My brain is definitely not on the religious calendar.
I knew it was Passover, but totally blew by that Easter was this Sunday until mom asked me when I'd be in Saturday.
Wow. An ex-Catholic can really go very ex, can't she?
So, short and sweet:
Shalom to everyone on my Flist who's Jewish
Happy Easter for Westernized Christians and Orthodox Christians alike (one of the rare instances when the two Easters fall on the same day) on my Flist.
As for me? I'll eating the Peeps in the corner. MMMMMmmmm....Peeeeeeeps!
Up to part 42 can be found here
Continued from here
Xander cracked open his eyes to see a blurry, up-close, intense face staring at him.
“YOW!” he yelled as he jerked back and landed on the floor with an impressive thump. “Ow, ow, ow, ow…” he moaned. Not from the impact of landing on the floor, but because of the pain in his right hand.
He brought the injured extremity up to his good eye and hissed. His knuckles looked like they’d seen the business end of a few knives and his hand was covered in blood.
“Xander? Are you okay?” Andrew’s tremulous voice cut through the haze of pain.
Xander checked his clothes and saw his shirt was covered with blood, although he could see that the only injuries were on his hand. He sat up and saw his bed sheets were decorated as well.
“Xander?” Andrew asked.
Xander flexed his hand, hissing that the stiffness in the joints as the scabs painfully cracked.
He placed his left hand on the floor and let out a yelp when the palm came into contact with something sharply shard-like.
“I’m fine,” Xander said absently as he scanned the floor of the room. What the hell?
The room’s sole mirror was spider-webbed with cracks. Some of the glass had fallen out and was scattered across the hardwood floor. He closed his eyes, cringed against the bed, and hoped like hell there were no glass slivers embedded in his skin.
“What happened?” Andrew asked.
“I hit the mirror. Several times.” Xander answered numbly.
Why? Damn good question. Probably because it seemed like a good idea at the time.
His throbbing right hand made sure to let him know that it wasn’t going to be forgiving him any time soon for the abuse he laid down on it or the mirror.
And crawling into bed and promptly falling asleep after he finished showing the mirror who was boss? Definitely a bad plan all around.
“Got into a fight with Robin,” Xander muttered.
Andrew looked from mirror to Xander and back again. “So you hit the mirror instead of hitting Robin.” The roommate from hell nodded sagely. “That’s soooo you.”
Xander looked up at Andrew, not sure if the Annoying One was making fun of his blatant stupidity. Hitting Robin really would’ve been a lot smarter. Probably less painful, too.
How the fuck was he going to fix this mess?
Andrew crouched down so he was eye-level with the floored Xander, face full of a concern so deep that Xander was almost convinced that Andrew was something resembling sincere.
“Wanna talk about it?” Andrew asked. “I’m a good listener. I’m a really good listener. And I won’t tell anyone anything ever. C’mon. You can lay it all on me. I’m good at that, you know. Doing the listening and the moral support. I can be Samwise to your Frodo.”
Xander blinked at him, willing Andrew to just go away.
“Or-or-or not,” Andrew hunched.
Xander looked back at the shattered glass. He really should get to his feet now. See if the mirror was completely unsalvageable. Maybe if he got some glue…
Andrew brightened. “Hey! I know! I could just sit here and say nothing. You know. In case you change your mind and need to…”
“Shower,” Xander croaked.
Xander looked down at his crusted-over knuckles. “Shower? To clean this?” He thrust his clenched right fist under Andrew’s nose and watched disinterestedly as the boy-man scrambled away in surprise.
“Right. Right. Ummm, I know a little first aid.”
Xander felt his eyebrows draw tight as he did more of that annoying blinking thing at Andrew.
“Okay, maybe not. But I can…”
“I can fix it.”
“I. Will. Fix. It.”
“Oh. Right,” Andrew nodded, beaming that odd smile at him as if confident that if anyone could fix it, whatever it was, Xander could. “I’ll leave you to get cleaned up.”
Andrew hopped to his feet at that and walked to the door adding, “Lisa called. They found the grave with the angel? It’s pointing to a crypt.”
“There’s always a crypt,” Xander muttered.
Andrew stopped and flashed Xander a pleased smile. “That’s what I said.”
“Birds of a feather. That’s us,” Xander said without emotion.
Andrew for some insane reason blushed at that as his smile stretched wider, as if he viewed what Xander said as a compliment. “I’ll tell them you’re up,” he said as he bounced out of the room.
Wait, wait! They’ve already checked out Erie? I told Robin to… Xander looked at his alarm clock and realized with a start that it was 1 p.m., an hour before he walked into Giles’s room to talk.
Shit. He slept almost 24 hours straight.
Well, this is starting to look familiar. Get smacked in the gut, have a huge mental breakdown, rip into someone because they happen to be there, lay down some destruction on property. All I need is the empty bottle of Jack and bingo! History repeats.
Xander groaned as the memory his meltdown in the backyard slammed into him at Mach 5. Robin had it coming but Christ Almighty! He gave Robin a piece of himself, exposed the wounds for him to see. Jesus. Robin had no right to see that. No one did. No one supposed to see…
That he was running on empty since Anya…
“It should’ve been you, Anya,” he said to the broken mirror. “Catherine should be wanting to know about you. Not Faith. Definitely not me. I’m sorry.”
No answer. That was okay. He wasn’t expecting one. After all, he’s not going to get a last good-bye with Anya, any more than Willow got her last good-bye with Tara. But Buffy, on the other hand, Buffy got her second chance with the Brooding One and got to play catch-up Riley.
With my fucking luck, Spike’ll be ringing our doorbell any day now with a, “’ello luv! Pip pip cheerio! I’m such a wanker!”
He snorted a laugh, partly because he knew how unlikely that was and partly because he wouldn’t be at all surprised if Bleachie turned up with alleged soul intact. Wouldn’t that just be the ultimate kick in the head. One good thing though: if Spike turned up undead, he was pretty sure Willow’d be joining him on the train to Bittersville. Then again, maybe not. She’s got a Kennedy-shaped teddy bear to help her forget.
Little unfair. You know she didn’t forget. Hell, remember how you guys talked on the road to rocket launcher city about how guilty she felt being happy with Ken?
He’s got to stop chasing himself in circles. He’s got to clean the mess and fix…
Hand or mirror? Hand or mirror?
Mirror. Hand can wait.
He crawled over to some of the larger pieces on the floor and studied them a moment before fitting the edges together. One. Two. Three. Four. Eventually he got a reflective surface large enough for his head and a little background scenery in the form of the cracked ceiling.
Gotta spackle that over, Xander reminded himself as he leaned forward and took a good look at his reflection in the surface.
The edges of the glass may have fit perfectly, but his face was distorted. His image seemed to jump ever so slightly at each crack, like someone had outlined a picture of his features but moved the tracing paper at certain points so nothing was a perfect match.
He tried to manipulate the pieces to resolve the image, but his hands were shaking so hard that he scattered the glass. He looked dumbly at the mess he made, one accusing thought chasing him: I can’t fix this.
Somewhere in there, he collapsed on the floor, not caring about the jagged pieces putting pressure on his left temple.
And for the first time since he lost his eye, his home, his Anya, and his life, he finally let himself finally fall apart.