Let Me Count the Ways
And me? I'm reeling with the awareness of Xander.
Here. What in God's name is he doing here, after all
this time? So very far from Sunnydale it might as well
be another planet. What impossible twist of fate could
have worked this? For me to find him here, exactly at
the right moment. These things don't just happen. This
is destiny.
I can't look at him without thinking about Willow. I
don't know what could have happened to drive him away.
I'm not sure I want to know. I do know that he's
staring at me like I'm the Second Coming. Staring at
Alex like he's a demon from the pit turned guardian
angel.
Our car. An old beat-up piece of shit, stolen a week
ago in some nameless town. The only home we have. We
steal new ones at regular intervals. This one is a
Ford, insofar as I can see under all the gunk. It
might have been white once. We don't have anything
valuable in it, we don't have anything valuable,
period.
"Hey." Alex is staring at me, a little frown teasing
his brow. His eyes are guarded. I try to draw my face
into some kind of expression, but I'm not sure I'm
doing a very good job of it. I feel bland, through and
through.
"Are we taking him with us?"
"Uh, well..."
"You know what it means." I do. Life on the run.
Danger. Discomfort. No turning back.
"He doesn't have to be involved. They wouldn't know
about him."
"Ask him, Oz." Alex can sound so much like an
exasperated parent sometimes, and it always makes me
remember that he really is almost twice my age. I have
no business being with him. No business bringing
Xander into this deadly orbit.
"Who is he?" Xander asks, and I realize that it is the
first thing he has said at all. I look at Alex, trying
desperately to come up with a good explanation for his
presence. What is Alex to me, anyway? He kidnapped me,
but I am not his prisoner. We have sex occasionally—well, a lot, actually—but we're not precisely
lovers. Not in any deeper sense. We are both far too
tangled up in our respective pasts to let this
relationship turn into anything more than a temporary
respite. Shelter from the storm. Alex is danger and
blood and violence, fear and pain and lust. He is
everything Willow isn't, and that's what I want. And I
could leave him in a second if I only could figure out
how. Xander doesn't wait for me to fabricate excuses.
He jumps to his own conclusions. On the dot for once
in his life.
"He's that guy, isn't he? The guy that grabbed you—abducted you. Jesus, you've been with him all this
time? Do you even care what it did to Willow?"
"It's not that simple, Xander," I mutter wearily. He
glares at me with angry heat and something like
disappointment. I can't take that from him. Shouldn't.
Not from someone whose sorry streetkid ass I just
saved in some garbage-littered alley. Fuck. This is
Xander. Willow's Xander. Suddenly, all I want is for
him to look at me with fondness again, the way he did
sometimes when he forgot I was Willow's boyfriend.
When he really saw me. "Look, Xander, you don't have
to come with us. But I would like you to."
"Why? I mean, why would you? You've got your pet thug
right there, haven't you? You don't exactly need a pet
loser to dampen your party mood."
"Xander," I say as gently as I can. His lack of
self-esteem is so familiar, so annoyingly adorable. I
wonder if that's what made him leave. Everyone thought
his pathologies were cute. "I didn't leave willingly.
I didn't choose to stay gone. I've missed you guys.
I've missed you." Soft voice, wheedling. Pleading No
way, I never plead. I can see Alex giving me a look of
rather dismayed surprise. He, too, seems to be coming
to his own conclusions.
"We need to move," he says softly, but not even his
voice, that husky, painfully sexy voice, can make me
feel safe right now. There's Xander, unannounced
reminder of days forced into oblivion. A whole new
definition to the word 'pain'. Xander, who also
chooses to completely ignore Alex, a feat I so far
have thought frankly impossible.
"What the fuck were we supposed to think? " he yells,
spreading his hands in helpless exasperation. "After
you just fucking vanished, everything started going to
hell in a handcart. Things never went back to normal,
never. And the cops pretty much closed the case,
saying you'd run off with your lover. Someone spotted
you checking into a motel in Nevada, holding hands.
And leaving in the middle of the night, half-naked. We
tried to believe, we really did. Willow... she never
got over it. She's in England now; she skipped out on
us. I think she's doing okay now. But I'm not sure,
cause I haven't heard from any of them in months."
