FIC: So Crazy it Just Might Work (Xander, Angel), Part 10: "Parting Gifts"
Back again. Sorry for the delay. While it will be a stated goal for me to finish and post a chapter every Sunday, that just may not be the reality during this busy semester. In fact, I'm pretty sure we'll all be waiting two weeks for Chapter 11 and all posting in October could get dicey. I appreciate those still willing to read under these circumstances.
3700 words here, quite unbeta'd. If typos are spotted, please point them out.
Title: So Crazy it Just Might Work
Chapter: Ten - "Parting Gifts"
Pairing: Angel, Xander, Wesley; Spike/Xander
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: Probably not what Joss envisioned. Some bits of dialogue have been stolen from AtS s1 "Parting Gifts."
Thanks: To reremouse and cordelianne for their support.
Summary: A slashier version of the first season of AtS in which Angel teams up with Xander instead of Cordelia (but not in a sexual way).
Part One: "City Of..."
Part Two: "Lonely Hearts"
Part Three: "In the Dark"
Part Four: "I Fall to Pieces"
Part Five: "Rm w/ a Vu"
Part Six: "Sense and Sensitivity"
Part Seven: "Bachelor Party"
Part Eight A: "Pangs"
Part Eight B: "I Will Remember You"
Part Nine: "Hero"
Xander shows up at the office in the morning because he does. He spends a few minutes wandering through it looking everywhere at nothing before finally sitting down at the desk with his coffee cup. When he goes to drink from it, he realizes it’s empty.
He hasn’t bothered to stand back up yet when Angel walks in.
“What are you doing?” Angel asks.
It may be a fair question, but it’s not a fair sort of morning. “What does it look like I’m doing?” Xander mutters.
Angel doesn’t answer.
“Oh, come on,” Xander says, looking down at the desktop. “Look in the mirror lately?” When Angel still doesn’t answer, Xander looks up and sighs. “Right. Stupid question. Still, you’d think you’d be able to spot the signs.”
And yet.
Angel blinks at him.
“Brooding,” Xander says. “I’m brooding. Sheesh. You and brooding should be like Eskimos and snow.”
“You should leave,” Angel says.
“Gee, thanks. What? Can’t stand the competition?”
Angel sighs. “No, I mean take the day off. Go home.” The next words seem to pain Angel. “Hang out with Spike.”
Xander rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, ’cause he’s a bundle of joy.”
“He’s not?” Angel asks, then frowns. “I mean, of course, he’s not. He’s always been annoying. But I… I thought you liked him.”
“I think he’s depressed,” Xander says.
“Oh.” Angel doesn’t seem to know what to do with this information. “Well, then, you could go somewhere else. Um, a bar or something.”
“You do realize alcoholism runs in my family?”
“Fine. Nevermind. Stay.”
“Why do you want to get rid of me so bad?”
“I don’t,” Angel says. “I just… I thought… Look, do you… do you want to talk?”
“No,” Xander says. He can see Angel’s shoulders slump with relief. Angel starts to head for his own office. “It’s like he wasn’t even here,” Xander says before Angel can reach the door. “I mean, I looked all around the office and I couldn't find a single thing that was his.”
Angel follows Xander’s gaze around the room. “I guess he wasn’t the type to settle in places.”
“Yeah, like his apartment,” Xander says. “I mean, the one night I was there...” He trails off, thinking of the second night he was supposed to have. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Someone should go there - his apartment, I mean - and take care of things.”
“I’ll do it,” Angel says. “When the sun goes down.”
“Great,” Xander says. “Because a man dressed in black entering an apartment he doesn’t have a key for and removing everything of value always seems less suspicious after dark.”
“What? Do you want to go?”
Xander considers, but shakes his head. “No. If the cops shoot you at least you’ll bounce back.”
That settled, a few seconds of silence stretch between them.
“Did you know he used to teach third grade?” Xander asks suddenly. “Not that he actually told me. Harry just happened to - oh shit. Harry. Someone needs to call her and let her know what happened.”
“I can-”
“No, I’ll do it,” Xander says. “I should. I just wish I knew what to say.”
“He was a he-”
“Don’t say it.”
Angel doesn’t.
They lapse back into silence. “So,” Angel says at last, “I guess if you’re just going to… sit here, I’ll just go…” Angel casts a longing look toward his office.
“Well,” Xander says, “the normal, healthy thing to do would be for us to talk about it…”
“So, um, you wanna do… that?”
Xander thinks about that for a second, shakes his head. “No, you’re right. I’m going.” He stands up and moves toward the exit. “Besides, I need to pick up more blood for Spike,” Xander calls over his shoulder. “See if I can get him to eat.”
Xander pulls open the office door, jumps back with a yelp.
“You scared the heck out of me!” says the multi-horned but mainly-humanoid demon standing on the other side of the door.
Xander composes himself, clears his throat, and tries to look manly again. “I scared you?” Xander gives his line another try. “Look in the mirror lately?”
To no more avail.
“Every chance I get,” the demon says, straightening his lapels. Looking over Xander’s shoulder, he spots Angel and hurries toward him, speaking quickly with an earnest stutter. “You’re him, right? You’re the guy, the… the vampire with a soul?”
