x a n d e r . s t e p s . u p

Xander Steps Up
[by victoria p.]

Rating:PG - some language, some violence, implied sex

Summary: What really did happen that night at the Fabulous Ladies' Night Club?

Notes: This was written on a dare from Pete Meilinger. I'm still waiting for him to cough up the story he owes me in return. Thanks to Pete, Dot, Jen and Meg for the beta. Also, this is, amazingly enough, my first ever Buffyfic, so be kind.

WARNING: Much Mary-Sueing ahead -- I'm Queen of the Xanderistas, what else would you expect?

< > indicates thoughts

Oxnard, CA -- Summer, 1999

It was a night like any other night, or so Xander Harris thought when he showed up for work. Walking into the locker room, he dropped his backpack, changed into his whites, and went into the kitchen at the Fabulous Ladies' Night club.

He smiled at Francesca Mazzone, the recently hired short-order cook. They'd become friends quickly, since neither knew anyone else in town. He thought back to a week ago, the first time they'd met.

He'd walked into the kitchen and there was a young woman already in there, scraping at the grill with a spatula. She looked up as he entered. "Who're you?" She had a stereotypical New York accent.

"Xander Harris, chief cook and bottle washer, reporting for duty," he said, tossing off a salute.

She smiled. "I'm Frankie Mazzone, the new fry cook. Gus hired me this afternoon." She offered him a grease-stained hand. "Oh, I'm sorry." She wiped the grease on her pants.

He smiled. "Occupational hazard." Then, "Frankie, huh?"

She scrunched her nose. "Short for Francesca. I can't decide which is worse."

"When Gus told me 'Frankie', I expected a big hairy guy with lots of tattoos, not--"

"I have a tattoo," she interrupted, lifting her shirt and exposing a trim stomach. There was a black ring of flames surrounding her pierced navel.

"Ring of fire," he said, and they began singing in unison. "I went down, down, down and the flames rose higher, and it burned, burned, burned, the ring of fire, the ring of fire."

It was a quick bonding experience.

"So what happened to the old cook?" she asked, after the impromptu sing-along was over.

"Steve? He just didn't show up on Monday. I've been filling in, but uh -- " he paused, mind racing to find the right words, "my idea of a good meal is some HoHos and a side of Twinkies. So me and cooking -- not a successful combination."

She laughed. "Well, I can do better than that." After a few seconds of silence, she asked, "How come you're back here instead of onstage with the other guys?"

He blushed. "I'm not -- I could never -- You don't have to pay Xander Harris to take his clothes off."

She blinked and then burst into delighted laughter. "I'll keep that in mind if I'm looking for a cheap date," she replied.

He decided he could be embarrassed or he could laugh along with her, the way he would with Buffy or Willow. He laughed. "None cheaper, babe."

They worked well together, and they discovered they had some things in common. Francesca, as Xander insisted on calling her, was driving cross-country on her way to college in Seattle. Xander had started driving cross-country and got stuck in Oxnard. "Seems like this is the place people end up when they run out of cash," Frankie observed.

***

"Xander!" The sound of his boss's voice brought him back to the present

"Gus!"

"Get in here." Gus Durant, manager of the club, opened the door to his office.

Xander sat across from his boss, apprehensive. He couldn't afford to get fired, and he'd finally made a friend.

"Mark and Rick are both AWOL, Xander. You're gonna have to dance tonight."

He jumped up like he'd been jolted with electricity. "Gus, I'm not -- I can't --"

"You are and you can," Gus said implacably. "Mark's about your size."

"No, Gus, anything but that. Not the Beastmaster costume."

Gus relented. "All right. There's some fireman's gear that should fit you. Now get out of here." Sticking his cigar back in his mouth, Gus indicated that the conversation was over.

Xander wandered back into the kitchen in a daze.

"What's up, Xandman?" Frankie asked curiously.

"I've always wanted to be a fireman," he replied.

She grabbed his hands. "You're dancing tonight? This I've *got* to see!"

"You sound a little excited, Fran."

"Well, I wanna see what's under those whites, Harris," she answered with a wicked grin. "I'll be watching."

<Oh, great,> he thought, <more pressure.>

He didn't bother to wonder where Mark and Rick were.

He went into the dancers' dressing room and grabbed the fireman costume -- blue rip-away pants with suspenders, blue t-shirt, a rubber coat and boots, a red helmet and an axe. Dressing quickly, he began practicing in front of the mirrors, bumping and grinding to the rhythm of the latest boy band on the radio.

