thatotherperv (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thatotherperv) wrote2007-03-04 11:25 am
thatotherperv) wrote2007-03-04 11:25 am
Entry tags:
The Void, dark Angel/Xander (part 3 of 3)
just a heads-up, the last chapter is especially rough. brace yourselves. lol.
Warnings: Angel/Xander is the pairing, but it’s not shippy *This is darkfic.* Non-con and mindfucking like woah. additionally, there are some aspects of this fic that I cannot warn you about, because they would spoil the effect.
Title: The Void
Author: Mel (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
btvslover82)
Pairing: Angel/Xander, Xander/other
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Xander’s in the wrong place at the wrong time again, poor schmuck.
Disclaimer: not mine.
Warnings listed above.
A/N: This fic takes place in a slightly AU Bs5/As2. In As2 Reprise, Darla does not show up at the Hyperion after Angel discovers the home office is on earth—Xander does. As2 proceeds a little differently in this ‘verse…everything is explained eventually. The biggest thing to realize is that Angel has been driven farther into his own personal darkness than he was in canon. He’s pretty bat-shit here.
previous parts here
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They had turned some kind of weird corner that day in the shower.
Well, Angel had turned some weird corner. Xander was just kind of along for the very scary ride.
But anyway, yes, there was a corner. And they’d taken it on two wheels at ninety miles an hour, and when the car righted itself with no apparent casualties, things were different. Not too different—Xander was still getting it up the ass a square three times a day, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey but without all the gratitude—but he got the feeling he wasn’t in any real danger of dying now. It was no longer Angel-teetering-on-Angelus that he was dealing with—no chance of happiness in this new place, that was for sure, and the evil-chic mannerisms had been dropped. It was just Angel, even if it wasn’t the one that he’d known. He was still mean as all hell, but the edge had come off the sadism. Lucky him.
Xander kept waiting to be let go. Sometimes it seemed like Angel was hovering on the verge of that, full of guilt and regret and horror at what he’d done. At what he was still doing. But then he’d swing right back the other way, clinging to Xander like a lifeline as he invaded his body, again. Gently. Or other times, not so gently.
Sometimes he talked to Xander now—not dirty-sex-talk, but real conversation. Or it would have been, if Xander had any fricking clue what the nutcase was saying. Once Angel had come in, filthy and sweaty from whatever he did when he left Xander’s presence, and told Xander that Darla was dust. Looked like he wanted to cry but he wouldn’t. The weird thing was, he said it as if his mourning was fresh…Jesus, how long ago had that been…six years? Seven? And when Xander said something along the lines of ‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Angel started to laugh in the not-had-my-lithium way. Said he was his own grandpa. Whatever the fuck that meant. Psycho.
So it appeared that they’d sort of turned a corner right into a different kind of craziness. After all, corners generally didn’t lead to overall improvement, in Xander’s world.
A different kind of craziness where Angel would fuck him hard and call him dirty, degrading names right up until the moment when he clutched Xander close and kissed him like he was desperate, shuddered and went still. The kind of crazy where Angel didn’t rush out of the room as soon as he’d come now, but instead wrapped himself around Xander needily and fell asleep with his nose against a racing jugular. The kind of crazy where he said nice things to Xander in a quiet voice, before and after, and brushed the hair out of Xander’s face, which Xander couldn’t do for himself because he was fucking chained to the bed.
That kind of crazy.
And maybe Angel wasn’t the only one that was losing his mind. It seemed Xander was getting sucked right down the drain with him.
Because these days, when Angel was being a dick—when he was rough and hurtful and picked at Xander’s weak spots in a way that was frighteningly psychotic (and accurate)—Xander could only escape blankly to one of Angel’s good days. How fucked was that, that his happy place was now Angel. Like his whole world had shrunk down to this one room, and after all, hadn’t it? These days, when Angel was nice to him—spoke to him softly, touched him with gentle hands, pulled him off with care—Xander took aching comfort in it.
Yeah, he might have been crazier than Deadboy. Because it didn’t get any worse than that.
~*~*~*~
Seventeen days after Xander arrived at the Hyperion, things got worse.
Angel was gearing up for another game of hide-the-sausage. Xander would have thought he’d be numb to it by now, but Angel was making his body sing, even if it was, in his exhaustion, off-key and hoarse.
Then, his own personal hell was interrupted by a feminine voice floating up from the lobby.
“Xander? Angel? Anybody here?”
It should have been welcome, to hear a friend after weeks of this. Of he and Angel, and so very little hope. But it was the very last female voice Xander wanted to hear. Not Anya. Not Cordelia. They would have mortified him with their frank and blunt appraisals of the situation, but it would have been ok. They would have gotten him out of here and been able to look him in the eye afterwards.
Willow wouldn’t. Wills wouldn’t be able to do either of those things.
Angel’s head snapped towards the suite door at the first timid strains of her voice, like a wolf scenting prey. He stared for a moment, and Xander could smell the wood burning. Angel was thinking, and he wasn’t sure which Angel was behind the wheel today—the broken one or the one who wanted to break others. Some days, it was a close call. By the time her voice grew bolder, Angel was climbing off of Xander and picking clothing up off the floor to slip into.
Xander’s gut clenched. He had a sinking feeling this was the wrong guy.
Luckily, Xander’s recent lifestyle had taught him a lot about begging. “Angel. Angel, please, stay here. She’ll go away. Please don’t—”
“She’s worried about you, Xander. Come all the way from Sunnydale during an apocalypse, looking. It wouldn’t be very nice of us to let her worry.”
Beyond the hint of grim irony, he sounded just like Angel should—considerate and thoughtful and in remorse at the very idea of Willow’s prolonged suffering.
Fucking lying asshole.
Angel was dressed now, and was smoothing over his hair, and he looked just like the champion they all knew. Willow would have no clue until—
“Don’t you touch her, you dickhead. Don’t you dare—” He struggled violently against his bonds for the first time in…how long had it been since he struggled? How long had he been here? He yanked at the cuffs like a wild animal in a trap, until he sliced his raw skin on the edge of the metal. The pain was white-hot.
Angel just smiled at him in that distant, mirthless way he’d always had, and Xander hated him. “Don’t worry so much, Xander. I won’t.”
Something about the way he emphasized the ‘I,’ something about that smirk…Xander felt a cold lump of dread in the pit of his stomach. Because he had a really bad feeling about this.
~*~*~*~
“—but he’s not hurt?”
Xander’s eyes clenched shut at the sound of Willow’s voice in the hall. The concerned bleat of a lamb to slaughter.
