Fanfiction: Sunnydale Calling

Xander had been in some creepy-ass places, no question. But this one — he took his sweat-slicked palms from the steering wheel, resisted wiping them on his suit pants only by a huge effort of will. This one pretty much rocketed to the top of the Fear Factor wiggins parade. Nothing supernatural here at all, that was the strange thing. From what he could see from the street, just a high stone wall stretching a couple of city blocks. Coils of razor wire curling along its top like Christmas ribbon. A pair of turrets commanding a view of the yard within and a fair amount of surrounding acreage. Gray, all of it. Not a whiff of witchery, a hint of hoodoo.

That, Xander decided, is what made it so terrible.

It was purely in the architecture, designed to suck the soul right out of you, break your spirit. Didn’t matter that this was the Ladies Auxiliary; it had every bit of the Big House vibe. He wondered what it would be like to pass through those gates, knowing for the next year, five years, ten — maybe the rest of your life — this is where you’d live. He couldn’t imagine it.

He couldn’t stop trying to.

For the first time, Xander found himself thinking of Faith entering this place three years ago. That tough persona of hers clutched so tightly around her that it vibrated — he’d seen that up close; he knew. How long had it taken to shatter in this pit?

He hadn’t let himself think about her, not in the sense of putting himself inside her skin, since —

— since the night she’d almost raped him, killed him —

— since she’d allied herself with the mayor. Even though Xander had volunteered for this particular mission, it had been less about bringing her back into the fold than proving something to himself. Less about doing the right thing, and all about seeing if he could do the right thing. He wasn’t sure if the distinction made any sense; it didn’t have to. No one else had even thought about his history with Faith when he made the offer — things were so fucking dire that, well, that he was using words like dire. If Buffy could consider moving past her history with Faith, his own was not even a blip on the radar. Before he went into the women’s prison, though, he wanted to make it clear in his own mind. He was here to spring Faith for the fight against The First, but he’d also come to find out — not if Faith had changed, but Xander himself, for good or bad. To see if Willow had been right about him.

When he thought about his life — and he’d been doing way too much of that lately — he realized that since kindergarten he’d been all about trying to be who Willow thought he was. Not Anya, sad to say, or even Buffy. And whenever he’d lost sight of that, he’d lost himself, too. Coming here today was, in a way, all about living up to Willow’s ideal Xander.

It was the talk they’d had the day he took Willow to Tara’s grave. In a weird way it had been one of the best days of his life. To have Willow back again, have her really be Willow instead of this strange witchy being who’d spoken of herself in the third person as if she were a bug or something — there was joy in this, and he couldn’t pretend otherwise. Though he’d have gladly taken every bit of her pain on himself, the things she’d lost and the things she’d done, if it would take her back to how things were before all the black-eyed weird shit. Since he couldn’t, he was left with the knowledge that he’d take Heartbroken Willow over The Thing That Was Not Willow — whatever that said about him, and he was not sure. He’d had a lot of time to obsess about it, while he waited for her on a bench by the water, harassed by aggressive panhandling geese.

She came back from the grave with red-rimmed eyes, but carrying with her a deepened sense of calm. She sat by his side and laced her fingers between his and they sat this way for a long time. Willow moved their hands onto her lap, where she stroked his work-scarred skin with her free hand. “I know — I know it’s hard for you sometimes,” she began. “It must seem like everyone has some kind of super strength or power but you, and —”

“Don’t,” he said gently. “It’s all kinds of okay.”

She covered his hand in both hers and squeezed. “Shhhhh. This is my big speech, and you know how I get.” She drew in a breath and pushed it out again; what he called the Willow Reset Button. “I know there are times you feel left out.”

“The Zeppo,” he murmured.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Sorry, go on.”

“But you do have a superpower, Xander. It’s just one that everybody discounts, but they’re wrong, it’s just as important as Buffy’s or mine or anyone’s. You’re like … well, Steadfast Man.” An explosive hiss of breath escaped him, and Willow jerked at his hand. “Don’t laugh, dammit! Yeah, it’s a dorky old-fashioned word anymore, because nobody is.”

