Tabula Rasa (6/6)

By Lori Bush

Disclaimer: The Buffy gang is property of Joss. 'Nuff said.

Rating: PG

Pairing: B/X and A/X. I can't ignore the guy's very real feelings…

Spoilers: "The Gift," in a major, if you don't wanna know, please don't read this, way. I already spoiled it for one person who was trying to stay pure (I'm really sorry, really), and I don't want to blow it for anyone else.

Summary: Sixth season ideas and stories are like belly buttons. Pretty much everybody's got one. Here's mine.

Author's Notes: Another one of my long, strange journeys is over. I thought about adding an epilogue to this, but feel closure here, so here it ends. As other writers I admire have done, I want to take a moment to recognize all of those who have cheered me on.

First, the harem – Shawn, Duncan, Zauriel Angelus and C-Man. You guys really do rock. Then, in no special order, I want to thank Chorlton, Diana Murray, Stone Cold, DarkDyer, Lesley-Ann, Jai L., Wesley Orias, Brooke, Michael, ManOverHall, cszewczek, Kenneth Carter, Bob Regent, Mirya Lirin, Da Bear, Varthan, Shadow Quark, Wicked Raygun, Gee, Lint, Prince Charon, titânia-dora, Jeanny, Saturn Girl, John McCarrick, and Melissa Woolever. Dear God, I hope that's everyone – it's trickier than I thought, going back and tracking all the feedback down. It also makes me appreciate every one of you more. *g* Although some of you have complicated screen names. ; )

Dedicated to the harem, like usual.

~**~

~6~

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That Last Step Is a Doozy

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You know, after all these years, you'd think I'd've learned. Emotional distress. Blood pounding. Standing alone, after midnight, outdoors, in the dark.

We're talking engraved invitation, here. Xander Harris, all-you-can-eat, now open for business.

I was still in shock, trying to decide if I should go back to the mansion and try to face Buffy, or go back to my apartment, and try to face how empty it would be. Imagine my surprise when choice C appeared. Stay here and face becoming some vampire's evening meal. At least I had the Stake Express – I don't leave home without it.

He grinned, and I growled. Maybe this would help me work off some of my frustration. We tussled, and I dusted him – never a word was spoken. And that would have been fine.

But he brought five or six of his closest friends along for the fun. "Hey," a female who was probably a goth type even before she was turned complained, "You staked Joey!"

"Well," I said, still a little short on snazzy comebacks, "yeah."

She turned to the guys with her. "He staked Joey," she repeated. I was afraid the whole thing was taxing her single brain cell to the edge of its capacity. I turned, planning on slipping away while she kept repeating herself. "He's leaving," she whined. Still caught up in the obvious, it seemed.

Two of them tackled me at once, and they weren't little guys. "Oooof." Geez, I may have improved on my technique while filling in for Buffy during her absence, but I was going to have to work on the clever lines. If I lived through this, I'd have to make up a cheat sheet, maybe practice a few in the mirror. I rolled out from under the vampire holding me down, and scrambled to my feet, doing a quick recon. There were four guys, and Goth Girl, who was still mumbling about Joey. I could do this. I could do this. Sure, and I could fly, too. As bad as my life was, I wasn't sure I wanted to call it quits just yet, so I had to at least try. One of the fullbacks came at me, and I managed a solid roundhouse punch to his temple, knocking him into one of the smaller vamps behind him. Turning, I saw the other big one approaching, and staked him nearly instinctively. One down.

They now realized that in spite of where they found me, I wasn't going to be a picnic in the park. The one I'd staked (two, counting the much-bemoaned Joey) would be my last easy and unaware shots. The guy I'd punched was up and shouting directions to the others, who moved into a circle around me. Oh, well, I wasn't going down without a fight. Didn't mean I wasn't terrified.

I reached inside my shirt to pull out my cross, but instead my hand closed around the talisman Tara had given me. I grasped it tightly, and felt the shot of courage run down my backbone. Grinning now, I surprised the vampire who'd broken Big Guy's fall by moving towards him and sucker punching him in the gut. He doubled over, groaning. "You guys have to work for your dinner tonight," I taunted. "Although if I have my way, you won't go home hungry. You'll go home dust." The fullback responded with an uppercut to my jaw. Yow!

