Love saved the world. Love and friendship and yellow crayon. Xander saved the world from his best friend. On some level, he knew that, but the idea that the world would need saving from Willow still had yet to sink in. Even as he staggered down the fractured sidewalk, supporting her, hearing her sob, it didn't quite hit him. Willow wasn't someone who tried to cause apocalypses. He wasn't someone who managed to end them.
Willow stared at her boots as they went. She watched tears spatter the cracked leather, trying her best not to focus on anything else. All around her were signs of normal life– mailboxes, telephone poles, brightly painted store fronts and cars. Little things; innocuous things; things she'd tried to destroy. So she tuned them out, wondered where she was headed, pretended to care. Anywhere else was good enough. That was, if she deserved an anywhere to be.
Neither of them was quite sure what would happen next. Xander's first impulse would have been to ask Willow, but that wasn't going to happen. Willow's first impulse was to ask Giles. Then she realized that she didn't even know if Giles was alive. More tears came. More confusion set in. They found themselves turning onto Revello Drive, taken by their steps to the one place where they'd ever both felt at home.
Xander tried the door, and found it unlocked, as usual. He pushed it open, and they entered. The house was still and quiet. Willow could still feel death filling it, tearing it apart. She closed her eyes and tried to regain her breathing.
"Buffy?" Xander called, cutting through the silence. There was no answer. "Buffy? Dawn?" The house remained still. He turned to Willow and whispered to her as calmly as he could, "I'm sure they'll be back soon."
"Right." His words barely registered with her.
They finally disentangled their bodies and stepped apart, instantly missing the comfort. But Xander didn't feel like being comforted, and Willow didn't feel like anything. They sat side-by-side on the couch, not touching. He was lost in thought. She was lost.
