Title: No Vacancy in Paradise
Gen/Het/Slash: Gen
Parings: None
Genre: Post S7
Story Warnings: Murder, violence, language

Summary: Things have happened over the years. People have died. Friends have died. And Xander has steeled himself against it all, hunting demons and vampires under the name of Deathbringer. But now…now answers have started to arise about things that have happened. And nothing will stop him from hunting those answers down.

Disclaimer: Written for the Dark Xander Ficathon on Livejournal. Don't own characters or anything relating to them.

Council File Number 3926

Name: Alexander 'Xander' LaVelle Harris

Age: 35

Height: 6'1

Hair: Dark brown

Eyes: Hazel

Birthplace: Sunnydale, California

History: Is known to have been at the side of Slayer Elizabeth 'Buffy' Anne Summers since the beginning of her career until it ended with her death nine years ago. Also known to be the best friend of the witch Willow Rosenberg, now encased in the Council's vault since her mind was lost whilst trying to resurrect Slayer Summers a second time.

Identifying Marks: An eye patch (left eye) and a curved scar along right cheek

Current Location: Unknown

Current Accomplices: Has been seen with Slayer Faith Lehane, who left the Council after Mr. Giles' suicide last year. Also there has been some contact with vampire William Walthrop, known more widely as William the Bloody and Spike.

Current Activities: Freelance hunter. Known as Deathbringer amongst vampires and demons alike.

WARNING! Do not approach without backup. Is armed and dangerous.

Chapter 1

"So this is what the Council thinks of me now, hmm?" said a man, his face shadowed by the corner he was leaning his chair back into. He flipped the folder in his hands closed, hiding the file and the photos that peeked out from underneath it and tossed it on the table in front of him. "Am I really that scary?"

The figure across the table shrugged nonchalantly as they pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pockets of their coat. A flash of peroxide blonde hair and a pale face showed in the brief flicker of light as a match sparked and lit the cigarette before getting tossed carelessly over the figure's shoulder.

"Feh, you couldn't be scary if scary tromped its way into your bloody bedroom."

The man chuckled a little at that, saying, "I know your code, Spike. That means I'm damn scary and you know it."

Spike responded by blowing a stream of smoke at the man across the table from him with a smirk. Then he shrugged and said, "What's my opinion matter anyway? We bloody hate each other."

"Yes, we do bloody hate each other. But I'm also the last link you've got to her."

The vampire's smirk faded away at that, leaving a slightly haunted expression behind. He stared across the table with dark eyes and murmured, "That's a low blow, runt."

"Yet it's startlingly true."

Spike seemed to ignore that comment and took a long drag on his cigarette, looking down at the folder lying on the table next to a beer bottle. He then glanced up at the man across from him and asked, "So what did you want the file for?"

The man shrugged and replied, "Just wanted to see what they thought of me. And what info they had on past escapades of mine."

"They know about you."

"They don't know jack shit and you know it, Spike. They're too scared to find out what happened too. What happened to me, Willow, Giles…Buffy."

"I told 'em what happened to Buffy," snarled Spike. "I was there and I couldn't do a damn bloody thing to save her. Worthless wretch, I am."

The man shook his head at that, saying, "You were outnumbered and outgunned."

"I'm William the fucking Bloody! I should've been able to save her."

"Neither of us is cut out for the saving thing, Spike. Not anymore. Things are different now."

"You're different."

"Nothing I don't know."

Spike scowled and angrily took a drag at his cigarette before snuffing it out on the table, leaving another burn mark in the already scarred wood. He then rose and growled, "Don't even care anymore, do you? Not about anything but your bloody crusade."

The man leaned forward then, the right side of his face only lit up with the rest of him still in shadow. A hazel eye stared at the vampire from over a curved scar three inches long and he said, "I care."

"You've never asked about the Niblet once. Not one bloody time since we started having these chitchats. She asks about you all the damn bloody time and you don't give her a second thought!"

"I have other things to worry about."

Shock – true shock – spread across Spike's face at that then anger quickly replaced it. He lunged forward, intent on grabbing the man about the neck, only to have the barrel of a 9mm Glock thrust in his face. Brown eyes met the sole hazel orb and the man bared his teeth in a feral smile.

"Really want to try, Spike? 'Cause you know what I use for bullets."

The vampire looked at him for a long moment then drew back, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it up. He took a long drag on it then turned to regard the man with a gaze that was rare for him: pity.

"You're a sad one, runt."

The man's face contorted into anger at that and the finger on the trigger of the Glock clenched.

"I don't need your fucking pity."

Spike shrugged and said, "Have it your way. I'm bloody out of here." He turned and took two steps away from the table before he turned back, pulling something out from within his coat.

A small, lumpy package hit the table and slid until it bumped the folder, drawing the man's attention to it. He then looked up at the vampire and growled, "What the fuck is this?"

"Niblet wanted me to give it to you. Shockingly enough, she still thinks there's some good in you."

The man frowned and looked down at the little package, considering it for a long moment. Then he looked up and saw Spike was gone, leaving the bar they'd met in with only two other occupants besides himself and the bartender. His hazel eye turned to regard the package again then he snorted, rising from his chair in a smooth move.

