"You understand there will be a great deal of pain involved."
The Doctor had many types come through his office over the years, mostly demons, but he could count on one hand the humans that opted for his unique services. The last human was a lawyer rewarded a new hand from his employers; the operation was a success—more or less. On the whole the Doctor personally believed the humans asking for his treatments were the most interesting, the most imaginative. With demons and their ilk, it was 'make me stronger' or 'remove this weakness' or 'reattach that'. All very standard tasks, the Doctor felt. Humans, however, always requested outrageous things be done to their bodies, rarely considering what the end results may be. Perhaps this young man will prove equally as interesting. Hopefully, more so.
Said young man sat quietly in the chair on the other side of the Doctor's desk, his head bowed as he stared blankly at the Doctor's sparsely decorated desktop. His long, shaggy hair hung limp and soiled over his brow. The young man was dressed rather badly in fact. He wore a dingy T-shirt and severely faded blue jeans; this might have worried the Doctor if the young man had not paid up-front for the procedure. The Doctor was curious about where the young man procured the hefty sum, but not overly so; it wasn't his concern, really.
"I understand if you are having second thoughts," the Doctor said after several minutes and the young man had yet to reply.
"I… " the young man began sluggishly, before bringing his face up to look at the Doctor through the tangle of hair obscuring his eyes. His stubble scattered jaw working while his mouth tried to form words, as if the art of speech was lost to him.
"I'm… not having second th-thoughts," the young man finally said.
"Glad to hear it. The operation you've asked for has never been performed on a human before, and I am looking forward to discovering how it will affect your… body… Is something wrong?"
The young man had lowered his head again in a subservient manner, but quickly brought it back up at the Doctor's query. The Doctor could see his intense effort to keep his gaze leveled.
"No. Nothing wrong," the young man replied.
"Very well, then let me explain what you can expect from this surgery--"
"Don't need details," the young man whispered, "just how long until I can use what I get."
The Doctor leaned back in his leather-upholstered chair and steeples his fingers in front of his face before responding. "As I said before, no human has received this treatment, only a small number of demon life-forms. The soonest I've seen any utilize the enhancement was four months, and that was only after extensive physical therapy. Those who weren't able to adapt never fully regained use of their bodies because the pain, both mental and physical, was too crippling to overcome. There were even a number of deaths post-op due to massive shock."
"I understand. When can you do it?"
"Immediately."
Faith was fast, slayers generally were. She swung her knife with deadly speed and beautiful precision. It was like she was born with one in her hand. Using more skill than Xander could ever dream of using himself. But she wasn't faster than a vampire, no where near. She was too damn slow. Xander had so many opportunities to cut her, yet he ignored them all. Instead, he remained constantly on the defensive, stayed on the move, maneuvering through the short maze of tables and chairs inside the bar.
Xander operated on cruise control. He wasn't attacking at all, his blade striking out only to redirect hers. His main concern, not including gauging Faith in action, was to zealously protect his head since he didn't know how much she'd discovered before confronting him. Xander dodged two of Faith's kicks, experiencing the first hint of worry since the fight started. He could surpass her with a knife, but no way if it came down to physical prowess. Frankly, his speed wasn't going to be enough if he had to slug it out with Faith. Hence the whole bringing a knife to what should've been a gun fight deal.
"You gonna keep dancin', Xander?" Faith asked, halting her attack. Eyeing Xander with confusion even while trying to sound flip. Xander gave a tiny smile, because Faith's eyes told whole stories. He wondered how come he never saw the murder in her all those years ago.
Xander took a step, and, for an instant, he knew Faith lost sight of him. She cursed, ducking just in time to avoid a slash to her throat. Faith immediately swung her knife upwards along Xander's torso. The blade tore his shirt apart, but did no more damage than that. Xander leaped back to prevent a deeper cut to his flesh. Faith had a second to gasp at his chest before Xander continued his assault. He kicked his right leg out, intent on smashing Faith's temple while she was distracted. Faith quickly knelt down and avoided the roundhouse simultaneously spinning on her left foot and extending her right leg, which nearly connected with Xander's shin before he leaped onto the table behind him.
