AFTER THIS
Chapter Warnings: Angst. Although, slightly less.
Feedback: More of it, please.
Music: Naive- The Kooks, Change Your Mind- The Killers, Sia- Breathe Me, Eurythemics- I Saved the World Today.
A/N: Change Your Mind was the song I pictured would be playing during the memorial scene. It just fit Xander right there. Also, Breathe Me during the hugging scene.
CHAPTER II
When Xander awakens from a hefty sleep, full of absurd dreams of onion blossoms and Han Solo and dancing bears, he briefly wonders where Andrew is. The reality of the previous day doesn't hit as hard this time around, and it dawns on him quickly that today is another day. And it might not be as bad.
He stumbles to the bathroom. Splashes his face with cold water. He should probably take a shower. Wash the blood off his skin. But when he goes to turn it on, he notices a warm body inside. Andrew is lying there, covered by the thin blanket previously on the supplied cot in the room. Xander isn't sure why he's chosen to sleep in the bathtub, but a devious grin spreads over his face as he realizes what he can do.
Slowly, he turns the water to cold and laughing, switches on the shower. Andrew squeals and leaps up, clutching the soaked blanket to himself. "Xanderrr!" Andrew whines, swatting him. "That was so meaaaan!"
Xander tries to stave off the chuckles, making only slight snorting sounds, but soon succumbing to a full on laugh attack. He falls to the floor, rolling around, chortling at the disgruntled, soaked Andrew. Who tries to remain stoic, but soon falls under the influence of the giggles and eventually joins Xander on the floor.
The pair laugh, and laugh, until they're lying on the cold tiles and are both exhausted. "Um. Mr. Giles called me earlier. He said that we should be downstairs by 10. Wants to have... a memorial, or something."
The laughter dissipates and Xander feels the warm, fuzzy feeling melting away. "Right." He says with authority, getting up and brushing himself off. "We should get going."
Andrew follows him with a strange and annoying loyalty, through the parking lot, to where the circle of people are waiting. Xander turns his eyes expectantly to Buffy, and she speaks.
"I know that yesterday, we were all a little tired after fighting for our lifes. And I didn't get a chance to make my big speech-y type thing. And you know I like making speechy type things. Plus, Giles told me if I did this, I would get a cookie."
Buffy graciously greets the laugh, and continues. "Some of you might have wondered why exactly we're in Missouri. Well, Giles and I figured that we should take the remaining Slayers and set up in Cleveland, fighting demons." She pauses for effect.
"If you don't want to come, that's your choice, but I've known most of you for a long time, and I figured you'd want to be by my side. Fighting every evil there is in this world. But if you don't, that's your choice, and I need to respect that. So... is there anyone who doesn't want to come? Because Giles and I can arrange a plane to take you back home, and we'll be fine with that."
Chao-Ann nervously raises a hand, and Buffy nods. "Okay. I figured you wouldn't want to come anyways. Any other Slayers who want to return home and fight from there?"
Most of the Slayers hands go up, and Xander can't really blame them. It's a dangerous life style, and they've done their parts. They deserve to go home and rest. The only ones who opt to stay are Rona, Vi, and Kennedy. Which makes sense. They've been with them the longest, and they're certainly the strongest.
"You should go back to your rooms and pack, then." Buffy says gently, and although the Slayers have nothing to pack, they realize what she means, and leave promptly.
Which leaves the Scoobies. The new Scoobies. Minus a few, plus a few.
"As for those of you left... well, the younger Slayers obviously can't live alone. Giles and I can buy houses- we've got a decent amount of money left, and we figure that after all you've done for us... the world... you at least deserve a nice place to stay. Willow's already found a nice 3 bedroom for her and Kennedy and Dawn and I to live in. Giles will have his own apartment. If Faith and Robin opt to live together, they can take Vi and Rona. Xander, you can take any more Slayers we run into. And Andrew will probably need to find a place with you until he has enough cash to get a place of his own."
Andrew opens his mouth to object, then shuts it abruptly when he catches the look on Giles's face.
"Well... that takes care of the technical angle." Buffy smiles, crossing her arms, nodding to Willow. She nods back, stepping into the center of the failed circle they make, and suddenly a blue fire is floating and flickering in front of them. Willow steps back, beside Xander, and reaches for his hand on one side. Buffy's on the other. Giles touching her. They form a much better circle, all clasping hands.
Andrew's likely sweaty palm is in Dawn's, and to her credit, she doesn't complain.
Images appear in the flickering flame, one by one. People who have passed away in the battle. Fighting for the greater good. Jenny Calender. Giles looks to be fighting back tears as her smiling face slowly dissolves into nothing. Kendra, in the midst of battle. Larry. Buffy's mom. Tara.
Willow starts to sob, and Xander's sure it's because Tara looks so beautiful. And so happy. He squeezes her hand. She looks gratefully at him, then turns her attention back to the flame, where Cassie Newton is smiling in the sun. Jonathan.
