Chapter Five
"You saw Spike naked." Angel studied the man in the lobby of his hotel. Why had Xander Harris come to *him* , of all people? "And now you're...confused?"
"No, I'm not confused. I recognized all the parts."
"Okay, you're... well, what are you?"
Xander winced. "Question of the day. 'Married,' would be one answer. Straight, would be another."
"So..."
"So why does the thought of Spike, naked or not, sometimes make me wish I'd gone to the Prom with the Sockpuppet of Love, instead of Anya?"
"Er..."
"Don't ask. Anya dressed nicer, and Sockie wore too much lipstick." Xander sighed. "I love Anya. That's not in doubt. And Spike's..."
Angel nodded, beginning to see why Xander was here. "Annoying and evil and confusingly human at all the wrong times." Like he'd been a century ago. Half the reason that the Master wouldn't accept Angel's younger children into the fold -- Spike's humanity, Dru's madness. He'd feared it would be Buffy driving up here with this question, not Xander, but the answer was the same. "Spike's... Spike."
"Yeah, saw that too. Along with most of Sunnydale." Xander put up his hand. "I know, I know. Not what you meant." He shook his head. "You know him best -- so tell me this: I can't *stand* the guy. So why'd I drag his drunken ass off the roof of the Bronze, throw a blanket over him and take him home so Anya could pour coffee down his throat?"
"Doing a favor for most of Sunnydale?"
Xander chuckled, then blinked, then chuckled again. "Huh. Dawn said you'd have an answer."
With that, he left. No goodbyes, just spun on his heel and walked out. Angel watched him cross the sunlit drive to his car, and wondered what sort of answer he'd given.
"You saw Spike naked." Angel studied the man in the lobby of his hotel. Why had Xander Harris come to *him* , of all people? "And now you're...confused?"
"No, I'm not confused. I recognized all the parts."
"Okay, you're... well, what are you?"
Xander winced. "Question of the day. 'Married,' would be one answer. Straight, would be another."
"So..."
"So why does the thought of Spike, naked or not, sometimes make me wish I'd gone to the Prom with the Sockpuppet of Love, instead of Anya?"
"Er..."
"Don't ask. Anya dressed nicer, and Sockie wore too much lipstick." Xander sighed. "I love Anya. That's not in doubt. And Spike's..."
Angel nodded, beginning to see why Xander was here. "Annoying and evil and confusingly human at all the wrong times." Like he'd been a century ago. Half the reason that the Master wouldn't accept Angel's younger children into the fold -- Spike's humanity, Dru's madness. He'd feared it would be Buffy driving up here with this question, not Xander, but the answer was the same. "Spike's... Spike."
"Yeah, saw that too. Along with most of Sunnydale." Xander put up his hand. "I know, I know. Not what you meant." He shook his head. "You know him best -- so tell me this: I can't *stand* the guy. So why'd I drag his drunken ass off the roof of the Bronze, throw a blanket over him and take him home so Anya could pour coffee down his throat?"
"Doing a favor for most of Sunnydale?"
Xander chuckled, then blinked, then chuckled again. "Huh. Dawn said you'd have an answer."
With that, he left. No goodbyes, just spun on his heel and walked out. Angel watched him cross the sunlit drive to his car, and wondered what sort of answer he'd given.
