Do you know how much I would like to be credited for Buffy and friends? But since that's not going to happen, because I didn't create them, I have for my enjoyment and yours made up this little fic.
Part One
Alexander Harris, the nickname Xander had been replaced many years ago, pulled up to his childhood house in a black Lexus. The twenty-eight year old hadn’t been back home since he abruptly left Sunnydale at high school graduation. He sat in the car, inhaling the smell of leather, and suddenly a wave of nausea swept over him.
“What the hell am I doing here,” he said to himself. Alexander leaned forward so that his head rested on the wheel of the car. He suddenly jerked his head up, slamming his fist into the dash, the resolve he had used to make this journey quickly leaving him. He was nervous, who wouldn’t be. He was revisiting the most trying and challenging time in anyone’s life, high school. He reached into the back seat and pulled out his medical bag, and a carry all. He opened the car door, and slammed it shut. Dr. Harris strode up his walkway and fumbled for the house keys in his pocket. Before he could even the place the keys in his door, his eighteen-year-old sister bounded through it.
“Hey Xanderella, we’ve got the old room all set up and everything, Courtney and I cleaned all day for you, and then she had to go out and do that whole ‘stabbing-of-bloodsucker-thing’.”
Xander smiled weakly as his sister, Stephie, dragged him up the stairs, towards his not-so-forgotten-past.
Willow sighed in pleasure as her husband trailed kisses down her neck and across the rose tattooed on her shoulder blade.
“Mmm… Oz,” she cooed, “I can’t believe that we’re going back. I never thought that I’d *ever* go back there.”
“Just think about, it this way, my most willowy Willow,” he said, as he smiled, rubbing her not-yet-showing stomach, “high school is where we met.” Oz punctuated this thought with more kisses.
“Well, since you put it that way…”
Willow, had changed considerably in the last ten years. Her trademark long hair had been cropped short, and the aforementioned tattoo had been placed on her shoulder, not to mention the pregnancy. It was a wonder that she and Oz had been able to, you know, do the whole conception thing, while he toured and she practiced law. That was another change about our dear hacker. She had found in herself the strength that was hidden somewhere behind her shyness. She had pursued her law degree at Stanford while Oz had pursued his musical career and her.
She was excited, to be going back, to see Buffy, even Cordelia, and especially Xander. They had all lost touch with each other after graduation and after what happened with Giles. A tear began to fall from her cheek, but Oz wiped it away with the understanding of what was going through her head.
“Shh,” he whispered, “the high school won’t be the only thing that we’ll visit this weekend.”
Cordelia Chase hugged the little girl in her office, if you could call it that, there was basically only a shabby desk with an equally shabby chair, but the walls were adorned with children’s crayon drawings, and inspirational quotes, posted up all over. There were flowers everywhere and the sunniest spot in the whole room radiated from Cordelia herself.
“I’ll see you next week, all right pumpkin,” Cordelia called out to the departing child.
“Bye, Miss Chase, thanks!”
The only reminder from her past life was the high school diploma hanging from the wall. The designer clothes were gone, only her beauty remained, heightened by the knowledge that she was doing something worthwhile in her life. She sat for a moment at her desk, staring at the diploma on the wall, thinking about what had happened with her life after graduation. She had gone to Berkeley, with mostly her father’s help, and was set to pursue a career in motivational speaking, when one night in the rain she had stumbled upon a young girl around ten, drenched to the bone, hiding in a doorway. The girl, Leah, had come from a broken home, with an alcoholic father, a slut mother, and a brother who was deeply involved in gang life. After a night of her father’s abuse, Leah had run away into the arms of Cordelia. For once in her life, Cordelia had used the Chase name for the powers of good, and had gained legal guardian rights of Leah. She took care of her, and even cried when sending her off to the East for college at Vanderbilt.
Helping others, gave Cordelia a sense of satisfaction, so she dropped her major, and started to work toward a degree in psychiatry. She had started her own grass roots clinic, to help runaways find housing or a job or even just a friend, once she got out of college, using donations from her father and his associates.
She sighed, and took the glasses perched on her nose off, and rubbed her eyes. Running her hands through her shoulder length brown hair, she placed her feet on the desk, leaned backwards and closed her eyes, a smile spreading across her face.
“There is no way I’m going to miss this weekend.”
Buffy Summers perused the newspaper, devouring it everyday as was her wont. Her morbidity getting the best of her, she read over the obituaries, looking for familiar names. Her eyes skimmed down the page, when she spotted a reminder of the past.
“For my darling Rupert, my love for you will never be replaced, until we meet again, your forever faithful, Jenny,” read Buffy aloud. She started to shake uncontrollably with sobs wrenching through her body. She didn’t even notice when her perpetual boyfriend came out of the shower a towel around his lower half. He wrapped his arms around her, and turned her in the chair, so that she was facing him. He took of her reading glasses, and took the paper out of her hands, which by this time was crumpled into a wad.
“Angel,” she cried, “it happened this weekend.”
“I know, I know,” he said softly.
There was nothing Angel could do, so he just tried to be comforting, as Buffy buried her head into his shoulder. It still unnerved him to see Buffy crying. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it managed to shake him to his core. He got scared when she cried, in the back of his mind there remained a image of her being a pinnacle of strength, never faltering. He blinked away his fear, and looked Buffy in the eye.
“It’s not your fault, honey, it’s not your fault.”
Buffy stared back at him, searching for something she wasn’t quite sure of. She gave up this search which had started ten years ago, and collapsed into his arms. Angel picked Buffy up and carried her to their bed, she was already asleep, laid her down on the bed and pulled the covers up over her. He sighed, ran his hands through his hair, and sat on the ground at the end of the bed. This weekend always came hard, expectedly unexpected. He hated to see her this way, he got up and looked at her, scrutinizing every detail of her face. She hadn’t changed much over ten years. Her face was gorgeous as ever, with her remarkably angled nose and mischievous smile, but there was an added maturity, that showed in her eyes, and her smile. She had thwarted threat after threat, from vampires or other evils, but being twenty-eight and having done this slaying thing for a little over twelve years she had begun to feel the toll on her body. That was why she had started to train a new Slayer. She was a spunky little thing, her name was Courtney, and she looked up to Buffy like a big sister. Their watcher did double time, taking care of both Slayers, which left him always a little frazzled. His name was Craig, and no matter how much Buffy had tried not to like him, she ended up loving him almost as much as Giles, although once in a while she would compare the two.
Angel walked over to the fridge, opened it, frowned, then closed it again. This weekend was Buffy’s high school reunion. She hadn’t even gone to her own graduation, the school had sent her diploma in the mail. He felt that she would benefit immensely from going to the reunion, and he hoped that a visit from some old friends might do something to help her state of mind. Maybe, they could even get her to go back.
Miss Calendar sat in her home, crying as she saw her remembrance in the paper, she put one in every year. She, too, would be attending the tenth reunion of the class of 1999, it would almost be the tenth anniversary of Rupert’s death. She had continued to teach her computer course at school, generating happiness from the kids. Her course was a favorite among the students and she was always held after class by the kids asking questions or telling her what happened that weekend. She always felt a little pang in her heart when they talked about their boyfriends or girlfriends, but she had made the choice to see no one after Giles had passed. She continued to be an aide to the new Watcher, although like Buffy, she sometimes made unconscious comparisons between the two.
She poured herself a cup of coffee, but quickly dumped it out when she found that she couldn’t stomach anything. She crawled into her bed and curled up in her covers, quickly falling asleep, haunted by dreams of her and Rupert that had been both a blessing and a plague for ten years.
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