Xander landed with such grace he barely disturbed the beer bottles sitting atop the table. If Faith was impressed she didn't let it show. Her attack maintained momentum. She stood up and delivered a powerful front kick to the edge of the table, knocking it right out from under Xander's feet and sent it and the bottles smashing to the floor. Abruptly losing his footing was nothing for his reflexes to handle, but before he could land on his feet, Faith performed a spinning back kick, buried her foot in Xander's gut and sent him flying. Oxygen expelling from his lungs in a violent, painful gush. Faith dashed forward, ready to pounce on him the moment he plummeted to the floor. Xander took control over his tumbling body, though, contorted in mid-air and landed in a squat position. Then without missing a beat, jumped at Faith. They flew at each on a collision course, both their knives raised.
Xander brought his knife down, aiming the tip of the blade at the crook of Faith's neck, expecting her to either aim the same way or bury her knife in his shoulder since he offered no other clear target with his body. Neither possibility bothered him. Faith did the unexpected however; she dropped her knife and grabbed Xander's forearm, stopping the blade mere inches from her flesh. Then in one fluid motion, seemingly without effort, Faith maneuvered Xander's entire body and flipped him to the sticky, grimy floor flat onto his stomach. The move was pure Aikido. The realization momentarily stunned Xander; he never would have believed Faith of all people would know, much less employ, a non-aggressive martial art. Faith kept a bone-crushing grip on his right arm with one hand and buried her knee in the middle of his back. Xander's shock quickly faded and an icy dread filled him.
He knew what was coming next.
"Xander…" Faith's voice was quiet.
Xander could feel Faith's weight shift when she said his name. The next sensation he felt was her fist striking his forearm. Xander didn't even try to bite back the howl of utter agony that ripped every molecule of air from his lungs. The Steel Heart fell from suddenly nerveless fingers and rattled to the floor. Despite the pain he remained clearly aware of how his arm gave way under Faith's fist.
Xander's breathing had gone reedy by the time Faith let go of his devastated limb then folded her arm around his throat. Xander, weakened nearly to the point of unconsciousness, could do nothing when Faith lifted his slack body from the floor. Her arm squeezing just enough to hold Xander up while her free hand took possession of his uninjured arm and bent it behind his back, completing the classic restraining hold.
"Didn't have to be like this, Xander," Faith said, then started to crush Xander's neck with her arm.
Just like old times, Xander thought.
Briefly, for a single second, Xander considered letting Faith finish him off. The nihilistic urge consuming him before he could control it. Always there, waiting for moments like this. Whispering in his ear about how attractive dying can be. Death was a way of forgetting, too, wasn't it? Death would be so much more… agreeable. He wouldn't have to hurt anymore, with only decade after decade of searching and killing and pain and remembering stretched out ahead of him. All he had to do was do nothing.
Hang.
Give in.
Be nothing again.
No happily ever after for Xander Harris, is that it? Xander raged inwardly. At least everybody else is safe and happy, right? Living, loving, laughing, fucking, that makes it all better, right? While I waste away in a hole and everybody goes about their merry way. Until they forget my name, like I did once? Fuck that shit! I won't give in and I won't be nothing anymore. I will not hang, because hanging is just another way of bowing your head. I'm going to finish what I start.
Hear that, Anya?
Fueled by anger and humiliation brought on by his momentary weakness, Xander forced strength into his legs and stood up. Faith tightened her choke-hold and vainly twisted Xander's arm upward in an effort to stop his rise, but her lesser height worked to Xander's advantage and he leveraged her feet off the floor. Xander tensed the muscles in his legs and his stomach and flipped forward. Faith yelped as they tumbled over, then cried out when her back struck the floor. Xander's added weight exaggerated the impact.
Faith maintained a hold around Xander's neck, but it weakened enough he broke loose. Once free, Xander rolled off her, his crippled arm flopping numb and uselessly as he did. Agony screamed through every pathway of his nervous system. He came to a rest when his body bumped against the upturned table Faith kicked out from under him. Making use of his good arm, Xander pushed himself up and hopped to his feet. Faith by this time had regained her senses and was on her feet, inspecting the back of her head with her hand as she blinked her eyes to refocus her vision. When her sight cleared, Faith looked at her hand and found it coated with bright, red blood. She sent a death glare Xander's way.
A smirk took Xander's lips. "Welcome to my world," he said.
