Unbreakable

By fanbot

One

Spike ran a hand over his hair, checking that not too much was astray from his tightly-bond braid, and blew out a great lung-full of air. This was his last chance to back out. He hated dealing with the slavers and the scum. The demons and humans here were the lowest of all. Even Angelus scorned them back in the day. But the pay was more than he could turn down.

The Watcher’s council had heard rumor of an untamable slave being brought in by ship this evening. The irony of slave ships still coming to America from Africa was not lost on Spike. Giles was thinking Slayer. Spike was thinking get in, take a look, get out, report back, collect enough to live on for half a year.

Spike pulled on his “Big Bad” persona and crossed the unmarked barrier between the bad part of the town and the even worse part. He missed the swish of a leather coat and the easy stride he once had, but it was to his benefit when he listened to anyone try to tell that to him. The few that talked to him, that was. Spike was considered dead, and he’d gotten a clean slate. He doubted few would recognize him now. The “final battle” with the legions of hell had left him with a permanent limp and a lengthening of the scar that once hid in his eyebrow. He’d stopped bleaching and cutting his hair long ago and it’s dark brown length now was pulled tight against his skull and down his back in a fighter’s braid.

His new coat had been taken from a lawyer at the Rome branch of W & H. It was a good fit, falling off his shoulders and tailored in fit his waist when belted, then the fuller skirt of it fell to mid-calf. He’d paid enough attention to fashion to know this look wouldn’t last long, for most were simply not slim enough to pull it off, but while it was hot, he liked this coat. Pressed black pants with a narrow gray stripe tapered down to well-polished low-heeled boots. He carried a silver-toped ebony cane. Who’s the dandy highway man now?

His air of having every right to be there carried him far. He did his best not to breathe in the stench of the place. Everywhere was the activity of cages and chains of humans, beasts, and unidentifiable beings moving from one place to another. The place had the air of a clandestine street fair. He’d seen thousands such illicit events in his long existence to know how to quickly reach the heart of it.

There, closest to the hold of the ship itself, was the security he was looking for. As expected, he was challenged. Doing his best not to fidget, he went through the courtly dance of sign/countersign, name drop, name drop, money flash to get into the ship itself. Once the trail of the lies was passed, Spike willingly surrendered his few concealed weapons as well as his cane, exaggerated his limp, then was lead up the gang plank and met by one of the top men. Oh, not the top man, Spike didn’t really want that, but this over-dressed thug would do nicely.

In his well-learned German accent, Spike blithely lied his way into seeing all the top stock. He was mostly interested in the girls, him being on the lookout for Slayers and what all, but it didn’t hurt to be through. Once he stepped into the area of the hold that had been curtained off, he knew his instincts had been right.

A line of seven males stood in a row, each one well-muscled, healthy, and very bound. Spike did his best to not stare at the third one from the end. The flash of brown eye would have stopped his heart had he been human. He drew in a deep breath as he considered the first one in line. He looked without seeing at the brown, muscled form before him. Out of the myriad of stinks within the hold the one he sought soared over the others.

He thought hard at the man in chains and slowly worked his way down the line. He’d never in a million years expected to call a code doughnut, and didn’t want his cover blown. Of course, it could be that his target wouldn’t recognize him. He was so far from the denim-wearing mooch he’d once been. Okay, so still wore jeans when not under cover, but he supported himself now. He absently spoke to the thug as he looked over the stock. He let little tidbits build his well-memorized story. It was easy to dismiss the non-humans as his boss had just bought a new estate in the keys and wanted a human or two to pretty up the place and maybe provide some… entertainment.

He paused at he bronzed figure that stood tall third from the end. As he had with two others, he folded his arms and paused. The clear brown eye met his steadily.

“This one is pretty,” Spike said, reaching out to finger one of the beads in the slave’s long, thick brown hair. A tiny tightening of the lips was the only response. Perhaps Xander Harris didn’t recognize him. “Even with the eye patch.” Spike boldly ran a hand over a forearm roped with veins and paused at a scar along the wrist, his eyes dating to find other scars on the massive body. “Pity he’s damaged.”

“That one won’t stay pretty. We’d magic him unscarred and he’d just get cut up again. He’s a damn good fighter, but he’s a rebel. Your boss probably won’t want him. Not for a pleasure slave.” Spike saw the brown eye darken marginally and felt a single angry, hard thump of the heart under his fingers.

“You don’t know my boss, then,” Spike laughed. The brown eye flickered back to him and Spike saw a flicker of curiosity in it’s depths. “He’s a weird one.” Spike dismissed the captive and passed on to the last human in the line, giving him the same look-over he had the others. When done there, he tossed his head and rubbed his hands together. “Now, my favorite part. Let me have a look at the ladies.” He did not risk a look back and missed the unbreakable slave lowering his head to look at the place on his wrist the vampire had touched.


Two

An hour passed, and one of the slaves that he had examined had sold before Spike returned to the showing room with a small silver cell phone pressed to his ear.

“What?… Yes, sir…” he barely looked at the still row of men. “Those are the ones? Right, hold on a sec.” Spike lowered the phone and turned to his burly host and spoke like one who knows his requests will be followed. “He wants the one in red and the one on blue. Now can we take a better look at the males.”

The man turned an spoke a few quiet words to a near-by flunky. Spike turned his attention back to the slaves. “Pity, the biggest one’s been sold. You!” he pointed at the other dark-skinned human he’d examined. “Step out here.” The man did so, and Spike held up the little phone. There was a bright flash which caused them all to blink and one of the demons to cringe. “Okay, turn around.” He took another picture, shooed the man back into line, pushed a couple of buttons and brought the phone to his ear.

“Yes, he looks healthy. There’s another one, too. No, the third one I mentioned is gone.” Spike stepped up to Xander and repeated the photo shoot. He sent the pictures and pressed the phone to his ear again. As he chatted, he looked around the room with an undisguised air of disgust.

“I know he’s got an eye gone, but look how pretty he is… All that hair… He’d make a nice match to the one in red you just picked out… No, they say he’s fighter grade, but reasonably well behaved…” Spike looked to his host. “Can he speak?”

The man barked at Xander, “Recite your kills!”

Xander started reeling off his impressive recorded kill list, but Spike waved him to silence before he got past two species.

The phone was back to his ear. “No, I’ve not seen to that, hold on.” Spike turned to his host who left off rolling his eyes and pulled a pleasant smile of servitude. “We need to see all of him.”

“He’s not pleasure grade, I told you.”

“I don’t care. His value is already lowered because of the eye. We’re not going to buy anything without making sure everything is in place.”

“Very well.” Xander’s eye narrowed as the tough came over to him. “Raise your arms,” he snapped. The muscles in Xander’s Africa-tanned arms bunched as he raised the heavy chains binding him. With a practiced move, the man unfastened Xander’s posing pouch and whipped it away.

Spike came over and knelt before the now-naked Xander. He snapped his fingers at a flunky and pointed at the bound slave’s crotch. Used to this sort of thing, the slim boy came over and presented Xander’s genitals to him. Spike stood and shooed the boy away. “Yes boss, they look intact.” Again he paced the small space. The host handed the pouch to the flunky who quickly redressed the tensed slave.

“Yes… yes… I agree. I will call you back shortly.” He looked over both males one more time, this time looking each of them in the eye for a brief moment. “Fine! Let us talk.”

Xander did his best to relax as Spike and the host tossed sums of money around. Spike spent all his time pointing out Xander’s flaws, and the host regaled Spike with stories of Xander’s fighting prowess and what a loss it would be to make him a decorative slave. Xander had to hide a barely-suppressed snort of laughter with a clink of chains when Spike said “Look, if my boss wants him to be nothing more than a doughnut boy, it’s not your business.” The vampire shot him a look of annoyance. More sums were bantered about and the host pulled out a cell phone of his own.

Finally, the two shook hands over a figure your average human could buy a nice house with and Spike swept from the room without a backwards glimpse.

A bright yellow ribbon was draped across his chest, and Xander was lead from the show room and to a holding pen he’d never seen.

Some four hours later, Xander, a tiny dark skinned human in a skimpy blue wrap, and a green-skinned female in a red toga were lead off the ship for the first time in months. The unshifting ground felt wrong under Xander’s feet. The human girl cried silently, and Xander just moved as directed as they were taken to a nondescript van. A muscular black man stood by with several chains at his feet. Few words were exchanged as the slave keeper removed the heavy chains from the females and the black man replaced them with lighter, but no less strong looking ones.

“Watch this one,” the keeper said when they came to Xander. “He can be tricky.”

The man just nodded. “Boss likes them to fight.” He flashed a grin at Xander which made him think he’d seen the man somewhere before. The man opened the van’s door and his fighter-trained eye took in the weakness of the man’s left leg. Was everyone in this outfit crippled? “You have to climb in your own damn self, though. I ain’t gonna help.”

Xander watched the demon girl struggle for all of three seconds before picking her up and setting her inside. She gave a startled squeak, but shot him a grateful look as she settled on a padded bench. It was forbidden for slaves to touch one another without permission, but he was willing to risk it. He helped the human, then climbed in himself. The black man climbed up himself and swiftly locked all their chains to a central rail. He said nothing more, but Xander saw him give each of the girls a secretive, comforting pat on the back as he checked their chains.

Once they were all settled with the black man in the front passenger seat and on the move, Xander took a more careful look around the van. It was a standard American model, but the back had been remodeled to function as a police van. Padded benches lined both walls and welded-in poles showed evidence of wear. A heavy metal grill and a curtain separated the back from the passenger compartment. There were no windows.

