3
Two weeks later, Xander was lying in bed next to Buffy when the phone rang. The exhausted mother-to-be had crashed into bed after a short patrol and fallen asleep with her clothes still on. Xander was awake, staring at the ceiling.
He answered the phone.
"It's done," said Angel's voice.
"What?"
"Faith is dead." The voice was filled with pain. Xander sat up.
"What do you mean, dead? I thought you said…"
"We researched and called in favors and tried everything. You were right, this was the only way. Problem is the second part didn't work. She didn't come back."
"Oh my God," Xander breathed.
"God had nothing to do with it, Xander. You did, and I did. I took her life. Another human life. So you got your wish. A new Slayer should already be Chosen." The phone went dead.
Xander sat with the phone in his hand, listening to the silence that proceeded the dial tone.
"Who was that, honey?" Buffy asked sleepily.
Xander hung up the phone carefully, tears rolling down his face. "No one, sweetheart. Wrong number. Go back to sleep."
He laid in the dark next to her until he could stand it no longer. He retreated downstairs to the kitchen, where he sat and sobbed. Smart idea, Harris. Really smart. Never considered that she might stay dead. He looked at his hands. There was no blood on them. But there should have been.
Maybe it was Angel's fault. He didn't say HOW he had killed her. Maybe he screwed it up himself.
Did it matter? He had sent the vampire, like a hired assassin. He carried the blame for Faith's murder.