| Buffy’s the Slayer. Willow’s the witch, Giles is the Watcher and Anya was the demon. That’s the way it had always been. I’m the key and Xander is the one who sees. He’s the one who knows things about each of us that we don’t always know about ourselves. I’ve said it before and I tell him again tonight. I’ll tell him anything if it gets that sad, “No one will ever love me” look off of his face.
I tell him he’s loved; appreciated; that his eyepatch looks dashing. I tell him that women prefer unemployed men. I tell him I’m old enough not to need a parent, which is a lie, and I tell him things will get better soon, which is a bigger lie and he knows it but he doesn’t say anything. I tell him that Buffy will come back from Europe someday soon and that her quarter-life crisis will end and his responsibility as surrogate daddy will be over eventually. I don’t know if that last part comforts him. It’s true that the only thing that’s gone right since we moved to Cleveland has been the living situation. Xander is a great dad figure and Giles helps him out sometimes. I’m not saying that Xander makes a *better* dad that Giles, but he does seem to be around more than Giles these last few months. Better than my real dad even, but that isn’t a surprise to anyone. “It’s not as red,” Xander muses into the hall mirror. He’s poking at his eye again, examining the skin and evaluating its progress. “Don’t you think it’s almost normal, Dawnie?” He looks at me hopefully and I don’t dare tell him that looking at the scarred tissue where his eye used to be instills me with the biggest kind of wiggins this side of Sunnydale. Instead I say, “I think you’re right. What do you think, Andrew?” “Almost normal,” he jumps in quickly from the couch. He’s sitting with his knees pulled up to his chin, pretending to watch reruns of Star Trek. I don’t know why he bothers. Or, I guess I do know, but I don’t know why he bothers around *me*. Xander never notices. He doesn't see much of anything these days, just his own pain. I know Andrew’s watching him. I can tell he likes Xander. I knew it back in Sunnydale and I know now, watching him from the other end of the couch. His face is toward the screen but he’s really watching Xander examine his eye, um, *area* in the mirror. Xander is reflected in the glass of the TV. If I squint right I can see him. Andrew chose the best view, though. From his end of the couch you can totally see the hall. It’s *so* obvious he likes him. “Yeah, normal...” Xander sighs sadly and goes into the kitchen. Andrew watches him go and I watch Andrew. I think he noticed me looking at him ‘cause he goes back to Star Trek really fast. “When are you going to tell him?” I finally ask. Andrew freezes on the couch, his hands wringing over his knees. “Tell who what?” His face is redder than Giles was that one time I asked him if fellatio was a demon. Sometimes I wonder how people ever get together in this world. I guess they just need other people to help them out. It’s a good thing I’m here. “Andrew! You stare at him all the time. Just talk to him. I mean, you’re a complete spaz and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but I think you two would be good together.” Andrew doesn’t say anything, just stares at that guy who did those bad Priceline commercials and breathes through his mouth. Then he finally mumbles, “I don’t know who you’re talking about.” All I can say is; boys are so dumb. ~*~ Giles has money. Not “Brittany Spears and Her Private Jet Go For Coffee” money, but enough from the old Watcher’s Counsel to put up the Sunnydale Rejects. That’s what we are, really. Andrew, Xander, and I. No friends, no family, no destiny. Not anymore. Part of me thinks that’s totally cool--having no obligations. That would be the part that would rather go dancing than wash Braxon guts out of my new sweater. The other part of me just feels…nothing. Maybe that’s the saddest part of all. I don't have any friends. Any *new* friends, I should say. I had friends in Sunnydale, but they're gone. I live with boys, which is mostly good and sometimes horrible beyond what words can describe. Xander and Andrew and Giles are my family now, except that Giles is hardly ever around. Sometimes I think about having sleepovers. About nailpolish and parties and going to McDonalds with these girls from Biology and talking about Chad Harper who's *the* guy to know at my new school. I think about it and I feel…old. Really old. Key old. And sometimes I cry. But only when I'm alone. I have problems and I have regrets, but I’m not too worried about me. Andrew’s parents moved to Wichita two months before Sunnydale went under. Xander doesn’t know what happened to his parents and I don’t ask; but sometimes I wonder if…I just wonder. At least I *know* where my family is. We had a big Scooby dinner last week and it was pretty fun. Faith and Robin came and we told all of the Sunnydale stories that we could think of that didn’t involve pain and dying. There were a lot of stories to tell, believe it or not. Then we told Robin and Andrew about my mom and how much she loved everyone and how she made them feel welcome--even Spike--back when she was alive. When I asked Xander what he remembered about mom, he just ate another hot dog and told Robin and Andrew about the time Giles was turned into a