Jeopardy
by The Mad Poetess
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Part One


Xander pulled the Chevy onto the gravel drive at the back of the 
Harris home, careful not to hit the battered trash can (again), and 
left the motor humming. He was running late. The sky had darkened to 
that just-post-sunset dusk, still light enough to see by, but giving 
everything the silver-gray shine of a black-and-white photo. The 
outside door to his basement was cracked open about a foot, and Spike 
stood in that opening, leaning against the doorframe and smoking a 
cigarette, the light from inside casting a sort of halo around his 
white-blonde head. [Oh, Spike as an angel. *There's* a men-in-white-
coats image. They'll haul me away for that one alone.] Xander leaned 
against the side of the purring car.

"You ready?" A good question, because Xander sure as hell didn't know 
if *he* was. Heading off to Giles' apartment, to see the Scooby Gang 
as a group for the first time since this insane weekend had turned 
them into.whatever it was they were. [What.lovers?
Demon-hunting 
buds? Television critics who happen to share a hellhole on the 
Hellmouth and a taste for each other's cocks? Okay, definitely way 
too into the introspection here. I've gotta either run with this 
thing, or not, because it'll *never* make any sense, and I'm just 
goin' in circles trying to sort it all out. Fuck it. Off we go into 
the wild blue yonder.]

"Yeah," said Spike, shortly. "You're late." He threw the cigarette to 
the grass outside the door, and stomped it out with the toe of his 
boot. Slung his duster over his silk-covered shoulder, slammed the 
door shut, and strode toward the car, carrying a wrinkled grocery bag 
in the other hand. Vaulted over the door without a pause, and landed 
in the passenger seat, looking at the interior of the car, examining 
it with a professional eye.

"Yeah. Sorry; I should've called. Two cashiers called in, we had a 
flood of customers, and they actually had me on a register, for 
once. We don't have to be there 'til eight, though. Well, *I* don't. 
They don't even know *you're* coming."

"Don't have to call. I'm not your mum," Spike muttered, running a 
hand over the gearshift. "What's this thing do?"

"Makes the car go faster if you put it in the slot 
marked 'overdrive'," Xander deadpanned.

"Meant speed-wise, git." [Ooh, grumpy vampire. What, he 
miss 'Passions' again today?]

"Haven't tried it on the highway. It's my uncle's, and if I do 
anything nasty to it, I'll be the stack of steaming body parts 
formerly known as Xander Harris. "

Spike grunted. "Sissy. I could make this baby fly."

Xander looked at him in consternation. Spike? Spike drive this car? 
Um, no. Bad idea. Somewhere in the depths of his soul, he heard the 
little Luciano Pavarotti warning system sing "Mis-TA-ake" in D-
Minor. Giles had complained bitterly that Spike drove like a 
blindfolded Hunter S. Thompson on a three-day acid-binge. Of course, 
this from a man who drove a Citroen, but still, knowing Spike, Xander 
was inclined to believe him. Plus, Giles was also a man who might 
very well have experienced said three-day acid-binge, sometime in the 
early seventies. Probably just before buying that car.

"I think not," he answered, getting back in. " *You* even think about 
getting behind the wheel, you'll be the pile of dust formerly known 
as William the Bloody. I. Do. Not. Own. This. Car. Lather, rinse, 
repeat."

"Did that already," Spike replied absently, running fingers through 
un-gelled hair. It was almost wavy, and Xander wondered if it 
wouldn't actually have curls, if the bleaching weren't frying it 
straight. He must've washed it just long enough ago for it to dry, 
because Xander could still smell pineapple-and-watermelon shampoo. 
And essence of Spike, which was just a faint scent of coolness and 
salt, like standing next to the ocean at night.

"So. You're talkative tonight. What's the matter-- Timmy down the 
well again?" Xander asked as he backed out of the half-drive and into 
the alley.

"No." Spike was watching the road go by over the side of the 
passenger door. Must've been fascinating. More fascinating than 
looking at Xander, anyway. Nice view of the back of Spike's head and 
the way his hair was curling just a little bit at the ends, high on 
his neck.

"Well, that was monosyllabic. Let's try again. How was your day, 
Xander? Oh, fine, Spike. If I show promise, they might promote me to 
assistant scut-bucket carrier. And yourself? Wonderful, Xander. I 
watched Passions, ate Count Chocula, drank blood, didn't do the 
dishes, made obscene phone calls to Buffy's mom, and missed you like 
crazy."

"Yeah."

"Really? Which part?"

"Joyce says hi." Still staring at the road.

"You didn't." Xander choked, torn between cracking up and
disbelief 
and the certain knowledge that Spike was playing him again.

"No." A bit disgustedly, as if the mere thought that Xander might 
have believed him was just one piece of stupidity too many. The straw 
that broke the vampire's back.

Spike had now at least turned his head to look at the road in *front* 
of them, which meant Xander got the lovely classic Spike profile, 
lips pressed firmly together, jaw clenched. Generally known 
as 'Pissed Spike, Please Stand Back.' [What's going on now? Does one 
of us *always* have to be a jerk for this thing, whatever it is, to 
work?]

So Xander played the quiet game, too. Just drove, with the wind 
blowing over both of them, two guys in a classic convertible, heading 
for one of the better sections of town. He spent as much time as he 
could spare from watching the road, on watching Spike. Duster draped 
over the back of the seat, the vampire wore his habitual red silk 
dress shirt over one of several interchangeable black T's. Classic 
Spike. An improvement over Hawaiian Spike with Bermuda shorts, yeah, 
but there'd been something about seeing Spike on Saturday, wearing 
*Xander's* jeans, too-tight navy-blue T. [Like he belonged to me, 
for a minute, there. But you don't own a vampire. They're like cats. 
They just let you feed 'em and scratch 'em every now and then. Bite 
you when you least expect it. Anyway, I can't keep a spider plant 
alive, let alone Spike.]

Still, looking at Spike in what was, for the moment, *his* car, in 
the dark, his hair ruffling in the breeze, practically glowing under 
each streetlamp they passed. It was easy to pretend. That Spike
was 
*his.* That it was about more than sex and chocolate and a few 
laughs. Maybe easier to pretend that than to pretend he didn't want 
it to be true. Which was just as crazy as everything else. [What's 
he thinking? What does he think about me?]

"What?" Spike finally asked, glancing over at him. Annoyed.

"Just trying to get inside your head." Xander answered honestly. 
Shrugged.

Spike laughed. One short, sharp snort. "Better off sticking with my 
arse. It's less crowded in there."

"Oookay, since we're being crude tonight, just what the hell crawled 
*up* your ass and *died*?" Xander could get pissy too, if that was 
what it took to get any kind of communication out of the suddenly 
sullen vamp. [What did I do? I thought we had a *good* day yesterday?]

"Well, Angelus, though not in that order." Spike answered with a 
twisted smile that was gone as quickly as it appeared. "Oh. TMI?"
he 
added sarcastically.

"Oh, yeah, massive surprise there. You'd have to be Joyce Summers 
not to see that one. Oh," Xander affected a combination of Spike's 
accent and a woman's voice: "you were my. my Yoda! How *could* 
you!" He returned his eyes to the road in front of him. [Yeah. 
History. With a capital HIS. Duh. Could practically smell it. They 
might as well have been wearing big smiley-face buttons that 
said 'Ask me why I hate this guy.']

No, the thought of Angel, or the guy he used to be, with Spike...not 
a shock. [Vamps, right? Vamp Wills. Real Wills. All that Tom Cruise, 
Brad Pitt crap. Swing both ways. Like me, I guess.] But he didn't 
want to think about Spike and Angel. Or Angelus, or Drusilla, or 
Harmony, or Tom Cruise, or the waitress at the Roadrunner Café, or 
whether he swung both ways. He just wanted to know what had happened 
to turn Spike into a major lump of grump.

*****

It really had been a good day. Night and morning, anyway. Hunt 
demons, shag in a semi-public place, taunt the Slayer.wander 
back to 
watch telly and fall asleep in each other's arms. 

"Oh, you have to watch this. It's the first of this series. 
Absobloodylutely hilarious."

"You're corrupting me with British TV? No whips, no chains, no 
leather, just Comedy Central?" Xander leaned on Spike's arm and 
peered over him at the television.

"It's one o'clock in the morning, and as you've pointed out, my sleep 
schedule is massively fucked, thanks to you. I'm too tired for whips 
n' chains, even if I could find any. But hold that thought. If I 
can't corrupt you with culture, leather's next on the list."

Xander snorted, then was quiet for a moment, as if contemplating the 
possibility that Spike was serious. He was, of course, but all in 
good time.

"Okay, who's she?"

"Kate. Short for Bob. Shut up-- it's the first of the series. You 
don't need any background."

Xander was having hysterics by the time the faux advert for "Hey 
Nonny Nonny, I Love You, Hot Sex Madrigal in the Middle of My Tights, 
and Many, Many More" was over. When Rik Mayall appeared on the 
screen, with a codpiece the size of a pith helmet, and a 
hearty "Nursie-- I like it, firm and fruity. Am I glad to see you, or 
did I just put a canoe in my pocket..." Xander was shaking so hard he 
rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a loud thump. Spike 
rolled over twice, and gazed down at him.

"Never thought Flash was quite *that* funny, m'self. You need a hand 
there? Breath of life? 'Cos I'd have to call the witch or somethin'."

Xander gasped, rubbing his arm where he'd hit the floor. "Noo..." 
wheeze... "it's just... he's *you*!" Lost in uncontrollable giggling 
again.

Spike glanced back at the screen. Flashheart was deep-kissing 
Blackadder's bride-to-be while Edmund looked on uncomfortably. 

"I think I'm offended. If I'm any of them, surely it's Edmund 
Blackadder, greatest wit of the Elizabethan era."

Xander sat up slowly, resting his chin on the edge of the bed and 
staring across it at the telly. "Oh, yeah, maybe sarcasm-wise you're 
him, but... look at Flash. Just look at him."

"She's got a tongue like an electric eel, and she likes the taste of 
a *man's* tonsils!" Flash proclaimed, which had Xander at it again, 
slamming his head into the mattress.

"That's *you*! If he was wearing skin-tight jeans instead of a 
codpiece, he'd be Renaissance Spike. 'I'm so hot, no jeans in the 
world can contain me...' "

"Thanks, pet. I like you too." Spike grinned at him nastily. 

"I meant, comma, that's the way you act. Walkin' around in those 
jeans, with that face, like you can take down the apocalypse with the 
power of your dick alone... Are you *sure* you're not wearin' a 
codpiece under 'em?"

Spike shot a glance over at the jeans he wasn't, in fact, wearing, 
and curled his mouth into a smug little S. "You know better."

He'd pulled Xander back onto the bed, and they'd curled up together, 
Xander's head on his arm again, to watch a second episode. Fell 
asleep somewhere in the middle of the early "Whose Line Is It Anyway" 
that followed. Spike awoke in the same position, to Xander saying 
quietly, "Hey, wake up. C'mon, Spike. I have to get up and go to 
work." 

Almost unconsciously, they'd both fallen into the habit of not 
leaving the bed for any real length of time without waking the other 
one up. For Spike, it was a courtesy he'd often wished had been 
extended to him. {You fall asleep with somebody, it's only right you 
know when they're taking off. Quick-and-dirty's fine, no strings come 
sundown's fine, but doing a runner while the other one's asleep.
that's low. Cold.) He didn't like waking up alone, not if he hadn't 
fallen asleep that way. Didn't like cold beds.

What had he dreamed? Something about eating Rowan Atkinson, but the 
eyebrows got stuck in his teeth. He'd watched Xander dress. Not 
nearly as fun as watching him *un*dress, especially since after a 
weekend of reasonably acceptable fashion statements, the younger man 
had apparently decided to return to traditional Xanderwear today. Ice-
cream sundae print boxers. Spike kept forgetting to take the piss 
about those "Hello Kitty" ones, which had disappeared somewhere, as 
if Xander wasn't keen on reminding him. Chinos, fine but boring. 
Sleeveless white vest. How back-lawn barbecue suburban could you get? 
Hideous green tropical print shirt over it. Spike had clucked 
disapprovingly, and Xander had grinned.

"Oh, you love it. I'm the Yves St. Laurent of Sunnydale. The women 
follow me throwing kisses and bonbons."

"I'd have guessed rotten tomatoes, but keep buildin' up the fantasy 
life. It helps to have a rich inner landscape when the outer one 
looks like this." Spike indicated the early-morning basement.

"Yeah, yeah. You want me and you know it." The banter had grown 
easier, in those few scant days. Not that Spike couldn't embarrass 
the human in a second, with a well-chosen phrase, sometimes even just 
the right sideways glance, but it was a grinning embarrassment. A 
rueful, accepting one.

Xander had grabbed his keys, when he' d finally made himself look as 
much like a reject from "Three's Company" as he possibly could, and 
walked back over to the bed, where Spike sat shaking his head. The 
boy grinned a bit shyly, and leaned in to kiss him goodbye. Spike 
pushed him off playfully.

"I'm not kissin' you while you're wearin' *that*. It might be 
contagious!"

