Chapter Two – A Ferocious Winter

Chapter Two – A Ferocious Winter

Steamy stripes wiggled in the space before Roger's cold, now gray eyes. He felt his skin tingle as the misty whips of sauna air lashed him relentlessly. Focusing all his emotions to the back of his mind, Roger felt only the steam's warm breath all over his body.

"I'm telling you, man," a disembodied voice declared through the moist sauna air. "All you need is one wild and crazy night to relax your nerves."

"I'm not tense," Roger insisted with strained calm.

"Oh no?" Suddenly, a hand leaped out from the fog, a grotesque claw lunging for the burly man's heaving chest. Roger's hand reacted on its own whim, grasping the mysterious hand by its wrist and wrenching it to the floor to reveal a pink figure in a white towel. "Not that tense, hmm?" Nathan clambered back onto the bench, straightening his towel.

"Okay, so maybe I'm a little stressed out, but it's all for good reason. I've got the most important job interview of my life tomorrow morning, bills I have to pay and a life to live all at the same time. And you expect me to just blow off all my responsibilities for quick sex?"

Nathan smiled. "The key word is quick."

Roger shook his head. The moist air clung to his body with persistence, mixing with a coat of sweat that clung to his body. "How is it possible that you are my friend, Nate?"

"I know. How did you ever get so lucky?" Roger cracked a smile then his big knuckles. His friend Nathan was a bit of a pain and very insistent about always having things his way, but so were all Xander's friends as well. And he wouldn't have it any other way, even if his friend's were pests.

The sauna door swung open, and the beautiful distraction from the racquetball game sauntered in as though she owned the place, seating herself next to Roger. Nate elbowed his buddy roughly, pushing Roger even closer to Lydia. Roger's naked leg bumped hers, and their eyes locked. "Uh, sorry about that. My friend here thinks I'm still in seventh grade, and he needs to make a fool of me because I can't get a girl's attention on my own."

"Oh, tell you're friend he definitely doesn't need to do that for you." Roger grinned appreciatively. Lydia thrust a hand out in front of her. "My name is Lydia."

"I know."

"You do?" she gasped, retracting her hand in surprise.

"He does," Nate finished.

"Everyone knows who you are. You're the prettiest lady in the gym," Roger commented strategically.

"And everyone knows you, Roger Winters, are the heartbreaker round these parts."

"So that's my reputation, huh?"

"Yup," Lydia informed, tossing her wet hair seductively over her milk-white shoulder. "So now I don't know whether to be flattered that you're talking to me or whether to be nervous."

Roger took a brief moment to smile to himself. All Xander's high school career girls refused to talk to him, refused to even look his direction. But five years later, after escaping the strangling talons of Sunnyhell, Roger Winters, a.k.a., Xander Harris, was the paragon of good-looking guys (at least by most women's standards). I guess that's what five good years at the gym will do for you, he commented to himself.

"Neither," Nate laughed through the curtain of steam. "You should feel honored."

Roger blushed furiously, feeling his grip on Lydia slip away. Why he even cared, he did not know, but for some reason she suddenly mattered. On cue, Roger smacked his "buddy" on his shoulder. "Quit making me out to be a pompous jerk, Nathan Jeremy!

"Don't listen to a word this goon says to you, Lydia. He's been pressuring me to… take care of a certain few things lately, so just ignore him."

Lydia nodded okay but then raised a questioning figure. "Well, if you're not a pompous jerk, then what are you, Mr. Winters?" The familiar feminine gleam that Xander used to see in Willow's and Buffy's eyes constantly illuminated Lydia's face.

"An over-stressed worry-wart with no sense of fun," Nate butted in, as was his obnoxious style.

Roger scowled, punching his companion in the shoulder again. Lydia unleashed a melodic laugh characteristic of little schoolgirls. The giggle danced on smoky wisps, twisting them with its musical fingers. When her laughter subsided, she announced, "That's not what I heard."

Roger raised an eyebrow. "Something about the way you said that…" He trailed off to wait for her reply.

"Oh, it's nothing really bad. I just heard from about, oh, I don't know, maybe 25 different women that you're a great date. But…"

"But?" Roger asked eagerly, his ego exploding like fireworks.

