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| 13: Past |
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Overall, Xander was obnoxiously cheerful. Overall, but not always. Throughout the morning Spike had noticed moments when the man’s attention drifted, when his experiences and the despicable thoughts forced into his mind by the entity caught up with him and pushed him into a shaking fit, to the edge of tears, sometimes over the edge for the shortest fraction of time, but they resolutely ignored the effects in a determined bid to denigrate the cause. A pretence, and easily recognised as such, but Xander was happy for his fleeting moments of anguish to be overlooked, and was exceedingly grateful for Spike’s determination to embrace the necessary volume of denial for this exercise to work successfully. As they packed and tidied, Xander found the occasional reason to get so close to Spike they were constantly brushing shoulders or wrists, and Spike, appreciating the need, all but opened his arms and welcomed Xander in. Occasionally there were moments straight out of a cheesy TV movie, when, for instance, their hands would meet as they reached for the same object, and they saw the joke, grinned and accommodated it, but never broached on the whys of closeness. Never questioned why the joke would be parodied, then the parody parodied further until Spike was sure that, for the existing moment, the haunted expression had been driven from Xander’s eye by the power of sheer silliness alone. Spike spent some time with the road atlas, studying the route to Woodbury, preferring to memorise rather than refer when he was actually driving, hoping that Xander could doze undisturbed for most of the journey. He didn’t realise that the size and location of the armchair made him fairly inaccessible until he caught Xander in his peripheral vision, inching closer and closer without trying to be obvious. “You can sit on my lap if it’ll help,” Spike suggested as he set the book aside, inordinately pleased when Xander stared at his lap in consideration for long enough to convey that he was taking the offer seriously. “I can’t.” “We’ve been through this: don’t be embarrassed about wanting to be close, I understand about the peace.” Xander gave a wan smile and shook his head. “I sat on yours, remember?” Spike sprang up and approached Xander, backing him up to tumble onto the sofa, straddling his lap as he had the night Xander was assaulted. But now the feeling was very different, and safety and comfort barely entered the picture as Xander’s hands began smoothing up and down Spike’s thighs, stopping occasionally to squeeze and enjoying the taut muscles that filled his grip. There was some kind of objection required to Spike’s seating arrangements, Xander knew that, but Spike stared into his eye, a snake hypnotising a rabbit, and Xander found it impossible to break away even when he knew he was becoming aroused with the contact and that was the last message he wanted to send to the vampire. It was impossible to miss the fact that Spike was turned on too, and as Xander mindlessly allowed his thumb to scrape over tightening denim, the moment broke. Xander was left dazed and wondering what the fuck, and Spike was back in the armchair with the atlas, muttering about scenic routes. Xander prepared lunch and Spike made the supreme sacrifice, cleaning up after him without – okay, with a minimum of – complaint. They sat at the table, Xander’s toes always touching Spike’s foot or calf, and discussed LA some more, the chapels here and at Woodbury, talked about the fancy car Spike had driven away in. “Take it for a spin if you like.” “Really?” Xander asked enthusiastically until he re-ran the offer in his head. “Uh…maybe not this time.” “The screen and windows are vampire-friendly glass: I’ll come with you to make sure you don’t get lost. Strange area an’ all,” Spike effortlessly covered for Xander’s evident fear of being too far from the Spike zone. “I’ll stay here, try to fix the mess we made of the crawlspace door.” “Someone will be around to deal with that.” Xander shrugged and prodded at the food on his plate, appetite having waned in seconds. “Remind me to clear the trunk before we go,” Spike added nonchalantly, wanting to divert Xander’s attention despite being dubious of what the man would make of the items Spike had gathered to bring back to the cabin while blissfully ignorant of the occurrences taking – and about to take – place. “You bring me pressies?” Xander made himself joke. “Actually…yes.” Xander’s jaw dropped in a comical reaction of pure surprise. “You brought me pressies?” Spike nodded. “Real presents? I mean…real ones?” “Yes.” “You— You’re kidding, right? I open the trunk and it’s full of those carnival snakes that all spring up in my face and…” “Nope.” “What then?” “Keys are by the door if you can’t wait for dusk.” “I can wait, I’m not a kid.” Spike bit back a smile and didn’t bother with double figures when starting the mental countdown. “Although we do need to pack, and if any of the stuff in the car needs packing…?” Xander left that sentence hanging in the air and waited with childlike anticipation for Spike to put him out of his misery. “It’ll need packing. You be okay if I wait on the porch?” “Yeah, yeah, I can manage that.” Spike gestured to Xander’s three-quarter-full plate… “When you’re finished here then.” …ensuring it was cleared in less than five minutes. … Spike watched with a distinct return to wary as Xander popped the trunk of the company car and practically dived in after the gifts that Spike had brought him. Arms loaded, he returned to the cabin, grinning gleefully at the vampire as he passed by and eventually placing his goodies on the rapidly cleared dining table. First up he studied the very wilted bunch of roses. “That a vampire thing? The whole…deadness?” “They weren’t dead when they went in, you plonker, they’ve been there days.” “Oh. Yeah. Course. And…red roses?” The grin returned, full force. “You really did think you had a chance.” “This wasn’t about that,” Spike insisted. “This was a joke, the continuation of a joke. The teasing boyfriend nonsense.” Xander did know that and, seeing Spike’s concern, reassured him with a nod and a kinder smile before diving back into the packages. “’Kay… Eww.
