The Mustang slowed as it passed through the nearby town, Spike trying to find his bearings and track down…

“What?  What are you looking for?  If you tell me I can help.”

“Not much of a surprise then.”

“I don’t need surprises.  Past experience dictates that surprises are frequently not good.”

“This one is.”

“A clue wouldn’t hurt.”

“You don’t need one, Pet, we’re here.”

“Where’s here?” Xander demanded, peering around at the anonymous buildings.

“Petal,” Spike corrected.

“You think that’s any better?” Xander asked distractedly.

“For you?  Perfect.  ‘Deep in their roots’,” he quoted, “‘all flowers keep the light’.  If that isn’t Xander Harris I don’t know what is.”

“I swear you make this stuff up as it suits you.”

“Put your patch on.”

Xander automatically reached into his pocket and pulled the eyepatch out but, instead of slipping it on, he stared at it in his hand.

“Why?  Afraid I’ll embarrass you?”

“No.  You’ll just wish you had if you don’t, and I thought I’d give you a heads-up.”

Xander considered, reminded himself he had no reason to mistrust Spike on this count, and grudgingly tugged the patch into place.

“Hate this fucking thing.  Hate it.”

Spike caught Xander’s arm before he could climb from the car, and Xander twisted in his seat to see the vampire, expecting…he didn’t know what, but one smart comment about swashbuckling and Spike would be reclaiming his balls from the nearest dumpster.

“Take it off,” Spike told him, expression unreadable.

“But you said…”

“Take it off, or I’ll…”

Xander ducked away from Spike’s hand.

“No, you must have said wear it for a reason.”

“Maybe I was wrong.”

“I bet you weren’t.  I fucking hate that too.”

They sat in silence for a while, Xander feeling foolish at the internal tantrum and grateful only the merest hint of it emerged, Spike wavering between dragging Xander by the ear to face his surprise, and letting the stroppy git go home and then preparing himself for a nice, uncomplicated inter-dimensional war.

Another five minutes and Xander swung out of the car, waiting on the sidewalk and not daring to look at Spike as he followed at a less than enthusiastic pace.  They began to walk, Xander starting to feel a little excited now despite his Hellmouth-borne ingrained caution, picking up speed when they turned a corner and he saw where they were headed.

“How did you know?”

“A leaflet I was given at your place.”

Xander rushed into the short and stocky, weatherboard-clad building, longing for a little home from home; Spike entered more cautiously, hoping he wasn’t going to bounce off some invisible barrier, but happily being able to enter and pursue Xander.

This chapel was rather more chapely than Xander’s work base, and Xander was already tucked into a pew, studying his surroundings, as contented as Spike had seen him.  He moved along to let Spike sit.

“Thank you for this,” he said without hesitation.

“They’ll know you, won’t they?  When you introduce yourself.”

“Probably, through the network, same way as I know the mediums here by name, but I wasn’t planning on…”

Spike was already heading down the aisle to where a grey-haired man, as homely and dumpy as the building, was in conversation with a twig-thin middle-aged woman.  When Spike stopped alongside them, they glanced in his direction with inquisitive smiles.

“Xander Harris.  From the Stokes Chapel.”  A moment for recognition, and the man was warmly clutching Spike’s hand.  “Not me,” he corrected with a grin, turning to gesture to the back of the room.  “Him.  Bit shy.  Ignore the bruises, someone objected to his vocation,” Spike finished grimly.

The man nodded, squeezed Spike’s arm, and marched off in Xander’s direction.  The woman studied Spike, received a charismatic smile, and moved away, step by tiny step, until she’d left the Spike zone.

“Extraordinary.”

“Yeah.  That’s what all the women say.”

He watched with amusement as she skirted the zone and played with the quieting effect.

“Extraordinary.”

Xander stood as the man approached, reaching out to take the offered hand and shaking it, relishing the contact and refusing to let go.

“I wasn’t going to bother you, I just wanted to sit a while.”

“I’m pleased your friend intervened, Doug’s spoken about you often.”

“Really?” Xander beamed, for all of a second.  “Have you heard from him recently?”

“Yes, and…  I understand there were problems, but he’s absolutely fine, everyone at the Stokes is.”

Xander tightened his grip in his relief, and the man patted his hand.

“You can’t tell them you’ve seen me,” Xander blurted out.  “The same problems.  Ongoing.”

“I respect that, I’ll ensure everyone else here does.”

“You’re…Peter Kathan?”

