Rating: R
Disclaimer: Willow and Xander belong to the great Joss Whedon. Only the dude you don't recognize belongs to me.
Summary: Willow and Xander experience merital problems.
Dedication: To Losh, Nat, Kate B., Craww, and Jeff, who not only put up with me, but help me with my fic, too.

There's nothing as inviting as a low moan as your hand trails across a woman's breast. I do it lightly, letting my fingers linger just a bit longer on the nipple so I can give it a tiny tweak and move down. Willow is more than responsive beside me, on her side so we're face to face. Her eyes are fixed on me, watching as I watch her. As she watches her mouth quivers, betraying her excitement. Her heavy breathing is interrupted more and more often by lustful moans.

I should feel something.

More than my cock, sprung to full attention. More than the heat of Willow's body pressed against mine. Even as her hand snakes between us, clenching around my cock, the sensations are dull and half-formed. I know I want her, my body is reminding me in not-so-gentle tones that I do. Still, something in my heart tells me otherwise.

Somewhere deep, deep down in the pit of my being there's a small cry of protest. Nothing too pressing, but enough to make me hear. It bars the something that I want so badly at this moment. It won't let me *feel*.

"Xander?" Willow's voice is tiny as she interrupts my thoughts.

"What baby?"

"When is this going to do something for you?"

I blink, then grimace as I remember. Willow's hand is still wrapped around my cock, pumping with less aggression now that she's realized I'm not with her. I make a clumsy attempt at a smile. "You know how I like it, babe."

Willow groans. Her hand pulls away faster than I can think to stop it. She rolls over onto her back, folds her arms across her chest, and sets her face in a pout.

I sigh and reach out to her, but she pulls away.

"Don't."

"Wills…"

"How can you do that?" she asks incredulously, already moving off the bed.

"Hey, what are you--?"

"I'm getting dressed," Willow replies. She retrieves her skirt and steps into it. She half-glares at me as she pulls it up and fumbles with the column of buttons. "I can't see any reason to be naked."

I push myself up on an elbow and rest my cheek against my palm. I simply watch as she pulls on first her bra, then shirt. She goes next for her shoes. "Want to tell me where you're going?"

Willow shrugs. "Does it really matter?"

"Just curious."

"Funny, Xander, you've never been before."

"You never left in the middle of sex before," I counter.

"Sorry to tell you this, Xand, but two naked people in bed together does *not* constitute sex. There's a little something missing out of the equation."

I sit up quickly, fighting anger. "We seemed to be getting *somewhere* there, Willow."

"No," she disagrees. I wince at the change of quality in her voice and realize she's crying. She sniffs. "I was getting somewhere. You were wandering around in that place in your head I'm not allowed to be a part of."

"Willow--"

"I don't want to hear it."

I move to the side of the bed and swing my legs over. I stand and cross the room to her, wrapping the top sheet around myself as I walk. "Will you just listen hon?" I plead. "If you'll just give me a chance."

"I've been listening to your excuses for years, Xander. I've even tried to make some sense out of them. But you know what I've just realized?"

"No, but I'm guessing you're going to tell me."

"You always put something before me," Willow starts heatedly.

I sigh and let my eyes slide shut. "Yup."

"It doesn't even matter what it is. Your parents, your research, your work… and you know, I don't even know where you work. You have an entire life outside of this house that I know absolutely nothing about. And you know what the worst part is?"

I can't help it. I sigh again.

"You don't even seem to care."

"Well, Christ Willow, I'm sorry you can't be the center of my universe."

"I'm your fucking wife!"

My mouth drops open before the words are even out of her mouth. In all of the eight years that we've been married Willow has *never* cussed at me. The whole idea of swearing has always been a little ridiculous to her. All of the wholesome values her parents drilled into her as a child have stuck with her as an adult. So now I know. Now I realize she's serious.

My eyes blink rapidly, betraying my surprise. "Will, I'm sor-"

Willow only shrugs. "So what's new?" Her eyes pan down and take in the sheet wrapped around my waist. "Get dressed, Xander. You'll be late for work."

I let my mouth hang open while she picks a light jacket from the closet.

"Something the matter?" she asks casually over her shoulder.

"I just-- You've never--"

Willow rolls her eyes. "I can always count on you to have something senseless and moronic to say, Xander."

*Now* I allow myself to react. Reaching behind me, I search blindly for the pants I know I stashed somewhere towards the end of the bed. My hand brushes against cool cotton and I let the sheet drop, turning almost unconsciously before pulling them, and the boxers sitting loosely inside, up to my waist. I situate the underwear and zipper, then turn back to my wife. "Go ahead," I prompt.

Willow only stares.

"You can't pass up this opportunity to bitch at me, can you?" I shake my head and turn again, looking around with little interest for my shirt. "You know you've been storing insults for months, so why don't you get it all out while you're on a roll?"

I feel something starkly different in the air around me and whirl around, found shirt in hand.

