FIC: So Crazy it Just Might Work (Xander, Angel), Part 13: "She"
So, 29th birthday yesterday - it was a good one.
Several nice calls and cards from friends and loved ones (thanks vjlove!), several lovely birthday wishes from you all (I hope I caught them all), a virtual bundle of gifts from apreludetoanend, a virtual party hat from ladyb25, a virtual cupcake from electricalgwen, and dinner and drinks with a few good friends.
PLUS, an absolutely lovely fic called Five Times Xander Doesn't Tell Spike He Loves Him (And One Time He Does) from my very own cordelianne. If you haven't already, please pop over and have a read. You won't regret it.
And, thanks to actually working on writing every day (instead of just at the last minute), I was also able to finish the next chapter of this fic.
Just over 3800 words here, quite unbeta'd. If typos are spotted, please point them out.
Title: So Crazy it Just Might Work
Chapter: Thirteen - "She"
Pairing: Angel, Xander, Wesley, Spike; Spike/Xander
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: Probably not what Joss envisioned. Some bits of dialogue have been stolen from AtS s1 "She."
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"
Part Ten: "Parting Gifts"
Part Eleven: "Somnambulist"
Part Twelve:" Expecting"
Xander can be forgiven for failing to notice that Spike has come to stand beside him.
He’s busy.
Staring.
In horror.
A beer bottle appears in his line of vision.
Xander wraps his hand around it and tears his eyes away from the spectacle to meet Spike’s gaze.
“Looked like you could use it,” Spike says.
Truer words never were spoken. Xander downs half the bottle in one swallow. “What on earth was I thinking?” he asks.
Spike shrugs. “Pity?”
Xander takes another drink. “Possibly.”
They turn back and watch together. Xander’s never actually slowed down to watch a car wreck before, but he knows now what they mean about not being able to look away.
“Could be worse,” Spike says.
Xander nods his acceptance and wanders off to the kitchen to bring out more food, chatting with various guests on the way. When he returns to Spike’s side, nothing has changed. You’d think he’d get tired.
Or that someone would have figured a way to slip him a roofie by now.
“How?” Xander asks.
“How what?”
“How could it be worse? Really? I mean, short of zombie invasion.”
“Could be Angel,” Spike says.
“Could be Angel what? Standing in the corner and sucking the energy out of the room like a giant black hole of boring despair? Oh wait, no, he’s already doing that. And again with the what the fuck was I thinking.”
“Could be Angel dancing.”
“Hey, at least if he was dancing people would know - or you know, at least, think - he was alive. I wish he was dancing.”
“Bite your tongue,” Spike says.
“Oh, come on.” Xander turns to look at Spike, looks back across the room (where Wesley is shaking not only his groove thing but several other things best left unshaken), returns his gaze to Spike. “It’s not like it could be any worse than that.”
Spike looks him straight in the eye. “Could be,” he says. “Is.”
Xander takes another moment to study the flailing former Watcher, shakes his head. “Hyperbole, right? You’re exaggerating for effect.”
“Sadly, no.”
Xander’s imagination runs wild.
“Oh, thank god,” he says a few minutes later as Wesley’s hands fall to the side and he moves away from his self-made dance floor, apparently in search of ice to apply to his forehead.
Or Angel, who happens to be standing next to the ice bowl.
Xander starts in their direction, intending to stage some sort of intervention. Some woman he doesn’t recognize gets there first. He stops several feet away and watches as the woman greets Wesley, who promptly begins to choke on the mini-Reuben he’s just popped into his mouth.
“Nice sweater,” the woman says, through Wesley’s coughing fit. “Hand knit?”
“Certainly not by me,” Wesley says.
Xander cringes.
The woman manages not to.
“I didn’t mean…” she says. “I mean, it’s a great sweater.”
Wesley nods and smiles. “Oh, well, I-I’ll pass that on then.” He pauses. “To the person who knit it,” he clarifies. “I-I mean, I would, if I knew who did - but I don’t.” Xander considers setting the apartment on fire to put Wes out of his misery. “So I won’t pass it on to anyone, will I?” Wesley concludes.
Too bad Xander likes the apartment too much to burn it down. And anyway, the woman is walking away.
Xander’s surprised she’s not running.
Shaking his head, he abandons the mission for impossible and returns to Spike. “Okay, new rule. From now on…” Xander holds up his right hand. “Business.” He holds up the left. “Pleasure.” He draws the two hands even farther apart. “And never the twain shall mix.”
Or at least not without a couple more beers.
And some Jack.
The party’s down to its last few stragglers - which, thankfully, do not include Angel or Wes - when Spike reappears at Xander’s side with the new offering.
“So,” Spike asks, “which one am I?”
“Huh?” Xander takes the square bottle by its round neck, blinks at the black label a couple times, shrugs and takes a drink. “Where’d this come from?”
“Tennessee.”
“Smartass.”
“Nicked it from some kid while he was busy puking all over his new cowboy boots.”
“Kyle,” Xander says. “And ew!” He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, takes up the hem of his shirt and wipes it around the mouth of the bottle, hands the bottle back to Spike. “At least tell me he was outside.”
Spike nods. “Just try to steer clear of that potted palm until we’ve had a good rain.”
Xander makes a mental note.
“So...” Spike takes another hit from the bottle. “Which one?”
“And again I say - huh?”
Spike sets the bottle down and picks up Xander’s right hand. “Business?” He picks up Xander’s left hand. “Or pleasure?”
