And Now For Something Completely Different

by
Sabershadowkat

6 Spike

Monday late afternoon, August 28, 2000

Spike pulled the motorcycle to a stop at the edge of the deserted lot. The rain had stopped roughly half-an-hour before, and despite how much he hadn't wanted to he'd gotten on the Hawk and returned to where he'd left Xander.

The blond turned off the motor, hit the kick-stand and climbed off the bike. He glanced warily up at the cloud-filled sky as he headed across the hard-packed lot. It looked like the sky would clear as rapidly as it had clouded up.

Spike dropped his gaze to the human lying on the ground a short distance away. As he got closer to the brunette, the scent of wet, burnt flesh graced his senses, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. No matter how many times he'd done this, he'd had yet to get used to the smell.

Spike crouched down beside Xander's prone body. He checked the younger man's pulse and growled unhappily when it beat slowly and steadily under his fingertips. Why didn't Xander die like normal human's did when struck repeatedly by lightning?, Spike thought with a pout. He knew for a fact that Xander had been struck at least fifty times -- and that was just today.

The vampire opened the saddle bag that was strapped cross-wise over his chest and took out a tangle of black straps with thick plastic hooks. As he untangled the dual jumper's harness, he absently noted that Xander's thundercloud tattoo was darker than it had been that morning. The blond vampire hooked Xander into the harness, then picked him up and carried him to the bike.

Spike deposited Xander on the seat so the boy was straddling the bike properly. With practiced expertise, Spike climbed onto the bike in front of Xander, slid the second harness over his shoulders and hooked it. He secured Xander's legs, then started up the Hawk, all without letting the unconscious human fall.

It'd be so much nicer if I could just kill Xander and be done with him, Spike thought, as he headed for where he'd set up camp. But, of course, Spike had no real desire to actually do the deed. Xander had scrambled his brain quite effectively.

Spike could remember the smug smirk on the boy's face when he'd told Spike he'd rewired the vampire's brain. Xander had said he'd cut the electrical impulses to the portion of Spike's mind that controlled his urge to kill. Xander had also "snipped" the impulses that controlled Spike's hunger and bloodlust -- all without laying a finger on the blond.

Spike had disbelieved Xander at first. It wasn't until the brunette had left Spike alone, locked in a secure room for a three weeks, that he'd learned Xander hadn't been lying.

Despite there being a fully stocked cooler of blood bags, Spike had totally forgotten to eat -- for the entire three weeks. He'd been angry with himself and with the human for managing to lock him up, and after he'd cooled off he hadn't thought about eating because he hadn't felt hungry. By the time Xander had returned, Spike's body had started to deteriorate from not feeding, and Spike hadn't even realized it had been happening.

Then, when he should have attacked and killed Xander the second he'd unlocked the door, the desire to do so had been missing. Spike'd thought about it, in an "aren't I supposed to kill you?" kind of way, but he had felt like it would have been too much effort to go through with it. He'd later learned that he could still act in self-defense, but it took an extreme amount of will-power to go on the offensive and most of the time it simply wasn't worth it.

Spike wheeled the Hawk off the street and into Estel Woods. He'd set up camp near a natural stream that ran through the forest preserve. Xander had indicated he wanted to stay in Sunnydale for a longer-than-usual layover, which meant camping out. Spike hated camping out. He always got bugs in his bedroll.

The vampire parked the bike and maneuvered Xander to the dark lean-to tent, where their gear was stashed. Spike unhooked the brunette from the harness, set it aside, then retrieved some water. He grumbled as he worked, wishing he could tell Xander to fuck off and leave the boy.

But, they had a deal. If Spike acted like a manservant to Xander, Xander would make sure Spike regularly fed and would pay for the blood. Plus, Xander bestowed upon him a few extra physical bonuses, which he would have liked much more if he still had the craving to hunt and kill. If that were the case, he'd be a vampire god.

In all, it was a pretty shitty deal, in Spike's opinion, but he didn't really have any other choice. There was no way in hell that he'd reveal to another vampire that he didn't have a desire to kill anything, or that he had to be reminded to eat. He'd been an invalid before and he'd yet to get over that little adventure.

Although, for choices of companions, Xander wasn't that bad. It could have been worse; it could have been Xander's chum, the Slayer, or Spike's soul-plagued sire. At least Xander had a dark sense of humor he could appreciate. And the younger man didn't force him to be goody-goody and help little old ladies cross the street, or rubbish like that. The only actual "requirement" Xander had was that Spike was to take care of him in the period surrounding a storm. The rest of the time was the vampire's own.

