And Now For Something Completely Different

by
Sabershadowkat

11 Visitors

August 15, 2000

Angel limped into the office of Angel Investigations and gave his two coworkers a pained look. "Next time I go after a Peti by myself, kill me first and save it the trouble."

"That bad, huh?" Cordelia said as she stood and headed to the filing cabinet, where the first aid kit was located.

The new office of Angel Investigations -- new, thanks to Vocah destroying the old office -- was located in a semi-decrepit neighborhood on the outskirts of Central L.A. Set up similarly to the old location, Angel Investigations had an outer office/reception area, an inner office, and a break room/conference room. The building sported a parking garage with side-door access directly to it from the inner office.

Angel had wisely chosen to make his home at another location.

"That bad," Angel replied to Cordelia. He handed Wesley his bloodied weapon. "I thought I was a goner until the Peti suddenly seemed to tire."

"Well, next time, rest assured, you shall have backup," Wesley stated.

"Thanks, Wes," Angel said as he accepted the first aid kit from Cordelia.

"Are you going to be okay?" Cordelia asked with concern.

"As long as there's no excitement in the next twenty-four hours, I'll be fine," Angel replied.

"DAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDYYYYYYYYY!!!"

Angel dropped the first aid kit at the high-pitched scream. He whirled towards the office door just as it was slammed open. A peroxide-blond whirlwind flew into the room, jumped into Angel's arms, and pressed his face into Angel's neck.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy," Spike babbled. "Save me!"

Angel had instantly wrapped his arms around the body that had latched onto him, and he winced when he felt his broken ribs shift. "Spike?"

Knowing his Sire was hurt, Spike adjusted himself so his weight was resting on Angel's hips only. With his hands clasped behind Angel's neck, the blond leaned back slightly and looked at Angel with as wide and scared-like eyes as he could manage. "Save me, Daddy! Please! Don't let him get me!"

"Who?" Angel's face reflected utter confusion and a hint of fear. "What's wrong?"

"Hello, Angel."

"YEEP!" Spike squeaked and put his feet on the ground. He slid to Angel's side, partially buried his face in Angel's shoulder and peered at Xander, who was standing in the open doorway of the office.

"Don't let him get me," Spike whispered in his best scaredy-cat imitation.

"Xander?" Cordelia gaped. "Is that you?"

"Hey, Cordelia." Xander slid his sunglasses-covered gaze to Wesley, and his brows raised in surprise. "And Wesley?"

"All right, what's going on?" Angel demanded to know.

"He's a bad, bad man," Spike said, pointing at Xander. "Very bad."

A sly smile spread across Xander's face as he ventured further into the office. He concentrated on the air behind Spike and a tiny lightning bolt formed.

"Aah!" Spike jumped as he was struck in the ass by a stinging bolt. He rubbed his behind and glared at Xander. "Bastard."

Xander chuckled without humor. "I wish."

Spike scowled and moved away from Angel. He flopped down on a chair, pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Angel, Cordelia and Wesley looked back and forth between the two visitors.

Xander lowered his glasses slightly, winced and pushed them back into place. The office was too bright for his super-sensitive eyes. His actions went unnoticed by everyone but Spike. The blond vampire abruptly stood, walked over to the wall and shut off the overhead lights.

"Hey!" Cordelia exclaimed.

The shaggy-haired young man shot Spike a grateful nod, then removed his sunglasses. "Do you guys mind if we keep the overhead lights off? I got sand in my eyes earlier today and had to go to the doctor," Xander lied. "He put some of those drops in my eyes and now they're really sensitive."

"Uh, sure," Angel agreed. "Now, who's going to explain what's going on before I start to get angry?"

"And you don't want to see Angel get angry," Cordelia warned. "It's not pretty."

Spike snorted and Xander cuffed the blond across the back of the head as he passed. Wesley suddenly gasped and a cross appeared in his hand, almost as if by magic. "Xander's a vampire!"

"No, he's not," Angel contradicted, folding his arms across his chest. "He's alive, but he's seconds away from becoming dead."

"Angel, you sound right pissy," Spike said in surprise as he retook his seat. "What's up your craw?"

"Gee, I don't know, Spike," Angel replied sarcastically. "You come flying in here, screaming 'Daddy' like God Himself is chasing you, and it's Xander who appears in the doorway. Now, I might be a lapsed Catholic by a couple of centuries, but I do remember that God does not look like Xander Harris."

"Technically, Angel, God can appear in whatever form He wish-"

"Shut up, Wesley," Angel interrupted with a growl.

