They were walking back to Xander’s, just reaching the point of short way versus long way, when Spike ensured it was the protracted walk, suspecting he was shoving his foot in his mouth yet again as he asked…

“Do you get to talk to people you’ve lost?  Have you been able to talk to…”  He attempted a nonchalant shrug. “I d’know…  Anya?”

Xander swallowed audibly hard.

“No.  Like I said, I can’t bring individuals to me.  But at least this way I know she’s okay.”

“Okay?  You think?”

“I know.”

“She get to heaven then?”

“Why shouldn’t she?” Xander challenged, feeling intense protectiveness for his deceased ex and trying not to let his hands curl into fists.

“She was a demon for a long time, indisputably killed more people than I did.”

“But she died a human, a souled human; she was repentant and she died helping to save mankind.  It counts.”

“Does that mean I’m not automatically damned?”

Xander stopped them to stare at Spike, deeply and without expression.  Until he gave a brief, cynical smile.

“You’re repentant?”

“No choice with this bloody soul.”

“Well…  I’m no expert, but at a guess…  Until you’re repentant without the bloody soul forcing you into it, you’re probably in trouble.”

“Ah.  Cheers.”

“Your choice.”

They walked.

“You spoken to anyone you knew from before?”

“I have someone with me, not my spirit guide, but an old friend who’s around when I need him: he acts as an enabler and – that’s a spirit that helps others communicate with me – and that’s about it.”

“Saul, is it?”

“He’s my guide.”

“Then it has to be Jesse.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve heard you talking to him.”

“Who is it you want to know about?”

Spike looked away, almost shyly.

“Joyce,” he quietly confessed.  “I know it’s a long time ago now, but The First kept playing around with her, and I’ve found myself wondering if that…”

“Her image, Spike, it wasn’t her.  The First didn’t hurt her, I don’t think it could.”

“You know that from what you do?”

“I know that because I figured it out at the time.  If The First had been able to hurt the people we’d lost, it would have used that against us.  Can you imagine how much Buffy would have suffered if she couldn’t have prevented the torture of her mom’s immortal soul?  The distraction alone would have made her weaker and…”

“You figured that out, did you?  All that time back.  And you didn’t feel like sharing?”

Xander gave a sarcastic laugh.

“What could this lackbrain possibly know that the mighty William the Bloody couldn’t figure out for himself?”

Spike hesitated in his reply; Xander hoped  - but doubted – it was because he felt guilty about the thousand-and-one insults he’d called the human back in Sunnydale.  Then again…pots and kettles.

“Wasn’t thinking too clearly,” Spike eventually mumbled.  “What with the soul, The First in my head…”

“Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you.  I’m not magically a better person because of what I do.”

“Still hate me then?  I thought we were getting on rather well.  For us.”

“I…”  Xander sighed.  “I didn’t hate you at the end of Sunnydale, Spike, and that’s much too extreme to describe how I feel now, but…there’s a long way to go until I forget some stuff I really need to forget if we’re working together.”  Spike chuckled; Xander’s fingers knotted and tightened.  “What?” Xander demanded.  “The forgetting stuff isn’t funny, I promise you.”

“I know that.  It’s this.  Us.  Working together.  Not chasing around after the slayer, but…us.  You and me, Harris.  Working together.”

“Do you respect what I do?”

Another hesitation.

“Are you asking if I respect you?” Spike attempted to clarify.

“Am I a fake?”

“No.  No, course you’re not.”

“Think about it.”

“You’re not.”

Spike was quite adamant and Xander was pleasantly reassured, if a little surprised at how much an affirmative answer had mattered to him.

“Okay, not a fake.  A freak?” Xander smiled.

The vampire rocked his hand in a gesture of indecisiveness and Xander couldn’t stop a laugh at that.  Spike smiled and dropped the hand.

“What you do…is special,” he conceded, albeit grudgingly.  “S’pose you’d take offence if I smacked that grin off your face.”

“Yeah, s’pose I would,” Xander grinned.  Wider.  “And I certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to do you any favours.”

