Xander lay across Spike’s comfortable guest bed trying not to toss and turn. He knew the vampire was still awake downstairs, and was trying to act the part of exhausted guest he’d played to come upstairs. He thought about the conversation with Spike, and how, for the first time since her death he had been able to share a comment or story about his wife without feeling sad. When he’d explained to Spike how Shari had changed him, he’d felt pride and love, but no sadness. He didn’t know if this was a good or bad thing. He desperately feared moving on. He didn’t know if he wanted to live in a world where Shari was just a memory, though that seemed inevitable. Xander didn’t know if he was ready to let go of the tangible thing that was his grief.
Turning his thoughts away from Shari, he thought about Spike. Could this truly be the Bleached Menace, Fangless, Deadboy Jr.? Being so nice? He thought about Spike’s earlier comment that they had both grown up. It was true; he had finally made it to adulthood, though many days he still felt like a scared teenager taking on the world. He also realized that Spike’s journey had probably been even harder than his. Thinking about the guilt that Spike must have felt when his soul realized all of the things he’d done – all the pain and death and destruction, Xander felt tears prickle behind his eyelids.
Then he thought about the truly bizarre picture of Spike and Sara together. The toddler had barely left her “Uncle Will’s” arms the entire time she’d been in the house. Her sweet little face had shone with love for him. Xander also realized that she didn’t make him think of Lex. It hurt him that he’d never been able to hold his son, hear his voice, or watch him play; but Sara wasn’t Lex, she was her own person and Xander already loved her as an extension of Dawn. He also marveled at Dawn’s maturity; she’d forgiven him instantly for his shoddy treatment of her, with zero guilt or whining – remarkable.
Turning over in bed and rearranging the pillows, Xander stretched out on his back and let his thoughts turn to Spike again; specifically to his feelings of attraction toward Spike. He thought about all of the touches they had shared, from Spike’s light touch on his shoulder when he’d arrived and the hand in his hair while he’d cried against the vampire’s legs, to the cool hard hand gripping his under the table tonight in support. There had also been assorted small touches, a tap on the shoulder, a hand up when they were sparring. Xander analyzed each one to try and divine if Spike was being anything other than merely friendly.
Dawn had mentioned how tactile both Spike and Xander were. Xander acknowledged the truth in that. He was a sucker for simple physical affection. Early in his relationship with Shari, he had apologized for his need to constantly hold her hand or lean against her. She had shushed him and drawn him closer, establishing a pattern of placing her tiny hand on the inside of his wrist and scratching lightly. That simple contact had gotten him through many nights where he had trouble sleeping – all she had to do was pet him like that and he’d fallen asleep in minutes. Shari was as good a recipient as she was a giver; he’d spent hours brushing her long black hair, making it shine like silk as it flowed to her waist or rubbing her feet after she insisted on wearing ridiculously high heels to dinner.
Xander decided that he truly didn’t know if Spike felt anything for him beyond friendship. He also decided that he wanted to know, badly. Did he have the balls to just go and ask the vampire? He didn’t quite know the answer to that one, either. He listened as hard as he could, trying to hear Spike downstairs. He couldn’t discern any noise. Making up his mind he slid to the side of the bed and grabbed the burgundy sleep pants crumpled on the floor and pulled them on over his nakedness. He ran a hand through his hair and left the room quietly.
The kitchen and living room were empty. Xander stopped in the kitchen and poured himself a glass of juice. Carrying it, he wandered toward the side of the house he’d yet to enter, and saw lamplight gleaming through an open door. He stepped forward and paused in the doorway, taking in the room before him. It was a library. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with cherry bookcases, and almost every shelf was filled to bursting with books. The room was an interior one, so there were no windows. The few breaks in the bookcases were hung with paintings, or formed nooks to display sculpture or art objects. One corner of the room had two more leather club chairs like those in the kitchen; the room was also furnished with a large desk and two desk chairs and a tufted leather sofa with a lamp table at one end.
Only the lamp on the table lighted the room, and Spike was lying on the sofa. He was wearing a pair of black sleep pants similar to Xander’s, along with another cream-colored long-sleeved tee shirt. A soft-looking throw blanket was bunched up on the end of the sofa, and his feet were dug under its warm folds. A short glass of amber liquid was on the floor by his head, and he had a large book propped up on his chest. He was engrossed in reading it, staring through the lenses of his gold wire-framed glasses.
