The Situation

By Esmeralda

Part One

Hot, sweaty and slightly out of breath, Xander jogged up the road toward Giles' house. He'd run most of the way across town, eager for a chance to see his lover before the evening ended.

It had been less than three weeks since his return from L.A, but it felt like a lifetime.

He'd hated his job from day one. The work - packing pet food - was tedious; the hours long and variable. While his workmates (and he used the term loosely) were, by and large, the same bullying Neanderthals who had made his life hell back in eighth grade. When he finished at the end of an arduous day or a gruelling night, he was always tired and filthy. Not that Spike ever complained about him being less than fragrant.

Xander had got into the habit of going to the Watcher's house straight after work, if the hour permitted. Giles was invariably only too happy to wave him in the direction of the washing facilities. Spike would skulk about for a while, making sure that no one was paying him any attention, then he would sneak through into the bathroom. The vampire seemed to take a peculiar pleasure in cleaning Xander - a process which involved lips and tongues, as well as towels and wash cloths.

Inevitably, the time they spent alone was rushed. A few fervent kisses, a quick frantic fumble, and then they had to hurry back to the others - always being careful to re-enter the room separately. These sketchy encounters only left them increasingly frustrated. Xander was becoming depressed, while Spike was clearly tiring of it all. The vampire seemed restless, prowling around Giles' living room, making pissy comments and 'accidentally' spilling blood over Buffy or Willow. He took obvious delight in their squeals of disgust and outrage.

Xander was on edge, waiting for his lover to snap. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see any way out of their situation. He had toyed with the idea of returning to L.A, but he was afraid of the questions it would undoubtedly provoke. Questions he still wasn't ready to answer.

He needed more time; he needed to get his life together before he could face them. He knew that none of them would support or even accept his relationship with Spike and he would have to be ready to defend the choices he'd made. These worries continued to dog him as he made his way along the road to the Watcher's house.

Xander entered the courtyard just as his legs were beginning to fail him. He sank against the cool wall of the house, trying to catch his breath. Resisting the urge to hammer on the door, he knocked quietly. He was surprised when it was Buffy, not the Watcher, who answered.

"Oh.... Hiya Buff....Not patrolling tonight?"

She shook her head, stepping aside to let him enter. "Nope. I officially have the night off."

"Woah. Don't tell me Giles is getting laid back about the slaying business," Xander teased.

Buffy closed the door behind him. "Not exactly." She waved an arm toward an enormous mountain of books piled on, and around, the coffee table.

"He's really missing that library isn't he," said Xander, side stepping a precariously leaning literary tower. "Perhaps we should speak to him about letting go of this book fetish. It seems to be getting out of hand." He steadied the pile as it began to topple.

Buffy dropped heavily onto the couch, dislodging a few more books and a flurry of papers. She reached for a weighty looking volume and hauled it into her lap. "Giles seems to think there's some big demony party coming up," she explained. "Hence the study session."

"Need a hand?" Xander offered. He looked around the room - no Spike - which was a little strange.

"Would you mind," said Buffy gratefully. "Willow has some assignment to finish tonight. She's coming over tomorrow."

Xander surreptitiously peered into the kitchen - still no Spike. "So, " he asked, "Where's the G-Man?"

"The Magic shop. Apparently, I have to throw some special potion at these demons."

"What happens then?" Xander asked.

"They die," said Buffy matter of factly. She pursed her lips. "I think they melt."

"Oh you mean like - 'Help me, help me. I'm mellltiiinnnnng," said Xander; doing a creditable impression of the wicked Witch from the Wizard of Oz.

"Something like that," agreed Buffy. "Though probably without the 'help me, help me' part."

Xander stuck his hands in his pockets and did another quick scan of the room. "So. Where's 'Big-not-so-bad'?" he asked casually.

"Hmph?" Buffy's attention had returned to her book. She was tilting it sideways to study a picture of some sort of duel horned demon.

Xander tried to keep the urgency out of his voice. "Spike. Where's Spike?"

Buffy turned the book around the other way. "Oh, he's gone."

"Gone?" Xander croaked. The word hit him like a kick to the stomach and he clutched Giles' desk for support as his legs tried to fold under him.

"Uh huh," said Buffy, her attention was still focused on the drawing.

"Giles swears he didn't lose the key again, so he must have picked the locks."

Xander was utterly lost. "L-locks?"

