Xander sat on the dirty concrete steps, watching people pass by. A low riding Ford Laser passed by, suspension shot.
He wasn't drunk. If he was, he'd probably be doing something extremely stupid and permanent. His clothes were dirty, on the verge of needing to be cleaned again. Long, lank hair fell over his eyes and to his shoulders.
His kodachi and katana sat in their saya, brilliantly clean, sharpened and spotless.
Hands on the wheel
All is straight ahead
Left behind
Second guessing all that I once said
His fingers caressed a slim cellphone. He'd bought it, just that day.
Two years. Exactly.
Two years, since he'd spoken to any of the old crowd. Longer, if you didn't count Cordy or Deadboy.
He looked at his hands as they traced the fine lines of the Finnish constructed technology. They were filthy beyond belief. Not that anyone could see the blackness -- the outward signs had been washed off.
But nothing got rid of that feeling of guilt. Nothing.
Not women, not booze, not destroying more leeches, not receiving thanks from victims. Nothing.
I once said, ohhh...
I once said, ohhh...
My spirit is burnt and there's blood on my hands
The more I'm down, the less i understand
Once so found, now so lost
I ask no questions,
It's just one more bridge to cross.
He wanted to speak to his... friends. If he was still worthy of being friends with them. He'd had to solve permanently a number of less demonic evils. He'd come across many would-be Mr Wilkins, and had stopped them before they got close to their hundred days of invulnerability.
Not all of the evil ones he had lain low had had such lofty motives, though
The voice of a man bragging of his unwilling conquests and sales played in Xander's mental ears. It cut off abruptly, that familiar thud, pause, thud-thud following after.
Always black and white
Wouldn't change it if I could
I'll take what I'm handed
Whether it's damned or if it's good
Buff was the Slayer. She had had the right idea in dealing only with demonic evil -- once you started in on humanity, nothing cleansed you afterwards. Despite her nightjob, she still had a certain measure of naivete and innocence that he envied. He missed the Buffster, Wills, and the G-man. He didn't want his pristine Willow to have to see what he had become.
A worker of evil, stopping evil from breeding.
Perhaps Giles would understand him.
He doubted the girls would. They had never experienced this, and he hoped they never did.
If it's good, ohh...
If it's good, ohh...
My spirit is burnt and there's blood on my hands
The more I'm down, the less i understand
Once so found, now so lost
I ask no questions,
It's just one more bridge to cross.
Xander wished he could stop. He looked across the street to a hotel. A little birdie had told him that that was the new HQ of Angel Investigations.
His head followed a figure in a trenchcoat. He didn't understand why, until he noticed a scaled tail flicking the back hem. A human woman with spots of blood on her dress followed, sauntering in a certain way that set Xander's mental alarms jangling.
Xander rose, loosening his katana in it's saya.
Time to take out the trash.
My spirit is burnt and there's blood on my hands
The more i'm down, the less i understand
Once so found, now so lost
I ask no questions,
It's just one more bridge to cross.
i ask no questions,
it's just one more bridge to cross.
i ask no questions
it's just one more bridge to cross.
A lump caught itself in Xander's throat as he approached the double doors.
He knew Angel would recognise him.
Not as Xander the Zeppo, the Donut Boy. The thin, scarred figure he presented was too wildly varying from even two years ago.
As a fellow worker of evil in the service of good.
He knocked on the glass pane, letting his hand drop as the door opened.