Xander shoved open the door to the Magic Box, not hearing the chaotic jangling of the bell or the crack as the door opened too wide, too fast, wood not holding up against the strain on the hinges. Intent on his goal, he heard nothing as he made his way straight to the research section. In some corner of his mind he was aware of his friends running in after him, of Angel and Giles following. Voices filled with concern and confusion filled the air around him, but he didn't hear it, not really.

Old books were packed into the shelves, different colors, heights, languages, all familiar from years of research sessions. For once he stood before the books knowing exactly what he was looking for, and when he didn't see it, he began pulling the books off the shelves, looking to see if anything was hidden behind them. The books fell at his feet. As old and fragile as some were it was possible that he was damaging them beyond repair, and at that moment he just couldn't bring himself to care in the slightest.

Gradually, as he worked, the musty scent of leather bindings and age-old paper surrounding him, Xander became aware of a steady litany of words surrounding him. The same words over and over. "Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?" Too quiet and close to come from anyone but himself.

Shut up! he ordered himself, but apparently he wasn't listening because it was still there. "Where is it? Where is itWhereisit?" Yanking books off the shelves now, throwing them down in frustration with himself and simmering rage at the situation.

Then there were hands on him, pulling him away. A voice, a familiar commanding tone: "Xander! Xander, stop this!" The owner of that voice shaking him. "Destroying invaluable research tools--"

The touch and voice gave him a new focus and suddenly Xander found himself gripping Giles' arms with bruising force, teeth nearly bared with rage. "Where is it?" It didn't sound remotely like his voice, so deep, almost a growl.

Giles, abruptly silenced by the sudden assault, just stared back at him in shock and not a little fear. Xander saw the other man wince as he tightened his grip further, but at that moment there was no room for guilt or compassion in him. "Where's the book, Giles?" he persisted. "The one where you found the solution to our little problem?"

"U--Under the counter," Giles replied in a faint voice.

Xander shoved the other man away, vaguely aware that it caused Giles to overbalance and fall. But he didn't spare any thought for that. His focus was now on the counter, on what lay hidden in the shelves under that counter.

Reaching his destination in a few long strides, he scanned the shelves. Passing over the various boxes and magical knicknacks stored there, Xander's gaze quickly fell on the book he sought. He recognized the faded blue material that bound the book, the slight tear in the cover that had caused Giles to complain when he'd first noticed it.

Xander picked it up and studied it for a moment. It wasn't heavy or large; there was nothing even remotely noteworthy about it. And yet because of what Giles had found in it, two lives might possibly be ruined. But, of course, what was that when measured against saving the world?

Smirking slightly, bitterly, Xander flipped the book open and glanced through a couple pages before closing it again. Not English. Not any other language he'd learned to at least recognize over the last few years either. Not all that surprising considering the way his luck had been running.

For the first time since entering the shop, Xander looked up at the others in the building with him and actually saw them. Willow and Tara were clasping hands tightly, not in an about-to-cast-a-spell sort of way, but more of an oh-my-god-my-best-friend-has-gone-wonky-please-comfort-me type of way. Dawn was clinging with one hand to the back of Buffy's shirt, standing partly behind her sister, hiding and frightened but trying not to show it. Giles stood near the bookcases, dusting off from his fall but obviously not conscious of his reflex actions. Angel remained near the door of the Magic Box. He alone didn't look at Xander with fear-tinged concern; expressionless, he seemed to be waiting.

"Angel," Xander acknowledged him quietly. "Can you find it?" He held up the book before tossing it to the vampire. Xander walked out from behind the counter as Angel opened the book and began scanning it.

"French," Angel commented.

Of course. Xander pondered the irony briefly as he sat at one of the little tables they frequently used during research sessions. He could read half a dozen tongue-twisting demonic languages, even speak a little of a couple, but whatever it was that had decided his and Spike's fate was written in the same human language he'd nearly failed in high school.

"It's a journal from a member of the Watcher's Council; about a century back."

Xander just nodded, looking at the wood grain his arms rested on, waiting. It didn't take long. Angel said something in a language Xander did recognize, and it wasn't a nice word. When the vampire spoke again his tone had gone cold.

"In the matter of demon mating rituals, it is worth noting that while each species has different ways of staking its claim, the results are always the same in regards to any human involved: once a demon -- a vampire, for the Council's intents and purposes -- has claimed a human, that demon seems bound to its claimant, unable or unwilling to abandon the human. As it seems that humans are unaffected by whatever magical bonds the claiming ritual places on the demon, the demon may be, to some extent, controlled by the human it has claimed, albeit in a more emotional manner as opposed to the physical. The only apparent effect of the ritual on a human is the tainting of that human's soul. That, being a dire enough effect in itself, has caused the Council to conclude that further experiments on this subject are undesirable." The book was shut with an audible thump. "That's all," Angel concluded, obvious disgust in his tone.

