Part II: Xander
I shut my eyes behind my sunglasses. This day was friggin' unbelievable. It didn't approach the night I found out about vampires, not on the scare-o- meter anyway, but-my brain felt like it someone had stirred it around with a hot poker then pulled it out my nose. Or maybe that was the migraine talking. I reached up to rub my temple.
My mom was gone. Off to see a lawyer about a load of money I hadn't had a clue existed. God, she'd changed. The image of her leaving passed through my mind. She'd looked really elegant in a yellow sundress and white hat. I'd never seen her look like that. She also looked so much younger. ^She joked with me.^ My whole life my memories of her were of her turning her back to me, and silence. Warmth spread through me. I smiled. ^She didn't care.^ I fiddled with my sunglasses.
It's funny. The first I heard about mutants were rumors. Everyone had a friend of a friend of a friend with a second cousin who was a mutant. I figured they were myths, invented so girls could scare themselves silly at slumber parties. That's what's funny. Myths. Seems that the only real myths are the myths themselves, cause myths don't really exist. Therefore they are myths cause myths aren't supposed- ^I've known Willow-babble was catching for years.^
I took a deep breath and let out the fear I'd been suppressing. In all those stories the mutant was never the good guy. When I first figured out I was a mutant I freaked. With eyes like mine I figure, damn, I had to be screwed. I practically looked like a demon. Actually the first time I lookin the mirror and saw those red on blacks staring back at me I thought I'd been possessed again. Only this time by some demon instead of a hyena spirit, except I was in charge of my body and didn't feel a sudden hankering to eat my parents. I spent that night locked in my room all three locks locked and a chair under the doorknob. Kind of silly since I was a little more worried about me getting out. The next morning I woke up my eyes were normal again and I went into some serious denial, I had plenty of practice at that skill. Deny, deny, deny. I denied my fath- the bastard hitting me, my mother's negligence, and my own feelings of inadequacy. My eyes changed a dozen or so more times before I admitted what I was, even I couldn't deny with quite that much.
That didn't mean that I was going to admit it to anybody else though. I didn't want to become one of those urban legends told at slumber parties. I helped fight demons after all. I didn't want to get lumped in with them. So I never used my powers, when I figured out what they *were*, and waited out he spells when my eyes changed. Hope springs eternal I guess cause I hoped no one would figure it out. I never wanted to see the disgust I saw on the faces of people discussing mutants turned my way. My mother really surprised me. Not only did she give me a lecture, the first one I can remember coming from her, she came down on the side of the mutants. The closest I'd ever heard to that before was pity for them. She didn't think I was freak and she wasn't disgusted by me.
I sighed and got up from the faded brown chair I'd been sitting in for lord knows how long. I could feel the ridges on the undersides of my legs from the strips that patterned the chair. My bare feet slid easily over the flat balding trash littered carpeting of the living room. I was better at navigating it than my mother and made it to the kitchen without landing on my butt. The secret was in knowing the terrain, even with everything shifted around after my little display earlier. After years of practice sneaking around the house I can navigate in the dark, over sleeping drunks, and around partying. ^I wish that skill would translate to slaying. I always sound like a herd of elephants in the woods. ^
Once my feet hit the cool tile of the kitchen I relaxed. The kitchen was always my refuge. I'd been a little unnerved lately at the amount of time my mom had been spending in it. She never spent time in the kitchen before she quit drinking and doing drugs. Cooking, hah, my parent's food came from the Chinese place and was still eaten three days later out of the take out cartons in front of the TV.
