Disclaimer: All BTVSness belongs to Joss Whedon, I am but a trespasser.
Most of them were resting, celebrating or recovering. Not these three. Xander looked over at Dawn as she read the names carved into the plaque he had made. Sadly there were incomplete names and misspelled names, yet all but two of the names had something in common. They had all died Slayers. The last two entries on the plaque had one name a piece, and neither had been Slayers. Spike and Anya
Andrew spoke for the first time in minutes. “Why didn’t you add Anya’s last name?”
Xander smiled slightly as he turned to look at Andrew. If Andrew didn’t notice that the smile looked forced and not at all like the Xander Harris who started this journey seven years ago he didn’t say anything. Yet when Xander felt Dawn’s hand slide into his own he felt some of the bitterness leave his face, and Andrew noticed that.
“To the best of my knowledge Anya never had a real last name, just the one she made up for paperwork and stuff.”
“Well,” Dawn spoke up in a chipper voice that sounded as forced as Xander’s smile had looked, “we can fix that.” She knelt down by the plaque and started rummaging through her small purse. She pulled out the stake Xander carved for her, then she pulled out her tazer and Xander took a large step backwards. “Oh,” she said softly quickly stuffing the tazer back into her purse. Andrew giggled at the interaction between the two of them, causing Xander to glare at him, which only made him laugh harder.
“Yeah,” Xander sighed,” I’m not intimidating at all, am I Da….” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He just stared in stunned silence. Beside Anya’s name in dark red lipstick was written HARRIS
“Is…that…ok?” Dawn asked quietly, obviously nervous about his response.
“Yeah Dawn, it’s ok.” The two friends embraced in a tight hug that felt perfect at the time. That is until Andrew threw his skinny arms around them both, sobbing uncontrollably. The two Scoobies just laughed and, each taking an arm, led the crying genius to the rented truck. “So I do all that work, with one eye even, and you put graffiti all over it. You miscreant.”
Dawn watched his face as he spoke. While climbing in the truck she saw it. For right at this moment his smile was back. She couldn’t help but smile in return. “Hey, this miscreant is the one who broke into the motel storage shed and borrowed the tools for you to carve it with,” She replied vehemently. “Besides, how do you know what miscreant means?”
“Giles taught me,” he answered. “ I got sick and tired of being insulted without knowing what he was saying.” The truck roared to life…barely. “Well since you did help get me the tools to use I guess I can refrain from telling Faith you took her lipstick.”
Dawn turned to face him in the junker, eyes wide and face pale. “Thank you Xan.”
“Hey you two,” Andrew piped in, “can we stop soon? I have a weak bladder.”
“Shut up Andrew,” they answered in unison.
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