The darkness lifted from Xander's eyes. Gingerly propping himself on one elbow, he looked about his dark basement bedroom and blinked. A steady diet of Hollywood films and comic books told him that people who'd passed out usually felt disoriented and sporting a hangover-worthy headache. Xander was feeling anything but. On the contrary. He felt a great deal more vigorous and energetic than he had felt in a long while. Xander picked himself up from the floor and sat on the bed. What a shame he couldn't say the same for how he felt on the inside.

What had happened yesterday? Had more than two years of friendship and goodwill between him and the Scoobies really been dissolved in a single day? Why? Because Buffy lost her temper over one of his stupid jokes? He made those all the time. What was different about yesterday? Xander sighed and laid back on his bed to stare at the ceiling. The way he saw it, there were two rationales for yesterday's falling out: The first was Buffy et al had been badly stressed and his wisecrack's timing had been particularly unlucky. People said nasty things they didn't mean all in the heat of an argument. Was that the case here? Xander hoped so. He knew what to do. He'd give everyone some time to blow off some steam, later exchange apologies with the gang and everything would be fine, back to the way it had been.

That was certainly the most optimistic possibility, but was it the most realistic? The other, more troubling explanation was that a certain resentment had driven a rift between him and the rest of the gang. Why? His contributions, or lack thereof, to the group most likely. True, he did what he could to help out the research effort...but so did Cordelia. Besides, how else could you explain Willow giving him (albeit shyly) the cold shoulder yesterday? It wasn't fair to Buffy to blame her for Willow turning against him, which was exactly what he had done yesterday leaving the library. No, the origin of the rift in his and Willow's relationship was more complex than that. Something must have changed in one of them over the years to cause Willow to identify more with the Scoobies instead of with him. But what? Xander didn't know. It was all so complicated, too complicated for one so humble as the Zeppo.

Come to think about it, Xander noticed, each member of the team brought some unique talent to the table: Buffy, of course, was the Slayer, Giles had his knowledge as a Watcher, Oz was a Werewolf, Willow was skilled in computer hacking had begun dabbling in magic...and Xander? What was his contribution? Bringing donuts and cracking jokes, a role that turned out nobody appreciated...not that there was much to appreciate in such a role. Hell, Giles might have well hired a stand-up comic and worked out a wholesale deal with the local Krispy Kreme. Why didn't he? Probably because Xander didn't charge.

Well, suppose he and the gang were through. What did it mean for him? After all, he had no obligation to help out the Slayer, it was something he did out of friendship...right?

Right?

Xander? Did I ever thank you...for saving my life?

No.

Don't you wish I would?

Xander sighed. He'd tried so hard to push his dreams aside, not wanting to know of them, how distant they were yet also right in front of his face. No, enough. Thinking aboutthat wouldn't accomplish anything.

Giles had said the meetings without him had been more productive and Buffy said they'd decide what to "do with him," later. made his chances being let back into the gang...unlikely, if nothing else. Xander wanted clarification most of all. What was it, then? Was he in or out? What would happen if he really was out? His old world had crumpled into dust with Jesse's death. What would he do if he was alone, with no one to trust or confide in? He didn't know.

Xander wanted answers. He was going to go right up to her Buffy's house, pound on the door and get them. It was Saturday and she would be home. He got up from the bed and walked towards the upstairs staircase-

His skin felt like a match tip about to burst. Everything hurt. In the space of an instant his body suddenly felt like it would burst. Suddenly, he knew what the little naked Vietnamese girl running away from her napalmed village in that picture had felt. Xander shrieked and stumbled backwards. He confusedly surveyed his body. No obvious damage. What had happened? He detected a smell in the air. Burnt hair. There was no reason for his body to act that way. He tried moving to the staircase again, slowly this time. A stride or two later it happened again: Incredible pain for seemingly no reason. Why? The only thing between him and the stairs was a beam of light pouring in from a window-

Sunlight. The vampire that had attacked him last night. Its blood had mixed with his. Xander dashed into the bedroom's adjacent bathroom. No one was in the mirror.

&$#

He waited for nightfall before leaving the house. He needed answers. In happier times he would have gone to Giles for them but Xander would have to settle for the next best thing: his library. The night was quiet and still. The evening breeze gently rustled the trees was the only noise disturbing the night stillness of the night. The intrusive cacophony of the industrialized world- combustion engines, rude people who spoke too loud, SUV, bratty schoolchildren, roaring trains, airplanes flying overhead-all had retired for the day, giving the natural world a brief respite of peace. Xander felt horribly vulnurable. Who or what was lying in wait for him? A vampire? A demon? Or worse? What if Buffy had been spying on him and had seen what had happened when he walked into the sunlight and had resolved to lie in wait in the bushes and ambush him? So many possibilities. Xander ran to Sunnydale High, taking care to use back roads and alleys and constantly looking over his shoulder.

