Anne (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} angelchicken) wrote,@ 2004-04-18 19:34:00 |
|
Finally . . . I suck.
Ha! I have story number one! Yes, my first of two angst-a-thon fics is here! There should be trumpets, yo. So, here you go. (and the title has nothing to do with the excellent Giles-centric ep of the same name. I just suck at original titles).
Title: A New Man
Author: Me! AC
For:perries
Pairings: Xander/Jesse, Xander/Vi
Requests: Looking at how Jesse's death has stayed with Xander, possibly?
Rating: R
Spoilers: Through Angel "You're Welcome" (5.12 maybe?) All of Buffy.
Words: Approx. 3000
Thanks: Tochicken_cem for ripping my fic apart and helping me make it more, well, logical. and to killerweasel for helping me with the clean up. You guys are the best. THANK YOU!
~*~ more notes at the end ~*~
The first thing he notices is the light. That and the noise. Christ, it's loud. Africa, for him, had been defined by the silence. Sure, Cairo, Johannesburg, they'd been crazy with city life -- cars, markets, tourists, all vying for attention. But those times were short. Mostly he heard quiet. Occasionally broken up with . . . quiet.
* * *
He was twelve the first time his dad hit him. Just belted him across the face when he asked for . . . what was it? Money? To see a movie, maybe? No. No, it was a permission slip. He personally didn't really care about the science museum, but Willow was beside herself with excitement, and he couldn't bring himself to refuse her.
So he'd asked and ended up with a pretty new face decoration for his troubles. He was stunned, but he sure as hell didn't cry. His dad already thought he was pansy-assed.
He just looked at his dad, turned and walked out, leaving the slip on the ground where it had fallen.
The next morning the slip was waiting for him on the kitchen table, signed, sealed, and delivered, with a ten dollar bill clipped to it. A true Harris apology: money and capitulation, but no actual words.
* * *
Cordelia. God, Cordelia.
He wasn't surprised -- Jesse, Jenny, Larry, Joyce, Buffy, Tara, Anya, hell, even Spike. Just another name to the list -- but it still hurt. A lot. First love and all that sentimental crap.
He wanted, ached, to go to the funeral, but it was over by the time the news reached him.
He'd cried when he heard. Not much, but enough to make Vi uncomfortable.
Look at me. I'm a new man!
He'd shut off the waterworks at her pathetic attempts to comfort him, then rolled over, almost crushing her with his bulk, and slipped into her willing body.
He felt like a heel, or would have if he took the time to think about it. But Vi was horny and needy and he was a 23-year-old male, even if he felt sixty.
He broke her cherry without thought, or any sort of meaningful fanfare. Two bodies, banging together, and it wasn't his fault she'd fallen for him. He'd consider himself to be taking advantage of her if it weren't for the fact that she could easily snap his spine. So it's just this empty, half-assed rutting that she thinks is love.
He's too tired to say otherwise.
* * *
There's a stake in the vampire's heart before it can even comprehend that a half-blind man has killed him. Blindly. Heh.
He's spent months working on it and now he can hit his mark every time. It was shaky at first, missing the heart, or the vampire altogether, but with a slayer at his back, that was only an annoyance. Most vampires are so fucking dumb; they always -- always -- attack on his left.
At least his stunt has gotten the desired reaction. The three remaining vamps stop short, suddenly seeing him as a threat. It's a nice feeling.
"If you want to end up like your friend, by all means, bring it on." He opens his arms, spreads them wide, playing the victim. The vampires stare at him, exchanging wary glances. They don't move.
He offers a smile and it isn't nice. The vamps all take a step back.
"Now that I have your attention," he says, the friendliness in his voice laced with malice, "I have a proposition for you."
* * *
Willow accepted his excuse without question. Soap, shower, jaw meets spigot. She told him to be more careful in the future, didn't want anything to happen to him. He yes'd her with an abashed smile and made some lame jokes about his inherent klutziness.
Jesse didn't say anything. Look at me. I'm a new man! He probably noticed the faint outline of knuckles on his cheek. Will wouldn't see them. Wouldn't think to look.
But Jesse would, and did, and when they split up for class Jesse gave his shoulder a squeeze. Invited him back to his place after school. Made it known that the offer wasn't a one-time deal.
* * *
He resents Buffy. Actively. It feeds him, some days. Most days.