"That's enough," Xander said quietly. "More than enough." Dragging his gaze from the tabletop, he looked up at the man still standing by the bookcases, the one who wouldn't meet his gaze.

"So how did that work, Giles?" He asked, voice still quiet, tone even and devoid of emotion. "I mean, what did you think when you decided we had to do that? Did you, I don't know, even try to come up with something else, or did you just figure that this was perfect and...to hell with whatever else would happen?" And some part of him, the part that could still remain rational as the rest of his world came crashing down around him, it recognized how unfair he was being. He knew Giles loved them all, did his best to protect them no matter what. No matter what. Yeah.

So the stiffening of Giles' posture and the hardness of his tone came as no surprise. "I bloody well did think this through. I would never put you -- any of you -- in such a...a...compromising situation unless I thought there was no other choice!"

A slight, pained smile briefly crossed Xander's lips. "I get that." He nodded, looking back down at the table. "I really do, you know? I mean, you care. But you...I...." He shook his head, wanting to just close his eyes a pretend it would all go away. Like that had ever worked, even when he was little and prayed it would, back when he still thought someone listened to his prayers.

"It was the only thing I ever really promised myself, and I thought...." Again shaking his head, he ran a shaking hand over his face, unconsciously brushing away tears that had dried years before. Lost in old memories, in himself, the words came out almost of their own volition. "It always hurt so much. So damn much. When he called Mom a whore, said I wasn't good enough, never would be. I know...just words, but god, they hurt! All -- all I could ever think was that no one should...should do that, enjoy hurting someone, tearing them to little pieces with words. And I promised...promised myself that I'd never be like that, that even the worst person in the world didn't deserve to be made to feel like...that. I promised myself that -- that I wouldn't be like him. Wouldn't be him. But...I am, now." And oh dear god, didn't that hurt to admit. "I'm my father." He couldn't stop the hollow laugh that rose from deep inside him at that realization. "You helped make me my father." Voice cracking, he looked back up at Giles.

-----
I really didn't like the way those last couple paragraphs played out and I remember wanting to rewrite them, to make them more in character for Xander, but I never got around to it.
-----

He sucked in a shuddering breath, aware that he was too close to the edge, too close to being that little boy who could only huddle in his room, crying, wishing it would go away. But this wouldn't.

-----
There was supposed to be a scene between the above one and this next one, but I no longer remember what it was.
-----

"C'mon; you're invited."

"Doesn't mean anything, prat," Spike snarled at himself, inside his head. "Just guilt. Won't last. I'll be out on my arse when he gets over it." But his demon didn't care. It was all he could do to stop the humiliating internal purring from becoming audible.

"Coat rack's there -- but you probably don't wanna take that off; right." The nervous chuckle following the words only made the demon want closer. A mate shouldn't be uncomfortable, shouldn't be worried or unhappy or any of the other scents pouring off the human in front of him and his demon needed to make it better. Spike just stood there, tightening the leash.

"Okay, so, um, the tour!" It was said with the false brightness of someone grateful to have found a good distraction.

He followed Xander, trailing after him, watching as the human gestured awkwardly to things around them in accompaniment to his steady stream of babble. But he saw none of it; heard less. It all seemed just a pleasant background noise, his mate's voice. It was all that placated his demon, kept him from tearing out of this place that smelled nothing of comfort or belonging.

The air was thick with stale pheromones and sex. Anya's scent mixed with Xander's, corrupting it, covering  everything, even him the longer he was here. He wanted to strip off his clothes, burn them, and everything in sight, and scrub at his body until the stench no longer choked him or until the smell of his own blood overpowered it. Then...then--

Spike clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as he forced the demon back. The urge to mate, to cover Xander in his scent, to be covered in Xander's, to make this hellspawned place smell like home....

Blood filled his mouth as he slowly lost the battle, teeth sharpening, slicing into his own flesh. All he could see was his mate standing before him, smelling wrong, and he could feel his will shattering against the primal need to stake his claim.

"Xander?"

Spike's head whipped around at the soft inquiry. Already more than halfway in game face, he fixed yellowed eyes on the woman in the front doorway. Anya. His rival, his enemy, his -- nothing.

