Fic: Inside Out, Giles/Xander, R (FRM)
Title: Inside Out (5 of 6)
Author: lostgirlslair
Fandom: BtVS
Pairing: Giles/Xander
Rating: R (FRM)
For full header, see Part One. Previous parts here.
Giles stood watching Xander for a long time, even after Anya had disappeared from view. He stepped closer to Xander, until he stood just behind him, but Giles couldn't bring himself to reach out, to interrupt whatever reverie Xander had sunk into. He wanted to offer comfort, to say something, but in the end, what could he really say? He'd been too busy trying to run away from his attraction to Xander to think beyond it. He should have forced the issue with Xander, said something.
Now, Giles could all too easily imagine what Xander was going through, but he couldn't do a damn thing about it. So, he offered what support he could, standing there with the rain washing over them both, keeping silent so that Xander could think.
Then, after what seemed ages, Xander finally turned to him. The look on his face made Giles' gut tighten, made his jaw clench. Xander looked up at him for a long moment and Giles had no idea what to do, let alone say.
Xander remained, apparently, just as speechless. He stared for a long moment and then walked away, his shoulder brushing along Giles' as he moved past him, onto the path that led into the woods. Giles turned with him, reaching out and then letting his hand drop.
"Xander."
Xander stopped, but didn't turn around. His back was arrow straight, the muscles tight and tense "I just . . . I need some time, okay? I'll come back. I just . . . I really can't be here right now."
Giles didn't say anything and Xander must have taken that for agreement, or perhaps he didn't want agreement. Either way, Xander walked off into the rain as well, leaving Giles standing there, soaked to the skin and alone.
He glanced back toward the cabins. Anya would be back there and Giles wasn't even sure he could face her. Sighing to himself, Giles started up the path. There wasn't anything he could say to Anya that would make this easier. He knew that. Still, something drove him to try.
By the time he'd made it back to cabins, not only soaked, but mud-covered as well, Anya was gone. She'd asked one of the residents to drive her to some place she could get a hotel room. She'd left a letter for Xander, which Steven gave Giles to give to him. Entirely unsure how to feel about that, Giles went back to camp. He laid the letter on the kitchen table and retrieved a change of clothes. He took as hot a shower as the clapped-out pipes could provide. Strangely, he didn't feel any warmer. He did curse when he realized he didn't have anything to keep the rain off as he hurried back to his tent and decided to run for the common building and then use his coat to get to his tent.
The letter on the kitchen table caught his eye. She'd written his name on the envelope in bold, angry letters. He knew that, whatever it said, it was absolutely none of his business. He didn't even consider opening it, but he did stare at it for a long moment before he went to his tent.
A tent was not a satisfactory place for retreat. He had only one book, nothing to drink, and only a flashlight by which to read in the first place. He did attempt it, but finally gave up, setting aside his book and turning off his flashlight and settling in to listen for Xander's return. His stomach was tight and clenched tighter as he remembered the anguished looks on both Xander's and Anya's faces. While he knew that it wasn't his fault in the specific sense, it wasn't as if he'd encouraged Xander or as if they'd been having an affair, he still felt guilty.
He should have forced the issue with Xander, should have put aside his own feelings and brought it up. Giles re-settled himself, firmly telling himself that he was not squirming, and then sat up straighter when he realized there was more light, most of it filtering through his tent from the lights inside the common building.
Giles ducked and shuffled his way out of the tent, glad to see that he'd been right and there was someone moving around in there. There weren't any other campers and the residents wouldn't have any reason to come here in the middle of the night. At least, he didn't think they would, but there was only one way to know for sure.
He felt sheepish as he opened the screen door. The other had been left open and Giles didn't bother with it as he went toward the kitchen, where the faint noises of someone moving around could be heard. A glance inside showed that it was, indeed, Xander. He was still soaking wet, dripping, in fact. The tile floor showed a trail of water droplets and Giles was reminded of the night when everything had changed, when he'd found Xander standing, soaking, on his doorstep.
"Xander?" he said softly. Despite that, Xander startled, turning a quick glance over his shoulder. It was then that Giles realized what Xander had been doing. He caught a glimpse of the letter in Xander's hands, and his eyes were wet. Xander looked away almost at once, folding the letter up. He made to shove it into his shirt pocket, but seemed to realize that his clothing was too wet for that, and instead shoved it back into the envelope and let it lay on the table. "I'll leave you be, if you like . . ."
Giles didn't think he sounded quite as casual as he'd been meaning to. In fact, he feared his own feelings had tumbled out, making it clear that he didn't want to leave Xander alone at all.
Xander shrugged, but didn't look over his shoulder as he spoke. "It's not my kitchen. Free for all to use."
Giles gave a small, inaudible sigh and then moved to the sink, leaning against it so that he could look Xander in the eye, but still give him some space. "If you need to talk--"
"No," Xander said, giving a snort and finally look up to Giles' face. His voice was a dry croak, probably the only dry thing about him, at the moment. "The time for that would have been . . . Oh, any time before Anya found us making out would have probably been good." Xander looked away again, his throat working as he swallowed.
"Xander, I'm so sorry," Giles began, only to have Xander's head snap up and Xander's eyes fix on him.
"This isn't your fault," Xander said, though his voice sounded too sharp to be comforting. In fact, he looked angry as he snatched the bread off the top of the refrigerator and reached inside for the mayonnaise and several packages of lunchmeat. "You know," he continued, grabbing a butter knife out of the drawer and used it to smear mayonnaise onto his bread. Giles had never seen that simple action done with such jerky, angry motions. "Despite everything that's happened in the last few hours to prove me wrong, I am kinda a grown up, now."
Giles' eyes had been stuck on the scrape of knife over bread and by the time he looked up, blinking, to reply, Xander had moved on without him.
"I mean, okay, so I handled this . . . Yeah, 'badly' doesn't even start to cover it. But it was my thing to handle. My girlfriend, my big changes, my . . . thing. And you keep saying you're sorry . . ." Xander shook his head.
"I could have forced the issue--"
"It's not your issue." Xander snapped and Giles straightened away from the sink, crossing his arms over his chest.
"That's not entirely true," he finally said, when only the sound of meat being slapped onto bread filled the silence. "You can't say I wasn't at all involved in this."
"I'm not," Xander said on a sigh, his shoulders slumping. "I'm just . . . You kinda think that we'd all be dead in a week if you weren't here, and in my case you're probably right, but we're not . . . We're not just kids, Giles." Xander turned around then, his eyes hard. "I'm not just some big dumb kid who needs you to handle everything for him."