"Yes, you are," Xander said, leaning back down.

"S'pose so." Spike muttered, his reply muffled by the young man's 
lips. In a too-short moment: "Oh hell, great. Now I find I have a 
sudden urge to go shop at The Gap. See what you've done?"

***********************************************

Part Two

So... when had it all gone to hell? Somewhere just past "Passions" 
and about halfway into whatever Hollywood tabloid show had followed 
it. So.. three-fifteen-ish, if Spike had to put a time to it. If his 
stolen watch had actually been working, he probably could've been 
sure, but no matter how often he glanced reflexively at it, a solid 
line of eights was all it displayed. {Taking it off would be a good 
idea, wouldn't it. But no. Too much bloody work, trying to get the 
thing off right-handed. What possessed me to put it on my left wrist?}

He'd got bored. Which was always a sure sign of trouble. Since the 
shattered remote control lay in far too many pieces on the workbench 
against one wall, he'd have to stand next to the telly and channel-
flip if he wanted to find anything good--a decent comedy or a slice-
and-dice action-horror flick. Instead, he decide to prowl. He'd done 
it before, looking for chocolate, but this was the fun sort of 
prowling.

{What's he got hidden in here, eh? Stack of Playboys in a drawer 
somewhere? Or maybe Men's Health and Efficiency, or whatever they're 
calling it these days. Can't see the little shyboy having the 
wrinklies to walk up and buy a Play*girl* or one of the more 
obviously bent equivalents.} Snarky Voice made an unexpected 
appearance, being strangely supportive of Xander: {Yeah, he can lick 
your bloody *fangs*, but admit in public that he likes to suck cock? 
Or thinks he might? He *is* a nineteen year old male in Sunnydale, 
after all. Don't knock the boy's knackers.}

Drawers. Boxes. Being unusually neat about it all. A slightly 
scorched maroon graduation robe, for instance, folded up in a 
cardboard box, made Spike smile. He rather wished he'd been around to 
see the carnage that had turned Harmony into cheer-vamp, and the 
school into the lovely-smelling ruin it was now. A photo on top of 
it: Xander, Jonathan the lonely and clueless, and a big lad he didn't 
recognize, all draped to the shoulders with lovely sharp weapons, and 
looking like the world was about to end. Which it had been. As usual.

A dried white rose taped to the back of a picture of Xander and Anya 
in formalwear. {Knew he was a soddin' little romantic. Don't know 
whether to be disgusted or go 'awwww...' Cleans up well, anyway.} 
More photos, shuffled around in a shoebox: Xander and Willow in their 
early teens, Xander and the werewolf, Oz, cool and laid-back, leaning 
against the entrance to the Sunnydale High library. Well, Oz was 
looking cool, and Xander was looking like he was desperately trying 
to look cool. 

The Slayer in flannel pajamas and bunny slippers. Spike slipped that 
one surreptitiously into his pocket, next to the snapshot Xander had 
given him of the adolescent babble twins doing the Lambada. Realized 
that Xander had been right...there wasn't a hell of a lot of room in 
his pockets. Less room if he kept looking at pictures of Xander in a 
tux, that was for sure. What else? Rupert, in his terribly tweedy 
days, classically put-upon, chewing on the left earpiece of his specs.

A dim Polaroid of Xander, Willow, Buffy, and the Soulful One, like a 
diagram of dysfunctional group dynamics courtesy of the Dr. Laura 
show. Angel and the Slayer looking gloppily into each other's eyes. 
Xander glaring at Angel. Red, her hair long and parted down the 
middle, more witchy than ever, staring at Xander like he'd hung the 
bloody moon. Spike sighed. {As if our lot were any better. Me rolling 
about moping after Dru, her sidlin' up to Angelus, him off sending 
the Slayer love notes in the form of dead gypsies... Me arseing about 
after *him* as well. Like I've got room to talk about livin' in 
Sunnydale 90210.}

He shoved the pictures back in their box and slid it onto the shelf, 
flicking idly though the pile of comic books next to it. The phone 
rang, with an annoying little *blert* sound. He wasn't about to 
answer it himself, not knowing who it might be, so he let the machine 
get it.

"You've reached Xander Harris' den of debauchery and carnal delight. 
Ladies, please leave a message at the tone, and the X-man will get 
back to you in the order in which you called. Oh, don't hang up, now. 
Just leave a message, and unless I owe you money, I'll call you back 
as soon as I get home. From work. Did I mention I'm actually 
employed?"

Spike shook his head. {Well, *that* wasn't pathetic...}

"Hi, Xander. Or...or Spike, I guess, if you're there. It's me. Just 
wanted to remind you about the thing tonight. Eight o'clock, Giles' 
place. Be there or be...okay, bad choice of words for the X-man. 
You're young, and hip, and swingin'. Not square. No squareness. 
Round, all the way. Ah, Tara says to tell you that the Scooby Snacks 
were excellent, and I agree. She says if that's what you're bringing 
tonight, make sure there's an extra pan for her, and she'll do you a 
no-more-wrinkles spell for your shirts. See you, I guess, and, um, 
sorry about yesterday, Xan... just stupid Willow again. Tell her hey, 
whoever she is. Oh, I didn't just say that. Ignore me. Bye."

Willow. So.the little witch really did think Spike was a
girl. well, 
that the lump Spike had made under the bedclothes was a girl. Being a 
reasonably small guy had a few bizarre advantages. Maybe a *bit* 
insulting, but it solved the annoying problem of 'Oops, vampire's 
buggering the boy, we'll have to stake him." 

***

Not that the vampire actually *was* buggering the boy, which had been 
on his mind quite a bit. There really wasn't any way that Xander's 
first time wouldn't hurt. At least a little. Good hurt, or so it was 
for Spike in the same position, but did the little rotter of a chip 
know that? God knows, he didn't *intend* to harm Xander, but the road 
to the Hellmouth was paved with good intentions. The chip had gone 
off when he'd pointed a fake gun at Xander and Demon-bait, so it 
seemed to be basing itself on what he was thinking about rather than 
what he could actually do. He hadn't really been about to shoot 
either of them, though. Scare 'em a bit, yeah, but he'd scared humans 
by vamping out on them, in order to get some cash, and the chip 
hadn't gone off. Maybe because he knew he couldn't hurt them. It just 
kept turning round and round in his head.

He *had* been about to brain Xander with a spanner once, though, and 
the familiar blinding pain had flooded his skull in an instant. 
Straightforward application of technology. Not as if he was really 
trying to kill the blighter, just give him a hell of a headache. 
Which backfired nicely. Well, who was the Slayer's donut boy to tell 
off Spike, the Big Bad? Point out that he was, indeed, a kept man. 
Vampire rentboy. He'd had a bad case of 'shouldn't-want-you-but-do' 
for the puppydog even then, and having it unconsciously thrown up in 
his face by somebody in a pizza delivery uniform.
vampire-enhanced-
testosterone had taken over. 

{And a fun time was had by all. Shrunk my clothes, ended up wearing 
donut boy's fashion castoffs. Decided I couldn't get any more 
pathetic if I were Xander Harris himself. Tried to dust myself, and 
fucked that up royally, too.} Xander and Willow had come through the 
door a split second before he would've landed on the stake, but he'd 
no illusions that they saved his life. No, he would've missed the 
heart. Staked himself through the liver and bled pig's blood all over 
the floor. It was just the way things had been going. Then they'd 
taken him under their bloody care, as if he was a lost mutt himself, 
and it all got to be a bit too much. Taunted and tormented them like 
an expert, he had, just to prove he could still do it. Still had some 
sort of bite.

And in the middle of a burned-out, bombed-out ruin of a high school, 
with the apocalypse fast approaching (again) and Vahrall demons 
alternating between beating hell out of them and trying to jump down 
the Hellmouth, Spike had got stuck under a falling beam. A familiar 
position, though not quite as painful as an entire organ loft, and 
he'd lain there for a few long seconds, waiting for the world to come 
to an end, or at least the building to fall in on him. Instead, 
without a moment's hesitation, Xander Harris had grabbed his arm and 
pulled him out. Helped him up, dragged him out of the collapsing 
room. 

The pizza-boy he'd almost concussed with a plumber's tool, who'd made 
big noises about staking him or kicking his shiny white bum, hadn't 
paused at touching a vampire in game-face. The guy he'd called a 
tenth-grade loser had pulled him up as if he were a fallen friend, 
and half-carried him out of the library. If he had to be honest with 
himself, to avoid endless persecution from his own little mental 
Greek chorus, it was then. Right then, being carted along by this 
obnoxious human kid who for some reason still gave a damn about his 
safety, that he'd fallen. Hard and fast. No matter how long it had 
taken him to admit it. {Should've known. Everybody I love has a habit 
of dragging me out from under things.}

But now.the blasted chip. He could live with playing bottom 
indefinitely, really, if he had to. He'd no problem with it. If he 
had to choose, it was a toss-up, with maybe a little weight in that 
direction anyhow. {Not so much as I like to play bottom in pain-
games, though, eh? Just have to take turns, there, assuming that sort 
of thing's even on, chip-wise. If not, oh no. Shock, horror. Selfish 
vampire bastard gets to get his arse smacked all the time, and poor 
human's stuck dishing it out.} His eyes lit up a bit at the
thought. 
Which still sent him stumbling back to the damned chip. 

He wanted to be inside the boy. At least once. It wasn't about 
ownership, or any of that macho bollocks. He knew damned well this 
was just a new.whatever, for Xander. Something he'd play at until
he 
came to his senses. Discovering he liked men, yeah, great. Unlikely 
to change his mind on that score, if his bashful enthusiasm was any 
indication. Spinning out that experiment with Spike, though.
{Just 
got lucky, didn't I. Well, lucky in that he wants me. Unlucky in that 
I've gone and fallen head-first with him.} He wanted to pretend he 
belonged there. Just for a little while. That they belonged to each 
other. To see if he could repeat the feeling he'd had that first 
time, of coming home. 

Then there was also the non-nancy-boy fact that he suspected Xander 
didn't have a clue how fucking good it could be, being taken. 
Considering Xander's current nervousness on that score, the 
overprotective side of the vampire half-wondered if there'd been a 
bad experience in that direction. Spike really didn't think so, 
though he had to hit the animal part of his demon on the head with 
that plumber's spanner and snap 'down, boy' at it... *That* was a 
bit of macho bollocks, the assumption that because his boy had been 
broken into pieces and put back together wrong, it had to have been 
something physical. He was reasonably sure Xander was untouched, in 
the literal sense.

Chip, chip, soddin' Riley Finn and his mad scientists, chip, chip 
chip.


***

He'd shaken his head, tried to laugh it off for the moment. Back to 
prowling for the good stuff. Hit the 'rewind' button on the answering 
machine, then thought better of it. {S'pose he'll want to hear the 
little witch babbling at him. Best let it play back to the end and 
leave it.) He pressed 'play', pulled down another box from the shelf 
next to the phone, and waited for another amusing round of 
Willowspeak. It wasn't what he got.

"Xander. hi, it's me. Anya. Right, you knew that. I want to.
Look, I 
don't know how to say this. I came into this thing thinking it was 
about interlocking parts, and they do fit together pretty well. You 
really are a Viking in the sack-- I wasn't just stroking your ego. 
But. I can't do this. I just can't. Not anymore. I'm sorry. You
don't 
love me, you know. Or you're not *in* love with me, or whatever it is 
guys say this century to break it off and rip a girl's heart out and 
stomp on it 'til it's all gristle and blood. Sorry, bad image. Just 
pretend I've never actually done that to a guy, and you'll be fine. 
I'm cutting you off at the pass, because I don't *want* you to do 
that to me. I.hate this cliché, but I want to stay friends
with you, 
and I think there'd be a problem with that if I were always looking 
for creative ways to emasculate you. Oh, that didn't come out right 
either, but.this. Us. I can't do it anymore. We're not gonna grow
old 
together. It isn't me." Beeeep.

"Monday, June twelfth, nine-forty a.m." the electronic voice intoned, 
but Spike was past hearing. He was in that white-hot place where only 
real, honest, ball-bashing hatred could take him. Not the sort he'd 
had for Angelus, mixed up with a twisted love and loss and jealousy, 
but the pure, good, rip their guts out and watch 'em steaming kind. 

{On the *answering machine* ? On the fucking answering machine? Poxy 
little demon bitch, I'll eat her innards for breakfast and salt her 
eyes like boiled eggs. At least Dru had the common courtesy to say it 
to my face. Friends? And the boy's so ego-bashed he's bought into it? 
Sleep with a vengeance demon, you obviously deserve all you get?
I'll.
fucking little slag. Manipulative whore. 'It's not me?' What the fuck 
does that mean? I'll feed her pretty bits to the hyenas at the zoo, 
and save the rest for bin-liners. I'll.}

Not touch one hair on her rotted-out head, because she was physically 
human, and. chip. Chip, chip, bloody fucking rotten chip, chip,
chip. 
That was where he pretty much lost it, and the only things running 
through his brain were lightning, thunder, and the sincere desire to 
rip someone's head off and spit down her neck. The real demon was 
loose, the predator in a blood-rage, and it wasn't going to even let 
him think. It was a deadly silent sort of rage, except for the 
roaring, and it festered very nicely.

