"No. Now drop it, Spike."

Xander's stubborn, set expression and crossed arms in front of an aggressive stance told the vampire he was pushing too hard. Again. Spike couldn't help it, though. He had awakened that night feeling even antsier than what was normal for him as of late. He was *itching* to get out of The Bastard's house. Vampires being the territorial creatures that they were, it was going completely against Spike's nature to live for an extended period of time in his mortal enemy's home territory.

He couldn't relax anymore. He was nervous and jumpy all the time and he felt constantly in need of a fag, a fuck, or a fight. He knew there had been several times that he'd snapped at the whelp for no good reason. The brief flashes of hurt, quickly concealed behind biting sarcasm, always made Spike feel like something scraped off the bottom of his boot in a cow pasture.
That, in turn, made him feel vulnerable, which made him angry, which made him snap at Xander again.

Damnit, all of this would be avoided if the damned stupid, chivalrous pillock would just bloody *move out* already!!

Sighing, Spike worked hard to keep his voice soft. "Xan-pet, stalling isn't going to change her answer when you finally ask her."

Xander's expression betrayed a hint of panic for just a second, before a mask of calm slipped into place again. Xander turned away from Spike and grabbed Spike's pack of cigarettes from the end table, mainly so he wouldn't have to look the vampire in the eye as he answered.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Spike. I'm not stalling. I just can't leave until I get my first paycheck. That could be up to another three weeks." He pulled a cigarette from the pack, only to find himself empty-handed a moment later as Spike snatched it from him. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?"

Spike stuck the cigarette between his lips and lit it, taking a long drag. "I'm already dead, pet. Don't have much cause for concern about lung cancer, now do I? If you wanna kill yourself, I've got lots more entertaining ways to do it than this."

* * * * *

Xander shuddered a little, the look on Spike's face making him think that the vampire wasn't entirely kidding. Not for the first time, Xander wondered just how long he would remain human if he *did* decide to become involved with Spike.

{Become involved with Spike,} the little voice inside his head mocked. {Christ, if you sounded any more P.C., people might start to mistake you for Giles.} Xander glanced at Spike, trying to decide if the vampire was tense enough to push the subject this time. Xander was living on borrowed time and he knew it. He knew how difficult it was for Spike to live there. The tension in the atmosphere had become a third roommate, lately. He was running out of maneuvering room, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave his mother. He kept stalling, thinking in some remote part of himself, that if he waited just a week more, something would happen that would drive her to want to leave on her own. Something that hadn't happened in the other twenty-five years she'd been with her husband. In the meantime, Spike was going slowly insane with the pressure of living in constant danger from Xander's father. Buffy and Willow were becoming increasingly irritated with and worried about him. Even his own "little voice" inside him was railing at him, demanding he leave. The day he got his first paycheck from this new job, the last excuse would be gone. He would *have* to move.

Sighing, Xander set the pack of cigarettes down, ignoring Spike's smirk as he flopped down on his bed. Spike turned, conceding the battle for the moment as he went to the kitchenette; for a snack, presumably. The moment pressure hit Xander's back, the almost healed cuts started itching furiously. Spike had taken the stitches out late the previous evening, which seemed to have started the itching in earnest. He glanced at the vampire, seeing only the bleached blonde hair and nicely shaped back. Xander shifted surreptitiously on the bed, trying not to attract his "mother hen's" attention.

"Stop that," Spike said, obviously exasperated.

Xander frowned irritably. Spike hadn't even looked over at him. How the hell did he know?

"If it itches, tell me and I'll put some aloe on it. Don't scratch."

Xander had to work hard to disguise the surge of bitterness at Spike's words. What the hell was the point? Why shouldn't he scratch if he wanted? Not like he wasn't going to have scars no matter what he did anyway, right? He looked at the vampire covertly again. Spike's voice had held the same toneless, dangerous quality it always did when he mentioned any of Xander's injuries. Ever since the night it had happened, Spike had been careful to keep any and all emotion out of his voice when he spoke of it. If it weren't for the flashes of gold in the vampire's eyes, the rigid tension in his muscles and the careful, infinitely gentle way he treated Xander, the boy would swear Spike didn't care one way or another.
And how pathetic was it that he always got a little thrill at the flashes of almost insane fury, there and gone in a second, that always appeared in Spike's eyes after the vampire treated his back for the night?

