Willow bounced on her feet as she checked the arrivals monitor.  *Flight 
1123 from New York to Dulles, arriving...2330!*  She groaned in frustration. 
*Stupid airlines with their stupid schedules that their stupid pilots can't 
stick to so people who have to be up in the morning have to stay here 
stupidly late and they're probably going to take forever to get the luggage 
and I wish I could turn them all into toads!*  With a small growl, she 
stomped over to the chairs where Buffy sat reading a copy of Vogue and 
flopped down.

"Delayed again?"  Buffy's amusement made Willow scowl, and the Slayer 
laughed and help up a hand to stall her. "Whoa, Will.  I know, you're 
anxious to see him.  I am too, remember?"

"You don't show it," Willow replied petulantly, and then bit her lip.  "Do 
you think he'll be very different?"

"I don't know," Buffy admitted, "But I think so.  Xander was in Africa for 
nine months, Will.  So much happened in that time - my hook 
up-betrayal-slayage things with the Immortal, you breaking up with Kennedy, 
the new Slayer Academy, Angel's mini-apocalypse in LA - we'll have so much 
to catch up on."  She stopped, realizing she was dancing around an issue. 
"What do you think happened to him?"

Willows eyes teared up as she thought about it.  "I don't know, and I'm so 
scared to find out.  I keep going over the letters and telegrams he sent us 
trying to figure out if there was any kind of warning in Xander-speak I 
should have picked up on, but..."  She trailed off and sniffled a bit.

"Yeah," Buffy breathed in agreement, and they sat there in contemplative 
silence.

_\|/_

At first, the letters had come practically every day, full of tales of 
things Xander had seen, people he had met, things he had done.  They were a 
respite from the trials of their work, to hear his funny stories of how his 
developing skills in French, Swahili, and Arabic had gotten him into and out 
of trouble, how he'd done work with relief missions and helped build 
hospitals and homes.  Every so often one would be accompanied by a gift that 
he picked up - each one as much a gift as a joke for the person targeted. 
Slowly, the letters began to change.  Interspersed in light-hearted banter 
would be reports of demons he fought, vampire nests he'd dust, corrupt 
officials he had to work around.

And then Xander reported the death of a Slayer.

That letter was followed by a short postcard: "Got the bastard."

With that, his correspondence shifted, and became completely flat - grim, 
dark reminders that he was a lone man in a strange content, battling against 
forces that Buffy, Dawn, Giles, and Willow had managed to distance 
themselves from, if not completely, for a short while.  He reported sinister 
tidings, of demonic presences deeply ingrained into the very fabric of the 
climate and culture of Africa.  Of things that hunted the newly activated 
Slayers and killed them with a brutal efficiency that terrified the gang.

And then, there was nothing.  For a month, they waited with baited breath, 
hoping another letter would come, growing more worried as none came.  Calls 
to Xander's satellite phone went unanswered.  His email account went 
unaccessed.  Even his credit cards, which pulled on a Council expense 
account, went unused.  On Giles' advice, they contacted various American and 
British embassies, hoping one would be able to track him down.  Finally, a 
desperate Willow had contacted the Devon Coven, who cast a locating spell, 
and found him in a Tunisian hospital.  Two days of frantic calls later, they 
received word from the American Embassy in Tunisia.

Xander was coming home.  He had been injured, grievously - no, they couldn't 
give any details - and had been rescued by a UN Mission passing through the 
area.  Yes, he would recover, and would likely contact them as soon as he 
was able.

When he did, Willow had never been so happy in her life.  Her joyous cries 
had woken up the entire house, as everyone crowded around her to read the 
e-mail she had received, their relief so profound that no one thought to ask 
why he hadn't called.

_\|/_

The sound of a bell shook the pair out of their reverie, and they looked up 
with anxious eyes to see passengers start to enter the baggage claim area. 
Buffy and Willow stood and almost sprinted to the edge of the security zone, 
frantically examining each face as it filtered past them, the pair acting 
like a rock in a stream, breaking the flow of people and greetings around 
them.  The flood of people slowed to a trickle, and then, aside from a few 
stragglers stopped.

Buffy made an exited noise and then pointed towards the security zone, to a 
set of stairs that a pair of people were slowly navigating down.  As they 
watched the two descend, they were relieved to see Xander working his way 
down the stairs, aided by a rather attractive stewardess.

"Probably a demon," Willow muttered disgustedly, and Buffy snorted in 
agreement, but didn't pull her eyes away from the view in front of them. 
Their eyes took in his form, noting the changes that time had worked on 
their friend.

