Title: 86'ed.
Summary: Post Humble Me. Xander's in Madagascar with Riley, Sam and... Spike. Don't ask. You really don't want to know. That was 2 years ago. Same people, different place.
Rating: M.
Disclaimer: I bow down before Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. And also Bryan Adams, just cause Heaven is playing on the radio right now... But in all seriousness, I own nothing but Gravis, Little T (whom I grudgingly share with Norah Jones) and Manny.
Pairings: Faith/Buffy, Spike/Xander (slight), Riley/Sam, Sam/Manny (implied)
You guys who review (you know who you are!) are nothing short of incredible. To thepeeps who stood by HM, thanks again.
A. N. I'd like to thank Buffalo Charlie's Bar and Grill, the restaurant where I got my first real job, for introducing me to the wonderful term '86' or the verb, 'to eighty-six' as in, 'eighty-sixed.' Too bad the joint closed down… Jr, T-Bird, KBear; I miss you guys!
A. N. 2. After a whole while of procrastinating and a few pages (few! ha!) of littered proof paper, I've finally settled. Hope you enjoy it.
Ages (vaguely)—2 years post HM:
Xander, Buffy, Sam: 34 yrs.
Riley, Spike: 37 yrs (if Spike was supposed to be 28 forever… not canon!) I took this from his wonderful little 'I've been alive a little longer than you and dead a lot longer than that' speech.
Faith: 33 yrs.
Manny: 29 yrs.
Teresa: 8 yrs.
According to KBear: When you run out of something, you write it on the big board with the '86' on it. So let's say we run out of… of… um, Tabasco sauce, we yell it out 'Tabasco; 86!' then we write it down. Easy peasy.
XANDER
Terry's shouting something in my ear, but I can't make out the words 'cause I'm running so fast. Running like the gazelles I see almost everyday from my bedroom window. I've got Terry perched on my shoulders as I will my legs to give'em their all. Eat my dust Tom Cruise.
"48 seconds." Spike says as he stops the watch and gives me one of his annoying little shit faced grins. "I win."
I sink to my knees, trying my best to catch my breath and let Teresa jump down onto the soft green grass. She walks over to where Spike is standing before giving him the funniest look I've ever seen from any four year old.
"Uncle Spike…" She warns as he dramatically brings his hand to his chest in a mocking fashion.
"Bloody hell," He mutters, making a show of rolling his blue eyes, "we won."
We all hear Buffy's distant "Spike! Language!" from the open kitchen window and both of us crack up in laughter. Terry giggles into her small hands.
Buffy doesn't laugh though, when we walk inside for dinner, decorated with dirt and grass stains all over the place. Spike's even got some random dandelion leaf in his hair.
"What were you three doing?" She asks, clearly exasperated, as she picks out the green from his hair.
Terry gives her the "I'm innocent" look that we taught her and it makes Buffy smile. A smile that almost reaches her eyes—something that, I bet, Terry does not see often.
"Please tell me you're seeing what I'm seeing."
Spike's voice is scratchy at the crack of dawn, and it makes Xander shiver. In irritation? In annoyance? In delight? He's not too sure. All he knows is that it makes him shudder every morning.
The strap to his eye patch is loose again, and his thick fingers are struggling to make it tighter. Finally, he gives up and throws it to Spike for him to fix. However, Spike is still staring out the window, and the eye patch hits him in the back of the head. He pays no heed to it and Xander stifles a laugh.
"See what?" He says, making his way to the window, and throwing a glance outside.
Spike doesn't answer, just lets Xander study the scenery a little more. A wandering goat, three tumbling… tumbleweeds and a lone baobab tree in the distance. Xander sighs and shields his good eye from the rising sun.
"A two dimensional goat, three tumbleweeds and a tree. That's all." He says, as he bends down to pick up his eye patch, but his depth perception isn't what it used to be, and it takes him a few tries before he succeeds.
"You're sure?" Spike asks, as he takes the offered eye patch, letting his slender, experienced fingers work the strap.
Xander shrugs and fits the band around his head before taking another look.
"Certain."
"As certain as the sun rising in the East?"
Xander snickers as he playfully punches the blonde's shoulder.
"Okay Peabo." He says, chuckling.
Spike gives him a serious glare before slowly shaking his head in despair.
