Xander's thumb was stiff and sore. It felt like it might drop off at any second. This was ridiculous. He'd been standing here, accosted by the dusty prairie wind, for over an hour now, and as the rusted cars and hulking rigs sped by, no one had been charitable enough to offer him a ride.

Okay, maybe he couldn't blame them. With his black eye patch, two days' growth of beard, and slept-in clothes, he looked like every driver's worst nightmare, the psychotic hitchhiker waiting to rip out a knife and slash them to pieces.

With a weary sigh, he decided that standing here, waiting for providence or a good Samaritan, was pointless. He patted the shiny red hood of his beloved vehicle. "Don't worry, Anya," he whispered. "I'll come back for you. I'll walk to the nearest town, find us a tow truck, and before you know you'll be good as new, and we can hit the road again."

His heart was heavy and he couldn't decide whether it remained in his chest or if it had sunk to his feet. The mustard sun grinned devilishly above as he trudged along the roadside. Soon, he was sticky with sweat and feeling altogether disgruntled. He tried to motivate himself with a little round of singing, but it didn't seem to help much. He was puffing his way through "On the Road Again," when the pickup slowed down beside him.

Xander didn't think most trucks that age had automatic windows, but before he knew it the glass had slipped down and a smooth voice was asking him: "Need a ride?"

There was something off-kilter about the smiling, shaggy-haired man. He was older than Xander, but still fairly young. He looked nice enough but there was an aura behind those luminous light eyes that raised Xander's hackles, brought up goose bumps he hadn't felt since the destruction of Sunnydale.

He felt a sharp, foreign thrill. He had forgotten how alluring danger could be. Plus, his feet hurt. And some scumbag could be hotwiring Anya at this very moment, as he stood there frozen.

"A ride would be great," he said with a quaking smile. The door swung open. Xander hopped in.

The man was dressed casually in jeans and a simple white t-shirt, but he exuded as much power as if he were dressed in a impeccably tailored suit. A guitar seat sat in the middle of the bench seat. The driver eyed it, then hoisted it effortlessly to the space behind the seats. "Sorry about that," he purred. "Settle on in." He held out his hand. "My name's Lindsey."

His hand was soft, but not womanly. There were gentle calluses from guitar playing and other work. His skin was warm against Xander's fingers. "Xander."

Xander was treated to a bone-chilling, heart-thumping, high voltage smile, a quick caress of his the side of his palm by skilled fingertips. "Nice to meet you, Xander. Where are you headed?"

After a lifetime of being a talker, a babbler, it was strange for Xander to find himself out of practice with speech, used only to hushed conversations with Anya the automobile, brief exchanges with hotel clerks and waitresses, the occasional long distance call on his battered cell phone. He told himself that was why it was hard to talk now, because he was so used to silence. It had nothing to do with the fact that Lindsey had yet to let go of his hand and Xander's pants were growing uncomfortably tight. Wasn't that the boy was so pretty and smelled like demons, California nights, ashes and all the evil he'd left behind.

"Just to the next town," he managed finally, his voice husky and rough. "My car broke down a little ways back, I just need to get a tow truck out, have her fixed somewhere, find a place to stay for the night."

"I think I saw your car," Lindsey remarked as he shifted into drive. "Surprised you've been walking all this way and no one's offered you a ride yet. World's a pretty evil, uncaring place sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Xander snorted. "Try all the time. But to be fair, I think it's the eye that scared them off. Makes me look like a deranged pirate. All I need is a talking parrot." The familiar joke made him think of the laugh-at-tragedy humor of Sunnydale, the Scoobies. He missed them. Maybe once he got this whole car crisis settled, he'd give Willow a call, or maybe Giles.

"It's not that bad," Lindsey said, flicking his eyes from the road to appraise Xander. "Suits you. Lends you a bit of mystery. I like it."

Is he... flirting with me? Xander thought. That's unexpected. It had been such a long time since he last felt a warm body in the night, since he awoke to sweat-soaked sheets and tangled limbs.

"How'd you lose it? If you don't mind my asking, that is."

"I don't mind." Xander pulled a story from the back of his mind, was ready to start with, "I was five and running with scissors," when he heard the truth spout from his lips. "This apocalyptic priest guy that worked for the First Evil scratched it out. Hurt like hell, but we beat him in the end."

God, what had compelled him to say that? The man would think he really was a lunatic and dump him out of the truck in disgust.

Lindsey chuckled. It was an uneasy sound, made the tiny hairs on Xander's arm stand on end. "Whoa. Sounds like quite a story." He glanced at Xander, could obviously see he was uncomfortable. "Hey, don't worry about it. I don't think you've lost it, or anything. Had some experience with the dark side, myself."

The dark side. It sounded very Star Wars. Xander liked it, wanted to whip out a light saber and challenge this Lindsey to a duel. Clash of battle, sweat and blood, knocked down to the floor, rolling like puppies at play, biting and scratching, rubbing together...

