Crunching, barefoot, across a carpet of bugs.  Had to be a dream.  Not the first of the night either, nor the most emotionally destructive.  Or maybe the other one had been the dream and this…

This was a dream.  At least Xander was counting on it being a dream as he vigorously shook off one enterprising creepy-crawly that began to venture up his leg.  His left eye agonisingly un-popping reassured him, and his now twenty-twenty vision sought a few clues.

Cave?  The ceiling, walls and floor were a sea of shifting black bodies, heaving and drifting; hard to tell if this was a cave.  Koga’s cave?  Great, shouldn’t have let that stupid idea enter his head, because he’d had something similar to this before, and however much he put up a fight…

Koga was there, instantly, surrounded by heaps of body parts, the remains of all the victims that Xander had somehow failed to save.  No longer trampling insects, Xander looked warily downwards to discover he was standing on a rug, animal skin, head still attached.  Animal…  No.  Human.  Human, and…  The head – Tania’s head – turned to look at him, face mutilated almost beyond recognition.  Xander screamed within this…  Oh, God help me, it has to be a…  …dream, backing off the skin rug, backing into a solid form that wasn’t going to be Spike despite the silent prayers that followed the scream.

He turned around, face-to-face with Koga, and this was old, this he knew, as the man’s hand rose to the level of Xander’s face and…  Another scream as his eye was destroyed once more, and his stomach churned as he felt himself falling, knowing he was being thrown into that shaft in the cave, that he’d never escape it and he’d die there surrounded by rotten food and rats and shit and…

He landed upright, against a wall that teemed with bugs, and they crawled over him, into his clothes, ears, mouth, throat, but as he vomited them out he cried with relief despite his revulsion because this wasn’t the shaft, or the cave, and that excruciating pain in his head was his eye reforming.

He jerked away from the wall, shaking off the suit of insects, aware of the crunch underfoot that was horrific but so much better than smooth human skin.

“Koga’s dead,” he said aloud, spitting out a last bug on the final consonant.  “Koga is dead.”

Koga obligingly appeared, very dead now.  Unfortunately still moving as he strolled toward Xander, flesh sloughing away from his rotting body, hand rising and…

“Spike won’t let you,” Xander explained calmly.  “He’ll only kill you again.”

Koga fell still.

“Spiiiiiiiiiike,” he groaned, and his head abruptly sagged and rolled on its broken neck.

“Yeah, that’d be Spike.”

The disintegrating corpse began to laugh, a cruel, taunting laugh that set Xander on edge because he’d heard it too many times in the past when he’d missed something, when he was the unknowing butt of some joke, when he was being made a fool of.

“Spiiiiiiiiiike,” Koga cackled for a last time before his face exploded into more insects, and Xander panicked, barely able to move and needing the greatest effort to wade away through the shiny black sea.

Door.  Good idea?  Bad idea?  Door and…he recognised the strange little dream catcher pinned to the panel: his bedroom door, and the first affectionate gift that Simone had given him.  Homesickness swept over him and he collapsed against the familiar setting, clinging to the door’s reassuringly substantial wooden frame and almost weeping with longing for his home and his friends.

Quiet laughter distracted him from his misery, laughter behind the door, barely distinguishable from the drone of the insects but still carrying that taunting quality; Xander knew he had to go in and, even as his steps backed away, his body moved forward, forward and through the un-opening door, forward and into the calm retreat of his New Forest bedroom.

He looked at the floor.  Carpet.  Not bugs, but carpet.  Carpet that he knew well, a little threadbare in places but he’d refused to have it replaced because he loved the idea of the carpet being older than him.  His carpet in his room.  Safe.  Should be.  So…?

A snigger came from the direction of his bed.  Huge, rather ugly old-fashioned frame dominating the space, bearing the luxury mattress that the Colby’s had gifted him in a bid to help him sleep.  His bed, and it was sniggering at him?  A step closer and the covers billowed.  Spike.  Leaning up to stare at him.  Laughing.