"Sorry. I was only trying to be of assistance-"

"Wesley, Angel said to shut up," Cordelia said. "So do it."

Xander raised his hands and formed a 'T.' "Time out, guys. We didn't come here to get into a fight. We just wanted to say 'hi' on our way through town. So, hi. Now, let's go, Spike."

"Right." Spike stood again and followed Xander towards the open office door.

"Wait," Angel said, his conscious gaining the upper hand over his irritation. He dropped his defensive stance and took a step forward. "You just got here. Why don't we have some of Cordelia's bad coffee and, um, converse?"

"I don't make bad coffee," Cordelia said.

Xander stopped in the doorway, turned and looked back at Angel. "Bad coffee and conversing? I don't know. Spike, are you up for bad coffee and conversing?"

"I don't make bad coffee!" Cordelia repeated.

"I'd rather have good coffee and silence," Spike shrugged, "but whatever. I'll stay."

"Okay, you got yourself a deal, Angel," Xander said. "Bad coffee and conversing it is."

Cordelia suddenly exploded, "I do NOT make bad coffee!!"

"You're right, Cordelia, you don't make bad coffee," Angel said, shaking his head in opposite of what he was saying. Wesley hid a chuckle behind his hand. "I stand corrected."

Cordelia stuck her nose in the air and walked into the break room. Angel glanced at Wesley, then looked at Xander and Spike again. "She makes horrible coffee."

"I heard that!"

12 An Enthralling Surprise

August 15, 2000

What surprised Xander the most wasn't the crossbow aimed at him by Cordelia, nor was it turning to find Wesley standing behind him holding a battle axe. It also wasn't Angel suddenly grabbing Spike, slamming him down over the small kitchen table and pressing a stake hard against his back, all of which happened within seconds of Spike and Xander crossing the threshold to the tiny break room.

No, it was what Spike exclaimed that had Xander's brows touching his hairline and wondering if he'd snipped one-too-many wires in the bleached vampire's head.

"Angel, what the bloody hell are you doing?! You're hurting yourself!"

The break room was minuscule. A four-person folding table and chairs sat in the center of the ugly green linoleum flooring. A single sink and cabinet set, a water cooler, and a mini-refrigerator lined one wall. The overhead lights were shut off, leaving the only source of light to be the under-cabinet strip that was perfect for Xander's overly sensitive eyes.

To Cordelia's credit, she never shifted her gaze from Xander and her hold on the crossbow never wavered at Spike's completely unexpected response. She was standing in front of the sink and across from the door, her perfectly manicured fingers keeping the projectile weapon level with Xander's chest. Xander was suitably impressed, but then he remembered that Cordelia had always been one of the toughest of the old gang of Slayer helpers. Most definitely tougher than he'd been.

Behind him, Wesley also seemed to be in control, which was at odds with how Xander remembered him. The way the bespectacled man held himself and his weapon du jour screamed confidence. The bumbling fool was not evident as far as Xander could metaphorically see.

Angel, though, reacted to Spike's exclamation of concern in a manner that caused Xander to choke back a snort of laughter. The expression on the older vampire's black-to-Xander-face was one Xander had never seen before -- complete befuddlement. Angel looked like a parent trying to understand the instructions to an 'easy-to-assemble' toy.

"I... I'm not hurt," Angel lied, although his grip on Spike had loosened.

"I saw you get a right good kickin, you dumb toff, and I can smell the blood," Spike said. "Stop being a soddin' martyr and let go so you can get patched up."

Xander would give anything to be able to look inside Spike's head again to see what the hell was going on with his companion. However, since imbuing the blond's epidermis -- biological terminology used in a sentence! Willow would be proud of him -- with electricity pulled from the air, to him Spike appeared to be a solid bright white figure.

However, since Xander couldn't see anything, he surmised that he'd reduced Spike's hostility a little too much. Spike was supposed to dislike Angel as much as Xander did, maybe more. But from the way the blond had been acting since they'd spotted Angel fighting that demon...

Angel released Spike and stepped back. He gestured to Cordelia, who lowered the crossbow. Spike straightened, adjusted his duster, and frowned at the dark-haired vampire. "What'd you do that for anyway?" he asked sulkily.

"To let you know not to try anything funny," Angel said in a hard voice. The stake disappeared back up his sleeve and he winced.

Spike yanked out a chair and pointed to it. "Sit. I know I saw a first aid kit earlier."

"He dropped it when you threw yourself at him like a scared little brat," Cordelia informed him.

"Here it is," Wesley said, scooting around Xander holding a first aid kit in place of the axe. Xander was impressed. He hadn't even heard the man move to retrieve the kit until he spoke.

