Anya was surprised and annoyed by the sound of the knock at the door of her shabby little motel room. No one who knew she was here would be likely to show up here. In the first place, she had told none of them exactly where she was staying.

And secondly, neither Dawn nor Spike would have been able to make the trip across town to the motel – it was too far to walk, even for a healthy teenage girl like Dawn. Buffy was not likely to seek her out. That only left…

She groaned and turned the television up louder, letting the brawling sounds of the Jerry Springer rerun she was half-watching fill the room. Now *there* were some people in serious need of vengeance! Infidelity, deceit, and all manner of crimes against each other paraded across the screen, and she tried to focus on them and ignore the sound of the louder, more insistent second knock on the door.

He was the last person she wanted to talk to at the moment. She had known immediately by his reaction when she had asked to talk to Spike alone, that it was only a matter of time before he showed up, looking for some sort of explanation.

But she did not have to explain herself to him anymore. He had lost that right when he had decided that he didn’t want her.

When the third knock seemed loud and strong enough to break the door down, she got up off the bed in irritation and stalked toward the door, flinging it back and glaring at the young man who stood there.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“I want to talk to you,” he replied without hesitation.

“We have nothing left to talk about,” she snapped. “Go away.”

“Wait! Ahn!” There was a pleading note in his voice, and in spite of herself Anya hesitated. She had intended to close the door in his face…so why was the door still open? Why was she standing there, waiting for whatever it was he was going to say?

Why did she care?

But in spite of her better judgment, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him, eyebrows raised expectantly. “What?” she asked impatiently.

“I just want to talk to you, Anya. My God, it’s been months!” He paused, and she found herself trying not to remember the effect those deep chocolate brown eyes had always had on her. “Can’t I come in?” he asked her softly.

With a weary sigh, she stepped back from the door, allowing his entrance. “Fine,” she muttered. “Suit yourself.”

He seemed terribly relieved as he stepped through the door. Once he was inside, however, an awkward silence fell as he took a seat by the small table next to the bed.

“So…how are you?” he asked in a voice of genuine concern.

It made her sick. “Doing just fine, thank you,” she breezed. “Not still nursing a broken heart if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, I didn’t think…I mean…”

“Because I’m over you, Xander Harris. I got over you pretty quickly actually, before I ever left Sunnydale,” she informed him.

His expression made it obvious that he was becoming annoyed with the manner in which she was treating him, speaking to him. “Yeah,” he said pointedly in a bitter tone. “I remember.”

Her eyes widened; the words stung a bit, reminding her of what he clearly saw as her betrayal. But it wasn’t! she insisted to herself. He had left her! What right did he have to say anything about who she chose to see?

“That’s not what I meant,” she said quietly, feeling ashamed, and angry at him for making her feel that way.

“Yeah, well, intentions don’t mean much. It’s what you do that counts,” he pointed out scathingly.

Her eyes narrowed in anger. “Oh, you know all about that, don’t you, Xander?” she snapped. “Intentions that mean nothing!”

Now it was his turn to wince, stung by her words. But they only hurt because they were true. “Look, I’m not here to argue with you,” he said with a weary, defeated sigh. “I just thought maybe we could have an actual conversation for once…”

“No, you just *thought* that you could ease your curiosity and find out what I’m doing here and why I needed to talk to Spike!” she corrected, a challenge in her fiery green eyes.

He flinched a little at the words; as usual, Anya was right on the money when it came to him and his motivations – and painfully so.

“Ok, fine. So I’m curious,” he admitted cautiously, knowing that he would not be able to fool her completely.

“Jealous,” she corrected.

“I am not jealous of that pathetic little creep,” Xander snarled, and the venomous hatred in his tone was startling, almost frightening, to Anya. “I’m just sick and tired of standing by and watching him hurt the women in my life that I care about, because for some weird reason, they all seem to find him irresistible!”

“You mean you’re tired of watching him *take* the women you *want*.” This correction was more brutal than any of the others, and a little warning feeling in the back of her head told her it might not be wise to provoke Xander any further when it came to Spike – not right now, when the recovering vampire was still so helpless. But she was furious, and she was going for the jugular in this particular battle of words.

She knew immediately that her words had hit their mark, and hard. Xander’s eyes blazed with fury. “He hasn’t taken *anything* from me, Anya,” he snapped.

“No. He can’t take what’s not yours,” she agreed snidely.

