Alexander
Distribution: Anyone who wants it
can have it, just lmk where you're taking it.
Classification: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Xander returns home to Willow a different person.
“So, what’s your name, kid?” the old guy manning the window asks casually
as I reach for my ticket. I pause for a second, wondering what to tell
him.
A name is everything, nowadays. If your name is Will Smith or Mel Gibson
or David Boreanaz, you’re in like flint. A name is who you are. If
you want to be someone different, you change your name, and it’s like you’re
starting all over again. You can make up a whole new identity, just based
on the new name you’ve chosen. You can change who you used to be.
Do I want to change?
It’s something I’d struggled with for a long time. I wasn’t very
happy with who I was. I was the geek, the guy who tried too hard, the
eternal zeppo. I didn’t mean anything to anyone. I was easily
expendable, quickly passed over, ignored and unwanted. It wasn’t the
greatest place for anyone to be. Not great for the old ego, you know?
But I was hers.
And that’s all that really mattered.
She gave me my name. She started me on the path of who I was going to
become. Every time I look back at some particular defining moment of my
character, she was there or she had a large hand in it. And that was
something, you know? To have her there, by my side. I never knew
just why it meant so much, but I knew that it was important for her to be a part
of my life.
She was the biggest part of my life, sometimes the only part. I never
wanted anything the way I wanted her. It took me a long time to realize
what that meant. I never thought of her like *that,* but I knew with
inborn knowledge that she was mine. She always would be. I didn’t
need to think about it, I didn’t need to wonder, it was just as simple as
shrugging my shoulders to say, “She’s mine.” I never thought she
would debate it, either.
See, I was hers, too. With the certainty and simplicity of having known
each other a thousand times before our lives began, we belonged to each other.
I never thought it would be called into question. Until he came along, and
threatened everything I had with her. I didn’t know it then, but he
broke that tie. And it’s something that I can never get back, because he
effectively shut me out of her life and out of her heart.
It still hurts, even now. It’s been years. But I can’t get over
it. I can’t help but resent him. He took away the one thing that I
always knew I would have. Without a doubt, without question, she would
always be mine. But he took her away. And she was his, and I was no
one’s.
So I thought about it. What good would it do me to leave? No matter
how far or how long I ran, I would always be right next to her. I would
always be right there at her side, watching her graduate college, get married,
give birth, grow old, die. Every step of her life, I would be there.
Years of running and avoiding would never get me away from the reason I was
running in the first place. So why run? Why try to leave her?
Because she didn’t want me to be there for her. She wanted him.
She wouldn’t allow me even a token place in her life. And I couldn’t
handle being there, and not being allowed to. I couldn’t tolerate being
told that she’s no longer mine, that I no longer had the right to be by her
side at all those events that I used to know would be mine to share. It
would break me, to have her look me in the eye and tell me to leave.
So I left. I grabbed a bus, caught a train, hitchhiked, stowed away, all
over the country. I became the great wanderer. It took several years
before I returned, but I didn’t go back there. I just stayed on the
fringes, on the outside, where she could never see me. Occasionally I
would drive by, whenever fate led me back to her. It never did anything
for me. I hated her, and I loved her, with the same intensity as I had the
day I left.
She moved on, of course. Settled down, had babies, became famous and loved
in her little town. Like she was always meant to be. I saw her,
sometimes, taking her children-their children-to the park, to the movies, to the
ice cream store, like I had taken her in years past.
I watched the day she laid their son to rest in the graveyard that had been such
a large part of our lives. It was sunny, which seemed cruel and mocking,
and she was emotionless. He wasn’t even there. On tour, I
supposed. She stood alone, burying a part of her heart in the warm ground,
and didn’t even cry.
I never went back. I couldn’t stand to see how empty her eyes were, how
she was a shell of herself as she had been. I suppose she could have used
a friend, but what was I to her anymore? Not a friend. Not a lover.
Nothing. I think I imagined that going back would be harder on her than it
would be on me. So I stayed away.
And now I’m hopping a Greyhound back to her, because I can’t stand it
anymore. It’s been so many years, and I had thought that I would be able
to stay away forever, but I can’t. I know I can’t go back to her.
But I can be a part of their lives again. Somehow.
“Kid?”
I’m startled out of my reverie by the man proffering my ticket. It takes
me a second before I remember the question that started the whole train of
thought that was close to derailing. I give a dry laugh, devoid of humor.
“My name?” Even after so many years, so many years of denying who I
was, it’s still difficult for me to deny the name she gave me. “My
name’s Alexander. Alexander Harris.”
What else can I say? I’m no longer hers. I can’t be her Xander
anymore. So I don’t even try to pretend.
“Well, Alexander Harris, have a good trip,” the man offers, releasing my
ticket and smiling a toothless smile. I thank him and turn around, heading
for the platform my bus is to depart from.
A good trip. I think that any trip is a good trip, as long as it leads me
back to her.
