Xander looked terrible. Andrew knew the older man had not been sleeping well, but it was more than that. The features on the man in front of him were all familiar, eye-patch and all, but Andrew couldn't help but feel like if the Sunnydale Class of 1999 were holding its fifth anniversary reunion this year (not likely), many of Xander's former classmates may not have recognized him.
It was hard for Andrew to pinpoint exactly what was different about the brunette that made his heart ache. Was it the slumped shoulders, the threadbare clothes, the lankiness in the hair, the paleness of the skin, or the dark circle under his remaining eye? Was it the way Xander shuffled rather than walked, or how his voice always sounded so drained? Was it the way that Xander had given up on all pretexts of lightening the situations with a timely joke here and there? The elder man had even given up on the self-mocking quips he used to offer in nearly every conversation the Scoobies had...
Okay, so maybe he had pinpointed a whole bunch of things right there, but it still made Andrew's heart throb with sympathy and maybe something more.
Andrew privately thought that the other Scoobies-with the possible exceptions of Dawn and of course Anya-had always taken Xander for granted. He had stood by them so loyally for so long. Andrew supposed that the girls had just assumed he would always be there. He was comfortable, like a favorite sweater you keep wearing around the house even though it was missing buttons and beginning to unravel, and in Andrew's opinion, they showed him about the same concern they would show said sweater. In the short time Andrew had spent first observing the Scoobies as enemies and then as their prisoner, how often had they sent Xander out for menial tasks, like fetching donuts, when it was clear he wanted so badly to contribute more? Everyone seemed to know that Xander was from a broken home with alcoholic parents, but did anyone ever seem to wonder what effect that would have on him? Most annoyingly in Andrew's mind was the simple fact that as a construction worker, Xander had a very difficult and exhausting job. Yet they still expected him to come to all of their meetings and even make repairs to the Summers' frequently wrecked home after a full day of manual labor. When Buffy had briefly worked at the Double Meat Palace, everyone seemed to notice how tired she was, but then again, Buffy was the Slayer and for some reason that seemed to make the Scoobies feel she was entitled to more consideration than the rest of them. No wonder Buffy had a superiority complex.
During his tenure as prisoner/guest in Buffy's home, Andrew found that he was more comfortable with Xander than anyone else there. Xander didn't look down his nose at him the way the others did, he didn't ignore him the way the others did, and he knew the difference between Babylon 5 and Star Trek. Being around Xander made Warren and Jonathan's absence hurt less, even if Anya was more than a little scary. To be fair, after Caleb had crushed Xander's eye, Willow at least had become downright overprotective, though Buffy stayed as chilly and impenetrable as ever. Ironic that it took Xander nearly becoming blinded for his friends to see him again. But Kennedy's death at the hands of an angry mob had made Willow into even more of a shell than Xander was. Andrew supposed he couldn't blame Willow. She had already lost Tara, and after the many times Buffy had conquered death, it seemed that nothing could kill a Slayer now that the first was defeated. Willow had loved Kennedy after all, although Andrew privately felt more sympathy for the potential who had hung herself after Kennedy's stinging words than he did for the dead Slayer, no matter what Buffy had said after the suicide about how the girl was supposedly weak. So, Andrew had decided he would look after Xander himself.
Xander was putting away the "groceries", and Andrew felt like he couldn't tear his eyes from the older man. The brunette was moving slowly, as if the simple act of taking a box of Little Debbies out of a bag and putting them in a cabinet was physically and emotionally exhausting. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
Xander had clearly been lost in his own world again. He jumped and dropped the box as though the sound of Andrew's voice had come as a complete shock to him. "What?"
Andrew stepped closer to Xander. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
Xander gave a brave smile that was small and obviously forced. "Yeah. Yeah, I slept fine."
Andrew sighed. "You're lying to me."
Xander stared back at Andrew for long moments in silence. When he answered, his voice was shaking and edged, as though he were on the brink of hysteria. "It's just...every time I close my eyes...I mean my eye...hey, you could call me Cyclops now if you wanted."
"That's a faulty metaphor," Andrew said gently. "Cyclops has two eyes under his visor."
"I meant the monster, not the mutant."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Go on."
"I...I see her. I see her at the altar. I see her reaching for me. I see her getting killed and I wasn't even there. I wasn't there to help her... And she never knew. She never knew how much I cared..." Xander's hands started to shake. As Andrew watched, the tremors spread up his arms and through his whole body. The Little Debbies fell from Xander's nerveless fingers and his tenuous hold on maintaining calm slipped. Out of instinct more than anything else, Andrew quickly wrapped his arms around the elder man, rubbing his back, making soothing nonsense noises against Xander's ear. Xander clung to him tightly.
