Oxnard Diaries
Title: Oxnard Diaries Chapter 1: The City that Cares
Character: Xander
Pairing: None, but mentions Xander/Cordelia.
Takes place: Summer after season 3.
Description: Ever wonder why Xander stayed in Oxnard after his car broke down? I did, and I played around and came up with this.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Buffy mentioned, Xander makes excuses for her. You will never catch me Buffy-bashing, but her actions do sometimes raise questions. Also, I'm well aware that the title "Diaries" implies first person, which this isn't, but I liked the sound of it anyway.
Five weeks ago, Xander couldn't have found Oxnard on a map. Honestly, he still might not have had much luck with that. He had ended up here out of some vague idea of taking the Pacific Coast Highway to L.A., stopping in L.A. to see the landmarks of classic Hollywood -- Mann's Chinese theater, Schwab's drugstore, and OK, maybe a side trip to Disneyland. Maybe calling the one person (the one actual person person) he knew in L.A., who just happened to be Cordelia, and maybe with the whole prom dress thing she had stopped thinking that he was a complete tool and maybe they'd ride Space Mountain and the car would get stuck halfway up the first hill because this had happened once when he was thirteen and riding with his cousin Ricky and he'd thought what a wasted opportunity one day I'll come back here with a girl, and maybe when they were stuck there they'd talk and he'd be able to explain that the one little indiscretion with Willow was just an instant of poor judgment and Cordy would smile and forgive him and they'd kiss like they were locked in a basement again and she'd come with him when he drove East on Route 66.
He wasn't sure how far he had come from Sunnydale, except that it was far enough to play through Merle Haggard's Greatest Hits almost twice. Xander was just getting choked up about how they still waved old Glory at the courthouse in Muskogee, when he heard a hideous screech, then a thud, and then nothing -- all signs of a Very Bad Automotive Thing. He had just about enough cash to pay for the tow truck, and a cup of terrible coffee at Sharp Larry's Car Repair & Bait Shop.
And there, sitting on a cooler full of nightcrawlers, in Larry's broomcloset-turned waiting room, Xander did the thing that, even a month later, he didn't quite understand. He called out, "Where's a cheap place to stay around here? And by around here, I mean, walking distance."
So Xander ended up with an illegal sublet on a mobile home while the owner was "on tour with Phish" as a sort of (as far as Xander could make out) groupie-dealer-Tshirt vendor.
The trailer wasn't roomy, but it was his own space. There was free, illegal cable, and sometimes he watched The Rockford Files and pretended that James Garner lived in the next trailer over, and any minute a mystery blonde was going to knock on Xander's door by mistake.
"I need your help, Mr. Rockford!" she would say, her sundress sliding down one tan shoulder. "A bad man is after me."
"A bad man?" he would say. "No sweat. I happen to be an experienced demon fighter. With military experience."
Then he would feel a twinge of guilt. Just because it was summer didn't mean that Buffy didn't need his help. Of course, she had disappeared for the past two summers, with no thought of what he and Willow and Giles were going through. Xander knew he hadn't really gotten over that, but there was no way he could think about getting even with Buffy. When you had a friend like Buffy, you sometimes wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her, ask what the hell she was thinking, but that was the problem. When Buffy hurt you, it was because she wasn't thinking. Or because she was thinking about saving the world or saving some formerly evil creature she had an inexplicable soft spot for -- or feeling guilty about the saving she hadn't managed to do.
Buffy never did anything to you out of meanness, so it seemed petty to even think about being mean back. And besides, he could only hurt Buffy with his absence if she needed him to be there. And as far as he could tell, she just didn't. Buffy and Willow had been all hugs and tears when he left. Giles had been full of the patronizing advice that they all knew by now to recognize as affection, and even Oz had offered a handshake and a veritable soliloquy: "Won't be the same with you gone, man." But not one of them had said, "Stay, Xander, we need you." If one of them had, he'd never have crossed the border into Ventura County. He sure as hell wouldn't be washing dishes at the Fabulous Ladies Nightclub in Oxnard.
Oxnard, the signs read. The City that Cares. That had to earn some points on "Sunnydale, the City that Tries to Open up and Suck Your Ass into Hell on a Regular Basis." And so he stayed.
