Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy. Unlike most people on this site who bemoan their not owning of anything Jossverse, I probably think it's for the best for me not to own any rights to this amazing show. Joss is Master of the Universe, and no one could create such genius works as him. Thanks for letting me borrow them, Master.

Spoilers: Most specifically, mentions of key end-of-season-six events, but really, I assume you've seen the whole show. This is a futurefic, afterall.

Pairing: Xander/Willow friendship, a little bit of Willow/Angel friendship

Feedback: I take good and constructively-bad. A few words are infinitesimally better than none at all. Thank you.

Distribution: Just ask.

Special thanks: To Babblefest (as always) and Helen for reading, reviewing, criticizing, and encouraging. You guys are fantastic.

Author's notes: This is just a one-shot, the idea for which I had quite a while ago. I was thinking about the lives of the Buffy characters after the show ended, and after the comics will end (whenever that may be). Then this idea for Willow and Xander's future popped into my head. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading!

Xander's Big One-Two-Three

When he was an old man, Xander Harris decided that his life was like a pinball machine. A Star Wars pinball machine—the one he used to play in the Sunnydale mall, for which Anthony Daniels had lent his voice for C-3PO's exclamations of horror every time the ball fell between the flippers. Xander had launched wildly into life and swung about with reckless abandon (or was that clumsiness?), running into people—usually literally—who changed the course of his life in drastic and permanent ways. He'd rung piercing whistles, beeps, and alarms, set things spinning that he didn't even know existed, such that Life had never expected when it created Alexander Harris. He fell often, but shot back up as many times, saved most often by his two best friends; his right and left hand. And pretty soon, he would have to take that final plunge into the Place of No Return (until you stuck another quarter in).Yes, Xander had thought way too much about this.

The thing of it was, he had actually had the time to think about it—plenty of it. For, in two months, Xander was going to celebrate his 123rd birthday. Willow was planning a party for it: his "Big One-Two-Three," she kept excitedly exclaiming, her wide grin as youthful as it always was. Xander could only grin back, and let her continue whatever new idea had sprung up this time, wondering who was left that she might possibly invite.

When Xander turned 100, he applauded himself for his good health. Willow threw him a huge party, attended by all his closest friends—the ones who were still around, anyway. Even Angel sent him a card, congratulating him on making it to the triple digits. "See?" he had told Willow, grinning through a slice of cake, "dead taste buds are a plus. Those vomit-licious shakes really keep the old heart going." She had only grinned back, squeezed his shoulder, and distracted his attention with the first of many presents.

When he turned 105, he gave sheer luck partial credit to make up for his waning confidence in the wheatgrass-and-only-God-knows-what-else shakes. Dawn couldn't make it to his party that year—on account of being interred next to her sister in a small California cemetery just a few hours from Xander and Willow's house.

He figured out what it really was on his 112th, when Willow magicked him his favorite chocolate with strawberries cake for the two of them to share. It wasn't a specific event that made him realize what had kept him alive for so long. It was just a look, a glimmer, in Willow's eye (which had nothing to do with the 112 brightly-lit candles that he was sure must also be magicked into non-fire-hazard existence), that brought all the other signs together in as neat of a package as the antique Batman lunchbox she had found for him. Or rather, pulled out of time for him. But he didn't say anything to Willow about it then. He was the only one left, after all.

Ten more years floated by, and Xander could finally see what Spike and Angel meant about time taking on a different meaning when enough of it passed by. The only problem was that Angel and Spike got to keep their eternally-young bodies. Angel stopped by about three months before Xander's "Big One-Two-Three" to ask Willow about something that was happening in his corner of the world, and Xander was shocked at how unchanged Angel looked. After watching everyone else, himself included, wrinkle, shrink, change colors, and freeze up with age, the fact that Angel looked exactly as he did when he dated Buffy around a century ago ("that bastard," Xander had thought bitterly as he swallowed his arthritis medication with some hot water), was more startling than Xander had expected. It got his wheels turning. Spinning, actually. In the my-lunch-is-going-to-reappear-any-minute-now kind of way.

During dinner that night, when he realized just how long it took him now to direct the fork into his mouth, it hit him. And for once in his life, he did not envy Angel. He prepared himself to do the hardest thing he would, in all his long years, ever have to do. He was going to have to tell Willow that it was time to let him go.

He chose a warm, cloudless afternoon to tell her. From his favorite armchair, he could see the arbor that he had built for them when they first moved in. It was lit up with the late sun, making the yellow roses that grew at its base seem all the more golden. They had lived in that house together for 60 years now; never more than friends, and never wanting more. The roses grew faithfully every year on the arbor. Xander smiled at them bravely and looked over at Willow.

"Will?" He said.

"Mm?" Willow looked up from her book. She had aged much better than any of the rest of them, an observation unanimously decided by all to be due to the powerful magic in her veins. Giles has predicted the obvious when he said that Willow would probably outlive them all by at least half a century, though likely more. Her skin had only just started wrinkling within the past decade, and though her hair was silver now, it was still full and long. Xander often said she looked like a deity, the way her hair would glow like a halo in the sun.

