TITLE: Dark Room (4/?)
AUTHOR: Wicked Raygun
E-MAIL: wicked_raygun@yahoo.com
SUMMARY: Where does a person draw the line between love and obsession?
RATING: R. Just to be safe anyway. Nothing *really* bad is going to happen… Trust me.
SPOILERS: General spoilers for seasons 1 through 6. Any spoilers from season 7 simply happen because they fit with the story I want to tell.
DISCLAIMOR: I refuse to believe this is necessary. Does anyone here actually believe I own this stuff in any way? Well… To the folks who do own a piece of the Buffster and/or her friends and enemies, I mean you no harm. I'm simply borrowing your toys to put on a little puppet show. I promise to bring them all back in near-mint condition. Even Spike.
FEEDBACK: Everyone needs a little love. It makes the world go round and writers post faster.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: If you're expecting fluffy bunnies and cute endings run away in fear right now. I'm writing a mature story, where adult themes such as violence, rage, obsession, stalking and, yes… gasp, even sex are mentioned. If you cannot deal with that, please, go somewhere else. Or better yet, just grow up.
Special thanks must be given to my online friend Lori Bush, who is an amazing writer who for some reason that I cannot begin to comprehend seems to actually want to read my work and help me improve it. Here's hoping her sanity doesn't kick in anytime soon. For those of you who are interested in reading one or ten of her fabulous stories, they can be found here:
http://tedjoxertimandmore.homestead.com/XanderStories.html
Please leave many, many reviews so that she may be inspired to write many more stories.
Also, for those who are interested in some of my other work, it can be found here:
http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=79383
Now, onto the show.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
Caffeine. Large quantities of smooth, soothing, sweet, problem-forgetting caffeine. Yes, that was what he craved. And had he mentioned the need for a lot of it?
Apparently not because here he was at the Espresso Pump still waiting to be served after fifteen minutes. Another five minutes, he thought, and then he would actually physically flag down a waitress because it seemed that his fidgeting body posture wasn't doing him any good on that front.
When he was younger, he would drown his problems with soda and candy, losing himself in the sugar rush. Often he would drag out Willow on these excursions. He treasured watching her go overboard on the sweets. She was nothing less than a spectacle to behold at these times. The more candy she consumed, the less coherent she became, while, he on the other hand, merely became adventurous. He would be struck with the oddest urges at these times.
All of the sudden, he would want to climb tress in yards where big dogs would try to nip at his heels, or catch frogs and throw them at Willow, or jump Cordelia's fence and swim in her pool, or, one time, fill his house full of sugar and have a sugar-snowball fight… he never actually did that last one due to common sense finally catching up with his sugar-overloaded brain. All that lasted until one summer's night, after having exhausted any and all types of fun activities for that summer and getting some ice cream on Willow's nose. It was at that moment with Willow, seeing her with a large dollop of ice cream on her nose, that he had been struck with what was either going to be his most brilliant or most incredibly stupid idea ever: Kiss Willow.
Yes, that pretty much put a very big stop to the sugar binges. Not to mention tested his willingness to deny that anything happened to an extreme level.
Of course those were much more innocent times.
Fast-forward a few years, and alcohol had become a very warm and inviting thing, particularly after his failed attempt to marry Anya. Then there was the revelation that Anya had become a vengeance demon again because of him. Then there was finding out about the whole Buffy and Spike situation. And then Tara's death, Willow's thirst for vengeance… In between all of those mounting tragedies there were many, many binges. Prolonged, brutal, disastrous binges where his blood-alcohol level came dangerously close to lethal on more than one occasion.
Those were not happy times. And had it not been for that one time that Dawn caught him drunk…
Now that had been a true nightmare for him. That look she gave him that was caught somewhere between disgust and fear was what finally drove him to quit. God bless her, he thought fondly.
Xander knew all too well how to drink - those were lessons his father had taught him well, after all - and sooner or later he was going to get himself killed, or, knowing his luck and considering the fact that he lived on the Hell Mouth, worse.
Much more traumatic than finding yourself wanting to kiss your best friend, he thought glumly.
So he now had a new and safer drug of choice: Coffee.
Coffee, he thought again, as his thoughts began to run in a familiar circle. Buffy's coffee… Drinking Buffy's coffee was bad. Possibly fatal. But drinking coffee with Buffy was… well, weird.
