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Xander Harris
- Undercover
by
BmblBee
Part Twenty-Six
Xander trotted out the front door and dropped down on the old wooden swing on the front porch. He looked up at the rusty chain that squeaked and groaned as he swayed back and forth while contemplating the little scene that had just played out in the kitchen.
That could have gone a whole lot better but, smiling, he realized it also could have gone a whole lot worse.
Checking his happy meal watch he was somewhat surprised to see it was almost one. He would have thought that Spike would have been by before now, wanting to take him for a ride on his monster. Maybe even a ride on his bike. Xander snorted and snickered at his own amazing sense of humor. He briefly wonder if turning gay had some how increased his sparkling wit.
It had been slightly concerning to realize Spike didn't get his phone number when he took him home, but he then relaxed, assuring himself that it really wasn't necessary since Spike now knew where he lived.
Impetuous boy probably didn't want to waste time on the phone.
Xander sat back and waited. The old swing creaked, the flakes of rust drifted down and settled on his shoulders like dandruff.
By two o'clock he was becoming down right worried. His ears had picked up regularly at the sound of any loud motor only to be repeatedly disappointed when a truck, scooter, or Yugo cruised by. The one time it had been a motor
cycle the bright red color told him instantly it was the wrong one.
By three o'clock his ass was crimped by the swings slat seat and his brain was conjuring up all types of gruesome scenarios. He vowed to never forgive himself for not driving cross town to make sure Spike had arrived safely.
Xander stood up and started pacing. Mental pictures of high school films such as "Blood on the Highway" and "My Seatbelt Would Have Saved Me" flashed through his head.
He had no doubt that the one or two twisty turns on the way to Locust st. were the culprits. The place where his beloved lost control, spinning wildly across both lanes, directly in the path of an 18 wheeler, driven, no doubt, by a wild coked up lunatic who was obviously more concerned with the bologna sandwich he was eating than the hot, sexy driver of the approaching Harley.
Finally able to slam on the brakes he must have crashed into the steel guard rail, flipping head over heels and landing, broken and bleeding in the gutter below, calling out Xander's name weakly before losing consciousness. Rocked by the horror of it Xander turned and dashed back in to the house. He rushed through the living room headed for the basement. He had urgent calls to make.
He was in such a blind hurry had he hardly noticed the man sitting on the sofa, beer in one hand T.V. remote in the other, wearing only an undershirt and a pair of well worn boxers that permanently gapped open in the front. "Hey! Boy! Your Mother tells me you're a homo. That right?"
"Tony! I did not! I said the boy was very gay this morning, that's all. I'm sorry, honey, your dad just misunderstood." Jessica returned to the kitchen where she was tackling a difficult suduko and an even more challenging gin and juice.
Xander quickly weighed his options. Continue on to the basement or stay and have this out now. Considering the hospital already had Spike on life support, another minute or two really wouldn't matter. Besides, if this was going to be ugly he might as well know now.
Xander turned and slowly faced his Father. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. "That's right. I'm gay. Gay as an interior decorator. Gay as an Olympic ice skater. Gay as Chucky, the nurse's aid that works at the senior center. Gay. Gay. Gay."
Xander braced himself for the scathing reply. The cruel remarks. The threats of abandonment and eviction.
Tony Harris took another drink of his beer and turned back to the football game on the television. He belched once and scratched his partially exposed nuts. "Had a cousin like that. Big family scandal when his parents found out. Know what happened? Boy lived on a farm. His old man, my Uncle Dale caught him doing a chicken. Can you imagine that? A fuckin' chicken. You ever see the claws on them fuckers? Funny thing was he only liked the brown ones. Brown chickens only. Boy was real picky about that. Interracial chicken fucking." Tony turned and looked at his son. "You ain't doin' no chickens are you boy?"
Xander shook his head. "No sir. No chickens."
Tony turned back around, giving his attention again to the Browns - Steelers game and apparently losing interest in the conversation at hand. "Good that's good."
Breathing a sigh of relief Xander headed back in the direction of his mancave only to be stopped one more time.
"Hey. Just one more thing."
"Yes, sir?"
"Let me know if you can get us a good deal on a dozen eggs"
With that Tony roared with laughter. Flopping around wildly and finally emphasizing the point by tossing his empty beer can in the direction of Xander's retreating head. Years of practice had Xander ducking easily. The can bounced off the
wall and hit the floor.
"JESS! Bring me another fuckin' beer!"
Xander closed the basement door before he could catch his mother's reply but had one of his own as he muttered. "Ha ha. Man's a fuckin' comedian."