The first thing they noticed was how tanned he had become - his worker's tan 
had deepened noticeably, giving his skin a slightly leathery look.  His hair 
had been trimmed to a bare inch in length, and the sun had bleached in red 
highlights into its blackish brown base.  His clothes were light Egyptian 
cotton - simple beige pants and a military green shirt - that were far too 
light for the current weather, but would probably be wonderfully comfortable 
in the summer heat.  Under them, they could see that the African sun had 
melted much of the softness from his frame, turning the frame that had 
carried a swimmer's figure into something much more chisled, more wirery.

As they watched, Xander and his aide reached the landing, and the woman 
asked him a question.  He stiffly nodded his thanks, and blushed with a 
sheepish smile as the woman slipped a scrap of paper into his shirt pocket 
and gave him a meaningful look.  He gazed after her for a moment as she 
walked off, and then turned towards Buffy and Willow.

Myriad emotions flickered across his face, too quickly for them to identify, 
before he grinned widely and walked toward them.  Willow bounced on her 
feet, anxious to fling herself into his arms, while Buffy watched him 
pensively, noting the care and stiffness in his walk, the tightness in his 
eyes, and the scarf around his neck.

The moment Xander stepped through the gate, he grunted and stumbled as 
Willow barrelled into him, her arms wrapping around his torso and her face 
buried in his chest, an unintelligible river of words tumbling from her 
mouth as she expressed her worry, her anguish, and her joy in seeing him 
again. Tentatively, Buffy walked up to them, and looked askance at Xander. 
He smiled, nodded slightly, and lifted his arms, allowing Buffy to join 
them.

After a few moments, Buffy pulled away.  Willow sniffled and looked up at 
Xander, who was smiling at her tolerantly.  "Xander?  Are you...okay?" 
Xander nodded again, gently kissing her forehead, and Willow suddenly 
noticed the scarf around his neck and the faint smell of disinfectant.  She 
reached towards the scarf, and he winced, pulling back sharply.

Disengaging himself from her arms, Xander scanned the area around them and 
pointed to a somewhat private alcove, which he led them to.  He carefully 
unravelled the loose scarf, revealing the bandages around his throat, 
causing Buffy to hiss and Willow to gasp in shock.

"Oh *Xander*," the witch breathed, tears brimming in eyes.

"It's okay, Will," he whispered.  "I'll sing again."

"How?!" Buffy demanded.  She suddenly felt an urge to hit something.

Xander reached into a pocket, and pulled out a pad and pen.  He scratched on 
it for a second, and showed it to them.  /Hanged.  9 days.  African demon 
nation hate Slyrs.  Hate Wtchrs.  Huntd Slyrs.  Huntd ME.  2 Strng, 2 
powrful./

"We'll get them," the Slayer swore.  "We'll get a bunch of the girls 
togethe..." She trailed off at Xander's panicked expression, and waited as 
he quickly wrote on his notepad.

/NO!  2 many!  Like 1st, but MANY!  2 many. Africa BAD place.  Rite it off!/

"But Xander," Willow protested hoarsely.  "We can't let them..."  She too 
stopped as Xander began to write.

/Demons part of cultre.  Part of law.  Part of EVRYTHING.  Vamps huntd.  Big 
bads huntd.  No want lose NE1.  PLEASE./

Willow bit her lip as she read the note, and Buffy asked softly, "How many 
of the African Slayers did they get, Xan?"

/ALL./

_\|/_

By popular accord, they tabled the discussion until they met with Giles and 
the rest of the new Council of Watchers later.

As Willow drove them out of Dulles airport towards their Arlington house, 
the car was filled with Willow and Buffy animatedly informing Xander of all 
that he had missed.

"So, Dawnie and me are living in Rome and loving it, and somehow I attract 
the attention of this Immortal guy."

/Name?  Duncan McLeod?/

"No, smartass, that's what he went by.  The Immortal."

/U're kidding./

"No lie."

Xander scratched something out on the pad, and tapped Willow's shoulder. 
Glancing at what he had written, Willow began to giggle.  Grabbing his hand 
before he could pull it back, Buffy scanned the note, /Let me guess. Dated 
him?/ and glared at her friend.

"Oh very funny.  I'm not that obvious."  Xander merely raised his eyebrows 
at her, and she pouted.  "You're not even back a day and you're picking on 
me."

Willow swallowed her giggles.  "So, she's dating this guy, and discovers 
that he's really some evil Mayor Wilkins-type creep."

/I thot dating evil is X terrtry.  Slayd?/

Buffy relayed the message and smiled sadly.  "Yeah.  Kind of a shame, he was 
a really nice guy when he wasn't being evil.  Boring in the sack, though." 
She giggled as Xander made a strangled noise and began to write furiously on 
his notepad.  "T.M.I. I know."

