maybe you're gonna be the one who saves me
I wanted this to be hot sex. Then when that didn't quite pan out, I was hoping for side-splittingly funny.
Sadly, it's rather predictable and too meta for my taste.
The question is, can this story be saved?
heart to heart | xander. ron. bass ale. | 810 words
Heart to Heart
Xander saw a flash of red hair at the bar, and his heart leapt.
He'd been in London two days now without catching a glimpse of Willow, Buffy or Giles; he'd just had Andrew giving him directions and watched Kennedy drill the new girls. He thought he might even be glad to see Faith at this point, and then shook that thought away.
He pushed through the crowd to the bar, but the red hair belonged to a guy, and the guy was way too tall to be Oz. But since he was already there, Xander pushed in beside the redhead and signaled the bartender.
"Pint of Bass," he said, waving what he hoped was the appropriate money at the guy.
"I'll have what he's having," the redhead said, "and another whisky."
Xander waved the money at him. "Is this right?'
"I-- yeah," the guy's gaze dropped to the bar. "I don't know, mate."
Xander's skin prickled. He hadn't lived for so long on a hellmouth, and then toured Africa without getting killed, without developing some instinct for the weird and wacky. And there was a lot of weird and wacky in the world, he'd learned, more than was dreamt of in anyone's philosophy.
"Ah."
"Sorry."
"No problem." He put the notes down on the bar and let the bartender figure it out, used to rolling eyes and curled lips at American ignorance. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Xander."
"Ron."
They shook, and Xander noticed Ron's hand was warm, his grip firm, his fingers callused.
"Nice to meet you."
"Not from around here, are you."
"California," Xander answered, "lately by way of Africa."
It was Ron's turn to say, "Ah. That explains the tan."
Xander smiled. "Among other things, yeah."
"What brings you to England, then?"
"Business. Friends." Xander shrugged. "Business with friends. They don't seem too eager to see me, though. We've been playing phone tag for days."
"Ruddy friends," Ron commiserated. They sipped their drinks quietly for a few moments, and then Ron said, "It's so bloody confusing. How am I supposed to know what to do?"
"I hear you," Xander said. It was a nice, non-committal response that usually encouraged more talking.
"My fiancée and my best friend want to-- They want me to--"
Xander blinked, images of Anya and Willow together flashing through his brain. "It'd be kinda hot, actually," he blurted. "Well, okay, if Anya wasn't dead."
Ron looked at him sharply. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"
"No, you couldn't know. It's been two years now. It's--
"I'm sorry," Ron said again. "If you don't mind me asking, how--"
Xander's laugh was only slightly bitter. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"I get that," Ron replied, and then took a long drink.
Xander looked at him sharply, taking in the ratty-looking maroon sweater and the worn jeans Ron wore, and the uncomfortable way he stood, in the crowd but not part of it. It reminded him of himself.
"I bet you do," he murmured. "I bet you do." He was tired of being around people who didn't know, of having to ruin that for the people he met, having to tell them, no, really, all those things you laugh about being scared of because they're not real? They really are. And they're coming for you. So please come right this way and leave your old life behind for one of freakish magic and violence and an early, gruesome death.
"You never get used to it," he said suddenly. "You never get used to people dying. They do, all the time, and not just old people. But people our age. People younger. And they're not just dying because they're sick. No. Someone -- some thing kills them, and then it's your job to--"
"Stay home and not get hurt and let other people do the fighting," Ron finished bitterly. "I know, mate. I know. Just because I'm not as clever as Hermione, or as powerful as Harry doesn't mean all I'm good for is making tea."
"Buying doughnuts."
"Sitting around with my thumb up my arse, worrying."
They shared a long look, and then Xander said, "You know, they couldn't do it without us."
Ron nodded glumly. "I know. But sometimes I wish they'd realize that, instead of treating me like I'm an idiot."
Xander's mouth twisted in a sad smile. "We know, Ron. And sometimes, that has to be enough." He tossed more money on the bar. "Have another one on me. I'm going to find my friends."
"Good luck, mate. And thanks."
Xander pushed his way out into the night, hand wrapped around the stake in his pocket, and thought it did feel a bit better to know he wasn't the only one, and that without people like him and Ron, the world would have ended long ago.
end
***
Anyone got any suggestions on how to fix it?
In other news, I did write - by hand - about 14 pages of R/S fic this afternoon, which is complete and needs typing. And then I will be sending it off for beta... romanticalgirl, keep an eye out, huh? And let me know if you can't do it. *g* It probably won't be until sometime tomorrow though, as I'm going to see "The Incredibles" tonight. Squee!
