Disclaimer: The characters belong to Joss Whedon, I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Xander backed his way in through the door, both hands occupied carrying two bags of freshly sharpened stakes. He set one bag down at the bottom of the stairs, shaking his head. Living in Sunnydale, you would think the Summers women – of all people – would have learned to lock their doors. He twisted the deadbolt closed with a satisfying "click."

"Thump!" He spun around. The noise had come from somewhere upstairs.

"Buffy? Dawn? Willow?" he called softly. One hand came to rest on the banister of the stairs, sliding up until it met an obstacle. Spike's coat. He clenched the leather in his fist, feeling the blood rush to his face. Damn it. She had sworn that was over.

Clutching the coat, he started up the stairs quietly, forgetting that he still had a bag of stakes in his hand. He didn't know what he would find at the top; his stomach roiled at the thought of seeing Spike and Buffy together. Anya had been bad enough.

"Spike, stop!" he heard Buffy half-scream. Dropping the coat to the stairway, he forgot silence and thundered up the stairs, throwing open first Buffy's bedroom door, then the bathroom door.

Time stopped. Buffy was on her back on the floor, Spike on top of her. But this wasn't the scene Xander had half expected. Buffy was struggling with Spike and Spike, Spike was…

"Oh my God," Xander breathed out. He charged into the room, forcing Spike away from the half-naked Slayer, who clutched her bathrobe closed at the neck and sobbed, scuttling back from the two men. Xander felt as if something inside of him had exploded, like the volcanoes he used to make for science fairs.

He slammed Spike into the wall, feeling the fabric of his shirt rip.

"Damn it, boy, get off me!" Spike yelled. Xander felt as if everything was turning red around him and he slammed Spike's head back into the wall. Again and again. Spike tried to hit back, but that fired the chip in his head, causing him more pain.

"Xander, stop!" he heard Buffy scream.

Slowly, he turned to look at her, hands still buried in the fabric of Spike's shirt. She was standing in the doorway, clutching her robe. But he could see the bruises on her face, on her legs were the robe gaped. He looked back at Spike, realizing that the vampire was cowering away from him.

"This is what you call love, you monster?" Xander screamed in his face. "Is this what you call love, Buffy?" he didn't mean to shout at her, but he knew he had when she cringed slightly, then her face grew stiff.

Xander backed away from Spike, his foot brushing against the bag of stakes he had dropped. He stared at the stakes, then at Spike, who was brushing himself off with every appearance of being nonchalant.

"You may not know this about your precious Slayer, Harris, but she likes a bit of the rough and tumble, don't you pet?" Spike drawled. "Like your blushing bride, a bit."

Xander felt the blood rushing to his face and he grabbed a stake out of the bag, slamming it into Spike's chest before the vampire could even move.

"No!" Buffy screamed behind him. Spike's form exploded in a cloud of dust and there was a clink when a computer chip hit the tile. "Xander, what did you do?" she demanded, grabbing his arm. They stared at the pile of dust, the chip resting on top.

Xander shook her off. He turned and looked into her eyes. "I did what should have been done years ago. I killed a monster, I saved a friend. I think we're done here." Seizing a garbage can, he scooped the dust that had been Spike into it and slammed it down on the tile.

Blindly, he walked out of the room, hearing Buffy gasp behind him. She probably would never speak to him again. He knew Dawn wouldn't – she had had a crush on Spike for years. Willow and Tara and Giles would understand. Anya wouldn't.

Xander squared his shoulders as he started down the stairs. He had done what he had to do. Even if it lost him her friendship….He heard footsteps behind him and turned, facing the Slayer. She was pale, but she wasn't crying. He noticed idly that the bruises on her face were already lightening. Yay for Slayer healing.

"You destroyed Spike," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"He was raping you," he said flatly. "He was evil, and he needed to die. Don't give me any chip lectures," he added, holding up his hand when her mouth opened. "I know you probably hate me right now. But, I hope, in time you'll understand what I did. If not…well, at least you're safe."

Buffy took two steps forward. She was on a higher step then he was, so even though she normally was chin-high on him, today they were eye to eye. She stared into his brown eyes. Xander steeled himself for a blow, hoping she wouldn't hit him hard enough to knock him down the stairs.

She threw her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder incoherently.

Xander blinked, then patted her on the back. This, he was not expecting. And was she wearing anything under this robe, because it sure didn't feel like it. Down boy! he thought. After what she had been through, how could he even think that way? You'd think the intervening years since high school would have beaten some of the horny out of him. But it obviously hadn't, as he felt his jeans tightening.

"Buffy?" he tried weakly, attempting to maneuver her away from his flaring erection as her sobbing slowed. "Buffy, no offense, but you're getting me all wet." He flushed. Damn, that sounded bad.

"I'm so tired, Xander," she muttered indistinctly, face still buried in his shoulder. "Since I got back, I've just been so tired."

"Well, let's get you to bed, then," he said. He cleared his throat.

Buffy didn't move, just nodded.

"All right, then, but if I throw out my back carrying you, you're on your own for patrol tonight."