"M'going to ring the Finnish Flash." He says, walking out of the room. "Take your time, Al."
Xander's chuckles die down as he bends down to lace up his boots. He can feel the warm sun hit him onhis back and he takesa moment to relish the slight breeze coming in from the open window.
"Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, Beauty and the…" He mutters in a jaunty tune as he stretches out and looks out the window again. Certain as the sun rising in the East.
His chocolate brown eye grows wide as realization hits him square in the face.
"As certain as the sun rising in the West?" He says, but no one is around to hear him.
Xander sits and wonders when exactly it was when he became a victim to routine. It used to be so easy. Get up whenever. Eat when hungry. Lame joke here. Well-timed funny there. Sleep. Repeat as needed. Now his routine is a tad more complicated.
"I'm afraid this matter falls into the metrological side of things." Giles clipped tone booms from the speakerphone. "Xander?"
Xander? Metrological? Really? Stay calm. Xander blinks and starts to panic. This isn't routine, he thinks rapidly. He looks around the office, frantic, trying to read the others' faces. Sam's got a cigarette perched carelessly on her lips as she checks her nails, clearly interested in the matter at hand, but as usual, refraining from showing it. Ry's running his hand through his long hair over and over again and Xander finally realizes why there's Rogaine hidden away in the drug cabinet in the washroom. Spike, on the other hand, is staring at the phone, clearly waiting for him to answer.
"Xander?" Giles repeats from the comfort of his home in Bath. "Are you there?"
"I'm here."
"Well? What do you think?"
"I have a question concerning the tides." The tides? Where the hell did that come from?
There's a pause as everyone plays this over in their minds.
"Xander. The moon didn't rise in the West. The sun did." Sam says, still picking at her nails.
Xander narrows his eye and tries his best to give her an annoyed glance, and ends up failing miserably. Instead, he settles for an air of indifference.
"But… If the sun rises on the wrong side, what will happen to the moon?" Riley asks no one in particular as he untangles a few stray hairs from his fingers.
When no one comes up with an answer, Xander determines that maybe, just maybe, they should be letting real meteorologists take care of this one. Not everything is centred on impending doom and the Bruce Campbell, he thinks miserably.
"I've got the President on the emergency line and the Royal Phone has been ringing off the hook. I don't think this has anything to do with us, but…" Giles trails off tiredly. "… No matter, I'm sending Emmanuelle and Faith over your way. They uncovered something that might or might not be related to this, and I want them to have a further look."
"We'd be glad to have them again." Riley saysbefore he and Giles exchange the flight informationand terminates the call.
Sam's on her sixth cigarette—Xander's been counting—and it's only eight thirty in the morning. When he first joined Riley and Sam, she only used to do it casually: an after-dinner smoke maybe twice a week or a whisky tipped Colt on Saturday afternoons… Funny how things work. Xander thinks about how people in prison start smoking because they have nothing else to do and wonders if Sam feels like a prisoner here in Africa.
He and Sam had some sort of falling out a few years back; about what, he doesn't really remember. All he knows is that they barely speak unless they're trading jabs.
So. Sam's on her sixth cigarette, blowing smoke from her nostrils in the warm breeze, and Xander and Spike are sitting next to her, silently drinking their coffee.
All of them staring at the sun. All of them staring westbound. All of them amazed.
"Does this mean the Earth's rotating the wrong way?" Sam asks, and Xander sees Spike shrug.
"Who the hell knows."
"Think it has something to do with Teresa?" Xander asks them, knowing Spike will be the one supplying the answer.
"Who the hell knows." He repeats, and then under his breath, adds, "Let's hope not."
"You going to pick up the dynamic duo? 'Cause I'd like to join—" Sam starts, but Spike breaks in.
"Uncle Al is going." He says. "Ask him."
She sighs and stubs the butt in an ashtray, and it makes Xander squirm in his wicker chair.
"When are you leaving?"
"In a few hours." He answers. "If you're coming, I'm driving."
She nods reluctantly before getting up and making her way indoors. Xander smirks in Spike's direction.
"Fucker." He says and Spike grins.
"What can I say? Didn't feel like going anymore."
Xander smiles and props one foot on the small patio table, and takes the time to relax before Faith and Manny arrive. He casts his good eye towards Spike and studies him as he's done countless times before.