Xander quickly found a window some careless janitor had left open and snuck inside. He quickly made his way to the library entrance and opened the door into the dark interior. How strange it was to be here without his friends and Giles. Xander felt lost. How would he find the information he needed? Where to begin out of all the books here? He knew where Giles kept his secret stash.........of books, which was a start at least. He had that and a name. The thing that had attacked him called itself a "Plague Vampire." Walking to an obscure row of books sitting in a dark corner of the library, he selected one of the dusty old tomes of whichthe Watcher seemed to have anlimitless collectionof and began to read.

He was rewarded several hours later with a detailed entry on them. Xander sat up straight from his slouch and began reading intensely.

Plague Vampires are a unique breed in that they are both similar and dissimilar to their regular vampire cousins. They too feed on blood and may only be killed by sunlight, decapitation or a stake to the heart. For some obscure reasons, Plague Vampires are bitterly detested by conventional vampires. Feuds between the two groups are common. The difference between the two breeds begins with the ways they reproduce themselves. Plague Vampires do not sire. Rather, a human becomes a Plague Vampire by coming into contact with their blood, especially if the blood is transmitted through an open wound.

Xander closed his eyes. So that was it. The damn thing had bled on him and he was a vampire now. What would he do know? What would Buffy say? What would Buffy do? Stake him? Why not? They'd hadn't parted on good terms and he was just another vampire now.

Xander somehow found the strength to keep reading.

Humans who become plague vampires also differ from ones who have been sired by a conventional Vampire. A turned human's personality inverts to a "dark side," of their former selves whilst a plague Vampire victim changes little emotionally. However, the human body can only support the plague vampire "programming" as it were for only so long before it expires after about a month following the initial infection.

Finally, unlike the siring process, the Plague Vampires's infection can be cured, for the process is technically a curse as opposed to a irreversable changing and possesion of a human host by a demon as with conventional Vampires. Indeed, there are several recorded instances of Plague Vampire hosts recovering their humanity within a month and thereby saving their lives, most notably in the medieval kingdom of Aragon in the 1400's. The accounts of the stories of these lucky few aren't clear but a consistent theme is that they found themselves cured after having "righted the wrongs in themselves and around them." The exact meaning of this explanation is not clear and continues to baffle scholars of the occult to this day.

On a rather curious final note, a Plague Vampire victim's hand-to-hand fighting skill increases exponentially upon infection.

Voices came down the hall before Xander could digest this information. Two teenage girls and an Englishman. Shit! How could he have been so stupid as to spend so much time in the one place where the Gang met most often? He had to get out of there. There were some windows in the back. Xander jumped up from the round desk where he'd been sitting and ran to the back of the library. The window was well over eight feet off the ground. The voices were getting closer. Xander pulled himself onto the window still and began fiddling with the locks. Damnit, the last one wouldn't open. They were just outside the library door now. He worked harder at the last lock holding the window closed, so hard Xander's finger's were cut and bleeding. He escaped from the Library just as Giles, Willow and Buffy walked in.

&&$#

"I hate vampires. I am a vampire. A vampire with an expiration date." Xander said to himself, hoping that by saying it out loud he could understand what had befallen him better. It didn't work. He was seated in a park bench. He was alone in that little space of land. Nobody around for a pre-dawn jog. Xander sighed and closed his eyes. What was he going to do? Unless he "righted the wrongs in themselves and around them" (whatever that meant) he'd be dead in a month. What would he do? What could he do? Ask Buffy and the others for help? Xander laughed out of spite. What a rediculous suggestion. Buffy would just laugh at him if she didn't stake him on sight first. Did she know? Did she suspect he was no longer human?

He'd have to move out of his home. That's the first place the Gang would look if they ever wanted to find him. Xander definetly didn't want that. He'd have to find some empty apartment or hostel and claim for himself...but wait, such a living space would likely be filthy and far below Xander's standards. Yet he didn't have any money to get himself a real place to live. His brow furrowed in jealousy. Damnit! How did Angel get a frickin' mansion to himself anyway? And before he'd had that swanky apartment... Xander snapped his fingers in delight. That's it! With Angel shacking up in the mansion, he'd never notice a certain Xander Harris squatting in his previous place of residence. Xander congratulated himself on coming up with such a brilliant plan.