Spike gave one of his infamous drama queen sighs before making an unexpected dash up the road.  Xander glanced around himself: an element of wariness, rather more confusion as he tried to figure out what had brought that on, but his attention was soon sidetracked.  The voices crept in, crept and then surged, messages for the people in the houses he passed, the cars that passed him, rows of voices for rows of houses, a trickle of voices for the trickle of traffic.  Slowing to a stroll, Xander muttered his comments to those surrounding him, trying to convey the inaccessibility of those they wanted to contact, accustomed to this and untroubled by the few spirits that began to materialise in proximity to him.  One was a child, and the children always affected Xander deeply, even the carefree ones that came to share cheeky stories and happy thoughts.  He stopped two feet short of this one and hoped she could see him.

“Hi, Honey, who do you belong to?”  No response from the child but Xander felt Saul leading his mind away, far away.  “Can’t help you right now, I’m sorry, you should be miles west.”  Xander knelt on one knee, coming eye to eye with the spirit, convinced she barely registered him.  “Someone’s going to take you to where you need to be.  You’ll be okay.”  Xander watched as the apparition faded, and he warmed as he felt Jesse, experienced the scents of childhood that always accompanied this momentary closeness.

“Is it still around?” Spike’s voice echoed down the street.  “Your uber-nasty?”

“No.  This is normal,” Xander said as he straightened up.

“What was that?  You were just talking to?”

“None of your business.”

A new voice whispered to Xander and he fell perfectly still; he listened.  One moment he was a spectator, the next…

Victim.

Damp air.  Age.  Dark.  Water lapping.  Decay.  Filth, wet filth.  Polluted river, Xander quickly figured.  Age, feeling of the past.  Heels clicking on paveme…no, cobbles.  Age.  Dark, sensation of dark, and…not being alone in the dark.  Not alone in the dark, and Xander felt the icy slide of fear travel down his spine.  This man, this other, this victim.  Who doesn’t know.  But…  Water lapping, wet filth, click, click, click on cobbles.  Not alone in the dark.  Glancing back over his shoulder…  What’s there?  What’s following?  Nothing.  Something.  Home want home want home want…  Speeding up now, turning, facing front, facing front to find…  The golden eyes of a devil, and this other is unable to prevent himself shrieking with terror as a meanly grinning mouth opened and fangs…

“Xander?”

The images, voices, manifestations dispersed at Spike’s concerned approach, and Xander reached out to grab and pound the startled vampire, wanting revenge, wanting to reciprocate, cause the pain that…  Wasn’t his.  Xander stepped back, hands flat, fingers spreading, not wanting fists, not this time.  A vessel of communication, not judge and jury, not an instrument of retribution.  A mere witness.

“Docks.  I think…I think…  London,” he stuttered.  “You.”  Xander rubbed at his neck, at the latest wound that wasn’t there.  “You.”

At first Spike was stuck for words, his expressive face a picture of shame and regret.

“Long time ago,” he ventured when several minutes had passed.

“Yes,” with no apparent emotion at all from Xander.

That seemed to be that.  Nothing more to say.  They began to walk, and when Xander weaved across the pavement Spike caught his arm and held it firmly until Xander shook him off.  To be expected, Spike was reasoning with himself, when Xander’s hand shocked him by sliding into the crook of Spike’s elbow…  ‘Taught me to accept help honestly.’  …merely making itself more comfortable when Spike bent his arm to make a cradle for it, and there it remained as they slowly and silently, reflectively, made their way to Xander’s home.

…

It didn’t take Xander long to gather his possessions together: beyond his clothes and toiletries there was a small collection of photographs, a couple of books and notepads, a tiny personal stereo that Spike’s fingers itched to steal, settling instead for showing a feigned casual interest and scrolling through the thousand or so song titles as Xander checked the house to see if he’d forgotten anything he needed.

“I’m not big on ownership,” Xander said as he went, not caring whether Spike could hear him or not.  “I’ve lost so much stuff over the years.  First Sunnydale, then in Africa.  Coming home, I was barely off the boat before I got mugged.”

“You didn’t bring your blanket though.  I thought you liked that.”

