Summary: Xander returns home with Cordelia

Spoilers: Up through BtVS:Choosen and AtS:NFA

Rating: Minor language, nothing even a tot couldn't handle.

Disclaimer: The usual. Twentieth Century Fox and Mutant Enemy, and all other copyright holders, own the rights to their respective works and characters. There is no intent to deprive the owners in any way.

AN: I'll be the first to admit this part is not as strong as the first part. Hey, I had some other ideas I wanted to get out first and the worst bugger of all, "Real Life", kept interfering.

AN2: Updated for spelling and other minor errors. New motto: Eyeballs do NOT make a good spell-checher!


Part 2, Not Kansas

Xander noticed Cordelia fitfully stirring at the same time he began to watch for the Saxmundham turn-off of the A12. While chewing on his lower lip he considered her presence for the gajillionth-millionth time that night. Every mile closer to home brought greater and greater turmoil to his thoughts. Really it was just two that did the cha-cha in his head: "She's alive!", accompanied by a small grin, stepping lively with "Now what?", with its attendant frown. Elation and Wonder dancing with their partner, Concern.

Okay, break it down, he thought. First, just get the hell home. That was one crazy-ass trip, his one afternoon of free time turning out to be the craziest thing of all!

Okay, so, home first. Check. Next? Sleep!

An hour ago he realized how tired he was when he started to revert to American driving habits, more than once catching himself about to drift across the divider into the right-hand side of the road.

Sleep. No, wait, first get her set up in the flat, go grab a spare room at the Council House, something'll be available. Then sleep! Tomorrow? Wake up (duh!), breakfast. Then what?

No! Not that again! he mentally slapped himself.

He glanced at her again as she stretched, the sweats pulling tight in interesting places, and he added shopping. Where do the girls go for clothes around Sax? He'd have to ask one of them, pulling his eyes off Cordelia and back to the road.

And, oh yeah, Giles in the afternoon.

He emitted another in a long series of sighs and smiled without humor in anticipation of Giles' reaction to the new "item" for discussion. That, he decided emphatically, he would worry about later.

Fine. He was set. He relaxed a little now that some kind of plan, though a rather lame and obvious one, was in place.

Even as Cordelia lifted herself into a more upright sitting position she still wasn't yet fully awake as Xander took the exit for the road into town.

"Being dead must be exhausting!" as he forced a good-natured laugh, "You slept the entire trip." Mostly on his shoulder, which had the intoxicating effect of making him a little light-headed, but also kept his right side nice and warm. At some point after London she'd fallen over the other way on the wide bench seat. He'd done what he could to keep the blanket arranged over her but it kept falling off.

His laughter, sounding harsh in her ear, jolted Cordelia completely into the world of the conscious and dashed away the last slumbering haze. She had no idea where she was and reacted in a panic, eyes darting everywhere, seeing nothing in the surrounding dimness but the black-on-black shadow of the passing hedgerows. Her arms swung about, pressing back at the encroaching dark, her loud breathing shallow and fast, gasping.

"Whoah, whoah! Easy, Cordy!" Xander put a hand out to grab one of her flailing arms. She struggled silently for a few moments before calming down, breaths slowing down and evening out, the twitchy flailing ceasing. She eventually sat completely still and, with a very unhappy expression, stared out the window.

Xander let her hand go and she automatically clasped both of her hands together in her lap. She stayed that way as Xander watched her carefully when he could as they approached town along South Entrance. Her head began to turn with the passing houses and buildings that floating by on the other side of the glass, glum expression not changing. She tried in vain to recognize anything she was seeing, seeking the comforting familiar and therefore finding nothing.

"It's not a dream, is it?" he heard her whisper her first words since leaving Salisbury.

"No, doesn't look like," he responded sympathetically, reaching over to gently rub along her shoulder, hoping it would comfort her. She didn't flinch away and he gently continued.

A shuddering breath escaped her before she looked around again. He let his hand drop back to the steering wheel as she sat fully back in the seat. Cordelia gave the outside world a more thoughtful examination as Xander drove slowly through the center of the small market town. Though possessing only a fraction of the poise she had displayed earlier at dinner, Cordelia at least appeared ready to deal with the situation more calmly now.

"What time is it?" she asked, voice still quiet, barely audible above the ambient noise in the truck.

"After midnight. More traffic near London than I expected," Xander responded matter of factly.

"Okay. Umm. Where are we?" this time turning toward Xander before turning back again to look at the town.

"Sax. Just a another minute or two till we get home."

The answer seemed to startle her and she whipped her head around to face him. "Sex? What!"

Shaking his head with some small amusement, he replied, "No, no, no! NOT 'sex'! 'SAX'. As in Saxmundham. This town," taking a hand off the wheel to wave at the passing shop fronts. "It's what the locals call it." He paused then added, "Pervert," with a smile.

"You would know."

Not her most clever rejoinder but he was encouraged that she seemed to be returning to the normal Cordy he knew.

"Dumb name." she supplied next, without a hint of embarrassment or apology.

He chuckled at this simple little reminder of how much he had missed her outlook on life. How much he just plain missed her. She thinks it, she says it, no holds barred and tact be damned. That's my Cordy!

She swiveled her head, resuming her casual inspection of the various buildings of the small town. "Pretty. Pretty small, too," she observed while they continued down High Street, prior to taking a left onto St. Johns Road.

"That it is," he agreed, "Smaller than Sunnydale. By quite a fair margin: no Starbucks at all!" He paused to consider the implications. "I think that's a Good Thing. You might like it, too. If you're around long enough." He kept his tone as neutral as possible on that last statement.

