The Scarlet Letter

"Buffy and I...we think we've figured out how to return his soul."

"You-you what?" Xander slowly pulled away from Willow.

/...they never came for me.../

"All this time, you've been trying to save...Angel?" Xander had to force himself to say the name, as if speaking it aloud could somehow make him appear and the pain would begin all over again.

"No, no, it's not like that!" Willow backtracked, sounding desperate to appease him. He almost couldn't understand what she was saying, what with being so busy picking up the jagged shards of his heart and all.

/"You're nothing to her. I could kill you, torture you, or make you my bitch, but none of it would change a thing. Your suffering doesn't mean jack shit, because Buffy will never stop loving me."/

"We weren't trying to help Angel, we just kinda stumbled onto it by accident. Really, if you want to get technical about it, Miss Calendar was the one who found his cure. We think she was recreating Angel's curse before...before he, um..." Her hasty explanation ground to a halt. "You know," she mumbled sadly.

"Before he murdered her?" Xander snapped, his voice dark with malice learned from days of suffering at Angel's hands. "It's heartwarming to know so many people are concerned about Angel's welfare. 'Cause he's such a nice guy when you *really* get to know him!"

Upon hearing his stinging words, Willow ducked her chin to her chest like a punished dog. "Xander, I know how you feel about him, but think about it. If we can make him the way he was, then -"

"Great. Just perfect!" interrupted Xander harshly. "While you're at it, can you make me the I w I was, too?" He pulled his ravaged arm out from under the blankets. It spat bright sparks of light at Willow while she cringed, tears racing down her face like they were trying to escape.

Disgusted with everything, Xander jerked away from Willow, gulping back a scream when he accidentally pushed himself along the patio wall with his stump. The pain roared into overdrive as he cradled his abused wrist and he saw that the glowing sparks emanating from under his bandages were even more effusive than before. Xander chuckled bitterly, looking up to see if the punch line to this great cosmic joke called "his life" was written in the stars.

"Then Angel and I can hang out together at The Bronze and everyone can pretend nothing bad ever happened. Gee, won't that be swell?"

Xander clutched his blankets around him as he lurched to his feet. The threadbare wool and crocheted blankets were flimsy covers, but they were the only protection he had in his crazy nightmare world. When he stumbled, Willow tried to steady him but he shrugged her away.

"Dammit, I don't want your help! Go find someone who really needs it. Poor Angel might have a heart attack after all that vigorous beating-the-shit-out-of-me!"

"Please, please don't be mad at me, Xander." Willow spoke in a tiny, fearful voice, wringing her hands while she wept. "I'm sorry. I-I only wanted him to stop hurting you. I'm so sorry..."

Cowering in front of him with her breath hitching out in big hiccupping sobs, she looked like a frightened six-year-old. Xander remembered the day was was terrified that her father would kill her because she'd ripped her best temple clothes climbing the tree in Xander's backyard. She'd cried and cried, too scared to go home and face him. All the years he'd known her, he knew that nothing pained Willow more than disappointing someone she loved.

Xander softened, reluctantly letting the rage leach out of him.

/What the hell am I doing? She couldn't possibly understand that what happened to me could never be erased, not with a soul for Angel or anything else. And I hope she *never* knows what he's capable of. Thank God he didn't take my Wil

"C'mere." He nodded Willow closer, and she immediately enveloped him in her tiny arms again. "I'm sorry I yelled like a big old tantrum baby. I'm just sick of everything being all about Angel, you know? The guy is a total pain in my everywhere."

"I don't want him to hurt you anymore," Willow snuffled against his shoulder. "We couldn't find you and we didn't know what to do. When I found the curse, I just thought it could bring you home!"

"Shhh, I know you did." Feeling Willow cling to him like he could slip through her fingers any moment, Xander believed her. His world was in chaos, but one thing Xander knew with blind certainty was that Willow loved him. True, the soul revelation stung almost like betrayal, but he wouldn't allow his feelings about Angel poison one of the only good things he had left in his life.

Xander heard a groan and looked over Willow's head to see Giles regaining consciousness. He nudged Willow. "Hey, look." He smiled a little. "It's the winner of the 1998 Guinness World's Record for greatest number of blunt force head traumas," he joked softly.