“You know, why did I even bother coming over here?” Xander threw up his hands in frustrated anger. “I don’t know why I thought we could actually have a civil conversation.”

“I don’t either,” Anya replied. “It’s hard to be civil with someone who shattered your heart into a million pieces the last time you saw them!”

“My thoughts exactly,” he retorted, but his voice was softer now – sadder.

A sorrowful silence fell between them for a few moments, as each remembered their own separate hurts.

Finally Anya asked quietly, “Why *did* you come here, Xander?”

He waited a moment before answering. “I missed you, Ahn. Every day.”

“Well, you should have thought of that before you…” Anya suddenly cut off the bitter words that seemed to flow out so naturally, her mouth working with the struggle of her conflicting emotions. Then she admitted softly, “I missed you, too.”

“How long are you in town for?” Xander asked after a pause, sounding much more subdued now.

“I’m not sure yet,” she replied, unable to keep the slightly hopeful note from her voice. “I – have some things to take care of, and then I’ll be on my way again. I’m not really sure how long it’ll take.”

“Maybe – if you have a little extra time – we could get together – and talk. Some more,” Xander suggested haltingly, with an awkward shrug.

“Oh yeah, because *this* talk went so well,” Anya snorted in sarcastic derision.

Giving up, Xander headed toward the door.

“But,” she quickly amended, her voice hesitant but hopeful. “Maybe – since we’ve just vented all our pent up hostilities toward each other – it might be easier – next time.”

He half-turned toward her, a cautious smile beginning on his lips as he met those terribly vulnerable, wide green eyes. “Maybe,” he conceded.

She paused, unsure. God, how she had missed him! But her pride and her scarred heart were screaming at her to flee, not to give him the chance to hurt her again. “We’ll see,” she finally said, not committing to anything yet.

She followed him to the door, and he stepped out into the cool night air. Suddenly he turned to face her again, a finger raised as if just remembering something he’d forgotten. “So…what *did* you need to talk to Spike about?”

“Good *night*, Xander,” she said firmly, rolling her eyes as she closed the door before he could press the issue.

As Xander walked away, he was overwhelmed by a very confusing mix of emotions. Judging from Anya’s reactions to him, she had genuinely missed him in the months that she had been gone. And he knew he had missed her, desperately. Deep down he knew that while the dream of Buffy would always be there, there had only been one person who had ever known him and loved him like no one else – Anya.

Maybe, just maybe, they still had a chance.

Yet mingled with his hopeful feelings toward his ex-fiancee was a sick, angry feeling slowly rising up within him, as he recalled the unmistakably guilty, defensive look in her eyes before she had closed the door, when he had asked her about Spike.

She was hiding something, and it involved Spike.

If those two were in any way renewing their little fling of last fall…

The thought made him furious. And with Spike already firmly rooted in Buffy’s affections, there was little he could do about it without permanently jeopardizing his already fragile friendship with Buffy. Still, he was determined to get to the bottom of the situation. If the little bloodsucking creep thought he was going to play either of the women that Xander cared about more than anyone else in the world, he was dead wrong.

Or maybe just dead.

No, that was just wishful thinking on his part, he knew. As long as Buffy foolishly chose to place her affection and misguided trust with Spike, Xander knew he couldn’t touch him, no matter how badly he might want to.

It was so frustrating to him, knowing that Buffy was investing so much of herself in the very one who had hurt her so badly. He remembered the months he had spent watching Buffy hurt over the incident, and his fury grew in intensity.

And now, here he was, instead of Buffy’s most intimate confidante, pushed to the outer edges of her life, *replaced* by the very person he had despised long before he had earned it by invading territory that Xander felt was rightfully his.

He knew deep down that there was only one way to get back into Buffy’s good graces, and that was to at least pretend to go along with her way of thinking about Spike.

The very thought made him feel physically ill.

But if he didn’t, that meant that Spike would be basically free to play whatever sick, twisted little mind game he had planned this time, completely unchecked. Buffy and Dawn were too blinded by their affection for him to see through him; without someone there who could look at the situation objectively, they were at the mercy of the little con artist.

With a sigh, he headed toward the Doublemeat Palace. Willow had told him earlier that Buffy was returning to work today. As she had put it, she could “only get so much mileage out of the ‘family crisis’ story before they figured out she was just a big fat liar – only not that big -- and not fat at all, and only lying just this once -- and for a very good reason!”