“No, he’s not hurt. He just hasn’t been himself since he turned up here….” Understatement of the century. Why don’t you tell her the reason for that, dickhead? Broody fucking snake-in-the-grass asshole.
The door was pushed open by Angel’s hand but he stepped aside, like a gentleman, for Willow to enter first. When she registered Xander’s nakedness, she immediately stuttered and tried to back out of the room politely, running into Angel’s unmoveable chest.
“Oh god, Xander, sorry I didn’t realize….”
Angel nudged her into the room with an almost polite hand on her back, and Willow turned red and looked confused.
“Um, I should….”
“No.” The word was light, agreeable, but final. The furrows in Willow’s brow deepened. She turned to go, but Angel’s large hand came to rest on the nape of her neck in a light, friendly grip. “Stay.”
Very little alarm was registering on her face yet, but Willow’s eyes flickered shyly to Xander, like she was seeking an explanation. Looking to her oldest, closest friend to explain what this was all about.
He saw the exact moment she realized he was tied to the bed. She paled and tried to shrink back, but Angel’s hand was firm.
“What—” Her voice shook. Her eyes darted towards Angel and back.
“Will, I’m so sorry….” It was laughable. Xander had no apology big enough for this mess he’d gotten them both into.
“Angel?” Willow was starting to wise up to the badness. “Angel, what’s going on.”
“You’re a smart girl, Willow. Went and got all worldly, too, so I don’t think I really need to explain.”
They stared at one another, standoff only broken by the flit of green eyes in Xander’s direction. Her anxiety was clearly written in the tension of her body. She didn’t want to believe the obvious implication, because they all knew his mind games. Angelus’ mind games. Willow would jump to the soulless conclusion, of course. It was the logical one.
But Angel’s demeanor was probably making the justification harder for her to sell to herself. There was no smug smile. No Angelus-y glee. Just…an empty shell where Angel’s empathy should be.
Finding Angel unreadable, Willow’s eyes swung to him. Xander, on the other hand, felt sure he was too readable, with everything that had happened these last three weeks written on his face, and he knew he was right when her eyes went glossy with tears. Her face wavered into something vulnerable just before she toughened up and turned away.
Xander closed his own eyes, which had moistened in sympathy with Will’s.
Willow’s voice was resolvey. “Untie him, Angel. I’m taking him home with me.”
“Nah. I’d rather not.” There was a touch of anger to the quiet, casual words, and Xander cringed a little inside.
“Angel, the joke or—or whatever this is—is over. Unchain him, and we’re leaving.”
“Ha. Pretty sure Xander will tell you it was no joke when I fucked him, but he is getting a little…worn. So you can have him.”
“Oh. Well.” Willow hesitated, on the verge of defending Xander’s honor, but made the smart decision and let it lie. “…Good.”
Xander’s stomach clenched. Too easy. Will felt it, and Xander’s heart was pounding.
“But first, I wanna see you two fuck.”
Son of a bitch. There was nothing but stunned silence from Willow. Xander wasn’t stunned. He was just pissed. “You’re a real fucking piece of work, Angel.”
Dark eyes ticked to Xander. “What? Aren’t you two supposed to be…soulmates or something? Unconditional love and kumbaya and nothing you can’t face if you’re together? I’ve lost my way here, Xander. Aren’t you gonna rehabilitate me? Teach by example? Never had that, myself. I wanna see how it works.”
Willow tried logic, because she hadn’t been on the one-way bus to CrazyTown. “Angel, you don’t want to do this. You know that Xander and I aren’t like that. I….” Her eyes strayed towards Xander before darting away. “I don’t know exactly what has gone on between the two of you, but…don’t make it worse. We don’t want this.”
Angel's face twisted up bitterly. “Please. Tell that to someone who doesn’t remember when you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. That doesn’t change. There will always be lust in your hearts for each other. There are just some people…you can’t change what you are to one another. Ever. Not until you kill each other trying.”
Well that was…strangely philosophical. Willow met Xander’s eyes and they shared a look over the cryptic little speech…she clearly knew something he didn’t.
“Anyway, I figure I’m doing you both a favor, giving up my fucktoy, so you owe me one for the road. Take off your clothes.”
There was a pregnant pause in which it became clear from the set of Angel’s jaw that there was no way she was getting back out through that door. Xander personally thought she could have made a break for it, if she went alone. Pulled out some spur-of-the-moment magicks and ran like hell. She should. She should be safe and happy.
But Xander knew there was no way she was going to leave him behind. The guilt at being happy about that was enough to crush him.
When Willow gripped the hem of her shirt to sweep it over her head, Xander turned away, unwilling to watch his best friend strip naked. For this. He didn’t look when a slight weight depressed the mattress, but he had no choice when Willow’s hand cupped his cheek and guided his face back towards her.
She smiled. Willow could be so goddamn brave sometimes. “Hi.”
“Willow, I’m sorr—”
Her finger came up to stop his words. She shook her head.
So he tried a smile. “Well at least gimme a kiss if you’re gonna get fresh.” He turned up a cheek, and she gave him a peck. Her hands were warm where they cupped his face, which shouldn’t have felt so strange.
But it was comforting.
Willow stole a glance over her shoulder at Angel, who had settled himself into a chair by the door. He didn’t look particularly happy about getting his way. His eyes were slightly unfocused, and his mouth was a grim line.
“I have all the time in the world, but I imagine you two want to get home sooner than later.”
Xander opened his mouth to say something, but Willow turned his face up to her and shook her head slightly…a familiar gesture from distasteful tasks past. The one that said don’t talk back, Xander…just hang on a little longer, play by the rules, and then we’re out of here. He didn’t have time to tell her this wasn’t Algebra II, because then she was kissing him. And it wasn’t…passion. It wasn’t all hot and sweaty like their grope sessions in the past where Xander wasn’t Oz, and Willow wasn’t Cordy. This time there was no thrill to their infidelity. Just comfort. Very sweet, totally non-sexy comfort-kisses.
At this rate, Xander was never gonna get it up, and his hands were kinda…tied. Literally.
“Will. I, um.” Fuck. How was he supposed to…. “I think you’re gonna have to. Help me.”
Willow nodded. She looked as though they were talking about tutoring, or a ride to school, or the copying of homework. Something that did not at all resemble her hand wrapping around his soft dick and stroking him until he was hard, which is exactly what she was doing. And it was taking longer than he’d prefer because Xander had the utterly horrifying thought that he was only the second man she had ever touched this way, and that wasn’t right. That put him on the verge of crying, and nowhere near on the verge of an erection, and he hated that Willow looked concerned for him, when all he had to do was lie here, while she had to….
