Backstage in the club bathroom
A graven image on the wall
I'm about to get my vengeance
Lights go down in the hall
You gotta move fast to beat the devil
Yo' arms too short to box with God
Big shadow in the doorway
He's not gonna spare the rod...
--Cherry Poppin' Daddies, "Drunk Daddy"

I'm just like my father,
But I'm much worse.
--Violent Femmes, "Just Like My Father"

	The quarterstaff slammed into Xander's padded back. Before 
he could react, it swung down to his legs, sweeping them out from 
under him, and he landed hard. When the spots stopped dancing in 
front of his eyes, he looked up to see Buffy and Giles standing over 
him in concern.
	"Are you all right?" Giles asked.
	"Unnnngggh," Xander replied as best he could.
	"How many fingers am I holding up?" Buffy asked.
	"That depends," Xander groaned. "What are fingers?"
	"You're fine. Get up."
	With shaky knees, Xander hoisted himself to his feet. They 
were in the backyard of the Scooby Compound, the house he shared 
with Buffy, Willow and Tara. Giles had begun coming over for 
training with Buffy, and they had hit upon the idea of giving the others 
some rudimentary self-defense training.
	Of course, Willow and Tara were still in bed...
	"All right," Giles said, spinning the quarterstaff in one hand. 
"Now you're not trying to actually hit me here, just avoid the blows, all 
right?"
	"No get hit. Got it."
	"Good. Ready..." They tensed. "Now!"
	Xander ducked as Giles swung the staff at his head. He 
jumped to the left to avoid another overhand blow, then straight into 
the air over a leg-sweep. When he came down, however, Giles was 
ready for him, and butted him in the stomach with the stick. Xander 
stumbled backward.
	"Giles," he moaned. "Seriously. In all the years we've been 
doing this whole battling-the-forces-of-darkness thing, have we ever 
fought anybody with a stick?"
	"Well, if you want to move on to hand-to-hand combat, I'm 
ready for you," Buffy said mildly.
	Xander looked at her. Then he looked back at Giles.
	"Okay! Stick it is!"
	"Xander?" Tara was standing at the door to the kitchen. 
"Phone for you!"
	"Huh?" He looked at the others. "Did you guys hear a phone 
ring?"
	"I was too busy thrashing you," Giles said. "Buffy?"
	"Not me."
	"Huh." Xander walked to the kitchen, shedding padding as he 
went. Tara was holding the phone out for him.
	"Thanks," he said. "If you want to get in a little agony time, I 
think they're ready for you..."
	"Maybe later," Tara said, handing him the phone.
	"Hello?"
	"Xander?"
	He almost dropped the phone. Anya--his girlfriend Anya--his 
girlfriend who he hadn't spoken with in almost three months Anya-
was on the phone.
	"...Anya?" he asked. "Hey. How are--"
	"Where have you been?!" Anya cried. "I've been calling at 
your old number and that mean old man keeps telling me not to call 
there anymore. Of course, that's what he always tells me, but--"
	Xander turned and glared at Tara, who gave him her best 
innocent smile.
	"Something wrong?" she asked.
	"Ohhhh, you're good," Xander hissed, his hand over the 
phone.
	"I don't know what you're talking about," Tara said.
	"You called her!"
	"Me? How could I? I don't even know her number. You'd 
have to cast some sort of, I don't know, communication spell to do 
something like that." Her smile became a little less innocent. 
"Anyway, gotta go...Willow and I have a big day planned."
	"This is the sickest, most warped thing I think I've ever...nice 
one," he finally admitted. "Well done."
	"Thanks!" Tara said brightly, and walked out of the kitchen.
	"...and then I tried to send you e-mail. Did you know you 
have to actually pay money for that stuff?" Anya was saying.
	"An, take a breath, all right?" Xander said. "Look, I moved 
out of my parents' house."
	"Oh. Good. Where are you now?"
	"I moved in with Willow, Tara and Buffy."
	The silence was more than a little long.
	"I see," Anya finally said.
	"You do?"
	"You know, Xander, if you wanted to break up with me, you 
could have done it before I left. To my face."
	"What?! I never said anything about breaking up with you!"
	"You're living with three other women!"
	"So are you! They're called roommates!"
	"Oh, this is totally different!" Anya ranted. "I've seen 
television! I know all about Three's Company! You have sexual 
tension with one of them, don't you?"
	He hesitated just a second too long.
	"I wouldn't say--"
	"I knew it! It's that, that, what was her name? Tara! It's 
her, isn't it?"
	He couldn't stop the barking laugh that escaped.
	"No, Anya, I can safely say that I have no sexual tension 
whatsoever with Tara. Look, this isn't some cheesy TV show, all right? 
Men and women can live in the same house without becoming 
romantically involved."
	"Are you sleeping with any of them?"
	"No! Are you sleeping with any of your roommates?!"
	She hesitated just a second too long.
	"Not my roommates, no."
	"Not my..." He could feel his face growing hot. "Anya..."
	"Look, it was like this," she said hurriedly. "It was the fourth 
of July, and we had these things called mudslides. Have you ever had 
any of those? They're like ice cream shakes, but they've got alcohol in 
them. Anyway, I had a few of those with this guy on the beach where 
we were watching the fireworks, and...see, he reminded me of you--"
	This wasn't happening.
	"You slept with a total stranger because he reminded you of 
me?!" Xander yelled.
	"...I was thinking of you," she finished lamely.
	"You--" He gritted his teeth. "All right. All right. Look, if this 
only happened once, then..."
	Silence.
	"That's your cue to jump in with 'It only happened once, 
Xander. Please forgive me, Xander. I am a two-faced hypocrite, 
Xander.'"
	"I thought you weren't talking to me!" Anya yelled. "I mean, 
you just let me go like I didn't mean anything to you, you didn't call, 
you didn't write, I sent you a bunch of letters..."
	"I never got any letters, and you didn't give me an address or 
a phone number!" Xander screamed.
	"You moved in with three women!" Anya screamed back. 
"And you've got sexual tension with one of them!"
	"Oh, you bet your ass I do!" The veins were standing out in 
his neck now. "But I haven't acted on it! You know why?"
	"She wouldn't let you?"
	"Oh, screw you, An!"
	"Wait! Wait. Let's calm down. I'm...I'm sorry."
	"You should be!"
	"Stop yelling! I'm trying to apologize!"
	"I don't want to hear it, An, all right?"
	"Xander--"
	"I don't want to hear it!" He slammed the phone into its 
cradle and stood there, panting, his heart beating double-time.
	Behind him, the door squeaked open. He turned and saw Tara 
standing there, her eyes wide and glistening.
	"I...I didn't mean..."
	"Save it!" he yelled. "You--"
	"I'm sorry, I should have known I'm no good at this p-pulling 
p-pranks stuff..."
	Xander shook his head. He suddenly felt extremely tired.
	"I might as well hear it from her now," he said quietly.
	They stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
	"She said she sent me letters," he murmured. "Wonder why I 
didn't get them."
	"Maybe they went to your parents' house," Tara said.
	"Perfect." He rubbed his eyes. "So...do you actually have a big 
day with Willow, or..."
	"Yeah, actually," she said sheepishly. "I'm meeting her 
parents."
	A not-entirely-friendly grin crept across Xander's face.
	"Reeeeeeeeally," he said.
	"Any advice?" she asked.
	"You're asking me for advice?" he asked incredulously.
	"Right. N-not in the best t-taste."
	"Not quite." He sighed. "I dunno, just...be yourself. They're 
good people, just a little deranged."
	"Be myself?" she asked worriedly.
	"Is that a problem?"
	"N-no," she said miserably. "Thanks."
	"Thanks for the call," Xander said half-seriously.
	"Sorry for the call," she said as she walked out.