He didn’t know what he would have done over the past few days if not for Willow.

Okay, he thought, taking a deep breath as his rambling thoughts were cut short by the sight of the fast food restaurant in front of him. Time to swallow his pride and do some sucking up. Once he was back in good standing with his friend, he would be able to do something to help her, to do something about Spike.


“Welcome to Doublemeat Palace, can I take your order?” Buffy rattled off in a monotone before she looked up at the face of the customer in front of her and realized who it was.

“Oh,” she said, feeling a little uncomfortable – and sad. Since when had she had to feel uncomfortable around Xander? “Hey.”

“Hey, Buffy.” There was a soft hesitant look in those warm brown eyes she knew so well. “Can you – can you take a break? I really need to talk to you.”

“Um…okay,” she replied, nodding with a shaky breath, as she nervously tucked a stray strand of blonde hair back behind her ear. “I’ve got a break in like ten minutes, so if you can hang out…”

He took a seat at a table within her view, and as she took the next few orders, she kept glancing toward him, wondering how things had gotten so bad between them so fast. She knew Xander’s answer would be simple – he would say it was all Spike’s fault.

And therein lay the problem.

Xander’s incredible bias against Spike, his utter inability to see anything good in him, to focus on anything but his failures, was a very big part of why she had kept her “relationship” with Spike a secret in the first place. Spike seemed to be the one issue on which they couldn’t come to agreement, no matter how hard they tried.

With a vague sense of apprehension, she took off her grotesque hat and went to sit at the table with him.

“So what’s up?” she asked with a forced casual tone.

Xander looked down at the table for a moment, then back up into her eyes, earnestly. “I’m sorry, Buffy.”

She took a deep breath, looking away and shaking her head a little. “We’ve done this before, Xander,” she reminded him quietly. “And you’re only sorry if saying it will somehow get me to see things your way. And it won’t.” She met his eyes firmly, and he could see her determination there.

“No, see, that’s just it, Buffy,” he argued, but without any anger, still holding her gaze. “I know I’m not gonna get you to see things my way. And honestly, you’re not gonna get me to see them yours.” He paused for a moment, as she raised her eyebrows skeptically, wondering where he was going with this.

When he didn’t say anything, she finally asked softly, with just a hint of desperation in her voice, “So what are we going to do?”

“Simple, Buffy. Spike’s staying in your house. Your house, your rules. My opinion about Spike shouldn’t matter. I’m your friend, Buffy, no matter what. So I’m gonna respect your decisions.” He paused, letting the surprisingly rational words sink in. “If I don’t agree with you, I’m not gonna make an issue of it, because it’s your business. You know how I feel, so there’s no reason to keep going over it again and again and just getting us both upset.”

She felt a rush of warmth toward her friend, always so loyal and willing to sacrifice whatever it took to keep things right between them. And she did know what a sacrifice even this small concession was for Xander.

“I know what I’m doing, Xander,” she assured him, but her tone was gentle, not defensive or accusing.

“I know. You’ve almost always been right in the past, Buffy, so I’m just gonna have to trust your judgment on this one,” he said simply with a shrug and a smile. His eyes were serious as he went on, “Our friendship is worth too much to me to lose it over a disagreement like this.”

“Me, too,” she agreed, and there was relief in her voice now. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

She glanced at her watch, and stood reluctantly. “I’ve gotta…” Her voice trailed off as she nodded back toward the counter.

Xander stood with her and stepped forward to embrace her, holding her tight for a few moments. “I love you, Buffy,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.”

He pulled back from the hug, smiling at her. “You get off in an hour, right?”

“Right,” she nodded.

“As a show of good faith, how about I go pick up a couple movies?” he suggested. “We’ll hang out at your house tonight. *All* of us. And I promise to get along. Maybe try to make things better. Okay?”

Buffy smiled through her tears, feeling so relieved and happy. “Okay,” she agreed.

“Do you have your keys?” he asked her. “I’ll get the movies and go on over and wait for you.”

She took her house key from her pocket and placed it in his hand. He hugged her again briefly before turning to walk away from her as she returned to the counter.

He smiled secretly to himself as he stepped out into the night, his fingers playing over the set of keys in his pocket. That had not been as hard as he had thought. It was worth swallowing his pride if it would help Buffy in the long run.

With a flame of determination in his eyes, he headed off toward Buffy’s house.

One more conversation, and his work for the evening would be done.