“Hey,” Willow murmured, and her free hand was brushing his dirty hair back from his face tenderly. She leaned in and kissed him on a cheek that was wet now and spoke into his ear, though they both knew Angel could hear. “This isn’t so bad. I love you. Better you than him, right?”
Xander ignored the strange, pained look that passed over Angel’s face and turned his own up to catch Willow’s lips, because he was grateful she was here, even if that was selfish of him. And the least selfish thing he could do at the moment was hurry this along as much as possible, so Xander decided to lay back and think of…well, not England, because his impression from Giles wasn’t very sexy. Though Spike…Xander suppressed that thought and concentrated mainly on waiting blankly while the friction did its thing.
Willow gave a surprisingly good handjob. And that was a fact he could have gone his whole life without knowing.
He couldn’t think about it too hard when she straddled his hips and sank down around him, because he was afraid of going soft and having to start all over again. But she felt good. Warm and wet and so tight and all the things he thought he would never get to feel again. And his throat was burning again…was there a restriction on the number of times you could cry during sex before they revoked your man card? Because he was afraid he was pushing the limit.
One thing was sure—“Lucky for you, I don’t think this is going to take very long.” He tried to pass it off as a joke but he felt sick on so many levels.
But he could always count on Willow to take the baton seamlessly. “Oh, well that’s good, because I actually have a hair appointment at 4.”
If he laughed a little too hard at that, in a way that was suspiciously like crying towards the end, she just laughed right along with him. She hugged him close and rocked them together, and just as he’d suspected, having sex with your gay best friend when your dick hadn’t really been touched in weeks while the demon that had been psychologically torturing you for the last month watched...did not a recipe for stamina make.
When they eased to a halt and Willow pulled back, shifting in his lap, Xander saw the…disgust or sorrow or some kind of badness flicker across her face for the first time since her clothes had come off. And then she moved and things were sticky, and it occurred to him that vampires didn’t provide condoms for their captives, and there wasn’t any particular reason for a lesbian to be on the pill.
Xander took a breath and shared a long look with her. “We’ll take care of it. Today.”
“Yeah,” she murmured back. She looked tired.
“C’mere.”
She leaned back down and wrapped her arms around him, and he hugged her the only way he could—with his chin hooked on her shoulder. Despite everything, it was solid gold. Warm and welcoming and familiar. It was a Willow-hug, naked or no. The first bit of real comfort he'd had in weeks.
The room was quiet for a long time as they reassured each other. Then Angel broke the silence.
“You can go.”
Xander’s gaze snapped up, sure he’d heard wrong, but Angel was looking at him flatly, and his voice was quiet, devoid of gloat. Weary. He tossed Willow a set of keys and gestured towards the door. “Get out of here.”
No one moved for a long moment. Then he and Willow eased themselves up as Wills went about unlocking his cuffs. When Willow began to self-consciously dress, Xander wanted to yell at her, to hurry, to run out of here naked before Angel changed his mind, but now that it was done she was shaking, and Angel was staring vacantly out the window over the bed. Looking through them, as if he weren’t really there. Or as if they were already gone.
“Will,” Xander murmured when they were both dressed. “Wait for me in the hall.”
“Xander—” she threw a wary look in Angel’s direction, clearly not wanting to leave them alone.
“Just do it, please? We’re fine.”
Reluctantly she slipped out. Xander stood in front of the man who’d been tormenting him for weeks…the man who now just looked like an empty puppet. A pathetic shell. It was chilling and weird, and Xander found himself in the ridiculous position of trying not feel sorry for this monster who’d just forced him to fuck his best friend. For entertainment. Or…god, Xander didn’t even know why.
“I just have one question.” Flat eyes flicked up to focus on his face. Xander shoved down the desperate ‘Why me?’ because didn’t he already know? It was the same reason anything ever happened to him: he was there, and it was easy.
“Where are the bodies?”
Confusion stole in across Angel’s blank features. “What?”
“The bodies. Of the people who called you a friend. Are they still here? I’m taking them with me.”
Comprehension dawned, and Angel looked away guiltily. “I didn’t…. I let you think what you wanted. They’re not dead.”
Xander’s legs almost gave out from under him. He didn’t know how he was standing in the first place, honestly. Cordy. She was alive.
“What happened to you, man? What the hell could make you….” Not that he’d ever trusted the guy, but the general consensus had been that he was decent. Good. Fought on the right side. Not the kind of person to do…what he’d done. Xander couldn’t connect it. He couldn’t connect the big stupid hero with this pitiful creature who looked broken and ashamed and clueless.
Especially when Angel looked up and there was a sheen of tears in his eyes.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. He looked down. “It just all went so…. I never meant to actually keep you…. God Xander I’m—”
“If you say you’re sorry, you’re going to get a real pointy piece of wood rammed up your ass.”
Ashamed eyes flickered up and away, and then Angel nodded. No fight in him at the prospect. He hated his own pity for the man.
Right now, Xander couldn’t even work up the anger to hate Angel properly.
He turned and walked out. He closed that door behind him.
~*~*~*~
They stumbled out to the car, Willow supporting as much of his weight as she could manage. Xander winced when he slid into the seat of the car. Willow looked like she wanted to cry. Xander felt the awkwardness drawing out between them.
“Xander, we wanted to come for you—”
“Willow, get in the car. Let’s get out of here while we can.” He didn’t really think for a second that Angel was coming after them, but she didn’t know that. Xander didn’t want to talk about how long he’d been left. They meant well. They always did. Didn’t make it any easier knowing they’d probably been fighting for their lives.
While his was being torn to shreds.
There was nervous Willow-babble as she got the car in gear and pointed them towards the highway. Xander couldn’t focus as she talked about Ben, and medieval weaponry, and for some reason, a Winnebago. He was so fucking exhausted. He just wanted to sleep for a year, closed away somewhere where no one could look at him. Could touch him. Could ask him what happened. Considering his foreman had probably taken him for dead by now, he might just get his wish.
It was the mention of Cordy that caught his attention, given that he’d buried her and resurrected her in his mind. “Wait, what?”
“Well, like I said, we’d been trying to get in touch with someone in LA, between all the…trying not to die. And then finally I got ahold of Cordy. And she told us about Angel. And Darla.”
“…About Darla.” He thought about Angel. Ranting.
“Yeah.” Willow threw a little look over at the passenger’s seat when his silence indicated a lack of mind-meld. “Darla? Getting sired by Dru?”
Xander stared at her blankly. Maybe madness was catching. “Will. What in holy Hades are you talking about?”
