Then one Saturday, Buffy blew up.
“I’m telling you Giles, that last concussion really damaged something!”
Xander stood just outside the Magic Box, stunned, until a steaming blanket-draped Spike barreled into his back, forcing him through the door.
“Now Buffy, we don’t know what is going on, but I’m sure if you just ask...oh, hello Xander.” Giles turned and stepped in front of Buffy before she could launch herself at Spike. Xander stepped in front of Spike before he could do the same.
“Alrighty then, guess we came in at a bad time.” Xander looked from Giles to Buffy then back to Giles. “What’s on the agenda for today?” he knew it wouldn’t work, but it had to be worth the effort.
“Why is Spike living with you? He has a perfectly nice crypt in the most exclusive cemetery in town!”
“Um...” Xander was at a loss, Spike didn’t exactly live with him, just... kinda lived with him.
“I don’t live with him, just stay over when it’s too close to dawn to get home.” Spike didn’t even sound bothered, but the soft brushing of singed blanket fibers became a vigorous rubbing.
“Then explain the family of raccoons that have taken up housekeeping in your ‘living room’!”
Xander knew at this point that nothing he could say would salvage this, and the only sensible thing to do was retreat. Nobody had ever accused Xander L Harris of being sensible though.
“Ya know Buff, last time I checked, I was old enough to actually make my own decisions. Who I have in MY apartment really isn’t any of your business. And I’m pretty sure you aren’t willing to fill any of the requirements listed to make it your business.” Xander spun to face Spike, pulling the blanket back over his head. “And to think, I sacrificed a perfectly good blanket for this.” And pulled Spike out of the Magic Box without a backwards glance.