“Good news.” Only those who truly knew him could tell that Giles was practically humming with suppressed excitement. “We’ve located the fellow who has the text I require,” he told the Scooby gang as they gathered around the research table Sunday night.

“Great!” Buffy said. “Does that mean research is over and I can go kill something?”

“Er, not exactly,” Giles said apologetically, whipping the glasses off his face with practiced ease and vigorously polishing them with his handkerchief. “We still need to retrieve the text.”

“So, call him and set up a meet,” Xander said. “He brings the book, you bring the money... No biggie, right? Uh, right?” he repeated when Giles didn’t answer immediately.

“He doesn’t actually want to part with the text,” the Watcher admitted slowly. “Nor is he aware that we know he is in possession of it.”

Spike snorted from his seat atop the counter, where he was amusing himself by kicking his heels into the side of it.

“Shut up, Spike,” Buffy said out of habit, not even looking over at him.

Spike’s eyes widened innocently, and he held his hands out in a ‘what did I say’ gesture. Xander frowned at him. Spike grinned back.

“How are we going to get the book, then?” Willow asked, biting her lip nervously.

“I’d suggest breaking in and stealing it if I thought we’d get away with it,” Giles mused. “But his house is like a fortress.”

“Yeah,” Willow added. “He spent loads on a top-of-the-line security system, and has a dozen security personnel stationed around the premises, inside and out, at any one time.”

“And we know this how?” Xander asked. Willow grinned, and made a typing motion with her fingers. “Cool,” he said. “‘Net girl strikes again!”

“So if we can’t buy it, and we can’t steal it,” Buffy said, “how are we going to get it?”

“Oh, I didn’t say we couldn’t steal it,” Giles corrected her, slipping his glasses back onto his nose. “Just that we couldn’t break in.” He paused. “We need to get someone on the inside.”

Silence blanketed the room. Then Xander spoke. “Like an undercover sting operation?” he asked excitedly.

“Er, yes, very much like that,” Giles agreed.

“Will we have cool toys like James Bond?” he asked excitedly.

“I, um, well, we can get cell phones,” Giles said.

“I’m in!” Xander said with a grin.

“Excellent,” Giles said. “I was hoping you’d agree. We really couldn’t do it without you, Xander. You’ll need backup, though, and it’ll have to be someone who won’t blow your cover...”

“Cover? I’ll have a cover?” Xander asked, bouncing in his seat.

“...and I might be recognized—as a warlock who might have some interest in the book in question, of course—so Spike will have to go with you.”

“Spike?” Xander yelped in dismay.

“This has the potential to be a bit dangerous.”

“Wait! Uh, how dangerous?” Xander asked at the same time Spike loudly declined.

“Oh, no!” The vampire jumped off the counter. “You lot have no use for me until you need someone to do your dirty work. Well, count me out.” He headed for the front door of the Magic Box.

“There could be violence involved,” Giles tempted him. “Many of the guards are of the non-human variety. And we’ll pay you, of course,” he added.

Spike hesitated. “How much?”

“How much violence, or how much money?” Giles asked.

“Both,” Spike replied, turning back into the shop.

“I’ll pay you $100, plus expenses,” Giles said. “As for the violence, that’s really unquantifiable. If everything goes well, you’ll get out with the book and both your skins intact without anyone knowing the difference. We all know that things don’t always go perfectly, however, which is why you’ll be there to provide Xander backup.”

“Two hundred,” Spike said, just to be difficult. He’d do it for the violence alone, but they didn’t have to know that. All that talk about not wanting to do the dirty work wasn’t completely true, he just didn’t like having to do their dirty work. Pillocks.

“One fifty,” Giles countered.

“Done,” Spike agreed.

Giles nodded his head, sealing the bargain. He’d have gone much higher to get his hands on this text. Now came the hard part.

“Kormac hangs out at a club. I’d like the two of you to start frequenting the club, see if you can make contact, possibly get introduced to him. Hopefully, he’ll find you both interesting and invite you back to his home for one of the parties he’s been rumored to throw, and you’ll be able to locate and secure the volume we need. Willow will print out all the relevant information you’ll need about Kormac so you can study him before meeting him. Now,” he rubbed his hands together, eager to get started. “The next thing we’ll need to do is get you both some new clothes. What you have on now will never be acceptable to get you in the door. This club caters to people of a...high caliber, shall we say?”

“What club is it, anyway?” Spike asked.

