(S1, "The Harvest")

ticonderoga no. 2

Xander rolls a pencil along the top of the desk as Ms. Bossman calls attendance. It's the six-sided kind, not the round, so it makes a soft clicking noise. Schoolbus yellow -- is that on purpose, he wonders, or just coincidence -- except where the paint is flaking around the teeth marks. He's a biter.

"Jesse?"

It's the second time she's called his name.

"He's not coming back," Xander says. He stares at his hand, the pencil bumping along underneath.

"Oh," she says softly. "Thank you, Xander." She asks no questions.

They never do.

He can't believe he's never noticed that before.

(S1, "The Pack")

after the bronze

His head swims with dizzying smells. Sweat. Musk. Others -- smoke, stale beer -- irritate, but they draw out the good scents, the ones people usually scrub away.

He hunts alone for a while but returns, disappointed, to the den.

Lingering smell of roasted flesh. He crouches in pale light, tearing at a cold chicken carcass. A shuffling makes him look up.

The female. She's pack, but not the pack he hunts with. "Xander, what in god's name?" His gaze makes her step back. "Are you on drugs?"

Quick, shallow breaths. Reek of fear. He stands, smiles.

"I won't tell your father."

Cleveland

dueling hellmouths

"Bullshit! Bullshit! It's Cleveland."

"You're full of crap, mister. Sunnydale, hands down."

He and Willow are at Pat's, overdoing rum and barbecue. One of his better nights, but it's probably the rum.

"Lake Erie. C'mon. Way eviler than Sunnydale."

"After three weeks you can tell?"

"Day, night -- you never see anyone on the streets. Except at the Hall or the Jake. Not even pre-Buffy Sunnydale was that dead."

"Bad urban planning."

"How's this? I bought a sandwich yesterday. It came with coleslaw and fries."

"So?"

"In. Side."

She's cracking. "Inside?"

"Words are inadequate to express the wrongness."

"Cleveland it is."

(S2, "When She Was Bad")

friday night at the bronze

Spring: I just don't think of you that way.

Fall: Here she is, pulling him onto the dance floor. Here she is, all over him.

Here it is, stupid little flicker of hope.

They studied that poem in English today: "the thing with feathers." He doesn't get it. Doesn't get Emily.

Definitely doesn't get Buffy. She glides in close, her butt to his groin, switches her hips. Yeah, the Just Friends dance.

He lets her wrap his arms around her waist, follows her line of sight. Angel. He'd never have guessed.

Feathers -- makes perfect sense. He watches it fly away.

(S2, "What's My Line?")

library

Giles is in information mode. Demon assassins, yadda yadda.

Xander's in smartass mode. "Bowling is a vicious game--"

Giles lashes out: "That's enough, Xander!"

He looks down. Blinks. Familiar rush of adrenaline that makes it hard to sit still, but he'd better, if he knows what's good for him.

It's not that he never expected this. He always has. Everything he knows about adults settles back into its normal pattern. The other shoe has finally dropped.

In some strange way, now he can relax.

"I'm sorry, but this is no time for jokes."

Sorry. This part, this is something new.

(Late S2)

say it with flowers

Xander feels like a dork as the florist lasers her attention on him. He glances around wildly for inspiration. Points at a bucket of blooms like neon-pink daisies on steroids. "Could I, um, buy just one?"

"We're having a special on roses--"

"No, I really can't."

"--one rose for the price of one gerbera."

He hesitates.

"Manager's special for guys under twenty. To encourage the flower habit." She smiles. "She's a lucky girl."

The lucky girl makes no response when Xander lays the rose on manicured grass. He feels like he should say something, but what?

"Goodbye, Ms. Calendar."

Cleveland

buds

Sometimes he still dreams about Jesse.

Doing kid stuff like riding their bikes to the reservoir, pitching rocks at the windows of that old factory.

Talking about girls. Bullshitting, arguing over who'd wind up with Amy Yip.

Mostly he dreams about that night at the Bronze. Jesse's smile -- not the wide-open goofball grin Xander knew, but something dark and superior and unknowable.

About half the time the stake falls from nerveless fingers and then there's a bloom of pain that gives way to a wild endorphin rush. New penny-bright smell of copper.

This is what he's been so afraid of?

(S3, "Lovers Walk")

waiting room

Funny how it feels like Xander's the one who's been run through.

Cordy's still in surgery and he's out here, arms curled around the hole in his own gut.

Magazines scattered around him full of gossip and hype about pretty people with bored faces and smooth skin -- they do injections now, you can't look angry if you try.

She hadn't had time for anger. Just shock. Shattered trust. Hurt. He made that look happen on her face, and he'll never forget it.

Still blood in his hair, but he won't let them touch him.

