Part II:


After downing the pain killers, the younger man took one more quick look at the two sisters, seated and speaking quietly. Then, he moved to the training room in the back of the shop – not to work out, but to sit somewhere that would be undisturbed by the sound of any customers. Taking several deep breaths, he chose a spot in the room that gave him a clear line of sight to the door, sitting with his back against the wall. He closed his eyes for a moment.

Images rolled through his head again. Xander couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks as he was engulfed in a burning pain. It's not me! It's not me. The pain is his. The death is his. Damn it all to hell; it just hasn't been a good day, and it's not even half over, yet. The 'thunk' of his head hitting the wall echoed through the open space. It succeeded in distracting him from the images, but didn't really do much for the headache.

"Xander."

One thing you gotta admire about G-man, Xander thought. He's always quiet… usually… except when he's angry… hell, I know what I mean even if I can't think straight!

"Yeah, Giles?"

"Are you all right? You look, well… as though you're in quite a bit of pain."

"Headache," Xander answered. "Didn't sleep well, bad dream, 'nuff said."

Giles was at a loss. Willow and Buffy had always been willing to talk to him when there was a problem, but Xander – despite the jokes – continually held himself back. Giles knew that the younger man used to talk to Willow quite a bit, but since the Wiccan had started attending Sunnydale U., the conversations had tapered off. Willow's focus was on Tara, now, and Xander… The Watcher realized suddenly that Xander – of all the people in the group – was the one who was most on his own. At least Giles could call Olivia if he needed to talk to someone who knew about his role in Buffy's life.

Who did Xander have? There was Buffy, who was so preoccupied with Dawn and Slayer duties that Xander – being Xander – wouldn't want to burden her with whatever was on his mind. He also had no wish to butt in on Willow's relationship with Tara, and Giles… well…

Cordelia, as an ex-girlfriend, was not someone that Xander could just call out of the blue, and Wesley… during his time in Sunnydale, very few people confided in Wesley. Xander wouldn't want to talk to him, Angel was – on the whole – best left unmentioned, and Anya only annoyed him.

Giles locked eyes with the younger man, telling him with a look that he was quite aware something was going on here… and he wanted to know what it was. What he hadn't expected was the look that Xander returned.

It was cool, calm, collected – even in the face of pain – and it was not the Xander Harris that he knew. At least, not that Xander that I thought I knew. What the bloody hell is going on here?

Xander knew that look… or rather, military guy did. It was almost the same look O'Neill gave M.G. whenever they had walked into a situation that wasn't anywhere close to what Intel had said it would be. It was almost the same look M.G. had turned on Kawalsky a time or three, especially when his buddy had been trying to pull his leg. It was the look that said stop yanking my chain and give me a straight answer… now.

Xander sighed, giving up the fight for the moment… tired of it… the secrets, the lies. It would either go well or blow up in his face, and since those had really been the only options all along, it didn't really matter whether he told someone now or later.

"Close the door, Giles… and lock it, please. There's something that I need to show you, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn't tell Buffy right this minute. She's got enough on her plate."

I'm either stupid or desperate, Xander thought. What are they going to do when they find out what I've been keeping from them? Damn it, Harris, what are you doing? Oh, this is gonna rank high on the fun-o-meter… or maybe not.

He stood easily, straightening without even using a hand for balance. He looked around the room for a second, searching out the tools he would need to "achieve the objective." Ah, the joys of an inherited military mind, Xander thought. Gotta love it. The scary thing is… it's kinda grown on me. Yeah, I know how to do this because he remembers it… but memories don't equal skill. Knowing how doesn't mean that you can do something, so how much of this is him… and how much is me?

Seeing what he wanted… the target board on the far wall, he picked up three throwing knives. Silently testing the balance, he delayed the inevitable for a second. These were the Slayer's weapons; he knew the balance would be perfect. He closed his eyes, visualizing the position of the target behind him, and quickly took three steps forward. Before Giles could even open his mouth to ask what Xander was doing, the younger man quickly turned, opened his eyes and threw the knives.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Giles watched, stunned, as all three blades landed dead center on the target board. He opened his mouth to speak… and closed it again as Xander looked at him, the expression on his face clearly meaning, 'Wait. I'm not done yet.'

Xander lost himself in the other man's memories, but was conscious enough of the movements to realize that the style was his… almost as though M.G. had been his teacher, rather than… well, him. The kata he did now was not the basic routine of that morning, but a longer one. This called for greater strength, a determination of the soul, a clarity of self. This routine allowed Xander to blend the full sense of himself with the essence of the other man… the man M.G. had been and the one he could have been – had he lived. Each progressive movement increased in difficulty, called for stronger punches, faster blocks, higher kicks.

Giles said nothing, analyzing what was going on right in front of his, trying to categorize – in his own way – the emergence of this completely unknown side to Xander Harris. This was not the joking young man he knew. This man was skilled, silent… and potentially lethal. If Xander could keep quiet in regards to skills like this – even when those skills were most needed – what else was he hiding?



Part III