The final turn onto Chapel was made and he soon pulled into a well-lit alley behind a row of two-story whitewashed brick buildings.

"Our stop. It is now safe to unbuckle your seat belts and move about the cabin. Please be careful when opening overhead compartments as contents may have shifted during flight."

Twisting in the seat to face her, he somberly noted she appeared to have lost some of the composure regained only moments before. Though just tiny tremors, and despite the warmth in the cab, she was shivering.

"Cordy! What's wrong?"

"Everything! Nothing!" she exclaimed, "Just... I don't know, I don't know!..." She fell back into silence, staring at the brick walls all around.

Xander's mouth twisted slightly as he watched her. He wished he had some idea of what she must be going through, knew he probably had not clue one, and wanted desperately to help. Right now he thought she probably needed "space" to work things out in her head without any pressure from him. But inside a truck in a back alley was really not the place for that.

"Let's get to the flat. You'll be more comfortable there." He opened the door and stepped out, pulling out his duffel from behind the seats before closing the door.

Cordelia silently joined him and they headed back down the alley to the sidewalk. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself as she followed slightly behind. He sensed an uncomfortable tension building up between them, but she seemed willing enough to follow him without question and he let it lay.

All at the same time she was so much the way he remembered and yet not. Six years was a long time. He knew she'd changed during those years in LA, hearing second- and third-hand stories about Angel's group. But it was an abstract kind of knowledge, like knowing it was the Earth rotating and not the sun going around; but it still looked like the sun rising and setting. Putting the reality together with the expectation was jarring and he wasn't sure what to say to her now. It upset him greatly that he didn't know how to help.

Dragging his thoughts back to the mundane, it had been a really long drive and he was looking forward to a nice long sleep. He started to go over again the logistics of getting Cordelia set up in the flat, first dumping off some of the stuff from his duffel for more clean clothes before he went to crash at the Council House.

They were both absorbed in their own thoughts as she followed him around the corner. Just as they turned the corner a loud howl from behind caused them to spin about, both shocked to see a very large, very dark, roughly humanoid shape charging them, mere yards away and closing fast.

As always, he quashed his first instinct, which was to run. When you're not a slayer, or tagging along with a bunch of them, running was almost always the safest course of action. Which meant Xander hardly ever did. Not then, and most definitely not now.

Instead, Xander first shoved Cordelia to the side, eliciting a startled yelp of protest from her. He reached down to his waist to grab a weapon. Nothing! Shit! He'd left everything in the truck. And after making a quick scan of the area around him he didn't see anything he could use as a makeshift weapon. He cursed himself for being so careless. Even as safe as Sax was, you always, always needed to be on your toes, always needed to be ready, always needed a weapon handy! Only a few months back from Africa and already he was slipping.

The demon was nearly on top of him and something needed doing quick! Next best action: do the unexpected. This was usually synonymous with doing something stupid, a skill he happened to be particularly good at. He threw his duffel at the onrushing demon, who easily deflected it. But the action had the desired effect of distracting the demon enough that it didn't see Xander's initial charge right behind the duffel.

Too late the demon swung its arm around to knock the puny human to the ground. Xander got inside and under the sweeping appendage, lowering his shoulder. He drove with all his weight into the demon's middle, giving it a vicious shoulder block, one that would have put any normal being down hard into the pavement.

The demon only staggered back a tiny step and regrouped quickly. Though surprised the humans didn't try to run, expecting to chase them down before tearing them apart, and even more surprised one actually tried an attack, it was back on the offensive. The demon twisted and pounded down on Xander's body as the human tried to rebound away, knocking Xander sprawling. As it bent over to pick up the prone Xander it received a savage back-kick into the leg, about where a knee would be on a human, and howled in pain. All of a sudden this easy job was turning out to be tougher than it had been led to expect.

Xander scrabbled forward, getting up and away to put some space between them. One of the curious things he had observed about Faith, Buffy to a lesser extent, and then all the other slayers he had worked with so closely, was how their fights were virtually an extreme form of dancing, the slayer executing a kind of beautiful choreography, inevitably leading up to the final killing crescendo. With their strength and speed they had that luxury and rarely suffer undue consequences.

As a normal human Xander knew he couldn't play such games. He either needed a quick kill, usually by surprise or subterfuge, or get the hell away. Running was now out and he had used his one tiny surprise tossing the duffel. He didn't know how he was going to get the kill without a weapon.

Risking quick glances around, Xander continued to search for anything which could be used. A brick, a pipe, a stick, anything. Hell, even a paper airplane! He spared a split-second to mentally curse the British tendency of keeping their cities cleaner than American's did theirs. If he was in the States right now there would almost assuredly be some piece of junk lying about he could use. But not here. Where was the proverbial stick up their arses? He could really use one just about now!

In order to better see a punch or kick on his blind side, Xander had learned to adopt a left-handed fighting stance, something gained from painful experience in Africa. He rapidly sidestepped around to turn the demon away from Cordelia, who had gotten herself up by this time. There were weapons in the truck, and if maybe...

He managed to grab his keys as he continued to dodge and weave away from the demon's kicks and punches. He ducked a swinging claw, still taking a following painful blow to his ribs, and tossed the keys in Cordelia's direction. "Weapons! Behind the seats!" he yelled at her over his shoulder, not seeing if she caught the keys or even understood what he was saying.

Xander was again knocked to the ground when the demon swept his legs out from under him. He immediately rolled to avoid the stomping kick he knew was coming. After regaining his feet he continued to dodge and block, striking back when he could, sometimes landing a hit when the demon was exposed after one of its own wild thrusts. Once or twice he even earned a grunt of pain from the beast, but he knew the best he could hope for was a war of attrition, which was a certainty he would lose. And definitely sooner rather than later.

