Fic - The Hours of Time
The Hours of Time
Characters: Xander-centric and with guest appearances. Not really shippy, I'd say it's gen fic
Rating: R
Warnings: Um, nothing I can think of.
Summary: Conversations with Dead People, a Xander remix.
Word count: 2,530
Disclaimer: Theirs. Completely.
A/N: Written for spring_with_xan. Unbeta'd cause I just finished it with 10 minutes left to go. Feedback welcomed. Concrit's great, but please email it to me at adis723 at gmail dot com
A/N 2: The tenses are wonky and it's on purpose. I was going for a certain feel, eh, maybe it worked, maybe it didn't.
Sometimes he feels so much older than almost twenty-two, especially now that Giles was gone and he's the most adult one around. Buffy's 98.2% more Buffy-like, which is great for him and Dawn and the whole world actually. Willow's trying so hard, scrabbling toward stasis so slowly she may as well be static, but trying her damn hardest. And Xander, well, he's... stable; single, stressed and a bit overworked, but stable nonetheless. He leads the weekly meetings and throws his weight around with the distributors; he haggles over supply prices and wears slacks on Mondays. Fifty hours a week he's 'Mr. Harris'.
The catch is that if you add that to the twenty-eight hours of sleep he allows himself to indulge in that leaves ninety waking hours of being just 'Xander'. Joke cracking, stake whittling, cornice repairing Xander; which he doesn't mind, but to be honest the down shift is sometimes jarring and makes the tires of his life backspin a bit.
It's been long days and longer nights for years now. Today's barely Tuesday and he's already so tired; sweaty, sticky, eye-droopingly tired. Tonight was one of the rare times where he'd decided to slice a chunk out of those ninety hours just for himself. He'd called his girls and been breathlessly told that Buffy was on solo patrol and apparently everyone had finally noticed that Dawn was over the age of twelve and was therefore fairly capable of spending the evening alone because Willow had homework and did he wanna come hang out at the library with her and quiz her and maybe go out for midnight Belgian waffles afterward?
He'd smiled at her run-on question and, Christ, he'd ached to say yes, but he couldn't. He begged off, claiming it was a night for budget reconfigurations and blueprint revisions and that he was really only calling to flake on patrol anyway. She'd sounded so sad that he'd wanted to take it back; go with her, spend hours watching her read and comprehend massive textbooks while he thumbed through magazines and mocked the pre-teen section selections, but he can't. She’s Willow and he loves her so much, but they don't have that balance yet.
It's after dark, Spike is thankfully gone and Xander's alone, not lonely, just alone; showered and fresh, dressed in flannel lounge pants and enjoying the jersey knit softness of an oft washed t-shirt, staring into his freezer willing the perfect meal to jump into the microwave and nuke itself. It doesn't. He pulled out an old stand-by and tossed it in, grabbing a beer from the 'fridge while he waited for the beep.
************************************
It's a great and manly feeling, sitting on the couch, beer in hand and freezer food on a TV tray, feet bare and legs spread, remote in hand… only, he has no idea what's on TV anymore, no clue what the thing to watch is on Tuesday nights; he's become the old guy that isn't up on the cool stuff and, wow, that really sucks. He avoided the local evening news because it's truly pointless and flipped channels until he found the comfort of syndicated programming.
As he finished his dinner and gulped down the rest of his beer he felt a content drowsiness come over him and as his eyes began to close he ignored the voice in his head telling him 8:01 was way too early for a guy his age to fall asleep in front of the television after just one beer. A voice that should have sounded like his own, or maybe even Spike's, but didn't. The voice was soft and female and familiar.
And not in his head at all.
He looked up and pinched himself in disbelief. He had to be asleep, dreaming, because there was no way Tara was standing in front of his TV with a small, endearing smile. Except that she was. Standing there. All big eyes and full lips and fuller…
"Xander!"
"Tara? You're a ghost! Oh my God, you can read my mind? Ghosts can read minds?"
"No, I can hear you. You were mumbling out loud."
Then she giggled and it was the same giggle that Xander remembers he used to hear from her whenever he would say something particularly witty that no one but her seemed to get. The same giggle that made him look at her and really see her, made him force himself to remember that he was taken and she was taken and his best friend's lesbian girlfriend and so out of his league. It made him remember what a kind and so-well-versed-in-every-damn-thing-he-should-feel-stupid-in-her-presence-but-doesn’t-because-she-would-never-make-him-feel-that-way woman she had been. It made him cry.
