Summary: YAHF. Xander meets an old reprobate.

Crossover: I'm sure you'll figure it out.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this.

Feedback: Coin of the realm!

Pre-fic Comments:

Yes, I'm evil. No, this isn't being continued.

Buffy looked around.

"Where's Xander," she asked. "I thought he was getting his costume as well."

"Uh... there he is," Willow pointed towards the cash register.

"Thanks, I thought I wouldn't find one," Xander said, handing the thin shopkeeper the money. "Now all I need is a British newspaper."

"Really," the shopkeeper, Ethan, said. "I believe I have one in the back... I'll give it to you for free."

"You will? Thanks, man," Xander grinned.

"How goes it," a female voice asked from behind him as the man disappeared behind a curtain.

"Okay, just one more thing to get then I'm done," Xander said to Willow. "You two?"

"I'm sorted," Willow smiled. "But Buffy's still looking."

"I could suggest a costume for her," Xander grinned. "One with either leather or spandex."

"/No, Xander," Buffy frowned.

"Here you go," Ethan said, reappearing and handing Xander the paper.

Xander flicked through it, then put it in the bag with his purchase. "Thanks."

Ethan nodded. "Do remember to bring them tomorrow, please."

"Sure thing," Xander said.

"Well, well," Ethan said, moving behind Buffy who had spotted a large, frilly dress. "I think we've found the hidden princess, don't you?"

"I, I can't afford--," Buffy began.

"Please, I feel driven to give you an offer you can't refuse," Ethan smiled.

"Xander, for the last time," Willow growled, "who are you?"

"You really can't tell," Xander asked.

He was in a very worn old tweed jacket and pants, with a somewhat dirty shirt underneath. A green tartan cap was on his head, pulled down almost completely over his eyes. Hanging out of his mouth was a paper 'cigarette'. He managed to talk without removing it, somehow.

"No, now spill," Buffy commanded.

"Just a comic book character," Xander shrugged. "I'll bring some of the books tomorrow."

Andy groaned, face down on the tar seal.

"Flippin' 'eck... Andy, lad, this's a new low," he muttered, somehow getting to his feet. "Bugger... lost."

He took a quick inventory, turning up a wallet, keys, and a watch. Something on the watch worried him.

"Aaaaaaggghhh! Almost closin' time!"

He jogged off towards what looked like town, spotting a pub in seconds.

"Hmmm... Willy's Alibi. Time f' some courage before facin' Flo," he muttered, walking through the door.

"Barkeep! 'Ow about a beer 'ere, then?"

Perching himself on a barstool, Andy looked around.

"You're a long way from 'ome, ain't cha," a voice asked him.

He turned to find a thin, blonde man regarding him.

"Buggered if I know 'ow I got 'ere," Andy said. "Where the 'ell am I?"

"America. I'm Spike, by the way."

"An' Flo thought me visitin' me mum was bad," Andy muttered, before lifting his beer up. "I'm Andy. Andy Capp."

Two hours later found Andy and Spike arguing.

"Come back 'ere," Andy roared.

"Yeah, right," Spike snarled.

"Y' still owe me twenty quid, y' bastard!"

"You ain't seein' a bloody penny," Spike retorted.

Andy rolled his sleeves up, cigarette still smoking at his lips, cap still lowered past his eyes.

"'Old onto me beer a moment, Willy -- this won't take 'alf a second."

Later that night, Xander sat on his bed, staring at what he held.

"What th' 'ell 'm I supposed to do with twenty bloody pounds? Tisn't as if I'm in Old Blighty!"