Author: Rabid Squirrel
Title: "Murphy's Law"
Disclaimer: I own nothing, save a pack of cigarettes and a few half empty vials of weapons-grade anthrax. Buffy and co. are owned by Joss Whedon, Kazui Productions, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, and UPN. And they call me sick.
Summary: Alternate version of season 7: The real story behind Buffy's resurrection, and the conspiracy that threatens to destroy her, along with the entire human race.
Spoilers: (BTVS) Thru season 6, though my selective memory allows me to edit out or rewrite certain unsavory aspects. Assume Angel more or less true to canon thru season 3.
Rating: R, for violence, strong language, and limited sexual content.
Feedback: If you have the time and the inclination, so be it. If not, quit downloading midget amputee porn for a minute and drop me a line anyway.
Note 1: Incessantly plagued by what passes for a conscience, I feel obligated to apologize for the last chapter. Its "suck factor" was exceedingly high, even by my recent standards. Needless to say, my drunken muse will be severely reprimanded (i.e. spanked), and I swear on my trusty Bartender's Bible to never again post such a crappy chapter…except for this one.
Dedication: To my id, for telling me to go after it; my ego, for telling me I probably couldn't have it; and my superego, for remaining silent throughout the whole affair.
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Words of Wisdom:
"We cannot enter into alliances until we are acquainted with the designs of our neighbors" – Sun Tzu
Summary thru Chapter 16: I thought I'd take a moment to bring everyone up to speed, if that's all right with you….
Following her death in season 5, Buffy was brought back from the dead, ostensibly by Willow, who's now having doubts about whether or not she was actually the one responsible. Xander already knows better. Speaking of Willow and Xander – in a moment of weakness, they gave in to their more carnal instincts, seeking solace (and a little nookie) in each other's arms. Oh, and by the way, Anya's no longer in the picture; it's just easier that way. Follow me so far? Fine. Dandy. Let's move on.
In the meantime, there are a few newcomers to Sunnydale, some more welcome than others. The mysterious Danyael has made a guest appearance, bearing an object of great power, as well as somewhat cryptic intentions. He wasted no time in introducing himself to the local demon population, much to the chagrin of a misfortunate bull demon. Danyael also brought with him a pair of furry friends, preternatural beasts that saved Dawn and her friend from a pack of hungry vamps. Unfortunately for Dawn's friend, it was only a temporary stay of execution.
Spike has returned to his old haunts, recently en-souled, and carrying a giant chip on his shoulder. He slaughtered the crew of the freighter he arrived on, then proceeded to sire Dawn's friend Stacey, who in turn snacked on Dawn. Dawn survived the attack – though she was clinically dead for a few minutes – and proceeded to make a miraculous recovery, which was no doubt due in part to some recently acquired powers.
While this was all unfolding, Giles received some bad news from an old friend. Apocalypse anyone? We've also learned that a number of world governments are aware of the pending doomsday, and are taking steps to address the issue, as are our old friends at Wolfram & Hart. The American military has mounted an operation to lend assistance to the Scooby Gang, who, individually, have no idea what is going on…. except maybe for Xander.
Mr. Harris, it seems, has kept a few secrets from his friends. We've discovered that Xander somehow knows Whistler, the Balance Demon who made an appearance in BTVS season 2. The two apparently had a clandestine meeting to discuss Buffy's fate, which appears to be not so rosy. Oh, and Willow overhead part of the conversation, and proceeded to share the news with Giles. Both are anxiously waiting to see how things shake out.
The Watcher's council is having an even worse time. The head of the council absconded to LA, defecting to the other side with the Watcher's secrets in tow. The rest of the council is in shambles as the Anglican Church and the Vatican, in concert with the Allied Forces, have mounted a hostile takeover, intending to install Rupert Giles as the new head of the Watchers.
The main target of this new world alliance is a new enemy known as "The Fallen", a group of powerful beings about which little is known, but of which much is surmised. The Leader of the Fallen has arrived in Sunnydale, and apparently has a history with Danyael, as the two prepare to take opposite sides in the coming war.
And then there's Buffy, who's adapting to a few changes of her own. Her already considerable powers seem to be growing by the day, and her usual prophetic dreams have become even more so as of late. To top things off, our resident Slayer is grappling over some newfound, or should I say recently surfaced, feelings for Xander, who does not seem to reciprocate, despite some none-too-subtle prodding from Dawn and Willow.
And now, some old friends have entered the picture as well, including Wesley Wyndham-Price, who recently popped up in Sunnydale to forestall an assassination attempt on Buffy. He seems to know a little something about what's going on, but so far isn't saying much. Oh, and our second-string Slayer – the incomparable Faith – is waiting in the wings, provided she succeeds in surviving the next few minutes.
That about sums it up. And to think, it took me sixteen chapters just to say that!
At any rate, on to Chapter 17….
Chapter 17: "And the Truth Shall Set You Free"
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By all accounts, it was a subdued reunion.
As the Dodge pulled up to the curb, Buffy and Willow emerged from the house, coming down the sidewalk to meet them. Their concern was readily apparent, the worry plainly written on their faces, albeit for different reasons. Both were obviously concerned about Dawn's well-being, given what she'd gone through that day. But Willow had an additional burden to bear as well. And being this close to Buffy, standing beside her, knowing what she knew, wasn't making it any easier for her. But for now, she would put her discomfort aside; all that mattered at the moment was Dawn.
The hard part for both Buffy and Willow was in knowing what to say. Even though both had been in this position before, the words didn't come to them any easier. At the very least, experience had taught them one thing; nobody would bother with the usual platitudes; nothing they could say would have helped, would have done anything to attenuate the pain Dawn was feeling. Not that that it really mattered. At times like these no words were necessary…. not with the people you truly loved.
No sooner had Dawn stepped from the truck than she was swept up into a fierce hug, pulled into the comforting embrace of her sister's arms. They held each other for a long moment, relishing the sensation, reassured that for one brief moment in time, at least one thing was right in the world.
But other things weren't so right, not by a long-shot.
Xander emerged from the driver's side to find Willow waiting for him. They also hugged, though the hesitation in Willow's embrace suggested something less than utter relief at Xander's safe return. Her reticence did not go unnoticed by Xander, though he dismissed it as merely a symptom of an overly trying day. He had no reason to suspect otherwise.
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Northern California Facility for Women's Correction
The same time
Everybody had their price.
Some would deny it, obstinately refusing to believe that their principles could be compromised by something as trivial and as fleeting as money. And some of them would be right, those few whose convictions were so strong as to resist the temptation of any bribe or threat levied on them. But as Faith would soon find out, Deputy U.S. Marshal McMichaels wasn't one of those people.
It was his gambling habit that had ultimately decided it. Deputy McMichaels was fond of only two things in life: One of those was his job, where he on occasion felt that he was making a difference; the other was the ponies. As he'd come to learn, his first love didn't exactly mesh well with the other, at least from a financial standpoint. It was one thing to enjoy gambling at the track, as he most certainly did. It was quite another to be good at it, which he most certainly wasn't. At least not of late.
McMichaels was by nature a man of action, and with eighty thousand dollars in gambling debts and two mortgages on his house, he'd decided the time had come to act. In that regard it was easy. All it took was a discrete phone call to a certain female lawyer, a few minutes of haggling over the arrangements, and it was done. Richer by one million dollars, poorer the loss of one soul, he'd committed himself to a course of action that he nonetheless intended to see through, regardless of the consequences.