Spike returned to the lean-to, put the plastic cup of water on the ground beside Xander, and dug out a washrag from one of their packs. He dipped the rag in the cold water and gently began to wash off Xander's chest. Flecks of charred, dead skin came off the brunette's body with each swipe of the rag.

"Mmmph," Xander moaned as he returned to consciousness. "Unnngh."

Spike let the washrag lay on the younger man's chest and pulled the wraparound sunglasses from his inner pocket. He unfolded them and slid them onto Xander's nose. Then, he returned to wiping the remaining traces of the recent storm away.

"I hate this," Xander sighed in a rough voice. He opened his eyes and looked through his sunglasses at the bright, solid bluish-white form of the vampire kneeling at his side. "How long was the storm?"

"Two hours, forty-three minutes," Spike answered. "Will there be another one soon?"

Xander pushed himself into a sitting position and looked out of the dark lean-to. The sun was pushing through the clouds, and the trees cast long shadows on the ground in the late afternoon brightness. The electricity in the air was back to normal levels. "No," he told Spike. "Not today."

Spike nodded, picked up the plastic cup, and with the dirty rag in his hand he left the lean-to. He looked up at the sunny sky, squinted, pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket and slipped them on his nose. Then, he continued on to the stream.

7 The Notebook

Xander's fingers ran over the bumps on the notebook page, a frown of concentration furrowing his brow. The red notebook sitting on his lap was worn around the edges from constant use, and the cover was marred with left-handed doodles and quotes in black marker, courtesy of Spike. Each page was made of slightly thicker than normal paper and was larger in size than standard notebook paper. Looseleaf papers and printouts were crammed in the front of the notebook.

The notebook was labeled "Xander's Research."

The page of braille type was difficult for Xander to read. It had only been nine months since he took the beginner's braille class at the Oxnard Red Cross. He knew his number and letters, and he could use the hand-held type setter that was sitting on the ground beside him. But reading braille was like reading Spanish -- a subject he failed in high school.

It had been while Xander was being discharged from the hospital that he had found that he could no longer see the words on paper. They had wanted him to sign his name at the bottom of a hospital discharge form, but the page they had given him looked blank. He'd kept mum about the empty page and had played moron to ask where to sign. The orderly had pointed to the correct place and Xander had quickly scribbled his name with what he thought was an invisible ink pen.

Later, Xander had realized that he couldn't read anything written on paper. Books, newspapers, calendars, posters, everything that was flat and could be drawn or written upon looked blank.

However, he'd found he could read black letters on a lighted white background, which was why he'd been able to see during the eye doctor's tests. All the machines she'd used had utilized black on white technology. He'd been lucky that she hadn't asked him to read the chart on the wall.

The computer had rapidly become Xander's best friend. He only had to adjust the type size and background color on any site to black and white and he could read it. He'd done all of his research via the Internet. It wasn't until he decided he needed a way to take notes that he'd started to learn braille.

The notebook page Xander was reading consisted of a series of columns and numbers. The first column listed dates, the second listed the amount of time the storms lasted, and the third was the number of lightning strikes Xander felt before unconsciousness overtook him. The most recent addition read: 82100, 243, 23 -- August 21, 2000; 2 hours, 43 minutes; 23 bolts.

Xander was attempting to find a pattern, and was utterly failing. The dates, storm lengths, and number of hits varied greatly. He felt anywhere from two to fifty lightning bolts hit him in the center of his chest before he lost consciousness with every storm. The storms themselves lasted between five minutes to twenty-four hours, and the days they came had no rhyme or reason, either.

With a sigh, Xander shut the notebook, rolled it, and triple-wrapped a thick rubber band around it. He stuck it back in his weather-beaten leather satchel, then pulled a clean t-shirt from the bag and put it on. He looked over at Spike, who was crouched by the stream that ran through their camp.

It was weird seeing things without really seeing them. To Xander, Spike looked as though he'd been dipped in white paint. The trees and plants around the camp were black with concentrated areas of bluish-white lights. The ground was a blanket of light grey with a bright white slash cutting through it where the stream was.

It had taken Xander awhile, but he'd finally puzzled out why everything looked the way it did. Somehow, getting hit by lightning twice in the same exact spot had altered his vision. He no longer saw things as solid objects. Rather, he saw the sparks and strands of electricity that all living things were comprised of.

