Gargoyle




He hoped it would work.

Xander Harris sat cross-legged on the sketchy carpet in his motel room, dressed in Snoopy boxers, surrounded by lit tea candles, small bowls of herbs, and fancy rocks. The hum of the air conditioner beneath the window provided ambiance and helped block out the Pacific Coast Highway noise. The ratty curtains over the window were shut, blocking out the security lights of the neighboring business.It was the night of the full moon, and his neighbor had just finished his vigorous sexcapades.

Xander checked the time on the alarm clock on the dresser, and took a deep breath as the minute clicked over 12:00 AM exactly. He was really going to do this. He looked at the painstakingly created phonetic page nestled in the open book, illuminated by flickering orange flames. From the gist of the weirdly worded translation, the spell should improve his physique. Maybe. Hopefully. If, for once, the Powers That Be weren’t laughing at him. He chuckled nervously at the thought. There was only one way to find out. Taking another fortifying breath, he began reciting the spell.

Akuste prosecte katinek faraseeiftoe doe lexion
pou exsomatothikan pano poto atomoscono anagkis…

Xander intoned the words, trying not to stumble over the tongue-twisting pronunciation. The tea candle flames grew brighter, and the bowl of herbs began to smoke on their own. Thunder rumbled outside.

Apota kali ora tis nictas kitimera
to somas sas katharothkay…

The colorful rocks clicked against each other, and the flames began to dim. Heat bloomed in Xander’s body, causing him to suddenly sweat. He licked his parched lips and continued reciting.

Ginete adiaperasto kay stareo
Eesheroes meeodees…

Xander heard a roar of thunder in his ears, and his bones felt like they were breaking, as he forced out more words.

Ena zodanoa almika ne sarka
Adiaspasto key athrasto…

The flames shot from the tea candles to the ceiling as the last words of the spell tumbled from Xander’s lips. The herbs in the small bowl vanished in a flash of fire, and all the rocks cracked in half. A bolt of lightning streaked through his body, and Xander cried out in agony before everything went black.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander felt like his body was crumbling around him as he roused from unconsciousness. He pried open an eye, and found himself staring at the popcorn ceiling of his motel room. The air conditioner rattled as it switched on. It was dark in the room, the sole lights coming from the red glow of the alarm clock and the security lights bleeding around the edges of the curtained window. His body made a weird creaking sound as Xander pushed himself into a sitting position and checked the time. It read 7:05 PM.

“Yikes,” Xander said, shoving to his feet. He’d been out all day. He had to be at the club around 8:30 PM and he needed to grab dinner beforehand.

Xander’s motel room had dingy white walls, a queen-sized bed, and a squat dresser with a television chained to the wall resting on top. A telephone and alarm clock sat on the dresser beside the television. A generic abstract painting hung on one of the walls. The attached bathroom had seen better days. There had been enough room to push the bed to one side, giving him the space he’d needed to create the spell circle on the floor. He stepped over the spell detritus and hustled to the bathroom.

He squinted when he turned on the overhead bathroom light, and he turned the shower on. He no longer felt like his body was on fire, like he had during the casting, but he did feel like he’d been coated in sticky breadcrumbs. He closed the faded yellow shower curtain behind him as he stepped into the tub. Xander danced around the shower flow until he’d managed to adjust it to a tolerable level.

He lathered up and, feeling more awake and aware that he’d just done a spell for body improvement, he looked down at himself. “Holy Schnikes!” It has worked! He was ripped. Not like an overly pumped body-builder, but curated like a Hollywood hunk. Solid pecs. Killer abs. David lines at the hips.Arm and legs muscles buff and defined.

Xander rinsed quickly and got out of the shower. He dried himself with the threadbare, once-white bath towel the motel provided weekly, then wiped off the steamed mirror over the sink to get a better look at himself. He looked hot. His face hadn’t changed, but his neck was proportionately thicker, his shoulders more muscular. His torso looked like he’d been sculpted from a statue. He twisted to check out his back as best he could, sporting muscle where he hadn’t any before. And his ass was da bomb. It was awesome.

One thing he noticed in the negative was that he seemed paler. Not sickly, but definitely a vibrant shade of Goth white. It made his dark hair on his head at at his groin stand out move vividly. Weirdly, it didn’t appear he needed a shave, pits or face, and normally at this time of night, he’d have a shadowed growth to remove before work. His arms and legs were smooth as silk, as well. No happy trail, either. Just the manscaped patch he’d cultivated above his genitals and the short locks on the top of his head. It also didn’t appear that he’d suddenly grown a porn star-sized cock. Too bad. That would’ve been icing on the delicious-looking Xander cake.

Xander laughed at himself. Delicious-looking Xander cake? He was way too giddy and up, but deservedly so. He combed his fingers through his damp hair, and brushed his teeth. Clear deodorant went on, and he spritzed his taut abs with the cologne he knew the women liked. He left the bathroom light on in order to see until he was able to switch on the sconce lamp that hung on the wall above the bed.

He smiled when he looked down at the mess on the carpeting next to the bed. “Thank you, oh gods of Sarx Goēteia, whomever you are.” Nothing he’d been able to translate indicated that he’d be making a pact with the devil, so he felt all right in performing the spell. He grabbed the empty box he’d kept the magic supplies in and cleaned up the floor. He heard his neighbor, Carl, slam his door and his truck start up out front. This queued Eduardo, on the other side of Xander, to crank up the volume on Total Request Live. Kid Rock belted that he wanted to be a cowboy. Such were the sounds of motel life.

The badly spelled Zunny DayZ motel, pronounced Sunny Days, was located in the industrial sector of Oxnard, California, tucked behind the fabulous Ladies Night male strip club and convenient to the strippers who wanted to make extra cash. It was a place for truckers passing through and a handful of locals who couldn’t get, or didn’t want, an apartment for whatever reason. The motel had hourly rates and a monthly special, which Xander had taken advantage of when he’d found himself stuck in Oxnard. It has been a life-saver, both shelteringly and non-parentally.

Back in June, Xander’s great post-high school road trip had lasted an hour before his car had broken down with a loud kerplunk near the highway exit ramp to Oxnard. Oxnard was roughly sixty miles south of Sunnydale and sixty miles west of Los Angeles, on the coast. It was the home of Port Migu Naval Air Station, the Naval Construction Battalion Center Port Hueneme (Seebees Can Do!), and a lot of Navy wives whose husbands were at sea. The Ladies Night Club had been within walking distance of the mechanic, and they’d had a sign taped to a blacked-out window for a dishwasher. Xander would’ve rather stuck pokers in his eyes than call his parents for help, so he’d taken the job and a room at the motel. He’d then spent a lonely month getting dishpan hands, locked in the kitchen, not speaking to anyone beyond hello and goodnight.

But then Brad had called off sick one Friday night, Mark had still been at the hospital with a torn groin muscle, and the club had needed a fill-in stripper. The manager had plucked Xander from his dishes, telling him that he was “moderately good looking” and “would do,” and had shoved him in the direction of the stage. Awkward Xander Who Had No Idea What He Was Doing had been enough of a hit with the highly intoxicated crowd that the manager fired Mark and offered Xander his job. The pay increase from $5.75 an hour to $575 an hour had made it a no-brainer for Xander.

Granted, the pay was closer to $75 a night on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and between $150 and $175 the rest of the week. But it was higher than minimum wage and, within no time, Xander had amassed enough money to buy a new-used car, a turquoise Ford Fiesta, and he could leave the strip club anytime he’d wanted.

Then the choice had become: where would he go? Back on the road? Back to Sunnydale? The desire to escape Kerouac-style had faded, but the thought of returning to Sunnydale after his failed trip had given him hives. What would he do there, anyway? He’d bombed the SATs, getting in the 300s in both sections, making college a pipe dream. Aside from working at the strip club, he had no other employment experience. Helping save Sunnydale repeatedly had been his after school job back home, and that couldn’t be put on a resume. And where would he live? Back with his parents? Xander’s stomach had roiled with the thought. Eighteen years with them had been way more than enough, thanks.

So, since the money was good, Xander had decided to remain a stripper at the Ladies Night Club for the time being. The front of the house was much more affable than the back, and Xander had made friends with a few of the strippers and bartenders. There was a friendly and not-so-friendly rivalry between the strippers, though, based on fitness, grooming, and cock size. Their bodies were their money-makers, and the better a stripper looked, the more cash he raked in.

Before the spell, Xander had been average in every way. He stood at 5’-10” and weighed around 170-pounds. Brown hair, brown eyes. Fish belly skin from spending too much time indoors. A thin layer of flab hid any muscles he’d had. His package was visible in the briefs he wore, but definitely nothing to write home about. He hadn’t gotten any lap dances when he’d circulated on the floor.

Xander knew he suffered from an inferiority complex. Besides his parents making him feel like shit all his life, one of his best friends was a female superhero. It was hard not to feel like a wimp around her. It didn’t help that Cordelia had only found him moderately physically appealing, as she so cuttingly put it when they’d broken up. Angel had that whole dark hunk thing going, and he’d made it a snide point to put Xander’s appearance down in retaliation for Xander’s badmouthing him.

The last straw had been overhearing a hen party ranking the men at the club. He’d come in dead last, behind all the other strippers and even the bartenders, who never took off their shirts or moved from the back of the bar. It had crushed Xander, and he’d been on the verge of quitting when he’d realized the choices of where to go next awaited him. Instead, Xander had done what any other red-blooded American eighteen-year-old male who fought the forces of darkness in Sunnydale did at a time like this: turn to magic.

Oxnard wasn’t big on esoteric book shops, but Amazon online – Earth’s Biggest Bookstore (and music/DVD store) – had everything on mail order. Xander had spent summer afternoons in the library at the public computers, browsing Amazon’s wares. He’d had to search through fictional magic, self-help magic, and stage magic books to find the real magic books. He’d recognized the titles from the Giles’ collection in the locked section in the school library: Isolder’s Grimoire, The Book of Conjured Magic, Daimonia.

Xander had settled on Sarx Goēteia based on the description and having seeing the book back in Sunnydale. It had taken two weeks to get the book by third class US media mail, sent from Vermont. The book was written in Ancient Greek, and Xander had spent even more time at the library, using AltaVista and a Greek Dictionary to translate spell titles until he had found one that contained the words body and improvement. Then he had written the spell out phonetically as best he could, gathered the components, and now here he was: looking like an Ancient Greek Olympian, like he’d seen as statues and on vases at the museum.

Xander glanced at the time, cursed, and hustled to dress in his stripper garb: navy colored boxer-briefs, blue jeans, and a t-shirt. His more muscular body stretched the clothing to the point of obscenity. He wondered if his Pool Boy costume would still fit or if it’d be too tight. He’d gone from light flab to super fit, and while he could close the waistband of his jeans, he would definitely need to get a bigger size.

Xander snagged his wallet and keys, shoved his feet into his dark brown work boots, and left his motel room. He had less an hour to eat and get over to the Ladies Night Club. His hours were from nine until two in the morning, Tuesday through Saturday. He’d have to hit the 24-hour Wal-Mart after he got off shift, to pick up new clothes. He’d rather not put it off until he’d woken up tomorrow afternoon. He preferred hanging out at the beach for an hour or two with his friends.

The mid-September evening was warm as Xander walked the few blocks to In-and-Out Burger. The fast food place was a staple in his diet, and he greeted the counter staff with familiarity. “Juan, my man, how are you this fine evening?”

“Doing good,” Juan replied. He wore the white shirt, red-aproned uniform for In-and-Out Burger, along with a matching ball cap. His thin, black mustache twitched over his upper lip as he eyed Xander. “Looks like you shrunk your clothes in the dryer.”

Xander chuckled falsely. “Yeah. I’ve been working out a lot, too.”

“It shows.” Juan tapped his own pecs. “I’ve been thinking of hitting the weights myself.”

“Let me know if you ever want to lift sometime. I’ve got a membership to Power Fitness and you can borrow my card.”

Juan smiled. “Thanks, man. Now, what can I get you?”

Xander changed up his order a lot, and tonight he wanted a double Double-Double, no onions. He, like the other strippers at the club, kept a toothbrush and mouthwash in his work locker. Nothing like food breath to foul a lady’s night out.

While eating, Xander debated on what to tell the others at the club about his new physique. Shrinking his clothes in the dryer wouldn’t cut it, once he was stripped down to his briefs. He’d had nearly two days off – Sunday early morning until this Tuesday evening – and while he could say he’d spent the entire time working out, there was only so much his co-workers would believe. He supposed he’d have to go the body work route. Liposuction, a nip-and-tuck. A few of the others had had work done, so it wouldn’t be out of place. No one would really question it.

Decision made, Xander finished his meal and headed to work. The Ladies Night Club looked like a black painted warehouse with bright pink awnings over the shuttered windows and door. The door itself had a male wearing trousers and a bow tie, sans shirt, etched in the frosted glass. The parking lot was well lit, and a large, handsome bouncer stood outside the door, dressed in black with Ladies Night embroidered in pink over one solid pec.

Inside, the club was dim and inviting. A stage took up the back of the room, with a full length bar to the right. Round tables with four to ten chairs filled the remainder of the space. Stage lighting hung from the exposed black ceiling, and speakers flanked either end of the stage. The music tended to be loud, and the ladies louder, as the night wore on. At the moment, it was quiet, as the bartenders set up for the night.

Xander came in through the back door, using his button pass code to unlock it. The door opened up into a hallway that ran the length of the building. The kitchen was to the left, tucked behind the bar, and the employees changing room was to the right, behind the stage. An employee bathroom was in the corner at the end of the hall.

Xander greeted his fellow strippers who’d arrived ahead of him as he entered the changing room. “Hey, guys.” The changing room had lockers flanking one side, a long bench running up the middle, and well lit stage vanities with mirrors flanking the other side. Wet wipes, deodorants, colognes, hair gels and hairsprays littered the surface of the vanities, along with concealer, foundation, lip gloss, and styling brushes. Perfect grooming was a key tenant of a stripper’s life, and it was reflected in the products scattered about.

The others were in various states of readiness for work. They were required to wear jeans or similarly tight trousers and work boots when on the floor, no shirts, and tear-away costumes when on stage. There were ten strippers employed at Ladies Night, and they rotated on and off stage throughout the night. There were solos, duos, and group numbers. They tried to mix up performances and song choice throughout the week, in case of repeat customers. They were in full control of performances, which led to a lot of ego clashes. Most of the club’s strippers were in their 20s, with Xander on the young end and Tripp at the high end, at 28. The ladies came to see young men they could sink their teeth into, not guys that reminded them of their spouses.

“Looking pretty pumped there, Xander,” one of the strippers commented, eyeing Xander’s tight clothing. “You get work done?”

“Yeah,” Xander went with the lie. “I was tired of coming in last place to you losers.”

There was laughter all around, but one of the older strippers shook his head. “Shouldn’t have done it. The body is a temple. It should be treated with reverence.”

Xander endured more ribbing as he got ready for work and the other strippers arrived. Some approved of his new look, some disapproved, but everyone bought that he’d had plastic surgery done. No hocus pocus involved.

A new week meant new clientele, and Tuesdays tended to be slow. A divorcée party filled one ten-spot table and a birthday party filled another. A few smaller groups of Navy wives passing the time were scattered around the rest of the room, and more would come and go as the evening wore on. Still, the job was the same no matter if there was one person in attendance or a full house: make the ladies feel safe and fabulous.

The doors had opened at 9:00 PM. Music thumped and lights strobed. The ladies dressed either in business suits or jeans and nice blouses, and they alternated turns ferrying drinks from the bar to their tables. The first stripper, Creighton the Construction Worker, a brawny, stubble-faced hunk, went on at 9:30 PM. Xander the Pool Boy was on stage for his solo at 9:45 PM, and again at 1:15 AM, and with the Mail Man and Gardener for a trio at 11:30 PM. The rest of the time, he was circulating on the floor. He’d been right to be worried about the Pool Boy costume. It nearly fell off the moment he took the stage. Only quick hands saved it from being a short show.

The women who patroned the strip club cared most about abs, pecs, and arms. A tight ass helped. Unlike female strip clubs, most of the women came to have a giggly, novel night out with their girlfriends, and not to fantasize about sex. Xander’s job was primarily to help the women feel daring and outrageous, and act as a prop to their booze-soaked memories. True propositions were rare, from what Xander had heard, and they were usually from recent divorcées battling depression. He hadn’t been propositioned yet.

While on stage, Xander went by catcalls to see how well he was doing. On the floor, it went by how often he was called to a table. Before the spell, he’d get moderate hoots and few beckons. But now, with his newly sculpted body, he was bouncing from table to table, getting pictures, pinches, and asked repeatedly to drop his jeans. It was followed by a lot of giggling and cash being stuffed down his briefs, with the occasionally copped feel.

The manager noticed, and stopped Xander at the end of the night. “Whatever you did, keep it up. You were the most talked about person tonight.”

Wearing a large smile on his face, his chest puffed with peacock pride, Xander strutted out the back door of the Ladies Night Club. Hot people must feel this way all the time. He’d been right to be envious of men better built than him. Why had he waited so long to do something about it? He could’ve had his pick at Sunnydale High School. Buffy would’ve looked his way instead of at Angel. Xander having a ripped body would’ve saved them from Angelus!

Mind drifting in alternate history daydreams, Xander walked though the wide alley separating Ladies Night from Zunny DayZ – it would’ve made so much more sense to call it Sunny Days instead – and rounded the motel to the front. His new-used car was parked in the lot outside his room. He’d make a quick trip to Wal-Mart for a better fitting wardrobe, and pick up another roll of velcro plus a new Pool Boy shorts to alter. He’d rip out the side seams and sew in the velcro. He was pretty handy with a sewing needle.

The trip didn’t take long. The streets of Oxnard were relatively empty at 2:30 AM on a Wednesday morning. Wal-Mart had a few customers wandering around in various states of drunkenness or sick-kid-ness. Xander tried several sizes of jeans until he found ones that fit well, matched briefs to that size, and found some new t-shirts as well. Velcro went into the cart, as did a box of HoHos and a bottle of YooHoo.

The employee manning the register gave Xander the once over and a possibly flirtatious smile. His name tag read Jackson. “Find everything okay?” Jackson asked.

“Yep,” Xander said. He was terrible with the whole ‘is this person interested in me’ thing, and had zero experience with a guy, unless he counted Larry, which had been a comedy of mistakes not an actual flirtation.

Jackson didn’t look too much older than Xander. Maybe a college kid with a night job. He was tall, lean, and had artfully messy blond hair that Xander could never pull off. There were dimples in his cheeks when he smiled.

“YooHoo, huh?” Jackson said, as he scanned the bottle. “I’ve never had one of these.”

“Oh man, you’re missing out. Chocolaty heaven in every sip,” Xander said, and then wanted to smack himself. Chocolaty heaven?

“Maybe I’ll try one when I go on break,” Jackson said, glancing at the clock. “It’s in fifteen minutes.”

“You won’t be disappointed,” Xander said. “Especially if you drink it when it’s super cold.”

Jackson gave him another smile, and the total of his purchases. Xander paid cash, and awkwardly stood with his bags in hand after getting his receipt. “Um… bye. Enjoy the drink.”

“I will.” Jackson seemed to be amused. “In fifteen minutes.”

“Okay.”

“I usually take my break outside,” Jackson went on. “At the picnic tables at the side of the store.”

Xander nodded, half-smiled, and waved with his fingers through the handles of the plastic bags. “Well, uh, see ya.”

“Thank you for shopping at Wal-Mart,” Jackson said.

“No, thank you for… checking me out,” Xander finished lamely. He chuckled self-consciously and hurried off. He was such an idiot.

Xander was halfway back to the motel before he realized that Jackson had maybe, probably wanted Xander to show up for his break. He glanced at the clock over the radio. It had only been ten minutes. Should he turn around? He’d catch most of the break if he did. But what if he was mistaken? What if it hadn’t been an invitation? He would look weird coming back. But he could also possibly make a friend, and Xander could use more friends.

Xander hemmed and hawed for another minute before turning around. He got back to Wal-Mart and parked on the side where the picnic tables were. He could see Jackson sitting at one of the tables in a pool of overhead lamplight, with a book and a YooHoo.

Xander checked himself in the rear view mirror. Flat brunet hair, check. Goth pale skin, check. No HoHo remnants in his teeth, check. Breath? Chocolatey, which was acceptable.

Jackson looked up from his book when Xander approached, and a dimpled smile greeted him. “Hey, again.”

“Hey.” Xander smiled back nervously, hovering at the end of the bench. He motioned at the glass bottle on the table. “What’d’ya think?”

“Definitely chocolatey,” Jackson said. He put a marker in his book and closed it. “I didn’t know if you would show.”

“I, uh, didn’t know I was being asked to show until I was halfway home,” Xander admitted.

Jackson’s brows climbed. “And you came back?”

Xander shifted on his feet, feeling like an utter moron. “Yeah?”

The dimpled smile grew brighter. “I had guessed maybe you were gay. Or a Meterosexual. But usually they don’t wear such tight clothes.”

“Laundry mishap,” Xander lied, going with what Juan had said earlier. “And I’m not gay.” That sounded defensive, and Jackson’s smile dimmed. Xander flapped his hands awkwardly. “I mean, I am. Sort of. Maybe. I did love Jesse, who was a guy, and I’ve thought about it at night when...” This time, Xander made the jack off motion, which was even worse, and he stopped short and shoved his hands in his too tight jeans pockets. “But, you know, breasts. They’re so nice and… breasty.” God, he was such an idiot. Why couldn’t his new physical self come with a personality upgrade?

Jackson seemed to find this amusing. “On the fence, huh?”

“I guess?” Xander wanted to crawl into a hole and die from embarrassment. He should’ve kept driving. “That’s not normal, is it? It’s weird. I’m weird. Mr. Weirdo, fence sitter. How does one sit on a fence, anyway? Wouldn’t it be uncomfortable? All those little pointy bits?” Great, he was rambling now. Someone, stake him.

But Jackson laughed instead. “I suppose it would be uncomfortable,” he said. “And it’s not weird. It’s totally normal. I didn’t know for sure myself until my senior year of high school.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” Jackson replied. “I have one more year of classes at Oxnard College. Dental hygiene.”

Xander was surprised. “I’ve never met anyone with that as a career goal.”

Jackson shrugged. “Average pay is $25 an hour starting out.”

“Wow, that’s good.”

Jackson glanced at his watch. “I gotta get back to work.” He rose, picked up his book and half-finished drink. “You want to get together later? I get off at five, but have classes starting and nine until one. I usually go to bed around four in the afternoon.”

“I’m meeting some friends at Hollywood beach this afternoon, around three.” Xander rocked on his heels and took a chance. “You could join us. If you want. Or not. Whatever.”

Jackson smiled again. “I’ll find you.”

“Coolness.” Xander smiled in return, and though he still felt like the biggest dork of all dorkdom, he kinda sorta maybe had a date.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander went back to his motel room, anticipation already biting at his heels. He hoped things went well with Jackson. He didn’t need a relationship, but he wasn’t against one. Or against trying sex with a guy. If that was what was happening here. He could have still been mistaken. Wouldn’t be the first time the English language had failed him. He clung to the prayers of the foolish that things would go alright.

