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.
An ancient traveler wrote once that all roads lead to Rome. If that
statement were to be translated to modern times and the intent of
the characters of this story, it's translation would have to be 'all roads
lead to Oxnard.'
The convergence began early as the four boarded a private jet in the city
of London. Willow fussed with her carry on bag. She always preferred
to keep her spell books and ingredients close at all times. She immediately
took her seat and pulled out her laptop. She hoped to use this time for
Since Googling Alexander Harris, then running his name through
zabasearch, she had an address and phone number. She was pleased
and chuckled when she uncovered the fact he owned The Fabulous
Ladies Club. City building permits told her he must have done extensive
renovations. According to his financial records, the club was doing
very well. Willow wasn't surprised, she always knew Xander was
more than what people could see. His insecurities were the millstones
around his neck.
She smiled, apparently he had cut them loose and was prospering.
Willow's sense of pride was short lived as she realized that none of
the information she had on Xander was personal. These were facts
and figures she could have gotten on any stranger.
There were no sites that told her what she really wanted to know.
Did he still like the same music? Had he ever learned to dance? Did
he still eat Twinkies? Was he happy? Did he have new friends?
She hoped, with all her heart that he would be glad to see her.
Wes was next to climb aboard. As the newest resident of the rebuilt
Council headquarters, he was still unaccustomed to the luxuries afforded
the most important people on earth. The personal drivers, the private jet,
the nearly invisible staff that saw to your every need before you realized
you needed something.
He had watched Willow and Giles and wondered how long it had taken
them to be so accepting of all they had at their fingertips. They appeared
to be born to the life. Something he knew wasn't at all true. Wes
buckled his seatbelt, unsurprised to find an assortment of his favorite
biscuits and magazines next to him.
Finally, Giles and Andrew rushed up the steps, tossing his suit jacket on
one of the empty seats, Giles muttered quietly to Andrew, who nodded
in response. Immediately Giles pulled one of the portable tables close
and slapped his briefcase on top. Andrew hurried to the cockpit to
tell the pilot they were all present and accounted for.
Air traffic controllers at Heathrow were given the signal. Commercial
planes were held up while the private jet of the unnamed government
agency took to the air.
As soon as Andrew returned and seated himself securely beside his
favorite watcher, Giles began.
"Willow, Wesley, as you know we are all most disturbed by Angel's
report that Xander is somehow involved in this demon attack in
Oxnard. While we have greatly missed him, as an adult we have
respected his wishes to be left alone. We must be prepared for an
unwelcome rejection. I do think the more information we have the
quicker this can be handled. Willow, I am going to have you do a
locator spell. Not only on Xander himself but on the area surrounding him.
When you do, transfer to a demonic detection spell. That should
let us know if the demon has attempted to make any contact with
Xander and more importantly, what type of demon it is."
Willow nodded and immediately went to work. Again, it just proved
to her why Rupert Giles was at the helm. No one was more qualified
to read a situation and steer the ship than him. It gave her an immense
feeling of comfort. Maybe things would be all right after all.
Reaching into her briefcase, she pulled out her most prized possession.
A necklace. A thin leather strip with a bear tooth hanging on the end.
Xander had worn it constantly since the day he found it.
They were young, just children and he had said he killed the bear with
his bare hands. He was in his Daniel Boone phase.
She pretended to believe him.
She was just beginning her Xander Harris phase.
In the last years, he said it was a vampire fang. A trophy of all the
demons he had killed. Proof he had survived. She never knew
him to take it off. Willow had found it that morning in his motel room.
Discarded like his old life.
He had left it behind. She couldn't.
She had dropped it in her pocket and carried it with her ever since.
Willow had kept it as a reminder of the best man she had ever known.
In order to do a successful locator spell, the caster needed a personal
item that belonged to the subject they were seeking. The bear claw
thong was the most personal thing she had.
The private plane finally reached cruising altitude. Wes settled back,
munching one of the pecan sandies and becoming immersed in a gory
tale from the trashy True Detective magazine he loved so much.
Rupert Giles and Andrew held hands and whispered, chuckling, talking
and sharing thoughts and ideas about the upcoming mission.
