Destiny Lost
#1: In the Space of a Heartbeat
Authors: Sonya and Erin
E-mail: sonyajeb@swbell.net OR carynsilver@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Category: B/X, AU, action/adventure, romance
Summary: An accident seconds before being chosen causes the Slayer Essence to skip Buffy, leaving her a normal girl. Then, a year and a half later, her mom's new job and her parents' divorce brings Buffy and her mother to Sunnydale, where Buffy comes in contact with the world of the night and a young man dedicated to its destruction.
Disclaimer: We do not own Buffy or any of the original characters or ideas from the show. They all belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, etc. All we own is our own creative genius (unless that's too strong a word :) and any characters we make up.
Distribution: Sure, just let us know where it is!
Feedback: Love it! We want to know your likes AND dislikes. Flames are the only thing we do not accept.
Spoilers: Basic BtVS mythology and vampire/slayer lore
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter 9
The Summers' Residence
Xander froze when he saw Joyce, his brain trying to think of something to say but failing miserably. He could just imagine what she must think, seeing her daughter sneak into the house with some strange young man in the middle of the night. He suddenly wished he looked more presentable. Xander looked down at his dirt covered jeans, ripped and bloody shirt, and bruised body. He winced, quickly realizing that he was not a pretty picture. After the fight with Willow and Spike, he really looked the worse for wear. He glanced frantically around the room, trying to think of some way to get them out of this mess. Then his eyes landed on Buffy's panic stricken face and he suddenly felt the fierce need to protect her from any and all trouble, including the kind of trouble she could get in with her mother. Xander didn't take the time to think about what those kinds of feelings could mean; he just acted on impulse.
Xander ran a hand through his hair, trying to dislodge any grass bits that had gotten tangled in it during the fight with the vampires. Then, smiling a somewhat strained smile, he stepped forward and extended his hand, saying politely, "Hello, Mrs. Summers."
Joyce shook his hand and offered a simple hello in return.
Xander took that as a good sign and continued. "Well, I can guess what you must be thinking... strange guy coming in with your daughter in the middle of the night and all of that. Every parent's nightmare, I'm sure. But, at the risk of sounding cliched, this is not how it looks."
Xander paused, trying to think of something to say that would explain everything without actually saying anything about vampires. He guessed he could pull the "your daughter was being mugged by some bad men and I saved her" routine, but he didn't think Mrs. Summers would buy that for a minute. She was sharp. She would realize that they weren't telling her everything right away. So Xander decided to go with the only other plausible explanation he could come up with on the spur of the moment, aside from the oh-so-clever fumigation story.
Xander sighed, looking up at Joyce and then at Buffy, who were both still waiting for his explanation. He hoped he was doing the right thing here...
"Well, it's kinda a long story. But the gist of it is... I can't go home tonight. My parents..." Xander looked down at the floor, staring at a spot on his tennis shoe. He absolutely hated talking about his home life. It didn't matter whether or not he was telling the truth at this very moment. It didn't matter that his father hadn't been so bad this week. Because eventually, his father would have just a little too much to drink and then Xander would have to start locking himself in his room at night again, cowering by the closet with the sheets wrapped tightly around his trembling form until the morning sun rose in the sky, signaling his chance to escape to school and training with Giles and Sonya. For as long as he could remember, it had been this way. Evading his father at night and escaping during the day.
Intellectually, Xander knew that he was physically stronger than his father was. But he could never bring himself to strike back at the man. Perhaps it was just the ingrained sense of fear that his father had placed in him with many years of abuse. But whatever the reason, Xander still quaked with fear at the sight of him in one of his rages. It was ironic really, since Xander had faced down many vampires and demons and things that go bump in the night in his time as the stand-in slayer. But some demons... you just couldn't fight.
It still hurt to say anything about it out loud, especially in front of Buffy. But he pressed onward, trying to make the best of it. "Well, let's just say that they wouldn't win any Parenting of the Year awards. They're both pretty fond of alcohol, especially my father, and sometimes they just go to far. And it's better for me to be elsewhere when that happens."
