Part 43: The Heart of the Matter

Catherine entered the temporary quarters with a sigh.

"How's it going?" Charlie asked from his position by the window.

"They're out in this eerie cemetery looking for the cavern entrance right now," Catherine said as she fell onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

"So you're sold then?"

"Completely."

There was a moment of silence before Charlie remarked, "J'Nal's doing the dance of joy. Well, maybe not a dance, more like a meditation. But he's smiling. I caught him."

"Great," Catherine said quietly.

She felt the bed dip.

"You could be happier about this."

Catherine grunted.

"There's a very good shot that we didn't screw up the timeline at all."

"Still not sure how I feel about that," Catherine admitted. "And we still don't know for sure."

"But our chances just got a lot better." When Catherine remained resolutely silent, Charlie dove in, "You're still upset about what Faith told you, aren't you?"

Catherine sat up, resting her face in her hands.

"Explains why they barely talk," Charlie muttered.

"I trust you."

Charlie looked at Catherine in surprise. "I hope so," the doctor said slowly. "We've known each other for how long?"

Catherine waved him off. "Not you. I mean, yes, I trust you, but that's not what I meant."

"So what did you mean?"

Catherine leaned back on her hands, her face still in thought. "Something I remember reading." She gave Charlie a sad smile. "You know what my family's like. Gotta know the history. Gotta know the facts."

"I'm beginning to think those are two different things," Charlie agreed.

"I've read every journal written by every member at one point or another," Catherine said as if he didn't speak. "Either for research purposes or for family study purposes, but reading Alexander's and Faith's journals is on the required reading list for everyone in the family."

Charlie kept silent, wondering where Catherine was going.

"There was this story? Adventure? Incident? I remember reading it and I thought at the time how strange it was. Why would 'I trust you' be so important?" Catherine gave her odd aborted smile at Charlie. "It's like that one line in a book you can't ever forget and becomes this big mystery on why it hit you so hard. 'I trust you' was that line for me."

"Are you going to tell me why? Or leave me guessing?" Charlie asked.

Catherine sounded distracted. "A little over two standard years from now, there's a demon loose in Cleveland."

"Now there's a shock. There's an unstable dimensional mystical convergence here."

"Yeah, but this demon? This demon's got these spines," here Catherine's fingers danced up her arms, "covered with some kind of poison. A normal person gets hit with it and they're immediately immobilized by violent seizures so the demon can eat them at their leisure. A Slayer can still move, but even they slow down. Remove the spines, Slayer healing kicks in and they eventually recover."

"But not a normal person?"

"No. Violent fevers, violent hallucinations, slow painful death that can drag out for weeks," Catherine answered.

"Go on."

"People in this house went toe-to-toe with it. Faith and Violet almost managed to kill it, but got hit with the spines, which left Alexander alone to face it."

"He got hit too."

"Yeah, but he still managed to kill it. Something four times his size with poison already circulating through his body. Can you imagine that?" A small amount of the family pride was still there as Catherine spoke. "Faith managed to remove everyone's spines, but not before Alexander had seizures."

"Well, since it happens only, what? Two standard years from now and he's still around after that, so we know he doesn't die," Charlie pointed out.

"That's not the point," Catherine said slowly. "He suffers for a week with these violent fevers and horrific hallucinations. I remember reading in Faith's journal that he was absolutely convinced that almost everyone was a monster trying to kill him. Some she remembered as real monsters he'd faced, some might've been imaginary."

"I heard 'almost.'"

"Three exceptions: her, Willow, and this mystically ensouled vampire named Spike who was around because he was delivering a package. Willow he seemed to see as these dark, twisted versions of the Willow he knew. A vampire. A murderous sorceress. A manipulative woman using magic for her own gain. Spike he didn't even see at all. But, he saw Faith and even stranger, he saw her as her, not as a twisted version of herself."

"Sounds like fun," Charlie muttered.

"Faith-then might see your sarcasm and raise it," Catherine admitted. "See, the thing that always confused me is that Faith seemed, I don't know, upset that he could see her. At that point they'd been working together more than two standard years, had already proven they were a good team, were responsible for a few younger Slayers that they trained in tandem. It didn't make any sense. I mean, I'd think she'd be happy that he could recognize her because that meant that maybe, just maybe, he was in love with her."