“Sin City,” Giles said matter-of-factly, and waited for the expected explosion.

“Are you bleedin’ nuts?” Spike yelled.

“Isn’t that a gay club?” Xander squeaked.

Spike couldn’t believe he’d agreed to this. One hundred and fifty bucks was not worth the aggravation of having to play nice with Xander bloody Harris for one hour, much less however long it would take to retrieve the book the Watcher needed. Despite the promise of violence and new clothes. He glanced across the training room where the brunette was brandishing a sword. He struck a pose. “I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, and there can be only one,” he intoned deeply, and Spike rolled his eyes. Not even the incentive of fully-paid expenses could make this bearable.

He dropped onto the couch and pulled out his flask, shaking it to determine the level of liquor inside. He was definitely going to need more of this. He took a swig. Where were the silly bints, anyway? How long did it take to pick up some clothes? They’d taken their measurements the night before, Giles had entrusted them with his credit card and a list of requirements, and they were supposed to bring the clothes to the Magic Box so they could try them on to make sure everything fit.

As if his thoughts had conjured them, Spike heard the front door to the magic shop open as the three girls entered the store. Xander glanced towards the front of the shop, and then fumbled nervously with the sword trying to put it away. Spike heard his heartbeat speed up and could smell the anxiety wafting off him. In response, Spike shifted lower on the couch, assuming a careless sprawl.

“We’re here, and we have clothes!” Buffy said as she pushed through the beaded curtain and into the training room with Willow and Tara following her. All three girls were loaded down with bags, and giggling. Spike adopted an expression of bored indifference. They’d better have gotten him black.

Willow and Tara stopped in front of him. “Hey, Spike,” Willow said.

“Red,” he growled. He nodded at Tara, who blushed in return.

“Wanna see what we got?”

“S’pose. Better be black,” he said, watching the two girls set their bags down on the floor in front of him. He shifted forwards as they began pulling items out, and then grabbed them out of their hands. Black leather pants, a thigh-length black leather jacket, a new pair of black boots, a blue silk shirt...

Xander stood nervously in the middle of the training room. He’d been trying to distract himself, but that was no longer possible. The girls were here. How had he gotten roped into this? Oh, yeah, he’d volunteered! Undercover work had sounded like fun until he found out his backup would be Spike, that it would be dangerous, and that he was going undercover at a gay bar. And had he mentioned, undercover with Spike? At a gay bar?

“Xan,” Buffy said with a grin as she stopped in front of him.

“Buff,” he responded suspiciously.

“Gotcha some new clothes,” she said, her grin widening.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he whimpered. He just knew that look was the last thing a vamp saw when she moved in for the dust.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “They’re tasteful.” She pulled out a pair of silver leather pants.

“Leather?” he gasped.

“Yep!” she chirped. “Here, try ‘em on.” She held them out.

Xander pulled his hands back, staring at the pants in shock. “What?” he squeaked.

“Try ‘em on,” Buffy said again. “We have to make sure they fit.” She tossed the pants at him and Xander reflexively reached out to catch them. His mouth opened and closed in horror as Buffy pulled out a red mesh t-shirt. He barely saw Spike stuff his booty back into the bags, call the bathroom, and race out of the training room.

“I can’t wear that!” Xander yelped, finally finding his voice.

“Sure ya can,” Buffy encouraged.

“Uh, Buff,” Willow said. “He needs some privacy.”

“No!” Xander cried, and all three girls turned to stare at him. “I mean, uh, yeah, privacy, but I can’t...” He desperately held the clothes back out to Buffy.

“We want to see what each outfit looks like,” Buffy commanded as she pushed back through the curtain.

Xander looked at the clothes in his hands and swallowed hard.

“I’m counting to ten!” Buffy called from the store.

“Eep!” Xander dropped the pants and began undoing his khakis as he kicked his sneakers off. He pulled on the leather pants, and then shrugged out of his jacket and took his shirt off. He pulled the mesh t-shirt on. It was too short to tuck in, so he fastened the leather pants. They were way too tight.

“Buff?” he called, and the three girls immediately appeared. “I think these are too small.” Buffy looked him over critically, then grabbed his ass. “Hey!” he protested, jumping away.

“Nope.” She shook her head. “I think they fit perfectly. What do you think?” She turned to Willow and Tara.

“Oh, yeah,” Willow agreed.

“Mmm hmm.” Tara nodded.

