Rule fifteen in Xander's 'Dealing With Being Dead' list read: Lurking is only lurking when someone else is doing it.

Because Xander? Didn't lurk. He had a legitimate reason to be standing on the school lawn beneath the library window. The legitimate reason was theft - but theft with purpose.

Xander settled back against a tree, watched the light burn on in the library window. His heart would have been fluttering in his chest if it was anything but than a cold lump of meat these days.

*'Get the books Xander,' he says. 'Use the sodding card catalog,' he says.* Xander snorted - leaned his head back against the bark and closed his eyes. Clearly, Spike had not stalked the school library well or he wouldn't have delivered one last 'And don't let anyone see you' on Xander's way out the door.

Because invisibility? Was not on the list of handy and convenient vamp powers as covered in the new demon owner's manual which Xander had still not received his copy of.

And he'd sent in his six Count Chocula box tops and three-ninety-five postage and handling too.

Fortunately Xander's demon had gone back for seconds when the devils were handing out senses of smell - that or he'd been a bloodhound in another life.

Xander tilted his head back - parted his lips to the air currents escaping the library window and breathed, shuddering. Book smell - strong - but now Xander could smell the power in some of those books, that itchy peppery tingle that made him feel like sneezing.

It was strong tonight.

But not stronger than the Slayer scent with two of them in there - lemony and sweet like the citronella candles his mom used to burn on the back porch when his dad wanted to drink beer outside without becoming a feast for mosquitoes. Which kind of made sense, because vampires? Pretty much big-ass mosquitoes.

And this big-ass mosquito boy knew better than to try to slip into the school library with two Slayers in residence.

So he waited.

He turned his head to the side, out of the library air current and breathed deeply of the compost and warm metal smell of the school - gagged on it *Okay - the garbage? Should be fucking picked up after fish sticks day in the cafeteria.*

Xander slid to the ground coughing - wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face in the warm leather and whiskey, smoke and blood and sex smell that clung to every fiber of his clothing and every pore in his skin - smiled.

Because that scent was Spike.

And even masked by the skin-prickling old books magic smell and the invasive citrus tang of the slayers, it wrapped around him - told him who he was.

Whose he was.

He wondered if one of these days it'd tell Buffy who he was too.

Whose.

Or if she'd stake first and ask questions later - if at all.