Xander sighed. The waitress that had seemed to appear from out of nowhere made a weird face. Apparently, during all his contemplation, someone had realized that he was a paying customer and decided to see if he wanted anything. It was obvious from the look on her face that she had been trying to get his attention for a while. He shrugged unapologetically then ordered a café mocha. After all, he had more pressing concerns than whether or not a waitress at the Espresso Pump thought he was insane.
Concerns that involved drinking coffee with Buffy, for example.
He had analyzed the weirdness with Buffy, carefully looked at all sides and points of view and came to the only conclusion that a man in his position could arrive at: He was annoyed. No, more than annoyed; he was utterly pissed.
The mere idea that he would want more with Buffy at this point in his life was enough to make him slam his head into the nearest wall. Repeatedly. Something he had, in fact, done after coming to that realization. It was almost insulting when he thought about it for too long… After all these years and heartache and emotional drama that he would want her… As if he couldn't do any better? Just turn to the last woman in his life, and what? Jump her bones? Find some connection that the seven previous years spent with her had somehow hidden from them?
The waitress returned with his order and then asked if he wanted anything else. After he declined, she left him to be alone with his thoughts again. He stared at his café mocha, feeling generally miserable.
Relationships, and relationships with Buffy in particular were very depressing things to think about lately. Of course, things were not helped remotely by the fact that he was still in love with Anya.
Or was it Anyanka now? No, she was human again, so she was definitely Anya. She just wasn't "his" Anya anymore, and was never going to be ever again. Probably for the best, anyway, he thought morosely. If somehow they did get back together he had little doubt that they would bicker and fight until one annihilated the other in - again, considering that they lived on the Hell Mouth - the most literal sense of the word.
He sipped his coffee. A little too hot, but he really couldn't find the urge to care right now, so he kept sipping until a good measure of the stuff had entered his body, warming up his stomach and throat.
Then of course there was Willow. Oh, how could he ever possibly forget Willow? The sexual tension that had all but dissipated to nothing while they were with their respective significant others seemed to be coming back with a vengeance, now that they were both single again. Or, at least, it seemed to be coming back for him. He very well could be imagining things, but it did seem that she smiled differently when she saw him lately. The kind of smile that just somehow seemed more than just friendly. The whole situation had him wondering just how gay Willow really was.
Need more coffee, he thought, right before taking another heavy sip of the still scalding hot liquid.
One day, he mused, his problems with women were going to kill him.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
Morgan had seen him there before. Of course, it was usually from behind the safety of her zoom lens.
She would never have dared to be anywhere near this close to him before without a mass of people for her to be lost in. That was what she preferred: To go unnoticed. Or, at least, that was what she always thought she preferred. Lately, though, she almost couldn't help but wish she stood out a little more, that she would do or say something to catch his attention. Her insecurities had always won out in the end, though, and then she would just take her pictures and leave.
But now… she didn't have a camera. And for some reason, that just didn't bother her as much as it would have before. Maybe it had been holding her back? she thought. Maybe, just maybe, it was sign.
A sign to take the next step…
She took one last deep breath, giving herself that last second of assurance that she desperately needed, then walked towards the table, approaching him from behind with slow, but determined steps, until she finally reached his table. Once there, she opened her mouth to say hello and then… said nothing. In fact, she said nothing for more than thirty seconds. She just stood there, becoming more and more horrified with what she was doing.
This wasn't her, she decided. She had better hurry off, she thought, before something happened. But when after backing up and stepping on someone's foot, drawing much more attention to herself than she would have ever wanted at any time, she decided that thinking along the lines that she had been thinking earlier was very dangerous when one was as clumsy as she.
She made her apologizes to the woman whose foot she had stepped on, then turned around to find Xander observing her. She froze in panic, but breathed normally again after he smiled a little at her.
"Morgan, right?" he asked after a moment's hesitation to recall her name.
She couldn't help the shy smile that found its way to her face, as she confirmed, "Yeah, yeah, that's me. Morgan, I mean."
"What can I say? I'm great with names," he said with a smirk.
"Really?" she asked, desperate to know more about him.
He shrugged. "I don't know, probably. Just felt like the thing to say at the moment."
As she laughed, Morgan noticed that the pain the she always noticed on his face from far away seemed to have disappeared again. Did he always hide his pain like that when someone was around? she thought.
Or was he actually happy to see her?
Before she could contemplate that thought any further, she realized that she had allowed a pause in what was actually shaping up to be a conversation. She couldn't let that happen, not after getting so far.