Sadly, it's rather predictable and too meta for my taste.
The question is, can this story be saved?
heart to heart | xander. ron. bass ale. | 810 words
Heart to Heart
Xander saw a flash of red hair at the bar, and his heart leapt.
He'd been in London two days now without catching a glimpse of Willow, Buffy or Giles; he'd just had Andrew giving him directions and watched Kennedy drill the new girls. He thought he might even be glad to see Faith at this point, and then shook that thought away.
He pushed through the crowd to the bar, but the red hair belonged to a guy, and the guy was way too tall to be Oz. But since he was already there, Xander pushed in beside the redhead and signaled the bartender.
"Pint of Bass," he said, waving what he hoped was the appropriate money at the guy.
"I'll have what he's having," the redhead said, "and another whisky."
Xander waved the money at him. "Is this right?'
"I-- yeah," the guy's gaze dropped to the bar. "I don't know, mate."
Xander's skin prickled. He hadn't lived for so long on a hellmouth, and then toured Africa without getting killed, without developing some instinct for the weird and wacky. And there was a lot of weird and wacky in the world, he'd learned, more than was dreamt of in anyone's philosophy.
"Ah."
"Sorry."
"No problem." He put the notes down on the bar and let the bartender figure it out, used to rolling eyes and curled lips at American ignorance. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Xander."
"Ron."
They shook, and Xander noticed Ron's hand was warm, his grip firm, his fingers callused.
"Nice to meet you."
"Not from around here, are you."
"California," Xander answered, "lately by way of Africa."
It was Ron's turn to say, "Ah. That explains the tan."
Xander smiled. "Among other things, yeah."
"What brings you to England, then?"
"Business. Friends." Xander shrugged. "Business with friends. They don't seem too eager to see me, though. We've been playing phone tag for days."
"Ruddy friends," Ron commiserated. They sipped their drinks quietly for a few moments, and then Ron said, "It's so bloody confusing. How am I supposed to know what to do?"
"I hear you," Xander said. It was a nice, non-committal response that usually encouraged more talking.
"My fiancée and my best friend want to-- They want me to--"
Xander blinked, images of Anya and Willow together flashing through his brain. "It'd be kinda hot, actually," he blurted. "Well, okay, if Anya wasn't dead."
Ron looked at him sharply. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"
"No, you couldn't know. It's been two years now. It's--
"I'm sorry," Ron said again. "If you don't mind me asking, how--"
Xander's laugh was only slightly bitter. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"I get that," Ron replied, and then took a long drink.
Xander looked at him sharply, taking in the ratty-looking maroon sweater and the worn jeans Ron wore, and the uncomfortable way he stood, in the crowd but not part of it. It reminded him of himself.
"I bet you do," he murmured. "I bet you do." He was tired of being around people who didn't know, of having to ruin that for the people he met, having to tell them, no, really, all those things you laugh about being scared of because they're not real? They really are. And they're coming for you. So please come right this way and leave your old life behind for one of freakish magic and violence and an early, gruesome death.
"You never get used to it," he said suddenly. "You never get used to people dying. They do, all the time, and not just old people. But people our age. People younger. And they're not just dying because they're sick. No. Someone -- some thing kills them, and then it's your job to--"
"Stay home and not get hurt and let other people do the fighting," Ron finished bitterly. "I know, mate. I know. Just because I'm not as clever as Hermione, or as powerful as Harry doesn't mean all I'm good for is making tea."
"Buying doughnuts."
"Sitting around with my thumb up my arse, worrying."
They shared a long look, and then Xander said, "You know, they couldn't do it without us."
Ron nodded glumly. "I know. But sometimes I wish they'd realize that, instead of treating me like I'm an idiot."
Xander's mouth twisted in a sad smile. "We know, Ron. And sometimes, that has to be enough." He tossed more money on the bar. "Have another one on me. I'm going to find my friends."
"Good luck, mate. And thanks."
Xander pushed his way out into the night, hand wrapped around the stake in his pocket, and thought it did feel a bit better to know he wasn't the only one, and that without people like him and Ron, the world would have ended long ago.
end
***
Anyone got any suggestions on how to fix it?
In other news, I did write - by hand - about 14 pages of R/S fic this afternoon, which is complete and needs typing. And then I will be sending it off for beta... romanticalgirl, keep an eye out, huh? And let me know if you can't do it. *g* It probably won't be until sometime tomorrow though, as I'm going to see "The Incredibles" tonight. Squee!