*****
Part 1
The large and colourful sign by the ornate wrought iron gates of the main entrance welcomed visitors into the "Sunnydale Memorial Gardens". An older age-worn limestone tablet set into the even older stone wall read simply "Sunnydale Necropolis".
Necropolis. The 'City of the Dead'.
The pleasant lawns inside the gates were known simply as the Gardens. Few mentioned the much larger much older grounds that lay farther in, beyond the stout hedge that separated the two. Certainly, the small staff concentrated their efforts on the Gardens and the hedge. They were well kept, bisected by manicured footpaths and narrow winding roadways, and dotted with small gardens and fountains. The visitor was struck by the orderly rows of modest shiny headstones, and the obvious care taken with the landscaping. Though it often took a moment's pause to realize that there was a near total absence of mature trees. There were a large number of saplings and young trees, but except for some older maples by the gate and a handful scattered around the grounds there were few mature trees. The end result was a very bright, open landscape.
Past the hedge, away from the cheer of the flowers and birds, and deep amongst close set and ancient trees, lay the old grounds. Treated, at best, to cursory care by the staff, the old grounds were a striking collection of headstones, family monuments, and a large number of mausoleums. The handful of Goths still living in Sunnydale would normally be expected to be in near constant attendance at some of the more over-the-top statuary depicting angels, saints, and assorted mythical beasts. All of which lay beneath a dank patina, a combination of mosses, the elements, and time that wore away at the stone, and would eventually wash away man's handiwork.
By day a small trickle of visitors ventured past the dividing hedge. The elderly tending to a family plot, or paying respects to the dearly departed. The researcher seeking out evidence of lives lived. The reluctant grounds keeper. None tarried long. Within the old grounds disturbing shapes lay half hid within shadows, disconcerting movement undulated 'neath the trees in even the stillest air, and silence, above all else there was that deafening silence. In even the dullest imagination these things served to foster a disquiet and unease that soon drove all away, compelling them to seek sanctuary among the light and noise outside.
By night....
Indeed, well before nightfall even the Gardens were evacuated and surrendered to the encroaching dark. Surrendered to those fears and nightmares that could be forgotten under the sun, and which were denied and ridiculed by rational beings. Nightfall, to these wise men and women of the 21st century, was but a temporary absence of the sun's light and heat, nothing more. Nothing existed by night that didn't also exist by day.
But in Sunnydale, with the going down of the sun, those nightmares woke, and they walked.
And they hunted.
*****
Atop the ruins of the Otterburn mausoleum a gargoyle kept watch.
Beside it a young man stood his own lonely vigil through the cold night. Waited for his own hunt to begin.
Clad in a black Goretex wind parka over an olive drab woolen sweater, fingerless leather gloves, black watch cap, dark gray cargo pants, and expensive cross trainers painted black he sheltered besides the gargoyle's bulk. From his post Xander scanned the cemetery grounds through a small oddly shaped monocular. It was a night vision sight. A product of the former Soviet Union, it ate batteries like candy, but it did let him see into the night. Like a bat.
With a sigh more physical than verbal, he switched off the night sight and slipped it back into its place on his waist, to a collection of pouches that hung off an army surplus belt, all painted matte black. He ruefully thought of it as his utility belt. The only thing missing was the cape and cowl.
2400 hours, he tested himself.
A glance at his watch. 2356.
Only four minutes off. Getting better.
Tonight was his fourth straight night of solo patrolling, and the night he was finally going to put himself to the test.
Three nights of recce patrols as he watched and learned, mostly from a number of places, observation posts, he had selected around the grounds. Last night he had gone so far as to risk moving about almost constantly, even daring to stalk a couple of vamps as they walked back to their nest in the old factory district that lay behind the cemetery. He had hated to let them go, doing so only because it was clear that they were returning to shelter ahead of the sun, and so there was no immediate need to take the risk inherent in two to one odds. Had he first found them heading into town, to feed, then his decision would have had to have been a different one. As it was he tracked them to their nest and marked it for future action.
