Chapter 3

Xander hadn't been planning to initiate a kiss ... it just sort of ... happened. There'd been all that talk about sexual shenanigans in a broom closet, and about Xander secretly lusting after Spike for years without having the nerve to do anything about it, and ... well ... Xander didn't remember any of that stuff, but he did remember the dream he'd been having.

And the dream sure seemed to support what Spike was saying.

Okay, yeah, so apparently he had the hots for Spike. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Okay, so he'd been dreaming about Spike holding him down, bending him over a table and fucking him with deep, slow thrusts. So in his dream he'd been begging for more, panting and squirming and arching and pushing back to meet Spike's hip bones with the flesh of his ass.

So, okay, yeah, maybe Spike was right. It looked like he was gay.

Nothing wrong with that, right?

Or maybe it was just the situation, with Spike giving him all those looks, with his blue eyes all intense, sort of glancing down Xander's body all the time. With them locked up alone together, and all the sex talk, and Xander not remembering anything ... maybe it was just the intensity of the weirdness.

Whatever it was ... it was hot.

And so when Xander woke up from his dream of incredibly hot fucking -- his dream of being bent over a table and just taken while he cried out for more, begging please please more -- when he woke up and saw Spike's blue eyes so close, staring at him so intently ... well ... kissing just seemed like the thing to do. He didn't really give it a lot of thought.

And Spike hadn't seemed to mind at all, his mouth hard and eager, his hand absently stroking Xander's bare chest, toying with a nipple, tracing the outlines of various muscles in his arms, chest, stomach. Xander moaned and flexed slightly, wanting more, wanting to tell Spike to keep going, move lower.

As he gradually woke more fully, the kiss grew increasingly passionate, their tongues thrusting against each other, their bodies pressing together more and more tightly. Feeling Spike's erection pressing against his hip, Xander found himself wanting to touch ... wanting more...

When he needed air, he pulled his lips from Spike's, panting heavily, his lips swollen and sensitive from the roughness of their kissing. Xander pulled his face away only far enough to be able to see Spike's eyes, and they seemed darker than before, watching him with some deep hunger that made heat curl low in Xander's belly.

Yeah, he wanted this.

Whatever it was, and whatever the reasons, he wanted this.

Licking his lips, his eyes still holding Spike's gaze, Xander stroked a hand along Spike's hip and down to where their bodies were pressed together. Spike's eyes widened at the unexpected touch of Xander's hand against his denim-covered erection, but then his lids lowered slightly, his gaze simmering with heat, his mouth open slightly, his lips red and wet. He pulled away just enough to give Xander space to touch him.

At the first firm squeeze, Spike's eyes closed and he groaned softly. Encouraged, Xander stroked and squeezed and explored more fully. His hand was on the button at Spike's waistband when he heard the door on the other side of the room beginning to open.

"Fuck!" Xander ground out.

"Apparently not," replied Spike, leaping to his feet with a murderous look of frustration directed at the doorway, which produced a short balding man dressed in military fatigues.

Unlike the cowboy, this guard carried an M-16 and seemed less interested in witty repartee. He merely eyed the prisoners suspiciously and took a good look at everything in the room, making sure nothing had changed. After a few moments, he turned and left without a word, shutting the door behind him.

Spike turned back around to find Xander standing near the mattress. Smirking, he said, "Where were we?"

"No way." Xander shook his head. "No more messing around. I don't want Mr. Hair-Club-For-Men coming back in here to see me bare-assed with my pants around my ankles."

"Not even if it meant getting your end away?"

Xander frowned again. "Getting my...? What? No. Whatever that means, no. We need to worry about getting out of here, not about getting 'ends' away."

Spike pouted, but still managed to look amused. "Any bright ideas, then, Captain Amnesia?"

"Uh ... not at the moment. How about you?"

Spike grinned. "Already told you my bright ideas."

Xander rolled his eyes. "Any bright ideas that don't involve your dick?"

"Well, now, that's no fun, is it?"

Xander didn't reply. Spike sighed heavily, shrugging. "Could pass the time talking 'bout shoes and ships and sealing-wax and cabbages and kings..."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know. I am the walrus. Goo goo g'joob."

"Okay. Have you gone completely insane? Because you aren't making any sense at all."

"Lewis Carroll? The walrus and the carpenter? Ever read a book, nobhead?"

"Well, if I read that one, I guess I don't remember. There's a lot of that going around. The not-remembering, I mean."

"Rather hard to miss."

Xander walked to the sink, turning on the faucet and cupping his hands to get a drink and splash water over his face. "Hey, Spike, you should drink, too."

"I don't need water."

"Seriously. If we're gonna break out of here, we need to be strong. If you get dehydrated, you won't be much help."

"Won't get dehydrated."

"Spike, quit being so stubborn and..."

"Did you hear me say I don't need water? Leave it the fuck alone."

"I'm deadly serious. If you get weak from dehydration, it could mean the difference between getting out of here and getting killed. So just drink the damn water, okay?"