Nah. He wasn't starved for affection. Not at all.

Xander had leaned back and closed his eyes against his turbulent thoughts, so the touch of cool, almost cold, skin brushing against his cheek caught him by surprise. He jumped a little and his eyes shot open. Spike had virtually no expression on his face as the back of his fingers brushed softly over Xander's cheek, as if fascinated with the feel of the light stubble on Xander's face. Xander's breathing hitched a little, but he didn't move away as Spike's hand slid down his face and brushed against his jugular, forefinger tracing it gently, feeling the quickening beat of the blood through Xander's veins. Xander's head fell back slightly, baring his throat as he looked Spike in the eye while the vampire stood over the bed. Spike gasped audibly at the unwitting submissiveness of the gesture, but then his whole face seemed to shutter as his eyes narrowed and he drew back fractionally.

"We need to put this on. Only a couple more nights of it, most likely. You'll still be sore a while longer, but you won't need the aloe anymore. Your kidneys still hurting you?"

Unbelievably, Xander still possessed the ability to be embarrassed by Spike. He flushed hotly. "How did you know about that?"

Spike smirked. "Got a nose, don't I, pet? Bit of a hard thing for a vampire to ignore, what with the fresh blood scent 'an all"

Xander blushed harder, but he finally mumbled that he was feeling a lot better before pulling his shirt off quickly and flipping over onto his stomach, pillowing his head on his arms. Spike's cool touch and the soothing aloe had him sighing in relief as the itching subsided. Strong hands went from stroking to massaging and in bare moments, Xander felt his eyelids start to droop as he sprawled bonelessly. A moment later, he was asleep.

* * * * *

Spike gloated to himself. All his time spent soothing Dru had apparently taught him *something*. It had taken him less than five minutes to put the whelp to sleep. He sat back with a self-satisfied smile that was short lived as he traced a finger over the red lines on the boy's back. The cuts had healed, for the most part, and some of them had faded to pink, but it was obvious they were going to be there for the rest of Xander's life. Spike's fingers traced line after line as he found himself reminiscing unwillingly.

There were no scars on his body. Something about that fact had bothered him after his first few decades. It seemed that with all the fights he'd been in and all the beatings he'd endured, all his toughness and resiliency should have shown in *some* kind of a physical representation. But he had nothing. His flesh was as smooth and flawless as it had been the day he had been turned. When he hadn't been Spike, but William, the pathetic mortal who poured his heart into terrible poetry dedicated to a woman who couldn't even be troubled to look down at him.

William had been an innocent. He had been naïve and trusting. And he had been killed for it. After all the years he had been *Spike*, it had seemed unfair that he still wore the body of William. William, who had been almost exactly like Xander was now. Except that Xander had an awareness of darkness in him, as evidenced by a latticework of thin red lines on his back, that William had never had.

Strange that Spike wished for the distinguishing marks that he loathed seeing on Xander's skin. On himself, they would be a mark of distinction he had never been allowed. The times he had survived Angelus's punishments. Remnants he should have had from his battles with two different Slayers. Marks he had earned that had been denied him by the nature of his existence.

Spike's hand moved off Xander's skin and formed a fist, causing the sleeping mortal to shift restlessly at the loss of contact.

The marks on Xander weren't scars he'd earned. They were permanent reminders that someone else had touched *Spike's* property. Defiled *Spike's* territory without his permission. It couldn't be allowed.

It *wouldn't* go unpunished.

* * * * *

Xander walked onto the site the next morning, feeling that there was a flock of birds in his stomach, forget about butterflies. His hands flexed convulsively into fists and he wished for something to keep them occupied so he didn't look quite so psychotic. Not that he really had much to worry about. The fact that Kenny liked Willow as much as he did pretty well assured Xander a position on the team. It was, however, up to him to impress his bosses enough to make them want to keep him. And strangely enough, he really, *really* wanted to keep this job. Almost as much as he wanted to run out of here without getting it in the first place. This was his first real chance to get out of his parent's house and Xander found that the thought was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. A surprisingly large part of Xander was somehow comfortable, even in his periodic misery there. It was familiar. There might be beatings, but there were no surprises, day to day. The routine never changed, it seemed. The logical part of Xander recognized that this was the same thinking that kept his mother trapped, only to a lesser degree. This was the true danger of his situation and he knew it. In a sudden flash, Xander had a terrifying realization that, if he hadn't had Spike, Willow and Buffy he probably would have stayed in his parents house until his father actually beat him to death one day, out of a sense of obligation to his mother.