“Spike?” Xander whispered, relieved by this presence but growing distressed by the tone of the laughter.  “Spike?”

A lighter giggle and the covers bulged and withdrew to reveal, rather predictably, Buffy sharing this space, Xander’s space.

“Don’t do this,” Xander told them reasonably as he watched Spike gloatingly roll onto and into Buffy’s body.  “My bed,” came the pointless explanation.  “Spike, you said I could join you next time and kick her skinny ass out, and this is…”  As Xander drew closer Spike’s head snapped up, game-faced and furious with the suggestion.  “But you said…”

“Fucking idiot.”

“No, I’m not, this is what you said…”

“Xander, can you help me with this?” Buffy asked, and Xander noticed she was holding the puzzle book, frowning over the contents and ignoring the fact that a vampire was enthusiastically fucking her.

“I can…”  Xander’s voice trembled to nothing.  He cleared his throat.  “Yeah, I can help you, but…”  He gestured to Spike.

“He won’t notice,” Buffy explained with a smile.  “Like he didn’t notice when you needed him the most.  Remember?  The uber-nasty was torturing you but all he wanted was to stay in LA and fuck my ass?  Wow, we laughed about that.”

“I remember.”

“What’s the answer to this?”  Buffy handed the book over, and Xander stared at the page.  It bore a simple: ‘2 + 2 =’ and it baffled him.  Buffy started to giggle again.  “I didn’t believe him when he said you couldn’t put two and two together.”

In a sudden fury, Xander dropped the book and reached for the bedclothes, tearing them away from the bed, immediately wishing he hadn’t when he discovered Angel sandwiched between Spike and Buffy, fucked and fucking.

“Spike,” Angel gasped as his grandchilde pounded into him.  “I think you’re making Xander feel a little insecure.”

“Do I look like I care?”

Spike peered over his shoulder at Xander, human features distorted by a spiteful grin.  The laughter resumed, increased, and Xander’s hands found themselves in possession of a matchbook.  Xander watched himself, watched with passive distress as he lit the entire book and casually tossed it onto the bed, igniting the three writhing forms, watched Spike’s gorgeous body explode into ash.

Xander jerked awake, really awake, awake but thoroughly disorientated.  The drone of spirits overwhelming him, hand searching for Spike and finding cool, empty sheets.  Despite the voices and the adrenalin rush, reality didn’t want to stick around, and Xander slipped back, at his bedside as Spike, alone and surrounded by flames, reached out for him.

“Why are you punishing me, Xander?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Not my fault, is it?  That you’re barely better than nothing.”  Chuckling once more at Xander’s undisguised grief, Spike thrust a hand into his own chest and yanked out his heart.  “Here…”  He threw it in Xander’s direction.  “I don’t need it.  Not here.  Not with you.”

Sobbing now, sobbing as Spike laughed heartily at his suffering, Xander ran forward, feeling himself catch fire as he desperately tired to push Spike’s heart back into the gaping chest cavity, burning his lungs as he whooped in air, tasting the ash as—

Up and out of the bed, Xander collided with the wall and stayed there, panting and trying to control his panic.  No Spike.  Why no Spike?  Mingling with the voices in his head was Spike’s, and maybe that was it, maybe Spike was dead and in his head and…  Xander shook that nonsense away, listening for Spike, edging forward, scared of the bed catching alight and the possibility of bugs underfoot and Spike not…being.

Laughter.  His name, Spike’s voice, Spike’s laughter.

“Fuck, I’m still dreaming.”

He stared at where the partition wall was cracked open, and wondered if this was a dream or if it was real and, if it wasn’t real, what the hell was waiting for him behind that wall.