"Since when did you become Florence Nightingale?" Angel asked Spike when the blond vampire snatched the kit from Wesley and began rooting through it. The older vampire sat warily on the edge of the pulled out chair.

"Since plonks like you are always getting their bollocks trounced," Spike answered. "Shirt off."

Angel gave Spike a skeptical look. "You've got to be kidding."

"Just do it, Angel," Xander finally spoke up. "Spike's a real pain in the ass when he doesn't get his way. Then again, he's a pain in the ass all the time, so I guess it's not that big of a deal."

"Lick my hole, wanker," Spike scowled.

"Okay, first, eew," Cordelia said with a disgusted look. "That's probably the grossest thing I've heard in a while."

"How about 'suck my curlies'?" Spike asked with an evil grin.

"I stand corrected," Cordelia responded dryly. She turned her gaze to Xander. "And secondly, why the heck are you with this foul-mouthed asshole?"

Xander's lips twitched as he suppressed a smile.

"I trust Angel when he says you're not a vampire," Cordelia went on. "But that doesn't explain this," she gestured between him and Spike, "bizarreness."

"Spike won't hurt you, if that's what you're wondering," Xander said.

"Really, and why is that?" Cordelia said. "Did he suddenly develop a case of soul-itis?"

"Are you going to take your shirt off, or am I gonna rip it off for you?" Spike said to Angel with an impatient pluck at his sire's shoulder.

"No, he definitely doesn't have a soul," Xander replied with a smirk. "I'd probably stake him if he was all gloom and doom."

"I believe Cordelia is wondering, as I myself am wondering, why you and Spike are together," Wesley said.

"Count me in on that wondering," Angel said, smacking Spike's hands away from the buttons on his shirt.

"That's easy, Spike is--" Xander cut himself off when he realized he was about to say something he hadn't wanted known. "Uh... Spike is..."

"Spike is standing right here," Spike said, smacking Angel's hands away in turn and deftly working the buttons on his sire's shirt. "And Spike managed to get himself enthralled to the boy."

"Enthralled?" Cordelia and Wesley said simultaneously.

"Are you serious?" Angel asked, studying Spike.

"Happens to the best of us, precious," Spike lied. He pushed Angel's shirt off his shoulders and frowned at the mottled bruises and cuts and the broken ribs poking through the pale flesh. "You don't go halfway when you get your arse kicked, do you?"

"So Xander controls you?" Wesley inquired, although he continued looking at Xander.

Xander shrugged, but kept a small smile on his face. He had no clue what "enthralled" meant, which meant he'd have to follow Spike's lead. Oh joy.

"Enough that I'm not going to make a late night snack out of any of you," Spike answered as he removed the peroxide and a cloth from the first aid kit. "Xander has this despicable desire to keep humans intact and I'm only allowed to defend myself against them."

Spike dumped a bunch of peroxide on the cloth, set the bottle down, and bent over Angel. "I don't know how you do it, mate," he commented as he swiped the cloth over his sire's chest, earning a hiss from Angel. "Cold animal blood bites."

"The microwave was a wonderful invention," Angel ground out between clenched teeth.

"I'm impressed, Xander," Wesley said. "However did you manage to enthrall him? I was under the impression that you weren't versed in the black arts."

"Accident," Xander replied simply.

"Wait, I don't understand." Cordelia folded her arms and leaned back against the sink. "Explain, please."

"Please? Cordy, I didn't know you knew that word," Xander mocked with a playful smile. Cordelia scowled at him.

"Enthrall is a basic spell for a high-level magick user," Wesley explained. "The spell causes the chosen one to be under the caster's control. The spell is usually cast by a magick user wanting a slave to do the tedious chores of day-to-day living or other tasks. Some are enthralled only to be used as bodyguards. The higher the level of the caster, the more victims he or she can have enthralled at one time."

"The mechanics don't matter," Spike said, dropping his bloody cloth on the scarred surface of the table. He removed a wrap bandage from the first aid kit. "I'm the entrallee, he's the effin' enthraller, and this is gonna hurt like a bitch."

With the tacked on warning, Spike none-too-gently pushed Angel's ribs back into his body and quickly wrapped the bandage around the dark-haired vampire's middle. Angel grunted in pain, but made no other sound as Spike finished taping him up.

"There you go, luv, all better." Spike lightly patted the white bandage and straightened.

"Uh, thanks," Angel said, pulling his shirt back over his shoulders with a grimace. Spike nodded and began to put the first aid things away.

