Square 2: In which things continue
 

Spike managed a kind of half-doze for the drive to Xander's house. The truck purred along, solid and comforting around him and he closed his eyes and breathed in the scents of Xander and of leather and let it calm him. His shivers were strong enough to cramp the muscles in his belly and thighs and he tried to distract himself - to think of anything but the burning, aching pain that simply would not leave him be. That threatened to drag him back into that maelstrom of memory and emotion that had brought the past back to him with a vengeance.

He was conscious, in a dazed sort of way, of Xander's hand resting feather-light on his - of Xander's voice rising and falling, telling him nonsensical thing. Anecdotes from his job, what they were doing - the things they'd found. Nothing Xander had recognized, so far.

"Just you, Spike. You're the only thing from...before," Xander said quietly, and Spike couldn't help the snort of weak laughter.

"Not how I planned it, Harris. Was just gonna...see. Then..." He didn't finish that - it was obvious what had happened. As they pulled into a short driveway and Xander hit the button on a remote clipped to his visor, Spike managed to turn his head - look over at the man who had once more lapsed into silence. Lines of weariness visible in the low light coming from the opening garage door. Lines of pain, and doubt. The remaining eye liquid with some emotion that Spike could not, just then, decipher.

"You didn't know I was alive, did you, mate," he said softly, not a question and Xander took a deep breath - and then sighed, letting it out. He let the truck roll forward into the garage and pushed the button again, shutting them in. Then he put the truck in park and turned it off. His hand went up, to touch lightly at the little leather pouch Spike knew was beneath his shirt.

"No. Nobody - told me. I didn't know, Spike," he said finally, and Spike just nodded, closing his eyes again - surrendering to the exhaustion and the whirling black that was held at bay by sheer force of will.

"S'all right, mate. Neither did I."

"You knew before I did," Xander said, feeling sticks and bones shift under his fingertips; a faint memory of twigs snapping in the night and the scent of old, old earth. "It's not like I was anywhere with telephones."

He pushed those thoughts aside, where they belonged. *Because that way lies madness.*

Xander gave Spike's hand a pat, then pulled away. He could feel Spike's eyes on him as he unbuckled his seatbelt and slid from the truck, circling around to the passenger side and opening the cab door. It felt like he should say something - make some kind of quip or offer some kind of reassurance to Spike that Xander didn't mind being out of the Scooby loop. But there wasn't one to give, and if he'd learned one thing in Africa, it was silence.

He still felt as if he should give something as he slipped Spike's arm around his shoulders and eased him out of the cab, so he went with simple honesty. "But I'm glad you are. Alive."

*I'm not sure I am, right now,* Spike thought, but he didn't say that out loud. He flinched when his bare feet hit the cold cement floor and Xander's arm tightened around his ribs on reflex and he couldn't stifle that flinch either.

"Sorry! Fuck -" Xander made a move as if to let him go and Spike gripped his shoulder as hard as he could.

"Just get me in, yeah? Just - I'm okay."

"Okay," Xander said, subdued, and they made their way in increments up a couple of steps and into the main house, Xander's unhesitating "Come in, Spike," a pleasant little jolt.

Spike's first impression was colorless, featureless white and for one awful moment he was slapped, reeling, straight back to the Initiative and the cell and the labs. But then his gaze, flicking madly over the room settled on a bright smear of color and he felt himself relax. A brilliantly yellow coffee cup was in the dish-drainer along with one striped in green and blue. There was a bowl in terra-cotta with bright red and green chili peppers painted around the rim, and a plate with an abstract geometric design: yellow and red and blue on green.

*Xander's house, this is Xander's house, not... Fuck's sake, get a grip!*

They inched across the cold tiles and onto stiffish beige carpet and for a moment Xander wavered.

"Let's just - go straight into the bath, yeah? Don't want to have to sit down and get back up," Spike muttered, coherent enough finally to start hating his helplessness. Xander made a sort of agreeing kind of noise and steered him across a blank expanse of beige and white and white - dining area with sliding glass doors and no table, living room with a squashy, comfortable looking couch in a worn cocoa color. But the walls were bare - the floors were except for the dull carpet and Spike couldn't believe that the man who'd paired lime green with puce and sky-blue would live in such a total visual negative.

"Need some pillows or somethin', mate," he said before he thought, and felt a slow grin creasing his face as Xander froze for one second under his arm and then shuddered in the grip of poorly suppressed laughter.

"I'll get right on that, Martha," Xander said, and steered him gently toward the bathroom.

Spike snorted, muttering to himself, and Xander felt the worry lift a little more at Spike acting more like... Spike.

Xander spared a glance for the rumpled sanctuary of his bed and made a note to change the sheets while Spike was in the bath too, adding it to his mental "Care and Feeding of Vampires For Dummies" list.

He eased Spike down on top of the toilet lid and leaned over to turn on the tap of the big oval tub, hesitating over whether he should add anything else to the water before abandoning that idea in favor of pure hot water to quell the shivers that only seemed to be getting worse. "Hot?"

Spike twitched, as if startled out of something by the word, then nodded. "Hot."

"One boiled vamp coming up." Xander turned the heat up until the water ran hot enough to steam the air, still expecting Spike to make a sarcastic comment about the oversized tub that took up roughly the space of his entire bathroom in the old apartment. "No snark for the girly bath?"