"Shhh," she said, sat down in a front of him, crossed legged and just out of reach, "None of that. Wipe your eyes; it's okay, I'm okay."
"Actually, you’re dead."
"Yeah, I am, but I'm okay, I promise."
"Well, you look good," Xander said, trying to keep the conversation light, because that's what he does best. Deflect and lighten. He danced his eyebrows up and down, "Real good, in fact."
"Well, no one gets pimples in heaven. We don't even have bad hair days."
"Heaven," he whispered, "So, Buffy was right, there is a heaven and you're there. Of course you're there, where else would you be? Hey, is heaven pretty?"
"Oh, it is; it's beautiful and warm, but it's also confusing and sometimes it's too bright. It's a little boring, too. Mostly it's lonely and I miss you guys. I miss you."
"Me? You do remember that I'm Xander, right? Heaven doesn't make you go blind, does it?"
"No, I know what I said, I meant what I said. I know exactly whom I'm seeing. How could I not miss you?"
She smoothed her dress and picked at lint that was invisible to his eyes. Xander realized that she was wearing what they'd buried her in. What he'd chosen for her to be buried in. It was an almost simple dress, a shade of blue that he was sure had its own name, but he didn't know what it was. Pretty blue was pretty blue. Wide necked with hook closures running down the front, cinched waist, full knee-length skirt and perfect for her. He would have bought it for her even if she had been alive. Alive and his.
"It's a lovely dress, Xander," she said quietly, ducking her head down shyly, "It's exactly something I would have bought for myself."
"You can read my mind! Right now, you're reading my mind! I knew it!"
"No, Xander, I just thought it was time I said it. I'm sure it wasn't an easy purchase to make. I doubt you've done much dress shopping in you’re life."
He nodded briefly. "Um, I remembered that you looked pretty in blue, it brings out your eyes, and Willow, she wasn't there and..." he stopped, trailing off, eyes shifting around the apartment, gaze bouncing off of anything that wasn't Tara's face.
"I know about Willow. She lost it when she lost me, I understand the feeling but I don't approve of the action of it. She killed, she maimed, she abused her magic in a way I can never forgive and she wasn't there when I needed her most; when I was buried."
"She would have been! Really, but there wasn't time, Giles took her to England so fast. Buffy and I did it all, the best we could, but it was so hard. I've never had to do anything like that before and all of Joyce's affairs had been in order. No one knew what you would have wanted and no one was about to call Willow and ask." He was shaking, holding back his tears, because the lady had told him not to cry. "I spent two days dress shopping, Buffy did the flowers and we picked out the casket together."
"And Dawn chose the plot. And you paid for everything. Sweetie, I know; I watched you all and you guys did great. Thank you."
They sat in a comfortable silence and it occurred to Xander, that as much as he had considered Tara one of his girls, they hadn't really been that close. Not close enough for her to be here in his apartment, when she clearly could have been anywhere else and she obviously hadn't visited anyone else. He would have been told. Phone calls would have been made. She was here and had only been here. It made him feel special and awkward at the same time.
"Not that I'm not overjoyed and overwhelmed and over everything to see you, but why are you here?"
"What do you mean? I'm hanging out with you, don't you wanna hang out with me, Xander?"
There was something different in her tone. The cadence was off, but he couldn't seem to put his finger on it. "But, Willow... You should be with her, talking to her, sitting with her. She misses you."
"Well, she should have thought of that, don't you think?" The blue of Tara's eyes darkened. He remembered it. Right after Tara had moved out of Buffy's she'd get the same look in her eyes, hard and dark, any time someone spoke about Willow around her. "Maybe, if she hadn't flayed Warren alive, I'd want to see her, but really, I don't. Besides, I'd much rather be here. With you."
He watched her shift from her rump to her knees. She sat back on her heels, dress fanned out around her, hands on her thighs. The pose made him nervous. It was supplicant and predatory all at once. "Buffy!" he blurted out, "What about Buffy? You and her were pretty close pals."
"Buffy. Yeah, she's sweet, but she's not you."
