Xander’s eyes grew wide and startled, as he staggered backward a couple of steps before righting himself, his disbelieving gaze fastened on the vampire, glaring at him defiantly in full game face.

“And *don’t* bloody well touch me!” Spike snarled almost as an after thought, as he stalked swiftly closer to the boy.

Xander’s eyes narrowed in outraged fury, and he drew himself up straighter as Spike nearer him. He was a good few inches taller than the blond vampire – but Spike was clearly stronger physically, now that he had healed so much from the injuries Xander had inflicted him. He had been feeding so well lately that even the most recent wounds from the beating Xander had dealt him in Buffy’s room were mostly faded by this point.

He could fight back now.

But Xander did not seem convinced that he would.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, Fangless!” Xander snarled back at him, drawing back the hand that held the gun, as if in preparation to strike him in the face with it again. “You’re gonna be so sorry…”

So swiftly that Xander hardly even saw him move, Spike caught his wrist before he could launch the blow, giving it a hard twist that caused the boy to cry out in pain – and drop the empty pistol to the floor.

“No, I think you’re the one who’s gonna be dealing with the consequences of your actions, boy,” Spike corrected him, his voice soft and deadly – and holding a threat that Xander had not heard there since long before he had been shot.

"*My* actions?" The genuinely incredulous sound to Xander's voice was startling to Spike - as if the deranged boy had still not even registered the sheer wrong of all that he had done. "You're the one who took *everything* from me! Buffy - Anya - heck, even Dawn..." Xander's despairing laugh was full of a bitter irony, as he shook his head sadly. "...they all loved me -- until they met *you*..."

"Smart girls," Spike shrugged carelessly. "Your loss." He didn't bother to argue the point, though he was not entirely sure that Xander's words were completely accurate, except perhaps in the case of Dawn.

Anya had never truly *loved* him.

And – although she had told him she did – at the moment, he wasn't so sure about Buffy, either.

Enraged, the boy launched himself at Spike, cutting off the vampire’s self-reflection, and sending him into an automatic fighting reaction that felt natural, although he had not used it in a very, very long time.

The few punches Xander managed to land with his free hand felt pitifully weak to Spike, now, without the leverage of his entire body to back them – and Spike wondered at the fear that the boy had managed to instill in him for so long – wondered if he might have been free long before this, had he only had the blood he had needed to heal.

His mind was racing with the implications of what was happening – the confirmation that physically, he was much stronger now than the young man who had held him captive for so long – and he pushed aside the innate sense of panic that kept trying to rise up within him, reminding himself of his new revelation.

Xander only had as much power over him as he allowed the boy to have.

Spike drew back his own fist, slamming it forcefully into Xander’s face – and the boy collapsed to the ground, as Spike released his mangled wrist and allowed him to fall. Xander drew himself back up to his knees, cradling his injured hand in his good one, a strangled, whimpering sound rising from his throat as he did.

“The chip,” the boy gasped out, looking up at him with wide eyes. “How can you…the chip…you…”

“Funny thing, that,” Spike smirked, his eyes glowing with an unearthly light of triumph. “Seems the bullet that you put through my head – the thing that broke me, made me your bloody plaything for the past few months – also gave me the freedom to make you pay for it.”

“The chip…” Xander gasped, his eyes widening as he realized in a moment of clarity exactly what Spike was telling him.

“…is gone,” Spike finished for him with a slow nod, his smile widening in triumph as he held the boy’s suddenly fearful gaze.

He saw Xander now in a different light than the one he had viewed him with for the past few months. Where before there had been awe and terror and a desperate need to obey, for the sake of his own survival – now, there was only contempt.

“Get up.”

The boy ignored the softly spoken command for a few seconds, again focused mostly on his injury, as he slowly rocked back and forth, keening softly as he cradled the wounded limb.

“I said get up!” Spike snarled, drawing his attention with the threat in his angrily trembling voice.

Xander looked up at him, apparently startled by the words. He glanced past Spike to the empty gun that he had held, and then back up to the glowing golden eyes and glistening fangs of the vampire he was facing – a very different creature now from the one he had held captive in the Initiative caves – and a despairing, maniacal sort of giggle rose in his throat.

