Sunday Morning Coming Down

by
Crazydiamondsue

Part Four

Spike pushed himself up, avoiding Xander’s horrified stare, although he couldn’t miss the erratic heartbeat and strangled gasps. He bent down next to the chair, fishing through the refuse for another bottle. He opened it, flinging the cap across the room, and took a huge – manfully – inhuman swig.

“You…you kissed me,” finally choked out through the gasping behind him.

“Did not,” Spike said, turning to look at Xander, seeing the shocked eyes, the patches of white standing out against alcohol reddened cheeks.

Xander stumbled to his feet. “Yes! You did! You…were…and there were tongues…and, oh my God, Spike…I just broke up with my girlfriend and you get me all drunk and try to,” Xander gave a full-body shudder. “Press your vamp lips and your undead…parts all over me?!”

“You’re drunk, Xander,” Spike said calmly. “You’re imagining things.” He shrugged, raising the bottle. “Can’t drink with the big boys? Don’t belly up.”

“Wait,” Xander said, bracing himself against the tomb. “You, Evil Undead, my new, favorite, best buddy type guy, kissed me and then you said it was a bad idea. Like it was my bad idea.”

Spike held up two fingers, turning them toward his eyes and then toward Xander’s, wriggling them slowly. “Never. Happened.”

Xander frowned, shaking his head. “Spike. Blurry, suddenly gay Spike, you do not have the power of thrall. You cannot make me forget – ack – you, who do not even like me, tonguing me like you were trying to get to my chocolaty center. And, ew, why am I still talking?”

Xander started to make his way out of the crypt, steadying himself with, well mostly crashing into, the few items that could be called furniture in the room.

“Harris. Wait,” Spike said, grabbing at Xander’s arm as he drunkenly staggered past. “You’re not leaving.”

“Back off!” Xander yelped, jerking back and almost losing his footing as he fell over the chair. “I don’t know what you thought, but this – huh-uh. Not what I…I mean, I know we got all giggly and sharey, but I never meant to…and you were just the only one I thought…”

“Xander,” Spike bit out impatiently. “You can’t drive. You can barely walk. You’re not going anywhere.”

Xander stood up, forcing himself to stand without swaying. “Not driving. Nope. But walking? Got it. See?” He started away from Spike with slow, carefully measured steps and heard Spike sigh behind him.

“Right, then. Hang on a mo’. Let me find a marker so’s we can write ‘Bite Me, Please’ on your shirt, in case some of the slower fledges don’t clue in from the lovely cocktail of booze, fear and ‘hurt me’ you’re puttin’ out there.”

Xander turned an uncertain gaze toward the door, and looked back at Spike, considering. He seemed to be finding the unknown army of fledges the lesser of two evils. Spike bit back an irritated curse and raised his hands, backing away.

“Just…listen, you can stay here.” Xander looked back at him, his eyes heavy-lidded and dazed, but still fearful. “It was a mistake, Xander.” Spike smiled at him wryly. “My mistake. Won’t happen again, right? So, c’mon then, sit down before you fall down.”

Spike pulled Xander around the chair and shoved him none too gently into it, smirking as Xander brushed his hands away. “’S all right, Harris. Go to sleep.”

Xander nodded sleepily, twisting around in the chair to get comfortable, his gaze still on Spike and still slightly suspicious.

Spike held up two fingers again, pointing them first toward his eyes and then Xander’s, pushing the eyelids gently down. “Sleep. Now.”

Xander smiled in spite of himself. “Yes, Master,” he said, grinning woozily, and then he was out, his eyes closed tightly, mouth slightly open.

Spike stood staring down at him for a moment, and then turned and found his way down the steps to his bed below.

He pulled the black t-shirt over his head, tossing it across the room and then grimacing as it landed in a puddle left from last night’s rain. Right. His boots were carefully removed and placed as far away from the leaking area as possible. He unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them down his legs, draping them over the end of the bed. Naked, he lay down in musty, cold, empty sheets and crossed his arms behind his head. He stared at the ceiling, making designs out of the patches of mold, and trying to pinpoint exactly when his life had entered the realm of complete, buggering insanity.

When was the last time he’d just sat and talked to someone? Had to have been Dawn, her so scared that she was something wrong and evil, that it had made him seem almost fluffy in comparison. If he tried hard enough, he could twist some of his shoving matches with Buffy into actual conversations. Before that? One didn’t converse with Dru…one danced and sang and shuddered with dark passion, but a cuppa and a chat? No. And somehow he and Angel never managed to work in a pint and a trip back through the glory days between the demon raising, world ending and cuckolding the other vampire was bent on.

So. Bleedin’ Harris, the Slayer’s droopy-eyed lap-dog, decides to be the big man and put aside over three years of brawling and spitting and generally trying to annoy the hell out of each other. Shares a drink like a regular mate and doesn’t snicker when Spike told the tale, complete with grandiose Shakespearean overtones, of the love of a vampire for a slayer. Then the boy goes and decides to live and part of that living is not lying to himself anymore, so he cuts his girl loose before he hurts either of them further. Noble, one could call it, well, possibly not in the demon bint’s perspective, but honest in any event.

So he comes to tell his new pal Spike of his life changing decision, because Spike has shown him the light that somehow it’s better to suffer for want of real love than live with a pale imitation. And then he drank. Bloody hell, the git could drink. Must be hereditary, Spike thought, remembering the trash bin overflowing with cheap liquor bottles outside the boy’s basement. Shares whiskey with him, bares his soul and listens to Spike tear Angel a new one with a happy grin and ready quip.

And just when Spike had relaxed and decided that maybe one of the few positives of losing Buffy would be that he could build new…alliances with her mates, he did what he always did. He wanted more. More than Xander was ready to give, and really more than Spike had meant to ask for.

But he’d sat there comfortable, laughing for the first time since he’d watched a lady fall from a tower like the grimmest of fairy tales, and he’d recognized it. There, beneath the mist of Jack Daniels and dust and sweat and all of the lovely aromas of human skin, he could smell it. Want. Rolling off of Xander, just as it used to from Buffy. But different, because Buffy had been trying like all hell to hide hers, and Xander wasn’t really aware of his. But it was there, faint, musky and sweet, telling Spike everything he needed was in touching distance. Acceptance. Interest. Affection.

