Roses Bloom in the Field as the Lion Stalks Its Pray
by Quwinntessa Starber
He remembered this room from his childhood. The furniture was
immaculate, as if someone had wrapped it in plastic and only minutes before
removed the wrapper. Books with perfect spines adorned the shelves, while
pictures of perfectly fake smiling people covered the walls. White carpet
and Persian rugs, it was a museum, not a house; but when Willow had lived
here, it had been a home.
Xander sighed and turned his attention back to the phone. It should
have rung five minutes ago. Willow's mother had excused herself and gone
for drinks, put off by the frank and no nonsense "No" Angel had given her.
Angel.
His most hated enemy in his quest for Buffy's heart was now playing
an entirely different role in his life. No longer villain or rival, the
two had kindled a desperate friendship, one born from similar needs and
desires.
His eyes unfocused from the phone as his mind drifted to two nights
before. He'd run out of clothes, at least that was the excuse he'd given
himself as he'd walked up the driveway to his rundown and nearly condemned
house in the lower east side. Beer cans littered the brown and patchy
grass while an old Camaro chassie sat rusting off the drive. The blue
house needed paint he thought, as he looked in the windows, careful to
detect any movement from inside.
His mother would be at work by now, it was nearly six o'clock. She'd
be dressed like a hooker, no bra, mini skirt and four inch heels as she
waited tables at the local bar. His mother had no self-respect, never
really had, and Xander was always afraid he'd grow up to be just like her.
The window's had been dark so he'd walked around back, careful to
avoid the twenty pound bag of spilled dog food on the side of the house.
The dying yellow lights were nearly blocked by the carcasses of dead
insects who had come too close to the glowing heat. With a shake of his
head he'd moved around to the back door and let himself into the basement.
Angel had told him not to worry about the clothes, that they'd pick
something up the next day. The vampire had been saying things like that a
lot lately, as if he had picked up Xander as his pet project, as if he were
trying to make amends through the troubled boy. Angel had invited him to
say at the mansion on Crawford street, and with no place else to go, he'd
accepted. The souled vampire cooked and cleaned, even refused to allow him
to help, claiming Xander was a guest. But the strangest, the hardest thing
to rationalize were the fits. That's what he called them anyway, the times
when the pain of his life was so great, the loss of his best friend so real
in his mind that it was all he could do to sit in some dark corner and cry.
Angel found him every time, no matter how hard he sought to find a better
hiding spot. Angel would find him and either sit with him silently, or
comfort him with small rocking motions or softly spoken words in that Irish
accent that somehow always soothed him. On those nights Angel would let
him cry himself out, before picking him up and carrying him to the vampires
bed. Those nights Angel slept next to him, and as the dawn broke the day
after his fits, Xander found he had to move away from the vampire, had to
rest his head against an uncomfortable pillow rather than that cool, firm
chest.
The basement had been dark and it'd been weeks since he'd been home.
He'd tripped over a basket full of dirty laundry and fell crashing to the
floor before he'd taken five steps. There was a naked bulb in the
basement, and it was the pull string he'd gotten up to look for. A few
minutes later, after a few more pieces of furniture managed to bruise his
legs, he found the chain and lit up the dingy unfinished basement.
He'd left home with only the bloody clothes on his back. Buffy had
been kind enough to offer a few of her larger tee-shirts for the cause, but
it had been Giles who'd loaned him the money to buy a pair of jeans and a
few shirts. When Angel had taken him in, he'd sworn up and down to having
enough clothes and required personal items. The next day, Angel had
brought him a Wal-Mart bag filled with toiletries and three pairs of boxer
shorts, promising more at the end of the week. But the end of the week had
brought Willow and Spike's bonding, and both men had forgotten under the
weight of Xander's increased fits.
The last time he'd been here his stepfather had nearly broken his
nose; this time, Xander felt confident moving around. With the light
illuminating the way, he'd moved to the washing machine. Drawing the
clothing out, he'd recognizing a few of his items, ones that Roy had
confiscated during his absence. A few flicks of his wrists and a little
measuring had his clothes noisily spinning in the dryer as he'd moved
towards the back of the stairs for a warm soda.
