Here Begins The Epic Tale of How Spike and A Closet Drove Xander Insane

Containing True Love, Naked Mole Rats, Lisping Hairdressers, Washing Machines, and one Very Confused Boy

The way it started was rather interesting, actually. Well, the whole story was. If presented the right way, it could be made into an epic, Xander was sure, although not nearly as epic an epic as it would have been if Buffy had taken his place. And wow… that was a strange thought. For one thing, she'd have to be male for the joke to even work, which meant he'd probably be a girl, because you just don't do these things halfway. And a guy Buffy would be so weird. For another, if it was Buffy, there would be a lot more angst here (no offense meant, of course, but she tended to be much more concerned with the angst and guilt than Xander ever was), and it never would have started the same way, even if she was a guy, because Buffy wouldn't be living in a basement without a closet. Which was the start of it all… and he had been sidetracked in a circle until he got right back to the beginning. Kinda like a canoe with only one paddle…

Right.

So, it started out with yet another day in the basement, boring and tiring and smelling faintly of laundry detergent, and something that was probably green and moldy – maybe even growing on the walls. Xander took a quick shower, left, worked a lot, and then arrived back late in the afternoon, very weary and sweaty.

He'd been planning on the 'take another shower ASAP before collapsing into bed for a nap, TV time optional' routine, and had begun the necessary precautions as soon as he entered his basement (ah, basement sweet basement), yanking off his hat and dropping it on the floor, removing his shirt and flinging it across the room, followed by kicked-off boots and tugged-off socks (both while hopping), and he was in the process of sliding his jeans past his knees when Spike spoke up.

He was yanking Xander's shirt off his face with an annoyed expression. "'Ey, show some care, will you?" He snapped, tossing it to the ground. "Why don't you put your kit in the damn closet and not on me, huh?"

Xander yelped, stumbling for his pants, which were currently tangled around his knees, tripping, and falling flat on his face. He remained lying on the floor, face-down. "Ow."

Then his brain registered not only Spike's presence (he'd forgotten, okay? Once. So sue him!) but his words, and he jerked his head up to glare at the vampire. "Maybe I would, if I even had one, but guess what, Spike?" He paused minutely, far too short a time for Spike to guess anything. Luckily, the vampire didn't seem to be so inclined, lying on his back on Xander's bed (in other words, the sofa), propped up against the pillows, remote in hand.

Xander continued on, despite Spike's bored and inattentive expression. "I don't have a closet, Spike! I don't even have a breadbox, what makes you think I'd have a closet? This is the closet, okay? We're sitting in my closet! This is the only closet I've got, and it's the only closet either of us are gonna see until I actually keep a job on minimum wage for longer than a week and save up enough money to buy my own damn apartment, okay?"

He was practically shouting by the time he'd finished, propped up on his arms and glaring at Spike, who was looking very interested/amused by now. He'd even gone so far as to mute the TV. Xander glanced briefly to the side to see what the ex-Big Bad had been watching, and he was mildly surprised to see Kim Possible fighting her way across the screen. He'd always liked her. She reminded him of Buffy, and he could be Ron Stoppable, and everyone knew they'd eventually end up together. Wade could be Giles, except that left Willow no role and was kinda unfair for Wade. Xander had long ago decided that Willow and Giles would have to just meld together to be Wade Load, computer genius who told them what was up. And the resident vampire could be Rufus, just to give him a role.

Imagining Spike as a naked mole rat (now that was amusing!) brought to mind the fact that the vampire was still sitting right there, and Xander turned his head back to see Spike raising one eyebrow at him (how the heck did he do that? Xander had tried in the mirror for nearly an hour the other day, using his fingers and everything, and it just didn't work).

Spike cleared his throat. "All right, then." He paused briefly, looking thoughtful. "You know, there's just so much good material I can get out of that… I'm gonna have to make a list." Smirking, he began to count off on his fingers. "One, I'm guessing you lost yet another job, judging by your mood, which I find very amusing. But don't worry mate, think of it this way: you're gonna have tacky Halloween costumes enough for the rest of your life by the time the year is through, if you aren't dead, anyway. Two, why the hell would you want a breadbox and what the fuck does that have to do with having a closet? Three, you're never gonna get that apartment, Whelp. Best just settle with that now and not suffer any disappointment. You're gonna live out the rest of your short, miserable days down in this squalid little rotten-sock-smelling dungeon."

Huh. So that was what the green moldy smell was? Figured.

