The girls are outside practising their formation Slaying when he arrives at Buffy's. After the extra hours he's put in over the last couple of days, he's managed to wrangle the afternoon off, and when he finally stops moving, drops the bag he's brought from home on the floor and flops on to Buffy's couch, he decides it's long overdue. He aches in the weirdest of places, probably because he's spent as much time sitting in uncomfortable chairs as he has on the site. Work-ache has the benefit of satisfaction after a job well done, but the backache that comes from sitting up straight in office chairs just has ache and nothing more.
There's a background of muffled chatter from the kitchen, not quite enough to disturb the relative serenity of the living room, and Xander almost believes he could fall asleep right here, without even laying down. With eyes closed, he picks out the voices of Dawn and Anya in the kitchen. They sound pleasantly friendly, and amid the indecipherable hum of their conversation, he hears Anya cooing, "oh, but you look adorable!" It's followed by Dawn's recognisable giggle, then a quieter, almost shy laugh from someone else.
Silence zooms back in for a time, humming in his ears until the tingly ache in his muscles combines with the lack of sensory experience to make him feel as if he's not on the couch anymore, but floating in molasses. It's disorienting, but not unpleasant.
A surprised "Xander!" bursts in through the hum, and he flutters his eyes open. Red and purple floaters dance in front of him and it takes some seconds before he sees Andrew standing in the doorway, camera in hand once again. His smile is disconcertingly sunny, and Xander wants to know how anyone can be smiling like that right now. What happened to the end of the world?
"Hey," he replies, because anything else feels like too much effort, and damn, even his voice sounds sore.
Since Andrew is still lingering across the room, as though he's waiting for Xander to decide if he'll be tolerated, Xander pushes himself to the edge of the couch and picks up the bag he dumped when he came in.
"Brought you these," he manages before his voice gives up and he finds he literally can't do anything else. Andrew's face lights up and he bounds across the room to take the bag from Xander's unresisting hands. He takes a seat beside Xander and empties the bag out on to the couch in between them, his grin melting into an 'o' of surprise that Xander thinks is entirely unwarranted. It's only some more old shirts and sweaters that he's cleared out of his closet, but Andrew's 'ooh'ing like it's a bag full of crisp dollar bills. Or Marvel first issues, or whatever gives Andrew his happies. It's weird, but fuzzy warm weird, because he's done something to make someone smile, and that's getting harder and harder to accomplish lately.
When Andrew's done holding up shirts and breathing "thank you" he mutters that it's no problem, feeling his cheeks flushing at Andrew's reaction. It takes just the simplest things, he thinks. Just the tiniest turn to change the pattern.
Starting as if he's just remembered, Andrew picks up his camera again. Somewhere along the line he's forgotten about the instructional training tape idea Willow gave him, and turned it into a movie of the week, despite Buffy's protests. Xander thinks it's probably just something to do instead of cooking, but it's keeping him happy, and Xander hasn't seen the hunted eyes for a while. Which is good, because they were really beginning to scare him.
"Um, if you're not busy," Andrew begins, hope edging cautiously into his voice, "then maybe I could do you now. Your intro, I mean." His face reddens, like he's embarrassed to ask anything more after Xander's already given him clothes and an evening away from the house.
Xander nods in agreement.
"As long as I don't have to, you know…move," he clarifies. Andrew laughs carefully, as though he's not sure he's understood the joke, or if there even is a joke. It's entirely possible, Xander realises, that the Trio and the people in Buffy's house constitute the entire spectrum of Andrew's social experiences. He decides that, if they actually make it through this, he has to make sure Andrew gets out more.
He gets to sit completely still as Andrew moves around the living room, trying to find a suitable angle. When Andrew eventually settles on the arm of one chair, he decides he's regained enough energy to speak again.
"So what do I have to do?"
Andrew fiddles some more with the buttons on the camera before looking up at him with a half-smile.
"Uh, just sit there, really. This is just an introduction, and I'm gonna cut it with, you know, other footage. Location stuff, and uh…interviews…" Andrew's voice is both lazy and nervous, an oddly soothing alternative to the shrieks and arguments and strained tones that he's gotten used to hearing lately.
So he just sits and waits for the feeling to come back to his limbs, while Andrew talks.
He feels a pleasant flush as Andrew repeats the moniker he decided upon that morning during breakfast. He feels his cheeks redden when Andrew mentions the courage and strength required to fight alongside the Slayer for seven years, and has to look away to keep from breaking into a dopey grin. He feels a faint buzz in his belly as Andrew moves on to how Xander is always the one looking out for his friends, caring and listening and lifting spirits, and his smile begins to falter. He feels something might be very wrong with this situation.
