Copyright November 10, 2003 by Matthew Haldeman-Time
Rating: PG
Pairing: Xander/Andrew
Disclaimer: "Buffy: the Vampire Slayer," with its related characters and themes, belongs to Joss Whedon and others, not to me. I make no money from this venture.
Wherein there are girls, girls, and more girls.
Title by Diamond.
A few years ago, Xander would have given his right arm to live in a house overflowing with pretty young females.
But these days? Today? He’d given his left eye and, somehow, he wasn’t enjoying himself.
Maybe there were too many girls. Too many scared, defensive, defenseless girls in the house. Too many scarred, hardened, beaten-down girls taking charge, or afraid to take charge.
Too many girls left in his wake. He hadn’t seen Cordelia in too long. He saw Anya too often.
And the men. Giles, back again, always there when needed, dependable, reliable. Spike, always there whether needed or not, like a persistent rash.
And Andrew. So obviously out of place, Xander looked like he belonged, by comparison. So obviously gay, he made Xander look butch, by comparison.
Did Xander belong?
For that matter, was Xander butch?
The girls, he didn’t know what to do with the girls. They were in and out of the bathroom, in and out of the basement, arguing, crying. They were in over their heads, and they didn’t know what to do, and rather than spend five seconds being constructive, they’d rather be bitter. Confrontational. Destructive. Xander didn’t know what to do with that. Xander was used to helping, constructing, questioning, buoying. He was supportive guy. That was his thing. He couldn’t support these girls. There was nothing in them to support.
But Andrew, he knew what to do with Andrew. It was all there in Andrew’s eyes. Eyes that were turned to him, when no one else looked to him for much of anything anymore. He could help Andrew. And so he did.
And when he did, the first time, he thought, there. That’s done. Andrew had been helped, and Xander could move on to help the next person, now.
Only Andrew’s eyes were on him again, the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. And no matter how many times Xander did what Andrew’s eyes asked of him, he still found himself doing it again, because that look was still there. Oh, it changed, it morphed, it shifted in tone and hue from day to day, but it was never gone.
That was when Xander realized that some people needed things on a regular basis. Buffy might need another solider in her army on Tuesday but not Wednesday, and Anya might need sex on Wednesday but not Thursday, and Giles might need doughnuts on Thursday but not Friday. But Andrew would always need attention, and affection, and love. Support. Affirmation.
Xander realized that he, himself, was not only supportive guy, but also affirmative guy, and also guy who needed to be needed.
There were girls everywhere, in the bathroom and the basement and the kitchen and the backyard.
In Xander’s room, was Xander.
And in Xander’s bed, was
Andrew.