TITLE: This Flesh We Wear

AUTHOR: Scorpio

EMAIL: scorpiofic@aol.com

ARCHIVE: Scorpio's Constellation, CKoS, WWOMB, BtVS Slash. Anyone else, just let me know that you want it and are taking it.

FANDOM: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

PAIRING: Angel, Xander, Spike/Xander/Willow implied

RATING: R (for adult subjects)

WARNING: Death ! story, AU, future-fic and dark subject matter.

DISCLAIMER: The characters are all owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I'm merely using them for fun, not for profit. No copyright infringements are intended.

NOTES: The first half of this has sat unfinished on my harddrive for over three years. I pulled it out, dusted it off and finished it. Enjoy.

SUMMARY: During Cordelia Chase's funeral, Angel runs into someone who has been missing and presumed to be dead for more than twenty years; Xander Harris.



This Flesh We Wear
by Scorpio

Angel watched with dark haunted eyes as Cordelia's coffin was slowly lowered into the moist rich earth. Candlelight and bright lamps lit the night and the Priest's soft chanting filled the cemetery with odd and chilling echoes. Soft crying and quietly shifting clothing mingled with the rustling of grass blades and tree leaves.

No one had argued or complained about Cordelia's request that she be buried at night so that Angel could attend her funeral. At least, not within Angel's hearing. No one had accused him of leading her into the dangerous life that had brought about her untimely death. At least, not with spoken words. Yet Angel could feel the weight of their eyes upon him. He could feel their anger and their pain. It stabbed through his very being relentlessly.

Guilt.

'Delia had often joked about her own cowardice and had been the first to admit to her fears. But that had never stopped her. She had battled on, fighting the good fight...even to the end. Angel was proud of her and he had loved her as a friend, a confidant, a little sister of the heart if not blood. He would miss her and mourn her. But he would never forgive himself for her death.

He should have sent her away. Far away from himself. Anywhere would have done, as long as if was not near him...or his many enemies. But he hadn't sent her away. He enjoyed her company, he wanted to see her smile and listen to her bright cheerful laughter as she lit up his life. She had stayed with him...and now she had paid the ultimate price to give him that small happiness.

Slowly, Angel pulled himself from his own morbid thoughts. He wasn't surprised to note that the small gathering of people had thinned out. He stood quietly, waiting and watching as each one said their last good-byes before they too turned and walked away. Finally, he was left alone.

Feeling a slight tremble work it's way through his body, Angel stepped forward until he was standing in front of the looming black hole where Cordelia's body lay. He lifted his hand to look at the single white lily that he held and brought it up to his face. A delicate soft petal brushed his cheek and he had to bite back a harsh choked sob.

Angel stretched out his arm and dropped the flower into the grave. His sensitive hearing clearly heard it land on the polished oak lid of the coffin. That soft sound reverberated through his body like a crossbow bolt to the chest and he thought that he might crumple to the ground from the pain.

It was several minutes before he could pull himself together. He took a deep breath of the cool night air into his lungs. It wasn't something that he did often, only when he needed to smell something...or when he wished to calm his nerves. Steeling himself to accept the lingering pain and guilt that he knew would haunt him, Angel turned to leave.

That's when he first saw him standing there in the deep shadows.

The man was wearing all black and was leaning against a tripped out Harley Davidson Street Demon RX2500 racing bike. He was cloaked in an ankle length leather duster. From this distance, Angel could see that he wore heavy black riding boots and dark mirrored sunglasses as well. He had a neatly trimmed goatee and his long shoulder length hair was pulled away from his face and held back by a black bandanna with little white skull and crossbones on it.

The man radiated a dark sense of menace and danger that was almost palpable. His very aura was a warning to stay away. Far away. The threat of violence that surrounded him almost blocked out the deep air of sadness and pain that he carried. Almost...but not quite.

Slowly, Angel walked towards the man, measuring him. Searching with his senses and his instincts. As he neared the stranger, Angel could see that the man's left leg was fitted with a metal brace to help support the knee. The man wore it casually...as if he had grown used to it's presence over time. He could also see that the man was about his height, maybe even taller, and that he was muscled in a lean and hard way. He smelled of cordite and motor oil, blood and leather.

Angel walked up to the man and gazed at him with weary dark eyes, letting the full weight of his displeasure seep through. He was used to the chill darkness of his demonic aura and his hulking presence unnerving humans and making them squirm. This man just looked him over unflinchingly and sighed sadly.

"Who are you?"

The stranger didn't answer. He simply raised one hand shrouded in a fingerless leather glove and removed his mirrored sunglasses. Angel stared into startlingly clear, utterly cold and ruthlessly hard eyes. Recognition came slowly and with a chilling sense of shock.

"Xander!"

Those cold eyes slid away from him to gaze out across the cemetery and then they softened almost imperceptibly. Angel knew without turning that he looked upon Cordelia's gravesite.

"She was my first love."