"If I saw you that way, Xander, there wouldn't have been anything to tell Anya about," Giles replied, trying to keep his voice low and somewhat rational. He understood that Xander was upset, and he didn't want to make matters worse by getting self-righteous. The last thing either of them needed was another argument tonight.
"Exactly!" Xander said, somewhere between triumphant and angry. "You just did it again. I really . . . Giles, I . . ." Xander shook his head, turning back to his sandwich as he muttered, "I like you a lot, and . . ." again, his throat worked, as if trying to swallow the words even as Xander tried to speak them, "I'm really attracted to you . . . But, this would have happened sooner or later anyway. I would have had to talk to Anya one way or the other and I . . . I blew it. I just . . ." Xander seemed to drift then. He stopped speaking, stopped beating his sandwich into submission. "God, the look on her face. Why do I keep doing this?"
Giles felt his forehead wrinkle. "Keep? Why do both you and Anya act as if this has happened before?" That cold feeling was back in Giles' stomach. He suddenly had the feeling he was stuck inside a play and didn't know his lines.
"What?" Xander looked at him then, genuinely confused. "I was talking about . . . Cordelia, about . . . Willow. I didn't . . ." he shook his head, staring at the kitchen wall with a far away look. "I have no idea what Anya was talking about, but . . . She's pretty mad." Xander's eyes drifted toward the letter she'd left him.
"Cordelia. Of course." Giles had to swallow several times before he could get the next words out. "Uh, are you . . . Xander, are you sure that your . . . attraction to me isn't more about some worry that . . . Well, that things between you and Anya were getting more serious?" The words burned his mouth, leaving behind an acrid taste.
"I don't know," Xander said, the words sounding hollow. He turned, shaking his head. "I'm going to bed. Uh, I'll . . . I'll see you tomorrow."
"Xander, your sandwich," was all Giles could think to say. There were other things, all crowding his mind and jockeying for position on his tongue, but Giles couldn't bring himself to say any of them, just then.
"Huh?" Xander gave him a confused look and then glance down to the table, as if just realizing that he'd been making a sandwich. "Right." He sighed, grabbing napkins from the holder at the table's center. He wrapped up the sandwich and stuck it in the refrigerator. "I'll eat it in the morning. I'm not really hungry tonight." He spoke without looking up at all, and then he turned and trudged out, still soaking wet, though he didn't seem to notice.
Giles let him go. Well, really, what else could he do? Xander needed time to think and Giles . . . he wasn't sure what he needed, but he had the terrible feeling that it had just walked out the door for good.
Closing his eyes, he shook his head at himself and set about cleaning up the mess Xander had made. That done, and nothing left to distract him, and Giles considered going back to his tent. He glanced out the window above the sink, looking toward where his and Xander's tents would be, but it was too dark to see anything.
The thought of going out there, of lying there, with Xander only several feet and two tent walls away, it felt too heavy to bear. Instead, Giles grabbed a book at random off the small shelf in the corner and settled himself on the couch. It wasn't long before he gave up reading again, having gone over the same paragraph several times. He couldn't concentrate. And he still wasn't entirely sure what a 'muggle' was.
The next thing he knew, the sun was in his eyes. It was early, the day still trapped in the time of morning when everything seems delicate. The couch had become distinctly uncomfortable and a spring was poking Giles in the arse. Giles stumbled to the bathroom and then back into the kitchen, trying to decide whether he was up or if he had another few hours of sleep in him.
A glance out the kitchen window revealed that, if he did have sleep left in him, he'd be doing it on the couch. His tent, Xander's tent, everything, was all packed away into Xander's car.
"You're awake," Xander said from behind him. Giles turned, noting that Xander had certainly had a shower since last night. Though, he looked as if he hadn't slept at all, which really made it no surprise that things had gotten done so early.
"Apparently," Giles agreed, glancing again out to where his tent used to be.
"I, uh, figured it was best to get an early start," Xander didn't look at him any more than absolutely necessary. Giles didn't know whether Xander was still angry, or whether it was something else, but suddenly he felt more tired than he'd been in a long time.
"That's fine."
"I want to stop and check if Anya is still at that hotel and . . . And offer her a ride. I mean, I know it won't make things comfortable on the way home, but . . . I can't just leave her out here."
"Xander, I understand," Giles said, though mostly because he just wanted the conversation over with. He wasn't looking forward to a ride back to Sunnydale with Anya--he found it all too easy to imagine the frosty silence--but offering it was the only thing to do. Giles tried to quash the part of himself that fervently hoped she'd refuse.
"I left your duffle bag out, on the passenger seat, so you could shave and stuff." Xander still wouldn't look at him, apparently the effort of getting his sandwich out of the refrigerator taking up all his concentration. "But I'd like to get moving soon, you know?"
"I'll be ready shortly," Giles said, unable to keep the stiff tone from his voice. It wasn't so much Xander's manner that had put it there, but Giles' knowing that things had changed between them, perhaps irrevocably. This, the awkward way Xander acted toward him, had been one of the things he'd feared about their mutual attraction coming to the surface. The thought that Xander might always feel that way, might never see him as a friend again, let alone anything more, it hurt and Giles couldn't seem to think around it at the moment.
Giles had to push himself to hurry, his sub-conscious wanting to put off the three hour drive back to Sunnydale for as long as humanly possible. Even if Anya did refuse Xander's offer of a ride, Giles simply couldn't imagine it being pleasant. Especially not with Xander barely able to look at him.
--Xander--
Xander sat in the car, waiting for Giles to stow his duffle back in the trunk. Xander couldn't keep his eyes from darting to the side view mirror. He told himself to stop it, but every time he glanced up his eyes just slid right to it. He'd catch a glimpse of Giles as the man moved around, trying to shove his bag into the already full trunk, a glimpse of an arm as Giles braced himself, or a glimpse of his ass as he moved to the side of the trunk to tuck the bag in better.
It was stupid. Xander knew that, and if he hadn't, the surge of guilt would have been enough to tell him so. Still, his eyes kept finding their way back to the little mirror, until the trunk shut hard, shaking the car a little. Then Xander pretended he'd actually been flipping through his magazine and not craning his neck at all.
Giles opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat, pulling the seat belt around himself. "Well, I think it's wedged in there properly. The trunk closed, so it can't be all that bad."
"Right," Xander said, flipping the magazine over his shoulder into the backseat. "Let's get this train wreck started." He hadn't actually meant to say that, but his mouth had been open at the same time his brain was working and it had tumbled out. He saw Giles flinch out of the corner of his eye and he had the intense urge to apologize, but apologizing would lead to talking and talking would lead to . . . Well, Xander didn't know what it would lead to and, for once, he was trying really hard not to say things he hadn't actually thought through first. Yeah, you're doing great with that, he told himself, unsure when that voice in his head had started to sound so bitter.
