Fic: Brothers of the Sword Part 2/?
Title: Brothers of the Sword - Part 2/?
Authors: hotspur18 and quoshara
Pairing: Wesley and Xander
Rating: G
Summary: Airport layovers can bring unexpected results.
Previous part can be found here.
Xander’s remark that the meds ‘made him a bit loopy’ was, I felt, the understatement , if not of the century, then most certainly of my increasingly surreal day, but I quite definitely sympathized. From my far-too frequent encounters with what Gunn had once called ‘the good stuff’, I knew exactly how pleasantly detached from whatever had been troubling him at the airport he was currently feeling, and I determined to encourage his state of mind.
“Ah, yes,” I said, unable to stop myself from smiling once again, this time in remembrance of the lovely euphoria that I had enjoyed on such occasions, “idiocy without the hangover.” It had been a long time since I had allowed myself the luxury of self-mockery, and even longer since I had been in a position where I felt someone might appreciate it, but I was close enough to looped myself by now that it no longer seemed to matter. “Sweet morphine!” I declaimed in Shakespearian tones, flinging one arm out, “ah, how I miss you…”
I wondered if perhaps Giles, too, had imbibed rather too freely in Xander’s presence, for rather than phasing him, as I had half-suspected, I merely made him laugh with my attempt at grandiloquence. “Oh, yeah.... and makes you so attractive when they catch you nodding off and drooling.…” This made him laugh more, and I surreptitiously checked to make sure that I was not doing precisely that. “Hate flying,” he added after a while. “Seems to make the pain…start….and I don’t like ‘em.”
I had never heard pain referred to in the plural before, unless applied to numerous injuries, and I felt concern that there was something equally bad, yet not as visible as the eye patch, that I was as yet unaware of. “Them?”
“The meds…” It was an oddly comprehensive explanation. “Don't like them.…”
And yes, there was always that. Knowing that the euphoria was artificial, that the sense of well-being was false. After the initial relief of the pain’s cessation, it was a quite horrible feeling, if you allowed yourself to think about what was causing it, and the lack of control it implied you would have for the next few hours. “No, well, who does? So long as they help a bit.…” I was as matter of fact as I could be, trying to offer understanding without being too forward, or burdening him with a confidence that he was obviously in no position to deal with.
“Yeah.…” He obviously did not wish to discuss it further, peering back at the screen and frowning - though I assumed it was not in an attempt to decipher the plot, which had been apparent from the first five minutes. “I make better stakes.…”
I certainly did not remember stakes being an issue in this film. Swallowing more whisky, I looked for myself, and saw the pseudo-Vikings happily making a palisade. I made a vague stab at a defence of their skills. “Well, these ones are only pointy on one side. Bad practise, really.”
“Keeps you from falling against the other pointy bits... with your own personal pointy bits…” He snorted with laughter, and I restrained myself from joining him with some difficulty. Looped or not, his mood was contagious.
"I should be an expert on pointy bits - *wooden* pointy bits, so take that look off your face, please - by now. After all, working with Angel…and Angelus, I must say that the latter looks a great deal better after being pushed down an elevator shaft…and there’s less need for the stakes!” And perhaps I was drunker than I thought. Xander, though, seemed to have no difficulty tracing the association, sitting up and grinning at me.
“You pushed Angelus down an elevator shaft? You go, Wes…”
For the first time, I was able to share the morbid humour of the situation with someone who, like Cordelia, had endured the reincarnation of the real Angelus, something that she had shared with me as we ignored Angel’s pleas to be released for one long afternoon. “Well, it was either that or listen to him go on...and on....and on…” I laughed, remembering how amidst all the mind games, I had come to the realization that whatever else Angelus had been, his arrogance alone had made him tedious. “Actually, it was either that or stake him with a water cooler, so I went for the easier option!”
Xander looked as if he were giving both options serious consideration, before he laughed himself, and showed that his consideration had, however drug-addled, been genuine. “Yeah... Those aren’t usually made out of wood... wouldn't work probably…”
We shared a grin. “And of course,” I said solemnly, “you’d need something that worked.” I chuckled, remembering Cordelia’s mingled relief and disdain as she walked away from a chained and padlocked - and very repentant - Angel. "Cordy wouldn't unchain him, either. Too much opportunity for mockery. Though it has to be said…her idea - my execution. We chained him to the bed to let him turn back the hard way..." I swallowed more of my drink, thinking of her, and feeling the old pain begin to creep back in.
