END OF INNOCENCE (1/?)
 

Xander sat in the dark, staring at the pale red light of his clock. He
watched as each number blinked with each passing minute. He didn't think he'd
move for over an hour. He was still in shock. Shock, denial, disgust, and
several other abjectives that he just couldn't think of at the moment. Spike
had tried to kill himself that afternoon, stopping only after Xander and
Willow had stopped him. The fact that he had wanted to stop the blond, well
that surprised him. But it wasn't why he was now sitting alone in the dark,
simply staring at the clock. No, that had not made his entire world tilt.
Spike's words to them had forced him into seeing something that he had tried
to ignore for months...years. He was not needed.
 

Sure, Buffy liked the idea of having him around. He was good at getting
doughnuts and making some wisecrack but other than that, he was useless.
Completely a waste of space. What bothered him the most was that he had known
this for awhile. He had left Sunnydale for the summer, honestly intending
never to return. But, he had been pulled back. His bond with Willow had made
him come back. He couldn't just leave her here alone to deal with Buffy. She
was too nice to ever tell the slayer to get fucked, which she should have
done back Junior year. So, she needed him. Or so he had thought. He hardly
ever saw her anymore, spending more time with a chained up Spike than with
his best friend. But, she was in school so he understood. They had managed to
still get together at least once a week for dinner.
 

He had admitted to himself back when she had been in that coma that he loved
her. He had tried so hard to ignore those feelings, having them blow up
around homecoming. He had lost Cordelia, also losing Willow in the process.
Things had never been the same between them since then. Then the whole Faith
fiasco had happened and well, he'd been disgusted with himself for sleeping
with the slayer. He had let Willow down. The only person in this fucked up
world that had cared for him, and he had hurt her. Now, though, they were
finally rebuilding that friendship. He knew deep down that there was no way
she could still love him. Not after everything he had done. But, he would
always love her. Seeing the look on her face that day after Spike had forced
them both to realize some ignored truths, well, he had wanted nothing more
than to hold her and soothe her. Had he? No. He'd let her deal with her pain
alone, the same way he was forced to deal with his.
 

In a way, he could recognize that there was nothing he could have said or
done to make her feel better. In fact, he might have made it even worse. He
could justify his actions using that logic, but it didn't make him feel any
less guilty. He stood and moved towards his kitchen. He knew the path
backwards and forwards in the dark, having often left his lights off during
the night when he got hungry. He opened the door to the fridge, staring at
the almost empty shelves. He cursed, slamming the door shut. He slowly
smiled, realizing how good that felt. Pulling it open, he slammed it again.
He moved towards the cabinet, hitting it as hard as he could. He felt better
than he had in months. He began to hit everything, using as much strength as
he could. He started to laugh, enjoying the release of tension and energy.
Suddenly he understood why Spike had been going crazy not being able to hit
anyone. This was fun.
 

He grabbed his coat, leaving his room and heading towards the campus. He
wanted to start a fight, knowing somehow that hitting a person would feel
even better than hitting a couch cushion. He frowned as he paused on the
sidewalk. What was he thinking? He couldn't go beat up someone just because
he was pissed that Buffy used them and they allowed themselves to be used. If
anything, he should be beating her. Smiling slightly at the image of pounding
his fist into her smug little face, he shook his head. He was not going to
turn into his father. There was no way he would ever allow that to happen.
The couch was ok to hit, but people were off limits. Maybe a demon, but he
would probably get his ass kicked or killed. He sighed, reluctantly turning
to go back to his house. He hit his fist against the tree on the way back,
enjoying the slight pain as he made contact. He found himself wondering what
it would be like to hear the scream of pain as his fist connected. Too bad
trees couldn't scream, he decided.
 

He cast one last look down the street, his eyes narrowing slightly as he
pushed down the impulse to simply go find someone to fight. He couldn't risk
it. Besides, he'd probably get his ass kicked anyway. Willow needed him, now
more than ever he realized. He couldn't risk leaving her alone for one stupid
fight. He might have to get one of those hanging punching bags though.
Something he could hit when he got upset. He had had years of bottling up his
frustrations and anger, covering it with a goofy smile. That act had become
second nature to him. Lately, though, it was getting more difficult to
maintain it constantly. Sighing, he entered his house, deciding that he must
really need some sleep. He was starting to sound like Spike. If he hadn't
been so tired, he might have been frightened from the direction of his
thoughts. Instead, he knew he was just reacting from a horrible day. He shut
the door, flipping the light on, casting the lawn around the basement window
with a pale glow. A cloud of smoke drifted from behind a tree as a blond
figure smiled slightly, a speculative look in his blue eyes.

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