“Will, I wasn’t laughing at you—” It wasn’t really a laugh, either. Derision, more like.

“I know who you were laughing at, mister. You listen to me. You took your dorky old-fashioned superpower and you saved the world.” She shifted so that she was kneeling on the bench; she put a hand to his jaw and made him look at her. “You saved me.”

“Will—” His throat closed and nothing more would come.

“You loved me and you wouldn’t stop loving me.” Her chin started to tremble as a small hiccup burst from deep in her chest, and Xander felt an answering ache in his own breast. “I hurt you and you loved me and I kept hurting you, and you— you—”

If she lost it, so would he. He put his fingertips over her lips and said, “Shhh. It was nothing. Kind of— kind of a Captain Kirk thing, ya know?” He slashed with his hand across the front of his shirt. “Sexy as all hell. All the girls—”

The sound of her keening stopped him short, cutting him deeper than her magics had on that day. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t ever tell you, but oh God—” She wound her small hands into his shirt as Xander pulled her closer, and she descended into fevered, incoherent sobs.

His own tears slid into her hair as he murmured reassurance. “I know, baby, you told me, it’s all right, it’s all right, I’m here, I’m unhurt, Willow Willow don’t cry…”

Steadfast Man. You couldn’t get more Classic Willow than that: equal parts generosity and self-effacement, assuming that he would do for just anybody what he’d done for her. As much as he wanted to believe in her version of him, Xander knew what he was. Yeah, he’d gone to Faith all those years ago with the same offer, ready to stand by her through whatever trouble she’d made for herself. She’d dealt out the hurt too, as ready to kill him as Will had been. But Faith had sliced him open in ways Willow never could. He’d let hate well up in the wounds she’d made and in the end he couldn’t wait to see her taken down. That was Willow’s Mr. Unconditional Love.

Six buzzsaw chords ripped through the truck cab and Xander had to laugh. The infamous witchy cd player strikes again, with the perfect song for the perfect moment: “Should I Stay or Should I Go.” He’d just come to the Clash — turned, you might say, by Spike the night Joe Strummer died. Spike boosted some cds and retreated to the basement to crank them — and get royally shitfaced. Xander had kept him company for both.

— If I go there will be trouble, if I stay it will be double — You nailed it, pal. That’s life with the Scooby gang.

Xander cut the engine and was enveloped in sudden silence. Get it done. He sucked in a little Joe Strummer attitude, like a quick drag on a cigarette, and stepped out of the truck. Walked toward that prison gate like he was making a beer run to the 7-Eleven.

Faith waited. That was part of being on the bottom of the food chain in here, that your time was worth nothing. Each day it was hurry up and wait. Strangely, this was the one time she didn’t mind. There was still so much to sort out.

She didn’t know who had pulled the strings — hell, in her case it had to be steel cables — to get her out. Clearly someone powerful. It wasn’t because of the great job she did in the prison kitchen or the literacy work she’d taken up with girls even worse off than her. The Watchers’ Council was the obvious guess, but some weird shit seemed to be going on with the Council. Faith was totally out of the loop — Buffy and her friends hadn’t made even the first move toward her, and Angel — he was a little like those anti-abortion preachers. There are so many babies to save that there just isn’t time to follow up on the ones who’ve made it past fetushood. (Faith should know; her mother used to enjoy telling her that Faith herself was a rescuee.) Angel, well, he was on to the next lost soul. So she was in radio silence here on the dark side of the moon, but still she knew something big had happened with those British prigs. She couldn’t say what gave her that feeling, but it was bone-deep.

A deep desire to fidget washed over her. Faith was better at stillness these days, but sometimes the old antsiness surged high. She let her eyes close. Breathing in, I calm my body…

“Just look at my Faith.”

Her eyes flew open, the breath left her lungs in a rush. “Fuck me dead —”

Richard Wilkins gave her a reproving look. “Language….” His pseudo-scowl melted into a grin, transforming his homely face. She’d missed that indulgent smile and his eyes that had always been a mirror for her, showing Faith someone lovable. Tears welled in them now, as he told her, “The last time I saw you, they said you wouldn’t live through the night. And just look at you.”