Willow's no longer looking at me, as I thought, but at something clasped tightly in her hands. A sinking feeling starts to gnaw at my gut as she slowly lifts her eyes. "What's this?" she asks thickly.

I hide my near panic with a smile. "What's what?" I widen my smile into a undoubtedly obviously strained grin. Willow only continues to stare and I curse myself silently for choosing a near-genius to be my wife.

"I won't insult your intelligence or mine by assuming an affair," she says after a moment. She holds the item up. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to tie up your loose ends, Xander?"

I squint to get a better look, then feel my stomach clench as full realization suddenly sinks in. I'm moving before I know it, snatching the paper from Willow's hands and shoving her aside. The coat she retrieved it from is still hanging in the closet and I grab it, too. "You just have to snoop around, don't you?"

Willow's lip begins to tremble, just slightly, and I regret my harsh tone.

"Hey," I say softly. "Oh, hey, come on, I'm sorry." I walk toward her again, pausing only to set down my things before enveloping her in a hug. Willow doesn't push me away, but her arms remain still at her sides. She's stiff as a board in my arms. "Come on, Will," I say pleadingly. "I'm trying here."

"How long has Vicky Staple been dead?" she asks after a moment.

I tighten my grip instinctively. "A couple days. Listen--"

Willow shakes her head adamantly. "No." The slight tremble to her voice spoils her stern intention. She pulls away from me. "I'm through listening to you. You-" she cuts off and bites her lip, a little over-obvious in her attempts to compose herself. "You're carrying a dead woman's wallet in your coat pocket, Xander. A dead *politician's*," she amends quietly, then falls silent. For the first time in ages, she's speechless.

"Shh. Willow, you don't know what you're saying." I put a hand to her face, willing away her next words with all the passion in me.

Again, my affection fails me miserably, and Willow finds her voice. She speaks slowly, quietly, and with entirely too much conviction, "You killed her." My hand drops to my side. "Ohhh." This comes out as a sob and Willow clasps a hand over her mouth. The accusation in her eyes is plain as she lifts them to meet mine. Her hand lowers and grips her shirt collar. "So this is your secret."

I can't even nod.

"I have to say," Willow admits hollowly, "I would've preferred an affair." She smooths the front of her skirt and starts toward the bedroom door.

I close my eyes and give my quiet warning, "You don't want to do this, Willow." Hearing no response, I open my eyes again.

Willow is stopped in the doorway, her hands clenched in tight fists. She doesn't turn, but speaks to me in a low, grating voice. "I'm not spending another night with a hitman."

"We can work this out."

Willow shakes her head. "No, Xander. I think this is the *one* thing we can't work out." She takes a step forward then stops. "If I wanted to live with a killer I should've stayed with Oz." She leaves without another word, her footfalls echoing eerily down the hall as she makes her last trip to the front door.

I take in my surroundings after she's gone. Everything seems in order, the thin wallet on the dresser the only thing out of place in the orderly bedroom. I hesitate only a moment, then pull on my shirt and coat. I stuff the wallet carelessly in my pocket. The need for secrecy walked out the door a minute ago with my wife.

I start to whistle as I pass through the hall on my way to the door. Another minute later and I'm outside, my arm nearly elbow deep in soil, kneeling in front of the potted plants Willow insists on keeping below the windows. The porch light, combined with the glow of the full moon, provides barely sufficient lighting for my search. My fingers brush against metal and I allow myself a small grin as I pull out the almost-forgotten pistol. I brush loose soil off and turn the weapon over in my hand, examing it. Not ship-shape, but it should serve its purpose.

I start across the lawn, whistling heartily now, and make only a quick disgusted face as I see Willow has taken the car. My own 4-wheeled wreck is in the shop, undergoing some important mechanical job or other. The mechanic lost me shortly after 'fix' and got me back with 'cost'. Thinking about it now, I wince, thankful that my job pays well.

I come back to the present with a start. I conceal my hand and pistol in my pocket, quicken my pace, and head down the street to my friend Cullen's house.

Once there, I'm at a loss for words. Cullen answers my knock quickly and stands before me, shirtless and decidedly irritable with the interuption. I stare at him stupidly for a moment, my heart pounding suddenly in my chest. Finally, to my ultimate humiliation, I burst into tears.

Cullen's eyes widen and he steps through the doorway. "Hey, buddy," he says awkwardly. He continues forward then stops, maintaining a still uncomfortable distance. "Hey, what's this all about, man?"

"God, Cullen, I really fucked up."

"It can't be that bad. Come on, Harris, stop your bawling."

"Don't tell me to stop my bawling, you fucking prick," I respond hotly.

Cullen grows immediately defensive. "Hey, I'm just trying to help." He shaked his head. "This must be some big deal, you crying like a baby on my doorstep in the middle of the friggin' night."

"I spilled the fucking beans and now I get to kill my wife. Is that BIG enough for you?!"

