WARNING: m/m sexual activity. Adult language. Story is generally
SUMMARY: 10 Years after the fall of Sunnydale, Xander has
distanced himself from his past life until a demon forces him to look
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing including the characters and products
named in this story. I do, however own an unused treadmill. If you
want to sue for that, help yourself.
Thanks to the amazing Purpledodah for the wonderful banner.
Spike sat with a totally blank look on his face.
"O.k. let me get this straight. You want me to drive all the way
down to Oxnard and look up the Slayer's old donut boy, but not
talk to him, just make sure he's is still alive and kicking. Is that right?"
Angel settled back in his chair, adopting his best "I am in charge"
look and smiled. He picked up his favorite ink pen and tapped it
casually on the desk calendar in front of him.
"That's right. It is a request directly from the head of the Watcher's
Council in London and I assured them that I would see to it that
this matter was handled professionally and personally."
Spike threw one leg over the arm of his chair and shifted his package
around to a more comfortable position.
"Why not just call the whelp? If he answers, he's alive. If he doesn't
he probably isn't. Case closed."
Angel's unibrow temporarily crinkled. That was a solution he had never
considered. It was one that would throw a huge stinky turd into the fan
of his plans. He cleared his throat and dropped the pen.
"No. Giles wants to know what is going on there. Even if Xander is fine,
there is still the matter of all those men who have disappeared. We hafta
to know if it is demon related or not. If it is you will need to identify and
destroy the demon. If it isn't, then fine, you just come back home. That is,
of course, unless you don't think you can handle the job. In that case
I can send a slayer, or maybe a pack of Girl Scouts."
Spike just rolled his eyes and took his time about placing both feet flat
on the floor. With great effort, he sighed and hoisted himself up. Truth
was, he was happy to go. He needed some time away from the great
cave vamp to consider his future and Oxnard was, away.
Fact was, Spike was miserable. Trapped in a situation that seemed to
have left him no options. If he moved on, what would he do? Where
would he go? Spike was not a solitary creature. He needed
companionship. He needed affection, touch, connection.
Even if that was with someone who hated the sight of him.
"Fine. If it means that much to you, I'll go."
Angel reared back, bouncing on the springs of his chair and grinned
"Excellent. The security guard down in the garage can give you the keys to
one of the cars. NOT THE BEEMER! and you can be on your way."
Reaching the office door, Spike stopped, and with a sneer, turned back
to face his sire. He canted his hips forward and clutched at his crotch.
"Wouldn't like one for the road, would you?"
Angel made no effort to hide his disgust and prided himself on the
fact that he only considered the offer for a quick second. Or two.
"You make me sick, Spike. Get the hell out."
Spike roared with laughter and marched out, slamming the door behind
him. As soon as the door shut, the smile evaporated from his face.
He tucked the tail of his tight black tee into the waist band of his snug
jeans, held his head high, and walked down the hallway to the nearest exit.
"Hey, Boss, what's happenin'?"
"AHHH! Jesus Q. Christ! You ever heard of knocking? You scared the
hell out of me!"
Xander clutched his chest and staggered back as his friend and employee,
Kim chuckled and shook his head. The slight, oriental had been one of the
first men Xander hired when he took over the business and Kim had stood
by him for the past 8 years.
Kim had the exotic, clean, trim appearance Xander had been looking for
in his dancers. Fired were all the overweight, dirty haired slugs that spent
most of their time offering their cocks or mouths to the customers, male
or female, for side money.
Kim and Xander had hit it off immediately and became friends as well as
collegues. They had the perfect working relationship. Kim ask Xander for
no personal information and Xander offered none. Kim had helped
Xander find other dancers, mostly gay, and Xander had promoted Kim
to manager with a healthy raise.
If either man thought about a personal relationship, neither acted on those
They had too good a thing going to fuck it up with a fuck.
When he finally decided his heart would survive the shock, Xander sat
back down in his chair.
"Say, Kim, um, have you heard anything about those men over in Kidron
and Millersburg that have disappeared?'
Kim dropped into the chair across from him.
"Have I heard? Good grief, Xan! You have got to get your head out
of the sand. That is all the gay community has been talking about for
the past few weeks."
Xander was shocked and he resolved to start reading a newpaper, or turning
on the 6 o'clock news, or something.
"Oh, yeah? What are they saying? I mean have they found any, you know,
bodies or evidence or anything?"
Kim shook his head.
"No. All they know is that their families or friends and coworkers have
reported them missing. At first it seemed like the authorities didn't even
want to investigate. You know gay men aren't high on their list of proirities.
They figure what ever happens to us, we deserve because of our perverted
Kim snorted in disgust.
Xander nodded his understanding, though to be honest, he couldn't recall ever
being discriminated against because of his orentation. It seemed as though
he had always been out, although he couldn't remember how or when.
The only out of town bars he frequented were gay bars so he had never
ben threatened, beat up or even taunted. Now, however, he thought
maybe it would be best to avoid them too. At least for a while.
That's all he needed, to have some bartender point him out saying "That's
him. That's the guy so-and-so was with the night he vanished."
"So the police just want to let the whole thing drop? I mean no bodies
means no crime, right?"
Kim leaned forward and his delicate features took on a hard look.
"Oh no. We are organizing a march, a letter writing campaign, and
have been demanding results from all the police departments in the
jurisdictions where these disappearances have occured. GLADD has
no intention of letting them sweep this under the rug. We want
results. You should get involved, Xan. Be more politically connected.
What do you say?"
Xander felt light headed. He could hear Kim talking to him but he
couldn't make out the words. Another sound was buzzing in his ears.
A white noise trying to crackle through his growing, pounding headache.
If he concentrated, it sounded like other voices.
Women's voices. High pitched voices saying the same things Kim was saying.
"We have to stick together on this. We have to fight, Xan, we can't let this
beat us. It's us against them and they are stronger. They will always be
Xander lifted his face. He tried to focus on Kim's eyes but his vision was
starting to blur.
"What? What were you saying?'
"Jesus, Xan, are you o.k?"
Kim jumped out of his chair and ran around the desk to his friend. He
put the back of his hand to Xander's forehead then snatched it back.
"God, Xan, you're white as a sheet. You look like you've seen a ghost
and you're cold and clammy. Sit tight, I'll go get some water."
Kim turned and rushed from the room.
Xander blinked. His face was sweaty and damp. He felt like he couldn't
breathe and wondered if he was about to pass out or die. In the early
years, the years right after the old life, he remembered waking up like
The nightmares came every night and they were always the same.
Something was coming. Something big. Something he couldn't fight.
It had no face because he refused to look back. He didn't need to.
Sometimes it got close enough that he could feel it's breath on the back
of his neck.
And all the time, the voices. There were always the disembodied women's
voices shouting at him.
"It's coming, Xander! We have to fight it. We can't let it win. We have
to be strong and stand together."
But Xander knew there was no fighting. He knew if it caught him he
would die. And he knew it would not be a quick, painless death.
Whatever was after him was an expert in agony.
Over the years, the dreams had started to fade. At first, every night,
he had, over time, refused to give in to them. When they dropped back
to once or twice a week, he took that as a victory and felt stronger.
Finally, after years of suffering, he had forced them away, put in boxes
and slid up on the same out-of-sight shelves that his memories were
Xander Harris had thought he was free. Now he knew better.