	They walked hand in hand down Willow's home street. The 
early August sky threatened to cloud over, but the sun was still making 
itself known.
	"How ya doin'?" Willow asked.
	"Fine!" Tara replied. The word came out almost as a cry of 
fright. "Good!"
	"There's nothing to be nervous about," Willow replied, her 
fingers laced in Tara's. "It's just a lunch. It's no big deal."
	"Right. Right."
	"It's going to be fine."
	"What if they hate me?"
	"They won't hate you! Look, I'm going to ease them into this. 
We'll meet a couple of times, let them get a chance to know you, and 
then I'll explain about us."
	"You don't have to."
	Willow stopped and turned to face Tara.
	"I want them to know that I love you," she said. Then she 
laughed. "Wow. D'you turn that color often?"
	"I..." Tara smiled shyly. "I d-don't know what to do when you 
say stuff like that."
	"Just...do what comes naturally," Willow replied, smiling.
	Tara looked at her, then gave her a quick peck on the lips.
	"That came pretty naturally," she said.
	"Mmm. So. Let's lunch."
	They arrived at the front door of the Rosenberg home. The 
door swung open just as Willow was about to open it. Sheila, Willow's 
mom, stood there with a harried expression.
	"Hello, darling," she said. "You must be Terry! Pleased to 
meet you. 'Scuse me. I think the roast's burning!"
	With that, she ran back to the kitchen, leaving a nonplused 
Willow and Tara in her wake.
	"'Terry?'" Tara asked as they stepped inside.
	"She's bad with names. It took her three years to stop calling 
Xander 'Sandy.'"
	"Is that my daughter I hear?" a voice boomed out from the 
living room.
	"Hi, Daddy!" Willow called out. As she did, a tall man in a 
black suit came into the foyer. His hair was just going grey, and his 
face was heavily lined. He smiled and opened his arms for a hug, 
which Willow happily fell into. "How was Israel?"
	"Lovely, as always," he replied. His gaze turned to Tara. 
"And who is this?"
	"Dad, this is my friend, Tara. Tara, this is my dad, Ira."
	"P-pleased to mmmeet y-you," Tara said, her hand shaking 
slightly as she offered it to be shaked. Ira surprised her by taking it 
and bending down to kiss it.
	"A pleasure," Ira replied. "Come in. Make yourself at home."

