*****

Listening has never been Xander�s strong suit--he�s a talker and he knows it. Generally he has managed to compensate by being Mr. Extra Handy with the supportive hug. As far as he�s concerned, sensitivity is overrated. Oz and Angel are both reckoned--by certain girl-like types--as highly sensitive guys.

And what does that mean? That they never say anything.

Life�s too ugly to take it quietly.

But today he�s taking a run at the listening thing. Because Giles is bent out of shape. Because the guy�s a friend, sort of. Or is he a boss? Comrade comes closest, really; NCO to Xander�s grunt.

The man needs an ear. And once they�re both back in Sunnydale Giles will remember that he�s the authority figure, the guy they all lean on, Buffy and Willow, Oz, Xander, even Wesley. All of the Dad responsibilities and none of the perks.

Whatever they might be.

But right now the rules are suspended. Xander and Giles are on the road, driving the I5 in a burning vein from L.A., north to San Francisco. Not exactly how Xander had envisioned spending his solo road trip, but what the hell. A couple days with Giles and then back to a summer of glorious independence. He can spare the time.

On the road they�re nowhere, but they could be anywhere. They�re two men who could be anyone: father and son, teacher and student, cop and rookie, coach and athlete, priest and parishioner. They could even be strangers.

And Giles is practically a stranger right now, silent and brooding, more Ripper than Rupert as he scowls faintly at the road, speeds. They�re an hour out of L.A., where they�ve left behind a weird scene: Angel, stitched into his own bed in his brand new pad, pinned down by stakes which ring his body, which pierce the coverlet and burrow into the mattress. All courtesy Giles, who had finally managed to remember that he had a grudge to exercise against the man...

Or is that exorcise?

"I wonder if he�s awake yet, "Xander says, breaking the silence. Aspiring good listener or not, he figures Giles needs a prod if he�s gonna unload.

"Hmmm?" The eyes flick to him, startled. "Oh. Angel."

"Unless you staked out his roommate too when I wasn�t looking."

"I shouldn�t think Angel will awaken until dark."

"Whenever, he�s gonna wig."

Ghost of a smile. "I would imagine so."

Come on, Xander thinks. Open up. He chews away at the question of what to ask. Say the right thing, maybe he can crack the door he�s already opened.

But he�s said enough--Giles beats him to it. "He didn�t break me."

"Pardon?"

"The torture. What you said earlier. Angelus did not break me." Each word delivered in a calm, drink-your-tea-now conversational tone, while white-knuckled hands grip the wheel.

"Ah." Is this denial? "But Giles, you did tell him how to get the pointy sword thing out of Acathla..."

"It was Drusilla," Giles says. "Drusilla broke--" He stumbles over Xander�s oh so military, not so sensitive choice of words. Xander had been angry at the time, had flung defeat in the older man�s face just for the sheer spiteful joy of it.

He doesn�t make him say it again. "Angelus had to get a pinch hitter? That makes you major league tough, Biblioman."

"The end result was the same. Hardly worth praising."

"How many people you think he�s lost to, Giles?" Xander lets that sit awhile and then prods again. "So what happened?"

And Giles tells him. Dru, in a starring role as dead Miss Calendar. Climbing into his lap, the kissing and cuddling, his well-intentioned pleas to her to help, to get Angel away...

All in *far* more detail than Xander wants. It�s squirmworthy.

But he�s listener man, right? So instead of wriggling, he nods. Says um hum in the right places. He can�t help tuning out, though, when Giles gets to Miss Calendar�s--Dru�s--tongue between his lips, yuck...

... and so he almost misses the whole goddam point.

"Say that again?"

"It�s true," Giles says grimly, and Xander is afraid for a second that he won�t, can�t repeat himself. Then he does. "My mouth was bleeding. Angel�s handiwork. Drusilla drank it, naturally. And then, after I�d told her what Angel needed to know, she bit her own tongue. We were still kissing.... and I swallowed a little, Xander." Tweed-clad arms shudder. "I remember thinking--why is Jenny bleeding?"

"She drank yours and you... hoboy." Xander hears himself say it from far away. He�s shocked; strangely, he even feels betrayed. There�s a bowel-loosening moment of panic and then the light dawns. Literally.

"But Giles, you�re not a vampire. Look! Sunshine alert!" He holds out the crucifix he picked up in Mexico. "You�re not flinching."

"Obviously I�m not a vampire."

"Unless you�re really bad at it. Didn�t she give you the handbook? HOW TO SUCK BLOOD AND INFLUENCE PEOPLE?"

"She opened a pathway." Would Giles be so calm if he didn�t have traffic to deal with? "There�s a minute fraction of demon lodged within me, Xander. A little piece of my soul is gone. And between them is a sort of road..."

