*****

Maybe if he had realised sooner what was happening, Xander would have done something about it. By the time he'd 'used his mentality and woke up to reality' it was too late. His soul was pinker than a flamingo in heat.

The signs were always there, he would tell himself later, but by the time later came he was so over caring. His sarcastic comments, which at one time were the cute quips he used to massage the ears of his friends, weren't they really his incipient bitchiness struggling to break free and claim its fabulosity? When he thought of the days he had wasted running around like a puppy after little miss Cordelia, while she spent her dad's hard stolen cash all over town on trashy dresses that were way too high in price and hemline, he could just scream. The girl thought she had class, which was true if you were talking about Maths, Lit', and Sci'. If he had realized what was really happening he could perhaps have seen the high hemlines not as the perfect opportunity to bring things to a halt, an excuse to stare at her amazing thighs, her firm round breasts, her very broad shoulders. See! He couldn't resist it now, he had gone too far down that particular strip. Now when he thought her he couldn't help wondering why she persisted in dressing like she was still a fourteen year old chick let out of the trailer for her first night on the tiles, on the floor, on the back seat of the pick-up.

His witty little comments had steadily become bitchier, and he practiced mercilessly on Cordelia behind her back, on Giles, and especially on the blond numbnut that was Spike. What was with the hair? Wasn't being a bloodless vampire bad enough? Did he think he wasn't attracting enough attention?

Xander finally decided he was gay the day Angel came back from L.A. He was looking wonderful. His leather jacket fitted his broad shoulders like a second skin, and Xander wanted to try it on for size. Angel was his usual silent self, smoldering as he sat at the table in The Bronze. Willow and Buffy were there too, and Willow wanted to know everything that was new with Cordelia. Angel told them all about the new shops she had found, the new hairstyle, the new shoes. Xander looked at Buffy and their eyes rolled in unison as Angel continued. He didn't seem particularly interested in talking about Cordelia, but then, he didn't seem interested in talking about anything. Xander wondered why he bothered coming back to Sunnhydale at all. He thought with a little jealousy creeping into his thoughts that maybe Angel only came back to see Buffy. His eyes hung on her like a puppy dog's, and Xander wanted to reach across the table and slap him, hard. Riley was gone now, maybe that was why Angel continued to hang on to his hopes.

Bored with the weak conversation and not trusting himself to say anything nice if he spoke at all, Xander looked around the room. The usual crowd was there, nervous kids swaying their hips and failing to look as though they were so relaxed and hip to the game. He checked out a couple of the cuter guys hanging around the edge of the dance floor. One in particular was just that little bit rugged in a sexy way, dressed in cargos and t-shirt, arms showing off the results of a few hours a week at the gym. He had dark hair flopping over one side of his face and held a beer in one hand. Xander's eyes grazed slowly over the boy and he saw him look up and greet another guy, moving across the room toward him with a bottle of beer in each hand. The newcomer was ugly, there was no other word for it. He was coated in black t-shirt and old jeans, huge gym shoes on his feet. His hair was the worst part of him, Xander thought, looking at the greasy mullet that caressed his shoulders like a large pet rat. Xander stared in amazement as the two leaned forward and kissed fully on the lips. He blinked and blanched when the boy turned around.

He was a chick. A big chick. A construction worker, he thought, grimacing and turning back to the table. That was one more thing he didn't like about Sunnydale. The women were limited in their choices. The ones who didn't want to look like they came from a long line of very close family relationships opted for big hair and small dresses. There were the exceptions, of course, like Willow, but honestly, witchcraft? And Buffy was one of a kind, full stop. As for the men, they had two options. Dead or alive. They didn't need to make much of an effort. Who was going to care? Then, of course, there were the vampires. One vampire in particular. One extremely cute vampire who was smirking at him across the table.

Xander wondered if Angel had seen him checking out the woman. He wasn't sure what was more upsetting, that the vampire thought he was checking out truck-stop Betty, or that he had realized the mistake Xander had made and was enjoying his disappointment. Xander didn't care one way or the other whether or not Angel knew that he was gay. But he would kill himself if he found out how much Xander wanted to lean across the table and lick the smirk off his face.

