Title: Safer Places

Author: Jeanny

Feedback: Please. jeannygrrl@hotmail.com

Distribution: I don't mind, just credit me and let me know where it's going.

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Season 6 through Bargaining

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant Enemy, Inc., UPN and any one else with a legal binding claim to the shows and/or characters. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Some Xander thoughts while hiding in the woods with Willow during Bargaining.

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*She ain't heavy, she's my Willow...*

Xander's mind spun crazily as he carried the unconscious witch a few more feet. He needed to rest, but those biker demons still sounded close, and he had promised Tara...hell, he had promised himself that he would keep Willow safe. But he wouldn't be able to do that if he collapsed.

That thought in mind, he put her down as gently as his trembling arms would allow, leaning her against the trunk of a tree and brushing her hair out of her face. She was finally stirring back to consciousness, he noted in relief. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment he was afraid they would be that horrible barren black still. He hated it when the strange magic he couldn't understand crackled in those black holes; it made her look soulless. It turned her into someone he no longer knew. Someone that he'd never ever known, actually. And that was just wrong, because knowing Willow was the one thing he had never felt like a failure at.

To his relief her eyes were pained, confused, but they were the familiar Willow eyes. Eyes that hadn't changed much since the first grade. The first time he'd seen her, standing shyly on the edge of the playground, her eyes darting about, wanting something for which she was too afraid to ask, to afraid to even name. Willow always believed it was her hair that he had noticed, red as fire, and true, it had caught his eye, but it was her eyes that held him fast. The deep green of them called to something inside him he hadn't even known existed, something that wanted to protect her, be with her...and then he had walked over and spoken to her and the eyes had shown with joy and he had known his purpose. For the first time in his short life, he had known that he mattered. Because he could make Willow smile.

He had a mission. There was no Willow pain that he couldn't soothe, no Willow grief that he couldn't comfort, no Willow sadness that he couldn't turn to laughter. For years he withstood his father's coarse harangues that told him he was nothing, that he didn't belong, that no one would care if he lived or died, that he made no difference. He withstood them with a secret smile. He made a difference to Willow, and it was enough.

Between his house full of scorn and hers full of neglect they had built their own home, a safe house where there was love and family and comfort, and he didn't know how he would have survived without it. He also remembered vividly when she had moved out. When he saw her as more than his lifeline but as his life and he had kissed her, and she kissed him back, and they had both known that their house was no longer safe. And then the world spun out of control, and there was pain and near death experience, none of which was remotely loving or comforting or familial. And when it was over he had reached for her hand and she had pulled it away and he knew he would never be able to go back to that safe place again, that he could try to return but she'd never be there, not like before. It didn't stop him from trying to make one for her.

So now, as they crouch low in the woods avoiding certain death and she wants to go back, to finish what she started, what she should never have started, what he should never have let her start. And he tells her what she already knows and her eyes blind him with pain, stab him with tears, make him feel like a failure because he had promised himself she would never have that look. He had promised himself...and the tears are flooding her cheeks and he's only beginning to understand. The tears are for Buffy, but he senses that this is about more than Buffy, that this failure will bring more pain to his Willow than either of them can possibly stand. So he gathers her tenderly to him and his hands are in her hair and his lips move closer and he wonders. If he kissed her now, what would happen. Would their worlds spin out of control again or would it suddenly be made right? Would they be cast out of heaven forever or would they be warm in their own safe house, now and forevermore, as she had always pledged they would. His lips move closer still and his fear takes hold. After all, so much has changed for her. For God's sake, she's gay, right? Would she even kiss him back?

He briefly looks in her eyes before they close again in pain and he gently kisses her forehead, his lips lingering only briefly as she weeps and her tears wet his shirt. In his mind he can see Anya and Tara and what they mean and he knows his answer.

He knows what could have been, what would have been, what never will be.

And he takes his friend in hand, his arm around her for support, and searches for a safer place.

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