Part 2: Who Says Only Angel Is Allowed To Brood?

Xander sat on the stoop, head resting on his hands as he surveyed the empty street. September was coming with a vengeance and his newly transplanted California blood was already freezing in his veins.

Why the fuck am I even here? he wondered. I've done nothing but fix things and prop up people since we fucking got here. If I'm going to be reduced to handyman and all-around security blanket, I damn well can do it where the weather's warmer.

He ran his hands through his hair, momentarily hesitating at the halfway point before allowing himself to continue to the nape of his neck. He'd gotten the glass eye a month ago, but he could still feel the ghost of the eye patch band in his hair and the patch itself on its skin. Some residual part of him still worried about dislodging a protective covering he no longer had.

He was being unfair to the others and he knew it. He had been included in a lot of the Slayage side of the business, maybe more than he'd been since before senior year. Robin was making everyone in their merry band go through formal fight training, including one very normal human who spent a lot of time on his ass when hanging out on the practice mats.

Giles had been pulling him in to help with research and relying on him to help deal with all the contractors needed to whip their new headquarters into shape. Buffy was insistent that Xander be part of the regular Slayage and patrol rotation. Although Buffy had taken a step back from a lot of her former self-imposed responsibilities, she forcefully pointed out to Robin that Xander had seven years' worth of field experience that should be put to good use, whether the Woodster thought he was combat-ready or not.

Willow didn't involve him in the actual use of magic, mostly because Xander and magic were not two mix-y things. However, she was quick to grab him for help in research—there's the dirty word again—and for help in gathering supplies.

It seemed like the handful of baby Slayers with them had all decided he was the most approachable of the "in crowd"—being the only normal human around—and were constantly asking him for help, a shoulder to cry on, or advice on this, that, or the other thing. Usually it boiled down to the fact that they were uncomfortable approaching Buffy, Faith, Willow, Robin, or Giles with problems they were afraid might get dismissed as stupid. Xander, on the other hand, seemed always ready to lend a sympathetic ear.

Dawn, thankfully, wasn't yanking him in a new direction as she had managed to settle in and adapt to their new locale faster than anyone else. With the beginning of school, Dawn's educational and social life had notched up to insane levels, no doubt because her California roots made her cool in the eyes of the locals. She was rarely around before 10 p.m. curfew, and when she was back at the compound she was all chattery about boys, school, boys, homework, boys, school trip, oh, and before he forgot, boys.

Xander's stock seemed to be going up in the world, at least among this particular group, but some corner of his mind wondered if there was a more well-meaning but sinister purpose: keep Xander busy and can keep his mind off his troubles. If that was the goal, they were failing miserably, not that Xander was inclined to disabuse them of the notion.

He could never admit it to them, but he had to, for once, be honest with himself. He'd lost something. Once the adrenalin high of surviving Sunnydale retreated, he felt dead inside, utterly incapable of thinking beyond the next step. Frankly, he was exhausted. Every day an ever-larger part of him just wanted to walk away from the weird world and go hide in a nice, normal life in some sunshine state.

In short, he just didn't want to care any more.

"Behind you."

Xander looked up and saw Faith standing at the top of the stoop. The Slayer grinned when she was certain she was out of Xander's blind spot. "Mind if I sit?"

Xander waved at the empty spot next to him.

She hopped down—making sure to keep to his right where he could see her—to the place he indicated and sat with a plop. She drew out a pack of Camels and a lighter. "Mind?" she asked.

Xander shrugged.

She lit up and drew deeply, releasing the stream of smoke with a relieved sigh.

"Buffy still on ya to quit?" he asked. He actually didn't care. He just was making with the small talk since it was better than sitting in silence.

"Shit, yeah. You should hear Robin bitch, too. They don't get tobacco is fucking evil." Faith drew hard, causing the tip to glow brightly, possibly as an illustration of her point.

"Yeah, Slayer healing or no, I can't imagine that's helping." There wasn't a whole lot of heat or condemnation in his tone.

"Yo! I've cut back," Faith protested with a smile. "Down to less than a pack a day. Gotta take it slow. Last thing you need is a Slayer-sized nicotine fit on your hands."

"Guess not," Xander agreed with a tight smile.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. Had anyone familiar with the pair been watching, they would've put the smart money on Xander breaking first. They would've lost.

"So what is your deal?" Faith asked.

"Deal?"

The Slayer waved her cigarette up and down at him, as if dousing him tobacco-flavored incense. "You. You've been living in a different universe since we muscled our way into this town. S'up with that?"

"Faith," Xander gritted. "Last I checked, I've been yanked in a million different directions since I got here. Sorry if you think I've been distracted, but the reality is that I'm a little busy."

"Not saying that," Faith stated with another drag. "When people try to have a real personal conversation with you, you start talkin' business just to change the subject."

"Like I said…"

"Bullshit," Faith stated. "Your head ain't here and that's asking for trouble with a capital T, for you and for us."

Xander stood in a sudden motion. He wished he could say he was enraged or even a little angry. He wished he could say he felt any damn thing. However, standard operating procedure indicated that he should get indignant, so he put on the show everyone would expect. "Sorry I don't come up to the level of Woodman…"

"Hey, that's not what I…"

"…but not all of us can be the perfect demon-hunter guy like your sweet baboo…"

"Sweet baboo? What are you, Peanuts?"

"…I'm just Xander and I'm doing the fucking best I can while everyone decides they fucking need my ass involved in every aspect of this fine new Slayerish world we live in..."

"Not saying you're not doing the best you…"

"…but most days I feel like I should ask Willow to make three of me so I can handle everything…"

"Maybe you need a vacay," Faith commented. "Maybe get the old juices recharged and give yourself time to heal."

"Or maybe I just need for people to stop worrying how I'm doing and leave me the hell alone," Xander growled. He spun into the house, legitimately annoyed, not much, but a little. "Enjoy your smoke," he shot over his shoulder before he disappeared into the house.

Faith held her cigarette like a match, as if blaming it for the direction the conversation took. "Well, I think that went really well."

TBC…