Fiction by Lorraine

 icon by sukibluefiction

“As you all know, Buffy was attacked last night by a demon that threatened yet another apocalyptic rising from the Hellmouth.” Giles absently picked up an ornately gilded volume from the table as he talked.

“How surprising . . . and is that book bound in people skin?” Xander quipped.

Anya answered, “Yes, actually—the skin of a young, male virgin who dared to touch the hem of the goddess Laragatha’s garments. He was flayed alive and his body served as the main course in her nuptial feast.” Anya began to warm to her subject. “We studied her technique quite closely in vengeance school. And her recipe for stuffed human tenderloin saw a lot of play in the cafeteria.” Anya stopped talking when the stares became pointed enough for her to process.

“Yes, well, as informative as that was, Anya, it bears no relationship to our current predicament. Buffy,” Giles directed, “why don’t you tell us again exactly what the demon said to you.”

The Slayer took a deep breath, and the others leaned in to hear her story. Xander found himself more distracted than usual. Actually caring about Spike had exhausted him. He almost wished for the days when he could have tuned out the vampire’s nightmares or let himself believe that Spike’s remorse was insincere. He forced himself to pay more careful attention to what Buffy was saying.

“On patrol, I thought I saw something weird moving in one of the crypts. I went to investigate and saw this guy, or what I thought was a guy,” she amended, “lighting candles in a magic circle and saying gobbledygook. Nothing good ever comes of that.”

“No shit,” interjected Dawn. At a glare from her sister, she added, “I’m just saying.”

“As I was saying, the guy realized I was watching and morphed into something outta Stephen King, complete with secretions and gaseous emissions—I’ll spare you the details—“

“Thank you very much,” from Willow.

“Then after some serious slayage, he said—‘The mouth of Hell will open and issue forth her seed. On that day, the stars will bleed and the earth roil. Then you will meet your doom, Slayer.’”

“Did he say anything else, like when?” Willow asked. “I’m getting kinda tired of this constant orange alert, Apocalypse imminent business.”

Buffy smiled at the witch. “I know what you mean. It’s just one thing after another, but he didn’t say anything else. His head sorta fell off at that point.”

Giles directed the group to their reading. Xander attempted to choose the most slender volume, but Buffy snatched it from him. “Hey, no fair. Slayer speed and all. You have to give us mere mortals a chance to slack.”

Buffy stuck her tongue out at Xander. “I’m sure you’ll still be able to shirk your duties, even with no help from me.” Leaning in conspiratorially, the Slayer asked, “Do you think Spike is okay back at your apartment alone, Xander?”

“Yeah. He really only has episodes early in the morning now. He still has nightmares, but he hasn’t freaked out when he was awake in about a week.” Xander wanted to add, “Plus, he’s alone all day when I go to work, and nothing happens,” but he didn’t want Buffy to start thinking of a Spike with time on his hands.

“What do you do with him there? He must make it impossible to do anything,” Buffy said.

“We watch TV, listen to music. Spike has taught me to play some old card games like whist and ecarte. We went to the Bronze last night, and he started teaching me to shoot pool.” Xander stopped. Everyone in the room was looking at him strangely, particularly Buffy.

“You went to the Bronze with Spike? Why? I didn’t think you were going to embrace this community service so wholeheartedly.”

Xander sighed. “As much as I hate to admit it, Buffy, Spike’s kinda fun to hang out with. He knows how to do everything, and he’s got one hundred and fifty years of great stories.” The man started to gain momentum in his defense of the vampire. “Not to mention, he really is sorry for the things he’s done. He’s trying to start over.”

Buffy looked so incredulous, Xander thought she might actually damage her face. “He’s a vampire, Xander. Evil undead. He has a soul now, but it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t change who he is. It’s just another con.”

Xander stood and faced the Slayer. “Two things—why is it so convenient for you to forget the whole Angel extravaganza when you want to be self-righteous? Second, you don’t hear Spike screaming at night.” He left the room, walking down the stairs into the basement Giles had converted into a training room for Buffy.

He couldn’t believe he’d just defended Spike to the Scoobies—Spike who had tried to kill them all many times and with as many ridiculous plans. But he’d meant what he said to Buffy. Spike seemed truly different, transformed. He sighed. Anya came down the stairs.

“Xander, I wanted to talk to you alone, and I think this is as good a time as any. The prophecies of Laragatha were beginning to bore me—just ‘and he shall die of boils and lesions’ over and over. Much too amateur for her talent.” The vengeance demon rolled her eyes at her ex. “I’m leaving Sunnydale.”

“Why?” Xander asked. “The Magic Box is doing great. You’re nothing if not a devoted capitalist. If you’re leaving because of me, don’t. I don’t want to be responsible for running you out of town.”

“For once, Xander, it doesn’t have anything to do with you. Actually, I’m leaving because of Buffy.”

“Buffy?” Xander was extremely confused.

“Hello. Slayer. Vengeance demon. Sooner or later, Buffy will feel all full of justice and kill me. I know my limits; I can’t take on the Slayer. Buffy always wins.”

“But, I thought after Nancy . . . You called that curse off. I thought you were going to stop for good.” Xander started to panic. He’d truly believed Anya had had an epiphany. He couldn’t believe she’d want to keep hurting people after the giant worm from hell fiasco.

“You thought wrong.” Anya crossed her arms defensively. “I got into a lot of trouble with that stunt. I only called off the curse because of you and the others. You cloud my judgment. I can’t really practice my craft with all of you disapproving all the time.”

“Anya, listen to what you’re saying. You want to leave Sunnydale so you can kill innocent people in peace!” Xander ran his hand through his dark hair and thought idly about smacking his head into the wall until all the insanity just went away.

“Xander, they’re never innocent. I get retribution for the innocent. I’m like the Johnny Cochran of demons.”

