Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Joss Whedon et. al.
 
Thank you again for all the reviewers! You have completely inspired me to stay up late working on this!
 
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Destroying Entropy – Chapter 10
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Spike stalked out of the Summers’ yard, anger pouring off of him in waves. Harris must pay. Son of a bitch will never make my girl cry again. He paused only to light a cigarette on his way into town.
 
After Buffy had left his crypt he had showered and changed, then he’d made his way through the tunnel with a few loads of garbage to a side passage that led nowhere in particular. He supposed he could have waited until dark to take the garbage outside, but he found himself restless and unable to sit still to wait out the sun. By the time the sun finally set he had reduced the enormous trash pile to a relatively small trash pile, which definitely improved the surroundings somewhat. He had lit a bunch of candles and contemplated the next move over a cigarette and a large glass of blood. He wanted to find Harris and beat him to a bloody pulp. His dilemma was how to do it without exploding his brain with the fucking chip. It was hard to get around the fact that the chip worked on intent, and he fully intended to harm the slimy little bastard. Finally, after turning the situation around endlessly in his mind, he decided to go check on Buffy first. Maybe she had recovered enough to want revenge on the bastard, and would lend a hand in administering the requisite pounding.
 
But now, as he left Buffy’s yard, he was torn with rage and a fierce pitying sadness. The thought of the Slayer, his Slayer, huddled in her room away from the world tore at him. The fact that the asshole that put her in this state was still walking around, and still running his mouth and upsetting her was not to be borne. He was done caring what it was going to do to his head. Don’t care if my whole sodding skull bursts open. He is going to pay dearly.
 
Spike thought about Harris, and how he fought. Wild, swinging haymaker punches. A fair amount of force, due to his size, but very little grace. Decent enough with an axe or some other long handled weapon. Must be the whole American baseball thing. Spike figured that if he could get Xander swinging and charging, he could probably do a fair amount of damage just by redirecting him and letting his momentum be his own worst enemy. Spike lit yet another cigarette as he ran through it in his mind. He wasn’t a big thinker, or a strategist, but he was a fighter, and he could map out a brawl in his head with a surprising amount of detail if he knew his opponent. Course that didn’t stop Buffy from kicking your ass did it? He smirked ruefully at the memory of carefully studying Buffy, watching videos of her fighting, sending minions to test her, and still getting the shit kicked out of him on a regular basis. Magnificent specimen, my Slayer, he thought.
 
He shook his head, returning to the problem at hand. To execute the desired thrashing, he needed to locate the whelp first. He headed over to Xander’s apartment as a first guess. When he got there he didn’t see Xander’s car around, but then Spike wasn’t completely sure where he parked it. He read the names on the door, and rang the appropriate bell. No answer. So either he’s not at home, or he’s completely passed out. Spike looked around, and seeing no one else he vamped out to use his senses better. He could smell the scent of various people, but no recent Harris smells. Guess he didn’t come home after work then.
 
Thinking a bit, he went to check out the Magic Box. As he got there, he could tell instantly that Xander had been there. For one thing, his scent was everywhere around the door. For another, he could pick up the faint sound of sobbing within. He tried the door, which turned and opened. Anya was seated at the table, her head in her arms, crying her heart out. She looked up when he came in. He noticed some bruises starting to blossom on her upper arms and it increased his irritation level to new heights. “You alright, pet?” he asked.
 
“Spike, what are you doing here?” Anya asked, sniffling and wary.
 
“I was looking for Harris. I take it he came and left.”
 
Anya nodded. “He’s out looking for you, actually. Thinks that getting rid of you will solve all his problems.”
 
Spike scoffed. “His problems would take fourteen of my lifetimes to solve. He got any weapons you know about?”
 
Anya shrugged. “Just the usual stakes, as far as I know. Unless he raided Buffy’s weapons chest again.”
 
“Unlikely. Dawn booted him out of there after they got home.”
 
“What happened between them? No one seems to know, or want to tell me.”
 
Spike looked with sorrow on her tearstained face. “This isn’t going to be easy to hear, Anya,” he warned. Taking a deep breath he quietly said, “He raped her. She fell and got knocked out, and he raped her.”
 
Anya’s face registered pity, but not much surprise. “I never thought he would ever actually go that far, but when he’s had too much to drink on a bad day anything is possible. Is Buffy going to be ok?”
 
“I hope so. But I need to find Harris. He needs to be made to understand what he did. He is not getting away with this.” Spike fixed her with his blue eyes. “Can you help me find him?”
 
