by Rob Sorenson

Xander was no stranger to beatdowns. He'd been knocked on his ass many a time by many a demon.

Bruises, blood, broken bones, concussions. There was not much he hadn't already gone through in his life when it came to physical injury.

In fact, he'd incurred all that damage within the confines of his own home. In his earliest years there was no quiet place of safety and privacy in his life until Willow had come along, allowing him to sneak into her bedroom on occasion after particularly vicious nights.

Once Buffy came into their lives the hits just kept on coming. Xander just kept on taking them, often providing comfort with inappropriate, distracting humor for the others, who hadn't developed the psychological defenses he'd been forced to erect when he was barely out of diapers.

In the bowels of Yankee Stadium, he'd had to pull out every reserve in his arsenal of denial just to maintain his sanity.

Getting beaten up was one thing.

Being surgically taken apart without anasthesia was quite another. Xander had been struck no less that 20 times with a taser over various parts of his body. He was literally quivering from the remnants of the voltage forced through his cells.

He'd once gone on a freshman year field trip to a dairy farm. While wandering the pasture, Xander had been idly considering the comedic possibilities of a lit firecracker buried in a cowpie when he'd unwittingly backed into an electric fence. The jolt had been something he'd never forgotten.

When Pierre and Jeeves started hitting him with taser blasts, he'd simply accessed that moment in time when Willow had nearly peed her pants in laughter when Xander jumped three feet into the air, landing with both feet into the cowpie he'd been studiously examining with his best friend.

Pain morphing into a funny memory. A patented Xander Harris technique.

This had worked reasonably well for the first six or seven times when they hit him in the chest.

When they moved on to his groin he had nothing to compare it to; nothing to give him any comfort whatsoever. All that remained was agony and desperation. Still, he'd made little noise. He wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

Then they had broken his leg. This was still not entirely new to him, but he'd watched the shin give way, and his foot was dangling loosely on the floor at a grotesque angle.

That's when the screaming started.

Jeeves, for his part, didn't appear thrilled with the proceedings. After the wailing subsided slightly, he'd turned to Pierre and snapped:

"Christ, man, when is it going to be enough?" Pierre gave the slightest shrug.

"Travers will let us know. The orders are to keep him awake and in as much pain as possible. Frankly, though, I'm running out of ideas. Have you any?"

Jeeves sighed his acceptance. "I suppose. Pass me the brass knuckles."

Xander would never understand how he'd found his voice at that moment.

"Brass knucks, huh Jeeves? You not good enough with your own hands? You use Viagra for your other little shortcomings?"

Jeeves responded with a crunching blow to the bridge of the nose, shattering it. Blood streamed down to his sweater and into his mouth as he screamed; the metallic taste of his own blood slightly quenched his desperate thirst.

He'd done everything he could to block the torment for Buffy's sake; he'd sensed her own agony and finally understood the purpose of his.

"Any other witty comments, wanker?"

Xander had none as he hung limply from his chains, blood seeping through his swollen eye sockets, lower leg on fire.

**********************************************************

The subway station was deserted, as if the city of New York had been destroyed by a final war. Buffy's other was smiling gently, though her original had given her a solid beating before her advantage kicked in. The torture of the Harris kid was a brilliant idea.

She'd made full use of this, of course. What mattered was winning the fight. How one went about it meant nothing; the outcome was all anyone ever noticed. All that now remained was the final snap of the oldest living Slayer's spine.

Buffy was unconscious at the base of the steps, completely defenseless. The Evil clone looked down at her with satisfaction. She'd knelt to administer the killshot when she sensed a vampire nearby. She spun and looked to the top of the steps.

William the Bloody, vampire of legendary ferocity, poet of legendary futility, was on his knees, staring vacantly down at her.

This was too good to be true.

"Spike? Is that really you? How did you manage to get your undead self here so quickly all the way from California?"

He gave no response.

The Buffy look alike took cautious steps toward him.

"You see what I've done to your honey, right? That why you're not flying down here to get your ass kicked? Is the great William afraid that a Slayer might actually do her friggin job when it comes to you for once?"

When she moved within five steps he vamped out and crashed into her, sending them both tumbling down and narrowly missing the crumpled, nearly lifeless form of the woman he loved.

While the clone had taken several bumps and bruises at the hands of Buffy in Macy's, Spike hadn't even taken a swing at anyone. He easily made his way up first and caught her with a solid punch to the kidneys, as her back was to him. She grunted and staggered toward a Marlboro ad, shattering the glass encasement upon impact.

"You're not so tough when you don't have help from afar, little girl. You sure they got all the right parts when they made you?"

Enraged, the clone charged Spike and they began exchanging punches, staggering one another throughout the subway station. The blonde vamp may have been fresher, but this was still a Slayer he was fighting, and she had the recuperative powers and skills of Buffy Summers.