The demon, seeing its opponent was able to avoid or block most of its punches decided to crowd and pin Xander rather than going for a decapitating blow or disembowling kick. Xander managed to lunge away one more time before it could pin him down. This time, as he got to his feet, he was doubled over, wrapping himself around an excruciating tearing pain in his ribs. When the demon jumped at him he tried feinting left and then right but was slowed by the injuries taken so far and the demon wasn't fooled. It caught his arm and pulled him in for the kill.

Damnit, where is she? What's taking her so long?

He struggled to break free, throwing kicks, punches and elbows at any part of the demon he could reach. Despite landing a few more blows, even doing some very minor damage with one or two, he lacked the strength and leverage to really put anything behind his punches. The demon was just too strong and he knew he was lost. An intense dread overcame him as he thought there may have been another demon which ambushed Cordelia. Damn! How could he be so stupid? They should have just run.

The demon shifted its grip, being careful not to let the surprisingly strong and agile human break away, and began to twist his head one way while pulling the body the other. Xander fought back in desperation, vision contracting until he could only see through a tunnel, the far end getting further away and blurrier by the second. In a detached way he wondered why demons loved so much to snap human's necks. Perhaps it was their way to show the utter contempt they had of humans? Or maybe they just liked the sound?

As he contemplated these final odd and morbid thoughts, at the edge of his hearing a whistling sound culminated in a meaty shock. The intense twisting pressure on his neck disappeared at the same time hot, thick liquid spewed over his neck and hair. The demon emitted a sharp mewling yowl in his ear that climbed the vocal registers before fading into oblivion. More warm stickiness began to flow down Xander's back as the demon's limp body toppling forward onto him, pushing him down to the ground. Xander was too weak to resist and let himself sag down under the dead weight.

He lay there for many seconds, with the demon on top of him, catching his breath in great whooping gasps, eye closed, trying to wish away the pain that blossomed in his chest with each intake. He stayed that way for several more moments before he heard Cordelia speak.

"You just gonna go to sleep now?" she tartly inquired.

Turning his head to look up at her and tell her to stick it where it would hurt the most, he gaped in astonishment at the sight. Cordelia was slowly rising out of a fighting stance, relaxed and casually swinging the bloody sword as she regarded the tableaux before her, grinning beatifically in triumph.

A pain-filled grunt later he pushed off the ground, levering the demon's body off, and struggled into a sitting position, leaning back against the demon's still-hot carcass. He allowed his breathing to slow down to something normal as the adrenaline rush faded. The shakes would begin soon.

He continued sitting there, looking back at the body and idly rubbing his arm we're he'd taken the brunt of one blow, while the adrenaline worked its shivering way out of him. Thankfully his ribs were only bruised and not broken--he knew the difference from, well, painful experience--and he could deal with the pain for now.

"Well that was not the most fun I've had in awhile," he said. He watched her for another moment, standing there all brash and confident, so completely at odds from her attitude just minutes ago. "Took you long enough," trying to match her new-found cockiness.

"You're welcome!" she snapped. Whatever funk she had been suffering from was gone, the needs of the moment apparently outweighing any self-pitying she might have been indulging in.

He sighed and reconsidered. Anger consumed him again at how careless he had been. Perhaps it was the exhaustion, or the proximity to home, or even Cordelia's presence, messing up his thoughts. But no matter what, he'd been damn stupid, and had just gotten very, very damn lucky.

He looked back over at the body, then slowly back to her and returned her steady gaze. In a low, sincere and contrite tone he apologized to her, "I'm sorry. And thanks." He paused a second before adding, "And since when did you become all Warrior Princess?"

Her challenging expression, immediately upon hearing his apology, dissolved into a softer one graced with an amused smile. "Hey, well, you know, LA's a tough town!" She regarded him for a moment more before delivering her verdict. "You look like shit. And that wasn't the welcoming committee you were expecting, huh?" she asked, pointing with the sword.

He shook his head at her barbs, about to tell her she didn't look a whole lot better, still wearing his old and faded sweats, the stained coat over it, dry hair sticking out at all angles, even a few stray blobs of demon gore on her face. The reply caught in his throat.

It was so unfair! She looked magnificent! And he probably did look like shit. Cordy was just being her usual subtle-as-a-wrecking-ball honest self.

He was also pretty damn impressed with the easy and confident air with which she handled the sword. For her part she had been equally impressed that he had even tried to take on such a large demon, acquitting himself quite well until the demon's superior strength and speed nearly decided the matter. She knew he had always been a better fighter than Buffy, or any of the other Scoobies, ever admitted to, but this had still been damn impressive.

Of course, neither could ever admit to each other what they were thinking. It just wasn't their way to say such things verbally, and their lives had long since brought them to a time and place where they couldn't express themselves the way they once had.

Cordelia extended her free hand down and helped him up. Xander brushed himself off as they both stared down at the demon's carcass, head nearly split in two.

"Nasty brute," Xander commented dryly, prodding it with his toe. "Recognize it?"

"Nope. That's Wesley's job," she said absent-mindedly.

He glanced quickly at her and sighed quietly. Tomorrow. He'd tell her tomorrow.

He paused before continuing, waving at the demon, "This was really unusual. With all the regular and practice sweeps this area is pretty much a demon-free zone." He wiped away at the back of his neck, slinging off some blood, while continuing to ponder the demon laying in an expanding puddle of its own green-brown goo, before he finally reached a decision.

"Come on," he lobbed over his shoulder as he started back toward the truck, curled slightly around one side to ease the pain.