As they traveled, Xander systematically checked every link in his new chain. He’d always done this and he always would. Briefly, he wondered if his sellers had shared this information. Probably not. To be honest with himself, he was surprised they’d let him live this long. After checking the chains, he sat still and thought. He’d gotten very good at that and now that he finally had new things to think about, he really threw himself into it. He ignored the two females as they huddled together, talking a little quietly, and drawing comfort from one another. Every slave knew that any situation could quickly become worse. No matter how bad, there could always be a worse. He did not share the probable identity of their buyer. Or, at least of his or her purchasing agent.

Spike. God Damn. He’d heard his one-time roommate had been mystically resurrected, then within the same month, he heard of his probable demise. Just how long had he been a captive for enough time to pass for the stubborn vamp to cycle back to life? Then again, the accent, the almost-effeminate mannerisms? Maybe it wasn’t Spike. Maybe he’d been sold into the possession of some damn rich freak who would make him stand around all day with a potted plant on his back. He’d heard such stories.

He could hear the black man talking, but if the driver was answering, he was too quiet for Xander to hear. The low volume pop music on the radio and the road noise didn’t help. Pop music. Good old American rock and roll. It had been… years?… since he’d heard any amount of it.


Three

They’d traveled for a good half hour before the van slowed and went over a series of speed bumps. From the angle, Xander guessed they were going into an underground garage.

He listened as both front doors opened and the people climbed out. As the rear doors rattled open, he used the sound to cover his last strong pull on the chain. His muscles bunched and strained, and the weak link he’d been worrying since he found it parted in his hands. He sat with his hands between his knees, clutching and hiding the broken ends.

The black man appeared with a huge smile. “All right girls and boy, time to change rides.”

Xander still felt he knew this man from somewhere, but all thoughts of him vanished when another, much smaller man stepped into view. A small smile quirked the driver’s narrow lips as he climbed up in the van. “Hey, man,” he said as he went to the females and knelt before them.

Xander blinked in disbelief and watched as he took out a key and unlocked their chains. “Hello, ladies. We have to change vans and put some clothes on you, but you’re safe now,” he said gently.

Xander knew the females did not speak English, so he translated, effortlessly speaking in the dialect he’d heard them using earlier. They listened with wide eyes as the fighter spoke to them. Fighters weren’t allowed to speak to pleasure girls. They could rent them, use them, strike them, and generally do as they pleased, as long as they did not hold a conversation with them. He tried a weak smile and added to Oz’s instructions. “I know this man. He’s a good soul. I am very sure we’re in the best possible hands.”

They continued to clutch one another and rubbed their freed limbs in wonderment. They ducked their heads in submission to Xander then to the slim red headed man who tossed the chains to a corner.

“Thanks,” Oz said as he turned to undo Xander’s chains. Xander opened his hands, let the broken chain fall free, stood, and pulled the remaining chains from his wrist cuffs and threw them aside himself.

He looked down at his long ago friend and was rewarded with as big a grin as Oz ever shared. “Cool,” Oz said. “We have to move. There’s time for a quick bathroom stop and a change of clothes.”

Xander jumped down from the van, knowing he was finally a free man again, and put aside the confusion that came with that. They were still running.

After Xander helped the females out of the van, Oz followed. “Xander, this is Gunn.”

Xander took the presented hand in a long-unused handshake. “One of Angel’s crew,” he said, finally placing the man. He’d seen a couple of photos of him.

“Was.” Gunn smiled and shook out his freed hand. “Nice grip, man. Leave me some fingers next time.”

With Xander translating and showing the females how to use a modern toilet, they moved swiftly to a different van. This one was as beat up and rusty as the other one sleek and new. Oz handed out sets of simple sweat pants, t-shirts, and flip flops. The females looked in wonder at the garments when Oz through Xander instructed them to change clothes.

“I had to guess at your size,” Oz said apologetically. “I only had those tiny pictures to go by. Had it been anyone but Spike, I’d have thought it a joke.”

Xander took the clothes and fingered the new cotton. He slipped on the black draw string pants and unfolded the t-shirt. A missed tag caught his eye. “Wal-Mart,” he said softly.

“Yeah. Bigger and more evil than ever.”

The t-shirt was snug, but it felt good to be clothed again.

Gunn did his best to look away from the attractive, healthy females as they changed.

Once everyone was dressed, Gunn clapped his hands. “Right. There’s food in the van. And we’ve got a ways to go to get to the safe house. Any one else need to potty?”

Xander settled the females in the back seat, presenting them with bottled water, bags of nuts, crackers, fruit, and other simple foods. They looked disbelieving at the bounty. Xander knew how they felt. “Oz,” he said softly, “come here and tell them this is all for them. I don’t think they believe me.”

Oz slipped into the seat in front of them and leaned over it. He pointed to the food, then to them. “This is for you.” Xander translated. “Eat as much as you want, but do not make yourselves sick. There will be more when you want it.”

The demon girl listened to the translation, then threw herself to her knees, took Oz’s hand in hers, pressed her forehead to it and spoke in a quick, breathless voice. The human girl soon had his other hand and was doing the same.

He turned a puzzled brow to Xander who smiled. “They are thanking their gods for such a generous and kind master.”

“But I’m not…”

“Let’s sort it out later. Right now, they most want to gorge themselves with this bounty and look at their new pretty clothes.”

Oz firmly pulled his hands away and smiled at them.

Oz climbed in the driver’s seat, Xander beside him, and Gunn sat with his leg stretched out on the seat in the middle.

“Want to pick the tunes?” Oz asked as he turned the key.

“Got any… Beatles?”

“I’ve got something better, just for you.” Oz pushed a button on the CD player, and Patsy Cline started singing her music of pain.

“How did you know, Oz?”

“That’s a gift from Willow. She had me find a music store and buy it for you.”

“Willow?” Xander thrilled to hear about his old friend so soon. “How is she?”

“She’s great, man.”

Xander listened to the first song through, then jumped to his favorite track. He listened to it, filling in the few words his mind had blurred over the years, then stopped the disc. “Enough with the sad. About those Beatles?”

Xander watched out the window in dazed amazement as the sun came up, reveling San Francisco in all its concrete glory. Some fifteen minutes out, once they were clear of the city, Oz interrupted his daze. “I forgot your prize pack, sorry man.”

“No problem,” Xander mumbled, still enjoying the billboards, trees, and pretty free people in open top cars.

Gunn tore his attention from the now shyly smiling and still-eating girls to hand a bag up to Xander. In addition to fruits and nuts, a new box of Twinkies and two Hershey bars cuddled with a still-cool bottle of Coca-Cola. Xander took out a chocolate bar and held it in his hands as if it were the holy grail. He didn’t even notice when a tear hit his wrist.

Oz saw it, but said nothing.

“This wealth could buy you a whole night with a girl like them,” Xander said softly. “The whole bag could get you three girls and someone killed.” Oz knew to say nothing. “How long has it been, Oz?”

"Since the riot when you vanished? Five years. They searched for a long time. Finally... well... you’ll be happy to know there is still a code on the books for you.”

“What’s that?”

“Code doughnut.”

Xander chuckled. “How long have you been back in the fold?”

“About four years.”

Xander met the steady brown eyes that flicked his way from the road. Calm, smart Oz. Xander had kept him in the stable of memories that kept him sane. There were times that the he could keep him from panicking by telling himself to be “cool like Oz.” No man was perfect, and he did remember that horrible Halloween in the frat house, but the way the small man strode through life, meeting it in a matter-of-fact way had always impressed Xander. He knew he could ask of his friend what he needed to know. “Tell me the news, Oz. Please. Give me all the bad that people will hem and haw about.”

Oz glanced over at Xander and nodded. “Rip the band aid. I get it.” Oz took a breath and centered himself. “Chronologically. Just before you were captured, the council got word about the LA office of Wolfram & Hart being taken down. They knew Spike had been working with Angel and no survivors were reported.”

“I got a little bit of that… just before.”

“That was a hell of a thing, literally,” Gunn put in. “We lost Wesley. Angel, Spike and I barely got out. Illyria sacrificed herself to save us. To save everything, really.”

“Who’s Illyria.?”

“Ah, it’s along story. I’ll tell you over a bottle of something that bites one night.”

Xander honored Gunn’s dismissive tone and changed the topic. “So that really was Spike,” Xander asked finally.

“Which voice did he use?” Oz asked.

“German.”

“Ralph von Hoffman.” Oz nodded.

“What’s with that? The… poofyness?” Xander asked.

“Good actor, man.”

Oz and Gunn gave Xander a few details about his rescuer, but clearly respected the vampire’s privacy. After the LA deal went down, Spike and company sought out the Watcher’s council and convinced them to help in the possible mystical backlash. He wound up working undercover in RRWW as Spike called it. “But he won’t tell us what it means,” Oz added.

Xander remembered with a chill. Spike had laughed at the phrase in one of the old comics he’d bought at a yard sale. It was about a secret agent who was in RRWW. Rescue, Recovery, and Wet Works.

“What else, Oz?” Xander asked. “5 years can’t pass without bad things happening.”

“Your dad. I’m sorry, man, but last year he died in a car wreck.”

“Was he drunk?”

“Double the legal limit.”

“Bastard,” Xander said quietly. “I always knew he’d go that way if his liver didn’t explode first. Was anyone else hurt?”

“No. He managed to find the one sign post in a fifteen mile stretch of desert.”

“Isn’t that the Harris luck? And my Mom?”

“She’s living with her sister in Texas, last we heard.”

“Good.” Oz let Xander digest that information and ask for more when he was ready. Xander shuffled through the music until he found something new. “What else?” He asked after a couple of songs. “Give me something good.”