He had studied the cemetery and learned its patterns, like a soldier planning to fight across a piece of ground. He had learned that though the vamps lived mostly in the old factory district they all seemed compelled to pass through the cemetery on their way into town. In sharp contrast to the expected demands of survival, evasion, and escape in a hostile environment, the vamps almost always stuck to the same routes and timings, with only the slightest variations. They made little effort to avoid detection or ambush.
He wondered if they felt the absence of the Slayer somehow.
One vamp, a loner Xander had dubbed Dick because of a slight resemblance to Richard Nixon, not only walked past the same grave site, but would pause for several moments each way. The obit photo certainly didn't do Kenneth McGraw, aged 67, devoted husband, beloved father and grandfather, any justice, but it was enough to give a real name to the vamp. Xander wasn't sure how he felt about that. How he felt about knowing the vamp's real name, or rather the one he had while alive. To be sure, he wasn't going to make a practice of finding out in the future. The rest of Sunnydale's present vampire population of 13, a long time low, was little different. Most appeared to be slaves to routine. The biggest exception was of course Spike and, and to a lesser extent, Harmony, both of whom had not been seen for a while. Not since.... Since the fembot and her idiot boyfriend hit town.
Despite himself Xander shot a quick glance into the new grounds.
Stay in the game, he ordered himself. Stay in the game.
Thirteen vamps, three pairs, including Harmony and Spike, a foursome he had taken to calling the Monkees as the taller one sported a knit cap like Michael Nesmith, and three loners. Tonight he would hunt down one, maybe two, vampires. He'd already selected the loners, the ones who had so obligingly cut themselves out of the herd. Tonight, if he were lucky, he would see if his efforts had paid off.
Months of training at the dojo, months of lies to his friends, and of half-truths to Anya. Months spent choosing his equipment, improvising what he couldn't buy, and cash spent in neighboring towns on equipment and weapons he could buy. Right now he was carrying enough gear, legal and illegal, to justify a lengthy jail term were he caught by the cops. Of course, in this town the cops were the least of his worries.
And then there were his dreams. They were the price, the real price he had to pay. The price he needed to pay.
Shifting slightly Xander took some weight off his left leg, and flexed his foot before it fell asleep. That'd be typical, he thought humourlessly, he'd leap into action only to fall over on a lame leg.
His movements were slow and deliberate, the eye being attracted to movement, especially at night. He had gone to great lengths to simulate invisibility. For instance, a scarf neatly stowed in a pocket would serve to cover his mouth and avoid telltale condensation when the temperatures dipped later in the night. He'd toyed with the idea of painting his face, like the commandos in the old war movies, but had had to balance tactical concealment with not sticking out like a sore thumb to any passing cop. Some things even they could not ignore. So no face paint, or cape.
Movement.
Middle distance. Over by the main entrance.
Approaching.
He brought the night sight to his left eye and thumbed the switch.
It took a moment for the green fog to resolve into two figures walking casually through the headstones. The sight's definition was not sufficient to discern much fine detail, but Xander didn't need much to recognize Willow and Tara.
Damn. His lies were betraying him now. He knew that eventually his friends would come out to check up on him, and, not finding him at his stated post would come looking here. He'd just wished that he had a couple more nights before being found out. Right now, he'd be happy with a couple of hours.
Xander started to inch back, intending to retreat behind the gargoyle and shrug off his jacket and belt before moving out to meet his friends. While he could easily justify the kit, it still made him feel a bit self-conscious. Like he was trying too hard.
?
Shit.
More movement.
This time over to his left in the old grounds, two vamps, the ones from last night, the ones he'd nicknamed Cornelius and Zira. They were moving left to right. Straight for Willow and Tara.
Here was his test.
Xander stood, moved to the edge of the mausoleum, and jumped, landing with a neat roll. He'd half hoped that his sudden movement would be seen by the vamps and either scare them off, or, more likely, draw them to him, either way away from the two women.