His whispered voice was rough, harsh almost. It was if Xander was unused to speaking and so his voice was rusty with disuse. The tone and timber were flat, emotionless...deadened. Angel repressed a shudder.

Xander's eyes turned back to Angel and all the warmth and feeling fled abruptly. Xander stood up and away from his sideways perch on the seat of his motorcycle. As he straightened up, Angel could hear the slight metallic creaking of his knee brace. Xander didn't even seem to notice it. With a mild limp, the dark haired man turned and straddled the sleek machine. With swift sure movements that spoke loudly of countless repetition, Xander kicked up the stand, turned the key in the ignition, flipped the kick-start outwards and revved the large engine to ear rending life. Then, Xander shifted his body forward and jerked his head towards the suddenly empty space behind him.

"Climb aboard Deadboy."

Angel gave a halfhearted grin at the old nickname that he hadn't heard in years while he looked at the mortal before him. Xander had changed. He was harder and meaner and he wore his pain like armor. Angel wasn't altogether certain that remaining in Xander's company was the safest place, but one quick glance back at 'Delia's grave was all it took to convince him.

With a soft sigh of regret, Angel flipped his leg up and over the seat of the bike. He shifted forward until his crotch nestled up tightly against Xander's ass and his chest was plastered against Xander's leather clad back. Reaching down, he grabbed hold of his old friend's?...comrade's?...rival's?...enemy's?...hips and held on tight. With the loud roar of a finely tuned engine, they were off, a blurred streak through the darkness.

*

Angel leaned back slightly to look around at their destination while Xander turned off the engine of his bike. He could still feel faint echoes of the vibrations the machine had jolted through his body with mind-numbing regularity. Carefully, mindful of muscle cramps and stiff limbs, Angel slid off of the motorcycle.

He stood next to Xander and indulged in a deep stretch to pull some knots out of his lower back and hips. The dark mortal flashed a humorless half smirk his way and set the big bike up on it's kick-stand. Angel looked around at their surroundings a little closer. It was a place Angel had visited once or twice, but generally avoided due to it's inherent dangers.

This neighborhood was a decaying industrial area that had slowly given over to small seedy businesses and cheap rat infested residences as the larger legitimate businesses and manufacturers moved up or died out. Cracked sidewalks were littered with trash and neon signs as opposed to streetlights provided the dim lighting. Ear rending rock music shattered the air and the filthy stench of a garbage dumpster perfumed the night. Large broken down buildings rose up to block out the starless black sky.

The populous of this haven of evil were a horrifying combination of the living and the dead, and it was sometimes difficult to tell which was which. The humans who scrounged out a living here were desperate and dangerous. The hurt broken beings that called this place home were usually armed with heavy weaponry or drugs. Sometimes both. Whores, gang-bangers, runaways, outlaws.

Then there were the vampires. They practically outnumbered the living here. They roamed the streets freely and interacted with each other and the humans. Many even walked around wearing their gameface's instead of the thin veneer of humanity. They sauntered about, the obvious rulers in this fiefdom of evil, pushing their human serfs around at will.

Except Xander.

He began to notice a pattern that formed immediately after they arrived at this den of inequity. Mortal and demon alike gave the dark man on the Harley Davidson a wide berth. Many gave him a fearful and shuddering look before turning and hurrying in the opposite direction. Xander had a reputation here...and it was not a nice one. That much was clear.

Angel stood silently to one side, trying to project a protective air of menace and danger...but he wasn't sure if was needed. He watched as Xander finished with the bike and slowly dismounted. The mortal also indulged in a slight stretch and Angel's sensitive hearing clearly picked up the sound of bones popping and settling back into place.

With a slight limp and the soft sound of metal on metal, Xander turned and began to rifle through his saddlebags. With a morbid sense of dread and fascination, Angel watched as he pulled out a variety of weapons...including a dark stained wooden dagger. A shudder of fear and excitement washed over him as he watched those deadly items disappear quickly into various pockets and places of concealment.

"Come on. Let's go."

With a vague gesture for Angel to follow, but without looking back to see if he'd obey, Xander began to slowly limp away. The slightly flapping ends of the black leather duster revealed as much as it concealed from Angel's sight. He could hear the low sound of the metal knee brace underneath the sounds of leather creaking and rustling around his legs. He could see the slight limp caused by a knee that wouldn't bend easily and he could see the broad shoulders that were held square, unbowed by the pain and hurt that radiated from a darkened soul.

Even as Angel stepped off of the curb to follow Xander across the street, he wondered why he was here, in this place and with this man. What did he hope to find by trailing after the man who had been Cordelia's first boyfriend and lover? Did he seek understanding? Forgiveness? Punishment? A bit of each, perhaps.

His chest tightened as the vision of Cordelia as a young and naive schoolgirl rose up out of his memories. It was swiftly followed by an image of Xander and how he had been at that point in time as well. Young, unsure, needy...and filled with love. Angel glanced over at the man that boy had become and cringed inside. He hadn't seen Xander in a little over twenty years and he wondered just what horrors had befallen him during that time.