His new clothes went in the drawers, his old clothes went into the emptied bags in the small closet by the bathroom. He took the time to sew the velcro in his new Pool Boy shorts, then put on a new pair of sleep boxers with the Taco Bell Chihuahua on them, snagged the TV remote, and got into bed. Like he did every night, or early morning as the case may be, he’d watch a few hours of brainless cable before crashing for a chunk of the day.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander awoke with the television blaring an AutoZone commercial. He rubbed his eyes and felt creaking in his joints. He stared bleary-eyed up at the popcorn ceiling until the hamster in his brain started running on its wheel. His stomach grumbled, and he had to piss. He should get moving if he wanted to grab a bite to eat before hitting the beach.

Xander pushed out of bed, went over to the curtains, and pulled them open. He expected to see sunshine like he usually did when he got up. Instead, he saw a nighttime sky and security lights. What the hell? He looked over at the clock. It read 7:04 PM. He’d slept the entire day. Crap.

He hadn’t realized he’d been that tired. He normally woke up around two in the afternoon, three PM at the latest. He never slept this long, so naturally today was the one day that he did. Crap, again.

The message light was blinking on the motel phone, and he shut the curtains and turned on the bed light before checking them. Some of his friends at the club had cell phones, but he hadn’t taken the plunge yet. The motel had a recording system for each room, and Xander punched in the appropriate numbers to retrieve the messages. The first one was from Brad, a fellow stripper from the club.

Yo, Xander. Where are you, brah? You’re missing out on the hotties.

The second was from Noah, another co-worker friend, whom Xander was supposed to meet at the beach.

Hey, you good? Not like you to ditch us. See you tonight.

A soft, slightly gooey feeling formed in his chest at the messages. People actually cared if he didn’t show up! Then, Xander thought of another person who would’ve cared that he hadn’t shown up. Aw, hell, Jackson. He probably thought Xander had ditched him. Crap times three.

He looked at the clock again. 7:08 PM. If he hurried, he could run out to Wal-Mart and apologize. But would Jackson even be on shift this early? Maybe he should go after work. Or he should go now and find out when Jackson worked? Or maybe leave a note? Or should he hide his head in the sand in shame and never go to Wal-Mart again?

Xander chose the leave-a-note option, and hustled to get ready for work. Fifteen minutes later, Xander headed out the door. He dropped by Wal-Mart first, left a note signed with his name and phone number with an amused co-worker of Jackson’s – that wasn’t mortifying at all – and swung by Arby’s for a Beef-n-Cheddar classic meal for dinner. He also chanced a run to the CVS to pick up a box of condoms, just in case. Never could be too prepared.

Wednesdays were surprisingly busy at the Ladies Night Club, with a multitude of brides having last minute hen parties before they married over the weekend. As he got ready, Xander enjoyed good-natured ribbing of his sleeping through the day and missing the beach. Everyone presumed he’d been up til all hours of the morning test driving his “nip-and-tuck” with a woman. It was the first time other guys equated Xander with having a sex life, and it made Xander feel good. Usually, he was the dork in the loud shirts trying to hard to fit in.

But Xander definitely didn’t feel like an outsider on the floor that night. Yesterday’s crowd paled in comparison to the riotous hen parties who wanted his attention. He shook, he shimmied, he dropped trou. He got groped and pinched. He even had his abs licked. His briefs were so stuffed with tips, he had to make three stops to his locker to divest himself of money. By the end of the night, he’d had close to $250. Thank you, Sarx Goēteia!

After work, he went back to the motel to check his messages. He was disappointed there was nothing from Jackson, but maybe he’d still call. Xander took a post-work shower and spent the rest of the morning alternating between watching monster movies on cable and hoping the phone would ring.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Xander woke up, it was 7:03 PM. He’d slept through the entire day again. What the hell? The red light on the phone blinked on and off, indicating he had a message. The television played the evening news. He switched off the latter and picked up the former.

Hey, Xander. It’s Jackson. Got your note. I’m free later this afternoon around two if you want to get together. Call me.

Xander jotted Jackson’s number on a receipt he snagged from the trash. Of course, it was well past two, but now at least he could call Jackson. But hadn’t Jackson said he slept in the evenings, from four PM on? Xander scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. He’d have to try in the morning before he went to sleep and hope Jackson had gotten off work, to try to remake plans.

Sighing, Xander went to take a shower and get ready for work.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander sat on the edge of the bed, watching the clock. He figured 6:30 AM was a good time to try Jackson. Normally, being “on” for five hours straight was draining and he’d be exhausted by now, but with all the extra sleeping the last few days he was wide awake.

He nervously fiddled with the hem of his boxers. He hoped Jackson understood why he’d been a no show twice. Or a no call. Why couldn’t things go smoothly? The love gods must be laughing at his expense. Look at Xander struggle over a simple date – hardi-har-har. Or maybe his subconscious was trying to sabotage him. Maybe he wasn’t ready to be gay. Maybe freakage was causing him to sleep through his chances of getting laid.

The clock ticked over to 6:30, but Xander was in the throws of self-doubt and panic. He stood up and paced the length of the motel room, from front door to the bathroom and back. Was he ready? Did he really want this? His fantasies said he did, and Jackson seemed nice and was pleasantly shaped. And what was the worst that could happen? He could hate it and never do it again? But he wouldn’t know if he didn’t try. He could end up loving it. He could end up being the gayest gay that ever was gay in Gaydonia. He might never visit Breastville again. He was also losing his mind. Breastville?

Shoving away his insecurity, resolved to at least try it, Xander picked up the receiver and dialed Jackson’s number. He sat back down on the end of the bed again. He curled the cord around his hand as the line rang in his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jackson? It’s Xander. Xander Harris. He of the no show and of the note leaving.”

“Oh, hey, Xander.”

“My bad for not getting back to you. I slept all day again yesterday. Didn’t wake up til after seven, so I didn’t get your message until then.”

“It’s okay.”

“No. No it’s not. Cuz I was kinda looking forward to getting together with you, and blew it.”

Jackson chuckled. “Nah, you didn’t blow it. Shit happens, I get it.”

“It was the shittiest. Of happenings.” Xander winced at his lameness. “Um, think we can try again?”

“Sure. I just got off work a few minutes ago. I have classes starting at nine until noon, but I’m free this morning and after that, until around four. When’d you have in mind?”

Xander was still wide awake, so he suggested, “How about breakfast? Today?”

“I could do breakfast. Where at?”

Xander searched his brain for something that was open at this hour. He was usually asleep by now. “Uh… dunno. What’s open?”

“Um, McDonald’s, Waffle House, IHOP, Denny’s,” Jackson listed. “Shirley’s, Tilda’s Pancake House.”

McDonald’s seemed the least formal of the list, which worked for Xander at this point. He wasn’t sure he was ready for a full-on meal with a side of date. “McDonald’s? I could be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“Sure. I’ll see you there.”

“Cool. See—”

“See? See what? Xander, you still there? Hello?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander woke abruptly, with the words “–Ya soon-like” tumbling from his lips. The phone was clutched in his hand, the disconnect beep blasting in his ear. His body creaked as he jerked the receiver down. He was still seated on the edge of the bed. The clock across from him read 7:01 PM.

“What the hell?!” he exclaimed to the empty room. He stood and hung up the receiver. What the hell was going on? He’d blacked out mid-sentence, and now it was seven at night. The red light on the phone was blinking. He picked the receiver back up and checked the messages. There were two, both from Jackson.

Hey, I think we got disconnected. I’ll see you over at McDonald’s in fifteen,” went the first message.

This is Jackson. You never showed. I don’t like being jerked around. Lose my number.

“Damn it!” Xander slammed down the phone and glared at the clock. “This is all your fault.”

The clock, of course, didn’t respond, or do anything other than be a clock. Frustrated, confused, and angry, Xander stalked to the bathroom to piss and take a shower. He’d apparently fallen asleep in the middle of a phone call. Had he suddenly developed narcolepsy, or something? Or had he been right, and he was freaking himself into unconsciousness when he tried to do something gay?

Well, if was the latter, he didn’t have to worry anymore, because Jackson wanted nothing more to do with him. “You hear that, brain?” Xander said aloud in the shower. “Not trying the gay, so stop knocking me out. It’s all breasts for me, from now on. Breasts, breasts, breasts, breasts, breasts.”

He sounded like a nutter. A pervy one. He finished washing up, got out, and toweled off. Friday and Saturday nights were the busiest at the club, and he had to be extra primped and primed. He shoved all thoughts of his questioning sexuality and sanity out of his mind, and got ready for work.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Those laughing love gods must’ve decided to take pity on Xander, because he received his first offer for an after-work hook up that night. A mousy-looking brunette, wearing her hair pulled back tightly and dressed in a severe pinstriped pantsuit, with a vivid tan line where her wedding ring used to be. He’d learned the drill from the other strippers, so as not to be arrested for prostitution. Get the money at the club, make sure she agreed it was his tip for his dancing at work only, and then invite her over for a free cocktail at the motel. It was important to emphasize the word free.

The divorcée, who’d said to call her Beautiful, giggled and walked unsteadily with him back to the motel. She clung to his arm, intoxicated and aroused, declaring, “I’m going to ride you like a stallion and enjoy every single second of it. Fuck my ex-husband!”

Xander wasn’t sure how to unpack that, so he didn’t try. He wasn’t sure he could speak coherently anyway. Someone wanted to have sex with him! And not in a scary can’t-say-no type of way. It was awesome, and nerve-wracking. What if she changed her mind? What if he was terrible? What if she told everyone his penis was tiny?

Wiping his damp hand on his jeans, he let them into his room, and quickly hustled about, kicking his dirty clothes into the closet and stashing his tips in his extra work boots, as he rambled, “Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting company. I don’t normally keep it this messy. I didn’t have time to clean up. Do you want a Coke?” He had a half-empty case of Coke tucked beside the dresser. “They’re warm, though. I could get some ice. There’s an ice machine down the way. I have a bucket. It comes with the room.”

“Okay.” Beautiful hovered near the side of the bed, toying with the collar of her starched shirt. She swayed from intoxication.

“Great.” Xander snagged the plastic ice bucket the motel provided. “Be right back.”

He let himself out of the room. Anxiety and panic battled with horniness inside him. Not only was he going to have sex only for the second time, he was doing it with his new body. What if he hated it? What if he did it wrong? What would happen if he ran away now and forgot about the woman in his motel room?

Xander shoveled ice into the plastic bucket, fretting the entire time. He usually took a shower after work. Was he sweaty? Did he stink? Was his breath bad? He tried to sniff himself, but he couldn’t tell. Maybe he could duck into the bathroom and wash up quickly before they did the deed. If they did the deed. He couldn’t believe he might be doing the deed! He paused in front of his motel room door. It wasn’t too late to run.

“C’mon, moron. There’s a woman in there who wants to have sex with you. Stop being a wuss,” he muttered to himself. He took a deep, shaky breath before re-entering the room.

“I got i-ai-ai-chi-mama.” Xander stared at Beautiful, who had divested herself of all her clothing and lay nakedly in the center of the bed. Her one-piece bathing suit tan lines shouted look at these sexy bits from the paleness of her torso. Her unbound hair kinked around her shoulders and on the pillows behind her head. She’d found the condoms that he’d bought when he thought he might try something with Jackson.

Xander held up the bucket idiotically. “I have ice. Do you want ice? I have ice.”

“No.” She stared at him with wild, hungry eyes. “I want you.”

Xander nodded like a bobblehead, set the bucket on the bed beside her, and tried to pull off his boots. They were tied tight, and he knocked into the wall, catching himself before he fell over. He laughed a little too loudly at himself, before bending over to untie his work boots and heeling them off. He pulled his t-shirt shirt over his head and flung it across the room. It landed on the television. She kept watching him as he unbuttoned his jeans and shimmied them and his briefs down and off.

Her eyes widened when she saw his erection standing at attention. Was it a good stare or a bad stare? Should he apologize for being pokey when the rest of him was buff? She hadn’t laughed yet which was a good sign, maybe. Perhaps he should put back on his boxer-briefs and save them both the embarrassment.

Beautiful took the decision out of his hands by making space for him and patting the bed. Xander took it as a mark in the positive column. The ice bucket spilled when he quickly climbed onto the bed, and she squealed and laughed.

“Oops, sorry,” Xander apologized. He’d already screwed up. Now, she was going to leave and tell everyone at the Ladies Night Club not to have sex with him.

“No sorries,” Beautiful said instead of leaving. She pushed him over, used a condom, and climbed on top of him. The ice cubes were cold against his side. She smelled like liquor and lust. “I’m done with sorry. I’m going to take what I want, where I want, when I want, how I want.”

And so she did.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Beautiful left around four AM, and Xander grinned as he showered, grinned as he stripped the bed, and grinned as he called the motel front desk to get another set of sheets. He grinned as he walked to the always-open motel front office, grinned at the night clerk as he accepted the sheets, and grinned at the clerk’s comment, “Someone got laid.”

“Yes. Yes, I did. Very much so,” Xander said. He grinned some more, and took his clean sheets back to his room. He’d had sex. Good sex. Lots of sex. With lots of thrusting and moaning and bouncing breasts. And never once did she laugh at his lack of length. Never once did he feel like she was doing him a favor, even if she was using him to get over her divorce. He also hadn’t felt like she’d break his bones if he’d changed his mind.

Xander knew he’d do it again, too, without shame. Not with Beautiful, because she’d get on with her life. But with any lady who propositioned him and stuck around after she saw him naked. Sex was awesome, and he needed to have more of it. He’d have to stock up on condoms. And if he ever found a guy that didn’t cause him to black out in fear of gay sex – if that was what was happening – he’d be ready.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander fell asleep around 6:15 AM Saturday morning and didn’t awake until seven that night. Damn it! What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he sleeping so long? He’d had very hetero-sex, no extra penises in sight. No concern that gay sex was in the lineup, at all. But he’d had passing thoughts about it, though. Was that it? Or was it narcolepsy? Or some other sleep disorder? Or some other psychological disorder? Maybe he should see a doctor. After tonight, he had two days off. The urgent care clinic was open from eight AM til eight PM – he’d looked up the hours when he’d found he’d be stuck in Oxnard – but it would be expensive since he didn’t have insurance. Unless he was still on his parents’ insurance because they’d neglected to take him off. He actually wouldn’t be surprised, because it would take effort to remove him and they probably hadn’t bothered yet.

After fretting, hemming, and hawing for a good hour before he went to work, and another few hours afterward, Xander decided to chance his parents’ laziness and go to the clinic. He’d at least have an answer as to why he was sleeping for so long.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The alarm beeped incessantly when Xander awoke. He’d set it for 2:30 PM, thinking it would wake him up. It hadn’t. It was 6:58 PM, and a confirmed check outside showed it was night. Which meant the alarm had been beeping for over four hours. He’d slept right through it. He was lucky it was Sunday. His neighbor, Eduardo, worked second shift on Sundays, and his other neighbor, Carl, went “Fishing with Jesus” and usually didn’t get back until around 8:30 PM.

Cursing and grumbling, Xander shut off the alarm, cleaned up, and drove to the clinic. A handful of cars were in the parking lot. Oxnard Urgent Care Clinic stood in a squat medical complex, book-ended by a dialysis place with a physical therapist’s office in between. Xander checked in at the desk, filled out the paperwork he was given, paid a co-pay, and took a seat with the after hours non-emergency ouchies and sick people. He leafed through Home & Garden, Field & Stream, Travel & Leisure, and was about to start on another &-magazine when he was called back.

The nurse leading Xander took his weight on a standing scale, located in the hall between the rooms. Xander was surprised that it had gone up, considering he hadn’t an ounce of fat on him anymore. But then he remembered hearing that muscle weighed more than fat, and it made sense.

Xander was put in a room that held an exam table, a chair, and a long counter with cabinets above and below it. Jars with common supplies, like cotton balls, q-tips, and tongue depressors lined the counter beside the inset sink. The nurse, who wore pink scrubs with yellow bananas on them, took his blood pressure, his temperature, and general information as to why he was there. Then, she left him to wait again.

The paper on the exam table crinkled under Xander’s ass. He stared at the poster on the wall, and had learned the names of his muscles by the time the doctor arrived with a knock on the door. The doctor wore blue scrubs, had short blonde hair, glasses, and carried a chart. “Hello, Xander, I’m Dr. Pieczek,” she said, as she closed the door behind her. “It says here that you’ve been having sleeping issues, is that correct?”

“Yeah.” Xander shifted uncomfortably. Now that the doctor was here, he was thinking this had been a bad idea. Why was he worried about sleeping too much? It was only sleep.

“Insomnia?”

Xander shook his head. “No, the opposite. I’m sleeping too much.”

“How much is too much?” Dr. Pieczek asked. She put the chart on the counter and began taking notes.

“All day,” Xander said. “Twelve to thirteen hours.”

“And you normally don’t sleep that long?”

“No. Only about half.”

Dr. Pieczek made a note. “Why don’t you sleep at night?”

“I work nights.” Xander rubbed his palms on his jeans-covered thighs. “Nine to two. I usually get to work around 8:30-8:45.”

“And what time do you go to bed?” she asked.

“Around six, maybe a little later,” Xander told her. “I used to get up around two, but this week I haven’t been waking up until seven at night.”

Dr. Pieczek made a humming sound, and she took her stethoscope from around her neck as she approached him. “Have you been depressed lately? Has someone in your family, or a friend, passed away?”

“Nope. Things have been good,” Xander said, the debacle with Jackson notwithstanding. But that hadn’t made him depressed, only confused and panicky.

Dr. Pieczek put the stethoscope ends in her ears and placed the disk on his chest over his t-shirt. “Take a few deep breaths.”

Xander did as instructed. She moved the stethoscope around as he breathed, then switched to his back. “Take a few more,” she instructed. Xander did.

“Your lungs and heart sound fine,” Dr. Pieczek said. She draped the stethoscope around her neck again, then took his arm and put her fingers on his inner wrist at his pulse point. “You are very pale, though. It could be a Vitamin D deficiency. That causes excessive fatigue.”

Xander looked at his arm. Under the florescent lights of the exam room, his skin did have a chalk-white tone. The lights at the club were pink-tinted and dimmed, for the effect and atmosphere, and his motel room lights were poor quality. He hadn’t realized how pale he’d become. Like a vanilla milkshake with a taut brachioradialis.

“I’m going to order up some blood tests, and we’ll see where we go from the results,” Dr. Pieczek said, returning to the chart to make a few notes. “I can see that you work out. Try to take it easy until we figure out what’s going on. It’s possible that you’re exercising too much and it’s causing strain on your body, which is resulting in prolongated sleep. The blood tests will tell us if that’s the case.”

Xander nodded. He couldn’t exactly tell her that his body came from magic, not exercise.

“Becky will take you over to our testing station,” Dr. Pieczek told him. She closed his chart. “The results take about a week to come in. You’ll get a letter in the mail. You can follow up here, or we can forward the results to your normal physician.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Dr. Pieczek smiled goodnight. “Becky will be right in.”

She departed, and Xander’s shoulders relaxed from the tension he’d unknowingly been holding. Vitamin D deficiency didn’t sound all that bad. He figured it meant he’d need to start taking Flintstones vitamins again, or something.

Becky, the nurse in pink, banana-decorated scrubs, knocked and came in. “Hi, Xander. Ready for your blood work?”

“Yep.” Xander hopped off the table and followed her down a couple of corridors to a small room with a chair, a side table, and a tall cabinet. He took a seat. Becky left and a different nurse came in. This one wore plain black scrubs, and gave him an appreciative double-take that he was getting used to seeing from women at the club.

The nurse, who introduced herself as Jennifer, stuck sticker labels on three vials and set the vials on the side table next to Xander. “I’m going to take three vials of blood, all right?”

Xander shrugged. “Whatever was ordered.”

Jennifer added a wrapped needle to the side table, then drew on plastic gloves. She opened an alcohol wipe and swiped it over Xander’s inner right elbow. She tied an elastic band around his bicep, and tapped several times at the faint vein in the crease of the elbow. She frowned slightly, but said nothing. Xander wasn’t if that was bad or not.

“This is going to sting, but only for a second,” Jennifer told him, as she picked up and opened the needle. She inserted one of the vials into the open end, behind the needle, then placed the needle at his vein. She pushed.

The needle crumpled.

“What the…?” Jennifer looked stunned. Xander did, too. He stared at the accordion tip of the needle in wonder. It had hurt for a nanosecond before the needle crumpled.

“That’s never happened before,” Jennifer said. She quickly discarded the needle, took another from the cabinet, opened it, and inserted the vial. “Let’s try this again.”

Xander watched with dismay as the new needle snapped this time. Jennifer stared at the broken needle with utter confusion written on her features. She took the vial out and dropped the needle in the biohazard receptacle. “Maybe it’s a defective box.”

Jennifer opened the cabinet and retrieved a box of needles. She set it aside on the small table. Then she took out a brand new box, broke the seal, and picked a needle. She removed the plastic, inserted the vial, and took aim at Xander’s vein.

The needle bent like a crooked, mishammered nail. Jennifer’s stunned expression complimented Xander’s feeling of dread. He laughed awkwardly. “Maybe my arm’s made of steel,” he suggested. He decided the best thing to do was to get out of there. “I think I’ll go now. I’ll get the blood tests another time, once you figure out what’s wrong with the needles.”

Jennifer nodded slowly, turning the needle around in circles as she stared at it, perplexed. “That’s fine. Schedule up at the desk or call.”

Xander escaped as soon as she stepped back, but he didn’t stop at the desk to reschedule anything. He made a beeline to his car and sped back to his motel, all the while anxiously reciting, “What the hell? What the hell? What the hell?”

Once behind a locked motel room door, Xander snagged his small sewing kit and retrieved one of the needles. In the bathroom, which had the best light, Xander jabbed the needle at his inner elbow. It snapped in two.

Xander had felt the sting, if only for an instant, so he hadn’t missed. What the hell was happening? Foregoing another needle, Xander grabbed the small scissors in the kit. He braced himself before giving a good stab at his inner elbow with them. He felt another brief sting, but the scissor tips smushed like an accordion.

A panicked burble caught in Xander’s throat. He switched the scissors into his other hand and attempted to stab his other inner elbow with the crumpled tips. They only crumpled more.

Officially wigging, Xander dug around his shaving kit until he found the hair scissors. Eschewing his inner arms, he went for his left thigh, figuring it wouldn’t hamper his driving if what he started to think was happening, was wrong. He gripped the scissors in his hand and jabbed down. The scissor-tips bent in half with a short sting of pain.

“Oh, shit.” Xander stared at his wide-eyed reflection in the mirror. He brought the bent scissors up to the center of his chest and stabbed himself as hard as he could. It hurt for a blink, and the scissors broke. “Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit, shitty shit shit.”

Xander tried a stake next, a collection of which he had in the closet. It splintered. The fork tines bent crazily. The knife didn’t cut his arm, his palm, or his neck. Slamming his hand in the door did cause him to yip in pain, but the pain was gone in a heartbeat and his hand was perfectly fine. No broken bones. No swelling or bruising. Not even a pink tinge.