“Willow and I are married.”

“What happened to ‘gay now?’”

Oz shrugged. “Souls mean more than bodies. About for years ago… here’s the next bad bit, sorry… Willow’s folks died in a plane crash.” Xander looked unseeing out the window. He’d not known her folks very well, considering how much time he’d spent with Willow. He’d interacted with the cook more than he had the Rosenbergs. As his friend got older, they’d seemed to have less and less to do with her.

Oz continued his story. “I was in the states on Council business and came to see her. We wound up talking all night. Again. Willow was pretty torn up, as you can imagine. Kennedy didn’t like that she talked to me and not her. She left Willow four months later. Gave her some line about needing to find some happiness.”

“I never did really like her. Too… caustic,” Xander confessed.

“Caustic is a good word. I came to visit again when I heard and I never left.”

"I’m very happy for you two.”

“Buffy and Dawn are still in Rome. Dawn is about to start her second year on her Masters in Languages and Mythology.”

“At least someone got something out of all our researching.”

“Giles is living on his family property in Kent. He had a stroke about two years ago and doesn’t get around as much as he did.”

“Damn. That must be frustrating for him.” Xander’s heart ached for his mentor and friend.

“He’s writing now. Last I heard, he’d found a publisher for his novel.”

“A novel? I thought he’d write stuffy histories.”

“Horror novel. It’s got a werewolf in it,” Oz grinned.


Four

The conversation soon switched to trivial things. The females, overwhelmed and full of food, drifted off the sleep, Gunn read a book, Oz skillfully maneuvered the van north through heavy traffic, and Xander watched the world through the heavily tinted windows. Occasionally, Xander would savor a treat from his bag or ask details about the world he’d so missed. They decided to keep moving as long as the females were asleep.

Three hours later, the females woke up as they stopped at a security gate. Oz leaned out the window and punched in a code. The gates opened by themselves, and Xander heard the females whispering about seeing such things one of the places they’d been sent to service.

“Whose place is this, anyway?” Xander asked as he looked at the lush tree growth they passed.

“On the deed, the Watcher’s council. In reality, Willow and Daniel Osborne.”

“Really?” Xander asked. “How’s that work?”

Gunn spoke up. “That’s a bit of my work.” Xander remembered hearing about Gunn’s instant lawyer training and wished he could have gotten all of high school that way. “As you know, Willow’s folks were quite wealthy, and left her a tidy sum. At the same time, the Watchers Council was looking for a piece of property where they could train Slayers in America. She found this place, bought it, and donated it to the council with all these legal stipulations that allow her to live here and run the place as she sees fit, but without all those nasty taxes and utility bills.”

Xander smiled and nodded. “That’s my Willow.”

They rounded a bend and the three-story house came into view. It was colonial without being over-blown. The shady porch sported inviting rocking chairs. The wide yard around it was well cared for, with flowers and neatly-trimmed shrubs everywhere. What drew Xander’s attention the most was Willow standing at the door.

He climbed out and stood looking at his often missed friend. In a daze she walked toward her oldest pal, looking him up and down. The t-shirt Oz hoped would be loose only served to accentuate the massive muscles in Xander’s chest and arms. The wide silver slave bracelets were still welded about his wrists. His complexion, already naturally dark, had been baked darker still. His unbound hair flowed glossy and thick to his waist. Here and there jewels of various kinds winked in the sun. His expression was unreadable.

Timidly, Willow approached Xander and raised a shaking hand to touch his chest. “Xander?”

He could hold out no longer, and allowed his grin to escape. “Hey, Wills!”

“You’re alive!”

“That’s what they tell me.” He gave into impulse, wrapped his arms around his friend and twirled her around twice, his hair flying and the jewels glinting, before setting her down again. Willow whooped in delight and refused to let go even after the ride was over.

“Xander, Xander, Xander. My Xander,” she happily chanted. Even though some part of her mind took in the new, wild look and scent of him and knew “her” Xander really was no more. She could hardly close her arms about his chest.

“I hate to interrupt,” Gunn called, “but I think the ladies are afraid to come out.” Gunn stood by the open van doors as the two other former slaves huddled inside.

Willow pulled herself from Xander’s arms and wiped her eyes. “Oh. I forgot about them. Midra!” she called to the house.

A tall, slender black woman glided out of the house. She wore a traditional caftan and her dredlocked hair was pulled back. “Are they here?” she asked in a musical voice.

“Over here, baby!” Gunn called.

Midra smiled at Xander in passing as she quickly went to the van. She exchanged a brief hug and kiss with Gunn before climbing in the van.

“That’s Midra. She’s one of the first slaves we rescued. She works here as councilor and translator.”

Xander turned his attention back to his friend, lifting a scarred hand and soothing her twirl-mussed hair. “It’s so God damn good to see you, Willow.”

“You, too. Oh, God, you, too. Come on in. There’s some more people who want to see you.”

Xander surrendered Willow to her husband and followed them into the air conditioned dimness of the house. He felt a chill that didn’t entirely have to do with the temperature.

“Welcome to Rosenberg Hall,” Willow said.

Xander looked around at the dark woods on the staircase and the clean, pale walls. A wide stairway curved up from one side of the entranceway. It kind of reminded him of the long-gone Rovello Drive house.

“Nice.” He followed her meekly, half listening to the inventory of rooms, the history of the house, and how she’d managed to buy it from the former once-famous owner. The rooms were all clean and tidy, the atmosphere safe and inviting. He could see gardens and other buildings out tall windows.

He followed her through another arch. “And through here is the room where all the strays wind up.”

It was a large living room with a flat screen TV and worn, comfortable seating. The curtains were pulled closed and the only light came from the unfamiliar sit com on the TV. What caught his attention was the man he could see in profile. Spike sprawled on a chair with one boot up on the coffee table, and the other tucked under that thigh. The long-fingered hand that wasn’t clutching a beer was splayed on his hip, accentuating his crotch. His shirt was a faded black and his jeans torn at the knee. Except for the dark, long-haired pony tail, Spike looked so much like a scene from years before that Xander had to swallow his emotions.

Willow theatrically cleared her throat when Spike didn’t look up from the television. “You should have that looked at, Red,” he drawled.

“Spike! Look who’s here!”

Lazily, the vampire dropped his head back on the seat back and rolled it to face them as if it were the greatest effort in the world to make the move. “Hey, Whelp,” he said, then turned back to the TV.

Willow almost stomped her foot. “Spike! It’s Xander!”

Spike shrugged and sipped his beer. “I know. Found him, didn’t I?”

Xander exchanged a wink with Willow and strode over to Spike. Even though the vamp didn’t move, Xander knew he was watching his every move from the corner of his eye. He saw Spike tense as he approached and snatched the beer from his hand.

“Oi! Get your own!” Xander drained it in two long gulps, crushed the can flat, and handed it back.

He patted Spike on the head. “Thanks, fangless,” he said fondly as he turned back to Willow. “Is there anyone here who would be glad to see me?”

Spike watched them go and then stared at the crushed can. He was very glad to know there was still some puppy in the beast.

Xander’s joking question was met with a squeal of delight that made everyone’s hair stand on end. A bright green haired, tall, slight figure rocketed at him from the back of the house. If he hadn’t fondly preserved the memory of that sound from years before, Dawn Summers could easily have ended up badly broken. As it was, Xander caught her up and spun her around much as he had Willow, only four more times.

Willow had to snatch a vase out of harm’s way, but she couldn’t scold her old friend.

Finally he sat her down, but did not let go of the young woman weeping and clutching at him. “I told them you’d come back. I told them to keep code doughnut on the list.”

“Was that your idea, Dawnie?”

“Yeah. Doughnut’s not a word you say much when talking about Africa, is it?”

Xander reveled in the feel of her strong, wiry body in his arms. She’d matured, but kept the slimness. He opened his eye to see Spike leaning in the doorway, a lop-sided smile on his lips.

Dawn finally pushed away, but kept a hand on his arm. “Let me look at you, TarXAN. Wow! You’re hot!”

“Wasn’t I always?” he asked with a visit from his old crooked grin.

“Well, yeah, but now you look like something found on the internet.”

“Dawn!” Willow scolded, teasingly.

“Not that I look at such things. And those jewels are beautiful! I’m so glad I happened to be visiting when Spike called! Oh my God! I want to show you the house, and we’ve got so much to catch up on. Where have you been?”

Oz saw Xander’s back tighten, and stepped in. “It’s been along trip for him, Dawnie.” As always, Oz’s steadying presence cut through the chaos.

She blushed. “I’m sorry, Xander. I just missed you so much.”

“You, too, Dawn. We’ll talk later.”

Oz turned to his old friend. “What do you want to do now, Xander?”

“If there are no more green-haired banshees going to come out at me, and I want to hear the story about that later…” he closed his eyes and brought up long-shelved I’m-free-and-back-in-the states fantasies. “I would like… as hot and long a shower as possible. A medium rare steak with all the proper sides, cold beer, a big, tall glass of milk, and chocolate ice cream for dessert.”

Willow and Dawn laughed. Oz smiled warmly. “It will mean a trip to the store, but we can do that, no problem,” Willow said. She went to her friend and cupped his cheek, looking into his eye, she smiled. “Welcome back, Xander.” Xander kissed the palm of her hand. “Come on, Dawn, help me take inventory. Oz, can you show him the guest room?”

Oz nodded and Xander hesitated, turning back to the living room door. The vampire was gone. “Hold on a minute,” he said and returned to the other room.

Spike had resumed a variant of his sprawl, apparently watching TV, but Xander knew him well enough to know he was actually staring and thinking. “Spike?” he said quietly.