Xander’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times. “Oh…uh…” His hands are still in Spike’s. “When you put it that way…”
“Because I know you’ve got your new rule,” Spike says.
“Right,” Xander says. “The rule.”
“And you know what they say about a good rule.”
Xander swallows. “Um, no?”
“Sure you do.” Spike smirks. “It’s gotta be hard…” One small step and Xander says goodbye to all personal space. “And fast.”
Xander glances down and back up again. Speaking of hard - that was fast.
Speaking of rules - “You know there’s something else they say about them.”
“Them?” Spike asks.
“Rules.” Xander moves one hand out of Spike’s, sliding it slowly up his arm.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
The hand glides over Spike’s shoulder to curl around the back of his neck, holding it in place as Xander covers Spike’s lips with his own. It’s as good as he remembers and if there’s a reason they haven’t been doing this for the past several weeks, he’s more than forgotten.
But he hasn’t forgotten his point about rules:
“They’re made to be broken.”
Shattered, even.
And again in the morning - for good measure.
And it’s a good morning by any measure, as far as Xander’s concerned. “Good morning.” He beams at Angel.
Angel looks scared. “Is there coffee?”
Okay, any measure except the coffee scoop - which is apparently the one that concerns Angel.
Xander is on a natural high.
“There are coffee beans,” Xander says. “I thought I got ground, but apparently not. Maybe if we just soak them in hot water for a while.” Angel doesn’t look impressed. “Or I could make a coffee run,” Xander offers. “My treat.”
Angel frowns. “Why?”
Xander smiles. “Why not?”
Angel starts to say something, then stops. Pauses. “Maybe later.”
“Right.”
“So,” Angel says a few seconds later, working the awkward wanna-leave-should-stay body language, “really fun party last night.”
Xander snorts. “Translation: It was your idea of hell.”
“Actually,” Angel says, “in hell you tend to know a lot of the people.”
Xander chuckles.
Angel looks around for a weapon.
“That was a good one,” Xander says.
“Are you possessed?” Angel asks.
“Nope. Just had a really good night.”
Angel looks at Xander and Xander looks back, watching as the realization dawns and the horror sets in. “Oh no, please tell me you didn’t-”
“Good morning,” Wesley chirps, sailing through the door.
“Good’s not exactly the word I’d use,” Angel mutters, sinking into a chair.
Xander smiles at Wesley. “Ignore him. He hasn’t had his coffee.”
“And whose fault is-”
“I, on the other hand, think it’s a fabulous morning. The sun is shining, the birds are singing…”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“I feel rather chipper myself,” Wesley says, taking Xander’s advice and ignoring away. “That was quite a soiree last night.”
“You can say that again,” Xander says.
“A gala event,” Wesley continues. “In particular the tiny Reubens and the shrimp puffs. Don’t supposed there’re any leftovers laying about?” He glances around, looking hopeful. “Any… abandoned shrimp puffs?”
“Sorry.” The truth is he and Spike wolfed down the remaining party food this morning. In bed.
Angel stands up and eyes Wes. “You’re broke, aren’t you?”
Wesley blinks at him, taking a step back. “Angel,” he sputters, “a man’s finances are his own business.”
Angel doesn’t waste time with sensitivity. “You want a job?”
Wesley doesn’t waste time with pride. “Oh, yes, please!”
“Look, I don’t have much,” Angel explains, “but as long as you make yourself useful around here, you’re entitled to a cut.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.” Wesley looks like he might cry.
Or hug Angel.
Angel takes a step back.
Xander steps forward and claps Wesley on the shoulder. “Congratulations and welcome to the team.” He turns to Angel. “Speaking of new team members…”
“I am not giving Spike a job.”
“I wasn’t going to ask you to.” Xander holds up his hands. “I was just thinking that since he has been helping out lately, that I could get a little bonus - you know, for his care and feeding.”
Angel rolls his eyes. “Sounds like you’re already getting your bonus.”
“You won’t be disappointed,” Wesley continues. “I will gladly accept whatever compensation you find to be fair and you can rest assured that I will not be requiring any bonuses.”
Xander snickers.
Angel’s expression is trapped between chagrin and glare.
Xander chuckles.
Wesley frets. “Did I say something untoward?”
Xander bursts into full on laughter.
Angel slips into full on glare.
Wesley languishes in confusion.
“Oh, come on,” Angel says, when Xander suddenly doubles over. “It’s not that funny.”
Technically, it is, but Xander happens to be focused on the…
“Pain,” he gasps. “Lots and lots of…” The image of man’s face as it blisters flashes through Xander’s head and then the eyeballs explode. “Ew!”
Angel picks him up off the floor.
“Ice factory - on Fifth, downtown. Guy’s dead, but I guess you should investigate.” Xander swallows as the pain recedes. “Jesus - leave it to the PTB to find the grossest possibly way to ruin a perfectly good day.”
“He said his name was Tay,” Angel says, holding up a just-finished sketch. “Seemed pretty shook up. Said this thing brings chaos and destruction to his world.”
“And now it’s bringing them to ours - starting with my head,” Xander says. “Sweet.”
Wesley studies the sketch. “Tay. Hmm. Could be a Kovitch demon from the Caucasus.”
Angel shakes his head. “He’s not from our dimension.”
“Ah,” Wesley nods, “they must come to ours via portals.”
“Portals? There are portals now? I think we have enough on our plate without the illegal interdimensional immigrants. And where’s the INS when there’s a real threat, huh? I think we need some de-portals, stat.”