“I am.  Come along and meet my associate, Marilyn Beck.  Perhaps we can find out why she’s dancing around your friend.”

“Oh, you’ll love this guy,” Xander promised, finally relinquishing the man’s hand.

The four spent the best part of an hour in conversation before people began arriving for the evening’s meeting; Xander and Spike sat at the back of the hall and watched as first Peter, then Marilyn connected audience members to their departed friends and relatives.  Xander inched away from Spike, wanting out of the zone, eager to share fully what his colleagues were experiencing, but he was surprised when Peter gestured for him to join them, introducing Xander to the people and explaining a little of what Xander had told him that evening about how he had come to this life, but careful to respect Xander’s privacy.

By then Saul was isolating specific spirits for Xander’s attention, and Peter stood back, waving him to carry on with the meeting.  Xander looked to Spike, not knowing what to expect but absurdly happy to receive a nod.

Spike slid along the pew he now solely occupied, finding the spot with the best view, immediately engrossed in the ‘show’.  Despite the lack of preparation, Xander was on good form: accurate, charming in his presentation, as impressive a medium as Spike had ever witnessed.  And, yes, Spike was admittedly biased by now.

“Who got arrested for skinny-dipping in a water tower?” Xander was asking.

“Me,” came the laughed reply from the man he was connecting for.

“You were fourteen, and…  Ooh,” grimaced Xander, “naked girlfriend got sprung too.”  The entire audience laughed, a close-knit community enjoying the wayward past of one of their upright citizens.  “You didn’t see a lot more of her that summer.  But apparently the folks thought you’d already seen quite enough.”

…

“You’re good, Xander.”

“Not as good as them, weren’t they fantastic?  Peter Kathan has such a great reputation.  It’s so exciting to see how I could be.  One day, it’s not impossible.  Maybe one day, y’know, if I keep working hard, learning, I know I’m at a disadvantage, but I might be that good, I’m determined, there’s nothing else for me, I want to do this, and I want…”

“C’mere.”

Xander ceased his jubilant, babbling stampede along the road and hurtled back to Spike, letting the vampire step up close and carefully peel off the patch, offering it to Xander and having his hand gripped instead.

“You were right, about that, about this.  Thank you.”  Spike smoothed the slight indentations from the patch with the fingertips of his free hand; not so much as a twitch from Xander at the cold touch to his face.  “Tomorrow night we’ll do something for you, whatever you want.”

“Xander…  I have to go to LA.”

The grip tightened.  Unexpected regret met unexpected disappointment.  The grip loosened.

“Umm…okay.  I know that.  I knew it was coming, not when, but I knew.”

“I’ll take you back to the cabin, then I’ll leave.  If you think you can cope with the threat of the uber-nasty.”

“There’s been no sign of it, has there?  When I was panicking about it at Chrissie’s I’m sure you were right, that was down to me, and…”

“Don’t go all heroic on me.”

“I’m not.  It’s had plenty of chances to come through, and we’ve seen from past experience that tonight’s meeting would have been the kind of opportunity it would take, chance to scare me out of helping you, or prove I couldn’t work, or – or whatever the hell it was attempting to do.”  Xander began a slow walk; Spike followed, moving to Xander’s side, close enough for their shoulders to occasionally brush.  “How concerned are you?”  Xander’s exuberance had completely evaporated, giving way to apprehension.  “You think something’s gone wrong?  Something to do with the prophecy?”

“I have no idea, that’s why I need to go.”

“You want me to come along?”

“Voices aside, if the shit has hit the fan you’ll probably be safer here.”

“But if you need me with you…”

“I’d like you with me, but that’s a little different from need.  My need is for you to be as safe as possible.”

“Okay.”  Xander nodded, deep in thought.  “Okay.”

“I wouldn’t go if I thought I had a choice.  Our last resort, communications-wise, is this thing in my shoulder.  If I tap a certain pattern onto the skin covering it, it sends an alert.  Usually that ensures a phone call within two minutes.”

“No call.”

“That’s right.”

“Then, yes, you have to go check it out.  At least you don’t have to worry about me.  The cabin’s perfect, I have the chapel here, Peter and Marilyn if I need them.  And it’ll give me the chance to get on with those reports for Willow: I never get anything done with you around.”

They paused either side of the car.

“You’re taking this a lot better than I expected.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

Spike’s ultra-serious face broke into a cheeky grin.

“That’ll give you something to think about while I’m gone.”