…

“Will you stop worrying about what’s happening here and fix up everything at your end?  I need this over with as soon as possible.  …  Less excuses and more action, eh?  …  No, the freak show’s fine, he’s just suffering from cabin fever.  …  I told you I’d keep him sweet, didn’t I?  You know how persuasive I can be, even with moody bastards like him.  I’ve had the practise with you.”  Spike listened and laughed.  “Yes, I know, I know, whatever it takes: I’m already doing whatever it takes and more.  …  Bloody idiot’s fallen for every line, I’m only sorry we didn’t have a bet on this.  …  Right now?  Either waking up and expecting me to give a toss about his sodding dreams, or preparing himself for another day of playing piss off the vampire.”  Once again Spike listened and laughed, good humoured with Angel because the freedom to be unnecessarily mean was a relief after a night of feeling so bitter and hard done by over Xander, over someone he shouldn’t want and couldn’t have and who taunted him with…  “What?  Wasn’t concentrating.  …  No.  Like I said, you stop worrying about…  …  Hardly.  Not much to out-smart, is he.  I promise you I’ve got that simpleton wrapped around my little finger.”

Xander paused with his hand on the partition wall, stung by what he was hearing, by the tone of Spike’s voice as he spoke of him, almost hoping that this was a dream because real Spike wouldn’t sound like that, wouldn’t say those things, unless…  Whatever it takes?  Whatever it takes?  A wave of nausea hit hard, and Xander took several deep breaths to settle his guts.  Had this all been about whatever it takes?  And had he suspected - known – all along, hence the dreams?

Spike was laughing again, and it sounded crueller than ever, and Xander’s name was in there, and…  He felt compelled to put an end to this, dream or reality, to stop Spike’s derision, but it was so difficult to move.  Did that mean he was still dreaming?  No bugs.  No Koga.  No Buffy.  No fire.  No…eye.  Real?  Real and…his only comfort was ridiculing him in the next room.

“Fuck.  Oh, fuck.”

Xander yanked the partition open two feet and stumbled into the living room, startling Spike, whose expression turned to alarm at the sight of his distressed charge.

“Gotta go,” Spike snapped into the phone, words barely out of his mouth before the connection was cut and the cell was in his pocket.  “Xander?”

“Whatever it takes,” Xander murmured, interpreting the shock on Spike’s face as a reaction to being caught out, and being further upset as the vampire’s shock turned not to contrition, but to irritation.

“What?  What did you hear?”  Xander ignored the terse question as he shakily checked around for bugs, lifting his feet one by one to be sure.  “You still dreaming?” Spike asked.

“It was Koga who blinded me.”

“No.”

“And Buffy didn’t believe you when you said I couldn’t put two and two together.”

“This precise moment she’d be right, wouldn’t she.  Come and sit down.  Wake up.”

“I am.  I think.  This is real.”

“This is real, yes.  Not Koga or…”

“And…and…we’re…  You and me, we’re…whatever it takes.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Spike grouched, approaching Xander fast and making him clumsily flinch away in his dazed state.  This spectacularly unsympathetic and barely recognisable Spike clapped his hands in Xander’s confused face.  “Wake up.  Wake up.”

“I am.  I think.”

“I’m warning you, Xander, I’m not in the mood for this.”

“My head hurts…”

“Take a pill.”

“…but it’s not my eye coming back.”  Xander peered suspiciously at Spike.  “I must be awake.”

With a sigh, Spike stomped across to the kitchenette.

“Sit down, I’ll make you some coffee.  Very hot, very strong, blast you into consciousness.”

“I’m barely better than nothing.”

“Did I say that?”

“Yes.”

“Figures.  Dream Spike’s far smarter than this version.”

“No.  He’s cheating on me.”

“He is?  Well, let me guess,” Spike said acerbically, “after last night’s conversation, that’d have to be…”

“Angel.”

“Angel?” Spike repeated in a bark of humour.  “You think?”

“Buffy first but…  That I understand.  ‘Cause…Buffy.  At least she learned to respect you.  But him…”

“Him’s not so bad.  Just because he thinks you’re a waste of space doesn’t make him so bad.”

That shook Xander, whatever state his mind was in.  Spike defending Angel.

“Really?”

Xander checked under his feet for bugs as Spike resumed his coffee-making.

