Belonging by Rubywisp

Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: R
Summary: Xander does self-discovery and it changes a thing or two.
Spoilers: Up to and including "Hell's Bells" (Season 6, Ep. 15), AU after that.
Distribution: My site, list archives. You want it, email me.
Disclaimer: Joss is God, Numfar owns all.
Dedication: For Ravyn - Maker of Lists, Queen of the Plot Bunnies, and the woman who feeds my insanity one email at a time. For Swathi, without whose incessant bullying... er, I mean encouragement, I wouldn't have had the nerve to try, even. For Linda - thanks for the beta and best response to a fic a girl could want.
A/N: In my universe, Giles either never left or he's come back. Choose the option you prefer. Don't look at me like that. It was my first fic, all right?

---

Belonging...

Something Xander had never really experienced.

He didn't like to think he belonged in that collection of drunks, losers and users that he was reluctantly related to, but he never seemed to fit anywhere else either, no matter how hard he tried. He wasn't a jock or a brain, and there wasn't exactly a club for class clowns that he could have joined when he was still in high school.

There'd been the brief, shining moment on the swim team, but that was more about helping Buffy than anything else. As far as the slaying went, well – there was a reason he was Doughnut Guy, wasn't there? Sure, he could research, and he could 'patrol' with the others – but that usually ended with Buffy pulling his ass out of whatever corner he'd managed to get thrown into when the fighting started.

The truth was, Xander never belonged anywhere. Except with Willow – she'd been his right arm, his best friend - the person with whom he shared everything. Until they'd decided to add kissing to their list of Thing Best Friends Do For Each Other, right behind 'giving the shovel talk to prospective boy/girlfriends' and just before 'helping each other not to make major mistakes – like cheating on your boy/girlfriend', apparently. Oops.

Now even his relationship with Will wasn't what it used to be – there was always going to be that residual awkwardness, that recognition that they'd crossed a line they had no business being anywhere near, and aren't we just much too aware that I'm a guy and she's a girl and doesn't that screw it all up nicely. Even if she is a lesbian now. And how odd is that? Why couldn't she have discovered that a couple of years sooner – like, say...before we kissed and hurt two people we cared about? Not that he thought it was all Willow's fault – he knew better than that. But still, it would have solved a lot of problems before they ever happened.

Of course, this is the Life of Xander Harris, and we can't have easy, now can we? Not even when we - I? What pronoun should I be using here, exactly? Wills, where are you when I need you? My inner voice needs an English tutor - have a gorgeous girlfriend with a great body who wants to give me - us? Arrgh... - orgasms every time we're together. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Orgasms are good - orgasms with a beautiful girlfriend who loves you and wants nothing more than to marry you are even better.

Unless you've realized that you don't really want to be married. The house, the kids, the white picket fence, the minivan and all those things that Anya wants so badly, wants to wrap around her and brandish as proof of her humanity, Xander is no longer sure he wants at all. He doesn't think he belongs in that life, either.

He knows he's human - all too human, in fact. He's reminded of it every time he can't run fast enough, can't hit hard enough. When he can't find a way to make the smelly orange demon that's got an iron grip on the scruff of his neck let go so that he can kill it himself instead of being rescued by a little blonde thing that looks like she shouldn't even be able to lift that axe, much less swing it through the neck of the demon that has now let go of Xander. And oozed neon purple slime all over his work boots. Ewww.

"Thanks, Buff. Again." Xander grinned wryly at his friend, as she used the axe to scrape some of that purple slime off the soles of her own, much prettier, boots.

"No problem Xan. Saving people from the stinky and gruesomely color-clashed is what I do, right? Speaking of monsters, at least it was me who saved your neck this time, instead of Spike." Buffy perked up, "Hey, not only did I save your life, he has one less thing to tease you about later!" She smiled widely, "Making sure Spike has less fun is always of the good."

"'S not what you were saying a few weeks ago, Slayer," Spike smirked as he walked up behind Buffy, taking a drag off his cigarette. "I recall it was more along the lines of 'Harder, Spike, harder!! I thought that was all kinds of fun, m'self.'"

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy and Xander chorused, Buffy blushing furiously, Xander with a look of disgust.

"What? It's true, innit? There she was, lyin' on the floor of m'crypt, naked and sweaty and... ow!" Spike yelped as Xander used the flat side of the axe he'd grabbed from Buffy to whack the vampire on the side of his head. "Not fair! I can't even hit you back, you cheat!"

"Yeah, and that's the point, isn't it? Leave her alone, Spike. It's bad enough she... that you two did the thing you did, where you were… just shut up about it, already! Nobody cares!" Xander handed the axe back to Buffy and glared at Spike.

Spike snorted. "You care. Otherwise you wouldn't be runnin' about, walloping me with sharp bladed weapons just 'cause I feel like sharin', now would you?"

Spike's eyes narrowed as he took another hit off his cigarette. "Oh, that's the problem, eh? I hit a little too close to home? Peaches told me you had a thing for the Slayer - you still carryin' a torch for her? Is that why you decided not to marry the demon girl?"

Xander almost corrected Spike, almost reminded him that it was 'ex' demon girl, but then he remembered that it wasn't true anymore. Anya had somehow managed to persuade D'Hoffryn to give her back her old job as a vengeance demon, once she'd realized that Xander meant it, that he didn't want to marry her. Xander breathed a silent sigh of relief, thanking whoever decided these things that Anya wasn't allowed to use her newly regained powers on her own behalf. Otherwise, he was sure that he'd be missing a penis right about now. Or it would be growing out of his forehead, covered with something disgusting and no doubt smelly.

"Spike, unless you want to be greeting the sunrise from my balcony instead of my nice dark living room, I suggest you give it a rest already. I haven't had a crush on Buffy since high school and you know it. I just didn't want to get married – why is that so hard for everybody to believe?" Xander sighed; he was so tired of everybody poking and prodding, wanting to know why he'd broken it off with Anya. He didn't really know, himself – he only knew that the closer he got to the wedding, the more certain he was that he couldn't go through with it. Wasn't supposed to marry Anya. He'd lived on the Hellmouth long enough to know when to go with his instinct, he just wished he didn't have to try to explain it.

Buffy broke into the verbal boxing match. "Guys? As thrilling as this is, I need to go. I promised Dawn I'd be home early tonight. She rented a movie and we're going to eat pizza and bond. So try not to kill each other – well, if you really want to dust him, Xander, I won't object, it's not like I understand why you let him move back in with you anyway – but you're going to have to finish this round without an audience, because I'm late." The blonde carefully placed the goop-covered axe on her shoulder, taking care not to get any on her new coat, and walked off.

Xander turned away from Buffy and started walking in the other direction, towards home. "C'mon, Big Not-So Bad, let's get going. Maybe the Bugs and Daffy marathon is still showing on the Cartoon Network."

---

Sighing, Xander tried to get comfortable for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. He wondered why he hadn't fallen asleep the minute his body hit the sheets. He knew he was tired enough, but the sleeping just wasn't happening. Idly, he wondered if Spike had fallen asleep yet, or if he was twisting and turning, as unable to fall asleep as Xander.

Probably not. He's probably sleeping the sleep of the haven't-been-innocent- in-over-a-century right now. It's not fair. He lazes around all day doing nothing but mooching off me, while I bust my ass working, and I'm the one that can't fall asleep at night. Something is definitely wrong with this picture.

It never had occurred to Xander before now to wonder why, exactly, he let Spike 'mooch off' him, why he let Spike move into what used to be the spare bedroom. It was just something that happened, like Willow's babbling, Giles's polishing his glasses, or Buffy's threatening to stake Spike for...well, for not breathing. Just the way things were. Why is that? He's annoying, irritating, lazy, rude, messy, and he takes great delight in pointing out every mistake I make. Not to mention the fun he has with my clothing choices. Why do I let him live here?

Xander pondered this for a moment and couldn't come up with anything better than 'It's just the way it is'. He snorted softly. That makes a whole lot of sense. Not. Xander gave a mental shrug and rolled onto his side, punching up his pillow to make it big and puffy the way he liked it. Having Spike living with him was apparently part of the natural order of the weirdness that was his life and there was no point in losing sleep over it. Accept it, deal and move on to dreamland, Harris. The alarm rings awfully early in the morning.

---

"Ow!" Spike yelped, when Xander hit him as he hopped over the back of the couch and plopped down next to the vampire. "What was that for?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head.

"For eating all the Twinkies. You know I eat Twinkies when we're watching 'Baywatch'. It's the perfect fusion of television and food, and it's ruined this weekend, because there are no more Twinkies." Xander glared at Spike as he settled into his seat, making himself comfortable.

"So go buy another box, problem solved." Spike grinned. "Then you'll have Twinkies for the show, and I'll have some to eat with breakfast tomorrow. Compliments the crunch and saltiness of the Weetabix and blood perfectly, y'know."

"No, I don't know. And I could have lived the rest of my life without knowing how you profane the Twinkie goodness, thank you. I can't go now, anyway – the show's almost on. If I have to choose between watching babes in bikinis Twinkie-less or going to the store to buy you breakfast food, I think I'll stick with the babes. Why don't you try buying your own damn junk food for a change, anyway?" Xander said as he tore open his bag of Cheetos. Not a perfect replacement for the Twinkies, but it would have to do.

