Post Season 3, General Season 4/AtS:1 Series

Rated R

Xander Harris: At the end of Season 3, our hero was going to follow in the footsteps of Kerouac. He ventures forth at the beginning of the summer and makes it all the way to... Oxnard, California.

Spike: In the middle of Season 3, our anti-hero was on his way back to Brazil to torture Drusilla into loving him again.

An accident, a chance meeting, and a dark sense of humor lead to a very interesting companionship between the mortal and the vampire.

And nothing that happens in their lives could ever be considered "normal."

None of the science in this is accurate. Or true. I made it up. Hey, it's fiction, I can do that.

Disclaimer: The stories belong to me. Everything else belongs to their respective creators, including song lyrics, brand names, television shows/movies & the entire Buffy universe. All are used without permission, not to discredit, profit by, or otherwise infringe in bad faith. Please, don't sue!

And Now For Something Completely Different

by
Saber ShadowKitten

1 Lightning Never Strikes Twice

Xander Harris knew he'd jinxed himself when he started thinking about how he liked his life.

It was a typical Wednesday night at The Fabulous Ladies Night Club. Xander had been working at the club for months, trying to earn money to repair his car in order to continue his travels on the open road. Not that he had gotten very far in his travels before his engine had decided it would be more comfortable on the ground than under the hood of his car.

Oxnard was roughly three hours from Sunnydale, due west. The town wasn't that bad. It had a cheap, mostly-bug-free motel, a Twinkie-stocked grocery store, a gas station/repair shop where his car was in ICU, and a strip club called The Fabulous Ladies Night Club, which catered to both women and men, and had been the only place in town hiring when Xander's car went kaput.

Xander actually liked working at the club. He had gone out on his own with the express purpose of broadening his horizons and experiencing what life had to offer. What better way to do that than to work in a dimly lit, raucous strip bar?

In the beginning, Xander had felt awkward clearing tables and cleaning up vomit while men of various shapes and sizes writhed on stage to the music pounding from the speakers. The first time he'd gotten a good look at one of the male dancers, he'd had to quickly go out back until he'd overcome his embarrassment. Seeing another man's parts bounce and grow hard for the audience's benefit was not something high school had prepared him for, not even in Mr. Murphy's very detailed sex ed class.

Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays were ladies nights at the club. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays were the men's nights. Men's nights as in men dancing for the benefit of other men. It should have made Xander uncomfortable, but, in fact, he felt the complete opposite when he was in a club filled with gay and bi-sexual men.

The women who came to the club on their nights were literal animals. They hooted and hollered and pinched Xander's ass until it was black and blue. Their language could not only make a sailor blush, but the entire US Navy as well. And, worst of all, they didn't take "no" for an answer. It should have been a 19-going-on-20-year-old's dream, but after the fiftieth proposition and accompanying painful pinch, Xander felt like Amy had miscast her spell again.

The men, however, acted entirely different. Sure, they hooted and hollered, but instead of pinching Xander's ass, they tended to only "accidentally" brush against him as he passed. The propositions he received were either bluntly or shyly asked, but his "no thanks'" were always taken with a shrug and an "okay," sometimes followed by a "your loss."

Then came the night that Mario broke his ankle, and Xander quickly found out that being labeled a dork in high school had major monetary benefits.

Darlene, Xander's boss, had asked quite nicely if he'd be willing to take Mario's place as one of the private dancers for a bachelorette party in the back rooms of the club. Xander had refused at first, then Darlene had told him he'd be paid $300.00 not including tips -- an equal to a week's wages -- and all he needed to do was take off his clothes to the music.

Three hundred bucks was a lot for ten minutes of shaking his groove, so Xander chose to make it into a life-experiencing adventure that he'd never tell anyone. Armed with Darlene's instructions to first get the money, then to have fun, Xander disappeared into the back room and proceeded to make a total fool of himself.

As the stereo blared Staying Alive, by the Bee Gees, Xander wiggled, shook, bounced and tripped over his feet while removing his clothing. The women at the party ate it up. They thought his fumbling, awkward, stiff movements were part of the act, and Xander made close to $100.00 in tips.