teenager. Then we spent all night listening to records from bands older than me--my birth certificate age, that is--and pretending Xander really *was* checking out his eye when he excused himself to go to the bathroom. Sometimes denial is a beautiful thing. I shouldn’t complain. Part of *my* despondency can be summed up in two words. High. School. But Buffy’s happy--wherever she is this week. Willow and Kennedy are still traveling with the new slayers, bringing them back to their homes. Even Giles is busy with opening his new occult shop. Who knew Cleveland had such a demand? I guess it’s the hellmouth that brings all the crazies around. And I know high school can’t last forever… But Xander and Andrew. They’re sigh-worthy. I know I shouldn’t worry. They’re grownups. Sort of. Grownups that watch cartoons and leave their wet towels on the couch and will body slam an innocent girl to the carpet for the last Pop Tart, but grownups just the same. If they can take care of me they *should* be able to take care of themselves, but there are a lot of “should bes” that, well, don’t work out. Xander should be married now. He should be trying to buy his first house and Anya should be pressuring him for a baby. Andrew should be off annoying Jonathan in some other city, programming video games or designing websites. Instead, Andrew bags groceries for minimum wage and Xander’s still waiting on some construction leads, but no one wants to tell him it’s a lost cause. Mainly because we all know that he knows it, too. They’re both mostly unhappy but, as the saying goes, misery loves company. ~*~ "Houston--we have a problem." "Huh?" "It's Andrew's birthday!" "What?" Xander asks, looking up from the Captain Crunch box he's been studying for five minutes like it holds the secret to Velcro. "I was looking for the remote and I found Andrew's wallet between the couch cushions and then I saw his driver's license. It's today. His birthday is today and he didn't tell us." "Why wouldn't he tell us?" he says, dropping his spoon. I want to kiss Xander right now because he looks as worried as I am. Finally, there's a hint of something in his eyes. Concern. Concern I can work with. "Maybe he didn't think we'd care." "That's stupid," Xander says. "Of course we'd *care*." "What should we do about it?" "What do you mean? Interrogate him with hot pokers until he admits that today is his birthday?" "No." I throw a grape at him from the bowl Giles keeps stocked. "I mean, we should do something nice. He'll be home at four, so we should work fast." "I hate to break it to you kid, but Giles is in Dayton until tomorrow and Andrew doesn't have any other friends that I know of. I think we're kind of the whole guest list if a party is what you had in mind." "We wouldn't have to have a *whole* party. Just a small party. A shindig. A soiree. A gala of modest size. Come on, Xander. Are you in?" Xander smiles sadly into his Captain Crunch and then at me. "Sure." He puts his bowl in the sink and I don't even comment about how cereal for lunch is totally gross. ~*~ We're in the DVD section when it hits me. I've had something on my mind for a while now and I have to ask--just to be sure. "Xander?" "Yeah?" "You might get married or get a job in another town or something someday. I mean…would you ever--" "No." "I mean would you ever leave--" "No." "Me?" "No." I feel better. I wonder if Andrew is a Julia Roberts fan. There's a sale. "Are you--" "Yes." "Sure?" "Yes." "Okay." There's a sale on "The Godfather", too. I wonder if Andrew likes those movies. "Xander?" "Yeah?" "If Andrew got a job, if he got married or something, would he leave?" Xander is quiet for a long time. "I don't know. I'm not him. Probably. I guess he would. If he didn't have something keeping him here." "But *you* won't leave." "Nope." "Okay." By the time we got to the mall, the stores were full of people. We've been to four stores so far looking for the new Farscape boxed set but no one has it. "Xander?" "Even if Buffy comes back. *When* she comes back." "That's not what I was going to ask." "Oh. Then what?" "I thought he liked stuff with the word 'star' in it," I say, still unsure of what we're looking for. "Star Wars, Star Trek…" "Trust me. He wants this. I know him." "Yeah, you do." Xander seems a little perkier than usual which I’m so glad for. He didn't even excuse himself to go to the bathroom after a kid at the last store asked him if he was Captain Hook. "You know him pretty well…" I press. "Yeah, well we have a lot in common." He's flicking through DVDs, trying to find some movie about giant bug armies. Seems boring to the tenth magnitude to me, but he says Andrew will like it. "And Andrew is really nice," I add. "Remember when he helped me with that history paper on George Washington Carver? And when he drove two hours to pick up that Olenthi root from the Bru'hed demon? And Giles forgot to tell him to put it in a bag first and his hands were purple for three weeks?" "Yeah, that was funny," Xander snorts. "Andrew's really nice. And funny. Cute, too. Blonde. You like blondes." Xander finally stops flipping through DVDs. "Dawnie? Is there something you want to tell me?" "Me?" I asked innocently. "Yeah, you. Do you have a thing for Andrew?" "NO!" I screech a tad too loud. "I just…I feel bad for him. It's just the three of us. He