He wants to touch Andrew right then. Reassure him. Because the younger boy is sobbing as if his heart will break, wrenching his hand from Dawn's and fleeing. Xander wants to pull away and go to him, but his eyes remain fixated on the flame.
Countless Slayers flash before his eyes. He only manages to catch Amanda and Chloe, and then they're gone. Just like real life, he thinks bitterly.
Then there's Spike, and although Xander feels a tug of resentment, there's a faint gratefulness underneath. But mostly, he's worried for Andrew.
And although he knows it's coming, it's still a sharp pain in the gut to see Anya's face. She looks happy. Xander turns away. He can't look at the fire anymore. Giles sees him, and quietly extinguishes the fire. "Iuguolo incendia."
"Well." Giles removes his glasses and polishes them on the hem of his shirt, a well practiced Giles move. "Well, we've had seven years with each other. I think I need to say something to you all." He takes a deep breath. "First of all, I believe I need to converse with Buffy, Xander, and Willow in private. Thank you, Dawn. Faith. Everyone. It is of course utterly important that you were with us all the last few days and years. Your help has been so extremely amazing, and we're looking forward to the coming years. Again, thank you."
The group mostly disbands, with muttered groans and moans. A beaming Giles emerges from the crowd. "I'm so proud. To have you all as my- well, I don't believe friends is the right word. Family. My children, very nearly, and, well, um."
A choky, happy, teary Buffy whacks him on the arm. He winces. "Spit it out, Giles."
"Well... I love you all very much. Dammit." He wipes his tears on the back of his sleeve. "Willow... you have become a very powerful and controlled person. What you've done is so amazing. And your power is truly spectacular. I love the woman you've matured into." Willow glows at the praise, murmurs a thank you, and wraps her arms around Giles.
Giles turns his attention to Buffy, who's sobbing just a little bit. "My Slayer." His voice wobbles. "You were the closest thing I ever had to a daughter. I constantly worry about you, even now that I know how strong you truly are. The day you died, however temporarly, was truly the worst day of my life. You've changed my entire outlook on life."
Buffy beams, and joins Willow in Giles's arms. They look expectantly to him, and he awaits the Gilesy, cheesy praise. He's not disappointed.
"Xander. You're an impossibly idiotic boy sometimes. And I don't understand your jokes, or your constant need to call me G-man. But your brash bravery and enormous heart more then make up for it. I would be proud to call you my son, and inside my head, I have many a time. I truly wish you the best with your life."
Xander joins his friends in the huge group hug and pretty soon it's a teary mess, hugs and hair stroking and lots of love. It makes him immensely happy.
But pretty soon, he's trudging back to a presumably empty hotel room. He lets himself in, but he's surprised to be greeted by barely stifled sobs.
"Andrew?" Xander calls, stepping in and closing the door behind him. "Seriously, man, what're you doing here sti-"
His feet collide with Andrew, curled up in fetal position, and giving sobs every so often that wrack his slight frame.
"Andrew?" He asks incredously, as though it isn't clear who the small figure is. "Hey, man." Xander's tone softens. "Are you-"
"No." Andrews breathes out between cries. He looks up at Xander with watery, blue eyes, and Xander feels a tug in his gut. The tug usually reserved for Dawn and Willow and Buffy.
The way Andrew's curled up, Xander can barely see his face. So he does the only logical thing. Tugs him up by an arm. Looks quizzically in his eyes.
Andrew squirms under Xander's intense stare, eyelashes long and wet, eyes red. He finally cracks, and blurts out- "I'm so sorry. For what- wh-wh-what I did. To my friend."
And Andrew's sobbing again, and leaning forwards, and Xander reflexievly opens his arms and Andrew falls into them with predetirmined ease. He feels small and slight there, and it occurs to Xander that he's never hugged another man. Been hugged, maybe, but never hugged.
It dissolves into less hugging and more- holding. Andrew's head is pressed into his t-shirt, and it doesn't really feel awesome because it's been the same t-shirt he's worn for two straight days, and Andrew's tears are soaking the front of it. But somehow, he doesn't seem to mind.
Xanders rubs up and down his back, slowly and steadily, like he's done to Dawn so many times before. He wants to put his hands in Andrew's hair and stroke, but that's bordering on a little too gay for him.
Pretty soon Andrew's wrenching himself out of Xander's arms and muttering a thank you and positively fleeing.
And later, when everyone's boarded the bus, he tries to justify it. The aforementioned event. Well, everyone's a little fragile right now, and even Xander just needs to be held, and it's not like he's gay or anything. Andrew just needed to be touched. But oh god not like that.
...maybe like that. But that's one need that Xander won't satisfy.
He stares out the window. Landscapes and scenery that he won't recall hours from now flash past. Greens and blues and browns and grays and a dozen other colors Xander doesn't have time to place.
Eventually, country landscape fades into city, then to country, then back to city, then to suburbia, then to city. It's late- 11, maybe, but everyone is still up, frantically chattering. Buffy's blabbering about the new apartments, which she's somehow managed to already get ahold of, Dawn is talking to Willow about some god awful movie, Giles is droning about the importance of something or other, and Andrew is earnestly debating the merits of Spiderman versus Batman to an sleepy Kennedy.
