Redefining Worse

Xander felt . . . different.

That wasn't much of a description, but there you had it.

There was a distinct before and after in Xander's life with the dividing line running right through that mansion on Crawford Street, probably right at the threshold of Spike's old room there, because that was the line Xander crossed that stopped making it all about him being the unwilling victims. Unwilling victims didn't go looking for vampire sex once a month.

It changed things.

Or maybe there were two dividing lines, separating life into before, after, and now with the second dividing line split straight down a tree that Xander could swear still smelled of guilty come, and a little bit of blood.

And sexual frustration.

Lots of sexual frustration.

Because that's when and where needing Spike had stopped being about once a month and started being about all the time. So it'd been just his luck that that's when Spike had left.

He was lucky Cordelia was as much of a teenager as him or she'd probably have smacked him down like an animal by now. Not that the necking (rounding second base now, thanks) was doing a lot of good, and wouldn't be doing any good once she took off for her great summer vacation.

And to make things worse, the full moon was coming up for the first time since the mansion cleared out, and there was no sign of Spike. Worse yet, there was no reason there should be a sign of Spike.

Yeah, right, like he'd stick around for you now that he's got Drusilla back.

That thought shouldn't hurt nearly as much as it did, but with his hormones rising like little red-clad militants and no Spike (mate) in sight, rational was not a big feature of Xander's thoughts lately. And hope sprang eternal, which was why Xander was sitting at sidewalk table in front of the Espresso Pump with an empty mocha next to him at eight PM on a Tuesday night. The Tuesday night with no sign of Spike, and a jitteriness he could feel in his bones where the needy ache was already starting to settle in.

Patrol was going to be bad.

He dropped his face into his hands, because it was better than banging his head on the table, and focused on not whimpering.

When the scent of chocolate invaded Xander's senses, he looked up to find a tall mocha in front of him and Oz on the other side of the table. "You looked like you needed a stiff double," Oz said, by way of explanation. "Willow's got some kind of magic study thing tonight, so it's just us," he said, and took a long drink of his coffee. Americano.

"You drink coffee?" was the first thing that came to Xander's mind, and naturally, out of his mouth too. There was always a pretty short trip between Xander's mind and Xander's mouth, and how much did he wish Spike would make that trip right now and okay he so was not admitting to thinking that thought, and "huh?"

"You know, traditionally, when you ask a question, you maintain focus on the other person long enough to hear the answer," Oz said comfortably. "Something on your mind? Besides me drinking coffee," he clarified, toasting Xander with his cup.

"Well, you have to admit, coffee jitters aren't the first thing that comes to mind when a guy thinks about you," Xander said, gratefully seizing on the easier conversation.

Oz looked down into his cup. "You should see me without the coffee," he admitted.

Xander thought about it, blinked rapidly. "This," his hand fluttered in Oz's direction, "is you on caffeine?"

"Pretty much."

"Wow."

"So you want to talk about it before we go?"

Xander felt his mouth stretch in the biggest, most involuntary 'don't hurt me' grin he possessed. "Talk about what?" He wished he hadn't ended that with a nervous giggle. Nervous giggles never improved credibility. Especially not with Oz.

"What's on your mind."

"Why would anything be on my mind?"

"Well, for one thing, you're giggling." Oz took another sip of coffee, then set the cup down on the table, wrapping his hands familiarly around it. "While that's not completely outside the realm of normal, it does usually indicate that you're out of your comfort zone." Oz jerked his head toward the street. "Want to get started?"

"Sure. Let's go." Gratefully, Xander gulped his mocha and stood up, following Oz back onto the sidewalk.

Maybe they could just get through the patrol with a few sniffs, minimal talk, and no embarrassing topics of conversation.

Unfortunately, Oz seemed to be feeling chatty for Oz. Which was just Xander's luck. "Remember how I told you I can smell pheromones?" He asked casually, as if asking Xander whether he remembered the act that played the Bronze last Friday night.

Xander gulped, and sternly ignored the skittering along his nerves. "Yeah?"

"I can smell pheromones," Oz finished, not looking over at Xander. "We don't have to talk about it. Just thought you should know."

Xander swallowed. "Oh, I know. Believe me. I know."

"Think we should cancel the patrol?"

Xander chewed his lip. "Nah. Let's do it. I could use the distraction." If he was lucky, dusting a few vamps might take out some of his frustrations, and if not, having the living crap beaten out of him by a few vamps might convince the hormones to take a hike until Xander could crawl home and drag the box of toys out from under his bed and pretend they were Spike. Not that he remembered them helping much, but at least it'd give him something to do until he was fit to be in human company again. Or not quite human company, Xander corrected himself as Oz leaned over, doing the casual sniffing thing again that made shivers run up Xander's spine.

If he was lucky.

If he was unlucky, this patrol was going to go down in Xander's Little Red Book Of Very Big Mistakes.