*No! No, I'm not going to do that! I love her, but I won't martyr myself for her when there's absolutely no need. That's not loyalty or devotion. That's stupidity and I'm *not* stupid!*

Xander's faltering steps strengthened and he squared his shoulders as he stepped up to the door of the small building serving as the managers' office. Stepping inside, his eyes watered a little as they adjusted to the dim lighting, after the brilliant sunlight of the day outside. Slowly, he focused on a burly man sitting behind the somewhat battered desk at the back of the office.

"Can I help you, son?" Well, he sounded friendly enough, Xander supposed.

"Yeah, I'm looking for Roger Waneswood. I'm Xander Harris-"

"Ah. Our new worker. I'm Roger Waneswood. Everybody just calls me Boss, or Boss Roger." He squinted at Xander critically. "You could use a little more meat on you, but we'll take care of that pretty soon." Xander pasted on a very fake-feeling smile. Usually when someone remarked on the meat on him, it was because they were looking to remove it in assorted painful ways. He'd been living in Sunnydale *way* too long.

"You know as well as I do that you're here as a favour to my son. Most likely because he wants a piece of some girl somewhere, as that usually has something to do with favours he asks of me. I don't mind, though. We really need workers and you look able-bodied enough." The man's friendly eyes never changed, but his tone hardened. "If you need work, that's fine. That's the kind I like. If you're here because your family decided it was time you got off your butt and did something, know that I'm not a babysitter. If you aren't serious about this, your ass is gone. I love my son, but I run a business, not a daycare center."

Xander smiled, honestly this time. The speech had gone a long, long way toward making him feel at ease. "I'll tell you honestly, Boss Roger. I need this job and I'm here to work. I've got a-" *vampire* "dependent to support and I've got to have the money. You won't be running a day care for me."

Waneswood smiled happily and held out his hand. "Well that's all right then. Welcome aboard."

Xander shook the offered hand, working hard not to flinch. Waneswood wasn't kidding about building those muscles up, if his own were any indication of where Xander's needed to be.

"Now let's get this paperwork out of the way and you can get your hard hat and get started."

"Today?" Xander asked, startled.

Waneswood laughed a little. "No time like the present my boy. Daylight's wasting and why should you put off 'till tomorrow, what you could do today? Want any more cliché's to go with that?"

Xander grinned. "Nah, that oughta do it."

"Siddown, then."

Xander sat, still grinning like an idiot for some reason. Maybe this job wasn't going to suck *that* bad.

Ten hours later, he was wondering if he was going to have to change his opinion. He'd always thought the expression "work from sunup to sundown" was just an old saying, but some people apparently still believed in it. Xander had just worked from eight o'clock in the morning until six o'clock that evening, doing some of the most backbreaking physical labour he had ever had the misfortune to come across. His back was screaming at him, both the *almost* healed cuts on the surface and the strained muscles underneath. He wanted to do nothing more than soak in a tub of blissfully hot water for about...oh...ten years would be nice.

Creeping into the house, he thanked all the gods he knew, (which, thanks to Giles, was a great many more than two years before) that his father wasn't home yet and crept down the stairs, doing his best not to whimper.

Rough hands grabbed him and slammed him into the wall. He yelped and at the same instant, the hands released him and he heard a soft groan. Surprisingly, the hands were back a moment later, only marginally gentler than they were the first time, and he was hauled out into the middle of the room before being lifted onto his toes. Hands that might as well have been granite had fisted themselves in his shirt and, rather than struggle in an undignified and futile manner, he contented himself with simply *hanging* and glaring death rays at his captor.

Gold eyes bored into his own from underneath a heavily ridged brow and words were ground out from between clenched fangs.

"Where in the *bloody fucking HELL* have you been?" Xander arched an eyebrow at him.

"Working, Spike. I think we might have discussed that whole 'me getting a decent job so we can get the hell out of here' thing. Ring a bell?" Xander snarled nastily at Spike, who returned it much more impressively.

