Part 3: Neurosis

Xander woke up in the morning to the sound of pouring rain. Instead of heading to the shower as he normally would, he staggered half-awake to the phone and called the site. Work was shut down for the day ... one of the benefits of rain in the construction industry. Well, except that he wouldn't get paid. But right now, when he was half-asleep, that didn't seem nearly as important as getting another couple hours of sleep.

Ahhhhh, sweet slumber! I gladly return to thy comfy bosom!

He groggily shuffled back to the bed and crawled beneath the blankets. By the time he was once again lying flat on his back, however, he had woken up just barely enough to remember the previous night.

And everything stopped.

It was like the world froze, leaving him lying in the center, staring at the white stucco ceiling, his breath caught in his throat, his heart constricting in his chest, his skin prickling as if he'd just touched a light socket.

Spike. Naked me-ness. Naughty touching. And the ... the watching.

Sure, yeah, the relevant body part sat up and took notice, but Xander was lost in the amazed, wondering, almost disbelieving realization that something had actually happened last night. Something had happened between him and Spike.

Everything had changed.

His whole life looked different now. Before, he'd been Xander the construction guy and night-time demon fighter. Now, he was Xander the construction guy and night-time demon fighter who had something going on with Spike.

Huge difference.

He tried to replay every single second of it in his mind, every expression on Spike's face, the moments when he shifted position slightly on the couch as if he was getting hard enough to be uncomfortable, the way he leaned forward when Xander was playing with his nipples, the way his eyes lingered on Xander's mouth when he licked his lips...

Okay, so it hadn't quite been the romantic revelation Xander had been dreaming about. Spike hadn't even kissed him. Hell, Spike hadn't even touched him. But there was no denying that it was a considerable change from playing pool at The Bronze and chatting about weaponry.

And there had been honest-to-goodness -- or would that be honest-to-evilness? -- heat in Spike's eyes. Xander was sure of that much.

A lot of other stuff about what had happened might be confusing, but he was sure of the look in Spike's eyes.

But, yeah, actually, a lot of the rest made no sense at all. Why had Spike done it? Was it just because he didn't want Xander going to the sex club and supposedly getting killed? Or was that just an excuse? Did he want Xander as much as Xander wanted him? Okay, the answer to that one was no. Not when Xander had been dropping potentially flirtatious hints for months without getting any response.

So Spike didn't want Xander as much as Xander wanted him. But -- and here was the thought that made his stomach tighten -- maybe he did want Xander at least a little bit.

And if there was a little bit of wanting there, even just a little bit, then maybe it might turn into more.

I'm pretty sure Spike at least likes me. I mean, we're friends now -- at least, I'm pretty sure we're friends -- I've been horribly wrong about that in the past, but this time I think I'm right -- and people tend to like their friends, right? Isn't that in the definition? Isn't that part of the whole friend "thing"? So ... he likes me ... and he wanted me to get naked. I don't think I'm totally insane to think this sounds promising. 'Cause when friends get naked with friends, it usually means more than friends.

His usual morning shower wank made him come so hard, his ears were ringing.

* * *

He almost wished work hadn't been called on account of the rain. The day was passing slowly, inching painfully toward dark, when he was supposed to meet everyone -- including Spike -- for patrol.

He even thought, briefly, about going to Spike's crypt, but that seemed just a little pathetically eager.

So instead he watched some tv -- though he couldn't remember afterward what any of it was -- and occasionally wandered into the kitchen to look at the postcard.

"DON'T." That's what Spike had written. It was the first thing Spike had ever written to him. And how pathetic was it that it made him happy? Spike had written something to him. Yay!

Of course, "DON'T" wasn't a particularly encouraging or personal message.

Well, it could be encouraging or personal, depending on what it referred to.

He was pretty sure it referred to the sex club, just Spike getting in the last word about whether Xander should go there or not. But maybe it was something else. He wracked his brain for possibilities.

Don't masturbate again. Too late.

Don't come to patrol tonight. No, he would have been more clear if it was that. Anyway, why would he want that?

Don't come bug me at my crypt. He wouldn't know I would think about that. Would he?

Don't think this meant anything. Too complicated. That wouldn't be what he meant. Right? Right?

He came to the conclusion that Spike had to have been referring to the sex club. He'd written it on the postcard, after all. But this conclusion led him to consider the nagging worry that had been hovering on the edge of his mind all morning.

