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Author's notes for part three: This part is dedicated to Hungry!Xander. The best kind of Xander to be. Or have. Or be had by. Did I say that?
Other info in Part One
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Touch
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By the time she said goodnight to her parents and slipped into her darkened bedroom, he was already waiting for her on the balcony.
He waited near the glass so she would be able to recognize him immediately, and watched her move through the room, turning on the small light by her bed and slipping off her shoes. She had placed her pajamas out on the bed and started on the buttons to her sweater when she noticed him.
Breath caught in her chest. Fingers halted their decent. Eyes slipped closed.
This is not happening, she thought, squeezing her eyes tight and willing him to go away. Time. I need time to deal with this. A ragged sigh escaped her and she looked at him again. He looked like a lost puppy, gazing at her eagerly, waiting for her to let him in.
It never even occurred to him that she might not want him there. So he gave her a slight smile and rapped quietly on the glass door. The smile and the eyes and her heart overruled her head and she found herself walking in a trance to the door and letting him in.
As was his custom, he walked to her bed and sat down on the very edge of it. He pulled his hands inside the arms of his pullover and wrapped his arms around himself, looking up to find her staring back at him. Neither one knew what to say.
She started flitting around the room--picking up clothing and putting it away, stacking her books according to size on her desk, arranging pencils and picture frames, lining up her shoes, placing a CD back in its case and returning it to the rack in alphabetical order…
He stared at her helplessly and all thoughts flew was his head. She looked so beautiful. Her shoulder-length hair swung angrily behind her and her small brow was furrowed in frustration or concentration, he couldn't tell which. He admired how small she really was, small hips and tiny waist and thin legs. Her eyes were wide and she looked confused and he just wanted her to stop. Maybe if he reached out to her she would stop.
"Willow," he said quietly, mindful of her parents downstairs.
She crossed the room and started rummaging in her nightstand for…she didn't know what for. All she knew what that Xander was behind her and he wanted something from her and she didn't know what, if anything, she was ready to give. Matches. She found matches and set out to light every candle in the room before she realized it looked too romantic and started putting them all out again.
The silence was stifling. Without thinking he bolted off the bed and grabbed her arms before she could protest. She stared at his shoes and noticed the way they still looked kind of new, even though she remembered him buying them several months ago.
"Your shoes still look new," she said, continuing her inspection of them. Her voice was thin and course, but she didn't make a move to get away from him.
"Willow, look at me. Please look at me," and he let go of one arm to tuck a finger under her chin and lift her eyes to his. Tears were already forming there. "I didn't mean to scare you at the Bronze. I just wanted…I just wanted to watch you. I just wanted to see if you were happy."
Happy without me, they both heard, though he hadn't said it out loud.
"You didn't scare me, Xander. You made me feel, feel like I was being eaten alive. I've never felt that way before. It was so creepy."
She pulled away from him and settled herself against the pillows at the head of her bed. He followed her and sat at her feet, again never wondering if she would want him so close to her. He reached out to clasp her hand and she hesitated before pulling it away, folding her hands on her stomach.
"Why are you here, Xander?"
Why was he there? Suddenly he couldn't remember. She was so close he could feel the warmth radiating off her, and she looked so small as if she could disappear inside him. The way he sometimes wanted to crawl inside her and let her soothe him.
"Xander?" she asked again, tapping her sock-clad foot against his leg.
"Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Why am I here? I thought I should explain to you why I didn't come sit with you tonight. Not, of course, that you invited me."
He hadn't meant for that last part to come out, but anger flashed in her bright eyes and he knew it was a mistake. No. Nonono. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
"Didn't invite you? Why would I invite you Xander? You seemed content to hide in the corner. I'm sure it never occurred to you to just come talk to me. Did it? When all else fails, run and hide. That's so typical of you."
"You told me to leave you alone," he returned in a harsh whisper. "Remember? 'All your parts are for Oz.'"
The sound of his mocking voice made her want to slap him. How dare he? How dare he question her decisions and then throw them back in her face?
"Since when do you have to touch me to have a conversation with me, Xander?"
So there it was. She wanted to know why. And suddenly he didn't know how to tell her. The words he had practiced on the way over somehow didn't seem to be enough. She wasn't responding to him the way he'd imagined. They should have been making up by now.
"I think it's time for you to leave."
With that she shoved herself off the bed away from him and moved to let him out, her body tight with tension.
"No, you don't understand, I…"
"Now, Xander."
He dropped his chin to his chest and she watched his shoulders heave in a deep sigh. By the time he reached her side she had started to soften toward him, as she always did. He reached for the door and mumbled something as he slipped back into the darkness. Her arm stilled him.
"What?"
"I just wanted to touch you," he repeated, still so silently she wasn't sure it was correct. "Just once."
She reached around him and stilled his hand on the door with her own, slowly taking in the sight of his defeated face. She turned back to the bed and sat down, waiting for him to follow.
Part Three