“Yes, well, before we can send it back, we’ll need to figure out exactly where it comes from and that will require research.” Wesley smiles at Angel. “I’ll get right on it, boss.”
Xander yanks Wes aside and pretends to whisper. “Ix-nay on the ass-way issing-kay, okay? You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
Wesley blinks at him. “I beg your pardon.”
“Ignore him, Wes,” Angel says. “It’s nice that someone has a work ethic around here.”
“Um, hello, did we forget the part about the PTB making me their bitch? I mean, I try to forget but then there’s these little things I like to call, oh, skull-splitting migraines that tend to remind me.”
“That’s not a work ethic, it’s a calling.”
“Yeah, well, this particular line is not toll-free.”
Angel rolls his eyes. “Look, I know you have a busy schedule, what with the bitching and the moaning, but do you think you could find a few minutes in there to look up if there have been any other-”
“Killings by incineration lately?” Xander shrugs. “Yeah, I guess I could squeeze it in.”
Angel smiles. “See? It’s like we’re a team or something. I’ll be back soon.”
“Where are you going?” Wesley asks.
“Victim’s office. He’s in private security. I’d like to know who hired him.”
Wesley frowns. “Shouldn’t you take someone with you?”
“I need you both on the research thing. I can handle it.”
The door swings shut behind him.
Wesley looks at Xander. “I must say, now that I find myself dependent on Angel for my livelihood, I find his, um…reckless self-confidence a bit worrisome.”
“Not to worry,” Xander says as he reaches for the phone. “I’ve got it all under control.”
Xander is still enjoying some light reading on human internal combustion when the office phone rings.
He picks it up. “Angel Investigations. We help the hopeless.”
“Xander,” Angel growls.
Xander smiles. “Hey, boss.”
“I can’t believe you…. Hey, don’t call me…. Spike!”
“I have never called you ‘Spike,’” Xander says.
“No…I didn’t…. He’s here,” Angel says. “Why is he here?”
“Are you driving?” Xander asks. “Don’t you think you should be concentrating on the road?”
“You called him,” Angel says.
“Wesley and I thought you might need some help.”
Wesley looks up at the sound of his name and starts shaking his head frantically, clearly not wanting to be seen as having anything less than the utmost confidence in his new employer’s abilities.
Xander just smiles at him.
“I don’t,” Angel says.
“Well, it’s a good thing that’s not the only reason I sent him, then,” Xander says. He lowers his voice so Wesley will have a harder time hearing. “I just figured you’d rather hear that one than the one about how I know how much Spike loves a good fight and how grateful I’m expecting him to be for-”
“Xander…”
“Or the one about how much energy I know he builds up during a good fight and all the ways I’m planning to help him work it-”
“Please don’t finish that-”
“Or, you know, the one about how I have absolutely no qualms about benefiting from all the unresolved sexual tension the two of you build up whenever you’re in the same-”
“I’m hanging up now!”
Xander keeps the receiver to his ear and waits.
“I hate this stupid phone,” Angel says. “How do you hang it up? The buttons are too damn small.”
“You could get Spike to hang it up for you. His fingers are smaller.” Xander sighs happily and only a little for effect. “And very dexterous.”
“I’ll throw it out the window if I have to…”
“Aw, come on, don’t you want to hear about the four other guys it killed in the last eleven months? All burned from the inside out.”
“It’s not an ‘it’ it’s a ‘she.’ And what I want is for you two to figure out where she and this Tay came from. Put Wesley on.”
Xander holds up the phone. “Angel wants to talk to you.”
Wesley rushes over. He takes the phone and listens for a minute, jots some notes. “Yes, all right…uh huh…that should narrow the search significantly. I’m confident I’ll have an answer for you soon. Would you like to speak to Xander again?” Wesley looks a bit startled by the answer. “Well, all right, then. We’ll…uh…speak again soon.”
He fumbles the receiver back into its cradle, moving quickly, as if afraid Xander might snatch it from him and cause Wesley to fail Angel.
Xander just leans back in his chair and smiles.
“Aha!”
Xander jerks awake, lifting his head off the desk to look at the source of the exclamation. “That better be a damn good ‘Aha!’ My dream was just starting to get good.”
“I think I’ve located them,” Wes says. “The Vigories of Oden Tal.”
“The who-eries of where-all?”
“Of Oden Tal,” Wesley repeats. “The men are called Vigories. They have four distinct ridges on their foreheads, are said to be fierce warriors, and their women live enslaved to them.”
“Sexist and dangerous. Good times. So we should what - look for the nearest NRA meeting?”
Wesley scans the book in front of him. “It says that the men are herbivores.”
“Okay, so: NRA, the vegetarian chapter.” Xander shrugs. “If they have that anywhere, it’s probably L.A.”
“They eat a thick stew made from rotting plants and flowers,” Wesley continues, “and they need to consume half their body weight a day.”
“Would it kill you to pretend to find me funny?”
The question seems to take Wes by surprise and when he opens his mouth Xander’s sure it’s to apologize.
Xander cuts him off at the pass. “Nevermind. So we’re looking for what - the biggest compost heap in LA?”
An hour later, they find it.
“Time is always of the essence when dealing with these sorts of things,” Wesley tells Xander, speaking in a whisper as they make their way through California Flower World.
Xander nods.
“And now that I am officially in Angel’s employ, I feel it’s doubly important to show initiative and drive.”
Xander rolls his eyes. “Uh huh.” He turns in a circle, sniffing the air, then points in the least pleasant direction.