"Why would you think that?"

"I was a sappy romantic little girl."

Charlie snorted. "You. Romance. Is this before or after something tries to eat your head?"

"Hey! It was just the once," Catherine protested. When Charlie gave her a knowing look, she added, "Okay, twice." Charlie gave her raised eyebrows and she amended, "Fine. Three times."

"That you'll admit to."

"I admit it. I have rotten taste in men."

Charlie chuckled and shook his head. "Maybe you weren't wrong about him maybe already being in love with her. So, why don't you think that was the case?"

"Knowing what I know now? How can you even ask? Besides, I think he was involved with someone else at the time," Catherine shrugged. She scrubbed a hand through her hair. "I think I can see why Faith was bothered by it. I think it's because she thought he was seeing her as a monster. Not a make-believe one, but the woman who tried to kill him. It was like the fact he could see her as her meant that everything they'd gone through together ultimately changed nothing."

"She didn't say?" Charlie asked.

"No. No she never did," Catherine whispered. She continued in a louder voice. "Anyway, at one point she's alone in the room with Alexander he managed to get out of the bonds tying him down and makes a break for the door. Faith's forced to tackle him and drag him back to the bed, fighting him every step of the way. She eventually manages to pin him to the bed and while he's fighting to get her off, she's telling him that he's sick, he needs help, they're trying to help him, she knows he's in there somewhere…"

"If what you said is true, it's a wonder the situation didn't push him over the edge," Charlie commented. He thought about it. "It didn't, did it?"

"That's the odd part. The part I don't get. I mean, that I didn't get," Catherine fumbled. "He suddenly just went still and he's staring up at her."

"I can imagine what was going through his head," Charlie shuddered.

"No you can't. I don't think anyone can," Catherine corrected. "He says three words to her. Just three. 'I trust you.'"

Charlie let out a low whistle.

"I don't have to tell you that right after that Willow walked in and he's back into violent hallucinations. He manages to toss Faith aside and he charges Willow head-on." Catherine shook her head. "But the thing that got to me was Faith's reaction. It was almost like she didn't know what to do. Like those three words were these precious gifts. It just didn't make sense. At least it didn't make sense to me. I mean, why wouldn't he trust her? They must've been friends. They did work very closely together for a long time. So why would you work with someone you didn't trust?"

"You have your answer," Charlie said.

"No, I have my answer on why 'I trust you' meant something to Faith, but not the rest." Catherine looked down. "She never forgot that, you know. Every once in awhile she'd make reference to it, like somehow it became her touchstone, like it made her, I don't know, more real." She looked at Charlie. "Does that even make sense?"

"So how'd they save him?"

Catherine bit her lip. "There was a spell involved. A fairly gruesome one."

"Cure worse than the disease?"

"I doubt Alexander would agree, especially since he was back to his old self after a month," Catherine said. "But there's a damn good reason why every portrait in our time has Alexander dressed from the neck down."

Charlie slapped his head. "The scarring! I completely forgot! Well, that and I wasn't clear on the story behind it."

"Good thing," Catherine gave him a half-grin. "Can you imagine it now? One of us asking Willow about cutting those patterns into his skin to heal him? If you thought Alexander and Faith were traumatized by finding out what little they found out, I don't even want to imagine what Willow would be like if she found out that at some point in the future she'd have to nearly skin Alexander alive to save him."

"Betchya J'Nal remembered," Charlie muttered.

"Probably Ms. Tikri and Ruda, too," Catherine added. "But Ruda's got a good head on her shoulders and once she heard 2003 she knew to 'forget.' Plus, in Ruda's world any fight you can walk away from is a good one, so it wouldn't occur to her that this was something anyone should be warned about. As for Ms. Tikri? She strikes me as someone who'll do anything to make sure we have a home to get back to, so she probably threw out all those questions."

"You hope. And thanks for pointing out that I'm the dumb one."

"The dumb one who knows more about medicine than anyone I know," Catherine pointed out. She let out a sigh. "Don't feel bad. 'I trust you' has been practically burned into my brain since I first read it because it was such a mystery to me. Plus, I refreshed my memory before we made the jump."

