In Your Eyes

by: Amy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sex. It's one thing that I'm always sure of, the one thing that I make sure to radiate when I walk into a room. That attraction, that instant lust, I've worked hard for it, perfected myself to where I would never lack for that stare from men who saw me. Those gleaming eyes, dark, glittery eyes, his eyes....

But I don't want to think about him anymore.

I'm not a virgin, and my first and only experience with sex wasn't what I had hoped it would be, wasn't as perfect as I had wished and dreamed for, and certainly wasn't with someone I loved. But why should sex have anything to do with love? I've heard people talk, lots of people, and I know they think I'm something of a slut. I'm not, though. What I did, I did out of grief and humiliation, and the rumors had been going on long before I lost my virginity a few months ago. I lost it because I was in love. Funny that I didn't sleep with who I loved.

Love. Now there's a foreign word. When every little girl lies in bed at night, what does she wish for? She wishes for a Prince Charming, someone who will rescue her, someone who will treat her like a Princess. I had that once, sort of. But now, everytime I think of Xander, all I can see his him and Willow in bed together, kissing and his hand on her hip. That damn hand.   I don't know why that hand bothered me so much more than the kiss did.   Maybe because it showed a level of intimacy so quickly reached with her. Or maybe not, they've known each other since they were children.

But I've known him since I was a child, too. It took us eight makeout sessions for him to venture putting his hands anywhere other than on my back.   And there he was, touching her hip, such a familiar touch, almost sweet enough to have made me smile if I wasn't busy getting my heart broken at that very moment.

So I hate that I can't stop thinking about him, hate it that he acted so chivalrously, my very own white knight on a white stallion. I still love him, you know. I still want him. But I also want what happened between him and Willow to have been my imagination, and it wasn't. Even if I wanted to pretend it had been a bad dream, I couldn't. I have a scar to remind me.

I know how sorry he was, and I guess still is. Xander buying my dress was such a grand gesture. It was so expensive that Daddy would have cringed at the price even if we weren't broke now. I don't know how he afforded it.  But I know why.

And I'm not sure I like knowing.

It makes it easier to forgive him totally, which is something I'm not sure I'm prepared to do.

I talked to him at the dance, exchanged just a few words with him, and was rewarded with seeing that soft look on his face that I loved. That slightly vulnerable, sweet look that makes me tremble was on his face when I smiled back at him last night. He doesn't know how sexy he is when he's just being himself.

I knew that he slept with Faith, which I guess is why I slept with Brian Foll, the quarterback. It was a bad reason, and I got out of the bed as soon as his sweaty, warm body started breathing evenly again. I walked back to my house and took a long, hot shower, trying to wash away the remnants of sex without love. Ever since Xander and I officially became a couple, I had known that one day we would be in that place. Except in my mind, in my fantasies, I wouldn't have gotten out of the bed. I would have laid there with him, treasuring the sound of his breathing in the quiet of the room, loving the feel of his warmth against mine.

Just another of my dreams that never came true.

I wonder if I would have forgiven him if it hadn't been for that dress.  Probably not, and I'd probably have had left him and myself with huge holes in each of us, holes that couldn't have been repaired.

I didn't talk to him any more at the dance. I was dancing the whole time with Wesley, being perfect company, smiling widely at his little jokes, and wishing the whole time that I was in Xander's arms, smiling at *his* jokes.   It didn't help that when Wesley kissed me later after walking me home that there was no chemistry whatsoever, that I could have been kissing my cat. He felt it too, and backed away from me, blushing and stammering. Except for some reason, it didn't bother me that he didn't feel anything special or significant.

I was too busy wishing I was with someone else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The little apartment we're living in is tiny and every sound can be heard through the paper-thin walls. We had to let go of our maid, who had been more of a mother to me than my own had, which depresses me. I'm sitting in my room, listening to country music on the radio.

Xander always had a little love-hate thing with country music that used to amuse me to no end. But now I find that it's right, a balm to the hurting soul, knowing that other people have been there. Especially this guy singing right now. *He* lost his wife, home, friends, dog and now he's drinking himself into an oblivion.

That's a bit of a comfort.

The doorbell rings and I close my eyes briefly before lifting myself off the bed and padding down the dark hallway to the front door. I look around on my way there, and wonder vaguely where my parents are. Probably out getting drunk, I think bitterly.

I swing the door open. It's Xander.

