The Long Summer 15
The evening passed into night and Xander found his way home to his quiet apartment sans the vampire. He was profoundly grateful for the latter. He locked his door and double bolted it. He might not need an invitation to come in anymore, but he would need a key.
There was a handful of mail in his hand and Xander tossed that onto his chair. He would sort through it after he showered the day's destruction off. The hot water coursed over the cuts like so many daggers of pain. He was almost numb to it by the time he got around to scrubbing them.
The damage didn't seem so bad after he cleaned it up. An easy dozen or more tiny slices that were almost too small to be noticeable. They stung when he rubbed antibiotic on them, but otherwise he couldn't see them.
Sliding on a pair of shorts, he walked out of the bedroom and straight for the kitchen. A cold beer found its way into his hand and the note sitting on top of a piece of Tupperware irked him more than the cuts did.
Xander - Food for a late snack here. Sandwich for lunch tomorrow below. See you at the shop - Spike.
He slammed the fridge shut with vehemence and swore. Why couldn't that stupid vampire just go away and leave him alone? He didn't know the answer to the question, so he settled for popping open the bottle of beer and taking a long pull.
As he lowered it, his eyes went to the small stack of envelopes sitting on the kitchen table. Oh what the hell, he thought as he trudged over and scooped them up. He wandered back into the living room and cleared the mail off his chair so he could sit down.
It took the full bottle of beer and most of a second before he slit the most recent envelope open. The handwriting was intimately familiar and he stared at the smooth pen strokes with a sinking feeling in his stomach. His skin felt cold and clammy. The taste of beer went acrid on his tongue and he hastily slurped back another long drink.
Xander closed his eyes. He concentrated on breathing before unfolding the two very thin slips of paper. He drained the second bottle and then focused his eyes on the paper in his hands.
Xander,
It feels strange to be writing to you and wondering if you are even getting these. I know the ladies tell me that they are sending my mail out; but I feel strange even having to ask them that question. I am not allowed to travel away from the compound. I'm lucky that the grounds are beautiful. If you have been getting these - could you please take flowers to Tara's grave on the 12th. It was an important day for us. I wish I could be the one who would do it. I'm not ready for that. I can barely imagine that she isn't there. I think of her as being at the college, in her dorm, working on papers. Or maybe at the little coffee bar on Main, reading a good novel. I shouldn't think of her at all, it hurts so much when I do. I'm sorry I'm going on like this. I would like to hear from you - to know how you are. I haven't heard much from Buffy. A postcard or two, I guess that slaying is keeping her busy. How is Anya? Have you two made up yet? I owe her such a huge apology and I want the two of you to be -
The letter crumpled in his fist and he found that he couldn't continue reading. His chest hurt and his eyes were burning. He remembered walking into the blast of power as it poured from Willow. He remembered the gut wrenching sensation of being pulled in every direction.
"If the world is going to end - then this is where I want to be." He'd told her. "Right here - with my best friend. I love you."
He doubled over as the tears started splashing hotly down his face. He launched himself out of the chair and stumbled into the kitchen. He wrenched another beer from the refrigerator. He drained it in three or four painful gulps and left it on the counter as he scooped out another.
He stared at the crumpled letter in his hand. It looked like a wounded thing, all smashed and pulpy. He transferred his gaze to the beer. Slowly, as though in a haze, he walked out of the kitchen, dropping the crumple letter in the trash as his hand flicked off the light.
The evening passed into night and Xander found his way home to his quiet apartment sans the vampire. He was profoundly grateful for the latter. He locked his door and double bolted it. He might not need an invitation to come in anymore, but he would need a key.
There was a handful of mail in his hand and Xander tossed that onto his chair. He would sort through it after he showered the day's destruction off. The hot water coursed over the cuts like so many daggers of pain. He was almost numb to it by the time he got around to scrubbing them.
The damage didn't seem so bad after he cleaned it up. An easy dozen or more tiny slices that were almost too small to be noticeable. They stung when he rubbed antibiotic on them, but otherwise he couldn't see them.
Sliding on a pair of shorts, he walked out of the bedroom and straight for the kitchen. A cold beer found its way into his hand and the note sitting on top of a piece of Tupperware irked him more than the cuts did.
Xander - Food for a late snack here. Sandwich for lunch tomorrow below. See you at the shop - Spike.
He slammed the fridge shut with vehemence and swore. Why couldn't that stupid vampire just go away and leave him alone? He didn't know the answer to the question, so he settled for popping open the bottle of beer and taking a long pull.
As he lowered it, his eyes went to the small stack of envelopes sitting on the kitchen table. Oh what the hell, he thought as he trudged over and scooped them up. He wandered back into the living room and cleared the mail off his chair so he could sit down.
It took the full bottle of beer and most of a second before he slit the most recent envelope open. The handwriting was intimately familiar and he stared at the smooth pen strokes with a sinking feeling in his stomach. His skin felt cold and clammy. The taste of beer went acrid on his tongue and he hastily slurped back another long drink.
Xander closed his eyes. He concentrated on breathing before unfolding the two very thin slips of paper. He drained the second bottle and then focused his eyes on the paper in his hands.
Xander,
It feels strange to be writing to you and wondering if you are even getting these. I know the ladies tell me that they are sending my mail out; but I feel strange even having to ask them that question. I am not allowed to travel away from the compound. I'm lucky that the grounds are beautiful. If you have been getting these - could you please take flowers to Tara's grave on the 12th. It was an important day for us. I wish I could be the one who would do it. I'm not ready for that. I can barely imagine that she isn't there. I think of her as being at the college, in her dorm, working on papers. Or maybe at the little coffee bar on Main, reading a good novel. I shouldn't think of her at all, it hurts so much when I do. I'm sorry I'm going on like this. I would like to hear from you - to know how you are. I haven't heard much from Buffy. A postcard or two, I guess that slaying is keeping her busy. How is Anya? Have you two made up yet? I owe her such a huge apology and I want the two of you to be -
The letter crumpled in his fist and he found that he couldn't continue reading. His chest hurt and his eyes were burning. He remembered walking into the blast of power as it poured from Willow. He remembered the gut wrenching sensation of being pulled in every direction.
"If the world is going to end - then this is where I want to be." He'd told her. "Right here - with my best friend. I love you."
He doubled over as the tears started splashing hotly down his face. He launched himself out of the chair and stumbled into the kitchen. He wrenched another beer from the refrigerator. He drained it in three or four painful gulps and left it on the counter as he scooped out another.
He stared at the crumpled letter in his hand. It looked like a wounded thing, all smashed and pulpy. He transferred his gaze to the beer. Slowly, as though in a haze, he walked out of the kitchen, dropping the crumple letter in the trash as his hand flicked off the light.