It's hot. Too hot to be wearing a suit, and Xander has to remove his jacket and sling it over his arm before he can walk any further. The last thing he needs right now is to show up for his interview looking like he just ran a marathon.
But that's the way it is here. It's not like the comforting T-shirt warmth of Sunnydale. This heat has nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with the people. Everywhere's a sardine can: subways, stores, even the streets, where the concrete bakes under the friction of a million footsteps and the smell of countless inhabitants rises around him like someone's just pulled off the lid.
He decides he likes the can metaphor, as he rounds the corner and almost bumps into a twin-setted woman marching along behind two identical terriers. She blusters at him in unaccented words that he ignores as he moves on resolutely. Can't be late. Can't be late.
This one could be it. Or near enough. Either way, it's better than stacking shelves, which is what he's been doing for the past four weeks. The carpentry gig was supposed to have brought him beyond that: he'd hoped to never wear a supermarket uniform again. But pride is nothing when you need money.
It's not that there's a lack of good jobs here: if it's possible, L.A. has more of a demon destruction problem than Sunnydale, and there are always construction crews to be seen in and around the city. It's just that potential employers seem wary of guys who can't judge the distance between the plane and their fingers.
But there's other stuff he can do. He has other skills. People skills. Hence the management job he's interviewing for in...he checks his watch. Fourteen minutes. He's not late yet. It's a paperwork-heavy job, but there's also site stuff that'll get him out of the office and let him meet people. He'll get used to it.
There's been a lot to get used to lately, so he's had plenty of practise. Buffy's gone: a sabbatical in England, just as he expected. Willow's staying with her folks, but she's promised to visit soon. Giles has permanently relocated, and though there's been the odd phone call, Xander doesn't expect to see him in America again.
He has a whole new team to work with now. Wesley and Angel are faces he knows, and even though Angel's just as broody as he remembers, Wesley's whole 'to hell and back' makeover means Xander kind of likes being around him now. There's still a big Giles-shaped whole that'll never be filled, but Wesley's not a bad substitute. And there's Gunn, who's turning into a great buddy, and Fred who's always friendly even if Xander doesn't understand a word she says half the time.
So, weird as it still seems sometimes, Andrew's the familiar face, the one who makes it all seem vaguely normal. And he likes normal.
Normal is the tired ache after a day's work. Normal is making dinner in the microwave and eating it while stretched out on the couch. Normal is sitting down in front of the TV with Andrew, which feels also vaguely familiar. It's not something they ever really did, but it feels like something they might have done, once. Should have done.
He knows he doesn't know nearly enough about Andrew. Sometimes he finds himself wondering what Andrew was like before he was evil. What he did after school. What he wanted to do with his life.
Finding out isn't easy. For all his inane chatter, Andrew doesn't say much about things past. A couple of weeks ago, Xander had asked if he'd thought about tracking down his folks to see where they'd gone after Sunnydale. Andrew had changed the subject. Xander hasn't mentioned it since.
Sometimes it seems better like that. There are things that are easier to ignore. This is his life now. It wouldn't help to interrupt his readjustment. There are a lot of things to adjust to.
Like living in the hotel, which isn't permanent because soon he'll be able to afford his own apartment, but sometimes it's still strange to think about all those empty rooms, just abandoned to dust and spiders. Or like knowing that no one will think any less of him if he takes Andrew's hand, or if they come down to breakfast together wearing matching tired smiles, or if they're caught kissing on the dusty red sofas in the lobby.
Some things take a lot of getting used to. But Xander's decided that's half the fun.
END
But that's the way it is here. It's not like the comforting T-shirt warmth of Sunnydale. This heat has nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with the people. Everywhere's a sardine can: subways, stores, even the streets, where the concrete bakes under the friction of a million footsteps and the smell of countless inhabitants rises around him like someone's just pulled off the lid.
He decides he likes the can metaphor, as he rounds the corner and almost bumps into a twin-setted woman marching along behind two identical terriers. She blusters at him in unaccented words that he ignores as he moves on resolutely. Can't be late. Can't be late.
This one could be it. Or near enough. Either way, it's better than stacking shelves, which is what he's been doing for the past four weeks. The carpentry gig was supposed to have brought him beyond that: he'd hoped to never wear a supermarket uniform again. But pride is nothing when you need money.
It's not that there's a lack of good jobs here: if it's possible, L.A. has more of a demon destruction problem than Sunnydale, and there are always construction crews to be seen in and around the city. It's just that potential employers seem wary of guys who can't judge the distance between the plane and their fingers.
But there's other stuff he can do. He has other skills. People skills. Hence the management job he's interviewing for in...he checks his watch. Fourteen minutes. He's not late yet. It's a paperwork-heavy job, but there's also site stuff that'll get him out of the office and let him meet people. He'll get used to it.
There's been a lot to get used to lately, so he's had plenty of practise. Buffy's gone: a sabbatical in England, just as he expected. Willow's staying with her folks, but she's promised to visit soon. Giles has permanently relocated, and though there's been the odd phone call, Xander doesn't expect to see him in America again.
He has a whole new team to work with now. Wesley and Angel are faces he knows, and even though Angel's just as broody as he remembers, Wesley's whole 'to hell and back' makeover means Xander kind of likes being around him now. There's still a big Giles-shaped whole that'll never be filled, but Wesley's not a bad substitute. And there's Gunn, who's turning into a great buddy, and Fred who's always friendly even if Xander doesn't understand a word she says half the time.
So, weird as it still seems sometimes, Andrew's the familiar face, the one who makes it all seem vaguely normal. And he likes normal.
Normal is the tired ache after a day's work. Normal is making dinner in the microwave and eating it while stretched out on the couch. Normal is sitting down in front of the TV with Andrew, which feels also vaguely familiar. It's not something they ever really did, but it feels like something they might have done, once. Should have done.
He knows he doesn't know nearly enough about Andrew. Sometimes he finds himself wondering what Andrew was like before he was evil. What he did after school. What he wanted to do with his life.
Finding out isn't easy. For all his inane chatter, Andrew doesn't say much about things past. A couple of weeks ago, Xander had asked if he'd thought about tracking down his folks to see where they'd gone after Sunnydale. Andrew had changed the subject. Xander hasn't mentioned it since.
Sometimes it seems better like that. There are things that are easier to ignore. This is his life now. It wouldn't help to interrupt his readjustment. There are a lot of things to adjust to.
Like living in the hotel, which isn't permanent because soon he'll be able to afford his own apartment, but sometimes it's still strange to think about all those empty rooms, just abandoned to dust and spiders. Or like knowing that no one will think any less of him if he takes Andrew's hand, or if they come down to breakfast together wearing matching tired smiles, or if they're caught kissing on the dusty red sofas in the lobby.
Some things take a lot of getting used to. But Xander's decided that's half the fun.
END