On with the story. Or, as my video professor INSISTS ON SAYING EVERY DAY… “That’s all there is and there isn’t anymore.” Yes, it’s THAT annoying.


Xander likes to keep secrets. That heady rush that you know something no one else knows flits over him in a euphoria, a euphoria that rushes into his head at the most ordinary of moments. When he first started dating Cordy, or rather, making out with her in broom closets, he’d be standing at the sink washing a week’s worth of dishes (his mom liked doing dishes less than he did) and as he rinsed a plate he’d suddenly smile, because he was making out with Cordy in broom closets and nobody else knew. She didn’t want anybody else to know, either, of course, but it was different. She was afraid it would ruin her street cred if it got out she was making out with Xander Harris in broom closets. But Xander didn’t push her to let people know, because then he wouldn’t have that feeling.

When he and Anya first got engaged, it was the same thing. He didn’t want to tell anybody. He knew she wouldn’t understand that euphoria, because she couldn’t distinguish its simplicity in comparison to the euphoria she knew she’d feel when everyone knew she was getting married. She didn’t have to worry about whether people thought Xander was good enough or cool enough, because her only friends were friends with Xander first. So, Xander told her that Buffy was the reason he didn’t want to tell anybody about them. The truth was, though, that he wanted to keep it to himself a little bit longer. So he could be doing dishes one day (suddenly doing dishes didn’t seem so bad when Anya was standing next to him, using a tea towel to wipe them dry), and see her hand daintily but methodically pick up a cereal bowl and pull it from the sink, only letting it scrape against one of the dinner plates a little bit. He’d see her hand and the tiny diamond ring she could only wear at home and he’d suddenly smile, because he was marrying this beautiful, strange girl.

But it bothered Spike. Xander would be washing red mugs in the sink and suddenly he’d smile because here was this amazing, hypnotic creature sitting on his couch, grousing about nothing being on television and not enough beer in the fridge, and Xander was happy. He had this almost mythical lover, all to himself, that he didn’t have to share. He had wonderful things happen to him every day and all Spike had to do was look at him honestly, and the euphoria was beyond any he’d felt before.

But Spike didn’t understand. He understood Xander’s reasoning, or at least what Xander told him, but he didn’t believe it. And he shouldn’t have, because it wasn’t true. Xander really wasn’t afraid that his friends would stop talking to him, and he wasn’t afraid Buffy would stake Spike, and he wasn’t afraid Willow would cry. And Spike knew all that, because Buffy had never staked him before, and those girls would never stop yammering, no matter how pissed they were, and Willow always cried. She cried during cell phone commercials, for Christ’s sake.

So he knew that Xander wasn’t telling him the real reasons, which left him free to make up his own. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing, because his head was filled with words like “ashamed” and “temporary”. And he didn’t understand why Xander would be washing bloody mugs, which he crowed about the disgustingness of every chance he got, and he’d suddenly smile.


Once again, that’s all there is and there isn’t anymore.