His speculation was abruptly cut off as Xander came to a stop and reached out with one leather covered hand to yank open a black painted metal door that bore the legend HELL PIT in red spray paint. Grinding techno punk music poured out into the night along with a cloud of thick choking smoke. Angel didn't even have time to debate the wisdom of entering such a place before Xander disappeared inside. With a sigh and a deep sense of foreboding, he followed.

The bar was very dimly lit and packed with the bodies of mortals and demons alike. His sense of smell was assaulted violently in a wave of tobacco smoke, alcohol fumes and sweat. A cacophony of noise slammed into his head in a dizzy wash of music, voices and clinking glasses. He blinked rapidly to clear his eyes of smoke so he could find Xander in the crowd.

The man was already at the bar and speaking with the vampire behind the counter. Angel tensed and went over to stand behind him...to rescue him if need be. Although, a little voice in the back of his head whispered that Xander needed more protection from the demons in his own mind than he did from the demons in the bar.

Xander reached out with one hand and suddenly pushed a human woman off of the stool next to him. The gaudily dressed teen fell off of her perch and landed on the ground hard. She turned her face up to hiss angrily at Xander even as she trembled in...fear? Xander didn't react to her display of displeasure. He merely stared down at her, his face a calm mask of thinly veiled violence. Angel could feel a tension build for a moment and then the girl's eyes flickered away in submission. A shudder ran through her and she scrambled backwards to melt into the crowd.

Xander turned back to face the bar. With a vague gesture towards the now available stool, he welcomed Angel closer and dismissed the girl as unimportant. Angel hesitated as a rare flash of panic rose in him.

"Sit, Deadboy."

That harsh dead voice washed over him once again and a core of ice began to form in his gut. Yet...he obeyed. He shifted his body sideways so that he wouldn't actually *touch* Xander, even as he moved around his still form towards the stool. As he slowly sank down on it, the vampire bartender sauntered over and placed two drinks down in front of them. Angel didn't miss the slightly deferential and timid mannerisms the young demon displayed in front of the mortal he had once called ally.

It was...chilling. To pull his over burdened mind away from such wanderings, Angel glanced down at the drinks in front of them. A frosty mug of beer sat before Xander and a steaming chalice of blood sat in front of himself. The hot coppery scent wafted under his nose enticingly and he could feel the demon within himself rise up towards the surface. Grimacing, he fought to keep his face from changing.

"Let it out, Angel. Ain't no one here gonna care. Least of all me."

That soft rasping voice was all that was needed to pick the lock on his shaky control. A ripple that was half pain and half pleasure skittered along his nerves. He felt his body and his face shift into harsher planes and angles even as his fangs extended from his jaw to form mini daggers inside of his suddenly watering mouth.

A slight shifting and creaking of leather next to him drew his attention back to Xander. Turning to face the mortal, Angel was surprised to find that he *was* shocked that the man didn't flinch away from his gameface, even though many others here wore thier's openly. Instead, he was faced with a raised mug of golden beer and a sardonic and self-reproaching smirk.

"Here's to love and friendship...and the earth it's buried under."

A flash of pain and guilt stabbed into his soul and for a moment, Angel longed for the oblivion of death even as he wished to turn back time to *before* and live it through again, but without the mistakes he had made. With a harshness that surprised himself, Angel pushed those useless thoughts aside and picked up his own glass. They clinked the two cups together gently and then they each downed a large swallow.

A red iron-tinged wave of light and heat and life rushed down his throat and settled into his stomach. Energy and hunger burned through him suddenly. The demon inside of him demanded more of the lifeblood it had just sampled. His soul shivered in horror even as he raised the chalice and swallowed the rest of the blood in one gulp. Xander didn't comment, nor even raise an eyebrow at the display of his unholy thirst. He merely raised his hand and summoned the bartender for more.

Angel nodded at the vampire who handed him another glass of hot blood and then turned slightly to study Xander as best he could. What he saw pained him in some inexplicable way.

The mortal's skin was pale, as if he rarely saw sunlight and long shoulder length black curls spilled out from under his bandanna. Silver rings adorned the lobe of the ear closest to him and an old white jagged scar ran down the side of his face and under the goatee on his chin. The fingers that emerged from the fingerless leather gloves were thick and calloused.

His face was kept carefully neutral, blank of all emotions, hiding the thoughts that swam through his mind. The mirrored sunglasses had been pushed up to rest upon his head and his eyes gave nothing away but darkness. He radiated a bizarre mix of unhurried calmness and ruthless violence. The phrase "stone cold killer" drifted across Angel's mind to tangle with his memories of a younger and vulnerable Xander.