Nothing. They hadn't seen him.
In a half crouch, he ran lightly among the headstones, angling to intercept the vamps before they could reach the hedge. Before they could reach his friends.
Good. The two vamps only had eyes for their next meal. Neither reacted as Xander rounded the last headstone and sprinted the last twenty feet, his hand reaching for his-
Alerted by something, some instinct, or possibly just a knack for bad timing, the taller of the two vamps, Cornelius, looked back, and saw Xander as he drew his weapon, a spring-loaded nightstick called an ASP.
With a growl of warning to his partner, the vamp turned to face this new prey, his demon visage already in place. A quick snack off this idiot hero, he thought, then a more leisurely time with the two women.
A feral grimace split the vamp's face as the pathetic little man slipped and fell on the damp grass almost at his feet. Two paces, one broken neck, and-
The vamp died even as he reached his erstwhile prey, impaled on the spring driven oak doweling that speared his heart.
Before bursting into dust the vamp saw his own cruel smile mirrored on his slayer's face.
Rolling out from under the dust, Xander kicked himself up into a crouch, looking for the second vamp. Spotting him even as he vaulted the hedge, now within reach of-
At a dead run, Xander dived over the hedge and came out of his landing
behind the vamp. Letting his momentum carry him forward and down, Xander
braced himself on his hands and left leg, and kicked hard with his right,
a wide sweeping kick that took the vamp's legs out from under him.
Xander leapt, a stake flashing in the pale moonlight as he stabbed down into
the vamp's back. With a silent 'poof' Zira joined his friend.
Unexpectedly winded, as much emotionally as physically, Xander straightened up out of his crouch and turned to face his friends. He struggled to keep his triumph from showing on his face. Two for two, a pair of vamps, and on his first night of real patrolling. It was far better than he'd dared hoped for. Good enough to finally be of some help to Buffy, to really help for a change. It had been a good night's work.
Willow and Tara just stood there, staring at him. Tara gave him a smile and wink. He hadn't thought that he had fooled her.
Willow stood shock still for a beat before stepping forward and slapping him hard across the face. Her voice quivered with fear and rage as she shouted at him.
"ARE YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED?"
*****
Part 2
Xander stood before his apartment door and thought about sleeping in the car.
God, how could he have so badly misjudged Willow's reaction? Far from being pleased with his progress, or even proud of him, she had been absolutely furious. She was so seriously pissed at him that she even snapped at Tara when she had tried to defend him. At Tara! In the end Willow was almost speechless with rage. Finally he just left, promising to be at the shop in the morning if she wanted to talk. If she still wanted to yell at him though, well, she needn't bother showing up. She'd been mad at him before, but nothing compared to this. It had been hard for him to turn and walk away from her, but he was getting nowhere, and to be fair, Anya deserved to be the first to know. It had been his plan all along to tell her first. No matter what the consequences he owed her that much at least.
The problem was that while he'd always figured that he would have the most trouble with Anya, if he'd been able to get Willow that mad at him he really didn't want to see what Anya's reaction was going to be. Anya could very well get medieval on him. Unfortunately, Anya had medieval down to an art form.
Aww, Hell. Faint heart, fair hand, and all that.
Pretending to be braver than he felt, Xander fished out his keys and entered the apartment.
The lights were on. All of them, even the string of Christmas lights over the balcony doors that he'd been meaning to take down. Not good. Ordinarily Anya preferred far less lighting. Having spent most of her life pre-Edison, she could get by with just a single candle or small lamp, but for Anya light was like comfort food, and when she was upset, or angry, she would turn on every one in the place.
His books, his training library, littered the kitchen table. SEAL Combat Manual, the US Army Special Forces Medical Handbook, Long Range Patrol Operations, Special Forces Operational Techniques, EMT Field Procedures, Sniper Operations, the SCA Battle Manual, and even his set of Frank Miller's Batman Year One.