Silence prevailed in the break room, punctuated only by the click of the lock on the first aid kit. Xander shifted uncomfortably, his eerily black eyes going from person to person in the room. Was this how it was going to be when they got to Sunnydale? Questions and lies and not fun quietness?

"Well, I guess we should take off," Xander began, automatically taking out his sunglasses and slipping them on his nose. Once they were in place, he felt ten-times better, like the dark lenses were a protective barrier between him and the world. "It's been a thrill..."

"No, wait, coffee," Angel said quickly. "You haven't had any coffee."

"I'm surprised you want to poison them by offering my coffee," Cordelia said caustically.

Angel looked embarrassed, and Spike chuckled. The blond glanced over at Xander. "What do you say, Xander? Do we sit a spell?"

Xander heard the almost inaudible note of hopefulness in Spike's voice. He would seriously have to grill his companion once they were alone. But for now... "We'll stay. I want to taste this lethal concoction of Cordelia's. See if it lives up to its reputation."

13 Learning Something New About Old Friends

August 15, 2000

With a final odd look at Spike, Xander pulled away from the curb and headed for Cordelia's apartment. The Hawk's engine purred its familiar tune and the vibration of the powerful engine between Xander's thighs was comforting, as he made his way through the late night traffic at a fast clip.

The arms clutching his waist, however, weren't the ones he was used to feeling. Spike had a tendency to hook his thumbs through the belt loops on Xander's trousers. The fingers wrapped tightly in the material of his shirt also had a much nicer manicure.

"Left up here," Cordelia instructed loudly.

Xander nodded to let her know he heard her and checked over his shoulder. Despite the hour, there was a vast number of cars on the street, heading from work to home, or party to party, all at an impatiently rapid pace.

Xander loved driving at night, but not in the city. The high number of bright headlights were quite irritating, as if cars came equipped with twin lasers specifically designed to hurt his sensitive eyes. Normally when he and Spike reach a city he let the blond take control of the bike.

Xander arrived at a clean, well-kept apartment complex and parked the Hawk. He surreptitiously eyed the wind-blown brunette as she straightened her clothing after climbing off the motorcycle.

Even with her hair sticking in several directions, Cordelia Chase was still a fine specimen of femininity, Xander thought. The rush of blood southward indicated his body agreed with him.

"Are you going to sit there all night or what?" Cordelia said in a tone of voice that Xander, just then, realized he'd missed.

Xander smiled at her, climbed off the Hawk, retrieved the gear tied to the back of the bike, and followed her out of the parking lot.

"I'd better warn you that I have a roommate. His name is Dennis," Cordelia began as she opened the door to her apartment.

Xander followed her inside and came to an abrupt stop when he saw a bright white figure standing just inside the door. He was instantly on alert. There were only two beings he knew of that looked completely white -- himself and Spike.

"And this must be him," Xander said, offering his hand for a handshake. He wanted to touch the other man to see if that would help identify what he was. "Hello, Dennis. I'm Xander."

Both Cordelia and Dennis stared at him in shock. Xander dropped his hand and looked back and forth between the two of them, then glanced over his shoulder. "What? Is there a monster standing behind me?"

"You can see Dennis?" Cordelia squeaked.

"Uh, yeah, it's pretty easy, considering he's standing right there," Xander replied, gesturing towards Dennis.

"Xander, Dennis is a ghost," Cordelia said. "He's invisible."

Xander frowned at her, then at Dennis. He pulled his sunglasses slightly down and squinted at the figure standing in Cordelia's entryway. Oh hell, he thought, noticing the haziness where Dennis's feet should have been. Ghosts, he suddenly remembered from his Scooby Gang research parties, were comprised entirely of energy, which was why Dennis appeared all white to him.

Cordelia had a ghost for a roommate. And Xander said he could see Dennis. How in the hell was he going to explain that?

"Oh!" Xander exclaimed, shoving his sunglasses back into place. "Spell!"

Cordelia gave him a combination skeptical and freaked look. "Spell?"

"Yeah." Xander thought fast. "I, uh, was messing with magick and now," he lowered his voice and whispered, "I see dead people."

She slugged him on the shoulder. "Not funny."

"I thought it was pretty good," Xander said with a lopsided grin.

"Well, you're wrong." Cordelia studied him a moment. "You can really see Dennis?"

"'Fraid so," he replied.

"Is he cute?"

Xander saw Dennis primp himself and chuckled. "Passably decent," he answered, earning him a glare from the ghost in question. "So, Dennis, how do you like living with Cordy?"