“Just a tip, though, Xan.” Buffy leaned in close so she could whisper. “When you wear ‘em out, lose the boxers.”

“What?” he yelped.

Spike sauntered out of the bathroom, the clothes stuffed back into the bags. Giles and the three girls were gathered around the research table. He dropped the bags in the middle of the table. “They fit,” he said nonchalantly. Inside he was crowing. It might be worth hanging out with Xander Harris if he got to keep those clothes. It had been a while since he’d been treated as a Master Vampire, but now he could at least dress the part.

“Good heavens,” Giles said, looking into the bags. “Could you have stuffed them in here any more haphazardly?” He pulled the clothes out and laid them on the table. “We’ll be keeping your new wardrobe here, just to make certain they remain in good shape for our, uh, mission.” He pulled out a hanger as he spoke and hung the white poet’s shirt he held on it. Each of the girls automatically grabbed a hanger, and soon the clothes were all hung on a portable clothes rack that Giles must have assembled while he was trying on the clothes. At least, it never used to sit in the middle of the shop.

“Sure thing, Rupes,” he said, and then jumped up onto the counter. “Where’s Harris?” he asked. He could sense the boy in the back room; his heart was still pounding, and his anxiety seemed to have increased.

“Still trying on clothes,” Buffy replied with equanimity.

“Oh...my...god!” They all heard a screech from the training room.

Spike’s eyes narrowed as he watched the three chits exchange looks and struggle to keep straight faces.

“Buffy!” Xander screamed. “I am not wearing these!”

“I told you he’d balk at the red lace-up leather pants,” Tara said calmly, and then all three girls broke into sniggers.

“Try them on, Xander!” Buffy yelled back, in her best I-am-the-Slayer, do-as-I-say voice.

Spike was horrified. Monkey boy was going to wear lace-up leather pants? In public? And he, Spike, the Big Bad, was going to be seen with him? Spike groaned inwardly. If he wasn’t already, he was certainly going to be a laughing stock after this.

Giles sent Buffy out to patrol, and Willow and Tara home, so he could speak privately with Xander and Spike. When the three of them were sitting around the research table he looked closely at them and opened his mouth to speak, then took a deep breath and exhaled loudly before slumping in his chair and whipping his glasses off his nose simultaneously with the handkerchief from his pocket, and proceeded to forcefully clean the lenses.

“Uh, Giles?” Xander called softly to him.

“Was there a purpose to keepin’ us here, Watcher?” Spike asked in a bored tone.

It was the impetus Giles needed. He slipped the glasses back onto his nose, and the handkerchief back into his pocket. “Yes,” he said firmly. “I’d like to discuss the roles you’re both going to play in this...”

“Undercover operation?” Xander eagerly supplied.

“Farce?” Spike muttered, still stuck on the image of Xander in red lace-up leather pants.

“Er, yes. Undercover operation, that is,” Giles agreed.

“What’s to talk about?” Spike asked, trying to get the picture out of his head. “We go in, meet this bloke with the book, get invited to his place, snatch the book, and get our asses out of there. ‘Less monkey boy wants to stay,” he added with a sneer.

Xander opened his mouth to reply, but Giles forestalled him. “Yes, well,” he said, automatically reaching for his glasses, and then stopping himself. “It’s not really going to be as simple as that makes it sound.”

“It’s not?” Xander asked, worry coloring his voice.

Giles threw him an exasperated look. “No,” he said. “At the best of times the two of you aren’t friends...”

Xander made a gagging noise.

“I bloody well hope not,” Spike drawled.

“...as you’ve just proven. Thank you,” he added with a good dose of sarcasm. “Despite the, er, venue,” he continued, “I certainly don’t expect the two of you to act as if you’re lovers...”

Xander’s eyes bugged as he struggled to speak.

“Sod that!” Spike cried.

Giles ignored them both. “...or even on a first date...”

Xander choked. Spike slapped him on the back a little harder than necessary and winced as the chip twinged.

“...but you must at least act friendly or you’ll never be able to pull this off,” he concluded.

“Lovers?” Xander gasped.

Giles sighed. “It is a gay club, Xander,” he reminded the boy.

“I know that!” Xander said. He looked at Spike with a frown creasing his brow. “But nobody’d believe we were lovers!” he spat.

“Certainly not the way you act now,” Giles interjected.

“Yeah, I’ve got better taste than him,” Spike snarked.

“Who in their right mind would believe I’d go out with...” Xander looked Spike over critically. “...this Billy Idol wannabe? I mean, look at those clothes. And his hair!”