"You're very funny." Inwardly she winced and was struck with the compulsion to hang herself for saying something so lame. "Sorry, I'm not normally this stupid," she said with self-loathing dripping from every word.
"Don't say that," Xander said with concern. "I'm sure you're just still drained from the…" At that he looked around to see if anyone was taking note of what they were saying. Satisfied that no one was paying attention, he finished, "from the demon attack. How are you holding up, by the way?"
Morgan's stomach felt like it was going to vomit at the reminder, but she held firm and answered, "Fine, I guess. Still having a hard time thinking about it, and sleeping has become a lot less restful, but… You saved me, and I'll never forget that. Thank you," she finished reverently.
Xander looked uncomfortable at the praise, but still nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry to hear about the not sleeping very well. But things'll get better, I promise."
"Coming from you, I completely believe that," she said without thinking. The feeling of horror and embarrassment at having actually said those words made itself visible to the world by the blush on her cheeks.
Xander smiled at her, and said, "Would you like to sit down? I'm starting to get over-reflective sitting here by myself, and that's never a good thing for me. If you don't have anything to do, I wouldn't mind some company."
Every insecure fiber of her very being screamed at her to flee.
"I would love to," she said with a smile.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
Morgan laughed. "Are you serious?" she asked when the last of her chortle began to die down enough for her to breathe easier.
"Completely, I swear. I had the whole getup too. I even had a plastic toy M-16; which, by the way, turned into the real deal."
"Well, what happened? I mean you guys obviously didn't stay like that."
"Well, eventually, a friend of ours confronted the jerk casting the spell and made him break it."
"So everything back to normal then?" she asked amazed. She just didn't know how to react to all that she had heard in any other way.
"Pretty much. Although, for the next week, I kept waking up screaming, 'Yes, Drill Sergeant!'," he said loudly and with a mock salute to which Morgan laughed again. Xander shook his head, then said, "Magic's weird like that. You never really know what's going to happen… Or what it'll do to you," he finished solemnly. He frowned a little and then sipped his coffee slowly as he looked to stare at nothing.
"Is something wrong?" Morgan asked concerned.
Her voice seemed to break him out of his reverie. In fact, he looked almost startled when he turned to look at her again. "Sorry," he apologized.
"No, it's okay. I was just wondering where you went. It didn't look like any place fun."
"Just thinking of a friend. She's been having a rough time lately."
"You do that a lot, don't you?"
"What?" Xander asked, confused.
"Worry about your friends," she answered. When Xander's brows furrowed in a confused gesture, Morgan spoke quickly, "You just seem the type, is all."
Xander stared at her for a second, then looked away. Almost immediately his face swung back to meet her gaze and he said, "You know, we've been talking a lot about me for the past hour and I don't know a single thing about you. Tell me about yourself."
"Well," Morgan began uncertainly. "I'm from Maryland. Baltimore to be more exact."
"And what are you doing in good old Sunnydale?"
"Well, I wanted to get as far away from Baltimore as possible and I heard UC Sunnydale had a really good philosophy program."
"So you study philosophy, huh? Is there a big opening for philosophy related jobs?
"Not so much. I'm just not really sure what I want to do with my life, and I figured what better thing to study in the meantime than philosophy? I might get lucky and score an epiphany about what I want to do with my life."
"And how's that coming? Any clues on what you want out of life?"
Morgan looked into his eyes for a second, then down into her coffee, and with a small smile said, "Oh, I think it's coming along."
"Well, isn't this cute?" a sharp, almost shrill voice asked venomously, interrupting the moment Morgan thought she was establishing.
Morgan looked up to see possibly one of the most imposing women she had ever seen in her life. She stood tall with one leg gracefully bent behind the other. Stylish heels added to her height and complemented her tone, taut and stocking-covered legs. She wore a flattering short skirt cut several inches above her knees and a tight expensive-looking sweater that clung to her body and practically dared those who would be interested to not stare at her breasts. Neatly-brushed, brown hair with subtle, light blonde highlights framed a beautiful face whose only blemishes were an angry frown, a sarcastically-raised eyebrow, and a dark, withering glare that she leveled at both Morgan and Xander.
Morgan couldn't remember ever feeling more self-conscious of her own looks than at that moment. Somehow, she could suddenly feel how dull and lifeless her brown hair was. The sweater and jeans she wore felt cheap, unstylish and, generally, just unremarkable, and her arms and legs suddenly felt ganglier than ever. She was even aware of every bump and flaw of her face, from her unkempt eyebrows to the lack of any makeup. In short, she never felt more awkward and unattractive in her life. In the presence of this woman, she wanted nothing more than to fade away.