He'd trade his life for hers.

(S3, "The Wish" -- prequel)

leather

Scratching at Xander's window. Only the deeply crazy would be out now.

It's Willow. She wasn't in school today.

He raises the sash. "Will, you should get inside. Come around--"

Then she's climbing in. Wearing--

He's sure he's fantasized about that leather gear. And Willow -- he's had thoughts. But he's never put them together.

"Come outside and play, Xander."

"Will, it's dangerous out there."

"It's dangerous in here." Her face -- Jesus.

His heart sinks. First Jesse disappears months back. Now this.

Alone.

She whispers promises, the fangs making her lisp. She lowers her mouth to his neck.

He lets her.

(S3, "Amends")

christmas, '99

Xander gives up on the turkey sandwich. Dry. He'd heard plenty about that from inside. The appetizer argument. It broadened from there, moving from raised voices to noises. Breakage.

Don't think about it.

He wonders what Faith's doing. He should've asked her -- to what? Bring over her sleeping bag? Join the donnybrook?

He's been thinking about her a lot. Not just in those CleavageMaster bustier things. Some, yeah -- hell, he's seventeen. But at homecoming, too. She'd looked nice. "Nice." Christ.

He's not a guy she'll notice.

Hold court in front of him, sure. But not really see. He knows that.

(S3, "The Zeppo")

up with people

Wow.

I mean, huh. Wow.

That wasn't quite -- no, that wasn't at all what he'd expected.

His first time.

Weird and strangely impersonal and wham-bam-thank-you-Xan.

Yet: not unhot.

Freezing. He snaps out of the sex-fog and he's standing outside in his boxers, clutching his clothes to his chest.

He hurriedly dresses, hoping no one's looking. Though from the looks of this joint, he wouldn't be the first.

One of his socks: gone. He glances at Faith's door, immediately rejects that idea, crams feet into shoes.

He feels subtly unbalanced -- it matches how he feels inside.

(S3, "Consequences")

aftermath

He makes it to Giles's place, stammers a halting explanation, then locks himself in the bathroom. Giles puts on water to boil -- too fucking funny for words. Tea, the English cure-all.

He avoids looking in the mirror -- he already knows what he'd see.

Eyes like bruises, but dry. (Crying is for pussies, Tony taught him that.)

Real bruises ringing his neck.

His hands shake violently -- everything does.

Xander sits on the toilet lid and closes his eyes. Flashes on the darkness that swallowed his vision, inviting and erotically charged. Wonders how you get back there.

He jackknifes forward and vomits.

Cleveland

waiting room: ocularist

He's filled out the medical history and insurance. Here's a question that surprises him.

Hobbies:

Watching dumbass action films, Hindi musicals (historical), Trek and Xena reruns.
Drive-in movies (esp. sneaking in).
Comic book geekdom.
Graveyard lurking.
Whistling in dark.
Disaster, joking in face of.
Killing evil undead. Esp. crossbow. [Definitely a two-eyed thing.]
Demon dating.
Vampire (chipped) baiting.
Watcher annoying.
Fixing broken stuff around house.
Semi-public sex with ex-fiancee (bef. and aft. breakup).
Missing dead ex-fiancee (bef. and aft. death).
Remembering to breathe when sad.
Pretending to be okay in groups.

He taps the pen on the clipboard. Writes: bowling.

(S3, "Consequences")

aftermath II

Angel is the last person he wants to see right now.

Running a close second: everyone else on the planet.

The post-cluster-fuck debriefing has broken up. Xander wishes everyone would clear out so he can fade into the stacks before Giles emerges from his office. He can sleep in the library. He's definitely not going home like this. He tries to look casual sprawled in his chair, but his leg jitters convulsively.

"I admire what you did," Angel says quietly. "It was the right impulse. Faith's just too far gone--"

"Fuck off."

It's not what he meant to say.

(S4, "Living Conditions")

no son

The old man is hammered when Xander gets home. In laying-down-the-law mode. Tonight: an old favorite, predating the code of Hammurabi. The No Son of Mine Proclamation.

Tony thinks he's gay.

Because Xander's friends are girls. Except the one who's not. But since Giles is over thirty, he's a pederast.

Nice world Tony lives in. Xander can't wait to move out.

It's only a vicious yelling match tonight, nothing physical.

Still: He's getting a better job.

Getting out.

And he's buying that big gay disco ball he found at Goodwill, and hanging that fucker in the basement.

(S4, "Harsh Light of Day")

hello again

Holy shit.

Holy. Shit.

It's her, it's Anya, Anya ... fuck, what's her last name? Demon! His mind screams: Anya Demon! His mind is all about the cut-to-the-chase.

