Title: Who Wants to Live Forever

Author: Metaforgirl

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Through Season 7, except the last three episodes never happen.

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, except for the new slayer and her tribe, they are the property of Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon, more's the pity. I'm only playing with them for fun.

Warnings: AIDs fic written by someone not a doctor, Sometimes disturbing sex between a man and his vampire, Blood play, Violence, Boys with dirty mouths, Angel bashing, Riley bashing, I've got a soapbox and I'm not afraid to climb up on it.

Summary: Future Fic. 5 years after Buffy's death, Xander and Spike meet again. They have issues.

Feedback: Please. This is my first fic. Tell me how I'm doing. amhoyt@earthlink.net

Archive: I have a NEW site http://www.geocities.com/metaforgirl . List archive when finished ... anyone else - simply ask.

Thanks to: Freddy Mercury for who he was. Hanni for soothing my fevered brow. Edibbea for stomping ever so gently on me with her pointy boots. A shrine should be built to Edibbea. All hail mistress Edi. Any mistakes that remain are my own.


Who Wants to Live Forever
by Metaforgirl


There's no time for us
There's no place for us
What is this thing that builds our dreams, yet
slips away from us
Who wants to live forever?
Who wants to live forever?
~ Queen

There was only one passenger in first class on this hop, so the flight attendant could take his time hovering over him. And it was his pleasure to do so. The man was gorgeous. Sable haired with gentle, deep brown eyes. Broad shoulders nicely filling out the jacket of a well-tailored suit.

"Sir, would you like me to hang up your jacket?"

Alexander Harris looked up from his laptop at his admirer. He knew when he was being flirted with. A year ago, he would have initially been offended. Outraged even. Then after the third or fourth scotch he would have been giving out the name of his hotel and his room number. Or just putting another sticker on his mile high card.

"Yeah. Thanks." Xander shrugged out of the jacket and handed it over, carefully not touching more than necessary. He avoided the young man's gaze. He'd noticed him as soon as he entered the first class compartment. Blue impish eyes. Highlighted blonde hair. A saucy manner. Recipe for Xander Harris disaster. Yep, a year ago he would have been drinking as quickly as possible to find the place in his mind where he could follow this attraction without remorse.

But a year ago Xander Harris had everyone, including himself, convinced that he was a practicing heterosexual in a monogamous relationship. If drunken forays into dark and dimly remembered beds occasionally surfaced in his waking mind, he deftly filed them in the same 'not acceptable' drawer that any former resident of Sunnydale had at their disposal. A year ago, Xander Harris sober would have punched any asshole in the nose who said he was queer. A year ago, Xander had thought he was about to be married to a terrific woman and had no idea he had contracted HIV. Until she tested positive with the virus.

So that was then. This was now. A short hop from San Francisco to LA. A trip he made so frequently for business it was like taking the train. Then a long limo ride up the coast to Sunnydale. Or maybe he'd rent a car. Take the coast highway. Or call an old friend.

His pager went off and he reached for the pills in his briefcase. "Greg!" he waved over the attendant. "Some water?" Greg twinkled and served him. Much flourishing of napkin. An accidental arm bump. More twinkling. Excessive hovering, just a little too close. Enough already. Xander sighed and noisily dumped the meds out onto his tray. Greg raised an eyebrow. Xander looked the attendant square in those clear blue eyes. "Have to watch myself," he said meaningfully, "seem to catch everything going around." Greg looked suddenly wary and uncertain. He backed away a bit, a little of the swagger missing.

Xander took his pills and punched through the pages on his laptop. He switched suddenly to a desktop folder named "The Dead" and pulled up a scanned image of an invitation.

On its face were two simple gold circles, overlapping. Inside was a bit of verse:

Without this,there is no reason.
With this,I need no more reason.
Each moment a seed pearl,
perfection of eternity,
Till time's needle strings,
end to end all the days of forever,
I find I hold now in my hand.


Beneath the neat printing, was a large scrawl,

"Hey Xander,

I know the only way to reach you is by email, so that is how you're getting your invitation. If you don't come to my wedding I will have a curse put on you.

Dawnie.

PS You know I can do it."

He studied the invitation for a minute. A nighttime ceremony. Dawn wanted all her friends to be able to attend. Slowly he shut the laptop and gazed out the window. Only forty minutes into the trip and already the plane was beginning its descent. He felt it in his head every time. A kind of sucking, sinking feeling as if the entire southern coast of California were a giant Dr. Who phone box. A time machine to the past. The post-med's nausea combined with the dread in his stomach, and he looked around for the now conspicuously absent flight attendant. He thought he might be sick. He hadn't been back to Sunnydale in almost five years.

*************************************************************

Dawn threw a huge mass of tulle on the sofa in a snit.

"Geez, I can't even tell if it's right side up! What is the point of a veil anyway? He's seen my face. God he's seen everything. I should just run down the aisle naked and throw myself on him. Or not. Screw this. We should just forget the whole thing, stupidest idea I ever had!" She stomped up and down, yanking at the long tight sleeves on her silk dress. "Oh crud, the stupid buttons are crooked and I can't button them with these stupid nails. Spike!"

"Here Dawn, here." Spike emerged from the hallway and attempted to still the white satin dervish. "Stop movin'!" He threw up his hands laughing. Dawn's frothy wedding gown reminded him of an extravagant confection from a Paris bakery. He didn't know where to grab. "Can't button a moving target, bit," he laughed. Dawn exerted extreme willpower and stilled in front of Spike. She held one shaking arm out and stared at him with huge blue eyes. "I can't do this, Spike."

Spike studiously worked the buttons without looking at her. "Sure, Dawn. You wanna call the whole thing off just say the word. I'll just go downstairs and chase those wankers away. Red'll be disappointed, though. She got those great robes just to officiate at this." He paused and dared a glance up at her with bright eyes, continuing softly, "Far as I'm concerned you can stay here forever..." Dawn's eyes immediately filled with tears.

"Spike..."

"Just you 'n me. You can raise your cats and the neighbors can gossip about old lady Summers and her sexy boy toy." He was carefully studying her sleeve again. "Or you and the wanker could settle here. Sunnydale's always needed its own stock exchange. I could be your houseboy." Suddenly Spike had an armful of Dawn and satin and lace.

"Dawn you crunch like Rice Krispies," he laughed into the mass of whiteness.

"If you make my mascara run, I will so stake you."

"Well warn me first, wanna get out of this rental tux beforehand or you'll lose your deposit."

Dawn pushed him away, attempting to dab at wet eyes with only her fingertips. "Get me a tissue?"

"Sure."

Dawn stared after him, her eyes full of concern. Spike would always think of her as a little girl, Buffy's baby sister. He would always be the older man in her life, well one of the older men in her life. But to a casual observer, he was the same age as her. Her girlfriends, the human ones, were always drooling over him and suggesting that her boyfriend should be jealous. Actually he had been, at first, but Bill had a few interesting skeletons in his family's closet as well, and he soon understood that Spike was a phenomena outside the box.

Dawn fell onto the sofa with a great sigh of fluffed cloth. Willow would still be here; her work with the Council and the new Slayer would keep her near Spike for quite some time. But Spike's emotional connection to the world of the living had been Buffy. And since Buffy's death, Dawn. She reached out to an end table and touched one of the many framed photographs there. Buffy glared into the camera, covered with some noxiously colored goo. The flash reflected off the stuff where it dripped from her hair. That had been about a year before her death. Even then, though, there had been warning signs. The darkness under her eyes. Her extreme pallor. 24 years of carrying so much power and so much responsibility in such a small body, had just burned her up. The stupid car accident that finally took her, and Dawn still firmly believed it had just been a car accident and nothing supernatural, had just been the final slam of the door. Buffy had been dying for years. It had only been obvious in retrospect.

And Spike had imploded. She couldn't think how long it had taken for anyone to even get into his crypt. He had been in there with the door jammed somehow, starving to un-death, for months before Xander had gotten a bunch of guys from his construction crew to tunnel in. And then for many months after that only Xander could enter the crypt. How Xander had managed to finally extract Spike from his darkness, literally and figuratively, Dawn had no clue. When he began coming around again, subdued and hideously thin, she had felt that the two men were becoming friends. As if the structure of the group that had broken apart with Buffy's death, was slowly reforming. Then Xander had suddenly left. And Spike went into shock. He had attached himself to Dawn like never before. Speechless, and often unseen, he nevertheless shadowed her every move. She had become so accustomed to his presence she sometimes wondered if even Bill would notice the absence of Spike when they moved to New York. As if the vampire's essence were somehow part of her. And in a way, Spike was her little capsule of Buffy essence. Not because of his relationship with her sister. In truth, that had devolved into a platonic, if intense, friendship, as Buffy slowly became more and more fragile. It was the demon, because she knew that part of her sister had been demonic, that felt like Buffy to her. She would miss that dimension. She knew that the human in her, more than Buffy's history, was what drew Spike to her. The immortal had made a connection with the mortal plane for the first time in over one hundred years. She was one of the few remaining contact points he had with that connection. She worried what would happen to him without it.

"Tissues."

Spike strode back in and tossed them in Dawn's lap. He twirled around and paced, his hand in his pocket fingering the Zippo he still carried though he had stopped smoking. He pulled the lighter out, flipped it in his hand, flicked it on, flicked it closed. "Watcher's here," he announced abruptly. He stopped short, dropped the lighter back in his pocket, and stood before her, folding his arms in front of him. There was accusation in his eyes. Dawn stared at him in surprise. It was not uncommon for Giles to drop in, and Spike must have expected him at her wedding. But Spike looked like he had been unexpectedly ambushed.

"He brought the whelp," he said flatly.

"The whe...? Xander!" Dawn squealed and jumped up. "Xander's here?"

Dawn ran from the room in great rustle of silk. She didn't notice Spike flopping onto the sofa and burying his head in his hands.

"Fucking hell, where's an apocalypse when you need one?" he muttered



Chapter Two

He was here. Well, of course he was here. Xander had known on the plane, in the cab, in Giles' car all the way up here, that Spike would be here. Hovering over Dawn and probably growling at the guests. Still, he hadn't been prepared. They had walked through the door and Xander had felt him there. God, what was that, some kind of automatic demonic warning device? His hair stood up on his arms. Something in his belly tensed, as some inner compass directed his gaze up the staircase. Slim, elegant in a black tuxedo, those shocking eyes looking directly into his. Xander felt a jolt shoot through his body to his toes. He felt that a knife had sliced him from neck to knee. Their gazes locked for forever, it seemed, and then Spike was gone, turned and up the stairs with vampiric speed.

" ... hardly any traffic, was there Xander?"

Giles was looking at him expectantly. Xander shook his head, attempting a weak smile. His whole body was tingling and buzzing. God, what was this? "Yeah," he managed, "it was a breeze."

"Xander!" A shrieking snowball with Dawn's face hurtled down the stairs and against his chest, "You made it!"

Xander reeled back and steadied himself against the assault. "Whoa, Dawnie." He stopped and held her at arm's length. She was even taller, now, statuesque. Her hair was swept up in an elegant twist. Those wide eyes, once so innocent and vulnerable, had become more mature and exotic. She was "absolutely beautiful," he whispered.

Dawn rewarded him with a dazzling smile and reached to gently touch his cheek. "I'm not married yet, Xander," she said happily, "you still have a chance."

"Nope." Xander laughed and became interested in a bit of lint on his lapel. "I blew my chances, Dawnie." He felt a somber note creeping in and shook it off, looking at her with his old smirking persona. "There you were, alone, in your pyjama's and what did I do?" He rolled his eyes, "Read you bedtime stories, God what a geek!" Dawn grimaced and playfully shoved him away. "Eew and eew squared Xander. You sound like some dirty old pervert!"

Xander's smile felt pasted on to him. "Yeah," he rasped out, "well, you never know what evil lurks in the hearts of men..." but Dawn wasn't listening, busily dragging him back towards the stairs. What? "Uh Dawn, where are we going?"

"You haven't said hello to Spike. God, you should see him in a tux. I swear I totally get that whole Transylvania Count in tux and swirly black cape thing now. He's just edible." Xander froze, pulling back from her and looking around desperately. "No!" he said harshly, then "no," more gently at her look of surprise, "I've been in Giles' bouncing tin box for three hours. I need a) the men's room b) a drink and then maybe c) another drink. He gently tried to pull his hand from hers.

"Then I'll mingle. I haven't seen a lot of the people here for years." Dawn nodded and released him.

"Sure, sure, go hang out with the boys in the back yard. I think they're all telling Bill about the real Dawn Summers. Trying to frighten him. Hah!" She laughed, "My boy Bill fears nothing, not even a ball of green energy." Xander stared.

"You told him?"

"Yeah, well..." she shrugged, smiling, and then looked at him very seriously. "You have to be honest with the people you love, or it's like you aren't really there with them, you know? Its like you're just playing a part on a TV show and watching yourself."

Xander told himself that Dawn wasn't trying to imply anything. He told himself that Dawn wasn't that subtle. If she had a beef with him, she'd have brought it up. Nevertheless, he felt his cheeks warming. He looked away. Just then his pager went off.

"Oh. Hey. Gotta take care of this."

"Sure, Xander. I'm really glad you're here." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. Xander leaned into the kiss, an unexpected yearning for contact throbbing through him. "You look like a fairy princess, Dawnie," he whispered, "you look like some man's dream come true."

Dawn stepped back, smiling with delight. Her face was pink. "Oh Xander," she teased, "you've really learned how to charm a girl." She turned and floated off.

Xander headed for the downstairs bathroom to take his meds. He shut the door behind him and turned on the faucet. Put his hands on the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. "Fuck, Harris, you are such an asshole. How are you going to pull this off?"

"Fuck, you bloody idiot, how're you gonna pull this off." Spike was standing on the balcony outside the master bedroom. He had cadged a cigarette from someone. This seemed like the perfect time to take up an old bad habit. He took a long, intense drag from the cigarette, hurled the thing to the ground in frustration and ground it out under his shoe.

"Bloody gorgeous. Five years and even more bloody gorgeous than when he left. Pinned me to the wall with one look. How'm I gonna get through a ceremony, a reception, the whole horse and pony ride with those eyes on me?" He turned and paced. Pounding a fist rhythmically against the brick facing every time he passed it. "I will not screw up Dawn's wedding. I will not act like a bloody wanker and embarrass myself. I will not lose control ..." Whack, a bit of brick flew off the wall. Spike stopped and looked down at his hand regretfully. Three of his knuckles were gashed and dripping blood onto the paving. He shook his head in disgust. "Fucking bloody hell."

He stomped back into the bedroom, looking for something to stop the bleeding before it stained his clothes. He couldn't see anything around that would suffice, so shrugged and just started licking it off himself. Besides, his saliva would make it heal even faster, and maybe he'd be lucky and Dawn wouldn't notice. Damn, he'd really taken a gouge out of himself. There was a lot of blood. His own really did nothing for him, but blood was blood and he lathed it up with his tongue expertly, licking his sticky fingers and hand like a big lollypop. Bollocks, it just kept coming, he must have hit a large vein. Even though he had no real circulation, if he cut himself badly enough he knew it would be a while before the bleeding stopped. Spike sat down on the bed and lathed his tongue over the wound in earnest. Well, at least it gave him something comforting to do while trying to sort this mess out.

*****************************************

Xander knew that it was terrifically unwise, and not a little rude, to get drunk before the wedding ceremony, even though he was only a spectator. But he had told himself that he couldn't breath if he didn't calm down, and that fainting during the ceremony would definitely distract from the main event. He swirled his third "Evil Bill Special" around in the glass and wandered aimlessly back into the house. If there were indeed 17 different kinds of rum, he suspected that this drink contained 18. The 18th being the one that had displaced the souls of his feet. Since his feet seemed to have become possessed by their own mind and will, he followed them back into the house and up the stairs to the second floor. His feet wanted to go down the hallway to the master bedroom. His feet wanted to go stand in the doorway. Xander was so happy to relinquish control, he gladly followed until he looked up. Grabbed hold of his feet and reined them in. Spike was sitting on the bed. Blood on his lips and his tongue dragging up one finger. He froze in this position when Xander walked into the room. Xander found that he could not breath again. That despite this phenomena, his heart was racing and appeared to have sunk into his cock, where the beating of it was so painful he wanted to double over. Then that sliced down the middle feeling again. Xander stared at Spike's bloody mouth as the vampire quickly rubbed and tried to lick the blood from his lips. His tongue caught the blood from his lower lip and Xander unconsciously mirrored the action with his own tongue. His demonically possessed feet dared to take another step, and he had to force himself to concentrate to keep them still. Which is why he didn't really catch what Spike said at first.

"...bloody knock!" Spike turned away embarrassed. He couldn't see himself, but he felt the stickiness on his face. And then just staring at Harris like a rabbit caught in the headlights! He knew he must look ridiculous. "Geez, Harris, people don't just walk into other people's bedrooms."

Xander shook himself. The words seemed to be entering his brain so slowly he could not catch the sense of them. "Huh. Spike. Didn't know you were up here."

Spike was ruffled. "Well yeah, Alexander, they don't keep me in a coffin in the bloody cellar."

"Well, no." Xander felt massively confused. He kept telling his feet to turn and walk away, but they were ignoring his commands. He saw Spike stand up and come towards him. He felt a surge of excitement so powerful it made him gasp, which cleared his head a bit. What the hell was wrong with him? "Sorry," he managed. Spike walked right up to him and stood expectantly. Xander was at a complete loss and terrified out of his mind. What was he supposed to do? What was Spike going to do? Why was he just standing there looking at him? Xander's head felt extremely noisy. "Sorry," he repeated stupidly, and shook his head, looking at his rebellious feet. Spike snorted.

"You gonna let me by, Harris? Gotta clean up."

"Yeah," said Xander. He looked up at Spike again. Looked at the blood on his lips. There was one sticky pink smear near the corner of his lower lip. An insane need to touch that smear surged through him and Xander had actually raised his arm partially before he caught himself with a start. A feeling of such absolute self-loathing rushed through him that he grimaced. Concentrating he managed to look away from Spike, and step out of his path.

"Yeah," he said roughly, "really should clean that up."

Spike saw the look of revulsion on Xander's face and felt an old pain suddenly awaken deep inside of him. He managed to push past Xander and get down the hallway without the hurt stinging in his eyes being seen by the man who had caused it.

****************************************************

Xander felt grateful for the intense pain in his head. It helped to keep his mind on the ceremony. They had set up the entire room in a circle around the couple and their Priestess. It appeared that Spike was standing in as both the High Priest and he who gives the bride in marriage. The room was illuminated only by candles and moonlight coming through the windows. Willow circled the perimeter of the defined space, turning slowly, a bizarre short sword raised in her hand.

"Once for the Daughter, twice for the Crone, thrice for the Mother."

Willow's power had matured, Dawn had told him. She was a High Priestess of an old Wiccan Coven, and opted for wisdom over magic tricks these days. Or so Dawn said. Xander had seen his friend rippling with magic and he had seen her insane with power. The woman before him seemed, he tried to find a word in the maelstrom of his head, she seemed jolly. Her face was still beautiful and had the glow of the truly healthy, but she seemed older somehow. Peaceful, he realized suddenly. Willow exuded extreme intense Peace.

After carefully binding the couples' hands together, Spike took his place by Dawn, cradling her other arm in his, with such intense pathos on his moonlit face that Xander felt his heart would stop beating - if he weren't concentrating on not vomiting all over the person in front of him.

"They cleave to one another," Willow was chanting. As Bill and Dawn stood before her, Willow had one hand resting on their joined hands. She smoothly sequed into the Christian part of the ceremony, "this man and woman, bound by holy matrimony."

Xander saw Dawn smiling at Bill secretly. Something was going on with her. He knew she was involved somehow with Willow's work. The Council and the Wiccans would never let a phenomena like Dawn just waltz off to New York with an ordinary guy, would they? But Dawn seemed good with it. She seemed to be sharing whatever it was with Bill, even, which meant it was good, right? As long as they both wanted it and weren't hurting anybody. Xander felt a sudden increase in the throbbing in his head. He stopped himself, just, from moaning out loud. God, he so deserved to feel like shit right now. What an asshole, just barging in on Spike like that. Staring at him like he was some exotic animal on display. Gawping like some slack jawed geek. Xander allowed himself to look at Spike again. The moonlight had a cool sharp edge to it that brought out his cheekbones and expressive brows. His eyes glittered fiercely as he stood by Dawn for the last time, perhaps, as her protector. But the candlelight bathed his skin in a surreal glow. He looked young and eternal and more beautiful than anything Xander had ever seen. Beautiful, he thought fiercely. I'm looking at a frigging vampire. A frigging male vampire. And I'm thinking he's beautiful. His head throbbed and he embraced the pain gladly. Yeah, give it to me good oh god of hangovers, for Alexander Harris is a fucking idiot who thinks a century old male serial killer is beautiful . He punished himself by forcing his gaze away from Spike and back onto the rest of the assembly. Maybe if he was lucky he'd pass out right after the ceremony.

Spike had expected sorrow and pain and joy. He had felt Dawn slipping away from him faster and faster every day. Before she and Bill had ever met, he had already felt it. Her view of the world had turned outward, she was talking careers and plans, babies and travel. Her girlhood had been filled with sorrow and loss and Spike had been her good friend through it all. But adulthood promised to be exciting and joyful, and she stopped talking about trivial Sunnydale issues and began reading the national news.

Spike felt that his existence was fixed one in place, one time. He went every day to Buffy and Joyce's graves and sat. Talked to them about their friends and families, the new Slayer, his thoughts. Dawn came with him sometimes, but for her it was nostalgia and reverence. For him it was an ever-present pain. Buffy, like Spike, was frozen in time. She was eternally 25, fragile, tragic, fiercely brave and amazingly strong. She and he sat side by side in the cemetery. Two dead things. Only Buffy didn't feel lonely anymore, he hoped. Buffy didn't long for contact anymore, he prayed hopelessly to a probably deaf god. Buffy could forgive him now, he truly believed, because she could perhaps finally understand eternity.

And Dawn was growing away from that place in which he lived with Buffy. He felt her slip away and felt the loss. Spike was used to loss. He was used to being left. As he lost Dawn, though, he had the panicking feeling that he was somehow losing himself. As if his substance, his physical presence, was somehow dependent on interaction with this person. He felt, with every moment moving closer to Dawn's imminent departure, that he was becoming less and less solid. That he was becoming transparent. *Am I the dreamer or the dream*? his memory quoted suddenly, and he experienced a rush of fear. He suddenly imagined that he could not feel sorrow or joy for Dawn. That he could not feel anything at all *because he wasn't real*, and nothing he felt had substance.

Willow was done with the chanting, he expected. He felt her power build suddenly and knew that usually happened at the end of these things. Suddenly she looked straight at him. Into him, was more like it. He felt her awareness of him like a cool hand on a warm forehead. The fear flew away and bittersweet sadness and unbelievable joy suddenly rose up in him. He looked at Dawn, her face completely suffused with love for this man who gazed back at her as if she were his world, *and she sure as hell better be, wanker*, thought Spike. He looked back at Willow. Tried to make his gratitude speak from his eyes. He looked around the room. All their friends. His friends, too, not just Dawn's. He could feel life and love, two qualities not always present for vampires and so just that much more valuable. His eyes swept the room and for a moment caught Xander's. He saw so much pain there. So much fear. A gush of gratitude for his own momentary gift of peace suffused Spike's heart and he dared to let himself smile at Xander. Just for a moment to let something of what he felt for his old friend show on his face. Xander answered with a trembling smile of his own. Then Dawn was in Spike's arms, and then Bill, and then their assembled friends were pushing around them and Spike was carried off.

************************************************

Xander stared into the dregs of his champagne flute and called himself all kinds of idiot for the hundredth time. Firstly, the idiot who, with the hangover of death, goes to the bar and drinks yet again. Hair of the werewolf that cursed you, indeed. Secondly, the idiot who gets a wonky half smile from someone across the room and spends the rest of the evening dreaming about him. And finally, the idiot who still cannot talk to the someone across the room without poisoning his brain first with alcohol. Because we all know how attractive drunks are, don't we Harris? Or maybe, he thought, the alcohol was his way of ensuring that he would never talk to the someone across the room. Because there were so many issues there. Issues upon issues. Even just thinking that word in his drunken mind, Xander could hear himself saying it out loud. "Issues," he said and it sounded just as silly coming out of his drunken mouth as he had thought it would. "Issues," he said again, and giggled.

"Amusing yourself, Harris?"

Xander jumped and almost fell off his seat. Damn sneaking silent vampire! "Spike," he grunted, trying to sound unaffected. "Congratulations."

"What?"

"Father of the bride," explained Xander, "mazeltoff." He steeled himself and looked Spike directly in the eye. Yep, there it was again, that slow ripping up his middle. Obviously he hadn't had quite enough to drink. Spike nodded at him slowly. His expression was wary. Xander yanked at the bar stool next to him. "Have a seat, dad," he said, "Let's toast the bride." Spike sat down on the stool and accepted the glass the bartender set down. He nodded at Xander's glass.

"Do I see a family resemblance here, Harris?"

"Whatchya mean?"

"D'you have a drinking problem, Xander?" he said carefully, casually tilting his head away so that Xander wouldn't have to feel he was looking directly at him. "I mean, are we pushing you off some wagon or something, 'cuz Dawn would kill me..."

"You're not doing anything to me, Spike," said Xander harshly. "You are having no effect on my life whatsoever," he added. Spike tilted an eyebrow up at him. "Whatever," said Xander confusedly, thinking he had answered more than one question. "I'm fine Spike. Yeah, I'm drinking too much tonight. Yeah, I drink a lot. Nope, no intervention necessary as of yet. Seem to be handling life just fine. And death just fine. Life and death going on just fine without interference from alcohol."

Xander suddenly wanted to stop. He wanted to stop and he wanted Spike to just understand. To understand, and say, "Yeah I get it Xan." And wrap his arm around his shoulder the way he used to, and Xander would just *know* that he was understood. He wanted it so badly, he needed it so badly just now that he thought Spike must feel how much he needed it. He looked at him pleadingly, "Please just understand, Spike, please," he begged him silently. He dared another look into those eyes. The violent charge and buzz of being this close to Spike, which was beginning to feel natural to Xander, made it seem like they were in their own little world. He reached toward Spike cautiously. Spike's eyes widened. Xander put his hand on Spike's shoulder and watched his eyes. Spike was looking at him with as much trust as a wild animal, caught in a trap, might look at the trapper. Xander could see him lightly breathing, which was never a good thing, and his eyes were turning almost black, the pupils had dilated so much. But the place where Xander's hand was touching Spike's body, was the happiest feeling his hand had had in so long. "Five years" he thought suddenly. " I haven't felt this from just touching someone in five years". He couldn't remove it. So Spike did. He stood slowly, not unkindly removing Xander's hand from his shoulder.

"You're drunk, Xander," he said gently. "You're gonna feel like absolute shit in the morning." He smiled sorrowfully and reached across to barely touch a lock of Xander's hair. His touch had no pressure, but Xander felt it zip through his body like an electric shock. "Spike," he whispered, "Spike, please." Spike kept smiling sadly. His thumb rested against Xander's jaw. "You're gonna feel like shit, and you're not gonna remember anything. You're not gonna remember this conversation, and you're not gonna remember this." And Spike leant down and gently pressed his lips to Xander's.



Chapter Three

Spike had known where this was going. As he milled through the room of happy congratulations and blessed be’s, as toast after toast was announced and applauded. As he swept Dawn around the outdoor parquet dance floor and relinquished her finally to Bill. His heart squeezing and wringing with love and loss. Some part of his mind had followed Xander. Holding him at arm’s length as something he would not allow himself until his duties of the evening were done. Spike wasn’t given much to self-delusion. He knew he still longed for Xander, knew also the self-loathing and recriminations that rapidly followed if he gave into those longings. But he knew he would still seek Xander out this evening, that the knowledge that Xander was even in the same building as he was the opiate that swirled around him, making the pain of Dawn’s leaving feel temporarily distant and manageable.

He told himself he would allow himself this indulgence. Because he deserved it, and because tonight he needed it. He would allow himself to be with Xander, and pretend. But when Spike finally let himself walk over to Xander, the location of whom he had been hyper aware all evening, he found himself half dizzy with fear. He tried taking deep breaths, the 21st century vampire’s substitute for cigarettes, but with Xander, even half-drunk Xander, he could not allow himself the weakness of human behaviors. “…just an animal…” He could not let down his guard for even a moment. “…but you aren’t are you, you’re just a monster..” To himself he could pretend but he couldn’t forget, or let Xander think he had forgotten, what he was. “…fucking heartless freak…”

He’d realized how drunk Xander had already become earlier, and as he walked up behind him and heard him giggling, it occurred to him that the drinking might have become more of a problem since Xander had left. Alcohol had been an occupation, an excuse, and a convenient lie for both he and Xander for years. On some deeply depressing level, Spike knew that without it he would never have gotten to first base with the man. But he had never seen Xander let the booze become more important than the people and responsibilities around him. Xander seemed to have spent the greater part of the evening alone. Willow and Dawn the only people in the room he had more than passing words with. Spike had to remind himself that he hadn’t seen Xander for five years. The violent pull he felt towards the man, which was as strong as it had been the night he had left, made Spike feel as if nothing had changed between them. But of course that was Spike. Eternal unchanging victim of time. Xander was a human. Humans could change.

So even though Spike expected and accepted that he would be hurt, when Xander looked into his eyes and touched him, Spike felt more fear than he had thought possible. There were limitless possibilities here. This man could hurt him in ways Spike had not yet considered. But Xander’s hand on his shoulder, like a forgotten favorite song, threw a wave of emotions through him with a strength and erotic seduction he had forgotten they possessed.

He was a vampire in thrall. He felt himself start to pant. With fear, and with arousal. He saw Xander’s eyes pleading. That deceptive vulnerability that always undid Spike. That apparent emotional neediness that was really just lust. Xander’s eyes said, “love me..” but Xander’s mouth said “yeah, like that, yeah Spike, just like that … “ Xander’s mouth said it meant nothing. Spike managed to stand again, unsteadily. Reluctantly removing the hand that had magically taken all the pain out of his body. He couldn’t do this again, he realized. He had forgotten how hard it was. Forgotten how deeply Xander could move him, how raw he could make him feel.

“Spike.” Xander’s voice husky and needy. It zinged straight to Spike’s groin. “Spike, please.”

Spike felt himself on the edge of something. Somewhere in his memories he knew he had been here before. Precipices and falling. Damage. Everything in his heart wanted to give Xander whatever he asked for. Give Xander what he needed, even if it meant immolating his own feelings and self-respect in the process. Because while Xander needed him, he would exist. Spike longed to see himself affecting this man on a primal level. He needed desperately to hear the passion in his voice, to hear him say his name again and again. He allowed himself to touch Xander’s hair. He felt himself step over the edge. And like the man who steps off the cliff, his last thought was, “Oh shit this is gonna hurt…”

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Xander had forgotten how cool Spike’s lips could be. Cool and smoky and tasting slightly of tin (that would be blood). It was a taste he had missed without realizing. A taste he had been seeking in the bottom of highball glasses and at the back of young men’s throats, for five years. He leaned towards it and gasped, nearly falling, when Spike pulled back. For a moment the room did a quick sideways shift. Xander heard the music again, became aware of the people around him. He froze and stared at Spike. Spike looked terribly sad and very ancient all of a sudden. His eyes had gone a steely blue. They flicked briefly towards the stairway and then speculatively up and down Xander’s torso. Then without a word, Spike casually turned and headed for the stairs.

Xander watched Spike disappear upstairs and nervously glanced up and down the bar. No one seemed to have noticed the exchange. Not the only drunk in the room for a change, Harris. He waited a decent interval, then casually eased himself away from the bar and made his way to the stairway.

This time Xander’s feet were not co-operating. He had to force them down the hallway. At the doorway, they suddenly urged him to turn and run, but he exerted control again. The door was closed but unlocked. He rapped his knuckles over it briefly, by way of warning, and eased himself inside.

Spike had not turned on any lights. He knew that Xander would prefer the dark. He had carefully removed and hung up the tux. He didn’t want to explain anything to Dawn or the rental place. He pulled on an old pair of boxers that he never used and stood looking out on the balcony, waiting for Xander. He stared at a circle of white moonlight on the pavement outside and deliberately suppressed what he could not bear to remember just now. His entire body was thrumming in expectation like an overtuned guitar string. He heard Xander coming slowly down the hallway, heard him pause at the door as if changing his mind. For a moment Spike thought he might, and for an even briefer moment he hoped he would. Maybe, just maybe, that hard ground Spike felt rushing up to meet him would turn into an inflatable mattress. Maybe.

“Hey.” Xander eased through the doorway. He stared at Spike. The door to the balcony let a stream of full moonlight run over the edges of that strong angular body. Muscles shifted silkily under flawless white skin as Spike turned slightly towards Xander. His face was shadowed and its expression hidden, but the obvious bulge in his boxers stood out in silhouette against the moonlit door. Xander felt his own cock harden at the sight of it. He made a low involuntary noise. This was the body Xander had dreamed of for five confused years, waking sweating and ashamed in his own wet spot. Filled with self-hatred. Telling himself that it was a nightmare, a bad dream about monsters. Or a very good dream about monsters. He felt the need to touch that body everywhere, in every cell of his skin. Not just with his hands, which were shaking violently, but with the skin of his chest, the surface of his thighs, his belly, everything in him burned to press against that cold white torso. He pulled clumsily at his clothes, walking as in a trance towards Spike. He managed the shirt, vaguely aware of buttons popping away. All he could think of was to get rid of any impediment between his skin and that perfect white body. Spike was still silent, expressionless. Perfect. He moved towards Xander and when Xander’s hand fumbled over his belt buckle, Spike’s came helpfully down to assist him. His hand bumped gently against Xander’s hardening cock, and Xander felt the contact like a shot of heroin. He made yet another unintelligible noise, louder this time, and grabbed Spike roughly, holding him tight against him. His mouth wildly searching the dark surface of Spike’s face until he found his lips, open and welcoming him in. The tongue greeting his desperate and wet. He reached as far into Spike’s mouth as he could, drinking in that taste that he had forgotten and yet not been able to forget, his hands violently kneading and squeezing, gripping Spike, eliciting moans that excited him so much he could barely stand. He pulled back fractionally, unwilling to release even an inch of this body. “Bed,” he said in a low harsh voice. “Now.”

Spike pulled back but Xander did not release him, pressing him backwards until Spike fell against the edge and collapsed onto the mattress, Xander falling heavily on top of him. Xander felt Spike’s hands wildly pulling at his trousers, and he lifted his hips enough to let the material be shoved down. He felt his cock, heavy and throbbing, sliding next to Spike’s through the boxers and began immediately grinding against the vampire. Shaking his head with inarticulate need, back and forth. “Yeah. Yeah. God. Yeah.”

Spike was shoving his hips up against him, his hands moving over his back rapidly, fingers running over the muscles as if trying to touch everywhere at once. His head arched back as he focused his entire being on the body writhing on top of him. He felt Xander’s hands grab his head and bring his face down. Xander’s mouth fastened on his again, ferociously devouring him. Xander’s tongue rhythmically stabbing into his mouth in time with the thrusting of his hips. Spike pushed frantically at the elastic waist of Xander’s boxers, managing to just push them below his cheeks, then grabbing those muscular globes and moaning helplessly into Xander’s eager mouth.

Xander raised himself fractionally and pushed the boxers down, his cock falling heavily against Spike’s thigh. He tore at Spike’s boxers mindlessly, his fingernails gouging the soft flesh of Spike’s lower abdomen as he viciously ripped them down, grabbing Spike’s thick shaft and yanking it free to rub against his own. The sensation was overwhelming, and he tore his mouth away from Spike’s to stare down at the unbelievable vision of himself rubbing the swollen head of Spike’s cock up and down his own aching shaft. He wrapped his hand around the foreskin and pulled it up to cover the head, lifting himself yet further to rub that long smooth cylinder against his balls.

He pushed Spike’s cock down and heard the vampire cry out, “Xander! Ow, Xander, hey! Doesn’t really bend that way, mate!” But Xander was heedless, kneading and grabbing mindlessly pursuing these erotic sensations. Spike was becoming more and more uncomfortable. His cock was so hard he thought he could come any minute. Xander was alternately stimulating him and hurting him, not always a bad thing for a vampire, but Spike could feel his demon trying to surface and he knew what would happen if it did. But thankfully, Xander lifted suddenly off Spike’s body. Spike’s hips arched up seeking the lost contact. He felt Xander’s knees settle into the mattress on either side of his shoulders, Xander’s fingers grasping his hair. Then Xander’s heavy, dripping, beautiful cock was pushing insistently at his lips. Spike happily opened his mouth and took in the man he had missed for so long. The musk and sweat, the particular Xander taste. He rolled his tongue over the head of Xander’s cock, relishing it. Letting himself remember now, because these memories were good ones. The spongy head twitching at the roof of his mouth. The stream of precum pooling over his tongue.

But Xander didn’t want nostalgia, he wanted release. Now. He grabbed Spike’s head more firmly and thrust forward, trying to get his cock to the back of Spike’s throat. He knew he couldn’t really hurt the vampire. Spike couldn’t choke or suffocate. He felt the softness of Spikes throat close around the head of his cock and thought he would go insane. “Yeah, good. Yeah like that. God so good. So good. Yeah. Yeah. Do that,” Xander chanted, as he thrust over and over into that amazing mouth.

Spike struggled against the angle at which his head was held. He wanted to see Xander’s face, overcome with the pursuit of his orgasm, twisted in the agony of release. Xander’s balls tightened and Spike knew he was close. “Say it, Xan,” he pleaded in his mind, “just say it.” He reached down and grabbed his own cock. Squeezing it in time with Xander’s thrusts. He was so close. So close. He just needed to hear…

“Spike. Spike. Spike.” Xander gasped out his name and Spike felt Xander’s voice strum through his body and into his balls. He fell into that sound, that affirmation. His entire body wired to the voice above him, great waves of sensation lashing through him with every repetition. “Spike. Spike. Spike.” Xander’s voice became gritty with desperation and Spike felt himself driving this man to the brink of madness. Glorying in the power of that, he arched his head back to an even more impossible angle, trying to allow Xander’s cock yet further down his throat. He abandoned his own needs to reach up and grasp Xander’s ass with both hands. Kneading the tight muscles as he felt them jerk and spasm with more and more out of control thrusting. Then Xander suddenly froze. Spike felt the delicious cock jump and swell. He moaned around it, knowing what the vibrations would do to the man above him. Xander screamed out his name once more, “Spike! Aaah!” then grunted and thrust and Spike felt hot streams of cum gushing down his throat. Cold sperm was splattering across his chest as his own orgasm hit him as from some great distance.

For a long moment Xander kneeled above him, Spike’s face clutched to his groin, his own head thrown back as the waves of his orgasm rippled from his balls and down Spikes throat. He grunted once more as the last surge of sperm was released, but then fell silent. Xander paused for a moment as his cock softened in Spike’s mouth, then released Spike’s head and pulled away from him. He shuffled back from the vampires body, flopped down, then rolled onto his side at the edge of the mattress, facing away from Spike. He didn’t speak.

Spike lay where he had been left, the sensations still running up and down his body. He felt the distance between his and Xander’s bodies, but knew better than to reach across and try to touch. He could hear Xander breathing evenly and rapidly, not yet asleep, but knew better than to speak. He felt the enormous satisfaction of physical and mental fulfillment gradually fading, and the sudden press of tears against his eyes. He turned his face away from Xander and wondered why this act always made him want to cry.

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He was having one of those dreams again, Spike knew. He recognized it as one of his least bad dreams, and felt a kind of relief to know that, but the dream was still a bad one and he struggled against it, wishing he could find the door to wakefulness before it took him. He found himself in the same cemetery where Buffy and Joyce lay, but an older and more neglected section. His girls were in an area where the plots were attended with some regularity. Holidays and religious holy days saw new flowers and whirly gigs adorning the sites. In the dream, however, he always found himself in the place where lay the forgotten. He wandered amongst the stones, always searching for a particular stone but never sure what the name on it was supposed to be. As happened every time he had this dream, he came across a tall granite marker that had been broken in half, the split in the stone separating the dates of birth and death. The other half of the marker lay in a piece nearby and Spike struggled, as he did every time he entered this dream, to lift the fallen half and join it with its other part. In the dream, he wondered why he cared to do this. Upon waking, he always felt an ache that he had failed yet again. The marker should have been easy enough for him to lift, but in his dream he was lacking vampiric strength and actually seemed to be weaker, even, than a human. As he struggled, he heard voices coming towards him and felt that familiar longing. The part of him that watched the dream always tried to wake at this point, to distract the dream-Spike from the voices, but the dream-Spike could not resist and drifted towards them hopefully. He saw that they issued from a gigantic carnival, full of people, sprawling over the cemetery. Many of them were people he knew. They had stalls with toys and pastries, flowers, hats. He wandered amongst the festive decorations happily. Finding a familiar face, he stopped and asked her what was going on. “It’s the birthday next week,” said the woman, vaguely frowning at him, “but you won’t be there. You’re dead.” She looked past Spike and waved to someone else. “Yeah love, I’m dead,” said dream-Spike ruefully, “but …” The woman wasn’t listening. He turned to a booth with a young man in it who was a friend of Dawn’s. He was surrounded by young people his own age that Spike hadn’t met. “Hey mate,” he approached the young man, Eric? “Eric, mate, introduce me!” Eric looked at him seriously. He turned to the other people. “That’s Spike,” he said dismissively, “but he’s dead.” And he turned his back on him. Spike looked around and noticed that people were looking through him or past him, but no one was looking directly at him. A huge emptiness seemed to form around him like a bubble. He wandered amongst the familiar and strange faces, bereft and depressed until the dream released him and he woke, his face streaming with tears.

Spike lay where he had fallen asleep. His face turned towards the balcony. He turned his head to look at the spot where Xander had been lying when he fell asleep. The young man was gone.

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Xander lay curled on his side with his back to Spike and stared into the pitch black. He could feel Spike go completely still beside him and cursed himself. He imagined the vampire lying there immobile, neither speaking nor asking for any kind of acknowledgment, out of fear of Xander’s reaction. “Because I have him trained,” thought Xander, and the thought made him feel angry and sick and bewildered. He could not recall now, whether while he was using Spike to achieve his own orgasm, “that’s right Xander, using him, using his mouth like a fucking inflatable doll you bastard,” he could not recall if Spike had come as well. But he knew that even if Spike were laying there with a killer hard on, he would not move to find his own release because he was afraid of what Xander might say. Of what Xander might do. Xander wanted to roll over and look at Spike, just see if he was satisfied, if he was okay. But he ran the last few minutes through his mind and was so disgusted with himself, “selfish bastard,” that he couldn’t bear to look the man he had just abused in the eye. Thinking about what he had just inflicted on this partner, whom he had dreamed of romantically all night, imagining words of friendship and affection, imagining forgiveness. Thinking of what his filthy perverted body had just inflicted on his old friend, Xander was horrified to feel a stir of arousal. Spike’s eyes looking up at him, dark and pleading as he shoved himself, shoved himself, down his throat. The thought sent a throb of desire into Xander’s already well-satisfied cock and he writhed with self-disgust. “God, how deep does this sickness go, Harris?” And then he realized. He hadn’t even thought of protection. Yeah, he couldn’t give the disease to a vampire, but had he even thought about that? Had Spike’s well-being, his friend whom he loved’s, well-being even occurred to him? If he weren’t a vampire would he have just gone ahead anyway? Taken his pleasure, and everyone else can go to hell? Xander lay in the dark stoking the fire of his own self-hatred. “I didn’t deserve this,” he told himself angrily. “Even this one night, even though I burned all over just wanting his arm over my shoulders, that smile again. Even so, I didn’t deserve it. I never have. I never even asked him how he’s been,” he realized, gleefully finding more and more to despise about himself. “Hey Spike, haven’t seen you in five years, hey guy just lay back and let me fuck your mouth, there’s a good vampire.” And his mind now created a Spike who lay on the bed next to him, not immobile with obedient fear but with affronted outrage. Xander’s mind clenched down around itself, and he allowed the fear that drove the self-loathing to take over.

The room remained utterly silent. Xander could hear nothing but his own harsh breathing. He desperately tried to still himself, to stop his shaking and get a grip. He could still taste the stale alcohol in his mouth and, achingly, the taste of Spike. The air moved slightly over his naked torso and he shivered again violently, longing to pull blankets over himself, longing for some kind of comfort. He heard a stifled noise behind him and tensed, both fearing and craving contact. But nothing more happened and Xander stared into the darkness, at an impasse.

After some time, Xander steeled himself and rolled over. There was a conversation that needed to be had between he and Spike. A conversation so long in coming. “Spike.” He whispered, his voice shaking.

Spike lay apparently asleep. Lying there like a corpse which he was. Spike looked so utterly young and vulnerable, his face turned slightly away from Xander, a sliver of moonlight across one arched brow. His sooty lashes lying still on ethereal skin. “An immortal,” Xander whispered to himself. Awed and amazed that just a moment ago he had been allowed to touch, “more like grab and bruise, you bastard,” this beautiful creature. He saw the way the moonlight glinted on Spike’s high cheekbones and realized that his face was wet with tears. “I made him cry,” Xander said to himself. And the thought made him want to cry as well. He felt like he had the first time his father had made him shoot a rabbit. Afterwards running his hand over the impossibly soft fur, hiding the ache of tears in his throat, trying to be as emotionless as his father. He felt like he had the first time he had staked a vampire. Like he had the first time he had flown into a rage and struck a girl. Like a dirty, filthy man who broke beautiful things. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t because he was a dirty, filthy bastard who didn’t deserve this. He was an asshole who used people and walked away and left them to deal, he told himself brutally. He didn’t deserve any of this, he reminded himself angrily. Not the sex, not to lie here with Spike, not to touch, not to share soft words in the dark. Xander rose shakily and carefully from the bed so as not to disturb Spike, gathered his clothes and slunk from the room.



PART FOUR

Giles hadn’t made it to bed yet, so Xander was alone in the room he was to share with the Watcher. He hung up his dress clothes, unpacked his suitcase, and pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt. He felt weirdly energetic. The light buzz from the alcohol, the mind-blowing sex and then the self-induced adrenalin rush of fear and anger had him jumpy and unsettled. He didn’t think he could sleep, and he really didn’t want to. He was afraid that if he lay down now he would start to think again and above all else he did not want to do that. He wondered if Giles was downstairs, maybe tipping back a last brandy for the night. He wondered if he could sneak down there without encountering any other guests. Xander stepped out into the hall, walked to the head of the stairs, and listened. The music downstairs had stopped. He could see people from the caterers walking back and forth carrying warming tins out of the house. Willows voice, still bubbling with energy, floated up the stairs. He could recognize it but not hear what she was saying. Then he heard Dawn clearly say, “but he does connect with people.” Willow’s reply was unintelligible. Xander slipped down one step, unaccountably wanting to eavesdrop. Dawn sounded angry now, “I can’t believe they would say that. I can’t believe after all this time no-one would see him for what he is.” Xander felt a bizarre icy fear grip him. ‘What he is?’ Who was she talking about? Xander wandered dazedly back down the hallway. He suddenly felt funky and covered with spunk. He walked into the bathroom and locked the door. Wrenched the clothes off that he had just put on and stepped into the shower. Turning it on full blast, he heard the pipes groan and swore to himself. “What time is it? Am I waking up the whole house?” he wondered worriedly. Am I waking up Spike? he suddenly thought, remembering how lightly the vampire slept at night. And that led his mind to thoughts of Spike again. The image he had shut away as he closed the bedroom door, rose up before him again as he stood under the hot spray. Spike helpless and vulnerable. Lying naked in the moonlight, tears on his boyish cheeks and cum streaking his muscled chest. His flaccid penis lying glistening against a bed of dark curls. One hand curled over a sloping hipbone, the other pointed just slightly towards the empty half of the bed as if, in his sleep, Spike’s body were trying to reach towards Xander’s. Xander groaned as he felt his cock twitch again. God, what was wrong with him these days? He was thirty years old, and those damn meds were supposed to be cutting into his libido, not stimulating it. But he saw once again Spike’s dark eyes looking up at him, his mouth red and wet clenched around his cock as Xander … Xander stood in the shower and grabbed his once again erect penis and pulled on it desperately. He replayed the events of the night in his mind again and again, and came so hard and fast that he had to grab a shower handle to keep from falling through the glass door. He climbed shakily from the shower, wrapped a towel around himself and sat down on the toilet. It occurred to him that he had left his beeper in his tux, and he hadn’t taken his meds in several hours. He feebly stood and walked back to the room. Pulled the little pillbox from his hanging pants pocket. He shook the pills out into his hand and stared at them. He was responding reasonably well, they had told him. He was lucky, they had said, his virus had been caught early, it was a variety and at a phase that responded well to the medication. The medication that was expensive, and so not available to everyone. Lucky again, you rotten bastard, he thought sadly. Sometimes he just didn’t want to take the pills anymore. Sometimes he just wanted to say, oh fuck it, and flush ‘em. But he couldn’t, silly as that seemed, because they were valuable and hard to come by and it seemed such a waste. And then he fucked around and drank too much and made himself crazy and didn’t sleep. All strongly discouraged behaviors. But, hey, what did he have left, if he gave up his bad habits?

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When Giles let himself into the room, he noted that Xander was already asleep. Early to bed and early to rise, he thought wryly. Xander the wholesome American boy. He sat down and slid open a laptop that he’d attached to the house phone jack. Willow had asked him to speak to the Council again. He felt it was useless. Regarding some things the Council was like adamite. Dark and dense. He gazed into the screen for some time, trying to think of the right way to phrase a blasphemy. Easier to get a camel through the eye of a needle, his memory supplied nicely. But with God all things are possible, he finished for himself. Well then, the former warlock thought grimly, may this go with God. And he began to type.

GILES’ LETTER TO THE COUNCIL REGARDING SPIKE – VAMPIRE – I.E. WILLIAM THE BLOODY – I.E. CHILDE OF ANGELUS – SUBJECT:

THE REDEMPTION OF DEMONS AND VAMPIRES WITH SOULS

Giles stared at what he had written and shook his head. “Goddess,” he laughed, “I am so bloody buggered!”

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Xander heard Giles entering the room and turned onto his belly so that he could feign sleep. He could feel this night like the endless thing it would become. A long tapeworm of memories and self-recriminations. All totally useless, as there was nothing to do about his past. And useless as well, since he didn’t have any frigging idea how to avoid further screwing up his future. He heard Giles opening a computer connection and begin to type. He heard a long pause and then a rueful laugh. He actually thought for a minute that Giles might be laughing at him. Somehow looking unknowingly ridiculous as he lay here. Then he realized that his self-involved paranoia was working again. Giles was on the internet, probably accessing some Watcher Porn Site. Xander smiled into his pillow imagining Giles drooling over suggestive photos of naked female chaos demons. Oooh slimy antlers. He almost giggled out loud. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy that he could be over thirty and still grossed out by the idea of Giles and sex. “Someday I hope to be a dirty old man,” he thought muzzily. “And scare all the kiddies with tales of my nefarious youth.” He firmly pushed all thoughts of the statistics and probabilities of that notion firmly out of his mind, and played purposely with the idea of an aged Xander chasing a still nubile looking blonde vampire around a large wooden desk. The thought was amusing and oddly comforting and by the third lap Xander had fallen asleep.

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Xander, also, was blessed with his recurring dreams. You can’t be a young warrior for the light on the Hellmouth and not come away with mental scars. And you can’t be an only child in the house of Harris and emerge unscathed either. He dreamed about the ones he hadn’t saved, the ones he couldn’t, wouldn’t or arrived too late to save. He dreamt about the ones he had killed, or destroyed. Xander Harris’ subconscious had a veritable encyclopedia of regrets and painful horrors upon which to draw. But there were favorites. Tonight, in celebration of the evening’s activities, his subconscious decided to treat him to a replay of one of the classics.

In the dream the digging always went on at night. Xander hated the way his subconscious was always trying to give him metaphors. He had always been really confused by that in school and figured his subconscious, which supposedly lived somewhere in his mind, should know the limitations of that untrustworthy tool. So he assumed that tunneling through the cemetery at night was supposed to mean something, but in the dream it was just damned inconvenient. He couldn’t see where he was going and the dirt, grave dirt, kept falling in his mouth and choking him. He was afraid it would suffocate him and he consciously pushed his head repeatedly against the ceiling of the tunnel, as if he could push through to fresh air. The closer he got to his goal, the more restricted the tunnel became, and he wiggled and squirmed desperately towards the end, in a panic that he would be trapped. When he finally pushed through to a larger space, he was still in absolute darkness and he took a huge breath, which immediately made him gag. The air was filled with the stench of rotting flesh. He was familiar with the smell, having followed a Slayer in and out of crypts for several years, but this was more intense, probably because there was little if any ventilation in the area. He knew instinctively that the only air he was getting was through the narrow shaft he had just used to enter, and that made him feel terribly urgent. He began searching for the thing he had come for. He knew the thing was in here somewhere and kept calling it. Whistling for it like a dog. “Here thing, here thing.” It was hard to whistle with grave dirt in your mouth, and Xander was becoming increasingly annoyed that the thing was not answering. He started to think, illogically, that the thing had already left. Though he knew the only way out was through the tunnel he had just created. He began wildly feeling around the floor and other surfaces of the dark rank space, suddenly terrified that the thing was already gone. His hands were digging in dirt. The smell of putrefying flesh filled his nostrils and soil clogged his throat and great panicking sobs tore through him as he crawled desperately over the hard cold floor trying to find it with his hands. When his hand brushed over something very cold and wet and soft, he flinched back and screeched, but then suddenly lunged forward. Shakily pulling at rotting cloth, rubbing the clammy surface. In the dream, the moon came suddenly out of nowhere and illuminated his find. Xander stared down into a skeleton’s face. Flesh barely hanging on it, eyes open and glittering blindly in the light. Mouth slightly parted from the loosening of the muscle of the jaw. “No,” he whispered, his hands gently stroking the remains of the face. “No.” Then the head suddenly turned, the horrible mouth sneered. “What’s wrong pet, ya like a little more meat on your bones?” Xander jumped awake with a loud cry and found himself lying in the dark again, with his hands knotted in the sheets, and the loss and the horror overwhelmed him and he buried his face in the pillow and wished that he deserved to cry.

**********************************************************

Dawn and Bill sat at the kitchen table with Willow. It was after moonset and almost dawn. They had kissed the last of the guests goodbye, locked and warded all the doors, and finally gotten down to business around two in the morning. Dawn still wore her gown, though she had long ago looped the train into a figure eight and hooked it to her bodice with a large ornate pin. Bill was wearing her huge tulle veil. Dawn thought he looked very distinguished for a man with a lace cream puff on his head. Their hands lay on the table, fingers interlocked. Now and then Dawn let her eyes travel happily over his face, his jaw, that little patch of beard that stubbornly clung inside the dimple beneath his lip. She felt his eyes straying to her frequently too. Dawn could feel the charge building between them. Willow kept giving them the most amused looks, and she was beginning to wonder if the Wiccan had dropped something into the soup. But no, it was just her naturally romantic, sexy husband, “husband” her mind said in a happy whisper, having romantic and hopefully erotic fantasies about his wedding night. Bill was such a romantic, Dawn felt like a total pragmatist compared to him. Bill had probably dreamed of his wedding day more than a teenage girl. She wondered if he had ever ever imagined this. Marrying into a pack of pagans and demons, she thought, my upstanding stockbroker from Maryland.

She remembered when she had told him everything. It had taken several days, even the truncated version. And when she was done, he had not responded right away. He had gone out on the porch and looked into the night. Dawn came out to him, a little afraid, a little unsure. She knew Bill loved her. She felt it as an absolute, like knowing that her tongue was in her mouth. Without thinking she knew Bill loved her. But she didn’t know if he could do this. Would he walk away, or worse, would he go into that weird Sunnydale denial place where she would be continually trying to make him see what was around him. She saw him looking at the tree in the front yard.

“Spike’s tree,” he said.

Dawn looked at him, surprised. “Summers’ tree,” she explained, “Spike just stood under it for something like three years, pining after Buffy and scaring off all my boyfriends.” Bill turned and looked at her. His eyes were dancing. “And now he sleeps in the main bedroom,” he explained. Dawn thought that perhaps her beloved was having an attack of delirium. “Yes, Bill. But he’s safe, now. He has a soul. He loves me. He’s safe.” Bill was nodding and smiling, “Yeah. Yeah.” He laughed and walked up to her and, surprisingly, caught her up in a ferocious hug. He looked into her eyes for a long moment. “You are the most beautiful, romantic, incredible woman I have ever met, Dawn Summers,” he said fervently. “I have felt that from the moment I met you. But I hadn’t understood it until now.”

*************************************************************

Bill tightened his grip on Dawn’s hand. “We can take him with us, Willow,” he said. “I don’t want to leave here thinking he won’t be taken care of.” Willow nodded and smiled, but Dawn thought she looked a little cagey. She didn’t like that look. That was the ‘Willow knows what’s best and you aren’t ready for it’ look that the Wiccan sometimes wore. Intellectual arrogance, Dawn thought to herself with a snort. That’s what comes of high school over-achievement. “He’s actually needed here, Bill,” Willow explained. “His strength and his knowledge are invaluable, his battle skills and strategies have saved …” “I know, I know,” said Bill impatiently, “but these people don’t know him, they don’t value him. He means nothing to them and..” He stopped. He saw in Willow’s face that she knew what he had been going to say. And they mean nothing to him. Yes, thought Willow sadly, and that’s the problem.

***********************************************************

Spike woke knowing that this was the day he lost Dawn. He lay on the bed absolutely still and knew, more than he ever had in all his unlife, that he was a corpse. He lay still and knew that while he did not move, while he remained un-motivated and therefore unmoved, nothing in him was moving. No heart, no organs, possibly even the brain tissue itself had no action, though he used to wonder how that bloody chip had worked in a dead brain All he had to do today was get out of bed and say goodbye to Dawn. That was it, and Spike felt he could wait to do that, thank you very much.

He rolled over anyway, and looked at the rumpled side that Xander had vacated some time in the night. The routine was that Xander had been so drunk that he couldn’t remember what he had done. And Spike would not remind him. “Evil. Disgusting. Never let you touch me.” And that is how he would keep his friend. Except in the end it hadn’t kept him Xander. His silence hadn’t kept him Xander, and it had driven him mad. Because he had been so sure that there was more than just lust to whatever kept bringing Xander to his bed again and again. He saw the rage and the fear, hell he felt it himself. He knew that some of what Xander did to him wasn’t about him, but about all the hopeless loss and horror that Xander had endured without any explanation or meaning. But he couldn’t forget that inside all that anger and self-hatred was the man who had rescued him when he had purposely buried himself alive. Somewhere in there was the dark eyed desperate boy who had clung to his hand in the dark and begged him not to disappear.

*************************************************************

“Spike. C’mon Spike, you gotta help me here, buddy.”

“Fuck. Off.”

“Yeah, well, love to. But the girls don’t wanna do it in a crypt for some reason. C’mon guy, gimme a break. Just a widdle drop of the O neg here and I can go off and find what’s left at the Bronze this late on a Saturday night.”

“-“

“Spike? Spike, please Spike. God you’re such a pain in the ass. What the fuck am I gonna do without you Spike? Who else is a bigger loser than me?”

“You.”

“Yeah, right, Mr. I-think-I-left-my-brain-at-the-bus-depot. How can I be a bigger loser than myself?”

“If anyone. Could.”

“Fuck you, you formerly fangless freak! Now c’mon Spike. Just one bag. What, are you afraid you’re gonna get fat?”

“One.”

“Right. One now and one in an hour. That’s the plan. One bag every hour. And you’re gonna drink it damnit, ‘cuz I’m sure not explaining it to my girlfriend if I have to take it back to my fridge.”

And Xander had sat there and watched him drink. Cradling Spike’s free hand in both of his, petting it over and over, his voice reeling him back to the surface.

“That a boy. Geez, Spike. It’s dark down here. It’s like a tomb.”

“Idiot.”

“Like I don’t know that.”

************************************************************

In that reeking darkness, void of moon or sun where Spike lay insensate, there had been only Xander. For those weeks, his entrances and exits marked time in Spike’s world. Spike woke to the thud of feet coming down the earthen tunnel, Xander’s voice complaining about the dark, the smell, his own undoubted insanity. They sat in the dark until Xander convinced Spike that he himself needed candles;

“’Cuz it wigs me out to think of you laying there all fangy and me not knowing.”

A chair and table for Xander became necessary. As did cards to while away the time. Xander whined and complained until Spike began to bother about his appearance.

“Maybe you don’t have to look at yourself, but Geez eyeballs rolling back in the head here.”

Spike had allowed himself to be moved to another crypt when Xander complained that the tunnel was flooding with the rain. Furniture appeared. A boom box;

“’Cuz I so love sitting here listening to you not breathe.”

They never spoke of Buffy. She was a gaping maw of darkness that threatened from the corner. Xander babbled instead about inanities. Spike’s minutes ticked by measured by Xander’s voice. Gradually the vampire strengthened, and was physically almost himself. Still he couldn’t roll back the proverbial stone from his tomb and walk out into the world. It was as if at that moment he would be abandoning Buffy. Leaving her amongst the dead.

But Xander was around even more now. He told Spike one day that he and his girlfriend had split up;

“Two months! It’s a new record. It took her two months to come to her senses.”

Spike observed that Xander seemed relatively cheery about the incident. “Whatchya do this time, whelp?” he asked with a smirk.

Xander shrugged, “Should never have let her see me sober, I guess. Least not when she was sober. So, he-who-walks-with-worms, you up for some five card stud?”

And the relationship became one of mutual dependency. It pleased Spike to think that Xander came to see him for company, as well as to assure himself that the vampire didn’t sink below the surface again.

Then one day Xander failed to arrive. Spike didn’t immediately realize that Xander was missing. It slowly occurred to him. Like when you get up late, because the day is cloudy, and only late in the afternoon, still sleepy and bumping through your routine half awake, do you begin to miss the sun.

He was laying out the cards when he began to really think about it. The sun had set hours ago. Xander, if he were coming this late, would be walking through the cemetery alone. Spike thought about that only for a second before he began to panic. Five minutes later, the old duster hanging on his still emaciated frame, Spike emerged from his grave for the first time since Buffy’s death.

He scoured the natural path Xander would have taken, his nerves pricking and starting with fear every time he saw a discarded object, an odd lump in the shadows. The horrific image of a devoured or injured Xander, bleeding out somewhere alone in the night, was driving him half mad by the time he spied the white jacket and dark head coming up the path towards him. He leapt at the unsuspecting man and was greeted by the business end of a stake.

“Gah!” they both cried simultaneously and jumped apart.

“Spike!” Xander threw the stake to the ground. “You fucking scared the shit out of me!”

Spike whirled, the fearful energy that had driven him through the cemetery still pumping in his muscles. “Where the hell you been?”

“What?” Xander yelled, “Spike, you idiot, I could have staked you!”

“Oh, right,” sneered Spike. “Like that was gonna happen.” He paced in a circle around Xander. So relieved to see him safe, he had a stupid urge to hug him. Instead he strode off towards town. “Walk ya home now. Stupid mortal, walkin’ around in cemeteries.”

“I can take care of myself, Spike,” said Xander, manly pride affronted. He fell behind the vampire and struggled to catch up. He wanted to ask Spike why he was above ground, but was afraid of jinxing it. Spike was pointedly walking towards Xander’s apartment. But Xander didn’t want to go home yet. Now that he had Spike out here, he was determined to keep him. He thought hard. As they approached the bar district, he slowed and dawdled at a corner.

“Hey, let’s stop by the Bronze.”

Spike hesitated. “No. I don’t think so.”

Xander shrugged. “Oh hell, haven’t been in so long I wouldn’t know anybody anyway,” he said casually.

Spike stopped, turned, and pondered him for a moment. “Why? Haven’t you been going out?”

Xander feigned a great lack of interest in this subject. “Oh fuck it, Spike,” he pronounced. “I’m old. I’ve got no friends.” He walked up and threw his arm around Spike’s shoulder. Sighed. “Amongst the living, that is. What am I gonna do at the Bronze?”

Spike was thoughtful. “You’ve been around me too much,” he said.

“No, buddy.”

“You need to get out. C’mon,” Spike veered off course and headed back from where they had come, “lets have a game of pool.”

“Yeah, well sure if you want to,” said Xander happily.

And so it was established. To be sure that Xander didn’t spend the rest of his life with only the dead, Spike allowed himself to enter once more the land of the living.

*************************************************************

Spike had been so sure, he had known absolutely. That Xander cared about him, that Xander needed him, that Spike was important in Xander’s life. And so one night when they had staggered home from the Bronze, a little drunker than usual, but not nearly as drunk as they could have become, and Xander had leaned against him. One arm slung over his shoulder as buddies do. Especially when the sidewalk keeps skating sideways. His head down and pressed into Spike’s shoulder as they laughed together over yet another mutually humiliating moment at the Bronze. He had moved his head suddenly and brushed his mouth across Spike’s chin. An accident. A stumbling drunken accident. Spike thought nothing of it. But Xander stopped and hauled Spike to a stop with him. He studied Spike’s face with a look of growing mystery and confusion. “Hold on a minute there,” he said thickly. “There’s something.”

“Something?” Spike smiled, expecting a joke.

“Yeah. Something on your mouth.”

“What? Blood?” And Spike wiggled his eyebrows “Grrr.”

“No.” And Xander bent down and pressed his lips against Spike’s. It was definitely a kiss. A firm, ‘I intended to do that and it was not an accident’, kiss. He pulled back and looked Spike in the eye. “It’s me.”

Spike stared at him. This was so completely unexpected he didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do. All he knew was, Xander was his friend. A friend. A special commodity to any being, but even more precious to a vampire. Spike didn’t want to do anything that would lose him Xander’s friendship. Xander shook him a little, he kept looking him in the eye.

“So.”

“Yeah,” said Spike hoarsely

“So…” Xander wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah,” Spike said pathetically. He couldn’t move. He had suddenly become aware of Xander’s body. Its size, the muscles pressing against his legs, the warm arm firmly holding him close. He could feel his own body responding and was terrified that any moment now Xander would notice, would notice and come to his senses and shove him away in horror.

“So,” said Xander grinning. “You ever done it with a guy?”

It had been, in Spike’s opinion, the single most romantic event of his life. He had never experienced romance as a human, and when he was turned he was also raped, Drusilla’s version of romance involving quite a bit of blood and begging for mercy. Then came Harmony, with whom there had been no emotional bond whatsoever. And then finally Buffy, whose idea of seduction had quite often involved fists and a kick in the head.

He and Xander had gone back to Xander’s apartment, with a quick stop at the liquor store to acquire more booze, and once there Spike had stood in wonderment as Xander put on music, lit candles, and poured him a drink. Spike noticed that Xander was a little more drunk than he may have originally thought. He bumped things a bit and seemed to have some trouble lining the lip of the bottle up with the glass, but he didn’t think anything of it. He and Xander got way too drunk together all the time. Life and unlife on a Hellmouth sucked. It’s what you did.

Xander sat down on the sofa and waved Spike over. The vampire sat down. On the edge of the sofa, with his hands in his lap and his knees together, like a proper Victorian gentleman. Xander looked this apparition up and down with one raised eyebrow for a minute, then hooked one leg over Spike’s, grabbed hold of an arm, and heaved the vampire towards him. They came together in a great elbowy heap, but somehow Xander managed to find Spike’s mouth again. This kiss had nothing chaste about it. Xander pressed his tongue against Spike’s lips, and when they parted, plunged into the vampire’s mouth without preamble. He pressed Spike back onto the sofa with his whole body weight and enthusiastically mapped out the entire inside of Spike’s mouth with his tongue. Happily his hands ran over the arms of the man beneath him, running up into his hair and down again.

Spike was overwhelmed. He could not believe what was happening. Xander who cared about him, Xander his friend, had his tongue down his throat and was pressing his very obvious hard on into his hip. Making happy, appreciative noises Xander, the man who had saved his life, was licking and nipping his lips and sending chills all over his body with his hands. Spike responded with everything in his heart, every ounce of his soul, he opened himself up completely and let Xander in because he knew that this was love. Xander loved him and Spike loved Xander back. So when Xander leapt up from the sofa, slugged back the rest of his drink, grabbed the waistband of Spike’s jeans and hauled him to his feet, laughing, Spike jumped up from the sofa, smiling. And when Xander dragged him into the bedroom and began pulling off those jeans, Spike helped. And then when Xander rolled him over onto his stomach, unzipped his jeans, released his cock and just thrust it against Spikes unprepared hole, Spike grit his teeth against the pain. He bit down on his own wrist to avoid crying out with the pain as Xander pushed in, exclaiming that Spike had the sweetest ass, the tightest ass, “oh my god yes oh my god yes I love this ass”. And Spike knew that Xander loved him. And after a while there was blood and Xander’s movements became easier, and he pushed faster and harder and the pain bloomed in Spike’s mind. He felt his whole body blooming with blood and pain and love and he was shoving against the sheets, trying to push down harder against the mattress while Xander pulled his hips up towards him, trying to push more and more of his cock into Spike’s ass.

“Oh God. It’s so tight. Oh God. Oh yeah. Oh Spike, I gotta come Spike. I’m gonna come in your ass Spike. Oh God Yeah. Oh God Spike. Spike. Spike.” And Xander jerked Spike’s hole against him and froze and grunted and Spike felt for the first time Xander’s hot sperm soaking him deep inside where he had never known he could be warm. He felt his own orgasm washing over him as if not just his cock but every square inch of his dead body was coming, and he cried out, “Xander!”

And for just a moment as they both froze there. Xander pressed deep inside Spike, his hands holding him so tightly that even a vampire was going to bruise. His legs trembling. Spike awash with joy and post-orgasmic bliss and love. And for just that moment, before Xander hurled himself away, curled himself up into a ball and passed out. For just that moment, Spike was happier than he had ever known he could be.



Chapter Five

Xander figured he had lived every post-binge hangover cliché in the book. He had woken up in strange towns, in strange cars, in strange girls. He had woken up in jail with some other drunk drooling on his shoes. He had woken up lying in the bathtub, where he had apparently decided it was more efficient to remain in the event of vomiting. He thought he had had every weird experience. But Xander had never woken up with a naked male vampire draped across his own equally naked backside.

The chill across his back was what had woken him. His brain was still slow with the alcohol, and Xander achingly realized that he needed another few hours of sleep before he could really sober up and embrace his spanking new hangover. But his back was so freezing cold, he felt around for a minute trying to locate himself, thinking he might have gotten himself locked in a refrigerator or something. But no, he focused on the wall in front of him, recognized the bottom torn edge of his U2 poster. He was home. In his own bed. With a block of ice. Then with a start, Xander’s numbed nerves told him that the block of ice had a hand. On his hip. He looked down and saw long, strong, elegant but decidedly male fingers. Translucent white skin. Holy fuck. Black. Fingernail. Polish.

“Spike.” Xander arched away from the chilly skin. He reached down and pushed the hand off his hip. “Fuck, Spike. Wake up. Major wiggins here, guy.” Xander could feel the beginnings of panic working in the queasy lining of his stomach. He suddenly desperately needed to get Spike’s body, his naked body, far away from him. Behind him, he felt Spike stir. Unbelievably, the hand came up again, rested on his hip. With growing horror Xander felt cool soft lips gently press a kiss onto the back of his neck. “No.” he whispered.

“Xan.”

“GAH!” Xander simultaneously leapt forward off the bed and swung wildly back at Spike. “What the fuck Spike! Get your frigging clammy hands off me.” Xander stood staring down at the bed, weaving with alcohol-confusion and panic-adrenalin. Spike lay on the bed with the look of sleep still in his eyes. His hair stuck up at all angles. His mouth looked red and swollen. His completely utterly naked body was sprawled across the comforter. And there was blood. Xander gasped for air, found himself breathing hard as he took in the sight before him. There was blood everywhere. Xander fell against the wall. Blood all over his beige, and now also maroon, comforter. Blood all over Spike’s thighs, his belly, his arm and his hand. Xander grabbed his own throat wildly searching for the puncture wounds.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO ME YOU ASSHOLE!” He screamed.

Spike stiffened and sat up. His eyes widened and quickly made the journey from confusion to comprehension to panic. He jumped up off the bed and approached Xander, one hand reaching towards him.

“Xander, wait, Xander think. I didn’t do anything to you Xan, remember?” He motioned towards Xander’s own naked body with a suggestive little smirk. “Remember?” he chuckled. “C’mon Xan…” He took another half step towards him.

“NO!” Xander tried to back further into the wall. Then he registered Spike’s gesture, and looked down at his own naked torso. At the blood coating his belly and half-erect cock. Back at Spike’s bloody thighs. Through a grisly, grim fog he suddenly saw those thighs, this blood, as he pushed his cock…”AAAAH FUCK! NO! FUCK!” Xander backed into the wall and covered his eyes. Nausea and horror and shaking fear and his hands could not block the images now as he saw it, saw himself, saw himself fucking Spike. “GOD. CHRIST. GOD. FUCK.” Xander bent over writhing away from it and suddenly his body could not hold this, could not bear this and he bolted for the bathroom to hurl this poison out of himself.

Spike stood stock-still and waited for his brain to catch up with what had just happened. He knew this behavior. Long ago, a small blonde girl with great green eyes, “Evil, soulless thing!” trying to claw herself back to life. Her nails digging deep rivulets into his heart in the process. He hadn’t been able to save her. And even before that, a lost girl singing to the stars, begging him to bury the pain, bury it with more pain and blood. He hadn’t been able to save her either. Dust. Dust. And dust. But this was his friend, Xander. His friend. Not some otherworldly fiend. Not a mythical hero. His friend. Just an ordinary human. Who for no fucking good reason had dragged him out of the dark. Teased joy and meaning back into his pathetic unlife. Who had had a bit too much to drink last night and Spike had let him, let him lose control because stupid stupid Spike, loves greatest bitch, still thought someone could love him. And Spike felt the euphoric fantasy bleed from him to the floor. Saw the last evening replay, and in his minds eye he saw Xander again, obviously blind drunk and confused, saw himself eagerly responding. Stupid. Irresponsible. Pillock. Wanker. Bloody. Bloody. Hell. With shaking angry hands Spike jerked his clothes over his bloody body. Yanked the stained sheets and comforter off the bed, and shoved them in a hamper. He could hear Xander retching in the bathroom through it all. By the time Spike had replaced the sheets, making a mental vow to replace the ruined comforter, he could hear water running and figured Xander was over the worst of it. Right then. Time for Spike to stand up and take it on the chin. He held his head against the door and rapped softly.

“Xander?”

Silence.

“Xander?” He rapped again, “Ya still in one piece in there?”

A long, long pause. Then, “Yeah.”

“Ya gonna come out now?”

Another long pause. “I don’t think so.”

“Ya wanna talk through the door then?”

There was an even greater silence. Spike’s preternatural hearing picked up Xander standing from his kneeling position before the toilet, the sound of a pace and turn around the bathroom. Then the hollow sound of a toilet seat going down and a man sitting on it.

“Spike?”

“Yeah man?”

“Just go. The Fuck. Away.”

***********************************************************

Spike knew how to Fuck Off. When you are an expert at the art of Fuck Up, you very soon learn the attendant and equally useful skill of Fuck Off. Spike had actually become such an adept at Fuck Off that he knew all the phases and various levels of Fucking Off. Level One, generally used directly after uttering pithy and scathing but true comments at Humans-Who-Slay, was merely getting out of reach and waiting a decent interval for the sting to subside before dashing in again. Level Two, useful when one had been caught red handed with demon eggs, or Humans-Who-Slay’s girlfriends, involved staying far away, preferably haunting only demon bars like Willy’s, until gossip informed him that the furore had died down a bit. Level Three, the one Spike felt he had need of this time, meant becoming inaccessible and preferably mysteriously missing. Spike had found this could be accomplished if he kept himself in the oldest part of the oldest cemetery. Where no live thing visited to feed the dead things, which had long since vacated. There were a couple of mausoleums there, which were still standing enough to keep out the sun and any demons that might lose their way and stumble by. Spike had stashed rudimentary supplies in them and was relieved to find that one still had the stash un-pilfered. He’d have to find a way to pick up blood, he supposed. Spike was trying to hope against hope. He was trying to think that this was still a Level Three Fuck Off, that he hadn’t gone to the last one, Level Four; Fuck Off and Die. He had only been to that level once before, and it had only been ameliorated by the acquisition of a soul. Spike doubted he had another rabbit like that in his hat.

By the time he had tramped to this end of town, Spike had run the entire evening over in his mind again and discovered that it was, as he had expected, all his fault. He couldn’t think of exactly when he had first let the touching be more than just a slap on the back. Maybe it was the fact that Xander had offered him comfort, had shown him compassion, emotions so rare to the vampire that they went straight to his head like a drug. And yes, he leant into Xander’s touch too much. And yes, he craved that busom-buddie hug and heartfelt smile more than he ought too. But it was water to his drought and he hadn’t been able to resist. But he should have resisted, Spike told himself angrily. He had been down this road with Buffy and knew that humans did things like this to themselves. Humans starved themselves, and cut themselves with knives, and kept themselves from affection. Humans hurt themselves sometimes. And their friends stopped them. Their friends didn’t say, “here buddy, let me sharpen that knife for you,” or “sure Buffy, I can make those handcuffs a little tighter. “ or “yeah Xander, fuck me fuck me.” Spike sat in the crypt and waited and prayed and waited and hoped that he hadn’t lost his friend.

***********************************************************

Xander sat on the toilet with his head in his hands and tried to find a way out of the mental quagmire he was in. He had, by now, recalled the entire evening. Xander drank enough to damage his brain, but the part that still worked remembered everything perfectly. He just couldn’t think at what point his libido had taken over and driven him off this cliff. Xander had not had a lot of close male friends, human or otherwise. Actually his last closest friend had been Jesse. It still made Xander angry to the point of tears that Jesse had had to die when Angel and Darla and Drusilla and Spike had made it abundantly clear that elements of the host remained in all vampires. He still thought something could have been done. Something should have been done. They hadn’t destroyed Oz when they’d discovered his problem. (Not that Xander could bear the thought of Oz destroyed any more than Jesse.) Then when Angel went all Angelusy and Willow finally restored his soul, Xander thought, “Hey! Why him and not our friend?” Not that he blamed Willow. But still it made him sad. He missed his buddy. And on some weird metaphysical level, (Whoa Harris big word! ) Spike reminded him of Jesse. Maybe what Jesse could have been.

