Chapter Seven
Xander had hoped he'd feel better after some mindless sex and a good night's sleep, but plans to test his theory were thwarted due to the sex not being entirely mindless (just why did Anya insist on talking even while climaxing?) and the sleep being much closer to mediocre than good – rest disrupted by nightmares of angels and fanged beasts.
All night, even as he was drifting in and out of consciousness, Xander had been aware of her right there beside him. And the more he thought about that, the more he regretted asking her to stay over.
Anya was getting too close. Xander's instinct was to shove her away.
Ignoring that, he got up and dressed, walking out of the apartment door with neither a word nor a backwards glance only to pause on the other side, take a deep breath, and pull out his cell phone.
Before he'd fully got both eyes open, Giles had taken two calls about Spike: one from Buffy saying he had already left and one from Xander to say he no longer had a chip.
Glancing at the clock and taking a brief moment to curse jet lag, Giles tried to decide which piece of intel he was more worried about. Buffy had presented her news without comment, but he got the sense she wasn't as ambivalent about it as she would have him believe and that was a definite cause for concern.
Although potentially more dangerous in and of itself, for as long as Spike was gone, his lack of chip wasn't a pressing matter. What Giles wanted to resolve in the meantime was to make sure Buffy's feelings for him were settled and that she understood what she needed to do and was willing to proceed with such actions upon his return, no matter how heroic he may or may not have been.
A knock at his bedroom door served as a timely reminder of the other situation needing dealt with.
"I'm making coffee," said Willow. "Do you want some? Or tea? I can make tea."
Giles said that tea would be fine and that he would be out in a minute. When he joined her at the kitchen table, he saw that Willow bore the unmistakable signs of having spent the night crying; creases heavily pressed into both cheeks, her bloodshot eyes complete with red, swollen bags underneath.
He'd been too exhausted to hear her, but he supposed it didn't matter considering he'd likely have been little comfort in any case.
"What's the plan?" she asked now, nervousness clear in every syllable of her faked cheeriness.
Giles rubbed his eyes. "The plan is for you stay here while I go to the Magic Box and conduct some research."
A hint of genuine hope glinted in Willow's eye. "You don't think Buffy meant what she said and was serious about wanting me to leave town? You think it'll be okay with me staying here?"
"On the contrary," said Giles. "I think she was very serious, but I also think she'll change her mind, given time."
Willow frowned but didn't argue as she picked at a piece of dry toast, her hope having vanished again. Silence hung heavy between her and Giles until she said, "Here's the thing," and immediately broke off again, avoiding his gaze.
"What is it?" Giles prompted. "There's something else?"
Willow swallowed. "The thing about souls, and about h-how we lost them. I…" her voice cracked but she carried on. "The thing is that, even though killing Warren cost me my soul, I don't regret it."
"Willow–"
"I know what you're going to say, and I know it's awful. I do know that. But I just can't regret it. I–" sobs took hold of her once more, the intensity of them shaking her whole frame.
After a moment's initial hesitation, Giles took one of her hands in his and said he understood.
She shook her head. "Of course you don't. It's not even fair that you're going through this too. What you and your friends did with Eyghon – it's not the same."
"Eyghon?" repeated Giles, turning her words over in his mind twice before they clicked. Willow assumed it was his part in the summoning of a demon as a teenager that indirectly led to the deaths of his friends several years later that had cost him his soul. As he considered whether to continue letting her believe this, it occurred to him that the thought might actually have some merit. Those lives were lost, at least partially, due to his actions. Who was to say that wasn't when he lost his soul and that he hadn't been in possession of it for years?
Pushing that line of thought aside for the time being, confident he would dwell on it in far greater detail later, Giles made a decision to air the truth regarding the other matter.
"I killed Ben," he said simply, taking back his hand when Willow dropped it to stare at him.
"You– you did what?" she stammered.
Giles resisted the urge to take off his glasses and wipe them. "Ben was a threat to Buffy and the world. Or Glory was. I couldn't allow them to remain."
"But–" Willow shook her head more violently than before. "No. His body was there. They died the same night as Buffy. I saw the body. Glory fell from the tower, Buffy fought her on the ground, she turned into Ben and he…" she trailed off again. "He didn't die because of the fight? You killed him?"
"I did," said Giles. "And as sorry as I am that it was necessary, I do know what you mean when you say you cannot regret your actions."
Anya stared at the ceiling above Xander's bed, knowing she would be late to open the shop but finding herself not able to care very much. What had happened to her? When had she allowed herself to be hollowed out and used without bothering to even keep being indignant about it?
She could blame Xander and, sure, he definitely had his part to play in everything, but she knew it was more than that, too. At some point during the summer, she'd made the active decision to sleep with him again. That was on her.
Having been with Spike had changed things, though Anya still wasn't entirely sure how. What they had was nothing more than sex. It had been a temporary balm to a hurting heart and, as such, it worked. It wasn't what triggered her self-loathing and, yet, when she tried to retrace her steps and figure out when she last felt like herself, it was that moment on top of that table; him on top of her.
Xander had tried to make her feel like shit for doing it, but she refused to regret it. She'd set him right at the time, telling him straight that it was none of his business and that he had no right being upset about it. She still stood by that. And it wasn't like she loved Spike or even wanted to date him. So what, she asked herself again, was the damn problem? Why had she developed the need to debase herself ever since by crawling back into bed with someone who had walked out on her on their wedding day of all days?
The image of Buffy's expression, that night, flashed in Anya's mind – how upset she'd been, and the way Xander had looked at her when Spike finally admitted what they had been doing.
That was the real crux of it, wasn't it? Not that she had found solace in Spike's arms, but that Spike would hurt Buffy like that. Xander told her what Spike had then gone on to try after that. Maybe that was what broke her: the knowledge that, despite how much Buffy and Spike clearly loved each other, they could and did damage each other so much. What hope did it leave for anyone else?
What did it matter that Xander didn't love her anymore? What did anything matter when love didn't make a damn bit of difference to anything?
While things fell apart in the lives of everyone he left behind in Sunnydale, California, somewhere far, far away, Spike began fighting for his life all over again.