Irritated at his own borderline broodiness, Spike flipped angrily over onto his stomach. Okay, so he had. Touched. And the moment his lips had taken Xander’s, he’d known it had gained him nothing, and had probably bloody well cost him anything that was left.

Xander woke with a taste in his mouth like some tiny woodland creature had crawled in there and died a slow, lingering death. He sat up slowly with a groan and then stilled. Moving. Moving triggered pain. His back muscles spasmed, unable to hold the pose for long, and he fell back against the chair as the pain behind his eyes flared again.

Okay. Hangover. Not the first one, this was just the advanced class. His head pounded, his eyes burned and every muscle in his body felt like it had been ripped out and shoved back in, wrong. Ah, yes, evil whiskey of the evil kind. Why in God’s name had he…oh, fuck. Anya.

He’d told Anya he couldn’t, and then just let her walk out. And then he had gone to Spike’s…oh, fuck. Spike.

Xander jumped out of the chair, instantly regretted that decision, and stood for a minute as blood pounded from the giant knot of horror in his head to flow back into areas that had long been without.

Legs mostly working, he crept carefully to the door and opened it to find suddenly lethal sunlight frying his eyeballs. His heart contracted with horror. Oh, God, I’ve been turned! Oh, oops. Still just the hangover.

His eyes squinted almost shut, he limped back to his car and turned the ignition. A sudden thrust of his fist cracked the volume button as, “Oh, Mickey, you’re so fine!” blared out of the worth-more-than-the-whole-damn-car speakers. Evil noises of dubious pop silenced, he peered at the time display. 11:50 a.m.

So, where to now, Plan Guy, he thought to himself. Home was where the shower and the aspirin lived, but home was…Anya. Shit. It wasn’t fair to feel this bad when you felt this bad. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel until even that noise vibrated in the massive wall of pain that had once been his careful, Mr. Reliable brain.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel for a minute and then he was putting the car in gear and backing out. He was going where he should have gone in the first place. A place with no possibly vengy jilted fiancées, no evilly cheerful sunbeams stabbing into his head and no confusing thought-he-was-my-friend demons with naughty…gah. He was not thinking about that. He was the only asshole he could take right now.

The Summers’ house was cool and blissfully dark and not the home of demonic sunbeams. It was also really quiet, which was a surprise. Though a house of mourning, it was usually rattling with the strains of sugary pop and shoe theft accusations. Xander walked into the kitchen, hoping to find aspirin, and instead found his best friend, stirring honey into a cup of tea with the air of a guru awaiting her pupil.

“Hey, Will.”

“Xander.” He watched as her eyes took in his rumpled and stained clothes, his blood-shot eyes and his shaky legs.

“Look pretty bad, huh?” he asked, leaning on the counter.

She shrugged lightly, taking a sip of her tea. “’Bout like you smell.”

“Thanks.” He walked over to the cabinet next to the sink, hunting for painkillers, possibly pain obliterators. “Kinda quiet. What’s up with Tara and Dawn?”

“I sent them on to the…woods,” Willow said quietly. “I told them we’d see them after.”

Xander closed his eyes as his hand gripped the bottle of pain medicine. Oh, shit. Sunday.

He turned around and saw Willow still watching him carefully. “You know, huh? About Anya.”

“Yeah,” Willow said softly, and then suppressed a sneer. “She came by at 6:00 a.m. this morning to demand our keys to the Magic Box and said we wouldn’t be having our ‘demon killer’ club meetings there anymore.” Willow smiled a little snarkily, tapping her spoon against her cup. “Can’t wait to see what Giles says about that.”

“Willow.”

She sighed, turning to face him again. “I know, Xander. I know that she’s hurt, anyway. I’m not going to repeat the words she called you, because I think the blush has finally faded from hearing them.”

Xander winced, nodding cautiously.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” Willow asked, reaching out to take his hand in hers.

Xander squeezed it briefly and then let it drop back into her lap. “I came home from mowing to find Ultimatum Anya waiting for me.” He looked at the cute little Willow crinkles forming on her forehead and smiled sadly. “At the Magic Box…the day we went to face Glory?” Willow nodded back slowly, the worry in her eyes deepening, “I asked Anya to marry me.”

Willow’s chin quivered for a minute and then she swallowed. “And you didn’t tell me – us – why?”

Xander sighed, “Because she turned me down. She made me promise to ask her again when we all didn’t die, to prove that I meant it and it wasn’t just some grand gesture.” He rubbed his hands roughly against his stubbled cheeks. “Turns out it was some grand gesture.”

“Xander, no...”

Xander spread his arms wide, a fake smile stretching across his pale face. “That’s me, Will. In love with love. So I played the big romantic, feet-sweeping-off-of guy. But that’s not me. I’m no Riley, no Angel.” He grinned half-heartedly. “Hell, I’m not even a Tara.”

Willow blushed and grinned a little at that.

“So…what now?” she asked, knowing that Xander was in a lot more pain that he was showing and that there was something…a lot of somethings he wasn’t telling her…hadn’t been telling her for a long time.

Xander shrugged. “Right now? I was hoping I could use your shower and that you’d possibly boil these clothes for me. Then I thought…there are things Anya and I have to say, that she needs to know. I didn’t, um, handle it well last night. I just kind of let her walk out without explaining anything.”

“And crawled into the nearest dive for some liquid comfort.”

Xander ducked his head, looking at his muddy sneakers. “Yeah, right,” he muttered bitterly. He looked back up into Willow’s face, which was segueing from worried into slightly freaked-out. He grinned gamely, shrugging. “Okay, off to get the funk out of…everything.” He reached up, tapping Willow’s cheek gently. “Thanks, Will.”

Willow smiled back and then jerked away from him, laughing. “Eww. Get out with your fingers of stinkiness.” They smiled at each other uncertainly beneath the teasing and Willow reached out to give his hand once last squeeze before she turned back to contemplating her tea with a thoughtful frown.

