Xander moved swiftly and silently down the darkened corridor. <Funny, I could have sworn there was at least *some* light in this sector. Where the hell is that thing? Whatever it was, it could not possibly have been something that belongs here.>
Four months, three days, and seven hours… as near as he could tell. That was how long he'd been here, far from his home and friends in ways he never could have imagined possible. Unfortunately, completely freaking out wasn't an option. They'd have him in a padded cell so fast, his head would spin more than it already was… or they'd set him up to be scanned by a telepath. <Thanks, but no thanks. I don't think they'd react well to the stuff that I've seen.>
With no cash, no believable identity and no friends - not to mention no idea how he'd gotten here in the first place - he made the best of it. He stayed out of sight for much of the first day, ignoring his grumbling stomach, and ended up getting a partial meal from an elderly lady he helped. And, come to think of it, a halfway decent amount of currency, and didn't feel at all bad about it. <Three guys - with shivs - picking on a helpless old lady? They didn't deserve to keep the cash.> He'd left them alive - albeit, nicely restrained. <I hope Security appreciated that. They thought I'd be scared of them.>
Xander managed the stop the derisive chuckle trying to escape. Vampires, demons, Hell-goddess… and three all-too-human thugs thought he'd be afraid of them? <Now, if we're thinking creepy things… where is it, anyway?>
Turning the corner, he just barely avoided bumping into someone else wandering the darkened hall. He slipped into a defensive stance, but relaxed a second later, seeing the dark slacks, shirt, vest, boots - <and a cloak, geez. Talk about dark and mysterious> - that were standard with certain individuals who weren't officially part of Security. The brooch just clinched the ID.
The one-eyed former Californian just nodded at the other man. They'd never met, but Xander had seen him on occasion. The man was roughly his height, with blue eyes, a short beard, and hair that was definitely longer than usual for human males here. <Well, that, and he can empty a bar in five minutes. Wait, actually, it was ten… but what the hell?>
He could feel the other man's gaze calmly assessing threat potential. Xander had seen him with friends… and he'd seen him work - a clown one minute and deadly the next. They seemed to be brothers in purpose, but the other had no way of knowing this.
"Wish I could stop and introduce myself," Xander said, only partially lying. "Unfortunately, I just saw something that needs my attention."
The other man seemed to make up his mind, and switched directions, staying in step with Xander. "And what might that something be?" he asked, in a voice that brought still-painful memories to the front of Xander's mind. He shook off the reaction to that British voice and headed down the corridor, the other man at his side.
Silent for a few steps, he paused long enough to look at the other for a moment. "That something," he said, "is the darkest creature I've seen in my entire life. There was no light… it was like a living shadow, shaped like a really freaking huge spider." Xander shuddered for a moment, remembering the cold horror that he'd felt when he saw the thing. He couldn't even figure out how this compared to the things he'd seen in Sunnydale.
Xander saw the other man pause for a moment, but he didn't stop to ask why, continuing in the direction where he'd last seen the walking abyss. <Wouldn't that word have raised a few eyebrows back home? Have to call it something other than *thing* now, don't I?> Sighing, he finally stopped, realizing that wherever it had wandered was somewhere he couldn't follow… at least, not right now.
"Damn."
"Lost him?" Xander tensed for a moment, startled anew by the sound of that not-quite-familiar voice.
"Yeah. That makes the fifth one I've seen. Hell, maybe they're all the same one that I've just managed to lose five times in a row."
"You said they were the absence of light… shaped like a spider?"
"Yep. I've never seen anything… quite like that. Of course, no one else seems to see them, so I could just be losing my mind. You decide."
Xander had been leaning against the wall, eye closed, listening, when he realized that the man was staring at him. <Strange… most people would rather hide than stare. Actually, down here, staring can lead to some serious pain.> "Was there something you wanted?"
<Go easy, Xanman. You've seen this guy take down an entire bar full of people… and they weren't exactly the nicest people here, either. He's one of the good guys - I think - but still… pissing him off? Bad idea.> Xander warred with himself. Part of him wanted to trust this other warrior of the light. The stronger side of his nature right now wanted to stay very far away from any possible new friends. The fewer people he knew, the fewer people would be hurt when he eventually died. So strong was this new motto of his, that the only thing keeping him from edging away from the other was the fact that the other could catch him… easily.
"You're not crazy, you know," the other finally said. "Well, at least not on this count. I really can't speak for anything else, you see, not knowing who you are and all."
"Xander." <And I'm thinking that's all I'll be telling him right now. Not like anything he found would make sense, anyway.>
"Marcus."
<Well, this is interesting. Determined, afraid and possibly rather dangerous, all in one go. I'd say that's not the best combination to annoy, but then again, Ivanova would never say that I'm known for my common sense. Oh, bugger… I'm not going to learn anything if I don't talk to him, now, am I?> And yet, Marcus couldn't shake the feeling that if he said anything else, the younger man - <Xander> - would turn runner down the corridors. In fact, he wasn't quite sure why Xander hadn't already done just that.
As it happened, Xander answered him first. "I know," he said. "I've… seen you around."
"Oh, really?" The sound of Xander's stomach growling interrupted what Marcus had planned to say. "When's the last time you ate?" he asked, instead.
"This morning."
<Well, he's not one much for communication, is he? I'll have to see about changing that.>
"Come on, then."
"Where to?" Xander's gaze spoke loudly of mistrust, and Marcus wondered when he'd last relaxed - or slept without worrying about whether or not he'd wake up in one piece.
"The Zocalo?"
"Are you kidding, Cole? I haven't seen the shiny side of a mirror in a while, but I'm betting I look like a serial killer and probably smell like something a Pak'ma'ra would love to eat. I'm not fit to be seen in polite company, and I think I like it that way."
"Who says I'm polite?"
"You're not going to give up, are you?"
"Wasn't planning on it. You should ask Ivanova; I'm very persistent."
"I bet."
<Alright, at least he's talking. Now, how do I keep him from disappearing on me? If he really can see the Shadows, I'll need to tell Delenn - eventually. He'd be invaluable here, if I could convince him to talk to people. Might take a while, though… I know that look in his eye. I see it every time I look in a mirror.>
"Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Dogging my footsteps… annoying me. Why the hell do you care?"
"I think it's in the job description… somewhere in the fine print."
"The Code of the Anla'shok covers feeding the non-existent?"
Marcus, who had remained with Xander - all but motionless in that one stretch of corridor - looked him straight in the eye. "How do you know that word?"
"Anla'shok?"
Marcus simply nodded, and, for the first time, saw something appearing to be a grin on the younger man's face.
"I might be short an eye, Ranger, but both ears are still in perfect working order."
"Ah, yes… speaking of the eye…?"
"Psycho Preacher… worked for the First Evil - call it whatever you feel like. He thought I saw too much. Tried to remedy that by poking out my eyes, but was interrupted before he could finish the job."
"What the hell?"
"Exactly." Xander looked and him and smirked. "Didn't you mention food?"
<I just might regret this later.>
<What the hell did I just do? Damn it, I wanted to stay away from him!> Despite wanting to slip away into the shadows of Down Below, Xander stayed near the Ranger. <Why do I think he knows what the spider is?>
The two wound their way through station corridors, up to Brown sector and what Xander thought might be the Ranger's quarters. Spartan - <that's one word for it> - but clean, they were several steps up from where Xander had been living. Still, it took some convincing from Marcus to even get him in the door.
"I don't have a water shower - MedLab's actually the best place for those, if you don't have one in your quarters, and you know the right codes - but the vibe shower works, such as it is."
"Better than nothing. God, I need a shave."
Marcus didn't comment and Xander wondered whether that signaled the Ranger's agreement or something else. <What am I doing here?> Still, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth - even if the horse in question was a Ranger. <Or perhaps, especially if it's a Ranger. What have I gotten myself into? "Spider-tracking - the newest way to make lifelong friends." Right. Hell, at least I'm keeping him slightly off balance… I think.> His own thoughts were almost too loud in his head, a confusing mess brought on by the fact that this was the first time he'd had anyone watching his back in what felt like forever.
And he couldn't help but wonder if Jesse might have been like Marcus… had he lived.
Xander had stayed in the vibe shower for as long as he dared, feeling the almost compulsive need to make every spec of dirt on him just disintegrate into nothing. He would have preferred to scrub his skin raw, but didn't think that would work quite as well in a vibe shower as it would have in the water variety.
He'd even done what he could to clean his eye-patch, but was somewhat worried that both the patch and his clothes would be lost causes. <Which raises the question of what I'm going to wear.> Still, he wasn't overly surprised to find a clean set of clothes awaiting him when he stepped out of the shower. Suspicious, but not surprised.
Taking a very close look at the Ranger's quarters, Xander realized that he was probably wearing the only "civilian" clothes in the other man's wardrobe. <What am I supposed to think about this, huh? Is he just a nice guy? I know he's not hitting on me - thank God. Even a blind man could see he's got a thing for Ivanova, and I've still got one good eye. Have to admit, he's got good taste. At least she knows the meaning of "strategy," and if she weren't unbelievably intimidating… No, the next girl has to be one who actually likes me, instead of thinking I'm scuz or wanting me dead. Presuming, of course, that there actually is a "next girl." I'm not holding my breath.>
The patch - still not the cleanest thing in the galaxy - once again covered his eye, providing some distance from everyone else on the station. The Anla'shok hadn't been intimidated by it, but he was the exception.
"Anyone home?"
Xander didn't jump, just turned around to face the Ranger who had managed to sneak up behind him. "Yeah… just thinking. Thanks for the clothes and the chance for me to get rid of the face-fur. Do I smell food?"
"It's not a problem… and yes, you do. Don't worry too much. It tastes better than it looks."
"Ranger, I stopped judging food on appearance a week after I got here. That's a luxury, and I didn't have it. Still don't."
While Xander was cleaning up, Marcus went about setting out food for his unexpected guest. <Now what? He's got clean clothes waiting for him. He'll have food when he's ready for it… but what will it take to convince him to talk to me?>
He checked his messages, quickly responding to the three that were actually important, and then adjusted the settings so that the system would pick up incoming calls, even though he was home - <such as it is>.
When Xander came into the main room - dressed in clothes Marcus himself rarely wore - he was struck by the variety of expressions on the younger man's face. Suspicion, fear, loss, longing, exhaustion, all edged by a desperate determination… for what, Marcus couldn't tell. Underneath all of it was a hint of purpose. However ragged, however much a lifeline to preserve Xander's sanity, it was still there.
Marcus realized that Xander wasn't aware of his presence and spoke up, trying not to startle him. "Anyone home?"
Xander didn't jump, but the Ranger could see Xander unconsciously prepare himself for a fight. Nonetheless, his turn was controlled, giving no hint to his state of mind. <Sech Durhann would like him, I think. Stuck in a nightmare, but he tracks Shadows. Startled, he doesn't flinch. And… he reminds me of William.>
"Yeah… just thinking," Xander said. "Thanks for the clothes and the chance for me to get rid of the face-fur. Do I smell food?"
<That's the second time he's mentioned food to change the subject… not that I'm in any position to blame him.>
"It's not a problem… and yes, you do. Don't worry too much. It tastes better than it looks."