Xander, too, appeared to be thinking along the same lines, for his tone was almost wistful as he said, “That's my girl, Cordy.... wonderful on idea.... lousy on follow through.” He looked a bit sad for a moment then continued, a bit aimlessly, “Although.... Angel in chains... never a bad idea. Uh.... in a not-kinky kinda way, I mean.…”
I managed, narrowly, to swallow my drink this time. “Er, yes. Yes, I would hope so.” For the life of me, I could not help but say how I felt. “Lord, I miss her!”
Xander only nodded, presumably understanding, before he looked down at me and said quietly, “Not enough sass in the world without Cordy... Not enough strength...Prada stock probably went down too, eh?” He smiled at that, but there was a sadness to it, and for the first time, I felt as though I was talking to someone who understood, who had known Cordelia’s true nature as well as those of us at Angel Investigations who had been privileged to see her grow into the woman she should always have been, and who felt the same love - and bewildered admiration - that I had come to feel over the years. My mockery was the sincerest way I could think of to honour her as I added -
“Um, no, I think..." I waved my hand, trying to remember, "You know, the one who does silly heels....ah....Manolo something?” I shook my head. Cordelia would truly have despaired of me. “Poor bugger, no wonder he's closed down the LA store!”
Xander snorted with real laughter, not the drugged vagueness of before, and pulled one of the bed pillows up into his arms, tucking it under his chin and resting his face on it. He looked oddly intense and yet relaxed at the same time, his attention fully on me and away from the film. “’S nice to talk to someone who knew her. Can't really talk to Buff and Willow about it... They sort of dance around it like they think I'll break. Can't talk to them about Anya either... Or this.”
He pointed to his eye, and I had no idea of what to say to him. I knew the story behind it, of course, but I had no idea - I had never had any idea - of what to say when someone was in any sort of emotional pain. Al I could offer was bluntness and honesty, and I had no idea as to how that would be received.
“Well…” I paused, and thought, but it was still all I had to offer. “ If you didn't break then, it's not like you will now.” I sighed in a half-apology, realizing how cold I must have sounded. “ Sorry.” An apology seemed the least I could offer. “I've - become tactless over the years.”
****
Okay… this was so not the Wes that I remembered. He felt… comfortable, somehow. Like someone who might just voice an opinion that wasn’t handed down from the Watcher’s Council or found in a dust-ridden old book. As a matter of fact, this new Wes seemed… well, a bit outspoken.
Of course, it might just be an act. Not like I’d know the difference. I hadn’t had much use for the younger Wes back in Sunnydale. It was like he was the sum of everything bad the Council had ever inflicted on Buffy and he made no attempt to fit in with us.
“Not tactless, Wes.... honest, I think.” I gave him a smile, “I need more honest, from myself as well as from everyone else.”
And suddenly the temptation was too much. I needed to tell someone about my plans - even if the someone was an unexplainably returned to life ex-Watcher.
“I'm not doing this anymore, Wes.” I watched his face carefully. The old Wes was never any kind of actor. His thoughts had always sprung out on his face like sunshine through clouds. “I don't feel.... adequate to being a "Watcher". I'm just a guy who's good with his hands. I can carve stakes... fix things... Those are my skills.”
I waited for some kind of reaction. A dramatic plea to continue the good work of the Council. Or even the simple statement that I had nothing else to recommend me to anyone except my semi-competence as demon bait.
Instead I got, “Then do that!”
At that, Wes folded his arms on the end of the bed and put his head on them. It made him look young - more like a student than a back-from-the-dead ex-Watcher.
But that wasn’t all, he continued on the same track.
“Jesus, Xander, you've got to be more like…” He waved one arm at the screen. “…him. You know? Turn your broadsword into a scimitar so you can fight and fuck what they want of you! Let other people stand back and take notes. You never learnt or trained for that - and…..I am not your teacher and I very much need to shut up.... “
I had to chuckle at that. The Sunnydale babble strikes at the oddest times, infecting, it seems, even young ex-Watchers.
“No, Wes.... I need to hear that.” I didn’t leave him hanging there for too long. “I need to know that I'm not stupid for wanting to go with my strengths, instead of where people want me to go. It's not going to be easy to explain to…everyone .... And I don't want to run away or anything. I still want to help with the good fight.... just not this way.”
It was so true. Half the time I was made to feel like some kind of pervert, coming into a village and asking to take away one of their young girls… and not for marriage. Other times? Well, not all of my scars were inflicted by Vampires and demons - insulted and misunderstanding Slayers can pack a mean punch.