Xander flipped the page and wrote. /Can't all be Vikings like me./

"Arrogant much?" Willow asked archly.  "And what was that with that 
stewardess?"

/Chks dig the patch./

"Maybe I should get one," the redhead mused wistfully.

Xander tapped Buffy's shoulder.  /K + W = breakup?/  She nodded, and he 
flipped the page, the words there causing her to snort. /Thnk God./

Silence reigned in the car for a few minutes, until Willow finally asked, 
"Xander?  I know we promised to let it lie, but...how?"  She didn't need to 
explain what she meant.

Xander wrote for a few moments on his pad, flipping pages as he scribbled 
furiously.  He tore them off and handed them to Buffy to read out.  She 
frowned as she tried to decipher it.

"African demons had some way to track Slayers...I think this is 
'convinced'... people that Slayer equals evil, must be killed.  Tried to 
save girls, but got caught.  Thought it would be funny to hang me.  9 days 
on tree before vine broke.  UN... medical? mission found me."

"But *nine* days?" Willow spluttered.  "That's impossible!"

Xander snorted and handed a page to Buffy to read.  "Impossible happened 
five ex? oh, five times a year for us."  Buffy smiled.  "He's got a point, 
Will."

_\|/_

Xander let out a low whistle as they pulled up to the compound.  "Nice," he 
rasped.

"It was a small girl's boarding school in the 40's," Willow explained as 
they got out of the car.  "Lots of room, a decent gymnasium, pretty large 
lot."  She added with a giggle, "It cost Giles an arm and a leg, I think he 
was inventing swear words as he signed that check."  Xander touched her arm 
and made a questioning gesture.  "Real estate prices in this area are 
insane."  She skipped forward, suddenly giddy.  "Come on, come on!  You have 
to see your room!"

Xander stood and watched the redhead, a fond smile on his face.  He shook 
his head and started to follow, only to be stopped by Buffy's firm grasp on 
his arm.   "Hey," Buffy said softly, her eyes shining  with reflected light 
in the darkness.  She wrapped her arms around him, and held him until he 
began to return it.  "Welcome home, Xander."

And from above, two ravens watched.

_\|/_

Nine months later...

_\|/_

Christopher Angel Presents:

GOD'S TOY
Cycle 2.1 - Odinborn

An Oh! My Brother! side story.

A Yggdrasil Production
inspired by:

Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel: The Series
Property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and a whole bunch more people.

_\|/_

Waking up in a featureless white light was, to be brutally honest, a 
disturbingly unimpressive experience for Chris.

"Aww man, not again.  And where the heck are my clothes?!  This naked thing 
is getting really tired."

"Hello, Christopher."

Looking up, said individual saw an burly, aged man of average height dressed 
in stained leathers.  His face was rough and leathery with age, and his eye 
was covered with a jewelled patch.  His hair and beard were long, one 
merging into the other.

"Aww, crud.  Hi, Boss," Chris made a sweeping gesture to indicate his lack 
of clothing.  "Any particular reason I'm jaybird-esque here?"

"As a child is skyclad as he is born into the world, so were you when you 
were born into this one."

Giving him a long stare, Chris finally responded, "You just made that up."

The other merely inclined his head, turned, and walked away.  With a shrug, 
the nude young man followed.

"So," he asked.  "What can I be doing for you today?"

Stopping, the elder waved his hand vaguely, and a section of the whiteness 
darkened into an odd set of scales - myriad sets of countering balances - 
hanging from chains, platforms, even simple bars - all around a central 
point, which glowed like a star.  "In this place, the War is fought 
constantly, more intensely than what you have experienced.  There has been 
major battles won and lost, in recent times."

"And?"

Another hand wave, and the scales began to rotate.  "Much of the Powers of 
this place spend their efforts on maintaining a balance, seeing the War as a 
game to be played.  Ones like myself were content to stand apart, unwilling 
to act as long as those conditions prevail.  They no longer do.  These 
Lesser Powers were so intent on maintaining the greater balances, they left 
a smaller, more fundamental one unwatched."  The various sets of scales 
began to fade out, until only a pair of scales, one balanced, one greviously 
weighted to one side, remained.  "The balance of light and darkness is 
maintained, and thus, I will not act.  The balance of man and woman is not, 
and thus I must."

"And I'm your balancing weight?  No offense, Boss, but I'm one guy, what can 
I do?"  Chris paused and added, "Especially with *my* track record with 
women."

