*****

Spike peered around the basement, smoking a cigarette as he searched. He ignored Xander, who had limped down the steps a few minutes earlier.

Xander collapsed into a chair, wincing as he inadvertently put pressure on an especially painful bruise. He watched the vampire's actions, closing his eyes briefly in relief. The last two weeks had proved to be a challenge. //No *way* do I want *him* finding out about--// He cut that thought off sharply, then glared at Spike. "You own nothing. This shouldn't be taking so long."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Hang on. Let a fella get organized." //Annoying little git. Like I *wanted* to be here or something.// He snorted. //Only good point the boy's got is he's a right demon magnet, he is. Can't manage to go an entire night without getting himself knocked about by one. Course, that'd be a bit more fun for *me* if it'd happen when I'm around.// He smirked, contemplating going demon-fishing with Xander as live bait.

He cringed at the slight tingle in his brain. //Soddin' chip! *I* wasn't planning on hurting him. Well, not really.// Spotting a radio, he bent to pick it up.

Xander sat up straight. "Hey, that's my radio!"

Spike stared at him with a 'duh' look on his face. "And you're what? Shocked and disappointed? I'm evil!"

Xander gritted his teeth. "Not that I care, but where are you planning on moving?"

"I don't know. Maybe a crypt. Some place, you know, dark and dank. But not as dark and dank as this."

"It's not that bad!" //Well, at least not when -- Nope, not gonna think about it!//

"I've known corpses with a fresher smell. In fact, I've been one." He flicked his cigarette on the floor.

"That's it! Let's go!" Xander stood carefully, then marched over to Spike, trying not to jar his injuries too much.

Spike noticed his stiff movements. //Again!? Why can't he ever tangle with a demon when I'm actually *with* him? Inconsiderate nonce.// He backed away. "Hold up!" He darted across the basement and unplugs a lamp, picking it up with his empty hand..

Xander narrowed his eyes. Very calmly, he ground out, "That's my lamp." He snatched it away, replacing it in its former position.

Spike smirked. "Oi, I thought a housewarming gift was traditional!"

"That's among friends. With bitter enemies, I don't give them my lamp."

The vampire shrugged. "It's not gonna have electricity anyway. It's a crypt, they tend not to."

"Aw, no fridge to keep your blood fresh?" Xander asked in mock sympathy.

Spike paused at that. "No." He considered. "Maybe I should just get a hotel room or something. I need fresh blood. If I had a few bob for a room with an honor bar--"

//Oh, now that's just too much!// "Out! Before I get the Slayer over here to kick your ass out!"

Spike sighed and picked up his duster. "Don't know why she didn't come. Say good-bye, shed a few tears." //Trip down the stairs, break her fool neck...//

Xander couldn't resist. "Well, she has an appointment with somebody who's actually still *scary*!"

"That hurt, mate. It truly did. I am deeply wounded." //Wanker. Just wait 'til I get this chip out...I'll show you and you damned Scooby friends scary!//

"Out!" He ushered the man out quickly, slamming the door shut behind him and leaning against it, heaving a thankful sigh. Then his eyes popped open. "Hey! My radio!"

*****
Part 2:

Buffy dropped onto a sofa, moaning. "Geez, you'd think the bad guys would take a night off here and there! But noooo. It's all 'Gotta kill the Slayer'...'Gotta wreak havoc on the population'...'Gotta take over the world!' Gimme a break already!"

"Well, yes, granted. Things have been a little...hectic this past week. But I'm-I'm sure it will calm down. Eventually." Giles cleared his throat and removed his glasses, polishing them absently.

Xander snorted as he took a chair for himself. "Hey, I know! Why don't we just ask the nasty demons *real* nicely if they'd cut us all some slack so the Slayer can get a well-deserved rest. I'm sure they'd be all understanding about it. *Not!*"

Willow cast a disapproving glance his way. "Ok, so we're all a little worn out." She ignored Buffy's muttered exclamation of "A little!" "We shouldn't take it out on each other. I mean, what if something big is going on? We need to figure it out before it gets *really* bad."

Tara, seated next to her on the other couch, brushed her hair behind her ear. Ducking her head shyly, she slipped her hand into Willow's, squeezing lightly. "May-maybe we should do some re-research tomorrow. After we get some-some rest."

"I would tend to agree with that course of action. We can get a reasonably good night's sleep, and start fresh in the morning." The Watcher nodded decisively, rubbing his hands together. "Right, then." He stood, staring pointedly at his charges.