“Yeah, mate?”

Xander came in and sat on the coffee table, facing Spike. “There is something I need to do, a ceremony, and it takes a warrior to help me.”

Spike steadily met the clear brown eye. “Want me to help you kill the bastards that captured you? ‘cause that’s some proper killing.”

Xander shook his head and shut his eye tiredly. “No. Not that. That’s… later.” Xander opened his eye to see the vampire nodding in understanding. “It’s… I want rid of Africa. As soon as possible. Will you help me?”

“Yeah, mate. Anything you ask.”

“Join me in my room after dinner. Bring a sharp knife, a candle, red if it’s to be had, a handkerchief size piece of clean cloth, and a small box or draw string bag.” Xander cupped his hands together to show what size was need.

“This ain’t going to get kinky, is it?” Spike asked, tilting his head, and lightning the mood.

Xander didn’t hesitate, but reached out and stroked Spike’s hair, once. “I don’t know. Tabula rasa, Spike. I want to be a blank slate, and I need help to do it.”

He’d half expected Spike to flinch, turn snarky, or at worse throw it all in his face. But Spike just nodded. “Share the wealth of steak and you’re on.”

Xander grinned and stood up. “Willow! Add another rare sirloin for the vamp to your list.”

Spike stared after him. He didn’t know this man. Not at all. He’d seen the seeds of this strength, both mental and physical, and he knew plenty about slave colonies. He wanted to know how this slave had remained unbreakable, and found he wanted to get to know this new man, too.

Absently, Spike stroked his hair where Xander’s great, warm hand had touched him twice now. He had to learn what was up with that.


Five

Xander followed Oz up the stairs. On the second floor, Oz pointed out where his and Willow’s room was, the guest room favored by Dawn, and at the end of the hall, the door the Spike’s chosen room. On the third floor, Oz pointed out the “library annex” / Midra’s sewing room across the hall from a large, sunny guest suite under the eves of the house.

It was some twenty feet wide, and painted in warm creams and accented with crimson and rich purples. He glanced around at he king sized bed, wardrobe, comfortable lounge chair under the window, and many touches of home. A bright vase of fresh flowers sat on the dresser, a sign propped on the table by a dish of candy read “Welcome Home Xander,” and the bed was turned down with a mint on the pillow. Oz pointed out that the bathroom was attached to an on-demand water heater of its own and he really could have the shower of his dreams.

“If I take too long, just fan the scent of the steak in here, and I’ll be out in no time,” Xander smiled.

“No hurry, Xander. I only bought the one set of clothes. I’ll see what Gunn can loan you.”

For a second, Xander wondered how Oz knew he wanted clean clothes, even though he’d only worn these in the van. Werewolf. Oz wanted Africa gone, too. Xander felt himself relax another notch. He put his hand on Oz’s wiry shoulder. “Thank you. Hey, Oz. It’s great to see you.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll leave them on your bed. If there’s anything else you want, prowl in the drawers. I think there’s a spare one of everything. Willow likes to play hostess.”

The bathroom was large with two windows, a huge tub, and a shower stall. It was a heaven to Xander, with clean blue and white tiles, and a whimsical motif of dolphins. He picked up the bar of soap on the sink and breathed deeply. America. Indoor plumbing. Endless hot water. Heaven. Home.

Xander wasted no time in stripping off the too-tight t-shirt and dropping the pants. He suddenly realized he’d left the flip-flops in the van. It had been so long since he’d warn shoes, he’d not missed them. He tossed the hated show pouch in the trash can and stood, naked and still stinking of the hold of the ship before a floor-length mirror. He inventoried every scar, all those visible, and those they’d magiked off when they still thought him pretty.

Stray sunbeams crept in the high window and played with the gems in his hair. He wanted to rip them out and fling them far into the ocean, but they were all he had. All he owned. He’d plant these stone seeds and build a new life. Hopefully, Spike would help him. He deliberately turned his back on African Xander, and stepped into the shower.

Xander sighed as he stepped into the hot spray. It was half an hour before he could override his ingrained caution and close his eyes for more than a minute at a time as he scrubbed at his body with any soap that came to hand. It was another fifteen before he could keep them closed for ten minutes. It was five minutes more before he let himself slide down the wall to sit in the spray and thank every god he knew that Spike had found him and brought him home.

Downstairs, Spike wandered into the kitchen where Dawn and Willow were writing out a shopping list. As they checked the quantity of baking potatoes, he added the name of Xander’s favorite beer to the paper before quietly slipping away.

An hour later, the return of the triumphant shoppers drew everyone to the kitchen. Tasks were distributed and the meal preparation was well underway. Gunn came in at one point to convey what Midra had told him about the gems. They were trophies and it was best to not ask about them.

Another hour later, Xander appeared in the dining room. He’d pulled his hair back into a rough braid, so it was contained and he could ignore it. Gunn’s yellow t-shirt with a faded dragon decal on it and a soft green flannel shirt topped off dark purple draw string pants.

“Just in time!” Willow cried as she opened the oven to pull out the potatoes.

“Still have the same fashion sense, I see,” Spike quipped.

“Nah, can’t blame me. Oz picked it out. I know wolves are color blind, but really!”

Gunn limped in with Midra on his arm. “Hey! Those are all my most comfortablist, lounge about the house clothes. I don’t share with just anyone.”

Oz shrugged. “You’d take fashion tips from a man who used to dye his hair every week?”

Midra had left the two females sleeping in the detached guest house with a Council , and the rest of them crowed around the long plank table. Xander and Spike enjoyed their steaks and the rest had more reasonable lunch-like food.

With the aid of Oz and, surprisingly, Spike, the conversation stayed light throughout the meal. Gunn and Dawn had them all laughing at the reenactment of highlights of the past five year’s television seasons in ten minutes or less. Xander had to cry “no spoilers” when they wanted to tell him about the last “Star Wars” movie. Oz filled him in on the sad state of pop music today with loud and pointed comments from Spike and more than a few counterpoints from Dawn.

Over ice cream, the best story was told. Xander’s favorite was the story of the intense reunion, courtship, and marriage of Willow Rosenberg and Daniel Osborne.

Finally, they’d all cleaned their plates and polished off their ice cream. Xander stood and kissed all the cooks, including Gunn when he foolishly bragged about having peeled the potatoes and carrots. That earned Xander a play glower from Midra, who was quite possessive of her Charles.

“Thank you all,” he said, stilling the conversations and cleaning. “I know you want to know my story, and I respect you not asking. I will tell it, but it will be in my own way, my own time. I’d put aside my dreams of rescue years ago. Now, you’ve physically gotten me out of there, and I must pull my self the rest of the way. I think I can. I hope I can.” Before they could descend on him with hugs and tears, he turned his back and strode from the room.

Spike drained the rest of his beer, sat the bottle solidly on the table, and followed without meeting anyone’s puzzled looks.

“Where’s he going?” Gunn asked.

“Xander spoke to him before we went upstairs,” Oz supplied.

Only Midra was unconcerned. She spoke in her sharp accent. “They are both Warriors. There are some things, honor things, that only a Warrior may help another one do.”

“I’m a warrior, too,” Gunn pouted.

Midra stooped to kiss the top of his head as she went past with her hands full of dishes. “You’re my warrior and I’m not sharing.”

“Aw, thanks baby. Hey, wait, ew!”

“And ya got a dirty mind!” she called over her shoulder from the sink, breaking the tension with the laughter she caused.

Spike stopped in his second floor room and grabbed up the little bundle of items he’d gathered. He didn’t let himself pause or speculate, but joined Xander upstairs.

He found Xander naked, lighting the last of the three oil lamps that sat around the room. Spike knew they were pretty much decorative, but functional. He couldn’t help but size up Xander’s transformed body. The years he had done construction work had made him strong, but the past years had layered on the muscle. These were muscles born of hard work and fighting, not work benches and posing. Spike saw the scars, too, and would not allow himself to speculate about his mental ones. He pushed down another wave of anger at the slavers. He had always hated slavers. Xander had removed the eye patch, and Spike could see by the even darkness of his skin around the scar that he rarely wore one. “Lock the door,” Xander said. Spike did so and stood ready for almost anything, but uncertain what was expected. “Clear the floor, please.”

Spike rolled the round rug with it’s pseudo Victorian pattern and pushed it aside, clearing a wide expanse of hardwood floor. He watched as Xander took out the tie from his long hair and shook it loose. The gems tied within the dark waves winked in the light. Then he knelt on his toes and knees on the floor facing the tightly curtained window. “Kneel here,” Xander pointed at a space three feet in front of him. Spike did. “Put he candle here,” he pointed in front of him, “and light it.” Spike did so. “Place the knife here,” he pointed with his left hand to that side of the candle. Spike took out his favorite illegally long, razor sharp knife and flicked out the blade. “Place the container here,” he pointed with his right hand to that side of the candle. Spike sat down a little wooden box with a pentacle worked into it. He’d bought it as a gift to Willow, but with the excitement of finding Xander, it had seemed unimportant. “Place the cloth between you and the candle.” Spike laid down a fourteen inch square of blue cloth he’d filched from Midra’s sewing room.

Xander tested the edge of the knife, opened the little box, looked through the candle flame at the cloth, and looked Spike in the eye. “I find you and these things worthy. Will you aid me in the beginning of the cleansing of the past?”

“I will,” Spike answered, feeling the hairs on his arms stand at the slight stirring of magic. Briefly, he wondered what Willow would say about someone other than herself casting spells under what was basically her roof.