Giles sat up and gingerly probed the side of his face. His glasses were gone and he had a bloody gash near his temple where the metal coat hook had gouged him.

"That's it. I'm buying a bloody crash helmet," Giles muttered as he tossed the broken coat rack away from him.

*LATER*

Xander tugged the slender silver chain and carefully placed the rubber stopper on top of the faucet. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he watched the pinkish water funneling down the drain and felt almost human again. Despite the plumbing issues, /"Er, you'll need to use the pliers to shut off the water all the way, I'm afraid," Giles had told him with an apologetic shrug/ After being chained in a chilly, bloodstained crypt for three days with nothing but a bucket for a toilet, Giles's modest bathroom felt like a luxury spa.

Normally Xander was a shower type of guy. He'd lather up and rinse off as quickly as possible before someone yelled at him for using up too much hot water. But tonight he was grateful for Giles's huge, old-fashioned, claw-foot tub. He was too exhausted and sore to stand up for very long and he wanted so badly to feel clean again. He'd soaked in the bath until his skin was pale and pruney from trying to wash all his fears away.

/Calm down, man, calm down. Buffy won't let anything happen to Cordelia. Spike's ploy will work and Angel won't find me here. Mom's gonna be safe at Uncle Rory's house. And maybe Miss Calendar's curse won't work. Just...be cool. You can do this./

His arm shook as he gingerly pulled the plastic bag off his wrist. Nothing had changed. It was still mutilated, and still shining like a Fourth of July sparkler.

/Christ, I'm so hideous! How do I explain this to people? Am I going to have to hide out forever? What am I going to do once the curse kicks back into gear? It hurts so much when Angel isn't...aaargh! I don't want to be like this! Why can't my life go back to the way it was?/

For what felt like the millionth time, Xander staved off the impulse to break down into tears. Feeling sorry for himself and crying did nothing to help the situation. If he was going to survive, he had to be tough. If Bruce Campbell could take on the Evil Dead one-handed, then by God, he'd learn how to do that, too.

Determined to keep his composure, Xander stood up from the tub, pulled the borrowed bathrobe tighter around him and threw down a towel to sop up the water he'd sloshed all over the floor. Xander hoped Giles wouldn't be too peeved about the stained towels and the watery mess, but even if he was, he doubted Giles would say anyg abg about it. Xander had been getting the kid glove treatment all night while they waited for the girls to return from the hopefully bloodshed-free basketball game.

Giles and Willow had wanted to bring him to the emergency room, but Xander was having none of that. All he wanted was a sandwich, a bath, and to be there when Cordelia came back. Willow was worried that he'd hurt himself, and begged him to let Giles help him bathe. Xander had blushed furiously while imagining Giles in a starched white cap and World War II nurse's uniform caressing him with damp washcloths while dispensing helpful information about amputation and the phenomenon of phantom pain. Gyuh! No way. He really didn't need any new nightmares to deal with right now!

He did his best to hide it, but Giles had oh-thank-God face when Xander told them he could definitely handle bathing all on his own. Willow fretted over his sparkling wrist ("But what if you get electrocuted?") until he promised to wrap it in a plastic bag and not get it wet.

It was a challenge scrubbing off all the blood, dirt and stuff he'd rather not think about with one hand, but he felt like he needed to regain some measure of control. He wanted his independence back, to feel like he was his own man and not a helpless little boy.

Soaking in the tub also gave him some precious time alone to ponder his situation. Willow had debriefed him on the police investigation into his father's death. She'd hacked into the Sunnydale Police computer system and learned that in light of his similar "neck ruptures" and disappearance, Xander was being sought out as a person of interest in the case. Giles urged him to remain sequestered in his apartment rather than risk being picked up for questioning.

Although Xander wanted very much to see his mother, he didn't argue with that logic. He'd seen "The Terminator" six times and had no desire to see a super-strong killing machine massacre all the cops in the police station should Angelus decide to come for him there.

Giles also informed him that Buffy had visited his mother to confirm his father hadn't been turned. She learned that Jessica had no memory whatsoever of the night Xander was taken. Xander wasn't sure whether to blame his mother's amnesia on Drusilla's hypnosis or the high blood alcohol level listed on the police report, but he was extremely relieved that she couldn't remember anything. If only he could be oblivious again.