Xander lifted his crippled arm from his side. The lower half of his forearm dangling grotesquely independent of the rest of the arm. The scene grew more disturbing when Xander brought his arm up as if he were flexing his bicep. Faith watched with sick fascination, wincing whenever the limp part of his arm swung. Xander's smirk vanished and his sweat-slicked brow became marred with groves of concentration. He focused on his heart and forced the organ to speed up and use its machine-like proficiency to pump blood directly into his arm. Slowly, the damaged muscle in Xander's arm re-inflated. The skin was stretched taunt; the bloated sinew made his arm look like an over-stuffed sausage.
Half the job done, Xander redoubled his concentration. Contracting the extra tendons and tissue layered beneath the skin. Once he was finished, he curled and uncurled each finger of his hand in rapid succession before finally making a fist and lowering his arm to his side.
Xander's attention focused solely on Faith once more, and he said, "Okay, Faith, let's try this again."
Oh, boy, does Angel not know everything! Faith thought, after witnessing Xander's arm… what? Do a pretty freaky imitation of an erection that's what!
Faith couldn't believe what she'd seen at first, yet being a Slayer and everything that entails ushered Faith over her surprise in a hurry. Her mind worked furiously to understand Xander's ability. She prayed whatever it was it wasn't a healing power.
"Okay, Faith, let's try this again," Xander said, his arm back down at his side. Sweat dampening his forehead and dripping from the tip of his nose. His dark gaze cut into Faith with the intensity of a high powered laser.
"Damn, Xander, some trick you got there." Faith wiped the blood on her hand on her pant leg before shrugging off her leather jacket, at the same time she let her stare move over Xander's body. Lingering briefly on his bared chest, where hardly one square inch of skin was smooth. Scars that looked like old, twisted burn disfigurements they were so intertwined. Her gaze then inspected the gash in his side, which bled much slower than before but didn't look anymore healed than before.
Rapidly approaching the conclusion whatever Xander's trick was it wasn't accelerated healing, Faith ended her inspection with his right arm where her suspicions were confirmed. His arm sported a livid purplish-red welt where Faith punched him, which encircled the entire circumference of his forearm. Faith tossed her coat behind her, unconcerned with where it landed.
She brought her eyes up to Xander's and felt her insides freeze when she saw him pinning her with an amused sneer. "Figure it out yet?" he asked.
"Don't matter, I'm taking you down regardless."
Xander's amusement melted away, and his lips parted showing his teeth clamped together, the muscles in his jaw straining. "You think so?"
"Yea—shit."
The punch caught Faith below the ribcage and just above her abdomen. Xander stood beside Faith, his fist lodged in the dent it left in her midriff. The fist attached to the arm Faith broke moments before. Faith doubled over, her eyes widened until they were more white than brown. Xander took his fist away then jabbed his elbow down on her exposed neck. Until then Faith's only vocal response was a curse, but that hit had her gagging as she dropped to the floor. Faith knew she was in real danger and reacted instantly, catching herself with her arms and wheeled forward before Xander stomped his foot down where her back would have been. It, like the previous blow, could've paralyzed her.
Faith rolled to her feet, pivoted and initiated a roundhouse kick; she didn't know where Xander's incredible speed came from, but she accepted the fact he was fast—hella, fast. So she adapted, anticipating he'd be right behind her in no time. Xander ducked the kick, rose up and buried another punch in Faith's diaphragm. Faith took it. She was in full combat mode now. Faith threw a fast left jab at Xander's face, which he avoided by back hand-springing out of the way, his foot catching Faith under the chin, snapping her head back. Again, Faith gritted her teeth and absorbed the hit. She scuttled backwards to put more distance between herself and Xander to buy time and think of a way around his speed.
Faith moved behind a table, keeping it between Xander and herself. Faith maybe didn't jive to school back in the day, but even she knew the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. The tactic appeared to give Xander pause and he stood in place and watched her, an air of restrained savagery surrounded him.
Faith cupped her hand under her jaw. Xander's blows weren't the most powerful she'd ever experienced, but they still hurt like hell and left a lasting ache despite her recuperating abilities. He's not as strong as I am… so he's landing hits where they'll do the most damage… cause me the most pain. Faith narrowed her eyes. He's being fast and precise because he knows he can't match me head up. And now those blades are starting to make sense. Anything to keep me from using my fists.
