::::::::::::::::::
Spike held Xander as the belly-laughs that had rapidly evolved from giggles started to slow and die away. The embrace was a loose one, leaving enough room for the pup to shake with his laughter. Spike kept his hand between Xander's shoulder-blades, patting gently. Xander's warmth enveloped Spike, blossoming upward from the body bent in his arms.
Finally Xander straightened up and Spike smoothed back the lock of hair that always crowded Xander's forehead.
"Better?"
"Better," Xander agreed. A faded version of the smile still touched his lips, but his eyes had gone hooded again. He pulled out of Spike's arms and flopped back on mattress. Spike remained still, twisting just a little at the waist to be able to see the boy. The usual chill quickly returned and Spike crossed his arms, rubbing the skin there. He hadn't tried to warm himself like this since a week or so after he'd been turned. //Dru laughing at him, pointing and gaping. Stupid vampire.// He'd stop feeling cold a long time ago.
He didn't want to think about what he'd done, especially what he'd done to Xander, what he still wanted to do. Questions were pestering his mind, hissing insistently behind his ears and at the base of his skull.
Something told him he wasn't going to have a chance to ever ask them.
Behind him, Xander sighed heavily. A long, ragged sigh.
What was he supposed to do--say 'maybe we should talk?' like some stupid moon-eyed git?
"--eepy?" Xander asked. His voice was hoarse and low. Spike twisted all the way around and leaned over. //Don't flinch, please, don't flinch--//
"What, pet?"
Xander smiled at that; a real smile again, brilliant and wide. And then yawned. He grabbed Spike's hand and pulled him down beside him.
"I asked if you were sleepy. Pet."
Spike shook his head, burrowing his face into the warm curve where Xander's neck became his shoulder. After however many screws in 24 hours--and Spike didn't want to know
//EVER!//
//My soul can *growl*?//
how many times Xander had gone at it with Anya--Xander still smelled sweet and barely peppery. And, yeah, honest soul here, kind of salty.
"Not sleepy?" Xander asked, tugging Spike's arm over his chest and covering it with his own.
Spike nipped at the hand that came up to stroke his face. Xander chuckled and just petted him.
"But you're cranky?"
Spike raised his head, battling the weariness that had descended as soon as he got near Xander's warmth, his smell, his body, again.
"Not cranky," he mumbled, and gripped Xander's side harder. "Just want--"
Xander pulled him closer. "No problem."
::::::::::::::::::
The spring of third grade, Jesse's mom's cat Olive had kittens, and Xander went to visit them every afternoon after school. He would have gone there anyway, or to Willow's, since it's hard to be a latchkey kid when you'd never even gotten the key. Still, the kittens fascinated him: their tiny squirming downy bodies, all tummies and spindly legs; their unopened eyes; how without any warning they would all collapse asleep together in a single intricate pile. He would crouch next to the bottom drawer that Olive had commandeered, and just watch them sleep until his eyes ached and he had to remind himself to blink.
Lying there holding Spike as the sun came up, Xander felt as if he had finally joined the kitties. And it wasn't just the soft purr coming from Spike, although that didn't hurt. It was the warmth, and the closeness. And something else, too, since he hadn't thought about Jesse's kittens in years, yet he'd cuddled plenty of times since then.
Xander drowsed but couldn't let himself fall asleep. He wanted to puzzle through this, wanted to feel Spike curled against him for as long as possible. He petted Spike's hair absently and ran his tongue around his mouth, tasting the fading flavors of kisses. He sucked in his bottom lip against his teeth, savoring how tender, almost bruised, it was.
He knew that as the day wore on, this feeling would blur at the edges, start to fade, and eventually flake off and rise away, leaving him behind. Even skin did that, so something as light as emotion had no chance.
::::::::::::::::::
Spike slept and purred.
::::::::::::::::::
Soon enough, the occasional patter of feet upstairs and flush of toilets quickened and grew louder until the noise and activity of another morning filtered down to Xander full-on.