He suddenly had a vision of what Xander would have been like if Faith hadn't killed Buffy and the world had been left with a Slayer who was stable and willing to fight the good fight, instead of a Slayer who was a twisted psychotic bitch. He quickly gulped down his glass of mortal blood to hide the slicing pain that insight had caused his soul. With horrifying clarity, he knew that *this* Xander would never know the touch of a loving wife nor would he ever hear the laughing voices of children call him Daddy. That was a hurt that Angel knew Xander could feel as easily as he himself could. Once more, he silently damned Faith to eternal Hell for what she had done to the world by killing Buffy.

A cruel voice pierced his morbid musings and dragged his mind back into the here and now. The human soul within him shrieked in denial and fear even as his inner demon howled with a wicked glee.

"Xander!"

Angel turned to see a large vampire in full gameface standing there with a smaller human female. The woman stood slightly behind him and she wore a leather collar around her pale bite marked neck. It was attached to a leash that was wrapped around the vampire's left fist.

Out of the corner of his eye, Angel watched Xander slowly turn to face the vampire who had yelled his name as a challenge. Xander didn't flinch or pull back. He simply smiled up at the vampire. It was a cold and cruel smile, devoid of warmth and feeling. It also didn't reach his dark clear eyes. Angel shivered.

"Casey."

It was an acknowledgment, nothing more. No sliver of fear or even amusement colored his tone. Almost as if a silent announcement had been made, the crowd pulled back and away, leaving an empty circle that contained only himself, Xander, Casey and Casey's human pet. He had the vague thought that this must mean that he himself was Xander's inhuman pet, but he pushed it aside as Xander slowly uncoiled himself from the barstool and stood up.

An odd sort of partial hush fell over the Hell Pit as voices stilled and glassware stopped clinking. Music droned on heavily in the background, but it seemed less important than the subtle creak of leather and the soft squeal of metal on metal from Xander's knee brace.

Angel found himself holding his body rigid in fear and excitement as Casey unwound his pet's leash from his fist and Xander spread his legs in a clearly offered fighting stance. The girl slithered back towards the edge of the crowd, her dark haunted eyes never leaving her master's form and Angel shuddered. One of them was going to die, this was a fight to the death.

Angel could feel the tension in the smoky air mounting and he wondered if there was anyway to step in and stop this from happening. Before he could come up with a way to draw Casey's anger and spite away from Xander, the vampire leapt towards the mortal with a loud hiss. Xander lurched to the side and twirled just out of reach.

When the combatants turned to face each other once again, Xander held the wooden dagger in one hand and the other was clenching into a fist and then releasing into a fan of spread fingers. His face was split into a manic grin, but his eyes remained frighteningly devoid of emotion.

Casey charged at the mortal warrior again, but Xander spun on his bad leg and kicked out with the right one. It connected against Casey's ribs with a meaty thud and the vampire stumbled before catching himself and spinning around. He didn't have time to do anything else before Xander lunged forward and thrust the wooden dagger between his ribs to pierce his heart. Casey's eyes widened in disbelief and his fanged jaw gaped open. Then he exploded in a shower of disintegrating ash and dust.

A stunned silence fell over everyone as they absorbed what they had just witnessed. It was shattered by a heart-rending wail of unutterable loss and anguish. Slowly, Xander straightened up from his crouch and limped over to the young human girl screaming out her grief. He stood over her crying form for a moment before speaking.

"Vanessa?"

Angel started slightly. That one word held more emotion then he'd seen or heard Xander express since they'd left 'Delia's gravesite. It was filled with a sense of understanding and unspoken compassion. Angel couldn't see Xander's face, nor what expression it held, but he did see Vanessa's. She looked up at him with wide-open eyes that streamed tears. Grief was etched into her once beautiful face making her seem old and worn. She gazed at him questioningly for a quick moment and then a wash of relief drowned out the pain. She nodded once sharply and then locked her eyes onto his.

In a quick flurry of movement, Xander reached into an inner pocket of his duster and pulled out a small caliber handgun. Neither one of them flinched away or closed their eyes as Xander swiftly brought the gun up to her forehead and pulled the trigger. In an explosion of violent sound and flesh rending bullets, Vanessa's life ended.

Angel lurched to his feet in painful shock even as the human corpse collapsed to the floor. He felt a blast of anger and guilt rush through him and his hands curved into claws. He was seconds away from trying to tear Xander limb from limb for murdering the human when Xander turned his head to look at him.

The expression on Xander's face pulled him up short and made him gasp. Naked pain and anguish rolled out from haunted eyes in a torrent. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and looking into the raw emotions that Xander's eyes so eloquently displayed for all to see, his soul was in Hell. Xander answered the unspoken question that raced through his head with a rusty voice that throbbed with remorse and loss.

"I used to *be* her. No one cared enough to put me out of my misery. It's better to just kill her than to let her become what I am now."

Then, as if someone pulled a switch somewhere, the burning fire in Xander's eyes snuffed itself out, leaving them dead and cold once more. His face melded into a mask of calm control and he stood up a little straighter, his armor of pain once again in place.

