Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, etc. Even the ideas are
probably things I've read and half forgotten. Joss owns Buffy, Xander,
and crew.

Spoilers: Late season 4. If you know who Adam is, that's about all
there's going to be. It's kinna nonspecific.

Summary: Making a deal with the devil, of sorts. The final battle
against Adam, maybe?

Author's Notice: Things are getting weirder and weirder. Hope you
enjoy.

***

I took a trip to an old manor house once, when I was a kid and visiting
relatives on the east coast. They have lots of old things out there,
certainly more than we have out here.
There was this one area of the gardens that fascinated me. A long
tunnel made of ivy carefully grown up the sides of a wooden framework.
It was cool in the shade of the plants.
Little bits of light would filter down through the leaves, small
patches of brilliance in the otherwise darkened tunnel.
That's what waking up that morning felt like. My consciousness wound
its way through an endless tunnel of ivy, dark with bits of light ever
few feet, if such a measure can even be applied.
Finally, I could see light ahead and knew I was ready to wake up.
I felt someone shift against my chest.
Anya.
She doesn't spend the night much, I mused idly. Maybe I'm not so great
to wake up beside.
I inhaled deeply, savoring her scent.
My eyes shot open immediately. Anya has always smelled like spices,
warm and robust and darker things, but this aroma was soft and delicate
and flowery but mixed with sweat and dirt and blood. Buffy's fragrance
after a hard night of slaying and... stuff.
It came back to me in a rush. I looked down and found her blond head
innocently snuggling against my chest.
Panic. Fear. Regret. Those barely begin to describe what I was
feeling.
I'd taken her trust and broken it. Taken advantage of her in her time
of grief.
I was going over all these things in more in my head, blaming myself
over and over for this lapse in judgement. It wasn't the self indulgent
blame that comes from knowing that you're sort of wrong, but full on "I
can't live with myself" condemnation.
She was going to kill me, that much was for certain.
And, I realized, somewhat to my surprise, I was going to let her. I
know that after I'd betrayed Cordelia's trust, I'd felt like a total
heel and done my best to make it up to her. Well, initially.
Afterward, she'd made it more than clear to me that I wasn't going to
succeed, and I'd stayed away from her. But I don't think I'd have ever
allowed her to actually kill me.
Buffy could, though. And I'd thank her with my last breath. Anything
to heal the hurt I'd caused her.
Sometime during my melodramatic, frenzied thinking, Buffy stirred
against me.
I froze.
She murmured softly and slid one of those silky hands across my chest.
I shivered.
After a few seconds, I could feel her freeze.
"Xander?" Her voice sounded normal, questioning.
"Y-yes," I stammered.
"Did we...?"
"Y-yes... I'm so sorry, Buffy," I knew I was babbling, but I couldn't
help it. A last chance for the condemned to plead his case.
"I'm not."
"I know I took advantage of you while you were in a weak moment and I'm
not sure that you can ever forgive me, but I'll do anything to...
make... it... What did you say?"
"I'm not sorry it happened."
"R-really." Stammering again, but this time for a different reason.
I could feel her inhale deeply, her body moving against mine.
"Yeah."
"B-Buffy... I love you."
"I know, my Xander shaped friend. I love you, too."

