Crunching, barefoot, across a carpet of bugs.  Had to be a dream.  Not the first of the night either, nor the most emotionally destructive.  Or maybe the other one had been the dream and this…

This was a dream.  At least Xander was counting on it being a dream as he vigorously shook off one enterprising creepy-crawly that began to venture up his leg.  His left eye agonisingly un-popping reassured him, and his now twenty-twenty vision sought a few clues.

Cave?  The ceiling, walls and floor were a sea of shifting black bodies, heaving and drifting; hard to tell if this was a cave.  Koga’s cave?  Great, shouldn’t have let that stupid idea enter his head, because he’d had something similar to this before, and however much he put up a fight…

Koga was there, instantly, surrounded by heaps of body parts, the remains of all the victims that Xander had somehow failed to save.  No longer trampling insects, Xander looked warily downwards to discover he was standing on a rug, animal skin, head still attached.  Animal…  No.  Human.  Human, and…  The head – Tania’s head – turned to look at him, face mutilated almost beyond recognition.  Xander screamed within this…  Oh, God help me, it has to be a…  …dream, backing off the skin rug, backing into a solid form that wasn’t going to be Spike despite the silent prayers that followed the scream.

He turned around, face-to-face with Koga, and this was old, this he knew, as the man’s hand rose to the level of Xander’s face and…  Another scream as his eye was destroyed once more, and his stomach churned as he felt himself falling, knowing he was being thrown into that shaft in the cave, that he’d never escape it and he’d die there surrounded by rotten food and rats and shit and…

He landed upright, against a wall that teemed with bugs, and they crawled over him, into his clothes, ears, mouth, throat, but as he vomited them out he cried with relief despite his revulsion because this wasn’t the shaft, or the cave, and that excruciating pain in his head was his eye reforming.

He jerked away from the wall, shaking off the suit of insects, aware of the crunch underfoot that was horrific but so much better than smooth human skin.

“Koga’s dead,” he said aloud, spitting out a last bug on the final consonant.  “Koga is dead.”

Koga obligingly appeared, very dead now.  Unfortunately still moving as he strolled toward Xander, flesh sloughing away from his rotting body, hand rising and…

“Spike won’t let you,” Xander explained calmly.  “He’ll only kill you again.”

Koga fell still.

“Spiiiiiiiiiike,” he groaned, and his head abruptly sagged and rolled on its broken neck.

“Yeah, that’d be Spike.”

The disintegrating corpse began to laugh, a cruel, taunting laugh that set Xander on edge because he’d heard it too many times in the past when he’d missed something, when he was the unknowing butt of some joke, when he was being made a fool of.

“Spiiiiiiiiiike,” Koga cackled for a last time before his face exploded into more insects, and Xander panicked, barely able to move and needing the greatest effort to wade away through the shiny black sea.

Door.  Good idea?  Bad idea?  Door and…he recognised the strange little dream catcher pinned to the panel: his bedroom door, and the first affectionate gift that Simone had given him.  Homesickness swept over him and he collapsed against the familiar setting, clinging to the door’s reassuringly substantial wooden frame and almost weeping with longing for his home and his friends.

Quiet laughter distracted him from his misery, laughter behind the door, barely distinguishable from the drone of the insects but still carrying that taunting quality; Xander knew he had to go in and, even as his steps backed away, his body moved forward, forward and through the un-opening door, forward and into the calm retreat of his New Forest bedroom.

He looked at the floor.  Carpet.  Not bugs, but carpet.  Carpet that he knew well, a little threadbare in places but he’d refused to have it replaced because he loved the idea of the carpet being older than him.  His carpet in his room.  Safe.  Should be.  So…?

A snigger came from the direction of his bed.  Huge, rather ugly old-fashioned frame dominating the space, bearing the luxury mattress that the Colby’s had gifted him in a bid to help him sleep.  His bed, and it was sniggering at him?  A step closer and the covers billowed.  Spike.  Leaning up to stare at him.  Laughing.

“Spike?” Xander whispered, relieved by this presence but growing distressed by the tone of the laughter.  “Spike?”