As much as he'd tried back in the day, he'd never been able to beat that particular Slayer; he had the sense that the clone was well aware of the history. She was moving with confidence, adrenaline now kicking in...Spike found himself fighting defensively. No effort was being made to win; he was simply attempting to avoid losing.

With that frame of mind it was only a matter of time. He was caught with a backhanded fist and fell to the concrete for the first time since they'd flown down there.

Like lightning she was on top of him, stake withdrawn and pointed at his chest. He raised a hand, stopping the momentum of her violent downstroke. Frantically he caught her with a headbutt that slid her off to the side, momentarily stunned.

That had been too close. Spike began to talk to himself.

<Come on, you stupid git. It's not Buffy. It's a fake. Pull yourself together.>

At that moment, the 3:32 am train came hurtling past, berating the station with a relentless drone of rolling metal.

The memories began flooding in.

Nikki. The Slayer he'd lost sleep over; not from love, but from bloodlust. The need to taste her had been overwhelming, dominating his thoughts for that brief, humid summer month in Manhattan when they played their game of cat and mouse in the night.

A game he had won aboard an empty subway car, in an empty station. Strangely he'd never gotten around to tasting her.

He looked to his fallen love, still motionless at the base of the steps. She looked dead.

It was too much, and he squinted his eyes shut, breathing heavily in an effort to calm his raging soul.

This left him wide open for the crunching dropkick to the temple delivered by Buffy's other. He slumped to the ground, face morphing back to his human facade.

She retrieved her stake and straddled him, preparing to finish it.

Spike didn't have the strength to raise his hand in defense.

***********************************************************

Dawn was falling.

At least, that was the sensation she was having. Blackness had engulfed her since Willow had touched her hand. The only sensation that remained was an eerie tickle in the pit of her stomach as she felt the world give way beneath her feet.

As she plummeted further and further into darkness, images flooded her mind.

Pythons slithering into her mouth and working their way down her throat, slithering tongues flicking at her insides.

Shaggy horned beasts with jagged teeth were tearing into her flesh just below the navel, feral roaring echoing in her ears.

A blinding, burning flash of yellow light as an orb of Thessulah exploded, spreading shards of glass that buried in her flesh.

All this....yet Dawn felt no pain. Fear, yes. Loads of that....but no pain. In the throes of her terror, what remained of her own conscious mind cried out in agonized desperation.

<Willow!!!>

Instantly the air rushed from her lungs as she made impact with the ground. She looked up to see if they'd made it, and found herself in broad daylight.

In Sunnydale.

At least, it looked like Sunnydale. Dawn looked around, recognizing landmarks, feeling a warm breeze coming off the ocean in the distance.

"Hey, Dawn Patrol. Glad you made it."

Dawn jumped slightly as she turned around suddenly, searching for the source of that unmistakable voice...and there he was.

"Xander?"

"Pretty much."

She ran to him and threw her arms around his shoulders.

"Oh, God, Xander!! Are you ok? Did they hurt you? How did we get here...did I black out or something?"

"Whoa, whoa, easy there tiger. Not everything is what it seems in here."

"In where?"

"Dawn, you're in Willow's mind."

"Say what?"

"You're in Willow's mind. This isn't reality; this is just a reflection of her thoughts. Well, one of them anyway. Willow has an incredible amount of thoughts."

Dawn's head was cocked sideways, like a dog being offered a treat it had never seen before.

"O....kay. Why are you in Willow's mind?"

"This is where Willow keeps the people she trusts most. Basically, my job is to maintain her connection to the Light, as opposed to the Dark. Technically speaking, I'm not Xander of course. I'm Willow's interpretation of Xander."

"This is going to confuse me, isn't it?"

Xander smiled. "Probably for a minute. You'll catch up, though. You're smart."

Dawn couldn't help but return the crooked Xander grin that she'd always found adorable. She looked around, a quizzical look on her face.

"This is familiar, but I can't place it exactly. Where are we?"

"Kingman's Bluff."

"Oh yeah, ok." Her eyes widened. "Wait a minute. Isn't this where--"

"Willow tried to end the world? Yes it is."

"Why are we here?"

"This was a turning point in Willow's life. Mine too, actually. Everything we'd been through together manifested itself on this very spot. This is the proverbial fork in the road. Everybody has one, of course; anyone who's lived long enough can tell you about key moments that defined them.

"Key moments? Like what?"

"Well, for example, the day a high school senior decides what college to attend after choosing between multiple schools they liked. We'll use Stanford and UCLA. You want to study law, you like the Bay Area...so you go to Stanford. You meet your spouse there, have 2.4 kids, yada yada yada. What happens if you'd picked UCLA? Everything that matters in your life is drastically affected once you sign on the dotted line as a graduating senior at Sunnydale High. Think about it."

"It sounds sort of random."

