Wesley opened the door in confusion. "Xander? What on earth? It's Christmas eve."

"Yeah. I kind of noticed that. It's hard to miss with the Cordelia Chase Human Advent Calendar running around." Xander shuffled from foot to foot, looking just to the left of Wesley's right shoulder. "...so can I come in?"

"But why are you here on Christmas eve?"

"You invited me."

Wesley blinked, and thought back to the seasons greetings of the past week. But good lord, he hadn't expected anyone to take him up on it. As Wesley watched him, Xander seemed to...shrink in on himself, hands shoved into his pockets, looking anywhere but at Wesley.

"Um, and if that was just some weird polite English thing, and you didn't mean it, that's cool. I just thought I'd stop by so you wouldn't have to be alone on Christmas eve, you know?"

"What makes you think I'd be alone?" Wesley asked, aware that they were still standing in the doorway of his home.

"You're not at Buffy's and where else would you be?"

Wesley wished Xander wasn't right. "Perhaps I like to spend Christmas alone."

"You love time alone. That's why you sit in the Bronze with us drinking Scotch and looking like you'd rather be anywhere else." Xander's voice was barely above a mutter, and he licked his lips. "Okay, forget it. Sorry I bothered you on Christmas Eve. Merry Christmas or whatever they say in England, and-"

Xander froze as Wesley's hand closed around his bicep. Wesley froze as well, waiting until Xander recovered enough of himself to turn, to look Wesley in the eye. "Come in." Wesley's inner watcher cringed at the words that were supposed to have all but vanished from his vocabulary over the course of his training, but no vampire could be that...warm.

When Xander hesitated, Wesley tugged his arm, guiding him back into the warmth of the small house.

"I'm afraid I haven't much to offer you. I wasn't-"

"Expecting anyone, yeah." Xander's hands were still in his pockets, but a tension eased out of him. "Not going home to family?"

"A watcher has no family once he assumes his sacred duty," Wesley replied immediately, the words rolling off his tongue with less thought than 'bless you' after a sneeze.

And he truly wished Xander would express himself in something more eloquent than that derisive snort. "What's the real reason?"

"A librarian's pay is insufficient for a trip to England over the holidays," Wesley lied, then turned his back on Xander on the pretext of going to the kitchen, but he waited to hear what Xander would say next first.

He heard the backpack dropped, and a light jacket shed, and hung on the coat stand. *Well there's a small Christmas miracle.*

"Thanks for letting me in," Xander said, and this time, Wesley didn't question why Xander might be wanting to spend Christmas eve with a nominal librarian.

Those who live in glass houses shouldn't ask questions about the glass houses of others.

"Of course. Would you like something?" Wesley opened the refrigerator, staring gloomily at the contents, wondering if he should offer the day-old Chinese takeaway or the dubious carrot.

"So this is the bachelor lifestyle, huh?"

"What? No! I've simply been too busy to..." Wesley grimaced, realizing that a man with no need to buy Christmas gifts, no social life, and two weeks off from school had no possible excuse. "I suppose this must seem somewhat pathetic compared to what you're used to at home."

Xander shrugged. "Yeah." But before Wesley had time to deflate, Xander went on. "You can't even finish one order of..." he pulled out the Chinese and sniffed it, "black pepper chicken? That's really pathetic. Leftovers at home are gone before the next morning."

"Surely your mother-"

"Orders something else the next night, mostly. She keeps the cook books in the oven." Xander leaned back against the counter, chewing on his lip. "I think I have enough for a pizza."

"A pizza for Christmas eve dinner?"

"What were you planning to have?"

Wesley cast a vaguely guilty look in the direction of the whiskey, then sighed. "Noodles, perhaps. I think there might be a packet left."

"How's ham and pineapple pizza sound?" Xander asked, already picking up the phone and dialing from memory.

"Appalling," Wesley answered, and watched Xander ignore him.

Shaking his head, he retrieved a beer from the refrigerator, wondering that Xander hadn't commented on the liquid contents. When he heard Xander give his address and hang up the phone, he looked down at the beer again. "Xander?"

"Yeah?"

"How old are you?"

Xander appeared in the kitchen entry again, frowning. "Eighteen, why?"

Wesley shrugged, handing Xander a beer. "Old enough. Though I'll be denying it should anyone ask."

"That's...okay."

Wesley looked down, startled, to find himself holding the beer once more, and Xander, once again, not looking at him.

"I ordered a big soda with the pizzas." Xander trailed off awkwardly as Wesley continued to stare at the beer in his hand. "There's enough for you too...if you want?"

