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Joss Whedon is nothing less than a pure genius who gave Xander his wacky dance moves. I would never try to infringe on that. All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Their usage here is for entertainment purposes only.

Author's notes: This story is for gg, who hopes Xander comes home all scruffy.

Image notes: The cover on this page is courtesy of Goddess Minerva.

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Return

August, 1999

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My heart doesn't know how to beat without her.

It's the strangest thing. Since I left her nearly three months ago it's been hopping sporadically around in my chest And even though I know I'll get to see her tomorrow, it hasn't seen fit to calm down.

Lying flat on my back, zipped neatly up in my sleeping bag, I can see billions of stars. But in all these nights of camping under the sky, I've never seen a shooting star. I know it's because I lack the luck of having her beside me. At the thought of her my heart thumps twice, quickly, in my chest before resuming its normal thud-thud. It's the strangest thing.

When I set off on this trip all those weeks ago I really thought I would return to Sunnydale cleansed of all romantic thoughts of her. Without the distraction of her being so close, I could learn truths about myself that would put a new spin on the world I live in. Evil be damned. Xander Harris would pick up the fight a new man.

I have, actually, learned lots of things about who I am. There is a confidence hidden deep inside me that is stifled by always being part of a group. There is a part of me that notices when all the other parts are acting irrational, and I have but to listen to it for guidance. The part of me that is fiercely protective of my friends isn't nearly as protective of me. I learned that I'm pretty good company.

I feel proud of the new calmness that has settled over me. I'm sure it comes from never having anywhere to be, not being afraid of losing those closest to you in an important battle that becomes more frustrating and less important all the time. But it also comes from being able to admit to myself that I love her, every moment of every day if I want to, without having to worry about how wrong that is.

There goes my heart again, several quick thumps in a row this time. It's been happening all summer.

Tomorrow I'll get to see her. She knows from my last postcard that I'll be back, and she knows that I hope she's waiting for me. I let myself believe she wants to see me to.

*-*-*-*

I don't know how to breathe without him.

It's disturbing, really. At first I thought I was bringing it on myself. I remember, when I was little, sometimes I would lay in bed frightened by the shadows moving on the walls. The darkness of the room would press down on me so hard the only sound I heard was my own breathing. It was so loud. So loud that surely the monsters lurking in the corners would use it as a guide to find me. Without thinking I would stop breathing. Completely stop, until my chest heaved with the need for air. After that I could never seem to get the rhythm right. I would stop and start the air flowing to my lungs over and over, willing my brain to take the function back over. But focusing on it so hard always made it worse.

I hadn't done that in years, until he went away for the summer. Then I found that, at night when I was lying in bed alone, I would think of him and my breath would catch and the patterns would start. The more I focused to stay calm the more I couldn't slow my breathing down. What's disturbing is that I don't know whether it's excitement or dread that sits on my chest those nights in the dark.

The last few months have been strangely predictable for life on the Hellmouth. Evil has taken a relative holiday and the lack of worrying--for myself and the lives of my friends--has made me into an almost impulsive person. If I want to sleep late, I do. If I choose to blow off the summer reading list I so zealously tracked down at the university, I only feel slightly guilty. Lies about my whereabouts roll casually off my tongue to my parents.

Oz and I have taken to camping up in the mountains when my parents go away. We snuggle up in a single sleeping bag and drop languid kisses on each other's lips until one of us falls asleep. Sometimes we'll stay awake long enough to watch the stars rotate in the sky. I didn't know that Willow Rosenberg could enjoy feeling so free of all responsibility.

On those nights when we go stargazing, I can't help but wonder where he is. I've convinced myself it's only natural to be interested in the health of a friend. It's more than that, though. If I can look up at the stars and know he's doing the same thing, I feel close to him. Oz doesn't know that my sudden interest in the outdoors coincided with Xander's first postcard telling my how peaceful it is to surrender yourself to the sky.

He is coming home tomorrow. I don't think anyone knows that but me. I'm the only one he's been corresponding with, and I've kept that a closely guarded secret. It feels good, being the only one in his life again. Just like it used to be. The breath hitches in my chest and I try very hard not to focus on it.

*-*-*-*

I've been sitting in front of her house for almost thirty minutes. The absurd part is that the street is unusually quiet, no one has passed me since I parked here. My car is large, and it's blue, and it's right in front of her house. Unless she's forgotten I'm coming there's no way she could miss it.

My heart was beating erratically when I woke up this morning, almost as if it thought to hurry me on my way. Home to her. Maybe that's what it's been up to all this time.

I wonder if she told the rest of the gang about my homecoming. Maybe they are all waiting in her living room, hiding behind hulking pieces of furniture, waiting for me to get up the courage to ring the bell. She would be peaking out the window at me from behind the curtain, relaying the way I'm just sitting here in my car staring at her house. At first they probably thought it was all sinking into me, being home, but by now they think I've lost my marbles.

