By Danii
Summary: I’m
not good at these but: Xander is
asked to fight the good fight…
Disclaimer: I
own no one. I’m not gonna tell
who I don’t own, since it would wreck the surprise, but I will tell you that
I’m using the movie version of the idea, since it is the easiest to grasp, and
more people have seen the movie than the other forms. Sorry purests…
Distribution: Whatever.
Rating: PG-PG13
Note: This is
what happens when I listen to really good Jerry Goldsmith scoring for too
long…
The Past: Three and a Half Years Ago
"Stop looking at my neck!"
"I’m not looking at your neck!"
"Are too!"
"Are not!"
"I thought I told you to eat before we left!"
The man watched from a distance as the two others walked toward battle. Two warriors, but while one had already discovered his strength, the other had yet to. But was the other worth discovering? Was he the one who had drawn him here? Did he have what it took to do what he did, to live the life he lived? Did he have that darkness, that strength? Would he be able to be what he wanted him to be? The man thought so, but decided to watch…
*****
The Past: Three Years Ago
I didn’t tell her.
The thought bounced around his mind, unable to escape and unwilling to be put to rest.
I didn’t tell her.
It was, Xander knew, another mistake to be put on the large pile of bad mistakes, but this one was far more serious, far more important.
I just sent someone to hell, he thought to himself as he helped Giles walk, only a part of his mind on the struggling Watcher.
And what’s worse, his mind added, is that you knew it. You knew you were doing the wrong thing, and you did it anyway. You just sent Angel to hell.
But, a little voice within him peeped, if I told Buffy that Angel could get his soul back, she might die waiting for him to turn good again. I had to tell her that, right?
The other little voice in his mind remained silent, but Xander could hear the disapproval in the silence. Dear God, he couldn’t even rationalize it to himself, let alone anyone else should they find out. What would happen if they did find out? He could almost feel the accusing eyes staring at him at that moment.
Well, if Willow got the spell done in time, Buffy would tell everyone. Otherwise, his betrayal (even his most forgiving state of mind had to call it that) might remain secret forever. He hoped it was so. He hoped so badly, because of all things, hurting Buffy in any way was the worst to do.
Giles stumbled, and Xander’s thoughts were temporarily knocked out in favor of concern for the injured Watcher. The poor librarian had been quite horribly tortured, and thoughts of what Angelus had put him through did help to ease his guilt a little. But it wasn’t nearly enough.
So Xander stopped dealing with it, pushed it to the back of his mind, made it a black and white issue to keep himself sane, and concentrated on keeping Giles going till they got to somewhere where they could rest.
And his intense concentration on these tasks was what kept him from seeing the dark figure in the trees who was watching him with calculating eyes. Eyes that were old, yet full of a strange and unique power. Eyes that seemed all black, like a night sky, with a twinkle to them that seemed almost like the stars in that sky. Eyes which were above a pointed nose and a high collar, not to mention below a black fedora.
Eyes that disappeared in a flash of black cape into the night, into the shadows…
*****
The Past: Two and a Half Years Ago
Oh my God.
Oh my God!
Cordelia! Cordelia and Oz…they just walked in, and …
Willow and I were kissing, he thought, all blood draining out of his face. We were kissing, and they walked in, and they were coming to save us, and we were kissing, and then they saw us, and Cordelia got this look on her face-
What have I done? Xander asked himself. What the hell have I done?
True, his relationship with Cordelia Chase, who had once been his greatest enemy, had not been the greatest, but they had something. Something special. Something that had made the Ice Queen of Sunnydale give raggedy old Xander Harris a chance at a relationship.
Cordelia had, he knew, opened her heart a great deal in the time since they had first started openly date. She had revealed a lot of herself since then, and she had given up a great deal in order to keep what they had…or had had. She had done all that, and he had smashed it to the ground, smashed her heart into pieces, for a fling with his best friend.
Xander felt truly disgusting. He felt as if he should die.
