Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or their histories. Duh.
Xander knew he would have to go back eventually. Willow and Buffy were probably worried about him. Probably furious too. Anya...well, he didn't even want to think about what she was going through. Or what she would do to him. Whatever it was, it couldn't be worse than what he was doing to himself. The last few days, holed up in this crappy motel room, he had just gone over the events of the wedding that wasn't over and over. At the time he had seemed so sure that he was doing the right thing, but now...he wasn't sure of anything anymore.
The first night he arrived here (his wedding night, spent alone, quintessential Xander—Cordy could have predicted it) he dreamed about Anya. What a shock. They had gone through with the wedding, and were on their way to the reception, in a car with no windows, just mirrors, covering the sides, the ceiling, and the floor. The strange thing was he couldn't see his reflection. Anya was reflected everywhere he looked, but something was wrong with her face; it was all veiny and red. Somehow this didn't surprise him. Suddenly, he realized. He must be a vampire. But Anya was the demon, not him.
"You sure about that, Harris?" she asked him, pointing towards the floor, and suddenly there he was, beneath his feet, and all around him, he realized as he looked up. "Look closer, Harris," she half-growled at him. He squinted, then gasped as he realized what she was pointing out. It wasn't him reflected there in the tux, holding her hand. It was his father.
He woke up after that, not sitting up and gasping, but slowly. It didn't take Freud to figure out what that meant. Even his dreams were simple and predictable.
Xander stayed at the motel for a week, and then, realizing he had to get back to work, he packed up his stuff and headed back to Sunnydale. It took so much effort just to get back into town, that he figured he needed a break first before going to see everyone. He dropped his stuff at his apartment, coward that he was, hoping Anya wouldn't be there, which she wasn't. Then he headed toward the bar to drown his sorrows. Not the Bronze; they might be there.
He was on his way, passing by the Espresso Pump when he noticed Tara sitting at one of the outer tables, studying. He was considering pretending he hadn't seen her, when she looked up and caught his eye. It was too late to pretend now, so he made his way over to her.
"Hey, Tara," he said, smiling sheepishly, and avoiding eye contact.
"Hey. Glad you're back. Everyone was worried."
"Yeah, sorry about that. I just had to get away, you know?"
"I do," she replied, and her tone told him that she really did.
"I guess you would. Buffy, Willow, I don't think they could understand."
"I don't see why you would think that. I mean, Willow told me about Buffy running away back in high school, and Willow, I mean, what else is the magic about, if not running away from herself?"
Xander was finally able to meet her eyes. Tara was an easy person to ignore. Not intentionally, of course, but she was quiet, not especially funny. But Xander was starting to realize that Tara knew Willow, knew them all, maybe better than they knew themselves. Maybe that's what being quiet did. Xander wouldn't know. "I like the quiet," he had said a long time ago. What a lie. Because in the quiet he was alone with himself.
"In case you forgot, I ran away from Anya, not myself." Another lie. He didn't even have to think about lying, it was so automatic. It was probably that way with everyone. Well, except Anya, maybe.
"Right. Of course," she answered in a voice that betrayed her obvious disbelief.
"Well, I guess you could be right. But even if you are, could you blame me? You saw my family. You know now what I am, what's inside of me. If I married her...who knows what I could become."
"Xander," she said softly, surprised at his sudden outburst, "of course you could become that. We all could. But the point is that as easy as it would be to be that way, to be who everyone expects you to be, you aren't. You're brave, and you're kind, and those are two of the hardest things to be."
He was flattered that she would say such things, but he still found it hard to believe them. "No offense Tara, but I don't really think you understand—"
"I don't understand? Have you forgotten a certain little demon-masking incident? I grew up thinking I had a demon inside of me that I couldn't control. But I didn't. I believed it so long that it was hard to think of myself as a person, a good person. But fighting with Willow, you, everyone...I know now that I'm strong, and I'm the only one who controls my life. Even if there were a demon in me, I could handle it."
"Gee, thanks Dr. Phil, but I seem to recall you running away from Willow, who you supposedly love." His words came out much harsher than he intended them to, but weeks of seeing his best friend in pain had gotten to him. "Look, Tara, I didn't mean it like that, it's just, Willow's always been there for you, and..."
She looked down, her hair falling over her eyes. "I know that. Everyday I fight with myself about whether I should go back there. But if I cave, Willow would give in, I just know it. And that wouldn't be good for anyone. A few years ago, I wouldn't have left. But now I know it's the right thing."
"So running away's the right thing for you, but the wrong thing for me?" Even as he said it, Xander knew it was true. "Yeah, alright, you don't have to answer that."
Tara smiled. "Good luck."
"Thanks," he replied, getting up. "And listen, sorry about—"
"It's fine."
Xander left the Espresso Pump, but instead of continuing along his earlier path, he turned towards Revello Drive. He was going to be okay.