He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing. "I used to go spend the night at my friend Willow's house. Her parents were really cool; they never asked any questions. They just let me sleep on the couch. But, ever since she died last year... Well, I'm not really welcome there any more. I'd bring back too many painful memories for them."
Xander looked up at Joyce and smiled tentatively. "Your daughter was nice enough to offer to let me stay here tonight. She said something about you guys having a first rate couch. But if it's a problem, I'll leave. I mean, I don't want to cause any trouble or anything."
Buffy looked back and forth from Xander to her mother. She didn't know what to think. Was this Xander just making up a story? She wanted to think so because it was a horrible story, but there was something so authentic in his telling of it. She watched as her mom watched Xander, and wondered what Joyce was thinking.
"Buffy," Joyce said in her most motherly tone, "go upstairs and get the peroxide and some bandages. We need to take care of Xander's scrapes here."
After Buffy was gone, Joyce escorted Xander into the kitchen where she gave him a paper towel. "Use this to staunch the blood flow from your nose." She looked over his wounds with the professional eye of a long-time mother who'd seen her share of accidents. "It's not broken," she said with confidence, "but it will hurt like heck for awhile."
Joyce's eyes narrowed on Xander. "I don't know you, Xander, but my daughter seems to trust you. And I trust my daughter. You're more than welcome to stay here tonight, or any night."
She paused and then continued. "Look, this isn't any of my business, but I'd be failing in my duty as a mother and a human being if I didn't say something. What your father is doing to you is wrong." She saw an expression on his face like he was about to object, but she talked right over him. "You've probably heard this a million times, but I've got to say it. You should do something about it. You may not be ready now, but if you ever are and you need anything you can come to me."
Just then Buffy came back in with the bandages, and Joyce changed the subject, moving on the more inconsequential matters. With practiced fingers, Joyce cleaned his cuts and bruises, and bandaged his wounds. She scrounged Xander an old T-shirt and shorts to wear, and spirited his dirty things off to the washing machine. Then she told Buffy to make up the couch, and Joyce headed back upstairs.
Buffy found blankets and a pillow and put them on the couch for him. "So," she said, her tone worried, "how are you doing?"
Xander shrugged, sitting down on the couch and pulling his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs and leaned his chin down on his knees. "I'll be okay," he said softly, disgusted with himself when he heard the tell-tale tremmor in his voice. He was NOT going to cry in front of Buffy. Not over the vampires, not over how much he missed Willow, not over his sad excuse for a life, and most definitely not over his low-life father. "I just need a few minutes to pull myself together. Then, before you even have a chance to blink, I'll be everyone's favorite Xander-shaped friend and psuedo-Vampire Slayer once again!"
Xander tried to give Buffy one of his famous, lop-sided grins but moving his face too much made his nose hurt, so he quickly gave up on that idea. Reaching a hand up to lightly touch the bandage on his nose, he recalled the last time it had gotten busted up. It had been during a particularly bad fight with his parents. His father had just lost his job and was drowning his anger in alcohol, like always. Of course, the alcohol didn't help lessen the anger one bit. It had only served to make things worse in the Harris household.
---Begin Flashback---
The door slamed loudly as Albert Harris made his way into his darkened house. As he was walking, his steps slow and awkward due to the excessive amounts of alcohol in his system, he banged his shin against the coffee table and cursed loudly. "Damned woman never cleans up this place! How's a man supposed to live in a hellhole like this? BRENDA!!! Get your fat ass down here right now, you lazy, ungrateful bitch!"
Hurried steps could be heard coming down the stairs, taking them two and even three at a time. When Brenda Harris reached the end of the stairs and saw Albert standing there in a furious, drunken rage, she froze like a deer caught in the headlights. "Albert?" she whispered, feeling the tears start to come, "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong? What's WRONG? What the bloody hell do you THINK is wrong, woman!" Albert yelled, his face turning an unhealthy shade of red due to his anger. "I cut the hell out of my leg because you were too lazy to clean this damn place up!" Albert reached out and grabbed his wife by the hair, dragging her into the kitchen and pushing her roughly to the floor. As he moved toward her, like an animal stalking its prey, he slowly loosened the belt from around his waist and pulled it free of his dirty jeans, folding it over to make it into a decent paddle.