My heart leaps into my throat at the sight of him, but I just smile and wait for him to say what he came to say. He looks awkward.

"Uh, can I.. Can I come in?"

I open my mouth to invite him, but then smile again. "Xander," I admonish, half-playing, "You should know that I know better than that! The sun has set."

He looks behind him at the dimmed sky and smiles goofily. "Oh, yeah, sorry."  He steps into our little apartment and looks around. "I uh, came with a gift."

I look down at the little plant in his hands and blink back the tears that come into my eyes at the little flowers and the card that says "housewarming" on the front. I take the plant and lead him to our couch, which he sits on gratefully.

Xander looks at me and I look back for a second before I break our gaze to set the plant on the coffee table, moving it around, distracting myself from that firm stare of his. He leans over and places one of his warm hands over mine, stopping me.

Not letting go of my hand, he rasps, under his breath. "I've missed your hands."

I finally meet his eyes again, tears stinging my gaze. "My hands?"

"Your hands," he confirms softly. "And your feet." He nudges my sock-covered foot with his shoe-covered one. He looks at my face. "And your eyes." His hand travels up to them, up to the thread of salted water that's making its way down my cheek. He slowly wipes it away with his fingertips and I lean into the melting sensation.

"You," he whispers. "I've missed you."

I lean into him, waiting for the kiss that I know is going to come, but when I feel his breath inches from my lips, I pull back, scared.

"No, Xander. This isn't..." My voice is choked, and he squeezes my hand.  "This isn't the way it should be. Xander, we've always fallen into this pattern. We fight, we kiss, and we're as happy as ever. But this can't be fixed just by kissing you again, no matter how much I want to. Because you broke my heart, Xander. And I swore to myself that you would never get another chance to do it again."

My tears are coming faster now and he pauses to lean forward and kiss them away, letting the wetness of them linger on his lips, a sad token of my emotions. "Did you love me, Cordy?"

I look at him, startled. I start to shake my head, but he takes my chin firmly in his hands and makes me look at him, forces me to meet his gaze.   Finally I nod, and my breath comes faster and my tears do too, until I'm weeping brokenly, for all that I thought we had had and all that we had lost.

"Oh, Cordy," he sighs, and it sounds like he's crying himself. He pulls my face against his chest and I let him comfort me, let him know that I'm sorry for sharing things with someone else that I should have saved for him, let him know how hurt I am that he didn't save himself for me either. I murmur this all raggedly through my tears, but he just strokes my hair with his palm, soothing me, consoling me, understanding me like only he ever could.

The tape of country music stops and clicks a few times before the regular radio comes on, and I recognize a song I've always loved. One that, ironically enough, makes me think of Xander.

I pull out of his embrace, still sniffling, and he stands up with that look on his face, that soft and romantic and loving look on his face that makes me shiver. He stretches out his hand and I take it, unsure.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks. "We didn't have a chance to dance at the prom last night. Dance with me now?"

I nod, smiling through my tears and stand up next to him. Both of us in jeans and tear-stained cheeks, we dance as if we were at the prom, as if everything was as it always should have been. I lay my ear against his chest and I can hear his heart beat in time with mine, a sweet harmony. The song croons on the radio.

*In your eyes, the light, the heat.

Your eyes, I am complete.

Your eyes, I see the doorway

(Your eyes) to a thousand churches.

(In your eyes) A resolution

To all the fruitless searches...*

I sigh, sadness ringing against my tone and tilt my head up to look into those eyes. Those eyes which have showed me passion and lust and tenderness and were sparked with intelligence and humor... And now, I recognize, love.   Was it always there?, I wonder, did he always feel so strongly for me and I just never saw it?

Now, finally, it's okay with me, and I lift my head, accepting and waiting for the inevitable kiss that he drops onto my lips. Chemistry, love, sweetness all mixed together to make this one, utterly perfect moment where we kiss in my living room and dance to music on my radio and realize that we belong together.

I open my eyes as we continue to kiss, as the kiss grows deeper and find that his eyes are open too and he's watching me as if he's afraid I'll disappear if he looks away. My heart trembles and my body does too as we kiss and gaze at each other and hold each other close. His eyes are bright and moist and I notice that a tear has leaked out of the corner of one of them and I smile against his mouth.

Finally, finally, I forgive him, because I see everything he feels for me, everything we feel for each other.

And I see it all in his eyes.

The End

Feedback=instant happies

Keep dancing

Go home