	"Oooof!" Giles fell face-first, the quarterstaff slamming into 
his back. Xander didn't stop to watch; he rounded on Buffy, who 
ducked under the staff and punched him in the center of his chest. He 
stumbled backwards, tripped over Giles, and fell.
	"Xander, we've been at this for a half-hour. Take five, 
willya?"
	"Don't wanna," Xander growled as he got to his feet. "Come 
on, let's go again."
	"You're gonna strain something. And I need a drink."
	"And I need an aspirin," Giles moaned. He stumbled towards 
the kitchen, Buffy and a reluctant Xander in his wake. Xander threw 
the quarterstaff to the ground. Then he slammed the outside door 
closed. Then he violently threw the refrigerator door open, grabbed a 
soda, and just as violently slammed it shut.
	"Xander, far be it from me to pry, but it seems as though 
something's bothering you."
	Xander glared at him.
	"Don't wanna talk about it."
	"Well, if you won't talk about it, could you at least stop 
slamming stuff around?" Buffy asked.
	"Right. Sorry." Xander took a breath. "She cheated on me."
	They looked at him.
	"Who?" Giles asked.
	"Whaddaya mean, who? Anya! Who do ya think?"
	"When did this happen?"
	"Who knows? Tara did some kind of spell and finally got me 
on the phone with her. She said I wasn't around, she couldn't find me, 
so..."
	"So she grabbed the nearest substitute and did the nasty?!" 
Buffy asked, incredulous.
	"And thank you for putting it like that."
	"Well," Giles said. "She, um, she's certainly behaving in a 
most unreasonable-"
	"That bitch!" Buffy roared.
	"What she said," Giles added.
	"Thanks," Xander said. "But...you know, who am I to talk? 
I've been trying to make time with Willow all summer long. It's not 
like I was Boyfriend of the Year."
	"Well, yeah, but..." Buffy considered for a moment. "No, you 
know what? Forget it. I refuse to empathize with Anya. After all that 
bullshit we had to listen to..oooh, men are scum, women are more 
trustworthy..."
	"Yeah," Xander said, warming to the topic. "Yeah! And you 
guys didn't even get the brunt of it! I had to hear that every day! One 
time I turned a man into a goat because he cheated on his wife! Once I 
turned a guy's hair plaid because he had lustful thoughts about the 
milkmaid! And she turns around and pulls this?!"
	"Xander-"
	"She said she sent letters to the old house," Xander ranted. 
"I'll bet! That conniving little-I'm going over there right now!"
	"Cape Cod?" Giles asked weakly.
	"My folks' house!" Xander said, turning away.
	"Xander, maybe you oughtta take a second," Buffy said. "I 
didn't mean to get you wound up."
	"No, no, thank you! Just the kick in the ass I needed. I'll be 
back!" He headed for the front door. "Oh, yeah, I'll be back, and when 
I get back, watch out, baby! No more Mr. Nice Xander! I'm gonna 
be..." His voice was cut off as the door closed behind him.
	"It's good to seem him enthusiastic about something," Giles 
commented dryly.

	"So, Mr. Rosenberg, you're a...a Biblical scholar?"
	"A scholar of the Torah and the Kabala, actually," Ira 
said. They were seated around the dinner table. "I'm also a professor, 
which is why I'm back and forth between here and Israel so much."
	"Isn't it dangerous?" Tara asked.
	"Oh, hardly," Ira said. "I mean, it's frightening the first time 
you get held on the runway for eighteen hours at gunpoint, but after 
that, you get used to it."
	"He's kidding," Willow said when she saw Tara's wide eyes.
	"Tara," Sheila said. "Why don't you tell us a little something 
about yourself? Willow hasn't had much to share with us on that 
point."
	"Mommm, you're embarrassing her!"
	"N-no, I'm...uh...I'm a student at UC Sunnydale. I m-met 
Willow in our Wiccan group."
	As if on cue, Ira and Sheila rolled their eyes in unison.
	"Don't start," Willow warned.
	"We tend to disagree on this point," Sheila said 
apologetically.
	"Yes. I try to explain to them that Wicca is an acceptable 
form of worship..."
	"...and I try to make her understand that it's a bunch of 
hoodoo," Ira finished.
	"Ira," Sheila said in a tone which appeared to be shorthand 
for shut up.
	"Um...w-well, anyway, we've been h-hanging out ever since."
	"Well, maybe you can clear up a little mystery for us," Sheila 
said, her eyes glittering. "Willow keeps making reference to a certain 
mysterious someone she's been seeing, and yet this person is never 
available to accept an invitation to dinner."
	"Mom! I can't believe you're trying to pump my gi--guest 
for information!"
	"I'm just curious," Sheila said mildly.
	"I'm going to have to plead the fifth," Tara said, amused.
	"He's not a musician, is he?" Ira asked. "Please. Put an old 
man's fears to rest."
	"N-not a musician, no." Something from one of those shows 
the others were always watching drifted through Tara's head--"Ah 
ha! Pronoun trouble!"
	"Just because Oz was a musician-"
	"He wasn't Jewish, either," Ira continued.
	"The two of you are gonna drive me crazy, you know that? 
Mom wasn't Jewish when you met her!"
	"True," Ira said. "But that was just an accident of birth. She's 
spiritually Jewish."
	"How did you two meet?" Tara jumped in, desperate to steer 
the topic of conversation somewhere--anywhere else.
	"Oh, well," Sheila began, "I was attending college in New 
York..."

	Xander's car screeched to a halt outside the Harris household. 
If it was possible, he would have grown even more depressed.
	He'd been gone for about three months, and it looked like the 
chores he had performed-mowing the lawn, washing the windows-
had gone undone since he'd left. Ah, well. His parents both worked. 
They probably didn't have the time.
	He stopped in front of the door, wondering if he should 
knock. This was still his home, right?
	Right?
	He knocked, a quick shave-and-a-haircut.
	No response.
	Two more quick raps, and this time, the door, not quite shut, 
swung open. He shrugged and stepped inside.
	He was in the kitchen. The sink was full of dirty dishes, and 
plenty of liquor bottles were resting on the counters. The place smelled 
sour.
	"Ma!" he called out. "Anybody home?"
	There was a small, scuttling sound from the next room. He 
looked around, noticed a bundle of envelopes on the table, bound with 
a rubber band. He picked it up; they were all addressed to him, with a 
return address of Cotuit, Mass.
	"der."
	He looked up. What was...that had sounded like his mom. He 
put the bundle down and stepped into the living room
	His mother lay on her stomach, a growing pool of blood 
around her head. A halo of shattered glass lay around her.
	"MOM!" He rushed to her, turned her over, and wished he 
hadn't. Her face was a mass of purples, blues and blacks. He couldn't 
recognize her.
	"nder," she croaked. Her lips didn't want to open, they were 
almost swollen shut...
	"It's okay, Ma," he said. "It's okay."

