Xander awoke the next morning with the peculiar sensation that his head was floating about three feet above his body.

{God. Those must have been some killer pain pills he gave me.}

The somewhat goofy smile that had been on his face at the thought of the drugs faded quickly.

Spike.

Xander's face heated almost painfully, and as he blushed hard, he felt an unexpected swell of shame rise in him. He pushed it away forcibly and turned his head experimentally, wanting to see just *how* sore he was this morning.

OW! Pretty goddamned sore.

His back shrieked at him and he lay still for a moment, staring at the weak sunlight streaming in the small window. Involuntarily, his eyes darted to the motionless form in the bed with him, making sure none of the pesky stray sunbeams were preparing to fry his bedmate.

His eyes softened again as the embarrassment crept back in. Spike had been *kind* to him the previous night. While it was true that the two of them had seemed to declare a cease-fire in the war of words, the truce was tentative at best.

Xander was off-balance and confused this morning. He had been sure that he was finally starting to understand the dynamic between the two of them, but last night had turned all his certainties to dust.

The sexual tension between them had always been palpable, but Xander had opted to pretend ignorance in order to avoid the whole "sleeping with the undead" question. As attractive as Spike was, Xander wasn't at all sure that he was ready to have sex with a corpse.

Sexual tension and truces aside, a small voice inside Xander was actually a little worried that the vampire would wake up this evening mocking him for the whole episode. Granted, it was only a *very* small voice, but it was still there, nagging at him.

{For God's sake! Why would he have been so nice last night, only to rip you to shreds tonight?}

Hell, why did Spike do anything? Befriending Spike felt something like trying to tame a half-wild dog. You never knew if it was going to lick you or tear your throat out. There was a decent-sized evil streak in Spike, of which Xander had been on the receiving end more than once. He looked over at the blond figure laying beside him. Even in sleep, there was something about Spike. A subdued violence that was only hinted at in the set of his jaw. The unconscious, fractional arch of an eyebrow, giving him a faintly sardonic look, even when he was completely at rest.

Xander's hand acted of its own accord and reached out, smoothing back a white-blond lock of hair. He was startled a bit at the softness of it, and wondered if Spike had gotten up and taken a shower sometime the night before. Thinking back, he pulled a blank. Once he had fallen asleep, he had pretty well been dead to the world.

Well, so to speak.

His fingers combed through Spike's hair again, even as his mind yelled at him, demanding to know what the hell he was doing. With a studied casualness, he ignored the little voice in his brain and kept right on with it, fascinated with the texture and play of it, until a low rumbling started in the inert form under his hand.

Startled, Xander jerked his hand away and scooted backwards a bit, ignoring the stinging pain in his back, and the throbbing twinges in his ribs. The rumbling continued unabated, and slowly Xander crept forward again.

{Was he doing this last night?}

Once again his hand stretched forward, but this time he lay it on Spike's chest. A small, delighted grin crossed Xander's face as he felt the vibrations under his hand.

{He *was*! I remember this.} Listening to it now made him want nothing more than curl back up, and go back to sleep.

His bladder, however, had differing plans. Moving slowly, he reached out and grasped the semi-sturdy table by the bed, hauling himself upright.

"Okay... so far, so good," he whispered, moving on shaky legs toward the bathroom.

Crossing the room by groping from one landmark to another really sucked, even though it was something he had a great deal of practice at, but he finally reached his destination. Xander stood motionless at the sink for a moment, holding on tightly as he tried to get his breath back. Almost reluctantly, he looked up into the mirror and then winced. God, he had to stay inside as a public service, just so he wouldn't scare any little kids.

The thought provoked an unexpected smile to form on his bruised mouth. Spike would enjoy that. Hell, he'd probably want to parade Xander around himself, just to get the full reaction value.

{Now where did *that* thought come from? Why in the world would I *care* what Spike wants to do with me?} Now didn't *that* just conjure up wonderful images in Xander's all-too-vivid imagination?

Sighing, he got down to business and turned to the toilet. And waited. And waited.

"Okay, a little cooperation would be good here."
{Pretty damned pathetic when you're talking to your dick *out loud* there, Harris.}

{Shut up.}

Just as he was beginning to wonder if he was going to pass out before he got to pee, a thin stream splashed into the bowl.

"Jesus H. Christ!!!" Xander's knees almost buckled at the wave of pain that struck him, and he held his breath for a moment, to see if his yell would wake Spike up. A few seconds produced no movement from the bedroom, and Xander breathed a sigh of relief. He just didn't think he could deal with needing Spike to come and hold him up while he peed. Looking down, he was barely able to stifle another shout. His dad had kicked him in the kidneys before, but somehow, the water had never looked quite *that* red the day after. After what seemed like forever, he was finally finished. Xander swallowed hard, praying no permanent damage had been done, and shook himself off before straightening his boxers and turning to wash his hands.

