Unacceptable Losses

Xander watched the blur of motion on the practice mats as Spike sparred with Faith. He stretched stiffening muscles, enjoying the pain from bruises just forming under sweat-slick skin. It had been Dawn’s idea to have the two humans pick up some training so they could, if not keep up, at least not be so easily picked off when they went out on cases with the vamps, slayer, and whatever the heck Illyria was. Xander still wasn’t too clear on that exactly, and he noticed that Dawn tended to steer clear of the blue figure. But after her experience with Glory, he could hardly blame her for being a bit shy of another hell goddess.

“Hey!” Xander yelped as a finger poked at the bruise forming on his hip from a blow that Spike had gotten past his own quarterstaff.

“Is this what you want?” Enormous blue eyes stared at him.

“What do you mean?” He muttered as he carefully slid away on the bench. Dawn had the right idea. This chick was seriously weird.

“The pain,” she tilted her head. “You seek after it. You bury your need for it in that vile drink. Are all human men thus?”

“Thus? Thus what? And huh?”

“My Wesley. The pain burned in him for Winifred Burkle. He soaked himself in drink, and he sought after the pain that my presence gave him. You mourn as he did.” A sadness crept into her voice.

Xander focused on the punches and kicks being exchanged, weapons foregone in favor of fists. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shifted uncomfortably under the unblinking gaze that he felt on his scalp.

“Think they’re gonna really hurt each other in a minute.”

“They do not have the will to truly damage one another.” Illyria spoke dismissively.

Okay, so trying to refocus her attention didn’t work. Maybe if he ignored her, she would get bored and wander off. Before he could test that theory, however, Dawn came bounding into the basement practice room.

“Vamps,” she gasped out. “A whole nest of ‘em. One of Gunn’s old crew came by and said there’s too many of them. They need help.”

Faith and Spike dropped their fighting stance as soon as Dawn spoke the first word. Spike tossed Faith a towel, and they each wiped off sweaty faces as they headed for the stairs, Illyria trailing behind them. Xander sat for a long minute before trudging up the stairs to find everyone gearing up in the hotel lobby.

“Spike, Faith, take the bike. Follow LaShaun here. Dawn, Illyria, you’re with me. Stakes, swords, axes are in the trunk.” Angel barked orders, ignoring the uneasy looks that passed between the others. The older vampire hardly spoke except to give orders anymore. Killing seemed to be the only way to bring him out of the constant brood that holed him up in his room.

“Not on, boss. Blue, you’re with Blondie here. Dawn, let’s go.” Faith countermanded the orders with a look that dared Angel to argue. Not that he could be stopped.

“Not on? What’s wrong Faith? Afraid Spike will take advantage? Or maybe the other way around?”

Xander noted the flinch in the slayer’s stance, but her eyes took on a dark determination, and he knew that Angel would more than meet his match in the obnoxious comments department. He settled on the couch, torn between resenting the accepted fact that Dawn would be included while he stayed home to mind the store and enjoying the unexpected escape from the constant presence of others.

“You forget she happens to be under the protection of the not-so-wicked witch of the West? Anything happens to her, and there’s no place you can hide that Willow won’t turn your undead ass into dust. Just looking out for you big guy.” She herded Dawn out the door toward Angel’s convertible.

Spike smirked and enjoyed the glower on Angel’s face as he stalked after them. When he agreed to help out Dawn and Faith with their plots to pull his Sire out of his post-almost-Apocalypse funk, he hadn’t known how much fun it would be pushing the old man’s buttons. He counted it a bonus, then frowned as he took in the hunched figure on the couch. After the first couple days, Xander had quit griping about being left behind. However, they hadn’t left him completely on his own in the week since returning from Sunnydale. Whatever was going on had to be bad if Dawn agreed that even she couldn’t afford to stay behind this time. The vampire nodded Illyria toward the door.

“Be there in a mo’.” Alone in the hotel lobby, he strode over to stand before Xander.

“Yes, I’m fine. Go. Kill. Have fun.” Xander spoke without meeting Spike’s gaze.

“You stay here.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Spike.”

“Stay. Here.”

“Fuck. Off.” Xander raised an angry eye to meet Spike’s unflinching gaze. Spike reached down and hauled the man to his feet. His gaze softened as he ran his eyes over the bruised man.

“Shouldn’t have hit you so hard.”

“I’m fine,” Xander spat out. “Nothing a hot shower and another night stuck inside won’t cure.” He struggled to free himself from the vampire’s grip. The last thing he needed right now was concern for his well-being.

“Harris, you’re so far from fine, you’re not even in the same time zone.” Spike dropped his hand and stepped back. “Question is what to do about it.”

“Vampires, Spike. Go. Kill, maim, dust, have a blast. Just leave me the fuck alone.” Xander stalked up the stairs, without looking back. His skin crawled from being watched all the time, being surrounded by people. In London, he had his own apartment and no one kept an eye on his comings and goings, a fact he desperately missed. God, he needed to get out. What to do about it? He knew what he wanted, what he needed, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to get it stuck here in the Hyperion under Dawn’s distant but watchful eye or Spike’s unceasing presence.

Spike watched the human disappear from view before he shook his head and focused on the task at hand. Fucking do-gooding was getting in the way of, well, doing good. He still had no idea what Dawn expected him to do to bring back the Xander of old, and he could feel the anger and pain only pulling the man further away from them.