The hard part was in choosing the right time. Given his present assignment, he had both opportunity and means. What he didn't have was a viable exit strategy, at least one that left him alive to enjoy his newfound wealth. Eliminating the target would be the easy part, a simple matter of putting a few rounds in the subject's x-ring. It was what happened afterwards that presented a challenge. There would be three armed agents to deal with, at least one of whom would already have his sidearm drawn. And while he was adequately convinced he could get the drop on the other ready gunman given the element of surprise, he had no doubt about his chances against the remaining two. These men were trained to react, and would have no qualms about shooting one of their own, as soon as he revealed himself as a traitor. More than anything else, that realization gave him pause. The consummate gambler – at least in his own mind – McMichaels knew a sucker bet when he saw one.
The four men continued down the corridor, dutifully following the pathway delineated by the faded yellow tape. None of them spoke; each lost in thought, three of their number wondering how in the world it had come to this, and the fourth how he was ever going to get out of this alive. They marched the last few feet to the cell, eyes firmly affixed on its notorious occupant. As a group they came to a stop, halting directly in front of the locked door, two side arms trained on the potentially dangerous prisoner inside. The senior man among them stepped forward, reaching deliberately into his suit coat with his right hand.
From behind steel bars, Faith observed the situation with mild interest. The drawn weapons had caught her attention, though with her reputation it wasn't exactly a unique experience. More than one cop had drawn on her, a source of continuing amusement in which she also took a perverse pride. Faith wasn't exactly worried, not any more than usual. If someone wanted her dead – and more than a few inside here did – there were more subtle ways to go about it.
Despite popular opinion, it wasn't as if she had some kind of death wish. To those who didn't know her well – and in all honesty, very few did – the Slayer usually came off as a die-hard fatalist. No one could really be faulted for holding to that belief, given that it was technically correct, after a fashion.
Faith had long ago accepted that certain things were beyond her control, that despite her best efforts and intentions she couldn't escape certain universal truths. Part of it was the whole Slayer destiny; part her less than idyllic upbringing. The irony in all of this was that the same mindset that precipitated her fall into darkness had ultimately allowed her to pull herself up from the depths to which she had sunk. Not that she had suddenly found religion. Faith didn't harbor any illusions about her innate spirituality. She didn't for one minute subscribe to a belief in any God, even if, at the end of the day, she feared his eventual judgment. But she had come to believe in something else, something nearly as powerful. Faith Mackenzie – Slayer, hell raiser, and convicted murderer – had come to believe in the power of redemption. And that had made all the difference.
She stood to face her visitors, strangely at peace with herself, projecting an aura of serenity that would have surprised the others had they been prescient enough to sense it. Whatever fate lie in store, she was ready to face it. Not as a Slayer, nor as a convict, but simply as Faith, reformed citizen and member of the human race.
Indifferent to Faith's newfound sense of tranquility, her uninvited guests moved quickly to complete their mission. The man nearest her reluctantly removed his hand from his coat, clenching a sealed envelope, which he extended into the cell, holding it out to Faith.
"What's this?" she asked evenly, taking the proffered package from him.
The man removed his dark sunglasses, locking eyes with the Slayer. "It's the best deal you're ever going to get."
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Giles' House
The Brady Bunch, they weren't.
Following their abbreviated reunion, the Scoobies had reconvened inside Giles' house. The events of that morning, though still far from forgotten, had been set-aside for the time being. They had other business to attend to.
The group now sat arrayed in the living room, largely preoccupied with their own thoughts, casting the occasional accusatory glance at one another. Xander had staked out his usual spot on the couch, settling uncomfortably into the permanent depression on the ancient seat cushion. Dawn nestled close by his side, instinctively forming a de-facto buffer between him and her sister, who sat rigidly in the armchair immediately to Dawn's left. Buffy's eyes never left Xander, save to glance briefly at her sister, constantly seeking unspoken reassurance that she was ok; Xander's eyes never met hers.
Willow, on the other hand, was entirely too nervous to sit, given what she knew, or, at least, believed she knew. The redhead leaned unobtrusively against the kitchen wall, her gaze darting back and forth between her oldest friend and her best friend, never quite settling on either. Giles stood nearby, keeping one watchful eye on his young protégé, the other on his former colleague, who had taken up position behind the Slayer, not really looking at anyone, an inscrutable expression on his face. If not for the fact that nobody was talking, it seemed just like old times.
Not that those old times were all that great. Time has a funny way of distorting one's perception of the past, of making it seem better in retrospect than it really was, especially when the present wasn't all that appealing in comparison. Of course, time wasn't something the assembled group likely had a lot of at the present, and the past was…. well, the past was just that, a fact Rupert Giles was all too aware of. Out of necessity – and to some degree boredom – he reluctantly broke the silence.
"While the last thing I wish to do is ruin a perfectly good moment of peace and quiet, I wonder if perhaps our time together might be better spent discussing the current situation?" Giles wasn't the least bit surprised by the deafening silence that greeted the question, nor the cynical looks cast his way. "Well then," he remarked, clearing his throat, "since I seem to be the only one presently capable of speech, I suppose I'll volunteer to go first." Moving from his spot on the wall, he ambled over to the nearby bookcase, where he selected a large, leather-bound book from among his eclectic library. Returning to the center of the room, he unceremoniously dropped the book on the coffee table, settling into the chair opposite Xander and Dawn.
"Do any of you have even the slightest idea what this is?" he asked of the group, gesturing toward the weathered volume.
"I'm guessing…a book? A really big book." Despite her all too recent ordeal, Dawn's sense of humor seemed to have come through largely intact.
Giles grimaced visibly at the girl's blatant sarcasm. If he'd ever had any doubts that she was Buffy's sister, she'd just put them to rest for all time. "Thank you ever so much for that keen observation," he remarked evenly to the teenager, consciously checking what under other circumstances would have been a biting retort. "All appearances to the contrary, I assure you this is much more than just "a really big book", as Dawn so succinctly put it. It is a prophecy of sorts, an account of the history of the world, and one possible course for its future."
All of which sounded vaguely familiar to Buffy, if uncomfortably so. "So we're talking what here? Codex Redux? Forgive my utter lack of enthusiasm for all things sequel, but I'm pretty sure I know how this one ends."
She wasn't alone in that regard. "I'm gonna have to side with the Buffster on this one," Xander agreed, still ardently avoiding Buffy's gaze. "I mean, is it just me, or are all these prophecies written by the same person?"
"It's just you," Wesley assured him; naively assuming the boy hadn't changed one bit since he'd last seen him. "As I suspect Rupert already knows, this prophecy wasn't even written by a person."
Wesley's admission came as only a marginal surprise to Giles, but a surprise nonetheless. "And how exactly did you know that?" he questioned the other Brit, his curiosity piqued.
"I have my ways," the ex-Watcher revealed, alluding to his source within Wolfram & Hart. "Despite what you all may think, I assure you I can be quite charming when I want to be."
"I guess the urge just never struck before, huh"" Buffy surmised, flashing a bright smile at Wesley, who didn't return the gesture.
"Can we please just stick to the subject at hand?" Giles requested patiently. "I realize this may all seem second nature by now; nonetheless, it is quite a serious matter."
"Is this the part where you tell us that the world's going to end?" Willow asked. "'Cause that's starting to wear a little on the thin side."
"It is lacking in the shock value department." Of course, Xander hadn't read the book, or he might believe otherwise.
"Perhaps you'll feel otherwise when I tell you what the prophecy has to say," cautioned Giles, even though he had no intention of doing so, at least not completely. Not yet.
"Well then, don't keep us in suspense G-Man," Xander prodded. "Tell us what's in the Prophecy for Dummies. Are we talking Armageddon, or just your everyday garden-variety apocalypse?"
"We'll get to that," Giles promised him, his voice showing just a hint of irritation, "and for the love of God, will you please stop calling me that dreadful nickname?" He affixed Xander with a cold stare. Xander, for his part, at least looked chastened.
Giles continued. "But first allow me to give you a little background on the purported author. Wesley has correctly noted that the prophecy was not written by a human hand. I can also tell you with utmost certainty that it is not of a demonic nature."