'Guys, guys, can we make with the happy?' he said, looking at Angel. 'It's the holidays! We've just gotten rid of the worst thing to hit Sunnydale since the last bunch of vampires showed up. Remember Adam? Bad guy? Dead guy?' He glanced at Angel and saw that his comment about the vampires had not missed him, and Xander felt a glimmer of triumph. Well, Mr., he thought, you want to play bad? I've got nothing to lose here except a lot of sexual frustration. If I go another week with Mr. Hand and his five boys for company, I'll just blow.

'So, what are your plans while you're in Sunnydale?' Willow asked Angel, after clearing her throat in that earnest way she did before she spoke, as if she really couldn't wait for the answer. Xander decided that he would take Willow shopping one day soon. Since she had met Tara and started getting more and more into the spell stuff she had livened up a little. He could tell she got off on the excitement. She was the only chance he had of surviving in Sunnydale. The town seemed to be getting smaller and smaller as his discontent grew, and he took it out on anyone and practically everyone who crossed his path. Always with a big grin, of course. You could tell people to go fuck themselves, but if you grinned at them like a fool while you said it, they would thank you for the advice and wish you a good day.

The brooding eyes looked up from beneath perfect brows and settled on Xander. 'I was thinking I'd spend some time looking up a couple of people I haven't seen in a while. Unfinished business,' he didn't elaborate.

'Oh,' and even poor Willow could think of nothing to say to that. Buffy was near coma with boredom. She had managed to avoid looking at Angel all evening, speaking only to decline his offer of a drink.

'Hey, Buff', how's about we clear the dancefloor?' And Xander was off his chair and across the room dragging a protesting Slayer behind him before she had even heard what he had to say.

'Xander, not tonight,' she said in a pleading tone of voice. 'I'm not in the mood, you know? I think I wanna head on home.'

'Why?' asked Xander. 'Is it because of deadboy over there?' he asked, glancing over at the table, and he smiled to himself to see that Angel was watching them intently.

'Partly,' said Buffy, trying to escape from his hold on her arm as he moved them near the edge of the shifting mass of pimples so that Angel would have an unobstructed view.

'All the more reason to stay,' Xander said before she could continue. He was feeling nervous as hell. He realized that he wanted Angel to look at him, and he wanted to piss him off at the same time for being so damn cool all the time. 'Look, you have to let him know that your world doesn't come to a standstill while he's in L.A. doing his own thing. Come on Buff'!' Xander pleaded. He was using his friend, a little, he admitted to himself, but he thought it might also do her good. Well, it couldn't harm her in any way. All that time she spent fighting the good fight left her no time to do more than get even lower each time another guy decided to take her through the mill of love. He held on to her hand and grinned as she smiled back at him and started to move with him.

'So, why do you think he's really back in town?' asked Xander, spinning her in a wide circle, and she laughed out loud as she came back to him.

'Xander,' she said, 'I really don't care. Really! I mean, it's not like every time he comes back I end up feeling worse off than I already do!' she said ironically. 'Seeing him used to really bring it all back, you know? All the fighting and the crying and the icky stuff.' She smiled. 'Now, it's just a little annoying. Fine, he's Angel, and we have this thing, or, at least we had this thing,' she said in exasperation, 'but there's nothing there now. He never says anything about it, thank God. I don't even know what there is to say.'

'There you go,' Xander grinned. 'Now aren't you glad you shook all that stuff?' and she laughed as he wiggled his tight hips as he said it.

They were smiling and giggling as they returned to the table, and Xander's grin grew that little bit wider when he saw the look on Angel's face. Annoyance mixed with a little jealously, perhaps? 'Gee, too bad,' he thought unsympathetically.

'Hey, that was great, you guys,' said Willow brightly. She had watched them, her feet tapping, while they were dancing. She always wanted to get up and join them whenever they danced, but most times the music seemed to end just as she had plucked up the courage.

Angel said nothing.

'Guys, it's been great. It's been tiring. It's been a week since my mom was nothing more than a blur as I ran in and out of the house. This is where I get off.'