“Xander. You didn’t….” His blank look persisted. “He didn’t tell you? Somebody brought Darla back, all…human. Until she was all vampy again, because Dru went and turned her. It was this whole thing with a law firm, and...apparently they ate this cop that Angel knew. Angel hunted them down and dusted them both. Cordy said he pretty much came unglued a couple months ago which…ok, I guess you probably knew that part. But…you didn’t know?” She looked honestly confused.
Huh. That explained…stuff. “Nope. I didn’t exactly get the flashback sequence. Or entire parts of the plot. Mostly I just got the sex scenes.”
Heavy discomfort made the air stifling. Xander didn’t have it in him to backpeddle or joke it away, so he changed the subject.
“So, did everyone miss me? Bet the Buffster’s ready for a vacation now, huh? We can take a little roadtrip. I am intimately acquainted with every bar and skeezy hotel in Oxnard. We could…. Will?”
The joke, if you could call it that, fell totally flat. Really. Silence so thick, you could hear his words go splat on the pavement. Willow’s lips pressed together. She didn’t take her eyes off the road.
The car suddenly slowed as Willow took her foot off the gas peddle, wheel drifting towards the shoulder until they coasted to a stop. Willow’s eyes stayed fixed on the road like they were still hurtling towards Sunnydale, but her face was crumpling in stages. She sat there fighting tears, hands squeezed the wheel. Her breath came in ragged sobs, even though there were no tears yet.
“Will? What’s….” Everything must be catching up with her. “Willow, please don’t. We’ll get one of those…morning-after things and try to forget it ever happened. And he didn’t really even hurt me, I swear. I’ll be good as new—”
“Buffy’s dead,” she whispered.
It was so not what he was expecting to hear that the words made no sense to him. Not when placed in that order, in conjunction. “…What?”
“Buffy. She wanted to save Dawnie, she…. She’s dead, Xander.”
Xander’s world fell out from under him as everything took on a crazier, tiltier slant than it had a moment ago. Like his vision went black and white. Telescoped so that everything was far, far away, including the sound of his own incredulous, disoriented voice.
“What…how?”
Willow cried in big ragged sobs, sucking in the stale air of the car, and Xander found himself unable to connect with her grief. It wasn’t real. Except it obviously was, to her. The words barely made it out of her mouth, nothing coherent. Only years of practice with Willow interpretation allowed him to pick apart what she was saying. “Glory opened it. She had to…save Dawn. She fell, Xander. She fell all the way through and she was just so broken.”
Xander stared intently at the A/C lever on the dash of the car. He didn’t comprehend it. The story, the lever…everything. Buffy had fallen…from what? To save Dawn? Had Dawn fallen? He got stuck on the details, but his mind circled again and again to an image of Buffy’s mangled body. Trying to make the fact fit. It didn’t. She was dead. He hadn’t been there to save her, this time.
Xander’s vision blurred and for a moment, he thought he was going to vomit. He threw the car door open and hung his head out, breathing towards the gritty pavement until the feeling passed.
So broken.
Willow was keening now, clinging to the steering wheel. He pulled her over the gearshift into his lap, feeling disconnected from his body, from the actions of his hands, and it wasn’t until she curled her fists into his shirt and started sobbing even harder that Xander started to cry. Cried until his throat was raw and his eyes were swollen and his head ached and it was hard to breathe. He didn’t even know if he was crying for Buffy or himself. Or if it even mattered.
They sat there forever, rocking against each other. They were both exhausted when the tears finally dried up. Xander hurt all over…his head, his heart, his body. He felt a little empty, but they sat there breathing together, and Xander was still holding her like a lifeline.
There was a little comfort in that.
Xander thought distantly about the ring in his sock drawer. The one he’d bought to give Anya, before all this had gone so wrong. The one that represented hope, and a future, and other things that didn’t mean anything just now.
He took a deep breath, pulling together his scattered thoughts. He felt like a drunk, trying to force himself into sobering up by willpower alone.
“Willow.” She looked up at him. “Willow, we can’t tell anyone what happened today.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he laid a finger over her lips.
“We tell them Angel went wrong and he held me hostage. And now everything’s fixed. That’s it. They can’t know, Will. Not right now. I can’t hurt Anya like that. Not like Cordy.”
Cordy. He’d call her. Angel needed to be…dealt with. Put down like a rabid dog or…as Angel had snidely offered, rehabilitated. Probably the latter, if he knew Cordy…she always was more soft-hearted than she appeared. Xander thought about the battered shell of a man he’d left at the Hyperion. That was what rock bottom looked like, right? Harmless, because Xander had taken the brunt of the harm. Maybe it was better…. No, Cordy, he didn’t hurt me. Yeah, you know he doesn’t have that in him. But he needs you….
Could he do that? Could he?
Willow looked away, and he knew she was thinking of Oz. Of Tara. Finally, she nodded.
“Good.” He petted a hand through her hair, comforting himself as he came to another decision. “I hope you’re getting as good at this whole magic thing as you think you are.”
Willow looked back up at him strangely. When he just gazed back with a sober expression, she grew confused.
“We’re bringing Buffy back.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a fact. A necessity.
They just looked at each other, and Xander didn’t blink. Something had to make sense. Something had to make sense, and he didn’t understand a world without Buffy in it. Couldn't bear that particular void. Not now. Slowly, Willow began to nod. And then she gave him this tremulous little smile.
“Good.” He leaned in and they shared a brief, chaste kiss. “Now drive me home, woman.” He helped shift her back into the driver’s seat. He felt lighter now, even though he still felt…wrong. False giddiness following swiftly on the heels of the grief. There were still a few things worth living for, and he wasn’t willing to let go of them. Felt greedy for them, suddenly, in a manicly false way.
“While we’re at it, swing by a supermarket. I need to stock up on twinkies and ding-dongs and some of those Little Debbie things. Oh! And Mountain Dew. Deadboy stuffed me full of broccoli and grapefruit juice. It was a nightmarish parade of health food. On second thought, maybe he did torture me….”
They were all going to be alright, even if he had to hold it all together with dental floss himself. He was good at pretending. He’d pretend them right back into a world that made sense.
Somehow.
*bites nails*
dude, writing this fic has been like birthing a spikey, barbed, fanged, ravenous but mulishly stubborn little demon of a thing that wanted to be born one inch at a time, one limb at a time and not necessarily in an order that was comfortable for mama. I’m pretty sure at some point it tried to tunnel out of some orifice that didn’t exist. I tried to abort the thing at least a dozen times, but it’s been a mystical pregnancy a la Darla. It wouldn’t be denied its shot at life on the outside.
and that's why I'm going to do what I never do and say to any lurkers out there that if you enjoyed this fic...maybe enjoyed is the wrong word, haha. if you got something out of this fic, if it made you feel, even if it did make you queasy in places (hell, it made *me* queasy in places), then I'd love to hear from you. leaving anonymous posting open for you. feed the author this once, because she's a little emaciated after this experience.