Very dead strawberries to go with the dead roses. “Although proximity might point out that its good self is what allows a bloke to figure out that attraction is about more than proximity.” “Attraction? Ooh, no, no attraction, we are so not inviting attraction to the party. Bad enough flirting with futility and dancing around attachment.” “Xander…” “Convenience was more our kind of guy; can we simply hang in the kitchen with convenience and wait for reality to check in? ‘Cause reality – running late, but always turns up in the end.” Strictly ignoring blue eyes brimming with undeniable persuasiveness, Xander shuffled through the mini-discs Spike had brought along, barely recognising half the artists but willing to give anything a try rather than turn to Spike to ask ‘who?’. Then there were three good quality t-shirts, very handy when he’d already had to throw a couple of his own out; the first due to damage and stains after the Toby-manufactured fight; the second after Spike, the liberating hero, had ripped it from his body. The shirts were tastefully plain in dark hues, a red, blue and a green; something fundamental in Xander’s being insisted he find an outlet where he could buy a Day-Glo pink shirt with luminous yellow daisies or some other such monstrosity that would leave Spike heaving. Two A5 page-a-day diaries: one for the year soon to end, another for the new. “I thought it would be
easier to report back to “Organised, yes, I should have done this years ago. I guess you saw where I was trying to work out what happened when?” Xander’s peripheral vision caught Spike’s nod. “It didn’t seem to matter, but it might. With Dead Guy, a good record… I’ll do that. You’re doing well, Baby, you should be proud of yourself.” “Proud of myself?” Spike snorted. “I was prolonging an imbecilic joke when all you really needed was for me to be back here.” “Hey, no insulting the joke boyfriend. I got both. You, and cool stuff.” “It’s nothing, it’s pilfering the petty cash to piss off Angel and…” “You were thinking of me and I appreciate that.” “I should’ve…” “I was liking this before the breast-beating, thanks and shut up, Spike. Big box now?” Spike sighed, stepped aside, and waved a ‘have at it’ toward the biggest gift. Xander scrabbled it open. “Laptop? You got me a laptop?” “Angel caught me checking out the office supplies and specifically told me to leave this alone.” “So, naturally, that’s what you stole. Excellent! No, wait. He knows you pretty well: a bluff, you think?” “He wouldn’t dare.” Xander finally risked a look at Spike, and they exchanged a conspiratorial grin before Xander returned to rifling in the box. “This is a great package. There’s a camera…and a…scanner… Speakers and…uh…light sabre? You know what plugs in where?” “We’ll figure it out.” “I make notes in the diaries, I write them up here – taking twenty times longer than usual ‘cause typing and speed have no place being in the same sentence where I’m concerned…” A sobering thought and Xander curbed his enthusiasm, turning to Spike. “I’m going to be dead before Christmas. That’s why this now, isn’t it?” “This now,” Spike corrected as he stared at a clutch of meaningless computer cables, “was a joke, remember?” “And dead before Christmas?” “No idea.” “Truthfully?” “No idea. Truthfully.” “Okay,” Xander accepted quietly, back to the handfuls of computer equipment. “Okay.” The quiet was short-lived… “Hey, you see this? The light sabre doubles as a printer.” …and the truth didn’t prevent the outbreak of light sabre sound effects; in the face of possible death, it was as encouraging as Spike could hope for. … “I missed one.” “One what?” Xander was waggling a CD at Spike. “Present. I was clearing up the table and found this. But we don’t have a CD player.” “In the kitchen.” Xander turned on his heel and bounded kitchen-ward. “Xander, it was…” Talking to himself. Spike tutted and followed, lounging in the doorway as Xander searched and found the player that folded into a space beneath one of the wall units, turning it down and prodding buttons until the disc drawer emerged, then carefully putting the CD in place. “It was for one song,” Spike told him as he crossed and took the jewel case, scanning the track list and clicking the player along to number two. “And Xander…” “Yeah?” “Part of the joke. It was meant to be ironic.” “Sure,” Xander nodded, eye wickedly bright, as he pressed play. Slow and sweet piano intro, and a voice like velvet emerged from the player’s secreted speakers. Spike turned his back, head bowed as he listened. ‘Tonight you're mine
completely, “Ironic, all right?” Spike repeated, starting to leave but only getting as far as the void left by the trashed table. Turning to stare thoughtfully at Xander, he remained unreadably transfixed as the song played through; Xander attempted to ignore the concentrated attention but was barely able to stop himself from squirming. “Put it on repeat.” Xander glanced at Spike curiously, then did as he was asked, looking over to see Spike holding out a hand to him. “Come and dance.” A split-second’s shock and Xander gave an embarrassed laugh. “I can’t dance with a guy.” “You’re not dancing with a guy, you’re dancing with me.” Reminding Spike of a nervous colt, Xander fidgeted his way over to the vampire, eventually letting himself be drawn close, his hands led to Spike’s waist. “There we go. Not quite as traumatic as being possessed,” Spike grinned, and Xander giggled at the continuing oddness, liking it nevertheless when cool hands skimmed over the bare skin of his arms, pausing on his shoulders to squeeze reassuringly, before trailing up his neck, fingers proceeding to tangle themselves in the dark hair. Spike leaned his brow against Xander’s and encouraged the first swaying steps that stiltedly progressed from awkward to…less awkward. ‘Tonight with words