"Because you wanted to ask about it," Charlie replied. When Catherine nodded, he added, "At least now you know."

"I only know Faith's side. Not Alexander's." She looked down. "I still don't know and will probably never know why he said 'I trust you' to the last person he'd ever say it to if he was in anything resembling his right mind."

"Think he would've answered you?" Charlie asked.

"I don't know," Catherine replied. "I honestly don't know. I might've gotten an answer, just not a truthful one."

"Sooooo, they're looking for the Grail?"

"That's an awkward change of subject."

"Seemed like the thing to do."

Catherine settled back. "Scouting actually. Seems that Giles believes we should follow the script Alexander 2008 left us, or as close as we can get given everything was pretty much made up out of whole cloth."

"Why bother?" Charlie asked.

"The way he explained it to me was that if Alexander thought it was important enough to say we were present at the Grail's discovery, then we should be present," Catherine said. "We're coming up with strategy once the Slayer team gets back from the scouting trip. We'll be going for the Grail tomorrow night. Or at least that's the plan."

"And we know it'll happen because our plans have gone off without a spanner in the works since we started this," Charlie said. "What does Alexander say?"

"Don't know. From what I understand he's been pretty much holed up in his room since yesterday afternoon. Sleeping, if you believe Andrew Wells."

"And why would you do that?"

Catherine started giggling. "He's guarding the entrance to their room like it's the entry to the Life After. I'm pretty sure if someone really wanted to get past him, it would be a classic match: yappy dogger versus a rex catilus. Entertaining, but a very short fight."

"I'm surprised it hasn't happened," Charlie chuckled.

"I think they've decided to find Andrew charming," Catherine lost her humor. "Prevailing opinion seems to be that Alexander needs the sleep, so they're letting him sleep."

***

Xander cracked open his eyes to see a blurry, up-close, intense face staring at him.

"YOW!" he yelled as he jerked back and landed on the floor with an impressive thump. "Ow, ow, ow, ow…" he moaned. Not from the impact of landing on the floor, but because of the pain in his right hand.

He brought the injured extremity up to his good eye and hissed. His knuckles looked like they'd seen the business end of a few knives and his hand was covered in blood.

"Xander? Are you okay?" Andrew's tremulous voice cut through the haze of pain.

Xander checked his clothes and saw his shirt was covered with blood, although he could see that the only injuries were on his hand. He sat up and saw his bed sheets were decorated as well.

"Xander?" Andrew asked.

Xander flexed his hand, hissing that the stiffness in the joints as the scabs painfully cracked.

"Xander?"

He placed his left hand on the floor and let out a yelp when the palm came into contact with something sharply shard-like.

"Xander?"

"I'm fine," Xander said absently as he scanned the floor of the room. What the hell?

The room's sole mirror was spider-webbed with cracks. Some of the glass had fallen out and was scattered across the hardwood floor. He closed his eyes, cringed against the bed, and hoped like hell there were no glass slivers embedded in his skin.

"What happened?" Andrew asked.

"I hit the mirror. Several times." Xander answered numbly.

"Why?"

Why? Damn good question. Probably because it seemed like a good idea at the time.

His throbbing right hand made sure to let him know that it wasn't going to be forgiving him any time soon for the abuse he laid down on it or the mirror.

And crawling into bed and promptly falling asleep after he finished showing the mirror who was boss? Definitely a bad plan all around.

"Xander?"

"Got into a fight with Robin," Xander muttered.

Andrew looked from mirror to Xander and back again. "So you hit the mirror instead of hitting Robin." The roommate from hell nodded sagely. "That's soooo you."

Xander looked up at Andrew, not sure if the Annoying One was making fun of his blatant stupidity. Hitting Robin really would've been a lot smarter. Probably less painful, too.

How the fuck was he going to fix this mess?

Andrew crouched down so he was eye-level with the floored Xander, face full of a concern so deep that Xander was almost convinced that Andrew was something resembling sincere.

"Wanna talk about it?" Andrew asked. "I'm a good listener. I'm a really good listener. And I won't tell anyone anything ever. C'mon. You can lay it all on me. I'm good at that, you know. Doing the listening and the moral support. I can be Samwise to your Frodo."

Xander blinked at him, willing Andrew to just go away.

"Or-or-or not," Andrew hunched.