"Mate, you can leave me in there and come back next week if the water stays hot." Spike struggled to sit upright, shaking hands plucking at the cuffs of his shirt without the coordination to do more than get himself tangled, shirt half way down his arms.

And it shouldn't have come so naturally to Xander to scoot forward and ease the shirt off Spike's arms, or open his belt buckle and buttons when Spike's fingers shook too badly to keep a grip.

It made him...remember. Africa.

That feeling of helplessness with the dying, when all you could do is what they can't for themselves, and try to make them comfortable, too many times.

Except that Spike wasn't dying. Because he was already dead. And when had that become a good thing?

"Harris." Spike's hand brushed the left side of Xander's face, startling him and making them both flinch at the contact. "Y'see something you like?"

Xander blinked slowly and felt a light flush spread up his neck as he realized he'd opened Spike's jeans and then... stopped. "Sorry. Here. Lean on me and stand up." The sooner Spike's jeans were off, the sooner Xander could help him into the steaming tub. He'd already caught Spike looking at the rising water with longing, even through the winces when the work-roughened skin of Xander's palms brushed over his thighs.

Spike wobbled when Xander pulled his jeans off over his feet, gripping Xander's shoulder painfully to remain upright, and drawing air through his teeth when Xander put a hand to his hip to steady him.

"God." Utter disgust colored the word, and Xander found himself looking up at Spike, really looking this time.

Even with the dimmer switch turned down low Spike looked like hell, his skin an unhealthy gray over protruding bones and those three blackened slashes that swam like spots before Xander's eye when he looked away and stood up, holding out steadying hands to Spike to help him across the tiles and into the tub.

When Spike's right leg sank into the water he drew breath with a sharp hiss and Xander froze. "Too hot?"

"God, no. It's bloody perfect." A violent tremor ran through Spike's body, and he sank into the water with a groan that ended in bubbles as he slipped beneath the surface, an expression between pain and bliss on his face as his eyes fluttered closed.

Xander leaned forward and snapped off the water before it could overflow, watching Spike become utterly still beneath the surface. "Spike? Um. If you can hear me, I've gotta get my things out of the truck. I'll come back." Xander really hoped that was a nod, and not another spasm or Spike wanting to feel the water currents around his hair, which was beginning to unfurl and spread like seaweed.

*Who'd have thought? Harris with a setup like this.* Spike ignored the 'laying on a bed of dull nails' feeling all along the back of his body in favor of the absolutely delicious feeling of heat soaking into his skin and bones. His hearing was dulled by the water - his arms nearly floated and the warmth was everywhere. This was as close to bliss as he'd been in...a long time. Since he'd kicked Angel's ass, actually. But this was better. The shivers were easing off, his muscles were un-kinking, and he could feel his itchy, unkempt hair gradually giving way and untangling as the water floated the strands to and fro.

He hadn't been kidding when he's said leave him there for a week. Just let him rest, just let him soak in this heat for a while and he was sure - *Pretty sure...* he'd start feeling just...fine. He tentatively let his hands drift around to his belly - touched the scars. Little lightning bolts of pain - like pressing a handful of needles into his skin - juddered out from the tips of his fingers, flashing through the scars and getting worse when his body tightened instinctively.

*Fuck. Maybe take a little longer...* But it didn't matter. He was warm and he was...he was safe. Not the word he generally associated with Harris, but for some reason it just felt right.

*He's changed. Plays things a bit closer to the vest, now. And on the site - he was the one in charge. Got himself a spine, he does, and his own life here...* Dimly through the water - more vibration than anything - Spike was aware of Xander walking through the house - shutting a door. *Didn't know I was alive which means Andrew kept his silly mouth shut. Imagine that. Or...nobody told him. Maybe they pushed him out of the loop. Sent him off to bloody Africa, and what the fuck was he doing there?*

Spike felt himself frowning and shook his head slowly, enjoying the drifting sensation and the feel of his hair waving gently around his head. The past year - everything that had happened - seemed to be drifting, too; settling out of his mind like silt to the bottom of a glass. He knew it wouldn't last - his own tendencies to push and stir and pick at things wouldn't leave that mess undisturbed for long. But for now - just for the moment - he was at peace.

*Via Xander Harris and his bloody great bath and his...caring. The Hellmouth's got a lot to answer for.*




Xander paused only long enough in his bedroom to ditch his flannel shirt and wifebeater, pulling on the softest old pullover he owned, something that wouldn't hurt Spike's skin if he had to carry him again. The week's trail of clothes and Big Wet Towels were still in his Thursday morning Meant-To-Do-Laundry heap against the living-room wall. Marinating in stink and evolving new life forms and possibly intelligent colonies.

And since, at this point, Xander's choices were to wash them or burn them - and since burning them might require explanations to the local EPA or ASPCA, he held his breath and gathered the ripe pile into his arms. Hauling it to the washing machine, he crammed it all into one load and slammed the lid with relief. Spike must've been more out of it than he thought not to smell them. Funny how laundry never stank until a guy had company.

After a quick sniff check, Xander deemed his pullover still acceptably spring fresh and made his way back to the garage and into the back seat of the pickup, hauling the cooler out from under its blanket.

He knew he should probably feel guiltier about stealing blood from the on-site paramedics, but the way he figured it, the blood was for people injured on site. Technically, Spike was a person injured on site.

And it'd just go to waste anyway.

He hoped.

And he really hoped that Alicia wouldn't notice the shortage until it was too late for her to pin it on him.