That feeling increased as he heard the crash and the scream. Then he looked down and-
Dear God…
Dear God!
Cordy…the pole…
His heart ripped in half at what he saw, at what he had caused, at what he had done. He wanted to take her place on that pole. He wanted to feel that fiery pain in his own body and take it away from hers. He wanted to set things right.
"Someone call the ambulance!" he cried out in confusion and guilt.
And he was so upset that he missed the figure who was at the window of the warehouse. The figure in the black coat and the black hat. The figure whose ring reflected the light of the warehouse in an amber sparkle. The figure who pulled out a cell-phone and dialed for the hospital, all the while watching the dark-haired young man.
*****
The Past: Two Years Ago
"Come on, I’ll steer you around the curves…"
"Faith, I-"
And the figure watched from afar, not out of enjoyment but to see. See what he must, see the clay he was soon going to sculpt. Or maybe sculpt…he wanted to see…
*****
The Past: One and a Half Years Ago
The figure watched as the dark-haired young man called his classmates to arms against the giant snake-figure. He watched as the students attacked with the archaic but effective weaponry, and he watched as the young woman ran off into the school with the snake close behind. But mostly he watched the young man, Xander, as he and his friends battled the vampires and demons. And then the figure smiled.
*****
The Past: One Year Ago
The dark figure watched with glittering eyes as the spirits within ejected the young man from the house forcefully. He also watched as Xander told his friends that they had to do something, and that they should go see Giles since the Slayer and the commando were trapped inside.
Much potential, he thought, so very much potential.
A good heart, but a tinged heart. A heart with just enough darkness, and just enough light. A heart that could be made by him into a true hero.
But not yet. There was still more watching to do…
*****
The Present: Sunnydale
Xander tripped.
It wasn’t a horrible trip, or an exceedingly humorous trip, but just a simple stumble on his way back home from Giles’ house. But it did the job perfectly well of sending him falling down the ditch-like depression of land that was next to the sidewalk.
The journey down was a rough roll, but quick enough and not too painful. Xander knew he was going to have few new colors to his skin the next morning, but that was nothing new or different. He’d had bruises before; he could deal with those. He was just glad he hadn’t gotten impaled with a big stick or bashed into a tree or something on the way down.
Now that he was down there, Xander decided that he was going to get up. So he did just that, then looked around.
He had rolled into a small clearing, which was rather normal. Around him were the small forest of trees that told him he was most likely in Allard Park, which was also normal. But what wasn’t normal was the envelope sitting on the ground only a foot away from where he had fallen.
Curious, he picked up the crisp which envelope, and pulled out a flashlight in order to read what it said. And what he found freaked him out.
"To Alexander LaVelle Harris" it read.
But how could that be? It wasn’t like he had intended to fall there, or go to that spot. So why would someone place something for him there? He hadn’t even known he was going to take the road near the park that night to get home; he had decided that at Giles’ house. So how had they known he would even be in the area?
Well, Xander figured the best way to find out the answers to these questions was to open the envelope and read what it said. So he did, and the short letter within:
"Alexander: Come to the mansion on Crawford Street as soon as you receive this. Should you choose not to come, you will have missed a very good opportunity."
And that was it. No name, no other address. Just a request to come to the mansion. So Xander began to shout.
"Not funny, you guys…not funny at all! I really don’t appreciate this kind of stuff this late at night…and shouldn’t you all be patrolling? Guys? Guys?"
At the lack of answer, Xander began to get a chill down the back of his neck. Who could this be if it wasn’t a joke from his friends? Who would want to offer him anything, and why would they do it like this?
However, Xander didn’t have time to ponder any of this because his shouting had attracted a trio of vampires toward him and Xander, who had only one stake and a cross, needed to run. So he ran toward the closest building, the only shelter nearby…the mansion. And he hoped against hope that whoever was there to meet him lived there…and that they were human.
