Xander
Doing drywall is pretty brainless work. I've done so much of it in the past two years that everything's pretty much automatic by now. Leaves the ol' brain plenty of time to wander off by itself while I'm working.
God, I wish I was doing electrical work or something, anything that would keep my mind focused on the job instead of the fact that I saved the world.
Isn't that a brain-job? Xander Harris saved the world. I. Saved. The. World. Saved it. All those people running around in the sunshine and not working on a beautiful day like today are doing it because of something I did. Weird, bizarre-type thought, and I wish I could just get past it.
Not that I'm getting all hero-complexy or big-ego. Just the opposite. I wish anybody else had done it. Knowing that I had the fate of the entire planet resting on my shoulders for all of fifteen minutes gives me the oogies. Is this what Buffy feels like all the time? 'Cause if she does, I've got even more respect for her now than ever.
"It's weird, I know," Buffy said after I asked her about it. "Things'll get back to normal for you sooner or later, though. For a little while, you'll just be looking around at the world and thinking about how fragile it all is. How one instant, one wrong thing, could wipe it all out."
"I never felt like that when it was you saving the world," I told her. "It was like—of course you were going to save it. No question."
"And then, all of a sudden, I couldn't," she said. "It was all up to you."
"And it wasn't a sure thing. Man, Buffy, it was touch-and-go there. I wasn't sure I could get through to Will. There was so little of her I could even recognize in there. I keep on thinking about—what if I'd said the wrong thing, or gotten there too late? It would've been Everything Go Boom. After all, if the fate of the world was resting on Xander Harris doing things right, what was the chance it could actually get saved?"
Buffy smiled at me then, that gorgeous smile I fell in love with way back when I was an even-stupider sixteen-year-old. "Well I, for one, am glad Xander Harris was there to make things right. I had my own battles to fight this year; you had to take the really big one."
It's crazy. Things got so upside-down this last year. I mean, we brought Buffy back from the dead, which should've been a good thing, but turned out not to be so much for her. Three human guys complete with souls caused us more trouble than all the demons and vampires combined. Then my best friend caused even more trouble than the Geek Mafia. Dawn stole stuff, Buffy had a fling with Spike, and I walked out of my own wedding, causing my bride to become a demon. Again. I think I'd have preferred a good, old-fashioned apocalypse to all that.
Speaking of my demon bride, she just surprised the hell out of me.
"Sorry about that," Anya says while my heart attempts to dislodge itself from my throat. "I just teleported in from the mall. Would you like a lemonade? I got them at Hot Dog On A Stick." She smiles, holding out a cup to me.
"Thanks." I take a drink, looking at her. Anya's still so much the same girl I fell in love with. What part of her is the demon now? Does it matter?
I asked Giles about it a few days ago, and he said, "I don't know much about the nature of Vengeance Demons, I'm afraid. Anya seems very similar to how she was as a human right now, but then, the great majority of her life has been spent as a demon."
"I just feel responsible, you know?" I said. It was the first time I'd told anybody this. "She became a demon because I hurt her. I left her at the altar, and then her old demon boss offered her her job back. What choice did she have?"
"Her own choice," Giles said. "You made a mistake, Xander. A large one, I'll grant you, but ultimately, Anya's decision to go back to her demon state was her own choice, not yours. Just as it was Warren's choice to come after Buffy with a gun."
Ouch. Another sore spot. Giles knows where to find 'em. "If I'd done something when I saw Warren with the gun . . ."
"It wasn't your fault." Giles had that "don't argue with me" tone in his voice. "Warren made his own choice, and Willow made hers. You were the one who got stuck with the job of cleaning up after them. Which is something you did exceedingly well."
Giles looked at me, and I could see he was proud of me. He is proud of me. That . . . man, I can't even describe it. Is this what it feels like to have your dad be proud of you? 'Cause I never felt like that while I was growing up. Giles told me that when he sensed I was with Willow on the bluff, he knew I'd be able to reach her. To save us. Giles believed in me, the way he believes in Buffy.
Sometimes, I think that's the best thing to come out of all this.
"So. How about that FarScape?" Anya suddenly asks.
What's really weird is how she's acting around me lately. No threats or snarky comments, just attempts at normal-for-us conversation. It's scaring me. Anya wasn't the type to call a truce before she became a demon again. Somehow, though, I can't make myself bring up our Issues again, or even talk about our relationship. So we chat about our favorite aliens, which, as usual, ends up with her comparing them with various demons. Like I said, normal for us.
Lately, I can't stop thinking about her and Cordelia. I mean, both of them got hurt bad by me being stupid with them. Cordy fell on a rebar and almost died. Anya's a demon now. Am I ever going to be able to love a girl without hurting her? God, both Anya and Buffy turned to Spike (and I am not going there, since even thinking about that bastard makes me mad enough to spit nails) for comfort because of something I did, or helped to do. That's me dealing serious pain to three out of the five girls I've loved most in my life. I'd better not mess up with Wills or Dawn.
Speaking of which, Dawn's just coming in to add varnish to a bookshelf I put together. She's repaying her debt by helping rebuild the Magic Box. Looks cute as a button, too, in her t-shirt and ratty jeans, with a bandanna covering her hair. Yep, that's our Dawnie. Entirely too cute. And rapidly turning into pretty, which, given that she shares her big sister's DNA, is probably going to turn into full-blown beautiful right before our eyes, which will lead to guys like me when I was in high school drooling over her, which will lead to those guys asking her out, which will lead to them having totally inappropriate thoughts about her, which will lead to me having an intense need to grab a hammer and smash a few hormone-soaked little heads--!