The beer went back into the refrigerator, and Wesley wondered what he could possibly offer a-

"Do you like Jaffa cakes?"

"Do I like whats?"

"Foolish question." He had yet to see Xander turn down anything chocolate coated and sweet. "You'll like them well enough." Wesley fetched the biscuits from their cabinet, and plates, carrying them to the living room. "There are glasses above the sink," he added.

"Why do you do that? Change the subject instead of asking me what you want to know?"

Wesley slowed as he passed Xander, then turned to face him. "It would be prying," he said at last.

"You're not even going to ask me why I'm here?"

"No."

"You aren't even a little curious?"

Wesley felt himself smiling and set the plates on the table. "I didn't say that." He listened to Xander gathering the glasses and hunting for silverware in his kitchen drawers. "To the left of the sink, Xander." He hadn't planned to light the fire laid out in the fireplace, but somehow, having a guest made a Christmas blaze feel necessary.

When Wesley heard Xander stop at last and set down the silverware, he didn't turn from lighting the fire.

"It was better than listening to my family's drunken cheer."

"It is the nature of the holiday to over indulge in the eggnog," Wesley murmured, hoping it was reassuring enough. Vague enough.

"Oh yeah. They do. There's an old Harris family recipe for eggnog. It's made without the eggs, cream, milk, or spices. Really easy."

"But that would be pure...Rum." Part of Wesley was surprised not to see Xander pull his shrinking act once again, though he was staring into the fireplace. "Oh, yes, I see. I'm sorry."

"What were your family Christmases like?"

Wesley grimaced, considered briefly something about the traditions they'd followed, and then settled on vague honesty. "Ghastly. They made me wish I was back at school."

"Just call you Harry Potter."

"Excuse me?"

"And you call yourself a librarian." Xander tsked so deliberately that Wesley laughed. "You know, popular books all the cool kids are reading about a young wizard whose family made him live in a cupboard under the stairs?"

"What did he do wrong?"

"Huh?"

"To have been punished with the cupboard under the stairs."

"Are you telling me that's an actual British punishment thing? What's wrong with 'go to your room'?"

"In my room, I suppose, I had a lamp and books. In the cupboard, all was darkness."

"You?"

"A metaphorical I." Wesley tucked his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling at a loss for what to do with them, gangly and awkward. "So what did he do?"

"He?"

"This young wizard."

In the corner of his eye, Wesley saw Xander watching him, but didn't turn. "He kept living. Well, and he was a wizard, but mostly, the not dying."

"Yes, I - can see how that might have inconvenienced them," Wesley said, trying for dry humor and failing miserably.

"Family. Can't choose 'em." This time, Xander's voice was much closer, and he could feel a second, lesser warmth at his shoulder as they both stared into the fireplace.

"I suppose they would say the same thing about us. Children, that is, in general."

"Do you still think of yourself as a kid?"

Wesley shook his head. "Not for quite some time."

"Too bad. It's everybody's inalienable right to be young and stupid."

"Being foolish doesn't require youth."

"Oh yeah? When's the last time you did something foolish?"

Wesley looked at Xander, startled, to find him looking back with folded arms. "I thought you were keeping count of all of the foolish things I did."

"Funny thing about that," Xander said, stuffing his hands back in his pockets, but this time his shoulders were straight, and his head was tilted pensively. "You're past due, Mr. Librarian."

"I wasn't aware I'd been checked out."

"Uh. Actually, you have."

And once again, Xander was looking anywhere but at Wesley, and his lip was once again being bitten. "I'm afraid you're sadly mistaken, Xander."

"No. No, this time, I know I'm right." Xander swallowed and met Wesley's eyes, then let his gaze drop, over the faded blue-gray sweater, old slacks, and sock-clad feet, then back up to Wesley's flushed face. "You've been checked out."

"Xander, I-"

"And you're past due," Xander added, nodding and turning back to the fireplace.

"Thank you, but it would be completely improper to- What are you doing?" Wesley watched Xander take his left wrist, and turn it over, pulling his hand back out of his pocket with Wesley's date stamp. "Where did you get that?"

Xander gave Wesley what Wesley had quickly come to recognize as the 'duh' look, and pressed the stamp to his inner wrist.

The stamp was warm from being in Xander's pocket, but cool where the ink dried on his skin, and they both looked at Wesley's new due date. May 18th, 1999. Graduation day.

He jumped when there was a knock on the door, and Xander let his hand drop, chewing on his lip again. "...Don't forget when you're due," Xander said, and went to pay the pizza boy.