*****

Half a mile away from Giles' place, and not one word further into 
anything resembling a conversation, Xander pulled the car to the side 
of a residential street and threw the brake, none too gently. He 
looked over at Spike, who had gotten lost somewhere, but seemed to be 
jolted back to Planet Earth by the sudden stop.

"Okay, talk. Say something witty and entertaining, or I press the 
ejector-seat button right now."

Spike grimaced. "Fresh out."

"Fine. Say something dark and brooding, and I'll give Angel a call 
and tell him his boy's finally going into the family business." Spike 
shot him a deadly glare for that one, but didn't answer.

"If you don't want to do this, I understand, Spike. You're not 
exactly walking into a warmed-up crowd tonight. I get that. You wanna 
go home, okay. We'll go home."

"That's not a home; it's a grave that somebody forgot to put a 
headstone on." 

Neat. Words of more than one syllable, depressive though they might 
be. [Spike and his amazing menagerie of multiple personalities. Who's 
coming out tonight, folks? William the Bloody? William the stock 
analyst? William the suicidal?]

"I should introduce you to Principal Snyder. No, wait, he's dead. But 
then, so are you. You could do lunch and discuss my dreary home-
life." No reaction. " Are you having a 'Hate myself 'cause I'm 
fucking Xander and I'm pretty sure this makes me not only gay, but 
extremely stupid.' moment? " He almost snickered at the idea,
since 
whatever Spike was, he'd obviously been doing it for over a century, 
and he couldn't see the vampire having an identity crisis,
anyway. 
but he was hoping for a laugh.

He didn't get one. "No." 

"Okay.so much for humor as a defense mechanism.Do you want to
go to 
Giles' place or not?"

Spike whipped his head around and fixed Xander with a knife-like 
stare. His eyes were so icy, the blue was almost white.

"Oh yeah. I *want* to do *this*." The growl in his voice was more 
than enough for Xander to back off. Demon-man-animal territory thing. 
The part of Xander that remembered what it was like to smell blood on 
the wind wasn't about to challenge this one.

"Great. Let's rock and roll." Spike snorted at that, and Xander 
shrugged, pulling the car onto the road again.

***********************************************
Part Three

They walked in silence through the courtyard and up to Giles' door, 
Spike leading the way, duster over his shoulder again.

Knock. Knock. How polite. The door opened after a few seconds, to 
reveal Buffy, in jeans and a sleeveless orange tank top, a smile on 
her face. Until she saw Spike. Then it was all confusion, annoyance, 
okay, whatever.

"Spike," she frowned. "You're looking quite...bleached, this evening."

"You an' all, Slayer. Bulimic, too. Here-- have some empty calories." 
Spike shoved the grocery bag into her hands, and pushed past her into 
the well-lit living room. She studied it intently for a moment, then 
looked at Xander, telegraphing 'Why the hell did you bring *him ?*' 
without uttering a word. He shrugged helplessly, and she 
muttered, "Great. Vampire treats and research parties. Just like old 
times." A few silent seconds of staring at him later, she turned and 
walked though the door. He followed her in, glancing about to see 
where Spike had chosen to sit.

Smack dab in the middle of the sofa, legs spread in his usual maybe-
casual sprawl. Right next to a nervous-looking Anya, who'd lightened 
her hair yet again, and was cringing away from the arm that Spike had 
thrown haphazardly over the sofa's back. Willow sat at the other end, 
Tara on the floor at her feet, both of them happily sniffing scented 
markers.

"Hey, blueberry. Here, smell!" Tara waved a navy blue marker in the 
air near Willow's face, and the redhead leaned down to sniff.

"D'you mind?" Spike said sharply. "Some of us 'ave sensitive noses, 
witch." He pushed the marker away with a disgusted scowl. Tara pulled 
it back, looking hurt and guilty at the same time, letting her ashy 
hair fall over her face.

"Some of us have sensitive stomachs, too, but nobody tossed their 
cookies when *you* walked in, so play nice, Spike," Buffy shot at him 
from the living room side of the kitchen counter, where she had set 
the bag down and was unrolling it. Standing in the doorway still, 
Xander could see Giles through the cut-out, putting a tray of cookie-
dough dollops into the oven. "Oh, Spike. Blood. How thoughtful. But I 
didn't get you anything," she added, holding up a plastic blood-bag. 

Xander walked all the way in, passed Spike's duster where it hung on 
the hall-tree, and took the blood from her. "Sorry. Food's 
underneath." He opened the fridge and tossed the bag into the freezer 
section. When he'd closed the door, Giles was looking at him with a 
raised eyebrow.

"You did say he could come," Xander said half-apologetically. "He 
didn't quite do cartwheels, but he's here."

"Oh yeah. Mature Slayer points. I'm thinking I've got Faith beat 
hands down by the time this night is over, jail or no jail," Buffy 
sighed. Xander looked out into the living room, trying to keep a 
close eye on whatever Spike was up to. In this mood, it couldn't be 
good, and he was still at a complete loss as to what had turned his 
newfound lover back into a shark on land.

"So," Spike said at last, leaning in towards Anya, ignoring the two 
witches entirely. "Anyanka. How's tricks?"

*****

Anya wasn't happy. Which was possibly the biggest understatement 
since the ghost of Anne Boleyn had floated up to her in the Tower of 
London, head sniffling from underneath her arm, and remarked that she 
had a sore throat. Anyanka didn't usually do favors for the already-
dead, but given the way Fat Henry ended up treating *six* wives, she 
had felt perfectly justified in making sure *his* spirit stayed 
trapped on the mortal plane when he died. Long enough to see Anne's 
daughter take his throne, and make a better king than he ever had, 
body of a weak and feeble woman or not.

Here she was, sitting in the middle of Giles' living room, with 
Xander's closest friends, trying not to look too hard at him for fear 
she'd jump on him then and there and take it all back. Every 
completely accurate word of it, just so she could be with him again, 
in whatever way he'd let her, and pretend it was her he loved. She 
was a woman, a strong woman, and she'd been a woman for a long time. 
She hadn't been a girl for all that long, though, and it hurt. And to 
make matters exponentially worse, who should plop down and throw his 
arm ever-so-casually around her shoulder but Spike.

The last time they'd been sitting this closely, they'd been having a 
beer together and talking about how much easier it would've been if 
they could just solve all their romantic problems in the good old-
fashioned demonic way. Stake, torch, eviscerate. Neither of them 
really had the heart, but it had been fun to kick back and know there 
wasn't any unfathomable human motive behind the conversation, just 
two downtrodden creatures of the night, or ex-creatures, bitching 
about how much life and love sucked. 

There was none of that relaxation now. She'd tortured enough men, 
played cat-and-mouse games with enough squeaking little mortals, to 
know a predator when she sat next to one, and to recognize when *she* 
was the intended prey. [What did I do to *him* ? Of all the people 
in this room who should be gutting me with their eyes, why Spike? 
Willow never did like me to begin with, for the whole vampire-her 
thing. *Which* she needs to get over. Buffy takes care of her own, 
when she doesn't have her head stuck up Riley's ass. Giles thinks I'm 
an annoying pest. Tara... well, no idea, but I can't see why any of 
them would welcome me with open arms after I essentially dumped their 
best friend in mid-relationship. But they have, or at least they 
haven't said anything mean to me tonight. So why is *Spike* of all 
people acting like I'm filet mignon, extra-rare?]

It wasn't just hunger, which she knew he couldn't do anything about 
anyway. It was hate. Some kind of cold, calculating rage, as if he'd 
channeled every bit of energy in that hyperactive frame into the 
fingers that were gently brushing the top of her spine. That close to 
reaching out and snapping it. She could practically feel the sparks 
crackling over the hairs on the nape of her neck. Shouldn't *she* be 
the one hating Spike? But all she felt were stabs of the strange fear 
unique to intelligent prey--what did I do, how do I get out of
this.
run--no, can't run.

"How's tricks?" she heard him purr in a deadly voice, sexy as hell if 
you weren't scared shitless of him, which, at the moment, she was.

*****

Spike waited for an answer. Actually, the hellspawn in control of him 
didn't give a shit what the answer was, or if it came. It knew the 
demon bitch was squirming under his feather-light touch at the back 
of her neck, and that made the answering demon within him roar in 
silent pleasure. Good. Let her be afraid. 

{You don't hurt what's mine, you little slit. You think I can't hurt 
you 'cos I can't rip your throat open and feast on your vinegary old 
blood? You don't know me well enough yet, but you will.} Which had 
Spike, what you might call 'Spike', anyway, the guy who had finally 
admitted to himself that he was a complete lunatic, and was in love 
with Xander Harris, bucking like mad trying to shake off the wild 
presence in his mind that held him down. {Don't fuckin' do this! You 
*want* him to hate me? Let me *go*!}

"Fine, Spike," she answered in a surprisingly collected voice.

He knew he was out of control. The personality knew, somewhere behind 
the raging demon, that he was treading a fine line between playing 
with the bitch's head and totally ruining anything he had with 
Xander. The part of him that just wanted to take Xander and get the 
hell out of there, go somewhere and make love to him until they both 
fell exhausted to the floor..couldn't do a flamin' thing. He
couldn't 
stop it. {Crap. Is this what Peaches feels like? Always playing tug-o-
war with the demon? I thought it was just me an' the smartarse voices 
in here, that I *was* the demon. But this.}

He couldn't turn around and be the laid-back, half-amused, half-
protective, totally besotted fool that he'd been all weekend. He was 
literally paralyzed. That part of him wanted to explain to Xander 
what had been pissing him off, just leave so he didn't have to face 
the bloody Scooby Club who'd opened their door to him *again*...
just.
turn tail and run. Get Anya alone in a dark alley and verbally pound 
some what-for into her, but not this {You-don't-hurt-what's-mine, 
bitch.} hunting game that was spiraling further and further out
of 
his control.

But it was out of his hands. The demonic animal was on top, clever 
little bugger that it was, just skimming his brain for the memories 
of how to twist somebody up without actually touching them. What was 
*him* was pretty much trapped in his head, looking on. In horror. In 
delight. In horror at his delight, as his mouth pushed its luck for 
all it was worth.

"Been working on that powers thing? Y'know, see if you can get your 
little trinket back? Cos' I'd love to watch what you can do when you 
really *try*," he commented casually. She flicked a glance at him. 
Didn't know how to read him. She would, given time.

"I think it's pretty much gone. Seeing as Giles smashed it to bits, 
and the one time I tried to get it back, they got a vamped-out 
version of Willow instead." Resigned. So she'd decided she'd have to 
eviscerate Xander the human way. Well, two could play at that game.

"Yeah, must've been a blast. Hey, Red..." he said, turning his head 
to the witch who sat at the far end of the sofa, still trading 
scented markers with her girlfriend, "how'd you like seeing yourself 
as a vamp? Give you any ideas? Cos', you an' me, we could really tear 
this town apart. Bet you'd have the sweetest little fangs..." The 
memory passed physically across her face like a shadowy ripple, and 
the blonde witch was staring at her with half-lidded eyes.

Great. His demonic side was going after the rest of them, too. Just 
on general principles. Zap both witches with one blow, there-- Willow 
with the fear of being what he was, what she had seen herself be, 
Tara with the knowledge that her lover had the capability of becoming 
a monster. {Sunshine, everybody does. Some of us just have less 
control. Listen, up there, can't you leave Red alone? I *like* Red. 
She baked me cookies.}

***

Morning after he'd helped them rescue Wolf-Boy with a little inside 
information from Adam, he'd been awakened from his somewhat stiff 
sleep atop a concrete bier by a faint knocking at the door of his 
crypt. As he'd sat up and pushed his duster off him, about to see who 
the hell was knocking him up in what was essentially his middle-of-
the-night, Willow had slipped through the doorway, being careful not 
to let the sunlight stream in.

"Red? What the hell?"

"Sorry.I just wanted to thank you. For, y'know. With Oz."

"Yeah, well, Giles already paid me, so you can get your skinny arse 
out of here and let me sleep, witch," he'd growled, sleepy and 
confused.

"Oh, this isn't money. Just cookies. Also probably a little leftover 
guilt from that "my will be done" spell, which I said I wasn't ever 
going to mention again, so, um.. Thanks. Bye now." She set a
plate 
on the tomb nearest the door, and slipped out as quickly as she'd 
entered.

Groggily, he slid down from his makeshift bed and shuffled over to 
it. Chocolate chip. Still-warm chocolate chip.

{Oh yeah, no guilt there. There I was already in bed with Spare-Parts-
Guy (metaphorically speaking, because physically. as Xander would 
say, eew.) and the witch bakes me a plate of biscuits. Look,
you 
mindless bag of hormones and hellfire, if you won't let me back in 
charge, at least leave off tormenting the sprogs. I don't need the 
headache. Don't need to get staked, either.} All he got was an 
answering growl from within his own brain.

