*****
I sit in my room. Lights turned off. OK. Nest of vampires. Wait till morning and take 'em out with the gang. Easy.
Wait for Xander and the others. Then lead them ...
Like they'd follow me. Like they think of me as a leader
Like they haven't been doing this longer than I have....
OK. Used to giving the orders, having the men follow them. Not used to having my decisions questioned. Especially by civilians.
Especially by Xander.
Why. Why did it feel right to be lying in bed next to a passed out Xander. Why did that put a contented smile on my face. Drunk, OK. I was drunk.
I swallow hard.
It wasn't like I was lying there with a big old hard on, wanting to ...
It also wasn't like I wasn't ...
Fuck. I did not feel that chill, that shiver, when Xander touched my shoulder in the cemetery. That was just the usual excitement of the stalk. I've felt the same thing when Graham had put a hand on my shoulder as we lay in ambush for some HST. It didn't mean a thing. It didn't mean that I wanted...
It didn't mean that at all. If there was one thing I know for certain, it was that I'm no sissy boy. I was All-State in High School, first in my boot camp platoon at Paris Island. Promoted like greased lightning through the ranks. Most of all, I never had a problem getting a lady when I wanted it. And if I didn't want it as often as some of the guys, well, that's 'cause I wanted it to mean something.
Yeah. That's it.
It had nothing to do with the way some guys look to me sometimes. That was just admiration for a guy who kept himself in shape -- a jock thing ... a marine thing. You had to keep youself in condition, in shape. Like Graham. Dude just kept himself in shape. You had to admire that. It didn't mean ...
It just didn't.
I stand up. I gotta do something. DO something. Frag the fuckers. No, something more vamp-unfriendly, like fire.
Because sometimes a man has to do what a man has to do, or else he won't be able to think of himself as a man...
Xander has nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. Not one damned thing.
I pull the incendiary grenade from the footlocker, stuff it in my jacket pocket, a lock it up again. Stake in the other pocket. Time to show them who they are dealing with, or die trying.
=====================
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"Are you OK?"
Fuck. Don't do that Xander. Don't fucking do that. Don't look at me with those eyes and ask me if I'm OK. Stay mad at me. So I can stay mad at you. Let me keep feeling abandoned, by Buffy, by the initiative ... by you.
No, I'm not fucking OK. I'm going around like a fucking freak making like the woman I love doesn't want me, doesn't love me. And I know why. She can tell. She knows that my mind wanders when I'm with her. That my mind is sometimes on someone else when I'm with her. It's on you. So no, I'm not OK, Xander. I'm not fucking OK.
I don't know how many times I can take waking up and seeing you crashed out on the couch or in the bed, just looking so fucking sweet.
What kind of action am I looking for?
Shit! No, I don't fucking know. I've never done that kind of action. Your kind of action. Cause you have, right? I saw how you looked at me when you brought me clown clothes when I was hiding out in the ruins of that High school. Like you ... wanted something.
No, I don't fucking know, I don't fucking want to know, either. Just don't touch me. Please don't touch me. For god's sake, don't put a hand on my shoulder to reassure me or calm me or let me know that you're there. Please don't.
Please.
Yeah. I fucked up. Cut you out, like she cuts me out. So I'm on my own. By myself. No worries, cause I can take care of myself. Don't think so? Fuck.
Yeah I'm ready if she needs me ... if you need me.
Cause I'm gonna do one thing.
I'm gonna get a drink.
At Willy's
Vamp bar.
And see if SHE is there. Cause she wants me.
And just maybe ...
Maybe vamps don't care about this shit:
Want. Take. Have.
Easy.
Maybe being a vamp isn't all that bad.
~fin