"Anya," Xander said unemotionally.
"Well, don't just sit there, silly. Introduce me to your new friend," Anya said snidely while keeping her eyes on Morgan, adding further to her discomfort. Her voice lowered with the tone of a challenge as she said, "Or maybe she can tell me?"
Morgan opened her mouth to defend herself, but closed it as soon she saw Anya smile.
"Anya," Xander repeated, this time his voice sounding upset. "Leave her alone."
But before Anya could say some scathing remark, Morgan spoke up meekly. "Actually, Xander, I have to go. I have a class." She got up slowly and then winced when her metal chair made a loud scrape against the floor. Then she walked out briskly, her arms coming up to wrap around herself, once she had exited.
Xander said nothing as he watched her leave.
Anya, on the other hand, did not.
"It's such a shame to see you go, whatever-your-name-is. Maybe next time we'll actually get around to the introductions. Ow!" she growled, turning to see Xander's hand grasping around her wrist, painful jolts shooting from where their flesh met. Everything from his posture, his expression and his unblinking eyes telegraphed his disappointment and frustration with her.
"How very human of you, Anya," he said coldly.
"What's the matter?" she asked, equally as cold, "Did you actually enjoy having the tiny, spindly-armed girl make googly eyes at you? And don't touch me!" she snapped before ripping her arm away from him. "You don't have those privileges anymore."
Xander scoffed bitterly, then said, "Not that it's ANY of your business, but, yes, I was enjoying talking to her." Anya glared at him. "And, by the way, jealousy? Not looking very attractive on you."
"And desperation? Not helping with your taste in woman," she sneered. "What's the matter, Xander? Buffy still won't touch you with a ten-foot staff?"
"Pole."
"What?"
"Pole. Ten-foot pole. Not staff."
Anya seethed. "Oooh! You just can't help but always try to correct me, can you, Xander?!?"
"Oh, really," Xander shot back. "And you can't-" Xander stopped himself, closed his eyes and shook his head. "You know what? I'm not doing this anymore. I'm sorry, I'm not. I refuse to go through the same argument over and over again. Neither one of us is going to live forever-"
"And whose fault is that?" Anya interrupted.
He ignored her. "So it would be in both our best interests if we just ended this whole thing right now…" After a pause, Xander continued, his tone softer and quieter than before, "There's never going to be an 'us' again, Anya. You know it and I know it. There's just been too much pain. So can we please just stop?" he asked her, with an exhausted look in his eyes.
When she said nothing, and continued to glare at him, he continued. "I know you still love me." Anya opened her mouth as if to interject. "And I still love you." She closed her mouth and looked down. "But that's not enough. And it's never going to be."
Xander picked up his coat and began to leave, but was stopped by Anya's voice.
"You never could love me completely, could you?" she asked with all traces of anger and indignation gone. Her voice sounded small and weak, and her frame looked just as exhausted as he felt.
Xander stared at her for a moment, then turned around and left.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
The dull sound of her key unlocking the door to her apartment came as a small relief to Morgan. Her apartment may not have looked like much to anyone else, but to her it was home. More of a home than any expensive loft she had ever shared with her mother and father at any rate.
Although, "shared" was probably too strong a word to describe their living arrangements. They were so rarely ever there, they were practically timesharing.
Morgan stepped into her apartment, feeling much more secure now that she was within its safe walls. She sighed, before resolutely making her way to the full-length mirror hanging off the door to her bedroom and gazed at herself.
Maybe she wasn't ugly, she thought. But she was very plain. Too plain for him to have noticed her before, which worked well for her usually. She was used to being ignored, and had long ago embraced it to the point that she felt that she needed it. Standing out had always been too dangerous before.
It hurt to be noticed, and she didn't like that.
But now, things were considerably different. For once, she didn't want to just fade away into the background. She wanted to be noticed, and this time it was working. Someone actually remembered her. Someone special.
And she'd be damned if she'd give that up.
"That bitch wants to know who I am?" she sneered while looking at her reflection. "Then I'll show her."
******To*Be*Continued******
Stay tuned for chapter five folks because the sparks are going to fly!
Ray Rivera, AKA Wicked Raygun
"Who do you think God really favors in the web? The spider, or the fly?"