'Oh, me too,' said Willow jumping up in exitement. 'Tara's coming back tomorrow. I want everything to be perfect,' she said. 'And I bet Miss Kitty is missing me too,' and she smiled in that way that always made Xander want to reach out and hug her. Or shake her. It depended.

'Well, looks like it'll be just you and me,' Angel said before Xander could say anything to them. They stood up and started putting on their sweaters and he looked at the vampire, who just looked back at him placidly, but those damn eyes. Always something going on. Xander decided to tough it out. If Angel thought he was going to jump up and run away just because his friends were leaving, well, he'd have another think coming. Odd phrase. He'd have to think again. Better. Still odd though.

'See you tomorrow?' Buffy asked.

'You know it,' Xander replied. 'See ya later Will'. Say "hi" to Miss Kitty. Tell her to keep away from those rough Tom Cats. They've got a bad reputation in this part of town.'

'Will do. Bye Angel,' she said in reply, smiling, and Angel looked at her and Xander saw that 'thing' cross his face, which could indicate anything from pain to... Actually, unless you were Angel, it could only indicate pain.

Buffy just looked at Angel. 'Seeya' was all she could think of to say, and he seemed happy with the acknowledgement.

'Bye,' he said. Xander wondered what the conversation in that relationship must have been like.

Angel turned and looked at him.

'Well, Xander,' he said, looking straight into his eyes, 'looks like we'll have to make our own fun, huh? Just us guys.'

The flip in Xander's stomach as Angel spoke wiped all the smartness out of him. He couldn't read those dark eyes, that now seemed to inhabit another world of meaning to the one Xander was used to. He felt threat and suggestiveness mixed-up in the words, and beneath his cock a slight pain appeared.

He aimed at a grin and replied, 'Yup, just us chickens.' Same old Xander, he thought. One twitch, one dirty thought, and the babbling babblers starts to babble.

*****
Part 2:

'So.'

'So.'

'Xander.'

'Angel?' Slight waver in the voice, almost a question. Fingers tapping lightly, in a not quite steady rhythm on the rim of the empty glass in front of him.

Xander looks at Angel with furtive glimpses, trying to avoid the deep, dark eyes, like liquid night. He smiles nervously, the fire of defiance cooled beneath the implacable gaze of the vampire. Almost. Nervous, he retreats into attack mode.

'What?' Pause. 'What?' More insistent, annoyance mixed with something else that hangs around the edge of consciousness. Or is pushed there.

Angel smiles, unusual enough in itself to be unreadable.

'How are you? We haven't spoken much this evening.' Big lie. They had not exchanged a word, at least not directly. Xander had thrown enough poisonous asides to bring down an army, all obliquely in his direction. Angel had felt them, felt the anxiety behind them, like a trapped animal. Which he thinks he understands.

Xander pauses as he opens his mouth to reply. A teenager walks by the table, balancing too many glasses in his hands, not quite managing to avoid spilling their contents as he ambles past. Xander stares after him for a while, then turns back to Angel.

'Well, gee, I'm sorry,' he says, eyes glinting, ready. 'Let's see, how does it go? How are you doing? Long time no see? What are you doing in Sunnydale?' Eyes harden, going for the kill. 'Sun too hot for you in L.A. huh? Tell me. I really care.' Voice cold, words working their way up from beneath permafrost.

'No. I don't get hot.' Unnecessary, but Angel does not know how to deal with the anger, an anger he thinks he understands.

'I guess that explains a lot. Looking to get yourself a little warmed up?' Suggestion and anger in the voice... jealousy too. Angel senses all of these invisible emotions, and a confusing mass of contradictions beneath them.

'Are you talking about Buffy?' He asks.

Xander grins, eyes narrowing. 'Why? Don't tell me there's someone else we don't know about? Don't tell me you have a little vampette waiting for you somewhere, eating the kids to pass the time until you show up?'

'I'm not here to see Buffy, believe it or not,' Angel replies, confused at the strength of Xander's contempt. 'Not specifically, I mean. I know that you are worried about her, and that's fine. But, you know, you could ease up on the anger a little. It's bad for the health.' Slight smile. Hint of compromise?

