"Okay, so I'm incredibly stupid lame-o guy," Xander said, climbing up the bleachers to reach the spots Willow had saved by planting Razorback seat cushions and pom-poms on the aluminum seats.

"Yeah?" Willow asked. She had her head down, carefully planting her feet. She had a large cup of Coke and a bag of popcorn in her hands. "And you're just now telling me?"

"You know what I mean," Xander said. "I forgot how the crowd dynamic takes over and you just wanna jump up and down and yell. And, bonus, I actually care. I actually want our team to win!" He pressed his elbow against his side, to make sure he didn't drop the programs. He dropped a little popcorn out of his box. "Sorry, Mitch."

"Well, duh," Willow said. They eased their way around Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar. The librarian looked bored, but Ms. Calendar was busily reading her program and pointing out players. "It's called school spirit."

"It's called living with the quarterback," Xander corrected. "He was already all the big hero when we first became friends, and the season was over. This'll be the first time I'll actually be paying attention."

"You and Tara, both," Willow said. "I don't know if she'll be able to take seeing Angel get hit." She shrugged her jacket off, and sat down.

Xander stood still for a moment.

Hell.

There would be a whole team of large brutes trying to kill his quarterback.

"Harris, you mind?" said someone behind him on the narrow concrete steps, and Xander side-stepped his way next to Willow.

"Man," Xander said. "And you're fine with this? This brutal display of---brute force?"

Willow gave him an astonished look, that turned into an amused one.

"Shut up," Xander said, gulping his Coke.

Willow stopped listening, and was staring dotingly at Tara, who was picking her way up the steps, her extremely long wool scarf in the school colors threatening to trip her. "There she is," she said unnecessarily.

Tara squeezed through, clutching her bottle of water. On her shoulder, she had a cut-out paper football nestled in spiral curls of maroon and yellow ribbons, with the number "16" on it. She settled between Xander and Willow. "I saw your mom and dad at the sidelines, Xander."

"Why are you wearing---oh, Angel's number 16?" Willow asked.

"Yeah," Xander said. "It was Joe Montana's. Sunnydale uses San Francisco's colors. See, I do pay attention. And, by the way, Tara, thanks for whatever you said to Angel in study hall."

"I just mentioned that you were all crabby because you hadn't talked to him all week," Tara said. "Ooh, there's Cordelia and Buffy! And there's the team." She paused. "Okay, Xander, what's going on?"

"We're receiving the ball. Unless the runner runs all the way back to their goal-posts, we try to move the ball." He had a feeling that he could make it all up, except that Tara would inevitably spill.

"Where's---"

"He comes on the field when the kick-off is returned." Xander said.

"It's kind of confusing," Tara muttered.

Finally, number sixteen trotted out, and Xander saw him line up, and turn his head to bark something; then he turned towards them, and Xander heard Angel's surprisingly deep shout of "Twenty-nine, north! Hup!" And then, there he was, loping easily back, pumping the ball once, and then throwing itin a long, graceful arc into the arms of the receiver in the end zone. Xander wasn't watching the ball, though, he was watching the Fondern High guys who tackled Angel squarely in the numbers, knocking him back. Everyone was on their feet, and so was Xander, until the tackle bent and hoisted Angel to his feet.

"Six points, Sunnydale," said the announcer.

"What's he doing now?" Tara shouted.

"He's gonna hold the ball for the kicker to make the extra point," Xander shouted back, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans.

"And the kick is good!"

They all sat down.

Everybody was right. Angel was a good quarterback, always aware of the individual pieces of the chaos. Xander thought that he couldn't have done it, with the stadium crowd screaming, the lights, the referees and their whistles, and the on-rushing tackles, but Angel was light on his feet, turning direction in a second, picking out his receivers...

"Xander!" Tara shrieked, clutching at him.

Three Fondern defense players piled on Angel, and he disappeared under the white jerseys. All the whistles blew at once, and Sunnydale players piled on top.

"They'll squish him," Willow shouted, and the Sunnydale side agreed, erupting in a sustained bout of screaming.

Xander didn't hear any of it, until the pile slowly untangled, and Angel still had the football. Then, the sounds rushed back in and he realized that he was squeezing Tara's hand.

Number 78---Larry---pulled Angel to his feet, and Angel tossed the ball to the ref.

"Second down," the announcer said laconicly. "And the Sunnydale quarterback is calling time out."

"I don't think I can do this every week," Tara said, shaken. She had dropped her popcorn and was holding Xander and Willow's hands.

"Oh, he's got all that equipment and pads and stuff, Tara," Willow said stoutly. "He's fine. Right, Xander?"

"Yeah," Xander said. "I gotta get a Coke. You girls want Cokes?"

He had his back to the field when Angel ran over the top of the defensive line, into the endzone. By the time he went back with his Cokes, he was able to tell Tara (because he had been telling himself ), "You know, Angel's the main guy. All those guys in front? Their job is to protect Angel. That's why they're called guards."

Tara had her hands on her cheeks like McCauley Culkin. "I like baseball, better," she muttered.

By the time Sunnydale won, Xander wanted to go home and lie down, and Tara looked equally worn out. Willow, however, had shown a hidden thirst for blood and mayhem, bouncing up and down on the bleachers and screaming herself hoarse. She bolted down the steps so she could run out on the field with the cheerleaders and the other team members and the crowd. Tara and Xander followed, wearily carrying the seat cushions.

On the field, Angel was being fiercely hugged by the other players, as they knocked helmets and screamed strange, cave-man sounds at him. As Tara and Xander made their way to him, they saw Willow's redhead, and then Angel pulled off his helmet, his white smile blindingly bright. He bent so Willow could hug him, and then straightened up, looking around. Xander caught his eyes, and grinning, giving him a thumbs-up.