“Don't worry, little brother, there are plenty more!” Wes suddenly snorted, in answer to my earlier comment. Then: “I mean - damn and blast.”
“Always more, big brother…” I chuckled as I caught the movie quote. “Uh… damn?”
“No, no, you got it! Sorry. Living with two vampires, a newly arrived Hell Goddess who talks to plants, and Harmony, can make you seriously question your ability to say anything that anyone will understand.”
Now that I could feel sympathy with. Especially the Angel and Harmony part.
“Besides,” Wes continued, “we may as well be, thanks to Giles and his tutelage.”
Few truer words were ever spoken, and I raised my can of soda towards him in a mock toast, “Brothers of the Sword.... bound together with vamp dust and demon blood.” I paused and looked at him, suddenly laughing. “And how much cornier can I get?”
Wes grinned, turning round again. “Ever heard a drunken Angel?”
“Ah.... that would be a definite no. Deadboy and I.... well, we never did, er, hang out much.” And that was the understatement of the century. We didn’t hang out… we rarely spoke except to snap at each other.
“Heh, well, you'll love this, “ Wes was chuckling. And wow, another sign that the man had dislodged the stake from his ass - he was going to tell tales on Angel. I leaned forward, not wanting to miss anything that I might be able to use later… for ammunition.
“Angel decides - after, and I emphasize, after - trying to drink Spike under the table - that he's going to master the “Art Of The Computer“. Twenty minutes later, he manages to log on. Forty minutes after that, he calls me asking why all these messages from Viagra keep appearing, and… “ Wes dug out an Irish accent, “Darlin' boy, why are they askin' me if I'm wantin' Viagra, so?'“
Okay… that did it for me. I was laughing so hard, I had a momentary image of my good eye popping out and rolling across the floor.
“Wes.... God, Wes.... Your Irish accent is worse than my English accent.…”
I couldn’t even save myself as Wes hit me with the sofa cushion that he’d been sitting on and then proceeded to roll me up in the duvet, still laughing so hard that I could barely breath.
“Mlrprph... “ That was all I could manage, between the laughing and the, now diminished, air supply.
“Did you say something?” A bemused query from Wes.
I managed to claw my face free of the duvet, “Yup... “
And damn, if Wes wasn’t laughing back and still waving that cushion in a threatening manner. “And that was....?”
For a moment I was very tempted to make some comment about not being into duvet bondage, but I, somehow, restrained myself.
“I was just thinking of all the times Spike commented on Angel's ...er... enforced celibacy... and wondering if he really did need the Viagra.... “
“Oh, God! Well! There's a thought for the ages....!” And the laughing bastard tipped me off the side of the bed, still wrapped, caterpillar-like, in the duvet.
I hit the ground with an loud but not pained “oof”, and Wes started laughing again.
“Oh dear....no wonder Buffy was so - difficult!”
And there was nothing much more to be said about that, just the laughing agreement, “Yeah… would probably make me grouchy too.”
*
His mood changed abruptly, all the laughter vanishing from his face as he stared off into space at something I was absolutely sure I didn’t want to see, and would have given a surprising amount to stop him seeing, too. The next words from him, however, were completely unexpected, considering how sad he seemed.
“Uh - am I grouchy?”
I felt myself frown, thinking about it. “Not right now…” I could think of no reason for this, unless - “Why, do you want to be? Should you be?”
He freed himself from the duvet, and sat back on the bed. “Uh.... maybe....Haven't been with anyone since Anya....Haven't wanted to be... ya know?”
Oh, Lord, of course. I had forgotten that Anya, the girl who had given up being a vengeance demon because her conscience could no longer bear what she caused, and been killed in the destruction of Sunnydale in what, presumably, was the Powers’ idea of an appropriate reward for her virtue, had also been Xander’s lover. In fact…I seemed to remember that they had been engaged, at some point. Not ‘grouchy’, then. Mourning.
And that was something I could understand only too well…
I laughed, hearing how bitter it was and not caring. “Oh, I know. God bless the Watchers and their single -minded -” I broke off, seeing the confused look on Xander‘s face, and realised that he, at least, had been innocent of the easy abandonment with which Giles and Buffy had left us to our fate. I saw, again, Angel flinging his phone from him in rage, saying “We‘re on our own,” and felt once more the sheer despair that had filled me as I realised that Fred was lost to me for ever. “Christ.” I sighed. “You didn’t know…”
And any residual anger I might have been feeling at his possible involvement with the whole thing evaporated.