	"...getting married. Do you believe it? Robbie Perlman."
	"Wow. He's, what, 22?"
	"Well, I guess he found the right person," Sheila said.
	"Mmm," Ira continued. "Nice Jewish girl from Philadelphia. 
Janice something."
	"Do you hear sirens?" Tara asked.
	"Yeah," Willow added. "They sound pretty close..."
	"Maybe they're gonna arrest that bum Harris," Ira said 
coldly. "Every Saturday night, they're out here, breaking up another 
fight between those two."
	"What?" Willow asked, alarmed. "Xander's parents?"
	"I'm afraid so," Sheila said. "I'm glad he finally got out of 
that environment. It can't have been very healthy."
	"How is he, anyway?" Ira asked.
	"Oh, he's....he's fine."
	"That's good. He's a nice boy. We should have him over to 
dinner. He'd spill the goods on this boyfriend of yours."
	"Dad..."
	"That is a good idea," Sheila said playfully. "He probably 
doesn't get enough home-cooked food at your house. I'm sure he'd be 
very grateful."
	"Would you stop? Look, I'll introduce you to...to the person I 
love when I'm ready!"
	"Oh, so it's love, is it?" Ira asked. "I think I need to meet 
this young man. Make sure his intentions are pure."
	"You're not ashamed of us, are you, honey?"
	Willow looked at Tara.
	Tara looked at Willow.
	"Okay," Willow said, taking a deep breath. "You really want 
to meet the person I'm in love with?"
	"Of course," Ira said.
	Willow pointed to Tara. Tara, who was a deep shade of 
crimson, waved nervously.
	There was a long moment of silence.
	"...what?" Sheila asked.
	"I'm in love with Tara," Willow said.
	"I'm, uh...I'm in love w-w-with your d-daughter," Tara said.
	Ira blinked. One could almost see the phrase Does not 
compute flashing across his eyeballs.
	"My intentions are pure?" Tara tried.

	The coffee was as bitter and sour as Xander felt. He was 
sitting in the waiting room of Sunnydale General as ER staff worked 
on his mother. There had been no report on what had happened to her, 
or who had done it.
	His dad was, of course, nowhere to be found. Just like him to 
go off and let his wife get mugged...He swallowed the rest of the coffee 
and violently crumpled the cup.
	"I can't believe you would do this to him!" A familiar voice 
drifted up the hallway. Xander looked up and saw a gurney being 
pushed in. Willow's dad was sitting upright, looking wasted. Behind 
them, Willow and her mom were fiercely arguing, with a contrite Tara 
in the background.
	"I didn't do anything to him--"
	"You know he's got high cholesterol! He could have had a 
heart attack!"
	"How was I supposed to know he'd react so violently?!"
	"Willow, you lived with him for eighteen years!"
	"Mr. Rosenberg?" Xander stood up as the gurney passed. 
"You okay?"
	"I'm really not," he said as he was wheeled past by the 
orderly.
	"This is just a phase!" Sheila was proclaiming.
	"She is not a phase! She's a person that I am in love with!"
	"Not so loud! He'll hear you!" She stopped and turned to look 
at the two young women. "I'm going in with him. You-especially 
you--" This to Tara-- "Wait here." Sheila turned on her heel and 
followed her husband, leaving Willow and Tara to look at each other.
	"Maybe not the best timing," Tara said.
	"Well, he was...and...oh, God, I gave my father a heart 
attack!" Willow sank into a seat. "I don't believe this..."
	"He's having a heart attack?" Xander asked, confused.
	"Well, the paramedics said it was palpitations," Tara 
commented.
	"But, but those can become heart attacks! They can build 
and build until-"
	"Will, he's going to be fine," Xander said. "He's a tough 
guy."
	"Thanks," Willow said. Then she looked up at him. "What 
are you doing here?"
	"Oh, uh...my mom was attacked."
	Willow gasped, a hand over her mouth. "Is she okay?"
	"They're taking care of her right now. She was...she was beat 
up pretty bad."
	"Oh, Xander..." She threw her arms around him and 
squeezed him tight.
	"She'll be okay," he said, trying to convince himself.
	"I, uh..." She broke away, aware of Tara's eyes on them. "I'm 
gonna go see how he's doing." She got up and walked off.
	"So," Xander said, turning to Tara. "Met the folks, huh?"
	"Yep." She took a seat. "I think I'm becoming a believer in 
karma. Instant karma."