Brenda cowered before the man she had married, fear etched onto her face. "Albert... please... don't..." she whispered, but her pleading only served to enrage her husband even more. Tightening his grip on his make-shift paddle, Albert prepared to strike.
As the hand holding the belt whooshed down toward her face, Brenda shrieked and scooted backwards, narrowly missing the blow intended to knock her unconscious. Albert growled, grabbing her by the hair to prevent any further escapes and lifted his belt to strike again. But this time, as the belt came flying down, another hand reached out and stopped it and a scared but determined voice said, "No. Not again."
Albert released Brenda in his rage at the newcomer's interferance and whirled around to come face to face with his only son. "Alexander LaVelle Harris, what the HELL do you think you're doing?" he yelled, the alcohol causing his words to slurr slightly. Brenda chose that moment of distraction to scoot farther away, out of Albert's reach but still close enough to see what was going on.
Xander, who was only 15 at the time and knew nothing about the world of vampires and demons that he would later come to face, flinched at the anger in his faher's voice. But he didn't falter in his resolve. "Leave her alone, Dad." He bitterly spit the last word out of his mouth like something foul, something unclean.
Albert sneared at Xander and replied, "Oh, so the little boy is finally growing some balls, eh?" He laughed, tightening his grip on his belt before growing deadly serious. "You contradicted me, boy. You're gonna bleed for that."
Before Xander could think of a reply, the belt flew through the air and slapped him across the face with a sickening crunch, sending shooting pain through him. As he fell backwards, his backside hitting the floor painfully, Xander reached a trembling hand up to touch his nose, shocked to see the sticky, crimson colored blood that came away on his fingers. Xander heard the whimpering sounds that his mother was making from over in the corner of the kitchen, but he knew that she would be no help to him now. She was too far gone to do anything but cry. As his father advanced toward him, the now-bloody belt slapping ominously against his thigh, Xander prepared himself for the next blow and feverently hoped that he would pass out this time before the pain became unbearable. In the distance, the crying grew louder...
---End of Flashback---
... and that was when Xander realized that he was the one crying, with his arms wrapped around his knees and his head facing away from Buffy. He wanted to stop, he commanded himself to stop, but the tears just kept flowing. (Pathetic much, Xand,) he thought as he swiped at the offending moisture on his cheeks angrily with one hand. (Now Buffy probably thinks you're a big wuss. She'll never want to see you again, bud. You might as well consider it over before it even officially began, whatever IT was. Tough break.)
When Xander started to cry, Buffy hesitated, unsure of what to do. Things were going on inside of him that she didn't and couldn't understand. After a minute, she sat down next to him on the couch, but he turned his head the other way. It stung like rejection, but she knew he just didn't want her to see his tears. That was very much a guy thing.
She put her arms on his back and rubbed between his shoulder blades, murmuring comforting words in a low voice. What she said was no where near as important as the fact that she was saying something. When he started to calm down, Buffy moved around to where she could see his face. Then she hugged him, letting him spend the last of his tears with his head tucked under her chin.
"I never cared for this dress anyway," she said with a smile as he pulled back a little, realizing he'd made a damp spot.
She touched his face when he looked a little guilty. "It's OK, I don't mind. But how are you doing now?"
What he did next surprised her. Instead of talking, or making a joke, or pushing her away, he leaned in and kissed her. It was a fierce and passionate kiss. She could feel his teeth through his lips as he pressed against her. Zings of excitement started in her stomach and radiated out through her body. But then she started to think about it in the tiny corner of her mind that wasn't wrapped up in Xander's lips, his hands in her hair, his breath on her cheek. Besides the fact that her mother could come back down at any second and catch them making out, Buffy knew that this probably wasn't the best way for him to deal with whatever was bothering him. Instead, in a way, this was kind of like drowning one's sorrows in alcohol -- a way not to think about his problems.
