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"I don't see why I have to be outside."
"I'm not leaving you in the house with my family."
"You're sleeping outdoors on Christmas to avoid them. Seems if I drained them all you'd be grateful."
Spike sat in Xander's yard, his back against a tree. A length of clothesline stretched from one wrist behind the tree trunk to the other wrist. Xander had never finished his knots badge in scouts, so he'd supplemented the rope with several rounds of duct tape across Spike's chest.
"If you drained them all, you'd be so drunk you'd fall asleep in the gutter and forget to wake up at sunrise. Hey, on second thought..."
Xander stretched out in his sleeping bag, a Coleman lantern set on a picnic cooler beside him. Light and noise spilled from the kitchen windows beyond. Anthony Harris was trying to out-shout his brother Rory, who was doing a darned impressive rendition of Sweeny Todd. Somewhere indoors, glassware smashed. Xander pretended not to flinch.
"Speaking of sunrise," the resentful vampire continued, "how do I know you'll let me loose in time to get indoors?"
"You're on the west side of the tree," Xander replied dismissively. "If you start sizzling, just yell."
Spike sighed. "You could at least nick me some of the booze."
"There's Orion." Xander ignored him. "And the Big Dipper."
"Ursa major," Spike corrected, peering out from under the tree's branches. "Cetus and Eridanus," he continued.
"The monster knows his constellations. I guess being a creature of the night, you've seen a lot of them."
"Learnt them at school." Spike's voice lost some of its tough-guy edge. "A prefect's bat can be bloody motivating. Can't forget their names -- and I've tried." He counted off the glittering patterns overhead. "Gemini, Perseus, Taurus, Draco, Cassiopeia."
Xander raised himself on his elbow. "Was there actually a time when you weren't the biggest, baddest shark in the pool?"
Spike grinned lazily, not bothering to shift into game face. "Why do you think I became the baddest shark?"
"I get that," Xander paused. "And that disturbs me."
A screech from inside the house was followed by the thud-and-splinter of drywall smashing.
"Not to worry. I am prepared." Xander forced his fists open and lay back against his pillow. "I borrowed some tools from work before they let us out for the holiday. Come tomorrow, there will be tape and spackle."
Spike taunted, "Ohh, Bob the Builder has his tools all ready. Is that the only thing they need you for, then? Patching up their messes?" Xander refused to answer.
"And what is this camping lark in aid of, anyway? You're born and bred in Sunnydale. Haven't you learnt to sleep behind a threshold? Not like it's Halloween, when the things that go bump take the night off." Spike shifted, trying to ease his shoulders.
"Eh, I've got my own captive bump-er. I figure any vamps who wander by will hate you more than they hate me. I'll hear you screaming in time to run."
"That's assuming I don't sit back and watch them eat you."
"You wouldn't do that."
"Don't confuse me with the souled poofter. I hate you all. Soon as I find a way of getting rid of this damned chip, I'll shake your blood from my feet."
Xander sat up again. "I don't expect you to help me out of the goodness of your heart. You came to Buffy for sanctuary. She wouldn't be happy if I got killed and you didn't do anything. How long would a neutered vamp last on his own, huh?"
Jessica Harris appeared at the window above the kitchen sink. From the way her shoulders shook, it was clear she was crying. She whirled at a voice behind her and ran out of the room.
"Dammit, Dad," Xander breathed.
A cruel smile spread over Spike's face. "Studying up, whelp? Ready to settle down with that bird of yours and begin knocking her about?"
"Shut up."
"Anya's got more spine than your dear old mater. Maybe you'll hurt her bad enough to drive her back to the vengeance fold. Wouldn't that be a sight: you drinking, her cursing. I just might stay in Sunnydale to watch the fireworks."
"Shut up."
"You can name your first son after your dad, and start the whole cycle over. Like father, like father, like son."
"Shut up! I am nothing like him!"
"Then snap his neck and give me a meal. Everyone will think it was a passing vamp got him. Your mother will be free, and no one will know you fed the tame dog." By the time he finished his sentence, Spike was speaking through his fangs.
Xander stared at him, panting, the whites showing around his eyes.
"I won't let you within ten yards of my family. They're mine. You're going back to Giles tomorrow."
"Well, well," Spike chuckled, slipping back to human guise again. "There's something to the boy after all."
Xander turned his back and zipped the sleeping bag up to his chin. "I don't see why Buffy doesn't just stake you."
"Buffy takes after her mother. She gives people chances."
"It's stupid. She should have killed Angel, and she should have killed you."
"That's what her reason keeps telling her. But where would you and I be, Harris, without the benefit of her doubt?"
Xander was silent for a minute. "Keep away from the north side of the tree."
"Why?" Even in the dark, Xander could hear Spike's head tilting.
"There's a fire ant nest six inches to your right."
"Ah."
The stars wheeled overhead. Only the foolish would follow them to Sunnydale.