"Xander..."
"Don't Xander me, Oz! I don't know you! Did I ever,
really? I mean, I was so sure the cops were barking
up the wrong tree. 'Not Oz, man', I said. No way he'd
ever... And now... well..."
"It's not what it looks like, Xan..." I bite off that.
What's the point in making excuses? It is exactly
what it looks like. It just isn't what he thinks it
is. It's not cheating. It's forgetting. "It's like
asking you what you were doing in that alley."
He doesn't push it, so I figure I hit a nerve. When
Alex flings the back door open with an annoyed
flourish, Xander climbs in without another word. I
crawl in next to him, avoiding Alex's accusing eyes in
the mirror.
"Where are we going?" I ask, completely superfluously.
Alex just shrugs.
"We'll find a motel and you boys can work out your
differences. I've got some things I've got to do."
The city disappears behind us before I even dare to
turn my head to look at Xander. His bruises are
deepening, making him look somehow dangerous and
badass. Like he's taken this much and he wouldn't mind
giving some back. He doesn't look quite as badass as
Alex does, of course, but then again, Alex has twenty
years on him. I wonder again what made Alex what he
is. Maybe there was no one to rescue him from his
alley. The thought makes it hard for me to breathe for
a while. So close. Too close. Alex's paranoia, his
unpredictable moodswings between ruthless bloodlust
and repentance, jaded callousness and desperate
neediness. Something... someone has hurt him. 'Mulder'
is the name he cries out in his sleep, when he comes,
when he's fucking me through the nearest wall. I don't
know whether this mystery being is man, woman or goat.
We don't talk about it. Just like we don't talk about
Sunnydale or anything that might remind me of it. I
don't know if it's good for Alex to have saved me, to
have kept me along like this, but somehow it doesn't
matter. But now, with Xander thrown into the mix, the
balance is disturbed. Alex doesn't act as if he needs
me, but somehow I think he does. And Xander... Xander
won't make it on his own.
"What are you doing with this guy, anyway? Why did you
stay?" he suddenly asks, and I startle and bang my
head against the window. I wince, feeling utterly
asinine. So much for cool.
His eyes are dark and serious, and I wonder what
happened to the Xander I knew. Did wisecracks suddenly
go out of style? Well, he's serious, better be
serious. The question. How the fuck am I supposed to
answer that, when I can't even figure it out for
myself.
"He makes me forget." The truth, or part of it. I'm
not going any closer.
"Yeah, makes you forget everyone's fucking phone
number, I guess." I turn away, angry at his judgement
and angry with myself for feeling guilty. It wasn't my
doing. He grabs me and turns me back. I catch a
glimpse of Alex looking ominous and threatening, and I
shake my head violently. Xander is harmless. I think.
He is just shaking me by the shoulders like a child.
"Don't turn away from me! You just vanished!"
Yeah, I noticed. I was there. Dammit, Xander, can't
you even try to give me chance? He keeps shaking me,
and if I don't do something soon, Alex is going to
pull over and shoot him.
I steel myself, and punch Xander in the face. A sharp,
calculated jab that will hurt a lot and probably not
break anything. His face is already ill-used, and it
feels exceedingly bad to add to that, but necessity
knows no law. But it hurts to see his eyes.
"You hit me," he mumbles through his hands. I have
cracked open a closing cut on his lips, and fresh
blood is streaming between his fingers. It's crimson
and pretty. On a wild, irresistible impulse, I lean
down and lick the blood off his hand. He stares at me,
all wide-eyed and horrified. Seconds stretch like a
teenager's bubblegum.
He just keeps staring. Alex is staring at me from the
mirror. Dark, angry eyes—green, angry eyes. Whatever
did I do to deserve all this anger directed at me? I
want to break the stalemate. I reach out. Pull Xander
towards me. Lap at the blood on his mouth. He doesn't
resist, remains impassive, a wooden doll in my arms. I
hold him and press my mouth to his ear.
"Don't ever touch me like that in front of Alex.
Ever."
"Wha... what?" His voice is meek, childish, confused.