After a few minutes, Buffy pushed him back. It was hard, but she managed to do it. And she couldn't stop smiling, because no matter his reasons for kissing her it did mean something. It meant that -- no matter what he'd said earlier -- he did like her, and that maybe they could have a real date, or even a real future.
When she looked at his face she saw the familiar look of guilt coming back to it. She hurried to correct him. "No, it's fine." Her smile was brilliant. "More than fine actually..." The confession wrung a blush from her cheeks. "I just ... we can't do this now." She gestured toward the stairs. "My mom ..."
Buffy stood up. She was a little embarrassed now. "Well, I guess I'll see you in the morning ..." Xander gave her a little wave. "Sleep well." She stepped away, but then she leaned back in and gave him another quick kiss. Then, with a silly little smile that she couldn't get rid of, Buffy went upstairs and got ready for bed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
After their monumental failure, Spike was in a bad mood. He grabbed Willow -- who was still mildly stunned -- and threw her over his shoulder. Then he started walking back to their lair.
"I can't believe it," he muttered. "All that and they got away. Bloody hell! I thought you really wanted them this time, what?"
When they got home, he lofted her down onto the bed and threw himself down next to her, trench coat and all.
"So now what?" he wondered aloud. He turned his head and looked over at Willow. "Pet? Are you all right? I need some help plotting and scheming here!"
Willow didn't reply right away. She just lay there, staring dreamily at the ceiling. When Spike nudged her arm, prompting her to say SOMETHING to him, she smiled and rolled over onto her side, leaning back on her elbow and watching her lover with partially unfocused eyes. The silence finally got the best of him and Spike sat up, tearing off his trench coat and throwing it violently across the room. Willow reached out and grabbed his shoulder with a steel-like grip and pulled him back down beside her. "Don't get all angry, Spike. Anger doesn't help us. It only makes us foolish and hasty." She leaned over the peroxide-blond vampire and grinned widely, tracing a fingernail leisurely down his chest. "Besides, we haven't lost yet, lover. Far from it. We now know exactly where to strike next." Willow giggled, letting her copper-red hair fall down over her pale face. "And when we do, we'll make them pay for what they've done to us."
#1: In the Space of a Heartbeat
Authors: Sonya and Erin
E-mail: sonyajeb@swbell.net OR carynsilver@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Category: B/X, AU, action/adventure, romance
Summary: An accident seconds before being chosen causes the Slayer Essence to skip Buffy, leaving her a normal girl. Then, a year and a half later, her mom's new job and her parents' divorce brings Buffy and her mother to Sunnydale, where Buffy comes in contact with the world of the night and a young man dedicated to its destruction.
Disclaimer: We do not own Buffy or any of the original characters or ideas from the show. They all belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, etc. All we own is our own creative genius (unless that's too strong a word :) and any characters we make up.
Distribution: Sure, just let us know where it is!
Feedback: Love it! We want to know your likes AND dislikes. Flames are the only thing we do not accept.
Spoilers: Basic BtVS mythology and vampire/slayer lore
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter 9
The Summers' Residence
Xander froze when he saw Joyce, his brain trying to think of something to say but failing miserably. He could just imagine what she must think, seeing her daughter sneak into the house with some strange young man in the middle of the night. He suddenly wished he looked more presentable. Xander looked down at his dirt covered jeans, ripped and bloody shirt, and bruised body. He winced, quickly realizing that he was not a pretty picture. After the fight with Willow and Spike, he really looked the worse for wear. He glanced frantically around the room, trying to think of some way to get them out of this mess. Then his eyes landed on Buffy's panic stricken face and he suddenly felt the fierce need to protect her from any and all trouble, including the kind of trouble she could get in with her mother. Xander didn't take the time to think about what those kinds of feelings could mean; he just acted on impulse.
Xander ran a hand through his hair, trying to dislodge any grass bits that had gotten tangled in it during the fight with the vampires. Then, smiling a somewhat strained smile, he stepped forward and extended his hand, saying politely, "Hello, Mrs. Summers."
Joyce shook his hand and offered a simple hello in return.