"Not bad, Harris," said Jim, one of the veteran strippers, as he walked in. "But I'll give you a tip. Always look like you're enjoying yourself and stay on the beat. The women will flock to you. Trust me." Since Jim had just bought himself a new BMW, Xander was sure he knew what he was talking about. "And use good music," the older man went on, "not this bubblegum crap."

He popped in a CD and "Can't Get Enough of Your Love" blared through the place. "Do what I do," he instructed, rolling his hips seductively to the music. Xander imitated him and soon had a whole routine down.

Gus stuck his head in. "You'll go on last, Harris. By that point, they're so drunk they'll wave money at anything."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Xander muttered.

Jim laughed. "You'll do fine."

***

Xander paced nervously, waiting for his turn. It finally came and he walked out onto the stage, immediately forgetting everything Jim had taught him in the face of the hooting, hollering crowd of women.

The music kicked in and his body moved of its own volition. He managed to get through the song, but later he could never remember how. It was all a blur, until the moment he was back in the dressing room with a g-string full of cash.

After washing and dressing, he stuck his head into the kitchen. Frankie turned and smiled, clapping her hands. "You were awesome, Xander. Way better than Mark or Rick ever was."

He blushed, preened ridiculously and said, "I am a love machine, this I freely admit. The women all want them some Xander." Then, with a real smile, he continued, "I made a pile of cash, Fran. You wanna hit the diner and grab a bite or some coffee?"

She ducked her head shyly. "That'd be nice."

"I'll help you clean up," he offered. Together they made short work of the dishes and headed out into the night.

The streets were deserted. Frankie moved closer to Xander, shivering. "Is it me, or does it feel really weird out here tonight?" she asked.

"No," he said softly, eyes scanning the darkness alertly, "it's not just you." He put an arm around her shoulders and quickened their pace.

"Where you going, Xander?" a voice said from the shadows.

"Mark! You scared the hell out of me," he replied. "Where were you tonight? I had to go on in... your... place..." his voice petered out as Mark stepped into the dim yellow light of the streetlamp. His eyes reflected its color and his forehead was ridged.

"Shit!" he heard Frankie exclaim as she opened her bag and pulled out a can of mace. She jumped in front of him and started spraying.

"That won't stop them," Xander said, searching desperately for something -- anything -- to use as a stake as the Mark-vamp approached.

Mark stepped carelessly into the mist Frankie was spraying, and clutched at his head, screaming in agony. He reached out and backhanded the girl, knocking her to the ground. She dropped the can and watched as it rolled away from her. "Bitch! What the hell is that?"

"Holy water," she said from the ground. She still held her backpack, and she rummaged through it again as Mark closed on Xander.

Xander still hadn't found any likely stakes, but he ducked under Mark's first swing and managed to land a couple of body blows when Frankie's voice distracted him. "Xander, here," she shouted, tossing him a cross. He caught it as Mark made a beeline for his neck. Pressing it into the vampire's already burned face, he was able to get free.

He threw a right hook at the vamp and connected, snapping Mark's head back. "Ow, ow, ow," he muttered, shaking his hand to try and stop the stinging in his knuckles. Mark picked him up and threw him at a pile of garbage lying on the curb before turning his attention to Frankie.

Xander landed hard, breaking something beneath him. Moaning, he opened his eyes to see that he was lying on the remains of a wooden packing crate. Whispering a prayer of thanks, he jumped up, ignoring the pain in his ribs and reached down, breaking off a good-sized piece of lumber. He rushed over to where Mark had Frankie bent over. The vampire was murmuring something to her as he stroked her neck, before lowering his head and sinking his fangs into her jugular.

"No!" Xander shouted, shoving the piece of wood into the stripper, who burst into dust. Frankie, without Mark's arms to support her, collapsed to the ground. Xander grabbed her. "Come on, Fran, come on," he said frantically. "Be all right. Please be all right."

She pressed a hand to her neck, and looked at the blood on her fingers. "I'm okay, Xander. I'm fine." She hugged her backpack to her chest.

He grinned. "Then let's get the hell away from here." Pulling her upright, they ran along the street.

Only to be stopped by a wickedly grinning, vamped out Rick. "Mark was easy. You'll have a harder time with me, I think," he snarled.

"What would Buffy do?" Xander murmured.

Frankie looked at him. "Are you all right?"

He nodded, still muttering, when Steve jumped out of the shadows as well. The former cook looked at the two teenagers and laughed. "This is what they hired to replace me, Harris? I trained at the Culinary Institute of America! I was a chef of magnificent talent, and I was replaced by a, a teenage girl with grease under her fingernails?" He sounded angry.