The rest of his kit, the stuff he had thought he had hidden in the storage locker, was laid out on the floor. The Ghillie suit and spotter scope. The climbing rope, harness, carbiners, ascenders, and grappling hook. The sound amplifier and headset. The sword and battle-axe.
His trauma bag.
Anya stood in front of the couch.
The sight almost broke his heart. God, Anya was lovely. She was wearing her sheer white silk nightie and dressing gown. They had been his welcoming gift when she moved in with him. With a pang of guilt he saw that her hair was up in ribbons. Ordinarily that was his job. Before bed he'd brush her hair, and tie it up with ribbons. It was part of their ritual, and he couldn't remember the last time he had put ribbons in her hair.
Her expression was unreadable. She had been crying though, her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks damp. Xander set his equipment bag down, and closed the door.
"You're okay?" she spoke first. Her voice was flat and emotionless, as unreadable as her expression.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"How did it go?" He had thought of lying, of downplaying the risks, but there had been enough lies between them.
"Two vamps. Both poofed."
"When were you going to tell me?"
"Now. Tonight. Once I was sure that I could...." he trailed off. His grand plan now silly and ludicrous against her reaction. God, he'd fucked this up huge.
"Sure you could what?"
"Help. Help Buffy. I wanted her to have someone watching her back. Helping," he finished lamely. Damn you Harris, if you've lost her over this....
Xander had thought himself ready for any possible reaction. Ready for silence, or for shouting, for anger, betrayal, rage, and disappointment. He had thought that he could withstand her accusations, her curses, and threats. Sworn that he'd not raise a hand in self-defence, not against Anya. He was prepared to take anything she could throw at him.
Except what came next.
With a soft shaky sigh, Anya fell back onto the couch, her face buried
in her hands, and her body shaking as the sobbing started.
For a long instant Xander watched Anya weep before dropping to both knees
before her and pulling her into his arms. Holding her tight, he prayed
for the strength to protect her. For always, and from everything, especially
from himself.
"Ahn. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean... God, I'm sorry."
Still crying, she shook her head and gently pulled back out of his arms, before reaching out and tenderly taking his face in her hands as she slipped off the couch and knelt with him.
"I love you, Xander Harris."
Tears he had at least expected, even if he had woefully underestimated their power, but a declaration of love? By now he was so completely confused. Nothing was going the way he'd thought it would, and nothing made sense.
Fighting sniffles, Anya giggled at his confused expression, and leaned in to kiss him and in her turn pull him into her arms. He could feel her tears against his cheek and the heat of her whispered words in his ear.
"I love you so much."
His fears gave way to the nervous release of laughter, until, his emotional control stretched and broken he began to cry, which started Anya all over again. So they stayed like that for a while. In each other's arms, as the sound of their tears, of their relief, filled the apartment.
*****
After the tears had stopped, Anya and Xander sat there for a while, and held each other. Content that, for that moment at least, they could protect each other, and pretend that there was no darkness, that there were no monsters, and that they were alone together.
For a little while it worked. For a little while they fooled themselves. They were grateful for that time together, but eventually they had to set it aside and face their real world. The one with the dark and the monsters.
Anya insisted on inspecting him for wounds, and ignored his protests as she pulled off his clothing. A fair size bruise was developing on his right shin where he kicked the second vamp, but that was all. Satisfied that he was okay, Anya went about the apartment turning off the lights before returning to Xander to lead him gently by the hand into their bedroom.
The single candle on the dresser bathed the room with its warm glow, and more than anything else so far, reassured Xander that Anya was, well, that she was all right with this. It was still inexplicable to him, but he didn't doubt it any more.
"Sit with me," Anya asked, climbing onto the bed and patting the mattress in front of her.
"Don't, please," she said as he reached for his pj bottoms. Dropping them he joined her, sitting cross-legged in front of her.
After a long moment's silence, she kissed him and lightly ran her fingertips down over his body. Dancing them over the familiar contours, taking the time to reassure herself that he was well.
