KingOfTheHighway

Disclaimer: The characters and situations connected to Buffy the Vampire Slayer are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the WB network. No connection or ownership by the author is suggested or implied. It's not very accurate about motorcycles, either.

Note: This is a follow-up to "Xander and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" and takes place after Season 3 while it was still assumed Xander was road-tripping. I also based some of the story on the ANGEL spoilers, so if you don't wanna know them, don't read any further.

Archive- Sure, but email me and let me know where it�s going.

Feedback- Absolutely.

*******************

Xander Harris was not what one would call a religious man, but sitting in the waiting room of the Los Angeles garage where they were attempting to diagnose his Yamaha, he found himself deep in petitioning prayer.

Please God, he thought, don't let it be anything serious. I only have a hundred and thirty miles to Sunnydale, she's been a cherry all summer, please, please, please let it be something cheap.

The mechanic came into the waiting room, wiping his hands on an already filthy rag. His face was grim. Xander looked up, trying not to let the fear show in his eyes.

"What is it," Xander asked.

"Piston broke," the mechanic replied.

Yeah, thought Xander, me too. He swallowed hard. "What's the damage?"

"Four hundred dollars."

Xander felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. He had less than twenty in his pocket. He told himself to stay calm. "And when will she be ready," he said, his voice only squeaking slightly.

"Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest."

The kick in the stomach spread out to Xander's chest and groin. Unsteadily he picked up his helmet and saddlebags. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said, and exited into the street. As he walked down the sidewalk, briskly though he had no destination, he swore extravagantly under his breath. He was in L.A., needed cash and a place to crash. Unfortunately he could only think of one person.

**********

He had been sitting in the diner for almost four hours, waiting for Cordelia to call back. Not that he had any guarantee that she would. He had spoken to her answering service three times, carefully explaining who he was, where he was, what the number was, and the desperation of his situation. As of forty-three minutes ago, Miss Chase had not picked up her messages. As of six minutes ago the counter girl had informed him that he would either have to buy something other than coffee in the next ten minutes, or clear out for a paying customer. She had been singularly unsympathetic to his plight. No tip for her, Xander thought.

He was just considering what to do next when he saw the door of the diner swing open by itself in the mirror over the kitchen's bus window. He spun around just in time to see Angel approaching.

"Xander Harris," Angel said jovially, "I'll be damned."

"That's the rumor," Xander murmured. "How's it going, dead boy?"

Angel smiled wryly as he slid into the seat beside Xander. "Well, I'm not stranded with a broken motorcycle, like some people."

Xander gave a dry, mirthless laugh. "You picked up Cordelia's messages," he said.

"It's actually the business number," Angel explained, glancing around the diner and at the waitress, who was glaring at them both. "Let's go somewhere a little less... reflective, and I'll tell you all about it." He dropped a ten-spot onto the counter and the two of them hurried out and climbed into Angel's car.

"How is Cordy," Xander asked they drove.

Angel made a very strange sound, and after a moment Xander realized he was actually laughing. And not a polite ha-ha either, a full-on belly laugh. "How is Cordelia," Angel repeated through his chuckling, "Wherever shall I begin?"

Xander found himself laughing at the possibilities, and said, "on second thought, never mind. I have the feeling that story alone would take more time than I have. Business going well for you?"

Angel grew serious again. "Well, it's hard to say," he said, "it's not really something I can quantify easily." They had stopped in front of a seedy-looking building. "The office is here," Angel said. "Let's go up."

The building was old, with faded linoleum floors and peeling plaster walls, a stark contrast to the shiny new buildings in the rest of L.A. "Cordelia's out auditioning," Angel said as they entered, "who knows how long she'll be gone." He flipped on the light, illuminating the equally seedy office. There was a groan from a blanket-covered lump on the sofa. "Get up," Angel said, "We have company."

A ragged young man crawled out from under the blanket, moaning pitifully and covering his eyes with his hand. Xander recognized the signs: killer hangover. "Do you have to shout?" the man said.

Angel was leafing through the stack of mail on the desk. "Xander, this is Doyle," he said, "my partner. Doyle, Xander Harris, one of Sunnydale's native sons."

"Charmed," Doyle said.

"He needs a place to sleep tonight," Angel went on. "I'm letting him have the couch."

"Yeah, whatever," Doyle said. "We have work anyway." He yawned and moved towards the door. "I need to wake up," he said. "I'm going for an espresso. I'll be back. Nice meeting you, Xander."

Xander nodded. "Likewise."

As soon as Doyle had left, Angel looked up at Xander. "How's Buffy," he
said.

Xander smiled ruefully. It had obviously taken supreme force of will on the vampire's part to not ask that question back at the diner, and Xander's heart went out to him a little. Truthfully, he had no idea, not having seen her in three months. "She's good," he lied, "she's getting along. Getting ready for college. You know."