A lighter giggle and the covers bulged and withdrew to reveal, rather predictably, Buffy sharing this space, Xander’s space.

“Don’t do this,” Xander told them reasonably as he watched Spike gloatingly roll onto and into Buffy’s body.  “My bed,” came the pointless explanation.  “Spike, you said I could join you next time and kick her skinny ass out, and this is…”  As Xander drew closer Spike’s head snapped up, game-faced and furious with the suggestion.  “But you said…”

“Fucking idiot.”

“No, I’m not, this is what you said…”

“Xander, can you help me with this?” Buffy asked, and Xander noticed she was holding the puzzle book, frowning over the contents and ignoring the fact that a vampire was enthusiastically fucking her.

“I can…”  Xander’s voice trembled to nothing.  He cleared his throat.  “Yeah, I can help you, but…”  He gestured to Spike.

“He won’t notice,” Buffy explained with a smile.  “Like he didn’t notice when you needed him the most.  Remember?  The uber-nasty was torturing you but all he wanted was to stay in LA and fuck my ass?  Wow, we laughed about that.”

“I remember.”

“What’s the answer to this?”  Buffy handed the book over, and Xander stared at the page.  It bore a simple: ‘2 + 2 =’ and it baffled him.  Buffy started to giggle again.  “I didn’t believe him when he said you couldn’t put two and two together.”

In a sudden fury, Xander dropped the book and reached for the bedclothes, tearing them away from the bed, immediately wishing he hadn’t when he discovered Angel sandwiched between Spike and Buffy, fucked and fucking.

“Spike,” Angel gasped as his grandchilde pounded into him.  “I think you’re making Xander feel a little insecure.”

“Do I look like I care?”

Spike peered over his shoulder at Xander, human features distorted by a spiteful grin.  The laughter resumed, increased, and Xander’s hands found themselves in possession of a matchbook.  Xander watched himself, watched with passive distress as he lit the entire book and casually tossed it onto the bed, igniting the three writhing forms, watched Spike’s gorgeous body explode into ash.

Xander jerked awake, really awake, awake but thoroughly disorientated.  The drone of spirits overwhelming him, hand searching for Spike and finding cool, empty sheets.  Despite the voices and the adrenalin rush, reality didn’t want to stick around, and Xander slipped back, at his bedside as Spike, alone and surrounded by flames, reached out for him.

“Why are you punishing me, Xander?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Not my fault, is it?  That you’re barely better than nothing.”  Chuckling once more at Xander’s undisguised grief, Spike thrust a hand into his own chest and yanked out his heart.  “Here…”  He threw it in Xander’s direction.  “I don’t need it.  Not here.  Not with you.”

Sobbing now, sobbing as Spike laughed heartily at his suffering, Xander ran forward, feeling himself catch fire as he desperately tired to push Spike’s heart back into the gaping chest cavity, burning his lungs as he whooped in air, tasting the ash as—

Up and out of the bed, Xander collided with the wall and stayed there, panting and trying to control his panic.  No Spike.  Why no Spike?  Mingling with the voices in his head was Spike’s, and maybe that was it, maybe Spike was dead and in his head and…  Xander shook that nonsense away, listening for Spike, edging forward, scared of the bed catching alight and the possibility of bugs underfoot and Spike not…being.

Laughter.  His name, Spike’s voice, Spike’s laughter.

“Fuck, I’m still dreaming.”

He stared at where the partition wall was cracked open, and wondered if this was a dream or if it was real and, if it wasn’t real, what the hell was waiting for him behind that wall.

…

“Will you stop worrying about what’s happening here and fix up everything at your end?  I need this over with as soon as possible.  …  Less excuses and more action, eh?  …  No, the freak show’s fine, he’s just suffering from cabin fever.  …  I told you I’d keep him sweet, didn’t I?  You know how persuasive I can be, even with moody bastards like him.  I’ve had the practise with you.”  Spike listened and laughed.  “Yes, I know, I know, whatever it takes: I’m already doing whatever it takes and more.  …  Bloody idiot’s fallen for every line, I’m only sorry we didn’t have a bet on this.  …  Right now?  Either waking up and expecting me to give a toss about his sodding dreams, or preparing himself for another day of playing piss off the vampire.”  Once again Spike listened and laughed, good humoured with Angel because the freedom to be unnecessarily mean was a relief after a night of feeling so bitter and hard done by over Xander, over someone he shouldn’t want and couldn’t have and who taunted him with…  “What?  Wasn’t concentrating.  …  No.  Like I said, you stop worrying about…  …  Hardly.  Not much to out-smart, is he.  I promise you I’ve got that simpleton wrapped around my little finger.”