'Oh, please!' With emphasis. 'Tell it to Oprah!'

Pause.

Blank stare. 'Who's Oprah?'

Damn. Damn. Damn. Xander would damn him to Hell, but in a complicated way he knows that would not work. Why did Angel have to pull that one out of the bag? Not that he could ever be accused of being innocent, but that look on his face. The look on the face of the kid you rib endlessly in school, the look that one day makes you feel suddenly older and ...protective?

A smile curves slowly at Angel's mouth at the sudden change in Xander's expression.

'I know who Oprah is, Xander.' The smile grows a little more. 'See, that wasn't so bad. Made you slow down though, didn't it.?'

'Oh,' Xander replies, smiling despite himself, 'Oh, that was truly evil.'

Angel smiles back at him, 'Well, you deserved it.'

'Where did you hear about Oprah?' Dumb question, but it allows him a little time to gather himself. Attack mode is gone now. Angel's smile reminds him just exactly why he was being such a bitch. The sharp lines of his full lips curling beneath the perfect nose, a nose he has a strong urge to touch, to trace its outline with his finger tips. The nose he is looking at for just a little too long. Any higher and the eyes would be there, and he cannot, just cannot meet them because he does not know what he would do then. Instead he lowers his head and smiles as Angel tells him of the afternoons spent with Cordelia watching chat shows, although she watched them mainly to criticize, especially if there was an actor or actress plugging something. She really watched, he suspected, because she expected one day to find herself on the couch, matching flawless smiles with Oprah.

The two of them end up laughing, a mixture of release and relief, the tension gone out of their conversation. Angel takes the opportunity to make a tentative attempt at alleviating Xander's mistrust.

'Why are you uncomfortable with me being here?', he asks quietly. 'Are you worried about Buffy? Because you don't have any reason to be. What I mean is,' he continues as Xander gives him a sharp look, 'I don't have any plans to upset her. Upset her more,' he adds. 'You saw us this evening,' he continues, trying to convince Xander, 'we don't speak much more than we have to. A lot has changed. It isn't the best situation, but considering...'

He trails off, looking at Xander to see how he is accepting this. While Xander was dancing with Buffy earlier in the evening Angel had noticed how often the youngster looked in his direction. He was obviously trying to make it clear to Angel that he was closer to Buffy than Angel would ever get again. Angel thinks that Xander still has deep feelings for the Slayer, and that is the cause of his animosity.

Xander is silent. He seems to be considering in some depth what Angel has said. He looks up, opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself.

'Are you jealous?' Angel asks, just as quietly.

Xander smiles and says vaguely, 'You could say that.'

'I thought so,' and Angel sees the flicker return to Xander's deep brown eyes.

'You don't know me,' Xander says shortly.

'Ray Charles,' replies Angel, a sad note in his voice.

The look is replaced by slight confusion.

'You don't know me,' Angel repeats Xander's words. 'It's an old song. I guess you and I don't really know each other much.'

'Really?' Xander replies, getting back in his stride, stressing the word. Dead people do not listen to songs. He wants to ask about the song, but Angel is too caught up on the Buffy trip, and Xander is pissed as. Angel suddenly feels very angry with Xander, with himself, and confused. Anything he says seems to make the situation worse. He was enjoying the relative peace between them that he had felt just moments ago, and he is deeply disappointed. The music and the loud laughter around them intrude into his thoughts and he has a sudden need to get out of the Bronze, a place that holds few pleasant memories for him.

'Let's go,' he says. Not really asking, but determined that Xander will leave with him, even if he has to argue with him about it. Fortunately for him, being in the Bronze in a bad mood is not Xander's idea of a good time, not that anything in Sunnydale could ever claim that honor. They stand up at the same time. It isn't agreement, he tells himself. He intends to get as far away from Angel as possible when they get outside. He has a mess of feelings he wants to batter into submission, followed by a long bout of forgetting.