"Don't make him think you're a threat. He'll kill you.
I don't want him to." Xander pushes me away with an
impatient gesture. It's glaringly obvious that he
doesn't believe me.
"What is wrong with you? Why are you hanging out with
this... this... "
He trails off, obviously at a loss for a term scathing
enough. I roll my eyes in frustration, and meet Alex's
eyes. They're amused now, and I can breathe easier.
Xander catches the exchange, and suddenly, his angry
expression smoothens out, and I can see the boy I knew
in there somewhere. He straightens up, turns his
attention to Alex. "So... Alex. What is your take on
this? What are you? The resident spree-killer with a
penchant for teenage ass?"
I barely have time to close my eyes in mortification
and voice a short, silent prayer to the god of
werewolves and fucking morons, before Alex has hit the
brakes. We come to a screeching stop in the middle of
the dark road, and Alex has the door to the back seat
open and he's pulling Xander out. His face is
carefully blank, no rage showing. I fear him.
So there's Xander sprawled on the dusty grass by the
side of the road, Alex crouching over him with a gun
pressed to his forehead. I'm still in the car,
petrified. I have no idea what Alex is up to. He might
be gearing up for homicide; he might just be giving
Xander a little mindfuck. He might be messing with
my head.
"Alex!" I shout, trying to stall him while I think of
something intelligent to say. He
ignores me.
"Don't call me things, boy," he growls at Xander.
Xander just stares at him with that mix of fear and
mock bravado I remember so well from our past brushes
with death. "Only one person can call me names, and
you don't look much like him."
"Well, sorry I hurt your feelings," Xander deadpans,
and I expect the crack of the gun going off any time
now.
"I'm just calling it as I see it, man. Maybe you'd
like to explain your position? I mean, Oz is really
taking this whole taciturn thing to new heights."
"We were fine," Alex hisses. "We were doing fine!" I
can't see his face from where I sit, but his back is
tense, and I can tell there's some kind of emotion
being displayed. I'm just not sure which one it is.
I'm not picking up any olfactory clues, either, so
it's subtle. Alex is never subtle.
"Are you going to kill me?" Xander somehow manages to
sound calm, although his smell is unmistakable. "I
mean, if you're not, maybe you could, like, put the
gun away? Cause you're making me really jumpy here.
Please? Pretty please?"
I can tell Alex is trying to figure him out, decide
whether he's being suckered or not. You can never
really tell with Xander. I want to tell Alex that, but
I can't quite work up the nerve. Yeah, just the
opportune moment to go chickenshit.
"I'm not really a spree killer," Alex says quietly.
"I'm not saying that I'm not a killer, but taking down
random people for the fuck of it just doesn't do it
for me." He is explaining himself. To Xander. Well, I
never thought I'd see the day. Alex doesn't do
explanations. He just doesn't.
"Uh, well, that's alright then," Xander mutters.
"I do get trigger happy with people who piss me off,"
Alex adds. Xander yelps, and I have the tiniest little
revelation. They both know they're just fucking with
each other. What I'm looking at is not violence, it's
foreplay. How did this happen? At what point did
this thing become a threesome?
"Hey, can we get off this road before we cause an
accident?" I grouse, letting just the right amount of
tired annoyance creep into my voice to let them know
I'm on top of the situation. Click of the safety, and
Alex is actually helping Xander to his feet with
rough-tender compassion. Xander winces and rubs his
bruises, and gets in the car.
Before getting back behind the wheel, Alex comes
around to my side to give me a hug and a quick,
promising kiss. We're okay, I guess. We're fine, and
things might go on just as they were.
Take Me Away Part Five
by Wax Jism
I can feel his eyes on me. He is oddly limp—compliant—when we hustle him out of the alley, down
the street. He doesn't speak; none of the usual
Xanderisms are forthcoming. Only that half-dazed stare
flickering helplessly back and forth between Alex and
me. Alex is all business now, walking quickly, face
closed and hard. I don't know if he's angry about this
or what. Jealous? Wouldn't think so. I'm not the one
crying out the wrong name in the heat of passion,
after all. He can hardly blame me for grasping at the
straw of my old life that Xander essentially is.