Being used to such running, he made it to the mansion within a couple of minutes, and immediately sprinted toward the door. Thankfully, it was open, and Xander ran through it quickly, slamming it behind him. Unsure about the whole ‘invite’ thing since the mansion had been occupied by so many evils, he plastered his back to the door and held it just in case. However, he jumped as he heard a voice.
"So you came…" it said smoothly with just a hint of age.
"Yeah," Xander replied, panting, "Not much choice, but yeah."
"I take it you found the envelope?"
"Yeah." Xander answered as he pressed himself against the door again.
"You know, there is no need for that…" the voice said with the smallest hint of a chuckle, "I have lived here for the last three days, and so they would require an invitation to get in."
After hearing this, Xander pulled away from the door with relief and breathed out a sigh. Then he remembered that he was in the home of a stranger who had plans for him that he didn’t know about, and he tensed up again.
"No need, young man…" said the voice from the shadows once more, "I’m not going to harm you. On the contrary, I’m going to help you."
"Why?" was Xander’s immediate question.
"Because," the figure said as it stepped into the light, almost shimmering into view, "I need someone to replace me, and you need to help people…"
The young man looked at the owner of the voice. He had dark hair, but that had mostly been taken over by a distinguished grey. His eyes were a startling blue, and they seemed almost glowing due to his black clothing and hair. He was old, true, but Xander could tell that he had once been handsome for he kept a part of the good looks even with age.
After observing the old man, Xander’s brain computed what he had said.
"Replace you?"
The figure laughed, which made him look just a bit younger. "Yes, Alexander. But I don’t suppose I should have started it like that. I should have done introductions."
"So?" Xander prompted.
"I already know that you are Alexander Harris, so I don’t think it’ll be necessary to reiterate that, but I will tell who I am." The figure said slowly, "The name’s Cranston. Lamont Cranston."
"Why…how very James Bond of you…" Xander said nervously.
"I would think so." Cranston told with him with a slight smile. A smile that was both calculating and genuine.
"So."
"So."
There was silence.
"Sooooooo," Xander stretched, staying near the door, "Why did you, um, invite me here? And is there free food involved?"
This set Cranston into a full belly laugh. "Oh yes. Oh yes. Time well spent, I can see now. Time very well spent…"
The last was said obviously to himself, but then the stranger answered him. "No, there is no free food, but what I invited you here for is far more important than free food. And besides, you’ll be getting a lot more than that if you agree to what I am going to propose."
"Propose away." Xander told him as he snuck a peek out the door. He was no longer worried about the vampires getting in, but he wanted to make sure they were gone in case he needed to get out.
"No need for escapes, Xander…" Cranston said calmly as he stepped closer to the young man, "I swear that I would never hurt you…at least not intentionally."
"How did you-"
"Which brings up my offer…" the old man said briskly as he walked towards the fire and sat on the couch, obviously not into answering questions at the moment. Xander, with one last look at the door as if to make sure it was there, followed. They both sat, Cranston in a practiced and graceful fashion, Xander in a nervous plop.
"Now, I am sure you are unaware of this," Cranston started, his eyes looking deep at Xander, "But I have been watching you."
"Watching me?" the young man asked, both frightened and upset at the idea. Why the hell was this old guy watching him? He hoped it wasn’t for any sick reason…
"No, Xander…I don’t want you like that." The older man told him with a slight frown, "I mean, I have been watching you to find out what kind of person you are."
Once again, Xander thought of asking about the whole knowing-what-he-thought thing, but decided against it since it would probably be explained. But after he got past that, his mind computed the older man’s second statement.
"So, what kind of person am I? What does it mean to you?"
"It means very much," Cranston told him, "And in short, you are the kind of person that I need very badly at the moment."
At this point, Cranston sat back into the couch, but his eyes never left Xander’s.
"Why?" Xander asked. He was getting tired of prompting this guy. He was worse than Angel when it came to being cryptic.
"I’m not trying to confuse you, Xander…" the gray-haired man said, "So I’ll get to the point a bit quicker now. I need a replacement."
"A replacement."
