N/A- Post Chosen
The Whiskey Bottle
The bottle lay in shattered shards of glass all across the shabby hotel room. The broken fragments glinted dangerously under the flickering and dim light. The contents of the bottle had been used up by the time it smashed, just like every trace of its past. The glass was thick and sturdy: it was made of the strong stuff, the good material, the kind of object that does not smash easily. The bottle had stood at the back of the shelf for a long time. It used to be the pride of the distiller; therefore, marked with their ornate label to say that it was of the finest quality and the strongest taste. The deathly black markings still glistened in its eternal pride; however, a broken shell was all that was left of what was once the finest quality whiskey, matured twenty-five years.
The man sat on the edge of the worn bed laughing manically. The bottle that he had thrown at the wall had shattered and the irony didn't escape him; he had fought to fix the world but everywhere he looked all he could see were the broken pieces. The room span around him as he fell forward onto the grotty carpet and turned silent. The sharp glass cut into his palms leaving crimson scratches across his flesh, but, he barely noticed. Fuelled by the bitter whiskey he floated in a false reality and the world melted away as for a moment the aching in his chest died down to a small discomfort. Xander Harris had died along with the hell-mouth, what lay in the tacky hotel room was just the empty and broken bottle.
"It was Erika Jong who once said "if you don't risk anything, you risk more." Think long and hard about it and it makes sense." The tone of his voice had been reflective and although it sounded like his usual teaching voice she detected the softness that she had to came to associate with her father-like friend. "There are some chances that we fail to take and sometimes things are left unsaid--."
"Giles," she had interrupted with a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I have no idea who what's-her-face is, but, I suppose this is your way of telling me to take the risk?"
Giles observed her tenderly, before he answered "you're just like your sister; your abuse of cultural knowledge is staggering." Although his comment may to others have seemed otherwise she knew that it was a compliment; a twisted one, but, a compliment nevertheless. The reflective expression on his face was unnerving; he seemed lost in his own little world.
"Dawn," he continued softly. "You've grown into an amazing woman. Your mother would've been so proud."
"I--,"she interrupted and found herself for once in her life completely speechless.
"Go," he answered smiling. "Take the risk." It was all the confirmation that she needed as he passed her the piece of paper that he had scrawled the address onto.
"Thank-you!" she squealed. Leaping forward she planted a kiss on his cheek. Giles started furiously rubbing his glasses and she couldn't help but smirk at his 'stiff upper lip' reaction. "Can you tell Buffy--?"
The cell phone lit up as he dialled in the number and passed it to her. "You're an adult," he replied challengingly. "You tell her."
The memory of the night before swam about incessantly in her mind. Giles seemed to think that she was doing the right thing; however, with the situation upon her nerves set in and she questioned herself vigorously:-
'Are you sure you're doing the right thing?'
'What if he doesn't want to see you?'
'You're only eighteen, how can you be strong enough for him?'
The questions were never-ending and if she was honest she didn't know the answers; she had to force them to the back of her mind to preserve her own sanity. It had been a long and tiring journey for the first four hours the adrenalin had spurred her on, but once the reality set in her mind was plagued by her own insecurities. In all it had been a tortuous trip and stood outside the hotel room it was almost over. There was just one thing left to do.
'Fifty one,' she read silently and checked the scrap of paper that she tightly clutched. It was the right place. In her head she ran-over the speech that she had worked on the entire journey. There was an unpleasant bubbling in the pit of her stomach and her heart raced so fast that she was scared of it exploding. All logical thoughts had left her mind and blind panic set in at the last hurdle. Three years had passed without a word between them and there was the nagging thought in the back of her mind that perhaps it was best kept that way. According to the wild rumours that were flying about he was a mess, of course, her friends tried to protect her from the knowledge. They said that he just needed some time to himself. Dawn knew that they were wrong; no-one should be alone, even if he said otherwise. She took several deep and calming breaths while reminding herself that she had come too far to turn away. She bit the bullet and knocked three times against the door.
There was no response.