In fact, he was so popular, Darlene asked him to work another, and then another. "High School Geek" became the stripper to have at a private party at The Fabulous Ladies Night Club, for both sexes. The women loved him because he invoked memories from their high school days. The men just thought he was sexy, which never ceased to amaze him.

Xander was sitting out on the back stoop on break, chewing on a swizzle stick. The night was hot and humid, but he didn't mind being outside. Shirtless, he watched the stars winking in the distant sky, and found himself wondering what Willow and Buffy would think if they could see him right now. Would they laugh at the fact that he'd only reached Oxnard, or would they commiserate with him on the death of his car? Would they be open-minded to the fact that he was a stripper, or that he was starting to prefer the company of men to women?

The brunette sighed and leaned back on his elbows. He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. He could hear the cars on the county highway, and he could tell which drivers were locals and which were just passing thru town.

It was getting near the end of September. Buffy and Willow would have been in college for almost a month, learning stuff that Xander had been told he'd never understand. Which was the truth, in his own opinion. He didn't like to learn things that came from books unless it had to deal with destroying evil. Besides, life was more than just school, school, school, and he was out experiencing it. He was experiencing it naked most of the time, but experiencing it he was.

Ralph had stopped by late last week to the motel Xander had made his home, and the old repairman had told him his car was fixed. Xander could leave Oxnard at any time he wanted. But, now that he could, he was reluctant to do so. He'd found a niche that he fit into working at the club. He'd made several friends, flirted shamelessly with both men and women, and made a good deal of money by just being his dorkable self.

Xander glanced at his watch, then returned his eyes to the clear sky. He had five more minutes before he had to return to work. Five minutes to sit outside in the heat and--

CRACK!

From out of the cloudless sky, a bolt of lightning slammed into Xander's chest. His head smacked against the concrete stoop on impact. His eyes were frozen open in shock at the searing pain coursing through him.

Therefore, he was witness to a second bolt of lightning coming straight at him.

CRACK!

Xander let out a garbled scream a moment before he was struck by lightning for the second time. It hit him in the same exact spot as the first bolt, right in the center of his chest. The acrid smell of burnt flesh floated up to his nostrils, and he mentally crossed "getting hit by lightning" off his Things To Do list.

Then, everything went dark.

2 Storm Warning

Monday afternoon, August 28, 2000

Xander surreptitiously observed two girls walking across the U. C. Sunnydale campus quad. He was seated on a stone bench, with his feet stretched out in front of him and a pair of wraparound mirrored sunglasses on his nose. A hot gust of wind ruffled his dark shaggy hair, and he could feel the electricity of a thunderstorm thrumming in the air.

The bright late summer sun beat down on the top of his head, but Xander didn't feel the heat. His muscular, tanned body was dressed in a white tank, a light blue buttoned shirt, and a pair of tan khakis. Battered gym shoes adorned his feet, sporting black burn marks and holes from constant wear. He looked no different than any of the other college students traversing the campus on the first day of classes, and that's the way he wanted it.

The blond and redhead were met by another blond female and a tall, blondish male. Xander watched with interest as hands were interlinked and kisses were exchanged between the redhead and the new blond female.

The quartet continued on their way across the quad, passing a short distance away from where Xander sat. Xander's lips curled into a smile when the familiar female voices came within hearing distance.

"I don't think I like Dr. Phillips."

"Why not? He's one of the foremost experts in his field."

"He looks like a troll. It reminds me of Principal Snyder, pre-demon munchage."

"Buffy!"

"Oh, come on, Will. Don't tell me you didn't see the resemblance."

"Okay, maybe there was a slight case of looking like Principal Snyder... may he rest in peace... or pieces, since he did get eaten by the Mayor, and we blew up the Mayor..."

Willow's sentence dissipated in another gust of hot wind. Xander raised his eyes to the clear blue sky, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Yes, he thought. A storm was coming.

He stood, stuck his hands in his pockets and followed his old friends.