The glare became a purely male smile, rendering the thumbs up sign Dennis gave Xander unnecessary. Xander grinned back.

"Can you hear him, too?" Cordelia asked with slight irritation in her tone. "And what did he say?"

"No, I can't hear him," Xander told her, but said nothing further. Dennis winked at him.

"Oh. Well, okay." Cordelia put a hostess smile on her face. "Let me show you the couch."

Cordelia's showing him the couch ended up becoming a tour of her spacious apartment. Xander was impressed and a bit envious, even more than a bit if he was honest with himself. Cordelia had only left Sunnydale a year and a half ago, and she had a steady job, a great apartment, good friends -- although he wouldn't brag about having Angel, the Souled Ass and Wesley, the Wuss as friends -- and she still looked fantastic.

And what did he have? Spike. Somehow the tradeoff didn't seem to be in Xander's favor.

Okay, yes, he had a kick-ass motorcycle, a nice wad of cash from stripping during their stopover in San Francisco, he was almost invincible, and he got laid regularly. But he still had to put up with freaky vision, lightning storms, and draining the power from every room.

And don't forget Spike.

Which Xander couldn't do, no matter how hard he tried.

Cordelia laughed, and a pleased feeling curled in Xander's stomach. They were sitting on opposite corners of the couch that would be doubling as Xander's bed, chatting like a couple of old friends. Which, Xander guessed, they were.

Cordelia had shared about her life since she'd left Sunnydale, and Xander realized he'd known nothing about the brooding vampire he'd hated from the get-go. His ex-girlfriend spoke of Angel with obvious fondness, as if he were an older brother that she couldn't help but love.

Maybe he'd been wrong, Xander thought, as Cordelia waxed poetic about Angel, the Brave, Strong, Manly-Vamp with the Heart of Gold and his Dorky but Stalwart Sidekick Wesley the Wise. Perhaps he'd hadn't given the dark-haired poof -- blech, Spike, get outta my vocabulary -- a fair chance. Or the Giles Wannabe.

"So, what about you?" Cordelia said, taking a sip of her diet soda. "What have you been doing since high school?"

"Traveling, mostly," Xander replied. He propped his elbow on the arm of the couch and leaned his head against his hand. "Did you know there are eighty-seven cities named Montgomery on the west coast alone?"

"I did not know that." Cordelia grinned.

"Now you do," Xander said, smiling in return.

"I take it you were odd-job boy to finance your Lewis and Clarkness," she surmised, taking another sip.

"Here and there," Xander agreed. "It got much easier to make some quick cash once I got my stripper's license."

Cordelia almost choked on her drink. "S-stripper's license?"

"Wild, huh?" Xander said, fiddling with the stem of his sunglasses. "They have licenses for pretty much everything now."

She gave him a skeptical look. "You're a stripper."

"When we're broke, yeah," Xander said. "All the bigger cities have clubs or services, so it's just a matter of flashing my license and I get a gig."

"Right." The disbelief was heavy in Cordelia's voice. "And how much does taking off your clothes to music get you?"

Xander half-shrugged. "Around twenty-five if it's a job, less if it's a show."

"Twenty-five dollars?" Cordelia scoffed.

"Hundred, Cordy," Xander corrected. "Twenty-five hundred."

Cordelia's jaw dropped. "You've got to be kidding me."

Xander tucked his sunglasses in his shirt, arched up and pulled his wallet from the front pocket. He removed the laminated, complete-with-godawful-picture professional stripper's license and passed it to her. "With a job -- that's when I strip for a party or another hired entertainment event -- there's a base pay of $500, plus whatever tips you can get. And the drunker the customers, the higher the tips."

"Uh-huh." Cordelia closely examined the license, comparing the photo to Xander. She scratched at it with her thumb.

"I usually just grab a show whenever we're low on funds," Xander continued. "Almost all male strip clubs will let a Licensed grab a five minute spot. I only get paid by tips for those gigs, though, and I have to provide my own music."

Cordelia handed back his licensed and smiled widely. "I think you're lying through your teeth."

"You find it so hard to believe?" Xander said, tucking his wallet away.

"In a word: yes!"

"Glad to see you still know how to grind up a male's ego into powder, Cord," Xander commented with a shake of his head.

"If you're a stripper, prove it." Cordelia gestured towards the open area of her living room. "Shake that groove thang for me, baby."

Xander quirked a brow. "Are you challenging me?"

"I think there's a quarter or two in the couch cushions for a tip," Cordelia said with a mocking smile.

If there was one thing Xander had learned from traveling with Spike, it was never to let the blond use you for a pillow, because he drooled.

