Chapter 14

The girls all exploded into speech, asking questions and exclaiming in disbelief. Xander ignored them; all he could see was the stricken look in Spike’s eyes, which slowly slipped away from his to focus on the inlaid marble floor. Xander saw Angel lay his hand on Spike’s slumped shoulder, and saw Spike turn to the larger vampire, still not looking up. Buffy moved to stand before Xander, interrupting his line of sight to Spike. She placed her small, soft hands on his arm. “I’ll kill her for you, Xander, any day, any time.” Her voice was full of suppressed fury. Xander met her glittering green eyes and opened his mouth to reply. Before the words could pass his lips, a hard voice came from behind her. “No, you won’t, Slayer,” Spike said. “Her death belongs to Xander. It’s his right.”

They all settled back into their seats, and Angel came to sit on the low table directly in front of Xander. With a delicacy that Xander could hardly believe, the vampire took one of Xander’s hands into his huge one and questioned him gently and thoroughly about the murder and his suspicions of Dru’s involvement. Buffy sat on one side of Xander, Dawn on the other, each with their arm looped through his. Cordelia and Willow sat on the floor on either side of his legs, and Spike came to stand behind the sofa, hovering but not touching. Xander had never felt as safe and loved as he did at that moment. He reveled in those warm, supportive touches as he answered Angel’s careful questions and relived the worst night of his life.



Class had run a little long, because they’d been having so much fun sparring. Everyone was drenched in sweat and laughing and joking as they walked out to their cars in the sultry southern night. Xander stopped by his car and stripped off his belt and uniform top, enjoying the relative coolness of just his uniform pants and black tank top. He threw the sweaty garments into the back seat, making a mental note to be sure to carry them into the house before the Mercedes started smelling like a locker room again; Shari hated that. Xander stretched and rolled his shoulders for a few minutes before getting into his car. He waved to his friends and students as their cars pulled out of the parking lot. He propped one foot on the car’s bumper and leaned down to stretch the hamstring that had been giving him a little trouble.

As he straightened, a chill ran up his spine, making the hair on his neck stand up. For an instant he was back on the Hellmouth, fifteen years old and facing some immortal evil with a sharp stick and false bravado. He even reached back, for a pocket that neither existed nor held a stake. He raised his head and looked around carefully. The parking lot was mostly empty of cars; all of the storefronts were closed for the night. Xander shook off the feeling and slid behind the wheel. Just before he shut the door, he thought he heard a tinkling laugh drift over the roofs of the buildings.

He drove home, singing along with the radio. On a weeknight, this late, the suburban area he called home was tranquil. The neighborhood had streetlights and sidewalks, and the houses were nicely kept, sitting back on manicured lawns. Welcoming yellow light shone out at him from his porch. He hit the remote to open the garage door, and slid the Mercedes into the garage alongside Shari’s sporty little Mazda. He entered the house quietly. Since she was so late in her pregnancy, Shari had started going to bed earlier and earlier; she said she was getting her last sleep for a while.

Xander walked into the laundry room and stripped off the remainder of his uniform, berating himself for having left the top in the car. Deciding not to go back for it, he padded upstairs naked, rubbing his hand through his hair, where the sweat was beginning to dry. He stopped in the guest bathroom to shower so he wouldn’t wake his sleeping wife. Once finished, he rubbed his hair with a towel and stepped across the hall to the room that had been decorated as baby Lex’s nursery.

They had argued about the name, but Shari was adamant that their son would be named for his father. Xander had objected to the baby also being called Xander, and Shari had vetoed Alex. They had finally decided on Lex. Standing by the crib, Xander ran his fingers over the soft sheet and tiny blanket. The crib was full of stuffed toys, and Xander picked up several of them; a giraffe, a dog, a duck and what he swore was a platypus, but Shari said was a beaver. He placed the toys back on the covers and turned to enter the master bedroom, turning off the hall light. He felt his way to the bed and lifted the covers. He slid into the bed and inched toward his wife, hoping to snuggle into her warmth. She was cold. It took his mind a long, horrible second to realize what that meant. She was cold.

Xander leapt from the bed and tried to turn on the lamp. It was gone. He found it with his foot a second later, not even registering the pain as the smashed ceramic shards cut deep into his foot. He stumbled to the window and pulled up the blinds to let the glow from the streetlight in. He realized that the window was open. He turned back to the bed and pulled Shari to him. As he dragged her into his arms, her head fell back. It fell back too far, and he saw the long slash on her throat from ear to ear. He put his hand over it to try and close the horrible wound. It gaped at him like an obscene smile. He ran his hands over her still face, trying to find any little bit of warmth or life. There was none. There was also no blood.

Fear washed over Xander like an icy rain as he held his wife’s lifeless, bloodless body against him for a long minute, sweeping his hand over her face and down to cup her distended abdomen, where he knew Lex was still. Then he placed her reverently on the bed and covered her with the blanket. He stepped to the window and looked down. From under the streetlight a pale face looked up at his. Her eyes were huge and dark and a small smile played about her lips. Her hair curled down from her widow’s peak to the shoulders of her velvet dress. As she looked at him she raised a blood-streaked hand to her mouth and licked it. By the time he reached the street, she was gone.

He’d gone in and put on some sweat pants and called 911. He sat on the porch steps until the police and ambulance arrived. The paramedics had rushed up to the bedroom, only to come back down much more slowly, carrying her plastic-draped body gently on a stretcher. One of them had noticed the blood and had removed the pieces of ceramic imbedded in his foot and bandaged the cut, telling him he would need stitches. Without a word Xander had shrugged on a sweatshirt and hobbled to the back door of the ambulance. He had climbed in and sat next to Shari’s stretcher silently, his hand tucked under her, between the body bag and the stretcher.

