MCA #0, Thursday night

[needsaparrot]

Unlike Monday night, Xander wasn't drinking to see how drunk he could get. (Or counting nipples.) He was just sitting in his living room, the tv turned down low, a tumbler of non-black, non-evil somethingorother in his hand, thinking about... well, Things.

Also, wondering if he should call back, now that a check of his phone revealed he hadn't dreamed this morning's weird wake-up call, or... think about Things some more.
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[OOC: For, er, Things.]

Comments

[bridge-carson.livejournal.com]

"She's going," Bridge says. "I'm not going with her. Why *can't* it happen?" he presses.

[needsaparrot]

"Bridge...We've been over that." And over, and over, and it doesn't ever get any easier. It's supposed to get easier.

[bridge-carson.livejournal.com]

"Right, we've been over that," Bridge says with a scowl. "And yet... you keep giving me these mixed signals. I can't- I can't *do* this anymore, Xander. I can't keep pretending I'm happy to just be friends with you, because it hurts."

[needsaparrot]

Which is the one thing he keeps saying he doesn't want; Xander's not stupid enough to miss the irony. He just doesn't know what to do about it. The frustration of that drives him nuts, makes him stand up and curl his hands into balls at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. "I'm sorry about that. I am. You think this makes me happy?"

[bridge-carson.livejournal.com]

"No," Bridge snaps. "I *know* it doesn't."

[needsaparrot]

"Then can you give me a break here? I'm doing the best I can. I'm sorry it's not what you want, but it's all I got."

[bridge-carson.livejournal.com]

"What I *want* is for you to be able to say what you mean. Or mean what you say. One or the other." And now he's standing up too. "Until then... I really don't think I can be around you." With that, he heads to the door.

"Goodbye, Xander." He doesn't slam it as he leaves, but he does shut it behind him a little more forcibly than strictly necessary.

[needsaparrot]

Xander stands there staring at the door for long enough to hear Bridge walking away through the lobby, so long that when he stalks back over to the couch and unclenches his fist to pick up his drink, the knuckles ache and creak.

Maybe it's better this way, right? He can't send Bridge off to some dimension with no demons or giant robots, he'll never be able to keep him from running headlong into danger to help people, but at least Xander's managed to get him away from one thing that could hurt him. Xander slumps down on the couch and empties the glass in one swallow. Me.