*So what? He's got fangs. Unfair advantage.*

"You were only supposed to go for an interview today. You never came home. I got up this afternoon and you weren't here. I thought..."

Abruptly, Spike's hands released him and Xander stumbled back a few steps before catching himself. He groaned audibly.

*Good God. He was worried about me! That's what this is all about. He's pissed off because he didn't know where I was and he was afraid my father had gotten hold of me...* Xander didn't need a mirror to know that there was a sappy smile on his face. Spike's hissing snarl told him as much as the vampire turned and stalked away. "They put me to work about eight o'clock this morning. The foreman was really nice and so were the other guys there. I think...I think this might be a good place to work." Xander limped halfway to the bathroom before mumbling, "Well, in a month or so, anyway- HEY!"

Spike's hands had grabbed him again, although they were much more careful with him this time as they pulled his shirt up and over his head. Xander actually thought it was rather considerate that Spike didn't rip it.

"Bloody hell! If you ripped any of those cuts open, I'll sodding kill you myself!"

"Spike," Xander said reasonably. "The cuts were already healed, for the most part. They're just sore. Nothing ripped. Nothing's bleeding. I'll be fine."

Spike probed his back gently, ignoring him completely, and Xander sighed. He supposed he should have been irritated at Spike's manhandling, but he just couldn't bring himself to be angry when it showed so very clearly that Spike was worried about him. It felt damned good to have people worried about him.

*The moments with Spike that give me warm fuzzies, as Willow would say, are the times that he manhandles me, or gets insanely angry and homicidal on my behalf. Are we seeing the very bad direction this is heading?* Xander calmly turned around, blocking Spike's view of his back. Spike was still in gameface and Xander wondered when it was that Spike in fangs had ceased to be frightening and become somewhat comforting?

"Spike. I'm fine. I'm going to have a long soak, then I'm going to bed. You need to let off some steam. If I felt any better I'd go with you, but I've got to loosen up some before work tomorrow, or I won't be able to move. Go out and kill some demons. Get in a bar brawl. *Something* that requires gratuitous violence. It'll make you feel better and it'll keep me from getting any more bruises."

Spike stepped back, angry confusion flickering clearly across his face. "I...I'm..."

"It's all right Spike." Xander took pity on him.

Spike stared at him a moment longer, then strode across the room and grabbed his duster before heading for the stairs. He paused about halfway up, his hand on the railing, but not turning around. "You gonna be-?"

"I'll be fine, Spike. Go on."

Without another word, Spike all but ran out of the basement.

* * * * *

*What in the hell were you doing?* Spike snarled to himself as he strode along. *You scared the shit out of him and hurt him on top of that? That's supposed to let him know you were worried about him?*
Long legs ate up the distance quickly as Spike strode into one of the worst parts of Sunnydale, looking for anything of the non-human variety that he could conveniently kill.

*I didn't mean to hurt him. I was just...concerned when he didn't come home earlier. Besides. He's mine. I can hurt him if I want.*

*Not with the chip in you can't. And do you really want to hurt him, anyway?*

*Of course! I'm a vampire! It's what I do. I hurt things.*

*Even things you love?*

"I *don't* love him, goddamnit! Bloody fucking hell!" He strode along, his eyes glowing gold, unnecessary breath rasping heavily as he panted in anger.

"This is Sunnydale? Where the bloody hell are all the demons?!?" He needed to beat something to a pulp and there was nothing! What? Was this a Creatures of the Night vacation day and no one told him?

"BLOODY HELL!!" he roared.

"Needing to work on that anger management, I'm guessing." The ironic voice caught him by surprise and he jumped, whirling around to snap at whatever was behind him. "Now what would you be doing out here, Spike? It's a quiet night. Not much happening. I haven't gotten a bite all evening, not including you."

Spike pulled himself together enough to shift out of gameface. "I might ask the same thing of you. Seems kind of silly for the Slayer to be out here wasting her time. Surely there's other, more worthwhile things for you to be doing."

"Well, I tend to patrol to blow off steam...how about you?"

