ethrosdemon & Lar ||| Buffy & Angel

Reconfiguration V
by Lar and ethrosdemon

EMAIL: naturallycalm@yahoo.com =and= HERE
Distribution: List archives, people who ask.
Disclaimer: Neither Lar nor ethrosdemon own Xander or Angel, their souls or their demons. We hardly own the parts of our brains that remind us that these are fictional characters.
Rating: R
Spoilers: Epiphany, The Body
Notes: If a month ago someone would have told us we would write an Angel saga, we would have laughed and laughed until we choked. Yet, here we are.
Dedication: To Aimee who issued the challenge, we hear Borneo is nice this time of year. Ah, to the faithful, Sam, Te, Donna, Katie, Lori, Shelly, Olwen, Rabbit, and Ducks, the newest lunatic on the fringe, the people on YGTS? Y'all rock so much, we adore you.

= = = = =

Another late-night session of demon killing rehash between Gunn and Angel, and Wesley walks into the lobby of the Hyperion looking like the weight of the world is dragging down the pockets of his brown jacket.

"All those lottery tickets come up zeros again, English?" Gunn takes in Wesley's appearance and feels the ground shift. Knows Wes wears his heart on his sleeve, but this has the makings of bad.

Wes looks at him, only realizing he's there because he spoke. "No...I see, I haven't ever been good at concealing my thoughts, have I? I'm sorry to ask you this, Gunn, but would you mind if I had a private word with Angel? I hate to..."

Gunn waves off the apology. "I was on my way out anyway. Have your word or five. It's all cool. Later, Angel." Pulls himself to his feet and graces Wesley with a warm smile and a whack to the back as he rolls out the door.

"Bye." Angel turns his face to Wesley, and can smell the fear under cigarette smoke and whiskey. Worried that it took liquid courage to get Wesley through the door.

"Angel, I don't know how to tell you this..." Hands stuffed in his pockets, standing behind the sofa, pacing anxiously. Wants to say it, dreads the reaction, remembers the last time he saw Angel's temper.

"With words Wes." Watches him hustle himself from one end of the sofa to the other and says. "Sit down, Wesley, you're making me dizzy."

"Right, this is rather delicate..." Wes sits across from him, hands dangling loosely between spread knees.

"If it's about your sex life, could you talk to Cordelia about it?" Angel jokes lightly, tries to ease Wesley up a bit before he shatters here in the lobby, a pile of sharp little pieces of Rogue Demon Hunter all over the carpet.

"What? Oh lord, it's nothing like that." Blushes, clears his throat, forces himself to say it. "It's about Xander."

Wes notes the way Angel snaps to attention immediately at the mention of Xander's name. There's no actual movement, he's in the same place he was before those words hit the air, but he's all tight muscle and his eyes are very, very bright. "What about him?"

"Well, after the first night he went off on his own, I have been following him, or trying to at least." The way Angel's eyebrows draw together is enough to give Wesley pause. He wipes his hands on his pant legs in an unconscious gesture.

"Why would you do that?"

"I am concerned, all the more so after tonight when I finally was able to trace his movements. I know you have rather a lot invested in him, and..." Falters, trails off and can't complete the sentence. Thinking it is one thing, saying it to his face a completely different turn of events, and Wesley feels *girlish* for some reason.

"You were afraid he was going to hurt me." Angel's voice is soft, there's no hint of mockery or displeasure in it.

Wesley breathes a sigh of relief. "Yes."

"What happened tonight?" Straight back to business, and maybe this will all be alright, Wes tells himself.

"I followed him to a disco, and after a while, he left with this young girl."

"Left with a girl?" Flicker of emotion there, shadow of the pain that Wesley had been trying to save him from and something darker behind it, a touch of anger quickly pressed back into its space,

"Yes, and I, after a manner of speaking, spied on him." Blushes at the memory, feeling like a peeping tom, watching Xander flirt and caress the young girl, hearing their sighs and groans in the darkness.

"And?"