“Of course I would have preferred to inform Angel of our discovery before taking action…”
“Of course.”
“But we tried to ring him and we certainly cannot be blamed for the fact that he did not or could not-”
“Wes.”
Wesley stops just in front of the door to a back room and looks over at Xander.
“It’s just recon,” Xander whispers, easing open the door. “We’ll be fine as long as we keep-” At the sound of voices, Xander yanks Wesley down behind a group of barrels. Out of sight, he finishes silently.
Wesley nods and then tilts his head toward the voice. Tay, he mouths.
Xander nods back.
They listen.
“The portal will open soon, and only for a short while. When the proper coordinates align we must move to the entry point immediately. You will escort it there, ensure its quick return and rejoin us. We have a lot of work to do in this dimension. It can go home now.” The voice takes on a soft and lilting tone, like a parent to a child - or an owner to a pet. “Would it like that? Would it like to go home?”
“It is happy to go,” answers a second voice - female, submissive. “As soon as you say.”
“And don’t you feel better now?” Tay asks.
No verbal response, but Xander still shudders at that tone.
“We’ve recovered two this month,” says another voice - male this time. “We should...”
“It means nothing!” Tay snaps. “This won’t stop until we find Jhiera.”
Wesley pulls out his cell phone and dials Angel’s number again. Waits.
“This food source will only keep us supplied for a few more days,” Not-Tay says. “At that point we must relocate.”
“Still no answer,” Wesley murmurs.
Xander shakes his head. “Probably turned it off again. Though how he manages that when he can’t even figure out how to hang it up is anybody’s guess. We’re lucky he had a hundred years to learn to use a land line. So, what now?”
“I suppose we head back and try to find him.”
Xander nods. “You lead, I’ll follow. Go slow and stay low.”
Just as Wesley starts to rise from his crouch, there’s a sound at the door. Xander yanks Wesley back down. “Abort, abort.”
“Sir!” a new voice says. “I believe we’ve found them.”
“Where?”
“A worker at an ice plant tells me he recently started shipping two tons of ice a week to this address.”
“Gather the men,” Tay says. “They need to be prepared to capture the princess and cut them all quickly.”
Xander doesn’t like the sound of that.
They rush back to the office and then down the stairs, bursting breathless into Angel’s apartment. They find Spike, barefoot and shirtless, hair damp, the button on his jeans still undone.
“Spike,” Xander says. He means to say something else, but staring turns out to be a full time job.
Somewhere in the background, Xander hears Wesley firing off questions. “Spike, what’s going on? What are you doing here? Where’s Angel? Why hasn’t he been answering his phone?”
Spike doesn’t even look at Wesley. “’Lo there,” he says, letting the short words roll slowly off his tongue.
Before Wes can launch another barrage, Angel emerges from the back of the apartment in his robe, toweling off his hair. “Hey, guys. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” Wesley repeats. “With all due respect, we might ask you the very same question. We’ve been trying to call you for hours. We have a situation.”
“You weren’t here when we got back,” Angel says. “We had to shower.”
“You had to shower?” Wesley and Xander repeat at the same time.
Xander looks between Angel and Spike. “Like, together?”
“Of course not,” Angel snaps, at the same time as…
Spike smirks and says, “Maybe.”
Meanwhile, Wesley begins to lose his cool. “Less than an hour ago we were nearly incinerated from the inside out while hiding in obscenely close proximity of an enormous and unspeakably pungent compost heap and you needed a shower?”
Scratch that - not losing - well and truly lost.
Xander smiles.
Angel blinks at the stranger who’s just materialized in front of him. “Wesley?”
Xander watches as Wesley runs the instant playback. “Oh dear lord,” he says. “I’ll just go upstairs and pack up my things, shall I?”
“You have things already?” Xander asks.
Angel glares at him, then turns back to Wesley. “I don’t fire people for speaking their minds, Wes.” He glances over at the other occupants of the room. “Obviously.”
Wesley’s shoulders slump with relief and suddenly he’s got that hugging look in his eye again.
Angel takes a step back and clears his throat. “So, didn’t someone say something about a situation?”
“Yeah,” Xander says. “We overheard the Figaros of Seaton Hall…”
“Vigories of Oden Tal.”
“…saying that they found what they were looking for, and they seemed very interested in cutting someone they called the princess, which I’m guessing isn’t Rosen Thal…”
“Oden Tal.”
“…slang for respecting and empowering like the deserving womyn she is.”
“You’d be right on that one,” Angel saying pulling on a sweater “We gotta find her first.”
“The demon guy said something about a lot of ice being delivered somewhere,” Xander says. “No one said where.”
“Ice,” Angel repeats. He pulls a paper out of his coat hanging on a hat stand. “Shipping order. We’ve got an address. Spike, put your shirt on, we’re heading out.”
“That’s it?” Wesley frowns. “They seemed.... There were quite a few of them. Perhaps we need a plan.”
“Here’s the plan,” Angel looks to Spike. “Spike and I go in…”
“We start hitting people…”
“Hard…”
“In the face…”
“And see where it takes us,” Angel finishes.
Xander nods. “Works for me.”
And it does.
Work for Xander, that is.
Sure, it takes a few hours - and there’s that nasty hostage moment in there in the middle - but in the end the other-dimensional girls get to keep their free will and the princess lives to carry on her crusade. And these things make Xander happy.
He always did like his women strong.
But, most importantly, Spike gets his fight.
Which means Xander gets laid.