"Yeah," Angel said faintly, then he seemed to come back to earth. "I hope you don't mind the office sofa," he said, "I could let you stay at my apartment, but I didn't think you'd..."

"No," Xander said, "this is fine." He hesitated. "Uh, did the service
mention..."

"Yeah," Angel said quickly. "How much did you..."

"About four hundred. I'll pay you back," he added.

"Don't worry," Angel said.

"I want to," Xander replied, and Angel nodded.

"Don't tell Cordelia," he said. "We're tight here as it stands, and you know how she is."

Xander nodded. "Oh, yeah," he said.

Angel gathered a few things out of the desk and headed for the door. "I'll catch up with Doyle at the coffee stand," he said. "Lock the door behind me. Feel free to, you know, make yourself at home."

"You got it," Xander said, trying to sound cheerful.

When Angel was gone, he shut off the lights in the office and by the city illumination filtering in the window crept into the sofa, and began to doze.

**********

A paper rustled. There was the faint *tink* of a glass being set down.

Xander snapped awake, staring into the darkness. He lay still, straining to hear... something. A breath. A body shifting on a chair. Nothing. Oddly, for the first time since leaving Sunnydale, he felt on familiar ground. A pen tip scratched quickly and lightly over the surface of a page.

"I'm awake," Xander announced to the darkness.

"I know," came Angel's voice, and Xander felt his insides turn to water with fear. As much as he tried, he could never trust a vampire.

"What time is it," Xander asked, trying to calm himself down.

"Almost three," Angel replied. "Relax, I'm just doing some paperwork. Don't get excited."

"I'm not excited," Xander snapped.

Angel grunted. "If you say so."

"As long as we're both awake," Xander said casually, "how about putting on a light?"

The desk lamp clicked on, and Xander shifted to get a clear view of the desk. Angel looked bad, his eyes haunted, his face drawn and tense. His skin, always pale, had taken on a greyish cast.

"You okay, man?" Xander said.

Angel sighed. "It's so hard," he replied. "I keep forgetting that just because I'm doing the right thing, I don't always get to win." He was quiet for a long time. "And seeing you," he said finally, "makes me realize how much I miss Buffy."

"I'm sorry," Xander said, surprised himself that he meant it.

Angel snapped off the light, then, without a sound of his movement, Xander heard his voice at the door. "Don't tell her how much," Angel said. "She has to be strong. She has to go on." There was a pause. "I don't think I ever thanked you properly for saving her life. When she drowned. I should have known then that we were too different."

"Don't," Xander said. "We're cool. I appreciate you helping me out."

There was no answer, and the door clicked closed.

**********

"God, Doyle, don't you have a bed?"

The voice cut into Xander's sleep like a hot needle in his eye. He sat up and saw a woman's back as she moved around the office, gathering trash and straightening furniture.

"Cordelia," Xander said.

She spun around, saw him, and screamed. "Who are you," she demanded, "what are you doing here?"

"Easy, Cordy," Xander said, "it's me."

Cordelia squinted at him. "Xander?"

Xander smiled warmly. "Good to see you again," he said.

Cordelia pressed her fingers to her nose. "Oh God," she said, "you smell like you slept in a dumpster."

Xander rolled his eyes and stood up. Cordelia stared at him. "What happened to you," she said, "were you in jail?"

"You know," Xander said, "some women find the romance of the road attractive."

"Who," Cordelia retorted, "truck drivers and prison matrons?"

Xander shook his head with disgust. "Bathroom?" he said.

Cordelia pointed. "Don't mess it up," she said tartly.

Xander washed as well as he could and changed his T-shirt. When he re-entered the office, Cordelia had straightened the room, whisked away all the trash, and removed the blanket to somewhere. She was sitting at the desk now, carefully going through the paperwork Angel had left the night before. In spite of himself, Xander's heart beat faster at the sight of her, so self-assured and put together.

"Can I use the phone," he asked.

"Is it a local call?"

Xander smiled. "Yes."

"Well, okay then," she said grudgingly.

Xander called the garage and was told he could pick up his bike at two, and the bill came to three hundred and seventy dollars. Wow, Xander thought, I'm thirty bucks ahead. He'd have to find a way to make it up to Angel. He glanced up at Cordelia, now looking a little confused at the various invoices strewn on the desk.

"Listen," Xander said, leaning down to her, "I understand there's a coffee stand somewhere nearby. Why don't you let me buy you a hazelnut decaf latte? That's still your favorite, isn't it?"

Cordelia took a sharp breath, as though gearing up to make a cruel remark, then let it out again in a deep sigh. "You know what," she said, "that'd be great." She stood, grabbed her purse and the keys and led him from the office. "So what DID happen to you," she said as they walked down the hall, "you look like a mental patient. Seriously..."

Main Menu ~ Return to Stand Alone Menu