Picking Up the Pieces
Part 1: Xander
Summary: What happens when the heart of a group is heartbroken?
Setting: Three days after "Chosen".
Rating: R for somewhat graphic sexuality.
'Ship: B/X.
Forward…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't remember what town this is. I'm not sure I even really care right now. Anya's gone. Dead. She's not coming back. *That's my girl. Always doing stupid things.* God, it hurts. How do I go on now?
I've put on a brave face the past couple of days, and to tell the truth, it wasn't so much a face. But tonight, it's hit me, hard. I will never see my Anya again. I'll never kiss her, hear her voice, make her pancakes.
I feel so alone. God, why did she have to die? Why not me? Why couldn't I have been there to save her? Why did I do such a damn foolish thing and leave her standing at the altar, all alone? I should have married her – God knows I wanted to.
Cold… It's so cold in here. Or is it just me? I feel like I'll never be warm again. The only warmth I have left in me is leaking down my face as suddenly I start sobbing again, wishing I could just hold her one more time, say goodbye one more time. I try to hold in the sobs, to keep them quiet – after all, Buffy and Dawn are sharing the room right next to mine.
I just sit here, my arms wrapped around myself, rocking back and forth, back and forth, crying, feeling only the ache of loss. It feels like there's a hole in my chest where my heart used to be. God, I want to die.
Suddenly, there's arms around me, a voice – Buffy's – whispering something in my ear. I can't make it out, but it helps. I lean against her warm shoulder and let go, drenching her shirt with salty tears. She just sits here, holding me, for a while, softly stroking my hair and whispering to me. Then she surprises me.
She lifts my face with one hand, ever so gently, then leans forward and touches her lips to mine. It's feather-light, that touch, and fleeting, but I realize just what it is that Buffy's offering me. Comfort. Warmth. Something true and real and *here*. She's offering me an anchor against the pain, something to hold on to.
God help me. Anya, forgive me.
I lean back forward and kiss her. Desperately now, hungrily. For a moment, it's rough, painful enough to match the hurt in my chest, but she reaches up a hand and gently, slowly, strokes my cheek, and I calm. She reaches up with her other hand and starts opening the first button on my shirt as we kiss again. I can smell her hair from here.
I never imagined, in my youth, that it would be like this with Buffy. I always thought it would be wild and tameless, all over the place and fast-paced, not this slow, tender progression.
She has my shirt all the way unbuttoned now, and she's lifting one of my hands to the top button on hers.
I can't help but think back. Faith was my first, but that was quick, done almost before I realized what was happening. Anya was far better, once we worked out what it was exactly we were doing. I love Anya… no, I *loved* Anya. She's dead, and I'm here, with Buffy.
My fingers brush a nipple, erect with arousal (or is it just the cold in the room? Surely she's not really interested in me like that). Buffy lets my mouth go, and plants a kiss on the corner of my jaw, one on my neck, another down to my shoulder. Then she's pulling my pants off, then her own, and I'm rigid as she pushes me gently down onto the bed and guides me in.
We move together, slowly, easily. It feels right somehow, like this is where I should have been all along. I surprise myself, when, at the climax, I call out her name, and not Anya's.
---------------
It's nearly sunrise outside, and Buffy and I are still curled up together, her body warm against mine. As the first light of dawn touches the sky, I stroke her hair and silently thank her for saving me last night. I think without her, I would have been lost for good. There wouldn't have been any way for me to bring myself back.
I love mornings. It's a new beginning, each day. And as I softly stroke Buffy's hair, I listen to her breathe slowly and peacefully in sleep and I realize that the hole in my heart is maybe just a little less empty today.
~~~~~~~~~~
Finis.
Author's Note: Well, here you have it: proof that at heart, when I'm not a W/Xer, I'm a B/Xer. :P If you have anything to say, feel free to post a review or email me. I'll try and respond to emails as soon as I can, but it might take a couple of days, so be patient. I accept comments, even criticism as long as it's constructive, but flames will be deleted without response. Have a nice day!
