Dirt and Dust...
May. 18th, 2003 10:01 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
jenoofer.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xandrewSince there was no update yesterday, here's two chapters for the price of one.
Somehow, opening up his apartment to the potentials has only made it feel even more empty to Xander. When the bedroom is lit only by the streetlights outside, which show vague outlines of the furniture, he listens to their hushed chatter and feels the weight of the empty space beside him. It pulls him down into the very middle of the bed, and it’s so hard to sleep when he can’t feel anything by his side. Some days he wakes up to find himself hugging one of the pillows, squeezing it so hard it’s squidged into a kind of hour-glass shape, and the cotton is yielding but entirely devoid of warmth.
They have each other, he realises. They’re all absolutely terrified, but they’re terrified together, and their combined presence provides a distraction from the madness of their own thoughts.
Xander doesn’t have that. He’s beginning to realise that maybe he’s the only one who doesn’t. Buffy has Willow, and also Spike which is still disturbing but seems to work for her. Willow also has Kennedy, and so hasn’t been seeking him out so much lately. Dawn has big sis and Willow, and Amanda too, and he’s noticed a sort of silent camaraderie between Giles and Principal Wood which apparently is all the comfort they need. Anya has - well, he hasn’t seen Anya since… since the basement, so he has no idea what she’s doing to get through all this.
Which leaves him and his empty room and the girls who seem to view him as chef, chauffeur and substitute Buffy.
Right now he’s supposed to be collecting them from Buffy’s to take back home, but he’s having a difficult time identifying them from the horde of potentials scattered around the house. Rona’s easy enough to recognise, because she’s been around since there were only a handful and everyone knew everyone else’s names, but now there are so many that they’re all just one huge collective.
It doesn’t help that Buffy isn’t around. Whatever it is that’s made her so quiet the past couple of days, she evidently hasn’t deemed it necessary to share it with Xander. He can’t decide if that’s a bad thing or not. Since his discovery of her whatever-it-was with Spike, she doesn’t seem to be opening up much to him, and even though he knows that’s partly his own fault, it still stings. Then again, she’s been so on edge lately, especially over the past two days, that it’s easier to stay out of her way and let her deal on her own. It’s like all the pressure has turned her to coal, hard and brittle and cold, and while he knows this isn’t the time for hugs and smiles, sometimes it makes him ache to think he might be losing a friend like this.
He finds Dawn in the kitchen, chatting with Amanda and two other girls while they work their way through a pile of sandwiches. She smiles when she sees him and the rest of them look round to see who’s walked in, but don’t stop their conversation. He’s not sure whether to interrupt and ask where his three houseguests are, because he has a feeling that one of them is talking to Dawn and he doesn’t want to seem rude. Fortunately before he can speak, Buffy appears in the doorway, followed by Andrew. He breaks into a wide smile at the sight of Xander, and Xander feels that same itch under his skin when he thinks of how Andrew apparently feels about him. He’s decided that sitting with his arms around Andrew while the guy sobbed mercilessly after closing the seal probably didn’t help. But his discomfort is always outweighed by the twinge he feels at the thought of letting Andrew go ignored and… well, abused is the most appropriate word he can think of, even though it’s an ugly one and he would never admit out loud that it’s his own friends who are responsible for some of that abuse.
Thing is, he almost feels like he’s a disappointment to Andrew, because he can’t give the guy what he wants. Xander knows he ought to be deterred by the fact that it’s another man looking at him like that, and at the very least he ought to be trying to distance himself from Andrew in the hope that eventually he’ll get the message, but somehow he just can’t tear himself away. There’s that sense of hesitant kinship, of being around someone with similar knowledge and experiences. Xander thinks that maybe, if it weren’t for Andrew’s being formerly evil and for this pesky apocalypse, the two of them could actually have been friends. He suspects that somewhere there might just be another universe where the Trio gained a fourth…
Plus, whenever he thinks that maybe he’s letting Andrew get too close, he remembers that emptiness and decides that looking after Andrew is better than nothing at all.
