Title: Being There
Author: Lysa-uk
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Pretty please
Distribution: If you want it, let me know where it goes
Summary: Xander is there for Willow after Oz leaves.
Spoilers: Late Season 3, early Season 4
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, although I kinda wish Nicholas Brendon did. I'm just borrowing from Joss, Fox, Mutant Enemy and everyone else. Please don't sue me, I have nothing, unless you want my DVD's and pictures and stuff – which, by the way, you cannot have.
Notes: See, this little piece came about when I was re-watching some s4 recently, and I just got kinda annoyed by it. Oz's departure did make me cry because of the amazing performances put in by Seth Green and Alyson Hannigan, but I thought that the aftermath could have been handled better. I just thought that considering their friendship, Xander would have been more worried about Willow, and he would have been there for her, instead of being with Anya and getting annoyed. Plus, I'm a W/X shipper, so any excuse...
Notes 2: I don't know what it is, but meeting Nicholas Brendon just gets me all kinds of inspired, so thanks to him for that.
The phone call had come out of the blue. It was the last thing he'd been expecting when he'd heard Buffy's voice on the other end of the line. The latest disaster announcement? Yes. The fact that his best friend's heart had just been broken? Not so much.
He should have been able to tell from the tone of her voice. When it was a Scooby emergency, she was all business-like and commanding, but in a good way. He didn't mind Buffy telling him what to do, because, let's face it, she was the Slayer and he was a Slayerette. The 'ette' on the end of the name was there for very good reason.
But she'd sounded...different. Maybe it was the time away from them during the summer that had knocked out that detector in him, the fact that he was still adjusting to life post-Sunnydale High.
"Hey, Xan?" she had said slowly, almost quietly, and Xander was wondering who else she thought it could be when she'd called the private basement line his parents had thoughtfully set up for him while he'd been away and subsequently charged him double for when he got back. "Is that you?"
"Buff, hey," he'd replied, grabbing the remote control for the TV at the foot of the bed from his nightstand, careful not to disturb the sleeping girl next to him, muting the sound to the black and white movie he had been enjoying.
Looking back, he felt like he should have been able to tell there was something wrong in an instant. "What's the what?" he'd asked cheerfully, even with the knowledge that night-time phone calls were usually accompanied by violence and demons.
All she'd had to say was two words, and he felt his heart stop.
"It's Willow..."
The words were almost inaudible to him, or maybe it was just because once he'd worked out how to breathe again his heart pounded so wildly he was afraid the friendly neighbourhood vampires would hear it and think there was an all-you-can-eat buffet over at the Harris house.
He hadn't been able to hear anything else much after that. He'd managed to hold himself together long enough to hear that she hadn't been killed, maimed or kidnapped, but after that there was just the odd word he'd caught.
"...Oz... Another werewolf... He left... She's devastated..."
There were a few more words exchanged where she told him that she had to go out on patrol and didn't want to leave Willow alone, so could he come over. He didn't specifically remember what or if he'd said anything, and then he'd dropped the receiver. There was a brief moment when he thought back to when she had come to him in this very same dank and mouldy basement and asked him for his advice. He'd told her there was nothing to worry about, told her that...
No, that didn't matter. This wasn't the time to be thinking of the past, recent or otherwise, although for some reason he knew that when he saw her that's all that would be in his heart and his head. But for now, Willow was the only thing that mattered.
That thought was all it had taken for him to jump off of his bed, leaving Anya in complete surprise when she had been sleeping on one of his biceps. He'd searched for his sneakers, eventually locating one under his bed and one on the armchair, and grabbed his crumpled jacket from the closet, throwing it on over the sweat pants and an old white tank top he had been wearing to watch movies with his ex-demon-maybe-girlfriend, and taken off, the sound of Anya's blunt questioning in the background as he raced out of the door.
In the car on the way over to the UC Sunnydale campus, he tried not to think about the kind of state she'd be in when he got there. 'Devastated' was the word Buffy had used on the phone. He had always hated to see Willow sad or upset. When they were kids she knew that, and she used it to her advantage sometimes when she wanted him to do something he wasn't particularly keen on doing, like hand over some of his candy, or study for an algebra test. She'd pout, and lower her eyes, and hide behind her long hair and he knew it was a futile attempt to try and fight it.
It occurred to him, and not for the first time in his life, that the more you try not to think about something, the more it becomes the ONLY thing you think about. It seemed funny how that 'something' always seemed to be Willow in his case.
He heard a horn blare in the distance somewhere, and his eyes snapped from whatever was filling his head onto the dark, Sunnydale road in front of him. He swerved suddenly, the previous car horn apparently not so distant as he realised he had veered onto the wrong side of the road, narrowly missing the other vehicle as he corrected his driving. Luckily for him, the driver of the other car was a female, definitely a college student judging by the dilapidated vehicle she was driving and the flirtatious bumper stickers it was sporting. He waved and smiled half-heartedly in an effort to apologise while she was still in view, hoping that she'd accept and not take a note of his registration plate and send the big jock boyfriend she probably had after him.
For the rest of the journey, which was surprisingly longer than he ever remembered it being, he'd kept both hands glued to the steering wheel, eyes wide open and staring at the road in front of him, figuring that he had to pay attention because he'd be no use to Willow with a couple of broken limbs and internal bleeding.
He pulled into the student parking lot faster than he should have, parking the car he'd borrowed without asking from his father so haphazardly across two spaces that someone would surely be pissed about later on. He didn't bear that in mind, though, as he broke into a run as soon as he got out of the car, taking off across the campus at a speed which surprised even him, not stopping until he reached their door.
He stood for a minute, not really quite sure what was happening to him as he struggled to catch his breath, the sprint he had just made affecting his body in a way that burned his lungs and made him vow to go to the gym or go on more patrols to keep in shape instead of being Research Boy in the safety of Giles' apartment where he could make frequent trips to the refrigerator to sustain the boredom of reading text after text that made him wish he'd never learnt the skill in the first place, and pull out his tongue at Willow when she glanced over at him for being the one who'd taught him when they were in first grade.
He put his hand to the door, ready to knock, when he hastily pulled it away again. He ran his hands through his hair, making small canals in the grown brown locks, trying to figure out why he was so nervous. Somehow, he knew that going into that room was going to make him face up to things he'd spent too long trying to forget, and he wasn't quite sure he was ready to do that yet. He had every intention of resolving those unresolved feelings...maybe in fifteen to twenty years time when he was older and more mature and capable of carrying on a conversation that didn't include a pun of some kind.
Back when they were teenagers, he and Willow had made lists of the top ten things they wanted to do before they died, as morbid as that sounded. The lists had changed over the years, but Xander always had one compiled in his head, and dealing with how he felt about Willow was definitely on there. But on a list of top ten things he wanted to do right now? This wasn't something that ranked highly.
He wanted to help her. God, he wanted to, more than anything. But how could he? How could he sit with her, and tell her that everything was going to be okay when...
No, he couldn't think about that, couldn't complete the thought process and contemplate what this could do to him, because he wasn't the one who was important here. On the other side of that door, his best friend was hurting, and he had to help her.
