In the Dark

by
Ngaio

***************

Xander’s POV

Giles just came home after being out with whichever girls are on the patrol rota for tonight. He’s come in, cleaned off the weapons, got Willow and whoever’s around up to speed on whatever happened, and now he’s gone to write up his journal. I’m around. I always am. Tidying up, cleaning the kitchen, folding clothes, talking with the girls. I’m their confidante you see. I’ve seen it all and yet I’m not a part of it. I’m not part of the fighting force or the research force. I can‘t see well enough for either. I’m just Xander, one eye and down to earth. I’m the grounding force of the house. You come to me when you’re tired of not being normal, of being a Slayer in Training, of being something more than a Wicca, of being a Watcher to all the Slayers in Training who live here, of being an ex-psychotic Slayer.

Even Spike comes to me about once a week, when he’s got drunk enough to lose control, and yells about all the things he’s been and all the things he’s done and Buffy, always Buffy. How he loved her, how he loves her, and how he’s glad she’s gone to have a normal life and how she’ll never have a normal life. And once a week I get drunk with him and yell back about vampires and souls and yes-I-do-understand-losing-the-woman-you-love-’cause-I’ve-lost-every-woman-I’ve-loved-one-way-or-another. And it’s the most honest conversation I have these days. Because though I never yell about what it is that’s actually hurting me, what it is that hurts so much, I half hope one day I’ll yell too much at Spike and he’ll hit me or kill me or something, at least I’m shouting.

At home I don’t shout. At home I comfort and support. The girls cry on my shoulders. About deep Slayer scary stuff, and about boys and school and all that teenage shit too. And Willow talks to me about witchcraft and power and control.

And Giles. Well Giles talks to me Watcher to, well, I’m not a Watcher, but I think that’s how he talks to me. Conversations about training programs and the evil du jour and Watcher politics (which are almost as evil as the evil du jour).

Tonight I’m gonna go to bed fairly early, ‘cause I have to get up and fix breakfasts for 15 teenage girls with raging hormones and Slayer strength, and then it‘s the week‘s shopping trip. But I won’t sleep. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for Giles to come to bed. After he’s patrolled, after he’s written up his journal, then he comes to bed. The man I love. When he’s not tired he talks some more; about which girls need special training in what, about whether I can take the time tomorrow to help him design a new part of the gym, about whether Spike is actually going to be helpful this week or not. When he’s finally got everything off his mind, when he’s tired, he turns to me and holds me. And my presence comforts him. When he holds me, he’s grounded. And if he’s not too tired, and especially if he’s had a good fight on patrol and the adrenaline’s buzzing nicely, he’ll touch me. He’ll run his hands over my skin. His fingers will circle my nipples, will stroke my chest-hair and follow the line of it down. His lips and tongue will follow the same path, caressing and teasing me. He’ll trace the muscles in my stomach with his fingers while his tongue fucks my navel.

Before his hands can venture lower I’ll push him back from me. Then I’ll explore his body. It’s mapped in my mind, engraved in my memory, burnt into my heart, but still I’ll explore. I’ll find all the places that make him shiver. All the places that make him hold dead still. I’ll touch and caress and love him because I do. And then, when he’s nicely hard and wanting, I’ll turn onto my front and spread my legs. And he knows that I’m already ready for him. That I’ve been ready for him since I came to bed, that I’ve prepared myself for him. And he’ll cover me with his body, pressing me into the mattress. Into the towel I’ll have had spread on the bed ready for this. And he’ll push inside me, and fill me, and make me whole again. Just for a second. As he thrusts into me, filling me, I’m whole. But when he moves, I’m empty. After that first thrust, after that, I’m nothing. I’m just a hole for him to pour himself into. He’ll kiss me; my back, my neck, my shoulders as he thrusts, and he’ll say my name as he moves, slowly at first, then faster, until he’s not saying my name at all, just grunting and moaning and coming. Coming inside me. And still I’m empty.

When he moves off me I’ll reach out to the drawer and grab the wipes and clean us both up. Throw the wipes in the bin and the towel in the washing basket. It doesn’t matter that the towel isn’t actually dirty, the illusion must be maintained. For the sake of my pride, what little I have left. Illusions are important. And the illusion must be maintained that I’ve dirtied that towel with my come. But I haven’t. Not for a long time now.