Buffy must have heard the bewilderment in his voice, because she finally looked up. "Giles caught him poking around his record collection. He was *not* happy, so Spikey got to play in the bath again." She shrugged her slender shoulders. "I guess that's why he decided to take off."

White-faced, Xander struggled to grasp what she was telling him. "Wha...I mean where did he go?"

"Giles?"

"No," Xander gritted his teeth, "Spike."

"Oh. No idea. Giles was out all afternoon. He said when got back Spike was gone. He was still smiling when he told me."

Xander shook his head slightly. He was hearing the words but they didn't make any sense. How could Spike be gone? He wouldn't go, not like this. Not without a word. He wouldn't just leave. Would he?

Battling a growing sense of uncertainty, Xander shakily made his way to the bathroom. A pile of heavy chains lay in the bottom of the empty tub. The cold white porcelain seemed to mock him, the brilliant glare dazzling beneath the harsh fluorescent light. "He wouldn't leave...He wouldn't," Xander murmured desperately. He didn't hear Buffy come up behind him and he nearly fell into the tub when she touched his arm.

She frowned. "Jumpy much?" She peered past him at the empty tub and then looked at his face. "Xander, are you okay? Only you look like you're going to be sick or something." She took a step back. "You're not are you?"

Xander suddenly spun around and grabbed her arms. "Why would he go? He was safe here. He got fed. He can't feed himself. He wouldn't go like this.."

His wild-eyed rambling alarmed Buffy. She pulled free of his grasp and tried to steer him back into the other room. "Just so you know, you are seriously creeping me out here." Her gaze narrowed. "You're not possessed again are you?"

Xander shook himself, as though snapping out of a trance, and stumbled away from her. "I...I have to go." As he spoke he was already heading toward the front door.

A puzzled Buffy followed. "Xander, wait-" She was cut off by the slam of the door as he left. Buffy took a hesitant step forward, torn as whether or not to follow. Suddenly, the door reopened. "Xan-" Buffy began, then stopped as she saw who it was. "Oh, hi, Giles."

Giles kicked the door shut with his foot and set the box he was carrying down on the desk.

"Did you see Xander?" Buffy asked.

"See him! He practically ran me over," Giles exclaimed indignantly. He took a small vial of brackish coloured liquid out of the box. "I suppose I should be thankful he didn't actually knock me down. I dread to think what would have been the outcome if this had broken. Have you any idea how hard it is to get the urine of a Buobloa demon?"

Buffy pulled a face. "Er, no, and I'm guessing that I probably don't want to."

Giles put the vial down, very carefully, and began to take the other ingredients out of the box. "Where was he going in such a hurry? I thought he had the evening off. Isn't he working day shifts today and tomorrow?"

Buffy nodded. "That's what he told me." She frowned. "I mentioned that Spike was gone and he got all wiggy about it."

"Spike?" said Giles distractedly, sniffing at a handful of long purple grass. "Perhaps he's gone to celebrate."

"Hmm, maybe," said Buffy. She glanced back toward the bathroom thoughtfully.

Giles finished laying out his purchases. "Well, we appear to have everything. Can you help me, please." He began to gather up some of the little jars and bottles.

"What do you need?" Buffy asked.

"We need to take these through into the kitchen," Giles explained. "We have to boil them and then let the mixture simmer for three hours, whilst reciting a specific incantation. You stir. I'll perform the ritual."

Buffy screwed her face up as she looked down at the little vial of demon urine. "Okay, I think I'll carry all the things *not* containing demon by-products." She picked up another bottle; it was too dark to make out the contents clearly. "What's in this one?"

"Bile."

Buffy put the bottle down very quickly. "Maybe I'll just carry the grass." She went to pick up the delicate purple strands.

"Actually that's the nasal hair of a Funchaa demon."

Buffy's outstretched hand froze above the table. "It's what?"

Giles grinned. "Joke," he said. "It's grass. A native of South America actual-" His voice died off as Buffy turned her head and glared at him.

"A joke," she repeated.

Giles looked faintly apologetic as he backed away toward the kitchen. "Well, I'll...erm...just take these."

Buffy picked up the grass warily, and followed him.

Part Two

"Pick up, pick up, pick up...." Xander chanted into the receiver. There was a click and the sound of an answering machine starting up. A recording of Cordelia's voice began to play.

"Hello, welcome to Angel Investigations. We help the...