Then when Buffy died and Spike went down into that crypt, Xander just couldn’t take the waste again. He told himself he had done it for Buffy. That she would have wanted them to take care of the vampire. But Xander desperately needed Spike to survive for himself. He needed that voice bitching at him to “get off his lazy arse and change the channel”. He needed cigarette smoke blown in his face, pocket change “borrowed” from his dresser, and blood encrusted mugs left sitting on the coffee table without coasters. When the women in his life, whom he loved with all his heart, were hissing and spitting like cats, he needed to look up at that crinkly smile and laugh. He needed someone who knew that giving someone shit was the highest form of affection. He needed someone who had known Buffy and who got what that meant. He needed Spike.

A new Slayer had been called and Giles and Willow were busy trying to help her and her new watcher. Everyone was bent out of shape about yet another apocalypse. Dawn was just devastated. So that left Xander. He got a couple of guys from the site, who needed the extra cash and weren’t afraid of monsters, to help him. Spike had pulled the crypt down behind him, the entire structure collapsed into itself. Xander was afraid that if he tried to pull back the rubble, it would all come down on Spike, whose vampiric healing powers could be ebbing slightly low after so many weeks of starvation. So they tunneled in from the side. Xander’s grim and evil recurring nightmare always skewed the details. The tunnel had been a properly dug and constructed structure. They never worked at night. Not completely insane here, people. Spike had not been a skeleton when he found him. But he had nearly been, and the reek and the dark and the fear in the dream were very much what it had been like.

He’d almost lost him. Xander had lost so many friends. Sometimes, quite often, he’d felt it was his own fault. Too slow, too scared, too stupid, too late. But this time he hadn’t lost, this time he had done it right. And sometimes, when they were just hanging out at the Bronze or some other club, and they’d be watching the kids on the dance floor, Xander’d be talking and all of a sudden he couldn’t explain, and Spike would just look at him and laugh and throw his arm around him and say, “Yeah, Xan, I get ya.” And Xander would feel that he did. That somebody got him. And there would be this small, unexpected bubble of happiness. And Xander had thought that maybe he deserved this. He had done something right, and maybe he deserved this. And then he noticed the feelings. And it all turned to crap. Because Xander Harris, evil sick bastard that he secretly knew he must be, had found himself attracted to his friend.

He knew he loved him. In a beery, “I luv ya man” over pool and sports kinda way. Spike was his best friend, and how wonky was that right there? He could still remember when Spike had locked he and Wills in the factory and threatened to kill them. And now he was closer to Spike than he was to Willow. Not because he and Wills had cooled, exactly. More like he and Spike were just more alike. Who else is a bigger loser than me? And he knew he thought Spike was hot. Well, of course he did, no wiggins there. Everybody thought Spike was hot. He’d seen the girls’ eyes dilate when they looked at him. And the guys’. Maybe it was all part of that vampire thing. Some special glow or scent they gave off to attract the victims. So he knew he loved him, he knew he thought Spike was hot, beautiful even, he knew he was his best friend and the person he’d most like to spend a Saturday night with watching WWF Wrestling. None of this gave Xander pause. He just plowed on ahead.

Until he started dreaming about that night in the factory. The time Spike had locked them in, and he and Willow had lost control. And in the dream they were kissing, and more. In the dream Cordelia and Oz never came through the door, and the kiss went on and on and eager hands stroked and squeezed and in the dream Xander opened his eyes and looked up at his friend. But it wasn’t Wills. It was Spike.

And he’d wake up lying in a pool of his own cum.

************************************************************

“So waddya think of Freud?” Xander plunked down his beer and glared at the liquor bottles behind the bar. How many flavors did you need?

“Dunno mate, she that little red head over by the staircase?”

“No Spike,” Xander rolled his eyes and turned to face the vampire, “Sigmund Freud, dream analysis, ya know. What d’ya think? ‘S there anything in it?”

“Not a clue, Xan. Vampires don’t dream.” Spike gave Xander one of those enigmatic, preternatural immortal looks.

“You’re shitting me, again, Spike. I can always tell. You go all Obi Wan.”

Spike laughed and slapped his arm. “What’s the matter, you having those dreams about Rupert again?”

“Spike, you are so completely disgusting.” Xander turned his face away, alarmed to feel his cheeks suddenly flush. “Not all dreams are about sex.”

“Everything is about sex, mate. ‘Specially when you’re getting’ none.”

Gauntlet thrown. Xander swiveled back around. “Dunno ‘bout that, Spike. Guess it must be hard.”

“Oooh. All the time pet. AAALLL the time. So what you sayin’. You Howard Hughes now or somethin’?” Spike smirked knowingly. “ I haven’t smelled a girl on you in weeks.”

“People bathe, Spike. I do alright.”

“Oh sure, that’s why you’re walking around with that sawed off baseball bat in your shorts. And such a pheromone blast comin’ off you I’m surprised it’s not drawing the feral cats from the street.”

“Fuck, Spike!” Xander suddenly found he couldn’t sit still. He grabbed at his beer with a shaky hand and stood up. “What are you, some kind of dog, going around sniffing people’s crotches?” He took a quick swig of his beer. His eyes darting around the bar. Looking at everyone but Spike. “Just really disturbing ya know.”

Spike looked at Xander in surprise. Not sure if they were still joking. “Yeah, all part of that enhanced super strength package.”

“Well go use your powers for good or something, Clark Kent. Just quit sticking your super Scooby senses in my business.”

Spike was silent for a moment. Regarding the agitated man. “Sorry, Xan.” He said simply. Xander risked a glance at him. Spike looked worried and concerned and abashed. Like he’d unknowingly broken some rule of etiquette. Xander sighed and sank back down on his barstool.

“Don’t worry about it Spike. Shit sleep last night. I feel like hell.”

“You really are having dreams, then? That what’s keeping you awake?”

“Nah nah, just dumb work stuff. Things in my head.” Xander shifted uncomfortably on his stool. Now very aware of his own state of arousal. He jumped up again. “I gotta get outta here, Spike. You wanna chaperone me home?” He threw money on the bar and raised his eyebrows at the vampire.

“Sure.”

And all the way home Xander had found himself noticing things. Stuff you just don’t notice about another guy. Like how close he was standing to you. Or how he looked down and smiled at his own private jokes. Or that little ‘aw shucks’ kick he did with his feet when he was walking slow. Xander despaired of himself. He had to stop thinking this way. He had to stop feeling this way. They arrived at the apartment and Spike paused with him at the door. He gave Xander a speculative look, and for one insane minute Xander thought Spike might be going to kiss him! Spike crooked an eyebrow.

“You sure you’re okay, Harris?”

“Yeah, just need some sleep. I’m good.”

And Xander slammed the door and spun around, heading straight for the liquor cabinet. He filled a highball glass with Scotch, no rocks and downed it quickly, pulling loose his clothes and toeing off his shoes as he made his way to the bathroom. By the time the shower water was hot, Xander had finished the drink. He stepped in and lathered up his hand, the whole time flipping through his mental library of erotic scenarios. None of them vampires, none of them male. He ran his soapy hand down beneath his cock and softly rolled and squeezed his balls. With his other hand he began a slow hard pulling on his erection. God he was hard. He imagined one of the bartenders at the Bronze. A large, perky girl who wore suspenders over her t-shirts. He imagined her slowly pulling down those suspenders, releasing her breasts. Now she began lifting her t-shirt. Yeah that was nice. But not enough. Xander frantically pulled at his cock, his other hand slid around to his backside and began a slow caress up and down his crack, his finger brushed his hole and he shuddered. God he needed to come. He imagined Anya for the first time in ages. One of the most erotic nights of his life. Completely naked she approached the bed, a ball gag and a little black but plug in her hand. She crawled slowly up the bed, dipping down to rub her breasts against him. Xander yanked on his cock and fast-forwarded the scene. Yeah, now he was on his stomach, the ball gag in his mouth, a blindfold over his eyes. And Anya was pushing in that butt plug. Xander’s finger found his hole again and pressed. Pushing that thing into him. Xander pressed his finger beyond the ridge of muscle and felt it pop in. He stroked his cock even faster and thrust his finger rhythmically into his hole, imagining the gag and the utter darkness and the sensation of the cool body over him as that thing was rhythmically pressed into him deeper and deeper. “Fuck me,” whispered Xander desperately into the spray of water. “Fuck me.” His hips began to pump into his hand, he felt he was going mad but still he couldn’t come. Oh god. He pushed his finger in deeper, then desperately trying for more sensation he drew it out and thrust in two fingers. He cried out with the pain and jerked wildly at his cock. “Geez!” he said loudly into the shower. “Fuck me, c’mon.” And in his head he heard a cool masculine voice, “Come for me pet…” and he cried out and jerked and spasmed and shot all over the bathroom tiles.



Xander sat in the living room, in his robe, and drank his third highball. He was staring at his feet, the only part of his anatomy he could bear to contemplate at the moment. The problem had an easy solution, he thought grimly. Whatever this insanity was, it would undoubtedly go away in time. God knows all the other passions in his life had done. But he was gonna be damned if he lost Spike. Their friendship was one of the few things Xander had done right in a very long time and he wasn’t going to let himself fuck it up. He was going to ignore all the weird crap going on in his body, and his head was going to be running the show. Big head, that is. “Hear that buster,” he addressed his cock, “nobody’s listening to you anymore.” He sipped his drink. He was so not going to fuck this up.

************************************************************

Xander sat on the toilet in his bathroom and listened to Spike leave the apartment. God, he had so fucked this up. He forced himself to rise shakily and step into the shower. As he stood under the water, watching the blood stream down his legs and swirl towards the drain, he tried to think of a way he could face Spike. He couldn’t imagine anything. He couldn’t think of anything that would bring back their friendship after what he had done. And Xander thought of Spike, his friend who he had lost, and he started to cry.



Chapter Six

Maurice caught himself looking nervously towards Giles again, and shook himself with irritation. The older Watcher was only here on a consultant basis, because of his experience with the early phase of Slayer training. Particularly American Slayers, “willful spoilt vulgar”, particularly American Slayers who had not been brought up with any knowledge of or respect for their calling. It was difficult. And to have this latest apocalyptic possibility looming just months after the girl’s calling. Everything still felt all in pieces. He felt like he was in one of those American combat programs, figuratively jumping from a thundering helicopter with books under one arm and a bazooka in the other. And Brandy (and what kind of a name is that for a young woman?), Brandy was alternately clinging to him and trying to trip him up. She was particularly young for a Slayer, only 14, with a family life that could have been featured on one of those daytime talk shows to which she was apparently addicted.

Maurice wondered to himself, for perhaps the thousandth time this week, what bizarre mechanism caused these particular girls to be called at these particular times. One moment she would be gazing at him with those peculiar amber colored eyes, full of trust and respect, eager for instruction, and the next she would be sashaying out the door in a snit, hurling language back at him that he had always before associated with Marines and prostitutes. He felt that he had no control over her whatsoever, and thought he must look a proper fool to his aged, respected, venerated peer. Giles had been Watcher to one of the most famous Slayers that had ever been called. Under his care, Buffy Summers had averted more apocalypses, and evaded death for more years, than any known Slayer. Tales of Rupert Giles’ early years, supposed disobedience and rebellion, Maurice suspected were just jealous gossip; the sort of thing that was rife amongst the political and power mad Council. Maurice had nothing but awed respect for the man. So when he and Brandy were having a particularly difficult moment, and he looked up to see Mr. Giles watching with that little sad smile, he burned with embarrassment. What a disappointment he must be! And how woefully unprepared he must seem for this particular crisis!

“Geez Morreees, I’ve been locked up in this smelly old place for hours.” Brandy was perched on the stereo cabinet, mindlessly drumming her heels against the varnished surface. “If I can’t get out tonight and do something with my friends I’m gonna blow.”

“Stop kicking the cabinet, Brandy,” Maurice said absently, setting down a book and glancing nervously at Giles, (stop it!), “I’ve told you, you don’t have time right now for parties with your friends. There is still so much research, and your training is just barely …”

“You so SUCK, Morreeees!” Brandy exploded, jumping down off the cabinet. She banged her hand down on the research table, deliberately causing a book to fall off the edge. “My training is going fine. I so kicked your ugly ass in there a minute ago! And as for this research!” She jumped and spun about as the door behind her opened. Maurice looked up and inwardly groaned in annoyance. Oh great. This couldn’t have come at a worse time. He glanced at the other Watcher again. If Mr. Giles hadn’t brought this monstrosity around, he would never have tolerated it. As it was, he now had an excited and out of control Slayer backing towards him. Her eyes never left the intruder.

“Vampire,” she hissed.

The Spike creature looked his girl up and down; he smirked and Maurice saw those eyes flash yellow, “Slayer,” the creature said, in a silky, threatening voice.

Brandy slowly stepped in front of her Watcher. Maurice’s heart swelled to see that she was instinctively protecting him. He knew that every nerve in her body must be jangling at the presence of this creature, this thing she existed to destroy. But he noted proudly her sure-footed grace, her steady hand as it slipped casually back to touch the stake in her rear jeans pocket. Once again the fatherly pride, the tremendous and unexpected love, “and why didn’t they warn you about that in Watcher school?”, he felt for this small child, overwhelmed him.

“Spike,” he said in a harsh, angry voice. “Why are you here, now?”

“I asked him to come,” Giles spoke casually from the corner. He came forward and tilted his head sideways in an apologetic nod to Maurice, “I should have told you. You were having difficulty with that text last night and Spike has a particular knowledge of the language.”

Maurice felt himself flush. He felt acutely again his lack of preparation for this task, “you were having difficulty”, and was hideously embarrassed that he should have to have help from this, this demon. Still, Mr. Giles was correct. Personal pride was nothing next to the fate of the world, and if this creature could be of some assistance because he, Maurice, was inadequate, then he should utilize him. He nodded stiffly at the vampire to take a seat and shoved the pertinent text in his direction. Spike slid into his chair with that unnatural grace of his and ran his fingers over the embossed title on the cover.

“Klatchek? You were having trouble with Klatchek? I thought all the little Watcher kiddies knew Klatchek.”

Maurice bristled. “This is an older Klatchek,” he explained, “and a particularly obscure dialect. You have an advantage over me, I suppose,” he said meanly, “having possibly actually been alive when it was spoken.”

Spike smiled with delight. Ah! Engarde!

“And yet somehow, I seem to be aging better, Morreees,” he said, happily mimicking Brandy’s mispronunciation of his name, “it’s all that ruddy sunlight. Bad for the skin.”

“Alright, Spike,” Giles intervened smoothly. “Less mouth and more translating please.”

**********************************************************

“You shouldn’t bait him like that, Spike.” Spike was chaperoning Giles back to his flat. He was in a hurry to deposit the Watcher and get back to his ‘hide out’ before Xander saw him, and Giles seemed to be dragging his feet. Moving slow even for an old geezer.

“Oh, I see, time for the monthly Spike lecture.” Spike sighed in exasperation. “Well can it just keep, Rupert? I’ve got places to be.”

“Seriously Spike. Maurice is new and unsure of himself. You aren’t going to be helpful to him or to Brandy if you insist on rattling his cage every time you see him.”

“Just foolin’ around, Rupert,” said Spike easily, “you watchers all seem to be born with a rod up your arses.” He dared to jab Giles’ arm with a little sparring motion. “Hey, where would you have been without me there to poke and prod a bit?”

Giles laughed and shook his head. “I would have undoubtedly died a much younger man,” and at Spike’s arrogant nod, “a much younger, happier, man.”

“Oi!”

“Maurice is very insecure,” sighed Giles almost to himself. “It makes offering him assistance just that much more difficult. I asked Xander to come by to help set up the training room and Maurice was very defensive. He spoke down to Xander quite a bit, was even almost rude. I had to apologize to him afterwards…”

Spike felt his throat go tight. “So, Harris is helping the new Slayer?” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “He getting involved in this new end of the world fiasco you got brewin’ then?”

“Well, I imagine that once you’ve been a Scooby…”

“No Watcher,” said Spike in a deep angry voice. “Now that’s just not how it is. Maybe for you, it’s your job innit, and for the Witch I guess. Even me. Guess I owe it. But Harris is still a kid. He’s survived this Sunnyhell shite and now he deserves a real life. Wife and kiddies kinda stuff.”

“Well, he seems to want to keep his hand in, Spike,” said Giles slowly. He stopped and looked at the vampire curiously. “Hasn’t Xander already told you about this?” Spike shrugged. Giles stared at him for just a second before a dawning awareness and then exasperation washed over his face. “Oh for Heaven’s sake, Spike, what have you done this time?”

“Done nothin’ Rupert. Just haven’t been around.” Spike pulled out his cigarettes and made a great show of smoothing out the pack. Lit up his smoke, concentrating to keep his hands from shaking. He shook out the match and glanced sideways at the Watcher. Giles was just looking at him, arms crossed, patiently waiting for an explanation. Oh bugger it all to hell what was he going to say? “Mighta gotten a bit drunk. Farted around, pissed off the whelp a bit.”

“Doing what?”

“Nothin’ Rupert! Nothin’ evil, none of that kinda crap! You know better’n that. Just stupid Spike shit.”

“You’re sure.”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Maybe I should ask Xander.”

“Geezus buggerin hell, Rupert!” Spike stamped his feet, “What the fuck is with you! I pissed the boy off, I buggered off till he cools down. You go and open it all up with your motherin’ hen crap and he’ll just get all pissed off at me again! Leave it! Please,” he added as an afterthought.

Giles resumed walking. “Well, fine then Spike.”

“Good.”

“Let him cool down, then an apology.”

“That’s right.”

They were approaching Giles’ door. He turned, his hand on the knob. “Tomorrow. Maurice is having a meeting.”

“Right,” said Spike with a sigh.

“You can apologize to Xander there.”

*************************************************************

Xander was sitting in the back room on the training mats, showing a young man how to sharpen an ax. The boy had followed Brandy home, it would appear, and after a metaphorical bowl of milk (pizza) and pet on the head (kiss on the cheek), the stray puppy seemed to have made himself at home. When Xander asked, he told him his name was Brown.

“What’s your first name?”

“That is my first name, you challenged or somethin’?”

“Well what’s your last name?”

“Name’s just Brown, man. You call it I come. ‘S there a problem?”

Okay then, thought Xander. The kid reminded him of himself. Prickly and defensive, turning into a pile of mush every time Brandy looked sideways at him. Fresh meat for the Hellmouth. Jesus, Xander felt a surge of panic, how’re we gonna save this one? He slid the sharpening tool with easy expertise over the weapon. Brown watched and mimicked on the hand-ax he held. He paused to run his finger wonderingly over the symbol carved on the flat of the blade. Xander raised an eyebrow. Kid seemed to be really, really interested in knives. Bet he runs with scissors, too. And where in Sunnydale can a kid his age get a tattoo? Maybe it was some kind of evolutionary survival tendency. Children of the Hellmouth.

Xander heard the door in the front hall being opened to visitors, then Giles’ familiar tones speaking. Then…

“Oi, Watcher!”

Fuck. It was Spike. Xander quickly put down the ax. Alright alright, he told himself. You knew this was coming, Harris. Just stick to the plan. Damn! Wish there was a plan.

“Brandy! Come down here please!” he heard Maurice calling up the staircase.

Brown perked up his ears. “Hey!” he said brightly, “think I’ll get somethin’ ta drink from the kitchen.” He lay down the ax carefully, then jumped up and hurried from the room. Wagging his tail behind him, thought Xander ruefully. He retrieved the ax and ran his finger across the edge carefully, checking the boy’s work.

“Harris!”

“Fuck!” Xander jumped and glared at his bloodied thumb. Then he glared up at the source of the voice. Spike leaned in the doorway. As lean and nasty as he knew how to look. He was all black leather tonight and wearing a black t-shirt as well. His eyes were narrowed to slits, and an unlit cigarette hung from his lips. He crossed his arms and nodded at Xander. “HEY!” he mock-called to the room behind him, “WHO LET THE KIDDIES INTO THE WEAPONS CASE?” He smirked at Xander and sauntered forward a bit, hands jammed in pockets.

“Cut yerself, whelp?”

Xander snorted and held aloft his bloodied thumb, “Hungry Whiteboy?”

“Like I’d want it.”

“Oh, you want it.” Xander stopped and gulped. Suddenly the old parry didn’t seem that funny. But carry on, Mac Duff! “You know you want it!”

“Yeah...” Spike stopped, looked down. There was an awkward pause. Then he raised his hand as if calling a waiter, “Uh, line!?” He laughed. So Xander laughed, too. Then there was another awkward pause. “Uh, listen Xan,” said Spike painfully, still looking down at the floor, “about the other night…”

“Yeah,” Xander leapt in, “what the hell happened the other night? I mean,” he continued quickly before Spike could respond, “I was so fucking drunk all I remember is leaving the Bronze. Woke up passed out on my bathroom floor.” He paused, holding his breath and waited for a response. Would Spike receive the pass, would he run with it? God, let this be a fix! I swear, I swear, just this once. Let this be alright. Spike continued looking at the floor for a minute. Then he looked up sideways at Xander and smirked.

“Geez Xander, yer so pathetic the highlight of yer evening was puking all over yer bed and crawling into the bathroom. I left ya ta die. Kinda surprised ta see ya still here.”

“Yeah, well thanks for the happy thoughts, Spike. But you can’t kill me with booze. I have the liver of a god.” Xander suddenly felt light-headed with relief. He set the ax down carefully and looked up at Spike. His friend Spike. “So what the hell you been up to, bloodbreath? Things good?”

“Yeah.” Spike took the cigarette out of his mouth and smiled at Xander. One of his big, real smiles. “Things are good.”

“Well, good then.”

“Yeah. Good.”



Chapter Seven

If it weren’t possibly the end of the world, Xander would have thought his life was perfect. He spent his time between his strenuously active, but satisfying job for the construction company; a rather gratifying occasional evening with Brandy and ‘the kids’ as he thought of them, and hanging out with Spike.

He liked construction. He was good at it, and Xander liked for once to be good at something. He enjoyed being with the kids, especially that Brown kid. He felt like he had something to offer him. And the kids gave him a kind of grudging respect that was heady elixir indeed to one of Sunnydale High’s graduate geeks.

But hanging out with Spike was the best. Because Xander had almost blown it, had almost lost again, he could not get enough of that buddy bonding stuff. At least that’s what he told himself. Because his craving to be around the vampire was, if anything, more powerful than it had been before that night. His awareness, physically and emotionally, of Spike had heightened so that every minute of every evening they spent together seemed to live in its own pool of light. Everything seemed more exciting, more beautiful, more fun.

But the dreams were getting much worse. More erotic. More intense. Sometimes violent. Xander walked around in a constant state of arousal. Despite his self-denigrating comments about his luck with women, Xander had simply had infrequent sexual encounters because he was a romantic. He liked to be emotionally involved. These days, though, he was beginning to acquire something of a reputation. His taste had become slightly less discriminating, and there were a few overly popular young ladies that he would never have touched before, who were now welcome in his bed any time they had the notion.

But still Xander had to clamp down on his wandering thoughts. As long as he didn’t let his mind go there, he could have the relationship he wanted with Spike. Everything as normal. The verbal sparring, the mock fights, shoving and kidding and everything. Xander just had to keep his mind in check and everything else just flowed along by instinct. He would ignore everything happening below his neck when he and Spike were out together, and then he’d take it home with one of the girls and work the kinks out of his system.

But the dreams kept getting more and more surreal. And scarier. In them, the demon face was there, and the fangs. He would be terrified and horribly turned on. And wake up coming, and screaming.

**********************************************************

“Hey now, Xan, I see where you’re lookin’ and I’m thinkin’ you don’t wanna go there.”

“Why not, she’s not so bad.” Xander chalked his cue and looked from under his lashes at the girl sitting a few feet away. She smiled and wriggled and hitched her skirt up an inch. He grinned at her and leaned down to take his shot.

“She’s a walkin’ petrie dish, pet. Every dog in the doggie park has pissed on that tree.”

“God Spike, the mouth on you!” Xander took his shot. Missed. Stood and regarded the vampire. “You’re just jealous. Guess she’s only into warm flesh.”

“Ennithing’s warm enough for the likes of her, Xan. Just don’t care to share a bed with every wanker in town.” Spike stood from his shot and looked over Xander’s shoulder. Then he laughed. “And there’s one of them now,” he gestured, and Xander spun around to see the girl in question walking off with another guy.

“Damn Spike, you distracted me and look what happened.”

“Saved yer dick from some wastin’ disease I think.”

“You owe me a drink, bastard.”

“Yeah sure, whuts yer poison.”

“Something strong and mean, I think. Poor Xander’s goin’ home alone tonight.”

“Oh ah’ll walk yooo home Alexander,” Spike cooed in a saucy Southern drawl. “Wouldn’t want any nasties gettin’ a taste of such a nummy treat,” he growled. And laughed.

Xander spun around and shoved his pool stick into the rack. “Yeah right,” he said harshly, “so where’s my drink?”

***********************************************************

In the end, Xander just emptied his wallet out on to the bar and nodded at the bartender. “Keep bringing bottles till the money runs out or you gotta ask us to leave,” he commanded, grinning.

“Oooh big spender,” Spike jibed, but he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured some into his glass. “Am I gonna be rolling you home again tonight, Xan?”

“Ha Spike, we’ll see who is rolling who by the end of this night.” Xander poured a glassful and tossed it back in one go. He plunked it down on the bar and gave Spike a challenging look. “One,” he counted.

“Yer on.”

***********************************************************

“Three hundred and thirty sixty,” said Xander seriously.

“Yer what?”

“No, that’s thirty and hundred six,” corrected Xander after some thought. “’s your turn.”

“Don’ wanna,” said Spike petulantly. He lay his head down on the bar. Touching a finger to a puddle, he drew a happy face, “Hey. I think this bloke needs a drink.”

Xander giggled, “Sure he does.” He tipped his glass near Spike’s face and dribbled some whiskey onto the counter. “Here ya go fella. Oops, got some in your eye. Pretty eye,” he said dreamily.

“Alright, Harris, that’s it.” The bartender walked up and started wiping up the spill. “You start pouring out good liquor I know you’re stiff. Time to go.”

Xander straightened up, smiling. He grinned triumphantly at Spike. “We have been asked to leave.”

“Yeah?” Spike looked around as if wondering at the audacity.

“Yes, they have requested our … our…” Xander paused and thought hard. “They’re kicking us out.”

Spike sighed and pushed himself off from the bar. Caught his balance for a moment, then straightened and crooked his arm towards Xander. Xander laced his arm through Spike’s and used it to haul himself to his feet.

“Good evening.” Xander turned and waved bye-bye at the bartender, who waved a hand back. “Yeah right, Harris. See ya tomorrow.”

The two men managed a straight line to the back door without humiliating incident, and pushed through into the alley. The cold night air went to both their heads, and they paused for a moment to keep their balance.

Xander leaned against the brick wall and Spike collapsed next to him. Xander leaned into Spike’s shoulder, then worked his arm around to grasp the vampire across the back.

“God Spike, I am so drunk,” he explained carefully.

“Yes,” said Spike wisely.

“I am shit faced, off my ass, fucked up, drunk,” Xander elucidated.

“Yes,” agreed Spike.

“And I am so fucking horny!” Xander exclaimed and started laughing. He leaned on Spike’s shoulder laughing and snorting, “Ya know what I mean?”

Spike stilled a bit and wriggled uncomfortably. “Yeah. I know what ya mean,” he said slowly.

Xander shook his head back and forth, like a very patient man explaining something to a stupid person. “NO no nononono, Spike. You do not understand. I mean. I. Am. Dying. I mean. My dick is gonna. Explooooode.”

Spike blinked a few times, hard, and straightened a bit. “Xan, let’s go man.” He stood and tugged at the other man’s arm. “We gotta go now, Xan.”

“What’s the matter, Spike? Ya gotta take a piss?” Xander straightened and looked Spike in the face, blinking owlishly. “Ya gotta piss, Spike? ‘Cuz that’s okay, guy, you go ahead and I’ll just stand here an’ wait.”

“No.” Spike pulled away from Xander and stood upright. “C’mon, Xander, you’re drunk. I’m drunk. We gotta get outta here.”

“Why,” said Xander. “Why do we gotta go, buddy?” He stood and wrapped his arm around Spike’s shoulders again. “You ‘mbarrassed? I make you blush?” He leaned into Spike, giggling. “I make those pretty cheeks blush?” he whispered.

“Fuck, Xander.”

“What?” Xander stared at Spike and suddenly, horribly, tears came into his eyes. “What’d I do? Spike? What’d I do?”

“Nothin’. C’mon.”

“You’re mad at me,” whined Xander pathetically.

“No,” said Spike desperately.

But Xander started to cry. Leaning against the wall, bent over with his face buried in his hands, he started to sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Spike. I’m a filthy rotten bastard and I’m so sorry.”

“Xander, you didn’t do anything,” Spike said. He could hear the misery in his own voice.

“Yeah, I’m an asshole.”

“No.”

“A filthy, evil asshole.”

“No.”

“I hurt you,” Xander whispered from inside his hands.

Spike froze.

Xander looked up at him. His eyes huge and bruised and sick. “I hurt you,” he repeated in a stronger voice. “I love you, man, and I hurt you.”

“Xander.” Spike felt he couldn’t bear it. His eyes filled with tears and his throat closed off. “Stop it,” he tried to get out. But it just came out like a little breath of air.

“I love you, Spike.” Xander advanced on him and wrapped his arms around him. Spike found he couldn’t resist him. He was overwhelmed by his own need to hear these words. Xander began mouthing Spike’s hair, holding him tight and burying his lips in the surprisingly soft bleached locks. “I love you,” he whispered between kisses. “Love you. Loveyouloveyouloveyou.” Spike stood shaking. Tears streaming down his face. Xander’s hands slid down the vampire’s body and over his buttocks. He squeezed them rhythmically, moaning into Spike’s hair and rubbing his lips and cheeks over and over the vampire’s head. “Spike, oh god, Spike,” he moaned. “I need this, I need this, Spike.” He grasped the vampire’s hands where they hung by his side and placed them gently on his own crotch. “God, Spike.” He pressed his hands more firmly down. Spike felt the hard bulge there and shuddered all over. “Yeah,” sighed Xander. “Yeah. ‘S good. ‘S good there. You like that yeah you like that. So do I.” Spike gasped and suddenly tried to pull back. “Xander,” he whimpered, “Xander, you don’t want this.” But Xander kept hold of Spike’s hands and pressed them more firmly down. He laid his head on Spike’s shoulder and rubbed his lips against his neck, pleading in a tearful voice. “Please, Spike. Please don’t be mad at me. Please, Spike. Please, I’m so drunk, Spike. I feel so lonely, Spike. Please don’t be mad at me. Please.” One of his hands let go of Spike’s and lay on the vampire’s waist. He pressed closer and slid his hand down to Spike’s crotch. Spike jumped, but Xander held him firmly by his hands and squeezed him through his jeans. “You want it too, don’cha, Spike,” Xander said darkly. “Don’cha.”

“No,” Spike whispered, but he was pressing against Xander’s hand, rubbing his hand hypnotically over Xander’s crotch, his head buzzing and spinning and filling with endorphins. The pheromones coming off Xander were making him feel more drunk than the whiskey they had consumed that night. And now Xander’s hand was deftly flying down the buttons of his jeans. Spike whimpered, but stood still as he felt Xander’s hand reach inside and grab hold of his cock. Spike moaned.

Xander rolled his head on Spike’s shoulder and moaned as he squeezed his cock. “Yeah, you want it. You want it. You want it,” he growled. He eased Spike’s stiffened shaft out of his jeans and began slowly pulling at it with one hand. With the other, he began opening his own fly. Spike reached over with both hands and helped him. Between them both, the loosened jeans were slid from Xander’s hips and halfway down his thighs. Spike became aware that Xander was slowly shuffling them backwards, behind one of those ubiquitous dumpsters, out of sight of the doorway. As they rounded the corner, Xander suddenly lifted his hand from Spike’s cock and put both his hands on Spike’s shoulders. He applied downward pressure. Moaning and rolling his head back and forth as he thrust his hips into Spike’s hands. “Please Spike, god I need this, Spike. God I’m so horny, Spike, I’m gonna die. Please Spike, please.”

Spike found himself being pushed to his knees in the alley. He looked up at Xander as the man’s dripping cock was unceremoniously pressed against his lips. Xander hissed and threw his head back. “Aah, yeah. God. Please Spike.” Spike looked up at his friend, trembling all over. With desire. With fear. With confusion. Xander wanted this so badly. But humans wanted things sometimes that they later wished they hadn’t. But Xander had said that he loved him. And Spike knew that he loved Xander. Because through all the weeks of pretending. All the rough talk and goofiness. Ignoring Xander’s persistent and obvious arousal. Turning a pained but blind eye as he trundled all those sluts off to bed. Spike knew that he loved Xander. And this time Xander had said that he loved him. Whispered it over and over, so that his whole head tingled from all the love that Xander had planted there. Spike licked the precum carefully off of Xander’s penis. Xander moaned in response and buried his hands into Spikes hair. He pressed the head of his cock more insistently at Spike’s lips, and Spike opened his mouth and allowed Xander in.

Xander tasted like a man. A warm human man. He was all sweat and musk and liquor and heat. But he also tasted like Xander. Like salty hot chocolate with a dash of Irish Whiskey. The salty sweet, meaty taste of Xander filled Spike’s mouth and he thought he would die with the pleasure. He slid his tongue up and down the vein under Xander’s shaft, feeling the blood there, smelling it, wanting it, rolling his tongue around and around the bulbous head, flicking over the tiny split with little butterfly flicks, then going back to that vein. He wanted to draw Xander in, feel that blood heat pulsing in his mouth, so he pushed his face further into Xander’s crotch, deep throating him unthinkingly. Above him Xander cried out, “God! Spike!” and he felt Xander tremble all over with the pleasure he was giving him. The thought made him crazy with desire, and he quickly grabbed his own shaft and began pumping it as he slid his mouth, sucking busily, up and down Xander’s cock. Xander was moaning and chanting his name. Thrusting now into Spike’s throat. Spike could feel the head of Xander’s cock pushing into the back of his throat over and over. It was slightly uncomfortable, even for a vampire, but the thought of the pleasure he was giving was making him insane. His hand jerked viciously at his own penis, wild with the idea of Xander’s pleasure, Xander’s love. He looked up at the man above him and saw his face writhing and contorted as he strove for release, and he moaned around the cock in his mouth in an agony of desire. Xander shuddered at the vibrations and began wildly thrusting into Spike’s mouth. He could feel him in the back of his throat. Spike saw Xander’s eyes open for a minute and stare at him wildly. “Make yourself come,” Xander said in a gravelly, fierce voice. “I wanna see you come.” And as if on command, Spike felt his own orgasm suddenly ripping from his balls and through his penis. He cried out again as Xander pushed himself into his throat, and Spike felt the great hot stream of Xander’s cum pulse down his throat and fill his mouth. Hot and salty and Xander. He swallowed as much as he could. Shivering with the taste and his own orgasm. He felt Xander’s softening shaft withdrawn, and looked up to see Xander collapse against the dumpster, breathing hard.

“Holy shit,” said Xander breathlessly. He leaned over and pulled up his jeans, put himself carefully back inside and zipped. He leaned over again and grabbed his knees. “Holy mother fucking shit,” said Xander. And he started laughing. Spike shakily got himself off the ground, surreptitiously wiping his mouth and grinning shyly. Xander glanced at him and winced away, dramatically warding off the sight of Spike with his hands. “Whoa, man, put that thing away. Gonna blind me,” he exclaimed raucously. Spike quickly got himself decent and approached Xander with his arms open for a hug. Xander stood up suddenly and staggered sideways, evading contact.

“Fuck I’m drunk.” He turned and motioned Spike to come with him as he began exiting the alleyway at a rapid pace. “C’mon guy, let’s get outta here. If I’m gonna black out I wanna be in my bed when I come to, ya know?” He took off at a rapid walk. Spike followed him, growing in confusion with every step.

When they got to Xander’s apartment, the man let himself in then turned in the doorway. “So see ya, Spike,” he said quickly, and shut the door before the vampire could answer. Spike stood there for a moment. Still slightly drunk and more than a little puzzled. He was pretty sure that something strange had just happened here. He didn’t think he had expected Xander to behave as he just had, but he wasn’t sure what behavior he should have expected. Spike didn’t have a lot of experience with common romantic niceties, and he wasn’t sure what was done after getting or receiving a blow job in an alley. In his unlife, the next step had generally been draining the victim. Barring that, he had no idea how one was supposed to proceed. Spike wandered back to his room at the Summers’ house pondering Xander’s behavior, and savoring the memory of his declarations of love.




Chapter Eight

Xander woke the next morning in a puddle of drool. He had actually managed to get himself into his bed and under the covers. He lay on his stomach, his face pressed down into the damp pillow, with the taste of dead weasel in his mouth and the most delicious lassitude swimming through the rest of his body.

Xander stretched and wriggled on the bed. He hadn’t felt this limp and relaxed in weeks. Even the hangover-that-eats-your-brain, that he could feel growing just behind his right ear, could not kill the wonderful feeling of satisfaction. He eased himself sideways out of bed with the expertise grown of countless morning afters. The longer he avoided sudden changes in altitude or rapid movement of the head, the longer he could avoid the pain that was sure to come. He sat gingerly on the side of the bed and realized happily that he was hungry, really hungry, for the first time in a long time as well.

Xander was shuffling around the kitchen, trying to pull toast out of the toaster without letting it pop up, when he remembered. He sat down with a thud at the table and stared sightlessly at the piece of bread in his hand, while the hangover rushed up into his brain and kicked a sudden violent spin of nausea through him. “Goddammit,” he whispered tearfully. He lay his head on his arms and felt, pathetically, that he had been made to lose some important battle. He knew how hard he had tried to resist this madness. He had really, really tried and it made him want to cry that, once again, Xander Harris had failed himself.

In his mind’s eye, Xander saw the events of the evening as a mutual fall from grace. Spike’s responses, Spike’s touch, his hand clasping Xander’s shoulder. The way Spike would look in his eyes when he laughed. The caressing way Spike would sometimes say his name. The obvious pleasure Spike had taken in the act in the alleyway. It was apparent to Xander now that the vampire was not averse to the sex. If anything he may have helped instigate it. And though Xander knew that he himself was a sick fuck, he couldn’t help but feel that he had been seduced. That Spike had seen his weakness and taken advantage. It made him feel sick and tired and betrayed.

By the time Xander had struggled through a shower and into his clothes, he had worked out his emotions a bit. He wasn’t angry at Spike, of course, but he could see now that he, Xander, was the one who would have to forcibly take the moral high ground. He would have to exert control over this thing and not let it happen again.

************************************************************

“Mr. Giles, I know that that Spike creature can be useful,” Maurice said carefully, “but don’t you think it might be confusing to Brandy, at this phase of her training, to have a demon present in her environment so often?”

Giles raised an eyebrow and looked at Maurice appraisingly. “That’s a good point, Maurice,” he said. Maurice tried not to think that the older watcher looked surprised. “Perhaps we should plan Spike’s participation with a little more intelligence,” Giles continued thoughtfully, “you are absolutely right. You want Brandy’s instinctive awareness of demons to be sharpened.” Giles slowly placed a book on the shelf.

“Buffy used to train with Spike,” he suggested.

“Surely not!” Maurice was horrified. “How could you trust your Slayer with a demon with a reputation for killing Slayers?”

“Well,” Giles nodded, “it’s true that Buffy could beat him, so there was no need for worry there. But the soul, Maurice, does exert a significant influence.” He looked towards the other man meaningfully. “I can see the difference, Maurice. He is not just a vampire anymore.”

Maurice was uncomfortable with the conversation on so many levels. He didn’t like just how many ‘suggestions’ Giles had for him of late. He didn’t like the Watcher suggesting he put his child in danger, of any magnitude. And he especially didn’t like the implication that Brandy was somehow less adequate than she should be. While he had the greatest admiration and respect for Elizabeth Summers’ life and accomplishments, he had had just about all he could stand of her apparent deification.

The door swung open just then, and Maurice noted irritably that it was yet another Buffy Summers ‘remnant’. The Harris boy, whom he could see absolutely no good use for, except as some kind of day laborer with a handy knowledge of weaponry, was carefully shutting the door behind him. He was wearing very dark sunglasses and a wildly colored shirt. He looked ridiculous.

“Hey Giles,” Xander said softly, “you seen Willow around?”

“No, Xander. I imagine she’s at the library today. She has another paper to present soon.”

“Yeah. Library. Good,” said Xander and turned to slink out.

“Can I give her a message if I see her?” Giles offered.

“Yeah.” Xander laughed softly, then winced. “Tell her Xan’s looking for summa that ‘hair of the dog’ stuff she whipped up last time.”

Giles smiled sympathetically. “Not again?”

“’Fraid so.” Xander made to leave.

“Oh, Xander.” Giles stopped him. “Would you do me a favor on your way over there?”

“Not a hundred percent here just now G-man,” said Xander with a sigh.

“Surely one stop on the way. I haven’t time. And you obviously have plenty of time to kill.”

“Hey!” Then Xander shrugged. “Yeah. Okay. What is it?”

“I need someone to take this book over to Spike.”

************************************************************

When Spike was still recovering from his self-immolation in the crypt, Dawn had offered him a room in her own home. After Buffy’s death, Dawn felt her house was empty and chill and filled with ghosts. She hated coming home at night. She would have sold the house, but the real estate market in Sunnydale was never a booming concern. She gave Spike what had been her mother’s room because it faced north, and so was the darkest. Permanent blackout sealed off the windows, and only a recessed balcony door remained. Joyce’s bed and small dresser were the only pieces of furniture still left in the room, and Spike had never added anything. A handed down boom box sat on the floor near the fireplace. He would sit on the floor, flicking ash into the grate, listening to his punk cd collection. After a week, Dawn had bought him a pair of headphones. The empty, dark room suited Spike, and he would never tell Dawn, but he could still smell Joyce if he buried his head into the mattress and concentrated. The smell comforted him immensely.

Spike lay on the bed now, and tried to sleep. He had promised to help Giles this evening and needed to rest before sunset. But his body was humming and his mind was filled with euphoria. He couldn’t settle down. He had had hours to think about what had happened between he and Xander and was alternately joyful and terrified. His experience with Buffy had taught him that the way a human behaved before and during sex was supposed to mean nothing, if after sex they told you it had not. But Buffy had never said she loved him, and last night Xander had said it over and over again. Spike told himself that Xander’s chill behavior afterwards was probably just the alcohol. He successfully ignored the feeling in his gut suggesting that maybe the other behaviors had been the alcohol as well.

Spike heard the door open downstairs, and someone much heavier than Dawn walk in. He slid out of bed and eased down the hallway, expertly avoiding the shafts of sunlight coming through the open bedroom doors. From the top of the stairs he saw Xander’s feet. Then Xander’s hand and arm as he turned into the living room. Spike felt a huge rush of excitement and happiness. He was down the stairs faster than a little boy on Christmas morning.

“Xander!”

Xander spun around with a start. He had hoped to slide in and out during the daytime and avoid this. “Huh,” he said, “I should have known those pointy little bat ears would hear me.”

Spike sashayed towards him. “See you’re wearing the shirt of death,” he said grinning. “Can’t just suffer alone, can ya Harris? Ya gotta punish the whole world when you’ve gotta hangover.” He slid into Xander’s personal space and made to put an arm around him.

Xander turned out of the attempted embrace, ostensibly to put the book down, then with seeming casualness, walked away from Spike towards the window. “Yeah. Christ,” he laughed, “I think my blood alcohol level last night musta been around 102%. I can’t even remember what we did after I beat your ass at pool.”

Spike regarded Xander standing unreachable in a pool of sunlight. He felt a great wash of the unreality that comes just before huge emotional pain. He made his mouth say something, “Beat my ass, you wanker?” and attempted a derisive snort, but couldn’t get his heart into it. “Xander,” he began tiredly. Then just shook his head.

“Well, gotta scoot.” Xander made a dash for the door.

“Xander, wait.” Spike couldn’t let it go like this. Xander opened the door and stood in the sunlight, waiting with obvious impatience for him to continue. “We need to talk about something, Xan,” Spike begged.

“Yeah, well it’s gotta wait, Spike. Really, really want to talk, but I’ve got stuff.” Xander bolted before Spike could say another word. He hurried down the sidewalk with the air of a man who had narrowly escaped disaster.

Spike watched him go, then trudged back up the stairs to his room. He lay down spread eagled on his stomach on the bed and buried his face in the mattress, inhaling hard, trying to smell Joyce, trying to remember his dead, trying not to think of anything alive at all.



Chapter Nine

Maurice collapsed tiredly into a large, overstuffed chair. He let the crossbow locked in his hand slip to the floor, and shakily pushed the damp hair back from his forehead.

“Brandy,” he began weakly, “we have to discuss the evening’s events.”

Brandy was alight and hyperactive. Her slim graceful figure prowled the room. She spun the stake in her hand like a baton. Flipping it over her head and spinning to catch it behind her back, black hair shimmering like silk as she turned.

Brown leaned against the doorframe watching her, hypnotized. He was extremely pale and a blonde girl with very long legs stood next to him, attempting to blot blood off a large gash in his arm with a wet hanky. She rubbed it a little hard and he flinched.

“’Nuf,” he said, “Leave it Crystal.”

“Might be infected,” muttered Crystal, stopping nevertheless. She gazed at him with huge wet eyes. “Could have stuff in it.” She turned to glare at Brandy. “Could be poison, even,” she said.

Brandy snorted. “Maurice says vampire’s nails are harmless. “Cept for the ripping and tearing.” She gave Brown a conspiratorial grin. “Nice ax action there, Brown.” The boy attempted an equally cocky grin and shoved himself away from the doorjamb.

“Yeah, I had it going there for half a second,” he laughed sheepishly.

“Well, the Slayage is my job. The distracting was helpful, though.” Brandy laughed and spun about again. “Did you see that sorry demon when I punctured him? ‘Huh!’” she mimicked the demon’s face, “‘Wuz dat? Tawt it was a snack.. Fuck me!’” she chortled and danced over to the sofa, plunking down.

“Brandy,” attempted Maurice again, “we need to discuss…”

“Oh god, Maurice. Whuts yer syndrome? Can’t it wait one night?”

“No,” said Maurice firmly, “this is serious, Brandy. You were completely out of control again. This isn’t one of those silly video games. If you lose you can’t press ‘restart’.”

“Vamps are dead, yeah? I slayed yer demons for you. Lay off.” Brandy sunk into the sofa glaring at her Watcher. She crossed her arms and pouted, tears rose in her eyes. “God, all anybody else I know has to worry about is passing French,” she whined piteously, “I have to battle evil and stuff.”

The frown line on Maurice’s forehead softened. “You are Chosen,” he said gently, “it’s a privilege as well as a burden.”

“Huh, YOU can say that!” Brandy grumped.

Crystal stepped forward and glared at Brandy. “Well, at least you have superstrength and superagility and whatever.” She avoided looking at Brown. “Other people don’t, they could get hurt.”

“Nobody said ‘other people’ have to stick around,” said Brandy pointedly.

Brown looked miserably from one girl to the other. “It was my fault,” he started.

“No it wasn’t,” Crystal rounded on him. “She’s all showing off and ‘aren’t-I-hot-in-spandex and doesn’t even notice that vampire coming after you.”

“I saw it,” Brandy protested hotly.

“And, what? You figured you’d let it get a little taste of Brown first?” Crystal rounded on the boy, “and you’re just all ‘Oooh Brandy, I will protect yoooo’. Like she’ll ever give it up for you.”

Brown looked startled and embarrassed. “Crystal, I…” He looked at the floor, miserable. “Brandy and I are just friends.”

“Oh, puhleeze! She’s playing you!”

“Bitch!” Brandy was on her feet and advancing, her hands balled into fists. Maurice quickly jumped up from his chair and stepped between the young women.

“That’s enough!” He put his hand gently on Brandy’s shoulder. She shrugged him off, but turned away from the confrontation, walking off to a corner of the room, back stiff. Crystal glared after her.

Maurice sighed. Mr. Giles and the ‘Buffy fan club’, as he had dubbed them, were going to be arriving soon, and as usual his little troop was in chaos. He often thought that Brandy’s friends were more of a hindrance to her calling, than a help. In the old days, the Watchers kept their Slayers independent of emotional attachments. It helped them keep their focus. In the old days, a girl was raised as a potential so that she had understanding of, and respect for, her duty when and if she was called. Maurice pined for the old days.

Various thuds and the murmur of voices outside the door announced the arrival of their guests. Brown turned and opened the door, sulkily. He looked up and saw Xander and grinned.

“Hey, man, wicked shirt.”

Xander laughed, surprised. “Must say I like your taste, Brown.” He looked around the room and leered at Crystal. “Hey, legs, you old enough for me yet?”

Crystal grimaced and made an exaggerated shudder. “Never.” Then she laughed and smiled at him. “Unless you’re rich enough for me, now?”

“Uggh, never.”

“Ah, well,” she sighed. She smiled at Willow as the witch came in the door. “Hey, Rosenberg, guess who got the platinum G4 laptop for her birthday!”

“You spoiled brat!” said Willow, “I so hate you. Where is it?”

The girls wandered off and Giles looked around the room questioningly. “I asked Spike to join us,” he said to Maurice. “I’m surprised not to see him here.”

“An unreliable vampire?” said Maurice sarcastically. “Why am I not amazed?”

“Spike is usually prompt,” said Giles calmly. He looked at Xander. “When you gave him the book, did he seem as usual?”

“Huh? Yeah G-man.” Xander masked his discomfort. “Nothin’ weird. Except of course, him being Spike, and well you just get used to that.”

“Well, this is very inconvenient,” sighed Maurice, “but I suppose we can carry on without the demon’s help.” He turned on another light and began piling books onto the coffee table. “I have some illustrations here that everyone should see. This peculiar object has been mentioned twice in the prophecies. I’m not sure if it will be helpful or dangerous, but I think everyone should be watching for its possible appearance.”

Xander settled down into the sofa cushions uncomfortably. He had a tingly, anticipatory feeling that he told himself was due to the presence of magical texts and other mojo. Now that he knew Spike was due to arrive, he found himself listening for sounds at the door. Because we need his help, he told himself. Worried about apocolypty things here. After about half an hour, Xander started to worry that maybe Spike had known that Xander would be at the meeting and had chosen not to present himself. Because of last night, or because I wouldn’t talk to him today. The thought made him both depressed and angry. He had not yet puzzled out an excuse for those emotions, when Spike came banging through the door.

Of course, Brandy was on her feet and prickly all over immediately. It always made Xander’s hair stand on end a little the way the girl fingered her stake when Spike was around, and the way she watched him pace around the room. Spike usually enjoyed the tension, and played on the girl’s nerves. Tonight, however, he ignored her and just stood in the doorway, arms crossed. He nodded at Giles and did not come in.

“Oi, Watcher, sorry I’m late.”

“It’s alright, Spike. You can see what we’ve discussed. I’m interested in whether you’ve seen anything like this.” Giles turned a text on the table and looked at Spike expectantly.

Spike circled the room slowly and came up behind Giles to peer over his shoulder. Xander was uncomfortably aware that Spike had taken the longest route around the room, successfully avoiding passing by Xander.

“Nope. Never seen it. That symbol looks familiar though.”

“Yes,” Maurice said excitedly despite himself, “I thought so too.”

“Maybe an older version of Polxat,” Spike opined.

“You think?” Giles turned the text back and studied the image again. “That could lead to something interesting. They had an old calendar. We might find something there.”

Maurice rose and began looking through his stacks of reference material. “Mr. Giles, you would not believe it, but I just had the council send a copy of the calendar…”

“Propitious!”

The two Watchers happily pored over the texts while Spike stood behind them with his arms folded. He studied his feet, he looked at the wary Slayer and raised an eyebrow, he gave a little smirk to Willow, nodded at the ‘new kids’ on the couch. His glance slid over Xander smoothly. Xander raised a hand in greeting. Spike blinked at him without expression and looked away.

“Need a smoke, Rupert.”

“Of course, of course, Spike.” Giles waved him away.

***********************************************************

Spike was exercising self-control. He wasn’t doing it very well, but in his defense self-control was not a class offered at Vampire Training School. So Spike had never learned any subtlety in the technique. His switch was either off or on. Without self-control, Spike would have looked into Xander’s eyes and wept. Or raged. With self-control, he simple expressed nothing. Every emotion went into the box in his head. Lid closed and locked. So an animated corpse with no feelings smoked a cigarette outside the Watcher’s house. And an animated corpse with no feelings smoking a cigarette was what Xander encountered when he found an excuse to follow Spike to his outside smoke-spot.

“Hey,” said Xander nervously, affecting a casual attitude. An animated corpse with cold blue eyes regarded him. “Heh, yeah,” Xander rubbed his hands together happily, “lotta prophetic medallion goodness tonight, huh?” The animated corpse placed a cigarette between its lips. Turned its head away. Exhaled. “Whudda ya say?” Xander leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

The corpse turned its head again. Once again the seemingly dead eyes regarded him. Blinked once. Xander uncrossed his arms, crossed his legs, pushed off from the wall, paced in a circle, leaned against the wall again and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “Why are you mad at me, Spike?” he finally managed.

The corpse raised one eyebrow. It lifted the cigarette and took another drag. It looked away and tossed the smoke to the ground. It made to walk back into the house. Xander desperately grabbed at Spike’s arm. “Hey.” A great charge of energy surged straight from Xander’s hand to his groin. He stared at Spike, stunned. Spike’s expressionless eyes suddenly crinkled, went dark, and suspiciously bright. He turned his head away and jerked from Xander’s grasp. He stood still for a moment with his back to Xander. Then he pushed through the door. Xander stood alone. “What the hell is wrong with me?” he wondered. “Fuck, I need a drink,” he concluded.

************************************************************

Spike used to refer to himself as “The Big Bad Slayer Bus”. He was utilized constantly as a chaperone and ride for the less supernaturally gifted Scoobies. Since Giles and Maurice were happily immersed in research mania, and promised to spend the rest of the evening digging through their musty texts, it naturally fell to Spike to accompany Xander home. It was so usual for him to do so, it would have been odd for him to refuse. So Spike exercised self-control as Xander bounced nervously beside him, babbling a mile a minute.

“Boy Spike, you know way too many demonic languages. It makes a guy wonder what kind of friends you have. The only friends of yours I’ve met were those guys, er … things, er … whatevers I met that time we went to the demon bar and played cards. And how many species of demons know how to play poker? Wait! Oh god, you don’t have to tell me. Poker is demonic isn’t it? Damn I knew it. What about pool? Naw, that would just be wrong.”

And the animated corpse walked slowly beside him.

“Hey, hey, wait.” Xander felt so agitated he thought he would explode. He didn’t know if he was upset because perhaps Spike was angry with him, or if he was upset because he wanted to touch the vampire on the arm again and wouldn’t allow himself. “Hey, Spike, I’m dry and outta beer at home. Let’s pop into this bar for a quick one, yeah? My treat. Well, hell it’s always my treat, but this time I won’t give you shit about it. As much,” he amended.

The animated corpse slowed and stopped. It regarded the bar for a moment, then turned and walked through the door, leaving Xander to follow.

After a six-pack of beer and three whiskey shooters, the boys were back out on the street and Xander was finally desperate for Spike to speak to him. The vampire had sat in stony silence and drank and smoked, only glancing at Xander when asked a question. He grunted a couple of times, and Xander thought they had a breakthrough, but then back to the scary staring and the cold unbreathing thingness. He finally couldn’t bear it anymore, steeled his resolve and gently clasped Spike’s arm.

The vampire immediately stopped when Xander caught his arm. He could walk beside this man, listen to his voice, drink with him and watch him talk, all without showing the feelings churning inside him. But when Xander touched him it all began breaking apart. He couldn’t be touched by Xander and feel nothing. But he couldn’t bear to feel everything, so he tugged away. “No,” he said.

Aha, thought Xander, success! He held the vampire’s arm more firmly and clasped his shoulder with his other hand. The incredible thrill of touching Spike was making him feel dizzy, but he had to touch, had to hear Spike speak to him, had to know Spike was not angry with him. Spike turned his head and looked down at Xander’s feet.

“Why won’t you talk about it?” he whispered.

Xander jumped like he had been burned. He let go of Spike.

“What do you mean Spike?” he said in a warning tone.

“Xander.” Spike looked up and was no longer an animated corpse. His eyes were full of pain. “Xander, we’ve had sex. You said you loved me. Yeah, I know you say you’ve forgotten. But you said you loved me,”

“That’s crazy, Spike,” said Xander harshly. “Yeah, I know, I know,” he waved away the vampire’s expected protests. “We’re a coupla weird and crazy guys, Spike. I mean we’re lonely guys living on the Hellmouth, right? Crazy things. Evil things. Ya know, out of control things happen. And friends help friends in need sometimes, ya know? But nothing’s going on here. We’re friends, Spike, that’s all.”

Xander couldn’t stand to look at Spike, the way the vampire just stood there and gazed at him. He looked off across the street and huffed impatiently.

************************************************************

“God, it’s cold out,” he said, wrapping his arms around himself and stepping towards his home. “C’mon buddy, let’s get inside.” And he headed off.

Spike was so surprised when Xander invited him in that he accepted the invitation. Xander happily discovered that he still had Scotch in a back cupboard and poured out drinks for them both. He touched glasses.

“Skull,” he said, laughing at their private toast. He downed the highball glass in one shot and poured another. “Keeping up Spike?” he offered.

“What are you doing, Xander?”

“Getting loaded yet again, Spike. ‘S’n it obvious?”

“But why?”

“Why the fuck not, Spike?” said Xander. He moved closer to Spike on the couch and grabbed his shoulder, unable to resist the contact. “Why the fuck shouldn’t we get drunk, Spike? Why the fuck shouldn’t we feel good when we can?” His hand dropped from Spike’s shoulder and he rubbed Spike’s arm, fascinated by the erotic buzz the gesture made him feel. “Why the fuck shouldn’t we take a little comfort where we can?” he murmured.

“Stop it, Xander.” Spike stood up and set down his drink. He whirled and strode towards the door.

“Hey, what’s your beef?” Xander cried in protest.

But Spike walked out of the apartment without answering and slammed the door.

***********************************************************

Xander woke the next morning angry with Spike. He knew that the vampire had been hostile and unfriendly the evening before, despite Xander’s efforts, and it angered him and hurt his pride. His physical frustration didn’t help the situation either. He felt teased, toyed with, and ultimately judged by someone he felt was culpable in the problem. He decided to respond to Spike’s coldness with equal coldness. Consequently, when they encountered each other that evening at Maurice’s house, the atmosphere was glacial.

“Harris,” grunted Spike, not looking up from the book in front of him. He glanced up when the man did not respond. Xander was holding himself stiffly. His expression dark and proud. He sneered a bit in Spike’s general direction, then turned with an overly enthusiastic smile towards Giles.

“So, what’s up for us tonight, G-man?”

Giles fussed over something in front of him. “Please don’t call me that,” he said automatically. He held up an ax similar to the one Brown habitually preferred. “We have discovered that a substance poured on this weapon is effective against the demons associated with the coming plague.” He hesitated and studied the weapon. “At least, we are hoping it is effective.”

“Great!” Xander bounced.

Giles looked at him, perplexed. “Er, yes,” he agreed.

“’S not necessary for all the humans to be involved, is it Rupert?” remarked Spike, without looking up from his book. “Don’t want to be tripping over them all while saving the world, you know.”

“Nobody needs to trip you up, bloodbreath. You can do it all by yourself,” snarked Xander.

“Fine then, Harris. Don’t need to be watching out for you kiddies then.”

Giles watched this exchange with raised eyebrows. He was accustomed to the two friends ragging on each other, but the banter was usually accompanied by smiles. “We’ll need all the help we can get,” he said. “It may take some time for Willow and I to close the portal, and the creatures on the other side can be quite dangerous.”

“All the more reason to keep the little ‘uns outta it, Rupert.” Spike was determinedly cool, but he was still uncomfortable with the thought of Xander involving himself in the next conflict. He felt Xander whack something down on the table, and sit with a great thump at the end. There was a chill silence. He looked up into remarkably hostile eyes. Looked away. So that was how it was going to be. Fine then.

Giles sighed and produced silver flasks from a box. They were no bigger than a cigarette lighter, and covered with arcane graphics. “Willow has filled these with the oil,” he explained. “It’s a kind of lubricant. Please keep your ax coated with it.”

Spike took the flask worriedly. “Don’t love touching magical stuff all that much, Rupert.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Willow piped up from the kitchen. “It’s non-toxic to humans. And vampires,” she added.

“What’s in it then?”

She giggled. “Basically? It’s salad dressing.”



Chapter Ten

“God, it’s so great how this never gets old.”

Xander was leaning against the wall of a building on the outskirts of town. Brandy, Giles and Willow were on the other side of a large parking lot working some mojo. The Big Bad that Giles and Maurice seemed convinced would be here tonight had not yet appeared. Xander’s job was officially back-up. If anything came round and tried to get to the girls while they were busy either he, on this side of the lot, or Spike, on the other, would raise the alarm. Unofficially, Xander had assigned himself the job of keeping Crystal and Brown alive. Brown stood near him now, rolling the handle of his favored ax in the palm of his hand. His terror shone in his wide eyes and quick breathing, but he stood firm and even managed to crack a smile at Xander.

“Been through a few?”

“Never enough,” sighed Xander dramatically. “It’s like the very first time.”

Brown laughed and crooned softly, “like a viiiiirgin, …” His voice was terrible. Xander glowered.

“Thank you,” he said sarcastically, “now I will not mind dying.”

Just then, a bolt of something the color of a green-not-found-in-nature appeared in the middle of the parking lot. It twisted and began cycling like a tornado. As it turned, bits of it began falling away and appeared to be becoming solid. The solid bits stood on what looked most definitely like legs, and turned and began moving towards Willow and Brandy, brandishing what most definitely looked like weapons. On the other side of the lot, Xander saw Spike take off towards the cyclone.

“Fuck,” said Xander flatly, “will I never learn to shut up.”

*********************************************************

No apocalypse is like any other. They all have their own unique characteristics. But Xander had been a soldier on the Hellmouth for over a decade, and had been in the thick of his share of ugly battles. It would be a mistake to say that he had fallen into a routine, but he had a good sense of what should be going on and what should not. And something about this fight felt wacked.

Xander had barely had time to curse before Brown spotted one of the green-meanies going after Brandy, and took off yelling, Crystal close behind him. Xander swore and ran after the overly enthusiastic youth, wondering vainly if he had ever been so stupid. Within moments it was clear that the danger of the green-meanies was not in their strength, as even Brown and Crystal seemed to be holding their own, but in their numbers. The green cyclone thingy never abated, and kept popping out new monsters as quickly as they could dispatch them. Brandy and Spike appeared to be unflagging, but Xander, Brown and Crystal were rapidly tiring.

It was then that he started getting the battle-wackiness feeling. In retrospect, he would be able to say quite clearly that he had noticed that the casualties were not falling like they usually did in Slayer related battles. With Buffy, it seemed that wherever she was, evil perished, yet somehow when her friends were in trouble, evil perished more there. In other words, Buffy was always aware of the placement of her soldiers and strove to keep them safe. But here and now, though Brandy was surrounded with casualties, Brown, Crystal and himself were thigh deep in green-meanies.

He looked over towards Willow and Giles. They were muddling around with a large metal disc, and Willow had that hair-whipping-in-the-wind thing going on that meant she was reciting an incantation. Hopefully the incantation that would knock out the green cyclone thingy. Xander decided a tactical retreat for normal mortals was in order.

“REGROUP, BROWN,” he shouted at the boy, who had just leveled a green-meanie with an ax in the back, “CRYSTAL, GET BACK HERE!” The kids glanced back at him and obediently, and how bizarre was that, began to make their way back towards him. Xander herded them back slowly, all three of them were breathing hard, and he noted with some distant part of his brain that Crystal had blood all across one side of her face. Fuck, I shouldn’t have let that happen. Spike and Brandy were on either side of the cyclone. Like whirlwinds themselves, they both fought in a frenzy. Spike was in full-game face as he fought. Xander allowed himself a moment to admire the vampire’s skills. Spike loved the battle and fought with a fierce grace that made it look like demonic ballet. His vampire visage, after Xander had gotten over the whole gonna-bite-your-neck thing, was fantastic and, Xander thought, even beautiful. He caught his thoughts and turned them aside to watch Brandy with a critical eye. She was pretty damn good, he realized. Very very fast, if not yet wise. She, too, had a ferocious quality. Not above getting her pretty hands dirty.

But as he watched Brandy, Xander began to think something was wrong. Typically Buffy would have, as did Spike, waded into the midst of the strongest demons. Take them out first. Brandy seemed to be more concerned with location, circling away from something, or towards it. She would kick weaker demons out of the way, hurling some without destroying them, in order to maintain a position. It was weird. Xander was mystified and continued watching as he persisted in pushing Brown and Crystal back from the fray.

Willow’s voice was now rising. Another wind was blowing, outside of the cyclone’s, and above the din Xander could hear chanting. He glanced back at the kids.

“Any minute now,” he shouted.

There was a gigantic crash of thunder and Crystal screamed and covered her ears. A wave of water literally poured from the sky as Willow the Wiccan Storm Goddess effectively extinguished the cyclone like a housewife dousing a match. Xander looked back at the battle to see Brandy and Spike reducing the remaining green-meanies to puddles of goo. Spike was absorbed in his battle. He reduced the numbers methodically. Brandy, however, had stopped fighting. She watched the vampire. Xander’s hair prickled on his arms. Brandy was watching Spike. As Spike closed in on the last demons, Brandy warily stepped backwards away from him. She barely spared a glance for the remnant army, only slaying if one got in her way. Brandy was circling Spike. The vampire was oblivious, but Xander saw the Slayer’s hand reaching towards her back pocket.

Xander didn’t know he had started running until he had closed half the distance. He saw Spike, oblivious to Brandy’s movements. He saw the girl, stalking the game-faced fighting vampire. Like waving a steak in front of a lioness and expecting her not to pounce, he realized, running.

“No!” screamed Xander as he ran. “Spike! Look out!”

Two things happened simultaneously. Brandy whipped her head briefly towards him, a look of malevolent anger on her face, and Spike whipped around and saw Xander running, then saw the Slayer, stake ready, just a few feet away from him. Spike snarled, Brandy leapt forward, Xander screamed and closed the gap. He knew he could not let either one of them hurt the other, but he also knew that if it came down to it, he was gonna save Spike. Xander came down hard on the girl, who tossed him off like he weighed nothing. He bounced from the ground in time to hear the vampire roar his name and charge Brandy.

Xander hurled himself back at the pair. This time he latched onto the Slayer’s striking arm, stilling it for a moment, and managed at the same time to punch Spike in the forehead. Brandy struggled against Xander hissing, while Spike reeled back staring.

“Fuck Brandy, stop!” Xander yelled in her face. The girl stared back at him, dazed, but she stopped.

“Spike!” The vampire steadied himself, then stood down and took a few steps back.

All three of them stood shaking as the rain continued to pour down.

**********************************************************

Xander cleaned his ax, Brown next to him copying his moves. Crystal was having her face patched up by Willow, who hopefully was slinging a little extra juice into that bandage to keep the girl’s face from scarring. There was a big ugly tear across the fourteen year old’s fragile skin, and every time he looked at her, Xander felt another painful pulse of guilt. How had he not managed to keep her out of the conflict? Useless Bastard, he berated himself.

Brandy was sitting across the room with Maurice, as he wrote the details of events in his Watcher’s journal. She glanced at Xander once or twice, and from the look on her face Xander was fairly certain that he was now on her list of people-we-don’t-trust. Tiny, pale, just a kid he reminded himself, with great, golden, innocent eyes. She in no way now resembled the weapon of destruction Xander had felt compelled to attack.

He carefully put a large sword back in the case and shut the door. And there was a horrible shaking in his gut that had nothing to do with Brandy’s anger or Crystal’s injury. He had almost lost Spike. The thought made him feel physically ill, and he stomped back into the living room and brought down the bottle of Irish Whiskey Giles had hidden from him in a top cabinet.

“Hey baby,” said Xander softly. “Feeling lonely?”

“Don’t tell me yer comin’ on to the booze, Harris,” said the voice behind him. “’Cuz that’s always gonna lead to heartbreak.”

Xander spun around. “Spike,” he said, “glad to see you’re still undead.”

“Yeah,” said the vampire slowly, “Thanks for that Xan.”

“Sure buddy,” said Xander warmly. He proffered the bottle, “wanna meet my friend?”

And just like that, it seemed, the glacial condition between them was over. Spike and Xander left the house together and went wandering out into the world they had saved once more. The world appeared to be bored with the whole deal, and had gone to sleep, but Xander and Spike were wide-awake with post adrenalin excitement. Spike seemed to be filled with a kind of giddy joy. Dancing around on the sidewalk, demonstrating key moments in the battle. Exaggerating and then mocking himself for his exaggerations, he dragged the other man with him, gradually pulling him out of his blue funk. They soon finished the Irish, so journeyed to a liquor store to meet her twin sister. The rain continued to pour down as the two men tramped through the local cemeteries, drinking and bragging and walking off the energy. Spike was dragging Xander off to show him his ‘hide-out’ crypt. He had some absurd idea that Xander would appreciate the tactical advantages of this particular location, when Xander suddenly turned to find Spike had slipped into the dark and vanished. He spun around on his heel once.

“Spike?”

No vampire. Xander drank a slug of whiskey and stood puzzled. This wasn’t right.

“Spike, really, this isn’t funny. Where are you?”

Xander stood unsteadily on the soggy ground. He took another slug from the bottle and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, peering around in the misty dark. The rain was cutting his visibility by half and the ground was becoming increasingly slippery under his feet. A creepy chill rippled up his back, or maybe the drizzle was working down the neck of his shirt. He wriggled uncomfortably and continued circling. He was getting that wiggy Hellmouthy feeling.

“Spike? Shit, Spike get out here!” < CRACK > a bolt of lightning banged against the sky and Xander jumped a foot.

“Damn it, Spike, you bastard. If you don’t get out here, I’m going home on my own!” Xander struggled against the slippery mud to climb up the hill, where a low row of mausoleums created a kind of shelter against the rain. Another bolt of lightning lit the sky behind the crypts and Xander flinched again. His ears were ringing. He took another slug from the bottle and wondered what the odds were of him making it home on his own, uneaten. Surely even flesh eaters stayed in out of the rain? “Spike, you bastard!” he yelled. And then he heard the definite thud of something on the mausoleum roof directly over his head. The rain thundered down harder, but beneath it he could hear a voice. Singing?

“I am immortal,” thump. “I have inside me blood of kings,”

Xander spun around. “Spike?” he whispered hopefully,

There was another thump just over his head and Xander strained back to see what was on the roof of the building. Poised to run the other way. Peering still through the increasing downpour and inky night, trying to see…

Thump. “I have no rival,” sang the voice. “No man can be my equal.” And Xander with great relief recognized Spike’s silhouette walking to the edge of the roof and looking down at him. His sweet tenor voice rose steadily above the roar of rain. “Take me to the future of your world.” a great stroke of lightning lit the sky behind Spike. He threw his arms up into the air and yelling, sang into the sky; “Here we are. Born to be kings. We’re the princes of the universe.”

“Spike you geek,” whispered Xander, smiling

“Here we belong. Fighting to survive. In a world with the darkest powers.” Spike strode across the mausoleum rooves, leaping from one to the next. Waving his arms in the air as if he held a great sword. His coat billowing about him like a great cape as he bellowed out into the night; “And here we are. We’re the princes of the universe. Here we belong. Fighting for survival. We’ve come to be the rulers of your world.”

Another bolt of lightning blasted across the sky and lit Spike’s silhouette again. Xander stared up at his friend, who had suddenly been transformed into something powerful. Something otherworldly. And suddenly he got it. The song.

Spike strode to the edge of the last crypt wall. He was grinning down at Xander like a fiend and singing as loud as he could; “Born to be kings. Princes of the universe. Fighting and free. Got your world in my hand. I’m here for your love and I’ll make my stand.” Spike leapt down, in a controlled slow motion, from the mausoleum wall. Xander stepped back, awestruck. He had never before seen the vampire do that flying thing. And then Spike was striding towards him across the black glittering ground, lightning cracking around him, seeming to come from him. Xander suddenly understood that expression, ‘I fall to my knees’.

“No man could understand. My power is in my own hand,” Spike sang, approaching him. He stopped mere inches from Xander. Reached up to grab the lapels of Xander’s jacket. Xander was immobile. His legs were water. He grabbed hold of Spike’s hands as they held him and stared into the vampire’s flashing eyes. “I’m a man that will go far,” Spike crooned softly. “Fly the moon and reach for the stars. With my sword and head held high.” He stopped. Another flash of lightning lit his face and Xander saw power, strength, desire. Then Spike reached up and pulled Xander’s head down into a hungry, open-mouthed kiss.

***********************************************************

When one is a being with supernatural strength living in a world of mortals, one walks every day in a glass menagerie. They are so breakable, the ones you love. Spike lived each moment in a state of restraint. He was only allowed to cut loose when he was violent.

And sometimes he wanted more. Though the soul reminded him every day at what price it had come, Spike still reveled in the power he felt running through him. His body was a vessel filled with magic. An insane improbability, a dead man walking. The alchemy demanded blood, but magic was what drove Spike. And tonight he felt its madness rippling through him, the lightning and the danger had whipped it into a frenzy. Normally he would have ridden off on his bike, raising hell somewhere. Pushing the limits of this wonder that was his existence. Finding a razor’s edge and walking it.

But when he had looked down at Xander from the roof of the mausoleum, he had felt something stronger than magic. And the power of whatever that was, grasped the power of that which made Spike, and drew him in.

He pulled Xander into the kiss with more of his supernatural strength than he had ever used on the boy. His mouth and tongue devoured Xander’s lips, and he felt Xander melt against him and open his mouth to him. He buried himself in that flavor, caressing Xander’s strong hot tongue with his own. Xander moaned into the kiss, and when Spike grasped the back of his neck, he relaxed into the strong grip and let Spike have total control. Spike felt Xander’s acquiescence, felt the barrier that had been between them all week let fall away, and he had to have every inch of the man in his arms. Had to press into him, feel him, smell him, taste him, take the Xander he had been denied back into himself. He ravaged Xander with his hands, ran his tongue all over his face. Rubbing his cheek against the sandpapery stubble on Xander’s face and purring like a big jungle cat. He pressed his groin into Xander’s, felt the other man’s hardness and growled.

Xander fell into Spike. He was being manhandled, overpowered and possessed. It was the most erotic sensation he had ever felt. And it touched a black spot in Xander that had been throbbing all night. The power in Spike’s eyes, the strength of the demanding hands running over him. The unrelenting mouth and the otherworldly noises the vampire made were all driving Xander crazy with desire. “Spike,” he gasped when the vampire next released his mouth, “Spike, I want…”

Spike drew back a bit so he could see the other man’s eyes. His hands grasped Xander’s hips and pulled them against his firmly. He demanded in a hoarse voice, “Tell me what you want, Xan.”

“You,” whimpered Xander helplessly. He leaned into the vampire until Spike was almost cradling him in his arms. Suddenly he was swept up like the heroine of a romance novel, and Spike was climbing the incline towards one of the mausoleums. Xander rested his head on Spike’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

Once inside, Spike laid him gently on the dirt floor. Xander sat up and began tugging at his sodden jacket. Spike grabbed Xander’s hands and stilled them. Gently he removed the jacket. Then with a grim, businesslike expression on his face, he rolled Xander’s soaked shirt up and over his head. Spike ran his hand over Xander’s damp hair, his fingers laced through the length at the back, letting it slide through his fingers. He wrapped his arm around Xander and pulled him close, his other hand slowly tracing the rivulets of water on Xander’s chest. One finger circled an erect nipple slowly. Xander shivered violently. Spike paused.

“You’re cold.”

“I don’t care.” Xander pressed himself closer to Spike. But the vampire made a tisking noise and stood, stripped off his duster and laid it on the floor. He kneeled and wrapped his arms around the other man again, lifting him with ease onto the coat. Then he pulled off his own damp top shirt, and dry undershirt. He used the undershirt as a towel, gently rubbing Xander dry. The entire time regarding Xander with a dark unreadable expression. Xander reached down to unfasten his jeans, but Spike stilled his hands once more. He stared into Xander’s eyes and demanded again, “What do you want, Xander?”

Xander leaned into Spike’s chest. He pressed his shaking lips against the cool marble of that skin and whispered, “Do you still have that oil Willow gave you?”

Spike pulled back to look at Xander, hard. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the small silver flask the Wiccan had gifted him. Spike sat back on his heels, looking at the flask for a moment. “What do you want, Xander,” he asked again carefully.

Xander pushed up against Spike. “You know what I want,” he gasped. “God, Spike please, please.”

A dark wave appeared to wash over Spike’s face. With a low, rumbling growl, he bent to Xander, and began once more his insistent fierce exploration of the man’s face and mouth with his tongue. When Xander wriggled, he grasped his arms, and pressed him back to the ground, covering him. Xander twisted, found he couldn’t move, and became impossibly more aroused. “Spike,” he moaned feverishly. “Spike, Spike, god Spike.”

Spike quieted him by kissing him ferociously. He pressed into Xander’s aching groin with his jeans-covered hardness with a firm rhythm. He grabbed Xander’s head and looked into his eyes with a terrible visage. “What do you want, Xander?” he demanded in a dark voice.

Xander wriggled under Spike and pushed helplessly at him with his hands. He closed his eyes and said, “Let me roll over Spike.”

“Xander.” Spike’s voice sounded choked, but Xander didn’t open his eyes, so he couldn’t know what expression Spike’s face had. He pushed again at the vampire, and Spike hesitated but then pulled back to give him room. Xander turned over, scrabbled at his jeans and lifted his hips to push down his pants. He felt Spike help him tug off the jeans, then his hands came up to firmly stroke down his back, finally resting on his bare backside. Spike’s hands suddenly convulsively dug into Xander’s buttocks, and Xander cried out more with the shock than pain. He felt Spike’s thumbs firmly massaging him while the vampire moaned and growled deep in his throat. “Say it, Xander. You have to say it,” he groaned, his hands rubbing and rubbing, his thumbs gently drawing Xander’s ass cheeks apart. There was a pause as he took his hands away, and then Xander felt something cool dribbling over his back, down the crack. Spike’s thumbs were back, pushing the cool wetness down and down, brushing over his entrance. Xander gasped and wriggled harder and pressed himself upwards. He needed to be possessed, to be completely taken over. He needed that wild creature he had seen standing against the night sky to reach inside him and squeeze the blackness out of him.