Spike looked over at her in surprise. It was a concession for her. She had admitted that she was worried about something, hence the need to blow off steam in the first place. Now she was daring him to admit the same thing. "Yeah. That's usually what I tend to do. Not much action though, so it's kinda pointless tonight."

Without warning, Buffy threw a spinning kick straight at his head. He blocked it easily and the two of them stood ready, each eyeing the other warily.

"So who is the "he" you "don't love", Spike?"

Spike's eyes widened and he threw a punch at her, which she blocked, and countered with a sweep of her legs to take his feet out from under him. "None of your bloody business, Slayer!"

She flipped over his head, landing lightly on her feet behind him and throwing a punch at his kidneys. "Oh, I think it is when it's one of my friends you're in love with."

Spike ducked and rolled, coming smoothly to his feet before exchanging a flurry of blocked punches with her. "I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH XANDER!!!"

Buffy pulled back a little and looked at him evenly. "Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?" When his eyes shifted away in guilt, she lashed out with a lightening quick punch, splitting his lip. He looked back up at her, snarling slightly. "Don't hurt him, Spike," she said. Her features were hard and cold, but her eyes held a hint of understanding. "He's my friend. I know you love him, whether you want to admit it or not. I've seen it in the way you look at him. You look at him like you used to look at Dru. But if you can't admit, at least to yourself, that you love him, you're going to hurt him badly. I won't let you do that. So do yourself a favour and take your head out of your ass. You can't see much up there." She turned on her heel and walked away.

"Thanks for the match, Spike."

Stunned blue eyes watched her walk away. Spike sat heavily on an overturned crate lying nearby. All the pent-up anger was mysteriously gone.

It wasn't possible. He didn't love the whelp. Vampires *didn't* fall in love with humans. Humans were food. Nothing more. They were convenient diversions when the need arose and they were wonderful as cannon fodder in a fight, but no matter how you put it, *they* *were* *expendable*. You never, ever, allowed yourself to need one in any way, shape or form. It was all right for Xander to be his possession, but for Spike to start thinking of him as a companion...... It was unthinkable.

But apparently it wasn't *that* unthinkable, because even now, with the rage burned away by the stunning revelations from the Slayer, Spike found himself wanting to go home to Xander.

*Home* to Xander. When was the last time Spike had had a home?

"Bloody hell," Spike whispered, hugging his knees to his chest. "Bloody fucking hell..."

* * * * *

Xander sighed as he relaxed into the steaming bathwater. The job was his and he *knew* he could do it. He knew instinctively that that day had been the hardest one and he had made it. It wasn't just an impossible dream. He really was going to move out of his father's house. Soon. His first payday was two weeks away and that one check would be enough to move he and Spike into a fairly nice new apartment. They might not have much furniture to speak of for a few months, but they would be out of the basement. Now, the only question was, would they be moving out alone? Xander's happy smile dimmed as he thought, again, of his mother. She was sitting upstairs, he knew. Watching television and drinking God-knew-what. Not that it mattered as long as it had alcohol in it in high concentrations.

Feeling slightly more human from the bath and almost courageous from the inspiring first day at work, Xander got out of the water and dried off before grabbing his clothes. Dressing quickly, he started up the stairs before his new-found bravery could desert him.

Stepping into the living room always held the aura of menace that one would expect upon entering a lion's den. Even when his father wasn't home, Xander still tensed and his eyes darted around nervously when he came out of the relative security of the basement and into the more dangerous area of his father's main haunt. That day, though, there was no sign of anyone but his mother, watching Wheel of Fortune. Or, more likely, staring vacantly at the television in an imitation of watching. Rounding the side of the couch, he looked at her. Her large brown eyes were fixed on the screen, but not really registering anything and her right hand was curled around the remote, even as her left was clutching a coffee mug.

*If someone had done a painting, this could have been my childhood in a nutshell,* he thought bitterly. Knowing it was the only way to get her attention, he went over and turned the TV off, standing in front of it so the remote didn't work. She blinked owlishly up at him.

"Can we talk, Mom?"

"Since when do you wanna talk to me?"

Xander winced at the words, though he'd heard them before, many times. The times they did speak, she would mournfully accuse him of abandoning her to face his father alone. Her mixture of insidious insults and pitiful vulnerability cutting him to the core every time, so that he started working hard to avoid the encounters at all. But not this time. This time was too important.