"No," he groaned.

Xander was in a phone booth on the outskirts of town; it was starting to get dark and he wasn't certain where he was. The only street name he could see was unfamiliar, as were the handful of ramshackle houses that lined both sides of the deserted street.

He had run off blindly after leaving Buffy, simply needing to get away with no idea where he was going. His flight ended when his legs finally crumpled underneath him. When his heart stopped pounding and he could take a breath without his chest spasming in protest, Xander had dug some change out of his pocket and stumbled off in search of a phone booth. The third one he'd found was intact and Xander had dialled the number he'd memorised.

The answer machine finished playing its message, there was a beep and then a pause inviting him to speak. Xander's mouth had dried up. "Hell-hello, Angel. It's Xander.. I-"

"Xander? Xander are you there?"

Xander almost dropped the receiver in shock as Angel's voice suddenly cut in. "A-Angel?"

Angel caught the stammer. He sounded concerned. "Yes. Is something wrong? Where are you?"

Xander sucked in a deep breath which was released as a shaky sob. "S-Spike....gone..." was all he could manage as he struggled to bring himself back under control.

"Spike's gone?" Angel translated carefully.

Xander nodded instinctively.

"Xander, are you still there?"

Pulling himself together, Xander tried to speak. The hand clutching the receiver was shaking. "He...he was staying with Giles. He wasn't all that happy, but things seemed to be okay. Then I went there tonight and he's gone." Xander took another deep breath. "He wouldn't go, Angel. Not like this. I mean, n-not without...." He trailed off miserably as he tried and failed to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"So where are you now?" Angel asked. "Are you at home?"

"No. I'm-" Xander looked around him "-I'm not sure where I am," he admitted.

"Do you remember the mansion, the one outside of town?"

"Yes."

"Can you get there?"

Xander frowned. "I guess so, but-"

Angel cut him off. "Go there now, and stay there. I'm on my way."

"O-okay," Xander agreed. His voice wobbled.

Angel heard it. "Xander, we'll find him."

Xander drew some small comfort from the certainty in Angel's tone. "I'll see you there then," he said softly.

"Just a few hours Xander. I'll be there in a few hours," Angel promised. "Don't let anyone see you. Keep this quiet, okay, at least until we know what's going on."

"Okay." Xander hesitated. "Angel?"

"Yes."

"He wouldn't...I mean.. that is, Spike - he wouldn't just leave without saying anything." Xander couldn't bring himself to make it a question.

Angel's quiet voice reassured him. "No. I don't believe he would."

"I...I didn't think so," Xander lied.

"It'll be alright, Xander."

Xander wanted to lose himself in that soft, calm voice. He hung onto the receiver for a moment or two after it had gone dead, then he slowly replaced it. Stepping out of the phone booth he looked round and tried to work out which way to go. He made a choice and set off in what he hoped was the right direction.

(Angel knows Spike. Angel said he wouldn't go.) Xander's thoughts turned over and over inside his head as he walked. (But he's gone) a little voice declared, tormenting him with doubt. (He's left you, just like they all do.) Xander dug his nails into his palms. (NO. He *hasn't* left me) he thought fiercely.

He shivered and glanced around him nervously. Sunnydale was not a healthy place to wander around in after dark. Xander quickly shook off his fear and his thoughts turned inward again (Where are you, Spike? Where are you?)

His only reply was a hollow silence.

Part Three

Angel finished packing his bag and looked around frantically for his car keys. The phone call had left him with a growing sense of unease. Though he had spoken the words out of comfort, he'd meant what he'd told Xander. Spike would never just take off without a word - it wasn't the other vampire's style. Spike rarely left his lovers, and when he did they knew about it. This felt all wrong.

He slammed another drawer shut in disgust and leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. Where had he put those keys?

"Looking for these?"

The soft Irish lilt carried across the office. Angel looked up; Doyle stood in the doorway, a bunch of keys dangling from his slender fingers. Angel shot him a grateful look as he accepted them. "Thanks." Hastily grabbing his bag and coat he tried to exit the doorway, but Doyle didn't step aside.

"You gonna to tell me where you're going?" the young man asked.

Angel hesitated. "I...I have to go to Sunnydale."

A shadow crossed Doyle's face. "Buffy?" he guessed.

Angel shook his head. "No it's-" he looked away, then looked back. "It's complicated," he finished awkwardly.