Suddenly it was no work at all to force the demon to retreat. It went on its own, leaving Spike wondering how he was still on his feet when there was nothing left for him to stand on.

"Why is Spike here?" Anya asked the question she so obviously didn't need an answer to. She knew. Spike could see it in her eyes and he understood.

Anya had claimed him first. Xander was hers. She was here. In her home, with her fiancé, where she belonged. What were demon rituals and blood rites when held up to this? They were Spike's existence; had been Anya -- Anyanka's. But to a human it was less than nothing. They couldn't feel the bindings of magic in a demon's claim; they only held their human traditions sacred. All that mattered were their human promises and commitments. Their society lived and died on them and Anya had been human long enough to understand that, and to know it was all Xander could understand. Any demonic avenues of claiming were closed to her, so she'd used what humans understood best. She'd bound him to her with words. Or a lack of them.

"You knew." Xander's voice was quiet but the tone was colder than anything Spike had heard from him before.

Anya's lips parted as if to answer, but she hesitated, her gaze sliding from her fiancé to Spike. "Yes," she finally replied, still looking at the vampire. That one word held a wealth of explanation and apology for anyone who could understand. Xander wouldn't -- couldn't, but Spike did.

One look, one word, ex-demon to demon. She needed her mate, any way she could have him. If a lie, an omission, gave her that, what of it? What should she care for another demon who coveted her mate? He was hers first. An instinct baser than any human morals could comprehend and yes, Spike understood. He even approved. He would've done the exact same thing to secure his mate. Any demon would. But only an ex-demon would feel regret for it.

So Spike curled his lip up in a smirk, and with that expression, forgave her. Because she needed it. And because Xander needed her.

But Spike wasn't needed. He had no place here. That he knew, and it was reaffirmed when even as Anya accepted the remittance, she turned her gaze away from him, back to her fiancé, her mate. Spike recognized the dismissal for what it was, and he too, accepted.

Casting his eyes down to the floor, he turned and walked silently, quickly, to the door. Anya had already stepped into the room, clearing the doorway for his departure. A move that a human wouldn't have thought anything of, but one that proclaimed her territory.

Spike inclined his head ever so slightly towards her as he passed by. A recognition of her status here, in her home. And then he was gone.

-----
Again, supposed to be another scene here, but I don't have a clue what it was.
-----

Leaving the apartment, the building, it was all a blur. Spike didn't know how he got out without running into someone or something, nor did he care. He didn't know where he was now or how he'd gotten there. He was too numb to think or feel; he just went wherever his feet led.

And then suddenly he was in front of a cheap motel door and it was opening and Angel was there looking at him in concerned surprise.

"Spike?"

His mind was a blank. All he could do was stare at the other vampire.

"William," Angel tried again, voice much softer now, "why aren't you with Xander?" And that was all it took.

Spike blinked, and felt something break deep inside, where he thought maybe his soul might've once been. "Got a bird, doesn't he?" The words felt like broken glass in his mouth. "Demon...ex-demon." As if that made any difference in this.

Even with the soul there was no way Angel could not have understood the ramifications. Spike heard a soft curse in Gaelic, then something he hadn't heard in decades:

"Childe." It was an offer, an invitation and a command. It was everything Spike had been denied for so long and now it couldn't help. But he couldn't stop needing it either.

Spike wasn't even aware of moving, only that the door was shut behind him and they were on the floor. Old, musty carpeting beneath his knees, scent of countless nameless humans long gone from the room, his Sire finally here for him after all these years -- it all faded to nothing as Spike simply...broke.

There was nothing else. Curled up in his Sire's arms like a wounded fledgling, keening in inconsolable agony, and Spike knew that there was nothing Angel could do. Nothing that could be done. This was his existence now. He'd survive night by night, trailing after his mate in the shadows. Never touching him or speaking with him; watching his mate with another while Spike gave everything he was to protect his mate from harm. He was a demon. He had no other choice.

Time passed. How much he neither knew or cared, but Angel never made any move to push him away. The gesture that would have meant everything to Spike just a month ago now held only the barest minimum of comfort, but at that moment he would cling to whatever he was allowed to have.

The knock on the door didn't register with him until Angel had pulled him to his feet and dragged him back further into the small room. He recognized that his Sire was moving them to a more defensible position and again there was the smallest comfort of being wanted, even if it was only a little.

"Who is it?" Angel called out and still pressed against him, Spike could hear the barely-contained warning growl underlying the words.

Instead of an answer the door opened.

Spike felt Angel tense, heard the growling raise in volume, but he was too far gone in his anguish to care. He just clung harder to his Sire, to the only hope he had of being wanted.

