Title: Still believe Author: Criss Moody wyoluvr@yahoo.com Website: http://www.crosswinds.net/~wyoluvr/CrissFic Date: March 29th, 2001 Distribution: List archives. Otherwise, ask. Disclaimer: I make no money, and do I look like Joss Whedon? Summary: An Anya vignette. Pairing: Anya/Xander Spoilers: Up through Season 5 episode "The Body." Thanks: To Joey R-A for the look through. Notes: Quote at beginning and title from Kathy Mattea's "Love Travels." Improv #12: boot, ache, tender, flame "So I gaze at the photograph before me wonderin' if you still believe I love you" Locative. Location. Words to designate place, where but not what. Why. She didn't leave because she had to. No one ran her out of town, whispering her dirty deeds in her ear. Evil old demon in the happy new flesh, given not earned, she doesn't exist, she's fake. She talks too much, too loudly, and always says the wrong thing. Whatever that was. No one ever bothered to tell her what was the right thing. With two feet and a spare change of clothing, she walked out of town just after midnight, the moon high in the sky. Easy, really to walk away. The staying away was harder. When she wanted to cry she missed the smell of her bed so much. When a dark-haired, smiling man passed by, warm strong arm around a woman. She left things behind. Tender promise of love, a thing she thought she wanted badly enough to die. The hesitant formation of a family, we'll protect you, no one will harm you. A part of the group, and that was strange. To be a part of something. To be needed. Because she didn't have to look in his eyes as she left, she can still pretend that he feels nothing. He's not clutching a bottle, asking himself why he shouldn't. Sitting at the shop, rubber smile, nod and they won't ask questions. They've got their own problems, and they don't want to see yours. Not now. After all the desperation to understand it: life. To find it: love. She fled. Don't look at her that way. She had to, you just don't understand. A few more steps, and survival wouldn't have mattered. Two more kisses and no walking away. 5 more fingers rushing down her back, cupping her ass to bring her into him, and nothing else would have mattered. There. That was all. She couldn't handle it. Didn't know how to tell him not to love her so much. Not to touch her so gently she felt it in her stomach, thudding ache of affection. He looked at her like she was everything. Candy and carpentry and a sunny day all rolled into a package he called his girlfriend. He didn't need more, he wouldn't stray, and she'd never have to hurt him for hurting her. Leaving changes things. Summer goes and we get fall, and things are okay for awhile, golden and cascading in a wash of green and flame red and pumpkin orange. Things are dying but we barely notice because it's so beautiful. Such a fading change. Winter looks like death. One second it's a little bit warm, and the next the trees are stark against a leaden sky and they look dead. Just like that. No warning. She knows. She's seen pictures. She can't wait for him to leave her like warmth leaves the earth from fall to winter. Waiting for him to die ((he's dying already, so is she, and she hates that)) would be too much. She doesn't know. What will happen. As she ages. Grows old. Dies? She's read about it, but nobody agrees, and they never make enough sense. They talk in circles around the mystery until she throws the damn book across the room. Didn't mean to bring memories along, but photographs came tumbling out of the suitcase. Weeks before change, and genuine joy pours out of the photos. He's there, grinning, his arm looped around her waist. That. Hurts. A. Lot. Full sickening rush of pain up through her chest, blasts through her head and crumples her body to the floor. Steel-toed boots of pain slam along her back, saying 'you left, you left, you left, you left him, you bitch,' and now she wants to die. At this point, she'll take the mystery over the sureness that she can't exist without him. Or doesn't want to try. She understands now why some people say it's the same thing. She left because it was easy. Easier than losing anyone else. To winter.