…

Back at the cabin, Xander watched Spike collect together what he needed, accepting but unable to grasp the fact that he was leaving.  A week in each other’s pockets and ‘no Spike’ should have been a relief rather than unthinkable, but Xander watched and idly followed, and didn’t choose to consider the next night or the next day or the night after or the day after.

“You’re taking the skin off,” Spike said suddenly.

“What?”

“Scratching.  Stop scratching.”

“I can’t, I’ve been bitten.”

“At least you know it wasn’t me.”

Spike went into the bathroom and Xander trailed after him, examining his arms as he went.

“Isn’t there any kind of hierarchy within the bloodsucking community?  Shouldn’t the bugs leave me alone if I’m with you?  I was outside for all of ten minutes this afternoon, how did I not notice I was wearing my ‘special of the day’ t-shirt?”  Xander finally caught up with the tube of cream Spike was waving under his nose.  “What is this?”

“Antihistamine.  There’s plenty more here.  And there’s repellent too, use that if you spend much time outside.”

“Oh.  Shit.”

“What?”

“You’re going.”

“You can find antihistamine and insect repellent without me, Pet…al.”

“What if you don’t come back?”

“Our phones are okay, I’ll—  No, too risky, me calling you, but you can call me if you feel the need.”  Spike went back to the bedroom to collect his duffle, Xander now in brisk pursuit.  “If you can’t get hold of me for a couple of days…”  Spike paused and looked at Xander, feeling his responsibility quite acutely.  “If you can, wait a week.  Unless you feel there’s something wrong and have to go, wait a week.  Nothing from me and after a week, go home anyway.”

Xander could feel a knot of tension forming in his stomach.

“You think…”

“I don’t know what to think, but I don’t want you stuck here alone indefinitely.  If you go home, I’ll know where to find you again.”

“And will you?  Even if things come to a head and the prophecy is dealt with without me?”

“You want me to?” Spike frowned.

“Yes,” Xander insisted, surprising both of them.

“Oh.”  A slow, coy smile formed on Spike’s face; he ducked his head and passed by Xander, collecting and shrugging on his duster, taking a set of keys from a pin-board in the kitchen.

“You laughing at me or with me?” Xander challenged.

Spike paused to study Xander, long enough for the human to be internally squirming under the unwavering gaze.  Then Spike crossed and took his hand.  Not a farewell handshake, Spike just held Xander’s hand for a moment.

“Take care,” he said quietly and, with a final stroke of his thumb, slid his hand from Xander’s and got as far as the front stoop.

“Wait!” Xander called, and hurried to catch him up.  “You’re the one that needs to take care.  Come back in one piece, okay?”

Spike nodded, hurrying away with a mutter about hating sodding goodbyes, and after a few minutes a solid, black, unidentifiable to Xander in this light, car came from the direction of the detached garage and sped away from the cabin.

Xander remained in place for some time, getting colder and colder, getting bitten, wondering how bugs could live in this temperature, wondering if Spike would be gone long, wondering if he could find the chapel again because he hadn’t been paying attention to where they were going that evening, wondering if Spike would come back, wondering if Willow’s reports would ever get done, wondering if Spike would save the world without him.

Wondering if he’d get to go home now.

Wondering how he’d lived without the quiet.

Wondering if Spike would come back.

…

Three days of the usual irritations, inconveniences and punch-ups that signified the LA end of the partnership being in the grip of a minor catastrophe, and Spike had hurriedly returned to the cabin, having fretted over his deserted charge to the point where Angel was unconsciously filtering out all the sentences that began ‘If anything happens to Xander…” because he was in equal parts horrified and inspired by the amount of imaginative and detailed repercussive scenarios that Spike was able to construct without making any apparent effort.

The first thing that struck Spike as he approached the cabin was the amount of bugs, flies, whatever they were, clouding around the place in swarms.  A freezing night and bugs?  They swept away from Spike as he approached, and it took all his enhanced speed to reach into a drift of the insects and snatch a handful to examine, finding his fisted hand to be empty when he carefully peered inside it.

The second thing that struck Spike was the smell as he pushed open the unfastened front door.  It was so vile that it made him gag, his eyes water.  Unplaceable but, he consoled himself, thankfully not the unforgettable odour of decomposing human flesh.  His mind flashed back to Xander’s first encounter with the uber-nasty, the man speaking of the stench of evil: this had to be it.  And Spike had left Xander alone, abandoned him to the entity despite all his fine and ultimately worthless promises.