Damaskinos - "Blade II"
AUTHOR: Wicked Raygun
E-MAIL: wicked_raygun@yahoo.com
SUMMARY: Where does a person draw the line between love and obsession?
RATING: R. Just to be safe anyway. Nothing *really* bad is going to happen… Trust me.
SPOILERS: General spoilers for seasons 1 through 6. Any spoilers from season 7 simply happen because they fit with the story I want to tell.
DISCLAIMOR: I refuse to believe this is necessary. Does anyone here actually believe I own this stuff in any way? Well… To the folks who do own a piece of the Buffster and/or her friends and enemies, I mean you no harm. I'm simply borrowing your toys to put on a little puppet show. I promise to bring them all back in near-mint condition. Even Spike.
FEEDBACK: Everyone needs a little love. It makes the world go round and writers post faster.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: If you're expecting fluffy bunnies and cute endings run away in fear right now. I'm writing a mature story, where adult themes such as violence, rage, obsession, stalking and, yes… gasp, even sex are mentioned. If you cannot deal with that, please, go somewhere else. Or better yet, just grow up.
Special thanks must be given to my online friend Lori Bush, who is an amazing writer who for some reason that I cannot begin to comprehend seems to actually want to read my work and help me improve it. Here's hoping her sanity doesn't kick in anytime soon. For those of you who are interested in reading one or ten of her fabulous stories, they can be found here:
http://tedjoxertimandmore.homestead.com/XanderStories.html
Please leave many, many reviews so that she may be inspired to write many more stories.
Also, for those who are interested in some of my other work, it can be found here:
http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=79383
Now, onto the show.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
Caffeine. Large quantities of smooth, soothing, sweet, problem-forgetting caffeine. Yes, that was what he craved. And had he mentioned the need for a lot of it?
Apparently not because here he was at the Espresso Pump still waiting to be served after fifteen minutes. Another five minutes, he thought, and then he would actually physically flag down a waitress because it seemed that his fidgeting body posture wasn't doing him any good on that front.
When he was younger, he would drown his problems with soda and candy, losing himself in the sugar rush. Often he would drag out Willow on these excursions. He treasured watching her go overboard on the sweets. She was nothing less than a spectacle to behold at these times. The more candy she consumed, the less coherent she became, while, he on the other hand, merely became adventurous. He would be struck with the oddest urges at these times.
All of the sudden, he would want to climb tress in yards where big dogs would try to nip at his heels, or catch frogs and throw them at Willow, or jump Cordelia's fence and swim in her pool, or, one time, fill his house full of sugar and have a sugar-snowball fight… he never actually did that last one due to common sense finally catching up with his sugar-overloaded brain. All that lasted until one summer's night, after having exhausted any and all types of fun activities for that summer and getting some ice cream on Willow's nose. It was at that moment with Willow, seeing her with a large dollop of ice cream on her nose, that he had been struck with what was either going to be his most brilliant or most incredibly stupid idea ever: Kiss Willow.
Yes, that pretty much put a very big stop to the sugar binges. Not to mention tested his willingness to deny that anything happened to an extreme level.
Of course those were much more innocent times.
Fast-forward a few years, and alcohol had become a very warm and inviting thing, particularly after his failed attempt to marry Anya. Then there was the revelation that Anya had become a vengeance demon again because of him. Then there was finding out about the whole Buffy and Spike situation. And then Tara's death, Willow's thirst for vengeance… In between all of those mounting tragedies there were many, many binges. Prolonged, brutal, disastrous binges where his blood-alcohol level came dangerously close to lethal on more than one occasion.
Those were not happy times. And had it not been for that one time that Dawn caught him drunk…
Now that had been a true nightmare for him. That look she gave him that was caught somewhere between disgust and fear was what finally drove him to quit. God bless her, he thought fondly.
Xander knew all too well how to drink - those were lessons his father had taught him well, after all - and sooner or later he was going to get himself killed, or, knowing his luck and considering the fact that he lived on the Hell Mouth, worse.
Much more traumatic than finding yourself wanting to kiss your best friend, he thought glumly.
So he now had a new and safer drug of choice: Coffee.
Coffee, he thought again, as his thoughts began to run in a familiar circle. Buffy's coffee… Drinking Buffy's coffee was bad. Possibly fatal. But drinking coffee with Buffy was… well, weird.