A swift and smooth motion tucked the gun back into it's hidden holster and another equally quick sleight of hand resheathed the wooden dagger up a sleeve. With that oddly graceful limping gait, Xander walked back to the bar next to Angel. He reached out and grabbed his beer. Two quick gulps emptied the glass and then he turned to the back of the bar.

"Come on Angel. Let's go."

Shaken to his very core and trying desperately not to show it, Angel walked after the mortal. The crowd parted before Xander to give him a wide berth. Some growled at him in a way that reminded Angel of school children trying to prove to themselves and their friends that they were not afraid of the bogeyman. Angel wondered how many of those braggarts would piss their pants if Xander took up the unspoken challenge. Others didn't bother to hide their fear and respect for the mortal. They turned away from him, desperate not to catch his attention. Xander merely ignored them all, silently dismissing them as unimportant and beneath his notice.

Angel followed the leather shrouded mortal to the back of the bar and then through a doorway that was marked by a glass beaded curtain. On the far side of the jingling and tinkling curtain was a dark smoky hallway that led deeper into the depths of the building. At the end of the hallway there was another metal door.

Xander opened up the door and stepped beyond. Angel stood at the threshold for a moment and considered his alternatives to try and figure out what was going to come next. He wasn't sure what Xander had in mind and that thought filled him with a sliver of fear. He almost turned and left right then, but something kept him from running. Instead, damning himself for a crazy fool, he stepped through the doorway as well.

A naked light bulb hanging from a cord dangled above his head, barely illuminating the place. It was a dark and dank stone and brick landing sitting above a narrow set of concrete stairs leading down. Water dripping somewhere up ahead echoed eerily and the soft whisper of leather shifting seemed inordinately loud. Slowly, his limp slightly exaggerated by the steps, Xander headed downwards into the darkness.

"This tunnel is one of many that lead to a labyrinth of windowless homes and crypts. I have a lair down here. Many of us do...even the humans. Come."

With a start, Angel realized that Xander lived amongst the demons and vampires as one of them. And from what he had witnessed in the bar and along the street, he was widely feared here. That fact was almost more unsettling than his casual destruction of a vampire and then the subsequent murder of that vampire's human thrall. Angel wondered if this night would lead to a new life for him...or his own death. A vision of Cordelia dying in his arms swam into his mind and Angel decided that he didn't really care which it was.

To be bluntly honest, the only thing he really wanted at the moment was for Xander to explain what was going on, to tell him the answers to all of the questions that were currently burning through his mind. Everything else could wait because without Cordelia at his side, nothing seemed to be very important any more.

The corridor that Xander led him down was dark, dank, cold and was filled with the scent of mold and rusty iron. The darkness echoed with every footstep. They turned several corners and sometimes the corridors were brick, sometimes stone and a few times they were the smooth roundness of sewer tunnels. Rats squeaked and scurried through the darkness and at times Angel could hear the distorted echoes of voices in a variety of languages; most of them demonic. Every now and then, a naked light bulb hanging down from an electrical cord would throw shifting shadows in dizzying patterns across the walls and floor and then they would move on into the dark once more.

Finally, after Angel was sure that they'd walked in several circles and gone a few levels downwards, Xander stopped before a steel door. There was no sign of a knob or a locking mechanism and for a brief moment, Angel wondered if Xander was at the right place. The he watched as the mortal reached out and placed the fingertips of his left hand on the door and felt around for a second to, apparently, find the correct spot. Then, with a brief whispered, "open", the grating sound of metal grinding against stone filled the air with hard shrieks. Mouth gaping, he stood silently as the large heavy door slid to the side far enough to allow a single person to walk through. Without hesitation, Xander stepped inside.

"Come in, Angel. You are welcome here."

Those words were like a shard of ice in his heart. He didn't want to believe that the boy he once knew to be the most staunch supporter of the Slayer was now living his life in the very heart of a vampire controlled demon population, but those words killed that wish. After all, if this wasn't Xander's home, then he wouldn't have needed an invitation. Suddenly feeling very weary and far too old, Angel stepped into the pitch blackness beyond the door.

"Illuminata."

His voice still sounded gravely, even when it was whispered. Angel didn't have long to consider that, however, for the whispered word was still sliding through the still air when candle after candle jumped silently into flame. Xander stepped around him and reached for the door again. The softly spoken word, "close" was followed by the harsh echoing sound of the heavy metal door sliding shut once more. Angel ignored it in favor of staring around Xander's underground lair in horrified awe.

It seemed to be one large stone room with three smaller niches carved out of the rock to form three almost-rooms connecting from each of the three other walls. The niche to the left seemed to be a bathing area with a drain in the floor, a wooden tub and an old fashion hand pump. The niche off to the right seemed to be a sleeping area. A large mattress was propped up on cinderblocks and draped with silk. The walls in there were also draped with material; velvets, cottons and sheers. The niche off the far wall seemed to be set up as a kitchen. There was another hand pump for water and a few shelves with cans of soup, vegetables and stew stacked neatly. There was a hotplate, a mini-refrigerator and a small microwave set up along one corner. The other held a small gas powered engine to run the electrical appliances.

