Spike's shoulders hunched under the onslaught of hot water, shirts clinging to him in narrow folds, diminishing him.

"Spike?"

"What're you doing here?" Spike didn't move, even as Xander slid his hand over the wet silk, and across the tense lines of his shoulders.

"It's my apartment."

"Right. I can leave," Spike said, pulling away, and trying to step out of the shower, only to be caught by Xander, both hands tight on his shoulders.

"Why?"

"Why?" Spike battled down the half hysterical laugh, lifting his face to look into Xander's eyes incredulously. "Why? You walked in on- on-"

Xander's fingertips traced the corner of Spike's black eye, the skin already fading from sickly yellow to rich purple. "Buffy beating the crap out of you again."

"Buffy fucking me, Xander! Me fucking Buffy. Me- I- Let go." Putting his head down again, Spike tried to shoulder past Xander only to be slammed up against the wall.

"Buffy," Xander repeated slowly, "beating the crap out of you. Because she's hurting, she needs it, and you still love her too much to say no. I know what I saw."

Spike turned his head away, but trembled beneath Xander's fingertips. "Shouldn't have happened. Greatest bloody mistake of my sodding life."

"Okay," Xander said, peeling at Spike's shirt, pulling it away from his arms.

"Okay?"

"There's an echo in here."

"God." Spike dropped his head back against the wall, closing his eyes tight. "Why do I let her do this to me?"

"I could answer 'love' but that's your line."

"So what's your line?"

"Takes two to tango, buddy," Xander said.

"I'm a bad man."

Xander snorted and framed Spike's jaw with his fingers, holding him absolutely still. "You're a man. You think you're the only one Buffy's ever crawled all over when she was feeling lost and insecure? Not by a mile."

"You?"

"Yeah, me. In high school. Believe me, I know how hard it is to resist." Xander paused at Spike's belt buckle, lip captured between his teeth. "I also know how you feel like shit after she flounces off, even though you still go on loving her enough to let her come back and do it again the next time she needs to."

Spike swallowed. "Yeah."

"Spike." Xander's thumbs worked against Spike's temples, rubbing slow circles there, drifting down to stroke the clenched-tight knots in Spike's jaw.

"Shouldn't have let her," he said instead. "Not good for her, all of this." Spike made an abortive gesture to indicate the entire world. Because that's what he meant. "She ought to be done here."

"Yeah, and that's more my fault than yours." Xander slid his arms around Spike, pulling the unresisting wet body against him. "So who's the bad man now?"

Spike snorted. "Your only crime's being bloody stupid and loving too much."

"Well, since I'm patching up and comforting my boyfriend after walking in on him with the slayer, maybe. But I'm not the only one who's bloody stupid and loves too much."

"No," Spike admitted, letting Xander strip off his jeans, and then his own clothing before pulling him to his feet and back under the warm shower spray. "It's not her fault," he said quickly, looking up with one wide eye, the other swollen nearly shut, and heedless of the water falling into them.

"Yeah." Xander tilted Spike's head back under the spray, rubbing his hands through the slime of wet hair gel until Spike's curls began to emerge again, tickling his palms. "I know."

"How can you do this?" This time, Spike indicated himself, Xander, Xander's hands washing the grime of a frenzied cemetery rut from his skin.

"Like you said, I love stupidly."

"That's not what I said."

Xander didn't bother to answer with words, just poured more shampoo, pulled Spike to lean back against him, and worked the bubbles into his scalp. Because sometimes even Xander ran out of things to say that he couldn't say better with his hands on Spike's wet body and the rich, earthy scent of sandalwood shampoo.