"Fuck! If it's so bloody important to you, then fine!" Spike stalked over to the sink, elbowed Xander out of the way, and brought a hand full of water to his mouth, gulping quickly. "There! Are you satisfied?"

Xander was frowning in confusion. Why was Spike making such a big deal about it? He turned off the faucet and went back to sit on the mattress, his back against the cement wall.

He watched Spike. "Is something going on here that you aren't telling me about? Because you're sort of freaking me out."

Still standing near the sink, Spike replied guardedly, "You don't want to know, pet."

"How do you know? Maybe I'm a really curious guy."

Cursing, Spike turned away and didn't say anything. He saw where this was going, and it wasn't going to go well. Spike could feel Xander's eyes on him as the silence stretched on and on.

"Fine," he muttered, "remember what I said about the witches, and fighting demons, and all that?"

Xander nodded, then realized Spike couldn't see it while he was facing the other direction. "Yeah. Pretty weird stuff. Why?"

Rolling his eyes, Spike vamped out and turned to look at the kid, waiting for the screams and hysterics.

"You're a vampire!" gasped Xander in shock. And then, grinning, "Wow! Cool!"

"Bleedin' hell! Aren't you even afraid of me now, what with the memory loss and all?"

"I don't know. It just seems like ... like I've seen it before. I know I should be wigging big time, but I'm not. I mean, you could've bitten me while I was sleeping, or even when I was unconscious before, but you didn't."

Spike grumbled, "Yeah, well, I can't." He shot a brief glance over his shoulder at the closed utility door that was the only way into the room. Wouldn't do to let the shady fellows know his weakness. Turning back to look at Xander, face now smoothed into human planes again, Spike explained begrudgingly, "Got a chip in my head, gives me a migraine any time I try to hurt a human."

"Hurt how?"

"Any how. 'S why we got taken prisoner. I tried to fight the blokes who caught us, but the chip just kept firing. Pretty much knocked me flat."

Xander shrugged. "Yeah, well, I got knocked flat, too, so I'm not gonna be pointing any fingers on that score."

"But I'm a vampire," Spike growled. "I shouldn't get bashed up by a bunch of kids playin' at tin soldiers."

"Well, look, okay, yeah, I guess that sucks for you. But let's just figure out how to get out of here, okay? I mean, you must have some kind of ... I don't know ... super powers or something, right?"

Spike raised an amused eyebrow. "Super powers?"

"Vampire stuff. Like, can you change into a bat?"

"Everybody remembers that stupid parlor trick! Bleedin' Dracula and his flashy..."

Still bare-chested, Xander shook out his damp, rumpled t-shirt and lay it across the sink to dry. "So is that why you said your friends wouldn't be coming to save you? Because they're vampires?"

Spike shook his head cynically. "The vamps aren't much fond of me these days, what with me fighting alongside you lot."

Xander turned to look at Spike sitting casually on the mattress, his legs spread, his arms resting on his knees. "So we're your only friends? The ... uh ... witches ... and me?"

Spike looked away, not saying anything.

"We are your friends, right?"

Spike turned to look at Xander again with a shuttered expression. "Depends on your definition."

Frowning in confusion, Xander asked, "What's your definition?"

"Don't know. Something more than..." Spike broke off, turning away again.

"Spike, quit it with the cryptic routine. I've got amnesia, remember? I'm already confused enough."

Spike looked Xander in the eye and said defensively, "You and your little friends hate me, all right? That what you wanted to know?"

Xander frowned. "Hate you? But I thought you worked with us ... with the ... fighting the ... demons ... all that stuff."

"Right. Doesn't mean we're pals."

"It doesn't? Then why do you help us?"

"Fucked if I know."

"So ... you help us ... but we aren't your friends."

"That's about right. Get no bloody thanks for it, either."

"Why don't you just take off, then? You know, go do your own thing? Leave us twisting in the wind?"

"With this chip, I can't hunt. Depend on packaged blood to survive. Can't really be a vampire, but can't be human, either. Just stuck."

"Stuck with us?"

"I suppose."

"Even though you don't like us?"

A moment passed, and then Spike shrugged casually. "Not so bad, I suppose."

"See, when Buffy died, I took it hard. Guess you did, too. Started showing up at my crypt, toting a six pack and a bottle of JD, nearly every night. We'd sit there and get pissed out of our heads, 'til we couldn't remember anymore."

"That's not in your definition of 'friends'?"

Spike shot Xander a dry glance. "Don't think you'd be tossing that word around so lightly if you were all set in the head."

"Okay, yeah, maybe somebody knocked some sense into me without meaning to. I mean, whatever went on in the past, I consider you my friend now."

Spike was silent a long moment, then awkwardly joked, "Bit more than that, eh? What with the heavy petting?"

"Maybe so, but I think we're friends, too."

"Well, we'll just see when you remember, eh? Don't think we'll be holding hands and strolling through the daisies."

