Xander sat at the back of the bar, hunched over his glass, and sipped sloooowly. Tonight had been a bad night. Which seemed unfair. He shouldn't still be having bad nights like this. Helping to save the world 8+ times should karmically forgive every stupid thing he'd ever done and subsequently guarantee an end to bad nights.

When Xander came back from Africa, he'd told Giles he needed a break. A break from blood and death-a break from fighting. But he couldn't just turn his back on the fighting, knowing that teenage girls were out there struggling and dying because of a decision he and his friends had made. But he needed a rest. For his sanity. Giles had obliged and sent Xander stateside. Middle of nowhere Pennsylvania, third Haunted-est state in the Union. Ghosts Xander could handle. Exorcisms. You burn a body, do a cleansing, etc. All pretty standard. But that wasn't Xander's main gig. He ran a safe house for recuperating slayers, contacts, and ordinary civilians who'd had their lives turned upside-down by a brush with the supernatural and were trying to get back on their feet. The house itself was so big as to be mansion-esque and covered in so many wards it disturbed the more magically sensitive guests. Basically, he was a glorified bellhop who occasionally got tapped for his research and (now passable) fighting skills. Which is why he still had bad nights.

Like tonight.

Tonight was a bad night.

God only knew what a clan of Klintosh demons were doing in the middle of bumfuck Pennsylvania, but there they were. Causing problems for the local populace. It started with missing pets, but then suddenly upgraded to missing children and that's when a team of slayers got called in. It was a small squad, Klintosh demons being known more for their running and hiding than their fighting abilities. That was one reason why Xander felt like it would be fine if he tagged along. The other reason was he couldn't stand idly by while kids were disappearing, not when he could do something about it.

That had turned out to be a mistake.

Actually clearing out the nest had gone fairly well. It was an underground lair, accessed via an old barn on the outskirts of town. The slayers went in first, hacking and slashing and making lame jokes that made even Xander wince. He stayed back, using his broad axe to pick off the stragglers that managed to get past the slayers. There weren't many.

Everything was going fine.

Until they got farther into the lair. That's when they'd seen what was left of the missing children. The...ornaments.

Xander clenched his teeth and downed another shot at the memory. There was not enough alcohol in the world to kill those braincells.

"Are you doing ok, sweetie?" the professionally sympathetic voice of his waitress threaded through Xander's maudlin remembrances. He blinked and offered a wan smile.

"I could use another drink," he said quietly. She smiled back at him brightly.

"Be back in a moment, hon," she chirped, already walking away. Xander watched her retreat disinterestedly. He was not the only patron, but he was close to it. It was a quiet sports bar. It had a dark atmosphere that discouraged party-goers. Away from the downtown area but not in a bad location. There were a bunch of pool tables and darts, and a bunch of tables and booths for people to sit and eat at. It was in one of those booths that Xander now sat, staring into his empty shot glass. He'd crawled in here just as soon as he'd showered the Klintosh ichor off of his body. He'd learned the hard way that guys covered in demon blood get served last.

He glanced at his cell phone. He ignored the texts from Willow and Faith, focusing on the time. It wouldn't be long now. He always showed up around the same time on Fridays.

The first time Xander had stumbled in here, he had been in a similar state. He'd needed a place to hide and forget, someplace that no one at the safe house knew about. He didn't want them to see him break. They needed him strong.

"I've told you a million times, luv, you wear heels that long and you'll break your bloody neck!"

There.

Xander's head snapped up as the voice he'd been waiting for floated out from behind the bar. The owner of the voice focused sparkling blue eyes and an amused smirk on Xander's waitress. She huffed in response.

"Johnny, sweetie, you don't understand fashion," she shot back teasingly. 'Johnny' merely laughed good naturedly and took his place behind the bar. Xander couldn't help but stare. It was Spike. The face, the eyes, the voice. All the same as the day he self-immolated under Sunnydale. Still, there were some differences. The hair, for example: dark blond, worn loose and unruly. Also, the edge of madness and despair that had clung to him like a shroud since recovering his soul was gone. He seemed...lighter, somehow. Genuinely happy in a way that Xander had only witnessed in civilians. Oh, and there was the heartbeat.

The first time Xander had seen him here, serving drinks and laughing with the customers and staff, he'd been shocked. And then angry. And then shocked again. Too overcome to actually approach him, and still reeling from his own issues, Xander had merely collapsed into a booth and watched him work. Hearing the others in the bar call him 'John' had just been the bizarre icing on the cake of weird.

Xander had left without saying anything, and he had been too wigged to tell anyone else. He half suspected it was a trauma-induced hallucination. But he had come back multiple times since that first encounter. Through observation and inquiry, he'd learned that Spike/Johnny had been working here for a little over a year, and that while he was generally liked, no one knew much about him. Xander's own research had unearthed something called Shanshu which had explained a lot. Xander wasn't sure if Spike recognized him or not, but if he did, he was pretending not too. Either way, Xander decided to respect that. It seemed as though Spike had somehow managed to extricate himself from the endless cycle of fighting that he himself was still trapped in. He looked happy to be rid of it.

After the fall of Sunnydale, Xander had been surprised by how much he missed the blond menace. He was finally able to admit that he actually liked Spike, in an annoying friend sort of way, and in retrospect how much he and the other Scoobies owed the vampire. Of course, by that point it had been too late to do anything, and the guilt he felt over that just added to the constant knot of guild and anxiety in his stomach that had begun developing the night Jessie died and grew to a huge throbbing ulcer after Anya's death. His Spike-guilt was a mere drop in the ocean by comparison, but that didn't make it less painful when confronted with a living reminder.

Xander had no intention of spoiling whatever peace Spike had found.

That was really why he came here, on the bad nights. Watching Spike gave him hope. He was living proof that champions could have happy endings, that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. After everything they'd been through, everything Spike had suffered and sacrificed, he found it incredibly gratifying to see his life actually working out. He just, liked seeing Spike so happy.

"Here ya go hon!" The waitress had come back with more alcohol. Xander smiled absentmindedly and took the drink.

Xander leaned back, watching Spike flirt with customers and show off his mad bar tending skills. The alcohol spread a warm glow through him, and he felt the tension starting to melt away.