As they make their way through the groups of teens and agers in the Bronze Angel's hand moves instinctively to the small of Xander's back as he jostles with the crowd. He feels a shudder run through Xander's body at his touch and he removes his hand quickly as Xander moves faster ahead of him. Angel feels suddenly very alone. Xander evades every attempt he makes to get closer to him, the most mistrusting of the group of friends surrounding the Slayer. Cordelia had told him everything there was to know about them all, and Xander's story had not been easy to listen to, which had surprised Angel. He felt immense guilt for the way he had treated him as Angelus. He shivers involuntarily at the thought, and is even more determined to try to get through to him.

'Don't tell me you're cold,' says Xander. He is standing outside the Bronze looking at Angel as he comes out behind him. 'You are full of surprises tonight.' There is a tired look on his face now, and Angel studies his features beneath the orange glow of the street light.

'Let's walk,' he says.

'I know my way home,' but Xander remains standing in front of him. They are both aware that speaking only makes things worse between them. Since when is there a between? Xander wonders. Definitely no between, he stresses to himself. Get things back to silent ignoring, and things will be just hunky-dory. He glances at Angel. Hunky.

He turns and walks away, slowly enough so that Angel will know he can follow him if he wants to, and sure enough he hears his footsteps just behind, not quite level with him. They walk on in silence for a couple of blocks, Xander feeling more and more tense as the silence continues. Damn him, he thinks again. The urge to speak is only outweighed by the uncertainty and fear of what he might say. He suddenly feels like the old Xander, the pre-slayerette whose face ached from the permanent grin he fixed on his face until it became a mask he could not remove. Oh God, he thinks to himself, I AM Stanley Ipkiss.

'You plan to keep up the silent treatment all the way?' he asks when he feels his legs beginning to slide out of rhythm, he is that nervous.

'We're being followed.'

'Unexpected. But definitely something.' He is relieved at the distraction. 'How many?'

'Three.' Back to Mr. Monosyllable, but one word is better than none.

'Vamps?'

'Yes. Keep walking.'

Xander puts his hand to his belt. Nothing. Not even a hint of stake. Of course not. What could be more unthreatening than an evening at the Bronze in the company of the Slayer and Deadboy. *Hello*, he thinks to himself, what could be more likely to bring out every wannabe, blood sucking, territorial denizen of the night? He makes a note to listen less to Giles, if that is possible.

'No stake,' he says to Angel.

Suddenly Angel reaches over and grabs him by the shoulder, pulling him roughly into his body, turning as he does so. Xander gasps, a surge of panic rising as Angel kicks out behind him, booted foot colliding with one vampire, who flows backward on the air into the other two. Angel releases his hold on Xander and runs full on into the three, turning the first one on his feet into a pile of dust. The other two start to circle him slowly, sharp fangs and pale faces ghostly in the dim light filtering down from the street lamp.

'Back again, Angel', says one of them as he moves closer.

Xander moves closer to Angel, who shouts over his shoulder without looking at him, 'Stay back, Xander.' Ignoring him, Xander continues to move slowly forward, arms raised in defence.

One of the vampires rushes at him and the other moves to block Angel's attempt to intercept him. Angel slips into game face and rushes at him, knocking him back with two rapid punches to the head. Xander tries to keep the other vampire at bay, dodging his fists which flow in rapid blows as he comes closer. Xander manages to land one punch then another before his fist is caught in a tight grip which squeezes his hand so hard he expects to hear the bones cracking above the sounds of Angel and the other vampire slamming into each other. Pain shoots up his arm, making him wince as the pressure increases unrelentingly and he instinctively falls to his knees, trying to get out of the hold.

His knees hit the pavement hard and his head feels suddenly very cloudy as a foot slams heavily into it. He grunts and moans in pain as he falls onto the pavement, his hand which a second ago was being crushed jolting in pain as it hits the pavement beneath him. Dust covers his palms.

Angel kneels and lifts him slowly to his feet. His head clears slowly while Angel looks him over.

'Are you o.k.?' Worry clouds his eyes as they rove over Xander's face.