"I'm sorry," Xander said hoarsely. "I'm sorry."
Andrew hugged Xander tighter. "There's no reason to be."
"I'm sorry," Xander repeated. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't be crying like this. I'm sorry."
Xander's closeness was overwhelming. Andrew felt as though he were immersed in him-his smell, his voice, his touch. As Xander forced himself back into calm and started to pull away, face flushed with unnecessary shame, Andrew leaned back in on impulse and pressed his lips against Xander's forehead, lingering there for a sweet moment before Xander's voice broke the reverie.
"Uh...Andrew? What are you doing?"
Andrew's eyes flew open and he realized he hadn't noticed that he'd closed them. His face flushed and the panicked look on Xander's face was devastating. His brain raced for some lame excuse-anything other than the truth-but like a godsend the commotion from the living room saved him from having to say anything, at least for now.
The accented voice was so familiar, and Faith's shouted "But you're dead" confirmed what Andrew heard. He and Xander hurried out into the living room to find Spike standing there, looking for all the world as though he hadn't been burned from the inside out mere months in the past. Dawn was looking very pleased with herself, and Faith just looked stunned.
"You're dead," Xander said from behind him, sounding very confused.
"Yeah, well, what can I say? You wankers will never be rid of me that easily," Spike said with his familiar smirk.
Spike was here, alive-or as alive as the undead could be. Andrew's brain couldn't seem to cruise past that concept, and a million scenarios of returning from the dead he had read in comic books and seen in movies swarmed his mind before he decided it didn't really matter how the vampire had come back. Spike was a powerful ally who would undoubtedly help their cause. More importantly, the Brit had completely distracted Xander. With any luck, the brunette would forget completely about the stolen kiss. With a shout of glee, Andrew threw himself at the startled and decidedly unthrilled vampire and hugged him as though they were best friends.
Author's notes:
Bsktballchik: Thanks for giving me my first review on this story! I will do my best to keep updating this on at least a semi-regular bass. ^_^ As for couples, I guess you can see it's Andrew/Xander, and I'm not sure about everyone else yet, though I may go against my own prejudices and put some het in here too. Suggestions are more than welcome!
Cliia: I adore you and you are awesome! Thanks for the beta!
It was hard for Andrew to pinpoint exactly what was different about the brunette that made his heart ache. Was it the slumped shoulders, the threadbare clothes, the lankiness in the hair, the paleness of the skin, or the dark circle under his remaining eye? Was it the way Xander shuffled rather than walked, or how his voice always sounded so drained? Was it the way that Xander had given up on all pretexts of lightening the situations with a timely joke here and there? The elder man had even given up on the self-mocking quips he used to offer in nearly every conversation the Scoobies had...
Okay, so maybe he had pinpointed a whole bunch of things right there, but it still made Andrew's heart throb with sympathy and maybe something more.
Andrew privately thought that the other Scoobies-with the possible exceptions of Dawn and of course Anya-had always taken Xander for granted. He had stood by them so loyally for so long. Andrew supposed that the girls had just assumed he would always be there. He was comfortable, like a favorite sweater you keep wearing around the house even though it was missing buttons and beginning to unravel, and in Andrew's opinion, they showed him about the same concern they would show said sweater. In the short time Andrew had spent first observing the Scoobies as enemies and then as their prisoner, how often had they sent Xander out for menial tasks, like fetching donuts, when it was clear he wanted so badly to contribute more? Everyone seemed to know that Xander was from a broken home with alcoholic parents, but did anyone ever seem to wonder what effect that would have on him? Most annoyingly in Andrew's mind was the simple fact that as a construction worker, Xander had a very difficult and exhausting job. Yet they still expected him to come to all of their meetings and even make repairs to the Summers' frequently wrecked home after a full day of manual labor. When Buffy had briefly worked at the Double Meat Palace, everyone seemed to notice how tired she was, but then again, Buffy was the Slayer and for some reason that seemed to make the Scoobies feel she was entitled to more consideration than the rest of them. No wonder Buffy had a superiority complex.