"I may be way off the mark here," Willow freely admitted, "but doesn't that just about eliminate, well, pretty much everybody?"
"So it would seem," acknowledged Giles. "Nevertheless, there do exist other classes of beings, creatures other than just humans and demons. According to legend, this text was written by just such a creature, a higher being if you will, one who had fallen from favor with the Powers that Be."
Dawn didn't follow. "Could you please dumb that down a bit for those of us who don't have a degree from Watcher U?"
"Translated into American: The prophecy was written by a fallen angel." Contrary to popular belief, Buffy was not a natural blond, though that was an issue for her hairstylist, and not really germane to the issue at hand.
"An angel? As in wings, harps, and cheesy elevator music?" That part came as a bit of a surprise to Xander. Whistler hadn't exactly been generous with the details.
"That's the rumor," Wesley supplied offhand, "if you believe in that sort of thing. It hasn't exactly been substantiated."
"Whether or not it's been proven is irrelevant for our immediate purposes," Giles interjected. "What matters is what the prophecy portends."
"Which I'm sure you were planning on sharing with us at some point," Buffy pointed out. "Seeing as how these prophecies have an annoying tendency to end with me dying."
As if Dawn needed to be reminded of that. "You promised, Buffy. Remember? The five-year moratorium on death? We have a deal."
Buffy couldn't help but smile. "I remember, Dawn. And fully I intend to keep that promise. No more dirt naps for this Slayer, at least not until I'm old and wrinkly, and surrounded by fat grandchildren."
"I think we can all agree that's for the best, fat grandchildren notwithstanding," agreed Giles. "The question is how we go about ensuring that."
"In other words, it does say that I'm going to die," Buffy clarified, suitably miffed. "You know, just for once couldn't we stumble across a happy prophecy? A warm fuzzy one that doesn't involve the world going poof?"
"When I find one, you'll be the first to know," Giles assured her. "Until then, I suggest we put our heads together and devise a strategy."
"Easier said than done," Willow observed. "I mean, what do we really know, other than that some big bad has a major hard-on for the Hellmouth?"
"More than you might think," Wesley countered, stepping out from behind the Slayer, in more than one sense. "For starters, we know that Wolfram & Hart is a major player in whatever's going down. The word on the street is that they've formed an alliance with whatever dark power figures into the prophecy."
"Great," Buffy remarked acidly. "So we know that the bad guys have teamed up with the worse guys. Any other earth-shattering revelations you'd like to share, Wes?"
Wesley resisted the urge to do just that, wisely choosing to refrain from playing the one card he still held in reserve. The time would come to exercise that option, but that time was not yet upon them. Until then he had a few other surprises up his sleeve. "Try me."
"All right; I'll play along, Wes. Go ahead and shock me."
"What do you want to know?"
"For starters, tell me about the Watcher's Council. Where do they fit in to this mess?"
For a fleeting moment, Wesley's unresponsiveness seemed to confirm Buffy's suspicions, namely that she had called his bluff. In truth, his reluctance to respond owed more to lingering regrets than to a lack of substance on his part. Wesley may have borne a grudge against his parent organization, but he couldn't escape the pain he felt at seeing its destruction. Despite his dissociation, the Watchers Council was, and would forever remain, a part of his legacy.
At last Wesley spoke up, speaking two words none of them – save perhaps Giles – could rightfully have anticipated. "They don't."
And then, there was silence…. again.
Wesley took a deep breath, offering up an explanation no one really wanted to hear. "The Council, as it were, no longer exists. It seems our beloved leader Quentin has experienced a substantial change of heart in regard to his loyalties. Last I'd heard, he's thrown his lot in with Wolfram & Hart, along with a few others on the Executive Committee."
Willow was the first to vocalize her thoughts. "But what about the rest of the Watchers?" she asked, notably shaken, yet not the least bit surprised by the news. "Surely some of them can help."
"Undoubtedly, yes. Some of them will be willing to do so, provided we can track them down. In addition to Mr. Travers' defection, the Council has been experiencing a few other problems. It seems that our favorite solicitors are taking no chances: Those Watchers unwilling to come around to the new way of thinking have been either eliminated or driven underground."
"So basically what you're saying is that the really bad Watchers have gone over to the other side, and all of the others are either dead or in hiding?" Xander wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing, or for that matter, just what the distinction was between a good Watcher and a bad one. At this point, he didn't really care.
"In a manner of speaking. It appears the council is under assault on all fronts. A number of Quentin's most trusted advisors have inexplicably turned up dead, and the leaders of the major opposition faction within the council have made a bee-line for Washington D.C., allegedly escorted by British Intelligence."
"So we're talking world-wide conspiracy, much in the style of the X-Files?" Xander knew a thing or two about conspiracies, though not as much as he thought he did.
"You're not far off the mark," Giles confirmed. "This prophecy, the Panopticon, was given to me by an old friend, one who presently serves as legal counsel for none other than the Vatican. He warned me in a letter that the world was taking sides, that this was bigger than either he or I could possibly imagine."
Xander had the sudden urge to make a joke at the expense of the Polish people, but for once tact prevailed…. in a manner of speaking. "You're telling us the Pope's mixed up in this? I didn't even know the old guy could slay."
Giles wasn't laughing. "Public perception to the contrary, Xander, the Vatican does much more than merely dictate dogma to the Catholic Church. For hundreds of years now they've maintained a working relationship with both the Watcher's Council and the heads of the major world religions. They've been an integral part of the fight against evil since the Middle Ages."
"So in other words, the Pope does kick some serious demon ass," Xander asserted. "It makes sense if you think about it: Only a bad mofo could wear that dorky little hat and not get his ass kicked."
"Xander," Giles admonished, rapidly tiring of the boy's humor, "the Pope has little to nothing to do with running the day-to-day activities of the church, especially their lesser known activities. The Church has a separate committee responsible for coordinating the Vatican's special activities, which, by and large, consist mostly of providing financial resources and conducting academic research. They do, however, maintain a small but effective contingent of operatives, comprised mostly members of the Swiss Guard from the Vatican's own security detail."
"So, at the risk of sounding redundant, you're telling us we've got an evil law firm, a bunch of stuffy Watchers, the British government, and the Vatican involved in this so far," Willow summarized."
"Let's not forget our own government," Xander added. "They can't be far behind. Uncle Sam never met a war he didn't like."
"More than likely the American government is already involved," Giles acknowledged, mindful of the attack on W&H, and rightly suspecting that Xander already knew at least some of this. "The question is what do they know, and how long have they known it."
"So we know who's involved on the human side," Willow said, ignoring the obvious conclusion to Giles' question, "But do we have any idea what exactly it is that we're facing?"
Giles removed his glassed, rubbing his forehead in a fruitless effort to relieve the headache building within. "From those portions of the text I've succeeded in translating, our primary adversary appears to be a group of beings known as "The Fallen"."
"As in Fallen Angels?" Dawn asked, making the connection.
Giles nodded. "So it would seem."
"But wouldn't that make this a self-fulfilling prophecy, as opposed to a run-of-the-mill prophecy."
"I don't see how that makes a difference." Wesley admitted.
"It's simple," Dawn explained. "If I tell you that you're going to die, and then proceed to shoot you dead, that doesn't mean I'm clairvoyant. It just means that I wanted you dead."
"You're assuming that whoever wrote the prophecy is involved in the whole mess," Wesley countered. "He or she may merely be an impartial observer."
"Dawn's got a point," said Buffy. "What's the likelihood that some bad-seed angel prophesizes the end of the world and then just sits on the sidelines to watch it unfold? If all of this is true – and for the record I'm not entirely convinced that it is – then there's a good chance that whoever wrote the prophecy is also part of it."
"I believe we might be jumping the gun just a bit," cautioned Giles. "The tone of the prophecy's text, while certainly foreboding in its own right, actually seems to suggest that the author holds out some hope for this world; that he doesn't wish to see it destroyed."