He brought his hand back up to the door, a deep breath in, letting it out slowly, fist clenched unknowingly and making him stare at his hand for a moment or two, trying to figure out whose white knuckles he was looking at. He touched it to the surface of the faux grain on the cheap college dormitory door once, the sound barely audible as he worked out just what the hell he was supposed to do when he got inside.
Before he had a chance to draw his hand back and knock a little louder, the door was opened, and there was only one thing that went through his mind.
Oh, God...
The only thing he saw was a bundle on the bed to the left of the room. The figure looked so small, curled up and hugging herself in restless sleep, he hardly recognised her as the college-confident and happy best friend he had found her to be since he'd gotten back from his road trip. The thing that gave it away was her hair, still all bright and red and attracting him to her like it had since the first day they had set eyes on each other. There wasn't much light in the room, the only source of illumination coming from a lamp sat on the nightstand next to the bed, but even from where he was standing, the tear stains were impossible to miss on her cheeks, and his hand came to his mouth in horror as the impact of what he was looking at kicked him in the ass.
Heartbroken.
That was the only word he could think of that could possibly describe how she looked. Even with her eyes closed, he knew that the light and life he'd come to appreciate so much and count on when things weren't so great at home wasn't there. It had been killed, left when Oz did, and he wasn't sure that he'd ever see it again.
He was vaguely aware of someone standing in front of him, obscuring his view only a little, but that didn't really register with him because that's not where his focus was right now. The only person it could be was the person who'd called him over here in the first place, and Buffy was an entirely different issue that he would have to deal with in a little while.
He didn't acknowledge her as he pushed past her, seeing her at this moment as just an obstacle in the way of him and his best friend. He shrugged his jacket off and threw it on the chair across the other side of the room, realising for the first time that it had been pouring down outside when he'd gotten out of the car, resulting in the dampness seeping through his pants and the cracks in his sneakers where they'd been worn down by age and treading in corrosive demon remains.
He stood at the side of her bed, taking in her small, fragile form and hating that he didn't know what to do. He knelt down on the soft, furry rug next to the bed, shaking his head to himself in frustration as his left hand came to his chin, unconsciously rubbing at the stubble that was growing there. Deciding that it wasn't enough, that he needed to physically feel her, he reached out a tentative hand, and it didn't surprise him when he saw himself shaking when he thought of touching such a breakable thing.
A few strands of her hair had fallen over her face, over her eyes, and the urge to touch her got stronger. His still-shaking hand touched the locks and brushed them back from her face, his body working on auto-pilot, his mind that was screaming at him to leave her alone while she seemed semi-peaceful not connecting to his heart. His hand hovered over her face for just a second, before he closed the distance by softly grazing his fingers over the smoothness of her cheek with the ease of someone who'd known her all of her life.
"Don't wake her," he heard Buffy say, whispering but still with that distinct authority tone that usually made him a little nervous. It didn't have the same effect on him now.
"She's had, like, no sleep at all for the past few days," Buffy continued. "She dozed off about half an hour ago..."
There may have been more that she was going to say, but when Xander turned to look at her, she trailed off, her face falling slightly as she avoided eye contact, obviously not expecting the way he was glaring at her in a way he didn't recall ever using outside of the confines of his own house. In a few years time, he'll look back on this as one of those 'whoo-hoo' moments. The moment when he actually intimidated the Slayer, however brief and fleeting, and very intentional. Anger was welling in his stomach, bile rising in his throat as he prepared to open his mouth and let loose with the frustration that had been building since he'd first received her phone call.
But then he felt a fluttering beneath his hand, Willow stirring in her sleep, a whimpering noise murmured in gentle tones that brought his attention back to her completely, leaving Buffy standing in the middle of the room with an odd, confused and hurt expression on her face, but that wasn't something he was worried about.
Willow's hand came up to his, her palm resting on the back of his hand that was still touching her cheek. Her small, slender fingers intertwined with his larger ones, making him cease the motion that he hardly knew he was still using. His heart sank when he saw the briefest of smiles on her face, and he waited for her to break it again by saying another guy's name. He was afraid right now, scared to death that she was going to call out in that soft, sleepy voice that he remembered from calling her first thing in the morning or last thing at night for Oz. He could almost see it in his head, her saying his name, and him having to remind her that he was gone, that he'd left her, even though he still didn't entirely understand why. He'd have to break her heart again, even when he'd already done it so many...
"Xander...?" she whispered, an almost sigh-like noise in the room, surprising and elating him that she still knew him that well.
He felt a smile tugging at one of the corners of his mouth, and he let it form slowly. It wasn't there completely, because Willow had been crying, and when that happens, nothing can ever be right in the world until she smiles again, but the familiarity of her dispelled some of the anxiety that was staking him through the heart like a pointy wooden stick to a vampire. He felt relief that she knew he was there, but then came the shame that he felt that relief and some tiny amount of happiness that she wasn't mistaking him for someone else. He'd sworn that his feelings didn't matter tonight, that he wouldn't allow himself to feel anything but sympathy for her, but that was proving easier in theory than in practice.
Still, he couldn't help the words that came from his mouth.
"How did you know?" he asked her, his voice barely a whisper with his face so close to hers.
She didn't open her eyes, but he saw that the corners of her mouth turn up ever-so-slightly in an adorable sleep smile that he wished he could take a picture of and keep forever, keep in his pocket and look at when he feels that there's nothing good left in the world, and he felt a rush of emotion that he had to choke back.
"I'll always know..." she told him, her fingers closing tighter around his as she moved their hands from her face to the bed, the sheet and comforter she had been lying on top of cold on his hand in contrast to her warmth.
He didn't take his hand away from hers, he relished the feel of her skin on his, and thought that maybe this was the first time she's touched him for more than a brief hug when she thought they were going to die or when he'd returned from his trip, and he felt like saying 'here's one in your eye, no-touching rule', but that was just an entirely childish reaction that being with his oldest friend brought out in him.
He reached up with his other hand, brushing her hair back with more weight behind it. Before, when he'd done it when she was sleeping, he'd just needed to touch her and he'd done his best not to wake her. Now, he was letting her know that he was there, and the fact that she kept her grip on his hand tighter gave him permission that it was okay.
Taking it a step further, he leant his head towards hers, waiting for her to pull away from him at any second. When she didn't move, just kept that steady breathing pattern that he was sure would lull him to sleep given the chance, he gently placed his lips against her forehead, kissing her there chastely and catching a scent of the strawberry shampoo she'd used forever and the cinnamon body spray she'd recently started using.
"He left..." Willow said, her eyes opening with fresh tears brimming there, bloodshot and reddened from extended periods of crying, probably on Buffy's shoulder, he surmised, and there was a pang of jealousy that accompanied the thought.
"Oz..." Willow said in a broken voice. "He left..."
Xander closed his eyes against the pain she was feeling, wishing he could take it all away. "Shush," she hushed her gently, one hand resuming the stroking of her hair, adding circular motions with his thumb on her fingers where they still gripped his other hand for good measure, hoping that she felt at least some of the reassurance that he was trying to give her through his touch.