Xander took that as a good sign and continued. "Well, I can guess what you must be thinking... strange guy coming in with your daughter in the middle of the night and all of that. Every parent's nightmare, I'm sure. But, at the risk of sounding cliched, this is not how it looks."
Xander paused, trying to think of something to say that would explain everything without actually saying anything about vampires. He guessed he could pull the "your daughter was being mugged by some bad men and I saved her" routine, but he didn't think Mrs. Summers would buy that for a minute. She was sharp. She would realize that they weren't telling her everything right away. So Xander decided to go with the only other plausible explanation he could come up with on the spur of the moment, aside from the oh-so-clever fumigation story.
Xander sighed, looking up at Joyce and then at Buffy, who were both still waiting for his explanation. He hoped he was doing the right thing here...
"Well, it's kinda a long story. But the gist of it is... I can't go home tonight. My parents..." Xander looked down at the floor, staring at a spot on his tennis shoe. He absolutely hated talking about his home life. It didn't matter whether or not he was telling the truth at this very moment. It didn't matter that his father hadn't been so bad this week. Because eventually, his father would have just a little too much to drink and then Xander would have to start locking himself in his room at night again, cowering by the closet with the sheets wrapped tightly around his trembling form until the morning sun rose in the sky, signaling his chance to escape to school and training with Giles and Sonya. For as long as he could remember, it had been this way. Evading his father at night and escaping during the day.
Intellectually, Xander knew that he was physically stronger than his father was. But he could never bring himself to strike back at the man. Perhaps it was just the ingrained sense of fear that his father had placed in him with many years of abuse. But whatever the reason, Xander still quaked with fear at the sight of him in one of his rages. It was ironic really, since Xander had faced down many vampires and demons and things that go bump in the night in his time as the stand-in slayer. But some demons... you just couldn't fight.
It still hurt to say anything about it out loud, especially in front of Buffy. But he pressed onward, trying to make the best of it. "Well, let's just say that they wouldn't win any Parenting of the Year awards. They're both pretty fond of alcohol, especially my father, and sometimes they just go to far. And it's better for me to be elsewhere when that happens."
He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing. "I used to go spend the night at my friend Willow's house. Her parents were really cool; they never asked any questions. They just let me sleep on the couch. But, ever since she died last year... Well, I'm not really welcome there any more. I'd bring back too many painful memories for them."
Xander looked up at Joyce and smiled tentatively. "Your daughter was nice enough to offer to let me stay here tonight. She said something about you guys having a first rate couch. But if it's a problem, I'll leave. I mean, I don't want to cause any trouble or anything."
Buffy looked back and forth from Xander to her mother. She didn't know what to think. Was this Xander just making up a story? She wanted to think so because it was a horrible story, but there was something so authentic in his telling of it. She watched as her mom watched Xander, and wondered what Joyce was thinking.
"Buffy," Joyce said in her most motherly tone, "go upstairs and get the peroxide and some bandages. We need to take care of Xander's scrapes here."
After Buffy was gone, Joyce escorted Xander into the kitchen where she gave him a paper towel. "Use this to staunch the blood flow from your nose." She looked over his wounds with the professional eye of a long-time mother who'd seen her share of accidents. "It's not broken," she said with confidence, "but it will hurt like heck for awhile."
Joyce's eyes narrowed on Xander. "I don't know you, Xander, but my daughter seems to trust you. And I trust my daughter. You're more than welcome to stay here tonight, or any night."
She paused and then continued. "Look, this isn't any of my business, but I'd be failing in my duty as a mother and a human being if I didn't say something. What your father is doing to you is wrong." She saw an expression on his face like he was about to object, but she talked right over him. "You've probably heard this a million times, but I've got to say it. You should do something about it. You may not be ready now, but if you ever are and you need anything you can come to me."
Just then Buffy came back in with the bandages, and Joyce changed the subject, moving on the more inconsequential matters. With practiced fingers, Joyce cleaned his cuts and bruises, and bandaged his wounds. She scrounged Xander an old T-shirt and shorts to wear, and spirited his dirty things off to the washing machine. Then she told Buffy to make up the couch, and Joyce headed back upstairs.