Part Five

Xander eased silently back into his apartment, sighing with relief when he found the living room empty. He felt closer to human, if a bit like an idiot in the too-short sweat pants and two-sizes too small Sunnydale High t-shirt he was wearing. First item on the agenda: finding clothes that were roomy, manly and didn’t bind and…accentuate so much. Even though Willow’s appreciative snicker had been weirdly flattering.

He started toward the bedroom and then stumbled to a halt when he saw the brightly colored tote bag open on the table, its smiling daisy pattern seeming to mock him with its cheerfulness. He took a deep breath and then choked on it as Anya walked out of the bedroom, her hands full of shampoo, lotion and all of the pastel bottles that had made the apartment smell like her. A sudden pang of sorrow struck him as he pictured his store brand shampoo and shower gel standing lonely on the shower ledge.

Anya had come to a sudden stop, a few of the bottles falling from her hands to bounce against the carpet. As she stooped to pick them up, Xander moved forward quickly to help her, rocking back on his heels as she jerked the bottles away from him and stalked over to the table to shove them into the bag.

Xander got to his feet, eyeing the stiff set of her shoulders as she kept her back to him, mindlessly packing. “Anya,” he began, stopping when he saw her stiffen further, her hands stilling inside the bag. She turned slowly to face him, her mouth in a tight line but her expression otherwise blank.

“Where did you go last night?” he asked finally.

“Home, Xander,” she said, turning back to grab a pile of lingerie and throw it on top, the zipper rasping loudly as she angrily jerked the bag closed. “You know – to the rooms you insisted I keep even after the big speech about getting this place for me?”

Xander winced, watching as she strode quickly into the kitchen, cabinet doors banging as she opened them at random and tossed things out onto the counter.

Stopping with a bottle of Flintstones vitamins in her hand – hey, those are mine – she turned back to him. “Where did you go last night?”

Xander cleared his throat, his hands rubbing nervously against his thighs. “Wha-what do you mean?”

“I mean, Xander, that I came back. I realized that I hadn’t given you time to finish. I accepted the possibility that you had meant to say, ‘Anya, I can’t…because of the romantic surprise get-away I have planned.’”

She looked down at the bottle in her hands and then tossed it into the sink when a grimace. “So I came back to an empty apartment and realized that no, that was just me being an idiot.” She pushed the cabinet door to and then slammed it viciously when it refused to close. “Again.”

They stared at each across the expanse of the room and then Anya left the kitchen empty-handed and walked back over to her bag, fiddling with the handle.

“I sat here all night waiting for you. Just…waiting,” she finished quietly. She looked up then, tossing her hair back. “So I figured you’d gone to Willow – where else – but you weren’t there, Xander. I might have used a few of the more colorful human expressions to convey my shock at that. Willow said she’d tell you that I came by.” Her mouth twisted bitterly. “She managed to suppress her dance of joy until after I left.”

“Anya, Willow doesn’t feel that way…” Xander stopped, holding his hand up as she started to protest. “It doesn’t matter what Willow thinks. I realize that I…screwed up last night. Massively. The term ‘shithead’? Not uncalled for. You were right to want to leave, but I was wrong not to stop you.”

Anya’s expression softened slightly. “So…what are you saying, Xander? Are you...are you telling me you can ask me now?”

Xander swallowed several times, his throat tight. He took a death breath, meeting her eyes regretfully. “No, Anya. I’m not.”

Anya exhaled sharply, ducking her head as she bit her bottom lip. “I didn’t think so.” She looked back up at Xander, tears glittering in her eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Xander.” She gasped a little, jerking as she laughed harshly. “I feel sad, but I feel so angry, too. And the angrier I get, the less sad I feel.” She reached a hand up, brushing tears back with an irritated motion. “Is this right? Am I doing it…right?” her voice broke on the last and Xander moved forward quickly, pulling her into his arms.

“I don’t know, Anya,” he felt her shake against his chest and he tightened his arms around her. “I can’t tell you what you should feel.” He closed his eyes, his throat working as he swallowed his own tears back. “This doesn’t mean…I love you, Anya. I didn’t mean that we were…we’re not over,” he said desperately. “We can still date and we’ll take things slow and maybe, someday…”

Anya was shaking her head, pulling out of his arms. “No, Xander,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest and stepping back. “This isn’t just…the ring I can’t wear or the apartment where I’m just one drawer. You haven’t…” she sighed, “since Buffy…it’s not like it was when Joyce died. You cried and I didn’t understand, but you let me see you, let me hold you, and I felt all of that through you. But you don’t let me, now. Before, I knew you weren’t listening sometimes, but now you’re not even talking and you don’t want me to be there, even if it is just to say the wrong thing. I even tried to say the wrong thing, so that you’d notice I was there, that I was trying, but you don’t, Xander. You don’t see me anymore…not for a long time.”

Xander stood looking at her, hearing the silence between them and knowing that he was supposed to be filling it with…something. All of those things he was going to say about why and regrets and how he’d felt since…he felt so cold and more afraid than he’d ever been in his life. Afraid of watching her walk out that door and afraid of what it would mean if she didn’t.

He didn’t understand how they’d gotten here. All he remembered was a beautiful girl, her dress sliding down her naked thighs to puddle at her feet, her hand held out, offering him everything. He felt the tears in his throat and managed to choke out, “So…what now?”

God, that was fucking pathetic, he thought, seeing the hurt flash in her eyes and knowing that he had put it there just by…going along. Going along like he always had and saying nothing until it was too late.

“I’m leaving,” she said simply, picking up her keys and slowly twisting the triangle shaped one off, placing it gently on the table as she reached for her bag.

He nodded slowly, his hand reaching up to push his hair back. “Right. Um, I guess I’ll see you at the Magic Box, and stuff, and I know that’s gonna suck for a while, but whatever you…”

“No, Xander,” she said quietly, her shoulders squared as she steadied her bag and took her purse. “I mean I’m leaving. Sunnydale.”

