Cause and Effect

The rest of the story will be up *very* shortly. : ) Not that many parts to go. I promise.


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Chapter Twenty Nine
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Xander sighed as the door closed behind all the others. He loved his friends dearly, but it had been a *very* long day, and he was *very* tired -- exhausted might be a better description. He was a little dazed, truth be told; the fact that he wasn't more wigged by what he'd done a touch . . . confusing. He wasn't though -- bothered by it. As far as he was concerned, the bastard got what he deserved. He closed his eyes and wearily leaned back against the door, not even bothering to turn back around when he remembered he hadn't locked it. He simply reached around himself and locked it blind.

Spike and Angel were both silent, having dropped onto opposite ends of the couch. Xander peeked through half-open eyes. Spike was pretty much in the same position he was in the car, his head dropped back against the couch, arm flung over his eyes. The feelings he caught along the bond between them mixed -- and confusing as hell. One minute Spike seemed angry, the next . . . lost, then brimming with curiosity. He knew what that last was about. Spike had seen him put *something* in the trunk, just not what -- and it was driving the vampire crazy. **Of course, he doesn't *exactly* have far to go.**

"It's over," Angel said quietly.

Xander's eyes snapped fully open to stare at the vampire. Spike just grunted. Xander wasn't sure if the blond was agreeing or disagreeing.

"Well, the easy part is," Xander said pushing gakf off the door. He ignored the shot of surprise coming off Spike as he headed for the bedroom. "Angel, you planning on staying here?" he asked. "Or getting a room?"

Angel didn't answer immediately, and Xander frowned, turning back around. He almost laughed when he realized Angel was uncertain.

"Here's fine, if you want. The couch is even fairly comfortable."

"Hey!" Spike protested. "You're giving my couch away."

"Your couch?" Angel asked, looking between the two of them, wearing an expression Xander couldn't identify.

"Um, Spike," Xander asked, turning his attention to the younger of his two guests, "when did my couch become your couch?"

Spike drew back, his expression suddenly blank.

Xander wasn't sure how he did it when he hadn't even moved, but that's exactly what he did. "You've never even slept on it," he continued carefully, not sure what had bothered Spike.

Shock flickered across the blond's face, then he frowned uncertainly. "Then where *have* I been sleeping?"

"You don't remember?" Angel asked, when Xander couldn't do anything but stare.

Spike shook his head. "I . . . guess it's not all back yet."

"And the hard part begins," Xander said, his words a faint whisper. How the hell was he supposed to tell Spike they'd been sharing a bed for the past two nights? It really should have been obvious, considering-- Well, maybe not. When Spike had made his sudden reappearance he'd been in the bedroom, but evidently not the bed. Xander didn't know for sure, though; he'd been in the bathroom at the time. **Damn!**

"I'll get a room," Angel offered then.

Xander opened his mouth to automatically protest. He may not have really *liked* Angel before all this, but the vampire *had* helped -- a lot. The least he could do was put him up for the night. A cut cut him off before he could.

"I'll be back after sunset, and we can go from there. Spike. . . ." Angel paused, took a deep breath, looking all the world like a lost little boy. "If you want, you can come to L.A. for while, you know, until you get better."

**NO!** Xander thought, nearly going to his knees as a sudden rush of rage washed over him. He gasped, not understanding the feral feeling, but knowing he *really* didn't want Spike to go with Angel. Just the thought of it was enough to make him want to dust Angel right here and now. Better yet, he wanted to tear the older vampire apart with his bare hands. He rythmnically clenched his fists as he fought to control the nearly overwhelming urge, while thoughts of ripping Angel's throat out with his teeth flew through his mind.

Spike looked at him in shock before turning back to Angel. "No, don't think I'll be doing that," he said casually. "Got myself set up here. Know where all good games are, where the bad boys hangout for when I want to get in a good spot of violence. You know how it is."

Angel nodded slowly.

No one spoke after Angel left, the silence continuing long after the door closed behind him.

Spike shifted finally, dropping back onto the couch. "So, you gonna tell me what was in that container you brought out of the farm house?"

Xander grinned. "Nope."

Spike's eyes widened -- slightly -- then narrowed immediately after. "Why not?"

Xander just shrugged, glancing down to hide the laughter that was *really* wanting come out.

"And what if I just nip down to the car, and go take a look myself? Know where the keys to the boot are, don't I."