Xander paused with his hand on the partition wall, stung by what he was hearing, by the tone of Spike’s voice as he spoke of him, almost hoping that this was a dream because real Spike wouldn’t sound like that, wouldn’t say those things, unless…  Whatever it takes?  Whatever it takes?  A wave of nausea hit hard, and Xander took several deep breaths to settle his guts.  Had this all been about whatever it takes?  And had he suspected - known – all along, hence the dreams?

Spike was laughing again, and it sounded crueller than ever, and Xander’s name was in there, and…  He felt compelled to put an end to this, dream or reality, to stop Spike’s derision, but it was so difficult to move.  Did that mean he was still dreaming?  No bugs.  No Koga.  No Buffy.  No fire.  No…eye.  Real?  Real and…his only comfort was ridiculing him in the next room.

“Fuck.  Oh, fuck.”

Xander yanked the partition open two feet and stumbled into the living room, startling Spike, whose expression turned to alarm at the sight of his distressed charge.

“Gotta go,” Spike snapped into the phone, words barely out of his mouth before the connection was cut and the cell was in his pocket.  “Xander?”

“Whatever it takes,” Xander murmured, interpreting the shock on Spike’s face as a reaction to being caught out, and being further upset as the vampire’s shock turned not to contrition, but to irritation.

“What?  What did you hear?”  Xander ignored the terse question as he shakily checked around for bugs, lifting his feet one by one to be sure.  “You still dreaming?” Spike asked.

“It was Koga who blinded me.”

“No.”

“And Buffy didn’t believe you when you said I couldn’t put two and two together.”

“This precise moment she’d be right, wouldn’t she.  Come and sit down.  Wake up.”

“I am.  I think.  This is real.”

“This is real, yes.  Not Koga or…”

“And…and…we’re…  You and me, we’re…whatever it takes.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Spike grouched, approaching Xander fast and making him clumsily flinch away in his dazed state.  This spectacularly unsympathetic and barely recognisable Spike clapped his hands in Xander’s confused face.  “Wake up.  Wake up.”

“I am.  I think.”

“I’m warning you, Xander, I’m not in the mood for this.”

“My head hurts…”

“Take a pill.”

“…but it’s not my eye coming back.”  Xander peered suspiciously at Spike.  “I must be awake.”

With a sigh, Spike stomped across to the kitchenette.

“Sit down, I’ll make you some coffee.  Very hot, very strong, blast you into consciousness.”

“I’m barely better than nothing.”

“Did I say that?”

“Yes.”

“Figures.  Dream Spike’s far smarter than this version.”

“No.  He’s cheating on me.”

“He is?  Well, let me guess,” Spike said acerbically, “after last night’s conversation, that’d have to be…”

“Angel.”

“Angel?” Spike repeated in a bark of humour.  “You think?”

“Buffy first but…  That I understand.  ‘Cause…Buffy.  At least she learned to respect you.  But him…”

“Him’s not so bad.  Just because he thinks you’re a waste of space doesn’t make him so bad.”

That shook Xander, whatever state his mind was in.  Spike defending Angel.

“Really?”

Xander checked under his feet for bugs as Spike resumed his coffee-making.

“Really.”

No bugs.  It didn’t make sense.  Xander nodded hazily despite agreeing with nothing, and he turned his back on Spike to head for the bathroom, very deliberately locking the door behind him for the first time since Chrissie’s.

Spike glanced over his shoulder at Xander’s disappearing form and smacked the mugs down onto the counter, banging his fists alongside them and pausing there, taking a few deep, futile breaths, a parody of a long-lost calming act.