Authors: hotspur18 and quoshara
Pairing: Wesley and Xander
Rating: G
Summary: Airport layovers can bring unexpected results.
Previous part can be found here.
Xander’s remark that the meds ‘made him a bit loopy’ was, I felt, the understatement , if not of the century, then most certainly of my increasingly surreal day, but I quite definitely sympathized. From my far-too frequent encounters with what Gunn had once called ‘the good stuff’, I knew exactly how pleasantly detached from whatever had been troubling him at the airport he was currently feeling, and I determined to encourage his state of mind.
“Ah, yes,” I said, unable to stop myself from smiling once again, this time in remembrance of the lovely euphoria that I had enjoyed on such occasions, “idiocy without the hangover.” It had been a long time since I had allowed myself the luxury of self-mockery, and even longer since I had been in a position where I felt someone might appreciate it, but I was close enough to looped myself by now that it no longer seemed to matter. “Sweet morphine!” I declaimed in Shakespearian tones, flinging one arm out, “ah, how I miss you…”
I wondered if perhaps Giles, too, had imbibed rather too freely in Xander’s presence, for rather than phasing him, as I had half-suspected, I merely made him laugh with my attempt at grandiloquence. “Oh, yeah.... and makes you so attractive when they catch you nodding off and drooling.…” This made him laugh more, and I surreptitiously checked to make sure that I was not doing precisely that. “Hate flying,” he added after a while. “Seems to make the pain…start….and I don’t like ‘em.”
I had never heard pain referred to in the plural before, unless applied to numerous injuries, and I felt concern that there was something equally bad, yet not as visible as the eye patch, that I was as yet unaware of. “Them?”
“The meds…” It was an oddly comprehensive explanation. “Don't like them.…”
And yes, there was always that. Knowing that the euphoria was artificial, that the sense of well-being was false. After the initial relief of the pain’s cessation, it was a quite horrible feeling, if you allowed yourself to think about what was causing it, and the lack of control it implied you would have for the next few hours. “No, well, who does? So long as they help a bit.…” I was as matter of fact as I could be, trying to offer understanding without being too forward, or burdening him with a confidence that he was obviously in no position to deal with.
“Yeah.…” He obviously did not wish to discuss it further, peering back at the screen and frowning - though I assumed it was not in an attempt to decipher the plot, which had been apparent from the first five minutes. “I make better stakes.…”
I certainly did not remember stakes being an issue in this film. Swallowing more whisky, I looked for myself, and saw the pseudo-Vikings happily making a palisade. I made a vague stab at a defence of their skills. “Well, these ones are only pointy on one side. Bad practise, really.”
“Keeps you from falling against the other pointy bits... with your own personal pointy bits…” He snorted with laughter, and I restrained myself from joining him with some difficulty. Looped or not, his mood was contagious.
"I should be an expert on pointy bits - *wooden* pointy bits, so take that look off your face, please - by now. After all, working with Angel…and Angelus, I must say that the latter looks a great deal better after being pushed down an elevator shaft…and there’s less need for the stakes!” And perhaps I was drunker than I thought. Xander, though, seemed to have no difficulty tracing the association, sitting up and grinning at me.
“You pushed Angelus down an elevator shaft? You go, Wes…”
For the first time, I was able to share the morbid humour of the situation with someone who, like Cordelia, had endured the reincarnation of the real Angelus, something that she had shared with me as we ignored Angel’s pleas to be released for one long afternoon. “Well, it was either that or listen to him go on...and on....and on…” I laughed, remembering how amidst all the mind games, I had come to the realization that whatever else Angelus had been, his arrogance alone had made him tedious. “Actually, it was either that or stake him with a water cooler, so I went for the easier option!”
Xander looked as if he were giving both options serious consideration, before he laughed himself, and showed that his consideration had, however drug-addled, been genuine. “Yeah... Those aren’t usually made out of wood... wouldn't work probably…”
We shared a grin. “And of course,” I said solemnly, “you’d need something that worked.” I chuckled, remembering Cordelia’s mingled relief and disdain as she walked away from a chained and padlocked - and very repentant - Angel. "Cordy wouldn't unchain him, either. Too much opportunity for mockery. Though it has to be said…her idea - my execution. We chained him to the bed to let him turn back the hard way..." I swallowed more of my drink, thinking of her, and feeling the old pain begin to creep back in.
