Eyeless by Luddite Robot

Thanks to nwhepcat for her help and support.

---

Xander sat at the bar, nursing a beer. Waiting.

He had stormed out of another Scooby meeting, at the compound. It was a neglected apartment building that Giles had found, bought and had fixed up. Giles was surprised to hear that he was angry about that, and was still not quite aware that every time he walked in the front door, Xander felt sick to his stomach.

The Plain Dealer had buried reports of robberies for this joint every couple of weeks, so Xander figured it was only a matter of time.

He knew she was there. She tried to sneak in quietly, but he knew. Slayers were built to be noticed. He learned that back in high school, the hard way. They're the bait, the hook, the net and the frying pan all in one. They can try to be stealthy, but it doesn't work for long.

The bartender was old school. He didn't want nothin' but people to sit, drink and listen to Patsy Cline. That's great. Xander didn't want much more than to sit and listen to Patsy Cline right now. There was something else he wanted to do, though.

The union in California came through with the glass eye, so the Nick Fury and Logan comments that always made him want to slug Andrew are gone. He couldn't talk 'em into the smileyface or the cross hairs, like the villain in The Last Action Hero. He was trying to pick up the knife-tap trick from Gangs of New York, but it still felt too creepy. Creeping others out was the point, not creeping himself out. The union in Ohio has not yet come through here. Was there something about putting up drywall that required two eyes? He's been making due by working a the video store. 'You're getting John Carpenter's Vampires? We also have Near Dark in the Cult Films section. That's an exceptional film about vampires, and by the way, they're real, they're here and they're fucking your friends.'

Somebody in some movie sometime said you shouldn't speak ill of the dead. The dead have always spoken ill of him, so he didn't care. Fuck you Spike for the microscope dent in my skull. Fuck you Spike for nearly biting me on Parent-Teacher night. Fuck you Angel for holding me there. Fuck you for the punch in the face. Fuck you for Giles and Willow's goldfish and Miss Calendar. Fuck you both for burning Buffy so much she lets nobody close. Fuck you Spike for fucking Anya. And fuck you Angel for saving me. Saving me before I met Anya. Before I ruined everything. And fuck me for getting it so close to fixing it right before the end.

It was all he could do to not finish the beer and order one more. Ten more. Punch his sorrows right in the gut and pour it down it's gasping, sputtering throat. Take that, sorrows. But he was nursing his beer for a reason. If he downed it, he'd never be able to do this. Which might be a sign that he shouldn't do this.

There's never an armed robber around when you need one.

Evidently, not always true. The guy walked in, holding a snubnose .38 at the bartender. Minor crooks in 70s and 80s cop films carried .38 snubnoses. The badasses always carried automatics. That's the difference between Glover and Gibson. Glover was old school and carried a revolver. Gibson was crazy and carried an automatic.

Lite was cool. He carried a .45.

"Open the drawer. Give me all the bills!"

Stocking over the face. Snubnose .38. Brown Shaft jacket. This was too much.

"You are just so original."

The robber turns his head. "Nobody's talking to you, asshole! Shut up and sit down!"

Only an asshole gets killed for a car. Bar. Whatever.

"'Shut up and sit down?' Are you an armed robber or an extra on T.J. Hooker?"

"Do you want me to blow your head off?"

Umm....

"Do you want that kind of heat? Killing someone during an armed robbery will get you Murder One. Is Ohio a death penalty state? I forget. Either that or Life. Of course, Life isn't life anymore. I know somebody who got set up for Life and she's on the street in three years. She had strings she could pull, though. Do you have strings?"

The robber is confused, moving his eyes and his gun between the bartender and the man yelling at him. "Are you retarded? I got a gun!"

"I see that. Nice gun. I prefer automatics, myself. They're easier to reload. Aren't as impressive to unload, though." He takes a step forward. "I've been thinking about the other recently. I'm a little slow on math and spatial relations, which, combined with no depth perception pretty much means I can't drive anymore, but beyond that, no. Not retarded. Angry and stupid, sure, but not retarded. But that's not the question, is it?"

The robber now pretty much kept the gun off the bartender and on the man stepping up to him.

"The question is, who has the least fear?"

"I got a gun pointed at your head!"

"That doesn't matter. I learned that lesson a while ago. Things like weapons can change hands. The fear doesn't." He stepped forward, putting his forehead on the barrel of the revolver. "Your move."

The robber stood there, shocked.

"And, one." He pushed the gun out of the way with his right hand, grabbing the arm holding hit with his left and swinging his right back around, backhanding the robber. He then drew back and punched him in the face. He moved the gun to his right hand, releasing the cylinder and letting the bullets fall to the bar floor.

The bartender picked up the phone and started dialing 911. "What do you think you are, some kind of hero? Heroes get people killed. Get out now, asshole."

Xander quickly finished his beer, grabbed his jacket off the back of the barstool and walked out the front door. His work here was done, and now he came the long walk home, past 3 other bars.

"Action is my reward," he muttered to himself.

He zipped up his jacket. Every time he steps out his front door he gets reminded that he's no longer in California and it had become October.

Behind him, he heard the door open. He turned and saw her. "What the hell was that, Harris?"

"An averted armed robbery."

"Looked like suicide by proxy to me."

"Big words from you, Faith. I would've expected 'asking for it'. I remember once I was asking for it. Remember that? Remember when I was asking for it?"

He turned and walked away. She didn't follow.

---

"I'm tired. Is this the best time to do this?"

"You're always up at this time, with the patrolling. And yes. Big empty parking lot. Nobody around. Lots of room for you to move, to get used to it."

"I'm not sure I want to do this."

Dawn sat in the driver's seat of the beater he had bought. A Ford Tempo that was nearly as old as Dawn. He had seen it parked with a For Sale sign in the window, and he had Andrew drive it to his apartment a few months ago. He was a better carpenter and woodworker than a mechanic, but he had been able to get the little four-banger engine working better, cleaned up the interior, put in a decent stereo with CD player, and, with Andrew's help again, had replaced the ruined front fender and given it a new paint job. Light blue, right around the same shade most of it had been before, but a little darker.

Ships took ladies' names to remind you to treat them like a lady. That's what Uncle Rory had said, when he rented his convertable. Rory called her 'Marilyn'. But that was a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air. This was a standard 1980s econo-box. He should've painted it white with blue stripes and written 'Car' along the side, it was so generic. But through the process, he always called her 'Anya'. He never told anyone. He wasn't sure what they'd think of it.

He was sitting in the passenger seat, turned around so he could see Dawn. This was her first lesson, and she was getting stressed.

"But Dawn, driving is the modern rite of passage. A person who cannot drive is like a child, reliant on others for all his needs. To be offered the keys and not embrace it is like being strong in the Force and refusing training. It's like abandoning the Jedi way ...." He stopped as he came under Xander's angry gaze. "I'll shut up now."

Andrew sat in the back seat, being a licensed driver who could drive, and thus get them to this empty mall parking lot and back. In this car, he was the licensed driver who could drive. Xander had tried a couple of times since Sunnydale. His last time behind the wheel was on the Interstate between Las Vegas and Salt Lake City, during the Scooby Exodus to Cleveland. He nearly ran a minivan off the road while trying to get into the passing lane. After that, he couldn't bring himself to drive again. Willow had found a website that said that, aside from some peripheral vision issues, there should be no problem with driving with one eye. She had even bought fish-eye mirrors to help, but he refused, spending the travel time reading and re-reading The Hobbit and staring out the rear passenger-side window, leaving the driving to Willow and Andrew, and Faith bored out of her mind.

But those who can't, teach. Dawn needed to learn, Buffy was the last person on this earth capable of teaching somebody how to drive, and he had free time. He also loved her enough to be patient with her. Not always true of high school driving instructors.

"Now, step on the clutch and put it into first." Uncle Rory had started him on a manual transmission. 'If you can drive a stick, you can drive anything,' were his words on the subject. If she decided later to drive an automatic, that was her decision, but it was going to be her choice, not something decided for her. There's enough of that in this world.

"This is the tough part, so listen before you do it. You pull off the clutch slowly. About halfway up, you step off the break and give it just a little gas. Try it."

The car stalled.

"I'm never going to get this."

"You will. Everybody stalls from time to time. You just have to try again. Start the car."

Dawn made a comical frown face and started the car. Clutch and breaks.

"Off the clutch slowly, and touch the gas."

The engine growled, the car lurched forward and stalled.

"Grrrrrhh. I hate this!"

"Deep breath." Xander waited until Dawn calmed down some. "Yes, it can be frustrating at times, but when we're done here, you'll be able to do something Buffy has never been able to do."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She never really passed Driver's Ed. She certainly can't drive a manual transmission. Now start the car again."

This time, she did it smoothly, and the car began to roll. Dawn was excited! "Now what do I do?"

"Now you drive. Get used to the control. You are now in control of almost a half-ton of plastic and metal, Dawn. More deadly as a sword, and I know you can handle one of those."

"This is so cool!" Dawn started driving in big loops around the parking lot.

"That it is."