doesn't have any friends." "Well, neither do we," Xander says gently. "That's just the way the cookie crumbles." He seems fascinated by a discounted copy of "Annie" and won't turn to face me. "You know, they don't have what we're looking for here, Dawnster. Let's try downstairs next to the photo copier place." "Okay," I say, deflated. "I, uh…." He won't look me in the eye and I know what's coming next. "I just need to use the bathroom first. I won't be gone long." ~*~ Xander doesn't know that I know he's a crybaby. A big one. Way bigger than me and Buffy combined. He's been in the bathroom for, like, a half an hour and Andrew is going to be home soon. He better be out in time for the big welcome. I knock on the door. "Xander?" "Out in a minute," he calls. He's already had one crying jag at the mall. Now he's having another, I guess. And I thought he was getting better. I wish I knew the magic words to make him happy, but I’m not totally sure why he's sad. Is it the eye? Anya? His parents? The total loss of Sunnydale? No friends, jobs, girlfriends, or boyfriends? The complete lack of prospects for all of the above? I sigh. This is way too big for one mystical teenager to handle. The door opens but Xander is still staring at himself in the mirror. "Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?" he jokes. He looks good. Really good. Nice even. "You shaved," I finally say. "That I did," he smiles. "And you're wearing clean clothes." "Yes. I've been known to wear clean clothes on more than one occasion." I decide not to mention the sweats he spent four days straight in last week. "Well…good." I go into the kitchen and Xander follows me, absently tossing one of Giles' mangos from hand to hand. "What's with Giles and the fruit bowl? Do remember this obsession in Sunnydale? The man is overly affectionate of fruit. He loves fruit. Wants to marry it. Pee-Wee married a bowl of fruit salad on Pee-Wee's Playhouse once. Did you ever see that? Funniest thing I've ever seen." I could cry again. Xander. The real Xander, the joking Xander that I remember, has paid us a visit. The secret is not to acknowledge it. Act like it's normal until it becomes normal. So I do. "I hope you didn't get any of that tattooed anyplace important. Are you done with the Fruit Monologue?" I ask as I peek at the cake. It's taped shut, though, and I don't want to open it because then Xander will try to steal a slice. I know how boys think now that I've started living with them. "I wrapped the presents and I have the cake all ready, but it says 'Happy Anniversary.' Do you think that matters? It was all they had at the last minute. And it *is* the anniversary of his birth…" "He'll love it. He'll love *you* for buying it for him," he adds. "Not as much as he loves you." It's all I'll say on the subject. It's not my job to profess someone else's undying love, but boys are stupid and sometimes need a push. Xander is staring at me like I just said that Tabasco made a chocolate bar. Intrigued and horrified at the same time. Finally he says, "Come on. Let's put that hot air of yours to use and blow up some balloons." I have half of the balloons blown up and a wicked crazy high going on when there's a rattling at the front door. I can't help squealing. I love surprises! "Hey! Is anyone home? I got off a little early and picked up a pizza." I can hear Andrew coming through the living room to the porch. "Xander? It's the kind you liiiiike," Andrew calls, tempting us with promises of pineapple and Canadian bacon. "Xander? Dawn? Where are you guys?" He pushes through the door to the porch where Xander and I have put up mismatched streamers and some very attractive balloons (If I do say so myself--and I do!). "What's going--" "Surprise!" I scream. "There's a weak "Surprise!" from Xander who had a balloon in his mouth. The balloon is blowing around the porch making horrible farty sounds as it deflates. "What's--What's going on?" Andrew finally asks. "It's a birthday get-together. And now that you're here…we're together!" I say brightly. Andrew looks stunned. Stunned and pleased and a little sad. He's always sad. That's nothing new. He and Xander are walking ads for the Sad Channel, if there was such a thing. "There's presents," I add. "And cake." He looks so dazed that I'm not sure he likes it but then a grin breaks out on his face. It's wider than any smile I've ever seen him make. Isn't it funny how one smile leads to another? Have you ever done that thing were you're in a group and you look up at nothing, just to see how many people you can get to look up at the nothing, too? Or when you yawn and then everyone around you wants to yawn? Well Andrew's smile is like that. Contagious. I have to giggle at his bright happy face and when I look over, Xander is smiling, too. Xander is smiling. For real. A smile that might not end with him crying in the bathroom. "I brought pizza," Andrew finally says, breaking the happy silence. I peek in the box. "I knew it! Canadian bacon and pineapple. Xander's favorite kind. That's really nice, Andrew," I say, taking it from him and looking pointedly at Xander who blushes nervously. Yep, I think he's starting to get the picture. It's about flippin' time. ~*~ The air is cold and damp. I think it's going to rain soon. But right now--at this moment--tonight is