In the beginning it was all about mutual pleasure. While he was inside me I’d be inside his hand. Or I would have already been inside his mouth. We came together in a mass of drunken grief when Buffy left. And the morning after, for some reason, it didn’t seem strange. It should have. Neither of us were virgins to women or men, but we didn’t know that about each other, and we’d been playing the father-son roles for years. But somehow it felt right that we were together. It stayed right for about 3 months. Then one night, he didn’t touch me while we made love. I was tired and ended up flat on my front rather than on my hands and knees and, I dunno, maybe he thought the friction with the bed would do the job. He fell asleep so soon after he was done. And I lay there wondering what had just happened. But I thought it was just that night, we were both tired, he hadn’t realised that I was still hard. So I curled up into him and went to sleep holding the man I loved.

It was about a week before we made love again. Battles to be fought and all that. And it sorta happened again. And it got me thinking as I lay awake. Why was it always him in me anyway? We’d never tried me in him, he hadn’t ever offered, and I hadn‘t liked to rock the boat by asking. And through that night I realised that there was something going on here I hadn’t understood. I thought he loved me. More than that, I thought he was *in love* with me. But that wasn’t it. Oh sure, he loves me. We’ve been in each other’s lives for too long now for him not to. But what had suddenly, for me, turned into being *in love* with him, for him it was just that, all of a sudden, loving me and us being in each other’s lives had fringe benefits. Thinking about it, I shouldn’t have been surprised, that’s what he had with Olivia after all. Friends who have sex, orgasm friends as Ahn, bless her, once said. And that night part of me died.

So I made a decision and got organised. If I’m ready when he gets upstairs then it all takes less time. If he’s in the mood, I’m prepared. He spends about 5 minutes touching me before I push him away so I can reciprocate. Then I get him as hot and hard as I can as fast as I can. Then I get him inside me. A little while later we’re done. And then the friendship can come back. Once the sex is over I can forget it happened and go back to being Xander, the comforter, the down to earth, the friend. I can forget that I’m his convenient body.

Lately, though, it’s been getting a bit weird. He’s been getting pissy with me. Snapping at me for little things I’d have thought he was used to after all these years. He talks to me less, now. And when he does it’s all business. Not that it wasn’t before, but now, instead of asking about the girls’ feelings, he just asks about house maintenance. I’m his housekeeper.

Well, I suppose that’s fair. I couldn’t work, not with one eye, my depth perception’s shot. And I’m so not cut out for a desk job somewhere even if there was somewhere crazy enough to hire me. So for the last year, I’ve lived in this house that the remaining members of the Council bought for the Slayers in Training, the Watcher, and the active Slayer. Me and Willow, the hangers on, just sorta, hung on. But Wills is Wills, research and spells gal. What am I? I’m Xander. Xander comforts, supports, grounds. Xander makes stupid suggestions and even stupider jokes. And at the same time, he runs the house. Well someone has to. And I’m the only one left.

If I’m honest, if I was happy, I’d enjoy doing it. I loved being Dawn’s ‘big brother’ and at the start of all this, I loved being house ‘mom’. I remember that spell Wills cast to join her, Giles, Buffy and me together to defeat Adam. She was the spirit, Giles the mind, Buffy the hand, and I was the heart. I was happy about that, being the heart. I knew I didn’t have any nifty powers, but if I could be the heart, if I could be the comforter, that was good enough for me.

But now the heart’s gone out of me. And now Giles is getting pissy. And I don’t know why. It’s as if he’s angry at me for something but I don’t know what. I’m doing everything I can to make everyone happy. What more can I do?

***************

Xander stared into the darkness. Sitting on the back porch he stared with his one good eye and saw nothing. He lifted the cigarette to his lips, inhaled and exhaled and stared some more.

"Xander, you out here?" came Willow’s voice from the kitchen. "Oh, there you are. Faith says . . . " she paused. "Xander, are you smoking? You don’t smoke."

"Well, Willow, I’m sitting out here with a lit cigarette which I’m putting to my mouth and inhaling on so I would say that actually, yes, I do smoke. Was that what you came out here to tell me?"

Xander’s voice was calm and measured and completely lifeless; and it scared Willow.

"No, but what I came out here to tell you isn’t important. Xander, why are you sitting out in the dark, smoking? It can’t be good for your eye. It’s definitely not good for your lungs."

"Ah well."

"That’s not an answer. Xander Harris, talk to me." She paused. "And put that cigarette out!"