She moved her head suddenly, as if remembering something important that she had to do immediately, and she looked at him, her eyes wide and scared, her head lifting from the pillow, letting go of his hand. Before he had time to question it, to think about it, she'd thrown her arms around his neck and pulled him into such a tight and forceful hug that it dragged him from his knees and crushed him uncomfortably into the side of the bed. His lower half remained on the floor, but his upper body lay with her, one arm resting awkwardly on the bed and the other moving around her back.
"Don't leave me..." she said in an emotional voice, her throat catching with sobs and tears from her eyes running down her face and onto the exposed skin of his neck and shoulders. "Please, don't leave me..." she said again, sounding more afraid than he'd ever witnessed in his entire life. Usually, he was the scared one, and she was the thing that kept him sane, kept him grounded, and he hated it being the other way around, as selfish as it sounded, because he never wanted things to change.
"Will, honey," he said, his hand smoothing across the small of her back, feeling like for the first time in their lives, her sadness couldn't be taken away with a dumb joke or a dance or his love for her. "I'm right here, okay?" he told her. "I'm not going anywhere."
He felt her nodding into his shoulder, pictured her unintentionally wiping her nose there, and he smiled a little. He felt her pull away, still holding onto him with a steely grip that he didn't know she even possessed, and he took the opportunity to correct his body until it was upright again, leaning down on the mattress with his arms.
"Do you promise?" she asked him, her small and sad voice sticking in his head, something he'll never forget for as long as he lives.
"I promise," he swore, gently pushing her head back onto the pillow where she'd been holding it up, looking uncomfortable and unnatural, as she let out a breath that she seemed to be holding while she waited for his answer, her chest moving as if some great weight upon it.
He ducked his head down again, another kiss on her forehead, and some part of him wondered if it was to comfort her, or just another excuse to flout the no-touching thing. "Go back to sleep, okay?" he said, not willing to ponder the silent question he'd posed to himself.
"I don't know if I can," she told him, frowning.
"You can," he told her, nudging the arm that rested next to his gently. "You want me to read you a bedtime story, or sing you a lullaby?"
"I've heard you sing," she joked lightly, smiling at him with a tired and weary and suddenly-older face. "You'll be here when I wake up?"
"I will," he told her. "I'm just gonna have a quick chat with Buff, then I'll be right back."
"Okay," she nodded, sounding nervous as she watched him get to his feet, something that made him feel like she was scrutinising his every movement, even though he knew she would do anything but. When he was mid-stance, she grabbed his hand, pulling him back a little, surprising them both.
"Xander?" she said.
"Yeah?"
"Don't be long."
He held onto her hand, bending down to kiss the back of it quickly, smiling down at her with his heart full of so many emotions that he wasn't even sure how to separate them. He nodded slightly, something that would hardly have been noticed by anyone else, but she saw and she knew, making him hate the fact that he had to leave her, for however brief a moment, and let go of her hand as she closed her eyes.
Looking down at her a few seconds more, he tore his eyes away. He turned to the other person in the room, his other so-called best friend, and he wondered how his demeanour could change so rapidly from how he was feeling for Willow to the anger that was flowing through his veins now.
He had known she was there the entire time he'd been here, felt her eyes on them both when he had been trying to offer Willow some comfort, watching them in that way she had sometimes where she wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to be doing, whether it was a Willow/Xander moment or something that she should be part of.
Maybe she'd felt uncomfortable, and maybe she'd felt like crying, just as he had, but that didn't get her off the hook. All of this pent-up frustration he was feeling at this whole situation wasn't entirely her fault, and he knew that, deep inside, but she was the only one who was there, she was the only one who could take it.
He was sure it was the look in his eyes that threw Buffy off more than anything, maybe even scared her a little, if he was into tooting his own horn. It wasn't a physical kind of fear she had, but an emotional one. She'd never seen him at his worst, when he'd reached the end of his rope with one thing or another. In fairness, he'd never wanted her to see it. That kind of thing was usually reserved for Willow, and Willow only, because she was the only one who could pull him out of it, either with a hug or words or just by having her near him.
He made a gesture with his head, indicating towards the door that was still ajar from when he had entered that Buffy hadn't closed properly. He didn't even wait for her reaction before he'd started for it, reaching it in a few easy strides across the small dorm room, catching a fleeting glimpse of himself in the mirror hung on the wall on the way. He didn't study his reflection, he never had been the vain type, but in this dim lighting his dark brown eyes that usually looked so warm seemed cold and empty, almost black. If he'd had time to ponder the significance of it, he maybe would have, but he was already out of the door and waiting in the hall before he had a chance.
He'd begun pacing the short distance of the hall before she had joined him. She stood in front of the open door, her hands coming up awkwardly to tuck her hair behind her ears before they crossed across her chest defensively. He thought that was a good thing, because he had every intention of verbally attacking her, whether she was ready for it or not.
He ducked behind her quickly, closing the dorm room door after one quick glance at Willow, slowly and with as little noise as he could possibly manage, and waited for the two male students that were walking past to get out of earshot. His arms hung at his sides tensely, not really sure what to do with them to keep his fists from clenching, as he tasted something bitter rising from his gut to his chest, and passing through his throat.
"Xander..." she started, slowly and uncertain.
"Don't!" he exploded at her, pointing harshly with his finger, his eyes blazing and his heart racing as he began to pace again, as much for something to distract him as to keep him from glaring at her.
"Don't what?" she asked, confused and oblivious. "I don't understand what it is that I'm supposed to have done here."
He didn't stop pacing, couldn't stop the pacing because then he'd have to look her in the eye, and he couldn't do that. "Are you really gonna play the dumb blonde card on me now?" he asked.
"I'm not playing anything!" she said, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration. "It's obvious that something's pissing you off, but I just don't know what. I spoke to you on the phone, like, an hour ago, and you seemed fine then."
"That was before I came over here and saw that there's hardly anything left of my best friend," he told her, the words out of his mouth before he even knew it as he stopped moving and took a deep breath, trying to calm down as he put his hands on his hips in the hope of steadying himself. "That was before I found out that all of this stuff has been happening for the past few days, and no one even thought to mention it to me!"
"Xander..." she began again, but he wasn't ready to hear her explanations just yet.
"What, I wasn't important enough?" he asked of her. "I couldn't help, so I didn't need to know? Oh, but now you need to go and do more important stuff like saving the world, and you need some poor sap to watch over your friend, is that it?"
"That's not how it happened," Buffy tried to explain, stumbling over her words at his fury.
"Really?" he asked. "Well, tell me, Buff, what exactly was it?"
"Things were...they were really crazy..." she tried. "I mean...Willow was all upset about this Veruca chick, and—"
"Wait, Veruca?" he asked. "The band slut? The one from the Bronze? The one we saw?"
"Yeah," Buffy told him. "Will was kinda freaked because she thought that Oz was all attracted to her, and I tried to tell her that he wouldn't do that to her..."
Xander laughed, a harsh, bitter sound in the small hall. "Yeah, me, too," he said, shaking his head.
"Well," she continued. "It turns out that she was a werewolf...and Oz...well, he couldn't help himself. Will found them together in his cage, and she was devastated, Xander, she really was. But things got a little crazy," she explained. "I mean, Veruca came after her. She changed into her hairy self, and she was ready to tear Willow apart. Oz and I nearly didn't get there in time, but when we did...well, let's just say that Veruca isn't going to be needing anyone to poop-and-scoop after her on walkies. He ripped her throat out."
