fic, fic, fic, fic. Gosh, it feels good when it's in the groove.
He started towards the dormitory to ask when a young man could get a thorough wash without running the risk of shocking anyone, but stopped after a couple of steps. No one was around, no one was watching him with caring, concerned eyes. No expectations or worries haunted him with accusations that he wasn't dealing with matters the way that he should. There was something he needed to do before he could honestly think he was on his way to settling things. Glancing around once more to make sure he was unobserved, he walked slowly out the front gates, around the walls, and up the slope to the olive grove and the memories sleeping there.
The birds paid him no mind as he walked up the hill. Some sort of snake twisted away into the taller grass; a rabbit leaped out of hiding and bounded into the rocks. Cicadas and other buzzing things made the day seem much noisier than a summer evening in town.
Both mass graves had grown over with grasses and weeds. Nature made no distinction between hellgod and holy warriors.
The fence of swords around the Knights' grave was undisturbed. Sister Mary had told Xander about the visit of the Knights earlier, and she'd said they'd debated another marker. In the end, they left it as it was. They had asked the sisters to thank whomever had set up the swords, calling it the most fitting memorial to those who had fallen in battle with their ages-old foe.
Xander settled down at the foot of the biggest olive tree and studied the graves. The nuns had shown no fear at having a hellgod buried in their graveyard. Apparently the dead didn't get up and stroll around so much in their world.
He wished he could stay here. Quiet, peaceful, and the work he did was appreciated. But there was that whole male thing and not fitting in too well in a convent. Maybe Sister Agnes knew of a nice monastery somewhere, hopefully one that didn't require a vow of silence. Someplace far in the country, where the dark things couldn't find you and lurk outside your window.
Most mornings he found at least one cigarette butt on his balcony. He tried to ignore it, tried not to pick them up in the mornings even though he hated trash on the floor, tried not to make a note in the evening that the balcony was still clean. Tried his very damnedest not to show he was awake when he smelled cigarette smoke in the middle of the night. The voice he sometimes heard, that whispered "Invite me in," existed only in nightmares.
Except if he pretended that voice was a dream, he was afraid that one night he was going to dream himself answering, "Come in."
And that way lay madness.
The man in the white hat did not stand shoulder to shoulder with the villain. There were sides, and he'd chosen his when the tiny blonde girl had turned over the rocks and showed the nasty things underneath. If he could face off against his oldest friend with every willingness to shove a stake in his heart, then he could surely keep his back turned to a joyful killer who had always shown such delight in causing him pain.
He'd never been tempted by Jesse's invitation to join the dark side, he'd never thought for even a moment that a life of evil at his best friend's side might not be all bad. He had not found one ounce of comfort in having Spike backing him up that long night, he had not been reassured that the two of them were functioning on the same wavelength of necessity and practicality.
He had not become much better at lying to himself.
Spike was stalking him. He knew that. What really worried him, though, was the number of times he felt like catching the vampire at it, just for a chance to talk to someone who understood what had happened that night, who wasn't trying to explain to him how he really felt about all of it, who wasn't trying to get him to fucking share. Whatever Spike was after, Xander aws fairly sure it wasn't something Dr. Phil would be advocating on TV.
Why the hell was the vampire after him, anyway? Buffy was supposed to be Spike's obsession. If it was a matter of Spike finally following through on the "I live for the day I kill you thing," Xander would have expected something a whole lot more straightforward than an Angelus-style stalk-and-scare.
Except there wasn't much scare involved, was there. Just Spike being there, nearby. Like he was waiting for something.
On the far side of the graveyard, a pair of deer picked their way down from the rocky slope, nibbling on bushes. Xander watched them, wondering how close they'd come to him if he sat perfectly still. But the wind shifted, and the animals' heads came up at the scent of human, then they bounced away at speed.
Sighing, Xander checked the position of the sun. Getting close to dark. He was starting to feel the effects of the drive and the long afternoon of work. He might just sleep without the dreams tonight. He'd been putting in as much overtime as he could at work, so he'd be exhausted enough for silent dreams. It even sometimes worked. He got to his feet and headed down to the convent, hoping they'd assigned him a room other than the one Anya had chosen before. Maybe he'd sleep better without waiting for the scent of cigarette smoke to come drifing in through his windows.