**Hook, line, and sinker!**

Xander shrugged. "Go for it."

Spike was across the room, snatching up the car keys before the last syllable completely died away.

Xander almost lost control over his laughter then. He covered quickly, biting his tongue in his effort not to laugh as Spike suddenly whirled back around to face him. "This isn't some kind of trick, is it?"

Shaking his head slowly, Xander lost all urge to laugh. "No, Spike," he offered quietly, "no trick. Both the container and its contents belong to you."

Spike watched him for several seconds longer, his expression doubtful. Then Xander *did* chuckle, because suddenly he was alone in the apartment, Spike having jerked open the door and disappeared. Xander followed slowly after. He wanted to give Spike time alone, but didn't want him out there completely alone when he found what Xander had done. He wasn't *entirely* certain how the vampire would react.

**

Curiosity had *always* been one of his biggest downfalls; he knew that. It followed a close second to lack of patience. He'd noticed the bulge in the boy's jacket when Xander and Angel had joined him at the car, but Angel -- the bloody poof -- had hustled him into the car while Xander had locked, whatever it was, securely in the boot.

Funny thing about that, Spike thought as he twisted the key, his need to know what was hidden from him had overcome most of his restlessness. It had even come close to making him forget that he left the bloody bastard alive. Three quarters of him wanted -- no needed -- to go back an finish what he'd started. Even his soul didn't seem to have too much of a problem with the idea -- which Spike didn't quite know what to make of.

Though, it could be because he knew it wouldn't ever happen -- now that the 'team' effort was over. He couldn't do what he really wanted to do, and snapping his neck like he had Pretty Boy's wouldn't be any more satisfying than leaving him alive was, which made it not worth the blinding headache he'd get for his troubles.

Eyes scanning the interior of the boot for anything new, Spike noticed Xander leaning against the entry door to his building. The brat was wearing an rather anticipatory grin -- that same emotion shooting at Spike through the bond. It . . . unsettled Spike -- a little. Usually when Xander looked that way it meant trouble -- trouble for him. And he *still* wasn't used to this bond thing.

The one he'd had with Angel had been muted by time, distance, and *considerable* effort, decades ago. This bright new one shifted in and around him, making him uncomfortably aware of the situation he was still in. He shook off the feeling; it wasn't something he could do anything about -- not yet anyway -- so why worry? It, too, would mute with time, though he did wonder--


**Ah ha!** Spike thought, spying the opaque container all the way inside the boot. It was mostly hidden, strapped in securely -- as if it were precious and fragile cargo. Cocking an eyebrow, he carefully grabbed it, his curiosity at an all time high. **What would Harris take that could be *that* important?**

Jar in-hand, he glanced over his shoulder. Xander was still leaning, still waiting. He wondered at that. Why didn't the whelp just join him? Well, he could care less about the container. He snorted. It was a *jar*. He certainly hoped the contents were worth the amount of thought he'd put into figuring it all out. Taking his eyes from the human he understood less, now that he had a direct pipeline to his emotions -- so to speak than he had before, Spike twisted the lid off, and nearly fell to his knees.

The aroma that spilled from the partially open jar flooded his senses, igniting a rage and hunger that *became* him, and he immediately shifted into his demon face. The painful reminder of his still missing fangs only a twinge beneath every other rampant emotion swirling through him, and it was only finely honed reflexes that kept the jar *in* his hand and upright. Not a single *drop* of this elixir would be wasted. He could feel the warmth of it through the glass, the blood still retaining most of the body heat.

It took him several convulsive swallows, followed by deep, deep breaths before he could straighten and look back toward the apartment entry. Xander wasn't leaning now. He stood nervously, hands shoved into his pockets.

"How?" he asked, his voice a strangled whisper that he knew damn well Harris couldn't possibly hear. He cleared his throat and tried again, Xander already crossing the street. "How?"

Xander shrugged, looking down at his feet. "Knife, throat, worked almost as good as. . . ." Xander trailed off uncomfortably, shifting awkwardly.

"Why?"

Xander's head snapped up, his eyes incredulous. "Easy!" he snapped.

Spike's thoughts ground to a halt with that single angry word. He just stared at a Xander he didn't know at all.

"What to hear all the gory details?" Xander continued, still angry.