	"Yeah. Yeah, beaten pretty bad." Beat. "No, they've got her 
on painkillers now. Okay. Okay, thanks, Rory." Xander hung up the 
payphone and walked over to the slightly larger group that had 
assembled in the waiting room; Buffy and Giles had come running 
when they'd heard the call. "That was Uncle Rory. He's getting in the 
car now, should be here by tonight."
	"Good," Willow murmured as Xander sat next to her.
	"How's your dad?"
	"Resting comfortably. And probably disowning me."
	"Ah, relax. I still love you."
	"You'd be surprised how much that doesn't help right now," 
Willow commented.
	"Sorry. Won't happen again." They were uncomfortably 
silent for a few moments. "Look...are you sorry you told him?"
	"Yes! He almost had a heart attack!"
	"Phrased that wrong. Are you sorry he knows?"
	"Well...no. No, I'm not."
	"Okay."
	Willow looked at him, as though trying to understand a 
difficult math problem.
	"What?" he asked.
	"Nothing."
	"Okaaaay-hey! Wait! Hold it!" Xander sprung to his feet as 
a doctor he recognized passed by. "Any change? Anything at all?"
	"Nothing yet. We'll let you know, okay?"
	"Yeah. Sure." He crashed back into his seat. "What a fucking 
day."
	"It'll be okay," Willow said. She reached out and draped an 
arm around his shoulders.
	"I know, it's just...first I get that call from Anya..."
	"Anya? Anya called?"
	"Yeah, she...uh..." He considered ratting Tara out, then 
decided against it. Karma had already smacked her upside the head. 
"She cheated on me."
	"What?!"
	"Well, she sent a bunch of letters to my parents' house, and of 
course I didn't answer them, and she thought that meant the 
relationship was-"
	"That-that trollop! That doxy! That common trull!"
	Xander blinked at her.
	"I've been reading a Jane Austen novel," Willow said, 
shrugging. "I can't believe her!"
	"Neither can I."
	"Don't worry," Buffy said, leaning forward from the row of 
seats behind them. "You can unleash those frustrations when we find 
the guy that beat up your mom."
	"Whoa, Nellie," Xander said. "Relax."
	"Indeed," Giles said. "This situation calls for calm and 
resourceful action."
	"That's what you say about every situation!"
	"Yes, because very few situations call for frenzied and 
uninformed action."
	"I just don't believe her," Willow muttered.
	"Well...like I told Buffy, it's not like I was Senor Attentive 
Boyfriend either, what with the whole situation..." Willow gave him a 
look. "...which you probably don't want any reference made to at the 
moment, so forget I said anything."
	"I'm sorry. I'm just tense. I was hoping this would go 
better..." Willow noticed her mother walking towards them, a relieved 
look on her face.
	"He's stabilized," she said. "He's asking for you. And...her."

	The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the loudest 
sound in the hospital room. Ira Rosenberg, dressed in a hospital gown, 
was sitting up, his arms folded, his expression unreadable.
	"Dad?" Willow whispered as she took a seat next to the bed. 
Tara hovered in the background, trying to stay out of sight.
	Ira looked at his daughter, his gaze heavy.
	"Did they have to cut my suit off?" he finally asked.
	"What?"
	"They snipped my suit right off me. Cut it in two. That was a 
hell of a suit. Cost me a bundle."
	"Dad, are you okay?"
	"Me? Sure, sure, I'm fine. I've just got a few questions. Why 
didn't you tell us about this?"
	"I had this odd idea that you might have a heart attack when 
you heard the news," Willow commented.
	"Shows what you know." He reached out and placed a hand 
over Willow's. "You should have told us."
	"I know."
	"We're your parents, pumpkin. You can tell us anything."
	"I know."
	"Good." Ira looked around the room, his eyes finding Tara. 
"You. Front and center."
	"Uh..." Tara stumbled past Willow and stood at near-
attention. "Y-y-yes, ssssir."
	"You know, you have intentions towards a man's daughter, 
it's only polite to let him know. Even that little creep of a musician 
met us when he took Willow out."
	"Dad!"
	"I'm sorry," Tara said.
	"Well...that's all right. Just keep your nose clean. You don't 
wanna get on my bad side. I know a lot of people in the Mossad..."
	"Dad!"
	"Yelling at me in a hospital? Is this how we brought you up?"
	"Stop threatening my girlfriend!"
	"It's okay," Tara said, beginning to relax. "He's just 
kidding...right?"
	"Kidding. Sure."
	The door creaked open and Xander slipped inside.
	"Hey, Mr. R," he said. "Thought I'd pay my respects."
	"Xander, my boy." Ira nodded to Tara. "See? He knows the 
rules."
	"Oh, for..." Willow stood up and took Tara's hand. "I'll be 
back when you start behaving yourself."
	"Get ready for a long wait," Ira called as Willow and Tara 
left. "So...Xander."
	"Hey there."
	"Where were you for me? You couldn't give me a heads-up 
on this thing?"
	"Don't look at me," Xander said, smirking. "I don't get it 
either."
	"This Tara...what's she like?"
	"Quiet. Very soft-spoken. Cat person. She treats Will real 
good."
	"I don't suppose she's Jewish?"
	"Don't think so."
	"Oy," Ira moaned as he lay back against his pillow.