Warnings: Angel/Xander is the pairing, but it’s not shippy *This is darkfic.* Non-con and mindfucking like woah. additionally, there are some aspects of this fic that I cannot warn you about, because they would spoil the effect.
Title: The Void
Author: Mel (
btvslover82)Pairing: Angel/Xander, Xander/other
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Xander’s in the wrong place at the wrong time again, poor schmuck.
Disclaimer: not mine.
Warnings listed above.
A/N: This fic takes place in a slightly AU Bs5/As2. In As2 Reprise, Darla does not show up at the Hyperion after Angel discovers the home office is on earth—Xander does. As2 proceeds a little differently in this ‘verse…everything is explained eventually. The biggest thing to realize is that Angel has been driven farther into his own personal darkness than he was in canon. He’s pretty bat-shit here.
previous parts here
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They had turned some kind of weird corner that day in the shower.
Well, Angel had turned some weird corner. Xander was just kind of along for the very scary ride.
But anyway, yes, there was a corner. And they’d taken it on two wheels at ninety miles an hour, and when the car righted itself with no apparent casualties, things were different. Not too different—Xander was still getting it up the ass a square three times a day, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey but without all the gratitude—but he got the feeling he wasn’t in any real danger of dying now. It was no longer Angel-teetering-on-Angelus that he was dealing with—no chance of happiness in this new place, that was for sure, and the evil-chic mannerisms had been dropped. It was just Angel, even if it wasn’t the one that he’d known. He was still mean as all hell, but the edge had come off the sadism. Lucky him.
Xander kept waiting to be let go. Sometimes it seemed like Angel was hovering on the verge of that, full of guilt and regret and horror at what he’d done. At what he was still doing. But then he’d swing right back the other way, clinging to Xander like a lifeline as he invaded his body, again. Gently. Or other times, not so gently.
Sometimes he talked to Xander now—not dirty-sex-talk, but real conversation. Or it would have been, if Xander had any fricking clue what the nutcase was saying. Once Angel had come in, filthy and sweaty from whatever he did when he left Xander’s presence, and told Xander that Darla was dust. Looked like he wanted to cry but he wouldn’t. The weird thing was, he said it as if his mourning was fresh…Jesus, how long ago had that been…six years? Seven? And when Xander said something along the lines of ‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Angel started to laugh in the not-had-my-lithium way. Said he was his own grandpa. Whatever the fuck that meant. Psycho.
So it appeared that they’d sort of turned a corner right into a different kind of craziness. After all, corners generally didn’t lead to overall improvement, in Xander’s world.
A different kind of craziness where Angel would fuck him hard and call him dirty, degrading names right up until the moment when he clutched Xander close and kissed him like he was desperate, shuddered and went still. The kind of crazy where Angel didn’t rush out of the room as soon as he’d come now, but instead wrapped himself around Xander needily and fell asleep with his nose against a racing jugular. The kind of crazy where he said nice things to Xander in a quiet voice, before and after, and brushed the hair out of Xander’s face, which Xander couldn’t do for himself because he was fucking chained to the bed.
That kind of crazy.
And maybe Angel wasn’t the only one that was losing his mind. It seemed Xander was getting sucked right down the drain with him.
Because these days, when Angel was being a dick—when he was rough and hurtful and picked at Xander’s weak spots in a way that was frighteningly psychotic (and accurate)—Xander could only escape blankly to one of Angel’s good days. How fucked was that, that his happy place was now Angel. Like his whole world had shrunk down to this one room, and after all, hadn’t it? These days, when Angel was nice to him—spoke to him softly, touched him with gentle hands, pulled him off with care—Xander took aching comfort in it.
Yeah, he might have been crazier than Deadboy. Because it didn’t get any worse than that.
~*~*~*~
Seventeen days after Xander arrived at the Hyperion, things got worse.
Angel was gearing up for another game of hide-the-sausage. Xander would have thought he’d be numb to it by now, but Angel was making his body sing, even if it was, in his exhaustion, off-key and hoarse.
Then, his own personal hell was interrupted by a feminine voice floating up from the lobby.
“Xander? Angel? Anybody here?”
It should have been welcome, to hear a friend after weeks of this. Of he and Angel, and so very little hope. But it was the very last female voice Xander wanted to hear. Not Anya. Not Cordelia. They would have mortified him with their frank and blunt appraisals of the situation, but it would have been ok. They would have gotten him out of here and been able to look him in the eye afterwards.
Willow wouldn’t. Wills wouldn’t be able to do either of those things.
Angel’s head snapped towards the suite door at the first timid strains of her voice, like a wolf scenting prey. He stared for a moment, and Xander could smell the wood burning. Angel was thinking, and he wasn’t sure which Angel was behind the wheel today—the broken one or the one who wanted to break others. Some days, it was a close call. By the time her voice grew bolder, Angel was climbing off of Xander and picking clothing up off the floor to slip into.
Xander’s gut clenched. He had a sinking feeling this was the wrong guy.
Luckily, Xander’s recent lifestyle had taught him a lot about begging. “Angel. Angel, please, stay here. She’ll go away. Please don’t—”
“She’s worried about you, Xander. Come all the way from Sunnydale during an apocalypse, looking. It wouldn’t be very nice of us to let her worry.”
Beyond the hint of grim irony, he sounded just like Angel should—considerate and thoughtful and in remorse at the very idea of Willow’s prolonged suffering.
Fucking lying asshole.
Angel was dressed now, and was smoothing over his hair, and he looked just like the champion they all knew. Willow would have no clue until—
“Don’t you touch her, you dickhead. Don’t you dare—” He struggled violently against his bonds for the first time in…how long had it been since he struggled? How long had he been here? He yanked at the cuffs like a wild animal in a trap, until he sliced his raw skin on the edge of the metal. The pain was white-hot.
Angel just smiled at him in that distant, mirthless way he’d always had, and Xander hated him. “Don’t worry so much, Xander. I won’t.”
Something about the way he emphasized the ‘I,’ something about that smirk…Xander felt a cold lump of dread in the pit of his stomach. Because he had a really bad feeling about this.
~*~*~*~
“—but he’s not hurt?”
Xander’s eyes clenched shut at the sound of Willow’s voice in the hall. The concerned bleat of a lamb to slaughter.
“No, he’s not hurt. He just hasn’t been himself since he turned up here….” Understatement of the century. Why don’t you tell her the reason for that, dickhead? Broody fucking snake-in-the-grass asshole.
