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| 2: Freak |
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“You live alone?” Spike
asked as he carried out a rapid, uninvited recce of the house. “Yeah. Why are you surprised?” “You never struck me as a
loner. Undeniable pack animal, the
Xander Harris I knew.” “That’s funny in ways you
can’t begin to understand.” Spike returned Xander’s
grin, appreciating the moment’s humour whether or not he understood the
source. Xander left Spike alone to
snoop, knowing there was nothing personal for him to find, and the vampire
exploited every minute. “So, never a Mrs Harris?”
Spike called as he came to the end of his methodical rummaging. “No-one could put up with
me after this…ability came out.” Spike entered the kitchen
to find Xander pressing a cloth filled with ice cubes to his jaw. “Oh, bugger,” was muttered
under his breath, but it was enough to make Xander jump. “I am sorry about that.” “You can stop apologising
now, you’re in.” “Can I take a look?” “No. Switch the kettle on, I’ll make coffee. Tea? I
don’t have anything stronger.” “No brandy for the
distraught and wilting?” “The idea is to stop
before…” Xander’s gregarious manner
vanished instantly; he shot a look of disappointment at the vampire before
replying tersely. “No. No brandy.” “I wasn’t taking the
piss.” “’Cause that wouldn’t be
like you at all, would it?” “I’m really not…” “How about…” Xander irritably tossed the cloth and ice
cubes into the sink. “…we get on with
what you’re here for, then you can leave.” Spike followed Xander to
the living room and slumped on the sofa as Xander sat rigidly in a vast and
comfy-looking leather chair, arms defensively crossed over his chest. “First things first: want
to put the ‘saving the world’ proposal to me formally so I get the pleasure of
telling you and Angel to go collectively fuck yourselves?” “Look, don’t go cold on
me because you took something I said the wrong way.” “What is this about?” “Actually…” Spike sat forward in his seat. “You don’t mention your
mother again until this is done.” Spike toned down the
glare he sent Xander and concentrated, or at least tried to, on the reason he
was officially there. “Right. First things first: I sincerely want your
help with this case I’m working on, I do want that. Edited highlights?” Xander nodded, a short disinterested movement. “A new prophecy’s been unearthed: usual
apocalyptical doom. The only bloke with
the knowledge to prevent what looks like an inter-dimensional war has been
killed, allegedly an accident, but it looks more like a hit, and it’s probably
to stop this very information being passed on.” “And you need to talk to
him, talk to Dead Guy?” “Yeah.” “Gee, I wonder where I
fit in.” “That’s it. Edited highlights. All you need to know.” “And this is why you
disrupted my meeting?” “Unintentionally
disrupted.” “You couldn’t have picked
up the phone?” “Rupert thought it’d be
best to come and see you. And like I
said, we weren’t expecting…” “Giles told you to come
to me. Giles sent Spike to Xander.
And you didn’t think to ask about the early onset of senile dementia?” “He thought you’d want to
help.” “Other mediums can do
what you want, and maybe they can—”
Xander stopped sharply, dry-washing his face before resting in his
hands, hiding for a moment. When he
looked up with an exhausted sigh, determined to put an end to this
idea/conversation/visit, he was stunned to see concern on Spike’s face. Completely undermined by that caring
expression, any animosity that had been driving him slipped away and he stunned
Spike in turn with a brief, apologetic smile. “It isn’t what I do any more.” “I can see that.” “I wasn’t that much good
when I was doing it.” “You played your part.” “And I’m not the most
reliable of mediums. You need the best
for something this crucial.” Spike realised that he’d
get nowhere by putting pressure on Xander and, let’s face it, at this precise
point in time he didn’t give a toss about what he was supposed to be here for, his focus had shifted entirely the moment
Xander had started to sing in that dingy little room at the rear of the meeting
hall. The sorrow that had filled him,
wracked his body after Angel’s departure, was still a heavy, agonizing weight,
and Spike’s mind, heart, soul were all fixed on one individual, and it wasn’t
someone who could affect any world other than his own. Looking for an inroad,
desperate for more information but cautious about heavy-handedly introducing
his mother into the conversation, Spike – with an assiduously manufactured
façade of cool, objective interest that didn’t fool Xander for a moment – asked… “Tell me about it. How it all works.” “That’ll take… Edited highlights?” “Do nicely.” Xander sank lower in his
chair, stretching out now and making himself comfortable, giving the impression
that even the edited highlights meant long haul. “’Kay… Very basically, clairaudience: that’s hearing
the voices of people who have passed over.
