The Mercy Seat (part 15)
Wooo! That was a lovely afternoon, filled with lots of standing in lines, mocking people under my breath, people watching, and brief moments of fangrrl geeker joy.
Yeah, I totally bummed off work to go meet Bruce Campbell. He compared my name to his wife's. Then I looked like a total ass because my brother didn't tell me he'd get a picture with his camera, and I tried to get up and walk away only to be yelled at by a David Eddings lookalike, if David Eddings decided to become too emo for his own good, to sit back down and get my picture taken, dammit.
Anyway,
Previous parts may be found here
Dawn had left her stereo on in her apartment (flat, in London they live in flats), and Xander walked into the sound like he was walking into a fog bank. The music was thick and humid, something that hugged his skin and tasted like barbeque sauce. It vibrated against him and throbbed in his chest, making him feel his exhaustion even more. The music was a rainy August evening in a Louisiana garden, or a smokey bar lit by gas-fueled street lamps. He stood in the middle of the room, closing his eye, letting the sound wash over and through him. Though it was quiet, the music filled all the room's corners.
When Dawn turned it off, he felt the absence of its warmth and shivered.
"Hey." Dawn was touching his arm, leading him to the couch. He let her maneuver him until he was seated before looking at her. She smiled, an echo of the music's melancholy touching her eyes. "Where'd you go?"
He shook his head to show he didn't understand.
"You wandered off a minute ago. You never used to do that."
"The music . . . ." He wanted to tell her what it had made him feel, but he couldn't find the words.
"Did you like it?" Dawn was suddenly glowing, her pride illuminating her whole face. "It was Stevie Ray Vaughan. Oz introduced me to it."
Xander nodded, but his eye was already drifting from hers, wandering around the room. The flat had a cinematic quality to it, the way none of her lamps were just white or yellow. A green turtle glowed from a mahogany end table, a pink and white scarf muffled the glare from a standing lamp. Even the overhead light was tinted by an elaborate Chinese lantern. The walls were a deep red and covered with bolts of colored fabric, satin and linen, with tiny mirrors embroidered into Hindu designs. The muffled sounds of night traffic brushed against the spaces the blues music had filled. He felt like he'd stepped into Dawn's heart, like her blood rushed just behind the red walls, and the living room was one of its four chambers. He ran a hand over the faded floral print of the couch, leaving behind a smear of mud and dust.
"There." Dawn pressed a strip of medical tape against his shoulder and sat back. He realized with a start that his arm and shoulder were cool with water, that disinfectant had tined the incense and curry air. She'd bandaged him up and he hadn't even noticed. "You wandered off again. You must be exhausted. Do you need to sleep before we find the others?"
Xander shook slightly. "I need to know what happened."
She nodded, blues in her eyes again. "What do you remember?"
"Nothing. Malia. Africa." He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed the traces of water into the skin of his upper arm. "We were talking."
He could hear the slayer, just barely, in his head, but couldn't make out the words. He thought about scratching the walls, to see if they would bleed.
"Arguing. We were arguing."
Dawn was staring at him, with an expression he couldn't read. "You did that a lot."
"We did?" Xander's hand moved to his forehead, then it flinched away as he touched the edge of the scar. He felt something tickle his throat and escape as a laugh. "We did."
Dawn nodded, reaching out to brush hair from his face. He dodged her. The hair kept the hole in his face covered, and he liked it that way. "She died." Her voice was low, and Xander barely caught the words. "I don't know too many details. Or, any details, really. She died fighting. I think you might have been there, but you never talked about it. You left Johannesburg a few weeks after that. Went to Gavarone, in Botswana."
"Kelly."
Dawn brightened again. "Right! Kelly. You guys got along better than you and Malia did. Kelly would have followed you anywhere." She swallowed, looking away. "Her granddad didn't like you so much. He . . . um . . . wanted you to go away."
And a dusty voice spoke up: //Understand Africa//. Strong smoke, turning to sand. Xander frowned, shaking his head. That couldn't be right.
". . . .with Buffy, then he stopped." Dawn kept her eyes on the curling leaves of the cushion. "Kelly loved you; she would have left home if he hadn't."
Xander didn't bother trying to figure out the words he'd missed. The way Dawn's voice broke on "loved" was more important than the croaking of a blurry miner in his head. "Kelly, she . . . ?"
Dawn watched him from the corner of her eye for a long moment, and the engine sounds started filling the room again. She was waiting for him, like he might fill in the gaps he was leaving himself. He shrugged, pulling the bandage on his shoulder. He wanted to let his mind drift again, but forced himself to remain focused. He had to know.
"She would have followed you anywhere. And-and she did." Dawn wrapped her arms around herself. "When she . . . died, you kinda shut down. We didn't hear from you for weeks, and then you called Buffy from California. You said you were going on vacation. We thought it was a good idea--Africa really shook you up." She shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Eventually, you came back to work. Buffy and I were fighting, by then, about the Immortal, and I started school at Oxford. I don't know what else happened to you until Ireland."
