Author: velvetandlace
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: W/X UST
Distribution: Place it anywhere you like, just ask me first.
Timeline: Within Surprise/Innocence - more specifically: Xander: Where'd you go? Willow: Home. - We're with her at home.
Summary: Willow faces up to reality.
A/N: 1100+ words.
It was certainly nothing out of the ordinary, when Willow really thought about it: Xander falls for someone not her, she finds out, goes home to cry, and deals with it. Comes back, smile firmly fixed, hopes dashed all over again but still his best friend, always his best friend. But this time, there had been confrontation, and public tears, and Cordelia, for God's sake, why Cordelia? They hated Cordelia. It was what they did. They made popcorn together, Xander brought Willow back to earth when she worried too much, and they hated Cordelia.
But it wasn't even that it was Cordelia, not really. And it wasn't that it had been Buffy, and then Cordelia, and it wasn't that they had almost kissed, right at the end of summer, with the cold ice-cream numbing her nose and his breath on her face, close, and the grazing fingertips that had lingered on her cheek - the moment that was snatched away.
It was simply that he'd gone so far away from her now; she knew he could never circle back.
He was kissing Cordelia, someone he disliked the most out of anyone in the world. And every time he kissed her he was choosing. Every time he thought of Buffy, he was choosing. Choosing these girls over Willow, who waited so patiently, first person to rush to his side when he needed someone - even when he said he didn't need someone but really did. Best-friend Willow, who would give up anything for him and did so constantly. Who loved him. As her best friend, yes, but more than that. Wanted him. But never breathed a word, no (you don't say anything, because it has to be him, has to be Xander, because then you know it's not pity, or curiosity, or a corner it's easier to walk out of by lying). A world of no. He had to feel it.
But every time she relived Xander and Cordelia, locked together, it was clear. He didn't feel it. And she just couldn't keep kidding herself any more. Had to get back to reality-land. Cry, yes. Throw pillows across the room. Sob, wrenchingly, into the bed, but get up, and go back. Maybe not smile, not yet. Not pretend its okay, when it's not. But be there. Because she loves him, and they are best friends, and that's more important than the crushing disappointment, she knows that.
And yet, Willow knows there's no hiding, not this time. He came after her, and he saw, he saw how much he'd upset her. She'd spoken up, finally, in her broken voice, and he'd listened, really listened, and he knew, now. Whatever he'd thought before - if he'd ever really consciously thought about it before - didn't matter, because she had been open, then (no hiding in despair), and he'd glimpsed it. And she can't pretend that away, no matter how much she wants to. She has to face him; it's inevitable, and the small, shriveled part of her actually wants to, to make him see her, to keep his eyes open, to let her presence scream out to him, to yell at him to look at her, finally look and see what he does to her. Yet still other parts of her want to apologise, to assure him that she never meant to hurt him with the revelation of her own pain. She's conflicted, obviously, but the diverged views from her conflict come back to the same place. The same place everything always ends up, and that's the large file folder in her brain, crammed full and spilling over, titled "Xander".
There’s more in the world – even just in her world – than Xander, and she needs to acknowledge this too. Needs to stop crying, to summon the strength she knows she has (No, Willow, he is not your only strength, you have yourself, you just need to find it) and leave the house, go back to the library. Let it down a little when she gets there, sure – take the safety in the books, in the computer, in the bigger struggle – but just get there. Cordelia wins if she doesn’t go back. Every girl wins if she doesn’t go back, because then? She’s letting them take him away from her. And the type of love aside, they are supposed to be friends, supposed to have an incredible bond, and if she lets them keep her away, she’s losing more than that love. She’d be losing him and as much as she hates (loves) him right now, she won’t let them do that.
And she knows she’s not the only one with pain right now, because there’s Buffy, and Angel, who’s not really Angel anymore, and there’s death and there’s threat to humanity, as usual, but not usual, because the rules have changed – everything’s changed and she’s not sure of herself anymore, not sure of anything. But she has to be a friend, foremost. Always a friend. To Buffy, who must be hurting even more than she is (though she flinches to imagine such a pain) and Xander, who doesn’t need Willow for comfort, but still needs her, she hopes, and whether or not there is individual need, she is needed. She’s research-girl, and god, her mind is so not on that right now but it’s where it needs to be, where she needs to be. She can help, and she has to try.
Has to get off this bed, and push it away. The pain’s immense – she’s letting go of every daydream and replacing them with him kissing someone so achingly not her, and she’s forcing herself to be harsh, to realise that this has to be end of it, of every secret wish.
And she’s breaking, but before the final thread of her composure, her thoughts, severe completely, she needs to get through this. Needs to help her friends. Needs to help stop the Judge, needs to be there for Buffy when the adrenalin seeps away and the truth kicks in and there’s no Angel anymore. Needs to dry her eyes, and walk back into that room. Keep herself sane, and avoid his eyes, and hold it together, keep it together.
Survive, and when it’s over, let every regret wash out in a flood of sobs, shattering herself. Then pick up the pieces, slowly, and put them back, cleansed. Without Xander’s name hanging over her head.
Willow gets up, breathes deeply - the inhalation before the plunge - and squares her shoulders. Back to school. Back to his eyes, dark and confused and probing, back to where she’s supposed to be.
Just a little emptier than before.