“Spike. Please, please. Spike god, do it. God, Spike please.” Spike rubbed the oil deeper and deeper, over Xander’s hole. His thumb circled and circled Xander’s entrance. Xander wriggled and thrust back. He rubbed his face in Spike’s duster and inhaled leather and cigarette smoke. He mouthed the jacket in an agony of desire, keening and moaning.

Spike was growling over and over, “sayit sayit sayit, Xan. Tell me what you want me to do.” Xander felt one of Spike’s thumbs pressing insistently at his entrance, and then it was past the muscle with a little twinge and Spike was rubbing at the walls inside him with his thumb.

“Oh yeah,” Xander groaned helplessly. “Oh god yeah. Do that. Do more of that.” He thrust against Spike’s hand and thrust back into the duster. He felt Spike’s thumb removed and then some discomfort as seemingly more fingers were pushed back into him. It burned. The fingers pushed still further inside and brushed up against something. Xander’s entire body arched up as if jolted with electricity. He wailed and rolled his head from side to side, pushing back against Spike’s hand and begging incoherently.

“Tell me, Xan,” Spike chanted. “Tell me what you want. Tell me what you want.”

Xander was completely out of his mind. “Fuck me, Spike,” Xander hissed into the jacket, “I want you to fuck me. Please Spike, please.” Wildly he realized that the vampire had stopped moving. “What?” he cried out desperately, “what are you doing, why did you stop?”

“Xander,” Spike’s voice sounded strained, “are you sure.”

“Yeah oh yeah, I want this. Please Spike, please,” Xander wailed piteously. “I want this I want this god just do it. Please.”

Then he felt the large blunt head of Spike’s cock pressing impossibly at his entrance. He knew it was way too big, nothing that big could ever go in him, and when the pressure was too much, the pain started. It burned horribly and Xander cried out.

The pressure stopped and Xander felt Spike’s lips touching the back of his neck. “God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Xander,” Spike whispered in a strangled voice.

Xander grit his teeth. “Don’t apologize,” he said angrily, “just do it. Harder. I need it harder.” He felt Spike rear up a bit behind him and then push down again. Xander bit the inside of his cheek and writhed. He focused mindlessly on the white heat of pain, driving everything from his mind except this thing trying to open him up, trying to tear him in two. He screamed and shoved his hips into Spike and cried out brokenly, “harder, god harder.” And Spike made a horrible sobbing noise and pulled out and shoved himself in.

Spike knew he had to be tearing Xander. He could smell blood. The man writhed and begged below him. Begged him to fuck him. Begged him to hurt him. The ferocity of Spike’s demon was roaring through his body. It could taste a victim. Spike was shaking with the effort of control, shaking with the ecstasy of Xander’s submission, shaking with the pleasure of Xander’s heat around his cock, the smell of Xander’s blood. He drove in harder, barely able to restrain his body, and felt his orgasm gathering in his balls.

Xander felt Spike hitting that amazing spot again and again, and the white heat of pain became ecstasy as he felt each thrust seemingly going straight into his cock. He shoved, out of control, into the smoky leather below him, crying out in an agony of sensation until he felt his entire awareness center and an intense orgasm rip through his body. He thrust and thrust against the slickening surface, screaming with the force of it. Above him Spike was crying out and howling, howling! like an animal, driving into him with such force Xander felt they were pounding a dent into the floor.

Wave after wave of ecstatic sensation washed through Xander, gradually subsiding as he lay breathing hard, felt once more the surface below him, damp and chill and Spike above him, also chill. The vampire was clasped against him, still buried deep inside him. He was shaking all over, his hands stroking roughly up and down Xander’s sides, alternately snarling and whimpering.

“Xander, god Xander. I love you, Xander, I love you,” he chanted. Spike’s body gradually stopped shaking and he collapsed weakly into Xander, burying his face in the back of his neck. His snarls devolving slowly into helpless sobs, as he repeated his litany over and over, “Love you, Xander. God, please Xander. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Xander lay in his returning sanity and wondered what to do.

*************************************************************

There was a popular book out on the market that Xander had seen once in a bookstore. It was called, “How to Survive Practically Anything”. It gave detailed instructions on how to survive things like falls from airplanes and attacks by crocodiles. Xander had stood in the bookstore with the book in his hands, and been overtaken by such a fit of giggles that the other patrons stared. Whoever had written the book had obviously never lived on a Hellmouth.

Oddly enough that book came suddenly to mind. Xander imagined that he should have read the chapter entitled: “What to do when naked on your belly in a mausoleum, pinned to the ground by a sobbing 180 pound demon.” The very qualities that had driven him off the cliff-edge of sanity not a few minutes before, now seemed seriously scary. Spike’s hands, where they stroked Xander’s arms, still showed his demonic claws. And the sense of feeling returning to Xander’s back reported that the head rubbing tearfully back and forth on his shoulder blades was hard and ridged, and probably demonic as well. This, Xander told himself, was ample justification for the blind panic racing through his body. He focused on his concern over the vampire’s loss of physical control over his demon, and ignored his escalating fear over the protestations of love he was hearing. .

“Spike,” he said in his calm-voice-we-use-with-crazy-people, “Spike, let me up please.” .

Spike stilled and quickly slid out and off of Xander. Xander slowly and uncomfortably lifted himself out of the puddle of cum on Spike’s jacket. As he pushed up, he felt a rather remarkable twinge in his ass. He determinedly blocked the images that sensation engendered from his mind, and slowly found a sitting position on a dry spot of leather. .

Spike scrabbled to a sitting position as well. Though the vampire had, thankfully, slid back into his human persona, Xander was still feeling on edge, and he twitched involuntarily when Spike made to gently touch him. .

“Gimme a mo’ here, guy,” he said brusquely. “Got to get my head straight.” .

Spike nodded once and sat quite still. Solemnly gazing at a place somewhere between Xander’s face and his crotch. .

“Hand me my pants?” .

Spike scrabbled about and handed Xander his wadded up and still damp pants. Xander sighed in disgust and began trying to pull the wet, cold material up his legs. .

“Let me help.” Spike leaned towards him. .

“Don’t,“ Xander bit off. Spike was silent. Xander risked a glance at him and saw the vampire regarding him warily, his face still damp with tears. He looked away. “Can I wear that t-shirt back home?” .

“Yeah.” Spike handed it to him. Xander slipped it over his head and felt himself fractionally relax. Not naked now. No visual reminders of demons about at the moment. And no male voice saying those words over and over. He stood shakily, pulling the wet jeans on completely. He saw Spike glance at his crotch and startle, then look away. .

“There’s blood, Xander,” Spike said hoarsely. .

Xander felt himself blush, and those unbidden images rose in his mind again. He stamped down on them fiercely. “Thought you liked that sort of thing,” he spat out. .

Spike’s head swiveled back and he gaped at him. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Xander.” His face started to crumple again. “Did I hurt you?” .

“You completely lost control, Spike! What do you think?!” .

“Fucking Hell, Xander, I’m sorry!” Spike rose quickly, zipping his pants and jerking on his over shirt. He approached Xander and made once more to touch him. Xander jerked away. .

“Don’t be. Guess now we’re even.” .

“Even?” Spike protested, “this wasn’t about getting even, Xan!” He grasped the other man’s shoulders. Xander flinched again, but Spike held on. “Xander? Xan, look at me!” .

Xander wanted to run. Like a man who is faced with a mad dog, or a lunatic with a gun, Xander’s first instinct was to run from the danger as fast as he could. The source of all his terror was unclear to him. He told himself ‘vampire’, and imagined that he feared Spike once again losing control, perhaps this time becoming angry. Who knew how well that soul could hold him? He told himself that he believed he might be in grave physical danger, and that that caused the icy panic pumping through him. He controlled the flight instinct. One backs away from a mad dog, one doesn’t run. And guardedly looked at the vampire. .

Spike’s eyes were a bright sky blue. Shining with intense emotion. “Xander,” he said gently, “I love you.” .

Xander jumped back from the mad dog as if bitten. “Fuck, Spike, don’t say that.” .

“I love you, Xander.” .

“Geez, Spike, stop that!” Xander hurriedly grabbed up his jacket and jerked it on. He turned and headed out the mausoleum door. Spike swept up his coat and chased after him. .

Outside, the rain still poured down. The occasional flash of lightning flickered in the distant sky. Xander half slid, half ran down the muddy hillside. Spike gained on him immediately and ran alongside him. .

“Xander…”.

“Shut up.” Xander felt now that he was trying to escape everything. He was running to escape the thunderstorm. He was running to escape Spike. But most of all he was running to escape what had happened, what he had allowed to happen, what he had begged for, in the mausoleum. .

“Xander.” Spike ran beside him. “C’mon Xander, we gotta talk.” .

And Xander could not bear that. Could not bear to hear that horrible cliché girly phrase coming out of Spike’s mouth. He stopped running and turned on the other man. “What, Spike?!” he yelled. “What the FUCK do we gotta talk about?” .

“What’s happening between us…”.

“Nothing’s happening, Spike! We’ve had this conversation.” .

“Xander,” said Spike patiently, “there’s something going on between us.” .

“There is nothing going on Spike. We. Are. Friends. At least,” said Xander with a furious hiss, “at least I think we’re friends.” .

“Friends?” said Spike in amazement. “Xander this has gone way beyond friendship.” .

He tried to take Xander’s arm again, but Xander turned away from the touch and began walking away. Spike made an exasperated gesture with his arms and followed. .

“Xander!” Spike cried in frustration. “Bloody Hell, man, we had sex! Not just a mutual wank over porn videos or some drunken snog in the corner.” Spike’s voice was rising. “We had full out beggin’ and screamin’ and nakedness with penetration SEX!” .

Xander stopped in his tracks. Spike took a deep breath. .

“And you said you loved me, Xan.” He ignored the dark warning on the face Xander now turned to him and repeated softly, “Xander, you said you loved me.”

“I was fuckin’ drunk Spike! God!” Xander felt hysterical tears rising in his throat. “God! I cannot believe this conversation! I can’t even remember what the fuck happened and now we’re having some sexual identity crisis. Geez, next thing you’re gonna wanna go on fucking Oprah! Fuck Spike! I WAS FUCKING DRUNK! IT DIDN’T MEAN ANYTHING! LET IT GO!” .

Spike blinked. He said very quietly, “But Xander, you said you loved me. You don’t just say that to people, no matter how much you’ve had to drink. I’ve known you for years, Xander. You just don’t do that.” .

Xander felt an incandescent rage building towards the vampire. He felt trapped. Behind him the reality of what had happened in the mausoleum. The violence and his need for it, more than the sex, was pressing forward a blackness that Xander felt desperately he had to escape. Before him stood Spike, confronting him with still more unbearable truths. Xander’s softness, his vulnerability. His fucking too big for his own good heart. What it would mean if he said he loved Spike, what it would mean if it were true. .

“I would never say that, Spike,” Xander said slowly in a thick ugly voice. “I would never say that, because it could never be true.” .

He took a step towards Spike, menacingly. “It could never be true Spike. No, not ever. Even if I were into men Spike, which I am not, I could never love you,” he hissed, “because you are not a man, Spike, are you? Sure you pretend to be a man, but you aren’t are you, you’re just a monster. A fucking freak.” .

Xander advanced on Spike. Some part of his mind was screaming in pain. He didn’t know anymore what was causing the pain, it just went on and on. The look on Spike’s face was like a knife in that pain. He couldn’t tell if it was causing it or if it would be the tool to cut it out. .

“Xander, stop,” Spike pleaded. .

“Just an animal, “ growled Xander. “A fucking heartless freak. Who are you to tell me what I really am? Who are you to tell me to be honest with myself? What about you, Spike? Why don’t you take a look sometime into that fucking lucid mirror of yours? Oh crap!” Xander slapped his head angrily, “you can’t look in a mirror, can you Spike? Because you are invisible. Because you don’t exist.” .

“Stop it, Xander,” Spike demanded. .

“Dead thing,” spat Xander. “Corpse.” He deliberately turned his back on Spike and made to walk off. “Who could ever love you…”.

“No!” yelled Spike. “No!” He felt it all coming back again. The desperate isolation and loneliness. The aching hopelessness. Cold and outside. Time streaming by, meaningless. “No,” he sobbed. “No.” He whispered, “You said you did.” .

But Xander had walked away. .

. *********************************************************.

Spike followed Xander home from a great distance. He followed to assure himself that nothing attacked the man, but he no longer had the courage to get within speaking distance of him. Xander let himself into his apartment without looking around. He just walked in and slammed the door. .

Spike did not see Xander again for five years. .



Chapter Eleven

AUTHOR’S NOTE: FLASHBACK IS OVER, WE ARE NOW IN THE PRESENT

All houses have an abandoned air about them the day after a party. No matter how tidily the hosts have cleared away the debris, there is always a sense of time having swept through and left behind emptiness.

Xander sat in the Summers’ living room and felt like the only survivor of some alien invasion. There were bits of confetti here and there. A wine glass had kept itself hidden behind a picture on the mantel. He wiggled and found some rice under his right leg on the seat cushion. The house was silent. He was feeling weak and shaky and exhausted. He had rummaged through the kitchen, found orange juice in a carton, and sat on the sofa steadily drinking the whole thing down. He imagined the benefit to his immune system to be something like pumping air into a leaking tire. Might get him down the road a few more feet but then what?

There was the thump of feet on the stairs, and Xander looked up and saw Willow.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he answered. They looked at one another. Then Willow was coming across the floor and he was rising to his wobbly feet, and she just dove onto him, and he folded her into his chest so firmly she made that little ‘oof’ squeak. They just stood there like that for a minute. “Wills,” said Xander huskily, burying his face in her hair.

“Mmrflwnlk,” she said into his shirt.

Xander arched his head back and looked at her. Willow raised an abashed and teary face.

“Welcome home, dork,” she said, and snuffled. She stood back, wiping her eyes. “You hungry? I’m cookin’.”

“Then I’m eatin’.”

************************************************************

It was weird to be in this kitchen, sitting at this island, with Willow bumping pans and bowls around, talking a mile a minute. Xander sipped coffee and felt ….odd. He felt like Xander inside of some old and sick person’s body.

“…transferring title. So Dawn and I both can avoid all the escrowy badness…”

Willow was pulling ingredients from cabinets with the assurance of familiarity. She whirled about smiling, “and voila, Casa Summers is transformed into Casa Rosenberg!” She paused, and peered at Xander. “Xan?”

Xander was staring at a napkin ring holder next to the stove. It was the cutout silhouette of a cat. He had made it in woodshop to give to his mother, and at the last moment had decided to give it to Joyce. It had been his first project; he was very proud of it, and he wanted someone to gush over it, not just toss it aside. Joyce had dutifully gushed, and immediately put it in a place of honor. It was still there. But Joyce was not. And he realized suddenly that he had been sitting here the whole time waiting for Buffy to walk through the door. Hopefully in those little flannels with the bunnies. And those fuzzy slippers. His eyes filled with tears.

“Xander?” Willow gently took the coffee cup from his now shaking hand and set it down. She petted his shoulder unhappily. “Xander, what’s wrong?”

Xander shook his head helplessly. He could feel it all coming down on him. Somewhere back in time, there had been a young man who had wanted to do something to help. A young man with a very clear sense of good and evil. He remembered that he had existed, but could not find him anywhere in the corruption that was his body, or the confusion that was his mind. He wondered sadly if that young man had ever been real, or if he had been just another stupid lie he had told himself. Willow wrapped her arms around him and rested herself against his back. She gently rocked back and forth, and he let himself relax back into a bit, let himself feel that undeserved comfort. He patted her hands, clasped across his chest, and worked to control his tears.

“I’m good, Wills,” he croaked. “Just had an attack of nostalgia, ya know.”

He felt Willow release him, and looked up when she leaned against the counter near him. She crossed her arms and regarded him. Xander suddenly became eerily aware that he was being studied by a very powerful Wiccan with a lot of Earth Goddess type wisdom in her.

“No, Xander,” she said seriously, “I think you need to tell me what’s really wrong.”

*************************************************************

Spike lay on his back on Joyce’s old bed and listened to the house waking. He knew if he didn’t rise soon, Dawn would be in here. Making him zip a blouse, fasten a clasp, open a stubborn jar. She would prowl about the room, kicking clothing and distastefully announcing that he was a pig. She would criticize his cd collection. She would whine and complain and generally drive him up the bleeding wall until he roused himself and came out. It is what she had been doing for over five years. And it was very much like the treatment he had received from Buffy before her; “Spike, I need to slay a demon. Spike, do you ever clean this crypt? Spike, I know it’s hard for an old guy like you to keep up with things, but they actually make clothes now in colors other than red and black.”

Spike had caught on to the trick early on, but he still played. He wondered why he would get out of bed after today. He wondered if he would bother getting out of bed after today.

He stood up and scratched at the dry flakiness on his chest. A shower. And then blood. One event at a time, he told himself grimly. He heard Giles’ voice in the hallway and realized that meant that Xander was probably still somewhere here in the house. He noted the little flutter of anticipation in his belly and shook his head sadly. “Spike, you are a bloody fool,” he muttered, trudging into the master bathroom. He paused before the sink and looked at the mirror. You are invisible. He gave the mirror the two-finger salute and stepped into his shower.

***********************************************************

He could hear the whelp in the kitchen with the Witch before he even came down the stairs. He thought briefly of turning around and heading back to his dark bedroom, but decided he had to do this eventually and at the moment he needed blood. Red met him as he entered. Her face was like thunder and she paused as if to say something to him, then seemed to change her mind and kept going. Spike walked as casually as he could into the kitchen.

“Mornin’,” he grunted nonchalantly, heading straight for the fridge without glancing at the man sitting there.

“Spike.” Xander’s voice sounded like hell, Spike noted. What comes of drinking too much, he supposed.

“Yeah,” he said without turning, head still in the fridge. He pulled out a couple of bags from the back and checked the expiration dates. Dawn, the compulsive housekeeper from another dimension, always marked his bags with expiration dates. She fussed if he didn’t check them.

Behind him Xander made a gargly noise, like he was trying to clear his throat. “Erm, Spike, about last night..”

Spike reared back in surprise and halted in his journey to the microwave. He turned and stared at Xander. The man looked pretty hard done by. His eyes were red and his face was puffy. He was as white as, well, as white as a vampire almost. “Yeah?” Spike managed to get out.

“I was pretty drunk.”

Oh. Right. Spike studiously looked away and turned back to the microwave. He slammed the bags in and stood waiting for them to heat. “Sure ya were,” he growled over his shoulder.

Xander couldn’t think of what to say. He wanted to tell Spike that he was sorry, but thought the word was so woefully inadequate that it was insulting. He wanted to say ‘last night was different than the other times, Spike’, but thought that would sound ludicrous considering how much like the other times last night had been. He wanted magic words to come into his mind. Magic words that would give him another chance. A chance for what he couldn’t even be sure himself. He stared at the vampire’s stiff and angry back and wished Spike would speak.

The microwave beeped and Spike whipped the bags out, dumping them expertly into a cappuccino-sized mug. “Don’t worry about it, Harris,” he said gruffly. He turned and gave Xander a hard look. “You probably had quite a bit to drink.”

“Yeah, I did,” Xander said eagerly.

“So fucked up you didn’t know what you were doing.”

Xander looked at Spike. There was something going wrong here. “I was fucked up…” he began unsurely, “I was…”

“I’m sure you can’t remember a bleedin’ thing,” Spike said with a sneer.

Xander couldn’t move. He watched Spike finish his blood, rinse the mug and put it in the drainer. The vampire stalked towards the door, but stopped before exiting, and turned to face Xander.

“Don’t worry about it, Harris. Whatever happened, you were drunk. Whatever you did, I’m sure it didn’t mean anything.” And Spike stomped off.

***********************************************************

Rupert Giles reflected that, for a relatively young man, he had spent most of his life feeling very old. He had been just thirty when Buffy Summers had first come to Sunnydale. Just barely begun in his career and wonderfully excited at this great opportunity. To Buffy and her friends, however, he had seemed venerable at best, ludicrously out of touch at the worst. And his job had so completely consumed him that he had had little time and few opportunities for mature companionship. So he often saw himself as they saw him. Stuffy. Humorless. Pompous. And old.

After Buffy’s death he had, much to his discomfort, found himself somewhat famous amongst the younger watchers. His advice was frequently requested, if infrequently followed, and he had actually heard himself quoted amongst the younger men on more than one occasion. The whole thing made him feel so archaic, he was surprised he didn’t creak when he walked.

But what really made a man feel old, thought Rupert Giles sadly, was all the never-ending sorrow. He was forty-seven years old and he was exhausted by sorrow. His sorrow rose with the sun, reaching across a town in which loved ones once had walked but did no more. His sorrow set with the moon that had seen horrors only Rupert Giles was left to remember. He felt he had spent so much of his adult life in mourning.

He gazed at Maurice, sitting across the oaken library table from him, and Rupert Giles felt very old.

“They never even knew what she was,” Maurice said heavily.

“Perhaps that’s for the best.”

“Just a child. To them, still, just a child.” Maurice looked at Giles pitiably. “Somehow that just made it worse.”

“You were very kind to them, Maurice. You protected them from so much pain.”

Maurice looked away. Haunted eyes searched the bookshelves, “I couldn’t protect her.”

Giles straightened up. He reached across the table and grasped the younger Watcher’s wrist. “Maurice, there was nothing you did not do. You trained her well. You gave her the tools and the knowledge she needed to do her job.”

“Did I?” Maurice asked himself more than Giles. “Did I really? I had no experience; there was so much I did not know. What if there was something important? Something I did not stress? Something I should have done? Something I should not have?”

“Stop it, Maurice!” said Giles harshly, and at the man’s stricken look, continued, “You can only drive yourself mad asking those questions. There is no answer to them.”

Maurice looked down and rubbed his hand roughly across his eyes. “You should have seen her mother at the funeral, Rupert. God, what have I done! She was only a little girl!”

“I know.”

“An innocent little girl!” And Maurice laid his head on his arms on the table and wept for his Slayer.

And Rupert Giles stroked the man’s arm and thought about all the sunrises and all the moonsets and was very, very old.

************************************************************

“You’ll have to speak to them again.”

“I have, Willow. I’ve spoken to them repeatedly. They are adamant.”

“Well then, maybe I should speak to them.”

“I hardly think the Council would take kindly to being told what to do by a Witch. No offense,” said Giles hastily, at Willow’s look.

“Well, maybe they won’t like it,” said Willow nastily. She put her hand on the glass. It was the waning of the full moon still, so Rupert could see the mild glow of power arcing around the Wiccan’s hand. “But maybe they’d just better do it anyway.”

Giles sighed. Willow looked at him belligerently for a minute, then her shoulders drooped and she lowered her hand. “It’s so wrong, Giles,” she said.

“It could be argued that it was never right to begin with, Willow,” said Giles gently.

“Pish! I hate that Watchery evil is evil and good is good bigotry, Giles. It’s so… It’s so limiting!”

“Well, you can see why they would be a little bit less flexible in this case. Angelus was a tragic mistake.”

“But Spike is completely different.”

“Of course. But they don’t know Spike.”



Chapter Twelve

Xander miserably packed his bag. After his little gut-wrenching confession to Wills, and then that pathetic non-conversation with Spike, he had slunk back to his room and spent the rest of the morning there, alternately sulking and kicking himself. He was feeling really crappy at this point. Partly from excessive self-flagellation. Partly from lack of exercise and air. And partly from hunger. His appetite for Willow’s organic waffles with strawberries had flagged considerably after Spike’s dramatic exit this morning. Xander figured that he had consumed perhaps one egg, half a waffle and a quart of orange juice.

The alcohol working its way through his liver and kidneys wasn’t helping either.

He could hear voices downstairs and figured the ‘safety in numbers’ rule would make this as good a time as ever. He slid down the stairway as quietly as possible and saw Dawn and Bill in the entryway with luggage. Dawn was methodically announcing items and checking them off a list. Bill was dutifully lugging said items out the door. Willow’s voice was rising in the kitchen, instructing someone to do something as well. Spike was nowhere to be seen.

Xander slunk into the entryway. “So, you two taking off now?”

Dawn looked up. She was fresh and pretty in a light blue suit, her eyes and cheeks ablaze with excitement. “Hey Mr. Sleepyhead,” she said, “I wasn’t going to leave without telling you.”

“Yeah,” said Xander, “I know Dawnie. Just had to get something to eat.” He sidled towards the kitchen, trying unobtrusively to check for lurking vampires.

“Oh, Xander! I should have fixed you something,” said Dawn apologetically. She gestured helplessly at her list. “Honestly, breakfast was scheduled. I don’t know, the time just slid away.” Her eyes danced towards Bill, who had re-entered the house. He swept an arm around her and grinned down at her greedily.

“Hi,” he growled. He nuzzled her neck. “Missed you.” Dawn giggled happily.

Xander shook his head and slipped into the kitchen. Willow was there with two young women Xander thought he recognized from the ceremony the night before. They were handling items on a large leather tarp spread across the island counter. Willow was apparently enumerating in Latin; Xander surprised himself by recognizing the language, and the young women repeated the words after her.

She glanced up at him briefly and sternly, and went back to her lesson.

“Dulce. Nauseam? Veritas Lux. Mutantur. Fabas. Deus et natua faciunt. Lacrimae rerum Fumo. Volat. Alright now. Pax vobiscum.”

Xander opened the refrigerator and studied the contents suspiciously. He assumed that many of the foil-wrapped packages were leftovers from the night before, but he suspected that there might be some Wiccan ingredients bumping around in there as well. With the Latin buzzing in the room behind him, he didn’t even want to touch anything remotely magical. Who knew what kind of demonic entity might be chasing him across the front lawn if he did? He went for a relatively normal looking carton of milk. He stood looking out the kitchen window, guzzling the milk down. Outside was another bright sunny day. Obtuse, optimistic, Southern California weather, he thought grumpily. Where’s a dense fog when it’s warranted?

“You have to eat more than that, don’t you?” Willow had stopped and come up behind him. As the young women rolled up the tarp and carried it off, she re-opened the refrigerator and started pulling out packages. “Nutrition. Exercise. Medication. Right?” She slapped the items down on the counter and brought out a plate. Xander flinched a little, watching her.

“Moderate life style?” said Willow, glaring pointedly. Xander didn’t answer. She continued preparing his plate; her movements spoke volumes of upset. Xander felt the guilt wash over him again.

“How long?” asked Willow quietly as she fussed with a chicken leg.

“Since diagnosis?” Xander cleared his throat unsteadily. “Little over a year.”

“What’s your t-cell count?”

“Around 300.”

Willow’s hands stilled. “That’s terrible,” she said gravely. “What’s your viral load?”

“Whoa Wills,” Xander attempted levity, “someone’s been doing her homework!”

Willow rounded on him fiercely. “Do you think I’m stupid Xander?” she enunciated carefully. “Do you think all this,” she waved her arm dramatically, “is just some sleight of hand?”

Xander made a show of looking around the kitchen. “Uh, Wills, I assume you’re talking about something other than ceramic tile, ‘cuz…”

Willow slammed her hands down on the counter. “I’m a healer, Xander! Do you think that means I sit around changing rats to girls, and boys to toads? Do you think I spend my time doing love spells for silly teenagers and middle-aged housewives? Do you?”

“Figured you were pretty busy doing that saving the world from evil thing, Willow,” said Xander quietly.

“And I wouldn’t have time for my friends? Have I ever not had time for you, Xander?”

Xander toyed with a fork and pulled the plate slowly towards himself. “You can’t help this time, Wills,” he said without looking up. “This is pretty much permanent.”

Willow was silent. Xander picked at his food. He felt her standing next to him for some time, and then walking away. When he heard her stop in the doorway, he looked up involuntarily. She was giving him her saddest, darkest look. It made him cringe.

“We are all dying, Xander,” she said gravely. “Some of us just want it more than others.”

************************************************************

Spike stood in the dark of his room and wished he weren’t dead. He could hear the movements going on below him. The slow but irrevocable exodus of Dawn from his life. And he suddenly wished fervently that he could place this day in some context of finite time. He wished that he could mark this day down in a mental tally of a limited lifespan and think, ‘ah well, there’s that then. And now for the declining years’, or whatever philosophical little homily parents thought when their children left home. He suddenly wished he could look sadly forward to another decade, maybe two, and then nothing.

But Spike felt, instead, like an entity floating in the dark of space. No North and South or East and West. No time passing, or holding still. Just an infinite tumble through infinite nothing, while the tiny spaceship of Earth that had been his focus slowly withdrew and fell away. He looked around the empty gloom of his room at the few objects scattered there. They seemed bizarre and foreign. Affectations of an existence he shadowed, but could never fully enter. And as the world pulled away, Spike became more and more just the thing that he was. A consumer of blood. A demon inside a dead body, raging against a soul to be unchained. The fragile glass ball of love that held him, his desire for redemption, his need to do good, seemed sometimes as weak as an eggshell holding wild twisting evil inside it.

He felt the stillness suddenly below him and realized it was probably time. Well, he wasn’t going to send Dawn off remembering him like this. He shook himself fiercely and strode from the room.

*******

Dawn looked up and saw Spike sliding himself expertly past sunbeams to join her at the bottom of the stairs. He was swaggering and smirking and giving Bill the evil eye. She stepped into his arms without invitation and clung for a moment. She felt the hard chest and rocky arm muscles clench around her once, just tight enough, and then release. Spike held her away from him a little, and his eyes ran rapidly over her face. He touched her cheek very lightly. Then he glared at Bill.

“Oi, Pillock. You take care of her.”

“Right Spike.” Bill held his hand out for a firm shake.

“I hear one bleeding word of complaint …” said Spike gruffly.

“You won’t.”

Spike cocked his head and grinned. “She’s gonna drive you round the bend, ya know.” “Oh, yeah. I know it.”

“Hey!” Dawn shoved at them both.

“Right then.” Spike cleared his throat and waved them off, “Off with you then. Call and all that bollocks.”

“We will,” called Dawn as Bill ushered her out. “Bye Willow, Spike, Xander. Bye. Love you.”

Spike turned away, his vision so blurred he could not see. He found his way rapidly up the stairs and shut himself back into the darkness of his room. He threw himself face down on the bed and felt himself falling through the endless parabola of space and time.

**********************************************************

Xander had the nausea and diarrhea again. Probably from drinking so much the night before, he admitted to himself grudgingly. Who needed antiretroviral drugs when there was Bacardi? He had spent the majority of the afternoon in the bathroom. Occasionally making his way, on rickety legs, to the kitchen for more water, more juice. Willow shooting him dark looks, when he occasioned to pass her. She and Giles had some kind of business going on today. He thanked the Gods for it. Figuring he would otherwise be under Willow’s interrogatory lamp.

He was extremely aware of the closed door at the end of the hallway. Spike had shut himself in after Dawn’s departure, and hadn’t emerged since. Perhaps he was sleeping. Xander doubted it though. He had seen the vampire’s expression as he stumbled up the stairway. Xander was amazed at how the thought of Spike’s stricken face was making him ache. He wanted to do something. He couldn’t think what. But the thought of Spike huddled in that room alone and in pain was eating away at him. He shakily climbed the stairs from the kitchen, the next time, with a bottle of water clenched under his arm and a mug of warmed blood balanced in his hands. He made it to the door before he had to stop, breathless with fear. Xander stood there for the longest time. He imagined how little Spike would want him there. He remembered Spike’s face storming out of the kitchen. So much anger, so much disgust. He thought perhaps he should just put the mug down outside the door, knock and run off, like a villager leaving an offering at the cave of the oracle. He was standing there stewing in his cowardice, and self-disgust with said cowardice, when the door flew open and he was confronted with Spike.

“Harris, if you’re gonna stand outside the door, at least close yer bloody mouth. I can hear yer nasally breathing from a mile away.”

“Hey, Spike,” squeaked Xander weakly.

The two stood looking at one another. Xander proffered the mug of blood. Spike took the blood slowly. Sipped it.

“Thanks, Xander,” he said cautiously.

Xander bobbed his head nervously. He looked at the doorjamb. “Don’t want you getting hungry. Can’t have hungry vampires walking the halls at night.”

Spike regarded him. There was a long pause. “You worried, Harris?” Spike leaned his free arm against the doorjamb.

Xander looked at the wall next to Spike’s hand. “I could be worried,” he admitted slowly. “Don’t want any biting.”

There was a very long pause. Xander felt Spike studying him. Spike took another sip of blood from the mug and shifted slightly.

“Like I’d bite you,” he said slowly.

“Oh you would. You would. I’m moist and delicious.” He looked Spike straight in the eye. The vampire stared back at him without speaking.

“Yeah,” said Spike. “You been drinking, Harris?”

“No, Spike, that’s not right,” said Xander as if to an idiot, “you always forget your line.” He kept looking steadily at Spike.

Spike stepped back a bit from the doorway. “Yer not drunk?”

Xander held up his bottled water. “I have had nothing today but water. And juice. A little crow. Some humble pie,” he muttered to himself.

“I don’t wanna understand all the weird shit you eat, mate,” said Spike, one eyebrow raised.

“Whoa, and that is coming from you?” Xander looked down for a minute. “So,” he said with a tremendous effort. “You gonna ask me in?”

Spike looked at him. “You sure you ain’t drunk?”

“I am as sober as a judge,” swore Xander.

“Well, come in yer honor,” said Spike, a smile beginning on his face, “or should I just call you ‘nummy treat’?”

“You can call me Mr. Harris,” said Xander, stepping in. He looked around the room. “Spike, I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Fuck you, Mr. Harris.”

“I swear you are the Martha Stewart of vampires.”

“It just sickens me that I know what yer talkin’ about.”

**********************************************************

Willow stood on the porch and watched the moon. Some time ago, she had begun to think of the moon and Tara as the same entity. Perhaps because she spoke to them both. Maybe because, as her understanding of her power increased, and she began to feel its waning and waxing as part of that cycle, that presence she had always identified peculiarly as Tara, which waxed and waned on a cycle as well, had become blended in her mind; so that when she spoke to the moon, she felt she was speaking to Tara, and when she gazed at the moon, she felt the warm loving gaze of her lover shining down on her as well.

Tara was waning, and Willow felt the ebb particularly this evening. The last few days had been intensely draining. She had had to absorb so much energy, give away so much power and protect so many, she felt thin with exhaustion. She didn’t want to have this meeting with Giles and Maurice. She could feel the younger Watcher’s grief and sickness like a sucking draw from the house. It felt like it could pull the pith from her bones. She looked down the street and was relieved to see Giles approaching. Whether intentionally or not, Giles gave her strength. It must be the warlock in him, but sometimes, Willow thought, Giles felt like a woman.

“You look like something otherworldly tonight, Willow,” he said warmly. He drew her arm into his without asking, and accepted the weight she leant on him easily.

“I hope you mean that in a Venusian sex goddess way, and not some hell-dimensiony wrinkly skinned way.”

“Of course.” Giles rang the bell. “Though I’ve always thought the Hecate aspect had its charms.”

“You would,” laughed Willow, feeling a little of the stress leave her.

The door opened. Maurice stood looking stiffly at them for a minute, then seemed to recall what was required of him, and stepped aside. Willow did not miss the glitter as his glance passed over her. Maurice held with the old school Council belief that witches were suspect allies in the war against evil. He was never comfortable in her presence, and his emotional fragility obviously made him less so. It would make it just that much more difficult for Willow to give him what he needed.

“I made tea,” said Maurice awkwardly. He waved vaguely towards his living room.

Willow brought a bundle out from her skirt. “I brought tea biscuits,” she said smiling.

Maurice gave her a wary look and stood regarding the offering without moving, until Willow withdrew the gift and swept off towards the kitchen. “I’ll just put them on a plate for you, Maurice,” she said sweetly.

Maurice nodded and walked back into the living room. Sat down wearily and vaguely began sorting through a pile of folders and typewritten papers. “I have my final reports here,” he said dully without meeting Giles’ eye. “I’ve forwarded the preliminaries to the Council headquarters by fax.”

“Yes,” said Giles. “They’ve called me.”

Maurice ceased his fussing and leant his arms tiredly on his knees. He sighed. “I’m sorry Giles, I know your feelings. But this has to be seen less personally. The demon is dangerous.”

“Spike is not dangerous.” Willow came into the room. “Except to evil demons.”

Maurice bristled. “You may feel comfortable with him. You think of him as a human; you let him live in your homes. You keep blood for him in your kitchens! “ He shook his head. “You’ve lost your perspective. You’ve become too subjective.”

“There is nothing but perspective, Maurice,” said Willow sternly, “and subjectivity is what makes us more than fleshy computers.”

“You know what I’m talking about,” said Maurice testily. Willow sat next to him and lay her hand gently on his.

“I know you’re going through too much, right now,” she said as kindly as she could. “I know that you are a man who wants to do what’s right.” Maurice pulled his arm away. Willow sighed. “When we have pain, it seems that everything is so clear. I know. I remember.”

“Thank you for the philosophy lesson, Mistress Willow,” said Maurice coldly. Willow looked at him sadly, then she looked to Giles for help.

“We didn’t come to argue with you, Maurice,” said Giles slowly. “We were hoping you would consider sending an addendum to your report. The Council should be aware of all the good Spike has done, they …..”

“What good has he done? He distracted Brandy, he tired her when it was unnecessary, his presence was a continual irritation.” Maurice shakily straightened his papers and gathered them up. “And even if he were stable and helpful at this time, wasn’t that the argument put forward regarding that other souled vampire, Angelus?”

“Yes,” said Giles regretfully.

“I seem to recall it was you people who supported his usefulness to the Council as well.”

“It’s true,” Giles said unhappily. Willow looked from him to Maurice. “That was totally different,” she protested.

“How is it different, Mistress?” hissed Maurice. “The soul drove him mad. How will you prevent the same thing happening with this Spike creature? He seems partially insane already,” he added as an afterthought.

Willow and Giles were silent. Giles sat down slowly on the sofa. He looked very tired. “I found Cordelia, you know.” He looked at Maurice. “A young woman I knew. She was one of the people working with Angel.” He looked back down at his hands. “I found her where he had imprisoned her. She had been tortured for some time…” he drifted off.

Willow took a deep breath. The pain in the room was making it hard to breath. “Maurice, we respect your grief.”

“Thank you,” Maurice said with bitterness. “I wish you would have left me to it.”

Willow stood with a great effort. “Giles, I think I should leave.” Giles made to take Maurice’s arm but was rebuffed. He stood also. “I’ll walk you home, Willow,” he sighed.

They left Maurice staring at his paperwork on the coffee table.

“He was so attached,” said Willow achingly, “his pain is almost unbearable.”

“His attachment was a problem, I think,” said Giles, “his is the pain of a man with too much unresolved.”

He put an arm around Willow. “I don’t think it’s something that can be healed easily. Even by you.”

**********************************************************

“I don’t believe you.” Xander was laughing helplessly. He was lying on his back near the fireplace, pounding on the floor with one hand while wiping the tears from his face with the other.

“Hey! Warrior for Truth and Light here, whelp! I do not lie,” said Spike, with one virtuous hand over his heart. He was leaning against the balcony doorjamb. The smoke from his cigarette fanning outside. “That glop was stuck so badly to those precious boots of hers, every step she took sounded like a giant elephant fart! But she wouldn’t let anyone cut them off. So stomp stomp , all across the parking lot she goes.”

“God! God! I wish I’d seen it!”

“Oh, luv, ask anyone in Sunnydale! Half the bleedin’ town saw it! She was so embarrassed I thought she’d stake me just outta spite. ‘Cept she couldn’t get to me in those damn gloppy boots.”

“Poor Buffy,” wept Xander, hiccupping, “she was always so worried about what everybody thought.”

“Yeah. Well,” Spike flicked his ash, sobering, “’s cuz she cared so much, pet.” He smiled to himself sadly. “Wasn’t her strength that made her so hard ta beat, ya know. Was her heart.”

Xander rolled onto his stomach and studied Spike. Until this night, he hadn’t heard the vampire speak of Buffy since her death. “She was special.”

“Yeah.” Spike was looking out on the balcony. He still had a soft smile on his lips. Moonlight and streetlight glowed on pale, flawless skin, casting dark shadows under the severe cheekbones. Xander allowed himself to enjoy the view for a moment. His eyes swept over the profile to those pink lips. He had a mouth like a little boy, Xander thought, in a sudden agony of attraction. He wiggled uncomfortably on the hard floor and tried to distract himself. He looked at the empty fire grate.

“You ever light a fire?” He looked over at Spike. The vampire was regarding him speculatively, his eyes wary. Oh God, thought Xander, he can smell that I want him.

“Not really wanting to risk it, Xan,” Spike said slowly. He looked down and carefully stubbed out his cigarette. “Might think it’d be nice sometimes. Might be nice all that warmth. But not a temptation I can afford.” He rolled his head back against the wall and looked at Xander through narrowed eyes.

“It might be worth the risk,” Xander said, feeling the meaning of each word, “if you think about what you’re doing first. If you’re careful.”

“Yeah,” said Spike thoughtfully. He looked back out at the moonlight on the balcony. “Well, I haven’t had many good experiences with fire, mate.”

“It can be really beautiful. And comforting sometimes.” Xander heard his voice sounding girlish and stopped.

Spike was gazing at him with so many emotions skittering across his face, Xander couldn’t track them. Fear, he saw. Distrust. Of course. Maybe something else? God. Please.

“Moth to the flame, I think,” said Spike.

“Yeah,” said Xander, feeling suddenly miserably unhappy. “You’re probably right.” He forced himself to sit up. Looking away from Spike and into the empty grate. “Seems a shame,” he murmured.

“Yeah, well, see the problem with fire.” Spike had risen and was walking around the room slowly. “The problem with fire is, it just doesn’t know what it’s doing.” He stopped in the middle of the room, looking at Xander. “Ya know, you can’t just say to fire, ‘uh listen mate, I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me’; it just doesn’t care. It doesn’t know what it is,” said Spike softly. “It just burns.”

Xander looked up at Spike from the floor; the vampire seemed so far above him. And Xander was a man at the bottom of a well reaching up. “I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me?” he said in a wavering voice.

Spike remained motionless. “You can’t say that, Xander.”

“No,” Xander said slowly, hoping Spike couldn’t see how badly he was shaking. “No. But I can say that I’ll try, Spike.” He looked at the other man pleadingly. “I’m trying, Spike.”

Spike was desperate. How many times do you fall from a tree before you say you’ll not climb it again? How could he trust this man? Xander was trying to read his face. What he saw there must have discouraged him, because he looked at the floor suddenly. Ran his hand over his hair.

“I know. I know I don’t deserve...” Xander whispered, his voice choked. “Christ, what a loser.” He wrapped shaking arms around his knees tightly, trying to steady himself, then glanced up and gave Spike that self-deprecating smile, eyes bright. “What a loser I am. Huh?”

Spike could swear he felt his unbeating heart wrench in his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “A real tosser.” Xander gave a tight little nod of agreement, closing his eyes. He turned half away. He looked, to Spike, like a tiny ball of unhappiness sitting there before the empty fireplace. Spike could see how Xander was shaking, could hear his heart pounding hard. He had an overwhelming urge to step forward and just wrap his arms around Xander. But he didn’t. He was too afraid.

Xander was at a loss for the hundredth time that day. He felt he was caught up in some dense dark shrubbery. Everywhere he pushed just made the darkness more difficult and he didn’t know which way to turn to find his way out. He hadn’t the strength anymore. He was sure it was going to overwhelm him and just swallow him up.

“Spike,” Xander said helplessly. With horror he felt tears squeezing from his eyes and down his cheeks. He swiped at them angrily with shaking hands. “God. Spike.”

And Spike was holding him. Holding him up. Surrounding him and supporting him. Strong hard muscles wrapped around him. Soft voice in his ear, cool hands firmly stroking his hair, shushing him, whispering his name, whispering that it was all right. That everything was going to be all right. Xander turned towards that voice, pressed himself into those arms, and felt himself pulled out of the dark place. Felt something cool and clean and bright and he wrapped his arms around it and didn’t let go.

Spike held Xander in his arms and cradled him. He lifted the man to the bed, sat down and let Xander bury himself against him. He murmured his name over and over, trying to heal whatever this was with his voice, trying to soothe whatever was wrong with his hands. Xander was shaking and hot. Spike ran his hands over and through Xander’s hair and Xander turned his face into the touch. His lips sought the palm of Spike’s hand and mouthed at it blindly, and Spike drew in sudden unneeded air. Xander’s mouth came around Spike’s thumb and suckled it, and Spike moaned and bent into Xander’s body and pulled Xander’s face around to his and fastened Xander’s mouth to his lips.

Xander’s mouth was chocolate and salt. Spike drank the taste of Xander, his tongue gently caressing the other man’s. He moved his lips over Xander’s, relishing the tang of tears, the slight bristle of beard like sandpaper on his upper lip. He could feel Xander’s heat and he could feel him shaking. He pulled back and looked into feverish, wet eyes. “Okay?” he whispered hoarsely.

“Maybe.” Xander stared back at Spike, stunned. A trembly smile pricked the corner of his mouth. “Never done that before, ya know.”

Spike regarded with affection the lunatic in his arms. “Xander,” he sighed, “I was there, pet.” “Yeah, but I wasn’t. Not really,” Xander said sadly. “First time I ever … you know. Sober.” He grimaced at his own stupidity and glared at Spike’s chin.

Spike folded the warm body closer to his own. He buried his face in Xander’s neck just below his ear and just breathed in. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.” He pulled back and smiled. “Kind of a first for me too, all this.”

“I’m the only guy you ever…uh, you know. I’m the only one?” Xander asked surprised.

“Well, yeah.”

Xander indulged in a little masculine preening. “Not even Angel?”

“Gah!” Spike recoiled, then shivered “Eeew, Xander. You want anything to ever happen in this bed, you will NOT mention that name in that context again. Bleh!” He shivered again reflexively.

“Is something going to happen in this bed?” Xander asked shyly.

Spike stilled. A little frown line appeared above his nose. “Dunno.” Vulnerability warred with the lust in the wide blue eyes. “Is it?” he asked huskily.

Xander studied him seriously. “Shouldn’t be a big deal, ya know,” he said slowly. “Be stupid of me to pretend anymore.” He wrapped his arms around Spike’s back a bit further and nuzzled the vampire’s neck with his head. “Can’t resist you.”

Spike didn’t respond to the cuddle. “’S a big deal to me, Xander,” he said in a low voice.

Xander pressed his face against Spike’s neck and the vampire closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feel of the silky hot hair against his skin. He felt Xander shudder and press into the contact. “Xander,” Spike whispered, “stop a minute.”

“Please.” Xander wrapped his arms around Spike’s neck and pulled him close. His mouth wrote a line of warm, wet kisses up the vampire’s neck. “Please, Spike.”

“Xander, wait.” Spike pushed back, creating a space between their bodies. Xander was wriggling against him, arousal pouring from him. Spike shook himself a bit to clear his head. “Xander, I can’t do this again.”

“What?” The face that turned up to his, muzzy with desire, pupils dilated in black eyes, mouth slightly open, cheeks flushed, was almost more than Spike could resist.

“I can’t do this, Xander,” Spike ground out. “Not like this. I can’t just … I can’t be with you … not just … not like this.”

“Oh.” Clarity returned slowly to Xander’s eyes. Embarrassment began seeping in. “Oh, yeah. Christ.” Xander straightened up a bit, pulled away from Spike. Sheepish grin, no eye contact. “Course. Fuck. What was I thinking. Sorry,” he finished quietly.

“You said no already,” Xander admitted ruefully. “I just wasn’t listening.”

“I didn’t say no,” said Spike. “I said I can’t. Not like before, at least.”

Xander looked at him.

Spike took a deep, unnecessary breath. Bit the bullet. “I. . . I love you, Xander.” He stopped, overwhelmed. “I can’t just fuck you,” he forced out in a tight voice.

Xander sat for a moment. He felt those words sinking into him with all the weight they implied. He waited for the shock. And waited. He looked at Spike. The vampire sat dejectedly next to him. He looked utterly defeated. Xander’s heart turned over. He scooted just a little closer. Spike looked at him. Xander carefully raised an arm and wrapped it once more around Spike. “Okay,” Xander said slowly. “Let’s do it that way, then.” He leaned towards Spike and brushed his lips seductively over the vampire’s chin, ghosted his mouth. “Let’s make love,” said Xander.




Chapter Thirteen

Spike let Xander push him down onto the mattress. Xander leaned in and kissed him for a very long time, his tongue lazily mapping the inside of Spike’s mouth. Then Xander rose, and lay on his side next to Spike. He thoughtfully ran his hand down Spike’s chest. Chuckled. “No idea where to begin here.”

“The kissing part was working for me, pet,” Spike said from a dry throat, “we could do some more of that.”

So they did.

After a time, Xander found his hands wandering. They seemed to want to touch things. Xander let them. Happily surprised to find that the touching made him feel good, and caused Spike to make little sexy noises.

“How’re we doing here, buddy?” he murmured against Spike’s cheek.

“Mmmmxlt,” said Spike. He nuzzled Xander’s neck, licking over and over at the pulse point. “Warm. Nummy. Treat,” he said happily.

Xander laughed. “You make me sound like a Pop Tart.”

“Pet, you are NOT junk food,” said Spike. He slid one cool hand under the edge of Xander’s t-shirt and over a hard nipple. Xander shivered.

“Well,” he whispered. “You know you are what you eat.” He nimbly unbuttoned Spike’s shirt and slid it aside. Ran a finger down the vampire’s alabaster chest. It looked so smooth, he had to run his tongue over it as well. Spike moaned and slid his hand to gently clasp the back of Xander’s neck.

“Never tasted you before,” Xander said, as if to himself. “Tried to imagine it, couldn’t remember.” He ran his tongue in little circles around a pink nipple, watched it harden, gave it another lick, felt Spike shiver.

“You tried to remember?” Spike said, in a low emotional voice. Xander looked up at the suddenly vulnerable blue eyes. He felt the wave of tears threatening again, and bent to lap at the cool marble skin.

“No, I tried to forget.” Xander rested his forehead against Spike’s chest. He struggled against his emotions. “But I couldn’t stop dreaming of you…” his throat closed over the words. He touched his lips to Spike’s skin, feeling the vampire’s hand stroking his neck. “Used to dream of this…” whispered Xander. He rubbed his nose against Spike’s throat, wrote a little ‘u’ under the adams apple. “Used to dream and pretend I didn’t dream…”

“Missed you too, Xan,” Spike said in a tight whisper. Xander nodded and moved his head back up into a kiss. Spike grabbed his head and responded passionately, his tongue and lips devouring him. The kiss went on and on.

Xander pulled away, gasping. “Have to breathe!” he said, smiling and shaking his head. Spike saw tears glistening in the dark eyes, and smiled back.

“Too bad, mortal. How come you can talk non-stop for hours on end, but you can’t hold your breath for two minutes?”

“How come,” said Xander, grinning, “how come the hair on your head grows but your beard doesn’t?”

“How come you can read demonic languages, but can’t get into a college?”

“How come you have no circulation,” Xander whispered seductively, “but you can still get hard?”

Spike’s lustful eyes widened, and he grimaced with exaggerated exasperation. “Oi, you gotta ask your vampire jeopardy questions now Xan?”

“Gotta know these things, Spike.” Xander let his hand slide down to play piano over Spike’s cock. The vampire arched and smiled at him.

“Prick tease.”

“The best, bloodbreath.”

“I know it.” A shade of something flew through Spike’s eyes and Xander paused, his hand stilled. He lowered his head to Spike’s shoulder and felt the muscles there move as the vampire wrapped his arms around him. The difficult emotions began rising in Xander again, and he buried his head in Spike’s neck as the vampire rocked him. Xander mouthed the skin of Spike’s chin, and his hands began wandering again. “You’re so cool, Spike, and I’m so hot,” Xander said thickly. “I need to feel you. Need to feel your skin.”

Xander’s hands became more demanding. He yanked at Spike’s shirt and began pushing at the waistband of his jeans. Spike obligingly arched up and undid the buttons, wriggling the jeans down. Xander pulled impatiently at his own shirt murmuring, “Need to feel you. Need to hold you and feel you.”

They peeled the remainder of their clothing off desperately, flinging articles to the floor around the bed. Xander sat back and gazed at the naked vampire spread out before him. He was amazed at how his mouth watered at the sight. Spike lay wantonly spread across the dark sheets. His unnaturally white skin seemed to glow. As he arched seductively, the muscles in his abdomen tightened and rippled. His cock bobbed happily, already dripping, against his belly. Xander crawled up so that he was kneeling over it. “Oh look,” he whispered. “I found a toy for Xander.” He leaned over and licked along one side of Spike’s cock in a broad sweep, from the base to the tip. Spike squirmed and groaned, as much at the sight of Xander bent over him, as at the sensation.

“Not a toy,” growled the vampire, warningly. He thrust his hips suggestively. “It’s a working tool, mate.”

“Yeah? How do I work it?” Xander eased down on his belly between Spike’s legs. He ran a finger over the heavy length. “Oh Spike. Tsk. You’re all wet,” he said, his finger swirling dribbling precum over the head.

Spike groaned. He lay back on the mattress and gripped the sheets with both hands. “Clean me up, luv?” he suggested in a husky voice.

Xander looked up, met Spike’s eyes and slowly and deliberately lowered his mouth over the swollen head. He licked all around the edge and pulled back with a loud schlurp. “Yum,” he pronounced, never breaking eye contact. He wrapped his hand firmly around the base of the shaft and laved his tongue over the head again. Around and around, long firm wet strokes. “Yummy Spike pop,” said Xander, his eyes glittering up at Spike.

“God. Yeah,” breathed Spike, staring transfixed at this vision.

“Oh look. Its like a little turtleneck,” Xander murmured to himself. He played with the foreskin, first with his finger, then his tongue. Spike fell back and thrashed a bit, and Xander carefully held his hips still as he experimentally slid his tongue under the edge of the foreskin and circled Spike’s dick with his tongue buried there. Spike cried out. Xander pulled away with a triumphant slurp.

“Oh. I made you squeek,” said Xander happily.

“God, Xander,” Spike pleaded, “Please. Oh my sweet Christ. Pleasssse.”

“Begging is good, too,” said Xander calmly to himself. He wrapped his mouth firmly around Spike’s shaft and slid down as far as he could. His throat clenched suddenly around the thick intrusion, so he stopped and concentrated on relaxing, then slowly pushed a little further down. Spike was muttering above him, his hands wandering on the sheets. Xander carefully pushed another centimeter of dick down his throat, reached up and caught Spike’s hands in his. He placed them firmly on his head and sucked hard, looking up at Spike, who moaned and thrust involuntarily. Xander gagged again, then grabbed Spike’s hips and held them down. Xander was applying as much suction as possible now, sliding up and down the wet shaft, his tongue flicking rapidly across the head whenever he drew back. He was trying to imagine what his actions would feel like on his own dick, which was sympathetically hardening and throbbing. He shifted up on his knees and grabbed hold of it desperately, pulling hard while sucking Spike. The vampire gasped, when he looked down; saw his hands holding the dark head, the dark eyes staring up at him, while Xander sucked avidly on his cock and pulled himself off. He felt his balls tighten.

“Xander,” he pushed frantically at the silky hair, “Xander, I’m gonna cum,” he panted. Xander plunged yet further down his dick, his hand slid up and caressed Spike’s sac and Spike threw both hands out onto the mattress, arched his hips and came with a cry.

Xander gagged as the cool semen spurted into his throat. But he did not release or let up on the suction. Gallantly swallowing as much as he could, the rest filling his mouth and spilling down his chin. He felt Spike shiver with sensitivity and gently released him. His own cock was still hard and he was on the verge, desperately pulling and groaning. The sight of the satisfied vampire laying under him was driving him mad.

Spike’s eyes opened and he chuckled. “No no love. Stop that.” He pulled Xander down on top of him. “None of that while I’m here, Xan.”

Xander groaned, wriggled, twisted his hips and drove himself against Spike. Spike firmly pushed them up and over so that he was lying on top of Xander. He felt his cock beginning to harden again, and began a gentle friction against Xander’s length with his own. Xander writhed and moaned and clutched at Spike. He pulled Spike’s head down with one hand and kissed him avidly. Spike tasted his own jism in the man’s mouth. He carefully licked Xander’s face clean, while the other man grinned and wiggled against him. “You taste good, donchya Spike,” he said seductively. He thought again about sucking Spike off, and felt another wave of need wash through him. He wrapped his arms firmly around the vampire.

‘Closer,” he panted “Hold me closer.”

Spike arched and thrust, sliding his length with firm strokes against Xander’s, then leaning down to spread himself over Xander, burying his face in the silky hair, licking the sweaty face with an eager tongue. He was fully hard again. He glanced down quickly and saw his white swollen shaft rubbing against Xander’s cock, dark red with arousal. They were slippery with spit and precum, and Spike groaned at the sight. His hips picked up speed.

“Yeah,” whimpered Xander, matching Spike’s strokes. “Spike? Spike?” His hands seemed to grapple, mindless now, firmly caressing Spike’s back, kneading and rubbing Spike’s buttocks, pulling them into himself tighter and tighter. The rhythm between them escalating. “Spike?”

“Yeah,” Spike growled into Xander’s ear. “I’m here, Xander. I’m right here.”

“Hold me Spike,” Xander chanted, “don’t let go, don’t let go.”

He pushed, shuddering, up against the vampire over and over, as he repeated the words. Then froze and gasped. Spike felt warmth coating and slicking his own cock, and cried out with shock as the tsunami wave of another release crashed over him. He kept thrusting uncontrollably as Xander pressed against him, babbling, “don’t stop don’t stop hold me don’t stop.”

Gradually it subsided, and Spike fell into Xander. The two men lay together shaking, letting the post orgasmic high drift through them. Xander was still murmuring. “Spike?”

“What is it luv?”

“Hold on to me, Spike. Don’t stop holding on to me.”

“Never,” Spike whispered into Xander’s neck. “Never.”

Xander relaxed into the bed and Spike lay across him. As sleep began to take the mortal, Spike snagged a blanket and pulled it over them both.

*************************************************************

Spike was downstairs, staring bemusedly into the refrigerator when Giles found him. He had tucked Xander firmly under the blanket and nicked down to the kitchen for a quick feed. But his mind kept drifting to thoughts of Xander, distracting him as he attempted the simple task. He had just about decided to bugger the whole excursion and hurry back up to his warm human, when Giles appeared in the doorway.

“Ah. Spike.” Giles stopped, struck. Spike stood in the light of the refrigerator. Old faded jeans and a threadbare rockgroup t-shirt hung loosely on his slender frame. His hair stuck up in soft curls around his head, and wide cornflower blue eyes crinkled at the corners with humor. The ingenuous face he turned to Giles was filled with affection and trust. He looked like someone’s son searching the fridge for leftover pizza, not a one hundred and twenty year old multiple murderer. Giles grappled once more with the incongruity.

“Rupert!” said Spike, gesturing politely towards the blood bags, “Care for a cuppa?”

Giles laughed. It helped. He removed his glasses, effectively blurring the confusing image before him. “Spike, can I have a word with you?” “Sure man, sure.” Spike snatched a bag and tossed it in the microwave. He was eager to get back to Xander, but he could stop to hear the Watcher out. He leaned against the counter while the blood warmed and looked expectantly at Giles. “Whatcha want?”

“Perhaps in the living room?” said Giles, gesturing.

Spike’s eyebrow went up. “Watchery words, huh Rupert?” he said slowly. Then sighed. “Ah yeah, I gotta minute.” He removed his mug from the microwave, then followed Giles, reluctantly shuffling past the stairway leading back up to Xander, my Xander, he crooned to himself.

Willow was waiting in the living room. Oh buggering hell, Spike cursed to himself when he spotted her, Spikies been a bad vampire. “Look, Watcher,” he began, defending himself quickly, “Red.” He nodded, “if it’s about that little incident with the new Slayer, I swear I did not know…”

“It’s alright, Spike,” Giles interrupted gently, “it’s not about that.” He sighed and turned to the bar. Began mixing a drink. “Though in a way it is about that. And other things.”

Spike sat in a chair and looked from one to the other. Every instinct in his dead body was twitching and tingling. He had a strong, violent urge to bolt from the room, but from the expression on Willow’s face he guessed that had been anticipated. He set his mug down with a hand steady by strength of will and asked carefully, “Alright, you two, this ain’t my birthday, so whuts the surprise?”

Giles seated himself in the chair across from him. He offered a glass of Scotch to Spike. The vampire waved it aside impatiently. “I’ve been having some difficult communications with the Council all week, Spike,” he began reluctantly.

“What’d the wankers bugger up this time?”

“Well,” Giles rolled his glass between his palms, “they have had some concerns.” He forced himself to look at Spike. “They have had some concerns about you.”

Spike forced himself to stillness. “Don’t much like those pillocks having any thoughts about me at all, Rupert,” he stated quietly.

“No, I’m sure you don’t.” Giles noted the tension in the vampire’s hands and arms, as they lay still as death on the arms of the chair. He felt cold, fearful sweat prickling under his arms. He was extremely aware that the only thing between himself and a super strong, potentially raging demon, was a sorely tried soul and a warding spell Willow had grudgingly dropped over him.

“What’s this about, then?” Spike asked lightly. His tone made the hair stand up on Giles’ arms. He swallowed.

“Maurice has said some things.”

“Things.”

“And the whole incident with Angelus.”

“Angel?” Spike came forward in his chair, “What the hell have I got to do with that fucking madman?”

Giles gritted his teeth. “The Council is concerned,” he had to force himself to look Spike in the eye, “that history might repeat itself.” There was a stunned silence. Spike gaped at him; shock, outrage and finally fury on his face. “Rupert!” he cried, “Angel’s insane!”

“As have you been.”

“He’s a psychopathic killer!”

“As have you been.”

“But I have a soul now!”

“Angel had a soul. It didn’t stop him from torturing and murdering hundreds of innocent people,” continued Giles sadly.

“Fucking hell, Watcher, it’s not the same thing at all!” Spike was out of his chair now, pacing the room with long strides. “Angelus hated that soul! It was an abomination! It drove his demon mad. It was just a matter of time before Angel snapped …”

“The Council fears…”

“They think it’s the same with me?” Spike gestured to himself indignantly, “Rupert, my demon wanted this soul. I’m not seeking this redemption because of a curse; this path was not forced on me by some loopy gypsy. I chose this soul. I wanted it.” He stopped and looked in bewildered amazement from Giles to Willow. “Can’t they see the difference?” he pleaded, “Can’t they?”

“You are of the line of Aurelius…”

“Oh. Please.”

“You share the same demon as Angelus.”

“Bloody Buggering Fuck Watcher, can you not see, can none of you stupid idiots see, that there is more to a vampire than a demon inhabiting a corpse? I am nothing like Angel!” Spike began stomping about again, with increasing violence. Giles exchanged a concerned look with Willow. She nodded imperceptibly. Everything was under control, that nod said. Spike stopped. He looked at Willow closely. “Sooo…” he whirled and stared again at Giles. “What have the arseholes come up with as a fix?” His rage had apparently dissipated, but Giles felt himself tensing. Spike’s stance had become more subtle as he circled he and Willow, all feline grace. Giles saw Willow tensing slightly as she recognized the predator.

Giles rose slowly from his chair, prepared to keep Spike in the room, or run away, he wasn’t sure which. “They had two alternatives.”

Spike stopped, folded his arms and regarded him. “They’re givin’ me a choice.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Well? Cough it up Watcher.”

“The chip,” Giles got out. He made himself stand steady. “They want us to re-install the chip.”

Giles swore he could feel the chill anger emanating from the vampire.

“Or?” rumbled Spike

“Well, or a kind of exile, I suppose Spike.”

“Meaning?”

“You’d be on your own again. No more interaction with humans. Stay out of Dodge, I guess. The Slayer comes across you…”

“She stakes me,” Spike finished for him, flatly.

Giles looked down. “Yes.”

“How the fucking hell do they think I’ll live like that?” Spike enunciated slowly, “I can’t feed. I can’t. It would KILL me to feed. I can’t live with other vampires. I can barely stand demons. This FUCKING soul which meant everything when Angel had it, and seems to mean nothing when Spike has it, won’t let me.”

“Yes, I believe they’ve considered that.” Giles looked at Spike meaningfully.

Spike studied him. “They don’t care how I would live,” he guessed slowly, “since they’d have the Slayer after me immediately.”

“Probably,” admitted Giles tiredly.

“Nice.”

“Then the chip…” said Giles.

“The chip is NOT an option, Rupert!”

Giles looked up at Spike. “You really don’t have any other choices, Spike,” he explained carefully. “They really aren’t giving you another option.”

Spike hissed. Yellow flashed in his eyes, and Giles felt as though he was looking into the face of a one hundred eighty pound python. Spike swiveled his head and stared at Willow. Willow stared back. “How much mojo, Red,” Spike growled malevolently, “how much mojo does it take to hold a master vampire still while you force an aberration into his FUCKING BRAIN?!?!?” He advanced on her a couple of steps. Giles made to step forward, but Willow looked calmly back at Spike. The vampire seemed to be studying her, almost sniffing her. “How much mojo does it take to keep a master vampire from attacking?” he said cleverly. “How much does it take to keep him in a room?” He looked over towards the door, cocked an eyebrow. “Shall we find out?”

Willow regarded him calmly. “Bring it on, Mister,” she said.

Spike whirled and leapt and with vampire speed, left the room and vanished through the front door.

Giles watched him go, shocked. He spun about and stared at Willow. She was standing as before, looking at the empty doorway. She rolled her eyes at Giles.

“Oops,” she said, cutely.

***********************************************************

Spike ran. Like the hounds of hell were on his tail, like the four horsemen of the apocalypse were hunting him, like all the furies and Zeus himself would catch him, Spike ran. He was in the factory district within minutes, and only paused to scale a building. Brick dust flew from his feet as he ran straight up the side and flew across a narrow gap to the next rooftop. He whirled and in a great arc of black, leapt through space to a building across the road. He gained momentum again after that, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. Below him the denizens of Sunnydale trudged on slow, oblivious feet.

Spike lifted a motocycle from the parking lot of a bar on the edge of town. He would have to dump it soon, he knew. It would be too easy to find him with it. But it would give him even more of a headstart. He stopped himself at the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign. Pushed a cautious foot forward, testing the boundary. Nothing inhibited him. He bowed his head. “Thanks, Red,” he whispered, and gunned the engine. He shifted the gears straight into fourth and flew past the sign and down the highway in a squeal of smoke and hot rubber on pavement.

***********************************************************

Xander woke in a cocoon of warm wool. He struggled against the restriction and broke his arms free, feeling for vampire skin. Spike was missing, but Xander could feel the blanket snuggly encasing his feet and legs. He tucked me in, he thought delightedly. He rolled over and ran his hand across the cool pillow, snuggled into the indentation in the mattress. “Spike,” he murmured into the pillow, and the word made his stomach tingle and a warm ache throb in his crotch. “Spike?” Xander sat up, suddenly very much wanting his vampire. “Spike, where are you?” he whispered into the darkened room. He disentangled himself and slipped around the bed, retrieving clothes and pulling them on. In the dim light, he could see Spike’s duster flung across a chair. He would still be in the house then, Xander reasoned, and he padded out of the bedroom into the hallway. Sneaking in stocking feet, smiling to himself. Here comes the mighty vampire hunter, he thought giddily. He stalked down the stairs and stopped at the landing. Willow and Giles were standing in the entryway.

“I trust him, Giles,” said Willow calmly.

“Oh God, did you have to say that?” Giles exclaimed. “I only wish I could not remember how many times a woman has said that to me about a vampire.”

Vampire, registered Xander’s mind with alarm. “Hey guys,” he said cautiously. Willow looked up at him. Ouch. There was that dark look again. He tried to smile at her anyway. “Umm, who’s been trusting vampires?” he asked glibly. Willow’s glance lightened a bit.

“Hey, Xander.” She moved towards the kitchen. “Come down, I’ll make some dinner,” she called as she walked.

“Dinner?” Giles followed her gesticulating wildly. “How can you be worrying about dinner? We have set god-knows-what out there onto the world, and we are going to sit and eat dinner?”

Xander came behind him into the kitchen, peering around the house as he went. No Spike to be seen. He slid into a chair in the kitchen. “Uh, hey,” he said, as casually as he could. “Where’s Spike?”

Giles turned and pointed at Xander. “Exactly,” he said. Xander gave him the ‘huh?’ look. Giles turned back to Willow. “Have you thought about this decision, Mistress Rosenberg?” he said pointedly. “Aside from the advisedness of your actions this evening,” he waved his arm furiously at some unknown concept, “have you thought about the relationship between the coven and the Council, and how this could harm that alliance?”

“It won’t come to that, Giles,” said Willow, drawing a pan from the cupboard.

“When they hear that you deliberately set loose…”

“Excuse me, Rupert,” Willow set her pan down and turned towards the man, “how are they going to hear that?”

Giles sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Well, what will we tell them about Spike?” “Uh, Spike?” Xander piped up, a feeling of dread in his belly. “What’s going on with Spike?”

“Everything is going to be fine,” said Willow, turning back to her cooking. She spared a glance at Xander. “I’ll explain it over dinner,” she said briefly. She reached into a drawer and drew out a large fork, then began poking the thing in the pan fiercely. “Giles,” she said intently, “I told you. I trust him.”

“God! I beseach you to stop saying that!”

“But where’s Spike?” Xander asked meekly. Giles gave him a dark look and left the kitchen.

***********************************************************

Spike stood on a cliff overlooking the ocean, somewhere between Oxnard and Santa Barbara. The lights of a carnival wavered in the offshore winds on the boardwalk below him. Spike marveled at how much like the gaslights of a nineteenth century London borough, seemed the electrical lights of a town in twenty-first century America. It was all a matter of distance. The further he removed himself from things, the less distinct they seemed from one another, until the whole mortal coil blended together like some misfired bottle rocket.

Spike worked his shoulders in a circle, feeling the absence of his duster. He leaned dispiritedly against a tree and wished for a cigarette. He was hungry. The adrenaline of flight had worn off, and he had used a lot of energy to get here. He needed to feed, and he didn’t have any means to find blood. Any means but one, he thought, gazing down at the crowded carnival. He felt a gag of revulsion in his throat and knew he would not be eating this night.

He concentrated on planning a stategy for escaping the country. He purposely blocked all thoughts of humans, their blood, their warmth, their soft brown eyes. Spike shook himself roughly and dragged his bare foot harshly against something sharp on the ground. It helped him focus. Damn, he wanted his boots. He’d have to nick some tomorrow, he realized. He wished with a sudden intensity that he’d had five more minutes. To grab his duster and boots, to kiss Xander, to explain. Spike jerked himself away from that thought again, but it pursued him.

He leaned against the tree and saw Xander before him. His lashes still damp with tears, his eyes huge and awestruck by some emotion Spike dare not hope for. Spike would never see his own reflection in those soft dark depths, but he felt himself there. He felt himself there as something solid and real to which Xander clung. He had never felt more present in the world than he had on this night, he realized. The thought made him clutch his head, spin around and kick furiously at the tree with his bare foot. It didn’t hurt enough however, so he tried banging his head. That also was not enough. Spike hissed furiously to himself. “Food. Fucking food. Fucking fragile human food.” He punctuated the last words by slugging the tree furiously with his fist. Spent, he stood for a moment, looking down once more at the lights below. As brief as fireflies on a summer’s night, they were to him. Spike sighed, and turned to slide down the hill to where he had stashed the motorcycle. If he rode hard he might make it back before Xander woke up.



Chapter Fourteen

Xander was having a staring contest with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red. The bottle sat in the middle of the table and Xander felt that, while neither party had conceded defeat at this point, he had the definite advantage. He could see a small bead of moisture sliding down one side of the bottle. Yeah, he was making ol’ Johnny sweat.

The desire to break down, grab the bottle and just tip it back was so strong, Xander felt that the back of his throat was sticking to itself from thirst. He was barely attending to Willow and Giles’ conversation. His emotions were skating so wildly around inside him that he could not grab hold of one and just deal with it.

The primary sensation was shock. Xander was, sadly, accustomed to being in shock. And compared to his history of earth shaking occurrences, like when the beautiful girl whom you are about to kiss suddenly turns into a malevolent stinking corpse. Or like when the best friend of your entire childhood falls forward onto the stick in your hand and explodes into dust. Compared to those shocks, waking up to find that the person you had bared your soul to the night before was now a fugitive from justice, just barely registered on the Alexander Harris Richter scale.

Under the shock boiled the anger. Xander Harris was also familiar with, and relatively experienced in, anger. First, there was the comfortable and seemly rage at the faceless authoritarian Council who had demanded this action towards Spike. Xander could bite into that anger quite easily, no aftertaste there, except then there was the attached frustrated anger with Giles and Willow, for apparently letting it happen. Next was the uncomfortable anger he felt with Spike. For letting himself get in this mess, for being someone who would get in this mess. And finally, uncomfortably, there was the underlying anger at himself because he knew, somehow, this was also his fault.

But beneath this was the thing that kept Xander longing for the amber liquid in the bottle before him. Beneath this was the abandoned puppy, whimpering in the basement because he had been forgotten, tossed aside and forgotten, once more. Alone, afraid and wondering what he had done wrong. Xander stared into the eye of Johnnie Walker and quite suddenly cried ‘uncle’.

He was reaching for the triumphant whiskey when there was a thump of feet on the porch. Xander jumped up, nervy and excited, then crashed back to his seat in disappointment when one of Willow’s novices showed at the door.

“Mistress?” squeaked the newbie, shyly. Willow turned and frowned.

“Why are you here, Ani,” she asked, puzzled. “I’ve told you not to go out this late without a chaperone. You should have called.”

Ani ducked her head. “He.. he wanted me to tell you…” she looked behind her nervously. Xander jumped to his feet again and walked quickly to the sink. Leaning against the counter there, staring at a window that would never reflect vampires.

“Never mind, chit,” said Spike’s voice kindly, “I’ll give the message.” Xander did not turn around. He imagined he felt Spike’s eyes scanning his back.

“Spike,” said Willow happily, unsuccessfully masking her satisfaction at being right. “Giles!” she called merrily. Giles stormed into the room and stood, with that look of outrage mixed with relief that one would usually find on the face of the parent of a teenager. “Spike, I hope you can explain your unwarranted…”

Spike broke his contemplation of Xander’s pointedly turned back to face Giles. Cold anger washed over his face. “Look, Watcher,” Spike jabbed an angry index finger at him, “we are no longer conversing. And if you touch me,” he hissed when Giles took another step towards him, “I’ll break your fucking fingers. Soul or no soul.”

Giles stood back, stunned. Willow walked over and took his arm. “Spike. No-one’s touching you. No-one’s doing anything just yet.” She nodded at him pleasantly, cast a curious look at Xander, and brought her gaze back to Spike. “You should rest. Feed. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She drew Giles gently back into the living room with her, leaving Spike with Xander in the kitchen.

Spike rubbed the back of his neck, feeling suddenly awkward and unable to look directly at the man who had drawn him back to this hellhole.

“Sorry, Xan,” he mumbled awkwardly.

Xander contemplated his reflection standing alone in the darkened window. “For what?”

Spike shrugged, made a vague gesture that encompassed all sins past and present, then turned to the refrigerator. “Hungry,” he said.

Xander watched him from the corner of his eye, noting his feet, the condition of his battered hand, something … tree bark? In his hair. “Where did you go?”

Spike didn’t answer, grimly drawing three blood-bags from the fridge, emptying them into a mug and shoving it in the microwave. He didn’t look at Xander but stood a few feet away, leaning also on the counter. Xander glanced sideways again and noted how close Spike’s hand was to his. Mere inches separated them.

“Why did you come back?”

Spike leaned forward against the counter. Because I couldn’t leave you. Because I can’t exist without you, he thought. “Wanted my boots,” he said out loud. There was a long silence.

Xander snorted. Spike turned, surprised, and Xander snorted again. The snort became a guffaw. Xander leaned back against the counter and allowed himself the laughter. He looked up at Spike’s indignant expression.

“Geez, Spike, you are a nimrod.”

Spike glowered. “Fuck off,” he said.

Xander swept his hand in a gesture to describe Spike’s entire appearance. “And look at you, guy. What, a few hours and you’re the noble savage?” He pushed a hand suggestively into his own hair. Spike reached up, found the debris in his and began picking it out methodically.

“You’ve got no respect, Harris,” he grumbled. “Vampire in crisis, here.”

“Oh and ‘Hello Mr. Melodrama’.” Xander was still laughing. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“It pleases me no end that you find this all so bloody amusin’, Harris,” Spike said waspishly.

“It’s not amusing, Spike. It’s tragic,” Xander said hotly. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

“Startin’ to wish I hadn’t.”

Xander thought for a moment of sitting at that table, arm wrestling his demons. Unconsciously waiting for his own special demon to return. Waiting and Spike never showing. He cleared his throat against the lump there. “Glad you did, though,” he said softly.

Spike glanced at him once with bright eyes and nodded.

Xander sat down at the table and attempted to regain his composure. “So what are you gonna do now?”

“Don’t know.”

Xander pondered all the possibilities inherent in that statement. “You stayin’?”

Spike looked away without answering.

“Spike.” Xander rubbed the grain of the table under his thumb thoughtfully. “I probably shouldn’t say anything, ‘cuz not really good at the life decisions here, but if I were you…”

“Which you ain’t.”

“Yeah, but still. If I were you…”

“Alive for over a century. Or rather undead for over a century. Killed more humans than I can count. Ate them.” Spike was ticking points off on his fingers. Xander gazed at him for a moment. At the slender young man with the perfect skin and clear blue eyes perched on the edge of the table, enumerating his transgressions. “Betrayed my family a few times. Betrayed my enemies a few times more, but ya know, those things are expected. And, oh pet, the things I did with Dru that I can not as a gentleman mention!”

“You’re right, Spike,” said Xander dryly, “I can not possibly imagine what it’s like to be you.”

“That’s right.”

“The blood lust. The hunger. All that eternal longing.”

Spike looked at him with hooded eyes. “Yeah.”

“The power.” Xander leaned forward in his chair. “The power to take, to kill. To do whatever you want.”

Spike shifted uncomfortably. “But the soul…”

“Yeah, the soul won’t let you do it. But you know you could.”

“You know you could do whatever you want, you know you could do whomever you want. So much strength.” Xander took in a deep breath. His eyes held Spike’s. “So much strength they can’t resist you. They don’t want to resist you.” He shifted his chair back from the table, and spread his legs, openly displaying his swollen crotch. “Naw, I can’t imagine it,” he growled. “Why don’t you explain it to me.”

An overwhelming wave of pheromones hit Spike.

“Xander…” he said cautiously.

“Because I’m having a lot of trouble understanding, Spike. I’ve known vampires for years. Hunted them, hated them, fucked them and I still don’t understand what it must be like. What is it? Want, take, have? What is that like? To be the one that takes? To have that power?” Xander dropped his hand casually into his lap, gently cupped his bulging erection, shifted in his seat and took a deep breath. “What’s it like to be the one who has that choice?” Spike gripped the edge of the table; he couldn’t stop watching the movements of Xander’s hand.