Xander nods, which is all he can manage. His hand is throbbing like a bass drum in a carnival and he lifts it gingerly, letting it hang limp at the wrist as he tries to keep from revealing how much pain he is in.

Angel takes his hand gently in his and holds it, his fingers pressing very lightly on his skin, and Xander shivers despite himself. Angel's touch is worth a dozen of those fights, and he closes his eyes, torn between the pain and the pleasure.

'No bones broken,' Angel says quietly, still holding onto his hand. He continues to rub it gently, and Xander feels the pain seeping away like water through a plughole, slowly at first and then in one final swirl and rush. A warm feeling starts at the top of his chest and spreads rapidly down his body, stirring his agile extremities.

'You're shivering.' Angel lowers Xander's hand slowly, almost reluctantly, and removes his heavy, long coat. 'Here, let me put this around you,' and he reaches his arms around Xander slowly, drawing closer as he places it around his shoulders. He remains close, adjusting the collar, pulling it up around Xander's neck, and Xander shivers even more, unable to speak as he feels a hand brush against his skin. He hunches his shoulders reflexively but drops them immediately as Angel's fingers are briefly trapped against his neck. He groans aloud when Angel presses his fingers into his shoulders, gently but with a firm pressure.

'Let's walk.' And Angel turns with him as they walk off slowly, neither one speaking. Xander, because he cannot find the words to express what he is feeling, and because Angel is the last person he would tell. Last person plus one, he tells himself silently. Angel is silent because he is Angel. And because touching Xander has affected him more than he knows it should.

*****
Please Interlude - Love's Bitch

'You're shivering.' Angel lowers Xander's hand slowly, almost reluctantly, and removes his heavy, long coat.

'I don't know why,' and Xander looks deep into Angel's eyes, eyes the color of melting chocolate with a softness that matches the feelings in his heart, 'You make me so hot.'

Angel's eyes shoot smouldering sparks into his and Xander opens his mouth to speak, to retract the mad, foolish, careless words he has long kept buried in the deepest recesses of his young, tender heart, his betraying heart that had never dared to reveal the wild passion that blazed there like a beacon, signalling abandon to any brave enough and desperate enough to follow.

Xander's words are gently stilled by cool fingertips on his trembling lips and a shudder envelops his entire being, his innocent heart beating in violent shame against his chest as realization dawns. He will drive this God away! This Adonis whom he has worshipped from afar for many years, this valiant, honorable, tortured, buff creature before him. These are the fingers he has dreamed of many nights in his basement, nights of torment racked with guilt for the heart-wrenching desire he held for his best friend's love, this demon lover for whom he has howled deep within his soul, sleepless beneath the moon, knowing that he was doomed to spend the rest of his days in fruitless longing for this most tender prize.

'I think you're hot too, dude,' Angel whispers, lips quivering, overcome by an emotion he has never experienced in two hundred years of breaking the proudest hearts of Europe. The soft, sensuous lips trembling beneath his fingertips pulse with warm life, promising a bliss he has never dared dream was possible, a bliss that he thought he would never find, never, not even in California, which was famed all over the world for its beautiful populace. Those tender lips have just uttered words more powerful even than the strongest incantations of the Marabouts, a magic spell that will bind his soul for all eternity in a thraldom to which he submits willingly. He leans closer, the scourge of Europe now broken on the rack of Love, wanting, needing desperately to take a sip from the honeyed lips of nectar divine, and yet he cannot, no dare not, for fear, foolish fear. Had Xander not just admitted that he, Angel, made him hot? Not wanting to reveal the depths of torment his ancient soul is suffering in wild hope and desperate confusion, he stutters...

'Here, let me put this around you,' and he reaches his arms around Xander slowly, drawing closer as he places it around his shoulders.

Countless were the Countesses left Countless by this Devil's Spawn as he raged in wild abandon, devouring the many who fell under the spell of his bewitching beauty, and these torturous memories flood his mind, threatening to overwhelm the dam of emotion now full in his dead, cold heart. Angel has to fight the demon in his soul that whispers vile, unmentionable things to him, tempting him to take this tender mortal in his arms and ravage him, to plunder his deepest secret places with a crazed ferocity deaf to his pleas and supplications, and blood-lust like a forest fire licks wickedly at the sturdy trunk of his resolve.

