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Wait for the Beep
by Nwhepcat
Summary: He's glad he never talked Anya into changing the message. It's a gift, having this dense little paragraph to replay. Her voice. Her Ahn-ness. Lucky he's got her on speed dial, because his vision is blurred.
Rating: PG-13
Story Notes: Takes place from early S6 on past "Chosen." Spoilers for prit-near everything ever. A story in 100-word segments, a la "32 Short Fics About Xander Harris," only this time it's exploring the spaces within my own "Snapshots" tales. Runs parallel to the events of "Black," "Rebuilding" and "Dormant Magics."
Disclaimer: All characters from BtVS are property of Joss and Mutant Enemy and affiliated networks and entities. No copyright infringement is intended, and the author receives no profit from this story.
outgoing
"Hi, this is Anya -- well, not literally. It's my voice mail. If you're hearing this, my cellphone is turned off. Honestly, I don't understand how the rest of you people chain yourself to your cells this way. If I didn't know better, I'd think I was in some peculiar hell dimension where people were forced to attach themselves to their machines. Since you are a slave to your phone, you know what to do: beep, yap, wait for my call. If this is a conversation I think I can bear having, I'll get back to you. Have a nice day!"
60 minutes
-beep-
"Anya, can I just say for the one thousandth time how crazy this message makes me? Who even calls you except for me? It's an outgoing message, not Andy Rooney on 60 Minutes. Great. Now I have a mental picture of being in the sack with Andy Rooney. I'm getting off here to kill myself now, but first I thought I'd ask if you want to go to the movies tonight instead of the usual night. Work kinda sucked, so I'm in a Schwarzenegger mood. It's at 7:15, so I hope you get this in time. Love you."
the thing that kills him
-beep-
Here's one that drives her apeshit:
"Oh, hey, Anya. I was just thinking about you, and thought I'd call you and maybe we could talk dirty. But, by the time I got through your message, well, I'm finished. Hope it was good for you. Call me later if you want. Maybe I'll be in the mood again, you never can tell. Bye."
The thing that kills him? She always calls back inside ten minutes. So she is a freaking slave to the phone, she's just an eccentric about it.
His cell chirps.
"Magic Box. Hurry."
Xander grins. Storeroom time.
wedding night, 3:47 a.m.
"Hi, this is Anya -- well, not literally. It's my--"
He thumbs the off button on his cell.
What can he say? How can he explain what he's done?
At least let her know you're safe. You owe her that.
"Hi, this is Anya -- well, not literally--"
He disconnects. Has several more drinks. Thinks maybe he could call Willow. It's like a mantra: You can call Willow. You can call Willow. But he sits unmoving in the dark motel room, flickering light from the muted television washing over him.
Finally hits redial. It's her. Live. "Xander?" She sounds broken.
He can't.
if things go wrong
He smiles as he listens to her editorialize.
They've moved from the kitchen floor to his bed, where she still sleeps curled against him, her hair fanned across his chest. On an impulse, he's picked up his cell, hit speed dial.
"--get back to you. Have a nice day!"
-beep-
"Ahn, it's me. I'm calling you from bed. You're still sleeping, and I've got my arm around you. I just wanted to tell you thanks for this. And no matter what happens -- I never stopped loving you. Never forget that."
If things go wrong, he wants her to have this.
on the bus
The second night, he finds the cellphone in his pocket.
Not the most pointless object he brought to the final battle -- the wallet qualifies there, though he's lucky now to have it. His Visa has financed their exodus. The only pictures of Anya he has left --
But the phone -- what good is it now? Everyone he knows is with him or back there. Gone. Are they likely to face any emergency 911 could remotely deal with?
Briefly considers pitching it out the window. Stupid.
He thumbs redial, surprised when voice mail kicks in.
"Hi, this is Anya -- well, not literally--"
speed dial
He's glad he never talked her into changing the message. It's a gift, having this dense little paragraph to replay. Her voice. Her Ahn-ness.
Xander parcels it out, though. It means more if he doesn't listen to her 73 times a day. He wants to, though. His fingers twitch with wanting.
Nobody else knows about it. He waits until everyone's off the bus, drag-assing into the latest motel. He looks at the sign by the entrance: HBO. Touch-tone phones. This one's a palace.
Lucky he's got her on speed dial, because his vision is blurred.
"Hi, this is Anya--"
deep black
It takes a bit of doing, considering he doesn't know her account number or remember the bogus mother's maiden name she used, but Xander arranges to keep Anya's cellphone paid up.
It's worth forty bucks a month to him, knowing he can hear her anytime. The charge goes onto his Visa, which he'll worry about later.