And there will certainly be a chase, because Anya, possibly the scariest woman he's met in his life (which is saying something, does he have to say how very much that's saying something?), is in his basement. Though yeah, he's noticed that she's cute and sexy as hell (oh thanks for that thought, hell is her fuckin' backyard).

His mind is babbling.

Oh dear god. Did she just say "intercourse"?

(S4, "Pangs")

thanksgiving, 2000

Malaria and smallpox and syphilis, oh my!

Xander lies shivering on Giles's couch, this inane mantra chasing its tail in his skull. Periodically it gives way to Why, as usual, me? and Can't I get a dose the way all the other guys do?

Yesterday he told Anya she's his girlfriend. Is this a good thing?

Her cool little hand on his burning forehead. Sympathetic murmurs. Totally of the good, he decides.

Goddamn vengeful spirits. Go ahead -- screw up his most promising Thanksgiving in years. Just one slab of pie before he dies -- is that too frigging much to ask?

(Later S4)

lesson

Patrol was quiet, so he doesn't think to stay wary. Not in his own kitchen.

When he turns from the refrigerator, he's met with a fist to his temple that staggers him into the wall. The pickle jar explodes into shrapnel, glass driving deep into his hand.

"I told you to take out the trash, shithead."

"I'll do it now."

Another blow. "When I say 'jump,' you jump. Not 'whenever.'"

Xander pins Tony against the fridge with a forearm to his neck. Blood spatters on linoleum. Fear sparks in Tony's eyes -- a rush like a drug.

Xander finally gets it.

Cleveland

r.e.m.

Caleb guest stars some nights in his sleep. These dreams aren't vague and cryptic, but vivid, full of physical sensation.

The earthy smell of the winery.

Caleb's obscene embrace, the steel grip of his hands on Xander's face.

The sharp taste of his own fear, riding on the certainty that Caleb would snap his neck.

Surprise.

Agony's a pallid word for what's next.

Something warm and sticky on his cheek. That part so much worse than the pain.

On those nights he wakes yelling. Twice found himself out of bed, cowering in a corner.

Those he awakens are always kind.

(S5, "Triangle")

treated and released

Xander and Anya spoon in bed. More difficult than he expected, with the fresh cast on his hand, the effect of the pills. He feels like he's on a houseboat. In a gale.

"Honey?" He closes his eyes, making it worse. "A favor? Could you not say 'snapped like a twig' anymore?"

She strokes his swollen hand. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. Do you find it emasculating?"

That word again. Much as Olaf bitched, though, he still seemed pretty damn masculated to Xander. "No more than that question."

"Oh. Good."

Can't help smiling into her hair. God, he loves his demon-girl.

(S5, "The Body")

two cliches

The cereal's gone completely soggy while he sat staring out the window. Surely it's only been a minute.

He's managed just one complete thought since the call, but it's a killer, good enough to move in and set up housekeeping.

Why Joyce? Why not Tony?

He doesn't remember exactly when "Dad" became "Tony," but it's been years.

Why Joyce? Stupid question. This is Sunnydale, city motto: The good die young.

There's a terrible ache in his chest, but what radiates to his fingers is numbness. The cereal bowl tips in his hand, dribbles milk onto his leg.

No use crying.

(S6, "Hell's Bells")

wedding day

Who needs supernatural visions? Tony is more than enough Ghost-of-Xander-Future for anyone. Drunk, vicious, lecherous, disgusting. And hey, this is when he's on his best father-of-the-groom behavior. All that on display to his friends, Anya's. Her demon friends have more class.

Jesus. Why didn't they elope?

Anya's lucky they didn't. Not that she can see it.

All these same things are in Xander. He's kept them under control, but just wait until he's older and doesn't give a fuck anymore, like the old man.

Cold rainwater saturates the rental tux, streams down his cheeks.

Cleveland

euclid lounge

His reflection startles him as he takes a seat at the bar.

It's the image he used to see, but now it'll take some getting used to. He made a couple of stops after the fitting, got a much-needed haircut and a pair of new shirts.

The bartender grabs a glass and a bottle of Xander's usual, but stops short of pouring, disconcerted. "Huh," he says. "There's a guy comes in here who looks just like you, only he wears an eyepatch."

Xander freezes, debating telling him about the glass eye. "No kidding," he finally says, and orders a boilermaker.

(S6, "Hell's Bells")

honeymoon for one

This isn't a Leaving Las Vegas-level haul, but it's the most booze he's ever bought at once. He hopes it's enough. He's not leaving the room once he gets good and started.

How much does it take to erase a vision? He grabs another bottle. How much to erase the memory of the hurt in her eyes? Make it two. He tells himself it's less pain in the long run to cut out a cancer than to try wishing it away. He's the cancer, he knows that.