“Explain it to me, Spike. What’s it like to enter a bar and know you can have anyone there. You just need to choose. And wait. Watching them, knowing you’re going to have them. Knowing there’s nothing that will stop you.” Xander’s thumb lazily rubbed at his crotch, his breathing was audible. Spike swallowed.

“What’s it like to hold a victim down?” purred Xander to the transfixed vampire. “Does he know what you’re going to do to him? Do you tell him first? Do you show him those teeth?” he asked, his eyes speculatively traveling over Spike’s mouth with such open lust Spike thought he could feel the touch. “Do you touch those teeth to him first? Not biting, just letting him know. How sharp they are. How sensitive. Are they sensitive, Spike? When you touch your teeth to him, does it turn you on? Does it make you hard, Spike?” Xander asked, shifting his hips a bit in the chair. “God, tell me, Spike, tell me. The power, the fear, the blood pounding in the helpless throat, does it make you hard?”

Spike growled, “Xander.” He slid gracefully off the table and leaned over the other man. He bent his head to Xander’s neck, irresistibly intoxicated by the smell coming off him. He ran his nose and mouth up and down the neck as Xander arched his head back to give him access.

“Show me, Spike,” Xander whispered. “Show me what it’s like.”

Spike heaved Xander up from the chair and into his arms with a brute strength that made Xander gasp. He buried his face into Xander’s neck, rubbing back and forth, making a light keening noise. He could feel his demon pushing forward, drawn by the smell of the blood, the intense arousal, the invitation of the strong, arched neck. Xander moaned and clawed at his back.

“Yeah, Spike, yeah.”

Somewhere, in another part of the house, Willow’s laughter sounded. In the refrigerator, the icemaker crashed ice into the bin.

“Shit!” Spike jumped back violently and let go of Xander so suddenly, the other man almost fell. As Xander regained his balance, Spike backed into the counter. He felt himself panting and struggled to control it. “What the bloody fuck are you tryin’ ta do, Xander?”

Xander stood shakily rubbing his hand across his mouth. His lust dilated eyes focused confusedly on the floor before him. “I dunno.” He grabbed the chair again and sat heavily down.

“I almost fucking bit you, Xan!”

“Yeah.” Xander sat listening to Spike trying not to breathe. “Could you?” he asked without looking at the vampire.

“FUCK no!”

“Oh.”

Spike stared. “What, did you WANT me to?”

Xander continued silently studying the tabletop.

“Bloody Hell, Xan, this is dangerous shit you’re playin’ with here! What do you think, this is some kind of fuck toy?” Spike viciously shook himself and with a muted roar, donned his demonic visage. Yellow eyes glared balefully at Xander’s down-turned head. “Look at me, Xander,” he hissed.

Xander looked. His eyes widened again with lust. “Geez, Spike.”

“NO!” roared the demon. Spike shook himself hard, and his infuriated human face continued to stare down at Xander. “This isn’t some kinda bondage game here, Harris! There’s no ‘safe word’ when you’re gettin’ your life sucked out by a vampire!”

Xander tried to quell the disappointment in his voice. “Then you can’t control it.”

“No.”

Xander looked up. A funny twinkle entered his eye. Spike saw that and stood straight, holding one hand up as if to ward off evil. “Nuh uh, Harris. I do not want to know what you’re thinkin’”

“Have you ever tried to control it?” Xander asked sweetly.

“Shit. Did you not hear me askin’ you not to tell me?”

“Have you?” Xander insisted.

Spike looked away, considering what to tell him. Actually, there was so much blood play between vampires, especially insane, torture loving vampires like his dear Drusilla, that biting without draining was pretty usual. What worried Spike was why Xander would be interested in this subject at all. He cast back in his mind to the conversation that had led to all this.

“You were givin’ me some advice, weren’t you, Harris?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah?” Xander cocked his head. Eyes still twinkling.

“What was it?”

“Just thought, if I were you. Yeah,” he wiggled his eyebrow and grinned, “if I were you, Spike, I wouldn’t let anyone make me into something I wasn’t.”

“You wouldn’t.” Spike looked down at his own feet. “Well, what I am just about drained you a minute ago.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Not this time.”

“Not any time, Spike,” Xander said seriously. “’S one thing I know about you. Always have. One of the big differences between Xander and Spike,” he indicated the two of them with his hand. Pointed at Spike. “Demon,” pointed at himself, “human.” “Wanker,” indicating Spike, “asshole,” indicating himself. Xander laughed. Pointed at Spike again, “Self-control,” pointed at himself, “no self-control.” Xander had to look away for a minute. He folded his hands on the table and continued in a subdued voice, “That’s one thing I always knew, Spike, always trusted. I couldn’t tell you because… well, because I’m a dickhead.”

“Xander…”

“Nope. I counted on it Spike. Counted on you never letting me go too far. I knew you wouldn’t do it. You won’t.” Xander made himself look back at Spike.

“You will never really hurt me, Spike. You will always be able to stop.”

Spike was silent, thinking. He raised a broken thumbnail to his mouth and nibbled. Xander observed this old habit, and wondered if he had made any sense at all. Spike turned back to his now cold mug of blood, dumped it and rinsed out the cup in silence. He liberated more bags of blood from the refrigerator, heated them and drank them down slowly. The entire time still immersed in some internal argument. Xander watched him curiously. When Spike finally finished his feed, and looked towards him, Xander felt the vampire had come to some decision. “So?” he asked.

“So. Harris. Ya want to know the ways of vampira?” Spike purred, lifting a suggestive eyebrow. He stalked Xander silkily. Then bypassed him and headed for the kitchen door.

“Hey!” Xander jumped up from his chair and followed him.

********************************************************************

Giles and Willow were startled by the thudding feet and muffled laughter on the stairs. Willow looked thoughtfully off towards the source of the sound.

“Huh,” she said.

“Is there something wrong, Willow?” Giles asked absently, turning back to a large volume of vellum and leather.

“No, Giles. I think sometimes I forget that the Goddess is alive.”

“And Magic is afoot,” responded Giles automatically. He looked up. “Magic? Willow, I am an old man. A very, very, very old man. Please do not try me any more tonight.”

Willow laughed. “Don’t worry, Kronos. I’m thinking more natural magic.”

Because they stalk and kill their prey, vampires are frequently compared to the more dangerous predators of the live animal population. Lions, tigers, even sharks with their response to the smell of blood. This comparison forgets, however, that a vampire is a demon. Carnivores eat to live. They consume energy to have energy; to reproduce and to hunt and consume more energy. Hunting is necessary to feed, but a smart carnivore will never expend more energy than is needed to acquire food. A quick easy kill, and then a nap. That is their goal.

Vampires, on the other hand, while needing the blood of victims to maintain themselves, are demons. And the demon has other needs. The demon needs to do more than take life; the demon needs to play with the mind, play with the heart and the soul, of the victim. The demon has a very real physiological need to smell fear, feel power, destroy hope.

Spike was unusual amongst vampires, but not entirely unique. His demon had always needed validation, always needed to feel the response of living things. This had made him particularly flamboyant and imaginative in the best and worst ways. He was a terrifying and incredibly cruel predator. He was an entertaining and dazzling fighter. But the demon’s need for interaction and to be seen, bleeding together with his hosts similar needs, had made Spike particularly vulnerable to other effects of human beings. The predator’s empathy, which led him with unerring accuracy to the weakest place in his victim’s mind, also made him susceptible to sympathy, and finally affection. The soul became a rudder to the demon’s choices.

But Spike still had the instincts and responses of a demon. And now a luscious mortal had come knocking at the proverbial door asking the demon out to play. It was like stretching unused limbs after a long captivity.

Xander was peeling off his shirt as he came through the bedroom door. As it popped over his head, he paused. He had been right behind Spike, yet in the shifting gloom he felt completely alone. He dropped his shirt to the floor. Old Scooby senses stirred as the hair on his arms rose. “Spike?”

There was absolutely no answer. Nothing moved in the shadows. Xander nervously giggled. “Spiiike,” he called in a whisper. “Ahlee Ahlee Ocean Free…” There was a bump and a rustle near the dresser. Xander jumped and spun instinctively towards the sound. He had gone into an automatic combat readiness posture. On the balls of his feet, both arms loosely out and ready. Unconsciously listening with the surface of his skin. Like cat’s whiskers, every nerve feeling the air. He took a step towards the source of the sound.

There was a bump in the corner directly behind him and Xander spun around again. He began breathing rapidly. A rustle near the bed. He didn’t move but shifted his weight a bit. He was starting to feel disoriented, and suddenly wished he had switched on the lights as he came into the room. “Hey. Spike,” he whispered, trying to put some levity in his voice, to mask the nervousness. “How about switching on a candle or somethin’?”

“Silence.” Just as the word registered in his brain, Xander felt two hard arms, one across his shoulder pinning him, the other encircling his waist, pull him firmly up against a body. He gasped and struggled instinctively, but couldn’t move. A ridged, bumpy head rubbed seductively against the back of his neck and cool lips touched his ear. He began to pant with fear, wishing he could pull away, turn to look.

“Spike?”

“Silence.” The command was a growl now, and was accompanied by a slightly uncomfortable squeeze. Xander froze. The mouth was on his ear again and Xander felt a cold tongue gently playing with the lobe. There was the slightest prick, and if he could have moved he would have jumped. “Would you like to be pierced?” purred his captor seductively.

“N..n..no?” whispered Xander.

“No, ssssir,” hissed the vampire.

“No. Sir,” gulped Xander. The arm at his waist moved and Xander could glance down just enough to see ridged, bumpy hands and razor sharp talons. The claw descended to his fly and began delicately to tear open the material. “Wh..wh..oa. Uh. Spike.”

“SILENCE!” The growl was followed by four distinct pricks of bright pain on his neck. The clawed hand continued its task. The sharp points were withdrawn and an ugly deep voice enunciated carefully. “You. Do not. Speak.” Xander felt his pants fall to his ankles. He started shaking, but he remained mute.

The cool mouth continued playing, moving from the ear to his neck and back, trailing a hard cold tongue. Fearful of moving his head, Xander cast his eyes down and could see the sharp talons delicately stroking his pubic hair. His already hard cock, which had wilted momentarily with the shock, began to twitch again. One finger of the claw elegantly hooked itself around the base of his cock, the sharp nail a breath away from his sensitive skin. Xander moaned as his dick became suddenly quite hard. It leapt in Spike’s hand, and the vampire grabbed it quickly and firmly.

“Mine,” he hissed into Xander’s ear. He began to leisurely pump the stiff shaft. Xander was now aware of an equally hard presence against his backside. As Spike pumped Xander’s cock, he thrust the human’s hips forward with his own. Making him fuck the vampire’s fist. “Yeah,” purred the demon, “you wanna be mine, don’t you boy?”

The demon purred at Xander’s beautifully obedient silence. “Oh, nice,” he said, his fist increasing its speed and pressure. “You may speak,” he said.

Xander could not stop watching the knife-like talons skimming the air around his hardened flesh. He was hypnotized by the fear of their cutting him and the erotic thrill of Spike controlling his movements. “Yesss,” he groaned quietly. The four bright points of pain reappeared on his neck. “Yes, sir,” amended Xander, helplessly.

The being behind him shuddered all over. Xander felt the claw still, and almost cried out with frustration. The talons morphed suddenly back to fingers and Spike’s voice said gruffly into his neck, “You okay, Xander? Is this okay?”

“Geez, Spike,” breathed Xander fervently, “if you stop now I will fucking stake you.”

The vampire chuckled and then with a cat-like roar, the talons reappeared and the hard dick shoved itself harshly into Xander’s buttocks. “Yeah,” grunted the demon happily. He stepped back a bit and loosened his arms. “Turn around,” he commanded. “And kneel,” he added pleasantly.

Xander barely had command of his own feet, but he managed the task. He felt a nail graze his scalp lightly as a claw buried itself in his hair and pulled his face to gaze up at Spike. He gasped at the sight of Spike’s game face. Golden unblinking eyes staring at him with naked hunger, small pink tongue licking lips and fangs with anticipation. “Open your mouth,” whispered Spike. Xander obeyed. “Wiiiider,” said Spike, smirking. Xander struggled to swallow and obeyed. He held the demon’s eyes, so only heard the buttons release and the creak of stiff denim. “Stick out your tongue.”

And Xander knelt there as if he were waiting to take the Host. His mind reeled with the blasphemy. The hand in his hair gripped him firmly and the eyes demanded that he not look away. Then he felt Spike’s cock, heavy, cold and thick placed on his tongue. It was moved back and forth a bit. It was pushed in and out a bit. The sensors in his tongue picked up salt and bitter pre-cum. He shuddered involuntarily. One of his hands jerked towards his cock. “DON’T TOUCH YOURSELF,” roared Spike angrily. Xander froze. He gazed up at his captor beseechingly.

The demon gazed down on him with his head tilted sideways, a look of benevolent amusement on its features. He began stroking his own dick with hard firm strokes, while rubbing it back and forth on Xander’s tongue. “Good boy. Good boy,” he said to the rhythm of his strokes. A fierce look came over his face, and Xander heard the slap of hand on flesh suddenly increase in frequency. “Yeah,” said Spike, and he removed his cock from Xander’s mouth and placed the head of it firmly on Xander’s face, next to his nose. Xander felt the blunt thickness shoving lightly at his cheek, as Spike continued to jerk himself off. Suddenly the vampire stiffened and stilled. “Mine!” he barked, and Xander felt surprisingly warm liquid spill across his face, running into his open mouth and catching in his eyelashes. He shut his eyes instinctively to protect them as he felt the liquid continue to pump against his cheek. “LOOK AT ME,” roared the demon. And Xander startled and opened his eyes. The red, relaxed head of Spike’s cock waved before him. “Clean me off,” whispered the demon sweetly.

Xander felt bliss as he leaned forward to swipe at Spike’s shaft with his tongue. He sucked it into his mouth, and felt it beginning to harden again. Gently it was withdrawn, his hair was released. He looked up again into Spike’s human and stunned face. “Xander…” he said unsteadily. He fell to his knees in front of Xander. Reached up to touch the cum on his face. His cock twitched and bobbed in front of him. “Xander, what the…?”

“Don’t stop, Spike,” Xander commanded seriously, as his hand came down to grab his own dick. He breathed unsteadily and pulled on himself slowly. “Don’t stop, Spike,” he begged, “make me come.” Spike stared at him for a minute then shook himself violently back into his demon visage. He stood, and as Xander continued to pull on himself with increasing urgency, he stripped. The naked, hard demon stood before him contemplatively, then walked around behind him. As Xander turned his head to follow him, he barked, “Eyes forward, boy.” A thrill ran through Xander and he jerked on his cock.

Xander heard the demon prowling around him. A low snarl reverberated through the room and Xander moaned, “Touch me, Spike. God, please.” Suddenly that cold marble body was pressed up against him. Spike wrapped his arm loosely around Xander’s chest and snaked a clawed hand around the root of Xander’s cock. He squeezed gently while pulling Xander back and rhythmically pressing himself against Xander’s entrance. Slowly, he slid his dick under Xander’s balls, so it thrust between his legs. He thrust gently back and forth; Xander felt the cool length caressing his balls and began pushing his head back against Spike’s. He whispered desperately, “Do it now. I wanna feel you.” He groaned, “God I want to feel you.” The ridged face was back at Xander’s neck, the tongue licking at the pulse point repeatedly. Xander could not help the moans and grunts now emanating from his mouth. He frantically jerked at his cock. Spike hissed in his ear, flicking his tongue over the lobe. The blunt thickness slid rhythmically between his legs, teasingly, and the tongue slid down to Xander’s neck and was replaced once more by four sharp needles. The demon growled into his neck, “Come for me, pet,” and as the words of Xander’s most erotic and secret fantasy spilled into his ears, he felt the sharp points flame into searing pain. Xander could not cry out. An agony of fire burned at his neck. His hand stopped its desperate movement as he arched against Spike’s mouth. Then the pain changed. An ecstasy of sensation flowed from his neck straight to his groin, where he felt Spike firmly jerking him off. Xander arched, white fire filled his mind and he felt an orgasm traveling from his neck to his cock as it jerked and spurted into the air. He felt his sperm traveling out of his penis, and his blood sliding out of his neck, then the pulling on both gradually changed, subsiding to a tingling ache. Xander leant back against Spike, who was moaning and growling into his neck. He felt the soft lips pulling gently at his skin, felt the tongue lapping and felt Spike inside his neck. It was almost like having Spike’s cock inside him, and Xander swooned a little with the sensation. Spike supported him carefully, then slipped his fangs out. He shivered as they were removed and leant back into Spike’s arms. He was vaguely aware of wetness dripping from his ass and realized that Spike had come against him while feeding.

“Oh. My. God,” whispered Xander in awe. “Fucking amazing.”

“Yeah.” Spike bowed his head to Xander’s shoulder. Kissed it with little worshipful kisses. “Love you, Xander.”

“You controlled it, Spike,” said Xander softly. “You made yourself stop.”

Spike chuckled happily. “Yeah,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “Didn’t want to eat you. Just wanted to taste you.”

“Yeah,” said Xander in wonder. “Spike.” Athought dawned in his still spinning brain. “Spike, you claimed me.”

“Yeah?” Spike whispered against the warm flesh. “You a silver mine or something, Xan?” He rubbed his hands up and down Xander’s torso lovingly. “Precious metal,” he said happily.

“No, seriously,” Xander said excitedly. He pulled away and turned to face Spike, “I read it in one of Giles’ books. That’s what vampires do. They claim their ‘partners’. They bite them. They share blood. And other bodily fluids,” he said, laughing and rubbing at his flaky cheek.

Spike regarded him with a look of absolute astonishment. “Xander,” he smiled and started to laugh, “I think you got into one of the Watcher’s naughty books, pet. Those old wankers make up all sorts of silliness and… well uh… I think they wank to it.” He laughed. Then stopped at the obvious look of disappointment on Xander’s face.

“Course,” amended Spike smoothly, “I was never very good at the lore.” He squirmed closer to Xander and wrapped his arms around him. “What else did the book say, luv?”

“Well,” said Xander remembering slowly. “It said we drink from each other. You already drank from me, and claimed me.”

“Mine,” agreed Spike obediently, snuggling Xander’s neck. He licked at the bite mark. Xander shuddered involuntarily.

“God, Spike. I felt that.”

Spike drew back worriedly. “It sting or somethin’?”

“No.” Xander giggled and wiggled into Spike. “It felt kinda sexy.”

“Mmmmm,” said Spike appreciatively, and licked it again.

Xander leaned into it. His hands began reaching for vampire parts. He stopped himself though as if struck by a thought. “Wait!” He petted Spike’s cheek until the vampire looked at him again. “Spike, I have to take your blood too.”

“What?” Spike ignored the weird tingle he suddenly felt in his belly. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s part of the claiming,” Xander said seriously. “I have to take your blood, too.” As he stroked Spike’s cheek, a very male possessiveness lit suddenly devilish eyes. “I have to bite you,” he whispered.

Spike felt his cock twitch. What the hell? He looked at Xander with concern. “I dunno, pet. Lots a weird mojo happens to vampire blood, I think.”

“Do you think it’d turn me?”

Spike made a disgusted noise. “Course not, have to kill you to turn you, pillock,” he playfully whacked at Xander’s daft head. “Just might do something else,” he said worriedly.

Xander snuggled closer. His lower lip stuck out in a succulent pout. “Pleeassse Spike,” he begged sweetly. “Just a little drop?”

Spike regarded him cautiously. That weird tingle in his belly had definitely worked its way into his cock, which was now steadily throbbing. Suddenly he wanted it as much as Xander. Wanted the man to bite him. Wanted him to claim him. He arched his neck and turned his head. “Take me, Xander,” he whispered huskily.

Xander groaned and swooped. His mouth latched onto Spike’s neck with a surprising viciousness. Spike felt his cock leap and harden immediately. He cried out. Xander grabbed him by the shoulders, held him steady and bit down as hard as he could. A small bit of blood leapt from the wound he made there and into his mouth. Xander gasped. Compared to the sensation of Spike’s blood, mescal was soda pop. He latched his mouth on and sucked hard. Beneath his hands he felt the vampire shaking all over. Spike suddenly cried out again and Xander felt warmth spill across one of his legs. Then he was being firmly pushed away.

“Enough!” said Spike harshly. They stared at one another.

“Well,” said Xander, panting. “That’s a definite ‘do again’, yeah?”

“Yeah,” breathed Spike.

Xander regarded the bite on Spike’s neck with an artists pride. “I claimed you, Spike,” he said with a big grin. “You’re mine.” As he said the last words he was suddenly overwhelmed by unexpected emotion. Tears welled in his eyes. Spike dove forward and hugged him close. “Xander. Love. What’s wrong?” He nuzzled the man worriedly. But Xander smiled again and closed his eyes against the tears, leaning into Spike’s embrace.

“I just liked saying that,” he said softly. He shivered a bit and shifted uncomfortably. “Floor’s getting hard and cold all of a sudden. Can we move this to the bed?”

“Sure, love.” Spike anxiously hovered and gathered some blankets. When Xander lay down, he began piling them on top of him.

“Hey.” Xander lay back, his longish black hair curling against the pillow. He reached for Spike, who found himself unable to move for staring. “Hey, commeer, I wanna vampire blanket.”

“I’m cold,” Spike protested, nevertheless settling on the mattress and working his way into Xander’s arms. “You’ll get a chill.”

“You make me hot, silly, not cold.” But still Xander shivered.

“Xander, you’re shaking. You sure you’re okay?” Spike hovered over him anxiously; his hands stroking hair back, petting cheeks, adjusting blankets to cover cool skin. Xander smiled dreamily, he felt enervated and happy and the beginnings of arousal. It was like being seventeen again. Only with sex. He touched the wound he had made on Spike’s neck and the vampire involuntarily shuddered. He stilled and met Xander’s eyes.

“Wow.”

“Didja feel that?” Xander raised a pleased eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“Kinda cool, huh?” Xander brushed the mark again, pressing in a little bit this time and Spike issued a low, moaning growl.

“Xanderrrr.”

Xander chuckled, “It’s like I have my very own Spike ‘on’ switch.”

“I do wish you would quit with the plaything metaphors, mate. You’re starting to remind me of Dru.”

“Eewww,” said Xander, “and Eeww, why does that not feel like a compliment?”

“No no, heh,” laughed Spike, “I just mean she used to dress me up.” He ducked his head and Xander was shocked to see that Spike was embarrassed. “Ya know, dolly dresses and stuff. For Miss Edith to play with,” he explained, avoiding Xander’s eyes.

“Dolly dresses?” Xander did the math. Big vampire guy. Small doll dresses. Click. “Oohhh.” He gave Spike an astonished look. “And you let her.”

“Yeah, well, made her happy. Didn’t see what the bloody difference was.”

“Lace, and satin and ribbons?”

“fraid so.”

Xander paused gazing up at the ceiling, a delighted expression crossed his face. “How about leather?”

Spike was silent. Xander glanced sideways and saw the vampire glaring at him. “What about it, whelp?” he snarled.

“Maybe some studs? A coupla chains?”

“You really do want me to hurt you, don’t you Xan?”

“Yeah,” breathed Xander, rolling over. He pushed up against Spike forcefully, letting his mouth hover over his mark. His hand drifted lazily down to cup the vampire’s cock. He licked the mark and felt the penis jump under his hand. “Oh yeah.”

“God. Xander.” Spike struggled a bit and caught Xander’s hands, held him away. “You’ve gotta rest, mate. It’s nighttime. Mortals sleep now, right?”

“Not sleepy,” said Xander wiggling. “Horny. Wanna fuck.”

“Still?” Spike pushed away further and pulled himself up to sit. His hand smoothed Xander’s hair back from his face as he studied him. “What’s with you, Xan? You’re all jumpy and shaking and …” he paused and thought for a minute. “And your blood tasted weird, mate. Now I think of it.”

Xander let his eyes drop and concentrated on a patch of smooth, white skin above Spike’s navel. “Feel fine,” he said shortly. “Feel great!” he realized.

Spike looked worried. “Shouldn’t a let you have my blood,” he said slowly.

Xander placed his mouth over the patch of skin on Spike’s belly. It tasted like a vanilla creamsicle, he decided, his tongue lapping softly. “Spiiiike,” he whined, wriggling and licking a path up the vampire’s chest. He found himself at Spike’s mouth and kissed him hard. Pulled back and smiled into his worried eyes. “I feel terrific, Spike. No hangover, no nausea. Feel all strong and virile,” he said, wriggling suggestively.

Spike regarded him. “Yeah.”

“C’mon Spike. Wanna play with Spikie. Hey!” Xander raised his head and looked at Spike again, “Before. When we were, uh, you know? How come you didn’t...” his cheeks turned pink as he smiled shyly. “How come you didn’t fuck me, Spike?”

“Xander, mate. I think we should go talk to the witch.”

Xander ignored him. “How come, Spike?” He lay his head on Spike’s chest. Spike stroked the dark head gently.

“Didn’t wanna hurt you. Xan,” he said. “’t’s been awhile I guess, I was thinking you might tear.” Spike ignored the painful image of Xander standing in the mausoleum that rose into his mind. “Wasn’t sure I could stay in control if you did,” he said sadly.

Xander lay quietly on Spike’s chest for a few moments. He enjoyed the cool, smooth flesh pillowed under his cheek, his hand drifted lazily back and forth across a hardened nipple. Spike’s fingers carded and drew through his hair in a soothing rhythm. Xander allowed himself to luxuriate in the comfort and bliss for a second, then drew a deep breath. “If we aren’t honest with our friends, it’s like we aren’t really there…” quoted Dawn in his mind.

“Probably would have been alright,” he suggested slowly. He rolled his head sideways and touched the silky chest with his mouth. “Hasn’t been that long,” he murmured very low.

Spike didn’t move. But then, he hadn’t been moving before, the whole not breathing thing, of course. But his hand in Xander’s hair paused. “Yeah?” he said in a cool, non-committal voice.

Xander barreled ahead. “Um, yeah. Actually it’s been,” he calculated rapidly in his head, his heart starting to pound fearfully in his chest. “Guess it’s been about five months.”

“Five months?” Spike repeated in that same, cool voice. “Since a man fucked you?” he said a little more harshly. His hand had completely withdrawn from Xander’s hair and he lay there quietly under Xander. There was a longish silence.

Xander pushed up on his elbows and looked into Spike’s face. He didn’t know why, but he had expected to see anger there, maybe condemnation. What he saw instead was worse. Spike looked confused. Crestfallen even. He met Xander’s eye with a sad expression and tried to smile a little. It was a pathetic attempt.

“Yeah.” Xander held Spike’s eye. “It’s been a long and weird five years, man. I’ve been pretty fucked up. Took a lotta backroads.”

“How many?”

“Errm, how many?”

“Yes, “ Spike enunciated clearly, his expression wavering now between sorrow and something else, “how many back roads have you taken?”

Xander looked down. “Don’t really know.” He would have laughed but it suddenly seemed too awful. “Can’t remember,” he whispered. He felt the guilt wash over him again, all those not-even-remembered young men, perhaps as yet unknowingly, carrying his disease. He twisted away from it mentally and turned his own body away from Spike. “Sorry.”

“Xander.” Spike’s hand gently touched his shoulder. Xander forced himself to turn his head back. To face Spike. Spike looked so sad and his eyes looked ancient and tired. “Xander, you don’t need to apologize to me. We weren’t … you weren’t …” Spike closed his eyes, clenched his jaw. When he looked at Xander again his expression had become fierce. “But you’re mine, now, Alexander Harris,” he said intently. He rolled, caught Xander in his arms and pinned him beneath him on the mattress. “You’re not whoring around anymore, you understand?” he growled down at him.

Xander took in a deep breath and stared up into blue eyes flickering with amber. He would have expected Spike’s sudden possessiveness to anger and frighten him. Instead he felt excited. And not a little aroused. He wriggled and tried to find friction against Spike for his suddenly needy cock. “Yours,” he growled back, staring into Spike’s hungry eyes. “I’m yours, Spike.”

The vampire worked his pelvis into position over Xander’s until their swollen cocks bumped, then pushed down hard, rocking his hips back and forth. Still holding Xander’s eyes, he dipped his head down and began carefully licking at the crusty remains of cum on Xander’s cheek. “Dirty boy,” he growled.

“Yeah,” Xander gasped, pushing his hips into Spike, turning his cheek up into Spike’s tongue. “Make me clean, Spike,” he whimpered.

Spike growled, his head dipped and his tongue dragged down Xander’s cheek to his neck and over his mark. Xander bucked up against him and clutched at his shoulder. Spike licked Xander’s ear. “Got any slippery stuff?” he whispered.

Xander tried to gather his thoughts enough to answer. “Uh, actually no,” he laughed, “I’ve been kinda swearing abstinence and stuff.” He groaned as Spike thrust against him, tongue swirling around his ear. “Get some stuff from the bathroom?” Xander suggested desperately. Spike reared back and leapt off him with preternatural grace, swept from the room completely naked. Xander lay bereft on his back. He had just begun to entertain the idea of an exhausted and beleaguered Giles clutching his chest in the throes of apoplexy at the vision of a naked vampire in the hallway, when Spike was back in the room. He flopped on top of Xander again, not gently.

“Baby oil?” he suggested. “Giant economy size.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Xander wriggled and tried to get his dick rubbing against Spike’s again. “Good, good.”

Spike reared up, grabbed Xander’s legs and shoved them up in the air, forcing Xander’s head rather hard towards the headboard. Xander grabbed at the sheets. “Whoa, man,” he protested. “What are you … Oooh,” he groaned as the contents of room temperature giant economy size baby oil was poured over his belly. His legs were unceremoniously hooked over Spike’s shoulders, and the vampire’s hands dug into the oil on his belly and began rubbing it in, dragging it down over his cock, slathering that with firm strokes, rubbing the oil gently into his balls and over his entrance. Xander made incoherent noises that were intended as encouragement as Spike’s eager fingers thrust and pulled and pushed the oil into his hole.

“Oh, god, Xander,” moaned the vampire feverishly, “been fantasizing about this forever.” His fingers thrust deeply into Xander’s warm entrance, searching for that spot he had read about. That spot he had found once, so long ago. Xander arched and cried out and Spike smiled triumphantly and turned his head to kiss one well-muscled calf. “Yeah. That’s it, that’s my boy’s sweet spot, yeah.” He rubbed back and forth on the spongy spot, watching Xander’s cock jump, delightedly batting away the boy’s grabby hands. “Oh no you don’t, Harris,” he growled. “This is MINE.” He shuffled forward and placed the head of his cock against Xander’s hole, pushed slightly. His demon roared at the apparent ease with which his head was taken in, but Spike focused only on the joy of finally having his boy, and refused to think about how many had been here before him. Xander panted below him, now thrusting towards the pressure on his entrance, babbling nonsense with the occasional “Yes” thrown in. Spike pushed in with one firm thrust and Xander rose up off the mattress, threw his arms up to the headboard and pushed back hard. He cried out happily. “Yeah. Fuck me.” And his hips began rhythmically thrusting onto Spike’s shaft.

Spike was overcome at the sensations running through him. He was buried deep in Xander. Heat and tight spasming walls and the feeling of blood around his dick made his head spin. Xander’s cries and animalistic lust were beyond any masturbation fantasy he had dared to entertain, and he bit fiercely at his own tongue to control his impending orgasm. But his demon was roaring with rage. Rage and possession and a desire to cleanse the violated area, to cleanse and reclaim and own. Spike fought the images of countless men here before him, but his demon furiously marched them out again. Spike unconsciously upped the tempo of his thrusts, twisting his hips frantically, trying to rub every square inch of Xander’s hole with his cock, marking the boy everywhere. He grabbed at Xander’s cock in an iron grip, noting the ridges and demonic skin emerging on his hand. He began jerking Xander off. Squeezing tightly until Xander cried out with a little more than lust, only relaxing his grasp by severe effort of will. The effort only made him pump Xander’s hole with more frenzy. His other hand, now fully clawed, wandered over Xander’s torso, drawing a sharp edge around a nipple. A little welt of redness appeared. Xander’s eyes snapped open.

“Spike!” he cried frantically, still thrusting. Xander felt he would rather be split open by those claws than stop Spike from fucking him. But still, “Spike! You there?”

The demon’s angry, wild eyes softened and blue rippled through them. His thrusts never slowed but he withdrew his hand, wrapped it around Xander’s leg and pushed into the warm channel while watching the brown eyes react to every thrust. “Yeah, Xan, yeah, love,” he chanted happily. “I’m here. I’m here.”

Xander groaned and gave himself up to the sensations again. Spike’s hand still stroked his cock rapidly, Spike’s cock still firmly shoved deeply inside him over and over, he felt his balls tightening. “Spike,” he groaned, “Spike. Spike.”

The vampire pushed forward, forcing Xander’s legs back to the mattress; he was bent double and could not move. Spike’s belly rubbed against his dick and the vampire found the angle that would hit Xander’s prostate repeatedly. He latched onto Xander’s mouth and thrust his tongue in practically to the back of Xander’s throat. Xander writhed and shook beneath him. His hands came up and grabbed Spike’s head as he kissed the vampire back, his finger’s traveled down as if drawn there, and rubbed at the wound on Spike’s neck.

Spike drew back with a snarl, pistoning with astonishing speed and vigor. The demonic visage flashed on and off. Xander grabbed the demon’s face and fastened his mouth to those cruel lips. His tongue reached out and stroked the fangs eagerly. It was so erotic he repeated the motion over and over. Above him, Spike squirmed and growled. The growl reverberated in Xander’s mouth. As if by instinct, Xander drew his tongue deliberately over the edge of a needle sharp tooth. He felt the sting of pain in his tongue, and Spike descend on his mouth with fury. The vampire was groaning and fucking him hard and sucking on his tongue. Xander was light headed and so overcome with the sensation of Spike drawing blood from him yet again that he began to lose track of events as they happened. So he could never really say what exactly took place next. He felt the demon emerge again. The ridges rubbing against his cheeks as Spike took possession of his mouth. Hard, strong hips banged repeatedly against his ass. He heard the low growl emanating from Spike, the slap of skin on flesh, his own deep groans. Then the demon reared back, and he saw Spike bite hard on his own mouth with those teeth, the welling of blood on his lips and that face descended once more to his. The fiery liquid flowed over his tongue and poured down his throat like white light. He latched onto the lips with ravenous hunger and sucked and chewed at them savagely, wanting more. Needing more. The blood seemed to rapidly fill his belly then spread out to the rest of his body. It was like being struck by an internal lightning bolt. Xander arched against Spike, every nerve, every muscle in his body completely taken over, his climax rose from balls alive with the white fire and shot streams of hot sperm over their bellies.

Spike felt Xander coming. He felt his orgasm rising from his balls and desperately thrust at wild angles, imagining himself coating every inch of Xander’s insides. His orgasm continued to rip through him and he drew out and thrust again onto Xander’s spent member, mixing the remains of his sperm with Xander’s. He pulled himself violently from Xander’s still sucking mouth and stared into Xander’s eyes. The demon threw back his head and yowled like a bobcat. “Mine!” he demanded.

They remained like that, lost in each other, shaking as the waves of orgasm swept through them. Blood on both their mouths, cum soaking their chests and dribbling down into the sheets. Xander was gasping for breath. His face and neck were suffused with bright color, his eyes wild, pupils dilated. “Mine,” he responded, panting. “You’re mine, Spike.” Once again the words brought tears to his eyes, but now he was helpless to control them. He felt as if something old and tumorous were breaking free of him and dropping away. Huge tears rolled down his cheeks and his chest began to heave with sobs of relief and pain. “Spike,” he whispered, “God. I want to be yours, Spike.”

At Xander’s first signs of distress, Spike had moved instinctively to soothe him, but now he froze and looked away. Those words everything he had ever wanted to hear, and still the stuff of nightmares he couldn’t forget. He struggled to control his emotions. A good part of him wanted to back off, physically and emotionally, from this moment. To assess. To think. A part, his wild unbeating heart, wanted to leap off this cliff again, to hell with the consequences. But another part of him, oddly and profoundly stronger than anything else, wanted to comfort and soothe. Heal and make happy. He wanted to protect Xander. Even from what the man inflicted on himself. So instead of drawing back from Xander, Spike turned back to him and leant to his face. With gentle cat like licks he lapped up the tears as they trickled down. He rubbed with his whole body in a comforting rhythm against the heaving chest, his hands running over shaking limbs soothingly. Xander’s sobs died down, the tears abated and he relaxed under Spike’s ministrations. Closing his eyes and turning his head into the pillow, he drifted off to sleep.

Spike nuzzled against his human, listening to the heartbeat as it slowed to a normal rhythm, the breathing evening out and deepening. He carefully eased off Xander and tucked the blankets firmly around them both, so that his lack of body heat would not give Xander a chill. Then he lay his head back on Xander’s chest and listened to the thump of his heart. He ran things back through his mind and vowed that in the morning he would seek out Willow and have a little chat.




PART FIFTEEN

Willow had fallen asleep on the couch again. The leather of the heavy volume in her lap felt warm against her skin as she awoke. Not really clear about the origin of the leather, it gave Willow a little shudder to think of it warming her. She pushed up groggily and looked through the picture window behind her at the waning moon. “Baby,” she said unhappily, “I’m so tired.” She was trying to find the place she had been in the book when she had fallen asleep when Giles came in, concern in his manner.

“Willow. Xander isn’t in bed.” .

“Huh? Oh.” Willow smiled and sleepily rubbed at her eyes. “I’m sure he’s fine, Giles.” .

“Willow, it’s four a.m.!” .

“He’s in Spike’s room, Giles.” Willow yawned and grumpily stood and headed for the kitchen. Coffee and self-discipline. She needed both in buckets if she was going to get through this thing tonight. .

Giles looked perplexed. He glanced down at the book Willow had been perusing. He started and turned pink. “Willow!” He followed her into the kitchen. “Willow, I can’t believe you’re reading,” he gestured, “that!” .

Willow chuckled. “Old lady’s gotta have some fun, Giles.” .

“Willow!” .

“There are pictures too.” She turned with the coffee pot in her hand. “Or did you know that?” She smiled sweetly. “I found that book for the first time in your library, Giles.” .

“Brgghid’s Demonology is a standard text. All Watchers are expected to have a copy. Of course it’s nothing but imaginary drivel,” he snorted. “Brgghid was obviously well immersed in that cult he founded by the time he wrote the thing.” .

“And yet you read it.” .

Giles glared. A new thought dawned.” MY library?” .

“Yes.” .

“Willow Rosenberg, I only had that particular text in my library while you were still in high school!” .

Willow giggled. .

“That is completely inappropriate reading material for a child!” .

“Xander showed it to me.” .

“Outrageous!” Giles stomped out of the kitchen. “Every day I am shown yet more forcefully what a complete and utterly bad influence I have been on you children.” .

Willow smiled and made coffee. A minute later Giles was back in the kitchen doorway. .

“Um. Willow? Why would Xander be in Spike’s room at four a.m.?” .

****************************************************************.

Xander woke early. He was wrapped in a cocoon of warmth with a cool body curled against his stomach. He and Spike’s bodies were spooned together, Xander’s face buried in the soft hair at the back of Spike’s head, his arms encircling the slim waist. He nuzzled the skin on the back of Spike’s neck happily. He felt completely safe, completely rested. His stomach growled loudly. Completely starving. .

He eased himself backwards out of bed carefully. Sadly tossed aside his ruined slacks, and snatched an old pair of sweats from the corner. They were tight and worn at the knees, but they covered the embarrassing bits enough for him to get down the hall to his suitcase. .

Sans shirt, in skintight sweats, with a vivid red vampire bite on his neck, Xander headed down the hallway to his bedroom. Downstairs, there was a hard knock at the front door. Xander nicked into his bedroom, grabbed clean towels, shaving supplies, and was headed back to the bathroom when he heard the knocking again, this time followed by urgent bell buzzing. He sighed and changed his route towards the stairway. .

“Always some fire in Sunnydale.” .

He reached the bottom of the steps as the combined knocking and buzzing became more urgent. As he grabbed the handle, he spotted Willow’s bright red hair resting on the arm of the sofa. He jerked open the door. .

“Oh my god.” Maurice stood gaping in the doorway. The young vampire before him grinned. .

“Not really, but I’ll take that as a compliment.” He proffered a hand, but the Watcher shrank away. Xander shrugged and withdrew the offer. “Can I help you, Maurice?” He jumped back as the strange little figure suddenly produced a stake. “Whoa! Calm down, fella. No trouble here!” He reached for the door to shut out the crazy guy, but Maurice had pulled a cross from his coat pocket and pushed into the entryway, waving the cross in a threatening manner at Xander. .

“What have you done to them,” demanded Maurice, waving stake and cross, “where are the residents of this house?” .

Xander was both confused and amazed. His brain was trying to catch up to the weird info being delivered to it, something like; ‘good guy with threatening weapons’. Xander waved towards the living room, Maurice turned and saw Willow lying there. “Oh my god!” he cried again. He turned on Xander and dove with the stake. Xander easily caught his arm and held him off. Years of experience and about fifty pounds making him, even half-awake, more than a match for the tiny Watcher. Maurice struggled to release himself from Xander’s grasp. “You don’t realize what you’ve done, that is the High Priestess of a coven you’ve destroyed…” .

“What?” Xander held Maurice off and gaped at him. .

“Maurice?” Willow was standing in the doorway. She looked like she’d had maybe an hours rest, Xander noted. Willow had always needed her eight hours. She looked awful, pale and ill. Huge dark circles under her eyes. She teetered on her feet and crankily glared at the two men. “Why are you making so much noise? I need to sleep!” .

“You’ve turned her!” screamed Maurice, and his great fear gave him the strength to pull from Xander’s grasp. He jumped out the door and ran down the sidewalk to the street. Xander watched him go. .

“What the fuck?” .

“Everybody be quiet,” demanded Willow grumpily, she turned back to the sofa and flopped down on it again. “Need to sleep,” she said, and almost immediately did so. Xander shrugged and shut the door, trudging back up the stairs to his morning ablutions. .

So when Giles received the call three hours later he had no idea what the man was talking about. .

*************************************************************.

Showered, shaved, in fresh clean clothes and having consumed several servings of leftover chicken wings, Xander had set his laptop up in the kitchen where there was a second phone line. He scanned through the online calendar of company events, noting dates he needed to remember in his personal calendar. He had a week off, but they were gonna kill him with work when he got back. He had an obligatory letter to his therapist he had promised the woman he would send, but he was putting it off. They had worked to prep him for this trip. So far, he had not done a single damn thing he had planned and quite a few that he had sworn not to do. Xander paused in his typing and contemplated for a minute the doing of one of those things he had sworn to avoid. A goofy little smile appeared on his face. “Spike,” he whispered happily. What would she say when he told her. He stopped. Mentally did a continuity of events. When he went back to San Francisco and told her. Stop. Rewind. When he left Sunnydale, left Spike, went back to San Francisco and told her. That I came back and found him. Found him, fucked him, got him to tell me he loves me. And then left him again a week later. .

“Shit Harris, youfuckingrottenbastard,” he muttered his favorite name for himself. His hand rose unconsciously to find the wound on his neck. As his fingers brushed over it, he felt a wave of such longing for his vampire it made him gasp. Christ, he thought stunned, I don’t even know how I’m gonna make myself leave. He turned back to his laptop and thoughtfully began composing a correspondence.

Dear Mary,

I’ve told you how much I hate this putting it all in words stuff, so you’re just going to have to bear with the nonsense.

I really fucked this up. Excuse my French. That guy I told you about? Well, we did it again. I know, I know, 100 miles away and I can see you looking at me, so just stop it all right? I know it was a mistake.

Xander paused. What could he say? Please tell me how to fix this? That would require Xander knowing what result would constitute a fix. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, what he should be wanting, what Spike wanted. The journey from prejudice to admitting his bisexuality had been long and nasty. The journey to admitting that his emotions could be engaged, that the attraction to men was more than a weird sexual kink, had begun two nights ago. He still reeled from it. He wondered what Mary would say. His mind cast back through some of their sessions, and he imagined a pattern to questions she had asked him that he had not noticed at the time. Had not responded to or even seen the place to which they pointed. He had been so angry. At himself. At whoever had passed him the disease. At god and the universe that allowed him to survive the Hellmouth. To bury his friends and yet survive, just to run off and foolishly kill himself with neglect. He had been angry with Spike, also. At the being who, he imagined, had given him the yen for male bodies. They had worked at the Spike anger for some time.

*************************************************************

“He would just fucking look at me and it would start. God, it was so fucking bizarre, I mean this guy is really cool. Totally hard body, attitude up the Yazoo. I’d think, I can’t believe he’s hanging out with me…”

“You admired him.”

“Well, yeah, sure. I mean of course. He was all this stuff I’d always wanted to be. And he was …” Xander fumbled for a non-Hellmouthy way to explain this, “he was the type of guy the girls I knew fell for.”

“A physical type?”

“Yeah. Well, yeah it was physical stuff. But it was lifestyle and personality and just, ya know, a type that my girl friends liked. The kinda guy that, in high school, seemed to know the secret to cool. You know? They could be the biggest losers and it was like they just didn’t give a fuck. Like they could see beyond it all and knew better. That kinda guy. And he’s hanging out with me. Listenin’ to me talk and laughing at my jokes.”

“You found him attractive as a person. It wasn’t just physical.”

“You see?” said Xander. “How was I gonna not want to be around him? I mean I was awestruck. Everything was so cool when we both did it. Just drinkin’ beers and watchin’ games on the tube was cool. I even started to like soccer.” He smiled to himself. Mary didn’t speak for a moment.

“What would you say to him now if you saw him?”

Xander imagined Spike sitting at the other end of the sofa. An emotion swept over him, so powerful he felt embarrassed by it; sitting here in the daytime in this small tidy office with the calm gray eyed woman watching him mildly. The emotion felt so naked and raw wiggling out in front of him, he twitched in his seat uncomfortably. “I’d say, you fucking asshole,” he ground out fiercely. He looked away from his imaginary Spike, down at a glossy teen model on the cover of a magazine on the coffee table. “I’d say, why… why did you?” He stopped, struggling to mask his feelings.

“Why did he what?” Xander didn’t answer. “Xander,” said Mary gently, “what did this man do to you?”

“Why did you fucking make me feel that way!” said Xander tearfully. “Why did you fucking make me want …!” He was overwhelmed again.

“What did you want?” Mary prodded again gently, but Xander just shook his head. Holding himself rigidly at the edge of the seat, gaze fixed on his knees; he was unable to go on.

“It’s alright, Xander,” Mary said after a while. She flipped a page in her notebook, symbolically turning to the next subject. “Have you been taking your cocktail regularly?”

“Like clockwork,” said Xander dully.

“Good.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking the best.”

“You’ve been lucky,” Mary recited for what seemed to Xander to be the thousandth time. “But you’ve been pushing that luck, also. Your blood work is not as good as it should be. Healthy diet. Exercise. Rest.” She looked at him seriously. Xander felt it but avoided her eyes. “How much sleep are you getting?”

“Get to bed by ten.”

“Do you sleep?”

“Sure,” lied Xander, exhausted now and trying to see the time without obviously looking at the little clock on her desk. “Sleep like the dead.”

“Good.” Mary was silent until it forced Xander to look at her. Damn! He hated that trick! He stared back at her for a minute, involuntarily flinching like a bat under the spotlight. “Well. We’re finished here today.”

“Thank God!” thought Xander and, as he did every week, he bolted from the room.

******************************************************************

I really wish I could see you, typed Xander slowly. I need to talk about some things with you. Boy, she’d love reading that, he thought grimly. Like porn to a pervert, telling a therapist that you wanted to talk. He tapped his finger absently on the space bar, his other hand reaching up once more, to unconsciously stroke the bite mark. There was a rap at the front door, and he came out of his mood and jumped to answer it.

“Brown!” Xander said and then stood speechless. The boy, correction, young man regarded him for a moment, absolutely no recollection on his face. He looked like he was ill. His eyes were swollen, his hair uncombed. The jacket looked like he had slept in it. He rubbed one grubby hand across his cheek and glared at Xander, then shoved hands in pockets, feet spread belligerently.

“Lookin’ for Willow,” he grunted.

“Brown, I’m Xander,” explained Xander sadly. Brown’s eyes tiredly scanned the face; remembrance came, quickly followed by dismissal. “Yeah,” he said, as if bored. “Is the witch here? Or do I have ta go somewheres else?”

Xander stood before this piece of unfinished business and realized that his imaginary conversations with this young man had depended upon Brown being the same as he had been when Xander had left. Ran off, more like it. The man before him was no longer the love struck, eager young soldier who dogged Xander’s heels. He was very much older. Exhausted and defeated. His whole body exuded misery.

“I’m sorry about Brandy,” said Xander softly.

Bright vicious rage snapped across Brown’s face. He made to step around Xander. “WILLOW!” he bellowed into the house. He stepped back and folded his arms, stared at the ground. Willow came around the corner.

“Brown?”

“Need ya to come.”

“I’ll be right there, I’ll want my bag.” Willow ran off. Brown resumed his stoic position, staring at the ground in silence. Xander couldn’t think of any more inappropriate things to say, so he was silent as well. But he felt stuck there. Searching this closed house for a window. Willow came back and as she walked out the door, he followed.

“Can I come, maybe help?”

“No,” said Brown over his shoulder as he hurried to the street. Willow stopped and considered Xander, then nodded. “Maybe I could use your help,” she said thoughtfully, and waved Xander to follow

“At this house?” Giles spoke incredulously into the mouthpiece. “Was he certain?” He listened for a moment. Both his eyebrows rose as far as they could go, his hand rubbing his temple as if to ward off the headache. “Well, of course it’s absurd.” He listened again, became angry, “I think I’d know if there were minions being made in my basement, Quentin!” he stated testily. The man on the other end appeared to have an opinion about that statement that enraged Giles even further. “If you think I would not notice Willow becoming a vampire…” he stopped listened. “Yes, I’ve seen her in sunlight.” Listened some more. “No, she doesn’t wear a cross. What?” He made an exasperated sound. “For Heaven’s sake, Quentin, you are becoming hysterical and illogical. Willow Rosenberg, if she were not a pagan, would probably wear a star of David anyway.” He tisked. “I can’t believe I am having this conversation!” There was more rattle at the other end of the line. Giles waited with infinite patience for it to cease. But something in the diatribe made him uneasy. “Well no, of course I don’t follow his every move. Yes. Yes,” he sighed “Well, of course he’s hostile at this time. It’s understandable given the circumstances.” He listened. “Yes. Yes of course I will. And would you please try to speak to Maurice? The man is not well, Quentin. Yes. All right. Goodbye.” Giles replaced the receiver and looked at it for a moment. Then he wandered off to find Spike. This was not going to be a good day.

********************************************************************

Spike was standing in the shadows of the unshuttered kitchen, staring at Xander’s laptop. He hadn’t meant to snoop. He was just going to shut the thing off and put it away for Xan. But when he rebooted the screen, to shut the system down, the letter appeared before him. The words seemed to pop out and stab him in the eyes.

… fucked this up…. That guy I told you about … I know it was a mistake … I really wish I could see you, …. need to talk …

He could feel himself panting. It was ridiculous, a vampire hyperventilating. But his demon was careening through his head in a jealous territorial rage while his romantic heart, too many times deceived, was mournfully trying to find an explanation. Not this time. Xander had not regretted this time. He told himself this over and over. There was an explanation. He looked up as Giles came into the room. The Watcher had a determined expression.

“Who’s Mary?” asked Spike.

Giles blinked and stopped. “Mary?”

“Xander’s Mary?”

Giles was thoroughly waylaid by this question. “Uhmm.” He cast back on the car ride he had shared with Xander. “He had a fiancé named Marilyn. Maybe Mary is short for Marilyn?”

Spike nodded dazedly. Of course, the old girlfriend. know it was a mistake … wish I could see you ... need to talk … Spike sat down with a thump at the table.

A mistake.

Giles harrumphed meaningfully, “Err, Spike,” he began.

“What the fuck now, Watcher?” Spike said, staring at the wall.

“I had a rather,” he chuckled darkly, “rather more unusual than usual conversation with Quentin just now.”

“Oh fucking buggerin’ fuck, Rupert, I’m here, I’ve stuck my dick in yer fucking guillotine. What the bleedin’ hell else do you wankers want from me?”

Giles was slightly taken aback by the outburst. Still he had expected this anger after last night. “Yes,” he said patiently, “you have made it quite clear that you aren’t happy, Spike.” The vampire shot him a look that told how ludicrous it would be to expect otherwise. “Yes, well.” Giles pondered how to put it.

“What,” sighed Spike.

“Someone has seen minions about.”

“Well raise the bloody alarm, man, go dust the bastards. What the fuck does that have to do with me?”

“They had reason to believe they might be yours.”

“Geezus, Rupert!” Spike banged his hands on the table and jumped up. “Get the hell away from me you sad, sorry fuck!” He strode out of the kitchen and pounded up the stairs. Giles watched him go sadly.

*****************************************************************

The apartment building was in one of those poor but still attempting respectability type neighborhoods. Brown drove them there in a beat up van that reminded Xander sadly of something Oz would have owned. He gripped a mat in the back, Willow in the front with Brown, and tried to stay upright and unspeared by various weapons, as the van bumped over bad roads and railroad tracks.

Brown did not speak during the journey and Willow did not ask questions. This seemed to be an errand both anticipated and performed often. Not a happy errand either, judging by Brown’s grim and Willow’s resigned faces.

The building was clean but old. Children stood on the front porches watching the trio walk by. Up the stairs and at the very back. Brown drew a chain from the loop on his belt to drag up an impressive bunch of keys. Xander noted a good size silver cross and a model of a stake, also in silver, dangling from the primary ring. Brown inserted a key, found with practiced ease, into the lock and swung open the door.

The interior was a single room with kitchenette. As they entered, Xander saw a beaten green couch, and take-out containers stacked in a large trash bin. Stacks of magazines at one end of the couch. The rug was torn through in the center; and then he heard the snarling. Brown flashed a look at Xander.

“He’s gonna make it worse,” he observed to Willow.

“Xander understands these things,” said Willow calmly. She had placed her bag on the couch and was rapidly pulling out the contents. “He might even be able to help you.”

“Don’t need help,” said Brown fiercely. He was standing in front of a room wide cage. At Xander’s look, he purposely stepped in front of the thing inside, as if protecting it. The snarling increased in volume and turned to a howl. Brown’s face became anxious. “Shut that door,” he ordered Xander, “had to move her once already, too many complaints.” He turned to the thing in the cage and spoke to it in a soothing, loving voice. “Hey, baby,” he said soothingly, “Crystal honey, we got somethin’ s gonna make it better baby.”

Shutting the door, Xander heard the name and felt a rush of nausea and fear. “Crystal?” he asked, looking to Willow for confirmation. He suddenly couldn’t bear to look towards the cage. She met his eye sadly and nodded. “What is it?” he whispered. Knowing.

“Fucking werewolf bit her,” said Brown hotly. He was squatted on the floor, facing the cage, just out of reach of the thing inside. “Wasn’t her fault,” he said softly.

Xander forced his latent Scooby adjust-to-weird-shock mechanism to get on top of the situation for him. He felt the guilt like a gaping hole in the floor behind him. But he had to feel that later. “Why is she still changed?” he asked coolly. “Full moon’s passed.” Brown didn’t speak. Willow poured something into a container. A little wisp of mauve smoke curled over the lip and disappeared. She murmured under her breath and handed the concoction to Brown.

“We don’t know, exactly, Xander,” said Willow quietly, “it seems to have a really harsh effect on women. Something to do with the menses.”

“She can’t change back?” asked Xander, horrified.

“She’s in the room with you, man.” Brown turned his head to bark at him, “Shut your fucking trap, kay?”

“Sorry,” said Xander, subdued.

Brown held the container up, and dashed forward quickly, spraying the contents across the figure there. The snarling rose to a shriek and a frenzied twisting werewolf sprang into the air. Xander instinctively dove forward and yanked Brown back as the creature hurled itself into the cage wall, narrowly missing the young man. Smoke was rising from spots on its fur and Xander caught a glimpse of remembered eyes in an agonized expression before the animal fell back to the floor, whimpering.

Brown did not pull out of Xander’s arms immediately, and he could feel the tense young body shaking. He rubbed an arm soothingly until Brown realized his position and jumped away. They stood watching the thing on the floor. The smoke rising from the fur was the same shade of pink as Xander had seen on Willow’s vial. The creature moaning softly to itself and writhing. Brown’s face reflected so much agony, Xander thought the young man was wishing the pain his. It was how he would have felt.

“Can we do anything?” he whispered.

“Just,” Brown struggled with something internally, “just turn away, man, she doesn’t wanna be seen like this.”

“Yeah. Sure,” said Xander and carefully turned his back.

The wall opposite had a recent boy band poster on it. The kind popular with teenage girls. Xander was overtaken by a wave of anger and helpless sorrow so intense, he had to take a deep breath to control it. He saw Willow watching him. He shook his head, knowing she could see the tears of anger in his eyes, knowing she would understand. “It’s not fucking fair,” he whispered to her.

I should have been here, he agonized in his own mind. I could have prevented this.

“It was my fault,” said Brown behind him, “I should have seen it coming.”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” said Willow, looking at Xander, “You can’t know about things, you aren’t omniscient. It’s not your fault,” she said firmly, absolving both men.

“It should have been me,” said Brown, oblivious inside his self-recriminations. He jumped up and grabbed a heap of clothing nearby. Pushed the stack through a small opening in the fencing.

“Thanks,” said Crystal’s weak but definitely human voice. There was the rustle of cloth. Xander waited a decent interval then turned around. The girl sat on the floor in her jeans and t-shirt, trying to pull back shaggy, multi-colored hair. She was even thinner than Xander remembered her having been at fourteen. The short-sleeved t-shirt did not cover the burn marks and healing sores on her arms. Apparently the monthly ‘cure’ left scars. Xander wondered how adults managed not to see these things. He could recall so many obvious signs of trouble in his childhood that teachers and parents had let pass unremarked. You should understand denial, Harris, he chided himself. It’s your happy place.

The girl’s great eyes moved to him and that is when Xander saw the real damage. What lived in those eyes had no business being there. He had seen it before. In Buffy’s eyes, in Cordelia’s and Willow’s. In his own staring back from the mirror. Innocence marred by the knowledge of horror. Faith destroyed. Hope denied. A post-traumatic stress that no therapist could cure, because its cause was unbelievable and so unmentionable. He had found only one cure.

“Christ, I need a drink,” pronounced Brown loudly. He walked into the kitchenette and pulled open cupboards. Xander spied rows of bottles. Holy crap.

“Hey, Brown.” He tried to think of a line that would have worked on him. “Before you do, can I get you to help me with something?” Brown paused and looked at him. Xander desperately tried to think of ‘something’ that the young man could plausibly be asked to do. “Uh, I wanted to get a car. For a friend. A van, maybe like yours.” As he said it, Xander started to like the idea. “Something that could be customized.” Brown came back from the kitchen, he looked interested.

“Brown knows everything about cars,” said Crystal devotedly. He cast her a disgusted look, but smiled. “Well, you do,” she insisted.

“Cool,” said Xander. “I wanted to go look for something. Today even. Can you help me out?”

“Sure.” Brown assessed him evenly. “How much you gonna spend.”

They left the building discussing horsepower and bluebook values. Willow and Crystal trailing behind.

*************************************************************

Spike was sitting in his room in the dark, paging through a battered three ring binder filled with scribbled-on lined pages. He had begun writing again when Xander had left all those years ago. The first attempts had been meant to be letters. Hopeful attempts to apologize, explain, somehow bring Xander back. As he wrote, and as time passed with no word from Xander, he had realized how inappropriate his heartfelt missives would probably be and had kept them instead, indulging in long, descriptive texts about his feelings for Xander, his memories. There had been a lot of material. Some meandering thoughts, some poetic, like the verse in Dawn’s wedding invitation. Over time, the writing itself had become a preoccupation, and he had begun filling the pages with memoirs, observations, and weird philosophical treatises. He had cut pages from other books and written criticisms and comments on them. Anne Rice was a favored source for polemics about the stupidity of romanticizing evil.

The binder was a kind of mirror for Spike. In its pages he could imagine a portrait of himself appearing, and sometimes he looked through them hoping to catch an angle, gain some understanding. He sat now and read a passage he had written about Xander. Soon after the man had left, still thinking perhaps they would see each other again.

I’ve read the homilies, that find god in minutia. and thought them thin thoughts, for men afraid of life.

But you enter the room, in a storm of moment, smelling of salt and heat, and I am overcome with details. Stubble missed in shaving. A broken fingernail. Collar flipped up. And a jacket with stains on the pockets, from greasy burgers.

Barely stumbled erect. Only a human man. Yet you sweep over me, like wind over dark water. Your voice creating me, as you speak my name.

He sat and stared at it. He knew when he had written that what he had felt. He knew the validation he craved from others and how deeply he needed that validation from those he chose to love. He knew how completely immersed in his mortal lover he could become. But what he was feeling today, what he had been feeling since last night, was different. He struggled to understand it.

His incipient jealousy seemed much more pronounced. Just the sight of the letter on Xander’s computer, before he had even read it, had turned him green towards the letters’ recipient. That Xander would even need to talk to anyone else. The young man’s absence from the house was driving him mad. He wanted to demand explanations as if he had the right. It was a possessiveness beyond anything that even psychotic, demonic and soulless Spike had displayed and it worried him.

But odder still was the protective instinct he felt emerging. His concern with Xander’s absence mostly revolved around the need to know that Xander was safe. He had once seen a female dog, crying outside the closet where her puppies were being kept. He understood the emotion. An almost physical need for reassurance that the object of affection was safe. He more than missed Xander, he craved his return. He needed him home. Until he was assured of that, he wouldn’t be able to relax. There was a knock at his door. The Watcher. He closed the notebook reluctantly.

“It’s not locked, wanker,” he called.

Giles entered slowly, letting his eyes adjust. “Spike, may I speak to you.”

“God, what now?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing.” Giles sighed and peered at Spike sitting on the floor in the dark. He wished he could see his face. “I just.” He sighed. He knew this wasn’t something he did well at all. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Spike sighed as if very put out. “Yeah. Sure. Pull up some floor.”

Giles sat carefully on the floor across from Spike. The vampire observed how silly any man wearing suit trousers looked sitting cross-legged on the floor, especially one as naturally uncomfortable as Rupert Giles. The thought made him smile.

“Ya just wanna talk?”

“Yes, basically.”

“No more crazy accusations?”

“Not at the moment.” Giles smiled. He was rewarded by a short laugh from Spike.

“How ya doin’, Rupert.”

“Actually, Spike, I’m not having the best week,” admitted Giles, still smiling, “how about you?”

“Oh yeah, things pretty much suck for me too.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Likewise.” The two men regarded each other then both laughed. “Spike,” Giles sobered and tried, “I’d like to say. Er, that is I’d like to apologize.”

Spike sat back and looked at the mortal who had been his enemy, ally and sometime friend for fifteen years. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard that from you before, Rupert.”

“I haven’t very often felt the need, Spike.”

“Oi, bastard!” but Spike was grinning.

“I want to help, not make this worse, Spike,” Giles began. “I want you to know that I have been seriously fighting the Council over this issue for the past week. I know it doesn’t really matter much to know that, since it was obviously useless, but still, I wanted to tell you.”

Spike sat looking at him for a moment. His finger ran up and down the back of the book in his lap. “It matters, Rupert,” he said quietly. “It matters a lot.”

Giles felt enormously relieved. “I didn’t want you to feel that I agreed with any of this,” he said earnestly. “I didn’t want you to think that I hadn’t noticed,” he thought for a moment, “hadn’t noticed what you have created of yourself. You are a truly unique creature, Spike,” said Giles softly. “I am very proud to be your friend.”

Spike was so deeply moved, he had to turn his head away. He stared into the cold fire grate. “Damned amazing creature yourself, Watcher,” he said finally, in a voice gruff with emotion, “runnin’ around befriending Monsters. ‘S gotta be dangerous.”

“I have been told so.”

“Fucking lunatic even.”

“The accusation has been made.”

Spike snorted his appreciation. They sat there for a minute in companionable silence. Rupert leaned back and stared into the same empty fireplace. “So what are we going to do this time, Spike?”

“Fucked if I know, Rupert. Pretty damned insoluble problem this time.”

“Surely, we’ve faced worse.”

“Younger and stupider then.”

“Youth is over-rated. And stupidity? Well, I’m sure between the two of us we could engender some pretty convincing stupidity.”

Spike was silent for a moment. He drew a line slowly on the floor with ash from the hearth. “Don’t know if it’s worth it any more, Watcher,” he said slowly. “Hell of an eternity to go through all souled and helpless. Useless,” he amended. “Wonder what the bloody point is.”

“Everything has an affect, Spike. You can’t predict what you might accomplish.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Just can’t seem ta care enough any more.”

“We’ve spoken about this, Spike. You need to stay connected.” Giles shook his head. “It should be easy for you, Spike. You’ve always interacted well with the living. You seem to have enjoyed their company. I can’t understand what has changed. You’ve removed yourself.”

“Stop, Rupert,” said Spike suddenly.

“But what has happened, Spike? You cared more before the soul than you have in the last five years.”

“I mean it, Rupert, I can’t have this conversation right now.”

Giles was startled. They had traveled this particular circle many times. Spike was recalcitrant and uninformative, but never overly emotional. Giles guessed that the newest problem, coming straight on the heels of Dawn’s departure, was probably making it more difficult for Spike to discuss his unlife. He stopped pursuing it.

“Very well.” They sat for a few more minutes in silence and then Giles made to go. “Willow and Xander will be back soon, I expect,” he announced at the door. “She mentioned wanting to speak to you both.”




PART SIXTEEN

Spike had been pacing the living room, watching out the long picture window for an hour when Brown’s van pulled up, and deposited Willow and Xander on the curb. Emotionally volatile already, the events of the past twenty-four hours had pushed Spike into a whole new crazy place. His imagination rocketed between blissful memories of his Xander of the night before, writhing beneath him, biting him and holding him, and painful, paranoid jealousy. Underlying all this was fear for Xander’s well being, and an almost irresistible drive to find his mate and assure himself of his safety.

His mate. He thought of Xander automatically that way, had done for several hours. As he watched the man leaning through the window, exchanging words with the driver, he felt the uncurling of some deep acquisitive need. He could suddenly visualize quite clearly licking Xander’s body all over, running his hands over him, gathering up his scent. He groaned with frustration and turned another lap as the pair dawdled on the sidewalk, yammering away. The driver of the vehicle, a small dark boy with thick curly hair, came down out of the door and suddenly grabbed his mate in a quick manly hug. Spike’s demon almost blinded him with its immediate possessive rage. He stood quite still, barely controlling the urge to dash out into the sunlight. His jealousy remarked on the young man’s youth, lovely eyes, smooth maple syrup skin. His obvious humanity. He noted the warmth with which he smiled at Xander, his white teeth flashing. His mate, his Xander, leant over the boy, ‘too close too close’ laughing also. He slapped his shoulder and squeezed, and Spike flinched. “Mine,” he growled unconsciously, his hands clenching. Xander stepped away from the boy and the van, and walked towards the house with Willow. Spike struggled to contain himself, to avoid rushing to the door.

Xander followed Willow into the house, thinking about the kids driving away in the van. My fault, he admitted to himself. I left them, they were hurt. It was my fault. He couldn’t think of any remedy. Time sweeps away your options; your only choice left is to deal. He had felt his guilt all morning. Punishing himself in part by forcing the awareness of Spike, the longing to return to the house and his vampire, by pushing that down and staying away as long as he could bear. As they walked up to the door, he released the hold on himself and the bite on his neck pulsed as he felt a wave of intense desire. He quite suddenly had to have his vampire. Had to see him, touch him, taste him. It was as strong a physical need as hunger, and his hand shook with it as he grabbed the doorknob.

Spike was waiting for them in the living room. He leant against the mantel, affecting extreme boredom. Xander felt a throb of desire and barely restrained the urge to rush to him. His eyes locked with Spike’s. The look in those blue orbs was daunting. Lust, not a little anger, agitation. Spike did not look happy. Xander froze. Torn between the need to touch Spike and an impulse to run from him.

“Spike! Good, I wanted to talk to you!” said Willow, striding in past Xander and effectively blocking Spike from his view. She turned to Xander and assessed him clinically. “You too, Xander. Come in. Talk.” Amazingly Xander seemed to hear her and obeyed. Willow stood solidly in the center of the room, arms crossed, as she regarded the two tense men. “So, first, Xander. You owe me about a thousand times for every ‘girl on girl’ remark you’ve ever made.” She held up one finger. “Second, as your official best friend you owe me details.” She wiggled her eyebrows, “you owe me lots of details.” Xander turned and gaped at her, as did Spike. Willow grinned, got your attention now, huh? “Spike,” she said to the wide-eyed vampire, “I owe you a shovel talk.” Spike raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, ‘shovel talk?’ he mouthed silently. “But finally,” and Willow’s light-hearted tone dropped away. She looked from one to the other man seriously. “We need to talk about the his and his hickeys you guys are wearing.”

She noticed the simultaneous reaction as both men involuntarily reached to touch their throats. “If you weren’t my friends, and if I didn’t care about you, I’d be rubbing my hands in Witchy glee over the research and publishing possibilities here,” she said matter of factly. “As it is.” She stopped and sighed. “As it is, I’m just worried.”

Xander felt his heart pounding as the blood rushed into his face. During his confession to Willow the morning before, he had not mentioned the whole same-gender issue. He was still uncomfortable with it, and not ‘out’ so to speak. And although he knew Willow could not have cared less about his sexual proclivities, having her notice the vampire bite was a little like the time she’d found Anya’s sex toys under the bed. He felt exposed and vulnerable. He looked again at Spike. He suddenly wanted the vampire’s touch so much.

Spike gave him another intense look. He saw the flush in Xander’s face and heard his heart rate jump. His jealousy dissolved in an urge to comfort, and he took a few hesitant steps. One hand reached to brush knuckles against Xander’s arm. Xander gave him a grateful look.

Willow watched the two men struggle not to touch each other. Xander’s hand was stroking his neck again, as it had been all morning. She doubted he was conscious of it. She shook her head. “What were you two thinking?”

Two male heads turned to her, identical in their surprise and ‘hand in the cookie jar’ expressions.

“Sorry,” two male voices said in unison.

“Spike?” Willow bit her lip and thought. Spike rubbed a hand through his hair, wincing uneasily. Xander impulsively picked up his other hand, gave it a squeeze.

“Sorry, Red, really. I shouldn’t have. I know. I’m an arsehole. I just … if I tell you I got caught up in the moment, you’re gonna do somethin’ painful to me, ain’t ya?”

“What do you know about this?”

“Nothin’.” He squeezed Xander’s hand apologetically. “Xander told me about it.” He looked away grimacing. “Didn’t know till afterwards that something had happened.”

Xander looked surprised. “What happened?”

Spike goggled at him. “Haven’t you noticed anything? Anything a little more unusual?”

“No. Not really.” Xander was bewildered by Spike’s expression of astonishment. “What unusualness are you talking about?”

Spike was thoughtful. “Maybe it’s just me,” he considered softly, “bloody foolish Spike.” He smiled sheepishly at Xander. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, pet,” he admitted uneasily. “Feeling overprotective and …” he hesitated, “and really fucking jealous.”

“Of me?”

“Yeah, sorry Xan.”

“But that’s not unusual. I feel like that all the time.” He grinned at Spike and added gently, “Always have, I guess.”

Spike stood happily stunned. He stepped into Xander’s embrace as the other man wrapped an arm around him and let his head drop onto the warm broad shoulder. Xander stroked his head for a minute. Behind them, Willow cleared her throat. The two men leapt backwards, but not far. Xander blushed crimson.

“Sorry, Wills.”

“Oh, I don’t think you need to apologize,” said Willow gruffly. “But I meant that about the best friend sharing, Mister.” When Xander looked up, she winked lasciviously.

“Ew, Willow.”

Willow laughed. She found a chair and sat down. “Okay, so Spike hasn’t heard anything and Xander and I have only read some wacko Watcher’s journal.” She sighed and scrabbled in a bag for a pad and pen. “I think we’d better go at this methodically.”

Xander stared. “You’re going to interview us.”

Willow nodded. “I think it’s necessary,” she twinkled at him, “it pains me to admit.”

“Willow!” protested Xander, “some things are private.”

She giggled. “Yes, yes, I know, Xander. For goddess sake, I really am not going to ask those kind of questions.”

Spike sat down and leaned forward earnestly. He took Xander’s hand. “Xan’s got a lot of energy all of a sudden, Red. More than a vampire. If you know what I mean.” He looked away uncomfortably. Willow met Xander’s eye and smirked as he reddened. “And he was shakin’ and cold and wired afterwards. Like he had some kinda drug in his system.”

Willow looked concerned. “Shaking?”

“Yeah. I was worried; it was kinda like blood loss shock. Ya know, sometimes I would see it if I …” he paused and looked from one wincing human to the other. “Never mind.”

“I felt great, Willow,” Xander assured her. “I still do.” He realized with surprise. “I feel really, really good.” They exchanged looks. “Better than I have in a long time.”

“We need to get you to the clinic, Xander.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Xander said thoughtfully.

“Clinic. The doctor? Why? What’s wrong?” Spike was beginning to panic.

Willow looked at Xander. He avoided her gaze for a minute then looked up and nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

“What?” Spike was looking from one serious face to another. He took Xander’s hand again. Xander looked down. “I’m sick, Spike,” he said simply. “I have an incurable disease. I have the HIV virus.”

Spike absorbed this slowly, things not quite impacting. “Your blood tasted weird…” he remembered.

“Yeah,” said Xander. “That would figure. It’s blood transmitted.”

“People,” Spike paused and swallowed, “people been dyin’ from that.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s treatment,” Willow chipped in, “Xander has medication.”

Spike looked at her and nodded imperceptibly. He looked back at Xander.

“How long have you had it?”

“Don’t know. Found out a year ago.”

“A year,” Spike repeated slowly. “How sick are you, Xander?”

Xander shrugged, looking downward. He could feel Spike’s focus on the top of his head, but still couldn’t bear to look up at him.

“How’d you get it?”

Xander clenched his jaw and looked straight into Spike’s eyes. “Whoring around,” he said distinctly.

Xander watched as Spike’s careful and clever mind slowly stepped down the path of understanding. Xander saw it in Spike’s eyes when mental dots connected. “Because of me…” breathed Spike.

“Whoa. No no no, Spike, don’t go there…”

“Because of what I did. Before.”

“What I wanted you to do.”

Spike’s gaze had turned inward. Xander bit his lip and desperately tried to think of the right words.

“Before?” Willow’s sharp voice cut in. “What happened ‘before’?”

Xander spoke directly to Spike. “Not because of what happened, Spike,” he ground out, “because I couldn’t admit things to myself. Because I had to drink to hide it from myself … because I’m such a fucking coward.”

“Because of me.”

“Fuck no!” Xander cried fiercely.

“Xander?” Willow asked again, “what are you talking about?”

Xander ground his teeth. God, he thought suddenly, Mary would love this. “Before I left,” he said, “Spike and I were …” he shook his head. Comprehension lit Willow’s eyes, then compassion. “Oh, Xander…”

“Fuck buddies,” said Spike meanly.

“No, Spike. More than that.”

“Not what you said.”

Willow took a breath to speak, but stopped at a look from Xander. “Wills,” he asked quietly, “lemmee talk to Spike alone, ‘kay?”

Willow nodded and left the room. Xander waited for her to leave.

“Christ, Spike. What are you doing?”

Spike withdrew his hand from Xander’s. “Why did you come here Xander?” he asked slowly.

Xander was puzzled, “Dawn…”

“Not Dawn. How sick are you, Xander?” Spike’s voice was icy. Xander studied him. He had seen this face before. It was unreadable, but the sixth sense he had felt blossoming inside him all day was buzzing with warning.

“I’ve been lucky,” he said carefully.

“You dying?” Spike’s voice broke, he looked away from Xander and out the window.

Xander reached again for Spike’s hand, the vampire pulled away. Xander felt the beginning of panic.

Spike was looking out the window as if he saw some horrible revelation out there. “I thought you …” he shuddered. “Meant everything to me, it did.” There were tears in his voice.

“Spike, it meant something to me, too.”

“What?” Spike looked at him again, his eyes were begging, “what did it mean to you, Xander?”

Xander gazed beseechingly at those pain filled eyes and couldn’t speak. He knew he needed to tell Spike how important the past two days had been to him, he knew that he needed to show Spike his feelings, but he couldn’t. He needed Spike to touch him again, he needed to be held, before he could speak of those things. He needed to be within the safety of love and acceptance before he could whisper words that he barely had the courage to say to himself. He couldn’t say those things out loud in this silent room to someone whose face was turned away, who wouldn’t even take his hand. Spike regarded him for a moment; Xander saw his eyes shutter closed. The vampire turned his head away again.

“Convenient,” said Spike evenly.

“What?”

“I’m convenient.” Spike still stared out the window. “Can’t catch a disease, won’t care about that. Easy. No mess.” He stopped; his voice became rough. “And you knew I wouldn’t say no, you knew I couldn’t say no…” his voice faded and he clenched his jaw.

Xander stared in outrage. “What the hell are you saying?”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Spike, this is so hard.” Xander was desperate. There was too much here for him to handle. He had barely gotten a grip on his feelings and now he felt he was being asked to explain them. Spike seemed angry and Xander wasn’t even sure why.

“Not convenient, then?” Spike tilted his head carefully and contemplated the window. “Too bad, then. Must have been a mistake.”

“No, Spike.” Xander angrily felt the tears rising in his throat. He reached for Spike’s hand again, needing the comfort, the reassurance. But Spike drew away from him, his posture rigid. “Spike. Geez,” said Xander pathetically, “stop pulling away from me.”

“Shouldn’t have let you,” said Spike to himself. “I knew.”

“Spike!” Xander was torn between hurt and anger. “Stop it! Please. Stop shutting me out.” He put his head in his hands and rested his arms on his knees. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Convenient.”

“Fuck you!”

“Shouldn’t have.”

Xander felt the blow physically. He gasped. “Spike.” The vampire turned sharply at that. For a moment Xander saw him crumbling. Compassion and worry and pain, then the steel reappeared.

“You should have left me in that crypt.”

“What?”

“Dust by now. Everybody better off.” Spike stood and walked quickly from the room. Xander leapt up, but Spike turned and shot him a look that held him off. Spike strode out. Xander heard him pound up the stairs and the slam his bedroom door, followed by the loud thunk of the bolt as he locked it.