"How could you have thought I wouldn't see the bruises?" she whispered. "I sleep with you, we shower together, and I make love to you. I love you Xander, but love isn't that blind."
"Shhhh," she said a finger to his lips when he tried to answer.
"I knew that you'd been training, working out, and was happy at first, 'cause, well, more muscles, but then I found a book you'd left out, something about seals, and I looked at it because I like seals, only it wasn't about real seals, it was about soldiers who called themselves seals. Which doesn't make any sense. But I realized that that's why you had been working out, so you could be a soldier, and since Riley had left, I thought that you were going to join the Army too, but then I remembered that you have a lease and can't leave. So then I thought that you were training to help Buffy, like Riley was, and that got me upset too because Riley helped Buffy because he was in love with her, and maybe that's why you wanted to help Buffy, but Buffy and you never kissed or anything so I don't have to worry about that. I shouldn't have thought that, but it's hard, because I look at you sometimes, and wonder how I got so lucky...."
She stopped for a breath before continuing.
"I wanted to tell you to stop, make you quit. I was so afraid that you'd get hurt, or.... I still have the nightmares, and you're just lying there on the floor, not moving."
The tears started to flow again, and Xander reached over to wipe them away. Anya wasn't finished yet, so he stayed silent. She smiled at him, a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless.
"But that's just a nightmare, and they're not real. And when I have my nightmares you hold me and help me get back to sleep, and when you have yours I hold you," she said as she brushed lightly at his hair. She liked it long.
"You've faced worse, the Mayor's Ascension, and Angel, and... and everything, and you're still here. So I think that all the extra training means that you'll be here a lot longer. Be with me for a lot longer. Forever," Anya took a deep breath before finishing. "So I won't try to stop you. I won't try to talk you out of it, because that's what you do. You help Buffy, and Willow, and Giles fight the vampires. Because you are a hero, and that's what heroes do."
Anya smiled and kissed him on the tip of his nose.
"But I'll stay frightened. A lot. And I'll help, because that's what we do. We help each other."
With that Anya took a white silk ribbon from her hair. She kissed it and tied it around Xander's right bicep. "Noblewomen used to tie their favours to their champion's armour before battle. You're my champion, Xander. My knight in shining armour. And I am so in love with you."
Having said everything that she needed to say Anya shrugged off her dressing gown, gathered up the hem of her nightie in her hands, and with one sinuous motion, drew it off over her head. Wearing just her perfume and the ribbons in her hair, she slipped into Xander's lap and proved it.
*****
Part 3
Xander and Anya fell into the Magic Box in an untidy noisy heap.
She was laughing and twisting about trying to avoid his hands as he tried to tickle her in as many spots as he could reach without having to start undoing buttons. Well, any more buttons. She grabbed his hands in her usual attempt to control him, and Xander leaned in and delivered his usual coup de grace, a kiss under her ear and a whispered promise.
"Oh!" Anya suddenly froze in place.
Xander lifted his head from her neck and looked back over his shoulder into the shop.
Generally, Anya was not one to let anything dampen her amorous moods; like the presence of other people, for instance. In fact, there was a strong exhibitionist streak in her that Xander was only slowly starting to appreciate. So it usually took something of great significance to spoil the moment.
Topping that rather short list was Willow.
Willow was standing in the middle of the shop glaring at them both. Her stance was combative, arms crossed, clenched really, her feet firmly planted, and not a trace of amusement to be found anywhere. Though to be fair, she'd never found their ongoing game of grab ass all that amusing in the first place.
In contrast, Tara stood uncomfortably at the counter. She looked miserable, her shoulders were slumped, she was hiding behind crossed arms, and her head was down as she looked at the floor. That Willow was pissed he could handle, maybe. That he'd also caused trouble for Tara was inexcusable.
Xander gathered Tara up into a big warm hug, whispering his apology. "I'm so sorry about this, Tara. How'd it go after I left?"