"You expect us to believe that a fallen angel would actually repent his evil ways and fight for the forces of good? I think you're taking this positive thinking thing just a smidgeon too far," cautioned Willow.
"Why not?" argued Giles. "In case you'd forgotten, there was a time when I wasn't exactly a boy scout myself. You don't see me casting in my lot with the forces of darkness."
"You did vote for Gore in the last election," Xander pointed out, unfazed by the look Giles shot him. "But I do see your point. We don't know for sure that whoever wrote this is actually a bad guy. He may even be on our side." On that point Xander was fairly confident.
"But this prophecy's really old, right? Like thousands of years?" Buffy asked. "We don't even know that the writer is still alive, or undead, or whatever the hell you'd call it."
"If, in fact the rumors are true regarding the identity of our illustrious author, then I think we can safely assume that he's still around. Whether or not we can find him is another story." Wesley was obviously the less optimistic of the two Watchers.
Xander's knew better. "Let's assume for the sake of argument that he is still around, and that he doesn't want to destroy the world. If that were the case, then he'd probably feel compelled to do something about it. Think about it: If you were in his shoes, where would you want to be right about now?"
Buffy knew where he was going with this. "Right in the middle of the action. Right here in beautiful downtown Sunnyhell."
Xander donned a fake smile, doing his best Bob Barker impersonation. "We have a winner ladies and gentlemen. Dawn, tell the lady what she's won."
The younger Summers didn't miss a beat. "Our resident Slayer will be enjoying an extended, no-expense-paid vacation in beautiful sunny California, where the night life is anything but dead, and where she'll experience firsthand all the amenities a no-star Hellmouth has to offer." Unlike Xander, Dawn didn't bother with a smile. She wasn't yet far enough removed from the trauma of that morning.
"And you all say I have no luck," Buffy protested.
"You have lots of luck," Willow reminded her. "It just tends to be of the bad."
"Not really helping things, Will."
"Sorry. Just wanted to keep things in perspective."
"Let's all attempt to keep our perspective, shall we?" Giles suggested, his eyes darting perceptibly in Dawn's direction. "I believe we have a few important matters left to discuss."
His glance did not go unnoticed. Nor did the implicit suggestion. "Hello? Sitting right here. Could you please at least make an attempt to acknowledge my existence?"
Giles shifted his gaze to back Buffy, eyeing her accusingly. "Explain to me again why she was taught to speak?"
"Don't look at me. I would have been perfectly happy with a mute sister, but mom insisted."
Dawn crossed her arms ostentatiously, glaring at both of them. "Again. Sitting right here."
Xander finally interceded on her behalf. "Why don't you just ask the question, Giles?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I think what Xander's saying is that you should just go ahead ask me why I'm alive and kicking and not chilling in the morgue with the other corpses." As always, Dawn had a unique flair for directness.
"Not that we're not all happy you're still among the living," Xander added, winking knowingly at the girl.
"Thank you." Sometimes it was the little things that mattered most.
"Always glad to help."
"I hate to interrupt this little love fest," Wesley apologized insincerely, "but I believe Dawn was about to tell us about her less than miraculous recovery."
"It could have been a miracle," the teenager mumbled beneath her breath. Despite her increasing maturity, she wasn't above pouting to get her way.
"Dawn…" Xander warned the girl, sensing where this was going.
"What? Why does everyone automatically assume there's a logical explanation for this? Am I somehow unworthy of a miracle?"
"Of course not, Dawnie" Buffy assured her. "But you and I both know the truth, so you might as well come clean."
"This is all your fault, you know," Dawn complained, eyeing her sister with mock resentment. "You and your damn Slayer bloodline."
"Okay, am I missing something here?" Willow asked, hoping she wasn't the only one hopelessly confused.
Sighing, Dawn let the others in on the poorly kept secret. "Me, Key girl? Flesh of Buffy? She who slays demons and on occasion rises from the dead?"
"Wait a second," Wesley said. "You're saying that she's…."
"Are we all on the same page now?" Xander asked.
"You already knew this." Giles said, not so much asking a question as he was stating a fact.
"As of about an hour ago…. yes. Although I suspect Buffy and Dawn have known quite a bit longer."
"You could have told me," Giles objected to Dawn, embarrassed that he'd not anticipated such an eventuality.
"Could have. Should have. Didn't. Pretty much a moot point now, wouldn't you say?" Which, of course, he didn't.
From a scientific standpoint, Willow found the entire phenomenon utterly fascinating, if somewhat disturbing. "You always wanted to be special," she congratulated Dawn, sharing a knowing smile with the teenager. "But it does beg the question: Are we talking full-fledged Slayer here, or just Slayer Lite?"
Dawn glanced uncertainly at her sister, pondering how best to answer the question. "I'm not really sure yet, Will. Obviously I've got the whole accelerated healing thingy, and I seem to have some sort of sixth-sense when it comes to detecting vampires. But not so much with the uber-strength, which pretty much sucks if you ask me."
"And these abilities just suddenly manifested?" asked Wesley.
"More or less," Dawn conceded. "For a while now I could feel that something was different. That night on the way to the bronze, I could sense that something of the bad was going to happen, even before the dust monkeys showed up. But the nifty healing part seems to have just kicked in, and might I add, just in the nick of time."
"And the dreams?" asked Giles.
Dawn nodded in response. "Yeah…them too. If you ask me, that part's really overrated. My dreams are strange enough without some weird ass prophetic visions screwing things up."
"What exactly did you dream about?" Giles prodded.
"Oh, you know, the usual: Death, carnage, the end of the world, Xander."
"Xander?" Buffy didn't like the sound of that.
Dawn shrugged. "That may have been an entirely different dream."
The look in Buffy's eyes told the whole story. "NEVER tell me."
"That goes double for the rest of us," Giles added hastily, casting a disbelieving look in Xander's direction as he tried desperately to rid himself of the disturbing mental image.
"What?" Xander asked defensively. "Is it my fault I happen to be the perfect male specimen?"
"Not exactly perfect," Willow observed from the other side of the room, "but close."
Wesley had heard enough. "While I find this all endlessly fascinating, might I suggest we get back to our previous discussion before the projectile vomiting sets in?"
"I second that notion," Buffy added, not bothering to elaborate. "Dawn, why don't you fill us in on your non-Xander related dreams."
"There's really not much to say," Dawn conceded. "It was basically just a bunch of jumbled images, a lot of death, pain, suffering, and the token gratuitous violence. But as I told Xander on the way over, there was one thing that stood out. In all of the dreams there was this recurring voice, someone telling me that "they" were coming for me, that it was time for me to become."
"To become a Slayer," Giles deduced.
Dawn nodded. "That was pretty much my impression. And by extension, I'm guessing "they" would be these Fallen jokers."
Wesley began pacing the room, postulating aloud as he considered the new turn of events. "So it seems we have a group of fallen angels coming to the Hellmouth in search of Dawn, who just happens to be a mystical Key. Anyone care to wager on what it is they plan to open?"
"Personally, I'm still holding out hope they just lost their car keys," Xander divulged. "But I'm guessing that's probably not the prevailing theory."
"I like Xander's theory," Dawn admitted. "I'd rather not consider the alternative."
"Unfortunately we must, Dawn," Giles empathized. "We have to assume the worst case scenario; that these Fallen are either already here or are on their way, and that they have every intention of opening the Hellmouth."
"But why?" Willow asked. "What's in it for them? I mean, okay, they're fallen angels and therefore probably not the nicest people on the block, but what's their motivation?"
"How about revenge?" Buffy offered. "Speaking as one who's had her soul involuntarily torn out of Heaven, I can attest to the fact that it's not a very pleasant experience. Maybe these guys got booted out and now they're looking for a little payback."