The hell-mouth had fallen and they were victorious. Standing in the sunlight the bloodied group surveyed the damage of battle on the sandy shrub land. Everybody stood still in shock gaping at the massive pit which was once their home. It hadn't sunk in yet. He looked around through his group of friends and realised that she was nowhere to be seen. The look on the nerds face as he cautiously approached him said more than a thousand words.
"So," Xander said desperately, as all hope that he held slipped away along with the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign behind him. "Did you see?"
Andrew wouldn't meet his eyes. "I was scared," he muttered weakly. "I'm sorry."
"Did you see what happened?" he persisted. "I mean was she…?"
Andrew took a deep breath in and turned to meet his eyes. "She was incredible," he replied sincerely. "She died saving my life."
Xander watched his blood smeared face fall as he muttered those final words and felt his own lip trembling. Tears formed behind his eyes but he forced them back. The time for tears would come later, for that moment he had to be strong. He brought his hand up and placed it comfortingly on Andrew's shoulder. "That's my girl…always doing the stupid thing," he said smiling as he ignored the tears burning up in his eyes.
The pain returned to him as raw as the moment it happened. "Anya," he moaned softly. There were so many things that he regretted, but, she was the greatest regret. Every night he drank himself into oblivion, because it was the only way that he could sleep without thinking of how it could've been.
'What if you had married her would it have been different?'
'What if you had been there could you have saved her?'
'What if you had trusted her enough to allow her to love you would you have a family by now?'
It was gradually killing him. The questions that flooded his mind in every moment of consciousness were ones that he would never be able to answer. Logically, he knew that there was no point in thinking 'what if' because he could never change the past. Unfortunately grief isn't always logical, it's about wishing, with every fibre of your being, that things had turned out differently. Deep down he knew that things could never change and that was where the pain came from: it was a feeling of complete hopelessness.
The alcohol numbed the pain. It stopped the reality from setting in and allowed him to dream, in his alcohol induced haze, that she had never gone away. Every night he embraced her: he could see her face smiling happily at him, smell her perfume that changed brand as often as her hair colour, he could touch her gently, kiss her softly, tell her that he loved her and she'd promise never to leave him. It was a lie: none of it was real. Every time that he awoke he was alone. The pain was too intense to cope as he clumsily got to his feet and brushed the glass from his bloodied hands. He stumbled towards the cupboard desperate for a release from the hell-like reality that he faced. The cupboard was empty and he guessed from the glass covered floor what had happened as he sunk down to his knees. That night he'd have to face his demons.
Dawn was not one to be deterred easily. Gaining no response from knocking loudly on the door she headed down to reception. The lounge was practically empty except for the aged man sitting at the desk. "Hi," she said, approaching the desk. "I've kind of misplaced my keys. You wouldn't happen to have a spare, would you?"
The man looked her up and down suspiciously. He had the streetwise look that you could only acquire living in a city like Las Vegas. It was clear from his piercing eyes that he wasn't the kind of man that she could sweet talk. "What room are you in?"
"Fifty one," she answered confidently.
From a draw in his desk he pulled out a thick notebook and began flicking through it. He reached the place that he was looking for and paused. "It says here room 'fifty one' is a Xander Harris?" he said arching a grey eyebrow in her direction.
Dawn pulled a twenty out of her purse and placed it in the palm of his hand. "I'm a friend."
The man nodded his head understandingly. "God knows the lad could do with one," he muttered and pulled a key out off of the wrack behind him and passed it to her. She nodded her head in thanks and he smiled at her sadly. Nothing that he could say would prepare her for what she was about to see.
Once again she was stood outside the door to his hotel room and this time the burning nervousness had left her fuelled with a fierce determination to gain entry. She knocked furiously against the door. "Oi Harris," she yelled in a deep voice. "This is a hotel not a shelter, where's this weeks money?"
From inside she heard a curse and sluggish footsteps approach the door, she was satisfied that her plan had worked and held her breath as she heard the movement of the lock and angry ramblings of a familiar voice. The door swung open and he carried on his drunken rambling "look the payments are up to date man, what are you…" he stopped when he found himself looking at the girl from his past. "Dawn?"
