Title: Crowing

Author: Jeanny

Rating: PG

Feedback: Would be great! jeannygrrl@hotmail.com

Spoilers: Season 6 Through Normal Again (but this story is really AU)

Pairings: B/X, B/S, A/X

Distribution: Go ahead, I don't mind, just credit me and tell me where it's going.

Summary: Buffy reflects on her history with her lover and makes a decision.

Disclaimer: All Buffy characters belong to Joss Whedon and Co. I am making no money, here or elsewhere, so keep your lawsuits to yourselves!

Author's Note: I must credit the source of my inspiration. Although not a songfic per se, the title and tone of this piece is owed greatly to the song Crowing by Toad the Wet Sprocket, words and music by Glen Phillips.

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She'd always known he loved her.

From the moment they'd met it had just been there between them, a gift wrapped in brown eyes instead of paper, one that would break if you shook it too hard. She'd nearly broken it more times than she could count, until finally he'd started giving it to others. To an ancient Inca mummy, who almost sucked the life out of it...to Cordelia, who fought it tooth and nail...to Willow, who had wanted it for so long that she had found someone else who gave her more...and finally to a woman who had spent a thousand years punishing men for their faithlessness. It shouldn't have been so surprising that it was Anya who had truly appreciated the gift. And it was Anya who had finally received it the proper way: by responding in kind.

Yet through it all she'd known it was still hers for the taking, if she'd ever asked. He'd never stopped loving her. It was no longer spoken of; it simply was there, running like an undercurrent between them, buoying and sustaining her when needed. It was different in that way than any other love she'd known. Angel's love had come close to killing her; Riley's had disappointed her; Spike's had embarrassed, then nearly destroyed her. But Xander's love had actually saved her life on more than one occasion, something she had never really thought much about. Not until recently, when he'd come to her with his wounded heart, not realizing she was nursing one of her own.

He had broken up with Anya, despite still loving her with that fierce loyalty that was part of who he was, uniquely in Buffy's experience. And Spike had left town without a word following their last peccadillo. She hadn't wanted to face how abandoned, how raw, the vampire's sudden exit had made her feel, so comforting Xander through his pain was for her own healing as much as for him. Then, as she listened to him talk about his hopes and dreams, thoughts and feelings, she realized how much of the time they had been friends she'd actually spent listening to him. Some, she thought. Very little, she suspected. Sometimes, late at night, she admitted to herself the truth was almost none. Their relationship had been so much about his listening to her, his knowing and understanding and helping her, and she felt so ashamed. Ending up in bed had been the unexpected result of her self-recriminations.

Unexpected but certainly not unwelcome. Sex with Xander had been like so many things with Xander. All about her. The concern and tenderness and passion had been revelatory, and she found herself for the first time understanding Anya's obsession. It sometimes took all of her willpower not to drag him away from the others during those long research sessions, when lust-filled thoughts had made her eyes glaze over as much as if not more than the mind-numbing texts.

But she'd had no illusions about what it was. They were two friends comforting each other through hard times, nothing more. She loved him, but didn't love him that way. She was certain of it, even if she simply felt better with him around. Even if she couldn't help but smile when she awoke feeling his arms around her in the morning. Even if she found her heart racing a bit when she heard the door open in the evenings, shivering slightly when she heard the low timbre of his voice calling her name. Even if she felt a funny twinge when she found him and Willow wrapped around each other and laughing over a cartoon on a Saturday morning. She'd refused to call those sensations being in love, even when Willow and Tara and even Dawn had called her on it. She loved him, but she would never be in love with him.