Or not, Faith thought irritably. Considering how fast Xander was with his hands he should have cut her to ribbons with his knife, but he didn't. What is he playing at?
"Gotta admit, you got game," Faith said, lowering her hand away from her jaw, placing it on the tabletop along with the other.
Xander took a step closer, then another and another, the grim expression on his face unchanged. Eventually, he reached the table and stopped moving. Faith wearily waited to see if he'd launch another attack, her body relaxed as she prepared to evade—right after she flipped the table over in Xander's face. Xander stalked slowly to the left and Faith moved to the right, keeping her palms under the tabletop and her thumbs curled over the edge. Xander changed direction, so did Faith.
"We gonna keep dancing, Faith?" Xander asked through gritted teeth.
Faith's left eye twitched, too nervous and confused to fully react to the goad. "What kind of game are you playing?"
Xander shook his head. "No game. Not anymore, I want you dead now."
Faith's eyes darted to the table on her left where Xander's trench rested with the automatic in the pocket. "Could have done that from the start," she said, returning her gaze to Xander.
"Want taste what face in Sunnydale," Xander replied.
It took a few moments for Faith to decipher that sentence. Why the hell is he talking like a slow five-year-old? "You were testing me out?"
Xander gave no reply, didn't even nod. He attacked. Xander leaped into the air, legs spread eagle and parallel to the floor before he brought them together over the table and smashed Faith's head between his arches. When Xander's legs came apart, Faith stumbled back, her head wobbling. She saw stars instead of Xander's following move. Xander landed then braced his hands on the table's surface and used his arms to vault over the table, his legs together and knees bent before they shot straight out. His feet struck Faith in the midriff and sent her barreling through a section of tables and chairs. She came to a rest when her body hit with the far wall of the bar, the drywall dimpling and cracking on contact. Any air not knocked out of her lungs from the two-legged kick expelled once she struck the wall. Faith didn't even have enough oxygen inhabiting her lungs to groan when she slid to the floor.
Jesus fucking Christ! Again with the diaphragm! Faith griped inwardly, her arms folded around her stomach, awed by the agony wracking her body.
Faith's ears picked up the quick snatching sound of crunching glass and wood. She threw herself away from the wall in time to avoid Xander's foot, which broke through the wall precisely where her head had been, leaving his leg deeply embedded in the wall. Faith scrambled to her feet and half ran, half-stumbled towards the bar, her back temporally to Xander. She turned once she heard the grainy breakage of the drywall as he pulled his leg free.
Faith stilled and waited for Xander to bolt in and attack. He didn't. Noting their surroundings, Faith soon understood why.
Xander's speed relied on running in a straight line and now he couldn't do that without causing a racket trampling over broken tables, chairs and glass. He knows that's how I escaped when he tried to make my head one with the wall, Faith determined. He has to come at me a different way now. I got a chance. Just gotta figure out how to take advantage of… Out of the corner of her eye Faith saw glinting from the knife Xander gave her on the floor to her right. Might work… It depended greatly on how Xander attacked.
Instead of waiting for Xander to devise a plan, Faith provided him with an opening. She took several more steps back, positioning herself closer to the bar where the area was debris free, betting her backpedaling looked like retreating to Xander. He made no move to accept the bait. Seconds passed, then a minute. Faith's senses heightened to their highest degree with anticipation.
The music on the jukebox changed from the silky vocals of Shania Twain, to the low, lonely crooning of a less familiar male country artist. Xander made his move. He ran at Faith, though at a much slower pace to avoid the wreckage littering the ground. When he came within feet five of Faith he closed the rest of the distance with a darting jump. Launching at her with nearly the same speed of an unfettered run—but not quite.
Faith dodged to the side, allowing Xander to pass right by her. Then took a page out of Xander's play book and somersaulted away, but instead of just flipping once Faith flipped three times consecutively until she felt her right hand close around the hilt of the knife. Once upright Faith didn't waste time trying to sight Xander, she brought the blade up to where she figured his heart would be and lunged forward.
Faith and Xander jarred when their forms clashed. Faith's arm felt the impact of the knife's hilt guard hit Xander's chest. Its blade slipping through his flesh, between his ribs, so smoothly. Faith watched Xander's eyes close and his jaw drop when the pain registered. When his eyes peeled open again they met Faith's.