Xander is getting a serious wiggins out of this.

"Rather like having an infection. Get a bit of sun every day easy enough in sunny bloody California--wear a cross..."

"No more rare steaks?" This is why he was so strong, Xander thinks. This is how he put that fencing foil through the Mayor, this is how he drove wooden fucking stakes into Angel�s queen sized futon.

"Rare steak would definitely be inadvisable."

Xander�s palms are clammy now. "And what if someone--say an evil Faith�s Watcher impersonator--comes and whacks you on the head and you end up in hospital getting blood through an IV? Theoretically."

"Theoretically?" Giles glares at a perfectly innocent minivan. "A bit more demon would travel here, and a bit more of my self..."

"Your soul..."

"Would go to where the demon is."

"Hell?"

"Theoretically."

The car stops--traffic has thickened up, and for the first time Giles looks at him, intense and vulnerable, thinking who knows what and waiting for Xander to say the right thing.

Which is the hard part of listening. Not what you don�t say, but what you do.

"How bad?"

"Just a splinter," Giles says. Heat shimmers off the cars packed around them, sun beats through the windshield. "I should have years at the minimum. If things go well, it might never reach a crisis..."

If things go well. In your dreams, Watcherman. "If they don�t?"

Giles takes off his glasses, cleans them, runs a hand over a shiny forehead. He has reached that no going back point. He�ll shove himself off the cliff and hope Xander will catch him. Spill it all, trusting Xander won�t shove open the car door and run screaming into traffic...

...which is a temptation, because he *so* doesn�t want to know any more...

Giles pulls back his lip in what looks like a funny smile, the sort of thing you might do for your dentist. And he *changes.* Not to a full-on demon face, not even close. But one eye goes yellow, one of his top teeth sharpens into a fang. In a way, it�s worse than if he was all vampire, this one percent or five percent face.

"You�re not looking at your friend," Xander hears himself say. "You�re looking at the thing that�s killing him."

"In this case, you�re looking at both." Frozen moment when they both stare and then he�s normal again, Giles again. As traffic moves forward he nudges the car into motion. "Bloody mess, what?"

And kids, that�s what we call an understatement.

***

"So," Xander says, after a gas and munchie run, a pee and a ponder, when they�re on the highway again. "What do we do?"

"Do?"

"Yes, Giles, Do. You know, ready to spring into action, deal with the problem, execute the solution. Hit me with the plan."

"There is no plan, as you call it, Xander. There�s nothing to be done."

"I don�t accept that."

Giles sighs: long, slow, breath--the sigh of someone about to retread ground he�s covered oh so many times.

"Come on. What about exorcism?"

"In order to exorcise the demon, one would first have to bring it into full possession of my body.�

"So then we chuck it out again. No big, as long as we tie you up a little."

"The problem is that when a vampiric demon enters a human body, that body dies. So if you then cast the demon out..."

"I get it. Dust. And that�s the only option?"

"Not exactly the only option."

"So, hit us with plan B."

"The demon exists--physically--in Hell. So if someone were to get into Hell, locate and kill him, then presumably the missing piece of my soul would be released and would return to my body."

"Ah. And the drawback to this plan basically would be... the going to Hell part?"

"Yes, Xander, that would be the drawback."

"Moving on to Plan C..."

"There is no Plan C."

"You�re sure?" He ducks his head. "You�ve done your Watcher homework? Consulted your books, maxed out your Interlibrary loan card..."

"Of course."

"What about Willow?"

"I�ve presented the problem to her... hypothetically, of course."

"Of course."

"Her findings were the same as mine. But, as I said, it�s not necessarily going to get worse. If we�re careful and things go right."

Which isn�t good enough and they both know it. Xander heard the same story when his cousin Leona got AIDS, and guess where she is now? Filling a box under six feet of turf. What they need to do is screw the rules, he thinks, do something that�s not meant to help in this situation but...

"Ooh," he says suddenly. "What if we do that other thing?"

"What other thing?"

"You know, the one where you draw the hinky pointy star--"

"Pentagram."

"And you have the candles on the points and I don�t know, there�s some chanting and then poof! The demon is in the star. And he can�t attack you."

"Summoning?" Giles looks surprised. "Where did you learn about that?"

"Hey, I read." He gets pinned with an unbelieving stare and wiggles in his seat. "They do it all the time in comic books. But it works, right? And you said he exists physically in Hell. We summon him from there to here--but not in you--and then we kill him."

"We�d have to know his name."

"That can�t be too damn hard to accomplish? We check the registry of demons waiting to come to earth and be vampires. They probably work that alphabetically, right?"

"Not quite."

"But it�s possible, right? I mean, you two are hooked up. There has to be a way..."