“I’m Angel,” Angel says.
“Yeah. You got to help me! Please. I mean that’s what you do, right?” The demon practically vibrates with nervous energy. “You help the helpless? You protect the, what do you call them? The… the helpless?”
“Something like that,” Angel says, taking a slight step away from their guest.
Xander hovers in the doorway. Angel and enthusiasm being unmixy things. “You want me to stay?”
“It’s okay.” Angel waves him out.
Xander goes.
When Xander gets home, Rod Roddy is calling for one Louise Hestler to “Come on down!” Spike’s eyes fixate on the screen as he releases a string of contemptuous snorts and dramatic sighs, punctuated by the occasional mumbled, “Wanker.”
Xander doesn’t offer comment as walks through the living room and back to the kitchen.
He leaves out one carton of blood out on the counter and puts the rest in the fridge. He empties the carton into what he likes to believe is Spike’s favorite mug and puts it in the microwave. A minute later, he pulls it out, tests the temperature with his finger, rinses his finger in the sink, pops a bendy straw in the mug, and returns to the living room.
He holds the mug out to Spike. “Drink this. You look like shit.”
Not the most diplomatic delivery, but it’s not untrue. A pair of Xander’s old sweats have replaced the black jeans and Spike seems to have given up on shirts altogether. Under different circumstances, the look might have been sexy, but Spike has grown so thin that the only urge Xander experiences at the sight of his naked torso is to feed him a sandwich.
Well, not the only urge, but the dominant one at least.
Spike offers Xander a two-fingered salute for his trouble, but even that effort’s weak at best.
He takes the mug and Xander settles onto the couch just in time for the second Showcase Showdown. Xander watches as a U.S. Marine, a UCLA student and a gray haired woman in a “Kiss me, Bob!” tee shirt take turns spinning The Big Wheel. Several spins and triumphant eighty-five cents later, the Marine joins some middle-aged white “wanker” in the Showcase.
The first showcase, offered to the Marine, consists of prizes found when a time capsule was discovered in Dublin, Ireland.
The Marine decides to pass.
“Pass? Pass!” Xander barely resists the urge to throw Spike’s mug through the screen. “You idiot. Do you even know what that’s worth?” Xander trails off into a string of curses and completely misses Middle-aged White Wanker’s bid.
“Too low,” Spike mutters.
The next showcase includes china, a dining room set, a one-year subscription to Steak of the Month and a new Ford Focus. The Marine bids $26,350.
Xander screams.
“I don’t know,” he hears Spike say through the pounding pain in his brain. “I think he’s gonna win it.”
Clutching his head, Xander slides off the couch and onto the floor.
When he opens his eyes, Spike is on the floor, too, kneeling next to him. “Government chip?” he asks.
Xander shakes his head. “I’m thinking higher powers, of the sort that be.”
Spike looks confused.
Xander reaches out, snakes a hand around the back of Spike’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss.
Somewhere between sitting next to Spike on the floor and lying beneath Spike on the floor, Xander misplaces his purpose.
And for a good few minutes after that, he doesn’t bother looking.
Though if he were to begin a search, he wouldn’t have to check Spike’s mouth - his tongue has already performed a pretty thorough search of that area. Between Spike’s legs is also a pretty unlikely candidate. His thigh has that region pretty well covered.
Fortunately - or possibly unfortunately - purpose returns on its own, rocketing back into Xander’s consciousness at about the time that Spike’s hand starts to move up under his shirt.
Xander pushes Spike away and sits back up, shaking his head to clear it. “Okay, I have absolutely no idea whether that worked or not.”
Spike casts a pointed glance toward Xander’s crotch. “Looks like it worked alright to me.”
“Oh, um, yeah, it was… I mean, I didn’t… um, I don’t think this is the best time to…” Xander stands up. “I need to go find Angel.”
Spike blinks. “You gonna snog him, too?”
Xander is halfway out the door and the ‘no’ is halfway out of his mouth before he reconsiders. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I am.”
Xander has the element of surprise on his side.
“Hey, I thought you were going to stay home,” Angel says, looking up as Xander strides into his office. He’s standing behind his desk holding a pen and bending slightly to jot something on some paper, and when Xander doesn’t answer he glances back down and that’s his fatal mistake.
He never sees it coming.
“Mmrgh… bhrum…”
Xander takes advantage of Angel’s shock and gives the kiss all he’s got.
Well, everything except tongue.
Just because a desperate situation forces you to cross a line, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t draw a new one.
By the time Angel’s pushing him away, Xander’s already pulling back. He studies Angel’s face, looking for some kind of sign. Angel blinks back at him.
“Okay,” Angel says, “you’re grieving… and… and you’ve…” he sniffs the air, “Okay, so you haven’t been drinking even a little, but you’re still grieving, and you know that I-”
“I didn’t feel anything,” Xander says. “Did you feel anything?”