- Jarald.
Part 1: Xander
Summary: What happens when the heart of a group is heartbroken?
Setting: Three days after "Chosen".
Rating: R for somewhat graphic sexuality.
'Ship: B/X.
Forward…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't remember what town this is. I'm not sure I even really care right now. Anya's gone. Dead. She's not coming back. *That's my girl. Always doing stupid things.* God, it hurts. How do I go on now?
I've put on a brave face the past couple of days, and to tell the truth, it wasn't so much a face. But tonight, it's hit me, hard. I will never see my Anya again. I'll never kiss her, hear her voice, make her pancakes.
I feel so alone. God, why did she have to die? Why not me? Why couldn't I have been there to save her? Why did I do such a damn foolish thing and leave her standing at the altar, all alone? I should have married her – God knows I wanted to.
Cold… It's so cold in here. Or is it just me? I feel like I'll never be warm again. The only warmth I have left in me is leaking down my face as suddenly I start sobbing again, wishing I could just hold her one more time, say goodbye one more time. I try to hold in the sobs, to keep them quiet – after all, Buffy and Dawn are sharing the room right next to mine.
I just sit here, my arms wrapped around myself, rocking back and forth, back and forth, crying, feeling only the ache of loss. It feels like there's a hole in my chest where my heart used to be. God, I want to die.
Suddenly, there's arms around me, a voice – Buffy's – whispering something in my ear. I can't make it out, but it helps. I lean against her warm shoulder and let go, drenching her shirt with salty tears. She just sits here, holding me, for a while, softly stroking my hair and whispering to me. Then she surprises me.
She lifts my face with one hand, ever so gently, then leans forward and touches her lips to mine. It's feather-light, that touch, and fleeting, but I realize just what it is that Buffy's offering me. Comfort. Warmth. Something true and real and *here*. She's offering me an anchor against the pain, something to hold on to.
God help me. Anya, forgive me.
I lean back forward and kiss her. Desperately now, hungrily. For a moment, it's rough, painful enough to match the hurt in my chest, but she reaches up a hand and gently, slowly, strokes my cheek, and I calm. She reaches up with her other hand and starts opening the first button on my shirt as we kiss again. I can smell her hair from here.
I never imagined, in my youth, that it would be like this with Buffy. I always thought it would be wild and tameless, all over the place and fast-paced, not this slow, tender progression.
She has my shirt all the way unbuttoned now, and she's lifting one of my hands to the top button on hers.
I can't help but think back. Faith was my first, but that was quick, done almost before I realized what was happening. Anya was far better, once we worked out what it was exactly we were doing. I love Anya… no, I *loved* Anya. She's dead, and I'm here, with Buffy.
My fingers brush a nipple, erect with arousal (or is it just the cold in the room? Surely she's not really interested in me like that). Buffy lets my mouth go, and plants a kiss on the corner of my jaw, one on my neck, another down to my shoulder. Then she's pulling my pants off, then her own, and I'm rigid as she pushes me gently down onto the bed and guides me in.
We move together, slowly, easily. It feels right somehow, like this is where I should have been all along. I surprise myself, when, at the climax, I call out her name, and not Anya's.
---------------
It's nearly sunrise outside, and Buffy and I are still curled up together, her body warm against mine. As the first light of dawn touches the sky, I stroke her hair and silently thank her for saving me last night. I think without her, I would have been lost for good. There wouldn't have been any way for me to bring myself back.
I love mornings. It's a new beginning, each day. And as I softly stroke Buffy's hair, I listen to her breathe slowly and peacefully in sleep and I realize that the hole in my heart is maybe just a little less empty today.
~~~~~~~~~~
Finis.
Author's Note: Well, here you have it: proof that at heart, when I'm not a W/Xer, I'm a B/Xer. :P If you have anything to say, feel free to post a review or email me. I'll try and respond to emails as soon as I can, but it might take a couple of days, so be patient. I accept comments, even criticism as long as it's constructive, but flames will be deleted without response. Have a nice day!
- Jarald.