“Really.”

No bugs.  It didn’t make sense.  Xander nodded hazily despite agreeing with nothing, and he turned his back on Spike to head for the bathroom, very deliberately locking the door behind him for the first time since Chrissie’s.

Spike glanced over his shoulder at Xander’s disappearing form and smacked the mugs down onto the counter, banging his fists alongside them and pausing there, taking a few deep, futile breaths, a parody of a long-lost calming act.

“It’s not his fault,” Spike told himself crossly, which was perfectly true but didn’t help assuage the anger that had been continually rumbling inside him since the previous evening, the product of wanting too much and very sensibly denying himself.  The product of Xander being beyond his control and that being…exactly as it should be.

Spike tried to be worried instead, but he’d seen Xander like this before, awake but still dreaming, and it was harmless.  The man would soon come to his senses and the dream might be discussed, might not, and life would rapidly return to normal, whatever normal happened to currently be.  Spike wanted to be worried rather than angry.  Spike wanted to be anything rather than angry.  He certainly didn’t want to spend what time they had left together sulking about things he couldn’t have and, in his heart of hearts, probably didn’t really want.  Probably.  In his heart of hearts.

This time the mugs smashed as he snatched them up and brought them back down, jagged edges cutting into his palms as he ground them into pieces.  He stood there, motionless, for what seemed a long time, concentrating on the welcome pain in his hands, the manageable pain.

“Whatever it takes?”  The voice from behind Spike was soft but it made him jump, and he spun about to see a fully alert and freshly showered Xander staring at him with a disturbing mixture of sorrow, confusion, anger and…nothing.

“What?”

“You said…”

“You dreamt it.”

“No.  This was you.  To Angel.  Apparently I’m a bloody idiot falling for every line and…and…this…us…this is…whatever it takes.”

Spike sighed and wiped his blood-streaked hands on the kitchen towel.

“I’m not about to tell him the truth, am I?  You didn’t want me to.”

“No, don’t try to turn this around.  Not telling Angel about us didn’t mean talking about me like I’m…”

“You don’t know what you heard.”

“I do know.  Freak show; moody bastard; simpleton.  And…  Whatever…  It’s why this has been so good,” Xander said in flat-toned revelation.  “You’ve been doing…whatever it takes.  You’ve been faking it.”

“No.”

“You’re faking it.”

“Don’t be daft, I simply wasn’t about to tell Angel…”

“I can’t believe I fell for it.  Any of it.  All of it.”

With a petulant shrug, Spike turned away and began sweeping what remained of the mugs into the sink with the edge of his hand, aware of Xander returning to the bedroom and, when he listened, he could hear the sounds of rushed dressing.  He quickly re-ran the conversation with Angel in his mind, trying to be Xander, wearing Xander’s acute vulnerability, and…finally realising how damning it sounded and how genuine Xander’s concerns were.  Despite his lingering resentment, Spike rushed to the bedroom.

“Xander.  We’re going to talk this through and you’re going to understand…”

Xander looked up from tying his trainer laces and glared, eye glittering with moisture.

“What?  Understand that for some perverse reason you absolutely needed to do this to me.  Make such a fool of me when all I wanted was to help you and – and…not be hurt, not get attached.”

“It isn’t like that.  C’mere and I’ll…”

Spike reached for Xander but Xander straightened up and quickly backed away.

“I don’t want you to touch me.  I never wanted you to touch me.”

“Get over it.  You know you got what you wanted.”

“I kept telling you no, and…  I can’t do this.”  Xander’s voice shook apart and he made a couple of quick, searching moves before hurrying to the living room, grabbing up his coat and wallet, and heading for the exit.  In less than a second, Spike was blocking his way.

“You’re going to listen to me and you’re going to understand,” Spike insisted despite not having a clue how he could reasonably explain his behaviour away.

“You’re right, you know, I am an idiot.  I let you treat me like a total jerk over heaven, I let you do that and right now I can’t remember why.  I do know it isn’t going to happen again.”