/"Our sweet Alexander's old daddy was a surly one. But I taught him manners, didn't I, Miss Edith? He was much more polite once he learned that he couldn't make a fist without his fingers or curse without his tongue."

"Shut up! Stop talking about him!"

"Why so upset, Harris? From what I hear, he was nothing but a lousy drunk! You should thank Drusilla for getting rid of him for you. And you should thank me for whisking you away from your miserable white trash life. So let's hear it! Thank me, boy. Thank me real nice and maybe I won't have to use the pokers again..."/

Xander kicked that memory to the curb before it went any further. He hated being burned because the smell was so nasty. Had that happened on Wednesday or Thursday? Or had it really happened at all? Because the scars disappeared so quickly, it was difficult to tell where the torture ended and his nightmares began. No wonder the pommes de sang went insane!

/Won't happen to me. I'm not going back to him, not ever./

When he gathered the dirty towels and dumped them in the hamper he caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror. The robe's collar had billowed open, baring much of his chest. Now that he'd bathed, the slate had been wiped clean - almost. Unlike the bites, bruises, and Drusilla's sanguine "poetry," the tattooed A steadfastly refused to fade into nothingness.

Scowling, Xander threw open the medicine cabinet and dug through it looking for bandages, unmindful of the contents spilling all over the counter. He found a package of self-adhesive gauze pads and ripped open the box with his teeth.

/Screw your brand, Dead Boy. I'm not your kowtowing little slave. You and your Manson Family gave me the worst you had, but I endured. You picked the wrong guy to mess with. Even if it takes 100 years, I swear I will find a way to kill you and that crazy witch. With or without anybody's help./

He slapped the bandage over the tattoo, smoothing the brown edges across his chest. At least he wouldn't have to look at the damn thing.

When there was a light knock on the door, Xander pulled the tan bathrobe tighter around him.

"Yeah?"

"May I come in?" Giles asked.

"Um, sure." Xander unlocked the door and stepped back. "Sorry I took so long."

"Take all the time that you need." Giles handed Xander a neatly folded pair of pajamas. "Can I get you anything else? There's an unused toothbrush in the second drawer, as well as some extra razors and such."

"Thanks. Already found 'em, I'm good." He motioned Giles outside so he could get dressed, and continued to talk through the closed door as he struggled into the wine-colored cotton pajamas. A little long, but they'd do.

"Any word from Buffy and Cordelia?" Xander asked hopefully. He pulled a comb through his damp hair and scrutinized himself in the mirror.

/Do I look okay? Is Cordy gonna freak out when she sees me?/

"Not yet, I'm afraid. But I have compiled all the information you've requested about pommes de sang. You can review it whenever you're ready."

"I hope you've got the Cliff Notes, 'cause the only French I ever learned was from Pepe LePew." Xander fumbled with the buttons on the pajama top. How did people dress themselves one-handed? He frowned when he realized he got the buttonholes misaligned and his shirt was all crooked.

/Whatever, at least I'm not Naked Guy anymore./

Xander winced when he looked at his wrist. The bloody rags underneath were looking pretty nasty and almost ready to fall off. He opened the door to find Giles waiting patiently in the hallway.

"Hey, I think maybe I could use a hand.../stupid!/...I mean, help changing my bandages." He blushed and tentatively held out him fom for inspection. "If you're not too grossed out about it. Willow always seems like she's gonna blow chunks when she gets a close look."

Giles straightened his glasses and gave him a sympathetic look before taking Xander's arm. "I don't mind at all. I only wish you'd consent to go to hospital so somebody could tend to you properly."

"No way. I've seen The X-Files. If the doctors ever get a load of this, they'll be calling in the men in black fa tha than you can say Marcy Ross. Besides, you're the one who suggested I keep a low profile so the cops don't find me!"

Giles looked the arm up and down and peered under the loosened rags, grimacing when he saw the raw edges of the wound. "Merciful heavens. At least the pillock was bloody considerate enough to make it a clean cut. Are you in much pain? I have Demerol in the cupboard."

"S'okay. I'm used to it now, and I can't afford to be zonked out when there's so much to do."