"OK," said Xander, stubbing out the butt he held then, taking another cigarette from the packet, he took a lighter from his pocket and lit it. "So, what do you want to talk about, Willow? Does the plumbing need fixing again, ‘cause if so I‘m going to train the girls in grease-trap maintenance; they keep on clogging it up, it‘s only fair they should fix it. If it’s shopping related, just write it on the list on the fridge and we’ll get it at the store tomorrow."

"No, Xander. I want to talk about why you’re here staring at nothing and chain smoking," she said, noticing the butts scattered around Xander’s feet. "And when did you start smoking anyway? You’re always telling Spike off for it."

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind. There’s nothing like inhaling poisonous chemicals for relaxing you when you’re tense, y’know. And Spike and I have reached an agreement, he doesn’t smoke around the girls and I get to smoke his cigarettes when we go out for our ‘bonding’ sessions."

"Xander, why are you smoking? And why are you out here in the dark? I thought you were going to get an early night tonight ready for the marathon grocery shop tomorrow."

"I’ll be in soon. I’m just enjoying the dark."

"What’s wrong Xander, talk to me. . . Is it Spike, did he say something when you went out last night? I thought he was improving, you two seemed to becoming friends, but if he’s drunk, well you know better than to listen to him when he’s drunk. What did he say?"

"He didn’t say anything. Well, he was his usual Spike self but really he hasn’t anything new to say and neither have I. I think we only yelled at each other for about 10 minutes, which must be a new world record. Actually I ended up staying over, fell asleep watching a movie, woke up all tucked up on his couch."

"So what’s wrong? Is your eye bothering you?"

"Which one? Do you mean is my existing eye getting tired of existing on it’s own, or is my non-existent eye not existing bothering me?"

"Well . . . I meant . . . either, both."

"No."

Willow looked at Xander, waiting for more but there wasn’t any. Xander just carried on staring and smoking. Now she was really worried. A Xander without words was something she’d never seen except in the initial aftermath of him losing his eye. She stared at him, trying to see into him, to see what it was that had turned her talking, joking friend into . . . Well she wasn’t sure what he’d turned into, but she was sure she didn’t like it. She wondered if she should go and get Giles, maybe this was a thing that required a boyfriend.

"Willow, stop staring or I’ll think I’m growing a second head. And I know I’m not because I checked this morning, part of the joy of living on a Hellmouth." Xander turned to look at her. "What was it you came out here for anyway? Are you OK?"

"What?! Yes, of course. It was just something Faith said about . . . no, you’re not distracting me that easily, Xander Harris. Something is wrong, and you need to talk about whatever it is so you’re going to. Look, resolve face. Talk to me."

Xander looked at her and wondered whether to tell her that her resolve face basically made her look like she was constipated, then decided it would take too much energy, energy he was conserving to get through the night. Plus there was a difference between being mildly sarcastic and downright insulting, and no matter what he was thinking, Xander-the-down-to-earth didn’t insult his best friend since birth. No matter how tempting the idea was.

"Really, I’m fine. It’s been a busy day so I thought I’d just get a bit of peace and quiet before going to bed. That’s all."

"But . . . "

"Willow, *I’m* *fine*."

Willow thought about whether it was going to be worth arguing with him. Xander could be incredibly stubborn, and really, did she have any right to make him reveal something he so obviously didn’t want to.

At the sound of footsteps on the path both Willow and Xander looked up, ready to fight, although the warding on the house made even sitting on the porch pretty safe. From around the side of the house appeared Spike, blond hair gleaming in the moonlight. Willow wondered idly why he had hair which made it so difficult for him to blend into the night, but then realised that that was probably the point and it wasn’t important anyway.

"Willow, Harris. You two enjoyin’ the night air?"

"Yes, thank you, Spike. As I was explaining to Willow, it’s peaceful and quiet, just me, oh and now both of you."

Willow shot Xander a quick glance as Spike continued speaking.

"Just came to see if everything was OK. Caught the tail end of tonight’s patrol, couple of the girls looked a bit worse for wear. Wondered if I could do anything."

"Oh, they’re fine," Willow said. "It was Liz and Mina out with Faith tonight. They got a couple of Thresher demons and Liz sprained her ankle, but she’s OK."

"Oh. Fine. Well, I’ll be going then . . . I’ll go and . . . watch TV or something equally productive. Harris, you wanna come with? Oi, are those my fags?! Bloody hell!"