"I told you," she said, and yanked the knife out. Xander promptly vomited blood from his mouth and through his nose onto the front of Faith's T-shirt, and dropped to his knees. Faith gripped the bloodied knife tightly in her hand. Breathing shallowly, because nothing could mute the scent of blood in the air now. The blood drenching her. Faith looked upon Xander, fighting off the guilt she'd known she'd feel all along after completing the mission. Her neck vibrating with the need to turn away from the pitiful sight in front of her, but she wouldn't look away. It was only when Xander's pooling blood began spreading towards her that Faith's stare moved away from his kneeling form to watch the black liquid puddle around her boots.
"I'm sorry, Xander," Faith choked out, dropping the knife next to her foot. She turned away when she could no longer bear to watch Xander die. Xander called out her name and Faith turned around.
"Y-you don't know--" Xander started to say before another gout of blood filled his mouth, turning whatever he was going say next into a gurgle. Xander closed his mouth and forced the blood out between his lips before continuing. "You d'on kno ow much I w'shh y-you killed me that ni't."
Xander slumped to the floor, landing face forward in an ever-widening pool of his own blood.
Faith stared blankly, her features still. She refused to let Xander's final words get to her. If she did, their weight would certainly smash her to pieces.
Xander didn't deserve to die now any more than he did all those years ago. If only he wasn't so hell bent on hurting the people she cared about… No! It ain't about him deserving to die or not, it's about doing a job that needed to be done because nobody else was willing to, for whatever their reasons. Like it fucking matters now, anyway.
Faith squared her shoulders and hardened her heart, turned on her heels and walked around Xander's corpse. She got her discarded jacket and shrugged it on. Faith strolled past Xander and she didn't spare him a single glance, the soles of her shoes picking up a fresh coat of his endlessly flowing blood. She tracked it all the way to the exit and out onto the concrete paved parking lot, where the crowd from the bar ambled together in the night. They gawked at her, but quickly parted skittishly before her blood-soaked figure.
Buncha shit-kicking, hick motherfuckers!
The prints began to fade then disappeared all together by the time she reached her cherry red pick-up. Faith climbed inside the truck, started the engine and peeled out of the parking lot. She didn't dare cry until she crossed over the Alabama State line.
Xander crawled to the bar and hoisted up himself with the aid of a barstool. He slipped repeatedly on his blood until he reached then pushed through the waist high swinging door separating the back of the bar from the rest of the room. Xander searched under the bar and found a dozen bottles of beer buried in a cooler stuffed with ice. He grabbed two with the fingers on his left hand then staggered back to the barstool area. He took the barstool closest to the little 'Do Not Enter' swinging door, placed one of the bottles on the counter and twisted the top off the other. The golden brew tasted more like blood than beer going down, but it was ice-cold and Xander chugged away. His over-heated body needed the cool down almost as much as it required his current inaction. Xander finished the first beer and quickly started on the second.
Clint Black ended his tale of woe and gave way to the man in black himself.
Blood drying on his face, Xander nursed on the beer bottle, pondering his encounter with Faith. He reached two conclusions. One: rather Faith had stabbed him or not, his body would've lasted one, maybe two minutes longer—he never should have let the confrontation spin out of control in the first place. Faith hadn't come to Alabama to kill him, no matter what she claimed. She swaggered into the bar with no weapons, no back up, expecting her Slayer title to intimidate him—back him off. Xander was the one who took it to the next level. Two: he wasn't ready. Wasn't even close. If Faith took him out—killed him, as far as she knew—then he stood no chance against the combined might of two slayers, and possibly two witches. It was likely Angel and his people would stand against him, too.
I have to get better—stronger.
I'm not ready yet.
"You've come a long way," the Doctor commented, studying readouts from the machine monitoring the young man's radically altered brain wave patterns.
Seven months had gone by since the operation and four months since Xander's physical therapy ended. He was ready to leave the clinic, though the Doctor wished the young man would stay. The Doctor would have relished the opportunity to run the boy through a series of invasive of tests. It was not often the Doctor encountered specimens such as him. Alas, it was not to be; the Doctor couldn't afford to force Xander to stay. If word got out he abducted patients for experimentation, human or not, it would upset his entire operation. He'd lose millions. Holding Xander against his will, quite simply, was not worth possible ruin.