Doyle folded his arms and leaned against the door-frame. "So give me the simplified version."

Angel struggled to meet the determined green gaze. "It's Spike," he admitted.

"Spike!" Doyle's eyebrows shot up. "You mean that grubby Brit with the dodgy accent?"

Angel looked pained. "You don't understand-"

"Too right, I don't," Doyle cut in. "I mean, this is the same guy who stuck you full of hot pokers, right? Unless you're going to tell me that you know another 'Spike'."

Angel's silence answered for him.

Doyle sighed. "So explain, then. Why are we going to visit this 'Spike'?"

"We? I don't think-"

Doyle pulled himself up from his slouch, squaring off against Angel.

"Look, there's no way I'm letting you go off to see that bastard by yourself. I mean, no offence, but your record with him ain't exactly the best."

Angel tried to think of how he could explain the changed situation. "It's not like that any more," he said simply.

"What? - You're best buddies now," said Doyle sarcastically. Then he caught the look on Angel's face and his eyes widened. "No." He shook his head in denial. "Tell me it ain't true, man. You....You are?!"

Angel looked uncomfortable. "He's my Childe, Doyle" he said helplessly.

"So what?" Doyle's voice rose in agitation. "You smacked his arse and forgave him?" The young man sounded outraged.

A faint smile played around the corners of Angel's mouth as he remembered. "Something like that," he admitted.

Doyle looked dazed. "Vampires - who can figure 'em." He shrugged. "Alright then, so we go and save his skinny arse."

Angel shook his head. "I'm going alone."

"Like hell you are," said Doyle fiercely. "You and he might be all pals again, but *I* don't trust him." His expression softened slightly. "Besides, I happen to like you minus the gaping wounds and the agonised expression. So I think I'll just tag along for the ride, if it's all the same to you."

Angel recognised the stubborn set to the young man's jaw and he sighed.

"Doyle, it's not safe for you in Sunnydale."

Doyle opened his mouth to protest, then he caught the look in Angel's eyes and changed track. "Okay, so what's in Sunnydale that's such bad news? Besides Spike, that is." Angel didn't answer and Doyle moved a touch closer, his body almost brushing against the vampire's. He didn't miss the way Angel suddenly stiffened, and he frowned as the vampire took a step back. "Angel?" he whispered softly.

Angel swallowed hard as he looked at Doyle, who was now watching him with a concerned expression. He sighed. "Demon hunters," he announced flatly. "There are demon hunters in Sunnydale. Some sort of organised military movement has set up base there. They call themselves 'The Initiative'. They catch demons, vampires - anything non-human."

"And what? They're killing them?" Doyle guessed with a grimace.

Angel shrugged. "Probably. There's not much information on them. Though there's definitely some kind of scientific research going on."

Doyle shuddered. "I'm guessing half-demons are fair game."

"Good, evil. They don't seem to have a problem with it. Their agenda is simply to hunt and capture demons, of any orientation. Beyond that, we don't really know anything," said Angel.

Doyle looked thoughtful. "How did you find out about these guys?"

"Spike."

"What? We're going on *his* word?" Doyle sounded incredulous.

Angel shook his head. He didn't want to get into this now, he had a frightened and distraught young man anxiously waiting for him. "He's telling the truth. He got caught. He only escaped because they underestimated him, and he got lucky." Angel narrowed his eyes at his friend. "You'll have to take *my* word on that."

Doyle hesitated for a moment or two, then nodded. "Fair enough, man." He moved away from the doorway. "But like I said. I'm going with you." He cut Angel off before the vampire could speak. "You've warned me okay," his gaze was serious and calm, "and seems to me, you're gonna need someone to watch yer back."

Angel couldn't completely hide the sudden warmth he felt at his friend's obvious concern. He also realised that if he refused to take Doyle, the young man would probably make his own way to Sunnydale. If there was going to be trouble he would prefer to keep Doyle close, where he could protect him. Reluctantly, he nodded. "All right, let's go".

--------------------

Doyle slouched in his car seat and glanced across at Angel. "So, are we thinking this 'Initiative group' has recaptured Spike?" Angel had filled him in on the younger vampire's mysterious disappearance.

Angel's hands tightened on the wheel.

"That's what I thought," Doyle said glumly. "You know, I'm really not sure about this whole - takin' on an army thing."

"You didn't have to come," Angel reminded him.