“Why?” he challenged in a high, mad sort of voice. “You’re going to kill me – just do it – just kill me…” He shrugged, laughing aloud as he pointed out, “The tables have turned…you have the power now…so use it. *Kill me*!” The last two words became a roar of mad frustration and anger and a desperate desire for this nightmare of his own making to be over at last.

“No,” Spike replied softly, shaking his head as he glared down at the boy in bitter contempt. “You don’t deserve to get off that bloody easy…”

Xander stared at him for a long moment, the first trace of real fear that Spike had seen suddenly shining in his eyes. “So you wanna torture me then?” he guessed, his voice lower now, a bit sobered. “You wanna turn the tables? You wanna hurt me like I hurt you?” He laughed bitterly, that crazed sound returning to his voice as he looked back up at Spike with madly glittering eyes. “Doesn’t matter – can’t make it any worse – can’t hurt me any worse than…”

“I said *get up*!” Spike cut off his ramblings with a roar of rage, taking a couple of menacing steps toward him

Finally, Xander responded to the command, his eyes widening with shock as he met the vampire’s gaze – as if seeing it for the first time.

And he slowly climbed to his feet.

“I’m not like you,” Spike informed him, his voice softer now, his eyes narrowed in disgust as he looked the boy up and down. “I don’t need my victims on their knees and begging for their bloody lives to get my jollies. Never have. Always have preferred a good fight, to a victim who was chained up and injured and broken and never stood a soddin’ chance to begin with…”

He stopped, swallowing back the well of emotion that was rising up in his throat, willing himself not to let the boy see the pain and shame and trauma of his ordeal that still affected him – possibly always would.

He shook his head, trying to shake away those thoughts for the moment, as he focused again on Xander’s face – now holding a sort of distant, vacant expression…as if he was only partially there, in that basement room…as if a part of him was already somewhere very far away.

“So let’s see how you handle a *fair* fight between me and you,” Spike continued, forcing his old smirk to his face, straightening his stance, his fists balled and ready at his sides. “Let’s see how much damage you can do to someone who can actually fight back!”

Xander stared at him, apparently barely comprehending his words, before his jaw set with determination, his body tensing in preparation…

…but apparently, for flight rather than fight.

The boy took off up the stairs at a scrambling, desperate run.

Spike stared after him for a moment in dull disbelief, before rolling his eyes in exasperation and starting off up the stairs after him with a muttered, “Oh…bloody hell!”

*****************************

By the time Giles was pulling his little red car into the driveway of the Harris’ home, Angel had easily caught up with him, and parked alongside him.

The black convertible had barely stopped moving before the Slayer and her sister were both out of the car. Buffy stopped short as her sister started to pass her on the way up the walkway to the front door, taking her by the shoulder and spinning her around to face her.

“I do *not* think so!” she declared firmly, her jaw set with determination as she met her younger sister’s defiant gaze. “You need to wait in the car.”

“You have *got* to be kidding,” Dawn retorted, her voice low and dubious.

“If Xander has a gun – and he’s out of it enough that he shot Anya – I don’t want you anywhere near him…” Buffy began to explain.

Dawn shrugged her hand off of her shoulder, interrupting in a tone of firm conviction, “Spike needs me. I’m *not* waiting out here while you guys try to rescue him – if you thought I was going to, you should have left me at home!”

With that, she turned and stalked quickly up the walkway again.

“Dawn…!”

“I’m going – if you wanna get there before I do you’d better hurry,” Dawn threw the words over her shoulder carelessly at her sister as she reached for the front door.

Buffy reached to stop her, too late – but the door was locked, preventing Dawn’s entry. The Slayer let out a sigh of relief, even as she peered through the window to the side of the porch, trying to see through the drawn curtains.

She knew by now that her sister was not going to give in to her wishes for her not to get involved – but she certainly did not want Dawn to be the first one to rush into what was possibly a hostage situation – and most definitely would turn into a dangerous stand-off.

She motioned the others to silence as they approached, listening carefully for any signs of movement or life inside the house. Angel slipped up behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder as he leaned in closer, obviously doing the same. He wanted nothing more than to break the door down and rush to his childe’s rescue – but as he had never had an invitation to the Harris’ home, he was aware that that particular course of action could do more harm than good.