He dipped down and scooped her up, carrying her towards her room. Her face stayed burrowed into his shoulder. He kicked Spike's coat out of the way and it slithered down the stairs, landing in a heap next to the other bag of stakes.

Gently, he set her down on the bed. She refused to relinquish her hold on his neck and he almost toppled over onto her.

"Um, Buffy, you're going to have to let me go or I'm going to be in the bed with you."

She released him and turned her face into the pillow, choking back a sob. The movement opened her robe in a narrow V from her throat almost to her navel. Xander's breath caught, until he spotted a large bruise on her exposed sternum and his eyes narrowed.

"Did he do that to you?" he grated out, pointing.

Startled by his tone, Buffy gave up on hiding her face in the pillow and looked down. "Yes," she said softly. She looked up at Xander, eyes swollen and wet. He pulled a quilt over her, covering her from neck to toes. That, he hoped, would take care of his inappropriate physical responses. They were friends, he reminded himself sternly. Had been friends and only friends for years. What the Hell was wrong with him?

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked, looking around for a box of tissue.

"Only in spirit," she whispered, turning over and whimpering in pain.

"Buffy, I love you, but could you please rejoin those of us in this world and stop being such a whiner?" Xander blurted. She flipped over to stare at him.

"What?" she demanded loudly. Better, he thought. He gave up his search for a tissue box and sat down next to her on the bed.

"You heard me. I know it was Hell, coming back here. Being dragged back here, basically. I know where you were and what we did. But you're here now. We all love you. But the martyr act is getting old."

"Martyr act?" she barked. Her face went from pale to flushed so fast that Xander wondered if she had any blood left anywhere else in her body. She sat up in bed and the quilt and Xander both fell to the floor. "Where the Hell do you get off telling me to stop whining, to stop acting like a martyr?" she snapped. "Still mooning after Anya, killing Spike in a fit of rage."

"Technically, he was already dead," Xander said, picking himself up off the floor and trying to shove the quilt at her.

"You bastard!" She ignored the quilt, apparently unaware that the robe was barely anchored by the belt and she was almost naked. Xander tried to look away, but, God, her body was incredible. Once again, he felt his pants tightening and managed to refocus his gaze over her head.

"Look, Buffy," he told the ceiling. "I'm not saying that I'm doing great at this either. But at least I'm not laying around feeling sorry for myself. We love you. But the Buffy we lost last year would never have allowed herself to become the person you are now."

Suddenly, his head exploded in stars and he fell to the floor, ears ringing. Buffy stood over him, the robe slipping off her shoulders.

"Oh, Xander, I'm so sorry!" she cried, dropping to the floor at his side, face in her hands.

Xander felt his jaw. Not broken. But he was going to have a lovely bruise. Maybe he could claim Spike did it when he was rescuing Buffy from the vampire.

"Buffy, I swear if you start crying again, I'm going to…" He couldn't think of anything appropriately dire. "Do something unpleasant."

Buffy giggled into her hands. The hands fell away from her face and she looked at him through the curtain of her hair. "Something unpleasant?" she repeated.

"Very unpleasant."

"Like what?" she asked, still peeking through her hair.

"I'm not sure," he said, struggling to sit up. "But I'll think of something."

"Why did you stake him?" Buffy asked, turning her face down and playing idly with her hair.

"Once again with the raping and evil," Xander sighed. "And because I hated him for what he did to you."

"And for what he did with Anya?" she added softly.

"Yeah, that too," Xander admitted heavily. "But mostly for the raping and evil."

He shook his head, then stopped when his jaw throbbed with the movement. He felt her gentle fingers run across the bruise and turned to look at her.

"Um, Buffy," he said.

"Yes?"

"You are…um…your robe has kind of…"

Buffy looked down, but didn't pull the robe back together. Xander thought he saw a flash of nipple as she turned back toward him.

"How long have we known each other?" she asked.

"Long, really long," Xander said, trying to scoot away from her but stopped by her hand on his knee. He cleared his throat. His voice seemed hoarse and the front of his pants seemed way, way too tight.

"How many times have you saved my life?" she asked, running her hand up his knee to his thigh and staring into his eyes.

"Don't know. Wasn't counting." He sounded like he had a bad head cold, or like his dad after the years of cigarettes. Suddenly, he figured out what was going on. "Buffy, stop it," he said, putting his hand over hers. "I know you're grateful, but you don't have to do anything like this."

"Xander, I was dead. You and Willow, you brought me back. Because you love me. Spike has been…a bad thing for me. Today, he could have killed me. You killed him. Because you love me. Maybe this isn't because of gratitude. Maybe I finally figured out that I don't just love you…I'm in love with you. And I think you're in love with me too."

She leaned in and kissed him. The kiss started out softly, then suddenly became hard, urgent, as she moved into his lap, arms once again around his neck. Xander's hands ran down her back. He felt her flinch, but she pressed harder against him. He flinched himself at that reminder of his swelling jaw. Fine pair we make, he thought. That was his last conscious thought for a long time.