“This can’t be happening.” Xander tried to injure himself several more times inside with no success. Finally, in an rash act of panicked desperation, Xander went outside, used his car to clamber up onto the ten-foot roof the motel, and dove off into a belly flop on the pavement. A solid 10/10 smack, which knocked the wind out of him and made his entire front-side sting. But it was brief, and he was up on his feet in seconds, perfectly fine.

“Oooookay then.” Xander glanced around to see if anyone witnessed his high dive act. The parking lot was empty. Relieved, he went back into his room, locked the door, and sat on the edge of his bed.

“So,” he said to the television set. He could see his reflection in the black screen. “I seem to be invulnerable. Like Superman. Though I definitely can’t fly.” He heh-heh’d with a tinge of hysteria. “But am I strong like Supes?”

Xander stood and attempted to lift the dresser with the television and everything on it. He had more muscle than he had previously, but still he barely lifted it off the carpet. No flight, no super-strength, only invulnerability. Definitely a Diet Superman.

Xander sank back onto the bed and dropped his face into his palms, fighting back another hysterical laugh. What was happening to him? First the sleep thing, and now this? And what about his super pale skin? His mind spun chaotically. What the what-the-what-what was going on?

He dropped his hands and looked around the motel room, as if an answer would appear written on the walls. His eyes caught sight of the open-lidded work boot box in the corner, near the air conditioner. “D’oh!” Xander exclaimed, and smacked his forehead like an idiot. The spell! Of course! It was a spell to improve his body, which had apparently done more to him than he’d thought.

Xander moved from the bed and found his handwritten notes in the box, with his poor translation of the spell. Right there, in his spidery print, were the words “impenetrable” and “unbroken.” Ha!

Relief flooded through him. It was indeed the spell, and likely so was the other stuff. He hadn’t translated all the page text in the Sarx Goēteia – what he had translated had taken forever as it was – and so he’d probably missed out on the full outcome list. The pale skin and sleeping had to be side-effects. He wasn’t a depressed, Vitamin D-deprived, gay-panicked narcoleptic.

Xander brightened further when he realized that he was now vampire-proof. And maybe even death-by-other-demonkind-proof. Oooh, and possibly bullet-proof, too! Not that Xander was going to buy a gun to test the last theory, but he could hope. He needed to find some dark alleys closer to LA to locate some demons. Oxnard was refreshingly demon-free, so far as he could tell. At least, no vamps had accosted him in the alley behind the Ladies Night Club since he’d arrived in Oxnard, nor during any of his outings in the dark of night.

Maybe he’d take a trip to LA tomorrow evening, since he had off, and explore the possibility of being bite-proof. Right now, his stomach was reminding him that he’d missed dinner in favor of the urgent care clinic.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Monday night, Xander awoke at 6:57 PM, a minute earlier than on Sunday. When he thought about it, he realized he’d been steadily getting up sooner every evening since he’d done the spell. Maybe that side-effect would wear off over time.

Xander cleaned up, stopped for a bite to eat, and then headed for LA. He knew Cordelia and Angel had both moved to the city, but he had no clue where. He didn’t want to see them, anyway. Well, not Angel. He wouldn’t mind flaunting his new body to Cordelia, show her what she was missing. Even though it was his own fault she’d dumped him like yesterday’s garbage.

Once Xander left the highway, he drove around aimlessly until he found seedy night club on a non-lit street. It looked like a good hunting ground for vamps: a deserted alley, a lack of light. Besides, it wasn’t as if there were a directory for demon hot-spots. Though now that he thought of it, he could probably write one for Sunnydale.

Xander parked, locked his car, and hoped it didn’t get stolen as he made his way down the alley between the buildings. It was certainly dark, and had the lovely scent of eau d’trash from the dumpsters lining one wall. “Here, vampy, vampy,” Xander said under his breath, fiddling with the stake in his waistband. He hoped he looked like a helpless victim and not a perv loitering in an alley. Though it was early for pervs, Xander thought. It was barely nine at night. Early for vampires, too. Maybe he’d be better off heading to a cemetery, to find a fresh one.

He heard a noise and turned around. A man in a black jacket too heavy for the September weather had stepped into the alley behind Xander. A vampire? Could he be so lucky? “Give me your wallet,” the man demanded, pulling out a gun from his pocket.

Apparently not, Xander thought. But hey, a mugging with a gun. He could test his bullet-proof theory. The worst that could happen was that he’d end up dead. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? Or was it once a fool, always a fool?

“Your wallet, now!” the mugger ordered. “Or I’ll shoot you dead.”

Xander shook his head and put on a brave face, while his insides quivered like Jello. The green kind. “Sorry, pal, not giving up my wallet tonight.”

The mugger appeared surprised by Xander’s reaction. “I mean it. I’ll shoot you.”

“Go ahead.”

The mugger hesitated, then he scowled darkly and pulled the trigger.

The bullet impacted against Xander’s chest, and it hurt like a sonofabitch. He staggered backward, thinking for a moment that he’d massively screwed the pooch this time around. But the pain faded into nothing, and looking down, he could see a bullet hole in his brown t-shirt but no marks marring his skin. “Oh hey, neat.” He was, indeed, bullet-proof.

The mugger stared, dumbfounded, for a moment, then he turned tail and ran. Xander squatted to pick up the squashed bullet on the ground in front of him. It had definitely hit him, no question about that. He wondered why he’d felt pain, even briefly, if he was impervious to injury. Some science-y reason, probably. After all, he could still feel pleasure when he jacked off. If he stopped, the pleasure stopped. He’d research it later. Right now he had a vampire to find.

Straightening, Xander pocketed the bullet and made his way back to the car. He was happy to see the Fiesta still parked at the curb, in one piece. He got in the car and, utilizing his handy-dandy city map, located the closest cemetery.

Luckily, the trip to the cemetery proved vampireful, and also proved that Xander couldn’t be bitten. It filled him with glee, and then with coughing when he staked the vampire. Now the evil forces of night couldn’t hurt him. He could hold his own, instead of cowering like a wuss or lying around like a useless injured thing. With his spell-created muscles, his determination, and the ability to get back up again, he could return to Sunnydale and be a valued member of the Scooby Gang.

That got him thinking again: did he want to go back to Sunnydale? He had a good life in Oxnard. Well, this week it had been good, with the new sexy body, the high tips, and the sex. The sleeping all day and Jackson thing, not so much. But did he really want to be a stripper for the rest of his life? Or at least, the foreseeable future?

Xander decided not to decide right now. He excelled in procrastination. The only thing he would not put off was getting a brown-sugar spray tan at Paradise Salon & Spa, before people started mistaking him for a mime. He shuddered at the thought.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander sat on an outcropping of rocks at Point Mugo, waiting for the sun to rise. Coastal waves lapped at the rock-strewn shoreline. Ships heading to and from port passed in the distance. Cars and trucks drove along the PCH behind him. The pre-dawn ocean breeze was cool on his bare arms and ruffled his short hair.

It was early Tuesday morning, and he’d had a good few of weeks at work since discovering his Supermanly invulnerability, raking in enough cash that he could get an apartment if he wanted. The spray tan had added another level of exceptional to his looks, earning him even more in tips. A second divorcée wanted a free ride, and he’d obliged, because yay sex! The rest of the time had been pretty lonely, though. Since he was still sleeping all day, he hadn’t seen his friends outside of work. Since bars closed at two AM in Oxnard, they went home after shift to unwind before hitting sleepytown, like he did. Only they got up at a reasonable hour during the day to do things like go to the beach, or college classes, or the bank.

Xander sat waiting for the sun for that reason. He had a thick envelop of cash tucked in his work boot under the hem of his jeans. He hadn’t been able to deposit anything since mid-September. Columbus Day was yesterday, and people were making plans for Halloween. Xander figured it was time to stay up and hit the bank first thing when it opened at eight, before his boot couldn’t hold any more cash.

The sky brightened further over the horizon, turning the gray sky orange with streaks of pink and red. Xander propped an elbow on a bent knee and rested his chin on his fist. He hadn’t seen many sunrises in his lifetime because, hello, teenager. The last he saw was at Sunnydale High School the night it blew up, when he helped dig for fellow classmates trapped in the rubble. A portion of the Class of ‘99 had perished that day.

Xander sighed sadly at the memory, as the sky brightened more. He wondered if they’d started rebuilding the high school, and if they were going to put up some sort of memorial. He also wondered if the city council wised up and would relocate the school somewhere not on the Hell—

An ocean wave crashed against the rocky shoreline, sending a spray of mist into the air, as the curved disk of the sun crested the horizon, marking sunrise.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander jerked awake, startled, his body creaking at the sharp movement. The sky in front of him was gray, the ocean a dark plain dotted with ships. He looked around wildly. A couple was getting into their car in the parking lot nearby. Seagulls begged from the rock wall. The sound of a helicopter thrummed somewhere overhead.

He got to his feet and scrambled back to the parking lot and his car. Once inside, he turned the ignition and focused on the clock. It read 6:32 PM. He’d missed the entire day. One second, he’d been watching the sky brighten into day, and now the sky was twilight gray again.

He glanced out the front window at the rocks he’d been sitting on. He couldn’t believe he’d gone to sleep. He was lucky he hadn’t fallen into the ocean. Granted, he hadn’t been that close to the water, but it wasn’t completely outside the realm of possibility.

Shaken, Xander reversed from the parking spot, put the car into drive, and headed for the motel. He needed to clean up for work. He needed to eat. He needed to hide the money again. He needed to stop freaking out that he feel asleep at Point Mugo without knowing it and woke up twelve hours later, or however long it’d been.

Xander reached the Zunny DayZ, locked himself in his room, and flipped on the television for background noise to his nervous breakdown. He was glad Tuesdays were slow at the club, because he doubted his mind would be fully on the job tonight.

He took a shower, and when he emerged from the bathroom, the words “Point Mugo” caught his attention. He stopped in front of the television, scrubbing a towel over his hair, another towel wrapped around his waist.

...It appears to be made of a tan-colored marble. No one can pinpoint when the statute first appeared, as Point Mugo is a scenic view for tourists. Authorities at Point Mugo State Park have not authorized an installation. No one has claimed to be the artist of the statue,” the reporter stated. The cameraman panned to a closeup of a tan marble statue of a man, dressed in black jeans and a blue t-shirt, posed on an outcropping of rocks. It was sitting with its knees bent, chin propped by a fist, looking out over the horizon... and wearing Xander’s face.

The towel in Xander’s hand fell to the carpet from nerveless fingers. It was him. Same face, same hairstyle, same clothes he’d been wearing, only his body was encased in tan marble. He could see his car in the background when the camera rotated around the statue.

Whomever the artist is, they’ve done a fantastic job of sculpting. Will we see other pop-up installations along Point Mugo or elsewhere? We’ll find out. I’m Christine North reporting to you from Point Mugo State Park, at the Point Mugo scenic viewpoint.

Thank you, Christine,” the news anchor said, as the camera cut back to the studio. “In other news, the Naval CBC at Port Hueneme has announced...

Xander tuned out the reporter and sunk onto the end of the bed. How could this be? He wasn’t a statue. He was flesh and blood. He pinched his arm, verifying it. Human, not stone. He had to be hallucinating. He only thought he saw his face plastered on a statue on the news.

His mind was scrambled like a whisked egg, and he went through the motions of the rest of his night, all the while trying to fathom why the statue at Point Mugo resembled him. Because it couldn’t actually be him, right? Someone had knocked him out, moved him, then stuck a statue of him in his place at Point Mugo. Then removed the statue and put him back into that spot when the sun set. A perfectly logical explanation that made no sense whatsoever.

The morning news at six AM recapped the statue story, and Xander was once again greeted with his face in tan marble on the television screen as the morning anchor spoke. “We’ve had call-in reports last night and confirmed this morning that the statue is no longer at Point Mugo. It has vanished as mysteriously as it appeared. Perhaps it will pop up in another location. We will update you as to where and if it happens.

Aha! The news had given him an idea to prove that it couldn’t be him. Xander got in the car and drove out to Hollywood beach. Pre-dawn painted the sky gray with faint streaks of crimson at the horizon. He parked at an all-day lot, then walked down to the shoreline. The beach officially opened at sunrise. A handful of runners stretched near the break wall.

Xander removed his boots and socks, and strolled to where the tide lapped at the sand at the end of the break wall. Seagulls slept in groups up and down the beach. A few industrious sandpipers were already dashing in and out of the surf, seeking food. The cold water tickled Xander’s toes as he waited for the sun to rise. And when it did, he’d drive back to the motel, crash for the day, and there’d be no reports on the news about a statue of him.

Xander watched as the sky turned redder, then orange, then—

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

—Xander woke to a gray sky filled with heavy clouds, and the usual creaking of his joints, like he’d been holding them stiffly all day. He still stood on the beach, the water lapping at the sand about a foot in front of him. His head jerk toward the right. A handful of beach-goers were gathering their belongings father down the shoreline. The wind had picked up, indicating a storm was blowing in. No one seemed to notice him.

He waited until the beach-goers had left before making his way to a bench near the parking lot. He dusted sand off his bare feet, pulled on his socks and boots, and hiked back to the all-day parking lot for his car. The clock on the dash read 6:45 PM. He drove home.

He saw himself on the news at 7:20 PM, a statue with his face holding his work boots with his socks peeking from inside. Jeans and t-shirt worn over a man etched in tan marble, bare stone toes in the sand. Witnesses said the statue simply appeared. No one noticed anyone carrying it down to the beach.

Rain started falling heavily outside. Xander’s brain bibbled. There was no denying it – he was the statue. Or had been the statue. At least, for the day.

The part of him that was still functioning coherently wanted more proof. It got him dressed, fed him, and drove him to Wal-Mart to purchase a digital video camera before work. After work, it read the directions on how to use the camera, set it up on the dresser, and hit record. The battery and tape, or however it recorded, would last about eight hours. Xander sat on the edge of the bed and watched the camera watching him watch it.

Four hours later, Xander was watching Rambo II on TBS and wondering if he’d been wrong. The alarm clock read 6:45 AM. Through the gap in the curtains, he could see the sky lightening as dawn approached. The rain had stopped around five, and Xander had since changed into his new Futurama boxers. He’d propped himself in bed, and was munching on Pringles with a side of Coke.

Since he’d been awake this entire time, he’d plugged in the camera so it would charge as it recorded. He’d also deleted what had been on tape, giving him another eight hours to record. Six and change, now, since it’d been over an hour since he’d done it.

The caffeine kept him awake, and Rambo had another fifteen minutes to save the day. Family Matters reruns would air next. The show ended last year, and he missed Urkel. He wondered what the actor was doing now?

At seven, Xander tossed his empty can, capped the Pringles, and made a pit stop in the bathroom. He had his weekly appointment at Paradise Salon & Spa that evening, to touch up his spray tan. Experience had taught him it was a bad idea to use a tanning bed, when he’d tried it as a high school freshman. Jesse had called him the Red Raccoon for weeks, even after the sunburn had faded.

Returning to bed, Xander settled in to watch what shenanigans the Winslows got themselves into this time. The actor playing Urkel appeared young, which meant it must be a rerun from an early season. Xander didn’t mind. He’d liked the show in its entirety, even if he didn’t get to watch it as often in high school, once he’d started helplessly helping Buffy save Sunnydale.

His thoughts turned to Buffy, Willow, and his other Sunnydale friends. He wondered how they were doing. Buffy, Willow, and Oz would be halfway through their first semester in college. Giles had lost his job when they blew up the high school, and who knew what the man was doing now. Maybe he’d gotten a job at the public library. Maybe he’d moved, since he wasn’t really Buffy’s watcher anymore. Or maybe he and Wesley had gotten into a knock-down, drag-out fight over who got to be Buffy’s—

Canned laughter filled the otherwise silent motel room, as Urkel uttered his famous line, “Did I do that?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

—watcher. Damn it!

Xander awoke mid-thought again, and scrubbed a hand over his face. He stared up at the popcorn ceiling blearily. This was getting tiresome. Why couldn’t he drift off like a normal person, and not wake up mid-thought?

He stretched his arms, then scratched his balls. It took him a moment to remember that he’d been recording himself. He scrambled from the bed over to the video camera. It had shut itself off, having reached the end of the tape. Xander restarted the recording, and fast-forwarded until seven AM, when Family Matters had come on. He began watching himself on the flip-out view screen.

Xander saw himself leave to go to the bathroom, heard the toilet flush, the sink running, and then returned. The video-him climbed into bed, settling against the pillows. Xander admired himself – on camera, he was pretty damned hot – and watched as the on-screen him chuckled. He could hear Family Matters loud and clear, as the camera had been next to the television set.

Then, it happened. At 7:09 AM, according to the caption on the screen, Xander froze in place and his entire body, sans boxers, turned to stone. It happened in an instant. Xander rewound the tape and watched again. And again. One second he was normal and the next, stone.

Xander found the frame-by-frame button, rewound to the correct spot, and watched it again. This time, he was able to see his skin visibly hardening. His hair turned to stone from roots to tips. A film formed and solidified over his eyes. Eyebrows and eyelashes became stone, as well. It seemed every part of his physical body transformed from hair and flesh to marble.

“Well… hell.” Xander rewound once more and frame-by-framed it again. The recording didn’t change. Human Xander transformed into Marble Xander, still wearing Zoidberg boxers. It was utterly confounding, confusing, and con-fuddling. How in the world was he turning to stone? Why was he turning to… wait… crap. The spell.

Just like before, Xander had put the spell out of his mind. And just like before, he smacked his forehead, twice this time, with the palm of his hand. “D’oh! Again!” Moron, thy name was Xander. Why hadn’t he taken the time to translate the entire spell? Because it was hard, and he sucked at school-type stuff. Okay, a valid reason, but not a good one.

“What these spell books need is a popup narrator to list all the side effects, like in prescription commercials,” Xander muttered to himself, rewinding the tape once again. He changed his tone to mimic a narrator. “Side effects may include: unbreakable bones, creaking joints, sleeping all day, extreme paleness, turning into a statue.”

Another light flicked on in Xander’s dim mind. His spell-induced milky complexion made sense now. Any marble statue he’d ever seen had been white or off white. He found it amusing, in a slightly hysterical way, that his statue had a spray tan.

Xander watched the clip several more times before he decided he’d had enough crazy for one evening and got ready for work.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander had decided that he wanted more rides on the Crazy Train, so over the next few nights, he’d repeated the experiment with the video camera. He had the same results: on screen, Xander would be lying or sitting in bed watching television one second, then he’d be encased in spray-tanned marble from hair-tip to toe the next. Frame-by-frame showed the hardening, but when viewed real time it happened in a snap. It was wild.

Xander did notice that the time stamp changed, going up each day by a minute: 7:10, 7:11, 7:12, 7:13. He started jotting down the alarm clock time after he de-marbled, and learned the minutes decreased: 6:25, 6:24, 6:23. He puzzled it out for days, but couldn’t figure out why the time varied. But then luck gave him a boost where smarts failed: while flipping stations one early morning, he’d landed on the Weather Channel just as it was displaying that day’s sunrise and sunset times. And when he’d played back the video recorder that night, sure enough, the time stamp matched sunrise and the alarm clock matched sunset.

Armed with this information, Xander altered his experiment: one minute before sunrise, according to the Weather Channel, he struck a crazy pose in front of the video camera and held it. And then regretted it, because a minute was a long time to wait standing in an odd position. But he was determined to prove this sunrise thing, and so he watched the alarm clock intently and held as still as he could.

The clock ticked over, and Xander expected to freeze and then wake up eleven-plus hours later. But it didn’t happen. He wondered if he’d been wrong about the sunrise-sunset thing. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe—

—it was… now 6:18 PM. Xander’s joints creaked when he moved – side effect number whatever, post-unstatuing. He grabbed the video camera, rewound, and watched the playback. The time stamp read 7:18 AM when he marbled over in his funky pose, but it didn’t happen exactly when the minute changed. Xander rewound, replayed frame-by-frame, and counted under his breath. He turned into a statue when he reached 37 seconds. Interesting. He’d have to find out somehow if sunrise was measured by the second. Luckily, the public library was open until eight on weekdays. He still hadn’t figured out how to deposit his money at the bank.

At least he now knew for certain that he wasn’t having black out panic attacks about his questioning sexuality. He could try again with another guy, if he found one. So far, Jackson had been the sole gay person he’d met, that he knew of. There might be gay bars in town, for sure in LA, but he’d have to go on a Sunday or Monday night, which probably weren’t prime pick up hours. If he wanted to pick up a guy. And that was a big if. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to cross from fantasy to reality.

What would he say, anyway? He’d only been on the receiving end of one-night stands, and two of them were paid. Did he even want it to be a one-night stand? He’d probably spaz less if it were, and he’d find out if he liked it or not. Besides, being a statue during the day put a damper on any long-term possibilites. Maybe his best bet was to find a gay strip club and hook up with one of the dancers. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have the cash.

The idea intrigued him and turned his insides into panicked knots all at once. He fled to the safety of the bathroom, as if there were gay male dancers pounding at the motel room door wanting to sex him up.

Of course, once he was in the shower, his dirty mind let them in.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

October bled into November with some good changes in Xander’s life. He’d found out that sunrise and sunset was measured by the second, and with the days getting longer, he’d finally managed to get to the bank. They’d showed him how to do night deposits, for which he was grateful, because once December ended, the days would grow longer again.

He’d met up with his friends a few times for early dinner, as well. They’d razzed him about ditching them for months, and he’d lied to them about there being a girl. She had gone now, of course, back to the ocean to live among the other mermaids, he’d joked.

The weather turned, shifting from harvest summer to fall. Xander’d bought new long sleeved shirts and a leather jacket to wear during the cool nights, which would only get colder as winter crept in. It helped, because he’d also taken up patrolling in Oxnard on the nights he didn’t have a divorcée to please – there had been five encounters of boobalicious sex so far – and the extra pockets were handy for carrying stakes. He’d figured he may as well use his spell-induced strength and invulnerability for good. Otherwise, the negative of being stuck as a statue during daylight hours would overwhelm him.

Oxnard still wasn’t a hotbed of demon activity, but he’d thwarted a few muggings and that was golden. He’d probably start driving into LA after Thanksgiving while the nights were long to hunt vampires, and let the police deal with human criminals. Maybe he’d find out if Angel needed a hand – not. Angel would never be anything but a tragedy waiting to unsoul, and Xander wanted nothing to do with him. Unless it was to deliver him a final meal of stake.

But that was neither here nor there nor anywhere, anytime soon. Thanksgiving was on Thursday, and Xander had the night off. The club wasn’t open on Thanksgiving day, and Xander planned a visit to Sunnydale, to catch up with the gang and maybe say hi to his parents. Patrolling had made him homesick.

Monday turned into Tuesday, Wednesday followed, and Thanksgiving early morning arrived. Xander packed his belongings into his trunk after work, and arranged with the office to have a thorough cleaning of his room on Friday while he was gone. Monthly renters only had housekeeping service upon request, and since Xander’s marble-malady, he’d been changing the sheets and towels and cleaning the room himself. He didn’t dare leave anything in the room while he was gone. The housekeeper might be trustworthy, but the same couldn’t be said for rest of the riffraff that rented rooms by the hour.