She's off in Rome, living the life of Riley, without Riley, of course, with her doting kid sis -- still feeling the mutiny guilt -- and her father figure of a Watcher -- still living the mutiny guilt.
And yeah, she's earned it. But haven't they all? Why isn't she in the middle of nowhere like he is, looking for clueless girls? Doing recon of new and exciting demon species? She's surrounded by experts, like a sister with a frightening knack for languages, demon or otherwise, and a Watcher who redefines the word 'experienced'.
Even Willow's got Kennedy, a girl who takes ignorance as a personal affront. And he's here with . . . Vi, who still drops her stake when she's startled.
Sometimes he's so furious with all of them, himself included, that he wants to kill them. Slowly. Watch them suffer, like he does every day.
He knows he sounds like a victim, but he is beyond caring. His boot strings are broken and he just can't give a damn.
The inevitable guilt is crushing. He is, after all, Xander: the heart of their little band of buggered. He has moments -- little pockets of normality where he loves and misses all of them. But they are fleeting; fewer and further between.
He can feel it seeping into his system, this unexpected loathing, this desire to cause pain. Revenge, maybe undeserved, is thrumming through him with every heartbeat.
He just wishes he could lose the goddamn guilt.
* * *
He was a punching bag for years. Every time his dad had a bad night, Xander became ten dollars richer.
Mostly he saved it.
It was going to be his way out some day.
* * *
They're laughing at him and he flinches; reflex too ingrained to shut off.
But it's only a moment and then he remembers himself. Where he is. What he is.
He pulls a small, crude crossbow from his waistband and takes out one of the girl vamps. She looks a little bit like Tara, and it actually kind of upsets him. Her face doesn't belong on a monster.
It shuts them up, thank god.
"Why do I feel like you aren't taking me seriously?"
* * *
When he was fourteen something happened. Something awful and wonderful and everything after that became so much more heartbreaking.
He was at Jesse's. Again. And they were talking about Cordelia. Well, Jesse was talking about Cordelia, Xander was listening with half an ear; he'd heard it all before. He was trying not to react every time he moved his shoulder, grateful his dad had learned not to leave obvious bruises - he was running out of lame excuses. But at the same time, having your shoulder all but dislocated was seriously painful and took a lot longer to heal.
Xander looked up from the comic he was pretending to leaf through when he realized Jesse had stopped talking. He was, instead, looking at Xander, his head cocked, eyes filled with sympathy. Xander flushed at the scrutiny in his friend's eyes and shifted involuntarily, jolting his shoulder in the process. He gasped and closed his eyes, not wanting Jesse to see the pain. When he composed himself, and dared to look up, Jesse had moved closer.
"Let me see," he murmured, lightly skimming his hand over the hidden damage.
"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
But Jesse was already at his shirt, softly sliding the buttons through the holes.
"I don't like to see you hurt, Xan. You should do something. Call the police. It has to stop."
Look at me. I'm a new man!
He shifted Xander's shirt from his body, careful of his sore shoulder, while he spoke.
Xander wanted to reply, but he couldn't speak. He was mesmerized by the comfort in Jesse's touch. This didn't happen. Not to him.
He shifted and winced. "It's not that bad . . ." He trailed off because actually? It was bad. Maybe worse.
Jesse's hand came up to the contusion and he rested it tenderly against its center. Xander expected pain at the touch, but the dry warmth and softness was soothing. He closed his eyes and smiled. He barely reacted when Jesse leaned forward and started peppering soft wet kisses that felt like love, comfort and acceptance.
He wanted to cry.
* * *
Buffy calls once a week, her cheery voice crackling through the static in the satellite phone.
He doesn't want to speak to her, or any of them, but always makes sure to catch up the receiver before Vi. He's in charge, damn it, whatever that means, and part of his duty as leader of the troop is answering the phone. Besides, Buffy still makes Vi nervous.
They exchange the usual back-and-forths: she asks about Africa and he about the 'gang'; Dawn, Willow, Giles. Occasionally he'll ask about Angel for the cheap thrill of hearing her stammer.
They all know that he's not right, but they ascribe it to the loss of Anya. Buffy tries to empathize, going on and on about loss and how it gets easier and better. How life goes on and Anya would want him to be happy. Have lots of orgasms. He knows Buffy wants to help, but her words are just grating. He wants her to shut the hell up.
