And Now For Something Completely Different

by
Sabershadowkat

16 The Doctor

London, 1867

The carriage came to a quick stop outside of a modest row house and a doctor jumped out of the cab. The door to the home opened as he rushed up the steps, unfastening his coat as he entered.

"Right this way, Doctor," the servant girl directed, quickly leading the way after closing the front door.

"What is the problem?" the doctor asked, passing his winter coat into waiting hands as he entered a candle-lit bedroom.

"The babe's stuck, Dr. Bradshaw," the midwife replied, upset, as she moved out of the brunette man's way. "'E or she is breech. I've tried my best--"

"It's all right, Lillian," Dr. Bradshaw said, placating the midwife. He gave her his medical bag, turned to the young mother-to-be on the bed, and smiled gently. "We'll have the babe out shortly."

The doctor checked the sweating, panting mother's pulse. He nodded to himself, then moved to the end of the bed while he rolled up his sleeves. "Do not push until I tell you to, all right?" he told the mother.

The mother-to-be responded affirmatively and Dr. Bradshaw went to work. He kept up an encouraging pratter, despite the thick tension in the bed chamber, as he set about turning the child in the mother's womb. His movements were precise, but gentle, and he caused no more pain to the frightened woman than necessary.

When the wail of a newborn pierced the chamber, the mother and midwife burst into joyous tears. "It's a boy," Dr. Bradshaw announced, "and he's quite the healthy little bugger, too."

Dr. Bradshaw finished cleaning the child, swaddled him in clean birthing blankets, and placed him in his mother's arms. The doctor returned to work, a soft smile on his chiseled face as the new mum cooed and spoke lovingly to the infant. After a few minutes, he allowed the midwife to take over for him, and he started to wash up.

"Dr. Bradshaw," the mother began. "What's your name? Your Christian name?"

"It's William, m'um," Dr. Bradshaw replied.

The mother ran a light finger down her newborn babe's cheek. "Then I shall name him Lavelle William Harris, after his grandfather and you."

William Bradshaw's blue eyes crinkled in the corners and his prominent cheekbones became more defined as he smiled broadly. "No need to do that, m'um. Delivering that precious bundle in your arms was a privilege."

"A precious bundle who almost wasn't birthed," the mother countered. "But because of you, he was." She sighed and held the swaddled child closer to her breast. "I hope that the future generations of Harrises are blessed with a caring man such as yourself."

17 Here Comes The Bride

August 16,2000

"Will you please hold still!"

"It hurts!"

"It wouldn't hurt if you'd just hold still!"

Xander's brows rose as he came out of Angel's bathroom, rubbing a towel against his wet hair. He ventured down the short hallway to the bedroom where the loud exchange was taking place, his unbuttoned khaki's riding low on his hips.

"I don't like you anymore."

"I never liked you to begin with."

Xander leaned his hip against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest, the towel dangling from his fingers. His lips curved into an amused smirk at the scene in the bedroom.

Angel was on his stomach on the bed, clad in only a pair of black silk boxers. Spike straddled his sire's waist, with a straight pin sticking out of the corner of his mouth and holding a pair of tweezers. A cereal bowl sat on the bed beside them, and Spike was filling it with the splinters he removed from the older vampire's back.

"Ow!" Angel exclaimed, flinching. "I think you're hurting me on purpose."

"Probably," Spike responded. He dropped a long sliver of wood into the bowl.

"Insolent snot," Angel groused.

"Pansyass girl," Spike retorted.

Angel's growl turned into a hiss as Spike dug another splinter out of his back. "Sometimes I hate my job."

"Your job," Spike chortled. "Luv, I've patched your hulkingness up more times than Dru talked to the stars. You were always getting hurt."

"From having to constantly save your scrawny ass."

Spike shook his head, dropping another splinter into the bowl. "How you managed to live this long without me to mend your lard ass is something of a mystery."

"Believe me, it was easy," Angel grumbled.