He managed to start the car without saying anything. The silence hung between them, irritating and just plain wrong, but Xander stubbornly kept his mouth shut, aiming his car in the right direction and letting the driving take up all his concentration. Well, almost all of his concentration. There was still that little part of him that was flailing with all the thoughts that jumped through his brain.
There were pictures, too. Anya's face, mostly, but Giles', too. Xander wasn't so oblivious that he didn't notice the sidelong glances Giles kept giving him, the worry that Giles probably didn't mean for him to see. It was kinda obvious, though, when you knew what to look for.
That thought surprised him. When had he gotten so good at 'Giles Looks 101?' Xander didn't realize the light had changed from red to green until Giles cleared his throat.
"What?" Xander asked, starting from his thoughts. For the first time that morning, Xander looked Giles full in the face.
"The light," Giles said, his voice low. Xander had to force himself to look back to the road, to the light dangling ahead of them. It took him a heartbeat longer than it should have to realize he was supposed to go.
"Right. Uh, thanks." The word sounded strange, sounded wrong. Like he should be saying something else, or a lot of 'something else's. Unfortunately, Xander had no idea what those were, at least not yet. What he did know, the only thing that he felt sure of, was that if he said the wrong thing, did the wrong thing now, it might screw up everything. He had to think, because he couldn't stand the thought of screwing up the rest of his life, yet again. He had to think before he let himself talk, or he ran the risk of making the same mistakes he always made. He couldn't face that possibility, and really that was the only thing that kept his mouth shut.
For the first time in history, he thought to himself in that same bitter voice, I'm going to do things right. I'm going to think this through. Xander tried very hard not to listen to the little voice in the back of his head that whispered that that wasn't possible.
The hotel Anya had chosen was fairly easy to find. Not only was it the only one in the small town, but it was also on the main drag through town and had a large neon sign out front that flashed 'acancy' at them as Xander parked in the little lot.
Xander groaned and let his head fall forward onto the steering wheel. "Owie," he said, he voice muffled by said steering wheel. "That hurt more than I thought it would."
Xander thought he heard a soft snort of laughter from Giles, which meant he couldn't look up for a minute, because he had to wipe the smile off his face, first. Giles made things easier when he undid his seatbelt and opened his door.
"Why don't I move things around, to fit Anya's things in, while you find her?" Giles' tone was low, but otherwise it was the most normal he'd sounded since last night.
Xander nodded, pulling the keys out of the ignition and handing them out to Giles. Xander glanced up as the keys left his hand, but Giles was already heading back to rearrange things in the trunk.
Obviously, Anya's letter hadn't mentioned what room she'd been in, so Xander went to the little office tucked into one point of the 'u' shaped motel building. An older man sat behind the desk, absorbed in some book. He looked up with tired eyes as Xander said, "Hi."
"Hi." The guy didn't say anything else, just looked at Xander, patiently waiting for whatever Xander would say.
"I'm looking for a woman," Xander started, pretty annoyed when the older man leered. "A specific woman. She probably checked in late last night. Blonde, about this tall, very angry?" Somehow, Xander wasn't at all surprised when recognition appeared on the man's face after the last bit.
"Right, right. Yeah, I remember her. I . . . I can't just give out her room number," the guy said, though he looked a little apologetic. Or maybe he just wanted to see if Xander would offer money. If it was a movie, that's what he would have wanted.
Nope, not a movie, said the voice in the back of Xander's head, Just your screwed up life.
"Uh, right. Can you . . . " Xander glanced back out of the office, through the large windows that made up the walls, and found Giles leaning back against the trunk, his hands in his pockets and his head down as he waited. Xander forgot whatever words he'd been thinking a minute before.
"Can I what?" the guy asked, still in that tired, patient voice.
"Uh," Xander shook his head, his eyes snapping back to the counter-guy. "Call her room? Tell her I'm here?"
The guy shrugged and nodded, picking up the phone. He used his hand to shield the number pad from Xander's eyes and Xander didn't know what to think about that. On the one had, yay for cheap motels protecting their customer's privacy. On the other hand, Xander really wanted to get this over with, wanted to be back in Sunnydale, where he might actually be able to think. Or, okay, might be able to flop down on Willow's bed and whine until she asked him leading questions and made the thinking easier. You know, whichever.
The sound of a sharp voice on the other side of the phone line drew Xander's attention back to the counter-guy.
"Oh, sorry, it's just there's someone here for you. Uh . . . I don't know." The guy covered the bottom of the receiver and glanced up at Xander. "What's your name?"
"Xander Harris." Even Xander could hear the tired in his own voice.
"Right." The guy uncovered the receiver. "Xander--right. Okay . . . Sure I can." Counter-guy covered the receiver again. "She's giving me a message for you."
Xander felt an eyebrow rise, but he just shoved his hands into his pockets and tried not to cringe at the thought of the kind of message Anya might have for him.
"Pond scum," the guy said, nodding and listening intently. Xander could hear Anya through the phone, though he couldn't make out her words. "Painful death. Right." The guy kept nodding, as if these were the kind of messages he gave every day. Then his jaw dropped, which kinda made the guy look like a turtle that had just seen a dancing squid. "Uh, you should . . . Well, that's probably something you want to say to him yourself."
Xander blinked as the counter-guy sent him a sidelong glance. He listened to something else that Anya said and then hung up the phone, and then he looked up at Xander, not meeting his eyes. "She's coming down."
Xander thought he probably went pale. His mouth definitely went dry, and he only barely managed to croak out, "Great. I'll just, wait outside." Counter-guy ignored him as Xander walked out of the office, scanning the building for Anya.
Anya marched down the stairs from a room on the second floor. The metal stairs vibrated under her feet and her expression made Xander think of thunderclouds. She stomped to a stop directly in front of him, her face expectant. Xander found that--for once--his brain didn't have any words. That didn't stop his mouth from trying: it flopped open and closed several times, despite the fact that nothing at all was coming out.
"Well?" Anya said, and her asking only seemed to make her angrier. Her hands came up to rest on her hips. "You called me all the way down here, Xander, I assumed you had something to say."
If anything, Xander's mind was blanker than it had been a moment ago. Now, his mouth even seemed paralyzed. He managed to open it, but nothing came out, and before he could think of anything, Anya spoke again.
"Not that it will matter. I've already decided that I can't take you back."