Buffy rolled her eyes, but pulled herself up. "Ok, I can take a hint." She glanced around the room. "Anyone need an escort home?"

Willow and Tara shook their heads. Willow stood, pulling her girlfriend up with her. "Nah. We got it covered."

"Xander?"

Xander looked up at the clock on the wall, cringing when he noticed how late it was. At the strange look he received, he swallowed, then forced out a laugh. "Hey, this is me here! I can fend for myself." He gave Buffy one of his patented 'goofy grins' that seemed to work so well. Buffy shrugged and turned to leave. //And we have a winner! Another dupe brought low by the powers of the Xanman! Stay tuned tomorrow for another exciting episode of 'Throwing off Suspicion in SunnyHell.'//

Saying his good-byes, Xander hurried to the door, pausing briefly by Giles to comment, "Although I gotta say, subtleness was lacking there, G-man. You losing your touch?" Buffy and Willow snickered, and even Tara grinned briefly. //Oooh! Extra bonus points for redirecting attention. Yay me!//

Giles sighed. "I've asked you not to call me that, Xander. And I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Hey, whatever. Later guys." With another grin to ally any lingering suspicions //Yeah, as if!//, he left.

~~~~~~~~~~

Xander stood outside his house, hands thrust in his pockets as he chewed his lip. //No lights. Maybe they're asleep.// Still, the darkness itself evoked a sense of dread. Bed things tended to hide in the dark. //Duh...can we say vampires and other assorted demons?//

{Uh-huh. So why are you still out here with them instead of going inside?}

//Oh, shut up. You know why.//

{My point exactly.}

//You had a point? Funny, I must have missed it.//

{You are aware that you're standing here talking to yourself, don't you?}

//You have a problem with that?//

{Not at all. Always lovely chatting with you. But...stalling ain't gonna help.}

//I know. Just...enjoying this while it lasts.//

He stared for a moment more, then took a deep breath. Creeping softly up to the door, he pushed it open gently. He stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a muted 'click'.

Nothing. Ok, so far so good. Moving as quickly and quietly as he could, Xander reached the basement door. Once inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. Flicking the light switch on, he walked down the stairs, pulling his shirt off over his head. Reaching the bottom, he tossed the shirt towards a pile of laundry, then headed for the bathroom.

He stopped.

He stared at the large man sitting on his bed.

He backed up, eyes wide, breath shortening to harsh panting. "Um, Dad. Hey."

His father stood and stalked over to him. Before Xander could react, a hand lashed out and belted him across the face. The force of the blow knocked him off his feet, and he landed on floor at his father's feet.

"What the *Hell* are you thinking, coming in this late? Waking your mother and me up with your infernal racket. Fucking worthless bastard!" He drew back a foot and kicked Xander, who curled up in a fetal ball. He sneered at the cringing figure, taking another swig from the bottle clutched in his other hand. He kicked again, drawing forth a grunt of pain, which made him grin in satisfaction.

It was *not* a nice grin.

Xander whimpered softly. //Oh, god. This isn't happening...not again.//

The man walked a circle around his son, kicking intermittently as he alternated drinking from the rapidly emptying bottle and 'lecturing'. "Stupid piece of shit." Pause for a drink. Kick. "Should have gotten rid of ya when you were a brat." Kick. Lengthy swallow. Kick again. "Must've been outta my mind keep ya around." Another drink, kicking at the same time for variation. "Not worth this hassle." He tilted the empty bottle toward his mouth, snarling when nothing came out. Furious, he flung the bottle on the floor, shattering it.

He bent and picked Xander up by the throat, laughing cruelly as the boy struggled for breath. "Aw, poor baby. What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" He squeezed tighter, enjoying Xander's struggles as the boy's hands clawed at his own in an attempt to free himself.

With a final punch to the stomach that drove the air from lungs already deprived of oxygen, he tossed his son to the floor, earning himself a harsh cry as bare skin met broken glass. Drunkenly, he weaved his way to the stairs, starting up them. Nonchalantly, he tossed a final remark over his shoulder. "Don't forget, boy. Rent's due at the end of the week." The door slammed shut.

Xander squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to let the tears fall. He waited a few minutes to make sure his father wasn't planning on returning, then gingerly picked himself up. He took a deep breath, then began coughing harshly, jolting his bruised ribs painfully. He felt a warmth along his side, and looked down.

//Oh...um, not good. Blood there. Definitely a bad thing.// He haltingly made his way to his bathroom, hand cupped over the wound, blood running out through his fingers. He got the first-aid kit out of its handy little storage place in the cabinet over the sink. Turning the faucet on warm, he wet a washcloth and dabbed at his side.

His breath hissed out as the fabric caught on the glass still embedded there. He gritted his teeth, then prodded with his fingers, finding the jagged sliver and carefully pulling it out. More blood immediately flowed, and he quickly pressed the washcloth over the cut. A few minutes of pressure, and he cautiously lifted the now-red cloth away. Still a trickle of blood oozing out of the two-inch gash, but no gushing. //Good. Great. Gushing is bad, trickle is...not so bad.//

