Spike rolled over one more time, and pulled his legs up to his chest. He had what he considered a ridiculous urge to turn on the small lamp that was next to his mattress. There wasn't anything he couldn't see, not really. The slightly worn carpeting eight inches from his face, the bar with Xander's clothes on it, the blankets he clutched up to his chin, the shoes and boxes that were stacked under hanging shirts, pants, and coats -- all of it he'd seen before. Every night. Every morning. Hours in between.

He clicked on the light anyway. At least then he could make it brighter. Could tell that this tiny space was the same as it had been earlier in the day. It was lit. It was his. For the time being. Until Xander threw him out on his ear. Likely first thing in the morning. He looked down toward his feet. His clothing was piled neatly on the carpet next to the mattress. His boots next to the pile. The pair of sweats that Xander had given him draped across the foot of his bed, such as it was. A mattress on the floor. But better than the basement. The hellmouth was no place to try to sleep.

He didn't want to go. For as much as he hated the loathing that emanated from his roomie, he knew he deserved it -- and knew that he had nowhere else to go. Slimy fingers of panic began to weave throughout his skull again. He didn't want to go. The voices threatened to return. They were always hanging. On the edge. Hiding behind a rock. Waiting to pounce. He figured it was a just punishment. From pouncer to pouncee.

He knew he shouldn't have put on that jacket. That had been a very big mistake. The Big Bad had made a big, bad one. He'd thought it was just a lark, a sort of a fuck me, let's see all of the very mortal girls come running. Fuck me. I know you won't fuck me. He shut his eyes tight, knowing the action was futile. No, no, don't say it, he screamed inside his head. "Don't say it," he hissed. "Don't wanna hear it. NO. No. No..."

The voices were creeping out from behind the rock. He tried to stare them down. He heard the slamming of the apartment door and panic hit anew. He reached out from under the covers as quickly as he could and tried turning off the lamp. His shaking fingers groped for the stem. He pushed. Darkness. He looked at the door. Strip of light. He waited.

Xander saw the light go out inside the closet and his stomach turned over. He stood at the door, uncharacteristically hesitant. Usually, he'd just slide it open without so much as an 'are you decent' -- after all, it was his door. His closet. His apartment. He tapped with one knuckle.

"Spike," he called quietly. There was no answer, but that didn't surprise him. "Spike, I know you're awake." After waiting a few more moments, he grasped the door latch, and pulled to his left. Light from the living room spilled in, but he could only see the back of Spike's head, his shoulders curled, his entire body not six inches from the farthest wall.

Xander didn't know why, but he crouched down, and rested one hip on the edge of the mattress. He resisted the urge to reach out, and stroke the short white-blond hair.

"I'm gonna have a beer," he said, "watch something on TV. If you want some company. Some hanging out type company. Beer. TV." Spike didn't move. "Well, I'd like the company," he finally admitted.

He stood and left, after taking one more look at the huddled form. He didn't close the door behind him, hoping that the sounds of activity might at least lure Spike out to yell at him. If only he would yell at him, snark at him, or growl even. If only he'd do something other than stay in that closet, or keep mostly silent.

He got his beer, and sat on the couch with his feet on the table. At least he could do that now. Anya wasn't around to make any comments about where his feet landed at any given time. He turned on the tube and channel surfed, looking for anything the least bit distracting. The one ear he kept tuned to the closet finally registered something. A rustle of fabric. Plodding of feet. Sounding like they hesitated near the kitchen, then came on into the living room. He looked up, not surprised to see Spike with the blanket around his shoulders.

"Gonna join me?" He asked him, giving a small smile of encouragement.

Spike didn't answer, but did sit on the far end of the couch, still wrapped in the plaid. He put his feet up, too.

"You didn't want a beer?"

Spike shrugged.

Xander understood, and that in itself was unnerving. He set his bottle down, left the remote on the couch between them and stood. "Be right back," he said, wanting to give reassurance when none was asked for. He went to the kitchen.

When he returned with another beer Spike was now channel surfing, but had turned the volume way down. Xander smiled to himself and handed Spike the bottle. Blue eyes studied him warily. The beer was finally taken, and they settled into a somewhat relaxed silence, together on the couch.

"You know," Xander said after some minutes, "I haven't told them anything." And he hadn't. He'd wanted to, sitting in the Bronze with Buffy and Will, he'd been about to, then had made some remark about wet towels on the bathroom floor instead. An untrue remark.

"Bout what," Spike muttered.

"About how you're doing. All of the showers, for one thing." He watched Spike recoil, slightly, and said quickly, "I don't mind you taking however many you're taking. Don't mind."

Spike snorted. "How did you know?"