Spike gave up the peroxide shortly after he arrived in Madagascar, due to the fact that bleach was so hard to come by and so very expensive. So his naturally brown hair slowly became bleached blonde with the sun's help and Xander can't help but notice that it makes his eyes twinkle a little more than before.
Where Riley, Sam and Xander had tanned, Spike, despite wearing thick layers of sun block, had burnt, flaked and freckled exceedingly. Xander still remembers the first time he had to apply Solarcaine to the blonde's back. Still remembers; heck who is he kidding? He'll never forget it.
To help keep cool, all four of them decided on wearing white button down shirt uniforms. It soils easily, but Xander likes them. He likes them, but he knows that Spike doesn't. White is the colour of purity and everything innocent-like and he knows Spike would be more comfortable in anything but white.
But he doesn't say anything and it makes him feel selfish; selfish because he enjoys seeing Spike dressed in white. He tries, unconvincingly, to tell himself that he enjoys it because he thinks it's refreshing, inspirational even; but he knows that's not the reason. He knows there's another explanation as to why he likes to look at Spike wearing a white unbuttoned shirt flowing freely in the wind… But he's chosen to ignore it. For now.
Xander sees Faith maybe three times a year. At Christmas, for Terry's birthday and sometimes for work. He knows little of what happened between her and Buffy, and he prefers to keep it that way. All he knows is that they're back together again, and life is good for the two Slayers.
Faith is driving—speeding—down the beat up dirt road, effectively coating Xander's black Tacoma with a thick layer of dust. She has this unwritten rule where she refuses to be in any vehicle being operated by a one-eyed man, and even though Xander pretends to be hurt by it, he actually enjoys it when she's behind the wheel. The ride becomes a tad more exhilarating.
He hasn't seen her in about 5 months or so, and it shows. It's always hard to forget what someone like Faith looks like, but every time he sees her again, he always manages to find something new; something he had never noticed before. And this time is no different.
She's wearing her usual Randolph aviator sunglasses, a white tee, dangerously low fitted black cargo pants and worn out Chanel motorcycle boots. She can still make a man drool, and Xander is still a man. He wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb and fiddles with his seat belt while she races down the road, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake.
"How's Gravis?" He asks casually, casting a glance behind him where Sam and Manny are talking up a storm from their seat in the cab.
Faith shrugs and gives him a sidelong leer.
"You asking 'bout him before you asking 'bout Terry or Buffy? The shame." She laughs as she brings the sun visor down. "Damn this sun setting in the East."
He laughs with her and sways his head lightly.
"Sorry. How're my darling girls?"
This time Faith gives him a wink and mouths the word 'whipped' before answering.
"Good. Little T's almost done grade 3, an' B's pushin' the principal for her to skip grade 4 altogether." She says, and Xander just waits, turning his head to give her an 'and?' look.
"And Gravis is doing good." She adds, rolling her eyes, letting a chuckle escape her lips.
"How's he adjusting to the whole male role model thingamajig?" He asks, finally getting to the question he's been dying to ask. Father figure. Not that I'm jealous, or anything.
Faith frowns ever so slightly before shifting the truck into fifth gear.
"Lovin' it." Is all she says, and Xander wonders if there's anything there. A conflict, or something.
He gives her a weak smile before looking out again. Buffy had asked Xander and Spike to be Terry's pseudo fathers when Faith had left, but they both had to decline seeing as how they both lived so far away. It hadn't been an easy decision for both of them, and it left Buffy reluctantly turning to Andrew; a move that still has its ongoing consequences: Terry's been known to conduct in-depth comparisons between Captain Mal and Han Solo on more than a few occasions.
When Gravis and Faith parted ways amicably, Buffy quickly offered him the role, and he had readily accepted.
"Did you get something to replace that ole jalopy yet?" He asks, easily changing the subject, and this gets Faith's whole and undivided attention.
"Black '15 Turbo Forester with tinted windows." She gushes with pride and it makes him laugh genuinely.
"A Subaru?" He teases. "Buffy wasn't too fond of the idea of you getting a side car for the bike, huh?"
"Fuck off." She says, throwing him a taunting smile.
Xander smiles back and sinks deeper in his bucket seat before closing his good eye in comfort. The sun may have risen in the West, having caused a great deal of panic throughout the world, but Xander feels like he's the calmest he's ever been, and he can't quite put his finger on why.