They give the usual status reports and Buffy always signs off with a "Love you, Xander." She means it, too. She loves him, maybe not like he once wanted, but like a brother or best friend. He always murmurs the empty words back and disconnects quickly, before she can prolong the conversation or - god forbid - put Andrew on the phone.
He has Vi. He doesn't need another puppy.
* * *
It didn't seem to change anything, yet when Jesse kissed him it changed everything.
He felt loved, something he hadn't realized he was starving for. Jesse's warm lips rested softly against his, waiting, it seemed, for Xander to react. He did, eventually. After shifting, so they supported each other. His mouth parted slightly, and his tongue came out to taste the other boy.
Jesse responded immediately and held Xander tighter, still careful of his injury, and opened his mouth in return. It was strange, this platonic necking with another boy, but not bad. Nothing was expected of him; he could be cared for without judgment.
The tears finally fell; he couldn't help it. It was too much and not enough and he never wanted to leave this moment.
The kiss broke slowly; both boys dipping back for small tastes that eventually tapered off. Xander was still quietly crying and he knew Jesse tasted the salt on his lips. But it was okay.
Finally Jesse pulled back enough to speak, resting his forehead against Xander's, their lips still close enough to share breath.
"I'm afraid something's going to happen to you, Xan. That one day he'll go too far. Please Xander, don't let anything happen."
Look at me. I'm a new man!
"Shh, Jess, he won't. I promise he won't. I'll be safe. I'll be fine."
He was reassuring. He was doing the reassuring and that was unexpected. But it was right that Jesse would be afraid for him. It fit. And it allowed him to feel something he hadn't felt before: hope.
They weren't boyfriends, or lovers, or anything stupid like that. They were best friends, and as long as they had each other they would be fine.
* * *
He makes love to Vi before he leaves. He doesn't understand this sudden urge to be tender, but he embraces it. His instinct is to think that he is trying to be kind one last time before everything changes, to see if he still has it in him.
But maybe it's because he thinks that this unexpected kindness will make the future that much worse.
* * *
When Buffy came to town, everything changed. His first thought upon seeing her was "hot, sophisticated city girl", but in retrospect, it probably should have been "Run away! Run Away!" Even if she didn't mean too, Buffy destroyed everything good in his life, with her calling and her 'Oh woe is me' and her introducing his entire existence to magic and uncontrollable pain, far worse than anything his dad could dream of doing.
God, he is such an asshole. Throwing all the shit of his life on Buffy’s frail shoulders, letting her take the blame. Rationally, he knew that this had nothing to do with Buffy. But he needed a scapegoat. And it was so easy to pin everything on her. Because he couldn’t have brought his life to this point. Alexander Harris was a nice guy. Fun, easy-going, always quick with a quip and inappropriate humor. He wouldn’t get these . . . ideas. This darkness, this ball of hatred clenched tight in his gut, nurtured like it was precious, Xander didn’t have it in him. It was Buffy’s fault. It had to be.
And, God, he truly didn't mind it while it happened. He was just so happy to have friends, girlfriends, a life, strange as it may be, that he blindly went along with everything everyone asked, or more reasonably, told him. He clutched his hope like a balloon string, holding it tight, even after Jesse . . . died. Look at me. I'm a new man! After everyone died. He couldn't give it up because if he did, what was left?
* * *
"You only have one eye," says the vamp on the left, a dark, bald African man painted in tattoos.
"Thank you, Einstein. Amazing how I was still able to cut your little gang in half though, isn’t it?”
"And what do we get out of this?" the girl asks from behind the cover of Tattoo Vamp.
"It's simple," Xander replies, wicked smile making a return. "You give me what I want, I'll give you the Slayer."
* * *
There was no loss, in his fourteenth year. No mysterious creatures of the night, no stuffy Watchers, no souled vampire asshole. No girl who would snap her fingers and expect everyone to fall in line.
Sure, his dad was still a problem, but he had Jesse, and to a slightly lesser extent, Willow.
He was as happy as he had ever been and for the first time ever he started thinking about the future -- his future.
* * *
The first time the idea hits him he becomes violently ill. He woke up from a reoccurring nightmare – friend, vamp, stake, an ill-timed push, dust – and the seed had been planted. The one certainty he held dear, his one ‘At least I’m not’ was suddenly laughable. Because really? Why not? He didn’t want to be over, but God he needed it, everything, to end.
It was months before he thought of it again, and he was surprised at how much comfort he got from it. He could definitely do it, hell, it’d be cake, and then he could just . . . fade away. Get rid of everything – everyone – that tied him to this horrific existence. Start anew.