"Oi, what's crawled up your arse and died, whelp? You're actin' like somebody's gone and killed your mum." At Xander's raised eyebrow, Spike muttered, "Well, the witch then."

"Nothing. I'm fine. I broke up with my girlfriend, she of the frequent and mind-blowing sex, for reasons I have yet to discover., I have a short, dead, annoying man living with me, and I have no goddamn Twinkies! Why would anything be wrong?" Xander yelled.

"Er... 'cos there's an advert for the new Star Wars movie on the telly and you have yet to yell anything about how that bloke with the big ears better die this time 'round. You're either jacked off about somethin' or – hey! I ain't short!" Spike got off the couch and stomped over to the refrigerator. Pulling out a six-pack of beer, he handed two to Xander as he sat down again. "Here, drink these. Mebbe it'll improve your disposition some."

Xander sighed. "Sorry, Spike. I have been edgy, I don't know why." He took a long pull from one of the bottles he now held. "Work's going well and there isn't much happening in the fighting-monsters department lately. But something's not right. I don't know what it is, but it's getting to me."

Spike put his booted feet up on the coffee table. "Stop brooding and drink your beer. Mebbe you'd figure it out if you relaxed a bit. You've been wound tighter than the Watcher lately, and it's gettin' on my nerves. One tall, dark and angsty in my life is enough. No need for you to start actin' like that ponce of a Sire o' mine."

At the mention of Angel, Xander grimaced. "Way to get harsh, Fangless. One order of lighthearted Xan-man coming up, as requested. You want fries with that?"

"You're lucky I can't hit you, whelp," Spike said, but grinned as he popped open one of his bottles of beer and settled in to watch the show.

---

"Erika."

"Pamela."

"I thought you had better taste than that, Shaggy. I'm disappointed in you."

"C'mon, Spike, she's gorgeous – who cares if it's fake? All I'm doing is looking. I can't believe you think Erika Eleniak is prettier than Pam Anderson. You just don't appreciate the wonders of modern medicine." Xander stopped just as he reached the front door of The Magic Box, and turned to look at the vampire, "Um, sorry about that Spike. Guess you wouldn't, after everything."

Spike shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "Don't worry 'bout it, pet. As long as nobody tries to put great bloody balloons in my chest, I'll be fine."

Xander goggled at Spike for a moment before collapsing into laughter. "That... that isn't quite what I meant, Bleach Boy," he said.

The door to the shop swung open, and Buffy stood in the doorway, arms folded. "Are you two coming in to join the rest of us, or are you just going to stand out here all night?"

Trying to calm down but failing utterly as he was repeatedly assailed by the mental image of Spike running down the beach with his chest bouncing in time to unheard music, Xander nodded. "We're... we're coming in... just... just gimme a minute."

Buffy turned and walked back into the shop, letting the door fall shut behind her.

"Don't let the door hit you in the ass..." Spike murmured as he threw down his cigarette butt and ground it out under the toe of his boot.

Xander took a deep breath and gently shoved Spike towards the door. "C'mon, bad-ass vamp, let's get in there and help save the world again."

---

"As I was saying..." Giles glanced sternly over the top of his glasses at Spike and Xander, who were trying to look like they'd been listening instead of throwing bits of pizza crust at each other.

Well, Xander was trying – Spike just smirked at the Watcher and tossed another piece of his half-eaten snack at a slightly embarrassed Xander.

Giles pushed his glasses up on his nose and sighed. "...We don't know much about this particular demon. The Xwislats are said to be proficient in dark magicks and are solitary creatures. They're reputedly quite powerful and dangerous when provoked. That's the extent of the information I have on them, and I'm concerned about the recent appearance of a pair of them here in Sunnydale."

"You should be, Rupes," Spike said as he ducked another crust missile from Xander. Giles turned and glared at the dark-haired man, who had the sense to grin sheepishly and pop the last of his pizza into his mouth.

"Why is that, Spike? What do you know about these demons?" Giles asked, turning to face the vampire.

"Yeah, Spike – spill," Buffy said.

"I know they're bloody well dangerous an' it's better to stay as far away from 'em as possible. You don't want to take these things on, Slayer. Just stay away, let 'em conduct their business and leave Sunnyhell. They ain't into killin' and maimin' much, so they'll just do whatever it is they've come for and then they'll be gone."

Spike glanced from Watcher to Slayer, trying to impress them with the seriousness of the situation. "I mean it. They aren't your garden-variety type monsters. Yeah, you've been fightin' all sorts o' things for years, but these'll chew you up and spit you out and then piss on what's left. Just let 'em do what they've got to do and there'll be no problem." He sat back, hoping he'd convinced them, hoping he hadn't overdone it.

Willow spoke up, "Maybe that's not such a bad idea. I don't want to think about what these things might be like if even Spike's with the scaredy-face."

Spike glared at the redhead, "I'm not afraid! I just know better than to take on a couple of 11-foot indestructible mojo demons just because I want to get me rocks off."

Now it was Buffy's turn to glare. "It's not about 'getting my rocks off', Spike. I'm the Slayer! It's my job – my, my... sacred duty," she finished lamely, with an embarrassed glance at Giles. He smiled gently, remembering how many times she'd rolled her eyes at his use of that very phrase as he attempted to get her to take her calling more seriously.

"I dunno, Slayer," Spike said. "All those times you had your wicked way with me after patrollin'..." Spike let his gaze travel slowly up Buffy's body, before meeting her eyes with his own. "Tells me somethin' different," he said, his voice sexy and low.

The Slayer promptly turned to her Watcher and demanded, "Make him stop!"

Giles removed his glasses and began polishing them. "Buffy, I'm sorry that he upset you, but I don't think that I..."

"Jeez Buff, you slept with him, he's gonna give you shit about it for the rest of your life, get over it," Xander interrupted.

"You're sticking up for him?" Buffy asked incredulously.

"What if I am? The 'Buffy hates Spike' show is old and tired. Especially now that we know it was an act," Xander said.

"It was not an act! He's evil, annoying and - and evil! I hate him, always have." Buffy was furious, which usually meant she was about to have people agreeing to whatever she wanted, but suddenly, Xander didn't care.

"Except for when he was naked. God, Buffy – listen to yourself. Just deal. You 'shagged' Spike. You liked it enough to do it again. And again. You lied to everyone, kept acting like nothing had changed, and then you 'shagged' him some more. Now you're done with him and you want to act like it never happened. It doesn't work that way. You don't get to decide what's best for everybody, especially when you have a habit of keeping secrets about evil vampires."

"The useless undead one is living with you, and you're lecturing me about my sex life?" Buffy put her hands on her hips and gave Xander her best 'don't mess with me, I'm dangerous' look.

Xander shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just Doughnut Boy, remember? It's not my job to slay vampires, and who I live with is my business." He turned to Spike, "Since we're obviously not needed here, let's say I buy you a beer, Blondie? Maybe kick your ass at pool?"

Spike stood up and stretched lazily, careful to keep an eye on the unhappy Slayer. "Sure – but it's your ass that's gonna get kicked, not mine, boy." He winked at Willow and walked out of the shop.

Buffy raised a disapproving eyebrow in Xander's general direction. "You know, being nice and taking him in because his crypt is destroyed is one thing, but playing pool? Isn't that some kind of sacred male bonding ritual? I'm a little wigged by the idea of you two being buddies – are you sure he's not putting something in your juice boxes, Xan?"

"Yeah, didn't you hear, Buff? Spike got a job at the factory just so he could lace my drinks with 'be nice to the vampire' drugs. It's quite the little scheme he's got going," Xander grinned at the expression on Buffy's face. "I know he's an annoying pain in the ass, but he's not that bad once you get past the insults and the bad attitude."

"Whelp. We leavin' or what?" Spike said as he poked his head through the door, half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. "I'm tired of waitin' for the battle-of-the-witless to end."

"Coming, Fangless. Don't 'get your knickers in a twist'," Xander said.

Spike flipped him off cheerfully. "Very funny, 'Doughnut Boy'. Very funny."

---

"When did you grow a spine? I think I'd have noticed somethin' like that," Spike said, glancing at Xander as he tried to decide which striped ball to sink next.

"What are you talking about? I've always had a spine - I just choose to be Agreeable Guy most of the time. Didn't feel like it today, that's all," Xander said as he knocked a ball into the corner pocket.

Spike snorted and folded his arms across his chest, leaning back against the wall. "Sure thing, mate. You're a regular Rock o' Gibraltar, you are. Never get pushed around by those women, always standin' up to 'em, tellin' 'em what's what. I'm right impressed with your bottle," Spike cooed, batting his eyelashes.

Xander rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Spike. 'Bottle?' What's that? Are you making sex jokes again? I've warned you about that. Not funny. And it's your turn, I missed that last shot while you were hitting on me."

Silently, Spike pushed himself off of the wall and sauntered over to the pool table. He looked it over carefully, taking his time, deciding which ball to shoot and how badly he could bugger Xander's chances in the process. As he leaned over to take his shot, he bumped Xander with his cue stick. Without a word, he straightened up, gestured at Xander to move, and bent over the table again, lining up his stick with the cue ball, and promptly sank the 4-ball in the side pocket. He circled around to the other side of the table, and sank two more balls before he missed a shot. Shrugging his shoulders, he nodded his head at Xander, indicating that Xander should take his turn.

Xander stared. "You're not talking to me now? Because I don't want to listen to your perverted jokes?"

Spike merely shook his head and pointed to the pool table.

