Work Text:
| Current mood: |  surprised |
| Current music: | Diamanda Galas - My World Is Empty Without You |
| Entry tags: | drabble, fanfic, ftvs |
The Ends of the Earth
Xander, OC
G
1,066 words (Hey, ten sixty-six and all that)
Way post-"Chosen" (Faith the Vampire Slayer, S3)
Janne's just like other girls, except she's not. She hates her flat feet that refuse to grip the icy ground despite her newfound strength, has nothing but contempt for her stringy hair that stubbornly resists her efforts to breath life into it. She's not all that fond of her name, doesn't see herself as God's gracious gift to anyone; least of all her mom, who was more than happy to hand over her reprobate daughter to a scruffy one-eyed stranger so she could run off to Sweden to conduct some big sociological study or another. Some days she resents it more, with the traditional names coming back into vogue and the younger girls flaunting their unpronounceability, especially when she's more Inuit than any of them, her own great-grandmother actually hunted whales for real and none of them had even seen a harpoon 'til she invited them over one day. The sniggering stopped, but silent glares weren't an improvement. Small wonder she jumped at the chance to get away.
Except she'd already thought they lived in the middle of nowhere. Turned out that wasn't true, because the middle of Kalaallit Nunaat is even closer to nowhere than her little coastal town, almost one huge patch of ice that stretches across the heart of the island. Her school at least has the Internet, but Xander insisted on leaving behind his laptop and cell phone. Said they wouldn't be needed, which she doubts; and that they might malfunction, which she doesn't doubt in the slightest. It's the height of summer, but the temperature rarely goes above freezing, and she'll never complain about being too cold again. She can't believe he spent all that time in one of the warmest places on earth only to come to its polar (pardon the pun) opposite, but the crazy bastard looks like he enjoys every bit of it: The weather, the demons, the cranky teenage trainee who'd rather be studying, or even ice fishing.
Not that the introduction to demons was an insignificant milestone. But things have gone amazingly smooth since Xander's fall two weeks ago, when he nearly broke his leg and she had to fight off the pack of Thragmir while he hung from the side of the cliff, shouting encouragement. She'd buried her pick in the last one's skull and pulled her crazy teacher to safety before the shakes set in, and he just sat there with one arm around her, not saying a word.
That seemed to have been the turning point, as far as their relationship. She's still more than a bit iffy on the whole Chosen concept, but she'd grown bold enough to start asking questions; not about Slayers, or demons, but about him. He showed her the pictures, starting to fade: The one who started it all; the one who was with him from the beginning; the one who descended into hell and came back; the one he still won't talk about, who has to be responsible for his occasional sobs in the night that she pretends not to hear.
She returns the favor, opens up the book of her life just a little, even starts to laugh at his jokes despite her poor English and his poorer Danish. The work goes quickly; the ice demons are easy to track, weakened by the warm weather, focused on finding safe places to lay their eggs before the snow falls. It's the last week of June when Xander, apparently in mental contact with some local shamans, pronounces the entire island Thragmir-free, and then it's time to decide what to do next. She doesn't feel ready to strike out on her own, cringes at the thought of training with a school full of girls like her, ripped from their lives by some strange power descending out of the blue.
Xander smiles, and asks her to teach him to fish.
With plenty of time before real winter sets in, they take the scenic route back to the coast. Xander's melancholy mood deepens even as they continue to warm to one another, but she understands when he tells her of the Slayers he's lost. He shows her the single necklace he brought back from Africa, a gift from one of those lost ones; laughs about all the tattoos he had to diplomatically talk his way out of; tells all kinds of stories about his previous time in America. He's been back once, he says, to help out some old friends, and while it was good to see them, he couldn't wait to get out of the country again.
"Why?" she asks. "I want to get out of here -- but here is boring." The corners of her mouth threaten to give away her attempt at humor. "Do you hate America?"
He shakes his head and smiles back, as if he sees right through her.
"I like the quiet."
**
The town is abuzz when they return and Janne finds herself hoisted up on shoulders, cheered by hundreds while the other girls continue to sneer, presented with a brand-new harpoon made by her aunt. It all goes over her head, especially when Xander barricades himself in the spare bedroom with his laptop after the celebration dinner. The night passes, drinks are poured and songs sung, and instead of thinking about her own future she's worrying about this insane qallunaaq and what he might do next. Spending the last four months with him, the only thing she can predict is that he's beyond prediction.
She finally can't take it any more, goes to his room and knocks. The door swings open a minute later.
"Thought it might be you." He looks better than she expected; no bloodshot eye, no drawn and haggard features that make him look twice his age. Still, the sadness stands out.
"You're leaving." It comes out a statement, and he nods.
"Sorry I can't stay longer, but -- I know you'll do good. Remember, no pressure on attending Slayer Central. But I know they'd love to have you any time."
"I might." She looks over at the bed, sees his laptop closed and silent. He follows her gaze.
"Don't worry about me, okay? It's not an apocalypse. Just...taking a vacation."
She cocks her head. "I thought you said you didn't take vacations."
"Got an invitation from those old friends." His smile is weary, but honest. "Maybe it's time I started."
**