Buffy found blankets and a pillow and put them on the couch for him. "So," she said, her tone worried, "how are you doing?"
Xander shrugged, sitting down on the couch and pulling his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs and leaned his chin down on his knees. "I'll be okay," he said softly, disgusted with himself when he heard the tell-tale tremmor in his voice. He was NOT going to cry in front of Buffy. Not over the vampires, not over how much he missed Willow, not over his sad excuse for a life, and most definitely not over his low-life father. "I just need a few minutes to pull myself together. Then, before you even have a chance to blink, I'll be everyone's favorite Xander-shaped friend and psuedo-Vampire Slayer once again!"
Xander tried to give Buffy one of his famous, lop-sided grins but moving his face too much made his nose hurt, so he quickly gave up on that idea. Reaching a hand up to lightly touch the bandage on his nose, he recalled the last time it had gotten busted up. It had been during a particularly bad fight with his parents. His father had just lost his job and was drowning his anger in alcohol, like always. Of course, the alcohol didn't help lessen the anger one bit. It had only served to make things worse in the Harris household.
---Begin Flashback---
The door slamed loudly as Albert Harris made his way into his darkened house. As he was walking, his steps slow and awkward due to the excessive amounts of alcohol in his system, he banged his shin against the coffee table and cursed loudly. "Damned woman never cleans up this place! How's a man supposed to live in a hellhole like this? BRENDA!!! Get your fat ass down here right now, you lazy, ungrateful bitch!"
Hurried steps could be heard coming down the stairs, taking them two and even three at a time. When Brenda Harris reached the end of the stairs and saw Albert standing there in a furious, drunken rage, she froze like a deer caught in the headlights. "Albert?" she whispered, feeling the tears start to come, "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong? What's WRONG? What the bloody hell do you THINK is wrong, woman!" Albert yelled, his face turning an unhealthy shade of red due to his anger. "I cut the hell out of my leg because you were too lazy to clean this damn place up!" Albert reached out and grabbed his wife by the hair, dragging her into the kitchen and pushing her roughly to the floor. As he moved toward her, like an animal stalking its prey, he slowly loosened the belt from around his waist and pulled it free of his dirty jeans, folding it over to make it into a decent paddle.
Brenda cowered before the man she had married, fear etched onto her face. "Albert... please... don't..." she whispered, but her pleading only served to enrage her husband even more. Tightening his grip on his make-shift paddle, Albert prepared to strike.
As the hand holding the belt whooshed down toward her face, Brenda shrieked and scooted backwards, narrowly missing the blow intended to knock her unconscious. Albert growled, grabbing her by the hair to prevent any further escapes and lifted his belt to strike again. But this time, as the belt came flying down, another hand reached out and stopped it and a scared but determined voice said, "No. Not again."
Albert released Brenda in his rage at the newcomer's interferance and whirled around to come face to face with his only son. "Alexander LaVelle Harris, what the HELL do you think you're doing?" he yelled, the alcohol causing his words to slurr slightly. Brenda chose that moment of distraction to scoot farther away, out of Albert's reach but still close enough to see what was going on.
Xander, who was only 15 at the time and knew nothing about the world of vampires and demons that he would later come to face, flinched at the anger in his faher's voice. But he didn't falter in his resolve. "Leave her alone, Dad." He bitterly spit the last word out of his mouth like something foul, something unclean.
Albert sneared at Xander and replied, "Oh, so the little boy is finally growing some balls, eh?" He laughed, tightening his grip on his belt before growing deadly serious. "You contradicted me, boy. You're gonna bleed for that."
Before Xander could think of a reply, the belt flew through the air and slapped him across the face with a sickening crunch, sending shooting pain through him. As he fell backwards, his backside hitting the floor painfully, Xander reached a trembling hand up to touch his nose, shocked to see the sticky, crimson colored blood that came away on his fingers. Xander heard the whimpering sounds that his mother was making from over in the corner of the kitchen, but he knew that she would be no help to him now. She was too far gone to do anything but cry. As his father advanced toward him, the now-bloody belt slapping ominously against his thigh, Xander prepared himself for the next blow and feverently hoped that he would pass out this time before the pain became unbearable. In the distance, the crying grew louder...