Xander knew so much about molecular biology now he'd undoubtably ace any class in the subject. Plants, animals, microscopic bacterium and the like were made up of molecules. Within those molecules were ions that created small sparks of electrical activity as they multiplied and divided. When he'd first woken up in the hospital, the little bluish-white moving lights he'd seen instead of Nurse Pritchard's skin were the nurse's molecules moving within his body. The black area was dead space.

Xander could see the shape of non-living things because of the microscopic airborne bacterium and such. They covered the non-living objects like a dusting of powder, and the shade of grey Xander saw was dependent upon how densely packed the tiny living things were in an area. The more there were in a concentrated spot, the lighter the area looked to Xander.

Therefore, the stream looked white because of the millions of super-small bacterium moving within the water. The ground was light grey because the bacterium, plant and microscopic animal life were unmoving. Spots of black or dark grey were where little to no microscopic life existed.

When Xander had first laid eyes on a vampire after his vision had changed, it had spooked him. A vampire was, for all intents and purposes, a demon inhabiting a corpse. Their bodies were not living and looked completely black to Xander, except for the brain because it was there that the demon resided.

A vampire's brain was like any other living creature's brain. Strands of electrical activity wove through the head area, and Xander had learned each strand controlled certain functions in the brain. As with humans and other animals, when a vampire was about to perform a specific activity, the area of the brain utilized flared bright white as the electricity within the ions were put to use.

When Xander had met up with Spike, he had already learned how to manipulate the strands that comprised all living things. With little effort, Xander had deadened the areas in Spike's brain which controlled the vampire's bloodlust and violent tendencies. The notebook held detailed notes on the progresses and failures of prior experiments on controlling vampires. Spike had been the first success Xander'd had in totally altering a vampire's behavior.

Xander's goal with his experiments had been to learn to help, rather than be a hindrance, when it came to slaying. It was entirely on accident that he found out that he could control any sort of electricity, which included microbiological electricity. With a small amount of concentration, he could manipulate or destroy the molecules that made up everything.

It was a scary power to have. And it seemed to grow stronger every time he was hit by lightning.

Xander closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. In his mind's eye, he pictured his body as he remembered it -- he could no longer see reflections -- and he pulled on the electricity in the air to him. He felt tingles as the ions packed tightly together and formed an impenetrable layer on his skin.

When Xander opened his eyes and looked down, his body appeared to be solid white. He knew that practically nothing could pass through the dense barrier of electrical energy that he'd created on himself, making him semi-invulnerable. It was like wearing a suit of invisible body armor, and he was protected from almost everything.

The brunette turned his gaze to Spike once again, and concentrated. Xander could see the air shift around the vampire as he manipulated the ions. With little effort, the young man pushed the electricity into Spike's body. Spike's body flared brightly for a brief moment before forming a solid white figure once again.

"Bloody hell, Xander!" Spike exclaimed as he shot to his feet. He fiercely rubbed his arms. "I hate it when you don't warn me first!"

Xander smirked. "Sorry," he said in a completely unapologetic voice.

Spike scowled at Xander as he walked over to where the brunette was sitting. The semi-invulnerable vampire plopped down on the ground beside Xander and dug into his own battered, army-issue satchel. He extracted a pack of cigarettes, popped one into his mouth and lit up.

"So, what's the plan?" Spike asked, cigarette dangling from his lips.

"I'm going to head into town, find some eats, then either take a ride or hang at the Bronze for awhile," Xander replied. "Want I should drop you somewhere?"

"Willy's, I guess," Spike said with a shrug.

Xander stood and headed for the Honda Superhawk. The bike was his baby, a gift to himself that was both long-wished for and practical. Because of his strange sight, he couldn't read the speedometer or other panel warnings on an automobile. With the motorcycle, he could tell how fast he was going by sound and feel.

He'd been taught to ride by one of his co-strippers at the Fabulous Ladies Night Club and, in payment, he'd given his first of several blowjobs to his teacher. Xander had enjoyed every lesson... and learning to ride the Hawk, too.

Xander straddled the bike and fired her up. The purr of the engine cut through Estel Woods, drowning out the sounds of nature. Spike climbed onto the Hawk behind Xander, and the brunette relaxed at the familiar feel of the vampire's body pressed snugly against him.

To Xander, there was nothing more comforting than the feeling of control over both the powerful bike and the powerful vampire seated behind him.

8 Willy's Alibi Bar

The sun had sunk past the horizon when Xander had pulled the bike to a stop outside of Willy's Alibi Bar. Xander let the motor idle as Spike climbed off.

