Tuesday, August 29, 2000
Xander woke up late the following day, which wasn't too unusual. He'd become a night-owl more
out of necessity than by choice, but the donuts were just as fresh as a before-bedtime snack as they
had been as breakfast at five o'clock a.m. Stripping was, by and large, a nighttime occupation, and
his eyes hurt far less once the sun had set. Even Spike, despite his glee at being able to go outside
during the day, preferred the night. Then again, Spike had that whole sexy bad boy thing going for
him that didn't have as great of an oomph when standing in the sunshine.
Not that Xander thought Spike was sexy. Lucy Liu was sexy. Ben Kingsley was sexy. Dick
Grayson was sexy. He was also a comic book character, but that didn't change Xander's opinion.
The Not Sexy Vampire was MIA from camp when Xander woke up. Which meant he'd gotten laid.
Again. Damned blonde had better luck than a pretty whore whose services were free.
"And you're as bitter as a hunk of unsweetened chocolate this afternoon," Xander muttered to
himself as he stood and stretched. Pop, pop, creak, crack. Sleeping on the ground was such fun.
Sunglasses found and put on, Xander headed away from camp to take care of business. It still
freaked him out every time he saw himself pissing black. In Xander's eyes, the absence of any light
meant death. The complete opposite was the
whiteness of his jism. It hit the tree he was standing in front of with a splat, and he stared at the
bright wet spot for a moment before shaking his head. Jagging off while leaning against a tree was
high on the "Xander Is A Pathetic Loser" list. Right up there with claiming Spike as a friend.
"Damn it, get out of my mind," Xander growled, zipping up his pants. For some reason, he had
Spike on the brain -- had ever since he'd seen Spike and Angel doing the nasty -- and it was
beyond annoying. Spike was his Gentleman's Gentleman and that was it. Would Dick be obsessing
this much over Alfred?
"I think not," Xander stated, stalking back to camp. He stripped of his tee, wadded it up, and tossed
it at his bedroll. The rest of his clothing shortly followed.
The late summer sun heated his bare skin and he stood still for a couple of minutes, soaking up the
rays. Maybe what he needed to clear his head was a few days on the beach. He knew of a spot
where he could lounge around naked -- strippers could not afford tan lines -- without worry about
being stumbled upon by little kids. That was, if that stretch of beach hadn't been claimed by the
rugrats or a housing development. Things could've changed drastically in Sunnydale, even in just a
year. He should know.
Grabbing his shower kit, Xander went to wash in the stream. Before he could play Beach Blanket
Bingo, he had to meet with Giles and the others again. He only hoped that they hadn't caught wind
of his little childish tantrum the previous night. He didn't want to worry that Buffy would try to
stake him -- not that it would do anything to him -- or that Willow would be afraid of him.
That was his biggest fear: Willow's reaction. After everything he'd been through over the past year
-- all the trials and discoveries, the pain, the loneliness and isolation -- Xander wanted nothing
more than to curl up with his head in his oldest and dearest friend's lap and have her tell him it
would be okay. Now, he finally had his chance, he had control over his freaky condition, and he
didn't want anything to screw up his "return" to Sunnydale.
Somehow, Xander knew that was wishful thinking.