3 Disco: It's Not For Wimps

Xander couldn't decide if he was nervous or if the peanut butter, instant potatoes and brown gravy sandwich he'd had for lunch was staging a revolt in his intestines. Considering the PBM&G sandwich was a staple to his diet, he'd have to bet on the former by default.

With a sigh that reminded him that they'd visited with Angel way too long, Xander raised his hand and knocked on the door.

"...Buffy, no you may not. I don't care if it is a dire emergency, you do not possess a permit," Giles was saying as he opened the front door.

"But Giles..." Xander heard Buffy whine from within the ex-Watcher's home.

Giles, however, didn't reply to Buffy because he was too busy staring at Xander with a stunned expression on his face.

"Hey, Giles," Xander greeted. "Long time no see."

"Who is it, Gi-- Xander!"

A redheaded tornado flew past Giles and engulfed Xander in an enormous hug. "Xander! You're back!"

"Wills," Xander hugged his oldest friend lightly. "Yep, I'm back for awhile."

Willow leaned back, her arms still around Xander's neck, and she beamed at him. "It's so good to see you! How was your trip? Did you have fun? Where did you go? Did you meet anyone interesting?"

"Still my Willowy-Willow," Xander said with a soft smile. He smoothed his hand over her red hair and watched with detachment as the longish strands began to stand on end from the static electricity.

"Xander!" Buffy exclaimed, rushing out of the house.

Xander released Willow in order to hug Buffy. "Buffster, hey."

"Hey back!" Buffy replied enthusiastically. "And I repeat everything that Willow asked."

Xander took a step back from the blond Slayer. "All in good time, my pretties."

The brunette moved past the two girls and extended his hand to Giles, who was still standing in the doorway. "Giles," he greeted again, more formally. "It really is good to see you."

Giles grasped Xander's hand. "And same to you."

Xander nodded, dropped Giles's hand and stuck his back into his trouser pockets. He looked up at the blue sky through his mirrored sunglasses, then returned his focus to Giles. "Why don't we move this reunion indoors?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, do forgive me," Giles said, somewhat flustered. He stepped out of the doorway, and Xander entered to home, with Buffy and Willow not far behind.

Xander glanced around the interior of Giles's place, noting that most everything looked about the same as over a year ago. The brunette had spent several hours carting boxes of books from the high school library to the ex-Watcher's during the last-minute graduation preparations.

"Um, Xander," Willow said as she went over to the blond girl Xander had seen his old friend with earlier. "I'd like you to meet Tara. My- my girlfriend."

Xander clicked his heels together and gave Tara a stiff bow. "Tara, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. Any girlfriend of Willow's is a girlfriend of mine." He grinned rakishly. "Oh, I like the sound of that."

Tara blushed and ducked her head. "It-it-it's nice to m-meet you."

The brunette turned to the other stranger in the room and, from behind his sunglasses, looked the man up and down with an exaggerated head movement. "You're Riley," Xander said.

Riley looked surprised, as did the others. "Uh, yeah. How did you know?"

Xander smirked. "A little Angel told me."

"You saw Angel?" Buffy asked with small hitch of surprise in her voice.

"On the way here," Xander replied. He moved to perch on the arm of the couch and crossed his ankle over his knee. "He says 'hi.'"

No one said anything for a minute, during which time Xander studied each of the people in the living room with a quick, cataloging efficiency.

Giles: still the father figure, looked a bit lonely, much more fit than he remembered.

Buffy: looked content, even though the angst-king was mentioned; too skinny.

Riley: just like Angel had described -- big dumb jock.

Tara: shy, kind, totally in love with Willow, radiates power.

Willow: not-so-shy anymore, still soft-hearted, radiates even more power.

Xander glanced out the side window after his assessment and frowned. The thunderstorm was going to arrive sooner than he'd have liked.

"So, folks, I guess you want to hear On The Open Road with Xander Harris," Xander said, breaking the silence. "I don't have enough time to go into the travel guide version because of the storm coming, but I can give you a blurb or three."

"Storm?" Giles queried, looking out the window into the sunny, clear day. "It doesn't look like rain."