"He bit her." Flinches back from the flare of gold in Angel's eyes, feels his own heartbeat stagger up and down, never really returning to normal.

"How sure are you?" Low, steady cadence, each word bitten off, and the eyes still not quite losing that luminosity that had startled him just a moment ago. Wes swallows, suddenly aware of the excess saliva that has gathered in his mouth. "How sure, Wesley?"

Flush of his own anger making itself known at the prompting and he snaps. "Pretty damned sure since I drove her to the hospital after he left her unconscious."

"Wes, I think you want to leave now." Angel stands, as if to usher his guest to the door, but Wesley hesitates.

"Angel, I just..."

"I'm not angry with you, you did what you thought was the right thing. I understand your motivation. My anger is directed another way, but I think you should leave." Explaining the situation in a soothing tone that's completely belied by the tremor in his hands, and Wesley desperately grasps another chance to diffuse the bomb he has set to ticking.

He stands, forces himself to stay there despite his instinct for self preservation suggesting to him that he might want to take a few steps back. "Angel, before I go, I want you to listen to me. He didn't kill her. She wasn't even hurt badly, I don't offer that as an excuse, but I think you should keep it in mind."

"I will keep it in mind. Would you keep this between us for now?" //No need to rattle Cordelia's cage, no call to put Gunn on the warpath, that's what he's saying//

Wesley considers refusing, staying at the hotel and waiting for Xander's return with Angel to monitor the situation. Sees Angel's face ripple with ridges as his hesitation, "Yes, of course." Walks out the door hating himself for his part in this.

=====

Xander closes the door behind him, flips the lock over. No sign of Angel, and he stops right there to pull off the heavy boots. Gathers them up in his hands, strolls to the counter and snaps off the low light left burning for him. More symbol than necessity but still appreciated. He feels warm all over, skin flushed from the last feeding and the euphoria of it still heady. Knows he's smiling as he drops the boots and pulls off his shirt, gathers it all up in one hand and moves silently up the steps to Angel's suite.

Angel's sitting in one of the leather wingback chairs, legs crossed, fingers steepled together in front of him. Voice pleasant as he asks, "Did you have a good night?"

"Oh, nothing special." Xander sets the boots by the door, tosses the shirt up to lie over his shoulder.

"Nothing at all?" Dark eyes on him in the dim room, and he shrugs.

"Not really, I think I've pretty much done the club scene in LA." He peers closer at Angel, notes that he is still fully dressed. Would have taken greater heed of this abnormality, perhaps if he hadn't been so full of himself, high on the fresh feeding and the acquired arrogance of feeling secure in his deceptions. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"I was waiting up for you." Finally lowers his hands, clasps them together in his lap.

Xander wrinkles his brow, tests the scents, find something there that he can't quite place but nothing that sets him to serious worry. There's no hint of arousal, and that itself is unusual, although there have been nights when he has to be the one to initiate things. Asks, "Any reason for that? Is something wrong?"

"Why don't you tell me." Flare of bitterness in the air, rush of pheromones that take a few milliseconds to waft over to Xander in his spot by the door. He's already started to reply when they hit him.

"Uh, how could I...oh shit..." All the warmth he's been feeling suddenly gone, sour taste in the back of his throat, blood that still sits in his belly roiling and churning. Remembers the violence of his last lesson and shudders to think of what this punishment might be, and if he'll survive it.

"How many?" Both feet flat on the floor now, hands unclasped and lying open on each knee.

"How..." Stops himself when Angel raises one finger on his right hand.

"You don't want to finish that sentence. We both know what I'm talking about. Your chances of leaving this room walking are decreasing by the second."

"Thirteen." //has it been that many? i've fed from thirteen people, and i used to be the good guy, i used to be the one who never strayed.//

"How many have you killed?"

"None." Eyes cast down and throat working, wondering if he's going to be sick.

"That you're aware of."

