Peace Treaty (1/1)
I've read too many stories of "Buffy finds out about Xander's lie" to count. I've read them from the Buffy fans. I've read them from the Xander fans. I've read stories about Xander deciding not to lie, and I've read those that explain why he DID lie. I've never found one that sat down and actually tried to work out how it all might have happened in Joss-world.
This fic takes place right at the end of Dead Man's Party, in season 3. The zombies have vanished, the partiers have gone home, the house has been cleaned up by (in my imagination) unusually quiet scoobies.
Please, tell me what you think.
Peace Treaty
"Do you think it's weird? The way the baddies just disappear like that?"
Buffy pulls her knees up to her chest, half-turning her head to look at Xander as he steps onto her back porch. "Here to yell at me some more?"
Xander sits down next to her, and stays there silently for a long moment. She feels no obligation fill the gap. "I'm sorry."
Buffy just looks at him.
"I . . . I shouldn't have said those things in front of everyone." He pinches the fold of his jeans on the side of his knee. "We probably shouldn't have invited everyone here. We . . . I was just so angry. I didn't want to blow up like that. Maybe we thought . . . I don't know what we thought."
"Are you sorry you said it?"
"You didn't see her, Buffy. She was a wreck. She was still trying to understand everything and she thought she'd driven you off," he smiles, though it isn't funny. "I think she yelled at Giles, too."
"I know I made a mistake." She turns her head to look across the yard. "But you guys don't understand."
"So tell me."
"I killed him." Buffy ducks her head into her knees. It hurts, finally saying it out loud.
"Can't say I'm unhappy about that."
Her head shoots up, her eyes hard and cold, before she deflates again. "Not Angelus. Angel. Right at the end he--he came back. But it was too late. The portal--Acathla woke up behind him and the only way to close it . . . ." She studies Xander's face. His expression has gone blank, but his face is pale. He's shaking slightly. He stands sharply, stepping into the yard.
"I'm sorry."
"Like you said, you're not unhappy he's gone."
He's facing away from her, his shoulders tense. His voice is quiet, if she wasn't the slayer, she might not be able to hear him. "No, I-I'm sorry. Not just because you had to . . . I lied." He wraps his arms around himself. "I knew Willow was doing the spell. I--I was supposed to tell you. I'm sorry."
Buffy studies his back for a long moment. "I know."
She doesn't know if she expects him to spin around, or keep his back to her. She doesn't know if she expects anything from him any more. He turns, but doesn't look at her. "You do,"
It's not a question, more of a hesitant half-statement. She wonders if he thinks she's going to hit him.
"I had a whole summer of alone time, Xander. Three months with nothing better to do than go over every detail of that night. Angel didn't spontaneously get his soul back. Willow had to have wanted me to know." She turns her head away, contemplating the toe of last year's boots. "I'm not an idiot."
"No. That would be me." He steps closer; she can see his shoes. The soles are peeling away form the canvas. He's drawn stakes on the side of the left one. "I'm--"
"DON'T say you're sorry for that." She looks up at him, catches his eye for a split-second, then it's his turn to study the ground. He kicks at something in the grass.
"Okay." His hands go into his pockets. "If it makes you feel better, I had a whole summer to think about how I screwed everything up."
"It doesn't."
"No."
There's a moment when they're both silent again, both looking down, waiting for the other to talk. She knows he doesn't do quiet well. She'll win.
"I didn't want to hurt you."
"You did. You probably hurt him more."
A rush of breath, not quite a sigh. "I can't fix it, can I."
"You really can't." She looks at him. He looks . . . empty. Like someone has come along and hollowed him out, leaving just the Xander shape, taking her friend. He can't fix this, but he's not the only one who messed up. Maybe she can. "I think . . . ." The words stick to the roof of her mouth. "I think maybe you did the right thing."
His head snaps up.
The words start to pour from her mouth, everything she'd been wondering all summer. "I don't know what would have happened, if I'd known. Maybe I could have stopped him from removing that sword. Maybe everything would have been better. Or maybe we'd all be in hell, not just him. I don't know, and I don't think I can ever find out. I can't change it. But I stopped the end of the world. It took everything I had. Even stuff I didn't know I had. But I did it." She hugs her knees tighter. "No matter why you did it," she shoots a look at him. He looks guilty. "And I know your reasons weren't entirely altruistic."
"Not . . . entirely, no."
"You did it. And I can't quite blame you for it." She leans against the railing. "Even though I really, really want to."
Another quiet moment. She wishes he'd go away. She wishes he'd hug her. She wins again.
"So."
"So."
"Are we . . . okay?"
She shakes her head. "This summer was hard. Really hard. But this year, getting back into school? That's going to be harder." He nods. "I don't think I can do it without both of my best friends."
He smiles. It's small, it looks like it hurts, but it's a smile. "Thanks."
