Title: In The Aeroplane Over the Sea
Author: Mr Klortho
Rating: Teen (Really, suitable for all ages, but I just want to make sure I cover my basis)
Summary: Xander's made a new life for himself away from the dangers and pitfalls of his previous "night life". What happens when his past and present worlds collide in a way that could destroy everything he's built up?
A/N: This is a repost. I wrote this story about a year ago, and since then have been writing a lot more. I think this newer version flows better. Who knows though; a year from now, I may be doing this again.
Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS, or anything to do with it, blah blah blah.
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"Oh buddy, if I have an afternoon like this one again, I'm gonna stop that whole 'workin' for a living and takin' what they're giving,' and you know what, just flat out punch Huey Lewis in the face."
With another brutal day at the job site behind him, Xander Harris was more than ready to kick back on his recliner, grab a beer, watch Babylon 5 reruns accumulating on his DVR, and zone out for the next 28-52 hours. But as he shut the front door to his modest 3 bedroom home, he knew no matter how many times he clicked the heels of his work boots together, it just couldn't happen.
He had at least a few hours worth of paperwork and blueprints still to look over, plus an upstairs toilet acting up.
He was knee deep in what he lovingly called "boca del infierno di suburban-o".
You would think that four years of being retired from the brand spankin' new Watchers Council would make anyone used to nine to five drudgery. Not him though. Staking vampires was his normal.
He sighed, "You can take the kid out of the Hellmouth..."
He walked toward the kitchen, beginning his nightly post-work ritual by tossing his coat and briefcase on the steps leading to the second floor. He groaned as he remembered it was Tuesday, which meant it was his night to make dinner.
He let out another loud, less-than-manly sigh, rolled up his sleeves, and bent down to the lower cupboard, grabbing the spaghetti pot. Usually he tried to add a little flair to the menu when he played chef, but not tonight; tonight even his hair ached.
Luckily spaghetti was his speciality. Well, at least that's what he used to boast to Dawn and Buffy when he would cook at their house back in Sunnydale. And though they always rolled their eyes and mockingly agreed, he knew that somewhere deep, deep, deep inside, they totally believed him.
Besides, with the horrific crap Dawn used to invent for dinner, those girls gobbled up his spaghetti like it was Italian flavored crack.
"No," he muttered, "this is the life of the new, domesticated Xander Harris".
He still wore the eye patch, which he considered the Hellmouthy version of a "Red Badge of Courage". Plus it worked wonders intimidating the hell out of unruly employees.
Take that away though, and the rest of him became completely mundane. He now had short, business appropriate hair, laugh lines around the eye, and a slight paunch that he was totally planning on loosing sometime soon.
Plus, like many a good man, he'd fallen prey to the vilest of all suburban inventions: a mortgage.
Sometimes he felt so far removed from who he used to be, it frightened him. If he walked up to "Young Xander", threw an arm around his shoulder, and said, "Boy do I have a story for you," would the words, "Spike slept with Buffy, repeatedly, and oh yeah, Anya too," scare him more or less than, "You'll quickly realize that a money market fund is by far the safest way to protect your investment."
He guessed probably the former.
He set the water on the stove to boil, grabbed the cutting board, and began chopping the onions for his sauce. His thoughts drifted away as he got caught up in the rhythmic motion of the knife cutting through onion. Growing up, fine dining in the Harris household consisted of ordering from the pricey Asian restaurant up the street. He didn't really touch a pot or pan until he moved out on his own, which made it such a revelation to find that cooking helped calm him down.
He made the last slice clean through. The old cliché was that you cried as you cut an onion. Not him. He smiled a megawatt smile. That's because he knew what came after he cut the last onion. It was the same every Tuesday, and his brain had been hotwired to react the same way every time.
It was the highlight of his day.
You see, for all his bitching and moaning, he knew no matter how strong the urge to stab something undead in the heart with pointy wood, he had too great of a reason to ever go back to being what the slayers in Scotland had dubbed, "Col. Xander Fury".
"Daddy?" The whispered words floated down the steps.
Standing there, peeking through the banister, was his gorgeous, doe eyed, brown haired, slightly chubby in-a-completely-adorable-way-especially-when-she-wore-pigtails little precious of a reason for being a modern day Ward Beaver, instead of an ass-kicking warrior of the undead.
"The lord of the manor has returned!" he said with as much pompousness his lungs would allow.
He walked toward the stairs, hearing the pitter-patter of little feet move as fast as a four year old could run.
He made it to the bottom just as his little girl launched herself like a missile into his waiting arms.
"Oh honey, daddy missed you so much today," he said, closing his eyes and squeezing his little girl tight.
This was easily the greatest joy in his life.
"My name's not honey, Daddy!" she said with a giggle.
Xander pulled away so he could look her in the eye. "It's not huh? Hmmm," he said with a hand slowly rubbing his chin. "I plum forgot your name! How silly of me!"
"Guess!" she screamed. He had to hold on tight she wriggled so much. Boy did she love this game.
"How about…Cinderella?" he asked.
"Noooooo!"
"Mary Poppins?"
"Uh-uh."
"Patty Mayonnaise?"
"No Daddy!" Her head shook side to side like a paint tumbler.
"What's my name?" she yelled again.
"Snoop Doggy Dog?"
"No…Huh?"
"Never mind kiddo, a little before your time." He knew he had to end this now, or she would keep the questions going all night. He remembered the "Why, daddy?" incident of Labor Day, 2012 and knew this time his sanity wouldn't return.
"Wait, I think it's coming back to me. Is it C.J.?"
"No!"
"D.J.?"
"No!"
"M.J.?"
"Daaddddyyyy!" she whined. Even SHE was loosing her patience.
He squeezed his eyes shut and scrunched his face. "Is it…A.J.?" he asked hesitantly.