"Four," Spike continued, grinning wickedly now, "I've always guessed, but it's a whole 'nother thing to hear straight from the horse's mouth." He looked Xander up and down, then smirked with pure evil, his single eyebrow rising again. "After all, they do say that admitting you're in the closet is the first step to getting out of it. Just let me know if it gets awkward, y'know. A tempting guy like me, rooming with a poof-in-the-closet like you."

Xander shot to his feet in shock, tripped on his jeans again, choked on his own spit, and spluttered for a few seconds.

Spike eyed him with delight, then, with an air of finality, added: "Oh yeah, by the way. Nice undies… Nummy." He accompanied the last word with a wink.

"Ack! Ackga – no! No, no, no! Gl-ahhh ick!" Xander shuffled backwards and squirmed with his pants, trying to get them up over his Superman boxers.

Spike chuckled, which only seemed to confuse his fingers more, making them fumble comically. Or at least, Spike seemed to find it comical. Xander didn't really feel like appreciating the humor in the situation.

Just then, the phone rang. As Xander was in no shape to grab it, Spike reached for it, as usual. He liked harassing all callers, especially the Scoobies. But telemarketers most of all, of course. Xander was pretty sure that there were several poor, hard-working telemarketing jerks out there who had been scared into therapy when they got Spike on the line.

"'Lo?" The evil bloodsucking monster in question inquired into the set. After a pause, he said, "Sorry, no. No, not available."

Xander was sure that whoever the caller was, they would be wondering about Spike's uncharacteristic politeness (especially if it was a Scooby), but he was too busy finally tugging his pants up and zipping and buttoning with shaking fingers to pay much attention.

Until Spike said, "Well yes, he's here, but he's just realized that he's in the closet, you see, so he's not really fit to talk."

Xander gaped in horror.

Spike listened to the phone for a minute, grinning and nodding along with whoever was on the line, before his eyes widened in further amusement, and he glanced over at Xander. "You're right! Just like a goldfish."

This was all Xander needed to get snapped out of his daze, and he lunged at Spike, shouting, "How dare you – I'm not – you can't tell them – Spike, gimme the phone! Gah, leggo…"

Spike just laughed, easily keeping his hold on the phone as he shoved Xander away with the other hand. "Yeah… yes. Nah, he wouldn't… Sure – ow!" He jumped and dropped the phone when Xander bit his arm, hard. "You bit me! That's my job!" he snapped, looking affronted, but Xander ignored him, rushing for the phone and snatching it up to his ear.

Willow's distinctive voice, soundly highly amused, was saying, "…warned you! He used to do that in kindergarten. Anyway, we'll see you guys at Giles' in a few minutes, okay? Hurry up – bye!"

"No, Wills, wait – " Xander shouted, but it was too late; she'd already hung up. He listened to the slow beeping for several moments, before slowly putting it down, clenching his jaw furiously.

"You…" he growled. "You are dead."

Spike snickered.

"I mean it!" Xander shouted. "How – how could you – I'm not gay!"

Spike waved that aside – literally, fluttering a dismissive hand in the air. "Pssh. Give it a few weeks, it'll blow over."

"What, they'll just forget that you called me gay?"

Spike shook his head. "No. I meant you'd get over your denial. Idiot."

"SPIKE!"

-xxx-

Things didn't get much better after that. Xander hurt himself on patrol, as pretty much per usual, and Willow and Buffy kept giggling when they looked at him. Whenever Giles saw him, he reached for his glasses and a cloth, and Spike was milking the joke for all it was worth, muttering with Willow and Buffy about the signs he'd seen coming, and how they really shouldn't pressure Xander… after all, he had only admitted to being in the closet, not being ready to come out to the world.

After that, the girls got supportive and gentle, exchanging significant glances and only the occasional giggle. Xander was pretty sure it was worse.

Then, halfway through the night, Buffy got a stunned look, and suddenly said, in a quiet voice that nonetheless carried several headstones over to where Xander was planning Spike's creative demise by the Hawaiian t-shirts he despised, "Oh my god – do you think that's why he was so – you know, weird – around Angel?"

Spike, who had been walking on top of the headstones, leaping from one to the next, faltered mid-step and fell into an open grave, where he remained lying for fifteen minutes, in convulsions.