“What I said to Angel…”

Xander gave a tearful, humourless laugh.

“Oh, yeah, isn’t that the final humiliation?  Angel being a part of this?  Fucking Angel.”

“Oh, for—  For Christ’s sake, listen to yourself!”

Spike saw Xander’s hands clench into fists and knew he was going to be hit and…okay.  But however much Xander might have wanted to hit Spike he couldn’t do it, couldn’t physically hurt someone he’d grown to care for, whatever the present circumstances.  Naturally it was in the vampire’s nature to exploit the perceived weakness, and he slowly approached…

“C’mon, Love.”

…only to find himself shoved aside and, in the moment it took for him to recover, Xander was out of the room and protected from pursuit by the bright winter light.

Xander paused outside, panting because he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, feeling completely lost.  No car, no money, and it was only Spike calling him from the doorway, furiously demanding his return, that made him move, wanting to be away from the pain and the reminder of how ridiculous he’d allowed himself to become.  To be made.  And didn’t that just prove Spike’s point?  He really wasn’t much to out-smart.

Striding purposefully away now, he got ten minutes along the isolated road before slowing to a gradual halt.  Where was he going?  Not a clue.  He didn’t know where he was, or how to get home, and he was out of contact with his friends, unable to call them out of fear of leading the wrong people to them.  He stared hopelessly about himself: not a car to be seen, not even if he was prepared to risk returning to New Forest and taking the uber-nasty along for the hitched ride.

Self-pity surged and receded, and Xander slowly turned in the direction of the motel.  Two choices: a) go back to Spike and spend the rest of the day/week/month/time until death hating him; b) don’t go back to Spike at all.  Or at least not until the Dead Guy event.  Or at least not until they could talk without Xander wanting to lash out.

He started walking.  A room of his own, the luxury of privacy, and a month of meditation should do the trick.  Not that he was sure he’d ever understand why this had happened, why Spike had felt the need to…  To what?  Exploit the closest body?

“I’d get that.  If that was it.  If that was all.”  Xander felt a vague expression of consolation from Jesse and smiled weakly at that.  “Hey, Jesse.  You ever think I was this dumb?”

Opening himself up to Jesse was seen as willing participation on Xander’s part and the dull rustle of voices became a roar.

“Okay, okay, one at a time.  …  Saul?  …  Okay.”  The tangled mass of dialogue began to loosen and single voices emerged; this was what Xander was about, and being used by someone other than Spike was a vast consolation.  “Okay…  You can talk to me, there’s only me.  …  Okay?  …  Yeah, I know it, I’m just about there.  …  You did?  …  Well, what motel doesn’t have guys having heart attacks on top of their secretaries…”

Back at the motel, and eyepatch in place, Xander went directly to the reception area.  The blandly polished young woman behind the desk gave him a cool smile and he could imagine what she was thinking, what she’d guessed about him and Spike, what she probably knew from gossip over the state of their sheets.

“Hi,” he said with forced brightness.  “Can I have a room, please?”

Professional interest was clearly piqued.

“You’re not happy with your room, Sir?”

“The guy I’m sharing with…  He snores, talks in his sleep, has disgusting habits,” Xander finished with a grin.  “I really need my own space.”

“Of course.”  She clicked a few details into the computer.  “Twin or double?”

“Single?”

“We usually issue a double for a single.  I can reduce the rate slightly.  Unless your…friend will be joining you?”

“No, he’s staying exactly where he is.  Bad, bad idea sharing.  With him,” Xander added as a hopeful afterthought, wishing she’d see some gorgeous guy she wanted to fuck instead of freaky, one-eyed, desperate him, wishing she could be the last person he’d slept with rather than Spike, wishing…  “Sorry?”

“I asked if it was being charged to the same credit card.”

“Uh…  Yeah.  Guess so.  Charged to the firm.  Not to…”  Xander nodded in the vague direction of his and—  The direction of Spike’s room.