The look on Xander's face was one of pure shock, which Dawn recognised as similar to the time Buffy came back from the grave she smiled weakly and said "hi" knowing how pathetic it must've sounded. Xander was still rendered speechless and she used that to her advantage to get a good look at him. Over the last two years he had changed dramatically, he had a lot more haunted and mature look about him, he was swaying on the spot clearly drunk and his ragged clothes were rumpled and in need of a good iron. He was a mess.
Xander felt stupid as he struggled to find the words to say to her. Incredible guilt surged through him she shouldn't have to see him like this, a drunken mess. He wished that he could send her away and protect her from what he had become. "You shouldn't have come," he finally managed to slur.
"And you shouldn't have left, so I think we're even" she replied and ignoring his protests walked into his hotel room. The first thing that she noticed was the strong stench of alcohol and looking down she saw the floor scattered with fragments of glass. In one corner was his pile of clothes which she mentally noted to make sure he washed. She heard the sound of the door closing behind her.
Xander looked around the room, anything to avoid seeing the look of disgust from a girl that once looked up to him. It was seeing her in his room that he realised how far he had slipped it was like his past coming back to hit him full pelt and for the first time in ages he knew that things had to get better, but first he had to sober up.
"You're a mess," Dawn stated bluntly and took a seat on a chair coated in an assortment of equally crumpled shirts.
"Maybe that's the way I want to be," he muttered and stumbled landing in a heap on his bed.
"Maybe," she replied. "But you're not getting rid of me that easy." Noticing the cuts across his hands she pulled a piece of tissue out of her handbag and walked over to his sink soaking it with water. "Hold out your hands," she demanded and took a seat next to him dabbing the blood off his hands. He barely flinched in pain when she pulled the tiny shards of glass out because luckily the alcohol had lowered his pain. Once she was finished she allowed his hands to rest in hers for a moment longer just being glad to have him close to her once more. "Come on," she sighed. "You should sleep off that alcohol."
His eyes widened in fear and he gripped her hands tightly. "Don't leave me," he pleaded and Dawn could feel tears stinging her eyes but managed to keep them at bay. "Please don't leave me."
"I'm not going anywhere," she answered softly. "I'll be just over there." She indicated the uncomfortable looking chair.
"No," he pleaded. "Stay next to me." The look on his face was so desperate and innocent that she couldn't say no.
"Okay," she breathed and climbed onto the bed leaving a fair amount of distance between them, so much so that she was almost balancing on the edge. She felt him grip her hand and nodded towards him understandingly. She couldn't understand how they'd let it get this far, Xander had spent some time in Rome with them but his heart was never in it and the time that he said he had needed alone had turned him into a wreck, perhaps if they had been there for him it would never have got that far. The thoughts of what could've been were too much for her and she tried to ignore them and just focus on the situation at hand. "I missed you," she whispered, unsure whether he was still with her.
"Really?" he murmured sleepily and opened his eyes looking at her with an expression of astonishment.
She smiled and comfortingly stroked his hand with her thumb. "So much it hurt," she replied softly.
"I'm sor--"
She shook her head. "It's okay we've got plenty of time to talk but for now you should concentrate on getting some rest."
He pulled her towards him and wrapped his arms around her as though he was afraid to let go. On the verge of tears he said "I'm glad you came." It wasn't long until sleep took his body, but Dawn lay awake for hours just enjoying the feeling of having him back. Feeling his chest rise and fall against her made it all seem so real and she couldn't choke back the tears any longer as they flooded onto his broad shoulders, there was so much work to be done and she had silent doubts if she'd be able to hold it together long enough to help him, She knew that he had changed but hoped that in time she could help him to heal. Slowly she too surrendered to sleep.
Dawn slowly opened her eyes and with blurred morning vision took in her unfamiliar surroundings. The events of the previous night came rushing back to her and she reached out next to her feeling nothing but the empty space on the crumpled sheet. The noise of a door slamming caught her attention and she sat up while running her fingers through her tangled hair. "Xander?" she called out nervously.