It took a little less than an hour to reach Sunnydale, and Xander was checked into a motel near the college campus by 3:30 AM. He had several hours til sunrise, and he felt wired. At this time of night, the only places open were the gas station and Willy’s Alibi Bar, home to cheep booze and denizens of the night. But Willy carded non-denizens, such as Xander, so that was out. The creepy-crawlies had to creepy-crawly the streets to get from Willy’s to their lairs, though, and Xander had several unused stakes made. Seemed like a win to him.

Sticking the Do Not Disturb sign on his door before he forgot, even though he’d requested no housekeeping while he was in town, Xander verified the motel room door locked behind him and set out on the prowl.

The streets of Sunnydale tended to be well lit, with pockets of darkness down alleyways or between houses. The UC Sunnydale campus was quiet as Xander cut across the grassy quad, with most students home for the extended holiday weekend. Lights filtered behind curtains in a few dormitory windows. Miller’s Woods grew adjacent to the campus, with one of Sunnydale’s twelve cemeteries beyond the river. Xander wasn’t astounded to see activity in Sunnydale Cemetery when he reached it, though he was surprised by it being a group of men dressed in Native American garb jogging toward the gate. Thanksgiving reenactors, maybe? They turned toward downtown Sunnydale when they reached the street and kept jogging. Way weird.

Shrugging, Xander continued along the sidewalk until he reached the gate and detoured into Sunnydale Cemetery. Street lamps semi-lit the driving paths. Tombstones and mausoleums lined the grass in neat rows in every direction. He knew from their dealings with the Mayor Wilkins that the town had been built on the Hellmouth to feed the demons living there in exchange for immortality. That immortality only lasted until they blew Wilkins to pieces during his ascension last May, but that didn’t change the fact that the town had as many people in its cemeteries as it did in living population.

Xander spotted a few fresh graves, but it appeared the occupants had already vacated. He didn’t notice any piles of dust, so Buffy must not have patrolled here earlier in the evening. The newly risen vampires were off doing whatever newly risen vampires did in the wee hours of the morning before dawn.

Xander heard a clank in the distance, and turned in the direction of the sound. He spotted a figure pushing itself off the ground near the fence that separated the cemetery from Miller’s Woods. Xander drew the stake from the back pocket of his black jeans and jogged in that direction. If it was a vampire, or another demon, he’d take care of it.

The figure started running right toward Xander, and as the light hit him, Xander recognized the bleached hair and flapping leather trench. His fingers tightened around the stake in his hand. “Spike!”

“Pervy friend of the witch and the Slayer!” Spike sounded overjoyed when he spotted Xander, and ran right up to him. Up close, Xander could see Spike’s features were sunken and his lips badly chapped. “You’re a goody-two-shoes. You gotta help me.”

“Last time I ‘helped’ you, my girlfriend got a rebar through her stomach.” Xander lifted his stake. “The only thing I’m going to do for you is end your miserable unlife.”

“Wait, wait!” Spike held up his hands, backing away from Xander. “I can’t bite anyone anymore. I’m as harmless as a bunny, if the bunny were a dashingly handsome git. And I’m starving.”

“Pull the other one,” Xander said, though he hesitated in his staking. Spike did look like shit.

“It’s the truth,” Spike said, glancing warily over his shoulder. “I can’t hurt anyone without it hurting me.”

“Prove it.” Xander lowered his stake and spread his arms. He did have a conscience, and if Spike was telling the truth, he needed to know. Besides, Spike couldn’t hurt him, anyway.

Spike seemed leery. “Is this a trick?”

“No trick. You say you can’t hurt anyone. Prove it.”

Xander waited. Spike rocked on his heels and glanced around warily again. Finally, he squared his shoulders, drew his fist back, and clocked Xander across the jaw.

Xander staggered a step, and the sting lasted momentarily. “Good hit.”

Spike’s eyes widened. “It didn’t hurt.”

“No, not really,” Xander said.

“I meant me.” Spike looked at his fist. “Everyone I’ve tried to eat or accost these past few days has caused a lightning bolt to the brain. Your friend, the witch, knows.”

Xander’s eyes narrowed. “Did you do something to her?”

“No. She’s still alive and kicking, last I saw her,” Spike said. “We had an… encounter, in her dorm room yesterday. Tried to bite her.” He tapped his forehead and made a sizzling sound. “Couldn’t.”

Xander was still skeptical, but for now, he wouldn’t stake Spike. “Why don’t you go to Willy’s if you’re hungry?”

“Don’t got any dosh. Couldn’t rob anyone because zzzz.” Spike made the sizzling noise again.

Xander sighed, pulled his wallet from his front pocket, and removed some cash. He held it out to Spike. “Here.”

Spike’s expression turned to surprise. “You’re giving me money?”

“On the off chance you’re telling the truth, take it, before I change my mind and stake you,” Xander said. He couldn’t believe he was doing it, either. He must’ve left his brain in the motel room.

Spike snatched the cash. “Uh, thanks, mate.” He sounded both embarrassed and relieved.

A sound from the woods drew both of their attentions. Spike tensed, and he touched his fingers to his brow in a partial salute before hurrying off in the opposite direction without another word. Tucking his wallet in his front pocket, Xander watched him go before turning his gaze back toward the woods. A few moments later, he saw two men dressed in camouflage emerge and hop the fence. They headed in Xander’s direction.

Xander stood in a pool of light cast by one of the lamp posts along the driving path. He slid the stake in his back pocket and waited for them to approach. One of the men was black, muscular, and radiated bully. The other stood about the same height as Xander, broader in build, with tanned skin, spiked brown hair, and a cleft chin. The second guy had a calm but alert expression. He was also hot as hell. Both had weird-looking, giant soldering irons slung over their shoulders like weapons.

“What are you doing out here this late?” the bully barked at Xander once in speaking distance.

“I could ask the same of you,” Xander replied. “It’s not deer hunting season.”

Hot Guy’s lips twitched in amusement. Bully scowled, and his hand drifted to his stun gun. “We’re ROTC, out on exercise. Now you.”

“Visiting dear old gram-ma-ma,” Xander lied, gesturing vaguely toward the tombstones nearby.

Bully seemed to be waiting for Xander to do something. “You expect us to believe that?”

Xander loaded his response with duh. “Why else would I be in a cemetery?”

“Normal humans visit during the day.”

“And some normal humans sleep days and work nights,” Xander countered. He found the ‘normal human’ comment interesting. Were these two some kind of Army vampire hunters?

Before Bully could speak again, Hot Guy spoke up. “You wouldn’t happened to have seen a man come through here? Bleached blond hair. Dressed in black with a long, leather coat?”

Huh, that was curious. “Yeah. He ran past a few minutes ago. Headed for the gate.” Xander jerked a thumb in the direction of the opposite gate from which Spike had skeddaddled.

Hot Guy smiled, which only made him hotter. “Thanks. Don’t stay out here too long. You never know what you’ll meet.”

Bully grumbled inaudibly, gave Xander a steely glare, and began stalking in the direction Xander had pointed. Hot Guy lifted a hand in goodbye and followed.

“I’m, uh, Xander, by the way,” Xander suddenly called after Hot Guy, surprised by his own boldness.

Hot Guy turned and walked backwards in a cool way. “I’m Graham.”

“Hi, Graham.” Xander sounded like a moron. “Uh, bye, I mean.”

Hot Guy – Graham – chuckled. “Be safe, Xander.”

“I will. Um, bye. Again.” Xander waved pathetically, then shoved his hands in his pockets when he realized what he was doing.

Graham lifted his hand again in a much cooler wave, and turned to follow his friend.

“Not a vampire, by the way!” Xander blurted abruptly at Graham’s retreating back.

Graham laughed, and called over his shoulder, “Good to know!”

Xander shook his head at his own behavior. Talk about suave. He may as well have been holding a sign that read Big Dork, because that’s what he was: a Great Big Dorkity Dork-Dork. He was seriously in need of flirting lessons. If that’s what was actually happening. It was happening on his end, but Graham may have only been being polite. It would be nice if there was some sort of hand signal or something to indicate someone was gay, or bi, or unsure but would like to try. Xander still wasn’t convinced he really did want to try, but Graham had certainly made Little Xander stand up and take notice.

Xander watched the retreating figures head through the gate. He wondered why they were after Spike. Well, not really, because it was Spike and Spike was Trouble with a capital T. But he’d never seen soldiers patrolling for vamps. Then again, someone had to be fighting the good fight before Buffy arrived a few years ago, or Sunnydale would’ve been overrun with ghoulies. Maybe UC Sunnydale’s ROTC program doubled as an anti-demon soldier squad.

Xander shrugged to himself. He’d ask Giles when he saw the man. The sun set at ten to five, and he’d planned to call everyone to find out Thanksgiving plans, maybe wrangle an invitation to dinner. He was still debating on if he’d swing by his parents’ house to say Happy Thanksgiving to them.

Xander glanced at his watch. He still had a few hours to kill before sunrise. This cemetery was dead-dead, but there were eleven more he could visit around town.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Once the sun set on Thanksgiving evening, Xander un-stoned, showered, and got ready for a potential holiday feast, dressing in black jeans and a white button-down, long-sleeved shirt over brown Henley. He tried calling Willow from the motel phone first, but there was no answer at the Rosenberg residence. A call to Buffy followed, with the same result. He didn’t have the phone number to their dorm room, or even knew what room they were in, if they’d stayed on campus. Giles would know, Xander bet, and tried him next. He was stoked when the G-Man answered.

“Hello?”

“Giles, mon capitaine,” Xander said into the receiver, “Tis I, ze great Xander.”

“Why hello, Xander,” Giles said. “It is nice to- to hear your voice again.”

“Xander? Is that Xander?” Xander heard in the background. “Let me say hi to Xander.”

“Ah, pardon me, Xander. Willow is insisting on speaking with you,” Giles said. “I am afraid she shall snatch the receiver from my hand if I do not comply.”

“It’s a possibility!” Willow chirped.

“Sure.” Xander waited as the phone passed hands, and Willow’s excited voice came over the line.

“Xander! Where have you been? Are you home now? It’s been six months!”

Xander felt warm squishies in his heart at hearing her voice. “I’ve been around. And yes, I am in Sunnydale, at least until tomorrow night. I tried calling you at home, but there was no answer.”

“Oh, my parents went on a trip to see Grandpa Hiram, but they had to leave before school let out for break, so I stayed behind. We’re at Giles’s, if you want to come over. Buffy’s cooking Thanksgiving dinner. Her mom’s out of town, too.”

“Should I bring anything?” Xander asked.

“Just your Xander-shaped self,” Willow told him.

Xander chuckled awkwardly. His Xander-shaped self had been replaced by a muscular half-statue self. “I’ll be there in ten minutes or so.”

“Here me yay. Yay!” Willow cheered. “Okay. See you soon.”

She hung up, and Xander did the same, wearing a smile on his face. He’d missed Willow. He went into the bathroom the check his hair. He tucked in his shirt, then untucked it again. His new physique was outlined by the shirt in the chest and sleeves, and the jeans hugged his muscular legs like second skin. There was no hiding the fact that he appeared different than six months ago. But there was nothing to be done about it.

Xander quickly brushed his teeth before heading out. It took closer to twenty minutes to get to Giles’s place, as Xander decided to take a detour by his parents’ house. Cars filled the driveway and the street outside the Harris residence, and lights blazoned from every window. Another extended family drunken get together for the holiday, and his parents had likely been shozzled since noon. Xander wasn’t in the mood for abuse by alcoholics, and since he was an adult now, he didn’t have to put up with it. He drove on, and arrived at Giles’s ten minutes later.

Xander parked on the street adjacent to Giles’s apartment complex, and arched his brows when that pack of men in Native American garb reappeared, jogging across the crosswalk further down the block. He shook his head. “Don’t wanna know,” he said aloud, made sure the car was locked, and headed the opposite direction to Giles’s.

His knock on Giles’s apartment door was greeted with a whirlwind of red hair and floral scents. “Xander!” Willow threw herself into a doorstep hug of excitement and joy, which caused Xander to choke up with feelings. His fear of being unwanted, or forgotten, vanished as he wrapped his arms around her in return. “You’re back! You’re here! I missed you! We all missed you! There aren’t enough exclamation points for me to stress that you were missed!”

Xander chuckled, clearing the emotion from his throat. “I exclamation point you in return.”

Willow rested her chin on Xander’s chest, looking up at him with a huge smile on her lips. “I’m glad you’re home.”

And the choking up returned, which Xander valiantly tried to play down. “For tonight until tomorrow around seven, anyway.”

“Any amount of time is good in my book.” Willow let him go, stepped back, and eyed him from head to toe. “I thought I felt more of you than in prior hugs. It’s a good thing I’m gay and have a girlfriend, and that we went down this road and it ended in a bad, bad, never-to-be-repeated place, because hubba-hubba.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve been working out,” Xander lied, both pleased and abashed. The reminder of their illicit past and the trouble it caused discomfited him. “Also – gay? Girlfriend? I’ve only been gone six months.”

Willow shrugged. “Things change, for the good. Come meet her.” She snagged his hand and dragged him into the apartment.

Giles’s apartment was the same as Xander remembered: a good-sized main living space separated from the kitchen by a dividing wall with a cut through. Sofa and matching chair facing toward the fireplace. Bookshelves crammed with books. A desk pushed against the wall to make room for the extended dining table decorated for Thanksgiving. Curved staircase going up to the sleeping loft. Bleached blond vampire tied to a dining chair.

Spike lifted his fingers and wiggled them in Xander’s direction, as Buffy’s happy voice greeted Xander from the kitchen. “Xander, you did come! I’m glad.” She appeared to be up to her elbows in mashed potatoes, and delicious scents wafted through the cutout. Everyone was dressed in their version of Thanksgiving semi-casual. “We have about another half hour until dinner.”

Giles emerged from around the corner of the kitchen, carrying a can of Coke, which he handed to Xander in lieu of a handshake. “It is lovely to see you again, Xander.”

“Thanks.” Xander accepted the Coke and the greeting. He even thought Giles meant it.

Giles removed his glasses in a familiar gesture and cleaned them with the edge of his sweater vest. “Willow was correct: you appear quite fit.”

“I work out,” Xander repeated the lie, wondering how many times he’d have to say it. For them, it was more believable than him getting plastic surgery. He could pass that off with the stripper crowd, because some of the guys had had work done for competitive vanity reasons.

“It looks good on you,” Giles complimented.

Xander smiled, feeling both vainly pleased and like a heel for being deceitful. “Thanks.”

Willow had moved to the living room area and now stood beside a shy blonde wearing a vintage dress. They were holding hands. “Xander, this is my girlfriend, Tara,” Willow introduced, with a slight tilt of her chin as if daring him to say anything negative.

But Xander would never be a negative nelly about something important like this, especially since he was questioning his own sexuality. He lifted his can of Coke in greeting to Tara. “Hello, Tara. Any girlfriend of Willow’s is a girl and a friend of mine.” He grinned.

Tara ducked her head, hiding behind her hair, though a smile crossed her face. “H-Hello. Willow has told me about y-you. It is nice to meet you in person.”

“Since you’re not shunning me, I take it she only told you the good things.” Xander leaned his butt against the edge of the dining table, between chairs, facing the ladies. Spike sat ostracized near the steps leading up to the loft. Giles returned to the kitchen.

“Good enough,” Tara teased, then appeared embarrassed by her brazenness and hid behind her hair again.

“I told her about the whole catastrophe that was briefly us,” Willow said. Tara retook her seat on the living room chair and Willow perched on the arm of it. “And someone’s dastardly role in it.” She gave Spike a glare that could melt glass. Spike smiled boldly in reply.

Xander waited a few beats for someone to speak up before doing it himself. “No one is going to say anything about the vampire in the room? Like why he’s in the room?”

“What vampire?” Buffy said from the kitchen, with an evil grin. She gestured broadly with the potato masher toward the living room. “I don’t see any vampires.” The masher was deposited into the sink.

“She’s pretending he’s not here,” Willow told Xander. “He can’t bite anyone, so don’t worry.”

“I know.” Xander turned to address the vampire in question, since no one seemed to want to explain. “What are you doing here?”

“Figured since you helped me last night, maybe the rest of your chums would be in the giving mind, as well.” Spike flexed against the ropes tying him to the chair. “Didn’t work out.” He didn’t appear as gaunt as he had at the cemetery. He must’ve gone to Willy’s after all.

“You helped him last night?” Willow asked. Giles stirred something on the stove in the kitchen, as Buffy used the electric can opener.

“I did,” Xander replied, opening his drink. “Ran into some friends of his, too. Two campus army guys, looking for him.”

Spike seemed to pale. “You didn’t tell them where I was, did you?”

Xander shook his head. “Nah. I sent them in the other direction.”

“Campus army guys?” Buffy came out of the kitchen with a bowl of cranberry sauce. “What’d they look like?”

“One was a black bulldog-type. The other was tall, brown-haired, cu—” Xander caught himself before he said ‘cute’ “—rious about Spike. Said his name was Graham.”

Buffy nodded. “Forrest Gates and Graham Miller. They’re friends of Riley’s.”

“And part of the Initiative,” Spike growled.

“Really?” Buffy frowned, as she set the bowl on the dining table. “That might mean that Riley is, too.”

“Who’s Riley?” Xander asked, taking a sip of Coke.

“Buffy’s crush.” Willow grinned at the dirty look Buffy gave her. Tara hid a smile behind her hand. “He’s a TA at school. And in ROTC. At least, that’s what he told me.”

“Reservists,” Buffy corrected. “He and his friends at Lowell House are all reservists. There’s an Army reserve post in town.”

Willow’s brow furrowed. “I could’ve sworn he said ROTC.”

“Bully- I mean, Gates definitely told me ROTC.” Xander glanced back over at Spike. “What’s the Initiative?”

Spike became agitated and struggled against his bonds. “They’re the bastards who did something to me, to stop me from feeding.”

Xander looked to Buffy for more clarification. Buffy shrugged. “First I heard of the Initiative was when a vampire threw himself on my stake to escape them. Then Spike, here, showed up at the door talking about them. We agreed to help Spike in exchange for more information.”

“About which he has not been forthcoming,” Giles added, as he emerged from the kitchen, carrying a covered dish. He set it on the table.

“You tied me to a chair,” Spike pointed out. “I don’t count that as helping.”

“Could’ve staked you instead.” Buffy smiled sweetly at him, before returning to the kitchen.

Spike gave Xander puppy-eyes. It was rather unnerving. “You’re a mate. Untie me, and I’ll tell you all about the big, bad Initiative.”

Xander held up his hands, one still holding the can of Coke. “Oh, no. I’m not getting involved in your drama again. My giving you money for Willy’s was enough to ease my conscience.”

Spike pouted, and Xander discovered that his hots for men included a pouting-kink that he was not prepared for and it gave him the heebie-jeebies. Gah. He did not want to know that about himself, nor that in any way, shape, or form that he was even the tiniest bit attracted to Spike. Yeugh.

Not that Spike wasn’t good looking, in a punk rocker kind of way, with killer cheekbones and a wicked smile. But he was dead-ish. Undead. Not of the living. A vampire. A demon inhabiting a human corpse. Which somehow walked, talked, smoked, ate, drank, bled, and had sex, all without having working internal organs. If Xander thought about it too hard, it gave him a headache. Of course, he was one to talk, considering his daylight hours were spent as a statute.

Still, Spike and Attractive were not allowed in the same sentence. Or in the same paragraph. The same page. The same book. The same library. Xander put his mental foot down. “Forget it, Spike.”

Spike’s lips quirked into a self-amused grin, and Xander’s mental foot propped itself on a desk, getting comfy to watch the show. “C’mon, that was my best pout. Always worked on Angelus.”

“Lucky for you- for all of us, I’m not him,” Xander said.

Spike inclined his head. “Point.”

“I wouldn’t mind knowing more about the Initiative,” Tara spoke up tentatively. Her hands were clenched in her lap. “Is it only about vampires, or- or other demons?”

Spike appeared to be about to say something flippant, but then he closed his mouth again and squinted at her. “You worried about something, ducks?”

“Who me?” Tara’s eyes grew huge and she shook her head vehemently. “Oh no. No, no. No. Not me.”

She sounded as convincing as Xander did in his thoughts about Spike’s attractiveness. Willow shot her a concerned glance. “You okay, sweetie?” Willow asked, putting her hand on Tara’s shoulder.

“I’m fine. Good, even.” Tara smiled weakly. “You know me, always with the questions.”

Spike smirked. “And it was a good question, because there were demons everywhere. Hundreds of them. Locked up in tiny cages. Lab rats in an underground maze.”

Tara shrank back in the chair, and squeaked, “Oh.”

Willow exchanged a look with Xander, and stood. She snagged Tara by the wrist. “Excuse us. I need to speak privately with Tara.” She tugged Tara from the chair and propelled her to the bathroom. The door closed firmly behind them.

“Chit’s a demon,” Spike said with glee. In the kitchen, Buffy and Giles exchanged a few quiet words.

“No duh, Captain Obvious.” Xander arched a brow at Spike. “Tiny cages?”

“More like regular sized observation rooms,” Spike said. “Dunno on the actual number of captives. I was in a hall that had about ten rooms.”

Buffy emerged from the kitchen again. She set another covered dish on the table. “It was underground, though?” she asked.

Spike nodded. “Popped me out in Miller’s Woods somewhere.”

“Was that why you were in the woods last night?” Xander asked. “You’d just escaped?”

“No. I’d been on campus, thinking the witch would give a hand,” Spike said. “She wasn’t there, and then those soldier blokes spotted me and I took off through the woods.”

“I’ll see if I can find the entrance tomorrow. I have no classes because we’re on Thanksgiving break, yay for that,” Buffy said. “I want to know what this Initiative is up to, if they’re keeping baddies captive. The only good demon is a dead demon. Unless it’s a good demon.” She glanced in the direction of the bathroom. “Do you think Tara’s a good demon?”

Xander shrugged. “Seemed sweet, but I just met her. You know her better than me.”

Buffy nibbled her lower lip. “She’s never done anything bad that I’ve seen.”

“You should tie her to a chair,” Spike suggested with a sickly sweet smile. “Isn’t that what you do with demons?”

“Only annoying ones.” Buffy returned his smile with a sickly sweet one of her own.

“Buffy, I believe we are ready to carve the turkey,” Giles beckoned from the kitchen.

As Buffy started in that direction, a resounding bam echoed against the door. Four heads turned in that direction, with Spike craning a look over his shoulder. “Are we expecting someone else?” Xander asked.

“Not that I know of,” Buffy said, changing course for the door. “Though we weren’t expecting Spike, either.”

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition,” Spike quipped, which caused Xander to chuckle.

Another bam shook the hinges, and before Buffy could reach it, the door burst open. Five men dressed in Native American garb charged into Giles’s apartment behind a log battering ram. The log caught Buffy in the stomach and rammed her across the room. She crashed into sofa and tumbled over the front of it.

“You guys again!” Xander couldn’t believe these reenactment nuts broke into Giles’s apartment. Then one threw an axe at Xander’s chest, and it knocked him back several steps between the bookcase and the sofa. “Ow!” It stung sharply, but luckily for only a second. It did leave a slice in his Henley.