***

Salvador Dali did this weird painting with melting clocks in a barren
landscape. At least, I think it was Dali, I got a C in art. In any
case, that's the kind of world I think I live in. Things are all
stretched and melted and deformed, but it all seems normal to the people
inside the painting until someone asks them what time it is.
That's what it was like waking up beside Buffy.
I mean, I've dreamed about it three or four thousand times, often four
or five times in one night, and sometimes messily. Ew, not a good
thought.
But it was a fantasy. It's not like she's ever really showed interest
in me. To the contrary, in fact.
This last year, we'd been growing apart slowly, and I'd given up any
real hope of it ever happening. Buried myself in Anya and hoped never
to resurface.
But I did. And it did. And she did, oh God how she did.
We stayed in bed for hours. I don't mean in a sexual way, either. I
started out scared, and she didn't seem to want to get up, so we just
took our time getting out of bed.
The fact that our clothing may or may not have survived the previous
night probably added a bit to our hesitation. I didn't relish Buffy
seeing me naked outside of the heat of passion, and I'm sure she didn't
want me to see her either.
Walking around naked in front of someone you've only just started
sleeping with is a sure path to disaster if you're not one of the
beautiful people.
I know I'm no bridge troll, but I also know I'm not a beefcake. My
high school days can attest to that. Getting right down to it, I'm
still one in four for dating inside my own species. Considering that
neither Willow nor Buffy had been on an actual date with me, by that
point.
I'm not sure if the same thought even crossed Buffy's mind. I mean,
she's gorgeous, but that's to my eyes. Who knows how she sees herself?
The last few hours had made it glaringly obvious to me that I didn't
know her as well as I thought.
Anyway, we stayed like that until almost noon. Basking in the
afterglow of something that was four years in the making.
I dreaded the ending. I knew when we got up, things would be
different. She'd feel uncomfortable around me, and we'd drift apart
and... and I might never see her again.
But somehow, it didn't happen that way.
Finally, I felt her shift against me, sliding up to kiss me tenderly.
A welcome surprise. I kissed her back eagerly, my right hand reaching
up to trace the line of her jaw.
"Shower time," she whispered.
"You mean you want to... we..."
She giggled and I melted.
"No," she bit her lip cutely and punched me very lightly. "I'm going
to go take a shower, and THEN you can take one."
She kissed me again softly and took my hand in hers. She guided it to
my own face and put it over my eyes.
"Now, no peeking."
I dutifully covered my eyes as I felt her slide out from under the
sheets and heard her picking up bits of clothing from the floor. After
a minute or so, she made her way up the stairs, the creaking letting me
know where she was the whole time.
At last, the door opened and closed and I opened my eyes.
The room seemed oddly empty without her.
Without much thought, I set about picking up my scattered clothing and
putting them, a little muddy and bloody, in the wash. Well, not the
jacket, it was dry clean only, which probably meant it was a loss. No
point in explaining blood stains to my dry cleaner, or my mother, for
that matter.
I ended up in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, sitting on my bed, nervously
waiting for Buffy to come back down.
I must have dozed off again, because the next thing I remember is a
slightly damp Buffy leaning in to kiss me. She wasn't wearing anything
besides a pair of my boxers and a button-up shirt. I don't know when
she snagged them.
"Your turn," she murmured as she pulled back from the kiss.
I stared at her in confusion.
"The shower." She giggled softly, musically.
Somehow, I managed to stumble to the bathroom and take a shower without
hurting myself. I don't think I was capable of thought at that point,
so I was functioning on instinct alone.
I stumbled back down the stairs some ten minutes later, expecting to
find a note on my bed and no Buffy. I'd already decided, in my mind,
how the letter would go, too.
"Dear John, I mean, Xander, Tonight was great and all, but I'm far too
good for you, so I've decided to leave you without ever doing whatever
it is one has to do before they can leave someone, you know, like dating
and stuff. Don't try to talk to me ever again as there's no way we can
be friends after that..."
Instead, I found Buffy going through my old photo albums, which is an
entirely different kind of horror..
Alright, I admit it. I'm the kind of guy who takes and keeps pictures
of his friends. There, happy?
She was giggling over something as I slipped up to her. I caught a
glimpse of Willow at about age seven and realized exactly what was in
that book.
"You were a cute kid."
"Sure I was..."
"No, really. I can see why Willow dated you."
"We never really went out, that was just a..."
"No, I mean when you were five. She told me about it the day I met
her."
"Oh," I laughed nervously. Of course, this meant my "dating humans"
track record was up to two in five. Somewhat better.
"I, umm... if you want to look at pictures.." Give her that old Harris
charm, I chided myself. I swear, if I'd tried to walk I'd have tripped
over my own tongue.
I turned and pulled a thin, newer book from the shelves where she'd
found the other album and handed it to her.
"This is from, you know... sophomore year."
She put down the other, more embarrassing, book which I snagged and put
back in its place and started to leaf through the new one.
Page upon page of picture of me, her and Willow. Toward the front
there were a few of Jesse, too, but that's a topic I'd rather not dredge
up.
"Some of these are really good."
"Well, not all of them are my work. Willow and I used to take pictures
like fiends and then get double prints to share with each other. I
guess we kind of stopped as we got older, though."
"Umm... Xander?"
"Yes?"
"Would you happen to know," she turned the book to face me, revealing a
picture of her standing, lips puckered as if to receive a kiss, "why
there are lip prints on this photograph."
I blushed fourteen different shades of red, I'm certain, because she
giggled.
"I... I... I..." Yeah, pictures were a good idea.
"Let me guess," she said, smiling and rising to her feet. "You were
imagining doing this."
She leaned in and kissed me, quieting my babbling.
"Umm... yeah, something like that."
"Something you want to tell me?"
"Well, I fell in love the moment I laid eyes on you... and it almost
got me killed."
"Really?" She looked concerned, and I'll be damned if that didn't make
me feel great.
"Well, not really... I was skating when you walked past and ran right
into a rail... bounced my head off the concrete a bit."
"Poor baby," and she kissed me on the forehead.
"Buffy, I..."
She was nibbling on my ear.
"God..."
I pushed her away and back down into her seat.
"Wait a minute, I think we need to talk."
"Okay." She didn't sound hurt, I don't think.
"I need to know... why... how... last night..."
"You mean, why am I draping myself all over you when last week I
wouldn't have even thought about it?"
"Ouch," I winced at her insight. "And yes."
"Well, I realized something last night. Think back to all the girls
you've been with since I got to Sunnydale."
I did. Briefly. Those are some rough memories.
"Now, how many of those girls made you miserable half of the time you
were with them?"
"Most of them," I admitted.
Buffy nodded. "Same here." She stopped after she said it. "I mean,
guys, me, with."
"So... how does this matter?"
"Well, I know that you've always had a thing for me..."
I blushed a bit. "I'm sorry."
She smiled softly. "Don't be. You're not creepy stalker guy, you're
nice crush that makes me feel better about myself guy. Anyway, I said
to myself, 'Buffy, you're a good girl, it's not your fault that the guys
you've been with break your heart. Xander's a good guy with the same
problem. Why not give it a try?'"
"Ah..."
"Yes?"
"So, is this 'the reason Buffy did what she did' or is it 'the
rationalization Buffy made up for what she did?'"
"Umm..." she blushed. I think I had her.
"Did it have anything to do with slaying making you hor-"
"Xander!" She blushed brightly. "How did you know about that,
anyway?" she continued much quieter.
"Well, ah..." Now I was the one not wanting to answer questions.