"Hypnosis, perhaps." Giles has that expression on his face now, the �I don�t want to be optimistic but...� face. This will work. It has to work.

"So. You get his name, we summon him, we dust him. Your problems are over."

"We probably shouldn�t attempt it near the Hellmouth."

"We�re not near the Hellmouth, are we?"

"Buffy and Willow are. We�d need at least one person to help you with the spell." Someone who knows what they�re doing, Xander supposes, but Giles leaves that unsaid.

"Which is you, right?"

"No. I�m... tainted."

"What about your Watcher contacts? Surely there�s someone who can help in the area."

"Perhaps," Giles says again, and this time his smile is nearly genuine. Genuine and fangless. It�s good to see.

***

They get into San Francisco and Giles calls someone he used to know, back in the �not fired by the Council� days of being a legit Watcher. It�s a long call, tense. Xander doesn�t get within earshot but he can see the man is giving up a pound of flesh just to get what they need. He returns to the car looking petulant and pleased all at once.

"I�ve got the name of a hypnotist," he says.

"Who will get the demon�s name from you?"

"Yes, we think so."

"What about someone to help with the spell?"

"My... ah, contact... says she�ll have someone meet us."

"Sounds like we�re a go, then." Giles nods, tightly. "Giles, it�s gonna be okay."

Giles peels his glasses off his face, scrubs at them with a handkerchief, studies the parking lot, his toes. "It might be better just to leave things as they are."

"You�ve been carrying this for a year," Xander says. A year, through crisis after crisis. The hope in Giles� face is guarded, a candleflame. Is this what being old does to you?

He hopes not. Giles, like Buffy, probably grew up too fast. Nothing Xander and Willow have been through can compare with the crushing weight of responsibility on the shoulders of the chosen. Xander can always walk away. They can�t.

But doesn�t that make him cooler? Having the choice and *deciding* to sign on for the fight? Or does that just make Giles, in this situation, more of a victim?

Some of what he�s thinking must cross his face because Giles reaches out, gives him a brief squeeze on the shoulder. Xander has a vision of them ten years down the road, him almost thirty, Giles with a decade added to however incredibly old he already is. Still hanging together? Probably, if they survive. Still fighting evil? Well, it isn�t like they are going to run out.

And if this doesn�t work, then what? Ten years down the road, Giles a vampire? Or only halfway there and losing ground? Too painful to think about.

"This will work," he says, as if he doesn�t have a doubt in the world.

*****
Part 2:

Xander�s expectations have been conditioned by the Hellmouth. He�s expecting the hypnotist to be creepy, wizened, possibly evil; operating out of a back room with dark crimson curtains and a stench of black magic. Instead they find a run of the mill therapist�s office, brightly lit, comforting colours, not even a whiff of darkness.

The hypnotist herself is ... frankly, she�s a hottie--young, with curly yellow hair and dark brown eyes. She looks like she divides her time equally between office, gym and the beach. She calls Giles �dude� and Xander has to cover a smirk when the librarian stiffens.

But she knows her stuff. She gets Giles sunk in an over-plump chair with red and white flowers on it, begins to do her mumbo-jumbo and five minutes after she begins talking in her oh so sex kitten voice, the librarian is under. His eyelids droop over one normal eye and one yellow one; a curled lip reveals the fang. His hands press into the upholstery of the chair with terrible strength, and even after the perky hypnotherapist tells him to relax, he�s safe, his breathing is kind of laboured.

"Okay, Rupert," she says. "Look through your right eye and tell me: where are you?"

There�s a strangling long pause.

"Demons." His accent is losing its educated edge, falling into the gutter. "Bloody demons everywhere."

"It�s totally okay," she says. "They can�t hurt you. You�re here with me and Xander. Can you feel Xander�s hand?" She gestures to prompt him and Xander moves, lays his hand on the elbow of Giles� suit. Through the layers of fabric, he can feel the Watcher�s pulse slamming.

"Yes."

"Okay," she says. "So just chill, dude, and give us a little more info. What do you see?"

"Underground," he wheezes. "It�s dark. No light except flames. Odd flames. They flicker and move but they aren�t bound to anything. There�s no fuel."

"And the flames are the demons?"

"Young demons. The older ones are more solid. I hear cries of pain... people suffering. I should--I should do something for them..."

"What about you? What are you doing?"

"I�m cold," he says. "I�m in the wrong place, and I don�t know how to get where I�m supposed to be. I think... I must be lost."

"We�ve got you right here, Rupert. It�s okay."

Under Xander�s hand the muscles bunch and tighten. Giles squeezes and pulls on the chair arms as though he�s clinging to a roller coaster.

"Rupert," she says. "Part of you is bonded to one of the demons. Remember?"

"Can�t..."

"We need to know that demon�s name. Try to remember when it happened."