Xander raised his glass of juice to his lips and took a swallow. The small sound caught Spike’s attention, and he peered at the intruder over the top of his glasses, lowering the book. He smiled gently. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Xander smiled and gestured at the glasses Spike wore, “Those are just like Jase’s.” he pointed out. The two men shared a smile. Spike bent his knees to clear a space on the couch and gestured for Xander to sit. Xander took the offered seat and placed his own glass on the hardwood floor. He picked up the throw blanket and spread it over his chest, making sure the excess material pooled beside him to cover Spike’s bare feet. Spike placed his book on the floor and retrieved his drink. Xander watched his Adam’s apple bob as he took a long swallow and then replaced the glass on the floor.
“I like this room,” he observed. “It’s like Giles’ house.”
Spike glanced around. “Some of the books were his; he left them to me.”
Xander started in alarm. “Giles isn’t d-d …..” he stammered, eyes searching Spike’s face.
One of Spike’s cold feet prodded Xander’s thigh. “No, you git – he’s fine. He left them with me when he moved back to England. They up and begged him to come help rebuild the Watcher’s Council. He’s a big muckety-muck at HQ now.”
“Oh, good, good.” Xander replied with relief. “I was scared for a minute there.” He realized that he had grabbed the foot that had prodded him and was still holding it. “Your feet are like ice, Spike. And yes, I know – dead, here.” He pulled both of Spike’s feet into his lap and tucked the end of the blanket around them, his hand resting with his fingers lightly encircling the thin, cool ankle. If asked, he could not have easily explained his obvious compulsion for touching his one-time enemy. He thought about it for a second and realized that Spike was the first person he’d shared any kind of physical contact with since Shari’s death, outside of a lot of sympathetic hugs and handshakes.
Xander rubbed his fingers across the ankle under his hand and waited for the vampire to look at him. Spike slowly pulled off his glasses and met Xander’s questioning gaze. “Um, Spike? Does this bother you? Me, um, touching you?”
Spike’s expression was unreadable as he slipped one of the earpieces of his glasses into his mouth and chewed it in an absent and completely endearing gesture. His eyes never left those of the man in front of him. “No, Xan – it doesn’t bother me. I like it. You’re so warm.” They sat in silence for a moment, Xander’s fingers moved in small circles on Spike’s ankle and Spike shifted his foot into the touch. Xander spoke again. “I have this thing about contact and, well, since Shari’s been gone these six months, I’ve been really ….”
“Lonely?” Spike asked. Xander nodded. “And you don’t want me to get the wrong idea?” Spike asked with a wry tone.
Xander looked across the sofa and into wary blue eyes. He smiled gently. “Spike … Will … I don’t know if there’s a wrong idea to get.” He was startled when Spike’s eyes lost the wariness and widened, and he felt a slight tremor run through the smaller man. His hand stilled on the ankle it was holding. “What? What is it?”
The blue eyes softened, and Spike lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. “Er, you called me Will.” Xander couldn’t read the tone in his voice. So, he asked, “Is that OK?” Spike’s blue eyes rose to his again and he nodded. “Yeah.” He smiled what Xander could only think of as a shy smile. “It’s … nice.” Xander’s fingers started circling again on Spike’s – Will’s ankle and he came to a decision. “I need to go to L.A. We need to go to L.A.” Xander stated. Blue eyes flew to his face again and Spike sat up spluttering, “Wha … huh … what the hell?”
Xander reached out and pulled his friend to his side, turning the pale, angular face toward his own and holding it still. “There’s more to the story of Shari’s murder, much more. It’s why I came here. And I need you and Dawn and Jase and Buffy and Angel and the L.A. Gang and Willow to help me sort it out. And once you know everything, maybe – just maybe we can take a minute and figure out if this is just friendly hand holding and foot-rubbing, or if there’s something between us or not. Because, suddenly, I REALLY want to know. How about you, Will? Do you want to know?” Xander’s eyes searched Spike’s face as his hand dropped from the other man’s chin.
Spike hesitated for a bare second, then leaned in and lightly brushed his lips against Xander’s. Blue and brown eyes closed as they both leaned forward a fraction of an inch to turn the light brush of lips into a tantalizing glide. Xander changed the tilt of his head to capture those smooth, cool lips with his own, and gently flicked his tongue out to taste the vampire’s full lower lip. The taste of Scotch and the scent of Spike filled his senses and he groaned against the kiss. Spike took the opportunity to slide his tongue briefly into Xander’s mouth, just tasting the inside of his lips for a moment and then retreating. Then he broke the kiss. Two sets of eyes opened languidly; harsh pants filled the small space between them. Spike whispered, his voice much huskier than usual “Yeah, Xan, I want to know.” He swallowed audibly. “I’ll call L.A.; you call Willow.”
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