"I merely wish to return the scales to balance.  Through a grand spell, 
hundreds of females have become strong of arm, warriors in their own right. 
They have shifted the balance, taken the dominance of strength from man. 
Thus, we shall empower man with the strength of women, with spiritual 
prowess."

"Uh huh.  Boss, do you not remember the talk you and I had once about 
talking clearly?"

"He can't help it, he's limited that way.  He's not quite the being you 
know.  I think."

Chris yelped and whirled as the woman's voice echoed though the area. 
Covering his privates, he whirled to see an attractive blonde staring at him 
from several paces away, an expression of impatience on her face.  She was 
of average height, with dirty blonde hair and stern Nordic features, and 
dark hazel eyes.  She dressed in a white shirt and grey pants of flattering 
cut, showing off a figure that Chris found remarkably interesting, if a 
little lithe for his tastes.  She stalked towards them, stopped, and looked 
him up and down with a contemplative expression.

"You're awfully tall and stocky," she said flatly.  "And quite freckled." 
She continued to gaze at him with a simple curiosity.  "It is intriguing to 
find someone with such dark hair, considering your complexion."

Blushing, he could only respond, "Uh, thanks?"  Out of the side of his 
mouth, Chris hissed to the elder man, "CLOTHES PLEASE."

"Until you are born into the world, you must remain skyclad," he responded.

The woman scowled and said, "Lord Odin, you just made that up."

"That's what *I* said," Chris put in, and then sighed and ceased trying to 
cover himself.  "Oh, Fnord it.  If the Boss wants to get his jollies seeing 
me parade around naked, there's not much I can do."  He smiled at the woman 
and nodded.  "Hi, I'm Chris.  Sorry about the nudity."

"That's quite all right, I find it entertaining," she replied in a 
businesslike tone.  "I can't tell you my name, I'm sorry, I don't know it 
any more."

Chris linked in confusion.  "What the..." he inhaled sharply as he felt an 
odd resonance in the woman.  "You're an Einheriar.  One of the valorous 
slain."

"Indeed," Odin rumbled.  "I allowed her here as a boon, since she knows the 
one you must seek."  He gestured, and she stepped back.

"Who?"

"A warrior in the fight against the darkness," was the reply.  "Like I did, 
he gave his eye in sacrifice, to himself, and to that fight, and gained 
wisdom for it.  Like I did, he hung wounded on wind-swept gallows for nine 
long nights, pledged to himself, and to that fight.  And thus, like me, he 
will take up runes, reborn as I was."

Chris' eyes glazed as he recited the ancient Edda:

"Wounded I hung on a wind-swept gallows
For nine long nights,
Pierced by a spear, pledged to Odin,
Offered, myself to myself
The wisest know not from whence spring
The roots of that ancient rood.
They gave me no bread,
They gave me no mead,
I looked down;
With a loud cry
I took up runes;
From that tree I fell."

He fell silent, and turned an amazed gaze upon Odin.  "Tyr's Testicles," he 
swore.  "You're going to give him the Runes!"

"Nine nights he hung, and thus, nine charms he will learn."

"And I'm....?"

"You are to guide him, to teach him these ancient runes, to show him their 
power and their price."

With an explosive exhalation, Chris sighed.  "Why don't I get the easy 
jobs?" he complained.  "Fine.  What now?"

"You must go to those who are mirrors of your sisters.  For as the one you 
seek is born as I was, in this place, you remain Norns' Brother, though your 
powers must change as they have."

"Riiiight.  I'm-a gettin' that sinkin' feelin'."

Odin merely stared at him, his single eye unblinking, and then strode off 
into the light.  Chris glared after him, then turned a resigned expression 
on the Einheriar.  "Are you going to take me to them?"

"Yes," she replied in the same matter-of-fact tone she used before, and then 
her expression suddenly changed and became anguished.  "But I must ask a 
boom of you, Norns' Brother.  The one you are to go to," tears began to well 
in her eyes, "I don't remember his name, but I remember I loved him very 
much.  I remember how he made me feel, and I remember I hated him once, even 
as I loved him.  I know that my death has wounded him in ways I once would 
have revelled in, and now I despise.  Please, help him heal, help him find 
happiness again."

And then suddenly, she stepped forward and touched his chest, and Chris was 
surrounded in light.  He cried out as he felt himself falling, and grunted 
as his breath was driven out of him as he fell to the ground face-first.  He 
groaned, rolled over, and found himself staring at three beautiful women.

"Mmmmmm," they breathed.  The three women, one a brunette, one a blonde, and 
one an oriental, wore pink dresses that reminded Chris of togas.  Their hair 
was set up in something out of a movie of Ancient Greece - well, except for 
the blonde, who had a ludicrous mountain of blonde curls for a hairdo.  The 
began to speak, the thread of conversation blowing from one woman to the 
next seamlessly.