"You're just going to leave that thing here?" she called after him, still in her spot next to the cooling carcass.

"No."

"Well?"

"You'll see. Come with or stay. I'll be back in a minute."

She decided she preferred to go with him rather than be out on the empty streets of a strange town. It would save any awkward explanations if a cop, or a Bobby, or Billy, or whatever they called the police here, came poking around at just the wrong moment.

Xander dropped the truck's tailgate and thought about jumping up. The bruised ribs killed that idea in short order and so instead he gingerly crawled into the truck's bed. Cordelia watched with distracted interest as Xander opened a panel in the toolbox, pulling and shifting unseen items this way and that, eventually yanking out a towel. He did his best to squeeze more of the demon's bloody gore from his hair, neck and back before returning to search again through the toolbox. Finally, with a satisfied grunt, he took out a folded blue plastic tarp.

"Got a sink in there, too?" Cordelia inquired, arching one eyebrow.

He replied with a grin, "No, haven't run across one...yet. But I did see a waffle iron once!" She shook her head and smiled her reply. Before leaving the truck Xander took the sword from her and tossed it back behind the seats, not bothering to cover it.

After retracing their steps Xander folded out the tarp next to the carcass. He stood and kicked at the demon until it had rolled completely onto the tarp, then knelt down and wrapped the tarp's edges tightly around it, completely hiding it from view. He bent to pick up one end of it, looked up at her expectantly and asked, "Give me a hand?"

"What? No way! I'm not touching that, that...that thing!" she sputtered indignantly.

"No slash and carry for you, huh?"

"It's gross! Besides, you're the guy, that's a guy thing!"

He shook his head and muttered under his breath as he knelt down near the middle of the torso and worked his arm under the middle of the heavy bundle, getting ready to pull the carcass into a modified fireman's carry.

"What did you just say?" she demanded, stepping closer.

"Nothing, nothing!" wheezing a painful gasp as he stood up, slinging the weight over his shoulders.

"'Cause I thought you said 'useless'," she accused, getting up into his face, eyes squinting dangerously. At that moment, if he were under oath, he would have sworn to a jury of his peers he could actually see smoke rising from under her collar. No doubt about it, nosiree.

And if he were the Xander of six years ago he would already be halfway up the English hills.

But times and people change. He only stepped back quickly, or at least as quickly as his ribs and burden would allow, getting out of her reach. "What? No, no, no! You heard wrong. Yeah. I would never say that! Never! Careless. I said I was careless!" Then he turned and hastily beat a path back to the truck, weaving slightly under the demon's weight.

She caught up to him, not saying a word, watching his face change back and forth from intensely bewildered worry to a merely distracted anxiousness.

With a grunting heave he unloaded the demon's body into the bed, pushing at it until it was fully on the truck. Turning back to face her, "Another reason for having this thing. And not the first time it's come in handy." He stepped over to the driver's door and told her to get in.

"Now you bury it, right?"

"Ummm, not quite," shaking his head.

"Explain yourself, Xander!"

He smirked back at her. "Think of it as a bonus side trip," and refused to say more. Xander drove them back through the lit streets of Saxmundham, then into the dark countryside outside of town, along narrow roads enclosed by tall, thick hedgerows, almost invisible in the starlight.

Without warning he cut the wheel sharply and they angled into an opening she didn't spot until they were already through it. They were obviously on some kind of driveway she realized, hearing the gravel crunch under the tires and seeing a very large house up ahead. A few lights glowed through the upper windows and more lights were on by the front door. But rather than stopping in front Xander took them around the side of the house where only one dim light was on, stopping by stairs leading down.

"What is this place?" as she peered about.

"This, milady, is the headquarters of my esteemed employers, The New--and very much improved (we hope)--Watcher's Council. Wait here," he commanded, "I'll just be a few minutes."

Cordelia watched through the back window as he took the wrapped carcass and carefully carried it down the stairs. A light flared through the blackness of the stairwell, further illuminating a lower part of the ivy-covered structure. It was an ancient, weathered brick, completely covered in vines in many places, broken only by gaps for the windows. Turning her head in the other direction, away from the house, there appeared to be a large open lawn but it was too dark to tell for certain.

Cordelia wondered about Xander while she waited. He confused her. Their whole relationship, then and now, confused her. In some ways it was like nothing had changed, even with the many years--and miles--between them. They could still bicker and trade the verbal barb, getting a rise from each other, each sharing an odd kind of mutual pleasure from their aggravating effect on one another. It was one of the few things she had missed during her first years in Los Angeles. Bickering with Doyle, and later Gunn and Wesley, just didn't have the quite the same kick as with Xander.

She liked the way he went after the demon: a white knight, protecting her the way he used to Buffy. A stupid thing to do, granted, but she liked the sentiment behind the action, the care and concern for her safety without considering his own. And his fighting ability had really been quite impressive! She only jumped in at the end when her help was actually needed.

For brief moments the goofy lameness she had once adored, but never admitted to anyone, with the easy smile and the stupid jokes and all, would show through. But she didn't hear the humor anymore. The jokes sounded perfunctory, like he'd already thought of them beforehand, tossing them out when expected. Their waking time together was only a few hours now and already she could tell he was a far moodier person, almost morose at times, with a nearly Angel-like broodiness. She hoped this darker Xander was just a thing of the moment and not his normal behavior, but suspected she was hoping in vain.

Back on the positive side, she liked the newfound confidence that appeared to be genuine. He could be very commanding, almost autocratic even. It pointed to a maturity that she found attractive.

There. She admitted it.

