Work Text:
Title: Weighing Down
Author: Mera
Feedback: lusciousspike@yahoo.com
Rating: Something for all ages...
Characters: Xander. Mentioned: Spike, Joyce.
Note: Part of the Missing Scene Series MiSS but is in fact a stand-alone like all of them are.
Summary/TimeLine: Post Forever. Whatever happened to those flowers?
Warning: Mention of character death.
*~*~*~*~*~*
When you make a mistake, it's your own. You don't go advertising it, or do as much as admit it. Most of the time. Especially if the wrong party is a person you don't like that much. In fact, you hate them and those like them every chance you get. However, for that moment in time, they make you feel like the biggest sleaze ball in the world, and they, those beneath you, are far better than you could ever be in those few seconds. And you hate it more. So, you hope that you could go back in time and change it, close your mouth, not make any comment that you -at that critical time in your existence- thought that it would have you coming out on top. Where as it only left you faced with a reality that you're not as great as you think you are. And in 'lame man's' terms, you were a practical jerk.
So what do you do? Again, you won't go admitting your fault... and short from a gun to your head, you won't apologize to the person you slammed at their moment of weakness. Something in itself that had shocked you along with feeling as if you were the lowest of the low. So you do the only thing you can do. You try to do the incident right, in the best way you could.
"Hi, Mrs. Summers." Xander kneeled down next to the tombstone, early morning light rising behind him. "The girls really miss you and the gang, too. But don't worry we're hanging in there. Fighting the good fight and trying not to run away like girls while doing it." He frowned comically. "Though other than me and Giles, they are all girls and I just sounded misogynistic while conversing with the beyond." He chuckled uncertainly.
Xander turned his eyes to the left as he raised his hand. It clutched a bunch of flowers. "Well, Spike's there, too." He placed the flowers down on the grave. "I think these are for you, Mrs. Summers. They're nothing much, I actually think Bleach-boy raided your neighbor's garden. You might be wondering why I'm playing the unpaid delivery boy. Unless you were looking down and saw me... well, do that." His head tilted as if indicating to yesterday, clearly not intending to place the event into words. "You'd give me that stern mom look and a batch of lecturing on how I'm better than that. I know. No need to tell me. See me here at this time of the day," he said pointing at his face. "--is coz my mind did all the work for you."
He sighed. "I don't have to like him. I don't actually. But... really, who am I to judge about the Buffy thing, right? Oh." He closed his eyes. "You didn't know about that. Guess the cat is out of the bag. But that's a tail for another day." He stood up. Smiled one last time as his hands unconsciously dusted at his knees. "You know, this wasn't about Buffy, I realized that a second too late. It was about you. And I guess I could understand that more than anything. It's the mom thing. I get that. You could see what other people can't, including my own mom." He shook his head with a sad smile. "Don't know how jealous I was of Buffy the other half of the time I wasn't crushing after her. But like I said, there's another time for that. I'm a working man now." He puffed his chest and grinned goofily. With a gentle hand, he reached out and touched the tombstone, nodding once. "Later, Mrs. S."
The feeling of wanting to run after the person you hurt, wanting to make it better; because, for some reason, hurting them hurt you as well. Again, you don't like that person, actually fantasized about taking their life once or twice. But you do feel an ache pushing down on your chest as your eyes follow that person out into the night. Wanting to follow, wanting to make it right, to stop the thing mounting heavily on your chest. You're hurting too because you are a good person. Because it doesn't matter if you like them or not, it's a matter of being able to look yourself in the mirror before you go to bed.
Xander unlocked his car and gazed one last time at the graveyard before getting into his car. He mumbled to himself as he started the engine.
"Vamps don't have reflections, lucky bastards."
Then, after you repay that debt, for yourself, you know you can pass the mirror without wincing and sleep the night without guilt. Yet, you keep on wondering why, even if had it lessened, the weight sitting on your chest it is still there.
The End...