"Trust me, it's gonna pour," Xander said with an odd-smile. He clapped his hands on his leg and turned to Willow. "Well, ladies, which would you like to hear about first: my nights as a disco stripper or the prank on Angel that involved superglue and his hair?"

Riley snorted, and Xander pointed at him. "I know which you'd prefer."

"Xander, did you say 'disco stripper'?" Willow said. "Like... like taking your clothes off to disco music?"

Xander nodded. "Don't forget the 'for money' part. That was the number one rule at The Fabulous Ladies Night Club in beautiful Oxnard, C-A."

"Why disco?" Giles said, then shook his head, not believing that he'd just asked that.

"Disco: it's not for wimps," Xander replied in an announcer's voice. Then, he shrugged. "The customer's pick the music, not me. If I had a choice, it wouldn't be Donna Summer or Gloria Gaynor."

"When did this happen?" Buffy asked.

"Last year, soon after I started my jolly holiday," Xander said. "My car broke down in Oxnard, and there I stayed until... I left. I glued Angel's hair two days ago."

A soft chirping sounded in Giles's living room, and everyone looked questioningly at Xander. The brunette pulled a small, flat cellphone out of the front pocket of his blue shirt, opened it and put it to his ear.

"Storm's coming," Xander said into the receiver in lieu of a greeting.

"Bugger," came the soft swear over the line. "How long?"

"Another ten minutes, give or take."

"Again with a 'bugger.'"

Xander chuckled. "Just find me a spot, old man. I'm leaving Giles's soon."

"Right."

The brunette shut the phone with a snap, stuck it back in his pocket, and gave an apologetic smile to the others. "Sorry about that."

"You're leaving? Already?" Willow said.

"Here, yes. Town, not yet," Xander said, allaying her fears. He stood and pushed at the nosepiece on the sunglasses he wore, even though they never moved.

"But you just got here," Willow persisted. "And... and I want to hear about your adventures."

"Sorry, Wills, you'll have to take a...," one side of Xander's mouth quirked sardonically, "...rain check on the stories."

Xander started out the door. "I'll call. Once the storm's over and we're settled in, we'll do lunch or something, okay?"

Xander pulled the door shut behind him and glanced up at the sky, which was no longer clear. He rapidly made his way through the courtyard and out to the street. He knew he'd been rude to his friends, but he had a saying for when a thunderstorm was brewing.

Better rude than dead.

4 The Perfect Spot

Xander walked on the street towards the outskirts of town. He heard the distinctive rumble of a Honda Superhawk coming from behind him. He stopped walking and looked up at the sky. Dark, thick clouds had gathered, blocking out even the tiniest ray of sunlight.

The Hawk stopped just long enough for him to climb on the street bike. He wrapped a loose arm around the driver's waist and pressed his cheek to the leather clad back. He closed his eyes and sighed as the motorcycle jumped forward, racing out of town.

You'd think I'd be used to this by now, Xander thought, automatically shifting his weight to lean into a sharp curve. Depression slid over him, along with resignation. He couldn't stop the upcoming storm, he could only deal with it the best way he knew how.

The bike came to a stop, and Xander lifted his head to look around. The area was flat and desolate. Empty. At one point it was probably the sight of a home, or possibly a store. Now, it was a track of hard dirt, strewn with rocks, broken bottles and other trash. No other buildings or homes were within view.

It was perfect.

But, Xander knew it would be.

The brunette climbed off the Hawk after the motor was shut down. Others would say that, without the purr of the motorcycle's engine, the area was silent. But, to Xander, the area was screamingly loud. The electricity gathering in the air crackled. The hot gusts of wind that had whipped the storm together whistled past his ears. The rumble of thunder from high in the sky sounded like the pounding of tribal drums.

"This one came up too bloody fast."

Xander turned to the peroxide blond straddling the bike. "You say that every time, Spike."

"Well, it's true," Spike raised his sunglasses-covered eyes to the dark sky, "I haven't even had a chance to stash our gear."

"Better do that." Xander took the cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to Spike, then he pulled both his shirts over his head.

"How long?" Spike accepted the shirts and shoved them in the bag at his side. He adjusted the strap of the leather satchel more comfortably across his chest.