Despite everything, she realized she still found Xander attractive. She wondered about that. She had never really understood it then and she sure didn't understand it now. To be certain, their previous relationship had been a peculiar one--one virtually nobody could explain--but it was something she had treasured in its time. It had affected her far more than she would have ever thought possible, touching her at the deepest levels, even opening herself up to feelings she didn't know she could possess.

Long after the fact, and in spite of his betrayal, she could appreciate what he had done for her. But after the betrayal and the pain, the years of silence engendered by both, what kind of relationship could they have now? Did she even want a relationship with him again? To risk again, even a superficial friendship? Maybe it would just be easier if she accepted the proffered help and then they just got out of each other's lives... now that she apparently had one again! Could she spare any emotional energy, spare anything at all from trying to understand this new life, for him?

She was lost in her thoughts, not realizing he had returned until the door opened and he had climbed back into the truck.

"What was that all about?" when she looked up.

"Among other things, there's a sort of morgue in the basement. I dropped the body off and the staff can look at it tomorrow."

"Ewww! Just get rid of it!"

"We might learn something useful from an autopsy," he mildly chided her. "Once that's done, and if it seems safe, it gets burned. Or it might be buried. Sometimes we have to use magic to get rid of the body. Not my department, though," he shrugged.

They drove in silence back to town, parking in the same place as before. This time, much to his relief, the walk to his flat was quiet and completely demon-free. Sax hadn't reached the "hear no evil, see no evil" level of bliss that Sunnydale had had and he really wanted it to stay that way.

After turning the corner at the alley they soon approached the stone steps to a two-story white-washed brick building, with slate roof and stone window lintels. She found it was surprisingly modern inside once they had passed through the main entry and climbed the steep and narrow stairs to his door. Xander reaching around to flip on the lights as soon as he stepped into the flat. "Home, sweet home," he said somewhat ironically.

His flat was essentially a large L-shaped studio, the entrance at the top of the L. The edge of a bed was visible around the far corner, in the alcove forming the foot of the L. The remainder of the space was occupied by a kitchenette at the end nearest the door and an almost spartan living space in between, a cheap-looking sofa and a very plain coffee table facing a smaller than expected television set on a shelving unit.

He fussed about, getting his bag into the room and dropping it near the alcove. She slowly entered the place after him, looking around. After quickly familiarizing herself with the basic layout of the place she wandered aimlessly, running her hand over the shelves, picking up and briefly examining the few knick-knacks scattered about. Then her attention was drawn to one section of wall, opposite the foot of the bed, which had numerous framed and unframed photographs of various sizes.

In the meanwhile he plucked a few items from his duffle, throwing them into a hamper, then grabbing a couple of things from the bureau and stuffing them back into the bag. He crossed back to the kitchen area and called over to ask, "Care for anything? Something to drink or eat? I don't have much--I need to go to Somerfield's tomorrow, but..." he petered out uncertainly, shrugging his shoulders.

She turned to him, asking "Something hot, maybe?" She still felt a bit of a chill even after being in the hot truck for all that time, perhaps as a result of whatever force that brought her to this time and place.

He returned to the cupboards, opening one and peering in as he began calling out items, "Tea, decaf coffee, instant...umm, lessee...powdered chicken soup." Pulling his head back out to watch her, "I could zap a burrito or some popcorn..."

"No, no. Tea's fine."

While he busied himself, heating the water and then getting the tea and mugs, she stepped up close to the photographs to look at them carefully. The first thing she noticed was how they were roughly arranged in two groups. A large set of several large and medium sized photos were next to a second, much smaller group of wallet-sized pictures. Something about this second group pulled at her and drew her closer still.

They were all pictures of Buffy, Willow, and other people from Sunnydale, some she didn't recognize. One was a photo of a beautiful girl, slightly angular facial features framed by soft waves of blond hair. Anya? she wondered, though she looked different than Cordelia remembered, with the hair longer and much lighter. In the photo next to it another girl, a bit big-boned and shy-looking, stood very close to Willow, their arms around each other's waists. This must be Tara, she thought. In another photo, a very tall man stood behind Buffy, both arms around her. Ahh, and this must be the infamous Riley that Angel muttered on about for weeks on end. Not bad. A little oafish looking, but still...ver-r-ry salty! No wonder Angel was so ticked!

She saw herself featured prominently in yet another picture, one from when her hair was long and dark, with short bangs. Losing herself again in the memories of the time she and Xander were together and happy she didn't hear him approach from behind. She started slightly when he stopped beside her, just in her field of view. Without turning to face him she pointed to one of the previous pictures, "This is Anya?"

He gave a quick nod and an affirmative grunt, expression gone distant, staring at the photo.

"She looks different from what I remember. We actually only talked a few times in high-school. It's like she was hardly ever there. You went to the prom with her, didn't you?" this time looking back at him, seeing the stony mask.

Again he only nodded his head.

The AI gang and the Sunnydale gang hardly ever communicated back then, both of them so wrapped up in their own apocalypses. But occasional snippets of gossip would make their way from one group to the other. She recalled a few stories about them, Anya and Xander, being together. And something about a wedding. She remembered hearing, maybe from Willow, that the wedding hadn't gone off.

She never did find out the details. However, she did recall feeling a certain wistfulness when she heard the news, a slight twinge of regret that their own time together ended so badly. Remembering that regretful feeling added to her current confusion regarding Xander. It surprised her now that regret was the emotion she had felt most strongly, not anger or bitterness, or even indifference.

"Where is she?"

Cordelia turned back toward him when he didn't answer after several seconds crawled by. She noticed a shininess in the eye softening his otherwise stone features. He cleared his throat. "She died," he answered hoarsely, staring at the photo, jaw clenching, not offering any further explanation.