After that, it became easy.
* * *
Dawn used to have a crush on him.
Maybe . . .
* * *
"Not you." The girl stops short at his harsh command. Her puzzled expression turns to one of understanding and she gives him a knowing look.
He rolls his eye.
"I want power," he says, gesturing to the larger Vamp. "He has it; it comes off him in waves. You don't."
* * *
Nothing happened after the kiss. Xander wiped his eyes and cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the unexpected intimacy. Jesse leaned back and continued his one-sided discussion of the merits of Cordelia. Like nothing had happened.
Look at me. I'm a new man!
There was so much love, he was filled with it. He reached out and grasped Jesse's hand. Jesse continued without even the slightest pause or hitch in breath.
But he squeezed Xander's hand, and didn't let go.
* * *
He's smiling. Grinning, really, because this is as right as life - or un-life - has ever been.
He's eager to test out his new skills. Before his *snicker* sire can react he kips up and reaches for the huge man, twisting his head off with one clean rip.
Girl-vamp screams in surprise and rage. He's still surveying the results of his new favorite killing style, and he looks up with his two eyes, sending a dark, irritated glance her way. He catches her before she can complete her lunge and he spins her, sinking his fangs into her neck.
He takes as much borrowed blood as he can stomach - note to self: second hand blood tastes like crap - and then tears her head off, too, relishing the sound of tearing muscle and snapping bones. He can definitely get used to this.
He's still hungry, but he's also really fucking tired. He wants to sleep, but the desire to move pulls at him. He's spent the past few weeks scouting the area, so he knows how to find shelter.
He's strong. He's young. Forever.
Look at me. I'm a new man!
He can sleep later. Eternity lies before him and he has a slayer to see.
* * * * * * * * * *
A/N: Hope you like. I had fun writing this. I liked doing the change in tenses, though that is very much not me, especially since I spent the better part of my 16 year education being told that I have to be more aware of my tenses. So, this was an interesting exercise for me. And, of course, having the betas helped like a mofo.
The repeated line is from BtVS ep. 1.2, "The Harvest". Jesse says it to Xander after he is Vamped, right before he is staked. I was thinking that was something that might stick with Xander through the years.
Ha! I have story number one! Yes, my first of two angst-a-thon fics is here! There should be trumpets, yo. So, here you go. (and the title has nothing to do with the excellent Giles-centric ep of the same name. I just suck at original titles).
Title: A New Man
Author: Me! AC
For:
perriesPairings: Xander/Jesse, Xander/Vi
Requests: Looking at how Jesse's death has stayed with Xander, possibly?
Rating: R
Spoilers: Through Angel "You're Welcome" (5.12 maybe?) All of Buffy.
Words: Approx. 3000
Thanks: To
chicken_cem for ripping my fic apart and helping me make it more, well, logical. and to killerweasel for helping me with the clean up. You guys are the best. THANK YOU!~*~ more notes at the end ~*~
The first thing he notices is the light. That and the noise. Christ, it's loud. Africa, for him, had been defined by the silence. Sure, Cairo, Johannesburg, they'd been crazy with city life -- cars, markets, tourists, all vying for attention. But those times were short. Mostly he heard quiet. Occasionally broken up with . . . quiet.
* * *
He was twelve the first time his dad hit him. Just belted him across the face when he asked for . . . what was it? Money? To see a movie, maybe? No. No, it was a permission slip. He personally didn't really care about the science museum, but Willow was beside herself with excitement, and he couldn't bring himself to refuse her.
So he'd asked and ended up with a pretty new face decoration for his troubles. He was stunned, but he sure as hell didn't cry. His dad already thought he was pansy-assed.
He just looked at his dad, turned and walked out, leaving the slip on the ground where it had fallen.
The next morning the slip was waiting for him on the kitchen table, signed, sealed, and delivered, with a ten dollar bill clipped to it. A true Harris apology: money and capitulation, but no actual words.
* * *
Cordelia. God, Cordelia.
He wasn't surprised -- Jesse, Jenny, Larry, Joyce, Buffy, Tara, Anya, hell, even Spike. Just another name to the list -- but it still hurt. A lot. First love and all that sentimental crap.
He wanted, ached, to go to the funeral, but it was over by the time the news reached him.
He'd cried when he heard. Not much, but enough to make Vi uncomfortable.
