"God, it feels good to get out of the apartment. I mean, Will? With the mothering? Cute, but scary. Do you realize that I've been back at work for a week and this is the first time he's let me stay up past eleven? It's 11:08 and I'm in a bar and not in bed and I'm giddy with the freedom. Giddy, I tell you. Barkeep! Two of your finest two-dollar draft specials."

Spike rolled his eyes, said nothing, just took the beers and waited for Xander to pay the bartender. Come to think of it, Spike hadn't said much on the way to the bar either, but then the newly liberated Xander had been chatty enough for two, possibly four. They wove through the crowd to an empty table and sat down. Spike handed Xander his beer, cocked his head and finally opened his mouth to speak. Xander prepared himself for the snark, the friendly insult, the wittty repartee...

"Will was right, you know. You needed rest," Spike said to his beer.

Xander did a double take. "Hey now! None of that. You're supposed to be the wild, impulsive, devil-may-care twin. I signed up for a night of drinking and debauchery here. As did the other patrons of this rough and rowdy establishment." Xander gestured to the people around them, then pinned the somber Spike with a mock-serious stare. "I need to know right now, Spike. Either you're with us or you're against us."

Xander waited, gaze unwavering, pint glass aloft. Spike tried hard for superior and aloof, Xander could tell. But he only managed to maintain his haughty, you're a silly git look for about five seconds before a snort broke through. The corners of his mouth twitched upward as he shook his head, then reached out to tap his glass against Xander's. "God bless America."

Each downed half his beer in one long gulp.

By the fourth round, they'd switched to cheaper specials and were racking up their third game of pool. Xander had gone from giddy to grabby. Not that Spike minded Xander's hand on his arse, but it was buggering his concentration. A fact of which he suspected Xander was well aware.

"Stay back, you bloody cheater," Spike warned and he lined up to break. He glanced across the table at Xander, who was giving him puppy eyes. Spike laughed in spite of himself. "Don't give me those innocent puppy eyes. You know bloody well what you're doing."

Xander laughed, too, and stood back while Spike took his shot, then rounded the table to pull Spike in for a kiss, but a familiar voice stopped them short.

"Spike, you son of a bitch. Where the fuck have you been hiding?"

Angel.

Xander didn't know what a hackle was, but if he had hackles, they were rising. Risen. Riz. And he'd taken a protective half step in front of Spike - because apparently beer made him grossly stupid that way - and was staring up at Mt. Angel. "Where he belongs. And doesn't have to hide. And by the way, this is a private game of pool, so you can fuck off."

And when would Xander's mouth get the memo from the rest of his body that taunting big scary guys was not in their joint best interests? He wasn't sure if he was relieved or insulted when Angel ignored him completely and leaned against the pool table to talk to Spike. "So when're you gonna introduce me to your new friend?"

"Not tonight, mate." Spike was looking at the pool table, at two empty beer bottles, anywhere in fact but at Angel or Xander. "C'mon, pet."

But Xander didn't budge; he ignored the smart little part of his brain that had written 'fight or flight' on a little mental dry erase board and was circling 'flight' and drawing lots of arrows pointing to it.

"No. Why should we leave? He's the one who beat you up." And while the smart part of Xander's brain felt that he'd just answered his own question, the beer-buzzed part was in control and it felt righteous and indignant. It poked Mt. Angel in the chest.

A hand - a big hand - came out of nowhere and grabbed his and Xander suspected that if he ever got his stupid finger-poking hand back, it would be in several pieces. But the big hand didn't crush, just held.

"I didn't beat Spike up."

"Yeah," Spike agreed, "he only wishes he could."

"I could. I didn't." Angel - a mountain of few words.

Spike sighed. "He didn't beat me up, pet. Now let's go. Angel, give him back his hand."

Angel released Xander's hand and Xander wiggled his fingers, trying to regain circulation. He knew he should quit while he was ahead, in full possession of all his appendages, but...

"Spike, I saw him punch you."

"He did punch me."

Angel nodded. "I did punch him."

"Wasn't his best work," Spike confided to Xander. Spike looked at Angel. "Your weight wasn't centered and you pulled to the left."