Xander loaded the extra blood into the fridge and the last packet into a mug and the microwave on autopilot, then leaned back on the counter and closed his eye, finally allowing himself the space to think.

Five hours ago, his life was still on course for normal; bits and pieces of his old life dropping neatly, competently, back into place. Sure, he was back on the Hellmouth and digging up corpses, but paid a regular salary for it with all the benefits and a crew of guys he'd known since -

God, since he and Anya had still been fumbling toward whatever it was they'd had.

But that was part of him. He'd grown up on the Hellmouth for sixteen years before he'd even heard of a Slayer. It was home.

Normal. The way cold London skies and colder Watchers weren't.

But now, his life included a mysteriously ill vampire soaking in his bath tub, a mug of stolen blood in the microwave, and the scent of church dust and incense lingering on the air.

And it still felt normal. Somehow more normal than it had before, as if one more of the missing pieces of his life had been found.

Xander wasn't sure yet how he felt about that.

The microwave dinged, and Xander popped the door, taking the mug and feeling the side against his wrist, grinning in spite of himself. *And another perfect 98.6 degrees for the Xand-man! I have not lost the touch.*

He kept a close eye on the blood as he headed back through the house to the bathroom, and for the first time spared a moment to wonder what the hell the interior designers had been thinking when they'd set up this development with pale beige carpeting.

*Homes built to last, my ass.* But he couldn't complain. The home loan had been part of the contract, part of the deal, part of the lure back to Sunnydale and for monthly payments that low and a promise of steady work he knew he could do, Xander figured he would have moved just about anywhere in the free world.

Even if he did owe his soul to the company store.

*Heh.*

He was still humming '16 Tons' under his breath when he bumped the bathroom door open and waved the mug of blood over the tub. Could vampires smell plasma through water? "Hey, not-so-evil dead. Tub-side service has arrived."

The vibrations were getting closer and Spike slowly collected himself, getting his mind out of the unproductive speculation of 'how' and 'why' and into 'here' and 'now'. It was where he was most comfortable, anyway. He knew when Xander came into the bathroom again and then he heard the muffled words, the questioning inflection and opened his eyes.

Xander was standing over the tub with a bright red mug in his hand. Spike, Leviathan-like, rose, and the scent of warm human blood flooded him as he took a breath to speak.

"Drinkin' blood from a cup in a bathtub. History does repeat itself." He couldn't help saying it, and was rewarded by a flashing grin from Xander.

"No chains, though. And no bendy straw although -" Xander's gaze went a little distracted. "I probably have some bendy straws. I mean, what household doesn't?"

"Angel never had bendy straws. The git," Spike added, trying to settle into something approaching comfortable so he could drink.

"Oh, wait -" Xander carefully put the mug on the rim of the tub and opened a cabinet on the opposite wall. A stack of towels was revealed - a mix-and-match affair of solid blues and striped greens and patterned reds and yellows and oranges that looked as if he'd simply chosen one from each stack. The lower shelf was empty and for the first time Spike noticed a crumpled purple and black towel in the corner behind the door. Xander rooted out a red towel with yellow stripes, looked at it for a moment and then shrugged.

"Guess some things haven't changed," Spike muttered, and there was that grin again, flashing out, happy smile that crinkled up the skin around Xander's eye and made him look about ten years younger.

"Don't mock the Big Fluffy Towel, Spike," Xander said, the capitals obvious. "You will come to love and cherish them just as I do."

*Will I? Maybe I will,* Spike thought, aware of what that statement implied. That he'd be there for a while. He wondered if Xander was aware. He didn't seem to be. He was tucking the folded towel behind Spike and holding it as Spike eased back, making sure it was in the right position to cushion his spine from the hard side of the tub.

"And dinner is served." Xander handed the cup over with a flourish and Spike took it carefully in both hands, his grip weak and his wrists trembling a little. He lifted it and just drank, knowing he had changed but not really caring.

*He'll get used to it or he won't,* Spike thought. He was done with being uncomfortable with the demon. Let Angel pretend and hide and take his meals behind closed doors. To hell with that.

"To hell with what?"

Spike blinked, jolted out of his thoughts. The cup was empty and he's apparently spoken out loud. *Have to watch that.* "To hell with pigs and cows, mate." Spike lifted the cup in salute. "Ta very much." The cup slipped and Xander dove for it, grabbing the handle before it hit the water and Spike's hands were just dropping away, limp. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Want some more?" Spike closed his eyes - opened them again, studying the familiar, changed, unchanging face that was so, so close to his own. "Yeah, pet. I do."

Xander lifted his eye to find Spike still inches away, watching him, and suddenly grinned as the pose overlapped and matched another memory. "This is the point in the whole Cinderella and Prince Charming game when I'd run away because girl kisses had cooties."

"Cooties?" Spike's eyebrows arched, the odd stillness between them broken, and Xander sat up straight with a stretch.

"Yeah. I was about five years old." Xander paused, blinked, and then rolled his eye. "Jesus, I miss being able to wink."

Spike's ragged chuckle followed Xander out of the bathroom and the band around his chest eased some - made him believe that the tired Spike wouldn't last. Get more blood in him. More rest.

And find out what the hell was wrong with him.

Dropping the cup bothered him.

Like Spike was tired. And that's something he'd never seen in Spike before. He'd seen Spike beaten. Hell, he'd done the beating once, and that wasn't something he was proud of.

Wasn't something he'd ever been proud of to tell the truth.