	Fists in his face.
	Daddy
	Boots in his side.
	Daddy no
	He was stretched out, limp, as the figure above him rained 
down blows upon him. He didn't know what he'd done, what name to 
give his sin. He only knew that he must be punished.
	Daddy please no
	For an instant, he dared to peek up at his torturer, expecting 
to see his father's face...instead, it was his own.
	"Kid?"
	Xander came awake, breathing deep. He blinked, got his 
bearings; it was just past six o'clock. He was still in the hospital 
waiting room.
	His Uncle Rory, looking tan but harried, was sitting next to 
him.
	"Hey," Xander said. "Fast trip."
	"You sounded like you needed family," Rory replied. "How's 
your ma?"
	"Still out of it, I guess. I asked 'em to wake me if there was 
any change.
	"Christ," Rory muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Where the hell's 
Jack?" Jack was Jack Harris, Rory's brother, Xander's father.
	"Beats me. There was no answer at the house last time I 
called..."
	"Be a bad time for him to go on a drunk." For many months, 
Rory had lived under the Harris' roof, doing little more than lying on 
the couch, watching TV and marinating himself in Schnapps. He had 
finally dried out, however, and was living in Las Vegas. During his 
time at the house, the brothers had been inseparable drinking buddies.
	"When's a good time for him to go on a drunk?" Xander 
asked. "Damn, I'm glad I got of there..."
	"You moved out?"
	"Yeah. I live with Willow and Buffy..."
	"Nice!"
	"...and Willow's girlfriend."
	"Oooooh. Not so nice."
	"Yeah, well, I'd go into that, but that's a whole other barrel 
of monkeys, you know?"
	"Right. So what happened to Bridget?" Bridget being 
Xander's mother.
	"I don't know. I already gave the cops my statement; I 
knocked, the door was open, I walked in and found her. It looked like 
somebody hit her over the head with a bottle, and..." Xander shook his 
head. "They worked her over pretty bad, Rory."
	"She'll be okay, kid. She's tough."
	"Yeah." He slung an arm around his uncle's shoulders. "I'm 
glad you're here, man."
	"No problem, kid," Rory said, smiling. "No problem."
	"Uncle Rory?" Willow came running from the direction of the 
cafeteria and immediately hugged Rory. "When did you get here?!"
	"Ooof! Just now, kid. How you doin'?"
	"Oh, uh...not bad...they're keeping my dad overnight for 
observation, but he's okay."
	"Yeah, where is everybody?" Xander asked. "I conked out for 
a little while..."
	"Well, my mom went home, and the rest of us went to get 
some food." Indeed, Buffy, Giles and Tara were approaching. 
	"And you didn't bring me back any? Jeez. You people."
	"I'm doing you a favor. Even you wouldn't have eaten one of 
those propane-burgers."
	"Yeah, yeah. Guys, meet my uncle Rory. Rory, this is Buffy, 
Giles and Tara..."
	"Howaya," Rory said, shaking hands with each in turn. 
"Well. Wish I coulda met you all under different-"
	"Mr. Harris?" A nurse walked up to Xander. "She's awake."

	Iodine seeped through a patch over her right eye.
	Her left arm was in a cast.
	The swelling had gone down somewhat, but she could still 
barely open her other eye.
	As he sat by his mother's bedside, the fear Xander had felt all 
day began to be replaced by cold fury.
	"Hey, Ma," he said, gently taking her good hand.
	"Xander," she murmured, her eyes drifting towards him. "Hi, 
baby."
	"How you feelin'?"
	"Pretty good," she replied. "They gave me...a bunch of 
pills..."
	"Okay. Just relax. You're gonna be all right. We're gonna 
find the guys that did this and-"
	"He didn't mean it," Bridget Harris whispered.	
	"What?"
	"It was my fault."
	Xander looked into the bruised face of his mother, trying to 
understand.
	"Ma...whoever did this-"
	"I told him about...." She paused. "Your father..."
	"My father," Xander said, suddenly deadpan.
	"He was drunk. He didn't mean it."
	"Ma...are you saying Dad did this to you?"
	"It wasn't his fault."
	"Did Dad do this, Ma?"
	"I...yes, he did."
	Xander nodded and stood.
	"Uncle Rory's here," he said, his throat suddenly dry.
	"Rory....your father...."
	"Yeah. My father. Don't worry. I'm gonna take care of it, 
Ma."
	His mother blinked at him.
	"I'm sorry, baby," she said.
	Xander bent down and kissed his mother on the forehead, the 
only spot he could find that wasn't bruised.
	"I'll be back, Ma."
	He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to sleep. 
But most of all, he wanted to beat the shit out of Jack Harris.
	He wanted that very, very much.

	The group looked up as Xander emerged from the hospital 
room.
	"Hey," Rory said. "What's the story?"
	"I gotta go do something," Xander said. "Can you stay with 
her?"
	"Is she okay?" Willow asked.
	"She's fine."
	"Whaddaya mean, you gotta go do something?"
	"I just need to go pick something up from the house for 
her. That's all."
	"You want some company?" Buffy asked. "It's getting dark 
out there."
	"I'll be fine," Xander said, smiling. "Be back soon!" He 
walked away, leaving a confused group in his wake.

	"Xander?"
	He was just past the hospital doors when he heard Willow 
coming up behind him.
	He kept going.
	"Xander!" She ran faster, got beside him. "So do you want to 
tell me what's going on?"
	"I really don't."
	She caught up to him and placed a hand on his chest, 
stopping him.
	"I can help," she said.
	"Not with this. Not this time."
	"Xander, what-"
	"My dad did that to her," Xander said.
	"What?!"
	"Yeah." He studied the ground, as though afraid to meet 
Willow's eyes. "I mean...he's always been a mean drunk, we both 
knew that, but nothing like that, Will. He..." He gripped Willow's 
hand and moved it away. "I gotta go."
	He kept walking, fast this time.
	"Xander....Xander, stop!"
	"Can't. Got something to do."
	"I thought the plan was calm and resourceful action!"
	"Yeah, well, that was the old plan," he shouted over his 
shoulder. "This is the new plan, where I find my old man and make 
him really, really dead."
	"Xander!" she called out once more, but he was too far away. 
Willow swore, then ran back to the hospital as quick as she could.