**Yes!!** He wanted to hear every last tiny detail, right down to the bastard's pleas for mercy! He wanted to revel in each groan and agonized breath. He wanted Xander to describe the look in Doctor's eyes when he finally realized there was no escape. Did Doctor know why Xander had collected his blood? Did Doctor even know *that* much? Had Xander taunted him, or had it all been done in silence? Had Xander drawn it out, or got it over with as quickly as he could, finding it a distasteful chore?

He shook his head. Xander was only offering because he-- Why *was* he offering?

"I'm sorry," Xander said almost too quietly to hear. "Look, I'll just take it and--"

Spike growled, immediately lifting the jar out of the reach of Xander's questing hand. "Like hell you will. Said it was mine!"

Xander let out a burst of laughter, and Spike was hit with a wave of relief through the bond. "O-kay," Xander said slowly, his grin finally returning. "I take it, this means you approve. I thought for a minute there you were mad at me."

"I approve," Spike replied, his answer more growl than anything else. **How could I not? It's such a . . . vampire thing to do.** Spike hesitated, the words hovering on his tongue. "It was a Sire thing to do," he said finally, squarely meeting Xander's startled look. He still wasn't used to the idea, but supposed it was only fair to let the boy know.

"Yeah?" Xander asked, his grin suddenly impossibly wide.

"Yeah," Spike replied with a nod.

"Cool!" Xander exclaimed, then angled his head toward the building. "Why don't we go inside where we can enjoy it properly."

*!!*

"Um, Xander? *WE*?" Spike asked faintly, not pleased when his voice cracked just the slightest bit.

Giggling, Xander closed the boot and headed back across the street. He was half-way across before he shouted his reply. "Well, you can enjoy *it*, and I can enjoy you enjoying it," he said through his snorts.

Spike sagged -- for just a second, then sprinted after the retreating Xander, taking just enough time to make sure the lid was once again securely on the jar. For a second there, he'd thought Xander had -- well, he wasn't entirely certain what he'd thought -- or what he would have done had Xander been thinking what he'd thought Xander had been thinking. **Aw hell! Who knew babbling was contagious!** He consoled himself with the thought that at least it hadn't been out loud, falling easily into step with Xander as they returned to the apartment.

"Okay, got one more question for you -- well, set of questions really."

"Shoot," Xander replied, unlocking the door.

"I *have* been staying here since you found me, right?"

Xander nodded as he closed the door behind Spike.

"There's only two places to sleep here -- not counting the floor."

Again Xander just nodded.

"I going to assume I wasn't on the floor, being wounded and all."

Xander chuckled. "No, you weren't on the floor."

Spike's eyes narrowed. Couldn't the brat help him out a little bit. He didn't want to set the boy off, if his assumption was wrong.

"Were you?"

Xander shook his head.

**Wanker's gonna make me ask!**

"Look, Spike, William didn't like being left alone. We *both* slept in the bed."

**Thought so.**

Spike nodded. "Figured," he said.

Xander frowned at him. "Then why the whole big tap dance?"

It was Spike's turn to shrug. "Didn't feel like pissing you off if I was wrong."

"Deja vu!" Xander exclaimed suddenly, startling Spike. At Spike's exasperated glare, Xander continued. "I know you don't remember, but I had a *very* similar conversation with William.

"And *that* is just . . . *odd*!"

Xander shook his head, his on again off again grin turning crooked. "And it isn't from *my* side?"

"Point," Spike acknowledged ruefully.

"Anyway, the thing is, I told him, and now I'm telling you; you can tell me *anything* you damn well want about what you're feeling, or what you think you remember, or just whatever. Well, please don't take this the wrong way, but really not interested in things along the line of how you earned your nicknames. Other than that, it's pretty much a clear field."

Spike stood stunned. Utterly gob-smacked he was. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"Yeah, Spike, I do."

Spike frowned, worrying his lower lip. He spun away, striding toward the kitchen, ignoring the fact that he could hear Xander following behind more slowly. He debated drinking straight from the jar, but in deference to Xander -- though he wasn't sure at this point whether Xander would mind. He sighed. There was too bloody much he wasn't sure of anymore, and that *really* bothered him. He was even tempted to explain about his *first* nickname, which was just *so* wrong!

"Okay, then. I really want to know something," he said quietly, setting down the glass without tasting it and leaning against the counter.

Xander nodded, tensing slightly.