He only listens the first few days. Grieving is hard but her voice makes it bearable. But then the deep black hits, and just hearing her isn't enough.
"--I'll get back to you. Have a nice day!"
She never will. He breaks then.
"Anya--"
old-school
Sometimes he calls from the bar he infrequently frequents. The one with all the sad country songs on the juke. He's generally pretty plastered by the time he does; those are songs that require some drinking to handle.
George Jones makes him all old-school. He ignores his cell, forgets the existence of calling cards. He bums change from the bartender and heads back toward the pissers, shuts himself in the old-school phone booth.
Something satisfying about plugging all those nickels, dimes and quarters into the slot, hearing them register. Then: her voice.
-beep-
"Anya. God, I miss you."
business trip
Sometimes he lies to himself.
He's in Cleveland on business (A.L. Harris, assistant slayer. Have stake, will travel.). Anya's back in Sunnydale, unwilling to close and lose a few days' sales. (If he can pretend away the destruction of an entire town, resurrecting the Magic Box is nothing.)
"--this is a conversation I think I can bear having, I'll get back to you. Have a nice day!"
"Honey, it's me. Just calling to say I love you. I miss you a lot. I'm--"
He can never get this part out: I'm coming home soon.
He's not that good a liar.
sorry
Xander starts on the litany of guilt. Not the territory already traveled when she was alive, but the sins he never apologized for.
He never told Anya he was sorry for leaving her at the church to clean up the mess he'd made.
Of all the shitty things he's done, that holds a special place.
He should have been the one to face their friends, his family. Not left her there alone to explain a decision of his that she didn't understand.
This is what he says to her voice mail. Too fucking late.
Willow eavesdrops, he knows. She worries.
random acts
Xander's lost his ability to sleep in. He's awake by five, no sliding back under. He drives to the art museum, walks the empty grounds, sometimes pulls out the phone.
This morning a guy approaches. "Give it up."
Well, yeah, he's been thinking about that.
"C'mon, asshole. Money, keys, yeah, the phone too."
It's his link to her. Not really, he knows. But he feels he cannot hand it over.
He beats the shit out of the guy.
Takes his money.
The mugging's all over the evening news.
Willow thinks he should stay out of the park. It's not safe.
the monk thing
beep
This feels weird, but he does it. Gives the post-mortem on the coffee date with Mo. Post-mortem's a good way of putting it -- Dead on the Scene, absolutely. Repeats what he told Faith after Mo split, about never having a normal relationship. Now that he thinks of it, why would he want one?
I'm not gonna find anyone out there like you, am I?
"At least she wasn't a demon." Um. "Well, you know what I mean. On the active roster."
He tells her he's giving up the hunt. He'll do the monk thing, like Giles.
Yeah.
reminder
He lied to her. And to himself, but that's not what matters.
Because here he is, waking up with Faith sprawled beside him in bed.
Oh god, what has he done?
(What hasn't he done?)
Xander rises, sorts through their clothes heaped on the floor to find his cell. He rubs his fingers over it like a talisman, but one whose powers are denied him now. He doesn't deserve Anya, has no right to perform the ritual that will bring forth her voice.
He dresses, slips the phone into his pocket to carry like the reminder of some lost world.
weight
All day he's aware of its weight -- actually very slight, but significant to him. A couple of times he pulls it out, flips it open -- it's got that Starfleet communicator thing going, that's why he bought it.
But he doesn't call -- and then he can't.
What happens when he leaves the hacienda would make an advanced vengeance demon seminar. No -- Giles swore she'd have no reason -- this is garden-variety human vengeance.
He's barely conscious when his cell chirps. One of his captors digs into Xander's jacket, sends the phone spinning out into the night to shatter on the highway.
surprise
For two weeks, he's in a world where phones don't exist.
Anya barely crosses his mind, consumed with his own survival.
Once he's safe, all he can think of is Faith's peril. He can't let it go, even once she's released; he won't believe she's okay until he sees her.
Xander knows he's worn out everyone with his obsessive fretting, so he borrows Will's phone, pours it all out on Anya's voice mail: what's happened, his fears of worse.
He tells her about life's latest surprise -- it's not just about the intercourse.
He loves Faith.
Telling her, somehow, feels right.
last word
He wonders if he's holding her back.
All these years confronting the supernatural, and Xander still can't say what happens after you die. He's been bitten in the ass by restless spirits, but what about ordinary people? (She was never that.)
He wants Anya to be at rest. She deserves this much.
Retreating to the room he'll soon share with Faith, he punches her number one last time.
Gets not her voice but a robotic drone: Mailbox full.
Trust Anya to get in the last word.
He laughs. It's okay. Feels oddly like her blessing.
She's letting him go, too.
End
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