“No, I-”
“I’m thinking maybe a little tingle, or maybe like a surge…”
Angel’s eyes widen. “Look, sometimes after… something like with… I mean, you feel sort of empty…”
“Empty?” Xander shakes his head. “Oh no, I’m full. I’ve overfull.” He looks up toward the ceiling. “You hear that Powers? Time to find another vessel, because there is no room for your shit in here. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I got mystical syphilis just for asking for a guy’s number, and did I complain? Okay, yeah, so I complained, but still, this is ridiculous. We kissed once. Once. That’s maybe committing to a date after work; it is not committing to carry on his mission of atonement. I don’t even have anything to atone for. I’m all toned up.”
“The Powers.” Angel’s sorting through the rant. “Doyle passed on his visions.”
“Yeah,” Xander says. “Hell of a parting gift, huh? And did I mention - painful? Which is why I intend to impart this gift to someone else ASAP. Just as soon as I figure out how it’s done.”
“Another door opens,” Angel says, sitting at his desk. “You’re my link to the Powers now.”
“Did you miss the part about the imparting? The imparting is under way.”
Angel stands up suddenly. “What was it?”
“Um, duh,” Xander says. “That kiss a couple minutes ago? Not because I’d suddenly succumbed to your manly charms.”
“The vision,” Angel snaps. “What was the vision?”
“Oh, right, um… I don’t know. A thing.”
“A thing?”
“An ugly, gray, blobby thing,” Xander specifies. “Frankly, I was a bit distracted by the mind-numbing pain.”
“Xander, this ugly, gray, blobby thing is probably about to kill somebody. I need more details.”
“You want more details? Then pucker up and maybe you can get a special encore performance inside your head, but I’m out.”
Angel’s still figuring out how to respond to that when the demon from that morning reappears. “Oh, sorry,” he says. “I thought I heard voices.”
Xander starts toward him.
“Uh, Barney, you remember my associate Xan-”
Xander kisses him.
“-der,” Angel finishes as Xander pulls away.
Barney sputters.
“Okay,” Xander says, wiping a hand over his lips in what he hopes is subtle way, “I’m thinking I may need to take my project somewhere a little more… scenic.”
Barney continues to stare and sputter as Angel yanks Xander aside. “It may be better for business if you could avoid molesting all our clients.” He pauses. “Wait, what do you mean scenic?”
“I mean somewhere where I can kiss a lot of people without the urge to wash my mouth out with soap in between - like that hot club Kyle told me about last month. What do you mean client?”
“Apparently someone or something is after him.”
“Shit. That ugly, gray blobby thing?”
Angel rolls his eyes. “I don’t know. Someone won’t tell me what he saw.” He hands Xander a pen and a legal pad. “Could you at least try sketching it?”
Xander takes them. “Fine.”
“Stay here with Barney, okay? I’m going to check out his apartment. He thinks whatever is chasing him knows where he lives.” Angel starts for the exit, then turns back. “Oh, and don’t even think about going to that club to impart your gift.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I’m stuck with whoever has them, and I do not trust your taste in… conduits.”
It takes Barney awhile to talk to Xander again. Or for the first time, really.
“I hear that drawing can be very therapeutic during the grieving period,” he says.
Xander is sitting on the couch in Angel’s apartment trying to draw something ugly, gray and blobby. And preferably accurate. He looks up. “What?”
“I’m… I’m sorry,” Barney stutters. “I couldn’t help sensing your pain. You lost someone close to you, didn’t you?”
“Angel told you?”
Barney shakes his head. “I’m empathic. I feel your feelings when you feel them. It’s a gift my kind is blessed with.”
Xander snorts. “I’ve kinda had it with gifts at this point, thanks.”
“Sorry,” Barney says. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”
“Sorry,” Xander says. “I’m just not really up for talking.” Barney turns to walk away. “I mean, how the hell can you miss someone so much when it’s almost like you didn’t even ever know them in the first place, except, of course, you did in a lot of ways, and it’s like you know that that counts, but still, it seems fucked up and you’re angry - and the sparkly new head pain really isn’t helping with that - but it’s not like you weren’t angry before except how can you be angry them when you miss them and they’re gone anyway?”
Barney takes a step toward Xander and cocks his head. “What was the question again?”
Xander sighs and takes another deep breath, but before he can figure out how to rephrase, Angel comes down the stairs with someone following behind him.
“That’s him!” Barney cries.
Angel holds up a hand. “Look, Barney…”
Barney’s getting ready to bolt. “That’s the guy that’s after me!”
Guy. Xander stands up.
Angel goes after Barney. “It’s okay.” He calls back over his shoulder. “The books are over there.”
Xander starts toward the stairs.
“Good Lord,” says a British voice as Xander approaches. “Xander? Angel didn’t… that is, I hadn’t realized you-”
Xander cuts him off with a kiss.
Huh.
On a scale of Barney to Spike, he’d give it a five. The feeling’s not half bad. After a moment, Xander pulls away.
“-had changed teams,” the man finishes. He clears his throat. “That is, that you had switched from Buffy to Angel.” He clears it again. “I mean, not that you-”
“Shit,” Xander says. “Nothing.” Then the voice clicks. He looks up and really takes I the face in front of him. “Wesley?” He tilts his head heavenward. “Oh, you guys are really having a great time with this, aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing.” Xander shakes his head. “Can we just pretend that didn’t happen?”