Clairvoyance: seeing spirits or anything they’re trying to show me. Clairsentience… That’s the tricky one, that’s…feeling what
they felt. It can be difficult to cope
with if the feelings are very strong.” “Like at that
meeting? Those people who were trying to
show you what Angel…” “Yeah,” Xander cut him
short, unconsciously touching his own throat.
“Like that.” Spike waited for more but
nothing was forthcoming. “That it?” “Edited highlights.” “Blimey, any more edited
and it wouldn’t have been worth drawing the breath to speak.” “It’s enough though?” “You don’t read minds,
or…make ghosts appear, or…” “I’m a medium, I don’t do
party tricks.” “What’s it like when…” Spike’s voice trembled momentarily and he
swallowed hard. “When you see
things? Is it like…real people, living
people?” Xander paused because of the falter, but Spike’s earnest attention encouraged him to continue. “Um… Yes, but…
No. A form builds up from
ectoplasm and it can take a while before the person seems solid. For a time they’re transparent, and they
gradually become more…real. Although I
don’t like that term, ‘cause they’re all…” “Did you see her?” The question burst out of
Spike as the façade spectacularly collapsed, and the distress in his voice made
Xander, quite literally, sit up and pay attention. Despite knowing from experience quite how
emotional Spike could be, it was still troubling to witness the rapid
disintegration of the character when faced with something that had evidently
plagued him for well over a century. “Your mother?” Xander
gently confirmed, and Spike was temporarily speechless, looking over at him
with eyes that were transformed into pools of liquid blue. “No, I didn’t see her, I heard her.” “I need to know…” Spike’s voice, hoarse with emotion, caught
and failed. Drawn by that
irresistible beseeching gaze, Xander slowly rose and crossed to join Spike on
the sofa, paying great attention to every nuance of the vampire’s body
language, sagging shoulders to clenching, clenching hands, more than willing to
help if he could, but anxious not to get another thump. “There isn’t much more I can tell you, but…if you want my impressions…?” A frantic nod and Xander thought back to their earlier encounter, easily recalling the sense of the kindly woman who’d spoken to him. “She seemed quite content. I wasn’t aware of any trauma in her present existence.” “No?” Spike whispered,
and at the slightest shake of Xander’s head, Spike’s eyes clenched tightly
shut, tears that he didn’t attempt to hide or wipe, tumbling down his face. “What I did to her,” he managed to croak,
“what I made her…” “I’m aware that you
turned her.” “Killed her. I killed
her. Yes, turned her. Found I’d…I’d screwed it up. Had to…
I… St…staked her. Killed her.
Again. I killed her.” “The person I felt was
warm and caring, and eager to tell you she loves you.” More tears and Xander edged closer, putting
what he hoped was a comforting hand on Spike’s wrist. “She’s still your mom and she loves you.” “I thought I’d—” Spike gasped a breath,
a belated attempt to
find a little restraint. “Thought I’d
condemned her to – to eternal damnation.” “Well, I guess you
screwed that up too,” Xander teased, but kindly, and it raised a smile before
the next flood of tears. It was hard to stay with Spike - a weeping vampire brought back memories that Xander didn’t want to entertain, even after all these years, so, trusting Spike would be okay now the worst admission had been aired, he stood and started to creep toward the door. “Is she around now?”
Spike’s hopeful voice brought him back.