“No, I…”  Xander dropped his voice; he thought the bedroom was far enough away from Spike so the vampire wouldn’t hear.  “Thought if I left that at the hall it was a sign I’d be coming back for it.”

Spike heard perfectly well, but he knew the tone.  Xander was due that scrap of privacy.

Ten more minutes of pointless checking and Xander came and sat opposite Spike, staring at nothing, looking completely shell-shocked by the turn his life had taken, from peace to turmoil in two days.

“I must be crazy,” he muttered to himself.  Spike ignored him, simply got on with surreptitiously erasing any tracks on the player that he’d rather combust than hear Xander sing along with.  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Now that Spike paid attention to.

“Which part of this?”

“The leaving.”

“You’ll be back.  Probably sooner than you think.”

“And you can guarantee me that?”

“No.”

“And there you go again with the honesty.  Have you learned nothing about dealing with the promise of a horrible end?  Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.”

“Where did the horrible end come from?”

“What I…”  Xander shuddered as he recalled the thoughts that the entity had pushed into his mind.  “I hope this isn’t coincidence, I hope this is you.”  Spike looked the question.  “Deal with Dead Guy, this…thing takes a spiritual hike, and…  The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“I meant what I said.  We’ll help you.”

“You can speak for Angel?”

“Whatever you think of him – we think of him – you know he wouldn’t let you suffer if there was anything he could do to stop it.”  Xander nodded, patently unconvinced.  “Buffy’d make his life misery if he didn’t,” Spike tried, and the slight smile that thought raised would have to be enough.

“Why do we have to leave right now?  The entity…”

“The people who killed Dead Guy might have tabs on us.  Now you’re on the anti-apocalypse team I don’t want you to be Dead Guy Two.”

“This just gets better and better.”

“If you’re ready I’ll give Angel a call, get him to send us a car.”

“I’ve got a car.”

“You’ve…what?” Spike demanded stiffly.

“I’ve got a car.  It’s in the garage.”

“In the garage as in in the workshop, being fixed?”

“In the garage as in in the garage, the one attached to the house.”

“So why are we walking everywhere?”

“Hardly everywhere.  The hall is about five minutes away.”

“It’s never taken five minutes yet!”

“Because I keep taking us the long way so we can talk.”

“Whatever happened to the comfort of sitting in a nice warm motor for a natter?” Spike all but ranted.  “Anyone else would have shown a little consideration, but no, you have to drag me through the streets like a stray on a bit of string.  Technology is totally wasted on a bloody oik like you.”

“I wouldn’t say that.  Someone handed me a tazer right now I’d happily use it.”

“Charming.  I’m going to save your life and…”

“Should I remind you that my life didn’t need saving until you showed up?”

“Stop changing the subject.”

“That is the subject, and since when was this about saving my life?  I thought…”

“We were talking about the car, yes, that’s right, try to keep up.  Where are the keys?”

“No way, you’re not driving.”

“You’re in no fit state.”

“I’m perfectly capable.”

“What if the uber-nasty reappears?”

“Isn’t that the point of having to keep your tedious – sorry, Freudian slip - illustrious company?”

Spike rose abruptly

“Shall I just go then?  Leave you to your mangled-limbed, kiddie-splitting future?”

“Sure, fine, missing you already, just…”  Xander went to Spike and, despite the protestations, burrowed in his pocket, taking back the stereo.  “If you can manage it without stealing any of my meagre possessions it would be appreciated.”

Spike looked from Xander’s thoroughly pissed off face to the player, and back to Xander.  Then he grinned.

“Like old times, innit?”

“You’re going,” Xander prompted.

“Yes.  With you, to the car.  Now…  Where did you say the keys were?”

…

It was a Mustang Convertible in Screaming Yellow, hardly the most appropriate car for an inconspicuous tour of the back of beyond, and although Spike took an immediate liking to the thing he griped the necessary gripe about…well, everything, but practically hopped from foot to foot in his impatience for Xander to hand over the keys and let him drive.  Which Xander naturally refused to do, hoping to retain a little of the so-far non-discernible balance of this partnership.