Buffy had been like a princess to him, one of those look but don't
touch beautiful people. When she'd come to school and befriended him he
thought he'd hit the babe jackpot. She was fun and beautiful, spunky and
trendy, she was the perfect accessory to any boy's wardrobe. He'd fallen
for her looks; but years later, in one horrible night, she'd become the
most hideous, disgusting person he'd ever met in his life. She'd known
that Willow cared about Oz, knew it, and moved in the moment she could.
That beautiful California exterior housed a scorned woman who wanted the
center of attention no matter how she had to get it, no matter who's life
she had to ruin to get it. He knew she'd gone after Oz as a sort of
personal dare, just to see if she could steal him away from Willow. She
couldn't stand seeing others happy when she wasn't, so she made sure no one
was happy, and Xander believed completely, that Buffy had wanted to get
caught, to see the unhappiness in her own soul reflected in the tear filled
eyes of her best friend. She got what she wanted, to a point, but the plan
backfired and suddenly, Willow was gone and the center of everyone's
attention. That fact enraged the Slayer to the point where she no longer
even spoke about Willow, until she was the first person to declare his best
friend dead before refusing to continue to look for her.
The dryer had been too loud. He never heard the sound of Roy's feet
on the stairs, never heard his stepfather's approach until it was too late.
With the pop open, he'd turned to sit on a few of the sturdier boxes with
one of the discarded Tattoo Monthly magazines, when that cold and slurred
voice made him realized the full extent of his mistake. "Ya shoulda never
come home boy." The punch landed solid and true against his jaw.
He and Willow had been friends since they were three years old.
They'd been playing in the sandbox together, he building a fort, she
building a four foot high skyscraper with bottle cap windows. Since then
they'd befriended many others, but had always remained true to each other--
well, at least Willow had. He'd known she had a crush on him. But Willow
was mousy and geeky, and not the type of person Xander Harris wanted to
claim as his girlfriend. So he'd pretended he didn't notice her attraction
to him, laughed off the small courageous advances she's made on him until
she stopped making them, and he thought he could finally breathe easier.
But that wasn't the case. Oh he understood that he wasn't IN love with
Willow, but the love he had for her was something so much deeper than he
ever realized. He wasn't IN love with her, he was beyond that, far beyond
it, in a place where he loved her so much he wanted someone better for her.
He knew now he could easily love her, marry her, give her a home and a
happy life, but he wanted more for her than he could give, and so he was
happy to give her to someone better than himself, so great was his love for
her. She was his best friend, the love of his life, and the sister he
never had all rolled into one shy and lovely package he'd spent his whole
life trying to ignore. But when she'd disappeared the truth had come
crashing down on him, his grief over what he'd lost, splintering his hold
on reality until he knew his thoughts weren't wholly coherent; just as he
knew they never would be again. She was the other half of his soul, and
she was gone.
The cement floor had scraped the flesh from his hands. The pain in
his jaw had been excruciating, but the sudden and painful kick of surplus
army boots to his side had wrenched the cry from his lips all the same. He
could hear the old man laughing above him as he'd tried to crawl away, only
to receive another kick for his lack of sufficient speed. The strange
thing was, as two more kicks landed against his body, this time to his
shoulder and head, he was calm in the knowledge that he was going to die,
that the pain was finally going to be over. The darkness that'd come over
him after the last kick was slow, as if he'd been descending into a dark
hole that light could not escape but sound could. Vaguely he'd heard the
sound of Roy laughing, of those surplus boots scraping the cement before
hitting something slightly squishy, and the sound of the basement door
flying open, and the most enraged growl.