“Please?” “No, I’m sorry, she
isn’t.” Spike looked crestfallen. “And you can’t…” “They come to me
voluntarily, I can’t force them here.” “But she might come
back?” A sinking of very earthly
spirits as Xander realised that this could mean Spike lurking until he’d heard
whatever he needed to, but… “Yes, she might.” “Is there anyone
else…y’know, around? For me?” Xander concentrated,
moved closer to Spike, then further away. “That’s really strange,
I…” Xander shook his head, put aside his
curiosity over spirits and demons, and concentrated on finding an answer for
Spike. “When we’re apart…I can feel
people there, but I think… It’s not the
kind of contact you want, it’s…” “My victims,” Spike
acknowledged flatly. “Yeah.” “Funny they didn’t show
up at that meeting.” “They did. There were simply more of Angel’s, and he’d
created greater hatred. I got the
impression he liked to play with his food, while you were— God, I don’t want this conversation.” Xander tried to leave
that mental image behind and returned to the kitchen, pouring milk into a pan
to make hot chocolate for them both, pleased to find a pack of marshmallows
that Simone had left in the cupboard. It
seemed ridiculous to be cosseting a demon, but…
Xander recognised bone-deep suffering when he saw it; the person he’d
had no choice but to become wasn’t about to shun anyone who was in mourning. The spirits that had been
reluctant to talk while he was in Spike’s company surged forward now, and
Xander was inundated with messages, some from Spike’s victims, but others that
had no bearing and were a confusing, jumbled mass, the kind of tumult that
drove Xander to believe that he had been right in his first assessment of this
condition: he was indeed quite crazy. Fingers on his temples,
rubbing at the growing tension ache, Xander tried to separate the voices on the
off chance that there was something in the hubbub that bore any relevance to
the here and now. One moment they were a
barrage, the next they were swiftly easing off, and Xander looked in the
direction of the hallway, anticipating Spike’s presence, already having
discovered and accepted – without too many probably unanswerable questions –
that proximity to the demon kept them at bay. Spike was standing in the doorway, awkward
and appearing…not fully recovered, but as if he were playing the part of a man
who was. Xander offered up a mug. Spike seemed about to accept, then hesitated. “You look knackered,
maybe I should…” Xander gave an un-amused
amused snort. “You want in on the
running joke?” Spike raised his brows
questioningly. “I’m not good at
sleeping. Hopefully I’ll catch a couple
of hours before tonight’s meeting, but I’m not counting on it.” Despite the lightness of
his tone, Spike noticed Xander’s hands shook when he made the comment and it
didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was a difficult subject. “Then… Yes, ta.” Spike took the chocolate
and scooped out a melting marshmallow, affectionately remembering another
mother as he sucked it off his finger. “I’m not trying to stop
you if you want to leave.” “I didn’t think you
were.” “And won’t you need to
make a move before dawn?” Spike paused with the mug
halfway to his mouth. “Didn’t think of that,
did I? I was so preoccupied by what I
was here to— By what I wasn’t here to ask you…” “This mean I’ll be stuck
with you?” Xander grinned. “You want me
to tie you to a chair? Relive the
not-so-glorious past.” “Not stuck,” Spike said
with a mean look. “I can phone for a car
anytime.” “You going to hit me
again?” Spike blinked with
surprise at that coming out of the blue. “No.” “You going to make a pain
of yourself over this ‘mission’?” “No. Should be important – is important – but it doesn’t feel it in the light of— Y’know.” “I know.” Spike nodded and became fascinated by the
contents of his mug. Xander led them
back to the living room and sat in his armchair. “If you keep your fists to yourself, and
don’t bring it up again – saving the world, not your mom – you can… You’re welcome to stay.” “Welcome?” “That’s what I said.” “Why?” “C’mon, you know from
past experience that I’ll tolerate you rather than throw you out and let you burn.” “Welcome?” Spike
persisted, and watched the strain return to Xander’s face. “Company is… Rare,” Xander admitted after a few minute’s
thought. “My choice,” he added before
Spike could insert a comment about other people’s good taste. Spike wasn’t thinking
anything of the sort, having learned in a very short space of time to view
Xander through kinder eyes. A reflection