The other thing he learned was never to let a challenge you know you can win pass you by.

"All right, Queen C," Xander rose and handed her his sunglasses, "you're on."

14 Lightning Storm

August 16,2000

Spike was wearing his "I got laid" smile when Xander met up with him late the following afternoon.

So was Xander.

"You dog," Spike clapped the boy on the shoulder after stepping out of Angel's apartment. "How'd you manage to get in the chit's knickers?"

"She didn't believe that I was a professional stripper," Xander replied as he headed out of the apartment building. Spike laughed, closed Angel's door, and fell into step beside Xander.

The afternoon was sunny and hot. Children played under water hoses outside of tiny lots in Angel's neighborhood, their shrieks of laughter in perfect harmony with a summer's day.

Earlier, Xander had awoken to a Cordelia-less apartment, removing the "Morning After Awkwardness" completely. He had whistled with contentment as he'd showered, dressed, and as he grabbed the note pinned to the refrigerator, which, Spike had informed him later, read that Cordelia had gone to work. He'd had a brief, one-sided conversation with a jealous Dennis before he'd ventured to Angel's, utilizing the address he'd found on Cordelia's computer that he hadn't been snooping on. Really, he hadn't been.

Spike had been similarly alone in Angel's apartment, the brunette vampire having gone to work as well. Spike had readily followed Xander out into the day with a "let's go" gesture of the mortal's head.

Xander glanced over at Spike. "And I can't believe you slept with Angel."

"Rode him into unconsciousness, I did," Spike bragged, hitching up his trousers and swaggering.

Xander snorted. "He was probably unconscious before you screwed him."

Spike grinned. "Your point?"

"I--" Xander stopped walking and speaking abruptly and looked up. "Damn."

"What?" Spike squinted up into the sunny sky.

"Lightning storm," Xander answered, quickly casting his sunglasses-covered gaze around the area.

"Bugger," Spike swore. "How long?"

"Two minutes."

"Shit! This one came up too bloody fast!" Spike latched onto Xander's arm and hurriedly dragged the boy back towards Angel's apartment, passing several cheerful children on the way. "There's no room down here."

"I know," Xander said with a worried look at the innocent youths. If he was near them when the lightning started to strike, they might inadvertently get hit. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if another person was killed again due to his condition.

"We'll go up to Angel's roof," Spike said, practically pulling the door to the apartment building off its hinges in his rush to help Xander. "It's only ten storeys, but it should be enough."

"Should be." Xander felt the creepy-crawlies along his skin as the atoms in the air ionized, and he added under his breath, "I hope."

With the invisible clock ticking down, Spike and Xander flew up the stairs and burst through the metal door leading to the roof. Xander was panting harshly as he shoved his sunglasses at Spike then ripped his shirt off. The brightness of the summer sun burned his sensitive eyes as he quickly surveyed the roof.

"Go," Xander ordered Spike as the hairs on his arms began to stand up. A black cloud was forming in the sky above the roof at an alarming rate.

The blond vampire grabbed Xander's shirt and darted for the door. He pulled it shut behind him, slumped back against the stairwell wall, and panted needlessly. His eyelids slammed closed when he heard the first crack of lightening.

Spike hated lightening storms the most. With a thunderstorm, the smell of rain in the air usually forewarned him of what was to come. Lightning storms, on the other hand, came up out of nowhere and struck rapidly and with deadly accuracy. His only forewarning was Xander's speaking up.

In fact, Spike was beginning to believe that Xander himself was causing the lightning storms to happen. Once he'd gotten roped into helping the boy and it'd looked like he was stuck with Xander until he croaked, Spike had taken the time to study up on meteorology.

Lightening was caused by a high-tension natural electric discharge in the atmosphere. A large, dark cloud carried an electric charge that produced the lightning and its accompanying sound, thunder. There was no rain with a lightning storm, only deadly blue-white bolts of electricity.

Those lightning bolts seemed to find and hit Xander with unerring accuracy and, afterwards, his "powers" were at maximum efficiency, which lead Spike to believe that Xander caused the lightning storms himself, although not purposely. Spike thought that perhaps the boy's body had its own automatic recharging system that caused the lightning storms to occur. The storms themselves were normally brief, around ten minutes, whereas thunderstorms, complete with heavy rain, lasted anywhere from one-half hour to days.

Spike counted each crack that he heard through the metal door. After the rush of adrenaline wore off, he had opened his eyes, and now watched as thin whitish spires crept up the door as if it were a Jacob's Ladder. It gave him the willies. Lightning could fry vampires just as easily as it did humans.