"C'mere," he creakily held out his hand for her to take.

She frowned slightly, but came immediately and took his hand. "What's up, Xand?" she asked as though he were teasing her with a hidden surprise.

"Sit down," he said with a smile he hoped wouldn't lead her on in false hopes. With her free hand, Willow dragged a nearby rocking chair over so she could sit down in front of him.

"Xander, what's going on?" She asked again.

This was going to be harder than Xander thought. He did his best to lean forward, his joints cracking under him. "Can't slay many vampires now, can I?" He joked. "Not with the orchestra that is my body, warning all vamps within a 10-mile vicinity of my fearsome presence. I should sign up for the circus. I could make millions with my one-man-symphony show."

"Xander," Willow smiled. "Don't be ridiculous. You're more of a drum set than a whole orchestra."

"Still," he said. "That takes talent." He appreciated her constant gestures to humor his increasingly less humorous jokes. "It's about the only thing I can do anymore."

Her smile faded instantly. "No, no, it's not," Willow said. "You can…Um. Well you know, there's the…And how could I forget the…um…"

"See?" Xander said. "It's ok, Will. Comes with the territory of being old. Not like I didn't see it coming—as soon as I realized I was going to get the chance to grow old, anyway. It was touch-and-go there, for the first 50-odd years of my life."

"Jokes!" Willow suddenly remembered. "You can still tell great jokes! Man, you sure keep me laughing. Haha, haha…" Her voice teetered off awkwardly and she smiled to fill the silence.

"It's really encouraging how you only just thought of that Will," Xander said with a twinkle in his eye. He had never really seen this twinkle, since his good eye wasn't so good anymore, but he always hoped it looked something like Dumbledore's or Gandalf's. "But that's not the point," he said, staving off her feeble objections. "The point is," Xander took a deep breath. "My body's gone, Willow."

"Gone? What do you mean gone?" She now wore a worried frown; the kind that told him that she knew what he was talking about. "Sure, you're old and creaky, but so am I, and-"

"Will," Xander interrupted. "Look at you. You're not even the slighted bit creaky. You are a well-oiled door hinge that, ok, had been nailed in the frame a while, but still works just fine. But me…I'm all rusted together."

Willow was breathing more heavily than normal, looking at their clasped hands as though she couldn't decide if she wanted to let go and stand up for dramatic effect, or hold on to him as tightly as she could. And therein lay the problem.

"Willow honey," Xander said quietly. "I know you've been using magic to keep me alive. I don't know how, but I know you have."

"Well, what's so wrong with that? We're happy together, right?"

"Yes. Of course we are. I wouldn't trade these last 60 years with you for anything. I've loved growing into crotchety old people with you more than I can say."

Willow frowned even more. "I'm not crotchety," she said.

"Amendment," Xander said. "A crotchety old man and a beautiful, wise witch of an old woman."

"You're not crotchety, either." Willow said from under a shadow of a smile, but Xander knew her diversion tactics well.

"That's beside the point, Will. Look, I am so thankful for everything you've done for me. You've saved my life so many times, and now you're keeping it safe so we can live here together. That goes above and beyond the call of Best Friend, and my gratitude to you for it is beyond words." Xander glanced down at their clasped hands, which at some point had been joined by their other two hands. "You've been there my whole life," he continued with a slight smile. "Remember in 5th grade, how I tripped over my shoelace in the cafeteria because my parents told me I couldn't wear Velcro shoes anymore and I fell face-first into my macaroni and Jello? And then you came up and pretended to fall over, too, just so everyone would look at you instead?"

"Xander," Willow said quietly. "I did fall. I slipped on your banana."

Xander's smile faltered. "Oh. I always wondered where that banana went…And so crasheth Xander's world."

"Sorry," Willow said in earnest apology. "But if it makes you feel any better, I totally…probably…would have done it on purpose."

"Thanks." He let the moment grow serious again before continuing. "Anyway, you were there through my whole relationship with Anya, even though I know she wasn't your favorite person in the world…"

"Well, I liked seeing you happy…"

"And you were still my Best Woman when I married Kat, and you were the first one there when she and Baby Boy Harris died."

"Xander…"

"And throughout the intense craziness that was our lives, Willow, you were my one constant. The one who would always remember me: Xander the Wallflower."

"Xander, you were never a wallflower!"

"Not to you. But I was to plenty of others. Especially in those oh-so-crucial formative years. And speaking from a wallflower's perspective—"

"—Which I, too, have some knowledge about," Willow interrupted. "Even more than you. I was…" She searched wildly for an appropriate illustration, "I was an entire wall wallpapered with wallflowers!" She grinned, he knew, trying to keep the ominous clouds he was brewing at bay. Xander nodded his head and smiled in acknowledgement, and continued.

"Then I guess we both know that when one person notices you, even if they're supposed to notice you….well, it can be the best feeling in the world. So thanks for that, Willow." He smiled at her again. "But…I think it's time now."