Wesley opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. “Why, yes, I suppose that would be for the-”
“Wait a minute - shouldn’t you be in some secret British library somewhere?”
“In point of fact,” Wesley says, “I’m no longer with the Watchers’ Council. I’m a rogue demon hunter now.”
Xander looks Wesley over, considering that. “So that means you… don’t get paid and feel the need to wear a lot of leather?”
Before Wesley can answer the question with more than that tight, affronted face the British do so well, Barney and Angel return, talking about some Kungai demon that’s out to steal Barney’s empathic ability.
Wesley moves to draw a book from Angel’s shelves and reads them its description.
Barney looks terrified. “I know theses Kungais,” he says. “They… they’re killers. They’re relentless. You got to take this thing out before it finds me.”
Squabbling ensues over which man in black should track and destroy.
Xander’s perfectly happy to have dressed in blue that morning.
A few minutes after Angel leaves, Wesley mutters something about another demon he’s been following and the work of a rogue demon hunter never being done.
Xander snorts as Wesley disappears up the stairs. Like he doesn’t know Wesley’s going after the Kungai.
But that’s Angel’s problem.
In retrospect, it’s actually Xander’s problem.
Or at least one of Xander’s problems.
A lot of things about the afternoon are coming clearer in retrospect. Retrospect in this case being a demon auction. And Xander being well and truly in it.
As in, “Ladies and gentlemen - who aren’t really either because you’re evil - the next items up for bid are the eyes of a seer, currently lodged in the very innocent head of one Xander Harris, a guy currently swearing off kissing for life and hoping his life will last long enough for that to mean something.”
Just call him Lot 32 for short.
In retrospect, having Wesley around might have kept Xander from bitching to Barney about the visions.
In retrospect, as has been shown more than once in the course of history, the having of visions is the kind of thing best kept to oneself - or at least to a small group of close friends.
In retrospect, empaths are manipulative sons of bitches who only say nice things about how your dead friend gave you the most valuable thing he had to give in order to earn your trust before tearing you down by sensing and voicing all your deepest insecurities.
And then they sell your eyes.
To a lawyer from Wolfram and Hart.
In retrospect, Xander wishes he’d kneed Barney harder in the crotch and he generally regrets taunting the audience into upping their bids. It was all fine and good as a stalling tactic, but now that Angel has failed to rescue him, he begrudges Barney the extra $19,000.
A lot.
“We won’t be needing the body,” the lawyer says. “My employers have requested that the eyes be extracted.”
Someday I’ll find someone who wants me for who I am on the inside and not just my body parts.
As last quips go, it’s not the best, but he’s short on time.
And they can’t hear him past the gag anyway.
“Okay, maybe next time, instead of the exact nick of time, you could try for a quarter of.”
“Well maybe if I’d had more to work with than ‘ugly, gray, blobby thing’…”
Xander nods at Angel. “Point taken.” Xander takes the drawing of said thing - otherwise known as the sculpture Maiden with Urn by Van Gieson and the clue that saved his life - and secures it in a picture frame. He mounts the frame on the wall behind his desk. “Anyway, I’m taking a new attitude about the visions.”
“So you won’t be whining about them anymore?”
Xander snorts. “Oh, there will be whining - interspersed with some bitching and the occasional moaning. But from now on, you’re the only one I share that with.”
“Lucky me?” Angel says.
Xander smiles. “And I’m going to pay attention to what they tell me. I mean, asshole that he was, Barney might have been right - maybe Doyle really did trust me with all these lives.” Xander shrugs. “Or he was just hot for my body. Either way, it’s something to remember him by.”
Angel nods.
Xander takes another look at the picture in its new place and then shakes the night off. “So - breakfast?”
Downstairs in Angel’s apartment Wesley is gathering up his things and tucking them neatly into a leather bag. Angel heads past him to the kitchen, but Xander stays behind.
He tucks his hands in his jean pockets and sidles closer to Wesley. “So, um, thanks. For saving me and stuff.”
Wesley glances over at Xander and away again, clears his throat and swallows before looking back over. “All in the line of duty, I assure you.”
Xander nods and hovers.
“Back in Sunnydale,” Wesley begins, “I know I was sometimes…”
“Yeah, me too,” Xander says. “Maybe we could just forget about all that.”
“Agreed.” Wesley zips his bag and stands up, offers his hand. Xander shakes it. Wesley holds on a little too long, but finally lets go, hand dropping to his side. “Well, I’ll be off then.” He walks over to the kitchen. “Angel. Who knows when our paths will cross again.”
They shake hands as well. “Wesley.” Angel gives him a nod then turns back to the fridge.
Wesley puts his jacket on.
“Where to next?” Xander asks.
“Wherever evil lurks, wherever the forces of darkness threaten humanity, that’s where I’ll be.”
Xander offers a half smile. “Regular rogue demon gig, then.”
“Just so.”
Wesley begins to inch toward the door and Xander guesses it the departure could last a good ten more minutes if Wesley tried, but Xander takes pity.