There were questions and stitches and phone calls, then hands touching him and trying to comfort him. Family and friends had surrounded him, sharing hugs and tears and shocked exclamations. He had gone home with Shari’s parents and taken whatever pills the doctor had prescribed. Within three days, he had laid his wife and child to rest. Within three weeks, the police had told him they were baffled; they had no leads and no ideas. He returned home for one night, but was unable to sleep and spent the entire night sitting on the porch steps, hoping that the dark demon that had killed Shari and Lex would come and take him too.

The next day, Xander put the house on the market. It sold within a few weeks. He stayed with various friends, and sometimes in hotels. He went to work and to the dojo, where he worked out and taught his classes. The entire school mourned Shari as one of their own, so everyone pretended not to notice if he was fighting too hard in sparring matches; in fact, some of the larger men purposely partnered up with him to provide him something solid to pound out his grief and rage and pain on. He sometimes had to leave class quickly, when the tears threatened to overwhelm him, and no one commented other than to offer sad smiles.

At night, he hunted. He started carrying a stake and a cross with him everywhere. His Sunnydale wariness returned, and he used it to his advantage, stalking his prey on the streets near his house, and further afield – anywhere he could dig up a whisper of innuendo even containing the word vampire. He stalked and killed eleven vampires, none of them the one he wanted. By the time Shari had been gone six months he knew what he had to do. If there was anyone in the world who could find Dru, it was Spike. Despite the estrangement between the former lovers, Xander believed that Spike could find her. But, would Spike help him? He knew he’d been awful to the vampire in the past. They’d had their moments of camaraderie, but Xander knew he could not expect Spike to receive him as a friend.

In desperation, he’d broken his silence of eight years and tracked Willow down at her teaching job in Canada. He’d asked her point blank to tell him where Spike was. She’d acquiesced, and he had gotten into his car that afternoon and begun the drive across the country that would place him on Spike’s doorstep.



Xander finished his story and released Angel’s hand. He slumped back against the sofa, and felt Spike’s hands close on his shoulders. He tilted his head back to look at the vampire, and was stunned by the look in the blue eyes. There was pain and anger and sadness and something softer – compassion? Affection? Spike leaned down and brushed his lips across the man’s forehead. He clasped the shoulders under his hands hard, and then let go. Dawn handed Xander a glass of water and a handkerchief. Once he’d wiped his eyes and drunk his water, Xander saw that the two vampires had moved away from the group to talk quietly.

As if by silent agreement, the girls gathered around Xander on the sofa and talked to him about inconsequential things – they shared old stories and talked about their lives, and didn’t care that Xander was only half-listening. He was grateful that there always seemed to be a soft hand in his, and that Buffy and Willow were taking turns rubbing his shoulders or stroking his cheek. At one point or another in the conversation, each girl said, “I love you” to Xander, and returned his small, sad smile. Eventually, they stopped talking and simply sat, huddled together, giving and receiving comfort.

Spike looked over to the sofa and caught Xander’s eye. He gestured with his head for Xander to join him and Angel. Xander extricated himself from the pile of girls, who merely rearranged themselves, slipping into the warm void his large body left. He joined the two serious-looking vampires. Spike slid an arm around his waist, and Angel wrapped one of his huge hands around his shoulder. Xander leaned into Spike. Angel cleared his throat and spoke softly. “Spike and I were over here debating which one of us is the bigger asshole.” Xander gave him a half-grin and quipped, “That’s easy – it’s you.” They all shared a small smile at the very small joke.

“So, why are you guys assholes this time?” Xander asked. Angel looked directly into Xander’s eyes. “I made her. And I made her insane. I don’t know why she wanted to do this to you, Xander, but it’s my fault – I made her.” Angel’s voice was anguished, and Xander could tell that he was forcing himself not to drop his gaze from the human’s eyes. Xander was distracted by a harsh laugh from Spike. “I could have killed her. I had her right there, I had the stake, and I was ready. But I let her go. I let her go and she hurt you, Xan. I don’t think there are words enough to say how much I regret that right now.” The distress in his friend’s voice sent a bolt of pain through Xander. He looked from one to the other, from blue eyes to brown and back. He took a deep breath and spoke.

“Now, you two listen to me. I did this exact same thing. I thought if only I hadn’t lingered at class, if only I hadn’t stopped to take a shower or stand in Lex’s room, maybe she could have been saved, maybe Lex could have been saved. If I had stayed home from class, or if I hadn’t been born on the Hellmouth, or if I hadn’t made Amy cast that love spell back in high school that made Dru notice me, or if I’d never been born, then maybe Shari could have lived. But I found out that that’s not the way it works.” He laughed bitterly. “God, I’m from Sunnydale – I should know this stuff by heart. You can’t go back and change things – the world doesn't work that way. Angel, it’s not your fault for making her or making her crazy, and Spike – Will, it’s not your fault for not killing her.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked at the vampires grimly. His voice hardened to steel. “This is her fault. She took their lives. I don’t know why, and I don’t really fucking care. I came back here for a reason. I need your help. And she dies.”

Spike and Angel exchanged a look, and then both looked at Xander. They nodded and spoke as one. “She dies.” “By your hand,” Spike added in a whisper, and Xander nodded back.