I stumbled back, into the grip of Goth Girl, who was much less lame and more impressive in full game face. "You're cute," she hissed. "Maybe I should keep you. I mean, since it's your fault I lost Joey." Leave it to me to die due to a girl's romantic problems. I winced, readying myself for the end I'd always expected would happen eventually. As her teeth headed for my neck, I saw her eyes widen in surprise, and she vanished just before I landed unceremoniously on my ass in the dirt where she'd been moments prior to that. The dirt that had been her, moments prior to that. I looked around for my savior.

"Spike! Am I damn glad to see you," I gasped, climbing to my feet. The blond vamp had his stake in one hand, and the remaining big vamp had pinned both his arms from behind.

"Can we save the happy reunion for later, mate?" my undead friend asked me, "I'm just a bit busy right now." He brought his elbow up into the fullback's jaw, and I heard a sharp crack. The pain caused the other vamp to turn loose of Spike, who swung his arm around in an arc, his stake hitting home with ease.

With Goth Girl and the fullback now imitating ground cover, the two smaller guys that remained decided they liked their food a bit more docile, and took off. Spike looked at me critically, touching my jaw. "That's bruising already," he commented as I pulled away from his fingers.

"Oww! Leave it alone."

He pulled back the collar of my shirt. "The chicklet left y' a souvenir, too." I reached up to feel my neck where he was pointing, just above my collarbone. A neat set of what felt like four bleeding crescent-shaped wounds stung beneath my fingertips. "I think she had acrylics," Spike offered.

"Great. The latest in style for the best-dressed bloodsucker."

"Actually, she was kind of skanky, not terribly stylish at all." Buffy stepped out from behind a tree. "Thanks, Spike, for finding him, and helping. I showed up a little late to do anything."

"I din' do it for you, Slayer, I did it for Peaches. And God alone knows why he asked, or I agreed." Fumbling in his jacket pocket, Spike pulled out his lighter and a cigarette, lit up and took a deep drag.

"And you were just leaving, right?" Buffy said, her brow arched.

"Nah – I'm all warmed up, now. I want to kill something else, and Droopy here seems to attract 'em."

I was testing the sore spot on my chin, just to feel it burst into pain again. Felt so good when I stopped, I guess. "I promise to call you the next time the undead plan to party atop my ass, Spike. Right now, I think Buffy and I need some time." By this point, we were both glaring at him. He tried staring back innocently, finally giving up, throwing down the butt and crushing it out.

"Fine. I know when I'm not wanted."

"No he doesn't," Buffy mumbled softly as the vampire left. "Never has." She moved over and sat down on the swing. The same swing that Anya had been sitting in earlier. Blue-green eyes looked at me expectantly, and I had to turn away.

"Look," I said awkwardly, "No offence, you being the Slayer and all. I mean, I know you could defend me, but I still have a little bit of crap left that hasn't been kicked out of me yet tonight, and I'd like to hold onto it. Could we move this discussion indoors somewhere?" I heard her jump up, and now she was separated somewhat from the unpleasant memories that particular swing held, I could manage to look at her again. "My apartment?" She nodded.

Stupid idea. My apartment. Me and Buffy-God-Knows-What (she wasn't Buffy Before, but she was acting less like Buffy Now since she arrived here – do I need a new category?) alone, together. And in the place that reeked of Anya – if not in the literal sense, although I think I'll probably pick up faint traces of her perfume for months – and reminded me of what a mess I'd made of yet another relationship. With the girl who seemed to be at least peripherally the cause of all the relationships I'd had in the past that had gone down in flames. Not only that, but this place contained my bedroom, and if she was still Buffy Now, and still fixated on me, could I resist her, and if I couldn't, would it screw up what someday could be, when I was over Anya and…

"… and I thought maybe I'd figure out a way to get Spike's chip removed, and he and Dawn and I could run away to Acapulco together and have a wild three-way affair." I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at her incredulously. She looked back at me blandly. "Good, you're finally listening again. I was running out of outrageous lies to get your attention. You totally missed the one about me planning to have Giles' baby." She turned and began walking again.