"Well, we're going through a lot of soap. And your towel is rarely dry. The condensation on the walls was kind of a give-away, too."

"Just wanted to smell clean, tha's all," he muttered.

Xander understood. Guilt can do that to a person. He knew better than most. After he'd destroyed Anya's wedding he'd wandered in the rain for hours, believing that if he just got wet enough the downpour might sluice off the dirt he'd felt crawling over his skin. He looked away from the form under the blanket and back to the television. Spike had found QVC.

"Leave this," Xander said. "Let's see what they've got."

"Bloody crap, usually," came the response.

Xander smiled full out this time. "Yeah, crap, true -- but looks like they're gonna do house stuff. I could use some things..."

The two women on the screen were showing off a set of fancy hand towels. Xander chuckled, contemplating picking up the phone and calling in, just to raise a few hackles.

"Can you use these?" Spike asked innocently.

"Sure - hand me the phone."

"They're right pretty there, Xander - just perfect for those teas you serve." As soon as the jibe was out of his mouth, Spike took a quick swig of his beer. Xander saw that his hand had started to shake.

In an effort to calm, he laughed at the joke, and took out his wallet, placing one of his credit cards on the couch between them. "There. Now we're ready. Hand me the phone."

Spike looked at him askance. Then he passed the phone over. The pale hand was only slightly quivering now.

"Look," Xander said, as the product changed, "this is great." They'd progressed to regular towels, and he really did think they looked good. Big, fluffy, all cotton. He needed more than he had, and Spike clearly needed some good ones. "What do you think, Spike?"

But the vampire at the end of the couch just looked at him with large eyes. An undead deer, caught in the headlights.

"Well - don't they look like nice towels?" Xander prodded.

Spike then stared at the screen. He shrugged. "Look okay."

"What color do you like?"

"What color?"

"Yeah, you know - color - not of the black -- like the blue shirt you've been wearing lately. Color. What color would you like the towels to be?"

"You're asking me?"

Xander sighed. "Yes. I'm asking you. I'm gonna buy twenty new towels. Need a color. The bathrooom's pretty bland - we could get anything. You like blue?" He picked up the phone and dialed, studying Spike out of the corner of his eye. "If you don't say anything, I'm getting blue. And maybe some white ones, too." The operators answered his call, and, still watching Spike, who was now watching him, he placed his order. They'd arrive in four to five business days. He hung up, having actually enjoyed the whole thing. He could get used to this, buying shit from his living room.

"Five days, Spike, and there'll be enough towels here to take ten showers a day if you want," he said without thinking. Mouth before brain, he reminded himself, drinking some beer to cover his emotions. He shouldn't have said that so directly, he chided.

"Thank you," Spike said quietly.

To cover more, he shrugged, but smiled in Spike's direction. "No problem. Now, what do you say we look for those other shopping channels? Let's see what else we can buy. Got lots of money, now, you know. Being foreman and all. Let's spend some of it..."

Spike sat with Xander and listened as the man bought all kinds of things for the apartment, and for himself. He contributed when asked to. But mostly he sat, relaxing further and further into the softness of the couch. And when Xander suggested he move closer, just to get a little warmer, Spike didn't hesitate. Much, anyway. He sat next to him, still confused, but more willing. And when Xander said that maybe Spike would be warmer still if an arm went around his shoulders, he didn't hesitate at all. Xander's strong arm enveloped him in blessed heat, and he relaxed even further. Best of all, the voices stayed far away. He was beginning to understand that he wouldn't be kicked out first thing in the morning. He wanted to tell Xander about the mess in his head, and ask him to help. But he didn't. He couldn't. It wasn't right.

Xander felt it the moment Spike had fallen asleep. He imagined that sleep was not something that came easily for him, and he was loathe to interrupt. He wasn't entirely sure why he was doing what he was doing. After all, he knew the jacket had been burned down to ashes. If there had been a spell, it was long broken. And yet, he nudged Spike closer, until the vampire fell gently to his side, and rested his head on Xander's chest. There, he thought, now you can sleep. Now, you'll be warm. Now, you'll be safer.

On the Home Shopping Network, two different women were showing off bedding. Briefly, Xander considered buying Spike a comforter. But the thought of purchasing all new things for the mattress in the closet just made him sort of queasy. Besides, there was really no need. He'd just bought not only a new quilt, but two new blankets as well for his bed. His now half-empty double bed. The combination of his body heat and three layers of covers should keep Spike as warm as he could ever wish. Xander sighed, and kissed the top of Spike's head, not thinking too deeply about why he'd done that, either. It didn't matter. Spike was there, and Xander would do what he could to see that he stayed. It was a start, and the most he could hope for from a soul that was shattered, and scorched, and begging to be heard. He kissed him again.

End.

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