"Destroy our world just 'cause they got kicked out of theirs?" Willow asked, unconvinced. "Sounds a little on the extreme side."
Xander caught his best friend's eye. "People tend to go a little postal when their world's been torn apart, Wills. I don't imagine that angels, even those of the fallen persuasion, are any different." He hated to bring that up, even if Willow appeared to have momentarily forgotten her recent transgressions.
"I do know a thing or two about that," Willow noted, mostly for Xander's benefit. "But it's not exactly the same thing. If these guys really are fallen angels, then chances are pretty good they did something to earn that distinction. So if they're out looking for revenge, then why not take it out on the one most directly responsible?"
"Perhaps they are," Giles theorized. "Assuming these Fallen beings are truly of a divine origin, and accepting that they have been expelled from their natural realm, what better course of revenge could there be than in destroying their master's greatest creation?"
"Okay, I'm calling a timeout here," Dawn insisted. "This is starting to sound a little too Book of Revelations for my taste."
"You deal with demons and monsters on a daily basis, and discussing the potential existence of the divine bothers you?" an incredulous Wesley asked.
"Demons bother me. The end of the world concerns me. All this talk about Angels and Heaven down right freaks me out."
"And yet you wear a crucifix around your neck."
"I said I was freaked out, Watcher boy. I never said I was stupid."
"Ex-Watcher boy," he corrected her.
"Whatever."
"I think we can all agree that this entire turn of events is, to say the least, disconcerting," Giles imparted. "Be that as it may, we have no choice in the matter but to plot a course of action."
"That sounds lack a plan to me," Buffy agreed, jumping up from her chair. "Let me know how it turns out."
"And what will you be doing in the meantime?" Wesley asked.
"I thought I'd go beat up Willie the snitch. It's been a long time, and he tends to worry."
"You think he knows something that might prove useful?" Knowing Willie as he did, Giles had his own doubts.
"Don't know; don't care. Either way, I get to hit someone." With that, Buffy strode to the door, pausing only to pilfer a short-sword from Giles' weapons chest. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, flashing a guilty smile at her friends. "Just in case," she said, saluting them with the blade as she stepped out the door.
Over on the couch, Xander felt the distinct pain of an elbow jabbed into his side. He glanced over at Dawn quizzically, silently asking what he had done wrong. In response, Dawn merely jerked her head at the door, in the direction Buffy had just gone. For once, Xander got the message.
"I, uh, hate to pull a Houdini on you guys, but I've gotta run by the school and survey the damage while I still have a job. If it's not too late I'll swing by on my way home and we can compare notes." Xander hauled himself up from the couch, giving Dawn a quick peck on the cheek, then made his way out the door.
He wasn't fooling anybody.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Courtyard outside Giles' House
Despite Buffy's head start, it didn't take Xander long to catch up with her. Descending the stairs into the courtyard, his gaze instantly fell on the Slayer's diminutive form as she lounged expectantly in a wrought-iron chair.
"Took you long enough," she observed casually, pulling out a chair.
Xander obediently took the offered seat. "Didn't want to be too obvious."
"I think it's a little late for that, Xand. All that tension's kind of a dead giveaway, don't ya think?"
"I don't know, Buff. Seems to me it's pretty much par for the course, considering our history."
Buffy couldn't have asked for a better opening. Well, maybe she could have, but beggars can't be choosers, or so the story went. "Is that what we have, a history?"
Xander wasn't really ready to answer that question, despite having played this scene out in his head time and again. "I suppose I should have seen that coming."
Patience was a virtue, but not one the Slayer had in ready supply. "So?"
"I'm sorry," Xander offered, hoping the vague apology would placate her, which, of course, it didn't.
"You're sorry?" Buffy repeated, a little too coolly for Xander's taste. "Sorry about what?"
"That depends on how long you've got. For starters, I'd like to apologize for the other night. I didn't handle things very well."
"What else is new?"
Xander hung his head slightly, partly in shame, but mostly out of his desire to avoid making eye contact. "I guess I had that coming. Regardless, I meant what I said. You didn't deserve what happened, and I'm not going to make any excuses for the way I behaved."
"So are you sorry that we kissed, or that you walked away afterwards?"
Once again, Xander failed to see the sign in front of him, the flashing red one that read: Danger – Minefield: Stay the Fuck away. Oblivious to the potential danger, Xander took the plunge. "A little bit of both, I think."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" The tone of her voice suggested it hadn't, as did the remnants of the metal armrest clutched in her balled fist.
Xander shook his head. "I don't think it works that way. I'm just trying to clear the air between us. We both need to know where things stand."
"I thought you made that pretty clear the other night."
"It's not like that Buff. What I meant to say was that I had no right to kiss you, knowing how you felt, when I was unsure of my own feelings toward you."
"It's not that hard, Xander. You either have feelings for me, or you don't."
"Isn't it? Tell me, how long have you felt this way about me? A week? A month? A year? Why haven't you acted on those feelings?"
"That's different," Buffy protested. "The timing was all fucked up. You were still sorting things out with Anya, and I was…. well…there was the whole thing with Spike."
"You mean that whole thing where you were screwing Spike. If you don't mind, I'd rather leave him out of this."
"I don't see how that's an option, Xander. Like it or not, Spike's a part of this." Xander didn't like it.
"Spike has nothing to do with the way you feel about me," Xander argued, "and neither does Anya. You told me yourself that you never loved Spike, and we both know the moment I left Ahn at the altar it was over between us. There was nothing to hold you back. You could have told me how you felt, could have acted on your feelings, but you chose not to. I want to know why."
"Do you think this has been easy for me? God, what I would give to be able to go back and change things, to tell Spike to go to hell, to tell you that I…" Buffy paused, willing herself to say the words, but still unable to do so. "…To tell you how I felt about you."
"And now? How do you feel now?"
Buffy could feel the knot growing in her stomach, and that, more than anything, told her what she needed to know. She wasn't ready for this; wasn't ready to honestly explore her feelings for Xander. Up until now it had been a purely theoretical exercise. No risk, no ramifications, no broken hearts. If she spoke up, if she told him the truth, then everything would change. She wasn't sure she was ready for that. God, I feel like a little schoolgirl. Does he love me? Does he hate me? Why can't we just pass a note like we did in junior high: Do you like me? Circle yes or no. There was a reason it was a classic. Damn growing up.
"I feel the same way I felt back then. I love you, Xander. You know that."
Xander shook his head. Buffy wasn't getting off the hook that easy, and neither was he. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
That much was true…Buffy did already know that. "Seems to me we've done this song and dance before."
"And yet here we are, still singing the same old tune."
Buffy averted her eyes, glancing down at the glass table. "I'm not ready to put myself out there, Xander. Not yet."
"And you think I am?"
"You already know how I feel, Xander. I may not be able to say the words, but I can't deny what I feel inside of me. What I don't know, what I need to know, is how you feel about me."
That was one way to take care of that. "I love you Buffy. I always have, and I always will." Xander hesitated momentarily, fearing how she would react to the next few words. "But I'm not in love with you."
Buffy bit down on her lower lip, fighting the urge to lash out at Xander. She'd known, had suspected, all along that it would turn out this way. But the part of her that believed in happy endings had stubbornly held out hope, refusing to either acknowledge or accept this possibility. "Am I supposed to thank you for that?"
Xander reached out across the table, attempting to take her hand in his own. She quickly pulled it away.
"Buffy I…I don't want you to misunderstand me. I love you and I always will. Nothing can ever change that. When I say that I'm not in love with you, it doesn't mean that I don't have strong feelings for you. But you deserve to know the truth. And the truth of the matter is that I'm not in love with you. That's not to say that I never could or will be. I need for you to understand that. I'm not trying to hurt you or get even with you. I just want to be honest with you."