As Andrew enters the kitchen, Xander catches the look of dismay on his face at the sight of the pile of used plates and glasses left by the sink, and he tries to remember the last time he saw Buffy or Willow washing dishes. He shrugs it off, rationalising that they have better things to do, and announces to Buffy that he’s here to take the three potentials back to his house.
He’s cut off by a peeved “hey!” from behind him, and he turns to see Andrew standing by the fridge.
“What is it?” Buffy asks, that familiar tired edge creeping into her voice.
Xander can see the effort to calm down on Andrew’s face, and he speaks in a voice full of controlled annoyance.
“There’s nothing left for dinner,” Andrew tells her, folding his arms and shifting his weight on to one foot, a movement which sets off alarm bells in Xander’s head. He pleads silently for Andrew to be sensible and to not whine to Buffy about something so trivial as food, but for once Andrew’s not looking at him. “They ate everything.”
“We need to keep our strength up,” one of the girls snaps back, just before Buffy replies with, “we already had dinner.”
He realises Andrew’s about to argue back, and knows that Buffy just isn’t going to let him off easy this time, so Xander decides he needs to step in before this gets out of control.
“You can have dinner at my place, Andrew,” he announces. “I haven’t eaten yet either.” He has to look away from the smile Andrew gives in response, painfully aware that inviting Andrew over for dinner is hardly the best way to let him down gently.
As Andrew rushes off to fetch his jacket, Xander turns back to Buffy to ask again about Rona and the other two girls, but stops when he sees the look on her face.
“What are you doing?” she asks, annoyed and confused.
He thinks for a second, then answers, “taking him out of your way. One less thing for you to worry about tonight.” He wants to ask what it is that’s kept her so tense lately, but she doesn’t look like she’s in the mood to share.
“You’re coddling him.” She folds her arms, much like Andrew himself did just a moment ago, but on her it looks deadly. “And you’re undermining my authority.”
That one’s a surprise, and Xander wonders if she realises just how much she’s starting to look and sound like Giles. He lowers his voice, because he knows the worst possible thing he can do right now is argue with Buffy in front of the girls. Behind her, they are trying their best to look uninterested in the conversation.
“I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t get trampled on,” Xander insists, suddenly wishing Willow hadn’t taken off. She’d stick up for him. ”Everyone in this house has someone looking out for them except him. You’ve said it yourself, there are lines we can’t cross. He’s, he’s got… Dammit Buffy, he’s got bruises…” He sighs in frustration when he sees she doesn’t appear to comprehend. “Look, he can be at my place annoying me, or here annoying you. Which would you prefer?”
Her face softens, whether from his offer or his distress he can’t tell.
“Okay,” she sighs, then offers him a lop-sided smile. “Thank you.”
*****
chapter eleven
*****
Rona and the other two are huddled up together on one end of his couch, cooing over some film on the TV and eating chips like they haven’t seen food in a week. Xander’s attention flits between them, the TV and Andrew, who has been pacing distractedly around his kitchen inspecting the contents of each cupboard ever since the film started. Despite Xander’s belief that he’d be more at ease away from the strange spiky tension that’s been filling Buffy’s house lately, Andrew looks as though he’s expecting another attack any second. It’s making him nervous just watching.
He tries to focus on the film for a while, but finds he can’t remember who’s supposed to be in love with who, and who just left who at the altar. Xander decides the cereal box that Andrew is reading is probably more interesting.
The girls don’t seem to notice when he gets up and crosses to the kitchen. Even Andrew doesn’t seem to notice until Xander is standing right next to him, when he glances up and lets out a yelp of surprise, jumping half a step backwards.
“Holy smokes, don’t do that to me,” he breathes, the words tumbling out in one breathy rush. He clutches at his chest, but Xander guesses that is for dramatic effect rather than a sign of an impending cardiac arrest.
Xander steps back himself to give the guy some space, raising his hands in apology.