Wasting no more time on the bullshit that was the Harris family circus, Xander snatched up the phone book and his little black note pad. He flipped both open and immediately copied down the numbers of both local hospitals, the Highway Patrol, and the Sheriff's office.
He grabbed his Sports Illustrated shoe phone and began dialing. Twenty minutes later found him more confused than before. No one reported any flaming highway accidents. Neither of the hospitals had had late night shattered bodies admitted, and no one had anything at all on a William Pratt.
Xander paced the length of the basement. Starting at the bottom of the steps that led upstairs, straight back past the washer, dryer, water heater and his mother's discarded exercise bike to the small bathroom. He stopped, turned and paced back. Finally after five trips he knew what he had to do. He needed to go see for himself. Drive by their small house on Locust st. and make sure Spike was there, alive and breathing.
Leaping the steps two at a time, Xander cringed at what he had to do first. "Um, Dad, can I borrow ten bucks for gas? I'll pay you back as soon as I get that job I put in for."
He braced himself for the insults he knew would accompany the cash, but was pleasantly surprised when his Father pulled two fives from his wallet and dropped them on the coffee table. "Just don't be late for dinner. Your mom's making an omelet. Hahahahaha!!!!"
Xander swiped the money, rolled his eyes and left.
Part Twenty-Seven
The older man sat peacefully on the small balcony outside his apartment sipping his morning tea and reading the Sunday edition of the New York Times. He was so absorbed in the fluctuation of the yen and the Euro that he very nearly missed the sound of his doorbell jangling impatiently.
Neatly folding the pages, he frowned and laid them on the table by his plate, careful not to get jam from his bagel on the corners. "Who in the bloody hell could that be?" he muttered as he rose from his chair and removed his reading glasses from his nose.
Walking back through the opened french doors, through the small den and into the living room, Giles paused before reaching the entry hall, still not certain the interruption had not been imagined.
His uncertainty was resolved when, in two rapid bursts, the bell rang again. Rupert Giles put his hands on his hips. He was a very private man and did not invite companionship. His small bland home was not filled with the laughter of dinner parties. It was not privy to intimate candlelight rendezvous. He did not have mates or buddies that he spent time with, and that was exactly the way he wanted it.
For a quick minute he considered just turning and walking away. Returning to the newspaper and breakfast that waited so patiently for him, but he knew no peace would come from that choice. No, whoever it was would continue to persist till he finally confronted them and informed them that he had no interest in whatever magazine or candy bar they were selling.
He hesitated for a moment when he realized that he was still clad in his dark blue silk lounging pajamas then just as quickly dismissed the concern. If it shocked the little Girl Scout on the other side of the door then she could
just take her sugary delights and get the fuck away. Jerking the door open and ready with an aloof retort on his lips, Giles froze when he saw who was planted on his threshold. "What the fuck do you want and how the hell did you find me? No, no, never mind. Just go away."
Giles pushed the door but before he could shut it it was caught in the palm of a huge hand and shoved back open, wide enough for the intruder to step inside. "Come on now, Rupert. I know you don't want your neighbors to hear this, do you?"
Realizing with a shudder the weight of the truth of that statement, Giles reluctantly stepped back and allowed his unwelcome visitor to enter, closing the door behind him.
"Nice place you got here, Rupert. Interested in a roommate? Oh, sorry, guess you stick up the butt types call it a flatmate."
"How did you find me, Angel and what do you want?"
Angel circled the room running his hands over the rich leather of the furniture and picking up some of the antique nick knacks he remembered from the last place Giles had called home. "Wasn't hard. You're in the book, Darling."
Giles fists clenched at his sides and the muscles in his jaw tightened. "Don't call me that. Just tell me what you want and kindly go away."
Angel sat down on the sofa, a hurt look on his face.
"How can you talk to me like that after all we were to each other. I lost everything because of you, because of our relationship. Then you just dump me, disappear, and now treat me like last weeks fish. You got a lot of fuckin' nerve Giles."
"ME? How dare you?" Giles sputtered and fumed as he approached and faced off with the biggest mistake of his life.
"Because of you I lost the respect and love of a boy I raised and cared for since he was a child. I was his whole family since his Mother passed and I betrayed him. All because of two or three drunken encounters. Encounters that you, if I recall correctly, initiated, insisted on. Now he hates me. He refuses to even speak to me and to be honest, I can't blame him."