"Uh . . ." Xander could feel his hair sweating, feel it running down his neck. "Anya, I'm--I'm sorry." His stomach clenched tight and the words seemed too small, too ordinary, for the weight of the guilt that pushed on him, and the hurt he could see in Anya's eyes. "I do care about you, but . . ." and there Xander's brain gave out on him. He knew, in a way, what he meant, but it was all feeling, all part of the emotions roiling around in his gut. He didn't know how to turn that into words.
"But you care more about him?" Anya gestured jerkily to where Giles leaned against the trunk of the car--trying to pretend he couldn't hear if the hunched set of his shoulders was any indication. Xander was Giles flinch, though.
Xander's brain was blank again.
"I don't know," he finally said, knowing that, even if Giles wasn't looking, he was listening. Suddenly, Xander felt twice as bad as he had just a few minutes ago. "That's not the point, though," he finally said. "It's not about Giles. Ahn, it's . . . it's . . ." Xander waved his hands, as if that would somehow explain what he meant.
Anya just stared, her face scrunched up as if she was trying to guess. She shook her head, frustration clear when she spoke. "What are you trying to say? I know it's something to do with Giles, otherwise you wouldn't keep choosing him over me! Xander, if it's that you're gay, just say that! Just . . . I don't understand why you couldn't say that! What you had to go behind my back! Again!"
From the corner of his eye, Xander saw Giles straighten away from the car. He wasn't the only one listening, either. Counter-guy was standing up, practically leaning over the counter in order to hear. Even some of the room doors were cracked and Xander could imagine the faces looking out at them.
"Can we talk about this, quietly, somewhere else?" He finally asked, giving Anya a pleading look.
Anya huffed, but nodded. "Fine," she bit out, "we can go over there." Anya nodded to the side of the building. Xander would have preferred going up to her room, but it was better than standing out in the parking lot.
He shot an apologetic look at Giles, and then followed Anya around the side of the building. She turned around, her hands going back to her hips. "Well?"
Xander had to work to get words out in the face of Anya's . . . Well, face. It was hard to look at her and say anything, let alone what he had to say. "It's not Giles," he managed, feeling as if all the energy had been wrung out of him. Even his thoughts sounded tired. "It's not me being gay, I'm . . . I don't know, but that's not the point either. And, it's not you. I know how corny it sounds," he said, holding up a hand to keep Anya from interrupting him, "but it's me. I don't know what I want, or . . . anything, but . . . I know we're . . . God, I hate this, but it's not going to be us, Ahn. I just . . . I like you, I care, but . . ."
"You don't . . . You don't love me?" she asked, her voice small and high. There were tears shining in Anya's eyes and Xander wished he hadn't come here, that he'd just driven back to Sunnydale. Even if that did make him a coward. If he'd imagined the look Anya was wearing, if he'd have been able to see it clearly in his head, he wouldn't have stopped.
Xander couldn't have made his mouth work if he'd wanted to, let alone get his brain to formulate words. All he could manage was a head shake.
"I hate you, Xander Harris," Anya bit out, though it wasn't anger he saw on her face. "If I had my power back . . ." He knew she was trying to sound threatening--and it wasn't that he couldn't imagine what she would do if she did get her powers back--but he knew her too well.
Her chin was high, her eyes bright, and her voice just the slightest bit wobbly. Xander wanted to reach out, to put a hand on her shoulder like he'd done when she'd found out about Darth Vader. He doubted that was smart, though, doubted she would welcome his trying to comfort her when he was the one who'd caused the hurt in the first place.
"Believe me," Xander said, his voice shaky, though most of that came from trying to inject some humor into his tone. "I live in fear of the day you get your powers back." The humor dropped away as Anya raised her head just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the red tear tracks on her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I really am. I probably deserve it, after not telling you . . . I'm sorry."
"I'm not going to curse you, Xander," Anya finally said. She met his gaze and shrugged. "I already did, anyway."
"What?!" Xander's head shot up, his mind filling with images of boils and exploding body parts. He actually glanced down to make sure his intestines were still on the inside. "What curse?" he asked, his eyes wild.
Anya blinked at him and then shook her head. "The demon?" she said, her voice soft and her eyes wide with worry. "I just . . . I didn't mean for it to happen." Her voice sounded as watery as her eyes looked.
Xander shook his head, feeling his forehead furrow as he tried to understand what she was saying.
Anya's face scrunched up again and she'd started ringing her hands. Xander's brain had started to wrap itself around what she'd said, but he couldn't seem to believe it. His mouth was doing that 'moving despite not having words' thing again.
"I didn't mean--I wished you knew how I felt," she said, the words rushing out of her mouth so fast that Xander felt dizzy just hearing them. "Being on the outside of everything, with everything being so . . . human. I . . . A friend, a vengeance demon friend, took me out for drinks." Anya was pacing now, just a few steps to either side, her face still scrunched in on itself. "I was tipsy and . . . and I wasn't thinking and . . . I did that with hundreds of women over the centuries, got them to talk about it, but I didn't think!" she flung her hands out, as if to indicate the whole mess, her eyes finally slipping back to Xander's. "Everything turned back a few months and I-I wanted to tell you, but . . . But you were still with me and everything seemed to be going so well and I didn't want it all to fall apart again. I thought I could make it different this time."
"Again," Xander said, his voice weak even in his own ears. He was staring at the wall behind Anya, feeling as if someone had reached in and scooped out his insides.
They did, said some sadistic voice in his head. And replaced them with demon bits.
Xander could feel his mouth flopping, and Anya was looking at him in the hunched-in kind of way that let him know she expected him to be angry. He was. Or, at least, he thought he should be. Of course he should be. She'd changed him. She knew what vengeance demons did, and still . . . But he just kept hearing her say that she'd wanted him to know how she felt.
Being on the outside of everything, with everything being so . . . human.
Though he had the definite sense that he was really, really angry, he just couldn't seem to feel it. He just felt tired beyond telling, and sad, especially seeing the tears stuck in Anya's eyelashes.
"I . . ." he shook his head. "I can't believe you did that to me," he managed. And that was true. He'd never really believed she'd curse him, no matter what he'd said. He might have worried about it, momentarily, but he'd never really believed she'd go through with it.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking up at him and sighing heavily. "But it's over now. I . . ." Anya shook her head and turned, walking back toward the parking lot. "I'll rent a car to get back to Sunnydale," she said. "I don't know if I'll be staying, now . . . So, tell Giles I won't be in at the Magic Box."
Xander wanted to reach out, to tell Anya . . . Well, that was the problem, wasn't it? He had no idea what to tell Anya. He was mad--or would be, once it sunk it--but he also still felt guilty for what he'd done. He thought he should say something, though. "Okay." It sounded choked even to him. Anya paused for a second, but then ducked her head and walked faster, disappearing around the corner.