Downstairs, Willow looked sharply up from where she was wiping the table. Oz noticed the movement and went to her, worried. She closed her eyes briefly and opened them with a smile. “He’s started a cleansing spell. I think Xander’s going to be fine.”

“Spike, I request you take the cloth with your right hand, and sit behind me, ” Xander said, looking into the candle flame. He did so, kneeling as he had before. “Spread the cloth to your right.” Spike did, using only that hand. Xander picked up the knife with his left hand and intoned a short spell as he passed it through the flame three times. He then held it over his shoulder, handle first, to Spike. “Take this in your left hand.” Then he picked up the box lid with his right hand. This and then the box, he passed through the flame three times as he chanted. These items he placed back by the candle.

“Spike, see this one?” Xander pointed to a large pearl that hung by his neck on the left side.

“Yeah.”

“It’s last. Find a jewel low down in my hair,” he instructed, “and take hold of it.”

Spike located a tiny teardrop ruby and took it between two fingers.

“Cut it out, and remove all the hair from it. Put the hair on the cloth.” Spike didn’t hesitate, but quickly freed the jewel and its setting from Xander’s locks. Xander held his left hand up over his shoulder. “Hand me the jewel.” Spike dropped it into his palm.

Xander looked at and recited something in his African dialect, then paused and translated. “Golpic demon. He fought well, but left a mate and spawn behind.” Xander passed gem over the flame. “Forgive me,” he said as it winked in the light, and he transferred it to his right hand. He dropped it into the box.

“Another,” he said.

Several hours passed as the ritual continued. Rubies, diamonds, amethysts, all manner of wealth were freed from their hair knots. A part of Spike’s magpie mind couldn’t help but appraise the gems. This was soon forgotten as Xander told the stories of the kills he’d made to earn his wealth. Some stories he did not translate. Some he did not ask forgiveness. As the gems hung closer to his skull, the stories grew longer and more detailed. Xander’s voice grew hoarse, but he did not waver or stop. The night was well on, the mound of hair large, and the candle short when Xander held up his hand a last time.

Spike spoke for the first time since the beginning. “There’s just the one left,” he said quietly.

“Oh.” Xander slumped a little. “Find the strand it’s on and cut it off at my scalp. Make it as long as you can and give me all of it.”

Spike’s nimble fingers gently closed on the pearl, and worked Xander’s now-ragged hair. He separated out the thick lock it was knotted on and did as Xander directed. He placed it in Xander’s shaking hand. “Sit in front of me, Spike? Let me see you?”

Spike rose gracefully and moved to sit before Xander. He watched as the weary man caressed the pearl. “Anthony,” he said. “Anthony was my friend.” Spike watched Xander’s thick and strong, yet nimble fingers gather all the hair into his fist, and pass the pearl over the flame. “Anthony. I love you, too. Forgive me.” Xander blew out the candle, but did not put the pearl in the box. “Spike, please put the lid on the box and take it from me.”

“Which hand, mate?”

“It doesn’t matter now. Stay where you are but… put it away.” Xander tiredly waved a hand. Spike again noticed the heavy wrist bands and inwardly winced at what they represented. He’d been subjected to such a thing in his existence, too.

Spike took the now-full box, put the lid on, and placed it behind himself. He watched as Xander moved, rising from his knees and resettling cross legged. The vampire winced, knowing how much pain the man must be in. Xander took the hair from his fist and started braiding it. Spike watched his skilled, thick fingers work, carefully braiding his own hair into a tight, small, strong braid.

“Am I really free, Spike?” He asked, quietly, not looking up from his work.

“You’re out of slavery and your own man again. You’re in the United States of America, land of the free.” Spike tapped one of the bands. “Gunn can get these off of you in no time. Physically, I have to say yes. Otherwise,” Spike tilted his head. “You have to break your bonds yourself, mate.”

Xander finished braiding the length of hair and put it around his neck. He brought the ends together and wove them intricately into one. Finally Xander’s work was complete and he dropped his hands tiredly. “Trim the ends, Spike?”

Spike picked up the knife, carefully cut off the last few inches of stray hair, and added them to the pile. Xander stared unseeing at the blackened candle wick and fingered the pearl where it rested in the hollow of his throat.

“I’m so tired, Spike. So fucking tired.” Xander’s eye closed and he slowly slumped forward. Spike caught him and held him as he cried.


Six

Spike held his friend as he quietly sobbed. Big hands bunched in his shirt and pulled him close. Spike did not object. He knew how to sooth, how to comfort. Drusilla would sometimes weep over her losses like this. Even without a soul and crazy as a loon, she would mourn for her family and herself.

When Xander moved his legs and gasped in pain, without hesitation, Spike picked him up and carried him to the bed. He grabbed up the warm quilt at the foot of the bed and draped it over Xander’s shuddering body. Then he held the bigger man, petting him, stroking his hair, and murmuring soft, supportive words.

Finally, Xander’s breathing evened and the rocking stopped. He rolled away from Spike at last, taking the blanket with him. Spike hesitated, then sat up on the bed. “Don’t go,” Xander croaked.

“”I’m not leaving. Just fiddling a bit.” Spike felt Xander’s eye on him as he moved to that side of the bed. “Did Oz forget to tell you about the mini fridge?” Spike knelt by what Xander hand taken for a clunky and ugly bedside cabinet, drew out a bottle of water and opened it. Gratefully, Xander raised himself up and drained the cold, fresh liquid. He never thought he taste of plastic could be so wonderful. When he lowered the bottle, Spike had another ready. Once he’d drained that one, he lay back down and watched Spike moved around the room.

“Don’t leave, Spike,” he said again as Spike blew out all but one of the lanterns and carefully folded the ends of the cloth around the hair to tie it into a bundle.

Spike paused and cocked his head at Xander. “Don’t leave your room, or don’t leave the house?”

“Oz told me you will do jobs then vanish until needed again.”

“Sometimes, yeah. Keeps up the ‘mysterious creature of the night’ image.”

Xander’s eye closed and his voice slurred. “I have a job for you.”

Spike returned to his bedside and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re too knackered to deal now. I won’t leave this house, I promise, and later I’ll return to your room, okay? Call out if you need anything. I’ll hear you.”

Xander nodded into his pillow and fell deeply asleep.

Spike stood and allowed himself to think as her watched Xander sleep. The man had loved and lost someone, that was clear. He’d become a killing machine to be respected, and he trusted his former roomie and tormentor with his private rituals. Did this signal another apocalypse? He pulled himself away, put the used spell components on the dresser for later clean up, and blew out the remaining lamp. He hesitated over the box, then decided to take it with him. From what Xander had said, he never wanted to see them again, yet needed to keep them. He could always bring it back.

Spike closed the door behind him and went to the small second floor room he liked to use when he stayed over. He heated a packet of blood from his own mini-fridge in the small microwave and rapidly drained it. He wasn’t too surprised when his hands started shaking. Xander’s inner strength amazed him. He had been forced to transform from a gentle, caring soul to one who could kill without passion if commanded. But he’d not changed inside, Spike could see that. The man had kept everything tamped down to survive. He’d kept each reward jewel as a reminder, an albatross of the lives he’d taken. And now the bottle was uncorked. Spike knew in his soul want Xander wanted from him. Hell, he’d stick around even if Xander didn’t ask him. He knew the Xander of old and respected him. Spike just hoped he was strong enough to do it. Five years is a very long time to stay unbroken.

It was ten o’clock by the time he’d taken a quick shower and changed. Three pairs of eyes followed him as he reached the foot of the stairs and crossed to his favorite chair. “Anything good on, or shall we pay-per-view?” he asked as if he hadn’t just spent most of the day closeted with one of their best long-lost friends. He allowed the TV Guide flung by Dawn to connect with his head. “Watch it. Fella could get a paper cut.”

“Tell!” Dawn demanded. Willow silently echoed her, and Oz just held his wife, supporting her, but not pressuring Spike.

“Xander spent five years being unbroken. He’s going to have to break before he can mend.”

Willow let her anger turn to tears. “I remember Midra. She was only a slave for a year and a half. It took her a long time to get over it.”

“She still hasn’t completely,” Oz said quietly.

“You never do,” Spike put in, looking emptily at the TV. Willow started to ask him how he could know, but Dawn was moving before she could say anything. She sat on the floor beside Spike and put her head in his lap as she had long ago through lonely nights in that dark summer when Buffy had been dead. His hand moved to her unnaturally green hair and stroked it, comforting her, and taking as much offered comfort as he could allow.

They sat like this as the TV babbled about celebrity marriages and Willow cried herself out. Finally, Spike sniffed in a “it’s just allergies, never mind me” way and tugged at Dawn’s hair. “So, what’s the story, my green haired goblin?”

“Oh, that. I… um… I met Lorne.”

“Lorne?” Spike fondly remembered the demon with red eyes, horns, and green hair and skin. Lorne was always respectful to him, even when he was incorporeal. They had once spent a night drinking and swapping Angel stories. “I thought he went into hiding.”

“He did. Both Gunn and Angel have tried to get me to tell them where he is, but I never will. I won’t tell you, either, so don’t ask.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Niblet. So why go green?”

“He was down and lonely. He didn’t think anyone could ever find him attractive. So…”

“Show of solidarity?”

“Yeah.”

“If you talk to the velvet frog again, tell him I say hey. But be careful, Niblet,” Spike said. “I know too well the slippery slope of hair treatment.”

All eyes turned to Oz, he of the oft-changing hair, who returned the looks with a steady, knowing gaze. “Stick with black or shades of red,” he said wisely.

“I’ll keep that in mind. No bleaching.”