"Did you say something, Xander," Lindsey asked, his voice all innocence, syrupy as canned peaches.

"No," Xander mumbled. "Or, just, whoa. That's surprising. What do you mean by the dark side?"

"Oh, you know. Vampires, demons, other denizens of the night. Denizen is a good word, I like it." Lindsey seemed completely comfortable discussing this topic with a total stranger. There was a time when that wouldn't have seemed weird, when the paranormal was normal, but in the small world Xander had constructed for himself, the road paved with mediocrity, odd jobs and dull people, it was like a kick in the stomach that left him gasping for air.

"Asthma?" Lindsey asked.

"No, shock," Xander answered honestly.

"Fair enough." Lindsey smiled again, calmly, widely, scarily. The fucking Cheshire Cat had nothing on this man. "I'll change the subject, let you get more used to my freakish ways. Where are you from, Xander?"

"California."

"That's interesting. I lived for a couple years in LA myself." The smile turned sly, well, even more sly than it was before, as if they shared a secret. Xander found himself thinking of motel rooms, and not just as a place to spend the night. Maybe one of those beds where you put the quarter in and it would vibrate, although he had a feeling that when Lindsey pinned him down, there would be no need for mechanics to cause a vibration. Am I blushing? he thought. I must be blushing.

"I know some people in LA," he said frantically. "Demony type people. I wouldn't go so far as to call us friends---"

"I'm sure Angel would be disappointed to hear that opinion."

"I don't give a shit what Fang Boy thinks," Xander responded automatically. "I never trusted him much anyway and---" He realized what Lindsey just said. "What? How do you know about Angel?" This was getting downright creepy, yet at the same time oddly intriguing.

"Angel and I are old acquaintances. When we were," Lindsey paused, "working together, I made a point of knowing about his background. I learned all about Sunnydale and his relationship with the Slayer. There was a Xander Harris in the file. That would be you."

File. Xander's head was spinning. Lindsey was sounding downright sinister. The day was looking up. His heart was throbbing now, along with his cock. There would be fighting, or fucking, or both, just like in the old days. "I take it you're evil?" he asked casually. That would explain the cryptic "dark side" comment.

"Formerly evil," Lindsey admitted freely. "I used to be a lawyer for Wolfram and Hart. Big, nasty, satanic law firm. You may have heard of them?"

"Oh, sure, the company Angel and his gang of merry men have taken over."

"What?" Lindsey seemed genuinely shocked. "I think you've got the wrong Wolfram and Hart."

&quto;Ooh, so you don't know everything." Xander's voice was flirtatious. He clasped his hands together to resist reaching over, stroking Lindsey's thigh. "I'll tell you I'm positive it's the same Wolfram and Hart, but maybe I'll withhold the other details until you make it worth my while."

Lindsey took his eyes off the road. "I'm already giving you a ride, Xander. What more could I do to make it worth your while? No," his voice dropped, "I think I may have to torture this out of you. And look," he said brightly, changing the subject, here's the exit. "Gas, food, and lodging." He pulled onto the off ramp.

"Okay then," Xander exhaled as they entered the outskirts of a small town. "There's a gas station, looks like they have service, too. Probably a good place to start."

"Sure," Lindsey agreed. The station wasn't crowded. He pulled in along the decrepit-looking front side of the cement main building. "I'll leave you here."

It was over, then, questions left unanswered, desires left unfulfilled. Xander couldn't believe that Lindsey was giving up so easily. "I thought you wanted to know about Angel," he blurted.

Lindsey locked eyes with Xander, shrugged enigmatically. "There was a time when I would have paid far too much for the tiniest crumb of information on Angel. But right now? I can't really bring myself to give a shit. It was an empty time in my life. I let him become my obsession."

"Oh." Xander was left without an excuse. There was no reason for Lindsey to stay. He squeezed the door handle tightly, but couldn't bring himself to push it open. "Listen," he heard himself saying, "I don't believe in accidents. Of course, when you look at my life, that means that fate or destiny have given me the shaft but---"

"I don't think this meeting was an accident either." Lindsey cut him off. He turned the keys in the ignition, shifted the truck into park. "Two wanderers, exiled warriors, far away from fanged creatures and the plastic California landscape..." Lindsey's honey voice trailed off dramatically. "It's big, epic. The stuff romances are written about."

Xander laughed nervously. He was still gripping the door handle, and the metal was growing slick with sweat. He let go of it abruptly. "But usually, in romances, one character is male and the other female."

Lindsey looked pointedly at Xander's crotch. "I really don't think it matters." He ran an elegant finger along the seam, and Xander moaned, shivered delightedly as he felt his erection being traced through the denim.

"No," he agreed heartily, "doesn't matter at all."

"Good. Now why don't you go call a tow truck? After that we'll make... other arrangements."

Xander's body was humming with hope and desire. It had been such a long time since he felt either. "All right," he whispered, "I'd like that."

As he walked into the convenience store section of the station, Xander thought of the last scene in Casablanca. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Xander liked to hope so.