“It’s not his fault,” Spike told himself crossly, which was perfectly true but didn’t help assuage the anger that had been continually rumbling inside him since the previous evening, the product of wanting too much and very sensibly denying himself.  The product of Xander being beyond his control and that being…exactly as it should be.

Spike tried to be worried instead, but he’d seen Xander like this before, awake but still dreaming, and it was harmless.  The man would soon come to his senses and the dream might be discussed, might not, and life would rapidly return to normal, whatever normal happened to currently be.  Spike wanted to be worried rather than angry.  Spike wanted to be anything rather than angry.  He certainly didn’t want to spend what time they had left together sulking about things he couldn’t have and, in his heart of hearts, probably didn’t really want.  Probably.  In his heart of hearts.

This time the mugs smashed as he snatched them up and brought them back down, jagged edges cutting into his palms as he ground them into pieces.  He stood there, motionless, for what seemed a long time, concentrating on the welcome pain in his hands, the manageable pain.

“Whatever it takes?”  The voice from behind Spike was soft but it made him jump, and he spun about to see a fully alert and freshly showered Xander staring at him with a disturbing mixture of sorrow, confusion, anger and…nothing.

“What?”

“You said…”

“You dreamt it.”

“No.  This was you.  To Angel.  Apparently I’m a bloody idiot falling for every line and…and…this…us…this is…whatever it takes.”

Spike sighed and wiped his blood-streaked hands on the kitchen towel.

“I’m not about to tell him the truth, am I?  You didn’t want me to.”

“No, don’t try to turn this around.  Not telling Angel about us didn’t mean talking about me like I’m…”

“You don’t know what you heard.”

“I do know.  Freak show; moody bastard; simpleton.  And…  Whatever…  It’s why this has been so good,” Xander said in flat-toned revelation.  “You’ve been doing…whatever it takes.  You’ve been faking it.”

“No.”

“You’re faking it.”

“Don’t be daft, I simply wasn’t about to tell Angel…”

“I can’t believe I fell for it.  Any of it.  All of it.”

With a petulant shrug, Spike turned away and began sweeping what remained of the mugs into the sink with the edge of his hand, aware of Xander returning to the bedroom and, when he listened, he could hear the sounds of rushed dressing.  He quickly re-ran the conversation with Angel in his mind, trying to be Xander, wearing Xander’s acute vulnerability, and…finally realising how damning it sounded and how genuine Xander’s concerns were.  Despite his lingering resentment, Spike rushed to the bedroom.

“Xander.  We’re going to talk this through and you’re going to understand…”

Xander looked up from tying his trainer laces and glared, eye glittering with moisture.

“What?  Understand that for some perverse reason you absolutely needed to do this to me.  Make such a fool of me when all I wanted was to help you and – and…not be hurt, not get attached.”

“It isn’t like that.  C’mere and I’ll…”

Spike reached for Xander but Xander straightened up and quickly backed away.

“I don’t want you to touch me.  I never wanted you to touch me.”

“Get over it.  You know you got what you wanted.”

“I kept telling you no, and…  I can’t do this.”  Xander’s voice shook apart and he made a couple of quick, searching moves before hurrying to the living room, grabbing up his coat and wallet, and heading for the exit.  In less than a second, Spike was blocking his way.

“You’re going to listen to me and you’re going to understand,” Spike insisted despite not having a clue how he could reasonably explain his behaviour away.

“You’re right, you know, I am an idiot.  I let you treat me like a total jerk over heaven, I let you do that and right now I can’t remember why.  I do know it isn’t going to happen again.”

“What I said to Angel…”

Xander gave a tearful, humourless laugh.

“Oh, yeah, isn’t that the final humiliation?  Angel being a part of this?  Fucking Angel.”

“Oh, for—  For Christ’s sake, listen to yourself!”

Spike saw Xander’s hands clench into fists and knew he was going to be hit and…okay.  But however much Xander might have wanted to hit Spike he couldn’t do it, couldn’t physically hurt someone he’d grown to care for, whatever the present circumstances.  Naturally it was in the vampire’s nature to exploit the perceived weakness, and he slowly approached…

“C’mon, Love.”

…only to find himself shoved aside and, in the moment it took for him to recover, Xander was out of the room and protected from pursuit by the bright winter light.