Sighing, Xander carefully shot the 11-ball into a corner pocket. "Why the sudden clam-up? Pool just isn't the same without your sarcastic commentary, y'know." He stood; squinting at the balls left on the table, he moved around Spike and sank two more before missing a shot.

The vampire ignored Xander, taking his turn in silence. He quickly sank the rest of the solid colored balls into various corners of the table, and lined up his shot for the 8-ball. He pointed to the side pocket, indicating where he was going to sink the black ball. As the ball rolled into the indicated pocket, he turned and faced Xander, hand out, scarred eyebrow raised expectantly.

Xander pulled twenty dollars out of his jeans and handed it over to the silent vampire. "Are you going to talk again at all tonight? Because I can go home and have a better conversation than this with the television set."

Without speaking, Spike leaned his cue stick against the wall, turned and walked over to the bar and sat down. Sliding his recently acquired cash at the bartender, he only nodded when the man asked, "The usual?" After pocketing his change he sat quietly, sipping his whisky.

Xander just stood and stared at the blond man. He didn't know what to do. I've never seen Spike quiet for this long, he thought. It was unnerving. And unsettling. Not to mention unusual. Oh look, alliteration. Isn't that nice. He knew, he just knew that he was somehow responsible for the vampire's silence. That's what he was sure Spike would say, anyway – if he were inclined to say anything at all, which was looking less and less likely.

"C'mon, talk. What's the deal? Why am I getting the silent treatment?" Xander asked, not really expecting an answer.

He should have known better.

"Just doin' what you asked, Droopy. Seein' as how you were all brave and noble earlier, standin' up to the Slayer for me, I figured the least I could do is be quiet when you asked," Spike smirked at Xander and took another sip of his whisky. "You do remember tellin' me to shut up, doncha?" Spike looked at Xander, straight-faced, and knocked back the rest of his drink. "You ready to lose more money?" Spike asked as he stood.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Xander followed Spike back over to the pool tables. "You're the one going down this time, Junior."

Spike turned and grinned widely at the dark-haired man. "If I do, what'll you do for me?"

"I said no sex jokes!"

---

A couple of nights later, Xander was more than willing to hear Spike make sex jokes. Longing to hear Spike insult Xander for his clothes, his hair, his miserable choices in love. Or Spike could just make fun of him generally, in that cheerfully rude way of his. Whatever. Anything. Anything at all. Just as long as it meant that Spike was there, instead of wherever he was. Which was somewhere apparently far away from Xander and the three vampires - Of course, three. One I could handle, two - I still might stand a chance, but three... no, keep running, not going out like this - currently chasing him as he ran not-quickly-enough through the woods, hoping that on the other side of the next tree he passed, or maybe behind that big rock just up ahead, or even - Please, God - over that hill near the cemetery that Xander was now aiming for in the hope of running - literally, he supposed - into Buffy. Oh God... Still running, still not fast enough, up and over and down again the other side and no Spike in sight. Where is he? C'mon Spike, this isn't funny, get out here and save my ass, come on, come on, come on, oh shit I'm gonna die... But just then there was Spike, stepping out from behind a crypt, with a cigarette in his mouth, a grin on his face, and thank you God a stake in each hand. Spike tossed one of the stakes to Xander who came skidding to a stop on the damp grass. Spike then easily staked one of the vamps that had been chasing the boy before settling in to joyously pound the hell out of another while Xander dusted the third. Spike finished his off without even letting the ash touch his leather duster.

"Where the hell were you? I was almost a late-night snack for those guys!" Xander said as he brushed the remains of the vampire he killed off his jacket.

"'Almost' bein' the key word here, pet," Spike answered, leaning back against a nearby tombstone and lighting another cigarette, having lost his in the all-too-brief (for him) fight. "Saved your life, didn't I? No need to get all worked up about somethin' that didn't happen."

"That's not the point. We're supposed to be patrolling together. As in you, here with me, fighting the bad guys. Together! Instead of me running through the woods alone, hoping they get distracted or I somehow manage to find Buffy before I can't run any more," Xander said, trying hard to control his temper.

"You're still alive aren't you? And the vamps are dust. I fail to see a problem here," Spike pointed out.

"You 'fail to see a problem'. So, what – end of discussion? I don't think so, Spike!" Xander was yelling now - probably not a good idea, in the middle of a cemetery in the middle of the night, but he was so far past caring that he was an entire continent away from wherever caring lived. "Damn it, I could be dead right now! One wrong step and there'd be no more Xander for you not to patrol with!" Xander knew that hadn't come out right, but he was damned if he was thinking clearly enough to figure out what was wrong with it, so he seized on the most important point and repeated it. "Dead!"

Spike took the cigarette out of his mouth and waved it vaguely in Xander's direction. "'S not like you would've stayed dead. Not if I'd found you in time, anyway."

"What? What are you talking about?" Xander asked, not sure he wanted to know, but asking anyway.

Spike rolled his eyes and took another drag off his smoke. "I'd have turned you if they'd gotten you, pet. If I found you in time, like I said."

Some tiny thing, buried so deep inside Xander that he didn't even know it existed, leaped for joy, saw this as an admission on Spike's part that he wanted Xander to be his, to belong to him. But his conscious self didn't know that thing lived in Xander, so all he said was, "Did all that bleach sink into your skull and fry your brain? Turn me? Have you lost your fucking mind? In what alternate universe do you think I want to be a vampire?" Xander lifted his hands up, "OK, wait – don't answer that. But in this universe, I don't, and that's what's important here. Got it? No vamping of the Xan-man. I don't want to spend eternity wearing leather."

"It's better than that crap you wear now," Spike snorted. "Look mate, it's over. You're neither dead nor undead, and you can wear ugly clothes for the rest of your life. Let's go home, then."

"No." Xander folded his arms over his chest and glared at Spike.

"No, what? No, your clothes aren't uglier than a Qwerlesh demon's arse? No, you're not alive? Which you are, I can hear your bloody heart beating, remember?" Spike flicked his cigarette away. He was irritated at Xander, and angry with himself. For barely getting back to Xander in time to help, for caring whether he did or not, and explaining himself was neither something he cared to do nor something he was good at doing.

"No, I'm not going home. We're not going home. Not until I get some answers." Xander tried to look resolute and hoped that it worked half as well for him as it seemed to for Willow. "I want to know where you were, Spike. I want to know what was so fucking important that I ended up running for my life, alone."

"I had some business to take care of," Spike said carelessly, patting his pockets, trying to find his cigarettes. Damn it, where are they? Bloody duster, 37 pockets, got everything but m'bleedin' mum in here, and I can't find a goddamn thing.

"Business," Xander snorted. "You're Donald Trump now? No, wait – he has better hair!" A thought slammed into Xander, doing ninety miles an hour with no brakes, and he staggered under the impact. "Whoa," he said, backing a few steps away from Spike. "This would be business of the 'if Buffy finds out what I'm up to, I'm going to fit in an ashtray before morning' variety, right?"

"Shut your gob," Spike snarled, eyes glinting dangerously. "'S none o' your business, and none o' hers, either. I needed some information, and I can't be out and about in the day, now can I? 'Sides, the people who got what I need, ain't fond of Slayers or her fuckin' groupies. Now, if we're fini -" Spike's not-quite-forthcoming answer was interrupted by the appearance of a large blond man at the edge of the woods.

"Spike?" The man didn't seem to see Xander as he rushed on, "Xruunas said the original time is no good. He wants you to meet him tomorr -" The rest of the message was cut off as Spike hurtled into him and knocked him to the ground.

"Subtle, Spike. I'd never guess that he's got something to tell you that you don't want me to hear," Xander said dryly. Part of his brain took note of the fact that blond man wasn't really a man, obviously, since Spike's chip didn't... oh shit, hold that thought. And back up a few feet. "Spike. You're – you're still a vampire with a chip in his head, right?" Backed up a few feet more. Yeah, 'cuz he'll never catch you with this head start. A few more steps, and, "a functional chip? As in, no hurting the humans? Which this guy appears to be, and yeah, I know appearances are deceiving and all that, but still, this isn't very comforting."

"He's half-demon, calm down. What, you think the first thing I'd do if I lost the chip is help you finish patrolling? Not bloody likely." Spike looked at the man pinned to the grass underneath him, and then over his shoulder at Xander again. Sighing, he stood up and gestured to the still-prostrate blond to do the same. "Have at it, mate." He dug into his pockets again, looking for his cigarettes. With a small shout of triumph, he pulled the slightly crumpled pack out and lit a smoke. "Well? Out with it! I'll worry about him m'self," he said with a nod at Xander.

Xander thought this wasn't very comforting either, but decided to forgo saying that in favor of getting to hear what Spike's mysterious message carrier had to say.

With a last glance at Xander, the messenger said, "You're supposed to meet him tomorrow night – same place – but, uh... 2 hours later. Something came up, and he can't make it when he said he would."

"Fine." Spike said shortly. "Anything else?" When the messenger answered with a shake of his head, Spike dismissed him. "Right then. Off with you," he said, lighting a cigarette before turning to look at Xander. "I s'pose you think you need to know what that was all about?" Spike asked, with a lift of his scarred eyebrow.

"I think I've earned it," Xander shot back, folding his arms across his chest.

"I told you this didn't have anything to do with you or the bloody Slayer," Spike reminded Xander impatiently.