She sniffs, realizes she's crying. Realizes Xander's eyes don't usually glimmer like that. It's probably the closest she'll ever see him to tears. She pats the step next to her. When he sits, she leans against him.
No one wins. This silence isn't a battle.
It's the peace treaty.
This fic takes place right at the end of Dead Man's Party, in season 3. The zombies have vanished, the partiers have gone home, the house has been cleaned up by (in my imagination) unusually quiet scoobies.
Please, tell me what you think.
Peace Treaty
"Do you think it's weird? The way the baddies just disappear like that?"
Buffy pulls her knees up to her chest, half-turning her head to look at Xander as he steps onto her back porch. "Here to yell at me some more?"
Xander sits down next to her, and stays there silently for a long moment. She feels no obligation fill the gap. "I'm sorry."
Buffy just looks at him.
"I . . . I shouldn't have said those things in front of everyone." He pinches the fold of his jeans on the side of his knee. "We probably shouldn't have invited everyone here. We . . . I was just so angry. I didn't want to blow up like that. Maybe we thought . . . I don't know what we thought."
"Are you sorry you said it?"
"You didn't see her, Buffy. She was a wreck. She was still trying to understand everything and she thought she'd driven you off," he smiles, though it isn't funny. "I think she yelled at Giles, too."
"I know I made a mistake." She turns her head to look across the yard. "But you guys don't understand."
"So tell me."
"I killed him." Buffy ducks her head into her knees. It hurts, finally saying it out loud.
"Can't say I'm unhappy about that."
Her head shoots up, her eyes hard and cold, before she deflates again. "Not Angelus. Angel. Right at the end he--he came back. But it was too late. The portal--Acathla woke up behind him and the only way to close it . . . ." She studies Xander's face. His expression has gone blank, but his face is pale. He's shaking slightly. He stands sharply, stepping into the yard.
"I'm sorry."
"Like you said, you're not unhappy he's gone."
He's facing away from her, his shoulders tense. His voice is quiet, if she wasn't the slayer, she might not be able to hear him. "No, I-I'm sorry. Not just because you had to . . . I lied." He wraps his arms around himself. "I knew Willow was doing the spell. I--I was supposed to tell you. I'm sorry."
Buffy studies his back for a long moment. "I know."
She doesn't know if she expects him to spin around, or keep his back to her. She doesn't know if she expects anything from him any more. He turns, but doesn't look at her. "You do,"
It's not a question, more of a hesitant half-statement. She wonders if he thinks she's going to hit him.
"I had a whole summer of alone time, Xander. Three months with nothing better to do than go over every detail of that night. Angel didn't spontaneously get his soul back. Willow had to have wanted me to know." She turns her head away, contemplating the toe of last year's boots. "I'm not an idiot."
"No. That would be me." He steps closer; she can see his shoes. The soles are peeling away form the canvas. He's drawn stakes on the side of the left one. "I'm--"
"DON'T say you're sorry for that." She looks up at him, catches his eye for a split-second, then it's his turn to study the ground. He kicks at something in the grass.
"Okay." His hands go into his pockets. "If it makes you feel better, I had a whole summer to think about how I screwed everything up."
"It doesn't."
"No."
There's a moment when they're both silent again, both looking down, waiting for the other to talk. She knows he doesn't do quiet well. She'll win.
"I didn't want to hurt you."
"You did. You probably hurt him more."
A rush of breath, not quite a sigh. "I can't fix it, can I."
"You really can't." She looks at him. He looks . . . empty. Like someone has come along and hollowed him out, leaving just the Xander shape, taking her friend. He can't fix this, but he's not the only one who messed up. Maybe she can. "I think . . . ." The words stick to the roof of her mouth. "I think maybe you did the right thing."
His head snaps up.
The words start to pour from her mouth, everything she'd been wondering all summer. "I don't know what would have happened, if I'd known. Maybe I could have stopped him from removing that sword. Maybe everything would have been better. Or maybe we'd all be in hell, not just him. I don't know, and I don't think I can ever find out. I can't change it. But I stopped the end of the world. It took everything I had. Even stuff I didn't know I had. But I did it." She hugs her knees tighter. "No matter why you did it," she shoots a look at him. He looks guilty. "And I know your reasons weren't entirely altruistic."
"Not . . . entirely, no."
"You did it. And I can't quite blame you for it." She leans against the railing. "Even though I really, really want to."
Another quiet moment. She wishes he'd go away. She wishes he'd hug her. She wins again.
"So."
"So."
"Are we . . . okay?"
She shakes her head. "This summer was hard. Really hard. But this year, getting back into school? That's going to be harder." He nods. "I don't think I can do it without both of my best friends."
He smiles. It's small, it looks like it hurts, but it's a smile. "Thanks."
She sniffs, realizes she's crying. Realizes Xander's eyes don't usually glimmer like that. It's probably the closest she'll ever see him to tears. She pats the step next to her. When he sits, she leans against him.
No one wins. This silence isn't a battle.
It's the peace treaty.