Xander paused outside, panting because he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, feeling completely lost.  No car, no money, and it was only Spike calling him from the doorway, furiously demanding his return, that made him move, wanting to be away from the pain and the reminder of how ridiculous he’d allowed himself to become.  To be made.  And didn’t that just prove Spike’s point?  He really wasn’t much to out-smart.

Striding purposefully away now, he got ten minutes along the isolated road before slowing to a gradual halt.  Where was he going?  Not a clue.  He didn’t know where he was, or how to get home, and he was out of contact with his friends, unable to call them out of fear of leading the wrong people to them.  He stared hopelessly about himself: not a car to be seen, not even if he was prepared to risk returning to New Forest and taking the uber-nasty along for the hitched ride.

Self-pity surged and receded, and Xander slowly turned in the direction of the motel.  Two choices: a) go back to Spike and spend the rest of the day/week/month/time until death hating him; b) don’t go back to Spike at all.  Or at least not until the Dead Guy event.  Or at least not until they could talk without Xander wanting to lash out.

He started walking.  A room of his own, the luxury of privacy, and a month of meditation should do the trick.  Not that he was sure he’d ever understand why this had happened, why Spike had felt the need to…  To what?  Exploit the closest body?

“I’d get that.  If that was it.  If that was all.”  Xander felt a vague expression of consolation from Jesse and smiled weakly at that.  “Hey, Jesse.  You ever think I was this dumb?”

Opening himself up to Jesse was seen as willing participation on Xander’s part and the dull rustle of voices became a roar.

“Okay, okay, one at a time.  …  Saul?  …  Okay.”  The tangled mass of dialogue began to loosen and single voices emerged; this was what Xander was about, and being used by someone other than Spike was a vast consolation.  “Okay…  You can talk to me, there’s only me.  …  Okay?  …  Yeah, I know it, I’m just about there.  …  You did?  …  Well, what motel doesn’t have guys having heart attacks on top of their secretaries…”

Back at the motel, and eyepatch in place, Xander went directly to the reception area.  The blandly polished young woman behind the desk gave him a cool smile and he could imagine what she was thinking, what she’d guessed about him and Spike, what she probably knew from gossip over the state of their sheets.

“Hi,” he said with forced brightness.  “Can I have a room, please?”

Professional interest was clearly piqued.

“You’re not happy with your room, Sir?”

“The guy I’m sharing with…  He snores, talks in his sleep, has disgusting habits,” Xander finished with a grin.  “I really need my own space.”

“Of course.”  She clicked a few details into the computer.  “Twin or double?”

“Single?”

“We usually issue a double for a single.  I can reduce the rate slightly.  Unless your…friend will be joining you?”

“No, he’s staying exactly where he is.  Bad, bad idea sharing.  With him,” Xander added as a hopeful afterthought, wishing she’d see some gorgeous guy she wanted to fuck instead of freaky, one-eyed, desperate him, wishing she could be the last person he’d slept with rather than Spike, wishing…  “Sorry?”

“I asked if it was being charged to the same credit card.”

“Uh…  Yeah.  Guess so.  Charged to the firm.  Not to…”  Xander nodded in the vague direction of his and—  The direction of Spike’s room.

“Thank you.  That’ll be number…thirteen.”  Her smile was finally genuine as Xander chuckled wryly at that.  “Are you superstitious?  I can give you fourteen.”

“No, don’t worry.  I think I’ve had about all the bad luck I’m going to get in one lifetime.”  She handed over the key, and Xander drew breath to speak, hesitated, nervously went with it.  “Any chance you’d like to bring me some good luck?  Have a drink with me tonight?”

Definite interest, but Xander wasn’t fooling himself, it was more of the ‘source of gossip’ variety than romantic.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but the staff aren’t encouraged to socialise with the guests.”

“The curse of thirteen,” Xander joked, allowing her the patent lie, and he got out of there before he could embarrass himself any further.

Once he figured out that he had to walk past their – Spike’s room to get to his own, Xander decided to leave settling in until later.  He managed to find enough loose change in his pockets to buy himself a coffee, and hoped he could drag that out for the rest of the morning.  Maybe if the diner was empty he could read for the waitress or the cook, just so they wouldn’t mind him hanging around the place.