But he'd never seen Spike this worn down and wrung out.

This weak.

He didn't like it. Finding Spike in the church had been too much like stumbling on an old animal who'd crawled off to die.

Xander filled the mug absently and drummed his fingers on the counter while it heated. Spike had sounded as if others knew, as if he was surprised that Xander didn't know he was alive. Xander snorted. Big surprise there. What he didn't know could fill Sunnydale Pit these days.

So what was Spike doing all alone?

The microwave dinged and on a whim, Xander riffled through the cabinets and emerged triumphant with a bendy straw but no answers. And there was only one way he was going to get those.



Spike leaned back on the towel, sliding back down a little into the water. *Human blood. That's a change...* Spike felt himself smiling - felt the good, fresh blood curling through him and making him feel... *Not much different. Not different enough. What the fuck is wrong with me?* He hated to admit it, even in the privacy of his own mind, but... He was scared. He'd been scared, which was why he'd gone to ground. There was nothing for him to fight, so he'd gotten away, because showing that you were weak was the worst thing you could do, in his world. And he'd done it before - done it for Buffy - and look how that had turned out. He wasn't willing to do it again.

Except... Except Xander knew. Xander saw his weakness - saw how absolutely wrecked he was. And he was...okay with that. Xander...made him feel safe.

*Prince Charming, indeed. I am not the girl! I really have lost it. Sunnyhell strikes again.* But Spike was still smiling when he heard Xander come back into the bathroom.

Finding Spike still sitting up and smiling, Xander crouched on the floor, elbows on the rim of the tub as he handed over Spike's mug of blood, bendy straw poking jauntily out of it. "Wanna share the joke?"

"I'm not the sodding girl, Harris." Spike snapped before he thought about it, and then he cringed just a little, because the old Xander would be... Well, would never have admitted such a thing. He took the cup carefully and got the straw into his mouth, smirking again.

"Kinda obvious from where I'm sitting." Xander flashed Spike a grin, though he didn't look down. It was like locker room rules. It's there. You just don't stare at it. At least, not where anyone can tell.

"Damn straight," Spike mumbled, around the bright purple straw. The blood was half gone before he looked up again and the odd little smile on Xander's face made him smile back. "Now what? Look like the cat that got the canary, you do."

"Do vampires have locker room rules?"

"Do we have what?" Spike sucked up the last of his blood, pleased at the obscene slurping noise the straw made. "Don't much care for locker rooms - they're always so...moldy. Steam rooms, now..." Spike grinned, remembering, and then had to frown when the cup slipped again, and Xander rescued it again.

*Bloody, buggering, fucking hell...*

Xander let out his breath slowly, feeling the adrenaline burst of the quick save shiver through him and dissipate. God, he didn't want to ask any of this, but if he kept looking at the mug instead of Spike's ravaged skin, it was easier. "Spike, what happened? To you?"

*Well, had to happen...* Spike sighed and shifted a little lower, a shiver going through him. He wished he had the strength to lean up and turn the hot tap on again but he was pretty sure he'd just tip over onto his face. "Where should I start? I'm thinking... You didn't know I was alive, so... You don't really know anything, yeah?"

And okay, that didn't hurt any less than Xander was expecting it to, hearing it out loud. He bought himself time leaning down to the end of the tub to flip the drain, letting the lukewarm water out around Spike's body, watching the gray water level sink lower against the edge. "I know Buffy's in Italy," he said finally, flipping the drain and letting the hot water back in before twisting to look along the length of the tub to Spike. "Because she sent me a few letters about shopping. Dating. Dancing." *And could you sound any less enthusiastic about that, Harris?*

He trailed his fingers in the water, watching them turn pink and Spike's skin not change colors at all. "Dawn goes back and forth between Paris and Italy where she sends me letters about shopping. Dating. Dancing. Once or twice, school. Willow's in Rio, pretending she's in Sao Paulo and sends me letters about -" God, he couldn't even say it. It was just tiring. "- pretty much the same thing. No, I don't really know anything, but I can tell you when the biggest Star Trek convention in London takes place and who won the masquerade."

*Well fuck. Bastards.* That thought was instinctive and it came directly from the spot of white-hot hurt that still lingered from his first few months at Wolfram and Hart. When he'd discovered that not only had Angel not told anyone that he had a soul, but that he'd pretty much told them to forget it and move on.

"Guess they kinda forgot you were there for all the - world-savin' and best-friend-stakin' and...stuff, huh?" The hurt that Xander was trying desperately to conceal made Spike want to kick something. "Been there, pet. Sometimes...they throw the wheat out with the chaff." Xander's fingers stilled in the water and then moved again, making small ripples.

"'Bout...a month or so after -" he waved his hand vaguely in the air, "all this, I just - popped back into existence in the middle of Angel's office. Like - burning up in reverse. Hurt just as much the second time around..." Spike watched Xander's hand, his own making little sympathetic circles down by his hip.

"There was a catch, though. I was a ghost. Couldn't touch anything...couldn't eat or sleep..." That time - that dreadful time - returned in his memory full force and he felt silent, not trusting his voice.

Xander watched Spike trail off and caught his waving hand, folding it carefully between his. And where was the babble? The easy words? He was pretty sure Spike was expecting more from him than a dumb stare at their hands, but for the moment, that was all Xander could offer him.

And he was glad that Spike didn't pull away.