of getting something he wanted, certainly, but also of not being ridiculed for
his fears or blamed for the necessity of them, and this from the person who, at
one time, would have unkindly made the most of Spike’s confession and
subsequent anguish. “Hard life, is it?” “Aspects are. But not hard as in
it being a hardship, I can’t for a
moment claim that, just… The closer
people get, the more…attachments they bring along.” “Attachments as in…” Spike waved a finger in the air. “Yeah. Most mediums can choose when to – for want of
a better description – tune into the right wavelength to pick up voices, but I’m
permanently tuned in, I don’t have the ability to tune out or switch off, it’s
like…” Spike pulled a troubled
face. “Oh, yeah, that expression sums it
up perfectly.” “Know what it’s like,
don’t I? Living with voices that don’t
belong in a body’s head.” “I would
never have thought of
that. It has to feel the same - no way
to disconnect, the wavelength is always active.” “That one of the reasons
you think I should find someone else for…that thing we’re not talking about?” Xander nodded. “I get distracted,
sometimes I can’t be selective and I’m simply…overwhelmed. I am flattered that you asked me, and I can’t
tell you what it means to me that Giles thought I was capable, but… I have to be realistic, for my sake, for
yours. Mankind’s. And I’m sorry that I can’t recommend anyone
who’d do the job but not be freaked by the stadium of victims. ‘Cause that is scary.” “You were scared of the
people?” “Not the people, the actual
victims, no. But what they were showing
me, letting me feel, that was…” Xander
shuddered. Wary that Xander might
ask him how he reconciled himself to the past – a question Spike knew he
couldn’t answer to the human’s satisfaction – the vampire kept quiet and
surreptitiously watched as Xander eventually closed his eye and relaxed in his
chair. Meditation or a rare interval of sleep,
Spike couldn’t tell, but Xander’s breathing slowed and his heart rate
dropped. Spike had just decided on sleep
when Xander quietly spoke. “Are you ever scared?” Spike considered that
carefully, refusing to reply with noisy, dismissive bluff when Xander was being
so honest with him, while there was trust to be built. And, yes, while Xander had so much he wanted. “I have been. There are times when I know I should be. It’s rare nowadays.” “All scared out? Lucky man.
Vampire.” “It’s true, y’know: what
doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
Look at you.” “The last thing I want to
do is look at me.” Xander opened his eye
to meet Spike’s curiosity. “I’m afraid
that if I look too closely I’ll see that you were right.” “I was right?” “Mmm. Freak.” Xander stood and wandered
off, leaving Spike feeling like an utter shit for ever using that word. He sat and sulked, listening to Xander’s
progress, hearing the distant sounds of the shower starting, Xander singing,
and he sounded cheerful enough. “Maybe he’s used to being
called a freak,” Spike said to himself, and that suggestion was as
discomforting as referring to Xander as such in the first place. He switched on the TV,
flicked around the channels, finished his chocolate, finished Xander’s
chocolate, put his feet up and tried to be exactly what Xander would expect on
his return. Because Xander used to
dismiss everything Spike said, every hurtful barb or jibe would be like water
off a duck’s back, and that’s just what Spike needed now. For his own peace of mind and, okay, he
grudgingly included Xander. All the deliberately
casual posing proved fruitless on Xander’s return. As he passed by the living room door he broke
his humming long enough to call out and ask Spike if he wanted something to
eat. Automatic ‘yes’ to that, and Spike
was up and following Xander into the kitchen, being sent back to collect the
empty mugs while Xander studied the contents of the fridge. “What do you fancy?” “What have you got?” “Pretty well stocked up.” “Is this your doing, or
is there someone else taking such diligent care of the guru?” Xander laughed at that. “Guru?” “Hanging on your every
word, weren’t they?” “At the meeting? The people in the audience hang on every word
because of who might be talking, not because it comes out of my mouth in
particular. You should watch some of the
more experienced mediums work. Or,
better still, you shouldn’t.” “Food of the gods!” Spike
suddenly exclaimed and pulled a cylindrical cardboard tube from the cupboard he
was rifling through. Xander closed the fridge
and turned to see what Spike had found. “What is? Oh, those.