"Christ," he said again, softly, leaning heavily on the sink. A wave of sorrow and hatred washed over him. Part of him wanted to cry, and part of him wanted to rip his father's balls off. He blamed his father, and he blamed himself. He hated his father, and he loved him.

Xander looked up at his reflection in the mirror.

"You're so fucked up, it's pathetic." Turning, Xander started walking slowly back to bed.

Spike had stopped purring by the time Xander got back, but he was tired again, so he only frowned over it for a moment before closing his eyes, and scooting closer to the cool body next to him. He was asleep in minutes.

* * * * *

The next time he woke up, it was with the same hideous *creeping* feeling he always used to get when his father would stand in his bedroom door and stare. Shivering, Xander looked over and saw bright, cold blue eyes, instead of muddy brown ones that were clouded with alcohol and rage. Xander blinked.

"Spike." It wasn't really a question...more of a verbal recognition and acknowledgement of the vampire, in place of his father. An arched eyebrow told Xander that Spike hadn't missed the nuances in his tone.

Not that Spike seemed to miss much at all, most of the time.

Spike was looking at him evenly and unwaveringly enough that Xander was starting to feel uncomfortable. He had to resist the urge to fidget and drop his eyes to his hands, one of the few instinctive mannerisms that he hadn't ever quite been able to conquer. It was always better never to meet the predator's eyes. Direct challenges made for worse beatings. Even though it was almost impossible, Xander somehow managed to meet Spike's stare until the vampire looked away first.

Xander wondered why it felt like a victory. Not over Spike, but over his father.

"You need to eat something, and take some more antibiotics. I also need to check your back. If you can stand to nap on your stomach, it'll do you some good to leave the dressings off for a while and get some fresh air to the cuts." Xander looked Spike over consideringly. The vampire's words were downright solicitous, but his tone was as flat and bored, as if he had been talking about the weather.

"Alright, Spike." Xander took a moment to wonder where that quiet, meek tone he was using was coming from, and thought that, perhaps, he was still in a bit of shock. Spike either didn't notice, or pretended not to, and instead nodded decisively and was up and off the bed before Xander even had a chance to ask what his meal was going to be. Xander blinked again. If he didn't know better, he'd say that Spike was trying to coddle him, without being too obvious about it.

Xander watched surreptitiously from the bed as Spike bustled (and *who* in their right minds would have thought the vampire could *bustle*?) around in his kitchen, making chicken noodle soup, of all things.

Granted, it was Campbell's, but still, Xander probably wouldn't have been much more surprised if Spike had whipped some up from scratch. While the soup was heating, Xander just sat and wallowed in the joy of watching Spike move around in those tight black jeans and t-shirt.

Hey, just because he wasn't sure if he wanted to sleep with the Fangless Wonder didn't mean he couldn't appreciate the scenery, especially when it was paraded under his nose, so to speak.

Xander slowly realized that he felt a lot worse than when he had woken up earlier that morning, and he admitted that, maybe, he shouldn't have made that trip to the bathroom without a little assistance. He was fairly sure that he had pulled some of his stitches, and to be honest, he felt a little feverish, and weak as a kitten. Grunting a little, he slowly inched down and twisted, so that he was propped up slightly on the pillow, and laying on his slightly less sore, left side. Spike might be eye-candy, but the way Xander's head was spinning, he wasn't really enjoying it as much as he should have been, anyway.

In what seemed like no time, probably due to the fact that Xander was fading in and out every few seconds, Spike was standing beside the bed, holding a bowl in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. He set both down on the bedside table, and Xander busied himself trying to figure out how to feed himself from the one semi-comfortable position he had managed to achieve all night. Xander was just in the process of attempting a roll-over of epic proportions from his careful balance on his side, when a hand reached out and grasped him softly.

"Don't." He looked up as Spike reached out and grabbed the chair he'd been keeping watch from, pulling it over to the bed. When the vampire sat down and hunched over with his elbows on his knees and the soup bowl in his hands, he was roughly eye-level with Xander.

Spike took the spoon and dipped it in the soup, waiting patiently while staring at Xander.

Spike was going to *feed* him? Xander looked at him mistrustfully, trying very hard to get some sense of what the vampire was thinking, but all he got was that same blank mask Spike had been wearing since Xander woke up. Shivering a little, Xander scooted up a bit more on the pillow, and obediently opened his mouth. Spike slipped the spoon past his lips, careful not to tap it on his teeth for some reason, and Xander wondered vaguely if vampire fangs were more sensitive than human teeth.

Xander swallowed, then decided he was either really, really hungry, or that Spike had the ability to make Campbell's soup into something that tasted like it came out of Grandma's kitchen.

