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.
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Spike tried not to give too much thought to what he had overheard.
He threw the dark, expensive car into gear and pulled away from
the curb heading for the main highway.
The boy had been surprisingly easy to find. Despite refusing all
contact with the rest of their old crew, Xander was apparently making
no effort to conceal or hide his identity.
Upon reaching the city limits of Oxnard, Spike had simply pulled
off to the first gas station he had come to and looked the name and
address up in the local phone directory. There it was, big as life.
Name, address and phone number.
Xander Harris was listed.
A chubby, less than ambitious clerk had given him directions and Spike
easily located the nice, upscale neighborhood and the clean, well kept
town house that the ex-scoobie now called home.
'Apparently the boy is doing all right for himself. Delivering pizzas must
pay pretty good in Oxnard, California.'
Cutting off the headlights, Spike pulled up against the curb in the front
of the house. Listening carefully, he detected only one heartbeat.
The boy was alone.
He was also, by the repetitious sound, asleep.
He thought about creeping up and taking a peek in the window but decided
against it. Hell, he knew what the boy looked like. Shaggy, slightly
flabby, clumsy, uninteresting.
As Spike sat there, contemplating his next move, the sound and smell
emanating from the occupant of the home changed drastically. The smell
of saline tears and perspiration signaled distress. The sound of the heartbeat
and breathing were now erratic and stressed.
Spike knew the signs of a nightmare when he heard them. Thanks to this
damn soul, he knew the signs intimately.
He struggled with what to do. Obviously he couldn't just charge in there.
For more reasons than he could count.
Lack of invite being top of the list.
Besides, that isn't what he was sent here for. He had two missions. Make
sure the boy was alive and kicking, which he obviously was, and find and
kill what ever demon was at work here.
The terror that haunted the boy's subconscious was not Spike's concern.
Still, he did not leave. Listening to the gasping and whimpering sounds
coming from within, Spike gripped the steering wheel till his pale knuckles
turned even whiter.
When the screaming started, he had had enough.
Spike drove off. He would call in tomorrow morning and report that the
boy was physically fine and focus all his attention on the demon. The
kind he could kill. The boy's personal demons were his own. Spike
couldn't afford to get involved.
He was ready to focus on the second issue. Demon killing was much
more up his alley. Finding, identifying, staking, beheading, it was all
the type of activity that Spike was very adept at. More comfortable with.
Oxnard was not that big a town. Locating one demon should be a
piece of cake.
Spike had a plan. Some basic, elementary detective work should aim
him in the right direction. Steering Angel's prized Beemer into the
neighborhood coffee shop, Spike went in and sat down. He ordered a
cup of coffee and waited.
He had been given a preliminary report faxed over from Giles office
to Angel's that spelled out the facts of the case. Sparse as they were.
6 Men. All gay. All apparently disappeared off the face of the earth
and all within the last four months. Period. Ththththat's all folks.
Spike sat quietly. He watched the customers and employees come
and go. He ignored the women and considered and dismissed most
of the men. It didn't take more than 30 minutes to find what he needed.
The couple at the corner table finished their meal and left. Within
minutes the bus boy, Josh by name tag, hustled out and began an
efficient clean up. Spike sniffed the air around him and smiled.
After the young man had finished stacking the dishes and wet wiping
the table top, Spike called him over.
"Excuse me, Josh?"
The boy glanced around to make sure there wasn't another Josh in the
room and then gingerly approached the gorgeous blond man.
"Yes, Sir? You need more coffee or something?"
Spike smiled his best, innocent, friendly smile and chuckled.
"No, no more coffee. I could use a bit of information though. Where
would a bloke that was new in town go for a bit of drinkin' and
Josh shifted the weight of the near full dish pan to his other hip and thought.
"Oh, well there's Whitey's out on highway #21 if you want rough and
tumble. Or there's The Lighthouse if you want a step or two up.
You know, prettier women, cleaner glasses."
Spike leaned in closer to the boy and lowered his voice conspiratorially.
"And if I wasn't interested in women? Where would I go to meet some
um, shall we say willing, blokes?"
The boy looked shocked. He tossed his cleaning rag in on top of the
crusty plates and stuttered.
"How would I know? Did someone say something about me?"
Spike sat back and sipped his cooling coffee.
"Sorry, Son. I must have been mistaken."
The boy collected his wash pan and started to leave. At the last second,
he paused and looked back over his shoulder to make sure he was
"There's a club down on Moran street. It's called Fabulous.
You might find what you're looking for down there. Mind you I've
never been there but it's supposed to be the best in town."
Spike grinned and slipped a ten dollar bill in Josh's hip pocket.
"Thanks. Oh and just some friendly advice, you might want to shower
after being with your boyfriend before you come to work."
Spike laughed at the horrified expression on the boy's face. He
dropped some money down on the table for the coffee and left.
Venturing out into the warm night air, he jumped back into the car's
driver's seat and turned the key. The evening was young and
he could use some R&R.
With the BMW's GPS, Fabulous wasn't hard to find. It was surprisingly
upscale, clean and brightly lit. None of the things one usually associates
with a gay bar. The parking lot was full and the activity outside bustling.
He checked his pocket and assured himself that he not only had some cash
on him, he also had, in his possession, a slick, smooth credit card with
Angel Investigations written on it. This, he decided, was exactly what he
needed to get his mind off his troubles. Oh, and to do his job, of course.
Spike parked and leaped from the car. He lit a cigarette and strolled
casually toward the front door where he was immediately stopped by a
chunk of flesh.
"$5.00 cover. No smoking inside. Pay up and put it out or roll on."
Spike looked at the huge bald man. He bore a strange resemblance to the
bloke on the tv commercials. Mr. Clean. Only difference was this one
wasn't talking about mopping up the floors. Yet.
Spike decided that he might be interested in a tad of violence, but that was
for later so he smiled innocently and complied, holding his hands up submissively.
He forked over the five spot and slid inside.
The interior of the club was indeed, Fabulous. The large lobby was filled with
men. Talking, laughing, drinking from beer bottles and some swaying their
hips to the muffled music coming from the main room.
More than one gave Spike the appreciative up and down as he walked by.
If the eye belonged to someone that Spike might consider later, he responded
with the quick tip of his head that, in manspeak, just screamed,
"Yeah, you look good but let me see if anything better comes along and
how drunk I can get first."
A brief nod could say so much.
Spike found the bar, ordered a beer and settled in.