The door was pushed open by Angel’s hand but he stepped aside, like a gentleman, for Willow to enter first. When she registered Xander’s nakedness, she immediately stuttered and tried to back out of the room politely, running into Angel’s unmoveable chest.
“Oh god, Xander, sorry I didn’t realize….”
Angel nudged her into the room with an almost polite hand on her back, and Willow turned red and looked confused.
“Um, I should….”
“No.” The word was light, agreeable, but final. The furrows in Willow’s brow deepened. She turned to go, but Angel’s large hand came to rest on the nape of her neck in a light, friendly grip. “Stay.”
Very little alarm was registering on her face yet, but Willow’s eyes flickered shyly to Xander, like she was seeking an explanation. Looking to her oldest, closest friend to explain what this was all about.
He saw the exact moment she realized he was tied to the bed. She paled and tried to shrink back, but Angel’s hand was firm.
“What—” Her voice shook. Her eyes darted towards Angel and back.
“Will, I’m so sorry….” It was laughable. Xander had no apology big enough for this mess he’d gotten them both into.
“Angel?” Willow was starting to wise up to the badness. “Angel, what’s going on.”
“You’re a smart girl, Willow. Went and got all worldly, too, so I don’t think I really need to explain.”
They stared at one another, standoff only broken by the flit of green eyes in Xander’s direction. Her anxiety was clearly written in the tension of her body. She didn’t want to believe the obvious implication, because they all knew his mind games. Angelus’ mind games. Willow would jump to the soulless conclusion, of course. It was the logical one.
But Angel’s demeanor was probably making the justification harder for her to sell to herself. There was no smug smile. No Angelus-y glee. Just…an empty shell where Angel’s empathy should be.
Finding Angel unreadable, Willow’s eyes swung to him. Xander, on the other hand, felt sure he was too readable, with everything that had happened these last three weeks written on his face, and he knew he was right when her eyes went glossy with tears. Her face wavered into something vulnerable just before she toughened up and turned away.
Xander closed his own eyes, which had moistened in sympathy with Will’s.
Willow’s voice was resolvey. “Untie him, Angel. I’m taking him home with me.”
“Nah. I’d rather not.” There was a touch of anger to the quiet, casual words, and Xander cringed a little inside.
“Angel, the joke or—or whatever this is—is over. Unchain him, and we’re leaving.”
“Ha. Pretty sure Xander will tell you it was no joke when I fucked him, but he is getting a little…worn. So you can have him.”
“Oh. Well.” Willow hesitated, on the verge of defending Xander’s honor, but made the smart decision and let it lie. “…Good.”
Xander’s stomach clenched. Too easy. Will felt it, and Xander’s heart was pounding.
“But first, I wanna see you two fuck.”
Son of a bitch. There was nothing but stunned silence from Willow. Xander wasn’t stunned. He was just pissed. “You’re a real fucking piece of work, Angel.”
Dark eyes ticked to Xander. “What? Aren’t you two supposed to be…soulmates or something? Unconditional love and kumbaya and nothing you can’t face if you’re together? I’ve lost my way here, Xander. Aren’t you gonna rehabilitate me? Teach by example? Never had that, myself. I wanna see how it works.”
Willow tried logic, because she hadn’t been on the one-way bus to CrazyTown. “Angel, you don’t want to do this. You know that Xander and I aren’t like that. I….” Her eyes strayed towards Xander before darting away. “I don’t know exactly what has gone on between the two of you, but…don’t make it worse. We don’t want this.”
Angel's face twisted up bitterly. “Please. Tell that to someone who doesn’t remember when you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. That doesn’t change. There will always be lust in your hearts for each other. There are just some people…you can’t change what you are to one another. Ever. Not until you kill each other trying.”
Well that was…strangely philosophical. Willow met Xander’s eyes and they shared a look over the cryptic little speech…she clearly knew something he didn’t.
“Anyway, I figure I’m doing you both a favor, giving up my fucktoy, so you owe me one for the road. Take off your clothes.”
There was a pregnant pause in which it became clear from the set of Angel’s jaw that there was no way she was getting back out through that door. Xander personally thought she could have made a break for it, if she went alone. Pulled out some spur-of-the-moment magicks and ran like hell. She should. She should be safe and happy.
But Xander knew there was no way she was going to leave him behind. The guilt at being happy about that was enough to crush him.
When Willow gripped the hem of her shirt to sweep it over her head, Xander turned away, unwilling to watch his best friend strip naked. For this. He didn’t look when a slight weight depressed the mattress, but he had no choice when Willow’s hand cupped his cheek and guided his face back towards her.
She smiled. Willow could be so goddamn brave sometimes. “Hi.”
“Willow, I’m sorr—”
Her finger came up to stop his words. She shook her head.
So he tried a smile. “Well at least gimme a kiss if you’re gonna get fresh.” He turned up a cheek, and she gave him a peck. Her hands were warm where they cupped his face, which shouldn’t have felt so strange.
But it was comforting.
Willow stole a glance over her shoulder at Angel, who had settled himself into a chair by the door. He didn’t look particularly happy about getting his way. His eyes were slightly unfocused, and his mouth was a grim line.
“I have all the time in the world, but I imagine you two want to get home sooner than later.”
Xander opened his mouth to say something, but Willow turned his face up to her and shook her head slightly…a familiar gesture from distasteful tasks past. The one that said don’t talk back, Xander…just hang on a little longer, play by the rules, and then we’re out of here. He didn’t have time to tell her this wasn’t Algebra II, because then she was kissing him. And it wasn’t…passion. It wasn’t all hot and sweaty like their grope sessions in the past where Xander wasn’t Oz, and Willow wasn’t Cordy. This time there was no thrill to their infidelity. Just comfort. Very sweet, totally non-sexy comfort-kisses.
At this rate, Xander was never gonna get it up, and his hands were kinda…tied. Literally.
“Will. I, um.” Fuck. How was he supposed to…. “I think you’re gonna have to. Help me.”
Willow nodded. She looked as though they were talking about tutoring, or a ride to school, or the copying of homework. Something that did not at all resemble her hand wrapping around his soft dick and stroking him until he was hard, which is exactly what she was doing. And it was taking longer than he’d prefer because Xander had the utterly horrifying thought that he was only the second man she had ever touched this way, and that wasn’t right. That put him on the verge of crying, and nowhere near on the verge of an erection, and he hated that Willow looked concerned for him, when all he had to do was lie here, while she had to….
“Hey,” Willow murmured, and her free hand was brushing his dirty hair back from his face tenderly. She leaned in and kissed him on a cheek that was wet now and spoke into his ear, though they both knew Angel could hear. “This isn’t so bad. I love you. Better you than him, right?”
