kazzy_cee was kind enough to make me more "Xander's Job" icons, after I forgot to mention the story was set post-eye patch. :-(
Xander's Job, Chapter 2: Conversation With a Dead Person:
Nice ride, Xander thought, looking around the interior of Wolfram & Hart’s private jet.
Just the fact that he was in a private jet was remarkable enough. Come to think of it, why didn’t the Watcher’s Council own a jet? Or at least a helicopter? After all, there was a heliport on the roof of their Chicago building, although he hadn’t known it until today. They owned cars, vans, even an ambulance, and though the old Council had been wiped out, Giles still seemed to have access to some deep pockets. Couldn’t they have one X-Men style hidden jet? Circling the globe, swooping down on demons and vampires --
Shaking himself, Xander glanced over at the vampire sitting silently across the narrow aisle from him. Angel hadn’t said two words since they transferred from the chopper to the jet at Midway Airport; he just sat there, staring straight ahead. Xander was getting antsy from the silence, which helped explain his mental diarrhea. “It’ll be dark by the time we reach Hartford. No canopies necessary.”
Angel glanced at him. “There’ll be a limo waiting for us.”
“Gee, it’s just like going to the prom again.” That made Xander think of Anya, and now it was his turn to retreat into a moody silence.
“What’s Giles doing in Hartford?” Angel suddenly asked, and Xander realized the silence must be getting to him, too.
“Insurance stuff. Apparently crime fighting headquarters are hard to insure. He was supposed to meet with some consultant a few days ago, but there was a scheduling problem, so Giles spent the time on the beach, watching bikini ladies and drinking long necks.”
A smirk crossed Angel’s face. At first Xander thought it was at the thought of Giles on the beach, but then he realized what else it could be. “I mean long neck beer bottles, not long necked bikini ladies.”
“That reminds me: There’s a bar back there, if you’re interested.”
Xander shook his head. “I gave it up. Turns out that stuff’s bad for you, especially if you try to make it a family tradition.”
Angel merely grunted, and they fell again into an uncomfortable silence. Xander looked out the window for awhile, but even though the glass was supposedly tinted to keep Angel safe, the vampire kept the curtain closed on his side. When Xander could stand it no longer, he spoke again. “So, how’s it been going? Anything interesting in the big city?”
For a moment he thought Angel wasn’t going to answer. Then, without looking at Xander, Angel said, “I turned into a puppet recently.”
“Oh.” To show how much his life had changed in the last decade, Xander didn’t even question it. “How’d that work out for you?”
“I didn’t like it much.”
“Too bad.” Irked by the feeling Angel wouldn’t have mentioned it, if not for the bad day Xander was having, he tried to think of some way to rile up his travel partner. “Did you have -- parts?”
“You know ... parts. Man parts.”
Now Angel did turn to look at him. “I didn’t check.”
“You didn’t --” That’s the first thing Xander would have checked for, but he had a feeling admitting that wouldn’t make him look good.
“My nose could come off,” Angel offered. “I don’t think I’d have liked it if ... other parts were detachable.”
“That would be freaky,” Xander agreed. At least he had a good idea what tonight’s nightmares were going to involve.
Angel cleared his throat, which started Xander’s thoughts on a tangent about whether vampires needed to clear their throats, or whether it was a habit. “How about -- all of you? I haven’t kept up much since you left California.”
But, Xander thought, somehow he knew they were in Chicago. “Not much to speak of. A Cheeseman who haunted our dreams brought all the dead slayers back to life so he could take over the world. Had a big fight, blew things up, the ghosts of our dead friends came back to help us ... pretty much the usual.”
Angel turned to stare at him. “Cheeseman?”
“Yeah. Also there was this singing, dancing demon, but the Cheeseman was the big ... cheese.”
“Bald guy, cheap suit? Comes into your dreams, always talks in riddles about dairy products?”
“Yeah.” Did vampires dream? “Have you had a run-in with him?”
Angel looked away. “Nah.”
Neither spoke again until the pilot’s voice emerged from the loudspeaker, announcing they were on final approach. Then, as one, both breathed, “Thank God.”