unspoken, Just when he was on the verge of coping with the situation he’d
found himself in, Xander was somewhat disconcerted by Spike falling still for
the greater part of one play-through, and although immobility was simpler to
deal with than the knowledge that he was Dancing
With Spike, it troubled him enough to
ensure he was glad when Spike moved in and pressed his lips to Xander’s ear. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.” “Stop doing this to yourself,” Xander groaned. “If there was anything to forgive I wouldn’t hesitate to forgive you, but…” “Please…” “…there’s nothing.” Xander drew his head back to look into Spike’s disturbingly watery eyes. “We dealt, Spike. If we’d’ve had a clue that what happened could happen, if we’d discussed it, I would have told you to do whatever you had to. Like when we talked about stopping the entity from using me to hurt people: whatever it takes, you do what you have to. You’re the only one strong enough.” “Tell me you don’t hate me.” “I’m beginning to hate that fucking soul,” Xander muttered, but the irritation in his voice never touched his eye, the soft indulgence in its depths giving Spike what should have been unneeded hope. “Tell me…” A tender kiss silenced the demands, over too soon but the best argument Xander had come up with since Spike’s self-damned actions. “I’m dancing with you, Baby,” Xander whispered as he tightened his grip and rocked them, returning to the previous brow-to-brow stance. “As for the rest? Expediency may have to stick around for the rest of this party, but you and me… I think you were right. We’ll be hanging out with irony.” ‘Is this a lasting
treasure, … The final absolution seemed to have done the trick. Spike perceivably perked up, grouched up, almost gave Xander a smack when the light sabre sound effects started yet again, and didn’t even try to quell the lust-hoarsened shout of Xander’s name when he warped fact into fantasy and brutally wrenched an orgasm from himself mid-shower. Xander heard, naturally,
and he guessed that he was supposed to hear for some reason known only to the
vampire, but it made him feel uneasy and horny in equal parts. He occupied himself with loading their
belongings into the Mustang and being ready to leave the moment the sun began
its rapid winter set, sitting behind the wheel and examining how he felt about
the fact that Spike seemed to be fucking his way through the Scoobies. He thought about He admitted how alike he and Spike were inasmuch as they seemed to be victims of the proximity deal. He wouldn’t have sought out Anya, Spike wouldn’t have chased Harmony. Both of them, he acknowledged sadly, would have had a better life if Buffy had never appeared and turned their respective worlds upside down. He’d deserved her more than Spike – although in hindsight he could spot a lucky escape rather than a missed opportunity – but maybe neither of them deserved her at all, in the way people don’t deserve incurable diseases, because time was still proving her to be an emotional wrecking ball leaving a trail of wounded in her wake. Xander wondered when he’d learned to love his friends objectively, and actually love them better for it, refusing to see that it was because of the distance he had created. Buffy. He smiled and tried not to. She might have been physically astounding, but Spike thought Xander was better without even trying. Just…needing. ‘Deny that there’s a spark inside you that glows at the thought of
being wanted.’ “Sure. Like I’m made of stone, Dumbass.” Sparking, sparking, and, oh boy, sparking. He studied Spike as the vampire exited the cabin and strolled over to join him, pouring into the passenger seat with that uncanny, enviable grace. “You’re so fucking hot, you know that, don’t you?” Spike covered his briefly glimpsed amazement with a smug smile and a snicker. “Course I know that.” “Okay if I go back to hating you for a couple hours?” “Be my guest.” Xander smiled appreciatively, and started the car. “Sure you don’t want me to drive?” Spike offered, wanting a distraction to minimise his thinking time. “Slight advantage of me knowing how to get to Woodbury.” “I know the general direction and I need to drive. Been itching to get moving.” “You have a nice scratch then, I’ll just sit here and look fucking hot, how’s that?” Xander swivelled and examined the vampire, lingeringly, hint of dark roots to dirty boots. Spike couldn’t not be affected, and they both had to know that, didn’t they? “Don’t go to any trouble on my account,” Xander said with a rigidly straight face but a very naughty twinkle to his eye. Spike shifted to accommodate involuntary physical reactions. “Think I’ll hate you too, manipulative little sod.” With a sigh of mean satisfaction, Xander put the car into drive and headed for the road. … Two-thirds of the way to Woodbury Xander conceded defeat. If questioned he would have refused to admit it, but he was still not fully recovered from his experiences at the non-corporeal hands of the uber-nasty; he tired quickly, and now