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Destroying Entropy by BuffyMeetsSpike
Chapter 1
This story goes AU in the middle of Entropy, Season 6, during the confrontation outside the Magic Box. This is a response to challenge 477 on the Bloodshedverse. All characters and recognizable dialog belong to Joss Whedon. Review early, review often!

Destroying Entropy by BuffyMeetsSpike
en·tro·py /ˈentrəpē/ Noun
1. A thermodynamic quantity representing the unavailability of a system's thermal energy for conversion into mechanical work, often interpreted as the degree of disorder or randomness in the system.

2. Lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder.
“It is impossible for any system to operate in a way that entropy is destroyed.” – Second Law of Thermodynamics
“I don't want to know this. I don't want to know any of this.” Xander shook his head, dropped the stake and left, with Anya and Buffy staring at his retreating back.
Spike stood up, his midsection sore. “Stupid tossbag,” he grumbled. “You know, I wish he would…”
“Don’t,” said Anya wearily.
Buffy turned to face Spike. He could see the shame, the anger, and the disgust all etched on her face. Here it comes, he thought, tensing in expectation of the 843rd blow to the face this year. But then, unexpectedly, she turned and walked off without a word. Spike watched until she passed from his sight, longing to touch her, fight with her – anything other than this cold silence. He turned toward Anya, but she was already going back into the Magic Box. Shaking his head, and kicking the wall in frustration, Spike stalked off into the night alone.
Buffy wandered the streets for a while, lost in her thoughts. She had told Spike to move on. He’d moved on. Why was she so hurt then? I don’t love him. This whole thing with him was bad for both of us. So what explained her reaction? Why did the sight of Spike and Anya going at it on the table in the Magic Box feel like a knife in her gut? She was over him, right? You hurt him badly, you know, said a dissenting voice in her mind. You saw it in his eyes when you dumped him and you saw it tonight. That feeling? That would be guilt. Why else would you stop Xander from killing him?
Buffy slowed her steps at that last thought. Xander. He had looked so crushed. He loved Anya, despite all his stupid behavior of late. Buffy knew Xander really had no room to criticize his ex-fiance. Truth be told, he really didn’t have any business criticizing her either. His ex spent more years as a demon than my ex. Why is what I did so terrible? But she couldn’t shake the image of the horror etched on Xander’s face as he realized that Buffy, his golden idol, had also slept with the cocky vampire. The more Buffy thought about him, the more concerned she was about Xander. He wouldn’t do anything stupid would he? Well, more stupid. After a few more blocks, Buffy stopped and changed direction, heading for Xander’s apartment. She had been disconnected from her friends for far, far too long. Now one of her friends was hurting, badly. Time for her to start rebuilding those connections.
Xander was halfway through his second beer when the doorbell rang. He had stalked home in a rage, unable to comprehend what had happened. They fucked Spike. The woman I love and my best friend both. Fucked. Spike. What is wrong with this picture? How could they… stoop so low? Anya, ok, vengeance is sort of a long standing habit with her. But Buffy? What the hell could drive Buffy to sleep with that… thing? When he got in the house he threw his coat in the corner. Then he picked up a picture of Anya off a side table. He looked at her smiling face and his eyes clouded again. Hurling the frame into a corner he reveled in the sound of the glass shattering. He stomped over to the fridge, got a beer, chugged it, then got a second one. Now the doorbell was ringing. After the third ring he slammed down the can and stomped over to the door. “What?” he barked as he yanked it open.
Buffy stood there, her hands in the pockets of her jeans, not quite meeting his eyes. “Can I come in? I just… I just want to talk.”
Xander contemplated slamming the door in her face, but finally stepped back and gestured toward the apartment. Buffy came in and sat down at the table, watching Xander grab two more beers out of the fridge before joining her. “It’s not good for you to be here drinking alone,” she commented.
Xander grabbed a glass from a cabinet, filled it, and pushed it toward her. “Then join me,” he said shortly. He continued to ignore the niceties of glassware in favor of guzzling the beer straight from the can.
Buffy hesitated. Nothing good usually came from her drinking. But in the end she caved under Xander’s red-eyed gaze and took a swallow, and another. They drank in silence for a while, not quite knowing what to say. Finally, Xander spoke up. “Why, Buffy? Why him?”
Buffy chewed her lip and took another drink. “It was so hard. Coming back. You all wanted me to be the way I was, and I couldn’t. You were all so happy with what you had done, and I couldn’t think of any way to tell you what I was going through.”
“So you confided in the evil dead, rather than your best friends?” Xander remarked bitterly.
“At least Spike was there!” Buffy snapped. “You and Anya were in wedding mode, and Willow was having her little magic fest. I was depressed, dealing with Dawn, working all day and slaying on top of it. Excuse the fuck out of me for not considering your feelings while I was having my total meltdown!” She angrily finished the rest of her beer and started to get up.
“Wait,” said Xander, in a less angry tone. “Just… Look, I want to understand, ok?” He got up and got the whole case of beer out of the fridge, putting it on the table next to him so there would be no interruptions. He refilled Buffy’s glass and popped open another for himself. “Please, just let me in, will you? We’ve all somehow gone to hell and I gotta know how this all happened. How did we get here?”
Buffy reluctantly sat back down and took another drink. “I think it all started after I defeated that demon that came back from the grave with me,” she began.