"They're all alive." He sounds like he's trying to convince himself as well as Angel, and it sounds pathetic to him. Shame washes over him, huge staggering waves of it, and he wishes for tonight back, so he can fix it. Not go out, stay here with Cordelia, wait for Angel in the bed.

"Why don't you kill them?"

The question startles him and he blurts out the first thing that comes to his head, so far enough from the truth that he winces as soon as it's out. "Because...well, I don't have to."

"Why don't you kill them?" Same tone of voice, as if he never asked the question the first time, and this time Xander considers a second before he replies.

"Because it's wrong."

"Why don't you kill them?" Monotone, relentless, and he wonders idly how many times Angel will ask before he gives and tells the truth. Would he stand here while the tail end of the night faded and the sun came up, with Angel repeating it over and over, a litany to drive him insane, followed by what will doubtless be a brutal beating that could very well leave him in bed for days. Thinks that the longer he stalls, the worse things are going to be for him, so he sucks it up and tells him the truth.

"Because you don't kill humans and I don't want to do anything to disappoint you."

"It took you three times to get that right. Over here. On your knees." Angel points to the floor in front of him and Xander walks over. His eyes flicker to Angel's face but there's no comfort or clue there. He drops to his knees, head bowed, shirt sliding to the floor in a glossy black puddle. The skin on his shoulders and back begins to tighten and crawl in anticipation of the blows he knows are coming.

Angel stands and circles him, Xander keeps his eyes trained on the floor, watches Angel's shoes pace in and out of his line of sight. When he finally speaks, the anger makes his voice tremble. "I could beat you, rip the skin off your back and drain you until your skin is as thin as paper, but that wouldn't change what you've done. It wouldn't undo it."

"I trusted you. I believed in you. You lied to my face, and I gave you everything I have left. I treated you like a lover, not a possession." Xander realizes that he's not getting off with the relative ease of a beating this time. Angel's words tear into him far more effectively than his fists had. Mortified at the enormity of his transgression, disgusted with the level of his betrayal of Sire and lover, all he can do is kneel and let the words continue to flay him. The tears start out silently and gather in force until he's choking back sobs.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out? Or were you dying for me to know?"

Xander raises his head, opens his mouth to say something, shuts it with an audible click when Angel snaps, "Don't answer, I don't care."

"You won't go out again without someone with you. I want you to tell me about it. Each person you fed from, starting with the first, and why you did it." The booted feet stop in front of him and Xander does sob now, loud, wracking sounds that make his shoulders heave.

"Just send me away. I can't stay here. I can't look at you." Choked out words, quiet between the noises of him crying and trying to reign it in.

"You're not going anywhere. Your punishment is the same as mine. I have to look at you every day knowing you betrayed everything I've given you, and you have to look me in the eye and know you did it. Now tell me about each person." Angel stands there towering over the form crouched and shaking at his feet. Waits for him to start talking.

Shuddering sigh and he begins, words tumbling out in a rush, hating to do it and wanting it over with. "The first was the girl I fucked, I don't even know her name. I drained her until she almost died and left her in an alley. The next was a guy named Greg the night after. I left him just after he went unconscious, and I got the rhythm from there. Then was Maria, Mike, Monica, the name thing was an accident, I just picked the people who flirted the most. Jim who I had to take to the hospital because he had some kind of heart thing. Beth, Casey .... uh, Jack, no Jake. Cole." Pauses. Doesn't need to keep count, he remembers their names. Sniffles loudly, wipes his hand over his face and sighs. " Then Paul, and Eric, he was a Goth kid and seemed to enjoy it, so I didn't even drink enough for him to pass out. And tonight, Christine. I did it because after the first time, which was an accident, I didn't mean to bite her, I was just caught in the moment, after that, the hunger was too much, I couldn't stop myself."

"Look at me." Hardest thing in the world for him to do, harder than he thinks it would be to step into sunlight, but he turns his face up, meets Angel's unwavering stare. "Are you sorry you hurt them, or are you sorry I know?"

"Stake me." Plea, whispered begging, he just wants this whole thing to be over for good. Can't bear the look in Angel's eye, the weight of his own guilt on his shoulders.

