*****

This is a Xander POV.

So, here I am, my figurative hat in my hand, outside the door of Riley's hotel room. I'm supposed to be checking on him, and gauging his mental health after the grand escapade that was Adam's final stand. He's been quiet and since Riley's avoiding share mode with his girlfriend, lucky Xander gets recon duty.

I knock, half hoping that he won't answer the door, and then I can go back home to Anya, forget about prehistorical slayers, and these odd little bits of Riley related whimsy. Buffy knows what she's talking about though, because when Riley opens the door, he looks like hell.

Cocking my head to one side, I contemplate this boy, waiting for the unspoken invitation, hoping and worried at the same time that he won't step aside, beckon me in. He does though, sweeping one arm, in a tired motion, and trudging right behind me into the cold impersonal room.

I sink onto his bed, feet firmly planted on the ground, unable to tear my eyes from his face as he collapses onto the floor. Exhaustion blurs his face, and he blinks, returning my stare, and I'm realizing that not a word has been spoken. I open my mouth, and search for the words. "So, uh, helluva battle?"

Riley just stares at me, unblinking. I'm cursing myself for the utter inanity of my words, and all of a sudden, there's this quiet implosion. One minute Riley's sitting there, looking beat, sure, but still very much together, and then its like the little threads holding him together are just gone. He's coming unraveled before my very eyes, and for the life of me, I don't know what to say.

His head is in his hands, and finally he breaks his own silence. He's talking about his helplessness, watching Buffy battle Adam and the Forrest demon, frozen and unable to help her. The words just pour out. He's agonizing about how strong Angel was and how weak he is in comparison, and how he thought he was going to die, watching her fight while he was under Adam's control.

I open my mouth to tell him that we all feel inferior to her, sometimes, but he looks upward, eyes peeking out of his hands. He's pleading for understanding and he just looks so much like a fucking angel that I lose my breath, and he just keeps talking.

He misses his dorm room, he doesn't know what is gonna happen with his military career and I suddenly feel guilty for invading his space just to give Buffy reassurance. Okay, I can admit that the majority of the guilt is coming from my body's reaction to his closeness and the flickering shadows of daydreams that keep passing through my mind as I sort through responses to his emotional tirade.

I'm doing good, I think, telling him that we all feel weak sometime next to Buffy, and that he has proved himself as a valued member of the team, and that he'll get his new housing assignment soon. The military Powers That Be paint pictures of the future that are just as vague and confusing as Cordelia's visions, but at least he has the assurance of an all expenses paid trip through the rest of his UC-Sunnydale education.

I shrug and mutter something about how tense he looks, and scoot over a little, resting my hands on his shoulders and beginning an easy massaging motion. His shoulders tense even more, and he shoots me a questioning glance. I grin, the easy boyish smile that always threw Willow off balance and his face suddenly relaxes into the first honest smile I've seen in a long time.

I'm skimming my hands over his shoulders now, and stringing words together, telling him how Anya trained me in the fine arts of massage and how Buffy misses him, and even Giles inquired about his whereabouts. As he relaxes and leans back into my hands, I'm still talking. Thankfully the words flow without any real conscious thought, because my mind is totally occupied with the muscular body that's flexing under my fingers.

My hands are kneading the knots out of his back, and I'm preoccupied with the way the muscles move, flexing and relaxing, and I'm almost wishing that he was wearing one of those white trash wife beater tank tops. I shake those thoughts away, because I'm drunk enough on the feel of his skin under the soft t-shirt.

And then, I must have done something particularly good, because he's letting out this groan, and I'm almost dizzy with unbidden daydreams of what it would be like, if he were really moaning for me, and not for this ultimately safe contact. All of a sudden I realize how quiet its gotten, and I reluctantly pull away from this delicious moment, patting him on the shoulder and scooting over again.

I don't even know what I'm saying, but Riley's smiling at me, and promising that he'll be over to the Scooby meeting tomorrow. He's thanking me for stopping by, and for the backrub, how lucky Anya is to have such a talented boyfriend, and he looks so fucking innocent that I just nod and feel guilty for my wayward daydreams.

I'm walking out, and he looks alive again, as I remind him to be at Giles' apartment tomorrow and nod my nonchalance to his thanks. He nods, and I have a feeling that he'll finally sleep tonight.

With a wave, I head toward home, and its okay that I've fixed Buffy's love life, even while I wanted to claim it for my own. Anya's waiting, and she, coupled with my daydreams, are comfortable enough to make me content.

~end~