He thrust the Glock back into the holster at his left thigh then picked up the folder, tugging out the entire contents and folding the pages before thrusting the entire thing into an inner pocket of his trenchcoat. The now empty folder hit the surface of the table and fell open, lying abandoned beside the little package as he walked towards the bar's door.

The man who'd once been known as Xander never even looked back.

---

Deathbringer wasn't at all surprised to find a buxom brunette wearing dark leather to be sitting on the doorstep of his apartment, leaning back on her elbows and smoking, when he pulled into the parking lot. He looked at her for a moment through the windshield of his 1960 black Aston Martin (a rare model he'd taken from it's owners garage after said owner was dust) then climbed slowly out of the car, making a slow path over to sink down beside her.

"So," he said as he leaned back, legs stretched out in front of him, "what's a pretty thing like you doing sitting on my doorstep at four in the morning?"

The brunette didn't answer him immediately and he frowned.

"Alright, what's the job?"

"There is no job, X," she replied, flicking the butt of her cigarette away. "This is personal."

He scowled at that, growling, "You know I don't like personal stuff, Faith. There's three damn good reasons I left personal stuff in my dust."

Dark eyes turned to regard him solemnly, revealing a set of two jagged scars that marred the face of the oldest living Slayer in an 'x' shape over her left eye.

"This is about our personal stuff, X," Faith said. "I caught a lead on the real cause of Tweed's death."

"Lemme guess…it wasn't really suicide like they said."

"Just like we always suspected. S'why I left the Council bastards the second time around, you know that. Mother fuckers trying to cover up the death of one of the four guys that ever gave a flying fuck about me." Her expression saddened at that and she continued, "Last one that was left besides the first one that dared care about me."

Deathbringer looked at her with his sole eye for a long moment before saying stonily, "Faith. This isn't the time to reminisce."

Faith turned to look at him then and chuckled darkly, shaking her head.

"Always serious now, ain't yah, X?"

"I get my orders, I do my job, I get my pay. Pay allows me to eat and live and pay for that car. Being serious allows me to get my job done quicker."

"I kinda miss the old goof."

"Xander is dead."

Faith sighed at that then slid one hand underneath her right leg, drawing out a plain white note card that she'd apparently been sitting on. She extended it towards him and he took it, silently reading the name and address that was scrawled across it in her familiar hand.

"I was told that the guy there had major info on the whole deal. Since I know you were closer to Tweed than I ever was, I figured I'd let you handle taking care of him."

Deathbringer looked down at the note card for a moment then turned his head to regard her with his one eye.

"You mean you know I'll manage to get the information out of him before I kill him."

The Slayer smiled sheepishly and shrugged, saying, "Yeah, maybe." She rose then and stretched languidly like a cat, a move that would have made any other man practically insane with lust. But the man sprawled on the steps just watched her as though she was doing nothing simpler than standing there.

Faith turned halfway towards him as she finished her stretch and smiled in a way that didn't quite reach her dark eyes. "Night, X," she murmured before heading towards the dark form of a hulking motorcycle that lurked at the edge of the tiny apartment building parking lot.

He watched her as she went, expression never changing as she threw one slim leg over the monster of a bike and revved it to life, peeling out of the parking lot moments later with the roar of the engine. A window opened above him and he rose even as the elderly woman who lived above him began yelling about what horrible young people there were today and how they never respected the privacy of others anymore. He ignored her shouting with well-honed practice, opening the door to his apartment and heading into the dark residence without pause.

Keys landed with a clatter on the table near the door, followed moments later by the files and photographs from his Council file. His trenchcoat came off then and was tossed onto the back of the only chair at the table. Boots, belt, and shirt were stripped off in quick succession then and dropped along the floor as he made his way from the main room of the apartment into the bedroom.

He hit the bed facedown with a vague moan, pulling a pillow to his chest with one arm whilst he tugged blankets over himself with the other. Sleep came slowly for the first time in years as his mind was distracted by the two conversations he'd had earlier.

Spike pitied him. Spike, of all beings, pitying him was like a low blow to the gut.

Faith was afraid of him. Faith, the woman he'd started jokingly calling Xena when they started working together in Cleveland, who he had believed would never be afraid of anything again after Kakistos and her bad times with the law, being afraid of him hurt. Just the thought of the last remaining person he called friend - he used the term loosely and very rarely these days - fearing him made what light was left within him flutter and partially spark out.

And Dawn...the Key...the kid sister he'd always wished he had...she still believed in him. Still thought well of him. Thought there was good left in him.

Ha, good.

He'd left good behind a long time ago.

Rolling over onto his back, he reached up and jerked off the eye patch, revealing the blank eye socket underneath. He tossed the patch towards the edge of the bed then sighed, closing both eyes as he shook his head.

Spike could go to Hell.

Faith could get her ass in gear.

Dawn...Dawn should stop believing in him.

He wasn't a good person anymore. Not to her, not to his so-called friends, not to his employers, and not to himself.