Xander ignored the strange, pained look that passed over Angel’s face and turned his own up to catch Willow’s lips, because he was grateful she was here, even if that was selfish of him. And the least selfish thing he could do at the moment was hurry this along as much as possible, so Xander decided to lay back and think of…well, not England, because his impression from Giles wasn’t very sexy. Though Spike…Xander suppressed that thought and concentrated mainly on waiting blankly while the friction did its thing.
Willow gave a surprisingly good handjob. And that was a fact he could have gone his whole life without knowing.
He couldn’t think about it too hard when she straddled his hips and sank down around him, because he was afraid of going soft and having to start all over again. But she felt good. Warm and wet and so tight and all the things he thought he would never get to feel again. And his throat was burning again…was there a restriction on the number of times you could cry during sex before they revoked your man card? Because he was afraid he was pushing the limit.
One thing was sure—“Lucky for you, I don’t think this is going to take very long.” He tried to pass it off as a joke but he felt sick on so many levels.
But he could always count on Willow to take the baton seamlessly. “Oh, well that’s good, because I actually have a hair appointment at 4.”
If he laughed a little too hard at that, in a way that was suspiciously like crying towards the end, she just laughed right along with him. She hugged him close and rocked them together, and just as he’d suspected, having sex with your gay best friend when your dick hadn’t really been touched in weeks while the demon that had been psychologically torturing you for the last month watched...did not a recipe for stamina make.
When they eased to a halt and Willow pulled back, shifting in his lap, Xander saw the…disgust or sorrow or some kind of badness flicker across her face for the first time since her clothes had come off. And then she moved and things were sticky, and it occurred to him that vampires didn’t provide condoms for their captives, and there wasn’t any particular reason for a lesbian to be on the pill.
Xander took a breath and shared a long look with her. “We’ll take care of it. Today.”
“Yeah,” she murmured back. She looked tired.
“C’mere.”
She leaned back down and wrapped her arms around him, and he hugged her the only way he could—with his chin hooked on her shoulder. Despite everything, it was solid gold. Warm and welcoming and familiar. It was a Willow-hug, naked or no. The first bit of real comfort he'd had in weeks.
The room was quiet for a long time as they reassured each other. Then Angel broke the silence.
“You can go.”
Xander’s gaze snapped up, sure he’d heard wrong, but Angel was looking at him flatly, and his voice was quiet, devoid of gloat. Weary. He tossed Willow a set of keys and gestured towards the door. “Get out of here.”
No one moved for a long moment. Then he and Willow eased themselves up as Wills went about unlocking his cuffs. When Willow began to self-consciously dress, Xander wanted to yell at her, to hurry, to run out of here naked before Angel changed his mind, but now that it was done she was shaking, and Angel was staring vacantly out the window over the bed. Looking through them, as if he weren’t really there. Or as if they were already gone.
“Will,” Xander murmured when they were both dressed. “Wait for me in the hall.”
“Xander—” she threw a wary look in Angel’s direction, clearly not wanting to leave them alone.
“Just do it, please? We’re fine.”
Reluctantly she slipped out. Xander stood in front of the man who’d been tormenting him for weeks…the man who now just looked like an empty puppet. A pathetic shell. It was chilling and weird, and Xander found himself in the ridiculous position of trying not feel sorry for this monster who’d just forced him to fuck his best friend. For entertainment. Or…god, Xander didn’t even know why.
“I just have one question.” Flat eyes flicked up to focus on his face. Xander shoved down the desperate ‘Why me?’ because didn’t he already know? It was the same reason anything ever happened to him: he was there, and it was easy.
“Where are the bodies?”
Confusion stole in across Angel’s blank features. “What?”
“The bodies. Of the people who called you a friend. Are they still here? I’m taking them with me.”
Comprehension dawned, and Angel looked away guiltily. “I didn’t…. I let you think what you wanted. They’re not dead.”
Xander’s legs almost gave out from under him. He didn’t know how he was standing in the first place, honestly. Cordy. She was alive.
“What happened to you, man? What the hell could make you….” Not that he’d ever trusted the guy, but the general consensus had been that he was decent. Good. Fought on the right side. Not the kind of person to do…what he’d done. Xander couldn’t connect it. He couldn’t connect the big stupid hero with this pitiful creature who looked broken and ashamed and clueless.
Especially when Angel looked up and there was a sheen of tears in his eyes.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. He looked down. “It just all went so…. I never meant to actually keep you…. God Xander I’m—”
“If you say you’re sorry, you’re going to get a real pointy piece of wood rammed up your ass.”
Ashamed eyes flickered up and away, and then Angel nodded. No fight in him at the prospect. He hated his own pity for the man.
Right now, Xander couldn’t even work up the anger to hate Angel properly.
He turned and walked out. He closed that door behind him.
~*~*~*~
They stumbled out to the car, Willow supporting as much of his weight as she could manage. Xander winced when he slid into the seat of the car. Willow looked like she wanted to cry. Xander felt the awkwardness drawing out between them.
“Xander, we wanted to come for you—”
“Willow, get in the car. Let’s get out of here while we can.” He didn’t really think for a second that Angel was coming after them, but she didn’t know that. Xander didn’t want to talk about how long he’d been left. They meant well. They always did. Didn’t make it any easier knowing they’d probably been fighting for their lives.
While his was being torn to shreds.
There was nervous Willow-babble as she got the car in gear and pointed them towards the highway. Xander couldn’t focus as she talked about Ben, and medieval weaponry, and for some reason, a Winnebago. He was so fucking exhausted. He just wanted to sleep for a year, closed away somewhere where no one could look at him. Could touch him. Could ask him what happened. Considering his foreman had probably taken him for dead by now, he might just get his wish.
It was the mention of Cordy that caught his attention, given that he’d buried her and resurrected her in his mind. “Wait, what?”
“Well, like I said, we’d been trying to get in touch with someone in LA, between all the…trying not to die. And then finally I got ahold of Cordy. And she told us about Angel. And Darla.”
“…About Darla.” He thought about Angel. Ranting.
“Yeah.” Willow threw a little look over at the passenger’s seat when his silence indicated a lack of mind-meld. “Darla? Getting sired by Dru?”
Xander stared at her blankly. Maybe madness was catching. “Will. What in holy Hades are you talking about?”
“Xander. You didn’t….” His blank look persisted. “He didn’t tell you? Somebody brought Darla back, all…human. Until she was all vampy again, because Dru went and turned her. It was this whole thing with a law firm, and...apparently they ate this cop that Angel knew. Angel hunted them down and dusted them both. Cordy said he pretty much came unglued a couple months ago which…ok, I guess you probably knew that part. But…you didn’t know?” She looked honestly confused.
