He'd had plenty of time to think, of course. Thoughts ranging from relief at getting himself and his friends out alive to regret for those who he couldn't. He stood now in front of the mirror in the bathroom of the hospital they'd found in the first town they'd come to. He couldn't even remember its name. He didn't really care. His hands were braced on either side of the sink but his eye was closed and his head tilted forward. Slowly his head came up before he reached out and turned the water on warm. He stared at the ghost of himself, his bizarro world self, and inwardly grimaced. Why did he make it out and not the one who deserved it more? Sure, there were other girls who had fallen down below. Potentials before they got called hardly stood a chance against those uber-vamps. How many had made it back out of that hole? Not enough.
"Buffy." His source of strength. His reminder that things could get better no matter what. He straightened his back and stood looking down at the running water before dipping both hands into it and begin working up lather with the stinging hospital soap. How could he stand before someone who had died twice and was still here trying to complain about how he was still alive? It doesn't work like that. It couldn't. He couldn't. Giles. How many fights had he been through? How long had he been fighting? Xander brought cupped hands up to his face and felt the water wash the dirt and grime from his skin. At least it wasn't blood this time. He'd need a shower later, he knew, but not until he was sure his friends were okay. Willow was watching over things for right now because she was still kind of buzzed up from her magic high. How strong was she? God only knew. She'd been through a lot too, in her own way. He remembered how she had been just a year ago, with her night black hair and the rage masking the grief. He'd almost lost Buffy again then too. The line had been flat but she couldn't have been dead, he told himself, or Willow wouldn't have been able to bring her back. Could she? He shook his head and moved away from thoughts of things he couldn't change.
Water dripped off his hands as he reached up to pull the eye patch from around his head. He averted his eye from looking into that dead hole and concentrated instead on washing the rest of his face. Anya should have been here instead. It wasn't her time yet. It should have been his, especially after what he'd done to her. God how he'd wanted to make it up to her, what he had so cruelly put her through. He thought briefly of the ring he'd wanted to buy for her, he already had it picked out. It would be a bigger stone than the last engagement ring he'd given her, something she would like and that would make him happy to give her. But that wasn't going to happen now. Would never happen again. Idly he thought about throttling Andrew thinking that might make him feel a little better at least. No, he couldn't do that. There was already too much pain from today. Robin, Buffy, too many others. No, he would be strong for them. He would get cleaned up and go start seeing about places to stay the night around here. He would start making a plan if there wasn't one already and he would help around the edges no matter what. He would take care of his friends, his family. He would be strong. For them. For her. He would pretend that everything was going to be okay and then maybe it might be again. One thing he would not do. He wouldn't let them see the weakness in his... eye.