Disclaimer: Still not mine, though I wish they were because then I'd live off the royalties.
Post-"Not Fade Away"
Chapter Two: Xander
He watches her grief. Her quiet weeping has given way to a long, keening wail that pierces the stillness of early morning.
He stands frozen, wanting to offer comfort, but uncertain in how to do so. His disapproval has been a constant over the years, and he knows she will sense it there still. He knows she will feel his anger because once again, she is broken because of him.
So he waits.
He has never understood why she clung so desperately to Angel. Giles had called it "rather poetic, in a maudlin sort of way".
He laughs, jagged and harsh. What had followed had been anything but poetry.
The tragedies of the following years had tested his endurance, and strained his acceptance of her actions regarding him.
Him.
Why did everything always seem to come back to Angel? It always had, and seemingly, always would.
He glimpses the sunrise, noticing it for the first time, and a sense of surrealism washes over him. The union of death and emerging day unsettles him.
He doesn't want to acknowledge this gift. His pride doesn't want to allow him to comprehend the magnitude of Angel's accomplishment.
No longer would there be demons to fight, or vampires to slay. Violent death—such a given for so many years—would no longer hold them in its iron grip. Somehow, Angel had accomplished the impossible, something an army of Slayers would never have dreamed to be possible.
They were free.
He gazes at the sky above him, and is struck by what he feels building inside of him.
His gaze drifts back to Buffy. He realizes now how to offer her comfort—the only kind he can give.
He whispers it to a changed world.
"Thank you".