Favourites of H’s, he buys them especially.” “Ah, right, thought he
was a bit Oxbridge.” “He went to college in Spike snorted. “ “Fine as the cookies?”
Xander grinned. “Biscuits. English chocolate
biscuits. Can I have these?” “You gonna share?” “No!” Spike snapped as if
it was the most outrageous suggestion he’d ever heard. “Maybe,” he adjusted sulkily before the pack
could be repossessed by Xander. “You can have them if you
ask for the cookies.” “Bollocks. There’s a reason the language is called
English. You know what you can do with
your cookies.” Spike went to smash the
pack down but his inherent reverence for McVitie’s won out and he replaced the
tube in the cupboard. “You’re not going to
steal them?” “No,” Spike pouted. “Then you can have them.” Spike’s expression
morphed from shock to disbelief to pleasure. “Right,” was all the
thanks Xander received. “When are they
on?” “On? What?
What on what?” “The more experienced
mediums.” “At the weekend,
but… No,
Spike. You’ll be gone by then anyhow.” “You on tomorrow night?” Xander turned a very
suspicious look on Spike. “And you want to
know…?” Spike shrugged
nonchalantly. “Your air of disinterest
needs working on, pal.” Spike adjusted
his features to ‘seriously bored in a tedious existence’ and shrugged
again. “That’s better. A little effort…” “You mind if I come
along?” “Stadium of victims,”
Xander explained with forced patience, ruffling his damp hair in an already
familiar irritable movement. “Maybe that won’t happen
again.” Glare. “Or maybe you’ll cope
better this time, now you know what you’re dealing with.” Glaaare. “I promise I’ll leave if they overwhelm the
proceedings,” Spike offered. Xander was back in the
fridge. “How about… Eggs, bacon, tomato, got some hash browns in
the freezer…?” “I won’t be any trouble.” “Fucking hell, don’t say
that! A Spike that won’t be any
trouble? It’s like…finding myself in
another dimension where chinchillas control the Hellmouth.” “Actually, they can be
nasty little brutes, I remember when we—”
Glaaaaare. “Maybe not.
Nice fry up sounds spot on.” “Why do you want to
attend another meeting? Are we back to
your mom?” “No.” Seeing straight through
the lie, Xander impatiently clattered a pan onto the stove and lit the gas. “Make yourself useful,
wash up the mugs.” Spike bit back the
‘fuck off’ and did as he was asked, unable to find a towel afterwards and
pulling the back of Xander’s baggy t-shirt out of his sweatpants and drying his
hands on that. “I died, didn’t I?”
Xander groaned. “I was run down on the
way to the hall tonight and I’m in a brimstone-lite minor hell dimension with a
Spike-alike who’s going to make eternity one long moment of intense
annoyance. Hash browns. And don’t you put your hands anywhere near me
at all when they come out of the freezer.” “Wouldn’t have dreamed of
it.” “The butter wouldn’t melt
expression could do with a little work too.” Spike’s face became a
picture of perfect soulful innocence, and Xander grinned and shook his head. Spike brought back the hash browns from the
freezer, and hopefully banged down a bag of onion rings. “I want to watch you
work. I enjoy mediums, Dru used to
delight in them.” “Is there a
viscera-drenched anecdote that goes with this?