Yet finding a place to live was secondary to the real issue at hand, saving himself from the Plague Vampire curse. How would he fight? The book said it was possible and had been done before, but that didn't necesarrily indicate that the cure was within Xander's means. However difficult the task ahead of him was, there was no desire in him to surrender to fate and await the end of like a man facing a death sentence. Life hadn't always treated Xander well but he loved it nonetheless. He wasn't going to give it up.

&$#

Three days later...

"Four dollars and eighty-four cents is your change. Thank you for shopping with us, sir. I must say your purchases looks very good on you." Xander smiled modestly at this compliement and left the clothing store. The streets of downtown Sunnydale were practically deserted, as they often were- this was a Hellmouth town afterall. The newest addition to Xander's wardrobe had a practical motive behind it. He needed to change his look if he was going to stay out of the Slayer's clutches. The game was up if Buffy got even one look at so Xander look was going to be the ascetic opposite. As a non-undead human, he had usually worn dark or neutral colors. Right now Xander was wearing white- white trousers, white Italian leather shoes, white button-up oxford shirt and a white over with matching white fedora hat. Buffy would never be able to pick him out of a crowd now!

Alas, Xander had made little progress in uncovering the meaning of the Plague Vampire curse cure. With the Sunnydale High library to dangerous to enter, he had attempted to do research at the municipal library. Unfortunatly, Xander had exhausted its meager collection of books on the occult over the last two days in Angel's former apartment while waiting for the sun. None of the books he'd borrowed had any information whatsoever on Plague Vampires, resulting in two of his thirty days to live being wasted.

Xander had another problem. He was getting hungry.

He might of been a vampire but he wasn't a bad guy. Getting blood in classic vampire fashion was out of the question. Xander continued waalking down Sunnydale's dark streets until he found the place he had in mind. He walked around to the back of the building, jimmied a window and let himself into the butcher.

Xander found himself in what looked like an office. He needed to get down to the floor where the actual slaughtering was done. Wherever they stored the pig's blood would have to be nearby. Creeping through dark halls and down staircases, Xander's nose wrinkled at a fowl odor he'd only just noticed, indicating he'd just reached the slaughterhouse floor. Carcasses of slaughtered cows and hogs hung on meat hooks. That combined with the dim lighting, silence and frigid air of created the feeling of being in a tomb. Xander made his way across the floor, being very careful, to touch none of the animal bodies and opened a door at the opposite end. Jackpot. Inside the windowless concrete room room were a row of refridgerators against the wall. The area Xander was in seemed to be the building's storage room; stacks of wooden crates and cardboard boxes were everywhere. He walked across the room and opened one of the refriderators. It was everything he'd hoped for. Clear plastic containers of precious life fluid as far as the eye could see. He stuffed one into his pocket and closed the door. His plan to make a quick escape crumpled into dust when he saw Angel standing by the door.

Buffy's boyfriend regarded Xander with a look of satisfaction, like that of a hunter who'd cornered his prey.

"Xander? Is that you? What are you doing here?," the dashing vampire-with-a-soul queried.

"Deadboy, hi! What a small world. The what-am-I-doing-here part? Uh...did Buffy not tell you that I'm working part time now as a technician who inspects butcher shops's refridgerators in the middle of the night?" Xander answered nervously. Shit, the look in the other vampire's eyes told him he wasn't buying it. "What about you? What are you doing here? You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were up to no good," Xander fired back, hoping to throw the suspicion off him.

"Me? The owners and I have a deal where I pay them so much a month and they let me help myself to their supply of animal blood whenever I want...which, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were doing just now. Anyway, speaking of Buffy, she told me what happened between you and the gang. She also noticed that you've haven't been around the last few days and wants to ask you a few questions. She told me to keep an eye for you-"

"Really? Wow, it's nice to have friends that care, isn't it? I'll make sure to see her ASAP. Thanks," Xander interrupted, still hoping to talk his way past the brooding demon.

"-And that I was to bring you to her if I found you."

"Again, thanks Angel, I'll make sure to see her first thing tomorrow morning. Now if you don't mind, I have a calculus test tomorrow so..."

"Actually, she said it was very important that you be found soon and gave me permission to even wake her up in the middle of the night if that's when I dragged your ass to her front door. Are you going to do this my way or the hard way, Harris?," Angel told him, dropping the tone of polite civility he'd used up until now and taking a few steps toward him. He changed into his game face, apparently hoping to frighten Xander into coming along.

Only the Xander Harris he was dealing with had changed. A deep anger awoke within Xander that he had scarcely been aware of previously. It was difficult for Xander to describe what had caused it. The anger of being marginilized, the frustration of having his destiny decided by others...Xander wouldn't have it. No more. He wouldn't have of it.