Spike got to navigate, and an hour before dawn they drove into a small motel, Spike not bothering to ask Xander about what kind of arrangements he wanted before booking a twin room for them, then it was a visit to the diner before they were prevented by daylight.  As they sat waiting for their steak and fries, Xander stared unseeingly out of the window and, quite simply, regretted.

“I should have said goodbye properly.  I should have at least left them a note.  Will I be able to call them?”

“No.  It’s safer for them if they know nothing.”  Xander nodded, leaned his elbows on the table and head in his hands.  Spike nudged his shin with a booted toe when it looked as if he might be dropping off.

“What?”

“You know what you were saying earlier?  About Anya having a soul, and repenting?”

“What about it?”

“Do you think that if something has a soul it should be assumed to be good, and if not it should be assumed to be bad?”

“God, no.  Once maybe, when I was younger and dumber, but I grew out of that.  Besides, I’m pretty sure that the most evil creature we ever came across had a soul.”

“Really?  Some kind of…mutated demon, was it?”

“That may have been the answer, but…  No.  No excuses, human through and through and…wow, evil like you’ve never known.”

“Have I heard of him?  Her?”

“Him.  And…  Even the name, even now.”  Xander shuddered and Spike waited, all big-eyed interest.  Xander sat forward and dropped his voice; Spike automatically mirrored the lean.  “Snyder,” Xander said in a low, troubled voice.  “Snyder.”

Spike’s face was grim.

“Sounds…”

“Yeah.  Was.”

“Want me to kill him for you?”

“Too late.  He got eaten when Sunnydale’s mayor turned into a giant snake.”

“Anyone else and I’d think it was a load of bollocks, but…you have the history, mate.”

“And Spike…  You’re probably not supposed to be offering to kill people for me.”

“I fight evil.”

“You’re a murderer.  On a whim – and this time it would be on my whim – and…  Did that sound as pervy to you?”

“Isn’t it a romantic human notion?  Having someone prepared to kill for you?  Destroy your enemies?”

“Well…”

“Was in my day.”

“Notion, maybe.  Reality…  Twenty-five to life.”

“So…  Anya killed and maimed, relentlessly, for a thousand years, but you still think she got her place in heaven?”

“Yeah.”

“And you said I could too, if I freely repented my actions, no soul forcing me into it.”

“That’s what I believe.  But not if you start killing off people ‘cause they gave me a hard time at sc…in the past.”

“If I sacrificed myself saving you, mankind, whole kit and caboodle, think that’d do the trick?”

“Is it going to come to that?”

“Oh.  No.  Don’t panic.  Hypothetical all the way.  Though I did do it, didn’t I?  End of Sunnydale.”

“Yes, you did, and…  There’s something important you have to understand here: I don’t know what I’m talking about.  I don’t even know why you’re listening to me.  I’m no expert, no philosopher, I just believe what I need to believe to get me through, okay?”

“Ah.  She could be sizzling in hell as we speak then?  You just choose not to believe it?”  Xander stared angrily and Spike nodded in acknowledgement that he’d said a little too much.  “So…”

“No, no more ‘so’.  Shut up now before I dump you here and go home.”

“Why yellow?”

“Yellow?”

“The car?  You don’t strike me as Screaming Yellow.  Or, maybe…”  The glare was back, although there was the possibility it had never gone away.  “Nice though.  Nice car,” Spike added genially.

“It was a gift.”

“A gift?  Who did you do to earn that?”

“One of the people I held private sittings for died.  Her husband gave me her car.”

“She must’ve liked you.”

Xander readied the evil eye, but Spike’s tone was conciliatory, and when Xander looked the vampire’s expression had softened.

“It was mutual.”

“Was he jealous?  The husband?”

“Yeah, he hated my guts, that’s why he gave me her car.”

“How’d she die?”

Xander’s body bunched, and Spike watched the emotion rise to the surface and be pressed back down with some difficulty.

“Cancer.  I helped her through the last months, I helped her beat her fears about death being the end.”

“That’s…good.”

“Sometimes…”  Xander’s voice became a whisper.  “What I do is hard.”

“Yes,” Spike agreed kindly.  “I know the feeling.”

The food arrived; Xander thanked the waitress and they ate in silence until someone switched on the jukebox and Willie Nelson joined them.