Now the Watcher cries out. He convulses, doubles over in the chair, in serious pain. Xander holds him, feels as he goes from dry and hot to trembly, clammy, soaked in perspiration. The fang gets longer and a sound a little like a vampire�s snarl issues from his throat.

"Jenny?" he says, and then "Drusilla." Reliving what the vamps did to him.

Xander glances at the hypnotist but she�s unfazed. "Tell us the name, Rupert. Tell us the name and we can stop this. That�s what you want, isn�t it?"

Strained, agony on his face, nodding. He�s covered in a sheen of dripping sweat. "His name..." he pants. "His name is..."

Another convulsion, stronger this time, a strangled cry from Giles.

"We�re hurting him," Xander protests.

The hypnotherapist gives him a chilly smile. She�s a friend of the contact, Xander thinks, the contact who�s still in tight with the Watcher�s Council. No real sympathy in the woman at all. "It�s the only way, dude."

Glaring, he turns and murmurs in Giles� ear. "It�s okay, man. I�m here. You� re fine."

It seems to help. Giles goes loose like a doll and takes a long, slow breath. "His name is Markanis," he says. "Markanis the Shaper."

And then he screams, long tormented shrieks that aren�t quite human, until he passes out.

***

Unlike Sunnydale, where magic basically leaks out of the taps along with the hot and cold running water, San Francisco isn�t the sort of place where you can just cast a spell anywhere. But Giles� so-called contact has given him the name of a nice park. It�s where the city�s fiendish minority of dark forces likes to gather. She also tells him that someone will be along around midnight to help with the spell.

They have to hunt for a long time to find the magic shops, and when they find the first one it doesn�t have everything they need.

"Check out the real world, Giles," Xander says. "The Hellmouth creates its own infrastructure. It�s Sunnydale�s unique job creation program. Good magic stores, good sewers, psychically charged cemeteries with extra roomy crypts for those vampire/slayer showdowns..."

Giles gives him a black look, doesn�t answer and they go back to the search. He was physically unharmed by the hypnosis but the experience has left him sullen. His appetite at dinner was for shit--Xander ended up eating both burgers--and what passed for his sense of humour has temporarily gone bye bye.

It�s a bit of a downer. This is, after all, supposed to be his vacation from things eldritch.

Giles has to buy an impressive amount of stuff, things he has at the library in Sunnydale but didn�t think to pack for this trip: bowls for the herbs, a mortar, a pestle, expensive special matches for lighting the expensive special candles. Even a book with the summoning spell, which sets him back a mint and a half.

When they get to the park there�s no sign of the contact and Xander has to do all the work. Giles can�t touch anything until it�s time for him to do a little ceremonial bleeding into a bowl. So Xander marks out the pentagram on the grass, lights up the candles, mixes the stinky herbs. This is so much more Willow�s thing than his and he wishes she was here. He�s scared he�s gonna fuck this up and he so doesn�t want to.

"This person they�re sending," he says. "It�s an actual good at this experienced knows how to cast spells kind of witch, right?"

"Let�s hope so," Giles says.

"You didn�t recognize the name?"

"My contact didn�t say who it was. The conversation was somewhat terse."

"And I thought you were glaring at the phone because it had cooties," he says. No smile. "Well, other than our missing third I think we�re ready. We� ve got the star, the herbs, the candles, you... all set." Then he thinks of something, glances at the red clay pot that Giles is going to have to bleed into. Dammit. Another thing he just assumed they�d have on hand...

"What are we gonna cut you with?"

"Pardon?"

"You don�t have a knife in the trunk for emergencies, do you?"

"A knife?"

"Yes. You know, for the bowl."

"Oh, bloody hell. No, Xander, I do not have a knife."

"Don�t go ballistic on me. We�ll think of something."

But Giles doesn�t get reassured. "We don�t have any weapons at all. What are we going to do with Markanis once we�ve summoned him?"

"That�s all right. I�ve got a knife." Long legged steps behind them in the bushes and a familiar accented voice. "Who we cutting up this evening?"

Xander feels his hands going all fisty. It�s Ethan Rayne.

***

The fight that follows is--blessedly--words only: Giles doesn�t want Ethan to do the spell, and who can blame him? Not that Ethan�s keen, either. Xander lets them thrash it out for a long argumentative wait and then when he�s afraid his herbs might go off he interrupts.

"We�re doing it," he says, and they stare. Silent communication: who put you in charge, kid? I did, he thinks back, taking the clay pot. He holds out his hand for Ethan�s knife.

"Giles, make sure there aren�t any witnesses, okay?" He watches as the librarian stalks out to do a quick turn through the grass and trees. Waits for him to get out of earshot.

