*****

Xander lay on his small cot in the den of Giles' apartment with headphones on. He was listening to Patsy Cline, desperately trying not to think about things. It wasn't working.

And Giles coming in to check on him every so often didn't help. It only reminded the teenager that the librarian was worried about him and that he was worried because Xander's life was all fucked up.

Xander wanted to get out of the house. He wanted to go, go, go. But he couldn't. Giles would never let him. First, it was a school night. Second, Giles would say that Xander was in no condition to be going anywhere.

The boy had already made up his mind that he'd go to school the next day and try to pretend that the events of today hadn't happened. He'd forget that he couldn't get out of bed and he'd forget that both Dr. Karls and Giles were asking him questions about his family that caused gut wrenching emotions to boil within him.

Xander laid there for hours. He laid there until Giles had finally gone upstairs to bed. He laid there until he, himself, had fallen asleep.

He woke up sharply, sitting straight up and hastily swiping the headphones off his head. Bad dream. No, nightmare. He couldn't remember what happened; he could just remember the feeling of it. As he got off of his cot, Xander hoped the he hadn't screamed or shouted and that he had not woken Giles.

Creeping up the steps to the loft where Giles' bed was, Xander saw that the older man was still sleeping. He crept back down the stairs and picked up a cross and stake from the coffee table. Grabbing his jacket, Xander threw it on as he quietly opened the front door and moved through it.

Outside, in the night air, Xander sighed. He could breathe.

He walked away from the apartment quickly, clutching the cross and stake tightly in each hand. He didn't really know where he was going, but he knew that he wanted to go. Walking for maybe ten minutes, he found himself outside his house. Sitting down on the sidewalk, he just watched the darkened household, wondering if his dad was passed out or watching wrestling on the television. He wondered how hard his father had hit his mother tonight. Was she passed out from one of his blows or from one of her pills?

Xander sat for hours. He sat until the black night sky grew lighter.

Realizing that he should go, Xander got up. He didn't walk away. He just stood there, looking at that ugly gray house with chipped paint and overgrown weeds in the flower beds. It wasn't until he saw a light flick on in his parents' bedroom that he started to walk away.

His father would be getting ready for work by taking a shot of Wild Turkey, brushing his teeth then yelling at his wife to get up and fix him some bacon and eggs. And don't make them eggs hard, the yolk's the best part.

When Xander returned to Giles', he entered quietly, hoping that the Watcher was still sleeping. No such luck. "Good morning, Xander."

Barely looking up at Giles, Xander mumbled a, "Yeah," then dropped the stake and cross down on the coffee table.

"Where were you?"

"Outside."

"I can see that. Where outside."

Sighing, Xander closed his eyes for a moment. "No where bad." Turning away from the older man, Xander mumbled, "I'm going to get ready for school now."

**

Xander slept through most of first period and all of second. By third, he had a note informing him to go to his guidance counselor. Sitting in front of Mr. Van Horn, Xander stared at the wall.

"So, Xander," he graying man started. "Tell me how you've been. I haven't seen you in a while. Your grades were on the rise but now they're dropping again. What's going on?"

Xander shrugged. "Nothing."

"I've gotten reports from most of your teachers that you've been sleeping in class, not paying attention, not turning in homework."

Again, Xander shrugged.

"You look tired." Not waiting for a response, Mr. Van Horn continued, "Where you sleeping these days, I mean, outside of school?" The man watched as the boy did nothing, just sat there still, his eyes still fixed on the spot on the wall. "I know that you're not living at home anymore. I called."

Xander's eyes flicked to the face of the counselor. "I'm staying with a friend."

The man nodded. "Why aren't you living at home anymore?"

Steeling himself as he shifted positions, folding his hands and laying them on his lap, Xander asked, "Why don't you guess."

"Pardon?"

"Guess, Mr. Van Horn. I mean, you must be educated to have such an exalted occupation, so you can read my file and make an educated guess as to why an eighteen year old student isn't staying in a home he's lived in since birth."

"I'm sensing resent me towards me, Xander?"

"Damn but you're perceptive!"

"Xan. . ."

"Would you like to know why I'm resentful of you, Mr. Van Horn?" The man nodded. "My freshman year of high school, I was in this very seat. You called me in to discuss my underachiever status. I had a broken arm and a black eye. You didn't even ask about them."

"Well, I assumed. . ."

"My sophomore year, I was out of school for a week and no one ever once asked me why. You just took my father's note and put it in my file. Did you even read it? I don't think you could have because then you would have noticed that it said that we had a family emergency and my sister was sick. I don't have a sister."

"Are you implying. . ."

"You know for three and half years, I've walked through these halls with cuts and bruises that even football players don't have. And you've never once wondered where they came from." Standing up, Xander looked down at Mr. Van Horn. Calmly, Xander said, "I don't have to tell you why I'm not living at home anymore. I think you can figure that one out on your own."

**

Xander skipped the rest of third period and once again, he found himself outside of his parents' house. This time, he was at the front door. His hand reached out and grasped the handle, squeezing the latch and pushing the door open. Hesitantly, he stepped through.

"Mom?" he called, knowing that his dad was at work. The truck was gone. Moving through the house, he stopped at his bedroom door. Opening it, his brow creased. There was nothing inside it.

"He threw everything away. He sold some stuff."

Turning, Xander saw his mother, sporting two black eyes and split lip. "Mom," he whispered, his concern evident in his voice and in the lines of his face.

She waved off the concern. "Looks bad, but it don't hurt." Moving quickly, not allowing Xander any time to react, she pressed herself against him, her face burying itself in the hardness of his chest. "You came back," she whispered as her arms slid around his waist. "I knew you wouldn't leave me for good. You love your mother too much."