"Don't kill anyone," Xander told the vampire with a smirk.

"Very funny, mate," Spike grumbled. From the inner pocket of his coat, he removed the cell phone he'd taken from Xander earlier and handed it to the young man.

"Thanks." Xander tucked the phone away, then revved the engine. "Laters."

Spike nodded once in goodbye and waited until Xander rode off before heading into the bar. He was glad to finally take off his sunglasses. Although he enjoyed being able to go out during the day, after a century plus spent in the dark his eyes were a tad sensitive to sunlight. They weren't as sensitive as Xander's eyes, but the boy was special.

The vampire felt a gust of cool air as he entered Willy's, but no goosebumps appeared on Spike's skin. One of the perks of being undead was that temperature didn't effect him. And even if he could feel temperature differences before, he wouldn't now since Xander had gifted him with an almost impenetrable layer of energy that worked like a shield. Sunlight, temperature, holy water, pointy objects, skidding for long distances across the pavement; none of them effected him in any way. Spike only had to avoid fire, tornados and Xander during a storm.

Xander was the same way, although the kid was like a walking lightning rod. Spike figured that Xander might die if his neck was snapped, but on the whole he seemed to be invulnerable.

The Alibi was dark and smokey. The clink of glasses and beer bottles blended with the knocking together of billiard balls and the hum of voices. Low bass-lined music thrummed in the background. It was pretty crowded despite the sun having just gone down, and Spike had a feeling the crowd would grow as the night wore on.

"Spike," Willy said in surprise as the vampire sidled up to the bar. "Long time no see."

"Willy," Spike greeted in a non-committal tone. "How's things?"

"Jumping, now that Adam's dead and the S-l-a-y-e-r is back in college," Willy replied. "She tends to stay on campus or buzz by the Bronze. Rarely comes in to pay a visit."

Spike shrugged. "I've got nothing against the chit. Give me a tall one."

"So, what're you doing back in town?" Willy asked, taking a beer from under the counter and setting it in front of Spike. "Last I heard, someone matching your description was tearing a hole under Sunnydale, looking for the Gem of Amarra."

Spike's scarred brow went up. "The Gem of Amarra? I thought that was a myth."

"No clue." Willy filled another order and pushed the glasses across the bar to a waiting troll. "Things just suddenly went real quiet in that area. I figure Little Miss Stake-Happy got to whoever was looking."

"Huh." Spike took a pull on his beer and glanced around at the patrons in the bar. He recognized a few faces, but no one that would pose a threat. Not that he had to worry much about injury.

"Anyway, you just stopping by or you planning on staying awhile?" Willy asked as he wiped up a spill on the bar.

"Don't know," Spike shrugged, eyeing a tall, androgynous brunette who was coyly returning the vampire's gaze, "Xander's the one in charge, not me. 'Scuse me, mate."

If Spike had actually been paying attention to what he was saying rather than to the lithe beauty he was crossing towards, he would have noticed Willy's eyes bug at Spike's offhand comment about Xander.

9 Maturity

The Bronze was teeming with bodies writhing to the pulsing music that blared from the large speakers set up on stage. Fast and hard, the alternative song pumped up the dancers on the dance floor. Young men and women moved together in an orgy of limbs.

"Killians," Xander ordered, not sparing a second glance at the bartender behind the bar at the back of the club. The dark-haired man pulled his sunglasses down to gauge the lighting. He was relieved to find that it was dark enough that he could see without too much irritation. Having eyes with pupils that didn't adjust to brightness was a real pain at times.

Xander hooked his sunglasses onto the front of his t-shirt and grabbed the beer the bartender had placed beside him. Xander tossed a few crumpled bills on the bar's dark surface to pay for his drink, then took a long pull. He was no longer carded, despite being under the legal drinking age, which was a great plus in his messed-up life.

Maturity. Originally defined as physical growth by psychologists, the unenlightened used the term to represent mental growth, or "acting ones age." People used the word as a derogatory expression when others were goofing off. Others used it as a compliment towards a younger person.

Back in high school, Xander had been considered a runner-up in the class clown category. He always had a joke or was pulling a prank. Cordelia had reveled in loudly announcing that his maturity level was equal to that of his shoe size.

Yesterday, Cordelia had wondered where that immature doof disappeared to.

Xander knew he had matured mentally beyond his twenty years. Living on his own for over a year had matured him. Working in a strip club surrounded by beautiful people every night -- and forcing himself not to try and score -- had matured him. Working as a stripper and not taking up the offers from the customers... had been pretty stupid, but a sign of maturity.