“Find anything edible yet?” he asks, gesturing to the cupboards Andrew’s already checked. It’s getting late and his own stomach is beginning to grumble, but he’s been waiting for Andrew to choose something before attempting any actual cooking. Only it turns out Andrew might not be so good at making decisions by himself.
“Um, there’s plenty of stuff, but I can’t narrow it down,” he tells Xander. The nervy catch in his voice kind of grates on Xander’s nerves. He has no idea if Andrew has always been this insecure, or if it’s just the hostage thing that’s done this to him, but he’s certain that if it keeps up, it could start to get annoying. Sometimes he thinks Andrew needs someone to shake some sense into him. Other times he just thinks the guy needs a hug.
Not that Xander’s going to be the one to do that, of course, because hello! Guy! Big burly construction worker guy who doesn’t get mushy over other guys. Especially other guys who have crushes on him. Guy. Grrr.
His masculinity suitably reaffirmed, Xander pulls two packs of instant noodles out of the cupboard and asks Andrew if he’s okay with his selection. He’s not normally a fussy eater, but suddenly the food he has doesn’t seem like much to offer a guest. Or hostage. Andrew just shrugs and nods, then tells Xander, “I can make them if you want.”
Xander has to bite his lip to keep from snapping at him. Instead, he says, “I’m perfectly capable of using the microwave, you know.” When Andrew’s expression shifts into startled uncertainty, he jokes, “that’s nothing. One of these days, I might actually figure out how to work the oven too.” This time, Andrew risks a laugh, and Xander rewards him with a smile.
When their food is ready, they both join the girls again. The nameless two are sitting on the floor by Rona’s feet, hugging cushions to their chests as they “aw” over something onscreen. Xander takes the middle of the couch, leaving Andrew on the end, his bowl held carefully in one hand. He watches the television studiously for some minutes, then his face lights up in recognition.
“Hey, wasn’t that the guy from-“
Xander never finds out what the guy is from, because the girls quickly ‘shush’ Andrew, shooting him identical irritated looks before turning back to the movie. He hears Andrew mutter something under his breath, and finds himself surprised that Andrew even knows words like that.
Some minutes later, the girls are demonstrating their annoyance with the film’s apparent heroine by pounding the arm of the couch.
“How can she not see that he likes her?” one of them complains, throwing up her arms in frustration. Xander finds the behaviour rather perplexing: surely if she could see it, then there would be no plot to the film?
“Hey, how come you guys can talk and I can’t?” Andrew’s whine cuts over the dialogue, and again all three ‘shush’ him in perfect unison. Xander glances sideways to see him pout and fold his arms, his empty bowl balanced on his knees. He knows this isn’t going to be the end of it, but doesn’t know if it’s worth interjecting. Andrew ought to know better than interrupting like that, but Xander can sympathise: the film is so cloying and predictable that it’s setting his nerves on edge. How can anyone sit through two whole hours of this?
At the other end of the couch, one of the girls squeals with delight.
“Oh, he’s gonna kiss her!”
Unable to resist, Xander leans over to Andrew and in his best Graham Chapman voice, whispers, “run away!”
Andrew splutters into a fit of giggles, almost losing the bowl on his lap. Xander joins in, snickering still as the girls pelt them with couch cushions and yell at them to shut the hell up, dammit.
They suffer through the rest of the film in pained silence, and fortunately it isn’t long before the credits roll and the girls are yawning and announcing they want to turn in. Xander leaves Rona, who has volunteered to take the couch, to set up her sleeping bag, and shows the two nameless potentials to the spare room.
Unsurprisingly, they’ve insisted that Andrew cannot sleep in the living room, and since there’s nowhere else, Xander finds himself making up a bed on the floor of his room. Andrew doesn’t complain.
When he’s tucked up under the spare blankets and Xander’s crawled into his own bed, there are a few awkward moments of silence before Andrew speaks.
“I like your apartment.” It’s a little random, but Xander appreciates the compliment. He’s never done much in the way of decorating, and sometimes he still feels like he hasn’t settled in, hasn’t made the space his own yet.