Xander looked at Spike, the not-so-evil-undead, and was unsurprised to discover that the thought of spending the night on the couch of a demon was actually a more attractive proposition than going upstairs to wait for his lover.

"Sure. But no alcohol, I’m still recovering from last night."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you only drink once a week, the rest of the time you’re sober, honest and boring as fuck. God, what a fun evening I have ahead of me."

"Hey! Bleachboy, *you* just invited *me*. Make up your mind."

Willow stared at the interaction between the two. It had surprised her that Xander’s hatred for vampires, even (especially) vampires with souls, no longer seemed to extend to Spike. And that, for all his insults, Spike seemed to like Xander. They fought just as they always had, and, having caught some of their arguments, she knew they meant everything they said to one another, but still, it seemed to be a friendship that worked. She mourned for the days when she and Xander were best friends. So much had happened since High School, so many secrets had been kept and told. She had no idea Xander was bi until he and Giles got together; she still didn’t know whether Giles was his first male lover or not. They just didn’t talk about personal stuff any more. She wondered who Xander talked to; Giles, or Spike, or someone else. But these days it seemed that whenever she tried to chat with Xander it was as if she was interrogating him, getting him to talk about himself was next to impossible. Thinking about it though, she realised that Xander had never really talked about himself, especially since the start of his engagement to Anya. He had just hidden behind words, jokes and diversions.

While she was thinking the conversation had continued around her.

" . . . nah, I’m not in the mood to sit in Slayer Central snuggling with the girls. But if you wanna bring the tape we can watch at mine."

"Sounds good to me, I’ll go get it."

Xander went into the house and Willow turned to Spike.

"Spike, what’s wrong with Xander?"

Spike looked at her, solemn faced.

"You noticed that too, did ya? Thought it was just me."

"Well, I think I’ve been noticing, just not paying attention. But tonight it’s all sort of come together and I don’t know what it is and I don’t think he’ll talk to me ’cause I just realised I don’t think he’s really talked to me in years but he spends time with you and gets drunk so I wondered if he’d said anything to you. But if he’s asked you not to say anything then don’t tell me ‘cause that’d be wrong but I want to know what’s wrong so I can help him . . . "

"Jeez, Red, breathe! With lungs like that you’re wasted on women. No, he hasn’t said anything to me. We don’t actually talk as such really, just get pissed and fight. Well, and watch Baywatch."

"OK, eww! Not what I needed to know, about either of you. Why does he watch Baywatch anyway, I mean with him and Giles . . . not the point, I know. But he’s not said anything? He just seems so . . . sad. Have you asked him?"

"No. I know he’s not right but, well, soul or no soul I’m not exactly Dear Abby. Have you asked the Watcher? He’s shagging the boy, shouldn’t he know?"

"Oh . . . well . . . yes . . . but . . . no. . . "

"Thanks, Red, that was both coherent and helpful."

Before Willow could reply, Xander reappeared from the kitchen, videotape in one hand and jacket in the other.

"Right, let's go and watch the wonder that is Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey. See ya, Wills."

"Yeah, bye, Red."

Willow watched as the two men made their way across the garden to Spike’s garage apartment (originally intended for Council visitors, but somehow Spike had claimed it). She thought about what he’d said; why hadn’t she talked to Giles? After all, he’d been her rock when she was recovering from dark magic and trying to end the world; why was she so wary about talking to him about Xander? Probably because, much as she loved them both, the thought of Giles and Xander together had thrown her off balance. Xander with another man threw her. Giles with, well anyone, threw her. Therefore, Xander with the man she’d always basically thought of as a father (teenage hormonal crushes not counting) had taken some getting used to, and she wasn’t at all sure she *had* got used to it. Well, whatever the reason, she was going to talk to him now, Xander’s well-being was too important for her not to. She just hoped Giles wasn‘t offended by her going to him to talk about his boyfriend.

She went indoors and walked through the house to the library/study. There she found Giles writing his journal (by hand, she hadn’t yet managed to convince him to use the computer although it would be much more practical, both to read and to make sure the information was available to others). At least, in theory he was writing his journal, what he actually seemed to be doing was staring into space.

"Giles?"

He jumped and turned to look at her.

"Oh! Willow, I apologise, I was . . . thinking. What can I do for you?"

"Am I interrupting? I can come back later if you need to think about something."