Xander froze, his fingers tightening in his hair. “You’re leaving leaving?” his voice cracked and he shook his head. “To go…where? Anya, you know like, six people in the whole world, and…”

“And maybe it’s time that changed,” Anya said, walking toward the door as Xander stood there staring at her.

“You’re leaving?” he realized he was repeating himself and groaned in frustration. “How? Wait…Anya, this is…this is way out of control. Stop. We can just…”

“Just what, Xander?” she asked, her hand on the door. “Walk around each other not saying anything? I can’t do that anymore. I have money, and thanks to Giles, I have career experience that can be parlayed into more money. I also have a broken heart, which I understand is an excellent means of starting a new life.”

Xander flinched and Anya opened the door, looking back at him. “I know why I stayed here, Xander.” Her eyes met his in silent acknowledgement. “Do you?”

The door closed behind her and Xander stared at it for a long moment until the burning in his eyes blurred it and the roaring in his ears screamed at him to call her back. But he stood there in the empty apartment, with the burning in his eyes and feeling hollowness beyond despair when he realized he didn’t even have the courage to cry.

Xander let himself into the Summers' house later that night. He’d ignored Willow’s phone calls all day, finally answering to tell her to leave it alone for a while, only to find Giles at the other end, requesting his presence at yet another post-Slayer Scooby summit. His attempts to bow out with references to finding someone else to pun badly and go for pizza had been met by Giles’ unyielding response that he was needed. Something was up. Again.

He walked toward the living room, finding Giles standing in the center of the room, Tara and Willow on the couch with Dawn sitting at their feet and the Buffybot standing behind Giles with her arms crossed, mimicking Buffy’s take charge pose.

Xander stepped into the room, receiving matching looks of concern from Willow and Dawn while Tara’s eyes almost swallowed her face as they radiated quiet distress.

Xander groaned inwardly. He couldn’t take an entire evening of this – all of them rushing to soothe with quiet voices and soft, squeezing girl hugs. Willow and Dawn thrusting the blame onto Anya and then comforting him for being the world’s biggest jerk.

Willow was rising from her seat, her lips trembling in full-blown empathy mode and Xander shook his head slightly, knowing he’d break if she so much as touched him. She sank back down with a concerned frown, her hand automatically seeking Tara’s.

Xander turned to face Giles. “So what’s up?” he asked, turning the attention back to the center of the room.

Giles nodded, tapping the stem of his glasses against his lip before sliding them back into place. “As you know, I’ve mentioned the possibly of returning to England, now that Buffy is…gone,” he said quietly, with a tender look toward Dawn.

Xander wondered how long they would go on saying it like that, with the hesitant pause and then the vaguest euphemism possible. Gone. No longer with us. Passed from this existence. How long until they could say, ‘Now that Buffy is dead and life sucks…?’ He closed his eyes briefly and then turned his attention back to Giles.

“I’ve been in contact with the Council and, well, you know how much of a muck they enjoy making even the most ordinary of circumstances, so it’s only been recently that we’ve been able to reach an agreement. I’m going back to England where I shall remain…indefinitely.”

Xander snorted, dropping his head and shaking it in bemused disgust.

Willow was there ahead of him, though, leaping in with, “What? When?”

Giles turned to look at her and Willow continued, “I mean, yeah, I knew you’d said it was a possibility, but I always thought that was just the…shock speaking, and once you had a chance to get used to the idea of, well, not being a Watcher, anymore, we’d just kind of go on. Figure something else out.”

“I’ve done what I was assigned to do, Willow. There’s no reason for me to stay in Sunnydale any longer.”

There was a moment of silence that was filled by Dawn’s quiet sniffles as Tara reached down, running her fingers through the younger girl’s hair as she looked up at Giles. “Will they…will they give you a n-new assignment?”

“No,” Giles said, crossing his arms and studying the carpet pattern for a moment until he looked up to meet their eyes. “And I won’t ask for one. Faith is, of course, the current Slayer and until her rehabilitation, if one can be hoped for, or her death she remains the Slayer, albeit inactive and unable to fulfill her duties.” Giles paused for a moment. “That’s another reason I’m going back. To act as counsel as we attempt to decide the future of the Slayer line and what, if any…action we should take.”

That statement hadn’t quite sunk in when Xander laughed suddenly. “So, let me get this straight. You’re leaving an active Hellmouth in the care of two untrained witches, an abandoned teenage girl with mystical powers we don’t even understand and a carpenter with commitment issues? Sound plan, British guy. The Queen must be proud.”

“And there’s me,” the Buffybot spoke up suddenly, “with all-slaying action and an ingrained desire to send forth the forces of darkness from the face of the earth,” she finished with a wide smile.

“Oh, that’s right,” Xander said nodding in false relief, “and the oddly speaking robot who gets lost in her own backyard. Sorry I questioned the reasoning.”

“Xander!” Dawn gasped in a hurt voice, looking between him and Giles.

“Hey,” Willow said, with a censoring look at Xander, before she turned back to Giles. “But, I can’t say I totally disagree here. How are we supposed to handle this by ourselves, without a Slayer? A few vamps, yeah,” she said, gesturing among them, “but something like the Master…or Glory? We’ve barely averted the occasional apocalypse, even with Buffy.”

Giles sighed, looking toward a grim faced Xander before turning back to Willow’s wide, frightened gaze. “Have you noticed that since Buffy closed the portal we’ve seen a decrease in demonic activity?”

Willow frowned in concentration for a moment, turning toward Tara who nodded back slowly.

“Yeah,” Willow said, shrugging lightly, “but it’s summer. It’s always slower in summer. You know, kind of a yearly break from all the wacky hell-raising. Why? Are you saying that this time it’s different? Something else?”

“The Hellmouth, as you know, has its own energy that draws the demons to it,” they all nodded at him impatiently, and Giles cleared his throat and continued, “Buffy’s arrival in Sunnydale changed that energy. What had once been a haunt, a sort of feeding place for demons, took on a deeper quality, the Slayer’s own inherent mystical abilities acting as sort of a focal point for that energy, not only drawing demonic presence, but helping to create it.”

“Did Buffy know that?” Dawn asked in a horrified voice.