Look at me. I'm a new man!
He'd shut off the waterworks at her pathetic attempts to comfort him, then rolled over, almost crushing her with his bulk, and slipped into her willing body.
He felt like a heel, or would have if he took the time to think about it. But Vi was horny and needy and he was a 23-year-old male, even if he felt sixty.
He broke her cherry without thought, or any sort of meaningful fanfare. Two bodies, banging together, and it wasn't his fault she'd fallen for him. He'd consider himself to be taking advantage of her if it weren't for the fact that she could easily snap his spine. So it's just this empty, half-assed rutting that she thinks is love.
He's too tired to say otherwise.
* * *
There's a stake in the vampire's heart before it can even comprehend that a half-blind man has killed him. Blindly. Heh.
He's spent months working on it and now he can hit his mark every time. It was shaky at first, missing the heart, or the vampire altogether, but with a slayer at his back, that was only an annoyance. Most vampires are so fucking dumb; they always -- always -- attack on his left.
At least his stunt has gotten the desired reaction. The three remaining vamps stop short, suddenly seeing him as a threat. It's a nice feeling.
"If you want to end up like your friend, by all means, bring it on." He opens his arms, spreads them wide, playing the victim. The vampires stare at him, exchanging wary glances. They don't move.
He offers a smile and it isn't nice. The vamps all take a step back.
"Now that I have your attention," he says, the friendliness in his voice laced with malice, "I have a proposition for you."
* * *
Willow accepted his excuse without question. Soap, shower, jaw meets spigot. She told him to be more careful in the future, didn't want anything to happen to him. He yes'd her with an abashed smile and made some lame jokes about his inherent klutziness.
Jesse didn't say anything. Look at me. I'm a new man! He probably noticed the faint outline of knuckles on his cheek. Will wouldn't see them. Wouldn't think to look.
But Jesse would, and did, and when they split up for class Jesse gave his shoulder a squeeze. Invited him back to his place after school. Made it known that the offer wasn't a one-time deal.
* * *
He resents Buffy. Actively. It feeds him, some days. Most days.
She's off in Rome, living the life of Riley, without Riley, of course, with her doting kid sis -- still feeling the mutiny guilt -- and her father figure of a Watcher -- still living the mutiny guilt.
And yeah, she's earned it. But haven't they all? Why isn't she in the middle of nowhere like he is, looking for clueless girls? Doing recon of new and exciting demon species? She's surrounded by experts, like a sister with a frightening knack for languages, demon or otherwise, and a Watcher who redefines the word 'experienced'.
Even Willow's got Kennedy, a girl who takes ignorance as a personal affront. And he's here with . . . Vi, who still drops her stake when she's startled.
Sometimes he's so furious with all of them, himself included, that he wants to kill them. Slowly. Watch them suffer, like he does every day.
He knows he sounds like a victim, but he is beyond caring. His boot strings are broken and he just can't give a damn.
The inevitable guilt is crushing. He is, after all, Xander: the heart of their little band of buggered. He has moments -- little pockets of normality where he loves and misses all of them. But they are fleeting; fewer and further between.
He can feel it seeping into his system, this unexpected loathing, this desire to cause pain. Revenge, maybe undeserved, is thrumming through him with every heartbeat.
He just wishes he could lose the goddamn guilt.
* * *
He was a punching bag for years. Every time his dad had a bad night, Xander became ten dollars richer.
Mostly he saved it.
It was going to be his way out some day.
* * *
They're laughing at him and he flinches; reflex too ingrained to shut off.
But it's only a moment and then he remembers himself. Where he is. What he is.
He pulls a small, crude crossbow from his waistband and takes out one of the girl vamps. She looks a little bit like Tara, and it actually kind of upsets him. Her face doesn't belong on a monster.
It shuts them up, thank god.
"Why do I feel like you aren't taking me seriously?"
* * *
When he was fourteen something happened. Something awful and wonderful and everything after that became so much more heartbreaking.
He was at Jesse's. Again. And they were talking about Cordelia. Well, Jesse was talking about Cordelia, Xander was listening with half an ear; he'd heard it all before. He was trying not to react every time he moved his shoulder, grateful his dad had learned not to leave obvious bruises - he was running out of lame excuses. But at the same time, having your shoulder all but dislocated was seriously painful and took a lot longer to heal.