Faith pulls up to the hotel where they'll be spending the night, and Xander is pleased to see that although it's a chain, it looks as though it has cleaner sheets then the last one.
Dawn begs to sleep in his room in the lobby, and finally he relents. Of course, this means that Dawn, and Willow, and Buffy, and Kennedy, and Robin, and Faith, and Andrew, and Giles, all end up tramping up to his room.
He unlocks the door with a sigh, stepping into a clean smelling room. Buffy throws herself on his bed, waving a fifty, and demands: "Pizza! Too lazyish to get up. Someone order who is not Buffy." Willow takes the bill from her and sighs. "Pepperoni, Dawnie?"
"Si," Dawn says, grinning with pleasure at her accent. "Le pizza, bella." Giles removes his glasses, and, polishing them, says mildly, "Dawn, not to mention that that was the worst imitation of French- or Spanish- or Italian, I'm not quite sure, pizza actually originated in either Naples or Greece, according to recent history. The word pizza is most likely derived from the European mispronunciation of the word pita, which originated in Egypt, and is similar to the pizza in that they both have disc-like qualities."
He's met by stares. Giles sighs, and dons his glasses once more. "Yes, Willow, pepperoni does sounds lovely." Willow nods, and goes to the phone. Faith pipes in for alcohol, and Wood gives her arm an approving squeeze.
And Kennedy is wrapping her arms around Willow's waist, and suddenly the air is thick with coupling and Xander doesn't like it one bit. He chances a glance to the chair Andrew immediately claimed, and big surprise- he's nearly asleep.
Half glazed eyes, pale, bony feet tucked up into the large, comfy chair, head on the armrest and eyelids dropping fast.
"Andrew?" Xander says it far more softly then he should, forgoing the usual harshness he reserves for Andrew. "Hey... hey?"
The lashes drift open and Andrew warms into himself again, stretching his body outwards. "Mmm?" He drawls lazily. Andrew's blue eyes are big and expectant and lined with angelic blonde lashes, and Xander can see that his shirt's stretched down to reach over his collarbone and cling to his slight shoulders more then usual and it's not like he's noticing but- yeah, fuck, he's noticing.
He shakes the thoughts out of his head, and his hands move from Andrew's shoulder to his own upper arms, crossing them defiantly. "Well, if you want pizza, Willow's ordering. That's all."
The eyes fall, barely, and Xander forces himself away from Andrew's body and shifts himself onto the bed. Not an easy task, as Willow, Dawn, and Buffy are all flopped on it. He nudges Dawn with a hip and cuddles up beside her to watch TV.
For some extremely awesome reason, A New Hope is just starting on the Sci-Fi channel, and Xander nearly beckons Andrew before reminding himself that he doesn't like him. Instead, he petulantly snuggles up to Dawn, lays his head on her shoulder and puts his arm around her, pulling her close. She responds with a happy squeal and snuggles him closer.
Right when Luke is meeting Han Solo for the first time, a knock cuts off Obi Wan mid sentence. Willow rushes to the door. Xander is pondering the fact that Obi Wan kinda looks like Oz when the thought strikes him. Where exactly is Oz?
He thinks to ask Willow, but she's a little sensitive about all things Oz-related, and Xander can't blame her. Instead, he leans over Dawn to quietly ask Buffy.
She shrugs, mimicking his hushed tones. "I don't know. I thought about calling him for help with the First, but I didn't want him to get into danger and I didn't know his phone number." Buffy admits sheepishly.
"Do you think we should..." Xander starts hesitantly. "Let him know we're okay?" Buffy finishes. "Yeah, that's actually kinda a good idea. Tell you what, you remember his last name and we'll get on it in the morning, okay? I'm beat."
Xander nods, and is returning his attention to the tv screen when a barely remembered Andrew pipes in. "Who's Oz?"
Willow freezes in her tracks. Xander mentally smacks himself in the head for ever thinking that Andrew was not an idiot with the least amount of tact humanly possible.
"A-...are you trying to contact him?" Willow breathes out. Xander nods hesitantly. "W-w-w-well..." Willow fidgets, fiddles with her necklaces and bracelets. "Good." She states. "I'd like to see him again."
Andrew shoots him a that-wasn't-so-bad look and Xander glares back a not-off-the-hook-there-yet-sparky look.
He crawls back into the bed, warms himself from the cold November evening by covering himself and the girls with the thick duvet. But as Buffy, and Willow, and Dawn drift off, one by one, Xander can't fall asleep. He just can't.
And when Robin brushes a stray hair off of Faith's forehead before succumbing to sleep himself, and when Giles snores with his face still pressed into his only surviving book, and when Kennedy is sprawled across the floor, and when Andrew is curled in his chair, Xander still lies awake, staring at the ceiling.
It's not a bad ceiling, though.
A/N: Oh man. Is there fucking anyone out there reading this? Drop me a line, send me a flame. Tell me you hate it, tell me you love it. Whatever. Oh well, next update in the next couple days.