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Distant Sun: The Angie Years

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Summary: Post-Chosen. Xander looks back on the last 20 years of his life and how it to where it is. XanderOFC, FaithRobin.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
BtVS/AtS Non-Crossover > DramaSecondSilkFR151720,985033,9846 Apr 0414 Apr 04Yes

Two Photos

Distant Sun: The Angie
Years

By Rose Williams

 

Summary: Post-Chosen, Xander
looks back on the last twenty years of his life and how his life imploded.

Rating: R, but nothing
graphic.

Disclaimers: Buffy the
Vampire Slayer and all associated stuff belongs to Joss Whedon and associated
people. This is for personal enjoyment only.

I hope it’s okay
for me to post this here on Twisting the Hellmouth now. I wrote it a while ago,
and am uploading it while writing my essays.

 

Author’s Note:
In the first chapter of Josephine Martin’s Cruel Concealment (www.fanfiction.net/~JosephineMartin)
there are two paragraphs on what happened to Xander after Chosen, and one on
Faith and Robin. They inspired me to start this, the other side of that story.
It is now completely different, but I owe her the inspiration, and it’s a
great story.

I have stolen the
basic set up of where everyone is at the start of the story, and Angie.

This is the first
story in a series, if people are interested in what happens to the others.

* * * * *

 

 

The Angie Years ended
last week. The beginning of the end was the day before Elizabeth’s tenth
birthday. Dawn was ten when I first met her. She was ten and a half when she
learnt that her sister was the Slayer. She was fourteen and a half when we
learnt that she wasn’t human. Well, wasn’t entirely human.

This is always what
happens; one thing, one thought, will take me on a trip through my memories. My
memories of Dawn seem to be stronger than others. I heard somewhere that
memories are subjective. Maybe it’s just that, as the monks gave them to
me, they didn’t depend on me paying attention to begin with. I can
‘remember’ the look she gave me when we got out of Miss
French’s basement even though I know that Buffy would never have allowed
Dawn that close to anything to do with sex, or lack thereof. So there’s
no telling why.

The night before
Elizabeth’s birthday I settled on the couch to look at the photos. I have
two photos to remind me of the Buffy years. I think they are the only ones, and
I took them as insurance against Fate. Even when Buffy told me to take Dawn I
knew I would be back for the fight. I didn’t have any plan to return, of
course, but I knew I would see them all again. Such thoughts temp Fate. It took
a while, but Buffy and Willow did teach me that one. So I took the photos, so
that I wouldn’t need them.

Either I didn’t
change the clothes I was wearing, or I never bothered to return the photos,
because I had them with me when we crashed at the Hyperion. I didn’t tell
anyone. Buffy was mourning Spike and I was mourning Anya. Giles, Willow and
Dawn had lost the last connection they had to the people they lost when the
cemetery was sucked into the hellhole. I just never mentioned them after that.

Elizabeth, though,
seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to photos. It might be a seventh
sense, after that one that means you can clap your hands with your eyes closed.
I had had the photo album out for half a minute when she appeared at the bottom
of the stairs.

“Hey, Dada, what
are you up to?”

She sat down next to
me and snuggled under my arm. Apparently she wasn’t too old to do that.

“Is that
you?” she asked, pointing at Oz.

I chuckled.
“Oz,” I said. “Me,” I added, pointing.

I was astounded that
she thought I was ever as cool as Oz.

Giles had taken the
photo one day in the Library. I know I was trying to pull Cordelia on to my
lap. Willow was sitting on Oz’s lap, playing with his hair. He seemed to
be trying to pretend that he didn’t like it. But you never could tell
with Oz. I liked that Giles had taken such a silly photo.

Lizzie looked closely
at the young me, and smiled.

“He looks sweet.
And he has two eyes.”

“Yes, well, I
lost my in a fight many years after that,” I explained.

I had told my
daughters stories about ‘the Buffy Years,’ but not in a context
they’d believe. I started when Lizzie was four, Sarah was nine, and they
wanted to go trick or treating.

Before then I
hadn’t been able to think of any story I could tell. “There was
teacher I liked once, who turned out to be a giant bug” or “our
school librarian used to summon demons” or “I once thought I was a
hyena.” There would be automatic questions of ‘what happened
then?’ And I didn’t fancy telling them I had eaten a raw pig, let
alone a live one.

Angie didn’t
want them to go. She felt that it was commercial and involved too much sugar.

“There
won’t be any real monsters,” I said. “They take Halloween
off, it tends to be too noisy. What do you want go as?”

“You have those
gorgeous cloaks you wore for that play,” Angie said. They were gingham,
Sarah rolled her eyes.

“Can we be
demons, mom?” Lizzie cried. She understood that Angie had given in on the
issue of going at all. She could read her mother well at four.

“We’ve got
the face paint that Robert and Lisa gave us for Christmas,” Sarah explained.
“And the hair spray. I can have Lizzie’s baseball bat, and she can
have the mini axe dad made us.”

Lizzie nodded
vigorously.

“But everyone
will be demons. It’ll be unusual to go dressed like Dorothy,” Angie
tried to argue.

That was a bad move. The
neither remake was as good as the Judy Garland version. I knew that Angie
didn’t want them in make up and hair spray.

“You could be
Slayers,” I offered. I had it all worked out. They could dress as
themselves, and carry little model scythes. I’d long been used to living
in a world dominated by women, but I’ve never become comfortable with the
joint ‘you are such a guy’ look.

“Hey. One
Halloween we got turned into the costumes we were wearing. I thought I was a
private in the army.”

I saluted to them. Sarah
was impressed, Lizzie laughed. Angie smiled her ‘you’re a silly
man,’ smile and kissed my cheek. I had told her that I had trained a
little. I was, of course, called upon to explain the entire event. That’s
when I explained that one of my friends was a Slayer, whose calling was to
fight demons, and she always won.

They went out the next
night dressed as slayers with mini scythes. They were so cute. Sarah explained
to anyone she was a Slayer, and Lizzie was a potential who was in training.

After that I was able
to tell them many stories about the Slayer. I told them about the invisible
girl, the Buffy-bot and how Dawn had been created by monks. Sarah spent an
afternoon raging against her sixth grade teacher and then most of the night
laughing about the story of Principal Snyder being eaten by a giant snake. He
probably tried to tell it that it couldn’t eat him because he was too
important.

Angie liked the
stories too. They usually drew comments like ‘you have the most amazing
imagination.’ She never believed them. Even though they never really
contradicted themselves, and sat in a timeline. I think she thought they were
the stories we told to survive growing up in Sunnydale. I didn’t tell her
the whole truth of anything after our first meeting.

 
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