Angel hung his head. He knew Giles was right. He had wanted the older man and wouldn't stop till he got him. For the life of him now, looking at the grandfatherly gent, he couldn't remember why. "I lost everything too, ya know. I loved him and he just abandoned me. One little indiscretion and he took off without ever giving me a chance to explain. After he left I couldn't afford to keep the apartment on my own and got evicted. Then, just cause I didn't make it into work a few times, the fuckin' foreman turns me in and I got fired. So you can save the tears cause it appears that I lost a fuckin' shit load more than you did. As a matter of fact it seems like you're doing just fine. Now you tell me, where's the fairness in that, huh? Where?"
Unfazed and feeling no guilt as far as Angel was concerned, Giles sat down in the chair across the room. "Funny you should have gotten evicted, I understood you hustled down to the bank the next morning and withdrew all the money from your joint bank account. Obviously you weren't trying too hard to work things out."
"HEY! I had bills to pay. Sides, there wasn't THAT much. Only lasted a couple months and then I was broke again. Which actually is why I'm here."
Angel leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and gave Giles his most heartfelt sincere look. "We meant a lot to each other Giles. All I'm asking for is a little help, for old times sake. Just a few thousand dollars till I can get back on my feet. I got some really good job prospects but, you know, they all want ya to provide them with a permanent address, something I don't have at the moment."
"You want MONEY?" Giles outrage finally boiled up.
Angel smiled innocently and looked carefully around the room. "You can afford it. Look how you live. You never did spend any money, probably got the first buck you ever made. Come on Giles. Two, no, three thousand and I promise you'll never see me again. I would hate to keep coming back here and beating on your door. You know how nosey neighbors can be."
Giles felt trapped. If it was true and Angel would never return, three thousand was a cheap price. What could he do? He had lost everything through exposure once, he just couldn't risk it again. He was just too old. Giles left the room. He went directly to the den to retrieve his check book. When he returned he found Angel waiting by the front door.
After scribbling it hastily, Giles tore out the check and shoved it into Angel's waiting hand. "Get out and if you ever come back I'll call the law."
Angel carefully folded the piece of paper and tucked it in his shirt pocket. "Where is he, Giles?"
Giles felt sick. He had failed his step son once. He would not do it again. "GET OUT!!"
Angel smiled, turned and walked out the door. A door that quickly slammed and locked behind him. Reaching up he patted the pocket that contained not only the check but also the small, personal telephone directory that Giles had carelessly left by his phone.
Part Twenty-Eight
Xander crept down the street and cut the engine as he eased into the parking spot directly across the street from 8605 Locust st.
Scrunching down in his seat, Xander tugged the bill of his cap low till it touched the dark glasses he wore. Spread out on the seat beside him were his camo colored boy scout binoculars, his disposable camera, and his trusty black note pad which he promptly flipped open.
He could see the motorbike sitting safely in it's cubby hole under the car port which did relieve his mind of the fears of the flaming death he had been imagining. The one thing stirring his curiosity and bringing him some concern was the presence of the red Audi that was parked annoyingly close to the Harley.
After adjusting the focus on his spyglasses, he was able to read the numbers on the car's license plate which he recorded, certain he could locate the owner's information later. Then, just for good measure, he took a snapshot of both vehicles.
Everything else appeared the same. Same well clipped, clean yard. Samequiet, curtain drawn windows. It would appear they were all still asleep, or not home. Which he knew they were. Odd. Xander took a picture of the house and smiled at the thought that he and Spike could start their family album with this on the first page.
He tried his best to squelch the hurt that threatened to grow when he realized that Spike was not dead, Xander's name being the last thing to pass his lips. Spike was also not beating a path to his door, demanding more kisses, ordering his lover on the back of his bike to be swept away to their love nest. It was very confusing. Very disappointing.
Self doubt started to creep in. He wondered if maybe he had imagined the whole night. Misinterpreted the signals. Overestimated Spike's love and devotion.
Sadly, Xander sat upright and decided maybe he should go home and reevaluate the situation. Decide where he had gone wrong and how he could get back on track.
Reaching for the key, Xander was so absorbed in thought he almost missed the front door opening and the two men who stepped out on the front porch. Immediately he slid back down, his eyes locked on the action that was playing out across the street. He eased the binoculars up to his face and wondered how hard it would be to learn lip reading.
One thing was absolutely certain. The shorter man was Spike and the other man was...... black. They laughed and talked together. They looked chummy. THEY EMBRACED!! Spike gave a wave of his hand as the black man walked to the Audi and got in. Spike disappeared back into the house.