Xander and Frankie attempted to escape while he ranted, but Rick was watching them like a hawk. He turned to his compatriot.

"Should we give them a head start, Steve?"

Steve snorted. "No." And launched himself at Frankie. She swung her backpack at him, hitting him in the gut, to no effect. He pulled her close and stroked her face with his fingers. "You smell divine, girl. Like frying onions and oregano." He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She bit down hard and shoved him away.

She gagged and then yelled, "See how you like it!"

"Bitch!" he snapped, licking the blood from his lip.

Xander and Rick were circling each other, and Xander wished he still had the stake he'd used on Mark. He wondered if he could make it back to where the broken crate was before the two vampires killed Francesca.

He took the chance, suddenly breaking and running back down the street. Both vamps followed, leaving Frankie sitting on the sidewalk, stunned.

"Where is it? Where is it?" Xander muttered, searching frantically for the wood that would save their lives. <There! There it is.> He gauged his enemies and thought quickly. He faked a stumble, having learned a trick or two from Buffy in their three years of fighting the undead, and fell to his knees in front of the pile of garbage.

Rick was on him like a cheap suit. Xander felt himself pressed to the ground and, using what leverage he had, he rolled, hard, impaling Rick on the shard of wood protruding from the refuse. He changed directions quickly, to avoid sticking himself on the sharp wood as well. He lay there, breathing hard and trying to find Steve.

Who jumped on top of him and tried to sink fangs into his neck. Xander got a hand up into the vampire's face, trying to hold him off, but he knew his strength was no match for Steve's.

And then the former cook exploded in a cloud of dust and he saw Frankie's scared face looming over him, her arm drawn back, ready to stab again if it didn't work.

"Xander!"

"Francesca!"

She helped him up and they hurried to her apartment, all thoughts of stopping for food long gone.

Once there, she cleaned and bandaged the wound on her neck and got to work on Xander's aches and pains.

"Take your shirt off," she commanded. "I need to see those ribs where you fell." She pushed him down onto the bed.

He did as she asked, and she poked and prodded at the big bruise covering his torso. "Do you mind?" he asked acidly. "Do you have any medical training?"

"No," she admitted sheepishly, her hands still stroking his ribs. "I don't think anything is broken, though."

"Maybe you could kiss it and make it better," he suggested playfully, thinking, <Where the hell did *that* come from?>

Her eyes widened, but she did as he asked, gently pressing her lips to the bluish purple skin. "That better?" she said, meeting his gaze.

"Oh yeah," he whispered, amazed as always at how turned on he was after being so damn scared. Adrenaline was a wonderful thing.

"Anywhere else you need me to look at?" she asked, stretching out next to him. He thought for a moment and then held out his aching knuckles. She kissed his hand gently and ran her tongue over the bruises that were starting to form. Then she nipped lightly at the tips of his fingers. He slid his index finger into her mouth and she sucked at it gently. His aches and pains receded.

"And maybe here," he said, pointing to his neck. She grinned and kissed his neck, opening her mouth and playing her tongue along the pulse that beat below his jaw. She moved her mouth up and covered his, using her tongue to trace his lips. He put a hand behind her head and deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth.

"Xander," she hissed, sliding her hands along his chest.

He grinned and quickly unbuttoned her shirt. "I think you've got too many clothes on," he said.

He rolled her onto her back and kissed her again, his hands kneading her breasts. She arched into him eagerly and her hands found the zipper of his jeans.

Soon they were naked and amazingly enough, he actually had a condom in his wallet.

***

They lay there afterward, sweaty and content, assured that they'd lived through another harrowing night.

"So," Xander said, tracing idle circles on her stomach, "you always carry aerosol holy water and a cross?"

"Um, yeah. My grandmother -- she's from Italy -- she knows about these things. She's a strega, a witch. She raised me after vampires killed my parents." She paused, then, "You did pretty well yourself, Xand."

"Yeah," he replied. "Sunnydale -- my hometown -- is built on the Hellmouth. My best friend is the Slayer. Been killing evil undead thingies for over three years now."

"Wow. Cool."

They were both silent, absorbing the new information. But soon Xander's hands grew less idle and more insistent, and swapping stories of vampire slayage took a backseat to exploring each other's bodies and trying to get as close to each other as humanly possible.

All in all, it was a damn good night.

End

~*~

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Disclaimer: All BtVS characters belong to Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon, the Kuzuis and Sand Dollar; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.