	Jack Harris grabbed the POLICE LINE-DO NOT CROSS 
tape covering his door and tore it away. His head ached. He was just 
beginning to sober up again, after...
	Huh. Damn if he could remember.
	At one time, the blackouts might have worried him. Now, he 
was getting used to them. He stumbled into the kitchen. The place was 
a mess. What had happened earlier today?
	Oh.
	Right.
	That bitch.
	"Whore," he muttered as he reached for the light switch. He 
flicked it, then gasped in shock when he saw Xander standing in the 
middle of the living room.
	"Couldn't find the gun," the kid said.
	"Xander? Fuck are you doin' here?"
	"I know you used to keep it under your bed, in that old 
lockbox," the kid continued. "Didn't know I knew, right? I snuck in 
here when I was 10, showed it off to Jesse. Lucky I didn't blow his 
head off."
	"I asked you a question," Harris growled.
	"I figure you pawned it for beer money. Something like that, 
right?" Xander grinned cruelly. "Lucky for you, pop. Lucky for you. 
Cause I gotta tell you, I was all set to use it on you tonight."
	"What?" Harris squinted at Xander. "What the fuck are you 
talking about? What did I do?"
	"What did you do?" Xander stared, his face dismayed...then it 
twisted into a look of anger and hatred. "What did you do?!"
	Screaming, he charged forward, smashing his father into the 
door.  As he raged, he grabbed Harris by the shirt front and attacked 
him over and over.
	"Don't you even remember, you pathetic old drunk?! You 
nearly killed her! You put her in the fucking hospital, you son of a 
bitch!"
	Harris got a hand up and slapped Xander away
	"You little bastard," he growled. He grabbed Xander by the 
throat, squeezed him, then brought his head down hard on one of the 
countertops.
	don't
	"You little." Punch to the head. "Fucking." Kick to the 
stomach. "Bastard. You're not my son." Another hit, copper in his 
mouth, trailing down his face...
	don't you stupid bastard don't let him do this
	One to the kidneys, and now he was doubling up, sinking to 
the floor...
	no not again not again NO NO
	Harris smiled as Xander covered his face to protect himself.
	This was more like it.

	"...and that's when I blacked out." Bridget Harris was giving 
a statement to two uniformed policemen as Rory, Buffy and Giles 
looked on.
	"That son of a-Jesus, Bridget, why didn't you tell me it was 
getting this bad?"
	"It isn't always like this, Rory," Bridget said. "Usually it's 
better."
	"Mrs. Harris, how long has this been going on?" Buffy asked.
	"Well...usually Jack keeps his hands to himself, but...when 
he's been drinking...sometimes he took it out on me. Sometimes he 
took it out on Xander. But he was always sorry...always bought him a 
nice toy afterwards..."
	Giles turned away, disgusted.
	"We'd better get over there," he murmured to Buffy. "Willow 
knows the way, yes?"
	"Yeah," Buffy said as they walked out. "Poor Xander. He's lucky 
Willow came back and told us--"
	"Guys!" Tara burst through the door to Mrs. Harris' room. "I 
can't find Willow!"

	Harris tried to slam the boot into his son's stomach, but the 
boy had balled up like a pillbug, hands over his face, knees to elbows.
	"Punk," he muttered. "Fucking worthless. You're not my 
son!"
	There was a tiny little whimper from behind Xander's hands.
	"You hear me, you little punk bastard?" he roared, bending 
down and screaming at the boy. "You're not my son! You're not--"
	And then he stumbled forward, pain blossoming across the 
back of his head. He tripped over Xander and fell, landing on his side. 
He put a hand to his head and came away with blood.
	Willow Rosenberg was standing there, the remains of a bottle 
of vodka in her fist. She held the shattered top like a weapon.
	"I warned you," she hissed.
	Harris pulled himself to his feet, his eyes never leaving the 
young woman.
	"Willow, right?" he asked, trying his best to sound friendly. 
"I, uh...look, I know things have been a little tense between us..."
	"Don't you dare," Willow said, cutting him off. "Don't you 
dare try to explain this away, you bastard!"
	"Don't you talk to me like that..."
	Willow ignored him. She was muttering something under her 
breath. Harris began to feel himself grow light-headed.
	"What...what are you..." Instinct sent him forward, and he 
lashed out at her. She cried out, the slap spinning her around. The 
remains of the bottle fell to the ground, shattering. Harris caught her 
by the hair, holding her up.
	"Now you listen!" he screamed. "You don't know 
anything about how hard it is! You hear me?"
	"Let go!" Willow wailed.
	"You don't know anything," Harris continued, hauling her up, 
enjoying her cries of pain. "Too young...too young to know anything 
about how hard life is..."
	"Help!" Willow screamed. "Xander, help!"
	"Life's hard, Willow," Harris murmured, grabbing one of her 
arms. "Maybe somebody oughtta teach you that..."
	Willow was transfixed by what she saw in his eyes. This 
wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening, she used to come over 
here every day, it couldn't have gotten this bad, he wouldn't, he 
wouldn't, not Mr. Harris...
	She didn't see Xander get up from behind the counter, walk 
over to his father, and punch him in the back of the head as hard as he 
could.
	She fell to her knees, moaning in agony, as Mr. Harris spun 
around and drove an elbow into his son's face. This time, Xander 
shrugged it off as best he could; he smashed his father in the face three 
times in a row before the older man staggered backward.
	"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Harris howled.
	Xander said nothing. This wasn't a bantering kind of fight. It 
was a hit the other guy until he stops moving kind of fight. He 
pasted his father in the jaw. The older man cried out and lashed out, a 
right nearly cracking one of Xander's ribs. 
	For a second, his instincts tried to take over, and he felt 
himself curling up inside. Harris seemed to sense this; he reared back 
for another blow, let it fly.
	Xander caught the fist.
	And squeezed.
	And squeezed.
	His father moaned and sank to the ground. He glared at 
Xander.
	"Punk," he said between his teeth.
	Xander said nothing. He just increased the pressure.
	"You don't have it in you."
	More pressure.
	"You're not my son!"
	WHAM! A fist to the jaw again and Harris was on the 
ground.
	"You don't know how wrong you are," Xander whispered, and 
raised his fists.
	WHAM!
	WHAM!
	WHAM!
	His next blow glanced off his father's arms, and Xander 
realized...his old man was taking the same defensive position he had 
so often produced in his son. All curled up.
	"You like this?" Xander screamed, and drove a sneakered foot 
into the small of his father's back. "You like this, you twisted old 
fuck?!"
	Behind him, Willow was getting to her feet. She looked at 
him, eyes wide with pity...
	"Xander," she called out, but he was beyond hearing her now.
	"You like being the one that takes the beating? HAH?!" He 
kicked his father's arms, and there was sweet delight in the cry of pain 
that brought. 
	"Xander! Xander!" She approached him from behind.
	"Evil--" Kick. "Fucking--" Kick. "Sonova--" Kick. "Bitch--" 
Kick. "Bastard!"
	"Xander! Stop it!"
	"I'll kill you!" Xander screamed. "I'll--"
	"XANDER!" She grabbed him by the arm, spun him around.
	For a single, terrifying instant, she couldn't see him in his 
own face. He looked crazed, a rabid dog, ready to bite anyone or thing 
that came within reach.
	Then, his face softened, and he looked like he was about to 
cry.
	"I...I..." He stammered.
	"It's okay," Willow said reassuringly. "It's okay."
	"No more," Harris murmured from the floor.
	Xander looked down at his father, then back at Willow...then 
he ran for the door.
	"Need a doctor," Jack Harris moaned.
	"The police'll get you one," Willow replied. "They're coming. 
Mrs. Harris swore out a warrant."
	"Oh." Brief pause. "Shit."
	She looked down at him, and remembered when she was 7 
years old, receiving a piggyback ride from this man.
	No. Not this man.
	She sighed and ran out into the night, looking for her friend.