He tried a couple times to disengage Spike, getting only louder moans, and finally slid down off the mattress. Spike whimpered and curled in on himself, hugging his knees.
//Right, okay, back to normal. You can do that.//
//You always do that, you have it down to a science.//
Xander ducked his head under the cold trickle from the faucet and splashed his face. Gargled and spat, splashed a couple handfuls down his front and under his arms. Fresh as a festering daisy. Now all he needed was a shirt. And his left shoe. He grabbed Spike's tee shirt from the floor, turned it inside out, and yanked it down over his head. It would be enough to get him out the house, at least.
He dislodged his shoe from between the wall and the mattress, not even bothering to try to figure that one out, and as he pulled back, realized that Spike was trembling. Xander spread the blanket over Spike, and over the blanket, the leather duster. Holding his breath, he draped the jacket's arms around Spike's neck and tucked the edges under Spike's body. He wondered just when he started worrying whether William the Bloody was warm enough, then pushed the thought away.
"Spike?" he whispered, doubting it was nearly loud enough to stir the vampire, let alone wake him. "Spike? I'm going upstairs, ok?"
Xander ran his finger down the scimitar-curve of Spike's cheek, tapped once, then twice. "I'll see you later?"
::::::::::::::::::
It wasn't the nearly constant lack of Raisin Bran, or definitely constant noise and crowding, or the fact that Andrew was starting to seem like the closest thing to a friend she was going to find that bothered Dawn about everything recently. It was all that on top of a double helping of all that. Sprinkled with some more of all that.
As she entered the kitchen, she wished for the twenty-millionth time that Tara was there, stirring pancake batter and smiling at her.
"Morning, Dawnie," Xander said from somewhere deep in the fridge.
She hugged him in a rush until he staggered. "How'd you know it was me?"
He mussed her hair and she fought the urge to lean into the touch and hug him again. "Anyone else would have pushed me out of the way. And Slayer strength is no joke. Especially not at breakfast."
A crash and tumbling in the hall, voices coming nearer, and Dawn grabbed Xander's hand. "Let's go, ok?"
Xander looked around. "Where--?"
"Drive me to school?" she begged, pulling him to the back door.
Xander stumbled after her.
::::::::::::::::::
He took Dawn to Mulligan's for breakfast, grabbing the last outdoor table from the increasing swarms of teenagers stopping in before school.
"Kids today," he muttered in his best Grampa Simpson voice, hoping to wring a smile from her. He handed her the tray and took back the large orange soda he'd gotten for himself. "In my day--"
"Uphill both ways in a blizzard?" she asked around her egg sandwich.
"Nah, we had it easy, actually. That was my parents' day. By my day, it was just--"
At a shriek from the parking lot, Xander half-rose until he realized no one else was paying attention. //Just kids fooling around. Not everything's a fucking portent.//
"How come you're wearing Spike's shirt?" Dawn asked lazily, dipping a tater tot in mustard.
Xander glanced down. "This?" Even inside-out, there was a telltale gray smear above the bottom hem. He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table and looked away.
Dawn smirked at him. Xander swallowed. "I crashed there last night and didn't--"
"'Sokay," Dawn said, crumpling up the empty bag of tater tots. "Next time, though, get one a little less--" She wrinkled her nose. "Rank."
"Check."
He drove her to school and watched as her hand hesitated over the door latch. "Dawnie?"
Her jaw tightened and he glanced past her to the crowd streaming up to the entrance.
"You don't have to--" he started. Stopped when she turned impossibly large eyes on him.
"Buffy said it was okay. You should get going," she said and opened the door. "You're going to be late."
The door slammed behind her. Xander ran his hand through his hair. He wasn't going to be late for anything. //This freefloating anxiety hovering around him? Old friend, old jobless, got-your-ass-fired-again friend.//
She tapped the top of the car. "But Xander? You might want to shower first." She turned, wave of long hair, and was running to the doors.
He watched until Dawn was safely inside and then the prickles started on his skin and his head felt way too heavy. He was getting too old to stay up all night and not feel it the next day.