Buffy hung her head, not wanting Xander to see the tears forming in her eyes, or the weakness they implied. "I know," she said, her voice tinged with resignation. "I mean, I understand."
"Do you? Do you really? I want more than anything for you to understand. I need you to understand. I loved you, Buffy; from the first moment I laid eyes on you, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you."
Buffy wiped her eyes with her hand, attempting – and failing – to make the gesture appear nonchalant. "So what changed?"
"I changed. From day one I worshipped you; I placed you high up on a pedestal where nothing could ever touch you. In my eyes you were perfect; you could do no wrong. Because of that, I held my heart out for the world to see, knowing even then that I would never have you. And it hurt. It hurt more than I could possibly imagine. But I stayed the course. I watched you with Angel, watched you give to him what I could never have. And through it all, in spite of it all, I loved you. Every time you screwed up, every time you tore my heart out, I came back for more. I kept the hope alive."
"But you said…"
Xander nodded. "I said that I changed. But that's not really accurate. What changed was how I looked at you, how I perceived you. There wasn't some grand epiphany; there wasn't a single moment when a light bulb just popped on in my head. It was a process, a gradual realization that you weren't infallible; that you weren't perfect. Somewhere along the line I realized that you weren't some goddess sent down from above. You were just a person; a person with unique abilities, but a person nonetheless. You were flawed. You had the same weaknesses and insecurities as the rest of us. You made mistakes. You made bad choices. And the more I came to know you, the better I got to know myself."
"And then you realized you didn't love me?"
"And then I realized that what I felt for you wasn't the same as before. I still loved you, Buffy. That hadn't changed. But for the first time I admitted the truth to myself. I accepted our relationship for what it was, and that was enough. I realized that true love wasn't something that just was. It was something that you had to work for, something that can't exist in a vacuum. When I looked back on those first few years, I realized that I wasn't really in love with you, not in the truest sense of the word. I was in love with an illusion, an image I had built up in my head as the end-all, be-all of my existence. I was in love with what I wanted you to be, not with the person you really were."
"I must have been a big disappointment."
"You know better than that, Buffy. You made some bad choices, and so did I. And it was for the best. We both made our share of mistakes, and because of that, not in spite of it, we grew closer. It hasn't been easy for either of us. There were times when I felt myself falling back on old habits. When I was with Cordelia, even when I was with Anya, there were those days when all you would have had to was say the word, and I would have been there. I would have been yours. Even on my wedding day, a part of my heart still belonged to you. I couldn't escape it, as much as I wanted to. On that day, I turned my back on Anya, turned my back on a chance at something resembling normalcy. But it wasn't all because of you. That demon showed me things, and even after the truth came out, the images still haunted me. The possibility that I could hurt Anya, that I could cause her so much pain, scared the hell out of me. So I walked away from it all."
"But you loved Anya…. right?"
"Yes I did, and in a way I still do."
"But you weren't in love with her?"
"Right."
"You also love me?"
"Uh-huh."
"But you're not in love with me."
"Again, yes."
"Soooo… you feel the same about both of us."
"Of course not."
Now Buffy was lost. "One of us is very confused, and I'm honestly not sure which one."
Xander did his best to explain, though even he wasn't sure he knew why. "You and Ahn are two very different people, Buffy. I love both of you, but in a different way."
"Okay," Buffy temporized, still not quite grasping what Xander was trying to say. "So you loved Anya – you love Anya – but you don't see any future for the two of you?"
"Not the future that she wanted."
"And it's not the same with us."
Xander shook his head. "Ahn is still trying to come to grips with her humanity. She never really accepted that it was a process, that it took time to grow into it. She wanted the whole nine yards right now – the dog, the white picket fence, the 2.6 kids, everything. It wouldn't have been fair to either of us to go through with the wedding."
"But you had your own doubts…. about yourself."
"I did," Xander conceded, "and to some degree, I still do. But that's not up for discussion."
"You're the one that wanted to get things out in the open," Buffy reminded him.
"My personal introspection has its limits, Buffy. There will be no discussing my neuroses, complexes, pathos, or any other of my many emotional and psychological shortcomings."
"Then what's left to talk about?"
"You…. and possibly your neuroses, pathos, complexes and varied other shortcomings."
"I think I'll pass."
"No fair, Buff. I showed you mine, now you have to show me yours."
Buffy's eyes grew wide at that last comment. Obviously she didn't take it as Xander had intended.
"Judging by your expression, it's possible that didn't exactly come out the way I intended. What I to say was that I spilled my guts, so now it's your turn."
Buffy would much rather show him hers. "No way," she demurred, rising to her feet in an unconscious attempt to put some distance between them. "No way in hell."
"No way?"
"Not gonna happen."
"You're sure?"
"Yep."
"Positive?"
"HIV, no. Otherwise…yes.
"And why is that?"
"Do the words beat a dead horse mean anything to you?"
Xander almost smiled. "I doubt a dead horse would mind being beaten. Besides, we're not finished here. At least, you're not."
Buffy thought otherwise. "I'm pretty sure I am."
"No Buff. You're not. There's still something you're not telling me, something you need to get off your chest. And we both know it."
Abandoning the table, Buffy retreated a few steps, turning her back to Xander. She wanted to ignore him, to ignore the issues separating them, but she knew they wouldn't just go away. "What do you want me to say, Xander? What could there possibly be left to say?"
"How about the truth? It can't be that bad. Just tell me what's going on in that pretty little head of yours."
She slowly turned to look at him. "And if I don't know?"
He shrugged equivocally. "Then make something up. I won't know the difference anyway."
The hint of a smile crept onto Buffy's face. Xander had a habit of making her do that, that is, when he wasn't driving her crazy. But even then…"You should be careful what you ask for. Fighting vampires is one thing. Trying to get into my head's a little more problematic."
"And you should know better than to warn me off. I think it's become painfully apparent over the past six years that I seldom do what's good for me."
The smile threatening to breakout out on Buffy's face did just that. "You know, even when you make very little sense, you somehow manage to get your point across."
Xander returned the smile and raised her a wink. "It's all part of the irresistible Xander Harris charm, at least, that's what Wills tells me. Though I concede it's remotely possible she just said that to humor me."
"Just possible?" Buffy new all about the Harris charm, or lack thereof.
Xander shrugged. "Maybe even likely," he conceded. "At any rate, you still haven't answered my question. So ixnay on the allingstay and 'fess up. What's the what, Buff?"
"You really wanna do this?"
Xander shook his head solemnly. "Sadly, I have nothing better to do."
"Don't you have a job to get to?"
Another shake of the head, this time from side to side. "Probably not for long."
One last attempt at circumlocution. "I wouldn't even know where to begin."
"I'm familiar with most of the story. Just tell me how it ends."
In the end, that's what it all came down to: Those three little words – those other three words – that she had fought for so long to ignore, knowing that once she finally spoke them, finally admitted it to herself, there was no turning back. Here goes nothing. "I'm not human." There, she said it. Finally. It wasn't so hard after all.
Xander was slightly taken aback by that revelation. "Care to repeat that for those of us who aren't you?"
"I'm not human," she said again, more quietly this time, but with no less conviction.
Xander shook his head emphatically. "That's crazy talk. Of course you're human. You just came with a few extra options, that's all. You're Buffy, new and improved version 2.0"
"I'm not saying this because I'm the Slayer. I'm not even sure I am the Slayer anymore."
Xander wasn't always slow on the uptake. "Because you died."
"Thanks for the reminder."
"I didn't mean…"
Buffy dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "I know you didn't." She turned again and took a few steps away. "It's just that since I came back things have been different."
That much was true, though Xander was reticent to press the issue. He rose from his chair, closing the physical distance them. "We never really talked about it."
Buffy turned to face him, almost uncomfortable at the physical proximity between them. "I know we haven't. And that's mostly my fault. I guess I just wasn't ready then."