Giles relaxed in the intimacy of his closest friends. He relished these times.
He didn't need to hide. He didn't have to pretend. He leaned over
casually and kissed Andrew lightly on the lips. Andrew beamed.
The other two neither noticed nor cared.
Willow quietly began her spell.
The second convergence was prepping from the west. A course, well
timed to leave at sunset, was mapped for the trek east from the big
city of L.A. to the smaller bedroom community of Oxnard, California.
Angel had spent the better part of the day cleaning the apartment and
clearing his desk of both clutter and minor cases he had pending.
He didn't want anything to interfere with his wooing and winning his Wes.
Taking one last look before closing the door, a sadness washed through
him at the possible thought of returning home alone.
Quickly, he checked himself.
'Nope! Not happening.' He thought, and headed for the garage.
An hour later, he was well on his way, map spread out beside him and
mocha latte in the cup holder. The road trip would have been perfect
if that little shit, Spike, hadn't taken the BMW.
It was the only car that truly reflected Angel's status and importance.
As it was, he was humiliated. He had argued for a good ten minutes
with the garage attendant. Chastising him for handing over the keys
of the sleek black machine to his wayward childe.
The garage attendant was unimpressed. He was a man driving a Pinto.
Finally, with no other options, Angel had grudgingly snatched the
keys to the other car and driven away, mumbling and fuming.
"God Damn it! Who the hell ever heard of a super hero arriving at
the scene of the crime in a fucking P.T.Cruiser? God damn Spike!"
Still, the night was cool and clear and it became impossible to maintain a
bad mood. He rolled down the windows and propped his arm out. He
tilted the seat back comfortably and popped a Van Morrison CD into
the player, slightly disappointed that no one made cars with 8 tracks
anymore, and hummed along.
He chuckled as Moondance played and he knew it was a good sign.
This was, indeed a perfect night for romance and dancing in the
moonlight with the man you love.
Angel's unibrow crinkled. Love? He thought the word love again,
trying it on for size.
Is he actually in love with Wes or does he just miss the sex?
Angel was startled to realize that it was much more than the
blow jobs, the rimming, the grunting, thrusting, moaning, licking,
wait....what was the point? Oh, yes.
Angel knew it was much more than that. He missed Wes.
The way he looked in Angel's shirt. His rumpled, bed look
first thing in the morning. His comforting kisses when things go
wrong and even his terse, "Snap the fuck out of it, Angel"
when the brooding got to intense.
If Angel was a black silk shirt, Wes was the satin tie.
If Angel was the smooth, whittled stake, Wes was the pointy end.
If Angel was Laurel, Wes was Hardy.
They were a pair. They belonged together.
Angel stomped his foot down on the gas pedal, taking the car to
it's max speed of 60 mph. He was determined. He was resolved.
Wes was his and by God, he was collecting what was his!
Andrew had ordered a hot fudge sundae and was pretending
to be mad each time Giles would sneak a bite. Both men would
then chuckle as Andrew licked the chocolate sauce off Giles bottom
Wes was disgusted at the way the killer in his story had used a rose
left inside his victims, as a clue to his identity. He quickly flipped
the page, sipping his tea and wondering what new horrors awaited him
in the next chapter.
Willow had been staring at her computer screen. The spelled program she
had developed allowed her to see the results on her laptop, combining the
ancient dark arts with the modern new ones.
The confused frown on her face only deepened as she tried again.
"This can't be right"
"What? Did you say something?"
Willow's muttering caught Giles attention.
Removing her glasses, Willow rubbed her hands over her face. She gave
great thought before answering.
"Yes, something isn't right. I did a locator spell and I'm very glad to say
that it honed in on him no problem. Xander is very alive, healthy, and
still in Oxnard. We shouldn't have any problem finding him there.
I then did a demon detection. I found one. It's aura surrounds Xander
but doesn't threaten him. The problem is, it's a Nambulist demon."
The last sentence caught Wesley's attention and he looked into
Willow's confused face as well as Giles concerned one.
"Did you say a Nambulist demon?"
Willow nodded. Wesley continued.
"But isn't a Nambulist demon a self summoner?"
Again Willow nodded.
"It is. Apparently Xander called it to himself."