Another Chance

by SpikesKat

“If you have made mistakes, even serious ones, there is always another chance for you.” Mary Pickford 

Xander stares at the scene before him with some confusion – blanket spread over the ground, the opened cooler placed atop it full of an assortment of picnic-y things, the distinct smell of barbeque chicken cooking on a grill nearby, and Faith wearing, of all things, a “Kiss the Cook” apron over her tank top and shorts. The edges are a bit hazy and he blinks his eyes a few times to bring things into sharper focus. 

This is the last thing he could imagine having happen when he set out after the troubled Slayer, but he isn’t complaining.  

“Hey,” he calls out a hesitant greeting, hand poised in midair in a halfhearted wave.

Surprisingly, Faith’s response is much more animated, with a smile on her face the likes of which he’s never seen; she almost glows as pleasure at his presence suffuses her face. She puts down the spatula and skips over to him, planting a kiss on his cheek.  

“Hey! Chicken is almost ready,” she says brightly. 

“It is?” It’s the only response that comes to mind. To say he is confused by her behavior would be putting it mildly. What he should be asking is “Why?” or “How?” or his more eloquent, “Huh?” 

She nudges him in the ribs with her elbow, “Of course it is, silly.” 

Xander winces at the jab – Faith doesn’t know her own strength – and lifts his shirt up to check the damage when she turns away and heads back to the grill. There’s a bruise on his ribs the size of his fist and he frowns and fingers it gently, probing the edges.  

Ouch! 

Faith really has hit him harder than he thought.  

“Want something to drink?” Faith’s voice cuts into his silent contemplation, and he hurriedly yanks his shirt down, unwilling for her to see the damage she’s inadvertently caused and perhaps make her feel guilty.  

She doesn’t need any reminders of what she’d done, the life she’s taken. She needs a friend right now, and he is determined to be that for her. To be there, when his own friends had not. 

“Uh, yeah, sure. Whatcha got?” he asks in response to her question. 

“Soda. Water. Take your pick. It’s in the cooler.” 

“Thanks. You want something?” 

“Water’s good. Soda makes me jittery.” 

Xander nods and grabs two bottles of water and sets them out on the blanket, then, seeing Faith walking towards him with a plate of chicken, he starts to pull out paper plates, plastic silverware, and the assortment of sides that have been packed. Faith kneels beside him and together they prepare their own plates of food. 

Everything looks good to Xander, and he takes a bite of chicken. It tastes delicious, though the smell seems off somehow, like a flame taken to burning flesh, but he compliments Faith on her culinary skills. She tips her plastic knife at him in a salute, and Xander blinks when he sees it morph into a serrated knife, the metal glistening momentarily in the sunlight. He swears he feels something scrape along his arm as he cuts another piece of chicken, and looks down to see that sauce has squirted all over his wrist. 

He frowns again and sets his own silverware aside, reaching hastily for the water bottle to wash down the food that now seems lodged in his throat. He fiddles with the cap, the sudden lack of oxygen making him fumble anxiously to get it off. Finally, he does and raises it to his lips and takes a huge gulp. His throat muscles work but nothing happens. The water pools in his mouth until he leans over and lets it dribble back out again. 

He can’t breathe and his hands reach automatically for his throat, as if he can tear away the imaginary binder constricting his airway. Eyes wide as panic takes hold, he glances frantically at Faith, seeking her help, the Heimlich maneuver... something. 

Only, she has a smile on her face that chills him to the bone. 

“Faith!” he mouths, hysteria rising. “Faith!” 

She leans over him as he falls back against the blanket still clutching at his throat.  

“I could do anything to you right now, and you want me to. I can make you scream. I can make you die.” 

Xander closes his eyes and accepts the inevitable.  

~*~*~*~*~ 

When Xander wakes, the first thing he sees in Angel’s face looming mere inches from his own. He lets out an unmanly yelp – or would have if his throat wasn’t raw and sound was possible – and scrambles off the bed. His eyes dart around the room and he sees Faith lying unconscious on the floor. There is a knife and a few candles lying nearby; an arc of drying wax creates a macabre design upon the carpeted floor. 

He ignores the object of his torture and yells at Angel, “What did you do to her?” 

His voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper and intermittent at that.  

Angel understands what he’s asked though. 

“She was trying to kill you,” he explains calmly. “I had to…” 

Xander’s eyes narrow on Angel as his voice trails off and he shrugs helplessly. Xander nods briefly, accepting Angel’s story, then scoots towards Faith and gently lifts her head onto his lap. 

Though she’d tried to hurt him, Xander can’t find it in himself to hate her, or even blame her really. He knows what it’s like to feel cornered, to feel that no one has your back. She’d lashed out just as any frightened animal would when confronted.  