"No, actually I think I need *not* to think about something, so you are a welcome distraction. Not that your company isn’t always pleasant."

"Oh! Thank you."

The unexpected compliment left Willow at a loss for words.

"So, Willow, can I help you with something?"

"Oh . . . er, yes. I think. I hope. I wanted to. I mean, if it’s OK, but tell me to butt out if you want, I don’t want to pry, but I want, well . . . "

"Willow, I may understand five languages and I may have several years of experience trying to understand the workings of your mind, but I really think I need you to say that again, preferably in English this time. What is troubling you?"

"Xander," she burst out. She watched as a look of concern swept across his face, swiftly followed by an expression she found much harder to read.

"What about him?"

"Have you noticed anything about him recently?"

"Such as?"

"Well, er, I was just talking to him outside, and . . . does he seem happy to you? I mean, not just making jokes happy, but . . . "

"What did he say?"

"Nothing. And that’s what got me thinking. He was just sitting outside, staring into the dark, and, Giles, he was smoking."

"Smoking?! But Xander doesn’t smoke."

"That’s what I said, but apparently he does when he’s drinking with Spike. Actually I think they were Spike’s cigarettes, Spike certainly swore at Xander for taking them."

"Spike was there?" Again, that unidentifiable look crossed his face.

"He turned up to check on how the patrol had gone. Then he and Xander decided to go and watch a video. I thought Xander would have told you when he came in to get the tape."

"No. I haven’t seen Xander since before I went out on patrol."

"Oh. Well, they’ve gone to Spike’s to watch Bill and Ted."

"And get drunk again, I suppose."

"No, I don’t think so. Xander said he was still recovering from last night. You know Xander, he doesn’t like to drink that often, what with his father and everything. He went all lost weekend after leaving Anya too and I think he scared himself."

There was a brief pause.

"So, Giles, do you know what’s wrong with Xander? I mean, if it’s personal and I’m not meant to know then OK, just tell me and I’ll worry quietly in a corner, but if it’s something I can help with, or something he can talk to me about, or even if you need to talk to someone about whatever it is that’s bothering him then I’m here."

Giles’ voice sounded very patient and something else, world-weary maybe, as he answered her.

"Willow, I don’t know what is wrong with him. I have my suspicions, but I, we, he." He took a deep breath and tried again. "I haven’t asked him, he hasn’t told me. And I really shouldn‘t be discussing this with you."

"But I’m your friend, and his, and I want you both to be happy. And you’re not, either of you."

"It is most inappropriate for me to discuss my lover with someone else without his knowledge."

"No it isn’t. I talked to Buffy and Xander all the time about my personal life and they talked to me about theirs. It’s called friendship, and I think after apocalypses and ultimate evil and magic addiction that you and I are friends."

"Of course we are friends. But it still seems wrong to discuss our concerns about Xander behind his back. Whatever is wrong is his business alone until such time as he chooses to share it."

"Is he ill? Is it his eye? I asked him and he said it wasn’t but . . ."

"No Willow, I don’t think it’s anything physical as such."

"’As such’, what do you mean?"

"Oh, dear." Giles paused. "I think he may be rather regretting our involvement. That he would prefer to be my friend rather than, well, my lover."

"What?! Why? He was really happy with you. Really relaxed and Xander-like."

"*Was* being the operative word there. Over the last few months he has been drawing away from me; he has increased the time he spends with the girls, and with Spike. I think he is trying to pull out of the relationship without hurting me."

"But . . . ! I talked to him after, y’know, I found out about you two," here Willow blushed, remembering exactly *how* she had found out about them, "and he was *bouncing*! I’ve never seen him so happy about being with someone."

"Nevertheless, I think that initial euphoria has gone for him and now he finds himself simply stuck with me."

"What does *he* say?" There was a pause. "You have asked him haven’t you? Talked to him about this?"

"Well, not as such, no."

"Giles, you idiot! Sorry, but you really are. You can’t *be* all repressed and British, not with Xander, not with any of us, I thought we’d been through enough together for you to realise that! Now I want you to *talk* to him. It may have nothing to do with you . . . You two do *talk* don’t you? It’s not just . . . well I don’t want to know about . . . not that there’s anything wrong with . . . but Giles, you two do *talk* to each other, don’t you?"

"Xander hasn’t talked to me about anything personal for the last three months."