Xander looked up from the comic he was pretending to leaf through when he realized Jesse had stopped talking. He was, instead, looking at Xander, his head cocked, eyes filled with sympathy. Xander flushed at the scrutiny in his friend's eyes and shifted involuntarily, jolting his shoulder in the process. He gasped and closed his eyes, not wanting Jesse to see the pain. When he composed himself, and dared to look up, Jesse had moved closer.
"Let me see," he murmured, lightly skimming his hand over the hidden damage.
"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
But Jesse was already at his shirt, softly sliding the buttons through the holes.
"I don't like to see you hurt, Xan. You should do something. Call the police. It has to stop."
Look at me. I'm a new man!
He shifted Xander's shirt from his body, careful of his sore shoulder, while he spoke.
Xander wanted to reply, but he couldn't speak. He was mesmerized by the comfort in Jesse's touch. This didn't happen. Not to him.
He shifted and winced. "It's not that bad . . ." He trailed off because actually? It was bad. Maybe worse.
Jesse's hand came up to the contusion and he rested it tenderly against its center. Xander expected pain at the touch, but the dry warmth and softness was soothing. He closed his eyes and smiled. He barely reacted when Jesse leaned forward and started peppering soft wet kisses that felt like love, comfort and acceptance.
He wanted to cry.
* * *
Buffy calls once a week, her cheery voice crackling through the static in the satellite phone.
He doesn't want to speak to her, or any of them, but always makes sure to catch up the receiver before Vi. He's in charge, damn it, whatever that means, and part of his duty as leader of the troop is answering the phone. Besides, Buffy still makes Vi nervous.
They exchange the usual back-and-forths: she asks about Africa and he about the 'gang'; Dawn, Willow, Giles. Occasionally he'll ask about Angel for the cheap thrill of hearing her stammer.
They all know that he's not right, but they ascribe it to the loss of Anya. Buffy tries to empathize, going on and on about loss and how it gets easier and better. How life goes on and Anya would want him to be happy. Have lots of orgasms. He knows Buffy wants to help, but her words are just grating. He wants her to shut the hell up.
They give the usual status reports and Buffy always signs off with a "Love you, Xander." She means it, too. She loves him, maybe not like he once wanted, but like a brother or best friend. He always murmurs the empty words back and disconnects quickly, before she can prolong the conversation or - god forbid - put Andrew on the phone.
He has Vi. He doesn't need another puppy.
* * *
It didn't seem to change anything, yet when Jesse kissed him it changed everything.
He felt loved, something he hadn't realized he was starving for. Jesse's warm lips rested softly against his, waiting, it seemed, for Xander to react. He did, eventually. After shifting, so they supported each other. His mouth parted slightly, and his tongue came out to taste the other boy.
Jesse responded immediately and held Xander tighter, still careful of his injury, and opened his mouth in return. It was strange, this platonic necking with another boy, but not bad. Nothing was expected of him; he could be cared for without judgment.
The tears finally fell; he couldn't help it. It was too much and not enough and he never wanted to leave this moment.
The kiss broke slowly; both boys dipping back for small tastes that eventually tapered off. Xander was still quietly crying and he knew Jesse tasted the salt on his lips. But it was okay.
Finally Jesse pulled back enough to speak, resting his forehead against Xander's, their lips still close enough to share breath.
"I'm afraid something's going to happen to you, Xan. That one day he'll go too far. Please Xander, don't let anything happen."
Look at me. I'm a new man!
"Shh, Jess, he won't. I promise he won't. I'll be safe. I'll be fine."
He was reassuring. He was doing the reassuring and that was unexpected. But it was right that Jesse would be afraid for him. It fit. And it allowed him to feel something he hadn't felt before: hope.
They weren't boyfriends, or lovers, or anything stupid like that. They were best friends, and as long as they had each other they would be fine.
* * *
He makes love to Vi before he leaves. He doesn't understand this sudden urge to be tender, but he embraces it. His instinct is to think that he is trying to be kind one last time before everything changes, to see if he still has it in him.
But maybe it's because he thinks that this unexpected kindness will make the future that much worse.
* * *
When Buffy came to town, everything changed. His first thought upon seeing her was "hot, sophisticated city girl", but in retrospect, it probably should have been "Run away! Run Away!" Even if she didn't mean too, Buffy destroyed everything good in his life, with her calling and her 'Oh woe is me' and her introducing his entire existence to magic and uncontrollable pain, far worse than anything his dad could dream of doing.