Xander reached out to her, gently touching her arm without even realizing he had done so. "We don't have to do this now. I know that when you're ready you'll tell me."
Xander's choice of words did not go unnoticed by Buffy. He said "me", not "us". What did that mean? Damn, should've paid more attention in Psych 101. She shook her head. "It's okay. I need to talk about it. I've kept it all bottled up for so long that I forgot how good it feels to talk to someone about it." Xander didn't respond, hoping that she would take his silence as a sign to continue. She did.
"After I came back, things…were different, and I don't just mean between us. I-I could feel that something inside of me had changed, and it scared me. A lot."
Xander nodded for her to keep going. "I'm stronger than I was before. When I fight them – the vampires, demons, whatever – I barely even have to try. I just know I'm going to win, and it has nothing to do with confidence. When I go into battle, I don't even have to think, I just act."
"But that's a good thing…right?"
Buffy ignored the question for a moment, lapsing into a short silence. After a few moments, she spoke again, posing a question Xander wasn't entirely prepared to answer. "Xander, do you believe in God?"
"Come again?"
Buffy sat down on the steps, gesturing Xander to take a seat beside her. "We've been fighting evil for what – about seven years now? Don't you ever wonder about it all?"
"Honestly," replied Xander, sitting down beside her, "I've never really given it that much thought."
Buffy was surprised by his revelation. "Really?"
Xander shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess it's because I know all I really need to know. We kill the things that need killing. If we don't do it, who will?"
Buffy nodded. "Believe me, I get that. I really do. It's just that… it's just that there are so many unanswered questions, so many things that I don't know."
"You know what they say about curiosity?" Xander was as superstitious as the next guy, maybe even more so.
Buffy smiled at that one. "By my count I still have seven lives to go. Besides, the cat didn't have friends to bring him back from the dead."
"Cats don't need help coming back from the dead around here," Xander pointed out. "And what can I say? We do what we can."
"For which I am eternally grateful, if I haven't said so lately."
"You have. And your appreciation for our total disregard of the laws of nature is both duly noted and accepted."
"You're not planning on answering my question anytime soon are you?"
Xander feigned confusion. "And which question would that be? I lost track."
"The Big Guy…"
"You mean Giles?"
"Xander!"
"Oh, you meant the other G-man." Buffy nodded. "Since when did you go all theological on me, Slayer?" He received a jab to the shoulder in response. A very light, yet nonetheless painful, jab.
"Ouch! You know Buff, inflicting bodily harm will not make me any more cooperative."
Buffy shrugged it off. "It makes me feel better."
"In other words, either you're suddenly into S&M, or you're not letting me off the hook."
Buffy leveled a pseudo-serious gaze at him. "Xander, believe me when I say if I ever decide to chain you up and whip you, you will not enjoy it in the least." Well, maybe just a little…
"So, we're back to square one, huh."
"Looks like."
"And there's no chance I'm getting out of this?"
Buffy resolutely shook her head from side to side. "Probably not."
Xander scratched his head. "And this got turned around on me how?"
"Short attention span?"
"Fair enough. Then the answer to your question is yes, I do."
Buffy nodded in agreement. "I guess somehow I already knew that. What I don't know, what I need to know, is why."
"You do realize that I'm probably not the most qualified person in the world to answer that question."
"Humor me anyway?"
It was hard to resist Buffy. Less so as of late, but still, no easy task. "All right," Xander surrendered, " I'll give it the old non-college try. Just consider yourself warned." Xander took a moment to select his words before venturing into uncharted territory.
"I take a lot on faith Buffy – we all do. It's a part of what we do. That's just the way it is. The problem is, that's not always enough. Sooner or later, we start to question things; we start to wonder why. Not why we do it – we do what we do because it's the right thing to do – but why things happen the way they do. We know what's out there. We know what it is, and most of the time we even know how to kill it. But we don't know why it's there, or for that matter where it really comes from. We toss around words like heaven and hell, talk about them like they're empirical fact, but – present company excluded – we don't really have any proof that they even exist."
"Empirical," Buffy asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Thirty Seven Across. Yesterday's crossword puzzle."
"I had to ask," Buffy explained apologetically. "You caught me off guard with that one."
"Stick around. I might just have a few more surprises up my sleeve."
"Such as?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"
Buffy nodded. "Then by all means, surprise me."
"You should be careful what you ask for. Anyway, before I was so not rudely interrupted, I said that we don't really have any proof, with the obvious exception of your little sabbatical the other summer. That's not entirely true."
"It's not?"
Xander shook his head. "No it's not. Empty your pockets and I'll show you."
Buffy cast a questioning glance at Xander, but did as he asked. Sliding her hand into her jacket pocket she removed a key ring, a pair of wooden stakes, and a vial of holy water, which she placed on the concrete step. "So?"
He gestured towards the previous contents of her pocket. "What do you see there?"
Wasn't that obvious? "My keys and a couple of weapons. Why?"
"Most people – most normal people – would only see a few sharpened sticks and a bottle of holy water. You see something different because you have a different perspective, because you're the Slayer."
Buffy closed her eyes for a moment, then reopened them, gazing at Xander with something akin to admiration. "They're only weapons because of what they represent."
"You already knew that, but I'm willing to bet that you never really gave it much thought," said Xander, just a hint of surprise in his voice.
"I only knew that they worked; I never really cared why. I had a Watcher for that."
"True, but even Giles can't answer all of your questions."
Especially the ones I don't ask. "And you can?"
"You know me better than that, Buff. But if I may, allow me to impart a bit of Xander-wisdom."
"By all means Confucius, enlighten me."
Xander was prepared to do just that. "I think I know you pretty well Buffy. Better than most anyway. Sometimes I even think I know you better than you know yourself."
"Are you trying to help me, or just scare the hell out of me?"
"I'm trying to offer some constructive advice. The scaring you part is just an added bonus. But I stand by what I said – I do know you pretty well. Over the past six years I've learned to read you, to pick up on your moods, your fears, your charming little idiosyncrasies."
"You've learned to do all that? Color me impressed."
Xander shrugged. "That's what I get for hanging out with chicks all the time."
"And yet, I see our fashion sense hasn't rubbed off on you," Buffy observed.
"I am secure in my wardrobe, Miss Summers. Contrary to popular belief, flannel is a legitimate lifestyle choice."
Buffy held up her arms in surrender. "Sorry. I stand corrected. Please continue."
"Right. Anyway, as I was saying, I understand you. I don't pretend to pretend to understand everything you've been through, or how it's affected you. But I do know that if I were in your shoes, I'd have to wonder why it all happened. Why death was your gift; why you came back; and why all of these things are happening now."
Buffy nodded. It was true, even if obviously so. "So tell me, what am I thinking now?"
That was the easy part. "You're afraid. You've only recently accepted what happened to you and made the choice to get on with your life. And then, like clockwork, it starts all over again. Another prophesy, another big bad to deal with. But this time it's different. There's no demon, no hell-god, just some problem child angels and a bunch of lawyers whose parents probably never loved them enough. So now, in addition to facing the potential end of the world, you're left with a bunch of unanswered questions."
"A few of which stand out more than others," admitted Buffy.
Xander nodded. "You want to know where your powers come from, and why you came back from the dead?"
"Well, that and the meaning of life; but I'll take what I can get."
"You're on your own with the last question, Buff. And the first one is probably best left to someone in tweed, but I think maybe I can provide some insight into the second."
"By all means; be my guest."
Xander reclined back on the stairs, propping himself up on his elbows, letting the midday sun warm his face as he remembered darker times. It was still hard for him to think about it, to reflect on a world without Buffy, especially on a day like today. When he spoke, it was as much for himself as it was for Buffy.