“I like hanging out here,” Andrew continues, and Xander finds it just a little worrying that he thinks of this as ‘hanging out’, like they really are friends. “Maybe not so much with the girls and the shushing and the yelling, but it’s cool that you have your own place like this.” Xander’s chest tightens at the reminder that at one time he never thought he’d have somewhere like this. Suddenly he realises that maybe Andrew was also destined to be one of life’s basement residents. He wonders if Andrew had any non-evil goals, and what they might have been. “It’s kind of like hanging out in Warren’s mom’s basement.”
There’s a catch in his voice that intrigues Xander, and without thinking he rolls over until he can look down at Andrew over the edge of the bed. In the light that filters in through the window, he can see Andrew nervously fingering the edge of his blanket.
“I miss that.” His voice is small and sad, and makes Xander want to “aw” like the girls watching the film. Guy, he reminds himself. Grrr.
“You do?” It’s all he can think of to say in reply. Andrew looks up at him, fingers still worrying the blanket.
“Yeah.” He smiles an odd smile that Xander guesses is wistful, though he can’t see too well in the dark. “It was fun. Before, you know, the whole…” Andrew draws a deep, hitching breath. “Before the amusement park and Warren leaving me. It was…”
His choice of words immediately stirs something inside Xander. ‘Leaving me’. He’s wondered before what Warren did to give him such a hold over Andrew even in death, and now he’s beginning to get an idea. Xander tries not to think about it too much.
“I miss them.”
Xander watches him for a moment more. He feels uncomfortable now with having to make Andrew sleep on the floor, but he’s also adamant that inviting him into his bed is not going to help things. There just has to be something he can do or say to make Andrew feel a little better right now. He could point out that Warren was a psychopath who never really did anything good for anyone else. Or he could change the tack of conversation altogether in hopes of distracting Andrew.
“I know you do,” he says.
*****
tbc
Somehow, opening up his apartment to the potentials has only made it feel even more empty to Xander. When the bedroom is lit only by the streetlights outside, which show vague outlines of the furniture, he listens to their hushed chatter and feels the weight of the empty space beside him. It pulls him down into the very middle of the bed, and it’s so hard to sleep when he can’t feel anything by his side. Some days he wakes up to find himself hugging one of the pillows, squeezing it so hard it’s squidged into a kind of hour-glass shape, and the cotton is yielding but entirely devoid of warmth.
They have each other, he realises. They’re all absolutely terrified, but they’re terrified together, and their combined presence provides a distraction from the madness of their own thoughts.
Xander doesn’t have that. He’s beginning to realise that maybe he’s the only one who doesn’t. Buffy has Willow, and also Spike which is still disturbing but seems to work for her. Willow also has Kennedy, and so hasn’t been seeking him out so much lately. Dawn has big sis and Willow, and Amanda too, and he’s noticed a sort of silent camaraderie between Giles and Principal Wood which apparently is all the comfort they need. Anya has - well, he hasn’t seen Anya since… since the basement, so he has no idea what she’s doing to get through all this.
Which leaves him and his empty room and the girls who seem to view him as chef, chauffeur and substitute Buffy.
Right now he’s supposed to be collecting them from Buffy’s to take back home, but he’s having a difficult time identifying them from the horde of potentials scattered around the house. Rona’s easy enough to recognise, because she’s been around since there were only a handful and everyone knew everyone else’s names, but now there are so many that they’re all just one huge collective.
It doesn’t help that Buffy isn’t around. Whatever it is that’s made her so quiet the past couple of days, she evidently hasn’t deemed it necessary to share it with Xander. He can’t decide if that’s a bad thing or not. Since his discovery of her whatever-it-was with Spike, she doesn’t seem to be opening up much to him, and even though he knows that’s partly his own fault, it still stings. Then again, she’s been so on edge lately, especially over the past two days, that it’s easier to stay out of her way and let her deal on her own. It’s like all the pressure has turned her to coal, hard and brittle and cold, and while he knows this isn’t the time for hugs and smiles, sometimes it makes him ache to think he might be losing a friend like this.
