Author: velvetandlace
Distribution: You're welcome to put it anywhere as long as you let me know.
Characters/Pairings: Willow and Xander friendship fic.
Timeline: Pre-Season One - The Year Before.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Sigh.
Summary: Xander's life is hell, but at least he has Willow.
There was a bruise on Xander’s face. Beneath his eye, on the curve of his cheek. Angry purple, glaring at Willow from his downcast expression.
He’d hidden it, cupping the side of his face as he knocked, said hi to her mother. Then he’d ushered her upstairs. They’d taken refuge in her bedroom – ignoring her mother’s disapproving stare - where he’d forced a smile, suddenly so interested in the patterns of the carpet.
“So, hey Will, what’s up? Have you done the English homework yet? Oh, huh, I guess you have, right?”
She just watched him, carefully, eyes dark.
“Xander? What’s wrong?”
His hand slipped, then, to show her, and he met her eyes for the briefest of moments, before looking away, again. He didn’t need to see her face. Xander had heard Willow’s sharp intake of breath, knew she understood, immediately, where the mark had come from.
“Oh.”
Xander sighed, nudging her foot with his own, in his usual attempt to stop her worrying. “It was just once. He…He didn’t mean to.”
Her curious hand reached out, touched it carefully, grimacing apologetically when he winced.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“But, you flinched?”
A pause. Hopeful.
“Habit?”
When her hand found the offending area, again, she was slower, gentler, veiled sympathy in her eyes, the apology dying on her lips. He watched her from underneath dark lashes, saw her bite her lip, noticed the horror in her eyes.
“Will. It’s okay.”
She shook her head, slightly. “No. It’s not.”
“It’s not a big bruise. It’ll fade, a day or two…”
She paused. The hand, hesitant, one careful caress along his cheek. “I didn’t mean the bruise.”
He caught her hand, held it a brief moment, before returning it to her lap. He shrugged. Shrugging is a helpless gesture, and he didn’t want to appear to be so, but he also knew Willow would understand, would the fill the blanks in her mind with the words he wouldn’t, couldn’t say.
“It’s…You know. I’ll be okay.” He attempted a smile, though it was merely a contortion of the face, not in the least convincing. He knew she wouldn’t buy it – others, maybe, but not his Willow. She always saw right through him.
And she saw, and she understood. And she wished she could stop this from happening. Wished she had the power to make it alright for him, but all she really had was herself. And if that’s all she has, then it’s what she’ll give him.
After a moment, she nods, correcting. “We’ll be okay. Together.”
The smile, this time, was genuine when he looked at her, unshed tears gathering in his eyelids, wincing as the smile cracked his cheek, shooting pain through his face. “Glad I have you.”
It’s a fluid motion – one moment, she’s sitting across from him, on the floor of her bedroom. The next, she’s curved beside him, head on his chest, a hand squeezing, reassuring, on his arm.
“You always do.”
And it’s almost not enough.
Almost.
So many times, he’s thought about a drastic reaction. Running away. Hurting himself. Maybe hitting back (You don’t hit him; it’s not fair, you could never lift a hand to him, no matter what…)
But it’s her weight, comfortably anchored against him, that slows, stops, the irrationality. It’s the shyness that immediately follows her bursts of self-confidence, the way she can smile at him and he feels like he’s only the person that can make her smile like that, her unquestionable trust and belief in him.
In him.
And that means he won’t break. He’ll hold her, and stroke her hair, and take the quiet support she offers. And he’ll get up in the morning and he’ll go to school and try harder at the math and look Cordelia in the eye and joke with Jesse and stay functioning, keep moving, keep being.
And all because of her.
He looked down at Willow, then, hand still slowly stroking her hair, getting as much comfort from the gesture as he knew she would be.
“Will. You know, you’re my best…Just. Love you.”
She didn’t look up, and Xander knew that was so he wouldn’t get embarrassed, wouldn’t threaten the manly image she always tried to let him keep.
Her fingers curled around one of his shirt buttons, though.
Clinging, in affirmation.
“Love you too.”