Xander, too, appeared to be thinking along the same lines, for his tone was almost wistful as he said, “That's my girl, Cordy.... wonderful on idea.... lousy on follow through.” He looked a bit sad for a moment then continued, a bit aimlessly, “Although.... Angel in chains... never a bad idea. Uh.... in a not-kinky kinda way, I mean.…”
I managed, narrowly, to swallow my drink this time. “Er, yes. Yes, I would hope so.” For the life of me, I could not help but say how I felt. “Lord, I miss her!”
Xander only nodded, presumably understanding, before he looked down at me and said quietly, “Not enough sass in the world without Cordy... Not enough strength...Prada stock probably went down too, eh?” He smiled at that, but there was a sadness to it, and for the first time, I felt as though I was talking to someone who understood, who had known Cordelia’s true nature as well as those of us at Angel Investigations who had been privileged to see her grow into the woman she should always have been, and who felt the same love - and bewildered admiration - that I had come to feel over the years. My mockery was the sincerest way I could think of to honour her as I added -
“Um, no, I think..." I waved my hand, trying to remember, "You know, the one who does silly heels....ah....Manolo something?” I shook my head. Cordelia would truly have despaired of me. “Poor bugger, no wonder he's closed down the LA store!”
Xander snorted with real laughter, not the drugged vagueness of before, and pulled one of the bed pillows up into his arms, tucking it under his chin and resting his face on it. He looked oddly intense and yet relaxed at the same time, his attention fully on me and away from the film. “’S nice to talk to someone who knew her. Can't really talk to Buff and Willow about it... They sort of dance around it like they think I'll break. Can't talk to them about Anya either... Or this.”
He pointed to his eye, and I had no idea of what to say to him. I knew the story behind it, of course, but I had no idea - I had never had any idea - of what to say when someone was in any sort of emotional pain. Al I could offer was bluntness and honesty, and I had no idea as to how that would be received.
“Well…” I paused, and thought, but it was still all I had to offer. “ If you didn't break then, it's not like you will now.” I sighed in a half-apology, realizing how cold I must have sounded. “ Sorry.” An apology seemed the least I could offer. “I've - become tactless over the years.”
****
Okay… this was so not the Wes that I remembered. He felt… comfortable, somehow. Like someone who might just voice an opinion that wasn’t handed down from the Watcher’s Council or found in a dust-ridden old book. As a matter of fact, this new Wes seemed… well, a bit outspoken.
Of course, it might just be an act. Not like I’d know the difference. I hadn’t had much use for the younger Wes back in Sunnydale. It was like he was the sum of everything bad the Council had ever inflicted on Buffy and he made no attempt to fit in with us.
“Not tactless, Wes.... honest, I think.” I gave him a smile, “I need more honest, from myself as well as from everyone else.”
And suddenly the temptation was too much. I needed to tell someone about my plans - even if the someone was an unexplainably returned to life ex-Watcher.
“I'm not doing this anymore, Wes.” I watched his face carefully. The old Wes was never any kind of actor. His thoughts had always sprung out on his face like sunshine through clouds. “I don't feel.... adequate to being a "Watcher". I'm just a guy who's good with his hands. I can carve stakes... fix things... Those are my skills.”
I waited for some kind of reaction. A dramatic plea to continue the good work of the Council. Or even the simple statement that I had nothing else to recommend me to anyone except my semi-competence as demon bait.
Instead I got, “Then do that!”
At that, Wes folded his arms on the end of the bed and put his head on them. It made him look young - more like a student than a back-from-the-dead ex-Watcher.
But that wasn’t all, he continued on the same track.
“Jesus, Xander, you've got to be more like…” He waved one arm at the screen. “…him. You know? Turn your broadsword into a scimitar so you can fight and fuck what they want of you! Let other people stand back and take notes. You never learnt or trained for that - and…..I am not your teacher and I very much need to shut up.... “
I had to chuckle at that. The Sunnydale babble strikes at the oddest times, infecting, it seems, even young ex-Watchers.
“No, Wes.... I need to hear that.” I didn’t leave him hanging there for too long. “I need to know that I'm not stupid for wanting to go with my strengths, instead of where people want me to go. It's not going to be easy to explain to…everyone .... And I don't want to run away or anything. I still want to help with the good fight.... just not this way.”
It was so true. Half the time I was made to feel like some kind of pervert, coming into a village and asking to take away one of their young girls… and not for marriage. Other times? Well, not all of my scars were inflicted by Vampires and demons - insulted and misunderstanding Slayers can pack a mean punch.