“Thank you.  That’ll be number…thirteen.”  Her smile was finally genuine as Xander chuckled wryly at that.  “Are you superstitious?  I can give you fourteen.”

“No, don’t worry.  I think I’ve had about all the bad luck I’m going to get in one lifetime.”  She handed over the key, and Xander drew breath to speak, hesitated, nervously went with it.  “Any chance you’d like to bring me some good luck?  Have a drink with me tonight?”

Definite interest, but Xander wasn’t fooling himself, it was more of the ‘source of gossip’ variety than romantic.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but the staff aren’t encouraged to socialise with the guests.”

“The curse of thirteen,” Xander joked, allowing her the patent lie, and he got out of there before he could embarrass himself any further.

Once he figured out that he had to walk past their – Spike’s room to get to his own, Xander decided to leave settling in until later.  He managed to find enough loose change in his pockets to buy himself a coffee, and hoped he could drag that out for the rest of the morning.  Maybe if the diner was empty he could read for the waitress or the cook, just so they wouldn’t mind him hanging around the place.

Two steps in the diner’s direction and it hit him, hard.  Whatever it takes.  The wonderful friendship, the relationship he’d built with Spike had been whatever it takes, fabricated by Spike at Angel’s instruction, simply to manipulate him into doing their bidding.  Over when it’s over had been due to feel bad, but this…  Tears welled in Xander’s eye and he furiously blinked them away, trying to refocus on the voices, trying not to feel as if his chest was as hollow as Dream Spike’s had been when he’d ripped out his own heart.

He stared at the diner; he couldn’t face people; he chose a new direction and began to walk.

The stupid thing was that he’d always known that any kind of involvement was foolhardy, and even with that knowledge he’d let the comfort become sex and the sex become—  No.  No, this wasn’t about having his heart broken, this wasn’t about love and, disappointingly, that wasn’t as big a relief as it should have been.  This wasn’t about love it was about trust.  It was about attachment, and the fear of.  It was being close.  Close.  Closer.

A sudden flashback to that first time, the appalling, violent sex made necessary by the entity that haunted him, and the pain of it whizzed past, leaving him to remember Spike afterwards, scared for Xander and so caring.  Tender.  Spike had held him and been tender and…it wasn’t real?

“Why can’t I be angry?” Xander asked the crisp morning air.  “Angry would be good.”

No anger.  Simply the anguish of feeling so betrayed, and the excruciating, overwhelming sensation of loss.

…

Xander lost track of where he walked, and for how long, experiencing moments of disorientation when he wasn’t even sure if he was awake, moments when he wasn’t sure if any of this was real, but eventually he found himself at the far edge of town.  There was a pond, and ducks, and a roughly fashioned bench.  He sat and watched the stocky birds, thinking of the tinier varieties that visited his garden at home and how oddly fond he’d grown of them bearing in mind that their only contact was him supplying scraps and birdseed, and them visiting daily for their lunch.  Familiarity.  He liked familiarity.  So did the ducks apparently – they were gathering expectantly around the bench as if…  A glance to his right confirmed Xander’s theory.  An elderly woman from the nearest house was coming along to feed them.

As she drew close she smiled a hello at Xander – which he reciprocated -  and then proceeded to feed her feathered friends.  Bread supply exhausted, she sat alongside Xander and observed that he was a stranger in town; he tried his best to brighten up a little, not wanting her to think his dourness had any sinister connotations, and they talked about the area, the ducks, Christmas, families.  A voice became clear in his head and he didn’t think twice before repeating the message.

“Your sister says the ring that you’ve been going crazy looking for fell off the dresser and is wedged between two floorboards.”

“My – my…sister?” the woman stuttered in surprise.

“You have a red rug?  Red with a kind of swirly pattern?”

“Umm…  Yes, yes I do.”

“Close to the edge of that, right end of the dresser, look in the crack in the floorboards.”

“Oh…”  Her hand rose to her chest and patted.  “Good gracious, what a shock.”