"You know," Xander began, startling the two vampires. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear that you two were married."

A large grin spread across Spike's face. "Well..."

"Don't. Even," Angel warned, pushing up on his hands.

Spike gripped his sire's hips with his thighs as he continued. "You see, precious, we are."

"No way," Xander said in disbelief.

"It's true," Spike said. He ruffled Angel's hair. "Tell 'im, hun-bun."

"Don't listen to him," Angel growled. "Spike's a lying...," he tried to buck Spike off, "...attention grabbing...," it didn't work, "...little shit."

"Oh!" Spike clutched his heart. "Such a horrid thing to say to your beloved."

Xander covered his mouth with his hand as he snorted in laughter. "You two..."

Angel twisted, grabbed Spike by the hair, and threw the younger vampire onto the bed beside him.

Spike pulled the pin out of his mouth. "Oi! I could've swallowed this!"

"We are not married!" Angel hissed.

"Wait! Don't kill Spike until I hear this story!" Xander exclaimed, getting himself under control.

"There is no story!" Angel protested.

Spike quickly stood and scurried to Xander's side. "You'll love this, ducks. Back in the day, Angelus loved to create long, drawn-out plans just to drive some poor chit mad."

"Spike...," Angel warned, taking a menacing step towards the blond.

Xander positioned himself between the older vampire and the younger one, his smirk telling Angel he wasn't going to move until the story was finished. He was hedging his bets that Angel wouldn't try to shove past him to get to Spike.

"One day, Angelus decided that he was going to marry some stupid bint he'd been toying with," Spike said. "He asked the girl, she said yes, time passes, and Angelus is waiting with a Magistrate to hold a private ceremony."

Angel let out an exasperated sigh, threw his hands in the air, and went to sit on the edge of the bed.

"The bride was covered from head-to-toe in white -- white dress, white gloves, thick gauzy white veil. Very pretty dress, in my opinion," Spike continued. "Anyway, the short marriage ceremony went off without a hitch, the Magistrate told Angelus to plant one on the bride, Angelus lifts the veil and--"

"--Spike bats his eyes at me and says: 'Hello, my darling husband. How's about a kiss?'" Angel finished, shaking his head. "I don't think I'd ever been more furious."

Xander looked at Angel, looked back at Spike, then burst into gut-clenching laughter.

18 Black and White

Saturday, August 26, 2000

He shouldn't be watching.

Xander had gone to Angel's apartment simply to make sure Spike had been fed before heading to the UCLA library to do a little research. No one had answered the brunette's knock but that hadn't deterred him. He'd picked the lock with nimble ease -- a talent he'd learned from his undead companion -- and had entered the dimly lit apartment, planning to wake Spike, who he'd figured was sleeping.

"Anyone here?" Xander had called, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. He had only taken a single step away from the door when he'd heard an unearthly cry.

Xander had froze for only a second, but in that time a million thoughts and feelings had bombarded him. The cry had been made by Spike, of that Xander had been certain, and the images of what could've been making his companion cry out like that had chilled and enraged him at the same time.

He had bolted through the living room and down the hallway towards the back bedroom, his heart slamming against his chest. He hadn't known what he'd find when he reached the bedroom but, as he'd skidded to a halt on the beige carpeting just inside the doorway, nowhere in his mind had there been an image of Angel and Spike ravenously mauling one another in sexual abandon.

Xander had back-stepped rapidly, disappearing into the shadows -- another trick he'd learned from Spike -- just beyond the doorway to the bedroom.

And there he'd stayed, watching.

With each minute that continued to pass, Xander's trousers grew tighter and more uncomfortable. He knew he should leave because he sure as hell didn't have the balls to ask if he could join in, even though that's what his dick was telling him to do.

But instead of creeping back out of the apartment, Xander adjusted himself and kept observing.

