The Bronze Fan Fiction Archive - Musings -- by Luisa

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Musings -- by Luisa

Rating: G

Description: The Scoobygang and its satellites reflect.

Note: Dedication - To Ianie.

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns the Scoobygang and the show.

Xander Harris didn't get it and the fact that it'd been all around him before didn't change a thing. His brain refused to compute the data his eyes and ears so generously provided. He felt like screaming at them. <STOP!> Why was life doing this to him? He had done nothing but be helpful and inept. Had his jokes finally offended the ears of the powers that be? Was somebody pulling the wrong strings in Xander Harris' life? Was God a big buffoon? How was it possible that the loser-persona had glued itself to his bulky frame so completely and irrevocably? And now Spike. The vampire was just about the last undead thing he needed. Always hanging around, firing sharpness at every innocent bystander...he was one bleached heap of trouble.

Xander hunched his shoulders, suffering mildly. At least his bag of chips didn't disappoint him, it was as savoury and dangerous to his health as ever. His teeth viciously crunched small, crispy pieces of oily goodness, while his blood flowed faster with wholesome cholesterol. The only drawback was that eating didn't keep his brain busy, just his stomach. Xander groaned and swallowed, surveying the campus for some sign of his girl friends. Was it pathetic to wave like a moron and splash a dopey grin all over his face when his two favourite people appeared on the sunny horizon? Perhaps. But he bore his dopeyness like a man, not everyone could say the same. <Damn.> His fingers were touching a sad, empty space inside the colourful bag. Xander felt as if his salty bubble had burst.

Willow Rosenberg was usually happy to see her best friend. Today was one of those days. As a messy mass of dark hair shone under the California sun like a beacon of youth and happiness, she turned her dreamy green eyes towards it, knowing who it belonged to. Xander Harris, her invaluable friend in times of turmoil, in times of mayhem, in times of lust. The only person in her life who had never let go of her, not even for a day. Willow knew Xander very well. He was the only boy she could actually figure out. Xander was taking the whole college endeavour pretty hard, specially taking into consideration he wasn't even a part of it. Maybe that was what bothered him the most. After his miserable attempt at a life on the road, he had crawled back and found out that things had changed. Radically. His parents were cutting Xander loose onto an unsuspecting world, but the problem was, Xander was just as unsuspecting. One had only to spot him behind the counter at the student bar. Vodka, gin, bourbon, whisky...all one big pile of alien bottles, signalling his own ineptness at playing the cool barman. And the whole lighter act...Xander had suffered a rude awakening. Girls accepted the wavering flame and then turned their backs on him, fishing for a more fascinating specimen. Maybe it had something to do with the shirts...Willow smiled. Poor Xander. And now Spike...he was the pointy straw that was sadistically breaking the sheepish camel's back. Xander's shirts grew more and more gruesome with each passing day and Willow had half a mind to draw her friend aside and be as tactless as possible. Still, she had the feeling that Anya wouldn't appreciate her interference. To Anya anything that Xander wore oozed sex. Even a cheesy flower-printed shirt with a dirty collar. Dirty laundry got Anya in the mood to attempt unspeakable things. Willow squinted at the hot blue sky, wondering how much weirder things could get.

<How much geekier can he get?>, Buffy Summers wondered almost incredulously, staring at her friend's frantic waving in the middle of a campus teeming with young adults with coolness written all over their designer clothes. Xander Harris surpassed anything Buffy Summers' imagination could come up with. He was one of her best friends...but her patience was severely challenged everytime he acted...well, Xanderish. Specially now that she was trying to get her footing in a world that was far scarier than anything she'd ever come up against. Madcap fraternities, fountains of mind-altering beer, a boy who liked cheese...was the world finally coming to an end? According to Xander, yes. He had complained bitterly about being stuck with Giles, waiting for the world to take care of its unfinished business and go to hell. Xander actually wished for the Apocalypse, because nothing could be worse than the G-Man lifestyle. Buffy had secretly expected Xander to be thankful for Spike's presence in Giles' abode after weeks of desperate moaning about the lack of kick-ass action in his humdrum life. But, no, Xander Harris had surprised her again. He hated Spike's guts. Or maybe just his hair, Buffy wasn't sure on that one. The two got on each other's nerves almost as much as Cordy and...Buffy almost laughed aloud. <Yeah...that's who Spike reminds me of.> Except for accent. Buffy found it decidedly creepy having two British accents around the house. Anxiously frowning jade eyes followed lip movements, trying to identify who was saying what. At the end of an exhausting day, her brain found it hard to distinguish and separate. Besides, Spike had this annoying habit of impersonating Giles and freaking the hell out of her sometimes.

"Slayer, here, kitty, kitty, kitty..." That in Giles' accent was enough to have her staking the fridge door with a vengeance. Of course a totally raucous burst of gleeful laughter usually put an end to both her anguish and to Spike's fun. She chased him with Mr Pointy who always ended up missing his aim. Purposefully, she had to admit.

