all but dismissed it entirely. As far as she was concerned, it was just a place where she could often observe Xander, in hopes of another moment of awe-inspiring emotion for her camera.
But that was before she had been kidnapped… And then rescued.
Morgan thought that she was beginning to put the pieces together. This place was some sort of base of operations for them. She remembered seeing Xander and the rest reading large, ancient-looking books from time to time. Perhaps that was how they prepared, she mused. It made a sense. Xander had mentioned that pretty much everything she had ever heard of was real. From there it wouldn't be hard to assume that many other things she had never heard of before were also real. If one were going to fight them, it would make sense to learn about them first.
Morgan vainly struggled to remember the words to some quote she had heard in a movie about "knowing your enemy." She shrugged inwardly, dismissing the thought.
She hadn't seen Xander at the Bronze, mostly because she left almost right after Anya had. Everything she said just overwhelmed her, and she just wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about it. Morgan ended up walking, unconsciously coming here, to the Magic Box.
Morgan felt dazed, and although she was clutching a cross in her hands and fingering the newly acquired crucifix around her neck the entire time it took to get there, she was all the same very happy not to have run into one of the many vampires Xander had told her were in this town.
She took a steadying breath and then looked at the Magic Box a little more thoughtfully. Magic, according to Xander, existed. It was also powerful, unpredictable and, therefore, dangerous. Still, she couldn't help but find the idea fascinating. Just snap your fingers and… poof.
Morgan frowned. Or maybe magic didn't work that way? she wondered curiously.
Still, she had to admit that as a child she sometimes wished that she had a magic wand to wave around and make things better. One wave and… poof… parents who cared. Another wave and… poof… friends who loved and respected her. One more and…
Poof… Xander would love her.
Morgan's face tightened in anger. She looked for something. Anything! There, a rock! she snarled in her head. She went to it, picked it up and then hurled it against the Magic Box window. It shattered, pieces of glass falling on the ground in tiny shards.
She stood there, clenching her fists and shaking, admiring the destruction. "Good," she sneered, then walked away.
Good.
******To*Be*Continued******
"God's voice spans time, space, and life. If a mortal were to hear his voice, their head would blow up. Not a pretty sight, but it sure was a bitch for him to figure out why every time he tried to talk to humanity, our heads would explode. Just to say, the crusades? Not a nice picture."
Xander Harris - Fanfic "All Good Things" By Jai L