He eagerly opened his mouth for the second spoonful, his discomfort with Spike feeding him taking a backseat to his sudden hunger. Just the slight hint of a smile played on Spike's mouth as he gave Xander another spoonful, and another.

All too soon the soup was gone, and Spike was back with pain pills, water, more bandages, bandage scissors, antibiotic ointments and assorted other little treasures that Xander really didn't care about, as long as they made him feel better.
Spike handed Xander his pain pills, and gave him a sip of water, his eyes never leaving the boy as he downed almost half the glass before handing it back.

"Flip over on your stomach." Spike's voice was still brisk and almost impersonal. However, after Spike set his collection down, Xander felt gentle hands helping him turn over and find the position that pulled on his ribs the least.

"Thank you, Spike." Xander's words were whispered so quietly, he wouldn't have been surprised if the vampire had missed them completely.

He didn't, though.

Xander felt Spike's hands hesitate a moment before they dropped to his back again. One hand strayed down to stroke softly over an unbroken patch of skin on his flank, and the other reached up to skim the line of his neck gently.

But Spike never answered him.

* * * * *

The blond head bent over Xander's back finally lifted for the first time in over an hour. Spike had had to soak the bandages off in places, and he meticulously cleaned every cut again, ruthlessly cutting off any reaction to the sight of Xander's face becoming paler and paler as he worked. The relief he had felt when Xander finally passed out brought on a wave of self-disgust.

{What the hell happened to the sadistic vampire who got off on torturing his victims?}

{Xander's not your victim.} The little voice in his head was back again, and Spike gritted his teeth against the truth of its statement.

{If I'm not careful, the little bugger'll probably get an infection and die on me.} Spike refused to admit how much that concept bothered him.

He was pretty much refusing to admit *anything* at that point. The flaming, all-encompassing rage that had consumed him the night before was thoroughly banked, and Spike refused to allow any feeling to cross his mind and heart, lest it return.

For the first time in his existence, he was finding it necessary to plan. Planning had never been his strong suit. That had been more along Angelus's line. Spike was good with force. He saw the objective, and he went, and achieved it. If he wanted something, he took it, and damn the consequences. There *were no* consequences for him, because he did whatever he bloody well pleased.

As soon as he heard The Bastard raping his son, Spike's instant and wholehearted reaction was to want to tear his heart out and offer it to Xander as a gift.

Spike's lips quirked, despite the flash of murderous rage in his blue eyes. Somehow, he thought his pet might not like his gift so well. He frowned again, and traced a finger gently over one of the worst cuts.

Then again, maybe he would love it. If Spike had his way, he was going to find out first-hand. But that was for later. He was the hunter and The Bastard was the hunted. It was of no matter how long the chase lasted. His first and foremost priority had to be getting Xander out of this hellhole.

Regardless of what the boy said, Spike had no use for Xander's mother. The woman had stood impassively by for the last nineteen years, and let her husband beat and rape his son. She could have left him. She could have saved Xander years and years ago, but she had been selectively blind, and mercy was not one of Spike's strong points when it came to someone hurting what was his. All he cared about was getting Xander out. The whelp needed more money than his pathetic minimum wage job was making, not that he had a pathetic minimum wage job anymore. Spike heard the message Xander's boss had left on his machine, before he had turned the ringer off earlier, and he moved the man up near the top on his "must kill" list, right after Dear Old Dad, as soon as he got rid of the bloody chip.

An idea was niggling at the back of Spike's mind, but before it could fully take shape, another awareness was niggling there as well. Spike cocked his head a moment, before sliding softly off the bed and moving quickly up the stairs and out the front door.

* * * * *

"I'm sure he's fine. He probably just forgot about the meeting, that's all." Buffy and Willow strolled toward the Harris household, Willow's steps just a little more hurried than her friend's as they headed for the front door.

"Then why didn't he answer the phone?"

Buffy sighed, certain that Willow was making a mountain out of a molehill. After all, it wasn't the first time that Xander had skipped a meeting. He was a part of the group when he was there, but it didn't kill them if he blew it off now and then.

"He probably wanted to crash early. Didn't you say he's been working a lot lately?" Buffy pulled them to a stop before they reached the front steps. "Let's go around to his window. If he's just sleeping, I don't want to wake him up. We can talk in a few days."

"Yeah, ok," Willow mumbled as they altered course, and headed around to the side of the house. "I just have a bad feeling. I wanted to check on him."

"Then we will," Buffy soothed. "If nothing else, if he's awake, we can visit for awhile. It's been a couple of weeks since we've really gotten to sit and talk with him." Willow nodded, but the uneasy feeling remained. Xander had known about the meeting for the last week or so. Granted, it was more of a group project to settle Giles into the magic shop than a meeting, but he had still been enthusiastic about coming. She didn't think he would blow it off.