It was a dead, flat, statement of fact from Giles and the pain behind it was apparent.

"But?! Why not?"

"I have no idea."

"You haven’t asked him?! Why not?"

"I’m not sure I want to hear the answer."

"Huh?"

"If Xander is . . . if he no longer wants to be with me, then I would rather hold on to the illusion a little longer. I may be living in a fool’s paradise thinking we still have something, but at least I’m living there of my own choice. And he is there."

Willow looked at Giles and felt so much for him. Love, pity, sympathy, irritation, were all in there.

"Yes, but it’s not paradise, is it? You’re hurting, he’s hurting. It’s just not good for either of you."

"Oh Willow, yes, you’re right, we’re both hurting a lot, and I should do something about it. I just haven’t been feeling brave enough to."

"It is hard isn’t it? I remember going to Oz after the whole Veruca thing thinking that this could end everything I wanted, but I had to go. Of course he’d already decided to leave so maybe that’s not a good example, but I had to go and talk to him about what was wrong. And anyway, how do you know Xander doesn’t want to be with you any more? You *have* to talk to him."

"Yes, I know, thank you, Willow." He paused. "I think I’ll go to bed now, it‘s getting rather late and we have to go shopping with Xander tomorrow."

"I’ll see you in the morning then, and you can talk to him."

With that, they left the room, Willow to walk the perimeter of the house checking the wards, and Giles to go to bed and think.

************************

Across the garden Spike and Xander sat watching the television, neither of them really seeing what was going on in front of them. Eventually Spike broke the silence.

"What’s going on then? You’re broodier than bloody Angel. An‘ there‘s a reason I live so far away from him."

"Hmm?" Xander was startled out of his reverie by the unexpected question. "What?"

"You, doing a first class imitation of Peaches, what’s with that?"

"God! Why is everyone today asking me what’s wrong?! *I’m* *fine*."

"No. You’re not. You’ve been going around with a face like a wet weekend for ages now and it’s getting on me bleedin’ wick."

"I’m just thinking, that’s allowed, isn’t it? I mean, I wouldn’t want to break the mould too much, but I am allowed to have deep thought every now and then, aren’t I?"

"Sure, if it was just every now and then and you don’t mind the headache actually using your brain’ll give you, but you’ve been ‘thinking’ for months now, and these last few weeks it’s gone beyond ‘thinking’ into ‘brooding’. The misery’s been rolling off you so much it’s a good thing you don’t do patrol, we’d be swamped with demons wanting to take a nip."

"Look, can we just watch the movie, please?"

"Well, let's see, there are two brain-dead geeks on screen and only one here in person, but you’re so much more fun, ‘cause of being all interactive, so I think, no, we won’t watch the ‘movie’ I think you’re going to talk to me about whatever it is that’s got you so twisted in knots."

"For your viewing pleasure? Nope, don’t think so somehow."

"Look, your choices are, talk to me, or head back to the house and face whatever it is on your own. ‘Cause I assume you and the Watcher haven’t been talking about this thing since you’re still pissy."

Xander tensed at the mention of Giles, it was like rubbing salt into a wound. This was where he really started to understand his father’s drinking, so much easier to make yourself oblivious than to face your problems. But in the aftermath of leaving Anya he had made the conscious decision that that was not the way he was going to go. He would not use alcohol as a crutch. At times like this he kicked himself for being sensible, the oblivion of the bottle seemed awfully appealing right now.

"Spike, you and I may be doing this weird male bonding shit, but I’m really not wanting to unburden my inner self to you. No offence, but a newly-souled and slightly insane vampire isn’t my choice of agony aunt."

"Hey, I’ll have you know I was a good listener even before the soul. OK, it was largely to people screaming for mercy and spilling their guts of any information I wanted, but still, listening . . . *and* I had Dru going on about stars and dolls. And *now*. . . if I could listen to Dawn go on about boys and clothes, I can listen to you talk about, well, whatever."

"OK, first, ewwww, guts. Secondly, not gonna happen. So are you going to get off my back about this or do I have to take me and my video home."

"Let’s see, do I want to sit on my sofa with a silent black hole of depression?"

"OK, that’s it, I’m going." With that Xander grabbed his jacket and left.

As he walked across the garden he wondered why everyone picked today to try to get him to open up. And he wondered what he was going to do, whether feeling this bad all the time was worth it just so that he could hold the man he loved close through the night.

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