Buffy popped up from the front of the couch. “Chumash spirits!” One of the spirits stayed at the door, and began firing arrows at Giles with a bow. The others drew spears from the slings at their backs, whooped war cries, and charged at Spike, Xander, and Buffy.

“Spirits?” Xander yipped, grabbing for the axe that had fallen by his feet. “They certainly look real to me!”

“What’s all the noise?” Willow emerged from the bathroom, with Tara behind her. One of the spirits veered off toward her. “Oh boy!” She turned around and hustled Tara back behind a closed door. The spirit began ramming the door with his shoulder.

Xander blocked the spear being thrust at him with the axe. When he’d accepted the invitation for Thanksgiving dinner, he should’ve known there would be a pre-meal melee. This was Sunnydale, after all.

Giles yelped, dodged arrows, and flung pots, pans, and cutlery at the bowman between shots. Spike bounced on his chair, trying to get away from the spearman attacking him. “Little help here!”

“Bit busy!” Buffy grabbed the spear being thrust at her and yanked it away. Flipping the spear in her hands, Buffy jabbed the point at the spirit attacking her and struck home. He exploded in a green sparkly effect.

Seeing that, Xander didn’t hesitate to attack the spirit stabbing at him. They were definitely not reenactors! Spike tumbled backward in the chair with a crash of wood against tile. Buffy flung the spear in her hand at the bowman spirit, catching him in the chest, causing him to explode. Buffy rushed to grab a fallen weapon by the front door and charged toward the bathroom. Xander chopped with the axe, and the spearman’s blocked.

Spike shouted in panic, and Xander cut a glance that direction. Spike was on his back, still tied to the chair, legs in the air. One of the remaining spearman was about to skewer him. Xander reacted without thought, chucking the axe at the spearman’s back. Xander got jabbed in the belly at the same time the spearman attacking Spike vanished in a green explosion.

Xander’s attention returned to the spirit attacking him. The spirit had a puzzled expression as he tried to stab Xander again and failed to penetrate. “Neat, huh?” Xander said, and pulled a Buffy. He yanked the broken spear from the spirit’s hands, flipped it around, and stabbed him. The spirit exploded. Another explosion emanated from the short hall to the bathroom at the same time. All the spirits were gone.

Buffy returned holding the spear like a warrior, an intense expression on her face. “Did we get them all?”

“I- I believe we did,” Giles said, peering cautiously from the kitchen. There was no residue from the spirits. Only weapons remained behind.

“Is it safe to come out now?” Willow shouted from behind the bathroom door.

“Yeah!” Buffy called back, lowering her spear. She went to check outside the apartment.

Xander noticed the holes in his Henley and quickly buttoned up his white overshirt to hide them. Willow and Tara emerged from the bathroom. “You’re going to need a new latch, Giles,” Buffy reported, running her fingers over the splintered wood on the door frame.

Giles joined her at the door. “I’ll replace it tomorrow. In the meantime, a chair wedged beneath the handle should suffice.”

“We can use Spike’s chair,” Buffy smiled evilly at Spike, who remained tipped over on the floor, “with Spike still in it.”

“Funny,” Spike said flatly. “Now will someone get me up.”

Xander was closest, and he righted the chair. Spike wasn’t the fattest of vampires, but Xander’s Stone Cold Steve Austin muscles made it easy. He patted Spike on the shoulder. “There. I’ve helped you twice now.”

“At least someone cares,” Spike muttered. Xander pretended not to hear him, because he didn’t want to acknowledge the sympathy it elicited.

“Anyone want to tell me what that was about?” Xander asked instead.

“The usual: Spanish Mission, Chumash Indians, earthquake, Hellmouth,” Willow explained. “They’ve been running around Sunnydale, seeking vengeance for past wrongs. They must’ve learned we’ve been trying to figure out how to stop them, or something, for them to come after us.”

“Well, they better not have ruined my turkey!” Buffy leaned the spear against the wall and made a beeline back into the kitchen. Giles used his desk chair, rather than the one with Spike in it, to secure the front door.

“I wonder if there are more out there still,” Tara said, hovering behind Willow’s shoulder.

“Maybe,” Willow said. “But the word was that they had been sticking together, so maybe not.”

Xander picked up the axe from the floor and set it on the desk. “Nice to know Sunnydale hasn’t changed.”

“We did get a new mayor,” Willow said. “A non-immortal, non-evil one. Or so we think.”

“Most elected officials tend to be a little evil,” Tara joked softly. Willow smiled over her shoulder.

“The turkey is fine,” Buffy told them from the kitchen. “I’m gonna carve it up. You can take a seat. Someone shove Spike up to the table.”

“You’re still not going to untie me?” Spike whined.

“Nope!”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Thanksgiving dinner was excellent, in Xander’s opinion. Of course, he’d been eating at cheap restaurants and fast food places for six months, so anything home cooked would likely be delicious. Conversation revolved around school for the girls, Giles’s continued unemployment, and Xander’s job. Xander told them that he was a server at a bar, which was true in the sense that the strip club was a bar and Xander served his audience by taking off his clothes. Insecurity was his middle name, even though he knew his friends would only judge for a short time before getting over it. He tended to be the one whose judgment lingered well past when he should’ve let it go.

Spike sulked most of the time, which was a ridiculous look on a master vampire. When he wasn’t sulking, he added biting comments and sarcasm to the conversation. Everyone ignored him, though Xander admitted to himself that some of the things Spike said were pretty funny. He was used to Spike being Dramatically Evil and never really thought he could act like a normal person. Well, as normal as a soulless person got.

Willow and Tara were both yawning by the time the Thanksgiving festivities broke up. They left with an exchange of phone numbers and a promise from Xander to call tomorrow. Xander helped Giles with the dishes before taking off, leaving him and Buffy to deal with Spike. Xander was almost tempted to eavesdrop to find out what they were going to do, but in the end decided to head back to the motel for a post-meal vegathon.

The rest of the night passed quietly, with Xander half-sleeping through a Bond marathon. When he woke Friday evening, he cleaned up and called Willow on her cell phone as promised. He was glad he felt well-rested after un-marbling. He’d hate to return to flesh exhausted. Or worse, being awake and aware the entire time he was a statue.

“Hey, Willowy Wills,” Xander greeted when she answered the phone.

“Hi, Xander,” Willow said over the line. “Took you long enough to call. It’s already after five. I thought you had to leave at seven. That’s less than two hours from now.”

“I told you, I work nights, remember?” Xander replied to her gentle jibe. “I sleep all day.”

“I didn’t think you actually meant all day, all day.” Xander could picture her shrug as she went on. “Oh well, you called now, and I’m happy. Do you want to come over? We’re at the dorm.”

“Sure. Who’s ‘we?’”

“Tara and me are we. And soon we will be three.”

Willow sounded amused by her rhyming. Xander’s lips curved in response. “Give me directions, and I’ll be we shortly.”

Stevenson Hall stood three floors high and was located on the residence side of the UC Sunnydale campus. The interior walls were an unflattering shade of yellow with brown tile floors. Brown doors with numbers on them ran the length of each floor, divided in the center by the stairwell. Willow and Buffy’s door had hand turkeys decorating it, along with a small white board with their names. The door stood partway open, and Xander knocked perfunctorily before peeking his head into the room. “We be here.”

“We be glad.” Willow grinned at him, and Tara waved her fingers in a shy hello. They were seated on one of the twin beds, a book open in front of them. Ugly curtains covered the window between the beds. A throw rug covered the tile floor. Two nightstands, two dressers, two desks, and a closet filled the remainder of the small room. Funky bedspreads dressed both beds, and kitschy poster art hung on the yellowish walls. Both lamps on the two nightstands had scarves draped over them, casting the room in a cozy, rose-tinted glow.

Xander fully entered the room. “What’cha gals up to?” He snagged a desk chair, reversed it, and sat down with his folded arms resting on the chair back. The clock radio on the nightstand played edgy, alternative college rock.

“Trying to find a spell to determine what kind of demon Tara is,” Willow replied. Tara appeared embarrassed, but Willow patted her leg. Both wore vintage hippie dresses adorned with leaves. “Her family said she’s a demon, but they never said what kind.”

“Obviously a nice, pretty one,” Xander said.

“Darn tootin’,” Willow agreed, curving her arm around Tara’s shoulders. It was nice to know that Willow was gay. If Xander’s questioning ever became confirmed, he wouldn’t be rejected by his oldest and bestest friend.

A blush bloomed on Tara’s cheeks and she ducked her head to hide behind her hair. He could still see her big smile. “Guys...”

Xander motioned at the book. “Just be sure to read the fine print before casting anything.”

“What do you mean?” Willow said.

“There could be side effects. Unintended consequences.”

Willow narrowed her eyes. “Sounds like you know from experience.”

“Who me?” Xander laughed awkwardly. “I don’t do magic. You’re the magic person in this group. I’m… Caution Guy.”

“Caution Guy.” Willow didn’t sound like she believed him. He wouldn’t believe himself, either. “Xander, is there something you want to tell us?”

“Who me?” Xander laughed falsely again. “Nope. Nothing. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

Willow’s lips thinned, and even Tara was giving him a Look, now. “Uh-huh,” Willow hummed with skepticism. “You know you’re not leaving this room until you spill. So, spill.”

Xander slumped. He hadn’t wanted to tell anyone for fear of mockery and chastisement, with a side-helping of disappointment, but part of him was also relieved to share his burden. “Okay, fine. I may have cast a spell and it may have had interesting side effects.”’

“Like what?”

Xander had spotted a pair of paper scissors in a cup on the desk behind him, when he’d arrived. He reached back, nabbed them, and held them up like a dagger. “Like this.” He stabbed himself dramatically in the neck.

Tara gasped. Willow yelped, “Xander!” The scissor-tips bent with a brief, mental ouch from Xander.

“Don’t worry! I’m fine,” Xander reassured quickly, as Willow leapt from the bed and hurried to his side. He held up the scissors for examination. “I’m kinda invulnerable now.”

Willow checked his neck first, which was smooth and unmarred – a bonus of the spell meant no more beard stubble – and then she whapped him on the shoulder. “Geez! You scared me. Don’t do that again!”

Xander ducked his chin in false contrition. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll ‘yes ma’am’ you if you don’t watch it,” Willow threatened with a shake of her finger at him. She took the tip-bent scissors. “How in the world did this happen? What spell did you cast?”

“Kind of a self-improvement spell,” Xander replied. Willow handed Tara the scissors, who studied them with equal parts fascination and fear. “I definitely improved.”

“I’ll say.” Willow sat on the bed again, beside Tara. “And that was a side-effect? I would think that would be the purposeful effect.”

Xander shrugged. “Maybe it was, or part of it, anyway. The spell was all Greek to me.”

Willow clucked her tongue. “You shouldn’t have a cast a spell you didn’t understand.”

Tara placed her hand on Willow’s thigh. “Honey, don’t be judgmental. How many spells have we cast that we were unsure of the results?”

Willow wrinkled her nose. “True, but we’re chastising Xander right now.”

Tara smiled fondly at Willow. “How about we embrace his mistakes instead, and learn from them?”

Willow sighed dramatically. “Fine. Be the better person. I’ll embrace and learn.” She leaned over and kissed Tara on the cheek. “You’re the most non-demonic demon I’ve ever met.”

Tara colored with the kiss, and teased, “Met a lot of demons, have you?”

“Oh, you know, one or two, here and there,” Willow joked, nudging Tara’s shoulder with her own. Tara laughed lightly, Willow’s smile softened, and Xander suddenly felt like he was intruding. Love was in the air, fresh and sweet, and it made Xander’s heart smile and ache at the same time.

“I’d better get going,” he said, pushing up from his seat. They hadn’t finished discussing the side-effects of his spell, but maybe it was for the best. The statue thing was way wacky and he didn’t want to cause concern. “People and places await the presence of the Xander.”

Willow held out her arms for a hug, not protesting his departure. A definite cue to leave. He’d read the room right. “Don’t be a six month stranger again.”

“I won’t.” Xander embraced her briefly, and saluted Tara. “You two have fun doing things that are fun to be doing.”

“Bye, Xander,” Tara said, as Willow’s hand covered hers.

Xander gave them a final wave, and quickly left. He shut the dorm room door firmly behind him. The auto-lock caught. He heard the radio volume increase behind the wood. His mind went briefly into the horny realm of Two Girls Doing It before he quashed it because this was Willow and Willow wasn’t about to invite him in for a threesome. Besides, she might already have a threesome going, with Oz. Sure, she hadn’t mentioned Oz, but Xander hadn’t asked, either. Asking about the old boyfriend in front of the new girlfriend was awkward-making. Plus, Willow had said she was gay now, which meant Oz couldn’t be in the picture.

But maybe they hadn’t broken up. Maybe Willow was keeping Oz on the down low, not wanting judgey friends to judge. Maybe Oz was off touring with Dingoes Ate My Baby or had gone to another college, and he only visited every once in a while. Maybe the three of them ménage á troised. One never knew, especially if one named Xander didn’t live in Sunnydale anymore.

Xander took the marker hanging from a string on the door and wrote ‘Do Not Disturb’ on the white board. He tamped down his relationship envy – real and imagined – as best he could. It wasn’t as if a relationship was in the cards for him anymore, not with being a statue half the day. He wasn’t looking for something long-term, anyway. He was eighteen, looked like a Hollywood hunk, and had a large supply of condoms. He should be out there sampling everyone on offer. He owed it to the male population to Live the Dream.

Sticking his hands in the pockets of his lightweight leather jacket, which he wore over a white fitted t-shirt and artfully faded blue jeans, Xander left Stevenson Hall. Too bad he had to return to Oxnard instead of searching for a sex partner. This was a college campus, and according to the movies, parties happened all the time. He could’ve gotten extra lucky and found a threesome of his own. He might’ve even run into Graham again, and the two of them could’ve had a torrid love affair. Ah, well, them’s the breaks.

He was almost to his car, which he’d parked in campus parking, when he heard a call behind him. “Hey, Not A Vampire.” Xander turned, and in the otherwise empty parking lot, he saw the guy from the cemetery.

“Graham, hi,” Xander said, feeling a spark of heat as Graham jogged up to him. Someone must’ve been reading his thoughts. On the Hellmouth, that wasn’t a good thing, but Xander let it slide because Graham was seriously hot. “I didn’t think I’d run into you again.”

“Me, neither.” Graham stuffed his hands in his back pockets. The move made his shirt stretch tight across his pecs. He was slightly taller than Xander, muscular in a not overly pumped way, and had great eyes. “Are you a student here?”

Xander shook his head, pretending not to appreciate Graham’s musculature. “Nope. Just visiting.”

“You live in town, then?”

“Used to,” Xander said. “Right now, I’m living in Oxnard.”

“Oxnard, cool.” Graham rocked on his heels. “You like it?”

“I guess,” Xander shrugged. “It’s Oxnard.”

Graham nodded, as if he understood. An awkward silence settled between them. Xander searched for something to say. He had no idea if Graham was interested in him, or just being friendly. He’d been halfway home before he’d realized Jackson had been flirting. “So, um, where’s your uniform?”

“My uniform?” Graham looked down at himself. He wore jeans with a long-sleeved striped shirt. “Oh, I’m not on duty tonight.”

“ROTC or reserves? I’ve heard conflicting information.”

Graham arched his brow at the question. “I’m in the Army. College houses are only afforded to special interest groups, such as the Greek system or Honors Society, or ROTC, in my case. You have to be a member of ROTC to live there, even if you’re in the service.”

“Got it.” It made sense enough, and Xander didn’t understand the intricacies of college life to question it, anyway. “Army-ROTC vampire hunters. That’s kinda cool. Is that just a Sunnydale campus thing, or nationwide?”

“Who said we were vampire hunters?” Graham sounded both surprised and worried by Xander’s comment. He took his hands from his back pockets and folded his arms.

“Um, hello, cemetery, three in the morning, chasing after Spike? Ring any bells?”

“Who’s Spike?”

Xander rolled his eyes. This was getting ridiculous. “The bleached blond vampire you asked me about. Limey British accent. Never changes his clothes. Smells like Brut cologne for some reason I don’t want to understand.”

“You know his name.” Graham’s eyes narrowed. “You’re one of them.”

Xander put up his hands as if to block Graham’s accusation. “Nope. Not a vampire. I’m a slayer, too. Or Slayerette. Or whatever we’re calling ourselves this week.”

Graham’s posture and suspicion didn’t change. Xander dug his keys from his pocket. “Here, I’ll prove it.” He walked the short distance to his car, unlocked it, and opened the back door. He had a grocery bag filled with slaying supplies behind the driver’s seat. He pulled it out, turned back around, and found Graham right there, inches from him, as if Graham had been going to grab him. Or taser him, as there was a small taser in his hand.

Startled, Xander bumped against the door frame and nearly fell on his rear on the back seat. Graham looked intimidating. It was inappropriately hot. “A little close there, aren’t you?”

Graham didn’t apologize, but he did step back. He nodded to the plastic bag. “What’s in the bag?”

“Stakes, a few crosses, holy water.” Xander removed a decent sized cross from the bag and showed it to Graham. “See, cross in hand. Not a vampire.” He patted it against both cheeks and his forehead for emphasis. “I’m human.” Well, human enough, he thought. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was anymore. He really should find someone who could accurately translate the spell from Greek to English.

Graham relaxed, and a sheepish smile quirked his lips. “Sorry. I don’t take chances with vampires.” The small taser disappeared into his back pocket.

“Do tasers actually work on vamps?”

“With enough voltage, yeah,” Graham said. “Paralyzes them long enough to do what you need to do.”

“Huh. I did not know that.” Xander put his bag of goodies back in the car. “I’ll pass the word along.”

There was another moment of awkward silence. What did one say to another person after tasers were pulled?

“So… you want to grab a coffee?” was apparently the answer. Graham rubbed the back of his neck in a self-conscious manner. “I can make up for almost tasering you.”

Xander felt a small flip in his belly. Was Graham asking him out? “Are you asking me out?”

Graham hesitated. “Maybe? If that’s your thing,” he said. Then he tacked on in a rush, “If not, then no, it’s just coffee between two dudes who like coffee.”

Xander knew the new expression on Graham’s face: bracing for rejection. It was an expression Xander wore regularly. Luckily, in this instance, rejection wasn’t coming. “It’s my thing.”

A pleased smile tinged with relief spread across Graham’s lips. “There’s a coffee place here on campus. And I’m dying to know how you know Spike’s name.”

“It’s a funny story. Funny-terrifying, not funny-ha-ha.” Xander closed the car door and locked the vehicle. “His is not the only vampire’s name I know, either. Which is also terrifying.”

“This sounds like a story, or multiple stories, that I want to hear,” Graham said.

Xander fell into step beside him. “Well, which one do you want to start with: the Master, Luke, the Anointed One, the Gorches, Darla – who is Spike’s grandsire. Drusilla, who was Spike’s girlfriend before she dumped him for a chaos demon. Angel, or Angelus, depending on if he’s soul-having or not. And there was one time Vampire Willow got sucked into this timeline...”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Graham was kinda awesome, and smart, too. He was working on a second master’s degree in civil engineering. He already had one in mechanical engineering. Xander had learned he’d joined the Army Reserves out of high school and served while attending college at UC Irvine. After graduation, he’d joined a special Army unit while attending UC Sunnydale’s Graduate program. Xander figured that was the Initiative, but Graham didn’t specify and Xander didn’t ask.

They sat at a table for two in the campus coffee shop, farthest away from the barista. Tables for two and four, as well as a long bar-type counter with stool seating, filled the floor space in the shop. The institutional yellow walls were decorated with coffee ad posters from yesteryear. A menu board written in chalk hung above the barista station. The shop sold wrapped sandwiches, fruit, and muffins, as well. Occasionally, a student would wander in to grab a cup to go, but the shop remained otherwise empty due to Thanksgiving break.

Besides coffee, Xander ate a couple sandwiches and a muffin as they talked. For the first hour, Xander’d shared all he knew about the vampires he’d met, as well as some of the other Demons of the Week he’d helped deal with during high school. He was careful not to mention Buffy, Giles and Willow’s names. The second hour, they’d started talking about themselves, their pasts, and what they were doing now, which was how Xander had learned about Graham’s smartness. The time went by too fast, though, with them barely scratching the surface in the getting-to-know-you department before Xander had to leave.

“I’d call off, but I know two of my coworkers are already going to call in with the Thanksgiving Flu,” Xander apologized, as they policed their table. “I’m lowest man on the totem pole, so I need to be there.”

“It’s okay,” Graham assured. They headed out of the coffee shop and made their way across campus, back to the parking lot. “When do you have off next?”

“Sunday and Monday, every week.” Xander hesitated before venturing, “I could come back up here on Sunday night. If you want. Or not. Up to you. Doesn’t matter to me. I’m flexible. Or stay home-able.” He clamped his lips shut before more babble came from his mouth. His stomach was tied in knots, from both his daring at asking and in anticipation of rejection.

“I wouldn’t mind it, if you came back,” Graham said, with a smile.

Xander breathed out a relieved gust of held air. “Great!” His exclamation sounded desperately happy, and he quickly tried to play it cool. “I mean, good. I mean, I’ll come back. It takes about an hour to get here, so I’d arrive around six-ish. Maybe a bit earlier.”

“I’ll be sure to have my work done by then.” Graham patted his pockets. “Do you have a pen? I’ll give you my number.”

“In the car, I do,” Xander said, as they stepped into the parking lot. “There’s likely a receipt or something to write on, too.”

Graham nodded, and was about to say something else, when an unintelligible roar from the nearby shadows of the maintenance building shook the windows on the few cars in the lot. They both spun in that direction, and saw an immense blue-skinned demon with a giant mouth, clawed hands, and an obscene amount of nipples charging at them. Graham grabbed for his hand held taser, but the demon was upon them before he could use it. The demon backhanded Graham into a car. Graham crashed hard against it and tumbled to the ground, stunned. The taser clattered on the pavement.

“Damn it. I was arranging a date!” Xander groused at the demon, who wasted no time in seizing him around the shoulders. He aimed kicks at the demon’s shins, wishing his magic spell had come with a side of super strength instead of statue. He wasn’t afraid, though, even as the demon opened its enormous maw full of sharp, jagged teeth and clamped it around Xander’s head. Xander’s eyes watered, and he gagged. The demon’s breath stank.

Stings of pain around Xander’s neck reminded him that his nerve receptors in his skin still worked properly. The demon tried to masticate his head off, but couldn’t. Xander’s eyes and mouth were clamped shut, and he tried not to breathe as he got slimed by inner mouth juices. The futile kicks to the demon’s shins were accomplishing nothing, but neither was the demon succeeding in eating him.

The demon released Xander’s head and Xander gulped in a refreshing breath of air. “My god, do you need a breath mint,” he said, and tried to wipe his face on his shoulder. The demon tried to gnaw on him again, only the top of his skull this time. “Ow! Cut it out! You won’t get anything. And it hurts!”

The demon released one of Xander’s arms, and Xander quickly wiped his eyes so he could see again. He got an eyeful of blue-skinned nipples inches from his face. Xander snagged one between his fingers and twisted as hard as he could.

The demon roared and released Xander. Xander immediately gave the demon another Titty Twister, with both hands this time. The demon roared in pain again, and stumbled back from Xander – right into Graham’s taser.

