Author: Cyclone
Feedback: Please be gentle.
Distribution: Gimme credit and a link.
Rating: Just a little bad language.
Spoilers: Anything and everything.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted herein belong to other people. I'm just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: After Halloween, everything changes. Sequel to Blackest Night. Part one of Emerald Flame.
Author's Note: Okay, y'know, the reason Blackest Night was originally a one-shot was because I saw only two ways to expand on it: Green Lantern Xander and Future Knowledge Xander. Both of them had already been done and done well by others, and I didn't want to retread ground already covered, so I intended to leave it as is.
Then I got this idea.
Buffy stared at the envelope in her hands, debating whether or not to open it. Xander had given it to her and told her not to open it until tomorrow, that however little she trusted him now, she would outright hate him if she opened it before then. Throw in the bombshell that Ford had dropped on her last night -- that he knew that she was the Slayer -- and she was an emotional mess.
"iS IT WORTH THE RISK?"
"hE IS WORTHLESS TO US IF THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN."
"sO WE ARE AGREED? wE WILL INTERVENE?"
"yES."
"yOU'RE BOTH FOOLS. tHIS WILL NEVER WORK."
"sILENCE, Oma. tHIS DOES NOT CONCERN YOU."
"dOESN'T IT? aT LEAST WHEN i MEDDLE, i HELP THEM."
Buffy's lips tightened in firm resolve, and she tore open the envelope. She pulled out its contents and found herself holding... another envelope. This one had Xander's handwriting -- cleaned up a lot from what it had been just a week ago -- on it.
"Buffy," it said, "I told you not to open the envelope. I'm serious, Buff. You'll hate me if you open it now. If our friendship ever meant anything to you, please don't open this yet."
There was a space.
"P.S.: If you're reading this Wednesday morning, then... uh... sorry!" There was a smiley face scrawled at the end there, and she couldn't help but smile and shake her head. She tucked the envelope in her diary.
She still had to go meet Ford.
"dOH!"
"tOLD YOU."
"You knew!" Buffy shrieked as he entered the library. Xander's eyes widened a split-second before the almost full-force Slayer punch connected with his jaw. He barely managed to twist and fall back with the impact, turning what would have been a shattered jaw into a dislocated one.
As he worked his jaw back into place, he looked up and nodded. "Yeah, Buff," he said, after having fixed his jaw. "I knew. But what could I have done to change it?"
"You could have told me!" she snarled.
"Would you have believed me?" he asked reasonably. "And even if you did, what could you have done?"
"Damn you!" she snarled and took an aggressive step toward him, arms rising to grab him. However, she was blocked when someone stepped between them, derailing her train of thought. "Willow, what...?"
"He's right, Buffy," she said. "And even if he wasn't, what are you going to do? Kill him?"
"I... I..."
"If so, y-you should kill me too," the redhead stammered. "He told me on Monday, when he first saw Ford. I knew too, and I didn't tell you, just like him."
"Wh-why not?" Buffy asked. "I thought you were my friend?"
"I am," she said. "We are, Buffy, but..."
"But in time, Buffy, you can forgive us," Xander said quietly. "If we'd told you, you wouldn't be able to forgive yourself."
Buffy stumbled back, then turned and ran for the back exit.
"We should-..." Willow started.
"No, Will," Xander said, grabbing the hem of her shirt to stop her. "Just let her go. She needs time to think."
"Yeah... I guess you're right," she murmured.
Xander picked himself up off the floor and pulled her into a fierce hug. "Thanks, Will."
She blinked at him quizzically, "For what?"
He pulled back and brushed her hair out of her face. "For standing up for me, Will. That's..." he trailed off.
"That's what?" she frowned. There were only a few ways that sentence could end. "That's... not like me? My God, Xander, what happened to us?"
Xander looked away and murmured, "Cordelia. Angelus. Oz. The Fluke. Faith. So many things."
"Cordelia?" she recoiled.
"Not gonna happen this time around," he said with a lopsided grin. "That much, I'm sure of."
"And Faith?" she frowned. "What about her?"
"Long story, not something you need to hear," he said, waving it off.
"Resolve face," she said, glaring it at him.
"I was in a bad place, Will," he said quietly, "and you'd made your choice."
"What choice?"
"Not me," he said simply, then turned and left. Behind him, a horrified Willow contemplated the many possible meanings behind his words.
Xander -- or perhaps more accurately, Green Lantern -- hovered high above Sunnydale, his altitude wavering unsteadily. Unshed tears glistened in his eyes as he wrestled to get his emotions under control.