*****************************************************************

“Spike.” Xander had been sitting outside the vampire’s door for the last hour. He hadn’t heard movement inside for some time. He was so overcome with worry he felt like he was going to heave, “Please talk to me, Spike. I’ve gotta know you’re alright.” His voice rose piteously. For the thousandth time in the last ten minutes his minds eye presented him with possible dusted vampire scenarios. He drew in a breath. “Spike. Dammit!” There was no answer. Xander played his ace. “Spike,” he said in a loud clear voice. “If you don’t fucking answer me I’m gonna have Willow break down the door.”

Silence. Then, “Fuck off.” Came quite distinctly from inside.

Xander leaned his head back against the door jamb, tears of relief suddenly pressing against his eyes. “Thank god. Thank god,” he whispered.

“Spike,” he said to the closed door. “How would you feel if I shut you out like this?” Xander sat and thought, “Like I can’t know if you’re alright?” Xander chewed his lip. “You claimed me, Spike,” he said sadly. “How can you shut me out?” Xander had said the last words so softly he hadn’t expected a response. But he had forgotten about vampiric hearing.

“Shouldn’t have done that, either.” Came from behind the door.

Xander felt he had been slapped across the chest. His hand rose to his mark, and tears and anger warred inside him. The anger won. “Well, fuck you too, asshole!” he screamed at the door. He rose shakily to his feet, and hit the door once, hard, with his fist. “Fuck you and fuck off, too, Spike!” And Xander turned and headed downstairs. He needed a fucking drink.

********************************************************************

Spike lay on his back on the floor and glared into the dusty air above him. His anger was so all-encompassing it awed him. He could have happily killed anything at the moment, himself most easily of all. It was a truly impressive rage. It included the gods as well as mortals and a host of unnaturals in between. He began by blaming himself, but he was too small a vessel to hold all his anger. He blamed all mortals, for being so fragile. He thought achingly of his Xander, lying beneath him as his demon claimed him. His Xander in ecstasy, thrusting against him and crying out. His Xander, tight and warm and pulsing around Spike, and he thought once again of all those other unknown men, and the anger flared and turned against Xander. He remembered the denial and pain he had suffered because Xander would not let himself admit that he wanted Spike. He imagined all those strangers, Xander embracing them, fucking them, loving them, when he had denied and vilified Spike. And then Xander had finally come back. When he knew he was going to die, he came back. To open Spike up again. To make Spike love him again, to create this amazing bond between them, all the time knowing he was going to leave. Spike closed his eyes and felt mind-bending rage.

He laid there for some time, consumed by his anger, letting it wash him out to a place where he was only a demon. He stayed there for a long time. When he opened his eyes again, the dust motes floating above him were unmoving. The sun had settled outside and cool grey air hung still above his unbreathing lips. He thought of his Xander, his mate, out there somewhere in the darkening night. Knowing he was going to die. Knowing that Spike hated him and knowing that he was going to die. Spike closed his eyes and saw his mate again. Lying on him and loving him and making stupid jokes, knowing he was going to die and still loving him. Spike felt the last of his anger melt away, and was filled only with longing and fear for Xander.

Spike rolled off his back and stood. He remembered the last words they had exchanged and felt a surge of guilt. He had to find him. He ran out of his room and downstairs. No Xander, no Willow. Giles in the kitchen making tea.

“Rupert!”

“Ah, Spike, would you like a cup of tea?”

“Ta very much mate, but no. You seen the whelp?”

“Xander went out.”

“Where to?”

Giles shrugged and looked more closely at Spike, who was pulling on his duster in a state of great agitation. “He didn’t say, he seemed to be in a hurry.” He paused, thinking. “I think he said he was going to get a drink.”

“Oh fuckin’ bugger it all,” cursed Spike, and sped out the door.

Xander was so angry that he didn’t notice where he was going until he had walked for several minutes. He was in the bar district of Sunnydale, ostensibly heading for the Bronze, when he noticed Brown’s van in the parking lot of a less respectable pub. He turned in there instead.

The boy was at the back, barely visible, at the end nearest the employee’s entrance. He stared into his drink, and didn’t even notice Xander as the older man plunked down beside him on a barstool.

“How old are you?” Xander asked crisply.

Brown looked startled until he recognized Xander. “Old enough in some states,” he said flatly.

“Not in this one.”

“You are not in the state I’m in, man.”

“Cute,” said Xander dryly. “So how’d you get served?”

Brown tossed a credible looking fake ID on the counter. “Do I hafta go? Cuz I’ll just find somewheres else ya know.”

“No,” said Xander sighing. “No, I just wanted to make sure no one would accuse me of contributing to your delinquency.” He motioned at the bartender. “What you having?”

Brown brightened, even pulled a smile out of somewhere. “My delinquency is fine, man. But contributions happily accepted.”

****************************************************************

Spike had been meaning to simply search one pub after another. He was walking down the street when he got a feeling. It was an intuitive tingle, much like he would get when a Slayer was about, but this one felt pleasant, not dangerous (not that dangerous isn’t sometimes pleasant.) He stopped and looked around. In the parking lot of one bar, he saw a vehicle much like the one that had dropped Xander off that morning. The vehicle owned by the handsome young Slayerette that Xander had apparently befriended. Sparks beginning a fire in his head, Spike headed into the bar.

His eyes adjusted immediately to the darkened room, but he felt Xander there before he saw him. And how odd is that, he thought, pausing to absorb the realization. Xander sat at the end of the bar with the Slayer’s boy. They were both obviously deep in their cups. If Spike didn’t know the stages of Xander drunkenness, he knew nothing. They sat leaning into each other, shoulder to shoulder, laughing and talking in a scene of such intimacy Spike boiled. At that exact moment, Xander seemed to feel Spike’s presence as well and looked up, straight at him. Spike read the startlement on Xander’s face as guilt, and charged across the room.

Xander slid unsteadily off his barstool and stood grim faced and belligerent, arms crossed. Spike approached, and he stared him down coolly. “Must be dark already,” he commented to Brown, “all the creatures are out.” Behind him, Brown rose also. He put a hand on Xander’s shoulder. Xander saw Spike notice the hand immediately and then look back at him again, his expression smoldering. And whoa, not kidding about the jealousy, huh, Spike? He smirked into the vampire’s face, although his knees were shaking.

“Hey, Xan,” Brown’s voice was angry, “we hangin’ out with vampires?”

Spike’s eyes flashed and he stepped closer to Xander. Pointedly putting his hand on Xander’s other shoulder.

“Tell him to bugger off,” he demanded of Xander.

Xander flared. “You bugger off, Spike,” he said angrily, shaking off the hand that felt so delicious on his shoulder and turning away from the vampire. “Mr. plays-well-with-others,” he said to Brown, “sorry ‘bout that.”

“’S okay, man,” said Brown, taking his seat again. “Mr. Psycho-with-a-soul don’t do it for me either.”

Spike growled and pressed so close to Xander that he was shoved against the barstool. “Come home, now, Xander,” he insisted angrily. Xander heard the plea under the tone, but chose to ignore it. He pushed Spike away from him.

“Fucking lay off, Spike,” he hissed in a whisper. “I’m not your fucking dog.” They glared into each other’s eyes. Spike could smell the alcohol and the anger. He could smell arousal and imagined it was for the young boy. He felt his need for Xander overwhelming his jealousy, and fiercely fought it, needing not to appear pathetic. He raised his hand to Xander’s turtleneck, and before the other man could react, flipped it down to reveal his mark.

“You aren’t?” he said darkly, “cuz you’re wearing my collar.”

Behind him, Xander heard Brown react. He shoved Spike away and turned to look at the boy. Brown was looking at his neck with an expression of absolute revulsion. “Oh man,” the cynical face took in the two before him, comprehension and more disgust washed over his face. “Oh fucking gross.” Brown stood and shoved away from the bar.

“See ya.” And he made for the exit.

“Brown, wait,” Xander said ineffectually. He spun around and confronted Spike. “You asshole. You fucking asshole.”

“Oh what, are we hiding things again? ‘Cuz no-one gave me a program, didn’t know.” Spike was aware that he was falling but he couldn’t stop himself. His emotions were driving him too hard. “You’re mine now, Xander. No more fucking booze. No more whoring around. You’re mine.”

Xander was furious. “What the fuck are you saying!” he shouted in Spike’s face. The bartender headed down towards the two men as several customers glanced up. “What the fuck are you doing? I’m not some fucking fire hydrant!”

“Take it ouside,” said the bartender, suddenly next to them. Xander glared, grabbed his coat and spun out, Spike close behind him. When they reached the street, Xander turned on Spike again.

“Stop following me!” he yelled.

“No,” said Spike belligerently. “Gonna make sure you don’t fuck yourself up worse.” He tried to grab Xander’s arm, but Xander shook him off again.

“Oh right,” said Xander angrily, “like you’re doin’ me a favor. Well do me a favor and don’t.” He stomped off, Spike following. He stopped again and glared at him.

Spike glared back. “Have to,” he said angrily. Something in his face twitched. “Have to,” Spike said again, softer. “Xander, I was worried…”

“Oh geez, Spike. You told me to fuck off. You shut me out!”

“You lied to me!”

“I didn’t lie. I told you. God, I told you stuff nobody knows.”

“You didn’t tell me you were sick.”

“Why would I? So you could feel sorry for me? Give me lectures? Maybe I wanted just to be with you! Fuck Spike, do you know how hard …” Xander swallowed and looked away, began walking again. “It wasn’t easy.”

“Sorry I’m such a pain!”

“You said it.”

“You gonna do this everytime I piss you off? You gonna run out and get wasted every time?”

“You told me to fuck off!”

“And what? For the first time in a million you suddenly decide to do what I tell ya?”

“And you said you wished you hadn’t claimed me!” whined Xander, tears in his voice. “God, Spike, you said you wished you hadn’t!”

“Xander…”

“Spike, you said…” Xander’s mouth worked soundlessly. He was overwhelmed by that feeling of being shut out. Rejected for no known cause. He covered his face with his hand, trying to hide. “… you don’t want …” he angrily ground his teeth. “You don’t want me. You don’t want anyone else to want me.” Turning away from Spike, he sped up. “Fuck you. Fuck off. Everybody just fuck off and leave me alone. Need a drink. Need a drink and to be left alone.”

Spike ran beside him. “Xander, I didn’t mean it.” Xander ignored him. “Xander,” Spike said desperately, trying to grab Xander’s shoulder again, “Xander I need you. I can’t…” Xander stopped and looked at him. His face was blazing and wet and twisted with withheld emotions. Spike pleaded with him. “Xan, we’re doing it again. We always do this.” He put both his hands on Xander’s shoulders, willing himself and Xander to calmness. “Please, Xan. I’m sorry. I was … scared,” he admitted in a tiny voice, looking away in astonishment.

Xander’s expression softened. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. “Who’s not scared?” he said stuffily.

“Not me. Not the Big Bad.”

Xander snorted. Spike looked at him again. He grimaced painfully. “Fuck off,” he said softly.

Xander sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve. He shook his head. “You fucking asshole,” he said shakily.

“Yeah.” Spike shrugged philosophically. “Well, yeah.”

“You scared the crap outta me, too.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“You’re not the only one feelin’ stuff here, Spike.”

Spike bowed his head and stepped closer to Xander. He lay one hand hopefully on the man’s arm and rubbed it gently up and down. “I’m sorry, Xander.” He let Xander look into his eyes for a long moment, willing him to see the truth there. “I won’t shut you out again,” Spike swore.

Xander stepped back from Spike a bit and wrapped his arms around himself. He stood with his feet planted apart and looked thoughtfully down at the pavement. “Okay,” he said suddenly.

“What?” Spike tilted his head to one side.

“I can say it now,” said Xander to the sidewalk. He glanced around a little, up at Spike, then back to the sidewalk. Took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “I’m ready.”

“What can you say now?”

“What it meant.”

Spike went still. He watched Xander and waited.

Xander stood on the sidewalk in front of a dark alley in Sunnydale and cleared his throat, as if he were a small boy about to make a speech to his class. “It meant,” he said and nodded. “It meant a lot.” He closed his eyes and grimaced. Spike waited patiently, trying not to smile while Xander went for it again. “It meant that you… - …that you wouldn’t …” Xander pressed his lips together, took another deep breath. “It meant you were mine, that you wouldn’t leave me, that you’d …” he was breathing so hard he could barely speak. He struggled to control himself, “that you’d love me no matter…” Xander broke. He felt it and turned his back to Spike. “God, I fucking hate this,” he said, “I feel like a soap opera.”

“Passions.”

“God.”

Spike came up behind him, hesitantly put his arms loosely around Xander, and touched his forehead to the man’s back. He turned him gently to face him. “Losing my mind, here, Xan.” Spike gave Xander a little shake and peered into his eyes earnestly. “I’m so fucking afraid of something’ happenin’ to you, then I find out you’re sick.” He closed his eyes and Xander saw him clench his teeth. “You’re sick.” Said Spike slowly, “and maybe you’re gonna … you’re gonna leave me again. And then I thought maybe you just wanted to have some fun…”

“Geezus, Spike!”

“’Cuz why the hell would I be so lucky? It never happens, ya know. Know better than to expect it…” he trailed off confusedly. Xander looked around nervously and wrapped an arm around Spike.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice urgent, “let’s get outta the streets.” Spike was pulled along docilely. Xander urged him towards the darkened alley. He glanced back towards the empty sidewalk, and gently shoved Spike up against a brick wall. He looked into Spike’s eyes intently, pressing close to him. “But first.” He clasped Spike’s face, pushed him back and kissed him thoroughly. Spike folded himself up against Xander, his arms snaking around, and kissed him back. After a moment they broke apart.

“Geez,” said Xander breathlessly, “I needed that.”

Spike murmured his assent. He snuggled against Xander, nuzzling his mark over and over until the other man groaned. “Need more, Xan,” growled Spike. He gave in to his urge and lathed a broad swipe with his tongue across Xander’s mark. Xander groaned and grabbed Spike’s shoulders, fastened his mouth to the bite on his neck, then traveled rapidly upwards to attack his mouth. Spike pushed himself close and groaned as his cock made contact with a definitely aroused Xander. “Xander, I want you,” Spike growled. “Want you now.”

“Yeah,” breathed Xander. The need he had felt all day suddenly rushing over him so hard his knees wobbled. He felt Spike working his fly, felt the cool night air as his cock was gently pulled free. He arched against Spike’s hand and shivered with the sensation. “Oh geez, Spike,” he moaned.

The vampire dropped to his knees in front of him, his hand gently fondling Xander’s balls, sliding up and down Xander’s shaft. Xander looked down at the face and white hair, barely visible in the shadows, brilliant blue glittering up at him. A pink tongue licked those lips, and then Spike’s mouth fastened around his cock and swallowed him whole.

Xander arched and cried out as he felt the head hit the back of Spike’s throat. He clutched at the air around him and fought the urge to thrust, but Spike was doing it for him, shoving his face into Xander’s pubic hair, as he forced his cock further and further down his throat.

Xander realized how close he was to coming already and desperately began shoving at Spike’s head, wanting to draw the moment out, but the vampire could not be budged. He began making a low sound in his throat and Xander helplessly rose up on his toes, vainly fighting the orgasm that flared at the base of his spine. Spike gripped Xander’s thighs firmly and held him up as the man began tipping unsteadily. His legs were shaking and his balls were tightening. Animalistic noises came out of his mouth as he kneaded Spike’s head with his fingers. Suddenly his hips arched, his shaft leapt in Spike’s throat and shot wildly, Xander’s hips thrusting now out of control as Spike’s throat convulsed repeatedly around him. He stood for a minute alight with the electricity of it, and then gasped as Spike released him into the cool night air again and rose swiftly to lift Xander’s body with his own, and glue himself to Xander’s mouth. A salty fluid flowed into Xander’s mouth and he realized that the vampire was giving him back his own jism. He groaned into the kiss in shock and writhed against a still very aroused Spike.

Spike spun Xander around and brought him firmly up against the brick wall. Xander looked into the blazing blue eyes. “Claim me again, Spike,” he pleaded softly. He wriggled his hands between them, began stripping the buttons open on Spike’s fly. He pressed the heel of his hand firmly into Spike’s cock and the vampire thrust back and groaned. “Fuck me and claim me again, Spike,” said Xander.

Spike responded with another urgent kiss. Then before Xander could react, he was spun around and his slacks yanked down to his knees. He felt Spike drop behind him and caress his bottom once with cool palms before a wet cold tongue drew a line down his crack. Xander made a little ‘Aah’ squeak and pushed back into the sensation. The tongue slowly wiggled over Xander’s entrance, and he felt his cock respond with a little twitch. He shoved himself back again appreciatively and felt Spike respond with more pressure against his entrance. Xander cried out when the tongue poked inside. He began rhythmically shoving back against the intrusion, his own arousal growing again, as the force and depth of Spike’s thrusts increased. The vampire pulled back for a minute and Xander heard him spit, felt the cool moisture dribble from his entrance. He groaned and thrust back, “Spike, please,” he begged. The tongue pushed into him again. Spike’s hands spread his cheeks apart hard, and Xander felt that sweet spot suddenly flash blue dots across his vision. His knees began wobbling again and he writhed uncontrollably. “Yeah,” he panted. “do me now do me now.”

The vampire rose obediently, and the cold thick head of his cock pressed hard into Xander’s hole. Xander cried out and thrust backward as Spike grabbed his hips and pulled him back onto his shaft, burying himself all at once, so that Xander felt Spike’s sac slap hard against his ass. Both men cried out at the pleasure and froze for a moment.

Then Spike began a slow rhythm. Long, deep, hard thrusts, Xander matching him stroke for stroke. Leaning slightly forward, supported against the wall, his hands holding him, his own cock forgotten as he fell into the sensation of Spike inside him.

A cool firm fist appeared on Xander’s dick and he cried out again, shaking his head back and forth wildly as Spike matched his thrusts with the fisting of Xander’s cock. Xander felt another orgasm building, and started chanting, “Yes Spike, God Spike yeah yeah so good so good, God Spike do it do it. Bite me bite me.”

Xander felt Spike draping over him, the smooth leather of the duster blanketing their bodies. The cool, cool tongue lapped his mark and Xander almost blacked out. He registered that Spike’s face was still soft against his skin, and was therefore surprised when the needle sharp teeth suddenly punched into his neck.

Spike thrust once, very hard, into Xander’s ass, and clamped down with his teeth. The human arched forward and screamed. His orgasm splattered hard against the brick wall. Spike groaned desperately against Xander’s neck and thrust again into his spasming channel, his orgasm mounting. Xander began wobbling, and Spike focused hard. He stopped sucking, but sped up his thrusting. A white hot orgasm burned in his balls and Spike finally drew his fangs from Xander’s neck, and howled and thrust wildly as his sperm shot deep into Xander’s channel.

He held Xander up for a minute, frozen in pleasure, mindless. Suddenly Xander tore away. Before Spike could register the loss, the other man had spun about and grabbed the vampire’s shoulders. Xander’s eyes, Spike noted for the brief second that he saw them, were filled with fire. Then Xander lunged and bit. He sank his teeth into his mark so deeply and with such strength that, even if he hadn’t been clenching Spike to him with such force, he would have held the vampire solely with his mouth. Spike’s whole body spasmed wildly. The electrical charge pouring from his neck was the exact opposite of the one emitted by the chip. This was a sensation he could not bear to have end. He pushed himself against Xander, tried to arch his neck into the other man. He felt Xander drawing hard, insistent mouthfuls of blood from him. He was humming with greedy hunger, his tongue roughly pulling at the edges of the wound, his teeth grinding in. Spike saw suns and moons and wild eternity spinning out of control. He felt Xander’s heart beating against his chest, seemingly beating inside his chest. Suddenly something inside him chimed a low warning. He struggled against the swooning desire to let this man swallow him down and pushed Xander away so forcefully, the human hit the wall with a little ‘oof’.

The two men stared at one another. Xander’s mouth and face, even his nose, were smeared with blood. He licked at the smears avidly, gasping and swallowing. His eyes were black and wild. Spike shakily touched his mark and shivered with the sensation. His eyes traveled over the mark on Xander where the dark blood still welled and he moaned with longing, scanning the beauty of his mate as he stood before him. Spike’s blood dripping from his face, fresh spunk dripping from his shirt, where Spike had come again from the biting. “Mine,” growled Spike.

“Mine,” agreed Xander. A liquid black something flowed across his eyes. He stepped up to Spike and kissed him again. Ran his tongue all over the inside of Spike’s mouth. Tasted his own blood, his own come. Tasted his claim. He broke away and stared into Spike’s eyes. “I feel so stoned,” he stated, amazed.

Spike laughed. “Yeah, me too, mate.”

They stepped forward simultaneously into a long hug. Rocking each other gently, dancing inside the sensation of belonging and fulfillment. Finally Xander stepped back a little, shaking his head and laughing. “God, look at me.”

Spike made a point of doing so, head to toe, “Beautiful,” he said simply.

Xander’s eyes lit a little at the word, then he laughed self-consciously. “Right,” he said. He shook his head again, “I look like shit,” he studied Spike, “but I feel amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“C’mon, lets get back.” Xander was straightening his clothes out, carefully wiping the blood from his face with his fingers, then licking them like a cat. As Spike made himself decent, Xander stepped forward and just stroked the vampire’s back. His whole arm buzzed. “I think I’m high on William the Bloody,” he said quietly. Spike turned to look at him. His eyes were happy.

“Xander,” he breathed. He stepped into Xander’s embrace again and felt the shiver of awareness shifting over his skin. Then he pulled back and danced out of the alleyway and down the sidewalk towards home. Xander followed him immediately.

“Nectar of the Gods,” he called lightly towards Spike. Spike turned and smiled saucily. He wiggled his hips. Xander reassessed the metaphor. “Maybe Elixir of the Devil?” Spike laughed, turned with cat-like grace and leapt over a bush. Leapt back.

“I’m high on you too, Harris,” he called delightedly. He ran back at an unnatural speed, zipped around Xander and spun again in front of him.

“But god, Spike, it’s like I’ve got Spidey senses.” Xander pondered the night. “It’s like I can hear with my skin.”

Spike wiggled an eyebrow suggestively and danced for Xander on the sidewalk. He held his arms out, happily presenting himself in total to the man before him. “Can you hear what I’m saying now?” he asked, grinning.

“It’s like I can see auras or something.”

Spike laughed happily. “Cool!” He danced in front of Xander, walking backwards down the sidewalk, “whuts my aura look like?”

“Shit,” said Xander, stopping dead.

“Hey!” Spike’s shocked laugh died at Xander’s expression. He spun around and stared. “Fucking hell.”

“Yeah.” Xander started to breath hard; he ran up to Spike, grabbed him and began pulling him backwards. “C’mon, let’s get away.”

In front of the Summers’ residence was an unmistakably military issue vehicle. Next to it stood two S.W.A.T. garbed men with guns. One wore a crossbow across his back. The other was Riley Finn


Chapter Seventeen

Rupert Giles was beside himself. Not that anyone would notice. He did what he usually would have done, given a house full of uninvited Council members and their military personnel. He was a gracious host. He saw to their bags. He offered refreshments. He pointed out the men’s room and the phone and asked them to smoke outside. He stood silently in the doorway of Spike’s room while they dumped the mattress on the floor, tore through the dresser and hurled clothing about, in what would appear to be the standard military-ransacking-of-suspect’s house.

Quentin, who believed he knew Rupert Giles better than most, watched the man carefully as they occupied the house. The former owner, that bizarre anomaly created by the monks, had apparently left and the current owner, Willow Rosenberg, was not present. Quentin was not sure which troubled him more, the witch’s absence or Giles’ acquiescence.

Maurice, and Quentin agreed with Giles that there was definitely something not right with the man, was dogging him as they moved about the house. He had been pathetically overjoyed to see the Council member, as if he expected Quentin to be the bringer of miracles. He insisted on retelling his horrific story. Tall, black-eyed demons and vampiric witches stalking this house and leaving Giles, apparently, untouched. That Giles had not yet become undead seemed very suspicious to Maurice. He watched the older Watcher, and nervously questioned Quentin about it again.

“I can assure you, Maurice,” Quentin hated repeating himself, “Rupert Giles is not a vampire. He is not in thrall to a vampire. And while I myself have, on occasion, had reason to question Rupert Giles’ choices in personal associations, I am quite certain that he would never aid and abet a vampire in killing and siring the population of Sunnydale.”

“Of course. Of course.” Maurice eyed Giles, who stood across the room calmly answering a military man’s questions. “But one wonders, still.”

“And Maurice, he insists that Mistress Rosenberg is not dead.”

“I SAW her.”

“Perhaps. It seems you’ve seen quite a bit.”

“What do you mean?” asked Maurice, becoming agitated.

Quentin sighed. “Nothing. I only think it’s time you sat down with Colonel Finn and told him your story.” He ushered the man to Riley’s temporary desk at the kitchen table, and left him there with a great sigh of relief. As he reentered the hallway, he encountered Giles, gently replacing the telephone receiver. Quentin stopped. “I didn’t hear the phone ring.”

“You wouldn’t have. I placed a call.” Giles regarded him calmly.

“I see.”

“This was all quite surprising. I have had to make some arrangements,” explained Giles smoothly.

“Of course,” said Quentin. “Of course, we appreciate your assistance.”

“Really, there was no choice,” said Giles, “with Willow off on retreat.”

“Such a shame, that,” commented Quentin. “I was so hoping to speak with her again.”

“I am sure she will be sorry to have missed you.”

The two men regarded each other. Quentin blinked. Giles blinked. “Well,” said Giles resignedly, “I believe we need more towels. I will speak with you later, Quentin.” He turned and walked up the stairs. Quentin watched him go. He thought to himself of all the denizens of the planet that Rupert Giles had met in his long career. The quick and the dead. Of all those, who would the man have called just now?

*******************************************************************

Clem slipped his tiny cell phone into a flap of skin in his arm. He carefully pushed the mop back into the bucket and slid the contraption back into the janitors’ closet. “Hey, Harry!” he called down the echoing, dark school hallway. A fur covered nine-foot tall Heffilig demon stooped to avoid the light fixture and waved at him from the end of the hall. “Clem, what’s up, man?” he called cheerfully.

“Gotta emergency errand. Can you finish up for me?”

“Sure thing.”

“Owe you, man,” said Clem, slipping on the long trench coat. He patted the multitude of rattling pockets, looking for his keys.

“Nah.” The furry demon waved his hand. “Just put in a good word for me with your sister, man.”

Clem was on his way out the door, so Harry didn’t see the grimace and shudder his words evoked. “Yeah, got you covered, buddy!” Clem called out behind him, a look of horror on his face.

By the time he had reached the parking lot, he had his phone out and was speed dialing the third on the phone’s memory list. “Spike, dammit. Pick up your phone.” He worked the keys in the lock of his tiny Vespa, hopped in and headed off with a squeal of well-worn tires. If the vampire had turned off his phone, Clem had a good idea where he might be.

But first he had to do an errand for Giles.

********************************************************************

Xander and Spike were running through the cemetery, arguing at the top of their lungs. Spike had insisted that they go straight to his ‘hide-out’ mausoleum. Xander thought the vampire had some childish fixation with the place, believing it could make him invisible, like a little kid hiding under the bed from fire. He was absolutely certain that they should be in a vehicle, any fast moving transport, leaving Sunnydale as quickly as possible.

“’Cuz I saw the guy take out a mausoleum full of vamps once, Spike.” Xander had to inhale wheezily to keep up with Spike and yell at him at the same time. “It’s seriously scary. He’s like superfreak. ‘Kay?”

“Trust me, Xan. This is the place we wanna be.”

“Don’t wanna wake up being blown up, Spike.”

Spike stopped running. Xander had to back pedal hard to avoid running into him. He slid on the damp grass and Spike caught his arm. The vampire pulled him up straight, then pulled him close. Then pushed him away. “You gotta go back, Xander.”

“What?”

“I mean it. You’re right. Those buggers are insane. They won’t care that you’re a human. I saw things in that compound.” Spike paused and blinked, shuddered. “They do things, these guys. It’s not safe.” He glared at Xander, jaw set. “Go back Xander.”

“No way,” said Xander firmly.

Spike folded his arms and planted his feet apart on the ground. He glared at Xander, immobile. “Okay, I’ll just stand here and wait for ‘em.”

“Fuck, Spike!”

“Go home, Xander.”

“Alright alright, Spike, we’ll go to your secret crypt-o-fun. No more complaints. But come on,” Xander looked around nervously, “I don’t wanna stand out here in the open.”

“Go home, Xander.”

“No.” Xander folded his arms and mirrored Spike’s stance exactly. They glared at each other. After a minute, though, Xander’s agitation got the better of him. “Spike, we gotta move. We gotta get you safe.”

“I’m not moving until you agree to go home, Xander.”

“Spike, this is stupid; I’m not going anywhere without you.” Xander started picking his way up the hillside. He thought he might be going in the right direction. Spike came up behind him, his voice was furious.

“Xander, I’m not gonna let you do this.”

“Let me!” Xander rounded on Spike. “What the hell is this noble shit, now? Is this how you get rid of me? You gonna dump me for my own good?”

Spike was nonplussed. “Xander.”

“No, Spike, your leaving me would not be for my own good. It would fucking be the worst thing you could possibly do to me! I am not leaving, Spike. You are not leaving me, Spike. We are together now. If it’s hard, well, then it’s hard, but you don’t just walk away from me because it’s hard! I am not going to lose you now. D’ya hear me? I have been through too much fucking shit and I refuse to let that happen! Do you understand?”

Spike blinked. “Okay,” he said.

Xander took a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay.” He walked back down the hill a bit and threw his arm around his mate. “C’mon, let’s find your cold, smelly, secret crypt.”

“’S not smelly.”

“Hate to break it to you now, pal, but those stick-up deodorizers really don’t work on rotting flesh.”

“That weren’t rotting flesh. Clem kept his sneakers at my place.”

“And Clem’s sneakers smelled like rotting flesh because?”

“Oi, you ever seen his feet, Xan? He’s got like these green parasites on his toenails, and some kinda peeling tree bark callus on his feet, and …”

“TMI. TMI,” said Xander, his hands over his ears. He stopped. Stared up the hillside. In his mind’s eye lightning flashed and a joyous immortal spread his arms against the night sky. “Spike? Is this it?”

Spike hadn’t really thought about it. Which was odd because this location had figured prominently in his regrets and fantasies alike for five years. But when he had to think of someplace to hide from the Watchers and the soldiers, the only place that had made sense to him was this mausoleum. Now standing there with Xander, though, the past came up like a wall of water before him. He was almost afraid to step through it. But Xander pre-empted his moment of angst.

“C’mon, Spike,” he hissed, and pulled him inside.

It was utterly pitch black. Xander couldn’t remember it having been so dark, but there had been lightning he remembered. And a lot of Irish whiskey. Spike was bumping around out of his limited sight range. Xander heard the strike of a match, and candlelight slid and skittered across ceilings and walls. Spike placed the candle carefully on some platform he seemed to have there for that purpose and lit another. The light was fairly bright on that side of the enclosure now, and Xander gaped in wonder.

“Spike, it’s beautiful!”

Spike looked up smiling at the trompe l’oeil ceilings and walls. The heavenly motif of angels, seraphs, cherubs and clouds had been artfully crafted to integrate the statuary hanging from walls and standing near the one large tomb. They were in heaven, surrounded by angels. “Yeah,” said Spike happily, “I like it here.”

Xander regarded his vampire in wonder. Spike settled the second candle into its holder and motioned Xander over to peer through an odd square grate. It had a reflective surface inside. A kind of periscope he guessed. Through it he could see outside. The entire hill they had just come up. He rose and looked at Spike with eyebrow raised. Why would the dead need a peephole? Spike grinned and shrugged and motioned Xander to follow him to the back of the small room. There was a small trap door, much like the one he had had in his own crypt. Raising it, he shushed Xander with a hand to his lip and listening, Xander clearly heard the sound of water. Spike stood. “It lets out in a cliff over the lake,” he explained. “There’s a way down from there.”

“An escape hatch.”

“Yeah.” Spike looked serious. “Anything happens you gotta promise to use it, Xan.”

“What is this place, Spike?” asked Xander, ignoring the other potential argument.

“Monks who made Dawn,” said Spike, looking over the ceiling in admiration. “They built it.”

“D’ya think it’s got magic in it?”

“Hope so, mate,” said Spike slowly. “I think we’re gonna need it.”

Xander shivered and Spike glanced at him worriedly. “S’not very warm here,” he said anxiously. “Wish you’d worn more clothes.”

“Not what you were saying in the alley,” said Xander seductively.

Spike smiled, looking down. “Love you, Xan,” he whispered to his boots. Xander stepped close and wrapped his arms around him. He buried his face in the top of Spike’s head and kissed his crown.

“It’s nice here,” said Xander. “Can see why you like it.” He rocked Spike back and forth in his arms and looked uncomfortably at the tomb. “So who’s buried here?”

“That’s what’s so great,” said Spike, pulling away excitedly. He grabbed the top of the tomb and slid it sideways easily, hopped inside the empty sarcophagus. “Nobody,” he announced. “’S where I keep my stash.”

Xander peered into the dark box and nodded in appreciation. “Wow, Spike. Lotta stuff.”

“Yeah.” Spike jumped out again and maneuvered a box for Xander to step on. “C’mon, look at all the stuff I’ve got in here.”

Xander grinned and good-naturedly sat on the edge of the tomb, swinging his legs over. Spike was eagerly rifling through stacks of objects, holding them up for Xander’s approval and setting them down again. Xander looked about on the floor near his feet. “Whoa!” He leaned over and picked up a large tube of lubricant. Spike whirled and snatched it out of his hand. “Entertain much here, Spike?” laughed Xander. The look Spike gave him stopped his jibe. He looked down and poked at things a bit more with his foot.

“Peanut butter!” Spike announced, thrusting a jar in his face.

“Yes!” exclaimed Xander, snatching it out of Spike’s hand. He checked the label. “Super Chunk! The best!” Spike rose and proffered a spoon. Xander shook his head. “Spike, you are like Mary Poppins.”

“I’m no Mary,” growled the vampire and turned away again. “I’ve got water and some dehydrated fruit…” he muttered, scrounging through things.

Xander saw a notebook on the floor near his feet. He set the peanut butter on the lip of the tomb and picked up the small ringed book. Opened it to the first page.

Dear Xander,

I miss you so much….

Xander dropped the notebook to the floor as if it were toxic waste. Spike spun around, victoriously producing a bottle of B&B brandy. He quickly hopped out of the tomb and sat down near a wall. “C’mon, Xan,” he said, “this’ll warm you up.”

Xander nodded absently and leaned over to pick up something that looked familiar. It was a small silver flask, heavily engraved. He weighed it in his hand for a few moments, then leant over and picked up the notebook again. “Spike,” he said, his throat tight, “how often do you come here?”

Spike shrugged and slugged back a drink. “Used ta come all the time. Then,” he stopped and Xander saw the shadow cross his face. Saw the happy light in the vampire’s face just shut off, just like that. “then I just got tired of it, I guess.”

Xander climbed out of the tomb. He placed his two finds down next to Spike. Spike looked at the objects and didn’t look up when Xander sat down next to him. “You’ve got peanut butter here, Spike,” said Xander slowly. “You don’t eat peanut butter. You’ve got candles.” He sighed. “You don’t need light to see.”

Spike picked up the silver flask and studied it, shook it a little. Something still sloshed in it. “Thought I threw that away,” he muttered.

“I never got a letter from you,” said Xander. “But you wrote to me. Didn’t you.”

Spike picked up the notebook. He opened it and riffled through the pages slowly. “Thought I might, but then thought better of it,” said Spike, his throat tightening. “Listen Xander.” He set the book down. “It doesn’t matter, now. You’re here is all that matters.”

“I’m sorry, Spike.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Spike desperately, looking away.

“Do you want to know what I did, when I first left?”

Spike didn’t answer, but his turned back was listening.

“I yelled at you in an empty apartment,” said Xander clearly. “I drank and raged and yelled at you and explained it all to you.” He touched Spike’s arm. “I got drunk and wrote letters to you,” he said softly. “When I came to I burned them.”

“Why’d you do that?” Spike asked in a small voice, still looking away.

“Didn’t like what they said.”

Spike turned to look at him. Xander felt the pain like a chemical in his blood. He took a deep breath and let himself feel it. He needed to feel this, he realized. He needed to feel the pain Spike had locked up in this room.

“Why do you have things here for me, Spike?”

Spike shrugged and offered the brandy to Xander. Xander took it, knocked back a long swallow and shuddered a bit as the hot liquor slid into his chilled body. Spike was looking into the space in front of him as at some distant memory. “Used ta come here before,” he began slowly, “before you left,” he explained, his throat closing on the last word. “Thought I’d surprise you. It’s a cool place.” He leaned back against the wall, staring off into a dark corner for a few minutes. Xander silently watched him.

Spike remembered the last night he had been here. About two months after Xander’s departure. He couldn’t even remember what had precipitated it, but he had suddenly known quite certainly that Xander was not coming back. Spike had returned to the mausoleum as to the scene of an accident. Sat here in the tomb and written a diatribe of self-hatred, begging, and anger. Drunk himself into a stupor. Thrown everything into the sarcophagus, and left. He sighed. Closed his eyes. “And for a little while I thought you might come back,” he said finally. He paused for a beat. “Then I knew you wouldn’t.”

Xander saw a cinema of remembered pain flickering over the vampire’s face. He looked away and leaned against the wall next to Spike, their shoulders just touching. “Wanna know what my letters said?” he asked lightly, passing the bottle back to Spike.

Spike took the brandy, his hand brushing Xander’s shaking one. “Sure,” he said hoarsely.

Xander closed his eyes and recited. “Dear Spike. You fucking bastard. I miss you so much.” Xander stopped. He took a deep breath. “Spike, ya know all those guys…”

“Don’t care, Xander.”

“It’s important, Spike. I want you to know. I need to tell you.”

Spike sat up and put his arm carefully around Xander’s shoulders. The other man leaned into him gratefully and Spike turned to brush his lips softly across Xander’s hair. “’Kay,” he whispered, “go ahead.”

Xander rolled his head against Spike’s touch. “Things were pretty good nine to five,” he said. “Decent job, found a nice apartment, met some girls.” He closed his eyes and turned his face towards Spike’s shoulder. “But I’d get antsy. Need to get out. Ya know how I get.”

Spike nuzzled the silky head. “Yeah, Xan.”

“So I’m out and I’m prowling and I’d start, I dunno, just looking for you. Like ‘where’s Spike’? Like I expected you to just show up.” Spike was silent. Xander shifted and slid his arms carefully around Spike. He pushed his face into the vampire’s shoulder and thought for a minute. “And I’m drinking a lot, and it’s not like I’m thinking you’re missing as in ‘I miss Spike’, but more like you’re late or something like ‘where the fuck is that stupid bastard, and why won’t he wear a watch?’ ‘Cuz somehow, I know you’re just supposed to be there.” Xander was silent some more. Piecing the memories carefully together in his mind. “And then.” He paused, began again more quietly, “and then some poor guy shows up and he kinda looks like you, and I just lose it.” Xander pushed his face into Spike and the vampire wrapped his other arm around Xander and just held him for a minute. Xander took a deep breath. “I’d get so fucking drunk I couldn’t think about anything, and the guy wouldn’t have a chance. I’d just pursue him whatever he said. Pull out all the stops, so fucking aggressive.” Xander’s voice was whining. “He didn’t have a chance.” He held onto Spike and breathed.

Spike held his shuddering human and thought about what Xander was saying. “So it was because of me…” he began slowly.

“No.” Xander sat up suddenly and looked at Spike. His eyes were black. “No, you didn’t do this to me. I did this to me. And to them,” he added sadly. “You see it wasn’t real.” He laughed, a grim little humorless sound. “I couldn’t let it be real. So no protection, wouldn’t let myself think about it even. Couldn’t carry rubbers around, that would be admitting to something. Had to pretend it was all make believe.” He looked up at Spike, his face miserable. “Those poor bastards,” he said. “How many do you think I’ve killed, Spike?”

Spike stared into the guilt and understood. “Can’t do a body count, Xan. Won’t make anything better. Just twist you up inside and make you crazy.”

“Isn’t that what I deserve?”

“Yeah, maybe,” said the most honest vampire on the planet, “but if every creature got what it deserved, we’d all be just a bunch of sad sorry fucks wanderin’ around flagellatin’ ourselves.” He straightened Xander’s jacket a bit and slid his hands inside, to hug the human’s warmth to him. “Question is, what the hell you gonna do about it, ain’t it? It’s easy to sit around whinin’ about what an asshole you’ve been.” He snorted, “Lookit Angel.” Spike rubbed at the skin below Xander’s ear with his nose, “sooner or later you go nuts.” He put his mouth to the skin and murmured. “Yer better than that, Xan. Yer stronger.”

Xander shivered into the cool touches on his neck, and began rubbing his hands up and down Spike’s back. “So what do I do?” he asked.

Spike’s hands slid down Xander’s torso and began slipping slowly up and down. “You fix what you can fix.” He teased Xander’s earlobe with his blunt teeth. “You do what you can do.”

Xander felt himself relaxing slowly. He leant into the vampire and found his ear with his lips, began blowing little puffs of air around the hair curling behind it. “Spike,” whispered Xander, “touch me, yeah, like that, oh oh yeah, do that, Spike.” Spike growled playfully and Xander shivered. He leaned back and pushed at Spike’s duster.

“Take this off and put it on the floor,” he demanded roughly. Spike looked into Xander’s face and saw the need there. He obediently shrugged out of his duster and lay it on the floor. Xander regarded it for a moment.

“No. Not there,” he said, looking around the room. “I think it was over there.” He pointed.

Spike looked at him. He picked up the coat, stood and walked over to drape it on the floor where Xander indicated. He was surprised to see his hand shaking. Xander nodded, stood up and began methodically unbuttoning his shirt and toeing off his shoes. Spike stood awkwardly watching.

“Hey Xan, watchya doin’?”

“I don’t know about the candles, Spike. It was darker. But I like them. Do you think we have to blow them out?”

Xander pulled his t-shirt over his head and began to work on his fly. Spike reached forward and stopped his hands gently. “Hey Xan,” he said, “can I come to yer crazy place?”

Xander looked up at Spike. “Aren’t you going to take off your shirt?”

Spike regarded him for a moment. “Okay.” He released Xander’s hands. He stripped off his shirt, and pulled his t-shirt over his head. When he emerged, a fully naked Xander was arranging himself carefully on the duster. He lay on his belly with his arms curled by his side and his face pressed into the leather. He wriggled his ass and turned his head to blink up at Spike.

“C’mon, Spike, where’s the oil Willow gave you?”

Spike groaned and started to pant. “Xander,” he said weakly, “I don’t think I wanna play this game, mate.”

“Please Spike, please,” moaned Xander, rolling his face against the duster. He thrust his hips into the leather and writhed. Spike raised his hands to his fly and began undoing the buttons.

“Rather use that lube I stashed, Xan,” he admitted shakily. He shook his head to clear it. This was all so weird. He had relived this experience so many times. Rewritten, changed the script, so many times. And hoped he would have a chance to make it right.

“Get it then, Spike. Please. Hurry,” Xander demanded.

Spike came back from the storage tomb and fell on his knees behind Xander. The man wriggled before him, rhythmically rocking his hips into the ground. Spike fumbled with the top of the lube desperately, clumsily, finally got some out onto his fingers, and spread it with trembling hands down Xander’s crack and over his entrance. Xander responded immediately. He pushed back against the sensation and groaned and begged. “Yes, Spike. Do it, do it.”

Spike whimpered. He could barely pull down his own pants. He messily lubed his cock and then shuffled forward awkwardly.

Xander lay under him moaning and begging. “Ask me what I want, Spike. Ask me, ask me.”

Spike choked as he said the words. “Tell me what you want, Xan?” he said in a helpless voice.

“Fuck me, Spike,” snarled Xander. “Fuck me.”

Feeling that he was going insane, Spike lined his cock up with Xander’s entrance and pressed inside.

Xander pushed back onto him with a harsh cry and Spike went crazy. He fell onto Xander, pumping and snarling, pistoning his hips violently in and out of the hot channel. Below him Xander mewled and growled and cursed and begged. He thrust up at Spike as hard as the vampire, and the sound of their flesh slapping together was louder than Xander’s grunts and cries. Spike howled softly and saw the claws emerging slowly from the hands clutching Xander’s shoulders. He rolled his ridged face back and forth on Xander’s back and pumped harder and harder into Xander’s ass. He smelled the tears before he felt them as they trickled down his game face.

Xander pushed up against Spike and back down into Spike’s jacket. He couldn’t move fast enough, couldn’t get Spike deep enough. “Spike, “ he moaned. “Harder. I need it harder.”

“God.” Spike’s voice was desperate. “God, Xander, drivin’ me crazy here. God, Oh God,” And then he heard it.

“Love you, Spike.” Xander was chanting into the coat. “Love you love you love you.” He screamed and ground his hips suddenly violently against the floor, “God, Spike, I love you!”

Spike felt the strong body writhing under his suddenly go rigid. The slick hot channel around his penis spasmed hard. He screamed and thrust into that heat as his orgasm descended, and Spike felt everything inside of him shooting into Xander.

Xander was sobbing, slamming his pelvis against the floor, his hands grasping Spike’s hard and digging into the ridged flesh with his nails. He shuddered all over and yelled, “Love you, Spike. I love you, Spike. Love you. Love you…” Xander continued, shaking with post orgasmic tremors, sobbing into the jacket. “God, Spike, tell me… God please, Spike. Please tell me.”

“I love you, Xander,” Spike rasped out hoarsely. He felt tears running into his mouth. As he watched, they dripped from his chin to Xander’s back. He leant down and kissed the tears, lapped them up softly. Underneath him Xander sobbed and shivered. Spike spread himself over Xander’s naked back. He ran his hand down a muscled arm and noted little goosebumps raising up on the skin. He pulled back and stroked the silky hair.

“Xander,” he whispered to the now silent man beneath him, “Xander, luv, get up and get some clothes on. Yer gonna get a chill.” He sat back on his heels so that Xander could rise. Pulled earnestly at the man’s arm, noting with concern that the flesh felt cool even to him.

Xander rolled over and sat up. He didn’t look at Spike. His face was wet and swollen and he rubbed with his bare arm at his nose. Spike shuffled closer and wrapped an arm around the broad back. Xander leaned into him and closed his eyes. “Sorry,” he said from a craggy throat.

Spike was taken aback. “Sorry for what?”

“Went crazy there for a minute.” Xander snorted once, an ironic laugh. “Thought I could fix it somehow.” His voice trailed off.

Spike sat very still and tried to stay calm. “Oh,” he said, “just kinda lost control, huh.”

“Yeah, man. Outta my mind.”

“Right.” Spike felt his heart not just breaking. He felt it exploding. “Don’t worry about it, Xan. It never happened.”

Xander registered the shaking in the body next to him. He looked up into Spike’s face and was shocked to see the open heartache in his eyes. “What?” He stared and then comprehension dawned. “No no. Spike! Not that. I just meant the other stuff, the…” He waved his hand to vaguely describe his apparent love of violent sex. Saw Spike still uncomprehending. “I meant what I said, Spike,” Xander said finally. “That’s not what I’m sorry for.” He took pity on the confused and pained face before him. He gently grasped Spike’s chin and placed a firm kiss on lips still damp with tears.

“I love you,” he said briefly.

Spike blinked in wonderment. Xander smiled and kissed the lips again. “Nimrod,” he said affectionately, “course I do.” He shivered again violently. “Christ it’s cold in here, Spike.”

Spike leapt up and went for Xander’s clothing. As he lifted the jacket, the beeper went off. He looked at Xander inquisitively. The man took the article of clothing and patted the pockets, pulled out a small pill box. Shook it. Heard the sad clatter of the few remaining pills. He paused, shrugged and set it carefully down. Began dressing. “Never been able to swallow those dry,” he said to Spike, “ya got any water here?”

“Is that the medicine Willow talked about?”

“Yeah,” said Xander, standing and zipping his jeans. “Need to take it every four hours. Always forgetting. That’s why the beeper.”

Spike placed a canteen in his hands. Xander tipped it sideways and smiled at the boy scout logo. He dumped two pills into his hand and tossed them back with the water.

“You’ve only got two left.”

“Yeah?” said Xander casually.

“What happens if you don’t take them, Xander?” Spike sounded seriously worried. Xander gave him a quick nonchalant grin.

“Nothin’ happens, Spike. I don’t have diabetes or anything.”

“But you need to take them.”

“’S a good idea, yeah.”

“Will you get sicker if you don’t take them?”

Xander thought for a moment. He looked at Spike seriously. “We’ll figure this thing out, Spike,” he said calmly, “then I’ll get my prescription refilled. Don’t worry.”

But Spike was off in worry mode. He paced back and forth biting his nails and muttering to himself. “Need blankets, and warm clothes and the medicine.” He looked at Xander darkly. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I’m good, Spike. Really.”

“Xander, I gotta go back and get some things.”

“Go back?” Xander was stunned. “Nuh uh. No way, Spike.”

“Xander, I’m not set up for you here. Not really. Just for a few hours maybe. But nothing for long term.”

“I’ll make do, Spike,” Xander insisted.

“No,” said Spike distinctly, “you can’t.”

“Spike, you can’t go back.” They stood at the impasse and thought. Spike snapped a finger and patted his pockets. He produced a cell phone and switched it on. The red message light was lit and Xander watched as Spike expertly punched the codes with his thumb. The vampire listened for a few minutes; he flashed a strange look at Xander and then looked away. Punched more numbers into the phone and waited.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said into the receiver. He looked down while whomever he had called went on a bit. “Yer right, of course.” He sighed. He listened some more. He glanced up at Xander again who was rapidly losing his mind from curiosity. He gestured wildly at Spike, who raised an eyebrow at his antics and turned away to better hear. “Yeah,” said the vampire in a low voice. “That fucker.” He shook his head violently as if the person on the other end could see his vehemence. “No no no. I will meet you there, Clem. You will not come here. Yeah. Coupla hours.” He flipped the receiver closed without a salutation and looked at Xander. “We gotta care package to pick up,” he said with a slightly relieved grin. “And a message for you from Rupert.”

“Giles?” Xander felt his head spin. “How did he know…?”

“Shit’s happenin’, Xan. I think Rupert’s pickin’ his team.”



Chapter Eighteen

One of the men came into the kitchen and flipped a note onto the table in front of Riley. Riley looked away from Maurice and studied the note, he looked up at the soldier. “How long was it on?”

“48 seconds, sir.”

“No trace then.”

“No, sir.”

“But still in range.”

“Yes, sir.”

Riley looked down at the tabletop and drummed his fingers slowly. “Start the sweep,” he said crisply. The man saluted and stepped out.

Maurice piped up curiously, “Sweep?”

Riley spared a glance at him. “We’ll have your demon soon, sir,” he said in a bored voice.

Maurice nervously regarded the scarred and scowling man before him. “I heard,” he said carefully, “I heard that you were stationed here once. That you knew Buffy Summers.” The man was silent. He picked up a pen and began reading through the report in front of him. Maurice frowned. “I have always been very impressed by what I heard of Miss Summers,” he offered.

“Buffy was a stupid woman,” declared Riley flatly. He looked at Maurice. His eyes were hard. “She befriended demons, defied authority, had no respect for the rules.” He looked back down at his paperwork, began ticking off sentences. “Her loyalties were misplaced,” he said.

“Befriended demons?” Maurice was surprised. “But of course, some demons are harmless. And can be useful,” he argued.

“Use them, yes,” agreed Riley, not looking up. “Make friends with them?” His face screwed up with distaste. “Disgusting.”

“I hadn’t heard,” said Maurice, troubled.

“This vampire of yours,” Riley explained, “he was one of her projects.” He shook his head in apparent amazement. “I told her about him. She was very stubborn.”

“Yes, I had heard they worked together. I understood he had been of some use,” Maurice commented thoughtfully. “Of course, I never found him to be so,” he added quickly, “merely an irritant and a nuisance.”

“Fucking demon bastard,” agreed Riley.

“I suppose the soul would have changed him since you saw him last?”

“Soul has nothing to do with it. Demons are worse than animals. What Buffy did… was worse than bestiality,” spat Riley furiously.

Maurice stared at him in sheer amazement. “Are you implying…?”

Riley glared and grimaced distastefully. “She was a stupid woman,” he declared. “And now we all have to pay for her stupidity.”

Maurice was opening and closing his mouth like a drowning fish, trying to formulate a question, when a general hubbub in the hallway distracted them both. Brown was escorted into the kitchen by two men. He was shrugging away from their hands, his eyes rolling, his expression uncomfortable, when he saw Maurice. The nod he and the Watcher exchanged was civil, but chill.

“Hey, man.”

“Brown.” Maurice’s mouth drew into a thin line of distaste. “What a nice surprise.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” said Brown acidly. He nodded at Riley. “Your boys said you’re lookin’ for that Spike,” he stated.

Riley studied him. “Do you know where he is?”

Brown tisked, “Yeah, right, I don’t hang out with the bastard. But I know who does.”

Riley arched a brow. Brown looked him up and down. “Think the guy’s in some kinda trouble,” he said pensively. He seemed to be trying to make a judgement about Riley. His face reflected a growing concern with the advisability of any trust, however, and he stopped speaking.

“Who,” Riley demanded after a pause.

Brown measured him for a second. “Fella at a demon bar, otherside of town,” he said blandly. “Name’s Willie.”

Riley’s interest immediately shut down, and he looked away dismissively. “We know about Willie,” he said, “thank you anyway.”

“No problem, man.” Brown began casually to back out of the room. His glance wandered once more to Maurice, he nodded at him again; Maurice stared back.

“It was nice seeing you, Brown.”

Brown dipped a bow. “Yeah, likewise, Morreees,” he said acidly, and he tripped from the room.

Riley flicked a glance at the Watcher. “Boy doesn’t like you,” he commented.

Maurice shrugged. “Teenagers,” he said, but he gazed at the doorway through which Brown had vanished, thoughtfully. “Are we through here?” he inquired suddenly. He stood.

Riley waved him off. “Sure. Sure. Would you ask Mr. Giles to come in here again?”

“Of course,” said Maurice and left the room.

********************************************************************

“Wow, Clem.” Xander stood back and admired the laden Vespa in amazement. “This is incredible.”

“Yeah, well, I was a Junior Weeble scout,” said Clem, happily unloading objects from the back of the car. “Always be prepared,” he quoted. Xander grinned.

“A generator.”

“For the electric blanket.”

“Man! I love you!”

“Whoa!” Clem jumped and waved his arms wildly. “Don’t let Spike hear you say that! Vampires are really weird about their claimants!”

“Their what?!?”

Clem attributed Xander’s expression to shy embarrassment. So cute. He smiled kindly. “It’s okay, Alexander,” he said gently, “Willow told me. Congratulations, by the way!”

“Congratulations?” Xander repeated, confused.

“Isn’t that the correct expression?” asked Clem, puzzled. “I thought that’s what mortals said at a wedding.” He frowned. “Did I get it wrong? I’m sorry.”

Xander sat down heavily on an icechest. “Wedding?” he said dazedly. The book he had read back in high school, the bits he had found interest in at any rate, had more or less only said that the claiming was a sexual ritual. A kind of kinky blood play. Xander had kind of thought of it as a ‘going steady’ type of thing at the most.

Admittedly, the bond he felt with Spike seemed to be tightening by the second. He actually felt that the rhythm of his body was changing, as if compensating for and being aware of the vampire’s existence at all times. And if he thought of being separated from Spike, he felt a kind of panic. But the word wedding, with all the dizzying associations it had for any young American male, hit him like a load of wet mud. It knocked the wind out of him. He stared haplessly at Clem. “Spike and I are…?” he gulped. “We’re married?”

“Clem, this is bloody terrific, mate. But we can’t hang about. Gotta get back to…” He stopped when he saw Xander. “What’s up?”

Xander turned to stare at his husband? “No, no no no,” Xander started helplessly laughing, “Oh geez, no.” He gasped and held his chest dramatically. “Oh fuck, Clem, tell me you’re pulling my leg.”

“Why would I pull on your leg, Xander?” asked Clem, puzzled. He studied Xander, frowning with thought. “Willow was surprised when I explained it,” he said slowly. He looked up at Spike. “Spike! Didn’t you tell him.”

“Tell him what, mate?”

“About the ritual.”

“Ritual?” Spike looked from his hysterical mate to Clem in bewilderment. “What ritual?”

“The Claiming Ritual. You haven’t told him what it means?” Clem became quite serious. He shook his fleshy face in agitation. “Spike, you should have told him.”

“I have no bloody idea what yer talkin’ about,” said Spike, getting seriously concerned. “Tell me what the fuck yer talkin’ about, Clem.”

“Oh dear.”

“OH DEAR??” exploded Spike. “Tell me. Tell us, Clem. In twelve words or less. Now.”

Clem looked confusedly from one male to the other. “Okay,” he said in a wobbly voice. He took a deep breath.

“Twelve words or less, mate.”

Clem glared, held up a fleshy hand. “You. And. Xander. Are. Bound. By. Blood.” He studied his hand. “Like. Human. Marriage.” He had run out of fingers. “Until. Death,” he finished haplessly.

Spike stared. If he had needed to breath, he would not have been able to. “Bound?”

“Until death?” squeaked Xander, who started taking in quick, shallow breaths. “Spike,” he gasped, “what the fuck?”

Spike hurried to him; Xander stood and they grabbed hold of each other. “I dunno, Xan,” said Spike, “but I think we’ve buggered up somethin’ again.”

Clem was dismayed beyond belief. “Why are you so upset?” He shook his head. “This is a good thing. A happy thing,” he said as if to a silly child. “Hence the ‘Congratulations’”

Xander squeaked again. He was starting to hyperventilate. Spike rubbed his back, his mind driving a million miles an hour around the curves of a backstory from hell. “Fucking Angelus Bastard!” he declared suddenly, making Clem jump. “Why the fuck did that arsehole never tell us anythin’?”

Clem tisked and worried the flesh on his arms. He hated family troubles aired in public. “I’m sure he meant to…” he declared soothingly.

“Clem, mate, I’m sorry,” said Spike in desperation. “We gotta get the fuck outta here, and I really don’t know what to make of what you just said, and I really appreciate all this and all but BLOODY BUGGERIN’ FUCK! Why does my unlife always go to such shit?”

Clem sighed the sigh of the long-suffering friend. “I understand, Spike,” he said patiently. “Here, I’ll help you pack it for carrying.” He cast a look at Xander who was gasping for oxygen and growing paler by the minute. “Should I pack Mr. Giles’ letter?”

“Yeah,” said Spike wearily. “Don’t think Xan is up to it.” He bundled the man up and within minutes had himself and Xander strapped into backpacks. Spike easily grabbed the icechest and generator and strode off. “Radio silence,” he yelled back. “Ya know where I’ll reach you.”

Clem nodded and waved. “Right,” he called after them. “Mazeltoff,” he added softly.

*************************************************************

Brown checked his equipment and his pockets with the assurance and practice of a professional. The crossbow was strapped securely across his back, but he would be able to release it quickly. His baggy multiple pocketed cargos held crosses, stakes, holy water in metal flasks, and a variety of ingredients for various other common demons. He remembered for a minute that Xander had been the one, way back when, who had turned him on to the value of loose, multipocketed clothing.

He sighed and placed his hand on the low wall surrounding the cemetery. Glanced around quickly, then hopped over and took off into the dark. After a few seconds, Maurice emerged from the other side of the road and followed him in.

********************************************************************

The only two men who had ever had any hope of telling Buffy Summers what to do sat across the wooden kitchen table and studied each other. Giles’ incomplete assessment of Riley Finn, from the post-Initiative days, had always remained open-ended. His relationship with Buffy notwithstanding, Giles had been always unsure about where to place Riley in the scheme of things. The past two hours had filled in a lot of boxes for him, however. He didn’t like him, Rupert Giles decided. He was surprised to realize it. He liked most people to a certain extent. But Riley had gone bad. Giles could feel it. The illness of anger unexamined oozed from him like an odor. Giles could smell the hate. It was rancid and sour and dangerous, thought Giles, his instincts alerting and unconsciously preparing for battle.

“So, I suppose it is a little late to express my amazement that you have an association with the Council,” said Giles slowly.

Riley shrugged and gave him a cool look. “You always knew it, didn’t you?”

“No. Actually no,” said Giles unhappily. “I had hoped the things I heard were only gossip.”

“You don’t approve.”

“My approval is unnecessary and unwanted.”

“You’re right.”

Giles narrowed his eyes for a minute. Then he nodded and looked away. “So. I had heard you were married?”

“She’s dead.” Riley’s voice was bored.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sure,” said Riley. He drummed his thumb on the table slowly. “You married?”

“No,” sighed Giles, he gestured around him. “I never seem to be in one place long enough. And then I’m working.”

“Bad business for family men anyway.”

“Yes. Indeed.”

Riley barked. A strange sound that Giles took a minute to realize was a laugh. “Thought you were queer when I first met you,” he grinned. “All you English guys.” He barked again.

Giles’ eyebrows went up and stayed there.

“Don’t be offended,” said Riley good-naturedly.

“I wasn’t,” Giles said pointedly. He looked down and ran a crease down a piece of paper, attempting to mask the grimace of extreme distaste he felt on his face. “What did you want to talk to me about, Agent Finn?” he asked coolly.

“Christ, I’ve pissed you off.” Riley didn’t sound at all repentant.

“On the contrary,” said Giles smoothly, “you’ve enlightened me.” He looked coldly at the man across the table from him. “Now, what can I help you with.”

“Oh, I wasn’t looking for your help, sir,” said Riley, smirking.

“Oh?”

“No. Just wanted to let you know something. In case it wasn’t clear.”

“And that would be?”

“Stay the fuck out of my way,” said Riley. His face showed no emotion, but a vein on his temple throbbed noticeably.

Giles tilted his head and protested mildly, “But I have no intention of interfering with you, Riley,” he lied easily, “I understand the job you have come here to do.”

“Listen, Mr. Giles,” Riley interrupted in a louder voice, “I don’t like the way you people do things. I didn’t like what you did to Buffy and I don’t like what is happening here now.”

“To what are you referring?” Giles inquired.

“This is a war,” stated Riley fiercely. “People like you don’t see it. It’s us against them.”

“Us being whom exactly?”

“That’s just what I mean,” Riley said angrily, “splitting moral hairs. Good demons. Bad demons,” he sneered. “The only good demon,” he declared, “is a dead demon.”

Giles allowed himself a mild snort of amusement. “I beg your pardon,” he said at Riley’s look, “but you sound like an American Western.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” said Riley, offended.

“Of course not.” Giles tried to quell his smile.

“I’ve been all over this planet, Mr. Giles, and I have seen what happens when you begin treating demons like they have ‘rights’.” He said the word with distaste. “The next thing you know, they’ll be going to public schools and wanting the vote.”

“Indeed,” Giles said in an interested voice. He thought of the Tzerflig demons with whom he had attended his Junior Watcher’s training academy, but didn’t mention them. “That would be a bad thing?” He couldn’t help the query at the end of the sentence.

“They are poisoning our planet,” Riley exclaimed in agitation. “The race is threatened!” He pushed back in his chair. “The ONLY solution is control. And extermination.”

Giles found he could not respond to this declaration. He had suspected this element was being supported by the Council for some time, but he hadn’t realized the level of sophistication their involvement had reached, or the extremism of their beliefs. He felt an uneasy culpability in his lack of attention to this development. How many times had he heard the rumors and chosen not to believe them because they made him uncomfortable? How many of his peers were doing the same? Quentin’s involvement and possible approval made the entire issue so much more dangerous than one could have imagined; Giles doubted he would be believed if he told anyone else. And he doubted not for a second that he would be immediately and mysteriously silenced if he chose to do so. Giles was not a cowardly man, but he felt very afraid. He silently prayed that Willow would be successful in her journey.

Xander sat cross legged on the mausoleum floor, squinting over a candlelit letter.

Dear Alexander,

I can only assume that your absence is due to your having joined Spike in whatever action he has chosen to take. I would hope that you have thought this through thoroughly, but knowing you I imagine that you have not.

Please do not take this as condemnation. On the contrary, I seem to recall that the same impulsive spirit is what compelled you to join Buffy all those years ago, in her fight against evil. I commend you for it.

Some of us do not follow our hearts with such utter conviction, I am sorry to say. However, there is an advantage to circumspection. I hope that you will keep that in mind in the coming days and not react too hastily to events as they unfold.

You of all people should understand that no one is wholly good or evil and all things may be redeemed.

You should expect a communication from Willow as well in the very near future. For a number of reasons, she has chosen to approach these matters in a different way than have I. We both wish you all the best.

Give our love to Spike.

Rupert.

Spike emerged noisily from the trapdoor and slapped an empty canvas bag down on the floor.

“Bloody marvelous dumping spot off that cliff, Xan,” he said in a satisfied voice. “Nobody’ll see it and start to wonder.” He looked up at Xander. “That the Watcher’s letter?”

Xander nodded and lay the paper carefully down on his leg.

“What’s he say, then?”

Xander folded the letter along its creases and slid it back into the envelope. “Oh, you know Giles. All fatherly advice.”

“Too bad, was hoping he had a Swiss account number for you.”

Xander laughed, “What is it about Giles that makes us all think he has a secret stash somewhere?”

“Dunno. Lack of noticeable employment? Suddenly producing bankchecks for thousands of quid outta thin air? That public school attitude?”

Xander shook his head, grinning. “He said we should expect to hear from Willow.”

“Yeah, great, I’ll be watchin’ now for visitations in the night.”

“He said she’s doing something about all this.”

Spike cocked his head sideways. “About me? Or about this?” He gestured between himself and Xander.

Xander shook his head and shrugged. “Guess both, they’re both the same thing now, aren’t they?”

“Not necessarily,” Spike said thoughtfully. Xander watched the vampire pensively draw a circle on his knee. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” said Xander. “He said to send you their love.”

The look on Spike’s face was priceless.

*************************************************************

Willow was subject to vertigo. She often thought it ironic that someone whose balance was easily disrupted by changes in atmospheric pressure, sinus allergies and rapidly moving vehicles, would find herself in an occupation which often involved displacement and general non-uprightness.

The environment she was in right now had that particularly spherical liquidity to it that she found especially nauseating. She struggled to keep her head from lolling sideways and made a mental note to check on some recipe for ultra-dimensional dramomine.

“Phtoooxw. Lredgh. Ulxt,” said something in front of her.

Willow didn’t know if what oozed before her was the creature that spoke, or the surface on which it sat. She sighed and focused.

“Phtoooxwy Leeeza,” she explained patiently.

There was a long silence. Something large and gloppy hit the floor(?) nearby.

“Leeza Ulxtoper,” said the creature.

Willow sighed with relief. “Dap,” she said gratefully. She closed her eyes and felt the awful elastic snap as her conciousness threw her back to the room in which she sat. She lay back wearily on the floor, her head spinning. There was a loud thunk as a heavy bound volume appeared mid-air and fell near her head. “Oh, Goddess,” sighed Willow, covering her eyes against the incipient migraine. “I wish I could order online.”

********************************************************************

“Can you really see in the dark, Spike?”

Xander and Spike were rolled together in joined sleeping bags, with Clem’s electrical blanket spread over them. The candles were extinguished and they had made their ‘bed’ behind the tomb to hide themselves from view. So no light at all illuminated the vampire for Xander. He pushed himself against Spike’s face and found his lips by feel. The kiss was soft and comforting. Xander snuggled closer.

“Sure. Can see pretty well.”

“I’d heard that.” Xander yawned and brushed his hand gently back and forth across Spike’s bare back. They had stripped to their shorts. It was too uncomfortable to sleep in their clothes, and with the extra blanket it was tolerably warm. Xander could feel the small muscles flex in Spike’s back as the vampire hugged him closer. His fingers counted ribs. He looked up into the dark and imagined he saw a vague outline of Spike’s head above him. “Say it again?”

Spike looked down into the black liquid eyes and swore a thousand oaths to himself to protect this man. “I love you,” he whispered intently. “You belong to me. You’re mine.”

Xander smiled into the darkness. “Yeah,” he said happily. He wriggled against Spike and nestled his head against him again. “Like how that sounds,” he whispered. He stilled a little and looked back up at the dark shape above him. “What do you think it means, Spike?”

Spike sighed. His hand drifted to the back of Xander’s hair and he began to plait it rhythmically with his fingers. “Dunno, Xan.” He stroked the man’s hair. “We’ll talk to Red. Maybe we can undo it.” He paused in his ministrations and looked down at Xander’s dark head nestled against his chest. He ached at the thought that it would not always be there. “If you wanna undo it. Maybe we can.”

“Is that what you want?” Spike heard the small child in Xander’s voice. It pulled the dead heart out of Spike’s chest and twisted it hard.

“Just wanna be with you,” whispered Spike. “No matter what it takes.”

Xander pushed against him with his nose. “’S what I want, too,” he said very softly.

“We’ll talk to Red then. Make sure everything’s proper.”

“Okay.”

“Anything buggered up, we’ll fix it.”

“Okay.”

Spike was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. He clutched Xander to him and buried his face in the soft hair. “You sure, Xan?” he asked desperately. “You sure this is what you want?”

In answer, Xander opened his mouth and trailed his tongue up Spike’s chest to his chin, rolling him onto his back. He pulled himself free of the vampire and crawled up his body, feeling his way by touch. Spike lay still while Xander’s hands found his face, his nose, his mouth. Holding his mouth carefully under his fingers, Xander shuffled up and hovered over Spike’s face, his dripping cock swaying above Spike’s lips. “Can you see me, Spike?” whispered Xander hoarsely.

Spike licked one of the fingers that rested on his lips, then he lifted himself up and took a long swipe at the swollen shaft. Xander gasped and pushed himself towards Spike’s lips. Spike lifted up and helped Xander press his cock into Spike’s mouth. The taste of chocolate and salt and human sweat flowed over Spike’s tongue and he lay his head back in ecstasy as Xander carefully thrust down into his throat. Spike lathed his tongue around and around the delicious warm flesh and hummed with happiness.

“I can feel you, Spike,” Xander whispered above him, his voice strangling with the effort not to thrust uncontrollably. “I can feel you around me, surrounding me, ahh.” He shuddered as Spike sucked hard and fluttered his tongue over Xander’s slit. “I can feel you loving me, Spike. I can feel you.” Xander lost himself for a minute in the sensations. He planted both hands firmly on either side of Spike’s head and began gently sliding back and forth in Spike’s mouth. “I can feel myself inside of you, feel you around me. Oh god.” Xander slid out and fell on Spike. The blanket fell away from them completely and his hands shoved at the waist of Spike’s boxers. Spike mouth was still looking for Xander’s penis, when Xander’s mouth pressed down on it and Xander’s tongue dove inside and began finding his own flavor. The strong warm body gyrated urgently above him and Spike responded enthusiastically, his hands running over the arching back, his hips and thighs pressing against Xander’s. Xander pulled back gasping. “Spike?”

“Yeah,” Spike responded, dazedly.

“Wanna fuck you, Spike. Gotta be inside of you.” Xander was already lifting Spike’s legs urgently. Spike reached around and found the overused tube of lubricant. He slapped it into Xander’s hand and the other man grabbed it and immediately began rubbing a large glob across Spike’s entrance; he pushed two fingers in hard and the vampire arched and yelped.

“Yeah,” said Xander lustfully. “Make you yell, Spike.” He squirted out more glop and slathered it liberally over his cock. “Wanna hear you scream while I’m inside you.”

“Fuck, Xander.”

“Yeah,” Xander agreed enthusiastically. He pushed the head of his overly engorged penis against Spike’s crack and rubbed it slowly up and down till he found the entrance by feel.

He rubbed himself there a bit. “Can you feel me, Spike?” he whispered to the darkness. “Can you feel how much I want you?”

“Xander,” Spike moaned, thrusting himself towards the pressure.

Xander pressed against Spike’s entrance. The vampire’s hole was tight and virginal. Xander suddenly became wild with the knowledge that no man had been here since he had, five years ago. The thought made him half insane. “You’re mine, Spike,” he hissed. “Gotta be inside you, gotta make you feel me.” Xander slid his fingers around the clenched muscle, working it as he pressed the head of his penis harder and felt Spike’s abdominal muscles tighten as he arched towards Xander’s touch.

Spike cried out wordlessly and grabbed at Xander.

“Tell me you want me,” whispered Xander heatedly, working the lube around the head of his cock, thrusting back and forth, working himself in centimeter by centimeter.

He could hear Spike panting, he could feel him writhing. Cool hands were grasping his hips, pulling him forward. “Fuck me, Xander,” whined Spike.

Xander felt the head of his cock breaching Spike’s entrance. Spike was tight and cool. “God,” he exclaimed with a little cry, and shoved himself in to the hilt.

Spike cried out and arched up. Xander grabbed at his calves with his hands and push his legs back towards his shoulders, folding him in two. He drew out almost all the way and shoved himself in fast and hard again. Spike cried out again. “Yeah,” growled Xander, and did it again.

“Xander!” cried Spike as he felt the man slam into him again and again. He grunted to the rhythm of Xander’s thrusts. His hand found his own cock and he began stroking wildly.

Xander rose up a bit, found a deeper angle, and slammed in again hard. “This is what I want, Spike,” he panted as he drew slowly back. Slammed into Spike again. “This is where I want to be,” he growled, drawing back. He thrust himself in hard several times. Spike grunted with the impact and Xander cursed. He upped his rhythm and began slamming in harder, forcing sounds out of Spike’s mouth with every thrust. “Here. Right. Here,” announced Xander breathlessly as he pounded into Spike for all he was worth. He grabbed the vampire’s shaft and began pumping it hard in counterpoint to his thrusts. Spike began crying out again. Inarticulate, animalistic noises, moans and whimpers. He thrust against Xander and writhed. Xander howled and felt himself drawing the tingling sensations from the air around him. Eveything settling in his back and flowing into his balls. “This is what I want,” Xander said loudly. “This is what I want to be. This is where I want to be. God. Spike. Spike,” he cried out wildly and thrust hard again and again. Spike howled and Xander felt the warm cum coating his hand, Spike’s channel clench around him and the pulse of hot, thick streams of cum shooting from his balls and into Spike.

Xander collapsed on top of Spike with a great joyful shout. His mouth found Spike’s and kissed it hard and thoroughly. He snagged the blanket and drew it back around them. Xander was still breathing hard. He lay his head on Spike’s chest, panting. “This is what I want, Spike,” he said firmly. “Whatever this is. This is what I want.”

Spike found himself inarticulate with emotion. He pulled the blanket more firmly around Xander’s bare shoulders and held the other man as close as he dared. Together they drifted off to sleep.

*************************************************************

Much later Spike woke to find Xander spread naked across the outside of the sleeping bag, covering three quarters of it with his body and practically pinning Spike inside. Spike squeezed out of the blankets and only then noticed the feverish sheen of sweat on Xander’s skin. And the high color on his face. By the time he had surrounded the young man once again with warmth, and brought him to semi-consciousness, Xander was moaning and delirious with fever.

Spike helplessly sat beside him. He could smell the dawn coming in just minutes. He calculated that he wouldn’t even be able to make it out of the cemetery with his bundle of Xander, before he was toasted. Xander drifted in and out of consciousness but Spike was fairly certain the mortal wouldn’t be able to walk. He stroked Xander’s arm through the blanket. He was trembling all over.

“Spike.” Xander turned to him, his eyes wandered wildly around Spike’s head. “What is that, Spike, your head is on fire.”

“Xan. Hush now. Look at me, luv. C’mon, Xan.” Spike petted Xander’s hand, attempting to capture his focus long enough to communicate. “Xander,” he whined. “ Xan, I don’t know how to take care of you.”

Xanders hot eyes rested on Spike again. He got a weirdly sexy look on his face. “Yeah. You’ll do,” he said roughly, “Just pretend you’re gonna bite me.” He moaned and tossed his head around. “Spike. Where are you?”

Spike jumped and touched his hand to Xander’s face. He was blazing. He thought hard and remembered things from mortality. Fevers and cool water. He jumped up and came back with the canteen and an old t-shirt. He lay the dampened material carefully across Xander’s forehead and was gratified when the young man pressed against it and sighed. “Feels good. Feels good.” Spike crouched next to Xander with the cloth held on his head and tried to think.

He knew about the military and cell phones. He had a pretty good idea that any calls he made would be intercepted. He had an even stronger intuition that the one he had made earlier would have been noticed. He was afraid to use the phone again. He was trapped here in the mausoleum. But he was sure he couldn’t wait for sunset to get Xander to a hospital. He knew enough about the HIV virus to know that a serious illness was life-threatening. He couldn’t sit and wait for Xander to fight this thing off. The stuff in Xander’s body that fought off disease wasn’t working. He’d have to risk a call.

Spike walked over to retrieve his duster from the back corner where they had stashed their packs. He was to the right and rear of the entrance, therefore, when Brown walked in.

The young slayerette was fairly well skilled in self defense. Unlike Buffy’s tribe, Brown and Crystal had both mastered their way up to black belt in the martial arts. If anything, one should always know how to get away. Brown also had pretty good natural instincts. But he never even heard Spike or felt him coming. One minute he was peering into the dusty mausoleum, probably the hundredth he’d stuck his head in tonight, and the next he was shoved against a cement tomb, both of his hands pinned painfully behind him, his legs immobilized by a hard knee, and his head pressed firmly to the cement slab. He lay there for a heartbeat. Gasped in startlement. Jerked in a quick and obviously useless attempt at escape. Then closed his eyes and waited to die.

“Go ahead, fucker,” he said coolly. “Hope you choke on it.” The thing that held him didn’t answer. It adjusted its weight a bit. Brown grasped the opportunity and attempted once more to escape. Once more it was utterly useless. He sighed. “Gettin’ really fucking bored here, man,” he said as best he could with his cheek pressed into a cement slab. The demon tisked and Brown was yanked up and hurled to the ground. He wriggled, but the full weight of his captor was on his legs and his arms were still firmly held. Something cool and sharp was being wrapped around his wrists. He pulled at it and it bit into the flesh on his arms, and became tighter. The thing twisted around and grabbed Brown’s feet. He tensed and resisted, but his feet were apparently held with ease while the same material was wrapped around and around his ankles

Spike leapt up from his prisoner and studied him, trying to think how to gag him and let him still breathe.

“Spike.” Xander was moaning again and Spike spun around and ran to him. The cloth had slipped off Xander’s face and Spike carefully doused it with more water and wrung it a bit before re-applying it to Xander’s head. “Spike?” Xander’s eyes looked up at him with something like comprehension. “I feel kinda awful, Spike.”