Xander looked up at the sky. "A couple of hours," he rubbed the large, black thundercloud tattoo on center of his chest, "maybe more."

"Right." Spike started the bike's engine.

Xander sighed, removed his sunglasses and handed them to Spike. Despite the darkness caused by the storm clouds, the young man squinted as if it were bright and sunny.

"I'll come get you after the storm," Spike said out of habit, tucking the wraparound sunglasses in his inner duster pocket.

"I know you will." Xander's tone was not one of tenderness or thankfulness. It indicated a statement of fact.

Spike nodded once, revved the engine, and rode away. Xander let his gaze wander around the area, making sure he was truly alone. When he was satisfied no one else was there, he lay down on the hard, dirt-packed ground and shut his eyes.

Thirty seconds later, the first bit of lightning cracked the sky, and the electric bolt raced to earth...

...and hit Xander in the center of his chest.

5 A New Way Of Seeing Things

Friday, October 1, 1999

The steady beep, beep, beep was starting to annoy Xander, and he threw his arm out to hit the alarm clock... only to hit air.

Xander's brows deeply furrowed as he felt around the empty space where the motel night-stand normally was located. Did he spend the night with one of the club's patrons and forget? He didn't remember drinking that heavily. He didn't remember drinking at all.

The brunette pried open his eyes and immediately closed them again against the bright whiteness. The beep, beep, beep continued to sound above his head and to his left. As he listened, more noises not associated with a motel room greeted his ears.

A hospital, Xander realized. His memories of getting struck twice by lightning came back to him with all the grace of an elephant. Wonderful, he thought, there goes my money.

Xander opened his eyes a second time and squinted as he tried to take in his surroundings. It was too damn bright.

"Well, looks who's awake," a pleasant male voice said. "Welcome back, Mr. Harris."

Xander peered through slitted eyes at a man standing at the foot of the black bed. The brunette's frown deepened even more. The man was wearing light blue sequins that shimmered and seemed to move in the light.

"I'm Nurse Pritchard," the man introduced himself.

"Uh, hey," Xander said. He forced his eyes open a little more in order to focus on Nurse Pritchard's face, only to find that Nurse Pritchard's face was covered in light blue sequins, too.

Xander blinked rapidly. The sequins didn't disappear.

In fact, they moved like little blue specks of light.

Xander closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again when he heard another voice. He let out a decidedly unmanly squeak of distress when his gaze landed on the new person.

The new person was completely composed of moving blue specks of light, too.

"Hello, Mr. Harris, I'm Dr. Gladstone," the new person said. "You have good timing. I was just making my rounds."

"Uhhhhh," Xander responded.

"How do you feel?" Dr. Gladstone asked, moving closer to Xander.

Xander swallowed and slammed his eyelids shut. "Uhhhhh..."

"Mr. Harris?" Dr. Gladstone questioned.

Xander cracked one eye open, saw the speckled-light doctor, and shut his eye again. "I think I'm going crazy."

"And why is that?" the doctor asked.

"I can't see you."

"You can't see anything?"

"No," Xander opened his eyes and looked directly at the dark figure with the moving blue bits of light, "I can't see you."

"Hmm," Dr. Gladstone moved closer, "let me take a look at your eyes."

"Knock yourself out."

"I'm going to shine this light in them. Try and continue to look straight ahead," the doctor instructed.

Xander let out a choked-off yell of pain when the small beam of light was shined in his right eye. The light was bright. It seriously hurt.

Dr. Gladstone quickly moved the light away. "Hmm."

"Is that a technical term?" Xander said sarcastically, squinting from the pain.

"Nurse Pritchard, will you call Dr. Eckwood, please," Dr. Gladstone said.

"Yes, Doctor," Nurse Pritchard said and left the room.

"Mr. Harris," Dr. Gladstone said. "Dr. Eckwood is our resident Optometrist--"

"What's wrong with my eyes?" Xander interrupted.

"Why don't we let Dr.--"

Xander reached out and grabbed the Doctor's light-speckled arm as he went to walk away. Fear and a bit of anger rolled through Xander, and he said in a tight voice, "Tell me."