“No,” Giles said, “how could I tell her that the very act of her being called was exacerbating the evil she was born to combat?”

“So, it’s like a paradox,” Willow said slowly. “The Hellmouth was using the Slayer’s power to recreate itself? That’s…”

“…fucked up,” Xander finished with an apologetic look at Dawn. “Okay, so, no Slayer – no apocalypse? I’m sure Buffy would have liked to have known that a long time ago.”

“But…no apocalypse, no really Big Bad, so no reason we shouldn’t be able to handle it,” Willow said.

“Or any reason why we should still have to,” Xander said under his breath.

“And, there’s always Spike,” Giles added, “not our most trusted ally, to be sure, but still a worthy….”

“Oh, come on, Giles,” Xander said impatiently, “How long do you think we can really count on Spike to fight the good fight, now that Buffy’s not here to impress?”

“I think we all may have…misjudged Spike’s commitment to Buffy,” Giles said tiredly, “and with the chip, I think we have reason to believe that his reliance on our goodwill will continue. In any case, I’d hate to think of leaving you all here without someone like him on your side.”

“So don’t go,” Xander said shortly. Giles started to explain again, and Xander held his hand up. “Look, guys, I can’t right now, okay? I just need to…”

“Xander,” Giles interrupted softly. “There’s something else you should know.” Xander stopped, looking back at him. “I had intended to offer Anya a partnership in the shop and leave it under her management when I left. However, after she tendered her resignation and explained her desire to leave…” Xander chewed the inside of his cheek, waiting for Giles to arrive at his point. “She’s coming back with me. To England,” Giles finished.

Xander felt his body flush and there was a sharp ringing in his ears, and then suddenly he found himself with his fists clenched in Giles’s shirt collar, Dawn crying and tugging at his arms as Willow tried to force herself between them, commanding him to stop.

“Xander!” Giles said forcefully, pushing him away.

“How long?” Xander choked out, hearing Dawn’s strangled sobs behind him, Tara’s quiet gasps and Willow fending off excited questions from the ‘Bot. “When she started working for you? Since Buffy died? Couldn’t have one hot little blonde, so you’d take another?”

“Never,” Giles bit out, advancing on Xander until they stood face to face, “and, if you will recall, up until yesterday she was your blissfully happy future fiancée. She wanted to leave. I was leaving. I think you know better than to make either of those insinuations.”

They stared at each other for a moment longer, Xander discovering fury in the steel depths of Giles’s eyes that had never before been directed at him. He gently shook off Dawn and Willow’s hands and turned away.

“Whatever,” he said finally, walking toward the door. “Whatever she wants. I can’t…I need to get out.” He reached the door, looking back at them, “Look, I’ll do whatever you decide. It doesn’t matter.”

“Xander, wait – where are you going?” Willow asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

“To patrol,” he answered as he opened the door.

“Take a stake!” the ‘Bot called cheerfully, tossing him one.

Xander struggled beneath the arm of the particularly foul smelling vamp holding him in a headlock, trying to juggle his stake into position and failing miserably. He took a deep breath and went limp, surprising the vampire into loosening its grip as Xander dropped to ground and thrust his stake up, catching the vamp in mid-leap as it lunged toward him. He stood up, brushing the dust off of his clothes.

He really hadn’t had any intention of going on patrol; it had just seemed like the excuse least likely to encourage discussion when he’d left. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone on patrol alone, although he’d usually had Anya as back-up, which was in essence going on patrol alone, except for the always helpful cries of, ‘Xander, look out!’ as a vamp came at his back.

He heard a soft whump behind him and took a minute to appreciate the irony, before turning to face his inevitable death and seeing…Spike, emerging from a falling cloud of vamp dust. The kinder, gentler vampire was arched gracefully, his stake still outthrust, his duster in mid-swirl. Xander had a brief flash of irritation at Spike’s gracefulness in the fight, compared to his own one-arm-covering-face-repeat-stabby-motion moves.

Spike pocketed his stake, smirking at Xander. “Not fair to have a good time without me, Harris.”

“You weren’t invited,” Xander said shortly, shoving his own stake into his back pocket.

Spike glanced around the cemetery. “Then don’t hold the party in my backyard,” he said, leaning back against a grave marker and lighting a cigarette.

Xander shrugged and started back toward the gate, only to turn in irritated surprise as he heard Spike fall into step next to him. “What are you doing?”

“Escortin’ you back safely to the rest of the Caped Crusaders,” Spike said as he searched the darkness ahead of them for the others.

“They’re not here,” Xander said. He increased his speed and walked around several headstones in an attempt to give Spike the brush off.

“Ah, so they aren’t,” Spike said, gracefully leaping a three-foot high monument to catch up with Xander, “we can have that awkward ‘evening after’ talk, then.”

“I thought it never happened,” Xander said with a glare.

“What – you getting tanked and trying to get me to harmonize on ‘70s radio classics? Sorry, mate, that one’s burned into my retinas. You practically crawling into my lap and pursing those blood-red lips at me like the rebound from hell? Nope, never happened.” Spike stopped, his eyes focusing on Xander’s lips and then rising slyly up to meet Xander’s furious gaze. “Unless you want it to,” he said with a dark chuckle.

“What the hell are you doing, Spike?” Xander asked, shoving the vampire away from him and watching with quiet joy as the other man stumbled back into a headstone, and then fell over it with a marked lack of grace.

Spike leapt to his feet, tossing his bent cigarette away. “What the hell’s gotten into you, Harris? Patrolling alone, no witches whispering spells or Watcher slinging arrows to save your ass?” Spike grinned suddenly, nastily. “Demon girl wouldn’t take you back, eh? So, what? You decided to come out here and end it all, offer yourself up to the dark creatures of the night? Well, here I am,” he purred, opening his arms wide. “Ready to lay you over the sacrificial stone.”

Xander stared at him and suddenly little hints started to drop into place, flashes of memory suddenly painting a picture he should have put together long ago. “Last night at the grave…you weren’t there because of Buffy. You were following me.”

Spike dropped his arms, backing away. “Was not.”