*****

Xander had moved to the chair in the corner, and was watching Spike 
with slitted eyes. His lover was almost snuggling up to Anya, but 
there was something nasty in it, and there wasn't any of the usual 
Spike's-just-being-annoying lilt to his voice as he ragged on Willow 
about her vampy-self. [What-- was he just collecting ammunition, 
yesterday? I don't need this. Don't need not to know from day to day 
if I'm sleeping with a monster or a man. I should know. He's a 
monster. He never tried to say he wasn't. But...why do I keep on 
trying to trust him? Just because he told me I can?]

Buffy lifted the four pans of treats from the bottom of the grocery 
bag, and as she sniffed, her eyes got big. "Treats! Chocolate! Gooey 
stuff! Xander, I love you with every Slayery fiber of my being."

"Yeah," Spike called over his shoulder from the sofa. "Peanut butter, 
too. Full of protein. Figured since soldier-boy's gone home to mum 
for a while, you weren't gettin' your recommended daily requirement."

*That* got everybody in the room staring at Spike. Crude he might be 
when attempting to piss them off, but he'd never gone quite that far 
before.

"Spike-- " Buffy started to speak, but Giles cut her off, leaning 
over the countertop and glaring at Spike in full grown-up Ripper-
mode. Don't fuck with my kids, mister. God, how Xander loved it when 
Giles got like that, even though it was always in the middle of some 
catastrophe or other, so he didn't get to savor it. Protective, like 
Giles cared more about them than he did his own safety, or his damn 
British dignity, or anything else. Wild, like a barely tamed animal 
protecting its family-- for Buffy, for Willow, and for him. For 
Xander. The way his own father never had been, except maybe *at* him, 
instead of for.

"Spike, shut your mouth or leave. Your choice. For now." The words 
were delivered with chilling simplicity and straightforward menace-- 
bookish old Rupert was nowhere in sight.

"What," drawled the vampire, getting into it now. Ripper didn't scare 
him? What the hell was he on? "Virgin ears? All virgins in the room 
please raise their hands." When nobody moved, he smirked. "I rest my 
case."

[C'mon, Spike. Don't *do* this. Whatever you're trying to do, don't 
make 'em hate you. Don't make me have to choose between you and my 
friends. Because I'm way too damn afraid I'd choose you, and then 
where would we all be?]

Spike didn't say anything further, though, so Buffy went back to 
drooling over the Scooby Snacks, and casting murderous glances at the 
back of Spike's head every so often. When she made as if to grab a 
butter knife from the counter, Giles reached through and smacked her 
hand lightly. Rupert the librarian was back, at least for the moment.

"Not before dinner, please." Nice to know Willow had learned her 
mommyness from an approved source.

"When's dinner? " Xander asked, looking for a distraction, and 
honestly hungry. He hadn't eaten lunch, in the insanity that had 
prevailed at the supermarket today.

"As soon as the pizzas get here." Giles said slowly.

"And that would be.."

"About half an hour after you order them." the ex-Watcher
muttered 
with a rueful grin. "Well, I always get something wrong when I phone 
it in, don't I. They're on me, just make the call and stop laughing 
at me."

Xander wasn't laughing. Not when he felt like he had to babysit 
Spike. Or Anya, or somebody. 

Dialing their usual pizza place, he was greeted by a familiar, 
friendly voice, and responded in kind. "Hey, Jason. Xander Harris. " 
Yet another Sunnydale High survivor, and a former co-worker, during 
Xander's brief tenure as pizza-guy before the demise of Rust-Bucket 
Number Two had put a stop to that career path.

"Hey. Party time? 'Cause it's pretty slow around here. You might get 
your stuff in twenty if it's not too complicated."

Xander looked around the room. He knew, by now. They all knew, by 
now. Scooby pizza traditions. "Usual. Large works, large pep, large 
veggie, three orders of breadsticks." He watched Spike make
little 
spider-motions with his fingers, a few inches away from the back of 
Anya's neck, and noticed that Anya was cringing, even though Spike 
wasn't actually touching her. [Right. Be nice to the psychotic dead 
guy, Xander, and maybe he'll learn some manners.]

"Oh, no garlic butter." There was silence on the other end of the 
line. Jase Montgomery had been one of the front-line defenders in the 
graduation war. He'd seen enough to blow even the coolest mind, and 
he'd been together enough not to sweep it under the carpet of his 
memory, like most of the population of Sunnydale.

"Y'know, delivery guys have a habit of not coming back from 'no 
garlic butter' orders," Jason said tentatively.

Xander laughed, and tried not to make it sound as nervous as he 
felt. "No, man, safe and sound, I guarantee it. Just got a guest with 
an allergy." [Yeah, exactly the same kind of allergy you're thinkin'. 
But he's reasonably harmless. Ah. right?]

The total was staggering, as usual, but when he mouthed it at Giles, 
he just got an un-surprised nod. 

***********************************************
Part Four

No garlic butter?" Willow asked in pretended shock, and a bit of 
actual surprise. "You practically drink that stuff."

Xander tilted his head toward Spike. "*Some* of us have sensitive 
noses." Making Xander-Snotty-Face, the one she'd recognized since 
kindergarten.

"Yeah, well.*some* of us are acting like big macho poopheads and
need 
to get our sensitive noses out of our cold, dead butts," she replied, 
kicking Spike gently on the leg. He turned to her with an incredulous 
glare, and she glared right back. "What? Don't be mean to my 
girlfriend and I won't beat you up. Seems like a fair exchange to 
me." She waved a licorice-scented marker within a few inches of his 
nose.

He grabbed it on the second pass, and pulled it from her fingers with 
a hard twist. Not enough to hurt, just to startle her. Then he made a 
gesture with it that could only be interpreted as. well, it
sometimes 
ended with 'and the horse you rode in on,' and handed it smoothly 
back to her.

"Please don't," he added, with a flabbergasting amount of civility. 

[What the heck? 'Kay, back off from the PMS-ing vampire.] She
scooted 
back into the corner of the couch.

*****

{Thank you.} Spike muttered to the demonic animal in control of
him. 
{Don't suppose you'd get the hell down back where you belong and let 
me have the wheel again, eh?} Grrr. No, apparently not.

"Twenty minutes, if we're lucky," Xander announced, hanging up the 
phone and returning to his seat. "So how does this thing work?"

Tara rose from the floor and dragged a whiteboard from where it was 
leaning against a bookcase, setting it up in front of the fireplace. 
It was covered, like a traditional Jeopardy gameboard, with squares 
that had point values scrawled on them in what Spike assumed was 
scented marker. In this case, the squares were light blue 
construction paper.

"I get to be Alex," she said, smiling. "We were gonna let Giles play 
by himself, since he's the font of all knowledge, and have everybody 
else pair up, but since S.Spike's here, I guess we've got even
teams. 
You. are playing, right?" she asked Spike, making about the first 
words she'd ever said directly to him, come to think of it. 
Unless 'She *is* a wiz' , defending Red's computer skills in a tense 
moment, actually counted.

{Oh, hell. Look at 'er. Another broken one. Just as bloody bruised as 
the boy. Why, oh why, must I be surrounded by puppy-children!} Spike 
broke eye contact, lest the furious energy that was running his body 
decided to co-opt his mind again and try digging at the blonde. At 
least he managed that much control.

"Oh, yeah. Team Demon all the way, right, luv?" His body and his 
demon both grabbed Anya pseudo-playfully and pulled her close to him 
in a tight hug. More squirming.

Xander was watching him, getting more and more upset. He could see 
it, and what he wanted most was to get up, save the demon-girl for a 
late-night bitch-out some other time, and drag Xander away somewhere 
to kiss all that hurt and confusion off his face. {Because he's mine, 
for now, and sod that macho crap.} But no such bloody luck. Just the 
nasty-good feeling of Anya's skin crawling, and a low rumble from his 
demonic alter-ego.

"I'm all yours, Xander," Willow added. "If you want me." 

{And didn't *that* have the ring of history to it. Yeah, well, me 
too, witch. If I could manage to swim back up to the surface, anyway.}

'So we have Slayer/Watcher-team, Demon-team, and Sunnydale Home-
team." Buffy offered, slipping down from her counter-stool and 
dragging a chair over to the open area just to the right of Anya's 
end of the sofa.

"And the point of this little bonding-exercise?" Spike sniggered to 
no one in particular.

"Pick each other's brains about demonic lore and history, without 
there having to be a Big, Bad and Ugly breathing down our necks," 
Willow replied.

"Besides Spike, that is," the Slayer chipped in.


*****

[What the hell is he *doing* here?] Buffy wondered for about the 
fiftieth time so far tonight. [I mean, I get why Xander brought him, 
sort of. He's got this weird little empathy thing going on-- poor 
pathetic Spike, dumped by his girl and turned into a fluffy bunny. 
Poor pathetic Xander, dumped by his girl and always was a fluffy 
bunny.] Not that Xander was really pathetic, but he thought he
was, 
and they hadn't done a heck of a lot to correct that assumption this 
last year.

But what was *Spike* doing here? Why did he come? Just to take 
potshots at them? He could do that perfectly well whenever they met 
up by accident, like last night at the old drive-in. She never did 
track down whatever it was that had screamed, and she half-suspected 
Spike's repulsive insinuations about it being horny teens hiding out 
in the bushes were true. Not that the suggestion of watching them, 
with Spike, while sharing a bag of popcorn, didn't turn her stomach, 
but he had an annoying habit of being right.

She couldn't see him voluntarily showing up for what was essentially 
a Scooby party. In fact, if Spike had a picture of Hell in his 
overbleached head, she'd bet it involved being locked in a room with 
the Scooby Gang and a chip in his head for the rest of eternity. 
Unless he really was as lonely as he pretended not to be. If he
was. 
she groaned, mentally. [I only have room in my life for one broody 
vampire, and I can't even deal with *him* unless he's in another 
city. Spike works just fine as an admittedly not-bad-looking ass to 
kick, and somebody to take out my verbal frustrations on, but do I 
actually have to feel *sorry* for him, too?]

Not if he kept acting the way he had been tonight, she decided. 
Every Slayer instinct in her was screaming that there was a vampire 
in the middle of the room whose kill-instinct was so close to the 
surface he might as well be wearing a nametag that said "Hi, I'm 
Spike. I'm gonna eat you now." Chip, yeah, so he couldn't, but he 
seemed to be doing his best to sink the fangs in using just his eyes 
and voice, and she hadn't sensed this much testosterone poisoning in 
the air since she'd had Angel and Riley in the same room.

"Research. Fun. Same sentence. Tuesday night at the old corral just 
ain't the same anymore." she added, grinning at Willow.
[Somebody's 
gotta get this party going. Dead. Dead. Deadski. Deader than Spike.]

*****

Willow pulled a Wal-Mart bag from the floor next to the sofa, and 
Xander leaned over to peer inside. [Ooh.toys.] He recognized
bright 
colors when he saw them, and was still pretty much a sucker for 
anything that came out of the ten aisles between the bikes and the 
backyard swingsets.. [Well, except for the Barbies. No, wait, I
guess 
kidnapping them and holding them for ransom does technically mean I 
played with Barbies as a child. And just see what it's done to 
me. ] 'Xander,' said his mental Mom-voice, '.little boys who play 
with Barbies grow up to have semi-kinky sex with male vampires.'

Willow pulled out. a pile of children's bicycle horns. Six of 
them. "Not exactly state of the art buzzers, but at least Xander can 
have fun pretending he's Harpo Marx." she explained, passing them 
around. 

Giles moseyed over from the kitchen after pulling out an unfairly 
good-smelling tray of cookies from the oven and putting them aside to 
be [dammit] eaten later. He accepted his horn with a resigned smile, 
pulling up one of the counter-stools behind the back of the sofa.

Spike honked his experimentally, and looked a bit disgusted with the 
pitiful squeak that came out.

"Right, anybody want to trade? This thing sounds like Harris trying 
to chat up a bird."

Even Xander had to grin at that one. [Relax, Xander. He's just being 
Spike. Plus the whole point is for them *not* to figure out that 
something's up between us, so. right, rag on me all you want.]
But 
Spike hadn't been just being Spike, a few minutes ago, and the 
tension was still swirling.

"Hey!" Anya growled at Spike. "Xander's got some great lines.
Like." 
And all was silence, as they waited for her to come up with 
something. Finally she shrugged. "Okay, I kind of didn't give him the 
chance to use any on me. So sue me."

"Ahem." Giles prompted. "If we could tear the discussion away
from 
Xander's dating techniques, however fascinating they might be."

"Right." Tara jumped in. "Basic Jeopardy scoring, but each team 
member answers individually and then we add the scores together-- no 
kibitzing. Since we don't have a computer scoring system."

"We could've, but Giles wouldn't spring for three new monitors, a 
server, light pens." Willow said mock-sulkily.

"Since we don't have a computer scoring system." Tara shot a
stern 
look at Willow. "each of these is worth a hundred points." She 
pulled out another Wally-world bag from the floor behind Willow, and 
Xander's eyes lit up as she dumped four huge bags of Hershey's Kisses 
into a large bowl.

"No eating your scores, either. Not until afterwards, anyway!"