"Odin promised us a sibling..."

"...but we didn't expect such an..."

"..exciting entrance."

Chris blinked, looked down, yelped, and quickly attempted to cover himself. 
He looked around the area, which appeared to be the living room of a rather 
large apartment set up with several chaise lounges, decorated like someone 
was channelling Ancient Greece and/or Rome for inspiration.   He reached out 
and picked up a cushion, and with a bit of acrobatics he'd have been 
impressed with any other day, managed to quickly get himself into a couch 
and his bits covered.  Looking up to the sky, he ground out, "You are *such* 
a comedian."

"There is no need for such modesty," the three spoke, this time in unison. 
They moved to surround him, the brunette sitting beside, the blonde standing 
before, and the oriental behind.  He shrank into the arm of the couch a 
little.  "Are you not our brother?"

"That depends," Chris replied uneasily.  "Last I checked, my sisters were 
Scandanavian, not Greek." He paused and then added, "But hey, new world.  So 
you're the Norns?"

"Once we were," this time, the thread of the women's speech switched from 
one of them to the next.  "We have carried names like...."

"...Urth, Verithandi, and Skuld..."

"...Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos..."

"...Laima, Karta and Dekla..."

"...Megaera, Alecto, Tisiphone."

Now they spoke together.  "We have been called the Fates, Moirae, Norns, 
Semnai, Erinyes.  Today, we carry the name Furies."

Chris began to massage his temples with the thumb and forefinger of his 
right hand.  "Furies," he repeated, and then groaned.  "Right.  Okay, you're 
sort of the sisters I know.  Kinda.  One question: Which of you is which?"

"We are there Furies," they chorused.  "We are three, we are one."

The cryptic statement caused Chris to frown as he considered it. 
"So...you're there is no Skuld or Urd or Be-Verithandi or anything, it's 
just the Furies?"  The women only smiled in response, and he grimaced. 
"Ugh."

"Is this..."

"...a hard thing..."

"...to accept?"

"I went from a technophile pre-teen, an angelic young woman, and a 
worldly... also young woman to Playboys' Greek Chorus," he snarked.  "I'm 
kinda freaked out here."  He shivered.  "And still naked!  Look, I'll deal. 
Can I get some clothes?"

The Furies exchanged a look, and then the blonde began to undo her toga.

"NOT LIKE THAT!" Chris roared, panicked, and palmed his face.  "Oy vey. 
This is going to be one of those jobs."

"What is..."

"..your name..."

"...our brother?"

"Christopher Angel," he replied.

The three women exchanged a satisfied look.  "Mmmmmmm, *Angel*."

"Uh *huh*."

_\|/_

"Okay, clothing - and thank Fnord for that?  Check.  Money - not that I 
should need any?  Check.  Reasonably impressive cosmic powers?  Check. 
Weapon - because knowing my luck, someone's going to want to eviscerate me? 
Check.  Cell phone with my lovely sisters-of-the-realm on speed dial? 
Check."  Chris gave a thumbs up to the blonde, who he had come to name 
'Dylan' mentally.  "Ready to go."  She kissed his cheek, and then stepped 
away.

The oriental, 'Alex' in Chris' mind, stepped in front of him and fussed with 
lines of the green button down he had tucked into some dark grey jeans, and 
then kissed him chastely on the cheek in the same location.

Finally, the last, whom he had named 'Natalie', handed him his jacket, a 
dark green overcoat, and then she, too, kissed the same location.

"We are going..."

"...to teleport you to..."

"...the location of the Odinborn."

With a nod, Chris stepped into the chalk diagram they had drawn into the 
floor.  The Furies moved to specific locations around the circle, and then 
joined hands.  He felt a sort of electricity in the air as they began to 
chant, and then...

...he felt himself suddenly thrown through the walls, which he passed 
through harmlessly.  His body flew over the land, his eyes filled with a 
unresolvable blur of images as he passed through buildings, cars, people, 
trees, and mountains.  He felt his stomach begin to roil as the sensations 
started making him nauseated...

...and then it was over.

Chris stood in a field, a largish brick building in before him.  He looked 
down, and saw an attractive, petite blonde standing barely a foot away, her 
mouth open in shock as she looked at him.  He opened his mouth to greet her, 
and her fist flashed out and impacted his temple.  He felt a blaze of pain 
from the blow, and then felt nothing more.

_\|/_

"Hey, Will?  Did we order a tall guy?"

Willow looked up from her computer, and frowned at Xander.  "What are you 
talking about?"

"Because Buff just knocked one out on the back lawn."