"Waste of time--there�s nobody here." Ethan slaps the knife into Xander�s palm with a reptilian smile. "We waiting for something?"

"Just this," Xander says, very softly. The other man bends to catch his words. "The threatening Ethan part of our show."

Amusement crinkles the elfin features, diminishes as Xander reaches up, puts his hand on the back of Ethan�s neck, pulls them forehead to forehead. Ah, the dark power of homophobia.

"It turns out I can kind of curse people," Xander says.

"That so?"

"Anyone I even faintly get the hots for, they fall madly in love with me." He plants a kiss on Ethan�s lips and then lets go as the older man recoils with enough force to throw him onto his own ass. "Don�t screw up."

He turns his back on a very uneasy looking magic guy and waits for Giles, pale strained Giles, to return.

"Xander, I�m not convinced this is a good idea."

"Giles, it�s the only idea."

He looks like he�s going to protest, then slumps. What can he say? Xander can give him any number of good reasons why the demon inside him needs to be gone, and they all begin with the word Angel.

"Small poke." He takes Giles� hand into his own and grits his teeth, slices the fat part of his friend�s thumb. Squeezing several red drops into the clay pot, he mashes the herbs around. He smudges a bit onto Giles� eyelid and lip and then goes back to where Ethan is waiting. They kneel, face to face, knee to knee. Xander holds onto the knife.

They begin to chant in Latin, Ethan first, Xander second. He says each word carefully, copying the pronunciation exactly. He�s reminded of wedding ceremonies--repeating each phrase after the priest has had his shot at mangling your name.

"Good God," he hears Giles say, but he�s watching Ethan, because whatever they summon isn�t going to get loose, whereas this man in front of him is an unknown quantity. He can feel the air on the pentagram side of him moving, whooshing back and forth like something big is breathing there, panting. Sulphurous wind flutters his clothes and something hot and totally unpleasant--Willow, how do you do this time and time again?--moves through his body and mind. Magic, having its way with him.

But then Ethan shudders, falls silent, wipes his dripping forehead. Gives him a not-too creepy smile and climbs to his feet.

Xander follows suit, turns to see what they�ve caught.

"Good god," Giles says again and Xander has to seriously agree. Because what �s lying there in the center of the star looks just like Giles, except it�s young, Xander�s age or maybe younger. And it�s buck fucking naked, muscular as hell, and sporting a boner the size of a nuclear submarine.

Okay. Time to slay. Xander hefts Ethan�s knife, swallows even though his mouth and throat are dry. The demon Giles opens its eyes, gives him a smile that is pure and trusting.

"Xander?"

He rasps his tongue over lips--sandpaper on sandpaper. Tries to unfreeze. It �s a demon, for Pete�s sake.

"Give me the knife," real Giles says in a steady voice.

Of course. This is, after all, his problem. Xander passes it over as the demon climbs to its feet. It reaches out but as his--its--hand reaches the threshold of the pentagram fire flares. It pulls back.

"Xander," it says, urgently this time, and its features run like tallow. It� s Cordelia. More of her than Xander�s seen and he�s blasted with the details of her toes, nipples, legs. "What am I doing this fashion dead zone?"

"Once I step over the line it can get out," Giles says quietly.

"Get it on the first blow, then."

"Be ready for a chase, just in case."

"Roger dodger," Xander says. Giles pulls back his arm but it changes to Miss Calendar. Who is also lookworthy.

Giles� turn to go rabbit in the headlights.

"Want a hand?" Ethan�s getting a laugh out of this, natch. And Xander is getting seriously aroused.

"No!" They answer simultaneously.

It�s like playing hot potato--Xander takes the knife back. He can kill Miss Calendar, sure he can. "Rupert," she�s saying to Giles, and he�s got this mega-ouch expression on his face. But she�s a demon.

Why couldn�t this fucker turn into Angel?

Xander steps behind, around. It�ll change again, he warns himself. Don�t think about it. Steels himself. It�ll go for Willow, he bets. One shot with the knife to the heart.

But it changes to Spike. Naked, snarling, violent. Erect cock. "You want to try again, Xander? I played gentle with you the first time."

And he�s supposed to be over that now but he can�t help but flinch. Bad memories spew through his mind but even so Xander knows the demon has screwed up. He tosses the knife back to a suddenly furious, over-protective Watcher. Giles catches the blade in mid-air, steps over the line, drives the blade home. The demon snarls, screams, and suddenly it�s Buffy--naked, frightened, with a knife stuck in her back and they lose a second, both of them unprepared, to the sheer shock of the visual.

Then things go disaster in stereo: "Police! Freeze!"

It�s all the time the demon needs. It screams again--a girl�s heartrending cry for help. Ethan tosses weird powder into one of the flickering candles as flashlights pierce the night. Buffy-demon lurches out of the circle toward the cops, taking the knife with her, and as murk billows from the candle Ethan takes flight, vanishes.

