D is for Distance, Discovery, and Desire.

In which Spike talks to Lorne, Xander talks to Angel, and conclusions are reached.

Note: The song in this chapter is, of course, Mad World by Gary Jules. It's also one of my favorite songs.

Normally, Spike could track someone easily. With someone he knew as well as he knew Xander, whose scent was as familiar to him as his own, it should have been a snap.

Unfortunately for him, Xander had had the presence of mind to flag down a cab, and by the time Spike had tracked him five blocks over, the scent ended at the curb. Frustrated beyond measure, Spike vented his feelings by kicking the wall, over and over, until a spider web of cracks began to show in the brick.

Sighing, Spike sat down on the curb and stared disconsolately at the oil-slick pavement. How the hell was he supposed to find Xander now? And he had to find him. No way Spike was gonna let him get away with running away after spilling a secret like that.

He was still half-hard from the boy's confession, not to mention that dance. Jesus, if just a dance could get the two of them that hot, what would fucking be like? Spike briefly envisioned Xander naked, gleaming with sweat, leaning over him with that intent expression that he got sometimes and thrusting slowly into him.

Oh yeah. He really had to find Xander.

But where to look? The sun was gonna be up in an hour or so, and he had no clue where Xander would seek shelter. Angel, maybe- but Xander hated the souled vampire, and it wasn't likely that Xander would go to him. That left literally thousands of hotels lodging houses of various types, not to mention any friends that Xander might have here that he could crash with. It could take Spike weeks to track him down like this, and he only had an hour.

Leaning back onto his elbows, he glanced up and read the neon sign on the building he'd just been kicking. Caritas. Angel had told him about this place: a karaoke bar run by a demon who could read you when you sang. Hmm.

Spike could use a drink.

Angel had been having a fairly peaceful night, as far as his nights went. He'd found a few demons in the tunnels on his sweeps, but they'd been dispatched easily enough, and he was returning home wonderfully slime-free.

When he came into the lobby, however, he caught Spike's all-too-familiar smell, and he resigned himself to having his peaceful night shot all to hell.

"Spike?" he called, taking a step through the door. "You there?"

"Not quite, Deadboy," said another voice, also far too familiar for Angel's peace of mind. "Sorry to disappoint."

Xander. Smelling like Spike. And sounding miserable. Angel reached for the light switch and flipped one of them on, bathing the lobby of the hotel in a soft half-light.

Xander was sitting on the couch in the corner, curled up and dressed in something tight and black. He looked up when Angel turned on the light, and Angel saw something very like tears shining in his brown eyes.

Oh yeah. No more peace for Angel. Also? He was going to kill Spike.

"What did he do?" Angel asked, resigned. Xander looked startled, and Angel explained, "Spike, I mean. He must have done something. What was it this time?"

Xander looked back down at his knees. "He didn't do anything," he muttered. "It was all my fault."

"Somehow," Angel said, "I doubt that."

Brown eyes again, definitely tear-drenched, staring at him, and damn did Angel feel that somewhere low in his stomach. "How do you know?"

"Because I know Spike," Angel said. "And he's a moron."

"Yeah, well." Knees again. "I'm more of a moron."

Thinking of what he knew of Spike, Angel said, very definitely, "I seriously doubt that."

"Why do you care, anyway?" Xander didn't look up for that one, but it was spoken in an angry voice. Or possibly sullen. For Angel, who wasn't the best at deciphering human emotion in the first place, it was even more difficult to tell the difference when the words were muffled against Xander's forearms, and probably mumbled in the first place as well. Angel considered what he knew of Xander and the situation, and made a wild guess that the tone was sullen rather than actively angry.

Angel shrugged, even though he knew Xander couldn't see it. "I don't know why. Does it matter?"

"It's not like you like me," Xander said. "So why bother?"

Definitely sullen. "Just because," Angel said, knowing that it was inadequate. A long pause, and then he added, "And I don't dislike you, you know."

Xander actually looked up at that, and those huge brown eyes, once again, were like a punch in Angel's gut. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Angel said. "I mean, sure, we didn't exactly get along in Sunnydale, but then you didn't exactly go out of your way to make friends back then either."

"Didn't trust you," Xander said. "Also, you got Buffy, and I was chasing after her like... Well, I'm sure you know."

"I might have heard, yeah," Angel said. "But you trust me now?"

"What?"

"Well, you did come here, instead of somewhere else," Angel said, feeling slightly foolish for asking at all. "Does that mean you trust me now?"

Xander didn't even pause in answering. "Sure," he said. "You're different now, and I sure as hell am. Spike got over whatever the hell he had against you, and he trusts you now, so I don't see any reason why I shouldn't."

As endorsements go, it wasn't exactly a rousing one, but Angel still felt a little warm glow nonetheless. "Speaking of Spike," he said, rather pointedly bringing the conversation back around to where it had been going, "can you at least tell me what happened so I can judge for myself who's the bigger moron?"

"Sure," Xander said dispiritedly. "Don't see how it could make my night any worse." Long pause. "Today was my birthday, and so he decided to take me out to a club..."

It was surprisingly quiet inside of the club. Of course, the quiet was pierced every few seconds by the deeply painful nasal honk of the demon trying to sing onstage, but Spike took what he could get.

The bar looked well-stocked and definitely inviting, but after one longing glance Spike veered away and took a seat at a table in the back. He was here for the demon, not to get drunk, more's the pity. Everyone knew that he was better at drinking than he was at taking advice, but what the hell, this was too important to screw up.

It wasn't long- ten minutes, maybe- before there was a tall green demon with red eyes and horns standing in front of him with a bottle of vodka in one hand. Spike didn't say anything, just tilted his chair back on two legs, pressing his shoulders against the wall behind him, and held out his right land.