‘Cause…no. Hugely no.” Spike filed that
delightful story away for another time and pitilessly attacked Xander’s weakest
line of defence. “All right. I’m not expecting my mother, but I can hope,
can’t I? Like everyone else there who
wants a message. There’s always a hope.” Spike saw his victory
flit over Xander’s face and fought back the smile that might unbalance the
scales. “Okay. But if it starts to go wrong…” “I’m out of there. You won’t see me for dust. And that’s – that’s a troubling turn of
phrase for a vampire.” Xander turned back to his
cooking, giggling quietly to himself, and the warning look that Spike gave him
didn’t need any practise at all. They talked through a Spike had seen the other
scattered Scoobies more recently than Xander and was able to catch the human up
with their lives and more. “Dawn? With a Mohican?” Xander repeated when he’d
finished choking on his food. Spike balanced two hands
with spread fingers on the top of his head in a copy of the punk plume Dawn was
now sporting. “Looks a treat, she
does. Yellow at the roots, blue at the
tips.” “You’re making this
up.” Spike crossed his heart with a
finger. “I would have heard Buffy
explode, even from here,” Xander insisted. “The hair is nothing
compared to the boyfriend.” “He trouble?” was
anxiously demanded. “Nah, just has that feel
about him.” “You’re sure about that?” Spike nodded and helped
himself to more onion rings, not choosing to reveal that Dawn’s boyfriend
reminded him of his own calculated transition from William to Spike, and even
if the boy looked and worked very hard at being a Spike, in Dawn’s company and
unknowingly observed, he transformed into a complete and utter William. “He loves the Bit. Slayer won’t be told so let her worry, seeing
as she always knows best.” “Buffy upset you
recently?” Xander bit back a grin. “Not talking about that,”
Spike retorted sourly. “I thought you got on so
well now.” “Bloody woman. Never comes up with a plan that involves
exploding her own sodding car as a diversion.” “Buffy broke Spike’s
car?” Xander said with faux sympathy, soulful eyes and pouting bottom lip. “Sod off.” Xander laughed and
snatched the last of the bacon before Spike could claim it, amazed that he had
an appetite for once, and astounded that this unexpected encounter had cheered
him considerably rather than been a disturbance to his deliberately tranquil
life. They talked. And talked. “You want to get some
sleep?” Xander asked when he finally noticed that the world beyond the drapes
had lightened. “There’s a guest room.” Spike simply wriggled
further into the deep corner of the sofa. “I’m good here. If you want to go up…” Xander dismissed that and
made more tea and coffee to accompany the last few cookies, thought of another
dozen or so things he wanted to discuss, and hurried back to his improbable
companion. They talked. And talked.
And talked. And when Spike
finally nodded off, Xander crept closer and made himself comfortable at the
opposite end of the sofa, taking advantage of the demon’s quietening effect on
the voices and settling down to a rare, semi-undisturbed doze. … Xander woke first, mid
afternoon, feeling remarkably refreshed and grateful enough not to start
questioning the sanity of spending the morning, not only snoozing alongside a
vampire, but inching closer and closer to him as it became clear that an almost
complete silence could eventually be achieved.
Naturally he’d never tell Spike that he’d made this discovery when he
was approximately a hair’s breadth from the vampire’s body, and he certainly
wasn’t about to divulge that he’d all but curled up to him for the respite. Rising and stretching
with a satisfied creak, Xander strolled away; behind him, a single blue eye
opened to a slit and the faintest smile touched Spike’s mouth. The armoury was
bolstered: knowledge was such a
useful weapon. … Spike tracked Xander down
to the kitchen about half-an-hour later, yawning and scrubbing his fingers in
his hair, playing the part of the recently woken. As he approached, Xander backed away, not out
of alarm but to carry on the conversation he was having with an unseen presence. Spike naughtily pretended not to have caught
on and managed to drive Xander into the drizzly garden before turning back to
explore the fridge. “What are we having?”
Spike asked when Xander returned, rubbing his damp and chilly arms. “You can have whatever
you want, I stick to tea and toast whenever I’m taking the meeting.” “Food affects your
ability?” “I get nervous. Really
nervous. Therefore I try to stick to
food that won’t projectile vomit past the second row.” “I’d pay to see that.” “You can be so…” “The front row was full
of deaf old biddies, it’d be…” “No. No alternative
entertainment. You come along tonight
and sit at the back, you don’t speak to anyone, you don’t amuse yourself by
flashing yellow eyes, you don’t feast on…
That’s a point, what are you going to do about blood?” “Why, you offering?”
