Bogie and Bacall

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Um, none? well, none except "G2"

Disclaimer: All things in the BtVS multiverse belong to Joss Whedon & his band of merry men, not me

Distribution: The usual suspects, yes. Anyone else, just let me know.

Dedication: To me, in honor of making it to my 21st birthday, and to everyone out there who's struggling to make it work with their Willow's or Xander's. Also, to Regina for doing the whole beta thing for me,and for the person who continually rode my behind to finish this. You know who you are. Now go finish your story!

Okay. I'm ready to go. I've got the car piled high with trash bags full of my crap, and Uncle Rory's gas card is safe in my wallet. The open road is calling my name like the tempting temptress she is.

So why is it that all I hear is Willow's voice?

I need to leave. I *want* to leave, damnit. Just rip Sunnydale off like a Band-Aid and throw it away.

I can't do it though.

What I feel for her is too strong to ignore. It's tangible, it's painful, and it's so intense that sometimes I can't believe it. It's the real thing.

And I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. I'm gonna tell her that too.

Just as soon as I can figure out where reverse is.

Know what?

Some prices are entirely too high to pay. And this definitely is.

I love Xander Harris. I've loved him since before I knew what love was, I think. And it's high time I made him realize it.

To hell with my sense of duty and obligation I need to start listening to what my heart and soul have been screaming all along. I need Xander, and the only fluke that happened was me thinking I could and should try to work it out with Oz.

I'm glad I wore my sneakers, cause it looks like I've got a gas hog to chase down.

It's really difficult to drive in reverse when your rear window is all clogged up with bags of comic books and Simpsons t-shirts. But I'm managing.

Right up until I see a blur of blue topped of with red hair running towards me.

I slam on the brakes and jump out of the car, running right smack into my reason, one Willow Rosenberg.

"Willow? Since when did you take up daybreak jogging?"

"Since, um, now?" she says, looking up at me while breathing heavily.

Crap. Mind, get thyself out of the gutter, post haste.

"Actually, I haven't taken up jogging. I get enough exercise running from the spawn of Hell. I just wanted to tell you something." Breathing is always a good thing, Rosenberg. Let's not forget that.

"Really?"

"Yeah. You'd think this would be easier. I love you, Alexander LaVelle Harris. I love the fact that you can eat a Twinkie in one bite. I love the fact that you've spent three days a week reading to preschool kids at the library since you were 14. I love the fact that you sing off key when people are paying attention, but you sing perfectly when you think no one's watching. I love the fact that you've never become bitter or hard in spite of everything that you've seen and experienced, and I'm not talking about the Hellmouth. I love the fact that you cheat mercilessly at Monopoly and Go Fish, and I love the fact that you're brave enough to leave Sunnydale. But most of all, I'm just so incredibly in love with boy you were, and the man you're becoming. And I really need to sit down before I pass out."

Crap crap crap. My speech was supposed to make Xander happy, not make him cry.

"Xand? Please don't cry. If this is a bad thing, you can always pretend I never said it, and I can go crawl under a rock somewhere."

Xander looks at me and smiles his patented Xandersmile. "No, that's about the last thing I want you to do. And I think we both need to sit down. Care to join me on the hood?"

She loves me.

Can I get a hell yeah from the chorus?

Willow loves me, which means I should probably tell her that I love her too instead of just letting her look at me in that puzzled manner like she is now.

Here goes nothing.

"Willow..." I take in a deep breath. "The words I love you are no where near strong enough. You are everything that is anything to me. I can't remember a time when you weren't the first thought on mind in the morning and the last thing I thought of before I went to bed. I would be nothing without you. The thought of not having you in my life is what actually made me decide to leave Sunnydale. I thought that Oz was best for you, so I was going to leave, even though every fiber in my body was screaming out for you. But instead of leaving without you, I have another proposition. Come with me. We can be in Sin City in roughly three hours, and we can go see Sigfreid and Roy before we head over to the Elvis chapel. What do you say?"

A postcard sits on the coffee table of Giles' apartment, with a picture of the Florida coast on one side, and a scribbled message postmarked June 31, 1999, Key Largo, Florida.

"Hey Guys,

The weather's beautiful here, and don't take this the wrong way but we're glad you're not here! We'll call as soon as we find a phone. It's a really funny story....

Love,

The Rosenberg-Harris'

The End