Remembrance
He hadn't told anyone. He didn't know why… force of habit, perhaps? But it had happened, all the same, and no matter how much he tried to block it out…
It was meant to be dead, wasn't it? The First. Okay, maybe not dead, but… hadn't Spike's flaming dead-boy act done anything? That'd been a mighty big cave that had… imploded? Was that the word? It didn't matter; he'd failed Mrs. Keller's English class, and had no desire to revisit it.
Put simply, a massive cave overflowing with creepy ancient vampires had gone "boom." People had died in the process, but, presumably, so had the enemy. That was the way it happened, was it not? Some Big Bad comes along, strikes a few times, threatens an apocalypse, and gets defeated. The Master, Angelus, The Mayor, Adam… even Glory, with her super-strength and big hair. He'd joked at the time that her power had come from that hideous yet strangely enthralling hair, and even now some tiny part of him still believed it.
But back to the topic of discussion. The cave had gone boom. Sunnydale was now a crater-extraordinaire, and they were on a beat-up school bus, on the way to freedom, less evil to fight, and quite possibly a stop-off at some dingy diner, where they'd order the unhealthiest items on the menu, just for shits and giggles. After you've saved the world a couple times, you start caring less and less about clogged arteries and living healthily.
So why wasn't he smiling? Even just a small, bittersweet smirk? This big evil was gone, and he'd always wanted to go places. But people had died. That mattered, more then anyone would ever want to believe.
After. After this whole fiasco, when they'd settled down in some city he'd never heard of before. That was when he grieved. He'd just been watching some typically annoying sitcom, when it hit him like Olaf's hammer. These people who'd died. They were dead. For good. No amount of hoping, wishing, pleading… no amount of any of those things and more would do anything.
And that was when she appeared. Right there. Barely a sound, barely a whisper, and she was standing over him. He'd supposed she'd have been slightly pissed at him, if ever she were to see him again. After all, she'd always said he'd make something of himself, even if he never believed it himself. But that was before… before it hurt. Before the pain.
She'd talk to him, at night sometimes. He'd lie awake, listening to her talk, cajole, plot and plan. Always waiting for something… something he didn't quite know. Always wanting to tell her to stop, that he knew she was dead… but never having the courage. Courage was something he rarely had, and it killed him.
So he'd lie there, or sit there, or stand, even, and listen to Anya talk to him. Chat. But she was dead.
"I love you, Xander," she'd said one time.
What a fucked-up thing to say.