Spike wagged a finger at her. “It stings, pet. Like hell it does.”

“So why did you for so long?”

“It reminded me of Dru.”

“Dru?” Willow asked. “She didn’t dye her hair.”

“No,” Spike sighed. “My black plum could make it hurt… oh so good.”

“Ew,” Dawn said. “No bleaching for sure.”

“If you must try it put seven or eight packets of Sweet-n-Low in it, it doesn’t sting quite so much.”

Spike sat in companionable conversation for a little while. He listened to the others talk about plans to return the demon girl to her clan later that night and the human to her family back in Africa.

The very mention of Africa suddenly dropped the weight of the last couple of days on Spike’s shoulders and he drooped. Only Dawn noticed. She put her hand up beside her cheek where it rested on his thigh.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

“I’ve not slept in a long time, Niblet. It just caught up with me.” He petted her hair reassuringly.

Dawn squeezed his knee and asked timidly, “will he be all right?”

“In time, yeah. And… I think he wants me to stay near.”

Dawn sat up and rose to her knees. “So you’ll be hanging around for a while?”

This drew Willow and Oz’s attention from the movie. Spike sighed. “Looks like.”

“Yay! You’ll be around for my birthday!”

“I always send you pretties, don’t I?” Spike asked fondly, cupping her cheek.

“Yes. But it’s not the same as having another chance to try to get you to wear a pointy hat.”

Spike dropped his head back on the chair and moaned dramatically. “You were eleven. It was for three seconds. Let it go.”

Dawn’s bright smile lit the room for Spike. “Nope. Even when I turn a hundred and ten, I’ll be after you with a pointy hat every birthday.”

Spike smiled. “It’s a date.” He stood, stretched, and made a decision. He felt drawn to stay near Xander, saw no reason to hide it and stir up speculations and worries. “I’m crashing in the comfy chair in Xander’s room. Don’t know how he’ll be feeling when he wakes up.”

The light mood vanished. “It’s bad isn’t it?” Willow asked. “Even though he seemed so cheerful as he ate.”

“He was a captive, a slave for five years, Red. He’s changed. They changed him. I think he’s stronger now, in many ways, but that doesn’t make him any less…wounded.”

“So what do we do? Act like he’s been on vacation?” Willow chewed her lip with worry.

"I respect him." He searched for something they'd understand. "Like he fought the end of the world for five bloody years. Every day closing the Hellmouth. You need to know about him...come to me, right? I’ll get your info.” He gave a sharp nod and turned, cutting of the questioning. “Night."

Willow stood and stopped him. “Spike.”

“Yeah, Red?” He turned half back around. Willow stepped close and wrapped her arms around him. He hesitated, then returned the hug. Except for Dawn, he was rarely touched. He figured it was habit, he being the Big Bad, a vampire, and all.

“Thank you, Spike. Thank you for doing the things you do for all of us.”

“Pay’s good,” he covered, his voice catching.

Willow ignored him. “Thank you for finding Xander and bringing him out. Thank you for all you’ve done for him, and all you probably will. Just know that as much as you’re there for him, we’re here, too. For both of you.”

He looked up to catch a nod of agreement from the solemn Oz and a smile from Dawn over Willow’s shoulder. “Thanks, Luv. That means a lot, it does.”

Willow pulled away and wiped her face. “Let me pile up a tray of food. If I know my Xander, he’ll wake up hungry.”

“Yeah, that’d be good. He’s as big as horse now, he’ll probably eat like two of ‘em.” He dashed the back of his hand over his eyes.

Spike paused at the second floor landing and nipped into Willow and Oz’s bathroom. He took the pair of hair trimming scissors and comb he knew were kept there and continued upstairs.

Xander woke up abruptly. Someone had touched him. His body tensed, ready to fight, but the room was still and silent. When he opened his eye and found his vision filled with smooth white instead of rough rock or thatching, his first thought was he’d been blinded. His eye was drawn to the slowly turning ceiling fan, and it all flooded back. The rescue, freedom, his friends, Spike.

As if in answer to his thoughts, there was a movement beside him. The side of his leg was touched again. Xander turned his head to find a fully-clothed Spike sprawled mostly face-down beside him, with one leg drawn up, and apparently sound asleep. Spike’s face was lax and his mouth half-open. This wasn’t he first time he’d watched Spike sleep. How many lifetimes ago were the basement days, anyway? The vampire looked much as he always had, as should be expected, but Xander thought he perhaps a little rounder about the face. Maybe pig’s blood was fattening. Spike’s long hair was starting escape its braid and Xander’s hands itched to comb and re-braid it.

Then Spike’s face tensed, and his leg twitched. Spike’s knee nudged Xander again. “Aw, like a puppy,” Xander thought. As soon as a smile stretched his lips at the image, Spike gasped and fought his way to his hands and knees.

“Leave me alone, Pavayne!” he shouted. Spike’s eyes darted around and finally focused on Xander. “Oh, sorry,” he said, sat back on his heels, and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Some big bad after you?” Xander asked, not unkindly.

“Think of Jack the Ripper, Pinhead, and Dr. Crippen rolled into one.”

“Ugh.”

“Exactly.” Spike dropped his hand. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“No, I’d just woken up. What are you doing in my bed, anyway, Spike?”

“It’s a king-sized and you were only using a bit of it. ‘sides, that comfy chair is comfy for reading, but it’s too short for sleeping.” Xander just looked levelly up at him. “What? I wasn’t under the covers, even!”

Xander let the smile he’d been suppressing blossom. “I’m kidding you, Spike. I don’t mind.” Xander sat up and stretched. From the light around the window it was still early morning. “I’m going to shower. Now that my hair… now that I can use water that’s hot and almost completely free of mud and piss.”

“Yeah, California’s still up to it’s green, healthy ways. Don’t know why I stick around this state.” Spike flopped back down on the bed as Xander got up. “There’s food when you’re done. Willow made me bring it up,” he said into the pillow.

Xander glanced at the tray piled with little boxes of cereal, fruit and, apparently, muffins. He grinned and looked back to Spike. The vampire was now taking up the whole bed and had tossed the Xander-warmed blanket half over himself. “Puppy,” Xander thought.

The day before, Xander had stood almost unthinking and scrubbed his body over and over. He’d used a bar of soap and thrown away the ruined blue mesh sponge he’d used to scrape as much of Africa from his skin as he could. This time, he focused on his hair. He squinted at the cheery array of many colored bottles that lined the shelf along the shower and almost glowed in the stray sunbeams that filtered through trees outside and the frosted glass of the window. Who know hair care could be so beautiful? He picked one that claimed to be able to clean away any residue, poured a generous palmful, and stepped under the hot spray of water.

As he massaged his scalp and worked out knots and tangles, he thought. Last night Xander, one-time Zeppo and all around loser, had in front of Spike, one-time tormentor and sometimes Big Bad, cried like a child and Spike had not ridiculed him. In fact, Spike had held him and comforted him, then returned to his room and slept beside him. What did this all add up to?

Xander lathered, rinsed and repeated until his scalp was just short of bloody, and he had determined that what he’d sensed in Spike long ago was real. Spike’s soul was still in place, and his heart was sincere. When he finally turned off the water, he’d decided that the impulsive request he’d made to Spike the night before was real and true. He knew Spike was his anchor, and prayed the vampire knew it, too.

Xander came out of the bathroom an unmeasured time later.

What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. Spike sat on the reclining couch, his long legs stretched out and one arm up on the back, with his head resting in his hand. In the other hand he held a paperback, angled so the sunlight pouring through the window shone fully on the open pages. Disinterestedly, Spike turned a page, not even looking up at the naked man gaping at him. “’bout time. The power company called, they want to know when they can open the locks and start generating power from the water supply again.”

Dumbfounded, Xander walked over to Spike and touched his sun-warmed hair. “How?..”

“Oi! You’re dripping on my book!” Spike ducked away from under Xander’s bulky form. Xander’s hand lingered in the very real sunbeam, then slowly fell.

“You’re human!”

“What? No! God forbid.”

“But…” Xander raised a hand and pressed it to Spike’s neck below his ear.

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes, but allowed Xander to feel his lack of pulse. “It’s called necro tinted glass. Something Wolfram & Hart worked up. I helped rescue a wealthy demon git and he repaid me with it. I don’t have a home, so Oz installed it here. Are you through pawing me, wild boy?”

Xander dropped his hand but didn’t quite blush. “That’s neat. That’s really neat.”

Spike grinned at his old companion. “Innit? Ready for brekkies? There’s juice in the fridge.”


Seven

“Ready for brekkies? There’s juice in the fridge.”

“Boy, am I ever! Did I see Fruit Loops?” Xander knelt down and pulled a couple of bottles of juice and one of milk from the mini fridge.

Spike shook his head and followed Xander to the table. He sat back and watched, amused, as the man tore into a tiny brightly colored box and upended it. “Sugar…” he sighed. Xander ate for five minutes before he noticed Spike was just watching. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I nipped down to my room for some O pos. while you drained half the state’s water supply.”

“Oh.” He ate half of a ripe banana and looked around the room for the first time with rested eye. He finished off the chocolate chip muffin, tore into a ripe, fresh apple, and picked up the book Spike had lain face-down on the table. On the cover, a muscular, long-haired man in a loin cloth is running to the rescue of a half-clothed woman who is being menaced by an ape. “Tarzan! You’re reading Tarzan? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Spike grinned and shrugged. “It’s a classic, and I’ve not read it in ages. Plus, well, being in the room with a naked, long-haired muscle man who eats with both hands does inspire,” he chuckled.

Xander looked sideways at him. “So what was with all the swishing on the ship?”