"Ranger, I stopped judging food on appearance a week after I got here. That's a luxury, and I didn't have it. Still don't."
"This time, you do. Sit. Enjoy."
Xander looked between the table and the Ranger, and Marcus could almost hear him mentally juggling options. Finally, he nodded and they both sat down to eat. It was late for dinner, and Xander wasn't the only one who hadn't eaten since that morning.
The meal was a strange one, characterized by silence. Xander said nothing for reasons that Marcus could only guess, and Marcus… Marcus stayed silent out of respect for those reasons. He could tell that time was running out when, plate empty, Xander started casting somewhat anxious looks toward the door.
"I won't lock you in, you know."
"Didn't figure you would. Good food, by the way."
"Thanks… but could we get back to the topic?"
"Sure… what was that again?"
"Oh, let's see… Where were we before I mentioned food? Psychotic Preachers, the First Evil, a missing eye… and chasing Shadows."
"Is that what the spider's called? A Shadow?" Marcus simply nodded, keeping his eyes locked on Xander. "It fits."
"It does, but before we get into them… what did you mean when you asked if the Code of the Anla'shok covered 'feeding the non-existent?'"
In less than a second, the face that he had been reading was replaced with a still, quiet mask, and the slight smile that graced it was anything but friendly. "I thank you for the hospitality, Ranger, and the clothing, but the story is one that you would not believe. I am out of place, out of time, and - as far as the Babylon 5 is concerned - I do not exist. It's better if we leave it that way." Xander was out of his seat - and through the door - before Marcus thought to stop him.
"Oh, bugger. Well, that went well."
The next morning found Marcus outside Delenn's door, amazed that he'd actually gotten some sleep. Lennier ushered him into the Ambassador's quarters, where he was greeted with the increasingly familiar sight of Delenn sitting before a meditation candle. After extinguishing the candle and setting it aside, she rose to her feet. Marcus noticed that the movement was still somewhat stiff, that she wasn't quite fully healed, and he had to push back his remaining fury at her kidnappers. <That's over. They can't get to her anymore.>
"Good morning, Marcus. Did you sleep well?"
"As well as can be expected, Delenn."
"Meaning? Is there something on your mind, Marcus?"
<Naturally, this is the morning I forget that she can read me nearly as well as Entil'Zha. What would ever lead me to imagine that she might think my lack of sleep had anything whatsoever to do with my normal Ranger duties?>
"Nothing I can change at the moment, Ambassador."
A pointed look was Delenn's only response. "I trust you will tell me when there is 'something you can change?'" He nodded. "Marcus, sometimes even the most insubstantial things have value. Even if you think a detail unimportant…"
"…it may be the one detail that will turn the tide of a battle. Yes, Delenn, I know."
"This situation… it has you confused?"
"Very."
"Marcus… walk with me." Marcus knew where she would want to go, of course - the Zen Gardens - but they had barely gotten out of the door when Captain Sheridan came by to check on her. Marcus made his excuses and slipped quickly out of sight, leaving the other two to their discussion. The Ranger had other things on his mind at the moment. He knew he hadn't permanently escaped discussing this situation with Delenn… but he would cherish every little moment he had to answer his own questions before having to answer hers.
His thoughts were a replay of those that had kept him awake last night. <"Out of place," he said. "Out of time," he said. "Non-existent." If he's not in Station records, then he didn't use his own name at the Security checkpoint… or he didn't come through the checkpoint at all. Best bet would be to check with Stephen. But if he's rogue, why is he still on the Station?>
When Marcus reached the free clinic, he found the usual line. Stephen Franklin's clinic provided the only real medical care down here, and he knew the Station's poorest residents took advantage of what little was available to them. Most of the lurkers let him pass without comment, though a few of the oldest and youngest gifted him with a smile. He'd never heard their names, but he knew some of the faces… some of the stories.
He hoped one of them knew Xander's tale.
"Sorry, Marcus. The description's just not ringing any bells. I wish I could help you out, but I don't remember anyone like that. And since I don't see too many people missing an eye…"
"Thanks, Stephen. It was worth a try, wasn't it?" The Ranger turned to leave, and was stopped by the doctor's voice.
"Marcus… what's so important about this one man?"
"I couldn't tell you, Stephen. Not yet. I'm not entirely certain of it all, myself."
Leaving the clinic, he thought to try another hour of searching before brainstorming a few more ideas.
"Young man, you're looking in the wrong place. He's nowhere near here."
<Maybe…?> "Do you know him, then?"
"As far as the rest of the Station is concerned, no. For the Rangers… yes. Ye aren't the only one who's ever journeyed down here, and I'm sure ye know it. But you're the only one that's ever looked for him."
Marcus knelt by the old woman, his gaze sweeping over everything - the ragged blankets and tiny bag that probably contained all of her worldly possessions. The garments would have been expensive if they were new. She hadn't always lived this kind of hand-to-mouth existence, and Marcus could only guess at how she came in Down Below, or - for that matter - why she had come to Babylon 5 at all. Marcus ignored the smell… spend enough time in Down Below, and a person eventually got used to it.
"Well, lovely lady, might you tell me how you know him?"
"The first time I saw him, I didn't even take much notice. Ye see, the other three were of much more concern to m'self, seein' as they were armed. It wasn't as if I had much for them to take… nothing, really."
Marcus just listened as she told the story, knowing that most would have gotten impatient with the woman… but that wouldn't help here. At the moment, he was debating with himself as to whether her speech was natural or the result of some illness. Still, he listened.
"They were armed and he wasn't," she said, "but he moved like the three of them were stuck in mud, like he was expectin' them to be faster than they were. Fought 'em, beat 'em, and then tied 'em up. I can't remember what he used, but that's probably not very important at the moment, is it? After he tied them up, he searched them, pocketed one of the shivs, and took whatever money they had on them. He shared that, though." She paused for a second.
"He said," she continued, "he said he was either in a nightmare or in hell, and either way, he probably wouldn't need that much. I don't see him much, but he always leaves a little something - money or food, sometimes a blanket or the like. I don't worry so much when he's around."
"When was this… that you saw him the first time?"
"Well, I couldn't really tell you the last time I bothered paying attention to dates, but that month, I actually went to see Doc Franklin at the clinic. It was January, I think."
"Four months ago." Marcus whispered that so softly, not even he was certain he'd spoken aloud. A little louder, he asked, "Have you seen him recently?"
"A couple times. I still don't know his name. He's never said, ye see. But then, I don't give mine to all that many, either. He likes to follow the Rangers and the Security patrols that actually come down here… every now and then. Says he hears the best news that way. Sometimes he shares and sometimes he doesn't. He used ta follow the NightWatch people around, too. Not sure what he did about them." She paused, apparently lost in thought, her dark eyes glazed over with either memory or illness.
"Where can I find him?" Now, the Ranger's voice was soft, coaxing. <This wouldn't have worked when I was looking for Delenn, but… different methods for different people, after all.>
"Such a sweet young man." At this point, Marcus wasn't sure whether she was referring to Xander or himself. "The last time I saw him was down near that bar last week… such a mess. But sometimes, he likes to sneak up to the gardens. He goes there when he thinks no one else will be around. I think he's looking for something that reminds him of home."
<Clean clothes… it's been a while. You have to wonder why anyone came near me at all, right? I figure after a while, everybody smelled just as bad, so no one particularly cared… and that's just messed up. At any rate, I'm clean, and dressed enough like everyone else to not draw Garibaldi's attention. But hey, what would he do if I caused a problem now, anyway? Ship me off to Earth? Wonder what Giles would say if he saw me actually watching the news? Doesn't quite fit the image, does it? Xander, man, it's lucky you're not saying this stuff out loud. People would think you were strange.>
On the other hand, any looks directed his way probably had more to do with the quiet chuckle he had just released, than anything else in particular. Despite the mostly normal appearance, Xander was still being cautious, keeping his left side close to the wall, so that the patch would be a little more difficult to notice.
He wasn't talking to anyone… but he wanted to see them, people living somewhat normal lives. He wanted to know how they acted, what they valued, who they loved. He needed to see how much had changed during the two and a half centuries through which he had - somehow - slept.
Xander knew that he was walking a fine line, wavering on the edge of a depression he would not be able to defeat, but he hadn't fallen yet. In the meantime, he had a job to do. Granted, it didn't pay anything - <it never does> - but that didn't matter. Security did sweeps of Down Below, but didn't address much of the problem. <The bad guys are good at hiding… and I've gotten very good at hunting. It works.>
He remembered, when he first arrived, feeling that this Station and her inhabitants were somehow part of an unending hell. He figured that either he'd done something to piss off the PTBs… or they just hated him on general principle. Everything was strange. The beings he'd seen weren't human, but neither did they appear evil, just… out of his scope of knowledge. He'd never seen anything quite like Minbari heads - bald, with the bone crest to protect it. Aside from the crest, they looked human. That was the most frightening of all, to Xander.
<The most dangerous beings in Sunnydale were the ones that looked perfectly human… but weren't. But the Minbari are different. In the time I've been here, I've heard tales of Ambassador Delenn's wisdom and kindness… and the Rangers, the Rangers all train on Minbar. They aren't demons. I know that much. I'm reserving judgment where the Centauri are concerned… that hair is just plain freakish.
I'm still not entirely sure that I haven't just lost whatever sanity I had in the first place. But hey, if I have to be nuts, there are worse places for my brain to take me… and isn't that just a scary thought?>
He knew that he had enough cash in hand to really treat himself to lunch… but aside from last night, he'd been living on minimal amounts of food. Pushing his stomach any more than he already had might not be all that smart. <But what I wouldn't give for a Twinkie.>
Silently, he shelled out the money for a small selection of fruits and breads at one of the stalls in the Zocalo, knowing that he would only be eating part of it. It was about time for him to pay another visit to Maire, anyway. <Hey, at least this stuff's a bit better quality than what I'd find Down Below. And the merchant's not human, so hopefully he'll have a moment of "all humans look alike to me" if anyone comes asking.>
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar silhouette, but when he turned his head for a better look, it was gone. Still, he knew something was watching him. He could feel it, could sense it so tangibly that it was almost as though the taste and scent of the thing floated in the air in front of him. It was almost enough to make him gag. <There's more than one of them, this time.>
Asking the vendor to hold his purchases - he would be back for them shortly - he set out after the Shadows. <This may be hell, but I still have a job to do. Whether I'm insane, or this cause is the thing that *keeps me* sane… well, that's the real question.>
He followed, having a fair idea as to where they were headed, but certain of nothing. Every step closer to them increased his feeling as to the pure "wrongness" of the situation. Yet, he couldn't stop, couldn't risk that these things would escape him again… didn't want to face the guilt of knowing he could have stopped them. <Or at least, that I could have tried. I don't know what these can do… and I could definitely get my ass handed to me. Hell, who would miss me? All right, so I'll have to have a chat with myself later about these suicidal tendencies. Take care of the Shadows first; deal with the mental issues later.>
When the chase ended nearly an hour later, he was deep in Down Below, and something told him that he was in serious trouble. The feeling was only confirmed when he heard the question, "What do you want?" echo in the darkness.
He didn't answer.