Trying to shake off the shock, Xander jerked the camera up and quickly took the man's picture, cursing himself for waiting too long and missing the chance to get his face.
Xander sat waiting for the car to pull out. He wanted to see which way it went. He wanted to get a better look at the driver. The car never moved. Just as he had muttered his third "what the fuck?" the front door flew open again and again out stepped his Spike.
This time he was with a man, a white man, almost equal in size and build as Spike. Spike spoke and laughed with him also.
It wasn't hard to see, even at this distance, that they were holding hands. Xander watched in horror as the man started to walk away, then turned, went back, and planted a BIG ASS kiss on Spike's mouth.
He could see the shock on Spike's face but, unfortunately, there was no outrage. No indignation. Spike touched his lips and laughed. With a last wave the second man got into the Audi and together the first two drove off.
This time Xander got pictures of it all.
~*~*~*~*~
(rewind)
Exhausted, Spike had dragged himself to the kitchen and, avoiding the seat Wes had sat on last night, dropped down on a stool and stared blankly straight ahead. The only movement he had the strength for was an occasional yawn or two.
Within minutes his exhuberant roomie breezed in, grabbed the jug of cranberry juice from the fridge and poured himself an extra large glass, gulping it quickly.
Spike lifted his eyebrows and asked, in his best sarcastic tone. "Dehydrated?"
Wes spit his mouthful of juice halfway across the kitchen and had the good grace to look embarressed. "I guess we got a little loud. Sorry. We didn't keep you up did we? I told him we needed to be quiet, but we maybe got a bit carried away."
Spike chuckled at the twinkle in Wes's eyes, besides, he had no intention of admitting just how "up" the noises in the next bedroom had kept him.
Wes grabbed a dish towel and began sopping up the mess he had made. His voice low and quiet, he finally stopped and looked Spike in the eye. "You know I stll.........have feelings for you."
Spike smiled. "I have feelings for you too Wes, but Gunn's the one for you. He's a hell of a guy and he's prepared to give you what you deserve. Hell, he's prepared to give a small village what they deserve."
The two men were still cracking up when Gunn came sailing through the doorway. "What's so funny?"
Spike watched as Gunn went straight to Wes and kissed the top of his head. "Nothin' much. Inside joke. You two going out?"
Wes looked at Gunn with adoring eyes. "Yeah, headed back to Charles' Gotta feed his cat, Percy. Besides, you look like you need a nap."
This time it was Gunn and Wes who shared the laughter as Spike just shook his head and walked them to the door. At the last second, Wes stopped, realizing he had left his wallet in the bedroom. "You two go ahead, I'll be right there."
Spike and Gunn stepped out into the clear warm morning sun. "Wes is a great guy. I don't want any problems, but I really want to try to make this work with him. You o.k. with that?" Gunn squinted in the bright light.
"I'm better than o.k. In fact I was just about to give you the "don't you hurt him" speech, but after last night I think that might not be the right direction to go."
Both men chuckled remembering the moans, groans, and painful pleasure that had rocked the walls. Gunn did the only thing he could do. He scooped the smaller man up in his arms and gave him a bear hug before whispering "Thanks" in his ear and walking away.
Stepping back inside to see what was taking so long, Spike found Wes rushing from his room, found wallet in hand. "Got it! Is Gunn waiting in the car?"
"Yes, and for God's sake hurry. We don't want this one to get away." Spike grabbed Wes's hand and jerked him outside.
After agreeing to meet back later for supper, Wes waved and started down the walkway. Spike waved back and tossed out one last jab. "By the way Wes, you really should have those tonsils looked at."
Without breaking stride, Wes turned, walked back to the house and planted the biggest kiss on Spike's mouth his sore lips could muster.
This time Spike enjoyed every bit of it.
Part Twenty-Nine
Still sitting in his car, Xander scribbled frantically, filling page after page of the small black notepad. He recorded the time, date, temperature and weather conditions.
He logged each man by description, height, weight, amount of time spent with Spike and level of attractiveness. He went into great detail to include as much information as possible knowing all these facts would prove helpful when he later
returned to his basement office to analyze the data.
He was stunned. Apparently the whole time Xander had been envisioning Spike being tossed painfully to the pavement in a flaming late night accident where he lie, crumpled, writhing on his back, calling out for Xander, he was instead being sexually assaulted.
Snatched, probably jumped as he unsuspectingly walked in the door. Xander still held out hope that at some time during the time Spike was being molested he had screamed "Xander! Oh, God, Xander!" It was a scenario he had never considered but one he would repeatedly think through later.