---

Faith drove her motorcycle down I-77. She figured she'd get as far as Parma and turn around. She just needed some time out, some time alone.

It wasn't really her motorcycle. It was registered to a "Margaret Faith Glass". Willow made her up on the computer and now she has a driver's license and a motorcycle. She had brown hair and eyes, like Faith. She was born in Boston, like Faith. She didn't have much of an educational record, like Faith. She didn't have a criminal record. She wasn't a convicted murderer. She wasn't a prison escapee. That's the key difference.

It was a used Honda motorcycle, basically a "crotch-rocket". It was fast and red and she had topped out the speedometer once. Not since. She figured that one wrong move that fast would kill her.

Part of her wanted to back in Stockton. Three hots and a cot, an exercise yard and a movie once a month. No threat she couldn't handle. No real choices.

Part of her wanted to just head south. Then east. Or west. Anywhere. Some place where nobody knew her, and she could claim to be Grace, or Hope, or Joyce, or Buffy. Anybody else but her.

Part of her wanted to head west. Straight to California. To Robin. She wasn't quite sure what her feelings for him were. She wasn't quite sure what his feelings for her were. Was it love? How could she know? What the hell does love feel like, anyway? But he had a life in California that wasn't as easily escapable as hers was. He also didn't want to escape it, as it included friends, job connections and economic responsibilities. Hers included armed people looking for her and 22 years to life in prison. The part she could escape, at least. The part she couldn't escape was within her. She was one girl of many, chosen to fight the vampires. Fuck, it sounds so stupid when you say it.

She didn't know what she had, but she wanted to ride it out to the end. This meant fidelity. As long as she was on the other site of the country from him, that meant celibacy. She was also trying sobriety. Robin had said 'Adult children of alcoholics have a great chance of becoming alcoholics'. Screw that. She blazed her own trail into hell. Still, it was nice to have someone care enough to ask. It wasn't that it was his booze and she should keep her hands off, it was that he didn't want her doing things to herself that might hurt her. Of course, the state of California, the armies of hell and half the people she lived with wouldn't mind taking care of the hurting for her, given a chance. His concern was touching. It is so hard to make that come off not sarcastic.

Then there was Team Chosen. It wasn't the Chosen Two anymore. Not after Sunnydale. There was Buffy, there was her, and there was Dawn, Kennedy, Rona, Vi, and the rest of them. All set up. Looked like an old apartment building on the outside, but the inside is all swank. Andrew called it "Professor Giles' School for Exceptional Girls", whatever that meant. The last work crew was packing up when they showed up. Willow, the Geek and Mr. Mope. The worst road trip ever, by the way. With Giles and Buffy out hipping the new kids to the joys of Slayerdom, this left her as ranking Slayer. Willow was available for research whenever she wasn't off at Case Western, finishing off her degree. Most of the girls were enrolled in high school, leaving her and Kennedy as the full-time slayers, and giving her responsibility for their lives.

Fidelity. Celibacy. Sobriety. Responsibility. Big words that mean not being a skanky ho. For not being the Faith she had been all her life. Six months before, all she had responsibility for was herself, and the California Penal System shared that responsibility. Now she, and pretty much she alone, has responsibility for everyone. Especially Xander. What's up with him?

Sometimes the weight felt light. Waking the kids up for school felt cool, like she was the screw now. Sometimes it felt heavy, and she took to the road and dreamed of her way out from under it.

---

Willow was a bit nervous. Xander had been scarce for a while, and she didn't know why. Whether it was the new building or not. Whether it was her or not. Whether it was something she could help with. Whether it was something she should just let him work through.

So, she came up with a story and came to his work. 'The one class I'm taking this semester that isn't replacing non-transferred courses or fulfilling new requirements is a directed study I've talked a professor into, and that's on the representation of the Vampire on film. I figure it's something I knew something about. (Pause for laughter.) And the girls would like 'em, too, and after Sunnydale, there's nothing in a hard-R vampire movie they haven't seen.' She took a deep breath and walked in.

She had asked Kennedy to stay in the car. She didn't know if he was part of the problem. She was pretty sure she wasn't part of the solution. Kennedy was sweet and funny and ... talented, but she could be abrasive at times.

So, in she walked to the video store. She caught Xander's eye as she walked in. He was helping a couple in the Romance section, so she looked through new releases.

"Hey, Wil, what'cha doin'?" Xander stepped up and leaned on the New Release wall.

"Do I need a reason to visit my best friend?" She smiled her widest, sweetest smile.

"No, but it has been a little while."

"Well, I have been little miss college girl again, and I really needed to give that some time. Y'know, Warm up to my teachers and all that. And you haven't been by the bungalow in a buncha ... days, buddy."

"Haven't been too much into the 'saving the world' thing recently, I have to say. More into the 'shelving the tapes and sending out the resumes' thing. I've just lost so much, y'know. I don't know how much more I can lose."

"Still, we miss you."

"Can you define what 'we' is in this case?"

"Well, it's at least me. Me miss you. So, I'm taking a directed study. The vampire on film. I figure...."

"That I'd be able to steer you right?"

"Well...." That's not in the script.

"First, Nosferatu . It's the start of all vampire film fiction. A bit slow, and silent, but that's old movies for you. Second, Dracula , the 30s version. It drags some, and Bela Lugosi isn't all that great, but you can't say you've studied vampire film without having seen this. After that, at least one of the Hammer Horror vamp films. We have Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee as Helsing and Dracula from 1958. That's as good as it gets. Blacula is as bad as it gets. That's Blacula, not Bakula. You won't see undead Quantum Leaping. And come to think of it, Scream, Blacula, Scream is worse. Far, far worse. It has Pam Grier, but it just isn't worth it."

Far, far from the script. There were supposed to be gaps.

"Notice that we've leaped the 60s, and thus Fearless Vampire Hunters. If you really need your fix of Polanski, go for Chinatown or Rosemary's Baby, and if you really need a funny vampire movie, go for Love at First Bite. George Hamilton, who is darker than Janet Jackson, is the Dark Mas ... Dracula, and the fearless vampire hunter is Jewish and uses a star of David instead of a cross. Those are the two jokes of the movie, and still it is funny. Avoid Vampire In Brooklyn. It's Blacula starring Eddie Murphy. Words fail me."

Gaps where someone can break in. Say something.

"The 1980s. Fright Night. 80s movie horror is all about blood and shock and never really gets you paranoid. Fright Night does it right. Fright Night II much less so. Then, there's The Hunger. Catherine Deneuve and Susan Sarandon. Come to think of it, not that one. Unless you want the girls to look at you and Kennedy funny. Then there's Near Dark. Half the cast was shanghaied from Aliens, and the word 'vampire' is never spoken during the entire movie. Avoid Lost Boys. Jamie Gertz: good. Kiefer Sutherland: good. Jason Patrick: passable. Coreys Haim and Feldmen: oh so bad, as I hope you remember."

But Corey Haim is so cute! He had those really cute eyes and sang along with that song in the bathtub! But that's not why I'm here. And gay now!

"As for the 1990s, there are two worthy of mention. John Carpenter's Vampires and From Dusk Til Dawn. Notice that I didn't mention Interview with a Vampire. No list of quality vampire movies from the 1990s can contain Interview with a Vampire. Same with the Coppola version of Dracula. Sid Vicious plays a vampire? Nobody needs to see that. If you need to see a film about the unho... Dracula besides Lugosi, go Langella.

"Now, I know Kennedy likes Robert Parker, but they have come out with nothing rentable from the Spenser books. Even if there were, you'd want to test the waters with Faith around, it being Boston, y'know. Walter Mosley is good, though, so try Devil In A Blue Dress. Rona will be into Denzel, Kennedy will have a nice, violent mystery, and you'll have a good movie night."

"Either that, or my standard light movie recommendation: Singin' In The Rain. Donald O'Connor is a man worthy of emulation, and they have a three-person chair trick. What's not to love?"

Where went the script? Where were conversational gaps? She was supposed to ask innocuous-yet-somewhat-leading questions. 'So, how goes with you?' 'How's that closure coming?' 'You seeing someone?' No, that doesn't work. First of all, there's the 'seeing' thing. That's leaping, not leading. The 'd' is the necessary consonant there! It's called banter, people, and you let the other players have a turn! Now I have to respond to this information dump. "Wow. That's ... complete."

"No, not really. That's the first cut. There's a lot of good stuff in the next cut, and an awesome amount of trash. And I got some warning."

"Really?" He did have that smile in his eyes again. Eye.

"Yeah, Dawn called."

"I didn't tell Dawn about the class."

"She told me you might come. Coming up with a good recommendation for the group took some time. The vampire movie list? That I did instead of paying attention in senior chem. That's the short version. I can also talk you through zombies, mad scientists and Busby Berkeley musicals." He notices Willow's smirk. "Hey, they're cool. Anya turned me onto them, actually."

