: All things Buffy
belong to Joss. BSG belongs to Ron D. Moore. I'm just borrowing their characters for a bit.All of this has happened before. All of this will happen again.
Gods, Xander hated those words. He knew quite a few Colonists didn’t find the central tenet of their religious beliefs terribly comforting. It was even less comforting when you knew how true they really were.
It was funny- in the not at all funny kind of way- how many elements did repeat. Some were comforting. Others were disturbing. At least in the life that had been lived in Sunnydale, he
hadn’t been the drunk. He’d broken that cycle and let the alcoholism die with his parents. Xander
had done that. Saul
Xander had managed to transition from go-to guy to command when the time came. Saul’s first experience without Bill Adama calling the shots had been a fiasco. Nothing he’d seen as Xander or Saul had prepared him for that situation. But he didn’t think Xander would have been at his best coming into command over the body of a friend either.
He gingerly touched the eye patch. It was new- and it wasn’t. In another lifetime, in another hopeless fight, he’d lost another eye. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or furious that it was the other side this time. And at least this time he’d been mentally prepared.
Not to lose an eye, of course. But to be tortured, yes. He’d meant what he’d told the others. They were wicked men. But they were doing what was necessary against an enemy that had very few limits. When you got right down to it, Cylons might talk about their god, but from where Xander was sitting, they showed very little evidence of morality when it came to their dealings with humans. Colonials weren’t even Happy Meals to them. They were just vermin. To be managed, contained, and exterminated as necessary, for the convenience and comfort of the Cylon.
And then there was Ellen. His wife. He’d actually gone through with it here. Tied the knot. Found out if it would turn out as badly as his fears and insecurities said. It hadn’t. They might fight, but there was always love underneath it, the kind that bends but never breaks. He’d never managed to screw up the courage, even under the cover of alcohol, to ask Ellen if she remembered too. If she had lived in Sunnydale. If she had been a demon once. If she was Anya.
Xander had lost Anya. He hadn’t had to deal the fatal stroke himself. Of all the things in either of his lives, this was the one that had come closest to breaking him. The thing it had been hardest to do. He’d only been able to do it because he loved her. Anders, damn him, had been right. It was better for her sake if it was him. He’d clung to the thought of what the others in the Resistance would do if he didn’t spare her that and found the strength to do what he must.
The tearful explanation had made it that much harder. She’d done what she’d done for him. Because she loved him. She’d taken the cup freely. But in that last split second, she’d known. Her last word had been ‘Xander’.
He had no time to mourn, much less deal with his guilt. He still had a mission, a job to do. There were people he could still save depending on him.All of this has happened before. All of this will happen again.
Would there be a lifetime where he didn’t have to lose her? One where they could just be together?