The taser made a clicking, electric sound as it went off, and the demon’s entire body seized. Graham jumped out of the way as the tasered demon crashed backwards onto the pavement, paralyzed. The taser swung in Xander’s direction, a mixture of horror and determination on Graham’s face. “What are you?”

Xander held up his hands and quickly backed up a few steps. “Human! I’m human. Sort of. Half-human, half-statue, I guess.” This was bad. This was very, very bad.

“Explain,” Graham barked in a militant tone, and if Xander wasn’t about to be tasered he might’ve found it hot. Which explained a lot about his tastes in partners.

But now was not the time. Xander was in a panic. “Um, uh, what do you know about magic? Please say a lot.”

Graham’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

Xander blinked. Blinked again. Looked down at the demon paralyzed on the ground. “Point of contention, your honor.” He pointed at the demon. “Mr. Nipples is right there.”

“That’s a creature, not magic,” Graham stated.

“Yes, true, but, you know, obviously a demon,” Xander said. “Where there be demons, there be magic.”

“Prove it.”

Xander searched his mind. Prove it. How did he prove it? He didn’t have a spell book, and he wasn’t a witch. But he knew a witch. Two witches, in fact, in a dorm nearby. “I can prove it. But I need help from my friends. They’re in Stevenson.”

“Don’t move.” Graham pulled a hand-sized Nokia cell phone from his front jeans pocket and extended the thin antenna. He dialed a number with his thumb while keeping an eye on Xander, taser still at the ready. Xander could make out the tinny ring of the call going through as Graham put the phone to his ear. “It’s Miller,” Graham said into the receiver when someone answered. “Containment team to the south parking lot behind maintenance. It’s a big one.”

Graham disconnected, tucked the phone away, and motioned with the taser for Xander to move. “Over here.” He directed Xander to the sidewalk that led between the buildings toward the dorms. “Run, and you’re dead.”

Xander gulped. “I’m not running. See me standing still.” He knew Graham couldn’t kill him, but there could be pain and Xander wasn’t into masochism so far as he knew. Plus, he kinda really liked Graham, in the couple hours he’d gotten to know the guy. He’d hate for his second attempt at being gay to go down in flames again.

Five guys dressed in fatigues jogged into sight. One of them carried a black backboard. Xander presumed this was the containment team. The team glanced between Graham and Xander, and one stopped to talk as the other four went over to the tasered blue demon. “Trouble?”

Graham shook his head. “It’s fine. I’ll write up my report later.”

The soldier who’d stopped nodded. The demon was transferred to the backboard, a black tarp was draped over it, and the soldiers lifted the board by the sides. They quick-marched in the direction of Miller’s Woods. All this happened within a few minutes of time. Xander was quietly impressed. Definitely professionals.

Graham turned to Xander and motioned with his chin. The taser remained in his hand. “Let’s go.”

Xander led the way to Stevenson Hall. He hoped Willow and Tara were done with l’amour and answered his knock. He preferred not to find out where that demon was going in person.

‘Do Not Disturb’ had been erased from the white board, which meant one of the girls had left the room at some point, which was a good sign. A bad sign would be that they were both still out. Xander knocked, and prayed.

Willow answered the door, thank the Powers That Be, and surprise crossed her features. “Xander! I thought you left already, because you have to work.”

“I had a good delay, and now am having a not-so-good delay,” Xander said. “Can we come in?”

“Sure.” Willow stepped back. She looked between him and Graham, as they entered the room. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Graham,” Xander said, as Graham closed the door behind them. Tara was seated cross-legged on the bed with the spell book on her knees. The radio still played college alt rock, at a lower level. “Graham and I met a demon in the parking lot. Graham saw it try to eat me and fail. Graham doesn’t believe in magic. Graham is holding a taser at my back.”

Tara gasped softly, and Willow narrowed her eyes at Graham. “Don’t even think about it, mister.”

Graham didn’t respond, and Xander could image that he didn’t look impressed, either. “He needs proof that magic is real.”

Tara shifted the book off her lap and stood. “Didn’t you, um, s-say that you met a- a demon in the parking lot?”

Xander nodded. “Apparently that’s a creature, not proof.”

“Demons are from the Hell dimensions. How do you think they got here?” Willow sniped at Graham.

“Willow, don’t provoke the man with the taser,” Xander said. Nerves and panic twisted in his gut. “Just do some fancy visible magic and we can move on without me finding out if I can be electrocuted.”

Willow pointed a finger at Graham’s shoes. “Ignis.”

Fire burst into being on Graham’s shoes, causing him to jump and swear. “Holy shit!” Xander took the opportunity to move out of taser reach.

“Exstinguere,” Tara cast quickly, putting out the fire. She sighed at Willow. “That spell is supposed to be used for lighting campfires and candles, not people’s feet.”

“Well, he deserved it.” Willow folded her arms and glowered at Graham. “I’m thinking about giving him warts, next. Ugly, bulbous, black warts, all over his handsome face.”

“Or we could simply do this.” Tara swept her hair from forehead back with both hands, and her hair color changed from blonde to red. She looked at Graham. “Is- is this enough magic?”

Graham folded his arms stubbornly. The taser was still in his hand. “Any stage magician can do those tricks.”

Xander winced. He’d actually liked Graham, and Graham may have just sealed his doom.

A cold wind blew through the room, even though the window was closed. Along with it was a crackle of untethered energy. Willow’s eyes began to glow as her hair and dress whipped in the wind. She dropped her hands, spread her fingers, and hissed, “Asterope.”

Lightning shot from her fingertips and struck Graham. He jerked and jolted, the taser flying out of his hand.

“Willow!” Tara shouted. She flung her hands forward as if she were shoving someone. Willow was knocked sideways, the invisible shove hitting her hard. The lightning stopped, the wind disappeared, and Willow’s eyes stopped glowing.

Graham crashed to the floor. “Shit!” Xander ran over to him. Xander checked for a pulse, and was relieved to find a steady one. Graham was unconscious, not dead. Xander didn’t see any scorch marks or smell burned flesh, which was a good sign. Willow had only zapped him for a few seconds before Tara had intervened. Xander glared up at Willow. “What did you do?!”

“Proved magic exists.” Willow didn’t seem at all sorry that she could’ve killed Graham. “And stopped him from threatening you. It’s a win all around.”

Xander had never seen this side of Willow, and Tara was looking at her girlfriend with horror. “I have to- to go,” Tara whispered, and fled the room.

“Tara!” Willow ran after her, leaving the door wide open. Xander nudged it shut with his foot, picked up the phone on the desk, and called work.

“Hey, it’s Xander. I’m going to be late, if I make it at all. There was an accident...”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Graham didn’t regain consciousness for two hours. Willow and Tara never returned to the dorm room. Xander sat with Graham on the floor, leafing through the spell book that had been left behind. He’d debated on taking Graham to the hospital, but what would he say? His best friend had shot lightning bolts at him from her fingertips? Graham’s breathing was fine, pulse steady. His muscles were rigid, but Xander took that as a side-effect of being zapped by a human-sized taser.

When Graham finally stirred, Xander was relieved. He snagged an unopened bottle of water he’d found in a mini-fridge hidden under Buffy’s desk. When Graham opened his eyes, Xander tried to look as contrite and harmless as possible. He’d made certain Graham’s taser was hidden to avoid revenge. “Welcome back. Sorry my best friend tried to fry you.”

Graham sat up slowly, with a grunt of stiff pain. Xander offered Graham the water. Graham took it, opened the bottle, and guzzled half of it down. He looked warily around the room, then focused on Xander. “She always that vicious?”

“No. No.” Xander shook his head. His back rested against the side of Willow’s bed. “This is a side of her I’ve never seen.”

“She’s… scary.”

“Big time,” Xander agreed. She’d scared the pants off him. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel like I’ve been tasered.” Graham shifted gingerly so he could lean against Buffy’s bed. “It’s not pleasant.”

“I imagine not.” Xander tapped his upraised knee nervously. “So, uh, magic: yay or nay?”

A snort of laughter came unexpectedly from Graham. “I’m erring on the side of yes.”

“Sorry, again.”

“Not your fault,” Graham said. “I’m the one who wanted proof.”

“Still...” Xander felt bad for what Willow had done, and felt the desire to flee back to Oxnard and never return.

Graham took another drink of water. “Tell me about this half-human, half-statue thing.”

“Uh, well, okay.” Xander shifted into a cross-legged position. He was nervous about telling the full story, especially to someone who was essentially a stranger. “I wasn’t always this sexy specimen of manhood you see before you.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Graham said with a flirty grin.

Xander felt his face heat. He cleared his throat. “Right. Thanks. But it’s true. This body is made by magic, not nature. I mean, I wasn’t hideously deformed or anything. But I was less… less. Just less.”

Graham nodded, as if he understood, but he still had disbelief in his eyes. “So you supposedly used magic to make you more.”

“Yes. A body improvement spell. It gave me muscles and other improvements. But with it came the side effects of both the good and the bad,” Xander said. “The good is I’m pretty much invulnerable. Though I don’t want to field test a taser, thanks.” He flashed a quick, anxious-joking smile. “The bad is that I turn into a statue during daylight hours. A statue-statue. Marble, maybe.”

“Like something in a museum?”

Xander nodded. “Yep. I have video. I was even on the news for statue-ing in public, before I knew I was statue-ing.”

Recognition lit Graham’s eyes. “The pop-up statue on Hollywood beach.”

“That would be me.” Xander grinned awkwardly.

“It’s impossible to believe.”

“I didn’t want to believe it, either, but it’s my life now.” Xander played with a loose thread on the inseam of his jeans. “It kinda sucks. More in an inconvenient way than anything else. I can’t say I mind the not-getting-hurt thing.”

“I’d imagine not.” Graham shifted gingerly and looked at his watch. He frowned at it. “My watch is dead.”

Xander checked his own. “It’s quarter after ten. I really should get going, and catch the tail end of my shift.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“What?”

“I said: I’ll go with you.” Graham used the bed to help himself stand. “I’d like to see this ‘statue-ing’ in person.”

Xander’s brow furrowed, as he rose to his feet. “Um, okay, I guess. It’s not exactly thrilling to watch. I’m me one second, marble the next.”

“I’d still like to see it.” Graham walked slowly toward the door, obviously still aching from the magical electroshock. “Give me ten minutes to get back to my dorm and pack a bag. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

Xander agreed, though silently questioned why he was doing so. They barely knew each other, and now Graham was coming home with him. Not that the Zunny DayZ motel could be considered a real home, but it was where Xander currently resided. And it only had one bed.

An inappropriately horny thought sprang into Xander’s mind about that one bed fact, but he quashed it. He highly doubted Graham wanted to have sex with Xander. Not after what Willow did to him. Plus, the whole statue thing had to be a total turn off. Who wanted to sex up a guy who turned to stone for half the day?

Graham joined him in the parking lot closer to fifteen minutes later, carrying a camouflage dufflebag and a jacket. He wasn’t walking as sorely as before, which was good to see. He tossed the bag and jacket in Xander’s back seat. “Let’s roll.”

Xander was leery of Graham’s motivation in coming with him, and hoped he was doing the right thing by allowing it. They got in the car, and got underway. By the time they hit the highway, Xander was white-knuckling the steering wheel from the strained silence. He flipped on the radio, hoping it would help. It didn’t.

“So, um...” Xander forced himself to speak after a painful amount of time. The smattering of cars on the highway grew in number as he drove toward Oxnard. “I do have to go to work once we get there. I don’t get off until two. Then I’ll grab something to eat from Waffle House, probably. Or Denny’s. Those sandwiches at the coffee shop were good but not the most filling. I could pick you up at your room— you are going to get your own room, right? It’s a motel. There’s always rooms. Unless a lot of truckers or strippers suddenly got lucky.”

“I can get my own room, if that’s what you want.” Graham sounded amused. “But I figured I’d tag along to the bar. I could use a drink, or three.”

“About that...” Xander had revealed most of his secrets to Graham in the past few hours. Why not bare them all and give Graham a final opportunity to bail? “It’s a women-only nightclub. I’m not really a server. I’m a stripper.”

Graham was silent a moment, before he repeated in a somewhat choked voice, “A stripper.”

“Yeah. I shake my groove thang for money at the Ladies Night Club. Pays great.” Xander cut a glance at him. “Is that a problem?”

Graham’s shoulders were shaking. “No.”

Xander could hear the laughter Graham was trying, and failing, to suppress. It was a blow to his ego. “You’re laughing at me.”

“No. No,” Graham said, around a snicker. “Not really.”

“Sure sounds like it to me.”

Graham half-turned in the passenger seat, so he was somewhat facing Xander. Headlights from the cars on the other side of the highway lit the interior of the vehicle at random intervals. “It’s been a long night. First, I meet up with the cute guy from the cemetery, and I luck out that he’s gay, hunts vampires, and is also pretty cool. Then, I find out he’s invulnerable when a demon tries to bite his head off. Then, I learn he’s a statue part-time, and that magic is painfully real. Now, he’s telling me he’s a stripper, which is both wildly out there and absolutely perfect. Because why wouldn’t you be a magically invulnerable half-statue vampire-hunting stripper?”

Xander had to admit, it did sound funny. But he was more focused on one particular word Graham had said. “You think I’m cute?”

Graham smiled. “I do.”

Xander felt himself grinning like a fool. “Awesome.”

Graham laughed, and the tension that had been riding with them in the car broke. Xander’s shoulders relaxed, and his hands unclenched around the steering wheel. They fell into comfortable conversation again, like they’d had at the coffee shop. Ricky Martin was Livin’ la Vida Loca on the radio. Traffic thickened as they caught up with people headed into LA.

It was 11:30 when they arrived at the Zunny DayZ. Xander parked in front of his room, and pointed Graham in the direction of the office. “Leave a message on my phone with what room you’re in. I’ll stop by after work and see if you’re still interested in a very late dinner.”

“Sounds good.” Graham grabbed his jacket and bag from the back seat, touched two fingertips to his eyebrow in a saluting gesture of goodbye, and headed for the office.

Xander snagged his own bag from the trunk, leaving his other belongings locked inside it until later. After a quick, primping trip to the bathroom, Xander left the motel and hustled around the building to work.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The crowd at the Ladies Night Club had been thin, mostly Navy wives without nearby family whose spouses were at sea. Xander made roughly $50, but the manager had been so pleased that Xander had made it to work, he’d comped a drink at the bar. Soda was always free, but Xander decided it was the thought that counted.

Xander moved his belongings from the trunk to his room before retrieving his messages – better not to tempt fate further – then knocked on the door of room 103. The lights were on behind the curtains, and Graham answered immediately. “Ready for a super-early breakfast?” Xander asked.

“Sure am.” Graham slid on his jacket, checked for his room key, and closed the door behind him.

They ended up at Denny’s. Graham had the American Slam, Xander ate chocolate chip pancakes. A handful of truckers stopped in the gas station-adjacent restaurant as Xander regaled Graham with stories of stripper life. The conversation between Xander and Graham was light and easy, like it had been at the coffee shop. Xander was relieved. He’d been afraid his bizarroness had once again ruined something potentially good.

It was nearing four in the morning when they arrived back at the motel. Xander unlocked his room, glancing at his watch. “We’ve got a few hours until I turn. Not sure what you want to do ‘til then. I usually watch TV or patrol—”

Graham cut Xander off with a kiss, which was such a surprise that Xander squeaked. First of all, they didn’t know each other that well. Second, Graham had held a taser on Xander, twice. Third, Willow had fried Graham, sort of at Xander’s asking. Fourth, none of that mattered, because Xander’s primitive brain went kiss good, want more and scattered his worries to the wind.

Graham was not hesitant or questioning with his kiss, and Xander gave in readily. Graham pressed Xander against the motel room door, taking up space, dominating. Xander grasped Graham’s shirt, breathing becoming heavier, more desperate, as the kiss went on. Xander felt hardness beneath Graham’s jeans pushing up against him, making him equally as hard. Every nerve in Xander’s body felt like a live wire.

A fumble for the door handle, and they were inside, stumbling while kissing as they maneuvered to the bed. Lampposts from the parking lot illuminated the square around the window curtains, providing the only light. The bed creaked as Xander was tumbled upon its surface, Graham diving after him. Hands groped, pelvises rubbed, and Xander wanted more now, please and thanks. Graham obliged without a word being spoken, heavy panting audible in the dim room, interspersed with gasps and ragged moans. And when Xander was finally able to think beyond touch me there, and now there, he wondered why he’d questioned his sexuality for so long.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The activities of the bedroom relocated to the shower, and after the dirtiest thorough cleaning of Xander’s life, returned to the bed for new lessons in the awesomeness of gay sex. He felt like a wanton whore, and might be embarrassed by it, if it didn’t feel so damned good. Graham was aggressive, assured, and ardent – Xander was definitely not his first, removing any fumbling hesitations and awkwardness. Xander gave over and came, and gave over and came, and gave over and came again, until he was nothing more than a puddle of pleasantly achy goo in the middle of the bed.

And Graham continued to play with him, even though they were both thoroughly satiated. Xander found it hot and horny-making, even though neither of them could get it up yet. “When are you supposed to turn into a statue?” Graham asked, as his fingers did terribly wonderful things to Xander.

“Hmm.” Xander glanced at his watch. “Soon. Twenty minutes, thereabouts.”

“Anything I need to know?”

“You might not want to be – nnn – doing that, when it happens,” Xander said. “But otherwise, I’ll be flesh one second, stone the next. Nothing exciting.”

Graham chuckled. “Nothing exciting?”

Xander grinned. “Okay, for you maybe, but I’ve been doing this for a couple months now and the new car smell is gone.”

“So what happens after you turn to stone?” Graham asked.

“Nothing. I’m stone,” Xander said. “When the sun sets, I’ll be not-stone again.”

“But are you asleep? Awake? Aware? Do you dream?”

“I think I’m asleep. Or comatose.” Xander shifted position on the bed. “I don’t dream. At least, not that I know of or remember.”

“Must be hard, being so unaware of your surroundings for- what? Ten hours?”

“Sunrise to sunset, so it changes daily. Otherwise,” Xander half-shrugged, “it is what it is. I don’t like that I can’t get some things done during business hours, or hang out at the beach with my friends, but everyone sleeps. I pretend I just sleep longer than everyone else.”

“Still, nobody’s watching your six,” Graham said, shifting his hand to rest on Xander’s bare hip. “That’d put me on edge.”

“Spoken like a military man.” Xander smiled with regret that his brief foray as an experienced soldier hadn’t left a more indelible impression. “I was a soldier once, for one night. I don’t know if you were in Sunnydale the Halloween everyone turned into their costumes.”

“No, but I’d heard about it,” Graham said. “I’d been out of town training that week.”

“It was certainly an exciting experience,” Xander said, filling him in on the hijinks that had occurred that night. “I kinda liked being Soldier Guy.”

“Why didn’t you enlist?”

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think it was an option.” Xander could thank his inferiority complex for that. “I’m not actually good at… well, anything, really. I had to resort to magic to even be a stripper.” He snorted in self-derision. “And you’ll soon see how well that turned out.”

“I can think of one thing that you’re good at.” Graham’s hand curved downward from Xander’s hip to lightly tease him.

Xander cursed softly. “Not enough time. And I don’t think I could get it up yet even if you paid me.”

Graham pressed against Xander and murmured in a husky voice against Xander’s ear, “Is that a challenge?”

“If I say no, will you stop?”

“No.”

Xander moaned as his body fought arousal, even though he was mentally onboard. “Bastard,” he started to say, when the world abruptly blacked out.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander returned to the land of flesh to find himself alone in bed. He stretched away the creaking feeling he always had when he de-stoned, and silently cursed several shades of blue over coitus interruptus.

“Hey, you’re back.”

Xander yelped and nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice behind him. He sat up and turned. Graham sat in a lawn chair scrounged from somewhere, next to the bed. He was fully dressed and had a textbook in hand. The bedside light attached to the wall was on. The scent of McDonald’s fries overlaid the scent of sex in the room.

Graham appeared amused by Xander’s startled reaction. “Did you forget I was here?”

“No. Yes.” Xander stumbled over his words, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I thought maybe you’d left.”

“Only for a short time.” Graham closed his textbook and set it on the floor. “You weren’t kidding about the abrupt change.”

“Yeah. Weird, isn’t it?” Xander scooted toward the far side of the bed. Being naked while Graham was fully dressed made Xander uncomfortable, and he had to piss something fierce. “Be back.” He grabbed his still-packed bag off the floor and retreated to the safety of the bathroom.

Showered, dressed, and faking confidence, Xander returned to face Graham head on. Graham appeared slightly bemused, as he set his textbook down again. “Want to grab something to eat?” Xander asked, before Graham could say anything. “The smell of fries in here reminds me that I’m starving.”

“Sure.” Graham stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of the lawn chair. He slid it on. “Where to?”

“Since you just had McDonald’s, and we had Denny’s last night, let’s hit Shirley’s.” Shirley’s was a family restaurant with a big menu, so Graham wouldn’t have to have the same thing twice. While Shirley’s didn’t have the same quality-tasting McDonald’s fries, the restaurant did serve a mean potatoes au gratin.

Shirley’s was busy. Families packed the restaurant for dinner, filling the air with conversation and crying children. Wait staff maneuvered gracefully between the tables, balancing trays overloaded with food. The décor was in shades of 70s kitchen, with goldenrod colored booth seats and fruity kitsch on the walls. Xander and Graham were seated after a ten minute wait. They spoke of benign things after placing their order: what time Xander had to go to work (8:30), did he expect it to be busy (maybe), when did Graham have to be back in Sunnydale (Sunday).

Xander’s emotions were all over the place, and he once again felt awkward and insecure. Too much had happened in a short period of time. He met a guy, they hit it off, the guy had twice been going to taser him, his best friend magically zapped the guy, the guy learned all his secrets, he had great sex with the guy, the guy saw him turn into a statue, and now the guy was sitting across the booth from him making small talk. What was going to happen next? Where did things go from here? Graham didn’t seem to be freaked at all, while Xander was having a mini-breakdown with a complimentary bread basket.

“How are you so calm?” Xander blurted. His bread roll lay in tatters on the small plate in front of him. His drink glass was already empty. The family of four at the booth behind him – two parents, two tweens – were loudly debating the merits of the Popular TV show.

The bemused smile that Graham wore earlier returned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Um, because less than an hour ago I was a hunk of marble?”

“That was definitely different,” Graham said. “I’ll admit, I hadn’t fully believed the statue thing until I saw you change.”

Xander boggled. “Why would I make something like that up?”

“Because you’re a demon who didn’t want me to taser you.” Graham folded a straw wrapper as he spoke.

“Even after Willow had zzzzz?” Xander made a zapping sound and pointed lightning magic fingers in Graham’s direction.

Graham’s lips quirked again at Xander’s action. “Magic and demons aren’t the same thing. You could’ve been lying still.”

“Then why in the world would you come with me to Oxnard?”

“Again, demon. I couldn’t let you get away,” Graham said. He tugged lightly at the folded straw wrapper, sliding one end out, creating a bunching at the other end. “I was also curious how far you’d take the ruse.”

Xander couldn’t believe his ears. He lowered his voice to ask, “And the sex?”