the urge to escape had passed, he was happy to change places with Spike and take it easy for the remainder of the journey. “What do we know about Dead Guy?” he asked Spike after a short, meditative rest. “Suspiciously little.” “Just that he may not have been fully human.” “Fine, upstanding citizen, he wasn’t,” Spike told him grimly. “Whichever version of hell he’s in, he deserves to be there.” “But if he is in hell – and that’s for want of a better term – there’s every chance I won’t be able to contact him.” “Can’t help thinking ‘good’ to that.” “End of the world, Spike? Inter-dimensional war?” “Yeah, all right,” came, grumbled quietly, along with a concerned glance that Xander probably wasn’t meant to see, not going by the way Spike’s head snapped back in the direction of the road when he was noticed. “Any idea of what the non-human portion was?” “No. His former associates – they’re all hybrids and we can’t figure out any of them – seem very cagey about discussing him, probably ‘cause one of them had him knocked off.” “Maybe they’re glad to see him gone, don’t want him given a voice in any capacity.” “Maybe. And when that type are scared?” Xander took a moment for that to sink in. “Okay, totally not Mr Nice Dead Guy, but he is Mr Knowledgeable Dead Guy. If he can be reached, we can do this.” “‘Irrationally optimistic.’” “What?” “That’s what Angel called you shortly before he began his love affair with the floor. Or at least it’s my niced-up version of what he said.” “I can imagine. Closer to…too stupid to know better? And he’s probably right.” Xander paused for thought; Spike took another of those perturbing concerned glances. “This…” Xander began slowly. “This is only one stage of life. My physical presence gets killed in the middle of this, I know I’ll live on, I’m not scared of dying.” “You wouldn’t regret it?” “Sure, I’d regret it. I’m hoping to hang onto the physical presence, there’s a lot more I want to do with it, but… Realistically? If you’re this worried about me, I’m kinda looking forward to meeting up with Saul and Jesse in person.” “And William?” “But you…” “We’ll be going together, mate. Different destinations but same departure date. If you meet William and he’s heard the rumours, tell him I wasn’t all bad, right?” “Right.” Xander fell silent once again, confused by the fact that, after this brief time together, he was more bothered by the thought of Spike dying than he was by his own mortality. Probably because Spike really had proved he wasn’t all bad, and the thought of this version spending eternity in any kind of hell… Xander reached out without thought, wanting contact and now, not caring if Spike got the wrong impression as his hand landed on a bony knee and squeezed. But Spike didn’t get the wrong impression at all. “Don’t worry about me, Petal. The demon deserves it.” “The demon… That’s you.” “Yeah,” Spike agreed with quiet resignation. “That’s me.” “This is wrong. What you deserve is what everyone deserves: a second chance.” “I’m living mine right now, aren’t I? And even knowing that, I still want to kill people for beating up defenceless psychics. One day it’s going to happen, I’m going to kill someone for what I think are the right reasons. Second chance and I’m going to blow it, Xander.” “No. Nothing is that black and white. The stuff I said to you, about the demon being automatically damned? Can’t be that simple. Not if the person you are now is a part of the equation.” “Let it go, eh?” “Spike…” “’Cause if you don’t, I’ll start thinking that I’m one of things you want to do if you hang on to your physical presence.” “Like you don’t already think it. If you had brains as big as your ego you’d be dangerous, you know that?” “Size matters, eh?” Xander slumped and groaned, knowing he’d brought this on himself. “You can’t have been disappointed then. I’ve been complimented before on the size of my…ego.” “Know the worst of this? I can’t even taunt you back because you’d expect me to deliver.” “So what? We both know it’s only a matter of time.” “No, Spike, we do not know.” “Please yourself.” “I will.” “Can I watch?” Spike snickered, and Xander’s only escape was to pretend to sleep. … “Much bigger town than the last place,” Spike observed as they drove along a Woodbury thoroughfare lined with shops, noticing that some fast food restaurants were still lit. “Must’ve caught ‘em just before closing time. Want to pick up something to eat?” Spike slowed the car to examine the available fare. “Pizza? Chicken? McDonald’s?” “Not McDonald’s. I’ve had enough of McDonald’s to last me a lifetime.” Spike cocked an inquisitive brow. “Long story,” Xander dismissed. “Pizza?” Spike was already pulling in to the kerb. “I’ll get them, what do you fancy?” “I’ll go with you.” “I’d rather you stayed…” One look at Xander’s ready-to-rant face and Spike was climbing from the car and waiting for Xander to join him. The guy behind the counter at the pizza parlour had started to shut up shop but was good enough to take their order when Spike waved a hefty gratuity under his nose. As they waited for their food they wandered around the immediate vicinity, Xander happily window shopping and trying not to laugh at Spike, who was in beady-eyed bodyguard mode, keenly alert and, most certainly unintentionally, very entertaining. Pizzas collected, they sat in the car and ate, watching as the town finally closed down for the night. “You think you’ll ever go