"Why *did* you do it? I'm *seriously* confused here." **And didn't *that* just sound all *vulnerable* and *needy*!** He almost groaned, managing to keep the sound trapped inside himself, however. **And why the hell do I care? I've got good, hot, *human* blood here to drink, and I'm bloody asking why!**

The shocking wave of possessiveness that washed over him made Spike glad he was braced. **Holy hell!** The matching fire in Xander's eyes did nothing to reassure him.

"Xander?"

Xander swallowed visibly. "This is gonna sound *way* wrong, Spike, no matter how I phrase it, but if you really want to know why. . . ?"

Spike nodded slowly.

"You asked that, and the very first thought that came to mind was, 'You're mine!' -- complete with official growl."

Spike's eyes widened. He'd felt that, just hadn't really believed it. "I'm not a possession," he said carefully.

Xander's eyes widened comically, his skin blanching almost as white as the sheets Spike had seen on the boy's bed. "I know that," he whispered. "Told you it would come out wrong. But now I can--"

Xander wobbled, and Spike was right there, holding his arm and easing him down onto one of the kitchen chairs. **What's wrong now?**

"Can what, pet?"

Xander took a deep breath before replying. "What you said about 'possession'; there's more than one meaning to that word, did you know that?"

Spike nodded warily. "This isn't a possession. It's a bond. I promise you you're not--"

Xander waved his words off. "I know," he said firmly. "I know what a possession feels like."

"You do?!

"Yeah, remind me to tell you about it sometime. It's just that, you reminded me of it, and it'll help me explain. You're *pack* to me. What belongs to my 'pack' is mine to protect, to revenge, to pun--"

"To punish," Spike finished for him.

Miserably Xander nodded. "Hadn't meant to include that part, isn't relevant."

Spike wasn't sure he understood completely. "Are you saying you think there was stuff left behind?"

Xander shrugged. "Don't know."

Spike shook his head. "I don't think so, leastwise, everything you've said so far applies to the sire bond as well, so no telling that way."

"Of course not," Xander quipped, "that would be too easy."

Spike laughed, standing back up. "You okay now?" When Xander nodded, Spike turned his attention back to the blood. He just hoped not *all* the warmth was gone. As soon as he picked up the glass, he knew it hadn't. It still retained *some* it's warmth, had some life left in it. He grinned, and lifting it to his mouth, he shifted.

He gasped, unbearable pain shooting through his fangs -- his *missing* fangs! How something that was gone, could hurt completely escaped his understanding. He reached up just to make doubly sure they were suddenly there again. He swayed, the reality of it hitting him once again. This time, Xander caught *him*, making sure the cup didn't spill as he eased Spike down.

Spike was truly torn, equally split between wanting nothing more than to push Xander away -- into the next county, preferably -- and grabbing hold and never letting go. He felt the tears come, but this time he was powerless to stop them. An integral part of himself was missing; he'd been *mutilated*. At least with the chip, he'd still been *whole*! "They *ache*, Xander," he said, silent tears running down his face. He was the bloody 'big bad' -- soul and all -- he shouldn't be blubbering like a damn baby!

"Oh, God," Xander whispered, pulling him close and holding him tightly, whatever he said after that fading in importance as Spike relaxed into the embrace.

That was all it took for the dam to break; Spike's tears turned to sobs despite his best efforts, and he held on for all he was worth. For a long time he wasn't aware of much except his crying jag, Xander's arms -- and the little shhshing noises Xander was making as he gently rocked Spike. Spike had done the same thing with Drusilla, the role reversal a little strange, but he hadn't realized just *how* good it felt, how . . . comforting.

**Wait a *damn* minute!** Spike jerked back, staring at Xander suspiciously. "What did you say?"

Xander sighed. "I said, they would for a while. It's called phantom pain. My Uncle used to get it after he--"

"You bloody lied to me!" Spike accused jumping up and striding away from Xander before whirling back around and pointing a shaky finger at the boy. He *really* wished he could get it to stop doing that! "You *don't* think they'll grow back!"

Xander sighed, rising slowly and raising his hands in the classic surrendering gesture. "I never said that," he replied calmly.

"Maybe not, but you believe it!"

"No, Spike. I don't know what to believe. I *hope* they will. I've got no reason to believe they *won't*."

Spike glared silently for several eternal moments counting Xander's rapid heart beats. How often was this going to happen? How was he going to live with it, if they *didn't* grow back? He had absolutely no clue. And suddenly, he was thrust back in time to when he'd first been chipped, to when he'd finally conceded that he needed help. At the time, there hadn't been anyone he really trusted to go to. He'd gone to his enemies, trusting in both their honor *and* in the fact that he had information they needed.

