Dirty Dancing Spander Style

by
Savoy Truffle

Part Ten

Having snuck out of Spike’s room and back to his own in the wee small hours, Xander wasn’t expecting an awkward morning-after.

A sore morning-after, sure.

But not an awkward one.

But when you spent the first hour or so of your sore morning-after squirming on one of four chairs, the rest of which were occupied by staring members of your blended family, awkwardness was pretty much guaranteed to ensue.

Blaringly quiet awkwardness.

To be fair, Jessica wasn’t actually staring. She was too busy trying to catch the eye of the waiter carrying a tray of mimosas.

But Buffy was definitely giving him that I-heard-what-time-you-came-in-last-night-and-I-know-something’s-up-so-if-you-don’t-start-telling-I’m-gonna-start-asking look and Hank was making eye contact often enough to let Xander know that it was no accident that he’d decided this morning that they needed to start having more meals together as a family.

As if Xander hadn’t deduced that from the pounding on their cabin door at nine a.m.

As if Hank would ever be able to spend enough time with Xander to keep him from seeing Spike.

Hank would pretty much have to start sleeping next to Xander in bed to accomplish that feat. And Xander was thinking it’d be really nice if someone at the table would say something, anything to help him sweep that thought out of his brain.

Jessica got her hands on her third mimosa, took a sip and gave the squirming Xander a sympathetic smile. “It’s too bad you missed dinner last night, honey. Are you feeling any better this morning?”

Correction—anything but that.

Now all six eyes really were on Xander. Felt more like sixty.

“I think I need more bacon.” Xander almost knocked his chair over in his haste to stand up.

“Huh,” he heard his mother say as he made his slightly bow-legged way toward the buffet. “Looks like he got his appetite back, anyway.”

Sure enough, once breakfast was over, Hank ran out of ways that he was willing to keep Xander busy and the family dispersed. Xander headed back to the cabin for a nap.

When he awoke—still sore but feeling more human—he made his way through the lower decks to Dru’s room. He knocked lightly before turning the handle and letting himself in. Dru lay in bed looking peaceful.

“Hey, there.”

“Hello, kitten.” Dru smiled at him. “You just missed your daddy. Lovely daddy.”

Xander snorted. “I usually just go with step-father. And I think the missing is for the best.” He stepped closer. “How’re you feeling?”

“Everything in my head is singing!”

Xander nodded. “Huh, okay. Well, either you’re a super fast healer or Hank gave you the good drugs.”

He heard the door open again behind him. “Hey, how’s my princess?”

Xander turned toward the door just as Spike looked up and noticed him standing there. Embarrassed was a new look on Spike.

“Don’t worry,” Xander said. “I assumed you weren’t talking to me.”

Spike kept his eyes on Xander for a moment—without cracking a smile—and then looked away. Dru looked back and forth between them, grinning like she’d swallowed a canary.

“My pretty boys,” she said. “Last night your bodies moved as one. The moon saw. It whispered to me.”

Xander blushed.

Spike shrugged. “Went okay.”

Xander frowned. “Just okay? I mean, I’m not an expert or anything, but I thought it was—” Xander stopped. Reinterpreted. “Oh, you meant the show. Um, yeah, went okay.”

He was blushing a lot now and avoiding Spike’s eyes and Dru’s too because her smile was a bit too wide.

Awkward afternoon-after. Check.

Spike stepped past Xander toward the bed, breaking the silences as he brandished a bottle of juice. “Brought you your favorite, luv. Ruby Red.”

Dru took the bottle and flashed Xander a conspiratorial grin. “I like to pretend it’s blood and that drinking it fills me with life.”

Xander decided he didn’t need to be in on this particular conspiracy. “I’ll just leave you two alone.”

He didn’t go far, though. Just out to the hall to lean against the wall and wait.

When Spike emerged a few minutes later, his hands were stuffed in his pockets and the hall lights were bright and glaring and he was starting to mumble something about somewhere he had to be.

Xander decided it was time to just say no to awkwardness.