And maybe, giving it another moment's thought, she shouldn't be surprised at all that regret had been the ruling emotion then. A deep compassion swept through her in response to the obvious pain he was still feeling. "Whoops, TactlessCordy rides again!" She took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm so sorry, Xander."

He returned the squeeze and let go. "It's okay. You couldn't have known." as he flashed a quick smile, recovering quickly. Xander returned to the kitchen to prepare the tea before she had a chance to ask any more questions. Effective technique, she thought sadly.

She moved her attention to the group of larger pictures. They all contained young girls of a varied mix of races, mostly negro, from shades of light cream-in-coffee all the way to deepest black. He was in most of the photos, either standing next to the girl or within a group of them. The few times he was smiling she could tell it was forced, smiling only with the mouth and not the eyes--eye, damnit! His lone eye just seemed to stare through the camera lens, if he even looked at the camera. She shuddered, quickly glancing back at him while he worked in the kitchen. Though not always, the girls usually seemed to be genuinely happy in Xander's presence, smiling at him and even possessively holding onto him.

Xander had short hair in a few of the images, looked a little overweight in some as well. After a little bit of study she was able to identify a progression in the loss of weight, the length of hair, and the tan. She noticed when a mass of bright red scars appeared on his face and arms. If her progression was right, he didn't smile at all after that.

He returned with mugs of steaming tea. Waving at the larger photos she asked, "These are from Africa?"

"Hmm hmm," sipping carefully from his mug.

Something occurred to her just then, little bits of information and observations that had been floating around in her head since arriving at Stonehenge, falling into place and forming the outline of a recognizable picture. She set the mug down and started counting the photos. There were well over a dozen, almost two dozen, in fact.

"Xander?"

"Yeah?"

"How...long were you there? In Africa?" she inquired, still examining the pictures, head cocked to the side.

He looked up at the ceiling in concentration, "Well, I took off not too long after Sunnydale. Hmmm, got back the beginning of this year, so...call it a year and half, give or take."

"A year and half?" Cordelia whispered to herself, then repeated more loudly, "A year and a half!" Her voice quickly climbing in pitch and volume. "What year is this, Xander! How long have I been 'dead', Xander?" she virtually screamed, starting to pace in front of him.

He was only surprised the question hadn't arisen sometime earlier during their dinner. He very briefly debated lying to her, immediately abandoning the idea before it was fully formed. Although he was willing to delay giving her tough answers to difficult questions she hadn't yet asked, waiting for a more suitable time and setting to present painful news, she deserved only the truth when she did ask.

"It's 2005, Cordelia. May, 2005. Angel told us you died February 4th...last year. Over a year ago," he replied gently.

"A year! A year! Ohmygod, Oh. My. God!" falling back onto the sofa. "I can't believe it! I was in Angel's office earlier today! TODAY!" shaking her head dumbly. All of her regained confidence was instantly blown away by the new knowledge as she tried to wrap her mind around the reality of having been dead for so long.

And now alive again.

Xander sat down next to her and gathered her in his arms as she continued slowly shaking her head. She didn't flinch or object to the contact and even leaned into him after a few moments. He tried soothing her with comforting words, telling her everything was okay, that he would make sure it would be okay.

After awhile she sniffled a little, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. He finally let go of her when she said she would be fine, though he didn't leave her side just yet.

"Wow! Dead for a year," she repeated like a mantra.

"Hey, look on the bright side," Xander said with not quite forced cheerfulness.

She looked askance at him. "Yeah? What side would that be, Xander?"

"Well, uh, you beat Buffy's record! She was only dead for a few months."

A look of pained disgust crossed her face. "Oh yippee, I always wanted to be in Guinness. NOT!"

"Uh, then there's the whole tax thing. You don't owe any for the last year!" He was already cringing at that bit of lameness even as he endured her venomous glare.

"And hey--and you can trust me on this--you're still hot as ever!"

The heat in her glare dropped a few thousand degrees. "Really?"

"Umm hmm."

This time she smiled and answered in classic Cordy style, "Well of course I'm still hot!"

"Feeling a little better now?" he asked, after she had preened for a few moments.

"A little, yeah." Her somewhat happy expression took a step back in favor of a more thoughtful one. "It's...just a lot to think about, a lot of questions. How did I come back? Why am I back? Who is responsible for all this? Am I good now, or am I evil again?" She was quite visibly concerned by the answer to that last question.

Xander admired her resiliency, the inner strength and self-confidence that gave her the ability to handle such incredible news and then look beyond to the heart of the matter. "I can't answer any of those for you yet, Cordy, and I understand your concern. Call me selfish, but I'm inclined to think having you back counts as a 'Good Thing'. Look, I'm supposed to meet with Giles tomorrow and we can get into it then. He'll be the best place to start. Till then, do you think you can manage? Maybe just a little even?"

"Giles, huh?"

"Yep, Mr. Loves-to-research hisownself."

"Okay. Okay, yeah, I think I'll be able to manage," the smile making a comeback.

"Good!"

"But...wow! Dead all that time," shaking her head in wonder.

A jaw cracking yawn escaped Xander at that moment. "Whoa, pardon me!" He slapped his face a few times as Cordelia looked on curiously. "Oh boy. I don't know about you, and I hate to be rude. Truthfully, I'd love to stay up all night and help you figure this out, but I'm really beat and I'll just start getting cranky if I don't get my forty. So," he continued as he got up and walked back to the kitchen area, "help yourself to anything. There isn't a whole lot right now--I'll fix that tomorrow--but what's here is yours."