"And then he left?" Xander asked, taking breaths in and out, trying to satiate the need for air he suddenly had.
"Then he left," Buffy confirmed. "Will...she went over there to talk to him, but he was already packed. He'd already made his mind up. He said he needed to get away, to figure the wolf stuff out, what it means to him and to their relationship. He was afraid of hurting her, and I can't say that it's something that I haven't thought about myself, but this..."
Xander brought his hands to his face, covering and closing his eyes, hoping that somehow everything would go away, that this was just some dream that he could wake up from and forget and never think of again. His hands moved to his hair, running through it and feeling the damp from the rain earlier that night still permeating its density.
"I can't believe it..." he said, almost to himself. "I just..."
"Xander," she said softly, "it wasn't like we were keeping you out of this on purpose. It just...it didn't really occur to me to tell you."
"Gee, thanks," he said dryly. "That makes me feel so much better."
"I don't mean it like..." she shook her head. "I was just trying to keep Willow safe, okay?" she said.
"That's my job. One call, Buff," he told her quietly. "That's all it would have taken, and I'd have been over here like a shot."
"I know," she told him. "I just didn't think..."
"I know," he replied. "And that's what hurts the most. She's supposed to be my best friend."
"She is, Xander," Buffy told him. "She always will be."
"Is that why I'm the last to know?" he asked, frustration winning over his anger, curiosity piqued with a quiet desperation. "Because I know I've done some pretty crappy things in my life, especially when it comes to Willow... Is this me being punished or something?"
"No, of course not," she told him, taking a few steps towards him.
"Then why does it feel like you've both been pushing me out of your lives since I got back?" he asked, looking at her with tired and sad eyes. "I know that you guys think I'm a liability, especially in the face of danger, but it's like I don't even know you and Willow anymore. I was gone for three months, and I came back and it was like I'd just been at the grocery store. You have no idea how much I hate that feeling."
"You know where the grocery store is?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips that he couldn't help responding to with one of his own. "You're not a liability to anyone, Xander. Yeah, sometimes you do things without thinking, but I know you're only trying to protect the people important to you. And all that stuff at Graduation? You were Key Guy, remember? We couldn't have done any of that without you. And we haven't changed, okay? Our circumstances have, yeah, but not us. It sucks that things can't stay the same, but you're never going to be a second thought to us, especially not to Willow. You think we didn't miss you?"
"Well, yeah," he said, the way she had phrased the question making him think it was such a ludicrous thing to think.
Buffy nodded, old knowledge resurfacing. "More importantly, you think Willow didn't miss you?" she asked.
"It's the longest time we've ever been apart," he said. "Did you know that?"
"Yes," Buffy said with a smile. "Of course I know that. She told me that the first day you were gone. She talked about you everyday, Xander. She worried about you constantly. She wrote you letters that she never mailed because she didn't know where to send them. She wanted to talk to you on the phone every night before she went to sleep, because she'd never known a time when she didn't, but she couldn't because you didn't call her."
"I couldn't call her," he said, looking away before the look of pity in her eyes became too much for him, before his eyes filled with tears that he desperately didn't want to spill. "I couldn't call her because—"
"You shouldn't be telling this to me," she told him, closing the distance between them in a few short steps and placing her hand on his arm, an action that caused him to flinch momentarily, more because he hadn't been expecting it than anything else. "You need to tell her."
"I always thought," he began, "that if anything really bad ever happened to her, I'd know. That no one would need to tell me, because I'd just...feel it, inside. I thought that connection we had would last forever."
"It will," Buffy told him. "It's still there, Xan, it's just a little lost right now."
"You think?"
"You're here now, aren't you?" she asked.
He looked at her, feeling the last remnants of his anger towards her and her part in all of this dissipate in the air, but the sadness still remained, and he supposed that had more to do with the distraught girl on the other side of the door.
"You should have told me," he said, his voice low but calm.
"I know," she told him. "And I am truly sorry. If I could go back and change things, I would."
"I can't stand seeing her like this," Xander confessed, shaking his head. "I...I don't know what to do here."
"Well, from what I saw, you were doing just fine," Buffy said reassuringly. "That's the first time she's smiled since all of this began."
"Look, maybe I should just leave," he suggested, shoving his hands in his pants pockets nervously. "This has gotta be girlie territory here. I mean, I don't have any chocolate for a start..."
"She doesn't want me," Buffy told him. "She wants you here, which is why I'm going on a patrol, and then I'm gonna swing by and see Mom, stay the night at the house. I get the feeling she'll sleep better if you're here."
"Buff..." he said, looking from the Slayer to the door, staring at the wooden object, wishing he could see through it. "I don't think..."
"You can," she told him. "Go in there, and make her better."
"Gee, that tales the pressure right off," he said dryly.
"She needs you," Buffy said gently. "More than she realises right now."
He had been so busy trying out the Superman x-ray vision power he had wished he had ever since he was nine, trying to see through the door of the dorm room, that he was taken aback when he felt Buffy's arms around him, hugging him in that not-so-gentle-doesn't-know-her-own-strength kind of way. He responded in kind, taking the moment to try and instil some of that confidence she'd shown into himself, not that it worked at all, but he gave himself points for trying, anyway.
"Okay," she said all too soon, breaking his concentration and the hug abruptly, "I have to go."
"Sure you don't wanna stay?" he asked hopefully.
"Sorry," she told him, not at all meaning it. "I have to go and kill stuff."
He smiled at her as she disengaged herself from his arms, taking the hint that he was supposed to go back into the dorm room now. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but he just felt a sudden panic that once he got in there, she'd cry or scream or something, and he wouldn't know how the hell to stop it, and that he'd fail in his best friend duties, just like he felt he'd failed in every other aspect of his life.
He reached the door, handle on the door knob, taking a deep breath in and risking a guilty look back at Buffy. "About what I said before..." he started.
"Forget it," she told him, starting down the hall, moving backwards as she spoke. "You were right. We should have told you before."
"Thanks," he said with a nod, meaning it. For all that he'd been avoiding thinking about the issues that had made themselves apparent tonight, he was glad that he was able to address them, even if it hadn't been in the best way. She hadn't allayed his fears, not by a long way, but he kind of understood a little more than he did before, and he could accept it, even if it bit a pretty big one.
Now all there was to do was deal with the girl inside.
Any chance of a portal opening up anywhere and swallowing him into another dimension?
No, he didn't think so.
His hand closed tightly around the doorknob and, telling himself to stop being such a plank, he turned it slowly, letting himself back into the room. Somehow, the sight of her on the bed, huddled and hugging herself, was worse the second time around, although he couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because, when he'd first arrived, he didn't really have time to think about it. He'd just rushed over to her, wanting to make her feel better, plus Buffy had been around, and Buffy would never witness him cry, something he'd vowed the day they met her. There were a few times when he hadn't been able to stop tears from coming to his eyes, but seeing him actually cry? Not a chance.
His breath hitched in his throat heavily, and for a second he just stood there and looked at her. Buffy had said that they hadn't changed, that it was just their circumstances...but he didn't believe that. He couldn't believe that now.