Giles guided Xander over to the toilet and urged him to sit. "If you change your mind, you have but to ask." He snagged a large green metal first aid kit out from under the sink and pulled out a tiny pair of scissors, some iodine pads and a fresh roll of gauze.

"Why the heck does it look so weird, Giles? Do the books say anything about the sparks? 'Cause I don't want to look like the freaking Statue of Liberty forever, know what I mean?" Xander raised his arm straight up in the air.

"Stop that," he grumbled, sounding more like the annoyed Giles that Xander was used to. He lowered Xander's arm and carefully started cutting the bandages away. "I-I don't know. The references to the blood-apple's regenerative powers are all very vague. I can only assume that the loss of your hand may have caused a disruption in the flow of mystical energies that accelerate the healing process, and that the specks of light emanating from your wrist are the un-channeled manifestation of those energies."

"You mean the curse is trying to heal something that isn't there?" Xander winced when Giles cut through the last of the bandages and began to peel the blood-soaked rags away from his skin.

"It would appear so. Now, let's get a better look and see what we're dealing with."

Something shifted inside of Xander as soon as the remaining rags fell away, like his stomach was trapped on an elevator that suddenly dropped twenty floors. He couldn't even see the wound because the room was immediately flooded with bright white light. Giles hissed as he fell backwards onto the linoleum, shielding his eyes.

"Aaargh! Xander!"

With his eyes closed tight, Xander blindly tried to rush out of the bathroom. The air felt semi-solid, like walking through a shaking bowl of gelatin and a strange high-pitched wind whistled through the room. Xander was feeling very queasy; he just knew he'd taste peanut butter and marmalade sandwich again in the near future. If his stomach didn't burst and splatter all over the walls first, that is. Unable to see anything, he crashed into the bathroom door and toppled onto the floor.

"What the hell is happening to me?"

Xander arm heated up, fast, like someone had popped it into the microwave on High. He screamed as he felt his skin bubbling and welling, and when he thought he could stand it no more an even more excruciating pressure surged through his arm as if his body was trying to pass a watermelon-sized gallstone through his wrist. Overwhelmed by the pain, Xander curled up on the ground, faintly aware of the pounding on the door and Willow's shouts in the background.

/No. I don't wanna die, not yet!/

All of a sudden, it stopped.

No light. No wind. No pain. Xander slowly opened one eye, then the other, and saw Giles backed against the bathroom wall staring at him like he expected the gates of hell to open up and suck everything into another dimension. They both sat there quietly waiting for something apocalyptic to happen, but nothing came.

"Uh, guys? What's going on? Is everything okay?" asked Willow from the other side of the door.

Xander finally pushed himself up from the floor.

"Oookay, that was completely non-fun," he groaned. "No offense, but I think I want a new doctor if that's gonna happen every time you give me a new Band-Aid." He smoothed out his rumpled pajamas...

...with both hands.

"Giles?" Xander gulped. He wiggled his left hand in front of his face, staring at it as if he'd never seen one before. He could feel it! It was real! The tiny scar at the base of his thumb was even there, the one he'd gotten when he'd fallen off his skateboard a few years back.

"Whoo hoo!" Xander laughed, really laughed for the first time in what felt like a century. He jumped on Giles, not caring about the unseemliness of embracing a man in a bathroom.

"Look! Look! I'm me again!" He whooped and hollered and danced the befuddled Watcher around.

After jimmying the door open with a twisted wire coat hanger, Willow tentatively peeked into the bathroom and her jaw dropped when she saw the two men dosey-doing their way across the linoleum. "Guys, now you're *really* starting to scare me." Giles and Xander abruptly stopped dancing and tried to look as normal as possible.

"Whoa, head rush." Without warning, Xander collapsed and Giles rushed to support his weight.

"Xander? Xander!"

"M'okay," he mumbled. Really. It's the healing...it always takes a lot out of me. Just gotta rest for a minute."

"Come now. Let's get you into bed." Giles led his exhausted friend down the hallway.

A very groggy Xander held his hands up for a stunned Willow as he passed. "Look ma, two hands!"

His friends tucked him under the covers of Giles' bed, and for the first time in a long time when Xander fell headlong into the darkness he wasn't afraid.