"Gee... why do I find it so difficult to believe you? After all, you're a model of morality and virtue, you'd never do anything to hurt any of us, or – God forbid – try to kill us, and of course you've never been known to lie..." Xander's sarcastic retort was interrupted at this point by a familiar voice.

"What's he lying about now, Xander? Trying to tell you he's a natural blond?" Buffy asked as she walked over to where the two men were standing.

Spike started to say something insulting and probably disgustingly vulgar, but Xander cut him off. "Nothing, Buff. Spike's just trying to convince me that he's the one who convinced Elvis to wear head-to-toe black leather for his '68 Comeback Special. No biggie." Nothing to see here, people, move along. Don't you have monsters to slay or something?

"Nope. Monster-slayage has ended for the night."

Oops. Gotta work harder on that inner monologue staying inner, Xander thought, but he merely grinned at Buffy. "Cool. So does this mean that Dennis-the-Bleached- Menace and I are free to go? 'Cuz there's a little lost pizza out there somewhere with my name on it, and I'm on a mission to find it and give it a good home."

Buffy laughed, "We're finished, Xan. I hope you and your pizza are very happy together." She glanced at Spike as she walked away. "Be sure and order it with extra garlic."

"Love you too, pet," Spike called after the Slayer, grinning happily when she flipped him off over her shoulder. "Nothin' like the satisfaction of a job well done. And I didn't hardly have to talk," he told Xander contentedly, as the two of them began to walk home.

"I noticed," Xander said. "Why is that, anyway? It's not like you to make with the silent around Buffy."

Spike shrugged. "You were doin' such a lovely job, pet, what with the lyin' and the coverin' up and all. I was right proud of you. Didn't want to spoil it." Spike threw an arm companionably around Xander's shoulders, "You've got a proper little streak of bad in you, you do. Never even blinked. Good job."

Xander shrugged free of Spike's arm and frowned. "I wasn't covering up for you, Spike. I have no desire to sit and watch the two of you go at it when I could be home drinking beer, eating pizza, and watching 'X-Files' reruns, that's all. Which doesn't mean that you're off the hook at all as far as explaining the covert action back there."

Spike said nothing, choosing instead to chain-smoke in silence for the rest of the walk to the apartment.

Once they arrived home, the two men occupied themselves with the prosaic tasks of getting cleaned up and preparing dinner. Xander called and ordered pizza – no garlic, please – while Spike took a quick shower. Then it was Xander's turn to wash up, while Spike drank a mug of warmed blood, smoked yet another cigarette, and tried to think of something he could tell Xander that sounded truthful, but wasn't anything close to it. Spike thought the truth wouldn't go over too well – in fact, he was liable to be greeting the dawn from the inside of Xander's vacuum cleaner if Xander knew the truth, he thought.

Trouble was, he couldn't think of anything other than the truth that would explain his disappearance and subsequent mauling of Xruunas's errand boy, and he felt a gnawing in his gut that told him Xander, for all his apparent tendencies toward idiocy, probably was well on his way to figuring it out. Soddin' hell. Why can't the boy be stupid, instead of just playin' at it? Last thing I need is one of those bloody Scoobies messin' with m'plan. Every bleedin' time I get close...

A knock on the door broke into Spike's reverie. "Whelp! Food's here," he yelled at the bathroom door.

Xander emerged from the steamy bathroom, dressed in sweatpants and toweling his hair dry. "Hey, don't worry about it Spike, I'll get it. Wouldn't want you to strain anything getting up off the couch."

Spike just smirked. "Thought you'd see it my way. Don't forget to ask him for extra packets of those little peppers," he said, as he got up anyway and went to the kitchen to get more blood. Pizza just wasn't as good without a little drizzle on top. The fact that it made Xander turn green was a bonus.

"I live to serve, O Peroxided One," Xander mocked. After draping his wet towel over a nearby chair, Xander paid the delivery guy, asked for the extra peppers, and closed the door. "Grab some plates and a couple of beers, Spike. The X-Files is just about to start," he said as he turned on the television set and put the pizza box on the coffee table.

"I think you're a bit confused about who does what for whom 'round here, pup," Spike grumbled. Nevertheless, he collected two plates, a six-pack of beer and a few napkins along with his blood before he went into the living room.

"Whom? Careful, Spike, your hidden intellectual is showing," Xander teased as he served up a couple of slices of pizza for each of them.

Spike twisted the top off one of the bottles of beer and threw the cap at Xander. Taking a sip of the beer, he said, "Mind your place and shut up."

"'Mind my place'?" Xander snorted. "Yeah, right, Spike. I think you took that 'I live to serve' thing just a little too seriously. Speaking of serious things, though..." He trailed off as he began to eat his pizza.

"Hey – your show's on, lookit that." Spike said. "Wouldn't beans, already."

want to miss this now, right?" he asked, in a (what he already knew to be) futile attempt to avoid the subject he'd been trying to - well, avoid.

Xander picked up the remote control and turned the TV off. "It's a repeat - I've seen it, I'll live," he said. "Nice attempt at a diversion, though. You get a 9.5 for the attempt, but only a 7 for execution, since it was pretty lame."

"You've bloody well been watchin' too much ESPN, that's what," said Spike. "'Sides, that was at least an 8, an' you know it."

"Not gonna work," Xander said, his mouth full of pizza. "Spill the Spike considered the merits of pretending like he didn't know what "spill the beans" meant, but figured that Xander wouldn't fall for it. Never did settle on a convincin' lie. Shit. Well, when sneak attacks aren't likely to work, it's always best to come out with both guns blazin', so to speak.

Taking a deep unneeded breath, Spike looked Xander squarely in the eyes. "I'm tryin' to get the chip taken out. Or at least deactivated, " he admitted.

Xander looked surprised. "That's it? That's the big secret? You're trying to get the chip out? Tell me something I didn't already know." He grabbed another piece of pizza as he spoke.

Spike busied himself with eating to hide his confusion. "All you've got to say is 'That's it?' You sure those vamps didn't catch up to you and have themselves a little snack? You feelin' lightheaded?" Spike made a show of trying to look at Xander's neck.

Xander shrugged and continued eating. "What do you want, Spike? You want me to get all worked up again? Want me to be angry and afraid? Sorry, buddy – ain't gonna happen. It's not like your plans ever work. Can't say I'm worried much."

Spike opened his mouth to argue. Thoughts of Adam, the attack on the high school, the Gem of Amarra, getting Dru back...all these played through his mind, and he growled. "This one will, wait and see, boy."

"So what time is this meeting with the demon with the unpronounceable name?" Xander asked.

"Doesn't matter to you – you're not invited," Spike said. He picked up a piece of pizza crust, dunked it in his coffee cup, and took a bite.

"That doesn't get any less disgusting no matter how many times I see you do it," Xander commented, grimacing.

"Ta, pet – kinda the point, innit?" Spike asked, dunking yet again.

"No, actually – I think the point is to distract me so I don't notice that you never answered my question. Not gonna work. So, what time are we meeting this guy?" Xander wished he'd left the TV on, so he had something to look at besides Spike eating. Xander felt slightly nauseated, and pushed his plate away. He wasn't very hungry all of a sudden.

Spike grinned mentally at Xander's paling expression, but kept his face stern. "Like hell you're going with me."

"I go or I call Buffy. Your choice." Xander stared at Spike in a way that he hoped let Spike know he wasn't kidding. Xander wasn't sure if he'd call Buffy or not, but he was hoping Spike wasn't willing to take the chance.

Spike cocked an eyebrow at Xander and contemplated the pros and cons of the deal Xander was offering. He wondered why Xander would even consider not telling his precious Buffy that Spike was up to something, and filed that thought away for later pondering. There was something going on here, he was certain of that much, but he wasn't inclined to try and puzzle it out right now. Spike never enjoyed introspection. Waste of time, in his opinion. Besides, the world already had one introspective vampire - it didn't need another one. "Fine, you can go. But you do what I say and keep your bleedin' trap shut, got it?"

Xander leapt off the couch, pumped his fist in the air and shouted a triumphant, 'Yes!' – but only in his head, where Spike couldn't see him do it. Outwardly, he just nodded. "Cool. What time do we leave? And where are we going?"

"After patrol's ended, and you leave me to worry 'bout where it is." As he said this, Spike picked up his now-empty mug and walked to the kitchen. He washed it and put it in the dish drainer, and waited for Xander to protest.

But Xander simply began clearing the remains of their dinner off the coffee table. He threw the trash away and put the leftover pizza in the refrigerator. "All right. But if you get me killed, I'll haunt you for eternity, I swear."

Spike looked at Xander wonderingly, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were. "Idiot. If I get you killed, I'm dust before the sun sets the next day. You're safe as houses," he said as he went to his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked.

"Aw, how sweet. You really do care," Xander said teasingly. He walked into his room, and stood behind the door. Peering around it, he said in the same too-sweet tone of voice, "Sweet dreams, my dark knight. Don't let the bedbugs bite." Xander blew a kiss at Spike and barely managed to get the door closed just as one of Spike's boots slammed into it. "Hey! No making holes in the walls!" Xander yelled, trying not to laugh.

Spike's reply was unintelligible, but Xander was pretty sure he didn't want to hear it anyway. Laughing quietly to himself, he got ready for bed.