“Anya, this is not funny. We’re talking about your soul here.”

Anya looked at him sadly. “I don’t have a soul anymore, Xander. Demon, remember?”

“You, you could do what Spike did. Get your soul back. Find a loophole in your demon contract. Get Willow to curse you with one. Umm…” Xander was babbling.

“Xander,” she said gently. “I don’t want a soul.”

He became absolutely still. Xander looked into his former lover’s eyes and saw no conflict, no mixed emotions, only clear resolution. His mouth dropped. “How can you not want a soul?”

“I had one, for several years. It was not the joy you humans make it out to be. It hurt. Everything was so confusing. Exciting, but confusing. And then Buffy’s mom died, and I realized that death and the soul are a package deal. Battling Glory, I saw that I would likely spend the rest of my human existence trying not to die or encouraging others not to die. Being human, having a soul, it’s about death and pain.”

“But you said before ‘being soulless is the embodiment of emptiness.’ Didn’t you mean that?” Xander felt tears welling in his eyes and slowly spilling over his tanned cheeks. He made no move to brush them away.

“Yes, I did. But I prefer being empty to being full of pain. Even the good parts of being human—like the sex and the acquisition of material goods—hurt because they made the inevitability of death that much more agonizing. Then, when you walked out on our marriage, it hurt me more than I ever thought imaginable. More than the promise of death.”

“So this is about me,” Xander shot back.

“No, Xander. It’s finally about me. I know you don’t understand. I just wanted to let you know I was leaving. Why, I’m not sure. Maybe because it’s the only version of vengeance I can wreak on you.” She started to leave. Xander caught her arm. “I’m sorry, Xander. I’m sorry.” She wrenched her arm from his grasp and went back up the stairs.

Xander sat slowly down on one of the benches lining the training room wall. This was fucking unbelievable. The woman he still loved would rather not have a soul, thank you very much. Xander couldn’t help thinking about Spike. The vampire had done evil deeds in his undead career that rivaled Anya’s nastiest curses; admittedly, the vampire’s stint had been much shorter, but actually more gory, proportionately. And yet, William-the-fucking-Bloody had gone out and won himself a chance at redemption.

Xander heard steps on the stairs and darted out the side door into the street. He knew Buffy would be coming down to make up with him soon, and he couldn’t handle that conversation yet. He started the short walk back to his apartment, not for the first time envying the Slayer her particular method of therapy. Xander’s fingers itched to kill something, or at least beat it senseless. By the time he reached his front door, he was almost consumed with anger, grief, and fear for Anya. And guilt—always the guilt.

Xander opened the door and sat on the couch. Spike was in the kitchen, heating up a mug of blood.

“Welcome home, Harris. Took your bloody time getting back from the Scooby meeting. I rented Kill Bill Vol. I, and I know you’ll get snitty if we don’t watch it soon cuz it’s three hours long with deleted scenes. Humans and your sodding sleep requirements . . .” He broke off as he finally looked the younger man in the face.

Setting his mug of blood on the counter, Spike crossed the room and sat beside Xander on the sofa. “What’s wrong, mate? You look like somebody died. Oh, God . . . did somebody die?” He looked anxiously at Xander.

“No, nobody’s dead. Anya’s leaving Sunnydale, and she doesn’t have a soul.” Xander began sobbing helplessly, embarrassed that he was losing control in front of Spike but unable to stop the flood of emotion.

“Well, right mate. You know that. Demons don’t have souls. ‘S not news.”

Xander tried to explain. “I thought she wanted a soul. I thought she’d want to be human again once she stopped hating me for jilting her. But she doesn’t. She’s leaving Sunnydale so Buffy doesn’t have to slay her.”

“That’s smart. Buffy would take her in a heartbeat.” Spike seemed to realize what he was saying and changed tacks. “Sorry, not helping.”

Xander took his face out of his hands and looked into Spike’s eyes. “You wanted a soul. You loved Buffy for five minutes, and you wanted it—the white hat, the forgiveness. You crawled into a cave and went through hell to get it. You don’t say much about what you had to do for it, but you talk in your sleep. I know you thought you were gonna die. Spike, you got a soul, and that’s pretty fucking amazing. And Anya threw hers away like it was nothing.”

Xander watched Spike’s blue eyes deepen as he tried to think of something to say to comfort him. To his surprise, he felt the vampire’s arm creeping awkwardly around his shoulders. Some part of Xander was amused at Spike’s clumsy half-hug, but the amusement was tempered with genuine gratitude that Spike was trying to console him.

“Xander, Anya’s not a vengeance demon cuz you aren’t worth winning a soul for. I did want a soul for Buffy, at first. But Buffy will never love me. Chip or no chip, soul or not, human, vampire. She will never love me. I’m not fucking Angel, so she’ll never love me. I’m . . . beneath her. So, I had to make this soul about something else. You lot. Niblet. The good fight. Laughing with people. Maybe having friends. Maybe one day, somewhere, walking in the sunshine. So this soul’s not for her; it’s for me. Anya forgot that. She made her soul about you. You fucked up; you made a mistake. She gave it up because it never really meant anything to her in the first place. Anya didn’t go back to the vengeance biz because something’s wrong with you.”

Xander sighed. “Thanks for saying that, Spike. I don’t know if I believe you, but it helps.”

“No problem, mate. Let’s watch the movie and drink. None of that swill you usually buy tonight. I nicked us some top-drawer bourbon. One shot every time someone defies the laws of gravity. Two shots for arterial spray. Drink at will for general carnage and mayhem.” Xander managed a weak laugh and got the shot glasses from the kitchen. He looked back at the vampire, his black boots propped up on the coffee table. Xander really couldn’t think of anything he’d rather be doing than watching Tarantino and getting drunk with Spike.

Part Three