Xander stood there for a long moment, staring at the gravel.
-----
The Conclusion
Author: lostgirlslair
Fandom: BtVS
Pairing: Giles/Xander
Rating: R (FRM)
For full header, see Part One. Previous parts here.
Giles stood watching Xander for a long time, even after Anya had disappeared from view. He stepped closer to Xander, until he stood just behind him, but Giles couldn't bring himself to reach out, to interrupt whatever reverie Xander had sunk into. He wanted to offer comfort, to say something, but in the end, what could he really say? He'd been too busy trying to run away from his attraction to Xander to think beyond it. He should have forced the issue with Xander, said something.
Now, Giles could all too easily imagine what Xander was going through, but he couldn't do a damn thing about it. So, he offered what support he could, standing there with the rain washing over them both, keeping silent so that Xander could think.
Then, after what seemed ages, Xander finally turned to him. The look on his face made Giles' gut tighten, made his jaw clench. Xander looked up at him for a long moment and Giles had no idea what to do, let alone say.
Xander remained, apparently, just as speechless. He stared for a long moment and then walked away, his shoulder brushing along Giles' as he moved past him, onto the path that led into the woods. Giles turned with him, reaching out and then letting his hand drop.
"Xander."
Xander stopped, but didn't turn around. His back was arrow straight, the muscles tight and tense "I just . . . I need some time, okay? I'll come back. I just . . . I really can't be here right now."
Giles didn't say anything and Xander must have taken that for agreement, or perhaps he didn't want agreement. Either way, Xander walked off into the rain as well, leaving Giles standing there, soaked to the skin and alone.
He glanced back toward the cabins. Anya would be back there and Giles wasn't even sure he could face her. Sighing to himself, Giles started up the path. There wasn't anything he could say to Anya that would make this easier. He knew that. Still, something drove him to try.
By the time he'd made it back to cabins, not only soaked, but mud-covered as well, Anya was gone. She'd asked one of the residents to drive her to some place she could get a hotel room. She'd left a letter for Xander, which Steven gave Giles to give to him. Entirely unsure how to feel about that, Giles went back to camp. He laid the letter on the kitchen table and retrieved a change of clothes. He took as hot a shower as the clapped-out pipes could provide. Strangely, he didn't feel any warmer. He did curse when he realized he didn't have anything to keep the rain off as he hurried back to his tent and decided to run for the common building and then use his coat to get to his tent.
The letter on the kitchen table caught his eye. She'd written his name on the envelope in bold, angry letters. He knew that, whatever it said, it was absolutely none of his business. He didn't even consider opening it, but he did stare at it for a long moment before he went to his tent.
A tent was not a satisfactory place for retreat. He had only one book, nothing to drink, and only a flashlight by which to read in the first place. He did attempt it, but finally gave up, setting aside his book and turning off his flashlight and settling in to listen for Xander's return. His stomach was tight and clenched tighter as he remembered the anguished looks on both Xander's and Anya's faces. While he knew that it wasn't his fault in the specific sense, it wasn't as if he'd encouraged Xander or as if they'd been having an affair, he still felt guilty.
He should have forced the issue with Xander, should have put aside his own feelings and brought it up. Giles re-settled himself, firmly telling himself that he was not squirming, and then sat up straighter when he realized there was more light, most of it filtering through his tent from the lights inside the common building.
Giles ducked and shuffled his way out of the tent, glad to see that he'd been right and there was someone moving around in there. There weren't any other campers and the residents wouldn't have any reason to come here in the middle of the night. At least, he didn't think they would, but there was only one way to know for sure.
He felt sheepish as he opened the screen door. The other had been left open and Giles didn't bother with it as he went toward the kitchen, where the faint noises of someone moving around could be heard. A glance inside showed that it was, indeed, Xander. He was still soaking wet, dripping, in fact. The tile floor showed a trail of water droplets and Giles was reminded of the night when everything had changed, when he'd found Xander standing, soaking, on his doorstep.
"Xander?" he said softly. Despite that, Xander startled, turning a quick glance over his shoulder. It was then that Giles realized what Xander had been doing. He caught a glimpse of the letter in Xander's hands, and his eyes were wet. Xander looked away almost at once, folding the letter up. He made to shove it into his shirt pocket, but seemed to realize that his clothing was too wet for that, and instead shoved it back into the envelope and let it lay on the table. "I'll leave you be, if you like . . ."
Giles didn't think he sounded quite as casual as he'd been meaning to. In fact, he feared his own feelings had tumbled out, making it clear that he didn't want to leave Xander alone at all.
Xander shrugged, but didn't look over his shoulder as he spoke. "It's not my kitchen. Free for all to use."
Giles gave a small, inaudible sigh and then moved to the sink, leaning against it so that he could look Xander in the eye, but still give him some space. "If you need to talk--"
"No," Xander said, giving a snort and finally look up to Giles' face. His voice was a dry croak, probably the only dry thing about him, at the moment. "The time for that would have been . . . Oh, any time before Anya found us making out would have probably been good." Xander looked away again, his throat working as he swallowed.
"Xander, I'm so sorry," Giles began, only to have Xander's head snap up and Xander's eyes fix on him.
"This isn't your fault," Xander said, though his voice sounded too sharp to be comforting. In fact, he looked angry as he snatched the bread off the top of the refrigerator and reached inside for the mayonnaise and several packages of lunchmeat. "You know," he continued, grabbing a butter knife out of the drawer and used it to smear mayonnaise onto his bread. Giles had never seen that simple action done with such jerky, angry motions. "Despite everything that's happened in the last few hours to prove me wrong, I am kinda a grown up, now."
Giles' eyes had been stuck on the scrape of knife over bread and by the time he looked up, blinking, to reply, Xander had moved on without him.
"I mean, okay, so I handled this . . . Yeah, 'badly' doesn't even start to cover it. But it was my thing to handle. My girlfriend, my big changes, my . . . thing. And you keep saying you're sorry . . ." Xander shook his head.
"I could have forced the issue--"
"It's not your issue." Xander snapped and Giles straightened away from the sink, crossing his arms over his chest.
"That's not entirely true," he finally said, when only the sound of meat being slapped onto bread filled the silence. "You can't say I wasn't at all involved in this."
"I'm not," Xander said on a sigh, his shoulders slumping. "I'm just . . . You kinda think that we'd all be dead in a week if you weren't here, and in my case you're probably right, but we're not . . . We're not just kids, Giles." Xander turned around then, his eyes hard. "I'm not just some big dumb kid who needs you to handle everything for him."
"If I saw you that way, Xander, there wouldn't have been anything to tell Anya about," Giles replied, trying to keep his voice low and somewhat rational. He understood that Xander was upset, and he didn't want to make matters worse by getting self-righteous. The last thing either of them needed was another argument tonight.