Oz was a guitar strumming, rainbow headed cock-sucking bastard, he
had to be, otherwise why would he have chosen Buffy over Willow. On a
survey of 50 things men want in a women, Buffy would beat Willow in only
one category, beauty, that left 49 other reasons to worship the ground the
red haired girl walked on and drop kick Buffy to the curb. But he couldn't
hate Oz, he couldn't because he'd done the same thing, desired the same
thing, been shallow enough to think that in the long run beauty was more
important than brains or trust, or love. Oz was a musician, what did he
really expect? But still, Oz was going to pay, he had to, that was the law
between best friends. Oz hurt Willow, so, Xander hurt Oz. Really, what
more did the mother fucking werewolf expect?
He'd awoken to a strange copper taste in his mouth and a languid
almost liquid feeling filling his entire body. He'd recognized Angel's
bedroom and had to search his fuzzy memory to recall how bad his last fit
had been. Angel's warm hand had startled him as it came to rest against
his cheek and those soulful brown eyes met his. "Are ya alrigh', Xander?"
He'd tried to nod, but he was warm and drowsy and instead of asking all the
obvious and correct questions, he'd allowed his mind to drift back to
sleep.
The next morning found him wrapped securely in Angel's arms, and for
the first time he didn't force himself to move away. There was something
infinitely comforting where he rested, and so he'd remained until the
vampire awoke.
When Angel's eyes met his it was obvious he wanted as few lies
between them as possible.
"Xander, last nigh ah went ta yer house when ya didna come home. I
found yer stepfather beatin' ya. Ah killed him, Xander. Then I brought ya
home. Ah gave ya abou' a pint of me own blood ta heal yer wounds. It won'
change ya, but ya might be feelin' a bit drowsy for a few days. The most
important thin', yer gonna be alrigh', Ah promise ya."
What more was there to say? Roy was dead, and he was walking around
like nothing happened thanks to a pint of vampire blood. Great. He'd
stood, gotten out of bed on shaky legs and moved to lean against the black
velvet curtains.
He heard Angel get out of bed and come to stand close to him, worried about
him even now.
"Ah'll understan' if'n ya hate me, Xander."
Oh how wrong a vampire could be.
There was only one thing left to do.
His movements had been unsteady, the blood in his system acting like
a heavy dose of Everclear.
"Thank you, Angel."
The vampire had looked a bit surprised before offering a sad smile.
But Xander hadn't been finished. Slowly he'd reached up and crushed
those sultry, full lips to his own.
Two days later they were lovers, and as Xander's focus returned to
the phone in front of him, he was startled to see Angel suddenly appear
before him.
"She'll be callin', Xander, Ah'm sure of it." The accent had been so
strange at first, as if Angel had stepped out of his old life and into a
new one, as if he'd found the thing he was searching for and no longer
needed to cling to the things of his curse years. The Irish brogue was
seductive, and for Xander it was immensely comforting.
He nodded, offering his lover a soft smile. "I know, I just wish she
was more like her prompt old self. Whatever happened to stopwatch Willow?"
The humor was mixed liberally with the worry, and so Angel moved to sit
beside him before wrapping an arm about his shoulders and pulling him
close.
If Mr. Rosenburg stared, Xander didn't care.
Then the phone rang.
* * *
Nervously, Willow held the bulky phone to her ear, listening to the
silence that accompanies the first ring of anticipation. There wasn't a
second ring.
"Willow?"
She smiled, her eyes going to Spike who leaned against the desk in
front of her.
"Hi Xander."
Tears, she wasn't expecting. Even though her father had warned her
that something was terribly wrong with her best friend, she didn't fully
understand, until she heard Alexander Harris weeping half a world away.
"Oh Willow." They were heart wrenching, filled with pain and remorse;
yet with a hope so profound it had diamond tears glittering immediately in
Willow's eyes. "We thought you were dead! Everyone said to give
up.everyone said you were gone; but I didn't believe them!" As the panic
and relief grew, tears made tracks down Willow's pained face. "I knew you
wouldn't leave me, Willow. I knew you wouldn't leave me all alone." And
then sobs, broken words that fell on deaf ears for Willow wept as well.
This couldn't be her bright and cheerful best friend, it just couldn't be!
The phone gripped tightly to her ear, she hunched over, hiding the
violent tremors of grief that shuttered through her body. She'd done this,
she'd done this to her best friend!