Did Spike do this just because of the sex club? Was he just trying to keep me from going? Or did he want it?

And if it was just because of the sex club, is it possible -- just possible -- that he might see me differently now? Might think of "Xander" and "sex" as not entirely mutually exclusive concepts? Is it possible -- just remotely possible -- that this might lead to something, even if it isn't already there?

He figured that everything depended on how Spike acted on patrol tonight. He'd wait and see if Spike was friendly or distant or flirty or what. And that would give him a better idea of what was going on.

In the meantime, all the mooning had gotten him to feeling a bit of an estrogen overload, so he decided he needed to engage in some more manly pursuits to pass the time until dark. Get him feeling big and muscular and tough. Forget about all that staring at the postcard. He was big and muscular and tough! He was Xander! Hear him roar! Well, not actually roar, of course, because the neighbors already thought he was weird enough, what with all the late hours, but more of a metaphorical roar. A metaphor roar. A metaroar.

So he lifted weights for a while in the spare room, which used to be a closet, but it was big enough for a weight room, so he called it a room. It was plenty of room for him to work out on the weight bench, anyway, and so he put some effort into making himself sweat profusely, which passed an hour or so.

Then he got nervous that his manly musk might overwhelm everyone on patrol ... in a bad way, not in a sex way. It might even attract unsavory demons ... rather than the relatively savory demon whom he wanted to attract. So he took another shower.

Once he was reasonably certain that his odoriforousness would not offend, he spent some time practicing with the new knives Spike had given him for Christmas. He had a target set up in the spare "room," which often came in handy since the time loop, since he'd started the whole knife-throwing thing on patrol. The target came in especially handy times like now, when he felt like he was going crazy and needed something to focus on. It made him sort of understand why Spike used to toss his knife all the time. The rhythm was sort of relaxing.

Not that Spike tossed his knife much anymore. Maybe it had been a nervous thing, and he wasn't so nervous now. Or maybe it had been a way to keep himself entertained when he thought Xander was ignoring him. Whatever the cause, he'd stopped. Now knives were mostly Xander's thing.

It only took him a few throws to notice that the new knives handled really well. Spike had been right about the balance being perfect for throwing. Xander felt like kind of a shit for having been so ungrateful about the gift.

Well, tonight on patrol I can thank Spike properly. Uh ... except not the way that sounded. I mean, unless he wants ... what that sounded like. And maybe he does. Except not with Willow and Tara watching, because, hello, sort of kinky I guess, but definitely not that kinky.

It was the longest day of his life.

Well, except for the time loop. But that didn't count.

* * *

It was only about an hour before dark when the phone rang. Remembering suddenly that Willow had given Spike a stylish black cell phone for Christmas, Xander ran for the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Xander. Been playing with your shiny Christmas presents?"

Willow sounded so chipper and friendly, Xander tried not to sound disappointed. "Actually, yeah. We still on for patrol? Umbrella brigade?"

"Nope. Spike called and said no patrol tonight. Apparently Bregni demons aren't big on the whole getting wet thing. So they'll be hiding out, and we get the night off. Want to come over for movies and pizza?"

But Xander was still stuck on the first thing she'd said. "Spike called you?" Why'd he call Willow, and not me? Especially after last night. He could have called me to leave a message about patrol. But he called Willow instead.

"Yup. Just to give us the heads up about tonight. See? The phone is useful already. I am Resourceful Christmas Gift-Giving Girl."

"Wills, do you think" -- god, how pathetic do I sound? -- "do you think Spike likes me?" Where is my manly dignity? Because I think I lost it somewhere along the way here. Maybe around the time I read that stupid postcard for the twentieth time.

Only silence came along the phone line. Okay, so the question had seemed less of an abrupt change of topic inside his own head. Because the topic in his head hadn't changed all day. Eventually, Willow offered tentatively, "Of course he likes you, Xander. He just called me because I was the one who gave him the phone..."

"No, not about the phone thing. I mean really. Do you think Spike likes me?"

Willow was silent for another long moment. "Ummm ... do you mean likes you likes you?"

And here we are doing the seventh grade thing again. Why does Spike turn me into an emotional 12 year old? But he actually really wanted Willow's opinion. She was better with stuff like this than he was. Hell, Dawn was probably better with stuff like this than he was. Hell, even Giles was probably better with stuff like this than he was, and wasn't that a scary thought? "No, just ... do you think he likes me? As ... as a friend ... as ... anything."