She hadn't planned to follow him. She didn't even *know* him, but she had seen what he saw, and like him, couldn't just let them get away. He tracked them, and she trailed after - but not before contacting Garibaldi with a warning that there was a Shadow on the Station. She kept the link open and quickly met up with a Security team headed by Garibaldi himself.
"Fill me in, Lyta."
"At least one Shadow, possibly more, heading into Down Below. There was a man in the Zocalo who saw it. He's… the best word would be 'tracking' it, Chief. I've never seen him before, but he can see it or sense it… something. That way."
The ten-person Security team - plus telepath, and all armed - approached the small dark hidey-hole where the mystery man had apparently followed the Shadow. Lyta and Garibaldi had the lead positions here, but it was Lyta who heard the question, "What do you want?" It was Lyta who noted that the man did not answer... and Lyta who wanted to kill the Shadows when she heard the man start to scream.
Xander wasn't quite certain what happened after he started screaming. <Near-disembowelment. I'm pretty sure that's a new one.> There was pain… a lot of pain. The question echoed around the room over and over and over again until he heard nothing else.
It was a light touch that awoke him - impersonal, but gentle. Years of experience attached the title "Doctor" to that touch. <Must be something they teach in med school.> He kept his thoughts - and his gaze - to himself. <It's amazing what you learn when people think you're asleep, drunk or stoned off your ass.>
"He's lucky." <I know that voice. Now, what's the name that goes with it?>
He struggled to maintain the illusion of sleep, but could feel the pain medication - whatever it was - wearing off. The people had moved farther away from him, and he couldn't hear anymore of that conversation… but he also couldn't ignore the damage the Shadows had done.
<Not that I'm objecting - completely - but why the hell am I still alive? And how, for that matter?> Beads of sweat were rolling down his face and he felt like his gut was on fire. <Sharp, dark, sliding into his stomach, slicing, cold fire. What do you want? What do you want? What do you want?>
He shook his head and opened his eye, carefully taking stock of his body. Through the window, he saw Dr. Franklin speaking with several others. He'd never met any of them, but he'd seen the Doc several times. The couple standing directly before him was unmistakable. They could only be Captain Sheridan and Ambassador Delenn. Garibaldi, he'd followed a few times. He got the feeling that Down Below really wasn't one of the Security Chief's favorite places. <That's okay, though. It's not really one of mine either.>
Standing next to Garibaldi, though, was someone he didn't recognize immediately. <Slim, redhead… gloves. Shit, she's a telepath.> It wasn't that he objected to telepaths on general principle… just the thought of someone rooting around in his head. Hey, he'd already shared headspace with a hyena and a soldier… that was more than enough for a lifetime. Besides, he had a very strict definition of personal space… and anyone digging through his thoughts was most definitely *violating* that personal space.
He shuddered, knowing they were talking about him, that there was no one in that room he knew well enough to trust… knowing that he hurt, and that he couldn't stay. Some part of him knew he would risk infection and death if he left. That same part said risking his heart again would hurt a hell of a lot more.
It was to that part that he listened, giving in to his fear.
Marcus entered Medlab just in time to hear Stephen say, "That's how he's doing so far."
"Well, this is a friendly little gathering."
"Marcus, where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for the past three hours."
"Around. Why, Stephen, did you miss me?"
"Not hardly. Lyta found your friend."
Marcus stopped dead, knowing that whatever Stephen was going to tell him could not possibly be good. "Where?"
It was Lyta who answered him this time. "He was chasing Shadows, Marcus. Well, not so much chasing as tracking…"
"His condition?" Here, he looked at Stephen again.
"They almost killed him. I've never seen anyone with a wound quite like that. It was like it… they… took a claw or leg and just swept it across his abdomen. A fraction of an inch deeper and they… it… would have eviscerated him."
"In Valen's name." Marcus was only vaguely aware that his voice had dropped to a whisper. "Why?"
Stephen shook his head, signifying his lack of knowledge in regards to the Shadows' reasons. It was Lyta who answered the Ranger. "They asked him what he wanted and he didn't answer."
"Marcus, did you know that he could see the Shadows?"
"Yes, Delenn." <I won't be hearing the end of this for quite some time.>
"Why did you not mention this?" The Minbari's expression was not exactly disapproving. It felt to Marcus as though she was withholding judgment until she could discover the motivation for his actions.
"He does not trust, Delenn, and I know too well the look in his eye. Should any of us push too hard, he *will* disappear, deep into this Station where even I would have trouble finding him." He paused for a moment. "Keeping that in mind, Stephen… is there someone sitting with him?"
"No. He should be out for another couple of hours."
"Funny thing, Stephen. You keep thinking the same thing about me… and I'm always doing my best to get out of here at the earliest opportunity, sometimes without your approval. We are the same, he and I. Do you honestly think he'll be sticking around if he thinks there's even a possibility his feet will support him?"
"Marcus, please tell me you're joking."
Marcus didn't answer, just following Stephen when the doctor took off toward a far section of Medlab.
<It's gettin' kinda hard to breathe here.> Face drawn in pain, driven by the need to avoid sharing his own personal hell - willingly or otherwise - he failed to notice that his unorthodox attire had drawn a few looks. It was a perfectly serviceable shirt… but the white shirt - meant to be worn under a uniform jacket - doubtless looked a little strange. It was not tucked in, and the color was almost matched by the shade of the wearer's face.
<Wish I could have found my own shirt… but they probably trashed it, all sliced. At least I managed to avoid setting off any alarms. Christ! Note to self: try to avoid allowing opponents to slice abdominal muscles anytime in the future, hey, Xan? The pain's a bit of a bitch.> A groan escaping him, his hand reached for purchase on the nearest wall… and missed.
<He could hear them, skittering around in the darkness - but he couldn't hunt them that way. He had to see. He had to see. He couldn't hear their thoughts, but he saw… he saw… Cold fingers traced down the back of his neck, and the whisper returned. "You're alone, now. No home, no friends, no family… no *world.* Everything you had, we have taken. You cannot stand against us alone. You are only one. You are only one. You are only one. And you will die.">
Xander snapped to consciousness, sitting upright before he realized that it was going to hurt. "Ah! Oh, that was *so* not fun."
"Hey! Hey, take it easy before you do more damage to yourself, ok?" Looking up, he saw Dr. Franklin, and recognized the voice that had earlier commented on how lucky he was. <Yeah, right.>
Xander didn't answer the doctor. <Huh uh, not gonna happen. Hell, they've probably already pulled my prints. Wonder what the search on those turned up? You can ask all the questions you want, Doc, but the only person I'll talk to right now isn't in this room. Sorry.>
Inside, he was shaking. It had been almost a full year - to his memory - since Sunnydale sank into nothing. A year in which he had not cried, had not grieved, and had barely spoken to his friends. Spike of the "noble" sacrifice had been deemed a hero, and Anya - *his* ­Anya - all but forgotten. Giles - gone to gather up the many and scattered remnants of the Watchers Council. Willow, Faith, Kennedy and Wood all playing their parts in finding and training the new Slayers and taking turns watching the new Hellmouth. <Why would any self-respecting Hellmouth be in Cleveland, anyway? Too much snow. On the other hand, the vamps probably like it better than good old SunnyD. Less sun.> Buffy and Dawn - doing something in Rome, and hopefully remembering what family was.
And Xander? Well, he had gone to Africa to scout out more of the new Slayers. He'd gone to sleep one night in January… and woken up the next morning - <two hundred fifty-six freaking years later! In a space station! Surrounded by a hell of a lot of people who weren't exactly human!> He had no friends here, no family, no identity… and absolutely nowhere to turn. If it hadn't been for Maire, he might have given in to the nightmare. As it was, he hadn't really found the time to completely freak out; it wasn't exactly advisable if he actually wanted to continue *living* in Down Below.
Franklin kept talking. Xander kept ignoring him, still not quite certain that this wasn't all in his head.
"How's our new friend, Stephen?"
The usual group of misfits had gathered in Captain Sheridan's office, each curious - for his or her own reasons - about Medlab's newest resident.
"He's awake, Captain, and I've got a nurse keeping an eye on him. It doesn't *look* as though he's planning to leave anytime soon. It also doesn't look like he's going to *talk* anytime soon. The most I've heard out of him so far was when he first woke up and sat up a little too fast. I asked him a couple questions, but he acted like he didn't even hear me. I couldn't even manage to get a name out of him."
Sheridan looked at Marcus.
"What?" The Ranger matched looks with him. "Even if he did give me a name, Captain, there's no guarantee that it's actually his."
"At least it would be a place to start."
Marcus looked at the Security Chief, debating. When Garibaldi's link chimed, Marcus breathed a sigh of relief for the interruption. He knew that Michael was downright paranoid in regards to Station Security - that's part of what made him good at his job - but he also knew that you didn't keep contacts in Down Below by spilling names. Marcus wanted there to be at least one person connected to the Senior level officers that Xander would feel he could trust.
"Garibaldi, go."
The disembodied voice of Zack Allen echoed back. "I ran the prints on the guy in Medlab, Chief, and you're not going to believe what I found. The only match was a guy by the name of Alexander Harris, who was listed 'Missing and Presumed Dead' in January of *2004.* And, get this, his government file is *still* classified. Right off the top of my head, I really couldn't tell you anyone on the Station who might be cleared to open it."
In the shocked silence of the office, Marcus' voice seemed unnaturally loud. "Well, I suspect that's a bit out of the ordinary… but it would explain a few things."
She stood in the doorway, watching him. One minute, his dark eye would be open. The next, it would be closed, as he apparently thought about one thing or another. All the while, he said nothing, and she thought he was unaware of what was happening around him. That misconception was quickly corrected the minute he actually looked at her. One corner of his mouth quirked in a little half-smile, as if he knew something she didn't. Lyta felt as though he saw her very soul, and she should have been afraid. She *knew* that she should have been afraid. Whenever her instructors had looked at her like that, it had been accompanied by them probing her mind, listening to her secrets. Her thoughts were her own here; she knew that. The stranger wasn't touching her mind, wasn't seeing inside her head.
But what he *was* seeing could be much more dangerous. And Lyta, for all her work with Kosh, did not know what to do about those ancient eyes, eyes that said <trust me> and <don't hurt me> in the same glance. She did know that however twisted the Shadow War had been before now, the situation had just gotten a lot more complicated. She just wasn't sure how.
In Sheridan's office, Garibaldi continued to talk to his second. "Zack, that search was restricted to Security and Customs files. How the hell did it manage to turn up one that was sealed?"
"Hell if I know, Chief. I didn't even bother trying to access the main EarthGov databank, for obvious reasons. It looks like this one might have been sent to Commander Sinclair. No way to tell if he was able to open it, though. If he was, I'd love to know how. The print search didn't even bring up a photo… just a one-page display with name, last known location and clearance level needed to access the rest of the file. It's weird, Chief."
"Everything about this is weird, Zack." Marcus realized that Garibaldi suddenly looked as if he wouldn't mind a very stiff drink. "Keep an eye on that file and let me know if there's even the slightest hint that someone else knows it's there. Garibaldi, out."
<Actually, come to think of it, everyone in the room looks to be in need of a drink, not just Garibaldi. Bugger, what a complicated mess.>
"Suggestions, people?"