"Exactly!" Xander said, somewhere between triumphant and angry. "You just did it again. I really . . . Giles, I . . ." Xander shook his head, turning back to his sandwich as he muttered, "I like you a lot, and . . ." again, his throat worked, as if trying to swallow the words even as Xander tried to speak them, "I'm really attracted to you . . . But, this would have happened sooner or later anyway. I would have had to talk to Anya one way or the other and I . . . I blew it. I just . . ." Xander seemed to drift then. He stopped speaking, stopped beating his sandwich into submission. "God, the look on her face. Why do I keep doing this?"
Giles felt his forehead wrinkle. "Keep? Why do both you and Anya act as if this has happened before?" That cold feeling was back in Giles' stomach. He suddenly had the feeling he was stuck inside a play and didn't know his lines.
"What?" Xander looked at him then, genuinely confused. "I was talking about . . . Cordelia, about . . . Willow. I didn't . . ." he shook his head, staring at the kitchen wall with a far away look. "I have no idea what Anya was talking about, but . . . She's pretty mad." Xander's eyes drifted toward the letter she'd left him.
"Cordelia. Of course." Giles had to swallow several times before he could get the next words out. "Uh, are you . . . Xander, are you sure that your . . . attraction to me isn't more about some worry that . . . Well, that things between you and Anya were getting more serious?" The words burned his mouth, leaving behind an acrid taste.
"I don't know," Xander said, the words sounding hollow. He turned, shaking his head. "I'm going to bed. Uh, I'll . . . I'll see you tomorrow."
"Xander, your sandwich," was all Giles could think to say. There were other things, all crowding his mind and jockeying for position on his tongue, but Giles couldn't bring himself to say any of them, just then.
"Huh?" Xander gave him a confused look and then glance down to the table, as if just realizing that he'd been making a sandwich. "Right." He sighed, grabbing napkins from the holder at the table's center. He wrapped up the sandwich and stuck it in the refrigerator. "I'll eat it in the morning. I'm not really hungry tonight." He spoke without looking up at all, and then he turned and trudged out, still soaking wet, though he didn't seem to notice.
Giles let him go. Well, really, what else could he do? Xander needed time to think and Giles . . . he wasn't sure what he needed, but he had the terrible feeling that it had just walked out the door for good.
Closing his eyes, he shook his head at himself and set about cleaning up the mess Xander had made. That done, and nothing left to distract him, and Giles considered going back to his tent. He glanced out the window above the sink, looking toward where his and Xander's tents would be, but it was too dark to see anything.
The thought of going out there, of lying there, with Xander only several feet and two tent walls away, it felt too heavy to bear. Instead, Giles grabbed a book at random off the small shelf in the corner and settled himself on the couch. It wasn't long before he gave up reading again, having gone over the same paragraph several times. He couldn't concentrate. And he still wasn't entirely sure what a 'muggle' was.
The next thing he knew, the sun was in his eyes. It was early, the day still trapped in the time of morning when everything seems delicate. The couch had become distinctly uncomfortable and a spring was poking Giles in the arse. Giles stumbled to the bathroom and then back into the kitchen, trying to decide whether he was up or if he had another few hours of sleep in him.
A glance out the kitchen window revealed that, if he did have sleep left in him, he'd be doing it on the couch. His tent, Xander's tent, everything, was all packed away into Xander's car.
"You're awake," Xander said from behind him. Giles turned, noting that Xander had certainly had a shower since last night. Though, he looked as if he hadn't slept at all, which really made it no surprise that things had gotten done so early.
"Apparently," Giles agreed, glancing again out to where his tent used to be.
"I, uh, figured it was best to get an early start," Xander didn't look at him any more than absolutely necessary. Giles didn't know whether Xander was still angry, or whether it was something else, but suddenly he felt more tired than he'd been in a long time.
"That's fine."
"I want to stop and check if Anya is still at that hotel and . . . And offer her a ride. I mean, I know it won't make things comfortable on the way home, but . . . I can't just leave her out here."
"Xander, I understand," Giles said, though mostly because he just wanted the conversation over with. He wasn't looking forward to a ride back to Sunnydale with Anya--he found it all too easy to imagine the frosty silence--but offering it was the only thing to do. Giles tried to quash the part of himself that fervently hoped she'd refuse.
"I left your duffle bag out, on the passenger seat, so you could shave and stuff." Xander still wouldn't look at him, apparently the effort of getting his sandwich out of the refrigerator taking up all his concentration. "But I'd like to get moving soon, you know?"
"I'll be ready shortly," Giles said, unable to keep the stiff tone from his voice. It wasn't so much Xander's manner that had put it there, but Giles' knowing that things had changed between them, perhaps irrevocably. This, the awkward way Xander acted toward him, had been one of the things he'd feared about their mutual attraction coming to the surface. The thought that Xander might always feel that way, might never see him as a friend again, let alone anything more, it hurt and Giles couldn't seem to think around it at the moment.
Giles had to push himself to hurry, his sub-conscious wanting to put off the three hour drive back to Sunnydale for as long as humanly possible. Even if Anya did refuse Xander's offer of a ride, Giles simply couldn't imagine it being pleasant. Especially not with Xander barely able to look at him.
--Xander--
Xander sat in the car, waiting for Giles to stow his duffle back in the trunk. Xander couldn't keep his eyes from darting to the side view mirror. He told himself to stop it, but every time he glanced up his eyes just slid right to it. He'd catch a glimpse of Giles as the man moved around, trying to shove his bag into the already full trunk, a glimpse of an arm as Giles braced himself, or a glimpse of his ass as he moved to the side of the trunk to tuck the bag in better.
It was stupid. Xander knew that, and if he hadn't, the surge of guilt would have been enough to tell him so. Still, his eyes kept finding their way back to the little mirror, until the trunk shut hard, shaking the car a little. Then Xander pretended he'd actually been flipping through his magazine and not craning his neck at all.
Giles opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat, pulling the seat belt around himself. "Well, I think it's wedged in there properly. The trunk closed, so it can't be all that bad."
"Right," Xander said, flipping the magazine over his shoulder into the backseat. "Let's get this train wreck started." He hadn't actually meant to say that, but his mouth had been open at the same time his brain was working and it had tumbled out. He saw Giles flinch out of the corner of his eye and he had the intense urge to apologize, but apologizing would lead to talking and talking would lead to . . . Well, Xander didn't know what it would lead to and, for once, he was trying really hard not to say things he hadn't actually thought through first. Yeah, you're doing great with that, he told himself, unsure when that voice in his head had started to sound so bitter.
