Paring: Primarily S/X with a very minor S/OCs.
Rating: NC17 Adult Reading
Disclaimer: The Bee has no claim on any of the characters or
products named in this story and receives no profit from anything.
Warnings: Adult language, Prostitution, Violence, strong sexual
content. NOTE: All the boys working in Hope House are over
the age of 18. The Bee does not do underage!
Summary: Long after the final battle of Sunnydale, Xander is
alone, his life in shambles. Is there anywhere he can go and anyone
who can give him hope? There just might be.
Thanks to all that voted. This is the story that won.
As always, kudos to Petxnd for the wonderful banner.
Some of the events mentioned in this story happened in canon but the
consequences and timelines are altered. As the story goes on, everything is
explained and it all (I hope) falls into place. Some of the notable points of
resemblance and differences from the show and the story are as follows:
Angel is living in L.A and fighting the good fight.
Spike had the chip and his soul during the final big Battle.
The fight against the First took place earlier and the Scoobies won.
Xander did not lose an eye. Sunnydale did not fall and still exists.
When the Hellmouth was closed, Giles, Willow and Buffy left for London
to work with the new Watchers Council. Xander chose to stay behind
and patrol for remaining stray demons.
Because this is a longer story, Spike and Xander do not immediately fall
into bed together. Please give the plot a chance to develop before you
start asking for sex.
Xander stood on the curb outside what used to be his home starring at the front
yard which was littered with the remnants of his life. A broken bicycle frame,
like the skeleton of a long dead friend, was lying, rusty under the tall oak tree he
used to climb as a boy. Some clothes that belonged to a mother who had escaped
the abuse of a nightmare life years ago were stuffed in black trash bags and set by
the curb for collection.
Boxes of dishes, broken nick nacks, rotted, fly covered food, and assorted stacks
of unrecognizable junk were piled up in clusters of unorganized mounds.
Junk. Refuse. Worthless crap that was waiting for the City to come along with
their huge truck and make it all disappear. It would be tossed in the back and
squished flat alongside Mrs. Barton's bags of used kitty litter.
Anything of any value he owned had been sold off to pay the lawyer or swiped
from the house while he was in the county lock up.
Seemed pretty shoddy treatment for a hero. If, in fact anyone knew that at one
certain point in time, that was exactly what he had been. What was he now?
Even Xander wasn't sure.
Personal items that had belonged to his father disappeared the night Xander had
been arrested. Stolen, as gruesome souvenirs, Xander heard that some of the things
that were still coated with blood and brain tissue brought hefty bids on e-bay.
With less that $200.00 in his pocket he could have used a little of that money.
As for the furniture, there wasn't much left. Some yellowed mattresses no one would
touch without rubber gloves, a broken down Barcolounger the old man had farted
in so often that the smell still lingered, even now, and a green couch with an obvious
piss stain on the center cushion.
The very same couch where Xander had slept the last two nights. Under the stars.
A free man.
Everything else had been tossed out when the bank foreclosed and put a padlock
on the front door. At first, he had tried to hang on. He had written to his friends,
Buffy, Willow, and Giles, begging them for money. Not a lot. Just enough to catch
up the mortgage payments till he could be exonerated, get out and find a good job.
He never received an answer. From any of them.
Apparently, American mail is a low priority in the headquarters of the new Watcher's
Council in London. At first, he had been furious. How could they turn their backs
on him like that? They were friends that he thought were more than family.
After all, he had been the one to stay behind. The one to continue to patrol the streets
and graveyards, fighting the good fight and making Sunnydale safe for the blind and stupid
populace. Even after the last battle, the one in which he proudly stood side by
side with the new slayers to defeat the First, he continued to be the Scoobie with the heart.
The one who sees.
Too bad he didn't see all this coming. Shame he didn't know that the Wendeego
demon that he killed had friends. Friends who apparently didn't abandon him in his
hour of need. Friends who broke into the Harris house and ate the old man, ripping
out his throat, smashing his head open like a coconut and munching on his fingers.
As soon as he had gotten home that night, he had called 911 and the responding
officers immediately placed him under arrest. Seemed logical. They had over the
years, been to the Harris house more often than they had frequented Dunkin' Donuts.
The decision had been made. The boy had snapped. Understandable, but not
forgivable and he was taken downtown for interrogation.
"Why did you do it?"
"I didn't. I wasn't home."
"Where were you?"
"In Longview cemetery."
"Um, I just go there?"
"Bullshit! You hated the old man, didn't you? You Jeffry Dahmered his ass."
That question caught Xander off guard and he had to pause. Did he? Did he hate
him? His father had certainly been physically abusive. His first memory was of the
old fuck slapping him across the face as a toddler in an attempt to make him stop
sucking his thumb. A habit Xander continued to this day. Discreetly.
"No. I don't know. Even if I did, I didn't kill him."
The detective tossed a stack of crime scene photos, still wet from development, on
the table in front of him. Pictures from all angles of his Dad, dead, dismembered
and devoured. Xander just blinked. His whole body felt cold. Somehow the
pictures made it even more real than seeing it had.
"No? Well, who do you think did? This wasn't just a B&E. This was personal.
Nobody goes to this extreme unless they have a good reason. This isn't just a
murder. This man was butchered. You must have been really pissed off. What
did he do? Take away your allowance? Threaten to toss you out? Or maybe
it was something worse. He try to butt fuck you? If that is what happened, you
would have a good reason. Give us a confession and we will take that into
account. We could put in a good word with the judge."
Xander was in shock, but he wasn't stupid. He knew a trick when he heard one.
They wanted him to admit to something he didn't do so they could toss him
in a cage and write him off. Sunnydale Police on the job. Another crime
solved and boxed up for the back shelf and this one didn't even involve
those strange neck punctures they so often have.
"I'm not admitting to anything. I didn't kill my Father and I want a lawyer.
I watch television and I know you have to give me a lawyer."
One of the things you never see on those crime shows is the cops backhanding
the handcuffed suspect across the face, knocking him to the floor. Xander
guessed he hadn't watched the right one's.
Still, 6 months later. He had been found innocent by a jury of his peers.
As residents of Sunnydale, they had all had a relative, a neighbor or just
a friend of a friend who had died in a bizarre, mysterious way. That,
combined with the fact that there just was no evidence to tie him to
the body, resulted in the only verdict possible.
"We the jury in the above assigned case, find Alexander Harris NOT guilty
of the crime of first degree murder."
The lawyer patted him on the back and the courtroom emptied, everyone
going back to their own life and Xander free to resume his. Only problem
was, there was no life to return to.
Remembering all this, and taking one last look around, Xander hoisted a backpack
of his remaining worldly belongings over his shoulder and he turned to leave.
It was time to move on. He always wanted to go to the big city, get a good job
and live the life. This was his chance.
As he walked off, the sun crested over the horizon and a municipal truck pulled
up to the curb. Xander never turned around as he heard the blast of the air brakes
when they stopped.