“I know, Xan. I’m gonna get you to a hospital.”

“No. No. Spike, I don’t wanna leave you.” Xander feverishly struggled against his blankets. Spike tried to still him gently and replaced the fallen cloth. He leant down and kissed the damp hair.

“Sshh, pet. I’ll take care of you. It’s gonna be alright.”

“Spike. No. Stay with me please, Spike.” Xander clutched weakly at Spike’s shirt. “Promise, Spike,” he whispered deliriously, “promise me.”

“Xander.” Spike felt tears in his throat.

“What the fuck have you done to him?”

Spike turned and saw Brown rolled onto his back and half leaning against the wall. He appeared to have been wriggling his way to the door. Spike grinned at the tenacity of the kid, strode over, lifted him easily and tossed him back into the corner near their ‘bed’ where he could keep an eye on him.

“He’s sick. You’re gonna help me.”

“What’s he sick from,” sneered Brown, “blood loss?”

Spike flashed him an angry look. But the possibility that their little blood play had actually precipitated this illness had already occurred to him and he looked away, found Xander’s clothes. Began turning them right side out.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded. “I’m gonna get him dressed.”

Brown silently regarded the vampire in boxer shorts before him. Spike looked up angrily. “Ya wanna blindfold?” he asked.

Brown obediently closed his eyes. “So you guys fucking?” He couldn’t see Spike’s expression and there was no answer. “No?” He smiled to himself. “Too bad,” he said tauntingly, “nice lookin’ guy.”

“You shut the fuck up.”

“Spike?” Brown heard thrashing and peeked carefully through his lids. The vampire had his back to him, struggling to put pants on a resistant and obviously delirious patient. Xander was covered with sweat and flushed across his chest. His breathing was phlegmy and labored and he was alternately pushing at Spike and grabbing hold of him. “Spike, don’t. I don’t wanna go anywhere. No. No,” he was crying and Brown closed his eyes against the sight of it. “Spike,” he heard Xander whimper. “I love you, Spike, don’t make me leave.”

The pathos of the statement touched something in Brown. He opened his eyes again to see the vampire sitting next to Xander, softly stroking his cheek. He could see his face in profile gazing into Xander’s, completely oblivious to Brown’s presence. “I love you too, Xan.” The tears in the voice were obvious. “But I can’t let you stay here. You gotta get well for me, luv.”

Brown groaned and banged his head against the wall behind him. Spike turned and glared at him. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this,” said Brown regretfully. “Sure, I’ll help you, Spike. What do you want me to do?”

********************************************************************

Brown rubbed the cuts on his wrist where the fishing line had dug in and wiggled his feet to get the feeling back into them. Spike sat back on his heels and gave him a speculative look. “What d’ya know about fevers?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Spike, but for a fever you take aspirin, right?”

“Aspirin,” Spike said flatly. “Don’t think I have any. Got the other medicine.”

Brown sighed. Started digging in a deep pocket. “I have some.” He stopped with the bottle in his hand and looked at Spike. “What other medicine?”

“Xan’s sick. Gotta take medicine.”

“What’s he sick with?” Spike was silent. He held out his hand for the aspirin, but Brown drew it back. “Hold on, hold on, Spike. You can’t just give people loads of medication. What if the stuff interacts badly?”

“Interacts?” Xander moaned again behind him, and Spike spun around. He patted the damp cloth helplessly and looked back at Brown desperately. “I dunno anything about this. Please. You gotta help me here,” he pleaded. He dug in a bag nearby and brought out the new packet of pills. “This is the stuff he takes. Every four hours he said.”

Brown took the package slowly. The brand name was a recognized HIV antiretroviral drug. He looked at it. Looked at Spike. Made himself look at the delirious Xander. “Fuck,” he said sadly, “this so blows.”

“Why? What do you mean?” Spike said desperately.

Brown was reading the interaction warnings on the label. He shoved the aspirin bottle at Spike. “Yeah, here, give him two of these. We gotta get him on his feet. We gotta get him to a hospital.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘s obvious. But I can’t.” Spike glanced at the door and shook himself with frustration. “Daylight outside.”

“Oh. Right.” Brown looked over at Xander. He was at least thirty pounds heavier and a good four inches taller. He watched as Spike carefully held the man’s head up and coerced the pills into his mouth. Xander fought him, mumbling about blood and teeth and some other shit Brown just didn’t wanna understand. “Damn, I dunno if I can carry him, Spike. What are we gonna do?”

“I’ll make a thing you can drag him on.” Spike carefully laid Xander down. He leapt up and started pulling apart the backpacks. “Got some metal supports in these.” The material separated under his hands like gauze. “Then I’ll call an ambulance. Have you picked up.”

“No way they’ll come near a cemetery in Sunnydale, man.”

“These guys will,” said Spike simply.

Brown glanced at him nervously. He turned back to Xander who was rolling himself out from under the blankets again. He gently rolled him back. Xander focused on him and grabbed weakly at his hand. “Spike?” he asked fearfully, “Spike?” His voice began to rise in panic. “No! No! Where’d he go. NO.”

Spike ran back to Xander’s side. “Right here, Xan,” he soothed, gently petting the man’s tossing head. Xander focused on Spike again, and relaxed a bit. “Thought you’d left me.” he said, tears flowing freely from the corners of his eyes. “Thought you were gone.”

“Geez, man. We’ve gotta get him rational or he won’t go anywhere,” said Brown worriedly.

Spike lifted the dry cloth from Xander and turned back to the thermos to dampen it. “Won’t that aspirin help?”

“I hope so.” They sat and watched Xander. Spike chewed on his nails. He jumped up and began to tear apart the backpack again. Brown watched him.

“So what is going on here?” he said finally. “I mean you’ve got the guy sleeping in a tomb. He’s got pnemonia or something. Everybody’s all Harlequin romance. What the fuck is happening here?”

“None a yer business,” growled Spike without looking up.

“I think it’s my business if I’m about to load him into a demon driven ambulance, man!”

Spike stopped and looked at Brown. “Xander and I are together.”

“Yeah, got that from the mutual declarations of affection. Thanks.” Brown folded his arms and sat back. “Don’t really give a fuck who a guy fucks, man. Life’s too short.” He shook his head slowly. “Got plenty a friends with worse problems. What I wanna know is why Xander’s got a big vampire bite on his neck. And why you got something on your neck that looks like a dinosaur chomped you.”

Spike looked at the ground. He felt weird saying this out loud. “We’re claimants,” he said. Yep, out loud it sounded weird. He shrugged and went back to his task, avoiding seeing Brown’s reaction. “We had a blood ritual. We’re mates. We’re mated.”

“You shitting me?”

Spike shot him a dirty look.

“You guys are like, married?”

Spike glanced quickly at Xander. “He kinda doesn’t like that word, mate.”

“Geez. Don’t blame him. Fuck.” Brown was shaking his head in disbelief. “Married to a vampire. Shit. That would be on the top ten of crappy things that could happen to a guy.”

“Along with having AIDs,” he added thoughtfully.

Spike gave him an unhappy look and tore a metal support loose. He weighed it in his hand. “Well, maybe we can get him outta it,” he said sadly.

“The fatal disease or the fatal relationship?”

Spike slammed the metal bar to the floor and furiously began twisting the aluminium straight. “Don’t fucking wanna hurt him.”

“He looks pretty hurt, anyway, Spike.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah. Well.” Brown walked over and crouched by Xander. He had stopped tossing about and was starting to dazedly focus on things. “How ya doin’?”

Xander groaned. “Brown?”

“It’s a miracle,” said Brown dryly.

“Crap. I feel like crap. God.” Xander turned his head. “My head is killing me. I’m so hot. Fuck.” He started pushing back the covers. Brown grabbed his hands and stopped him.

“You are really sick, Xander. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Xander’s eyes widened and he tried to sit up. He reeled sideways instead. “God. Gonna hurl.”

Brown jumped back as Xander leaned forward wretching. Nothing came up but yellowish spit. Spike was by his side immediately. Petting and holding his shoulders. Brown grimaced and gagged a little. He hated vomit.

“Guy’s dehydrated,” he observed, gulping. “Needs more liquid.”

“Yeah. Okay,” said Spike, grabbing the canteen.

Brown noted his shaking hands. “You’re really not good at the sick-bed thing, huh, Spike.”

“’Course not,” said Spike angrily. “Don’t know what ta do.”

Brown sighed and took the canteen from his hands. “C’mon, Xander,” he said, helping the man to struggle upright a bit. He slid his hand around his shoulder, and his hand brushed Xander’s mark. Xander shuddered. Spike grabbed Brown’s wrist and yanked his hand away. Brown flinched back, glaring.

“Fuck, man. I’m just trying to help.”

“It’s blood transmitted, Xan says,” Spike muttered. “Don’t touch his blood.” Brown blinked in surprise.

Xander leant against Brown’s arm and made a croaking noise. Brown carefully tipped the canteen to his lips and let him drink. After a minute Xander weakly shoved the water away. He gasped, “Spike.”

“Yeah, Xan.” Spike leaned around Xander, enclosing Brown in the hug. Brown twisted uncomfortably. Spike didn’t notice. “Whatchya need, pet?”

“Need you.”

Brown wriggled and began extracting himself from his sandwiched position.

“I’m here, Xan,” said Spike, pressing closer. Brown groaned.

“So not liking this,” he stated. Spike looked at him, eyes widened, and jumped back. Brown gratefully scooted sideways and out of the way. Spike wrapped himself back around Xander and began rocking him, rubbing his neck with his chin.

Xander leaned into him, eyes closed and breathed noisily. “Gotta go to the hospital, Spike.”

“”S what I been saying, luv.”

“Really, really tired, Spike.”

Spike buried his face in Xander’s neck for a minute. “You gotta be strong, Xander,” he whispered. “Gotta get well.”

“When I take your blood I don’t feel tired.”

Spike stopped rocking. Brown gaped. The proverbial pin dropped but no one was paying attention. “What?” said Spike hoarsely.

“I want to take your blood, Spike.”

“Crap, Xander.” Spike drew back and looked at him.

“Please, Spike.”

Brown groaned and jumped up. “Fucking gross,” he said pacing. “So fucking gross. He’s delirious,” he pointed out to Spike, “he’s babbling.”

Spike looked into Xander’s clear but feverish eyes. “Why do you want this, Xander?”

Xander stared at him seriously for a bit, “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I just do.”

Spike nuzzled Xander’s neck and rocked him some more. He heard Brown punch something and curse. Spike hugged Xander and addressed Brown. “Better wait outside, mate.”

“Fuck!” Brown punched something else.

Spike morphed quickly into his demon visage and raised his own wrist to his fanged mouth. “Really think you’d prefer it,” he said warningly. He bit down hard.

Brown whirled and slammed out of the crypt.

Spike tore a good sized gash in his own wrist and raised the oozing chalice to Xander’s lips. As the man’s mouth closed over the wound, Spike pressed against his back, closed his eyes and moaned.

Xander sucked hard, lapping the blood like he was gnawing on a juicy watermelon, dribbles of pink running down his chin. He shuddered and groaned and suckled harder. Behind him, Spike was vibrating and whimpering, his hips pressing rhythmically against Xander’s backside.

Xander rolled his face against Spike’s wrist and drew his tongue hard across the bloody area. Spike cried out and came. Xander mewled and kept suckling. Spike leaned against him, his head resting on Xander’s and gently withdrew his wrist.

“Enough, Xan,” he whispered. “That’s enough, pet.”

Xander raised his head and turned, glassy eyed, to Spike. Blood smeared his mouth and dripped from his chin. His tongue snaked out to clean himself. Spike leaned forward and lathed Xander’s face fiercely, cleaning off the blood, picking up his scent. He looked deep into the dark brown depths and stated, “Mine.”

“Yeah,” said Xander. “Me too.” He giggled. “Whoa,” he said. “Big rush.”

Spike stroked Xander’s cheek and prayed to any god that would have him that he hadn’t just made a big mistake. “Let’s get you to the doc’s,” he said. He jumped up and dragged his jeans on over his damp shorts. He just didn’t fucking care right now if Brown noticed the spunky smell or not.

“All clear!” he yelled at the entrance.

He jumped instinctively in front of Xander as the business end of a crossbow slid around the doorframe, followed by the small, dark head of Maurice, grinning happily. “Not really,” he said. “But perhaps you will explain it to me.”




Chapter Nineteen

Brown rolled sideways in the dew-laden grass and fought the immediate nausea down. One side of his head was beating like a giant heart had lodged there. Given that he lived in Sunnydale, Brown knew the possibilities and checked. Nope, just a head. A bloody head, he noted as his fingers encountered something sticky.

Fuck. He’d been hit on the head and knocked unconscious. Not his first experience with this phenomena, Brown lay still and allowed his mind to slowly gather itself and report what had happened. The grass was damp and chill, but sun pierced his closed eyelids, so dawn had come. He squinted and opened his eyes a painful crack. Maybe an hour ago?

The last memory he had was Spike in demon face, and rushing out of a door. He dwelt on that disturbing memory for a while. Wondered why he was not yet undead. Then his mind decided to let him know that something or someone had clobbered him after he’d run from Spike. Somebody else was here. Or something else. And then Brown remembered Xander.

He sat up suddenly and the world whacked him on the side of the head again. He wobbled and gasped with the pain, but stayed upright. There was a slight rebellion in his stomach and he gagged and retched up the remains of his dinner onto the grass for a minute. He closed his eyes and pushed himself away from the spot. God, he hated vomit. Wiping his mouth, staggering and fighting down the retching that continued jerking at his stomach, Brown slowly pushed himself to his feet.

He was standing next to the wall of the mausoleum. About six feet from the entrance. Man, he hadn’t gotten far before the thing had smacked him. Which meant it had been just outside when he exited. So where was it now?

With a very bad intuition adding to the general not goodness inside Brown’s body, the young man inched slowly towards the entrance. He kept himself near the wall, but avoided brushing against it and making any noise. He watched his shadow on the grass, careful not to give any possible inhabitants of the mausoleum any warning of his approach.

Next to the doorway he paused. Voices rose inside.

“I’m tellin’ ya, wanker. You can’t keep him here.”

“No one is leaving this crypt, Spike.” Brown raised his eyebrows and grimaced at the twinge in his head. Maurice!

“You crazy fucker! He’s not done anything.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe.”

“Spike.” Brown felt the relief flow through him at the sound of Xander’s strong voice. “I’m okay for now.”

Brown focused as hard as he could. Maurice was in the tomb. He was holding not only Spike, but also Xander. Not allowing either to leave. He had hit Brown on the head and apparently left him without thought. Little pisser’s finally cracked up, he thought furiously. Great. He tried to think what to do.

“Gotta take a piss, Morrees,” Xander’s voice declared sullenly from inside. “Got any suggestions?”

“Go ahead,” said the voice grimly. “I don’t mind.”

“Not gonna do it standing here in front of you, asshole. Unless you stand a little closer.” Xander’s voice had a smile in it. “I’m a pretty good shot.”

“You may go to a corner.” There was a pause. “Don’t forget, I’m a pretty good shot as well.”

Brown saw a shadow cross the threshold and located Xander in his mind as standing in the same corner that Spike had leapt from the night before. He tried desperately to locate Maurice and Spike by their voices, but the acoustics of the stone mausoleum made it almost impossible.

“Spike.” said Maurice’s voice icily. “Very slowly toss that small knapsack to the center of the floor.”

“Come get it yourself, fucker.”

Brown remembered the small bag from the night before and located Spike behind the tomb, near his and Xander’s pallet on the floor. There was a shift in the room. “Cross bolts are not just dangerous to vampires,” Maurice reminded the room in a cold voice.

Brown heard an object hit the floor inside. He made his move.

Coming through the door in a fast forward roll, he headed straight for the halfway point between the tomb and the far back corner. He had figured that was the only spot from which Maurice could safely watch both men. He jumped halfway up from his roll, already spinning in an inside head kick and made solid contact with flesh and bone before something hard caught him across the neck. He flailed backwards, but recovered into a back roll, attempting to throw himself towards the corner Xander had stepped to.

The pain in his head completely swallowed him for a minute, and he blinked away the fog as Xander’s arms wrapped around his chest and pushed him upright. On the floor in front of him the Watcher was flat on his belly, straddled by an enraged vampire in gameface. He was snarling and his hands held Maurice’s head.

“Spike!” shouted Xander, desperately shoving past Brown. “No!”

The demon froze and slowly removed his hands. Brown observed that he was panting hard. He couldn’t imagine what the last hour had been like for an overly protective vampire with a crossbow aimed at his partner. “Aw. Let him do it, Xander,” Brown said silkily. “I really wanna see it.”

Xander spun around and stared at him. “What happened to you?”

“Da pederast on da floor there clocked me one,” said Brown, stepping forward. The shock and adrenalin were slipping out of him and he felt anger sliding in to take their place. “Think he thought he’d killed me.” He pursed his lips and glared at the top of Maurice’s head. “Watchya gonna do with him? And can I help?”

Maurice spat blood from his mouth and spoke grittily into the dirt beneath his face. “Brown, you have finally irrevocably ruined your life.” Spike’s hand came down warningly on his head and he silenced.

“Yeah, right. No Rhodes scholarships, now huh?” said Brown. He had dug out his old friend the fishing line and was handing it to the still gamefaced Spike. The vampire shook himself back into human visage with a shudder and began wrapping the Watcher’s hands. Brown turned to take in the apparently risen Lazarus that was Xander Harris.

“You look good,” he said, “for a guy that was almost dyin’.’”

Xander looked back surprised. He was still very flushed, and his eyes were almost pitch black with enormous pupils, but he stood steadily and the sweaty clamminess was gone. He had his goofy smile back. He shrugged. “Was I that sick?” he shook his head and looked at Spike.

The vampire finished binding Maurice, jerked hard on the gag knot at the back of his head, and leapt up. “It’s my blood, Xan,” he said with assurance. “We gotta get you to the doc before it wears off.”

“Will it wear off?”

Spike looked at him from beneath lowered brows. “I’m thinking it’d better. You’re stoned off your ass, Xan.” He shoved not gently with his foot at Maurice on the floor. “I can baby-sit.” He addressed Brown. “Can you take him in?” Nodding at Xander.

“Sure,” said Brown, making to leave.

“NO,” said Xander firmly. Brown stopped moving and turned with rolling eyes.

“We back to that ‘Gone with the Wind’ scene again, man?”

“Xander. Go,” said Spike firmly.

“No, Spike, I told you before…”

“Go.”

Brown got a freaky feeling from the sound of the vampire’s voice. He thought he heard a reverb in it or something. He shook his head a little and winced. “Hey, man, wouldn’t mind a little trip to da ICU myself. Think somethin’ mighta cracked open.”

“Okay,” said Xander with a creepy docility. He looked worriedly at Brown. “I’m sorry, ‘course you have to go to the hospital. Come on.” He turned to go. Stopped. “Spike?”

The vampire had his arms around Xander before Brown could register his movement across the room. “See ya soon luv.”

“Promise.”

“Promise you anythin’. Just promise to get well.” He nuzzled Xander’s neck and whispered into his ear. “I’ll come fetch you, pet. When you’re better, I’ll come.”

Xander stood with his head bowed. “Yeah,” he said disbelievingly.

“Listen, I can’t take many more of these scenes, man,” said Brown impatiently. “Let’s go.”

*************************************************************

The ambulance smelled like french fries and Brown so did not want to know why that was. Either blue, elephant nosed whatever-the-hell these were ate at McDonald’s. Or something else smelled exactly like McDonald’s french fries. Either solution gouged a deep hole in what was left of Brown’s youth and he just didn’t want to know. He slouched unhappily in his seat and glared at the embarrassment next to him. Xander was leaning against the door, staring out the window with teary eyes looking like an abandoned dog. It was sickening.

Brown frowned and muttered, “It’s like you’re addicted or something.” Xander looked at him, puzzled. “Well it is,” said Brown, “like you’re in vampire thrall or whatever.”

Xander looked out the window again. “I’m in love,” he said calmly. “Sorta the same thing, I guess.”

“Gag, man, get some balls. You sound like my girlfriends.”

Xander laughed. He straightened up a bit in his seat. “Can’t tell you how amazed I am that I really don’t give a shit how I sound.”

Brown appraised him for a second. “You sure it’s not some demon trick?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Well, fuck then.”

Xander sighed. “Yeah.”

“What you guys gonna do?”

Xander looked out the window again. “Try to survive,” he said.

Brown chewed things over for a bit. He and Xander discussed their stories and then sat silent. When they pulled up at the hospital entrance, he patted Xander’s hand reassuringly. “’S gonna be hell ta pay now, I’ll bet,” he said grimly. “Call me if you need anything.”

Xander nodded and regarded him seriously. He could see so much of himself in the younger man, but there was a strength there he hadn’t had. And a bitterness he had managed to avoid. He studied the flickering golden and green eyes and wondered what had happened.

Brown boldly stared back and then gave him a cheeky smile. “Ooh, you look at me like that much longer, buddy, and I’ll seriously consider switchin’ teams.”

Xander’s eyes widened and he blushed and looked away.

Brown laughed out loud. “God, you old guys are so easy to fuck with.” He laughed again, “Yeah, sure. It’d be the last thing I did before a certain vampire snapped my neck.”

“Spike wouldn’t do that.”

Brown looked at him. “You sure ‘bout that?”

Xander didn’t answer. The hospital orderlies were assisting them as they reluctantly sat in wheelchairs. As they pushed him through the sliding glass doors, Xander saw Willow standing in ER reception. She had one of her mangy books under her arms. And an ominously serious look on her face. Xander glanced around and saw Giles, Quentin and some guy who looked military. He leant his head back and closed his eyes. “Oh bloody hell,” he said merrily.

*******************************************************************

The nametag said “Dr. Thompson”, and Willow wondered for the fifth time in the past fifteen minutes what the first name was. The doctor had long black hair and tilted up blue almond eyes. In her hospital fatigues, with plastic clips and stethoscope hanging about her neck, the silky hair dragged up under a net, she still looked like something from the temple at Thebes. She also looked incredibly skeptical.

“I have received his records,” she told Willow. “but there must be a mistake.”

“Xander just told me this week,” Willow insisted patiently. “Around 300 he said. People don’t pop up to a normal range t-cell count in just a few days, do they?”

“No.” Dr. Thompson studied the folder again. “It’s not my area, of course. And we don’t know much, either.” She sighed. “If you hadn’t told me your friend was HIV positive I wouldn’t have guessed it from the preliminary tests,” she said. She looked at Xander, who lay very quietly on the bed regarding her with sad and thoughtful eyes. “You’re very lucky,” she said.

“So I’ve been told,” said Xander.

“And about that neck trauma.”

“Fell on a rock,” said Xander immediately, “told you. Weird pointy rock. While camping,” he added.

“Yes,” said Dr. Thompson slowly, “there seem to be quite a few pointy rocks in Sunnydale. Well, at any rate, it’s healing well.” She frowned. “very well,” she commented. “Practically before my eyes.” She looked at Willow again. “This is all very unusual,” she said, “I don’t feel comfortable releasing Mr. Harris quite yet.”

“Sure,” said Willow calmly, “of course.” She smiled. “What did you say your first name was?”

The woman looked surprise. “Diana,” she said.

Willow’s smile broadened. “Of course it is,” she said.

The doctor left the room. Outside a military man stood opposite the door. Willow sighed and closed it.

“You are such a slut,” said Xander.

“Oh, you are not even getting near me with your moral condemnation, Mister.” Willow had become all business. She crossed the room and picked up her book, climbed easily onto Xander’s bed and threw it on his knees. “Listen. Riley is going to be in here questioning you within the hour. Giles is only holding them off with some smoke and mirrors, so you’d better pay attention and get all this the first time.”

Xander blinked.

Willow did not even pause to take a breath. “I finally found something written about the claiming.” She tapped the book. “Seems everyone in the demon community knows about it, but it isn’t written anywhere.” She bit her lip and continued. “It isn’t written anywhere, Xander, because it’s forbidden.”

“Crap,” said Xander hoarsely, “that’s usually not such a good thing is it?”

“Nope. Usually a bad sign when demons don’t want to do magic. However,” said Willow brightly, “I’ve found some interesting references that make me think maybe its forbidden-ness is of the good.”

“Getting a little dizzy, here.”

“Yeah, well. It’s forbidden amongst vampires because of the ‘contaminant’. They keep going on about the ‘contamination’ and the ‘contaminant’. They think the bond makes the demon impure.”

“Impure.”

“As in not pure demon.” Willow nodded. “I’m thinking I like the sound of that, maybe.”

“Dunno, Willow. Need to know so much more.”

“Oh, there’s more. My swollen eyes and aching head can attest to it,” said Willow brusquely, “setting aside for the moment your obviously supernatural healing powers,” she looked intently at Xander, “which I can not as yet even begin to comprehend. You and Spike are bonded. Bonded by blood.”

“Yep. Heard that,” said Xander feeling ill.

“Till death, Xander.”

“Fuck.”

“For you, actually, not necessarily bad. I don’t know. But for Spike, Xan. Being bonded with you limits his eternity. He is bound to a mortal. He becomes mortal.”

Xander stared. “As in human?”

“Oh no. I’m pretty sure no,” said Willow doubtfully. “No. What happens is he dies when you die. He lives as long as you live. Your existence and his are bound.”

Xander blinked at her. “Oh Willow,” he said, feeling an enormous sorrow suddenly building in his chest. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” said Willow gently. “The book is pretty clear about it, Xander.”

Xander felt tears starting in his eyes. God, he’d cried more in the past forty-eight hours than he had in the past five years. “You gotta find a way to reverse it, Willow.”

“I don’t know if I can, Xander.”

“You have to, Willow.” Xander leaned his head back on the pillow. “I can’t do that to him Willow. Not Spike.”

Spike poked Maurice with his booted foot again, just for fun. He lit his cigarette and leaned casually back on the tomb.

“Gonna have a little chat now, Watcher,” he said in a friendly voice, “now that the kiddies are off.”

Maurice glared at him malevolently. Spike reached down and yanked the gag so it hung loosely around the man’s neck. Maurice worked his sore lips and spat dirt and blood onto the floor. “I have nothing to say to you, demon,” he managed grittily.

“Oh, I dunno.” Spike squatted near Maurice’s head, casually flicked ash near his face. “You seem ta have a lot on your mind.” He contemplated the small dark dome of Maurice’s skull. “Such as it is. I think you should share.” He smirked. “’S supposed ta be therapeutic.”

Spike waved his cigarette absently inches from Maurice’s face. The Watcher could feel the heat of it on his cheek. He tried to jerk his head back, but Spike’s hand came down firmly on his head and held him still. “We’ll start with whatchya doin’ up here to begin with.”

“Looking for the boy you were turning,” said Maurice nastily, his skin twitching as it tried to draw back from the cigarette. “Thank God we found him in time.”

“Wrong answer,” said Spike darkly, and lightly drew the lit end of the cigarette across Maurice’s cheek, just below his eye. The watcher screeched and Spike pulled the hot ember back. He contemplated his victim. The burn was light pink, not even a blister, but its proximity to Maurice’s eye had the whole face twitching uncontrollably. “The human body is such an interesting toy,” Spike said in an educated and detached voice. “It’s amazing what one can put it through without leaving a mark.”

Maurice felt waves of unbelievable fear rushing through his body and into his bowels. Being a Watcher, he had read all the accounts of William the Bloody. He knew what he might expect. He knew, with terror, that he would not be able to endure it.

“I knew we couldn’t trust you, demon,” he hissed. “I knew it was a pretense all along.” He breathed noisily, trying to control his terrified body. “Whatever you do to me, you haven’t a chance this time. They will catch you. You are finished.”

“They will?” Spike contemplated his cigarette, took a drag, flicked the ash on Maurice’s cheek. Watched, interested, as the Watcher’s skin jumped to escape the burn. “Who are they?”

“Initiative,” Maurice informed him maliciously. “Remember them, Spike? They have fond memories of you.”

“Those wankers are dead.”

“You are such an idiot,” said Maurice, and a second later regretted it. The glowing ember of Spike’s cigarette filled his vision, the heat making his eyelid involuntarily close and then jerk.

“Wrong answer again,” sighed Spike. He did not remove the cigarette.

The skin on Maurice’s’ eyelid was flinching hard and painfully. His eye felt dry. The terror in his mind, however, was worse. Obviously the soul had been a fiction. Or if it were real, it had apparently no effect on the demon. His breath was coming hard and his heart pounded against the floor. He had wet himself, he noted miserably, and his bowels were spasming uncontrollably as the taught history of William the Bloody’s past flew unbidden through his mind. He clenched his lips together so that the demon would not hear him whimper.

Spike watched the Watcher remember who he was. He could hear and smell the man’s body rebelling against the fear. Spike could sympathize with Maurice’s discomfort. Spike didn’t particularly enjoy remembering some things he had done either. He took a drag from his cigarette and stood.

“So where’s the new Slayer?” he asked, studying the prone figure on the floor.

Maurice was silent.

“Barely had a look at the chit and they bundled her off,” said Spike thoughtfully. “Seemed kinda young, even for your sort.” He tilted his head slightly and let an evil smile play on his lips. “You like ‘em young, though, donchya Watcher.”

Maurice in his extremity was not particularly prepared for this blow. He felt a sob in his throat and squeezed his eyes closed. Spike placed a booted foot solidly on the Watcher’s rump. He pushed and rolled him a bit. “What do they call it now? Statutory Rape?” Spike enunciated the words carefully. He chuckled a bit. “Too bad for you, Watcher. Back in my day, nobody cared if an old gent bundled some young chit up ta his room. Weren’t any laws back then ta protect the innocent.”

Maurice clenched his jaw. The swelling under his eye was stinging and pressing his eye shut, but he glared up at Spike as best he could. “Shut up, monster,” he said, “I loved Brandy.” His face worked uncontrollably and he closed his eyes again, painfully. “I would never have hurt her.” He fought against showing such emotion to this demon. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand, Morreees.” Spike shoved hard on the watcher’s butt with his boot. He contemplated the man’s behind. “Tasty little thing,” he said evilly, unclear as to whether he was referring to Brandy or the watcher’s rear end. His tone alerted the terrified watcher and he looked back to see Spike licking his lips. “Somethin’ so appealin’ about breaking them in,” said Spike as if remembering. “Showin’ them how it is.” He came around and crouched by the Watcher’s face again. Lightly touched the unburned cheek. “Sometimes they even like it,” he said “So whaddaya think, Watcher? You gonna like it?”

Maurice felt a shudder in his belly. “You’re going to rape me?”

“Eeew. Gross.” Spike spat. “Disgustin’. I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole.” He chuckled, “especially my ten foot pole. Nah, talking ‘bout those blokes in prison. They’ll sort it for yer.”

“I won’t be going to prison, Spike.”

“Nah?” Spike looked disappointed. “Well maybe then I’ll do for yer after all, Morreees. Don’t want ya missing out.” He had wandered back to his storage chest and found something. He came back and showed it to Maurice happily. “Like old times,” said Spike with delight.

Maurice struggled again for breath and miserably felt his bowels emptying into his pants. In his hand Spike held a 10 inch rusted metal railroad spike.

“Now,” said Spike easily, “we need ta have that conversation.”

*************************************************************

Brown repeated the story to the ER admissions nurse that he and Xander had crafted in the ambulance. “Yeah, we were camping. Fell over the side of a cliff. Hit my head. Harris there fell on a pointy rock,” he repeated, bored. The orderly dutifully jotted this fiction down. Brown watched Quentin and Giles as he spoke. They were obviously going to talk to him when he was through here. Brown had no idea what he was going to say to the Council members. Xander had been quite clear. He wanted Brown to tell the truth about him, and leave out Spike’s location and the fact that he still held the Watcher captive.

“Just tell them that I’m addicted to vampire bite,” Xander had insisted, “they’ll know about it.” At Brown’s horrified expression, he explained, “It’s happened before. Tell them Spike got scared and ran, left me behind.”

“You ain’t addicted, though, is ya man?”

Xander smiled sadly. “Yeah, maybe, but it’s not the biting. It’s the biter.”

“Gross.” Brown shook his head disgustedly.

“Riley’ll drop the subject right away, trust me,” Xander said confidently, ignoring Brown’s reaction for the moment, “but I’ll play the rejected heroin addict anyway. Just to put them off.”

Brown saw Giles giving him an assessing look. He had known the older Watcher for five years, off and on. Giles had had less interest in Brandy and her tribe after Maurice got into the swing, but he had been around when major events happened. Brown knew that Giles consorted with people proscribed by the Council Maurice so avidly obeyed. He wondered what Giles’ role was this time, why he appeared to be helping Quentin. Giles was now looking at him intently, as if meaning to express something to Brown. With the flat expressionless face that Brown could manufacture at will, the young man studied Giles for clues. He noted the older man’s hand rubbing the edge of a jacket pocket repeatedly. A letter poked from the pocket. Giles finger touched the letter lightly and lay there. Brown looked back into his eyes. Giles imperceptibly nodded. Brown looked away, ostensibly bored. A doctor stood before him with a clipboard.

“You can go home, if you wish,” she said to Brown. He blinked up at her. “You don’t need stitches,” she said, “though I would like you to follow some precautionary guidelines.” She handed a printout to Brown with instructions on how to watch a post-concussionary patient. He had several copies of these at home, but he nodded gratefully and carefully folded the paper, put it in his pocket. He slid a quick sideways glance at Giles. The man’s eyes blinked once, like a camera lens. Brown looked with a flat expressionless face at Quentin.

“I’ve been released,” he said coolly. “Ya need anything, or can I go?”

“We would like to speak to you,” said Quentin politely.

“Course ya would,” said Brown. He stood from his wheelchair and looked around. “So where’s ya want me ta sit?”

********************************************************************

Brown did not like being inside this van with Riley and his men. When they had motioned him inside the unmarked behemoth, he had seen in his mind’s eye an old newsreel about the black Mariah’s of the concentration camps. Every instinct in him flinched away from the man who sat across the desk from him. He found it hard to look at Riley comfortably. He had been struck by the man’s ugliness the other night, but now facing him he saw it wasn’t that his features were unappealing, but that the scarring, external and internal, had twisted them into something very difficult to view. Brown twiddled with his hand on the desk and looked around him instead.

“So Alexander Harris has become addicted to vampire bite?” Riley sounded pleased somehow with the news. “And you found him?”

“Yeah, well I was lookin’ for him.”

“You lied to me when you came to the house before.”

“Didn’t like the look of things, man,” said Brown truthfully. “Thought I’d poke around on my own first.”

“And the blow to your head?”

“Really did fall off a cliff, man,” Brown chuckled at his own idiocy, “lucky Harris was around ta slap me to.”

“You’re a very good liar, Mr. Brown.”

Brown raised his eyebrows and grinned. “You bet I am,” he agreed. “Helps a lot sometimes.” He didn’t go on.

Riley regarded him. “Why should I believe you now?”

“You shouldn’t,” shrugged Brown nonchalantly, “I’m a fucking liar. Juvenile delinquent you old guys would say. But I owe Harris,” he added seriously, “and I hate fuckin’ vampires.” He looked to Giles for confirmation.

“It’s true,” said Giles, “Mr. Brown and Spike have always been hostile towards each other.”

“And why is that, Mr. Brown?” asked Riley.

Brown looked Riley up and down. If he knew anything, it was where a guy’s head sickness lay. “Fucking demon,” he said with as much spit as he could. “need more reason?”

Riley sat back satisfied. “No. Of course not.” He waved to the men at the door to the van. They stepped back obediently. “Go on, Mr. Brown. We’ll undoubtedly be in touch.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Brown casually standing, he flinched and fell sideways into Giles. The Watcher caught him quickly and set him upright. “Thanks man,” Brown shook his head ruefully, “damn bump on the head seems ta be messing with me still.”

He walked carefully outside, still holding his head as he stepped slowly to the pavement. As he strode off, his finger ran over the letter Giles had substituted for the printout in his pocket.




Chapter Twenty

Brown frowned with annoyance at the address on the envelope as he stood in line at the Post Office. Why would Giles be sending something to England snail mail, when he could email whomever in a few minutes?

He stepped up to the window and hesitated. “Hang on a sec,” he said and jogged away from the counter and over to the coin operated Xerox machine. Drawing a thin knife from a leather case in his pocket, an item he frequently also found helpful when opening locked doors, Brown slid the flap on the envelope carefully open and slipped out the letter inside.

Dear Bartholomew,

I am writing to tell you that I now know for a fact that your suspicions about a certain organization and our mutual friend Q are true. Indeed, they are much more serious than even you, my dear, dear paranoid man, had thought.

Please contact the parties who have an interest. Their presence here immediately could not be soon enough. I advise strongly against any computer or telephone communications. I think we can safely assume that even the innermost circle has been breached.

I imagine this missive will be read by certain individuals as yet unknown to you. I hope they will anticipate your arrival and help you in any way possible.

Rupert Giles.

Brown snorted. “Proud of yourself aren’t ya, ya old fart.” He carefully replaced the letter in the envelope and left the post office. There were faster ways to deliver mail than Federal Express. And he knew just the guys who could do it.

********************************************************************

Xander wasn’t having much trouble pretending to be an addict in withdrawal. As the vampire blood induced euphoria wore off, the symptoms he had had before began to manifest again. His fever rose, and he began to sweat and ache as the phlegm in his lungs made breathing more and more difficult. Dr. Thompson seemed to be extremely aggravated with him, as if he were manifesting this peculiar array of symptoms merely to confound and distress her.

She gave him the standard shot of antibiotics and glared at the recent blood work and then back at Xander. “I would love an explanation, Mr. Harris.” Xander’s pathetic glazed eyes rested on her miserably. He wheezed.

“Love to tell you, doc,” he took a deep, moist breath, “don’t have a clue though.”

“Your blood count is fluctuating so wildly, I have had our instruments checked. Twice.” She frowned at him and drew forth another syringe. This one was pure vitamins. “I have sent off to another lab this time. Meanwhile,” Xander felt she jabbed the needle into his butt with more ferocity than professionalism allowed, “you also seem to have become severely undernourished.”

“It’s the Hollywood Diet,” joked Xander weakly, “gotta keep my looks.”

She glared at him. The door opened and Willow entered. Xander rolled his eyes in disgust when he saw Dr. Thompson’s whole face relax into a friendly smile. Right. All of a sudden we’re all peaches and cream. Watch out Willow, he thought good humouredly.

“Hello, Diana,” said Willow brightly. She looked at Xander worriedly. “How is he?”

“Mr. Harris is no longer the picture of health he appeared to be an hour ago,” announced Diana with disgust. “Although the pneumonia does seem to be regressing, we will have to keep him here until the antibiotics take effect. If they take effect.” She glared at Xander. “I’ve spoken to your physician. This isn’t the first time.”

Willow looked at Xander darkly as well. He squirmed under the two women’s scrutiny. “Yeah, well, tough life,” he wheezed unhappily. There was a rattle at the door and a military person poked his head in.

“Colonel Riley needs to speak to Mr. Harris,” he announced.

As Willow and Diana left, Xander considered that he had never been more happy to see Riley Finn. “Hey, Riley,” he took a deep squeaking breath. “How you been, man?” He tried to sit a bit more upright, but gave up when the IV tugged too much.

Riley glared down at him. “Well, Xander,” he said coldly, “you are one person I never thought I’d see again.”

Xander wondered vaguely why that was, but shrugged. “So what’s up. Whatchya need to talk to me about?” He tried to make himself look as dopey and goofy as he hoped Riley remembered him.

“Tell me about Spike.”

“Oh, Spike.” Xander found that it was quite easy to let tears fill his eyes. He looked away from Riley a bit and said mournfully, “Bastard dumped me an’ ran off.” He took another breath and was overtaken by coughing.

Riley waited for the fit to subside, then sat companionably on the edge of Xander’s mattress. His hand rested on Xander’s arm. Xander quite suddenly could not bear that contact. It felt completely malevolent. He forced himself not to twitch away.

“What was your relationship with Spike?”

Xander tried to look ashamed. He didn’t meet Riley’s eye. “Sorta started liking the biting,” he mumbled. “Spike made it easy, promised he wouldn’t hurt me.”

Riley appraised him for a long moment. “I see. And you believed him.”

“Yeah, well the soul. Figured that kinda made him safe.”

“No demon is safe, Xander.”

Xander glowered and still avoided Riley’s eye. Boy did he hope he looked ashamed, because the close contact with the other man was making him feel ill. He was afraid Riley would see his revulsion and become angry. Xander did not need that. He needed to get out of this hospital. “Got that now,” he said and wheezed.

Riley was clutching Xander’s arm with his hand. His eyes lay on Xander’s mark. “He bit you on the neck,” he said in a strange voice.

Xander hoped the rush of blood to his face looked like shame and not the bizarre rage he felt at Riley commenting on his claim mark. “Yeah,” he managed to grind out, “like the neck better than other parts. More of a rush.”

Riley was silent, staring. His claw like grip on Xander’s arm becoming uncomfortable. Xander wriggled his arm. “Startin’ to hurt, man.”

Riley let go and stood up suddenly. He cleared his throat. “So where did you last see Spike?”

Xander had thought about this. He had planned to give Riley the name of some other cemetery, or an airport or shipping dock. But he could not underestimate this man. He looked straight at him and told him the truth. “The old Sunnydale cemetery,” he said honestly. “Holed up in a crypt.”

Riley sneered down at him. “Very nice, Xander,” he said snidely, “and you expect me to believe you.” Xander blinked at him with aggrieved innocence. “Protecting a demon, Harris. You are completely pathetic.” He turned to go. Paused at the door. “I always thought it must be an embarrassment for you, hiding behind Buffy’s skirts, depending on her to rescue you.” He shook his head. “I’d hoped you would have pulled yourself together after her death.” He gave Xander a dismissive look and began to let himself out.

Xander grit his teeth and played his last card. He had to be sure Riley went off in the wrong direction. “Hey, Riley, pal,” he whined pathetically, “I’m really hurtin’ here, guy. Can’t ya do something?” Riley paused and looked at him questioningly. Xander imagined Willie the snitch and tried to make his face do that sniveling thing. “Can’t ya, like, send something up here?”

Riley smiled with pleasure. “I’m afraid you are just going to have to get over this, Xander,” he said. “Be a man.” He walked out and shut the door.

“Yeah,” muttered Xander to himself, “I wanna be just like Riley Finn when I grow up.” He lay his head back on the pillow and willed his body to heal. He needed to get out of here soon, and get back to Spike. Get the vampire out of town before Riley smelled the trick.

Outside, Agent Finn gave orders to two men. “Stop the sweep of the old cemetery,” he commanded, “and begin at the airport.” He looked back to the room. “Completely useless,” he said in disgust.

*********************************************************************

Spike was more relieved than Maurice when the young Watcher cracked and began babbling. He had just about run out of fear techniques, and felt he was going to have to actually follow through with his threats. The thought made him nauseous.

Maurice, however, hadn’t made it past the sight of that railroad spike. “The new Slayer,” he offered in a high pitched voice. “She has been taken under the wing of Quentin Travers.”

Spike sat back on his heels and quickly dropped the railroad spike to the ground. He could barely stand to touch the thing. He kept it primarily to beat himself up on occasion. “Travers the head of Watcher Council?” he asked in surprise, “he’s here?”

Maurice giggled nervously, “He came to take care of you.”

“I’m assumin’ you don’t mean that in a nurturin’ manner.” Spike thought for a moment. “Why would he be trainin’ the Slayer?” he said out loud.

Maurice noted with relief so intense it made him giddy that he was apparently not going to be buggered to death with a railroad spike. At least not at the moment. The relief made him garrulous. “He apparently feels the Slayer’s have had too little control exerted on them of late.” Maurice sighed. “He’s right. I had no control over Brandy.” He paused on the name, and closed his eyes tiredly. “God,” he whispered to himself.

Spike looked down at the man and felt a stir of pity. “It’s a fucked up thing, love,” he said gruffly. Maurice’s mouth tensed with pain and Spike sighed. “Guess you’re not much older than a kid yerself.”

“I’ll be thirty in March.”

“Same age as Xander.”

Maurice was silent. Spike sat down cross-legged on the floor. No longer doubting that he would have the information he needed. “So what’s the Initiative doin’ anyway? Just huntin’ for one vampire?” He preened. “I’m complimented.”

Maurice rested his cheek on the ground and thought. “It does seem a bit overdone,” he said slowly, “and Rupert Giles assured me that there was no immediate concern.” He glanced at Spike. “He was apparently slightly mistaken, but if Mr. Harris is actually here of his own free will?”

“That he is.”

“And you haven’t been turning people?”

“Kinda sickenin’ thought actually.”

Maurice painfully lifted his head and turned it to the other side. He stared at the empty doorway to the mausoleum and contemplated things. “Why would the entire Initiative force need to set up a station over the Hellmouth and enlist the aid of the Slayer?” He lay for a long moment thinking. “The young, inexperienced, Watcherless Slayer?” Quite suddenly Maurice began struggling at his bonds again. “Spike,” he said urgently. “Spike, you have to let me go.”

“No and no, Watcher,” said Spike firmly. “You aimed a cross-bow at my nearest and dearest. You are laying on that floor for a long time.”

“I would not have shot him, Spike.”

“You knocked one a yer crew over the head.”

“I thought Brown had been turned.”

Spike mulled that over. “You are a crazy bastard, Maurice,” he said finally. “And you have been even crazier since the Slayer …” he looked at the Watcher and stopped.

Maurice lay very still on the floor. He closed his eyes again and Spike watched the man try not to display his pain. “I remember when Buffy died,” Spike said quietly. “Kinda went nutso meself.” He sat and regarded the Watcher for a long moment. Rose and fetched his cigarettes, came back. Maurice saw the cigarette and involuntarily began twitching again. Spike squinted at him through the smoke. “Stings?”

“Yes, of course,” said Maurice testily. Spike sighed. He turned to the sarcophagus, heaved the heavy lid aside and hopped inside. Maurice heard a great deal of rummaging around. The vampire hopped out again and sat by his face. Fiddled a bit, and suddenly his thumb was smoothing something cool and antiseptic smelling on his cheek. Maurice winced and looked at Spike. “What?”

“Something Red made once,” explained Spike simply. “Helped Xan when he got poked up a bit. Thought it’d be good to have.” He sat back again and resumed smoking. “So whatchya think is going on?”

Maurice wished he could get out of his pants. He wished the vampire were not being suddenly so companionable and understanding. He wished he knew what he was supposed to do. “I wish I knew,” he sighed.

“Well,” said Spike, all business like, “let’s sort it out.”

“I hardly think its appropriate, Spike, for me to be discussing Council business with a … a denizen of the dark side.”

“Ever occur to you,” said Spike archly, “that maybe I’m a good guy.”

“No,” said Maurice. “It never has.”

“Why is that?”

“You’re a demon.”

“Got a soul.”

“Plenty of evil creatures have souls.”

“How do ya know they’re evil then?”

“Well, by their actions of course.”

“Ain’t I been actin’ on the side of good?”

“Well,” Maurice paused and thought, “well yes, for the most part,” he admitted reluctantly.

“So maybe I’m not evil.”

“But you’re a demon!”

Spike sighed. “Watcher, you went to those fancy schools, yeah? Ya ever heard of ‘circular reasoning’?”

“Clever arguments don’t change the facts.”

“Which are?”

“Demons are evil. Always,” said Maurice positively. “It’s canon.”

“Says who?”

“Whom.”

“Bugger it all Watcher, whom says all demons are evil?”

“Well,” Maurice thought. “Well, the Council.” There was a very long silence during which Spike fumed at the idiocy of short lived and therefore of limited intelligence mortals, and Maurice reflected on the many flaws and inexactitudes he had already observed from the Council. Spike stood and fetched another cigarette.

“Wonder why those wankers hate demons so much.”

“Vampires torture, murder and turn innocent people!”

“Well, yeah, hating vampires. That makes sense. Even vampires get that,” admitted Spike. “But the other demons? Man, some of them are like those little bugs that just curl up in your hand. Wouldn’t hurt anythin’. Just wanna be safe.”

Maurice sighed. “I have noticed that sort of thing,” he said uneasily. “And other things as well.” He struggled with a thought for a moment, then decided. “Spike,” he said, “you do know that Slayers are part demon?”

Spike blinked at him. A lifetime ago. A small blonde girl. His heart ached. “Yeah,” he said softly, “kinda thought so.”

“There are rituals,” explained Maurice unhappily, “ceremonies that enhance the girls strength if need be. They are very taxing on the child. The demon can be quite hard to control.” He thought again for a minute. “It worries me to think such a weapon could be in the hands of an institution like the Initiative.”

Spike was thinking of the poor little chit forced to become a monster. He looked at Maurice. “So what? More demon killing. What’s your problem?”

Maurice sighed and looked at Spike meaningfully. “The Slayer can kill anything, Spike. Not just demons. And her power can be enhanced. It’s actually a very disturbing thought.” He was quiet again for a minute. “I complained that Brandy was uncontrollable,” he said quietly. “But actually she was quite devoted to me. It’s a bit hard to resist such affection,” he admitted unhappily, struggling with himself. “A Watcher has an enormous influence on a Slayer. A man like Quentin Travers, could probably convince a young untried girl to do just about anything.”

Spike and Maurice sat and contemplated the various permutations of this for several minutes. Suddenly Spike looked up and jumped to his feet. He stalked towards the door very quietly, holding up a hand for silence.

And Maurice Forster made the most important decision of his life. Like so many of those decisions, this one did not announce itself, and so Maurice did not even recognize it until some time later when he realized he had made it. At the time he merely was quiet. He did not shout for help. On the contrary, he drew in his breath and tried to become very still. He watched Spike sliding next to the door and when the man’s head poked in, he didn’t shout a warning.

“Whoa, Maurice, why ain’t you dead?” Brown said unhappily. He spun and regarded Spike, grinning. “You left him for me ta finish, huh?” He strode in the room, and flung a backpack to the floor. “Brought more crap,” he said standing over the Watcher and recoiling. “Phew, Maurice, you smell like the men’s room at the Y!” He motioned at the backpack. “Maybe these guys’ll let ya borrow somethin’.” He waved his hand in an exaggerated motion in front of his face. “Boy, wish I’d brought pampers.”

Spike chewed at a nail. “Watcher’s got an interestin’ theory,” he told Brown.

Brown nodded and started tearing open the backpack. “Yeah, everybody’s got a theory,” he said. “But I got fresh blood and submarine sandwiches. And messages from boyfriends,” he said to Spike who perked up immediately. “So I get ta go first.”

***********************************************************************

They decided that Brown could handle a bound Maurice enough to drag him down the escape hatch to the lake. It was either that or kill him and stuff him in the sarcophagus, Brown explained, since no human being could remain in the same room with that smell. Neither he nor Spike even paused to discuss Maurice’s repeated assurances that, if they would just let him go, he would return quietly to his own house and not alert the authorities.

“Been around Watchers for years,” said Spike calmly. “Wouldn’t trust one as far as I can spit.”

“Even Giles?” asked Brown with a worried look.

Spike cast an upraised glance at Brown. “Rupert Giles is a friend. But he’s got his own agenda. Ain’t nobody he wouldn’t give up if it meant savin’ the world.”

Brown thought about that. “Not me,” he said finally.

“Yeah, me neither,” said Spike easily. “What’s the point of the world being saved if all the wankers livin’ in it are heartless bastards? I never got all that big picture point of view. Only picture I got is the one right in front of me.”

So in the end Brown dragged a gagged and cranky Maurice down to the lake and Spike sat in the cool dark and read his letter from Xander. Contrasted with the elegant penmanship that had been forced upon Spike in his mortality, and which he still retained, Xander’s handwriting was the sad product of the American public school system. The letters were inconsistently formed and sprawled over and under the lines. Great looping ‘t’s and dragging ‘p’s fell into other words and made them even more difficult to read. There were quite a few crossed out and smudged words. The spelling was abominable.

Dear Spike,

Well, I’m home from hospital. They said I recovered miraculusly! We need to have a little talk about that. And about some other things related to that. Willow said she’ll help.

The house is full of army guys. Not sure what county there army for, tho. Kinda creepy actually. And Riley gives me that ooky feeling we used to get from Old Mr Crandall before they found his wife choped up in the celler. Nothing demonic, just good old fashioned Norman Bates crazy. I really don’t like being in the same house with him.

But I’m here. I went into your room and found your book. The one with all the poetry I haven’t opened it and read anything but I can’t swear I won’t break down before I see you again.

Spike when am I going to see you again? At this point there was a huge blacked out smudge that covered half the page. Spike held it up to the light and tried to read the imprint underneath, but couldn’t make it out.

I miss you so much. There was another blacked out smudge here, and Spike tisked in frustration. “Just spit it out, Xan,” he whispered.

I think I can get out of here before nightfall. If I do, I’ll be at that wet place we both know about. I have to see you Spike. I’m going crazy. I have to see you.

I love you.

Xander

Spike sat on the cold stone floor, moved to tears by the sight of those three words written down on the paper. It took him some time to get past the wonder of it and focus on the other items in the letter. Xander’s incredibly frustrating obscure reference to healing and other things that Willow could help with. Spike assumed this was about the claiming. He wondered and worried over what the witch might have found.

His protective instinct went so wild on realizing that Xander was essentially trapped in the house with Riley Finn that he had to jump up and pace around the mausoleum for some time before he could calm down and think. The lake. Xander was going to try to get to the lake. The same lake that Brown and Maurice were at now.

Spike rushed back and forth worrying a bit more, then opened the trap door and jumped into the passage.

Willow sat in the living room with Giles and Quentin Travers. She had that calm, alert expression on her face that made the hair stand up on the back of Giles’ neck and made him instinctively jump at every odd sound. He couldn’t help it. He had been conditioned over the years to expect some portal to open or some fire to fall from the sky within moments of seeing that look appear on Willow Rosenberg’s face.

Quentin, who had not been so conditioned, was wary as well. Willow’s Coven was enormous, and very powerful. Their uneasy alliance with the Council had always hinged on a few basic precepts. The ‘and harm none’ commandment of the Wiccan religion prohibited many activities that the Council undertook as necessary in the war against evil. The witches simply didn’t agree that the destruction of life was acceptable. Other solutions would have to be found, they would argue. They would not only refuse to participate, but would actively hinder, any activities that the Council undertook that would result in the destruction of that which they believed the Goddess protected.

Normally, this basic difference in philosophy would have kept the two parties from working together at all. But the Covens were becoming very powerful. And the Council appreciated power. So compromises had been established. A shaky truce existed. A very shaky truce. Quentin feared the reaction of the Coven to the latest news and feared even more the reaction of betrayed and angered witches. He used extreme caution when dealing with Willow.

“I’m so pleased to see you still living, Mistress,” he said pleasantly.

“Thank you, Quentin,” said Willow politely, “I am pleased not to be a vampire as well.” She made a little moue of dismay. “Poor Maurice, though. He was scared to death!”

“Yes,” said Quentin. “I would actually like you to go see him. Calm him down a bit.”

“I’ve already been to his house, Quentin,” Willow lied easily. “He seemed overexcited, but is resting now.” She gazed at the Watcher with a peaceful smile.

“Well, good. And your friend, Mr. Harris, is recovering as well.”

“Yes, as well as he can. Poor Xander,” said Willow sadly, “he has the AIDS virus you know.”

Giles’ eyebrows went up as well as Quentin’s. “Xander has HIV?” he asked, stunned. “Oh hell, Willow.”

She nodded at him calmly and took his hands. “He’s doing okay, Giles,” she said. “Really well, actually.”

“Perhaps the boy had some idea the vampire could turn him,” suggested Quentin.

The looks Giles and Willow gave him were identical. Disgust and dismissal. “Perhaps not,” he said.

“Xander would hate that,” said Giles with absolute conviction. “He despised Angel with a passion.”

“But not the Spike creature apparently.”

Giles was silent. The fiction that Brown and Xander had told Riley was so ludicrous to him that he felt he best served their stupid little plan by remaining quiet.

“Xander has been ill and in therapy for a year now,” Willow informed the two men. “This week was to be a rest for him.” She glanced sideways at Giles. He felt the look and became very alert. “I think he may have had a breakdown. I have called his therapist. She is sending someone.” She looked straight at Giles. “I expect someone by this evening.” She blinked twice at Giles and looked away.

Giles sat back and thought of who he could get Clem to send.

Quentin was surprised. “To have him committed?”

“No, no,” laughed Willow. “We don’t do that. He’ll go to a clinic for a couple of weeks. There is one just outside of Sunnydale. A spa, it’s called. It’s a kind of rest home. They’re very popular in Sunnydale.”

“I see,” said Quentin. He thought for a minute. “I’d actually prefer that he stay here,” he said finally. “I still have some questions.”

“About what?” Willow asked brightly, sitting up very straight. Giles unconsciously gripped the cushion on which he sat. “What questions are left to be answered, Quentin?” She calmly enumerated the situation; “There is no marauding vampire. Spike will undoubtedly return when the military leaves town. I’m sure you only frightened him. He was peaceful and in this house of his own accord until you arrived. Maurice is settling down.” She smile up at Quentin and tilted her head in a perky question. “What else is there?”

Quentin didn’t answer. He looked down at the floor. “Well, of course. If the rest home solution is the best for the young man.”

“I’m sure it is.” Willow smiled. “And with the threat of a rampaging Slayer slayer gone, the new Slayer can resume her normal routine.” There was a silence.

“Of course,” said Quentin smoothly, “as soon as we have found a suitable Watcher.”

“Giles is a qualified Watcher,” Willow said quickly.

Giles almost leapt from the sofa. Only fear of perky Willow kept him in place. Quentin was completely taken aback. “Of course,” he managed to say finally. “Of course we will consider it.” He looked at Giles. Giles looked back and tried not to appear slack-jawed.

“Well, fine then.” Willow stood up and offered her hand gently. Quentin took it and automatically bent to kiss it before he caught himself. Then he was bound to complete the motion. He stood slowly, frightened and angered by the control the witch had just exerted over him. Just to show that she could, he felt.

“Giles?” Willow extended her hand. He took it and bent quite of his own free will to kiss it. “Will you walk me home?”

Quentin protested this immediately. “I would prefer one of Riley’s men walk with you, Mistress Willow,” he insisted, casting a suspicious eye at Giles. “In case you are stopped by anyone.” It was mildly threatening, but the threat was so ineffectual Willow chose to ignore it.

“Thank you, Quentin,” she said easily, not even glancing at Giles, “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

She left on the arm of a tall young man who appeared to know enough about her identity to look supremely uncomfortable when she slipped her hand around his arm.

Giles waited until Willow had reached the main sidewalk before he turned to Quentin with an apologetic look. “I had no idea she was going to suggest that,” he explained honestly.

Quentin smiled grimly. “I gathered that from your expression,” he admitted. He pondered Giles for a moment. “I suspect the witch expects your support in something.” He boldly put forth his suspicions and waited to see Giles’ reaction.

“Well, of course she does,” said Giles calmly. “Willow has known me since she was a child. She expects loyalty from me as she would from any parental figure. It’s only natural.”

“Of course. Natural,” said Quentin thoughtfully. “Witches are childlike in that way,” he observed, watching Giles. “They don’t see the long view.”

“No,” Giles paused, “but of course we do.”

“Yes,” said Quentin thoughtfully, “yes, of course we do.”

******************************************************************

Two hours later, an unmarked van showed up at the door to the Summers/Rosenberg residence. A white coated man, who looked remarkably like Willie the Snitch, escorted a docile Xander out the door, carrying a packed suitcase.

After fifteen of the longest minutes he had ever endured, Xander Harris popped into a stand of trees next to the road. The unmarked van roared off. Xander looked around quickly then took off at a dead run for the lake on the other side of the trees.

Standing in the shaded entrance at the top of the ledge overlooking the lake, Spike saw Xander when he emerged from the copse. He felt the ache in his wrist and his neck and his groin. By the time Xander reached the bottom of the cliff and looked up at Spike, the vampire had started to breathe. Xander pounded up the embankment, round the corner of the ledge and flew through the entrance and into Spike’s arms. The force of his flight threw Spike against the wall. They impacted with the rough dirt surface solidly, then in a tangle of grabbing arms and legs and desperately pressing mouths, they slid in a heap to the floor.

For about five minutes the only sound that came out of them were gasps as Xander occasionally came up for air. Finally he paused long enough to look at Spike. The vampire was grinning madly, his hair already a mass of Xander induced tangles, his shirt torn open, his mouth swollen and red. Xander admired the effect. “God, you look so fuckable,” he said roughly.

Spike laughed happily and ran his hands over and over Xander’s face and through his hair. He wriggled against him with a leer and then suddenly stopped, his eyes wide. “Shit,” he said.

Xander laughed. “What?”

“Humans upstairs, “ Spike groaned. “Luv, we’ve got company.”

Xander shrugged and nuzzled Spike skin. “So,” he said, his hands wandering teasingly.

There was a scrape from just above. Xander looked up into Brown’s shocked face. “Hey!” Xander said conversationally, “you mind shutting that thing. Wanna fuck my mate here.”

The door slammed immediately shut. Xander looked down and smirked a smirk that would make a vampire proud. “Mine,” he growled and bit.

********************************************************************

Maurice looked worriedly at Brown when he came back and sat down again with the steno pad.

“What was it?”

“Xander’s back,” said Brown briefly.

“Oh,” said Maurice, feeling a non sequitur but not able to identify it. He twitched his stiff shoulders and tugged at his bound hands a bit. Sighed.

“So.” Brown read what was written on the pad. “You think anybody’s gonna believe any of this?”

Maurice looked at the closed escape hatch door again. “Why doesn’t he come up?” he asked Brown after a minute.

“Him and Spike are havin’ a reunion,” Brown said dryly.

“Oh,” said Maurice again, feeling very stupid. “Oh!” as he got it. He blushed and looked very uncomfortable.

Brown shook his head and laughed. “You old guys,” he said.

Maurice looked at him carefully. “You don’t mind,” he observed.

“The guy thing?” Brown made a derisive sound. “Nah. The vampire thing? Yeah. Maybe sorta,” shrugged Brown. “But Xander’s got shit going on, Maurice. And so does Spike. The whole bitey thing? I dunno, what do you think?”

Maurice was so amazed to be asked his opinion by this belligerent young man, he couldn’t speak for a moment. “Well.” And he thought. Hard. “Well, it’s probably not advisable,” he said slowly. “Spike may not wish to harm Mr. Harris, but he could do so nevertheless.”

Brown nodded, studying the ground. “Yeah,” he said. “’S what I been thinkin’.”

“Even if it lasted more than a few weeks, what sort of life would he be leading?” Maurice looked pointedly around the mausoleum. “Living in crypts?”

“Well, Spike lives in houses, Maurice. You know that. They’s just hidin’ out here.”

“Spike lives in houses through charity, Brown. He has no means.”

Brown, a man of few means himself, was silent. He looked at the pad on which he had been transcribing Maurice’s letter. “Okay, then, what else you gonna tell them?”

The door to the escape hatch pushed aside and the dark head of Xander Harris popped up. “Hey Brown!” he said in a chipper voice. “See that tube over there by the sleeping stuff?” he pointed with a muscled, very naked arm. “Toss it over?”

Brown obediently rose and fetched the object. He looked at it and smirked at Xander. “Bet you’d pay a lotta money for this right now,” he teased.

Xander laughed up at him and Brown was struck. By the joy. The easy laughing joy in Xander’s eyes. Brown hadn’t seen anyone look like that in so long. He grinned and tossed the tube, Xander caught it easily. He disappeared again and the door slammed shut.

Brown sat down again. He looked thoughtful.

*********************************************************************

“Xan,” Spike breathed. He arched his back a bit and pushed hard against the pelvis pressing firmly into his backside. The hand encircling the base of his cock squeezed lightly and drifted down to cup his tightening balls. Xander rocked gently with him, moaning unintelligible phrases, his head leaning over Spike’s shoulder to lap his mark.

“Mmtzrp,” said Xander feelingly. Spike whined. He began to rock with more urgency, shoving back against Xander harder.

“Fuck me, Xan,” whined Spike desperately. “Now. Need you now.”

“Ohhh,” moaned Xander, resisting the thrusting by floating with it, his cock barely moving inside the cool channel. “Wanna stay here forever, Spike. Don’t wanna come. Wanna stay inside you forever, Spike.”

Spike groaned and shuddered. “Gotta come now, Xan,” he whispered pleadingly. He bore down and felt Xander’s cock slide in a millimeter further. A deep animalistic growl issued from his mouth. “God. Now, Xan. Now. Please.”

“Forever,” whispered Xander, his hips starting a rhythm despite himself.

“Forever,” agreed Spike desperately, writhing and forcing his ass against Xander. “Always inside me. Forever, Xander. Forever love.” He gasped involuntarily as Xander’s hips began pumping against him. “Forever, love. Love you forever, Xander,” he promised wildly.

Xander felt himself losing control, losing his moment. Desperately trying to plant the memory somewhere deep in his mind. In a place where nothing could dislodge it. Not time, not death, not the slow erosion of faith. This moment, this ecstatic eternal moment. A sob rose from him as his body took over, and he began uncontrollably slamming himself into Spike. “God. Spike. Love you. Spike,” he grunted, and then began an inarticulate series of nonsensical noises as all rhythm and sense flew away and he merely fucked his vampire.

Spike arched and keened and felt the warm hand speed up and down his cock. He rocked violently back and screamed Xander’s name and came. The man above him continued to babble and slam against him. He was so far inside Spike, the vampire swore he could feel him in his throat. His entire body glued to his back, he cried desperately and kept thrusting hard. His hand convulsively grasped Spike’s softening member and the vampire cried out. Xander screamed and bit down on the back of Spike’s neck. Spike felt the hot sperm deep inside him as Xander clenched against and around him, crying almost as if he were in pain. When he finally relaxed and pulled back, Spike slid off Xander’s cock and spun around immediately.

“Xander.” He pulled the shaken man into his arms and hugged him fiercely. Xander collapsed against him and returned the hug.

“Spike, I love you.”

“Love you too, Xan.”

“Don’t ever wanna hurt you.”

In his post-orgasmic delirium, Spike still felt the warning light go on. “Never wanna hurt you neither, Xan.” He sought out and found the soft mouth. Kissed it tenderly. “What’s the matter, luv.” He pressed his forehead to Xander’s and smiled gently. “Little post coitum triste?”

Xander cracked a weak trembly smile. “God. You speak French. That is so fucking unfair.”

Spike smirked evilly. “Tu es l’amour de mon âme. Je te veux plus que je ne veux le sang. Je t’aimerai à jamais,” he purred into Xander’s ear.

“Oh God,” moaned Xander.

“Je te dèsire,” Spike continued, his tongue circled Xander’s earlobe as he spoke. “Je veux t’embrasser partout et te faire l’amour pur toujours. Mon amour. Mon Coeur. Mon sandwich de la confiture at du veurre de cacahuètes.” **

“No idea what you’re saying, but gotta fuck you now,” Xander growled urgently, and pushed Spike back to the floor.

Spike laughed and pushed Xander back up. “Think we’ve been rutting in the stairwell long enough, Xander.” He returned Xander’s look with a chagrined smile. “Gotta go up top and entertain the guests.”

Xander gave him a long look. “Too much happening right now, Spike.” He leant down and kissed Spike hard. Drew back reluctantly. “Wish we could put it all off.”

“Yeah, me too, mate. But ‘s the way it always happens. Can’t make the world go away.” Spike skooched back and began hunting for clothing. “Gotta deal.”

“Yeah.” Xander sat for a minute lost in his head, then rose and began dressing also. “Yeah. Gotta deal. Gotta make it alright.”

“That’s right, luv.” Spike swung easily up the stairs and pushed at the trapdoor. “’Cuz we’re the good guys. That’s our job.”

“Yeah,” said Xander, following him. “The good guys,” he muttered to himself, “Eeney, Meeney, Miney and Moe.”

** A SPECIAL THANKS TO ANNE FOR THE FRENCH TRANSLATION




PART TWENTY ONE

“Hey, Maurice,” said Xander, checking the Watcher out. “How you been?”

Maurice looked up at the man who had chosen to consort with a demon. Xander’s shirt still hung open, revealing a well-toned pale chest and a prominent, still bright red, vampire bite. The expression on his face was bland, but Maurice intuited that Xander had not yet released the memory of a crossbow pointed at his heart. He wiggled uncomfortably against his bound hands and feet and tried to adopt a civil tone. “I’m well enough, Mr. Harris,” he said.

“Nice sweats,” Xander commented. He slugged back some water from the Boy Scout canteen. “Used ta have a pair just like them.”

“Yes. Well, thank you for that,” said Maurice. “Mine were ruined somehow.”

Xander cast a mildly curious look at Spike who was pointedly not looking back at him. He shrugged. “Just try not to bleed on ‘em,” he said, casually shuffling over to peer out the peephole. “Blood’s a bugger to get out.”

Maurice wisely chose not to comment on the evil qualities of blood and remained silent.

Xander addressed Brown. “So. Stuff.”

“Yeah.”

“What we gotta do?”

Brown snorted. “Show up.”

“Same ol’ same ol’.”

“Basically.”

“Who’s the BB?”

“Half the fuckin’ world, man.”

Xander looked at him. “So. Pretty much as usual.”

Brown sighed. He grinned. “It’s so great how it never gets old.”

He and Xander exchanged smiles.

Xander looked at Spike instead of his watch. “How long until sundown?”

Spike didn’t even pause. “An hour and twenty minutes. More or less.” He stopped what he was doing and looked at Xander. “Why?”

Xander looked at Maurice. Took another slug of water. “Looks like we gotta rescue a Slayer,” he said briskly. “Tradition says for that you gotta have a souled vampire.” He cocked his head at Maurice, his face expressionless. “Right, Morreees?”

Maurice was finding more and more value in the old expression, ‘silence is golden.’

Xander didn’t wait for an answer. “Did Clem tell you when they’re arriving?” he asked Brown.

“Nah,” sighed Brown. “He didn’t know yet and now we got the whole ‘no communication by airwaves’ problem.” He shook his head in frustration. “Somebody’s just gotta go down to the airport and hunker down ‘n wait.”

“You could do that,” observed Xander.

“Nah, you should do it, Xan,” Spike stated quickly from across the room.

“No,” said Xander flatly. “Not leavin’ you around Initiative bastards.”

“Xander, don’t be an ass. They see you with me they’re gonna know you’ve lied to them. They’ll go after you to a man. Besides,” Spike pointed out logically, “Brown’s a better fighter.”

Xander stood aghast and stared at Spike. “You are so not getting any tonight.”

Spike laughed and gave Xander a cheeky look. “Don’t threaten if you can’t follow through, luv,” he purred, prowling towards him. He came into Xander’s personal space and dipped his head seductively to barely touch the hypnotized man’s neck. He growled and Xander shivered.

“Fuck. Stop doin’ that shit in front of me, man,” said Brown.

Spike rose and blinked. “Sorry,” he said simply. “Didn’t think it bothered you.”

“Just.” Brown wriggled and rubbed his neck. “Just startin’ ta think it’s kinda hot. You’re confusin’ my innocent little libido.”

Spike laughed and walked over and slung his arm around Brown’s shoulders. The young man tensed and looked uncomfortable. Spike looked down at him, laughing, then looked up at Xander. The look on Xander’s face was just a little too far over the possessive line to be amusing. Spike dropped his arm. “Sorry,” he said.

Xander took a deep breath and exhaled, amazed at how badly he had wanted to plant his fist in Brown’s face for a second there. “Christ, Spike,” he said unsteadily, “you weren’t kidding.”

“Yeah,” agreed Spike, carefully putting distance between himself and Brown. “And you ain’t even a demon, Xan.”

“Are you sure about that?” Maurice’s voice rose from the floor and all three men turned to stare at him.

“Whatchya sayin’, Watcher?” Spike scratched his head in a show of perplexity. “You still think Xander’s my minion?” He cocked an amused look at his lover.

Xander leered. “Maaster,” he moaned. Spike laughed, was surprised by a twinge of arousal, looked at the floor. “Heh. Think he’s been out in the sun a bit much for that, don’t you?”

“Of course I don’t think he’s a vampire. But is he entirely human?”

Spike stilled completely. “Tell me what yer thinking, Maurice,” he said in a cool voice.

The Watcher twisted his arms about uncomfortably and cursed his impetuous mouth. “I don’t know, Spike. I’m not thinking much,” he admitted. “But Mr. Harris was very ill yesterday and now seems fully recovered. He is displaying new and vaguely demonic personality traits. You both seem to be inordinately fixated on one another.” At the two men’s looks, Maurice shrugged, “Well, that may be a natural fixation as it happens. But it does seem extraordinary to have established such an attachment in such a short period of time.”

Xander tried to sound light hearted. “Are you saying we’re moving too fast, Maurice?” He walked slowly to the back of the crypt and slid against the wall to the floor. “Saying we should slow down, get to know each other better?” Xander’s eyes met Spike’s. The worry there matched his own.

“Xan.” Spike walked over and squatted down next to Xander. “What did Red tell you?”

Xander chewed his lip. He absently took Spike’s hand and rubbed his thumb back and forth across it. “She found a book about claiming,” he told Spike.

Maurice made a noise. “Not Bresllvs text?” he said dismissively.

Xander waved that off. “Naw. Not that guy. Some weird demonic historical thingy.” He thought for a minute. “Spike. We gotta talk about it.” He looked at Brown and Maurice. “Not here.”

Brown took in Xander’s entire demeanor. The depression and sorrow. He jumped up and pulled a resistant Maurice to his feet. “Nah,” he said brusquely. “Morreees and I gotta go take a whiz anyway. We’ll go down ta the lake for a few.”

Spike nodded. “Come back before dark,” he said, never taking his eyes off Xander.

“Yeah, mom, don’t worry,” said Brown, and shoved Maurice through the trap door.

Spike crouched next to Xander, holding his hand and waiting. Xander tried to find words that would bring the information to Spike slowly. He tried to think of a way to gently inform Spike. He looked at the devoted patient face before him. “Fucking poisonous Xander Harris bodily fluids,” he finally blurted out. “My blood is going to kill you, Spike!”

Of course Spike looked stunned. Xander expected that. But he didn’t expect the vampire to slowly and reverently raise Xander’s hand and press it to his cool lips. “Okay,” said Spike slowly, “and what will happen to you?”

“Don’t know,” said Xander. “Willow isn’t sure. So far, though, it seems to make me healthier. I’m so lucky,” he spat.

“I see,” said Spike, and he sat down next to Xander. “Will I die soon?” he asked, his tone as if he were asking after the weather.

“Fuck, Spike, I’m not kidding.”

“I know that, Xander,” said Spike calmly. “I’m not kidding either. When will I die?”

“Willow says you’ll live as long as I do.” Xander felt tears starting in his eyes and reached instinctively for Spike. “God, Spike, this is so fucked up. I am so fucked up.”

Spike folded the man to him. A great feeling of peace washing through him. He kissed the silky hair and rubbed his hands across the warm muscled back. “And we’ll be together?” he asked softly.

“No, Spike.” Xander pushed back and Spike could see the tears smearing the flushed cheeks. Xander pulled himself out of Spike’s arms and stood unsteadily. “I’m not gonna kill you, Spike,” he said with conviction. “I am not gonna let that happen.” He rubbed at his face with his arm, looking to Spike like an unhappy little boy. Spike rose and stepped towards him. Xander backed up. He took another step, Xander backed away again.

“Xander?” Spike had a dizzy, confused feeling. This was like one of those dreams, where he couldn’t touch anybody. He reached for Xander and the man backed away again. “Xander?”

“I’m not gonna kill you, Spike,” Xander stated. “I can’t do that.” He turned away from the vampire’s frightened face and looked at the floor. “I’m gonna get Willow to undo the claim.”

Spike was stunned. “So. She can do that?” he finally managed to get out.

“Maybe,” said Xander slowly. “I asked her to.”

“You asked her to?” Spike stared at Xander with huge eyes, trying to make sense of this. “Today? Before you came back?” He looked wildly at Xander. “Before you came back and said ‘forever’?” His words were barely audible. Xander continued to look at the floor. “Xander?” Spike felt the wave towering over his head. The great black tidal wave of disaster. He always expected it. But in the eerie clarity before the wave came down on his head and blew away his unlife, Spike realized he had not this time expected it from Xander. Because this time Spike had believed Xander. This time he had let the words plant themselves inside him. Let them grow into something. Something which in such a short time Spike had allowed himself to rest in. He felt it ripping away with a shock. He stared at Xander. “Liar,” he ground out from a voice already choking with pain and grief. “You said…” inside he felt himself stumble, his mind reciting to him everything Xander had said. Words of love. Promises. Spike flailed about emotionally, finally grabbing hold and hanging onto anger like a life raft. “You liar,” he spat venomously.

Xander felt the word like the sting of a whip. He flinched and made himself look at Spike. The vampire stood before him in a towering rage. His eyes morphed from blue to gold and Xander saw the teeth. For the first time in awhile he did not find the sight erotic. He found it terrifying. He backed away hastily, looking towards the doorway. Dusk was approaching, but the sun was still up. He skittered sideways and ran for the door, but Spike was blocking it in a blur of supernatural speed.

“Liar,” hissed the vampire, morphing completely into gameface.

Xander looked around him desperately for weapons. Realized this was Spike. Even if he had the skill to fight him, Xander would never have the heart. He began panting, in a panic. Can’t fight. Can’t run away. He’s gonna kill me. Oh God, he’s gonna kill me. “Spike,” he pleaded, “God, Spike, calm down a minute.” The demon was advancing on him and Xander suddenly felt weirdly reluctant to resist him. Had Brown been right, was he in thrall? Spike grabbed his shoulders and Xander looked into the golden eyes and realized, no, he was only in love. As the demon bent to Xander’s neck, he arched his head back. “Go ahead, Spike,” he said tearfully, giving up, “I love you.”

Xander was flung violently to the floor. He felt the shock in his shoulders as his arms caught him against the fall. He looked up at Spike as the demon whirled and punched a heavenly cloud on the wall. “Fuck you, Xander!” Spat Spike vehemently. And stood with turned back, shuddering out of gameface. Xander rose unsteadily to his feet.

The escape hatch door scraped open and Brown’s head popped into view. His eyes were closed. “Hey! You guys decent?” When he got no answer, he opened his eyes and took in the tableau before him. Two tense and emotional men stood awkwardly not looking at each other in the middle of the room. Brown sighed and pulled himself up onto the floor. “Great,” he said. “Just like home.” He leaned over and pulled Maurice up. “Mom ‘n Dad been at it again,” he informed the watcher disgustedly. Maurice looked nervously at Xander and Spike. Brown yanked down his gag and made to ease him back to the floor.

“No,” said Xander, “wait. It’s time.” He nodded towards the door, where the light had finally dissolved into darkness. “We gotta go.”