*LATER*

Xander woke up to the sound of the front door closing. He sat up in bed and listened for the voices downstairs.

"...alive?"

"...resting...frightful ordeal..."

"...what do we do about the...?"

How long had he been out? Were the girls finally back? Still fighting exhaustion and malaise, he fumbled his way out of bed.

"...didn't expect to see you tonight," he heard Willow say as reached the top of the stairs.

"Devon flaked, so we had to call off the gig. S'all good though, because now I can join the welcome wagon." Oz looked up and gave Xander a little smile as he crept down the stairs. "Hey, there you are. Really glad you're back, man."

"Oz...um, hi." Xander tensed. He remembered how Oz had nearly lost control of his wolf the last time they were together and instinctively backed up a few steps. "Good to be back."

"Come on down, Xander. It's okay!" Willow gleefully held up a small pouch attached to a long piece of twine. "Magic Odor Eater, see? It's supposed to mask your scent." She bounded over to a still hesitant Xander and hung the charm around his neck. "Oz showed up just in time to test it out!"

Xander fiddled with the tiny leather pouch. Usually Willow's herbal concoctions stank like rotten eggs or cat pee, but this one was blessedly scent-free. "It really works?"

Oz shrugged. "Guess so. I'm not getting the cheeseburger vibe from you anymore."

"Of course it works! Since when hasn't one of my spells worked?" asked Willow. Giles coughed suspiciously while Oz and Xander hastily averted their eyes and shuffled their feet.

"Oh, okay, sure. So maybe the fire slug repellent exploded before we could use it. And then there was the completely minor, almost not worth mentioning incident with the levitation spell in the library..."

"...where I was glued to the ceiling for three hours?" Giles snorted. "Yes, let's not mention it ever again."

Xander giggled. "Aw, c'mon, that was funny. When I walked in and saw Buffy and Willow jumping up and down trying to bat you off the ceiling with mops and brooms, it was like a big ol' Giles piñata!"

"I was bummed that there was no candy. Just a fuzzy cough drop and a little pocket change," deadpanned Oz.

"I really don't think that one should be considered my fault!" Willow muttered as her cheeks reddened. "How was I supposed to know the magic shop owner sold me phony Griffon feathers? Okay, so maybe my spells haven't always worked the way they're supposed to," admitted Willow with an embarrassed little jerk of her shoulders. "But this time I checked, double checked, and triple checked all the components. I cross-referenced the charm with every spell book in the library. If it can help Xander, you know darn well I'm going to get it right."

Touched by his friend's gift, Xander smiled and kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Will. This means a lot to me, especially if it keeps all the monsters..." Seeing Oz raise an eyebrow, Xander caught himself. "...and werewolf Americans from sounding the chow bell whenever I'm around." Willow beamed proudly as she slipped back to her boyfriend.

"Can you sense anything different about him, Oz?" asked Giles. "Any scent of blood at all?"

"Nothing. As soon as I walked in the door, it was like a de-smell-iterized zone. You should get a patent for that thing, babe." Oz snuggled Willow's ear. "It beats the heck out of those little plastic stick up deodorizers that we use in the wolf cage."

Willow perked up. "Hey, Giles, that reminds me...did you remember to load up on tranq darts? Tomorrow's the day before the full moon and we had to use a couple last month." She ruffled Oz's hair. "I know you didn't mean to get frisky, hon, but sometimes you can't help it."

The question caught Giles off guard. "Is it that time already? I'd forgotten in the midst of everything." He rubbed his chin as he thought back. "Yes, there's a new case of darts in weapons cabinet. We should be all set."

"Y'know, not a lot of librarians are willing to score drugs for their students." Oz favored Giles and Xander with a quirky half-smile. "Gotta say, Xander. You're pulling off the Hugh Hefner look with considerable aplomb."

"Yeah, Giles does have the stylin' jammies, doesn't he? I'm waiting for the Playboy Bunnies to show up at any moment."

As if on cue, the front door swung open. Xander's heart clenched as he turned to look.

"C-Cordy? Is it you?"

=== CONTINUED IN PART 13 ===

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Note: The "pomme de sang" concept was originally created by author Laurell K. Hamilton, but I fiddled around with her idea quite a bit to fit my story.