"But, it's only good for one night. After that you kinda disappear from their lives to leave them thinking you were merely 'shopping'."

Roger felt as though he was an inflatable raft, and somebody, namely Lydia, yanked his plug, letting loose all the air inside. "What a terrible thing to say!"

"So, it's not true?"

"No," he stuttered. "I guess I'm just fickle." Xander sighed to himself. How terribly true it was. There would be no other girl for him but Buffy Anne Summers. The proof was in his extensive list of dates spanning the last five years. From Abigail to Zelda (yes, even a Zelda), Roger had dated them all… just once, and that was because none of them could every compare to his Buffy. Buffy was perfection—unachievable for anyone else—although Roger had dated some women who came pretty close by all standards. "Fickle," he whispered. "That's all."

"Well, you seem like a nice enough guy to me, Roger. Maybe—just for one night, to help keep the tradition alive—we can get together." She grinned wickedly. "I have to say, I'm hoping to join your 'One-Night Stand' Fan Club."

Nate clapped his hands together excitedly. "Perfect! Now all the pieces fall into place…"

Roger narrowed his fiery eyes at his friend. "Zip it, motor-mouth. So, Lydia, what do you say to tonight, maybe? I'd love some company, and I think a little distraction from my job interview tomorrow may be in order."

Lydia smiled a smile reminiscent to that of Buffy's, leaving Roger with a jabbing feeling in his heart. For some reason, he felt like he was cheating on her, and that feeling had never occurred before. "Sounds to me that, indeed, a 'distraction' is necessary… When shall you pick me up?"

With a subtle bit of hesitance, he said, "Sevenish good for you?"

With a carefree nod, Lydia purred, "It's excellent."

"Well then, let's step out of my office here and exchange digits. I'll call for directions to your place tonight." Roger motioned for the door, and Lydia stepped through, smiling sexily.

The door slammed behind Roger, and all Nate could do in the sauna was sit there and grin at his triumphant matchmaking skills.

@~~`~~~

There was a soft rapping on Roger's bedroom door. "Uh, come in?" he asked more than informed. As Roger finished looping his tie around his neck, Nate's head appeared in the frame. "And what are you so giddy about, Mr. Fruling? It's not like you're going out on this date."

"Why can't I live vicariously through you?" Roger noticed his friend's sleek garb. Nathan wore a nice navy blue suit, pressed and proper. His face was cleanly shaved and his nails were even filed to a precise, uniform length. Every hair on his head was combed neatly into place and there was not a speck of lint on his body. This cleanliness and precision ran deeper in Nathan than most, for he had been sent to military school as an adolescent. The habits were there to stay in the young man now, and this was evident in the sharpness of his appearance.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

"Out on a date," Nate nonchalantly muttered, glancing over his cuticles for hangnails.

"Out where?"

"Can't tell ya, or I'd have to kill ya."

Roger was already tired of this game. "Come on, Nathan. If you're going to where I think you are, I'm telling you right know, you're as good as dead. I'll nail your ass to the top of the Chrysler Building! Lydia and I are going out alone, without interference from meddling fools who claim to be my best friend!"

There was a moment of silence for the mischievous grin that sneaked up on Nate's childish face. "I would never do that…"

"You have before."

"…Again," Nate finished, still smiling. He seated himself on the edge of Roger's feather bed and proceeded to pick the fuzz balls from his pants.

Sighing heavily, Roger ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his suit. He felt secure in his sable-colored ensemble; even his shoes matched. He rolled his shoulders under the soft fabric and cracked his neck, loosening up his body. Unsure of where the night would take him, Roger wanted to be ready for anything… anything. After looking himself over a few times, he called to his friend, "Hey, Nate, how do I look?"

Rising from the bed like a great bear, the youthful blonde walked quickly over to Roger's side with a long, smooth gait. "Like you're finally ready for some action. And I expect you to get some, too. If you come back to me without one good story about last night, I'll beat you black and blue." Nate patted Roger on the shoulder and pushed him to the door.

As Roger disappeared through the frame of his front door, he heard a voice from the back bedroom, where his friend was still tidying up (which he would probably do for another half-hour or so). "Oh, and buddy?"

"Yeah, Nate?"

Nathan's sandy head leaned out down the apartment's surprisingly wide hallway. "We need to have a talk soon." There was a moment's pause as Nate evidently fished about in his pockets for something. "About this."