Xander nodded and edged closer to him. “Yes, you were and it wasn’t the first time. You’ve been riding shotgun on me during patrol, showing up at the girls’ house every time I do, offering to follow Anya and me home…I thought it was because you were, I don’t know, trying to be some kind of undead protector. Trying to be my friend. But it wasn’t. Buffy’s gone – so no obsession anymore, right? So you just decided to change targets? And it’s me?”

Xander stopped, inches away from Spike, his chest heaving with anger and disgust and something so dark he didn’t want to look too at it too closely. “Why not Willow? Or Tara? Or…oh, my God, all those times we left Dawn alone with you…”

Spike was suddenly right in Xander's face, feeling a warning buzz from the chip and easing off into a still menacing but more distant stance. “Don’t,” Spike growled. “I don’t care what it does to me, Harris, but I will rip your filthy tongue out if you say that I would - ever - do anything to the Bit.” Spike stared into Xander’s eyes for a few tense moments and then stepped back, patting down his coat for cigarettes.

Xander swallowed hard, anger squirming sickly in his gut. Spike calmly lit up and blew a stream a smoke at him. “And the witches? Couldn’t get between them if I tried.” Spiked smirked, inhaling deeply again, “Although that’s an idea that has a certain…charm.”

“And this is…what?” Xander asked, finally deciding that this was his cosmic payback for Anya. Giles leaving. Learning that Buffy was the unwitting cause of every apocalypse. And suddenly being on the receiving end of stalker Spike. “You’re gonna start making up excuses to drag me out on patrol? Build a Xander ‘bot to…okay, not going there. This is…I know you’re evil incarnate, Spike, but if you tell me this is all a big joke, we’ll just both walk out of here, okay? I can’t take this right now. And you have no idea how much I mean that.”

Spike said nothing, just looked at him over the stream of smoke curling from his lips. Xander stared back, and then decided this was it. He was out. The tower was deserted; the princess didn’t need a white knight anymore. He was cutting his ties and getting out, starting right here.

“Well, you know what, Spike?” he said softly, his tone deep and dangerous. “I’ve got a tree in front of my apartment, too. Gonna find butts under it every night? Find you lurking in the darkness every time I drive up?” He sneered at Spike’s answering glare as he eased closer to the vampire.

“Buffy never wanted what you have to offer, so why would I be any different?” He kept moving forward, forcing Spike back into the side of a mausoleum. “Buffy was the Slayer, but for all of her strength, she was still just a girl. She wanted romance and dreams, the mysterious stranger with the heart of gold. And we both know what you wanted.”

Spike’s arm shot out, catching Xander in the center of the chest and holding him back. He knew that Harris wasn’t afraid of him anymore, and hadn’t been for a while. He also knew that the chip wouldn’t allow him do anything but make a run for it, and there was no way he was running from this angry, hurting boy who was more bravado than balls.

Xander grasped Spike’s wrist, wrenching his arm up to slam against the marble behind him, the cigarette dropping from the vampire’s grasp. “But I’m not Buffy, Spike,” Xander said, still in that low, dangerous voice. “I’m not going to cringe and blush because a vampire has the hots for me.”

Xander leaned closer, bending a bit so that his eyes met the pissed off, shocked, and turned on look in Spike’s.

“I’m a man, and sometimes men just…fuck,” Xander finished, lunging forward and crushing his lips to Spike’s, taking advantage of the vampire’s sharp gasp to thrust his tongue into the coolness Spike’s mouth. His free hand reached up and grasped Spike’s jaw, holding him there as he deepened the kiss, their mouths diving again and again in a way that was harder, hotter than anything Xander had expected from this little experiment in…control.

Xander squeezed his eyes shut, his hand running from Spike’s cheek to clench in the brittle, yet somehow soft, blond hair. Pulling Spike’s lips closer, he gave all of his pain and anger over to this kiss. Taking control, for once, not accepting anything on Spike’s terms and finding something he hadn’t known was lost in the primal slide of his tongue against the reciprocating thrust of Spike’s.

He gasped for air in Spike’s mouth, moaning a little at that show of human weakness, then getting some of his own back as he felt Spike give an answering groan, the hand that Xander still held pinned tightening on his. Spike’s body arched against him, and he felt a tight hardness press into his own, causing them to grind desperately together for a moment until Xander raised his head, releasing Spike’s wrist and stepping back to stare into the vampire’s dazed face, the lips wet and parted, gasping uselessly as he stared at Xander.

Xander raised a hand to his mouth, brushing the back of it against his own wet lips. “Be careful who you put on a pedestal, Spike,” he said. “You might find they’re not as…deserving as you thought.”

He walked away, leaving Spike glaring after him with a mixture of shock and dawning respect. Spike stood up, touching his mouth gingerly as he watched Xander walk away without a single look back.

Spike straightened his jacket and picked up the cigarette that still smoldered on the ground. He took a deep drag and released the smoke with a satisfied sneer. “Not the way to discourage a vampire, mate.”

Part Six

Xander made it home before the shaking started. He’d barely been able to get the key in the lock to open the door and now beer was sloshing over his hand as he raised the bottle to his lips. He closed his eyes and rubbed the cold bottle over his hot forehead, trying to get a coherent thought out of the constant “what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” racing through his mind.

He walked into the living room and dropped onto the couch, letting his legs sprawl out as he propped the beer bottle between them. He’d wanted to wipe that knowing smirk off of Spike’s face and he’d succeeded…by sucking it off. He exhaled harshly as he had a quick flash of his hand trying to tangle into harsh, gelled hair, his tongue thrusting into a mouth that wasn’t warm but still sent heat spiraling to the pit of his stomach. The tip of Spike’s tongue rubbing against the underside of his, teasing him, letting Xander set the rules but still proving whose game they were playing.

Sometimes men just fuck. God, had he really said that? Well, it had sounded cool in his head. Actually, it had sounded cool coming out of his mouth, like finally being able to deliver the perfect comeback in the heat of the moment instead of thinking of it later, after you’d slunk home in defeat.

