Xander sits on the hill overlooking the small tribal village and stares at the harsh, barren land that he’s come to associate with so much of Africa – at least the parts he’s frequented. He wonders, not for the first time, how a born and raised Southern California boy seems to fit in so easily here. 

The village is the third he’s visited in as many weeks. All part of his job of searching out slayers, having taken Giles’ offer to travel and running with it. Any place had been good; the farther away from what was left of Sunnydale, the better.  

Someone settles at his side and latches onto his hand. Xander gives it a soft squeeze but doesn’t look their way. 

“Not yet,” he murmurs and stares off into the distance as the sun starts to set.  

~*~ 

The sun is but a small drop on the horizon when he speaks again.  

“Beautiful.” 

“Mmmm…” A feminine voice. 

A head rests against his shoulder. It feels vaguely… familiar. Comfortable. Like he’s been in this position before. He stays that way throughout the night, the half-full moon his only source of light. Towards dawn, he rests his cheek against her hair and closes his eye.  

Her hair is soft, so very soft.  

~*~ 

“Xander…” 

Xander opens his eye at hearing his name being called. It’s stifling hot. He thinks that it’s a shame he fell asleep up on the hill rather than on his cot, and worse, that he’s forgotten his hat. The hat would have afforded him some small bit of shade, kept the sun from beating down on his head, prevented his face from being sunburned.  

He really should get up and go back to his tent, but his arms and legs feel like lead. Maybe he’ll just— 

“Xander.” 

“Not yet,” he says again, but his voice is hoarse now, no more than a whisper. He needs something to drink and wonders where he left his water; it’s not like him to forget his canteen. His throat is dry, like he’s swallowed a mouthful of dirt. His tent seems more and more inviting. 

If he could just get up. 

“Xander. Look at me, Xander.” 

Xander shakes his head even as he turns towards the voice. 

~*~ 

She’s different now. Her hair is longer, just like when she was in— 

“High school,” he mouths. “Cordelia?” 

She just smiles, gives his hand another squeeze. 

“Hey, Xander.” 

“But you’re dead. I… I was there. I… I...” Cried for you. Apologized for hurting you. Begged for your forgiveness. Put flowers on your grave. 

There are tears in her eyes when she nods. 

And he remembers. 

~*~ 

Xander blinks and it’s all right there in front of him. Villagers, all murdered by an out-of-control slayer. She lay not ten feet from him, eyes open and staring at nothing. At him. 

She’d thought she been possessed by demons and had killed everyone in her village to hide her shame.  

He’d tried to explain that it was a gift she’d been given, not a curse, that there were others like her out there. Some even from her own country.  

But she’d been too far gone in her madness.  

She’d looked at him and he’d known he’d been staring death in the face.

He was fast, but she’d been faster. The first shot had caught her in the shoulder; the second had missed completely. The third had been the kill shot, the bullet hitting her chest dead center, but the adrenaline had still been flowing through her body. Her knife had been buried in his stomach before death caught up to her and she dropped at his feet. 

~*~ 

The pain is duller, more of an ache than a stabbing pain. Xander knows it won’t be long now.  

He regrets not being able to say goodbye to his friends. Hates that they’ll find him like this, knowing they’ll blame themselves for what happened. 

Xander closes his eye and he’s back on the hill overlooking the village, Cordelia once more by his side. He watches as the sun slowly sets. 

“Not yet,” he whispers and feels the comforting squeeze of Cordelia’s hand. 

The sun disappears behind the horizon and the world fades to black. 

The End

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