"If I had the guts to do that, I would have done it the minute you walked into the hotel." Angel glances away briefly and Xander can hear him breathing, sure sign of his anger. "Go to your room."

"Angel..."

"Don't call me that!" Head whipping back around, eyes furiously gold, and Xander flinches away, looks down at his knees, the shimmer of the refracted light on the shirt that still lays on the floor. Gets slowly and awkwardly to his feet and manages to walk out of the room without looking back. Stumbles down the hall to his own room, across the threshold. Stands there for a minute, ears straining for some hint of a signal that Angel might be calling to him, but he knows he's fooling himself. Strips off the pants with hands that shake, toes off the socks and falls numbly on the bed, face burrowed in the pillow to cover the sounds of his crying.

Angel watches Xander stagger to his feet and slowly walk out the door. When he's out of sight, Angel shuts and locks the door behind him. Runs his hands over his face and pours himself a huge drink from the decanter that hasn't been touched since the night Darla was there. Collapses in the chair next to him and starts picking himself apart. Thinks about the turning, and how each of Xander's crimes belong to him as well. Wasn't vigilant enough with his off-spring, let him roam freely because he fooled himself into believing the demon only came out to play during sex. Forgot that Xander could have sought out an easy meal when no one was looking over his shoulder. Visualizes the bruises, how he didn't give the healing enough thought, dismissed it in his need to redeem himself for losing control. All the time, Xander hiding his nightly frenzy, and Angel so deluded that he didn't even THINK this might be happening. Knows that blood lust, one taste and it eclipses all else. Skips over Xander preying on the innocents in the night to his own kills. Never left a victim alive. Except Kate. Can still taste her on his tongue when he pictures her face. Renewed lust for straight from the source human blood so overwhelming, he almost took her life for real the next time he saw her. Him, with the guilt of thousands of lives weighing down his every movement, and he was a heartbeat from caving in. Thinks of the lawyers he locked in the abattoir with Darla and Druscilla. Hears their screams echoing in his ears, and remembers the twisted grin on Lindsey's face over his knowledge of the lapse. Sees the gypsy girl's face contorted in pain begging for her life and her virtue, the hours he allowed her to cling to the hope of survival. Feels the tears cascading down his face when he calls up Xander's broken expression of regret when he sent him away. The first moment when real understanding could have passed between them, and all Angel felt was betrayal. Lets the sobs break free when he pictures Buffy's face contorted in much the same way his must have been minutes before. Grief is too shallow a word to express his pain. His crimes so much graver than his childe's, and his rage not truly over the lives Xander fractured, but for his perception of reality crushed. His trust extinguished and his hope smothered. Another opportunity for something shared gone, and he could have shown Xander why what he did was wrong beyond displeasing his Sire. Made him meditate on the fact that his meals came from people, men and women with families, friends, dreams and desires. That lesson shot to hell because all Angel could honestly feel was another loss, the devastation of opening himself up and letting Xander fill some of the spaces that craved another person. Hears Xander's whispered apology on the couch in the lobby again for what it really was, supplication for forgiveness for the unnamed sin. The bottom falls out of his heart when he comes to the end of his spiraling thoughts and realizes that he still needs Xander anyway, no simplicity of hate to stop the ache.

Drains his drink, sets the glass on the table, pulls his clothes off and throws them in a pile on the floor. Unlocks the door, and walks down the hallway to Xander's room. The door left wide open, he closes it behind him and locks it. Smells the despondency from the bed. Makes his way to the free side and climbs in next to Xander. Rolls on his side and wraps his body around his boy.

Xander tenses in the embrace, wanting it so badly that he is terrified of allowing himself to believe that it's truly happening. He smells the alcohol, under it the raw scent of pain. No arousal but something else, the unnamable need he can only define as the call of the blood, the thing within him that resonates to Angel being near. Angel's face pressed into his hair, and this close his can smell the dried saline of tears. It brings him a new surge of misery, something much worse than invoking anger. He's done more than anger Angel; he's hurt him, abused the trust, ruined it in all likelihood. Never on even footing to begin with, never the best of friends before the turning, Angel had shown him remarkable grace, placed faith in him. Xander regrets many things in his past, but nothing with this fervor.