Leaving them no options but to run as well. But the cops are everywhere...

... as if someone tipped them off?

Xander grabs Giles� hand, picks a direction. They make it to a stand of trees but they�re more than surrounded; there�s barely a moment to think and they�re going to be caught... naked stabbed girl, this is baaddd...

"Take off your shirt," Giles hisses, yanking at it.

"What?"

"Hurry!"

He peels, hands it to the librarian. Thinking what? He�ll Macgyvver them an escape blimp with it? But Giles tosses the shirt away, locks his hands around Xander�s throat, pretends--gahg, believably--to be throttling him. "They�ll take you both to hospital," he hisses. "Innocents. You can�t let it kill anyone..."

"Let go of the boy!" Something rips Giles away.

"Aaagh," Xander manages, sucking wind. The cops buy it, descend in force and rescue him from the big bad G-man. He hears glass breaking and a grunt of pain over a babble of "you okay, kid?" noises as they rescue him, whisk him away toward the ambulance where the demon is not nearly dead enough.

Where the demon�s getting blood through an IV.

*****
Part 3:

He wasn�t hurt enough to justify a hospital trip so he faked hysteria--good enough plan in theory except it got him sedated. When he wakes up they�re all curious about the scars on his neck and arm--healing souvenirs from playtime with Spike.

He opts for an all new Traumaboy persona--the too freaked to talk game. Calm enough they won�t drug him again but very, very uninformative. Since they�ve stripped him and put him in a hospital gown, he assumes they�ve seen the other Spike scars. He acts broken, doesn�t speak. Hopes they don�t take it out on Giles.

They haven�t found the car, don�t have Xander�s ID or know who Giles is. They do know Xander�s just one side or the other from being a juvenile, so they�re handling him with kiddie gloves. Ordering up a shrink and a social worker. No questions without an adult present. Guard on his door. All sharp objects out of the place.

And tick, tick, tick. The demon could already be loose.

Make it come to him? It�s a promising idea, except that once it got here it would be feeling amorous. Still, it could look like anyone. Tempting, that. Sixteen year old Giles with a hardbody. The image tickles his mind. Blond hair almost as soft as Buffy�s... But oh, no, no. Not again. Coming on to Spike was a disaster, a nightmare. Find another way, Harris. Xander racks his brain.

Giles. Got to get Giles out of jail before they ID him. Demon. Hospital. Innocent people. Focus, Xander.

It�s worth the risk.

He goes into the bathroom, takes his cock in hand. Thinks about the Giles form mostly, because he gets the idea that�s what Markanis really looks like now. Can�t get hard until he starts calling it Ripper. He thinks about fucking it, about it changing under him--Ripper to Cordy to Buf--oh my! With a little Miss Calendar thrown in. It doesn�t take long before he�s white-hot. Melting.

He doesn�t bring himself off--just to the edge. Keep wanting it, that�s the key. And it�s working. Coming out of the bathroom, he can hear a girlish Buffy voice outside the room. Arguing with the cop.

"I want to see my friend."

"Miss..."

Xander slides open the window carefully, quietly. Goes out on the ledge. Ten floors up. If it wants to fuck him here, he has options. Grim ones, but after what happened before... no, don�t think it. Just sidle out over a razor�s edge of narrow into a nook by the next room�s window. He pulls on his hard-on a couple times, thinks of Ripper-demon�s cock. How�s he going to fight it out here?

Then he remembers Spike, sabotaging the footholds in a rock wall Dru was freeclimbing. Xander leans--careful, careful!--back to the narrow part of the ledge. He wedges something down in the tiny foothold as the guard outside his room door makes a strangled noise.

Please, not dead.

A crowd�s forming below, shouting at him to jump, or maybe not to jump. Xander squeezes his cock and tries to hide his face. Can this end before the news choppers show? Hello Sunnydale...

"Xander..." Ripper voice. Young sexy Giles in a hospital gown is edging out after him.

"Hey," he says. "Mom was right. This is what all the kids are wearing now."

It grins, shows him a mouthful of red-stained teeth, whips up its gown to reveal a huge erection. Xander�s stomach churns at the sight of the teeth--the rest makes him want to back away. Instead he forces a smile. "Oh, and our accessories match, too. Isn�t dressing alike a faux pas for couples?"

It steps closer. Surefooted on the narrow ledge and what if this doesn�t work?

But then its bare foot comes down on Xander�s crucifix, waiting there like a landmine on the narrowest part of the shelf of brick.

Smoke erupts between the white toes. It jerks, screeches. Looks at him with wounded, betrayed Giles-eyes. Wobbles, claws at air. Falls.