The main room that he stood in was the most interesting...and the most disturbing. There were two battered overstuffed chairs facing a coffee table and a few small bookcases loaded down with scrolls, tomes and notebooks. There was also a small radio with a stack of CD's next to it. However, the most prominent thing in the room was a...a...well, the word *shrine* was the only thing that Angel could think of to describe it.

It looked like a card table covered in red velvet. On top of it were several polished metal railroad spikes, two thick leather collars, a small silver-plated picture frame holding a photo of Xander and Willow decked out in bondage-gear, an old tattoo gun, a silver zippo lighter, an old and dried up bottle of black nail polish and an antique ring that broke Angel's heart because he recognized it immediately. It was the ring he had given to his youngest childe. On the wall directly over the table were a large number of hand-drawn pictures of a lean, sleek and dangerous looking vampire; both in his human guise and his gameface. Reaching out with a shaking hand, Angel ran the tips of one finger gently along the edge of a portrait.

"Spike..."

Anger, confusion and a soul chilling sense of loss swept through him and he spun around to scream at Xander, to demand an explanation. The look on the mortal's face, however, stopped the painful words from leaving his lips. The longing and the desire reflected in those dark eyes was haunting and suddenly Angel remembered something that Xander had said up in the demon bar.

"Xander...what did you mean when you said that you used to *be* Vanessa?"

For a long moment, silence filled the air between them, growing thick and heavy. Then a sad heartbroken whisper confirmed that which he had feared. "I belonged to Spike. I was his...his human. Willow and I both were."

Running a hand up over his face, Angel sighed. This was too much. Too much coming way too fast. He had felt Spike's second death several years ago. He had been with Cordelia at the time. They had been hunting a nest of fledglings when all ties to his youngest and only surviving childe had suddenly been cut. Pain had washed through his mind and his demon had howled out in grief and agony. He only had hazy and half-remembered memories after that until a week later he came too, chained in his own basement with Cordelia watching over him, a stake in her hand. He knew right then and there that Spike was ash.

Now that fact was compounded by Cordelia's death and Xander's quiet admission. Part of him wanted to turn around and run away screaming into the night, to bury this away in his mind and forget everything. Part of him wanted to know what had happened; not only to Xander, but to Spike. He had felt his childe die, but he hadn't known where he was and he had been helpless to do anything about it. Now, maybe he could.

"What...what happened?"

For a long moment, Xander just stood there silently staring at the altar to a vampire who was now dust. Then, as if jerking awake from a dream, he gestured to the chairs and offered up what currently passed for a smile on his face.

"Have a seat. I'll get us a drink."

Angel stepped around the battered coffee table and sat down on one of the chairs. The back was lumpy and there was a spring or something poking him in the left butt cheek, but he would live with that if it would get him answers. Xander limped slowly over to the kitchen niche and bent down to the minifridge. Opening it up, he pulled out two beers and limped back. Tossing one to Angel, Xander cracked open the other and took a long pull off of it before he put the bottle on the table.

"It's a long story, but I'll try to get to the point quick."

Almost absently, Xander began delving into the pockets of his duster and started to pull out weapon after weapon. When he was done, he took the leather jacket off and folded it over the back of his chair. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater underneath.

"It started during graduation."

Angel swallowed and nodded. That's when the world went to Hell in a handbasket and he somehow managed to save Cordelia from certain death. She was the only one of the Scooby's that he had found alive that night and he hadn't seen anyone else since that day.

"Faith betrayed us all by helping the Mayor and killing Buffy. I managed to blow the Highschool and the Hellmouth to bits and pieces, but it wasn't enough. Willow and I got separated from Giles when he was dragged off by the Mayor's men. I never saw him again. I did see you and Cordy run off in another direction and I found out much later that you both survived, but at that time it was only a guess. Willow and I were captured by a group of demons that were there to take advantage of the chaos, but weren't actually one of the Mayor's guests."

Xander paused to take another drink of his beer and Angel repressed the urge to shiver at the dead tone of voice that the mortal spoke such horror's with. His face was just as expressionless and for a brief second, Angel wondered if maybe Xander wasn't completely sane anymore.

"I'm sure that you've heard of the T'ravaklin Clan."

He gasped in shock. He couldn't help it, the T'ravaklin Clan were notorious for their use of black magic and their addiction to pain; both their own and other's. They were a mercenary clan that was for hire if you could afford their price, but they were also deadly enemies if you turned on them. It was chilling to think of Xander and Willow; two innocent children who had fought at Buffy's side being held as prisoners of those cruel and evil demons. Xander merely nodded his head in silent acknowledgment of his recognition.

"They held us for almost three years. Willow for her magic and me for...well, for other amusements. They're the ones who messed up my knee."