“You okay?  I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“My sister passed away a long time ago.”

“She likes to keep an eye on you.  On your family.  She’s thrilled about the twins because there haven’t been twins since Great Aunt Edith and…”

The woman whimpered and left without another word.  Xander berated himself for his clumsiness, but didn’t feel his mistake as keenly as he would have a week ago.  A few days ago.  Any time before he was so full of his own ignorance and unanswerable questions and hurt.

He was still on the bench at sundown, barely noticing that he was bordering on frozen.  He wasn’t surprised when the Cadillac drove past and swiftly returned, parking up, the driver out of the vehicle and approaching within seconds.  Spike sat beside him, occasionally throwing a glance in his direction, but saying nothing.

“I thought about going home,” Xander eventually broke the silence.

“What did you decide?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“I thought that might be immobility through hypothermia rather than choice.”

“Yeah.”  Xander finally noticed.  “Guess I’m a little cold.  I should…”

“Look,” burst from Spike, “what you overheard…”

“Was exactly what I needed.  I’m put off, turned off.  It’s forced me to come to my senses, now all I want to do is fulfil my commitment, get the job done, and…  I’m looking forward to going home.  I want to go home.”

“You think I should have told Angel what was happening?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“I don’t trust him not to take advantage of you because of us, or…”

“Us?  There isn’t remotely an us.”

“That’s not how he’d see it.”

“And how the hell can he take advantage of me when I’m already doing what he wants?”

“What he wants comes in degrees.  Things get too dangerous and I wouldn’t want you to put yourself at risk.  Further risk.  If he thought there was anything between us he’d play the ‘do it for Spike’ card without a second thought.”

“You said once that you’d delight in telling Angel.”

“We were talking about dating.  This isn’t dating, is it?”

Xander gave an ironic laugh at that and shook his head.

“It certainly isn’t.  This is whatever it takes and I’m the bloody idiot who’s fallen for every line.”

“You don’t believe that,” Spike growled.  “You know how I really feel.”

“I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Then come back to the motel with me.”

“Why?”

“In the light of what’s been said I want you to judge for yourself whether or not I was faking it.”

“Great, another stupid choice, more inappropriate sex.  If all you want is a fuck I know you have the money in your pocket to pay for a hooker.  Even the most expensive whore in the county.”

A stiffening of his posture and Spike positively radiated fury but returned to saying nothing.  He simply stood, fished the car and room keys out of his pocket, dropped them into Xander’s lap, and stalked away into the darkness.

When the bright blond of the vampire’s hair finally faded from view, Xander creakily rose and flexed his cramping muscles before stiltedly making his way to the Cadillac, dropping into the driver’s seat and turning over the engine.  He groaned in pleasure as warm air pumped around his frigid limbs.

The increasingly familiar ache in his chest returned when he noticed the coins on the dashboard, casually thrown there after their shopping trip; it had been enormous fun and so much about the two of them and their togetherness.  He hadn’t imagined it, he wasn’t being fooled.  He didn’t think he could bear the truth if it was all so calculated and cruel and—

“Oh God, I sent him to someone else.  Oh God.”

Xander allowed himself to get angry as the first twist of jealousy rearranged his guts.  It didn’t matter that Spike had manipulated him into this state of possessiveness, every instinct said that Spike was his.  Right now the vampire was his partner and Xander didn’t share.  Ever.

But what could he do?  Presently?  Nothing more than grip the steering wheel so hard it squeaked, be horrified at how much the thought of Spike with someone else hurt, and be amazed at how deeply Spike had touched him.

“We were happy.  He made me happy,” Xander accepted, words faltering on hitched breath.  Just a short, spectacular while of peace and consolation and affection.  However fake, Spike had made Xander happy.

Whatever it takes.

Xander leaned his head against his hands and grieved.

…

Spike stayed out of sight just long enough to make Xander think he’d been abandoned, then he lurked in some shrubs and waited for the Cadillac to head back toward the motel; if Xander followed the one main road through town, Spike was certain that he’d have no trouble finding his way there.

