AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is just a revised version of "Jessie's Eyes" because
there were some things I wasn't too pleased with.. Anyway, enjoy it!
DISCLAIMER: Well everyone knows I don't own Buffy. or do I? Yes, I now go by the name Joss Whedon. Go Joss, he's soooo cool. So yeah, I don't own the characters. Except for Jessie and Dhani.
SPOILERS: Sort of 'Chosen', I guess. Yeah, probably 'Chosen'. If you haven't seen that, I wouldn't read this.
It was her eyes that showed the resemblance between them, only her eyes.
They were so much like the other eyes, the eyes that were warm and brown, as
deep and rich as Swiss chocolate, they pulled him until he felt like he was
surrounded by a huge, velvety pillow. Every time she laughed, they would
sparkle, and her anger brought out that identical glint he remembered so
well. Looking at him softly when he brought her an unexpected present,
melting like chocolate in a baby's mouth, dripping down and covering the
rest of the face. Sometimes they would be laughing, even when her mouth
wasn't. Laughing at him, usually, because she'd done something, most likely
said something to embarrass him. She knew he wasn't really embarrassed, he
wouldn't have her any other way, and he could see this knowledge in her
eyes.
But those eyes were gone now, and he had these new ones to lose himself in.
He would never get sick of looking deep into those pools as they explored
the world and drank in everything they saw. Every day she learnt something
new and he would see the amazement in her eyes. She'd always been clever,
but he could only imagine how much her brain stored.
"Da-da?"
"Yes Jessie?"
"Pick me up." And he would pick her up, sit her on his knee and tell her
stories for hours. She liked the ones about violence most. Always had, she
must take after him. Blood made her squeal in excitement and decapitation
earned him one of her tinkling laughs and some exuberant clapping. He found
his imagination had only become stronger since story time had started. Then
were the stories that didn't require imagination, just memory. It didn't
matter, he remembered those seven years of Hellmouth-y goodness perfectly.
Jessie would always end up asleep in his arms. Clinging tightly to his
fingers, often sucking them fervently in her little mouth. Violence put her
to sleep better than anything else. By her sleepy laughs, he was sure she
dreamed about it too. He would never move her. He would just watch her,
especially her shut eyelids - tracing his fingers along them, feeling the
velvety soft skin and remembering those other eyes he'd loved.
Those nights with Jessie asleep in his lap were his nights for remembering.
He remembered his wedding to Dhani. Seven years after Sunnydale. Funny, his
life seemed to be divided into sevens. Two years old: He had fallen off the
swings in the playground and been fixed up by a kind girl with red hair
called Willow, who just happened to have a bottle of bettadeine and a packet
of bandaids in her pocket. Nine years old: Realised his gang was lacking
something - manliness, and asked Jesse to be his joint best friend with
Willow. Sixteen years old: Met Buffy and become a slayerette. Twenty three
years old: left the ruins of his childhood home behind him, along with his
parents, and moved to Cleveland with Willow, Giles, Buffy and Dawn. Thirty
years old: Married Dhani and had his daughter, Jessie.
Sometimes Dhani would ask him why he loved Jessie's eyes. She didn't demand
an answer, she was genuinely interested. Her own eyes were clear and blue,
navy rims encircling them. They were beautiful, and he often wondered why
Jessie hadn't inherited them from her mother.
***They're unique, Dhani. They're a product of you and I, and no one else in
the world has eyes like that. ***
She always accepted this happily, agreed with it because she'd never seen
anyone with eyes like her daughter Jessie. He liked making her happy in that
way, it made him feel warm inside, it didn't matter if it wasn't true.
Everyone should be able to love those eyes. Buffy asked too, every time she
caught him drawing a picture of the eyes. Dawn thought it was because he
only had one eye himself and felt the need to compensate. She would laugh
hysterically as he tried to hit her and pretended to miss because of his
lack of depth perception. It was a little joke between them. Giles told him
they were wonderful eyes and showed a wealth of intelligence. Willow had
looked at Jessie's eyes, looked at his eyes, looked back at hers and said
they were his eyes, he had passed them onto his daughter. He'd smiled, it
was a huge compliment, but he knew it wasn't true. He didn't have eyes like
that. He couldn't, those eyes were too good for him.
Seven times seven years later he was almost eighty and drifting. Doctors
whispered, Dhani sobbed quietly on a seat near the door, Dawn wrenched her
hands from Buffy's super strong grip, Willow chanted a safety spell and
Jessie clutched his hands. Almost everyone he'd ever loved was here. Giles
had died a while ago, but there was a picture of him on the bedside table.