With an ease and quickness that spoke of great familiarity with the practice, Xander removed a square of gauze and some cloth tape along with some antibiotic cream, bandaging the wound after giving it a cursory washing. He then took stock of his remaining injuries.

//Bruises. Lots and lots of pretty new bruises. Yippee. Well, not much I can do about them.// He looked in the mirror, flinching a bit at the sight. //Note to self: swollen cheek and black eye are *not* you.//

{Well, thank you for that terribly insightful little fact of life. Now, can we do something useful, like fix the lip?}

//Pushy, pushy.// He pressed another wet washcloth against his mouth, where his teeth had split the skin of his bottom lip. Once he cleaned that bit of blood up, he put the cloth down, sighing.

He fingered the welts around his neck. //Turtleneck?//

{This is Sunnydale...as in California. How could you possibly get away with a turtleneck, for crying out loud!?}

//You know, I hate it when you get logical. Scarf maybe?//

The snarky voice rolled its mental (and figurative) eyes. {Oh yeah, that look is any more 'you' than the bruises.}

//You know, a little help would be nice here! Cut the criticism already!//

{Ok. Positive thinking. Um...at least this time he didn't--}

//Shut up. Shut up! I am not thinking about that!//

A bit sheepishly, {Right. Sorry.}

Xander limped out of the bathroom, sitting on his bed in order to slowly peel off his pants. Mission accomplished, he moved to turn off the light and lay down. Very...carefully.

//Ouch//

{Major understatement. Why don't you just stay home tomorrow?}

//Hello? Scooby gang research fest? They need my help.//

There was a conspicuous silence in his head. He tossed in his bed, trying to find a semi-comfortable position. Finally giving it up, he closed his eyes and groaned. //Fine. I'll play hooky tomorrow. Happy?//

{Dumb question.}

A painful gasp, then another moan. //Yeah.//

*****
Part 3:

Spike hurried into his crypt just as the first rays of dawn broke over the cemetery. He slammed the door shut behind him, then walked over to the tomb. He stood there, patting down his pockets and pulling out a few wallets and some watches. Tossing them onto the tomb, he sat and began to pick through his spoils.

//Junk. Junk. Not too bad. Junk. Oooh, Rolex! Niiice.// He flung the rejected watches over his shoulder where they hit the wall with a clatter. Pushing up the sleeve of his duster, he strapped the Rolex on, tilting his head to admire it from an angle. //Suits me.//

He set the other watch back down and picked up the wallet belonging to the former owner of his new watch. He removed the cash, curling a lip at the meager offering, then began leafing through assorted photos and papers. He plucked out a driver's license. //Ouch. bloody awful picture, that.// He came upon another ID, and glanced between the two, comparing the birthdates. //Uh-huh. Someone's been a naughty little boy, haven't they?// He peered closer. //Not even a good fake, at that. Tosser. Had a nice watch, could at least spring for a decent fake ID.// He shrugged. Didn't matter now!

Spike examined the quality of the leather wallet, then set it down next to the watch. He then searched the rest of the wallets, his 'cash' and 'hock for a few quid' piles remaining pitifully small while the garbage pile behind him grew. Finished, he glared in frustration.

//This is pathetic. Abso-bloody-lutely pathetic! Don't these wankers carry actual money around with 'em? Now How'm I s'posed to afford to eat?// He snarled at the thought of having to pay - pay! - for blood. //Can't get a decent meal like any self-respectin' vampire. God, that's just so...pathetic!//

{Wouldn't be so bad if you still had the Watcher's money.}

//That poof! Taking advantage of me when I was all injured like that.//

{And you'd *never* do that.}

//Hey, I earned the cash fair!// He stuck his bottom lip out slightly, pouting.

Mental snort. {Right. Keep telling yourself that.}

//Oh, sod off!//

{And I would go where, exactly?}

Spike shoved his goodies into a pocket and lay down, refusing to acknowledge the snarky voice in his head. //Getting about as bad as Dru here, what with the voices and such. Next thing, I'll be hearing the stars sing to me.//

{I can sing.} came the retort.

Spike growled. He pulled a ratty blanket over him and turned onto his side.

{I bet the Watcher still has some blood stashed at his place.}

He perked up a bit. //He's got Weetabix, too.//

{You could...drop by. Maybe Nummy will be there.}

Spike lurched up, spluttering. //Num--! You mean the whelp? Why the fuck would I care if *he's* there!?//

{Yeah, Nummy. Who'd you think I was talking about?}

//*You*...are outta your bleedin' mind.//

{Actually, I'm *in* yours. What does that say to you?}

//It says, you should shut the hell up and lemme sleep!// He pounded his head against the stone under him, snarling.

{Two words...demon magnet. You know, demons? The things you can still *hurt*? Ring any bells here?}

Spike stilled. His eyes glowed yellow and he smiled, baring his fangs. //Oh, yeah. Violence. Yessss.//

{See? I have good plans.}

//You have your moments. Shut up now. Sleep.//

Spike closed his eyes, still grinning.