*****

Fifteen minutes later, they were all still fairly close to even, with 
Spike and Anya actually a few points ahead. It made sense, two 
demons, or one demon and an ex-demon, having a bit of an edge. Anya 
had eleven hundred years worth of names to drop, and Spike seemed to 
possess a prodigious memory for trivia. Giles was a bit miffed, 
really. He'd rather thought it would come down to a battle of 
memories between Willow and himself, with Buffy, Xander, and Anya 
cheering from the sidelines.

Spike's presence seemed to be warping the interplay between the 
group, but Giles couldn't entirely suss out how. [He's taken a step 
back from actively trying to offend everyone in the room, at least, 
and seems to be confining his little jiggery-pokery to Anya. ] Which 
made Giles breathe a tad easier, since it wasn't one of *his* 
children whom the vampire was silently menacing. Not that he was 
happy about it at all, but the sharp-tongued ex-demon could take care 
of herself quite well, without the help of a semi-retired ex-Watcher.

*****

"I'll take 'Possession' for five hundred, Alex." Spike said 
disdainfully. "Vanna, as well, actually." he added as Tara
removed 
the construction paper covering the answer. "Well, you've the legs 
for it, I'm guessin'. If anybody's ever seen 'em, under those bloody 
granny-skirts." 

"*I've* seen 'em, and yes she does, and shut up, Spike." Willow 
muttered, kicking him again.

He and the demon had reached a sort of unwilling compromise. It was 
letting him play, as long as he let it make Anya twitch with every 
apparently friendly tap on the shoulder or finger run slowly across 
the back of her neck. And it was all with the understanding that 
sooner or later tonight, it was going to back her into a corner and 
tear merry hell out of her the only way it could: emotionally. He 
fully agreed that Anya had.something.coming to her. He just
didn't 
want to be in the middle of a showdown with him on the sharp end of a 
pointy stick, and he didn't want the bestial part of his being to do 
something that Xander would find unforgivable, either. It wasn't the 
best offer, but at least he wasn't quite stuck at the bottom of his 
mind, howling up at it to stop fucking about with his life. 

Which, in a nutshell, meant that he'd earned that particular Willow-
punishment all by himself. {What? Blondie's cute, in that negative-
of-Xander sort of way. Worth a few wolf-whistles.} He *was* still 
Spike, after all. There was only so much he could stand before he had 
to mess about with *somebody*. There was as vast a difference, 
however, between the way he usually baited the Slayerettes, and what 
the demon had been doing, (was still doing to Anya) as there was 
between the blonde witch and Alex Trebek. 

It hadn't been so much what he was saying (except for the comment to 
the Slayer about protein, which he'd been wanting to make for a while 
now, just not in the middle of a large group of people who knew how 
to wield a stake) as it was the pure evil that had accompanied each 
little jab-and-poke. {I'm bad, fine. But I don't usually stalk about 
with 'I'm going to suck you into Hell and feast on your brains on the 
way down' blarin' behind me as my theme song. That was Peaches' game, 
back when he was on his kick to rip the Slayer a new one. Way too 
over-the-top for me.}

"The slime-trail left by an Ethros demon." Tara read off.

Spike-the-demon leaned close into Anya's ear and whispered 
sweetly, "Somebody who dumps their boyfriend by leaving a message on 
his answering machine."

Giles honked his horn. "What is Plakticine." he answered, a bit 
boredly. Spike-the-undead-guy agreed. That was a five hundred dollar 
question? Still, it got Team Slayer five pieces of chocolate that 
he'd much rather have in his own pile. 

And Anya was staring at him. What had he. oh, shit. {Nice going, 
Plakticine-for-brains!} he shouted at his demonic driver. {Very 
subtle! 'Cos now she'll *never* figure out I've got feelings for the 
boy.}

***********************************************

Part Five

The first half of the game ended with Willow and Xander beating Spike 
and Anya by two hundred points, and Team Slayer trailing by a 
thousand. The demonic duo might well have been in the lead, if 
Spike's diabolically gentle whisper hadn't thrown Anya into a 
complete state of shock for the next ten minutes.

[Xander *told* him about that? Spike? ] It had probably been the most 
cowardly thing she'd done in her more-than-a-millennium on this 
planet, leaving that message for Xander. But she hadn't thought she 
could say it to his face. She fully believed, still, that if she'd 
tried to look at him while telling him she needed to leave him
for.
whoever's good it was.that she'd never have been able to get the 
words out. She would have shut up, curled into his arms, and let him 
believe that he loved her, because he'd never been with somebody he 
actually *was* in love with, and so he didn't know the difference. 

In a way, breaking up with Xander had been the bravest thing she'd 
ever done, as well, because she had let go of something she didn't 
know if she'd ever find again. Partially so they wouldn't go through 
something horrible and hateful a month or a year or five years down 
the road, and partially because she wanted to see him happy. With 
somebody he really did love. She'd had him on her mind since their 
joke of a senior prom, and especially since he'd told her off before 
graduation about her own lack of maturity in assuming men just wanted 
sex. Or at least that he did. She'd set out to prove him wrong, and 
somehow proven him more right than she could imagine, as sex had 
become dating, had become friendship. had become caring about
each 
other. Had become love, but only on her part. 

So Anyanka the mistress of vengeance, and, as Xander had pointed out, 
the learning plateau, had thought she'd learned something new. How to 
be unselfish. But. if Xander had told Spike about her
breakup-via-Ma-
Bell, was he more upset than she imagined? More upset than he seemed 
when they'd talked over shopping carts about humor biting her in the 
ass? Hurt enough to tell a guy he thought he hated about how much 
she'd ripped him apart? Hell. Nothing made any sense. What was 
Spike's interest in all this? Why did *he* seem to want to hurt her? 

Why couldn't being a human be as simple as being a demon? Fix 
everything with a wave of your power center and a cheery little 
drawing-and-quartering. When the pizzas arrived, she took the 
opportunity to slip out from under Spike's arm, and head for Giles' 
bathroom. The one with the nice tile.

"Don't get lost, luv," Spike called after her, the threat inherent in 
his voice that he might very well come in there after her if she 
didn't come back out. "There's a mirror in there, after all, and we 
wouldn't want you getting transfixed."

*****

Xander went to the door with Giles to get the pizzas, taking the 
boxes as Giles pulled the appropriate amount out of his wallet, and 
paid with a shrug. Doing the math, and recognizing the delivery guy 
as Teddy Holmes, one of his more desperately broke former co-workers, 
Xander fished a ten out of his pocket, and slipped it to the poor guy 
for an extra tip. Right about then, Anya made a break for the 
bathroom, and Spike said something that would've just been snotty, if 
it hadn't been so full of male vampire pissed-off territorial what-
the-hell bullshit that it made Xander cringe to even hear that voice. 
The voice that had made him cringe in ways that he'd enjoyed a hell 
of a lot more, during the last three days.

[That is it. That is fucking well.it. I can't take this crap
anymore. 
He won't answer me, I don't know what the hell I did, or what bit him 
in the ass when I wasn't looking, and I can't deal with this. Spike, 
what are you doing. What am *I* doing.]

"Giles." he said softly as they stood near the just-closed 
door. "This is gonna sound completely nuts."

The Englishman looked at him with concern while folding his wallet 
again and tucking it into the pocket of his jeans. "In comparison to 
your usual state of mind, or just to those of us who don't have 
chocolate and caffeine running through our veins instead of blood? 
What's wrong?"

"Can I stay here tonight?" He hadn't known he was going to ask until 
the words came out of his mouth, but it suddenly seemed right. 
Dealing with whatever Spike was doing.going home with the
predatory 
stranger he'd thought he was getting to know. it all seemed like
too 
much.

"Er.well, of course you can, if you need to, but why?" asked
Giles 
with a puzzled frown.

"I don't know what the hell's up with Spike, and I really don't want 
to spend the evening alone in the Basement of Doom with him and 
whatever crawled up his. well, you get the point. 
Vampire-on-the-rag 
isn't my idea of Must-See TV." He reached out with his free hand and 
spun the globe around distractedly, ending up with his finger in the 
middle of Ireland.

"Xander, you're welcome to stay. But it *is* your flat--why don't you 
just tell him to leave? I agree, his behavior's been abominable this 
evening, and if that's what he's been like for the last week, I can't 
imagine why you haven't booted him out before now." Giles put out an 
arm to take some of the pizza boxes, and Xander handed over the top 
two.

"No. He hasn't. He's just been. the annoying Spike we all know
and 
hate. I don't know what this is, just that it's some kind of screwed-
up alpha-male scent-marking thing that I don't want to get into the 
middle of, even if I knew where the middle was. I'm not about to try 
and kick him out right now, 'cause I don't have any idea what's going 
through that dead, bleached head of his. I just.don't want to be 
around him, at the moment."

"Well, I can understand that much. I'm not exactly bursting with 
pride to admit we were born on the same island, given tonight's.
whatever it is he's up to. Yes, fine, you're always welcome. You know 
that."

Xander tapped his fingers on his stack of pizza boxes, and looked at 
the floor.

"You *do* know that, don't you?" Giles asked quietly.

"Guess I do now." And he wondered if he'd ever get up the courage to 
tell Giles the things he'd been thinking at the top of his basement 
stairs, as he made his list of final goodbyes when he thought Spike 
was going to rip his throat out. [Hey, maybe that's the plan for 
tonight, instead.] That Giles was. the closest thing to a dad
he'd 
come across. Which didn't sound nearly as good as what he really 
meant.

But.Spike. The damnedest thing was, he still trusted Spike. The
guy 
who'd held him as he fell asleep last night. He just wasn't entirely 
sure who the hell was occupying that body at the moment.

*****

Anya finally decided she'd hidden in the bathroom for long enough 
when she'd counted the tiles three times and come up with three 
different totals. She still didn't have any answers, but she'd 
managed to work up a nice load of guilt. She knew Xander wasn't in 
love with her, but she also knew from experience that you could be 
torn to pieces by people you weren't in love with. Witness Xander 
lying in bed next to her, staring at the ceiling, thinking his best 
friends wanted him out of their lives because he was completely 
useless. 

[What did I do? Just what the hell did I do to him?]

She opened the door, intending to pull Xander aside and. ask him,
she 
supposed, if he was okay. If he'd been lying when he said he didn't 
hate her. Something. She didn't really get the chance. When she 
looked up from the tiles to move through the open door, the space was 
filled by five-feet, ten inches of bleached-blonde vampire. Blue eyes 
cold as a bloodless corpse, and boring holes straight into her.

"Need any help? Spike asked conversationally.

She'd had just about enough of him, predator or not. [I was a demon 
eight hundred years before anybody ever thought of naming their kid 
William the Bloody, dammit. I can take you if I have to.] "What do 
you want, Spike? Really?"

"Just thought I'd get a few tips from an expert. I've decided I 
really should go off an' do that little vengeance project we were 
talkin' about. Y'know, where I stake Dru? Only that seemed a little 
too easy, somehow, and I'm running fresh out of creative methods of 
torture. Caught your gig on the boy's answering machine, and.what
can 
I say. I'm not worthy. You're honestly the best. I thought you meant 
you didn't want to eviscerate him, and here you were just workin' up 
to something really.special."

All this in a voice so low and smooth you could have spread it on 
toast and eaten it, although if you did, you'd die pretty quickly 
from the strychnine laced into every syllable.

*****

"You're the one who told me to." she whispered back. "So why do
you 
care what I've done to him?" She was on the edge of tears, and both 
Spike and the demon were waiting for that one sweet little line that 
would put her over. Spike more so he could get the hell out of there, 
the demon so it could revel in the carnage.

"Yeah, well. I was having a bad day. What can I say." {A bad day that 
started with a dream about your damned boyfriend, and a hard-on I 
couldn't get rid of until I'd spent half an hour jerking off in my 
crypt while picturing him spread-out naked in a double-bed with 
chocolate sauce dribbled all over him.}

"I thought, though, the really brilliant part." he continued, or 
rather, the animal that had once again taken complete control 
continued. "was that last bit about 'It isn't me.' Y'know,
like you'd 
finally just figured out he didn't coordinate with your new hairdo. 
How'd you ever come up with that? 'Cos.. I must say, I'm impressed. "

*****

[It isn't me you love.] That's what she'd been about to say, when the 
machine had cut her off, and she'd left it there. Thinking Murphy's 
Law was telling her something, and she'd said enough. Thinking it was 
just too much for her to try to tell Xander. What she'd heard him 
say, what she was pretty sure it meant.

When he'd tossed in his sleep, during those nightmares he'd had every 
night she'd ever slept with him.it was like he was completely
lost, 
the look on his dreaming face, and she'd felt as far from him then as 
if she was on the other side of the world. Like no one and nothing 
could pull him out of whatever personal hell he was walking through. 
He kept reaching out, but it wasn't her he was reaching for. When he 
touched her in his sleep, he rolled away again. He would murmur, but 
nothing she could make out. Never anything that made sense. 