He remains close, adjusting the collar, pulling it up around Xander's neck, and Xander shivers even more, unable to speak as he feels a hand brush against his skin.

The touch of soft skin creates an unbearable pressure in the pit of Angel's stomach, or maybe it is lower, a pressure that demands release. Animal passion clouds his mind as he feels Xander tremble beneath his touch and he leans closer, making the cause of his discomfort felt. Xander feels it and senses his own need rising rapidly, a tower of passion filled with the ripe seed of love.

He hunches his shoulders reflexively but drops them immediately as Angel's fingers are briefly trapped against his neck. He groans aloud when Angel presses his fingers into his shoulders, gently but with a firm pressure.

He reaches down and takes firm hold of Angel, who mutters 'Fuck,' under his breath and Xander sucks the word from his lips, daring his presumptuous tongue to caress Angel's mouth, to seek out the sweet promise, feels his wetness as his love responds.

'Suck me,' and Xander falls to his knees in heathen worship of Beelzebub's Child as many before him have done, uttering guttural ululations of rapture as he swallows firm demon flesh in an Unholy Eucharist. Xander is lost now, gripped by the demon who has filled his mind, his soul, his mouth, who writhes above him in the throes of vilest passion.

No-one is near to hear the unnatural howls as the demon overtakes Angel, no-one to see as he pulls Xander's head back and showers him with a cool baptism of demon wetness while Xander, overcome, comes with a gushing hot force over himself.

Somewhere, a telephone rings. Xander looks up at the face of his new master, but woe and anguish! He has disappeared, vanished with the light of dawn seeping through the windows of his basement room...

Alas, dear reader, it was but a dream... but a dream....

*****
Part 3:

'Hey, Giles! Keeping it real as usual, I see.' Xander breezed into the room past the retired librarian holding a cup of tea, so he missed the slightly miffed look that followed him.

'Xander, you're late. If you must insist on perpetual tardiness, at least have the decency to inform others so they don't wait around at your beck and call.'

'And that translated into English would be?'

Giles took a deep breath in exasperation. 'If you're going to be late, pick up the 'phone.'

'Gee, Giles, you know, an ordinary passer-by would mistake you for a guy drinking a cup of tea because he has nothing better to do now that someone else is dusting his books. Anyway, you called me, and I'm not going to thank you for it. I was having one hell of a dream when the 'phone woke me up.'

Xander remembered the shock as the telephone had invaded the raunchy dream he was having, getting down with the buff one. As he leaned over to pick up the telephone he had felt the wetness around his thighs and felt a momentary regret that he had not been awake to take care of it. It had turned cold and clammy as he listened to Giles' voice berating him for being late. On his way over to the former Watcher's house he had replayed the events of the previous night with Angel. They had parted outside his house on good terms, with things definitely left unsaid by him. The little bonding session they had experienced dusting the three vampires had relaxed the tension between them, had allowed Angel to show a little tenderness when his hand was hurt. All he remembered of that was Angel's touch, the light pressure of his fingers as they tested for broken bones. He also remembered the awkwardness between them when Angel had wrapped him in his coat. He wondered to himself how much of that was himself, whether the vampire had felt responsible for him and if that was the cause of his sudden transformation from starer to carer.

Giles cut in on his thoughts as he walked to the kitchen with his cup. 'Would you like a cup of tea?' he asked, passing, and Xander surprised himself when he accepted. It was still morning. Well, it was still morning somewhere in the world, he corrected himself, but it was a bright day and he was still on a high from the dream and the memory of his long walk with Angel.