"Yes, a replacement." Cranston said, "Someone to take my place, a place I have held too long already. Someone to do the job I started so long ago."
"So, what’s the job?" Xander asked, hoping the guy would get through all of the dramatics quickly so he could find out what the hell was going on.
"The job," Cranston told him a bit forcefully, "is one not easily explained. I think that it would do better for me to tell you my story, and you will figure it out from that.
"I was once a powerful man in the Opium trade. A powerful, terrible man. In certain parts of China, people would cower and tremble at my name. I would kill as soon as glance, and I had a blood-thirst unrivaled by a human to this day, I think. I was known for being ruthless and without a heart, and my business thrived for it.
"But one night, I was taken in my sleep to a temple, the like of which I have never seen before. And in this temple, I was brought before a holy man, the Tulku, who had decided that I was not going to live as I had been living before. He decided that while I had a great capacity for darkness, for evil, I also had a good amount of light within me, and a great deal of strength.
"So he told me that I would be trained by him in the many arts that he knew. Many now would call this magic, but it is simply the powers of the mind. These things he taught to me over seven years, for I was a stubborn and angry student, always trying to use force when it was unnecessary. That lesson actually took me more then seven years. It took near death, and the words of a madman for me to learn, but for all that, the lesson stuck.
"Then, after the Tulku had taught me everything he could, I was sent home to New York City, to use my powers to defend the weak and defenseless."
Xander listened in awe to the man’s story. He sounded like a superhero. A sort of twisted superhero.
"Indeed." Cranston said, answering his thoughts, "And I did do my job in New York. I even once saved the entire city from being blown to bits by what was REALLY the first atomic bomb, though none but I and now you know that.
"I was known as the Shadow, a figure who was unseen and unknown by almost all. I used the powers the Tulku had taught to me in many ways to get my job done, but I also brought in my own ideas to the project.
"After a person was saved, I would give them a small amber ring, similar to the one I wear on my finger now. They would also be given a password to remember, which would tell them when another of them was talking to them. Each saved life became an Agent for me, for my use in my work. And through his method, I was able to save many more lives.
"Now Xander, I am not telling you all this so that you can enjoy a fanciful story from an old man," said Cranston, "I am telling you this because I can no longer do this job. I can no longer save lives like I used to. I am now too old…and I need a replacement."
There was silence as Xander thought over all that had been said.
"Now, I knew this five years ago, and something drew me to you. It drew me across the country to a young man in California, and while I am curious as to why, I don’t question the source that drew me, especially since it seems to be right.
"You’ve been wondering how I keep reading you mind," Cranston said, sitting up in the seat, "But I’ll tell you this. I don’t have to read it. Your thoughts are so loud, I can’t miss them. To put it the way I used to to my wife: psychically, you’re well endowed."
"Oh." Xander said, unaware that there was any appropriate response to that sort of comment.
"But not only do you have the power, you have the other necessity. Darkness."
"Darkness?" he asked, unsure if this was a good thing, "What do you mean?"
"Xander," Cranston said frankly, "Everyone has darkness in their soul. Everyone. But it takes a special kind, and a special amount to do what I’ve done. You have it. You have the darkness that lets you fight the greater darkness better. And, just as importantly, you have the light and courage. Those two I had to dig up, but you have it right there."
"Um, thank you?"
"No need." Cranston told him, "And besides, if you agree to let me teach you, I doubt you’ll be thanking me long…"
"Why?"
"Because," the Shadow said, getting up from the couch, "I’m a hard teacher. I will expect only the best of from you, and I know what that best is since I’ve been watching you for so long. And because-"
"Because what?" Xander asked, not liking the way the man had said those two words.
"Because you will need to move to New York City, or at least to Los Angeles. A large city needs this work, not Sunnydale. Sunnydale’s problem is taken care of quiet well by the Slayer, but Los Angeles has very little in the way of help considering it’s size. I want you to take that information into account before you answer. As much as I need it, I don’t want you rushed."