Falls some more.

Hits.

Xander doesn�t even look. He scoops up his cross and edges into the first open window he can find. Time to spring Giles.

****

Disabling a station full of cops is way out of Xander�s league but he promised Ethan he�d curse him, so he does the bathroom trick again. Way harder to work up a want for that guy, but eventually he does. He asks around the magic stores, does some tracking. Eventually finds the little prick drinking in a biker bar.

Ethan�s face darkens when he sees Xander, then brightens. He knows he�s been done to, but he can�t help liking it. How many times has Xander done this now? It�s getting a little tired, a little creepy.

But Xander is feeling ruthless. He takes Ethan into the back alley, fondles him, teases him until he�s granite hard and then kicks him in the nuts. Old or not, the guy has no backbone. That�s all it takes to make him cave. "We� re going after Giles," Xander says, and when Ethan�s done sucking wind they head for the precinct nearest the park.

***

Ethan�s good at what he does--stinky herb this, Latin that--suddenly the cops think their building�s on fire. They evac the station house, dragging a trio of prisoners with them. A little more of the magic fog thing and it�s easyish to separate Giles from his captors.

Apparently the cops disapprove of men who stab nude girls, who strangle boys in the public parks. Giles� glasses are broken and his face has seen some pummelling. He�s hitching his breath like his ribs hurt bigtime.

They make their escape in Ethan�s car, which Xander is driving. Reason? Ethan�s drunk. "Hilarious thing," Xander says, zooming through the streets in search of the Gilesmobile. "We break a jail but we�re driving responsibly."

Giles doesn�t laugh.

The car, thankfully, hasn�t been found.

He transfers Giles from Ethan�s car to the passenger seat of his own. Goes back to Ethan, who�s staring at him with a mixture of fury and doe eyes.

"Sleep it off, man," Xander says.

"I could help you. With his injuries..."

"You helped enough when you tipped the cops."

"It wasn�t me. It must�ve been our mutual friend. The Council�s buddy..."

And maybe that�s true. He turns to leave but Ethan plucks at his arm. "You� ll take the spell off, right?"

"In your dreams." Pulling free, he returns to Giles. God. Another crushed out icky person who�s got it bad for him. Is this what being cheap means?

Only if I let them all have me, he decides.

"So what now, Giles? I�m seeing you, traction, some painkillers..."

"Find Markanis and kill it."

"Uh. Giles, it�s done."

"I�m afraid not." The watcher turns his face to Xander�s. Grows the fang. Yellows the eye.

"Oh, *man!* I threw it off ten floors!" There�s a silence as the implications set in. "Weapons?"

"Weapons," Giles agrees grimly. Xander starts the car, begins trolling for a gun store. Rocket launcher, he�s thinking. Maybe some nice landmines or a nuke...

Weapons shops. Not the San Francisco he wanted to see.

Giles moans suddenly, stiffens. "It�s feeding," he says softly. "That policeman and now... a woman. Trying to get its strength back."

"You see what it sees?"

"And vice versa." Haunted, bruised face. "I�ve killed two people tonight."

We killed. Xander�s stomach twists. This is what he�s grudged on Buffy for--releasing a monster on the unsuspecting world.

Okay, rationalize. He�s good at that. "Giles, we had to try. If you turned--you know all that high powered Watcher stuff, and you�ve got a whole arsenal of how to end the world books."

"There were safer ways to prevent my turning."

"Like what? You dying? We can�t do without you. Buffy can�t, and-- and all of us can�t."

"You�re not children anymore."

"I can�t do without you, okay? Which reminds me, Plan C was my idea."

His voice is so soft, not tearful but breathless. "I consented."

"Yeah, but you�re sick guy..." And he realizes this is more than a rationale, it�s cold hard truth. Two deaths. "I own those bodies, Giles. Like you said--we�re not kids. I�m the responsible adult of the day." Meaning I killed them, he thinks, the cop and the woman. Just another thing Buffy owns all the time--the civilians who get in the way. Tears sting his eyes suddenly but he blinks them down.

Giles shakes his head. No.

"You�d have done the same thing if it was me who was possessed." And that ends the argument, because there�s no answer to that. You do save your comrades first and damn the civilians. Ugly but true. But no comfort.

It�s edging towards dawn. The light has a blue-black sheen and the stars are fading into the east�s growing light. As they pull into a twenty-four hour Guns! Guns! Guns! shop, San Francisco fog roils around them, cold and bone-chilling.

"I hope you have room left on your credit card," he says.

"It�s hunting you," Giles says. "Why?"

Tell the truth? He�s tempted--feels absolutely that the man will make no judgements--but today Giles is the dumper, not the dumpee. There�ll be time to confide in him later, if they live. "Hey, I made it kiss tarmac from ten stories up."