A jerk of his goatee'd chin indicated the metal brace on his left leg and Angel could only imagine the torturous pain that had earned Xander that limp.

"At that point, Spike contacted them to see if they could use their magic to raise a dusted vampire. It seems that someone had dusted Dru and he wanted her back. They were regretful that they couldn't do that for him, but that's when he saw us. Me and Willow."

A sharp bark of laughter filled the room and then Xander's voice once more became that deadened sound, devoid of all emotion and life.

"He recognized us; or rather me, from Parent-Teacher night. Said that he remembered how you gave me to him. Instead of buying a spell to raise Dru from dust, he bought me and Willow. I don't think he missed her much after that. By that time, Willow made Dru look like the poster child for sanity."

Xander raised his beer up to his lips, but paused a moment, "I don't think I was much saner, but I could comprehend the world around me, at least." He drank the rest of his beer then and put down the empty bottle.

"We were together, just the three of us, for a little over twelve years. That's when Willow was killed. It wasn't long after that happened that just one of us walking into a place would clear it out as everyone dashed off looking for a place to hide. We tended to kill everyone and everything that crossed our paths. But grief fades and time passes."

Then Xander fell silent for a long moment. Angel watched as he stood up and limped slowly over to the shrine and just stared at it. The silence stretched and Angel wondered if Xander had forgotten that he was there. He was just about to ask for the rest of the story when Xander began to speak again.

"We moved here soon after that and life was good. Spike clawed and killed his way to the top and he ran this part of town with an iron fist. We were...happy. About three years ago a clan of Prel'veeth Demons decided that *they* were destined to rule and they captured us. They dusted him and left me howling out my mind and my soul in the middle of the street. They didn't even kill me and send me to Hell to be with him."

Xander turned back around to face him and for a second fierce anger and rage burned in his dark eyes before the mask of calm indifference slid over his features.

"That was the last stupid mistake that they ever had the chance to make. I am a weapon, Angel. The Slayer found me like a lump of ore and refined me into pure metal, then I was forged into a sword in the playchambers of Clan T'ravaklin. Afterwards, I spent over fifteen years being honed to a razors edge at the side of William the Bloody."

A brief pause and Angel could almost taste the words that he knew would be coming forth.

"I can honestly tell you that there isn't a single Prel'veeth Demon within twenty miles of this place. I've killed them all, one by one."

A quick surge of glee that the killers of his childe were dead battled with the flash of anger that his revenge had been stolen from him. Before he could quite figure out how he felt, Xander shrugged and gestured to Angel.

"I didn't know where you were until I saw the announcement about Cordelia's death. I figured that this was my one chance to find you and to tell you what had happened. It would also be my only chance to warn you about myself and to offer you my death."

For half a second, the words just rattled aimlessly around his head, but then they suddenly sank in and horror washed over him in a cold wave. With a single leap, he was up out of the chair and snarling in Xander's face. The mortal didn't even flinch.

"What! What the *hell* kind of crazy talk is *that*? You want to offer me your *death*!"

Xander sighed and for a brief moment his mask fell away and he just looked tired and worn. Raising up one hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced as if he had a pounding headache.

"Yes."

Angry that this man who had an entire demon community in fear of him and who was his one last tie to both his beloved Buffy and his beloved childe would want him to kill him, Angel growled and spun on his heal before he smashed his face in with his fist. He could understand bearing the weight of too many years, he could understand suffering pain and agony beyond the bounds of sanity, he could even understand being tired and frightened and needing someone to help hold back the darkness both within and without, but he couldn't, under any circumstances understand just laying down and giving up.

Stalking across the room to put distance between himself and Xander, he wondered what could have driven the mortal to this point. Was it the loss of Willow, the loss of Spike or the fact that he had lost hope of ever having a normal life? What had finally broken the back of the boy who had recklessly dashed into the Master's...*The Master's* lair in search of the Slayer?

The soft rustle of cloth behind him caught his attention and suddenly Angel realized that he had turned his back on one of the deadliest humans he had come across in many many years. Spinning back around with his gameface coming to the fore automatically, his growl caught in his throat at the sight that met his stunned golden eyes. His features melting back into his human mask, Angel stared in awe.

Xander stood there in the light of several dozen candles with his tight turtleneck shirt pulled off, his skin glowing in the soft light. Angel could easily see dozens of old bite scars all along Xander's neck, at the bend of his elbows and along his wrists. He had no doubt that they were all from Spike since each one was identical to the others. That was expected since Xander had already told him that he was Spike's pet human for fifteen years.

What *wasn't* expected were the tattoos. Each picture was self-contained on a bite-free patch of skin. The ink was mostly black with several splashes of red or blue and they were composed of pictures, symbols and words in a variety of languages. He was well versed in the arcane arts, so he could recognize a lot of it. Xander's face, however, was a reflection of his inner pain and of a bone weary exhaustion.