"Hey, I'm not saying I'm not with yer. I just think the odds are a little out of our favour, that's all. I mean, these guys have to be used to dealing with vampires and stuff. They'll probably have all sorts of fancy gear, ray guns and the like. Even with you and the Slayer-"

Angel cut him off. "Buffy can't know about this."

"What!" Doyle twisted round in his seat to face him. "No offence, Angel man. I know you and the girl have a history, but can't you put it aside? Be professional about this."

"It's more complicated than that."

"There's that word again," said Doyle, clearly exasperated. "You still haven't said *why* this is all so 'complicated'. I think, seeing as I stand a good chance of being either shot or dissected here, that I deserve some sort of an explanation."

There was a lengthy silence. Angel gripped the wheel even harder. Finally, he spoke. "He...I...Spike is involved," - he missed the way Doyle's jaw tightened, - "with one of Buffy's friends."

Doyle expression relaxed slightly. He wracked his brain for previous conversations with Cordy to try and work out who it might be. Not Buffy then, so who did that leave? - Oz, his girl...Will? Willy?- Willow, that was it, and the other boy Xander. Unable to envision any of them with the blond vampire, he gave up and asked, "Who?"

Angel's gaze was fixed on the road ahead. "Xander," he said quietly.

Green eyes widened in surprise. "Spike and *Xander*?! I mean, I've never met the kid, but you have to admit the idea of Spike and anyone is a little out there. And a human? A boy?" Doyle remembered something. "Didn't Cordy date him?"

"Briefly."

"So...what? He dated Cordy for a few weeks and then decided *Spike* was a better prospect?" Doyle shook his head in bewilderment. "Now that's an unsettling thought."

Angel corrected him. "Spike and Xander got together after Cordelia left Sunnydale. Xander, he.. he got into some trouble. Spike helped him."

Doyle's mouth twisted bitterly. "Kind of funny hearing 'Spike' and 'help' in the same sentence. A cry for help, now that-" He broke off when Angel shot him a dark look. "So, what? They just bonded or something?"

"Or something."

"That must have been some trouble the kid was in," Doyle prompted casually.

Angel remained silent.

Doyle thought about pushing it a little more, then decided it didn't matter. "So," he asked," what's the plan if we can't have the Slayer?"

"We meet Xander. We find out what's going on. Then we get Spike," said Angel.

Doyle nodded. That was Angel - to the point...and totally disregarding the messier details. "Well, you know, that all sounds pretty good. Except for the bit you left out. The part about the small army of demon hunters that are gonna be breathing down our necks." He returned his gaze to the front and stared out at the surrounding darkness.

He didn't notice Angel look at him; the vampire's expression was shadowed with concern.

Part Four

The full moon picked out the lonely figure like a spotlight, bathing the youth in a pale-bluish glow. Xander's footfalls echoed softly around the mansion as he paced back and forth across the bare stone floor. The night chill invaded his body, making his bones ache and scattering goosebumps across his skin. He hugged himself tightly and shivered. A noise startled him and he stopped, tense and alert - but it was only a rat, scuttling for the safety of the shadows.

There were too many memories trapped in this place, few of them good. They seemed to whisper to him, summoning his own wretched misery to the surface. His mind tortured him with possibilities, as his fears tumbled around inside his head. Despite his own desperate wishes, and Angel's reassurances, Xander couldn't help but consider the probability that Spike had simply taken off.

Or perhaps Drusilla had returned to claim her lover? The very thought left him nauseous and unable to defeat the image of Spike in Drusilla's arms, Xander tried to bury it beneath other memories. He plundered his mind to dredge up every scrap of conversation, every sly caress and bout of love making, every heated look and suggestive remark.

No, Spike wouldn't have left him....Not like this.......

Xander sat down on a stone plinth. Okay, he needed to try and think through this rationally. He brushed a sleeved arm across his eyes, trying to banish the hot tears that burned there. If Spike hadn't left of his own free will, that could only mean someone had taken him. Who, Drusilla? Xander winced, but he knew he had to accept the possibility.

Okay, so who else? Dark eyes suddenly widened in horrified realisation. (No.. no...no..) his mind chanted. Riley - Riley had been in the house. He'd seen Spike. What if 'soldier boy' had finally placed the vampire's face. Oh god, what if the Initiative had Spike?

Xander doubled up, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He realised this was the fear that had been at the back of his mind all along, but he'd refused to listen to it. Now it had surfaced and it refused to be silenced.

