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New Year, New Alliances
Author: Xander Magnet
Rating: PG-13 – bit of bad language, bit more violence than you’ll see on screen (especially if you’re a BBC viewer… *g*)
Setting: December 31st 2003 – contains spoilers for the end of B:TVS season 7 and Angel season 4
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money from this – Joss and ME do (damn them!) I’m just playing in a pretty big sand box
A/N: The idea for this came about at the recent Senior Partners convention where a question was posed to both Stephanie Romanov and Christian Kane – they loved the idea, as did Thomas Burr when he was asked the next day. Until ME cash in on this goldmine of a spin-off I’m staking my claim! (of course, the original question didn’t mention the X-Man but it wouldn’t be one of mine without him! *g*) (I’d tell you what the question was but that would spoil it!) This is only really an introduction to a *much* longer fic – yet another work in progress!
A/N 2: Challenge response, the story had to be 1500 words or less, to include the phrase “A wee bit dodgy” and to be set at (and include) Christmas or New Year.
Dedication: For Denise – for being the best person to bounce ideas off of at four in the morning after way too much alcohol! And for Matt, for giving the best reason I’ve heard for why I have this new-found tendency to write drunk Xander *g* (Sorry Matt, the crossover just didn’t work out the way I wanted it to so I abandoned it – maybe the next part!)
“’Nother shot. Leave the bottle.” He mumbled, not meeting the man’s eyes. He hated hearing the slur in his voice and hated the fact that he hated hearing it. Too drunk to speak coherently and not drunk enough not to care. Or to forget.
They’d pushed him away. Again. Someone told him once that history went in circles – and damn straight his own personal history was coming right back around to bite him in the ass.
So what if his depth perception was shot? So what if he wasn’t anybody special? Did he deserve to be shut out? Did he deserve to spend Hogmanay in this hellhole, alone? After everything he’d done? No fucking way!
His thought process was interrupted as tequila sloshed over his hand. He glared at the barman who made no attempt at an apology. Instead the man sneered at him, no doubt thinking he was yet another gringo tourist thinking he could be a big shot in Mehico. He honestly couldn’t bring himself to care what the man thought of him. The only people whose opinions mattered to him were left long behind.
He downed the shot and grabbed for the bottle. Catching it on the second attempt he poured another shot and swirled it round the glass for a second. Watching it settle, he remembered the last time he’d spoken to any of them.
//flashback//
“Buffy, take a look around you! You’re losing it again!”
She spun to face him snapping, “What? Tell me, O Wise One, what am I losing?!”
He counted to ten before speaking.
“You’re losing sight of what’s important. Again. You’re going to get people killed or hurt. Again.” He hated himself for saying these things, but yet again they were words she needed to hear.
“Well you’d know all about losing sight of something wouldn’t you? I mean come on, that was a really stupid move at the vineyard. You should have just gotten out, you didn’t need to be injured. You were just in the way, like always.” As soon as the words left her mouth her hand shot up as if to take them back. But it was too late. “Xand… I’m sorry.” She reached for him but he shrugged her away. He looked at her sadly, seven years of friendship and she finally managed to tell him what she really thought.
There was a gaping maw in his soul now; it was Buffy shaped. She’d been part of who he was for so long and now suddenly she wasn’t. It hurt more than he’d admit but he knew that was it. It was over.
He turned away from her, not wanting to see the tears on her face, not wanting her to see the tears on his own. With a heavy heart he walked away, away from her, away from slaying and away from who he was.