“Surely…  The demon has to be pretty much damned,” Xander said once they’d finished eating, “but I can’t believe the soul will be unless it deserves that kind of punishment.  Being murdered doesn’t send someone to hell.”

“I could go to heaven as William?”

“I guess.  It wouldn’t be fair to punish the soul, if the soul is…untainted.  Maybe it’s all about how you live your life from now on.”

“Do you think…  If we take punishment on Earth, can we avoid…”

Xander waved Spike quiet as the waitress came to top up their coffee.

“Why would the demon want to avoid hell?” Xander asked the moment they were alone again.  “Isn’t that like…”  He shrugged.  “Going home?  Being recalled to HQ?”

“Nothing in its right mind wants hell.”

“That side of you is screwed then, huh?”

“There has been punishment, and I took it, didn’t question whether it was deserving or not.  For example…  I had some crazy would-be slayer cut my hands off.”  Xander grimaced, eye darting to Spike’s bare arms, looking for scars.  “You can’t see where, not now,” Spike explained, but he stretched his arms across the table and traced the amputation line on his right wrist.  Xander ran his fingertips over the perfectly healed flesh.

“If I’d been able to go to the people who helped you when I lost my eye, could it have been replaced?”

“You’d want that?”

“How can you even ask?”

“You might not have this, what you do.  The feeling worthwhile, the completely at peace with yourself.  Have you forgotten that?”

“No.  But once the ability came out, being helped – being healed – wouldn’t have affected it.  And…I’d like to be able to see properly, how obvious is that?  I’d like not to panic when I get eye strain because I’m terrified of something going wrong with the eye I have left and ending up blind.  I’d like to meet someone new and not have to ignore the fact that the first thing they see is the damage.  I stopped wearing the patch because I was sick of people being curious about what was underneath, and now I just get sick of people asking what happened, and – and it’s insulting that they try to be delicate when I know they’re really just looking for a cheap thrill from my horror story.”

“I thought you said it was Douglas that took away the patch.”

“Yeah, after he’d listened to me complain about this stuff for months.”

“You’ll go to heaven, won’t you?”

“I damn-well better or I want answers!”

Spike chuckled at that, tried to suppress it, which only made it worse.  Xander shook his head and joined in.

“I can’t answer your questions, Spike, I wish I could.  Even the whole heaven and hell thing is subjective, particular to the…”

“I’m on the right side now.  Tell me that gives me a fighting chance.”

Xander’s smile stayed; academic plaudits may have eluded him but he could have earned a diploma in mindless reassurance ten times over.

“You have a chance.”

“That I earned for myself.”

“Yup, you did.  Odds are rising in your favour as we speak.”

“Now you’re humouring me.”

“I certainly am.”

Spike laughed again, and Xander excused himself, heading to the restroom.

Using the time while Xander was gone to phone Angel, Spike reported that he’d secured the medium’s help, then listened to an update on the questionable prophecy and its equally questionable translation.  Spike was just putting his point, rather forcefully, to a thoroughly bemused Angel that he didn’t want Xander put at unnecessary risk because heaven might depend on it, when he spotted Xander returning.

He watched, suspicious of everyone within a radius of, say, two-hundred miles, as Xander paused at the jukebox, feeding it with a few coins and choosing a selection that just about dragged the diner into the present century.  He also saw the reaction when the waitress who had been serving them stopped close by: Xander’s head twitched around to listen to a voice, and he unconsciously leaned toward the apparent source, giving a few shallow nods.

“Gotta go.”

Spike cut the connection as Angel was midway through a sentence, and coughed loudly to catch Xander’s attention.  It worked, Xander immediately glanced in his direction, but he didn’t take so much as a step toward the vampire, obviously paying close attention to the spirit; Spike hoped to the point of prayer that it wasn’t another of his victims, because how long could he keep Xander on side if the man was confronted with his murderous past twenty-four/seven?

Another of Xander’s unconscious gestures – the patting of air that seemed to signify that the spirit should slow down, back off, wait, something like that – Spike knew he’d learn to read them all eventually, and Xander was returning to their table.