Title: Oxnard Diaries Chapter 1: The City that Cares
Character: Xander
Pairing: None, but mentions Xander/Cordelia.
Takes place: Summer after season 3.
Description: Ever wonder why Xander stayed in Oxnard after his car broke down? I did, and I played around and came up with this.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Buffy mentioned, Xander makes excuses for her. You will never catch me Buffy-bashing, but her actions do sometimes raise questions. Also, I'm well aware that the title "Diaries" implies first person, which this isn't, but I liked the sound of it anyway.
Five weeks ago, Xander couldn't have found Oxnard on a map. Honestly, he still might not have had much luck with that. He had ended up here out of some vague idea of taking the Pacific Coast Highway to L.A., stopping in L.A. to see the landmarks of classic Hollywood -- Mann's Chinese theater, Schwab's drugstore, and OK, maybe a side trip to Disneyland. Maybe calling the one person (the one actual person person) he knew in L.A., who just happened to be Cordelia, and maybe with the whole prom dress thing she had stopped thinking that he was a complete tool and maybe they'd ride Space Mountain and the car would get stuck halfway up the first hill because this had happened once when he was thirteen and riding with his cousin Ricky and he'd thought what a wasted opportunity one day I'll come back here with a girl, and maybe when they were stuck there they'd talk and he'd be able to explain that the one little indiscretion with Willow was just an instant of poor judgment and Cordy would smile and forgive him and they'd kiss like they were locked in a basement again and she'd come with him when he drove East on Route 66.
He wasn't sure how far he had come from Sunnydale, except that it was far enough to play through Merle Haggard's Greatest Hits almost twice. Xander was just getting choked up about how they still waved old Glory at the courthouse in Muskogee, when he heard a hideous screech, then a thud, and then nothing -- all signs of a Very Bad Automotive Thing. He had just about enough cash to pay for the tow truck, and a cup of terrible coffee at Sharp Larry's Car Repair & Bait Shop.
And there, sitting on a cooler full of nightcrawlers, in Larry's broomcloset-turned waiting room, Xander did the thing that, even a month later, he didn't quite understand. He called out, "Where's a cheap place to stay around here? And by around here, I mean, walking distance."
So Xander ended up with an illegal sublet on a mobile home while the owner was "on tour with Phish" as a sort of (as far as Xander could make out) groupie-dealer-Tshirt vendor.
The trailer wasn't roomy, but it was his own space. There was free, illegal cable, and sometimes he watched The Rockford Files and pretended that James Garner lived in the next trailer over, and any minute a mystery blonde was going to knock on Xander's door by mistake.
"I need your help, Mr. Rockford!" she would say, her sundress sliding down one tan shoulder. "A bad man is after me."
"A bad man?" he would say. "No sweat. I happen to be an experienced demon fighter. With military experience."
Then he would feel a twinge of guilt. Just because it was summer didn't mean that Buffy didn't need his help. Of course, she had disappeared for the past two summers, with no thought of what he and Willow and Giles were going through. Xander knew he hadn't really gotten over that, but there was no way he could think about getting even with Buffy. When you had a friend like Buffy, you sometimes wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her, ask what the hell she was thinking, but that was the problem. When Buffy hurt you, it was because she wasn't thinking. Or because she was thinking about saving the world or saving some formerly evil creature she had an inexplicable soft spot for -- or feeling guilty about the saving she hadn't managed to do.
Buffy never did anything to you out of meanness, so it seemed petty to even think about being mean back. And besides, he could only hurt Buffy with his absence if she needed him to be there. And as far as he could tell, she just didn't. Buffy and Willow had been all hugs and tears when he left. Giles had been full of the patronizing advice that they all knew by now to recognize as affection, and even Oz had offered a handshake and a veritable soliloquy: "Won't be the same with you gone, man." But not one of them had said, "Stay, Xander, we need you." If one of them had, he'd never have crossed the border into Ventura County. He sure as hell wouldn't be washing dishes at the Fabulous Ladies Nightclub in Oxnard.
Oxnard, the signs read. The City that Cares. That had to earn some points on "Sunnydale, the City that Tries to Open up and Suck Your Ass into Hell on a Regular Basis." And so he stayed.