To Xander, the two writhing on the bed made a very interesting, erotic sight. He couldn't tell if they were clothed or not -- clothing worn close to the body didn't appear in Xander-vision. Angel was on top, kissing Spike hungrily as he ground his hips in a circular motion against the other vampire. Spike's hands were twisted in Angel's hair and he was returning the kiss with equal passion.

Angel looked completely black; Spike looked completely white.

Xander stared, his breathing heavy and loud in the shadows of the hallway, as Spike flipped over so he was straddling Angel. The blond sat up, pulled his shirt -- oh, they're still clothed, Xander thought -- off and tossed it away before resuming his hungry attack on Angel's mouth.

Xander still couldn't take his eyes off the two of them. With his wild vision, Angel's body was as black as night save for the bluish-white strands of electrical activity in his head. Spike, as always, looked as white as a full moon against a starless sky.

They should have resembled a 3-D Rorshach test to Xander, or a pornographic chess game. Instead, they reminded him of ying and yang, opposites that fit perfectly together.

A different type of uncomfortableness developed as Xander watched Angel's large black hands slide sensually around Spike's lean waist. It was a strange combination of anger and want that formed a knot inside Xander's gut, and it sparked the desire to storm into the bedroom and break those damned black fingers.

It was... jealousy?

Xander scowled, turned around and quietly stalked down the hallway. He was not jealous. He had no desire to screw either one of the vampires. The thought of caressing undead flesh made his skin crawl, no matter how dang sexy the package.

A loud howl of obvious pleasure followed Xander from the bedroom as he entered the kitchen. "Shuddup," he muttered as he began to dig through the kitchen drawers. "You sound like a couple of demented zebras humping."

Finding his prize, Xander shut the drawer and headed back down the hallway. He stopped again in the shadows outside the bedroom door. His lips compressed into a thin line at the sight of the column of black flesh repeatedly disappearing between muscular white asscheeks.

Nope, not jealous, Xander thought as he spun on his heel and marched into the bathroom. He picked up Angel's hairgel off the sink and unscrewed the cap. With his teeth, he twisted off the top of the tube of Superglue he'd gotten from the kitchen.

Nope, not jealous at all.

19 Kid

Monday night, August 28, 2000

Xander slid his sunglasses off as he stepped past the tacky beaded curtain into Willy's Alibi Bar. He paused, slowly taking measure of the demonic patrons in the place. From his research and travels, he could identify at least three-quarters of the packed bar by their electromolecular light patterns and knew which of Willy's customers would most likely try to cause him problems. Sometimes being one of the only humans in a club or bar was a real pain, because the non-humans tended to think he was prey.

In reality, he was the ultimate predator.

Spike stood out like a beacon in the jumbled mix of tiny moving lights. The enhanced vampire was playing billiards with an elf, if Xander's identification skills were on the mark. Someone was getting laid tonight, he thought, and it ain't me.

Scowling, Xander picked a spot at the bar and claimed it as his own, the two Collbox demons occupying the space before suddenly coming down with painful headaches. The only other human in the Alibi Bar was behind the counter, and by the weasely tone of voice, Xander recognized that it was Willy himself.

"Hey, I know you, don't I?" Willy said, leaning his hands on the bartop in front of Xander. "It's Xander, right?"

"Warat," Xander ordered without acknowledging the other man's question. The demon brew was a favorite of his when he was in a semi-foul mood. The strong drink would kick him in the slats before he decided to start toying with others' brains.

"Woah, that's a pretty bold choice for a boy like you," Willy commented. Xander speared Willy with a cold glare. The bartender backed off quickly. "Right. Warat it is."

Xander idly tapped his finger on the bar as he waited for his drink. Hunting at the Bronze had been a disappointment, there hadn't been nearly enough vampires there to burn off his energy from the storm. He'd come to Willy's to give Spike the Hawk, then head into the woods to blow up a few trees.

"Here you go, kid," Willy said, setting a shotglass before him.

"It's Xander," Xander growled before slamming back the foul liquor. He twirled the shotglass over and thunked it, rim first, on the counter. "Not 'kid.' I hate being called 'kid.'" His father had called him 'kid.'