"Spike. You're the Host, I take it?"

"You got that right, sweetie pie," the demon said. Spike ignored the moniker. "You've got problems, I can tell. I might even have answers."

"I just need to know where he is."

"Give me a tune, then, sugar plum."

Spike ignored the pet name again, in favor of glancing incredulously towards the stage. "I'm not sodding well getting up there to sing."

"You don't have to," the Host answered hurriedly. "Just hum a little something right here. I need you to give me a tune if you want me to read you."

Spike paused, trying to think of something to sing. Briefly he considered the Ramones, the Sex Pistols, possibly even something a little more modern- Marilyn Manson, perhaps? But instead, the thing that his roving mind latched onto was a night, six months before, when he'd stolen Donnie Darko on DVD and had forced Xander to watch it. The two of them had started out on opposite ends of the couch, but by the end Spike had stretched out to get comfortable and had ended up with his head in Xander's lap. The movie had rolled to a close, and all Spike had been able to think about was the song coming from the speakers and Xander's fingers twining through his hair.

Spike opened his mouth and sang.

"All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces. Bright and early for the daily races, going nowhere, going nowhere."

He didn't sing loudly. No, he sang softly, almost sadly, and even as he saw comprehension dawning on the face of the Host he kept going, because he was lost in memory now, and the memory was so much easier than the reality of now.

"The tears are filling up their glasses, no expression, no expression. Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow, no tomorrow, no tomorrow."

Why was he here, really? Could this Host really help him, or was he just fooling himself?

"And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad, that the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I ever had. I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take, that when people run in circles it's a very very mad world... mad world..."

Christ, he didn't know what to do. What to think, even. All he knew was that he wanted to find Xander and tell him... something. He wasn't sure what. That he loved him? He didn't even know if he did. All he knew is that Xander meant something to him. Wasn't that enough?

"Children waiting for the day they feel good, happy birthday, happy birthday. Can you feel the way that every child should, sit and listen, sit and listen. Went to school and I was very nervous, no one knew me, no one knew me. Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson, look right through me, look right through me."

Christ, it had to be enough. Xander was the one constant he had left in life. Damned if he was going to lose him just because he was surprised.

"Mad world... mad world... enlarge your world..."

His voice trailed off, the song over, and for a moment silence hung heavy between him and the demon sitting across from him. Finally the Host said softly, "I can tell you where he is. But first I have to know: what are you going to do when you find him?"

Spike looked at him with eyes that suddenly seemed darker than their usual stormy grey-blue. "I don't know," he whispered. "Why do you need to know?"

"I feel for you, honey," the Host said. "But I also feel for the kid you just told me about." At Spike's startled look, he smiled, a little like a parent smiles at a kid who asks how Daddy knows that Santa Clause will come, and said, "He's right there in your head, kiddo. And he loves you. Just because you were too foolish to see it doesn't mean that I can't. And though I want to help you, I'm not going to send you in his direction just to have you stomp all over his heart. He's worth more than that."

"I wouldn't do that," Spike said, almost feverishly. "I wouldn't." When the Host said nothing, Spike said, almost feverishly, "Look, I don't know if I love him or not. But I want to find out. And more than anything, I have to close this distance between us. I have to find him. I have to make things right."

The Host watched him, clearly judging him to as to the honesty of his words, and then appeared to come to some sort of decision. "Alright," he said finally. "I'll tell you."

"So?" Spike said, when the Host didn't actually say anything. "Where is he?"

"He's with Angel."

Angel listened patiently to the whole story, which was rather jumbled and chaotic due to Xander's upset. Finally, when he thought he'd heard the whole of it, he sat back and considered the situation.

"It seems to me," he said, as cautiously as a judge pronouncing a life-or-death sentence, "that Spike is very definitely a moron.

"However," he continued, when Xander didn't say anything, "we knew that already. He's Spike. So, you shouldn't have run off."

Xander looked up at him, startled. "That's right," Angel said. "You should have stayed. Because I've heard the way that Spike talks about you. He cares. And there's no way that he would have laughed at you when you told him that you were in love with him. In fact, I bet he's out there, right now, trying to find you and cursing because he let you get away."

Xander started to shake his head, then paused. "You're right," he said. "I bet he is too. It'd be just like him." Another pause, and then Xander uncoiled from the couch, sending Angel a dazzling smile. "I'm gonna find him."

Angel, a little stunned from the force of the smile, could only watch as Xander strode across the lobby and pushed open the door.

Only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw Spike standing at the top of the steps.

"I shouldn't have run off like-"

"-was just coming to find-"

"-should've trusted you to-"

"Did you really mean-"

"-don't know if we can-"

"-wanted to at least try to-"

Their voices tumbled over and over each other, as the two of them held onto each other like they were afraid that they'd never see each other again. Spike had ahold of Xander's upper arms with a grip that was probably going to leave bruises, but it was okay because Xander was gripping him just as tightly.

There were definitely tears in Xander's eyes, and yeah, there were probably a few in Spike's as well, not that he'd ever admit it, even under torture.

Finally Spike managed to break in long enough to say, "Did you really mean it? I need to know."

Xander froze, then relaxed and nodded. "Yeah. I meant it."

Spike closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. His expression was fierce. "Say it," he demanded, and Xander swallowed hard, but complied.

"I love you."

Then Spike was kissing him, and he knew, in that moment, that he'd never wanted anything more.

Angel, still standing in the background but now quite forgotten, thought that in all his centuries on Earth, he had never seen two people who loved each other more.