Two steps in the diner’s direction and it hit him, hard.  Whatever it takes.  The wonderful friendship, the relationship he’d built with Spike had been whatever it takes, fabricated by Spike at Angel’s instruction, simply to manipulate him into doing their bidding.  Over when it’s over had been due to feel bad, but this…  Tears welled in Xander’s eye and he furiously blinked them away, trying to refocus on the voices, trying not to feel as if his chest was as hollow as Dream Spike’s had been when he’d ripped out his own heart.

He stared at the diner; he couldn’t face people; he chose a new direction and began to walk.

The stupid thing was that he’d always known that any kind of involvement was foolhardy, and even with that knowledge he’d let the comfort become sex and the sex become—  No.  No, this wasn’t about having his heart broken, this wasn’t about love and, disappointingly, that wasn’t as big a relief as it should have been.  This wasn’t about love it was about trust.  It was about attachment, and the fear of.  It was being close.  Close.  Closer.

A sudden flashback to that first time, the appalling, violent sex made necessary by the entity that haunted him, and the pain of it whizzed past, leaving him to remember Spike afterwards, scared for Xander and so caring.  Tender.  Spike had held him and been tender and…it wasn’t real?

“Why can’t I be angry?” Xander asked the crisp morning air.  “Angry would be good.”

No anger.  Simply the anguish of feeling so betrayed, and the excruciating, overwhelming sensation of loss.

…

Xander lost track of where he walked, and for how long, experiencing moments of disorientation when he wasn’t even sure if he was awake, moments when he wasn’t sure if any of this was real, but eventually he found himself at the far edge of town.  There was a pond, and ducks, and a roughly fashioned bench.  He sat and watched the stocky birds, thinking of the tinier varieties that visited his garden at home and how oddly fond he’d grown of them bearing in mind that their only contact was him supplying scraps and birdseed, and them visiting daily for their lunch.  Familiarity.  He liked familiarity.  So did the ducks apparently – they were gathering expectantly around the bench as if…  A glance to his right confirmed Xander’s theory.  An elderly woman from the nearest house was coming along to feed them.

As she drew close she smiled a hello at Xander – which he reciprocated -  and then proceeded to feed her feathered friends.  Bread supply exhausted, she sat alongside Xander and observed that he was a stranger in town; he tried his best to brighten up a little, not wanting her to think his dourness had any sinister connotations, and they talked about the area, the ducks, Christmas, families.  A voice became clear in his head and he didn’t think twice before repeating the message.

“Your sister says the ring that you’ve been going crazy looking for fell off the dresser and is wedged between two floorboards.”

“My – my…sister?” the woman stuttered in surprise.

“You have a red rug?  Red with a kind of swirly pattern?”

“Umm…  Yes, yes I do.”

“Close to the edge of that, right end of the dresser, look in the crack in the floorboards.”

“Oh…”  Her hand rose to her chest and patted.  “Good gracious, what a shock.”

“You okay?  I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“My sister passed away a long time ago.”

“She likes to keep an eye on you.  On your family.  She’s thrilled about the twins because there haven’t been twins since Great Aunt Edith and…”

The woman whimpered and left without another word.  Xander berated himself for his clumsiness, but didn’t feel his mistake as keenly as he would have a week ago.  A few days ago.  Any time before he was so full of his own ignorance and unanswerable questions and hurt.

He was still on the bench at sundown, barely noticing that he was bordering on frozen.  He wasn’t surprised when the Cadillac drove past and swiftly returned, parking up, the driver out of the vehicle and approaching within seconds.  Spike sat beside him, occasionally throwing a glance in his direction, but saying nothing.

“I thought about going home,” Xander eventually broke the silence.

“What did you decide?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“I thought that might be immobility through hypothermia rather than choice.”

“Yeah.”  Xander finally noticed.  “Guess I’m a little cold.  I should…”

“Look,” burst from Spike, “what you overheard…”

“Was exactly what I needed.  I’m put off, turned off.  It’s forced me to come to my senses, now all I want to do is fulfil my commitment, get the job done, and…  I’m looking forward to going home.  I want to go home.”

