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:) Hope you like it.
Will and Spike were barely hanging on. Thirty days. Today, Buffy had been missing for one month. One. Soddin’. MONTH. With nothing. No leads, no idea who had taken Buffy and why. By some unspoken agreement, everyone had gathered at the apartment, but the overall atmosphere was fairly depressing. It was almost as if everyone had given up hope…

Lorne scrutinized Buffy’s Twinlets from across the room. They’d lost a lot of weight, and there were deep circles under their eyes. He sighed deeply, knowing there was nothing any of them could do. He glanced around, zeroing in on Tara, who was also looking at the twins with a concerned look on her face. Tara should have been a shrink. She’d have been masterful at it. Sensing his gaze, Tara glanced his way, and they shared a sad, understanding smile. There was nothing to be done for Spike or Will. What they needed was Buffy, and the police had no idea where she was.

A loud crash from the kitchen startled everyone. Lorne felt uncharacteristic anger growing in him when a drunk Xander stumbled out of the room, beer clutched in his hand. The boy was a cess pool of unresolved issues, and Lorne had always gotten a dark vibe from the goofy-looking boy.

“Xander, what happened?” Willow asked anxiously, rushing to her friend’s side. Xander started laughing, drunken giggles that had no place in the somber atmosphere.

“I tripped. This plate just when bash! All over the floor. It was funny.” Lorne glanced at their hosts, and was surprised to see intense hatred directed at Xander. The three men couldn’t stand each other, but it had been a civil, mostly veiled dislike. This was unusual.

“Get out.” Spike growled. Everyone in the room was tense, waiting to see how this played out. There was some unknown factor that was driving this altercation, and no one though it would end well.

Xander rolled his eyes and pulled away from Willow, swaying on his feet. He pointed at Spike, his mouth twisted in a sneer.

“Is the fag mad I broke his wittle pwate?” Xander asked. Willow gasped and stepped away from her friend.

“Xander! How can you—“

“Oh shut UP Wills. Why do you always do that? They’re nothin’ but trouble. Why are we here? Buffy’s not here, so why are we still talkin’ to THEM?”

Faith glared at Xander, wishing that she could break all of her oaths and kick the little shit until he was black and blue and crying for his mommy. He’d always had a superior attitude towards everybody. Even Willow was treated with mild condescension. But Buffy had borne the worst of it, always being judged when she slipped off the pedestal Xander kept her on. He’d make little remarks that cut; not enough to make her snap at him or to be overly obvious, but he’d make enough of them over the years to cause some scars. She felt Robin’s hand slip into hers, and she realized that if she went after Xander, she’d have back up. Actually, judging by the looks on Spike and Will’s faces, she’d have to stand in line.

“They’re my friends, Xander! Just like Buffy is my friend! And not just because they’re with Buffy! They’re good people, and they’re hurting just as much—no, probably more—than the rest of us. And just because Buffy’s gone doesn’t mean we kick them to the curb!”

“Buffy’s missing, Xander,” Fath added, her voice sharp enough to cut steel. “You don’t seem to understand or care what that means.” Xander glared at them all, contempt evident on his face.

“Yeah, well, maybe Buffy’s in a better place! Maybe she’s getting the help she needs!” Before Faith could move, a resounding crack echoed through the room. Xander raised his hand to his cheek, a stunned look on his face.

“I have HAD it with you, Alexander Harris!” Willow was mad. This went beyond the Resolve Face, beyond anyone of them had ever seen. Willow looked scary. And that was not a sight anyone was used to. “How dare you come here, and say something like that? I don’t care how you feel about Spike or Will, but how dare you suggest that Buffy is in a better place! O-o-or that there’s something wrong with her! The police found signs of a STRUGGLE, Xander. Buffy was kidnapped, we know that. So don’t you dare suggest that—that…” Willow trailed off, choking on her words. Gunn had explained the possibilities to them, shown them the probabilities…and none of them favored Buffy being found alive. Not anymore. Not for three weeks, now.

“Whatever. Wherever Buffy is, she’s better off than being with those two scumbags. Even if she’s dead.”

Faith watched unflinchingly as Xander sailed backwards into the wall, breaking a small table. Will stood over the man, glaring at him, his chest heaving.

“Buffy. Is. Not. Dead.” He growled out. Without another word, he stomped off towards the bedroom, Spike silently in tow. The door slammed, and the sounds of desperate sobbing filtered through the thick door. They all stood in silence, none of them knowing exactly what to say.

“I’m going to take him home,” Gunn finally sighed, distaste evident on his face. Xander had been getting worse over the past month. There was something going on with his roommate, and whatever it was rubbed Gunn the wrong way. His police instincts were going haywire. Without a word, Robin helped him carry Xander down the steps and to his car. They tossed him haphazardly on the back seat.

“Next time, it’s gonna be worse than a sore jaw,” Robin told him seriously.

“Trust me. I know,” Gunn said, dark anger tingeing his words. He and Xander were going to have a very long talk when they got home. With a nod towards the other man, Gunn drove home.

***

Getting Xander up the stairs to their apartment without help was difficult, but Gunn didn’t feel the least bit sorry about the new bruises he was sure Xander had. He dumped his roommate unceremoniously on the bed. He shook a head at the drunken lout, disgust swelling in him. What had happened to Xander? That funny feeling tickled his gut again, that something was up with his roommate. It was a familiar feeling, one usually reserved for police investigations. Never one to ignore his gut instinct, which had saved his life on more than one occasion, Gunn felt compelled to look around Xander’s room for clues. After all, if Xander was in trouble, he should get help.

Gunn looked in Xander’s closet, noting the disordered state. That wasn’t abnormal, Xander was the messiest person alive. He made his way around the room, wracking his memory for things that looked out of place or changed. Xander snorted and rolled over; Gunn noticed something shiny stick out from under Xander’s pillow.

Gunn looked at the picture of a smiling Buffy. He’d seen this before. He looked closer, and saw that someone had been cut out of the side. This was the picture of Willow and Buffy sitting in front of their old high school. Only Willow had been cut out, and Buffy’s picture as blown up. While that explained a lot, it wasn’t what Gunn was looking for.

He moved over to the desk, messy with magazines, a few bills, and some comic books. Gunn rifled through them, not really interested. He was about to give up when something caught the corner of his eye. Buried underneath a pile of bills was a glossy paper, glaringly out of place in the sea of drivel that cluttered Xander’s life. Gunn pulled it out, and frowned.

Why would Xander have something like this? It was well-read and worn from a great deal of handling, as if someone read it constantly. Gunn flipped it open and started reading. A cold sense of dread washed over him. Xander wouldn’t…would he? Heart pounding, Gunn raced into the other room to get his cell phone.

“Oz? Hey man, it’s Gunn. Yeah, been better. Look, I need you to do something for me…”

***

Xander’s head throbbed, his mouth tasted awful, and someone was shaking him. Those three things did not go well together. A wave of nausea rolled through him, and Xander rolled to the edge of his bed and retched on the floor. God, how much had he drunk? And what asshole had thought it was a good idea to wake up a hung-over man by shaking him?

“Xander Harris?” a voice asked. Xander rolled back onto his back and squinted at the slightly blurry form above him. The man was short, with crazy spiky hair that may have been several different shades of red, and dressed in a suit that oddly seemed to fit his appearance.

“Yeah?” he croaked.

“I’m Special Agent Daniel Osborne of the FBI. You’re under arrest for accessory to kidnapping.”





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