Spike asked with a deliberate look that swept greedily over Xander and stopped,
with interest rather than guilt, at the purple bruise on his jaw. “In your dreams, pal.” “I fed well before I came
to this forsaken dump.” “It’s a nice dump: nice
place, nice people.” “You’re only saying that
because they haven’t lynched you for devil worship.” “Oh, yeah, ninety-eight
percent freak-tolerant.” Spike’s manner
changed instantly, and Xander understood why: Spike wasn’t the only one who was
paying attention. “Spike… The freak thing didn’t matter, okay? You’re acting like I never got called it
before you showed up, but that isn’t the case, it’s something…” Xander dismissed the subject with an untidy
wave of the hand. “…something I have to
live with.” “Anyone says that to you
in my presence…” “Hey, look, this is us,
getting along, freakier still. Let’s not
end this freak show by getting arrested ‘cause you punched out the town
bigot. Now, there’s an opening, maybe you could apply to be the town bigot: I don’t know the pay and hours but I’d take a
bet that you have unlimited rights on terrorising the liberals.” “I thought you’d
changed. You haven’t changed.” “No?” “Open that gob and a great
stream of twaddle pours out.” “I’d take offence to that
if I gave a shit about anything you said.” “See, nothing’s changed.” “Nothing?” Xander checked. Spike shrugged and picked at the piece of fried chicken he’d liberated from the fridge. “Fine.” Xander lashed out, catching Spike across the jaw and sending him thumping back against the door. The demon rose to the surface and the expression on Spike’s insulted rather than damaged face was a scary image. Xander instantly held up his hands in surrender. “For yesterday. Now we’re even.” There was a long tense
moment before the vampire’s face smoothed back to human; a longer moment still
before Spike gave an amused nod, and went back for more chicken. … A couple of hours before
the meeting they strolled to the hall, and Xander cautiously broached the
subject of the initial reason for Spike’s visit. “Will it be hard? To find another medium?” “Rupert must have
suggested you for a reason. Maybe he
knew you’d be brave enough to take on something…” “Sucking up to me won’t
work.” “Seriously. I don’t know any other mediums, but – forget
the stadium of victims for a moment and think about the job itself – is there
one that you could introduce to this situation without them wetting their
knickers?” Xander went through a
mental list of his immediate colleagues and those he knew in passing; it didn’t
take more than a few seconds to see Spike’s point. “Giles thought I should
do it?” “Didn’t say should,”
Spike replied honestly. “But obviously
thought could.” “It’s going to be
dangerous, isn’t it?” “What makes you think
that?” In receipt of Xander’s cynical
look, Spike nodded. “If this bloke we
need to talk to was murdered, there’s
a chance that anyone helping contact him would be next in line.” “It would mean falling
out of sight?” “Low profile until the
appropriate time, yes.” “I couldn’t leave here.” “You’ve already said no,
Xander, I’m not pressing you.” “Yeah, I know, I
appreciate that.” “Be hard for you, packing
up your house…” “The house isn’t mine, it
belongs to the chapel.” “Same difference: it’s
your home.” “Can’t you find someone
non-human to contact Dead Guy for you?
Wouldn’t that cut out some of the problems?” “The prophecy indicates
that the manifestation – Dead Guy’s contribution – is via a human, and it goes
on about strength from weakness, and some claptrap about the mediator’s
mortality.” “It’s that risky?” “No, the mortality thing
isn’t about dying because of this business, it’s more a reference to the kind
of being we need to…” “I get it.” “I’d be looking out for
you. If you were doing it. Which you’re not.” Xander smiled at that
before opting for a little silent rumination.
When they arrived at the hall’s rear doors he stopped and turned to
Spike. “Answer me something
honestly?” “If I can.” “Damn, I just asked Spike
to answer a question honestly. And he
agreed to try. One of us has seriously
lost the plot.” “Yeah, but, apart from
that…?” Xander took a deep
breath, and a troubled frown kinked his brow. “Don’t you think I’ve
done enough? What I’ve given, what I’ve
lost?” “No-one’s expecting…” “Haven’t I done enough?” Spike stared into the
troubled brown eye and eventually nodded. “You’ve done enough.” Letting out a relieved
breath, Xander turned and walked into the building; Spike permitted himself a
moment of smugness, feeling the weight on the line and mentally preparing the
landing net.
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