Now, he needed help again, and he had someone he trusted. Unfortunately, that didn't make the asking any easier. He snorted bitterly. It might even be more difficult. No one *really* cared what their enemies thought of them. A friend? Now *that* was different. It hurt when a friend thought that you were useless garbage.

Spike sighed, the expelled breath shaky. He suddenly upended the glass, drinking the blood quickly, and what *should* have been ambrosia was nothing more than bitter fluid. It *did*, however; serve to calm his shattered nerves. One corner of his mouth quirked upward. "Sorry, kinda 'lost it' there."

"No big," Xander replied easily. "You're entitled."

"Ya think?" Spike asked.

"Oh, *yeah*," Xander responded heartily, "I think!"

"Xander?"

"Yes, Spike?"

" *I* think that I'm going to need help getting through this," Spike said quickly, afraid he'd lose his nerve if he didn't get it said.

"You got it," was Xander's instant reply.

Spike blinked. **That was easier than I thought.** He just wasn't sure Xander understood what was in store. "It's probably going to get messy."

"Messier than when you first got your soul?" Xander asked, raising one finger. "Messier than when . . . Buffy died?" he continued, raising a second finger, and quickly moving on from *that* sore subject. "Messier than when--"

"I get the point, *Harris*!"

Xander grinned. "Good," he said firmly. "Now, do you want some more of that before we hit the hay?" he asked pointing toward Spike's now empty glass, and casting a glance toward the slivers of light peeking from behind the curtains.

Spike shook his head quickly. "Save it for when I can appreciate it. Kind of not in the mood." **And, *no* I cannot believe I said that.**

Xander simply nodded and began putting up the left-over blood.

Spike shook his head again, this time slowly. He'd dropped into bizzaro-land, that's all there was to it. That was the *only* explanation for all the strange things that were happening to him. He headed out into the livingroom, only to stop in the archway. "Do you think Dawn's going to be alright?" he asked as he turned back around. "About all this . . . stuff, I mean."

Xander blew out a breath. "Good question Spike. I think so. She's got a lot of support."

"I," Spike began, frowning when he didn't get the words out the first time. "I couldn't let her do that, not for. . . ."

"Not for what, Spike?" Xander asked, suddenly intent. "For you? Why not?"

Spike didn't answer, just looked away.

"Because you're not worth it?" Xander continued, a hint of steel his voice.

Spike snapped his head up, his chin raised a little higher than normal. "That what you think?"

"No, Spike, it's not what I think. I'm asking if it's what *you* think."

"I'm not. Not for her."

"Yes, you bloody well are!" Xander snapped, striding forward until he was right in Spike's personal space.

Spike had to fight the urge to step back. He just shook his head.

"Besides," Xander continued, lowering his voice and easing back a touch, "don't you think that, just maybe, it's up to Dawn to decide what, or who, is 'worth it'?"

Spike wanted to protest, but couldn't, since he had to admit -- at least to himself -- that it was a good point. Only Dawn could decide what she thought was important.

"If it helps any, I think she'd have gone just as ballistic if it had been one of her school friends in your position."

"Not really," Spike replied drily, then paused. "Well, maybe. You don't think she did it, 'cuz she thought it was what I wanted?" He didn't want to think about how much he might have corrupted the Bit. She was too important.

"God! This is getting complicated fast."

"Sorry," Spike muttered, turning to leave.

"No, Spike! That came out wrong."

Spike stalled, but didn't turn back.

"I meant the explanation was complicated. I think Dawn wouldn't have done if you really *hadn't* wanted it. She stopped when you asked. But I don't think the reason she did do it was *because* you wanted it." Xander shook his head, his frustration showing plainly. "Did that make any sense at all? It sounded much clearer in my head."

Spike nodded slowly, thinking through Xander's words. "I get your point, Xander. Thanks."

"You're good then?" Xander asked. "Okay, I mean -- for now?" he corrected quickly when Spike tossed him a 'look'.

"Yeah, just peachy," Spike replied, not able to keep *all* of the bitterness out of his voice. He hated this. He didn't feel like himself at all. He felt lost and out of control. Most of all, he hated the fact that it was all happening with an audience. Xander Harris had a prime, front-row seat, complete with empathic extras.