“Believe me, I wish I could,” she said bitterly. “But I don’t know where he is. My guess is that he would go somewhere to try to ambush you or something, the coward.”
 
“Thanks anyway, love,” he said gently. “Are you ok here by yourself?”
 
She nodded again. “I need some time alone. Thanks though.” As an afterthought she added, “You probably shouldn’t kill him, I guess. But beyond that, I’m done with him.”
 
“You’re better shut of him, pet. You deserve better.”
 
“Thank you, Spike,” Anya said softly.
 
“No problem,” Spike said, and he turned to leave. Outside he fought to control his rage. Fucking bastard. The two women who he should be worshiping on his knees are the two he’s hurting the most. He stopped and sniffed again. The scent here was much stronger, and he was able to track Xander through the town. He passed Xander’s car parked away on a side street. Xander had clearly lingered here, but then left on foot. As Spike followed the scent, he realized that it lead straight to Restfield. So that’s your plan, is it? Leave the car far away so I don’t notice and stake out my crypt. Needs to be a disinvite spell for humans. Bloody unfair advantage, it is.
 
Spike approached his crypt silently. He could see a faint glow of candlelight through the high windows. He had gotten in the bad habit of leaving without blowing the candles out, given how all of his flammable possessions had pretty much gone up in flames already. Guess Harris is smart enough to leave them lit so that I don’t suspect anything. Pity. The dark would have given him more of an edge. If Harris had a crossbow things might go badly for him. In the end, though, he hardly hesitated at all. He stood in front of his crypt door for a moment, cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, then slammed the door open with a bang and growled, “Hello, Harris.”
 
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Xander had left the Magic Box and driven away in a red fog. He had driven around town somewhat aimlessly for a few minutes, until his head cleared enough to formulate a plan. The best thing to do would be to stake out his crypt. Right now he’s probably out stalking Buffy or playing poker or whatever the hell he does. He’s got to come home sometime, and I’ll be waiting. Satisfied with that plan he had parked the car, grabbed a few stakes out of the trunk, and set off for Spike’s crypt. He had been relieved to find it empty, save for a number of flickering candles and a pile of garbage bags. Well what do you know? An evil demon who cleans up after himself. Go figure. Somehow it irritated him even more to see the signs of normal human occupation. He can talk, walk, and clean like a human but I know what he is. Xander had checked around for any hidden dangers, then sat down in the armchair to wait.
 
Now the demon in question was standing at the door, seemingly relaxed but with undisguised malice in his ice blue eyes. “Spike,” Xander said, rising from the chair with a stake in each hand. “Good to see you. Hopefully we can make this a short visit.”
 
Spike circled slowly into the crypt, watching Xander like a mongoose watching a cobra. “To what do I owe the pleasure,” Spike growled. “Come to boast of your latest achievement?”
 
“What do you mean?” Xander asked, keeping his distance.
 
“Well, you so successfully reduced Buffy to a complete wreck, so I assumed that doing the same to Anya was part of your general plan.” Spike had worked himself over next to a tall iron candlestick, which he felt would give him a bit of a leg up on the situation. But he waited, wanting Harris to make the first move.
 
“You’re one to lecture me,” Xander barked. “How many people have you killed and terrorized?”
 
“Didn’t terrorize my friends, asshole,” Spike snarled. “And I never forced myself on a woman. Was always man enough to have a willing partner. Never had to wait until a woman was knocked unconscious in order to get some.”
 
That was the second time someone had insulted Xander’s manhood that night, and it filled him with incoherent rage. “Shut up! Goddamn fucking undead bastard!” he roared. With that he charged at Spike, both stakes at the ready.
 
Spike whirled, grabbed the candlestick, and leaped sideways, causing Xander to crash into a sarcophagus. Before Xander had a chance to recover Spike clenched his jaw against the pain and swung the candlestick at Xander’s head. The pain from the chip was so blinding that the blow missed, hitting his opponent’s shoulder instead. Spike staggered, dropping the candlestick and clutching his head, desperately trying to stay upright.
 
Xander found his left shoulder throbbing and his left arm almost useless, but the pain just spurred him on. He went low and tackled the vampire, knocking him to the floor with his momentum and weight. Xander reared up to stake him with his right arm. Spike gathered all his strength to heave Xander off of him, landing a blow to Xander’s nose at the same time. The blow was accompanied by a scream of pain from Spike, and he rolled sideways, trying to get away long enough for his vision to clear.
 