A chill went up Willow's spine. The smile left his eye. That wasn't a word she had heard out of him in months. She didn't like her part of that conversation. Her darkest magic couldn't make the air between them any thicker than it was sometimes. And she could see the change in him, too. The word had come out of his own mouth, but he still reacted like she hurled this bomb. The A-bomb.

"Hey, stack up what you need and bring 'em to the counter. I got you covered. And go ahead and get some of that chocolate Toffee Crunch popcorn for Dawn." He start's walking to the desk.

"Y'know, you can stop by after work. We can hold the mystery for you or something." She tried to sound upbeat, not pleading.

"No, I think I'd rather...." Xander stops, thinking of what to say. "You go ahead and have fun."

"I can get Andrew to give you a ride home, if...." She said it as a question. Almost as a hope.

He didn't answer. He didn't turn.

---

Faith kept her room neat and plain. She had one of five rooms on the third floor. The other four held Willow, Dawn, Buffy and a secondary weapons cache. At least when Buffy was there. Willow had put in a bookcase that was already full and was planning on another, and had a couple of framed Vargas pinup prints on her wall. Dawn had painted the walls purple, and had a fridge that held her stashes of Red Bull and Kiwiberry Ruckus Fruitopia. Buffy's room had unopened shopping bags and a framed poster of the Los Angeles skyline. Faith's room had a cheap institutional desk, a cheap institutional dresser, two hardback wooden chairs, and a single bed. It almost looked like it belonged to a nun.

Faith wasn't a nun. It wasn't a simplicity or pride thing. It was more a fear thing. She knew this. She kept the place like a room at a residence hotel, or a foster home. Like a cell. Nothing to identify it as hers, so it won't feel bad when she has to leave.

The more she thinks about everything, the more that feeling, the bad part of fight-or-flight, comes out. She had meant to turn around at Parma this morning, but she was past Canton before she caught herself. Things were not going right. Willow does locator spells for demons, but when they get there, the only thing there is them. The kids are getting restless and are itching for a fight, and Dawn's list of missing persons just gets longer. They camp out on new graves, waiting for the newly turned. That got 'em nothing but creepy nights and cold feet. And Xander going out and asking for trouble. He was right. 'Suicide by proxy' was the prison shrink's term, not hers. But she knew the definition. Looking for trouble until somebody gave you some. She had been there before. But she had bottomed out before she accepted help. Why the hell would he accept hers? Why the hell would he even listen to her? What the hell would she say?

She hadn't slept well, and she was still tired when her alarm went off. 7pm. She was just about to strip off her tank top and panties and jump into the shower when there was a knock on her door. "Hey, Faith?"

It was Willow. She got up to open the door.

She cracked the door open and said "Hey."

"We just picked up some movies and Andrew just ordered Chinese. Wanna come down? Quality bondage time! Ing. BondING time. Um ... It'll be fun. Just not that kind of fun, and I'm going to stop speaking now."

"What did you get?"

"A bunch of vampire films and a mystery Xander recommended. Devil In A Blue Dress."

"Lemme guess. A crazy chick did it."

"I really don't know. I haven't seen it. It stars Denzel Washington, and I'm sure Xander didn't mean anything like that. I should've gone for the musical."

"No worries, Red." Faith tried to wipe the sleeplessness from her eyes. "Yeah, I'll clean up and be down." She closed the door.

She rested her head on the door. Everything's so frustrating. Everything sucked. She wished Robin was there. He could get her out of her head for a while, but when that was over, her head and all the problems were still there. And when she rabbits, her problems follow her, with minions and weapons and fuckin' flying stallions and shit. She opened the door.

"Hey, Willow?"

"Yeah?"

Say it. Say something.

"Nothin'"

It's so hard. She could jump into a manhole after who-knows-how-many vamps. She could dive off of buildings. She could take on satanic slagheaps without stopping to think. She could stand on the mouth of Hell as hundreds of demon-vamps come charging at her. But she couldn't talk to Willow. They had been working together for months. They could plan and scheme and talk shop. They could almost talk about the weather, even. Willow didn't think of her as a worthless waste that needed to be blown up with grenades anymore, not since L.A. That was clear. But what now? She sat down on the bed.

"Faith?" Willow stepped in the room. "You left it open, and I really don't think it was nothing."

"After ... um, you did the England thing, right? Went there with Giles?"

"Yes. I went to a coven in Devon."

"And they showed you stuff, right?"

"Well, the issue wasn't showing me stuff. I already knew ... stuff. I needed to learn control, and I'm still learning it. They're still teaching me. Which does explain the entirely scary long distance bill. They should really look into email."

"Right. Email." She looked down. "I spent time in prison, and I learned some things. A few big words. How to make toilet wine. How to make a toothbrush into a knife."

"I learned how to make soap! Which is not where you're going, is it?"

"Nope. Good to know, though." She forces a nervous laugh. "Do you ever feel like ... you just wanna ... like you just wanna go?"

"Sometimes. Less now. I've got friends, classes, a fairly insolvable problem. A girlfriend. I don't know that I'll want to stay here forever, but for now, it's good."

"Back when you felt like bailin', what did you do?"

"Talked to friends. One time I did a spell that phased me out, so they couldn't see me." Willow's brow furrowed. "It wasn't good. I don't recommend it."

Faith took a second to collect her thoughts. "Back in prison, I was part of this group therapy thing for a while. I got out, because I couldn't really talk. Mom drank, blah blah blah. School sucked, blah blah blah. Puberty and boys, blah blah blah. Then Vampires, Slayers, Watchers, Demon Spiders, being the Mayor's personal hitman, Body Swapping, Evil Lawyers -- nobody would ever believe any of it. Except maybe the evil lawyer thing. Everybody in jail thinks lawyers are evil. Of course, everybody in jail had a lawyer that couldn't get 'em off."

"Think there might be a connection there?"

"I'm thinkin' yeah."

"I'm a Sunnydale girl, so I've seen all that stuff. I'm good at keeping secrets, too, if that's what you want. Buffy entrusted one with me years ago, and I've never told a soul."

"Yeah?"

"She's the Slayer. Oops. I let it slip. I hope she forgives me."

Faith couldn't help laughing. "I figured that one out already."

"But I never told you."

"True." Faith sat up and pushed hair out of her face. "Before we start hugging and shit, I need to clean up, and you need to make sure the locusts leave me some sweet and sour pork. But we'll do this, a'ight?"

"Fine. Great." Willow stood up and walked toward the door. "Come down when you're done. I'll save you the big pillow."

That wasn't so bad. Now it was just like jumping down a manhole to fight off a known number of vamps. She could do that.

---

Kennedy tried to stay inconspicuous waiting outside the corner grocery store. It was hard. Two people came up and asked if she needed someone to buy beer for her. Not even remotely conspicuous. Not at all. Everybody paces in front of grocery stores at nine at night.

Faith had put her off their recon patrol. For the last month, they had been going around different areas, trying to find the demon bars, the favored haunts, the hunting grounds. There was supernatural bad-guy stuff going on. They had checked out hot spots from Willow's locator spells, but things were always quiet and empty when they showed up. It was discouraging.

So, when Faith told her to keep an eye on Xander, she was initially pretty happy about it. Follow him. Keep an eye on him. Keep out of sight. Those were achievable goals. There would be a reason for tomorrow's sore feet.

She had asked Faith why Xander needs watching. He was a responsible adult, right? Faith took some time to answer, and when she did she answered quietly. She had seen her like this talking to Buffy on occasion. One time with Willow. Never with any of the new Slayers. "I owe him." Faith studied the cement between them before she started again. "It really isn't mine to explain. I used to have problems, and now I owe people. For what I did. For what they did. There's a couple of people in California that I owe, and if they needed me I'd be heading west and I wouldn't sleep until I saw ocean. Xander's right up there. Thing is, I have to spend bonding time with Team Chosen tonight. That's something I just can't delegate right now." She looked up at her. "If you do this and help him if he needs it, then I'll owe you." So she chose to accept the mission.

She let him get half a block ahead before she started shadowing him, and stayed back and tried to stay generically bundled. It wasn't cold yet, only high 40s to low 50s, but it was chilly enough. She kept her hands in her coat pockets to keep 'em warm.

She was standing behind a tree, keeping an eye on the front door, when her cellphone rang. Well, vibrated. She was on an op, so she had turned the ringer off.

"Yeah?"

"I'm ordering a pizza. Is pepperoni and mushroom okay? And you can come on up when you start feeling cold." Not all the goals are achievable.

---

His place was a dump, Not in the 'generations of captains of industry and overprivileged trust fund social workers have used this space to crash, clean up and store their stash during their misspent youth' way her half-sister's off-campus place at Yale was a dump. This was a dump in a much more plebeian way. Kennedy didn't mention this. She had seen his apartment in Sunnydale, back when there still was one. It may have needed a woman's touch, or at least the touch of someone whose big interests weren't pop culture, carpentry and vampire slaying. But it wasn't a dump. Xander clearly knew he was living in a dump. There was simply no need to bring it up.

