Unacceptable Losses

A third of the way through the bottle of Johnnie Walker, Xander idly mused whether he could get the name of a club from the concierge and slip out without word getting back to his companions. He scratched at his groin and shifted in the bed as he stared at the clowns cavorting on the TV. Not really his thing, but it was the best SCinemax had to offer tonight. Soft-core documentaries on folks who liked to fuck in red noses and big shoes didn’t really do it for him, but ordering porn by pay-per-view would no doubt be frowned on by whoever was doing the Council’s accounting these days. But fuck, he wanted to forget himself for a few hours. Being at the memorial—he refused to call it a funeral a year after the fact—had been harder than he anticipated, and the bizarro conversation with Spike afterward hadn’t helped any. Not like he didn’t expect the vampire to be there. Hell, they’d held the whole thing at dusk just so the vampire mourners could be part of it. But what the fuck was Spike doing following him around?

He took a long angry gulp from the bottle. Fucking offering him a cigarette and what? Comfort? Companionship? Xander surged to his feet unsteadily. Not thinking. Tonight is about not thinking. He paced, all pretense at watching gaily decorated dicks rubbing through curly red wigs abandoned. Glancing at the closet that held his suitcase with leather clothes bunched in the bottom, he reconsidered the option of a quick word with the concierge.

Tentative knocking on the door caught his attention. He checked the clock. Midnight. Kinda late for visitors, but not that unusual. The knocking grew bolder. Xander considered not answering, but guilt prevented him from following through on that option. He knew that his friends worried about him, and he didn’t want to risk more well-meaning concern by shutting them out altogether. Snapping off the television and stashing the bottle under a pillow, he prepared himself to offer assurances that he was fine, that no he didn’t want to join everyone else at the bar, that he was tired from the trip and the memorial and just needed to sleep. The words were on his lips as he opened the door to find Dawn fidgeting and glancing up and down the hallway.

“Hey, Dawnie,” he offered quietly, “what’s up?”

“Um, hi Xander, can I…I mean, I know I’m probably disturbing you and all, and look, you’re all ready for bed.” She gestured at the boxers and t-shirt. “But it’s kinda important, and I need to talk to you tonight.” Her voice grew more determined as she took in the shadowed eyes and smelled the whiskey that seemed to be a permanent Xander-scent these days.

Xander opened the door wider and gestured her into the room. He closed and locked the door, turning to find her standing with her arms crossed with a set expression.

“So, Dawnster, what can the Xan-man do for you?” His turn to be nervous, and he clamped down on the fidgeting babble, settling down on the edge of the bed and forcibly keeping still and silent.

“Ok,” she took a deep breath and sat down next to him on the bed. “I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but Faith isn’t coming back with us like we planned. She’s going to LA to work with Angel.”

“Nope, hadn’t heard, but that’s a good thing, right? Sounds like they could use the help there after, well, everything.” He began to relax. Not an intervention, not a lecture. Despite their almost unconscious insistence to view Dawn as young and therefore naïve, Xander knew she often saw more than the others, certainly more than Giles or Willow had time to be looking for these days. Paranoia, he told himself, thinking she was here about me. He stomped on the small disappointment that her visit really didn’t seem to have anything to do with him.

“Right. They do need the help, and I guess when Faith saw Angel, she pretty much told him flat-out that she was coming to LA.” They shared a grin at the thought of Angel being ordered around by the dark slayer.

“Didn’t give Deadboy any room to argue, did she?”

“I think her words were something to the effect of ‘You need me. I’m coming. Deal with it or I’ll dust you myself.’ Apparently, he’s been driving Spike crazy with the broodier than usual guilt-trips.”

“So let me guess? Spike called in the cavalry?” Xander forced his tone to stay light.

“Nothing like a slayer to kick some vampire ass.”

“And Giles is cool with it?”

“Yep, he wished Angel good luck, and he was practically humming as he walked away.”

Xander shook his head. The continual clashes between the senior slayer and watcher had increased dramatically with Buffy’s death, and some distance would undoubtedly be welcome to both.

“That’s not really what I needed to talk to you about, though.” Dawn’s face took on a steely aspect as she looked at him. “I’m going with her to LA.”

“Oh.” The chasm opened up beneath his feet again as he felt his world shift.