Turning around, Xander let out a short, high-pitched whistle. The noise in the bar stopped abruptly, and all eyes looked to the brunette.

All eyes, that was, except for Spike's. The vampire continued to study the layout of the billiards table, the only sign of him having heard the whistle was his hand shooting up to snatch the bike keys from the air.

20 Great. Just Great.

Xander had taken four steps towards the exit when he found his way blocked. Great, he thought, looking up at the two tall demons in his path. Just great. He knew he should've walked right over to Spike when he'd arrived at Willy's, given him the bike keys and left, instead of taking a detour by way of the bar. But, since L.A., Xander's relationship with the bleached blond had reverted back to what it was over six months ago, and, at times, his irritation at Spike's innocuous behavior overwhelmed his common sense.

The demon on the left was a Shroudohf, identifiable by its almost completely black brain area. The demon on the right was the total opposite, with a bright white brain area, and Xander had no clue as to its species, which made it the more dangerous of the two. Immediately, as he did with the Collbox demons, he used his unique abilities to manipulate electromolecules to give the demon on the right's brain a small shock, then quickly focused on the Shroudohf and did the same.

The Shroudohf reacted as Xander predicted, grabbing its head and grunting in pain at its sudden headache. However, in reaction to the shock, the unidentified demon grabbed Xander's head between its two clammy hands and grunted.

Xander counteracted instantly. A broken neck was one of the few things that could kill him, if his opponent was stronger than his enhanced resistance to injury. Half-watching the Shroudohf, who had shaken off his pain, Xander latched onto the unknown demon's meaty wrists and released his control.

Xander's pupils glowed with a blue-white light as the electricity constantly humming inside of him was let free. His thick, rubber-soled boots and the cement floor grounded him as his hands became two conductors of energy in its purest form.

"Six in the corner," Spike said, his voice loud in the post-whistle quiet, as he lined up his billiards shot.

The energy flowed down Xander's arms, out his hands, and directly into the unidentified demon. The demon began to shake as volts of electricity were forced into it. The smell of sizzled flesh was quick to reach the brunette's nose. Eew, he thought. Ode de electrocuted amphibian.

The Shroudohf took offense to what Xander was doing to its companion. It swung a paw at Xander's back. The sharp claws ripped the brunette's tee-shirt, but that was it. With a bellow, the Shroudohf attacked again, shoving Xander roughly. Xander lost his balance from the strong hit and he released the unknown demon's wrists as he started to fall.

Thwock. Click. Thunk. Spike watched as the six ball dropped into the designated pocket. The cue ball rolled into the perfect spot for his next shot. How lovely.

The unknown demon sank bonelessly to the ground, unconscious. Xander hit the floor with an "oomph," his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact to the cement. The Shroudohf bellowed again and kicked Xander in the lower back.

Xander felt the pressure of the kick, but it didn't penetrate his dense electromolecular shielding. He rolled onto his back, his hand shooting out to grab the Shroudohf's furry ankle. The volts of electricity shot from Xander to the demon, causing the Shroudohf's fur to stand on end.

"Ten in the side pocket," Spike told his playing partner, resting the cue stick against his bridged fingers. His partner, though, like the rest of the bar, was more interested in the fight than in Spike's next shot.

Crack. A staff smacked down on Xander's wrist, the wood shattering where it connected. He released the Shroudohf and it went down like a felled tree, its staticed hair crackling as it was crushed under the demon.

The white cue ball rolled in a perfectly straight line across the red felt table. It lightly tapped the ten ball, knocking it into the side pocket. The English spin on the cue ball prevented it from following the ten, eliminating the possibility of a scratch. With a satisfied nod, Spike rounded the billiards table, eyeing the angles for his next shot.

Xander's focus snapped to the staff wielder. A Harbald demon, poised to strike him again with the broken point of the staff. Short and stout with a swirling light pattern, the Harbald squeaked angrily. "Translation," Xander barked, the end of the staff splintering when the Harbald tried to stake him.

