It Just Hibernates
by Meredian

**

Whistling, he jangled his keys and walked to his car. The day poured down upon him, bright, hazy, merely hinting at the heavy fog that had fallen on the town the night before. As the sun glared off of the mist, his eyes squinted. He reached in his pocket, still whistling(either "Greased Lightning" or "The Messiah"; he wasn't quite sure which), and pulled out a pair of Foster Grants. As he slipped them on, his voice broke out into song.

"Da dee dee doo, stuff that I don't know, daa daa!"

And with that serenade, A. LaVelle Harris unlocked his car door, stepped inside, and screeched off to work.

**

"Heya Marcie! ... Yeah, the usual. Coffee, black, and a Power Bar. .. Yeah, good. Call his office and tell him I'll be there around two for a meeting. ... Mmm-hmm, he knows what it's about. And make sure you send off that brief ASAP. AyeSap, baby! ... Sure, see you in a few."

The phone 'booped' as he hung it up, placing it back in it's black leather seat rest. As buildings and phone lines gave way to even more buildings, he cranked up the stereo. Trio's "Da da da" burst out of the speakers. He grooved and danced in his seat as he drove, loudly blurting out his interpretations of the German lyrics.

His singing ("lick lick lick lick lick lick lick, uh-huh!") continued as he pulled into the space in the private lot marked "A. L. Harris", and shut off the car. Opening the door, he stepped out into the rapidly heating up morning.

He walked to the trunk of the car, unlocked it, and pulled out a black leather briefcase. "Time for another day at the sand trap. Or was that sand pit? Sand mine? Dust mine? Aww, hell."

His shiny wing tip shoes tapped along the pavement as he entered the lush office building: "Fredricks, Murphy, McNally, and Buckman."

**

"Mornin', Mister Harris!" Marcie smiled cheerily from her desk, her long red nails tapping idly on some papers.

"Hey Marce. Sent that brief?"

"Signed, sealed, and delivered! And your breakfast is on your desk. And I organized your calendar for the week..." She smiled hopefully, obviously.

"Oh, alright. I *know* you want to have your hair done." He grinned, handing her a slip of paper. "Well, finish this stuff for me by noon and you can have the rest of the day off."

He walked quickly into his office on the crest of her happy giggles. As he walked to his desk, he straightened one of his diplomas on the wall that had fallen askew. Suddenly, the phone on his desk buzzed. He rushed over and hit the 'listen' button.

"Mister Harris? Stan McNally is on line one for you."

His face lit up. "Thanks, Marcie." Picking up the receiver, he opened line one.

"Hello?"

"Alex?"

"That's A. LaVelle to you, buddy." He smirked as he pressed the phone softly to his ear.

"Are you alone?"

"Yes ... you?... wait, duh, why would you ask if you weren't?"

"You are so cute. That's prolly why you are only a junior partner."

"Touché. So, are we on for two?"

"You know it... I miss you, baby."

"Me too."

And then the line went dead.

**

The meeting had gone precisely to plan. He had walked into Stan's office, loaded with the thick file of the case they were supposed to go over. They had sat down, pretentiously leafing through case authority and possible objections and briefs discussion liability, all the while tingling in anticipation. Xander continued to glance at Stan's fashionably clipped hair, his stocky shoulders draped in grey tropical worsted and plummy silken tie. And the other man couldn't help but stare at his younger subordinate's buffed nails, his slender fingers. Finally... their overly sensitive "we is gonna get caught!" radar flipped off and the two men were groping like monkeys.

The groping went on for about ten minutes, when a loud voice broke through the walls. "I don't care if he's busy! He's my cousin, and I need to talk to him *now!*"

The two men froze, Xander in Stan's lap, as the door burst open. "Hey St..." The words died on her lips as her eyes widened. "...... Xander?"

"Hello... Cordelia."

**

They sat in the small coffee shop, looking at everything, anything, but each other. Finally, the silence became too much, and they both burst out with questions.

"So, how long have you and... my cousin... been a... thing? And since when did you start *liking* things?"

"Why did you come back? I thought you scorned us all!"

They glared at each other, then laughed nervously. Cordelia picked up a napkin and began twisting it harshly. As she spoke, Xander let his eyes trail over her face. She had grown thin, noticeably thin. Her face was lightly lined, tough. And her hands were callused and hard.

"I was going to have Stan give me some legal advice on a job I was going to take... It's not like I've never done it before... Now it's your turn. Why? And when the hell did you become a lawyer? That's not the Xander I remember."

He blushed and looked far off into empty space. "No one calls me 'Xander' anymore. I'm A. LaVelle Harris, junior partner." With a smirk, he continued. "I was bored, and sick of fixing things at Sunnydale Motor Garage, so I started night school... and I actually did pretty well. Nothing like no friends and a lot of spare time to devote oneself to your studies."

"No friends? What about the others?"

"Moved on. I lost track of them years ago. I guess they decided I wasn't helpful enough or something."

She winced at the pain in his face, and for a moment, she saw the young boy underneath the polished exterior. "But what about the Hellmouth?"

"They closed it or something. All I remember is an earthquake and some explosions about six years ago. It was after I was expelled from their meetings."

He closed his mouth as the waitress brought them their coffee and pastries. Cordelia smiled briefly at the woman, then turned back to Xander. "I'm sure they didn't just... expel you. They must have had *some* reason."

"Why, because I'm a screw-up? Oh wait, this is Cordelia Chase I'm talking to."

She tried to break in, but failed enormously.

"Okay, so you are right. I *did* fuck up. I botched the ingredients to a spell and Willow wound up with a broken wrist. So I was kicked out. Because, lord forbid Will get hurt. Just like that. Thank you, and no, you won't be getting your severance pay." He hit the table quickly, eyes burning momentarily with tears.

"Oh, and you are the only one with problems? You aren't the one who fell for Buffy's sloppy seconds, only to find out that he has decided to go into a life of celibate isolation on some random island in the upper 45."

"Angel?? Dead-boy??"

She glared at him angrily. "What do you expect? He was the only friend I had left."

"God, that man has it lucky... snags himself every woman I've ever lo-" He looked down, catching himself quickly.

"What...?"

"Fuck, you *knew* I loved you... or at least you knew I tried. I was a fucked up 18 year old... what'd you expect?"

"I tore down my defenses for you. I gave up my life for you. You know how this story ends."

He moved his gaze to her eyes, seeing the age old hurt that still lived there. "Well... you love... Angel... and I am involved with your cousin... so I guess we can push this to the past..."

She reached out and grabbed his hands, squeezing them in her's. "But remember, Xander... true first love never dies, it just hibernates." She stood, looking deeply, her eyes meshing with his. "I've got to run now... but I'll come back at some point, and you can tell me when exactly you became gay."

He smiled despite himself, despite the fire ants that apparently were devouring his insides. "Heh, I'll do that."

As she turned to go, he reached out a hand to stop her. "By the way, what's *your* job now, and why'd you need to talk to Stan?"

She smiled, and showed him her palms. "I'm a painter... I spend most of my time painting. Stan helps me manage the money I pull in from sales."

And then she walked out, leaving Xander alone at his table. He smiled in wonder, contemplating. Suddenly, he pulled out his leather bound notepad. Flipping to clean page, he scrawled, "Inquire about paintings done by a Cordelia Chase."