Xander staggered to his feet with a broken nose and a dangling arm, while Spike had made it as far as one knee, his nose bleeding from burst blood vessels and his vision doubled and blurred. Spike fixed his wavering stare on Harris. “So what’s your plan, whelp? What do you think is going to happen after you kill me? Think Buffy and Anya are going to just leap into your arms again? One big Scoobie family, all forgiven and forgotten?”
 
“What do you care?” said Xander. “All you’ve ever wanted is to see our group torn apart so you could pick us off one by one!”
 
Spike couldn’t believe this guy. He really thought that this would just blow over, like all his other fuck ups. He really believed that somehow the others could forgive this. “Right now, my only wish is to give you the thrashing you richly deserve, you fucking prick.”
 
“Wish granted,” said a voice from the doorway. Spike looked up to see the former Cicely Underwood, in her full demon form. He clutched his head as a blinding flash like lightning when through his mind. Then he heard the smallest click and saw a small silvery computer chip bounce on the floor in front of him. “I figured I was a bit harsh to you way back when. But maybe you could take care of Anya’s vengeance while you’re at it?”
 
Spike’s face slowly bloomed into an ecstatic grin as realization dawned. “My pleasure, pet. Think we’re square now.” Halfrek smiled, nodded her head graciously, and vanished, leaving a stunned Xander staring into her wake. Spike got to his feet, head still throbbing, but the pain was muted by the utter joy of being free. He stepped forward and slowly, deliberately crushed the chip under his boot heel. “Now, where were we?” he said, stalking toward Xander one slow, determined step at a time.
 
Xander grew pale and backed away. “You know if you kill me she’s going to have to stake you. She’s the Slayer. She can’t have you running around treating Sunnydale like your own personal buffet.”
 
Spike continued advancing. “Who said anything about killing you?” he said in a low, menacing voice. Moving in a blur of supernatural speed he closed the distance. In the space of seconds Xander found himself disarmed and up against the wall, held there by the throat with a set of long, amazingly strong pale fingers. “Well, look at that,” Spike purred, grinning like a madman. “No migraine. Guess that Underwood girl was alright after all.” Spike released one of his hands from Xander’s neck and brought it down to Xander’s crotch. Striking like a snake he grabbed Xander’s balls in an iron-like grip and twisted. Xander groaned in agony as tears sprung to his eyes.
 
Still keeping a firm grip on Xander’s throat and crotch, Spike leaned in until he was inches away from Xander’s sweating, terrified face. He vamped out slowly, letting each bump and wrinkle pop out one by one, and letting his eyes fade slowly from that brilliant blue to a dangerous yellow. “Now that I have your undivided attention,” he growled. “Let me explain a few things to you. You hurt my girl. You also have behaved like a complete and utter bastard to a perfectly good woman who deserves better than a drunken lackbrain such as yourself. As a consequence, I am going to hurt you. Very badly. But I guarantee, you will survive to pay for what you have done.” Xander’s eyes bulged from their sockets as he literally shook with fear.
 
Spike twisted and lifted Xander into the air, flinging him across the crypt to bounce on the floor and come to rest against the wall in a heap. Damn, that feels good. He had honestly, truly forgotten the feeling of being able to act in any way he wished without his head exploding.
 
Xander was stunned, but shook his head and tried to scramble back away from the smirking demon approaching him. One of his flailing hands fell upon one of the fallen stakes. He clutched it behind his back, still retreating as Spike sauntered over. “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you, Harris?” Spike said, looking at Xander as if he were an insect. “Girl goes over to make sure you’re ok, and you pay her back by assaulting her when she’s knocked out.”
 
Despite his fear, Xander said in a hoarse voice, “She’s the Slayer. I think she could have stopped me if she had wanted to.”
 
“With a concussion and a blood alcohol level high enough to fell an elephant? Or didn’t you notice that she had knocked herself flat out on your goddamn table?” Spike bent over and grabbed Xander by the front of his shirt.
 
As Spike hauled him up, Xander yelled and whipped the stake around, trying to stab Spike in the back. Spike noticed just in time and dodged, but the stake caught him in the meaty part of his upper arm, gouging a hole in his beloved duster, not to mention his bicep. Roaring, he flung Xander across the room once more. Wincing, he pulled the stake out and examined his coat. “Fucking bastard. I just might kill you for that.”
 
Spike strode over to the cowering man and aimed a kick at his groin that would have felled a vampire. Xander was gagging in agony as he curled up on the floor like a cooked shrimp. Another kick and two ribs broke, making him gasp and cough up blood. Spike watched him writhing on the ground with disgust. “Always hid behind that Scoobie label didn’t you? Thought you could do anything and dodge the consequences because you’re a White Hat. Hypocritical bastard.”
 