The third thing was Xander’s notebook, open on the kitchen table, the report being made, unremarkable handwriting evolving into a scrawl that threatened – assured - appalling abuses before dissolving into a litany of expletives, gouging into the paper, scoring so deeply that the table surface was damaged.  The words moved onto the table, a splintered mass of carved lines and curves that it took a moment for Spike to realise was ‘MY OWN’ over and over, lapping and crossing.

“Xander?” Spike screamed, fury at himself and this being bursting out of him, not admitting to panic but feeling the nauseating sensation throughout his entire body.  “Xander!”

There was a heartbeat, pounding so fast it was a miracle the organ could stand the pace without imploding, but it was muffled, it’s direction obscured, and Spike raged about the cabin, through the rooms, throwing aside furniture, tearing doors open, emptying closets with frenzied movements, shouting for Xander to begin with but finally hollering in sheer frustration before stopping and listening again, concentrating.  Concentrating.

He’d checked the cellar but…  Racing back down the stairs he searched for another access, hissing a triumphant ‘Yes!’ when he finally located the crawlspace hatch, sure that this was where Xander was hiding and understanding why his heartbeat was so muted, being deadened by the layers of insulation between the house and ground.  The access was proving itself inaccessible: Xander had deliberately smashed the lock so it would be impossible to open from the inside.  Spike tore at the wood, finding a hammer and destroying what was left of the now fully-exposed lock and ripping the hatch open.

The ripe smell of sweat and urine was strangely reassuring after the hellish stench upstairs; Xander was sprawled in the dark, stifling space, surrounded by empty water bottles, unlit flashlight within inches of his hand; he groaned quietly as the cooler air hit him but didn’t seem quite conscious.  Spike removed and set aside the bucket Xander had been using as a toilet before leaning in, gently easing the limp human into a more manageable position before lifting him out of his confinement and carrying him to their bedroom.

No injuries, Spike was relieved to note, but the hundreds of bites on Xander’s face, neck and arms were dark and swollen, any unbitten skin showing grazed red welts where he’d scratched himself raw.  Knowing that water was the first essential – the bites could be dealt with during Xander’s recovery – Spike ran to the kitchen and searched for more bottles, being brought to an abrupt standstill as the dull drone of insects that permeated the building was overpowered by the onset of the menacing rumble that had announced the entity’s presence back at the Stokes Chapel.

A defiant screech from Xander and Spike was shoving the water bottles into his pockets and racing back, bouncing off an invisible barrier several feet from the bed and now able to see what had been unrecognisable close-up.  The clusters of bites formed letters, the letters words, and the words were, perhaps predictably, ‘MY OWN’.

The rage exploded in Spike’s gut and it was all he could do to contain his true self, fighting the appearance of the demon’s face in case Xander was startled by it, gritting his teeth and forcing himself closer to the man even though it felt like he was having to leave his skin behind to make the approach.  Xander was thrashing against the assault on his psychic and physical senses, resisting the entity with every last scrap of energy and fighting harder than his weakened state would logically allow.

Which was when Spike noticed that Xander’s hand had automatically clutched the locket; if belief could give him strength, then surely trust…

“Xander.  Xander!  Give me your hand!”  Pushing his fist through what looked like air but felt like broken glass, Spike stretched toward the bed, leaning at an impossible angle and simply hanging in space.  “Xander, hear me, c’mon, hear me!  Trust me, Pet.  Xander!”

Just when it appeared that the final reserves of energy had been drained, Xander threw an arm in Spike’s direction and their fingertips brushed; an almighty whump that popped their ears occurred as the entity withdrew, and Spike toppled onto the floor, up and leaping to Xander’s side in a fraction of a second.

Xander was semi-conscious once again and back to the familiar twitching that indicated the voices – or worse – were indiscernibly present, even with Spike so near.  Swearing furiously at the intrusion, Spike pressed up against Xander and waited for him to calm slightly before starting to coax the first of the water into him.

A cough and splutter as Xander accidentally breathed in liquid and his eyelid fluttered, shut, fluttered and opened.  Whatever Xander saw in those first moments eluded Spike, but the shout of alarm made him jump and he tossed the bottle aside, clutching Xander to him and unconsciously growling at their surroundings.

“S…S…Spi…?  Spike?”

“Yes.”

“Spike?  Spike?”

Spike’s attention fixed on Xander now, the shuddering and gasping, the heartbeat that was accelerating once again after a short respite.

“It’s all right, Pet, I’m with you now, nothing can get you.”

“Closer,” Xander begged, “closer, Spike, closer.”

“I’m close,” Spike assured, tightening his hold.

“Closer.”

“I can’t…”

“Closer!”