"*This* is why I am offering you my death." He gestured with one leather gloved hand to the artwork glowing on his chest. "I told you that the T'ravaklin Clan wanted Willow for her gift at magic, right? Well, she learned well. Very well. Each one of these designs is a magic spell. All I need do is speak the trigger word to activate it."

Angel walked back over to Xander and reached out with one hand, but he stopped from actually touching the man's skin. He just allowed his fingers to hover over the mortal, tracing the designs in the air and feeling the heat pour off of him.

"It's okay. You can touch them. It's safe."

Angel's eyes flicked up to glance into Xander's. He saw the truth there, but he was still hesitant to do so.

"The thing is, a lot of people know about these...tattoos. And everyone wants them. They learned long ago that I can't be *forced* into using them. Drugs cloud my mind too much to focus and pain is an old friend that I can embrace with open arms. Loyalty? The last of my loyalty turned to dust with Spike. So...rumor has it that if I'm killed, then my killer can skin the hide right off of me to preserve the designs. Then, a splash of human blood and the trigger word will activate the magic."

With an elegant shrug, Xander turned and limped slowly back into his kitchen area. He fiddled with the mini-refrigerator for a moment and then stood back up with another beer in his hands. Twisting off the top, Xander took a long drink and then glanced over his tattoo'd shoulder at Angel.

"I'm being hunted almost continuously, Angel. Humans, Demons, good guys and bad. Everyone wants my skin, but they don't necessarily want me in it. When I heard about Cordelia's death, I knew that you'd be there at the funeral. So...I figured that I would offer my skin to you." Another careless shrug. "*I* may not have ever liked you, Deadboy, but everyone that I ever loved, did."

Horror and pity washed over him and he felt as if he would drown in the darkness that pulsed from Xander's soul. In some twisted way, he could almost understand that Xander was tired of fighting for his life just to keep the black magic that Willow had permanently etched into his skin out of the hands of his enemies. On the other hand, Angel was sure that there had to be another answer. There had to be something that he could offer Xander besides a sharp knife with which to peel off his skin. His mind spun in frantic circles for long moments while he watched the battle weary human finish his beer in the golden light of the candles. Suddenly, an idea fluttered through his mind and he latched onto it with the desperation of a dying man.

"Xander...come with me. Instead of offering me your death, give me your life."

Xander's dark head snapped around, stunned confusion shinning in his dark eyes even if the rest of his face was composed to show boredom. "What? Angel, what are you talking about?"

Smiling and nodding to himself, Angel walked over to stand next to Xander. He reached up and trailed a single finger along one of the bite marks forever marking Xander as a creature of darkness...if not of the physical nighttime.

"As much as you didn't like to acknowledge it, Buffy *was* my mate. She claimed you as one of hers. And Spike was my childe. He also claimed you as his. Both of them are dead and no matter if you look at it from the point of view of inheriting from my mate or my childe, technically, you are now mine to do with as I see fit."

Xander's eyes narrowed and his lips tightened down into a harsh line even as his shoulders tensed up, but he didn't argue or deny Angel's logic. Apparently, Xander knew enough about vampire culture to recognize this as truth, even if Angel himself rarely felt the need to follow the traditions and laws of his own people.

"So, you see, Xander. I don't want your death. I want your life. You are all alone here, without Spike and with no one to watch your back when the hunter's come for your skin. I just lost Cordelia. She was...she was the last of my family. Like...a sister to me and now...now I'm just as alone."

With a shrug, Angel let his hand fall away from Xander's neck and made a vague gesture that could indicate Xander's lair...or the entire city.

"Leave here. Come back to L.A. with me and keep me company. Fight at my side. Then...when you die, whether it be in battle at my side or from old age in the middle of the night, then...well, instead of peeling your skin off of you, I'll personally set your corpse on fire to keep any of your enemies from capturing it."

A quick flicker of emotion shimmered across Xander's face and then was gone.

"You would send me to Hell intact? With my skin?"

Angel cringed inside at the fact that Xander obviously believed that he was destined for Hell. At one point, he would have bet all his money that the boy would end up in Heaven, but...not any more. Time and events had corrupted any goodness in him, twisting it into a personal code of honor that kept him alive in the middle of a demon community when there was a never ending line of hunters after the black magic etched onto his very body. Yeah, Xander was bound for Hell and he would probably be received with open arms by those he loved and cherished most when he finally got there.

"I promise. No one will take your skin from you. I would have to be dust first."

A pause.

"Come with me."

Xander's dark eyes bored into his own and he felt as if the mortal was searching for something indefinable in his soul. He tried to project sincerity and strength, but he wasn't sure if he pulled it off. He hoped that Xander agreed, not just to try and save him from the hunters and himself, but because he really *was* Angel's last tie to those who had died. Those he had loved. And without Xander at his side, Angel really would be alone. Silently, he waited. Finally,...

"Okay."




END: This Flesh We Wear


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