There were two chairs at the 60's vintage kitchen table. There were three types of beer, two bottles of vodka, a case of store-brand cola, a carton of eggs and an apple in the refrigerator. There was one towel in the bathroom and one pillow on the futon bed in his bedroom. His living room had a persian rug over hardwood floors, a stack of big pillows and his entertainment center. This was clearly a person who didn't have much company. His old place had a big couch and two bedroom. And a wonderful wall of windows that let so much sun in. This place's windows faced north. They would let in no sun.

"Couldn't get me a real beer?" She was fiddling with her bottle of Kaliber.

"I wouldn't want to contribute to your delinquency. Besides, that's twice the beer PBR is. Just doesn't have alcohol." He took a bite of his pizza. "So, whatcha doin' here? Who sent you to watch me? Willow?"

"Faith. She said it would be a good test of my stalking skills." She chuckles uncomfortably. "I guess I blew it." v"Well, she could use some work, too." He takes a sip of his beer. "You guys thinking of moving up to two-eyed people anytime soon? The world's full of 'em." "

Yeah, but you're watching. Most people aren't. How'd you get so paranoid?"

"Bloodsucking fiends trying to kill me, seven years running. But enough shop talk. How's Willow doing?"

"Back in school. Her desk's half-filled with brand-new textbooks getting the bookmark-and-highlighter treatment."

"And the other half is filled with old, dusty, leatherbound volumes with titles like 'the Brandenburg Codex' or 'The Writings of Friedrich the Mad', right?"

"That's my Willow. That's her to a T. It's like, all of a sudden, full bookcases show up, like by magic!" She laughs and moves her hand up to cover her blush. "Willow and magic. Of course."

"That's Willow, all right." He chuckles a bit. "She anchor 'em?" Her face was blank. "The bookcases? Has she anchored them to the wall?"

"I ... I don't know."

"I'll stop by tomorrow to check. You don't want bookcases falling on you. That can really hurt."

"Does that really happen?"

"Yes it does. Seen it happen once. Maybe twice. I forget." He takes another sip of his beer. "Has her mom called recently? Or her dad?"

"I don't think so. I haven't heard, anyway."

"They're staying with relatives in Phoenix right now. I called a few days ago. They're planning to take a few months of rest, and he'll be working in Santa Barbara."

"So, you know her parents?"

"I'm the one that calls and tells them their daughter's in a coma and stuff like that. Ira gets on me about giving her started on treyfe, but Will loves cheeseburgers. What can I do?" He takes another sip from his bottle. "Ira will be sore at first. 'My daughter is a lesbian witch who eats shellfish and dates goyim and musicians and no longer shows any interest in school anymore. Her grades have fallen to A-minus!' After he's done with his rant, he'll treat you like you're his long-lost son, when he's not distracted by something he's read and hasn't developed an opinion about yet. Sheila will love the idea of you, and that should be enough. She's ideologically pro-gay. I'm not saying you should bust the bank with phone calls. Not a tight family. Willow could not show up at home for like a week during high school without them noticing. But Will dives into things, and she'll be so full of school and magic and research and everything that she'll wake up one day and remember that she's forgotten her Dad's last two birthdays and will wonder where to send gifts."

"And I'll say 'Santa Barbara'."

"Exactly."

"So, where are your parents?"

"No idea. With any luck, they didn't make it out. If I have to, I can call Uncle Rory and ask him what's up."

"Let me get this straight: you could care less about your parents, but you know more about what happened to Willow's parents than she does?"

"I also know more about Willow than her parents do. It works out."

Okay. That's healthy. Kennedy grabs another slice. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"You can ask."

"What's the deal with you and Faith?"

Xander's attitude fell. He no longer kept eye contact. He looked at the bare walls and hunched over. Willow's textbook called that a closed posture. This was not something he wanted to bring up.

"It's just that Faith said that she owed you. She said it wasn't hers to say."

"She said that, huh?" He leaned forward. "I'm not sure that she gets it."

"I'm not sure I get it."

"I think you do. It isn't about debt. It isn't 'I do for you, you do for me, now we're even'. That doesn't work. Would you leave someone in a problem just because that person never did something for you?" He put the half-empty bottle on the table and started pacing. When he talked, he talked with his hands more. "It's about helping when you can. I thought she needed help, so I went. I betcha she still doesn't know what I was doing there. She must have thought I was just back for.... Faith." He had a look in his eye like he wanted to hit something, or yell. "It's like ... if nobody reaches out, then nobody connects and everyone's alone. There should be a saying. 'A hand for a hand and nobody connects.' It's like the reverse of 'an eye for an eye makes everybody blind.' And hey, I should know."

She was beginning to see why he wasn't prepared for company.

"She said that you two used to be...."

"No-no-no-no-no." Xander's face cracked a smile. "We never 'used to be'. We never 'were'. We 'did'. Once. Big difference. Anya and I ..." He reached for his bottle again. "We were. Then we weren't, and it was all me."

He took a few steps toward the fridge, reached for it, and turned back. "I'm tired. I'm thinking I'll put on a movie and crash. You can keep the rest of the pizza if you want. Tell Willow I said hi."

That was a polite way of saying 'don't let the door hit you on the way out.' Kennedy grabbed her coat and turned toward the door. She noticed the DVD case on top of the TV on the way out. Babes on Broadway and Babes in Arms. Judy Garland musicals. She didn't know he was into that. Changes the way you look at a guy.

---

The movie was over, they had put on a show, and despite the vodka, Xander was still awake. Perhaps not able to stand, but awake. Anya would've zapped Mickey after the Cleopatra scene, for sure. He wondered, just for a second, if Judy's toes were hairy, then tried to wave that thought out of his head.

He leaned forward to turn on the CD player and grab his wireless headphones. The neighbors do not appreciate Everclear blasting at whateverthehell time this is in the morning. Xander loved working evenings. That meant he didn't have to get up until nearly noon.

I am still livin' with your ghost
Lonely and dreamin' of the west coast

Things are bad when you feel more haggard than Merle. When the Possum says you've been drinking too much, that's not a good sign. The problem with rock is that it is nearly impossible to express regret while singing it. Love, lust, anger, righteous indignation, suicidal tendencies, they're all fine. This song is a country song with rock guitar.

With my big black boots and an old suitcase
I do believe I'll find myself a new place

George Jones should sing these lyrics. His voice would be just perfect. Problem is, he's not a California boy. Dwight Yoakam moved from Ohio to California, so there is a way out.

I just wanna see some palm trees
I will try and shake away this disease

He discovered that, yes, he is still capable of standing. He decides that if he opened the second bottle of vodka, he'd likely get sick before morning, and if he drank water, the chances of a mind-bending hangover will drop down to about 80 percent, from practically guaranteed.

We can live beside the ocean
Leave the fire behind
Swim out past the breakers
Watch the world die

He grabs the last vodka bottle out of the fridge on his way to his bedroom.

I am still dreamin' of your face
Hungry and hollow for all the things you took away

He kicked off his shoes when he got into his dark bedroom. He took a long pull off the bottle and set it down next to his bed.

I don't wanna be the bad guy
I don't wanna do your sleepwalk dance anymore
I just wanna feel some sunshine
I just wanna find some place to be alone

Willow had been by work the other night. It was kinda good seeing her again. Until he had said that word. He knew all the reasons why she wouldn't do it, just like he knew all the reasons why she wouldn't do the other it. They're both essentially the same thing. Necromancy. He had seen that dreadful adaptation of the Lovecraft story. He had seen it live. 'And the blood of the Earth shall restore him.'

We can live beside the ocean
Leave the fire behind
Swim out past the breakers
Watch the world die

She looked more wigged that he said that than he had ever seen her. More so than Veruca and Oz. More so than spider jokes. Even more than greek tragedy. He can't believe he even mentioned it, even as something to consider then discard. Magic and Xander? Never good. But to not even be able to bring it up? she wouldn't even consider it. She narc'd on him to Giles. He shuddered and closed his eyes as the song ended.

I am still livin' with your ghost
Lonely and dreamin' of the west coast

And started again....

---

"Wakey wakey folks."

It isn't even morning. Sun's not up. It is not time for sparring. It's time for sleeping. A person shouldn't be flashing the lights on and off like that.

"Hey, Miss Alarm Clock, how about I hit you in the head and get fifteen more minutes of sleep?"

"If you think you have what it takes, bring it on. Downstairs in 10 minutes."

"Defeats the purpose of a snooze alarm."

Rona groans as she sits up. Too early a morning. Too late at night. They should've stopped after Denzel, but they had to watch Dusk 'til Dawn. Vi says that Clooney's a hottie, but he's got nothing on Denzel.

"Hey, Vi. Time to get up. We've been rousted."

"No. I was having the greatest dream."

"Did it include boys?" All Vi's great dreams had boys.

"Um ... maybe."

"Will it help to motivate you to say it's time to beat up on Faith?"

"Maybe."