“How can I…?”

Xander wriggled his hands between them and began to scrabble at Spike’s t-shirt; within a second, Spike had risked a fleeting separation and stripped it off, ripped Xander’s straight down the middle of the front, exposing more declarations of ownership bitten into enflamed skin.  His hands pressed over the most vivid, cool upon hot and Xander paused at that, shivered, eye hooded and glassy, lips parted.  The briefest of respites then Xander was desperately pulling at Spike again, delirious and unhearing.

“Closer.  Spike.  Closer.”

“You still hear it?  See it?”

“Closer.”

“Xander…”

“Please, Spike, please, closer.  Quiet.”

“Shh, c’mon, I’m close, feel, the quiet’s there, you just have to calm down and…”

“Please?” Xander sobbed, eye flicking to the side and fixing on something that eluded Spike’s senses.  “Spike, closer, you promised, please, please.  Closer.”

Xander’s hands were tugging at the sides of Spike’s jeans and, yes, flesh on flesh had helped, fractionally, so Spike escaped the grasping hands and stood, stripping off his own, then Xander’s clothes, falling back into the arms that were flailing in his direction.

Xander did seem to relax a little, but before Spike had a chance to appreciate it a tremor ran from the man’s scalp to his toes, and he grunted in clenched-jawed agony as his whole body spasmed, arching like a bow despite Spike’s attempts to keep it flat, head and heels the only contact with the bed.  Spike threw himself over Xander, and even his entire weight wasn’t enough to lower him an inch until, thankfully, the Spike zone began to exert itself and Xander collapsed, taking Spike down with him.

Weeping, begging, Xander wrapped his arms and legs around the vampire, and all of Spike’s hushing and reassurances had no effect whatsoever.  Xander’s effect on Spike however was damningly predictable, overheated skin scorching cooler flesh, hard form writhing to stimulate the vampire’s sensitive body, a victim’s entreaties to stimulate the mind; the demon visage emerged as Spike’s will buckled under Xander’s demands, and there was no more holding back, trying to protect Xander from what he’d been denying them both.

“Closer,” Xander continued to plead, and closer Spike came, erection rubbing over Xander’s groin and thighs, balls, backside.  A tilt, twist from Xander and Spike was almost in him.  “Closer, yes, do it.  Do it, do it.”

Although Spike’s lust proved to be not entirely mindless.

“It’ll hurt.”

“Closer.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please.  Please, closer.”

“Have you seen what you’re begging?” Spike demanded as he forced the slightest withdrawal.  “Look at me.  Look at me.”

Xander’s eye opened and the tinge of fear at the vampiric features turned to relief.

“Yes,” he said quietly.  “Yes,” more determinedly as he began to shake again from the result of this tiny gap between them.  “Closer.”

Obvious to Spike that he couldn’t move away to find a lubricant; the only thing within reach was the tube of cream that Xander had been using on the bites and that would have to do.  Trembling with a fervent need that had nothing to do with helping Xander, Spike single-handedly emptied the tube onto Xander’s thigh before scooping up half the cream and smearing it on Xander; the remaining half was smoothed over himself.

“Spike.”

“Wait, I don’t…”

“Spike, closer.”

So much for preparation, and Spike cared desperately but didn’t give a damn, and he was there, pushing into Xander, breaching that perfect untouched tightness, further aroused by the whimpers of discomfort that became gasps of pain as he lost any remaining control and rammed his hips forward, drawing back to repeat the process, luxuriating in what he’d been wanting, pretending that the reactions of shock and hurting were desire and wanting so he could fuck Xander as unconscionably as his entire self demanded.

The cream was too sticky to be a good lubricant but Spike felt the increasing presence of a finer fluid, recognising from a century’s experience the smooth slip of fucking in blood; the knowledge inspired further lust, and nothing mattered beyond the grinding and thrusting and making this human body his possession, wanting…  His attention fell on Xander’s strained features, the deliciously pink, teeth-raked lips that told of enduring pain but still whispered a litany of please and closer and Spike.  Spike dipped down to take them as he’d taken the rest, but even now Xander turned away, refusing to be kissed, rejecting the demon as totally as he accepted it.  Spike’s rhythm crashed, faltering in his confusion.

“Please.  Closer.”