"So tomorrow, err... today. Later today. First, I get some sleep. Then I join you in the morning for breakfast, followed by shopping. Get you something to wear. I'm sure you're used to Rodeo Drive but we'll come up with something. Clothes, brushes, makeup, whatever you need to get through the next few days."

She dumbly nodded her head at this onslaught from CommanderXander, at a loss as to why he was suddenly telling her all this.

He moved over to the bedroom alcove, pulled some linens from a closet and began changing the bed, speaking over his shoulder as he worked. "There's clean towels in the bathroom," indicating with a quick tilt of his head toward an unseen door. "When you take a shower keep it under ten minutes; the water heater isn't big enough for longer." He finished fussing with the bed and pulled some items out of a drawer. "I don't have 'girl' clothes around but here's some stuff that should work until tomorrow."

He put the small pile of clothing down on the top of the dresser and walked over to the counter separating the kitchen from the living area. "And here's an extra key for the door, but you usually don't have to worry too much, it's pretty safe around here." Pursing his lips in memory of the earlier events, "Usually," he sheepishly added the qualifier.

Next he pointed at a small, white message board above the phone, "If you need anything, you can reach me at this number, anytime of night." Picking up a marker he circled something on the board. "Dial it exactly as shown and you won't have a problem. Whoever answers, just ask for me and they'll find me."

She had been watching him silently the entire time he delivered the whole lecture series, pointing out the different things he was referring to. He took one more look about, nodded his head in satisfaction he'd covered all the bases, and headed for the door, grabbing the duffel on the way. "And I'll see you in the morning."

As he wound down she looked confused and a bit uncertain. His move toward the door prompted her to speak up, "What are you doing, Xander?"

"Ah...telling you where everything is? Getting you set for the night?"

"No! I mean, you're leaving! Why are you leaving?"

Spreading his arms wide to indicate the single room of the flat, he answered, "Ain't much privacy here. I just figured, well, y'know..." He paused uncertainly, then hooked his thumb over his shoulder, "I'm going to crash at the house. Be back in the morning," and turned to go.

"Xander?" she called out, a brittle crackliness in her voice.

"Hmm? Yeah, Cordy?" turning back. He was really looking forward to a few hours sleep. CrankyXander was just waking up and he couldn't help keep a certain 'what now' peevish tone out of his voice. She did say she could manage, after all.

"Don't. Don't go. Please."

His look asked the question.

"I don't want to be alone. Not yet." She gave a weak smile to accompany the admission.

He pursed his lips as CrankyXander was instantly booted aside by Concerned-and-caring Xander. He stared at her for several moments considering her request. She fidgeted a little under his gaze, whether in nervousness, embarrassment or whatever, he couldn't tell. He nodded his head and sucked in a breath through his nose. He hadn't quite expected this, not that he would ever refuse it. But...

"Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"Okay. Well," clapping his hands. "Well. Then that's set, I guess," stepping back in and shutting the door, "I'll just take the couch then, alrighty."

With a relieved expression, she got up and went over to the freshly made bed while he turned off some lights before returning to the couch and sitting down. After they both removed their shoes she crawled under the covers as-is, not taking anything else off, while he removed his sweatshirt and flopped back into the cushions, crossing his arms over his stomach.

Xander turned off the last light and squirmed around to find a more comfortable position. He heard the blankets rustle as Cordelia also made herself more comfortable. When they finished their gyrations a loud silence filled the small flat, broken only be the whoosh of the occasional passing car and the usual creaks and groans from an old building settling. Street lighting filtered in through the warped panes of glass, making strange patterns of light on the ceiling.

"Xander?" he heard Cordelia ask quietly.

"Hmmm?" he mumbled, closer to sleep than awake.

"Thank you."

"Hmmm hmmm," his hind brain automatically answered, though he really hadn't heard a word as he drifted off completely.

---

Xander woke up to a most extraordinary and unusual feeling, one he had rarely experienced in the previous two years. Perhaps even longer. A tingly feeling of anticipation, the good kind when it just seems the near future holds wonderful things in store. He thought it must be like what he'd heard other kids talk about when they woke up on Christmas mornings.

He did have enough experience to qualify the time period to only the near future, meaning possibly no more than the next five minutes. He hated that he thought that way, but it was just safer. However, for the time being he would just go with the flow and enjoy the sensation for as long--or as short--as it lasted.

He stretched, wincing slightly at the sharp pain in his ribs, a pointed reminder of the previous night's activities, and also from old scars as they pulled tight. The sound of groans and sleepy-headed muttering further reminded him of the reason for this unique morning. He lifted his head above the back of the couch and saw a delicate feminine foot protruding from under the covers. That's right! Cordelia! Cordy was alive. And here in this room with him! Yup, that was as good a reason as any to anticipate the day.

---

He began reviewing the plans for the day after they were served, "After ten the store's should be op--uh..." he stuttered to a stop in wide-eyed amazement as he watched Cordelia virtually inhale the food in front of her, "...after you've eaten all the food in the county! Hungry much?"

"Starved! Takes a lot of energy being dead, I guess," she said cheerfully around a mouthful of eggs, fork already digging up the next helping.

They were sitting at a window table in the Corner House Cafe, a couple of blocks away from his flat, where Xander had begun a ritual of starting his day before heading off to the Council House. The Corner House was a bright and clean place, the food plain and good. The patrons were usually locals but there were always a number of tourists as well and he liked hearing the mix of accents and languages spoken around him.

He had ordered the full English Fry-up for himself and she had followed suit: bacon, eggs, fried bread, tomato rather than the mushrooms they usually served. It was a heavy, deadly meal, one he had quickly learned he couldn't have too often. Today, however, just seemed like a day that a massive intake of yummy, greasy badness was called for. She obviously agreed.