Images darted through his head, none of them pretty. He tasted bile in the back of his throat as his stomach wrenched. He almost had it under control when his imagination supplied him with another graphic image -Spike, laid out like a lab rat, his innards exposed.

Xander tumbled to his knees and threw up his lunch.

Part Five

No one was more surprised than Spike when a handful of guys, in full combat gear, had suddenly burst into the Watcher's bathroom. Any pithy comment he might have made died upon his lips, as one of them pointed a device at him and fired. The vampire's body bucked helplessly as several hundred volts tore through it.

Dazed and confused, his teeth still shaking in his head, Spike could only make out jumbled sentences as the soldiers hoisted him out of the bath.

".....chains....off...."

"...why?"

"....look....an escape..."

"Get.....move on.....Buffy.......back soon........."

He was laid out on a tarpaulin. Spike heard the soft slink of chains as someone undid his manacles. There was a louder metallic rattle as they were tossed back into the tub.

"Sssh," a voice hissed urgently. "Keep it down."

New handcuffs were fastened around his wrists and ankles, then he was unceremoniously rolled up in the stiff cloth. Smothered in darkness, the voices faded to dull mumbles. Spike strained to hear them, but his head was buzzing. He tried to move but none of his limbs would respond.

Spike's last thought as he felt himself being hoisted up was tinged with an unfamiliar sense of regret - it was just too bloody bad that the boy would think he'd ducked out on him. Then he passed out.

--------------------

When he came-to, he was laid out on the floor, no longer chained or wrapped in the tarpaulin. Nursing a very bad feeling - and a blinding headache - he sat up. His mouth tightened. He recognised the glaring whiteness. Slowly, he got to his feet and approached the invisible wall in front of him. He could feel the electrical current it projected tingling across his skin. This time he knew better than to try and touch it.

He was back. Those bastards had got him again.

Spike normally had little time for fear, unless he was inducing it in others, but he felt it now. This place was the stuff of nightmares. A man in a lab coat walked past. Spike growled at him and felt a perverse satisfaction when the man quickened his step. Maybe he was done for but William the Bloody wasn't going down whimpering like some pathetic dog. He'd show them what a *real* vampire was made of.

Spike grimaced as he realised that was probably their plan. Only they undoubtedly intended to study him inside and out, and putting him back together afterwards was unlikely to be a consideration.

He was under no illusions about his chances of escape. Last time he'd been lucky. Plus they'd undoubtedly been used to dealing with confused and terrified fledglings, not a century old vampire with a trick or two up his battered sleeve. This time they would be more wary of him.

Spike did a quick reconnaissance of his cell. There was a small hand-sized hatch in the ceiling for the packets of blood to be dropped through, and that was it. A camera - he guessed it doubled as security and for observation - was on the wall outside. Spike folded his coat around him and sat back down, cross-legged, facing away from the camera. He grinned. Maybe he could bore them to death. Whatever, he certainly wasn't going to pander to their scientific curiosities.

"Wankers," he muttered. Then his expression sharpened. If they had cameras they probably also had listening devices. Okay, he'd have to be still *and* quiet. Spike groaned inwardly, he wasn't good at this doing nothing lark. He'd have to just try and keep it up for as long as he could. Meanwhile, he entertained himself with thoughts on what he'd do to these guys once he was free of the implant.

One thing was for sure, it wouldn't be pretty.

--------------------

Xander sat, huddled on the floor, hugging his knees and rocking gently. He stared blankly in front of him, his gaze fixed. He had been unable to rid his mind of gruesome images of Spike, mangled and mutilated. His stomach had only stopped heaving when it was finally empty, leaving him with a raw throat and a dull ache in the pit of his belly.

The deadness faded from his eyes as a noise broke through his fugue. He listened to the soft crunch and crackle of rubber on gravel, as a car pulled up outside. Xander tucked himself further into the shadows. He heard car doors slam, hushed voices, and footsteps approaching rapidly. An instant later, he almost collapsed in relief as the tall figure of Angel appeared in the mansion's doorway.

The pale moonlight bathed the vampire's face as he looked around him, his expression anxious. "Xander?" he called softly. Angel tilted his head slightly, as if detecting something, and his gaze turned to where Xander sat - hidden in the shadows.