"Of course."

***

Miracle of miracles, Giles has a California permit for a trank gun. When they drive away from the gun store they have a rifle and darts, plus two knives and a couple grenades. Giles got himself a crossbow, too.

"Now what? Me Baitman, you Ripper?"

"I don�t like the idea but it would seem our best option." Giles winces--from the pain, or is it feeding again? "We�ll show it where you are and set up a trap."

He feels pride at that, at Giles� sudden faith in him. Trusting him to take care of things at the hospital, trusting him to get him out of jail, and now this..."Sounds solid, Giles."

"Where?"

"Someplace remote.. maybe the beach. Rent a cabin?"

Giles nods.

"Okay. Home stretch," Xander says brightly. He hopes he�s telling the truth.

Giles makes sure the demon gets a squinty, near-sighted eyeful of the route they take, of the hotel sign and all the landmarks. Xander checks them in and they get a cabin near a lonely stretch of beach. He makes Giles peel off his shirt and slaps a bandage on a long cop-induced scrape mark on his ribs, rinses the swollen face. Makes him swallow some aspirin and orders him to rest. Then--in full view of Giles� demon eye, he peels off his shirt and shorts. "Gonna shower," he says. He takes a quick hot rinse--masturbates again while thinking of the demon, comes out clad in a towel and lingers over his choice of clothes. Giving it an eyeful. Being bait.

"He�s moving more quickly now," Giles reports innocently. Xander smothers a grin.

This being irresistible thing? Sometimes it�s okay.

***

It arrives just after lunch. Xander is skipping stones on the beach; Giles is struggling--sans specs--to read the paper. The weapons are hidden out of sight--Giles has had to take Xander�s word that they are there.

The demon is faking clever--comes to them disguised as Ethan. Faking because it�s *obviously* not too bright. Even though it sees what Giles sees, it doesn�t seem to realize that the reverse is true.

"Hey, Ethan." Xander lets it get close and then dives out of the way, leaving Giles a clear shot with the crossbow. But it�s forewarned--sees Giles taking aim through his cursed right eye. It leaps after Xander and half avoids the bolt. Takes it in the hip instead of the heart and barely grunts.

"Xander..." it croons in a Cockney accent. Strong fingers clamp around his head and the young Giles face is above him, kissing him with mashed lips, pulling his jaw down for some hamburger tongue. Most emphatically yuck. But at least the ten story drop dented it.

He stays limp for the smoochies, because nothing�s more likely to fire up Giles� berserker dad mode.

Sure enough there�s a jerk, heavy shock running from the demon�s body to his. The trank dart this time, and Markolis� eyes narrow. He remembers he�s here on business... Baring its teeth, it bends close to Xander for the kill.

"Oh no you don�t." Xander bucks his hips under the demon�s pelvis, grins seductively. The demon�s bite changes to a kiss again. It runs its hand down Xander�s side, reaches for his crotch...

Then its neck is arching, peeling back. Old Giles is behind them, pulling young Giles up, off. There�s a knife flashing, and as it sprays blood from a cut throat and fights--still alive--Xander snatches the second knife from under a pile of seaweed and carves a hole in its gut.

Then the trank kicks in. The demon collapses to rubber, still struggling but clearly having trouble.

"At last!" Giles says.

"You would get possessed by the Terminator."

They shove a grenade and a bottle of Holy Water into the knife wound, and then run like hell to get clear before it blows. Shaboom. Splatter. Blechhhh.

After the blast they lie there, panting, face down on the beach and covered in demon frittatta, pieces of gore getting licked away by the tide.

"I�m sorry, Xander. That must have been... very distressing."

"How are you?"

"What? No damage. We got clear of the shrapnel... you aren�t injured, are you?"

"Is he dead?" Xander rolls in the grit. Looks fondly at the bruised face inches from his. "How *are* you?"

"I? Oh--yes. I..." Giles� voice catches and he turns away. Relieved, struggling to control himself. Xander reaches out, throws an arm over his shoulder. He lies there quietly. Does the listening thing.

But all he hears is surf. Maybe one choked sob?

Finally they climb to their feet, limp in the direction of the cabin. Xander points at the shower like a drill sergeant giving an order. Giles picks a bit of blown-up demon out of his hair, nods wearily, closes himself inside.

"Hey Giles," Xander says to the door.

"Yes?"

"It�s over."

"Over," the accent echoes, tired and wondering. "Thank you, Xander."

"Twern�t nuthin�," he says. And he wishes that it was true. Because it wasn� t nothing, and it�s not over just yet. Because now, while Giles is washing up, Xander has to haul his tired and sorry ass back out to the beach.

*Somebody* has to drag all the big chunks of demon out to sea.

~end~