Another long day at work, another long drive home. Going through my daily routine, I can forget for a while, just lose myself in whatever I'm doing. But when I walk in the door to my apartment, and plop myself down on the sofa, I notice once again how quiet it is without her around.
Anya was always a big talker, like me, which is one of the reasons we got along so well. As unsettling as it was when she just blurted out whatever was on her mind, she never kept any secrets from me. I always knew exactly what was going on with her.
Now it's just me. And I guess that's all I'm supposed to have.
That's all I deserve.
Knock, knock, knock.
Aw, hell, who could that be? I get up and peer through the peephole, hoping it's just one of my nosy neighbors that I can blow off -- pretend I'm not home, or something.
Oh no. It's her. The one person I really don't want to talk to.
I start to turn away from the door, but she knocks again, harder, and says, "Xander, open up! I know you're in there; I was waiting outside the building for you to come home!"
Oh great. My friends are playing private eye on me now.
I put on my best "I don't give a damn" face and open the door. "Hey, Buff, how ya doin'? Taking up a new career in stalking?"
I'm hoping I can annoy her enough so we can get into an argument and she'll go away, but no dice. Instead of one of her famous glares, I get this . . . hurt . . . look. I feel a pang of guilt -- I don't really want to hurt anybody, I just want to be left alone. I hear myself mutter, "Sorry, Buff. C'mon in."
She walks in, and I'm struck yet again by how strange it is to see Faith's body with Buffy's walk, Buffy's moves. Faith swaggered, Buffy just strolls. No hip-swaying, no badass attitude.
Then she turns to me, and she reaches into her pocket and-
Oh. She just put on the illusion ring. Now it's really Buffy I'm looking at. Why the hell is she doing this, she needs to save that thing for special occasions. "What's goin' on, Buff?"
She looks straight at me. "Xander, we need to talk."
I don't know what she has in mind, but I know I'm not gonna like it.
"Xander, haven't you mourned long enough?" Oh, it's gonna be one of those talks. "It's been almost five months since Anya died. I know you loved her, and I know it hurts, but you've got to start living again."
"Why?" I snap. "Why have I got to?"
"Because your friends are all worried sick about you. Willow, Tara, Giles, Dawn . . . and me. We miss you."
"And what about Anya, huh? Do you miss her? Or are you glad she's not around anymore to say all those bizarre and inappropriate things?"
Ah, good. Looks like I finally got her angry. "How could you say such a thing, Xander? Of course I miss Anya! Maybe I got a little wigged by some of the things she used to say, but she was a kind, decent human being! That . . . that awful day, she came right out and said she wished my mom hadn't died, and she meant it! It was strange, and it hurt a little to hear her say it, but she was being open and honest, and in a weird kinda way it helped a little.
"And I owe her Dawn's life, and more -- if she hadn't come up with the idea of using the Dagonsphere and Olaf's hammer in the fight against Glory, we all probably would've died!"
"Well, I'm sure that's real comforting to Anya, wherever she is! Then again, I guess she wouldn't be mad at you. After all, it's my fault she's dead!"
Oh God. I said it. I finally said it.
I look down at my shoes, because I can't stand to see the pity in Buffy's eyes.
"God, Xander! That wasn't your fault! Giles saw everything, he told me all about it. Anya saw those bricks falling a second before you did, and she did what anyone would've done: she made sure the person she loved was safe.
"Blame anyone you like for the portal opening and shaking things up: that demon Doc, who hurt Dawn and made it happen. Or me -- I was an idiot, never thinking that someone other than Glory might perform the ritual. Or Ben -- that bastard betrayed Dawn to Glory! I don't know how he died, but I'm glad he's dead -- when Dawn told me all about it, I wanted to kill him myself!
"Anya saved your life, Xander. That doesn't mean you should blame yourself for her death."
She really means it. I want to believe her . . . God, I want to let go of this pain so much . . . but I know better. I know I deserve every bit of it.
I look up at her, trying to figure out how to push her away. Maybe if I tell her the truth, she'll-
She's crying.
Superman has his kryptonite. Green Lantern is helpless against anything yellow. And what, might you ask, are Xander Harris' weaknesses? Simple. Willow Rosenberg's resolve face, and Buffy Summers' tears.
If she'd only kept the illusion ring off, maybe I'd be able to pull away. But God help me, I'm stuck here, staring at her while tears run down her cheeks.
She takes a couple of steps toward me, and gently pulls my head down a little so I'm looking right in her eyes. "I should've listened to Faith. She told me you were mad at yourself, but I was such a self-centered bitch. I thought you were mad at me!"
I'm so stunned I can barely speak. "I . . . what? At you? Why?"
She bites her lip. "Because I thought you blamed me for losing Anya. For days I thought I was to blame somehow -- that I'd possessed her, or kicked her out of her body while she was unconscious or something like that.
"But I asked Willow and Tara, and they told me about a hundred times until I finally believed them: Anya died when those bricks fell on her, even if her body somehow still kept working. Her spirit was gone before I even jumped off the tower. If it hadn't been, I couldn't have taken over the body. And if I hadn't, it would've remained in a coma for a few days, and then it would've died. Nothing I could've done or not done would've brought Anya back.
"So although I still felt terrible, I decided all I could do was get on with my life, and try to be there for my friends. Except my dear friend Xander couldn't stand to look at me. I was sure I knew why -- looking at me was like looking at a ghost. And since I wasn't a Slayer anymore, I couldn't hold my own against the vampires and demons around here. So I made the body-switch deal with Faith . . . and I've been waiting ever since then for you to forgive me."
I'm speechless. Buffy had really thought I was mad at her. And . . .
"I thought I did it," I whisper.
"What?"
I close my eyes. She might as well know it all. Maybe then she'll finally leave me alone. "I saw the two of you, lying on the ground. Two women who meant more to me than my own life were dead. I wanted to scream, to howl, to break something . . . but I just stood there, totally numb. And then I saw Anya . . . Anya's body start to stir. And somewhere deep inside me, a little voice said, 'Why isn't it Buffy?'"
I see the shock on her face. Yeah, Buff. Think I'm worth having around now? "I must be a terrible person, Buffy. The woman I'd proposed to just a couple hours ago came back to life, and I secretly wanted it to be her that was dead, and not you. And then it turned out to be that way after all, so I got exactly what I wanted, didn't I?" I chuckle bitterly.
"I thought maybe it was a Hellmouth thing, or another demon like Anya who granted wishes, or something like that. But . . . whether or not I actually did anything . . . in my mind, in my heart, I betrayed Anya. I betrayed the woman I loved.
"I can't help being glad that you're alive, Buffy. But you should leave me alone. Tell Willow, and Dawn, and all the others . . . just leave me alone."
I turn away from her, and I lock myself in my bedroom until she leaves.
Dear God, I finally have exactly what I deserve.
Nothing.
Anyanka would've been proud of the vengeance I've given her.
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