And that (as any recently gay nineteen-year-old will tell you) is what really counts.
Several nice calls and cards from friends and loved ones (thanks vjlove!), several lovely birthday wishes from you all (I hope I caught them all), a virtual bundle of gifts from apreludetoanend, a virtual party hat from ladyb25, a virtual cupcake from electricalgwen, and dinner and drinks with a few good friends.
PLUS, an absolutely lovely fic called Five Times Xander Doesn't Tell Spike He Loves Him (And One Time He Does) from my very own cordelianne. If you haven't already, please pop over and have a read. You won't regret it.
And, thanks to actually working on writing every day (instead of just at the last minute), I was also able to finish the next chapter of this fic.
Just over 3800 words here, quite unbeta'd. If typos are spotted, please point them out.
Title: So Crazy it Just Might Work
Chapter: Thirteen - "She"
Pairing: Angel, Xander, Wesley, Spike; Spike/Xander
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: Probably not what Joss envisioned. Some bits of dialogue have been stolen from AtS s1 "She."
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"
Part Ten: "Parting Gifts"
Part Eleven: "Somnambulist"
Part Twelve:" Expecting"
Xander can be forgiven for failing to notice that Spike has come to stand beside him.
He’s busy.
Staring.
In horror.
A beer bottle appears in his line of vision.
Xander wraps his hand around it and tears his eyes away from the spectacle to meet Spike’s gaze.
“Looked like you could use it,” Spike says.
Truer words never were spoken. Xander downs half the bottle in one swallow. “What on earth was I thinking?” he asks.
Spike shrugs. “Pity?”
Xander takes another drink. “Possibly.”
They turn back and watch together. Xander’s never actually slowed down to watch a car wreck before, but he knows now what they mean about not being able to look away.
“Could be worse,” Spike says.
Xander nods his acceptance and wanders off to the kitchen to bring out more food, chatting with various guests on the way. When he returns to Spike’s side, nothing has changed. You’d think he’d get tired.
Or that someone would have figured a way to slip him a roofie by now.
“How?” Xander asks.
“How what?”
“How could it be worse? Really? I mean, short of zombie invasion.”
“Could be Angel,” Spike says.
“Could be Angel what? Standing in the corner and sucking the energy out of the room like a giant black hole of boring despair? Oh wait, no, he’s already doing that. And again with the what the fuck was I thinking.”
“Could be Angel dancing.”
“Hey, at least if he was dancing people would know - or you know, at least, think - he was alive. I wish he was dancing.”
“Bite your tongue,” Spike says.
“Oh, come on.” Xander turns to look at Spike, looks back across the room (where Wesley is shaking not only his groove thing but several other things best left unshaken), returns his gaze to Spike. “It’s not like it could be any worse than that.”
Spike looks him straight in the eye. “Could be,” he says. “Is.”
Xander takes another moment to study the flailing former Watcher, shakes his head. “Hyperbole, right? You’re exaggerating for effect.”
“Sadly, no.”
Xander’s imagination runs wild.
“Oh, thank god,” he says a few minutes later as Wesley’s hands fall to the side and he moves away from his self-made dance floor, apparently in search of ice to apply to his forehead.
Or Angel, who happens to be standing next to the ice bowl.
Xander starts in their direction, intending to stage some sort of intervention. Some woman he doesn’t recognize gets there first. He stops several feet away and watches as the woman greets Wesley, who promptly begins to choke on the mini-Reuben he’s just popped into his mouth.
“Nice sweater,” the woman says, through Wesley’s coughing fit. “Hand knit?”
“Certainly not by me,” Wesley says.
Xander cringes.
The woman manages not to.
“I didn’t mean…” she says. “I mean, it’s a great sweater.”
Wesley nods and smiles. “Oh, well, I-I’ll pass that on then.” He pauses. “To the person who knit it,” he clarifies. “I-I mean, I would, if I knew who did - but I don’t.” Xander considers setting the apartment on fire to put Wes out of his misery. “So I won’t pass it on to anyone, will I?” Wesley concludes.
Too bad Xander likes the apartment too much to burn it down. And anyway, the woman is walking away.
Xander’s surprised she’s not running.
Shaking his head, he abandons the mission for impossible and returns to Spike. “Okay, new rule. From now on…” Xander holds up his right hand. “Business.” He holds up the left. “Pleasure.” He draws the two hands even farther apart. “And never the twain shall mix.”
Or at least not without a couple more beers.
And some Jack.
The party’s down to its last few stragglers - which, thankfully, do not include Angel or Wes - when Spike reappears at Xander’s side with the new offering.
“So,” Spike asks, “which one am I?”
“Huh?” Xander takes the square bottle by its round neck, blinks at the black label a couple times, shrugs and takes a drink. “Where’d this come from?”
“Tennessee.”
“Smartass.”
“Nicked it from some kid while he was busy puking all over his new cowboy boots.”
“Kyle,” Xander says. “And ew!” He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, takes up the hem of his shirt and wipes it around the mouth of the bottle, hands the bottle back to Spike. “At least tell me he was outside.”
Spike nods. “Just try to steer clear of that potted palm until we’ve had a good rain.”
Xander makes a mental note.
“So...” Spike takes another hit from the bottle. “Which one?”
“And again I say - huh?”
Spike sets the bottle down and picks up Xander’s right hand. “Business?” He picks up Xander’s left hand. “Or pleasure?”
Xander’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times. “Oh…uh…” His hands are still in Spike’s. “When you put it that way…”
“Because I know you’ve got your new rule,” Spike says.