Finally, Xander's crazy accident that had turned him into a superhero, of sorts, had been a definitive turn in his maturity level. He had to relearn how to live with his altered sight. He had to research into what had happened to him and if there was a possible cure. He had to train himself not to electrocute people when he touched them. He had to decide how to use his newfound abilities without going over that shaky line between good and bad. He didn't want to become another Cain.

Roaming around the country with Spike, though, had led to some very immature activities. While the blond vampire was exceptionally intelligent, a good conversationalist when he wanted to be, and had a wonderfully macabre sense of humor, he was far from the most mature individual around. Putting glue in Angel's hairgel had been a tame idea compared to what Xander had said no to.

Xander nursed his beer and let his gaze slowly travel around the Bronze. The ride he'd taken on the Hawk had cleared his mind somewhat, but the electricity from the storm was still buzzing under his skin and making him tense.

And when he was tense, he hunted.

In Xander's eyes, the Bronze was a myriad of black and white. An amused smile pulled at his lips as several girls passed him by. Their rampaging hormones had caused their breasts to look literally like high-beam headlights. The men-folk weren't any less bizarre. Three-fourths of them looked as though they had glowsticks attached to their crotches.

Xander ignored the bright splotches caused by horniness and instead concentrated on the rest of the patrons' bodies. A normal human would be comprised of tiny, moving sequinish blue lights. A vampire would have strands of those same lights in their head and nowhere else. Other types of demons would have a higher density to their molecular structure, which made them appear a more solid white to Xander.

The brunette spotted his first quarry -- a vampire -- standing near the hallway to the restrooms. The tall, bulky male sported a black rod that was trying desperately to reach the white light between the girl's legs.

Xander checked his pockets for a stake. When he didn't find one, he mentally shrugged and proceeded towards the vampire anyway. Some wooden object would turn up when he needed it.

Xander purposely rubbed himself against the large vampire as he walked past. He paused and looked up at the tall male with a slight lift to one corner of his mouth. The vampire stared down at him with annoyance.

"Oh, excuse me," Xander purred, a talent that he'd learned from Spike. By slightly lowering the voice and speaking slower, a spell of seduction was woven around an intended victim with a few simple words. Xander's success rate in attracting his prey was phenomenal when he spoke in this manner.

"No problem," the vampire grunted.

Xander winked, then sauntered into the hallway that led to the restrooms. Halfway down, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the vampire watching him. The brunette sent the other man a come-hither smile, then continued on out the back door of the Bronze.

The back alley was trash-strewn, smelly, but people-free. He saw a few piles of ashes scattered about and smirked. Buffy had been at work recently, he thought as he leaned against the wall and effected a casual pose. Xander knew he couldn't stay at the Bronze long if he didn't want to run into his friends.

The door to the alley opened and, on cue, the vampire stepped outside. Xander tilted the beer bottle to his lips and took a long drink. He could feel the other male's eyes focused on his neck as his Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow. Vampires were so predictable.

Xander lowered the bottle and looked over at the vampire. "Hey."

"Hey," the vampire returned. He walked over to Xander and right into the brunette's personal space. "You wanted something?"

Xander raised his eerily dark eyes and grinned evilly. "Yeah. You, dust."

With that, Xander mentally reached inside the vampire's brain and literally shut off the lights.

The vampire fell bonelessly to the ground, never to move again. The demon was completely destroyed, it's entire life-force snuffed out by Xander.

Xander broke off a slat from a crate with a well-placed kick, then staked the vampire with the shard of wood. The body became just another pile of dust in the alley.

The brunette tucked the make-shift stake into his pocket, took a pull on his beer, and headed back into the Bronze.

The hunt continued.

10 Stopping Over

August 15, 2000

"So, are you going to help him?"

Xander looked at Spike with a surprised arch to his dark brow. "Do you want me to?"

Spike shrugged as if he didn't care, but his expression was tense.

Xander returned his attention to the vicious fight taking place a hundred feet from where he and Spike were standing. The brunette could see the dark shape of a vampire battling a checkerboard-like black and white demon. Angel versus a Peti, according to Spike. And Angel was getting thoroughly trounced.

They had stumbled onto the fight accidentally. At first, Spike had been all for watching Angel getting his ass kicked. But as the fight became more brutal, Spike had grown still and silent.