-xxx-

"I hate you," Xander declared weakly, looking miserably down at Spike's head, which was currently hovering over his knee. The vampire glanced up at him and rolled his eyes, before ducking his head back down, peering intently at his work as he bandaged Xander's large cut. He was only doing this, of course, because Xander had told him he had to or he wasn't getting any blood the next day, but at least he was good at it. Xander's leg didn't even sting, which made sense – if Spike caused him any pain, it would double back on him times about a gazillion, so of course he'd try his hardest to avoid it.

It had been about a week and a half since the Closet Day, as Xander had started referring to it in his head, and things still just barely seemed to be beginning to blow over. Spike still got lots of fun out it, and it was fairly obvious that not one of the other Scoobies had believed Xander's awkward explanation eight days ago. They really thought he was in denial.

Xander glared even more weakly down at Spike, concentrating on his hair. Maybe he could light it on fire if he tried hard enough. One of those Jedi mind things. Hey, vampires existed, and Wiccas, why not the Force?

But no matter how hard he tried, Spike's hair didn't catch, although Xander could've sworn he'd seen a wisp of smoke. Then he switched tactics, imaging he was Hulk-Xander, reaching out and sliding his fingers into that hair, gripping into it and through it, straight into his skull, crushing his brains before laughing victoriously – but something was going wrong.

Somehow, Xander couldn't get past that one scene, of him curving his fingers into those white-blond strands, messing up the helmet hair as he tugged it tightly, fingers flexing in stronger to cup Spike's skull as he –

Spike whistled sharply, and Xander snapped out of his daze, jerking his head up, completely shocked to find that the vampire was all the way across the room. His leg, when he looked down, was well bandaged, and he was pretty sure he remembered doing that himself.

Was he drunk or something?

He looked up at Spike, across the room and apparently waiting for the answer to a question Xander hadn't heard, and shook his head.

"I hate you," he mumbled weakly, before turning his back and going to crawl in bed, not even caring where the vampire went.

-xxx-

The problem was that these weird little daydreams/hallucinations/moments of pure insanity continued. Xander kept seeing Spike everywhere doing seemingly innocent things. Or, as innocent as Spike could get, anyway.

But then every time, something would distract him, and he would snap out of it, and he'd realize that Spike had left five minutes ago, or that Spike was laughing at him, not with him, or that it was sunny outside, and Spike had never even been there, or that Spike would never ever hug him and why/how the hell had Xander's (admittedly very weird) brain managed to come up with that scene?

And then it was that train of thought that brought Xander irrevocably to the station painted all in pink, where guys all lisped and were hairdressers and called people "honey" and shaved their arms and all seemed to think that ever since the Closet Day, various parts of Spike had looked very appealing. Poor, innocent, straight-as-a-nail Xander was kidnapped and locked inside the conductor's room in this weird train station, and no matter what he tried to do, he couldn't get another train of thought to come take him back home (which was called either Denial or Sanity, he wasn't sure which). Then the hairdresser-Xanders started pointing out all of the parts of Spike that had been appealing to them, which was a very long list, scary in its longness as well as its just plain existence.

Even scarier, when it seemed that even straight-as-a-nail Xander had to admit that he admired Spike's abs. But not in a gay way, really! Just jealous, 'cause I want them for myself!

The hairdressers nodded understandingly. Ohh, yeah… All for us…

And despite straight-as-a-nail Xander's protests, he couldn't help a sudden stab of weird (hopefully not pink, lispy, or hairdresser-y) lust.

And he remembered that if you hit a nail with a hammer, at an angle, it bent very easily.

-xxx-

After waking up from nightmares of a hammer-wielding Spike coming at him with a wicked gleam in his eyes, for the third time in just as many hours, Xander was ready to call Giles and confess everything, if only it meant that the all-knowing ex-librarian would find a cure.

It didn't help, of course, that Spike was right there, tied up on the ugly orange chair, head tilted back and eyes closed, at the perfect angle for Xander's sleep-muddled brain to give in and admire the line of his throat.

Xander groaned as he caught himself doing it again, and rolled over, shoving his pillow over his head. "Not gay, not gay, not gay…" he muttered desperately, as if chanting the mantra until dawn would make it come true.

-xxx-

Things were bad after that, but not too bad. After all, Xander had Anya. And he steadfastly stayed with her, thereby proving his lack of gayness to himself and the world, Spike most of all, ignoring Buffy and Willow's whispers of denial.

Anya herself, slightly threatened by the rumor of his gayness, took it upon herself to randomly jump Xander in such unconventional places as a phone booth at the mall, a swing set in a kid's park, and Giles's bathroom.