“You’re one to speak, you...,” Spike started angrily, and then hesitated as he ran his hand over his hair. “What’s wrong with my hair?” he growled.

Dejected, Giles leaned back in his chair and mumbled to himself as Spike and Xander continued to argue. “I guess we could use someone else. Buffy can’t go, because she’s the Slayer. They’d recognize her immediately. I can’t go with either Xander or Spike. In addition to the possibility of being recognized, Kormac’s taste runs to the...younger set, he’d never invite me back to his home. That only leaves me with one choice. It’s unfortunate; they’re so innocent and naive still, but there’s no help for it. Willow and Tara will have to go...”

“What?” Xander yelped in mid-insult, his attention attracted by Giles’ casual pronouncement.

“Yes,” Giles continued as if he hadn’t heard Xander. “Willow and Tara. I should call them tonight to let them know of the change in plan...”

“You can’t send Willow and Tara there!” Xander objected.

“Better them than us,” Spike disagreed.

“Of course we’ll need to return the clothes so we have money to buy them each a new wardrobe for the...”

“Thank god!” Xander breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of not having to wear the red lace-up leather pants, and then realized that meant Willow and Tara would have to be the ones going undercover. And getting the cool phone.

“Wait, what do you mean, return the clothes?” Spike interrupted.

“Well,” Giles said happily, rubbing his hands together. “I’m glad that’s settled.”

“No!” Xander squeaked.

“Nothing’s settled,” Spike added ominously.

“What do you mean?” Giles asked, allowing confusion to slip into his voice. “I thought you’d both be happy I’d come up with an alternative solution, seeing as neither of you can stand the company of the other long enough to...”

“I can do it,” Xander said with resolve. He wouldn’t let Willow be put in danger because of Spike.

“Me, too,” Spike growled. He wasn’t going to lose those posh new clothes because of Xander.

“Wonderful!” Giles said with glee. “Then you’ll need to be able to act friendly towards one another, so here is your first assignment in preparation for the, er, undercover operation. Tomorrow night, the two of you, The Bronze, pool, get along, and try to make a point of saying at least one nice thing to the other.” He looked at the expressions on Xander and Spike’s faces. “Never mind, that might be too much for the first time. How about you both attempt to remain civil with each other for the duration of the evening. You know, be polite. If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t...”

“We get it,” Spike hissed, already feeling jittery at the prospect of having to be nice to Xander Harris.

“Of course,” Giles said. “Now why don’t the two of you go home and get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day!” He watched as both men stood from the table with determination and strode purposefully from the shop. He was just congratulating himself on a job well-done when he heard Spike say, “See you tomorrow night at The Bronze, moron,” and Xander reply, “I’ll be there at eight o’clock, fangless.” He sighed, and took his glasses off. It was a start.

That Friday night, Spike forced himself to maintain a leisurely pace as he walked from his crypt to the Magic Box. He raised the smoldering cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs, and then exhaling long and slow. There was a growing ball of excitement simmering in his gut. He wasn’t certain whether it should be attributed to the new wardrobe he was picturing as he tried to decide what to wear to the club that evening, or to his anticipation of the nice spot of violence the Watcher had promised.

Deciding it didn’t matter, he continued on his way. Outside the magic shop he drew one last time upon the cigarette before tossing it into the gutter and pushing the door open. His ears were assailed by a raucous noise, which he eventually determined was Xander and Buffy arguing in the back room. Willow, Tara, and Giles sat around the research table.

Giles was nursing a scotch, the tumbler gripped tightly in one hand while the other held onto his glasses and rubbed his temples. Willow and Tara were holding hands and giggling. They smiled at Spike and waved as he stalked past them. When he reached the training room, he leaned against the doorframe and watched as Buffy tried to dress Xander.

He was wearing a pair of silver leather pants, and nothing else. Spike was surprised to find he enjoyed the view. Maybe he wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen in public with Harris. Well, at least not because of the clothes.

Xander held his arms out to his sides and indicated the pants he wore. “I can’t wear these,” he insisted loudly.

Buffy placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward menacingly. “Why not?” she growled in reply, her tone indicating it wasn’t the first time she’d asked, and that she hadn’t liked any of the answers so far.

“They’re too tight,” Xander replied vehemently. “And they’re really not my color,” he added piteously.

“Did you take your boxers off?” Buffy asked, obviously deciding to take the tack of ignoring his objections.