	Willow eventually found him at her house. He was standing 
on her porch, watching from a distance as Jack Harris was bundled 
into a waiting squad car.
	"Xander?" she asked quietly.
	He didn't reply for a long moment. Then he looked at the 
ground and chuckled.
	"So this guy's drinking in a bar," he said. "He's just, y'know, 
sittin' there, minding his own business, right? And this shambling 
drunk comes up behind him, taps him on the shoulder and says 'Hey! I 
fucked your mother last night!'
	"The guy just turns back to his beer. The drunk frowns, gets a 
little pissed off. So he taps on the guy's shoulder again and says 'Yeah, 
your mother's the best lay in town!'
	"The guy shrugs and turns back to his drink. And, and that 
gets the drunk just furious. So he slaps the guy on the shoulder and 
yells 'Matter of fact, your mother let me stick it--'
	"So the guy turns around, looks at him and yells 'Go home, 
Dad! You're drunk!'"
	He giggled, sounding a little crazed. Outside his house, the 
squad car pulled away, its lights flashing.
	"You didn't laugh," Xander said.
	"It's not funny," Willow replied quietly.
	"Sure it is." Xander grinned sickly. "It's funny because it's 
true."
	She walked up to him and took his hand.
	"Come home," she said.
	He couldn't meet her eyes.
	"I'm just like him," he whispered.
	"No."
	"I am. I'm just like him. I even look like him."
	Gently, she took him by the chin and tilted his head until he 
was looking at her.
	"You're not him," she said. "You're you. "
	His eyes brimmed with tears as he looked at her.
	"I'm gonna end up just like him."
	"You're not."
	"Why not?" he asked desperately. "Seriously. Why not?"
	"Because. Because I'll save you."
	She gently eased him into an embrace, held him while his 
body shook with sobbing.
	"It's okay," she said soothingly. "It's okay."
	He sniffled once, wiped his eyes.
	"Will?"
	"Yeah?"
	"...Nothing."
	"No, go ahead."
	"I was just...I was just gonna say something you probably 
don't wanna hear again."
	Willow closed her eyes and smiled.
	"I love you too, Xander."
	They were quiet for a moment.
	"Okay, you realize you've just confused the hell out of me 
again."
	"Sorry." She stepped away from him. "We'd better get to the 
hospital. You might need stitches."
	"Ah, I'll be fine."
	Hand in hand, they walked up their home street.
	"You're wrong, you know," Willow commented. "You don't 
really look like him at all."
	"I don't?"
	"No. Actually, you look a lot more like Uncle Rory."
	"Heh! Yeah, I..."
	He trailed off. Something his mom had said...
	I told him about...your father...
	Rory...your father...
	You're not my son!
	"Xander?"
	"Son of a gun," he murmured.
	"Xander?" Willow looked at him. "You okay?"
	"Yeah," Xander said, smiling. "Yeah, all of a sudden I feel a 
lot better."

Heaven bless the ones who sleep
The ones who laugh and the ones who weep
Heaven bless the ones who keep
Their bearings strong and certain
And Lord help the fool who said
You'd better quit while you're ahead
A dreamer born is a hero bred
On Earth and up in Heaven.
--Mary Chapin Carpenter

All of this is copyright Joss Whedon, except the stuff that isn't.