The next night, Xander stared at the very tall, scaly, spiny demon standing in front of Spike, and wondered why he always got himself into these kinds of situations. He didn't bother asking himself how, because he knew how. It was simple. Xander opens mouth, Xander gets in trouble. Not difficult to understand, really. Or so one would think. Should have called Buffy. No, maybe not. Dusted Spike would be bad. Or would it? Yeah, bad. He's a pain in the ass, but I don't want him dead. Deader. Not undead any longer. Whatever. Should have called Buffy.

Spike and the unknown demon – Xander supposed it was the mysterious Xruunas – were deep in conversation, hissing and gurbling and growling at each other in some demon language or another. Xander wondered how many languages Spike knew – he remembered hearing that Spike knew Fyarl, but other than that, he had no idea. After much – to Xander, anyway – incomprehensible noise, Spike nodded his head in satisfaction and walked over to Xander.

"Right, then. Let's go," Spike said, jerking his head in the direction of the cave entrance. He started walking away from Xander, rummaging in his duster pockets as he did so, no doubt looking for a cigarette, Xander supposed. Good thing those things can't kill him. He smokes more than anybody I've ever seen.

"We're done? Already? That didn't take very long and he didn't do anything," Xander said as he followed Spike out of the cave. "I thought he was going to help you get your chip out. Or at least throw you around some for daring to ask him to help you."

Spike chuckled. "I appreciate the concern, Xander; didn't know you were so interested in havin' me chip-free an' all. Don't worry; everything's goin' just how it should." He stopped and leaned against a tree as he lit a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he started walking again, and glanced sideways at Xander. "Why are you so interested, pet? I thought for sure you'd have run to the Slayer with your little tale by now. Why haven't you?"

Hands deep in his pockets, Xander shrugged. "Don't really know, Spike. I can't say I ever liked the idea of what those commando guys did to you and the others. Killing demons is one thing - we meet, we fight, may the best man win. But the stun guns and the experimenting and the chip – it doesn't seem right. You ought to be able to defend yourself."

Spike stopped walking and looked at Xander, shocked. "You tellin' me you want me to be able to kill? 'Cause that's what it means, Xander. Hunting and feeding and killing. You know that." He was incredulous. Spike thought surely the boy had lost his mind, or was fucking with Spike's. Hey... "What is this, a joke? Where's the Slayer? You called her, didn't you? She's 'round here somewhere, waitin' for me to come out de-chipped so she can stake me?" He started looking around, searching for any sign of Buffy. "Slayer?" he called. "You can come out now; game's up."

"Spike..." Xander tried to explain, but Spike ignored him.

"C'mon Slayer, I'm still harmless. For now." Spike grinned evilly.

"Spike," Xander tried again. "She's not here. Nobody's here. I told you – I'm not going to tell anybody. You'd be dust already if I had, don't you think?"

"Bloody hell!" Spike exclaimed, dropping what was left of his cigarette, and beating his slightly smoking fingers out on his jeans. He stuck his burned fingers into his mouth to cool them. He'd forgotten about his cigarette, looking for the Slayer. "Not a word, moron," Spike growled around his fingers.

Xander looked at the ground, at his boots, anywhere other than the vampire with his fingers in his mouth. Poor baby's got an owie. Oh, don't think that. Now there'll be laughing and that'll be bad. Oh, fuck it. He snickered, thought better of it, and then snickered again anyway.

Spike threw him the dirtiest of dirty looks, but Xander just shrugged and said, "I didn't say anything, did I?" And snickered one more time.

Spike briefly contemplated whether slapping Xander would be worth the pain in his head, but decided that discretion was the better part of not having a whacking great headache and kept his hands to himself. Rolling his eyes in frustration, both at his inability to cause Xander pain and at Xander's daft brand of humor, he thrust his hands into his duster and sighed. "Let's go home and you can tell me all about why you haven't let those prats you call friends in on my little secret." Not waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Xander followed quickly, hands in pockets, head down and crossing his mental fingers in the hope that he'd have an answer not only for Spike but for himself as well by the time they got home. Truth was, Xander didn't know why he hadn't told Buffy what Spike had been up to that night in the cemetery. He couldn't explain it any more than he could explain why he'd invited Spike to move in after Spike's crypt was destroyed, or why he felt the need to defend Spike to Buffy lately. He just had, he just did, and he just didn't want to tell Buffy what Spike was doing. Xander checked to see if his inner voice had anything to offer on the subject, but it was silent for once. Oh, fine. Leave me to handle this on my own, why don't you? He was certain that if his inner voice had a face, that face would be wearing a smirk right now.

As Xander crossed the street, he realized that it was almost as if some part of him felt like he had to take care of Spike. Xander snorted softly at the idea of Spike needing someone to take care of him. OK, so maybe it's more like Spike needs someone who's willing to help him out once in awhile. Which is true – he can't exactly go get a normal job and earn the money to buy blood and he can't get it himself anymore.

For now.

Shit.

Shitshitshitshitshit. What the hell am I doing? I can't help Spike get the chip out! Chipless Spike means we're nothing but a bunch of Scooby Snacks. Oh, man...

"Oi, whelp – c'mon, shift your arse. Don't want to stand out in this hallway all bleedin' night, waitin' for you to open the door." Xander's thoughts were interrupted by Spike's complaint. He looked up to see Spike waiting impatiently outside the door to their apartment with a long metal pole in one hand.

"What are you doing with that? You gonna pry the door open with it?" Xander asked, a flicker of familiarity at the scene before him dancing at the edges of his memory. "I think your key would work better, Spike."

"I'll be damned!" Spike exclaimed, leaning the pole against the wall. "Why didn't I think of that? Oh yeah – I lost my bloody key. Consider yourself lucky that I didn't just break the lock and go right in. Why are you so slow tonight? I've been standing here for a good five minutes, waiting..." Spike trailed off as he noticed that Xander didn't appear to be hearing a word he said. "Xander?" he asked, noticing the far-away look in the brunet's eyes.

Spike's "I'll be damned!" echoed in Xander's head, bringing with it a cascade of rapidly-changing images that flickered in his brain like an old movie...

...Spike, wearing a red shirt and his ever-present duster, holding a pole like the one he'd just laid against the wall, saying "I'll be damned!" and tossing the pole away...

...Spike laughing as Angel, one arm wrapped tight around Xander's neck, grabs Xander's hair and pulls his head back with the other, baring Xander's throat in an ages-old ritual offering that sings and resonates to something in Xander's blood...

...Remembering the brief thrill that burned a path up his spine at the thought that with Spike's acceptance of this peace offering, Xander would finally have a Place, a Home, a Pack...

...And the breathtaking sense of rejection that engulfed him when Spike dismissed the (admittedly false) gesture and him with a well-placed punch to Angel's jaw, sending Angel reeling and Xander running out the door, trying to escape the danger of the fight and the disappointment at the way things had turned out...

"Xander?" Spike asked again, snapping his fingers near Xander's face, attempting to bring the daydreaming man back from whatever reality he'd obviously slipped off to inhabit. "Whelp? C'mon, zone out on your own time, boy; if you don't get this door open, I will break the lock and be done with it." He snapped his fingers again and shoved Xander lightly.

The slight movement brought Xander back to consciousness. "What? Huh?" he said, shaking his head, trying to orient himself. "Sorry. Guess I spaced out for a minute. Why haven't you unlocked the door yet – lose your key again?"

Spike rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Told you I did already, didn't I? What the hell's wrong with you tonight?"

Xander dug in his pocket for his keys, found them and unlocked the door. "Nothing, Spike, nothing. I'm fine. I was just thinking about some stuff and got distracted," he said. He entered the apartment and flipped on the light switch next to the door. "What's that big pole for, anyway?" he asked as he went to his bedroom to put away his jacket and shoes, before going into the bathroom. He splashed some cold water on his face and washed his hands, trying to collect himself and make sense of the memories flooding his mind before facing Spike again.

"It's a good weapon, that's what," Spike answered, carrying the pole into his own bedroom. He took off his boots and threw them in his closet, threw his duster over a chair, and went into the kitchen. Taking two blood bags out of the refrigerator, he tossed them in the microwave and started it. When the microwave stopped, he poured the blood into his favorite mug, grabbed a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge and headed for the couch.

Xander came out of the bathroom and looked at Spike apprehensively. "I don't suppose there's any way I can get out of this?" he asked.

"Nope," came the decisive reply. "I want to know what's goin' on, Xander. I don't trust you any more than you trust me, and you are going to tell me why I should believe that you're not gonna end up sendin' the Slayer to bollocks up my plans at the worst possible moment." Spike stretched out lazily on the couch, propped his feet on the armrest and started drinking his dinner.

Fair enough, Xander thought, and went into the kitchen to find something frozen he could heat and eat for dinner. He wasn't sure, however, how he was going to explain to Spike what he'd learned from his little episode out in the hallway. He was even less sure that Spike would even believe him. Nothing's easy, nothing's simple, and I never know what to say – it's the overarching theme of my life. He grabbed a frozen dinner without even checking to see what it was and popped it in the microwave. While his meal heated, he took a beer from the refrigerator and drank it quickly. A little alcohol to help ease my way and loosen my tongue. Better grab another one; I think I'm going to need it. The microwave beeped and Xander took his food and his beer and went to face Spike.