Then, Spike had been, no doubt, cruelly violated. Forced between two sex crazed wild men who had probably used Spike for their own perverted pleasures. Xander felt his cock twitch and he scooted a bit in his seat to relieve some of the pressure.
He wondered how much of that he should record.
He wondered how to spell masochistic.
He wondered if there had been food products involved.
Xander cursed his low gas tank and wished, not for the first time, that he had driven by last night. Just to make sure Spike had arrived home safely. He could have taken a peek in the windows and possibly saved his precious Spike from the perversions that had apparently awaited him.
His eyes got big as his thoughts traveled on down that path. 'What if they had caught me? Dragged me inside and forced me to participate. Accosted me against my will. Ripped my clothes from my struggling body.' Xander promised himself that from now on he would wear clean underwear at all times.
Xander chewed the end of the pencil. The only glitch in this evil scenario seemed to be the cheerful good bye Spike gave
the men as they slunk away.
After a moments consideration, Xander came to the only conclusion possible. Spike was just too big hearted and forgiving for his own good. Thank God he now had Xander to defend his virture and protect his hangy down! Spike certainly needed taking in hand. Luckily, Xander had two.
With that settled, Xander took a few minutes to look over all his notes, use his binoculars to take one last look, and check his camera, which he saw had just one more picture available before the roll was full.
Deciding to drop the disposable Kodak off at the drug store on his way home, Xander looked around for something to snap. Since he had plenty of pics of the house, carport, and motorcycle, he decided maybe a long shot of the corner intersection might prove helpful if he ever had to describe the area in, say, a court hearing.
'Yes, your honor, I saw the perps make their getaway in a red Audi that went north on Locust turning east onto Lombardy. No, sir, I did not see them brandishing weapons but the white man had the definite look of someone who would know their way around a bull whip.'
Hanging out the window, Xander snapped the button completing the roll. He dropped the camera onto the seat beside him, anxious to have it developed, and figured it was time to head home. He had a lot of work to do. Xander pumped the pedal, turned the key, and, jerking the wheel, pulled away from the curb.
BANG!!!!
Walking by his front room window, Spike tossed his crumpet in the air and instantly dove to the floor at the sound of the gun shot. "Fuckin' drivebys. Jesus Christ!"
Spike rapidly crawled on his hands and knees across the floor feeling the carpet burns as he went. He slowly lifted his head till he could peer out the front window. Nothing. No cars, no danger. Wherever the shot had come from it appeared to be gone.
Cautiously Spike climbed to his feet. He resolved to call 911 the next time that happened. He was not about to lose his quiet neighborhood to the wild marauding gangs of crazed street thugs armed with oozies. Muttering curses, Spike picked up the remains of his breakfast biscuit, tossed it in the trash, and headed back to bed.
Xander barreled down the street, his brain reeling from the massive amount of data that would need analyzing and knew it would probably take all day. With an annoyed smack of his hand to the steering wheel he muttered as he headed for the photobooth outside the drugstore. "Fuck! Gonna end up working all day. Man shouldn't have to put in this much overtime on the weekends. Just goes to prove, no fuckin' rest for the wicked."
The rest of the day was a blur. He dropped off the camera, noting in his book that the pictures could be picked up Monday after 1 pm. He hated to have to wait that long but, fuck, whats a guy gonna do? Like pulling teeth to get people to do their fuckin' jobs these days.
He idly noticed the HELP WANTED sign at the photo booth. It was a job he may last week have considered but now was way too busy for. 'There is just not enough hours in the day,' he sighed.
Arriving back home he scooped up all his paperwork and equipment and headed for the basement hoping to avoid any poultry reference the old man had had the last three hours to think up. With a stroke of incredible luck, Xander found not only was the jokester passed out in a pile of empy beer bottles but he had left his wallet lying on the coffee table where just anyone could lift a twenty or two.
How careless.
Xander took three.
Part Thirty
Spike lit another cigarette and pace restlessly. He had promised himself repeatedly that he would quit smoking, still, here he was on his third one and only four heads into his shift at the salon.
Yet this pack, he felt, was justifiable. This had been the most upsetting last few days he could remember since the time immediately post-Angel.
Between the drive-by, the lack of sleep due to the non-stop Wes and Gunn show and his apparent growing obsession with Xander and THE KISS, he was a nervous wreck. Especially last night when, from the obvious sound of it, Wes took the leading man position. Damn Gunn STILL would not shut up. Fuckin' guy was a hell of a back seat driver. "Lean this way." "Touch that." "Hold these to the side." And what the fuck was up with "Wait, I think we're gonna need an extension cord for that"?