back to “Maybe,” Spike frowned. “Why? Fancy the trip?” “I didn’t mean— Seriously? No, not seriously.” “Yes, seriously. Superhero like me needs a sidekick.” “Ah, I obviously misheard. I thought you needed a psychic. No wonder Angel thinks I’m crazy.” “You’d like “The psychic sidekick. UK-bound, and fearlessly diverting attention from the fact you’re super-heroically cowering in a shipping crate away from the sunlight.” “Oi, less of it. I’ve been around the world and never had to resort to cowering in shipping crates yet.” “Are you curious about the tree?” “Tree?” “Your aunt said they’d had a tree planted, a memorial to you and your mom. If I were you I’d want to find it.” “Then you can do
that. When this is over we’ll go to “Not sure. I can barely hear it over the roar of denial.” “Xander…” Spike began thoughtfully. “Can I tell you something that’s been bothering me?” “Do.” “When my aunt connected with you, what she said implied that they hadn’t been in contact with William.” “Well…you’re here. All of you.” “Now I am. But where was the soul before it was returned to me? If they didn’t meet up with it, it couldn’t have gone to that version of heaven, my family’s version, could it? And you thought that an innocent soul wouldn’t be punished, so…?” “Uh… Good one. You ever question why you don’t have memories of where the soul was?” Spike frowned. “No.” “Then perhaps that’s how it works. You’re not meant to remember, and your family isn’t meant to either.” “I got to wondering if there was some sort of purgatory where souls go to in these circumstances, and they can’t go on to heaven until the vampire is killed so their whole self is dead.” “Could be,” Xander reluctantly conceded, full of uncertainty. “You know I don’t know. And that’s…God, that’s depressing, the possibility of existing in limbo for over a century.” “Let’s forget it then.” “How can…” “’Cause I said so.” “Won’t come to that for you, though, will it?” Another slice of pizza in pensive silence and Xander spoke slowly as he picked his way through difficult thoughts. “Spike… Your mom.” “Here?” Spike asked hopefully. “No, sorry. But… You turned your mom, she was a vampire, yes?” “Yes,” Spike agreed flatly at the reminder. “She came through to me, didn’t she?” “She didn’t kill anyone.” “But if she was a vampire…” “She didn’t kill anyone, never had a chance. I assumed, because of that…” “Okay, I have to tell you…” Xander sighed and shook his head. “I wasn’t hiding this, I just didn’t think of it before.” Spike frowned at Xander and waited for him to continue. Another sigh and… “Jesse.” “Your Jesse? The one who helps you?” Xander nodded. “When Buffy first got to Sunnydale he got…caught up in the middle of the shit flying. He was taken. Turned.” “And…he killed?” “He must have. Before I… I’m the one who staked him.” A moment for that to sink in and to let the worst of Xander’s pained expression fade, and Spike was twisting in the seat to face him. “Has he ever spoken about it?” “No. When he first came through to me it was the Jesse I knew and loved, he was so familiar I guess it was easy to put the bad stuff out of my head ‘cause, God knows, I needed to. We’ve never spoken about it, he’s never alluded to being a vampire, or – or knowing about them, even when you showed up.” “So…we’re back to the demon’s memories being lost, and don’t try to console me with William getting to heaven,” Spike insisted before Xander could do just that. “I’ll be lost, Spike will be lost.” “Maybe the demon’s conscience will continue somewhere else, the memories and knowledge saved that way.” “Yeah,” Spike said, forcing a patently fake smile. “Maybe that’s it.” “I’m sorry, Spike, I don’t think it’s fair, but…” “You didn’t make the rules, I know. Like I said: forget it.” “But…” “You’re not so pretty when you’re miserable; improve the view, eh?” “Spike…” “Move on. It’s not like I have one foot back in the grave, is it? Think positive.” “Think positive?” Xander sighed. “Okay. Okay, I’ll be…irrationally optimistic.” “You do that. And I’ll…” Spike grinned, “tell you about this bloke called Charlie, pissing in Angel’s chair.” … Their next residence was another luxury backwater retreat, this time an imposing, gothic, stone house that looked genuinely antiquated. Xander peered at it through the Mustang’s windscreen with cautious anticipation before leaving the car and moving far enough from Spike to gain a first psychic impression. “This is…uh…” “Quite old, rumour has it,” Spike said as he approached the building’s porch. “Thought you mind find it interesting.” “Old, yes. Old and…busy.” Realising Xander wasn’t following him, Spike stopped and looked back expectantly. “You with me?” “Do these houses belong to you and Angel?” “They’re a returned favour. Someone we worked for who appreciated our unique skills and, more to the point, our discretion.” “You trust him?” “Absolutely. He’d have too much to lose if he ever turned us over.” Spike shifted impatiently on the spot. “Give it a try, eh? Like I said, you might find it…” “Interesting, yes, okay. This place is active. Very.” Spike ducked inside and Xander hurried to catch up, noticing how deliberately some distance was put between them. Xander shook his head and chuckled. “That what this is about? Free show?” “Not as such, but if you’re inclined I’m not going to put you off.” A few minutes concentration and Xander was in pursuit of the strongest emanations. “Where are we going?” Spike asked. “Kitchen.” “How do