Though Xander tried to resist, (hello, kid's park! Not to mention… swings? Really?) Anya was basically a sexy semi-nympho, and as such was very capable of seducing a young, head-in-his-pants, orientation-confused, not too smart, hormonally driven, having creepy dreams involving Spike, hammers, and sometimes mouths, human male.

Even if she didn't know about the part with Spike.

However, she also took the time to matter-of-factly explain to Xander that if indeed he was gay, as she suspected (as she suspected!), she would very generously not castrate or even degrade him, because it was obvious he really did love her and was incredibly confused. She would, however, require a round of hearty goodbye sex, and a (in her exact words) 'thank you for entering into a mutually exclusive fornication relationship with me despite my semi-obvious homosexuality and denial' present. Or the equivalent in money.

That, of course, just tipped things back to bad.

Too bad.

-xxx-

Eventually, without any planning of any sort, the break-up sex did occur, and Anya was very pleased with her two tickets to Disneyland, although (as Xander explained) transportation was up to her. He made sure she didn't know that he'd found them in the pocket of a dead something-that-sounded-like-a-sneeze demon and didn't pay a cent.

Xander held his head high through the following days of sympathy and told-you-so-s, and when the week was up, this was how it had turned out: Xander, no girlfriend to distract him, living with Spike of the Gay Hammer.

Yeah, he was definitely going crazy.

-xxx-

And Xander, despite being very nail-like in his aspect and seemingly resistant to any and all hammering, had an epiphany moment not too much later.

Granted, it wasn't that great an epiphany moment, and he certainly didn't want it videotaped, because he was lounging in a chair, eating a monster bag of Cheetos, and watching a lame spy movie marathon, hair messy, pajamas on, and armpits rivaling the rotting socks for sheer stench.

But it was an epiphany moment nonetheless, and Xander stared at Spike in shock for nearly five minutes straight, in a daze brought on by the thought, on seeing the bit of orange Cheetos-dust coating Spike's lower lip, that he'd really like to lick it off.

Spike leaned over and snatched the rest of the bag, and Xander whimpered, stumbled off the couch, and ran outside. He stayed out there, despite the cold, his pajamas, and his increasingly urgent need to pee, until it was dark and Spike might have conceivably left.

-xxx-

From then on, Xander formulated a plan, and began to implement it. Stage one was relatively simple: Avoid Spike. Stage two involved somehow getting a very very very attractive girlfriend, and stage three possibly contained moving to Alabama and having six kids.

Well, it would, anyway, if he could manage to complete even the deceptively easy stage one. Since Spike lived with him, avoiding him completely was pretty difficult. Xander took to long showers (cold, cold, cold, and brain totally off!) and then going to 'sleep' without a word to his roommate. In the morning, he'd take a shower, scarf a bowl of cereal, and be gone by the time Spike said his morning, "Damn it, Whelp, 'm gonna rip your guts out and use 'em to floss your teeth if you don't shut up so I can go back to sleep already!" And when he got back, well, it was TV-time, followed by long shower, followed by dinner of some sort (also scarfed), followed by more TV-time (which, of course, necessitated absolutely no talking) then bed.

The only problem was the Scoobies.

Spike kept on showing up at the meetings, and even though he never actually tried to engage Xander in conversation, just hearing him talk, and sometimes being required to sit next to/exchange two or three words with him was another blow to the head, each leaving him more dazed and likely to do it again.

But still, Xander was holding up. Kinda. Ish. Well, enough to survive, anyway.

-xxx-

The TV flicked off, and Xander, with a flash of panic, knew he had not done it. He craned his head around to the left, then the right, then with an annoyed grunt, turned around fully to see Spike smirking at him.

Gulp.

"Hey. That's mine."

Spike shook his head, popped the batteries out of the remote, and tossed them over his shoulder. Xander gaped. "Hey! What do you think you're – "

"You been avoiding me, Whelp."

Spike's tone was deceptively calm, and his eyes were really really blue. And he was close to Xander's face. Bad close. Xander moved back fast, tripping off the sofa-bed.

"I am not! And even if I was, what do you care, Fangface?"

Spike's smirk widened a notch, and a single eyebrow (Xander still couldn't do it!) raised. "Uh… duh," he said sarcastically. "I care 'cause I'm very bored."

Xander laughed weakly, and scootched back more. "Funny! You – funny guy. Very much, yes. So, I'm not avoiding you, we're done, I don't like talking to evil dead things, goodnight!"