The doctor slightly winced and Xander gasped in shock when little sparks erupted from where Xander had grabbed Dr. Gladstone. The brunette quickly yanked his hand away, and his sensitive eyes widened when he saw several streams of what looked like electric current run from his fingers to the doctor's sequinish-arm. Xander made a fist and the lines of light vanished abruptly.

"Isn't static electricity interesting?" Dr. Gladstone commented with good humor in his voice. "The last time I was able to see the shock I had been petting my cat goodnight, then touched the light switch when I went to turn off the light."

Xander wasn't really paying attention to what the doctor was saying. The brunette's focus was on his hand. The same little blue lights swam in a sea of black in the area that was the shape of his hand.

"I'll be back," Dr. Gladstone said.

"Holy...," Xander breathed after the doctor had left. Xander turned his hand over, staring at it in shock. He suddenly grabbed the grey cover and looked underneath. Instead of skin or a hospital gown, he saw that his entire body glowed with the small bluish lights.

The bed's footboard looked like a black footboard. The blanket looked like a grey blanket. His body looked like the night sky come to life.

Xander paused in his inspection of his body to look closer at the grey blanket. After a moment, he realized that the blanket was black with faintly glowing, tiny specks of light dusting the entire surface.

Xander's head shot up and he quickly looked around the extremely brightly lit room through squinted eyes. Everything in the room was either black or dark grey against the sharp whiteness caused by the light.

Then, Xander saw the air move.

"Aah!" Xander yanked the grey blanket over his head and closed his eyes. Then, he remembered he was a Slayerette, and what he thought was an air monster wouldn't just vanish if he held really still.

With a womanly yell, he threw the cover off of him, jumped out of the bed and raised his fists. He blinked rapidly against the brightness and tried to find the air monster.

"Mr. Harris?"

Xander yelped and spun around. The blue-lighted shape of Nurse Pritchard stood in the doorway to the hospital room. The brunette slumped in relief. "Oh, it's just you."

"Did you need something, Mr. Harris?" Nurse Pritchard asked.

"Uh... bathroom," Xander lied, thinking that was a much better answer than 'a weapon to kill an air monster that may have been a figment of my imagination.'

Nurse Pritchard nodded, walked into the room, and stuck his hand through the light grey wall. Xander's mouth dropped open when a white rectangle in the shape of a door abruptly appeared.

With a sense of dread, Xander realized that he hadn't seen the bathroom doorway until the nurse had turned on the bathroom light. It had looked like a solid, light grey wall to him.

"There you go, Mr. Harris," the nurse said. "If you need any assistance, I'll be right out here."

"Th-thanks." Xander hurried into the bathroom, fumbled for the door -- which now looked darker grey against the lighter grey walls -- and shut it. He leaned back against it, glad to be able to feel what he presumed was hard wood against his back.

"What the hell is going on?" Xander asked the air in a plaintive whisper. Everything was either black or grey or tinged with tiny bluish lights. He had been able to make out Nurse Pritchard's and Dr. Gladstone's features, but they both had looked as though a mask of sequins had been formed to their faces. He couldn't even see the flesh on his own body, or the hospital gown he could feel he was wearing.

Or could he? Xander lifted the hem of the gown and, as he pulled it away from his body, it slowly changed from the sequin-y blue of his body to a light grey color, almost the same color as the blanket from the bed. When he dropped it back into place, the grey disappeared and all he could see was the tiny moving lights that made up his body.

It dawned on him that he was seeing through the hospital gown when it was close to his body. Which explained why Nurse Pritchard and Dr. Gladstone both looked as though they were wearing sequined body paint rather than clothing.

But why was he seeing himself and others comprised of little blue lights rather than skin? And why was he suddenly color blind? And why were the lights in the hospital so damned bright?!

Xander stumbled forward to the grey object in the shape of the sink. He turned the faucet on the left, and a bright white stream poured forth from the water spigot. He cupped his hands under the white stream and was glad to feel cold water. He quickly splashed his face several times, turned off the faucet, and used the hem of his hospital gown to dry himself off.