He managed to start the car without saying anything. The silence hung between them, irritating and just plain wrong, but Xander stubbornly kept his mouth shut, aiming his car in the right direction and letting the driving take up all his concentration. Well, almost all of his concentration. There was still that little part of him that was flailing with all the thoughts that jumped through his brain.
There were pictures, too. Anya's face, mostly, but Giles', too. Xander wasn't so oblivious that he didn't notice the sidelong glances Giles kept giving him, the worry that Giles probably didn't mean for him to see. It was kinda obvious, though, when you knew what to look for.
That thought surprised him. When had he gotten so good at 'Giles Looks 101?' Xander didn't realize the light had changed from red to green until Giles cleared his throat.
"What?" Xander asked, starting from his thoughts. For the first time that morning, Xander looked Giles full in the face.
"The light," Giles said, his voice low. Xander had to force himself to look back to the road, to the light dangling ahead of them. It took him a heartbeat longer than it should have to realize he was supposed to go.
"Right. Uh, thanks." The word sounded strange, sounded wrong. Like he should be saying something else, or a lot of 'something else's. Unfortunately, Xander had no idea what those were, at least not yet. What he did know, the only thing that he felt sure of, was that if he said the wrong thing, did the wrong thing now, it might screw up everything. He had to think, because he couldn't stand the thought of screwing up the rest of his life, yet again. He had to think before he let himself talk, or he ran the risk of making the same mistakes he always made. He couldn't face that possibility, and really that was the only thing that kept his mouth shut.
For the first time in history, he thought to himself in that same bitter voice, I'm going to do things right. I'm going to think this through. Xander tried very hard not to listen to the little voice in the back of his head that whispered that that wasn't possible.
The hotel Anya had chosen was fairly easy to find. Not only was it the only one in the small town, but it was also on the main drag through town and had a large neon sign out front that flashed 'acancy' at them as Xander parked in the little lot.
Xander groaned and let his head fall forward onto the steering wheel. "Owie," he said, he voice muffled by said steering wheel. "That hurt more than I thought it would."
Xander thought he heard a soft snort of laughter from Giles, which meant he couldn't look up for a minute, because he had to wipe the smile off his face, first. Giles made things easier when he undid his seatbelt and opened his door.
"Why don't I move things around, to fit Anya's things in, while you find her?" Giles' tone was low, but otherwise it was the most normal he'd sounded since last night.
Xander nodded, pulling the keys out of the ignition and handing them out to Giles. Xander glanced up as the keys left his hand, but Giles was already heading back to rearrange things in the trunk.
Obviously, Anya's letter hadn't mentioned what room she'd been in, so Xander went to the little office tucked into one point of the 'u' shaped motel building. An older man sat behind the desk, absorbed in some book. He looked up with tired eyes as Xander said, "Hi."
"Hi." The guy didn't say anything else, just looked at Xander, patiently waiting for whatever Xander would say.
"I'm looking for a woman," Xander started, pretty annoyed when the older man leered. "A specific woman. She probably checked in late last night. Blonde, about this tall, very angry?" Somehow, Xander wasn't at all surprised when recognition appeared on the man's face after the last bit.
"Right, right. Yeah, I remember her. I . . . I can't just give out her room number," the guy said, though he looked a little apologetic. Or maybe he just wanted to see if Xander would offer money. If it was a movie, that's what he would have wanted.
Nope, not a movie, said the voice in the back of Xander's head, Just your screwed up life.
"Uh, right. Can you . . . " Xander glanced back out of the office, through the large windows that made up the walls, and found Giles leaning back against the trunk, his hands in his pockets and his head down as he waited. Xander forgot whatever words he'd been thinking a minute before.
"Can I what?" the guy asked, still in that tired, patient voice.
"Uh," Xander shook his head, his eyes snapping back to the counter-guy. "Call her room? Tell her I'm here?"
The guy shrugged and nodded, picking up the phone. He used his hand to shield the number pad from Xander's eyes and Xander didn't know what to think about that. On the one had, yay for cheap motels protecting their customer's privacy. On the other hand, Xander really wanted to get this over with, wanted to be back in Sunnydale, where he might actually be able to think. Or, okay, might be able to flop down on Willow's bed and whine until she asked him leading questions and made the thinking easier. You know, whichever.
The sound of a sharp voice on the other side of the phone line drew Xander's attention back to the counter-guy.
"Oh, sorry, it's just there's someone here for you. Uh . . . I don't know." The guy covered the bottom of the receiver and glanced up at Xander. "What's your name?"
"Xander Harris." Even Xander could hear the tired in his own voice.
"Right." The guy uncovered the receiver. "Xander--right. Okay . . . Sure I can." Counter-guy covered the receiver again. "She's giving me a message for you."
Xander felt an eyebrow rise, but he just shoved his hands into his pockets and tried not to cringe at the thought of the kind of message Anya might have for him.
"Pond scum," the guy said, nodding and listening intently. Xander could hear Anya through the phone, though he couldn't make out her words. "Painful death. Right." The guy kept nodding, as if these were the kind of messages he gave every day. Then his jaw dropped, which kinda made the guy look like a turtle that had just seen a dancing squid. "Uh, you should . . . Well, that's probably something you want to say to him yourself."
Xander blinked as the counter-guy sent him a sidelong glance. He listened to something else that Anya said and then hung up the phone, and then he looked up at Xander, not meeting his eyes. "She's coming down."
Xander thought he probably went pale. His mouth definitely went dry, and he only barely managed to croak out, "Great. I'll just, wait outside." Counter-guy ignored him as Xander walked out of the office, scanning the building for Anya.
Anya marched down the stairs from a room on the second floor. The metal stairs vibrated under her feet and her expression made Xander think of thunderclouds. She stomped to a stop directly in front of him, her face expectant. Xander found that--for once--his brain didn't have any words. That didn't stop his mouth from trying: it flopped open and closed several times, despite the fact that nothing at all was coming out.
"Well?" Anya said, and her asking only seemed to make her angrier. Her hands came up to rest on her hips. "You called me all the way down here, Xander, I assumed you had something to say."
If anything, Xander's mind was blanker than it had been a moment ago. Now, his mouth even seemed paralyzed. He managed to open it, but nothing came out, and before he could think of anything, Anya spoke again.
"Not that it will matter. I've already decided that I can't take you back."
"Uh . . ." Xander could feel his hair sweating, feel it running down his neck. "Anya, I'm--I'm sorry." His stomach clenched tight and the words seemed too small, too ordinary, for the weight of the guilt that pushed on him, and the hurt he could see in Anya's eyes. "I do care about you, but . . ." and there Xander's brain gave out on him. He knew, in a way, what he meant, but it was all feeling, all part of the emotions roiling around in his gut. He didn't know how to turn that into words.