Something was wrong about that sentence; it pulled at his memory banks uncomfortably. "Ok, but why me?"
"Oh, that’s easy," she said, voice husky, hands lightly tugging her dress up her thighs, "I just think you’re really interesting."
"What?" Wrong. Something was so wrong about all of this, if he could just figure it out, but Xander was far too fixated on the rise of her dress. "Um, I don’t understand."
"I like you Xander, I've always liked you. Couldn't you see that?"
"Gay! You're gay, very gay and I'm all man, trust me."
"It's not about being gay or straight, Xander, it's about people. I met Willow and I fell in love with Willow, but I think if I would have met you first, it may have gone differently. I watched you, Xander, I watched you watch everyone else. You gauged us all and always made sure that everyone's morale was up. It’s an amazing quality Xander. A sexy quality. You like me, too, don't you? Don't you think I'm pretty?"
Throat dry, he rasped, "Yeah."
Her dress was hiked up as high it could go without being completely indecent. She unhooked a few of the top closures of the dress, too many and not enough at the same time. She reached out, palm up and offered. "You can have me, Xander. All you have do is one tiny thing. Something only you can take care of. A favor, for me."
Her voice was so deep, she sounded nearly breathless; and he was so hard, so much so that he didn't care that it was obvious and lewd. "What? What do you need?"
"Willow."
"We're back to Willow? See, I told you, you're a girl lovin' lesbian."
"No, I need you to get rid of Willow. You can't trust her. The magic is so much stronger than she is. Stronger than your love for her. She'll kill you, she'll kill Dawn and Buffy and Anya. She'll kill everyone. I know you see it; you see the truth. You see everything."
"No, no, I can't send her away again. And she wouldn't, she's better and we're watching her. Giles says she'll get better."
"She won't. What do you think she'd do if something happened to you or Buffy? You don't think she'd fall off the wagon again? You're not that naïve, Xander."
He swallowed hard. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, his instincts kicking in. Something. Something's not right. "I'll call Giles in the morning and talk to him. Maybe they can bind her?"
"She's too strong, she'll fight a binding. No, it has to be permanent." She dropped her hand and slid the other from thigh to floor. Lifting up, she crawled closer, body cradled in the wide spread of his legs, face millimeters from his cock. "You don't even know the things I could do to you. Sex with a witch? There’s nothing better, Xander. Not even fucking a slayer can top it. Faith would be nothing compared."
It was like cold water. Tara would never speak like this, to him or anyone else. He stood up, walked right through her and turned around. Looking down he addressed her. "I never told you about Faith and I seriously doubt Willow would have. And unless I'm really misinterpreting this conversation, you're asking me to kill Willow. You almost had me, I mean, I'm a guy, libido before logic, but you lost me the minute you asked me to hurt her. I'd never. I will never. And neither would Tara. Who the hell are you?"
The girl on the floor laughed, high and hysterical. "You think you know yourself? You don't. I know you. I know what lives and breathes in your head. What curls up and twists in your mind. The dark secrets you keep in your closet and under your bed. The thoughts you cover up with jokes and false bravery."
Her imaged wavered, fuzzed around the edges and blurred, before sharpening into something, someone, else. Jesse looked up at him from where she'd been. "I know how to hurt you and I will. It'll hurt so much, you'll wish you would've taken yourself and Willow out, bro. You'd be quick and it'd have been almost painless. But now? You lose. You can't run far or fast enough, 'cause I’m coming. Closing in from every edge and there's nothing any of you can do about it."
There's a shimmer running across Jesse's face, a slight ripple, and for a moment he forgets that he just walked through this thing. He's sure that Jesse's gonna vamp out on him, attack and rip his throat out, instead he would swear that he saw face after face morph in and out, all flipping by like shuffled cards. Drusilla, Glory, the Mayor, Snyder, Spike, everyone he's ever feared and hated and when it finally stopped it was Angelus that rose from the floor and stood nearly nose to nose with him, and in that moment he knew he'd never tell anyone about tonight.
"I'll kill them all, boy. I'll make you watch as everyone dies. Everyone except you. I'll make sure you know you're the cause of it, that you could have stopped it. I'll keep you warm and beating, that way you'll still care and hurt for them. I'll make you beg for the peace they have in death. The fun's just starting. You'll see."