"I'm more than happy to try again."

"Yeah, well you're too late for that." And where the hell was that carrier pigeon Xander's brain had sent with that urgent message for his mouth to shut up? "He doesn't do that shit anymore."

"I wonder why not." Was it Xander's imagination or did Angel look interested in any answer he might give?

He never had a chance to find out because Spike was bundling him into his coat and handing over their game of pool to the next guys in line and hey - "Hey!"

Spike ignored Xander and faced off against Angel - and wow, how did Spike manage to glare Angel in the eye from way down there? "Angel - piss off like a good lad, yeah?"

Angel just shrugged. "Whatever, Spike. If you get bored with playing house, you know where to find me."

For a tense moment, Xander thought Spike might not let that one go, but then he was being turned and ushered out of the bar and into the night.

They didn't talk at first, just walked through the quiet streets and breathed in the fresh air, letting it clear their heads, each lost in his own thoughts.

"There's a fine line between brave and stupid, you know," Spike said at last.

"It's not that fine. And I'm well aware of which side I was on, thanks."

They walked on.

"I don't need you to protect me. Can bloody well take care of myself."

Xander sighed. "I know."

"Sure you know which side you fell on back there?" Spike asked after another half block of silence.

"Stupid," Xander said immediately and let Spike steer him around a hole in the sidewalk.

"Got that fuckin' right."

"Hey, Spike. Where's your apron?"

"Fuck you, tosser." Spike took the pool cue from Angel and lined up his shot. "Boy's been ill - shouldn't stay out all night."

"What'd you do? Drop him off at the babysitter?" Angel lifted his pint to his lips, only to have his arm arrested by Spike's angry grip.

"You want I should ram this cue up your arse?" Spike shook the cue at Angel. "Xander's off limits, mate."

"What about William? He still off limits?" Angel drained his beer and set the empty on a passing tray, flagging the waitress for two more.

"Him too." Spike took his shot, sank the eight ball. "Fuck."

Angel laughed loudly enough to turn heads. "You suck at this game."

Spike scowled. "Like you're any better."

"I'm much better," Angel boasted in a tone that suggested he'd had one too many. He picked up the cue ball and set it down to take aim at one of the balls remaining on the table. The angle was off and the ball hit the side of the table a couple of inches to the left of the corner pocket.

Spike snorted. "Yeah, you're much better."

"Says the guy who just sunk the eight ball."

Spike popped some quarters into the slot and released the balls. "Shut up and rack 'em up, wanker."

"So," Angel asked as he filled the triangle, "anything new in your life that we can talk about?"

Before Spike could answer, a pair of what had to be slumming frat boys approached. "Mind if we join your game?"

Spike and Angel looked at each other and shrugged. "Why not?" they said in unison.

Spike and Angel lost the first two games. By a lot. But the more they drank, the cockier they seemed to get. And when the frat boys suggested they 'make things interesting,' Spike and Angel didn't hesitate to pool their money and lay it on the table. After that, their technique improved significantly.

Three games later the frat boys slunk away in well-dressed defeat and Spike ashed into an empty beer mug as he counted the money, dividing it into two neat piles and mumbling to himself around his cigarette.

"Just like old times." Angel toasted Spike with his bottle and drained it.

Spike snorted and handed over Angel's half of the pile. "Old times - a couple of weeks ago?"

"Over a month," Angel corrected. He made the money disappear into his coat.

"Yeah well - cheers, mate." Spike raised his money then tucked it away. "Needed the dosh."

Spike smoked in silence, watched Angel from the corner of his eye as Angel got himself another beer. William would be worried at Spike staying out so late, but buggered if he'd admit to Angel what a domesticated ponce he was becoming.

"About the money, Spike..."

"What? You got your fair half - "

"It's not that. It's - " Angel sighed, folded his arms, stuffed his hands into his pockets, took his hands out of his pockets, started to fiddle with his hair then gave up and dropped his arms, standing awkwardly. "Look, do you need money?"

Spike thought of his conversation with Will when Xander had been sick. "Angel..."

Angel smiled that 'trust me' smile that never failed to get him into beds and out of courts. "'Cause I've got this friend..."