"I wanna talk to you, Mom. I love you." He paused for a moment, trying to tell if his words had any effect on her. To his recollection, those three words hadn't passed the lips of anyone living in that house in years. She never even blinked. He glanced down, already feeling the futility of his mission before the request was even out of his mouth. "Mom, I got a new job. I'm going to be leaving in a couple of weeks." That got a reaction.

Her eyes widened and a horrible *betrayed* look entered her eyes. "I shoulda known you'd leave me alone someday. Off on your own and to hell with what anyone else needs, that it Alexander?"

"No!" he said forcefully. "That's *not* it! You can come with me. I'm going to get an apartment on the other side of town. You can come stay with me for awhile..." Xander trailed off at the look of horror on her face.

"I can't leave your father!" She sounded so completely scandalized that Xander realized, with a sinking feeling, that the idea had never once crossed her mind in twenty-five years.

"Yes, you can, Mom! He beats you! He beats me! Hell, he-" *rapes me.* "he's lousy to the both of us. All you have to do is get up and walk out the door-"

"No!" His mother sounded clear-headed for the first time in Xander's recent memory. "You're talking nonsense, Alexander! If you just wouldn't make him so mad all the time he wouldn't hit you. I make him mad too, I know, but he's my husband and *your* father. I can understand you leaving, I guess. Kids grow up and leave, but I'm married to him 'till death do we part! I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah, but whose death is it going to be, Mom? He's going to kill you one day and you know it!" Xander spat out in desperation.

A sharp crack echoed in the room, signaling an instant end to the fight. Xander's head swung sharply to the left and a bright red handprint appeared almost instantly on his right cheek. His mouth snapped shut and his eyes watered a little. He looked at her disbelievingly. She looked more than a little stunned herself. It was nothing compared to what he normally got- his mother's strength was non-existent compared to his father's. It was just the shock of it. He couldn't remember his mother *ever* hitting him. She always turned a blind eye to it, but she *never* joined in and the intense feeling of shocked betrayal surprised Xander.

He turned sadly and headed for the stairs without another word, ignoring the soft gasp behind him. Spike had been right. She wasn't going to leave with him. He was actually going to have to go and leave her here...with *him*. It was unbelievable.

Xander crept down the stairs, still feeling as though he were in shock. Moving like an automaton, he turned out the lights and laid down on the bed, curling into himself before he let the silent tears wind their way down his cheeks.

* * * * *

"Shit!" Spike mumbled. The Bastard was home, which meant he was reduced to crawling in through the basement window. Again. He stalked around to the side of the house, feeling a frisson of alarm at the dark window. Xander *always* left a light on for him. Pulling the window open quietly, he slipped in, his stronger eyes able to see easily. Xander was curled up, asleep on the bed and Spike found himself just staring, momentarily. Something was a little off. Xander smelled of total misery. More so than normal. And he was letting out the odd little sniffle as he slept, a sure sign that he had cried himself to sleep. Xander would most likely be mortified if he realized Spike could tell that just by scenting him. Nothing tended to anger and frustrate the mortal quite like having Spike see his tears. Xander was so intensely private with his emotions and he didn't trust Spike. Not that Spike could blame him.

Even at this point, Spike wasn't sure if Xander *should* trust him. He had good intentions toward a mortal, perhaps for the first time since he'd been turned, but he didn't even trust *himself* so why should he expect Xander to?

Spike stepped forward, and stroked the hair out of the boy's face lightly.

"I can't say I love you. I'm not sure I even know what love is. But I won't kill you or hurt you. You'll just have to make do with that, for now."

"I guess that's enough, then." The sleepy voice shocked the hell out of Spike and he looked at the open eyes in disbelief.

"How the bloody hell did you do that? Your heartbeat didn't even speed up when I touched you!"

"I knew it was you. Why would I be scared?"

Spike grunted and reached over for the bedside lamp.

"No!"

Spike saw the reason for the exclamation immediately. The handprint on Xander's cheek was swollen by then. Spike's eyes went cold, but he kept his fury contained, since he noticed the tear tracks still on Xander's face, as well as the fact that the handprint was far too small to have been made by Xander's father. "You talked to her, then?" he asked mildly. He saw Xander's jaw clench and his throat work convulsively.