Xander gasped. "Pummeling for Pie" was now in the hands of the unknown assailant out to strangle the last bit of his past he kept inside. In an almost trembling voice, Xander whispered, "We'll talk later." And with that curt promise, Roger was out of his apartment, racing toward to elevator.

@~~`~~~

Downtown New York City, where the streets were never still and the traffic never ceased sweeping up and down the roadways with fevered purrs of their engines. Lydia's rowhouse was situated on the curb of one of the few finely paved sidewalks left in the metropolis. Not large enough to emit a forbidding aura, instead, the brownstone building offered an elegant presence to the western fringe of Central Park. The brief lawn terminating sharply at the cement sidewalk was lined with a row of withered petunias, encapsulated in the grip of winter.

Roger, straightening his suit and closing the cab door behind him in a swift motion, stepped onto the path leading to the front door of the house. He coolly approached the entrance and rang the doorbell, and within moments he heard the shuffle of feet. Xander took control of the mind within the body shared by two people, thoughts of Giles' leather shoes scuffling across the library floor flooding through the body. But the image was lost the second an old woman dressed in a worn floral print dress and a soiled apron opened the portal.

"Yes?" the ancient woman questioned, bewilderment in her accented voice.

"Um, I'm here for Lydia St. John. Where can I find her?"

"Wait a moment, boy. I'll ring her." And she did just that. The stooped creature ambled back into the kitchen from whence she came and tugged on a string. A resounding clang bellowed through the upstairs of the house, and the wordless message was received, for Lydia appeared at the top of the stairs.

She wore a short crimson dress, the neckline embellished with rhinestones. Her shoulder-length brown hair was twisted up on top of her head, two gold chopsticks protruding from the bun. Lydia's pale skin faintly glittered gold, and Roger was drawn to the top of the stairs by invisible strings controlled by Lydia. Her trim body—not too skinny as to be grotesque—turned slightly, allowing Roger to get the side view. He could hardly believe he was teetering on the edge of drooling.

"A little late, I see," Lydia mentioned, glancing at her watch pointedly. "But what else should I expect from a man?"

"You should know enough not to expect punctuality!" the ancient being shuffling downstairs hissed.

"Hush, Ma Becker!" Facing Roger directly, Lydia took his hand absent-mindedly. "Don't mind Ma. She's still bitter 38 years after her divorce. Every man I bring here always gets the 'hairy eyeball'. Just smile and thank her for her hospitality; she won't bother you too much after that."

Roger nodded. "By 'every man,' I assume you mean the one or two you've dated before?"

"Oh come on, Roger," Lydia sighed, pulling him down the stairs to the door, "you don't really believe you're the only one with a track record!" Roger stared in shock. "The limo is waiting, correct?"

"Limo? Uh, did I miss something?"

Lydia's hand came to rest on the doorknob as she called to the old woman. "Hear that, Ma Becker? No limo! I'm going on a date with a man who's a cheapskate!"

"Ach!" the woman barked. "Dein Mann ist Dummkopf." She paused for a moment as she walked back to the foyer to glance him over one more time. "Aber… ich denke, dab er schöne Augen hat! Geh fort, liebe Lydi! Jetzt geh ins Restaurant! Aus! Aus! I sagte 'Aus!'"

With a bewildered countenance upon his face, Roger opened the door for his date. Lydia smiled, being the only one who knew what the geriatric had said. "When she's impassioned, she tends to run her mouth in German."

"Yeah?" Roger mumbled. "What'd she say?"

"That's for me to know, and you to never find out." The dazzling young woman waltzed through the door with an air of mystique. Roger was captivated for the first time in a long time. This date may have been his best decision in quite a while. "So where are we going?"

Letting Lydia slip into the taxi, Roger grinned and whispered, "That's for me to know…" He stepped in as well, nodded to the driver and they were off. "…And you never to find out."

@~~`~~~

The taxi slowed once it pulled up to the curbside of East 54th Street. Lydia stepped out, gooseflesh instantly pricking up as the cold winds buffeted her. She tugged her jacket around her shoulders, savoring the brief flash of heat spreading through her body. Smiling warmly at Roger, she glanced up at the Hotel Elysèe's face. "So this is where you were going to take me? The Monkey Bar?"