Xander sighed. The waitress that had seemed to appear from out of nowhere made a weird face. Apparently, during all his contemplation, someone had realized that he was a paying customer and decided to see if he wanted anything. It was obvious from the look on her face that she had been trying to get his attention for a while. He shrugged unapologetically then ordered a café mocha. After all, he had more pressing concerns than whether or not a waitress at the Espresso Pump thought he was insane.
Concerns that involved drinking coffee with Buffy, for example.
He had analyzed the weirdness with Buffy, carefully looked at all sides and points of view and came to the only conclusion that a man in his position could arrive at: He was annoyed. No, more than annoyed; he was utterly pissed.
The mere idea that he would want more with Buffy at this point in his life was enough to make him slam his head into the nearest wall. Repeatedly. Something he had, in fact, done after coming to that realization. It was almost insulting when he thought about it for too long… After all these years and heartache and emotional drama that he would want her… As if he couldn't do any better? Just turn to the last woman in his life, and what? Jump her bones? Find some connection that the seven previous years spent with her had somehow hidden from them?
The waitress returned with his order and then asked if he wanted anything else. After he declined, she left him to be alone with his thoughts again. He stared at his café mocha, feeling generally miserable.
Relationships, and relationships with Buffy in particular were very depressing things to think about lately. Of course, things were not helped remotely by the fact that he was still in love with Anya.
Or was it Anyanka now? No, she was human again, so she was definitely Anya. She just wasn't "his" Anya anymore, and was never going to be ever again. Probably for the best, anyway, he thought morosely. If somehow they did get back together he had little doubt that they would bicker and fight until one annihilated the other in - again, considering that they lived on the Hell Mouth - the most literal sense of the word.
He sipped his coffee. A little too hot, but he really couldn't find the urge to care right now, so he kept sipping until a good measure of the stuff had entered his body, warming up his stomach and throat.
Then of course there was Willow. Oh, how could he ever possibly forget Willow? The sexual tension that had all but dissipated to nothing while they were with their respective significant others seemed to be coming back with a vengeance, now that they were both single again. Or, at least, it seemed to be coming back for him. He very well could be imagining things, but it did seem that she smiled differently when she saw him lately. The kind of smile that just somehow seemed more than just friendly. The whole situation had him wondering just how gay Willow really was.
Need more coffee, he thought, right before taking another heavy sip of the still scalding hot liquid.
One day, he mused, his problems with women were going to kill him.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
Morgan had seen him there before. Of course, it was usually from behind the safety of her zoom lens.
She would never have dared to be anywhere near this close to him before without a mass of people for her to be lost in. That was what she preferred: To go unnoticed. Or, at least, that was what she always thought she preferred. Lately, though, she almost couldn't help but wish she stood out a little more, that she would do or say something to catch his attention. Her insecurities had always won out in the end, though, and then she would just take her pictures and leave.
But now… she didn't have a camera. And for some reason, that just didn't bother her as much as it would have before. Maybe it had been holding her back? she thought. Maybe, just maybe, it was sign.
A sign to take the next step…
She took one last deep breath, giving herself that last second of assurance that she desperately needed, then walked towards the table, approaching him from behind with slow, but determined steps, until she finally reached his table. Once there, she opened her mouth to say hello and then… said nothing. In fact, she said nothing for more than thirty seconds. She just stood there, becoming more and more horrified with what she was doing.
This wasn't her, she decided. She had better hurry off, she thought, before something happened. But when after backing up and stepping on someone's foot, drawing much more attention to herself than she would have ever wanted at any time, she decided that thinking along the lines that she had been thinking earlier was very dangerous when one was as clumsy as she.
She made her apologizes to the woman whose foot she had stepped on, then turned around to find Xander observing her. She froze in panic, but breathed normally again after he smiled a little at her.
"Morgan, right?" he asked after a moment's hesitation to recall her name.
She couldn't help the shy smile that found its way to her face, as she confirmed, "Yeah, yeah, that's me. Morgan, I mean."
"What can I say? I'm great with names," he said with a smirk.
"Really?" she asked, desperate to know more about him.
He shrugged. "I don't know, probably. Just felt like the thing to say at the moment."
As she laughed, Morgan noticed that the pain the she always noticed on his face from far away seemed to have disappeared again. Did he always hide his pain like that when someone was around? she thought.
Or was he actually happy to see her?
Before she could contemplate that thought any further, she realized that she had allowed a pause in what was actually shaping up to be a conversation. She couldn't let that happen, not after getting so far.