---

That went well, Xander thought wryly, watching the laughing vampire roll off the couch onto the floor. Spike was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Xander had been anticipating various reactions to his explanation that he felt compelled to help Spike because of what had almost happened the night the vampire and his pals attacked the high school, but hysterical laughter wasn't one of them. Should I be relieved that Spike isn't angry, or should I be upset that he thinks it's funny? And what's funny about it anyway? I don't think it's funny at all – it's disturbing, actually. I do NOT belong to Spike! Xander tried to ignore the tiny thing that whispered to him not yet, but you want to and waited for Spike to stop laughing.

And he waited.

And waited some more.

Finally, Spike started to calm down. The tears stopped, the laughter got quieter and eventually stopped, and Spike stood up and looked at Xander. "That's a good one, whelp. Nice joke, very funny."

"It's not a joke, Spike. I wish to God it was, but it's not." Xander sighed and leaned back in the recliner. "Maybe I'm wrong; maybe that's not what it is at all. Maybe I'm just a nice guy with a soft spot a mile wide that's big enough even for a not-as-evil-as-he-used-to-be-or-wants-to-be-again vampire."

Spike snorted derisively and resumed his place on the sofa. "Yeah, that's it. I think you've had too much to drink, Xander. Or mebbe you've been knocked on your head one too many times, I dunno. Any rate, the crap you told me about you belongin' to me is more believable than the idea of you havin' a soft spot in your bloody heart for me."

"Hey! No belonging!" Xander protested, sitting up quickly in his alarm at Spike hitting the nail squarely on the head.

"'S what you said, moron." Spike pointed out.

"The word belonging - or belong - or any variation on the theme never passed my lips," Xander argued.

"Mebbe not, but it's what you meant. 'S what Angel was pretendin' to do, anyway – give you to me as a peace offering - and somehow you know that. We just got interrupted is all," Spike put his feet up on the table in front of him and lit a cigarette. Taking a drag, he continued, "'course, who's to say I'd have actually kept you. Probably just would have drained you and left your empty body for the Slayer to find the next mornin'."

"Gee thanks, Spike. I feel so much better now." Xander said dryly.

"Not anymore, moron. You're useful – told you the other night I'd turn you if I had a chance," Spike said, taking another hit off his cigarette.

"I'm not interested in being turned, Spike," Xander said.

Spike's eyebrow lifted at that. "No, you just wanna be claimed, right?" He grinned at Xander's blush, and cut him off when Xander tried to protest. "Don't bother, whelp, we both know it's true. Explains a lot, too. The blood, the place to stay, Buffy... you're such a good little minion, Xander." Spike smirked. "Other than the part where you're still alive – but you've got the 'taking care of your master' thing down already. I'm so proud." Spike sniffed dramatically, and then chuckled.

Ignoring Spike's antics, or at least trying to, Xander got up and went to the kitchen to throw his empty beer bottle and dinner container away, in an attempt to hide his conflicting emotions from the vampire. Pride at the idea that he'd done a good job of helping Spike; resentment at the idea of being a "minion" and being teased; fear, anger and confusion at the idea that he wanted any of this, any part of it at all. Too many emotions to sort, too many thoughts racing through his head to be able to seize on a single one and examine it, much less to articulate a response to Spike's patronizing comments. He decided to ignore it all for now and just go to bed. Maybe some of this would make more sense in the morning, when he wasn't so tired. Too bad tomorrow's Sunday. If it was Monday, I could go to work. I need time away from Spike to think.

As he walked past Spike on the way to his bedroom, Spike looked up at him and teased, "Going to bed? Shouldn't you be asking my permission first?"

"Fuck you Spike," Xander said as he went into his room.

As he closed the door, he heard Spike say, "Now there's a function of minions we haven't explored yet."

---

When Xander woke up the next morning, Spike was gone. Xander spent the day watching television, doing odd jobs around the apartment and wondering where Spike was. Spike's crypt was still uninhabitable. He knew Spike hadn't done anything about cleaning or fixing it after Riley and Buffy had blown it up, but Xander couldn't imagine where else Spike would be spending the daylight hours. Not that I care. Nope. Not me. No caring about the whereabouts of the undead bleached one here.

Xander knew he had a perfect opportunity to think about what was going on, but decided that for once he was going to be like the rest of Sunnydale and ignore the creepy things in his life. And belonging to Spike definitely falls into the creepy category. He contemplated going to the Magic Box to find the gang and hang out, but he didn't want to end up in another argument about Spike with Buffy; he considered going to see a movie, but there wasn't anything new out that sounded interesting. Finally he decided to just stay home with his beer and his television set. Nothing like a little familiarity to make a guy realize how much he's stuck in a rut, he thought, cracking open a beer and settling in to watch The X-Files movie for the fifth time.

Two hours and three beers later, he realized Spike wasn't coming home today, and went to bed. I hope he's all right and not a pile of dust somewhere. That thought promptly went on the 'To Be Ignored' list and Xander took a shower and got ready for bed, all the while pretending to himself that he wasn't worried about the possibility of Spike being gone. Oh, shit. What if it was our talk the other night? What if he didn't like the idea that I think I bel - no, not using that word - what if he thinks I'm an idiot – nothing new there, really – but what if he decided to skip town because of that conversation? Damn, I can't even get an evil pain-in-the-ass to want me around. This train of thought was going nowhere except Insomniaville, so Xander added it to his rapidly-growing "Ignore" list, turned over and went to sleep.

When Xander awoke the next morning, he noticed Spike still wasn't back, and the idea that Spike was gone for good, whether by car or by stake, pressed itself upon his mind again. Xander tried not to think about it while he showered, dressed and ate breakfast. He tried to ignore the growing hole inside his heart that told him he'd been rejected yet again, that he'd managed to find one more place where he didn't belong. And that, in an ironic reversal of his situation with Anya – where then he'd realized that he had no desire for something he'd thought he believed important, he now craved something he'd never believed he'd want under any circumstances. Not that he was willing to admit it to anybody, not even himself. Sighing in frustration, Xander grabbed his keys and his hard hat and left the apartment. Thank God for a job that requires enough energy and attention that I can avoid thinking about this for a little while longer.

---

By the time Xander arrived home that night, it was well after sundown. One thing after another had gone wrong on the site that day and he had more than a few things to straighten out with his boss once everyone else had gone home for the night. He unlocked the apartment door. The locked door meant Spike was still missing - Spike never remembered to lock the door when he was home. Xander couldn't suppress the icy shiver that zinged up his spine at that thought.

Xander locked the door carefully behind him, and went to put his shoes, keys and hat away, then went to the kitchen. He stood next to the refrigerator as he quickly drank his first beer of the evening. Gotta get a little head start on the relaxation. Throwing the bottle away, he went into the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. Xander dressed in a pair of sweatpants, took another beer out of the refrigerator, opened it, threw the cap away and sat down to watch TV.

Shouldn't you be thinking about...all the stuff you have to think about? Spike?

No! No thinking about Spike. And no thinking about THAT, either. I do NOT want to belong to Spike, damn it!

Liar.

Shut up.

Make me.

Xander groaned and tried to think of a snappy comeback to end the argument his inner voices were having - and since when have there been two of you? - but was interrupted by a knock at the door. His heart leapt - Spike! - but then he heard Buffy's voice.

"Xander? Spike? You there? Open up, I need to talk to you!"

"Just a sec," Xander called, disappointment welling up inside him that it was Buffy and not Spike. "I'm coming," he said, setting his beer down on the table as he got up and went to answer the door.

As soon as Xander unlocked it, the door swung open and Buffy marched in. "Where's the bleached freak? I need to talk to him," she said. She walked to Spike's bedroom and looked inside. "Spike? C'mon, this is important." Finding Spike's room empty, Buffy walked back across the living room and stopped in front of Xander. Folding her arms, Buffy asked again, "Where is he, Xan? I need his help, I need information from him."

Xander shrugged his shoulders, trying not to let the worry he felt for Spike show on his face. He knew Buffy wouldn't understand. Hell, he didn't understand.

You understand. You're just trying to convince yourself that you don't.

Shut UP! This is so not the time for a psychotic break!

"Sorry, Buff. I haven't seen him since Saturday night." Xander walked around Buffy and took another beer out of the refrigerator. "Want one?" he offered.

"No. I have to find Spike and get him to help me," Buffy insisted. "I don't have time to stop and have a beer, Xander."

Xander shrugged again, put the beer away and returned to his place on the couch. Picking up the bottle he'd opened earlier, he took a drink and said, "No problem. I understand."

"What do you mean, you haven't seen Spike since Saturday night, anyway?" Buffy persisted. "You haven't seen him in two days? Why haven't you told anybody? He could be up to something. You should have told somebody, Xander."

"And say what? 'Hey Giles, Spike didn't come home last night'. He'd just say that Spike's a big boy and can take care of himself and not to worry. Besides, he's probably just sleeping off a bender somewhere. Probably managed to rob some guy with loads of cash and decided he didn't want to share the alcohol." Xander twisted around on the couch, sitting back against the arm, so he could look at Buffy without craning his neck. "What's so important, anyway? Got some big nasty monster you need help slaying?"

"Yeah. Remember those Xwislat demons Giles was worried about? I think I saw one last night – about 11 feet high, I think, scaly and spiny," Buffy said.

"How do you know it's a Xwislat demon?" Xander asked, recognizing the description as matching the demon Spike had met with in the cave a few nights earlier and understanding why Spike had been so adamant that the Slayer avoid them.