Faith took on two of the ten new Slayers for a half-hour each weekday morning, before school, as their morning training. After-school training was Kennedy doing calisthenics and light sparring, or Willow or Dawn showing the wonderful world of demon research and prophecy. Faith sometimes sat in on that, which was nice. It shows the ranking Slayer has concern for how the younger generation is going. Rona liked that. But the morning fights were fun. The goal was to promote teamwork. Start with 'synchronized slaying'. Faith's words there. Also, they used pads to keep from looking like a walking bruise in school that day, but otherwise they went pretty-much all out.

Besides, Faith said she'd buy beer for the first team to drop her, so there was motivation.

They got into sweats and went down to the training room, talking tactics the whole way.

"You bring it, keep her attention while I sneak up behind. I should be able to get a rabbit punch or two in."

"Tried that a month ago, remember?"

"Yeah. Your shoulder." Vi sighed. "You got any ideas?"

"The Bruce Lee ninja thing is done."

"Yeah. This is supposed to involve teamwork. Why they do it like that?"

"More of a chance to show off his skills, I guess."

"Could Bruce Lee beat a full defensive line?"

"He could defeat the Browns' defensive line."

"That's not saying much."

They were laughing when they got to the bottom of the stairs.

"Pad up, girls," Faith said. "Boys don't go places with girls with bruised faces."

"Gotcha." Faith never wore the face mask. 'The only person who cares if my face is pretty is off in Cali, girls' was her stock answer for that one. Her hand- and foot-pads were black. All the others wore red. Even Kennedy. Her pony-tail, black cargo pants and tight green top made her look cool like Lara Croft. That smirk just topped it off.

The bright red ones looked dorky.

"Hey, Razor. Rail. Let's do this, already. It's a school day!"

"Why do you care? You were too cool and dropped out."

The smirk dropped. "We've been over this. Do you want to only good for kickin' ass and shakin' ass? I'm the ... what's it? The cautionary tale. I'm like Charles Barkley, only cuter and with a better three-point shot."

"You wish."

"Yeah, you're not cuter than Charles Barkley."

"I'm not a role model. The role model is off jet-setting with Giles. If I hadn't been Miss Bad Example, maybe I'd be off globetrotting instead, and B could train y'all."

"But instead of morning fights, we'd have long boring speeches." Vi began to stretch her legs. "We get your point, but we'd rather have you."

Rona tied her dreadlocks back with a green bandanna. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean we won't kick your ass."

---

Andrew had never been out of California until he and Jonathan ran from ... Willow. Also the Slayer and the police, but mostly Willow. Now he had been in ten states, plus of course Mexico. Wisconsin wasn't along the way, but he had lobbied so hard to go to Lake Geneva. That's where the great E. Gary Gygax started it all!

He now lived in Cleveland, Ohio. Cleveland! Home of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame! This is a state with actual battlefields, too. He had tried to get them to go to the Air Force Museum in Dayton and see the B-49, but there were no takers. Still, he was happy. He lived in a magical place, where rivers caught fire, and it was fall, moving into winter. He was going to see snow! It had snowed once in Sunnydale, but he was asleep when it fell and it had melted by morning. He was just thrilled to think of snow.

He was thrilled with the work, too. He was assistant researcher to Willow and Dawn, and Willow promised she'd teach him how to do some non-summoning magic. Not so much said, actually, as implied. And, actually, it was more that she stopped yelling at him for touching her magic books. He kept a supply of road maps for her locator spells, and helped with Dawn's 'big board'. They didn't give him credit for the whole 'big board' concept, and that hurt, but it isn't about credit, it's about doing the good work.

As a secondary responsibility, he provided for the nutritional needs of the Slayers and the Research Staff. He enjoyed the work. They loved his lasagna. It was his mom's recepe, except he had to expand it to make three caserole dishes, and he added cinnamon to the sauce, which really ...

"Hey, Alice! It's loaded up. Let's go!"

He also drove the Slayers to school. Dawn went with Willow. There might be a growing rift between the researching and slaying parts of the School for Exceptional Girls, barring, of course, the tight bond between Willow and Kennedy. Friendship is so important.

"OK, girls! Remember, if you get into trouble at school, I have to get into my 'responsible adult' suit, and the shoes hurt my feet. So, make sure it's worth it. Vi, I'm looking at you."

"I only...."

"I know. He sounds like it's worth beating up. But that way lies suspension, so choose your battles."

Y'know, it's really nice how Faith tries to serve as a mentor for the others, drawing from her past as a rogue Slayer to bring guidance to the next generation of Chosen. Just like Magneto withdrawing from the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants to run the School and the X-Men in Professor Xavier's absence. Except not so old and not so male.

"Okay, Rona got a good shot at my leg today. Not enough to win the grand prize, but she gets the choice. Whatcha want? Loud and obscene, or obscene and loud?"

"Obscene and loud."

"Got it."

If she ain't a gangsta bitch
then I don't want her, don't want her

If she ain't a gangsta bitch
then I don't need her, you can keep her

That has something to do with empowering, with claiming back the terminology of oppression and using it in an affirmative sense. Faith is much wiser than she lets on. Like Warren, she is a born leader who delegates authority to others to build a powerful and versatile organization, able to withstand conflict with the toughest of adversaries. Only even tougher, with a dozen slayers involved. And none of the evil.

Evil really is overrated. Not only in the 'being mean to others' aspects, which are of course bad, but in terms of social interaction. You can't trust your coworkers in an evil organization. There's always infighting and backstabbing and playing politics. Like how Darth Vader would choke underlings, or how Warren turned us against Jonathan after ... after Katrina.

It is good to be good. Friendship and honor are good things. This is a good group to be part of. They were doing good things and standing strong.

---

They were doing nothin'. Finding nothin'. Getting nowhere. And it pissed her off.

She found herself wondering 'What would Buffy do?' and it pissed her off.

And her first and best answer, 'rely on Willow and Xander' wasn't working.

"Do you know how we're doing on paper towels?"

"Not a clue."

Andrew needed to go to Sam's Club, and just this once Faith decided to go in. Normally, she'd have gone home and rode off on the bike to work off steam, but Rona had hit upon the idea of focusing on a single body part for attacks, hoping it would lead to crippling damage and consistent advantage. In this case, Faith's right knee. She didn't think she could work the kickstart without pain. She always did like Rona.

But wandering around a big cement floor does wonders. It had gone from a shooting, jabbing pain to a dull ache that jabbed at each step. But playing injured is what the pros do, isn't it?

"Yo, Alice, you got anything for pain?"

"You mean, like acetaminophen?"

"I mean something so my leg doesn't throb. I'd ride the white dragon if that's what you had."

"White dragons prefer much cooler climates, such as mountain peaks and frozen tundra, where their white scales serve as a natural camouflage. And, oh, I have this sample bottle of Motrin. It contains ibuprofen. Will that work for you?"

"Does. It. Relieve. Pain."

"I've found it to be particularly effect... yes." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small bottle. "Here."

She worked up a ball of spit as she opened the bottle and poured four pills into her hand. She tossed them into her mouth, swallowed, and handed the bottle back. "Thanks, Alice."

Her mind wandered as the went through the aisles. Kennedy reported that Xander came home and stayed home. Good marks on her stealth, looks like, and maybe a good sign for Xander.

This aisle struck her funny bone. "Gallon jugs of ketchup. Who the hell needs that much ketchup?"

"We go through at least two gallons a week."

"No shit?"

"No ... ah ... that's the truth. Four dozen eggs. Lots of cereal. Chicken patties. An army runs on its stomach."

"I woulda thought 'boots'."

"It's been quiet recently, but footwear replacement cost in Sunnydale was simply astronomical. Of course, it was dwarfed by household repair."

"That reminds me. You and Xander are pretty tight, right?"

"Xander is a great guy. He keeps me on the straight and narrow, and he lets me help him."

"Help him? Like with what?"

"He showed me how to tune up a car the other month, and we did body work, too. Looking at it, you'd never know it had been in a collision. And it handles so well."

"What does he talk about?"

"Usually, the job at hand. Sometimes the philosophy of tool repair and maintenance. 'That a man's life would be as orderly as his tool box'."

"He said that?"

"No, I think it was Pirsig. I forget. Anyway, he's been modelling stoicism. He reminds me of Yoda. Or Patrick Swayze. Have you ever seen Roadhouse?"

That sigh. Something is definitely wrong with that kid.

---

Willow was clocking time. She should have tried to test out of these classes, but she was sure she'd get much more out of them if she took them without impending apocalypses hanging over her head. Now, she was busy with the apocalypse she imagined hanging over her head. And worse.

Imagined apocalypses always seem worse than real apocalypses, because real apocalypses have villains with weaknesses, and imagined apocalypses have villains who grow more strengths when you probe for weakness.

That it was more comforting to imagine how ADAM could have been more dangerous than to think about Xander, that violated everything she wanted to be true. Perhaps he was just asking. That shouldn't surprise anyone. For him to know what he knew, to have seen what he has seen, and to not ask seems to be asking too much. But for him to have seen what he has seen and done what he has done, and still ask her, that was asking too much of her. Of course, after what he has done for her, nothing she could do should be off limits. Except of course, what she did before he did it, which was horrific, and what he hasn't seen, which isn't any of his business.