He crossed over to Buffy's bed, sitting on the edge carefully, not getting too comfortable there in case it caused the springs underneath to squeak, and thus risking waking the girl across the room. For the first time, he felt cold, inside and out. He suppressed a shiver that was working its way through his body, using his hands to rub his arms, trying to work up enough friction to warm himself.
That was about the time he felt the guilt kick him in the stomach like a size thirteen boot to the gut. It was just coincidence that was his father's shoe size, really, and that he remembered exactly how a size thirteen boot feels when it's aimed at your body with the force of a man who hasn't done a days exercise since he was in his twenties.
He had felt such absolute bitterness at Buffy on the way over here, and when he'd seen her when he first arrived that he couldn't think objectively. He did still pin some of the blame on her for his non-involvement, but he held himself responsible, too. Willow had come to him a few days ago and told him her fears, and he'd insisted that it simply wouldn't happen. He'd tried calling her a couple of times later that day, but when he got the machine he hadn't bothered to leave a message. God, he hated those things. He always ended up saying 'um' and 'yeah' too many times in the message, and never knew how to end it, and then Willow would keep the tapes and use them as a bribery tool, threatening to play them when he wouldn't hand over his fries. He always gave her what she wanted, although later he'd never figure out why. Who was she going to play them to? Buffy and Giles had already heard his lame messages, so who else was there? Somehow, he didn't think the demons in Willies Bar would be all that interested. But sharing food with Willow and pretending to be annoyed about it was normal, it was a routine, one of the few that they'd been able to keep up.
The anger had tasted like poison to him. He hated anger, especially his own, especially towards his friends. When they had all been going through the stuff with Angelus and Angel's return from hell, he'd been angry, but that seemed like walk in the park compared to how he'd felt tonight, but Willow had been around to make him see things objectively back then. He guessed the bitterness he was feeling was just because of Willow, because of the urge he'd had to protect and be there for her since they'd met. He was glad things were somewhat resolved with Buffy about this whole mess, though. There was no point being angry about it anymore, it wasn't going to change anything, and Buffy hadn't done anything intentionally. He had made his feelings more than crystal clear to her, probably not in the most mature way, but she knew who she was dealing with so she wouldn't have been expecting too much on that score.
No, the real guilt he was feeling was towards his best friend, who was lying across the room from him, making the sweetest sleep noises he'd ever heard. And that's why he felt guilty, because he kept thinking things like that. Sweet, and adorable, and all those other amazing things about her that had gone through his mind in the short time that he'd been here. He was supposed to have come here and left his feelings outside of the door, checking them in with the girl at the cloakroom, collecting them on the way out.
He felt guilty because there had been a trace of something that made his heart skip a beat when he'd found out that Oz was gone, when she'd recognised his touch without opening her eyes, when she'd been glad that he was there and that she'd wanted him to stay with her.
That was when the gentle rustling of the sheets moving beneath her as she stirred jarred him from his thoughts, and he watched her open her heavy, tired eyes with such effort that he wished he could do it for her. She seemed disorientated for a few moments when she saw him, like she couldn't remember why he was there, but then she smiled at him, small and weary, but it was still a smile, so that was okay.
"You're still here?" she asked drowsily.
"I said I would be, didn't I?" he countered softly.
A breath of a laugh escaped her mouth, and for a minute he thought she was going to close her eyes and go back to sleep, but instead she fixed him with her green eyes, and the shiver that he'd barely managed to ward off a little earlier came back and brought friends.
"I thought I'd dreamt that," she told him.
"So, you dream about me, huh?" he joked, even though the reply was something he was waiting for with bated breath.
She didn't answer, but then, he'd kind of expected it.
"Where's Buffy?" she asked, changing the subject, consciously or subconsciously, he wasn't quite sure.
"She's on patrol," he informed her, disappointment a hard pill to swallow that she hadn't meant it earlier when she'd wanted him there. "If you want her here I can try and get a hold of Giles, find out where she is."
"No," she said, shaking her head gently, a strange-looking action when she still had her head on the pillow. "I just want you here."
"You sure?" he asked, a smile behind his words that was as much about her reply as it was about trying to cheer her up. "Because I'm not good with the man-dissing," he told her. "I'm kinda biased, what with being part of the gender and all."
"Maybe you should ask Anya for some pointers," she said, and he swore there was a touch of sarcasm in her voice, or even bitterness, but it was hard to tell when she was still sounding kinda sleepy.
Oh, and there was another pang of guilt that hit him. Anya. He'd just left her in his basement paradise without a word of explanation. Oh, well, he resolved, he'd have to talk to her tomorrow or something. What he was going to say exactly, he hadn't quite figured out, but he was hoping that he'd have a sudden blinding flash of inspiration before he saw her. There was the option of telling the truth, but he wasn't actively looking to piss off a former vengeance demon with strong ties in the non-human community.
"You can leave if you want to," she said suddenly, and he wondered if that was her way of telling him to go without actually using the words in case she offended him. One look at her, though, and he knew that wasn't what was happening.
"I don't want to," he told her, standing from Buffy's bed and crossing over to the smallest refrigerator he had ever seen, opening it and seeking out refreshment, trying to be normal Xander as much as possible instead of this nervous version that was clumsily trying to comfort his best friend.
"You don't really have much in here, Will," he said, turning to look at her. "There's milk, and..." he sniffed at a carton that sat on one of the shelves. "...and I think this is some kind of cheese that used to be milk."
"Sorry," she told him. "We haven't really had much chance to get any groceries."
"It's okay," he said. "I can make a run to the store now for you, if you like," he offered.
"You know where the grocery store is?" she asked, a hint of a smile on her face.
"Why does everyone keep saying that?" he asked her, rolling his eyes.
"I'm kidding, Xand," she said softly. "I know you know where the grocery store is. Where else would you get your prolific stash of candy from?"
"Exactly," he said. "So, you want me to...?" he trailed off when her eyes seemed to widen in what looked like fear.
"No," she told him quickly, sitting up and shaking her head. "I want you to stay here."
"Okay," he told her, taking out a bottle of water from the refrigerator and taking it over to her nightstand, pouring a little into the glass that sat there. He handed her the glass, which she took gratefully, sipping from it slowly while he took a drink from the bottle itself.
"You know," he said, sitting on the bed next to her, feeling the dip of the mattress underneath him, "you really should eat something."
"Yes, Mom," she said, her turn to roll her eyes now as she nudged his arm lightly with her own. "Buffy made me a sandwich earlier. I'm not hungry."
"I don't suppose there's any leftovers, is there?"
"I think there's some peanut butter in there somewhere," she said. "I could make you a sandwich, if you want."
"I was kidding, Will," he told her, but she was nearly off the bed before Xander could grab hold of her wrist and pull her back down gently. "I'm not hungry."
"Wow," she said, impressed. "There really is a first time for everything."
It was then, as they both laughed softly, that he realised he was still holding her wrist in his hand, not with any tight grip, but just enough that he could feel her skin goose bump under his fingers.
"You're cold," he said, moving his hand into hers and covering it with his other one, rubbing gently.
