Xander was in the middle of tossing tonight's costume into his duffel when the doorbell chimed.  He made his way out of the bedroom and through the living room wondering who it could be and what they might be selling.  He wasn't expecting anyone.  Not that there were many people in his life he'd want to expect.  He hadn't made very many friends, none at all really, since moving here and he sure as fuck didn't want either of his parents to be on the other side of that door.

 

Just to be on the safe side he took a quick peek through the peephole.  His breath caught at the sight of the man standing before the door.  Even with his features slightly skewed due to the concavity of the peephole, it was still obvious that he was a looker.  His hair was slicked back and bleached almost white.  His eyes were an arresting blue that almost mesmerized Xander even before he could open the door.

 

"Yes?"  Xander prompted, as the door swung open to give him his first clear view of the stranger.  Worn black jeans hung low on the man's hips, a tight black t-shirt showed off the ridged muscles of his abdomen.  Atop the t-shirt he wore an electric blue button up that almost matched the color of his eyes.  Xander found himself staring, though he tried his best to appear nonchalant.

 

"'ello, mate.  Are you Alexander Harris?"  Oooh, sexy accent.

 

"Yes?"  Xander repeated, both answering and asking a question.

 

"It's nice to meet you, Alex.  I'm William, but my friends call me Spike."  Spike held out his hand.

 

Xander reached out and took the offering, shaking hands politely, still wondering who this man was.  "Xander."

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"Nobody calls me Alex.  It's Xander." 

 

"Oh, sorry, Xander."

 

The man looked chagrined and Xander wondered if his tone had been too curt.  It had been a long time since he cared whether he offended anyone or not.  The thought that he felt guilty for making the stranger even more nervous than he already appeared, made Xander stop and wonder.

 

"Is there something you needed?  Have we met before?"  Xander asked, still trying to figure out what the man was doing here.

 

"Actually, mate, was wonderin' if you had a minute to talk?"

 

"Talk?"

 

"Yeah, sort of, came to discuss some things with you."  Spike shrugged.  "If you're free, that is."

 

"What is it you want to discuss?  Are you a lawyer or something?"  He certainly didn't look like a lawyer. 

 

"No, I just...we have a mutual acquaintance, sort of...it's complicated.  Could we sit for a spell?"  Spike asked.

 

Xander studied the man before him critically, trying to assess the potential hazards of letting him into his home.  After a moment, he shrugged and stepped aside, gesturing with a free hand toward the living room sofa.

 

"So, who's this mutual acquaintance?"  Xander asked after joining Spike on the couch.

 

"Her name is Buffy Summers," Spike began tentatively.

 

"I don't know any Buffy Summers," Xander responded, brow furrowed in thought.

 

"Yeah, well, the thing is, she's your sister."  The words rushed out so fast Xander wasn't sure he heard them correctly.

 

"My sister?  I don’t have a sister, man.  I think you might have the wrong guy."

 

"No.  I've got the right bloke, believe me.  We've been trying to track you down for months."  Spike paused, waiting for his words to sink in.

 

"Track me down?"

 

"Yes.  Your mum.  Your biological mum, and I, we've been searching for you."

 

"What?"  The word came out a whisper.  His biological mother?  What the hell did she want?  "Why?"

 

"Your sister, Buffy, she's sick," Spike began, only to be interrupted.

 

"So, I *do* have a sister.  Is that what you're telling me?"  Xander demanded.  The look on his face transforming from one of confusion to anger.

 

"Yeah, mate, and she's sick.  She needs a donor.  We've all tried, but none of us are a match."

 

"And my *biological* mother sent you to see if I'd be willing to donate, too," Xander clarified.

 

"That about sums it up, luv."

 

Suddenly Xander stood; the look on his face was a mask of pure anger.  He strode toward the front door and opened it wide.  Holding on to the knob with one hand, he gestured with the other.  "Get out."  The words were spat through gritted teeth.

 

"Xander, please, Buffy - "

"I said, get out!"  Xander nearly screamed.  "You think I care?  You think I give a damn about the one she kept?  The baby she actually wanted?"  Tears had gathered in Xander's eyes, and he blinked them away rapidly.  There was no way in hell he was going to cry in front of this guy.  This stranger that had been sent to save the sibling he never knew he had.  The sibling his *mother* had loved.

 

"Xander, you don't - "

 

"Get the fuck out!"

 

And because he could see that he was getting nowhere, Spike went.  Xander didn't slam the door, only let it slide softly shut.  The finality of the soft click echoed on both sides of the door.

 

***

 

Fuck!  Xander swiped at the tears that now fell.  He hadn't cried since he was a child.  Since the first few months of his long, interminable stay with the Harrises.  The first time that Xander could remember Anthony Harris hitting him, he was about four years old, just going on five. 

 

They'd bought him all new clothes for kindergarten, and Jessica Harris had been so proud.  She'd paraded him around the room in his new school wear; Xander had smiled proudly, loving the attention he was getting.  Not paying attention, he'd tripped on the floor and torn a hole in the knee of his new trousers.  Before he could even try to right himself, Mr. Harris had hauled him back onto his feet and backhanded him.

 

He remembered the awful sting, and worse, the shock of what had occurred.  His eyes had teared instantly and he'd begun to cry, great big wracking sobs that made his chest hurt.  He'd looked up at the man he'd been calling dad with fear and confusion.  When all he saw was anger, he'd turned to his mom only to find an expression of what he now knew to be pity.  He'd see that look on his mom's face many times again over the next several years.

 

When the tears wouldn't stop his father only got angrier.  Anthony Harris' second punch knocked him back on to the ground.  He curled himself into a tiny ball, but that didn't stop the pain from the swift kicks his father landed.  It didn't take Xander long to learn that he shouldn't cry, at least not where anyone could see him.  Soon he'd learned not to cry at all.

 

But now the tears came unbidden as he fought to catch his breath.  All this time, he'd had this fantasy that his real parents had given him up for some noble reason.  That they *couldn't* have kept him, no matter how much they'd wanted to.  But now, that fantasy was shattered.  They hadn't kept him because they hadn't wanted to.  They'd obviously wanted to keep *her*. 

 

Who the fuck cared if *she* died?  Not him.