Xander woke to the sound of a key in the first of the locks. He turned his head to focus in on the alarm clock that now lived on the three-legged coffee table. He made out a little red three, a little red four, and a little red seven. Christ, he didn't even want to know how Spike managed to keep himself busy until 3:47 on a Tuesday night/Wednesday morning.

Having no wish to make eye- or any other kind of contact with Spike, Xander rolled over to face the back of the couch and waited for the clicks of the other two locks and the gentle creak of the door.

They didn't come.

Xander listened harder. The door still didn't open, but he could make out the faint sound of voices. Then came the not-so-faint sound of something - or someone - hitting the wall.

Xander scrambled off the couch and looked around for a blunt instrument. Any self-respecting male would have a baseball bat lying around. Unless, of course, he was a self-respecting gay male who couldn't even be bothered to watch baseball on TV. Xander thought he might have an old basketball in the closet in the bedroom, but was having a hard time picturing a partially deflated sphere of orange rubber serving as an effective weapon.

His eyes settled on a screwdriver lying on the kitchen counter. That would have to do. He picked it up, quietly unlocked the remaining deadbolts, swung open the door - then leapt back as Spike fell through it on the wrong end of a punch that looked like it hurt.

Xander looked up at the doorway and found out just how inadequate a screwdriver looked as a weapon when confronted with a guy built like a wall.

A really solid wall.

Xander swallowed, aware of Spike scrambling to his feet and getting up behind him.

"Can Spike come out and play?"

Xander watched one big hand flex against the other and suppressed a shudder, stepped into the door frame and filled it as much as he could - which wasn't much compared to this guy.

"Fuck off Angel!"

*Of course Spike knows all the scary bruisers.* But Spike's voice also sounded wet - wet in a bad way that meant blood and trips to the emergency room and - "You know what? This is private property, so how about you take a hike?" *Hello, spine! I've missed you but you picked one hell of a time to come back.*

"This is between me and that little thief."

"All that's between you and Spike right now is me. And I've got nothing to lose by calling the cops." Dark eyes flashed the moment Xander said the C word and he really hoped this guy still had something to lose. The threat always sounded a lot more threatening when it came from Faith. Which really didn't do Xander's manliness any favors. "Do you?"

"This isn't over, Spike."

Another wet snort from Spike. Angel's teeth grinding until Xander could hear them - and that probably meant that Spike had done something obscene.

Spike had a lot of obscene gestures to choose from.

"Make it over, guy. Private property, remember. Ten minutes." He shut the door - quickly - and leaned his head on it, trying not to shake so damn much.

After a few steadying breaths, which really weren't all that steady, Xander turned to face Spike.

Spike lifted his eyes to Xander's. "Ta, mate."

Xander just stared at Spike. Spike had been worked over. Hard, judging by the sound of his voice, the swelling of his cheek, and the way he barely seemed to be holding himself upright. Spike looked like hell warmed over... and Xander didn't give a damn.

Really.

Xander advanced on him, slowly. "What. the. fu - "

Xander brought himself up short when realized he was still holding the screwdriver and was feeling the strong urge to drive it into Spike's chest. He changed direction and carefully set it down on the kitchen counter where it could do no permanent damage. As he swung back around, his eyes passed over the bedroom door. The door behind which Will was - hopefully - still sleeping.

Without a word, Xander crossed to the front door and opened it just enough to stick his head out and look both ways down the hall. Satisfied that Mt. Angel had taken off, Xander crossed the distance between the door and Spike in three long strides, grabbed Spike by the duster, and yanked him out into the hall. With great care, he closed the front door quietly behind them... then threw Spike up against the wall.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Spike drew himself up and glared at Xander. "Back off."

Xander stepped forward. "The hell I will. We went over this, damn it. I'm trying to save your brother's life here. I got your asses off the streets and all I asked from you was one. damn. thing."

"Bloody hell, listen. I - "

"No, you listen. I didn't ask you what you do for money. I didn't even ask you to stop doing it. All I asked was that you not bring it back here, so that I wouldn't get kicked out of my apartment. The apartment that I'm letting you stay in. You would think that my not getting kicked out would be a goal you could get behind."

"Not like I invited Angel here," Spike muttered. "Didn't know he was following me, did I?"

Spike shoved at Xander's chest, but Xander didn't budge.

"You didn't know? Oh, okay, well that will make a big difference when he comes back and knifes us in our sleep."

Spike sighed. "Angel's not going to knife us. He's my mate."

"Oh, right, of course. He's your mate. And do all your mates beat the shit out of you?" Xander paused. "You know what? Don't even bother to answer that."

Xander saw his hand - like it belonged to someone else - reach out to push Spike's hair away from the worst bruise on his cheek. Watched Spike not flinch and didn't think too hard about why he didn't want to hear the answer to that question.

They were both still breathing hard but only Spike was leaning on the wall like it and Xander's hands on him were the only things holding him upright. "Done shouting?" Spike didn't lift his eyes above Xander's chin and Xander could see him swallow - grimace - and wondered if Spike was swallowing blood.