He carried it with him everywhere, usually in his wallet along with pictures
of Jessie. Everything was peaceful, he wasn't scared. Especially when he
looked around and saw those people who had made his life so happy. It was a
life of laughter, usually induced by his antics. Just before he went, he
stared into Jessie's eyes for the last time. Even filled with tears they
brought a smile to his face. They were just like those eyes he hadn't seen
for so long, but remembered so well. He remembered those other eyes crying,
but mainly he remembered them smiling. He felt that ever present ache for
those eyes that Jessie had managed to reduce for all these years, and smiled
again.
He was going to her now, the original owner of those brilliant eyes.
As Jessie held his hands she lent her elbow heavily on the bedside table.
Suddenly it slipped and she fell to the ground with a bump. She hurriedly
stood up, her face a bit red. No one was laughing, but a few smirks could be
seen playing on their lips.
"That's my girl, always doing the stupid thing." With that, he was gone.
Jessie kept holding his hand, and stroked his shut eyelids for one last
time, the way he'd always stroked hers as she slept. She'd always known he'd
loved her eyes.
Cleveland General Cemetery was his final resting place. Giles' grave was
there. New ones for Tara and Joyce had been erected too. He had a simple
headstone: Xander LaVelle Harris, 1981- 2061, Beloved father, adored wife,
loyal friend and brave super hero. Every Tuesday Jessie would place a
bouquet of flowers on the grave. There was only one grave near him, with the
most beautiful name she'd ever seen. It was a woman's grave, someone she
didn't know. It'd been there for longer than her father's, so vines were
gently creeping over it, gorgeous wild roses blossoming in the early summer.
Jessie could still read the name though, and rolled the sound over her
tongue, sometimes saying it aloud. Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins- Harris.
It sounded musical, a little foreign and a tad odd, but beautiful all the
same. For some reason, the name comforted her and felt familiar. Maybe her
dad was with Anya now, Jessie thought with a smile. Afterall, they shared a
last name and that had to mean *something*, right? Maybe they were heaven
friends and he was making her laugh the way he always managed to make
everyone laugh. Maybe he was telling Anya proudly about his daughter's
beautiful eyes. Jessie got up and went home, deciding to bring Anya a
bouquet of flowers next time she came.
Author's Note: Yeah, I kinda changed the last thing Xander says, cos I wasn't too happy with it before. Please review!
DISCLAIMER: Well everyone knows I don't own Buffy. or do I? Yes, I now go by the name Joss Whedon. Go Joss, he's soooo cool. So yeah, I don't own the characters. Except for Jessie and Dhani.
SPOILERS: Sort of 'Chosen', I guess. Yeah, probably 'Chosen'. If you haven't seen that, I wouldn't read this.
It was her eyes that showed the resemblance between them, only her eyes.
They were so much like the other eyes, the eyes that were warm and brown, as
deep and rich as Swiss chocolate, they pulled him until he felt like he was
surrounded by a huge, velvety pillow. Every time she laughed, they would
sparkle, and her anger brought out that identical glint he remembered so
well. Looking at him softly when he brought her an unexpected present,
melting like chocolate in a baby's mouth, dripping down and covering the
rest of the face. Sometimes they would be laughing, even when her mouth
wasn't. Laughing at him, usually, because she'd done something, most likely
said something to embarrass him. She knew he wasn't really embarrassed, he
wouldn't have her any other way, and he could see this knowledge in her
eyes.
But those eyes were gone now, and he had these new ones to lose himself in.
He would never get sick of looking deep into those pools as they explored
the world and drank in everything they saw. Every day she learnt something
new and he would see the amazement in her eyes. She'd always been clever,
but he could only imagine how much her brain stored.
"Da-da?"
"Yes Jessie?"
"Pick me up." And he would pick her up, sit her on his knee and tell her
stories for hours. She liked the ones about violence most. Always had, she
must take after him. Blood made her squeal in excitement and decapitation
earned him one of her tinkling laughs and some exuberant clapping. He found
his imagination had only become stronger since story time had started. Then
were the stories that didn't require imagination, just memory. It didn't
matter, he remembered those seven years of Hellmouth-y goodness perfectly.
Jessie would always end up asleep in his arms. Clinging tightly to his
fingers, often sucking them fervently in her little mouth. Violence put her
to sleep better than anything else. By her sleepy laughs, he was sure she
dreamed about it too. He would never move her. He would just watch her,
especially her shut eyelids - tracing his fingers along them, feeling the
velvety soft skin and remembering those other eyes he'd loved.
Those nights with Jessie asleep in his lap were his nights for remembering.