“Breakfast?”
Wesley drops his bag and shrugs off his jacket. Xander slings an arm around his shoulders and leads him to the table.
Part Eleven: "Somnambulist"
3700 words here, quite unbeta'd. If typos are spotted, please point them out.
Title: So Crazy it Just Might Work
Chapter: Ten - "Parting Gifts"
Pairing: Angel, Xander, Wesley; Spike/Xander
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: Probably not what Joss envisioned. Some bits of dialogue have been stolen from AtS s1 "Parting Gifts."
Thanks: To reremouse and cordelianne for their support.
Summary: A slashier version of the first season of AtS in which Angel teams up with Xander instead of Cordelia (but not in a sexual way).
Part One: "City Of..."
Part Two: "Lonely Hearts"
Part Three: "In the Dark"
Part Four: "I Fall to Pieces"
Part Five: "Rm w/ a Vu"
Part Six: "Sense and Sensitivity"
Part Seven: "Bachelor Party"
Part Eight A: "Pangs"
Part Eight B: "I Will Remember You"
Part Nine: "Hero"
Xander shows up at the office in the morning because he does. He spends a few minutes wandering through it looking everywhere at nothing before finally sitting down at the desk with his coffee cup. When he goes to drink from it, he realizes it’s empty.
He hasn’t bothered to stand back up yet when Angel walks in.
“What are you doing?” Angel asks.
It may be a fair question, but it’s not a fair sort of morning. “What does it look like I’m doing?” Xander mutters.
Angel doesn’t answer.
“Oh, come on,” Xander says, looking down at the desktop. “Look in the mirror lately?” When Angel still doesn’t answer, Xander looks up and sighs. “Right. Stupid question. Still, you’d think you’d be able to spot the signs.”
And yet.
Angel blinks at him.
“Brooding,” Xander says. “I’m brooding. Sheesh. You and brooding should be like Eskimos and snow.”
“You should leave,” Angel says.
“Gee, thanks. What? Can’t stand the competition?”
Angel sighs. “No, I mean take the day off. Go home.” The next words seem to pain Angel. “Hang out with Spike.”
Xander rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, ’cause he’s a bundle of joy.”
“He’s not?” Angel asks, then frowns. “I mean, of course, he’s not. He’s always been annoying. But I… I thought you liked him.”
“I think he’s depressed,” Xander says.
“Oh.” Angel doesn’t seem to know what to do with this information. “Well, then, you could go somewhere else. Um, a bar or something.”
“You do realize alcoholism runs in my family?”
“Fine. Nevermind. Stay.”
“Why do you want to get rid of me so bad?”
“I don’t,” Angel says. “I just… I thought… Look, do you… do you want to talk?”
“No,” Xander says. He can see Angel’s shoulders slump with relief. Angel starts to head for his own office. “It’s like he wasn’t even here,” Xander says before Angel can reach the door. “I mean, I looked all around the office and I couldn't find a single thing that was his.”
Angel follows Xander’s gaze around the room. “I guess he wasn’t the type to settle in places.”
“Yeah, like his apartment,” Xander says. “I mean, the one night I was there...” He trails off, thinking of the second night he was supposed to have. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Someone should go there - his apartment, I mean - and take care of things.”
“I’ll do it,” Angel says. “When the sun goes down.”
“Great,” Xander says. “Because a man dressed in black entering an apartment he doesn’t have a key for and removing everything of value always seems less suspicious after dark.”
“What? Do you want to go?”
Xander considers, but shakes his head. “No. If the cops shoot you at least you’ll bounce back.”
That settled, a few seconds of silence stretch between them.
“Did you know he used to teach third grade?” Xander asks suddenly. “Not that he actually told me. Harry just happened to - oh shit. Harry. Someone needs to call her and let her know what happened.”
“I can-”
“No, I’ll do it,” Xander says. “I should. I just wish I knew what to say.”
“He was a he-”
“Don’t say it.”
Angel doesn’t.
They lapse back into silence. “So,” Angel says at last, “I guess if you’re just going to… sit here, I’ll just go…” Angel casts a longing look toward his office.
“Well,” Xander says, “the normal, healthy thing to do would be for us to talk about it…”
“So, um, you wanna do… that?”
Xander thinks about that for a second, shakes his head. “No, you’re right. I’m going.” He stands up and moves toward the exit. “Besides, I need to pick up more blood for Spike,” Xander calls over his shoulder. “See if I can get him to eat.”
Xander pulls open the office door, jumps back with a yelp.
“You scared the heck out of me!” says the multi-horned but mainly-humanoid demon standing on the other side of the door.
Xander composes himself, clears his throat, and tries to look manly again. “I scared you?” Xander gives his line another try. “Look in the mirror lately?”
To no more avail.
“Every chance I get,” the demon says, straightening his lapels. Looking over Xander’s shoulder, he spots Angel and hurries toward him, speaking quickly with an earnest stutter. “You’re him, right? You’re the guy, the… the vampire with a soul?”
“I’m Angel,” Angel says.
