Title: Going, Going, Gone

Author: Jeanny

Distribution: I don't mind, just credit me and let me know where it's going.

Rating: PG

Feedback: Please. jeannygrrl@hotmail.com

Spoilers: Season 6 through Tabula Rasa

Summary: After saying goodbye to Giles for a second time, Xander drives Anya home. And wonders.

Disclaimer: The Buffyverse isn't mine and I don't own the characters. Just like using them to write my little stories.

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She wouldn't look him in the eye when he left.

She was looking at his feet when she hugged him goodbye. Nothing unusual about the hugging. Anya hugs Giles on occasion; he's the closest thing she has to a father, really. Or he was. And now...I have to wonder what's going on in her head. Which is unusual for me, because I usually know. Whether I want to or not. Not one to hold back, my Anya.

Which brings us to the heart of the matter. She's my Anya, but for a while she was his. A very little while. Not long enough to...what?

I'm not jealous, not really. It wasn't her fault, or his. None of us knew who we were, most of all not me. I mean, I was busy coming on to Will; I hardly even noticed her. And I assumed she was his, as much as they did. In all our brilliant not knowing, we left through the sewers, Vamp Central, to escape the vampires. It's the most not funny joke ever. And Giles and Anya stayed behind. To work on spells. Thinking they were engaged. And she's so quiet now, it's making me want to grab her and shake her...okay, so I'm a little jealous. More than a little.

I’m driving us back. We‘re alone, but she still hasn’t said anything. It’s not like her. She’s afraid. Oh God.

I won’t look at her. I already know what I’ll see. Guilt. And then she’ll tell me everything. The technicolor pictures of them together are already playing on an endless loop in my head; I don‘t need the audio. Oh God, she’s clearing her throat. Here it comes. It should be a relief, but I just don’t...I want it to stop. I can‘t even see the road anymore. She’s put her hand on top of mine and I want to scream. See how white my knuckles are? How hard I’m gripping the wheel? Dammit, don’t you get it? It’s not her fault it’s not her fault it’s not her fault. I know she wants me to look. So I look.

She looks so...lost. I know she’s hoping for something from me; by the curve of her mouth I know she didn’t find it. She’s trapped by the silence.

“Is it okay if I turn on the radio?” she asks, and I nod.

Music fills the car. Fills my head. Fills the gulf between us. I like this song. Or I used to.

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