Homecoming
Xander
Summers' Household
Xander gazed curiously from the cab window at the shifting scenery. With the exception of a few lingering construction sites, it looked like most of Sunnydale's square footage had been rebuilt. He watched familiar alleyways go by, the fresh new trees that had been transplanted onto main street, and - to his puzzlement - cemeteries, freshly carved tombstones sparkling in the dull moonlight. Just memorials now, he thought, and slouched back onto the upholstery until a familiar curve grabbed his attention.
"Wait, stop here!" He blurted and the taxi rolled to a stop, the driver grunting in a way Xander might have found unsettling if he hadn't been scrambling out the door with his duffel bag. "Wait here."
The lobby of his old building followed the same floorplan - the brand new floors and carpeting didn't strike him especially, since the maintenance staff had always kept things immaculately clean while he was living there. Outside the door to his apartment was a pile of mail, mostly junk, but among it an unmarked brown envelope. Xander only skimmed the letter within - Pleased to inform... estate of Xander Harris... full re-imbursement... - and fingered the newly pressed key at the bottom for a moment before letting himself in.
The switch hadn't moved and as the lights flicked on Xander's throat closed up. The loft was different in small, insignificant ways that disappeared when the eye wasn't near them, but the combined familiarity of its angles and curves was enough to invite back a host of memories. He threw his duffel and the pile of mail inside and flicked the lights back off, tasting bile, and locked the door behind him. He wasn't dealing with this now. Not yet.
The cab's engine was still running as Xander climbed back in and nodded to the driver to continue on to the original address he'd given him. His glass eye bothered him as they pulled up to the curb outside the new Summers household and he tipped the man with the last of his pocket money from his recent adventure.
At the door Xander knocked once, twice, tried the knob and found it was open. The nostalgia from this place, even a recreation of it, was comforting, and he called out to the quiet boards of the house enthusiastically. "Buff? Dawn? ... Hello-oo?"
Summers' Household
Xander gazed curiously from the cab window at the shifting scenery. With the exception of a few lingering construction sites, it looked like most of Sunnydale's square footage had been rebuilt. He watched familiar alleyways go by, the fresh new trees that had been transplanted onto main street, and - to his puzzlement - cemeteries, freshly carved tombstones sparkling in the dull moonlight. Just memorials now, he thought, and slouched back onto the upholstery until a familiar curve grabbed his attention.
"Wait, stop here!" He blurted and the taxi rolled to a stop, the driver grunting in a way Xander might have found unsettling if he hadn't been scrambling out the door with his duffel bag. "Wait here."
The lobby of his old building followed the same floorplan - the brand new floors and carpeting didn't strike him especially, since the maintenance staff had always kept things immaculately clean while he was living there. Outside the door to his apartment was a pile of mail, mostly junk, but among it an unmarked brown envelope. Xander only skimmed the letter within - Pleased to inform... estate of Xander Harris... full re-imbursement... - and fingered the newly pressed key at the bottom for a moment before letting himself in.
The switch hadn't moved and as the lights flicked on Xander's throat closed up. The loft was different in small, insignificant ways that disappeared when the eye wasn't near them, but the combined familiarity of its angles and curves was enough to invite back a host of memories. He threw his duffel and the pile of mail inside and flicked the lights back off, tasting bile, and locked the door behind him. He wasn't dealing with this now. Not yet.
The cab's engine was still running as Xander climbed back in and nodded to the driver to continue on to the original address he'd given him. His glass eye bothered him as they pulled up to the curb outside the new Summers household and he tipped the man with the last of his pocket money from his recent adventure.
At the door Xander knocked once, twice, tried the knob and found it was open. The nostalgia from this place, even a recreation of it, was comforting, and he called out to the quiet boards of the house enthusiastically. "Buff? Dawn? ... Hello-oo?"