"Time?" Willow straightened her back, even though she was still leaning over to hold his hands. "Time? What do you mean, time? Time for what?"

Xander sighed. "You know what, Willow."

"No. No! I, in fact, do not know what it's time for. It's too early for dinner, and the thing that you're insinuating with that somber look of yours, and the 'you've been great to me's, and the sudden and now I'm thinking deliberate use of the past tense is just a little too crazy to—"

"Then toss me in the loony bin, 'cause that's what I'm saying. I've had my time, Willow, and it's been a great one. But I think I've had more than my fair share of great times. Let's leave some for the next generation, huh?" Xander bit his lip as the tears began to roll down Willow's cheeks.

"But, no, Xander. I need you. You're the heart, remember? You're my anchor, you're—"

"The heart can't live without the body, Will, and mine's just not here anymore. How about I promise to come back to haunt you from time to time, ok, in full Xander-Heart form? Just don't blame me for any heart-juice stains on the carpet." Xander tried to smile, but it was no use anymore. "Look, keep me around another few months. Let me get my affairs in order. Give me my 'Big One-Two-Three.' But after that, you need to go live your own life, and let me move on with mine. I can still be your heart from wherever I am, even better than I can here."

"No, no," Willow sobbed, sinking from her chair to the floor in front of him so she could press her face into their hands. "Xander, if you leave, I'll be all alone. We're the only ones left, and I can't…" Breathing hard to steady her voice, she swallowed and went on, "You helped me be strong when everyone else died. You pulled me back when Tara was killed. There was nothing left of me and you brought me back. And it was so hard when Buffy died for good; it was so hard." Xander could feel her wet eyes screwed tight against his fingers, and with every sob she shook his rigid body so that spears of pain pierced his bones. But he let her continue anyway. "And then Giles was gone, and he taught me so much. He was such a good friend by the end, and I'll never see him clean his glasses ever again or consult his books or sing at the Platypus. He can never burst in with dire news of an apocalypse that we all have to work together to stop because we're not all together anymore. And little Dawnie!" She looked up into Xander's eyes and his heart broke for her. "You can't let me be the last one left. Please, please don't let me be the last one. The magic, it's a curse for making me watch all my friends go and die and leave me behind. I don't want it anymore, Xander. Take it away for me, please. Don't let me be the last…" but the cork in her throat was too much, and no more words could come out.

Xander took a moment for himself. Every painful fiber of his being wanted to stay for her. He let his own tears speak until he could trust his voice not to give in and agree to stay. It wasn't only for him that he knew he had to go. Xander stroked Willow's hair consolingly, ignoring the tears in his own eyes.

"You're going to do great things," he finally said, pushing through his closed throat. "You didn't think the good magic would give you an extra long life to linger on and take care of me, did you? You've got great ideas up in that Willow-brain of yours: ways to keep helping people, like we've always done. I just can't be the one standing in their way anymore. Tara, Buffy, Giles, Dawn and me'll be waiting for you, when you're ready—which, despite what you may think, is not yet." Grimacing through the sharp stiffness in his body, Xander leaned down and kissed Willow's soft hair. "We won't start our next adventure without our Willow."

QQQQQQ

Willow held the funeral at sunset, so that Angel could come if he wanted to. Willow suspected when she saw him lingering at the back of the small crowd of mourners that Angel came more for her sake than for Xander's, but she appreciated the gesture anyway. He stood by her at Xander's grave in silence long after everyone else had left. The crickets chirped, the stars shone bright, and the evening dew fell before either of them ventured any words.

"Do you know what he told me," Willow finally said. "The day before he died?"

"What?" Angel asked.

"That…" Willow tried to make her throat unclose a bit and tried again. "That he wasn't afraid of death anymore."

Angel waited a moment before saying, "That's very mature of him."

Willow nodded. "It made it easier. I don't know if he meant it, but—"

"—he did," Angel interrupted. Willow glanced over at him. "I didn't know Xander like you did," Angel said, "but he came into his wisdom. I don't have any doubt that he meant it."

Willow nodded and looked back at the gravestone. "Do you like the epitaph?" She asked. "Xander wanted me to write it for him, 'cause he didn't want to. It's kind of cheesy, but I couldn't really think of anything else, with my brain being all muddled."

"I like it," Angel said. As if he would have said anything else.

"Are you sure? It really is cheesy…"

"Cheesy works for him," Angel replied. Willow nodded thoughtfully. It was true.

"I'm not sure I get the picture of the yellow crayon, though," Angel added.

"It's just a little…" Willow wasn't quite sure which word to apply to it. She adjusted her phrasing, "It was just a moment. It would only mean something to him."

Angel nodded. "Sometimes the littlest things can be the most meaningful."

"Yeah," Willow agreed quietly. She sighed one last time and hesitated. Then she and Angel turned and left Xander's final resting place beside their other friends under his new gravestone, which, in all its cheesy-ness, read:

Alexander Harris

1980-2103

The Heart of the Scoobies still beats strong

He never knew how easy it was

For me to keep it going,

Because it was never supposed to stop