Xander scrambled to his feet and hurried forward. He came to an abrupt halt an arms-breadth or so away. His eyes had picked out another figure, standing just behind Angel. Xander glanced uncertainly at the vampire. Angel followed his gaze. "Xander, this is Doyle. Doyle - Xander Harris."

Doyle nodded his head in greeting.

Xander spared him a brisk, "Hi," then turned to Angel. "The Initiative," he blurted out urgently. "I think the Initiative has Spike." Angel exchanged a look with his silent companion and Xander felt his chest tighten. He had been clinging to the frail hope that the vampire would dismiss his idea. "You think so too. Don't you," he said bleakly.

Angel reached for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "We'll get him back," the vampire promised.

Xander didn't answer. He bit his lip and stared down at his feet. His scuffed sneakers began to blur as tears filled his vision. Cold fingers gently caught hold of his chin and drew his gaze back up.

"I need you to think hard, Xander. Tell me everything you know about this Initiative. Spike said that Giles was trying to get a line on them. Did he find out anything?" Angel asked.

Xander fidgeted beneath the vampire's gaze, unhappy at being the one to bring Angel this news. "Buffy, she's....She's dating one of them. A guy called Riley."

"What?" Angel and Doyle spoke simultaneously.

Angel's face reflected his shock. Xander didn't miss Doyle's concerned frown, or the way the young man inched closer to the vampire. "The boy in the coffee shop," Angel murmured softly.

Xander didn't get the reference. "Who?"

Angel looked at him, his expression still stunned. "She was talking to a guy outside the coffee shop. Willow, she....she said he was just a friend...." His voice trailed off.

"Tall, fair, built like a quarter back?" Xander asked. Angel nodded.

"Certainly sounds like our soldier boy," said Xander a touch bitterly. "He follows Buffy round like a puppy. He's taken to 'popping' round Giles' now and then. He must have recognised Spike."

"Giles knows about him?" Clearly, Angel was struggling to get to grips with this unexpected turn of events.

Xander's mouth twisted. "Sort of. I mean, he knows Riley's military, but Riley isn't exactly the sharing sort. He seems to view us as amateurish bunglers, interfering in their covert operations." There was no mistaking the outrage in Xander's tone. "Giles is too indignant to contradict him, and I'm guessing Buffy is shy about discussing all the details of her Slayer status."

"He knows she's the Slayer?" This time there was no mistaking the vampire's incredulity.

"Yep," Xander confirmed. "They gate-crashed one another's demon-bashing evening and had to come clean."

Angel's expression shifted as he processed this information and stored it away. He returned to the problem in hand. "So, Buffy knows the location of the Initiative base?"

Xander shook his head, frustrated. "No. Like I said, G.I Joe isn't exactly chatty about his alter ego. He's pretty big on the whole 'sworn to secrecy' deal."

"Where does he live?" Angel asked.

"Erm.. on campus I guess. He's a T.A. at the college."

"Yer not thinkin' of going after this guy?" Doyle spoke up finally. He put himself in front of Angel, pinning the vampire with his gaze. "Think, Angel man. He's military trained. He'll more than likely die before he tells us anything."

"I don't have a problem with that," said Xander flatly. In his mind, Riley was now the murderous bastard who had handed his lover over to be tortured by the soldier's scientific team-mates.

"No," said Angel. "Doyle's right. Torturing this guy isn't an option. We don't have the time it would take to break him."

Doyle shivered at the vampire's matter-of-fact tone.

Xander merely nodded. "So what *do* we do?" he asked frantically.

"We try a more accessible source," said Angel cryptically. "Is Willy's place still open?"

Xander frowned, but he nodded. "Yeah. Do you think he'll know anything?"

Angel smiled. "Oh, Willy always knows more than is healthy for him."

Doyle had caught up with the conversation. "And this guy will be happy to talk to us?"

"He'll talk," said Angel. "Though I doubt he'll be happy about it."

--------------------

They drove back to town in silence.

Xander sat alone on the back seat, struggling to keep a lock on his emotions. He felt as though he was breaking down inside. He ached and shivered as though gripped by a fever, tormented by the knowledge that Spike was probably back in the hands of the Initiative. His colourful imagination refused to desert him, and he was plagued with painfully graphic images of scientists doing unspeakable things to his lover. Every moment passed by with agonising slowness and he suppressed the irrational urge to throw open the car door and leap out onto the road.

All this sitting and doing nothing was slowly destroying him.

