The Tides of Change

AN: Due to the ending of the Buffy series, which was beyond the scope of which I imagined -- how's that for no spoilers? LOL -- I've changed the time placement of this story. There were too many issues raised in the finale that I couldn't really deal with here, and still write the story I wanted to write. It now takes place at the end of season six, instead of after season seven, just before Spike's return. Thank you.

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Part Five
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Xander jumped out of sleep with startling alarm. Before he was even fully awake, he was standing across the room from his bed, panting heavily. Gulping, frantically trying to settle the stomach that was threatening to several *all* relations with him, he desperately tried to figure out what woke him up. He couldn't see anything to explain his rude awakening, however. He frowned then, realizing he didn't even remember coming home. The last thing he remembered. . . . His frown deepened.

Moving on auto-pilot, he headed for the bathroom, trying to figure out the last thing he did remember. Relieving himself, then stripping, Xander adjusted the water temp before stepping into the hot shower. Leaning into the strong, hot spray, he continued searching his memory. He remembered going to the bronze with Buffy, Willow, and Dawn. He washed quickly, despite a strong desire to simply hide under the massaging water until he had this all figured out. He remembered watching Dawn dance, and him having a single -- single, as in, count it *one* -- beer, a concession to the fact that they were supposed to be celebrating the fact that they were alive.

The last thing he *really* remembered was watching the girls search out dance partners, and deciding to leave them to their fun. In hindsight, he wished he'd waited and left with them. Maybe, if he had, he wouldn't be trying to figure out what the hell had happened to him. Reaching blindly for a towel, he dried off, not bothering to check his appearance in the mirror as he forced himself to picture leaving the bronze.

**Oh! yeah** There had been a sound. He'd goo ino investigate. . . . Hadn't he? He had no clear recollection of going into the alley. He didn't like that. In fact, it seriously pissed him off. It had to be magic -- had to be. Unfortunately, he couldn't remember anything unusual at all. As far as he knew -- minus the big, gaping, had to be related to the, even if it was closed, hellmouth somehow, hole in his memory -- it had been a regular, if dull, Sunnydale night.

By the time he was dressed, choosing to wear a never before worn turtleneck that Anya had gotten him the year before, and striding to the kitchen, he'd remembered heading home. The blank spot in his memory calling him back again and again, Xander finally slammed the fridge door shut, not drinking or bothering to put up the orange juice he'd pulled out. After a quick stop at the phone, with him leaving a message on Buffy's answering machine -- which he *hoped* didn't sound as panicked as he felt -- Xander was out the door, keys to his SUV in hand.

If anyone could figure out what had happened, it was the scoobies.

Unable to keep his mind on where he was going, driving to Buffy's was an exercise in habit. Instead, his mind kept returning to what he couldn't remember, worrying it like a dog would a bone. He simply couldn't move beyond it.

Coming to a screeching halt in front of Buffy's, Xander was out of his vehicle almost before he turned it off. Racing up to the door, he was startled when it opened just as he reached it.

"What's wrong?" Dawn demanded immediately, not even giving him time to get inside first.

**Okay, evidently it *did* sound as panicked as I feel,** he thought ruefully, but spotting a worried Buffy over Dawn's impatient shoulder, he shoved aside his embarrassment.

"A big *gaping* hole in my memory is what's wrong," he exclaimed to Buffy, charging inside.

"What?" came the twin reply.

He stopped, frowned, and stared at the two girls. "What part of 'gaping hole' was hard to understand?" he snapped, then closed his eyes as he sighed. "Sorry," he continued quietly. "I'm . . . worried."

"Okay, Xander, just start at the beginning, and tell us what happened," Buffy said firmly. "Why do you think there's a . . . hole?"

Xander paced back and forth across the living the room that suddenly seemed tiny, not even bothering to look at his friend. "That's just it Bu I I *don't* remember a damn thing!" he exclaimed, waving his arms wildly. "There's this . . . this black hole where my memory should be. I left The Bronze. I heard something in the alley. I left the alley. That's it. That's all. Finito. Nothing unusual happened at all. I just have no idea how I got in the alley, or what happened while I was there."

"Well, maybe you didn't go into the alley."

"I *know* I did, Buffy! The very last thing I remember is turning toward the alley because I didn't like the sound I'd heard."