"Yaaaaaaaahhhhh!" she exploded, hugging him tight again. Finding out she won a date with Sponge Bob wouldn't have excited her as much.
"You're so smart daddy!"
"Well honey, I have about 25 teachers and 7 ex-girlfriends that might disagree with you on that one."
A voice drifted from the top of the steps. "I think it only matters what this little darling believes."
Xander looked up as Mrs. McGinty walked down the stairs. She was a neighbor from down the street who had welcomed them when he, Ziva, and A.J. first moved in. She was a great lady who exuded the stereotypical grandmother vibe. Unfortunately her only son and grandchildren lived in Arizona, and didn't make it back to the suburbs of D.C. too often. Luckily for Xander, that meant that she was more than happy to spend time with A.J. and watch her whenever her parents ran late at work. A.J. loved the arrangement; Mrs. McGinty let her try on makeup, which apparently was just the greatest thing ever, or so he was told..
He grinned. "You know what, you're right Mrs. McGinty. Now, I just have to make sure it stays that way." He gave his daughter a mock serious look. "Now A.J., I want you to remember these very simple rules: no conversations with doctoral students, fans of Kurosawa, or people who have won any money on Jeopardy."
"Ok Daddy."
"That's my girl."
Mrs. McGinty smiled at them both. "We just finished playing Candyland. I was going to help her wash up before you got home, but I thought since you hadn't eaten dinner yet, that you might want to hold off on that until afterwards."
"Absolutely. You see, you'd never know it by looking at her little innocent face, but this little monster just happens to be a world class stain magnet," growled Xander.
"I'm not a monster Daddy!" the girl in question said defensively.
Xander's eye crinkled in amusement. "I know honey, Daddy is just teasing." He turned back towards Mrs. McGinty. "Hey, would you like to stay and eat with us, Mrs. McGinty? I made plenty," Xander said while waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. A.J. chimed in with a raucous, "Yes, please!"
"No," she said chuckling, "I have to go home and make sure my husband eats, or he'll just end up wasting away on that recliner of his."
"Ah, a man after my own heart," Xander said whimsically as he moved to open and unlock the front door. "But we can still expect you on Saturday, right? You know Ziva has been planning this cookout for like the last 3 months. I'll be honest with you, I've never seen her like this. She's been freaking out for the last week because she worries it's not going to turn out just perfect. She even invited her coworkers, including that creepy kid from the morgue."
"Oh, we'll be here if I can somehow drag Herb away from the TV. Just make sure to remind her that I'm bringing the potato salad," she said as she slowly made her way out the front door.
"Will do. And thank you once again, I know how much of a handful the munchkin can be," Xander said while tickling the little girl in his arms. Her peals of laughter were probably waking up the entire neighborhood.
"Oh, believe me when I say it's the highlight of my day. Bye my little darling angel!" She waved goodbye as she walked down the street..
"Bye Ms. McG!" A.J. waived back with enthusiasm, matched only by the volume of her yelling. He shut the door quickly, hoping the neighbors didn't call the police for a noise violation…again.
That reminded him, he needed to look into sound proofing his bedroom before the neighbors complained, or A.J. hears something she shouldn't and starts asking some "panic attack" inducing questions. If it came to that, he would make Ziva answer every single one; lord knows it would be her fault anyway.
"Well kiddo, you up for helping daddy make dinner tonight?" he asked as they made their way back to the kitchen.
For the first time since he got home, A.J.'s cheery exterior vanished, replaced by the whine of a typical four year old
"Daaadddy, I just like to eat, not make fooood."
Good thing for Xander, he and her mother had years of practice handling her fits. He set her down on the counter, and bent down so he could be at eye level.
"You really are your father's daughter, aren't you? Well kiddo, I tell you what. You help daddy make the salad, and I promise I'll wear the big white hat and do the Swedish Chef."
Her eyes lit up. "Really? Okay!"
He eased her off the counter, then started rooting through the refrigerator. "You are so easy to please. I just wish your mother accepted my Swedish Chef impression on Valentine's Day instead of making me buy her that tennis bracelet that daddy had to pay for with his 'Redskins season ticket fund' he'd been saving for months and months."
"Mommy is silly. Swedish Chef is my most favorite," she said matter-of-factly.
"I know!" Xander said as he threw his hands up. It was about time someone agreed with him.
"People jump all over the Elmo bandwagon, Elmo this, Elmo that, when everyone knows the Swedish Chef has been bringing it strong for almost forty years! People think that he's a one trick pony, and I say you're right, if that ponies name is 'Awesome' and his trick is 'making me laugh till I pee my pants'." He set the spinach and lettuce on the counter. "Ugh, I guess everyone loves the flavor the week, but nobody really appreciates the classics anymore."
"I do, daddy."
He'd have appreciated the sentiment a much more if his one ally wasn't engrossed in playing with her bellybutton.
He sighed. "I know you do honey, and that's why daddy loves you."
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Ten minutes later, Xander had just wrapped up his dead on impression of the Swedish Chef. Now he got ready to take the spaghetti pot off the burner. A.J. added diabetic proportions of cheese and croutons to the salad, which was, as everyone knows, her go-to move.
Xander was making the final preparations on his sauce when they both heard the back door open. A.J. scrambled down from the counter and ran into the living room yelling, "Mommy's home!"
A quiet breath escaped his lips. He loved his daughter more than life itself, but man-o-man could she be exhausting. He was thrilled Ziva was home so she could help occupy the little munchkin.
The fact she was gorgeous and had no problem with him putting his hands all over here certainly didn't hurt either.
"You're not mommy."
The words were so quiet, so quick, Xander almost missed them.
Almost.
His legs buckled under him, as he caught himself on the counter.
Half a second later, he sprinted out of the kitchen.