"A little," she said with a shrug.
He let go of her hand and stood up again, taking the glass from her that she still held and placed back on the nightstand with the bottle he had been drinking from. He pulled back a small corner of the comforter she was lying on and gestured for her to move a little. When she shuffled a few inches to the other side, he pulled it back fully, revealing white sheets underneath.
"Get in," he told her. "You need to get warmed up."
"I'm okay," she argued lightly. "I'll just put a sweater on or something."
"Yes, but that would involve me having to go through the closet to find one, and Buffy nearly used her battleaxe on me the last time I did that. Plus, you know fashion isn't exactly my strong point," he indicated to his own outfit to illustrate his point.
She conceded when he pulled the comforter farther back, and she clambered in as instructed. "I like your taste in clothes," she told him.
"Yeah, well, it always has been you and me against the rest of the world," he said.
"It was better that way," she told him as he pulled the comforter over her, and he got the feeling she was talking about more than clothing here.
"Maybe," was all he said back. "You should go back to sleep."
"Again?" she asked, that whining tone in her voice that he remembered from their childhood, the one she used on her parents whenever she wanted new computer equipment.
"You've had a rough few days," he reminded her, then mentally kicked himself. Duh! She didn't need a reminder.
"Yeah, well, I'm not ready to go back to sleep," she pouted. "Can we just talk for a little while?"
"Of course we can," he told her, turning to go back over to the other side of the room, her hand catching his at the last minute, pulling him back.
"Do I smell?" she asked.
"Well, I didn't want to say anything..." he said with a grin.
Her hand tightened around his, and another party of shivers ran down his spine. "Hey, you're cold, too," she said.
"I'm okay," he told her, lying through his teeth as he gazed longingly across the room at his jacket that sat on the chair a few feet away.
She shuffled across her bed, pulling the comforter back from her and making her intentions clear. "Get in," she instructed.
"No, really," he told her, trying to pull his hand from hers with little luck. She may have looked weak and fragile, but there were already red fingerprint marks on his skin where she was gripping him. "I'm okay. I'll just...I don't know, get in Buffy's bed or something."
"Yeah, but if you get in my bed, we can keep each other warm," she told him, and he had to suppress the urge to giggle like a little girl, realising it wasn't exactly the most effective way of convincing her that he was up to the task of taking care of her.
Willow reddened immediately as she realised what she had said. "Oh!" she said suddenly. "I didn't mean in that way!"
"Relax, Will," he said, blushing with the many mental images running through his head. "I know what you meant."
"Well, then, hurry up," she told him. "I'm not getting any warmer here."
"Are you sure this is okay?" he asked. "I mean, the last time you and I were on a bed together..." he trailed off when he looked at her, and the fresh tears brimming in her eyes. "Never mind."
"It's okay," she told him. "I mean, it's not like there's a chance of Oz and Cordelia walking in on us."
Her tone was bitter, and he wasn't used to that in Willow, but then he figured that Oz had a lot to be responsible for. Right now, in this moment, he was torn between holding her and tracking the bastard down and kicking seven shades of Sunnydale out of his ass. It was never really a decision he was going to make, because when it came down to a choice between Willow and something else, it's always going to be Willow, especially when she's upset and hurting. Tomorrow might be another story, though.
He kicked off his sneakers, gently lowering himself into a sitting position next to her in the bed, pulling his legs up and allowing her to throw the comforter over them. It was Willow who pulled his arm behind her neck, making sure she could rest her head on his shoulder, one arm tucked underneath her and the other one lying across his chest, making him tense up, afraid to move a single inch. Not that he was arguing, though. In fact, he was quite comfortable like that, and that was the thing that made him tense. More than comfortable, even. It felt...
No, that's where that thought had to end.
He relaxed when he heard her sigh, letting his arm tighten around her, pulling her a little closer to him, enjoying the feel of her next to him so much that, if he closed his eyes, he could imagine...
It was then that he heard a tiny sniffle coming from her, and he thought that maybe it was a remote possibility that she was catching a cold or something. When the tear fell from her eyes onto his skin, there was no mistaking the fact that she was crying. He closed his eyes, cursing the tears that were coming to him, cursing himself for not being stronger for her when she needed him the most.
She used her hand to wipe at her eyes, and he got the feeling she was hoping that maybe he hadn't noticed, but he distinguished that hope when he reached for the box of tissues Buffy had thoughtfully placed on the nightstand and handed the box to her. She pulled one out, bringing it quickly to her face, rubbing at her already-red eyes with the tissue.
He used his hand to smooth over her hair, placing his chin on the crown of her head, shushing noises coming from him, words barely audible making their way out of his mouth that were there before he knew it.
"You'll be okay, Will," he murmured to her, wishing he knew for certain that she would be, wishing for once that he had the power to tell the future. There was nothing he wanted more than to tell her that she'd get over this, that she'd find someone else in time, that they'd be special and amazing, just like her, and that she'd live happily ever after with them. What he didn't want to tell her was that he wished that person was him.
"I won't..." she said in a broken voice that was scratchy from crying, looking up at him with green eyes shining with tears. "I'm not..."
"You're not what?" he asked softly.
"What if...without him...what if I'm no one again?"
Wow, so that's how it feels to have your heart broken, was all he could think.
"What do you mean?" he asked her, wiping away her tears with his thumb that suddenly seemed too big and clumsy. "You've never been no one."
"You're my best friend," she told him indignantly. "You have to say that."
"No, I don't," he insisted seriously. "I'm being serious here, Willow, which doesn't happen that often, so make the most of it, okay?" he said, taking a deep breath. "I don't know what I ever did to make you think that you were no one."
"You didn't do anything," Willow said. "It was just...he made me feel special, Xander. I'd wake up in the morning and I'd feel like the ugliest person in the world, but then I'd see him, and he'd look at me...and I'd feel beautiful..."
"You are beautiful," he said. "You always have been. I'm sorry that you never knew I felt like that."
"I just want..." she said as more tears fell from her eyes that he couldn't help but catch with his thumb. "I just want the world...to stop..." she told him. "I...I feel like my life is over..."
"It's not, sweetie," he told her. "It's only just beginning. You have school, you have your witchcraft stuff...and I know it's not much...but you have me..."
"You're such an idiot," she laughed, a snort that would have sounded horrific if it had come from anyone else escaping her.
"Yeah, I know," he said, happy that at least one good thing came out of his seriousness.
"No," she said, twisting and shuffling herself up so she could sit and look at him, leaving his arm dangling with nothing to do at his side. "Xander...your friendship...that means the world to me. It always has."
"Really?" he asked, his breath catching in his throat.
"You don't think so?" she replied, surprised.
"Well, things have changed between us, Willow," he pointed out, trying to be diplomatic.
"I know," she said, lowering her head so she didn't have to make eye contact. "But they kind of had to," she told him. "And that didn't make it better when you went away for three months and left me wondering where you were every night."
"I sent you postcards," he countered. "I called...sometimes."
"Sometimes wasn't enough," she told him, looking and sounding hurt. "Fifteen years, Xander!" she yelled suddenly. "Fifteen years, and then you're gone, and I have no one to talk to about my day before I go to sleep. I have no one to watch cartoons with. I have no one to have ice cream fights with when my parents are away visiting relatives."