“Buff...”

“I think they look fine. What do you think, Spike?” she asked.

Xander jumped and tried to cover himself when he saw Spike standing there. Spike just smirked and let his eyes roam over Xander’s body. “He’ll do,” he said, and then turned his attention to the rack of clothes, picking out his own outfit. As he headed for the bathroom in the front of the shop, Buffy handed Xander the red mesh t-shirt.

“Buffy!” he whined.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, everyone was gathered around the table. Xander was no longer complaining about the clothes he had to wear, his attention captured by the cell phone he was fondling. As Spike watched, he closed it, and then flipped the top open. “Beam me up, Scotty,” he said into the makeshift communicator.

Spike moved silently until he was right behind him. Reaching around the other man, he snatched the phone out of his hand. With a squeal of surprise, Xander jumped and turned around to face him. “Q won’t give you any more of these if you keep treating them like toys,” he said.

Xander looked confused. Not that that was unusual. “Uh, Q wasn’t in the original...,” he said, his voice tapering off at Spike’s look.

“Not Picard’s Q, Bond’s Q,” Spike retorted in exasperation. “You’re the one who wanted to be all ‘Mission Impossible’,” he added.

“That’s not Bond...,” Willow started, and then clamped her lips shut at the narrow-eyed look Spike threw her. “But what do I know?”

“You know a lot. You’re a very smart witch,” Tara stuck up for her.

“Thanks.” Willow preened.

“Now, play nice, you two,” Buffy urged, and then smiled as if she was really enjoying this. “We should have made popcorn,” she whispered loudly in Willow’s direction, her eyes never leaving the sight of Spike and Xander dressed for a night out. “Their first date,” she simpered, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye.

“Hey!” Spike and Xander both cried.

“Are you both ready to go?” Giles asked suddenly.

“I’m ready,” Spike said. “Just need to put these in the back.” He hefted the clothes he’d changed out of. Tossing the phone to Xander, who bobbled it several times before catching it and clasping it tightly in his hands, he swept past and deposited his bundle on the couch in the back room.

When he returned, Giles was giving Xander a pep talk, and Spike took a moment to check out the boy’s outfit. Xander was wearing the silver leather pants and red mesh t-shirt with a pair of black boots and a brown leather jacket that fell to mid-thigh. He was nervously fingering the phone and nodding as he listened to Giles, sparing a frown for Spike.

“Well, kiddies,” Spike interrupted, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Let’s get this show on the road.” He was eager to be seen in his new kit.

“Yes, well...,” Giles began, and then hesitated. He cleared his throat and started again. “I think it would be...best...if you were to have transportation this evening. In case you need to make a, er, quick exit. And also to give you more, uh, standing among the other patrons...credibility, as it were.”

There was silence as everyone waited for him to continue. Spike finally broke it. “What do you want us to do, Watcher? Hijack a bus?”

“Oh, um, no. I...” He reached into his pocket and drew out a key chain with one key on it. “I’m giving you, er, Xander,” he emphasized, “the key to my car.” He turned to Xander, took his hand, and placed the key into the palm. “Be careful, please. And do not let Spike behind the wheel or I will put itching powder in your laundry detergent. Am I clear?”

Spike pouted.

Xander’s eyes bugged and he nervously tugged his hand out of Giles’ grasp. “Very,” he squeaked.

Xander looked down at the key he held and was suddenly filled with confidence. The gang was trusting him, the Zeppo, to not only drive Giles’s new baby, but to go undercover and get the book they needed. He tried to ignore the fact that they were sending Spike with him as backup. He pocketed the phone, and then tossed the key into the air and expertly caught it.

“Ready, fangl—, er, uh, buddy?” he asked Spike, and then turned and headed for the front door. “Don’t wait up, G-man!” he called back. He thought he heard Giles groan. Without waiting to see whether Spike was following him, Xander pulled the door open and stepped out into the night. He paused on the sidewalk to let his eyes run over the red convertible.

“Nice,” he drawled to himself, and then swung around it and slid into the drivers’ seat. Maybe tonight wasn’t going to be so bad, after all, if he got to drive Giles’s car. He adjusted the mirrors, and then rubbed his hand on the butter-soft leather of the seat.

He watched Spike as the vampire climbed in beside him. Spike didn’t look so bad, either. He’d chosen to pair the blue silk button-up shirt with the black leather pants, black boots, and black leather jacket. He almost looked like he normally did, except for the blue. And the fact that everything was shiny and new. Xander found himself mesmerized by the patch of white skin visible where Spike had left the top three buttons of the shirt undone.