I grabbed a bag of Oreos out of the cabinet full of Mac and Cheese boxes, one of the things *I* cook. In fact I kind of thought of that cabinet as mine, it was the only one with anything really in it. I checked once and the others had cans old enough that rust was starting to form. I slid over to the fridge and grabbed the milk jug, which was next to a small colony of Chinese takeout boxes. I gave them a little salute and dumped my stuff on the table then maneuvered around a chair heading for a mug. There was actually a pretty good selection to choose from sitting on the counter. I picked up the one with Willy Coyote on it. I always felt a certain kinship with the guy. Back at the table I plopped down on the flimsy aluminum pipe chair. The only one of the mismatched chairs, some I was sure were even from different decades, which surrounded in the kitchen table that had any semblance of cushioning left. I poured myself a generous amount of milk, almost overflowing the cup, and reached for a cookie. Hand in bag I noticed the pile of Formica sitting in the middle of the table. That made me smirk. ^And parents are always telling you not to do things like that.^ I frowned a little and took a bite of my cookie. ^Except it turns out I only have *a* parent.^
I sighed again and rubbed my temple as the chocolate and cream of the Oreo lingered on my tongue. ^At least that Midrin( works.^ The migraine medicine was kicking in and I was just feeling whispers of pain now. It was new stuff that my doctor had prescribed. He was the same guy I'd go to with my broken bones and bruised ribs. He ran the free clinic and never asked any questions and I never offered any answers but he'd patched me since I was eight. I lifted my sunglasses up a fraction and winced at the sudden brightness. Quickly I slid them back down. ^Not quite yet.^ Another irony. I live in California, but I only wear sunglasses when I've got a migraine. ^I wonder if my father gets them.^ They only strike after the shit hits the fan. My own personal version of the shakes I guess. A concept I just recently learned when I was possessed *again*. ^What do I have a sign on my back that says 'Possess me, I'm easy?^
Solider guy was a lot better than the pack leader of the hyenas but- God, I wasn't me. That guy had seen things, things that were too close to what I'd only half seen when helping Buffy. That's what set this off. Yesterday was a definite shit storm. That's only part of it though, he's lingering. Shit storm, that's something he would have said. It's creeping me out. Maybe it's because the fatigues weren't from Ethan's, whatever the reason he's still there, behind my eyelids. However.. he'll probably come in handy trying to find daddy dearest.
I shut my eyes behind my sunglasses. This day was friggin' unbelievable. It didn't approach the night I found out about vampires, not on the scare-o- meter anyway, but-my brain felt like it someone had stirred it around with a hot poker then pulled it out my nose. Or maybe that was the migraine talking. I reached up to rub my temple.
My mom was gone. Off to see a lawyer about a load of money I hadn't had a clue existed. God, she'd changed. The image of her leaving passed through my mind. She'd looked really elegant in a yellow sundress and white hat. I'd never seen her look like that. She also looked so much younger. ^She joked with me.^ My whole life my memories of her were of her turning her back to me, and silence. Warmth spread through me. I smiled. ^She didn't care.^ I fiddled with my sunglasses.
It's funny. The first I heard about mutants were rumors. Everyone had a friend of a friend of a friend with a second cousin who was a mutant. I figured they were myths, invented so girls could scare themselves silly at slumber parties. That's what's funny. Myths. Seems that the only real myths are the myths themselves, cause myths don't really exist. Therefore they are myths cause myths aren't supposed- ^I've known Willow-babble was catching for years.^
I took a deep breath and let out the fear I'd been suppressing. In all those stories the mutant was never the good guy. When I first figured out I was a mutant I freaked. With eyes like mine I figure, damn, I had to be screwed. I practically looked like a demon. Actually the first time I lookin the mirror and saw those red on blacks staring back at me I thought I'd been possessed again. Only this time by some demon instead of a hyena spirit, except I was in charge of my body and didn't feel a sudden hankering to eat my parents. I spent that night locked in my room all three locks locked and a chair under the doorknob. Kind of silly since I was a little more worried about me getting out. The next morning I woke up my eyes were normal again and I went into some serious denial, I had plenty of practice at that skill. Deny, deny, deny. I denied my fath- the bastard hitting me, my mother's negligence, and my own feelings of inadequacy. My eyes changed a dozen or so more times before I admitted what I was, even I couldn't deny with quite that much.