you know…” “That’s where Emily is.” They arrived at the kitchen, Xander paying close attention to what was being conveyed to him, Spike bright-eyed with excitement. “Okay. Okay, Emily… … Thank you, Saul. … She preferred Em. Em. Because…because the children could say it easily. She loved the children and… Even now, although these particular children…” Xander listened for a while, nodding. “There are several layers of activity here. Time is responsible for some, but others… Some of the stones used in the construction of this building were taken from another site and they brought their own residual energy with them. Emily, and the children I can feel, are from different times, but from this site, and they are aware of each other, positively aware.” Xander smiled as he experienced. “They’re tiny, the children, they can’t be more than two or three. Ah. Sad. Flu killed them, it seems like flu.” Xander waved Spike aside and rushed to a different area of the ground floor, a large living room with a grand fireplace. “There’s a man attached to the children’s time – can’t figure out father or uncle – but this was his place, he loved this room, he loved the warmth. He stood…” Xander crossed and leaned an arm on the mantel. He closed his eye, felt, and went on to mime knocking a pipe out into the fire. “Oh, yeah, his place, he loved this place. He’s…” Xander opened his eye, took a step sideways, and stared at where he’d been standing. “Maybe…six inches shorter than me, his hair is mid brown, onto his shoulders. Thin face, pock-marked skin, strong features, admirable features. And… Reginald,” Xander grinned at Spike, “this is Reginald.” A glance toward the rear of the building and Xander showed less enthusiasm. “There’s another spirit, not so good, full of negative energy. Mainly…” With a nod to an unseen presence, Xander cautiously walked through into a dining room. “Okay. Okay,” he said slowly, possibly to himself. “What have we got? Okay.” He looked back to make sure Spike was with him. “It’s a man. He seems confused. Hostile. I think… … Yes, he belongs to the stolen stones. This place doesn’t make sense to him, but he’s still drawn to the aura of familiarity because this is – this specific area is – where most of the stones were used. … Christopher, yes. … Christopher…Meadows. … Not a good man, he lost his original home for a reason, he was… … Again. … Thanks, Saul. Killed for his crimes – legally executed – and his home was dismantled. He’s angry about his home. … Here and now… It seems…the children can sense him, they feel the evil in him and…and they run from him. But he…thankfully, he doesn’t sense the children.” “You’ve turned grey, you want to rest?” “I’m just a little tired. There’s a lot of conflicting activity here, leaves me feeling drained.” “Sore?” Spike frowned at where Xander was rubbing a hand over his solar plexus. “That’s where I feel it. Kind of a…psychic socket,” Xander managed a weak grin. Spike moved in close, and Xander’s stressed face relaxed somewhat as the zone kicked in, but he didn’t look any happier. “Instead of fussing over me, take a look around.” Said in such a way that Spike knew Xander wanted rid of him, despite his quieting effect. “You going to pass out?” “I don’t think so. No.” Spike acknowledged that with a nod; he strolled off to check out the upstairs with poorly manufactured nonchalance, suspicious of Xander’s motives, and blatantly disgruntled at being sent away. Physically alone, yet deafened by the growing swell of voices, Xander tried to build some mental defences, succeeding in muting the sensations he was experiencing and that was as much as he could hope for, even with Saul’s help. Not so long ago he’d have given anything he had for an opportunity like this, but here and now it felt like a disaster and, joy of joys, he got to be weak in front of Spike yet again. It was bad enough having to be honest with himself about how vulnerable and anxious his encounter with the uber-nasty had left him, confessing to Spike in any way was like pouring salt into a wound. His trust wavered momentarily as he questioned whether he’d been completely taken in by the vampire and this was all a massive joke at his expense, but… That wasn’t how it felt. The only scrap of consolation came from knowing how bad Spike would feel when he saw how bad Xander was feeling, and how perverse was that? So much for the better person. … Spike was becoming quite reconciled to the spasms of alarm that he now firmly associated with Xander. They usually involved the human being missing, and here he was again, or rather here he wasn’t: missing. There was large scale missing, which resulted in his dilapidated companion being discovered in a stinking, airless crawlspace, and there was small scale missing, which basically involved Xander not being where he should be. Right now, this was the medium size variety: Xander had left the house and Spike didn’t trust him not to wander off and get savaged by— Lack of fauna-based regional knowledge put a halt to the inner rant and he decided that looking for Xander was better than leaving him to be mauled by a range of species that could involve anything from chipmunks to wolves. He’d quickly figured he’d lost a few points, bringing Xander to this place; the sight of the man perched on the car’s hood, back literally turned on this adventure, head dejectedly down and arms defensively crossed, wasn’t necessary to drive that fact