"You're very funny." Inwardly she winced and was struck with the compulsion to hang herself for saying something so lame. "Sorry, I'm not normally this stupid," she said with self-loathing dripping from every word.
"Don't say that," Xander said with concern. "I'm sure you're just still drained from the…" At that he looked around to see if anyone was taking note of what they were saying. Satisfied that no one was paying attention, he finished, "from the demon attack. How are you holding up, by the way?"
Morgan's stomach felt like it was going to vomit at the reminder, but she held firm and answered, "Fine, I guess. Still having a hard time thinking about it, and sleeping has become a lot less restful, but… You saved me, and I'll never forget that. Thank you," she finished reverently.
Xander looked uncomfortable at the praise, but still nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry to hear about the not sleeping very well. But things'll get better, I promise."
"Coming from you, I completely believe that," she said without thinking. The feeling of horror and embarrassment at having actually said those words made itself visible to the world by the blush on her cheeks.
Xander smiled at her, and said, "Would you like to sit down? I'm starting to get over-reflective sitting here by myself, and that's never a good thing for me. If you don't have anything to do, I wouldn't mind some company."
Every insecure fiber of her very being screamed at her to flee.
"I would love to," she said with a smile.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
Morgan laughed. "Are you serious?" she asked when the last of her chortle began to die down enough for her to breathe easier.
"Completely, I swear. I had the whole getup too. I even had a plastic toy M-16; which, by the way, turned into the real deal."
"Well, what happened? I mean you guys obviously didn't stay like that."
"Well, eventually, a friend of ours confronted the jerk casting the spell and made him break it."
"So everything back to normal then?" she asked amazed. She just didn't know how to react to all that she had heard in any other way.
"Pretty much. Although, for the next week, I kept waking up screaming, 'Yes, Drill Sergeant!'," he said loudly and with a mock salute to which Morgan laughed again. Xander shook his head, then said, "Magic's weird like that. You never really know what's going to happen… Or what it'll do to you," he finished solemnly. He frowned a little and then sipped his coffee slowly as he looked to stare at nothing.
"Is something wrong?" Morgan asked concerned.
Her voice seemed to break him out of his reverie. In fact, he looked almost startled when he turned to look at her again. "Sorry," he apologized.
"No, it's okay. I was just wondering where you went. It didn't look like any place fun."
"Just thinking of a friend. She's been having a rough time lately."
"You do that a lot, don't you?"
"What?" Xander asked, confused.
"Worry about your friends," she answered. When Xander's brows furrowed in a confused gesture, Morgan spoke quickly, "You just seem the type, is all."
Xander stared at her for a second, then looked away. Almost immediately his face swung back to meet her gaze and he said, "You know, we've been talking a lot about me for the past hour and I don't know a single thing about you. Tell me about yourself."
"Well," Morgan began uncertainly. "I'm from Maryland. Baltimore to be more exact."
"And what are you doing in good old Sunnydale?"
"Well, I wanted to get as far away from Baltimore as possible and I heard UC Sunnydale had a really good philosophy program."
"So you study philosophy, huh? Is there a big opening for philosophy related jobs?
"Not so much. I'm just not really sure what I want to do with my life, and I figured what better thing to study in the meantime than philosophy? I might get lucky and score an epiphany about what I want to do with my life."
"And how's that coming? Any clues on what you want out of life?"
Morgan looked into his eyes for a second, then down into her coffee, and with a small smile said, "Oh, I think it's coming along."
"Well, isn't this cute?" a sharp, almost shrill voice asked venomously, interrupting the moment Morgan thought she was establishing.
Morgan looked up to see possibly one of the most imposing women she had ever seen in her life. She stood tall with one leg gracefully bent behind the other. Stylish heels added to her height and complemented her tone, taut and stocking-covered legs. She wore a flattering short skirt cut several inches above her knees and a tight expensive-looking sweater that clung to her body and practically dared those who would be interested to not stare at her breasts. Neatly-brushed, brown hair with subtle, light blonde highlights framed a beautiful face whose only blemishes were an angry frown, a sarcastically-raised eyebrow, and a dark, withering glare that she leveled at both Morgan and Xander.
Morgan couldn't remember ever feeling more self-conscious of her own looks than at that moment. Somehow, she could suddenly feel how dull and lifeless her brown hair was. The sweater and jeans she wore felt cheap, unstylish and, generally, just unremarkable, and her arms and legs suddenly felt ganglier than ever. She was even aware of every bump and flaw of her face, from her unkempt eyebrows to the lack of any makeup. In short, she never felt more awkward and unattractive in her life. In the presence of this woman, she wanted nothing more than to fade away.