"Sure. I think he likes all of us now. We're kind of like his family, you know? Or I guess he might say 'minions' instead of 'family', but I think that sounds kind of rude, since I'm not all that comfy with the minion thing, but he is still a vampire, so..."

"It's just ... I thought he liked me before," Xander interrupted. "Before the time looping stuff, I mean. And I was completely wrong. Wrong to the nth degree. Wrong like garlic ice-cream is wrong. And I guess I was hoping that I'm not wrong this time."

"Xander," she paused before continuing with obvious concern in her voice, "are you having the warm fuzzy Spike feelings again?"

Xander laughed in that way you laugh at things that are in no way funny. "Never stopped, Will. But there's only so many times you can say, 'He's still not interested,' before people's eyes start glazing over."

"Did my eyes glaze? Because I never meant to glaze. You know I care..."

"No, Will, it's okay. I didn't mean you. I just meant in general. After a while, there isn't much to talk about when the situation never changes."

"So ... you're talking about it now. Does that mean the situation changed?"

Darn that Willow and her gigantic brain! She caught me. Xander considered lying, but even the thought made him feel guilty. So he hedged, "I'm not sure."

Sounding cautiously hopeful on his behalf, she asked, "Did something happen?"

Again with the hedging. "Sort of."

He could almost see Willow bouncing in hopeful excitement when she eagerly asked, "What? What happened? I want details!"

Details? No! No, definitely not giving the details. So, okay, and now with the even worse hedging. "I ... I'd rather not talk about it. It's ... I'm still not sure exactly what's going on."

"Oh." Great. He'd made her make the sad, hurt Willow sound, the one that always made him feel like he'd just come home from a long day clubbing baby seals or something. Like he was a bad bad person.

"I'm sorry, Will."

"It's okay. But you know you can talk to me if you want to."

"I do want to, Will. Just ... not right now. I'm sorry." If he apologized any more, he was going to lose the few manliness credentials he had remaining, if he even had any left at this point. It just sucked. He hated keeping secrets from Willow.

Of course, he'd been keeping secrets from Spike ever since the time loop.

He was becoming Xander the Secret-Keeping Guy, and he didn't like it much. He was used to being pretty honest with the people he cared about. Okay, not Anya-level honesty, because some things just don't need to be said, especially in public, but still. Honest. Pretty much. Secrets, he was discovering, were very much not his thing. Too stressful.

But sometimes it was hard to tell the truth.

I mean, really. What am I going to tell her? "Oh, last night, Spike told me to take off my clothes and make with the slippery solo handshake while he watched, and I did it, but I'm not sure if that makes us boyfriends or fuck buddies or just friends who happen to have engaged in one unexpected evening of kinky living room masturbation indulgence."

Not going to happen. Because (A) embarrassing. And (B) embarrassing. And (C) did I mention embarrassing? Not going to be telling Willow about the whole "masturbation while being watched" thing. Or the "taking orders from Spike" thing. If there was kissage to discuss, I'd be dishing with Wills all night long. But weirdo sex games? Hm. No, not so much with the sharing.

The conversation ended awkwardly. Xander declined to join them for movies and pizza, feeling vaguely guilty about the secret-keeping and not wanting to spend all evening fighting Willow's "you can tell me anything" face.

Plus, Spike might call.

Willow said all the right things, being the good friend as always, but Xander could tell that she felt hurt.

When he hung up the phone, he turned around and went into the kitchen, got himself a beer, and sat down at the table. He looked at the post card.

Damn Spike! This is all his fault!

* * *

An hour later, Xander was sitting in front of the tv, pretending to himself that he was interested in ... wait, what was it now? Oh, right. Iron Chef. He couldn't even remember what ingredient they were using. And what was he doing watching the cooking channel, anyway?

The problem was a slip of paper sitting on the phone table.

Before they'd hung up, Willow had given him the number to Spike's cell.

He told himself he should have the number anyway. The whole reason Spike had a phone was so that he could get in touch with the Scoobies and they could get in touch with him. It would make arranging patrols a lot easier, and Spike wanted everyone to be able to get him in an emergency.

This is not an emergency, Xander reminded himself. Repeatedly. What am I going to do? Make something up? Be honest and say, "Hey, Spike, there's an emergency in my pants"? I don't think so. And, anyway, if he wanted to talk to me, he would have called me. I am not doing that "wait by the phone" thing.