Xander remained quiet as he thought, and he thought deeply.
Moving to LA would be a big change, he knew. He was used to Sunnydale, where the largest building was the hospital with all of three floors. Where there weren’t many people. Where you could walk home from anywhere in the town. Where his friends were.
But Xander knew that he needed a change, a new life. He’d known it after graduating, but his attempt at change had been a dismal failure due to his car. And this was an opportunity to get that new life. This was a chance for change, and to help more people then he could ever dream of. A chance to be a hero, albeit a hidden one. A one in a million chance.
Yet, what about his friends? His mind asked. What about Buffy? And Anya? And Giles? And Willow? And Tara? He would probably even miss Spike. They’d been a tight groups since…forever. And how would Buffy take his leaving? Or Willow? How would Anya take him leaving her? Did he care? And what would they do without his help?
Just as well, his mind answered him glumly, probably better since there wouldn’t be anyone to save from the monster’s grip anymore. And it was that statement that made his answer almost immediate.
"Yes."
"No."
Xander looked at Cranston sharply. "What?"
"I said, no…" the old man repeated calmly, "As much as I would love to take you on, and as much as I really need you, I cannot take your first answer. I would not take such a hastily made decision from a boy…it would not be fair."
"Boy?!" Xander asked, seriously upset, "Young man, yes. Boy, no. I’m 20 years old, you know…"
Cranston seemed to take in what he had said, and the emotion behind the words, then he smiled slyly. "How old do you think I am, young man?"
Xander’s face blanked. His anger was lost in the completely unexpected question. But then he took a good look at the older man, and answered:
"Seventy, at the most…" he answered at last, thinking his guess quite accurate.
Cranston stifled a chuckle, and then leaned back again. "Try just under a hundred, young man…"
The dark-haired man’s eyes went wide as he heard that. It couldn’t be possible! It couldn’t-
"Just a part of what I will teach you," the old man told him, "Control of the mind can do amazing things…"
"So," Xander said enthusiastically, "As I said. Yes!"
This last statement made Cranston smile as he got up from the couch and pulled Xander from his own seat. So much potential…so very much potential. But there would be a great deal of sculpting…
"Exactly…" said the old man as he guided Xander to the door, "Sleep on it at the very least. Come back here when you have chosen…tomorrow."
"But…" Xander said, squirming. He hated when people did stuff like this, making him feel like a little five year old kid.
"Well, you’re acting like one…" Cranston said with a stubborn, if playful tone, "Now get on home before something tries to beat you, eat you, or otherwise cause you harm."
"Yes, Mr. Craaaanston…" the young man said in an exaggerated voice to let the older man know just how he felt about being ejected, "And I’ll even bring you an apple tomorrow."
"Wiseass…" the Shadow said with a smile, "Now go."
This last smile, and the words that went along with it, finally made Xander decide to go. The old man obviously wasn’t kidding when he said that he didn’t intend to take Xander’s decision tonight, and in the young man’s experience, old men tended to be stubborn, if not downright obstinate.
But as he began his walk home, Xander had to admit that Cranston had had a point. He really SHOULDN’T make a life-changing decision like that in an instant, no matter how crystal clear the issue may seem. Lord knows he’d done that enough to prove that.
"Let’s see…" he said out loud to himself quietly. He didn’t intend to call back those vampires. "1. Didn’t tell Buffy about Angel getting his soul back. Result, she leaves town and hates me for a long while. 2. Kissed Willow. Result, Cordy leaves me and hates me, like, forever. 3. Had sex with Faith. Result, Faith turns evil, hates me forever, and tries to kill me. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera…"
Maybe, he thought, the old guy was right. Maybe he should at least sleep on the issue.
"But superpowers…" Xander muttered to himself, "A way to help people without getting the crap beat out of me everyday. A way to help Buffy. How cool would that be?"
Pretty damned cool, he had to admit.