“Yeah. You got to help me! Please. I mean that’s what you do, right?” The demon practically vibrates with nervous energy. “You help the helpless? You protect the, what do you call them? The… the helpless?”
“Something like that,” Angel says, taking a slight step away from their guest.
Xander hovers in the doorway. Angel and enthusiasm being unmixy things. “You want me to stay?”
“It’s okay.” Angel waves him out.
Xander goes.
When Xander gets home, Rod Roddy is calling for one Louise Hestler to “Come on down!” Spike’s eyes fixate on the screen as he releases a string of contemptuous snorts and dramatic sighs, punctuated by the occasional mumbled, “Wanker.”
Xander doesn’t offer comment as walks through the living room and back to the kitchen.
He leaves out one carton of blood out on the counter and puts the rest in the fridge. He empties the carton into what he likes to believe is Spike’s favorite mug and puts it in the microwave. A minute later, he pulls it out, tests the temperature with his finger, rinses his finger in the sink, pops a bendy straw in the mug, and returns to the living room.
He holds the mug out to Spike. “Drink this. You look like shit.”
Not the most diplomatic delivery, but it’s not untrue. A pair of Xander’s old sweats have replaced the black jeans and Spike seems to have given up on shirts altogether. Under different circumstances, the look might have been sexy, but Spike has grown so thin that the only urge Xander experiences at the sight of his naked torso is to feed him a sandwich.
Well, not the only urge, but the dominant one at least.
Spike offers Xander a two-fingered salute for his trouble, but even that effort’s weak at best.
He takes the mug and Xander settles onto the couch just in time for the second Showcase Showdown. Xander watches as a U.S. Marine, a UCLA student and a gray haired woman in a “Kiss me, Bob!” tee shirt take turns spinning The Big Wheel. Several spins and triumphant eighty-five cents later, the Marine joins some middle-aged white “wanker” in the Showcase.
The first showcase, offered to the Marine, consists of prizes found when a time capsule was discovered in Dublin, Ireland.
The Marine decides to pass.
“Pass? Pass!” Xander barely resists the urge to throw Spike’s mug through the screen. “You idiot. Do you even know what that’s worth?” Xander trails off into a string of curses and completely misses Middle-aged White Wanker’s bid.
“Too low,” Spike mutters.
The next showcase includes china, a dining room set, a one-year subscription to Steak of the Month and a new Ford Focus. The Marine bids $26,350.
Xander screams.
“I don’t know,” he hears Spike say through the pounding pain in his brain. “I think he’s gonna win it.”
Clutching his head, Xander slides off the couch and onto the floor.
When he opens his eyes, Spike is on the floor, too, kneeling next to him. “Government chip?” he asks.
Xander shakes his head. “I’m thinking higher powers, of the sort that be.”
Spike looks confused.
Xander reaches out, snakes a hand around the back of Spike’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss.
Somewhere between sitting next to Spike on the floor and lying beneath Spike on the floor, Xander misplaces his purpose.
And for a good few minutes after that, he doesn’t bother looking.
Though if he were to begin a search, he wouldn’t have to check Spike’s mouth - his tongue has already performed a pretty thorough search of that area. Between Spike’s legs is also a pretty unlikely candidate. His thigh has that region pretty well covered.
Fortunately - or possibly unfortunately - purpose returns on its own, rocketing back into Xander’s consciousness at about the time that Spike’s hand starts to move up under his shirt.
Xander pushes Spike away and sits back up, shaking his head to clear it. “Okay, I have absolutely no idea whether that worked or not.”
Spike casts a pointed glance toward Xander’s crotch. “Looks like it worked alright to me.”
“Oh, um, yeah, it was… I mean, I didn’t… um, I don’t think this is the best time to…” Xander stands up. “I need to go find Angel.”
Spike blinks. “You gonna snog him, too?”
Xander is halfway out the door and the ‘no’ is halfway out of his mouth before he reconsiders. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I am.”
Xander has the element of surprise on his side.
“Hey, I thought you were going to stay home,” Angel says, looking up as Xander strides into his office. He’s standing behind his desk holding a pen and bending slightly to jot something on some paper, and when Xander doesn’t answer he glances back down and that’s his fatal mistake.
He never sees it coming.
“Mmrgh… bhrum…”
Xander takes advantage of Angel’s shock and gives the kiss all he’s got.
Well, everything except tongue.
Just because a desperate situation forces you to cross a line, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t draw a new one.
By the time Angel’s pushing him away, Xander’s already pulling back. He studies Angel’s face, looking for some kind of sign. Angel blinks back at him.
“Okay,” Angel says, “you’re grieving… and… and you’ve…” he sniffs the air, “Okay, so you haven’t been drinking even a little, but you’re still grieving, and you know that I-”
“I didn’t feel anything,” Xander says. “Did you feel anything?”
“No, I-”
“I’m thinking maybe a little tingle, or maybe like a surge…”
Angel’s eyes widen. “Look, sometimes after… something like with… I mean, you feel sort of empty…”
“Empty?” Xander shakes his head. “Oh no, I’m full. I’ve overfull.” He looks up toward the ceiling. “You hear that Powers? Time to find another vessel, because there is no room for your shit in here. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I got mystical syphilis just for asking for a guy’s number, and did I complain? Okay, yeah, so I complained, but still, this is ridiculous. We kissed once. Once. That’s maybe committing to a date after work; it is not committing to carry on his mission of atonement. I don’t even have anything to atone for. I’m all toned up.”