“Don't worry, little brother, there are plenty more!” Wes suddenly snorted, in answer to my earlier comment. Then: “I mean - damn and blast.”
“Always more, big brother…” I chuckled as I caught the movie quote. “Uh… damn?”
“No, no, you got it! Sorry. Living with two vampires, a newly arrived Hell Goddess who talks to plants, and Harmony, can make you seriously question your ability to say anything that anyone will understand.”
Now that I could feel sympathy with. Especially the Angel and Harmony part.
“Besides,” Wes continued, “we may as well be, thanks to Giles and his tutelage.”
Few truer words were ever spoken, and I raised my can of soda towards him in a mock toast, “Brothers of the Sword.... bound together with vamp dust and demon blood.” I paused and looked at him, suddenly laughing. “And how much cornier can I get?”
Wes grinned, turning round again. “Ever heard a drunken Angel?”
“Ah.... that would be a definite no. Deadboy and I.... well, we never did, er, hang out much.” And that was the understatement of the century. We didn’t hang out… we rarely spoke except to snap at each other.
“Heh, well, you'll love this, “ Wes was chuckling. And wow, another sign that the man had dislodged the stake from his ass - he was going to tell tales on Angel. I leaned forward, not wanting to miss anything that I might be able to use later… for ammunition.
“Angel decides - after, and I emphasize, after - trying to drink Spike under the table - that he's going to master the “Art Of The Computer“. Twenty minutes later, he manages to log on. Forty minutes after that, he calls me asking why all these messages from Viagra keep appearing, and… “ Wes dug out an Irish accent, “Darlin' boy, why are they askin' me if I'm wantin' Viagra, so?'“
Okay… that did it for me. I was laughing so hard, I had a momentary image of my good eye popping out and rolling across the floor.
“Wes.... God, Wes.... Your Irish accent is worse than my English accent.…”
I couldn’t even save myself as Wes hit me with the sofa cushion that he’d been sitting on and then proceeded to roll me up in the duvet, still laughing so hard that I could barely breath.
“Mlrprph... “ That was all I could manage, between the laughing and the, now diminished, air supply.
“Did you say something?” A bemused query from Wes.
I managed to claw my face free of the duvet, “Yup... “
And damn, if Wes wasn’t laughing back and still waving that cushion in a threatening manner. “And that was....?”
For a moment I was very tempted to make some comment about not being into duvet bondage, but I, somehow, restrained myself.
“I was just thinking of all the times Spike commented on Angel's ...er... enforced celibacy... and wondering if he really did need the Viagra.... “
“Oh, God! Well! There's a thought for the ages....!” And the laughing bastard tipped me off the side of the bed, still wrapped, caterpillar-like, in the duvet.
I hit the ground with an loud but not pained “oof”, and Wes started laughing again.
“Oh dear....no wonder Buffy was so - difficult!”
And there was nothing much more to be said about that, just the laughing agreement, “Yeah… would probably make me grouchy too.”
*
His mood changed abruptly, all the laughter vanishing from his face as he stared off into space at something I was absolutely sure I didn’t want to see, and would have given a surprising amount to stop him seeing, too. The next words from him, however, were completely unexpected, considering how sad he seemed.
“Uh - am I grouchy?”
I felt myself frown, thinking about it. “Not right now…” I could think of no reason for this, unless - “Why, do you want to be? Should you be?”
He freed himself from the duvet, and sat back on the bed. “Uh.... maybe....Haven't been with anyone since Anya....Haven't wanted to be... ya know?”
Oh, Lord, of course. I had forgotten that Anya, the girl who had given up being a vengeance demon because her conscience could no longer bear what she caused, and been killed in the destruction of Sunnydale in what, presumably, was the Powers’ idea of an appropriate reward for her virtue, had also been Xander’s lover. In fact…I seemed to remember that they had been engaged, at some point. Not ‘grouchy’, then. Mourning.
And that was something I could understand only too well…
I laughed, hearing how bitter it was and not caring. “Oh, I know. God bless the Watchers and their single -minded -” I broke off, seeing the confused look on Xander‘s face, and realised that he, at least, had been innocent of the easy abandonment with which Giles and Buffy had left us to our fate. I saw, again, Angel flinging his phone from him in rage, saying “We‘re on our own,” and felt once more the sheer despair that had filled me as I realised that Fred was lost to me for ever. “Christ.” I sighed. “You didn’t know…”
And any residual anger I might have been feeling at his possible involvement with the whole thing evaporated.