He looked Spike in the eye. “What? Now you’re gonna be all principled?” Spike’s cabin was two doors down. Xander dragged him there by the belt loop, then reached into his back pocket for the key card. “C’mon,” he said. “I’ll let you call me ‘princess.’”

“Where the fuck is my beige iridescent lipstick?”

“Buffy…”

Buffy glanced up—“Sorry, Dad”—then went back to rifling through her handbag. “God damn it, I know I put it in this purse.” She glanced up again. “Sorry, Dad.”

Xander looked out the window. The sea was dark and choppy and rain fell on the high waves, which jolted the boat from side to side and sent the people stupid enough to be walking walking into furniture and walls.

Buffy wasn’t sorry. She was tense and nauseous and frustrated.

They all were.

It was worse than the other day and bigger than the Summers-Harris family. The lounge simmered with low, snappish voices and if Buffy ever found her beige, iridescent lipstick, she was going to smear it all over her face and then she’d really be mad and Xander would laugh and Buffy would punch him and it would hurt and Xander decided to break the chain before it started.

He had better things to do.

He stood up, wobbled, grabbed hold of the table before he fell into it, righted himself. “I’m gonna go find a bathroom that doesn’t smell like vomit.”

He hadn’t lied. Spike’s bathroom didn’t smell like vomit.

Or so Xander assumed.

He hadn’t actually made it to the bathroom yet. They’d gone straight from the door to the bed, ditching their clothes along the way, and hadn’t made it out again.

Their legs were naked and tangled and Spike’s face—which was close enough to kiss so he did—didn’t look white or green or any other seasickish hues. The ride was smoother down here and Spike was probably used to it.

Spike was probably used to a lot of things.

“So do you do this, like, all the time?” Xander propped himself up on an elbow so he could see Spike’s face.

“This?”

Xander made a gesture intended to encompass the nudity, the bed, and the general naughtitude that had just occurred therein. “This,” he repeated. “Do you do it all the time?”

Spike shrugged. “I do like to take the occasional break to eat, have a smoke, that sort of thing.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Spike rolled to sit on the side of the bed, grabbed his jeans from the floor and tugged them on. “What do you mean, then?” He slipped a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand and lit up. “And is there any way this conversation isn’t going to end badly?”

Xander sat up on the bed, still draped in sheet. “It’s not… I’m not trying to… I mean, I don’t… Like, that woman you were dancing with. The widow. Mrs. French.”

“What? You wanna know if I’ve shagged her? ’Course I have. More than once.”

Well, at least Spike was being honest. Xander couldn’t see his face. “She’s beautiful,” he said.

Spike shrugged. Xander watched the muscles ripple in his back. “’Course she is. They all are. Bloody well perfect, aren’t they?”

Xander’s heart thumped in his chest. “Probably have tons of experience, too.”

Spike blew out a long lungful of smoke. “Christ, like you wouldn’t believe.”

“So it’s just… I mean…” Xander licked his lips, swallowed and just asked. “Why me?”

Spike’s head snapped around. “What?”

“I mean, look at you. No wonder these women are throwing themselves at you. And men, too, I’m sure. I mean, I did. And I bet they’re all gorgeous and experienced and you can have whoever you want, so I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with—”

“Xander.”

His name always sounded weird on Spike’s lips. “What?”

But Spike didn’t speak until Xander met his eyes. “You didn’t throw yourself at me.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You may want to go back and check the footage on that one. I mean, I came down here in the middle of the night and—”

“Trust me—wasn’t like I hadn’t been thinking about it.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Spike turned his back to Xander again, took another drag off his cigarette.

“But I’m nothing like those women.”

“Not really a bad thing, mate.”

“You just said they were perfect.”

“Didn’t say I was looking for perfect.”

Xander snorted. “Oh right, because there’s something out there so much better than perfect.”

“Yeah,” Spike said. “Real.”

Xander thought about that. Spike went on.

“Look, women like that—they spend all their time and money trying to be somebody else’s fantasy so they can get their houses and cars and jewelry. And then they want me to be their fantasy so they can get away from all the things they thought they wanted in the first place. Nothing about that’s real.” Spike stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand.