"That's dangerous, Xander. You should have come got--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Xander snapped again, his worry cutting his patience short. "Can we save the lecture for *after* we figure out what happened to me? I mean, I wouldn't not go in." He shrugged sheepishly. "You know me. Besides, I remember *leaving* the alley. The problem is all I can remember is a normal, if dull, Sunnydale night -- nothing unusual happened -- not that I can put my finger on."

Buffy frowned, and Xander saw her and Willow exchange a puzzled, worried look.

"What?" he snapped.

"Well," Willow began hesitantly, "when you said 'Nothing unusual happened', your voice got all monotony."

"Say, huh?" Xander replied intelligently, kicking himself even as the words came out of his mouth.

Buffy repeated the phrase, her voice losing all inflection.

Xander blinked.

"Well, it wasn't quite *that* bad," Willow admitted.

"But you get the idea," Buffy added.

Xander nodded slowly. "I hadn't noticed."

Willow cocked her head, her eyes brightening suddenly. "It's kinda like when someone's under hypnosis."

"Hypnosis!" Xander squeaked, dropping down onto the couch -- grateful it was behind him right then, because he didn't think he could have stayed standing even if it hadn't been. "That doesn't sound good."

"It might not be that, Xander," Willow soothed, "it's just what it sounds like."

"We'll figure it out," Buffy said, stepping close enough to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Oh!" Xander exclaimed as he jumped back up off the couch, nearly knocking Buffy over as he did. In his excitement he missed the swift narrowing of her eyes and the grim tightness to her jaw. "And when I got home, I was all dizzy like, and every time I moved too fast the room kept spinning around me."

"Xander!" Buffy shouted interrupting his babble, and jerking him around to face her. "When the hell did you get bit, and why didn't you *tell* me!?"

"What?" Willow shrieked over Xander's response.

"Bit?" he asked numbly, his hand automatically going to his neck. "I got bit?" His eyes widened as his fingers brushed over two raised, rough scabs. "Oh, God," he breathed, panting. He couldn't breath. He'd been bit. He didn't remember getting bit. A wave of dizziness passed over him and he rushed from the room.

"Xander!"

He ignored the two worried voices as he raced directly to the bathroom. In his panic it was the only place he could remember there being a mirror. He had to *see* them. They couldn't *really* be what Buffy thought. They were just, like, bug bites that he'd scratched. **Yeah,** he thought with a laugh, **just infected bug bites -- *not* vampire!**

//Oh, and Buffy -- 'The Slayer' -- wouldn't recognize a vamp bite when she saw it?//

He squelched the thought. He had *not* been bit. He would remember that. Nothing could make him forget *that*.

Slamming open the door, Xander skid to a stop directly in front of the mirror, but suddenly faced with the moment of decision, he hesitated. He stared at his reflection, the turtleneck he wore covering his neck, and any *possible* vampire bites. He swallowed, his gut twisting in nauseated knots. With a trembling hand he reached up, slowly pulling down his collar.

His eyes widened. There they were. Two round scabs sat one above the other, perfectly framing the pulse he could see hammering below his skin. The two angry, partially-healed wounds stared at him mockingly. It was almost as if they were eyes, and not what they so obviously were -- puncture wounds . . . fang marks. He turned numbly toward Buffy and Willow as they watched from the doorway, but before he could say anything, he swayed, a wave of forgotten images rushing in on him. One incident echoed above all the others, terrifying him far more than simply knowing he'd been bit ever could.


~~~
"Do you want to die?" asked a faraway voice.

"God no!" he whispered fiercely. With every fiber of his being he wanted to live. **Is he going to let me live?!** Xander wondered incredulously, a tiny spark of hope igniting inside him.

"Good," the voice replied suavely, filled with a satisfaction Xander didn't understand.

As he felt the fangs sink back into his neck, however; he began to. **No!** he screamed silently. **I don't *want* to be a vampire.**

~~~


"Xander?" Buffy asked, jerking him out of the horrifying memory.

"He's was going to *turn* me," Xander whispered, his voice cracking on 'turn'.

"Oh, God," Willow replied.

"You remember." It wasn't a question. Buffy was sure.

He nodded mutely. There was *so* much he had to tell them, but right at this second, he couldn't have spoken past the constriction in his throat if his life had depended on it. He could barely breathe past it.


TBC
Kiristeen
Feedback craved and savored
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com

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