Then, holy cow, there were guys with cameras, and Tony and Jessica, and Angel was ignoring everyone to hug Jessica. (The newspaper picture the next day would be captioned Winning quarterback gets Mom's hug.) Then, Angel put one arm around Xander and one around Tara. "How do you like football?" he asked Tara, in his normal voice.

"What's that black stuff under your eyes?" Tara asked.

"Warpaint," Angel said. He kept squeezing Xander's shoulder as they were being buffeted by the crowd. "So, you guys gonna wait for me to get changed, go to the Bronze with the team?"

"Of course," Willow said. "Angel, you---you're great!"

But Angel only laughed.

::

It was completely different going into the Bronze after the game. For the past two years, Xander and Willow had avoided going there on Friday night; and even with Buffy, had avoided it. (Buffy had cheerleader issues.) Even around December, when Xander started going there with Angel, Xander had somehow not had it register that Angel was The Starting Quarterback. He had just been Angel, who was kind of dorky and didn't use many subjects in his sentences and who would sulk if Xander made him a sandwich using the heel of the loaf.

Now, Xander was reconsidering the whole letter jacket thing---he could have one, he had a letter in swimming---after watching Angel walk in the club ahead of him, with the slight heroic swagger that seemed to go with a letter jacket. His hand rested in the small of Tara's back, and he had white tape around his two middle fingers.

"Man," Willow said. "So we've gone from dorks to cool kids, just because Mr. Don't-touch-my-hair is our buddy." She paused, looking severe. Then she said, "Hey, I wonder if we can get free Cokes?"

A couple stopped beside Angel and Tara. "Well, it's Captain America," the guy said. He was a leather- wearing blond punk, with a black-haired Goth girlfriend.

"Will, Drew," Angel said, neutrally. Without knowing why, Xander took up station at his left side, slightly in front of Tara.

The girl laughed. "That's so third-grade, Angel."

Angel shrugged.

"C'mon," Will sneered, getting out a pack of cigarettes. "He knows who his daddy is."

Angel made a quick move, and Will almost flinched. Then, Angel merely straightened Will's leather lapels. "I'm your daddy," he said gently.

Will may have said something, but the girl giggled, "Bye-bye, Daddy!" and pulled him towards the door. He stopped, seeming about to say something to Willow, blinking at her, and then laughed mirthlessly and left.

Angel flung himself on the couch, next to Tara, and Xander took the other end. Willow stood on one foot, staring into the crowd.

"You know him, Willow?" Xander asked, curious.

Her forehead wrinkled. "I think his name's Spike."

Angel snorted. "Yeah, that's right. I went to parochial school with them. They both got kicked out for getting drunk on the communion wine and nearly burning down the gym. To start with. He scared the shit out of Kathy, once."

Larry came up, looking upset, and Xander flinched out of pure sense memory.

"Angel, man, listen. I feel like crap," Larry said. "I totally fucked up, man. You're okay? Tell me you're okay."

Angel nodded, looking a little regal. "I'm fine." He slung an arm around Xander's shoulders. "Larry thinks I'm mad because he let me get sacked."

Xander blinked. "Aren't you?"

"No. I'm mad because Larry's not gonna make All-State if he lets it happen too much," Angel said. "Larry, you're an All-State tackle, okay? What I'm thinking is, you should relax, and we'll work on it Monday." He held out his hand and Larry slapped it.

"I love you, man," Larry said. "Listen, what are you guys drinking?"

"Naw, that's all right," Angel said. He looked enquiringly at Willow, who was stifling giggles.

"No, really," Larry said. "Cokes? Coffees?"

"Diet Cokes," Tara said decisively.

Larry pointed his finger at her. "You got it, Tara."

When the waitress brought the cups, Xander said, "It's good to be king. Or the king's bestest buds."

::

Walking the girls home, Xander thought of the snatches of conversation he'd heard: Cordelia, saying that she didn't understand what a hottie like Angel saw in a little mouse like Tara; Larry, telling Parker that Angel should have kicked his ass; Buffy and Faith, nose to nose and trash-talking to each other in a way that almost sounded flirtatious. The Fondern High girls who walked past them on the sofa, pointing to an oblivious Angel and giggling. Angel, himself, cracking his knuckles and saying something about Blake and the eye of the tiger, to Willow, and Xander must have missed that episode of Baretta.

Willow was spending the night at the Greenes' house, so the guys left them and swung back to their house.

In between the street-lights, next to the play-ground, Xander stopped Angel. "Hey, hold up. Now that you're away from the girls, how are you, reallly? You got hit pretty hard."

Angel shrugged. "Well, you always feel beat up after a game, but it's nothing." At Xander's huff of disbelief, Angel cracked, "Well, when you've really been beaten up, gettin' hit with pads and a helmet's nothing." He laughed.

Xander pushed him against athe back of a handy bench. "Don't you joke about it. Don't you joke," he said, pressing against Angel.

Angel put his hands on the back of Xander's neck. "I'm fine, really," he said. He gave Xander an intense stare. "You---you're worried? Really?"
He grinned, shyly. "I think I like that."

"Idiot," Xander said, and jammed his knee between Angel's thighs and his tongue in his mouth.

They managed to make it off the sidewalk and into the playground. They staggered and connected with the raised seat of the teeter-totter, before finding a spot. The very perversity of getting blown inside the wooden fort where he and Willow used to play, made Xander come so hard he thought he was in an alternate dimension.

Part 19