That didn't mean that I was going to admit it to anybody else though. I didn't want to become one of those urban legends told at slumber parties. I helped fight demons after all. I didn't want to get lumped in with them. So I never used my powers, when I figured out what they *were*, and waited out he spells when my eyes changed. Hope springs eternal I guess cause I hoped no one would figure it out. I never wanted to see the disgust I saw on the faces of people discussing mutants turned my way. My mother really surprised me. Not only did she give me a lecture, the first one I can remember coming from her, she came down on the side of the mutants. The closest I'd ever heard to that before was pity for them. She didn't think I was freak and she wasn't disgusted by me.
I sighed and got up from the faded brown chair I'd been sitting in for lord knows how long. I could feel the ridges on the undersides of my legs from the strips that patterned the chair. My bare feet slid easily over the flat balding trash littered carpeting of the living room. I was better at navigating it than my mother and made it to the kitchen without landing on my butt. The secret was in knowing the terrain, even with everything shifted around after my little display earlier. After years of practice sneaking around the house I can navigate in the dark, over sleeping drunks, and around partying. ^I wish that skill would translate to slaying. I always sound like a herd of elephants in the woods. ^
Once my feet hit the cool tile of the kitchen I relaxed. The kitchen was always my refuge. I'd been a little unnerved lately at the amount of time my mom had been spending in it. She never spent time in the kitchen before she quit drinking and doing drugs. Cooking, hah, my parent's food came from the Chinese place and was still eaten three days later out of the take out cartons in front of the TV.
I grabbed a bag of Oreos out of the cabinet full of Mac and Cheese boxes, one of the things *I* cook. In fact I kind of thought of that cabinet as mine, it was the only one with anything really in it. I checked once and the others had cans old enough that rust was starting to form. I slid over to the fridge and grabbed the milk jug, which was next to a small colony of Chinese takeout boxes. I gave them a little salute and dumped my stuff on the table then maneuvered around a chair heading for a mug. There was actually a pretty good selection to choose from sitting on the counter. I picked up the one with Willy Coyote on it. I always felt a certain kinship with the guy. Back at the table I plopped down on the flimsy aluminum pipe chair. The only one of the mismatched chairs, some I was sure were even from different decades, which surrounded in the kitchen table that had any semblance of cushioning left. I poured myself a generous amount of milk, almost overflowing the cup, and reached for a cookie. Hand in bag I noticed the pile of Formica sitting in the middle of the table. That made me smirk. ^And parents are always telling you not to do things like that.^ I frowned a little and took a bite of my cookie. ^Except it turns out I only have *a* parent.^
I sighed again and rubbed my temple as the chocolate and cream of the Oreo lingered on my tongue. ^At least that Midrin( works.^ The migraine medicine was kicking in and I was just feeling whispers of pain now. It was new stuff that my doctor had prescribed. He was the same guy I'd go to with my broken bones and bruised ribs. He ran the free clinic and never asked any questions and I never offered any answers but he'd patched me since I was eight. I lifted my sunglasses up a fraction and winced at the sudden brightness. Quickly I slid them back down. ^Not quite yet.^ Another irony. I live in California, but I only wear sunglasses when I've got a migraine. ^I wonder if my father gets them.^ They only strike after the shit hits the fan. My own personal version of the shakes I guess. A concept I just recently learned when I was possessed *again*. ^What do I have a sign on my back that says 'Possess me, I'm easy?^
Solider guy was a lot better than the pack leader of the hyenas but- God, I wasn't me. That guy had seen things, things that were too close to what I'd only half seen when helping Buffy. That's what set this off. Yesterday was a definite shit storm. That's only part of it though, he's lingering. Shit storm, that's something he would have said. It's creeping me out. Maybe it's because the fatigues weren't from Ethan's, whatever the reason he's still there, behind my eyelids. However.. he'll probably come in handy trying to find daddy dearest.