//end flashback//
A familiar shiver ran down his spine and, with a decisive movement, he downed his drink and stood. He glared around the barroom, daring anyone to approach him. The anger was burning deep within him and he was spoiling for a fight. No one met his eye so he reached for his cash and peeled off a couple of notes. Tossing them in the general direction of the bartender he made his way outside, making a big show of being unsteady on his feet. He knew he was being followed.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
He watched as the young American with the eye-patch tried unsuccessfully to pick a fight with the bartender. It would be easy to just dismiss him as another tourist who wasn’t quite able to handle the potent native tequila; but there was something more. Something about this man made him think twice about dismissing his compatriot. Something that reminded Lindsey of someone from his past. In his minds eye Lindsey could see himself talking to a figure dressed in black. They weren’t friends, not even allies, but they weren’t enemies either. Not any more. He heard himself say, “Don't let them make you play their game. You gotta make them play yours." It was advice that had kept him alive during his time in the company and some part of him had felt Angel deserved the same shot at survival.
Three months ago he had begun to hear rumours that couldn’t possibly be true. The man who wasn’t a man had been dragged into the game and now it was playing him. Lindsey laughed a little at the absurdity of a self-proclaimed helper of the helpless holding the keys to the largest nexus of pure evil in this dimension. It was clear that Angel had lost sight of his mission, and that left a huge gaping hole in the scheme of things. The bad guys held all the cards and the good guys didn’t even realise it.
Movement from the bar drew him out of his memories. Apparently giving up on the fight that never was, the younger man rose unsteadily to his feet and glared around the room. Lindsey carefully masked his expression, a trick he’d learnt a long time ago, and fixed his gaze on a distant corner. The man tensed almost imperceptibly, Lindsey only noticed was because he was used to reading body language. He wondered what had caused that reaction and continued to watch, intrigued, as the stranger stumbled outside. Barely a second later a figure emerged from the gloom behind the door and followed.
Lindsey felt a slight tingle in his right arm. He carefully put down his drink and held his hand up. After all this time even he didn’t quite know what to do about that. It wasn’t part of him and yet it was, it seemed to feel a wee bit dodgy whenever demons were around. He’d been thankful for it at first, the company had sent hunters after him and this early warning system had kept him safe. The problem was that he now found it impossible not to intervene whenever he got a warning. It was more than ironic, he’d left the company to get away from the darker side of the world and here he was even more firmly entrenched in it.
As soon as he’d arrived in this damned town he’d known it was rife with vampires and gods alone knew what else, but he’d not been able to pinpoint any of them. Going after the easy meal offered by the one-eyed man was going to be the last mistake this leech made. Lindsey smiled a little as he realised that after all this time he was in danger of becoming one of the good guys. He headed for the door just as midnight struck.
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Xander grinned as the vamp came at him, he’d spent years perfecting the helpless victim routine but it had been a while since any of them had fallen for it so completely. He had to admit adding the drowning the sorrows part was a stroke of genius, even if it hadn’t been an act. This vamp must be a fledgling, it was relying on brute force and surprise and didn’t even react to the lopsided smirk on its victims face. As the vampire rushed him, Xander just stood there, hands in pockets, daring it to do its worst.
The town clock began to strike midnight and he heard the bar door swing open, there was no time to check who was there. The vamp turned slightly at the noise and Xander quickly brought his hand out of his pocket and held it at chest height. The vamps own momentum drove it onto the stake and it gaped at him in disbelief.
Lindsey’s jaw dropped as he saw the man he’d assumed would be vamp-chow by now gradually revealed through a fast dispersing cloud of dust. Clearly there was more going on than he’d thought.
His own shocked stare was met by a curious one from the one-eyed man. Years of training meant that his recovery time was quicker than most and he moved carefully towards the stranger.
“So I reckon you won’t be needing any help after all? Guess I should just say Happy New Year.”
Humour flashed through the man’s solitary eye and Lindsey found himself wondering where he’d lost the other. Somehow he knew he’d find out soon enough.
“Guess not.” He stuck out his hand. “Xander Harris, pleased to meet you. Wanna tell me why a vamp dusting in front of you hasn’t sent you screaming for the hills?”
“Well, it’s a long story. Very boring.” The shorter man took his hand in a firm grip. The glint in his eyes hinted the story wasn’t in the least bit boring. It was the New Year after all, maybe it was time to make a fresh start, break from the past. Xander grinned, “Hey, I’ve got all the time in the world.”
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