Disclaimer: Characters are property of Joss Whedon Summary: Xander and Spike have a talk.
"What can I do but move
From folly to defeat,
And call the sorrow sweet
That teaches us to see
The final face of love
In what we cannot be?"
Richard Wilbur
He watched from the shadows, drawn back to this place by the same inexplicable longing he never could quite bring himself to acknowledge. Watched her come slowly, almost shyly, through the door, and stand at the edge of the dance floor.
Through the maze of people she threaded her way to the table...shaky perhaps, but with her blonde head held high.
He felt a flicker of pride in her; and that surprised him. His hatred for her was so all-consuming that he'd thought it would overwhelm any other feelings.
He could see the others at the table that was her target- the redheaded Willow, the voluptuous Cordelia, the sardonic Xander. As he studied them, he saw Willow rise and head for the stage where the guitar player waited. She hadn't yet noticed the tiny blonde girl who now paused hesitantly.
But Xander had.
Spike saw Xander lean forward intently; then, just as the girl almost reached him, turn and pull Cordelia into his arms, kissing her passionately.
Buffy stopped again; then started to slip into a vacant chair.
Just then Xander looked up, and spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but Spike's preternatural hearing could discern every syllable.
"Oh, hi, Buffy. Uh...sorry, but...this table's taken." He turned his head to kiss Cordelia again.
Buffy stared, frozen...while Spike witnessed every changing emotion on her face- the shock, the hurt, the humiliation. Then, she was on her feet, pushing through the crowd to the door while the tears spilled over.
Instinctively Spike followed her out...but he wasn't the only one.
In the dim street outside the Bronze, Xander seized Buffy's arm and jerked her around to face him.
"How does it feel, Slayer?" he snarled. "How does it feel to turn your back and walk away? Did it feel good? Does it still feel good- when you want to come crawling back?"
Buffy took a deep breath. "Xander, I..."
"Because you can't." Xander continued, inexorably. "Guess what, Buff? You've been replaced."
He waited, but when she didn't respond, he laughed bitterly. "Nothing to say, Buffy? But then, you're so good at saying nothing. For three months- NOTHING!"
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
"You think that makes it ok? I got news for you...it' s too little, too late! Don't you dare tell me how sorry you are; it's another lie! You didn't care what I was going through- wondering every night if you were still alive. Well...now I don't care...deal with that!"
"That's not true," Buffy protested. "I missed you..."
"Liar!" Xander screamed the word; his hand came up and he hit Buffy so hard she slammed into the back wall of the club.
She picked herself up and faced Xander; and Spike- who'd automatically started forward- hesitated at the expression in her eyes.
Finally she spoke. "Right. I'll deal with it. From now on, we're done."
Xander still stood motionless, staring at his upraised fist as if he couldn't comprehend what it had done. His glazed eyes moved to her...only to see her walking away...walking out of his life forever.
"Buffy?" he called uncertainly.
"BUFFY!" he yelled her name in desperation.
She didn't stop, or even pause...her back still straight, her head high. And then...she was gone.
Xander seemed to fold in on himself, collapsing onto his knees...trying in dazed disbelief to contemplate the ruin of his world.
Spike stepped forward into the light. "Nice, " he said expressionlessly. "No demon could have done better."
To his amazement, Xander showed neither astonishment nor fear at the sight of him. Instead the look of shocked misery faded from his eyes, to be replaced by a malevolence so corrosive that even Spike was startled.
"Not even Angel?" Xander demanded. "Angel was better at everything." Suddenly he looked up at Spike with sly satisfaction. "I got HIM, though. I know how he thought of me...weak, a joke, not even worth killing. He was wrong."
Spike stared. Suddenly he knew, knew with utter certainty, that the boy was telling the truth...somehow, he'd been responsible for what had happened to Angel.
Xander seemed to have forgotten that he was in mortal danger. "How many women have you loved?" he asked suddenly.
The question stunned Spike; and he answered without thinking, "Three."
His mind veered back.. to London. His mother, beautiful and fragile, who'd never once touched him with tenderness. Prague... and Drusilla, whose need he had mistaken for love. Then had come California...and he was lost. Forever. Held in the vortex of her eyes.
"Three." Xander nodded. "Maybe it's a magic number. I care about Cordy....or maybe it's just that I care about being the kind of man who'd have a girl like her. Willow... nobody knows me better than Willow."
"And Buffy?" Spike asked, wondering why he even cared.
Xander was silent a long moment. Then..."Buffy." He glanced up at Spike and his face twisted into a distorted grimace. "I hate her, you know. I hate her so much!"
"Then...why follow her?" Spike's voice was soft. He was no longer sure if he meant Xander...or himself. "Why risk everything for her? Why keep coming back, over and over again, just to see her?"
"BECAUSE ...I CAN'T LOVE ANYONE ELSE!" Xander shouted. Hard and painfully, he began to cry.
Spike walked over to the wretched human sobbing on the street, aware of a curious sense of empathy. "I understand better than you think I do," he said at last.
He turned to leave- then stopped. "Better not stay here," he said sharply. "The forces of darkness are out in full strength tonight."
Then he was gone- in the same direction as the Slayer.
Xander dragged his head up enough to watch the blonde vampire disappear into the night. All around him he felt the foreshadowing of a greater loss than any he had yet experienced.
"The forces of darkness," he repeated.
He gave one final sob of despair.
"Let them come, then," he muttered. "Let them come."
The End