Yet, as the old man had told him, there were enough disadvantages that he should have thought a bit more. Sure, leaving Sunnydale SOUNDED good, but this was his HOME, no matter how crappy it was, and it was what he knew. And here were his friends. Disregarding the whole ‘helping-to-slay-demons’ part of the relationships he had, he would still miss his friends deeply, especially Willow and Buffy.
Willow because she had been his best friend practically since birth, and Buffy…because.
Now that was another puzzler altogether. Buffy. His relationship with Buffy, which had always been something between good friend and boyfriend-without-the-perks, had stayed about the same throughout the years, even if he had always (ALWAYS) wanted it to change. But now that he had the opportunity to see the big city, to meet others and perhaps find another love among them, he wasn’t sure if that was a good idea or a bad one.
"I mean, I’ve loved her, and I’ve stuck by her all this time, and five years is a long time considering…"
And then there was Anya. Anya was another one of those ‘because’ people. He had gone to the prom with her ‘because’. Then he had had sex with her ‘because’. And finally, they had started dating ‘because’. That didn’t mean to say that there was no love between them; that wasn’t true. He did love Anya, and he would protect her till his last breath. It was just that it wasn’t the kind of love he needed.
Which brought him to yet another part of the thing. Bringing her. Should he? Would he? Would it help or hurt her to continue the relationship? And what would bringing her to the city do to her? Would it hurt or help?
That was the main question. Would his leaving hurt the Scoobies, the people he cared about? Or would it help them by letting them move past him just as he would move past them? And then, for the first time in years, he put another variable into the equation. Something he had never done, but knew that for once, was necessary.
What did he want? Did he want to stay in Sunnydale with his ex-demoness girlfriend and work construction while living in his brand new apartment? Or did he want to take Cranston’s offer, become a hero, risk his life and limb daily for people he didn’t even know, and head to LA where his future was as uncertain a vampire trapped between the Slayer and a window full of sunlight?
"Damn it…" Xander muttered as he finally arrived home, "I hate it when people are right…"
He pulled out his keys.
"I’ll sleep on it…"
*****
Lamont Cranston, master of the mental arts, sighed deeply and slumped against the door.
"Dear god, but he is so like Margo…" the old man said to himself, his voice breathy and amazed.
Almost immediately, Cranston pushed off of the wall and made his way to the couch, all the while shaking his head. Margo…he had promised himself that he wouldn’t think of her. But that was impossible in the face of his new charge.
"Probably why I picked the boy…" the Shadow mused to himself, "Because he’s like her…he’s perfect…"
Well, not perfect, he mentally amended. Even Margo had had her bad days. But, for the most part, she had been perfect for him. Dark enough to understand him, but full of so much light that he couldn’t help but be lifted as well. The sullen look of disappointment that could reign him in easier then anything else…and that sunny smile that would always make him suck in his gut in the presence of such a wonderful woman. Margo had made him happy like no other.
"And then she died…" Cranston spat out angrily.
He could remember the day like it was yesterday. Her hair, shining in the light of the sun. Her smile, only for him. The soft touch of her silk dress. The gentle slope of her high-heeled shoes.
The squeal of the tires on the pavement. The sound of the crash as metal hit flesh. The sight of more blood then he could have imagined. Her face, no longer smiling, but simply blank. Her hair, dark red instead of blonde. Her dress, wet and even darker. Those shoes, thrown where he would never find them.
The Shadow, scourge of villains everywhere, sighed and put his head into his hands, willing the tears not to fall. It had been so long since he’d though to of her. Nearly thirty years since it had happened, and nearly ten since he’d remembered that fateful day.
And now he was signing himself up for at least two years of pain like this. Two years of looking at a boy who looked and acted so much like his Margo that, had he not known better, he could have sworn that he was her child. But he knew very well that that was impossible.
"Boy’s too young to start…" the Shadow mused, "And besides…she came to my bed properly…"
Lamont shook his head. Why even consider such silly things? Margo was dead, and the boy just happened to have her kind of personality. That was all. That had to be all…