"John, I do not believe it will do any good if we all… what is the phrase… gang up on him? He has already demonstrated an unwillingness to speak with Dr. Franklin. Perhaps, if we send someone with whom he has already spoken?"
"Delenn…"
"Michael." It was Sheridan's voice this time. "Let it go for now. Have a few of your people stationed outside his door. Go yourself if you want to. But let Marcus have a chance to get through to him first."
"Yes, sir."
Before Marcus left the office, he heard Sheridan instruct Corwin to put through a call to Minbar. <Looks as though the Captain is doing some checking of his own.>
Xander closed his eye, blocking out the sight of the red-headed telepath, and the images that his mind associated with her. <It's not what's happening now,> he thought. <At least, I don't think so. More like… a million possible moves, with just as many possible ultimate outcomes. Like looking at a chessboard and seeing everyone's place on it… what could be? What is?>
He didn't have the soldier in his mind anymore, the memories gradually fading… but sometimes, sometimes, he still thought he would know what the soldier might have said. This was one of those times, and the voice whispered. <**Not just seeing the pieces, boy… seeing ten steps ahead of the game. With every move your opponent makes, you know each route he could take to win. Doesn't mean you know how to stop him… just where he's going. Then again, you have to learn the rules of the game, first.**>
<Great,> he thought back to himself. <So much for normal. I'm talking to a voice in my head, and I'm apparently some kind of freak of nature.>
<**Not hardly, boyo. Nothing supernatural about this. You're a natural tactician. You were born this way. Just… don't go all Napoleonic or anything, huh?**>
<Who the heck are you?>
<**You already have that answer, remember? The soldier memories faded, but you really liked the attitude. You kept that around for a sounding board.**>
<So I have multiple personalities, now?>
<**You've been possessed by a soldier and a hyena, your childhood was for shit, and you've *knowingly* lived in a supernatural war zone since you were sixteen. What do you think?**>
<Great. So you're…>
<**No. You're not crazy. In fact, you adjusted surprisingly well to your world turning upside down. This makes the second time… or is it third? Anyway, I'm just another aspect of your own personality that you use for a sounding board when you don't feel like talking to anyone else. I've already told you that. For the moment, you're perfectly sane. But you might want to look at getting a few friends outside of your head. Avoiding all meaningful human contact really isn't healthy.**>
<I knew that already, but thank you, inner Psychologist. Who knew supernatural soldiers wore so many professional hats? Psych 101 a required mini-course in Basic? God, I'm being sarcastic with myself.>
<**More like battlefield psych, actually. Point stands. The Ranger's heading this way. Talk to him, huh?**>
<Yeah, yeah. Great. I just love arguing with myself. Such fun.>
"Xander." The former Scooby matched gazes with the Ranger just before his eye looked to the door.
"Garibaldi decide to be your shadow today? You can come in, by the way, Chief. The telepath, too. I don't believe we've been introduced."
Looking at the expression on the Chief's face, Xander suddenly wished he knew what was going through the older man's mind. <Actually, is he really older? I mean, hey, technically I'm two hundred eighty, if we're actually paying attention to the calendar.>
"My deepest apologies, Xander. Obviously you're aware of our slightly paranoid friend here, Security Chief Michael Garibaldi. The lovely lady next to me is Lyta Alexander, aide to Ambassador Kosh. We all know Mr. Garibaldi's here because he likes to know what's happening on *his* station, but I wouldn't dream of speaking for Ms. Alexander." The Ranger's eyes were sparkling, and Xander relaxed a little, a spark lighting deep inside him. He wasn't sure he could remember the last time someone had joked with him and meant it.
Garibaldi watched the interaction between the Ranger and the kid, silent for the moment. He seemed to be talking easily enough with Marcus, and Michael wanted to keep him talking. The only problem was that patience wasn't really his strong point. He watched Harris' face during the conversation, and gradually found himself revising his opinion. This guy wasn't a kid. <Damn, I wish we still access to Earthforce personnel files. This guy looks like he's been in a war, and I don't for a minute think he was actually born in the twentieth century. Not a chance. Don't know what to think about that eye, though. Earthforce docs would have taken better care of that.>
His full attention came back to the conversation when he heard Marcus ask what Harris had been doing before they came into the room.
"Nothing much," Harris replied. "I was just talking to the voice in my head."
"You're a telepath?" Garibaldi felt his natural suspicion come to the forefront again.
"Not hardly. I just have in-depth conversations with myself. If that's my only problem, I'm lucky. Could be worse."
Agreeing with him, but curious to see how he would answer, Garibaldi asked the obvious question. "How?"
"I could have sold my soul for a Twinkie."
<What in the hell is a Twinkie?> As the thought rolled through Garibaldi's mind, he heard Lyta ask the same question - well, more or less.
"Snack food," Harris responded. "I practically lived on Twinkies, pizza and doughnuts during High School, and haven't had any in far too long, and while that's all fine and dandy, I'm betting the Chief has a few questions for me. Since that little sounding board was advising me to act sane… Take your best shot, Chief."
<Ok, he wouldn't talk to Stephen at all, but here he is, more than ready to crack jokes and answer questions?>
Suspicious, he gave the other man his best glare, not giving a damn that Harris could see Shadows, and not giving a damn that they had for some reason tried to kill him. <The enemy of my enemy is not always my friend. Sometimes, it's just a second enemy.> He definitely had questions. The only difficulty was which one he should ask first. <Let's start at the beginning, then. Identification.>
"Who are you?"
A deep suspicion filled Harris' eyes, but Garibaldi saw him shove it away.
"Harris, Alexander LaVelle," he answered. "I answer to Xander or Harris. Don't ever call me Alex, Alexander or *Mr.* Harris if you expect me to respond."
"Why not?"
"Memories."
Garibaldi had the feeling that though Harris had initially been joking like Marcus, he could seal up tighter than the Chief himself if he wanted. <Or maybe he could seal up tighter than Marcus - *he* doesn't really tell us much about himself, either. But hey, at least we had Earthforce records on *him.*>
"Birthdate?"
"November 16, 1980."
"There is no way in hell I'm believing that you're two hundred eighty years old!"
"Technically, I'm only two hundred seventy-nine, but I round up, too, so don't feel bad about it."
Some part of Garibaldi was actually thinking that this guy was funny… the rest of him was getting really annoyed.
"You know there are ways to tell if you're lying, right?" <I don't like telepaths, never have, but since Lyta's in the room…>
"I know. I'd also bet that you haven't had a chance to ask the beautiful Ms. Alexander to scan me. Even if you had asked her, she *isn't* scanning me. I've - unfortunately - shared head space often enough to know what it feels like to have someone sorting through my thoughts. I'm not feeling that right now."
"Besides," Harris added, after a pause, "she's not screaming."
"Why the hell would she would be screaming?"
"I wouldn't wish my nightmares on my worst enemy, Garibaldi. What do you think?"
Garibaldi was silent for a second. <I know that look. Where did this guy serve? *When* did this guy serve? He must have been military at some point; no civilian has eyes like that unless he grew up in a warzone.>
Harris spoke again, his voice filling the quiet room. "Do you really want to hear my story, Chief?"
"I want to hear what you have to say."
"You want to figure out what kind of a threat I am, don't you? I can understand that. But I'm only going to tell this story once, so everyone who wants to hear it had best gather in a single place."
"I'm sorry, John, but the name isn't familiar. Zack's sure the file was directed to me?"
"He wasn't certain, Jeff. He said that it *might* have been sent to you, but however it got here, it apparently bypassed the usual file routing protocols. Regardless, the darn thing's sealed and I want to know who this guy is."
"I could tell you a few of the old access codes, but you know as well as I do that they would have been changed when I resigned from Earthforce. If this was sent to *Commander* Sinclair instead of *Ambassador* Sinclair, but was sent after I left…"
"Yeah, I know. Either the old codes wouldn't work and there weren't any new ones to replace them, or… " He paused for a moment, thinking. "What if this isn't an Earthforce file, but was sent to you unofficially by someone in EarthGov?"
"Someone who might not have been immediately aware of the change in status, or who knew me and was pushing for a personal password to open this, instead of an official code?"
"Something like that, Jeff. I honestly don't know what the deal is with this file… or the guy. There's not even a sender name on the blasted thing, and the information that we *have* accessed confuses the blessed hell outta me."
"I wish I could help you out, John. I'll see what I can come up with, but honestly, there's someone on the station I would check with."
"Who?"
The man on the other end of the conversation just smiled. "Think about it a minute. Cryptic, mysterious, seems to know everything but won't actually tell anyone else…"
"Ambassador Kosh."
<Should I feel flattered or terrified that there are this many people interested in my story? Great, yes, I know I should be talking with people outside of my head, but this isn't quite what I had in mind. For pity's sake, what the hell is so special about me that almost the entire Command Staff of the Station would come down for a chat?
Correction, the Command Staff and an Ambassador, and… who the hell is that?!>
"Ok, hold on a sec. Dr. Franklin, I know. Captain Sheridan, Commander Ivanova and Ambassador Delenn, I know. Chief Garibaldi and Marcus, I know, and Ms. Alexander and I have been recently introduced… but who's the guy in the green suit?"
Looking at him, Xander felt as if he'd been hit by a three hundred pound linebacker and he was relatively certain that he now matched the hospital sheets. <Between the Shadow and the Star… a war that spanned a thousand years. Cooperation. Unity. But some are not as they appear. Ulkesh's influence taints it. Wait a minute… who's Ulkesh?>
Xander felt a light touch on his shoulder, and realized he hadn't heard anything that had been said in the last… however long it had been. "Sorry," he murmured, realizing that it was Lyta at his side. "What was that? My mind was wandering."
Franklin gave him a concerned look and Xander thought he might be wanting to call off this conference. Shaking his head, Xander said, "No, Doc. If we're gonna do this, let's get it done now." The Doctor backed off, though Xander got the feeling that wasn't going to last too long.
"Now," he continued, "I'm afraid I missed the introduction. This gentleman would be Ambassador…?"
"Kosh." Sheridan's voice rang clear. Looking at him, Xander noted that the strongest threads tied him to Ambassador Delenn and Susan Ivanova, his - <girlfriend is not the right word, but it's all I can think of right now> - and one of his best friends, in that order. Even if he hadn't heard of the growing relationship between Sheridan and Delenn, the strength of the tie would have been obvious. <The piece on the board… and how it relates to the others? The tie to Ivanova is no less bright, but the tone of it is different. God, this little *gift* is going to give me a migraine. I wonder, would it be this hard if they weren't all in the same room?>
None of this was said out loud. It was new and strange even to him, at least to this degree. Xander knew he'd used it before, in the way that he'd instinctively known how Buffy would act had she been aware of the truth during the last fight with Angelus. He knew he'd used it before, in the way he'd been able to find Angel and drag him to the Master's lair. Knew he'd used it before, when he'd been at the hospital at just the right moment. And when he'd saved Kennedy's life, and Caleb held him still, he knew what would happen next. But this level of giftcurseknowledge, with people he'd never met… that was new.
"Ambassador Kosh," he said. "I'd say make yourself comfortable, but we seem to be rather short on room. OK, who wants to go first?"