With a shaky sigh, he relaxes into the shelter of Angel's arms and legs. Puts a tentative hand up to cover the larger one that rests on the pillow by his face, feels it flex to allow Xander to twine his fingers with the others. Closes his eyes and falls into a twitching and troubled sleep.

=====

When Xander finds wakefulness in the afternoon, Angel's absent from the bed, his missing weight a hole in Xander's chest. He showers, dresses, and considers whether he's supposed to leave his room. Figures Angel would have made that clear if he wasn't. Takes the stairs to the lobby, and is flabbergasted that there're no stakes or angry looks hurled his way. Cordelia and Gunn chatting, Angel reading the newspaper, only Wesley looks ill at ease, book open on the countertop, and when he turns his face up at Xander, there's sadness plain in the set of his mouth and eyes. Well, he knows now who discovered his extracurricular activities, but can't work up anything resembling anger or resentment, too deeply awash in his own shame.

"Hey, sleepyhead. Out late again?" Cordy's voice bright and perky, she grins at him from her desk.

"One night I need to take you to a *real* club, Junior. We can hang, and you can see the master at work." Gunn smiles broadly, even winks, and any other day it would be something of note, a sign that Gunn accepts his place here.

"Yeah, out late. Any coffee left?" Xander tries for casual, for the sake of Cordelia and Gunn if not himself. Doesn't know how to feel about them being out of the loop, although he has to say that he's grateful at the moment.

"No. You can make it yourself. Gunn hogged the last of it." Wrinkled nose and shrug of her shoulders when Gunn protests. Xander misses it, he's watching Angel out of the corner of his eye.

Angel doesn't look at him, turns the page of the paper with a soft rustle and continues reading.

Cordelia again, burbling on, in her own little world, head down as she types on the keyboard. Still has to watch the keys but considering the fact that he uses one finger, it's a major accomplishment in his book. "After you get the caffeine fix, you wanna do your e-mail and stuff? Willow would probably like to hear from you."

"Sounds fine." Voice conveying no enthusiasm whatsoever, he leaves for the kitchen.

Cordelia looks at Gunn who shrugs in a non-committal fashion. Glances at Wesley who manages to be engrossed in his latest big book of bad things and is of no help at all. Sighs and follows in Xander's footsteps.

Sees him watching the coffeepot drip, comes up behind him with quick steps that tap across the linoleum. "What happened?" Quiet, not much above a whisper.

He looks at her, still out of sorts from the emotional punches of last night and the oddly non-confrontational encounter in the lobby just now. Not even sure what she's talking about. "When?"

"Xander, did he hit you again?" Slim fingers tipped in magenta grabbing at the hem of the t-shirt, pulling it up, eyes scanning his pale skin for marks of any kind.

"Huh? No." He allows her to check his back, tugs the shirt away from her gently and smoothes it down, looks back to the coffee pot.

"Then why are you mopey-guy?" There's nothing but honest concern on her face, and he's so surprised that she knows nothing. If Angel hasn't said anything, then surely Wesley would have told them both, warned them about Xander's nasty habit in case they were next on the menu. Too close to the thoughts he has now and then, and he pulls his mind away from that picture.

"Just mood swings, I guess." Grabs a mug from the sink, waits anxiously for the coffee to finish.

Cordelia's having none of the avoidance, though, stubborn as ever. "Why am I not buying that excuse?"

"I'm just feeling down, Cordy. Don't worry about it." It's because she cares for him, he knows that's why she nags. Can't be satisfied with half answers and maybes, she always pokes and prods until she's sure she's seen every side. So much of a change to see her applying that need to know everything to the welfare of other people now in a straightforward and unashamed manner. Cordelia without the masks of high school.