Strong arms tugged, and with a slight tumble, Willow was on the
floor, wrapped securely in the shelter of Spike's body. He didn't speak,
instead he rocked them back and forth, letting the rhythm calm her as no
words could.
In the background, she could hear the jostling of the phone and then
the muffled sobs, as if Xander were sobbing into a pillow to stifle the
sound. She could hear her name, repeated over and over, and the more he
called out to her, the more she realized just how damaged her best friend
was.
How could this have happened? Since when had Xander cared about her
so much.been so dependent on her? When, and why hadn't she ever noticed?
Then suddenly, in the background, in what was most likely the living
room of her parents home in Sunnydale, came the most striking and chilling
Irish accent. "Tis alrigh', Xander. She's alrigh', just like ah promised.
William's a good boy, no need ta be worrin' when he's the one lookin'
after her. Tis alrigh now, shhhhhh."
Angel.
Angel was with Xander.
Were the others there too? A sudden and terrible panic gripped her
chest, squeezing the air from her lungs in one gasped breath that came out
with only one word.
"Buffy."
Behind her, Spike stiffened, his body instinctively curling around
her as his hand reached automatically for the phone.
"NO!" Xander's voice was high pitched and terrified as Spike pulled
the phone from her lifeless hand. "NO! She's not here Willow, she isn't!
I swear it, I swear! Please believe me, please! The others aren't here,
it's just me, just me and Angel, please, Willow, please don't hang up!"
The hard note in Spike's voice was testament to just how angry he was
with the situation. "Put the poof on! Now!" But even though Spike's
voice was rough, the hand that caressed soothing circles across Willow's
back was soft and reassuring.
Red rimmed, sparkling eyes looked pained as Willow turned to her
lover for reassurance.
"It be me, William." Angel? How could that be Angel? She knew he'd
grown up in Ireland, but he'd never spoke with his accent in all the time
she'd known him. True she didn't know him that well, Buffy spent the most
time with him; but the blond never mentioned Angel speaking with an accent.
And knowing that back-stabbing pre-Madonna bitch, she wouldn't have passed
up the opportunity to gloat about it either, which meant, Angel shouldn't
have an accent.but.
Spike's voice was that cool calm, one that was neither heated or
rushed. It was the tone Willow feared most of all, one that said more
efficiently than words, that whatever had happened, had cut deep. "You
pathetic Nancy boy, poof. This is how you expect to win back my trust, by
betraying me in the first round? The instruction were fairly simple,
Willow calls home, and talks to Chubbs; what the bloody hell are you doing
there?" Worried, Willow took Spike's unoccupied hand. A light squeeze
earned his attention, and she felt herself finally relax as he squeezed
back before lightly petting her hair.
Angel's reply was a long time in coming, but whatever he said stalled
Spike's hand.
The blond's reply was tight, and Willow felt the immediate tension
fill his body. "That so?" Without waiting for further conversation, Spike
made his demand. "Give the phone back to the boy or I hang up." Angel
must have agreed, because Spike handed her back the phone, a forced smile
on his face. "See Luv, all yours again."
Without even hesitating, Willow covered the mouthpiece. "What's
wrong? What did Angel say to you?"
Spike offered her a forced grin and a shrug. "Nothing I shouldn't
have suspected. Go on now, talk to the boy, remember, this thing is
costing me a mint." Then, with a kiss on the cheek Spike unwrapped himself
from around her body and stood. He offered a passing explanation as he
walked to the door. "I need a smoke."
"But," she rose, worried more now than ever, her tears all but
forgotten. "You always smoke with me around, why are you leaving?!"
The most painful, and heart wrenching expression fell across Spike's
face then, and Willow nearly dropped the phone and ran to him, would have
if he hadn't quickly looked away and shrugged. "I just need a minute,
Willow.I'll be back. Talk to the boy, that is why you called." Without a
backwards glance, Spike left the room, shutting the door behind him.