Pink flushed Graham’s cheeks, finally breaking his blasé attitude. “You’re a very cute demon.”

“Not a demon,” Xander said, though his insides fluttered a bit at the compliment.

“You sure about that?” Graham twisted the end of the straw tightly beneath the bunched section. He tore a small flap of the straw in two strips, but did not detach them. “You told me you used a spell on yourself. The spell could have turned you into a demon.”

Xander opened his mouth to counter, then closed it again. Graham could be right. Xander didn’t know what the spell actually read; it was in Greek. A dictionary translation likely wasn’t the most accurate, and he hadn’t translated the entire page, either. He didn’t have a clue what the incantation actually said. “Do you know anyone who reads Greek?”

“No, but I’m sure someone at the university does,” Graham said.

Their food arrived, breaking into the conversation. Graham had gotten fettuccine alfredo. Xander’d ordered a smothered chopped steak with potatoes au gratin. The waitress promised to bring another drink for Xander before moving off.

Graham reached across the table, extending the straw wrapper he’d been playing with. The pink still colored his cheeks. “Here.”

Confused, Xander took it, thinking it was garbage, but then he saw the straw wrapper had been transformed into a rose, complete with twisted stem and petals. His heart double-thumped in his chest, and a delighted smile bloomed on his lips.

Graham muttered, “I’m in serious trouble,” and dug into his meal.

Xander put the paper rose carefully in his jacket pocket, and began eating as well. He exchanged glances with Graham between every bite; bashful and attracted glances that grew hotter and hornier as the meal progressed, until they were both shoveling down their dinner at a fast pace and beckoning the waitress hurriedly for the check. They paid, and Xander broke the speed limit driving them back to the motel.

The door to the room barely closed behind them before clothing came off, and then they were on the bed, grasping, clutching, kissing, rutting. Pliable and eager, Xander melted under Graham’s confident and aggressive sexing in ways he’d never thought he’d like but now only wanted harder and more. It was different, it was awesome, and as the bed frame banged against the wall, he never wanted it to end.

Alas, Xander had to go to work, and after a thorough round of fornicating, he reluctantly dragged himself to the shower. Once prettified, he left Graham dozing in bed and headed out.

Stripping was fun for Xander, even if it was tiring being “on” for five hours, and it didn’t bother him to be pawed at by women while he had a man waiting for him at the motel to return. He did pass on a proposition, though his mind naturally wandered into threesome territory. He was an eighteen-year-old male; his brain went to sexy-town automatically.

Xander returned to the Zunny DayZ a little after two in the morning, to find a bare-chested Graham sitting up in bed, pillows propped behind him and sheet draped over his lap, reading the same textbook from earlier. He smiled when Xander came in, and Xander could get used to someone being pleased to see him. “Reading anything good?”

“No.” Graham closed the book and dropped it off the side of the bed. Xander laughed, and approached the bed at Graham’s beckon for an enthusiastic kiss. “You smell like perfume and booze.”

Xander chuckled. “Hazards of stripper life. I’ll go shower.”

“I’ll help you.”

Xander didn’t turn down the offer, and debauching resumed its heated pace. At some point, Xander’s body would probably cry uncle, but he hoped it wasn’t anytime soon. He’d taken to gay sex like a duck to water, and he really, really should’ve tried it out years ago.

Graham was trying, and failing, to suck a bruise on Xander’s hip when Xander noticed the time. He groaned unhappily. “I’ll be turning soon.”

Graham took the news in stride. “If you pose in a strange position, do you stay that way?”

“Yes.” Xander tucked a hand beneath his head. “I have the videotape evidence to prove it.”

Graham got a very devilish gleam in his eye, and Xander shook his head. “Oh, no. Whatever it is, no. I’d prefer not to look like a fool in front of you.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” Graham sounded sincere, and it made Xander feel a little gooshy inside. “But I will behave. This time.”

Xander crossed his ankles. They both lay naked and mostly satiated in bed. The covers had been shoved to the floor during their ardent sexual gymnastics. He could see the gray sky brightening around the edge of the closed curtains. “After I get up, I’ll drive you back to Sunnydale.”

Graham made a sound of agreement. “You’re off work for the next two days, right?”

“Yeah. My next shift isn’t until Tuesday night.”

“Good.” Graham settled onto the pillow beside Xander. “We’ll bring the magic book with us, and see if we can get it translated while you’re there.”

Xander made a mental note to pay rent before they left so he didn’t lose the room, in case something prevented him from returning on Tuesday. He’d also get a housekeeping-cleaned room twice in one week. His sheets and towels definitely needed changing.

Graham switched off the bedside light, turned on his side, and rested his hand on top of Xander’s belly. It was a pleasant weight and warmth, and made Xander feel both secure and wanted. He dropped into marble with a smile on his face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander checked in at the same motel in Sunnydale, near the UC Sunnydale campus, that he had a few days ago. He even ended up the same room, which he and Graham promptly proceeded to defile until Graham forced himself to behave and return to Lowell House to check in with his unit. Graham took Sarx Goēteia with him, with plans to hunt down a translator on Monday. He didn’t have plans to return to the motel, though, which meant Xander had hours to kill until sunrise.

It was early enough for Xander to swing by home, since he’d chosen not to stop at Thanksgiving. He didn’t really want to, but he should. Besides, there were a few things in his room he wouldn’t mind having since it seemed like Oxnard was going to be a long-term gig.

Parked in front of the Harris residence, Xander geared himself up to go in. Both of his parents’ cars were in the driveway, and the living room lights were on. He could see the flicker of the television set through the thin curtains. He knew they’d both be drunk, but how drunk was always a gamble. It depended on what they’d done all day.

“You’re invulnerable now,” Xander told his reflection in the rearview mirror. “They can’t hurt you.” It was a lie, but it got him out of the car and walking up to the front door. He had a flummoxed moment where he didn’t know whether to knock or let himself in, so he did both, using his key to unlock the door and knocking as he opened it.

“Hello, it’s Xander,” he called, feeling stupid and awkward. This was his house, but it also wasn’t, was it?

Xander’s father returned the greeting with what Xander should’ve expected but it still stung. “What are you doing here?”

Anthony and Jessica Harris were both in the living room off to the left of the front door. Anthony sat in his recliner, and Jessica was lounging on the sofa; both had highball glasses in hand. A laugh track spilled from the television set across from them. A low coffee table stood in front of the couch, stacked with magazines. A side table with a lighted lamp rested next to the recliner. Seventies green pile carpeting covered the floor, to go with the faux-wood paneled walls. A wet bar was recessed into a closet, filled with half-empty bottles of booze and an ice bucket.

Xander shut the front door behind him. “I was in town. Thought I’d stop by, say hello, grab some of my stuff.” He tried to keep the hurt from his voice.

“We got rid of your stuff,” Anthony said.

“Now, now, dear, we didn’t get rid of everything.” Jessica stood and approached Xander. She gave him a quick hug, and stank like a distillery. “Your cousins boxed up your things and put them in the shed out back.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re eighteen, and you moved out.” Anthony scowled at Xander. “Don’t think you can come crawling back here because you can’t make it as a man.”

“I’m making it just fine, dad,” Xander said, his hands curling into fists.

“We turned your bedroom into a sewing room,” Jessica told Xander. She squeezed Xander’s arms in what he first took for as affection, but then realized she was feeling him up. “You’ve been working out.”

Xander stepped back in revulsion. “Yeah. I’m going to get my stuff. Nice seeing you both.”

“Bye-bye, honey,” Jessica said.

“Leave your key on the kitchen table before you go,” Anthony said.

Xander gave them both a tight smile and headed into the kitchen. He felt his mom’s eyes on his backside as he walked, and it was all he could do not to vomit.

After dropping his house key on the kitchen table, Xander went out the back door, shutting it firmly behind him. He stood on the back step for a moment, eyes closed, boxing up his feelings about his parents once more. He took a deep, calming breath, and wrinkled his nose when he smelt the acrid scent of smoke.

Was something on fire? Xander’s eyes popped open and he spotted flames shooting briefly into the sky beyond the back neighbor’s property. Both worried and curious, Xander jogged through both yards, onto the next street, then cut through two more yards. He heard shouting before he reached the street beyond, and came upon a Hellmouth nightmare when he rounded the last house.

A giant worm-like creature, with what looked like trumpets lining its body in two rows, swayed back and forth in the middle of the street. The shouting came from uniformed soldiers who were attacking it with electricity-throwing rifles, which Xander recognized from his first encounter with Graham at the cemetery. He could see lights on in the houses up and down the block, and heard dogs barking from fenced yards. Cars and trucks were parked in driveways and along the street. The creature’s trumpets belched dark smoke, and the electrocution didn’t seem to be doing anything.

Xander started to wonder where Buffy was, when he became a horrified witness to the carnage that happened next. The creature reared back, opened its Tremors-like maw, and spewed fire at the Initiative soldiers. It took them by surprise. Agonized screams filled the air as most of them were set aflame, unable to dodge in time. They ran mindlessly as they burned, down the street and into yards, before collapsing into flaming heaps.

No longer a spectator, Xander sprinted for a half-cooked soldier lying on the street, who was still trying to operate his rifle. Xander grabbed him under the shoulders and dragged him behind a car. The soldier’s lower half was burned badly. Xander could see charred flesh through seared holes in the uniform trousers. The soldier was sweating and panting from pain.

Xander spotted another soldier cowering behind a truck, his face blanched of color. The flaming, charred bodies of the others lay unmoving around the area. Xander peeked out, taking stock of the creature. The creature swayed in place, no longer spewing fire from its maw. Xander couldn’t see any eyes.

“Do you have any stronger weapons?” Xander asked the soldier he’d rescued, but the man had passed out. Xander took his rifle, peeked at the creature, then darted for the other soldier behind the truck. The creature seemed to sense his movement, its bulbous head shifting in his direction.

Xander crouched in the shadow of the truck’s bed, next to the pale-faced soldier. The name stitched on his chest patch read Carson. “Hey, do you have any stronger weapons? Grenades? Or a bazooka?”

Carson opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words emerged. He clung to his rifle, his eyes wide with fright. Xander spotted a radio clipped to the guy’s belt and grabbed it. “Anyone hear me? Um, over?”

“This is base. What’s your status? Over.”

“I’m on Cranberry Street. There’s a giant worm thing, and a lot of dead soldiers. These electric rifles of yours are useless. We need something stronger, more lethal. Over,” Xander said into the radio. The worm started sliming its way up the street toward the truck.

“Who is this? What’s your serial number? Over.”

“My serial number is 1-800-Dead-Guy if you don’t give me some help,” Xander snapped. “This creature shoots fire and is in a residential neighborhood. Now, do any of these soldiers out here have anything more lethal than a modified stun gun?”

There was silence on the other end. Xander cursed profusely. He peeked around the corner and saw the creature almost upon them. Grabbing the petrified Carson by the upper arms, Xander shook him hard. “Snap out of it.”

Carson’s head banged against the truck bumper, and for a second he seemed to come back to himself. But then he started blubbering and pointing over Xander’s shoulder.

Xander glanced back, and saw the creature rearing its head. “Shit!” Xander shoved Carson down, practically crawling on top of the other guy. A beat later, and the creature let rip a torrent of fire on them.

Xander yelped as fire licked his body. He knew he was fireproof, but it still hurt like hell as his nerve endings announced they disliked the sensation of being flambé. The soldier beneath him yelped in pain, as his edges were also cooked.

The fire stopped, and Xander knew they didn’t have much time before another burst would occur. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed the smoking Carson, and dragged him around the corner of the truck, out of the line of literal fire. He smacked at the flames dancing along Carson’s arms and feet before shedding his own still-burning jacket and shirt, and smothering the flames on the backside of his jeans. His wallet and keys felt crispy in his pocket. He was glad he’d moved the paper rose from his jacket pocket into his wallet and that it was still safe. The radio was probably gone, but Carson still clung to his own rifle. Xander grabbed it from him and studied it.

A circuitry box was welded to the center of the rifle, with wires connecting to the back and front. It had pointed, bronze muzzle, two handles, a trigger, and a rotary dial. Xander looked closer at the dial. It appeared to adjust the strength of the blast. He showed it to Carson. “Can you overload this enough to make it explode?”

Carson jibbered and sobbed, but nodded. He turned the dial as high as it would go, detached the muzzle and reversed it, so the tip was pointed into the rifle barrel. Xander caught on that he would have to pull the trigger in order for it to work.

“I’m going to distract that thing, get him back down the street. I need you to run across, grab your friend, and pull him to safety beside one of the houses. Can you do that?” Xander said.

The soldier was still caught up in his fear. Xander’s voice became more firm, snappish, “You’re going to take your brother to safety, soldier. Understood?”

Carson nodded again, and tried to rein in his sobs. He failed, but Xander didn’t care, as long as the two soldiers managed to get to safety. He had a feeling what was coming wasn’t going to be pretty.

Normally, he would be the one cowering while Buffy did the heavy lifting, but Buffy wasn’t here and Xander couldn’t let a fire-breathing worm-creature kill anymore people. He sent a prayer up to the Powers That Be that his spell-given invulnerability could withstand an explosion, and with a final, clipped command to the crying Carson to haul ass once clear, Xander charged from the side of the truck, waving his arms, drawing the creature’s attention.

The creature turned with the movement, sensing it. Bare-chested and with burn holes in the back of his jeans, Xander shouted, jumped, and waved more, drawing the creature’s attention away from the truck and back up the street where Xander had first seen it. Xander darted several yards up the street, then turned and made more of a commotion. “Over here, fish bait. Come and get me!”

The creature slimed toward Xander, giving Carson the opportunity to dart across the street to his friend. Behind the creature, Xander saw the headlights of a truck turn onto Cranberry and thankfully pull to a stop out of range. “Let’s go, ugly! Bet you can’t catch me!” Xander hooted and hollered as he watched Carson drag his fallen friend across the grass and into the shadow on the side of the nearest house. Once he was certain they were clear, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and murmured to himself, “Let’s do this.”

With more balls than brains, Xander charged the creature, shouting a wordless war cry, “Raaaaaaaaahh!” The creature reared and blasted him with fire. It hurt like mad, but Xander didn’t stop charging. He got himself right up against the creature, bare chest to slime, and pulled the modified weapon’s trigger.

The circuitry overloaded, 20,000 volts looping back on itself, and the rifle exploded in Xander’s hands. The blast and shrapnel tore through the creature and smacked Xander with a concussive force strong enough to pulverize his organs. Flaming worm parts rained around Xander and on the neighboring lawns. Xander felt as though he’d belly-flopped from a skyscraper, and his ears rang shrilly, but the pain passed as quickly as it had come on. Still, he lay on the street, jeans and shoes still on fire, grinning like a loon. He’d done it! He’d saved the day. Not Buffy, not magic-using Willow or Giles, but him, Xander. The dumb one. The useless one. The loser.

He raised a triumphant fist in the air, then sat up and smacked out the fire on his legs and feet. Large burn holes dotted the scorched denim, and his bare toes stuck out of both shoes. He sobered when he pushed to his feet. The fiery remains of the exploded worm cast light on the fallen soldiers’ charred corpses. The ringing in his ears passed, and he heard shouts from further up the street. Initiative soldiers spilled from the truck that had turned onto Cranberry.

Xander caught sight of Carson emerging from the side of the house. Carson stood at attention and gave Xander a salute. Xander nodded and returned the gesture before taking off. He didn’t want to try to explain how he managed to survive. He heard commands for him to stop as he ran between houses and through yards, but the voices had faded by the time he got back to his parents’ yard. The Initiative soldiers didn’t seem to be giving chase.

Not wanting to linger, Xander opened the unlocked shed, where his mom said they’d stored his stuff. He’d planned to grab one box before leaving and return for the rest, but was dismayed to find there was only one box to be grabbed. It was a big box, but still it depressed him to find his parents had boiled his entire life down to one box.

He hefted the box, kicked the shed closed, and made for his car. His ears didn’t pick up any Initiative noises, thankfully, as he put the box in the back seat. His keys were still toasty as he started the engine. He was careful to obey traffic laws as he drove back to the motel. He didn’t need to be cited for indecency along with a speeding ticket. He was also bummed he’d lost his leather jacket. He’d liked it, and it had looked good on him.

Back at the motel, Xander disposed of his burned clothing in the trash before showering the guts and stench of fried worm from his body. He settled on vending machine food instead of venturing out again, to avoid running into any Initiative soldiers. He doubted they’d be searching for him, as they had more important duties to take care of on Cranberry Street. Still, it was better to not tempt fate on the Hellmouth.

A couple hours later, he received a phone call in the room. “Was that you?” Graham asked after Xander picked up.

Xander knew what Graham meant without the need for clarification. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Graham said, and hung up.

Surprised, and a little stung, Xander replaced the receiver in the cradle. He supposed Graham was still busy with his Initiative friends. He hoped this event wouldn’t cause problems. He liked Graham a lot, and wanted to continue seeing him.

Xander watched a Nic Cage marathon on TNT - Raising Arizona, Vampire’s Kiss, ConAir, and Face/Off – until the sun rose and he transformed into a statue. When he woke, he found Graham sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him, dressed in jeans and a striped long-sleeved shirt, flipping channels on the TV. He’d used the second key to the room that Xander had given him.

“Hey,” Xander greeted cautiously, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. He felt well-rested, as usual, and there were, of course, no deleterious effects from last night’s worm fight.

“You’re a gargoyle.”

That was not the response to his greeting that he’d expected. “What?”

“You’re a gargoyle,” Graham repeated, picking up the book that had been hidden by his leg. “One of my buddies knew someone who’s mastering in Theology and is adept at Ancient Greek. She took a look at the spell, and said it was for creating what we would call a gargoyle. She said it would take her a while to do a full translation if we wanted it, but that was the gist of it.”

Xander’s mind wrapped around the information. “A gargoyle. Like in the cartoon? ‘Stone by day, warriors by night.’”

Graham’s lips twitched at the reference. “Pretty much.”

“Then why didn’t it turn me into a monster?”

Graham shrugged. “I don’t know. Why should you?”

“Huh. True.” Xander shifted into a cross-legged position. He wore Snoopy boxers and nothing else. “Does this mean I’m a demon, then?”

“Only if you’re possessed. Otherwise, from my brief research, gargoyles are considered guardians.” Graham fiddled with the book in his hand. “But it does mean that you aren’t human.”

“Oh.” Xander felt a weight settle in his chest. “And this is a bad thing?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

The words hurt. Xander drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. “At least you’re honest.”

Graham hm’d. “Carson’s been telling everyone at Lowell House that you’re a hero. Walsh – my boss on campus – wants you brought in for testing.”

Xander stiffened. “Are you going to do it?”

“No.” Graham shook his head. “You saved Carson’s and Jackson’s lives, plus the lives of a lot of civilians.”

“Anybody would’ve done that. Heck, I used to sort of do that before I had my magic powers.” Xander had mostly cowered behind something, but occasionally he’d bust a move in the fight against the Hellmouth baddies.

Graham gave him a cockeyed look. “Not many people are as brave as you.”

Xander snorted. “The Sunnydale class of ‘99 would say otherwise.”

They both fell silent. Xander was likely going to lose something good before it really started. The uncomfortable emotions roiling inside him made him want to tell jokes in self-defense. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you from my perch on rooftops. Good thing I’m also not a water spouting gargoyle, because that water wouldn’t be water.”

Graham’s startled laugh made Xander grin slightly. He decided to broach the topic that he hadn’t pressed about over the past few nights. “Tell me about the Initiative.”

Graham’s amusement vanished, and he stiffened. But then he abruptly relaxed with a sigh. “I suppose you deserve to know the details, since I told you my boss wants to bring you in.”

“That’d be nice. Spike didn’t tell us much, other than you guys have hundreds of demons locked up in tiny cages in an underground lair. And somehow you made it so he couldn’t feed.”

Graham arched his brow. “Spike told you all this? I thought you only bumped into him in the cemetery, not had a drawn out chat.”

“Um, ha-ha, yeah, that,” Xander said. “I didn’t tell you that Spike was a tied up guest at Thanksgiving. Whatever you did to him sent him running to us good guys for help. One of the wiggier Thanksgivings I’ve had, though not the wiggiest. That honor goes to the time Uncle Rory brought a taxidermied horse as his Thanksgiving date.”

Graham appeared as if he didn’t know whether to scold Xander or laugh. He settled on telling Xander the full details about the military’s Initiative program, from its inception to its goal of capturing, studying, and experimenting on demons to determine better methods of extermination. He went deeper into his training and his more-than-reservist status. Sunnydale was a hotbed for demon activity, thanks to the Hellmouth, which was why they’d set up shop in an old World War II military complex under the university. But units encountered demons all over the world, which was why the military was interested in combating them.

“Sounds impressive, actually, and needed,” Xander told Graham when he finished speaking. “If I’d know something like this was part of the Army, I might’ve signed up.”

Graham grinned. “And give up the sexy life of a stripper?”

“Funny,” Xander replied flatly. “You’re a laugh riot.”

“I thought you liked being a stripper,” Graham said.

“I did. I do,” Xander said. “I’m actually pretty good at it, especially now that my money maker is much better looking. Plus, there’s all the sex.”

“Can’t forget the sex,” Graham teased.

Xander unconsciously raked his gaze over Graham before meeting his eyes, and the air became charged. “No, can’t forget that.”

Graham’s gaze became darker, hungrier. “Aw, fuck it,” he cursed, before pouncing.

Xander’s head banged against the headboard as Graham dove in for a kiss. Xander didn’t protest, eagerly and greedily clutching at Graham’s hair, his shoulders, his back. Xander’s boxers went flying unceremoniously across the motel room. Graham divested himself of his shirt, unfastened his trousers, and rolled on a condom. Then, Xander was taken to his new happy place, and it felt awesome, and possessive, and again, why had he waited so long to try this?

Afterward, sated and content, they dragged themselves to the shower. But then, reluctantly, Graham had to go. “I’m on duty tonight,” Graham said, as he redressed. “You should probably head back to Oxnard. It’d be safer.”

Xander knew Graham was right, even though he didn’t like the idea. “I will.”

Graham picked up the book that had been knocked onto the floor. “Do you want me to get the spell fully translated?”

Xander shook his head. “Nah. We know enough. I’m not human anymore.”

“Yeah.” Graham sighed. He set the book on the television. “I’m not going to lie. I have to think about that fact.”

“I get it,” Xander said quickly, going for his default put-down before Graham could say something to hurt him. “It’s one thing to be a freak in the sheets, but another to be a freak on the streets. And I’m taking freakage to new and artsy places.”

Graham’s lips twisted in a bittersweet smile. “Make that cute and artsy.”

Xander mimicked his smile, and shooed him toward the door in lieu of throwing himself like a limpet at Graham. “Be gone with you, you smooth-talking talker.”

Graham looked as if he were going to say something more, but changed his mind. “Take care, Xander,” he said, then left, closing the motel room door behind him.

A wave of depression rolled over Xander. He felt like he wouldn’t being seeing Graham again. He’d done the spell to make his life better, not make himself into a loveless monster. But magic had ruined his life a couple times before, so why should this be any different?

With slumped movements, Xander packed his belongings, brought them to the car, and checked out. He wouldn’t take his chances remaining in Sunnydale. He didn’t have reason to be in town anymore, anyway.