Characters: Xander-centric and with guest appearances. Not really shippy, I'd say it's gen fic
Rating: R
Warnings: Um, nothing I can think of.
Summary: Conversations with Dead People, a Xander remix.
Word count: 2,530
Disclaimer: Theirs. Completely.
A/N: Written for spring_with_xan. Unbeta'd cause I just finished it with 10 minutes left to go. Feedback welcomed. Concrit's great, but please email it to me at adis723 at gmail dot com
A/N 2: The tenses are wonky and it's on purpose. I was going for a certain feel, eh, maybe it worked, maybe it didn't.
Sometimes he feels so much older than almost twenty-two, especially now that Giles was gone and he's the most adult one around. Buffy's 98.2% more Buffy-like, which is great for him and Dawn and the whole world actually. Willow's trying so hard, scrabbling toward stasis so slowly she may as well be static, but trying her damn hardest. And Xander, well, he's... stable; single, stressed and a bit overworked, but stable nonetheless. He leads the weekly meetings and throws his weight around with the distributors; he haggles over supply prices and wears slacks on Mondays. Fifty hours a week he's 'Mr. Harris'.
The catch is that if you add that to the twenty-eight hours of sleep he allows himself to indulge in that leaves ninety waking hours of being just 'Xander'. Joke cracking, stake whittling, cornice repairing Xander; which he doesn't mind, but to be honest the down shift is sometimes jarring and makes the tires of his life backspin a bit.
It's been long days and longer nights for years now. Today's barely Tuesday and he's already so tired; sweaty, sticky, eye-droopingly tired. Tonight was one of the rare times where he'd decided to slice a chunk out of those ninety hours just for himself. He'd called his girls and been breathlessly told that Buffy was on solo patrol and apparently everyone had finally noticed that Dawn was over the age of twelve and was therefore fairly capable of spending the evening alone because Willow had homework and did he wanna come hang out at the library with her and quiz her and maybe go out for midnight Belgian waffles afterward?
He'd smiled at her run-on question and, Christ, he'd ached to say yes, but he couldn't. He begged off, claiming it was a night for budget reconfigurations and blueprint revisions and that he was really only calling to flake on patrol anyway. She'd sounded so sad that he'd wanted to take it back; go with her, spend hours watching her read and comprehend massive textbooks while he thumbed through magazines and mocked the pre-teen section selections, but he can't. She’s Willow and he loves her so much, but they don't have that balance yet.
It's after dark, Spike is thankfully gone and Xander's alone, not lonely, just alone; showered and fresh, dressed in flannel lounge pants and enjoying the jersey knit softness of an oft washed t-shirt, staring into his freezer willing the perfect meal to jump into the microwave and nuke itself. It doesn't. He pulled out an old stand-by and tossed it in, grabbing a beer from the 'fridge while he waited for the beep.
************************************
It's a great and manly feeling, sitting on the couch, beer in hand and freezer food on a TV tray, feet bare and legs spread, remote in hand… only, he has no idea what's on TV anymore, no clue what the thing to watch is on Tuesday nights; he's become the old guy that isn't up on the cool stuff and, wow, that really sucks. He avoided the local evening news because it's truly pointless and flipped channels until he found the comfort of syndicated programming.
As he finished his dinner and gulped down the rest of his beer he felt a content drowsiness come over him and as his eyes began to close he ignored the voice in his head telling him 8:01 was way too early for a guy his age to fall asleep in front of the television after just one beer. A voice that should have sounded like his own, or maybe even Spike's, but didn't. The voice was soft and female and familiar.
And not in his head at all.
He looked up and pinched himself in disbelief. He had to be asleep, dreaming, because there was no way Tara was standing in front of his TV with a small, endearing smile. Except that she was. Standing there. All big eyes and full lips and fuller…
"Xander!"
"Tara? You're a ghost! Oh my God, you can read my mind? Ghosts can read minds?"
"No, I can hear you. You were mumbling out loud."
Then she giggled and it was the same giggle that Xander remembers he used to hear from her whenever he would say something particularly witty that no one but her seemed to get. The same giggle that made him look at her and really see her, made him force himself to remember that he was taken and she was taken and his best friend's lesbian girlfriend and so out of his league. It made him remember what a kind and so-well-versed-in-every-damn-thing-he-should-feel-stupid-in-her-presence-but-doesn’t-because-she-would-never-make-him-feel-that-way woman she had been. It made him cry.