"T-tense," Tara took a calming breath and smiled a warm, brave smile, before continuing in a conspiratorial whisper of her own. "She's more scared than anything else."
"Thanks. Where's Giles?"
"At the lawyer's with Buffy."
Xander turned to face Willow.
He took a pace towards his best friend his arms open in welcome.
Needing to stay angry long enough to have her say, Willow took a half step back away from him. The pain that flashed across his face at her move almost broke her resolve. Slipping automatically into her full 'protect Xander' mode Willow stepped forward almost into his arms, until her fear, still a white hot lump in her gut, reasserted itself and brought her to a halt.
"HOW-" then, remembering his words from the night before and a promise extracted by Tara not to shout at him, Willow cut herself off and continued more quietly.
"Xander. The risks... you fought a vampire-"
"Two," interrupted Anya proudly. "Xander staked two vampires last night."
"Ahn..."
"TWO- Two vampires? Xander, what were you thinking?"
"That they were after you and Tara. That I had no choice, Will."
"Choice? You've had lots of choices. But you chose to lie to me. You chose to risk your life. You chose to go behind my back and stalk the cemetery like, like-"
"Batman?" suggested Anya helpfully.
"Ahn, please."
"And you!" Willow rounded on Anya. "I actually thought that we'd finally
agree about something, and you're treating it like a joke. Anya!
HE COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!"
Willow froze as her shout filled the shop. Her face paled and her eyes grew wide as she covered her mouth with her hands, too late to unsay the words. Turning back to Xander she added in a small voice.
"I could have lost you."
Propelled by a desperate need for reassurance, Willow buried herself in his arms and squeezed tight. She held her breath and listened to his heartbeat.
"You didn't, Will," Xander squeezed back. "I'm still here. I'll never leave you. How can I? You're my Willow."
"But you can't take these risks, Xander. You're not-" she bit off the rest of the sentence, knowing full well that he would not appreciate the words. She did not want to have to say any of it aloud, did not want to humiliate him, but he could have been....
"I know, Will," Xander spoke first, sparing her the need to continue. "I'm not a Slayer, and I'm not a Watcher, and I'm not a witch. What I wouldn't give for a radioactive spider bite or two. 'Course this being Sunnydale it's probably just as well."
Xander grinned his best stupid grin, and was rewarded with a soft chuckle.
"Ahn won't even let me use my one really good super power on anyone but her. But I'm not totally helpless, Will."
Taking her by the hand he led her over to the table where he started to point to the piled volumes. "Here. Dickinson's 'Annotated Demon Lore'. The standard for American and European demons. Uhh, the red one, Rousseau's 'Geographique Demonia', is a bit vague on the Western Hemisphere, but strong on African, Asian and Pacific rim demons. And Orlok's 'Travelogue of the Damned' has some very good descriptions of past Hellmouths and their associated demon and vampire cults, including ours. Uh, the Hellmouth, not us. We're not a cult."
Indicating the jars behind the counter Xander continued. "Let's see, a circle of henbane, vervain, and rowen will protect you from dream criers. Agate sand, myrrh, trolldust, and maidenhair, along with a beryl stone are used to invoke the protection of Hengyst against demonic possession and animal transformation."
He shrugged. "Four years of research, some of it had to stick."
"But enough of it? Xander, I should be the last person to admit this, but not everything's in the books, and there's more to magic than the ingredients," she waved her arm towards the shelves and the books. "And none of this stuff is any use fighting a vampire."
Gently, Willow took his right hand in hers and held his wrist. "Or a troll."
"Olaf wasn't my best moment, I know. Last night I was following a plan. I was equipped, armed, and prepared. I won. Olaf? Well, as has been pointed out," he favoured Tara with a warm smile. "Fighting a seven-foot troll barehanded in a store filled with weapons was not a very bright thing to do.
"I shoulda done a quick recce, then come in the back way, arm myself, then hit him from behind. Instead, when I saw the two women I love more than anything else in my life in danger, well, I lost it for a moment. I... when you needed me, I failed you."