Xander tried to form a coherent sentence. He finally ground out, “Buffy… kill you… with no chip…” He tried to sit up and failed. “Evil. Thing.”
 
“I’m evil?” Spike was incredulous. “When I had Buffy chained up and unconscious, did I rape her? Chip hasn’t worked on her since she got back.” Xander’s eyes registered surprise at that previously unknown tidbit. “Never gave her a fucking concussion! Could’ve let you get killed by your stupidity on patrol this summer twelve times over. Didn’t. Maybe I should’ve, saved the girls a lot of heartache.”
 
“Fuck. You.” Xander gasped.
 
Spike bent down and dragged Xander up by his collar again. “You fucked yourself, mate,” he said quietly. Xander swallowed, and silently prayed for deliverance.
 
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As the kitchen door slammed, Willow, Tara, and Dawn hung there for a moment stunned. Willow was the first to act. She ran to the door and flung it open crying, “Buffy! Wait!” But Slayer speed had already carried Buffy nearly out of sight. Willow turned to the others. “We have to do something!”
 
Tara found herself wanting to smack Willow upside the head. Instead she said, “Willow, what is wrong with you? After all this I think you should be worried about Buffy and Spike, not Xander!”
 
“But Buffy and Spike have supernatural powers! Even someone who… did what Xander did doesn’t deserve to die!”
 
Dawn weighed in at this point. “Hello? Spike’s a sitting duck with a chip in his head! Buffy needs Spike. If Xander kills him…” Dawn found herself literally unable to conceive of what Buffy would do if Spike died. Images of her sister staring blankly into space came unbidden to her mind. Biting her lip she whispered, “If Xander kills Spike we’re going to lose her forever. Don’t you see that?” She and Tara both looked at Willow.
 
Willow’s mind was rent with conflicting feelings. Dawn’s words recalled Buffy’s catatonia after her sister had been taken by Glory. Could that happen again? Does Spike really mean that much to her? Would she really kill Xander? “This is so hard,” she said finally. “I just don’t know what to do here.”

“Look, let’s find Xander,” Tara said, taking charge of the situation. “Either we’ll prevent him from doing something that’s going to get him killed, or we’ll prevent someone from killing him before he can answer for what he’s done. He’s the key to all this. We need to find him.” Moving with deliberate purpose, Tara quickly reassembled the materials for the locator spell that they had used just days before to track Buffy. Willow shook herself out of her inert state after a few more moments of lip chewing and hand wringing to help Tara. Within minutes, the spell was ready. They cast herbs and said the ancient chant while Dawn watched the map intently. Just as it had the previous time, a small glow hovered and settled on Restfield Cemetery.
 
“Spike’s crypt!” cried Dawn. “He’s already there!”
 
“We’ll take your mom’s car,” said Tara. Without waiting for confirmation, she grabbed the keys and headed out to the car, followed closely by Dawn and a deeply conflicted Willow.
 
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Buffy sprinted at top speed through the streets of Sunnydale. She wasn’t sure where Spike was, but she knew Xander. Xander was a coward at heart. He would want to ambush Spike to try to gain the advantage. The best place to lie in wait for Spike was where Spike would have to come eventually anyway – his crypt. As before she burned up the streets of Sunnydale in an all out rush to get to Spike’s place, but this time the urgency seemed even greater. I need him. Oh God, I think I love him. And if he’s gone… She buried that thought. She would get there in time. She had to.
 
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Xander thought he knew what fear was. Growing up on a hellmouth, one tended to experience fear on a fairly regular basis. But he had never pissed himself before. He had never wept and begged before. But here he found himself doing all those things, and not for a moment caring what anyone thought of his manliness. “Please… I’m sorry. I’ll do anything. Please,” he blubbered from the corner where he was huddled.
 
Spike stood over him and surveyed his work. In addition to the broken ribs and broken nose, Xander sported two black eyes, a probably dislocated shoulder, and a foot with several broken toes. Spike had snapped two of his fingers like kindling, and had been prepared to make the whole set match when Xander had finally broken. Spike wasn’t looking his absolute best, given the wounded arm and the still seeping bloody nose, but he felt hale and hearty next to the wreck before him. Spike crouched down and straddled Xander, pulling him closer. “I could drain you right now,” he whispered. “Listen to your heart beat slower and slower until it just… stops.”
 
“Do it then,” gasped Xander in one last burst of defiance. “Show everyone what a monster you are.”
 