“The Powers.” Angel’s sorting through the rant. “Doyle passed on his visions.”
“Yeah,” Xander says. “Hell of a parting gift, huh? And did I mention - painful? Which is why I intend to impart this gift to someone else ASAP. Just as soon as I figure out how it’s done.”
“Another door opens,” Angel says, sitting at his desk. “You’re my link to the Powers now.”
“Did you miss the part about the imparting? The imparting is under way.”
Angel stands up suddenly. “What was it?”
“Um, duh,” Xander says. “That kiss a couple minutes ago? Not because I’d suddenly succumbed to your manly charms.”
“The vision,” Angel snaps. “What was the vision?”
“Oh, right, um… I don’t know. A thing.”
“A thing?”
“An ugly, gray, blobby thing,” Xander specifies. “Frankly, I was a bit distracted by the mind-numbing pain.”
“Xander, this ugly, gray, blobby thing is probably about to kill somebody. I need more details.”
“You want more details? Then pucker up and maybe you can get a special encore performance inside your head, but I’m out.”
Angel’s still figuring out how to respond to that when the demon from that morning reappears. “Oh, sorry,” he says. “I thought I heard voices.”
Xander starts toward him.
“Uh, Barney, you remember my associate Xan-”
Xander kisses him.
“-der,” Angel finishes as Xander pulls away.
Barney sputters.
“Okay,” Xander says, wiping a hand over his lips in what he hopes is subtle way, “I’m thinking I may need to take my project somewhere a little more… scenic.”
Barney continues to stare and sputter as Angel yanks Xander aside. “It may be better for business if you could avoid molesting all our clients.” He pauses. “Wait, what do you mean scenic?”
“I mean somewhere where I can kiss a lot of people without the urge to wash my mouth out with soap in between - like that hot club Kyle told me about last month. What do you mean client?”
“Apparently someone or something is after him.”
“Shit. That ugly, gray blobby thing?”
Angel rolls his eyes. “I don’t know. Someone won’t tell me what he saw.” He hands Xander a pen and a legal pad. “Could you at least try sketching it?”
Xander takes them. “Fine.”
“Stay here with Barney, okay? I’m going to check out his apartment. He thinks whatever is chasing him knows where he lives.” Angel starts for the exit, then turns back. “Oh, and don’t even think about going to that club to impart your gift.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I’m stuck with whoever has them, and I do not trust your taste in… conduits.”
It takes Barney awhile to talk to Xander again. Or for the first time, really.
“I hear that drawing can be very therapeutic during the grieving period,” he says.
Xander is sitting on the couch in Angel’s apartment trying to draw something ugly, gray and blobby. And preferably accurate. He looks up. “What?”
“I’m… I’m sorry,” Barney stutters. “I couldn’t help sensing your pain. You lost someone close to you, didn’t you?”
“Angel told you?”
Barney shakes his head. “I’m empathic. I feel your feelings when you feel them. It’s a gift my kind is blessed with.”
Xander snorts. “I’ve kinda had it with gifts at this point, thanks.”
“Sorry,” Barney says. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”
“Sorry,” Xander says. “I’m just not really up for talking.” Barney turns to walk away. “I mean, how the hell can you miss someone so much when it’s almost like you didn’t even ever know them in the first place, except, of course, you did in a lot of ways, and it’s like you know that that counts, but still, it seems fucked up and you’re angry - and the sparkly new head pain really isn’t helping with that - but it’s not like you weren’t angry before except how can you be angry them when you miss them and they’re gone anyway?”
Barney takes a step toward Xander and cocks his head. “What was the question again?”
Xander sighs and takes another deep breath, but before he can figure out how to rephrase, Angel comes down the stairs with someone following behind him.
“That’s him!” Barney cries.
Angel holds up a hand. “Look, Barney…”
Barney’s getting ready to bolt. “That’s the guy that’s after me!”
Guy. Xander stands up.
Angel goes after Barney. “It’s okay.” He calls back over his shoulder. “The books are over there.”
Xander starts toward the stairs.
“Good Lord,” says a British voice as Xander approaches. “Xander? Angel didn’t… that is, I hadn’t realized you-”
Xander cuts him off with a kiss.
Huh.
On a scale of Barney to Spike, he’d give it a five. The feeling’s not half bad. After a moment, Xander pulls away.
“-had changed teams,” the man finishes. He clears his throat. “That is, that you had switched from Buffy to Angel.” He clears it again. “I mean, not that you-”
“Shit,” Xander says. “Nothing.” Then the voice clicks. He looks up and really takes I the face in front of him. “Wesley?” He tilts his head heavenward. “Oh, you guys are really having a great time with this, aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing.” Xander shakes his head. “Can we just pretend that didn’t happen?”