“So, what?” Xander reached out and wrapped his arms around Spike’s shoulders, pulling him backward into bed. “Big ears and ugly shirts are real?”

Spike let himself be pulled, kicking his legs back up onto mattress. “Oh, the shirts are temporary,” he said. “Believe me. The kindness and the sense of humor, though? Those’re real.”

And Xander didn’t quite know what to say to that, but it was a good not-knowing and he curled his body in closer around Spike’s. “You know, my mom’s kinda like that,” he said, after a moment.

“I have not shagged your mum,” Spike said.

“Okay—ew. Could we not go there? I just meant she used to be like a regular mom, sort of, and then she got her divorce and got the job working as Hank’s receptionist and I guess he thought the woman sitting at the front desk would make a good advertisement or billboard or something because he started giving her these free surgeries and she thought it was making her better somehow and then it was like he just fell in love with his creation or something, like that Greek myth about that guy who sculpted the perfect woman.”

“Pygmalion. And it’s Roman. From a poem by Ovid.”

“Right, that guy, and—” Xander blinked and did a double take. “Wait a minute—you’re smart. Like, book smart.”

“Am not,” Spike said.

“You totally are. You, like, knew that off the top of your head. And you totally couldn’t resist correcting me on it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I bet you read for fun.”

“Shut up.” Spike was up on his elbow now and trying to look threatening as he leaned over Xander.

Xander wasn’t scared. “Make me,” he said.

He was quite pleased when Spike did.

Part Eleven

“I think I’m gonna do it with Angel.”

Given that he was halfway to dreamland, Xander could be forgiven for asking, “Do what?”

“It,” Buffy said.

“It?” Xander’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked them a couple of times. “Oh. It.” He came up on his elbows and stared through the dark room. “Wait—it? No it. Bad it. No itting should be done with Angel. You and Angel must remain it-free.”

“What are you freaking out about? I mean, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Xander wouldn’t buy that tone if it came with a free Gameboy Color.

“Have you ever even done it before?” He knew he should just say sex or use some less stupid euphemism—he thought about Spike whispering in his ear about how much he loved fucking him—but this wasn’t the kind of conversation he and Buffy had.

“No, but it’s not like it has to be a whole big thing. I mean, no one takes sex seriously in college anyway, so I might as well get it over with now, you know? I should have just done it with Scott Hope when I had the chance.”

“Look, Buff, all I’m saying is that maybe Angel’s not the best choice. I’m not saying you should give your husband the gift of your virginity on your wedding night or anything, but that doesn’t mean you can’t wait for someone a little special, you know.”

“Whatever. Guys don’t care about special.”

“Well, they should at least care about you.”

“What do you know about it, anyway? Angel cares about me. At least a little. I mean, he wouldn’t hang around all the time otherwise.”

“You could say the same thing about a stalker,” Xander pointed out.

“Screw you,” Buffy said.

“I just… I mean, what’s it like when you two are talking? Do you laugh? I mean, when you look at him, is it like everything inside of you is moving over to make room?”

“What are you even talking about?” He could practically see Buffy rolling her eyes in the dark. “He’s hot. He’s interested. He probably knows what he’s doing and I never have to see him again after this week.”

Her words sent a rush of something through Xander’s blood and his own words came out harsher than intended. “So, what? He’s, like, good enough?”

“God, you’re such a girl. I shouldn’t even have mentioned it.” Buffy rolled over, pulling the covers tight around herself. “Good night, Xander.”

Xander stared at her back for a long minute, then rearranged the pillow under his head and went to sleep.

“You’ve got the basic steps, but to really dance the tango, the inside of your right thigh needs to be connected with the inside of mine.”

Xander looked through his eyelashes at Spike. “That’s what all the boys say.”

Spike just flashed a smug grin and stepped forward, sliding his right thigh into position between Xander’s legs. “Right arm up, mate. I’m leading this time.”

“That’s what all the—”

“Okay, now bend your knees and sink down into it.”