He moved to the grey object in the shape of the toilet, lifted the seat and his gown, and started to relieve himself. His eyes grew round when he saw his piss was black.

Oh fuck, I'm dying, Xander thought fearfully. I got struck by lightning -- twice -- and now I'm in the hospital and I'm seeing funny and I'm pissing black and I still haven't had a chance to try sex with another guy...

"Mr. Harris?" Nurse Pritchard knocked at the door. "Are you all right?"

"Ye-es," Xander squeaked in reply. He finished doing his business, washed his hands again, and exited the bathroom. He went directly back to bed.

Nurse Pritchard left again, and Xander closed his sensitive eyes against the increasingly annoying brightness of the hospital room. His mind roved to the morbid side of things. He wondered what his funeral would be like, and who would go to it. He pictured his skinless body in a coffin, looking like a withered husk instead of a human being.

"Mr. Harris? I'm Dr. Eckwood. I'm here to check your eyes, if you don't mind."

Xander turned his head and squinted at his new visitor. Just like with Nurse Pritchard and Dr. Gladstone, Dr. Eckwood looked like she was wearing a full bodysuit of tiny moving sequins. Even her hair looked like strands of beads of bluish-white lights.

"Go ahead," Xander sighed. "Maybe after I'm dead, you can use them for a transplant or something."

Dr. Eckwood leaned close to Xander's face as she gently opened his left eye. Like Dr. Gladstone, she shined a light in his eye, and Xander uncontrollably cried out in pain and jerked his head away.

"Did the light hurt your eye?" Dr. Eckwood asked.

"Just a lot," Xander replied through clenched teeth.

The doctor then proceeded to check his other eye by shining the excruciatingly bright light in it, too. Xander managed to act more manly, and only grunted from the pain. She then went through a series of tests involving following her finger with his eyes, and finally she ordered more tests to be performed in the hospital's eyelab before she left the room.

By six o'clock at night, Xander had been put through the visual Olympics by Dr. Eckwood, and all he wanted to do was sleep. On the up side, he'd learned that he wasn't dying. Other than his vision, there was nothing physically wrong with him. Dr. Gladstone reiterated many times as to how lucky Xander was, not too many survived being struck by lightning.

Dr. Eckwood's diagnosis would be good news, too, if Xander had told the complete truth to the optometrist. The doctor had told him that getting struck by lightning had effected the size of his pupils, causing his extreme sensitivity to light. According to her, the brown irises surrounding his pupils were only a quarter millimeter wide, and they did not expand and contract with the light like normal, healthy irises did.

The doctor had tried to show him with a mirror what his eyes looked like, but Xander had found that he couldn't see any reflections what-so-ever in the mirror. To him, it was just a plain grey surface, like the door or the wall.

Dr. Eckwood had informed him with clinical remorse that his eyes would either heal or not, but there was no type of surgery to fix them. She had written out a prescription for special sunglasses that he could get at any optics store with a frame of his choice, and had given him a pair of old people's square-framed sunglasses with side-blockers to wear in the meantime.

Those glasses were currently residing in the trash can beside his hospital bed.

Xander had lied to Dr. Eckwood, though, and hadn't told her about his sudden color blindness or the odd way everyone looked. He knew that something hellmouthy had happened to him, even though he was in Oxnard, not Sunnydale. Throughout the tests, things kept happening that he knew were in connection with whatever had happened to him.

He shocked Dr. Eckwood every time he accidentally touched her hand or arm.

He saw what looked like lines of electricity running from his fingers to her hand or arm when he pulled his hand away after accidentally touched her.

Each machine she used to test his eyes started to lose its power after being in contact with him for more than two minutes, as if he was draining the electricity.

In the morning, Xander was being discharged from the hospital. His parents may be pricks, but they did have good insurance which included coverage on him until he turned 21. Although it would probably eat all the money he had saved to pay the co-payment, at least he wouldn't have to work emptying bedpans for the rest of his life if he'd had no insurance.

And, once he was out of the hospital, he was going to find out what the hell was really wrong with his eyes.

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