“I hear the TV,” he remarked in a low whisper to Buffy. “But that’s it – no voices, or – or anything…”

“What about – heartbeats?” Buffy asked hesitantly – her tone making it clear that she really did not even want to ask.

Angel’s dark, sober eyes met hers, troubled, as he replied softly, “One…” He nodded vaguely toward the back of the house. “…coming from that direction.”

“The basement,” Willow nodded, her eyes wide and fearful. “He wouldn’t have wanted his parents to know he was here, probably, so he’d have sent them to the basement. But – it kind of seems like it doesn’t matter, anyway, since – they’re – obviously not home…”
Her voice trailed off toward the end, as if she was trying to convince herself of her own words, and not quite succeeding.

Angel and Buffy exchanged another solemn, apprehensive look, before heading around to the back of the house.

Buffy tried to fight back the vague sense of dread she felt building up inside her – tried to keep her mind from dwelling on what might be the cause of it; but she knew that if the Harrises had simply gone out for the evening – something that they almost never did, anyway – they would not have left their living room lights and television on.

And Angel had only heard one heartbeat in the house.

“You’re gonna have to leave this one to me,” Buffy whispered tersely to the dark vampire as they stopped outside the double wooden doors leading down to the Harris’ basement from the backyard. “You can’t get in without an invitation, and I think we might have a hard time getting you one…”

Angel nodded grimly, not pleased with her words, but knowing that they were true.

“Stay behind me,” the Slayer instructed the rest of the group, a little louder, before reaching down to test the basement doors – and finding them, to her relief, unlocked.

She knew that they would not have much in the way of the element of surprise as it was – since most likely, Xander and Spike would be in the basement – but she did not want to have to break through the doors, and thereby alert anyone else who might be anywhere in the house at that moment to their presence.

*Don’t wanna freak out Mr. and Mrs. Harris…* she thought almost automatically, biting her lower lip as she reminded herself of what Angel had told her.

*…if they’re even in there…*

*…if they’re even…*

The room was empty – but the door leading to the kitchen upstairs was open, flooding the stairs with light.

Buffy held up a hand to caution the others to silence, as she made her way quietly up the stairs. She was almost at the top, followed by the rest of the group, when she heard Angel’s quiet, cautious voice – from much nearer than he should have been.

“Um…Buffy…?”

She turned slowly – to see him standing in the middle of the basement room, staring up at her with a sorrowful resignation in his eyes.

There were a few moments of weighted silence, as they all gradually took in the impact, the meaning, of the fact that Angel had been able to get into the house. The Watcher seemed sobered, but still calm; while the vengeance demon at his side shook her head slowly, her face crumpling in painful denial, as he automatically put his arm around her in a comforting gesture.

Dawn and Buffy both just stood there on the stairs in shock, their minds trying to process the hideous, horrifying truth.

Mr. and Mrs. Harris were dead – moments after Xander had teleported into this house…with a gun.

“No,” Willow whispered, her voice trembling as she stared at Angel, shaking her head and backing up the stairs until she ran into Buffy. “No…he couldn’t…”

“Willow…” Buffy began cautiously, trying to calm her.

“*No*!” Willow cried out, turning bewildered, pain-filled eyes on the Slayer, before suddenly pushing past her and rushing the rest of the way up the stairs. “*Xander*!”

“Willow!” Buffy cried out – the element of surprise lost, now, only concerned about the safety of those dear to her who were not yet lost to her for good. “Willow, wait!”

Her pursuit of her friend was cut short, as she nearly ran into the back of the redheaded witch – who now stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, staring in shock at the horrifying scene before her.

Buffy froze behind her, as she saw the wreckage of the living room – the still, lifeless bodies of Xander’s parents – and the boy she had once called a friend, and the vampire she had refused to call her lover, locked in a life-or-death struggle in the center of the room.

“Oh, Xander…”

The Slayer’s attention was momentarily drawn to the witch at her side – and she froze, her stomach flipping over inside her as she saw her green eyes flickering back and forth between their ordinary emerald color, and the black of midnight…as her voice was filled with a grief that Buffy had not heard there in a very long time – not since Willow had lost Tara.

“Oh, Xander,” Willow’s voice trembled with tears – as the room seemed to tremble with her pain. “Xander, what have you done?”