home. “I know there’s nothing here that can affect me badly,” Xander said flatly as he heard Spike approach. “I know I should be able to cope.” Spike settled alongside him and thought about how it must be to be Xander. “After what you’ve been through…” The sentence pretty much finished itself. “I so want to be here, to experience, and investigate. Learn. But I’m sca— I’m worried about being here. And ashamed at wanting to leave.” “I’ll stick with you every minute if you want to stay.” “That isn’t the answer, is it?” “Could be. Temporarily.” “You’d think that feeling like such an ass would do the trick. All the stuff I keep having to admit to you…” Xander gave a humourless chuckle. “Never tell me what you really think of me, Spike, don’t be that honest.” Spike’s smile held the warmth that Xander’s lacked, and he gave Xander’s thigh a hearty slap before straightening up and heading to the driver’s door. “Let’s go.” “I’m going to regret giving up this chance until the day I die.” “Once we get through…” “No,” Xander
snapped. “I’ve had enough of being
humoured. I’ll never see this place
again, I’ll never see “Yeah, you’ll have a hectic schedule in the new year if you’re not busy being dead,” Spike told him conversationally. “Now shift your arse, and let’s find somewhere else.” Xander stood and took another look at the building, trying to talk himself into staying. The strongest, and least sensible, argument was simply… “I want to be here.” “No. Get in the car.” “If it’s the only chance…” “Go with your instincts. First and last impression might be whoop-de-do, but the overriding sense is ‘not now, not ready’, right?” “Yeah,” Xander admitted defeatedly. “So, put away the brave face and let’s go.” Xander did as he was told, silent and moping and, once more, wishing he could talk to his usual team at the Stokes’. “We passed a motel, didn’t we?” Spike asked, more to engage Xander than because he needed to know: he’d made a mental note of the place he was now looking for in case the house was unsuitable. “I don’t remember.” “C’mon, Love, chin up. It could’ve been worse.” “It could?” “Mmm. Could’ve been boring.” “I would like boring. I would pay for boring. Okay, I’m broke, but if I had a thousand dollars in my pocket I would pay for boring. The thousand in the other pocket would pay for this whole Dead Guy thing to be over. The thousand— How many fantasy pockets am I allowed?” “D’know. Your fantasy garb.” “I wouldn’t expect you to believe it for a moment after what you’ve seen,” Xander shot off on a semi-tangent, “but I love what I do. I really love my work, and I’m happy with my life, however crap you think it is.” “I know all that.” “But you’ve only seen things going wrong and…” “No, I haven’t. And I do know what it’s like when you feel like you’ve found your place. I had that once, a very long time ago.” “What place was that?” “Beside Dru. Newly made, and I worshipped her. Thought it was just her and me for eternity.” The contentment on Spike’s face at that memory didn’t last for more than a few seconds. “Was soon disillusioned, thanks to bloody Angelus, but I’ve never forgotten how it felt, how…precious.” “Did you find out what happened to her?” Xander asked tentatively. “Other than her just being…gone.” “No. Don’t have a clue where it happened, or who was responsible.” “Isn’t there a way…” “Let’s not talk about that. Can’t have both of us weeping and wailing, eh?” Xander drew breath to offer his sympathy but ultimately had the sense to keep quiet about the loss of Drusilla. Instead, back to the premature death scenario. “Has there been any information about the people who might’ve killed Dead Guy? Any chance we’re hiding out for no good reason?” “No information, and every chance.” “Gee, I’m glad you found it in your heart to break the crushing futility of this road trip to me gently. Guess it doesn’t matter if I miss my home and my friends and my work so long as you’re having fun.” “Did I say I was having fun?” “Great, now you’re miserable too.” “Did I say I was miserable?” “What then? You’re mindlessly tolerating…” “Did I say I was mindlessly tolerating?” Xander peered at Spike, his expression morphing from peeved to vengeful as he settled back comfortably in his seat. “Are we there yet?” “No, it’s…” “Are we there yet?” “Can’t be more than…” “Are we there yet?” “Xander…” “Are we there yet?” “Tosser.” “Are we there yet?” “Git.” “Are we there yet?” “Twat.” “Are we there yet?” … Thankfully they arrived at the motel before Spike felt it necessary to strangle Xander with his own tongue; Spike booked their room while Xander got into the driver’s seat and parked up, taking his time assessing the area before removing their luggage from the Mustang’s trunk, just as Spike showed up, waving a swipe card. “This place all right?” “Characterless and soulless,” Xander told him firmly. Exchanging a look, they commented in harmony: “Perfect.” They were pleasantly surprised by the accommodation, more so after the impression gleaned from the dour exterior: the room was larger than average and certainly homelier, with two double beds, a small seating area alongside a kitchenette, and still room to swing the proverbial cat. Spike claimed the bed furthest from the windows and lounged while Xander examined every square inch of the place, physically and psychically, finally pronouncing himself satisfied and quite at ease. “That was quite something earlier.” Xander stopped unpacking