"Shhh," she said, sat down in a front of him, crossed legged and just out of reach, "None of that. Wipe your eyes; it's okay, I'm okay."
"Actually, you’re dead."
"Yeah, I am, but I'm okay, I promise."
"Well, you look good," Xander said, trying to keep the conversation light, because that's what he does best. Deflect and lighten. He danced his eyebrows up and down, "Real good, in fact."
"Well, no one gets pimples in heaven. We don't even have bad hair days."
"Heaven," he whispered, "So, Buffy was right, there is a heaven and you're there. Of course you're there, where else would you be? Hey, is heaven pretty?"
"Oh, it is; it's beautiful and warm, but it's also confusing and sometimes it's too bright. It's a little boring, too. Mostly it's lonely and I miss you guys. I miss you."
"Me? You do remember that I'm Xander, right? Heaven doesn't make you go blind, does it?"
"No, I know what I said, I meant what I said. I know exactly whom I'm seeing. How could I not miss you?"
She smoothed her dress and picked at lint that was invisible to his eyes. Xander realized that she was wearing what they'd buried her in. What he'd chosen for her to be buried in. It was an almost simple dress, a shade of blue that he was sure had its own name, but he didn't know what it was. Pretty blue was pretty blue. Wide necked with hook closures running down the front, cinched waist, full knee-length skirt and perfect for her. He would have bought it for her even if she had been alive. Alive and his.
"It's a lovely dress, Xander," she said quietly, ducking her head down shyly, "It's exactly something I would have bought for myself."
"You can read my mind! Right now, you're reading my mind! I knew it!"
"No, Xander, I just thought it was time I said it. I'm sure it wasn't an easy purchase to make. I doubt you've done much dress shopping in you’re life."
He nodded briefly. "Um, I remembered that you looked pretty in blue, it brings out your eyes, and Willow, she wasn't there and..." he stopped, trailing off, eyes shifting around the apartment, gaze bouncing off of anything that wasn't Tara's face.
"I know about Willow. She lost it when she lost me, I understand the feeling but I don't approve of the action of it. She killed, she maimed, she abused her magic in a way I can never forgive and she wasn't there when I needed her most; when I was buried."
"She would have been! Really, but there wasn't time, Giles took her to England so fast. Buffy and I did it all, the best we could, but it was so hard. I've never had to do anything like that before and all of Joyce's affairs had been in order. No one knew what you would have wanted and no one was about to call Willow and ask." He was shaking, holding back his tears, because the lady had told him not to cry. "I spent two days dress shopping, Buffy did the flowers and we picked out the casket together."
"And Dawn chose the plot. And you paid for everything. Sweetie, I know; I watched you all and you guys did great. Thank you."
They sat in a comfortable silence and it occurred to Xander, that as much as he had considered Tara one of his girls, they hadn't really been that close. Not close enough for her to be here in his apartment, when she clearly could have been anywhere else and she obviously hadn't visited anyone else. He would have been told. Phone calls would have been made. She was here and had only been here. It made him feel special and awkward at the same time.
"Not that I'm not overjoyed and overwhelmed and over everything to see you, but why are you here?"
"What do you mean? I'm hanging out with you, don't you wanna hang out with me, Xander?"
There was something different in her tone. The cadence was off, but he couldn't seem to put his finger on it. "But, Willow... You should be with her, talking to her, sitting with her. She misses you."
"Well, she should have thought of that, don't you think?" The blue of Tara's eyes darkened. He remembered it. Right after Tara had moved out of Buffy's she'd get the same look in her eyes, hard and dark, any time someone spoke about Willow around her. "Maybe, if she hadn't flayed Warren alive, I'd want to see her, but really, I don't. Besides, I'd much rather be here. With you."
He watched her shift from her rump to her knees. She sat back on her heels, dress fanned out around her, hands on her thighs. The pose made him nervous. It was supplicant and predatory all at once. "Buffy!" he blurted out, "What about Buffy? You and her were pretty close pals."
"Buffy. Yeah, she's sweet, but she's not you."
