Title: O God, thou wilt not despise (2/?)
Author: Loraineee
E-mail: jennyb@Kpunet.net
Summary: A post-First Date character study
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some angst, primarily in later chapters
Spoilers: Takes place after episode 7.14 First Date
Archive: Sure, just let me know
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy
Author's Notes: This is my first Buffy fanfiction, so be kind...I'm easily freaked.

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Do it again! I think I saw him move.

No, he was just twitching. Xander is a twitchy sleeper. See, he's not moving now. The twitching was just a side-effect of the sleep.

That was definitely not a twitch. Hey, what do you think he's wearing under that blanket.

Dawn! Don't touch that. Only I get to see his chest...or did get to see his chest. Aren't you supposed to be at school?

It's like 7:30. I don't need to be there until 7:45. I've got a few min...hey! He's twitching again.

Oh my God! He's not twitching; he's laughing. He's awake. Xander, you're awake. The ex-demon nudged her former fiancee's broad shoulders. How long have you been awake?

Okay first, ow! And second, long enough to hear you talking about my chest. He stretched carefully, maneuvering into a sitting position. What time is it?

I thought you were listening. It's 7:30, you big doof. Dawn grinned widely as she scooted off the end of the couch to make room for Xander's swinging legs.

I was...I guess I just got confused. You know, because of the pain. He smoothed down his sleep induced mohawk and yawned. Hey, I'm not hearing the pitter-patter of large, teenaged feet. Where are the Potentials? Did Buffy take them out on a super secret training mission...and more importantly, did they leave me any breakfast? Cause I didn't have a chance to eat last night.

No, I don't guess you would have. What with your demon date stringing you up and bleeding you dry and all...but who didn't see that coming? snarked Anya, surprising herself with the venom inherent in her voice. Sometimes, being a human was infuriating. She never knew what she would feel about a given situation. Her eyes softened as she saw Xander's quizzical expression. Um...Buffy and the girls left with Willow this morning for some mountain...all-terrain training drills or something. Oh, and Willow was going to do a locater spell to see if your demoness had any friends hanging around.

Xander winced as he pulled himself up off the couch, stopping just short of standing. Damn, his shoulders were sore too. Bonus though, that Principal Wood had gotten him off the wheel before they were dislocated. That was good, right? He could be feeling worse. Okay, another locator spell. That makes like, what? 900 of them? I don't remember Willow doing this many locator spells. Even as he complained, relief washed over him. He wouldn't have to fight with her about going into work this morning. Speaking of...I better get going. I need to stop by my apartment before I head in. And Dawn, you better get moving. Just because Buffy isn't here, doesn't mean you get to be late for school.

You're working? Are you sure you're okay? Xander, you were just stabbed! This time, it was the shrill edge of her concern that surprised her.

Yeah, have to be there. He smiled apologetically at Anya, hoping to avoid another confrontation. It was his decision, damn it!

Take it easy, okay? Make your crew do all the heavy lifting. Dawn sighed and started for the door, grabbing her book bag from beside the couch. I gotta book. See you tonight!

Xander stood up and joined her by the door, looking back at Anya. I'll be fine. Will patched me up and I'm on some really good painkillers. Plus, I'll do what she said, have my guys do all the heavy lifting. He reached to open the door for Dawn, cutting off Anya's feeble protest before it started. Of course, I should probably put a shirt on before I leave. Also, Dawn, do you want a ride?

Sure, that'd be great. You want me to wait in the car? Xander nodded, and Dawn bounced off to Xander's auto.

Right...now to find shirt and make graceful exit. Oh, yeah. Shirt gone forever. But...yes...coat on bathroom floor.

He turned back to Anya, smiling reassuringly. I'll see you later, Anya. Be sure you take advantage of the empty house...well, mostly empty, I guess Andrew and Spike are still here somewhere. And don't worry, I really will be fine. With that, he headed up the stairs to grab his forgotten coat, wondering just when he stopped caring about Spike being alone with her.

Anya was gone when he returned.

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Futility, thy name is Xander.' He thought as he opened the door to his empty apartment. Not five minutes into his shift and, boom, torrential downpour. There would be no work on the library today. He threw his keys on the sidetable and stopped just inside the door, surveying his long neglected abode. Eh, he'd seen worse. Just some...okay a lot of dust, but on the whole it was tidy; Spike had made sure of that during his second short tenure as Xander's roommate. He may have left his towels on the floor, but he couldn't abide a messy sitting room. Or maybe that was another trigger from the First. Maybe it was afraid of a little dust. Heh. He'd have to tell Willow about that one...if she would listen.

Does she even like me anymore?' he wondered as he wandered further into the entryway, his attention drawn to the blinking light on his outdated answering machine. This was strange. Work had his cell number and everyone else, well, he was living with everyone else right now. He sighed and hit the play button; it was probably a telemarketing call.

The machine whirred to life, letting him know that the message had been received more than a month ago.

Xander? Are you there? Huh, it sounded strangely like his mother. This is your mother. And so it was. Listen, if you get this message, give me a call. Your father and I have something we need to discuss with you. It's kind of urgent. There was a long pause. Oh screw it. I doubt you'll care that much anyway. Your father and I are getting a divorce and I'm moving to Arizona. I don't know if Tony plans to stay in Sunnydale but I couldn't care less. That bastard can stay here and rot for all I care. Anyway, kisses! I'll call soon with my new address. Beep.

Love you too, he thought. Christ, news of his parent's divorce on an answering machine message. What was next, learning of his grandma's death by postcard?

He stumbled into the kitchen, daring a peek into the fridge and grabbing a beer, the only thing without a thick layer of gray fuzz. If he ever had the chance to live here again, he'd have to clean that out. He rifled through the cupboard for a glass and walked over to the couch, sitting down carefully but still feeling his insides burn as the movement pulled against his gut. Time for some more happy pills...those two T3s he'd taken earlier just weren't going to cut it, no siree. He poured his drink and silently toasted his parents. This was really....unexpected. He idly wondered if he it was weird that he didn't feel worse about it.

As he sat there sipping his beer and waiting for the fuzziness to kick in, he suddenly thought of how Anya's constant chatter used to fill the apartment and the desperate contrast of the stillness here now. He would never tell Buffy this, but he was kind of glad for the distraction of Spike moving in, even if the vampire was crazy...anything to end the interminable silence.

This last summer had been the first time he'd ever been alone, truly alone. No Willow calling to check in almost every night; no Anya dropping by for a visit.' Even Buffy had kept her distance, preferring to spend her time training Dawn and regaining her equilibrium. Sure, he'd been over at least twice a week for pizza and movie nights, but those other five days, left to his own devices in an empty apartment. They were dark times indeed. He thought it would improve with Willow returned, but she could barely look at him, much less be bothered to check in regularly.

In his youth, he would have given anything for a moment alone, away from the harsh din of his life. His parents fighting at night; the inane schoolboy chatter by day. During his Beat stage, he thought he could find that silence on the open road. He could have saved himself the trouble of the Ladies' Night' debacle, if he knew then what he knew now. The quiet was overrated.

In between pondering the demise of his parent's marriage and the failure of his almost marriage, he felt the drug-induced bleariness kick in and slipped off into a heavy sleep.

When he woke up, the apartment was dark.