Spike sat up defensively. “Acting. And I’m damn good at it!”

Xander smirked. “Sure, you just let out what comes naturally.”

Spike glowered at him. “Bloody savage.”

“Poof!” Xander said with a puff of air to accent it, and grinned.

Spike tried to hold his glower, but just could not. He laughed and leaned back in his chair. “You are looking a little ragged.”

Xander fingered a waist-length lock that was now drying across his back. He shook his head and delighted in the lack of weight from the gems. Still, his look was extreme even for California. “I guess so.”

“I can trim your hair for you.”

“And he’s a hairdresser. What other secrets do you have? Did I miss your and Angel’s wedding?”

“No.”

Xander clapped his hands in delight. “So I didn’t miss it! Moonlight ceremony on the beach? Will anyone wear white?” he shrilled.

“Git,” Spike said fondly, happy to see the doughnut boy’s humor had somehow survived.

“Why would I let you, of all people, trim my hair?”

“I kept Drusilla looking beautiful for over a hundred years. And I do my own.”

“That explains so very much,” he said with a smile. “Yeah, that would be good, but if you give me a mullet, I will very personally kill you very slowly.”

“I don’t doubt that for an instant,” Spike said seriously. “When you’re done murdering breakfast, we’ll get to it.”

Xander ate until only crumbs and cereal packets were left. “I think I have an 8 o’clock appointment with Mr. Swishy?”

“Oh, yes, that was for the mullet and the bleaching, was it not?” Spike said in his German accent, pulling the comb and scissors out of his back pocket.

Spike laid out a spare bed sheet, and sat a chair on it facing the full-length mirror. Xander surprised him when he turned it so he was facing out of the window instead. Spike shrugged and starting combing out the mass of hair. “You know,” he said after a while, “you are such an interesting monster, and an interesting monster should have an interesting hairdo.”

“Burroughs and Bugs Bunny in one day. You’re one literate guy, Spike.”

“I read a lot.” Spike said absently as he worked out a knot.

Xander chewed on his lip before saying softly, “But I am a monster now, Spike. I know how to kill, and I’m damn good at it.”

Spike paused briefly. “Do you enjoy it?”

It was a minute before Xander responded. “Sometimes. When the cause is good, the enemy truly evil or…” he trailed off.

“Or the hunt is honest,” Spike finished.

“Yeah.” He allowed himself to relax again into Spike’s admittedly skilled touch. “That’s what my proposition is about, Spike. There’s so much I’ve done. So much I’ve seen, and what I’ve become… I want to talk. I want to let it all out. Anyone else and I’d horrify them, or… they’d pity me. I’ve not had anyone to talk to in... years.”

Again a reference to loosing someone. Spike combed his hair and let him have time to sort out his thoughts.

“I’ve done monstrous things and… I want to hire you, Spike.”

“I’m no goods at counseling, mate.”

“Bullshit. I saw you that summer taking care of Dawn. You held her together.”

“Only barely.” He picked up the scissors. “How long to you want it?”

“To the middle of my back, if you can make it look good.”

Spike fingered the now-flowing strands. He knew what a badge of honor the length was. Xander had earned every inch. “It’s beautiful, Xander, and the girls will say something, but I understand.” Xander nodded once. “If I put in a few layers… not a mullet… I can make you look less savage.”

“Do it.”

Spike begin to cut. After the first few hunks fell to the floor and Xander had relaxed again, Spike prompted him. “What’s it pay?”

“You saw the gems.”

“I mean, what will you pay me?”

“I meant to pay you, Spike, they’re all I have.”

“Sorry. Go on.”

“Where are they, anyway?” Xander asked, glancing at the dresser where the used spell components lay.

“In a safe in my room.”

“Good. If you act as my councilor, sparring partner, gem broker, and hairdresser,” Spike could hear the smile in that last, “I will give you your choice of two of the gems.”

Spike paused in his cutting. “Xander… you do know what they are worth, don’t you?”

“There’s a blue diamond in there that’s almost three carats. Will that one buy me six months?”

Spike came around to face Xander. “That’s too much.”

“Four months?”

Spike knelt and looked Xander in the eye. “Listen to me, whelp. I’ll be all those things for you. But you won’t be my boss, or my client, except where hair care is concerned, then I expect tips. I’m free to take other jobs on your approval, and we’ll renegotiate the contract after the year that gem will buy.”

Xander blinked. He’d not expected Spike to have thought out this whole thing better then he had. “Er... what’s the catch?”

“You’ll take my advise and listen to me if I tell you you’re doing something wrong, or there’s something you need to do. I’ve been alive a hell of a lot longer than you, and I’ve been in situations… bloody bad places. I’ve seen and done more than you’ll ever know.”

“In short, let you keep me from acting like the stubborn ass I once was?”

“Basically, yeah. If you want, Charlie Gunn will draw us up a contract, he’s right good with that.”

Xander looked into Spike’s honest eyes and saw again the spark within. “Maybe. Hey, wait. If you’re not my employee, and I’m not your client, why am I paying you?”

Spike grinned. “Because you feel you have to.” Spike returned to behind Xander.

“When did you get so clever, Spike?”

“Always have been. You were just too busy hating me to see it. Plus, it’s easier to pull things off when your enemy underestimates you.”

Xander blew a raspberry. “Right. Loan sharks after your ass, unrefrigerated demon eggs…”

Spike pulled Xander’s hair sharply. “Sorry, bit of a tangle.”

Spike worked in silence as Xander watched the very green trees swaying outside his window. The world had turned and the once-normal seemed alien. And the once alien… “Hey Spike?”

“What?”

“I didn’t always, you know,” Xander said softly.

“Didn’t always what? Have the ability to defend your own sorry ass? Know that.”

“Hate you.”

“Oh.” Spike just combed Xander’s hair and made a few last cuts.

“This is where you say you didn’t always hate me, Spike.”

“Why the bloody hell would I say that?”

“Sheesh, Spike. I thought you read a lot. It always happens in the books that two long-separated enemies get back together and, once they finally talk, realize they could have been close friends long ago.”

“I don’t read comic books, Spock.” Spike felt Xander slump just a little and knew he’d taken it too far. “But. And I’ll only say this once. I did and do respect you. The shit the Hellmouth flung at you, you took with a grin. And now… Christ. You’ve been put through hell for five fucking years, and you still can joke.” He put his hand on Xander’s shoulder. “You’re a hell of a man, Xander Harris. I admire you.”

“Thanks,” Xander whispered.

“Plus,” Spike perked up, “you look damn good, if I say so my self.”

Xander reached up and ran his rough hands through his hair. Spike watched it catch on the heavy iron still welded around his wrists. “Thanks! It feels great.”

“Aren’t you going to take a look?”

“Nah. I trust you. Now,” Xander said, as he stood up and shook his head like a dog. Bits of hair floated down through the sunlight to the sheet. “I’m going to wash off the itchy hair bits.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Expect rolling blackouts. I’ll call the power company.”

He fully expected another long shower, but Xander was back out before Spike had finished cleaning up the hair cutting scene.

Xander crossed to the window and looked down at the neatly mown lawn.

“Are you trying to give one of the girls an eye full?”

“Huh? No.” He looked down at himself and gave a short laugh. “I’m so used to being naked. I don’t notice. Does it bother you?”

“Pfft. As if.” Spike continued to bundle the sheet as Xander watched him, his eye distant. Xander’s hand wandered to the pearl.

“Anthony was taller than you, maybe an inch taller than me.” Spike said nothing, but let Xander talk. “And he was skinny. Not like you’re skinny. You’re… lean. He looked like you could break him with one hand. But he was strong. God, he was strong. And he was as dark as you are pale. He liked to wear these bright robes like chieftains wore. He said it made him look bigger.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Spike inwardly cursed. “It’s Willow.” Xander dropped his reverie and headed for the door. “Xander, what was I just saying about nudity and the girls?”

“Oops. Just a second!” he called.

“Um, no hurry,” Willow’s uncertain voice said.

Xander grabbed up the purple pants and pulled them on. Spike picked up his book and retreated to the chair. Xander opened the door and ushered his friend inside. “Good morning, Mrs. Osborne!”

Willow giggled. “I hope I’m not intruding, but I wanted bring you your clothes. I washed them so they’re not as new and stiff. And I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed… Did you get enough to eat?”

“I did, and I may be a bit ill from it,” Xander said as he took the clothes.

“I know I am from watching,” Spike muttered.

“But, you enjoyed it, right?” Willow asked, very much the uncertain kid Xander loved long ago.

“Of course!”

Willow looked him over. “Oh! Your hair is shorter! And… it looks nice.”

“Spike cut it. I have this theory that he’s probably also good at interior decorating. His crypt looked nice there at the end, after all.”

“Hey!” Spike protested.

Willow noticed in the sheet that was now crumpled to one side. “Is that one of my good sheets?”

“I found it in the cupboard,” Spike said defensively.

“Spike! You should have asked! I’ve got old ones for such things,” she scolded as she picked it up, being careful to not spill the loose hair.

“Oh, Doc Savage here will buy you another.”

Xander crossed his arms, unknowingly striking a pose much like your typical pulp novel cover, and looked over at Spike. “Doc Savage was bald.”

“You could be, too, mister,” Spike growled.

Willow laughed. “At least you two are playing nicely.”

“Willow,” Xander said as he took the sheet from her and put it back on the floor. “Can you help me with something?”

She took his sudden mood change in stride. “Of course. Anything I can.”