“They told me you were —”

“Dead? Darn tootin’ I was. Am. But you know what they say — you can’t keep an evil man down.” Wilkins exploded in his goofball laugh, awakening in Faith the awareness of just how much she’d missed that, too. Just as suddenly, he sobered. “Gosh. My little Faith. You haven’t been drinking your milk, have you? You’re like a broomstick. I would have come to you sooner, but it’s taken this long to build enough power to appear like this. We don’t have much time, so I’ll make it fast. You’re still my right arm, Faith, and I’m going to be needing you soon. Stay strong for me. Promise me?”

“I — How —” Faith still sat in her chair, but she felt like some part of her was floating away, distant and tiny as a lost balloon. She thought she’d sorted out these feelings, made her choices about how her life would be from now on. All that had gone slippery in her grasp now, and all she wanted to do was say yes, I promise. She managed to evade. “I can’t take this in.”

“You need time. I owe you at least that much, after you came so close to —” He clapped his hands together. “Enough gloomy talk. We’re both here now, that’s what’s important. You take some time. I’ll gather my strength, and I’ll be back.” Wilkins’s form seemed to shimmer for a moment, then sharpened again. “Faith, I am so proud of you.”

Just like that, he winked out.

“Wait, aren’t you the one—”

who was getting me out of here?

Faith sank back in her chair, panting now. Jesus. Whatnowwhatnowwhatnow? All the time she’d spent in counseling in this place, coming to terms with who she’d been and what she’d done. The most shattering part had been facing the fact that the only person in her life who’d ever loved her, been proud of her, looked at her with that light in his eyes (And tears! She’d seen them just now!) had been evil. Some of the girls in group had tried to make her feel dirty about it. A man his age, come on — surely she was repressing some memory — She’d done her share of suffering over that paradox. She hadn’t resolved it, but she’d made it something she could live with. It didn’t mean she was evil or worthless. One a’ those things, her cellmate Jinx had said, shrugging. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day. Bad people’s feelings aren’t any less real, and sometimes there’s good in ‘em. Now, though, it was all too close to see clearly.

The door swung open, and Faith hesitated, then stood. The warden smiled. “I’m sorry for the delay.” Behind her, a glimpse of broad shoulders, dark hair, dark suit before the door closed again. “I’m sure that didn’t calm your nerves. Everything’s in order, though.” The warden invited her to sit back down, compose herself a little, while she gave Faith a pep talk about how far she had come. “I know freedom seems a bit overwhelming right now. But Faith, you’ve shown how strong and capable you are. I’m convinced you’re going to be one of our greatest success stories.”

Faith blinked, stammered something, and finally the warden rose to usher her out, into the custody of whoever waited out there. As she stepped into the outer office, the man in the suit turned from the window to face her. She squinted into the light until recognition finally sank in.

Holy fuck. The second last person she ever expected to see today. Xander Harris.

He let her take it in at her own pace, saying very little. She’d braced herself for an onslaught of chatter during what would be a long drive, but Xander surprised her. When she’d known him before, even his silences seemed jittery, filled with his desperation to come up with something to say, something to do. Xander too had learned something about stillness these last four years. Faith stared out over the six-lane cluster-fuck that was L.A. freeway traffic, and used all this luxurious contemplation time to roll two things over and over in her head. The buzzclickrollslam of the last gates she’d passed through as she left the prison. Sounded just the same as the first time they shut her inside, but the way it reverberated in her chest and her head made a world of difference. As counterpoint, a piece of the song that had come slam-dancing out of the stereo when Xander started up the truck.

Exactly who’m I s’posed to be? Don’t know which clothes even fit me…

He’d snapped off the stereo, but the lines echoed in her head. They’d nailed that — literally, figuratively. Faith left prison in the same outfit she’d worn walking in. Despite Jinx’s best efforts with a needle, it hung on her. So did her old toughness. It came out reflexively about half the time she spoke, but it sounded off somehow. Silence seemed a better fit.

After a long while, Xander spoke. “How’re you doing? Hungry?”

“I’m still good. Maybe in an hour.”