His voice was steady and relatively calm when he answered, though. "She won't be coming with us."

Spike nodded a bit. "I expected as much."

Xander's wandering eyes finally met Spike's blue ones. Moving slowly, Xander kept his eyes locked on Spike's, even as he slid his arms around the vampire's waist, only breaking his gaze when he moved his head forward and laid it on Spike chest, directly over the spot where his heart didn't beat. He relaxed into Spike completely, letting the cool body support his entirely, head burrowing in as he took much needed comfort from the contact.

Spike sat rigidly for a moment, fighting his instinct to curl around the warmth in his lap. Finally, unwillingly, his hand inched up and buried itself in Xander's hair as the other crept around the boy's back. Scalding hot droplets soaked through his silk shirt and he shivered. "We'll figure it out. We'll get her out of here somehow, Xander."

Xander didn't answer him, but he burrowed closer and held on tighter.

The next two weeks passed quickly for Xander. He had two more run-ins with his mother, trying desperately to change her mind, but after that first time, she refused to speak to him at all.

Almost against his will, he found his attention turning away from his home life, turning towards enjoying the labour that almost immediately stopped wearing him out and started exhilarating him. The people that he worked with liked him, and relied on him more and more as he learned the job and picked up the tricks of the trade. Buffy and Willow insisted he come patrolling almost nightly. Mostly, he thought, so they could make sure he was still all right. Spike, however, was unusually quiet the entire time. He seemed to be responding to Xander's increasing dread of the move with an unspoken support that was completely unlike his normal, devilish, self.

On Xander's day off, two days before payday, he went apartment hunting. Five hours later, he wondered if he was subconsciously sabotaging his efforts. No matter what he found, there was always *something* wrong with it. Too big, too small, too bright, too dark, too expensive, in a bad part of town. There was always something.

Until the last one. Five hundred dollars a month for a two bedroom, two bath apartment. The kitchen was huge, for an apartment. The bathrooms were spacious, as were the bedrooms and the living room had a fireplace and a high ceiling that made it look bigger than it really was. It was bright, airy and open, with lots of windows. The ones in the bedroom would have to be covered, of course, but he had already budgeted for draperies before they ever moved in...

Almost in a panic, Xander realized that there was nothing wrong with this place. The price was much lower than what he'd budgeted for and it was in a good part of town. It was......perfect.

Xander felt like he was swallowing his tongue as he told the landlord he'd take it and be back in two days with the deposit.

"Xan? You O.K.?"

Xander looked up and saw all his workmates looking at him with varying degrees of concern. He mustered a small smile. "Yeah, Bill. I'm fine. I'm moving out tonight. Just a little nervous."

Bill was a huge bear of a man that looked much like a biker from hell. He was the kindest man Xander had ever known and he seemed to have semi-adopted Xander. He reached out and tousled Xander's hair fondly. "Little man's finally gettin' out on his own. In't that cute?"

"Fuck off," Xander said good-naturedly. They all roared with laughter and Xander actually found himself feeling a little better.

After work and a quick trip to the bank, where he stood for an embarrassing length of time, gaping at the amount on his check, he headed to the apartment complex. An hour later, the apartment was in his name and all that was left was to collect his vampire and beg his mother to come along one more time.

Xander wondered if he might throw up.

"Get out the window," Xander hissed, shoving the bags out. "I won't chance him seeing you. You wait out there for me until I finish in here."

"I think I like this new, aggressive you, pet," Spike smirked.

Xander actually blushed, but he still stood with his arms crossed, glaring meaningfully at the window.

With a put-upon sigh, Spike hefted himself up and shimmied through the tight space. His eyes were dancing with excitement, but his voice held a note of warning as he said,

"Ten minutes, Xander. You're not out here and I'll bloody come in and get you, chip or no chip."

Xander shivered a bit, thinking of Spike getting a hold of his father.

*No! Stop it! You're better than that!*

Between the two of them, it had only taken four bags to get all of Xander's stuff out of the basement. Xander was depressed. Almost twenty years and all he had to show for it was four lousy bags of shit. His steps heavy, he climbed the stairs.

He worked hard to surpress a surge of fear when he saw his father sitting in his armchair and his mother on the couch.

"I'm leaving."