Spike sunk and Xander sunk with him, closing whatever small gap had remained and suddenly his right hip knew everything about Spike—including the fact that he’d gone commando that morning.

“Okay,” Xander said. “Just so we’re clear—you never get to do this dance with anyone besides me ever again.”

Spike started dancing them across the practice room floor—a slow, a slow and a quick-quick. “Jealous?”

“Duh,” Xander said.

Spike just grinned again and began the next step. “That’s right, easy as walking, isn’t it? Just keep your weight low and move from your center.”

The music played its slows and quick-quicks and Xander wondered when dancing with Spike had gotten so easy.

Except for the hard part.

Which was two hard parts, really, that happened to be pressing into the two creases of two right hips and happened to be making it awfully difficult to concentrate. Not to mention the distraction of Spike’s hands, which he didn’t actually need to lead and seemed to be having trouble keeping above Xander’s waist.

“What’s this?” Xander asked, flicking a disdainful glance at Spike’s shameful dance frame. “Spaghetti arms?”

Spike tried to look innocent, but he just wasn’t any good at it.

The CD moved to the next track. Xander heard the opening notes and smiled. He could have fun with this one.

Please, Mr Brown, he mouthed along with Sarah Vaughan, Take it easy you’re tearing my gown. Okay, so his gown looked a lot like cargo pants and a tee shirt, but the song was old, so he could work with it. He lifted Spike’s hands from his ass and held them firmly in dance position, tried to look perturbed. Oh, I know music brings out that yearning, but right now we’re learning the tango.

Slow, slow, quick-quick, and the moment Xander loosened his grip, Spike’s hands went wandering again. Xander pretended to mind and pretended not to be copping a feel of his own.

Spike kept going for innocent.

Neither of them would be taking home the Oscar.

Please, Mr Jones. Not so tight, you are crushing my bones. Xander slid back and back and back, while Spike did his octopus impersonation. Which was a hell of a lot more convincing than his innocent act. I’ll just bet you’re an expert at wooing, but right now we’re doing the tango.

Xander once again yanked Spike’s hands away from his ass, this time sending him away with a dramatic shove. A guy shouldn’t be able to stumble gracefully, but Spike managed. A graceful mock stumble with a smooth backward fall that ended in an elegant sprawl at the other side of the room. Spike lay on his back, legs spread, one hand behind his head and the other strategically placed.

As if Xander had ever forgotten to notice Spike’s package.

Really.

Xander took a look at himself and wondered exactly when he’d gone from closet to stereotype. He shrugged and decided if he’d gone this far, he might as well sell it. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head at the smirking Spike. You boys, he mouthed, in spite of all the dancing lessons you bought, out on the dance floor, have but one school of thought, and that is anything but what Arthur Murray taught.

Struggling to keep a straight face, he dropped his arms and crossed toward Spike—slow, sure steps and hips that knew they were being watched. Spike’s eyes devoured him. He stopped, standing over Spike—feet planted outside Spike’s thighs—and crooked his finger.

Spike took the slow way up—slipping elbows, then hands back to push himself to sitting, sliding smoothly to his knees. He ran his hands up the outside of Xander’s legs, his lips just whispering over the cotton covering Xander’s crotch before he began to lick at the skin being revealed inch by inch as his fingers slid Xander’s tee shirt up his torso.

By the time Spike was standing, Xander’s resistance had fallen—mock or otherwise. It was Xander’s hands sliding their way towards Spike’s ass this time, and he was leaning in for a kiss when they heard the doorknob turning.

They jumped apart.

Spike walked over to turn down the stereo. Xander smoothed down his tee shirt, threw his arms into dance position and started a tango step, counting aloud, “Slow… slow… quick-qui—”

“Xander! There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Anya.” Xander lowered his arms and managed to force a smile. “How did you—? I mean, you found me. Um… yay.”

“Actually, this time I was looking for Spike. Excuse me one second.” She walked over to the stereo. “Spike, I need you to help Andrew with the final show.”

