Thinking

Summary: A moment between Buffy and Xander leads to disaster.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: All BtVS characters mentioned belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy et al.
Spoilers: None
Author's Notes:

This story is a follow up to Wicked Raygun's 'Disbelief' (which can be found at Fanfiction.net here) and if you don't read it (although you should), then it's around the premise that Buffy wakes up after having slept with Xander, but it's not all sweetness and roses, especially on Xander's part. Alternates between Xander and Buffy's POV. Set at what would be the beginning of Season 6. Not really any spoilers. British spelling. *_*'s indicate word emphasis and //_//'s indicate direct character thoughts.

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Welcome to the world of Xander Harris.

Currently you join us in a moment of complete and utter incredulity for our hero who is having a hard time in believing in what he has gone and gotten his stupid, dumb ass into this time.

Yup. That sounds like a pretty damn good introduction for the pit of despair that my life has gone and thrown itself into head first. And I'm pretty sure no one's going to throw me a rope anytime soon so I can haul my sorry ass up.

I can tell you now that it's not going to be a certain blonde slayer.

I have no idea what I was thinking.

No. I really don't.

I just damn well can't remember.

Much.

I know I'd been drunk. OK, quite drunk. I'm actually surprised anyone managed to get any kind of performance out of me at all. And I still have a hangover, although I don't think all of the headache I have corresponds to the alcohol I consumed.

What I do remember, I don't really want to.

My memory of last night has blank bits, blurry bits and horribly clear and very detailed bits. There are a lot of blank bits. A hell of a lot. I don't know whether that's a good thing or not. Maybe it's a good idea that I don't know exactly what happened because that way I can blame my inebriated state for the position I found myself. Or apparently positions in the plural as the horribly clear and detailed bits of my memory will adhere to.

Oh God, I'm never going to be able to look Buffy in the face again.

But that night's adventures and my inebriated state aside... I sure as hell remembered waking up.

Waking up to a very naked Buffy draped over you - *that* you remember.

And the only reason Buffy would've ended up in bed with me and doing what we'd quite obviously been doing, was that she had to have been as drunk as I'd been. No way could I have forced her; she would have kicked my ass from here to the end of the State let alone the block.

So I panicked and I pushed her away and told myself as I did so that this wasn't happening - it couldn't be happening - and that I hadn't just slept with my best friend in a moment of immense galactic stupidity.

I was out of her bed, her room and her house quicker than I'd been out of anywhere in my life.

This is why I'm now sitting in my apartment so very close to tears.

Like I said. Welcome to my world.

It sucks.

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Crying hurts.

I'd like to say I'd forgotten how crying this much makes you feel ill, how it makes you ache right down to your bones. Unfortunately, some of my memories of feeling like this are still lurking in my head.

I hope Dawn doesn't hear me. I don't think I could deal with her questions. How do I explain to my sister that the man I'm falling - OK, fallen - in love with, pushed me away a moment after he laid eyes on me?

And I can still smell him, can still smell *us*, on the bed. In a slightly gross kinda way, it's sort of comforting.

Wait. No it's not.

It reminds me about what I'm missing. Reminds me about what I could have had if maybe I'd gone about things a little differently; approached him through a different route.

Reminds me of what I've gone and lost.

But... I can still smell him.

So I'm still crying.

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I couldn't stay sitting in my apartment forever, but I wasn't in any rush to go back to Buffy's either. So this is why I'm now walking around downtown Sunnydale, hoping that the fresh air will seep into my system and clear some of the cobwebs out.

Of course starting to think clearly means that I'm not just thinking about last night, I'm now thinking about the days and weeks beforehand that hold clues as to why I would've considered sleeping with Buffy in the first place.

We spent the whole summer living in each other's pockets. Whenever we weren't working we were usually together - with Willow halfway across the world, we seemed to need each other more to fill the void. I spent many an evening at her house; if I'd gone with her on patrol, we'd stay up and just talk into the wee small hours. Usually, though, I watched videos with her and Dawn, and on times we were alone there was the odd occasion we dozed off together on the couch. But for either of those times, I always got offered hot chocolate and the spare room.

Then there was the whole sharing misery thing; we'd spent a lot of time on that, again talking into the early morning sometimes. We talked and listened to each other while we bemoaned our crappy love lives. Buffy helped me come to terms with the Anya situation, mainly in the fact that it was over and I needed to get on with my life because that's exactly what she, Buffy that is, was trying to do after the whole Spike fiasco. Granted some of the Spike stuff I didn't really want to hear but I shut up and I listened 'cos that's what friends do.

I guess it just hit me over time. I'd be at work and find myself smiling at something that she said or done the day before and I'd realise that I was missing her. And not in a 'just friends' kinda way. I tried to ignore it; hope that it was just a phase and that it would just go away.

It didn't.

I could see Buffy becoming her old self; she was stronger, brighter... just more alive. And I knew I'd helped do that and I wanted to keep on helping because it made me feel more alive too.

I was falling for her all over again.

It sounds so simple doesn't it? How weird is it that that one sentence can change so much about your life?

Oh Christ, I have to stop thinking like this; I'm gonna give myself a bigger headache.

I think I need to keep walking.

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I've just remembered that Dawn isn't here; she's staying over at a friends. Probably a good thing considering the noise Xander and I made last night. But I guess it doesn't matter now anyway because I've stopped crying. And I've passed that stage where I'm just staring through things just so I don't have to engage my brain in any higher function apart from remembering to breathe.

I'm now at the stage where the normal things around me are starting to catch up. I've just realised that I've got laundry to do and there's the dishes left over from yesterday still in the sink.

So I push last nights memories to the back of my mind and I get up, get showered, brush my teeth and get dressed. Then I go downstairs, feeling a little blank, a little empty. Just going through the motions; enough so I can function without really having to think about anything except if I'm putting the right amount of detergent in.

Hmm. I seem to have been here before.

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OK, I've just established that deep introspection and walking are not a good combination, having almost walked out infront of a bus and been very nearly smooshed.

Nothing like a brush with death to give you some clarity.

Clarity like realising I'm appalled with myself for how I behaved this morning. I just cannot believe I ran out the way I did; just leaving her there like that without saying a word. Hell, the least I could've said was 'hey.'

Crap.

I'm gonna have to go back. I *have* to talk to her. Even if we just end up shouting at each other, it'll be something; at least getting somewhere near putting some damn closure on all this so I don't spend the rest of my life pretending that I'm not crying in my apartment or wandering around and stepping into oncoming traffic.

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I seem to have taken a step backwards. I'm now sitting here staring at the weapons box he made me for my birthday last year.

It's the little things, isn't it?

I think I'll just sit here and look at it for a while and feel sorry for myself.

I think today will be a long one.

Or maybe it won't.

Because now there's someone at the door. Don't they know I'm supposed to be brooding?

This had better be... Oh.

Xander.

Oh God. I'm not ready for this. No way in hell am I ready for this.

One of us should probably say something. Standing and just staring at each other is not accomplishing anything.

Of course we both seem to bite the bullet at the same time.

"We need to talk."

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continued in 'Talking'