Guidance and Guilt
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this fic.
Post BtVS S7 and Post Damage, AS5
Andrew Wells was a Watcher in Training. The young Master didn't know why Professor Dumbledore had allowed him in his school for the Gifted. Maybe it was because of his vast demon knowledge that he had acquired in his evil days. Or maybe it was for his empathic mutant gene. It didn't matter, as he had vowed to use his Jedi skills for the good of humanity. For his friends. The former member of the Trio wasn't the only one. Fellow Big Guns like Darth Rosenberg and Faith the Vulcon Slayer had also arrived on the light side of the Force.
He tried to penetrate the darkness of his room as he laid on his back in his bed and saw the shadow of his room-mate on the ceiling. For months his heart had ached for the one-eyed man that had arrived this afternoon from his long, lonesome, trip through deepest of Africa. He'd discussed the details of his succesfull mission in LA with his best friend over a Star Wars vid-fest this evening. It was meant to keep the poor man's soul diverted from the lost of his Princess Leia. Han Solo was the heart of the organization and his gentle mind was simply not made for the dirty game that had been played between two Systemlords. Luckily, the accidentual mention of their mutual friend Spike had been of great aid to this task.
He couldn't imagine what the man had been going through. In how much pain he was. He saw him sleeping, but he knew better as the man's heart wouldn't allow it. The moon light sharpened the distinction between his eye-patch and his peaceful handsome face. It was breath-taking. It was awesome. It was heart-breaking.
He missed Anya. The former demon woman had tought him the finer finesses of human interaction, hence his well-honed and respected skills with the trickier emotional aspects. She also had told him about the art of intestines watching. Apparently you could see flashes of the near future envolding in them. It had been an enlightening tale.
She had saved his life.
His midichlorians forced him to stand up and had to rush over and to wrap his arms around the big lug tightly. To hold him. To support him. Xander had accepted the gesture gratefully. Tears rolled over his cheeks as he saw how much it did for his friend. He burried his face in his friend's big chest.
"Andy, Anya's in heaven."
"I-I know," he said, supportively, with muffled words.
"She deserved it. She died as a hero."
He nodded and went back to his own bed. The lone hero was so brave. He saw how Xander smiled thankfully at him and then he witnessed how the man finally could get his well-deserved rest. He smiled back. Relieved. It was again a good deed well done.