Disclaimer: Joss, WB, UPN et al. own Buffy. I do not.

Title: The Prices We Pay: Chapter 3

Author: Paradigm Shifter

Feedback: While it will get done (eventually) anyway, let me know if you like it, hmm?

Rating: Yeah, you guessed it: R

*

Xander walked through his door to end face to face with his father. The door was still open and Darla was watching from the outside.

"So, boy, who's the pretty bitch you were kissing?"

Xander tried to walk past. "No one."

"There's no way you could get anyone good looking like that, you worthless piece of shit. How much did she charge? And if you catch a disease, I ain't paying the hospital bills."

Xander wheeled round. "She didn't 'charge' anything, 'cause nothing happened. She's someone I met on the way home." Xander didn't say she saved him, that would have only made his humiliation more complete.

"The kid finally grew some balls!"

Xander stood mute at the insult, knowing fighting would just make it worse.

Xander's father was not listening any more. He walked out onto the porch. "Hey, you! Yeah, bitch, you! How much do you charge?"

Darla watched with mild interest as Xander's father chewed him out, and then turned to her. The 'bitch' insult was pushing it, and when the 'how much do you charge?' came out of his mouth, she approached, smiling lasciviously. Stopping feet away, she said, "I don't."

"What? You're free?"

Darla's smile became deadly. An expression that would be completely at home on a predator that knew its prey had no hope of escape. "Don't push it."

Xander's father looked incredulous. "You threatening me?"

"Yes." The simple word stunned the man for a second, before he recovered his faculties.

"I'll be damned…" he lashed forward with a wicked swing, but screamed in pain when Darla caught it and squeezed, crushing his fingers.

Harris senior fell to his knees, clutching his ruined digits. "My hand! My hand! You broke my fucking hand!"

"Don't say anything about Xander or me or that wont be the only thing that is broken tonight." Darla's voice was flat and just as deadly as her smile as she spoke.

Xander watched the exchange with a sick fascination. Finally his father seemed to recover enough to issue a threat to him, in a pained, but just as deadly tone of voice.

"Get out, boy. I don't ever want to see you again, or I'll shoot you. You've got five minutes to pack and fuck off out of my life forever. You were a mistake from the moment you were first born…"

Tears stung Xander's eyes at the ultimatum, but Darla nodded. "Come on, Xander. You can come with me."

Inside, Darla was ecstatic. This is working out better than I could ever have hoped! Not only has his family disowned him, they have threatened him, making it easier for me to get into his heart…

Darla stood on the doorstep with Xander's father while Xander ran up to his room, collecting together the few things he really treasured. Little did he realise, he would be coming back soon enough…

*

Xander walked despondently down the street with Darla at his side. This area of Sunnydale was very exclusive, and had some of the nicest buildings in it. Darla turned and walked up the path of a large house, not quite a mansion, but definitely large enough to fit five of Xander's own home into it.

"Where are we going?" he asked, turning to Darla.

Darla smiled at him and pointed at an old building. "My parents owned this, and I'm living there for now."

Xander just nodded in amazement. "Right."

Darla gripped his hand tightly, the cold night air giving her an excuse for her icy cold hands. "Come on, Xander. I want you to be comfortable." Darla nearly dragged him up the garden path and pulled a key out of her pocket to unlock the door. Once inside, she pushed the door shut while Xander stood mute looking up at the large paintings covering the walls of the hallway. Generations of people; captured for eternity and trapped in the paintings, watching, guarding, staring disapprovingly at all who entered.

"Uh… Darla… this seems to be a bit… I don't know… forbidding?"

Darla smiled and placed a cool hand gently on Xander's shoulder. He unconsciously leaned into it. "Don't worry, I hated it here when I was younger, but now I love it. My grandmother is that one." Darla pointed at possibly the most forbidding portrait, opposite the door, dominating the room, and staring directly at Xander with a near scowl on her face.

Darla walked past the portrait, beckoning Xander to follow. If he had examined the portrait more closely as he passed, instead of shuddering and turning away, Xander would have seen the artist's signature.

Reneau, 1524.

Darla wasn't some innocent little slip of a girl. She was hundreds of years old…

*

Can you say: cliff-hanger?