Doctor and patient occupied Examination Room 4 inside the Doctor's private clinic located seven miles outside Los Angeles. The room's walls were white, as was the floor and ceiling. Like many of the rooms in the clinic it was windowless, but brightly lit by hologen lights. Inside the room there was a padded adjustable exam table, on which the young man sat. Against the wall opposite the dark lacquered door, was a connected stainless steel counter and sink. On the counter sat four plastic jars containing various medical supplies—bandages, unpacked syringes and antiseptics. Above the counter and sink were stainless steel cabinets bolted to the wall and ceiling. Near the examination table was an EEG machine, wirelessly tuned to the young man's brain wave frequency.
The clinic mired in dark magics and advanced medical technology, was a well-kept secret, even among the denizens of the underworld. Many patients who received their operations at the clinic didn't know its exact location. Enchantments warding the unassuming five-story—four of those levels underground—cement building immediately wiped all memory of the clinic from their minds.
The Doctor wrote down a few more notes on his clipboard before turning to Xander, who was nude except for black shorts.
Xander was a hulking figure. The huge muscles in the young man's arms and legs sagged over bone (impossible, of course, the bone from all four limbs had been excised) possessing very little tone. At first glance Xander was body builder who ignored his exercise regiments. However, his limbs only looked this way while in a semi-relaxed state. Xander's torso, slender and solid, held its shape no matter what his physical circumstances.
Xander's cranium was closely shaved; kept that way by choice after a gland that produced neurotransmitters specifically designed to control his new nervous system was implanted into his cerebral cortex. Above Xander's left ear, a thin, pink X-shaped scar lingered from that surgery. The young man's face, now free of Xander's shaggy mane, displayed pale, rawboned features. Thick, black eyebrows set over hazel eyes, a prominent nose, and thin, but not too thin, lips. A handsome face, though unconventionally so.
"Are you still experiencing migraines?" asked the Doctor.
"Yeah."
"And the prescription I gave you?"
The young man shook his head.
The Doctor knodded silently, not surprised by the response he got. Suffering from endless stimuli firing from what was, in truth, twenty extra organs had to be excruciating, yet Xander refused to take anything to dull the pain. Nevertheless, the lack of medication never slowed his adaptation so the Doctor didn't push the subject.
"Well, the EEG indicates nothing out of the norm, and your body shows no signs of tissue rejection. I believe I can safely say your operation was a complete success."
"I can leave?"
"Yes. Though I want you to know you can contact me up to six months after you leave here for any questions or follow ups," the Doctor said. "Also, the pain medication I have prescribed can be filled under the name Jim Baxter for a year if you change your mind about enduring the migraines."
"I don't think I will," Xander droned out. The muscles in the young man's arms and legs shuddered under his pale skin, shrinking and tightening until they compacted—blended to match the brawn in his chest and stomach. Once finished, Xander slid off the exam table and stood upon the white, sterile, linoleum floor.
The Doctor shrugged. "Just in case. The nurse at the lobby desk will sign you out once you're ready to leave."
"Th-hank you."
The Doctor blinked. He couldn't recall the last time anyone thanked him. "You are quite welcome."
Xander left the exam room, presumably to his suite to retrieve his clothing. The Doctor turned off the EEG before he too left the room. He took the elevator down to sub-level five where his private offices resided.
Once there he pulled up an electronic copy of Xander Harris' records, both medical and mystical, from his computer.
Young mister Harris truly was the perfect human candidate for the muscle enhancement procedure. His cursed ability to produce an infinite amount of enriched blood worked in perfect harmony with his new muscle tissue. Providing all the energy needed for them to work at peak efficiency. Even without his unique ability it was possible Xander could train his body to sustain prolonged physical activity without rest. With the curse he was capable of briefly acquiring near superhuman strength, agility and speed.
If I could only get him on my dissection table, the Doctor thought. See just how spontaneously he can produce plasma. Is his heart required to feed his other organs? Or can each produce its own supply? Can Xander's body manufacture even after total organ failure? The Doctor shook his head, resigned. Someday, perhaps. The Doctor closed Xander's file and brought up another file belonging to a Morack demon who wanted his fangs elongated.
The Doctor sighed.