He runs his fingers through her hair and stares down at Faith, who seems so peaceful in sleep. After a while he looks up at Angel, hovering nearby, senses attuned in case Faith happens to wake up. 

“She needs help,” he whispers. 

Angel nods at his statement.  

“You’ll help me?” 

Again Angel nods, his expression softening slightly. “She can stay at the mansion with me.” 

This time it is Xander who nods.  

“I’ll carry her, if you want to pack up her things,” Angel adds. 

Xander is about to protest, but he really is in no shape to be lugging Faith halfway across town. Instead he nods briefly, and Angel gently lifts Faith into his arms while he stands and packs her meager belongings into the lone bag that he finds on the floor of the makeshift closet. Seeing it depresses him, but not as much as when it’s only half-filled but yet the room was stripped clean of her things. 

The walk to the mansion is made in silence. It is only once Angel has Faith settled in one of the rooms upstairs that Xander speaks. 

“Why?” 

“It’s as you said, she needs help,” Angel replies quietly. 

“She killed someone,” Xander told him. “A human. It was an accident.” He doesn’t tell Angel that she lied and said it was Buffy that had done it. 

“I know.”  

And it’s like Angel already knows: what actually happened and how Faith had tried to deflect the blame. 

“It doesn’t upset you?” Xander isn’t sure to which he is referring when he asks this question. 

Angel just shrugs his shoulders and replies, “It was an accident.”  

Silence descends upon the room; minutes later the two leave Faith alone, Angel quietly closing the door behind them. 

Xander nearly jumps a foot as they’re walking down the hall and Angel says, “You should probably put some ice on your neck. Maybe get that arm cleaned up.” 

He shrugs, and it seems like it’s the one place on his body that doesn’t ache. “Yeah, okay.” 

They walk into the kitchen and Xander slumps into a chair. Watches silently as Angel rummages in the freezer and wraps ice in a small towel and soaks another in warm water. Angel hands him both towels and then moves off again, this time pulling a bottle from a cabinet and two glasses. His eyes widen as Angel settles himself in the seat across from him and calmly pours two healthy doses of whisky into each, then pushes one across to him. 

“Drink it. It’ll calm your nerves and numb your throat. It’s going to be sore enough tomorrow as it is. So’s the rest of you.” 

“I—Thanks.” He’s said nothing of the injuries hidden by his clothes, but given Angel’s preternatural senses, he’s not surprised Angel knows. 

Xander downs the drink in one huge gulp then coughs harshly as the alcohol burns a path down his throat; tears spring to his eyes. A moment later he leans back in his chair as the false warmth snakes through his limbs, masking his aches. His eyes threaten to close, now that the adrenaline has worn off and the alcohol does its job, and he realizes just how tired he really is. 

“Come on. I’ll walk you home.” 

“I’d like to stay here, if you don’t mind. You know, be here when she wakes up.” 

“I’m not sure that’s such a good—” 

Xander’s look cuts off the last of Angel’s objection. He’s immune to the vampire’s heavy, put-upon sigh. Goes one further and whispers, “Please? She needs a friend, Angel, and I don’t want her to think—I just—fuck.” He doesn’t see Angel’s quirked brow as he leans forward, places his elbows on the table and puts his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up when he whispers “please” again. He’s hanging on by a thread, and knows if Angel says no, he’ll wind up crying. 

Moments pass, then Xander hears the scrape of a chair being pushed back and feels a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  

“This is getting to be a habit,” Angel says, not unkindly. 

Xander looks up, confused. 

“Saving slayers.” 

Xander smiles. 

“Come on. Let’s get you to bed before I have to carry you as well.” 

Xander groans at Angel’s attempt at humor and reluctantly stands. “As if!” he chuckles. 

Surprisingly, Angel smiles back, though he does take Xander’s arm when his legs threaten to buckle. 

“We’ll keep this between us,” Xander says, and he’s not just talking about the helping hand getting him upstairs. 

Angel’s look turns grim, and he nods.  

Xander nods back, a pact made. 

Angel gets Xander settled in his own room then turns to leave. It’s early yet for him and he figures he’ll while away the time until dawn downstairs with a book; he refuses to leave Xander alone with Faith to make a sweep of the cemeteries. He’s almost to the door when he hears Xander’s whispered, “thanks”. 

Angel turns back, shrugs a shoulder and says, “That’s what friends are for.” 

“Friends? Huh. Yeah, alright. Friends.”  

Xander sees Angel’s tentative smile and returns it with one of his own. Figures if he and Angel can set aside their differences, then getting Faith to come around should be a piece of cake. 

At least he hopes so anyway.  

Only time will tell.

The End

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