Spike nodded. "Yeah, and I'm really a sweetie once ya get to know me." In three steps he was up in Xander's face again, somehow having vaulted the sofa-bed. Xander was pretty sure that he'd made a squeaking noise, but he wasn't entirely positive. It could have been the washing machine.

Spike paused in his relentless stride, blinking at Xander. "Did you just squeak?"

Xander turned red, and said defensively, "It could have been the washing machine!"

Spike took a few more steps closer, looking less determined and more confused now. "The washing machine's off."

Xander blinked. So it was. Woops. Well, at least Spike hadn't called him an…

"Idiot."

Oh well. It was worth a try.

They both just stood there silently for a couple of moments, then Spike shook his head. "Squeaking aside, I want to know why you're avoiding me."

Xander looked at him suspiciously. Despite the bored comment and the insult, Spike was not acting normally. Plus Xander was backed against the wall, with no distractions.

"Why do you care?" Xander asked, folding his arms across his chest. Defensive posture.

"Well…" Spike drew out the word, making it long and weighty, and then ended it with a sudden flash of flame as he lit a cigarette. "Much as I hate to admit it, you used to be mildly entertaining. It's getting boring round here, though."

"Then leave, already." Xander couldn't believe himself. He'd actually sounded, well… Hurt.

Spike noticed it too, and he stubbed out the cigarette without even having taken a single drag off of it, peering closer intently. "But, Xannnnderrrrr," he drew Xander's name out in what was probably a mocking way, but which actually flipped Xander's stomach upside down and tied his guts into pretty bows. "Wouldn't you miss me?"

"Not hardly," Xander scoffed, after a pause half a second too long.

Spike's lips slowly drew up in a grin. "Oh, you wouldn't, would you? Not even if I…" He leaned closer, and his tone lowered to a low growl, seductive. "no longer paid rent?"

Xander leaned back against the wall, his mouth dry, wondering what the hell Spike thought he was doing. "You don't pay rent?"

It came out like a question, and Spike smirked, a hand reaching out to gently trace the muscles on Xander's arm.

Gulp.

"I could," he purred, and Xander's brain became like germs in a pot of boiling water: things were getting way too hot, and it was dying. Fast.

Spike's face slowly drew closer and closer, until his lips were barely a fraction away from Xander's – and then he stopped and stepped back, confused.

Xander dragged eyelids up from half-mast, and frowned at him. Spike frowned back. "What the hell's with you? You didn't even freak out on me…" Spike's voice was normal now, if slightly disappointed, and Xander realized that it had all been a trick to make him have a 'not gay' panic. Because Spike was bored.

He drew in a sharp breath, something stabbing at his chest, and for the first time, it occurred to him that he might like more than Spike's body, if realizing that hurt this much. Also realizing that with his boredom, Spike had officially hammered him sideways. Which sounded dirty. Even though it wasn't, sadly.

Spike was still staring at him. "What – you can't've been tryin' to out-do me, so why the hell didn't you push me off?"

Xander said nothing, looking away – and suddenly, Spike understood.

"Bloody hell, you weren't fakin', were you?" he stared at Xander in shock. "You actually – "

He broke off, and then, with a look of concentration and curiosity, stepped back forward to Xander, snatching his head and turning it to meet his gaze. Xander stared, caught in blue blue eyes, until Spike made a soft noise of satisfaction, and he realized that the vampire's hand was still on his chin.

"So, then…" the low, rumbly purring quality was back in Spike's voice, along with a lot of amusement, and Xander felt resentment crop up. He was being played.

But then Spike's other hand landed on his shoulder, and his front came closer to Xander's, pressing the air close and heating up the room, and Xander kinda forgot to be mad, along with smart.

Because Spike was saying, "I am bored. What to do, what to do…?" and fingers were sliding into Xander's hair, and the washing machine was making a soft whimpering noise now, as cool lips pressed to Xander's neck. They were followed by a hot tongue, and then suddenly Xander's hands came up to grip Spike's shoulders, and he was breathing really, really fast, and all of a sudden he was glad he wasn't Ron Stoppable, because Rufus would never be able to do this and even if he could it would be really gross, and hairdressers obviously were happier people anyway, lisps notwithstanding –

"Gnah!" Xander's hands clenched in Spike's shirt when the vampire bit his ear, and Spike chuckled, moving on to slide across Xander's jaw to – to – to ohmygod, he'skissingme, hislipsareonmylips, ohmygod…

Then there was tongue coming in to play, and Spike's hand (the one that wasn't wrapped in his hair, oh god) was slipping down, under Xander's shirt. Xander might have said something about not putting out on the first date, but this wasn't really a date, and he so totally would, anyway, and besides, Spike had his tongue kinda occupied right now…

The air around him was hot and thick like steam, and currently squishing his head, when Spike's hand slid somewhere, and Xander jerked back from the mouth (the Mouth the Mouth that Mouth Jesus!) to fall onto Spike's shoulder, panting and noting briefly that the laundry machine was moaning now. He should get it checked.