~~~~~~~~~~

Xander woke with a groan. He sat up slowly, stiff muscles screaming in protest. Without thinking, he reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes. As a hand came into contact with the swollen flesh of his bruised eye, he yelped in pain. "Shit!"

He covered his mouth as the echoes died down, staring in horror at the door at the top of the steps. After a few panicky moments, when no one appeared there, he sighed with relief. "Ok. You're...Ok. Just...relax."

He got up stiffly, took a deep breath, then began the painful trek to the bathroom. After using the toilet, he moved toward the tub, getting ready for a nice long soak. Happening to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he turned toward it.

//Oh. Wow. That does *not* look good.// Bruises had darkened overnight, shading most of his chest in an interesting clash of blue, green, and purple. One eye was swollen almost shut, and his lip was puffed up where the cut was. The shape of fingerprints was clearly discernable in the welts around his neck. //Yep. Definitely staying home today.//

He sighed, then filled the tub with hot water, removing the bandage on his side before stepping carefully in, immersing himself in the soothing heat. He closed his eyes, relaxing as gentle waves lapped at his skin.

Xander lay there until the water cooled too much to be comfortable any longer. Regretfully, he shifted forward and pulled out the plug, then got out of the tub, grabbing a towel to dry himself with. He tossed the damp towel on the counter, then reached for the first-aid kit that was still out. Swiftly, he re-bandaged the reddened gash and rubbed some ointment into the worst of the bruises.

Leaving the bathroom, he headed for the microwave, where he heated some tea, adding honey to it. Carrying the drink back to his bed, he sat and sipped at the sweet liquid. A weak smile flickered across the boy's face as the ache in his throat eased a bit. He soon finished the drink, and set the cup on the bedside table, next to the phone.

The phone.

He had to call the gang.

//Fuck.//

{Ok, just...suck it in. You can do this.}

//Why do *I* have to? Can't *you*?//

Pause. {That was a *really* dumb question, you know?}

//Yeah, well...it's the morning after getting the crap beat out of me by dear ol' dad. I'm not exactly coherent, you know?//

{Just...call already.}

//Right. I'm calling.// He stared at the phone.

He drummed his fingers on his thigh.

He stared at the phone some more.

He -- {Oh, just do it!}

Reluctantly, Xander picked up the phone and dialed Giles' number.

"Hey, um, Buffy? It's Xander." "Uh-huh." "Um, so like, is everyone there already?" "Yeah, I did notice I wasn't there. That's why I called actually." "Yeah, see, there's this--" "Uh-huh." "Actually, I'm not feeling all that well, so--" "No, I wasn't out drinking, I--" "I see." "Well, do you think you--" "Right?" "So, anyway, I'm not going to be able to make it today, and--" "Oh, really? That's...very interesting. Look, could you just tell Giles and the rest that--" "I--" "You--" At the soft click, he pulled the receiver away from his ear. "Yeah, bye," he said in a whisper, hanging up the phone sadly.

He lay down, pulling a blanket up over his bare skin and rolling onto his (relatively) uninjured side. He hugged his pillow close, curling around it. As he fell back into a fitful slumber, he was unaware of the few tears which had escaped from behind tightly shut eyelids to gather in a moist patch on the pillowcase.

*****