*************************************************************

Xander eased Brown’s van into gear. He glanced in his rear view mirror and addressed the bound Watcher in the back. “Better grab hold a something,” he warned wearily. “I don’t think this thing’s got any shocks.”

He turned the wheels onto the empty road and allowed the van to roll silently downhill before letting out the clutch and giving it gas. There was a violent heave and jump backwards as the gears caught and the customized engine roared to life. In the back, Maurice yelped behind his gag as his rump made contact with something pointy.

“Told ya,” said Xander.

He studied the dark woods rushing away from them in his side mirror, as the van sped forwards. Brown and Spike had dissolved into the trees already. Xander concentrated on his driving and tried not to think about Spike. About the vampire’s absolute silence. His pointed lack of response to anything that Xander had done or said. A lack of communication so absolute it was like the antithesis of communication. Spike’s silence seemed to suck sound from the air. In the end, he had turned from Xander and walked off without even a nod of acknowledgment. Xander took a deep breath and fought back tears. Tried once more to concentrate solely on his driving. To focus on the mission. To not think about Spike, or that the last words he had spoken to Xander had been, ‘Fuck you.’

He jammed his foot onto the accelerator a little harder, heedless to the shift of metal in the back or the muffled squeaks of the uncomfortable man lying there.

Brown trotted alongside Spike easily, studying the expressionless silhouette. They paused at the edge of a clearing, on an embankment that gave them a view of a good part of the residential zone of Sunnydale, as well as the ominously dark swell of military tents and vehicles at the edge of town. As they stood surveying the terrain, Spike lighting a cigarette and leaning back against a tree, Brown sidled up to him.

“Had a friend once,” he mentioned casually. “’Bout once a month used ta have a big fight with his girlfriend then go out and drive his car into a tree.”

Spike didn’t acknowledge the remark.

Brown toed the ground. “Sweet little Camero,” he said mournfully. “Such a fucking waste.” He sighed. “So I says to him, ‘Man come over an’ tell me about it, don’t fucking take it out on the innocent car!’” He cast a glance at Spike. “You ain’t thinkin’ a’ immolatin’ yourself or nothin’ are you, man?”

Spike threw his cigarette to the ground and watched the ember die.

“’Cuz I don’ wanna be hanging out here on my own. Kinda countin’ on you,” said Brown rapidly.

Spike shook his head. “Don’t worry,” he said gruffly. “Not the suicidal type.”

“Not what I heard.”

Spike tipped his head sideways and gave Brown a mildly malevolent look. “What did you hear?”

Brown ignored the warning in the voice. “Heard you go all kinda wacko when you’re in love,” he said the words distastefully. “Hear you like, catch yourself on fire and chain people up and bury yourself alive and shit.”

Spike leaned against a tree and tilted his head back onto it. He pulled his cigarette packet out and slowly tapped another one loose. “Yeah.” He paused to light it and leaned back again, the cigarette hanging from his lips. “Guess yer right. Am kinda a fool for love.”

“Boy, you an’ Harris,” said Brown unhappily. “Really an embarrassment to guys everywhere.”

Spike growled.

“So what the fuck happened?” asked Brown baldly. “I mean, I walk away for five minutes and blamm! We’ve gone from Romeo and Juliet to Othello!”

Spike looked at him in amazement. “You? Know Shakespeare?”

Brown looked suddenly caught. “Nah,” he denied rapidly. “Just sayin’ stuff.”

Spike smiled for the first time in an hour. “Yer a fake.”

“Fuck you.” Brown frowned and persisted. “So what’s the problem all of a sudden? Not that I think you guys have a good idea there or nothin’, but things seemed to be going pretty good?”

“You think it’s a bad idea.”

“Well.” Brown laughed with surprise. “Well, duh. ‘Course it’s a bad idea.”

Spike shifted uncomfortably, removed the cigarette from his mouth and flicked the ash. “Assumin’ I haven’t already thought of them all,” he said, “how ‘bout you gimmee yer list a pros and cons.”

Brown looked the vampire over speculatively. “These gonna be my last words, Spike? ‘Cuz I’m sensin’ a certain amount a hostility here.”

Spike pointedly relaxed and threw his arms out in a gesture of acceptance. “Nah. Just wanna know what you think.”

“’Kay.” Brown studiously thought for a moment. “Whole thing seems like it might be really bad for Harris, ya know?”

“How so?”

“Well.” He sighed. “Geez Spike, you’re not so good with sick people are you? And Harris has got somethin’ serious.”

Spike was silent.

“And, I dunno, but you seem ta have a bit of a temper.” Brown shook his head solemnly. “With the biting and all the emotional crap. Geez, the whole thing looks like a disaster in the makin’.”

“I love him.”

Brown grimaced. “Yeah, well that’s what my old man said, but he still beat the crap outta my mom.”

“And how’s he supposed ta live?” Brown added, tallying the arguments up now with his fingers. He held up his hand to enumerate the problems. “1) You’re nocturnal 2) You’re dead, not goin’ ta any company barbeques now, is ya? 3) You can’t take care of him financially either. What’s gonna happen when he starts getting really sick? How you gonna get him what he needs?”

“Maybe he won’t get that sick,” suggested Spike weakly.

“That fucking disease is serious, man,” said Brown earnestly. “Stuff he takes for it can stop workin’ anytime. And he’s not takin’ care of himself like he should,” he snorted. “Even I see that. Livin’ like this, prowlin’ around at night, not getting’ any sleep, not eatin’ right. It’s not good.”

Spike stared into the night.

“You’re not helping him, Spike,” said Brown quietly.

“Blood made him better,” Spike pointed out sadly.

Brown shuddered. “So how long can he take that stuff before he changes into something else? Is that what you want, Spike? You wanna turn him?”

Spike looked down at the city below them. “Wouldn’t be Xander,” he said softly.

“Wouldn’t be right,” agreed Brown. “Be a damn fucking shame.”

Spike clenched his jaw, looked the other man in the eye. “Xander wants to reverse the claim,” he told him. “That’s why we fought.”

Brown tisked and gave Spike a sympathetic look. “Maybe he’s right? I’m sorry, man, but maybe it’s the right thing to do.”

“Yeah,” said Spike. He leaned against the tree and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Then stood, shook himself, and looked again at the layout below them. “Yeah. So where is this bint we gotta rescue?”

*********************************************************************

In the airport parking lot, Xander sat in the back of the van with Maurice and paged through Spike’s well-used notebook. The feel of the paper, covered with the elegant handwriting, and the soft thumbed binding, made him feel physically closer to Spike. He stopped on a page which popped out at him because it had only a few lines written on it.

‘The sensation when you enter me.’ He read and his throat closed. ‘As of some window opening onto a world of brilliant colour.’ He shut the notebook and gazed sightlessly out into the parking lot.

Maurice wriggled and sighed. Xander glanced at him. He reached over and dragged the gag down off his mouth. “Don’t suppose you’re into bondage?” Xander suggested with a little smirk. Maurice gave him a virulently disgusted look. “Too bad,” shrugged Xander, “might have been more fun for you if you were.”

“I suppose you are no longer worried that I might cry for help?”

“Scream away,” said Xander casually. “I’ll just knock you over the head before anybody hears you.”

“I appreciate the warning,” said Maurice dryly. He sighed. “I wish you would believe me when I tell you that you have my full support in this.”

“Can’t trust a Watcher. Sorry.”

“That is exactly what Spike said.”

Xander blinked down at the notebook. “Yeah. Well. Spike’s had a lotta trust issues with humans in general. Can’t blame him.”

“He’s a demon. What does he expect?”

Xander glared. “To be appreciated for what he does? To be acknowledged for his contributions a little, maybe?”

Maurice did not answer.

“Bunch of self-righteous bigots,” Xander said to himself. “All of us.”

A group of men were standing on the other side of the parking lot. Xander stood and leaned out the door of the van to get a better look. “Wow,” he said, “it’s like a Giles convention or something.” He waved in a large arching circle at the tweedy cluster and they headed towards him. Xander came back into the van, slamming the door shut. He jumped into the drivers seat and jerked the van into gear. Maurice cried out as the vehicle took a sharp turn, and headed across the lot to pick up their guests.

*********************************************************************

Willow’s living room looked like a soft, fluffy Faberge egg. The rest of her first floor was efficient and business like. The kitchen, dining room and office all were used for a variety of meetings and magical incantations, and so were kept swept clean and very organized. But Willow liked sumptuous fabrics and rich colors and things that sparkled. So her living room was her nest. And like a jaybird she had created it with all the pretty objects she found in the world. And a few that she had found in the Netherworld.

The sofa was a deep green velvet. It was packed so solidly with embroidered, beaded, and fringed pillows that there was really only room for one in the very center. Or two if they sat very close together. Sadly, tonight, Willow was the only resident of the sofa. Although she occasionally let her mind drift to the previous night when Diana had squeezed up against her here. She sat placidly counting out small hazel wands from a box at her feet onto the coffee table. The table was densely covered with a variety of geodes and crystals. Some of them had begun glowing. Willow appeared comfortable with this phenomena and kept counting. On the wall across the room, above an almost five foot tall hearth with a cauldron hanging in the middle of it, a dozen various shaped mirrors glittered and reflected lights flashing from an unknown source. Willow paused in her counting and looked up at the mirrors suddenly. “Come in,” she said, in a loud commanding voice.

Something rattled peremptorily at the front door and Willow shook her head and pursed her lips in annoyance. “Come in,” she said again, louder. The front door slammed open and a wind rushed through it. Various banners, ribbons and children’s drawing fluttered on the wall, and Willow’s Calico rose hissing from her spot under a chair.

Willow shook her head without looking up. “Dramatic much,” she commented mildly.

“Sorry.” The woman shook debris out of her cloak and ran a hand through thick curly red hair. “Get all excited. Forget myself.”

“There is a doorbell.” Willow smiled up at the other witch. “Welkommen BethAnn.” The other woman dimpled and pushed pillows from a chair to sit.

“Where are the others?”

“Soon,” said Willow calmly.

“Can’t believe this. So exciting.”

Willow raised an eyebrow. “Exciting?”

BethAnn’s eyes widened at Willow’s tone. “Well, you know. The whole Coven. Raising of power on this level. I’ve never done it before, Mistress,” she explained pleadingly.

Willow sighed and rose with her wands. She walked across the room and handed one to BethAnn. As the woman’s fingers closed around it, Willow held on until BethAnn’s eyes rose and met her own. “This is war,” said Willow sadly. “BethAnn, this is not exciting.”

The younger witch wilted. “I’m sorry.”

Willow tisked and petted the mass of shining curls. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. She looked up and something skated through her eyes. She frowned. “Doesn’t anyone use the doorbell?” she asked querulously. “Come in!” she yelled.

*******************************************************************

Spike and Brown had found the least guarded side of the military encampment and were silently indicating to each other, with much jabbing of fingers and furious head-shaking, what they should do next. Spike wanted to go alone. He knew he could move more silently than Brown and dreaded the possibility of the mortal’s injury. Brown indicated himself and Spike and walked his fingers suggestively through the air. Spike shook his head vehemently and dragged the walking fingers behind one of his own upraised fingers, to suggest one set of legs hiding behind a tree. Brown eyed this strange symbolic interaction, blushed and shook his head violently. Spike contemplated the subject of Brown’s discomfiture for a moment, then quickly pulled his hand away, looking equally uncomfortable. He sat in furious frustration for a minute, then leaned forward, grabbed Brown’s head and hissed up against his ear.

“You stay. I go.”

Brown drew back and shook his head violently. Spike glared. Brown glared back. Spike clenched his jaw and shrugged. He turned and waved the young man to come with him, rolling his eyes at the bravado of mortal males.

Spike knew that the principal tents would house the military brass, and guessed that Quentin would have some kind of office set up for himself here as well. He hoped the Slayer would be housed nearby. He slipped past the tents with this in mind, but he was relying more on his vampiric senses than any logic. He could feel the Slayer, and as they rounded on one group of tents, he could feel the Slayer most definitely.

He stopped short and felt Brown bump softly into him from behind. Spike turned and pointed at a tent in front of them. Brown raised his eyebrows and his hands in an expression of inquiry. Spike touched his nose and nodded. Brown grimaced distastefully and nodded also. They approached the tent very slowly and plastered themselves to the ground near the back.

Every sense Spike had was tingling. The Slayer inside gave off a lot of juice. He wondered if it was the youth and freshness of the Calling or if the Initiative supported contingent of the Council had already worked some power enhancing mojo on the child. There were no other occupants of the tent at the moment, he could sense, so he thought now would be a good time to slide under the wall. Brown stopped him as he began to dip his head under.

He gave the young man an irritated and impatient look. Brown pointed at the tent, made a stabbing motion with one hand. Pointed at Spike, bared his teeth and made the grrr face. Raised an eyebrow. Spike fell back a bit and thought about it. A young Slayer confronted by a vampire in the middle of the night would probably not be up for a little chat before dusting. He graciously lifted the wall of the tent a couple inches and motioned Brown to go before him. The young man gave him a half-hearted salute and wriggled under the material.

Approximately ten minutes later in real time, but ten years later in Spike time, the wall of the tent rose again and Spike stared into the small round face and huge brown eyes of a young girl. She recoiled when she saw him and narrowed her eyes. He struggled against his demon and slithered back in the most subservient and passive manner he could force upon himself. The pale little face looked back behind her and Spike heard whispered assurances in Brown’s deep voice. Then both persons were wriggling out of the tent.

She was terribly tiny. Maybe one hundred pounds wet. With short shiny black hair cut in a shaggy manner all over her head and chocolate brown eyes that reminded Spike achingly of Xander. Her small muscled body was clothed only in tight yoga pants and a pink halter-top. She wriggled over the ground like an agile lizard and jumped to a crouch with a seamless grace that Spike saw as pure Slayer. He grinned appreciatively and caught the hostile look Brown shot him with surprise. Spike measured Brown appreciatively. He wondered what had gone on in those ten minutes.

With a series of urgent hand motions, they indicated to the girl the direction which led from camp. All three of them had almost made it past the furthest periphery and Spike was thinking nervously that this had all been too bloody easy when he heard the eerie click of an engaged cross-bow and the subtler but more malevolent snick of a gun safety being released.

“Well, well,” said Riley Finn. “What a nice surprise.”

Spike rolled slowly to face him. “Not much for the witty one liners, are you, mate?” He saw Brown in his peripheral vision, crouching in the shade of a truck. Riley had both his weapons trained on Spike and had apparently not seen Brown.

“I don’t really need to be clever, Spike. I’ve got guns.”

Spike grinned appreciatively. “Yeah. Can see your point.” Near him the Slayer straightened slowly.

Riley motioned with the rifle towards her, never taking his eyes off Spike. “Get back to your tent,” he commanded. The girl didn’t move. Riley scowled with annoyance and shouted over his shoulders. “Hendrick. Rogers. Get over here!” Spike heard the girl backing slowly towards Brown’s truck. Riley was distracted. “Go back to your tent!” he demanded. Spike sprang from the ground and in one move hit Riley square in the chest. The man fell and lost his cross-bolt into the trees. His rifle fired a brief spat into the ground and ricochettes caught both he and Spike in the legs. Spike hit the dirt, temporarily disabled and looked up to see the Slayer running over to join Brown. Both faces turned back towards him.

Spike could hear the men Riley had called approaching and he saw the injured man grabbing hold of his sensibilities and reaching for his rifle. “Go!” Spike urged. Struggling to his feat. “Run!” Brown nodded once. Grabbed the girl’s hand and they both took off. Spike stood and started loping after them. He stopped dead when he felt a sharp new crossbolt lodge itself firmly in his back. “Bloody Fuck,” he said.

The soldier who had him pinned didn’t respond. Spike heard another crossbow being loaded and didn’t move. Behind him he heard Riley slowly struggling up from the dirt. He would have loved to see the fuckers face before he died, he thought disappointedly.

“Follow her,” Riley ordered. Spike knew from the sound of his voice that Riley knew the odds of catching a Slayer running full tilt through the dead of night. He sent a silent wish upwards or downwards, whichever crew was listening to him these days, that Brown’s feet traveled fast tonight as well.

Men hustled off, but others came closer to him. Spike tensed, prepared to fight. The last thing he felt was a cold metal bar touching the side of his head and then all was blackness.

**********************************************************************

The room was ice blue. Spike lay flat in a place as cold as a refrigerator and tried to locate his arms and legs. He seemed to be able to feel, but could not move his body. Briefly he thought he might be dead. Or no longer undead. Or whatever. He had never been able to come up with the proper adjective. But all around him was blue. No ceilings no walls, just blue. Heaven? Spike snorted at the probability of that though something inside him leapt hopefully. He heard his own snort, though, and realized it had come from a corporeal body. Not dusted then.

He tried to stretch, tried to locate fingers and toes. Nothing. The lack of response was not just disorienting, it was frightening. He imagined for a minute that his head had been removed. But then he’d be dust. He willed himself to wriggle and heard a noise. Maybe then his body was attached and he just couldn’t feel it. The thought was somehow not very comforting.

“We’ve placed a block between your cerebral cortex and your muscles,” explained Riley Finn’s voice from the endless blueness. You can feel but you can’t control your reactions. Spike saw the face tilting in his peripheral vision. “Allow me to demonstrate.” The cool metal bar touched Spike’s belly and then unbelievable, white hot pain shot straight up his back and into his brain. He screamed for an eternity. Then he was back in the blue room. Riley’s voice sounded terribly pleased. “Like that,” he said.

Spike heard and felt the slap of his body jerking on the surface on which he lay. He heard himself panting. He couldn’t stop either reaction. He concentrated his will to find a place in his body that he could control, to punch this fucker in the face and get outta here, but there was no response. The sound and sensation of his body’s tremors had abated, but Riley was walking next to him, the cool metal sliding up and down Spike’s thigh. From the sensation he judged that he must be naked. He felt the cool bar sliding towards his crotch and desperately tried to find a place in his mind to hide from the coming pain.

“Spike?” asked Riley conversationally. His face appeared before Spike’s again. His expression looked to the vampire who had tortured thousands to be that of a man gone insane. “What’s it like to bite a man?” The metal bar touched Spike’s inner thigh and once again he lived in a world of eternal pain.



Chapter Twenty Two

Giles was having dinner with Quentin and two other Council members. Riley Finn and the military attaché which had accompanied him had left the residence and were now apparently stationed outside of town, but Giles had not yet been able to go anywhere without Quentin’s supervision. He accepted that he was essentially being held under house arrest. He wondered what would happen if he walked out on the porch without permission.

The dinner was roast beef, overcooked, and a Yorkshire pudding, undercooked. Giles poked at it and wondered if he would be allowed to order pizza. The phone in the hallway and the modem connection in his bedroom had vanished in the night. Spike’s bedroom door was locked. Giles was an independent man, and the enforced constant surveillance was making him cranky and difficult. The books he had brought to study during the trip had been quickly acquired by Quentin. Who pronounced them ‘interesting’ and managed not to return them. Giles was worried, immersed in negative speculation, ill-fed, and bored. It was a terrible combination for him.

Quentin lit another of his hideous cigars and leaned back in his chair, seemingly content. “Rupert? When I visit Colonel Riley tomorrow I will, of course, be pleased if you will join me.”

“It is not considered polite, in this part of this country, to smoke indoors, Quentin,” Rupert replied testily.

“Really?” Quentin puffed thoughtfully. “How inhospitable.” He regarded his cigar calmly. “I will have to apologize to the owners.” He looked at Giles, “And they would be again?”

Giles glared grumpily in front of him. “Dawn Summers, of course, is executor of Buffy’s estate. But Willow has title at this time.”

“Ah, the witch.” Quentin studied Giles. “What an interesting arrangement. Why is she not here, then? She must sleep somewhere? Witches do sleep, do they not?” He smiled at his own joke.

Giles ignored the ridiculous jibe. “She has her own home. She merely holds title here. It is convenient for visitors.” He stopped.

“She must have quite a few visitors,” Quentin speculated, “to keep an entire residence.”

“She is the head of a very large Coven, Quentin. Of course she has visitors.”

“That’s so very strange,” said Quentin. “I was given to understand that witches were essentially non-political. ‘Do what thou wilt’ and all that, you know.”

“Don’t be naïve, Quentin,” Giles said in an extremely irritated voice. He rose to leave. Then he felt it. As if someone had opened every door in the house just before a storm. A warm but clean wave of some force pushed across the room. He felt his heart accelerate and felt pressure on his chest. He sat down carefully and looked at Quentin. The other Watcher appeared not to have noticed. Neither of the other two said anything. Giles took a deep breath. Power spread with a thud to the ends of his hands then gently retracted. He steadied himself and looked towards the windows. “There may be a storm coming,” he said to no one in particular. “I’d like to go outside and be sure that things won’t blow away.”

Quentin glanced at one of the other men, who stood and moved to the door. “Of course, Fletcher here will help you.”

“Thank you,” said Giles. He breathed carefully and moved slowly towards the door. He was thankfully standing in the doorway when the second wave hit and so was able to grab the jamb unnoticed. He turned and looked at Quentin. He felt a little pity for the man. “I’m sure I’ll see you later,” he said.

Quentin nodded and studied something in his hand. Giles left.

He had made it to the front lawn when the next wave hit. Behind him the house groaned. The tree in the front yard seemed to lift upward and the ground swelled as if it were taking a deep breath. Giles sat down hard with the force of it. He clutched his legs and bowed his head to his knees and tried to channel it, tried to flow with it. In all his young years as a Warlock, Giles had only heard stories of Covens calling down power. They were stories they told each other to frighten the young men. Women unleashing the primordial force on the world. The Mother rising. It was mythic. A fable. Giles was terrified.

*************************************************************

Xander had expected to have to do some explaining when the Council members first climbed into the van and saw one of their own lying bound on the floor. They reacted like a flock of nervous chickens, hands fluttering, heads darting about when they saw him. But Xander was very impressed with Maurice. The Watcher managed a sort of dignity. Leaning three quarters of the way up on the wall of the van, in grungy navy blue sweats, his shirt stained with sweat, his mouth still swollen, dirt and beard stubble darkening his face. He nevertheless straightened as best he could and spoke calmly.

“It’s alright, gentlemen. Mr. Harris has, understandably, had some reason to doubt my sincerity.” He glanced slyly at Xander. “I am sure with all of you here, however, he will now feel comfortable allowing me to move around freely.”

“Nice, Maurice,” muttered Xander, busily driving. “Go ahead and cut him loose,” he addressed the men crouching near the Watcher, “but he points another cross-bow at me, that’s it.”

Maurice was released by his friends. He shook his hands to regain the circulation. Bartholomew, who had taken shot-gun next to Xander, turned in his seat.

“I’m sure there is a fascinating story here,” he said dryly, “but for now why don’t you tell me what Rupert Giles has discovered.”

“Quentin Travers has joined with the Initiative,” said Maurice succinctly. “We are fairly certain.”

There was a stunned silence. Then the intellectual machine that was the Council of Watchers kicked in and the men began discussing the situation.

Listening with half a mind, Xander understood that this move by Travers was a sort of philosophical split from the body of the Council. He seemed to be adopting a more aggressive and militaristic policy. Apparently some of the Watchers feared his power hungry grasp might even reach into the realm of humanity.

Xander drove and tried to pay attention, and was able to not worry about Spike for ten minutes at a time. They were half-way to the point where the Coven had decided to meet, when the wave hit Xander. He gasped, fell against the wheel and lost control of the van for a second. Bartholomew grabbed one side of the wheel with both hands and brought them back onto the road as Xander, breathing hard and gaping sightless through the windshield, slammed his foot on the brake. The van jumped and stalled and stopped.

“Fuck, what was that?” Xander asked.

Bartholomew looked at him anxiously. “Are you ill?”

Xander focused on him, surprised. “Didn’t you feel that?”

Bartholomew studied him with those Watchery eyes. “Suppose you describe what you just experienced.” He looked back at the group of men recovering from the sudden stop. “No one else noticed anything?” They shook their heads. He turned back to Xander. “What did you perceive as happening, Mr. Harris?”

Xander blinked and thought. His arms were still shaking, he noted distantly. “It felt like someone opened an oven,” he said after a moment. “Only not so much hot, but big. Powerful,” he realized. “And I still kinda feel it,” he added, looking uncomfortable. “Like I’m swollen with whatever it is.”

Bartholomew looked back at the other Watchers. They all seemed to be thinking something.

“What?” asked Xander irritably. “Now what?”

“Magic,” said Bartholomew. “Probably magic. The Coven.” He looked back at the other men again. Xander had the annoyed feeling that they were having a conversation without him. Bartholomew gave Xander a very Gilesy speculative look. “Usually only those with some magic in them can actually feel power when it is released.” He didn’t ask, just studied Xander.

Maurice cleared his throat. “Mr. Harris has had some interesting experiences of late,” he said carefully. “Perhaps that has made him vulnerable.”

Xander shot Maurice a look in his rear-view mirror. He wasn’t sure what the Watcher was trying to do. The look Maurice gave him seemed to advise caution. Xander quickly decided to take Maurice’s advice. He hedged. “Been around a lotta mojo,” he explained smoothly. “The wedding. And stuff. Slayer stuff,” he said quickly at Bartholomew’s quirked eyebrow.

Bartholomew was distracted, thankfully. “The Slayer? Where is she, now?”

Maurice was still watching Xander in the rear-view mirror, but he answered. “Hopefully she will meet us there.”

And Xander was back to worrying about Spike. He shifted the van into gear and gave it gas. Pulled back out on the road. When the second wave hit, he merely gripped the wheel tighter and clenched his teeth. The chattering Watchers did not even notice. Sitting at the back of the cargo area, watching Xander’s tensed back, Maurice noticed. And thought.

************************************************************

Brown and the girl had been sitting in the clearing for some time when the flashlights of the Coven began dotting the surrounding darkness. For a second Brown feared he had made a huge mistake, and that the lights were the military, still hunting them. But he heard the chanting, and replaced one worry with another. Witches didn’t make him much more comfortable. Even Willow. The Slayer laid her hand on his shoulder and he felt the tension fall away. He gazed at her in wonderment. How could she do that with just a touch? He saw her face crease in puzzlement.

“Don’t worry,” he reminded her. “They’re white witches. Or witches that don’t do evil. Whatever that is,” he muttered.

The girl raised her little face into the air and concentrated. She almost seemed to sniff. Then she turned to Brown. “Ah’m not worried,” she drawled softly. “Ah know you wouldn’t endanger me.” Her enormous eyes rested easily on his. Long dark lashes lowered and the innocent look became somehow seductive. “You rescued me!” she said slyly, “jest lahk a knight in shinin’ armor.”

Brown almost whimpered. “Yeah,” he managed to croak. He watched the witches approaching. Waited for his head to clear a bit. “How’d you know?” he asked suddenly. “That I was telling the truth?”

The girl tipped her head to the side and studied the lights, the stars. Turned again and studied Brown. “Ah always know,” she said simply. “Ah always have.”

“Is it a Slayer thing?”

“No,” said the girl with quiet conviction. “It’s jest me.”

Willow stepped into the clearing and immediately approached them. She smiled at Brown and handed him her torch. He eyed her satchel suspiciously and avoided contact with it. Willow seemed to be in no hurry. She sat down next to the Slayer and Brown noticed that the girl immediately edged away. He wondered if it was shyness or instinct. Willow probably reeked of Magic right now. Brown wrinkled his nose. He wondered what Willow’s magic would smell like? Cinnamon toast? Strawberry daiquiri?

Willow was looking at him worriedly. “Where are the rest of you?”

Brown grimaced. “Xander and Maurice are bringing the guys,” he said. He paused and bit his lip. “Spike was stopped.”

He and Willow exchanged a miserable look. She sighed. “I’ll tell Xander, if you wish,” she said kindly.

Brown shook his head. “Nope, I gotta do it.” He grit his teeth. “It fucking sucks. I wanna go back for him.”

“Not yet,” Willow said.

“Yeah. I know.” Brown’s head came up and he heard his van, the way a dog hears its master. “But Xan’s gonna go off the minute he finds out.”

“He can’t.”

“Maybe you haven’t seen those two. You aren’t gonna stop him.”

Willow looked troubled. The Slayer cocked her dark head. “Are y’all talkin’ about that vampire?” she asked, looking confused. “The one that helped me?”

Willow nodded, watching her. “He has a soul,” she said, “he helps the good guys.”

The girl regarded her for a long moment. Willow was struck by the depth flowing in those very young eyes. “Ah wondered,” she said slowly. “He doesn’t feel bad. Like the others,” she explained.

Willow raised an interested eyebrow. “He doesn’t feel bad?” She turned towards the girl and gave her her undivided attention. “How does he feel?”

The girl gazed into the distance, contemplated something. She sighed. “Kinda silky,” she said finally.

Willow sat back, surprised.

Brown was pacing, agitated. “They’re coming,” he told Willow, not referring to the Coven, whose members had begun to densely pack the grove. Willow stood. She could see a group of men approaching from the bottom of the hill. Xander’s white jacket stood out. Around her, now, young women were attending to candles. Small pouches in their hands, they were circling the area. She took a deep breath. “We’ll close the circle,” she pronounced, “then we’ll see.”

********************************************************************

Xander couldn’t believe how urgently he needed to get up the hill. Despite his absolute conviction that Spike would still be angry with him, he had to see his vampire. He needed him like he sometimes needed a drink. With a single-minded focus that blurred everything around him. He impatiently looked back at the group of men, as they struggled to climb the damp ground. Loafers and business suits did not suit walking through fields in the damp of night. Xander wondered why Watchers dressed so inappropriately.

“C’mon. C’mon,” he hissed. He spun around and raced up the hill. There were over a hundred women, he would guess, in the clearing. He could barely pick out anyone. He felt the throb of whatever that was in him even more strongly and identified this as the source. Like mojo water-retention, he thought to himself. Then he saw Brown. But no Spike. As the young man approached him, Xander kept looking around the clearing. Where was Spike? He looked back at Brown. Something in the man’s face. Xander started to pant. He stopped moving and fought the urge to flee, to run away from whatever Brown carried in his eyes. “No,” said Xander firmly.

Brown stepped up to him and clasped his shoulder. Xander was pulling his head back and looking at him warningly.

“No,” said Xander.

Brown grimaced and forced himself to look Xander in the eye. “Spike was…”

“No,” said Xander in a clear voice. He stepped back from Brown’s grasp and shrugged truth away with little jerks of his shoulders. Stepping backwards. Trying to step back through time. He shook his head and his face became angry. “You’re wrong,” he said, and turned away.

Brown didn’t know what to do. “Xander,” he sighed. “I’ll go back with you when Willow says it’s clear.” Xander looked up.

“Back?”

“Riley.” Brown stopped. “Yeah. It was that Riley guy. He has Spike.”

Xander didn’t know which emotion to experience first. Relief that Spike was not dust. Or terror that while he stood here gaping, Spike might become dust. He spun around and took off so quickly Brown couldn’t react.

Brown opened his mouth, then closed it. He’d never seen Xander run that fast. It was creepy. Almost vampiric. He saw Xander get to the edge of the clearing. Something slowed him. A couple of women’s heads whipped around. Then Xander surged forward and dove into the trees. The air suddenly smelled singed. Many of the women looked up from their tasks, curiously.

“Would you follow him for me?” Willow was standing at his shoulder, gazing into the woods where Xander had disappeared. She turned back to Brown very seriously. “When the circle closes, I can’t protect either of you. But will you go with him anyway?”

Brown nodded. It had never occurred to him not to. “Sure.”

Willow held out three very white, smooth stones, about an inch across each and irregularly shaped, as if by water. “These will modify the effects somewhat,” she explained, pressing the stones into Brown’s hand. He nodded uncomfortably and slipped them into a pocket. “Brown, once the power is released you won’t be able to think clearly without them.”

Brown nodded uneasily, “Yeah, yeah, got it. Just don’t wanna think about it.” He started to trot off, then stopped. “Don’t think I can pop through like Xander just did,” he pointed out matter-of-factly. “Don’t tell me what it is, okay? Just make it go away for a second.” He didn’t watch Willow raise her wand. Just took off in the same direction as Xander and pretended a ribbon of magic didn’t arc over his head as he dove from the grove into the trees.

Maurice and Bartholomew had not yet entered the circle when Maurice saw Xander, and then Brown, running off into the woods. “Just a moment,” he said absently, and walked towards the place they had disappeared. He stood for a minute staring into the black woods full of vampires and other demons. He rubbed his sore wrists. He looked back at the circle, now being defined in preparation for closing everyone in safely. He looked back at the woods. And for the second time in twenty-four hours, Maurice instinctively made a life altering decision. He stepped into the woods, following Brown and Xander.

Willow looked up again. The novice at her shoulder sighed. Mistress was really difficult this evening. Highly distracted and making everything take forever. Willow’s apparently mulish placidity drove the younger witches to distraction under normal circumstances, but this evening she seemed particularly stubborn. Willow gazed off into the distance thoughtfully, and the novice sighed again. Perhaps a bit too loudly, she realized, disturbed when Willow turned back to her with upraised eyebrows.

“Well, Hathi,” she said archly. “What are you waiting for?”

Hathi lowered her eyes and, wisely, did not shake her head. She proceeded with the ritual.

Xander had the van in gear and was about to pull out onto the road, when Brown banged against the driver’s side door. He gave him a determined look, and Xander rolled the window down a crack. He shook his head.

“I’m goin’,” he said. Eyes already on the road. Pedal foot twitching.

“Yeah. Sure,” said Brown. “But I’m drivin’.” He yanked the door open and hopped up, giving Xander little choice but to move to the passenger side and let him in.

They were rounding a curve, about to leave the area, when Maurice appeared in the road before them, waving his arms. Brown quelled the urge to run over the Watcher and slowed, cruising by him, he rolled his window a crack. “Whachya want?”

“Let me in.”

Brown cursed and made to drive off. Xander stopped him. “Let him in.”

Brown grumbled to himself something about ‘parties’ and ‘fucking bus’ and pulled over long enough for Maurice to jerk open the back door and leap inside. As the van jerked off, and Maurice flew ungently into a pile of maces and other very sharp weapons, the Watcher cursed himself, Brown shook his head darkly and Xander stared straight ahead, every muscle in his body tense.

“Da Three Messkiteers,” moaned Brown sadly and pushed on the gas.

********************************************************************

Later, crouched together on the same cliff he and Spike had surveyed Sunnydale from, Brown waited until Maurice moved off to take a leak.

“Talked to Spike about ya,” he mentioned uncomfortably. He’d thought about it driving here and decided that Xander needed to know what the vampire had said. Just in case. It seemed only right.

Xander looked at him with those intense black eyes he had been wearing all the way here. His cheek twitched a little and pathos swept across his face briefly. “What did he say?” he asked in a whisper.

Brown looked away from the emotion, felt himself flushing. “Said he loved ya.” He glanced quickly at Xander. The man was looking at the ground, his hands were clenched. Brown couldn’t read his expression. “Told me why you were fighting.” Xander turned his face away from Brown. “I think he kinda understood why, finally.” He addressed the back of Xander’s head. “Don’t think he was mad at you.”

“He understood why?” Brown couldn’t see Xander’s face, and the man’s voice was so tight he couldn’t read the emotion.

“Yeah,” he said, “I think he got it. How it couldn’t work. How it was a good idea to quit it.”

Xander didn’t speak. He couldn’t look at Brown. He couldn’t do anything but breathe in and out. So Spike had decided he wanted out. Well, of course he did. He’d had time to think and sort through things and had come to his ever-lucid Spike senses. It was one thing to love a mortal. It was fine to have wild monkey sex with a mortal and hang out. It was quite another thing to tie yourself to one. Especially one as twisted, sick and generally doomed as Xander. He made himself breath in. It hurt. Moving the muscles it required to take breath hurt. He closed his eyes and struggled. Breathed out. Breathed in again. Pain took up residence in every cell of his body and swelled as he breathed. He didn’t even feel the tears on his face. This was right, he told himself. This was the way it had to be. But his body screamed and his heart broke, and when Brown spoke he could barely attend to him.

“Don’t think he’s mad at you anymore,” Brown assured Xander worriedly. “Said he just didn’t wanna hurt you.” He touched Xander’s arm carefully. “You alright now, man?”

Xander managed to nod. “Yeah,” he croaked in a voice that felt black and dry as coal, “thanks for telling me.”

Maurice reappeared, self-consciously rubbing his hands on his slacks and wishing for a men’s room. “Are we ready, gentlemen?”

He noticed Xander’s intense sobriety and Brown’s worry, but then he was feeling on edge himself. He looked down at the dark camp below them. “I can’t believe I’m about to rescue a vampire.”

Brown led as they slipped over the embankment and slid into the dark.

********************************************************************

Spike was no longer Spike. He was either that-which-felt-pain, or that-which-did not-feel-pain. In his vision hovered the face that came with release from pain. He longed for the face. While he was only that-which-felt-pain, some part of his mind reached for the face. Now, in the blue room, the face leaned into his and Spike gratefully looked up into it.

“Change for me,” it demanded. And he tried. He knew what the face demanded, and he wanted to give it, but before he could will himself, there was a cool sensation and he was, once more, that-which-feels-pain.

When he was restored to the blue room, he remembered the command and immediately forced himself into compliance. He was rewarded by a smile from the face and a feeling of pressure, which did not bring the pain, on his thigh.

“Yes,” said the face and this was good. The face told him, this was very good. The pressure on his thighs played at the spot where the cool pain bloomed, but it was not the pain, so was good. The face lowered itself very near him and he felt its breath on his ridged skin.

Riley was so excited he could barely restrain himself. Clenching Spike’s thigh tightly with one fist he lowered his neck slowly to the vampire’s lips. “Bite me,” he whispered.

Then the face was in his mouth and he was that-which-does-not-feel-pain and everything was very good.

Riley groaned into the bite. It was horrible. The tearing and sucking was so painful. It was worse than anything he had experienced in the vamp houses anywhere. It was also intensely sexual. The drawing sensation, the rough tongue on his neck. He could feel Spike’s Adams apple bobbing as he gulped down Riley’s blood and he could hear the wet noise of Spike’s mouth suckling. He grabbed at his dick and squeezed. He was about to come, he knew, when the dizziness began to overwhelm him. With an effort learned from countless experiences, he pulled himself roughly away and stared with horror at the bloody mouth and fangs.

“You fucking animal!” he screamed and touched the taser to Spike’s balls again. Spike arched, blood-filled mouth gaping soundlessly.

And was that-which-feels-pain.

They were on the outer periphery of the encampment. In almost the exact same spot that he and Spike had entered, Brown scouting carefully for the guards they had evaded the first time, when Xander made a noise way too loud for their situation, stiffened and grabbed Brown with one hand so hard the young man gasped.

“Fuck!” Xander was curling into a ball like he was having a heart attack. “Spike.” He fell to his knees on the ground, Maurice reaching quickly to support him.

Brown crouched beside him, one hand on his back and exchanged looks with Maurice. The talismans Willow had given them seemed to have worked thus far against the effects of the power, so Xander’s reaction was worrying for all three of them. But then, Brown supposed, Xander was more susceptible than they. Maurice looked exhausted and worried but grimly determined. He rubbed Xander’s back until the man had recovered a bit. Xander gasped and looked up at the two with a dazed expression. “I can hear him screaming,” he whined in a breathless whisper. His eyes were wildly scanning the tents. He body kept shuddering in violent tremors. “God. Spike.”

“Shhh.” Brown barely made the sound but his violent gestures spoke volumes. He kind of wished Xander hadn’t become suddenly incapacitated but he had expected something wonky to happen. It always did. Now they had some sort of psychic bloodhound, though, he figured they should take advantage. He lowered himself until his mouth touched Xander’s ear, noting how warm the skin was, and hissed, “find him. We follow.”

Xander gathered himself and shakily rose. He nodded. With a look of intense suffering on his face he began picking his way through the tents.

Maurice kept himself near Xander, in case he had another fit. He was so close; he could smell and feel the other man’s extremity. Xander’s entire body trembled and he was sweating profusely. Maurice could only imagine how sensitive the Coven’s magic working on Spike’s blood, was making Xander to every twitch and bump of the world around them. He thought it must be something like being high on hashish. It must be taking a tremendous effort of will to stay focused. He guessed Xander’s fear for the vampire was giving him the necessary clarity.

Whatever else Maurice thought of Xander’s relationship with Spike, he could not miss the obvious emotional bond the two men had. Maurice knew what it was to feel that bonded to another being, however inappropriate the relationship might be. He still suffered from having lost that being, of having been unable to save her. It thudded at the back of his every waking moment and obsessed his sleeping ones. He was physically weak and ill with the unremitting ache. If he reflected, for even a moment, on what he would have felt just now if he had had a chance to save Brandy, the finality and agony of his own loss suddenly lent urgency to Xander’s fears. Maurice desperately wanted to help.

Xander felt like his body was a giant sack of liquid which he forced step by step to obey him. All around him the world pulsed, and weird noises shuttered around in his head. He could make no sense of it. Through it all he heard the rise and fall of Spike’s agony. The scream was in his rib cage, in his neck. He didn’t hear it he felt it. He heard Maurice behind him, and Brown’s rapid breathing. He heard the drag of their feet on the ground. He felt the soft blue moonlight like pin pricks on his skin. And he felt Spike in pain. It beat through him and saturated everything else.

They squeezed around a group of tents and quite suddenly he knew Spike was present. Within a few feet of him. He lost the sense of his feet and fell back, caught quickly by Maurice. The smaller man huffed with his weight and Xander felt a grimy hand clap over his mouth, catching his involuntary cry. Brown slithered by and spun around to Xander. His face was a question mark. Xander looked forward at the place he believed Spike to be. Brown crept towards the spot. Maurice eased Xander slowly to the ground, and followed Brown.

It was a building, not a tent, “damnit,” thought Brown. He expertly hitched himself up onto a window ledge and tried to see inside. Metal shutters completely blocked his view. He slipped silently back to the ground and began sidling around the corners, looking for an entrance. His hand reached into a pocket and drew forth a wicked, long knife in a leather sheath. Behind him Maurice saw the weapon and hesitated. It was one thing to rescue vampires. It was quite another to murder for them. He padded forward quickly and motioned at Brown to put the knife away. Brown merely gave him an incredulous look and waved him off. There was a sound, apparently from inside the building, and they both froze and plastered themselves to the wall.

Brown and Maurice both heard a muffled scream. Something about an animal. Brown shuddered and saw a door. He looked around quickly and found his lock pick in another pocket. Passing his Bowie knife to a reluctant Maurice, he crouched in front of the door and jiggled the pick expertly in the lock. He bit at his lower lip and pressed his ear to the door. His eyes briefly met Maurice’s and then looked beyond him. Maurice whirled instinctively, still sheathed knife held defensively. Xander approached them, gray and wobbling, but with an intense look of fury on his face. He gently pushed past Maurice and hunched down in front of the door with Brown. As Brown twisted his lock pick gently and lifted his head with a satisfied look, Xander carefully turned the handle and pushed it open a crack.

Maurice unsheathed the knife and weighed it in his hand. He stepped forward very quietly and passed the weapon back to Brown. He reached into a back slung sheath and pulled forth his own small dagger. There was that seemingly endless two seconds before battle, when Maurice could clearly perceive everything around him as if it all had an embossed edge of awareness. Xander opened the door enough to slip inside, his profile in the doorway expressionless but tense. Maurice smelled burning flesh. He glanced in startlement at Brown, who was grim faced, his bright eyes alert. Xander slid forward infinitesimally and then all hell broke lose.

Of course Riley heard them. He was weak with blood loss and insane, but he heard the snick of the handle turning and he heard the door open. He spun angrily to chastise whatever soldier had the idiocy to interrupt him while interrogating a prisoner and saw Xander standing in the doorway. Riley’s hand went to his holster. The other waved the taser threatenly. Xander was breathing hard. He appeared to be unarmed. He was grimy but pale and his eyes were more on the vampire spread out on the table before Riley than on the man himself. Riley sneered with disgust and drew his weapon. He hadn’t released it fully from the holster when Brown came rolling though the door, followed by another man. The door slammed shut, Riley whirled and fired. A knife whipped through the air and a blot of fire in his hips threw Riley to the ground. He raised his weapon again and felt a foot connect with his hand, heard the metal hit the floor and skitter off. There was a ricochet. He opened his mouth to call for help and a hand locked over his face, silencing him.

The fire in Riley’s hip was surging. He dizzily noted that something vital had been hit. Around him voices hissed and whispered urgently. One man’s voice moaned. “Good,” he thought viciously, “I hit one of them.” And he lost consciousness.

Maurice lay against the door with his hand clamped over his abdomen. It was not a good wound. Blood was pumping out of it rapidly and he was already having trouble feeling his limbs. Brown was on top of him, furiously pushing down on the wound to stop the bleeding. Maurice suspected it might not be enough. He looked up at the table on which he had spied the naked vampire in that second before Riley’s misfired weapon had caught him in the stomach. Xander was arched over him. He was repeating Spike’s name and a host of other things Maurice could not hear clearly. The Watcher felt himself sliding away, but his mind was working clearly. He looked up at Brown. The young man looked sick with apprehension, but still wired on adrenalin. “Get them out of here,” Maurice managed to articulate in a low voice. Brown’s eyes held his. Agonized. Maurice tried to take a breath. Found it very difficult. He no longer felt blood draining from him but he also no longer felt his legs. He looked at Brown, who was trembling before him. Nineteen and he had just assaulted a man with a lethal weapon. Maurice struggled and managed to take in enough air to speak. “Leave the knife,” he whispered, and passed out.

Brown’s fingers touched the pulse still throbbing, albeit weakly, in Maurice’s neck and fought off his emotions, trying to think. He had hated this man so much in the past year, and now the asshole was offering to take the fall for him. Behind him Xander was babbling like a lunatic and Spike was beginning to regain consciousness. Brown could hear his moans and Xander’s exclamations. The fired shots should have brought men in a second. Brown imagined that the building must have been soundproofed, or they would have had soldiers here already. Still, it couldn’t be long before someone came by. He clenched his teeth, lightly stroked Maurice’s face. “Okay, you bastard,” he growled miserably. “I’ll give ya this one.” He stood and drew the sheath out of Maurice’s hand, shoved it into one of the man’s pockets. Plucked the Watcher’s dagger off the floor and left his knife laying where it had fallen near Riley. He turned to Xander and Spike.

Xander was trying to draw Spike’s body into his own. He could barely stand to look at the damage below the vampire’s waist. A series of deep burns ran up the inside of one thigh and his genitals were blistered and red. Under similar circumstances, Xander would have blocked his awareness of Spike’s injuries until a more convenient moment. With his enhanced sensitivity and sense of smell, however, he was almost overwhelmed by the pain.

Spike was that-which-does-not-feel-pain. Which was good. The face in the blue room was gone and another face had replaced it. A nauseating awareness hung on the edge of things for him as the face became familiar. Spike felt the man hugging at his over-sensitized skin and willed his body to resist, but couldn’t move. He heard a sound come from his mouth. The man’s face stared at him in agony. As through a fog of time a name came to him, “Xander?” His lips made the word, though he couldn’t will his lungs to push air through them.

“Oh Christ, I don’t think he can move,” Xander said to Brown.

Brown approached the prone vampire, his eyes wincing away from the sight. “Shit, we’ll have to carry him out.”

Spike felt the hands on him. Felt the cold table slide out from under him. As he was carried into the night, he felt a sharp white light in his neck and lost everything to blackness.



Chapter Twenty Three

Willow walked through Sunnydale breathing power in and out like a small human dragon breathing fire. Bartholomew and two other women walked with her. The younger was barely a girl, the spell required a nymph, and Willow held her hand firmly so that the child wouldn’t run off in fear. Bartholomew occasionally took her other hand. Willow was rather impressed with his strength. Most men either ran away or went mad with the power. Bartholomew seemed placid, accepting the unfamiliar magiks and breathing through them with a strength a laboring woman would use to breathe through contractions. He had adapted with the quickness of a natural, Willow noted, thinking with part of her mind that poaching a Watcher as a priest would make an interesting project.

As they approached the house Quentin Travers inhabited, she saw Giles lying in the front yard. He seemed comfortable, if drunk. He grinned up at the sky, and as they walked by Willow heard him giggling. Bartholomew hesitated, and glanced at Willow. She shook her head. They could sober Giles up later. He was familiar with power. He wouldn’t be harmed, only incapacitated for a while. They walked into the house.

It was over in an instant. Most of the men were overcome as she walked into the room. They held their heads and sank to the floor. Quentin ran away. He plastered himself to a wall and tried to claw through it. Willow was not conscious of herself. She couldn’t see her hair whipping around her face or her opaque black eyes. She utilized the blue light of power arching around her companions, and didn’t consider the effect the vision of them would have. Quentin sank down in fear and tried to hide his face.

Bartholomew spoke the words he had been instructed to say. “Sie werden entlastet. Sie treten ab. Sie werden beendet.” Quentin nodded helplessly.

“Yes,” he whined. “Ja. Zugestimmt.”

The house seemed to release a great sigh of air.

Willow relaxed and pulled a chair out from the long table. Sat down. The other woman handed a cordless phone to Bartholomew. He pressed some buttons and raised his eyebrows at Quentin. “You have some calls to make, Travers,” he said, handing him the phone.

Quentin wearily accepted it and listened to who had been called. He shot a look at Bartholomew and glowered. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, is Colonel Finn available?” An odd expression came over his face, but he recovered. “Yes, well then I need to speak to his CO.” During the call’s transfer, Quentin hesitated then informed Bartholomew. “Finn is dead. Maurice Forster killed him.”

Neither he nor Bartholomew saw the expression on Willow’s face.

*******************************************************************

It was like something from long ago. In a cool, dark place, Xander hung over Spike whispering and begging. Blood dripped very slowly over the vampire’s unresponsive lips. A shaking, rough finger tried to push the wet drops into his mouth.

“C’mon, Spike. Drink for me, buddy. Just a little. C’mon.”

Spike turned his mind away from the voice and burrowed back into the darkness. There was too much wrong in the place they would draw him back to. He didn’t want to go. He just wanted to sleep and float here in the twilight.

“Why don’t you try a straw or somethin’,” Brown offered helpfully.

Xander feebly pushed the drops of his blood into Spike’s half-open mouth as they dripped from the small wound in his arm. “Can’t force it into him,” he explained, desperation in his voice. “Doesn’t work like that. He has to drink.”

Brown gulped. “Gach, I had to ask,” he commented, nauseated.

They had been able to get the vampire back to the van without being seen. Brown, wired and shaking with shock, had managed to get the vehicle out onto the road. He wasn’t even sure where he was going, just getting the hell out of Dodge. He drove with half a mind, the other half worrying over Maurice. He wondered why the fucker had done it. What had made him suddenly, apparently, change. Spike. Something between him and Spike. He watched Xander in the rear view mirror attending to apparently nothing on the mats in the back. Spike had lost consciousness, or whatever it was vampires had, as soon as they lifted him, and hadn’t resurfaced. He reeked of burnt flesh and Xander had found a raw wound at the back of his head, above the neck. It was hard to say what was wrong with Spike. Whatever the injury was, it wasn’t apparent on the surface and he wasn’t healing. Probably because he wouldn’t take Xander’s blood.

Xander was at his mental and emotional extremity. He was punchy with magical sensitivity. Adrenalized by Maurice’s injury and their escape. And desperately afraid for Spike. Feeling the rejection of his blood as a personal rejection, as the beginning of the rejection of the claim. His mind reeled at the deja vus being played out, and he felt thrown back to the place where he had dragged Spike out of the earth.

He had thought he had won, but he had been wrong. He had been pulling Spike out of the grave, but he had lost his grip. He was losing him.

“Goddamnit, Spike, I can’t do it without you,” he whispered desperately. He bowed his head to press his lips into the white hair. Under him, the vampire lay absolutely still. Xander wondered if Spike could even hear him. “Spike?” he whispered into the soft hair. His hands ran gently up and down the vampire’s blanket-covered body. “Oh god, Spike, I’m so sorry.” He babbled, not even sure what he was apologizing for. His own actions. The whole world’s. “Sorry. God. So sorry.”

Xander held the dagger against his inner arm once more, and nicked it with a quick flick of the sharp blade. He held himself steady for a minute so he wouldn’t faint from the intense sensation on top of all the other intense sensations. Blood welled thickly. He pushed the wound hopefully against Spike’s mouth. Nothing.

Brown glanced nervously in the rear-view window. “Watch yourself with that blade,” he cautioned. “It looks sharper than shit,” he muttered, his thoughts veering back to Maurice. “Crazy fucker,” he said.

Xander squeezed his arm. Little drops of blood fell onto Spike’s lips. He pushed them in, hoping the taste would get Spike’s attention. He nestled his head next to Spike’s. “You told me I taste like the ocean at night,” he whispered so low he hoped only Spike could hear him. “Remember, Spike? You told me I tasted like salty chocolate.” Tears were in his voice now.

Prying at his own arm with the sharp point, Xander fought off the shocks that threatened to shut him down, and opened the wound a bit further, blood trickled now more steadily. His sensitized skin and emotions and heightened awareness peaked, and as he rubbed the blood over and over Spike’s unresponsive lips, he saw it all flowing as an inevitable progression from that first moment in Spike’s tomb all those years ago to the present. It had all been about blood. Blood and love and commitment to something for no sane reason, but because his heart demanded it. It had all been about this. About putting himself inside of Spike.

He bent down and lapped his own blood from Spike’s lips, then forced a French kiss into the still vampire’s mouth. Using his own blood, he gently massaged Spike’s cool tongue with his own. He thought he felt a response. It could have been the movement of the van, but he thought he had felt a response.

Brown turned the van onto Sunnydale’s main road. He wondered if they should head back to town or to where the Coven had gathered. He glanced back at Xander and saw him kissing Spike. He turned with a disgusted noise and gripped the wheel. “Geez, Harris,” he said, “yer necrophilia’s gettin’ a little intense.”

“Shut up,” Xander said grittily, sitting up and reaching again for the dagger. Brown glanced in the rear-view mirror, then bolted up, slammed on the brakes, and jumped around to get into the back.

“Whoa. Fuck. Stop.”

He was too slow to stop him, however. Xander sliced across his wrist, a large, deep gash, and pressed his arm hard to Spike’s mouth. He wobbled for a minute, then slowly fell across Spike’s chest. Blood gushed from the artery into the immobile vampire’s mouth.

“Geezus! Fucking Geezus! Hell!” Brown jumped around inside the van. He grabbed some rope that hung off the side panel and jerked Xander’s gushing arm from Spike’s face, applying a messy, tangled tourniquet as quickly as he possibly could and pressing down with all his strength on the wound with his hand, while holding the insensate Xander’s arm up in the air with the other.

Looking down, he turned away revolted. A large quantity of vivid blood pooled in Spike’s open mouth like a bowl of crimson soup. His head turned away, his hand desperately searching for a pulse on Xander’s neck, he belatedly remembered the warning about Xander’s blood and looked in despair down at himself. He was saturated with it. “Fuck,” he said.

He forgot all about it when Spike began to choke. Or gurgle. His head came up and a bubble of blood erupted over his lips. He made an awful retching sound and his body, under Xander’s inert form, began shaking. Brown hung onto Xander’s still oozing arm and watched helplessly. He didn’t dare let go of Xander, and wouldn’t know how to help anyway. Spike wasn’t trying to breath, of course, but he seemed to be having a convulsive reaction to the blood, as if his body were trying to eject it.

Brown still groped at Xander’s neck, finding a pulse and following it with slippery fingers. Xander’s arm stiffened in his grasp and he gratefully started trying to rouse him.

“Harris! Fuck! Come on, answer me.”

Xander groaned and rolled his head on the shaking surface. His shoulder hurt and he still felt dizzy. He groped for comprehension and could feel that Brown had his arm yanked in the air above him and that was why his shoulder ached. He jerked his arm away and felt the pain quite suddenly like a hard kick. He pressed his head down, fighting the black faint that threatened again. With his heightened senses, he heard Brown breathing hard and felt the heat of the other man standing so close to him. Under his face, Spike’s chest heaved and Xander suddenly registered that Spike was moving.

He jerked up and wobbled with dizziness. Brown was behind him immediately, hands on his shoulders. “Look, Harris. He’s chokin’ or somethin’. What do we do?”

Xander gripped Spike’s torso and stared as the vampire ejected little bubbles of blood, dribbling down his chin, and convulsed on the mat.

“Spike?” he whispered desperately. “Oh shit. Oh fuck, Brown, what’d I do to him?”

“Shit if I know. You’re crazy, man! Why d’ya cut yourself?”

Xander cradled Spike’s shoulder with his good hand, rubbing his thumb helplessly back and forth over the bones there. “I don’t know,” he said confusedly. “It seemed right…” he trailed off, watching the vampire’s reaction. There was so much blood. His own, true, but still disturbing. His eyes traveled up to take in Brown’s blood saturated body. “Fuck.” He felt a leaden weight in his chest. “Fuck. What did I do?”

Spike suddenly reared up and gagged, blood brimmed below his lips, then his mouth closed. And he swallowed hard. Xander leapt forward.

“Spike?” He saw the vampire’s throat convulse and swallow again. “Spike.” Xander hugged the bloody man to him, rubbing his face against the vampire’s, whimpering into his ear. “Spike? Answer me.”

Spike groaned. Xander hugged him harder. He was still fighting the incipient nausea and his vision blinked in and out. The dizziness was tremendous and exhausting and he wanted to close his eyes and rest. But Spike was now making a lot of noise. Writhing under his hands, his chest arching repeatedly, little yelps and animal noises of pain coming out of his mouth. “Hang on,” Xander whispered to himself and to Spike. “Don’t let go.”

Brown shuffled around behind him, upset the way a man of action will be when his friends are covered with blood and he doesn’t know what to do. “Should I get the witches?”

“No,” Xander said without thinking. “Not yet.” He didn’t know why he felt that he needed to keep this between him and Spike. The dark cloud of nausea swelled in the back of his brain and he leaned into Spike again, willing the vampire to consciousness. “Brown,” he murmured urgently.

“Yeah, man.”

“If I pass out again, call them.”

“Fuck.” Brown kicked something.

Xander was splayed across the vampire, blood in his hair and across his clammy looking skin. It was obvious that he was hanging onto consciousness by a thread. Spike was still making bizarre noises but the tremors had stopped. Brown saw Xander’s shoulders shaking and heard the weak sobs. “Spike. Please. Come back to me, baby. Please.” Then, as Brown watched, one of Spike’s arms slowly rose and fell across Xander’s back.

Xander froze. He pulled back, his face a mess of tears and blood. “Spike?”

Spike’s eyes blinked slowly open. Out of focus and with gold flashing, he saw the bloody face and teary black eyes before him. His body was reporting pain, especially pain in his genitals, and his recovered motor capacity still came with extreme discomfort. It seemed that every movement put stress on his neck. The dark, emotional eyes, the pain and the blood. Time folded a bit and the vampire whispered in horror, “Angelus?”

Xander reared back. Spike awake and apparently less injured temporarily suspended the wave of horrific jealousy. “Spike,” he corrected tearfully, “It’s me.”

Spike was quiet. His eyes portrayed the experience of wandering through a century or two of memories. Xander saw, with a little swell in his heart, the moment when Spike remembered him. “Xander,” whispered the vampire in wonder. “You’re here.”

Xander held back his tears, his head was spinning. “Yeah. Here I am.”

Spike looked confused. “I thought you were mad at me.” He sounded like a child and Xander petted the bloody face comfortingly.

“No. No. Never mad.” He blinked to keep the vampire in focus.

“But you left.” Pain rippled through Spike’s eyes. Xander suddenly realized that the vampire hadn’t quite caught up to the present. Spike looked dazed, his eyes rolled slightly and the gold flashed again. His lids began to flutter shut. “No,” Spike whispered.

“I came back, Spike,” Xander reminded him, desperately. He could feel Spike slipping away and his arm was making its presence known again. The ache growing into a throbbing pain. The nausea rose again. He bowed his head against Spike’s chest and took a deep breath. “Brown.”

Brown surged forward. “Yeah, man.”

“Help,” said Xander. And he passed out.

****

This wasn’t a dream. It hadn’t that sliding, inevitable feel that a dream had. As if one were riding on a carnival ride, the track laid out, the thrills programmed. Terror, but the lassitude of knowing something else was in control.

If he focused, he could feel his body. He didn’t want to feel his body, so he let that awareness step behind the curtain, but he knew if he wanted he could Behind a grey curtain, that Spike had knowlingly drawn with his mind, he floated in twilight.

Sounds and light tried to press through from outside, but Spike’s mind held the gauze tightly over itself. Beyond the gauze, like a horde of ravenous insects, their world. Not mine, he whispered to himself. Their world, not mine. He could find no good reason to go there.

“Spike!” Brown was shaking the vampire frantically. He couldn’t even lift Xander, let alone carry him up the hill to the coven. He couldn’t take a vampire, ostensibly a corpse, to a hospital. He had no idea what he was dealing with here, anyway. He shook Spike violently. Damnit, he could see the vampire’s eyeballs twitching away beneath his closed lids; why wouldn’t he come to? “Spike!” he yelled into the bloody face, “I need your help, man, wake up!”

It seemed absurd, Spike dreamed the thought, that all these humans who hated him so much were always trying to force him to approximate life. To stand the corpse up, throw it at their latest trouble. He was dead, wasn’t that what they wanted? He rolled in his metaphorical space and pulled the mental gauze closer.

But something crept in. Over and under and through the gauze, washed the scent of the blood. Spike could taste it in his nose. It clung to his mouth. He tried to make it grey, make it go away behind the curtain, but it soaked into him like mist. Not mine, he reminded himself. But the blood knew better. The blood knew his skin, knew he belonged to it. It wrapped its claim around him and drew him through the gauze.

Spike groaned. “Bloody fucker, what d’ya want?”

“Xander’s out cold, Spike.” Brown was dragging at the vampire, trying to sit him up. “He’s bled out.” He looked at the groggy and confused creature before him. “Bled out a lot,” he said, carefully not telling Spike why.

Spike saw and felt the heavy mass of bloody and unconscious man before him, and came to with a snap. “Xander. What happened to him?” He gathered the man to him, his hands running over him found the wound. Saw the sloppy tourniquet. He felt the blood pumping through him. He hugged Xander to him tighter. “Geezus fuck, Xan,” he said into the blood soaked hair. He looked around. “Where’s the knife he done himself with?” he asked Brown, all business.

“God, Spike, what are you gonna do?”

“He needs blood,” said Spike, finding the dagger and tilting its point into the edge of a vein on his arm.

“You’re gonna turn him,” said Brown, in a panic. “No, Spike. Listen. He’s lost too much blood, this time you’re gonna turn him.”

Spike hesitated. “How fast can you get to a hospital?”

Brown leapt to the front seat, and cranked the key harshly in the ignition. “We’ll find out,” he said grimly, banging the van into gear and veering out onto the road.

Spike pushed the blade into his arm and pressed the bloody limb into Xander’s mouth. “Better be fast enough or you’re gonna arrive with two demons in your back seat, ‘stead a one.”

Brown jammed the accelerator to the floor.

*******************************************************************

Brown happily delivered one vampire and one human to Sunnydale Hospital’s Emergency Ward. The three emerged from the van, a half-clothed and painfully sore Spike carrying Xander, Brown yelling warnings to the medics about the HIV. As they trolleyed him in, Spike informed the doctors of Xander’s blood type with such authority they believed him and started an IV immediately.

Brown was trying to give info to the admissions nurse, with an agitated Spike interrupting with aggressive questions and suggestions, when Dr. Thomas approached them. She gave the two the once over.

“Shower,” she pronounced sternly. She grabbed a passing nurse. “Get these two men to a shower.” She paused. “Bag the clothes with gloves.”

“Whoa.” Brown backed away. “What the hell?”

Spike wasn’t paying heed. “How is he, doc?” he asked immediately. “’Can I see him now? Wankers won’t let me past the line.” He waved frantically at a white line on the floor.

Diana looked him over. “Are you family?”

Spike snorted, “Yeah. Right. Do I look like family? He’s my…” he paused, fumbled in his mind, “he’s my boyfriend.” He pronounced the word carefully, feeling its weirdness in his mouth.

Diana shook her head. “Only family.”

“Aw come on, doc. These guys are practically married,” Brown protested. He was glaring evilly at an orderly who was trying to encourage him towards someplace, probably showers.

Diana shook her head again. “Rules,” she said. She stepped back from the stressed vampire and frowned with sympathy. Spike was obviously barely controlling his desire to run past the white line and down the hall to find Xander. “He’s better,” she assured him. Spike’s eyes pleaded for the reassurance, even though Spike’s feet wanted to go find out for himself. “He’s conscious and not in shock.”

Brown snorted with relief and feebly attempted to grasp Spike’s arm. The vampire was pacing and practically wringing his hands.

“Shower,” reminded Diana sternly. The orderly stepped forward. Spike and Brown both pulled away. “And then maybe someone might be allowed a visitor.” She waved the carrot.

Spike became alert. “’Kay,” he said quickly. He grabbed Brown. The young man jerked in the grip, but it was not removable.

They were led away.

*******************************************************************

Hospital showers are always cold. One hopes the hot water is diverted to the sinks the surgeons use to scrub their hands before surgery. But the shower that Spike shared with Brown was icy.

It was a large aquamarine tiled room with drains every two feet. The smell of antiseptic was overpowering when they stepped in and became more so when the water hit the tiles.

Brown shivered. As far into a corner as he could get and still have water hitting him. Most of the blood had stayed on his clothes, he was grateful to observe. His hands were covered with the gore, but he appeared to have no wounds there through which the infection could have passed. He hoped. He glanced at Spike. He had carefully averted his gaze from the vampire since they had been sent into the room to strip and deliver their stained clothes to a hamper. He hoped Spike was doing the same.

Of course not. Spike was ogling him with a big grin on his face. Brown scowled and fought the ridiculous impulse to cover himself. Instead he posed jauntily. “Like what ya see?”

“Sure,” said Spike, lackadaisically. He turned back to the spray and began rubbing the green antiseptic soap over his bloodied chest. “Yer alright.”

“You know,” muttered Brown, scrubbing furiously also. “Most guys have nightmares about stuff like this.”

Spike ‘hmmed?’ and scrubbed. He lifted his face into the spray.

“Bout takin’ a shower with some gay guy lookin’ at him.”

Spike blinked at him. Water fell from the dark eyelashes. In the aquamarine room, his eyes were the color of the sky. Brown gawked, then turned away furiously.

“Fuckin’ nightmare.”

Spike chuckled. “Don’t worry. Xander’s it for me.”

“Yeah, well good,” said Brown. He thought a minute. “For how long?”

Spike played with the soap. “As long as he wants me,” he admitted in a low voice.

Brown turned to him, now completely unconscious of his own nakedness. “Right. ‘Til he gets too old or too sick and isn’t hot anymore.”

Spike looked up, surprised. “Not about the sex, ya know.”

“No?” Brown looked extremely skeptical. “Seems like it’s all about sex with you two. Sex and fighin’.” He strode out of the shower and grabbed a towel.

Spike turned off the faucets and stood dripping and thinking. “Yeah?” he said, troubled.

“Well, yeah. What else do you do?” He tossed a towel to Spike. Spike caught it easily without looking.

“Fight evil.”

“Yeah, a few more years of that and Harris’ll bite it one night. He ain’t young, ya know.”

“Drink. And play pool.”

Brown was grimacing at the pile of hospital garb they had been left. He lifted a pair of slacks. “Think Xan should lay off the drinkin’ with the AIDs and all, don’t you?”

“Watch telly? Go to the mall?”

“Now there’s the basis for a long term relationship!” declared Brown cynically. He tossed the longer pants to Spike who began to pull them on thoughtlessly.

“Don’t care,” said Spike. “Just sittin’ in a room with him. Makin’ him laugh.” Thinking of it, his eyes crinkled up in a small smile. “That’d be enough.”

Brown looked at him. The preternatural blood-drinking creature of the night stood with wet hair in hospital fatigues smiling dreamily.

“Geez, that’s so fucking romantic,” declared Brown sincerely. He stomped to the door. “You make me fucking believe in Santa Claus, man.”

Spike blinked. “There really is a Santa, ya know.”

“Somehow I just know I don’t wanna hear this,” said Brown with rolling eyes.

“Fat, ugly Kratslik demon. Eats bad children.”

“Not listening,” sang Brown.

“No sleigh and reindeer, though. Has wings. Like a big bat.”

“La la la la.” Brown had his fingers in his ears. They went out into the hallway, looking for Xander.

***

Willow wasn’t a soldier. She was a healer. Neither her nature, nor her position in the Coven, was suited to a long-range military battle. After the initial capture and capitulation of the renegade Council members, which required the level of magic only she could employ, she had handed the responsibility happily to Bartholomew and Giles.

Then she came straight to Sunnydale Hospital to find Maurice. The Watcher was still in the critical ward. The ricochet had hit a kidney, and he had lost a lot of blood. The subsequent operation had taxed his exhausted and toxic body even more. He was stable, but still weak, and Willow sat next to him, holding his hand and willing him strength.

She decided to step outside for a moment when the nurses came in.

Outside the door were military police. She ignored them, their presence told her that the Initiative was still operating as usual, but there was nothing to be done by her about that at the moment.

She stood casually two feet away from them, in her mind erasing their uniforms. A little mental magic couldn’t hurt and was amusing as well.

“Pillock. Why would the bloody numbers skip around like that?”

Willow blinked. Blinked again harder. At the end of the hallway stood a bleach blonde punk vampire in hospital green. Next to him, a young slacker, similarly attired, pointed down a hallway.

“Spike!” called Willow.

The vampire looked up. “Red,” he said flatly. He narrowed his eyes. “Who told you?”

“Told me?”

“Xander’s gonna be okay…”

“Xander?” Willow was startled. “Was Xander hurt?”

Brown was doing the puzzle slowly. “Why are you here?”

“Maurice,” Willow said quickly. She lay a hand on Spike’s arm. Noted his flinch. “What happened to Xander?”

“Your friend had massive blood loss. Resulting, apparently, from a self-inflicted wound,” Diana said, approaching them.

“Maurice?” said Brown, looking beyond Willow to the military personnel at the door. “The old fucker made it,” he breathed in relief. He headed towards the door.

“Self-inflicted? What are you saying?” Willow asked Diana in amazement.

“He cut open his wrist. Apparently his friends here stopped him.”

Spike could not read the expression Willow turned on him. “Can I see him?” she asked Diana, still regarding Spike.

Diana led them to Xander’s room. “He’s conscious,” she stated. “But he needs to rest. You can’t stay long.”

Spike pushed eagerly through the door.

Xander was a portrait in white. He lay on the white sheets, pasty and drained. His face turned listlessly towards the window. His shiny dark hair tousled and sticking up. The fluorescents and white walls sucked all the color from the room, except for a bright red blood bag dangling from a gurney by the side of the bed. To a vampire, he was a confection. A white chocolate truffle with a cherry on top. To Spike, however, he was his Xander. In pain again. In the hospital again. Because of Spike.

He wanted to rush to him, but Xander was so utterly still. He turned when Spike entered and stared at him without speaking.

“Hey, pillock,” whispered Spike. He nodded at the blood bag and almost managed a smirk. “Got yerself a midnight snack?” When Xander didn’t respond, he looked away.

Diana checked the monitors and IV drip routinely. “Do you want visitors, Mr. Harris?”

Xander blinked at Spike. “Sure,” he said in an inflectionless voice.

Willow looked at the two men and followed Diana from the room. In the hallway, she stopped her before the doctor strode off again. “What will happen now?”

Diana gave Willow a sympathetic look. “Your friend will speak to one of the staff psychiatrists,” she explained carefully, “if he seems stable we will contact his regular therapist and release him.”

“If he seems stable,” Willow repeated.

“Suicide attempts are not uncommon. Oddly enough.”

“Not so odd,” said Willow to herself thoughtfully, walking slowly back to the room.

Xander watched Spike as the vampire stood looking out the window with his back to Xander. Spike looked so out of place here he hardly seemed real. It wasn’t just the ridiculous green hospital garb. It was the environment itself. There was something basic, human and gritty about institutional linoleum and fluorescent lights. Something that focused on bodily fluids and bedpans. Magic and metaphysics lived in the Hallmark cards in the gift shop. These rooms and these halls were for keeping the fleshy machines alive.

“Why’d ya do it, Xan?”

Xander hardly heard the question, it was spoken so quietly. He stared at the IV needle. The plastic tape holding it in his arm was slightly crooked and peeled at one corner. This seemed important. It meant something. He sighed.

Spike turned and gave him an exasperated look. “You almost offed yourself, Xander!”

Xander studied the tape on his arm. He felt very tired. Hollow. Pointless. “Yeah. Well.” He looked at the vampire. Spike seemed to be too much bone and unreal hair and translucent skin. He looked like a book illustration. Xander felt there was nothing to say. None of this was real, so there was nothing to say about it. He felt equally that there was too much. That somewhere under the blood loss, and the weird medication, there was too much. If he tried to get a grip on anything, tried to find words, it would all be too much. So he let his eyes rest without emotion on Spike.

Spike approached and touched his arm and the fact that his touch was inhumanly cool seemed appropriate, seemed to reaffirm his not-there-ness. Xander didn’t respond. The door snicked open and Willow entered the room.

Xander looked at Willow and it all came down. Without any curtain, or pretense of normality; there was all his failure, all his disappointment in himself and in his life. Willow who had made him his lunches all through grammar school, tutored him all through high school. Willow who accepted his weirdness and his failures as dear and charming. Willow who had believed in him. He felt nakedly inadequate. A small sprawled worm of nothing lying under the harsh lights, and here was the person who had believed he could be more. Xander raised his free arm over his eyes and tried to hide.

Willow stood silently, wondering what to do. Spike was petting Xander’s IV’d arm, his fingers shaking. He alternately gazed hopefully at Xander and pleadingly back at Willow. Willow approached the bed. “Xander,” she said with as much kindness as she could muster, “the power did things to you, sweetie.” She looked at Spike; he seemed so tense and fragile. She spoke carefully. “It raised the magic in you. The magic from Spike’s blood,” she explained, watching the vampire.

Spike stilled and his jaw clenched. He looked down at Xander’s hand. Willow felt that some other train was running on tracks near her, but couldn’t see it yet. “When it wears off, you might not understand everything that happened.” She said. “To the psychiatrist, it will seem like a psychotic episode. She’ll try to give you Prozac.”

“How long will it take to wear off?” Xander spoke from under his arm.

Willow took a deep breath and seemed to go internal for a bit. The air around her swirled with dissipating magical debris. “Not much longer.” She decided after a minute.

“Good,” said Xander. He kept his arm over his eyes. He couldn’t look at Spike. “I wanna sleep now,” he said. “I wanna sleep until it’s gone.”

Spike took his hand slowly off Xander’s arm. To Willow he looked like he was folding down, becoming smaller. He hunched over with his hands in his lap. “Yeah. It’ll be gone soon,” he whispered painfully.

Xander turned his head, still under his arm, away from Spike. The vampire shriveled noticeably and stood. He folded his arms around himself and stepped back from the bed biting his lip. Willow felt the pain in the room like a blast from a furnace.

“We’ll go.” She took Spike’s arm, noted his flinch at her touch again with a raised eyebrow, and led him out the door.

Xander didn’t acknowledge their leaving.

In the hallway, Spike broke free of Willow’s arm and strode off at top speed. She ran to catch up to him. “Wait. Spike.” He obediently stopped and waited. Head down, arms still at his sides. She ran up and tried to look into his face. He avoided her.

“Spike, Xander’s not himself right now.”

“Yeah,” Spike said with a great deal of bitterness. “Sort it out then, witch. Make him right.”

Willow stared. “What’s going on, Spike?”

Spike took a breath, Willow noted with alarm, and looked her in the eye. “He said that’s what he wants.” Spike couldn’t bear standing still and walked off again, heading for the hospital exit. Willow jogged beside him.

“What? Spike, what did he say?” But the vampire strode out into the night without answering. Willow stopped at the door, watching him walk into the dark. Then turned to go back to Maurice’s room.

She hesitated as she passed Xander’s room. Saw him through the door, once more turned to the window. She hoped he was asleep. She moved on.

Xander lay and wished with all his heart that Spike would come back, and despised himself for wishing it. As the tingle of magic and the rush from Spike’s blood wore off. And as Willow’s earthy presence brought him the rest of the way into his sorry self, all he could think of was what Brown had told him Spike felt about the claim. Here he lay, a complete idiot who couldn’t handle a little second hand magical smoke. A fragile ill mortal with nothing to recommend him. No wonder Spike had seen reason.

Xander could see now, quite clearly, why he had wanted the claim. It had been a childish attempt to keep Spike from leaving him. Like an insecure teenage girl using sex to keep her boyfriend, Xander had teased Spike with blood and seduced him into a fatal bond. Xander angrily regarded his foolish and selfish act. After the diagnosis he had tried to change. He had thought he had changed. Become more responsible, more accountable. Forced himself to look hard at the man in the mirror. It had been slow, difficult and painful. Spike’s affection, his touch, had been like a balm. Xander had buried himself in it, unwilling to lose it and go back to the grim reality of himself. And now he could see how he had weakened and once again been willing to do anything to stay inside the bliss. A wave of intense longing surged through him, and he didn’t know anymore if it was withdrawal from the blood, or simply an emotional need for Spike.

Xander’s eyes went to the call button. He could get them to summon Willow, he imagined. And if he asked her, she would bring Spike back. But Xander considered how little he deserved the comfort, and he didn’t press the call button. He lay shivering in the suddenly frigid room, tearfully missing his vampire and cursing himself for being what he was.




Chapter Twenty Four

When Willow turned into the hallway, she saw Brown sulking outside the door to Maurice’s room. Arms folded, peevishly glaring at the two officers.

“The Buckingham Palace guards here,” he told Willow when she approached, “won’t let me in, won’t tell me why.”

“Maurice is under arrest, Brown.”

Brown nervously squinted up at her. “Yeah?”

“For murdering Riley Finn.” Willow watched the information register. Saw Brown’s shoulders adjust uncomfortably. Waited while he studied the floor tiles.

“Wasn’t murder,” he finally said. Willow didn’t reply. She waited.

“Was there,” said Brown slowly, not meeting her eyes yet.

“Yes, I assumed that.”

Brown chewed at something. Exhaled a pained sigh. “Wish I could talk to him,” he said finally.

Willow looked at the guards dreamily. She took Brown’s arm lightly in her own and walked him towards the door to Maurice’s room. The guards stepped aside wordlessly and let them pass.

Brown turned to watch the door shut behind them. “Whoa,” he said “Wanna take you with me next time I can’t get inta one of them posh nightclubs.”