Until a month ago, the night after the original Scooby Gang had gone 
down into the Initiative, the night after they'd been chased by the 
First Slayer in their dreams. That night, when he'd come back to his 
bed, and she'd been in it, and they'd made love, he'd fallen asleep 
and tossed and turned as usual. But in the middle of it, he'd finally 
whispered out a name, his back to her in the creaky old sofa bed. Not 
her name, though she'd reached for him anyway, pulling him to her and 
trying to soothe away his sleeping fears, and her own. Not her name, 
but that of the creature that was glaring at her right now, trying to 
intimidate her, or crush her, or whatever he was up to, and doing a 
damn good job. Spike.

And every night since then, until she quietly removed everything 
she'd ever left at his place, while he was at work, and then called 
from a pay phone a block away, to say goodbye.

*****

And the demon was jumping up and down on top of Spike's head, at 
least that was the way it felt. And Anya was standing in the doorway 
of Rupert's loo, tears slowly running down her face. The monster was 
exultant. The man was just. disgusted. With himself, with Anya,
with 
this whole stupid bloody day. And he wanted out. He'd had e-frigging-
nough.

{Oi! You up there! This is *it*! NO more.} 

As he watched, the girl looked up at him with a face ripped open with 
the kind of pain he'd felt a year and a half ago, when he'd blown 
into town completely snockered. He'd been so torn up over Dru that 
he'd accidentally set his bloody *hand* on fire and it had only 
seemed to provide a peaceful counterweight to what had been going on 
inside him. That was what was playing over Anya's sharp little 
features, and he knew *he* hadn't put it there. He'd torn it free, 
but it had been in there all along.

Meanwhile his other half was living it up, and so was as surprised as 
he was when the searing pain tore through his head. {What--} it 
growled, stealing his memory of words, {--can't even hurt the bitch 
*emotionally* without the fuckin' chip workin' me over?}

But it wasn't the chip exploding though his head. It was the grip 
that Xander Harris had on his hair as he was dragged bodily down the 
hall and away from Anya.

"Excuse me, Anya. The asshole and I need to have a talk." And with 
that, Xander pulled him by the hair, through Giles flat, past the 
mouth-full, jaw-dropped Scoobies, and out the door into the warm 
summer night. Slamming the door behind them, Xander finally let go of 
his hair, only to shove him roughly back against the stuccoed wall.

{Oh, dear God, thank you.} Spike whispered in his head, and the
demon 
just waited. This was his, what was throwing him up against the wall, 
and the animal approved. A nice bit of rough. Then he could go back 
in and mop the floor with the soppy little demon cunt.

{E-Nough!} Spike shouted at it.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing, Spike?!!" Xander screamed 
at him, inches from his face. "You say you want to come here, then 
you act like a complete shit, and then you go and rip Anya to pieces? 
What are you trying to do? What are you trying to do to *me* ?"

And Xander, if he wasn't in tears, was as close to it as a nineteen 
year old guy can come in the middle of June while throwing his lover 
of three days up against the side of a condo and bringing back his 
fist.holding it there, poised to fly forward. 

"Hit me." Spike managed to croak out over the sudden howling of
the 
demon, who had figured out what he was trying to do.

"What?" Xander asked, closer to breaking down than ever, by the look 
of him.

"Hit me. Do it. Bloody well. hit me!"

And Xander did. A hard right to the jaw. Just about coldcocked him, 
but he didn't go down. The demon went down, and Spike, in his head, 
took it by the scruff of the neck and shook it like an Indian rug 
that needed ex-vampire dust beaten out of it.

{No more! You are *not* in charge here. Wherever you crawled up from, 
you can bleedin' well fall back down there and *stay*, because
you're 
never seein' the metaphorical light of day again.}

Spike knew he was going in and out of game face at random, as the.
thing.that had been howling in him all evening fought him fang
and 
claw. Xander.knew something was going on. Had his hands against 
Spike's shoulders, pinning him back to the wall, but also holding him 
up.

"Don't.let go." Spike hissed through a fang-filled mouth, and
fell 
back inside himself with a shudder. The beast was tearing at the 
insides of his mind, as if it were a real landscape, or, more 
accurately, a cage. He shoved it against the imagined bars, pinning 
it there much as Xander had him pinned against the wall. 

{This is over! You are *finished.* Nobody, but nobody, is allowed to 
hurt this boy, much less some jumped-up dick-for-brains monster I 
didn't even know was living separate lives down there in my brain 
stem. *I* am in charge around here. Now. Tomorrow. Period. You don't 
touch him, you stay away from his friends, and if I hear a bloody 
peep out of you I swear I'll reach in and rip you out of my head with 
my own fingers. You think you're bad? You've been living in *my* 
skull for a hundred and twenty-six years and you think *I'm* not a 
bigger demon than you? *Sod* *off* and *die.*}

And there was silence, as whatever it was.whimpered under the
fury of 
Spike's assault, and retreated. Slunk away trailing defeat like 
Plakticine. Bloody well forever, if Spike had anything to say about 
it. And he opened his eyes.

***********************************************

Part Six

Xander didn't have a clue what was going on, but he held,
somehow, to 
his insane trust in Spike, as human and demon flickered over the face 
in front of him, and the body jerked spasmodically under his hands. 
When Spike told him not to let go, he didn't. When Spike opened his 
eyes again, it was the man Xander knew, or thought he did, looking 
back at him.

"What the *hell* was that?" he whispered, and as he loosened his hold 
on Spike's shoulders, Spike fell forward into his arms. 

With his face pressed against Xander's shirt, the vampire said 
quietly, "I'm sorry."

"You're what? You?" Xander said, not pushing him away, but not 
knowing what to think. "You're never sorry for anything. Who are you 
and what've you done with Spike?"

"That.wasn't me. Not any bit of me I ever want to meet again, 
anyway." Spike didn't move his head from where it lay, and Xander.
still didn't know what to think, but he slipped his arms around the 
vampire's back, and held him there. Forgetting that they stood on 
Giles' front porch, under the yellow light. Not caring.

"You mean that, don't you. Like you were.possessed, or
something," 
Xander asked, unconsciously smoothing Spike's hair with one hand. 
[What have I gotten myself into, here? Why don't I want to get out?]

"No. Not.possessed. I'm just.a little more separate from the
demon 
than I ever thought I was. It got.uppity.
Won't happen again. Ever." There was a promise inherent in those 
words, though Xander didn't know what to make of it. All he knew
was.
he had back what he thought he'd lost. Again, Spike muttered words 
Xander hadn't thought he'd ever hear out of that mouth. "I'm sorry."

"What were you.okay, what was it.doing with Anya?" Xander
asked, 
still seeing his ex-girlfriend's face streaked with tears.

"Thought.thought she had it coming. Even I thought she had it 
coming." Spike's voice was stronger now, more like the guy who'd 
pretty much taken care of *him* all weekend.

"For what? What'd she ever do to you?" Xander was long past befuddled 
now. The last time Anya and Spike had any real interaction, they'd 
been all buddy-buddy, walking into Lowell House together. Right after 
Xander and Anya had their big 'No sex last night so we must be 
breaking up' fight.

"Left a bloody message on your answering machine," Spike answered, 
and Xander.was seventeen again.

In Buffy's basement, hammering boards across the door to keep out an 
army of Sunnydale women, including, of all people, Drusilla. And 
Willow. And Joyce. And inside with him, Cordelia Chase. The only
one 
unaffected by the botched love spell he'd blackmailed Amy Madison 
into doing. Looking at him with disbelieving hazel eyes, and 
asking. "The spell was for me?"

In Giles' living room, an hour or a lifetime ago, watching the mother 
lion roar out of Giles mouth at Spike.or whatever had been
driving 
Spike's body around, and thinking.. for us. Giles does this for us.

"What. for me?" he asked softly, and he felt Spike nod against
his 
shoulder. Chuckle oddly, as if it were catching in his throat.

"Yeah. Some people just send flowers. Or a nice set of torn-out 
lungs. Me, I have to dredge up an over-possessive demon and throw it 
at your ex."

Xander had to laugh, just a little. "Well, chocolate's always an 
alternative option."

"Yeah, all the chocolate you want," Spike agreed, straightening up 
and pulling back. Standing all the way up to his lofty five-foot-ten, 
shaking his head, and turning for the door.

"What are you doing?" Xander asked nervously. He didn't think Spike 
was going to turn back into the landshark he'd been all night; he was 
more worried about the reception Spike would find on the other side 
of that door.

"Fixing things, hopefully. Well, this should be a laugh." He set his 
jaw and opened the door.

*****

When he walked back into the living room, all eyes turned to him. As 
he'd expected, and he smiled his most spiky smile, then shook it off. 
{Well, I do know how to warm up a crowd, don't I.}

Standing in the open area in front of the kitchen cut-out window, 
Xander walking in behind him, he bowed deeply.

"Ladies and GentleWatcher, that was, for your viewing pleasure, 
William the Bloody being a complete arsewipe." Stunned silence, with 
a quirk of the head from Rupert.

"Listen very carefully, for I shall say this only once." he added
in 
a light French accent, knowing that Rupes would be the only one to 
get it, and not really caring. Back to his own voice: "The following, 
for one night and one night only, is William the Bloody apologizing. 
Don't get used to it. Ahem.." He glanced round the room. Anya was 
still missing, but he had other things to say to her, 
anyway. "Sorry. " More silence. Arched eyebrows on those who could 
manage the trick. "Right, that was it. No tape recorders, no flash 
photography, please. Autograph line starts at the stage door."

And he strode across the room and down the little hallway to the 
bathroom, knocking softly on the closed door.

"What?" Anya said in a muffled voice.

"Can I come in?" he asked, like a complete fool. Well, he was, wasn't 
he. He'd figured that out on Sunday.

"Are you insane?" she replied.

"Was that a rhetorical question?" he said jokingly, trying not to 
piss her off too much.

"Obviously not, since you answered it. Well, I can't stop you."

He pushed the door open. The girl sat on the edge of the bathtub, her 
arms folded, face still streaked with dried tears.

"Did you want my recipe for Xander-entrails, or boyfriend-head stew?" 
she asked sharply. "Or did you just want another shot at making me 
feel like a complete whore? 'Cause, frankly, you did a pretty 
thorough job the first time."

He shut the door behind him.

"No." He moved closer to her, and she flinched back.

"You can stop the big intimidation routine, too. I'm not afraid of 
you." She said it as if she almost meant it.

"Good," he replied. {Look, I'm back to monosyllables. Quite the 
talented conversationalist, I am.}

"Look, you promise that what I say never goes outside this room, 
Anya?" Not Anyanka, not demon-girl, but the name she'd chosen to use. 
Which he didn't do for just everybody.

"Like I'd want to repeat anything you have to say."

"Well, a kiss is as good as a smile. I guess I'll have to settle for 
that." 

He moved to her, and as she cringed again, he put his arms around 
her. Very lightly. Not tight enough to make her try to run, not hard 
enough to make her think he meant to hurt her.

"What are you doing?" she asked nervously.

"Apologizing."

She pulled from his grasp. "You're what? Are you out of your mind?"

"Yeah, most of the time. Don't ask, because I can't even begin to 
explain what the hell that was all about, but I'm sorry. Tell anybody 
I said it, and I'll deny it. Got that?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Did you just pull that shit on the Scoobies?"

"Er.well, not in so many words."

"And they bought it?"

"Not a clue."

"Well, it won't work on me. You tell me exactly what the hell you 
were doing, and maybe I'll consider not putting holy water in your 
hair-gel. Maybe." She tossed her head proudly. 

{Hey, welcome back, Anyanka. Wondered where you'd gotten 
to.} "Answering machine message."

"Yeah, it sucked. I sucked. Been there, done that."

"You'd better keep your mouth shut, girl."

She shot him another fearful glance, all trace of the vengeance demon 
gone, only the human child in evidence. "What did I say now?"

"Nothing. You don't repeat this, alright?" Spike folded his own arms, 
leaning back against the tub that had been his prison the first few 
days that he had stayed with Giles.

"Al.alright, I guess. What?"

He sighed. Wished devoutly that he had a cigarette. Knew he was 
giving up another piece of his hold on reality, and was long past 
caring at this point.

"I didn't get that you love him. Makes a difference." He rubbed his 
jaw, which had begun to ache nicely where Xander had punched him. 
Anya tilted her head to one side.

"Are you saying."

"I'm not saying anything. " 'Cept I'm sorry, which I've said more 
bloody times tonight than any self-respecting vampire should ever 
have to say, so do you want to trade partners, or what?"


*****

In the end, they did end up trading partners, because Anya wasn't 
all that happy about sitting next to Spike, even new, improved, non-
homicidal Spike. Instead, she got to sit next to Willow, which was 
*so* much more comfortable for her.and try to figure out what
Spike 
had meant by all of that.

Did he.did he care about Xander, too? That was the feeling she
got, 
but with Spike. How could you know? The predator was gone, as if
it 
had never been there. Well, Spike the vampire, supernatural predator, 
was sitting on the floor next to Xander's chair, piling his half of 
Team Demon's winnings onto Xander's meager stack. But the Mac-the-
knife guy who'd been sitting next to her, slicing her into little 
pieces with each tap of his finger on her neck. he was gone, and
she 
wasn't quite sure where to.