"Good riddance," his father muttered, not even looking at him.

"Mom, please come with me," he begged, his desperation making his ask, even though his father was sitting there and he knew it was pointless.

"She's not going anywhere!" his father roared. "You want out, you get your worthless ass out. She's staying right here!"

"Mom?" Xander's mother never even looked at him, but his father roared angrily and picked up the nearest projectile, to save himself the trouble of getting up. His ashtray sailed at Xander, his father's horrendous aim causing it to slam into his empty left hand, rather than his head.
Xander yelped and finally conceded the battle, recognizing that discretion was the better part of valor.

He took some pleasure in slamming the door as he left, cradling his injured hand to his chest slightly.

Xander knew Spike missed nothing of his appearance, from the angry tears sparkling in his eyes, to the way he favoured his left hand, but to his credit, he said nothing when Xander snapped, "Let's go!" and climbed angrily into Spike's DeSoto.

The ride over to the apartment was quiet and Xander flexed his hand gingerly, finding it sore, but not broken. He stared out the window, going over the last two weeks again and again. Was there anything he could have said or done that would have changed her mind? Any opportunity he had missed-

"You did the best you could." *Hell, you did a lot more than I would even have considered, pet.* Spike had only been able to deal with the last couple of weeks by going out on patrol almost nightly; he and Buffy beating the shit out of whatever hapless demon crossed their paths. She seemed to be the only one that understood his need for violence; indeed, seemed to share it as she ripped into the enemy with a vengeance. At home, he had been as supportive as he could without making himself sick with the sweetness of it. Apparently it had worked. His human had held himself together and so had Spike. That was all that mattered.

"It wasn't enough though, was it?" Xander answered bitterly. "I really thought that if I pushed hard enough, I'd get her to leave. If I just argued convincingly enough, she'd see the truth. But it never mattered what I said. She never listened."

"You can't force her, pet. I don't really see the problem, but you humans are just so *touchy* about stuff like that."

That coaxed a small smile out of Xander.

"Which building, Xander?"

"The second one. Apartment #235."

Xander walked up in silence, carrying one of the bags and unlocking the door. "Here we are. Home sweet apartment."

Spike looked over the threshold meaningfully.

"Oh. Sorry. Come in, Spike."

Spike looked around the depressingly empty apartment and saw the potential. It was big and just begged for some decent furniture. He did note, with an odd warm feeling in his chest, that every window in the apartment had black draperies hung perfectly. That must have cost Xander a pretty penny.

Mirroring his thoughts, the boy said, "There would have been more furniture, but the bed and the draperies took every bit of spare cash I had from this paycheck as well as all the savings I had in the bank. I was originally only going to hang draperies in the bedroom, but knowing the way you tend to get up during the day, I didn't want you to end up trapped in one room." He shrugged a little self-consciously. "Look at it this way, though. They let me keep working the hours I have been since I started and this place'll be fully furnished in less than two months." Xander took a deep breath and looked back at Spike.

"I know it's not Buckingham Palace, but...is it all right?"

Spike moved closer to him. "Pet, as long as your father's not living upstairs, this might as well be Buckingham Palace."

Xander nodded at him. "Yeah. Yeah, that's true." Xander looked around the empty apartment. "What the hell am I getting into here, Spike?"

Spike looked at him seriously. "A new life."

Xander looked at him for a long moment, unsmiling. Finally, he nodded again. "I guess I am." Looking away for a moment. "You know, I'm really tired tonight. I think I'm gonna go to bed."

Spike stepped back from him, unaccountably hurt at the statement.

Xander stopped just outside the master bedroom. When he spoke, his voice betrayed a hint a nervousness. "You coming?"

Spike looked up at him in surprise, but Xander didn't turn around. "If you want me to, pet. Are you sure?"

Xander shrugged a little uncomfortably. "Well, I could only afford one bed and I don't want to make you sleep on the floor and all..."

Spike cocked an eyebrow disbelievingly. This from the person that had kept him tied in a chair the first few nights in the basement. Seeing the tense line of the muscles in Xander's neck and shoulders, Spike kept his voice soft when he said, "I'd like that, pet."

Without turning, Xander reached back, holding out his hand in a tentative invitation.

Spike reached forward and took it.

~*fini*~