“Wouldn’t drink from your filthy veins if you were the last living human on earth,” Spike said contemptuously. He stood up, pulling Xander with him. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You are going to admit, to Buffy, in front of the others, what you did to her. Let’s go.”
 
“I can save you the trip.”
 
Spike turned to see Buffy coming through the door. Xander noticed her through his swollen eyes and squirmed in Spike’s grasp. “Buffy! Look out! His chip is gone!” Xander cried.
 
“Quiet, whelp,” Spike barked. He released Xander who crumpled to the floor again in an ungainly pile.
 
Buffy moved closer to Spike, looking concerned. “You’re hurt,” she said, touching his torn coat and watching her hand come away bloody. “Is your chip really gone? What happened?”
 
“That demon friend of Anya’s, Hallie,” Spike explained. “Turns out she felt she owed me one. Long story. But when I expressed my wish to pound this little worm into the ground, she obliged.”
 
Xander spoke up again, struggling to form words with his bruised lips. “You’re not going to stake him? He’s evil! Soulless! Now there’s nothing preventing him from…”
 
“Shut up, Xander!” yelled Buffy. Spike stepped back as Buffy moved forward to stand over Xander. She was struck by the reversal in roles. She must have been lying on the floor like this, unable to move, in pain, and Xander was standing looking down at her. “Do you remember when our places were reversed? What were you thinking when you saw me laying there on your floor? Far as I know I didn’t say anything, let alone something like ‘I want to have sex with you.’”
 
Xander’s mouth moved without forming any words for a moment. Then he managed to say, “I was drunk. I thought it would help us both. We’ve worked together for so long. We know each other.”
 
“Oh, I know you, Xander,” Buffy said with contempt. “I know how you never, ever take responsibility for your actions.”
 
“Buffy, please, it’s just been such a rough time lately.”
 
“Lately?” she exploded. She was so worked up that she didn’t notice Tara, Willow, and Dawn slipping into the crypt behind them. Willow gasped when she saw Xander, but Tara held her back and Buffy kept yelling. “You remember that hyena incident? How you swore that you didn’t remember almost raping me then? I know you lied about that. Found it in one of Giles’ books after the fact. But because you were my friend I didn’t say anything.”
 
“But that wasn’t my fault!” Xander cried, then groaned as his attempt to sit up ground his broken ribs together.
 
“Calling down that dancing demon was, though! How many people danced themselves to death because of you, Xander? Do you ever think of them? Do you remember that I could have been one of them if it wasn’t for Spike? If Spike had called down that demon you would have been screaming for his head. But because you did it, we’re supposed to brush it under the rug?”
 
“I didn’t mean…”
 
“You never ‘mean it’ but you also never pay any price for it either, do you?” Buffy continued. She stopped her furious pacing and stared hard at Xander for a moment. Then she looked away and said in a cold, hurt tone, “You raped me, Xander. I hit my head on your table and gave myself a concussion. And instead of helping me, you pulled off my jeans and raped me.”
 
Xander shook his head back and forth, registering the hurt tone in Buffy’s voice. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I thought… You’re the Slayer. I thought that you would have thrown me off if you didn’t want it. I didn’t know you were hurt.”
 
“Even if I hadn’t whacked my head, wouldn’t the words ‘Xander, stop it’ mean something to you?” she said. Her eyes turned to him, angry and sad by turns as she spun out her tale. “You hurt me Xander. I was bleeding when I left. But even worse, I got to hear how you really felt about me. Like I was some prize or possession that you deserved because you had seen me first. I heard you in Spike’s crypt, telling everyone I must be crazy or being held prisoner, or anything you could say to make sure that you weren’t the bad guy. Didn’t matter that Spike hadn’t done anything to me. You would have killed him, or let the others kill him, just to cover up what you did.”
 
Buffy turned and fixed her stare on the others. “And you guys would have gone along with it. You would have let him kill the one man I feel I can depend on, and then let him off the hook because ‘Spike’s a vampire’. You would have helped him push it all under the rug again.”
 
The group all stared at each other in stunned silence. In a quiet voice Willow finally said, “Xander is all this true?” All eyes turned to the battered man on the floor.
 
Xander quailed under the stares. He searched his brain for some angle, some spin that could justify what he did, but he found himself trapped. There was nothing he could come up with that would defuse this situation. What have I done? Jesus Christ, what have I done? At last he whispered, “Yes. It’s true. It’s all true.” With that he covered his face with his hands, curled into a ball and wept for all he had thrown away.
 
TBC