“Help Andrew?” Xander watched out the corner of his eye as Spike’s mask of cool indifference slipped, revealing something dangerously like hope. “You mean choreograph? ’Cause I’ve been thinking about the way he does his numbers and if he just—”

“Spike…” Anya placed a hand on Spike’s arm and Xander wanted to fly across the room and slap it away. “I think Andrew can handle the choreography. He’s the choreographer. That’s what we pay him for. We pay you to dance with the lonely women. Or, in this case, to fetch Andrew’s coffee and run messages for him. He’s a busy man and you always seem to have some time on your hands. He’ll expect you tomorrow morning at nine.”

She kept her hand on his arm and waited until Spike looked up and nodded.

“Thank you, Spike.” Xander watched as she dropped the hand and flashed Spike a wide smile and now the fingers that had been itching to slap her hand away were itching to slap that smile off her face, but Xander kept his hands by his sides and his feet planted.

Anya’s smiled turned genuine as she crossed back to Xander, but Xander couldn’t even fake one in return. It was all he could do to keep the anger off his face.

“I don’t really get it,” she told him. The confidential tone was like sandpaper over Xander’s nerves. She shrugged. “But the women seem to like him.” She smiled again. “You know, I could teach you how to dance.”

Xander’s fingernails dug into the skin of his palms. “I think I’m doing okay here, thanks.”

“Okay, well see that he gives you the full hour you’re paying for.”

The mood couldn’t have been deader if Anya had set off a landmine and they left the practice room in silence. Spike started off down the hall so fast Xander was almost running to keep up.

“I can’t believe her,” Xander said. “She had no right to—”

“Drop it.”

They rounded the corner and started up the stairs.

“But why did you let her—?”

“Drop. It.”

They emerged from the stairs and started down the open deck.

“I didn’t know you were interested in choreography.”

“What part of ‘drop it’ don’t you understand?”

Xander reached out and grabbed Spike’s arm, making him stop. “It’s just… I mean, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“What way? The way where Ms Anya Christina Emanuella Jenkins is in charge and I’m the one who has to nod and smile so that I don’t get sacked? What part of that way doesn’t it have to be, Xander?”

Xander shivered, took a step back. “I don’t know. Maybe if you try talking to her again…”

Spike just looked at him and raised an eyebrow—for once, it wasn’t sexy. “You have tried conversation with Anya before, yeah? Bint’s not exactly known for her active listening skills.”

The words stung, but the man had a point.

The man was also walking away again and Xander was following and they were rounding another corner when Xander spotted Hank and Jessica.

“Shit.” He grabbed Spike’s arm again, yanking him back around the corner and out of sight. He held his breath and they waited, but no one came. The air pressed out of Xander’s lungs in one big rush. “Okay, I don’t think they saw us.”

His half smile of relief withered under Spike’s answering look.

“So tell me, luv—what about that way? The way where your step-dad treats you like dirt and me like less than dirt and you’re the one sneaking around instead of walking up and telling him he can fuck right off. Does it have to be that way?”

This time, when Spike walked off, Xander let him go.

Part Twelve

Xander knocked at Dru’s door, his heart pounding.

It had taken all of fifty-two minutes wandering the boat before Xander’s feet had carried him against his will to the only place he wanted to be and now he was ready to say whatever he had to to make it all better.

He’d gotten a good babble going outside Spike’s door—stuff about him and Hank and his mom and how much that didn’t matter compared to the last couple of weeks—before he’d realized that Spike might not just be sitting inside not answering.

If Willow had a cabin on this boat, Xander knew where he’d be. So here he was.

The door opened and Xander didn’t bother with small talk. “Have you seen Spike?”

Dru didn’t bother answering, just opened the door wider so Xander could see past her to where Spike sat on the bed.

Their eyes met and Xander’s heart kept pounding—faster and harder—as Spike stood and walked toward him, past him. After practicing it on the door, Xander figured he had his speech all prepped (and significantly streamlined), but as soon as Spike got within touching distance, the words flew out of his head and all he was left with was: “Sorry.”