“Xander, you don’t want me to…”

Spike looked again, saw not a denied kiss but an offered throat, and that was as close as a vampire could get.  The possibility of Xander being too distraught to understand that he was making the offer flittered through Spike’s mind, but too faintly and too late as the fangs pierced the taut skin of Xander’s neck, the flavour of the man’s blood sending Spike berserk with pleasure.  The blood, the heat, the constriction, the need.  Spike was fucking again, hard, fast, keeping his partner, his prey, in place with the strength of his jaws alone.

“Please,” Xander choked.  Wept.  Clearer.  Saner.  “Don’t kill me.  Please don’t kill me.”

It was as good as a trigger, and Spike jabbed ferociously into Xander as he came, tearing flesh at both points of penetration, working his cock in this desired body until he was on the point of collapse.

…

Xander’s throat licked clean of every speck of blood, a human-faced Spike propped himself on his elbows and studied his…lover, he wanted to think.  Lover.  He studied his lover.  Xander was…  Back, yes, his Xander, strong Xander was back, no more pleading or weeping, simply still and pale, astonishingly pale as every insect bite had miraculously disappeared with the demon’s banishment of the entity; even the scratches had faded from vivid red to a curious pearly mauve and, still fading, looked as if they’d be gone within the hour.  The vampire's ragged bite-mark remained, a thing of beauty, its imprecision a testament to their lust.  Although…a deep inhalation now and there was no discernible contribution from Xander to the heady fug of arousal in the room.

Their lust?  Spike’s lust.  Yes, he finally got there.  Only his lust.

His mind belatedly recognised that the perceived desire and wanting were indisputably shock and hurting, and…Xander had thought Spike was going to kill him.  His hand came up to touch Xander’s face, and he felt the wince like a blow to the heart.

“I wouldn’t kill you,” he whispered, voice not as steady as he would have liked.  “I don’t want to hurt you, Xander.”

The emotionless eye stared at his mouth, and Spike knew there had to be blood there.  Xander’s unwillingly shared blood.

“Get off me?” Xander asked hoarsely, tone as expressionless as his gaze.

Spike wanted to refuse.  He’d pulled out of Xander to give his inexperienced body a rest but thought there’d be more, if nothing else Xander would take comfort from this contact.  Because…closer.  Spike had never completely lost his erection and now it fully hardened, ready to…  Not possess, Spike lied to himself because he’d as good as sworn to Xander that wasn’t the case.

“Don’t want to,” Spike said with a mischievous smile, sure he could win Xander around despite the traumatic circumstances that had brought them to this point.  Xander had wanted this, wanted him, begged.  Begged and Spike had given.  Not taken, given.  Still tucked between Xander’s thighs he parted his legs, giving Xander no choice but to reciprocate, dipping his hips and brushing the tip of his cock over bruised flesh.  “I want you, Xander, you know that, you can feel that.  Not to hurt, to plea…”

“But I do hurt.  So, please…  Spike.  No more.”

Spike moved off, carefully, mindful of the hurting.  Immediately, and with an unmistakable creak of discomfort, Xander rolled onto his side, facing away from Spike, burying his face in the pillow and draping a forearm across the exposed side of his head, covering his ear; blind and deaf was the message, and Spike watched with a mixture of sadness and growing unease.

He ran what was intended to be a comforting touch over the man’s shoulders and down his back, and found it impossible to judge whether the shiver it induced was about hating the situation, the contact, or simply hating the vampire.

“Xander,” he began uselessly before persuading the deafening arm to move a little.  “Petal?” he tried.  A sharp breath was his answer, the kind Spike knew from the past: one that spoke of contained emotion, a human fighting an emotional outburst.  He wanted to tell Xander he could cry or scream or…whatever he needed to do right now, after…everything.  “Love…?”

“Have to shower,” Xander muttered as he struggled up, pushing further away from Spike and to the edge of the bed, swaying unsteadily as he sat, reaching for the water Spike had left on the cabinet.

“Need to wash me away?” Spike asked with a lightness he didn’t feel.

Xander inhaled deeply and found the energy to raise the bottle, draining it in one long draught.

“Your sense of duty must have overwhelmed your sense of smell,” Xander replied, shakily, but definitely sounding a little more…Xander.  “I haven’t showered since you left; you were barely gone and…and…  That – that…thing…”  The words were lost to a stifled sob, and Spike sprang to Xander’s back, cradling him in a hug that Xander pressed into for all of twenty seconds before pulling away and uncompromisingly insisting his legs take his weight as he stood, staggering toward the bathroom for all of three steps.  Spike was as good as his promise in one respect: he was there to catch Xander as he crumpled floorward.

…

“No!”