I gulped. "Sorry." I took a few long strides, finally catching up with her. We were in the parking lot outside my building, and I saw my car a few spaces away from us. "Hi, Christine!" I called out, earning an odd look from my companion. "Long story," I said, and shrugged. We entered, and I let her in my door.

I went into the kitchen and got the ice pack, wrapped it in a towel and put it on my jaw. When I came back she was sitting on the couch, looking at me expectantly. I returned the look, and she frowned. "Okay, spill – the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"So help me God," I finished, hand in the air, unable to help myself. Then I frowned back at her. "About what?"

She sighed, and settled back into the sofa cushions. "What do you think?"

I sat down in the chair, ice pack in place, and thought out loud. "You know what happened with Dawn, and how you died, so that isn't it. You heard the whole Anyanka story, so not that either. And I assume you and Angel covered your shared background, and there's little I could add there. What's left?"

"You."

"Huh?"

She began ticking a list off on her fingers. "So far, since I've been back, Willow's told me about how you've always loved me. Angel called you my White Knight, and said he was always jealous of your love for me. Giles stuttered, cleaned his glasses, blushed and cleared his throat, and somewhere between all that, your name and the words 'romantic attention' were mentioned. Dawn has all but threatened to beat me if I fail to return your feelings 'this time.' The only person who hasn't talked to me about your feelings for me has been you."

"I'm surprised Anya didn't drop by and lecture you on her way out of town," I mumbled, a bit irritated at my so-called 'friends.' How the heck is a guy supposed to deal with a poorly kept secret with people like them around? I don't know if Buffy heard me or not – she just kept sitting there with that look on her face.

"Okay, fine," I sputtered. "I fell for you – literally – the first time I saw you. I was a stupid geek, and you only wanted me as a friend. You only had eyes for - well, actually, Owen Thurman, first, then Angel, then Scott, then Parker, Riley, Ben – basically, anything with a Y chromosome that wasn't named Xander. I imploded several relationships because I couldn't stop obsessing over you. Well, okay, Ampata was a mummy-girl sucking life from everyone, it never would have worked anyway, and we won't talk about Miss French, but there was Cordy, who also got caught in the cross-fire of me discovering Willow was a girl and all, and maybe most of those weren't directly your fault, but there were others I never even looked at because of how I felt about you. Then, finally, I had something worthwhile with Anya, but I should've never asked her to marry me, 'cos deep inside, I still had it bad for you, and that just wasn't fair to her." God, is that a spot on my carpet? Maybe I should check it closer, because if I look up, I'll see Buffy's face, and she'll be laughing, or crying, because that is so damned pitiful, I need a life.

"And yet, whenever I've tried to talk to you about it since I've been back, you've pushed me away. I know there was Anya, but you wouldn't even talk to me about it…"

I stared at her, angry. "So you can eventually get your memory back, and tell me again that you just don't feel it? That you can't feel that way about me?"

"Xander, I was sixteen. I was stupid, and selfish, and overwhelmed by the fact that the world depended on me, and I was in love with one of the creatures I was meant to kill."

Wait a minute. I'd never told anyone what she said to me that day. I'm pretty sure she didn't, either. "You remember." She looked at me, fear in her eyes, shaking her head. "Yes you do, you remember what you said to me when I asked you to Spring Fling. You know you were sixteen when you said it, and in love with Angel. You're starting to remember things from before." She looked like a deer in the headlights, a mixture of fear, sorrow and anger dancing across her face. The part of me that wanted to always protect Buffy came to the fore, and I dropped the ice pack on my abandoned chair and knelt down in front of her. "Why don't you want to remember?"

"Because she –"her words began to tumble out, rapidly. "I don't want to be her. But I was her, and… I was stupid, and selfish, and overwhelmed by the fact that the world depended on me, and I was in love with one of the creatures I was meant to kill. I was mean to you, and rude to Willow, and I ignored Giles, all because I thought I was so special. I never paid attention to the fact that you guys did the same things I did, and nobody ever told you that you had to, you just did. You did it because you loved me, and I never returned that love the way I should have." She wouldn't look at me.

"How much do you remember?"

