The One Who Does Magic
Chapter 14
A/N: Sorry the updates have taken so long, but if it helps, I will let you know that I have the ending done, and I have an epilogue planned out, so it's just what's in between this and that that's yet to be written. If that makes any sense at all. :) And thanks so much, everyone who reviewed. You're all so nice! It's possible I will get addicted to this fanfic-writing gig if this type of flattery continues!
Disclaimer: I know this will shock you to your core, but...I don't own anything related to the licensure of Buffy the Vampire Slayer--oh, God, it's true! I didn't want to believe it at first, but I checked around and it looks like, yes, it's all owned by someone else entirely. Oh, now, don't do that. Don't start cryin', baby. Bravely> It's not that bad, really. We'll just take one day at a time, and, I swear, we'll get through this together. Because if there's one thing I know in this crazy, mixed-up world, it's that we can get out of any scrape as long as we have each other. And with love--and a little luck--we'll walk through this storm together and come out intact on the other side: a little worse for wear, maybe with a slight limp, but alive. And that's all you really get in this go-round, baby. You get one crack at life, and you take it for all it's worth. You give it your best, you slap down your chips, you play your hunch, and you let it ride. You just let it ride. So let's give 'em hell, baby. Let's give 'em hell.
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Xander rang the doorbell nervously, feeling like he was there to sell a set of encyclopedias instead of have dinner with three people he knew as well as his own family. Actually, better than his own family. They'd certainly shown him more affection—and, for that matter, financial stability—than his parents. "Breathe, Xander," he said to himself.
The door was opened by Santa Claus, which was strange in that this was the Rosenbergs' house, and they were Jewish. On the other hand, Santa had never looked as cute—or as beardless.
"Would it be just wrong of me to break into a chorus of 'Santa Baby'?" Xander asked, stepping over the threshold.
"Wrong, and yet hilarious," Willow replied, taking Xander's jacket. "So, you like?" she asked, twirling on the tile in the foyer.
"I love," Xander said, stopping Willow mid-twirl and handing her a badly-wrapped package.
"Christmas or Hanukkah?" Willow asked, inspecting the wrap job.
"Neither," Xander answered. "Your mom begged me not to bring anything edible—"
"Since it probably wouldn't be," Willow teased.
"Exactly. So I thought I'd just bring you a little something that reminded me of you."
"Ooh, yay! May I?" Willow asked, already tearing at the paper.
"Be my guest," Xander laughed.
Willow held up the t-shirt and read aloud: "Out of body. Back in 5 minutes."
"I figured why fight it?" Xander said. "And the color looks nice with your eyes." He looked into and became a bit mesmerized by the aforementioned eyes before Willow grabbed his hand and pulled him into the living room.
"Mom, dad! Xander's here." She took his jacket and threw it on a chair, stuffing the t-shirt underneath it. At Xander's look, she whispered, "They're more the airline-travel type."
Xander hugged Mrs. Rosenberg and shook Mr. Rosenberg's hand. "Thanks for having me over, senior Rosenbergs. I was all set to cook myself up a nice TV dinner, but I have to admit I'm not all that disappointed in the change of plans."
"We're happy to have you, Xander," Mr. Rosenberg said. "Those of us who stayed in Sunnydale should stick together. Especially those who are having a baby togeth—"
"Ira," Mrs. Rosenberg cut in. "For heaven's sake. Let's save the conversation for dessert, shall we?" She laid one hand on her husband's arm and the other on Xander's. "Boys," she said, rolling her eyes at Willow, who looked a little pale but kept her smile glued onto her face.
"I—actually, I wonder if I could have a word with you, Mr. Rosenberg," Xander asked shakily. "That is, unless dinner's ready. In which case, it can wait—"
"Oh, that's fine, Xander," Mrs. Rosenberg answered for her husband, patting his arm. "Willow and I will just make sure things are coming along all right in the kitchen. Honey?" she said, nodding at Willow.
"Mmph!" Willow said under her breath, but she followed her mother into the kitchen.
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"So, Xander. What's on your mind?" Ira Rosenberg asked, sitting down opposite Xander in the den.
"Well, sir," Xander began nervously. "I wanted to run something by you—and feel free to make your opinion known—"
"Certainly," Mr. Rosenberg answered, a bit too quickly for Xander's liking.
"Uh, okay then. Well, as you know…er, as everyone now knows, much to my chagrin…that is, the baby itself isn't chagrin-causing, so much as the fact that its conception…uh…"
Ira Rosenberg smiled in spite of himself in the midst of Xander's floundering. "Son," he interrupted, "There's no need to apologize for your consternation over the…delicate situation you've found yourself in. It was certainly unexpected, but you've been an honorary member of our family long enough to have earned the right to speak freely to me. Now, you've obviously got something on your mind, and I think the best way to unburden yourself is to just…" He paused, smiled. "Spill it."
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"So, what do you suppose they're talking about in there?" Sheila Rosenberg asked casually. "It's not likely to be sports."
"Or investment opportunities," Willow offered weakly.
"Or forensic odontology."
"Huh?" Willow asked, momentarily snapping out of her worried haze.