<Thank God. It's about time someone tried to access that file. It's been sitting there far too long. Every time I ask about it, AJ gives me a lecture on the duties of a Watcher - despite the fact that I'm technically *not* one - and how it's prophecy, etc., etc. "The Protector Chronicle needs to be on Babylon 5 now, yadda, yadda, yadda. You need to make sure it's directed to Commander Sinclair, yadda, yadda. It will be found when the time is right, nagnagnag." Earthforce was peaceful in comparison. Of course, military life will cease *being* peaceful if I'm distracted and allow something to dent Commander Ivanova's Station. Technically, it should be Captain Sheridan's Station - I realize that - but the Commander is more intimidating.>
"Not much longer, no. Zathras not have much longer to wait. Draal not have much longer to wait. Tried to tell Draal, but the Great Machine is first, always first. Too much concentration needed for the Machine. Draal will want to re-read prophecy soon, yes. Zathras will try to tell him again." The furred being continued on his way through the depths of the Great Machine on Epsilon 3, clicking his tongue and muttering to himself. Sighing, he said, "No one listens to Zathras."
Medlab
<You don't have to be a telepath to feel the tension in this room. It's enough to make the most thick-headed of mundanes want to run and hide. And the sheer number of people in this small of a space isn't helping much, either.> Lyta had kept her most recent position near Xander's shoulder, though she couldn't really say whether that was her choice or just due to the lack of space.
Lyta looked at Xander and noticed that, while his gaze held steady, he was pale and sweating. He wasn't broadcasting anything that would make her think he was planning to lie to them, so she knew he was either in severe pain or not used to so many people in so small a space. Either way, she'd be amazed if he lasted more than thirty minutes. Captain Sheridan apparently felt the same way. His questions - when they came - were politely worded, and his tone was gentle.
She didn't scan him, choosing instead to watch his face, the movements of his hands, and how he sat - no one had been able to convince him that laying down would be a good idea, not with so many strangers in the room. These would tell her everything she needed to know.
She knew he couldn't possibly be telling everything. <A carpenter from Cleveland, who lost his eye in a disagreement with a Satanist, went soul-searching in Africa and then woke up one morning in Down Below? There's nothing in his posture or facial expression that would suggest he's lying, but there's no way that can possibly be the whole truth. Almost an hour and he manages to answer everyone's questions, yet tell us very little.>
Lyta was so intent on her thoughts, that she jumped when Kosh spoke. "Where… were you born?"
Xander looked at Kosh, and for a full minute, he said nothing. <What does he see when he looks at Kosh? What does he know? And why does he look like he doesn't want to say the name?>
"Sunnydale, California."
"And its other name?"
"La Boca del Infierno," Xander answered, whispering. "The Mouth of Hell. And those who named it meant that in the literal sense. How can you not know, even now?"
"The truth will always be known."
"Do I know it, then?"
"Yes… and no."
Only Lyta heard Xander's next comment, and it was only her astonishment at the turn in the conversation that kept her from laughing. "Sometimes," he had muttered, "I just want to beat my head against a brick wall."
She saw him take a deep breath. <His hands are shaking.>
"Somehow, life seemed a little simpler, then… and trust me, that's saying a hell of a lot. No pun intended. No disrespect intended, Ambassador Kosh, but I've already had my quotient of unbelievably cryptic individuals and/or the writings of same. I think I'll pass, thanks."
<I feel like shit. I've got the Russian and Italian matched set of glares on the one side and a concerned but stubborn Captain and eerily silent Minbari Ambassador on the other. And, at the foot of the bed, today, we have the Station CMO, ready to blow a gasket and shove everyone out of the room, whether they want to go or not, standing right next to the weird guy in green. Add in the gorgeous redhead and the nice guy with the thousand-yard stare, and I'm pretty sure we've got enough people for an episode of *Loony Tunes,* or maybe a documentary on the detrimental effects of certain hallucinatory drugs.
And I'm pretty sure that I just missed something here.>
The pain spiked again, and Xander closed his eyes for a second to regain control. <I don't have time for this right now, damn it.> Lyta's hand - strangely - hadn't left his shoulder, and another was soon added to it. <Marcus,> he thought, opening his eye to see the concerned expression on the Ranger's face.
"Alright, that's enough." <There's the doc, again.> "Everybody needs to leave until he's just a little stronger."
"No, doc. I want this done, and I want it done now. What did I miss?"
"You can relax." That was Marcus. "You didn't miss much, just a word or three about some mystery file on you."
"Oh."
"You don't seem surprised by that."
"I'm not, Chief."
"And yet, if you're just a carpenter…"
"Careful, Garibaldi, your paranoia's showing. But what the hey? Paranoia actually seems to be a redeeming quality lately."
"And we're still short on answers."
"You could ask the Ambassador. I'm fairly certain he knows quite a bit more than he's saying. However, I get the feeling he won't be talking about that any time soon. Call it a hunch."
"You need to rest."
"No, Doctor Franklin, I need to get this over with. But I also need to know that I can trust you. I'm not overly fond of the idea of a nice padded room, and I can guarantee you that any sane telepath taking a peak inside my head would regret it. *No one wants my nightmares.* Ambassador Kosh, you know what I'm talking about. Will they believe me?"
"Yes."
<Ok, let's try the Giles-variety canned speech.> "I'll start the real talk then, by saying that the world - by which I mean Earth - is older than you know…" Ignoring any comments from the skeptic portion of the peanut gallery, he did his best to explain Sunnydale, minimizing his part in things. <I'm not a hero, and I don't want to be.> He explained Angelus, again leaving details at a minimum. The Mayor, which got a "you blew up your school?" from Ivanova - the first sentence he'd heard from her during the entire thing. The First Evil… well, he really tried to avoid that one, inasmuch as it was possible.
"First Evil, did its level best to destroy the group, pretty much succeeded. I think we won, but who the hell knows? Regardless, the last time I saw Sunnydale, it was pretty much a sinkhole. Oh, yeah, and her Number One follower apparently decided he didn't like the color of my eyes. I know I'm skipping a few adventures in here somewhere, but I'll probably mention them eventually."
At the end of the tale, he looked straight at Kosh, convinced he could feel the Ambassador's eyes on him. "You have anything else to add?"
Xander couldn't help but think that his life had flipped on its head in the twenty-six hours since he'd first met Marcus in Down Below. <Twenty-six hours - I think - in which I've tracked my enemy, learned its name, been sliced open by same and possibly made a few new friends. The Chinese were right. "May you live in interesting times" is a curse without equal. I'd rather be bored.>
The Vorlon didn't answer his question, and Xander could tell that the doc had finally had enough. He wanted to protest when Franklin started shepherding everyone out of the room, but his body was busily telling him that enough was enough. He couldn't squeeze anything more out of it. He thought he heard Marcus say something, and tried to look toward him, but the last thing he saw was Ambassador Delenn's dark Minbari eyes.
<Hell.> Marcus moved quickly when he saw Xander begin the slump to the side, sliding his hands under the younger man's shoulders and easing him down to lay flat. He had Lyta's help in that; she noticed just after he did.
"Stephen!"
"All right," the doc said, his voice saying that no one would argue with him today… or at least not right now. "Everybody out."
Marcus didn't waste his breath arguing; he simply didn't move.
<Out of place and out of time… most of the people in the room would have said that he's out of his mind, as well. At one point in time, I probably would have done the same… but not even the best actor can manage that look. He has lost everything - his friends, his family, his people - for all intents and purposes, his entire reality. My friends, my family, my home… at least I was familiar with the technology. We're much the same.>
He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to meet Franklin's gaze. Stephen motioned toward the door and Marcus simply shook his head, noticing that he and the doctor were the only people in the room aside from the one in the bed.
Stephen's voice was soft when he spoke. "Why?"
"I think he's telling the truth. Not the whole truth, certainly, but… the truth, nonetheless. That makes two people out of the three in this room who have managed to lose everything they held dear, though a lot more on this Station could come fairly close. I figure we should stick together."
"If you're determined to stick around, at least make yourself useful and let me know when he wakes up. He's going to need to eat something."
"Absolutely, Stephen. Think you could get me a mobile comp hooked into the Station network? There's something I'd like to work on."
"Getting access to that file?"
"However did you guess?"
As Stephen walked away, Marcus thought he could hear the doctor muttering something about limiting the number of insane people allowed in his MedLab.
John Sheridan walked in step with Delenn, quietly watching various expressions pass over her face. "Delenn."
Her eyes found his, and she nodded agreement when he suggested having dinner in his quarters. The walk itself was silent, but John figured that as soon they were out of the crowd, questions would fly. Hopefully, there would even be a few answers.
Once in his quarters, away from the prying eyes and ears of the Station's other residents, John turned to Delenn, unfastening his uniform jacket for comfort's sake. "I don't get it, Delenn. What is so special about Harris? He shows up out of nowhere, sees Shadows *and* chases them. They apparently try to get him to their side and from all appearances, he says no. He has no records that anyone on the Station can access, and claims to have grown up in 20th century North America. I have no idea what to think about this… or Marcus' sudden over-protective attitude."
"I cannot speak on Alexander Harris, John, though from Lyta's description, the animosity the Shadows feel toward him is true enough. It is the reason for that animosity we must discover, before judging whether or not he can be trusted. I do, however, understand Marcus. If Alexander's story is true, then Marcus knows how he feels. Marcus knows what it is to be alone, to lose everything and everyone precious to him. If Alexander's story is true, then in him, Marcus sees a reflection of himself. Marcus would not be Marcus if he stood by and did nothing in this situation."
<And here I was thinking we had enough trouble dealing with the Shadows. I don't want to have to deal with a pissed-off Ranger if I decide I don't trust this guy. Hell, Lenier told me what he did in that dive of a bar Down Below.>
"And if I decide we can't trust Harris? What will Marcus do?"
"Marcus…" She paused for a second, appearing to think of the best phrasing for what she was trying to say. "Marcus will not break the oath he made when he joined the Rangers. However, he may isolate himself from the friends he has made here, if he feels that his judgment has been so much in error. He may not… believe that his decisions are sound, may feel that his choices present a danger to those he has named friend, if Alexander betrays his trust. Marcus, you see, is generally far harder on himself than he truly needs to be."
Xander woke to the sounds of muttered curses; some of them he recognized, while others were distinctly *not* English.
"Mmm. Crap. I blacked out, didn't I?"
For a moment, Xander wondered why he couldn't see… and then realized it would be easier if he opened his eye. <Brilliant, really. Wonder what the doc's been pumping into my bloodstream in the way of painkillers? Whatever it is, it's really messing with what's left of my common sense. And my time-sense. How long has it been since I asked that question, anyway?>
Squinting against the light, he finally managed to open his eye all the way.
"You did that," Marcus answered, grinning. "I'll be back in a second. I promised Franklin I'd let him know when you woke up."
"Yeah, great." <I want my clothes. A bed that *isn't* in a room with a huge window might be nice. I'm starting to feel like I'm in a zoo.>
Closing his eye again, he started to lift himself up into a sitting position. Lying on his back made him feel defenseless. He'd never particularly liked the feeling. <Gee, wonder why?>
Franklin entered the room and Xander watched him, silent. The only person he really trusted on the Station was standing right next to the bed, and that wasn't the good old doc.