She still had her face turned, and her voice was hard. "Just bits and pieces. Enough to know I don't want to be that person. If memories were things you could see, they'd be big colored blotches instead of people. No fingers, or toes or faces. But lots of them, the blotches that I know are me, are ugly colors."

I took her chin in my fingers, and turned her face so she had to look at me. "If they're ugly, they aren't you. Yes, you were scared, and sometimes you didn't think about others – we all had that problem. Even Giles sometimes lost the big picture in the everyday awfulness that was our high school life. And when you finally remember the love spell I had put on all the girls, well, don't tell me, okay? It didn't get all that much better after graduation, for any of us. But you were always the beautiful colors, Buffy. You were the one who kept us all alive, who rode in on the white horse and saved the day. You didn't just rescue the fair maiden, but the whole damned world, more than once. And we knew you loved us – you didn't have to say it for us to know."

The answer came softly. "I should have said it. Especially to you."

"I know you love me, Buffy. But you don't love me the way you think you do. You never did. It's okay. I'm happy just being your friend, and having you back among the living." I moved up to sit beside her on the couch, my hand still on her face.

She wrenched her face from my grasp. "Why do you do that?" she asked me angrily. "You always assume I'm going to treat you the way she did – the girl I was before. That's one of the reasons I don't want my memory back. I can start over – make up for all the hurt I must have handed you, to make you so sure you aren't worthy of being loved that way." She spit out those last two words with some serious venom.

"But we all need you back," I flailed, verbally, trying with my words to beat down her inexplicable anger. I stood, not even conscious of my need to back away. She stood too, following me.

"Why? Is it because I'm safe and familiar that way? Because the Ugly Colors Buffy can be counted on to only think of Buffy? You're afraid of me," a sharply manicured fingernail poked into the middle of my chest, "loving," another poke, "you!" The last poke drove me backwards, and the back of my legs hit the edge of the chair. I dropped into the seat, only to land on the ice pack and spring back up, squealing like a stuck pig and rubbing the freezing cold spot on my butt. She was so worked up she didn't even crack a smile. I knew I was in trouble.

And it felt great, in some perverse way. This was the real Buffy, the Buffy I knew and loved. She wasn't upset and crying; she was upset and fighting back. Some of the primo conversations I'd ever had with Buffy Before involved yelling at some point during them. I'd play Jiminy Cricket to her Pinocchio, and tell her in glorious Technicolor exactly what she needed to know, and all would be right with us afterwards. The only thing I could see wrong with this particular yelling match was that we'd switched roles.

And I also saw that she was right. I was afraid of her loving me. Before, when my love was hopeless and unrequited, there was always the hope of 'someday.' But if I went here now, if I let her love me back, maybe I'd find out that all the other relationships that had gone under had been my fault, and all Buffy and I would end up with was a broken 'never again.' I'd grown so comfortable in my blind devotion, all I'd done for a long time was touch it once in a while, like the spot on my jaw, to feel it hurt again. I'd long ago stopped expecting any kind of healing. The pain was so familiar, I wasn't sure I could live without it, and I was a little afraid to try.

During my inner monologue, she'd moved closer. Her voice was almost back to normal tones. "You know one thing I'm starting to remember? I remember how desperately I sometimes wanted to change things. This is my chance to start over – not with just you, but everyone. Already, Dawn and I get along better than we ever did – at least, she says so."

I looked down at her, and she looked so small and frail. I knew better, of course. Still, I spoke to her gently, as if she were as delicate as she looked. "Just because you're remembering things doesn't mean you can't change things. Outside of being the Slayer, which I'm pretty sure you can't change, what would you do different, Buffy? If you could change anything?"

She sounded wistful. "If I could change anything? I would change – everything." A sad smile danced across her face at that thought. "I'd respect Giles more, and love him like the father I've seen him as since I returned. I'd encourage and help Willow with her need to exercise her witchcraft – I think I've pushed her into dangerous places with it, if only because she saw me taking dangerous paths and not looking back, so she thought she could do the same. And you-"

I was mesmerized by the look in her eyes. "No, Buffy. You don't want to change things with me. If you'd noticed me that way back when I first noticed you, we probably wouldn't even be friends anymore. That's what happened with me and Cordelia, and very nearly with me and Willow. She and I are still working our way back to something close to what we once had, and it'll never be the same. I'd hate to think of spending all these years as your ex-boyfriend, rather than as your friend."

