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| a.connor a.doyle a.lindsey a.oz a.spike a.wesley a.xander a.other three.somes het.fic character.study |
| Title: Velcro, Duct Tape, and Staples Author: Voleuse Pairing: Angel/Xander Rating: PG-13 Setting: Future-fic Xander escapes from their bed to take a long, refreshing piss in the bathroom across the hall. He feels kind of clandestine while he does it, but he knows he shouldn't. Angel used to be human, once upon a time, and if he doesn't remember this, then he doesn't remember being human, really. The watchers can philosophize about the haves and have-nots of souls, but in the middle of the night, Xander's pretty sure that humanity boils down to one thing: messy, glorious biology. He washes his hands and considers going back to bed, but forestalls that desire for want of a drink. He walks to the kitchen, feeling the carpet scratch against the soles of his feet, and opens the refrigerator, his sigh overlaid by the door's creak. The contents of the refrigerator are sparse: A six-pack of beer, a bottle of purified water, sandwich fixings, and four bags of blood. Xander considers the water for a second, then grabs a beer. Pops the tab and takes a long swallow, then pads over to the kitchen table and settles into one of the chairs. Takes another draught, and decides that when he goes back to bed, he'll wake Angel up. It's not like Angel needs the sleep, anyway, because hello? Vampire. *** At first, Xander is only doing his job, looking for signs of newly-awakened slayers in eastern Asia. When he runs across one, he calls the Council, and gives the girl resources sufficient to pass through customs and fly to Slayer Central. After a while, though, finding his way into the wilderness, Xander isn't searching any more so much as hiding. From what, he couldn't say, but even the thought of returning to London, or even Rome, unnerves him. He's been living this life for too long, he thinks. Has he lost his edge? Or, you know, whatever he possessed that passed for an edge. When he stumbles across a vampire, just a mile away from a village, however, he discovers that he hasn't lost whatever he had. It's to the vampire's detriment, of course, but as he shakes the dust from his hands, he decides that's the way it should be. He trudges on to the settlement, muscles aching from the fight, as well as from lugging his backpack for who knows how many hundreds of miles already. He likes the freedom of outer Mongolia, or wherever he is, but he misses public transportation. He's considering buying a horse. He reaches the outskirts of the village and revels in the warmth that only a close gathering of human bodies can generate. He smiles, nods courteously at the handful of people that peer at him, greets them in what he hopes is a passable approximation of their language. A group of children runs past him, chattering, and for lack of better options, he follows them into the center of town. There he recognizes, along with some dignified elders and a girl that has to be a slayer, someone he had never expected to see again. Angel. *** Xander's been pondering his beer for a while when Angel's voice startles him into awareness. "How long are you planning on staying out here?" Xander's arm jerks enough to spill the beer, but he swivels in his chair with a grin. "Sorry," he shrugs. "I was thinking." Angel glides forward (How do they do that? Xander wonders) and slides his arms over Xander's shoulders for a second, then he ambles over to the fridge and grabs a beer for himself. It's a long, long moment while he seats himself in the other chair, pops the tab of his drink, and takes a draught. "Thinking about what?" *** They train the slayer, in tandem, for a few weeks. London will be a big adjustment for her, and they want to give her as much time with her family as possible. When the time comes, however, she leaves the village without tears, and Xander thinks that, if she can face the outside world without showing any qualms, so can he. He's all about inner qualm. They have only have one pack horse, so the going is slow. They alternate watches, wary of the night, but Angel's often awake no matter whose watch it is. As May (Xander's found her actual name difficult to pronounce) tosses in her sleeping bag, Xander whittles a stake, worrying a dead branch with his pocket knife. Angel settles next to him on the ground, but doesn't say a word. It's been tough, the past couple of weeks, having to work with Angel because there's an ongoing litany in Xander's head, something along the lines of vampiresarebadandhekilledMissCalendarandBuffycriedsomuchandohgodIkilledJesse. It hums whenever he looks at Angel, but it's been dying down as he watched Angel teach May how to fight, as Angel played some complex rock game with May's little sisters, as Angel sat with the village elders and listened to their stories. He's never really paid much attention to Angel before, because the others were always around to distract him. Angel settles next to him on the ground, but doesn't say a word. Xander turns his head and sees camaraderie in Angel's eyes, and something else that he identifies, but doesn't yet embrace. He hands the stake, just finished, to Angel, and then stands. Dusts himself off, and wakes May for her hour of the watch. *** Xander doesn't answer, but takes Angel's beer, puts both in the sink, and with a smile, walks back to the bedroom. Angel takes the hint. *** They finally make it back to what Xander's tempted to label the Matrix, what with the thrumming crowds and the obscured skyline and the fact that he thinks every man in a suit is there to kill him. Things were much clearer under the open sky. Still, this way lies the airport, so they find a relatively safe-seeming hostel-or-possibly-motel-if-Xander-knew-more-Cantonese. Angel finagles two private rooms. Possibly there was a bit of threat in Angel's voice, but Xander figures if he can't understand the language, he can't berate Angel for intimidation. And that flash of fang was probably his imagination, anyway. May gets her own room, because it's only fair, given the circumstances, and Angel and Xander share the other. There's only one bed, but Xander's too tired to think of any objections. He takes a shower, slips on a pair of boxers, slips under the sheets. Doesn't say a word to Angel, falls asleep immediately. He wakes again in the middle of the night, his limbs wrapped around a lukewarm Angel, and other parts of his body just as responsive, as he almost unconsciously pushes his hips into Angel's. And Angel's awake. Angel turns over, albeit with difficulty, as Xander barely loosens his embrace. "Xander--" But Xander shakes his head. Silences him with a kiss, then pulls back to look him in the eye. "Would you lose your soul?" Angel hesitates. "No." Xander contemplates pique. "Should I be offended?" "No," Angel laughs. "I haven't worried about it for a while." "Really?" Xander draws back, gives himself space to think. "Is your soul stuck to you, then? Did you use adhesives?" "Like glue?" Angel's brow furrows. "Superglue, or rubber cement. Or maybe duct tape. It holds the universe together," Xander explains. "Or did you staple your soul in place?" "Xander--" Angel's tone is exasperated, now, but Xander's on a roll. "Maybe velcro? That would explain a lot of things--" This time, Angel kisses Xander into silence, and then distracts Xander sufficiently to keep him quiet for the rest of the night. Well, not quiet, really, but enough for his purposes. Xander finds that he doesn't mind it at all. *** When the sun rises, Xander wakes again. He considers getting out of bed, but with Angel's arm slung over his waist, it doesn't seem like the thing to do. So, he doesn't. -End Feedback |