But he was asking with a desperation and a sadness, which gave it an intensity. He didn't know the dangers of what he asked. He so often didn't know the dangers and lept in anyway. She loved him for that. It was heroic. She hated him for that. It has almost gotten him killed many times. This was more a bad ignorance thing than a good ignorance thing.

She knew the dangers. She should trust him. But after he said what he said, she knew.

Professor Strother dismissed the class. Willow looked down to see she hadn't taken a single class note. Just variations of 'heard what he's hears' and 'said what he's said'. The thoughts go around in circles and have gotten all knotted up, and she can't untie them. She picked at the edges all day, and there's no progress. She was her own worst Gordius and this meant she'll never conquer Asia.

Making her ripe for another visit to Xander the Great. If they could get to the knot of the matter.

---

Dawn sat on a pillow in the hall, doing her math homework. Somehow she had tested ahead in her math and was placed in an AP class, so, when she was done, she'd have college credit for it. Matrix multiplication was bending her brain. I don't understand matrices and I am one, she thought. Then she shook the thought out of her mind. That way lies dragons.

She sat in the hall a lot because there wasn't really a common area, like a living room or something. At least not on this floor. It was too easy to sit behind a door, missing the lives of everyone around you. Too easy for them to just live their lives and leave you.

She had tested out of first-year Spanish, and 2nd year's homework would come next. After that, English. They were reading Macbeth. Willow hated Macbeth. 'Fair is foul, and foul is fair? This play is foul! A pox on him and his. At him I'll poison'd entrails throw! A conversational pox, not a real pox, because he's all dead and all. Same with the entrails. But still! Liver of blaspheming jew? Hello?' She kept that book in her room. Ranty Willow won't help her with matrix multiplication.

Nor does ranty Willow let her borrow clothes. Which also gets her access to Kennedy's closet. Not as fun, but any port in a wardrobe storm. Buffy never really rebuilt her wardrobe after it happened, and what she did have she took with her. But she'd be back for Thanksgiving, and over Winter Break (Not 'Christmas Break'. Ranty Willow rule.) they were going skiing in New England! How cool is that? For all those sitting in the hall, hating their math homework, that was massively cool. Although, the Bahamas would also be massively cool. And with Willow's help on the scars, she could wear a bikini again. Yay!

Xander. Not that revealing clothes and Xander were thoughts that belonged together, but he was walking up the stairs. Still in the black, but something of his old smile on his face. Not the same guy that stormed out the other night, which is really, really good. More like driving instructor Xander. The patient one. That Xander never showed up here. He looked cute with a smile on his face. He should wear one more. He's been bent lately, so a full freak-out greeting would be a bit much. Much much.

"Xander!" She squeaked as she lept up to hug him. "It's so good to see you!"

"From Dusk 'til Dawn! Which, in this case, is like 30 minutes. How are you?"

"Doin' the homework thing. Math."

"Ug. I never got much past five times six is 40."

"Xander, five times six is thirty."

"Which is why I didn't get past it. Why aren't you at your desk? Andrew and I didn't haul it up three flights of stairs for nothing."

"I was waiting for Willow. She's going to help me with my math."

"She's the one you should have help with math. When's she coming in?"

"She should be back soon. I think she has a late lab today."

"That's okay. That's good. I ... I bumped into Kennedy last night. She said that Willow got a new bookcase?"

"Um. Yeah." He had made her a desk, but Willow had bought both her desk and bookcase. She was waiting for his explosion. Angry Xander is no fun.

"Well, I thought it would be good to make sure it got anchored to the wall. The guys who did the library downstairs did a real hatchet-job."

"Well, you're not supposed to be able to see what they did because of all the books, right?"

"Still, a job done right looks good, too." He slipped his backpack off his shoulder. "Wanna help me set it up right?"

And get a look at her closet while helping? Where's the downside? "Yeah. I'm your girl. Um, strictly in a helpful assistant kind of way."

"Is there anyone out there who gets you in a non-assistant way?"

"Xander!" She feels her face get hot. She must be turning so red.

"I'm just saying I can take the father position of looking mean and threatening should you need. 'These are my swords. Have her back by ten.' I know Buffy'd do it, but she's ... where?"

"Sidney. Australia. I am totally jealous right now. It's like summer there, so she's getting all tan. Not fakin' bake, either. She said she got Willow a stuffed dingo. A toy one, not like a ... you know what I mean." She follows him into Willow's room. "And to answer your question, no. And you'll be in the top five I tell when there is."

"Proud to be there. Now this is a problem." He steps back. "See how the bookcase is farther from the wall at the top than at the bottom? Either the floor sags or the carpet bunches. Either way, it's leaning too far out. I'll do 'belt and suspenders', shim it up with some paint stirrers, but to be safe, I'll have to drill. Could you get my stud finder?"

OK, that's a straight line. As she reached into the backpack, she knew she has to pick it up.

"There seems to be one right ...."

"Don't say anything you can't back up."

"Aww. You're no fun."

He turned and smiled. "Nope. But I'm handy."

He moved the stud finder against the wall. Then he turned and frowned. "It isn't centered on the stud. It should be OK, but it'll be stronger if it was centered. Do you think she'd mind if it was about a foot to the left?"

Dawn looked around the room. Clothes on the floor and on the bed. Books piled three-high on the desk. "I don't think she'd even notice."

"That's what I thought." He took a step back. "What do you think about moving a full bookcase?"

"'Why bother anchoring it when I can just go ahead and dump it on myself?'"

"Exactly." He pocketed his stud finder. "I'm taller. I'll get the top books, you get the lower ones."

"You're not that much taller."

"OK. I'm the trained carpenter who is old enough to drive, vote and buy alcohol. I'll get the top books, you get the lower ones."

"Bully." But she smiles and bends down.

"She puts the spellbooks on top, I see. It's like they're bottles of Pine-Sol and there's a toddler in the house." He started pulling volumes off the shelf and piling them on his arm.

"Alexander Harris! What in Hecate's name are you doing!?!"

Willow stood in the door, she had dropped her watch coat and her backpack. No black eyes. No black hair. No magic wind blowing past. Just a look in her eye about three exits past resolve face. Dawn dropped her stack and moved away from the shelves.

"You taking my books now? You think you're going to do this yourself?"

"This isn't...."

"Be quiet! And give me those!" She grabs the stack out of his arms, dropping the top three or four books. She looks at the next one. "The Brekenkrieg Grimoire? You were stealing the Brekenkrieg Grimoire?"

Dawn stood up. "Willow, he wasn't...."

"Shut up, Dawn! And you were going to help him? Have we learned nothing, people? It's nothing but selfishness, Xander! Can't you see that?"

Driving Instructor Xander has left the building. "Willow!"

"I am not done talking! It's too dangerous, and if you're too stupid to understand that, Xander, I can't be near you. And I can't let you near this."

Steamed Xander took a step toward the desk, where he had left his bag. Ranty Willow saw his movement. "Separate."

Steamed Xander became stormy Xander when he landed next to the door. He gave Willow a look and walked out.

Dawn was horrified. "Xander, wait!"

"And you!" Willow turned. "Have you learned nothing?"

Your friends' feelings are more important than matrix multiplication, she thought. They're more important than stuffed dingos. More important than anchored bookcases. More important than a cute blouse or a trip to Vermont.

Dawn's eyes shown furiously. "I learned that Shakespeare's right. You are a black and midnight hag!" She ran to her room, and the slam of her door could be heard all the way to the basement.

---

All the thunking. First the slamming and then the door thunking. All Faith wanted to do is sleep. She had set her alarm clock for 8pm, and it was only 7:30. Give the night-owl a break, why don't you?

She put on a pair of sweatpants and went out into the hall. Willow's room was on the south end so her window would let in the sun. Also it was the biggest and she shared it with Kennedy. Faith's was on the north end so she wouldn't be kept awake by direct sunlight. So Faith could see right into Willow's room and see her and Kennedy on the floor, picking up books.

She stepped into the doorway. "What's the deal? Book juggling becoming the new big thing? Because if it is, I'd like to get in early and hate the fad now."

"Kennedy knocked over the bookshelf." Willow didn't look up.

"You two have a fight? 'Cause I can leave...."

"Nope. No fight. Yet." Willow still kept her face down. Her voice is quiet, somewhere between simmering anger and disconnected sorrow.

"OK. I said I'm sorry. I tried to explain...." Kennedy's more exasperated than upset.

"Explain to me. Get me un-confused, for once."

"I was just checking the bookshelf. Seeing if it was anchored."

"Anchored?"

"Hooked to the wall, to make sure ... well, to make sure they don't fall, leaving books all over." Kennedy waves her hands at the books still on the floor.

"And crushing people." Willow stood up, bringing with her a stack of books. "Leads to loss of consciousness and wheelchairs. All in all, I'd say it's a downer."

"OK. She checked the bookcase because all bookcases magically hook themselves to walls, right?" Come in with a dumb statement and force them to correct. Technique #241.

"No." Kennedy put her stack of books on the bed. "Xander said he would be by today to anchor it."