The lightning storm lasted for eight minutes, but Spike didn't dare to venture out onto the roof until at least fifteen had passed after the last crack he'd heard. Xander was sprawled on the hot, tarred surface of the roof; conscious, but charred.

Spike knelt on one knee and frowned when he sunk a bit. The vampire realized the heat had caused the tar paper to melt -- and that Xander would be stuck to it like a fly to flypaper -- and he quietly cursed.

"I'm auditioning to be the next Jeff Goldblum," Xander rasped, his eyes closed tightly against the reappearing sun.

"You resemble Eric Stoltz more," Spike commented as he slipped the sunglasses onto Xander's face. He then shoved as much of the brunette's tank shirt into his pocket as possible before attempting to pry Xander from the roof. "Oi, you porker, you've gained a few stone."

"Well, I did eat a lot of fish last night," Xander grunted as he was peeled off the sticky tar.

"That was terrible." Spike lifted Xander in one quick jerk.

Xander wrapped his black arms around Spike's neck and rested his head on the blond's shoulder. He felt like a limp noodle. "Yeah," he sighed, "it was. You must be rubbing off on me."

"C'mon, precious, let's get you downstairs where you can dirty up Angel's sheets," Spike said, carefully carrying the younger man off the roof. He smirked. "Well, more than they already are."

"I think I'll take the couch, instead," Xander mumbled in a tired voice.

Spike chuckled as he made his way down the stairs to Angel's apartment. Despite a teasing "Noooo" from Xander, the vampire put the boy on Angel's mussy bed, removed his sunglasses, then went into the bathroom to retrieve a wet washcloth.

"You really are turning into regular Nurse Nancy," Xander commented as Spike washed the charred flesh from his chest.

"Sod off," Spike grumbled. "I'm only doing this so you keep me fed. I'd much rather kill you."

"We could always tell Angel the truth," Xander said. He studied the blond in the low lighting of the bedroom. "He'd probably look after you out of the guiltiness of his heart."

Spike shook his head. "No. I don't fancy staying with the bog trottin' ponce. Too much gloominess, despite the great shag. I'd prolly off myself in a week."

He lightly traced a blackened area on Xander's pectoral. "Looks like you're gonna have to add another cloud."

"I'll have to take your word for it," Xander said, raising his head to glance at his body. "It looks all white to me."

Spike pressed his lips together in a frown and made another pass at Xander's chest with the washcloth. Xander dropped his head back onto the pillow and watched Spike with half-lidded black eyes.

After a minute or two of silence, Xander reached out and touched Spike's wrist. Spike looked questioningly at him. Xander watched as he guided a few tendrils of electricity to wind around the blond's wrist like a fancy bracelet while he spoke.

"Honestly, Spike, if you don't want to play Alfred to me anymore, here would be the best place for you," Xander said carefully. "I got along on my own before, and I can do it again."

"Forget it," Spike told him. "You buggered up my head, now you're stuck with me. At least, until you piss me off and I break your scrawny neck."

"Got it," Xander said. He gave Spike a half-grin. "Not really friends still?"

"Not really friends," Spike agreed. He stood. "You up for a shower?"

"Big time." With Spike's help, Xander was peeled from the ruby red sheets and steady on his own feet beside the bed. The brunette looked down at the mess the tar had made on Angel's bed. "Great. I have to do laundry."

"No, you don't," Spike disagreed. His blue eyes were dancing with devilment as he quickly made the bed. "Now no one will know."

"Except for Angel when he climbs in later," Xander pointed out.

"And I can't wait to see his face when he does," Spike responded with a wicked smile.

15 Never Again

Tuesday, October 12, 1999

Xander was almost to his motel room when it happened. One minute, it was a sunny day; the next, it was dark.

The brunette raised his Walgreens' 99-cent sunglasses-covered eyes to the sky. A deep frown settled between his brows when he saw the dark cloud that had formed overhead.

"Great," Xander muttered, shifting his bag of groceries to his other arm. "Just what I needed."

It'd only been a week and a half since Xander had been released from the hospital, and in that time he'd crashed his car, electric-shocked everyone he touched, blacked out the power in his motel room, blew the speakers at the strip club, and almost electrocuted himself taking a shower.

Now, it looked like he'd have to walk to work in the rain.

Xander dug his room key out of his pocket, shocking himself when he touched the metal of the key. He gritted his teeth, and nodded a greeting to his neighbor, Mr. Finchly, who was leaving his room as Xander slid his key into the door.

Which was why Xander never saw it coming.