"Great," Xander said brightly as he slipped past Spike, clearly ignoring the bitterness. "In that case, I need a shower, and I need sleep. Unfortunately, in that order."

Spike followed until he reached the couch. "Been a . . . busy day," he said uneasily, watching Xander stride toward the bedroom.

Xander snorted. "You can have the shower after me."

"Yeah, great," Spike replied half-heartedly, wishing he knew what the hell the bloody thing to do here was. And while he was thinking about it; *William* was the one who'd been sharing a bed with Harris, where was he now that Spike actually *needed* his input? The loud, guilt inducing wanker was stubbornly silent, that's where! Spike couldn't even remember it happening; how was he supposed to know if they were sharing again, or he was stuck with the couch? Well, there was that kiss, they'd been on the bed for that, he thought. He wanted to bloody growl at himself -- half himself, anyway -- and it made him feel like an idiot. **Well, fuck it!** he thought finally **I am *not* going to ask. I've made a big enough fool of myself for one day.**

Xander came strolling out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but sweats, towel-drying his hair. "All yours," he offered, and Spike realized with a start, he'd lost himself to his thoughts through Xander's entire shower. He hadn't even heard him come out of the bedroom. "Thanks," he muttered, still angry with himself. He was halfway to the bathroom when he realized he *still* didn't know where bee bedding was. He turned to ask, but Xander had already disappeared into the bedroom.

Spike stomped into the bathroom. "Supposed to put the same stuff back on after my shower?" he muttered quietly as he slammed the door closed behind himself -- then blinked in surprise. A pair of sweats, along with a towel, sat neatly folded on the counter. He sighed, wondering if 'good' people apologized for bad thoughts, as well as bad deeds. **Not gonna!** He knew he was acting petulantly, but he wasn't ready to let go of his anger yet. Showering quickly, Spike didn't let the hot water sooth him, didn't let it relax him. He wanted his anger. Anger he could handle. Anger he was used to -- and it was a far sight better than feeling sorry for himself.

**Bet he won't remember the bedding.** Spike thought viciously as he dried and dressed. **Biteless -- *fangless* for real now -- vampire doesn't *need* bedding. Just let him sleep without.** A little voice told him he was being unfair, but he didn't care. *Life* wasn't fair. Why should he be?

He stomped back into the living room, frowning as the overly large sweats slipped low on his hips. He sinched them tighter. He glared as he reached the couch, arms folded firmly across his chest. He'd been right. The git *had* forgotten the bedding. He turned to yell, and froze. Xander stood in the bedroom doorway, his face in shadow, the light from behind him framing his body.

"You going to stay up for awhile, or are you coming?" he asked.

"What?"

Xander inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly. "I asked if you were staying up or coming to bed? You really should sleep. It may have been a long day for me, but it *had* to have been even longer for you."

Spike's feet acted without his thought and he took three steps toward Xander before he stopped.
//What the hell are you doing? A second ago you were so angry at him you could choke the life out of him. Now your trotting after him like a puppy!//

**Sod off! I don't care. I don't want to sleep alone.** He could admit that in the privacy of his mind -- if nowhere else. He never had liked it -- not since he'd stopped the first time.

"Unless, of course, you'd prefer the couch?" Xander asked, suddenly hesitant. "I didn't mean to assume."

Spike snapped his head up at that. **No! Don't want the bleedin couch.** Out loud he simply said, "Nah, bed's fine."

Xander nodded once and turned away.

Spike followed quietly, watching as Xander hopped into the bed without an apparent care in the world.

**Easy for you, wanker!**

Closing off his thoughts -- well, making a valiant effort at it anyway -- Spike walked around to the other side and slid under the covers, carefully keeping space between the two of them.

Next to him, Xander reached over and turned out the light, relaxing back immediately.

Laying stiffly, Spike cursed himself. Vampires didn't *have* this kind of trouble! *Xander* sure as hell wasn't having a problem -- and *he* was human. Why was Spike? It was sodding ridiculous!

"Relax, Spike," Xander said into the darkness.

"Whatever," Spike muttered nastily, finally rolling onto his side, his back facing Xander. He quickly discovered that was even worse. He tensed, but refused to move again. His awareness of the person behind him making him feel like . . . like . . . like he was letting the slayer stand behind him with a stake raised. It made his skin crawl. Sleep was a *long* time coming.