“The night’s not getting any younger, mo—, er, Harris,” Spike said, shaking Xander out of his musings.

“Huh?” he asked, and then realized what Spike had said. “Oh, yeah, right.” He put the key in the ignition and turned it. The car purred to life, and Xander smiled. He checked the mirrors and pulled away from the curb, driving slow and careful. When he reached the outskirts of town, he pulled over, found the button for putting the top down, and watched it retract.

After he pulled back onto the road, he increased his speed, enjoying the feel of the wind in his hair and the purr of the engine beneath him, secure in the knowledge that there was more power where this came from. He tried to pretend that he was alone, or enjoying the night with someone other than Spike. Anyone other than Spike.

He sighed as he admitted to himself that the evenings spent practicing being friends with Spike were a bit more fun than hours of boring research or being tossed about by the demon of the week while on patrol.

The first evening Xander had to bite his tongue at least a half dozen times to keep from spouting his usual insults at the blond vampire. As had Spike, though that had been almost comical to watch. Each time Spike caught himself about to say something offensive to Xander, his face had scrunched up as if he’d just tasted bad pig’s blood.

Neither one of them had been completely victorious, and it brought home to Xander just how many of the words he and Spike exchanged were barbed. In the end, they’d made it through the night, though it had taken a couple extra shots and long necks to do it.

After that hellish night was over, Xander went to sleep with the pride of a mission successfully completed. That feeling lasted until he reached the Magic Box the next evening where Giles informed him and Spike of their next assignment. They were to go out together once more, and in addition to not saying anything insulting, they actually had to come up with one nice or complimentary thing to say to the other by the end of the evening.

They’d both vocally protested on the grounds that it was morally objectionable and physically impossible, but Giles held firm, and the mention of Willow and Tara taking their place had both of them immediately backing down, though they continued to grumble and complain beneath their breath, existent and nonexistent. Giles just waved them out of the shop.

They played pool and drank, remaining silent for the most part, since removing insults from their conversation really cut down on their usual chatter. It wasn’t until their evening was nearly over that they managed to say anything remotely nice to each other.

Xander had thought of and discarded several compliments that would leave him open to ridicule, like the time the bar lights and smoke had combined to make Spike’s blue eyes sparkle. The fact that he’d even thought that, much less been about to say it aloud, had made Xander choke on his beer. Spike just glowered at him as he slapped him on the back a little harder than necessary.

Finally, one ball away from losing five games in a row, Xander said, “You, uh, you play pool really well.”

Spike, who was lining up his shot to sink the 8-ball, paused and looked up at Xander through this lashes. “Yeah, well,” he hesitated. “You don’t suck.”

He took his shot, but Xander wasn’t even watching. He knew the ball would go into the pocket. He stared at Spike in disbelief. “Did you... Was that supposed to be a compliment?” he squeaked.

Spike grimaced in acknowledgment. “‘S not my best, I know,” he admitted as he placed his cue stick in the rack that hung on the wall. “But look what I’ve got to work with.”

Xander sucked in an indignant breath. “Hey! That’s not... You’re not... I’m telling Giles!”

Spike grinned happily. “Sissy.”

Xander’s eyes went wide. “Look, you undead bloodsucker...!” he began, then stopped.

“Feel better?” Spike asked.

Xander flexed his shoulders. “Yeah,” he admitted, without looking at Spike.

“Me, too. Now let’s go over to the bar so you can buy me another drink,” he said, leading the way.

Xander followed, but only so he could complain. “Me? Buy you a drink? Why?”

“‘Cause you lost,” Spike replied.

“Oh, yeah,” Xander said glumly, pulling out his wallet. Why did he continue to bet with Spike?

Xander hoped that was the end of their ‘training missions’, but when he reported to the Magic Box the next night, Giles was ready with yet another assignment. This time they had to spend the evening together doing something other than playing pool, preferably something where they could practice actually carrying on a conversation, which Giles expected they’d be required to do at the club.

They were immediately presented with a hurdle when they tried to decide what they were going to do. Xander suggested bowling. Spike gave him the evil eye and told him he wouldn’t be caught dead, or dead-er, in bowling shoes. Xander stopped himself from telling Spike he actually had his own pair and they were pretty darn comfy.