But he was just so goddamn tired of seeing that superior, ‘you know you want it’ look, like he wasn’t just supposed to eagerly jump the body it was attached to, but bow down in babbling worship to the knowledge he was the recipient of said look. Cordelia. Faith. Hell, even virginal, pre-gay now Willow had known she was in the power place with him.

And Anya, well, she hadn’t been quite so Mistress of Her Domain with him, at first, but even back then, she had known he was helpless in the face of ‘naked chick with fist full of black latex.’

When had he ever gotten to be the one to drop the look? Play the predator, the seducer, be the man? Even Buffy, after all of his lovesick attempts with cheap jewelry and Ken and Barbie, ‘Wanna go to the dance?’ lines, had been the one grinding her ass into his crotch, making the rules and then stopping the play the second she scored her point against Angel.

He choked on the swallow of beer, burning the inside of his nose and ending up doubled over in a clumsy, jerky coughing fit. Not thinking about Buffy and grinding. Or Anya and how many multi-colored condoms it took to get over a crush. Which left his little power play with Spike, and that way be madness.

So. Sitting. Drinking. Not thinking. And why the hell was he more freaked out that he’d try to out-badass the Big Bad than suffering total brain-babble overload over guy! and vamp! and the insane Hellmouth logic of How to Get Rid of Your Immortal Stalker in Five Easy Tongue Moves.

Yeah, I showed him. I’m dark and dangerous and not to be the object of some demented demon’s purity complex. I’m not some…dude in distress, waiting on my terrace for my dark prince in creaking leather to rescue me with his cool hair and his slippery, slidey smartass tongue. I was in control, hard and firm and…Xander groaned, tugging at his pants leg to ease the pressure on his fly…and I am not thinking about this!

He picked up the remote and turned the stereo on, hitting the first programmed radio station button.

You let me violate you. You let me desecrate you…

No. Click.

Dressed me up in women’s clothes, messed around with gender roles, line my eyes and call me pretty…

Huh-uh. Click.

But wherever I have gone, I was sure to find myself there - you can run all your life but not go anywhere…

Oh, well that’s perfect. Click.

Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance, and when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance...I hope you dance...

And, okay, I don’t even know what that one means. Click.

Xander’s hand tightened on the beer bottle and then slid up the neck slickly as his head fell back against the couch. Giving in, he pressed the hard glass against the throbbing heat between his legs. One hand, cold and wet, popped the buttons on his jeans and then slid inside, making him gasp and tense as its coolness touched hard, overheated skin. Cold hands, warm cock…

Help me. It's your sex I can smell. Help me. You make me perfect. Help me become somebody else.

Spike lit another cigarette, cupping his hand tightly to make sure the glow wasn’t visible from the street. He was certain that Harris was in there, he could see shadows move once in a while, like someone was going from room to room or maybe just pacing slowly in mad circles.

A shadow crossed again in front of the window and Spike eased back into the cover of the overhanging branches, slipping the glowing tip of the cigarette behind his back. He’d started to follow Xander from the cemetery, and then changed direction and headed over to the Summers' house, determined to find out what the hell kind of spell Red had put on the boy to make him channel his inner Angelus.

He’d walked into a house divided, Willow wavering from tears to anger as the Watcher defended his decision to go back to England, the blonde witch trying to calm things down and Dawn just looking freaked. Seems Xander had been there earlier, lost his shit and took off looking to kill something.

And he found me. Spike snorted, raising the cigarette to his lips again. Insert staking innuendo here. So, Rupert’s heading off to the mother country and leaving the kiddies to mind the family business. And demon girl’s following after him – that’s…interesting.

Spike studied tip of his cigarette, wondering again what he was doing out here. He’d just come to make sure Harris had made it home. No telling what kind of nasties he would have attracted, and decided to take on, state that he was in. Not following him or anything. Hadn’t been – that’d all been in Harris’ over-active and always amusing imagination.

Yeah, he’d decided to have a little fun about that first kiss. He’d figured it wasn’t something that would ever happen again, and if he couldn’t get his end off one way, taking the piss with the boy would be almost as good. But that second kiss…oh, fuck me, he thought, tossing the cigarette away in disgust, and then looking around carefully before bending down to snuff it out and slip into his pocket. No sense in proving the git right.

He glared up at Xander’s apartment window. He wasn’t bloody doing this again. At first it had been vaguely comforting. Standing, smoking, watching. Old habits, familiar haunts.

Observing the boy patrol this summer, seeing that wild-eyed look that had replaced the mixture of fear and determination he’d always worn. Listening to the silence between him and Anyanka when he’d walked them home. The grim resolve on the boy’s face while he played groundskeeper to a hero’s grave.

The wonder, shame and scared-shitlessness that had underscored his drunken laughter. The same feelings that had flavored that kiss tonight. Finding a bit of that darkness within. Spike closed his eyes, letting Xander’s words come back to him. Don’t want you on a pedestal, mate. His body shuddered lightly with memory Xander’s mouth on his. You can’t change the world on the strength of one kiss. He opened his eyes, looked up at the now darkened windows above him one last time before he stepped off the walkway, heading back into the darkness.

The screaming woke Xander. White Knight or not, five years of ingrained responses had him out of bed, on his feet and searching the near darkness for weapons. His hand clenching on an axe handle, his heart pounding and his breath whistling in his throat he found the source of the unholy noise. The clock-radio. The screaming was Axl Rose. It was time to get ready for work. Fuck.

Xander dropped back down on the bed, letting the axe fall to the floor as he rubbed his hand down his face and let his heart slow from the combination of waking to howls of hell – or at least their 80s rock equivalent – ripping him from that dream.

One week. Almost one week since Anya and Spike and Giles. One week since he’d sat in the living room – the very living room where, a few hours earlier, his girlfriend had walked out for the last time – and had one of the most powerful orgasms of his life. An orgasm that left him shaky and sweaty and with cottonmouth that had nothing do with residual hangover effects.

One week of going to work, avoiding anything with Scooby overtones or that held the possibility of seeing demons, former or otherwise. Not that it mattered, since his dreams were filled with images of blue-eyed devils with pouty lips whispering obscene promises as they ground down on his. One week of jerking off silently in the shower, if he hadn’t already woken up with his shorts sticking to him and a gasp on his lips.