He finds Dawn in the kitchen, chatting with Amanda and two other girls while they work their way through a pile of sandwiches. She smiles when she sees him and the rest of them look round to see who’s walked in, but don’t stop their conversation. He’s not sure whether to interrupt and ask where his three houseguests are, because he has a feeling that one of them is talking to Dawn and he doesn’t want to seem rude. Fortunately before he can speak, Buffy appears in the doorway, followed by Andrew. He breaks into a wide smile at the sight of Xander, and Xander feels that same itch under his skin when he thinks of how Andrew apparently feels about him. He’s decided that sitting with his arms around Andrew while the guy sobbed mercilessly after closing the seal probably didn’t help. But his discomfort is always outweighed by the twinge he feels at the thought of letting Andrew go ignored and… well, abused is the most appropriate word he can think of, even though it’s an ugly one and he would never admit out loud that it’s his own friends who are responsible for some of that abuse.
Thing is, he almost feels like he’s a disappointment to Andrew, because he can’t give the guy what he wants. Xander knows he ought to be deterred by the fact that it’s another man looking at him like that, and at the very least he ought to be trying to distance himself from Andrew in the hope that eventually he’ll get the message, but somehow he just can’t tear himself away. There’s that sense of hesitant kinship, of being around someone with similar knowledge and experiences. Xander thinks that maybe, if it weren’t for Andrew’s being formerly evil and for this pesky apocalypse, the two of them could actually have been friends. He suspects that somewhere there might just be another universe where the Trio gained a fourth…
Plus, whenever he thinks that maybe he’s letting Andrew get too close, he remembers that emptiness and decides that looking after Andrew is better than nothing at all.
As Andrew enters the kitchen, Xander catches the look of dismay on his face at the sight of the pile of used plates and glasses left by the sink, and he tries to remember the last time he saw Buffy or Willow washing dishes. He shrugs it off, rationalising that they have better things to do, and announces to Buffy that he’s here to take the three potentials back to his house.
He’s cut off by a peeved “hey!” from behind him, and he turns to see Andrew standing by the fridge.
“What is it?” Buffy asks, that familiar tired edge creeping into her voice.
Xander can see the effort to calm down on Andrew’s face, and he speaks in a voice full of controlled annoyance.
“There’s nothing left for dinner,” Andrew tells her, folding his arms and shifting his weight on to one foot, a movement which sets off alarm bells in Xander’s head. He pleads silently for Andrew to be sensible and to not whine to Buffy about something so trivial as food, but for once Andrew’s not looking at him. “They ate everything.”
“We need to keep our strength up,” one of the girls snaps back, just before Buffy replies with, “we already had dinner.”
He realises Andrew’s about to argue back, and knows that Buffy just isn’t going to let him off easy this time, so Xander decides he needs to step in before this gets out of control.
“You can have dinner at my place, Andrew,” he announces. “I haven’t eaten yet either.” He has to look away from the smile Andrew gives in response, painfully aware that inviting Andrew over for dinner is hardly the best way to let him down gently.
As Andrew rushes off to fetch his jacket, Xander turns back to Buffy to ask again about Rona and the other two girls, but stops when he sees the look on her face.
“What are you doing?” she asks, annoyed and confused.
He thinks for a second, then answers, “taking him out of your way. One less thing for you to worry about tonight.” He wants to ask what it is that’s kept her so tense lately, but she doesn’t look like she’s in the mood to share.
“You’re coddling him.” She folds her arms, much like Andrew himself did just a moment ago, but on her it looks deadly. “And you’re undermining my authority.”
That one’s a surprise, and Xander wonders if she realises just how much she’s starting to look and sound like Giles. He lowers his voice, because he knows the worst possible thing he can do right now is argue with Buffy in front of the girls. Behind her, they are trying their best to look uninterested in the conversation.