Roger opened the bar doors for his date and followed her into the bustling bar filled with after-hours businessmen. They shuffled their way through the mob, glancing at the adorable murals of monkeys drinking from coconuts and martini glasses with bananas instead of olives. "I've been here a few times, and I find it kinda charming," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I think the cute little monkeys hanging from the chandeliers are a nice touch."

"Uh huh, and I bet so do the other ladies you've brought here," Lydia chided, pleased to see the resulting wide-eyed glare. "But I suppose this isn't as bad as the last date I was on. My ex-boyfriend took me to the circus one night. I don't think he realized how much I hate the circus."

Roger looked down at his feet and muttered, "Clowns are evil."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh nothing. I just said clowns are evil. They used to haunt my dreams," he confessed, thinking back to the day that Xander had to face his clown fear when his nightmares became reality courtesy Sunnydale, California. "I'm over that fear," Roger began, remarking to himself how silly it would be if he were still scared of clowns after all he'd seen, "but they'll always creep my flesh."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I think it's the big painted grin. It's always seemed slightly demonic to me. Or maybe it's the eyes peering out from behind the whitewashed face. I don't trust a guy whose skin is a costume year round. Sometimes I get the feeling that they want to suck my blood or tear that selfsame flesh off and devour it."

"Roger!" Lydia barked. "Gross! We are about to eat, you know!"

Chagrined, he replied, "Sorry. Sometimes I get carried away." He scratched behind his head and blushed a little. "Let's get seated, shall we?"

Roger approached the hostess, standing prim and proper behind her podium. She was quite beautiful, in her early twenties, with dark brown hair that fell to her shoulder blades and eyes blacker than the night. The ebony irises focused on his suave figure as she took in the customer before her. "Excuse, miss," Roger began, with the young hostess' smile reflecting in his eyes. "I have a reservation for Winters."

She signaled with her index finger for him to wait a moment and then proceeded to scan the list of names in front of her. The grin on her face fell somewhat when she read the information, and it deepened into a scowl when her mysterious eyes beheld Lydia. "Winters, party of two for 7:30?" Roger nodded, taking Lydia's hand. "Anything you would like to check?" He handed the lady their coats and received the check number. "Right this way, Mr. Winters."

After seating the couple, the hostess returned to her duties, but not before smiling coyly at Roger and giving a quick wink. "Mind telling me what you two have got going on?" Lydia laughed, watching Roger watch the hostess' ass.

He turned to her and smirked. "Well, when you've got it, you've got it. What can I say?"

"Nothing. Shut-up, stupid." Lydia twisted her pretty little mouth up, knowing full well that he did have a certain something after all, otherwise they wouldn't be where they were now. Roger grinned again and relaxed into his chair, the rejoicing victor.

Shortly, a man dressed immaculately in a gray button-down, high-necked shirt and matching charcoal gray slacks approached the table, standing straight as an arrow beside Lydia. "Good evening, folks. My name is Mitchell, and I'll be your waiter this evening. May I offer you something to drink?" He glanced alternately between the two, his gaze finally settling on Lydia.

"Oh, well, I suppose a glass of Chardonnay would suit me just fine."

"And for the gentleman?" Lydia sniggered then shot Roger a cheery "just joking" smile.

"I'll have the same, thank you."

Mitchell nodded and returned hurriedly to the kitchen, leaving the two at the table in the middle of a staring match. A comfortable silence settled upon them, and Roger had the opportunity to completely check out his date. God, she was amazing! She had the perfect body by nearly any man's standards, one that maybe rivaled Buff— No! He wasn't going to start comparing the first real woman in Roger's life to the first real woman in Xander's. Down that road thrived demons he was still not ready to face, even with this muscular, formidable new shell of a body. Still, Lydia was a prize that Roger imagined very clearly in his mind winning. A dream come true, truly. If there was one thing Roger ever owed Nate, it was this chance with Lydia.

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a young man, who had materialized out of empty air to straighten their silverware. Lydia raised a finely shaped eyebrow at her date, who merely smiled back goofily. "Enjoy the experience, my sweet."