"I do love you, Mom," Xander whispered back.

"You can't be here when he comes home, you know."

"I know."

Pulling away and taking his hand, Mrs. Harris led her son into the front room, sitting him down on the couch. Setting down beside him, she snuggled close, her hand running over his thigh in the most unmother-like way.

"Mom, don't," Xander said uncomfortably.

"Don't?" she questioned. "Don't what, baby."

Closing his eyes, Xander shook his head. "God, don't do this. I don't want. . ."

"You don't know how hard it's been for me since you left."

Sliding away from her and her roaming hand, Xander said quietly, "You could leave too."

She laughed. "Yeah? Where the fuck would I go, Xander?"

Shrugging, he replied, "I don't know. Grandma's?"

"Maybe your father's right. Maybe you are just stupid. I can't go to Grandma's, Xander. Grandma hasn't spoken to me since you were ten." Moving close to Xander again, she let one hand play over his chest while she buried her face in his neck.

The warm breath made him shiver, than freeze. He didn't want this. As she kissed Xander's neck, she grabbed one of his hands, moving it to her upper thigh. "Mom, no," he said, pleading.

"Come on, baby, please? Be a good boy for Mommy?"

Tears were rolling down his cheeks and for a moment he felt paralyzed. But that moment soon faded and he jumped up off the couch. "It was good seeing you again, Mom," he said in a shaky voice. "I hope you leave him before he hurts you more."

Not caring that his mother was calling him back desperately, Xander ran out of the house. He kept running and running until he came to the school. Using the back way, Xander slipped into the library, hoping that no one but Giles would be there.

Giles looked up from the card catalogue when he heard a noise from the stacks. As far as he knew, no one but he was in the library. His eyes widened when he saw Xander emerge. "Xander? Are you all right? Mr. Van Horn. . ." His words were stopped by Xander's body, latching onto his and holding tight.

It was all Giles could do to remain upright. He wrapped his arms around the shaking boy. "Xander?" he whispered, trying to figure it all out.

At the sound of his name, the tears, which had stopped briefly, started again. Xander let himself be led into Giles' office. Depositing the boy in the old sofa, Giles went back and closed the door, drawing down the shade as well. Returning to Xander, Giles sat down. It wasn't but a mere second until Xander threw himself into the Watcher's arms.

Running his hands through the boy's hair, Giles made soothing sounds, or at least tried to. "Oh, Xander," he whispered as he rocked the trembling body.

**

"Giles?" Oz called. Stopping at the checkout table, Oz looked around. "Giles?" His eyes were drawn to Giles' office door as the Watcher slowly emerged from with it the office. His index finger was held up to his lips, indicating that Oz should be quiet. Not whispering, but speaking in a low voice, Oz asked, "What's up? You find him yet?"

Giles nodded as he moved closer to Oz. "Yeah. He's sleeping."

"Oh." Raising an eyebrow, Oz asked, "What's going on?"

The Watcher shook his head. "I don't know. Everyday he just gets worse. Anger, depression, weeping, no emotions at all, it's all just swarming about within him. I don't know what to do. He says that he's not going back to see Dr. Karls, he won't tell me why. He won't talk to me about anything. Sometimes he's so stand offish and then others he's clingy."

**

When Xander woke up, he rubbed his eyes and stumbled out into the library. The clock said four-fifteen. Had he really slept that long?

"Hey, Xand."

Squinting, Xander saw Oz, sitting at the research table. "Where's everybody?"

"Giles, Buffy and Willow are on a field trip."

"Oh."

"You hungry?" Oz asked. Xander shrugged in response. "I'm hungry. Let's go eat."

**

"Oz?" Xander said after sipping some of his chocolate shake through the straw. Oz raised an eyebrow. "What's your family like?"

Swallowing bite of his veggie burger, Oz asked, "My family?" Xander nodded, his eyes intent on Oz. Shrugging, Oz said, "Normal, I guess."

"What's that?"

"Normal? I don't know. Broken home. Dad left, Mom works two jobs and goes to school on the weekend."

"What is she like?"

"What's your mom like?" he tried. Giles had filled him in on the fact that Xander became very upset at the mention of his mother. The librarian had asked Oz to gently try to find out about her.

Xander's jaw clenched, but then relaxed. "I asked you first."

"Okay," Oz said as he popped a french fry into his mouth. "She's cool. Like, I don't have to be someone else around her, 'cause she likes me just like I am. When I was little, she used to work overtime for two months before Christmas, just so she could give me good presents." Oz smiled. "She's got this laugh that is just fantastic. It just picks you up, you know?"

"Wow."

Oz's face grew serious again as he studied Xander. "Why do you want to know about my mom, Xander?"

Shrugging, Xander replied, "Just wondering, I guess."

"So, what's your mom like, Xand?"

Xander shrugged again as he sighed. "She takes too many pills. She looks older than she is. Sometimes she'd try to get my away from my dad and that was nice. Only, it usually just made him more mad, so whatever. She's. . .she's not a very good mom."

"Why?"

Sighing, Xander took another sip of his shake. "You asking for Giles?"

Oz gave him a half smile. "Well, I won't lie, Giles asked me to see what I could get out of you, but I'm asking for me too. I think you need to talk. . .to somebody and for whatever reason, I think I'm who that somebody is." He shrugged. "I don't know."

Xander looked down at his hands, wrapped around his drink. "I can't really talk to Giles about it. It's. . .I don't know if I can talk to you about it either."

Oz nodded. "I understand. Whatever it is must be pretty bad. I mean, your dad hit you and that's bad, right? But you can talk about it. Well, at least more than you can talk about your mom, so it must be really. . ."

"Bad," Xander finished for his friend.

~end~