God, he is such an asshole. Throwing all the shit of his life on Buffy’s frail shoulders, letting her take the blame. Rationally, he knew that this had nothing to do with Buffy. But he needed a scapegoat. And it was so easy to pin everything on her. Because he couldn’t have brought his life to this point. Alexander Harris was a nice guy. Fun, easy-going, always quick with a quip and inappropriate humor. He wouldn’t get these . . . ideas. This darkness, this ball of hatred clenched tight in his gut, nurtured like it was precious, Xander didn’t have it in him. It was Buffy’s fault. It had to be.
And, God, he truly didn't mind it while it happened. He was just so happy to have friends, girlfriends, a life, strange as it may be, that he blindly went along with everything everyone asked, or more reasonably, told him. He clutched his hope like a balloon string, holding it tight, even after Jesse . . . died. Look at me. I'm a new man! After everyone died. He couldn't give it up because if he did, what was left?
* * *
"You only have one eye," says the vamp on the left, a dark, bald African man painted in tattoos.
"Thank you, Einstein. Amazing how I was still able to cut your little gang in half though, isn’t it?”
"And what do we get out of this?" the girl asks from behind the cover of Tattoo Vamp.
"It's simple," Xander replies, wicked smile making a return. "You give me what I want, I'll give you the Slayer."
* * *
There was no loss, in his fourteenth year. No mysterious creatures of the night, no stuffy Watchers, no souled vampire asshole. No girl who would snap her fingers and expect everyone to fall in line.
Sure, his dad was still a problem, but he had Jesse, and to a slightly lesser extent, Willow.
He was as happy as he had ever been and for the first time ever he started thinking about the future -- his future.
* * *
The first time the idea hits him he becomes violently ill. He woke up from a reoccurring nightmare – friend, vamp, stake, an ill-timed push, dust – and the seed had been planted. The one certainty he held dear, his one ‘At least I’m not’ was suddenly laughable. Because really? Why not? He didn’t want to be over, but God he needed it, everything, to end.
It was months before he thought of it again, and he was surprised at how much comfort he got from it. He could definitely do it, hell, it’d be cake, and then he could just . . . fade away. Get rid of everything – everyone – that tied him to this horrific existence. Start anew.
After that, it became easy.
* * *
Dawn used to have a crush on him.
Maybe . . .
* * *
"Not you." The girl stops short at his harsh command. Her puzzled expression turns to one of understanding and she gives him a knowing look.
He rolls his eye.
"I want power," he says, gesturing to the larger Vamp. "He has it; it comes off him in waves. You don't."
* * *
Nothing happened after the kiss. Xander wiped his eyes and cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the unexpected intimacy. Jesse leaned back and continued his one-sided discussion of the merits of Cordelia. Like nothing had happened.
Look at me. I'm a new man!
There was so much love, he was filled with it. He reached out and grasped Jesse's hand. Jesse continued without even the slightest pause or hitch in breath.
But he squeezed Xander's hand, and didn't let go.
* * *
He's smiling. Grinning, really, because this is as right as life - or un-life - has ever been.
He's eager to test out his new skills. Before his *snicker* sire can react he kips up and reaches for the huge man, twisting his head off with one clean rip.
Girl-vamp screams in surprise and rage. He's still surveying the results of his new favorite killing style, and he looks up with his two eyes, sending a dark, irritated glance her way. He catches her before she can complete her lunge and he spins her, sinking his fangs into her neck.
He takes as much borrowed blood as he can stomach - note to self: second hand blood tastes like crap - and then tears her head off, too, relishing the sound of tearing muscle and snapping bones. He can definitely get used to this.
He's still hungry, but he's also really fucking tired. He wants to sleep, but the desire to move pulls at him. He's spent the past few weeks scouting the area, so he knows how to find shelter.
He's strong. He's young. Forever.
Look at me. I'm a new man!
He can sleep later. Eternity lies before him and he has a slayer to see.
* * * * * * * * * *
A/N: Hope you like. I had fun writing this. I liked doing the change in tenses, though that is very much not me, especially since I spent the better part of my 16 year education being told that I have to be more aware of my tenses. So, this was an interesting exercise for me. And, of course, having the betas helped like a mofo.
The repeated line is from BtVS ep. 1.2, "The Harvest". Jesse says it to Xander after he is Vamped, right before he is staked. I was thinking that was something that might stick with Xander through the years.