Sadly, Spike had to admit this was the best sex he and Wes had ever had. Wes just didn't know about it. Or maybe he did.
Just as he was beginning to wonder if he had time to light up one more, the back door flew open and Keri stuck her head outside. "Hey, if you think you've shoved enough smoke and cancer into your lungs for awhile your 12:15 is here. It's Mrs Harris." Keri crinkled her nose and shuddered.
Spike tucked the half empty pack back in his pocket, gave her the two finger salute, took a deep breath and marched back inside. 'This is it,' he thought. 'Showtime'
"William! I'm here and right on time, And look, I drove myself!"
Spike cringed at the screech of her voice. He wondered if nine months of listening to that had curdled Xander's brain in the womb.
"'Ello, Love. Look at you, all pretty standing there. How can I possibly improve on that?"
Jessica giggled hysterically and rushed forward to leap into his chair and await her weekly pampering. Spike gazed all around, checking the waiting room and sign in desk.
"All alone this week, Pet? Didn't bring the lad with you?"
Jessica was busy tugging the stretch pants out of the crack of her ass. "Huh? Oh, no. I thought I'd let him lay in this morning. Xander hasn't been sleeping too well lately. Always doing something mysterious down in that basement where he lives."
Spike was shaking out the plastic cape and paused as he started to drape it over her. He felt his anger shoot through the roof but knew he had to keep himself in check. "You make the boy live in the basement?"
Jessica snatched the cape from Spike's hands and put it on herself. "Actually it was his father's idea. He thought if we did that it would force him out of the house. You know, boot the baby bird from the nest, so to speak. So far it hasn't worked."
Spike clutched the hair shears tightly in his fist. He could clearly picture himself plunging them into the woman's heart ten, no, twenty times. "I see. You know I saw the boy Saturday night. He was down at that dance club on Jay street. Boy was drinking beer and dancing with a tarty lookin' little redhead. Do you think that's wise?"
"Tarty? Oh, you must mean Willow. Lovely little girl. They've been friends forever. When they were small his father and I had hoped that they might, well, that's not going to happen. Not with the way the boy is."
Spike took an especially short snip out of the back of her hair and continued. "Nothing wrong with the way the boy is. Just don't want to see anyone take advantage of him is all. Just out of curiosity, how functioning is he?"
Jessica frowned, looking around quickly to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "Functioning? I really don't think he has had the chance to function anyone yet. Frankly I doubt he realized he was "that way" till something must have
happened Saturday night. He announced himself on Sunday. Well you could have knocked us over with a feather, let me tell you. Still wasn't sure what he meant till his father explained it to me. He knows all about that sort of thing. Claims it has something to do with chickens."
Spike stopped cutting. "Chickens? Um, don't mean to be rude, love, but how could you not know? After talking to him for just a few minutes, I knew."
Jessica sighed. "Well, I guess we see what we want to see don't we? Despite everything I do love him. No matter what, I'm still his mother and nothing can change that. I guess that's why I just didn't want to believe it. Maybe that's why he can never keep a job. Do you think other people see it too? That is just so unfair. It's discrimination! That's what it is!"
Spike felt his anger slowly sifting away as he listened to the pathetic ignorant woman in the chair. It was all starting to make sense. The poor woman was every bit as limited as her son.
Massaging her scalp soothingly, Spike continued. "Just wonderin', Pet. You know they have special schools for boys
like Xander. Teach him to do things with his hands and such. Put him in touch with people that can work with him and make sure he learns everything he needs to know. You ever thought about lookin' into it?"
Jessica was stunned. "Special schools? There are schools for boys like Xander? I don't think I like that and I know his father wouldn't. Besides, I've walked in on him in the bathroom a time or two and believe me he doesn't have a problem figuring out what to do with his hands. No, no, I think it's best that we just pretend not to know about this and hope others don't find out. His Father says the answer is tough love. Just toss him out and make him sink or swim on his own."
Spike had had enough. Slamming down his comb and scissors, he spun the chair around till he was face to face with the vile creature that was responsible for the miserable home life his sweet boy was enduring.
"Now look here! You should be ashamed! Xander deserves better than that. He deserves someone who will give him a chance. Take him into their home and show him some encouragement, help him get a job and find his way in the world."
Jessica scratched her head in confusion. "Well for goodness sake William. You're getting so worked up. I mean it's not like the boy is retarded or anything. He's just gay."
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