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask why?” He kept his voice level and wished he had gotten a bit further through the bottle of whiskey. Maybe it would have allowed him to keep looking at her instead of staring at his hands restlessly picking at one another.

“I don’t want to go back to England. Not right now. Not with everything that happened.” Her voice cracked but didn’t break. “Not without Buffy there.”

Not without Buffy there. The words settled between them, and Xander concentrated on breathing. Hold on, she’s told you, she just wants to hear you say it’s okay, then she’ll go. Just hold on.

Dawn’s heart creaked for the man in front of her. They hadn’t spoken about Buffy more than four or five times in the last year. He would talk to her about anything and everything else, including a mortifying crush and closet kissing incident with a watcher in training, but he would shut down and suddenly need to be somewhere else when discussions of Buffy arose.

“Have you told Giles and Willow?”

“Not yet.” She focused on getting the next part right. “This is where I need your help.”

“Dawnie”

“I know this is asking a lot, but they’ll never agree that it’s okay for me to go to LA, even with Faith there. They still haven’t gotten over the whole evil law firm thing, especially since it ended in a near-apocalypse that took out a good portion of LA along with all but Spike and Angel really.”

“Dawn”

“But bad things are happening in the city, and the three of them can’t handle it on their own, and even with Faith helping, and even with whatever the heck that Illyria person is, they still could use someone who knows the research side, and I can do that. I could...”

“Dawn!” Xander stood up, pacing away from the bed, arms wrapped tight around himself. Fuck, have to calm down. I’m losing her, too. He shut down that thought immediately, and closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and turning back to the young woman perched on the edge of the bed.

“You know Giles and Willow won’t be happy, but I get it. You,” he swallowed, but couldn’t find a way out of making the offer, “you want me to talk to them for you?”

“I want you to come with me.”

Xander stared at her, unable to form thoughts, let alone words. She stood and put her hand on his crossed arms, peering intently at him.

“Look, Xander. I know you don’t want to go back to England either. You’re not happy there.” She stifled a sigh as he closed his eye and turned aside, not outright pushing her away, but no longer connecting. “Come to LA with us.”

“Things are complicated there enough, you said it yourself. I don’t want to add to that. They don’t need me there.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

Xander turned back to glare at her. “I know Angel hates me. I know Spike hates me. Faith they’ll tolerate ‘cause she’s a slayer and can kick their asses. You, they love. But I’m the guy that got Buffy killed. They do not want or need me.” Pain filled the atmosphere as Xander struggled to control himself.

“Ok, maybe they don’t need you,” Dawn corrected, “but you need them.” Seeing the vehement protest rising in his eyes, she hastened on, “And I need you there. Giles won’t trust me alone with them and Faith, so I need you to come, too.”

“You’re over eighteen, Dawn. Tell him to shove it up his Council ass. You’re an adult. Go where you want, you don’t need me.” He knew he was behaving monstrously, but he couldn’t think past all the pain the conversation stirred up, and he needed to have it end. He shoved past her to stand by the window, staring at the night.

“Xander Harris, stop being a self-centered, self-pitying asshole for two minutes and listen to me.” She stalked over and forced him to look at her. “I asked nice. I gave you reasons. Now I’m telling you. You’re coming to LA. I need you there, and I don’t want you going back to England any more than you want to be there. I’ll square it with Giles and Willow tonight. So fucking drink the rest of whatever bottle or bottles you have stashed in the room and make sure you’re packed to leave for LA at 10 AM.”

Shit, she really was scarier than Buffy had ever been. Her look left no room for objections, and he didn’t have it in him to fight anymore. In truth, he didn’t want to go back to England, but he hadn’t considered any other options. Not that LA would have been on the top of the list. Ok, so LA probably wouldn’t have made the list. In fact, it probably would have been on a no-way-in-hell-am-I-going-there list.

“Fine.” He clipped the word out. “Wait, 10 AM? As in daylight?”

“Sun-proof car windows for the vamp-mobile. Don’t be late or I’ll send Spike to come get you. You remember what he’s like in the morning.” She smiled sweetly and let herself out the door.

He stared at the closed door for a long moment. His world shifted and settled. LA. Fuck. He sat back on the bed and pulled out the bottle. Well, he was following her orders about where to live, might as well go with her plan for his evening as well. He took a long swallow and began the rest of the journey to the bottom of the bottle.