Did she accept his apology? Did he even mean it? If he did, what on 
earth did it mean? [These and other questions will be answered on the 
next episode of 'Soap'] her memory supplied in a somewhat hysterical 
blipvert.

*****
"What's the Word of Valios. but honestly, you think that's ever
like 
to happen again?"

(honk)

"Who was Morgan Le Fay?"

(honk)

"Hey--- one I know! What was the feast of St. Vigeous!"

"Oh yeah..memories..light the bloody corners of my mind."

(Squeak.)

"Hate this thing. Who was Elizabeth Bathory, and no, she wasn't."

(Honk)

"The Great Fire of London."

"Um.not right, Giles."

"What? The Book of Dentant was destroyed when the London headquarters 
of the Watcher's Council burned in the Great Fire of London. I should 
think I'd know!"

"Well, yeah, but you didn't phrase y.your answer in the form of a 
question."

(Squeak)

"I've heard frog farts sounded better than this horn. What, you
lot 
just handed me this one on a plate? The du Lac cross, and no, I 
*don't* apologize for that."

*****

"Okay, these things are officially fabulous, Xander. Who really 
cooked 'em?" Buffy asked around a mouthful of Count Chocula treat.

"I am mortally offended, and I'm taking my Scooby Snacks and going 
home," Xander teased, trying to tug the pan away from her. "I cooked 
them all by my little self. Which is to say, I melted the 
marshmallows and butter, and on the fourth try, I managed not to 
burn 'em. And I used the actual stove, not the microwave. [Well, 
after the first two tries. And the horizontal interruption, which I'm 
not complaining about. ]

"Whoa, color me impressed. Um. when did your mom buy a stove?"
Willow 
asked from the couch, where she lay with Tara's head resting on her 
knees, Willow happily munching on a chocolate chip cookie while Tara 
licked the last of her third Scooby Snack off her fingers.

"Alright, enough of that." Giles said, trying to sound dignified 
around his own mouthful of chocolatey goodness. "Who's winning?"

Tara looked up sheepishly. "I.uh.think we kind of lost count
when 
Xander and Spike started stealing people's Kisses when we weren't 
looking."

Spike growled softly. "I resent that, witch. I don't have to steal 
kisses. I'm eminently shaggable."

"Possibly, when you have your head out of your ass." Willow put 
in. "Oh, I didn't say that. Because that would imply that I've 
actually paid attention to your ass, which I haven't. Absolutely." 
She looked down at Tara. "Really."

Spike smirked. A legit Spike smirk, not the landshark, and Xander was 
beginning to believe it really was gone for good.

Twenty minutes later, as he was stacking up empty baking pans in the 
kitchen, Giles tapped him on the arm. "Are you still staying? I ask 
only because it rather looks as if Willow and Tara aren't going 
anywhere either."

Xander glanced over to where both witches lay fast asleep on the 
sofa, Tara's head lying in Willow's lap.

"No, I'll be okay. Spike seems to have pulled his head back out of 
wherever he had it stuck."

"With a little help from your fist, if I don't mistake that bruise on 
his jaw. Can't say I'm not a bit sorry you beat me to it." 

Did he have a fucked-up mind, or what? Here he was feeling 
protective of his ex, at the same time as he got a strange rush of 
complete happiness that Spike, and whatever was living in his head, 
had been terrorizing her for *him*.. And the idea that Giles
wanted 
to beat up Spike also gave him a warm gooshy right in the middle of 
his stomach. Whacked. Massively whacked.


***********************************************

Part Seven

Driving back, in the middle of the night, and the conversation was a 
bit better this time around.

"Look, did I mention I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, I think it came up in passing. About twelve times." Xander 
turned the corner onto Blessingham Drive without taking his eyes off 
Spike, who was slowly unwrapping a Hershey's Kiss. The bruise on his 
jaw had turned some interesting colors over the last hour, and was 
finally fading away into nothingness. Damn vampire healing factor.

"Y'know, they all think you apologized 'cause I beat the crap out of 
you."

"Yeah, s'pose so. Make you feel all manly?"

"Yup. Manly Xan. That's me."

"Might watch the road there. I think that cat's down to six lives 
now." Spike commented, pointing at a ginger tomcat running off
into 
the bushes at the side of the road.

"Well, then, stop distracting me."

"By apologizing?" Spike asked, popping the chocolate into his mouth

"That's a pretty distracting apology," Xander replied honestly, then 
slowed to a stop, for the thirteenth time, as Spike leaned over and 
kissed him, transferring the chocolate kiss from his mouth to 
Xander's, and sticking around while it melted onto their tongues.

"I did promise you all the chocolate you wanted." Spike pointed
out.

*****

As they pulled into the alley around the back of the house, Xander 
dimmed the headlights and coasted in, hitting the trash can with what 
was at least a gentle tap, and not a sickening crunch.

"So." he said into the silence. "We gonna do this thing tonight,
or 
what?"

Spike laughed. "Well, that was romantic. Beats hell out of 'wanna 
interlock parts.' " He looked over at Xander in the driver's
seat. 
Green tropical print shirt. Chinos. Dark hair blown into his face. 
Yeah, he wanted the bloody Yves St. Laurent of Sunnydale. and
he'd 
come that close to losing him. That close to stepping over the 
invisible line in the sand that would've made Xander choose his 
closest friends over --the dead guy who taught him how to give 
excellent head. Because that would've been such a wrenching decision, 
obviously. But he hadn't crossed that line. Neither of them had, 
somehow.

"Well, the moment kind of lost some of its mystery when you asked me 
to pull into Walgreens so you could buy more lube."

Spike gawked at him. "I did not! I didn't say a damn thing about 
buying lube!"

"Yeah, but you did, didn't you?" Xander grinned outrageously. 

It was *so* bloody unfair that the human was learning to read him. 
Only the Poof could do it with any degree of accuracy, and then only 
when it didn't involve himself. {Great. My mind's an open book, with 
the last three chapters torn out. Should I even bother trying to keep 
the fact that I love him a secret? Didn't this whole fiasco just 
about throw me into the sun anyway?} No, he decided. Like Angel, 
Xander could be remarkably clueless when it came to how people felt 
about him. {Right, because *I'm* the master of insight on that 
score..}

"Well, yeah. But that's not why I actually went in there." He reached 
into his duster and pulled out a handful of photos. "Thought I'd see 
if I couldn't invest in a little profit-making venture. Enough to pay 
for blood and cigs for a while, anyway." He flashed the top of the 
stack of identical pictures at Xander, and saw the boy's eyes widen, 
then narrow. The grin didn't fade away entirely, though, so Spike 
figured he wasn't going to get his toys confiscated. 

"Buffy's gonna kill you."

"Sooner or later, probably. But before then, I can think of a few 
fellas down Willy's way who'd pay a fair sum for a picture of the 
Slayer in bunny slippers. If I fence 'em through the little rat."

"And where did you get the money to make the copies in the first 
place?" Xander asked him in a stern Watcher-voice.

"Let's just say Rupert's billfold might be a bit lighter tomorrow 
morning, and leave you to guess how I did it. " Pause. Sigh. "Don't 
worry, I'll pay him back. Last thing I need's you bellyaching on at 
me about stealing from your friends."

"Perish the thought. Excellent change of subject, by the way."

"Thought so. Let's go inside."

*****

Xander sat on the edge of the bed, watching Spike hang up his coat. 
He couldn't even remember the last time he'd folded up the sofa. 
Tuesday? Wednesday?

[Nope. Not nervous, not me. Five days ago I was freaking out over 
being *kissed* by Spike, and now it's all about this.him and me 
thing. This.him doing me.thing.]

"You look like you're about to be carted off spouting 'It's a far 
better thing I do today than I've ever done before.' " Spike 
remarked, sitting down next to him.

"Thank you. I now have a mental image of Miss Carson from eleventh 
grade lit class running through my head. It's not pretty. She's 
holding a little white tube."

Spike laughed appreciatively. "You ever think about doing stand-up?"

"At the moment? Thinking it might be tomorrow's career possibility. 
With the standing, and all."

"Yeah, I got it." Spike put his left hand on Xander's right, playing 
with his fingers. 

[God, who knew *Spike* was so damn touchy-feely? Not that I'm 
complaining.]

"You still trust me? Even after that disaster tonight?" the vampire 
asked, looking him in the eyes.

He nodded. Just felt right. "I guess so. Keep forgetting to take the 
little red happy pills, or somethin'."

Spike's hand moved to his face, tracing a pattern of circles down one 
side of his jaw. "Right, still demented. Check. Xander, I've no 
intention of hurting you."

"Yeah. I know. I believe you. God knows why. But. hell, you're
still 
scared you're gonna set your chip off. Not exactly a confidence-
building exercise, there." Xander was torn between wanting to give in 
to the feeling of Spike's fingers on his body, moving his own hands 
over the vampire, tearing his clothes off.. A few dozen scenarios 
presented themselves, but they all had at their heart
this.thing. 
that was making him sit still and stare a little glumly into space. A 
little fear of being physically hurt. A little fear of looking 
stupid. okay, a lot of fear of looking stupid.Maybe a bit of
terror 
at the thought that what his dad tossed at him every now and then as 
an insult was actually true. And, okay, a bit late to be getting 
antsy about that one, but it was different, somehow, when you looked 
at it the other way around.

"You don't have to do this." Spike's voice was completely even. As if 
he didn't care one way or the other. What bullshit.

"But you want to."

"Not important. Get a spine, Xander, before somebody else walks all 
over you. Again."

"Thanks. I think. Spike, this is stupid."

'What, us? Yeah, probably." Spike stopped moving his hand, just left 
it resting comfortably against Xander's face.

"No. Me. I want this too. I 'm just scared. Am I allowed to be 
scared?" [Let's ask the badass vampire if it's okay for me to act 
like a five-year-old, and see what he says. Should be worth a few 
laughs.]

Spike pulled him forward into a chuckling embrace. "Yeah, you dolt, 
you're allowed to be scared." The vampire began to undo the buttons 
on Xander's shirt, slowly. One at a time. Carefully. Which was oddly 
comforting, and yet weird, considering he'd ruined a reasonably okay 
t-shirt on Saturday, but was being all Felix Unger with clothes that 
Xander knew damn well he thought were revolting.

In a few minutes, he knew exactly what was happening, and why Spike 
was being so careful. He was being made love to. Not having sex, and 
the distinction sounded so girly in his head that he had to run it 
past his cringing mind several times before it actually lodged as the 
only possible term for what was going on. With Faith, it had all been 
about sex.getting her off, actually, and somehow in the middle of
it 
he'd had a little happy of his own. All rushed and confused and still 
not sure what had happened fifteen minutes later when she'd pushed 
him out the door. With Anya.it had been about both of them,
though 
she'd had a millennium of experience on him. She'd want to try 
something new, for him, at least. He'd either go for it or not, 
depending on how.squirmy it made him feel.and they'd dive
into it 
together, like an experiment. She'd been human for less time than he 
had, really, considering she was a little younger than him when she 
became a demon in the first place. She'd try to please him, and vice 
versa, but it was nothing like this.

Spike was concentrating every move, every thought, on him. Slowly 
removing Xander's clothes, kissing and licking in the wake of his 
fingers. Stopping every so often to push him gently back against the 
pillows and touch mouths, touch lips, touch tongues.kissing
seemed 
like such a paltry word for what Spike was doing. It wasn't that he 
was.holding Xander down and ravishing him, or anything, which at
this 
point would have been fine, too. Xander was free to run his hands 
over Spike's body, to touch while he was being touched, and he did. 
It was merely that Spike, while obviously enjoying it, seemed to 
think it was icing on the chocolate cake. It wasn't his main 
objective, and Xander almost got the feeling his own attempts to 
pleasure his lover were getting in the way. 

Somehow, without really knowing when, he'd lost all his clothes 
except for his boxers, and Spike was completely naked. [When did he 
manage that? Somewhere between my shirt and that bit where he was 
sucking on my earlobe?] Spike looked at him and grinned, and with a 
shake of his head, vamped out, and began tugging the boxers down with 
his teeth. Ripping little holes in them, and sliding those oh-so-
sharp fangs gently down Xander's waist, over his hips.. Nope. Not 
actually nervous about game face. Sometime when Spike was in a really 
good mood, he'd have to tell the vampire why. and then run
screaming 
from the room, throwing chocolate behind him as a distraction.The 
teeth, though, the teeth sliding down his body, really damn near to 
the parts of himself that he'd grown rather attached to.made him
a 
little nervous, but the sensation was actually enhanced by that 
delicious tingle of fear.

Spike was on top of him now, face to face, grinding their bodies 
together in a rhythm that was so agonizingly slow that Xander wanted 
to be the one, this time, to shout 'Get on with it' at his partner, 
but he didn't. Couldn't. Every move that Spike made, every touch, 
every lick of his nipples, until they seemed to be as erect and 
sensitive as the cock that was pressed against Spike's.it all
sent 
such waves of energy through him, burning like a brushfire. He
was 
totally at Spike's mercy, and the vampire was sending him into 
sensory overload.