"What'd Angel do?" he asked finally, because he had to say something to release the pressure building up inside, even though he already didn't want to hear the answer. Because he could guess.

Spike couldn't help the sigh that rattled out of his chest, just then, and he curled his fingers around Xander's, holding tight. "Oh, he just...did what he always did. What I always let him do. Reduce me to my...lowest common denominator. It's always fight or fuck, with him, and he hasn't bent over for it for a couple hundred years, so it's fight." He felt the little jolt go through Xander at that and risked a glance up, but there wasn't condemnation in Xander's gaze, just surprise.

"He just made it very clear that what I did - my soul - didn't measure up. Made sure they knew it, and made sure they didn't..." Spike shook his head, not wanting to finish that. "I got to kick his ass, though. Right after I got my body back. Was bloody brilliant."

Xander felt a savage sort of joy rip through his chest at that and let out a chuckle straight from Africa that wasn't at all nice, or entirely about being a human construction worker. "Good. Saved me the trouble of hunting him down and doing it for you."

"Why, Xander Harris," Spike drawled, thrilling to the dark little snicker. "You are the evil little human, aren't you?" Spike can't help but grin back, flashing a bit of fang because that was the one thing that he and Xander had agreed on, early and always. Angel was a git.

"He got turned into a puppet, you know," Spike said, knowing Xander would love that - hoping to get that little flash of darkness out of him again - or that grin. Either would do.

Xander felt that laugh bubble up from somewhere primal, choking on the words before he was able to shape them into speech. "A what"

"Puppet," Spike enunciated, making a puppet motion with his hand.

The laughter crawled its way down into a fitful giggle that shook Xander's shoulders, and he peered up at Spike through his lashes. "God, tell me he was cute and cuddly."

"Oh, he was adorable. He was a wee puppet," Spike measured with his free hand, "with a caveman forehead and these fuzzy eyebrows... An' his girlfriend was down in the basement havin' her monthly howl at the moon and she ripped his stuffing out!" Spike giggled, he couldn't help it. "He bribed me with a car so I'd pretend he kicked my ass when I laughed at him."

"Like anybody'd believe you got your ass kicked by a puppet." Xander snickered, reluctantly letting go of Spike's hand so he could settle more comfortably on the floor before his knees gave out entirely. He laid his cheek on one arm, letting his fingertips dangle in the warm bath water, and watched Spike through a screen of hair. "So what about the other time you kicked his sorry undead ass - and Angel's who was having her what?"

Spike rolled his eyes and slid an inch lower, letting his hand bob up next to Xander's and touch - take hold. It felt good.

Xander glanced up at the touch, startled, and curled his fingers around Spike's.

"Nina. Silly bint he 'saved'. She got bit, turned into a werewolf and he did his Batvamp impression all over her. Next thing you know they're shaggin' each other seven ways from Sunday. Kept him occupied, at least." Spike flexed his hand in Xander's, watching the laughter dance in his eye. "She used to come to the building there so she could get locked up. He got a little too close and - stuffing everywhere! Took the stubborn bastard half the night to stitch his innards back in."

"God forbid he ask for help, huh?" Xander opened his fingers, letting Spike's slip between them to a more comfortable hold for both of them, part of him wondering how long it'd been since he last had that kind of simple..touch. "Why did you stay with him?" There was no rancor in the question, no accusation. How could Xander accuse when he'd stayed with someone equally stubborn for so much longer than just a year?

Spike shrugged, worming their hands closer, glad, so very glad that Xander didn't seem to mind. It hurt, that pressure of knuckle and bone on his skin but he didn't care. He'd take it, and not let Xander see a single flinch. His shivers had eased a bit, at least, even if the scars still felt like acid thorns clawed deep into his body - even if he was still so weak.

"Didn't have any place else to go. I figured something out, when I was burnin' up in the fuckin' Hellmouth. I didn't do it for Buffy and I didn't do it for - for apple pie and America and freckle-faced kids. I did it for me. I did it to prove...I was as good as anybody." Spike lifted his other hand and ran it over his face, slicking his hair back clumsily. It was longer than it ever had been, curling down onto his forehead and he wasn't used to it yet.

"And when I...did it... When I followed through... I knew I didn't love Buffy anymore. Didn't love - anybody, anymore. And you know me - love's bitch." He tried a small smile to lighten his words because Xander was biting his lip and his hand was tightening down in sympathy.

"I'm just not happy when I don't have somebody around to stalk. 'Sides, the office had all these cars, an' free blood... I could go out and fight, or fuck, or drink... Wasn't so bad."

Spike's hand shook so badly yet that Xander uncurled an arm, reached out to brush his hair out of his eyes for him, then folded his arm back under his cheek. He wished he could do more; say something clever or even just agree, but it was all a jumble in his head of egos, champions, special people getting special treatment, and then...Spike. Saving the world and getting...that.

And it made him remember what it was like, putting yourself between the world and its end because that's the only thing to do, and what it was like to go down fighting and wake up to find yourself an uncomfortable inconvenience. "Did anyone ever thank you? For saving the world?"

Another shrug, and Spike wondered when he'd started channeling a twelve-year-old. "Don't need 'thanks', pet. Thanks is...the polite thing to do, you know? Just...want some respect, is all. Just...respect." Spike shivered violently all over suddenly, the water having gone tepid again. He looked down at the grayish film that floated on its surface and grimaced.

