Backfire - Spander Files

down. Spike was resting in the guest room, being attended to by Willow. The two
had put up a minor fuss when the Watcher had paired them as medic and patient,
but Giles had been insistent, so Willow had set about setting the injured leg while
Oz stood watch with a crossbow.
Ms Calendar had been dismissed, disappearing into the night quietly and without an
escort.
Buffy gave herself the task of a late patrol, claiming a need to beat the crap out of
something, but Xander had his suspicions that she was at home on her bed, crying
her eyes out. He didn’t blame her.
After getting Mrs Franklin back home and convincing her that she had slipped
down the stairs and the rest had been her imagination, Giles was making phone calls
and rereading many books for the fourth or fifth time, in hopes of finding the clue to
Xander’s cure that had iluded him woe these many months.
And Xander sat. Not sleeping. Not awake. He felt his fear consume him. The
clichéd fear of the unknown. He was scared to know how painful this burn was
going to become. How long he could survive it, and when it would be easier to just
die. He lied to himself and thought that perhaps it wouldn’t get that bad. How
foolish was it to have killed Angelus? How was the whole mess going to end? A
part of him missed Cordelia. Why was that?
Xander sat with his eyes closed. He let his mind wander, not caring which thought it
landed on. He sat. Blood began to pool under his fingernails as he scratched at the
burn.
19
The End of the Whole Mess
Giles slammed the phone down. It was mid-afternoon, and he had finally gotten
hold of an old retired Watcher in New Zealand, but the information he had been
promised turned out to be superfluous. He reached up to remove his glasses, only to