---End of Flashback---
... and that was when Xander realized that he was the one crying, with his arms wrapped around his knees and his head facing away from Buffy. He wanted to stop, he commanded himself to stop, but the tears just kept flowing. (Pathetic much, Xand,) he thought as he swiped at the offending moisture on his cheeks angrily with one hand. (Now Buffy probably thinks you're a big wuss. She'll never want to see you again, bud. You might as well consider it over before it even officially began, whatever IT was. Tough break.)
When Xander started to cry, Buffy hesitated, unsure of what to do. Things were going on inside of him that she didn't and couldn't understand. After a minute, she sat down next to him on the couch, but he turned his head the other way. It stung like rejection, but she knew he just didn't want her to see his tears. That was very much a guy thing.
She put her arms on his back and rubbed between his shoulder blades, murmuring comforting words in a low voice. What she said was no where near as important as the fact that she was saying something. When he started to calm down, Buffy moved around to where she could see his face. Then she hugged him, letting him spend the last of his tears with his head tucked under her chin.
"I never cared for this dress anyway," she said with a smile as he pulled back a little, realizing he'd made a damp spot.
She touched his face when he looked a little guilty. "It's OK, I don't mind. But how are you doing now?"
What he did next surprised her. Instead of talking, or making a joke, or pushing her away, he leaned in and kissed her. It was a fierce and passionate kiss. She could feel his teeth through his lips as he pressed against her. Zings of excitement started in her stomach and radiated out through her body. But then she started to think about it in the tiny corner of her mind that wasn't wrapped up in Xander's lips, his hands in her hair, his breath on her cheek. Besides the fact that her mother could come back down at any second and catch them making out, Buffy knew that this probably wasn't the best way for him to deal with whatever was bothering him. Instead, in a way, this was kind of like drowning one's sorrows in alcohol -- a way not to think about his problems.
After a few minutes, Buffy pushed him back. It was hard, but she managed to do it. And she couldn't stop smiling, because no matter his reasons for kissing her it did mean something. It meant that -- no matter what he'd said earlier -- he did like her, and that maybe they could have a real date, or even a real future.
When she looked at his face she saw the familiar look of guilt coming back to it. She hurried to correct him. "No, it's fine." Her smile was brilliant. "More than fine actually..." The confession wrung a blush from her cheeks. "I just ... we can't do this now." She gestured toward the stairs. "My mom ..."
Buffy stood up. She was a little embarrassed now. "Well, I guess I'll see you in the morning ..." Xander gave her a little wave. "Sleep well." She stepped away, but then she leaned back in and gave him another quick kiss. Then, with a silly little smile that she couldn't get rid of, Buffy went upstairs and got ready for bed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
After their monumental failure, Spike was in a bad mood. He grabbed Willow -- who was still mildly stunned -- and threw her over his shoulder. Then he started walking back to their lair.
"I can't believe it," he muttered. "All that and they got away. Bloody hell! I thought you really wanted them this time, what?"
When they got home, he lofted her down onto the bed and threw himself down next to her, trench coat and all.
"So now what?" he wondered aloud. He turned his head and looked over at Willow. "Pet? Are you all right? I need some help plotting and scheming here!"
Willow didn't reply right away. She just lay there, staring dreamily at the ceiling. When Spike nudged her arm, prompting her to say SOMETHING to him, she smiled and rolled over onto her side, leaning back on her elbow and watching her lover with partially unfocused eyes. The silence finally got the best of him and Spike sat up, tearing off his trench coat and throwing it violently across the room. Willow reached out and grabbed his shoulder with a steel-like grip and pulled him back down beside her. "Don't get all angry, Spike. Anger doesn't help us. It only makes us foolish and hasty." She leaned over the peroxide-blond vampire and grinned widely, tracing a fingernail leisurely down his chest. "Besides, we haven't lost yet, lover. Far from it. We now know exactly where to strike next." Willow giggled, letting her copper-red hair fall down over her pale face. "And when we do, we'll make them pay for what they've done to us."