“I should have asked, but last night, I cast a spell. It’s wasn’t polite…”

Willow laid a finger across his lips. “It’s allowed, Xander. I allowed it. I felt your cleansing spell last night, and it makes me happy you want to move on so soon. Whatever helps you heal.”

Xander wrapped his big arms around his tiny friend. Spike watched, amused as she flushed and fought down a wave of arousal. He couldn’t blame her. After all, she was being pressed to the romance novel cover version of the boy she’d been madly in love with for several years. Spike was sure the long soft hair draping her face didn’t help. “I love you, Willow,” he said and let her go.

“You, too, Xander. I love you, too.”

They grinned at each other until Spike blew a raspberry, “Should I leave the room, or can I stay and watch?”

“Spike!” Willow yelped, jumping back. “I’m not! We’re… I’m married!”

“And this isn’t one of your Tarzan novels I’m reading.”

Xander laughed as Willow turned beet red. “Ignore him, Wills. Look, ” Xander said, turning serious, “can you help with the clean up?” He pointed to the spell components. “and make sure the gems are clean? Spike has them.”

“Of course, Xander. Anything. You, oh evil vampire, get to bring down the breakfast tray.” She stuck her tongue out at an amused Spike and left, taking the components and hair-covered sheet with her.

Once she’d left, with a promise from Xander that he’d come down soon, Xander turned to Spike. “What was that about, Spike?”

“What?”

“The get-a-room remark?”

“You’ve got a room, I just offered to leave.”

Xander sat on the bed near Spike and looked down at his hands. “I’m a monster, Spike. I’ve been shaped and trained to kill. I’m so muscle bound… Why would anybody find that attractive?”

“Have you ever looked at the covers to romance novels?”

“Mom read them all the time.”

“That’s you, whelp. You could be the Fabio of the new millennia.”

“No. I don’t think that’s... that this is attractive.” He pointed to his own broad chest.

“Okay, then what is?” He couldn’t resist asking.

“Swimmers, bikers, athletes with clean, lean muscles.”

Spike wondered if Xander realized he’d just described him. More likely, he was thinking about his lost Anthony. He took a risk. “Skinny like?”

Xander looked up sharply at Spike, but found no mockery. Sadly, he let his eyes drop. So it was about the past. “Yeah. Weird, huh? I’ve got a skinny guy kink.”

“Not so very. I’ve found that big men often like littler, leaner… partners.” He waited a couple of beats to see if Xander knew where he was going. “Did ya see how stick figure Dru is? And why do you think Angelus allowed Drusilla to keep me?”

Xander had to allow his head to wrap around this before meeting Spike’s eyes. “You mean he…?”

“And I, and we, yeah. Only once, shortly after I was sired... But the rest of the time he loved to watch me with Drusilla. Angelus was all the time watching me… And I liked to watch him. Even when I wasn’t with Dru, I could feel his eyes on me, but the bastard wouldn’t touch me again. He just said he’d done it ta prove who was top dog, that he didn’t like ta fuck boys....Bastard. If he hadn’t ta been so uptight, we could’ve had some grand times. Why else would I hate him so much?”

Xander shook his head. “I never would have guessed that.”

“I called him poof often enough, didn’t I?”

Xander shrugged. “I mean about you.”

Spike steadily met his eye. “It’s all about the person, not the body. Now get dressed before Willow comes up to drag you out of here.”

Xander thought about having heard the same thing in two days from different people. He did not yet know what it meant.

In the living room, they encountered Midra and Gunn. She immediately rose to her feet and bowed to Xander. She made a sign of respect and spoke to him rapidly in her native dialect. Xander answered in the same tongue, then broke into English. “Thank you, Midra. I appreciate it. Now I’m just Xander, okay? I want to leave all that behind.”

“I understand. But also know that if you need anything of that land, speak to me. I know it’s hard to shake.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Xander cracked a patented crooked smile and hugged her.

After they left, Gunn cocked an eyebrow at his lover. “What was that about?”

“He is a strong, brave man, my love. In my culture you respect such things and do not let them go unremarked.”

“Oh,” Gunn said, trying to tamp down his unreasonable jealousy of the handsome, sound, strong man all the ladies were making over. He didn’t get far into his brood before his lap was filled with lean, spicy scented woman. His woman.

“You are a foolish man,” she said fondly and kissed his lips. “You should be glad the tribe has gained such a warrior. Our forces have been strengthened. And the pale one is strengthened by his being here, too.”

“Wha? Spike? What are you talking about?”

“He didn’t collect his money and run as he always does. He came back here and waited.”

Gunn drew back and looked up at Midra. “Spike and Xander are… nah. I mean, I know he stayed in Xander’s room…”

She smacked him playfully on the arm. “Your mind goes there far to easily. They have connections they made years ago. In Sunnydale. Since Angel pushed Spike away, he’s been without a focus, without grounding. For all his strengths, Spike needs a balance. A yen to his yang.”

“I just hope no one starts yenning for my yang.” Gunn muttered, playing up his implied role as homophobe when it really didn’t bother him in the least.

“I’m the only one here gets access to that,” Midra declared and pushed up off his lap. “Now stay out from under foot. I’ve got work to do.”


Eight

Spike and Xander found the Osbornes in the kitchen.

Oz leaned back from the table, an empty plate in front of him. Xander smiled at his faded blue t-shirt that read “Never moon a werewolf.”

“Want a sandwich?” Willow asked. ”Or breakfast. I can do breakfast.”

Xander turned a chair around and straddled it. He looked around the cheery kitchen, noticing the witchy touches here and there with a small smile. “Eggs and bacon,” he finally said. “I would love buttery scrambled eggs and crispy bacon.”

“Give the man a slab ‘o suet to go with that,” Spike sneered as he joined them. “You’re going to be back to American paunch in no time, mate.”

Willow smacked Spike in the back of the head as she passed him on her way to the fridge. “Leave him alone. That’s an order.” She paused and kissed Xander’s head as Spike comically rubbed his injury and glowered. “He can have whatever he wants.”

Xander grinned at Spike like the favored child he was at the moment. “Then I want Seven of Nine in my bedroom tonight after dinner.”

“Sorry, dude,” Oz said. “No more ‘Star Trek’.”

“What?” Xander gaped, exaggerating.

“You missed most of ‘Enterprise,’ and for the first time in ages… no new ‘Star Trek.’”

“Damn.” Xander pillowed his head on his arms.

Gunn came in to see him like this. “What’s wrong?”

“Git’s in mourning over “Star Wars,” Spike said.

“Trek!” came a trio of corrections.

“What the bloody ever.”

Gunn sat and reached over a hand to rest it on Xander’s arm. “Don’t worry. We got all episodes in DVD, wide screen, surround sound splendor!”

“Don’t tell him that!” Willow squeaked. “I’ll never get to see him!”

Xander’s head popped up. “Don’t worry, Willow. You can join us. Now what about my eggs?”

After much laughter and talk over brunch, Xander stood and patted his full stomach. “That was the best breakfast ever, Wills!”

“Thank you.”

“It’s mighty quiet around here. Where’s Dawn?”

“She went out to spend the day with a friend. She tried to cancel, but I promised I’d convince you to give her some Xander time this evening. After all, One of the reasons she came to visit was to see Michael.”

“Oh? Who is this Michael guy?” Xander asked.

“A very nice young man. He’s been thoroughly checked out by everyone.”

“Not by me. I’ll give her some time tonight. Right now, I need to be outdoors and maybe walk some of this off. Who will give me a tour?”

“I’m not in the mood to burst into flames,” Spike scoffed.

“I’ll show you,” Oz said, as he helped Willow clear the table.

“I need to go out to the forge and check on something, I’ll go that far with you,” Gunn said, as he got to his feet.

The two went out the back door, but Xander hung back to address Spike. “I want to spar soon. Is there a place?”

“Oz will show you. I need to go into town tonight for business, if that’s all right, not boss.”

“Of course it is.”

“How about tomorrow after lunch?”

“More necro tinted glass?” Xander asked.

“Hardly. Go see. Get some sun.” He chewed his lip as he watched Xander join the other men.

Willow put down a plate and sat beside Spike. “Hey, Spike. How are you?”

“He’s fine,” Spike answered absently.

Willow put her hand on his where it rested on the table. “Spike. How. Are. You?”

He met her eyes levelly. They had connected in the past three years and an easy friendship was between them. “I’m good. I’m… It feels right, Red. He asked me to help him.” Spike chuckled. “Hired me, actually.” He put his other hand over hers. “But it feels good to have him back.”

She smiled broadly, which always made Spike feel warm. “Doesn’t it? The fellas will be a while. Let’s look to those gems.”

Outside, they came first to the converted barn. Xander gave a low whistle when he took in the large space filled with training equipment and a rack of practice weapons to one side. A single high window let in a beam of sun. Otherwise, the huge space was dim and cool. “This is sweet! It sure beats the hell out of the Magic box, huh, Oz?”

“There are showers and changing rooms over there. The girl’s is, of course, bigger.” Oz said.

Gunn lowered himself to a bench and watched with Oz as Xander picked up a staff and hefted it. Gracefully, he fell into a fighting crouch before flinging himself into a vigorous series of passes and strikes with the staff. After some five minutes, he stopped and bowed to his invisible opponent. He was startled out of his meditative reverie by Gunn clapping.

“Damn! That was fine! I can’t wait to see you beat the bleach bum up one side and down the other.”

Xander returned the staff to its place and crossed to them. “Bleach bum. I like that one. What other surprises are there?”

Oz pulled a key out of his pocket. “Toys.” He crossed to a locked door and opened it to reveal a twelve foot square room lined with racks of swords, axes, stakes, chains, crossbows, and everything imaginable a pr