Spike suggested going to a movie, he’d heard there was a movie with lots of skin and gratuitous violence showing at the cinema. Giles reminded him it had to be an activity where they could actually hold a conversation. Spike had just looked at them, shrugged, and said, “Yeah?” Giles vetoed the movie idea.

Buffy suggested ice skating, and everyone looked at her. She huffed, “What? At least I didn’t suggest bowling.”

“Hey!” Xander protested.

Willow suggested dinner, which Spike gave the kibosh with a, “Don’t eat, Red.”

Tara supported her girlfriend. “You don’t have to eat, but you do.”

Giles suggested they go for a cup of coffee at the café down the street, or to the museum.

Xander and Spike looked at each other and shuddered. “We’ll figure something out,” Xander said, and he and Spike quickly made their escape.

Giles’ voice floated after them, “And no insults!”

As soon as the door closed behind them, Spike took off towards the outskirts of town.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Xander yelled.

“Patrol,” Spike yelled back. “Really need to kill something,” he muttered.

“We can’t go on patrol now!” Xander cried as he ran to catch up. “You heard Giles, we have to...talk,” he spat the word.

“Fine. I’ll tell you when to duck,” Spike offered.

“Thanks a lot, fangl—,” he paused as he caught himself about to insult Spike, and saw the vampire look over at him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “You know,” he said, “fangless isn’t an insult so much as a, uh, nickname,” he finished happily, glad he’d actually thought of something to excuse his lapse.

“Yeah, right,” Spike drawled. “So’s moron.”

After patrolling two cemeteries, during which Spike was able to dust three vamps and kill a Dothrahk demon, and Xander had managed to stay out of harms way while he watched Spike have the time of his life, Xander tried to make Spike go bowling with him.

“No way will I participate in such a poncey...activity—I won’t even deign to call it a sport—as bowling,” he declared.

“No fair!” Xander whined. “You got to pick patrol!”

“And you get to pick our next activity, so long as it includes lots of liquor,” Spike said.

Xander grinned. Spike obviously didn’t know there was a bar at the bowling alley. Xander led the way to the Sunnydale Bowl. When Spike realized where he had been brought, he growled.

“What are we doing here?”

“You said, ‘so long as it includes lots of liquor’,” Xander quoted smugly.

“I also said ‘no bowling’,” Spike snarled.

“So I’ll bowl, you can watch. And talk,” Xander said. Ignoring Spike’s look of disgust, Xander pulled the door open and went inside.

He had his rental shoes on and was picking out a ball when Spike stormed up behind him. “This is soddin’ ridiculous!” he barked.

“You’re just scared ‘cause there might be something I’m better at than you,” Xander responded reasonably.

“Am not!” Spike denied the charge.

“Whatever,” Xander said, slipping past him with the ball he’d chosen.

“I’m not!” Spike insisted, following Xander to the lane he’d been assigned.

“Fine,” Xander said. “You’re a master bowler.”

“Don’t call me that, ya poof!” Spike bit out.

“Tut, tut,” Xander said, shaking a finger at Spike, and then raising his ball. He held the ball beneath his chin and lined up the shot. He drew his arm back and rolled the ball down the lane. He knocked down eight pins, leaving a split, with one pin still standing on each side. He groaned. When the ball came back, he lined up his shot and threw the ball again, knocking down one of the two remaining pins.
Spike moaned theatrically. “This is worse than watching that wanker Angelus fix his hair,” he complained. “I need a drink.”

Xander bought them each a drink. He nursed his, and then switched to water. Bowling worked up more of a sweat than it looked like it should. By the time Spike had finished his third scotch with a beer chaser, he was insisting that he could bowl better than Xander.

Xander, realizing that the weight of the ball wouldn’t matter to Spike, held his out in a ‘come-and-get-it’ gesture. He knew the exaggerated expression of disbelief on his face would force Spike to prove himself.

Spike stepped up to the lane and grabbed the ball out of Xander’s hand. He growled at the attendant when he tried to make Spike take off his street shoes. He held the ball as he’d seen Xander do, and then sent it down the lane...and straight into the gutter.

Xander wasn’t sure how he held back the snicker. “Don’t worry.” He patted Spike on the back. “You get one more shot.”

“‘M just warming up,” Spike said.

“Oh, yeah, I know,” Xander said, snorting as the laughter he was trying to suppress bubbled out.

“Shut up, git,” Spike growled, grabbing the ball when it rolled back.

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