Xander blinked. California was where Edna was. The memory of visiting her must be real. "And in Ireland?"
"Buffy and the Immortal moved there, and Buffy figured out that he was up to something. We got everyone together in Galway: all the survivors of Sunnydale, and Angel, too, while Buffy worked on sabotaging the Immortal's plans." Her mouth twisted down. "I'm not really sure what he was trying to do. He wanted to open a portal to something he called ‘Dreaming'. He was going to use me--the key- -to do it, but you and Faith kept him away. His ritual didn't really work--Willow said the portal opened to hell, not fairyland or whatever. Genny . . . um, Genevieve, she was the local slayer, she got pulled in. You jumped after her, and before we could do anything, the whole portal collapsed. The Immortal went through it, too, so I guess we won, but you were gone."
Xander shifted on the couch. The material suddenly chafed his lower back. He tried to process what Dawn was saying, but there was some sort of screen there, separating the words into jumbled clumps. He understood their meanings, but they didn't seem to fit together. They didn't feel like they applied to him.
"That was a year ago. We've been looking for a way to get you back, but since the original ritual was botched, we couldn't figure out which hell you'd gone to. Willow kept--"
Dawn broke off when Xander's head snapped up. He pictured Willow, her tar black eyes mocking him outside the Hole. "Willow!"
"She brought you back?" Dawn's brow wrinkled.
"She's gone evil. I saw her. We have to stop--"
"Willow isn't evil,"
"I SAW her, Dawn, black eyes, too much magic, she DID something to me. Made it all mixed up--"
"Xander, calm down." Dawn gripped his arms, and he realized he'd started rocking again. "We'll go to the council. I don't know what happened, but we'll find out, okay?"
Xander nodded.
"Listen to me, though." She gripped his chin with gentle fingers, forcing him to look at her. "Willow's okay. She hasn't gone evil again. You're safe, okay? You're just confused."
"I SAW--"
"Hey." She pressed her thumb to his mouth. "Trust me?"
He thought about that. He'd seen Willow be evil, he knew he did, but his head was filled with things he couldn't understand. He couldn't remember what had happened; could he have misunderstood? He'd seen Willow's black eyes, but he'd also heard voices that didn't exist. He thought about what Dawn had said. He was confused. Maybe Edna-confused.
And Dawn kept the voices quiet.
"Yeah. I trust you."
<--{15}-->
Let me know if I do this wrong. For proper reference in this part, I give you Stevie Ray Vaughan - Little Wing
The next bit may be in a few more days than has become my usual. Giles isn't obeying the way he ought.
Yeah, I totally bummed off work to go meet Bruce Campbell. He compared my name to his wife's. Then I looked like a total ass because my brother didn't tell me he'd get a picture with his camera, and I tried to get up and walk away only to be yelled at by a David Eddings lookalike, if David Eddings decided to become too emo for his own good, to sit back down and get my picture taken, dammit.
Anyway,
Previous parts may be found here
Dawn had left her stereo on in her apartment (flat, in London they live in flats), and Xander walked into the sound like he was walking into a fog bank. The music was thick and humid, something that hugged his skin and tasted like barbeque sauce. It vibrated against him and throbbed in his chest, making him feel his exhaustion even more. The music was a rainy August evening in a Louisiana garden, or a smokey bar lit by gas-fueled street lamps. He stood in the middle of the room, closing his eye, letting the sound wash over and through him. Though it was quiet, the music filled all the room's corners.
When Dawn turned it off, he felt the absence of its warmth and shivered.
"Hey." Dawn was touching his arm, leading him to the couch. He let her maneuver him until he was seated before looking at her. She smiled, an echo of the music's melancholy touching her eyes. "Where'd you go?"
He shook his head to show he didn't understand.
"You wandered off a minute ago. You never used to do that."
"The music . . . ." He wanted to tell her what it had made him feel, but he couldn't find the words.
"Did you like it?" Dawn was suddenly glowing, her pride illuminating her whole face. "It was Stevie Ray Vaughan. Oz introduced me to it."
Xander nodded, but his eye was already drifting from hers, wandering around the room. The flat had a cinematic quality to it, the way none of her lamps were just white or yellow. A green turtle glowed from a mahogany end table, a pink and white scarf muffled the glare from a standing lamp. Even the overhead light was tinted by an elaborate Chinese lantern. The walls were a deep red and covered with bolts of colored fabric, satin and linen, with tiny mirrors embroidered into Hindu designs. The muffled sounds of night traffic brushed against the spaces the blues music had filled. He felt like he'd stepped into Dawn's heart, like her blood rushed just behind the red walls, and the living room was one of its four chambers. He ran a hand over the faded floral print of the couch, leaving behind a smear of mud and dust.
"There." Dawn pressed a strip of medical tape against his shoulder and sat back. He realized with a start that his arm and shoulder were cool with water, that disinfectant had tined the incense and curry air. She'd bandaged him up and he hadn't even noticed. "You wandered off again. You must be exhausted. Do you need to sleep before we find the others?"