Cullen studies my face for a moment, then lets out a low whistle. "Shit, man." His eyes drop uncomfortably to study his feet. After a moment, he brings them up again. "You know where she went?" he asks quietly.

I sniff, then wipe at my nose. "I guess Buffy's."

"That hot little blond chick?"

I scowl and give him a slow nod.

"Okay." He purses his lips, then nods himself. "Hang out here a minute while I get my bag." He starts back into the house, calling calmly to me over his shoulder. "You can tell me what happened on the way over."

He reappears shortly, fully clothed this time. His bag is slung almost absently over his shoulder, but determination marks his face. He unlocks his pickup and jumps in before I've reached the passenger side. Leaning over the seat, he unlocks my door and rolls the window down. "That handle's a little tricky," he explains. "It's easier to reach through the window and pull from the inside."

"Okay," I respond, and reach through, a little bewildered by Cullen's refusal to open it for me. I shrug it off and climb in awkwardly.

Cullen glances over at me. "You just tell me what you want and leave out anything else." His expression becomes guarded and he looks again through the windshield. "I don't need to hear nothing too personal, you know."

I launch into the story, carefully omitting the part in bed and my slight setback in performance. Cullen listens raptly, grimacing as he hears the obvious conclusion. He shakes his head as he goes into a quick right turn. "It wouldn't have mattered if she stayed, Harris," he assures me.

"Sure it would've," I disagree. "We could work something out," I go on. "We could leave, find a new spot, *something*."

"Look." Cullen really looks at me now, ignoring the road. I wince, but he turns again after a quick study of my face. His expression is hard to read in the dark of the cabin, but I sense his discomfort. "I'm not usually one to tell another man nothing about his wife, but you seem a little lost here." He clears his throat. "You knew it well enough back there in your house when she walked out on you. You wouldn't have let her go so easy if you thought there was anything worth saving."

I frown.

"You get what I'm saying?" Cullen asks, glancing over.

"I guess," I respond, but my heart tugs painfully. Realization hits me hard as I sit back in my seat. I let my wife become the next 'necessary' victim of my work because I couldn't *find anything in our marriage worth saving*. My lip curls angrily at this sudden insight into my apparently not-so-hidden self.

"This it?"

I look to where he's pointing and see Willow's car parked toward the back of the driveway. "Yes. She's here."

"Good. Let's make this quick."

I nod curtly and let myself out of the pickup, my dismount much smoother than my entrance was. I'm in my element now. Emotion and regret take the back seat as I hurry to the other side of the pickup, my focus sliding easily to the job. Cullen looks to me as I approach, then passes me a handgun. It's a better model than my pistol, its larger size due only to the silencer attached neatly at the end of the barrel. I eye it briefly and click the safety off without a thought.

"I'm sure you're carrying your own," he says, licking his lips. "This is no time to get sloppy, Harris."

I nod again. "I wasn't planning on using it."

Cullen glances at me again. He raises an eyebrow. "Backup plan?"

"I didn't want to leave it behind," I explain dully. "After tonight, I disappear. There's too much here… too many questions that'll be raised."

"Guess I don't blame you there," Cullen admits with a small frown. He kicks at the street a few times before addressing me again. "Think the ladies are watching inside?"

I shrug. "Let them watch." I look down at the gun clenched in my hand. "Buffy won't go down easy," I say after a moment. I purse my lips and look again to the man beside me. "We're doing a lot more bad here than you realize." Cullen looks at me with mild interest. "Never mind. Just… be careful with Buffy. She might put up a fight," I say, lifting my gun, "but she shouldn't be any match for these."

Cullen scoffs. "Not a chance."

"You don't know Buffy," I muse, then exhale heavily. "Let's get moving. Short and quick," I say as we go around the pickup and start across Buffy's lawn.

"Smooth as silk," Cullen finishes, and grins. We approach the front door, glance quickly around for peeking neighbors, then Cullen stands back as I kick the door in.

We're greeted by a shocked and wide-eyed Willow. She takes an immediate defensive step backward and glances back and forth between us. Real panic seeps into her expression.

"Hi, honey," I greet her casually. "Is Buffy here?"

She looks at me shortly, then back at my weapon. "She's-" She stops, biting her lower lip nervously. "Oh God, Xander. No. No, she's not here, she's on patr-" Her babbling cuts off abruptly as a bullet tears into her throat, another into her stomach, another slamming cruelly through her left eye, oblitering a vicious circle there.

Cullen and I shoot till our guns are empty, and only dry clicks fill the silence of the room. I cross to the remains of my wife and find only blood and gore. She was most likely killed with the second shot.

Behind me, Cullen sniffs. "That was easy enough."

I smile. "Easier than our marriage," I say flatly, but the humor is lost as much on Cullen. He only stares as I turn and walk back toward him, a definite drag to my step. "Come on, Cullen. We've got guns to melt and beers to chug." Cullen acknowledges me with a slight nod and we head out together in silence.

Inside, my life stains Buffy's carpet a deep crimson.

The End