Huh. That explained…stuff. “Nope. I didn’t exactly get the flashback sequence. Or entire parts of the plot. Mostly I just got the sex scenes.”
Heavy discomfort made the air stifling. Xander didn’t have it in him to backpeddle or joke it away, so he changed the subject.
“So, did everyone miss me? Bet the Buffster’s ready for a vacation now, huh? We can take a little roadtrip. I am intimately acquainted with every bar and skeezy hotel in Oxnard. We could…. Will?”
The joke, if you could call it that, fell totally flat. Really. Silence so thick, you could hear his words go splat on the pavement. Willow’s lips pressed together. She didn’t take her eyes off the road.
The car suddenly slowed as Willow took her foot off the gas peddle, wheel drifting towards the shoulder until they coasted to a stop. Willow’s eyes stayed fixed on the road like they were still hurtling towards Sunnydale, but her face was crumpling in stages. She sat there fighting tears, hands squeezed the wheel. Her breath came in ragged sobs, even though there were no tears yet.
“Will? What’s….” Everything must be catching up with her. “Willow, please don’t. We’ll get one of those…morning-after things and try to forget it ever happened. And he didn’t really even hurt me, I swear. I’ll be good as new—”
“Buffy’s dead,” she whispered.
It was so not what he was expecting to hear that the words made no sense to him. Not when placed in that order, in conjunction. “…What?”
“Buffy. She wanted to save Dawnie, she…. She’s dead, Xander.”
Xander’s world fell out from under him as everything took on a crazier, tiltier slant than it had a moment ago. Like his vision went black and white. Telescoped so that everything was far, far away, including the sound of his own incredulous, disoriented voice.
“What…how?”
Willow cried in big ragged sobs, sucking in the stale air of the car, and Xander found himself unable to connect with her grief. It wasn’t real. Except it obviously was, to her. The words barely made it out of her mouth, nothing coherent. Only years of practice with Willow interpretation allowed him to pick apart what she was saying. “Glory opened it. She had to…save Dawn. She fell, Xander. She fell all the way through and she was just so broken.”
Xander stared intently at the A/C lever on the dash of the car. He didn’t comprehend it. The story, the lever…everything. Buffy had fallen…from what? To save Dawn? Had Dawn fallen? He got stuck on the details, but his mind circled again and again to an image of Buffy’s mangled body. Trying to make the fact fit. It didn’t. She was dead. He hadn’t been there to save her, this time.
Xander’s vision blurred and for a moment, he thought he was going to vomit. He threw the car door open and hung his head out, breathing towards the gritty pavement until the feeling passed.
So broken.
Willow was keening now, clinging to the steering wheel. He pulled her over the gearshift into his lap, feeling disconnected from his body, from the actions of his hands, and it wasn’t until she curled her fists into his shirt and started sobbing even harder that Xander started to cry. Cried until his throat was raw and his eyes were swollen and his head ached and it was hard to breathe. He didn’t even know if he was crying for Buffy or himself. Or if it even mattered.
They sat there forever, rocking against each other. They were both exhausted when the tears finally dried up. Xander hurt all over…his head, his heart, his body. He felt a little empty, but they sat there breathing together, and Xander was still holding her like a lifeline.
There was a little comfort in that.
Xander thought distantly about the ring in his sock drawer. The one he’d bought to give Anya, before all this had gone so wrong. The one that represented hope, and a future, and other things that didn’t mean anything just now.
He took a deep breath, pulling together his scattered thoughts. He felt like a drunk, trying to force himself into sobering up by willpower alone.
“Willow.” She looked up at him. “Willow, we can’t tell anyone what happened today.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he laid a finger over her lips.
“We tell them Angel went wrong and he held me hostage. And now everything’s fixed. That’s it. They can’t know, Will. Not right now. I can’t hurt Anya like that. Not like Cordy.”
Cordy. He’d call her. Angel needed to be…dealt with. Put down like a rabid dog or…as Angel had snidely offered, rehabilitated. Probably the latter, if he knew Cordy…she always was more soft-hearted than she appeared. Xander thought about the battered shell of a man he’d left at the Hyperion. That was what rock bottom looked like, right? Harmless, because Xander had taken the brunt of the harm. Maybe it was better…. No, Cordy, he didn’t hurt me. Yeah, you know he doesn’t have that in him. But he needs you….
Could he do that? Could he?
Willow looked away, and he knew she was thinking of Oz. Of Tara. Finally, she nodded.
“Good.” He petted a hand through her hair, comforting himself as he came to another decision. “I hope you’re getting as good at this whole magic thing as you think you are.”
Willow looked back up at him strangely. When he just gazed back with a sober expression, she grew confused.
“We’re bringing Buffy back.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a fact. A necessity.
They just looked at each other, and Xander didn’t blink. Something had to make sense. Something had to make sense, and he didn’t understand a world without Buffy in it. Couldn't bear that particular void. Not now. Slowly, Willow began to nod. And then she gave him this tremulous little smile.
“Good.” He leaned in and they shared a brief, chaste kiss. “Now drive me home, woman.” He helped shift her back into the driver’s seat. He felt lighter now, even though he still felt…wrong. False giddiness following swiftly on the heels of the grief. There were still a few things worth living for, and he wasn’t willing to let go of them. Felt greedy for them, suddenly, in a manicly false way.
“While we’re at it, swing by a supermarket. I need to stock up on twinkies and ding-dongs and some of those Little Debbie things. Oh! And Mountain Dew. Deadboy stuffed me full of broccoli and grapefruit juice. It was a nightmarish parade of health food. On second thought, maybe he did torture me….”
They were all going to be alright, even if he had to hold it all together with dental floss himself. He was good at pretending. He’d pretend them right back into a world that made sense.
Somehow.
*bites nails*
dude, writing this fic has been like birthing a spikey, barbed, fanged, ravenous but mulishly stubborn little demon of a thing that wanted to be born one inch at a time, one limb at a time and not necessarily in an order that was comfortable for mama. I’m pretty sure at some point it tried to tunnel out of some orifice that didn’t exist. I tried to abort the thing at least a dozen times, but it’s been a mystical pregnancy a la Darla. It wouldn’t be denied its shot at life on the outside.
and that's why I'm going to do what I never do and say to any lurkers out there that if you enjoyed this fic...maybe enjoyed is the wrong word, haha. if you got something out of this fic, if it made you feel, even if it did make you queasy in places (hell, it made *me* queasy in places), then I'd love to hear from you. leaving anonymous posting open for you. feed the author this once, because she's a little emaciated after this experience.
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