"Whoa, take it easy. Don't try to get up just yet."
"I don't like laying down, Doc. It's not good for my mental state."
"Regardless, you *are* going to lay down until I have a chance to check you out and make sure you aren't gonna kill yourself the next time you try to get out of that bed."
<Poked… check. Prodded… check. Advised and/or lectured as to the wisdom of staying put until I'm actually healed enough to move… double-check. I hate hospitals.>
Once Franklin had left the room, Xander turned his attention to the still-grumbling Ranger, simultaneously poking at what the Doctor had called food. It amazed Xander that he'd appeared to be serious about it. <Med-tech has changed, so why did hospital food have to stay the same? It's always bad. Ech.>
"Hey, Marcus, what's bugging you?"
"Not much, really. I'm just having a bit of difficulty opening your mystery file."
"Who was the classifying authority?"
"That's the annoying part. I haven't even figured *that* out."
"Hmm. Weird."
"Hmm. Weird." <Heh, he doesn't sound as if he believes what he's saying. Of course, I imagine it would take quite a bit for something to seem truly 'weird' to him.>
"Mind if I take a look?"
The saner half of the Ranger's brain interjected here. <I should probably get the Captain's permission before I let him wonder around the system.> "I don't have a problem with that. Captain Sheridan might."
"Garibaldi would pitch a fit."
"That, too."
"And Ivanova…"
"Yep."
"Never mind. I get the feeling an angry Ivanova is no deterrent for you."
"It's not my fault she's gorgeous when she's angry, is it?" His face might not have shown it, but Marcus was pleased to see the grin on Xander's face. If he had to look a bit like a sap… or a clown, for that matter… well, it wasn't as if he lacked practice. <Besides, she *is* beautiful when she's angry.>
<Ah, there it is. I was expecting this… the mandatory headache. "Xander would like to take a crack at the file," he said. "You never know. He might come up with something," he said. I swear to God, one of these days, I'm going to hit him over the head with his own damn pike. Meanwhile, I'm stuck here watching Harris while Marcus does… whatever it is that he does. Never mind the fact that I should be sleeping right now. How did he talk me into this?>
"So, Commander, was that a yes?"
"Yes," Susan answered, annoyance *very* clear on her face. "You have the Captain's permission to work on the file. You have Franklin's permission to work on the file… for two hours. You even have Garibaldi's permission to work on the file. Since he's had it isolated, he figures you can't do any damage to the main system, even accidentally."
"And do I have *your* permission, Commander Ivanova?"
"Temporarily, and only as long as one of the Command Staff is keeping an eye on you."
She was sure she could see the beginning of a smirk on his face. "So that's how Marcus was able to get out of here."
<Yeah, it's a smirk.>
"He made the point that he wasn't technically Command Staff, didn't he?"
<And apparently the Ivanova Glare of Death means nothing to him.> "Yeah."
"At the risk of my neck, you really shouldn't be pissed at him, Commander. It's not like he's actually sleeping. He just went to take some food to a friend… well, more of an acquaintance. Still, he's being a good guy."
"Isn't he always?" <White Knight complex and everything. Pain in the ass.>
She was still watching Xander's face when he got his first glimpse of the file access page that had originally mystified them, so she didn't miss the change in color and expression - from slightly flushed to a few shades south of grey, and from joking and slightly arrogant to deadly serious.
"What?"
"EarthGov didn't encrypt this file, though the emblem might signify *something* for them. I'm not even sure if they've ever seen the whole thing. This emblem, the one in the corner, is a Watcher symbol. I should know. This is most definitely a piece of my past."
<Time to trade in the headache for a migraine.>
<Stephen's not happy. I can almost see smoke coming from his ears. Our little interrogation earlier ended in the collapse of his patient - never mind that Harris was the one stubborn enough to insist on getting everything out in the open then. Ok, I admit, I was pretty set on finding out what was going on, too. But that's understandable, right? I mean, this guy's on my Station, after all. Weird enough that he's here in the first place. Born in 1980… right. Tell me another one, buddy. Naturally, he'd be the only one who would know how to open that file. Fits in with the rest of the day. Hell, at least I'm letting Zack get some sleep. He can take the early shift tomorrow.>
The room was once again filled to a bit more than recommended capacity - all right, there were enough people crowded into the room to constitute a safety hazard. Add to that the fact that Ivanova was looking more annoyed than usual, and it was an interesting recipe. <Unfortunately, not of the edible Italian variety.>
"I thought you said the Watchers were destroyed."
"They were, Commander. Giles headed up the effort to rebuild the Council… slightly modified, of course, and there were certain things that none of us felt anyone should know… or remember. And there were other events, lessons… and people… that we felt should never be forgotten. I know that Willow had planned to do the encryption for certain critical files without any outside tech help, though Giles was going to do some sorting with her on what information should and should not be available to Watchers in general."
"And that has something to do with this file?"
Garibaldi saw Harris look at the Captain, and then back at the comp screen. <He's debating with himself, trying to decide whether or not to tell us something.> He felt unaccountably edgy. <The question of the day is, do I really want to know?>
"Yeah, and to open it, you need to know about the Scooby Gang… triumphs, failures, feelings, mistakes in judgment. Of course, knowledge of Ancient Sumerian doesn't hurt, either."
<Gotta love the quintessential shocked look. Yeesh, you'd think I'd claimed to be a certified genius or something. Spend enough time searching through age-old books and even a zombie would have picked up a thing or two. Besides, not like I really had anything better to do while everyone else was enjoying Freshman year at UC-Sunnydale. A cup of tea, a game of chess, a language lesson. God, I miss Giles. At least he offered a place to stay when he learned that I spent Christmas Eve outside. Granted, I turned him down… but he offered. Uh, oh, better bring the brain back to the conversation. They're giving me more strange looks than usual.>
"So, I wasn't your average carpenter. The point is, I'm just three steps away from unlocking this little monster."
<Red tree mourning - Willow. Reluctant and Chosen - Buffy. Dark Scholar - Giles, with a reference to his Ripper days. Dark Chosen, Repenting - that could be Faith. Too bad there isn't any equivalent to "slightly psycho nerd-boy." Dreamer does a good job of describing Andrew, though. Rising Sun - obviously a reference to Dawn. Child of the Chosen - Wood. Wise Wolf - strange choice, but that's the only phrase here that could refer to Oz. So far, I haven't seen any references to the undead duo. Visionary - Cordy.
One more space to go in this little puzzle. Protector - heh, Willow went for literal. And… got it.>
<I wonder what he's thinking now? There's a bit of a smile there - sadness and joy. And I'm getting sentimental.> "What did you find?"
"Quite a few things, Ms. Alexander. Right at the moment, though, I'm sticking with the file titled 'Read Me First.' Turns out it's a letter from an old friend."
She was happy enough to let him read it on his own, but could tell that several others in the room would be equally *un*happy with that. The Commander and Garibaldi were looking rather impatient, and even Captain Sheridan was a looking a little edgy. Kosh - well, Lyta wasn't sure *what* was going through his head at the moment.
"I'm presuming the Captain would like me to read it aloud?" The lifted eyebrow and smirk told Lyta that Xander was indulging in a bit of teasing. Of course, that might not always be the wisest thing to do with this group… but it was fun to watch, and Lyta hadn't found much to laugh about recently.
"You presume correctly, Mr. Harris."
"No problem… as long as you promise to never use that phrase again."
"What phrase?"
"*Mr.* Harris. Harris is fine, Xander is fine. Calling me Mr. Harris, Alexander, or Alex is just bound to make me grumpy. You know, I get the feeling I've said this before." He sighed, his gaze meeting the Captain's. "Of course, I have to remember that you weren't in the room, then. I have a strange suspicion that I'm going to end up repeating myself."
The look on Sheridan's face made Lyta wonder if he had any idea what to do with Xander. 'Mystery' didn't quite manage to describe him.
"In any case, the letter."
<Time to get with the reading, I suppose. At least Dawnie wrote it in English. The last thing I'd want to run into right now is a translation issue. Here goes.>
"January 14, 2010
Dear Xander,
It's been six years since you've disappeared, and just one since Willow figured out where - and *when* - you are. Sounds weird, doesn't it? After dealing with vampires, demons, the Master, the Mayor, the First Evil - and Buffy added Principal Snyder to the list, saying you'd appreciate it - you'd think that time travel wouldn't be that much trouble to wrap our brains around… right?
In case you're wondering, this is the basic intro letter, just to let you know what's been going on and how you got where/when you are, etc., etc. You know the drill, Xan. More letters were added as time went on, and everything's in chronological order."
Xander paused for a moment, lost in thoughts of the past. <Despite everything that happened, despite the danger and the near-constant threat of Armageddon, those were the easy days. It's what I was used to, and I had a purpose… and friends. I knew the rules. Here… I'm not even sure I know the name of the game.>
"Xander?"
"Yeah, Marcus… back to the letter."
Drawing in another deep breath, he continued to read.
"No one was really surprised when you volunteered to find new Slayers in Africa after Sunnydale fell off the face of the planet. Wait… I take that back. I wasn't surprised, and neither was Giles. Willow, Buffy and Faith were a little out of it and Andrew… well, he was Andrew. You know well enough what he was like back then. He's grown up some in the meantime, but I'll get to that.
I'm not sure if Giles ever told you, but he really looked forward to your weekly calls, and when they stopped… When you disappeared, we all went kind of, well, collectively crazy. It was not good. Despite everything that had happened during High School, you were the constant. Friends died… and you fought. The Scooby Gang tried to shut you out because you were the *normal one,* and you still fought. Buffy ran away… and you stayed and fought. You risked your life for people you barely knew, without the strength and speed of a Slayer, a werewolf, or a vampire… without Magic. You were the living embodiment of how demons came to be driven from Earth in the first place. A single Slayer could not have done it. A single Witch, no matter how powerful, could not have gotten them all. Without normal people, where would the Earth have been? And none of us realized it until you were gone."
<Not fair, Dawnie. You shouldn't be telling me this, now. Not when there's no chance to change any of it.> Another deep breath, taken while steadily avoiding everyone's eyes, and Xander was ready to continue on.
"Everyone looked for you. We started in Africa, and moved out from there. Giles made me go to college, saying that you would have wanted nothing less, but after graduation, I moved to Russia and headed up Watcher Operations there. That's actually where I met my husband, but more on that later. Willow tried spell after spell and the only thing she could figure out was that you were still alive… location was sketchy at best. But, we never stopped looking.
Then, a year ago, Willow found a new spell - well, actually, it was an old spell, in Ancient Greek, but new for us. You know how it goes. It called for a Master Mage - yep, Willow - a Scholar and a Key. And here I was thinking I was all normal now. At any rate, I flew to England and Willow, Giles and I set about getting everything ready for the spell, the one we thought might actually bring you back to us. It… didn't go quite as we expected."
<I have a bad feeling about this. I have a *very* bad feeling about this. Please, not a prophecy. Anything but a prophecy.>
"All three of us ended up in this - I can't really call it a room, because it wasn't. It reminded me almost of something from Star Wars, this huge construction of metal, but Willow felt that it was Ancient. So did Giles and I, for that matter. And, then we realized that we weren't alone. Standing on a walkway next to us was a man - kind of - who called himself Draal. He said that we stood - mentally, not physically - within the essence of the Great Machine. There were some deeply philosophical moments there. He was bald, and the back of his head was guarded by a crest of bone, and he was not a demon… but Minbari. We'd dealt with anything and everything under the sun, Xan, but none of us knew what to say or do when faced with an alien.