Xander shook slightly. "I need to know what happened."
She nodded, blues in her eyes again. "What do you remember?"
"Nothing. Malia. Africa." He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed the traces of water into the skin of his upper arm. "We were talking."
He could hear the slayer, just barely, in his head, but couldn't make out the words. He thought about scratching the walls, to see if they would bleed.
"Arguing. We were arguing."
Dawn was staring at him, with an expression he couldn't read. "You did that a lot."
"We did?" Xander's hand moved to his forehead, then it flinched away as he touched the edge of the scar. He felt something tickle his throat and escape as a laugh. "We did."
Dawn nodded, reaching out to brush hair from his face. He dodged her. The hair kept the hole in his face covered, and he liked it that way. "She died." Her voice was low, and Xander barely caught the words. "I don't know too many details. Or, any details, really. She died fighting. I think you might have been there, but you never talked about it. You left Johannesburg a few weeks after that. Went to Gavarone, in Botswana."
"Kelly."
Dawn brightened again. "Right! Kelly. You guys got along better than you and Malia did. Kelly would have followed you anywhere." She swallowed, looking away. "Her granddad didn't like you so much. He . . . um . . . wanted you to go away."
And a dusty voice spoke up: //Understand Africa//. Strong smoke, turning to sand. Xander frowned, shaking his head. That couldn't be right.
". . . .with Buffy, then he stopped." Dawn kept her eyes on the curling leaves of the cushion. "Kelly loved you; she would have left home if he hadn't."
Xander didn't bother trying to figure out the words he'd missed. The way Dawn's voice broke on "loved" was more important than the croaking of a blurry miner in his head. "Kelly, she . . . ?"
Dawn watched him from the corner of her eye for a long moment, and the engine sounds started filling the room again. She was waiting for him, like he might fill in the gaps he was leaving himself. He shrugged, pulling the bandage on his shoulder. He wanted to let his mind drift again, but forced himself to remain focused. He had to know.
"She would have followed you anywhere. And-and she did." Dawn wrapped her arms around herself. "When she . . . died, you kinda shut down. We didn't hear from you for weeks, and then you called Buffy from California. You said you were going on vacation. We thought it was a good idea--Africa really shook you up." She shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Eventually, you came back to work. Buffy and I were fighting, by then, about the Immortal, and I started school at Oxford. I don't know what else happened to you until Ireland."
Xander blinked. California was where Edna was. The memory of visiting her must be real. "And in Ireland?"
"Buffy and the Immortal moved there, and Buffy figured out that he was up to something. We got everyone together in Galway: all the survivors of Sunnydale, and Angel, too, while Buffy worked on sabotaging the Immortal's plans." Her mouth twisted down. "I'm not really sure what he was trying to do. He wanted to open a portal to something he called ‘Dreaming'. He was going to use me--the key- -to do it, but you and Faith kept him away. His ritual didn't really work--Willow said the portal opened to hell, not fairyland or whatever. Genny . . . um, Genevieve, she was the local slayer, she got pulled in. You jumped after her, and before we could do anything, the whole portal collapsed. The Immortal went through it, too, so I guess we won, but you were gone."
Xander shifted on the couch. The material suddenly chafed his lower back. He tried to process what Dawn was saying, but there was some sort of screen there, separating the words into jumbled clumps. He understood their meanings, but they didn't seem to fit together. They didn't feel like they applied to him.
"That was a year ago. We've been looking for a way to get you back, but since the original ritual was botched, we couldn't figure out which hell you'd gone to. Willow kept--"
Dawn broke off when Xander's head snapped up. He pictured Willow, her tar black eyes mocking him outside the Hole. "Willow!"
"She brought you back?" Dawn's brow wrinkled.
"She's gone evil. I saw her. We have to stop--"
"Willow isn't evil,"
"I SAW her, Dawn, black eyes, too much magic, she DID something to me. Made it all mixed up--"
"Xander, calm down." Dawn gripped his arms, and he realized he'd started rocking again. "We'll go to the council. I don't know what happened, but we'll find out, okay?"
Xander nodded.
"Listen to me, though." She gripped his chin with gentle fingers, forcing him to look at her. "Willow's okay. She hasn't gone evil again. You're safe, okay? You're just confused."
"I SAW--"
"Hey." She pressed her thumb to his mouth. "Trust me?"
He thought about that. He'd seen Willow be evil, he knew he did, but his head was filled with things he couldn't understand. He couldn't remember what had happened; could he have misunderstood? He'd seen Willow's black eyes, but he'd also heard voices that didn't exist. He thought about what Dawn had said. He was confused. Maybe Edna-confused.
And Dawn kept the voices quiet.
"Yeah. I trust you."
<--{15}-->
Let me know if I do this wrong. For proper reference in this part, I give you Stevie Ray Vaughan - Little Wing
The next bit may be in a few more days than has become my usual. Giles isn't obeying the way he ought.