With fear settling cold in her gut, Willow slowly raised the receiver
to her ear. "Xander, what's going on? Why's Angel there? What's
happened?"
Half a world away, Xander sighed. "No one believed that you were
alive. No one. I tried to tell them, I tried to explain that I'd know if
you were dead, but no one believed me. Well, that's not true, Angel
believed me. Willow, he's the only one that did. Your mom and dad, they
wanted to believe it, but.but I think sometimes it was easier to think you
weren't. But Angel believed me Willow and.and I haven't been doing so well
lately. Things.things get dark in my head sometimes. It's like, like I
can't move or something. But Angel's been taking really good care of me.
You'd like him Willow. I think we should make him a Scooby member. We'll
kick out Buffy and take Angel, doesn't that sound nice? Don't you think
Angel would make a much better Scooby member than Buffy ever did?"
Stunned at Xander's words, unable to fully comprehend the change in
her best friend, Willow stood dumb, the phone cradled limply against her
shoulder. How had this happened? How could a simple phone call turned
so.so.
In one moment, everything-EVERYTHING-everything, changed.
"Willow!"
One heart beat.
Her chest constricts.
"Don't even try that with me, I know you're there! Answer me!"
Eyes wide, her breaths are reduced to rattling draws.
Her head hurts suddenly.
"Damnit Willow, answer me! Spike?! What were you thinking?! Are
you that desperate to get back at me for Oz? Jesus, it wasn't that big of
a deal, it was just a few kisses."
Is it possible her world to constrict to such a small insignificant
little space?
How could this have happened?
Xander's heroic voice, "Buffy! You back-stabbing bitch! Get off the
phone now!"
Muffled foot steps.Angel.running into the other room searching out
the Slayer.
Buffy, "No way Xander. I don't know what's gotten into Willow, but
it has to stop. She can't run off pretending to be dead making me worry
all out of revenge over what happened with Oz. I mean, honestly, if he was
so easy to sway--and believe me, I didn't have to do much convincing--then
she didn't need him anyway. So the way I see it, I did her a favor."
Her head hurt.
Absently her fingers moved to her arm, nails scratching deep marks in
her flesh, nearly breaking the skin.
She remained silent.
"This has nothing to do with you, Buffy! You hurt Willow; you did it
on purpose! She was your best friend and you hurt her just because you
weren't the center of everyone's world!"
Funny, Xander sounded a lot more coherent now that he was fighting to
defend her.
An indignant huff. "As if. Oz and Willow had already broken up,
everyone knew that, so he was back in the pond with all the other little
fishies. Do you hear me Willow, he wasn't your boyfriend. Who cares if I
slept with him?"
Slept.with him.
Silence, and then Xander's voice. "No, no, no, Buffy. Buffy, what
have you done?"
Were those tears?
Who.who was crying?
Oh.
It was her.
A sudden distant crash alerted Willow to the fact that Angel had found the
room Buffy had been hiding in. "Ya vain little whore! How dare ya!"
There was a crash, as if some lifeless object had just been thrown against
a case of books. Oh, Angel must have given Buffy a toss.that was sort of
funny.
"Willow!? Willow can you hear me?! Willow?! WILLOW!!!" Why was Xander
screaming her name?
Oh, she was laughing.
Strange to be laughing at a time like this.
Better to say something, anything, but better make it good.
"Willow?" Angel, accent and all.
Voice, calm. "Angel, tell Buffy.tell her."
Tell her what? What to say? There are so many, many things to tell her
former best friend.
So many, many things.
Someone took the phone from her hand. She looked up. Oh, only Spike.
His voice is so cold, cold and powerful.
"Tell her she's already dead. Tell her, when the Red Queen rises, Slayer
blood will run. Tell her, William the Bloody is back, and it's time to
make it three." With a click, the phone line's cut. No more talking.
"Willow?" Blue eyes, concerned eyes, loving eyes.
Her head suddenly doesn't hurt so much.
Her eyes aren't so wide.
Her breathing goes back to normal.
She offers him a watery smile. "I guess that didn't go so well."