Spike snickered, patted his head, and slid his palm down, and Xander shuddered, suddenly realizing that he was thinking about getting his laundry machine checked because it was squeaking, and whimpering, and moaning, when it wasn't even on, even though Spike was currently giving him a handjob, and Spike was giving him a handjob, Spike was giving him a handjob, Spike was giving him a handjob, a freaking handjob…

Xander shuddered again, hot wet vampire tongue licking at his jugular vein.

-xxx-

Xander woke up the next morning really well-slept, if achy, but surprisingly with no headache. He sat up and yawned, stretching, and looked around the basement. Ah, closet sweet closet.

Wait a sec. Closet. Closet Day… Spike. What about Spike?

Xander closed his eyes to try and remember, and his brain came up with the room was dark and now they were tangled on Xander's bed, and Spike wasn't laughing anymore, he was panting too, eyes intent and blue; there were tongues and hands and all sorts of soft sighs, mutters, whimpers, and moans, and even a squeak or two – all coming from the washing machine of course.

"God, I love you," Xander exhaled after he came, and Spike stared at him wide-eyed until he realized what had just left his mouth.

"You know what, let's just ignore that was ever said for now, 'kay?"

Xander nodded, anime-eyes filling his face as he probed his brain to figure out if it was true. Then Spike rolled his eyes, and tried to roll him over, which prompted an argument about who got to be the big spoon.

Xander's eyes shot open, and he spun to look down at his bedmate. Spike had won rock-paper-scissors, (even though Xander was pretty sure that normally rock beat scissors, no matter how much they looked like fangs or how much a rock looked like a human head) but he'd let go of Xander at some point, and was currently sleeping flat on his back, arms and legs akimbo, looking like he'd been dropped from a great height.

All Xander could say, staring at him in shock and no little awe, was "…not closet sweet closet, then…"

Spike threw a grumpy arm over his face, and muttered, "DnihWhul, monna ipor gtsout nusemtflssortth fyodonshtpscngbcktslpalrdy…" (1)

After blinking and staring for several minutes, Xander finally figured out that Spike had attempted to give him his normal morning greeting, although apparently he was too sleepy to get the words out properly.

Spike lifted his arm suddenly, and cracked one eye. "Whstsatalost?"

Xander didn't even attempt to understand that one. "What?"

A yawn, and Spike groaned and opened his eyes. "What's that about a closet?"

Xander blushed. "Uh, nothing."

However, it was too late, and Spike's eyes widened as he suddenly understood what Xander was talking about, looking incredibly amused.

He sat up, and reached for the phone, smirking proudly. "Just gotta make a call…"

-xxx-

Thus one reaches the end of the Epic Tale of True Love and Closets, and by the time he'd been thrown his first we-knew-you-were-gay Scooby party, Xander had already slept with Spike twice more, and had, officially, gone insane (he'd also had an awkward relationship conversation, that went something like this: "Um, Spike, are we, like, are we dating, or something, or are we just - you know what, nevermind." "Shut up, Whelp. And if it's why you're askin', I'm not movin' out anytime soon, and I'm not givin' up my side of the bed either. Pass the chips." "Awesome.").

But at least he didn't start lisping, and it seemed that insane people really did have more fun. At least, when they were with Spike they did. Maybe that was why Drusilla had stayed with him so long…

Whatever. Stopping now.

...and they lived Happily Ever After (Fighting Big-Bads/Revealing relationship to Scoobies not included)

The End

(1) Translate to: "Damn it, Whelp, 'm gonna rip your guts out and use 'em to floss your teeth if you don't shut up so I can go back to sleep already!", Spike's morning salutation for Xander.

A/N: So, this is my first (finished, anyway) attempt at Spander, or even Buffy slash at all, so I'd like to hear what you think. I tried to capture some of the awesome essence of S4 Basement-Time/Xander's brain, but with the added benefit of making it an Epic Tale. And before you ask, no, I didn't plan to do that. It just turned out that way, so hopefully I succeeded!