He waited in the same room as the phone -- but not by the phone, it's a very fine distinction -- until 9:12 p.m.

When Spike answered the phone, there was a lot of noise in the background. He barked simply, "Yeah?"

Xander was taken aback by the noise and the attitude. Where was Spike? What was he doing? And who was he doing it with? And why? And ... other question words. Many question words. Some of which might not even exist in English.

"Spike?" Oh, right. Because his identity is so much in question. Why did I say that?

There was a bit of a pause, then Spike's voice, surprised, "Harris?" It sounded like he was in a bar. Lots of people talking in the background.

"Uh, yeah. It's me. Xander. Harris."

Another pause. Then Spike, impatient: "And?"

"Oh, um, right. So, um..." He hadn't really planned out what to say, and that was now finding its way to the top of his personal list of stupid decisions. And then words just popped out of his mouth with absolutely no permission from his brain. "Don't what?"

"What's that?" The background noise seemed a little quieter now.

Well, once you've said something stupid, may as well go with it. It's already said, anyway. Can't take it back. And ... okay ... so he really wanted the answer.

"You wrote 'don't' on the postcard. Don't what?"

There wasn't much noise at all now. Maybe Spike had gone outside or something. "What do you think, genius?" There was something in Spike's voice, something kind of funny. He sounded really surprised and maybe confused, too, which made Xander wonder why he wouldn't have expected this. They'd messed around. Of course Xander would want to ... want to call up and ... okay, so maybe he hadn't expected Xander to call up and want to chat about the whole kinky sex thing. It wasn't really within their usual realm of conversational topics. But today was not usual. Nothing about it was usual. Except maybe as compared to last night. Because that was even more not usual.

"Harris?"

Xander realized he'd been quiet too long. And why did Spike keep calling him by his last name? They'd kind of gotten onto a first name basis lately, so why the throwback? And what had Spike asked him? Oh, right, about what he thought the message on the card was about.

"I'm not sure. The ... the club?"

"Got it in one. You go there and I'll find out. And I'll kick your ass myself if you don't end up dead first."

Xander's stomach was in knots, but he said it anyway. "I thought you said it would be okay if you went, too."

Another silence. And then: "Figured you for a one-timer, Harris. Didn't think you'd have the balls for more'n that."

Xander replied without thinking, "Make no assumptions about my balls, mister!" and then realized that it sounded incredibly stupid. Too late. He cringed and waited for Spike to laugh.

But Spike didn't. Instead, he said cautiously, "Up for more fun and games, are we?"

Xander's stomach did a rather impressive stop, drop, and roll. And his throat was suddenly really swollen. Like he couldn't swallow and might suffocate. He gulped air and tried to find the ability to form words. He squeaked, "Yes?"

Spike was quiet again.

After a minute -- or ten or twenty or Xander didn't really know because his sense of time was all screwed up -- he eventually said tentatively, "You could come over and we could ... I don't know ... uh ... talk ... about ... you know ... the stuff."

Spike repeated with a smirk in his voice, "The 'stuff'."

Xander was embarrassed enough to be frustrated. "You know what I mean."

And Spike replied smoothly, "Know what you mean, pet. And it ain't talking you're after."

Xander blushed and tried to think of what to say, because suddenly it seemed like something was going on and it was all happening really fast and it sounded like Spike was going to come over and ... do stuff with him again. Maybe more stuff. Different stuff. Stuff that involved actual touching. Of each other. At least, he hoped.

He hadn't come up with anything to say by the time Spike added, "Be there in two shakes. We'll get that pesky itch all nice and scratched." And then he hung up.

Xander put the phone back in its cradle, feeling a bit dazed. So ... maybe it is just because of the sex club? But he didn't sound like he was being forced into anything. I mean, he sounded perfectly happy to come over here and ... whatever. But even if he isn't into me now, maybe he will be. He'll get to know me better, not just like a pal. And he might start to feel more. It's worth a shot. And, hey, naughtiness with Spike! Not exactly a hardship! Er ... no pun intended.

Xander looked around the apartment nervously. He hadn't left the apartment all day, so his feet were still bare. He considered putting on socks. But if things went well, he'd just need to take the socks off again. So he'd stick with the bare feet.

He sat down on the couch, barefoot, and held the TV Guide without reading it. And waited.

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