He had his Willow back. Until just moments ago, he hadn't realized just how much he'd missed his Willow.
But... it seemed it wasn't without sacrifice. Somehow, some way, he'd lost his Buffy.
"No," he snarled. He glared at the heavens defiantly and said, "I won't let that happen. Do you hear me? I won't lose them, either of them!" His voice dropped, "Any of them."
With that, he stabilized his flight and gently lowered himself to the roof. He had someone to talk to...
"Buffy?" Willow called hesitantly as she walked through the cemetary toward the sounds of violence. It was the third cemetary she had checked. Given what happened, it was a fair bet Buffy was somewhere in one of Sunnydale's many graveyards, looking for a vampire to vent her frustrations on.
Violently.
She continued following the sounds of violence, expecting to see Buffy thrashing a vampire or three.
She saw the vampire-thrashing she was expecting, but it wasn't Buffy delivering it.
It was Faith.
And she was glowing green.
And... wielding a lightsaber?
What is she? Willow wondered, her mind refusing to accept the obvious answer.
Buffy cried.
She was on her bed, clutching Mr. Gordo and sobbing uncontrollably as she tried to come to terms with what she'd almost done. She was the Slayer, and she'd tried to... tried to...
She'd tried to kill one of her best friends.
"Buffy?"
At the sound of her name, she looked up and blinked blearily at the door. "Mom?"
Joyce Summers hurried in worriedly. "Buffy, what's wrong?" she asked, pulling her daughter into a hug.
"I screwed up," she bawled, clutching her mother like a life preserver. "I screwed up, and now they hate me!"
"Who, dear?" Joyce asked, stroking her daughter's hair comfortingly. "Why don't you tell me about it, Buffy?"
"It's Angel," Buffy muttered. "It always comes back to Angel. Xander never understood-..."
"Who's Angel?"
"Uh, no one," Buffy said quickly. Her mind went into overdrive as she tried to figure out how to explain what happened without letting the cat out of the bag. "It's about Ford," she finally croaked out.
"Oh, honey," Joyce pulled her into another hug. She'd heard about Ford's death this morning. Something about gang members on PCP.
"He..." Buffy shuddered, barely able to keep her wits about her as the emotions rushed back, "he was dying, Mom. A-a brain tumor. A-and... he wanted to..." she hesitated, "...go out in a blaze of glory, so he started hanging with this gang... Xander... he figured it out, but... but he knew I wouldn't believe him, so he didn't tell me. And... and when I found out... I... I attacked him, Mom! Oh, God, I could've killed him!"
Joyce Summers thought about what had happened. Buffy hadn't been completely coherent and had clammed up on some of the topics that had come up. So, after Buffy had cried herself to sleep, Joyce had tucked her in and gone looking for someone who might be able to tell her more.
"Damn kid," the drunkard slurred. "Always running off when there's work that needs to be done! I dunno where he is!"
Joyce was sorely tempted to hit Anthony Harris.
No, that wasn't quite accurate. She was barely containing the urge to beat the living daylights out Anthony Harris. Yes, that was more accurate.
"So, you don't know where he is?" she asked, just to confirm.
"I already said that, didn't I?" he snarled brusquely. "Ask that Jew whore of his next door, or that blonde slu-"
WHAM!
That done, Joyce Summers spun on her heel and left.
A few minutes later, she hesitated in front of the Rosenberg house, one hand about to knock. Thinking better of it, she turned and headed back to her car parked on the roadside.
She then began driving to the hospital. Her hand hurt too much not to have broken something.
It did not dampen the satisfaction she had for decking that drunk son of a bitch.
She made a mental note to contact CPS. And if that didn't work, then by God, she was going to drag Xander over to move in with her and Buffy. By the ear if necessary.
Xander frowned in confusion as he returned "home" from patrol. The Harris domicile was not what he really considered home, but it would do for now. Besides, Willow still lived next door, and he was willing to put up with the drunken mess if it meant being near his Willow.
The confusion stemmed one question that was running through his mind: What on Earth was Joyce Summers doing at his door at this hour?
WHAM!
Well, okay, apparently, she was punching out his father. But why?
Not that he hadn't had the same urge on more than on occasion, but... well, for some reason, Joyce doing it just didn't fit the picture.
Well, either way, it was too dangerous out at night to let her wander around alone, even in a car. Especially since she still didn't know about the hellmouthy life.
"No rest for the weary," he muttered in resignation.
Author's Postscript:
For those of you waiting on The Nighthawk Chronicles, consider this a bit of a commercial break. Except with no commercials, just other 'ficcage.