"You know, I might not remember much, but I'm pretty sure I'm not big on daisy-strolling, anyway. So no big loss."

Xander was wandering the cell restlessly again. "You know, much as I'm enjoying our little chats, I really want to get the fuck out of here. I mean, these guys haven't given us a single thing to eat the whole time we've been here, and that's been ... uh ... what? Two days? I could eat a camel."

"Nasty beasts. Better off with a llama, and they're pure evil. Spit the most disgusting..."

"Spike? Focus? We need to figure out how to get out of here."

"Well, there seem to be two fellas keeping watch on us. A tall bloke with cowboy boots and a little balding git."

"Yeah. Baldy doesn't look so tough, but Cowboy Guy's a real sadist with that cattle prod. You sure it's only them?"

"I've seen a couple other guards come in, but only during the day. At night, it's just these two, and they take turns. So between the times when they..."

"Or," interrupted Xander, a thoughtful expression on his face as he eyed the porcelain toilet bowl, "maybe there's another possibility." Cowboy boots don't have treads on the bottom. And I do not want to even think about how I know this, because unremembered fashion errors of times past deserve to rest in peace. But ... no treads ... cement floor...

He turned to look at Spike, running his eyes over the length of the other man's body, noticing the black t-shirt and jeans, the red over-shirt, the black Doc Martens. Spike smirked and cocked an eyebrow, enjoying the attention.

Xander asked suddenly, "Those boots have rubber soles, right?"

Spike shot him a puzzled look. "Yeah."

"Then loan me your red shirt. I've got a plan."

The next time the door opened, Spike and Xander were waiting. Spike stood near the toilet. Xander stood near the bars, wearing his still-damp gray t-shirt, figuring that he could deal with a bit of cold if it meant getting out of this place. He also held Spike's red shirt in his hands.

Great. It's Cowboy Guy. Got it on the first try. Now I won't need the shirt to tie up Mr. Comb-Over. Tossing the red shirt back to Spike, who put it on, Xander nodded slightly and thought, Here we go.

"So, you're a big man, huh? Electrocuting a guy just because he's helpless in a cage? What, you going to electrocute me next? I'm not as hardy as my friend, you might actually kill me. Sound like fun?"

Cowboy Guy put down his gun and picked up the black stick. So predictable! The guard walked cautiously toward the bars, and Xander backed away from them, keeping his eye on the cattle prod stick.

"What, even with that thing you're afraid? Even though your friends beat the shit out of us and left me with a concussion, and then you electrocuted my friend ... and then you starve us ... what ... you're still afraid of us?" Xander laughed with pretended glee. "Now I can't wait to tell this story when we get out of here, about how you were afraid of a couple of half-starved, thoroughly-beaten, electrocuted prisoners. Pretty damned funny."

Just as Xander had been hoping, Cowboy Guy was approaching the door to the cell. Xander had moved back so far that the black stick couldn't reach him, and the guard was too stupid to realize he was being baited.

Spike spoke up, saying ironically, "Oh, I think we're supposed to be afraid of him. Because he's got a stick, and he's not afraid to use it."

Cowboy Guy narrowed his eyes and said, "That's right, you low lifes. You break in here, nosing around in our business, and now you think you're better than us? You really think you can take another beating?" He stepped that last step forward, and punched buttons on the keypad to the lock. Xander heard a click, and the door to the cell swung open.

Wait for it. Wait for it.

When the guard had taken two steps into the cell, stupidly leaving the door open behind him, Xander did not taking his eyes off the man, but said quietly, "Spike, now!"

At the signal, Spike smashed his foot across the toilet bowl, shattering the porcelain and sending water flooding across the cement floor. The cowboy guard had been caught with one foot in the air, in mid-step, and when he quickly put his foot down to steady himself, the smooth bottoms of his boots sent him sprawling to the ground, the black stick flying from his hand, his head cracking against the cement.

Without waiting to check if the guard was okay, Xander and Spike ran out through the cell door. "Follow me," said Xander quietly. "I seem to know a lot about the layout of this base."

Spike was driving Xander's car toward the boy's apartment -- since Xander didn't know where it was -- when he asked, "Bloody good plan, Boy Wonder. How'd you come up with it?"

Xander grinned. "You know, it's weird. I can't remember my life, but I know that in issue 8 of Watchmen, Rorschach is in jail, but he uses his jumpsuit to tie one guy up through the bars, and then another guy comes at him with an arc welder, but he breaks the toilet and the guy gets electrocuted..."

"I get it, I get it."

"See, I was really hoping Cowboy Guy would get electrocuted by his cattle prod. That's why I wanted to know if your boots had rubber soles. Because my sneakers do, and that would insulate us from the shock..."

"Whelp, I said I get it."

"It was kind of disappointing when he didn't get electrocuted. I suppose it was too much to ask for, that it would happen just like it did in the comic."

"You think?"

"I guess. Anyway. Whatever. Home, Jeeves."

Spike just rolled his eyes, while Xander tried not to get nervous. What now?

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