Anya and Willow both spoke out at once.
"Xander, you didn't fail us."
"You saved us."
"No, Buffy did. I'm just thankful that I was able to hold him off until she showed up, but Buffy saved you, not me. Hell, you two saved you more than I did. But that's not it. The last several months, the training, the patrols, they aren't about some need to prove my masculinity-"
"Because you're very virile," Anya turned to the others. "Last night we did it-"
"Thanks Ahn. It's about helping Buffy. Well mostly, anyway."
"'Mostly'," Willow shook her head. "Xander, I don't understand."
"Yeah, I know. When I said that I should have recce'ed the shop, then come in the back way and outflanked the troll I meant that that's what my soldier guy memories were telling me to do. I didn't just panic when I saw you two in danger, I panicked when I had that memory."
"But you've forgotten most of the soldier guy stuff. You said so yourself."
"Yeah. I did, didn't I?"
Turning to Anya, Xander asked for the car keys, and exchanged a kiss for them.
"Have any classes this morning?" he asked Willow.
"Yes," Willow turned to pick up her book bag, and then handed it off to Tara.
"I'll make it up. I promise," Willow said to Tara before leaning in for a kiss of her own. Xander was relieved to see Tara's face brighten into her lovely lopsided smile.
Willow gestured to the door. "Let's go."
They were almost out of the shop when the shoe dropped and Willow spun about to face Anya. The other woman was smiling sweetly at her, a perfect picture of innocence and friendship.
You bitch!
Catching up with Xander out on the sidewalk Willow demanded. "Anya can drive?"
"Hmmm? Oh, yeah. You don't think she'd create an identity for herself in Southern California and not be able to drive, do you?"
"I'll kill her," she whispered.
"What?"
"Nothing."
*****
The two friends fell into a comfortable silence as they drove back to the apartment and as Xander put the kettle on. Willow looked over his training manuals, and held up his Batman comics with a quizzical look.
"I was afraid that maybe they'd tip Ahn off to the whole vigilante gig," explained Xander as he set out the sugar and milk.
Their mugs filled the two of them settled down at the table.
Xander sat with his head bowed down, examining the tabletop with an intensity never displayed during his school days.
"Yeah, I lied to you, Will," Xander's voice was low as he stared down, avoiding her eyes. "When I said that my soldier guy memories had faded, I was lying. They're still there, still strong. Most of them anyway. The physical stuff like handling drills of the M16, well, I'd never any cause to practice something like that so I guess I'd be pretty rusty by now. The rest, well, I still remember, more or less."
He looked up and held Willow's eyes with his. They were so sad and frightened. Despite the warmth of the morning sun through the windows, Willow shivered and drew her sweater about her.
"The thing is, I wasn't just any old generic plastic army man. That night, while the spell was working I was this other guy. A real guy, Will, I could tell you his name, where he was born, went to school, everything. He was a sergeant in a long range recon company, with all these great skills. Airborne ranger, patrol medic, he knew explosives, and weapons, and tactics. A regular GI Joe."
"It was going to be great, Will. I had these skills, all this practical knowledge, and I was going to kick serious vampire ass. And since I was alive and he was a vampire, I was finally going to replace Angel in Buffy's life, protect her, and she'd... she'd love me."
"Oh, Xander."
"Then I started to dream this guy's dreams. It was a couple of nights later and I dreamt about holding his son in the delivery room and a helicopter crash out East somewhere. Didn't mind, pretty cool in fact, and since I don't remember most of my own dreams anyways, I figured that it wouldn't be a problem."
"When?"
"Almost a month later. Thanksgiving. I was walking through the house and I caught a whiff of some stale beer. Suddenly I was standing in his apartment and his wife was yelling at him for being drunk and a bad example for his son. He hit her. Punched her in the face and knocked her off her feet. He was shouting things, horrible things at her, and threatening her if she got up off the floor. His five year old son was watching from the bedroom and he shouted at him to go back to bed or he'd-
"Only it wasn't him, Will, it was me. I hit her, I threatened my son, I was a violent drunk," the fear she saw in his eyes grew.