Xander felt the shudder all the way to the bones of Spike's hand twined with his, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, letting go to lean forward and drain the water out of the tub. "Thanks is respect, Spike. It means someone respected what you did enough to do polite." He snatched the nearest towel and waited until the water drained down enough to keep the ends from getting soggy and wrapped it around Spike for what warmth it offered.

Another violent shudder from Spike broke the quiet between them and Xander held the towel around Spike until trembling hands came up to hold it closed on their own. He gave Spike a grin. "Me, I respect you enough to tell you that you are not getting into my nice clean bed without a shower. It's warm. It's steamy. It's soapy. It's the latest craze and all the cool kids are doing it."

"I've always been one of the cool kids," Spike agreed, getting his legs under him and trying to push himself to his feet. His knees weren't doing a very good job of it, though, and he leaned against the edge of the tub, panting a little. Seeing frustration and sympathy in Xander's gaze but not pity, and thank Christ for that.

Xander bit his lip. How do you offer a guy help with something as simple as a shower? Because yeah, Spike looked like he'd fold if Xander breathed on him too hard, but Xander remembered how demoralizing it was coming home from the hospital the year before only to have Willow of all people insist he not be allowed in his own bathroom alone for more than a couple of minutes at a time. "Do you want to take a quick shower? I'll find you something to wear, grab some blankets. And uh, shove junk into a closet so I won't look like a complete slob."

"You mean there's junk?" Spike asked, gathering his will and every bit of his waning strength to lever himself slowly, slowly upright. He could sense Xander wanting to lean forward and grab him - but he could see, quite clearly, that Xander wasn't going to even as Spike wobbled a bit getting his leg over the tub-rim. "Thought I was in a cave, before." Small gasp for breath. "Distinct echo out there." He was breathless at the last, but out of the tub, on the green and brown patterned bath-mat *Good god, is that a harlequin pattern?* ready to shuffle into the glassed-in shower stall.

"That just means you need glasses." Xander itched to make a grab for Spike every time he wobbled - instead he left the water to drain and turned the shower on, pulling down the shower head and hooking it into the bottom of the toiletries rack, in easy reach either standing or from the floor. Without comment. While avoiding looking directly at Spike, Xander caught an incriminating glimpse of Wednesday's Big Soggy Towel and started to edge casually toward its lurking place behind the door. "Help yourself to any of my stuff you need, though I do not recommend the coconut body wash Dawn sent me unless you really want to smell like a Pina Colada." Xander ducked, snatched up the towel, and slipped out.

The shower hurt, and Spike was doubly grateful Xander wasn't there to see it. The hard, hot spray was like a rain of embers on him and his knees buckled when he inadvertently turned it on the scars. He leaned his forearm on the wall, breathing in jerky pants, rubbing a lump of soap over his body that looked like a chunk of black and green marble and smelled richly of cloves and mint and spice - of Xander, and that was a comfort.

The shampoo was the same mix of spicy and minty but his arms trembled and he rinsed it out as quickly as he could and then he was done, utterly incapable of taking any more and dizzy from the heat besides.

He dialed the shower off and stepped carefully, carefully out, onto the bath-mat. *No sodding dry towel. Cabinet's just there...* He made it to the cabinet and finally worked a towel free, wrapping it around his hips and then just standing there, miserable. The shivers were hitting him hard and his whole body was singing with needle-darts of pain, feeling as if he'd been flayed.

*Fuck pride. Xander, wanna come check on me before I fall down?* Spike took a long breath, trying to calm down - get his balance back. He clutched the towel a little closer around his hips and began the slow walk to the living room, listening to various, inexplicable noises - listening to Xander's heartbeat. When he reached the end of the hall - the living room finally in sight - he stopped.

Impossible, incongruous mounds of pillows were gathered into a nest before the couch, fluffy blankets stacked in a pile nearly as high next to it, and all of that was before a crackling, warm fire in the fireplace he hadn't noticed coming in.

His legs were trembling and he knew he couldn't cross that empty space unaided, so he just stood there, watching Xander. Watching the firelight flickering across his face as he stared into the flames. Waiting, and hoping he wouldn't fall flat before he was noticed. Finally realizing he was on Xander's blind side, Spike opened his mouth to say...something...but all that came out was a ragged croak.

Lost in the flames, and the memories of dancing shadow shows against mud-brick or crumbling concrete walls in Africa, Xander started and for one half-wild second thought Spike's pale and trembling form was one of the ghosts in the stories he'd only understood by gestures.

Spike looked more than merely ghostly, he looked like some sort of tormented spirit; leaning there against the wall with his cheekbones and collarbones and ribs showing stark and harsh, pushing up against skin that was ashy and tight-looking. And the way Spike trembled in the firelight made him waver strangely before Xander's eye, and made the blackened scars seem to writhe. It was a relief to wrap a steadying arm around Spike's waist, because thin as it was - unnaturally feverish - it was solid, and he could feel Spike sag wearily against him as they made their way to the pile of pillows and blankets.

Not that he was going to tell any of that to Spike. Because the last thing Spike needed to hear was that he looked like complete shit and Xander didn't have anything else on tap to say, so he crouched by the blankets, sifting through until he came up with another of the gifts from Dawn he'd had no use for in Africa.

"This one's silk or something. I couldn't find anything soft enough for you to wear that wasn't wet, but it's soft, and the rest of them are warm, if you don't mind being toga guy until the dryer finishes."