Spike was standing in the hall now with his back to Xander and the words still hadn’t come back, so Xander spoke with arms wrapping around Spike’s waist from behind and with lips brushing against Spike’s neck.

He could feel Spike start to relax against him and his heart started to slow a bit, but suddenly Spike tensed again. Xander looked up and saw Angel.

A grin spread across Angel’s face as he gave them a slow once-over. “Damn…” He shook his head. “If only your sister were that easy. Guess they can’t all be like Dru.”

And it pretty much didn’t matter that Xander knew Angel could kick his ass, there was no way Xander was letting that slide. But Spike beat him to the punch.

Literally.

Beat Xander to the punch and did his level best to beat Angel to a pulp, but this thing had been brewing between them for who knew how long and Angel wasn’t about to go down without a fight. The noise in the hall drew a small crowd, but no one seemed inclined to intervene.

It needed to happen.

Xander watched—teeth set, shoulders tight—and for a long time it was too close to call. But in the end, it came down to the fact that Spike was the dirtier fighter.

Xander was kinda proud.

And it was gonna be tough not to laugh when Angel served them dinner with a big ole black eye.

Spike turned his back as Angel picked himself up off the floor and staggered away. Spike met Xander’s gaze and Xander watched as the fight melted from Spike’s eyes and drained out of his body. Their arms brushed as Spike walked past. Xander followed him into his cabin and shut the door behind them.

Spike sat on the edge of the stage, taking notes on the dance number being rehearsed. Andrew had stormed off half an hour earlier in some sort of artistic snit. Xander sat in the second row of the theater, off to the side, and watched Spike do his thing.

It was still weird between them and moments like this—when they couldn’t touch or stand too close or stare too long—didn’t help. But at least there was still a them.

Spike told the dancers to take five and Mrs. French appeared from nowhere, sidling right up to Spike, leaning close to speak into his ear. Xander was too far away to hear what she was saying, but the key card she pulled from her cleavage and slipped into Spike’s pocket was loud enough.

Spike glanced in Xander’s direction, but Xander looked down.

He looked up again in time to see Mrs. French smile as she turned and started to walk away. He kept looking and saw Spike slide off the stage, catching the man-eating widow halfway up the aisle, pulling the card back out of his pocket and slipping it back into her cleavage.

Mrs. French frowned, but Xander’s grin was splitting his face.

Yeah, there was still a them.

When Angel showed up at their table that night to give them the dinner menus, Xander managed to hide his snickers behind a fake cough and a well placed napkin. Hank and Rupert upheld a manly code of silence and pretended not to notice. Ethan wore his usual too-knowing smirk. Buffy and Jessica cringed and cooed.

“Oh my god, Angel, are you okay?” and “Oh dear, what happened?” respectively.

“Kitchen accident,” Angel said. “Swinging door.”

The corner of Xander’s lip twitched. “Gotta watch out for those.”

“Tonight’s the night,” Buffy whispered to Xander over dessert. Her eyes followed Angel as he served a neighboring table. She smiled. “I haven’t said anything yet.”

“Buff, I really don’t—”

“Just let me be happy, Xander, okay?” Buffy’s hiss came out a little too loud.

The adults were looking their way and Xander decided to drop it.

Let her be happy? If only he knew how.

“Saw Angel at dinner tonight.” Xander was dangerously close to giggling at the memory as he lay on his side next to Spike, circling one of Spike’s nipples with his forefinger. “I bet he’ll be wearing that shiner the rest of the trip.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Xander regretted the phrasing. He didn’t want to think about the end. Spike didn’t let the silence get awkward.

“Got him good, didn’t I? Teach that tosser to watch his mouth.”

Xander smiled again. “Yeah.” He slid his finger across Spike’s chest to circle the other nipple. “You know, though, he was right about one thing.”

“Bite your tongue, luv.”

“Bite it for me.”

Spike rolled on top of Xander and gave it his best shot—got a bit distracted.

“Seriously, though,” Xander resumed when they came up for air, “he was sort of right. I mean, let’s face it, I am pretty easy.”