"In my defence," he said with a grin, "we only did that once."
"Once was enough," she said. "We still have the stains on the ceiling from the last time."
"Look..." he said slowly, "I'm sorry if you thought I was being a bad friend...but I honestly didn't think you'd have time for me."
"What made you think that?"
"When I was around, we hardly spent any time together after..." he trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air. "You were with Oz all the time, and I understood that, but I couldn't just hang around and wait for you to have a spare five minutes that you might want to spend with me. I had to get away from this place for a while, I had to see if I could be myself without you around to hold my hand – figuratively speaking, of course, because there was that 'no-touching' thing."
"Xander..."
"Look, I'm not saying any of this because..." he stopped, afraid what would happen if he went on. "I don't know why I'm saying this."
"Because I brought it up," she said for him, not looking at him. "And I do understand. I really do get it, but not seeing you, not being around you...it was hard. I just wanted you to know that."
"It was hard for me, too," he informed her. "But you had Oz..." he regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, and he wished he could stuff them back in when she started crying again.
"Not anymore," she said quietly, tears starting slowly at first, one trailing down her cheek, hardly noticeable when she quickly wiped it away. It was when more came, when her face crumpled and she brought her hands in front of her face to stop him from seeing her that he realised she was sobbing.
He wrapped his arms around her, forcing her to move her arms around him or risk suffocation. He rocked her gently as she struggled to breath between the tears, and he felt one or two slide down his cheek from his own eyes because of it. Again, he felt the warmth of her tears on his skin, through his tank top, and he mentally made a note to buy a new one because this one was going either going in the bin, or going in his box of things to never be thrown away, despite the snot she'd accidentally wiped on it earlier.
He had heard on some sappy TV soap Joyce was watching one day when he was at Buffy's a couple of years ago, that if you're with the right person, it can feel like time stops, like you're the only people in the world, regardless of where you are. He didn't buy it at the time, had told Buffy that at the time, because while he was still lusting after her in a major way back then, he just didn't think it was possible. Willow had backed him up on it, telling them that, theoretically, it wasn't logical. There were rules to time and space, and none of them allowed for disgustingly romantic (his words, not hers) moments like that, otherwise the world would never turn and nothing would ever get done.
It seemed ironic that, just a short while later, it was when Willow was in his arms that he felt it happen to him. It was everything they'd made it out to be on TV, and more. It wasn't just when they were making out, either – although that had been mind-blowing, too. It was also when they found themselves sitting next to each other in Study Hall, or in Chemistry class, or in the Bronze on the busiest night of the week. It was also happening to him now. He wondered if she felt it, too. If she'd ever felt it at all with him, or if it was just Oz that those moments were reserved for.
It sounded like she had stopped sobbing now, there was just the odd hitch of her throat as she tried to make up the breathing she had missed while she had been in tears. He felt her weight shift away from him, and he realised that somewhere in his thoughts he had closed his eyes. Opening them quickly, he saw her sitting next to him, but facing him, and now her eyes were all puffy to go along with the redness, and he was willing to bet that they'd be sore in the morning. He'd have to remember to buy eye drops at the store tomorrow, or steal them from Giles at least. It wasn't like he'd miss them, he had, like, a hundred bottles of the stuff in his bathroom cabinet.
"I'm sorry," she said hurriedly, rubbing at her nose with a piece of already-wet tissue, making him reach over for the box that had fallen from the bed onto the floor when he had moved to hug her. He handed her a clean one, taking the used one from her and throwing in the waste paper basket next to the bed, impressing even himself when he wasn't grossed out by it.
"Don't be silly," he told her sincerely. "You don't have to be sorry with me."
"I know..." she said, her voice shaking. "I just...I don't understand..."
Her eyes filled again, and for a second he was going to take her into his arms, ready to repeat the process as many times as she needed.
"Will..." he started.
"No, I'm okay," she insisted, blowing her nose with a loud noise that made them both laugh. "I'm not going to cry anymore...at least not tonight."
"God, Will..." he breathed softly, his hand reaching out and stroking along her cheek. "I'm so sorry..."
"Don't be," she whispered. "I'll get over it. Not sure exactly when...but I will."
"No," he told her, shaking his head, his voice soft but firm. "This...this is all my fault."
"You didn't make him a werewolf," Willow told him, reaching out and taking his free hand with hers. "You didn't make him...sleep with someone else..." she said, the words hard to say because of the memories and images that seemed to accompany them.
"I just..." he said, searching the best words to use, but deciding that there really weren't any. "I let you go back to him..."
Okay, that was exactly what he wasn't supposed to say. Well done, Xander. Good job!
"What do you mean?" she asked, her grip releasing somewhat on his hand, making him look into her confused green eyes.
"I didn't fight for you," he told her, knowing that he really should have shut up a couple sentences ago, but getting his mouth to oblige was proving to be a difficult task. This was everything he was supposed to never think about, never bring up, never tell her, and here the words were, spilling out of his mouth.
"Xander, what...?"
"Last year," he explained, and by the way she lowered her head, tearing her eyes away from his, he knew he really didn't have to elaborate on what exactly he was talking about, because she already knew, was thinking about it right now if the blush creeping up her neck to her face was anything to judge by. "When we had our little...whatever it was..."
"Fluke," she said, so quietly he wasn't quite sure if she had actually said the word out loud or if he was just imagining it.
He nodded anyway. "Yeah..." he continued. "I didn't..." Nothing else seemed to come after, even though his mind was racing with the things he wanted to say to her, things he vowed he never would but right now had to.
"What?" she asked, finally looking up at him as he ran his hands through his hair, pushing it out of his face.
"Those few times when we were together..." he told her, ready to spill his soul. "They were...they were the most amazing moments of my life, Willow. They were everything that I had heard about being with someone special, and more. What I felt with you...I had never felt anything like it before...and I never have since. I..."
"Don't say it," she whispered, refusing to look at him. "Please...don't..."
"I have to," he told her, placing a finger under her chin and lifting her face to look at him. "I was in love with you, Willow."
It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to deal with, but the words were the easiest thing he'd ever said. Was that a good or a bad thing?
"You never told me," Willow said, surprising him by sounding more together than he expected her to be when he'd just dropped a bombshell on her. "But I knew..."
"You did?" he asked.
"Of course I did," she said, making it sound like the most obvious thing in the world. "I just couldn't believe it unless I heard it from you...which I never did."
"I know," he said shamefully.
"Why?" she asked him, and when he looked at her, her eyes were narrowed in anger. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"I...I couldn't," he told her, knowing that as lame excuses went, this was way up there with the best of them. "I couldn't risk it."
"Couldn't risk what?" she asked, her voice rising. "That I wouldn't feel the same way?"
"No," he told her sadly. "It was because I knew that you did."
"What?" she asked, shaking her head. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"I know how you felt about me, Willow," he said honestly. "I always had sort of an idea, but not until..." he trailed off, not quite feeling that confessional tonight. "Look, I just knew, okay?" he said, waiting for her to nod before he went on. "But I also knew how you felt about Oz..."