"There's a picture of one in one of Giles's books. I fought with it before it got away. Spike seemed to know a lot about them, so I thought I'd get him to come with me. Maybe he knows how to kill them. I know he said to stay away from them, but since when do I take orders from the annoying undead? Besides, I've got fifty bucks for him if he helps me." Buffy walked over to the recliner and sat on the edge of it, her hands clasped around her knees. "Are you all right, Xan? You sounded... worried... about Spike for a minute. That's not like you. Everything OK?"

Xander shot Buffy an irritated look. "I can't be worried about him? And if I am, it's because something's wrong with me? Whatever happened to caring about someone because it's the decent thing to do? I haven't seen or heard from my roommate in almost 48 hours – of course I'm worried!" He sat up and took a long drink of his beer, frustrated and angry.

Buffy looked at Xander for a few moments, eyes wide and confused. "Hey... chill Xander. No biggie. I didn't realize it bothered you that much. I don't understand – I mean, it's Spike, right? Evil vampire? No soul, no conscience? OK, yeah – he helps with the slayage some, and he can be useful when it comes to demon languages or rare beasties like these Xwislats, but... I didn't think anybody would mind if he left town. It's not like it's any great loss – just one less thing to worry about. No more Spike-messes to clean up," she said, thinking of the demon eggs, the Gem of Amarra fiasco, Adam.

Xander felt something twist and shatter inside him at Buffy's casual dismissal of Spike's contributions to her mission. He felt like the earth had just shifted on its axis, like something monumentally important had just occurred.

Taking a deep breath, he did his best to keep from shouting as he sat up and said, "You're right, Buffy. He hasn't got anything important to add to your little team of Slayerettes. Who cares if he lives or dies? He could be a pile of dust somewhere right now, but hey – you can slay without him, so it doesn't matter, does it?"

Buffy felt as if she'd stepped onto quicksand. Cautiously, she said, "Well, yeah – it's not like we keep him around for his personality."

Xander took another breath; fighting to stay in control of the rage he felt coursing through his veins. He said quietly, "It's not like his vampire strength is that important – you've got things handled from the super-strong side of things. Tara's got the mojo covered, and Wills is Research Girl. As far as I can tell, you don't really need anybody else. Even Giles knew it – that's why he left." Carefully, oh so carefully, he leaned back against the arm of the couch, watching Buffy with a guarded expression.

"I don't know about not needing Giles, but as for the rest of it – you've got it exactly, Xander. See? You underst..." Buffy sat up straight, an expression of alarm on her face. "Don't forget yourself, Xander. We need you. We always have," she said quickly.

"Yeah, right," Xander snorted, letting the disgust and anger he felt show on his face for the first time. "I'm such a valuable member of the group, aren't I, Buff? Why, you wouldn't know what to do without me!"

"Xander - we do need you. I need you. I have to take care of Dawn and work on top of the slaying." Buffy looked at Xander, concern in her eyes. "You've helped me so much with Dawn."

Xander dismissed Buffy's words with a shake of his head. He couldn't stay still any longer and he stood up and began pacing. "Willow or Giles can help you just as much as I can. And Tara's better with Dawn than any of us. C'mon Buffy, admit it – you don't really need Spike or me. It matters zilch whether we're around. We could leave Sunnydale and you'd never miss either one of us. I was never important to the slayage – Willow was, with the books and the hacking and the magic. I just hung around because we were some kind of weird 2-for-1 deal, and that hasn't been true for years now." Xander downed the rest of the beer quickly, threw the empty bottle into the trashcan as hard as he could, and listened, satisfied, as the glass shattered.

Buffy stood up quickly, alarmed by a side of Xander she'd never seen before. "Xander, you've got it all wrong. I wouldn't even be here if not for you – the Master would have killed me. You're the one who brought me back Xan, remember?" She looked at Xander, hoping he'd understand how she felt.

Unfortunately, Xander was too far gone. He'd had enough of living on the fringes of other people's lives. Slaying was Buffy's gig, not his, and he felt like he'd been fooling himself all these years, thinking he made a difference. Anybody could do what he'd done for the Scoobies, he thought. It wasn't enough, not anymore. He didn't know where it was - Spike? - but he knew there was another place out there for him, some spot only he could fill. He heard Spike's earlier comment echo in his mind, "You're useful".

He whirled and glared at his friend. "Am I useful, Buffy?" he asked harshly. "Tell me, am I?"

"Yes! You are, Xander. I told you, we need you," Buffy said.

"Why?" he demanded. "Tell me what I do for you, Buff, that nobody else can," Xander demanded. He stood stiffly, every muscle in his body tensed, hard and angry.

Buffy spoke softly, trying to soothe Xander with her voice. "Xan, c'mon. I already told you. I don't know what I'd do without you. Of course we need you. It just wouldn't be the same."

"Wrong answer, Buffy. Not wanting things to change isn't the same as needing somebody," Xander ground out between clenched teeth, his body trembling.

Buffy looked at him, worry evident in every line of her face. Suddenly, Xander didn't have the energy or the inclination to be angry any longer.

Sighing heavily, he hung his head. His voice low, he said, "I don't know where he is, Buff. I don't know where he went and I don't know when he'll be back. I'm sorry." Xander looked at Buffy, his face soft and his eyes tired and sad. "Can - can you just go now? I can't help you with those demons, and maybe you'll find Spike while you're out on patrol. I just – I need to be alone for awhile."

"Are you sure?" Buffy asked him quietly. "I don't want to leave you like this."

Xander felt another brief flare of anger but quickly pushed it down. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said with a lopsided grin. "I can take care of myself."

"I know, Xan. It's just – "

"It's all right, Buffy. Just go. I'll be OK." Xander took her gently by the arm and walked her to the door. "Really, I'll be fine. I'm tired all of a sudden, and I think I want to go to bed. Tell you what, if I see Bleach Boy anytime soon, I'll be sure and tell him that you're looking for him."

"OK," Buffy said doubtfully, allowing Xander to guide her out the door. "If you're sure..."

"I am," Xander said. "Go. Find monsters. Slay monsters. Eat ice cream afterward. I'm going to bed."

Buffy grinned slightly at this. "Yes sir, Mr. Harris. Will do."

Xander laughed lightly and kissed Buffy's forehead softly. "'Night. I'll see you soon. Be careful."

"You too, Xan," Buffy answered before turning and leaving.

Xander watched Buffy walk away for a long quiet moment. He closed and locked the door and went and pulled a six-pack of beer from the refrigerator. As he walked by the trashcan on the way to his bedroom, he stopped and stared at the broken beer bottles for a while before bending over and plucking out a few pieces of sharp-edged glass. He double-checked the locks on the door and made sure all the lights in the apartment were off before he went into the bedroom.

Xander settled himself carefully against the headboard of his bed, arranging all the pillows behind his back and head for maximum comfort. He took the beer out of the carton and set the bottles on the small table next to his bed and the empty carton on the floor, just under the bed. He carefully placed the sharp pieces of glass on the bed next to him.

Looking around, he decided he wanted a little bit of light after all, so Xander got up and opened his curtains and blinds. After re-arranging himself comfortably on the bed, he opened the first beer and drank it slowly, savoring both the taste and the languidness he felt from the alcohol. Never drink on an empty stomach, he giggled to himself. Realizing he was going to be good and wasted long before he finished all the beers he had if he kept drinking them slowly, he took the tops off another two and drank them quickly, one right after the other.

Xander picked up a piece of the broken glass and traced it lightly across the skin on his inner wrist for a long time, stopping only to drink two more beers in rapid succession. Some part of his brain was shouting at him, frantically trying to get his attention so it could talk him out of what he was thinking about doing, but he ignored it. I'm getting good at that. Such a useful skill. He made one sharp pull with the glass across his skin and gasped at the brightness of the pain, staring in fascination and a little disgust at the blood welling up from the cut he made. Ouch. Shit. I'm such a fucking wimp. Can't even kill myself properly.

Xander set the piece of glass back on the bed and opened another bottle. Swallowing almost half the beer in one long gulp, he sat back and watched the blood oozing from his arm, allowing the events of the previous few days to fill his mind: his realization that he wanted - no, needed - Spike to claim him, to accept what Angel had offered, even if only in pretense; his discussion with Buffy earlier that evening...

Xander was lost, deep in thought and beer, so he didn't hear the key turning in the locks on the front door. The voices in his head were loud enough that he missed the swish of leather and denim as Spike entered the apartment and then his bedroom, missed the look on Spike's face as he stood at the foot of Xander's bed and took in the scene before him.

"What the fuck is this?" Spike demanded angrily, waving his hand to indicate the empty beer bottles, broken glass and Xander's bloody arm. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Xander jerked in surprise at the sound of Spike's voice crashing through the quiet room. Blearily, he grinned a bit and gestured at Spike with his almost-empty beer. "Spike! Good to see you! Where've you been? Slayer's lookin' for you, y'know," he slurred.

Spike's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline at Xander's use of the word "Slayer" in reference to Buffy, but all he said was, "I'm waiting for an answer, boy. What in bloody hell are you up to in here? What's all this?" And he gestured at the mess again.

Giggling stupidly, Xander shrugged. "Just a party for the Young and the Useless, Spike. Feel free to join in. 'Course, I drank almost all the beer, but there's still some blood in the fridge for you. You're not so young either, I guess. But hey - Buffy doesn't need either one of us, so you qualify in the only way that matters." Xander finished his beer in one long drink and in the manner of the highly intoxicated, very carefully placed the empty bottle back on the crowded table. "C'mon Blondie, where's your sense of fun? Did you leave it wherever it is you've been the last couple of days?"