“What’s wrong?” Spike asked immediately.

“I’m…  I’m really bad at judging whether to pass on messages.  Like I shouldn’t have told you about your mom…”

“Yes, you should.”

“Not like I did, that was way too hard on you, I’m not surprised at how you reacted.”  Before Spike could voice his shock at Xander’s unexpected show of sensitivity, the man was pressing on, leaning forward to talk confidentially.  “Her child died, her boy.”

“The waitress?”

“Yeah.  And I have a message, but do I tell her?  It’s…”  Xander sagged in his seat.  “It’s too important not to.”

“You’re not at work now.”

“That’s a stupid argument, like this is nine-to-five.”  Xander took his eyepatch from his pocket and begrudgingly pulled it on, a quick automatic action.  “If she comes over will you make yourself scarce for a few?”

“How am I supposed to keep you low profile if you start advertising your presence by holding bloody séances in restaurants?”

The waitress was making her way to them, and without another word from Xander, Spike sighed irritably before giving her a forced smile and wandering off to the jukebox.

“Er…hi.  Can I tell you something?”

“Was there a problem with the food?”

“No, the food was great, thank you, I…”  Xander glanced at her nametag.  “Chrissie.  You mind if I call you Chrissie?”

“I’m married,” she said with a forced smile.

“Oh, God, no, I’m not hitting on you, I just have a message for you.  Can you sit down?  For a couple of minutes?”

“Not while I’m working.  What’s this about?”  The woman now wore a concerned frown, and Xander could’ve kicked himself for worrying her after all she’d been through.

“Do you have any strong opinions about spiritualism?”

She looked rather stunned for a moment, then considered.

“I like to think I’m pretty open-minded.”

“’Cause….umm…that message I have for you…  It’s from your son.  Your youngest.”

The colour drained from Chrissie’s face and she virtually fell into the seat beside Xander.

“My son?  Oh dear God.”

Her hand came up to cover her mouth and tears flooded her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you, but I couldn’t not say.”  Chrissie nodded, speechless with emotion.  “You want me to tell you?”  Chrissie shook her head.  “That a no, or a not here?”

“Not here,” she choked.

She scribbled her address on the back of an order slip and slid it across the table to Xander.

“I have no way to reassure you that I’m not trying to con you, maybe your home isn’t a great idea until you…”

“I get off in an hour.  Can you follow me home?”

“How about I come out later?  I need to get some sleep, I’ll be more use to you then.”

“You can…you can see him?”

“Hear him.  He’s okay now, he’s really okay.”  More speechless nodding from the woman, and the tears began to fall.  “I’m so sorry to upset you.”

“No.  I’m…I’m…  I have to go.”

“I’ll come see you later.”

She nodded again, stood with a wobble, ignored Xander’s helping hand, and hurried away to her duties.

Spike strolled back and sat down, tipping his coffee cup toward him.

“No fresh.  I take it you told her.”

“Like you didn’t listen to every word.”

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Spike demanded through clenched teeth.

“Her boy…”  Xander changed seats, moving close to Spike but still dropping his voice until it was inaudible to non-demonic ears.  “Her little boy died and…there’s something not right about it.”

“We’re not here for that, it doesn’t matter.”

“How can you say that?  It’s terrible, of course it matters.”

“You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile.”

“We’re beyond the middle of nowhere.”

“Low.  Profile.”

“I don’t care.  I have to help her.  It’s up to you whether you come along or not, but I’m going to visit her tonight.”

“Show some sense, will you?”

“This is my brand of sense so you better get used to it.”

“What happens if you’re tied up here when you’re supposed to be saving the world?”

“She’s exactly the kind of person I’m saving the world for.  I have to do this.  Otherwise…  I may as well go home now.”

“You irritating, stubborn…  Buggering hell, all right!”

Spike sank back in his seat; it was impossible to see where the pout ended and the scowl began.

“Who do you want to be then?” Xander asked with a sudden grin.  “Batman or Robin?”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed to mean slits and Xander brought his hands up, fingers in V-signs making a mask, as he danced the Batusi in his seat.

“Fucking idiot,” Spike muttered.  “Wait…  You mean…  You’re intending to look into what happened to her boy?”