“Right,” Xander says. “The rule.”
“And you know what they say about a good rule.”
Xander swallows. “Um, no?”
“Sure you do.” Spike smirks. “It’s gotta be hard…” One small step and Xander says goodbye to all personal space. “And fast.”
Xander glances down and back up again. Speaking of hard - that was fast.
Speaking of rules - “You know there’s something else they say about them.”
“Them?” Spike asks.
“Rules.” Xander moves one hand out of Spike’s, sliding it slowly up his arm.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
The hand glides over Spike’s shoulder to curl around the back of his neck, holding it in place as Xander covers Spike’s lips with his own. It’s as good as he remembers and if there’s a reason they haven’t been doing this for the past several weeks, he’s more than forgotten.
But he hasn’t forgotten his point about rules:
“They’re made to be broken.”
Shattered, even.
And again in the morning - for good measure.
And it’s a good morning by any measure, as far as Xander’s concerned. “Good morning.” He beams at Angel.
Angel looks scared. “Is there coffee?”
Okay, any measure except the coffee scoop - which is apparently the one that concerns Angel.
Xander is on a natural high.
“There are coffee beans,” Xander says. “I thought I got ground, but apparently not. Maybe if we just soak them in hot water for a while.” Angel doesn’t look impressed. “Or I could make a coffee run,” Xander offers. “My treat.”
Angel frowns. “Why?”
Xander smiles. “Why not?”
Angel starts to say something, then stops. Pauses. “Maybe later.”
“Right.”
“So,” Angel says a few seconds later, working the awkward wanna-leave-should-stay body language, “really fun party last night.”
Xander snorts. “Translation: It was your idea of hell.”
“Actually,” Angel says, “in hell you tend to know a lot of the people.”
Xander chuckles.
Angel looks around for a weapon.
“That was a good one,” Xander says.
“Are you possessed?” Angel asks.
“Nope. Just had a really good night.”
Angel looks at Xander and Xander looks back, watching as the realization dawns and the horror sets in. “Oh no, please tell me you didn’t-”
“Good morning,” Wesley chirps, sailing through the door.
“Good’s not exactly the word I’d use,” Angel mutters, sinking into a chair.
Xander smiles at Wesley. “Ignore him. He hasn’t had his coffee.”
“And whose fault is-”
“I, on the other hand, think it’s a fabulous morning. The sun is shining, the birds are singing…”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“I feel rather chipper myself,” Wesley says, taking Xander’s advice and ignoring away. “That was quite a soiree last night.”
“You can say that again,” Xander says.
“A gala event,” Wesley continues. “In particular the tiny Reubens and the shrimp puffs. Don’t supposed there’re any leftovers laying about?” He glances around, looking hopeful. “Any… abandoned shrimp puffs?”
“Sorry.” The truth is he and Spike wolfed down the remaining party food this morning. In bed.
Angel stands up and eyes Wes. “You’re broke, aren’t you?”
Wesley blinks at him, taking a step back. “Angel,” he sputters, “a man’s finances are his own business.”
Angel doesn’t waste time with sensitivity. “You want a job?”
Wesley doesn’t waste time with pride. “Oh, yes, please!”
“Look, I don’t have much,” Angel explains, “but as long as you make yourself useful around here, you’re entitled to a cut.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.” Wesley looks like he might cry.
Or hug Angel.
Angel takes a step back.
Xander steps forward and claps Wesley on the shoulder. “Congratulations and welcome to the team.” He turns to Angel. “Speaking of new team members…”
“I am not giving Spike a job.”
“I wasn’t going to ask you to.” Xander holds up his hands. “I was just thinking that since he has been helping out lately, that I could get a little bonus - you know, for his care and feeding.”
Angel rolls his eyes. “Sounds like you’re already getting your bonus.”
“You won’t be disappointed,” Wesley continues. “I will gladly accept whatever compensation you find to be fair and you can rest assured that I will not be requiring any bonuses.”
Xander snickers.
Angel’s expression is trapped between chagrin and glare.
Xander chuckles.
Wesley frets. “Did I say something untoward?”
Xander bursts into full on laughter.
Angel slips into full on glare.
Wesley languishes in confusion.
“Oh, come on,” Angel says, when Xander suddenly doubles over. “It’s not that funny.”
Technically, it is, but Xander happens to be focused on the…
“Pain,” he gasps. “Lots and lots of…” The image of man’s face as it blisters flashes through Xander’s head and then the eyeballs explode. “Ew!”
Angel picks him up off the floor.
“Ice factory - on Fifth, downtown. Guy’s dead, but I guess you should investigate.” Xander swallows as the pain recedes. “Jesus - leave it to the PTB to find the grossest possibly way to ruin a perfectly good day.”
“He said his name was Tay,” Angel says, holding up a just-finished sketch. “Seemed pretty shook up. Said this thing brings chaos and destruction to his world.”
“And now it’s bringing them to ours - starting with my head,” Xander says. “Sweet.”
Wesley studies the sketch. “Tay. Hmm. Could be a Kovitch demon from the Caucasus.”
Angel shakes his head. “He’s not from our dimension.”
“Ah,” Wesley nods, “they must come to ours via portals.”
“Portals? There are portals now? I think we have enough on our plate without the illegal interdimensional immigrants. And where’s the INS when there’s a real threat, huh? I think we need some de-portals, stat.”