Spike stood there looking down at Xander, who was all gold and black and mahogany in the firelight - whose single eye was full of concern and gentle humor. Who was holding a scarlet silk sheet in his hands like a spill of blood and Spike blinked and blinked again - saw him writhing in agony under Caleb's hands, blood pouring from his mangled socket and down his chest.

"Oh, that's -" *bad* he started to say, and then things went a little pear-shaped and he sat down hard, unable to stop the yelp that came with the nauseating flare of pain - pain like a wash of acid flashing out through his legs and up his spine.

The moment Spike dropped Xander let go of the sheet, but too late to catch him. His hands on Spike's ribs drew another pained yelp from him that made Xander jerk back. He had an apology on the tip of his tongue for setting off the chip - and bit it back with a reminder that there was no chip. The chip was gone and this was still happening.

Jesus fuck it hurt, it hurt so fucking much and Spike just sat there, teeth clenched, his breath whinnying through his nose and his head singing; tears slipping down his cheeks, on the verge of going out completely. He groped blindly and almost sobbed in relief when Xander's hand caught his and held on. He gripped as tight as he could because he needed that pain - needed that connection that told him he was there. He didn't want to slip back into the waking nightmare that he'd been lost in down in the church.

"Spike." Xander's fingers itched and ached to hold and smooth away the pain the way he knew they couldn't, and he hated being helpless. He'd had enough of that in Africa. Fuck, that was why he'd left Africa. "Spike, listen to me breathing. Breathe with me," he said, because that was all he had.

'Breathe with me...' Xander's voice, tinny and faint in Spike's ears and he gulped air and did it. Frantic in and out that gradually slowed and steadied and finally tapered away all together. He gingerly raised his head and found Xander right there, an agony of concern and empathy on his face.

*He...is so grown up, now. Guess it had to happen sometime...but he's... Just not that kid, anymore... Something else, now. Someone else.*

"Thanks, mate," he managed to grate out, squeezing Xander's hand a little tighter in his.

Xander folded his hand over Spike's where it gripped his fingers. "What happened in there?" He reached out, brushing a curl from Spike's face - habit-forming if he wasn't careful.

Spike resisted the urge to push, just a little, into Xander's hand because his head was pounding now, and his scalp wasn't in any better shape than the rest of his skin.

"It...hurt, was all. Good water pressure, yeah?" Half-strangled laugh and a rusty, jerking cough. He wished he could fall unconscious. "Think you could...could get me some blood, pet? Might help. And this..." Spike plucked at the fold of silk sheet that lay over Xander's knee. "Bloody brilliant idea, mate."

"It'll be a better idea once it's wrapped around you and doing you some good." Xander tightened his grip carefully, wishing he'd thought more about the water pressure before leaving Spike to his shower. Helped him up, winding the sheet around Spike's lower body in a loose toga, careful to avoid the black slashes.

And how... wrong... they seemed.

He eased Spike back into the pillows carefully, trying to create a soft nest for Spike in them and cushioning his head with a softer blanket, one he could wrap around him if he got cold. "Okay?"

"Yeah."

Before Spike could say more, Xander rocked back and stood. "I'll be right back with the blood."

Spike sagged back amidst the pillows, the silk slippery-smooth and cool around him, the pillows enfolding and cushioning him. *Who knew one man could have so many? Must like to nest, same as me...* Spike grinned to himself a little at that, but the grin faded as he recalled too many nights when the tension and weight of blankets and sheets were all he felt - all the contact he had on his skin - and his bed was more lonely with every passing day. He suspected that it was the same for Xander because all the bedding, all the pillows - they only had his scent. His warm salt-sweet scent, and the faint scent of his soap and of his hair. Nothing else.

*We're both of us alone. Both of us...lonely. Wonder where his demon-girl is? Wonder if I should ask...* The sound of the microwave alerted him and he looked around expectantly, knowing his expression was eager - was wanting. *Love's bitch. Even this little bit of love...friendship-love... Got me all...tangled up. Think I'd learn, after so many fucking years...*


In the kitchen, Xander leaned heavily against the counter and dragged the sleeve of his pullover across his forehead. It was a little cooler in this room, but not by much. He'd pulled down the hot cocoa mix because that's what you had in front of a roaring fire before realizing that drinking hot cocoa when it was probably over a hundred degrees in his living room was just this side of fucking insane.

So when he returned to the living room, it was with a mug of blood - and an icy cold refreshing Coke-and-a-smile, already half drained. And when he saw Spike, nestled in the pillows and wrapped in silk, he laughed before he could stop himself, breaking into a grin.

"What's so funny?" Spike's words slurred a little, and he mustered a glare.

"You. I mean. You with the drying fluffy hair and the silk and," he gestured with the can of coke to the pillows surrounding him. "You look like a harem g-." He caught Spike's glare and corrected himself, "Boy."

"M'not the sodding girl, Harris. But even for you, one harem...boy is pretty pathetic." Spike struggled halfway up onto his elbow and poked at a pillow that was under his thigh. "Where in hell did you get all of these, anyway?" he asked, looking in bemusement at the nest of bright blankets, king-sized pillows in jewel-color pillowcases and the more solid, thick cushions that were keeping him off the floor. The faint but unmistakable odor of leather was coming from somewhere - probably the couch - and it was pleasantly familiar and homey.