“I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t get trampled on,” Xander insists, suddenly wishing Willow hadn’t taken off. She’d stick up for him. ”Everyone in this house has someone looking out for them except him. You’ve said it yourself, there are lines we can’t cross. He’s, he’s got… Dammit Buffy, he’s got bruises…” He sighs in frustration when he sees she doesn’t appear to comprehend. “Look, he can be at my place annoying me, or here annoying you. Which would you prefer?”
Her face softens, whether from his offer or his distress he can’t tell.
“Okay,” she sighs, then offers him a lop-sided smile. “Thank you.”
*****
chapter eleven
*****
Rona and the other two are huddled up together on one end of his couch, cooing over some film on the TV and eating chips like they haven’t seen food in a week. Xander’s attention flits between them, the TV and Andrew, who has been pacing distractedly around his kitchen inspecting the contents of each cupboard ever since the film started. Despite Xander’s belief that he’d be more at ease away from the strange spiky tension that’s been filling Buffy’s house lately, Andrew looks as though he’s expecting another attack any second. It’s making him nervous just watching.
He tries to focus on the film for a while, but finds he can’t remember who’s supposed to be in love with who, and who just left who at the altar. Xander decides the cereal box that Andrew is reading is probably more interesting.
The girls don’t seem to notice when he gets up and crosses to the kitchen. Even Andrew doesn’t seem to notice until Xander is standing right next to him, when he glances up and lets out a yelp of surprise, jumping half a step backwards.
“Holy smokes, don’t do that to me,” he breathes, the words tumbling out in one breathy rush. He clutches at his chest, but Xander guesses that is for dramatic effect rather than a sign of an impending cardiac arrest.
Xander steps back himself to give the guy some space, raising his hands in apology.
“Find anything edible yet?” he asks, gesturing to the cupboards Andrew’s already checked. It’s getting late and his own stomach is beginning to grumble, but he’s been waiting for Andrew to choose something before attempting any actual cooking. Only it turns out Andrew might not be so good at making decisions by himself.
“Um, there’s plenty of stuff, but I can’t narrow it down,” he tells Xander. The nervy catch in his voice kind of grates on Xander’s nerves. He has no idea if Andrew has always been this insecure, or if it’s just the hostage thing that’s done this to him, but he’s certain that if it keeps up, it could start to get annoying. Sometimes he thinks Andrew needs someone to shake some sense into him. Other times he just thinks the guy needs a hug.
Not that Xander’s going to be the one to do that, of course, because hello! Guy! Big burly construction worker guy who doesn’t get mushy over other guys. Especially other guys who have crushes on him. Guy. Grrr.
His masculinity suitably reaffirmed, Xander pulls two packs of instant noodles out of the cupboard and asks Andrew if he’s okay with his selection. He’s not normally a fussy eater, but suddenly the food he has doesn’t seem like much to offer a guest. Or hostage. Andrew just shrugs and nods, then tells Xander, “I can make them if you want.”
Xander has to bite his lip to keep from snapping at him. Instead, he says, “I’m perfectly capable of using the microwave, you know.” When Andrew’s expression shifts into startled uncertainty, he jokes, “that’s nothing. One of these days, I might actually figure out how to work the oven too.” This time, Andrew risks a laugh, and Xander rewards him with a smile.
When their food is ready, they both join the girls again. The nameless two are sitting on the floor by Rona’s feet, hugging cushions to their chests as they “aw” over something onscreen. Xander takes the middle of the couch, leaving Andrew on the end, his bowl held carefully in one hand. He watches the television studiously for some minutes, then his face lights up in recognition.
“Hey, wasn’t that the guy from-“
Xander never finds out what the guy is from, because the girls quickly ‘shush’ Andrew, shooting him identical irritated looks before turning back to the movie. He hears Andrew mutter something under his breath, and finds himself surprised that Andrew even knows words like that.
Some minutes later, the girls are demonstrating their annoyance with the film’s apparent heroine by pounding the arm of the couch.