He glanced surreptitiously at the young man in the front passenger seat. So this was Doyle; the 'demon-boy' who, according to Spike, Angel 'hankered' after. Xander was vaguely disappointed. He wasn't at all how Xander had envisioned him. For one thing, he didn't look remotely demonic. Unless he was hiding something under that unhappy looking shirt? All Xander saw was a sharp-faced young man, a handful of years older than himself, with very dark hair, pale skin, and slightly haunted green eyes. He had been aware of the intensity of that cool, green gaze as they'd walked to the car. Xander wasn't so lost in his grief that he couldn't sense the mild hostility emanating from the other man. Though it had taken him a moment to figure out a possible reason. Xander was surprised - he couldn't ever recall any one ever being jealous of him before, certainly not for 'romantic reasons'.

Under different circumstances he might have taken the time to set the record straight and put Doyle's mind at ease (after enjoying the moment for a while). However, with Spike out there - the victim of some mad military group - he had other priorities. Besides, he didn't know this guy well enough to discuss personal matters, let Angel handle that side of things. All he wanted was Spike.

--------------------

Doyle resisted the urge to turn around in his seat and stare at the young man behind him. He could feel those dark eyes burning into the back of his head. What *was* the kid's problem? Okay, maybe that wasn't fair. He had hardly been friendly so far in his overtures towards this 'Xander' guy. Maybe because he wasn't feeling that friendly. Doyle felt a touch guilty about that. He tried to tell himself there wasn't a reason for it. Not that it worked, he knew *exactly* what the reason was. He was jealous. Angel had dropped everything and high tailed it to Sunnydale after one phone call from this kid. Having driven here like a mad man, he'd then raced into some deserted mansion - and suddenly 'Mr Stand-offish was 'Mr Touchy-feely'. Doyle had watched as Angel had comforted and petted the boy, gazing at him with those big soulful eyes, all tortured and angsty. What was going on here?

Spike and Xander might be an item (something which still defied belief) but his demon senses picked up a certain amount of inexplicable sexual tension between Angel and the boy. Doyle tried to deny it, on the grounds that it was just too painful to contemplate, but that, and the easy, intimate way that Angel and Xander touched and looked at one another, whispered to him that they were lovers. If not now, then certainly some time not long past.

The thought gutted him.

Doyle had known for some time that his casual attraction to the vampire had developed into something much deeper; just as his feelings for Cordelia had forged themselves into a firm friendship. He had refrained from confiding in his princess, on the grounds that subtlety and Cordelia rarely featured in the same sentence. She would no doubt try to meddle in a well meaning, but ultimately cringingly embarrassing way.

Besides, what would be the point? There was the curse to consider; its presence effectively put the blocks on them ever having a more personal relationship. Except, this little scenario told him that might not be the case any more. Had Angel been holding out on him? Was the curse no longer in effect? The possibility sobered him. Doyle had held on to the belief that Angel felt *something* for him, something beyond friendship and a working arrangement. Hadn't the instance with the Scourge proved that?

He had been ready to sacrifice himself that night, the ultimate penance for past weaknesses. The Scourge's killing device had seared his flesh as he'd struggled to wrench the cables apart. Sweat had trickled down his face and into his eyes, blinding him. He couldn't maintain his demon guise and he was forced to resume his human face - the pain had quickly intensified. Suddenly the metal cradle had rocked and another pair of hands covered his own.

Their combined strength had pulled the cables apart just as the heat became unbearable. Before the device could self destruct Angel had grabbed him and jumped. The vampire had cradled his body with his own as they plummeted into the hold. Nevertheless, he was dazed and disorientated when they'd hit bottom, and it was a moment or two before he rolled off the vampire. Weakly, he'd raised his head and looked at Angel; the expression on the vampire's face had told him more than words ever could. Then Cordy had come rushing up and the moment had been broken.

Ever since then, Angel seemed to have become more protective of him. Discouraging him from coming along on cases, worrying over whether or not he was paying his debts and avoiding trouble. Had he been misreading all the signals? Was Angel tired of the trouble he kept getting into? Perhaps the vampire was simply fed up of bailing him out of situations. Was their 'doomed unspoken love' really a one sided infatuation on his part?

Doyle closed his eyes and conjured up the expression on Angel's face as they'd lain together in the hold of the ship. No, he hadn't mistaken it. So now he just had to figure out what the hell was going on......

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