Coming Back To Life Is Hard: Why Paris?
by inlovewithangel
Xander sat at the café, flipping his cell phone open every once in a while to check the time. I watched from across the cobble stone street, taking in everything about him. His build was slightly bigger than I remember. His black hair a little longer. He had explained to me, during our one conversation, about his eye. How it had been damaged when some preacher from Hell stuck his thumb into it. How he’d worn a patch over it for a long time, until Willow found a spell that would re-grow it. The brown orbs were once again intact, although the magical one’s vision was left a little blurry. The wire rimmed glasses he sported suited him.

When I spoke to him on the phone, he sounded tired. A little sad, I suppose, but it is to be expected. She died, and a part of him died with her. I’m sorry I never really got to feel that love up close, because it sounded beautiful. She took my place, in more ways than one, or so Willow told me. I don’t know if I believe it. If I died, would that same mournful tone sound in his voice? A few years ago, maybe, but now? I doubt it. I smiled slightly when I remembered I did die, to most anyway.

I watched him for a long time. The way he sighed at my tardiness and smiled at the slim Parisian girls who cast flirty glances at him. He brushed his dark hair out of his eyes every now and again, looking around, and I was careful to step into the shadows every time he did. I called the meeting; I don’t know what made me stay away for so long. He brought out emotions in me: insecurities, pain of betrayals, loneliness that I thought disappeared after my first year in the City of Angels. Oh, how wrong I was. It’s funny how much things can change and remain unchanged at the same time.

After about twenty minutes of him sipping his coffee and flipping open the phone, he gathered his things and stood, leaving an assortment of Euro coins on the table. My breath caught in my throat as I realized I had to go to him, or my chance would be lost forever.

I moved swiftly across the busy street. I didn’t call to him; my voice seemed to have left me. He had taken two steps, when I reached him, and it was then that I touched his elbow. He turned, his blank expression turning to a classically Xander grin as he took me in.

“Cordelia,” he said.

My name struck me as foreign to my ears: it had been months since anyone had pronounced it to me. “Hi, Xander,” I whispered to him, as he collected me into a hug. I laughed as my arms wrapped around him, and it was only when I saw the tears land on his jacket that I realized I was also crying.

He pulled away, and led me to the table he had just vacated. I sat down and he gestured to the waiter, who swept in immediately.

“Deux autres, Monsieur, s’il vous plaît,” he told him, and my eyebrows rose. He glanced at me. “What? I paid attention in class more than you think.”

I smiled. “How are you?”

Xander’s goofy grin faded and he shrugged. “I’m okay, I guess. This last year has been tough… but good.” He searched my face. “And you, Cordelia? You have to understand, I’m a little foggy on the details of why we’re meeting in Paris, and why I’m not supposed to tell anyone. Oh yeah, and why everyone else thinks you’re dead.” He pronounced the last phrase flatly.

I winced. “It’s… complicated, Xander.”

“I’m sure it is, Cordy, but you asked me to come. I’m thinking it wasn’t all about playing catch up.” He looked at me, and his expression softened. “Listen. I’m not trying to be malicious here. But… Angel called, and you were dead… and I freaked out. And then you called, and you weren’t dead, and I freaked out even worse. So, when I ask for an explanation, I don’t think I’m being unfair.”

I sighed. He wasn’t, of course. I did call him, and I did ask him to come. But trying to explain something I wasn’t even sure I understood myself wasn’t going to be easy. “The story is long. And complicated. And has lots of the kind of annoying plot twists that neither of us could ever wrap our heads around when we were reading novels in high school.” I looked at him. “You game?”

Xander accepted the two coffees from the waiter, and with a whispered, “Merci,” set them down in front of us. He looked back up to me. “Cordy, I have never been more ‘game’ in my entire life,” he told me, and I smiled.

“You know I was in a coma, right?” I asked him softly, and he nodded. “The how and why isn’t important, really, because that’s a whole, longer, different, story that I’m not gonna go into. Anyways, the coma… it was a lot of downtime… to think, you know? And I realized a whole lot of stuff. Like, if I ever woke up, which I knew—just knew—that I was going to, I realized I didn’t want to work for Angel anymore.”

Xander’s lips parted slightly but he remained silent.

“So,” I continued, “I called in a favor. To the Powers. I astral projected to see what was up, who needed a little push in the right direction. And, I saw Angel, and I told him what he needed to do, and after that, I was even more certain that this wasn’t what I wanted to do. So, I—god, how rock star does this sound?—I faked my own death.” I took a sip of the coffee. “I know what your next question is going to be,” I said wryly. “A big fat ‘why’? I can give you some vague reasons, but that’s about it.”

“Sounds good,” Xander murmured, as he dropped a sugar cube into the hot, bitter liquid.

“I mentioned I had a lot of time to think. And I did. About Angel. I realized he could never fall in love with me the way I wanted him to—”

I paused as Xander sent coffee spraying across the table. “You… and Angel…?” he spluttered.

“Somewhat,” I responded softly, as I mopped up his mess with a disposable napkin.

Xander shook his head. “Why do all my girls fall in love with Dead Boy?” he mumbled, snorting.

A nice, soft sensation like cashmere against the skin lightly penetrated my body as he called me one of his “girls.”

He took a deep breath and made a circle gesture with his hand. “Go on,” he said.

“I realized Angel could never give me what I wanted. Mostly because he’s still in love with your stick figure of a best friend,” I snorted, pleased that the pain that used to follow that statement no longer stung me like needles to each one of my nerve endings.

Xander shrugged and nodded. “The Buffy and Angel saga,” he said, rolling his eyes. “So it continues…” he rubbed his face. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Go on.”

“But besides that…” I continued, “I just didn’t want to be vision girl anymore. Angel was working at Wolfram and Hart, (which, by the way, I’m so not down with) and he has this whole league of seers at his beckon call. And I was just exhausted. I’m twenty four, and it’s my turn to see things. I’ve never lived the way I really want to. The saving the world thing ‘one vision at a time’ was cool, for a while, but it was kind of imposed on me. I want to find my own way to save the world.”

Xander had been nodding, the whole time, at my speech, and it was only after I had been quiet for a few moments that he spoke. “But why the whole dead thing? Angel wasn’t holding you prisoner…” Xander’s eyes grew wide. “Was he?”

I smiled and shook my head.

Xander sighed and went on. “He would have let you go.”

I sighed and tossed my dark hair over my shoulder. “He would’ve wanted me to stay, and a part of me still loves him, so I would’ve. I don’t know.” I shrugged helplessly and lifted the big white cup to my lips, sipping.

“But…” Xander frowned. “Don’t you think you’re being a little selfish, Cor?” I was about to protest when he held up his hand. “I don’t mean about the seeing the world thing, because you’re right, you should. I mean about the faking of the death? Cordelia, people are feeling it hard. You’re important, and everyone thinks you’re gone. That’s not fair…”

I cast my eyes down to the small table. “It seemed like the easiest way at the time,” I murmured.

Xander shook his head. “Death is never easy, Cordelia. Not for the people who are left. To mourn. To grieve.” He looked away for a moment, before turning back to me. “And coming back to life is even harder.” He gave a bitter smile.

I sighed. “I know,” I whispered. “I’ve known for a while now. And I’ll tell them. I’ll tell them all…soon.” I swallowed and looked up at him. “I promise.”

Xander held up his hands as if to imply that this was my deal not his. He leaned back in his chair. “How about we take a momentary break from the story? Let me ask you a question Cordy.” He looked around, a smile on his lips, holding out his arms to the city. “Why Paris?”


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