But then a familiar scent reached him, breaking through the walls he'd unconsciously put up against the outside world. Instantly in game face he pushed away from Angel and spun around to face the intruder. Snarling, he advanced on Anya, stopping only when he caught sight of the first rays of dawn through the open door. She had no right to be here. By any demon standard she was invading his territory. He'd respected hers, and now she'd decided to challenge him in his?

But she made no moves towards either him or Angel. She just stood there, looking at him without making eye contact. Without the expected challenge, Spike calmed enough to take in what his senses were telling him. She still wore the same outfit he'd seen on her earlier in the evening; dark circles under her eyes proclaimed a lack of sleep but no scent of sex lingered to explain that. In fact, Xander's scent on her was much fainter than normal. No demon would allow a mate's scent to fade like this; Anya would have known that scent markings had to be renewed every few hours. So, why? And why the trace scent of salt, tears?

Then she stepped forward, out of the protection of the dawn's light. Spike held his ground, not out of fear of setting off the chip, but more because he sensed something was...different. This wasn't a demon invading his territory. This wasn't demon behavior in any way. That went a long way towards explaining Anya's awkwardness as she held something out to him. Uncertain what to do in what was obviously a human situation, Spike just reacted, taking what was offered.

Keys?

He looked from the keychain and the keys on its ring to the uncomfortable woman standing before him. He frowned in confusion as his demon features melted back away.

"Stay out of the apartment until tomorrow," Anya instructed in a voice that only wavered slightly. "I've already taken things of personal and monetary value. A maid service will clean the apartment today because--" here she faltered. But then she smiled slightly, a small, bitterly wistful expression, as she seemed to remember that her audience didn't need an explanation for this. "Because." She wrapped her arms around herself, looking down at the floor between them. "Give it a night to air out," she finished quietly. "It'll be fine then."

Her scent would be gone then. She was leaving? But she'd won. Right?

"What?" It was out of Spike's mouth before he could stop it, but then he supposed he wouldn't have wanted to anyway. This was beyond him. Beyond a demon. He didn't understand. He suspected that Angel, with his soul and all, could explain it to him, but he needed to hear it from the woman who had laid previous claim to his mate.

Hugging herself more tightly, Anya looked up at him, making eye contact for the first time. There was no challenge in it, only a horrible, tortured sadness that he could recognize from experience. "Xander is looking for you now. You should call Willow or Buffy so that he can find you."

That answered nothing, but she turned away regardless. Before she could step into the light again, Spike suddenly found himself gripping her arm, stopping her.

Anya had renounced her claim on Xander. She had given him his mate. It just wasn't something a demon would or even could do. This was human volition. Human...selflessness. And even as he spoke, Spike realized that maybe it wasn't as beyond him as he'd thought.

"We can...share?" The demon inside him shrieked in denial of the offer. Maybe this wasn't done, wasn't a demon's way of doing things, but he was more than the sum of his instincts. He wouldn't let the demon totally control him.

Another smile, and there was nothing of joy in that expression. It was painful to look at. "Yes, Spike. We can share. Xander can't." She gently extracted her arm from his grasp, her gaze never leaving his face. "He wouldn't understand. He can't. He's...."

"Human," Spike finished for her when she struggled for the right explanation.

"Human," she agreed. This time there was a hint of gratitude in her smile because didn't that explain it all?

For a few moments there was silence as they looked at each other, Spike realizing what he'd been given and Anya, maybe trying not to think of what she'd given up. Or maybe she thought of it too much.

Spike reached out, resting his hand gently on the side of her face, feeling the dried tracks of vanished tears. "Go be a demon again, Anyanka." It was the best advice, the only thanks he could give.

She made a small sound, almost a whimper, and fresh tears suddenly shown in her eyes. "How?" She whispered. And then she was gone. Pulling away, out the door and slamming it behind her.

Spike stood where she'd left him, hearing the sound of an engine start up and eventually fade away into the distance. He may have been a soulless demon, he may even have had occasional human tendencies left over from William, but at least he knew what he was. Anya quite possibly would never have that certainty again.

He looked at the keys in his hand, what they represented. He was frightened to let himself hope again, but he couldn't stop it either. Sliding them into his back pocket, he looked over at Angel. His Sire returned the gaze expectantly, a small, sad smile his only comment on the recent events.

Emotionally drained and nearly trembling from the shock he'd just been subjected to, Spike said the first thing that came to mind: "Why the bloody hell did you pick a room facing East?"

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