“Yes, well, before we can send it back, we’ll need to figure out exactly where it comes from and that will require research.” Wesley smiles at Angel. “I’ll get right on it, boss.”
Xander yanks Wes aside and pretends to whisper. “Ix-nay on the ass-way issing-kay, okay? You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
Wesley blinks at him. “I beg your pardon.”
“Ignore him, Wes,” Angel says. “It’s nice that someone has a work ethic around here.”
“Um, hello, did we forget the part about the PTB making me their bitch? I mean, I try to forget but then there’s these little things I like to call, oh, skull-splitting migraines that tend to remind me.”
“That’s not a work ethic, it’s a calling.”
“Yeah, well, this particular line is not toll-free.”
Angel rolls his eyes. “Look, I know you have a busy schedule, what with the bitching and the moaning, but do you think you could find a few minutes in there to look up if there have been any other-”
“Killings by incineration lately?” Xander shrugs. “Yeah, I guess I could squeeze it in.”
Angel smiles. “See? It’s like we’re a team or something. I’ll be back soon.”
“Where are you going?” Wesley asks.
“Victim’s office. He’s in private security. I’d like to know who hired him.”
Wesley frowns. “Shouldn’t you take someone with you?”
“I need you both on the research thing. I can handle it.”
The door swings shut behind him.
Wesley looks at Xander. “I must say, now that I find myself dependent on Angel for my livelihood, I find his, um…reckless self-confidence a bit worrisome.”
“Not to worry,” Xander says as he reaches for the phone. “I’ve got it all under control.”
Xander is still enjoying some light reading on human internal combustion when the office phone rings.
He picks it up. “Angel Investigations. We help the hopeless.”
“Xander,” Angel growls.
Xander smiles. “Hey, boss.”
“I can’t believe you…. Hey, don’t call me…. Spike!”
“I have never called you ‘Spike,’” Xander says.
“No…I didn’t…. He’s here,” Angel says. “Why is he here?”
“Are you driving?” Xander asks. “Don’t you think you should be concentrating on the road?”
“You called him,” Angel says.
“Wesley and I thought you might need some help.”
Wesley looks up at the sound of his name and starts shaking his head frantically, clearly not wanting to be seen as having anything less than the utmost confidence in his new employer’s abilities.
Xander just smiles at him.
“I don’t,” Angel says.
“Well, it’s a good thing that’s not the only reason I sent him, then,” Xander says. He lowers his voice so Wesley will have a harder time hearing. “I just figured you’d rather hear that one than the one about how I know how much Spike loves a good fight and how grateful I’m expecting him to be for-”
“Xander…”
“Or the one about how much energy I know he builds up during a good fight and all the ways I’m planning to help him work it-”
“Please don’t finish that-”
“Or, you know, the one about how I have absolutely no qualms about benefiting from all the unresolved sexual tension the two of you build up whenever you’re in the same-”
“I’m hanging up now!”
Xander keeps the receiver to his ear and waits.
“I hate this stupid phone,” Angel says. “How do you hang it up? The buttons are too damn small.”
“You could get Spike to hang it up for you. His fingers are smaller.” Xander sighs happily and only a little for effect. “And very dexterous.”
“I’ll throw it out the window if I have to…”
“Aw, come on, don’t you want to hear about the four other guys it killed in the last eleven months? All burned from the inside out.”
“It’s not an ‘it’ it’s a ‘she.’ And what I want is for you two to figure out where she and this Tay came from. Put Wesley on.”
Xander holds up the phone. “Angel wants to talk to you.”
Wesley rushes over. He takes the phone and listens for a minute, jots some notes. “Yes, all right…uh huh…that should narrow the search significantly. I’m confident I’ll have an answer for you soon. Would you like to speak to Xander again?” Wesley looks a bit startled by the answer. “Well, all right, then. We’ll…uh…speak again soon.”
He fumbles the receiver back into its cradle, moving quickly, as if afraid Xander might snatch it from him and cause Wesley to fail Angel.
Xander just leans back in his chair and smiles.
“Aha!”
Xander jerks awake, lifting his head off the desk to look at the source of the exclamation. “That better be a damn good ‘Aha!’ My dream was just starting to get good.”
“I think I’ve located them,” Wes says. “The Vigories of Oden Tal.”
“The who-eries of where-all?”
“Of Oden Tal,” Wesley repeats. “The men are called Vigories. They have four distinct ridges on their foreheads, are said to be fierce warriors, and their women live enslaved to them.”
“Sexist and dangerous. Good times. So we should what - look for the nearest NRA meeting?”
Wesley scans the book in front of him. “It says that the men are herbivores.”
“Okay, so: NRA, the vegetarian chapter.” Xander shrugs. “If they have that anywhere, it’s probably L.A.”
“They eat a thick stew made from rotting plants and flowers,” Wesley continues, “and they need to consume half their body weight a day.”
“Would it kill you to pretend to find me funny?”
The question seems to take Wes by surprise and when he opens his mouth Xander’s sure it’s to apologize.
Xander cuts him off at the pass. “Nevermind. So we’re looking for what - the biggest compost heap in LA?”
An hour later, they find it.
“Time is always of the essence when dealing with these sorts of things,” Wesley tells Xander, speaking in a whisper as they make their way through California Flower World.
Xander nods.
“And now that I am officially in Angel’s employ, I feel it’s doubly important to show initiative and drive.”
Xander rolls his eyes. “Uh huh.” He turns in a circle, sniffing the air, then points in the least pleasant direction.