"It was about two months after you died that Willow first proposed the idea of bringing you back, though – if I had to guess – I'd venture to say she'd been considering it since day one. At the time, during those first couple of weeks, I didn't really comprehend how powerful she'd grown; she spent most of her time either with Tara or locked away in the back room of the Magic Box. I couldn't really blame her, though. I think it was just easier that way…. for all of us. We just kind of withdrew into our selves. When we were alone, things were better; it was easier. It wasn't until we were all gathered together that the truth would hit home, that we realized that you were really gone. And in that regard I guess I was as guilty of that as the rest of them. I threw myself into my job, working twelve-hour days just to keep from thinking about what we'd lost. When I wasn't working, I spent all my free time with Anya, trying to reassure her, all the while silently mourning your loss."
Buffy leaned back next to him, resting her head in the crook of his arm as she took his hand gently in her own. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."
Xander looked down at her, suddenly struck by the odd confluence of the Slayer's strength and the enduring vulnerability that was uniquely Buffy. "I know this sounds strange, but in a way I think it was for the best. Dealing with your death forced me to face a number of difficult truths. It made me reexamine my relationship with Anya, and by default, the way I felt about you. The really fucked-up part is that even though it was without a doubt the worst three months of my life, I learned more about myself in that time than in the previous twenty one years combined."
"So what did you discover?"
"For one, that I still had a lot to learn about dealing with death." Xander hesitated a moment, only to be reassured by a squeeze of the hand. "I never told anyone this, but I never cried after you died. Not in front of anyone, and not when I was alone. In some screwed-up way, I thought it would be betraying your memory to do so, in some way dishonoring your sacrifice. In reality, I think it had more to do with the fact that I couldn't imagine my life without you. Ever since I found out who you were – what you were – I intrinsically knew that I would someday have to face life without you. But even after all that time, I still couldn't accept the fact that you were gone. In my eyes, you were impervious. Nothing could ever touch you, not even death. And so I refused to accept the finality of it, that you weren't coming back."
Buffy hesitated to say it, but the question lingered on the tip of her tongue, demanding to be heard. "Willow told me…. she said that you were against bringing me back."
"I was," Xander admitted guiltily, searching Buffy's eyes for any hint of perceived betrayal. "Somehow it just didn't seem right, bringing you back. As much as I wanted to, a part of me screamed that it was wrong, that there was something sacrilegious about it. We don't always play by the rules, but there are some universal laws you just don't mess with, and raising a person from the dead is definitely one of those."
"But in the end you went along with it?"
"I still had my reservations, but there were mitigating factors that I hadn't anticipated. Foremost of which, I allowed myself to forget just how persuasive Willow can be."
"The resolve face is a powerful motivator," Buffy conceded.
"That it is. But not as powerful as my own resolve to get you back."
"Even though you still had your doubts?"
"I guess what it all came down to was that I'm still an impulsive and irrational person at heart. I knew it was wrong, that there was a chance that you would come back different, but in the end, I didn't care about any of that. I just wanted you back."
"And if I had come back…. wrong?"
"I considered that. To be honest, I almost expected it. I knew there was an inherent risk in what we were doing. So did the others, especially Anya. And I hate to admit it, but I was prepared to deal with it, despite what Spike said."
"You could have done that?" As disturbing as the thought was, it had occurred to Buffy on more than one occasion.
"If it wasn't you, not really the real you, then yes. As much as I wanted you back, I couldn't accept any substitution. If you hadn't come back whole – come back you – then I would have put you back in the ground, one way or another. I owed you that much."
"And then? Could you have lived with yourself afterwards?"
The way Xander looked at her told Buffy all she needed to know. It was as if she were glimpsing her own reflection in a mirror; the same hesitation, the same haunting fears reflected in her own eyes were also found lurking in the depths of Xander's. In that instant, Buffy knew without a doubt that Xander would have sent her back to her grave had she come back wrong; she was equally certain that he would have followed her there soon after. And as strange as it sounded, she found comfort in that realization.
"I think you already know the answer to that," Xander said, his voice remarkably even given the subject matter.
"I think you're right," Buffy agreed. "But there is one other thing you might answer for me."
"And that is?"
"How is it you managed to completely avoid answering my original question?"
"Is that what I did?" Xander asked, feigning ignorance. "Guess I just got a little sidetracked."
"Or maybe you just don't want to answer the question."
"Maybe," Xander conceded, "but did you stop to think that maybe it's not me that I'm concerned about."
"Really?" Buffy knew a half-truth when she heard it.
"C'mon Buff. Do you really want to listen me regurgitate all that crap about our little resurrection ritual, or are you ready to hear the truth."
Buffy leveled her gaze at Xander, her unblinking stare providing the answer. "I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't."
"And I wouldn't be telling you if I didn't believe that to be true."
"So we're in agreement then."
But there is one question you might help me out with."
"What's that?"
"What the hell ever compelled you to buy that hideous shirt?"
That was definitely hitting below the belt. "You something? I take back everything I said. I don't love you; I don't even really like you that much," Xander somehow managed to say with a straight face.
The playful grin on Buffy's face gave lie Xander's claim. "Yes you do. You love me. You can't stand to be without me. You missed me so much you brought me back from the dead."
"I do not. I only said all that crap to make you feel better. And for your information, the only reason we brought you back from the dead was because we needed a Slayer on the Hellmouth. In truth, none of us could ever stand you…. especially me."
"You think I'm beautiful. You wanna date me," Buffy sang aloud. Taunting Xander was just so damn much fun.
"As if. I'm not even mildly attracted to you. I mean, look at yourself – those knobby knees, that passé heroin-chic look, and do I even have to mention your thick ankles?"
"Your pathetic denials have no effect on me," Buffy countered, with no small degree of smugness. "I know the truth. I know you want me."
"You're living in fantasy land," Xander argued weakly, "I'm immune to your inconsiderable charms."
"Is that why you keep playing with my hair?"
"I am not playing with your hair. I'm merely lulling you into a false sense of security, at which point I'll proceed to pull out your hair, strand by strand, until you're completely bald."
"You know," Buffy purred, more coquettishly than she realized, "if you keep telling yourself that, you might actually start to believe it." She pouted her lips, enjoying the reaction she elicited from Xander. "But I doubt it." Leaning in closer to Xander, she cruelly whispered the next part into Xander's ear. "Besides Xand, what makes you think I'm not already bald?"
Xander could already feel the blood flow draining from his brain, destined for more southerly regions. Don't do it, Xander. Don't even think about it. She's just fucking with your head. There's no way she's…she's. Oh shit; too late. Damn imagination. "You have no effect on me whatsoever," Xander protested, trying to convince himself of that, despite obvious physical evidence to the contrary.
"I thought you were going to pull my hair out?" Buffy asked with a knowing grin, glancing innocuously at Xander's "physical evidence".
"I intend to…I mean I am…any minute now…it's gonna happen."
"So what's stopping you?"
Xander knew he was losing this one, and fast. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"
"I know you're not trying to get rid of me."
"I've been doing nothing but for the last five minutes," he lied.
Buffy extricated herself from Xander, strategically brushing up against him, before slowly walking down the stairs. "Fine. I can see when I'm not wanted. I'm leaving."
Xander just shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. "Good. So go already."
"I will. Just don't be thinking about me when I'm gone."
"No problem. I wasn't thinking about you when you were here."
That one brought another smile to Buffy's face. "Liar," she called over her shoulder as she strolled contentedly to the Jeep.
Now Xander was smiling too. "Maybe just a little," he admitted, sotto voce.
From inside Giles' house, two more people were smiling as well.
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End Chapter 17.
I apologize for the total lack of anything remotely resembling action in this chapter. I sincerely intended to ramp things up, but got a little carried away with the whole B/X moment. I promise lots of gratuitous violence and a high body count in chapter 18.
Rabid Squirrel
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