"But you care more about him?" Anya gestured jerkily to where Giles leaned against the trunk of the car--trying to pretend he couldn't hear if the hunched set of his shoulders was any indication. Xander was Giles flinch, though.
Xander's brain was blank again.
"I don't know," he finally said, knowing that, even if Giles wasn't looking, he was listening. Suddenly, Xander felt twice as bad as he had just a few minutes ago. "That's not the point, though," he finally said. "It's not about Giles. Ahn, it's . . . it's . . ." Xander waved his hands, as if that would somehow explain what he meant.
Anya just stared, her face scrunched up as if she was trying to guess. She shook her head, frustration clear when she spoke. "What are you trying to say? I know it's something to do with Giles, otherwise you wouldn't keep choosing him over me! Xander, if it's that you're gay, just say that! Just . . . I don't understand why you couldn't say that! What you had to go behind my back! Again!"
From the corner of his eye, Xander saw Giles straighten away from the car. He wasn't the only one listening, either. Counter-guy was standing up, practically leaning over the counter in order to hear. Even some of the room doors were cracked and Xander could imagine the faces looking out at them.
"Can we talk about this, quietly, somewhere else?" He finally asked, giving Anya a pleading look.
Anya huffed, but nodded. "Fine," she bit out, "we can go over there." Anya nodded to the side of the building. Xander would have preferred going up to her room, but it was better than standing out in the parking lot.
He shot an apologetic look at Giles, and then followed Anya around the side of the building. She turned around, her hands going back to her hips. "Well?"
Xander had to work to get words out in the face of Anya's . . . Well, face. It was hard to look at her and say anything, let alone what he had to say. "It's not Giles," he managed, feeling as if all the energy had been wrung out of him. Even his thoughts sounded tired. "It's not me being gay, I'm . . . I don't know, but that's not the point either. And, it's not you. I know how corny it sounds," he said, holding up a hand to keep Anya from interrupting him, "but it's me. I don't know what I want, or . . . anything, but . . . I know we're . . . God, I hate this, but it's not going to be us, Ahn. I just . . . I like you, I care, but . . ."
"You don't . . . You don't love me?" she asked, her voice small and high. There were tears shining in Anya's eyes and Xander wished he hadn't come here, that he'd just driven back to Sunnydale. Even if that did make him a coward. If he'd imagined the look Anya was wearing, if he'd have been able to see it clearly in his head, he wouldn't have stopped.
Xander couldn't have made his mouth work if he'd wanted to, let alone get his brain to formulate words. All he could manage was a head shake.
"I hate you, Xander Harris," Anya bit out, though it wasn't anger he saw on her face. "If I had my power back . . ." He knew she was trying to sound threatening--and it wasn't that he couldn't imagine what she would do if she did get her powers back--but he knew her too well.
Her chin was high, her eyes bright, and her voice just the slightest bit wobbly. Xander wanted to reach out, to put a hand on her shoulder like he'd done when she'd found out about Darth Vader. He doubted that was smart, though, doubted she would welcome his trying to comfort her when he was the one who'd caused the hurt in the first place.
"Believe me," Xander said, his voice shaky, though most of that came from trying to inject some humor into his tone. "I live in fear of the day you get your powers back." The humor dropped away as Anya raised her head just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the red tear tracks on her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I really am. I probably deserve it, after not telling you . . . I'm sorry."
"I'm not going to curse you, Xander," Anya finally said. She met his gaze and shrugged. "I already did, anyway."
"What?!" Xander's head shot up, his mind filling with images of boils and exploding body parts. He actually glanced down to make sure his intestines were still on the inside. "What curse?" he asked, his eyes wild.
Anya blinked at him and then shook her head. "The demon?" she said, her voice soft and her eyes wide with worry. "I just . . . I didn't mean for it to happen." Her voice sounded as watery as her eyes looked.
Xander shook his head, feeling his forehead furrow as he tried to understand what she was saying.
Anya's face scrunched up again and she'd started ringing her hands. Xander's brain had started to wrap itself around what she'd said, but he couldn't seem to believe it. His mouth was doing that 'moving despite not having words' thing again.
"I didn't mean--I wished you knew how I felt," she said, the words rushing out of her mouth so fast that Xander felt dizzy just hearing them. "Being on the outside of everything, with everything being so . . . human. I . . . A friend, a vengeance demon friend, took me out for drinks." Anya was pacing now, just a few steps to either side, her face still scrunched in on itself. "I was tipsy and . . . and I wasn't thinking and . . . I did that with hundreds of women over the centuries, got them to talk about it, but I didn't think!" she flung her hands out, as if to indicate the whole mess, her eyes finally slipping back to Xander's. "Everything turned back a few months and I-I wanted to tell you, but . . . But you were still with me and everything seemed to be going so well and I didn't want it all to fall apart again. I thought I could make it different this time."
"Again," Xander said, his voice weak even in his own ears. He was staring at the wall behind Anya, feeling as if someone had reached in and scooped out his insides.
They did, said some sadistic voice in his head. And replaced them with demon bits.
Xander could feel his mouth flopping, and Anya was looking at him in the hunched-in kind of way that let him know she expected him to be angry. He was. Or, at least, he thought he should be. Of course he should be. She'd changed him. She knew what vengeance demons did, and still . . . But he just kept hearing her say that she'd wanted him to know how she felt.
Being on the outside of everything, with everything being so . . . human.
Though he had the definite sense that he was really, really angry, he just couldn't seem to feel it. He just felt tired beyond telling, and sad, especially seeing the tears stuck in Anya's eyelashes.
"I . . ." he shook his head. "I can't believe you did that to me," he managed. And that was true. He'd never really believed she'd curse him, no matter what he'd said. He might have worried about it, momentarily, but he'd never really believed she'd go through with it.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking up at him and sighing heavily. "But it's over now. I . . ." Anya shook her head and turned, walking back toward the parking lot. "I'll rent a car to get back to Sunnydale," she said. "I don't know if I'll be staying, now . . . So, tell Giles I won't be in at the Magic Box."
Xander wanted to reach out, to tell Anya . . . Well, that was the problem, wasn't it? He had no idea what to tell Anya. He was mad--or would be, once it sunk it--but he also still felt guilty for what he'd done. He thought he should say something, though. "Okay." It sounded choked even to him. Anya paused for a second, but then ducked her head and walked faster, disappearing around the corner.
Xander stood there for a long moment, staring at the gravel.
-----
The Conclusion