Willow smiled. “I can only use it to truly benefit others,” she explained. “It took a few years to get the hang of that,” she admitted ruefully. “I don’t risk it any more.”

Brown accepted this with a small nod. He was taking in the array of tubes, machines, and metal that cradled Maurice’s tiny figure on the hospital bed. His attention fixed on the respirator apparatus. “He need that stuff ta breath?” he asked worriedly.

“It’s a precaution,” Willow explained. “He isn’t on life-support. He isn’t dying, Brown,” she said gently.

Brown’s tense expression only relaxed a fraction. “He gonna wake up soon, ya think?”

“He isn’t in a coma.” Willow gently drew Brown towards a chair by the bed. “He was in surgery. His body is weak, so it makes him sleep as it recovers. And there’s a morphine drip. He comes in and out.” She urged Brown into the chair. “Why don’t you wait with him for awhile?” she suggested.

Brown nodded, rested his arms carefully on the mattress and leaned towards the prone figure. “Hey, you crazy fucker,” he whispered. He looked at Willow. “Ya think he can hear me?”

She tilted her head to one side. “Maybe.” As Brown gazed silently at Maurice, Willow studied the curly head. She brought another chair over and set it down near Brown’s, sat down. “You’ve been friends for a long time,” she stated.

Brown snorted, “Friends? Nah. Hate the bastard.”

Willow smiled. “I can see that.”

Brown glanced in her direction, then looked back at Maurice. “Lotta crap happened. Between me and him. Stuff you guys don’t need ta know about,” he added quickly.

“Because of Maurice’s relationship with Brandy.” It was a statement.

Brown leaned back in his chair and gave Willow a level look. “Yeah.” He raised an eyebrow. “You knew about it?”

“I’m not blind, Brown.” Willow sighed. “I didn’t approve. But Brandy was over the age of consent…”

“She weren’t when it started.”

Willow looked surprised. Then disturbed. “How did I miss that?”

“Brandy acted sexy with all the guys,” said Brown sadly. “It could be kinda hard ta tell if somethin’ was goin’ on.” He looked down at his sneakers. “Thought she liked me for a while there.” He leaned back onto the mattress, watching Maurice’s machines. “She was kinda hard ta stop when she wanted something,” he admitted. “Can’t really blame the stupid old fucker. Might not a been all his fault.”

Willow sat thinking while Brown counted the blips of the heart monitor.

“I wanted ta kill him,” he said as if to himself. “Used ta imagine it.”

They sat. The weird hissing and beeping of the machines around Maurice the only sounds. Finally Willow ventured, “What happened, Brown? Were you there?”

Brown didn’t ask what she meant. “Yeah,” he said without turning to face her. “I was there.” He took a breath and let it out. “She just lost,” he said with a little helpless shrug. “Fucking demon got lucky or somethin’. Brandy was slow or somethin’.” He put his hand on the bed, inches from Maurice’s. “Crystal weren’t there. Me ‘n Maurice was pushin’ one of them back into a crypt. We was too far away to stop it. Fuckin’ around tryin’ ta stay alive or somethin’. She didn’t cry or scream or nothin’. We turned around from the cave and she was layin’ there and the demon,” he stopped and took a deep breath, a tear escaped down his cheek, “the demon’s holdin’ her head,” he whispered. He grasped Maurice’s fingers. “She was fightin’ and then she wasn’t. She was alive and Brandy and the Slayer and drivin’ us all crazy and then …” he shook his head miserably, “and then she was just dead.” Emotion overwhelmed his voice. He clasped the insensate fingers lightly. “Maurice went crazy,” he whispered.

“I can imagine.”

“No, you can’t,” said Brown harshly. He turned his teary face to Willow and said firmly, “You can’t imagine. It’s like everything that’s important, just disappears. Like it was never there.” He shook his head slowly. “Fucking waste.” He smiled, a small bitter grimace. “You know, I was thinkin’ about somethin’ she had said, wonderin’ what it meant. Thinkin’ maybe I could get her to come to a movie or somethin’ that weekend. Like it was some big fucking deal. And she and Maurice, they were fightin’, so I thought I had a chance.” He paused and looked at Willow. Shock still sat in his eyes. “And then it was like nothin’ that had happened had a point. Like the meanin just drained out of everything.”

“You know, somethin’ like that happens, ya want earthquakes and stuff. You want to see a change. Something ta say there is a difference now. But nothin’. No tearin’ veil, no twelve-gun salute. Just a funeral for a teenager. Fuck.” Tears escaped heedlessly down his cheeks. “And for what. Ta keep some stupid demon outta the world. Who the fuck cares? What the fuck difference did it make? The world’s full a demons and evil crap. What was the point?” He gripped Maurice’s hand. “Fucking lies. Everythin’s a fuckin’ lie.” He stared off into his memory, his face dark and tense. “I think maybe for Maurice it was worse. They was mad at each other, ta start with. And then, this fightin’ evil is what he does, right? He always thought it was important.” He turned away. “Well, it’s not. And I think he got that all of a sudden.” Brown looked down at the man under the starched sheets and shuddered. “I’ve seen a lotta crap. I ain’t never seen anyone lose it like that.”

Willow let herself think of Tara. There was a dark place in her mind no amount of therapy could breach. “Love is too necessary to be so fragile,” she murmured to herself.

“Love’s a crock,” said Brown. “Love’s sick. Makes you a dick.” He played with Maurice’s fingers lightly. “I know what he was thinking, ya know. I know he thought it was his fault. That she fucked up because of him.”

“Survivor guilt,” said Willow absently. “Why her and not me.”

Brown turned to her in amazement. “Yeah?”

Willow gave him a grim little half-smile. “We all have it, Brown. It’s what comes of growing up in a war.”

Brown thought about this. “I dunno,” he said finally. “ Maybe we should feel guilty.”

Willow didn’t answer him.

“What’s gonna happen to Maurice?”

“I don’t know, Brown. He apparently broke into a military establishment and killed a man.”

Brown twitched uncomfortably. “How come ya keeps saying that?” he groused. “How do ya know he did it?”

“He confessed.”

Brown rested his elbows on the mattress and glared at Maurice. “Geezus fuck, you crazy bastard,” he said miserably. He addressed Willow without turning. “What am I gonna do?”

“I suppose you could start by telling me what happened.”

And once again, Brown knew exactly to what Willow referred. “How does this shit go?” he said bitterly. “Forgive me, oh stand-in-for-a-parental-figure, for I have sinned.”

******************************************************************

Spike remembered many years ago, when Dawn had wheedled him into taking her to some arty film, where stop motion photography had been used to create the effect of time moving at an extremely accelerated speed. Clouds scudded across a sky whose sun rose and set in a discernible arc. An entire day and night appeared to flash by in seconds. Dawn and the other audience members appeared to enjoy the light show, but Spike reared back into his theater seat, gripping the arm rests as if he were riding in a speeding car, and wished it would stop. Beautiful images flew by too quickly to be seen. Plants pushed through the earth, bloomed and shriveled in an instant. Nothing could be enjoyed. Nothing could be touched. Everything slid by or died in a blink, and it was an immortal’s nightmare made visible. Dust. Every thing of this world was just transient dust.

He was still overwhelmed by it when they emerged from the theater. Dawn was a burbling ball of energy. Bouncing along beside him, chattering happily about the movie. Spike was afraid to look at her; afraid he would see that accelerated passage of time in the precious face. He stayed close, gripping her arm a little too tightly, and focused on the little things. That’s how he managed it when he felt them all slipping away. Like a spinning dancer, he found a focus point and clung to it. Little things. Dawn’s white plastic handbag that kept bumping against his hip. A monster movie poster for a coming flick. He reached in his pocket for the forbidden cigarettes, thought about the effects of secondary smoke on his precious mortals and desperately gripped Dawn’s arm tighter.

“Ow. Ow, Spike.” She pulled away, rubbing at her bruised limb in an exaggeratedly aggrieved fashion.

“Sorry.” Spike dared to look at her. The wide, beautiful eyes that seemed magically to contain all the world in an instant. He relaxed a little. There must be some kind of immortality there, he felt. There must be something there, something he loved, that would not shrivel and die. A soul. A spirit. Whatever. There was a power beyond the flesh, there. He could feel it.

“You okay?” Dawn asked, concerned.

Spike raised his arms in an exaggerated gesture. “Yer so soft, Dawnie. Like a marshmallow. Just had to squeeeeze you.” This was accompanied by a lunge and a tickle. Dawn had squealed away, laughing with delight.

**************************

Spike stood in his ransacked room in the Summers’ now empty house and thought about that evening. For some reason it had come back to him as he ran home. Home. Where his meager shit was stored. Where his beloved humans had once resided. Joyce and Buffy, now gone. His beloved undead, Angel and Dru, were gone as well. Dawn; in a time lapse photography montage he saw her car driving off and the progression of children, career and aging, Dawn was leaving him. All gone, down a long corridor of time to which Spike was eternally denied access. Xander. Spike sat weakly on the edge of an overturned mattress. Xander was going to leave him too. He buried his face miserably in his hands and fought off the vertigo and emptiness. He needed a focus point.

He needed to kick some ass.

***********************

“It occurs to me,” said Bartholomew thoughtfully, “that I know very few normal people.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Giles.

“Of course, that would depend on how broadly I painted my definition of normality.” Bartholomew was carefully applying green slime to a row of knives before him. The slime glowed like radium. “I could, for instance, say that you are normal, Rupert,” he gave Giles a teasing look, “but that would require quite a broad definition.”

Giles scooped tiny grains of pink dust from a box into a hollow in the handles of the knives Bartholomew was painting. “The word itself only means an average,” he said. “A hypothetical mean, as it were, in the midst of endless variation.”

Bartholomew pursed his lips and studied his work for any flaws. “In the kingdom of the blind,” he sighed, “where no seeing man has been.”

“Oh, I suppose there have been a few.”

“Mythology.”

“Perhaps.”

“And what would they have done?”

“About what, precisely?” Giles lay down his tools and studied his friend. Bartholomew was given to endless philosophical speculation. He played with the concepts of Gods and Morality like some people played with Dungeons and Dragons. But this time, he seemed to have something specific on his mind.

Bartholomew ceased his preparations and stood. He paced slowly towards the door to the tent they were occupying. Somewhere, about five hundred yards away, he imagined, the few remaining Initiative holdouts were preparing their defense. They hadn’t a chance, he was fairly certain. He could quite clearly imagine their fear. He couldn’t help but admire their courage.

“What did they hope to accomplish?” he asked the world outside the door.

“Power,” said Giles immediately.

“For what purpose?”

Giles didn’t answer immediately. He carefully packed away the magical ingredients and rolled the prepared weapons back into the material they had emerged from. With the same cloth, he carefully wiped the working surface to pick up any grains of dust that may have escaped. It wasn’t a substance one wanted to accidentally ingest. “They imagine some threat,” he opined eventually. “They imagine they have the solution.”

“Threat to what?”

“Life as they know it.” Giles looked at his friend curiously.

“Normality,” said Bartholomew, his voice full of sad wonder. “They are protecting normality.”

Giles paused, struck by the thought.

Bartholomew turned. “And now we fight them because they are evil,” he said tiredly. He came back to the table and sat down. He looked very unhappy. “How old were you when you started training, Rupert?”

Giles became more alert. They had had this conversation before. “My father was a Watcher,” he said, “you know that, Bart.”

The other man sat thinking. “She has the Sight,” he said.

Giles easily followed this non-sequitur. Bartholomew had been temporarily assigned as the new Slayer’s Watcher. There had already been talk of making the appointment a permanent one. Before Giles could think of a reply, there was a disturbance outside. The door opened and a frustrated and nervous young man in tweed came rushing in, followed by Spike.

“Rupes.”

Giles smiled. “Spike.”

Spike slapped his hands together and rocked on his heels. “What’s on for tonight, then?”

Bartholomew stepped forward and thrust out his hand. Spike agreeably clasped it. Bartholomew registered the cool skin, the name. “Aah,” he said. “You are the souled vampire.”

Spike shuddered. “Gah. Hate the way that sounds.”

Bartholomew was amused. “You have been the subject of more drunken philosophical discussions than I can recall.”

Spike was aghast. “Stake me. Please.”

The Watcher laughed. “I would love, at some opportune future moment, to discuss the more salient points with you.”

Spike grinned. “Would that discussion involve bourbon?”

“I think it might.”

“I think you have a date, Watcher.” Spike was hyperactive and prowled the small room. Giles watched him.

“Where are the others?”

Spike had found a small weapons box. He did not turn to answer Giles. “Hospital.”

“Is Maurice recovering?” asked Bartholomew suddenly, realizing that he hadn’t thought of his colleague’s fate since the news. Everything had moved so quickly.

“Seems so.” Spike appeared to be absorbed in the box. “Still has officers outside his door.”

Giles walked up to Spike and stood so that the vampire could not pretend not to see him. “Xander?” he asked. He saw Spike’s lips tighten.

“Better,” he replied succinctly.

“What happened?” Giles asked as gently as he could.

Spike picked up a large, curved knife. Its handle was carved ivory. He weighed it in his hand, considering his reply. “Ya know Xander. Whelp got in a little over ‘is head, I think.”

“Yes,” said Giles hesitantly, “Willow had mentioned some things.” Spike shot him a look alive with fear. Giles felt a deep sorrow suddenly that the vampire still distrusted him so. “I don’t think I’ve ever completely understood Xander, Spike. But I have learned to trust his instincts.”

Spike studied the weapon in his hand. “Yeah. Learned to trust him too,” he said very quietly.

Spike could feel what he had been trying to escape since the hospital seeking and rushing to find him in the tent. He gripped the knife tightly and focused on the carvings. “He’s the White Knight, ain’t he. Always chargin’ in to help. That’s what this was, just Xander. Tryin’ ta do the right thing again.” He rubbed a finger hard on an etched image. “I don’t remember much, Rupert,” he said as honestly as he could, “I was unconscious.”

Bartholomew wondered what subtext lay in the conversation these men were having. “We recovered Agent Finn’s body,” he said. The vampire turned to him and Bartholomew was chilled by the ice in those blue eyes. “He was covered with the scars of old bites.” The eyes flinched with something. It was like a tiny prick in a silk stocking. Bartholomew watched the runner spread across Spike’s face.

“Of course he was,” growled the vampire darkly. He spat. It was a loud, disgusting noise in the suddenly quiet tent.

Giles cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Er, Spike,” he felt it had to be discussed at some point, and now the matter was before them. “Riley had a very fresh vampire bite on his neck.”

Spike turned back to face him. Barely controlled revulsion twisted his lips. “If I could spit him out, I would Rupert,” he said. “It was against my will.”

“He made you?”

“Yeah,” said Spike with distaste.

“But how?”

Spike looked at him. Giles saw something in Spike’s face that resonated in his own memory of Angelus’ torture all those years ago. Not the pain, but the violation. Pain faded over time. Giles could still taste the violation. Spike didn’t answer further. Giles didn’t press.

“Maurice helped rescue you?” asked Bartholomew.

“Don’t know what the Watcher was doing there.”

“Didn’t Xander discuss it?” asked Giles, confused.

“We didn’t speak much,” said Spike, looking down once more at the knife in his hands. He began moving around again, his need for action becoming more pronounced. “So where’s the demon? What’s the plan? Point me at somethin’ to trounce, Rupert.”

Bartholomew donned his ‘Commander in Chief’ persona with the weariness of a man taking up a heavy sack. “Yes, we have managed to mount something of an assault. You would be of great assistance to me, Spike, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“’S what I’m here for innit,” said Spike evenly, “evil-destroying weapon, that’s me.” He followed Bartholomew out of the tent.

********************************************************************

Maurice hadn’t expected anything when the last wave of unconsciousness had taken him. Well, maybe he had hoped a little. Hoped for some afterlife, one in which little from this life would persist, perhaps. Hoped for some peace. He woke instead to pain and throbbing nausea, interwoven with the cotton-candy-in-your-teeth taste of morphine.

He had survived. He wasn’t surprised to feel not too terribly thrilled about it. He was surprised, however, when his grasping consciousness perceived Brown sitting at the side of his bed. He made an unintelligible noise and the young man was instantly close and attentive.

“Hey. Maurice, man. You with us?”

Maurice felt the nausea well up. He waved his head feebly. An empty bedpan appeared and he felt vomit leaving his mouth, thankfully too drugged to really be uncomfortable with the process. “Sorry.” He managed to form the words. He spat a little. “Sorry.” He leaned back wearily.

“’S okay, man.” Brown carefully placed the foul container on the floor. “You gotta hurl, just tell me. You need water? You need the nurse?” he reached for the call button.

“No.” Maurice tried to put some force into his voice. “No. Wait.” He tried to steady himself, he felt his head was bobbing around, like he was sliding off the mattress. “I’m falling,” he whimpered.

Brown grasped his shoulders firmly. His face was inches away from the other man’s. “No man, ya ain’t. I got ya. You feel me?”

Maurice gazed into the intense green eyes. “Where am I?”

Brown grinned into the befuddled face. “Boy, talk about original dialogue. Post-op, Sunnyhell hospital, you fucker.”

Maurice felt the pressure of Brown’s hands on his shoulders and relaxed under their firm presence. “Stay,” he said. “Please stay.”

“Yeah, you got me.” Brown watched the man’s mind trying to surface. “Hey, Maurice,” he hissed in a low voice. “What the fuck did you do to yourself, man?”

Maurice held those eyes and clawed his way towards sense. Another dark swell of drug induced fog and he was finding it difficult to breathe again. He closed his eyes and Brown panicked. “Hey. Hey, Maurice. Shit.” Maurice opened his eyes again as the wave subsided. He felt more coherent, aware of the sweat on his face, the position of various limbs. He could now recognize the location of his pain. It throbbed ominously, but the morphine was keeping it at bay. He looked up at Brown again. The boy was frightened by Maurice’s struggle. And of all the surprises the Watcher had encountered that day, that one made him wonder the most.

“Don’t worry,” he said kindly. Brown looked startled.

“Not worried, man. Well, not so much. You’re gonna be okay, they said.” He assured Maurice.

“Don’t worry about the …” Maurice looked meaningfully at Brown, “don’t worry about the thing. Do you understand?” He blinked and was able now to distinguish the bright fluorescents on the ceiling from the edge of Brown’s curly hair.

Brown drew back, keeping his firm grip nevertheless on Maurice’s shoulders. “Yeah. I understand. We gotta talk about that, man. You crazy fuck. Never confess to nothin’, don’t you know that?”

Maurice’s face still felt numb, but he managed a wry grin. “Confession is good for the soul.”

“Load a crap. Now you’re lookin’ at accessory after the fact.”

“Accessory?” Maurice was confused.

“Yeah, you idiot. Now they’ll think you was tryin’ ta protect me. Geez, ya shoulda just said nothin’.” He tisked and shook his head with disgust.

“Brown.” Maurice tried to focus. “You haven’t told anyone anything?”

“Told Willow.”

“Oh.” Maurice relaxed. “Oh, good then.”

“Gonna tell the police, though.” Brown adjusted uncomfortably. “Haven’t gotten the nerve up yet, but I’m gonna.”

“No, Brown. Don’t do that.” Maurice struggled to put authority in his voice. “Wait. Wait for Willow and the Council.”

“Which Council, man? It’s like a civil war right now.”

“Really?” Maurice, as his fog lightened, couldn’t help but feel intrigued. “That will be a first,” he said thoughtfully.

Brown still had his hands on Maurice’s shoulders. He let go slowly. “You okay now, cuz I’m letting you loose.”

“Yes, thank you, Brown,” said Maurice. He still looked thoughtful. Brown watched him for a second.

“Hey!” he said, struck by a thought. “You want I should write some more shit in that book for you?” He was rewarded by the light in the pale little face as Maurice smiled wanly.

“Yes,” he said, “I would appreciate that.”

Brown dug in his backpack and brought out the spiral bound book. “Still got it here.” He thumbed the pages. “You can draw pretty good, man,” he opined, “kinda makes up for your borin’ writin’.’”

“You read my journal.”

“Well yeah.” Brown looked at him, puzzled. “Course.”

Maurice fought the chuckle which he was sure would hurt more than it was worth. “Of course.”

Brown hunted in the bottom of his backpack for a writing tool. “Didn’t mention a lotta stuff, I noticed,” he said casually.

“A Watcher’s journal isn’t a private memoir,” said Maurice dryly. He acknowledged Brown’s look grimly. “I suppose I was a bit of a coward.”

“Hey. Not judging. Don’t go in for that shit. Just thinkin’.” He found a pen and fiddled with it a bit. Maurice pondered him.

“Why don’t you ‘go in for that shit’, Brown? You have fought evil for five years. Don’t you hope to see good succeed?”

Brown was surprised. “I don’t give a fuck about any of that crap, man. What made you think I did?”

Maurice was surprised in turn. “You fought with Brandy and I, risked your life!”

“Shit, man,” Brown was disgusted, “that were just about helpin’ friends.” He clicked the pen and held it ready over the pad, looking like an attentive secretary. “What’s the words of wisdom today, Morreees,” he said in a chipper voice.

“Unbelievable,” said Maurice.

“Gotchya,” responded Brown, and scribbled it down.

******************************************************************

“Mr. Harris, Dr. Mary Koln has forwarded your files to me.”

Xander regarded the staff psychiatrist with absolute apathy. She looked at him expectantly, as if she had asked him a question.

“Yeah?” he grunted obediently.

The woman sat tidily in the chair. She was, Xander thought oddly, perfectly symmetrical. Her clipboard notebook was arranged in the exact center of her lap and her feet were neatly held together on the floor. The part that drew down the center of her skull was perfect. The white lab coat had a picture id clipped to one side. On the other side in an exact horizontal line with the other, was a hospital nametag, “Dr. Norma Kraig.” Her hands were folded evenly in the middle of the clipboard on her lap. She blinked at him with expressionless brown eyes. Xander felt sure she must be demonic.

“What’d she say?” he said, just to fill the silence.

“Suppose you tell me,” said Dr. Kraig, ignoring his question, “exactly what happened to your wrist.” Xander looked at her like she was mentally challenged.

“I. Cut. It,” he said clearly.

Dr. Kraig appeared unaccountably annoyed. “Yes?”

Xander didn’t know what she wanted him to say. This wasn’t Mary’s style. She tended to lead him.

“I was confused,” he offered. She didn’t respond to this, merely sat blinking patiently at him. Xander caught himself looking for the little red light or something that would tell him she was a robot. “I wasn’t thinking I wanted to die or anything,” he said hopefully. Dr. Kraig continued watching him. Xander sighed. This was hopeless. He gave up and leaned back into his pillow, staring at the ceiling. He remained silent. So did Dr. Kraig.

After a while she left the room. Before she left she scribbled something on her notepad and attached it to Xander’s stat board at the end of the bed. With a great deal of twisting and clawing with his foot, Xander managed to pull the stat board towards him and read her note.

It was a prescription for Prozac.

He lay back on his pillow with a sigh. His eyes ran for the thousandth time over the pattern of tiny black holes in the ceiling tiles. There was a tear at the corner of one. A little tuft of gray abnormality. His vision caught on it every time. He closed his eyes. But there were monsters in the dark and he opened them again.

Monsters in the dark, he thought sadly. How many little kids fell in love with the monster?

Xander turned his head and shifted his body and felt the agony of someone trapped in one place with their emotions and nothing to distract them but a hospital ceiling.

He was in love with Spike. When the hell had that happened? The mahjong tiles of Xander’s life, covered with dragons and demons and delicately painted female figures, shuffled noisily about in his mind. Forming a pattern, following a connection. In the van he had realized it, when he had cut his wrist and forced his blood into Spike’s body, he had known. This had begun before the crypt, before Buffy’s death. He tried to recall the moment of awakening. All he could remember was the jibe Spike and he kept running between them. The first time Spike had dismissed Xander, a hundred years ago it seemed. In the basement of Xander’s parents’ house. Spike had sneered that he would never bite Xander, and the sneer had hurt. That he might not want Xander’s blood, had stung. Xander lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling and felt the truth drop into his chest like a rock from the sky. Xander had wanted Spike even then. And the love? Xander could now see the tide of it, like a wave of a particular hue, gathering after Buffy’s second death, stuttering over her revival, then gathering again like a fist. Battering at Xander with jealousy, confusion and need.

He closed his eyes again and immediately saw Spike. Saw the longing and fear in the vampire’s face when he had last stood over Xander. Saw the rage of the demon when they had fought at the crypt. His unlatched memory eagerly began to spill and Xander turned his face into the pillow as he saw Spike overwhelmed with lust, bending over him. Spike laughing into his eyes as Xander purposely mussed his hair. Spike’s face when Xander had told him he loved him.

How many monsters loved the kid back?

Xander didn’t even know he was crying. Saline and snot were rubbed into the pillow as the images assailed him. He heard the snick of the door opening and the soft tap of a step on the tiles, and turned his ravaged face to greet Willow.

“Hi, Xander,” she said softly. “Diane, Dr. Thomas, says you are being released. I’ve come to take you home.” A nurse had followed her in. She efficiently extracted the IV from Xander’s arm, wrapping and tossing tubing and needles into the ‘bio’ bin nearby where everything that touched Xander’s blood was tossed. He lay quiescent under the treatment, not even bothering to wipe his face. He watched Willow. She had brought the small carryon he had with him from the trip, and began extracting old clothes from it. “I don’t know where your things are, now,” she admitted, “so I dug up some old stuff laying around my attic.” She lay a very worn pair of gray sweats and a bright red, over-sized t-shirt on the bed. She looked at Xander and shrugged apologetically. “I know, I know, I’m a packrat. But see, you never know when you might need something.” Xander’s silence was making the calm Wiccan revert to her adolescent nervousness. “You always complained about it, remember? Called me a ‘squirrel’. All those papers from grammar school and art projects, and the stuff I clipped from magazines. But I told you.” She stopped her babble and stood looking at Xander helplessly.

“I’ll just leave the room while you dress,” she said.

When she came back in, Xander was sitting on the bed in his clothes. He was staring at his sneaker-clad feet. He slid off to stand by the bed when she entered, not looking at her. They walked silently to the main desk, and still silently to Willow’s car. They were halfway back to the Summers’ house; Xander slumped in the front seat staring apathetically out the window, when reality started to seep through the air vents. He could feel the world coming at him. A familiar tree, or maybe a place on the curb where he once jumped a skateboard. Something flicked the switch and Xander felt himself slide with a thump back into his life.

“Stop,” he demanded suddenly. Willow glanced at him, startled. Xander leaned forward and said urgently, “Willow, pull over and stop for a minute. Please.” Willow obediently slowed the car and parked.

Xander sat trying to calm himself. “I need to get a handle on this,” he explained. “Can’t just face him, yet. Have to think.”

“Face Spike?”

“Yeah.” Xander’s face screwed up. “It’s all turned to crap, Wills.”

“He isn’t at the house, Xander.”

“No?” Xander felt a huge surge of disappointment. “Well, good then.” He looked out the window. “Where is he?” he inquired lightly.

“I think he’s helping Giles and the others subdue the Initiative.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Xander said with a short mirthless laugh, “there’s that thing.”

Willow started the car and pulled back out into the street.

“I should be helping,” said Xander suddenly.

Willow laughed at him. “Hah! I don’t think so! You are going straight to bed, mister. Doctor’s orders.” And, as Xander slouched even more in his seat, she added, “You helped already, Xander. You brought Spike back. He’s a great weapon.”

“Right,” said Xander, staring out the window. “He’s a big gun.”

“Yes,” said Willow thoughtfully, glancing at the slumped figure next to her. “Yes, he is.”



Chapter Twenty Five

Bartholomew drew one of the charmed daggers out of his shoulder sheath and nodded in the dim light towards Spike. The vampire was crouched at the other end of a long, dark row of men hidden amidst the trees and shadows at the edge of the encampment. He couldn’t see Spike in the dark, but he knew the vampire would see his signal.

The woods seemed to sway slightly outwards as the shadows of men parted from its belly and swarmed over the gray earth. They were armed with pistols, but held the daggers. The charm would disable a victim without killing, it was hoped. The difficulty was that one had to be close enough to use it.

Hanging back on the periphery of the clearing, vague forms were gliding around and behind the soldiers. Members of the coven would attempt to protect the men as best they could. They had to hold back, though, as wielding magic and fighting hand to hand could not always be accomplished simultaneously. Warding spells were only effective if they were continuously reinforced.

The great advantage to the little troupe of having Spike and the few demons he brought as aid, was that they could disarm and disable the Initiative soldiers without being killed by guns. They could go in as a first wave and give them the advantage they needed to accomplish a, hopefully, death-light victory.

Bartholomew reflected, for the second he could allow himself, on the grim, determined faces of the young men and women of the Coven whom he had instructed just before their departure. He knew that, “Do as thou wilt and harm none.” was a solemn vow to the Wiccans. That they would be willing to place themselves so close to possibly breaking that vow spoke of how dangerous they perceived the Initiative to be.

Bartholomew’s Watcher vows were less specific. Full of pompous pedagogery about good versus evil and saving the world, he had taken them with vague distaste and an unhappy sensation that he couldn’t be certain to what he was agreeing. He personally agreed with the Wiccan law. Life. Any life. However it chose to conduct itself, whatever form it chose to walk the earth, was precious and valuable and not to be destroyed. It was a truth he felt in his bones.

He saw the flank of men which were headed by Spike sweep forward quite suddenly as an alarm was raised inside a group of tents. Activity, lights, and noise flared up suddenly like a torch, and Bartholomew leapt towards the fray.

Spike and Harry had surprised the group of men around the arsenal. Even men who were accustomed to demons were a little taken aback by Harry. He was just so large. Spike dove in during the minuscule moment of shock and had knocked two Initiative soldiers to the ground before anyone could react.

Still focusing their attention on the hairy blue demon descending upon them, the Initiative soldiers began firing their useless guns into the thick, impenetrable fur, while Spike round house kicked a couple more into the wall of the tent. He spun about and found himself faced by a dozen angry men. A couple of cross-bows had appeared. “Right then,” said Spike fiercely, high on adrenaline, “got yer attention now, have I?”

Harry roared and shoved a man a bit too firmly to the ground, as another phalanx of men, led by Bartholomew, swept in from the back. The men holding Spike at bay were temporarily distracted, and Spike leapt behind a stack of crates, cross-bolts narrowly missing him as he went. He spotted more soldiers coming from behind Bartholomew’s crew and shouted a warning as he sprinted back, trying to come at them from behind.

He almost ran into the loose string of chanting witches. Their magic prickled over his skin and ran like tiny electrical fingers through his hair. He covered his mouth instinctively, as the sickly sensation seemed to catch at the back of his throat. Latin, and some other language, pushed on his ear drums. Spike spun about and ran back into the ranks of Initiative soldiers from behind. Kicking and disarming as quickly as he could. Ahead he could hear Bartholomew shouting and the beginnings of gunfire as the Initiative men recovered from their surprise. There were cries of pain.

Spike leapt forward again as the chanting behind him increased in volume. He felt he was being thrust forward by the power of it, as if he were surfing a wave of magic. For a moment he felt like a spear flying through endless time. He howled with the glory of it and came down on the backs of two soldiers. Found himself crouched in front of a blood-spattered Bartholomew, who was moving at an unnatural speed for a human, wielding his knife in a bizarre arcing fashion, the tip barely making contact as soldiers fell before him like scythed wheat.

Spike circled quickly to cover his back. Nearby he saw one Watcher down. His face had a stillness Spike knew in his soul. He was dead. Spike felt the panic he associated with fear for his humans, and scanned the remaining Initiative soldiers for those with guns. He began methodically taking them out, half an eye on Bartholomew, who instinctively kept his back to Spike, slicing his charmed knife in ritualistic circles the whole while.

All around them, Watchers fought, witches were descending, and the ranks of still mobile Initiative soldiers began to thin and were not reinforced. They were winning. Spike relaxed a bit and began to have fun.

He tipped hard to the ground and tried to see how many jaws he could crack with one good outside kick. His record was only three thus far. He shot into a tight wedge of men in a jumping kick that threw them apart like a cue ball in the break shot, with a loud satisfying crack. He landed gracefully and spun about. Witches were everywhere now. Kneeling over fallen bodies, chanting, and digging in pouches. The remaining Initiative soldiers were huddled in a group, disarmed and hands over heads.

The war was over. It was time for the healing.

Spike calmed himself, scanning the room in an automatic head count. He spied the redheaded Wiccan Willow seemed to be so attached too, and a few other familiar witches, then accounted for the men he had led. Near the dead man he had spotted earlier, he saw Bartholomew. The Watcher sat on the ground listlessly holding the man’s hand. He appeared absolutely shattered. Spike approached him gingerly and crouched beside him.

He scanned the body quickly. The bullet had apparently caught the man in the head. “Was quick,” opined Spike to Bartholomew gently, “don’t think he knew it happened.”

Bartholomew was silent for a moment, then said in a strained voice, “I know that’s supposed to be comforting. But it’s really not.”

Spike didn’t reply.

“Death,” said Bartholomew, picking his way methodically through the shock, “is supposed to be natural. Why does it always seem so wrong?” He looked at Spike expectantly.

The undead man rocked back on his heels and raised an eyebrow at Bartholomew’s query. “Don’t think I’m the one to answer that, Watcher,” he said roughly. But Bartholomew’s eyes were so needy that Spike made himself think for a minute.

“Seen humans fight to survive for over a century,” he said thoughtfully, “sometimes against me. Sometimes against each other. Sometimes against just what God or whatever decided to throw at them.” Spike sighed and looked at the young, still face laying before them. “It’s not yer nature to give up, you mortals. It’s yer nature to fight back and hope against hope. Maybe that’s what makes demons want to corrupt you and evil want to destroy you. It’s yer nature to believe and fight and try. It’s how you’re made. You’re not gonna succeed, you’re all gonna die, but you try anyway. It’s not fair, but Christ it’s beautiful the way you try.” Spike returned from his internal space and saw tears on the young Watcher’s face. “Told ya I’m not the right one ta ask,” he said apologetically.

Bartholomew shook his head and smiled a little. “No,” he whispered, “that was perfect.” He caressed his friend’s hand one more time and laid it gently down. Rose shakily. Looked around. “There are things to do among the living,” he said quietly, “that’s enough for now.”

***********************************************************

Xander lay on the sofa of the Summers/Rosenberg house, under a fluffy granny square blanket that Joyce had probably knitted. He was studying the portraits of Buffy on the side table and tipping his bottle of anti-depressants back and forth in his hand contemplatively.

He wondered what made men want to live.

Willow came in with a large tray laden with foodstuffs and carefully placed it on the coffee table. “Are you going to take those?” she asked, nodding at the pills, “or use them as a percussion instrument?”

She had baked salmon and fresh green beans on a plate. Normally Xander would have devoured it before she could set it down. Now the smell slunk oily and cloying into his nose and made him feel nauseous.

“I don’t need to take them,” he said.

“No?” Willow’s voice was neutral. She spun silverware out of a napkin and placed it next to the plate. Opened the salad dressing. Watched him expectantly. Xander wanted very badly for her to take the food away. It was beginning to have that aggressively thick and heavy look that unwanted food can have.

“Thanks, Willow, not really hungry yet.”

The Wiccan’s face darkened and Xander wanted to pull the blanket over his head. He could hear the distant thunder.

“I thought we were friends, Xander.”

Oh Christ, thought Xander. I’m in for it now. Some part of him believed he deserved whatever diatribe was about to be hurled at him. But some other part, the weak, injured, lonely, stressed out part, just felt tired and sick and wanted to be left alone.

“I thought you trusted me.”

“God, Willow, do we have to do this now?” Xander sounded more peevish than he meant to.

Willow’s eyes widened at his tone. “No, of course not, Xander,” she said, “just blow me off. Tell me not to care about you. Tell everyone not to care about you.” Her voice began reaching a dangerous pitch. “We can all just go to hell and leave you to kill yourself. Is that what you want?”

Xander ground his teeth. “I did not try to kill myself.”

“Then what were you doing?” Willow was almost shouting.

“Needed to save Spike,” Xander blurted out. He looked down at the blanket and began intently picking at its fuzz. “You didn’t see him, Willow. I had to.” He saw again the vampire as he had been in the van. Tears blurred his vision. “Almost lost him again.”

“Why, Xander?” Willow asked, her voice back at a normal level.

Xander’s eyes were sparkling with tears as he turned to her quizzically. “Why what?”

“Xander, it’s an obvious question.”

“Ask it anyway.”

Willow looked at her old friend. His eyes were heavy and sad. “Why?” she asked softly. “Xander? Why Spike? Why this sudden attraction to men? And why a vampire?”

“Attraction to men wasn’t sudden, Willow.”

“But Cordelia. Anya.”

“Geez, Willow. Oz?”

“Okay then, why a vampire?”

“Why a werewolf?” retorted Xander hotly. Willow frowned.

“I didn’t choose that. Oz was a werewolf, and I loved him…” she drifted off, looking at Xander. “Oh.”

“I love him, Willow,” Xander said with a grim patience. “I have for a long, long time. I can’t even remember how long. Maybe since he was chipped. Maybe before.”

“You hated him, Xander!”

“Yeah. Sure, Wills. Starts with a D and ends with an L. Old Harris family trick.”

Willow was silent. She sat back and gazed out the window. “I had no idea.”

“Me neither,” said Xander succinctly. “Big, stupid Zeppo, that’s me.”

“You’re not stupid, Xander,” said Willow automatically.

“No, you’re right,” Xander said with sudden heat, “I’m much worse than stupid, Willow. I’m a fucking asshole.” He ignored Willow’s startled look and continued on. “All these years, poor Xander, poor underappreciated Xander. Dopey all-American guy next door. All a big lie,” he said furiously. “You know the sort of thing I used to do in San Francisco, Wills? You want to know about me and my buddies going down to the gay bars just to start a fight? And the next night I’m down there picking up guys?” Xander was so overcome with rage at himself he could not see Willow’s reaction to all this. “You want to know about Jesse? About that big fight we had just before,” he shivered and grit his teeth, “just before I oh so conveniently had to stake him?”

“No, Xander,” said Willow suddenly.

“Yeah, I bet you don’t wanna know,” spat out Xander with fury. “You want to know why I think Larry was on the front lines at graduation?”

“Stop it, Xander!”

“Oh, sorry to dispel the mirage,” said Xander angrily. “Sorry to taint the image.”

“It’s not true!”

“You want to believe that, go ahead.” Xander slid down into the couch and miserably ground the heel of his hand against his eyes. “Believe whatever you want, it doesn’t fucking matter. Damage is done.”

“Jesse wasn’t your fault, Xander,” said Willow softly. “A vampire killed Jesse.”

“Yeah, right,” said Xander bitterly, “conveniently right after he tried to kiss me.”

“I didn’t know,” said Willow sadly. “But it still wasn’t your fault, Xander. Jesse was just unlucky.”

“Fucking knocked him down,” Xander said to himself, “fucking called him every filthy thing I could think of.” He was curling up in the corner of the sofa, wrapping his arms around his drawn up knees. “Just before the dust,” ragged indrawn breath, “I looked in his eyes, and he knew. God.”

“Jesse wasn’t your fault,” Willow repeated, watching her friend crumble with concern. “Larry wasn’t your fault either, Xander. He was just there. He was just unlucky.”

“Why am I so lucky, then, Wills?” Xander exploded suddenly. “What’s so fucking great about me that I get to live and everybody else gets to die?”

Willow drew herself up. “There’s nothing great about you, Xander,” she said solemnly. “You were just lucky. And if you want to do nothing with the life you’re lucky enough to have, well, that’s your right.” She stood slowly. “You’re not the only one who has lost people, Xander. You’re not the only one with regrets.” Xander looked up at her, somewhat surprised that, for once, Willow had not defended him against himself. “But you’re making other people punish you, Xander. That’s not fair.” She left the room and Xander heard her walk up the stairs.

He fell back into the couch. That had gone well, considering, he thought unhappily. He looked out the window again and wished for Spike. If the vampire would just come home. If he could just talk to him; hold him, kiss him, claim him, again. It would all be alright. It would fix everything.

He considered Willow’s last words for a second. “Making people punish you,” ? He cocked his mental head and wondered about that. As much as Xander believed he deserved punishment, he could see nothing but solicitous love in the behavior of those around him.

He noted the fading moon and worried that the night was almost over and still Spike hadn’t come home. He felt relatively sure that if his mate were injured badly, he would know. He had felt all the alarms and terror when Spike had been tortured and when he had almost dusted in the van. But maybe that had just been the magic. Xander peered into the night beyond the black glass and wished for Spike.

****

Across the street, Spike leaned in the shade of a tree and longingly watched the silhouetted head resting on the back of the couch. He didn’t know what to do. Of all the mortals Spike had ever know, Xander Harris perplexed him more than any other. He still couldn’t imagine what had motivated Xander’s act of sacrifice in the van, or for that matter his rescue attempt beforehand. If he wanted to end the relationship with Spike, if he wanted to sever the claim, why did he persist in saving the vampire? Spike closed his eyes and felt the little zip of happiness as he played again the memory of Xander telling him he loved him. Of course it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. But Spike leant against the tree and wished and ached.

He saw a light switch on in one of the side bedrooms, and realized that Willow must be staying the night with Xander. Keeping an eye on him, most likely. He slunk around to the side and quickly, silently, climbed a tree. Hopped onto his bedroom balcony and broke in with the ease of endless experience. Then he just stood there, in the tumbled room. There was nowhere else to go. If he left the room, he’d have to walk downstairs to Xander. And he wasn’t ready to do that yet. He sat down on the flipped mattress in exactly the same position he had left it hours earlier.

He heard Willow in the hallway, but was still mildly surprised when she entered his room. He had assumed whatever ritual would be done would require both himself and Xander to be present. He found himself resenting that he wouldn’t be given even that little bit of closure.

Willow leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded. Spike kept his head in his hands.

“Didn’t expect you yet, Red.”

“Can we talk, Spike?”

Spike looked up, sighed and shrugged. “Yeah. Sure. Whatta ya gotta get off yer chest?” he asked listlessly.

Willow tilted her head. “Why are you angry with me?”

Spike shook his head. “Not angry, pet. I’m not blamin’ you. Just …” He turned his head away again. “Just not particularly likin’ what you gotta do. So,” he cleared his throat, “yeah, I forgive you, yadda yadda yadda, now just pull the damn switch.”

“What the FUCK are you talking about, Spike?”

Both Spike’s eyebrows went straight up at the obscenity. Coming out of Willow’s mouth, it sounded so dirty.

“The claim?” he stumbled out hoarsely. “Ain’t ya gonna reverse the claim?”

“Why do you presume that I know how to do that?”

“Xander said…”

“What exactly did Xander say?”

“That…” Spike took a moment to recall. “That he asked ya to try to reverse it. He said…” Spike’s face crumbled. “I didn’t understand it. All I heard was he wanted to end it.”

Willow sat down next to Spike on the mattress, raised her hand to stroke his shoulder and was happy to note that he did not flinch away this time. He was shaking under her hand, however. She sighed. “Spike. I haven’t even found out enough about this to make any kind of spell. It would appear that a vampire claiming a human has long range and perhaps not entirely negative effects on both parties.” Willow frowned. “The text said the claimants are bound. They become more and more sensitive to each other, dependant on each other eventually. Your lives are bound, Spike. This might even help Xander live longer.”

“Might help with the sickness?” asked Spike eagerly.

“Spike.” Willow slid closer and wrapped her arm carefully around the distressed vampire. “Sweetie, did he tell you the effect the claim would have on you?”

Spike shrugged. “He said somethin’ about it, yeah. Said I’d die when he did or somethin’.”

“Don’t you think that’s pretty serious?” Spike shrugged again. Willow tisked. “Spike, Xander didn’t want to be responsible for ending your existence.” When the vampire didn’t respond, Willow became irritated. “How would you feel, Spike, if I told you the claim would harm Xander?”

Spike looked at her, worried. “Will it?”

“No, I don’t think so…”

“You sure?”

“No,” Willow admitted with a sigh.

“What might it do to him?” Spike was becoming more agitated. “Watcher said,” he shook his head, “that maybe Xander was changing.”

Willow thought for a minute. “The impression I get,” she said slowly. “the text implies that the demon is changed, not the human.” She gave the vampire a worried look. “Spike, do you not understand the effect this would probably have on you?”

“I’m not stupid, Red,” said the vampire impatiently. He took her hand contemplatively and thought how to phrase this for a mortal. “I’ve been around for a long time, pet,” he said. “Haven’t found that much worth hanging onto. It all goes so fast,” he said sadly. He looked up from her hands and into her eyes and said with absolute assurance. “A few years with him, with what we might have?” He looked down again. “Just wanna be with him. As long as it doesn’t hurt Xander.”

Willow looked at the strong, cool hands that held hers. Flawless skin that healed eternally from any injury, nevertheless they felt heavy and tough with experience. She squeezed his hands, feeling emotion rising in her throat.

“You love him.”

“Outta my mind with it, yeah.”

“I’m still trying to understand this, Spike. How long have you felt this way?”

Spike snorted. “Don’t know. Sexually? Well, that big surprise hit about five years ago. But emotionally? Don’t know, maybe always a little bit. Since the soul, I guess.”

Willow nodded slowly. “He’s hard to resist.”

“Big ol’ puppy hearted, stubborn bastard.” Spike smiled to himself. Willow noted that his hands had begun shaking again before he pulled them away. He tucked into himself, like he had at the hospital. “But if he doesn’t want it,” he said hoarsely.

“He doesn’t want to hurt you.”

“This is hurting me, Red,” said Spike. “This is killing me.”

Willow petted his shoulder again, thinking. “I’d like to understand, Spike. Why did you and Xander choose to bind yourselves in the first place?”

Spike sat thinking. “Didn’t really choose,” he recalled. He thought some more. “Xander wanted it,” he remembered finally. “Said he read it in a book. Said it meant something to him. Said it meant…” Spike angrily fought against the closing of his throat, “said it meant I was his, I wouldn’t leave him. Said that’s what he wanted.”

Willow sat contemplating this for a long time. “Spike,” she said finally, “I guess you’re pretty insightful about humans.”

“Don’t know, guess maybe.”

“But I think most of the humans you know well are involved with the Slayers.”

Spike thought. “Well, if you don’t count slime like Willy, yeah.”

“Men who spend a lot of time around women,” explained Willow carefully, “well, they can become pretty adept at manipulation. It’s a sort of survival technique,” she said apologetically. “And I will undoubtedly be struck dead for saying it.” She glanced briefly upwards.

Spike sighed. “Men who hang out with a lotta chits get the hang a listenin’ to endless prattle, yeah, I get that, Red,” he said meaningfully. “So watchya tryin’ ta say?”

“Xander may have told you what he thought you wanted to hear.”

Since what Xander had told him had been exactly what the vampire wanted to hear, Spike was knocked back.

“Ya think he didn’t mean it,” he said shakily, what was left of his world tipping slowly sideways.

“I think he thought he meant it. And maybe he meant some of it,” Willow said, watching Spike’s reaction with concern. “Spike. I really think he loves you.” She raised her hand and petted the awestruck vampire’s head gently. “I think he may have had some other motives, though. Maybe ones he wasn’t even aware of.”

Spike had a bad intuition all of a sudden.

“Like Buffy when she came back?”

Willow winced. She still felt guilt about that. “Maybe. How long has Xander been self-destructive?”

Spike snorted. “Always.”

“Exactly.”

Spike let that sink in. “You thinking he’s using me ta off himself?” His quick mind tallied words and events and came up with… “No,” said Spike suddenly. “That doesn’t add up.” He turned to Willow. “You’re wrong Willow. I know Xander. I know he’s all fucked up with guilt and crap. But he really cares about people. He cares about me.”

“Have you asked yourself why?” Willow asked, knowing it was cruel but needing to know anyway. “What do you offer him Spike?”

And Spike, who had been asking himself that question almost continuously since Xander had knocked at his bedroom door, still shook his head in fierce denial. “No. Xan and I, we get each other. We like each other.” He looked at her seriously. “Even if I couldn’t bite ‘im we’d be friends.”

Willow looked at him, wondering.

“He’s not like Riley.” Spike spat out the name.

“No,” said Willow, “of course not. But Spike, what if some part of him does want you to …” she paused, “punish him for the things he’s done. What if he pushes you too far? Spike, how would you feel if you accidentally killed him?”

“Stop it,” said Spike, pulling away from her on the mattress. He jumped up suddenly. “Stop it, Red.” He began moving around the room, like he was looking for an escape. “It’s not like that,” Spike begged, to himself, to the world at large. “It’s not like with Buffy. Xander likes me for me. He does.” The last was said in a pathetic whine. He whirled and slammed out of the bedroom, pounded down the stairs. Stopped in the living room doorway. “Xan.”

Xander looked up at him from his place on the couch. He was pale and seemed almost sagging with exhaustion and illness. Despite his anxiety about Spike, he had almost been asleep when the racket upstairs had roused him. He stared at Spike with huge black eyes, the pupils fully open.

Spike took it in. Xander, pale and ill, the bite on his neck scabbed but still red and bruised. His hand clutching convulsively at a bottle of pills. He wanted to touch him. He needed to touch him. He was afraid his touch would kill him. “Xander.” He finally made the word come out of his mouth.

Xander slowly moved his legs off the couch. He stood creakily up. Spike moved towards him in a jerky way, like he was fighting the impulse. Oddly stiff and awkward, the two men slowly merged together in the center of the living room. Arms hesitantly wrapping around waists. Hands slowly, painfully closing around biceps. Xander lowered his head with a little moan onto Spike’s shoulder and the vampire shuddered and made an answering squeak of need. He wriggled closer to Xander, working his way into the man, so that every inch of air was closed between them. He pulled the warmth into him through every cell of his dead body.

Xander felt the worry and depression slipping from him like a heavy coat. Everywhere Spike’s hands touched him a little poof of magic sparks seemed to remain on Xander’s skin, healing and soothing. Everywhere Spike pressed his cool torso to him, a swell of endorphins surged outward. Xander held the vampire tighter.

“Missed you,” he murmured into the cool neck. The soothing sensation was mounting to something more demanding. The happy feelings running and pooling between Xander’s legs. His balls tingled and he felt his cock swelling with need. He rocked into Spike firmly and felt the answering hardness. Both men shuddered all over and held each other closer as they rocked, gently thrusting, in the middle of the living room.

Xander buried his face in Spike’s hair and rubbed his mouth across his ear. “Want you,” breathed Xander.

“Yeah,” growled Spike. His hands wandered lower and he squeezed the firm buttocks and pulled Xander’s hips more firmly into his own. Rubbing his mouth and nose against the warm neck, rubbing his mark, a little keening noise coming out of his throat. He clutched his human to him. Wishing Xander would say magic words. Tell him something that would make Willow’s doubts go away.

“I’m sorry, Spike,” Xander whispered into his ear, his lips nipping at the lobe, his tongue plunging inside, circling, lips and teeth nibbling. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry.”

Spike shuddered and whined and clutched Xander to him. His mouth moved of its own volition to drag slowly and erotically across Xander’s mark.

Xander’s body arched suddenly towards him. “Please,” Xander whispered into Spike’s shoulder. “I need it, Spike. Please. Bite me.”

Spike jumped back and shoved Xander into the coffee table. Xander tipped and almost fell. He gaped at Spike like a boy who had been slapped by a loving parent.

“No,” said Spike in a low intense hiss. “I won’t bite you.”

Something inside Xander reared back and roared. He stepped forward. Raised his hand and backhanded Spike across the face as hard as he could. The sound of the blow seemed to snap across the room and echo between the walls. Spike’s head whipped sideways. A spot of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. The two men stared at each other.

Xander found he was breathing so hard he had to open his mouth to get in all the air he needed. Spike was raising his hand slowly to his lip, his other hand clenched in a fist that shook with the effort not to retaliate.

“I won’t hit you either, Xander,” growled the vampire angrily. “You can’t fucking use me ta hurt yourself. ”

Xander gasped for air. He felt a kind of hysteria building inside him. Quite suddenly he knew what he needed to do. He strode right past Spike and into the kitchen, reached up into a cupboard and brought down the rejected bottle of Johnnie Walker from the night before. Viciously twisted off the cap. Who needed a glass, he thought as he brought the bottle to his lips. He was gonna drink the whole fucking thing anyway.

He heard Spike behind him. Waited for words or blows. Neither came. Then he heard the front door open and slam shut. Good, he thought, closing his eyes. Now it’s just me and my shadow. He tipped back the bottle and poured the whiskey down his throat.

************************************************************

Willow had had some interesting conversations with Amy shortly after the young witch had been transformed back from her rat-ness. Amy was decidedly pleased to have been restored to her human body, but there were things about rat-ness, she admitted to Willow, that she rather missed.

“You just do things,” she recalled nostalgically, “you don’t decide. It’s all twitchy and instinctive, like someone else is driving the car.” She tipped her head sideways and unconsciously brushed at her cheek with the back of her hand in a little washing motion. She caught herself mid-stroke and lowered her arm stiffly, her cheeks crimson. “You aren’t self-conscious, because you aren’t responsible. Eat. Sleep. Protect yourself.” She sighed, looking tired. “It’s so much easier.”

Willow thought that what she particularly liked about being human was the knowledge that at any given moment she could decide. Wiccans saw nature as following patterns, cause and effect. As above, so below. If you plant a seed it grows. It follows its nature to fruition and reseeds. But human beings, for some inexplicable reason, had the right to choose. From an infinite number of possible paths at every minute of their lives. Up until the moment of their death, humans choose. Willow loved it. Loved to watch it manifest.

Now she stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched Xander make a choice. She had heard the slamming, heard Spike leaving and run downstairs. Through the open doorway, she saw Xander, stiff shouldered, tilt the bottle back and swallow. Put the bottle down. She saw him stand there, hunched. Then watched as he carefully leaned over and picked the cap up off the floor. Methodically screwed it back on, and set the bottle back in the cupboard. When he turned to see her, he looked weary and gray, but determined.

“Gotta go out, Wills,” he said tiredly. He joined her in the hallway and opened the door. It was still pitch black outside. “He thinks I wanted him to hurt me,” he said into the night. “I wonder why.”

Willow met his eye when he turned towards her. “Do you?” she asked tipping her chin up in that brave little way of hers.

Xander’s eyes measured his old friend. “You shouldn’t read those pop-psychology books, Willow,” he said slowly. “They give you crazy ideas.”

“Xander, you seem to be so self-destructive…”

“Right,” said Xander in an extremely sarcastic voice, “that’s how I survived ten years on the Hellmouth.”

“Are you telling me you don’t feel guilty?”

“Sure, Willow. I feel guilty. Guilty for lying. Guilty for fucking with people who cared about me.”

Xander shook his head, a look of utter conviction on his face. “He would never hurt me, Willow. Even if I wanted him to. Which I don’t. Mostly.” He grinned a little. A sly look came over his face. “Ya wanna know about the times I do?”

“Nope,” said Willow hurriedly. Xander nodded once, smiling, and turned to go.

“Wait.” Willow walked up to her friend and carefully drew a little arc from his left shoulder up over his head down to his right shoulder, her palm flattened towards him. Xander shivered as the ward dropped over him.

“Thanks, Wills.” He gave her a tiny smile. “You won’t get in trouble for that, huh?”

“Screw it,” said Willow lightly. She stepped forward and touched two fingers gently to Xander’s lips. “Blessed be,” she whispered gently. Xander felt the tingle sink in. He turned to go.

“Wills.”

“Yes, Xander.”

“This is it for me, you good with that?” He turned back to look at his friend, begging her permission.

Willow studied him. Then she smiled. “If you hurt him,” she said calmly, “I will beat you to death with a shovel.”

“Yeah,” said Xander, and he walked out the door.




Chapter Twenty Six

Xander knew where Spike was headed. It had become obvious that the mausoleum was some kind of womb for the vampire. A place to go to lick his wounds. He had mourned Xander there five years ago, the man realized. He would go there now to mourn again.

Xander sped up. He felt that every second Spike had to suffer was unacceptable. He purposely didn’t think about what he would say when he got there. He was going to trust his instincts and the claim. And if that didn’t work, he was going to let Spike beat the crap out of him. Any way it came down, Xander was heading for the place he wanted to be.

They would work out the rest later.

*********************************************************************

Spike was beyond everything. Rage, hurt, bewilderment, fear. All those small emotions just sped under his feet. He was like an injured animal, all instinct and need to burrow. He ran to the mausoleum inthinkingly. It never occurred to him that now Xander, and a host of other humans, knew to find him there. He was a mortally wounded thing and needed to find his hole and recover or die.

He was sure that Xander hated him. He suspected Xander no longer even respected him. It wasn’t the blow as much as the rage behind it. Rage because Spike had withheld that thing which he now believed was all he had of value to offer Xander. That Spike had withheld the bite.

Horrible, shivery memories of Riley’s face kept trying to seep in. He tried to block their liquid insistence with mental fingers, but they leaked around the edges and bled into his memories of sex and blood and ecstasy with Xander. Dyeing the memories an ugly purplish shade of addiction and use. He couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t reason with it. So he ran from it. Hopped the cemetery wall, bolted through the woods and up the now well-trekked hillside, through the open door into the far back, where the sleeping bag, crumpled in a corner, could be wrapped around him.

Buried his face in the nappy flannel lining that still smelt of Xander, and shaking all over, let his memories tear and burn.

*******************************************************************

Xander struggled up the muddy hillside towards the mausoleum. He was wheezing a bit and for the first time in over a year, that scared him. Because if something happened to him, if his health failed him, it would also happen to Spike.

He stopped halfway up the hill and checked his pockets for his pills. Yeah, he had them. And when he got through this he’d go back and heat up the dinner Willow had prepared for him. And hydrate. And get some sleep, he added to his list, severely. No more crazy hours, no more burning the candle at both ends and the middle also. He had two to take care of now and one of those two was precious.

As he approached the mausoleum door, he couldn’t tell if the painful prickling all over his skin was some kind of cognitive sense connection to Spike, or if he was merely afraid. His heart was beating so hard his eardrums throbbed painfully. He stopped in the darkened doorway.

“Hey,” he said in as casual a voice as he could manage. “You wanna light some of those candles? I haven’t got that cool night vision thing.”

Xander could count the seconds of silence that thumped in the room, by the loud beats of his own heart in his ears. Then a quiet mouse sound and the snick of a lighter. The golden globe made a silhouette around Spike’s back. He lit another and slumped back into the darkness of the floor. He didn’t speak.

Xander couldn’t see Spike’s face. But he could feel misery radiating from the lump of darkness on the floor. He was sure it wasn’t his imagination. He could feel it. He moved hesitantly forward. “I blew it,” he said calmly. “I fucked up, Spike.”

There was no answer. Xander slid forward over the floor, his feet made a gravelly sound where the dried dirt and the cement scraped underfoot. “You said ‘no’, and I thought,” even now it was hard for Xander, despite all his mature determination it was hard, to admit how that had felt, “I thought you just didn’t want me anymore. And I couldn’t stand it.”

He felt his way forward. Feeling his way through the emotion that he could swear painted the air around him, as if he swam through heat. It was an exhausting effort. He stopped by the tomb, resting his hand lightly on the ajar lid. Spike must have dug something out. Xander wondered what comforted the vampire when he was devastated. He was standing just a few feet from Spike now, in full candlelight. He knew the vampire could see him as clear as day, but he could only see the dark huddled outline of Spike.

Xander was frozen suddenly with the realization of how important his next words would be. He faltered. Vaguely he felt the tingle of Willow’s blessing. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke without thinking. “I couldn’t stand it if you didn’t want me anymore, Spike,” he said, faltering over the truth in those words. He could feel the emotions taking control of him. “Spike,” he begged, “please. You don’t have to bite me. You don’t even have to forgive me.” He paused to take another deep breath. “Just let me stay here with you. This is where I need to be. Here with you. With or without the claim. This is what I want.”

Not able to see whom he was addressing, and unable to hear any sound emitting from the dark corner he confronted, he could have been in a tomb by himself, talking to the demons in his head. It gave him a creepy, unreal feeling, just now when he most needed to think clearly. To say the right thing. He sighed. “Geez, Spike, I wish I could see your face,” he whispered.

There was a horribly long and loud silence. Then, “Which face do you want to see?” asked a voice from the shadows. And Spike moved barely into the light. Xander stared down into the cold eyes of Spike’s demon. The yellow eyes glared balefully up at him. Spike was putting on his demon like a human being might put on a pair of sunglasses. But Xander knew that face, was beginning to read its emotions.

He slowly sank to the floor, still in the light of the candles. “You can’t scare me, Spike,” he whispered. I’m not leaving you,” he forced himself to say firmly, “even if you hate me. I’m staying right here.” He sat and tried to breathe normally while his heart pumped hard, demanding more air. Spike didn’t answer, and though Xander could have sworn he was beyond tears, he could feel them rising again. Their humidity gathering in his nose and throat. He felt like he was choking and then realized he was weakly sobbing. “Please, Spike.” He managed to keep his head up, though he felt his chin stupidly wobbling and the tears running into the corners of his mouth. “Please let me stay with you.”

“Too cold for you here.” Spike’s voice was rough as if he, too, had been crying. Or screaming.

Xander bit his lip trying to steady its shaking. He reached towards the monster in front of him. “Then come home with me.”

Spike sank back into the shadow. He didn’t answer for a while. When he did, his voice was low and gritty. “Where’s that, then? Home. San Francisco?”

Xander dropped his hand. He tried to squint past the glittering candlelight, to see Spike. “What? No. I can’t go back there, not now.” He hadn’t thought about it, but it was obvious. “I have to stay here.”

He heard the vampire shift, the soft flop of cloth. “You going to live in a crypt, then, Xander?” Spike sounded very tired.

It occurred to Xander that Spike had thought this through a bit, whereas he had not. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. He sniffed loudly and rubbed his sleeve across his dripping nose. “What do you think we should do, Spike?” he said as reasonably as he could with a shaking voice.

“What we should do, Xander?”

“Yeah.” Tears still running from his chin, Xander inhaled deeply and plunged into the deep end. “Since we’re kinda married, we should make a plan. Think about what to do.”

There was another laden silence.

After the intense moments he had suffered, and sitting on the cold floor, Xander’s body began to react. He shivered violently and clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering as the chill swept across him.

“Too cold for you, you see?” said Spike again, softly.

Xander stared at the shadows. Then he sighed. “You’re right,” he said as reasonably as he could, “it’s too cold for me here. I need warmth and food and sleep. I need to take care of myself.” Xander took a deep breath. “If we’re bound together. I have to take care of myself. So nothing will happen to you.” He took another shaking breath, tried to will his heart to silence.

Spike was unresponsive for so long, Xander started to panic. “You still want it then?” asked the vampire finally, in a deep, emotional voice.

Xander could only jerk his head in a quick nod. “Do you?” he managed to get out.

“God, Xan, are you sure?”

Xander stared at the dark lump before him. Involuntarily he leaned towards the shadow. He needed to be able to see Spike’s face. “God, Spike, don’t you know … ?” Xander blinked in the candlelight feeling suddenly quite exposed and pathetic. He wanted to turn his head away. Instead he struggled awkwardly to his knees and began crawling slowly towards the silent vampire. He let the light fall fully on his face. Consciously let all the emotions, the need, the fear, the confusion even, show through. “Spike,” he said, reaching forward. “Geez, Spike, how fucked up is it that you don’t even know how much I love you?”

“Why?” The word was a small, helpless cry. Xander lurched forward and found Spike by touch. He pushed aside the sleeping bag and wrapped himself around the balled up man, folding Spike tight into himself. His fingers found Spike’s face and slid across tears. He pressed his lips to the disheveled curls at Spike’s temple, and whispered, “God, Spike. How could I not? You’re my hero, Spike.” Xander began rubbing his mouth over the damp face again. “My knight in shining armor.” His lips traveled over the cheekbones, across the bridge of his nose. “Save me,” he whispered and closed his mouth over Spike’s. Xander pressed forward and Spike opened his lips and kissed him back.

The kiss went on and on. Finally they pulled away from one another. Xander sat back and caressed Spike’s cheek gently with the back of his hand. “I need you, Spike,” he said in a breaking voice. He rested his forehead against Spike’s and ghosted his lips over the vampire’s, “I belong to you, Spike.”

He pushed the sleeping bag out behind him and lay down on it. He reached for Spike’s shoulders to draw him down towards him. Something soft fell across his hand, and he caught it in its lazy flight and held it up to the candlelight. It was a mauvey colored scarf. Spike made to snatch it away, then pressed it instead into Xander’s hand.

It felt like a gift. “What is it?” asked Xander.

“Buffy gave it to me once. Think she forgot I had it.” Spike chuckled ruefully. “My lady’s favor.” He leaned over Xander and in his tear ravaged face, his eyes were bright and wet. “Now it’s yours,” He leant down and placed a cool, perfect kiss on Xander’s right cheek, his chin, his left cheek. “We’ll save each other, Xan.” His mouth traveled down to Xander’s mark, nuzzled instinctively. Xander shuddered and groaned.

“God, Spike, yesss…” he gasped and then grabbed Spike’s shoulders suddenly. Tenderly, carefully, pushed him away. “Spike,” he whispered, “I’ve hurt so many people, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hush,” Spike silenced Xander with a kiss. “I don’t want to live forever, Xander. I never did. This is my eternity. I see it in your eyes.” He rolled his torso atop Xander and wriggled his hardness against Xander’s until the other man moaned and bucked, his hands weaving themselves across Spike’s back, his eyes glazing. “Yeah,” breathed Spike, “there’s my eternity.” He thrust against Xander again and bent once more to his mark. The other man cried out as Spike raked suddenly razor sharp canines across the scar. “I hear it in your voice.” He flicked his tongue delicately across the mark, sucking and licking, as if he were performing fellatio on it. He felt Xander writhe underneath him, heard him moaning. “Yeah,” breathed Spike. He grasped Xander’s biceps, pressed his arms back hard against the floor. “I feel it,” growled the gamefaced vampire, “in your blood,” and he plunged his fangs into the warm, sweet flesh. Xander groaned loudly, arching rhythmically against Spike, his hands struggling to release themselves so he could touch and caress. But Spike held him down. He slipped his fangs from Xander’s throat and licked softly and carefully at the wound, like a cat. He released Xander’s hands and slithered down between his legs, releasing the zip of Xander’s jeans easily as he went. Still gameface, he nuzzled into the warm, musky flesh, nudging the hard shaft out with his ridged brow and nose. A cold tongue flickered out between the sharp teeth and lathed Xander’s cock, then wrapped around it like a Popsicle. Xander bucked, gasping. Spike pulled away. “I can taste my eternity,” pronounced the demon, “here.” Xander looked down and saw the fangs flashing over his shaft and felt such a surge of desire he thought he would come from the sight. He grasped the gelled locks and ran his thumbs over the ridged forehead, pulling that mouth towards his dick, thrusting towards it uncontrollably. “Yes. Yess, god please, Spike. Please.” Spike looked up into the hot, black eyes and with the experience of a hundred year old predator, he looked for the face of a victim. He saw only lust, love and absolute trust. He nuzzled against Xander’s dick and then further down, pressing his face into the warm balls, his tongue cooling and teasing, running over them then back further to the sensitive perineum. Xander arched and cried and wriggled hard, pushing at his pants. “Yeah. Now, Spike,” he whined, twisting his hips as he struggled with the denim, toeing off his shoes. “Fuck me, now, Spike.”

The demon ran his face sensuously up the inside of Xander’s exposed thigh, inhaling the scent. Then he shuddered and pulled back. “No, Xander,” he said roughly. He pushed himself back. Xander almost whined with frustration. He sat up and reached for the withdrawing vampire. But Spike was up on his feet, unbuttoning his fly and shimmying out of his jeans, toeing off his boots. He knelt down in front of Xander again and took the man’s chin in his hand, gazed into the deep eyes. “I want you to take me, Xander,” he said very seriously. “Like the first time.” Xander tried to shake his head in denial, but Spike held his chin firmly. “With the blood and the …” he paused and took a breath. Xander stilled himself at this sign of the vampire’s deep emotion.

“What do you need, Spike?” he asked softly.

“I showed you my demon,” Spike said slowly. He looked into Xander’s eyes. “I want to see yours.”

Spike lay down on the sleeping bag and rolled over onto his stomach. Xander reached out and stroked one cool muscular buttock gently. He crawled until he hovered above the smooth white body, leaning down to kiss the neck and silky shoulders. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips traveling into curls on the back of Spike’s head, down to the row of stony spinal bones, his lips following that trail of beads to their swelling destination. But he didn’t lick, didn’t introduce any moisture. “I love you. I love you,” he whispered with everything he had. His hand gently found Spike’s entrance, and he guided his achingly hard cock to the spot. The sensation of Spike’s opening against the tip of his cock was so overwhelmingly right, he had to pause. Below him, Spike groaned and writhed.

Xander reared back and thrust hard and dry into Spike. Spike shoved back, crying out. Xander grabbed at Spike’s hips and thrust again, feeling his orgasm mounting already. Horrified and turned on as he saw the blood now, on his dick, around Spike’s hole slicking the passage as his thrusts, now out of control, sped up and he fell onto Spike pounding into him, mouthing his neck. “God, Spike, god wanna bite. Please, Spike,” he cried piteously, feeling an orgasm like a surge of voltage gathering in his balls.

“Xander!” screamed Spike, his back arching, his neck pushed back against Xander’s face. Xander heard a noise from his own throat that sounded completely feral and bit down hard. Spike yelled and shuddered and his channel quivered around Xander’s cock as he began to come. Xander’s body thrust itself into Spike, while Xander’s mind surfed on a rising wave. .Both men screamed and for an eternity Xander saw only white.

After a moment he came back to himself. He lay atop Spike, still inside him. The tight walls around him twitching, his own shaft slowly slipping out. He glanced down. There was blood across his abdomen and in his pubic hair. A bloody handprint sat square in the middle of one of Spike’s buttocks. Xander felt and tasted blood on his lips. It tingled as had Willow’s blessing. He leant down and nuzzled the mark on the quiescent vampire’s neck. “Geez, Spike,” he whispered in awe. “That was like we were animals.”

Spike murmured into the floor beneath him. “Mine,” he burbled happily.

Xander nuzzled again. “Mine,” he agreed.

Spike groaned and wriggled out from under Xander. He sat up gingerly. The two naked, bloody men sat side by side on the sleeping back and wrapped their arms around each other. Xander buried his face in Spike’s neck. He could feel, unbelievably, his desire rising again. He dragged his tongue over his mark and felt the vampire shudder and arch into the touch. But then Spike pushed himself back a bit and attempted to hold Xander off. “We have to talk about things, Xander.”

Xander stopped himself. He hovered longingly over the cool, smooth neck, then sighed and sat back a bit. He looked into the serious face. Spike’s eyes were tear swollen, though that would fade rapidly. The lush lower lip was grim and stern. Spike pushed himself back and rubbed tiredly at his face. “We do this every time we fight, luv. Can’t solve all yer problems with a good shag.”

“No?” teased Xander. He shifted uncomfortably on the hard floor. “I’ve got one problem we could solve, though,” he said roughly.

Spike smiled slightly at that. “You see, that’s one of the problems, there.” He sighed and his eyes ran hot and meaningfully over Xander’s body, from silky uncombed head to dirty toes. “Bloody irresistible, you are.” He growled. “Can’t say no to you, even when I ought to.”

Spike bent his head and bumped it softly against Xander’s. “You are bonded to a demon, pet. Not a lot of self-control here. Yer gonna have ta be the grown-up.”

“No,” whined Xander, in his best petulant teenager voice. “Do I have to?”

Spike tsked softly. “And how are you going to live?” he went on, enumerating the issues, “What are you going to do, you pillock? Not an evil undead millionaire, here.”

Xander found a grin. “Didn’t develop a portfolio over the past hundred years, Spike?”

Spike snorted. “Kinda busy with the maiming and torturing.”

“Yeah, I can see how that would really eat up the time,” Xander observed dryly.

They sat for a minute in emotionally exhausted silence.

“I don’t know, Spike,” said Xander slowly. “But I’ll find something. I need to do things, you know. I’ve got to make things up to people somehow.”

“What about Mary?”

Xander looked up startled. He hadn’t missed how Spike’s voice tripped on the name.

“My therapist? How would you…”

“Your therapist?” Spike sounded exasperated. “Stupid, good for nothing Watchers,” growled the vampire, as if to himself.

Xander blinked into the candlelight. “My computer,” he breathed. “You saw my email to Mary?” He almost felt the wave of pain emanating from the man in his arms. “Christ, Spike, this jealousy thing is insane.”

“Yeah,” agreed the disgusted vampire. “Pretty debilitating.”

“Maybe Willow can do something about it.”

Spike gave him a stern parental look. “Can’t solve everything with magic, either, Xan.”

“Wow, Spike,” said Xander smiling into the blue eyes happily. “Gotta lot of rules for an evil undead thing, donchya?”

He looked down for a moment, then looked into Spike’s eyes again. “I’ve got to make amends with Marilyn, though, Spike,” he said seriously. “I’ve been avoiding it, but I know I have to.”

Spike looked away, thinking, then nodded to himself. “Promise me we’ll talk about this stuff, Xan.”

Xander shivered again, and reached for his shirt. “I promise, Spike. Now can we go home?”

They picked their way through a decimated graveyard. Apparently, by calling down the power, the Coven had set other thwarted magics loose. The results of truncated or poorly executed spells were everywhere. Graves were ruptured open all around them, their headstones cracked and tumbled. Oddly, amidst the devastation and decay, everything seemed beautiful to Xander. He reached automatically for Spike’s hand, and when he felt the vampire’s firm grasp he glanced up into the ethereal face, startled.

“I’m holding hands with my boyfriend,” he stated. Amazed.

Spike laughed and looked away, but he didn’t release Xander’s hand. He gestured at the fallen headstones. “All sorts of weird mojo wanderin’ around Sunnydale now, I’d wager,” he opined. “Red’s gonna have a mess to clean up.”

Xander couldn’t get his head away from the sensation of walking side by side with Spike. He wrapped his fingers more firmly around the cool fist and squeezed. “Feel like I’m on the other side of the wall, now,” he admitted oddly. “One of the imaginary creatures.”

Spike cast him a serious look. “That bother you, pet?” he asked slowly.

Xander walked thoughtfully for a moment, clasping the hand of the one he loved. The air felt cool and light and everything seemed to be cast in blue. His tired, sick body felt like some worn and lost object that had finally been placed back where it belonged. He grinned and looked at Spike through lowered lashes. “It’s like those stories about faeries seducing men,” he said huskily. “I always thought they were kinda sexy.”

“Oi, not a faerie, here, luv!” But Spike was laughing.

********************************************************************

They arrived back at the house that Willow had diplomatically vacated, wandered up to the bedroom. Xander put the mattresses back together and reached for Spike’s hand again, pulled the suddenly shy vampire down to him.

“We’re gonna talk about things now, right Xander?” sighed Spike, leaning into the kisses that Xander was pressing to his tousled hair.

“Yeah, things,” Xander whispered. “Thing number one. I love you, Spike. Thing number two.” he nipped at an ear lobe and smiled when the vampire whined. “I love you. I love you. Thing number three…” His hands ran all over Spike, as if he could see him with his palms.

Spike pressed into Xander’s caress. He was falling and falling. Xander’s warm hands stroking him all over. Xander’s warm lips and hot tongue devouring him. Sane, sober Xander whispering over and over that he loved him. Spike knew he was slipping over the cliff. Desperately he grasped at grass blades, trying to hold on. Xander’s hands were wandering over him. His fingers nimbly unbuttoned Spikes shirt and Spike felt it slip from his shoulders. Xander’s hands slid under Spike’s t-shirt and he felt warm palms lightly brush his nipples. He shuddered and hung on to the edge of the cliff. “Xander,” he demanded in a choking voice “Xander, wait.”

“I’m sorry,” said Xander breathlessly. He remembered his promise and forced his hands to drop away from the skin he couldn’t resist. “God, I’m so sorry, Spike. It’s just…” I need you so much. I need this so much.

“Just stop a mo,’” said Spike, himself breathless.

“Stopping,” Xander said shakily. His hands kept traveling back to Spike, he laughed a little to himself, “having a lot of trouble stopping here, Spike.” One hand reached irresistibly to touch a thigh, began sliding upward. Xander shuddered. “God,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Spike murmured, his hands beginning to wander again, also. “Just.” He paused gathering thoughts, “Just tell me somethin’, Xan.”

“What?”

“Just tell me this is real.”

Xander leaned against the vampire. His chin began nuzzling the cool white neck. He was helpless to stop himself. “No, Spike,” he growled. “This is just a television show.”

“The Spike and Xander Buddy show,” he said as an afterthought.

“Buddies?” Spike’s hands wandered lazily around the bottom of Xander’s shirt. Found a patch of skin, and drew slow swirls.

“Mates,” said Xander, shuddering as the cool fingers slid up his abdomen. He wriggled and helped Spike pull off his shirt.

“Mates who have sex,” Spike said with a laugh.

“Oh God,” moaned Xander as cool fingers found his nipples and pinched and swirled. “God, I hope so.” He turned to capture Spike’s mouth, but the vampire pre-empted that move and pushed Xander back firmly onto the mattress. He leant his head down and began copying his finger’s movement with his tongue. Slow swirls. “S” he painted wetly on Xander’s chest. “S” for Spike.

“So,” hissed Spike. He moved further down Xander’s chest. His tongue slowly painting, “P”. “So what do we do on this television show?”

“Mmmxtlpsss?” said Xander happily. His hands running through Spike’s hair.

“Mmmm, yeah. Besides that. What do we do?” He moved to Xander’s navel. His tongue flicked “I” “I” “I”. Xander groaned.

Spike stopped and looked up at Xander. He waited until Xander registered the loss of sensation and looked down at him. “Yer not concentratin’, mate,” growled Spike.

Xander flopped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “Well, there’s so much to do in Sunnydale.” He held up a hand to enumerate. Held aloft one finger. “There’s …Huh,” he laughed, “besides drinking? Whoa. Ah, fighting evil!” he said. He cocked an eyebrow at Spike.

Spike made a “well duh” face. “Yeah, okay. Then it’s ‘Spike and Xander, mates who fight evil show.”

“Nuh uh,” said Xander, “Spike and Xander, Mates who have SEX and Fight Evil Show.”

“Yeah, okay.” Spike’s head moved down again, nuzzled a trail of hair. “K” wrote his tongue.

“Mmmtxzpl,” moaned Xander.

Spike chuckled at the amusing anecdote he imagined Xander had just articulated and wrote a series of “E” s up the heavy cock. “Mrrrmmm,” he hummed. “I’d watch it.” And he swallowed Xander whole.


END

“The great tragedy of life is not that men perish, but that they cease to love.” W. Somerset Maugham