"Don't ask me not to care about you. You wanna talk about it? Are you starting to think about the whole being dead thing? You could come over and talk to Dennis about it." Hand on his arm, sliding down to grab at his fingers in a warm little squeeze, and he laughs. It hurts to see her love him and know he doesn't deserve all the trust she's laying out.

"Maybe I will, but not today." Swings the hand she's holding, acknowledges the contact, and she gives him a hint of a smile.

"Well, yeah, the sun and stuff."

"Right."

Cordelia eyes him once more, takes in the vacant look in his eyes. She wants to grill him, ask him all the questions she can think of and probably a hundred more that will pop up along the way, but she's afraid he might cry or possibly have another psychotic break if she pushes too hard right now. So instead she asks, "You want me to leave you alone?"

"Please." Complete gratitude evident in his voice and the way he accepts her hug, kisses the top of her head.

"If you start acting like Angel, I might get a new job." Mumbled against his shoulder, reluctant to step away. The coolness of his body doesn't shock her like she thought it would. "Call the visions in, because I can't take all this moroseness."

She leaves then, mock-strict reminder to talk to her as soon as he feels ready to since she's the only one here who knows him. Xander waits for her to leave, considers with melancholy that she might have known him once but not anymore. That the only one who does really know him now is the one who hasn't spoken to him at all, the one he managed to alienate with his own selfish needs and usual lack of thought. Pours himself a cup of coffee that he doesn't really want and sits at the table in the kitchen. Wraps his hands around the mug, feels the heat seeping into his skin. Works himself up to the verge of tears again, wondering how he's going to survive forever living here with Angel when he won't even talk to him.

He hears Cordelia and Wesley bicker, a vague murmur of argument between them as they leave the hotel, and a minute or two later Angel appears in the kitchen. Sits at the table and looks at his hands.

Xander breaks the silence. "Did you send them out?"

"No, they went for dinner." Angel's head still down, looking at the old scarred tabletop, fingers brushing it absently.

"You rethink the beating?" Bites his lip after he asks, and some part of him wants the answer to be yes, wants his punishment to be defined by some finite period of time, the length and effort it will take Angel to beat him senseless and for him to heal, and when it ends he'll be free from recrimination and guilt by virtue of the pain.

Angel's head snaps up at Xander's question, and he sees him startle just a little. "Are you asking me to hit you?"

Jagged sigh, because he isn't really. He's not even sure what to do, how to wrap his mind around his actions and their consequences. Admits to himself he never allowed the thought of getting caught to manifest beyond a few terrified thrills that he buried somewhat deeper every time he came back to Angel and no questions were asked. "I'm not asking for anything."

"Good, because I want to ask you something." Angel studies Xander's face, sees the fear roll over his features at the limitless possibilities that statement encompasses.

Xander takes a sip of coffee that he can't even taste to cover. //ask me to leave, get out, ask me to never come near him again// "Great."

"Do you still want to go out on cases with us?" Fear replaced by surprise and then cautious hope. Angel notes his own sense of relief that Xander's even sitting here having this conversation with him. He was unsure of what the reaction would be in the aftermath. Emotionally draining night for them both, and it forced Angel to make some decisions about himself and the snug little kingdom he's been trying to rebuild lately. He wonders what decisions Xander may have made, if the boy remembers the dreams that he cried out from for most of the morning.

"What do you mean?" Coffee cup back on the table, and the first real eye contact for what feels like forever.

"Do you want to fight with us?" Offering this up as a gift, a peace offering between them, hoping Xander will see it for what it is - a bridge between what Angel can give and the things that Xander needs.

"Is this a ploy to kill me?" Hurt at the suggestion, but Angel tries to cover it.

"I'm not that subtle."

"I wouldn't call that subtle, but whatever." Looks back down at the table, afraid to show the enthusiasm he has for the suggestion. Awkward and not certain how to behave.

"Do you or not?" Angel wills him to say yes, accept the chance for them to work things out.