Hopefully she didn't tell anyone. I purposely didn't. This new me wanted a chance to show its face to her before slipping into the routine of being part of the gang. Maybe I didn't even want to be part of the gang anymore, if I could just be alone with her instead.

My hesitancy to go find her is reaching the point of insanity. She has to know I'm here, and it's clear she isn't going to throw open the door and run out to greet me. Enough.

Shaking legs propel me out of the car and up the front walk. The garage door is open and there are no other cars in the drive, meaning we'll be alone. If she's home at all.

The doorbell shrieks my arrival and the organ in my chest stops beating as I hold my breath for her.

*-*-*-*

I can't believe he sat in the car all that time. He had to know I knew of his presence. Even without the loud sounds of the motor in his ancient car, I can feel the closeness of him that has been missing for so long.

Secretly I'm thanking whatever force it was that kept him away because it has given me time to get my breathing under control. His arrival set me on the edge of hyperventilation. It's taken twenty of the thirty minutes he granted me just to slow it down. The other ten I used to take in the sight of him; absent for so much longer than I ever wanted him to be.

His hair has grown long and is a little shaggy again. Long enough that it has begun to curl in a way I remember from his boyhood. He's sitting staring at the house, chin resting on his arms that are folded over the car door, so I don't notice the small goatee until he finally gets out of the car and moves closer to me. He looks older than he did when he left, although he is wearing the exact same outfit of baggy brown pants and loose blue tee shirt.

It seems to take his long legs forever to get him to my door. He stares at the sidewalk now, and I wonder if he's having second thoughts about coming here first. Maybe that's why he's taking so much time. Losing sight of him coincides with the sound of my doorbell, sounding louder than usual.

I take two deep breaths and walk over to invite him inside.

*-*-*-*

The first thought I have is not what I had imagined. I wonder if she was always this small. She has the same beautiful eyes--once I coax them to meet mine--but she seems absolutely tiny and I feel much like the Hulk.

"I've missed you," we say in unison, and she stares at her tiny foot in its tiny sneaker as she shoves at the edge of the carpet.

"Are we alone?" I ask, before realizing exactly what it is I'm asking. She smiles at me and takes it in stride, maneuvering around my true intent.

"You didn't mention anyone else in your postcards, so I thought maybe it was best if I kept you to myself this first time."

Her eyes widen in embarrassment, and we realize we're both trying too hard to keep this long-awaited meeting casual.

"I missed you," I say again, reaching out to touch her hair. It's different than before. Sort of choppy and flipping up in different directions. It makes her look adorable. I hope my goofy smile is enough to tell her I feel this way, because I don't think I'd be able to actually tell her out loud.

My heart is still thump-thump-thumping away. I'm surprised because I thought the nearness of her would finally set me straight. She always did before.

*-*-*-*

He has a small hole in his shirt right next to his collarbone on the right side.

I notice that his arms are deeply tanned, and I wonder how far up the browness extends. He also seems at once more lean and more muscular than the last time I saw him, and I wonder if his hug feels the same. Xander makes me feel half my actual size.

He's waiting for me to respond to his last comment. The one where he said he missed me. His touch completely threw me off-kilter and instead of reciprocating his feelings I'm instead wondering if he likes my haircut. I'm thinking he's hoping I let him off the hook on this one, so I take his smile as a positive and move on.

"It feels like you've been gone forever," I offer him, and his smile widens. His fingers are still moving through my hair.

"You've been with me the whole time," he responds.

Bells are going off in my head and I step back from him. This was all settled between us way before he left. But if it was, really, I wouldn't have spent all summer trying to get closer to him through the stars. But if it wasn't, I shouldn't have been trying to get closer to him lying beside someone else.

He knows something is wrong, and his hands sink deep into his pockets. I can even believe that he knows exactly what is bothering me, though his eyes are softer than I've ever seen them and I thought he would be mad at me for bringing someone else to our meeting after all.

"My heart is beating so fast�"

"I feel like I can hardly breathe�"

I don't know who reached out first but we are holding each other. Our embrace is tight without being desperate and I realize his chin rests perfectly on the top of my head and my forehead rests snugly in the dip of his shoulder.

My breathing is still sporadic, but this time it's because I am trying to hold back tears. I wonder if I can live the rest of my life with this eccentric breathing pattern because it's not getting any more normal with him nearby.

"We've been under the same sky for months," he says, making the obvious sound like poetry. He hardly even sounds like Xander. But then, I hardly feel like Willow when he is so close. Instead I feel like part of a whole that is us.

"And all this time I've been falling," I manage to get past my tight throat.

"Me, too," he whispers.

I get this crazy feeling that no matter who we were when he left, we have come back together attached. Even stranger still is that I feel he is in complete agreement.

I sigh and he walks me backward into the house, closing the door with his foot.

END

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