Xander looked back at the shattered glass. He really should get to his feet now. See if the mirror was completely unsalvageable. Maybe if he got some glue…

Andrew brightened. "Hey! I know! I could just sit here and say nothing. You know. In case you change your mind and need to…"

"Shower," Xander croaked.

"What?"

Xander looked down at his crusted-over knuckles. "Shower? To clean this?" He thrust his clenched right fist under Andrew's nose and watched disinterestedly as the boy-man scrambled away in surprise.

"Right. Right. Ummm, I know a little first aid."

Xander felt his eyebrows draw tight as he did more of that annoying blinking thing at Andrew.

"Okay, maybe not. But I can…"

"I can fix it."

"But…"

"I. Will. Fix. It."

"Oh. Right," Andrew nodded, beaming that odd smile at him as if confident that if anyone could fix it, whatever it was, Xander could. "I'll leave you to get cleaned up."

Andrew hopped to his feet at that and walked to the door adding, "Lisa called. They found the grave with the angel? It's pointing to a crypt."

"There's always a crypt," Xander muttered.

Andrew stopped and flashed Xander a pleased smile. "That's what I said."

"Birds of a feather. That's us," Xander said without emotion.

Andrew for some insane reason blushed at that as his smile stretched wider, as if he viewed what Xander said as a compliment. "I'll tell them you're up," he said as he bounced out of the room.

Wait, wait! They've already checked out Erie? I told Robin to… Xander looked at his alarm clock and realized with a start that it was 1 p.m., an hour before he walked into Giles's room to talk.

Shit. He slept almost 24 hours straight.

Well, this is starting to look familiar. Get smacked in the gut, have a huge mental breakdown, rip into someone because they happen to be there, lay down some destruction on property. All I need is the empty bottle of Jack and bingo! History repeats.

Xander groaned as the memory his meltdown in the backyard slammed into him at Mach 5. Robin had it coming but Christ Almighty! He gave Robin a piece of himself, exposed the wounds for him to see. Jesus. Robin had no right to see that. No one did. No one supposed to see…

See what?

That he was running on empty since Anya…

"It should've been you, Anya," he said to the broken mirror. "Catherine should be wanting to know about you. Not Faith. Definitely not me. I'm sorry."

No answer. That was okay. He wasn't expecting one. After all, he's not going to get a last good-bye with Anya, any more than Willow got her last good-bye with Tara. But Buffy, on the other hand, Buffy got her second chance with the Brooding One and got to play catch-up Riley.

With my fucking luck, Spike'll be ringing our doorbell any day now with a, "'ello luv! Pip pip cheerio! I'm such a wanker!"

He snorted a laugh, partly because he knew how unlikely that was and partly because he wouldn't be at all surprised if Bleachie turned up with alleged soul intact. Wouldn't that just be the ultimate kick in the head. One good thing though: if Spike turned up undead, he was pretty sure Willow'd be joining him on the train to Bittersville. Then again, maybe not. She's got a Kennedy-shaped teddy bear to help her forget.

Little unfair. You know she didn't forget. Hell, remember how you guys talked on the road to rocket launcher city about how guilty she felt being happy with Ken?

He's got to stop chasing himself in circles. He's got to clean the mess and fix…

Hand or mirror? Hand or mirror?

Mirror. Hand can wait.

He crawled over to some of the larger pieces on the floor and studied them a moment before fitting the edges together. One. Two. Three. Four. Eventually he got a reflective surface large enough for his head and a little background scenery in the form of the cracked ceiling.

Gotta spackle that over, Xander reminded himself as he leaned forward and took a good look at his reflection in the surface.

The edges of the glass may have fit perfectly, but his face was distorted. His image seemed to jump ever so slightly at each crack, like someone had outlined a picture of his features but moved the tracing paper at certain points so nothing was a perfect match.

He tried to manipulate the pieces to resolve the image, but his hands were shaking so hard that he scattered the glass. He looked dumbly at the mess he made, one accusing thought chasing him: I can't fix this.

Somewhere in there, he collapsed on the floor, not caring about the jagged pieces putting pressure on his left temple.

And for the first time since he lost his eye, his home, his Anya, and his life, he finally let himself finally fall apart.

TBC…