“Yeah,” Xander replied earnestly, smile disappearing to be replaced by a look of grim determination.  “I am.  We are.”

Spike sank forward and rested his head on the table.

“Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.”

…

They made their way to their room just before the sun rose; Xander stood in the open doorway and watched the sky suffuse with colour, aware of Spike’s concerns, his grumbling, his restless pacing, refusing to let it ruin the moment.

“You could stand back there and see this,” he said over his shoulder.  “It’s beautiful.”

“Just get in here, will you?  You look fit to drop.”

Xander gave it a few more minutes then shut the door and flicked the catch on the lock, turning to look around and feeling suitably disheartened by their surroundings.

“This is depressing.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Spike came and stood alongside Xander, looking as Xander had looked and almost sympathising at the sight of their colourless, characterless surroundings.

“Can I whine?  Like a kid?  I wanna go hoooome,” Xander proceeded to whine.

“Which bed do you want?”

“The one at hoooome.”

“Shut up and choose.”

“Don’t care.”  Spike started toward the bed furthest from the window.  “That one,” Xander automatically said.  With a slow turn on his heel, Spike took a step toward the second bed.  “No, that one.”

“Put it another way: which one would you like to be murdered in your sleep in?”

“You pick,” Xander said with a massive yawn.  “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Later, eh?  Just get some sleep.  You’re going to need it now you’re adding to the itinerary.”

Taking off the eyepatch and throwing into onto the dresser, Xander scratched his face then his scalp and groaned pleasurably.

“Bed.  Yes.  Typical guy.  You never phone, you never write, but the minute we meet up you’re trying to get me between the sheets.”  Xander crawled onto the nearest bed and collapsed onto his front, burying his face in the pillow.  “Wake me for Christmas,” he mumbled, and was instantly asleep.

Spike studied him for a few minutes before crossing and gently persuading him onto his side, more considerate of the average human’s inconvenient need to breathe than the man himself appeared to be.  A quick grope and he found something he intended to hang onto from now on, and he slipped a hand into Xander’s jeans to remove the car keys.

“Can’t begin to tell you how much fun that was, being driven in bad light by a half-blind man who was passing out from exhaustion.  Maybe give it another go when you can guarantee it’s heaven when you kill us both.”

Standing and pocketing the keys, Spike checked the locks on the door and windows.  He paused at the door and thought about nipping out to kill a little local wildlife, although the hunt would be more about working off excess energy than needing the blood: Angel would undoubtedly have a delivery made before Spike was suffering any serious pangs.  Mid-deliberation, muttering from Xander caught his attention: it seemed like the moment Spike had moved away the spirits had grabbed the opportunity to talk.  Several times Xander swiped his hand past his head as if trying to brush off an insect that was buzzing in his ear, then the hand dropped and he began to stir, features tightening in resignation.

Spike began to get a better idea of what it was like to suffer with the permanent connection Xander had spoken of, and the fact that the voices could disturb Xander when he’d been tired enough to virtually fall asleep on his feet told of the strength and persistence of these contacts.  Both curious and uselessly angry about the disturbance, Spike approached the bed, hoping he could get rid of the invisible pests before Xander was fully woken, and…there it was, the point where they backed off in the presence of the demon, betrayed by the slightest changes in Xander’s body language.  Closer still and the tension subsided almost instantly.

Right alongside the bed and Xander was asleep, completely asleep again, too weary to stay near the surface of consciousness when the vampire’s proximity gave him a little peace.  Spike hmmed and took a look at their situation, leaving Xander’s side for just long enough to move a cabinet out of the way and push the two beds together, then flopping down beside the medium who was already back to waving the spiritual bugs away.

“Quiet,” Xander murmured as Spike silenced the voices, followed by a moan of pleasure.  “Quiet.”

Xander unconsciously shuffled a little closer to Spike, who guessed the encroachment would continue much as it had when they were dozing on the sofa, so he turned away from Xander, thinking how nice it would be to have a human’s heat pressed to the back of his whole body.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out he was right.

Manifestation 5       Manifestation Index       Manifestation Notes

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