Who: Xander and YOU. What: Xander misses The Library. So he goes and finds one in hopes of finding a Giles. When: Afternoon. He's not dumb enough to run around at night without his hero escort. Where: A public library! GASP. Rating: TBD.
The Hyperion was a nice enough of a place when people weren't pissed at each other or trying to fight off the baddies, but Xander never could quite settle into the place. He wasn't comfortable there. The lone sidekick amongst the masses of heroes. If he could even be dubbed as a sidekick. Some sidekicks could actually defend their asses when they were facing off the villains. Like Robin. Or Krypto, the superdog. He'd been training himself though, when he had the time (which, okay, was almost always). If anything, Xander could at least throw a good punch by now. And he was still clinging onto what was left of that military knowledge that Halloween from hell had jammed into his brain. So putting a rifle together? So not a problem on his part. Unfortunately, Xander didn't own a gun. And he didn't think that he'd be man enough to use one if he did go out and actually find one. Nope, stakes were better. They were simple. Pointy, splintery, and annoying to actually sharpen. But classic. And that was important.
He'd been walking around for a while, mind mostly focused on the conversation that he'd had with Peter Parker a few days ago. He hadn't graduated yet. He was supposed to have gotten on that, what with it having been his senior year and all, but what with Xander being yanked out of his own time and shoved into this one instead, he didn't exactly have the chance. And that was one heck of a shame too, as Xander was pretty sure that all of Willow's tutoring sessions had actually gone into his head rather than over it for a change. At least they had before he left. Xander wasn't so sure he'd be able to remember much of that pre-exam drilling now. It had been way too long since he'd been back home in Sunnydale.
So now Xander was considering the school option. Go to school here, finish his final year out. And then what? Become a mad scientist? Yeah, sure. That was likely. Xander couldn't even pass chemistry without Willow's constant nagging, how in the hell was he supposed to manage running a laboratory? And the evil laugh. Xander didn't have one of those either. Plus crazy hair was important. His was somewhat tamed in comparison. So no, the mad scientist thing wouldn't cut it. So what was he supposed to do? Maybe Xander should have asked Willow -- this Willow, not the Willow from his time -- about what it was that he did in the future. Did he work at some big time company? Sell cars? Was he the popcorn guy at the movie theater? He really needed to ask.
As he was considering all of this, Xander stumbled upon a library somewhere in the midtown area. Normally he wouldn't have given the area a second look, but he was so caught up in his thoughts about Sunnydale that he couldn't help but instantly think of Giles at the mere sight of it. If Giles had ended up here, wouldn't this be the first place he'd go? Smelly books, stuffy lady librarians...it only seemed right. He'd have to start checking out the libraries from now on. Maybe the G-Man was in town and maybe he'd be from a time that he could actually relate to. Like, you know, his last year in high school. Xander's last year. Not Giles'. Or Ripper's, if one wanted to get into the specifics.
He scanned the stacks of books and the few faces that were on the inside, hoping to see someone dressed in a stuffy suit, cleaning their glasses with a stern frown on their face. But he didn't. So Xander gloomily retreated to a table in the far corner, snatched up a book on the way there, and settled down. He flipped through it for a little while, barely paying any attention to anything aside from the pictures, before he set his head down and wearily sighed.
This place wasn't very fun. At all.
He sulked. Then watched the people on the inside wander by. Over time though, he eventually felt his eyes growing heavier and heavier until, just like that, he was asleep.