"That it does. In fact, it is just that sometimes. Another example: a man walks out of his house, but forgets his car keys are on the counter. 20 minutes later he tries to catch a light as it's turning red and gets t-boned by a '67 Impala, and everybody dies. If the guy remembers his keys, he doesn't have to run the light and no one gets hurt.

The guy in the Impala will never know that some stranger across town is going to end his life that day because he left his car keys in the house."

Dawn shuddered inwardly. "That's freaky."

"Hey, it's Willow's mind. Don't blame me."

"What was her mind's point, anyway?"

"The point is this spot is where Willow made her ultimate decision on how her life was going to be. She thinks I was primarily responsible for her making said decision, so she keeps me in here as a guardian. In here, much like outside of here, I watch Willow's back. It's always been that way, and it always will be."

"Now I know you're Willow. Xander doesn't use phrases like "said decision."

"Dawnie, you're a card."

On impulse, Dawn said: "I love you, Xander."

"He loves you, too. You may want to tell him when you actually see him, though. He loves to hear pretty girls talk sweet to him."

"Willow digs that too."

"Funny."

"I thought so."

Xander motioned to her. "Walk with me?"

They made their way along the bluff, watching the waves.

"Are you the only one here?"

Xander smiled. "Oh, no. Wills has several people that mean a lot to her that she carries with her. Look around."

Dawn craned her neck slightly, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Tara!!"

"Hi, honey."

They embraced for what seemed like an eternity.

"Wait, you're just Willow's mind picture of you, right?"

"Yes, of course."

She shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry."

"For what, baby?"

"For a second it felt like you weren't dead."

"In here, I'm not. I bet if we went in there--" she pointed at Dawn's head--"I'd be alive too. Do you think about me?"

Dawn nodded. "All the time. I miss you so much."

"Then I'll never be totally dead."

The youngest Summers sister smiled and looked around for Xander again.

"Xand?"

"Uh huh?"

"Is everyone important to Willow in here?"

"Sure."

"Where's Buffy?"

Xander and Tara shared a look.

Dawn frowned. "What?"

Xander sighed and spoke. "Dawn, you understand how much we love Buffy, right? She means the world to all of us, and there's nothing we wouldn't do for her, and most of the time, the opposite is true. There is no better person in this world than Buffy."

Dawn had an expectant look on her face. "And your point is?"

"Sometimes she's here and sometimes she's not. It's not her fault...I think she feels like there has to be some distance sometimes. We don't know if she's right to do that, but she's Buffy. We love her as she is."

Dawn just nodded.

A low rumbling sound came from beneath the bluff. Xander and Tara again exchanged glances and each took one of Dawn's hands. She looked up in confusion.

"What's up, guys?" Xander looked deadly serious as he answered.

"Time to go to work."

They made their way across the bluff, stopping at the exact point where Darkest Willow had summoned the Satanic Temple two short human years before as the rumbling deepened and the ground began to vibrate.

The noise built in the direction of a piece of ground roughly ten feet away. Finally it blew upward, with a black-clad horror rising from the earth.

It was Dark Willow. She smiled at the three people in front of her and spread her arms wide as she spoke in a near baritone voice.

"The bitch is back."

**********************************************************

Xander was in a place with which he was not familiar.

He had lost all hope in his friends ability to find him. He'd lost hope in himself. He'd been tortured within an inch of his life, and he was on the edge of hysterical begging for the sparing of his existence.

The very thought of that fueled what frightened him most.

A spark had been building within him since the first taser blast, but he'd fought it down. He was well aware of what he was capable of, but he wasn't anxious to lay it bare to the world.

It was undeniable, though: a fire was starting in Xander Harris's body, and it wouldn't take much more to set it loose.

The punches to the face and body were practically useless at this point. All torturers know that there is a place where the pain no longer exists as sharply as it once did if it goes on too long.

Unfortuately, Pierre was a desk officer. Jeeves was a pilot and search and rescue specialist.

Torture wasn't in the Watcher's Council Handbook. They were quite shocked, therefore, when Xander began to smile slightly.

Jeeves was enraged. He grabbed the taser from Pierre and buried it in the Scooby's abdomen.

Xander didn't make a sound. He looked up at both men, holding the smile. Every layer of emotion had been peeled away from Xander Lavelle Harris. The only one remaining was the one he'd dreaded bringing out his entire life. The one that had now gathered a savage momentum that few could possibly understand.

Pure, unadorned, unbridled rage. His voice rang out strong and clear through swollen lips and nose.

"Is this all you assholes have got? If so, could you bring in someone good, because my ass is JUST GETTING WARMED UP!!! COME ON!!!!!"

**********************************************************

Buffy's head snapped up, eyes wide and feral. The first thing she saw as she regained consciousness was a stake cutting through the air, milliseconds away from turning the greatest love of her life to dust.

She dove, hands outstretched.

- End Chapter Nineteen -