“How can she not see that he likes her?” one of them complains, throwing up her arms in frustration. Xander finds the behaviour rather perplexing: surely if she could see it, then there would be no plot to the film?
“Hey, how come you guys can talk and I can’t?” Andrew’s whine cuts over the dialogue, and again all three ‘shush’ him in perfect unison. Xander glances sideways to see him pout and fold his arms, his empty bowl balanced on his knees. He knows this isn’t going to be the end of it, but doesn’t know if it’s worth interjecting. Andrew ought to know better than interrupting like that, but Xander can sympathise: the film is so cloying and predictable that it’s setting his nerves on edge. How can anyone sit through two whole hours of this?
At the other end of the couch, one of the girls squeals with delight.
“Oh, he’s gonna kiss her!”
Unable to resist, Xander leans over to Andrew and in his best Graham Chapman voice, whispers, “run away!”
Andrew splutters into a fit of giggles, almost losing the bowl on his lap. Xander joins in, snickering still as the girls pelt them with couch cushions and yell at them to shut the hell up, dammit.
They suffer through the rest of the film in pained silence, and fortunately it isn’t long before the credits roll and the girls are yawning and announcing they want to turn in. Xander leaves Rona, who has volunteered to take the couch, to set up her sleeping bag, and shows the two nameless potentials to the spare room.
Unsurprisingly, they’ve insisted that Andrew cannot sleep in the living room, and since there’s nowhere else, Xander finds himself making up a bed on the floor of his room. Andrew doesn’t complain.
When he’s tucked up under the spare blankets and Xander’s crawled into his own bed, there are a few awkward moments of silence before Andrew speaks.
“I like your apartment.” It’s a little random, but Xander appreciates the compliment. He’s never done much in the way of decorating, and sometimes he still feels like he hasn’t settled in, hasn’t made the space his own yet.
“I like hanging out here,” Andrew continues, and Xander finds it just a little worrying that he thinks of this as ‘hanging out’, like they really are friends. “Maybe not so much with the girls and the shushing and the yelling, but it’s cool that you have your own place like this.” Xander’s chest tightens at the reminder that at one time he never thought he’d have somewhere like this. Suddenly he realises that maybe Andrew was also destined to be one of life’s basement residents. He wonders if Andrew had any non-evil goals, and what they might have been. “It’s kind of like hanging out in Warren’s mom’s basement.”
There’s a catch in his voice that intrigues Xander, and without thinking he rolls over until he can look down at Andrew over the edge of the bed. In the light that filters in through the window, he can see Andrew nervously fingering the edge of his blanket.
“I miss that.” His voice is small and sad, and makes Xander want to “aw” like the girls watching the film. Guy, he reminds himself. Grrr.
“You do?” It’s all he can think of to say in reply. Andrew looks up at him, fingers still worrying the blanket.
“Yeah.” He smiles an odd smile that Xander guesses is wistful, though he can’t see too well in the dark. “It was fun. Before, you know, the whole…” Andrew draws a deep, hitching breath. “Before the amusement park and Warren leaving me. It was…”
His choice of words immediately stirs something inside Xander. ‘Leaving me’. He’s wondered before what Warren did to give him such a hold over Andrew even in death, and now he’s beginning to get an idea. Xander tries not to think about it too much.
“I miss them.”
Xander watches him for a moment more. He feels uncomfortable now with having to make Andrew sleep on the floor, but he’s also adamant that inviting him into his bed is not going to help things. There just has to be something he can do or say to make Andrew feel a little better right now. He could point out that Warren was a psychopath who never really did anything good for anyone else. Or he could change the tack of conversation altogether in hopes of distracting Andrew.
“I know you do,” he says.
*****
tbc
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-05-18 02:42 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-05-18 02:48 pm (UTC)Really? Aw crap, how could I have missed that? Hmmm... Must edit this part, then.
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Date: 2003-05-18 02:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-18 02:58 pm (UTC)