"'Cause getting shitfaced and trying to kill myself sounds like ever so much fun," Spike said dryly, noting with satisfaction that the bleeding from the cut on Xander's arm was slowing.

"Fuck you, Spike." Xander shot back angrily.

"Later," Spike said, folding his arms across his chest, unperturbed by Xander's temper.

"Never," Xander retorted. "Where were you, anyway? I was beginning to think I was never going to see you again, unless I happened to run across your ashes somewhere."

Spike grinned. "Didja miss me, pet?" Before Xander could answer, Spike continued. "Got my little problem taken care of this weekend, Xan. It's been a good couple of days, boy," he said. "I made sure Xruunas and his mate got out of town safely and then I went and had a little fun away from Sunnydale last night. Don't want the Slayer findin' out about my newly-dysfunctional chip before I'm ready, do I?" he asked Xander almost conversationally.

In spite of all the alcohol he'd drunk earlier, Xander suddenly felt very, very sober. He sat up straight and asked Spike nervously, "What'd you come back for, then? You gonna kill Buffy?" He swallowed, not wanting to hear the answer, but needing to know.

Fuck. My misplaced sense of loyalty is going to get one of my best friends killed. Son of a bitch.

Or it might get you...

Shut UP!!!

Spike sat down on the edge of Xander's bed and grinned at Xander's sudden intake of breath. "I came back to get what belongs to me, pet," he purred, enjoying the scent of confusion and fear that started rolling off the other man in waves. Not very much fear, though. Good Xander. Spike smirked. "What do you think of that?"

"I - I - I think... that's good. Good, Spike. You get your stuff, and then I can use your old room for a storage space. I think I'm running out of room in the closet in here for my comic books." Xander babbled nervously, purposely misunderstanding Spike's meaning.

Spike snorted softly at Xander's ramblings. "'S not what I mean, boy, and you know it." Ignoring the blood on Xander's arm with great effort, Spike ran a finger down the side of Xander's face and cupped his cheek with one hand. "I'm talkin' 'bout you Xan. I told you I'd turn you, first chance I got. I didn't come back for that crap," he said, gesturing with his head toward the living room. "I came back for you, like I said I would. I want you with me, Xander, by my side, at my feet and in my bed."

He grinned widely at Xander's look of astonishment. "Don't worry - the idea won't bother you once I've turned you. I want to make you my Childe and teach you how to take what you want and to destroy what you don't. You're right - you belong with me, you belong to me, and I'll be damned if I'll leave this hellhole without you." Spike smirked at the unintentional pun, and Xander echoed it with a weak smile of his own.

Xander leaned back against the headboard, his thoughts and emotions whirling madly. Part of him was yelling and screaming, hysterical at the idea of becoming a vampire. The rest of him - and it was a much larger part - felt as though the giant knot that had lain in his stomach for years had been unraveled. Spike wanted him. Spike wanted to claim him. Spike thought he was important enough to come back to Sunnydale to collect. Xander was almost giddy with relief. He hadn't been rejected again and he was needed. Well, Spike hadn't said that, exactly...

Cocking his head to the side, Xander looked at Spike seriously and asked, "Do you need me, Spike? Is this about me, or is this simply a way of getting to Buffy? I'm tired of being a means to an end for people. Praying-mantis teacher wanted me for dinner, I still have no idea what Cordelia wanted with me, and Anya mostly wanted me because it made her that much more human." Xander pleaded with Spike with his eyes. Me. Please want me.

Spike ducked his head for a moment, thinking, and then looked Xander in the eye. "I won't lie, pet. The idea of turning one of the Slayer's cheerleaders is a glorious one. I'd do one of you for that reason alone; it's almost as rich as bagging a Slayer herself. But it's not why I'm choosing you. If it were about revenge, I'd pick Dawn and be done with it. She'd be the easiest and turning her sister would piss the Slayer off the most. I want you, Xander. You're mine."

Xander nodded his head, feeling a rush go through him at Spike's words. "OK. I just had to know. Thanks." He sat up again, uncertain. "How does this work? I mean, what should I do?"

"Well, the first thing you're gonna do is give me those goddamn pieces of glass," Spike said. Xander picked up the glass and handed it to Spike wordlessly. Setting them down on the table, Spike turned back to Xander and said, "I wasn't kidding, Xander. You're mine now. I don't want you tryin' to hurt yourself again. You don't fuck with my property that way, got it?"

Xander nodded his head. "But I thought you were going to turn -"

"I am. But bein' a vampire doesn't mean you can't be self-destructive and I won't stand for it. Don't make me teach you that lesson the hard way. You wouldn't like it." Spike sat on the edge of the bed, picked up Xander's arm and looked at the dark-haired man inquiringly. Xander gulped nervously and nodded his head once. Spike grinned and bent his head to the bloody cut, dragging his tongue slowly over it. Lifting his head slightly, Spike looked Xander in the eye as he carefully licked every drop of blood from Xander's arm.

Xander shuddered, whether at the sensation of Spike's tongue on his skin or the hungry look in the vampire's eyes, he didn't know. He swallowed heavily and said very quietly, "I think you got it all."

"Guess I did," Spike said. He deliberately, languidly ran his tongue over the cut one last time before letting go of Xander's arm. Spike then stood, stretched, and began to undress. He took off his boots and socks; placing the socks inside his boots, he set them against the wall under the window. He shrugged out of his duster, threw it over a chair and started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Um, Spike? What are you doing?" Xander asked, uncomfortable.

"Gettin' ready for bed, what's it look like?" Spike said as laid his shirt over the duster on the chair and pulled his black T-shirt off over his head. Spike turned to the window, closed the blinds and pulled the heavy curtains shut.

"Yeah, but - well, you do have your own room," Xander pointed out. He knew he wasn't going to care what he did with Spike once he was turned, but there were some horizons he had no interest in exploring as a human being.

Spike turned and looked at Xander, amused. "You're willin' to let me suck all the blood out of your body tomorrow, but you're worried 'bout where I'm sleepin' tonight?" He started laughing and shook his head disbelievingly. "Xander, you are one of a kind. This is gonna be fun."

When Xander showed no signs of relaxing or relenting, he sighed. "Fine. Get me a soddin' pair of sweats and I'll wear those to bed. That's the best you're gettin' out of me, though. I'm not leavin' you alone in here to change your mind or beat me to the punch," he said, indicating the glass on the bedside table with a nod of his head.

Xander blushed at the mention of the broken glass and pulled his injured arm close to his body, but got up and dug around in a drawer until he found the smallest pair of sweats he owned for Spike to wear. Even with the drawstring pulled tight, the pants hung loosely on the thin man, but at least he wasn't naked. Much, Xander thought, looking at Spike's pale chest. Fuck it; this is no time to be indulging my hang-ups. He got into bed and divided the pillows, giving half of them to Spike. Lying down and making himself comfortable he asked as he felt Spike get into bed, "Why are we waiting until tomorrow?"

Spike reached out and pulled Xander close. "Who says we are?" he teased. When Xander stiffened noticeably, Spike chuckled. "Relax, whelp. I want to wait until the alcohol's out of your system. I don't fancy gettin' drunk while I'm drinkin' you," he said, settling Xander into the crook of his arm. "We'll do it tomorrow after you wake up, and come sundown tomorrow night, Sunnydale's vampire population will increase by one."

Xander lay rigidly next to Spike for a while, uncomfortable at his proximity to the other man. He believed Spike wasn't going to try anything, but he hadn't slept with another man before and couldn't relax enough to go to sleep. He tried breathing deeply and slowly, he tried counting sheep and he even tried singing '99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall' in his head, all to no avail. Finally, he heard Spike sigh and say, "Listen, boy. I can help you go to sleep, but you have to trust me. Can you do that?"

Xander wanted to laugh at the idea of trusting the man who was going to kill him the next day, but he nodded his head instead, knowing Spike could see him in the dark.

"Good. I'm gonna drink from you - just a bit, enough to make you feel tired. Don't freak out on me, I'm not gonna kill you now, all right?" Spike asked, his voice low and soothing. When Xander nodded again, Spike ran his hand through Xander's hair and pulled his head back gently. "It's all right," he murmured softly, and Xander felt the barest prick of fangs as Spike carefully bit him and began drinking slowly.

It's like floating, he thought dazedly as the blood loss, combined with the beer he'd drank earlier, made him feel lightheaded. He was only dimly aware of Spike pulling his fangs out of Xander's neck, of the coolness of Spike's tongue as he licked the bite clean, and of the briefest of kisses against the back of his neck before Spike started murmuring to Xander softly. Xander was too close to sleep to understand the words Spike was saying, but he was aware enough to comprehend the meaning behind them. Spike was telling him he was wanted, he was needed, that Spike was going to finally finish what had been started on that night in the school so long ago.

Fuzzily, Xander thought that he ought to thank Angel at some point for setting the ball in motion, so to speak. Then he wondered how much he'd care once he lost his soul. Xander knew that thought should terrify him, but as the soulless demon behind him held him close and continued to whisper reassuring, comforting words to him, all he could think as he drifted off to sleep was that he'd finally found someplace he belonged.

---

End

Continued in In This Together.