“Of course I would have preferred to inform Angel of our discovery before taking action…”
“Of course.”
“But we tried to ring him and we certainly cannot be blamed for the fact that he did not or could not-”
“Wes.”
Wesley stops just in front of the door to a back room and looks over at Xander.
“It’s just recon,” Xander whispers, easing open the door. “We’ll be fine as long as we keep-” At the sound of voices, Xander yanks Wesley down behind a group of barrels. Out of sight, he finishes silently.
Wesley nods and then tilts his head toward the voice. Tay, he mouths.
Xander nods back.
They listen.
“The portal will open soon, and only for a short while. When the proper coordinates align we must move to the entry point immediately. You will escort it there, ensure its quick return and rejoin us. We have a lot of work to do in this dimension. It can go home now.” The voice takes on a soft and lilting tone, like a parent to a child - or an owner to a pet. “Would it like that? Would it like to go home?”
“It is happy to go,” answers a second voice - female, submissive. “As soon as you say.”
“And don’t you feel better now?” Tay asks.
No verbal response, but Xander still shudders at that tone.
“We’ve recovered two this month,” says another voice - male this time. “We should...”
“It means nothing!” Tay snaps. “This won’t stop until we find Jhiera.”
Wesley pulls out his cell phone and dials Angel’s number again. Waits.
“This food source will only keep us supplied for a few more days,” Not-Tay says. “At that point we must relocate.”
“Still no answer,” Wesley murmurs.
Xander shakes his head. “Probably turned it off again. Though how he manages that when he can’t even figure out how to hang it up is anybody’s guess. We’re lucky he had a hundred years to learn to use a land line. So, what now?”
“I suppose we head back and try to find him.”
Xander nods. “You lead, I’ll follow. Go slow and stay low.”
Just as Wesley starts to rise from his crouch, there’s a sound at the door. Xander yanks Wesley back down. “Abort, abort.”
“Sir!” a new voice says. “I believe we’ve found them.”
“Where?”
“A worker at an ice plant tells me he recently started shipping two tons of ice a week to this address.”
“Gather the men,” Tay says. “They need to be prepared to capture the princess and cut them all quickly.”
Xander doesn’t like the sound of that.
They rush back to the office and then down the stairs, bursting breathless into Angel’s apartment. They find Spike, barefoot and shirtless, hair damp, the button on his jeans still undone.
“Spike,” Xander says. He means to say something else, but staring turns out to be a full time job.
Somewhere in the background, Xander hears Wesley firing off questions. “Spike, what’s going on? What are you doing here? Where’s Angel? Why hasn’t he been answering his phone?”
Spike doesn’t even look at Wesley. “’Lo there,” he says, letting the short words roll slowly off his tongue.
Before Wes can launch another barrage, Angel emerges from the back of the apartment in his robe, toweling off his hair. “Hey, guys. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” Wesley repeats. “With all due respect, we might ask you the very same question. We’ve been trying to call you for hours. We have a situation.”
“You weren’t here when we got back,” Angel says. “We had to shower.”
“You had to shower?” Wesley and Xander repeat at the same time.
Xander looks between Angel and Spike. “Like, together?”
“Of course not,” Angel snaps, at the same time as…
Spike smirks and says, “Maybe.”
Meanwhile, Wesley begins to lose his cool. “Less than an hour ago we were nearly incinerated from the inside out while hiding in obscenely close proximity of an enormous and unspeakably pungent compost heap and you needed a shower?”
Scratch that - not losing - well and truly lost.
Xander smiles.
Angel blinks at the stranger who’s just materialized in front of him. “Wesley?”
Xander watches as Wesley runs the instant playback. “Oh dear lord,” he says. “I’ll just go upstairs and pack up my things, shall I?”
“You have things already?” Xander asks.
Angel glares at him, then turns back to Wesley. “I don’t fire people for speaking their minds, Wes.” He glances over at the other occupants of the room. “Obviously.”
Wesley’s shoulders slump with relief and suddenly he’s got that hugging look in his eye again.
Angel takes a step back and clears his throat. “So, didn’t someone say something about a situation?”
“Yeah,” Xander says. “We overheard the Figaros of Seaton Hall…”
“Vigories of Oden Tal.”
“…saying that they found what they were looking for, and they seemed very interested in cutting someone they called the princess, which I’m guessing isn’t Rosen Thal…”
“Oden Tal.”
“…slang for respecting and empowering like the deserving womyn she is.”
“You’d be right on that one,” Angel saying pulling on a sweater “We gotta find her first.”
“The demon guy said something about a lot of ice being delivered somewhere,” Xander says. “No one said where.”
“Ice,” Angel repeats. He pulls a paper out of his coat hanging on a hat stand. “Shipping order. We’ve got an address. Spike, put your shirt on, we’re heading out.”
“That’s it?” Wesley frowns. “They seemed.... There were quite a few of them. Perhaps we need a plan.”
“Here’s the plan,” Angel looks to Spike. “Spike and I go in…”
“We start hitting people…”
“Hard…”
“In the face…”
“And see where it takes us,” Angel finishes.
Xander nods. “Works for me.”
And it does.
Work for Xander, that is.
Sure, it takes a few hours - and there’s that nasty hostage moment in there in the middle - but in the end the other-dimensional girls get to keep their free will and the princess lives to carry on her crusade. And these things make Xander happy.
He always did like his women strong.
But, most importantly, Spike gets his fight.
Which means Xander gets laid.
And that (as any recently gay nineteen-year-old will tell you) is what really counts.