He found radio station playing Sarah McLachlin, and drove back to Oxnard.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two weeks later, he received a call. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Xander’s heart leapt when he heard Graham over the line. “Can’t do what?”

“Not see or talk to you” Graham said. “I don’t care that you’re not human.”

Hope surged in Xander. It had been a long two weeks of putting on a happy face while at work and moping around the motel the rest of the time. He’d turned down two propositions, not feeling the desire to sex it up with anyone else. He watched a lot of late night weepy chick flicks. Willow had called to apologize for her Bad Witchy Behavior, and Xander’d blubbered to her about his woes. She was as supportive of his part-gayness as he’d hoped she’d be. Xander used jokes as a defense mechanism for insecurity, which made people think he didn’t have deep feelings. But he had depths that felt like drowning, and he hadn’t been ready to swim on. Graham had thrown him a flotation ring with a call.

“Do you know how hard it is to find someone you click with?” Graham went on. “I’m kicking myself for letting you go like I did, implying we were done.”

A dopey grin spread across Xander’s face. “But now you’re un-letting me go.”

“Yeah. I’m un-letting you go. Kind of.”

The grin faded. “Kind of, how?”

“Walsh is still champing at the bit to nab you, and we’re still short on manpower, so I should probably stick to phone calls for now.” Graham sighed. “In a month or two, things should settle down.”

“That long?” Xander heard the whine in his voice and cleared his throat. “I mean, that makes sense.”

Graham chuckled. “Parts of me are cursing at my brain, but common sense is overruling them.”

“Wish I had me some of that common sense before I did the spell.”

“I don’t know about that,” Graham said. “You saved two men and stopped that demon before any more people died. There’s a lot of nasty out there you could take down single-handedly.”

Xander had been going out on patrol, but not far and not for long, due to work and sunrise limitations. But that was before Thanksgiving, and he hadn’t gone out since. Grahams inadvertent guilt sandwich didn’t taste great. “I could probably do more.”

“Oh hey, I’m not pressuring you or anything,” Graham said quickly. “I kinda like that you’re a stripper.”

“You do, huh?”

Graham went quiet, and then he cleared his throat, and Xander’s grin returned. Someone had a kink! Xander let him off the hook. “It pays a lot of bills. Or would, if I had a lot of bills. Mostly, I stick it in a savings account, in case one day I want to do something else and need money to do it.”

“A wise thing to do.” Graham sounded relieved Xander didn’t call him on what he’d said. Xander tucked it into the back of his mind to demonstrate stripping in person whenever they saw each other next.

“When am I going to see you next?” Xander’s train of thought prompted him to ask.

“Like I said, in a month or two,” Graham said.

“Darn.”

“Yeah.”

“But you’ll call, right? Or I’ll call you?” Xander was starting to sound clingy, which he hated. Luckily, Graham didn’t seem put off by it.

“I’ll call you, since your schedule is more fixed than mine,” Graham said. “How about around six tomorrow night? You’ll be up by then, right?”

“Yeah.” With winter settling in, Xander had plenty of time between sundown and work to do everything he needed to do, and have time to chat.

“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Xander smiled like a fool. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

Graham disconnected, and Xander hung up the receiver. Then he Snoopy danced around the room. Life was awesome once more.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Graham called right on time the next night, and every few nights afterward. Xander loved it. It was the first time he could get to really know someone without thinking about sex every few seconds. Not that he didn’t think about sex with Graham. He did. A lot. But distance had put that on the back burner, except when they engaged in phone sex, which was mostly Xander recounting his paid hook ups that Graham had encouraged him to keep doing – Graham had a serious kink that Xander was very satisfied to fulfill. But that was only every other week or so, and Xander was spending what Dr. Phil called “Quality Time” with Graham with all the other phone calls

It was great. They talked about the demon of the day, their childhoods, their favorite things. They talked about Buffy being the Slayer, which Graham had found out from her and Riley, and what it meant. They found out likes and dislikes – Graham preferred books, Xander preferred TV – and limits. They talked about military life, stripping shenanigans, bucket lists, wishes, and lottery dreams. Graham sometimes spoke about his classes or homework, but in a way that made Xander glad he’d didn’t go to college. It sounded like a whole lot of not fun.

Because of Graham, Xander was also spending more time after work patrolling. He’d stopped half-assing it in Oxnard – Xander figured the Navy might have its own Initiative group in town, which was why he didn’t find many creatures of the night – and sought out the seedier demon underbelly in LA. He was a gargoyle, a guardian of the night. He’d foregone the thought to leave human-on-human crimes to the cops, and stopped them if he saw them. He really enjoyed helping keep the streets free of Evil Doers.

It was Sunday morning, early in March, shortly after work when he received a call from Graham. Spring break at the University had started yesterday, and they had been making plans for Graham to visit – finally! – during Xander’s two days off. Xander hoped Graham wasn’t calling to cancel.

“Hey,” Xander greeted warily, receiver to his ear. He could hear the muffled sound of an alarm in the background. “What’s going on?”

“We need your help,” Graham said over the line. He sounded tense, anxious. His words came at a fast clip. “Walsh is dead. Soldiers have gone missing. There’s a demon-cyborg named Adam on the loose, tearing up the base. If it finds the exit, Sunnydale’s in trouble.”

“Wait, what? Slow down. There’s a demon-cyborg on the loose?”

“Remember I told you Walsh wanted you to study? She’s secretly been making super-soldiers out of demon parts. Adam is one of them.”

“Shit. Okay.” Xander pulled on a clean blue t-shirt and grabbed his keys. He smelled like a bar, but people would have to deal. “Where should I meet you?”

“I’m in the stairwell at Lowell House that leads down to base. Twist the coat hook with the yellow hat on it, near the front door,” Graham instructed. The alarm became louder in the background, and Xander heard gunfire. “And Xander – hurry.”

“On my way.”

Xander broke speed limits driving from Oxnard to Sunnydale, slowing down once when a kind driver flashed his lights to indicate a cop car ahead. The hour drive took him forty minutes, and he slammed the car into park in the nearly empty lot closest to Lowell House. The campus appeared devoid of life, most of the students gone for spring break. A good thing, if it was as bad as Graham made it sound. There were less bystanders in Adam’s path if he got free.

Xander ran for Lowell House, a two-story home along the row of other fraternities on the west end of campus. Street lamps illuminated the sidewalk in the otherwise pitch dark night. Xander didn’t hear any sounds of fighting, which he hoped meant Adam was still contained below.

The front door to Lowell House was unlocked, and Xander hurried inside. He spotted the yellow hat, along with several baseball caps and jackets, hanging on a row of coat hooks near the door. He twisted the hook as instructed, heard a click, and a mirrored wall swung open. The trick wall was really a hidden, thick steel door. Once opened, Xander could hear the muffled sound of an alarm blaring like he had over the phone.

“Graham!” Xander called, yanking the door closed behind him as he entered the stairwell. Florescent lights hung overhead. The stairwell was concrete and had a metal rail along the right wall. It was a long flight down.

“Down here!” Graham called unnecessarily, as Xander had spotted him at the base of the stairs in front of another steel door. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved striped shirt, and carried an assault rifle – the regular kind, not the fancy taser rifle. At his feet slumped another man, bleeding heavily through his shirt. A rifle laid limply in his arms.

Xander ran down the stairs and checked on the unconscious guy. Beyond the heavy door, he could now hear gunfire. “He needs an ambulance.”

“I know.” Jaw tight and expression strained, Graham gripped his rifle with intent. “But we can’t do anything until Adam is contained. I can’t leave my post. This is one of two stairwells up to the surface. Since there’s still fighting, I’m hoping that means the other is still secure.”

Xander picked up the unconscious man’s assault rifle. Familiarity tickled his mind, enabling him to check the clip. It was half full. He patted the guy’s pockets and found another, full clip, which he took.

Graham snagged the front of Xander’s shirt when he stood and planted a hard kiss on his lips. “The armory is to the right. Door code is 59583. Take Adam out, no matter the cost.”

Xander flicked his glance to the guy on the floor, and understood. “Stay safe,” he told Graham, though he knew Graham would die before allowing Adam to escape. His heart clenched in fear, but he ignored it.

Graham nodded once, then pushed open the door to the Initiative base. The blaring of the alarm grew sharp and loud. Gunfire echoed down the concrete halls like popping popcorn. Blood slicked the wall near the doorway. Xander stepped into the florescent lit hallway, and Graham pulled the steel door shut behind him.

The hall branched right and left. Steel set doors with placards and code punches lined both sides of the hallway. Xander ran to the right, searching for the armory. Red flashing lights high on the wall strobed in sync with the alarm. When he found the right door, he entered the code.

Xander was relieved to find that the armory still held weapons, hanging from the walls or stacked in crates, though a lot of items were missing. Xander located a clip belt and bandolier grenade pouch, which he filled with ammo clips and frag grenades. He didn’t know what Adam looked like, but from the sound of it, rifle rounds weren’t taking it down. There wasn’t a bazooka in the armory, though, so Xander snagged a brick of Semtex, attached a detonator, and tucked it in his waistband, as well.

Xander left the armory, and hurried in the direction of the gunfire. He found bodies of fallen soldiers and dead demons of various types in the maze of hallways of the recommissioned military base. Blood in assorted colors streaked the walls and floor. He could smell the musty, sulfuric scent of gunpowder in the air. The constant siren of the alarm was giving him a headache.

Xander rounded a corner and the hallway opened up into what appeared to be a lab. Many of the overhead lights had been shot out or hung precariously from the ceiling. The flashing alarm cast strobing red light across upended metal tables, fallen racks of instruments, and broken glass. Bodies of the dead were strewn about. Two men dressed in casual college clothing – Xander recognized one of them as Carson – hunkered behind a table, alternating fire at the giant, freaky-looking demon-cyborg who stood in the center of the room.

Adam, as Graham had called the creature, was a patchwork of demon hides, metal bits, and human parts. Sharp nails tipped his fingers and bare toes. He wore army fatigue trousers for some unknown reason. A gray-skinned demon squirmed in Adam’s grip, and a spike extended from Adam’s wrist, skewering it through the chest. A couple of other unknown demons cowered in a corner.

“Why do you try to stop me?” Adam spoke with a level, deep voice, as if the gunfire and carnage were uninteresting. “I am invincible.”

Xander dashed across the room to where Carson and his pal had taken cover, and joined them. Carson turned sharply, the rifle coming to point on Xander, when recognition came over his ashen features. “You!”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Xander nodded in greeting to the other guy, then addressed Carson. “Has anything worked on this Adam-guy?”

Carson shook his head. “He’s a bullet sponge. Someone lobbed a grenade at him earlier, and it didn’t have any effect.”

Xander peeked over the table barricade. Adam was going for the demons in the corner. “Do you have any clue what it’s made of?”

“Gotta be some kind of metal under that skin. Our bullets aren’t armor-piercing.”

“Guess we’re going to do this the short, explosive way.” Xander set his rifle aside and pulled the Semtex from his waistband. He double-checked the detonator and palmed the trigger. “Get your asses out of here.”

The other guy with Carson looked like he planned to protest, but Carson grabbed his shoulder. “Let’s move.” The two of them scrambled to safety, darting toward the hallway.

Adam caught the movement and turned. “You cannot escape me.”

“Okay, Xander,” Xander said to himself, psyching up to charge. The Semtex brick returned to his waistband, this time in the front. He flipped the protective cap on the trigger. “Time to do something stupid again.”

With a hopefully manly-sounding war cry, Xander vaulted over the tipped table and charged Adam. Debris shifted underfoot; the flashing red light and blaring alarm were his battle music. Adam turned at Xander’s approach, and caught Xander’s charge with a vice grip around the neck. He lifted Xander off the ground. “Foolish human. You cannot harm me.”

The grip hurt, but it did not crush Xander’s neck, nor impede his speaking. “Guess what, pal? You can’t harm me, either.”

Adam’s green, monstrous lips twisted in amusement, and Xander briefly felt the sharp tip of Adam’s arm-spike attempt to pierce his neck. But then the spike shattered against Xander’s impenetrable skin, and Adam dropped Xander in shock.

Xander wasted no time. He leapt at Adam, grabbed the demon-cyborg around the waist in a bear hug, and depressed the detonator trigger.

The Semtex exploded, which caused the ten grenades in the chest bandolier pouch and all the ammo in the clips around Xander’s belt to also explode. A brief flash of fire, along with an echoing boom, filled the destroyed lab. The shock wave shook the underground building, causing the walls to fracture. Fragments of metal embedded into the cement. Dark smoke curled around the room. The demons in the corner were sliced to ribbons. Adam was splattered into bits.

Xander collapsed onto the floor, ears ringing, heart pounding in his chest. Adam-goo clung to his skin and his charred, ripped clothes. The stench of death filled his nostrils. His brain felt rattled. Near his knee, he spotted a glowing green cylinder sitting between what was left of Adam’s feet.

Xander pushed to his own feet and wiggled his fingers in his ears. The ringing stopped, but the annoying alarm kept piercing his eardrums. He fetched his rifle, just in case, and headed out of the room.

He found Carson and the other guy at the bend in the hallway, rifles aimed his direction. Carson immediately lowered his when he saw Xander. “Is it dead?”

Xander ran his finger through the Adam-goo on his chest and held it up. “It’s nothing more than paste.”

Carson looked relieved. “That’s twice you’ve saved my life.”

“Don’t mention it. Really.” Xander motioned to the other guy. “I think your friends have heard enough about me from your stories of the worm.”

“That was you?” The other guy shouldered his rifle and pumped Xander’s hand in a handshake. “You saved lives that night.”

“Not everyone,” Xander deferred, thinking of the soldiers who’d been killed before he’d acted.

The guy acknowledged the loss with a nod of his head. He turned to Carson. “We’d better start searching for survivors, and clearing the base of any remaining hostiles.”

“I’ll let Graham know what’s happened,” Xander said.

Carson gave Xander a salute. “Thanks again.” The other guy mimicked the salute, and the two jogged off.

Xander made his way back to the stairwell and banged the rifle hilt against the door. “It’s Xander!”

The door cracked open, Graham holding the rifle at the ready. He didn’t relax when he saw Xander. “Is it done?”

“It’s done,” Xander assured him.

Graham shoved the door open the rest of the way, and grabbed Xander into a tight embrace. Xander sank into the protective warmth, holding on tightly. Gods, he’d missed Graham.

“You smell like shit,” Graham said after a moment, releasing Xander. “And you look like you’ve been swimming in spaghetti sauce.”

“I wish it was spaghetti sauce,” Xander said. He motioned up the hall. “Carson and another guy went to clear the base. Do you want more help? I can stay.”

Graham kissed him briefly in appreciation. “Yes. I’m going to cut the alarm and call for reinforcements. Then we’ll help clear the base.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander stuck with Graham as they went from room to room, checking for survivors and eliminating any threats. Thankfully, they’d found many more dead demons than soldiers on base. The majority of Graham’s fellow Initiative brothers had holed up near the other exit, which led to Miller’s Woods, fighting off waves of demons trying to escape. There were numerous dead humans in lab coats, however, and other deceased personnel.

When reinforcements arrived, Xander pretended to be just another college-aged, casually dressed soldier, who was covered in demon goo and whose clothes were hanging on by threads. Xander’s watch had been destroyed by the blast, and he was getting anxious. The sun would rise at 6:17 AM. He did not want to turn into a statue in front of the military.

Graham caught on, and managed to herd Xander away from the others. They escaped up the stairs and into Miller’s woods. Through the trees, they could see the lights from the military tents and vehicles that had descended upon campus. A helicopter buzzed overhead. Xander couldn’t wait to see what nonsense the Sunnydale Press would come up with to explain it away.

“Listen,” Graham said, taking back the rifle from Xander. “I’m going to talk to Carson and Jones, make sure they don’t say anything about you, especially Carson. We’ll take the stance that we don’t know how Adam was killed.”

Xander nodded. “Thanks.”

Graham rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s going to be fallout from this, and I’m not sure what’s going to happen to what’s left of my unit.”

“You think you’ll be disbanded, or whatever the term is?”

“Possibly.” Graham gave Xander a mournful look. “I can say for sure that we’re leaving Sunnydale.”

Xander’s heart dropped. He wrapped his arms around himself. “Oh.”

Graham closed the distance between them and captured Xander’s lips in a devastating kiss. When he stepped back, he smiled sadly at Xander. “Goodbye, Xander. I hope to see you again.”

“Me, too,” Xander croaked, emotion welling in his throat. “Stay safe, will you? You’re very breakable, and I’d hate it if you got break-ed”

Graham reached out one last time to touch Xander’s cheek. Then, he was gone, back down the steps to the base, the door closing with finality behind him.

Xander sucked in a deep, shaky breath, fighting heartbreak. Graham hadn’t broken things off, or said he had to think about if they could be a them, like last time. This was an outside force creating relationship interruptus. This was a mere hiccough in the grand scheme of things. He’d see Graham again. Soon. Eventually. Maybe. He hoped.

Shoving his hands in what remained of his pockets, Xander turned and made his way out of the woods, to his car, and went home.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Six months later, Graham appeared at Xander’s motel room door. “Hey.”

Xander’s eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat. Graham was here. He was really here. It had been six long months of hoping that Graham would contact him. Six months of convincing himself that whatever was between them wasn’t over. Six months of pretending that his heart wasn’t aching. Six months of telling himself to wait just a little longer. Six months of fulfilled propositions with no one waiting to hear about them.

Xander’s body electrified with joy. Without a word, he grabbed Graham’s shirt, yanked him inside, and into a bone-shattering kiss. The door slammed closed, and Xander’s mind turned off. Kissing, groping, and grinding, they staggered to the bed. Hands and mouths roved with desperation that came from being apart for so long. Clothing was barely pushed away, flesh meeting heated flesh, penetrating, thrusting, driving over the edge into shuddering completion. Then, they did it all over again.

Eventually, spent and panting, tangled in Graham’s arms, Xander spoke. “Hey, back.”

Graham’s body vibrated with laughter. “I’ve missed you. This. Us.”

“Ditto.” Xander traced the lines on the palm of Graham’s hand. “What took you so long?”

Graham blew out a breath of frustration. “Debriefings and inquiries and more inquiries. Finishing my second master’s as we scorched earth at the Initiative base. Arranging reassignment and all the red tape that went with it. We finally got to go on leave, and I came right to Oxnard, hoping you were still here and were interested in me.”

“I think we can assume that I’m still interested,” Xander joked.

“I don’t know.” Graham shifted atop Xander, pinning Xander’s hands above his head. “I should probably do more testing. To be sure, that is.”

Xander nodded enthusiastically. “Good idea.”

Graham proceeded to conduct his testing until Xander was nothing more than a limp noodle of satiation on the bed. Xander had missed gay sex badly. Questioning whether he was into it or not was long past, and the answer was a definite yes, please, more now, thank you.

“How long is your leave?” Xander asked when he could talk coherently again. He lay on his back, absently scratching at the dried come on his belly.

“A week.”

“That’s not very long.”

Lying on his side, Graham propped his elbow on the pillow, resting his cheek on a fist, to look at Xander. “It’s not, but I have a proposition for you.”

Xander deflected his disappointment. “Does it involve more sex? Because I could be into that, in a little bit.”

“No. Well, actually yes, and a lot more of it, if you agree.” Graham placed his free hand on Xander’s chest and tapped his forefinger twice on Xander’s breastbone. “My team is being assigned to Cleveland, where there’s another Hellmouth.”

Xander frowned. “I thought the Initiative was gone.”

“It is,” Graham said. “Carson, Jones, and I, and a few of the others from Lowell who wanted to stay on, are now strictly a specialized demon-hunting team. The military still doesn’t like the fact that there are demons on US soil. We’re being sent to Cleveland to contain the threat, since the Sunnydale Hellmouth has a Slayer.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Xander said, though the ache in his chest had returned. It had been six months since he’d seen Graham, and now Graham was moving half a country away.

“I want you to come with,” Graham said, surprising Xander. “I want you to join our team, sort of. You wouldn’t be part of the military or get paid, but I know you like helping people, and half the team already knows you’re a gargoyle. You’d be a big asset. There’s also a bunch of strip clubs in Cleveland. I checked. So you can keep stripping, too, if you want. Or only do stripping and not join us, but still move to Cleveland with me.”

Happiness bubbled inside Xander, spilling out into a laugh of anxious-relief. Graham still wanted him. Xander was amazed that he didn’t have emotional whiplash from the ups and downs of the past few minutes. He didn’t even need to think about the answer. “I’ll go.”

Graham’s face lit up. “You will?”

“I will.” Xander grinned. “I’ll finally get to go on my cross-country road trip.”

Graham swooped in a kissed the stuffing out of Xander. “So are you going to keep stripping?”

“Maaaaaybe,” Xander drawled out the word, tracing a fingertip along Graham’s jaw. “I know it’s your kink.”

Graham blustered, Xander laughed again, and Graham shut him up in the most delicious way.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“You know,” Xander said, following Graham into their apartment in Cleveland, “I’m getting kinda tired of blowing demons up.”

“But you’re good at it,” Graham joked, dropping their military-provided slaying gear in the living room. The apartment had one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room and a kitchenette, all done in shades of early 50s mint green. The other guys in Graham’s unit had similar apartments in the complex. Since they were a special unit, they didn’t need to stay in base housing. “And the view is worth it. For me, anyway.”

“Har-har.” Xander’s clothes hadn’t survived the blast this go around, and he wore Graham’s fatigue jacket around his waist to preserve modesty. He also had slime dripping from his nose. “I’m going to shower.”

“I’ll join you.” Graham smiled seductively. “Someone needs to clean that slime from the parts you can’t reach.”

Xander didn’t say no to that, or anything that followed. After finally leaving the shower, Xander checked his phone messages. He’d satisfied Graham’s kink by getting a job with an agency that provided strippers for parties, which gave him enough flexibility to help the team while still earning a good wage. Plus, he really did like being a stripper, and the occasional propositions that went with it.

Moving to Cleveland had been the best idea ever. Not only did he get to use his gargoyleness for good, he was living with the man who might be his happily ever after. Life was a win all around. And to think, he never would have had what he did if he’d gone back to Sunnydale instead of using magic to solve his problems. That was probably not the lesson he was supposed to learn, but Xander would take it anyway.

Graham joined him in the bedroom. The pre-dawn light teased around the curtains over the single window.

“I have a job on Saturday,” Xander told him. He lay in bed, nude, the sheet draped over his waist. “Stag birthday party.”

“I’ll mark it down.” Graham plucked the cell phone from Xander’s hand and set it on the nightstand. The sheet disappeared, and Graham pushed Xander’s legs up and back by his shoulders, exposing him basely to Graham’s heated view. “Make sure to get a copy of any video.”

Xander’s cock sprang to attention, though he groaned in disappointment. “I’m about to turn.”

Graham grinned wickedly. “I know.”

Xander’s last thought before he marbled over in the perverted position was how glad he was to be gay.

 

 

End


Translation of the spell

Hear carefully the utterance of these words,
intoned over the person in time of need
by the goodly time of night and by day
my body and flesh
made impenetrable and solid
powerful, muscular
a living statue of flesh
unbound and unbreakable