The crack that accompanied the bolt of lightning shattered the quietness of the late fall afternoon. The bolt shot down from the dark sky, ricocheted off the metal motel room door, and slammed into Xander's chest.

The brunette flew backwards on impact. He hit one of the parked cars in the lot in front of the motel, his body denting the hood. He lay like a sick parody of a crucified man, with his arms splayed out to the sides, leaving him completely unprotected from the next bolt.

Behind his cheap sunglasses, Xander watched with horror as lightning streaked straight at him. The scream he'd formed got stuck in the back of his throat. The bolt struck him in the center of his chest in the exact same spot as the first one. His body convulsed once, twice; his arms and head smacking against the metal of the car with hard thumps.

Then, as the thunder shook the motel's windows, streams of blue-white electricity shot from Xander's splayed fingers from both his hands.

The car to the left of where he lay crackled as the high voltage hit it. Thin lines of electricity ran over the Nissan's surface and the body slightly glowed. The car alarm screeched briefly before shorting out.

The third bolt of lightning struck its mark, burning a hole in Xander's shirt. His sunglasses cracked and fell off as his body arched to a normally impossible degree.

A scream of pain ripped through the reverberations caused by the thunder.

It wasn't from Xander.

Mr. Finchly smashed against the concrete wall of the motel. The streams of electricity shooting from Xander's hand speared the older man's body. Mr. Finchly's weather-beaten skin began to blacken. His lips curled back in pain, and his teeth glowed bluish-white.

Xander prayed to whatever would listen for it to stop. He'd sell his soul to the closest bidder as long as the lightning ceased to strike him. The pain was excruciating and beyond comparative description. He simply wanted it to end, even if it meant losing his life.

Xander's brightly glowing white eyes fell shut as blessed unconsciousness finally overtook him.

The brunette didn't know how long he'd been out, or how many more times the lightning had hit him when he returned to consciousness. Groaning, he forced himself to sit up, using one hand as a prop. The sky was once again sunny, and Xander shielded his overly sensitive eyes with his hand and squinted as he looked around. He hoped no one had witnessed what'd just happened. He couldn't afford another visit to the hospital.

The Nissan to his left was a little blackened around the edges, but other than that it looked fine. The crumpled hood of the car he was sitting on was going to eat into what was left of his savings. The body on the ground in front of the motel was black and smoking. There was a scorch mark on the greyish concrete wall--

Xander slowly lowered his gaze again as what he'd just seen penetrated his brain. A knot formed beneath his sore chest as he slid off the dented car. His legs refused to support him, and he ended up crawling towards the body.

Slaying with Buffy over the past few years had given Xander the opportunity to see death first hand. Drained bodies, mutilated bodies, drowning victims, he'd thought he'd grown desensitized.

But he'd never seen a person that resembled a charcoal briquette before.

With a shaking hand, Xander reached out and carefully searched for a pulse, even though his strange vision told him there was no life in the body. After confirming his prognosis, he gently turned the corpse's head.

A second later, he vomited.

"Mr. Finchly," Xander gasped, holding his arms tight against his roiling stomach.

Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbled to his motel room and managed to get inside. His hands shook violently as he picked up the phone and dialed. His voice trembled as he spoke to the emergency operator, and pain not caused by his being struck by lightning radiated from his chest.

But not a single tear formed in his eerily black eyes.

The rest of the day went by in a blur for Xander. He vaguely remembered cleaning himself up before the paramedics arrived. He knew he'd lied to the police about a freak lightning storm, and had avoided meeting anyone's eyes. He remembered at some point calling Willow but hanging up before she'd answered.

He went to work as normal and threw himself into cleaning tables. He didn't speak to customers other than to offer polite "excuse me's" so he wouldn't have to touch anyone. His friends only got a shake of his head, indicating he wanted to be left alone.

The image of Mr. Finchly's dead body, however, refused to leave him alone. Xander had easily put one and one together and had come up with 50-to-life.

He'd killed a man. A living, breathing, walking, talking, non-demony, cute older man, who'd always offer him a donut on Sunday mornings. How was he going to live with himself knowing that he'd fried poor Mr. Finchly? He wasn't Faith, unless she'd somehow rubbed off on him during their fifteen minute screw. That thought made Xander almost as sick as picturing Mr. Finchly's roasted corpse.

One thing was for certain, Xander wasn't going to push what happened under his own mental carpeting. Starting after work, he was going to learn how to control the electricity he could feel coursing through his body. And, if he couldn't learn that control, well, he wouldn't chance killing another innocent person.

Even if it meant taking his own life.

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