Oh-oh. The wistful look was gone, and anger was back. What'd I say?

"So, you could love me all this time, but you think I'm incapable of loving you that long, is that it? Because Buffy could never keep loving anyone that long. Damn it, Xander, is that what you think? Or is it just that you believe no one could love you that long?" She was right in my face, and her eyes were snapping. I was caught between fear for my life, and joy that the girl I knew and loved was really, truly here with me again. "I'll show you," she growled. Then she grabbed the back of my head and kissed me, hard.

She was still angry; I was in shock. We stood for a few minutes, lips pressed together, but interacting as much as a couple of plastic figurines. Suddenly, my mind woke up. I was kissing Buffy. I was kissing Buffy! For God's sake, man, do it!

One thing that I knew for certain was that I was a good kisser. Cordy didn't know every broom closet in Sunnydale High for nothing. Willow admitted she'd been addicted for a while. I'd certainly had plenty of practice with Anya, and she wasn't the type to keep quiet if anything had been less than satisfactory. I decided to put one of my life skills to work.

I slipped my arms around her, pulling her still stiff body closer to me. I turned my head slightly, and began to tease her lips with my own. Before long I felt the angry tension flow away from her, and she melted against me, plastering herself to my front. Buffy's fingers ran through my hair, and my hands smoothed over her back. I tickled at her lips with my tongue, requesting entrance, and it was granted. Our tongues danced, they dueled, we tasted. We had to breathe, finally.

"Oh, God," Buffy sighed against my chest, as we both gently panted. "I've missed so much, haven't I?"

I stroked her hair, reluctant to let go of her too soon. "When did you start to remember?" I murmured.

"Talking to Angel. Little scenes would flash through my mind as we spoke. I still find it hard to believe I was so in love with someone so wrong, though." Her eyes were shining as she looked up at me. "And that I spent so long ignoring someone so right." And then for a few minutes, we were kissing again.

I shouldn't be doing this. She's still not back, at least, not completely. She started to remember, though, and… I broke off the kiss. "Angel knows?"

She nodded against me, unwilling to move from my arms, it seemed. "He promised not to tell anyone, at least, not yet." I took a breath to speak, and she stopped me with a finger to my lips. "Before you say it, no, I'm not going to change my mind about you, no matter how much more of it I get back. Angel seems quite content with his life as it is now, and I felt nothing beyond friendship both from him and for him. And he seems quite pleasantly amused by the way I'm feeling about you. He was as worried as I was when you didn't come back after a while tonight." She was looking at me seriously again, although the anger had long since faded. "When I came back, you treated my like a boyfriend should – you were loving, and kind, and patient. Angel pointed out to me that you'd always treated me that way, even when other people claimed the title. And some of what's coming back to me confirms that. Could I try again, from the top? Please tell me it's not too late."

She'd asked me a similar question before, but I was more certain of my answer, and my reasons for it, this time. It was everything I'd ever wanted, but there was still a gnawing pain and emptiness that I knew wouldn't go away for a while. There was a gaping hole inside that needed time to heal. I had to swoop in for one last kiss, a quick one. "Not too late, Buffy," I assured her, even as I pushed her gently away as our lips separated. "But it may be a little too soon." She looked puzzled, as I thought she might be. "All my many failings aside, I really did love Anya. I'm not ready to let that go without a period of mourning. I can only hope you care enough about me to wait for me to be ready." I stepped back a bit more, turning away, unsure of what her reaction might be.

I spun back, shocked at the sound of her laughter. But her face was missing the sardonic and mocking grin I expected to find at that sound. Instead, she looked relieved. "How long have I made you wait, Alexander Harris? I'll be the first to say that you shouldn't be in the least bit interested in me if I can't manage to wait a bit for you." Her expression softened to an affectionate smile. "I'll wait as long as you were willing to wait, Xander."

I had to smile back. I knew it wouldn't take me forever.

~**~