Xander had seemed so down lately, but Willow was at a loss on how to include him. Things were so different since she and Buffy had started college and Xander had opted to just try and find a decent job. They didn't run with the same circle of friends anymore, and talking about anything other than demons and vampires was becoming increasingly difficult.

Willow had the uncomfortable feeling that her best friend was growing away from her. Or maybe she was growing away from him.

"Oh. My. GOD!!!" Willow was jerked out of her thoughts by the indignant shout coming from the Slayer standing in front of her. She followed Buffy's line of sight through the window and gasped, tears filling her eyes, as she took in Xander's still form on the bed.

"Xand?" Willow whispered.

Buffy stared, transfixed at the sight of Xander's back, until a slight noise in the bushes beside the window made her jerk her head around. Her eyes widened, and sparked in anger.

"You!" Buffy hissed. Willow startled a bit as Buffy pulled a stake out of her purse, and lunged just to the left of Willow.

Spike dodged her, but made no move to attack her himself.

"What the hell did you do, Spike? How could you do that to him?"

"Shut up!" Spike hissed at her. "I didn't do it, you stupid, bloody bint! How the hell could I? I can't even hit *you* in self-defense, so how the fuck could I slice all the skin off his back for fun?" Spike glanced around, almost furtively. He couldn't kill The Bastard, but he sure as hell didn't want the bloody slayer to have the honor, if the soddin' git should stagger out the door! "Bleedin' hell! If you don't stop making all this bloody racket, you're gonna wake the one that *did* do it!" Buffy stopped advancing on him and stood, stake still poised aggressively.

"If you didn't do it, then who did?" Spike eyed her coolly, all trace of emotion wiped once more from his face, save for his eyes, which fired with insane anger as he answered.

"His father."

* * * * *

"What? You expect us to believe that Xander's father did that to him?" Spike looked at her with unconcealed disgust.

"No. Not really. I don't expect you to believe anything other than what you *want* to believe, just like you don't *see* anything but what you want to see. His father's been doing this for God knows how many years, and you haven't seen a damned thing." He turned to Willow, and looked her in the eyes though his voice, strangely, lacked the accusing note it should have carried.

"I thought you were supposed to be his best friend." Willow flinched, as though slapped.

"I......I...I never thought- He never said-" She trailed off, her face pale.

"I would never hurt him. He's my best friend, and I love him."

Spike looked at her, unmoved, and said nothing in response.

"All right," Buffy said, calling their attention to her, and away from the staring contest they had going. Her shaking voice betrayed her distress, but it was in her nature to take charge and take action. It went against everything she was to sit and do nothing while one of her friends was being hurt. "None of that really matters at this point. All that matters is, we have to get him out of there."

"He won't go," Spike said flatly.

Buffy stuttered to a stop, and just looked at Spike. "What? Why not?" Spike shook his head.

"Worried about his bloody mother. Bitch stood by, and let his father hit him all this time. I say he dump her and never look back. That, and the fact that he doesn't have a job as of this afternoon...well...where's he supposed to go?"

"B-But the police..."

"Will arrest his father. What good will that do? Will that get him a job? An apartment? He's over eighteen. It's not like he'll have a foster home to go to when he gets booted out of here." Buffy stood still, looking thunderstruck. "But...but...there's got to be something..."

Spike looked at her dispassionately. "If you think of something I've missed over the last day or so, let me know. Otherwise, get the hell out of here. I've treated his wounds, given him his pain medicine and antibiotics, and fed him. You're *not* going in and getting him hysterical until he's a *lot* better than he is right now." Spike's voice never lost that flat, monotone quality it had had through the entire conversation, and the hair on Buffy's neck stood on end. She tried to figure out what it was that was disturbing her on a primal level, but it continued to elude her.

"Why, Spike? Why are you doing all this for him? What do you get out of it?" Spike's eyes flashed dangerously yellow at the question, the largest show of emotion they had seen all night, and it startled them.

"I'm doing it because he's mine, and no one hurts what's mine!"

Turning on his heel, he stalked back into the house, leaving a confused and miserable Buffy and Willow standing in the middle of the yard.

Buffy stood still for a moment, looking after the retreating figure. Spike's shoulders were hunched forward, almost as if in pain. Why would Spike feel pain over Xander, though? Her eyes hardened. Spike could be dealt with later, whatever his motivations were. They had some planning to do, if they were going to find a way to help Xander, so that he would actually accept their assistance.

"Come on, Willow. We need to talk." Buffy put her arm around her friend, and with one last look at the house, guided them both away from Xander's bedroom window.

* * * * *

Back in the basement of the Harris's house, Spike sat motionless in the chair next to the bed, his hands steepled in front of his face as he stared with empty eyes at the still form in front of him.

~*fini*~