"Xander, it wasn't-"
"I know that! But it makes no difference. One minute I'm standing in my house, the next I'm hitting my wife. When I'm dreaming these things I am him, I'm the abusive drunk, and I could remember all of them, not like my dreams. No, his I have to remember.
"Didn't take me long to figure out that when I remembered a soldier-guy memory, something useful, I'd also trigger a personal dream. I had two or three 'waking episodes' I think their called, back at first, but since then it's all been while I'm asleep. They weren't all bad, no one really is, but he was a drunk who hit his wife. You know?"
She had been his closest friend since they were five. She had been the one person he told everything to, and the one he didn't have to hide the bruises from.
Willow knew. Dear God, she knew.
She had to put her cup down before her trembling hands dropped it. She left her seat and knelt beside Xander, taking his hands in hers, as much for her own comfort as his. She fought back the welling tears as he went on.
"So I stopped trying to use the memories, made up the story about how they were fading."
"But," her voice almost failed her. She cleared her throat and dried her eyes. "But you did use some of it. When we stole that rocket launcher thing, and the Mayor's Ascension."
"I had the dreams for nights after the armoury, and the Ascension.... The Ascension was... it was hard. I needed help after that."
"Who, where?"
"A friend," he smiled a fond, sad smile. Willow knew how to read between Xander's lines. And when not to. She kissed his hand and squeezed gently.
"And all this?" Willow pointed to the books and his gear.
"Last September I helped out a brother in law of one of the guys at work. He owns a dojo out on Military Trail and was doing some renovations. Looked like fun, so I took a couple classes, and I wasn't half-bad, so I started working out regular. It was just after the whole Dracula thing, and I had some 'issues' to work out, beat up. So, by the time Riley bailed I was confident enough that I decided to try and patrol with Buffy. Nothing sleazy, no ulterior motive, not like the first time, I'd just be an extra pair of hands and eyes. I started to train harder.
"But then I saw you two and Olaf there in the shop, and I heard soldier-guy's voice telling me to recon and out flank. God, Will, I panicked. Having that voice in my head scared me more than Olaf did. He could just kill me. Soldier-guy would drive me insane. So I shouted him down and charged in like an ass and almost got you two killed. I had another of his dreams that night. He beat her up bad. I scared Anya.
"So I know this stuff that could help, and it scares the shit out of me whenever I use it, Will. Anything else, and maybe... but, but this. These dreams," Xander's hands were shaking. He'd been frightened before, they all had, but Willow had never seen him in the grip of such terror.
He composed himself with a deep breath. "But what really scared me was the thought of doing nothing, and of maybe losing someone... So while my wrist healed I started some research of my own, building on what he knows and applying it here to Sunnydale and what I know about vamps and demons. I assembled my gear. Trained as much as I could. When the cast came off I went out on some practice patrols. And when we started to patrol last week I had my chance."
"But how could you do all that, patrol like last night and not have the dreams?"
"That's the thing," he said quietly.
"Xander, no! Last night?"
"I got lucky, a safe one."
Willow stood pulling Xander from his chair and into her arms. The tears were burning down her cheeks, her words choked by the sobs. She held him tight as she cried.
"I, I want to stop you, Xander, you know that. I want to stop you, and make you promise me. So you won't dream those... those things anymore."
She held his eyes with hers. "I could, too. Make you promise. Make you stop. You know I could!"
She looked into his eyes and sighed.
"I won't though," she promised before he could speak, her voice sad and loving. "I want to, but I won't."
Reaching up on tiptoes Willow gently kissed him, and wiped away his tears. "You know what you are don't you?"
"I'm almost afraid to ask."
"You're our knight in shining armour."
Willow never did find out why that started the tears all over again, or the laughter that accompanied them.
The End