Mrs. Rosenberg smiled. "Just trying to make it interesting. But honestly, how do you think it's going in there?"
Willow gave her mother a frightened glance. "I'm more worried about what's being said than how it's being received. I mean, mom, what if he's…he couldn't really be…could he?"
"And if he were? How would that make you feel?"
"Don't shrink me, mom. Please. Besides, I have no idea. How should I feel?"
"Oh, no," Sheila said knowingly. "The last thing I'm going to do is tell you how you should feel. You'll feel how you'll feel, and nobody can change that—least of all me. I was just…curious. That's all."
Willow snorted at the impossibility of distilling her feelings into words. "Oh, well, if that's all."
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"Well, sir—"
"For heaven's sake, Xander. Don't call me 'sir,'" Ira said, amused at Xander's nervous attitude. "You may call me Ira. In all these years, haven't I ever told you that?"
"Not that I recall, sir—Ira. But regardless, I guess it just seemed like a 'sir' occasion." His face paled. "Oh—not that it's an occasion, per se." He slumped visibly. "I'm really doing well at this whole conversation thing, huh? Maybe after this we can talk about nuclear fission."
"You're doing fine, son," Ira said, smiling. "Now, I believe you have something to ask me. And while I find it admirable that you want to broach the subject with me first, I should tell you that it's really completely up to Willow—"
"I totally agree," Xander cut in anxiously. "And I think she'll go along with it, but I felt that I owed you—well, after you and Mrs. Rosenberg co-signed the loan for me and everything, and after all, it's your grandchild. I know you planned that room especially for Willow and the baby, but after all, I'm only a couple of blocks away, so you'll still see them all the time."
"I should hope so. Marriage would hardly preclude that."
"M-marriage?" Xander stuttered.
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"It's just that I never thought about that kind of commitment. I mean, not that I wouldn't want that," Willow explained shakily. "I mean…at least, I think I would. And I'm not saying it just because of the baby. Because, sure, that'd make everything easier—although, these days, it's perfectly acceptable to have a baby out of wedlock. In fact, even saying the phrase, 'out of wedlock' is archaic, don't you think?" She paused for breath and affirmation, while Mrs. Rosenberg tried to stifle a laugh.
"Absolutely, sweetie. And don't forget, you and Xander already have a commitment to each other: you're committed to being friends, to having and raising this child together, in whatever form your relationship should take—"
"Exactly!" Willow said excitedly, latching onto her mother's train of thought. "See? I knew you'd understand."
"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Sheila said, smirking.
Willow gave Sheila a helpless look, somewhat put out that she wasn't being read with perfect clarity, as she thought her explanation had warranted. Then she emitted a sigh, which turned into a giggle, which turned into a fit of laughter her mother couldn't resist joining. After a few moments, the laughter died out, and her expression turned thoughtful. "Mom," she said. "How do I know what to do?"
"Oh, honey," Mrs. Rosenberg said, putting an arm around Willow's shoulders. "You don't actually 'know.' You decide. You look at him, and you look at yourself, and you make a choice. And then you do your best to make it the right one. Anyone who tells you different is either a hopeless romantic or a screenwriter."
"Isn't that kind of pessimistic?" Willow asked.
"Not at all," Sheila replied. "What's more optimistic than fighting for your choice?" Willow nodded thoughtfully at her mother's words. "Sweetie, all I'm trying to say is that there's no magic number that you have to hit to be happy. Happiness comes from you, from your determination to choose it. I just wanted you to know that you don't have to see a clear signal to know that it's right. You just have to want it enough to make it work."
"I guess I see your point," Willow said, blowing a hair out of her face with a huff. "Hard work and determination. But, mom," she added softly. "What about love?"
"Ah," her mother answered. "That, I think you've got covered. You just have to let yourself believe it."
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Ira Rosenberg leaned forward in his chair and looked squarely at Xander, who still had a shocked expression on his face. "Yes, marriage," he said. "Isn't that what you wanted to discuss?"
Xander gulped. "Er…well, not exactly. Not that I don't want to," he rushed on. "Because I do! I mean, I would. Definitely. I would definitely be discussing that very subject, if I thought it'd do any good."
"You don't think it would?" Mr. Rosenberg asked.
"Honestly, I have no idea," Xander admitted. "I just know that when I ask Willow to marry me—I mean 'if'! If I ask Willow to marry me, I want her to say yes. And I'm not sure she could do that. And I'm not sure I could live with her saying no."
Mr. Rosenberg's expression softened. "I understand. But then, what did you want to ask me?"
"Well," Xander began, relaxing a bit, "You kind of took the wind out of my sails there, Ira, but I guess I'll just say it anyway. What I wanted to ask was whether you'd be okay with Willow moving in with me, now that it's getting closer to her due date. I want us to be a family, sir. If you're okay with that. If she's okay with that."
"It's fine with me, son," Ira answered. "And should the other topic ever come up, my answer would be the same," he added, smiling.
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To be continued...more to come...stay tuned for further developments...etc.
Again, thanks, everyone, for all the great reviews. I'll try to post more frequently now that we're getting toward the end. :)