Sober faced, he pushed himself up off the bed and walked toward the shower, telling his hands to keep to themselves this time. He gave up that battle even before he had his boxers down his thighs.

An extra long shower and a stern self-talking to later, he was toweling off and digging through his closet for a clean t-shirt when the phone rang. A disturbing event at 6:00 a.m., even in a non-demon populated world.

“Hello?”

“Xander?”

Great. Willow.

“Yeah?”

“Sorry to call so early, but, um…it’s Saturday.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Well, today is,” he heard her clear her throat nervously. “We’re taking Giles and, um, Anya to the airport.” She waited, but Xander didn’t say anything. “So I thought you could meet us over here around 7:00, and we’d all go together…?”

“Not going, Will.” His had tightened on the receiver and he started counting the number of sentences he’d have to go through before he could end this call.

“Xander…you’re not going to say goodbye? It’s Giles.”

He heard the hurt, surprise and disappointment in her voice and sighed. “Willow – what I think about Giles going back to England…trust me, he doesn’t want to hear. And I can’t deal right now with…Anya and I have said it all. It would just be wrong to do it again.”

“Xander, I don’t think that’s true. You should see how…”

“Anyway,” he cut in, feeling petty and mean for doing it, “I have to work today.”

“But…it’s Saturday.”

“And you know I work extra shifts on Saturdays,” he said patiently.

“But, just this once…”

“Willow. Love ya, but no. Sorry. Not going to argue about this. Tell Giles,” he stopped as he tried to sum up five years in a few words. Five years of memories, not all of which had to with life saving and demon killing. “Tell him I said thanks and good luck.”

There was silence from Willow’s end and then a soft, “Okay. But if you change your mind?”

“I’ll let you know.”

They said nothing for a moment and then Willow ended the call with a quiet goodbye. Xander pressed the end button and stood there, wondering when he was going to stop feeling like the asshole king of the world.

He dropped the phone onto the bed and then reached into the closet, yanking a shirt off the hanger and then stopping when he realized it what it was. Willow’s Sunnydale t-shirt. He wadded it into his hands and then let it fall to the floor. Damn it.

“Hey.”

Giles looked back at him, a bag in his hand and a look of cautious surprise on his face. “Xander.” Giles stepped back a little, letting him into the apartment. “I thought you were Willow and the girls.”

“Nope. Just me.” Xander rubbed his hands together, looking around the bare apartment. The sofa and bookshelves were still there, but the books, the albums, the Scotch, everything that had made it Giles, was gone.

Xander felt Giles' eyes on him, watching him as he looked around the emptied room. When he turned to look, however, a bland look slipped into place and Giles smiled, saying, “Willow and Tara are arranging for some of the larger items to be held in storage. It looks rather strange, doesn’t it? Larger.”

“Well, that’s because it’s not full of kids and pizza boxes,” Xander said with a half-smile. “Good times. Thanksgiving – oh wait, Indians and syphilis. Uh, Halloween? Tiny demons and chocolate?”

Giles nodded, his smile widening a bit. “Spike chained in the bathtub, caterwauling for his telly and cup of blood.”

The smile slid from Xander’s face. “Yeah. Good times.”

“Xander,” Giles sighed as he dropped his bag to the floor. “I know you’re not in total agreement with my decision…”

“Listen, Giles,” he dropped his head, staring at his work boots for a moment. “No, I’m not.” He raised his eyes, meeting Giles’ calm and attentive gaze. “I think you’re making a huge mistake. I know that without Buffy here, you don’t think there’s any reason for you to stay.” Xander exhaled slowly, his hands settling on his hips and clenching tightly. “And that really pisses me off. The Hellmouth, end of the world not a problem, whatever,” he said, waving off Giles’ attempt at an answer. “But that you would leave just because Buffy isn’t here?”

“I really think that you and Willow have it in you, and are ready to handle this, Xander.” Giles shook his head, reaching to slide his glasses up and rub tiredly at his eyes. “There isn’t really anything left for me to teach you.”

“I’m not talking about the mission, Giles. I’m talking about five years of going to you with our problems and our successes, or lack of, and that fact that you’ve somehow forgotten that there were three of us.”

Giles looked back at him for a moment, a look of shock and hurt spreading over his face. “That’s what you think? That I’m leaving because I don’t care about the rest of you? Xander, you have to know how much you and Willow, as well as Dawn, have meant to me. I’m not leaving you. I’m leaving because I can’t stay here and face this every day. The fact that everything I’ve ever worked for is gone. This isn’t my fight any longer.”

“But it’s still ours?”

“Oh, dear Lord,” Giles said softly, reaching out to Xander and then dropping his hand. “I’m sorry, Xander, so terribly sorry. I never even asked, I just assumed…” His hand reached out again, this time taking Xander’s arm gently. “Of course I can’t leave here just expecting you to take on responsibility you were never meant to face. I’ll talk to the Council,” he said, nodding decisively, “surely there’s something we can…”

“Giles.” Xander reached up, lightly grasping the hand on his arm. “It’s all right. That’s just something I’m, ah, working through right now. Willow will take care of it. And I’ll take care of her.”

Giles laughed shortly, giving Xander’s arm one last squeeze and then stepping back. “You’re letting me off rather lightly there.”

Xander smiled sadly. “You didn’t agree to stay.”

He started to turn toward the door, and then looked back, finding his mouth suddenly dry. “Giles, I, uh, look, it still sucks that you’re leaving, and I’m retaining the right to stay pissed off about it, but I just want you to know…” Xander trailed off, shaking his head as could find nothing, not even some babbling nonsense, to express what he felt.

Giles smiled at him gently. “I understand not being able to find the words, Xander. It’s enough that you want to say them.”

Xander nodded, his lips quirking in the first real smile he’d had in days. He turned, his hand reaching for the door, and then he was rushing back over and grabbing Giles in a rough hug. “Take care of her,” he said hoarsely, pulling away and walking out of the apartment.

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