Buffy talked for nearly an hour. Xander’s face was impassive as Buffy poured out the whole story. Once the floodgates opened there was no stopping her as she told the long, convoluted tale of her relationship with Spike. Xander said nothing except the occasional “Go on.” In between he kept refilling Buffy’s glass, first with beer and then with Jack Daniels when that ran out. A small warning in the back of Buffy’s brain started flashing as she started on the whiskey, reminding her about the unmixiness of Buffy and alcohol. But it felt so good to finally let go of all these secrets. Why did I shut the others out all this time? I could have avoided so much misery if I just let them in. She ignored the sensible voice and gulped the whiskey, shuddering as she did so.
“I finally told him that this couldn’t go on,” she was finishing. “I was using him. I couldn’t love him back and it wasn’t fair to him.” She found tears running down her face unexpectedly. “But it still hurt to see him with someone else, so I just don’t know what I feel.” She downed another shot of whiskey as she finished.
Xander had been listening to all this in silence. He had no idea she had been this depressed, this close to the edge. He reached out and took her hand. “You don’t need to worry about him. He’s a vampire, Buffy, remember? He can’t feel love the way you and I can.”
Buffy shook her head. “You didn’t sh… see the look on his face.” Her words were starting to slur as the alcohol seeped further into her brain. “I was cruel. To him,” she added. Words were definitely becoming harder to come by.
Xander looked at her small hand in his. This is the way it should have been all along, his beer soaked brain reasoned. It should have been me and Buffy. I know all her slaying tales and secrets. I could be her shoulder to cry on. “You should have told me about all this earlier. I could have helped.”
Buffy shook her head. “You and whatsername. Anya. You had plans and stuff.”
Xander’s head was buzzing. His thoughts about Anya, Buffy, and the whole fucked up situation had been whirling in his head as he listened to Buffy’s tale. Had he really been so blind to what Buffy was going through? “I think I was wrong about Anya,” he said at last. He finished one more shot of JD for courage. “I think I should have been looking elsewhere all along.”
Buffy looked confused. “Wha? You and her have been insef… instep…insheperabable,” she finally spit out. Buffy focused blearily on the wall clock. “Ish two in the morning. I should go. Home.” She stood up, and instantly wished she hadn’t as the room spun around her. Xander leaped up and grabbed her shoulders to steady her. “Thanksh, Xander. You’re a good friend.”
Xander’s brain was nearly as addled with drink as Buffy’s. He looked down at her green eyes and his mind started its treacherous chant. Mine. She should have been mine back in high school. What does she see in all these fucking vampires? She’s just never had a guy who wasn’t some supernatural freak. I could show her. Taking her drunken staring for interest, he pulled her to him and kissed her.
“Mmm! Xander!” Buffy sputtered, pulling away from him. “What the hell?”
“We need each other now, Buffy,” Xander explained, moving closer again. “We’re free of the others. I could show you… I could help.”
Buffy reeled again dizzily as she tried to get her feet to comply. “You’re drunk,” she said. “I need to go.”
“Stay, please,” Xander pleaded, grabbing her shoulders again. “I need someone. So do you.” He pulled her into another kiss, mashing his lips against hers.
“Xander, shtop it,” she said, pushing against him. But as she did her feet tangled and she went over backward. The back of her skull slammed with a resounding crack into the corner of the coffee table as she fell, and she blacked out.
Xander saw her lying there, stretched out with her blonde hair arranged in a halo about her face and was momentarily concerned. “Buffy?” He knelt down a little unsteadily and stroked her face. His hand continued down her lithe body and he found himself getting harder and more aroused by the moment. He wavered for a moment, then started unfastening her jeans. She’ll see, he reasoned. When she comes to she’ll see how good we are together. She’ll see how we’re meant to be together. Any shred of conscience was washed away in a sea of grief, anger, and alcohol as he pulled off her shoes and her jeans.
Buffy started to stir as consciousness returned somewhat. Cold. Why are my legs cold? She felt someone moving near her, over her. “Spike?” she murmured. “ Izzat you?”
The sound of her calling out that hated name drove Xander over the edge. ”No, goddamnit. It’s Xander! Xander!” With that he shoved her thighs apart and forced himself into her.
Buffy cried out in pain and shock. Xander pinned her wrists to the floor, kissing her resisting mouth and neck. Buffy struggled, but between the alcohol and the head injury she couldn’t quite get her limbs to cooperate. She started sobbing as it registered that her assailant was Xander, her friend, the one she had just poured her heart out to. ”Stop. Please stop,” she pleaded in a small voice.
Xander didn’t even hear. He kept pounding away at her, all the time muttering, half to himself, “Never good enough for you. Should have been me. I knew you first. Should have been me.” His full weight pressed down on Buffy, making her gasp for air as he grunted and moaned on top of her. Finally he gave one final vicious thrust and came, as Buffy gave up the struggle and passed out once more.

Buffy’s head was still spinning when she came to. At first she couldn’t quite figure out where she was. She started to get up and realized that something heavy was lying across her. As her vision cleared, she realized that the heavy something was Xander, passed out on top of her. She shuddered and shoved him off, scrambling back away from him. He rolled onto his back and kept snoring, his flaccid penis hanging out of his trousers. Buffy held her hand over her mouth as she remembered him grabbing her and her falling into the table. Her mind replayed his hurtful mutterings as he shoved himself into her. She realized that her thighs were sticky with come and a little blood – she had been dry and unprepared for him and he hadn’t cared. Shaking, she got to her feet and pulled her jeans on. She found her shoes and put them on with fumbling fingers. She took one last look at Xander and retched at the memory of him grabbing her, covering her. Turning, she fled from the building, dizzy with shock and horror.