So… we spoke of you. And Draal spoke of Babylon 5, and Shadows and evil. He said that - not being familiar with magic, he could not presume to know how we had gotten *when* we were, though Giles thought that had something to do with the good old mortal Key. And he spoke of the Vorlons and Valen… and Valen's prophecy that the Vorlons would bring another Protector for Babylon 5, a brother for a Ranger, a strategist for the Light. One who had fought the ultimate Evil and lived. The prophecy was kinda vague, but that sounds an awful lot like you."
<Well, crap. I swear to God, somebody really doesn't like me. Prophecies… I hate prophecies. And what did she mean, "the *Vorlons* would bring another Protector?">
<The Vorlons? The *Vorlons?!* I wonder if there's something worse than a migraine?> Ivanova decided that – for the moment – silence served her better than the temptation to put someone through the nearest wall. <Doesn't mean I'll stop Michael if he decides to follow through on it, though. John's not looking too pleased, either.
Harris… Harris isn't saying anything at all. Somehow, I think it would be better for all concerned if he was joking about this.>
His voice, when it came, made her think that any wise Vorlons in the area might not wish to be in the area for too much longer.
"Normally, I would want an explanation for that statement… and I would want one *now.* However, I'm thinking I'd like to finish this letter first and see how much it explains, before I debate whether to give in to the temptation to pound someone's face into what passes for pavement here. If there are any questions left after we finish the letter, *then* we can drive the good Ambassador insane, ok? I don't know about everyone else, but I don't really feel like deciphering cryptic statements when the answers could be right in front of me in something approaching black and white. Does anyone have a problem with that course of action?"
Harris was speaking calmly, rationally, but Ivanova paid more attention to his face than his words. He was furious. <And if Kosh doesn't answer the questions that Harris *will* have for him later… oh, God, things are going to get ugly. Vorlons or Harris? Vorlons or Harris? Wonder if Zack will start a pool?
And when did I decide to step closer to Marcus?>
<Christ. What else could go…? *No,* I'm not going to complete that thought right now, not when I've left Corwin in charge of C and C. Too much temptation to the rest of the Universe to cause a tiny little dent… and then Ivanova would kill him, and he's too good an officer to sacrifice to her temper… even if he doesn't share that opinion. If this were happening to anyone else, I might actually find it funny – hilarious, actually. Someone, somewhere, has got to be laughing his, her or *its* ass off about this.>
"Keep reading, Xander. You're right. We can deal with questions after the letter."
The younger man let his gaze roam around the room, matching that of every other person there. One by one, they nodded in agreement. The questions would wait for now, in hopes of getting more coherent answers from the letter. With a chuckle that could only be described as sarcastic and more than a little bitter, Xander continued to read.
"The prophecy was kinda vague, but that sounds an awful lot like you. I'm betting you're pissed off right now. So were we when Draal told us. They took you away from your family to help solve some problem that *they* had, and didn't even bother to ask… we think. Willow was doing a whole huge ranting thing, and Giles was starting to act more and more like his dark and dangerous younger self when Draal pointed something out. He said, 'The Protector will be needed here… and we will tell him as much. Can you say the same?' *Can you say the same?*
I'd never seen Willow look as sick as she did after Draal asked that question. She's… she's got a letter in the file, too, so I'm sure she'll tell you. Now probably isn't the time for it. But he was right. We didn't tell you that you were needed… at least, not very often. Anyway, on to the other things Draal said."
Xander stopped reading for a moment, but Sheridan did not push him to continue. The Captain couldn't even begin to guess what Harris was thinking at the moment. The anger on his face was easy to identify, but Sheridan had no idea who would be on the receiving end of that anger. <Draal, the Vorlons, his friends, himself… us?>
"Draal didn't tell us too much after that… He said that we should go home, gather into one place everyone who knew you, and piece together the story of your life. We should talk to each other, discover all the things you did without recognition or thanks. We should rediscover the Xander we thought we knew, and – he said – write it all down. And we should each write a letter, and in the first letter… this one… tell you to see Draal. I asked why we should tell you to do anything, and Draal said, 'Tell him to see me because he will… and because he always has. It is something that he will need to do, little Key, and he knows that.'
There isn't much for me to add in my letter, but there is a great deal more in this file. Willow has made provisions for this file to be updated with annual reports until it's sent off for you, with status of the Supernatural, gossip and modern family trees of the Scoobies. It's a whole, complicated techno-geek thing, and I didn't ask for details. I did, however, include a picture of my family with this. Maybe you'll meet some of them. You should recognize me, of course. To my left is my sister-in-law, Darya. She was one of the ten Russian Slayers activated by Willow's spell. Standing in front of me is Aleksandr (yes, named for you… and he's far from your only namesake, now – there's probably a file in here with details on all the various Aleks, Als, Alexanders, etc.). To my right is my husband, Gregori…"
<Wait a minute. Why did he stop reading? And why is he laughing?>
"Commander," Xander said, still laughing. "Come here for a second and take a look at this picture. These wouldn't happen to be relatives of yours, would they?"
Shocked, Sheridan stepped closer to Lyta, so that he could see over Xander's shoulder, and take note of what he'd found so hysterically funny. Silently, he read the rest of the letter. <'To my right is my husband, Gregori Ivanov. Darya always insists on calling him Ganya… little sister privileges. Gregori is a good man, Xander. You would have been proud to know him, although there are moments when I would swear that 'stubborn' and 'Ivanov' mean the same thing. Life's a joy, Xander… if you fight for it. I'll put all the details of my life here… but you have to promise to *live* yours, ok? I know I can't hear you say it, and that neither of us really has any idea what you were taken there to accomplish, but you'll manage it. You always do. Who knows, maybe you'll end up working with some of my grandkids?'>
<What the hell is the kid laughing about? And why do Ivanova and Sheridan both look like they've been hit upside the head with something heavy? I don't like this. Hell, who am I kidding? I don't like anything about this situation. Of course, given Susan's response to whatever Harris is showing her, neither does she. Suddenly, I'm glad I don't speak Russian.
I get the feeling Harris knows what that means, though… and is really wishing he didn't.>
Xander *was* looking a little green, but Garibaldi didn't have any idea if that was due to the letter, his injuries or Ivanova's rant… whatever it was that she was saying.
"Well, technically, Commander, you're not… related to me, that is. Just Dawn, and if I'd had to pick any of the group to be related to in those last few years, that I *hadn't* known all my life… And I'm fairly certain that's physically impossible."
"You speak Russian, too, Harris?"
"Not really, Chief. Just a few bits and pieces, and a fair amount of profanity. Take a wild guess as to which of those is allowing me to understand the Commander now." He smirked, turning back to Ivanova for a second. "That one's not impossible, but it does take a certain amount of flexibility. I couldn't manage it. Marcus might, though."
"You know, Harris… most people wouldn't tease her like that." <Not to mention the fact that Marcus is no longer looking at Ivanova… and he might be blushing. Hard to tell, since he's looking at the floor.>
"Yeah, Chief, I know. She could kill me… and then you would get to skip a fairly large amount of paperwork, since I'm technically deceased, and have been for a very long time. She'd be in a good position… after all, you can't arrest her for killing someone who's already dead, and your lives could get back to normal. I wouldn't have to deal with that damn prophecy. Winners, all around. So, why should I be scared of her, exactly?"
<Christ… does he *want* to die?>
She moved forward, aware that the others were watching her… but she had another role now. She knew well the prophecy mentioned in the letter – remembering, in fact, the numerous details of the prophecy apparently left out of the letter. <Did she not mention them because Draal did not tell *her,* or was there some other reason?> And the pain in his eye… <so much like Marcus.>
Delenn paused when she was once again beside John, reading for herself the section of the letter which had so greatly amused Xander – albeit temporarily. He was quieter now, staring at the letter. She thought he was reading it again.
He met her gaze briefly before turning back to the letter and Delenn took that moment to lean in and whisper to him that which she knew to be truth. "You are needed. You need not wonder on that, for it is truth. Even now, after so short a time, there are those here who would greatly mourn your passing. That you do not fear death now is logical, but do not be so quick to embrace that path, Protector. 'Brother to a Ranger' the Prophecy calls you… and already, you are that. Do not fear to fight with another at your side. Perhaps, if you think of the Prophecy as preparing us for your… unusual presence, rather than dictating your path, you might find adjustment a little easier." She was aware that the smile on her face was one that John or Michael would have taken for teasing or amusement, and hoped that Xander would view it in the same manner.
He smiled in response to her words, not the smirk that she had seen thrown to Commander Ivanova, not the teasing grin which responded to the Commander's Russian statements involving positions of some sort. No, this smile was gentler… and apparently thankful. <I wonder, is he grateful for the reassurance that he is – indeed – needed… or for my assertion that he would be missed? He should be allowed to adjust to this without an audience.>
"John." Her voice was soft, calming. Even though she only said his name, she thought he would understand. She saw the look on his face. He was not without sympathy when it came to Xander, and the one letter he had read to them proved to be very personal indeed. Better that he read the rest of them only with companions of his own choosing.
"Alright, people. That's enough. Anything else can wait." And with a grin that Delenn knew to be an expression of humor for him, he turned to Commander Ivanova and said, "Commander, do we need to have a chat about conduct – and language – unbecoming an officer of your status?" John – much like Xander Harris – was completely unaffected by the glare she aimed at his back as they headed out the door.
Delenn turned for one last look and saw Xander reach up to place a hand on Marcus Cole's shoulder, silently asking the Ranger to stay… at least for the moment. As she existed his room in MedLab, she heard him ask Ambassador Kosh to "stay awhile and join the party." <Join the party? Xander is in no condition for a party. Perhaps it is simply an expression, then. Humans have such strange sayings.>
An eerie silence had fallen over the room once the majority of visitors had left. The look in Xander's eye was cold enough to freeze Hell, and Marcus wouldn't have known what to say at the moment even if Ivanova had come up to him and whispered it in his ear. <Of course, if she ever whispered *anything* in my ear, I somehow doubt I'd be thinking about Xander or Kosh, but that's rather beside the point at the moment.>
"The Shadows told me that *they* took away my world. The *Prophecy*…" – and there was loathing in his voice as he said it – "claims that the Vorlons brought me here. And, strangely enough, in a world with such technology that it seems almost god-like, no one is aware of the demons, the vampires and/or the Slayers. I get the feeling we've been played the entire time. What, Ambassador, would be your thoughts on this?"
For a time, the Vorlon said nothing, and Marcus wondered if the ambassador was actually lost for words. Xander had not requested that Kosh take a seat, and given the tension in the room, Marcus preferred to stand. Minutes passed, as the two men waited and the Vorlon said nothing.