"Yes, of course I do. Does the vampy-kung fu come naturally? I haven't been in a fight since I left Sunnydale." Corner of his mouth quirked up in a ghost of a grin, half turned eyes peering through a tangle of dark curls, and Angel has to quell the urge to smile back, reach out and push the hair away.

"No, you'll have to learn to fight. We can start sparring tomorrow." Angel toys with Xander's choice of words //since I left Sunnydale//. Not "since I was turned" or "since I've been with you" distance there, and subconscious worldview embedded within. Also sees uncertainty in Xander's baffled look.

"You're gonna teach me to fight?" First word emphasized to stress the shock that it's not Gunn or even Wesley who'll put him through the motions.

"Yes." Hurt that his olive branch is so surprising, Angel can't force himself to say the rest //they can't teach you what I can, how to fight dirty and win at all costs//

"Why?" Probing, Xander wants more, to hear that maybe he's not forgiven, but still wanted in some fashion, that the glossing over of his crimes means returning to some semblance of a relationship not only about staying undead and on their feet.

"Who else is going to teach you?" No answers to give, his pain still blooming in his chest, Angel gave as much as he could when he offered this much, kept the secret between he, Xander and Wesley. Can't stay and watch Xander plead silently for comfort and reassurance. Rises to his feet and leaves the kitchen before Xander can say anything else. Feels horrible for it, and here he's lost. Taking the stairs to his floor by twos, he tries to draw up the anger, to hold on to himself as the injured party in this, but his desire to nurture has taken such firm root, the attempt to remember self only makes him feel worse.

Xander follows Angel closely with his eyes, sees the way his back fills the doorframe, sees the rolling motions of heel to toe footsteps. Wants to call out, ask him to stay and maybe have a cup of coffee, or nothing, just quiet and sitting, but his voice is nowhere to be found, and after ten minutes or so, he also leaves the kitchen. Takes the elevator and makes his way to the room Angel set aside for the television // What? You're getting cable? Xander is the favored child!// Cordelia's mock exclamation in his mind as he sits and zaps the box into life. Tries to drown out his thoughts with flickering color and boisterous, candy music. Not concentrating on the screen, attempting to ground himself with memories of other places and people, one of whom was him. The him of two years ago watching videos with Oz and Willow, the odor of hair die making him light-headed enough to not care that they were in love and he wasn't. The him of a few months ago explaining to Anya why the microwave caught on fire, and that aluminum forks will do that every time. The him of seven years ago who laughed at vampire movies and thought The Mummy was much scarier. So engrossed in his happy places, he doesn't sense Angel until he's preparing to sit next to him on the couch. Two mugs in his hand. Passes one to Xander as he sits, brings the other to his lips as Xander downs the blood in his own.

Angel motions to the television. "Videos?" Nod of his head, and Angel screws up his face when Marilyn Manson comes on the screen, tilts his head to the side and bites one corner of his lip.

"Yeah," Xander responds, has to avert his face, can't keep his eyes trained on Angel attempting to relate, even now. Second time in an hour, and Xander's tears pop out and begin to roll down his cheeks before he's even to the good part. The part where Angel trusts him with his life.His continued existence on this planet, trusts Xander enough to let him watch his back. And, really, that's just too much. The thought he's been staving off with his better times memories: how unworthy he is and will always be. Can't imagine if the situations were reversed that he would want Angel at his side when death's in the offering, not so close to betrayal of everything that's been between them. That's when it occurs to Xander that the situations have been reversed. Almost exactly opposite. Xander thinks of hell. He thinks of all the cruel words and icy glares he had for the man sitting next to him now, the man reaching his hand out to brush a tear from Xander's neck before it tumbles into the collar of his shirt. And he wants to tell him how his entire body is siezed up with the sorrow he feels for his hatefulness and his callousness, for the omission that ruined Buffy's life and meant so much more than tears for Angel. Knows there are no words for this and even if there were, that he's not worthy to express them. The pain is all he has, and he wants to keep it for himself.

=end=

Part VI



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