long enough to look a question. “The way you walked in and read that building.” “Oh, right.” Xander went back to sorting through his belongings. “You take it for granted?” “No. But…yes. No, ‘cause I know this is a blessing, if that doesn’t sound too corny. Yes, because it’s there, all the time, and seems as natural as if I’d been able to do this all my life.” “What’s it called when you hold an object and pick up information from it?” “Psychometry.” “Can you do that?” “Yes.” “Will you do that for me?” “Yeah, sure, but not tonight. When I’m not tired, I’m better then.” Xander went to shower, and Spike helped himself to Xander’s puzzle book before stripping off and climbing into bed, checking out and mulling over the latest poser. What Xander found a challenge, Spike found a bore, so he occupied a little time by doodling rudely suggestive pictures in the margins, then tossed the book across the room to land on the other bed, approximately where Xander had left it. When Xander returned he stood and gazed at his bed for several minutes; Spike assumed he was thinking about the chances of a good night’s sleep. “You want me there?” he offered, already pushing back his covers. “No,” Xander told him distractedly. Spike’s hands unconsciously clenched into fists as his stomach turned a slow somersault. “Why?” “What?” “Why?” “Why what?” “Don’t you want me in there with you?” “I didn’t say…” “Yes, you did, you just did.” “I didn’t…” “What are you afraid of? You think I’m going to seduce you or something? I just want to give you some peace, let you rest.” “I never…” “Bloody typical!” The pillow predictably took a pounding and Spike turned his back, huddling into the covers, hurt and thoroughly disgruntled. “You said you’d forgiven me – in fact you said there was nothing to forgive – but now you won’t have me in your bed.” “Spike…” “I think you trust me, fucking hell, I want you to trust me, and you let me hope but I’ve blown that, obviously. You’re like every other human I know. Two-faced bastard.” Spike froze, physically and verbally, as he felt the bed dip behind him, Xander reclaiming some of the bedclothes from the mound that Spike had screwed himself into. The vampire scrambled around and stared at the human accusingly. “What?” Xander
yawned. “You want to sleep in that bed,
go ahead, but the mattress is new and it’s like concrete.” “You… Fuck,” Spike concluded, and Xander grinned. “Like that, did you? Me rabbiting on and making a fool of myself?” Xander said nothing, poorly disguising his chuckle with a fake cough. “What were you thinking about, then? When you came back in here?” “How to go behind your back and send H a birthday card without letting anyone know where we are. I saw the puzzle book and it reminded me.” “You can do that,” Spike muttered resentfully, but at least now able to blame Henry for his fit of pique. “Get him a card. We’ll send it to LA and one of the minions will post it on.” “You have minions?” “The term is force of habit.” “Ah. Huminions.” Spike watched Xander begin to drift off; it felt strange to be this far apart, they were always his chest to Xander’s back or, more rarely, vice versa. He wriggled a little closer and took a deep breath. “You smell nice.” “You hitting on me, Mr Armitage?” “Not likely. I might be trying to work out if there’s any chance of a cuddle.” Xander frowned. “I thought… I think we’re okay.” “Yes. And?” “What was the ‘I’m not
trying to seduce you’ about?” “The fact that I’m not
trying to seduce you.” “I never thought…” “But you might have.” “Why should I?” “Because, deep inside,
you still think I’m opportunistic lowlife scum.” The positively reasonable
manner in which that statement was delivered took Xander aback; he was
instantly fully awake, and after a few blinks he stared at Spike for a long
moment. A long moment that he spent
asking himself some pretty tricky questions.
Giving himself some answers that occasionally surprised him. “No. That was years ago. I’m not going to pretend I never felt that
way, but it’s in the past.” Spike gave a
shallow nod. “Sounding like a stuck
record here, but we’ve both changed, and I think we’re beyond being nice to one
another for the sake of the mission.
Even if we started out with neither of us mattering enough to the other
to be the object of hatred, we’ve moved on.
Sunnydale kin, maybe.
Friends…? I’m hoping. Opportunistic lowlife scum? Despite some of the stuff I’ve said since you
showed up, I haven’t honestly thought that for a moment. I may get pissed with you, but that bigoted
hostility is all in the past. For me, at
least. I shouldn’t speak for you, but…” “Past.” They watched each other relax; Xander turned onto his back for a highly satisfying groan-filled stretch, then onto his side, facing away from Spike. “I’ll be over here if you want…” Xander grinned to himself. “…a cuddle. The cuddling vampire, Jesus, that’s bizarre, and it could only be you.” Spike was moulded to Xander’s back in a second, face in his hair and murmuring unintelligible sweet nothings. “Just don’t stick anything up my ass unless you have my permission in writing, okay?” Spike…creaked. “You’re so easy.” “Try me, Love,” Spike murmured against Xander’s neck, unintentionally stimulating the well-healed but shockingly responsive bite scar. And in the midst of the shiver it caused, Xander could almost be heard thinking… Ass, tongue, ass, tongue, ass, tongue…
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