perfect. The candles on the patio are lit and even though the streamers are kinda saggy and the cake actually turned out to say "Happy Anniversary, Peter," Andrew seems pleased. The pizza is gone, the cake is almost gone, and here on the porch we're wrapped up in sweatshirts and blankets and warm for the moment. The sky is dark and getting darker but it doesn’t seem to matter much. Andrew loved his DVDs, just like Xander said he would. Xander is sitting on the edge of the patio; his legs are stretched out and exposed to the soft mist that's starting to settle in place of real rain. Andrew is next to me on the porch swing, pushing back and forth, listening to the squeak of metal as the swing moves. "Happy Birthday, Andrew," I whisper, squeezing his hand. He looks so happy, so *content*, that I could cry myself. "Well, as much fun as this party is, I've got Chemistry homework," I say loudly. "And then I'm going to take a bath." "I'll alert the media," Andrew says. It's an old joke between us. Well, a couple of weeks old, that is. Xander barely looks up; he just stares out into the black night and raises his palms to the misty sky. He's smiling, though, and for once I'm not worried about him. I close the door and clean up the kitchen. Kitchen cleaning isn't gonna become a habit for me, you understand. But paper plates I can handle. When the kitchen looks okay, I remember that there's more trash on the porch. I should get it tonight so it doesn't get wet and soggy. I know the guys will forget to bring it in. I open the door slowly, not wanting to disturb them. But Andrew and Xander are too busy talking to hear me. "…and then she was gone. She was so brave. Way braver than most people." "Well it wouldn't take more to be braver than me," Xander says bitterly. "I just left. Didn't go back for her. Didn’t--" "NO! Xander, no…I told you. She was gone. She was just...*gone.* That doesn’t mean that you weren't brave--" "But it does," Xander says softly. I'm worried that he's gonna cry again. "Xander. She was brave. Yes. Spike was brave. Yes. But…I think..." Andrew is on the edge of the porch now; his legs are stretched out like Xander and I can see in the sputtering light from the candles that both of them are getting wet. "I think the bravest people of all are the ones that have to go on *after*. Spike and Anya…their duty is done. Their bravery is…over. But you still have to be brave and that makes your job harder. Harder, but you're still alive. That's the trade. " Andrew looks so scared. I know that feeling. I know all about being scared to say the wrong thing. "God, I'm probably not making any sense at all, but--" "No." "No?" "I mean, you're fine. You're right and you're…right." "I am?" Andrew looks amazed. "Yeah," Xander chuckles. "Who knew you were smart about this kind of stuff?" "I can be totally sensitive when I need to be," Andrew says, but I think he's joking because he laughs. Xander doesn't laugh, though. "Yeah…you can. You can be a lot of things when you need to be." Andrew isn't laughing now. "Sure. Like a murderer. A hostage. An ineffectual defender of goodness and light--" "Hey. Do I need to repeat the now-famous 'Those that go on living are the bravest' speech? Because I will. Repeatedly, if necessary." The wind is blowing the rain in swirls over the patio, as if unsure of where it wants to fall today. My face is getting wet but I don't dare move. I don't dare breathe. I think Andrew is crying, but he does it quieter than Xander does. Maybe he's had more practice. Xander begins running his thumbs over Andrew's cheeks. They're staring eye to eyes for once and that's when the lighting starts. It's far away--too far to even hear it--but it makes the porch blue for a split second. It's a private moment and I shouldn’t be watching. I shouldn't watch the fingers that snake out and cover Xander's, two pairs of hands pressing onto Andrew's cheeks. I shouldn't watch the way Xander's face dips forward. The wind blows hard and I shiver as Xander nuzzles into Andrew's neck with a soft sob. His hands slide back to join around Andrew's neck and then, in another distant zigzag of light, Xander pulls back and their lips meet. I shouldn't watch and I can't stop and in that moment--that perfect moment--I know that Xander won't ask me anymore about his eye. I won't have to lie. I won't have to force smiles anymore. I won't have to pretend we're okay when we're not. I won't have to delude myself that Xander is washing his hands when I know he's crying. He's crying for Anya, and Spike, and the people he knew that died, and the people he wanted to know that lived but didn't love him enough to act like parents. Xander's hands are in Andrew's hair and Andrew's hands are on his arms. Their mouths move together and their bodies are close; they're getting wetter with every gust of wind, but they don't move. I think they know I’m here, but they still don't break from their kiss, just shift closer, kiss softer, and let the sky wet them. We three, we ridiculously lucky three, remain on the porch until the storm has passed. Each of us with our problems, each of us with our burdens. Sometimes regretful and sometimes downhearted. Sometimes lonely but never alone. Never again. ~The End~ |
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| Three Together, Three Alone |