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Wordsmith
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She'd said yes. She'd said yes; when they were alone together, dreading the inevitable and he'd stammered out his graceless proposal. It hadn't been how he'd planned it. He knew better than to wait for the perfect moment. Life on the Hellmouth had taught him that love and the people you loved were too important to wait for everything to be perfect to tell them how you felt. But he had hoped for a lull in the action - maybe not moonlight and roses but some breathing space, just a spot of serenity, without a hell god trying to not only kill them, but also to destroy the world. With Glory and Dawn and, *oh God* Joyce.... And hadn't he tried to explain - looking into Anya's troubled eyes - that no, there isn't a handbook on life. Not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to feel, feeling too much, feeling you're not feeling enough, being confused, being frustrated, desperate to hold on but afraid to want, need, love because it slips away, people slip away like sand gripped in a tightly fisted hand, but he couldn't. Couldn't find the words. Couldn't voice his thoughts. So he held her, trying with his body to say all the things he wanted to say. Say he needed her. That she wasn't the only one who was confused, scared, doubting life, fighting the persistent slide into inertia which seemed to embrace every adult he knew. How could he explain what it meant to be human when he hadn't figured it out for himself yet? The helplessness - the flat out risk of loving and living - of letting someone close enough to hurt you, when the simple truth was that they would; no matter what they did or how they tried, just by being, they offered up potential and inevitable pain. How did he tell her it was worth the pain, now that he was being to doubt it himself.
They had all been going full tilt. Ever since Glory had first kicked Buffy's ass with her size six designer stilettos, they hadn't marshalled a single offensive move. They'd lost ground length by length. Glory had confronted Buffy in her own house and they had actually packed up and run, not that it had done any good. Glory had Dawn, and desperately, grasping at straws, they had thrown everything they had at her. The seven of them who had stumbled into the magic shop in the gray morning light were as much in shock at being alive and that there was still a world to be on as they were at the loss of the Slayer. Spike had ceased sobbing, and hadn't that been disturbing. Xander wasn't sure if he was bothered more by the sight of one of the fiercest creatures he knew being wracked by open and obvious grief or the guilt he felt for the way he had misinterpreted the nature and depth of the vampire's feelings for Buffy.
Dawn, still in her sacrificial wear, looked like an enchanted princess in a fairy tale. She sat in one of the chairs at the research table, remote and unmoving, her eyes focused on nothing as tears streamed down her face. She was eerily quiet, not a sob or a sniffle breaking her silent heartache. Willow fussed over Tara and flitted about the room checking on Giles and Dawn, anything to keep moving and to keep from thinking about how much they had all lost. Xander set Anya on the research table and knelt down in front of her. He took her ankle in both hands. He was examining it for swelling when she jerked it back and said, "No!"
"What? Honey, it's sprained. We should..." he trailed off looking at her. She was shaking her head from one side to the other as she sobbed out another soft 'no'. He realized how he looked to her, down on one knee. She thought he was proposing again. But why didn't that make her look happy, and why did she say....?
"No, Xander... I can't. I know after the Ascension, when I came back.....I...."
she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and looked away.
"Anya? Cupcake?" That usually made her laugh. They had watched an
Ally McBeal episode where Ling had given her approval for pet names only if
they were based on food. He had spent the rest of that evening going through
the Hostess and Dolly Madison product lines while he nibbled on Anya to make
her shriek and giggle.
"I...Xander....Buffy's the Slayer, I'm not...I meant it, you know, you really are a good boyfriend." She forced a smile while sniffing and widening her eyes in a failed attempt to stop her tears.
"You're not making any sense. I don't..." Before he could finish she stood, favoring her bad ankle but looking up at him with her frank brown eyes which had always before grounded him but now just added to his confusion. "
I'm sorry. I.....I have to go." She left the shop, the bell ringing as she exited. He took a step to follow her, but stopped. It was daylight, she was safe. This was all too much for him and for her. He would give her time, and give himself time. They could talk later. She would go home and take a shower, get some sleep, and make more sense later. Right now, he should take care of his friends. He smiled at the thought that the term 'friends' now included Spike, but if that was what Buffy wanted, well then, so be it. The smile felt unnatural on his face; in just the past hour the whole world - *his* whole world - had changed and it would never be the same again. He hadn't felt this empty, this lost, since Jesse had died. When that had happened he had had the luxury of disbelief. There had been someone to hold off the monsters while he dealt with the consequences of a changed worldview. No more. Buffy had been the guardian at the gate; without her they were going to have to pull themselves together, clean up Glory's mess and patrol for the usual Hellmouth activity.
* * * * *
It was late when he got home. He'd left Dawn with Giles. Giles, Willow and he had talked quietly in the practice room while Tara had tried to get Dawn to drink some tea. She had said Dawn need something hot inside her to combat the shock. Xander figured Tara knew what to do, but thought Spike quietly taking Dawn's hand calling her 'nibblet' had more to do with stopping the tears than the tea. He was exhausted. Being grown up and discussing Dawn's custody now that her only 'relative' was an absentee father, whom she remembered but had never met, was not something for which he was prepared. Another hushed conversation with Willow about how they were going to take care of Giles and Spike in the aftermath of losing Buffy just made him feel old. His apartment wasn't overly large. It took only moments for him to check every room and determine Anya wasn't there. He really hadn't expected her to go to her place. He started to phone her, then on second thought picked his keys up from the table and left.
Minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of her building. Her car wasn't in its usual spot but he went up to her floor, taking the stairs two at a time. He let himself in, turned on the lights and quickly headed for the bedroom. Drawers were open and empty, the closet door stood wide. The pictures she kept on the dresser were gone, all her make-up and toiletries were gone, everything was gone. There was no sign of a struggle. His heart was screaming that something had taken her. Surprisingly, his brain was calm. *You always knew this would happen, she's not a demon any more, no right-thinking person would stay here, and live this life.* After pacing around the apartment and checking to see if there was any sign of where she went, or at least a note - something - he stopped in the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He took out the carton of pineapple juice and leaned back against the closed refrigerator door feeling numb. He slid down to the floor, wishing he had the strength for tears but so much had happened he just couldn't. Couldn't think, couldn't cry, couldn't imagine the future without her.
He shook the carton, removed the screw top and drank straight out of it. He riffled though his pockets and pulled out the ring. He had bought it the day after Riley left. All that time, carrying it around, waiting for the world to be safe enough for two people to be in love. He had daydreamed often about a simple ceremony, had planned to ask Joyce if they could have it in her garden. He would ask Willow to stand up for him. He figured Giles would walk Anya down the aisle, Buffy would be her maid-of-honor, and Dawn would have been the flower girl. Everyone he loved would have been part of the happiest day of his life. The tears finally came.
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