Xander winced at a particularly hard hit, and decided enough was enough. Reaching out with his mind, he drained most of the molecular electricity from the demon. He could have killed the Peti outright, but then Angel would have been suspicious and Xander didn't want a confrontation in an alley.

Spike and Xander watched as Angel finished off the Peti, then limped away. Xander heard Spike let out a quick breath -- almost like a sigh of relief -- and again the brunette arched a surprised brow.

But instead of quizzing Spike on his apparent worry for Angel, Xander said, "Follow him. I'll get the Hawk and wait for you to call."

"Right." Spike immediately started after Angel, stepping over the dead demon without a second glance at it.

Xander shook his head, wondering what the hell was going on in his companion's brain. Neither of them had a real fondness for the dark-haired, ensouled vampire. Perhaps he'd cut one too many wires in Spike's head.

The brunette headed back to where they'd left the motorcycle. He quickly checked over their gear, making sure the two satchels, two thin bedrolls, and small lean-to case were still tied to the back of the bike. Spike had the messenger bag containing the first aid kit, a few weapons, and storm paraphernalia with him.

Xander slid his sunglasses on his nose, leaned against the bike, closed his eyes, and waited. It hadn't been planned that they would look up Angel on their way through Los Angeles, but Xander wasn't against the idea. He and Spike had been on the road for four days, and the break would be a relief to his saddle-sore behind.

They wouldn't stay long, however. Xander avoided stopping over in large cities for lengthy periods of time. In fact, he didn't like stopping in any one place for more than a week.

Because when he did he tended to cause mass power-outages.

Normally, he and Spike would rent a cheap motel room for a day or two before moving on. Spike grumbled a lot about sharing a room with Xander because, after about four hours, the television and clock-radio would cease to work. After Xander was in the room for ten continuous hours, the lights would go out.

That was one of reasons Xander liked camping outside. He didn't have to worry about draining nature's electricity. He did find, though, that as long as he didn't continuously occupy a room, his effects on the electrical power were reduced. On the down side, he'd also found that the length of continual time was shortening with every storm he suffered through.

Besides, Spike snored. Or, at least, that's what it sounded like. And sharing a lumpy double bed with the blond in a motel room was not Xander's idea of a good time. Unless, of course, said blond was on his hands and knees with his naked ass in the air.

The corner of Xander's mouth twitched at the image painted behind his closed eyes. It wasn't difficult to picture Spike in the buff. He'd seen the vampire sans clothing many times over the months they'd traveled together. Hell, he'd caught Spike spankin' the monkey on a couple of occasions. What vision-altered, quasi-normal, twenty-year old bisexual male wouldn't be attracted to Spike's lean, hard body?

Not that Xander actually wanted to do anything with Spike. It could ruin the relationship they currently had, and Xander definitely didn't want that to happen. The first few months after his accident had been unbelievably lonely, and he was never one to like being completely by himself.

When he'd stumbled upon Spike munching on someone in an alley, Xander hadn't hesitated in his decision to acquire the vampire as his aide-de-camp. Spike was someone who knew about the Slayer and Slayerettes, could handle the strangeness that had become Xander's life, and could take care of himself.

It was as if fate was lending a helping hand when Xander tweaked Spike's brain. All of Xander's previous experiments in altering vampire behavior had ended up as piles of dust. Spike, however, turned out just as Xander had wanted -- an Angel without the whole brooding, "I-may-kill-you-if-I-get-laid" thing.

The cell phone in Xander's pocket trilled. He answered it with his usual weather report, "No storm."

"Good," Spike said over the line. "I'm at Eighth and Palomino."

"On my way."

The ride to Eighth and Palomino was a short one. Xander pulled the bike to the curb, shut off the engine, and joined Spike on the sidewalk. The blond vampire flicked his cigarette bud away and gestured towards the building.

"In front of us are the beautiful offices of Angel Investigations," Spike said in a mocking tour-guide tone of voice. "Inside, you will find a vampire who wants to change his name to Bruce, but lacks the knackers to do it."

Xander rolled his eyes and went back to studying the building. It wasn't much of anything, really. Just another average building in a large city, with the words "Angel Investigations" stenciled on the window beside the door.

"Well, shall we?" Xander said.

"Let me go in first, pet." Spike rubbed his hands together, a mischievous smile curving his lips. "Count to thirty or so, then follow, eh?"

Xander groaned. "What are you going to do? And should I alert the medics now or wait?"

"You'll see." Spike winked at the brunette, then dashed into the building.

Xander sighed. "I hate it when he says that."

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