"So I'd imagine. Uh, anyway. After we're done here we'll go clothes shopping. There's a place or two in town we can start with." Before leaving the flat he'd had a most interesting and awkward phone conversation with the slayer who first answered the phone. He didn't explain why he wanted to know where to shop for girl's clothing and he chuckled at the kinds of stories that must now be starting the rounds among the other slayers. "I should get some groceries at Somerfield's and you can get, um, y'know...other stuff you'll need there. Then Giles early this afternoon." He looked up at her before asking, "Feel ready for it?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure I'm ready to see anyone yet. Can I let you know later?"

"Sure. If you want, the afternoon is yours. I'll leave you the keys to the flat and some cash. You ever driven on the left side of the road?"

"No. LA can make you feel like you've landed in some bizarro-world, but they don't do anything that strange."

"Hmm, Then I'm thinking I'll keep the car keys. It's a small town and really easy to walk anywhere. Or you can call a taxi. There's a nice walking path through and around town. But a word of advice. When crossing the street it's right-left-right. Be really careful! People around here are pretty tolerant of the tourists but every now and then some nut thinks he's the reincarnation of Machine Gun Joe and Americans score 300 points."

"Huh?" A tomato halfway to her mouth.

Slightly embarrassed, he just waved it off, "Never mind. Just be careful out there. Right-left-right." And promptly returned to catching up with her.

Her face drew down into a frown.

"What's up? Or down?"

"It's those questions again. What am I doing here? Why did this happen? I've got, like, a million questions, everything all spinning around. I don't know what to do! I mean, yeah, I said I'm managing--so far--but I'm just getting from one moment to the next! I don't know how long, or even if, I'll be able to keep it together!" She paused a moment, then went on much more quietly, with a small rueful smile, "I'm not in Kansas anymore, am I?"

"No," he answered softly, reaching across the table and taking her hand. "It's not. It's MunchkinLand, and I can be Toto, your faithful mutt." He groaned. "Okay, that was phenomenally lame. Even for me. But you know what I mean."

He played with the marmalade, spreading it slowly over his toast, and returned to a more serious tone. "It's important stuff, I get that. I really do. And I know I can't really understand what you're going through. But I know this. If you are in any way, shape, or form the Cordelia Chase I once knew, Queen C of Sunnydale High, LA demon hunter extraordinaire, then I know you're going to be just fine.

"Even if you're not feeling it now, you're strong, stronger than just about anybody I know. And I don't care how corny that sounded, it's the truth. And if that's not enough, then here's the real corny bit. As hard as this may be for you to believe given our history, if you need any help, anything at all, I'll be there. Now, tomorrow, ten years from now, whenever."

He delivered his little speech with such a sincere and earnest dead-calm certainty that it brooked absolutely no contradiction in her mind. As sure as the sky was blue, he would be there. She had no doubt.

She didn't attempt to express how grateful she was. And the issues of their aforementioned history still clouded her feelings toward him, though he hardly seemed the same person. And even though it was confusing with him, all the same she was grateful for his presence. It was times like this, him saying anything stupid to cheer her up, or that simple honest and utter certainty of his, that made her think even Angel would not be as good to have around at this moment.

The remainder of the morning and early afternoon was quite an interesting experience for Xander. Even while dating they had never gone clothes shopping together. He had never seen anyone so fussy. She was very unimpressed with the choices in Sax and complained bitterly about how dowdy everything looked. They next tried the stores at Snape Maltings, a fashionable shopping establishment several miles away, where she did a little better but then complained she looked like some Hollywood director's idea of how an upper-crust British lady should look. She didn't stop her grousing until Xander promised a trip to London in the next day or two. And then it was time for Giles.

---

The dusty tome in his lap barely held Giles' attention as he sat behind a massive, ornately carved oak desk. Every few minutes or so he would look up at the mantle clock, sigh, and read some more. His meeting with Xander would be very soon and he very much wanted to discuss Xander's observations with regard to the matter he was now studying.

The lab people reported a new demon corpse in one of the refrigerated lockers, together with a note from Xander, which explained almost nothing but at least let Giles know he was back from his trip and apparently still alive, if not necessarily sound.

Right at the appointed time, just as the deep, soft chimes of the clock reverberated across the room, he heard a knocking on the door.

"Yes, come in, Xander!" he called out. Giles sat back in the leather chair, preparing to stand and greet Xander. The door opened slowly and Xander took a tentative step partway into the room, stopping with his body still partially obscured by the door.

"Xander! Yes, yes, do come in," Giles waved impatiently, "We've a lot to discuss, so let's be started!"

"More than you can imagine, Giles," Xander answered, advancing fully into the room, gently pulling a somewhat reluctant Cordelia after him.

"Hey, Giles." She waved her free hand, smiling uncertainly.

A moment passed as Giles eyes widened in surprise. His mouth moved several times without saying anything before a strangled, "Oh my!" forced its way out.

Giles' growing shocked expression was matched by the beaming smile spreading across Cordelia's face as she took in the tall, father-like figure from her high-school days.

"It's good to see you again!" she said, coming around to embrace him.

"Oh, my God!" he repeated as he fell back into the overstuffed chair still behind him.


AN: Okay, there doesn't seem to be much of a plot. Yet. But rest assured I do have something in mind (a few tiny hints were given) and how Xander and Cordelia end up. Unfortunately it will be awhile getting there, though hopefully I'll be updating more frequently.

For the record (and the non-British among you), Saxmundham really exists, pretty much where and how described. Fifteen years ago I got a chance to spend a wonderful week enjoying Sax hospitality and thought it would be kinda neat to include it in a story.