Xander knew he would have to go back eventually. Willow and Buffy were probably worried about him. Probably furious too. Anya...well, he didn't even want to think about what she was going through. Or what she would do to him. Whatever it was, it couldn't be worse than what he was doing to himself. The last few days, holed up in this crappy motel room, he had just gone over the events of the wedding that wasn't over and over. At the time he had seemed so sure that he was doing the right thing, but now...he wasn't sure of anything anymore.
The first night he arrived here (his wedding night, spent alone, quintessential Xander—Cordy could have predicted it) he dreamed about Anya. What a shock. They had gone through with the wedding, and were on their way to the reception, in a car with no windows, just mirrors, covering the sides, the ceiling, and the floor. The strange thing was he couldn't see his reflection. Anya was reflected everywhere he looked, but something was wrong with her face; it was all veiny and red. Somehow this didn't surprise him. Suddenly, he realized. He must be a vampire. But Anya was the demon, not him.
"You sure about that, Harris?" she asked him, pointing towards the floor, and suddenly there he was, beneath his feet, and all around him, he realized as he looked up. "Look closer, Harris," she half-growled at him. He squinted, then gasped as he realized what she was pointing out. It wasn't him reflected there in the tux, holding her hand. It was his father.
He woke up after that, not sitting up and gasping, but slowly. It didn't take Freud to figure out what that meant. Even his dreams were simple and predictable.
Xander stayed at the motel for a week, and then, realizing he had to get back to work, he packed up his stuff and headed back to Sunnydale. It took so much effort just to get back into town, that he figured he needed a break first before going to see everyone. He dropped his stuff at his apartment, coward that he was, hoping Anya wouldn't be there, which she wasn't. Then he headed toward the bar to drown his sorrows. Not the Bronze; they might be there.
He was on his way, passing by the Espresso Pump when he noticed Tara sitting at one of the outer tables, studying. He was considering pretending he hadn't seen her, when she looked up and caught his eye. It was too late to pretend now, so he made his way over to her.
"Hey, Tara," he said, smiling sheepishly, and avoiding eye contact.
"Hey. Glad you're back. Everyone was worried."
"Yeah, sorry about that. I just had to get away, you know?"
"I do," she replied, and her tone told him that she really did.
"I guess you would. Buffy, Willow, I don't think they could understand."
"I don't see why you would think that. I mean, Willow told me about Buffy running away back in high school, and Willow, I mean, what else is the magic about, if not running away from herself?"
Xander was finally able to meet her eyes. Tara was an easy person to ignore. Not intentionally, of course, but she was quiet, not especially funny. But Xander was starting to realize that Tara knew Willow, knew them all, maybe better than they knew themselves. Maybe that's what being quiet did. Xander wouldn't know. "I like the quiet," he had said a long time ago. What a lie. Because in the quiet he was alone with himself.
"In case you forgot, I ran away from Anya, not myself." Another lie. He didn't even have to think about lying, it was so automatic. It was probably that way with everyone. Well, except Anya, maybe.
"Right. Of course," she answered in a voice that betrayed her obvious disbelief.
"Well, I guess you could be right. But even if you are, could you blame me? You saw my family. You know now what I am, what's inside of me. If I married her...who knows what I could become."
"Xander," she said softly, surprised at his sudden outburst, "of course you could become that. We all could. But the point is that as easy as it would be to be that way, to be who everyone expects you to be, you aren't. You're brave, and you're kind, and those are two of the hardest things to be."
He was flattered that she would say such things, but he still found it hard to believe them. "No offense Tara, but I don't really think you understand—"
"I don't understand? Have you forgotten a certain little demon-masking incident? I grew up thinking I had a demon inside of me that I couldn't control. But I didn't. I believed it so long that it was hard to think of myself as a person, a good person. But fighting with Willow, you, everyone...I know now that I'm strong, and I'm the only one who controls my life. Even if there were a demon in me, I could handle it."
"Gee, thanks Dr. Phil, but I seem to recall you running away from Willow, who you supposedly love." His words came out much harsher than he intended them to, but weeks of seeing his best friend in pain had gotten to him. "Look, Tara, I didn't mean it like that, it's just, Willow's always been there for you, and..."
She looked down, her hair falling over her eyes. "I know that. Everyday I fight with myself about whether I should go back there. But if I cave, Willow would give in, I just know it. And that wouldn't be good for anyone. A few years ago, I wouldn't have left. But now I know it's the right thing."
"So running away's the right thing for you, but the wrong thing for me?" Even as he said it, Xander knew it was true. "Yeah, alright, you don't have to answer that."
Tara smiled. "Good luck."
"Thanks," he replied, getting up. "And listen, sorry about—"
"It's fine."
Xander left the Espresso Pump, but instead of continuing along his earlier path, he turned towards Revello Drive. He was going to be okay.