That panicked shout announced Xander’s return to consciousness, and he struggled madly against whatever the fuck was pinning down his flailing form until the Big Bad haunting his dreams morphed into the used-to-be Big Bad keeping him safe.

“It’s me, Xander, it’s Spike, no need to fight.”

“Spike?”

“I’ll let you go as soon as I know you’re thinking straight.”

Xander stared at Spike blankly for several seconds.

“Spike?”

“Spike.”

“You came back?”

“I was always going to come back.”

“Oh.”

“Can I let you go?”

“You…”  Xander’s voice thickened with emotion.  “You came back.”  Spike gradually released his hold and moved to Xander’s side, one hand still resting on his body, seemingly casual but ready to make a grab if need be.  But no need.  Xander just followed his movements with wide-eyed disbelief, as if he were battling to accept what he was seeing.  “Spike?”  Xander put his hand over the vampire’s and Spike saw the relief when Xander knew it – he – was real.  “You came back,” was mouthed one last time before Xander turned his face away and the rib cage beneath Spike’s hand expanded fully with another of those emotion-stifling deep breaths.

“Think you can talk about it?” Spike asked, but gently, not wanting to pursue Xander’s waking nightmares too vigorously.

“Can’t,” came the stifled reply.

“Not yet, eh?”

“Spike,” was broken, coarse, as Xander fought to retain his last scraps of composure.

“Here, me, the real me.”  And it seemed acceptable for Spike to move a little closer, the comfort of his presence welcome.  “Sleep first?  Food?”  Xander shook his head.  “Shower?”  Xander nodded.  “You all right with me helping you?”  Xander nodded.  “Right.  Let’s get you gorgeous.”

Spike felt in no way as confident as he sounded, but he quickly pulled on his jeans and bright and breezied to Xander’s side of the bed, throwing back the covers and helping the trembling man to his feet.

“Can I carry you?”

“No.  Thanks,” Xander added belatedly with the hint of a smile that conveyed extraordinary effort.  Spike was back to wondering: was Xander’s effort about suppressing his reactions to what had occurred in Spike’s absence?  Or since his return?

Left arm around Xander’s waist, right hand steadying and supporting him by the elbow, Spike walked Xander into the bathroom and sat him down on the closed toilet seat, tactfully but casually throwing a towel over his lap, understanding the lack of defensive modesty after all Xander had been through but not wanting to appear as if he were exploiting the man’s shocked condition for a moment.  Longer, his mind unhelpfully supplied.  A moment longer.

“You liable to black out again?”

“I doubt it.”

“Then how about I run you a bath?  That way I can leave you alone while I find you something to eat.”

“You can leave me alone in the shower.”

“You’re very weak, Pet, the last thing we need is you falling down and cracking your head open.”

“Shower,” Xander insisted, dropping his voice to add, “Don’t want to sit in my own filth, been doing that for days.”

Hearing how scratchy Xander’s throat still was, Spike retrieved a couple more bottles of water and handed them over before running the shower.

“I can stay…”

“Go.  Food.  Food sounds good.”

“What if it comes back?”

“It’s gone.”  Xander’s voice wobbled and he cleared his throat.  “It’s gone.  You saw it off.”

Spike stared at Xander, assessing priorities and coming to the conclusion that, ideally, he’d split himself into several Spikes, staying and going and helping, and one pure streak of demon was needed to check out the vicinity on the off-chance that there was a corporeal being influencing Xander’s condition or manipulating the nasty.  Not so much an expectation as a hope – he could really do with getting his hands on something that would bleed copiously and scream in complete agony as he tore it to shreds.

“Spike?”

“Uh?  Oh, sorry, got a bit lost there.”

“Go.”

“You shout if you need me.”

“I’ll shout, believe me.”

As Spike passed through the bedroom the delicious aromas of sex filled his senses and distracted him, body responding with a fresh and presently unwelcome surge of want.  A glance at the bed showed a patch of damp red where Xander had sat, the primary source of an intoxicating combination, semen and blood.  Spike fought his baser desires and carried on to the kitchen, finding and heating some soup, defrosting bread rolls from the freezer, knowing he had to change the sheets before Xander saw them and becoming disgusted with himself because he wanted to keep them as a reminder.  Not a trophy.  A reminder of Xander being his lover for the shortest, delusional time.

Food ready, Spike hurried back to the bathroom, throwing the covers over the bloodstain as he went.  He was dismayed to discover Xander, arms crossed against the shower wall, leaning his head on them as he sobbed and sobbed.  A lump came to Spike’s throat and it took several attempts to swallow it down when he realised that Xander was struggling to be as quiet as possible, vainly hoping that this display of emotion would remain undetected.