"OK. So, Kennedy, I asked you to follow Harris yesterday, and you had a conversation."

"He ordered a pizza." Kennedy turned away, not wanting to meet anyone's gaze.

"Did he buy you a beer?"

"Non-alcoholic."

"So I'm guessin' he saw you at some point. We'll have to talk about the meaning of stealth again." OK, books were up and they still weren't talking. Faith leans on the wall. "So, he says he'll do something and he doesn't. This is news?"

"He ... he was here." Willow sat down on her bed next to a black backpack. "I came and he was there, and ...." She looked up for the first time since Faith entered. Her eyes were red from crying.

"Kennedy," Faith said, "can you go down to the kitchen and get Willow a bottle of water?"

"We have a mini-fridge in the closet. I'll just...."

"Kennedy," Faith said, "can you just ... go off to the library or do some one-handed pushups or watch the news or something. Leave now."

Kennedy started to complain, until she caught a gaze from Willow. "I'll see what's going on for dinner." She closed the door as she left.

"OK, what's the deal? He shows up when you were gone, then what?"

"He had his hand on a grimoire."

"Which is?"

"A compendium of magic dealing with the dead. Including raising the dead."

"Which combined with 'I can't live without her' gives us...."

"Maybe. At the time I thought definitely. We talked in August. He was asking questions. Is it possible to do this. First it was his eye. Healing magic can turn, go bad. Cause more problems than it solves. Skin is easy. I can do skin. Eyes are much harder, and I'd hate to hurt him."

"So, that's with the eye. I don't see him stopping there."

"He asked what could be done. Andrew says she died from a Bringer's knife. Getting stabbed is a natural death, and Osirus has already warned me about that."

"Osirus, as in 'I'm mentioned on the History Channel every time they talk about mummies' Osirus? You've talked to this guy."

"Twice. It ... it wasn't my best time."

"Right. Sorry. Speak."

"I started telling him that they weren't the best idea and he recited part of the rites of Uurthu. There's a wide variety of these sort of spells, ranging from 'armies of shambling dead' spells to the really tough ones where you need special Urns, that totally reanimate and reclaim the body. The rites of Uurthu are among the nastiest blood magic. They reanimate the body, but they don't restore it. The body would need to be close, so we'd have to go back to ... to Sunnydale. But if he has already looked into things that far ... I don't know how far he'll go."

"So he's looking for a way that Anya won't have the stank when he gets her back?"

Willow fixes an angry gaze on her.

"OK, OK. Yes, I was raised in a barn, already. But you're thinkin' he went for another one. Another spell."

"I don't know what to think. That's what I thought. That's why I blasted him across the room. OK, I was angry and scared." Willow's voice faltered. "The book he had, that's what I used to get back Buffy."

"Wait a minute. Get back Buffy?"

"There was a hellgod. Dimensional gates. Long story."

"Right. 'Cause it doesn't matter to me if Buffy went and died again." Faith sighed. This bitterness won't help. The train has to get on track again. "So, could he pull it off?"

"Depends. Some magic is based on simple rites. Some magic is centered on mystical items. Some magic is centered on blood sacrifice. Much of it, the most powerful of it, requires emotional control and endurance. If he takes the zombie way, yeah. If he goes to ... not better, not worse ... If he goes to harder magic, it might kill him for trying. It might not let him die, though."

"The murderer and the witch plotting behind our backs. This is so Shakespeare." Dawn stood at the door, arms crossed. She had her pissed voice, the low in the throat one. Faith was used to hearing it used on her. She couldn't think of a time it was used on Willow. "You don't even know if he's doing anything! He tried to do something nice for Willow and got tossed around the room! It's not like he was your best friend or anything. He wouldn't do it, what you guys are saying. He's not like that."

"He can be." Willow wrapped her arms around herself. "Remember the Valentine's Day spell? 'Ladies Love Cool Xander.' He isn't like that, but he can be."

Was this the same guy? Buffy's loyal puppy? She could see him growing up past the seven-minute man, but this? Really, though, was the Jimmy Olsen of five years ago the same one in that country bar the other night?

"Hey, guys, there's something maybe you should know."

---

"So, is this going to be a stand-up fight or another bug hunt?"

"We've never fought bugs. Vamps, ubies and Bringers, sure, but not bugs. I hate bugs."

"But you have warm, tender feelings for vamps and ubies, right?"

"Vi, shut up."

Rona drives, so Rona's out here. Vi's with her, because Slayer work is cooler than chemistry. Faith is messing with the research gang. So, they're sitting in the van, waiting.

"Think we need to go into this strapped?"

"Vi, we haven't seen a sign of demonic badness since we showed up here."

"So you don't think we need to show up strapped?"

"I don't even think we need to use the word 'strapped'. What are we, gangsta rappers?"

"I've got mad flow."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Faith walked out the front door and pulled herself into the side-panel door of the van. She has added running shoes and her leather jacket to the sweatpants and tank top.

"So, this another bug hunt?"

"Hey, Rail, we're just lookin' for Xander."

"And just lookin' for Xander gets your distracted, 'I don't wanna be leader no more' look?"

"There are some questions that need to be asked."

"And you're designated asker." Rona starts the van.

"I don't get why it's such a big deal. Go up to him and ask." Vi sits back. "If he doesn't give the answers, just lean on him a little and ...."

"Vi." Faith sat forward, her voice all edge. "You can shut it. Or you can leave." She reached into her pocket and grabbed a mis-folded street map. "Rona, the burn mark is where I need to be."

That's a sign it's serious. Burn marks on street maps were a tell-tale sign of a locator spell. Andrew must buy 'em by the gross or something. Every once and a while, Willow got an idea and they'd come with a new thought, they'd load up the van, 'come strapped' and find nothing. After a dozen times, they still took it serious. Faith especially. It's an op, that's what this is.

For Xander. How messed up is that?

---

Xander chose himself a quiet neighborhood bar this time. Just him, the bartender and a couple of mulletheads at the bar. A year in a coma and three in stir and even Faith knew the mullet was played out.

A CD Jukebox by the pool table was playing some Def Leppard thing. "Love Bites", maybe. Last time, it was a country place. Last time, she was on recon.

This time she came within a few steps of his pool table and watched. He was hitting with power and wasn't watching his english. He was pushing the balls more to have them hit each other than to get them into the pockets. His coat and a half-full pitcher of beer claimed a spot near the table.

She lit a cigarette and waited.

Rona and Vi were out in the van. They didn't know why they're there. She told 'em she never 'jacked big cars back in the day, which was true enough, but it wasn't the big reason. Rona wouldn't drive her away without finishing the job, and wouldn't drive off to Cali afterward.

Calm down. Breathe. This is Xander. What's the worst that could happen?

"I suppose you'll want to join in next round."

"I'm open to it. Unless you'd rather just shoot."

"I think I'd rather." He lined up again. "You want a some beer, just get a glass."

"I'm kinda twelve-steppin' it right now. Thanks though."

"I've heard that. 'Hi, I'm Faith and it's been two years since my last assassination.'"

"Four, actually. Three and a half since my last attempt, give or take a few months. I don't do that anymore."

"You on the 'making amends' part yet? Is that what we're doing here?" Crack. The 15 ball missed the corner pocket and bounced off.

"What do you mean?"

"Following me around. The whole headmaster Faith deal. The whole 'Hellmouth on Lake Erie' deal. So, you hang out around here, do your thing and pay off your debt? Is that your deal?"

"You have a problem with that deal?"

"Yeah." Crack. Cue ball broke up a grouping near the corner pocket. By random bounce, 3 landed in the side pocket. "Yeah, I kinda do. What happens, Faith, when you decide you've paid it off? Or when you decide the cost is more than you're willing to pay?"

"Ain't gonna happen." She told herself this every morning. 'I wanna bail.' 'It ain't gonna happen.'

"You were all set to pay your debt to society, then you skipped out. Looks like a pattern to me."

"I had to save Angel. It was a ...."

"An apocalypse situation. Sure. Gotcha." He started lining up again. "Y'know, you can get right up close to a bike's odometer when it's parked in the open. You do 20 to 100 miles most days. 300 miles in a day is more than just tooling around. That's travel. You've been thinking of running." 11 banked and went into the corner pocket.

He knew. She could feel her face go red. Canton.

"I didn't go, did I? I'm still here, ain't I?"

"That fills me with confidence." 9 banked off three bumpers and bumped into the 15 at a corner pocket. "Yes, that's a determination solid enough to build a house on."

He's right. She knows he's right. "So, you're one to talk. The way you ran out last scooby meeting."

This broke his attention from the game. "I've never run out on this. I dusted my best friend. Stared down the biggest bastard you ever saw. Even when Anya ... I've never run from this."

"I hear you. I'm not seein' it, but I hear you."

"I can't believe this." He startes lining up his shot.

"Then how come you never took up your room at the base? How come we keep swords and shit up in there?"

Xander stood up. "Giles' subtle plan to push me out. He knew I can do that stuff and he still went with a local crew. Doors don't hang right. The drywall work? Not impressive. And don't get me started on the library."