During his tenure as prisoner/guest in Buffy's home, Andrew found that he was more comfortable with Xander than anyone else there. Xander didn't look down his nose at him the way the others did, he didn't ignore him the way the others did, and he knew the difference between Babylon 5 and Star Trek. Being around Xander made Warren and Jonathan's absence hurt less, even if Anya was more than a little scary. To be fair, after Caleb had crushed Xander's eye, Willow at least had become downright overprotective, though Buffy stayed as chilly and impenetrable as ever. Ironic that it took Xander nearly becoming blinded for his friends to see him again. But Kennedy's death at the hands of an angry mob had made Willow into even more of a shell than Xander was. Andrew supposed he couldn't blame Willow. She had already lost Tara, and after the many times Buffy had conquered death, it seemed that nothing could kill a Slayer now that the first was defeated. Willow had loved Kennedy after all, although Andrew privately felt more sympathy for the potential who had hung herself after Kennedy's stinging words than he did for the dead Slayer, no matter what Buffy had said after the suicide about how the girl was supposedly weak. So, Andrew had decided he would look after Xander himself.
Xander was putting away the "groceries", and Andrew felt like he couldn't tear his eyes from the older man. The brunette was moving slowly, as if the simple act of taking a box of Little Debbies out of a bag and putting them in a cabinet was physically and emotionally exhausting. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
Xander had clearly been lost in his own world again. He jumped and dropped the box as though the sound of Andrew's voice had come as a complete shock to him. "What?"
Andrew stepped closer to Xander. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
Xander gave a brave smile that was small and obviously forced. "Yeah. Yeah, I slept fine."
Andrew sighed. "You're lying to me."
Xander stared back at Andrew for long moments in silence. When he answered, his voice was shaking and edged, as though he were on the brink of hysteria. "It's just...every time I close my eyes...I mean my eye...hey, you could call me Cyclops now if you wanted."
"That's a faulty metaphor," Andrew said gently. "Cyclops has two eyes under his visor."
"I meant the monster, not the mutant."
"Oh. I'm sorry. Go on."
"I...I see her. I see her at the altar. I see her reaching for me. I see her getting killed and I wasn't even there. I wasn't there to help her... And she never knew. She never knew how much I cared..." Xander's hands started to shake. As Andrew watched, the tremors spread up his arms and through his whole body. The Little Debbies fell from Xander's nerveless fingers and his tenuous hold on maintaining calm slipped. Out of instinct more than anything else, Andrew quickly wrapped his arms around the elder man, rubbing his back, making soothing nonsense noises against Xander's ear. Xander clung to him tightly.
"I'm sorry," Xander said hoarsely. "I'm sorry."
Andrew hugged Xander tighter. "There's no reason to be."
"I'm sorry," Xander repeated. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't be crying like this. I'm sorry."
Xander's closeness was overwhelming. Andrew felt as though he were immersed in him-his smell, his voice, his touch. As Xander forced himself back into calm and started to pull away, face flushed with unnecessary shame, Andrew leaned back in on impulse and pressed his lips against Xander's forehead, lingering there for a sweet moment before Xander's voice broke the reverie.
"Uh...Andrew? What are you doing?"
Andrew's eyes flew open and he realized he hadn't noticed that he'd closed them. His face flushed and the panicked look on Xander's face was devastating. His brain raced for some lame excuse-anything other than the truth-but like a godsend the commotion from the living room saved him from having to say anything, at least for now.
The accented voice was so familiar, and Faith's shouted "But you're dead" confirmed what Andrew heard. He and Xander hurried out into the living room to find Spike standing there, looking for all the world as though he hadn't been burned from the inside out mere months in the past. Dawn was looking very pleased with herself, and Faith just looked stunned.
"You're dead," Xander said from behind him, sounding very confused.
"Yeah, well, what can I say? You wankers will never be rid of me that easily," Spike said with his familiar smirk.
Spike was here, alive-or as alive as the undead could be. Andrew's brain couldn't seem to cruise past that concept, and a million scenarios of returning from the dead he had read in comic books and seen in movies swarmed his mind before he decided it didn't really matter how the vampire had come back. Spike was a powerful ally who would undoubtedly help their cause. More importantly, the Brit had completely distracted Xander. With any luck, the brunette would forget completely about the stolen kiss. With a shout of glee, Andrew threw himself at the startled and decidedly unthrilled vampire and hugged him as though they were best friends.
Author's notes:
Bsktballchik: Thanks for giving me my first review on this story! I will do my best to keep updating this on at least a semi-regular bass. ^_^ As for couples, I guess you can see it's Andrew/Xander, and I'm not sure about everyone else yet, though I may go against my own prejudices and put some het in here too. Suggestions are more than welcome!
Cliia: I adore you and you are awesome! Thanks for the beta!