It's strange how people think they know you but don't.
They can point at you and say 'that's Xander, been friends for years'. But don't friends know each other? He wondered how much they knew him and how much they thought they knew him.
Could he even remember the last time they sat down and talked about nothing?
Sadly, no.
He could name all their favorite colors, TV shows, songs, heck he could even point out what kind of clothes they would like without them even seeing them.
He knew how far each of them would go. How ruthless, how merciful, how playful, how mean each of them could be.
Could they same the same for him? Would they even dream that he was doing what he was right now?
Sadly, no.
He guessed it was partly his fault. He could have sat down with them and been completely serious with them, honest, open.
But could they have handled what he would have said? Could they have handled his guilt? His hate? His pity? His total lack of fun, warmth and wisecracks?
Sadly, no.
In a way he guessed it was better. When he was with them, he could put on his mask and be falsely happy. He didn't have to think about what it was he was doing, what he had been doing. When he was with them, he could see why he did it. But could he see it if they knew what he did?
Sadly, no.
Would they ever thank him for it? Would they ever know why he did it? Would he ever let them get close enough to have the chance to know? Would they even try to get that close?
Sadly, no.
The council team rolled to a stop at the red light. Dark tinted windows showing nothing of the innards of their expensive car. The people inside thought murderous thoughts. Thoughts aimed at a comatose slayer, an ex watcher and the slayer summers.
The streets were deserted. The night dark. The knock on the window unexpected. The young man an annoyance.
The man in the front seat wound down his window at the boys insistence.
"Say you wouldn't be able to point me in the direction of the hellmouth would you?"
Pfft. Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.
The boys' silent pistol didn't even register on their minds.
Detective Lewis didn't know why he needed to implicate this summers person in a murder. He didn't care either. This had come straight from Mayor Wilkins. His bonus would be nice, his promotion nicer, and he wouldn't be demoted to a flatfoot and put on night patrol.
He glanced around the alley. There was a boy at the entrance. Just standing there.
'Just move along kid.' He needed to dump the body here. The boy wasn't moving.
Patience ending rather quickly, he pulled out his badge and strode towards the boy rather quickly.
"Move along son. You shouldn't be out this late" he flashed his badge in the kids face.
"I'm not. I'm currently sitting at home," He said with a grin.
The punch slammed Lewis's head against the brick wall. He slid down it rather quickly as his legs gave out and the world spun. The hot line across his throat barely registered. The jiggered tearing as a hook followed the cut across his neck caused his mouth to twitch. He didn't even feel when the blade disemboweled him.
Kiera glared as Buffy Summers walked out of the Bronze. Her master had told her all about her. Told her exactly what to do.
She followed her out into the alley and watched as she dispatched one of her masters' minions.
Slowly the words began to tumble of her limps and she felt the nimbus of energy play around her hands as she raised and pointed them at the slayer.
Suddenly the world seemed to blur sideways and her head made a nasty crack against the brick wall. Than another. And another. Her last glimpse was of Xander lifting her head off the ground by her hair before coming down alarmingly fast.
Would they understand why he did it? Could they see why he did it?
Would they even ask why?
Did they even know that he could do it?
Sadly...........no.