Spike groaned at four wood-panelled walls. Was God doing it on purpose? When had his life taken such a choking turn for the worst? What had he done, besides relieve the world of a few human parasites that weren't worth the air they breathed and be his joyous, James Deanish self? He couldn't answer those questions, he could barely formulate them. Maybe a beer would help. But of course, Giles never bought the brand he liked. It seemed all the Scoobygang members were out to nail him through the heart against some wall...except for the ginger witch. She was smashing. Spike smirked dreamily as he remembered Willow's frightened gaze when he'd burst through the door of her room. His heart had been pumping something then, he was sure of that. Something dead, of course, but that didn't degrade it in any way. The witch was scrumptious. And he bitterly regretted not having been able to "perform", as she had put it. She was lucky he hadn't. Spike stopped in his pacing. He'd probably have nibbled her to kingdom come. Still, he was glad he hadn't because right now she was the only ally he possessed. Albeit a very reluctant one. Spike had turned to fantasising about the green-eyed Wicca. If he could get his hands on her, he'd...kiss her. Those tender lips needed training and he'd happily perform the role of Yoda. <Bloody hell...> He couldn't get her out of his skull. She was like a delightful disease that he had the antidote to but didn't want to use. Being slightly tormented became him in small doses, but he wasn't going to do the whole Angel calvary thing. Spike frowned. <That sissy wanker.> Angel was the scourge of his life, along with the blonde, cheerleaderish Slayer. When he got his bite back, she'd be the first to bite it. Spike winced in disgust at the memory of the girl's lipsticked mouth on his. She reminded him of Harm. Poor Harm, he'd been a mean jerk to him. And given another chance to mend things, he'd sit back and relax. Harmony was a cheesy joke, told by a lame storyteller. Besides, she had the sad habit of badmouthing Drusilla and that was something for which he'd gladly have staked her. But now it was too late...she had got away. With her crappy pop music. Alas.

<Alas!>, thought Giles. Life was a burden. Something to be put up with, rather like a perpetual midlife crisis. One had to be philosophical about it, that was the only sensible way out. Throw philosophy in life's face. And then hear it laugh. Even though he was no longer Buffy's Watcher, or nursemaid, or whatever, Giles felt his duties as keenly as ever. Acting as Buffy's human punching-bag was one of them, patting her on the back after a long day was another one. But bearing the weight of one of her arch-enemies was certainly not a part of the job description, Giles groaned to himself. Spike was there to stay. And none too happy about it either. The house was a whirlpool of antagonism whenever he was around. Darts flied all over the place and if you weren't careful you might lose a limb...or two. Right now, all that Giles was losing was money. And fast. Spike had been born a consummate borrower. By all accounts, a shameless one. He begged, he whined, he attacked, he succeeded. And then gloated.

It was mission impossible to be a gentleman when Spike was around. He brought out the caveman in everybody. Buffy turned into this loud-mouthed mutant creature from outer space if the vampire as much as glanced at her, Xander fiddled with the cross-bow menacingly and then seethed with anger when Spike burst into a fit of oblivious laughter, Willow...Giles' musings suffered a temporary setback. What did Willow do? Nothing. She appeared to be the same as ever. How was that possible? Giles' mind refused to compute the fact. <Hm...> He tried to come up with occasions that portrayed Willow in a less stable light, but his mind came up blank. Spike and Willow got along. Pretty well, considering all the potential sources of pressure radiating bad vibes from every quadrant. The witch and the vampire didn't rub each other the wrong way, it seemed. Giles was dumbfounded. This was the first time his brain had actually noticed that particular detail of life with the Scoobygang. Fascinating. But very scary.

The coolest guy on campus. Apart from Forrest, of course, who didn't lose a chance to point out his own maximum degree of personal coolness in a way that left no stone unturned. Was he really the coolest teacher-assistant on campus? <Hm...> Riley Finn had doubts on that particular score. He knew that if anyone so much as scented his evening engagements with a certain underground organization that didn't set up either beer parties or password meetings, he'd be toast. A very uncool brand of toast. But right now, he had other things on his mind. A certain buffy girl who went by the buffy name of Buffy Summers. A girl who liked cheese and solitary walks around campus in the middle of the night. Peculiar didn't even beging to cover Buffy Summers. She was...obscure. Riley frowned. Buffy's blonde good-looks had been haunting him for two weeks now, there was nothing obscure about golden hair in the sunlight, or a perfect set of smiling white teeth. But...something nagged him about her. All was not what it seemed. Human relationships. What was his human relationship to Buffy Summers? He wanted her in his bed. <Okay, that too...> He wanted his lips on hers. <Definitely.> He wanted to know more about her. <Hm...are you sure?> He was afraid of knowing more about her. <Yep...> But she was the most exciting thing in his life. Well, that and a massive stack of ungraded papers on his littered desk. Riley smiled. Getting to know Buffy, getting to see through Buffy, getting to love Buffy was going to be an odyssey. One that would demand every ounce of his energy and zest. So he might as well start by getting himself some highly-caloric lunch before the afternoon's lectures.

<Sigh.> No more chips. Life sucks. And then there's Anya. Xander smiled. She wasn't so bad, once you got used to her scary weirdness and didn't scream like a girl every time she came near you. Or was it Faith who had that effect on people? Hm...Xander got up from his seat at an empty table and let his eyes roam across campus. A red head and a blonde one. Seemingly close together, perhaps conferencing on something. Him? Yeah, why not? Xander knew the glamorous role he played in the girls' lives. They couldn't do without him. He added spark to their daily routine, he was the guy behind the counter at the bar. They could point at him and say "Hey, that's my friend Xander. The guy with the lighter.". He finally had a thing. A lighter was a cool thing to have. Even when it refused to work at the worst moment possible. Xander winced at the memory of a disgusted freckled face under a mop of red hair turning away from his stubbornly dysfunctional lighter. <Sigh.> And then there had been Anya. Slithering towards him, devious smile on her face, slinky black dress, brown eyes promising heaven...well, some freaky sort of heaven. She didn't care about his lighter as long as every other part of him worked okay. But he had nightmares about that. Every time she came near him, he felt as if he were naked onstage with a spotlight focusing on his intimacy and people clapping. Not a pleasant image and, what was worse, one that stuck with him throughout their exhausting lovemaking. Anya was insatiable. Demonic. She was...Anya.

The End

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