"Anya," Xander said unemotionally.
"Well, don't just sit there, silly. Introduce me to your new friend," Anya said snidely while keeping her eyes on Morgan, adding further to her discomfort. Her voice lowered with the tone of a challenge as she said, "Or maybe she can tell me?"
Morgan opened her mouth to defend herself, but closed it as soon she saw Anya smile.
"Anya," Xander repeated, this time his voice sounding upset. "Leave her alone."
But before Anya could say some scathing remark, Morgan spoke up meekly. "Actually, Xander, I have to go. I have a class." She got up slowly and then winced when her metal chair made a loud scrape against the floor. Then she walked out briskly, her arms coming up to wrap around herself, once she had exited.
Xander said nothing as he watched her leave.
Anya, on the other hand, did not.
"It's such a shame to see you go, whatever-your-name-is. Maybe next time we'll actually get around to the introductions. Ow!" she growled, turning to see Xander's hand grasping around her wrist, painful jolts shooting from where their flesh met. Everything from his posture, his expression and his unblinking eyes telegraphed his disappointment and frustration with her.
"How very human of you, Anya," he said coldly.
"What's the matter?" she asked, equally as cold, "Did you actually enjoy having the tiny, spindly-armed girl make googly eyes at you? And don't touch me!" she snapped before ripping her arm away from him. "You don't have those privileges anymore."
Xander scoffed bitterly, then said, "Not that it's ANY of your business, but, yes, I was enjoying talking to her." Anya glared at him. "And, by the way, jealousy? Not looking very attractive on you."
"And desperation? Not helping with your taste in woman," she sneered. "What's the matter, Xander? Buffy still won't touch you with a ten-foot staff?"
"Pole."
"What?"
"Pole. Ten-foot pole. Not staff."
Anya seethed. "Oooh! You just can't help but always try to correct me, can you, Xander?!?"
"Oh, really," Xander shot back. "And you can't-" Xander stopped himself, closed his eyes and shook his head. "You know what? I'm not doing this anymore. I'm sorry, I'm not. I refuse to go through the same argument over and over again. Neither one of us is going to live forever-"
"And whose fault is that?" Anya interrupted.
He ignored her. "So it would be in both our best interests if we just ended this whole thing right now…" After a pause, Xander continued, his tone softer and quieter than before, "There's never going to be an 'us' again, Anya. You know it and I know it. There's just been too much pain. So can we please just stop?" he asked her, with an exhausted look in his eyes.
When she said nothing, and continued to glare at him, he continued. "I know you still love me." Anya opened her mouth as if to interject. "And I still love you." She closed her mouth and looked down. "But that's not enough. And it's never going to be."
Xander picked up his coat and began to leave, but was stopped by Anya's voice.
"You never could love me completely, could you?" she asked with all traces of anger and indignation gone. Her voice sounded small and weak, and her frame looked just as exhausted as he felt.
Xander stared at her for a moment, then turned around and left.
~~~~~~***~~~~~~
The dull sound of her key unlocking the door to her apartment came as a small relief to Morgan. Her apartment may not have looked like much to anyone else, but to her it was home. More of a home than any expensive loft she had ever shared with her mother and father at any rate.
Although, "shared" was probably too strong a word to describe their living arrangements. They were so rarely ever there, they were practically timesharing.
Morgan stepped into her apartment, feeling much more secure now that she was within its safe walls. She sighed, before resolutely making her way to the full-length mirror hanging off the door to her bedroom and gazed at herself.
Maybe she wasn't ugly, she thought. But she was very plain. Too plain for him to have noticed her before, which worked well for her usually. She was used to being ignored, and had long ago embraced it to the point that she felt that she needed it. Standing out had always been too dangerous before.
It hurt to be noticed, and she didn't like that.
But now, things were considerably different. For once, she didn't want to just fade away into the background. She wanted to be noticed, and this time it was working. Someone actually remembered her. Someone special.
And she'd be damned if she'd give that up.
"That bitch wants to know who I am?" she sneered while looking at her reflection. "Then I'll show her."
******To*Be*Continued******
Stay tuned for chapter five folks because the sparks are going to fly!
Ray Rivera, AKA Wicked Raygun
"Who do you think God really favors in the web? The spider, or the fly?"
Damaskinos - "Blade II"