"American ingenuity," Xander answered, settling himself carefully onto the edge of the nest so he wouldn't disturb Spike and handing over another mug of blood, this time with a festively green straw. Hand free, he pointed to the couch and easy chair, now stripped of their cushions. "The couch cushions are why it smells like cow, and the rest came from the beds." He shrugged. "My office here pretty much gathers dust, so I spend a lot of time sitting up in bed doing my paperwork." He sipped at his coke, stretching out on the pillows and shoving the sleeves of his pullover as high as they'd go. "And I dunno. One harem vamp. A guy's gotta start somewhere if he wants to grow up to be an evil sultan."

"'Harem vamp'? You're barkin', mate." Spike guided the straw to his mouth and sipped. Drinking it this way - with Xander, of all people - didn't seem like such an insult. It was just...teasing. A good kind of teasing. The blood sent little tendrils of warmth through him and eased the pain in the scars a bit. *Still hurts, but that's a little better. Maybe all I need is some rest and some blood and...* A glance along his own body, at the lines of black that marred him, made him snarl silently. *Maybe I need a fuckin' miracle. This isn't going to get better with a little blood.*

He'd known that - had known it in the church, but admitting it here, in Xander's clean, warm house...was something else entirely.

"'Sides," Spike said, forcing his mind away from unpleasant thoughts. "I have more experience with the evil-doing. I should be the sultan. You can be the - boy." He grinned over at Xander, his eyes heavy-lidded with fatigue and caught the flush of blood that rushed to Xander's face.

Xander drained his coke, tossing the can at the waste basket and missing before he answered. "What's an evil sultan need a boy for? Maybe I'm the nefarious young and nomadic raider who's sneaked-" Xander frowned. "Snack? Snuck?

"Sneaked, pet."

"Sneaked into your opulent chambers with plans to-" Xander realized that Spike was watching him with a very amused tilt to his eyebrow and laughed. "And this is starting to sound like a cheesy romance novel, so unless you want to be ravished in the next line, we have gotta find a new subject." Xander found himself relaxing into the pillows and propped his cheek on his hand, reaching out the other to lie close to, but not quite touching, Spike's. Unsure if the touch would hurt him again, but more comfortable than he'd been around another person in what felt like years.

"Too tired to -" Spike's mouth gaped wide on a yawn and he blinked slowly, finding his hand losing its grip on yet another cup. He set it carefully down in front of him, not even interested in the last inch or so of blood left. He was tired. The blood, the exertion of the bath and the wonderful, stupefying heat that just rolled out of the fireplace was making him feel as heavy as lead, as thick as -

"Thick as a brick," he murmured, absently petting a fold of the silk sheet. Letting his hand creep along until it touched Xander's. Hot human skin, roughness of calluses, edge of a bitten-off nail.

"I'm a bad dream that I just had today..." The voice - the music - sang in his head; the turntable in a flat in Paris, Dru skipping like a mad fairy all around the room and Ian Anderson playing his flute like the Great God Pan.

Xander looked up from the touch on his hand, wondering how a vampire's skin stayed that soft. Always soft. Even a vampire like Spike. He had a feeling Spike was quoting... something. "Is that crazy vamp talk for bedtime?"

"Mmmmm?" Spike couldn't stay up on his elbow anymore - felt himself collapsing downward and winced even as he sighed in pleasure. So tired, and he could close his eyes and sleep, now. Safe now.

"S'Tull, you...philistine. Need lessons, you do."

The hand under his twitched and he pressed down, not letting it get away - not letting it go.

"Shh. Human here, Spike. Let me get out of this shirt before I roast, okay?" Xander pulled his hand free gently but then it returned before Spike could fully register the loss, fingers curling with his, warm and rough. "See?"

"Safe now," on a breath, and then nothing at all.

Xander stretched out his leg, pushing the mug with blood out of the way so Spike couldn't accidentally knock it over. Did vampires thrash in their sleep?

On impulse, Xander reached across with his free hand to tuck an unruly strand of hair out of Spike's face one more time. "Yeah. Anybody wants to take out the big bad, they've gotta go through the one eyed carpenter first." He tucked his arm around his ribs, cooler now in just the white wifebeater. "And you know, one eyed carpenters can kick serious butt."

Xander trailed off, watching the patterns the firelight left on the silk and on Spike's skin. He should get up. Take a shower.

Maybe get the rest of Spike's stuff out of his truck before he forgot it was in there completely.

But it was kinda...nice right there.

With his shirt off, the heat soaked into his bones, made him feel lazy even if he wasn't tired yet, and reminded him of those rare nights when he had a warm fire and a full belly, maybe some friendly aid workers sleeping not so far away in the darkness. When he could curl up and feel more...complete.

Not that he was pondering feeling more complete with Spike holding his hand in any romantic way or anything. But yeah, maybe it felt kinda nice, familiar-nice, the way it felt when he remembered working the day shift under Carl, or whenever Russ threw an arm around his shoulders to tell another bad joke the way he did in Old Sunnydale.

Missing pieces, slotting into place.

Xander shifted his fingers in Spike's grip to get more comfortable, and smiled when Spike tightened his grasp. "Hey. Not going anywhere." The fingers relaxed minutely, and Xander laid his head back on his arm, watching the fire through his eyelashes.

*Really should take that shower.*

*Any minute now.*

*Yep. Shower taking time for the Xand-man, for he is dusty and needs to shampoo.*

*And get the stuff out of the truck.*

*Maybe...call Carl, see how he's doing on shift.*

*...in another fifteen minutes.*