Something was wrong about that sentence; it pulled at his memory banks uncomfortably. "Ok, but why me?"
"Oh, that’s easy," she said, voice husky, hands lightly tugging her dress up her thighs, "I just think you’re really interesting."
"What?" Wrong. Something was so wrong about all of this, if he could just figure it out, but Xander was far too fixated on the rise of her dress. "Um, I don’t understand."
"I like you Xander, I've always liked you. Couldn't you see that?"
"Gay! You're gay, very gay and I'm all man, trust me."
"It's not about being gay or straight, Xander, it's about people. I met Willow and I fell in love with Willow, but I think if I would have met you first, it may have gone differently. I watched you, Xander, I watched you watch everyone else. You gauged us all and always made sure that everyone's morale was up. It’s an amazing quality Xander. A sexy quality. You like me, too, don't you? Don't you think I'm pretty?"
Throat dry, he rasped, "Yeah."
Her dress was hiked up as high it could go without being completely indecent. She unhooked a few of the top closures of the dress, too many and not enough at the same time. She reached out, palm up and offered. "You can have me, Xander. All you have do is one tiny thing. Something only you can take care of. A favor, for me."
Her voice was so deep, she sounded nearly breathless; and he was so hard, so much so that he didn't care that it was obvious and lewd. "What? What do you need?"
"Willow."
"We're back to Willow? See, I told you, you're a girl lovin' lesbian."
"No, I need you to get rid of Willow. You can't trust her. The magic is so much stronger than she is. Stronger than your love for her. She'll kill you, she'll kill Dawn and Buffy and Anya. She'll kill everyone. I know you see it; you see the truth. You see everything."
"No, no, I can't send her away again. And she wouldn't, she's better and we're watching her. Giles says she'll get better."
"She won't. What do you think she'd do if something happened to you or Buffy? You don't think she'd fall off the wagon again? You're not that naïve, Xander."
He swallowed hard. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, his instincts kicking in. Something. Something's not right. "I'll call Giles in the morning and talk to him. Maybe they can bind her?"
"She's too strong, she'll fight a binding. No, it has to be permanent." She dropped her hand and slid the other from thigh to floor. Lifting up, she crawled closer, body cradled in the wide spread of his legs, face millimeters from his cock. "You don't even know the things I could do to you. Sex with a witch? There’s nothing better, Xander. Not even fucking a slayer can top it. Faith would be nothing compared."
It was like cold water. Tara would never speak like this, to him or anyone else. He stood up, walked right through her and turned around. Looking down he addressed her. "I never told you about Faith and I seriously doubt Willow would have. And unless I'm really misinterpreting this conversation, you're asking me to kill Willow. You almost had me, I mean, I'm a guy, libido before logic, but you lost me the minute you asked me to hurt her. I'd never. I will never. And neither would Tara. Who the hell are you?"
The girl on the floor laughed, high and hysterical. "You think you know yourself? You don't. I know you. I know what lives and breathes in your head. What curls up and twists in your mind. The dark secrets you keep in your closet and under your bed. The thoughts you cover up with jokes and false bravery."
Her imaged wavered, fuzzed around the edges and blurred, before sharpening into something, someone, else. Jesse looked up at him from where she'd been. "I know how to hurt you and I will. It'll hurt so much, you'll wish you would've taken yourself and Willow out, bro. You'd be quick and it'd have been almost painless. But now? You lose. You can't run far or fast enough, 'cause I’m coming. Closing in from every edge and there's nothing any of you can do about it."
There's a shimmer running across Jesse's face, a slight ripple, and for a moment he forgets that he just walked through this thing. He's sure that Jesse's gonna vamp out on him, attack and rip his throat out, instead he would swear that he saw face after face morph in and out, all flipping by like shuffled cards. Drusilla, Glory, the Mayor, Snyder, Spike, everyone he's ever feared and hated and when it finally stopped it was Angelus that rose from the floor and stood nearly nose to nose with him, and in that moment he knew he'd never tell anyone about tonight.
"I'll kill them all, boy. I'll make you watch as everyone dies. Everyone except you. I'll make sure you know you're the cause of it, that you could have stopped it. I'll keep you warm and beating, that way you'll still care and hurt for them. I'll make you beg for the peace they have in death. The fun's just starting. You'll see."