"Yeah, I'm done shouting." Xander shoved the door open, hauling Spike back inside. "For now. Sit."

Spike fell into a kitchen chair with a clatter and Xander snorted. "Or that." He dumped ice into a dish towel and smacked it against Spike's face.

"Ow! Fuck!" Spike flinched back and kicked out at Xander, missed and ended up pinned to the chair by Xander's body, Xander's face inches from his.

"I said sit. And stay still."

Spike tried to shift Xander loose. Failed. "Bugger that. 'M not a bloody terrier."

Hard breathing, quiet creaks from the chair that wasn't going to support them both for long. Spike glaring at Xander through one good eye, the other swollen beyond recognition.

And Xander's hand touching the blood on Spike's bottom lip with an edge of the towel, dabbing with shaky concentration.

"Why do you do this to yourself?"

"Don't have to explain myself to you."

Xander released a short sigh. "And why do you have to be so damn stubborn?"

But Xander's actions didn't match his tone - he brushed Spike's hair away from his forehead with one hand while he dabbed at a cut there with the towel in the other - and Spike just shrugged and smiled slightly. "Habit, I guess."

And the half smile was as charming as it should have been infuriating and Xander shook his head.

"Shut up," he said softly. And then Spike was opening his mouth and Xander didn't want to hear it, so he just covered that mouth with his own.

Which was a bad thing but, at that moment, no way could Xander have said why or wanted to stop.

Because Spike's lips were hot and slick and tasted like pennies and his tongue knew damn sure what it wanted.

Xander jerked back, panting. "Why do you have to be such an asshole?" But he didn't resist when Spike yanked him down and invaded his mouth with hot tongue, the hard clash of teeth nothing like sweet kisses. Nothing like anything but that not-William kiss behind the fast food place. Xander groaned and surged forward, electric jolt of contact through worn jeans and faded flannel.

This time, it was Spike who jolted back. "If I'm an asshole, why're you - ?"

Xander cut him off again - split his aching lip with the kiss. Hands, hands wandering - grabbing - all in absolute silence but for the creak of the chair and harsh breath, click of teeth and the pounding of two hearts. "You're so selfish. What the fuck is William supposed to do if you get yourself killed?"

"Ride off into the sunset with his shiny white knight, won't he? Don't pretend you wouldn't be happy if I was gone."

"Don't fucking play me with your 'poor unwanted Spike' routine." Xander leaned back and ripped at the buttons of Spike's shirt as he spoke, sliding it off Spike's shoulders along with the duster so he could better see the damage to Spike - trapping Spike's arms. As Spike pulled his arms free, an envelope fell from the inside pocket of the duster and hit the floor, spilling its contents - a hell of a lot of cash.

Xander froze and stared. "Holy shit! You stole that from Angel?"

"Don't steal." At Xander's hard look, Spike revised. "Been known to help myself to the occasional retail item, sure. But I don't steal from people. I earned that money, and Angel bloody well knows it."

"Right, so you what? Did his taxes?" Xander couldn't keep from darting glances down at the money as he pulled the tee shirt from Spike's pants and slid it upward, running his fingers over harsh purpling bruises.

Spike flinched. "Where do you get off? How the bloody hell were you expecting us to eat this month? Minimum wage at your shite job isn't gonna cut it."

"Has it ever even occurred to you to get a real job? Something you - and Will - can actually depend on?"

Spike hands came up to grip Xander's arms, as if to push Xander away. But he didn't push, just held, tight enough that he would probably be leaving Xander with some bruises of his own.

"Fuck you. You don't know what it's like."

"Don't I?"

"Pasty lout like you?" Spike glared up at Xander, chest heaving and Xander stared at it for the first time. Mottled purple and blue, red and searing salmon pink splashed and splattered across his torso like insane-o water colors, and a boot print on his ribs.

Xander wished he didn't know what kind of bruise a boot left. He wished he didn't know that the print was left by someone stomping on Spike when he was down.

"I was kicked out for being a fag when I was sixteen. Two years on the streets and in shelters when they had room. Got this place when I turned eighteen." His fingers swept over Spike's skin, traced the yellowed edges of the bruise and flattened when Spike hissed with pain.

"Yeah." He took a slow deep breath, slid his gaze upwards from Spike's chest to his downturned eyes which were...too close. Xander turned his face away and licked his lips. "I know what it's like."

And the words ran out there. Xander had nothing more to say and Spike had no response and Xander didn't expect one. Because they weren't friends and this wasn't a heart-to-heart. It was more like an understanding. And maybe an agreement.

The kind of deal you'd seal with a handshake or maybe a macho slap on the arm. Or possibly a manly butt pat, if you were in a locker room.

Or, if it was past four a.m., and you were in a dark apartment on a kitchen chair, straddling a tough, vulnerable, stubborn guy, who you would probably be taking to the emergency room if you could afford it - or if you even thought he would go... Well, if you were in that situation, then maybe you sealed it with a kiss.

Maybe you didn't even think about who started it and what it meant. Maybe you just let it happen, let it go on and on because one or both of you needed it too much to question.

And maybe you gave yourself over to it so completely that you didn't even notice that you were being watched.