Why does he keep attracting the weird ones?
*****
tbc
There's a background of muffled chatter from the kitchen, not quite enough to disturb the relative serenity of the living room, and Xander almost believes he could fall asleep right here, without even laying down. With eyes closed, he picks out the voices of Dawn and Anya in the kitchen. They sound pleasantly friendly, and amid the indecipherable hum of their conversation, he hears Anya cooing, "oh, but you look adorable!" It's followed by Dawn's recognisable giggle, then a quieter, almost shy laugh from someone else.
Silence zooms back in for a time, humming in his ears until the tingly ache in his muscles combines with the lack of sensory experience to make him feel as if he's not on the couch anymore, but floating in molasses. It's disorienting, but not unpleasant.
A surprised "Xander!" bursts in through the hum, and he flutters his eyes open. Red and purple floaters dance in front of him and it takes some seconds before he sees Andrew standing in the doorway, camera in hand once again. His smile is disconcertingly sunny, and Xander wants to know how anyone can be smiling like that right now. What happened to the end of the world?
"Hey," he replies, because anything else feels like too much effort, and damn, even his voice sounds sore.
Since Andrew is still lingering across the room, as though he's waiting for Xander to decide if he'll be tolerated, Xander pushes himself to the edge of the couch and picks up the bag he dumped when he came in.
"Brought you these," he manages before his voice gives up and he finds he literally can't do anything else. Andrew's face lights up and he bounds across the room to take the bag from Xander's unresisting hands. He takes a seat beside Xander and empties the bag out on to the couch in between them, his grin melting into an 'o' of surprise that Xander thinks is entirely unwarranted. It's only some more old shirts and sweaters that he's cleared out of his closet, but Andrew's 'ooh'ing like it's a bag full of crisp dollar bills. Or Marvel first issues, or whatever gives Andrew his happies. It's weird, but fuzzy warm weird, because he's done something to make someone smile, and that's getting harder and harder to accomplish lately.
When Andrew's done holding up shirts and breathing "thank you" he mutters that it's no problem, feeling his cheeks flushing at Andrew's reaction. It takes just the simplest things, he thinks. Just the tiniest turn to change the pattern.
Starting as if he's just remembered, Andrew picks up his camera again. Somewhere along the line he's forgotten about the instructional training tape idea Willow gave him, and turned it into a movie of the week, despite Buffy's protests. Xander thinks it's probably just something to do instead of cooking, but it's keeping him happy, and Xander hasn't seen the hunted eyes for a while. Which is good, because they were really beginning to scare him.
"Um, if you're not busy," Andrew begins, hope edging cautiously into his voice, "then maybe I could do you now. Your intro, I mean." His face reddens, like he's embarrassed to ask anything more after Xander's already given him clothes and an evening away from the house.
Xander nods in agreement.
"As long as I don't have to, you know…move," he clarifies. Andrew laughs carefully, as though he's not sure he's understood the joke, or if there even is a joke. It's entirely possible, Xander realises, that the Trio and the people in Buffy's house constitute the entire spectrum of Andrew's social experiences. He decides that, if they actually make it through this, he has to make sure Andrew gets out more.
He gets to sit completely still as Andrew moves around the living room, trying to find a suitable angle. When Andrew eventually settles on the arm of one chair, he decides he's regained enough energy to speak again.
"So what do I have to do?"
Andrew fiddles some more with the buttons on the camera before looking up at him with a half-smile.
"Uh, just sit there, really. This is just an introduction, and I'm gonna cut it with, you know, other footage. Location stuff, and uh…interviews…" Andrew's voice is both lazy and nervous, an oddly soothing alternative to the shrieks and arguments and strained tones that he's gotten used to hearing lately.
So he just sits and waits for the feeling to come back to his limbs, while Andrew talks.
He feels a pleasant flush as Andrew repeats the moniker he decided upon that morning during breakfast. He feels his cheeks redden when Andrew mentions the courage and strength required to fight alongside the Slayer for seven years, and has to look away to keep from breaking into a dopey grin. He feels a faint buzz in his belly as Andrew moves on to how Xander is always the one looking out for his friends, caring and listening and lifting spirits, and his smile begins to falter. He feels something might be very wrong with this situation.
Why does he keep attracting the weird ones?
*****
tbc