“Xander?”

“I’m…  Okay.  I’m okay.”  Xander ineffectually tried his best to sound as okay as he insisted he was.  “I’ll be all right.”

“Can I come in there?”

“No.  No, I haven’t…  I…  No.”

Spike assumed Xander’s reluctance was about cleaning up where they’d had sex; through the barely patterned glass shower stall he could see smudges of blood on the man’s buttocks and thighs.

“Let me help you, it’ll only take a minute to wash you.”

“No, I – I…can’t…  You…”

“How can you be embarrassed with me?  I’ve been inside you.”

Xander’s breathless snuffles disintegrated into more tears, and awkwardly outside soon transmuted to awkwardly inside as Spike tore off his jeans and entered the stall behind Xander, insisting on dragging the man around to face him and holding him close, impotently attempting to give him the comfort he needed.

“Spi-ike,” was hiccupped, a final recognition as Xander suddenly clung to him.

“Sorry, Love.  Sorry.  Let you down, didn’t I?”

Xander fiercely shook his head.

“You saved me,” he croaked.  “Just - just don’t…”

“There’s no need to ask, I won’t hurt you again.”

Another shake of the head.

“Just don’t…  Don’t go away.”

“I won’t.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

Xander hugged Spike ferociously tight, pressing kisses to his neck and shoulder in place of the words of thanks that wouldn’t come, crying more with the sheer relief of having him back; feeling quiet, knowing peace.  Feeling safe.

A long few minutes of relative stillness as the water pounded down on them, then Xander, legs trembling on the verge of collapse, held on to the shower fittings as Spike quickly and dispassionately washed him, and there was not so much as a squeak of objection to any touch, however intimate.

No more protestations after Spike towelled Xander off, Xander letting himself be carried to the dining table for re-heated soup, eating in silence and feverishly watching every move and step as Spike did his best to rid the cabin of any signs of what had occurred in his absence.  Dithering on the stoop, Spike stared at the kitchen table and its scrawled message for some time in deep, bitter thought, before thought gave way to his truer nature and he smashed the damn thing to pieces.

Spike eventually joined Xander at the surviving table and gave him the warmest smile he could manage with such an unpleasantly cold sensation creeping through him from the guts out.

“Want to try and get some sleep now?”  The nothingness on Xander’s face transformed instantly to panic.  “I’ll be with you,” Spike reassured.

“You’d stay with me?”

“Every second.  I promise you I’m not going anywhere, not again.  I won’t let you down, not this time.”

“That wasn’t your fault.  I told you to go.”

“Whatever.  It won’t happen again.”

“Then, yeah.  Sleep.”

Xander stood, more steadily now, and Spike didn’t attempt to help him back to the bedroom, hoping he was sending a message about Xander’s independence rather than his own lack of caring.  He looked away as Xander dropped the towel and climbed between clean sheets, then speedily joined him and…waited.

An apprehensive look in Xander’s direction found the human staring hopefully at him, and he shuffled about, arranging the pillow so Xander’s head wouldn’t be lying entirely on his bony shoulder, and held out a welcoming arm.  Xander shimmied across, resting his head comfortably, cuddling up tight to the vampire.  When Spike held him he moaned pleasurably.

“Quiet?” Spike asked.

“Safe,” Xander replied after a moment’s pause.

“That’s right, you’re safe now, Love.”

Not the first, but Spike tensed when he realised he’d let that ‘Love’ slip, and prepared himself to be told off, slapped into place; for a moment Xander gave the impression of missing what he’d said, although Spike could feel the heat of the blush Xander believed was masked by the dim light.

“What’s that short for?” Xander attempted to joke.

“Umm…  Lovage.  The British are very botanical in their endearments.”

A weak, teary laugh, and Xander forced himself impossibly nearer, holding on so firmly that Spike could feel every finger digging into his flesh.

Plenty of shushing and stroking, and an apparently peaceful sleep came quickly, at least, it did for Xander.  Spike reached above his head to switch off the light, and found himself staring into the darkness and thinking about what had happened, knowing that despite Xander’s pleas and encouragement there must have been other ways he could have helped him, given him comfort and been close.

Closer.

The coldness in his gut spread throughout his system and he gave a guilty shiver despite the presence of Xander’s body heat.  There was a word for what he’d done to this man, and that word was not ‘comfort’.

Manifestation 12       Manifestation Index       Manifestation Notes

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