"So, Big Watcher Guy wants to get the place finished while you're off touring the country with Willow. What's the big deal."

"He couldn't have said 'go away' more clearly if he gave me a pink slip. Nothing says 'fray-adjacent' like subcontractors doing your job."

"I don't think he meant that."

"He denies it. He was standing in the middle of the evidence against him, and he lied to my face. He even cleaned his glasses. It was a good act. A bit much. Like Anthony Hopkins in The Remains of the Day. Stood there silent, didn't move and still overacted."

"So, that makes it alright for you to play Batman?"

"At least Batman isn't a killer."

"I saw him drop Jack Nicholson off a church."

"That's Mr. Mom with a plastic chest." Cue hit 9. 9 bumped 15 in. "That *isn't* Batman."

"Whatever."

"Batman is not a killer."

"Let's take things a few steps back toward reality here. Wanna play the Pyramid?"

"Sure. I'll give it a shot." Power shot sinked the cue and sent the 9 bouncing off the bumpers. Xander circled the table to get the cue ball. He doesn't meet her gaze.

"OK. Dressing in black. By you're hair, no longer looking in mirrors. Pale and pasty skin. Morbid preoccupation with death and lack of concern for self." She picks up his beer glass. "Liquid-based diet."

"Signs you're in mourning."

"How about 'signs you're going vamp'." She takes a drag from her cigarette. "Is that what you're going for? Is that what your beloved Anya would want? Is that ...."

She had been hit harder, much harder, but she has never been as surprised by a hit. His right cross landed right at her left cheek. She went down from pure shock. She saw Xander grab his coat and walk out the front door.

---

Xander pulled the small mirror from the drawer next to the fridge. His socket had started itching on the walk home. He placed the mirror on the table, near the other supplies. The bowl. The water bottle. The dish soap. The saline solution. The suction cup.

Uncle Rory had told him that, in his mind, he was still young and handsome, with a full head of brown hair and a washboard stomach. It was only when he looked into mirrors that he saw himself, so he didn't look at mirrors much. He preferred to see himself as the person he used to be.

After Xander pulled the screws for the medicine cabinet, the mirror on the table was the only one left in the apartment.

There wasn't much need for one. He went for blacks and greys in the post-Apocalypse wardrobe rebuild, so color-matching wasn't an issue, and he didn't particularly care what his hair was doing. With the electric razor, he could shave by touch.

This was the only time he needed to see himself.

He poured the water and a drop of dishwashing soap into the bowl. This was safer than putting his prosthesis into the sink with the drain and all, and kept his eye out of water that, while he didn't mind it on him in the shower, wasn't his first choice to have in him. He then took the suction cup -- the doctor said this was better than popping it out by hand -- and put it to his left socket. A little soap and water, a little rinse of the socket with saline, and we'll be fine.

He had just begun washing it when he heard someone knocking on the door. He thought about finishing up first, letting 'em wait, but decided to answer it instead.

Faith. Faith holding a white bag and a six of beer bottles.

"I told the brats that if one of 'em knocked me down, I'd buy 'em a beer. You're the first winner. When I told Razor and Rail what went down, they said you earned it."

He turned and walked back to the table, leaving the door open. She walked through and nudged the door shut behind her."I also got some sliders. This wasn't major action, but I always get hungry after a fight." She started walking toward the fridge. "I don't know about you."

"I don't like White Castle." He starts

"Oh. You don't mind if I ...."

"Knock yourself out." Say what you want and go already.

"You're a comedian now. I like that." She put the beer in the fridge, looked in and grabbed one of Xander's Kalibers. "I got Pete's Wicked Ale. Figure its enough of an acquired taste that it won't seem that much of a victory for the kids."

He dripped some saline into his left socket. "That sounds vaguely plan-like."

She put the bottle to her eye. "It's swollen shut. I guess you and I see the world the same way. At least 'til morning."

"I don't think so."

"Right." She took a sip of beer. "Hey, I know the punch wasn't from something I did. It would've come six months ago if you were still holdin' a grudge. So it was something I said, and I gotta tell you, I got no clue. If you wanna tell me what I said to piss you off, great. If not, how 'bout we just don't hit each other any more. OK? 'Cause, I don't dig gettin' hit."

"OK."

"If you still want to take a crack, y'know, for payback, you just gotta ask. I know I'm due."

"I won't." He rinsed the eye with the bottle water.

"Good. I don't like getting hit." She drank a mouthful of her beer. "Willow's worried about you. So's Dawn."

"If that's true, how come you're the one here?" He adjusted his prothesis in his hands. The dot goes up.

"Short straw. Really, Dawn's too young to hang out in bars. Legally, at least. And Willow didn't think she could do it. She's been a bit jittery tonight."

"Ever since she bounced me around the room a little?"

"Yeah. She thought you were looking into bad stuff." She took a small burger from the bag. "Are you looking into bad stuff?"

"Every day for right around seven years." He slipped his prosthesis back into its socket. "You're asking me if I looked into magic?"

"Yeah." She took a bite from the burger and washed it down with a mouthful of beer. Willow always leaves the room when he messes with his eye. Just talking about it wigs Dawn. He's never had to do it with Buff around.

"Back in summer. I looked into some of Willow's starter stuff. 'Fire out of Ice'. Used the raw ingredients to cool my tea after that. I got nothin'. After that, I started talkin' about demons with Andrew, seeing what could be done on that side." He picked up the droper of fake tears. "That's when I bounced it off Willow. Just lookin' for a sanity check, really."

"And that didn't work, huh?"

"Guess I rolled a natural 'one'." He turned from Faith when he used the dropper, dripped the fake tears onto his prosthesis. One drop always misses and runs down his face. He didn't want her to see.

"Yeah. Right. Whatever that means." She pulled a pack of Camels from her jacket and started tapping it against her hand. She then tapped a cigarette out and put it in her mouth. "D'you mind?"

"Yes."

"Great." She lit it with her Zippo lighter. "You still on that quest? We could road-trip back to Cali and get it done, if you want. Red says all the local magic shops are just new age sisterhood self-actualization bullshit, but if we hit all the places between here and the sinkhole, we're bound to find something real."

"Faith...."

"Or we can keep going your current route, down into the bottle. I know all about that. After a while you feel sicker without a drink than with. Then there's the shakes. What I really love is when you lose control of your bladder so you piss on yourself and can't stop. That's fun for the whole family, I gotta tell you. But it's a slow thing. This crap neighborhood you got yourself in? I could get you enough crack to make your heart explode, be back in 30 minutes." She flicked her ash into the sink.

"And if that's not your idea of a big night, we can go to biker bars and knock down hogs until somebody pulls out a shotgun. I could probably pick up a gun real quick. Point it at a cop car and you can get yourself gone real quick. Hanging out, waiting for an armed robber to come by, that just ain't efficient."

"You just don't get it."

"No. No, I do. There's lots I don't get, but this one I do. You're broken up. You knew Anya for years, loved her or whatever. You messed up, it hurt, you tried to fix things and just when you almost got 'em fixed, life happened and she's gone. It hurts. You do your thing, pissin' in the river and all that, and it doesn't get better. So you start thinking 'bout doing somethin'. Somethin' stupid. Thing about doin' stupid is that it ends up making things worse, or blinds you to things that are getting better."

"How are they getting better?"

"Sun shines. Earth turns. You wake up each morning still breathin'. It's a slow thing. They had to lock me away from all my distractions for me to notice it, but it happens."

He picked up the bowl and poured it into the sink, using the sprayer to rinse out the soap. After a second, he gripped the bowl and threw it down. The crash sounded less bad than the silence. "Look me in the eye and tell me they're getting better. Look me in my brand-new eye."

Faith stood and tapped her cigarette out in the sink. She looked directly at Xander's face. "There was this guy I used to know. I played him or ignored him. Made a game out of it. But when he thought I needed a hand, he was the first one to try to help. It took a shot to the head with a baseball bat to keep me from killin' him. But 'bout six months ago, I rolled back into town, half-expecting him to grab a baseball bat or worse the second I saw him. Instead, he stood right beside me in battle without word one about any of it. That was cool. Almost made me feel redeemable, y'know? Yeah, things get better."

She slipped the unfinished cigarette over her ear. "Word is that Anya had like a thousand year run. Seems like enough for anyone. Way more than I'd want. If I go down like that, I'd wanna stay down. Not that anyone would be too hot to have me back, but still. Just thought I'd say. If you need someone to bounce ideas off of...." He let that hang while she grabbed the bag of sliders. "Well, anyway, I gotta head out. Tuck all the baby Slayers in."

"Yeah."

"You gonna be alright?"

"I don't know."

"Like I said, if you need to talk..."

"Yeah." He turned from the sink. "Faith. Sorry about the eye. I was out of line."

"No problem. Like I said, it'll be better by mornin'."

She opened the door and stepped out.

"Good night, Faith."

She turned, fighting a smile. "Good night, Harris." Then she closed the door behind her.