"Angel...you and I have never been friends but we don't need to be enemies. Tell Buffy that you didn't see me tonight and we can can stay that way."

"So in other words, you choose the hard way," Angel observed before taking a swing at Xander.

Xander had always feared angel. Not only because he was a vampire but because he exerted an intimidating physical presence, which also accounted why his previous clashes with Angel had been limited to only words. But something in Xander had changed in him that he now physically stood against Angel. Something had given him confidence to stand up for himself and his freedoms in the face of this threat. No, he would not be hauled before Buffy to give an account of his actions like some criminal when he had done nothing wrong. No. The only person in charge of Xander was Xander now. He was suddenly filled with resentment at the people he felt had wronged him. Fuck Angel for trying to bully and intimidate him. Fuck Buffy for putting a bounty on him. Fuck Tony Harris for being a lousy father. Never again.

He blocked Angel's punch. And the next one. And the one after that. Deflecting and blunting Angel's attacks was easier than he'd thought it would be. Xander noticed that if he'd concentrated, he could predict where each blow from Angel's fists was going to land next, making it a simple matter where to place his hand to intercept the blow before it could reach its target. Xander decided to try something. He moved his left arm behind his back, leaving only his right to protect himself from Angel's attacks. It was just as easy.

Angel was dumbfounded. By now he should have been dragging Xander's unconscious ass up the street to Buffy's house by now. How was he effortlessly stopping dead attack he threw at him. How!? Xander had never shown any prodiciency at hand-to-hand combat before. Xander suddenly stepped aside and grabbed Angel's right arm. Using Angel's own momentum, he threw the vampire headfirst into a pile of nearby crates and box. It was a lucky thing for him that none of the shards of splintered wood pierced his clothing. One of the reasons why Vampires tended to favor leather. Angel had spent all his energy attacking Xander. Too exhausted to dig his way out of the mountain of boxes on top of him, he could only listen as Xander paused before walking out of the room.

"You leave me alone. Tell that that Buffy, Giles, Willow, Willy the Snitch; anybody else who wants to come looking for me. And Angel...," Xander paused. "I'm not a bad person." And he was gone.

&$#

"Shit! Bitch! Piss! Slut! Cunt! Whore! Mother-fucker !" Angel screamed as he hurled the lamp against the wall. Angel was furious about what had happened at the butcher shop. It wasn't so much that he had failed to bring Buffy, but the principle of the matter. Angel had gotten his ass kicked by Alexander LaVille Harris of all people, number one on the "Top Ten List of People Angel Fears the Least." What can explain this sudden outburst on the part of the usually calm and reserved Angel? The answer: Jealousy issues. Angel had recognized early in Xander a compettitor for Buffy's love, one who could be around her in the day when he could not. However, he had managed to keep his feelings in check due to the knowledge that he could easily make Xander his bitch if the two ever fought. Having been stripped of this assurance, the pulchritudinous Vampire had blown his stacks.

Angel managed to regain control of himself just before throwing the TV set from the mansion balcony. Calm down, he told himsellf. He closed his eyes and began the meditiation techniches.

Think of a happy place...

He was on a beach (at night) standing waist-deep in the water...the cool blue waves washing over him, taking away all the stress and anger...whooooshhhh.

A relaxed Angel opened his eyes. Pitching a hissy fit and breaking things wasn't going to accomplish anything. He needed a plan if he was going to re-establish his supremacy over Xander and heal his wounded pride.

The facts: Xander had somehow become amazingly strong and if he guessed correctly, was after blood in that refridgerator. Angel knew the two events were connected, but how? Xander had a secret. It was up to him to find it out.

He would have to confront Xander again someday. Bringing him to Buffy had become secondary. Angel resolved not to tell her what had happened in the butcher shop basement. He didn't want her to find him and rob him of the chance to get his revenge. Besides, what would he tell her, that Xander had kicked his ass and walked out without a scratch? Not likely.

As much as Angel hated to admit it, it would probabley lose a rematch. The answer then was to become stronger, stronger than Xander. But how? Angel snapped his fingers. Willow. The young wiccan girl likely had a spell that greatly enhanced one's fighting strenght. He'd convince her to cast it on him and then kick Xander's ass with ease and thereby restoring his wounded dignity. A Brilliant Plan!

This called for a celebration. Angel dug out one of his many CD's and put it into the player. He selected his favorite song and fast-forwardedto the best part. So happy was he that he began singing along to the lyrics he knew so well as tears of joy streamed down his face.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white

The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world...