"That wasn't the same!" she yelled at him. "I didn't love him like I love...like the way I felt about you."
"I know," he told her. "But I saw the look on your face when Oz walked in on us that night."
"I never wanted to hurt him," she explained. "You grew up with me. I cried when I killed the neighbour's flowers. I hurt someone else that badly, of course I'm gonna feel guilty."
"It wasn't just guilt, Will," he said. "I wished it was...but you were ashamed of what we did."
"So were you," she countered.
"No, I wasn't," he told her. "I felt extra scum-worthy because of what happened to Cordelia...but I never once regretted what happened with us."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
"Because...if I had, what would have happened, Will?"
"I don't know..." she whispered.
"Yeah, you do," he said. "You know you do."
"Okay, fine!" she said loudly. "We probably would have...would have been together. Is that what you wanted me to say? Are you happy now?"
"No, I'm not happy," he told her, shaking his head. "You don't get it, do you?" he asked.
"I'm not really sure what there is to get!"
"If we had been together...I would have hurt you," he said softly.
"Yeah, because that didn't happen anyway," she said bitterly.
"It would have been worse, okay?" he said. "If I had hurt you...that would have been it for our friendship, and you know how much that means to me. You know how things are at home for me, how they've always been. You were my safety net. You were the one thing that no one could ever take away from me. There was no way I could risk losing that."
"So you were so afraid of losing something that you didn't even try to have it in the first place?"
"Pretty much."
"You're weird."
"It's a popular theory."
"So," she said thoughtfully. "That's why you encouraged me to get back together with Oz?" she asked.
He nodded slowly. "Yes," he told her. "That's why I never told you how I felt about you," he said. "It's why I did everything I could to be just your friend. I thought that Oz...I thought that he'd be everything I couldn't."
"And you never thought to give me the choice?"
"You had the choice, Will," he pointed out. "I may not have given you all of the information, but you decided. You never told me you had feelings for me."
"You just said you already knew!"
"That's not the point," he argued. "No one forced you to go back to him. You did it because you felt something for him."
He leant forward as she tried to avert her gaze from his, putting a hand on either side of her face and forcing her to look at him, and feeling for the first time the way her breathing became shallow and erratic. "And I let you do it because...because he was the one who'd never hurt you. He was the one who would never break your heart. He'd take care of you, and protect you, and love you like you were the only thing in the world."
She closed her eyes, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks, her hands moving to his shoulders unconsciously.
"I swear to God..." he told her, his voice filling with emotion. "I swear that I never saw this coming. I thought...I thought that you'd be safe with him. And you will never, ever know just how sorry—"
Without warning, her face rushed into his, her lips on his for the briefest of moments, quick and hard and passionate. He blinked hard as he tried to figure out if it had really happened, or if he had fallen asleep and this was one of those dreams again.
He leaned forward, his forehead on hers, clammy and cold at the same time, his arms somehow finding themselves around her body while hers still rested on his shoulders, her eyes closed with tear stains down her cheeks.
"Do you still love me?" she asked him, her voice barely above a whisper.
He wanted to say something totally romantic, something she'd remember for the rest of her life and think back on and say it was one of the classic Xander Harris quotes, something they'd use in movies in years to come. Instead...
"Uh-huh..." was his response, which he then clarified with a, "Yes."
"I love you, too," she whispered. "But I can't do this right now..."
"It's okay," he told her, and he really meant it, because she loved him, and even though things were really bad right now, there was still a shimmer of something in the future, some sliver of hope, however tiny and dangerous.
"I'm just..." she breathed. "I'm really, really tired."
"You should get some more sleep," he said, gently manoeuvring her body down onto the bed, laying her head on the pillow and kissing her hair softly.
He made sure she was covered with the comforter before he started to move away, content that she would get at least a few hours of rest, even if he wouldn't. There was too much going on up in his head for him to even contemplate sleep, which, behold the miracle. But he would sit and watch her, and he would hope to God that things were going to be okay between them, that he didn't just screw everything up by telling her the things he usually only contemplated in the middle of the night.
"Where are you going?" she asked him, using that small, little girl voice she had when she was tired.
"I was just gonna sit over here and let you get some rest," he told her. "Make sure those nasty bed bugs don't bite."
"Could you..." she didn't finish the sentence, she just pulled the comforter back and moved to make way for another person in the single bed. "Please?" she asked.
Knowing that he'd never been able to refuse her anything, he climbed back into the bed beside her, moving his arm around her to rest in the small of her back as they lay together, her head on his chest.
He reached up and turned off the lamp on the nightstand, finally believing that all was right in the world. Well, not quite right, because she was still hurting and in pain, and there still wasn't anything resolved between them...so maybe they were just back where they had started from, but it didn't quite feel as bad.
"Xander?" she said quietly.
"Yeah?" he replied.
"Thanks for coming over tonight," she told him.
"You're welcome," he said, turning his head in the dark room, finding her forehead through her hair and kissing it softly, something that felt safe and comfortable to him now, something that he'd want to do every time he saw her from now on.
He didn't sleep that night, which was hardly a shocker for him. He stayed awake until the sun came up, watching her, thankful for the event that had brought him closer to her, even though it was something he'd never admit to anyone, even if he was hung up and tortured with Celine Dion music. It was a guilty pleasure to enjoy, feeling her next to him, hearing her breathing pattern and the soft sounds she made when she moved, the scent of her sticking to him so that he was sure he'd be able to smell her forevermore, but the guilt wasn't enough to make him stop because he didn't know when or if this would ever happen again.
He wouldn't move from her side until she told him to, until she was sick of the sight of him. He would stay and he would watch her sleep, and then he would switch the TV on and he'd watch cartoons with her, hoping that for even a second her mind would wander from what Oz had done to her. He would pretend that they were thirteen again, and that nothing else mattered but the here and now, and he'd enjoy every second of his time with her until Buffy came back and the spell would be broken and the rest of the world would come crashing back around them. Then he'd go back home, shower and change and then he'd back again.
He knew that, no matter what, he'd always be her side, and while that may not be enough in the future when she smiles at him in that adorable way she had where the tip of her tongue poked out from between her teeth, or when she looked at him with wide, green eyes that were full of so much knowledge and laughter...it was enough for now, and that was all that mattered.
Because if she needed him to be there so that he could remind her what an utterly unbelievable person she was...he'd be there.
If she wanted to cry, and scream, and shout, and blame someone...he'd be there.
If she needed someone to hold her, and lie next to her when she couldn't sleep at night because the ache in her chest hurts too much...he'd be there.
And when and if she ever decided that she was ready something else...something with someone with dark brown hair, and dark brown eyes, and a penchant for humour at inappropriate times that deflected attention from other areas of his life, and who lived in his parents basement...he'd be there.
The End
A/N: I've been asked if I'd consider writing a sequel to this at some point, but I need encouragement, people! I'm having problems pinpointing how and when and why to do it, but if anyone would like to see it, let me know, and I'll give my brain a kick in the butt. Or a can of Red Bull - apparently it gives you wings. Funny, it only gives me a hangover when I drink it with vodka and makes me look like crap when I have to meet people Nicholas Brendon, Tom Lenk, Danny Strong and Adam Busch at conventions.