"Oh, I am." Roger stared intently into her eyes, a gaze which she matched with equal intensity. Seconds stretched into eons, much as they had when Xander watched— Abruptly, she broke contact to glance at something over his shoulder. What Rog saw reflected in those soft eyes terrified him…

"NO!" he screeched, disturbing a group of Japanese businessmen, who frowned at him. "Please, anything but this!"

"Roger, it's okay," she soothed. "What's wrong?"

The young man swiveled around in his seat to glower at the approaching horror. "I thought I told you no one wanted you here."

"Um, actually, just to set the record straight, you told me you'd nail my ass to the top of the Chrysler Building if I showed up." Nate put his hands on his hips, grinning defiantly at his best friend.

Roger was tempted to sock him in the face, but the thought only lingered a second, like his recent happiness. Instead, his face remained fixed in the scowl as he spoke. "And yet you came anyway? You should know by now, Nate, that I never issue idle threats."

The blonde shrugged. "What can I say other than I like the view from up there." Roger shook his head in disbelief. This man was his best friend? He needed to get out more. "Lydia, yes? Remember me?"

She smiled in the way that all people did after they first met the gregarious Nate: the look of bemusement mixed with a little pain. "How could I forget, Nathan?"

"Ah, enchanted as always, madam." After kissing her hand gently, Nate reached behind him to grab the hand of his lovely date. A buxom young woman appeared at his side, smiling nervously at the seated couple. She rolled her shoulders anxiously once, then offered her hand out to Roger, who automatically kissed it. "Roger, Lydia, this is my radiant date, Genevieve."

"Please, call me Gennie. I'm delighted to meet you both. I had no idea Nathan would know someone here. Would you be joining us for dinner?" Though she had offered, Gennie seemed to do it out of being polite and not out of any genuine interest in either of them. Roger cracked a tight smile. Chalk one more up for Nate's lists of conquests. At the rate his friend was going, that boy would have conquered half of Manhattan in a matter of three years.

Lydia must have sensed the same feeling emanating from the other woman, and she gave their joint reply. "Thanks for the invite, Gennie, but I think we'll pass on that. Roger and I were kind of hoping for a quiet dinner together."

"Of course," she answered, a real smile forming on her hooker red lips. Immediately, she grabbed her date's hand to lead him happily back to their separate table beside the glass etching of the New York skyline.

With an excited chuckle, Nate waved them goodbye and wished the pair of them a "tasty date." Before he turned his head from them, he winked quickly at Roger and gave him the thumbs up as well as a smile that read: "Make me proud."

Rog turned his full attentions back to his date, grinning abashedly at Lydia and scratching behind his head unconsciously. "Heh heh. Sorry about that. I had no idea he would show up here, at least not after that warning I tossed at him. Well, all right, it was more of a desperate hope he wouldn't."

Lydia batted away his embarrassment with a flick of her hand. "It's fine. I rather enjoy Nate. He's like a clown without make-up."

"Perhaps that's why I hate him half the time I see him."

Her musical laughter overpowered the Sinatra blaring above them. "You two are quite the odd pair. How did you meet anyway? I don't really see a meshing there. After all, you seem so different."

Before Roger could reply, Mitchell had returned with their wine. He carefully placed their goblets in front of them while another waiter brought a basket of crispy breads and guacamole dip. After taking their orders of duck for Lydia and veal for Roger, Mitchell departed only to be almost immediately replaced with a different young waiter, who came bearing water in delicate blue glasses. Finally, when everyone had abandoned their table, Roger was free to answer Lydia's query. "We're only different on the exterior. A lot about our pasts coincides. We have a kinship."

"I see."

"Nate was my first friend here in New York. He lives in the apartment right underneath mine, and one day we ran into each other in the lobby. He asked if I worked out, and obviously so, and we've been best buddies ever since then. Been about two and a half years now that we've known each other. He rescued me from my solitude while I rescued him from his boredom."

Lydia smiled, seemingly enchanted with the tale. Roger felt better himself for having shared it, too. He guessed that Nate was the best friend he had after all. With a soft sigh, Lydia cocked her head to the side, her eyes glancing over to Nate's table. "Can't say too much for his date though."

Roger laughed softly. "Nah. Well, Nate's not known for picking the winners…… Except for you." His date shot him the warning glare.

"Nice recovery."

"I try."