Then he had come on patrol with her last night and there had been a couple of vamps, couldn't have been more routine until she saw him go down, the vampire's teeth sinking deep into his throat. Everything had seemed to freeze for an instant, and she'd felt those teeth in her flesh, only buried in her chest, ripping out her heart. Moments later the vamp had been dust, floating down between them as she'd practically fallen on top of him. He'd looked up at her, pale and wide-eyed with blood still pouring down his neck, and she'd realized with a sense of wonder coupled with fear that he'd never been bitten before. None of the vampires they'd gone against, not even Dracula, had ever placed their teeth on his neck, penetrating, pulling the life-giving fluid from his veins. Shakily his hand had gone to his neck; he'd winced and pulled it away upon touching the wound. He'd looked at the red stickiness coating his fingers, clearly stunned. Without a word she'd helped him to his feet, hurried him home, tended to his wound. Shock had driven them into silence, as both realized anew that they had been incredibly lucky to this point. That life was so precious and even more fragile than love. And that night he had held her and she had listened to his heartbeat, frightened beyond reason about something that she hadn't been able to name until this morning when she'd awoken and found him gone.

She was in love with him. And she'd never told him, and it had almost been too late.

She'd been preparing all day for tonight, when she would tell him how she felt. She'd made sure they'd be alone, that everything was perfect. The music, the lights, the dress were all soft, and when the door opened she was sitting on the stairs, wanting to see his eyes the second he walked in. His eyes swept over her, so serious and pained she almost cried. She knew he wouldn't believe her at first; years of denying her heart to him had taken their toll. But she would convince him. It was all going to be perfect.

"Hi," he said finally.

"Hi yourself," she replied, clearing her throat against the sudden bout of nervousness.

"You look...so beautiful," he murmured, still standing in the doorway. She stood and he seemed to recover from his temporary paralysis, following her into the living room, taking in the candles and wineglasses in a glance.

"Thank you," she replied, feeling suddenly awkward and unsure. There was a stiffness about him that wasn't right, something wasn't right...

"We have to talk, Buffy," he said, and she nodded.

"I know," she gushed. "I have so many things I want to say to you..." She stopped when he placed his finger across her lips. When she realized that the rigidity she had noted was him barely holding back tears. "Something's wrong," she whispered.

"I think I should go first," he replied, leading her by the hand to the couch and not letting go of it while he told her about last night, how he'd fallen and thought he was going to die, and how everything had flashed before his eyes, and how he'd known that he couldn't go on without the woman he loved, the one he knew he'd never stop loving. She said nothing as he told her how he'd gone to Anya and they'd talked, and how they'd worked through a lot of their issues and they weren't really there yet but there was hope, and possibility. There was love, still, and he hadn't thought that was possible...

"But you showed me that anything's possible, Buffy. You have no idea how much this...everything between us...has meant to me over these past few months. I love you so much, Buffy. You're the best friend I've ever had..."

"Next to Willow," she teased, amazed she could smile, amazed at how calm her voice was. "I love you, too, Xan. And I'm happy for you. I know how much you loved...you love her. I'm just...I'm going to miss...you and me. You know?"

"I know," he said, searching her eyes. "Buffy, I...I never wanted to hurt you..."

"No hurt," she said stubbornly. "This...what we've been doing...this was never romantic. Lusty, but not romantic. Or, actually, I think it was mostly about healing. And now...I guess we're all healed." It was the most outrageous lie she had told in her life. She felt as if she'd been filled with shards of glass; everything inside her was bleeding. He smiled in relief and took her into his arms, and the bleeding stopped for just a moment. She clung to him, memorizing the feel and the scent of him, the rhythm of his heart.

"I was so scared," he admitted. "When I came in that door and I saw you, and then the major mood being set here...I was so scared you were going to say you were in love with me." He said it incredulously, as if such a thing weren't possible. Buffy marveled at how well she'd managed to mess things up as he continued, "I know that's stupid."

"Not stupid...I just thought...I wanted to apologize. For letting you get bit."

"That's silly," he said, still holding her, stroking her hair. "I knew the risks when I went out there. And you saved me, just like always."

Buffy knew he wouldn't stay long. She had no one to blame but herself. She'd denied his gift forever, and now it wasn't hers anymore.

"I love you," she said as she led him to the door, needing to hear him say it once more before one more illusion shattered. Before she shattered.

She'd always known he loved her.

Until now.

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