“You think I should have told Angel what was happening?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“I don’t trust him not to take advantage of you because of us, or…”

“Us?  There isn’t remotely an us.”

“That’s not how he’d see it.”

“And how the hell can he take advantage of me when I’m already doing what he wants?”

“What he wants comes in degrees.  Things get too dangerous and I wouldn’t want you to put yourself at risk.  Further risk.  If he thought there was anything between us he’d play the ‘do it for Spike’ card without a second thought.”

“You said once that you’d delight in telling Angel.”

“We were talking about dating.  This isn’t dating, is it?”

Xander gave an ironic laugh at that and shook his head.

“It certainly isn’t.  This is whatever it takes and I’m the bloody idiot who’s fallen for every line.”

“You don’t believe that,” Spike growled.  “You know how I really feel.”

“I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Then come back to the motel with me.”

“Why?”

“In the light of what’s been said I want you to judge for yourself whether or not I was faking it.”

“Great, another stupid choice, more inappropriate sex.  If all you want is a fuck I know you have the money in your pocket to pay for a hooker.  Even the most expensive whore in the county.”

A stiffening of his posture and Spike positively radiated fury but returned to saying nothing.  He simply stood, fished the car and room keys out of his pocket, dropped them into Xander’s lap, and stalked away into the darkness.

When the bright blond of the vampire’s hair finally faded from view, Xander creakily rose and flexed his cramping muscles before stiltedly making his way to the Cadillac, dropping into the driver’s seat and turning over the engine.  He groaned in pleasure as warm air pumped around his frigid limbs.

The increasingly familiar ache in his chest returned when he noticed the coins on the dashboard, casually thrown there after their shopping trip; it had been enormous fun and so much about the two of them and their togetherness.  He hadn’t imagined it, he wasn’t being fooled.  He didn’t think he could bear the truth if it was all so calculated and cruel and—

“Oh God, I sent him to someone else.  Oh God.”

Xander allowed himself to get angry as the first twist of jealousy rearranged his guts.  It didn’t matter that Spike had manipulated him into this state of possessiveness, every instinct said that Spike was his.  Right now the vampire was his partner and Xander didn’t share.  Ever.

But what could he do?  Presently?  Nothing more than grip the steering wheel so hard it squeaked, be horrified at how much the thought of Spike with someone else hurt, and be amazed at how deeply Spike had touched him.

“We were happy.  He made me happy,” Xander accepted, words faltering on hitched breath.  Just a short, spectacular while of peace and consolation and affection.  However fake, Spike had made Xander happy.

Whatever it takes.

Xander leaned his head against his hands and grieved.

…

Spike stayed out of sight just long enough to make Xander think he’d been abandoned, then he lurked in some shrubs and waited for the Cadillac to head back toward the motel; if Xander followed the one main road through town, Spike was certain that he’d have no trouble finding his way there.

When the car eventually drove off, Spike sprinted after it, glad of the physical exertion after spending most of the day confined to quarters, tense and pacing; he fell a little behind when Xander unexpectedly and uncharacteristically put his foot down, but his fears about Xander taking this opportunity to bolt for home were assuaged when he arrived at the motel to see the lights on in their room and the front door slightly ajar.

He continued to watch from a distance as Xander proceeded to move his own possessions to a new room.  Spike was, at first, aghast and shocked into inactivity, but then too livid to object or obstruct, unable to make a reasonable approach to talk this whole ludicrous business over calmly, worried that he might become too heavy-handed or demanding with Xander.

He’d had hours to think about his own, wildly out of proportion emotions the previous night, and the derogatory remarks he’d made regarding Xander, eventually concluding that he didn’t blame Xander for either his playful demands during that fateful shag, or for being so upset over what he’d overheard.  But, despite the rationality, the rage building in Spike’s gut was starting to make the vampire unhealthily fixated and irrational.

He refused to lose Xander.  He wanted, and he’d take.  Want.  Take.  Have.  The demon’s way.

Simple.

Simple?

Spike shuddered and began to back off, reversing