Xander's voice, softer but still chilled, dangerous, spoke again. "What is the truth, Kosh? This little chess game between the Vorlons and the Shadows… how long has it truly been? I heard others – when I took the time to follow and listen – speak of a Great War, a War that was won a millennium ago… not forever, it seems, but long enough to gain several lifetimes of peace. Was that truly the War, Kosh? Or was it just one of the final series of battles? Was it the start of the War… or the point when you could no longer fight the Shadows without allies, and the point when they couldn't fight you without same? When did the opening moves of the game turn into the final gambit?"
The Vorlon's answer was slow in coming, and when it did come, Marcus wasn't entirely sure what the Ambassador meant by it… or which question it was meant to answer.
"Uncertain."
<And that was supposed to explain something?>
"Do either of your races even remember when the conflict started?"
"Yes."
<It never ceases to amaze me, how *little* detail one can find in a Vorlon's answers.>
Marcus couldn't tell what thoughts were going through Xander's head, and he was quite sure that he didn't *want* to know what Kosh was thinking. He'd leave that to Lyta. Xander paused, apparently thinking through what he was going to say next.
"Alright. To recap: someone, either the Vorlons or the Shadows, depending who I choose to believe, tore me away from my home – sort of – and made sure that I woke up on the Station. The Shadows just tried to kill me, so I'm not inclined to trust them one way or another. The Vorlons *haven't* tried to kill me – yet – and seem to be tied to the Minbari and the Anla'shok. That speaks well for the Vorlons. At the same time, the Vorlons and the Shadows appear to be involved in an interstellar pissing contest, and can't seem to solve their own problems, which takes this situation beyond annoying into the realm of the obscenely lethal. The question is… how does this tie in with demons, vampires, slayers and the Hellmouth? And what possible *use* could I be to either group – doubting as I do that either the Vorlons or the Shadows would have brought me here out of the kindness of their hearts?"
"Curiosity. Misjudgment. Attempted solution."
"Curiosity. Misjudgment. Attempted solution."
<Ok, they were curious about something, did something as a result of that curiosity, realized it was a huge mistake and tried to fix it? I think.>
"And the Shadows were the result?"
"No. The curiosity… was shared."
"Ok. I think I get it now. The Shadows and the Vorlons weren't always enemies. Both of them were intrigued by… something. Took action on it, caused a hell of a mess, and then tried to fix it?"
"No."
"Vorlons tried to fix it?"
"Yes."
"The Shadows liked it?"
"Some."
"God-damn cryptic…" <No, no, for now, I'll play nice. What could they have found that would turn friends into enemies?> In the space of a few scant seconds, the answer popped into his head. <Crap. She was *toying* with us. She didn't care about the Slayers or the Scoobies. It was a momentary diversion… or, an attempt to get rid of a future threat. Well, crap.>
"How long ago?"
"Both… were very young."
<And again with the cryptic, but I'm no longer surprised. I need to get a clear view of the playing field.>
"Marcus, is there anything I might use to write this down? I want to get my thoughts in order. And… given a chance, do you think you might be able to talk Ambassador Delenn out of an unabridged copy of that Prophecy – in its original language, whatever it might have been?"
The Ranger nodded, easily hiding what might have been confusion, but it was clear to Xander that Marcus had no intention of leaving him alone with Kosh unless the former Californian asked… which he didn't.
"Ambassador, I'm going to make this simple for you. You don't want to spill whatever dirty and/or shameful secrets the Vorlons may have. I can understand that. The Vorlons are still a step ahead of the Shadows in my mind, being that none of you have tried to kill me." The 'yet' was unspoken this time, but Xander was fairly certain that Marcus had picked up on it. "I'm going to take a while, think through what we've said to each other today, and go through the letters my friends left for me. I'm also going to write down what I think is going on, here. Then, when I'm done, I'll show you what I've written, and you can tell me what's right with the theory… and what's wrong. It shouldn't involve a lot of words on your part, and you can be as cryptic as you like. I'll try not to insult you. I probably wouldn't understand if you insulted me, so feel free."
<Damn it, my hands are shaking again. Taken from the ending fringe of one battle and tossed straight into another. Who needs a vacation?>
"When I figure out what's going on, Ambassador… then, I'll worry about how I got here. Somehow, I can't help but think knowing that would do me no good in finding a way home… if there is one. It can wait… and you can go."
He closed his eye, not particularly caring to see the Vorlon leave. <I'm a pawn on the frickin' board, I swear to God.>
Only his training kept Marcus from showing his shock. Xander had summarily dismissed Ambassador Kosh, and the Ranger was having a bit of a hard time getting his mind around that fact. Marcus watched his friend for a moment, noting how tired he still looked. Of course, considering everything that had happened in the short time since they'd met, complete exhaustion on Xander's part would have come as no surprise to the Ranger.
Although, he did have to admit to a certain mental wondering that had nothing to do with his friend and a great deal to do with a certain Russian. As a consequence of being slightly lost in thought, he was a tad startled by Xander's sudden chuckle.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just appreciating a slight joke that was carried off in this room with no one the wiser… though I haven't quite figured out why she went along with it."
Marcus believed that he must have looked slightly confused, because Xander decided to answer the question the Ranger hadn't had a chance to ask.
"I'm betting no one else in the room actually speaks Russian?"
"Just you and Sus… what *was* she actually saying?"
Xander smirked at him. "*Now,* somebody asks. It wasn't actually anything that would… technically… constitute conduct unbecoming. But, if you want specifics, Marcus, you'll have to ask her yourself. Just think of it as the benefits of my twisted sense of humor, which she - for some unknown reason - decided to indulge. I get the feeling that she has a liking for practical jokes, your Commander… as long as they're not being played on her. Maybe her sadistic side took over for a second. It's not for me to say one way or the other."
For a brief second, a thought flickered through the Ranger's mind that Xander's sense of humor bore a slight resemblance to Entil'zha's. That thought, almost too frightening to contemplate, quickly ran away and hid somewhere far deeper.
Several hours later, after Marcus had left the room to attend to his Ranger duties, and Xander had gotten some sleep, the misplaced Scooby turned his attention back to the file. <That thing should really be capitalized. The File. Kinda like The Prophecy. Well, Xan, time to figure out just what kind of mess you've landed in.>
He didn't have to unlock the file again, and he wasn't overly concerned that someone else would have looked at it without his notice, as he had always been a fairly light sleeper - now more than ever. <Where to go first - letters or status reports?>
Making a mental note to look at the letters when he wasn't in a room with a view, he clicked on the first of the status reports - "Watcher's Council Summary on Supernatural Activity January 2004 - December 2009."
Opening a program on the mobile-comp that seemed to be for word-processing (the easier to make himself some notes), he started to read, and just let his running commentary go through his mind.
<Ok, general decrease in Hellmouthy stuff for the first few years, but - understandably - a dramatic rise in crimes perpetrated by adolescent girls. That would be - by and large - the ones with the shitty lives who thought to get some of their own back. A few of the ones who were better off and just thought these new powers were "kewl," and figured if they had them, who the hell needed to be noble? They could do whatever they wanted. The ones who thought the powers made them better than the normal humans… and, oh joy, super powered Neo-Nazis. What a *wonderful* world I slept through.
Which begs the question… why didn't anyone other than Kosh know about Sunnydale and vampires if there was this much trouble with the new Slayers?>
Xander found his answer to that a little further down in the report. Certain Slayers who cooperated with the new Watcher's Council formed an elite hunting unit, taking a hint from Angel and starting what appeared to be a Private Investigation Security company that specialized in taking assignments involving 'unusually strongfast individuals.' It was smooth. It was quiet. And it had the unofficial sanction of the President to do what needed to be done… *whatever* needed to be done.
<Christ.> The necessity of the unit's actions was no surprise to Xander. That Buffy and Willow had been able to see the need in the first place… that was a bit of a shock.
By and large, the majority of the new Slayers understood the "calling." It's simply that those few who decided to make trouble… did so in a very noticeable fashion. Suddenly, his old friends had seen report after report of teenage girls who decided to take apart anyone who had ever insulted them, one who had escaped from a mental institution and was hunting down children in an attempt to "save them" from the life she had had. Of course, in her mind, saving them and killing them had been the same thing, and that had presented something of a problem. <Let's hear it for the sarcasm.>
In the end, it had seemed the special unit had been formed partially because the remaining core group of Scoobies had finally understood the monster they had all let loose… and partially because the rest of the supernatural community had come down hard on the new Council. Apparently, if the Council refused to deal with their mess, the rest of the supernatural world would do it for them. The rogue Slayers simply were drawing too much attention to the supernatural world.
Xander paused for a moment, thinking that something was a bit off, in that he had read of the unit's formation in the middle of the in-depth explanation of the problem… then he realized he had somehow gone from page nine to eleven… and then back to ten. "You'd think if the file was so important, they would have scanned the pages into the file in the right order… weird, but it fits with the rest of my life right now."
Having finished the Initial Summary, Xander moved on to the yearly reports, making notes and recognizing a few interesting - <or disturbing, depending on point of view> - trends. None of the active Slayers ever had children. In and of itself, this was no huge surprise to Xander. Even though no active Slayer on record had ever been given the chance to become pregnant - given the hold the Old Council had over them - it didn't make sense that the PTBs would allow such a blatant vulnerability in their Chosen One. Even Wood's mother had only been a Potential when she had him. But, what was a vulnerability in active Slayers was nothing more than a continuation of the line in Potentials. And *this* would be where a whole new problem started.
The disturbing part was that after the Spell… there were no more Potentials.
Xander took a deep breath and looked at his notes. <*Point A:* All Potentials between puberty and menopause immediately became Active Slayers upon completion of The Spell and all younger Potentials became Active Slayers at the onset of puberty. *Point B:* No active Slayer is/was fertile, and as there were no Potentials of child-bearing age after The Spell, no children could be born to any Potential Post-Spell. *Point C:* No Potentials were born to any relatives of Slayers Post-Spell. More specifically, no girls **at all** were born to any relatives of Slayers Post-Spell (for an apparent duration of twenty-five years). *Codicil:* No Potentials were born to anyone - world-wide - relative of a Slayer or otherwise, post-Spell. This leads to *Point D:* Of the Army of Slayers, none lived what could be called a normal life (let's hear it for the demon magnets), and when the last one died, there were no Potentials to take up the burden.>
"Well, crap," Xander muttered. "No Potentials. The Spell took us from Two Slayers, to an Army… to no Slayer at all. Which leaves us where in regards to the Demon/Vampire situation, exactly?"
Not seeing an answer to his question in his notes, he did the only thing he could - he kept reading.
Several hours and innumerable reports later, Xander finally figured out the 'what' if not the 'why.' The Demon and Vampire populations had declined at roughly the same rate as the Slayer Army, though whether they'd been killed or just plain disappeared wasn't entirely clear. Regardless, when the last of the Slayers died… so did reports of demonic activity. The Hellmouths closed. The Watchers Council remained active, but - having nothing demonic left to watch - focused on the one remaining prophecy that might still have relevance… his. <Oh, and while they were at it, they concentrated more on humanity's darker side… the subtle demons of greed and power, as opposed to the obvious 'Hi, I want to eat you' variety. Of course, the Old Council used to be overrun by those 'subtle demons.' Wonder how the New Council ranks in comparison?>
Tired and confused, Xander closed The File, leaving only his notes visible. <So, now that I know 'what' happened, how do I figure out the 'why?'>