Xander got up from the couch where he had thrown himself and looked around the room, hearing the tinkering of the older man as he prepared his umpteenth cup of tea that day. He wandered over to the small stereo on a shelf against one wall and looked at the compact discs stacked along the length of the shelf beside it. He was not surprised to see that they were arranged alphabetically and he had a momentary temptation to move some of them and add a little more excitement to the man's day. From the names that he did recognize he guessed that Giles liked nothing better than to sit with a cup of tea and play at conducting. He chuckled to himself as he looked among the discs, noticing a couple of composers and one disc titled 'Rule Britannia,' which he thought the staid British man would probably listen to until it wore out. 'Rule America,' he mused to himself, 'Rule Iceland. America Rules. Sweden Kicks Ass.'

'What?' Giles wandered into the room with a cup in each hand.

'Oh, nothing, just checking out the discs. I'm guessing that rap ho's don't do it for you, am I right?'

Giles ignored him as he handed him the cup of tea. 'Just don't damage them,' he said. 'I've had those for a number of years, and they are all very special. I don't want to have to clean your fingerprints off them.'

'Whoa, big guy, I'm glad you warned me off!' Xander replied. 'You know, you could have taught Corleone a thing or two about threatening behavior, phew!' Xander enjoyed sparring with him, especially when they both spoke at odds, enjoying the way their conversations drifted erratically as one would deliberately misunderstand the other.

'Yes, well, I wouldn't expect you to appreciate good music. I know you,' Giles continued, 'it's all beer and beards with you youngsters.'

'Do you have any Ray Charles?'

Giles looked up in surprise and a look of happiness crossed his face. Maybe Xander was not such a lost cause after all.

'Do I have any Ray Charles? Xander, any self-respecting music lover has Ray Charles. The man is a God! He's a brilliant lyricist, stylist, arranger, pianist, singer. Did you know...'

'Whoa, whoa!' Xander held up one hand, taking a sip of tea as he did so. 'I just wondered, I didn't really want the full 4-11.'

Giles looked at him in resignation and a sigh escaped his lips. 'Yes, Xander, I 'have' Ray Charles. Any particular album? I didn't know you were a fan.'

'I'm not, but I heard a song on the radio,' Xander fibbed. 'Something like, "You don't know me" or something like that.'

'Ah yes,' and Giles' eyes took on a distant look as he smiled and said, 'You give your hand to me, and then you say, "Hello." And I can hardly speak, my heart is beating so...'

Xander gulped on his tea. 'What?'

'Well, those are the opening lyrics from the song. That was the one you heard?'

'I don't know, I can't remember,' Xander said, suddenly agitated. 'It's called "You Don't Know Me", right? And it's definitely by Ray Charles?'

'Well, it's sung by him, but yes, that is the song.'

Xander took a deep breath. 'Can I borrow it?'

Giles opened his mouth to protest, but Xander jumped in before he could speak. 'I promise I won't damage it or in any way defile its discness. I just really liked it, but I didn't get to hear all of it but, you know, it sounded cool.' He suddenly wanted desperately to hear the song, but he couldn't. Not with Giles sitting beside him while he thought of Angel and his hands. No doubt Giles would want to interrupt to inform him of some nuance that he was missing, ruining the whole thing. He knew it was low, but he pitched it anyway.

'It just occurred to me when I heard it on the radio, how much great stuff there is out there that you never get to hear, you know? It's all ads and yadda yadda yadda.' He looked up and saw the avuncular look on Giles' face as he beamed down at him. Strike!

'As long as you return it in good condition,' Giles said, walking to the long line of discs. He was secretly pleased that the youngster was finally showing some adult taste, but he was a monkey's uncle if he would let him see that. He envisioned long discussions with Xander about the merits of country music. He wondered if Xander knew that the great Dusty had recorded in Memphis.

'I will,' said Xander as he breezed past, taking the disc from Giles' hand and replacing it with the empty teacup. 'I'll bring it back as soon as I can, believe me.'

'But Xander, you've only just arrived.'

'I know, but I really, really need to listen to this,' he said, and Giles sighed and visibly relaxed.

'O.k. But I expect to see you back here later when the others arrive.' He was beyond thrilled now. He started thinking of which other discs he could lend the young chap. Maybe some Van Morrison, he thought. If he likes Ray Charles, he'll definitely like Van Morrison. He turned back to root through the line of discs, humming distractedly to himself as Xander closed the door behind himself.

*****