"I wonder." With smiling eyes, Lydia surveyed the restaurant. The soft lighting from the dim chandeliers above them fell gracefully upon her, and she looked like an angel, but the shadows on the other side of her grinning countenance seemed to contradict that image. And finally she assumed her opposing role. "So, Roger, tell me a little about yourself. Where are you originally from?"

The room slowly began to constrict, like the belly of an anaconda. "Um, well, California."

"Aha. I figured it was out west somewhere. You don't have an East Coast accent in the least. Besides, you have that western flair." When she tried to explain what that entailed, she found herself at a loss for words, an uncommon thing for Lydia apparently. "But trust me, I know a Westerner when I see one. So, what part of California are you from, Mr. Winters?"

Roger cleared his throat several times, attempting to force down the last remaining bits of Xander Harris that threatened to resurface. He glanced around nervously, praying for a distraction. With his voice an octave higher and perspiration starting to prick upon his forehead, he replied, "Outside of LA."

Sensing the need for a bit of a subject change, Lydia slowly made the shift, although she kept her keen eyes one his every move. "What is LA like this time of year? I suppose it's lovely what with the Pacific bordering the city lines."

"I suppose." And the conversation had come to a grinding halt. Neither could look each other in the eye any longer, and the pleasant, romantic atmosphere had been sucked from the room by an invisible vacuum. They sat in silence as they watched waiters bustle back and forth across the lobby, filling up water glasses and scraping crumbs of tables with an anal retentive nature inherent to them. Every so often one of them would make a comment about the nitpicking staff to pass the time, but the once speeding seconds had stretched languidly like a cat finally settling in for a nice nap. "So, my dear Lydia," Roger began again hopefully, "how's the job coming along?"

"Uh, fine I guess. Busy as usual," she remarked, a bit startled by her date's sudden interest in her job.

"No doubt. I suspect many men would come from miles around to see you." Roger rested his head on his hand to stare intently at Lydia, trying to look as interested as possible.

She smiled graciously at the flattery, if not with a bit of confusion. "Well, it's not just men, Roger. Women and children are far better patrons than the men, I'd have to say."

His head shot up in amazement, and his eyes widened with interest. "Indeed? Can't say I would have ever believed that. You mean children are allowed in?"

Lydia was outright astonished at Roger. "Of course! We'd never discriminate."

"That's quite an odd position to take in your line of work, Lydia."

Finally, the beautiful brunette stared him down, and with a laugh in her sweet voice, she asked, "What exactly do you think I do, Roger?"

"Uh, where is it that you work again? I seem to think I may have been misinformed." Roger reached for his collar to loosen his tie that now felt more like a noose. He chuckled nervously in a failed attempt to hide his embarrassment. Then, under his breath: "Nathan Jeremy…"

"Oh, well, I'm a part-time exotic dancer. You know, snakes and tambourines and the whole shebang."

Roger dabbed his sweaty brow with his napkin. "Thank goodness. That's what I thought! And here you had me fooled with all this talk of children in the joint!"

"I wasn't lying about the kids, Roger," Lydia said. "We have a steady stream of them, especially on Friday nights; that's when our young clientele peaks." Her abashed date sat with his mouth agape, nearly touching his bread plate. His eyes were as disbelieving as his expression. "I'm joking, hon. I'm a librarian at the New York Public Library. I just wanted to see what your expectations of me were precisely." The face went from white with shock to red with chagrin. He let a strained sigh escape his tight lips.

"I… I… I—don't know what to say. Um, somewhere down the road we got our lines crossed and, uh, here, I, well, just figured that a stunning beauty like yourself could— Ah, Nate has this habit of setting me up with lovely young women who've been around the block in more ways than one, so naturally assumed…"

"Rule number one in life, my fine fellow," Lydia started sagely, "assume makes an ass out of u and me."

Roger half-grinned. "Invaluable advice, no doubt, but it's more like I'm the ass."

"No doubt," she conceded with a smart-ass smile and a bow of her head.

"I hope I didn't offend you."

"Here, I didn't know whether to be repulsed or strangely flattered."

"I think I'd prefer the latter." They both shared a hearty laugh at Roger's bumbling, and with those moments of merriment, the rest of the dinner flowed successfully. Now, to seal the after-dinner and the proverbial deal…