Finally, when it really seemed like he'd go off just from the 
friction of their bodies rubbing together.that had a
name.Spike had 
told him it had a name, but it was pretty much lost along with most 
of the rest of the English language. Spike slowed to a stop,
pulling 
up from sucking on Xander's lower lip. "You think you're ready?" he 
whispered, and why was the Englishness of that accent suddenly 
driving Xander crazier than it ever had before? Even around those 
teeth.

Think? What the heck was 'think'? Xander pulled Spike back down to 
him, covering the vampire's ridged, oddly planed face with hungry 
kisses. It did finally filter through to him, what Spike had asked, 
and.no, not really, but when was he ever ready for anything? He 
nodded, enough times that Spike got the message, and wrenched his 
face away from Xander's mouth, features smoothing as Xander looked at 
him, as he stared at Xander. Yellow eyes shading to blue, fire 
shading to.something else. Concern, maybe. Or .just something
else. 
Something he was afraid to try to identify.

***********************************************

Part Eight

Spike slowly pulled the boy up, and turned him in his arms, so that 
Xander was essentially sitting on Spike's knees. Pulling both pillows 
out from where they were wedged against the sofa-back, the vampire 
placed them in front of Xander, and gently guided him down. Despite 
the heat and the hunger and the out-of-control passion he could smell 
coming off his lover in waves, the body under his hands was 
trembling, and he knew it wouldn't be this easy.

Kneeling between Xander's slightly spread legs, he bent close to the 
back of the boy's head, and whispered. "Relax. Just relax. I
won't do 
anything you don't want." He put his hands on Xander's shoulders, and 
began to knead the tenseness away, or try to. Pulled and rubbed, 
shoulders, back, digging his knuckles firmly into the ridges of the 
spine. Some of the fear seemed to melt as he rubbed at the muscles in 
Xander's lower back, and though there was a bit of squirming when he 
got down to the slim-but-muscular buttocks, he kept going, and at 
last Xander was. still, at least. Possibly relaxed. 

Possibly, but as Spike looked down at him, the vampire realized that 
there was barely any movement at all. {He's not gone and fallen 
asleep on me, has he? 'Cos.maybe funny in a few years, but right 
now?} But no. A light touch along the length of his back made Xander 
curl upwards against Spike's hand, briefly, before he dropped back 
down into that completely motionless position again. {He's playing 
victim.} Spike thought suddenly. {Like. the more he relaxes,
the less 
it'll hurt him, which is true, but this is more along the lines 
of 'Please don't hurt me and I'll do anything you want' resignation.}

"Y'know," he said, trying to keep the anger from his voice. Not anger 
at Xander, but at whoever or whatever had made him think he had to 
lie down and take what troubles came his way. "This would be a lot 
easier if you didn't look like you were about to be the Great Virgin 
Sacrifice at the Festival of K'rish N'keth." Chip? What chip? The 
bloody chip wouldn't ever get to be an issue, at this rate.

With that, Spike pulled Xander back up by the shoulders, slid back 
against the sofa upholstery, and shifted the boy around so that he 
was sitting on Spike's lap, folded tightly in his arms. Xander 
stirred, then.

"Spi-ike," he began in that same 'I'm supposed to be a man, dammit' 
voice he'd used the last time Spike had held him like this, on a 
folding chair in the kitchen.

"Hush up. I mean, do you really not want me to hold you, or d'you 
just think you shouldn't?" Maybe they could at least end *this* one 
here.

"Um.the one with the thinking, I guess."

"Right, so hush up, then. Listen to me. We don't ever have to do 
this, if you don't want to. I'll play bottom for you for."
{ever.} he 
wanted to say, but didn't. {You don't have forever. You have until he 
comes to his senses and realizes what a liability you are. So make 
the best of it.} "for as long as you want."

"Yeah, but that's not fair." Xander sighed.

"Fair? You've got to be banging me blind, right? Fair?" Spike looked 
closely at Xander's face. Dark eyes full of questions. Wide mouth 
sort of scrunched and unhappy. Generally confused. "You really don't 
get it, do you. You think I'm.what, sacrificing something?
Honestly, 
you think it's like that? That you're the only one who got any fun 
out of what we've been doing?"

Xander shrugged. "Well, you did say you got off on pain, but."

Spike snorted in astonishment. "You little idiot. Yeah, I get off on 
pain, at the right time and place. Sorta got the feelin' that you do 
too. But that's not what this is about! You honestly have no clue, do 
you."

Xander shrugged again. "That's me. The clueless wonder." He was 
insulting himself again, thinking Spike was picking at him. Wonderful.

Spike pulled him closer, and kissed him, hard. "Stop that," he said 
sternly when he finally let the boy breathe. "If I want to hear 
someone pick on you, I'll call the cheerleader in L.A. Fine, you're 
Helen Keller and I'm Annie bloody Sullivan, and if I do one thing 
tonight, it's gonna be to show you what the hell you've been missing."

"You're who?" Xander half-snickered.

"The Miracle Worker. Don't I look like Patty Duke to you? Now shut up 
listen to me. You on your stomach would be easiest on you, but you 
turn into a kicked puppy, and I don't want a kicked puppy. I want 
Xander Harris. Now if I can say that with a straight face, you think 
you can handle lookin' at me when we shag?" 

Xander nodded. Still under the mistaken impression he was doing Spike 
a favor. Well, he was, in allowing the vampire to turn him on to the 
finer things in life, but.

Spike shook his head, and pushed the boy off his lap, down to the 
mattress. Flat on his back.

*****

Xander was trying, he really was. He was still turned on, still hard, 
in fact. Still wanted Spike, even kind of wanted Spike inside him, 
just to know what it felt like, even if it hurt. He was
just.scared. 
It all came down to that. Still, looking at Spike's face as the 
vampire pushed him down flat. it was keeping him sane. As sane as
he 
ever was, anyway. He held to the blue eyes, as if they were his 
lifeline in an empty ocean.

Spike grabbed the pillows that Xander had been bent over just a few 
moments before. In a blink, he'd lifted Xander's legs at the knees 
with one arm wrapped tightly around them, and slid the pillows under 
his hips with the other. Chuckled when Xander gave a surprised "Huh?"

"Ancient vampire secret. S'called the missionary position. Just keep 
lookin' at me." So Xander did, wondering what else was in store, lost 
at sea, but feeling inexplicably buoyed by those damn blue eyes 
staring calmly at him.

Spike broke that contact, just for a minute, to reach over to the 
back of the sofa. Right, little white tube. Not supposed to be 
scared, right? Spike, come back.

And he was back, lifting Xander's legs again, easily, slowly. [Why is 
the vampire suddenly treating me like I'm gonna break? Maybe because 
I am?] Hooking Xander's knees over his shoulders, and leaning close 
for a kiss. Which was a bizarre position, but not too uncomfortable, 
and having Spike that close to him let Xander watch those unwavering 
eyes all the more easily.

The eyes never moved, but Spike's hands did, firmly massaging 
Xander's 
ass as they lifted it a few inches off the pillows, then settled him 
down again. When Spike's cool hands parted his lower cheeks, Xander 
just kept watching those eyes. Caught a glimpse of a smile somewhere 
below them, but was too focussed in to really be sure. When a cool, 
slick finger softly touched him, seeking entrance, he didn't flinch, 
just kept watching. When, after a moment of pressure, it slipped 
slowly inside him, his eyes opened wide. 

"Shh. s'alright. I won't hurt you. Trust me. Trust me to make it 
good, pet." And Spike's eyes never blinked, as that finger slid 
slowly further in, and then.then what the hell was *that*?
Like.
little glowworms of light going off in his head, so he almost 
couldn't focus on Spike's eyes, suddenly full of mischief. 

"Like that, did you?" Spike's finger twisted sideways, and that 
feeling was back, so intense that he couldn't even identify where
it 
was coming from, really, except that it was coming from Spike. It 
could almost have been shooting straight into him from those suddenly 
muddy blue eyes, that had never broken their contact with his own.

"D'you see, now. eh?" Spike murmured, slowly withdrawing his finger.

"Don't." Xander complained against his own will, and Spike
laughed.

*****

No headache so far. This was. what would the idiot Slayer say? Of
the 
good. And if he kept looking into those hungry brown eyes, it 
probably wouldn't matter anyway, because they'd suck him in, chip and 
all, and, and he'd be stuck inside Xander Harris for all eternity. 
Which didn't sound like a bad proposition, come to think of it.

He coated his fingers with lube again--no point in not being as 
careful as he could, for both their sakes-- and slowly inserted his 
two fingers into the boy's puckered opening, never breaking eye 
contact. Xander's pupils dilated as he was stretched and filled, and 
this time when Spike crooked his fingers, Xander bucked forward 
against him.

"Do that.some more, please." {Why, how polite. Whatever else they
may 
have done, the folks upstairs raised him up well. } Spike
muttered 
insanely to himself. But a request had been made, and he did his best 
to fill it, moving his fingers in and out, watching Xander's eyes 
close in pleasure. Just the look on that face had his own cock 
twitching to be inside, but he wasn't going to rush this. He didn't 
want to wind up unconscious, and he didn't want to hurt Xander 
physically himself any more than he'd wanted the demon to tear the 
boy apart emotionally earlier tonight.

He tried for something poetic as he cast an unpracticed prayer to 
whoever might be listening. He could do poetic, in a pinch, but 
apparently not in the middle of shagging Alexander Harris. Too many 
distractions. {Whoever's up there, or down there, or whatever, I know 
I'm the last demonic bugger you want to do any favors for.but if 
you're there, then you made me, dammit. And you aimed me hellbent 
towards this boy, and I'd appreciate it if you'd let me love him
now. 
Without bein' zapped unconscious. I don't want to hurt him. You got 
that, rotten little chip? A-bleedin-men.}

He pulled both fingers out, finally, and whispered. "You think?"

*****

Not a lot, no, not at the moment. But Xander got what Spike meant, 
anyway, and hissed out an answer.

"Yessss. Please. "

Another pause, during which he felt suddenly more empty than he'd 
ever been.but Spike's eyes were there, and Spike was whispering 
things to him, stuff that didn't make any sense, but did.

"Okay, love. Be easy. Relax. I've got you. Just look at me. Just look 
at me." And Xander felt himself stretched again, wider than before, 
and. it burned, hurt, actually, like being torn in two. Two, him
and 
Spike. This was what he had been afraid of, but it was nothing. It 
was part of the high that he was riding, looking into blue eyes that 
were reflecting him back at himself. And in the tiny reflection of 
Xander's eyes that he could see in Spike's, there was no reflection 
of Spike. But that was okay, because Spike was all around him, 
looking down at him, inside him, leaning close over him and still 
whispering.

"Okay? Xander, answer me. You okay?" He nodded, shifting a little, 
grinding forward against Spike. Couldn't form anything like words. 
And it didn't hurt the same way anymore. The burning wasn't something 
he was coasting over, it was something he was living in, aching for. 
He whimpered as Spike pulled out a little, and Spike chuckled again. 
Always laughing at him, Spike was. Then there was the bit where his 
head exploded, as Spike pushed into him with blinding speed, and hit 
that same place he'd been hitting with his fingers, but this time it 
was over and over, until all Xander could see was blue in front of 
his face and electric sparks inside his own eyes, and he was making 
sounds he didn't even know he could make.

Then Spike was supporting Xander with only one hand. how
the.vampire, 
right.and reaching in with the other to grab Xander's cock,
stroking 
it in time with the thrusts in and out of him, and Xander wasn't 
really making a lot of sense even to himself as he whispered,
"Spike.
just don't stop that, ever." In a second of blue and sparks, he
was 
flying.falling.landing in Spike's arms as the vampire groaned
deep in 
his throat and filled him with warm seed. Warmed by the heat that 
they'd generated, maybe, or maybe Xander just couldn't tell it from 
his own, which was covering Spike's hand, and his own belly. 
Breathing was probably a good idea, but it was slow in working its 
way through his brain, as he lay there, Spike collapsed forward on 
top of him, brow-to-brow, so he could still look into those 
infuriating blue eyes. Which were crinkled now, so he knew damn well 
Spike was smiling.


"What?"

"Still think you're the Great Virgin Sacrifice of K'rish N'keth?" 
Spike laughed into his mouth, then released him to breathe again.

"Not.anymore, I guess."

"Oh, good. 'Cos they tend to eat the virgin sacrifice afterwards, an' 
you've got years of fun left in you."

"Hey---Spike!"

"Mmmm. what's that, then?"

"You're still here!"

"What-- like I was gonna bugger off? "

"No, stupid.the chip didn't go off."

Spike lay atop him for a moment, lifting his head and studying 
Xander's face. A grin the size of Texas slowly spread across the 
vampire's countenance. "Yeah. Whaddya know. The road to hell and all--
good intentions. Well, mostly good."

And Spike suddenly rolled over, so that Xander was atop him, looking 
down. Nice. Then a hand reached around and slapped Xander quite 
sharply on the ass. Then another, from the other side. He jumped a 
little, and yelped. Not that it wasn't pleasant.just unexpected.

"Ow. And Ow. What was that for?"

"First, for callin' me stupid. and second." Spike's grin
could now 
officially be classified as 'shit-eatin'. " 'cos I can."

*******

End.