Wesley opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. “Why, yes, I suppose that would be for the-”
“Wait a minute - shouldn’t you be in some secret British library somewhere?”
“In point of fact,” Wesley says, “I’m no longer with the Watchers’ Council. I’m a rogue demon hunter now.”
Xander looks Wesley over, considering that. “So that means you… don’t get paid and feel the need to wear a lot of leather?”
Before Wesley can answer the question with more than that tight, affronted face the British do so well, Barney and Angel return, talking about some Kungai demon that’s out to steal Barney’s empathic ability.
Wesley moves to draw a book from Angel’s shelves and reads them its description.
Barney looks terrified. “I know theses Kungais,” he says. “They… they’re killers. They’re relentless. You got to take this thing out before it finds me.”
Squabbling ensues over which man in black should track and destroy.
Xander’s perfectly happy to have dressed in blue that morning.
A few minutes after Angel leaves, Wesley mutters something about another demon he’s been following and the work of a rogue demon hunter never being done.
Xander snorts as Wesley disappears up the stairs. Like he doesn’t know Wesley’s going after the Kungai.
But that’s Angel’s problem.
In retrospect, it’s actually Xander’s problem.
Or at least one of Xander’s problems.
A lot of things about the afternoon are coming clearer in retrospect. Retrospect in this case being a demon auction. And Xander being well and truly in it.
As in, “Ladies and gentlemen - who aren’t really either because you’re evil - the next items up for bid are the eyes of a seer, currently lodged in the very innocent head of one Xander Harris, a guy currently swearing off kissing for life and hoping his life will last long enough for that to mean something.”
Just call him Lot 32 for short.
In retrospect, having Wesley around might have kept Xander from bitching to Barney about the visions.
In retrospect, as has been shown more than once in the course of history, the having of visions is the kind of thing best kept to oneself - or at least to a small group of close friends.
In retrospect, empaths are manipulative sons of bitches who only say nice things about how your dead friend gave you the most valuable thing he had to give in order to earn your trust before tearing you down by sensing and voicing all your deepest insecurities.
And then they sell your eyes.
To a lawyer from Wolfram and Hart.
In retrospect, Xander wishes he’d kneed Barney harder in the crotch and he generally regrets taunting the audience into upping their bids. It was all fine and good as a stalling tactic, but now that Angel has failed to rescue him, he begrudges Barney the extra $19,000.
A lot.
“We won’t be needing the body,” the lawyer says. “My employers have requested that the eyes be extracted.”
Someday I’ll find someone who wants me for who I am on the inside and not just my body parts.
As last quips go, it’s not the best, but he’s short on time.
And they can’t hear him past the gag anyway.
“Okay, maybe next time, instead of the exact nick of time, you could try for a quarter of.”
“Well maybe if I’d had more to work with than ‘ugly, gray, blobby thing’…”
Xander nods at Angel. “Point taken.” Xander takes the drawing of said thing - otherwise known as the sculpture Maiden with Urn by Van Gieson and the clue that saved his life - and secures it in a picture frame. He mounts the frame on the wall behind his desk. “Anyway, I’m taking a new attitude about the visions.”
“So you won’t be whining about them anymore?”
Xander snorts. “Oh, there will be whining - interspersed with some bitching and the occasional moaning. But from now on, you’re the only one I share that with.”
“Lucky me?” Angel says.
Xander smiles. “And I’m going to pay attention to what they tell me. I mean, asshole that he was, Barney might have been right - maybe Doyle really did trust me with all these lives.” Xander shrugs. “Or he was just hot for my body. Either way, it’s something to remember him by.”
Angel nods.
Xander takes another look at the picture in its new place and then shakes the night off. “So - breakfast?”
Downstairs in Angel’s apartment Wesley is gathering up his things and tucking them neatly into a leather bag. Angel heads past him to the kitchen, but Xander stays behind.
He tucks his hands in his jean pockets and sidles closer to Wesley. “So, um, thanks. For saving me and stuff.”
Wesley glances over at Xander and away again, clears his throat and swallows before looking back over. “All in the line of duty, I assure you.”
Xander nods and hovers.
“Back in Sunnydale,” Wesley begins, “I know I was sometimes…”
“Yeah, me too,” Xander says. “Maybe we could just forget about all that.”
“Agreed.” Wesley zips his bag and stands up, offers his hand. Xander shakes it. Wesley holds on a little too long, but finally lets go, hand dropping to his side. “Well, I’ll be off then.” He walks over to the kitchen. “Angel. Who knows when our paths will cross again.”
They shake hands as well. “Wesley.” Angel gives him a nod then turns back to the fridge.
Wesley puts his jacket on.
“Where to next?” Xander asks.
“Wherever evil lurks, wherever the forces of darkness threaten humanity, that’s where I’ll be.”
Xander offers a half smile. “Regular rogue demon gig, then.”
“Just so.”
Wesley begins to inch toward the door and Xander guesses it the departure could last a good ten more minutes if Wesley tried, but Xander takes pity.
“Breakfast?”
Wesley drops his bag and shrugs off his jacket. Xander slings an arm around his shoulders and leads him to the table.
Part Eleven: "Somnambulist"