“So — the next off-ramp.” He pointed at the Shell sign that loomed high over the next exit, shimmering like a mirage through the heat and exhaust of half a mile of slow-moving cars. “I’d better start merging.”

Faith laughed. “It is — Jesus.”

“Hard to take?”

“Beautiful. Weirdly enough.” A sudden impulse buzzed through her, and before it could dissolve, she gave it voice. “Yeah, let’s get off here. What I’d really like to do — could we go to a grocery store?”

Right this minute she wanted to bask in all the wack shit that came along with freedom. Traffic jams, fluorescent lighting, perky, innocuous shopping music, and the sheer too-muchness of shelves and shelves of toilet paper and toothpaste. She longed to be paralyzed by choice, a concept she hadnt snuggled up against in a very long time.

“Let’s do it,” Xander said without hesitation.

She couldn’t even get inside before it hit her. The double glass doors slid apart and Faith stepped through, then through force of habit she stopped to wait for the outer doors to close behind her before the inner ones opened.

Xander, oblivious, walked on. “So what is it you’ve missed most? Ben & Jerry’s?” The glass panels parted for him. “There’s a whole parade of new flavors, we could get ‘em all and make ourselves really sick — Faith?”

She stood rooted where she’d stopped, lost in wonder. The feeling of the day’s heat at her back, meeting the air conditioned chill of inside. Both things at once. People coming in and going out at the same time, uncontrolled . In prison, gates came in sets of twos, and one of any given pair was always locked, like those spaceship airlocks in sci-fi movies. Here, she could go in, or turn around and leave. Whatever she wanted. Someone jostled her from behind and she tensed, battle-ready. A gangly subteen girl flashed braces, apologizing, touching her arm and then continuing on inside. Faith realized she was trembling.

“Faith? Are you okay?”

She roused herself, pulled her armor snug around her. “Five by five.”

They ended up with the Ben & Jerry’s after all, after Xander’s rundown of the merits and drawbacks of various new flavors. A pint of Makin’ Whoopie Pie (you’ve got your chocolate and your marshmallow fluff action, like the S’mores, only with crispy cookie chunks instead of the whole soggy graham cracker thing, and really all you need to know is, graham crackers were originally invented to discourage people from having sex) and one spoon, which they passed hand to hand as they sat on a bench outside the grocery.

“So,” Xander said after a pause, “you look good.”

Faith had never acquired a talent for social lies, but she was adept at spotting them. “You got fat.”

Xander’s twitch of a smile made her regret her mouth. “I got a lot of things.”

There was a whole shitload of history piled into those six colorless words, but Xander wasn’t elaborating, and Faith didn’t know how to draw any of it out of him. She dug the spoon in around a slab of chocolate cookie, grateful for something that required her attention.

“Can I ask you kind of a personal question?” he asked.

Faith pushed the pint back at him. “It’s everything you’ve heard. Hot girl-on-girl action, every night. Did you think about it a lot?”

“Got me through some long nights,” Xander said. Not even a stammer or blush.

She found herself more rattled than him, sorry again that she’d baited him. “Ask.”

“Been seeing any dead people?”

The spoon nearly slipped from her fingers. “Who are you now, Bruce Willis, Child Psychologist?”

“We’ve got a new Big Bad. I guess you’ve figured out that you got sprung early because we need your help. This is the Biggest, Fucking Baddest Big Bad Ever, in fact, it’s the Wellspring of Bad. You might have heard this catchy little slogan: from beneath you it devours? I can see that you have. This thing — The First Evil, it calls itself — is the most serious shit we’ve ever faced, and I don’t see how we’re going to put it down.” He accepted the pint and the spoon and scraped around the sides of the container. “The good news is, I never see how we’ll fight these things, and we always do. Anyway, one of The First’s nifty parlor tricks is taking on the form of a dead person. It will fuck with your head like you cannot believe. We had a run-in with it a few years ago, right about the time you showed up. Angel came close to committing suicide after it got done with him. So I wanted to warn you.” He held out the ice cream, and their hands touched. Faith felt it as a sharp buzz, like touching your tongue to a 9-volt battery. “I saved you the last bite of cookie,” Xander said.

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