A Grave Conversation

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Buffy/Yakuza AU
Chapter Summary: Xander visits Jesse's grave.  Technically Jesse is Sir Not Appearing in this Fic, but the idea of Jesse is still really important, so...tagged?
Word Count: 1314
Rating: Teen

 

         Xander squats so he’s eye level with the gravestone, eye aching and back itching.  It’s grounding.  He’s got some color in, now.  “Sorry.  It’s been a while, ain’t it, Jesse?”
         The gravestone doesn’t answer back, which is reassuring.  It’d be kinda worryin’ if it did.
         “A lot happened.”  Still nothin’, ‘n he’s startin’ ta feel awkward.  How do people do this on the regular?  “Y’probably know ‘bout Angelus.”  Dead people probably see a little.  But then, if they can see everything, why would anyone tell them anything?
         He hasn’t talked to anyone about it, not even the psychologist.  For her he tries to be the most sane and adjusted, even if he’s half sure she knows it’s all an act.
         “I don’t ‘member a lot.”  He knows there are people who think he’s makin’ excuses about it, but he’s not.  “Mostly it comes back in dreams—or nightmares.  It’s all so vague.  I was outta my mind with pain fer mosta it—‘course, there’re those who’d say I still am.”  He giggles at the joke, finally startin’ ta relax.  “I hallucinated some, ‘n still ain’t sure what was real ‘n what wasn’t.  The scars’re the only way I know fer sure—well, ‘n the eye.  See the hand?”  He holds it out, unreasonably proud, that long slim silver line.  “Got stabbed.  The eye was pried out.  More scars here, see?”  He points to his arms.  “An’ I got fed on regular-like, so’s I got scar bitemark.  Other stab wounds with scars on m’ torso.  I’d show ya, but th’ others wouldn’t much care fer m’ shirtless.  Get distracted from the serious with all this on display.”  The graveyard’s fairly empty, aside from a group of elementary school kids doing their homework.  He’s keeping an eye on them.  There’re others here ‘n there, but not within earshot.
         “The hardest wasn’t the pain.”  That’s all anyone ever thinks about, an’ it’s nothin’.  Times where it’s the only thing keeping his mind in the moment.  Fortunately, he don’t gotta go outta his way ta seek it—between the ache of his missing eye and how dangerous Sunnydale is, he don’t gotta engage in self-harm or anything like that.  “I lost track of day ‘n night, ‘n time still don’t mean no sense ta me.”  He’ll wander off because something caught his interest and realize that it’s been six hours and there’s been a hunting party out for him, and that’s saying nothing of the fact that he’ll nap just about anywhere now.  “Most of it was not knowin’ what was comin’.  Not bein’ able ta breathe.  Losin’ m’ sense of self ‘cause I didn’t have opportunity t’be myself.  Ya see, though, ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout me; I got somethin’ back.”
         The unfortunate thought occurs to him that he’s not sure if Jesse would’ve preferred old him.  Willow does, not that she says a word, but he can see it even with just one eye.  The way she doesn’t play along when he goofs around anymore.  It’s not that she’s scared ‘a him, which is good ‘cause he’d never hurt her.  She disapproves strongly.  She thinks it’s all a choice.  She thinks she can just get back the old Xander and he’s just not trying enough.
         And they say he’s the crazy one.
         “You were right.  Well, demon-you was, but what’s a little name-calling among friends?”  He shrugs.  “I didn’t have the guts then.  Dunno if I’d have the guts now, but I’d make a damn good try ‘a it.”  After all, what’re a few stab wounds between friends, either?  Well…vampire-shaped friends.  He’d never stab Buffy or Willow or Giles, but Angel or Vamp Jesse would be fair game.  “And you were a loser.  But you were our loser, so it’s okay.  Maybe that’s how Willow sees it?”
         He tilts his head to the side, thinking.  “Probably was, but I can’t be that Xander again.  I can’t turn back time.  Even if I could, I wouldn’t…but mebbe I should get her to grow, too.  Buffy takin’ off once it was clear I’d live an’ leavin’ Sunnydale to us ta protect let me grow inta it.  All stunted like that; no wonder she’s makin’ faces an’ bein’ all angry.  Will, that is.”
         He’s not sure how, but he don’t do too bad when he’s just improvisin’.
         “But I got an Otousan.  Took him forever t’call me son, an’ ‘e’s still very British ‘bout the whole thing, but he’s so much better ‘n Harris.  ‘m Alexander Giles now.”  He’s smiling.  It’s not one of his manic smiles; it’s real and genuine and just a little soft.
         “Oh yeah, you barely met Buffy.”  He perks up instantly; it’s one’a his favorite subjects.  “Lemme tell ya ‘bout her.”
         He speaks until his voice is hoarse and the sun’s set.  But he doesn’t feel awkward or down.  He actually feels happy.  Like he just talked to his best friend again.
         And then, outta the corner of his eye, he sees movement, and his grin only grows.  “See that, Jesse?  Y’get ta see me fight.  An’ I’ll talk ta ya later, ‘kay?”
         He stands, green light in his eye and a devilish smile on his face, smoothly drawing his belt-knives.  “Ya just made m'day, bloodsuckers.”  And he's feeling the hyena coursing through him, so rather than just waiting it out he charges in with a hyena laugh.