Which leads to big ol' cracks in the sheetrock. Nice job, Harris. Note to self: do not think about teenaged guys and Dawn while doing drywall. I just hope she learned her lesson about dating vampires . . .
Anya's looking at me like I just sprouted antlers (and hey, this being the Hellmouth and all . . .). "What was that all about?"
"Sorry," I say, trying to repair the results of my straying thoughts. "I was just thinking that Dawn's going to be dating one of these days, and I'm not liking the idea of a guy like me getting ideas, you know?"
"About orgasms?" asks Anya.
You just have to take it in stride, you know? "Yeah. About that."
"You don't want Dawn having—"
"Let's not talk about it, okay?"
Dawn pokes her head in. "Someone say my name?"
"No," I say before Anya can spill anything. "We're just talking is all."
"Okay." Dawn grins and winks at me. I think she's happy that Anya and I are getting along. Maybe it gives her a little more faith in love. Considering how many couples have disintegrated right in front of her eyes, starting with her parents, it's probably nice for her to think that maybe a few lucky people can make it.
After Dawn goes back to varnishing in the other room, Anya looks at me. "You know, if worse comes to worse, Dawn can always come to me. That's what I'm here for."
"I don't want worse coming to worse," I say. "Not for Dawn. Not for anybody, really."
"Like it did for us," says Anya quietly.
"Yeah. Like that." I run my hand along the seam I just made. "Like it did for Tara and Willow. And Buffy and Angel, and Buffy and Riley, and Joyce and Hank, and Giles and Jenny Calendar. I wish it didn't happen to anybody."
Anya nods, holding onto her pendant. "I wish I could grant that wish. The logistics are just impossible, though." She gives me a sad little half-smile.
Something connects between us all of a sudden. We're not Anyanka and the guy who scorned her; we're just Anya and Xander. It feels good. Warm. The way things are supposed to feel when two people love each other.
It only lasts for a second, though, and Anya hurries away, running down the stairs to the basement.
She still loves me. And I still love her. That throws everything I thought I knew into the toilet. Damn. Why do things have to be so friggin' complicated?
The drywall's finished. I can finish the wall itself tomorrow. Right now, I need to get some air and go see how Willow is doing. I find Dawn.
"I'm headed to the hospital," I tell her. "Anya's in the basement. You okay here?"
"Sure," she says. She glances over in the direction of the stairs. "Are you and Anya . . . you know?"
"I don't know." I shrug. "I just don't."
"Complicated?" she asks. I nod. She sighs. "Why does everything have to be that way?"
"Tell me if you figure out the answer to that," I say. "See you later."
I head to my apartment first to get some clean clothes, then drive to the hospital. The drive's good for working things through in my head. Monday, I need to call Builder's Choice and haggle over some trusses, and that's also the day we should hear back about our bid for the job of rebuilding Sunnydale High. Hope we get that one, 'cause that means one serious contract, which means I'll be in the money, which means I can finance a new car (I'm borrowing Joyce's old car right now). Can't forget about patrol tonight, either. Buffy says if we finish early enough, she, Dawn, and I can hit the Bronze and "boogie." Her word. Maybe I should ask Anya if she'd like to join us. I saved the world.
And there it is again.
Buffy was right: I just look around and see how fragile it all is, and suddenly, life's this precious thing. You've got to take care of it. There's no excuse good enough for not holding on to the people you love as hard as you can.
I need to make things right with Anya. Doesn't matter that she's a demon now; I've got to let her know I still love her, and if there's any way things can work out between us, I'll take it.
When I get to the hospital, I head up to Willow's room. It kills me to see her like this. This isn't Willow—it's like her body's laying here, but Willow's someplace else. It just feels so wrong for her to be so still and quiet.
I start talking. I talk about Miss Hawley, who was our favorite sub in elementary school. She always used to bring gum for everybody. I remind Willow about the song she, Jesse, and I made up to mock Gordon Fry, the class bully. Fry's a vampire now, of course. The bad die young in this town. I'm right in the middle of the second verse, which is about Gordon eating boogers, when—
"Xander?"
I stop dead. That was WillowVoice.
Willow moves for the first time in two weeks, turning her head so she's looking right at me. She's so pale, and it makes her eyes look even bigger than they usually are.
"Xander?" she says again. Her voice is faint, like her vocal cords rusted while she wasn't using them, but she just said something. I get over that fact and try to think of something intelligent to say.
"Yeah, it's me." Okay, so not brilliant, but it's something.
"I . . ." Willow looks around very slowly, like she doesn't understand where she is. "How long?"
I have to take her hand to be sure this is really happening. Her fingers are cold, but they're real, and all of a sudden, I'm just about to cry.
"Couple of weeks," I manage to get out.
"Tara."
Oh, God, am I going to have to tell her again?
Will's eyes catch mine again. "You . . . buried her?"
I breathe out a sigh of relief, even though those are somehow the saddest words I ever heard. "Yeah. We did."
"Xander," she whispers, "take me to see her. Please."
"Sure," I say. "Yeah. No problem." Tears are a serious threat now. I swallow. "We've just gotta spring you from this mausoleum. I'll get a doctor, or a nurse, or some medical-type person . . ."
Her hand won't let mine go, though. "No," she whimpers. "No, please . . . don't leave me, Xander. Don't leave."
"I'm not leaving." Willow doesn't need a doctor right now; she needs her best friend. I sit beside her on the bed, careful not to hit her IV line, and pull her into my arms as much as I can. I try not to think about what she's done, and how hard it's going to be for her to live with it all. I just hold her. "Don't worry, Will. I'll be right here as long as you need me."
Life's too short to be anywhere else.