The counter guy looks at his purchases. "Big party tonight, huh?"

"Yeah."

(S6, "Entropy")

surveillance cam

There aren't words for this.

Seeing them together at the Magic Box. Her blond hair fanned out on the table where they'd all put in research time. That -- thing -- on top of her. The two of them writhing.

All of them see: Willow, Buffy -- even Dawn.

Public humiliation -- a lot of it going around lately.

How could she--

He's putting a finish to it.

To Spike, who god knows should have been dusted long ago. Spike's been a blind spot, a weakness for all of them.

To this pain.

He ransacks Buffy's weapons chest for the axe.

He'll finish it.

(S6, "Grave")

kingman's bluff

It's already started when he makes it onto the rise.

Willow's all scary-on-a-stick, power pulsing out of her. He feels it raising the hair on his arms.

The temple shudders from the ground

-- people, this is not good --

and every cell in his body screams run. But since he forgot to fuel up the rocketship today, there's not much point.

He knows this grief. Understands having a hole in your heart so huge you don't care who or what falls in.

It's Will lost in this grief. Still her.

Xander steps into the wild stream of magic.

Cleveland

kitten with a whip

"Joel or Mike?"

He's desperately not in the mood. But here's a geekfest he can do on autopilot. He sips his beer. "Joel."

"Teenage Caveman or Teenagers from Outer Space?"

"Space."

"Daddy-O or Kitten with a Whip?"

"You have to ask?" Xander makes a whip noise.

Andrew falls into a mood. Sighs. "She was incredible."

He sees where this is going. "Ann-Margret? Absolutely."

"No. Anya."

Anya's death gets more heroic with each telling. Like that Jenga game -- pile on one more detail, the whole wobbling tower goes down. "Andrew -- I can't."

Andrew exudes sympathy. He nods. "Dr. Forrester or Pearl?"

(Mid-S7 -- following the author's slightly AU "Thief of Life")

pub crawl

Another musical thing he learns from Spike:

All the deejays who call that Led Zep song "Dyer Maker" are wrong wrong wrong. It's pronounced Jamaica. Punchline from an old joke, he says:

Two Cockneys meet in the pub. One asks, "Freddie, where's yer missus?"

"Oh, she's off on holiday," says Freddie. "In the Caribbean."

"Jamaica?"

"Blimey, no, mate, she wanted to go."

Xander doesn't want to laugh, but he can't help it. Spike tells a pretty good joke.

Oh oh oh oh oh oh, you don't have to go

He punches five more plays on the juke. People are pissed.

(S7, "Touched")

hot & cold

He licks a smear of ice cream from her upper lip.

Well, on first try his tongue goes nearly up her nose. Depth perception: sucks up close. Then they are laughing into each other's mouth, and the weird thing is, this is when the playful goes all serious. Hands seek the smooth skin at the small of her back. She gasps at the cold.

"The potentials--" Anya doesn't really care if they hear and gossip. The old Fear of Discovery game. Always, always hot.

If this is going to be the last night of his life -- well, he's seen worse.

(S7, "End of Days")

abduction

This is weird. He's looked after Dawn since -- well, timing that is tricky.

Soldier Guy steps forward to survey the street while Xander's mouth switches to auto-banter.

Can't she hear how fake he sounds?

He hates this, can't think when he's hated a Buffy plan more. Betray Dawn's trust, then sit around, useless, far from the action. That's his role now. Demoted from Zeppo to Gummo.

He sees his chance as Dawn turns. Clamps her head in a steel grip (this he learned from Caleb). She struggles, slumps as the chloroform works.

He can't believe how easy this is.

Cleveland

new eye

First, it's not even glass.

One of his many wrong assumptions about this. (Nothing new. If he had a nickel for every time the old man laid that "ASS of U and ME" crap on him...)

He'd thought he'd have to touch it a lot, maybe take it out every night. Put it in a glass by the bed, like his grandma's teeth. (There's a childhood trauma he'll avoid revisiting, thanks.) He can leave this to the doctor, once a year.

Maybe some morning he'll awaken and the lost eye won't be the second thing he thinks of, after Anya.

Cleveland

home depot

Nuts. Bolts. Screws. Xander likes hardware stores.

Parts in bins help him sort out his thoughts.

He sifts threepenny nails through his fingers, mulling strategy.

In bathroom fixtures, he glimpses himself in a vanity mirror. He looks okay, even caught unawares. He's practiced getting the eyes to track together -- you really can't tell. Practiced the opposite too. No telling when unsettling someone might be useful. Or distracting a vamp in battle.

"New haircut?" The voice comes from his blind side. He turns, finds a pixyish brunette scoping out the PVC pipe.

Xander smiles. "Something like that."

"Don't worry. It's good."