Xander edged into the bedroom with an abashed look on his face. "Afternoon sleepy," he said quietly and she glanced in astonishment at her watch. "I figured you'd want a coffee but I-well I haven't had guests in a while, so I ran to the she wished that she could reply and ease the situation but found the words caught in her throat as she looked over to him. He had changed so much since Sunnydale, but at the same time not at all. "Oh yeah and I got some doughnuts." No matter how much the world around changed, deep down inside, the basic and fundamental things that shaped him would always be there, even if just lying dormant for a while.
He walked over to her clearing the pile of dirty clothes off the chair and taking a seat eying the state of the place with awkwardness. He passed her the coffee and she smiled in return and meant to say 'thanks' but instead blurted out "you shaved." She had so many things and reassurances that she had been practising in her head and that was the best she could manage? She could've kicked herself.
Xander chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that was different to the carefree giggle that used to surround wherever he was. It faded away as quick as it came on and a serious look took over his features. Suddenly he looked rather awkward and he glanced anywhere in the room but at her. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have seen me like that yesterday," he said his voice flooded with shame.
She regained her focus and ability to speak and said with a fierce determination. "No Xander, you shouldn't have hidden away from us." She was surprised to see that he didn't even try to deny avoiding them. He pushed his dark hair, which was longer than she remembered from his face and took a breath to speak this time meeting her eyes and she felt a jolt rush through her as memories came flooding back.
"I'm sorry, it was just so difficult after…" his voice broke off suddenly and she saw the lonely tear streaming from his good eyes which he quickly wiped away hoping she hadn't seen. "You shouldn't see me like this."
Her eyes flashed angrily. "I'm not a kid! I haven't been for a long-time," she whispered. "Don't try and protect me, okay?"
"Okay," he resigned. "I know you're not, it's just I can't imagine letting anyone else in at the moment."
"It's a good thing I have time then," she replied stubbornly and smiled while his brows furrowed in confusion.
"You're not leaving?" he asked incredibulousy looking at the willowy woman with an intense glare as if trying to figure her out.
"What so you can brood yourself to death?" she replied raising an eyebrow. "For a guy that never liked Angel you sure do a good impression. There's one difference though."
"He has cooler hair?" he joked.
"Okay two differences," she teased and he replied with a faint smile. She continued her gaze not leaving his for a second "you're not dead."
"Well I wouldn't say I exactly feel alive," he muttered darkly and catching her expression was immediately guilty, he knew that she was only trying to help him.
Dawn took a deep breath and surprised herself as her hand seemed to be moving of its own accord. She gripped his hand and the breath caught in his throat as he watched her unable to respond. She moved his hand up to his chest and placing her hand over hers she pushed down against his heart feeling the internal increasing thudding beat against their hands. "See," she enthused. "You…"
He swallowed the gulp in his throat and interrupted "I felt that." Neither of them seemed able to break contact or the silence that was building. Slowly he lowered their hands but didn't let go. In that moment he could've sworn he heard a click as it all fell into place. Anya died before her time but he was still alive and the worst betrayal to her would be to throw it away as though it meant nothing: as though her sacrifice meant nothing. He wanted to live. "I don't know where to begin," he admitted.
"How about we start by picking up the pieces?" she suggested glancing at the glass covered floor.
"You're really not leaving?" he asked amazed and she shook her head. "Why?"
"It's kind of selfish really," she replied. "But I couldn't imagine another second without you."
Instead of replying he stood up and pulled up against his chest hugging her tightly. She smiled into his neck and wrapped her arms around him breathing deeply and savouring having him back. "I'm sorry for leaving you," he whispered absently stroking her hair while several stray tears fell onto her shoulder.
"It's okay, I understand. I'm with you again. As long as that's okay," she said shyly.
"It's more than okay," he said his voice coated with sincerity and then slowly moved back and sent her a smile. He walked over to the cluttered closet and pulled a broom from the corner. "Let's work on them pieces."
It was in that moment that her insecurities faded away. Together they were strong enough to get through this. In time they would rejoin the gang and once again the little 'family' would be completed. But for then, that's what they had, time and each other.
A/N- An unbeta-read and experimental piece, not really sure what I think of this piece one way or the other. Would love to hear what you think, did it work or not? Please review :)