Spike bent over, sighting along the cue stick. "Either you fried her boyfriend, or you sank her battleship."

"Swell," Xander muttered. He arched his back and jumped to his feet. The Harbald attempted to skewer him through the stomach, but the staff only grew shorter as it broke again. With a sigh, Xander yanked the staff away from the demon and held it above his head. "Stop it," he told her.

The Harbald squeaked indignantly and tried to jump for the staff. Xander looked heavenward, then reached out and tapped her on the mouse-like muzzle. A visible electric shock ran from his finger to her nose. "Eeeeeeee!" she squealed and backed away quickly.

Xander lowered his arm and looked slowly around the room. When no one else challenged him, he pulled on his control, tamping down the electricity coursing through his veins. The blue-white glow faded from his eyes, leaving them an eerie black once more.

Great, Xander thought. Just great. Way to keep a low profile, moron. Next time, just give the damn vampire the keys and leave.

The broken staff fell to the cement floor with a clatter. Disgusted with himself, Xander stepped over the unconscious body of the unidentified demon and stalked angrily out of the silent Alibi Bar.

"Two, corner," Spike called. Plunk.

21 What's In A Name?

The Past

"Get down here, kid!"

"What the hell do you think you're doing, kid?"

"Hey, kid, get me another beer."

"Watch where you're going, kid."

"Kid, get out of my way."

"He's your damn kid, not mine."

"Get lost, kid."

"Well, kid, you've really done it this time."

"Get me the belt, kid, then grab your ankles."

"Kid, when I get my hands on you..."

"Kid, stop your damn crying."

"How stupid are you, kid?"

"That kid is worthless."

"Keep your mouth shut, kid."

"Clean that up, kid."

"What did I tell you, kid?"

"Don't talk that way to your mother, kid."

"I don't want to see you again, kid, do you understand?"

"I told you we should've gotten rid of the kid."

"I threw 'em out, kid. Comic books are for geeks and faggots."

"Why you stupid, goddamned kid!"

"Kid, you have until the count of five to get the hell out of my sight."

"It'll hurt worse, kid, if you don't get over here right now."

"Don't go crying to your mother, kid. She doesn't care."

"Kid, get in here and do the dishes."

"I warned you for the last time, kid."

"Where are my keys, kid?"

"Shut up, kid."

"How dare you talk back to me, kid."

"The kid's a tough guy, eh?"

"Don't expect me to give you any money, kid, or anything else, for that matter."

"You had it coming to you, kid."

"If you leave, kid, don't bother coming back."

His father was in the doorway, watching as Xander packed his belongings in the car he'd bought from his Uncle Rory. The recent high school graduate, complete with slightly charred diploma, slammed the trunk shut and looked at his father.

"Did you hear me, kid? I don't want to see you back here, begging for handouts," Mr. Harris said.

Xander walked up the chipped, weed-strewn sidewalk and stopped directly in front of his father. He stared at the older man, his expression blank. "I have one question for you," he said in a toneless voice. "And then I'm gone."

Mr. Harris narrowed his brown eyes -- the same eyes that Xander had inherited -- and asked, "And what's that, kid?"

Xander tilted his head slightly, and said with a cold bite to his voice, "Do you even know my name?"

Mr. Harris blinked. "What kind of question is that?"

"Do you?" Xander asked again.

"Kid, this is stupid--"

"Do you?" Xander repeated more forcefully.

Mr. Harris blinked again in surprise at Xander's tone. "Of course I do. It's... it's... uh..."

"That's what I thought." Without saying goodbye, Xander turned and headed back to the car.

"Well, why should I remember your name, kid?" Mr. Harris shouted at him. "You're nobody!"

Xander slammed his car door shut, started the engine, and pulled away. "My name," he began a bitter promise to himself, "is Alexander LaVelle Harris, and no one is going to forget that ever again."

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