Xander was hard at work proving this point when he heard a soft shriek from the hallway that sounded far too familiar. He rolled off Spike and grabbed his jeans off the floor, wrestling them up his legs and over his hips on the way to the door.

When he opened it and stuck his head out, the first thing he saw was Buffy, standing outside Angel’s cabin and staring through the open doorway in shock. He stepped out into the hall and hurried to her side. The second thing he saw was what Buffy had seen—Angel in bed with Mrs. French.

Well, scrambling out of bed, both of them, and that was way more of either of them than Xander really needed to see.

He looked away just in time to see Spike step out of the cabin and Buffy must have followed his gaze because he heard an “Oh my god—Xander” from her direction and when he looked back that way, Buffy was backing down the hall and Mrs. French was dressed and right there and looking between him and Spike and putting two and two together and then Angel had joined the hall party and Buffy was backing faster and looking wigged-er and…

“I guess I’d better…” Xander looked at Spike and pointed in Buffy’s general direction and Spike nodded. Xander turned and started down the hall after her.

“Fucking hell,” he heard Spike mutter just before he rounded the corner. “It’s like a bloody French farce.”

No pun intended.

Family brunch the following morning was subdued to say the least—until Anya stopped by with Sally, the Activities Director.

“Hello, Xander,” Anya said.

Xander mustered a head tilt of acknowledgement. “Anya.”

“Good morning, Hank, Jessica,” Sally said. “How have you been enjoying your trip so far?”

“It’s been great,” Hank told her. Xander couldn’t tell whether he was lying or not. “How are you two ladies this morning?”

“Angry,” Anya said.

“Anya.” Sally glared at her, then turned back to Hank and smiled. “A small staff issue has just been brought to our attention, but I’m sure we’ll get it sorted out and resolved quickly.”

“Oh? Why don’t you sit down and tell us what happened?”

Sally immediately pulled up a chair and sat down next to Hank, and Xander swore he would never understand what it was about that man that made women want to spill their guts.

“I don’t want this getting around,” Sally said, “but last night several of Mr. Lorne’s credit cards were stolen at the casino. He used them to get chips from the cashier around eleven and when he tried to go back for more at one forty-five, they were gone. Now, Mrs. French said she thought she saw Spike—one of our dance guys—hanging around Mr. Lorne’s table. So I asked him this morning what he was doing last night and he said he was alone in his room, reading.”

“Reading,” Anya repeated with a snort. “I’m sure Spike’s deeply interested in great literature.”

“Shut up,” Xander snapped. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“Xander,” Jessica said.

“But mom, I’m sure it wasn’t him.”

“I wish you were right,” Sally said. “But the evidence stacks up against him. There was a similar theft at the Hyperion—a hotel at one of our earlier port calls where Spike and Dru have a standing performance engagement. It happened the same night we were docked there.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. It could’ve been anybody on the ship.” Xander looked around the table for support. Hank was a dead end, but Jessica looked more like a dark alley—possible if not promising. “Look, mom, I know it wasn’t him.”

“Xander.” The warning came from Hank this time.

“How do you know, honey?”

“I just do, okay?” This was so not the time or the place for the how. A thought occurred to him. “You know what? Maybe it was Mr. Giles and Mr. Rayne.”

Jessica frowned at him. “Now, Xander, you can’t just go around accusing innocent people.”

“No, I’m serious. Mr. Rayne dropped his wallet the other day and there were a whole bunch of credit cards inside. I didn’t even think about it until now. And… and they were at the Hyperion that night, too.” Xander added that last bit without thinking, but no one was paying attention to it anyway.

Sally just shook her head as she pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. “Come on, Anya. I know you love firing people.”

“Wait.” Xander jumped up and took a deep breath. “Look, I know that Spike didn’t do it, okay?” Xander surveyed the faces staring in at him. “And the reason I know he didn’t do it is because he was in his room last night until at least two a.m.”

He stopped on his mother’s face.

If not here, where? If not now, when?

“And the reason I know that…” He took another deep breath and delivered the punch line. “Is because I was in there with him.”

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