He remembered his wedding to Dhani. Seven years after Sunnydale. Funny, his
life seemed to be divided into sevens. Two years old: He had fallen off the
swings in the playground and been fixed up by a kind girl with red hair
called Willow, who just happened to have a bottle of bettadeine and a packet
of bandaids in her pocket. Nine years old: Realised his gang was lacking
something - manliness, and asked Jesse to be his joint best friend with
Willow. Sixteen years old: Met Buffy and become a slayerette. Twenty three
years old: left the ruins of his childhood home behind him, along with his
parents, and moved to Cleveland with Willow, Giles, Buffy and Dawn. Thirty
years old: Married Dhani and had his daughter, Jessie.
Sometimes Dhani would ask him why he loved Jessie's eyes. She didn't demand
an answer, she was genuinely interested. Her own eyes were clear and blue,
navy rims encircling them. They were beautiful, and he often wondered why
Jessie hadn't inherited them from her mother.
***They're unique, Dhani. They're a product of you and I, and no one else in
the world has eyes like that. ***
She always accepted this happily, agreed with it because she'd never seen
anyone with eyes like her daughter Jessie. He liked making her happy in that
way, it made him feel warm inside, it didn't matter if it wasn't true.
Everyone should be able to love those eyes. Buffy asked too, every time she
caught him drawing a picture of the eyes. Dawn thought it was because he
only had one eye himself and felt the need to compensate. She would laugh
hysterically as he tried to hit her and pretended to miss because of his
lack of depth perception. It was a little joke between them. Giles told him
they were wonderful eyes and showed a wealth of intelligence. Willow had
looked at Jessie's eyes, looked at his eyes, looked back at hers and said
they were his eyes, he had passed them onto his daughter. He'd smiled, it
was a huge compliment, but he knew it wasn't true. He didn't have eyes like
that. He couldn't, those eyes were too good for him.
Seven times seven years later he was almost eighty and drifting. Doctors
whispered, Dhani sobbed quietly on a seat near the door, Dawn wrenched her
hands from Buffy's super strong grip, Willow chanted a safety spell and
Jessie clutched his hands. Almost everyone he'd ever loved was here. Giles
had died a while ago, but there was a picture of him on the bedside table.
He carried it with him everywhere, usually in his wallet along with pictures
of Jessie. Everything was peaceful, he wasn't scared. Especially when he
looked around and saw those people who had made his life so happy. It was a
life of laughter, usually induced by his antics. Just before he went, he
stared into Jessie's eyes for the last time. Even filled with tears they
brought a smile to his face. They were just like those eyes he hadn't seen
for so long, but remembered so well. He remembered those other eyes crying,
but mainly he remembered them smiling. He felt that ever present ache for
those eyes that Jessie had managed to reduce for all these years, and smiled
again.
He was going to her now, the original owner of those brilliant eyes.
As Jessie held his hands she lent her elbow heavily on the bedside table.
Suddenly it slipped and she fell to the ground with a bump. She hurriedly
stood up, her face a bit red. No one was laughing, but a few smirks could be
seen playing on their lips.
"That's my girl, always doing the stupid thing." With that, he was gone.
Jessie kept holding his hand, and stroked his shut eyelids for one last
time, the way he'd always stroked hers as she slept. She'd always known he'd
loved her eyes.
Cleveland General Cemetery was his final resting place. Giles' grave was
there. New ones for Tara and Joyce had been erected too. He had a simple
headstone: Xander LaVelle Harris, 1981- 2061, Beloved father, adored wife,
loyal friend and brave super hero. Every Tuesday Jessie would place a
bouquet of flowers on the grave. There was only one grave near him, with the
most beautiful name she'd ever seen. It was a woman's grave, someone she
didn't know. It'd been there for longer than her father's, so vines were
gently creeping over it, gorgeous wild roses blossoming in the early summer.
Jessie could still read the name though, and rolled the sound over her
tongue, sometimes saying it aloud. Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins- Harris.
It sounded musical, a little foreign and a tad odd, but beautiful all the
same. For some reason, the name comforted her and felt familiar. Maybe her
dad was with Anya now, Jessie thought with a smile. Afterall, they shared a
last name and that had to mean *something*, right? Maybe they were heaven
friends and he was making her laugh the way he always managed to make
everyone laugh. Maybe he was telling Anya proudly about his daughter's
beautiful eyes. Jessie got up and went home, deciding to bring Anya a
bouquet of flowers next time she came.
Author's Note: Yeah, I kinda changed the last thing Xander says, cos I wasn't too happy with it before. Please review!