When the car eventually drove off, Spike sprinted after it, glad of the physical exertion after spending most of the day confined to quarters, tense and pacing; he fell a little behind when Xander unexpectedly and uncharacteristically put his foot down, but his fears about Xander taking this opportunity to bolt for home were assuaged when he arrived at the motel to see the lights on in their room and the front door slightly ajar.

He continued to watch from a distance as Xander proceeded to move his own possessions to a new room.  Spike was, at first, aghast and shocked into inactivity, but then too livid to object or obstruct, unable to make a reasonable approach to talk this whole ludicrous business over calmly, worried that he might become too heavy-handed or demanding with Xander.

He’d had hours to think about his own, wildly out of proportion emotions the previous night, and the derogatory remarks he’d made regarding Xander, eventually concluding that he didn’t blame Xander for either his playful demands during that fateful shag, or for being so upset over what he’d overheard.  But, despite the rationality, the rage building in Spike’s gut was starting to make the vampire unhealthily fixated and irrational.

He refused to lose Xander.  He wanted, and he’d take.  Want.  Take.  Have.  The demon’s way.

Simple.

Simple?

Spike shuddered and began to back off, reversing along the road, away from the danger he presented to Xander.  Xander, who trusted him, had trusted him, but now justifiably believed himself to be a gullible, exploited fool.  Xander, who, despite everything, probably still trusted Spike more than he trusted himself.

Turning on his heel, Spike leapt from stroll into gallop, breathing in deeply to scent prey and hurtling away in the direction of a distant big cat, hopefully something ferocious enough to supply the requisite fight for his life.

…

“He’s meant to be wicked and exploit me,” Xander said to his latest temporary home, quoting Spike’s recent words.  “That doesn’t indicate a failing on my part, that means he’s good at his job.”

The new room had heard all about it: the mission, and the adventures it had brought with it, the highs, lows, murders and kidnappings, the vampire – God, this room had to be sick of hearing about the vampire.

“This is my fault, I know that.  He said it was just sex but I assumed it was more.  I assumed it was more because I always do.  I was wrong.  I was wrong.  So that’s something I can’t blame him for.”  Xander wandered yet another circuit of his room.  “Except he said it was more.  He said he thought the world of me.  He said I was bloody gor—”  Xander choked on that, rushing to the bathroom and forcing himself to look at the image in the mirror.  Scruffy hair to scruffy chin, unstyled, unshaved, framing the blotchy face that was still recovering from the cold, the maimed features, the mouth…the perfect mouth…  Xander tried to ignore the tears he saw welling in his eye as the pain redoubled: if he’d listened, really listened, to what Spike was telling him, he’d have known it was all an act.  Gorgeous and perfect he was not.

Stripping off, he stepped into the shower, determined to warm up and, at the same time, wash away the last traces of his humiliation, but his mind focused on the inevitable: shower, Spike, the touches, the affection, the sex.  The sex.  Xander was sporting an involuntary erection before he knew it.  Trained, he reminded himself with an irresistible smile.  If he lived through the Dead Guy event, someone might appreciate the training, because he would find someone, it’d too hard to be alone again, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have Spike.

Hand wrapping around his cock and stroking, he tried to remember what he’d jerked off to before Spike, but all the alternative fantasies were fleeting, and he returned time and again to that beautiful pale body beneath him, moving together with nothing more than pleasure as they re-wrote their first time.

And he had sent Spike to someone else.

The lust faded, erection wilting as the sense of loss overwhelmed…everything.

…

Spike let the mountain lion live, because it was what Xander would have wanted.

It didn’t stop him tearing a claw from the battling feline though, satisfying the need to bring yet another, indisputably unwanted, trophy home to his mate.

…

Xander, meanwhile, had gone to bed and was soon reminded of how hard he’d always found it to sleep with the continual drone of voices filling his head.  More than that, the disorientation he’d been suffering from all day was exacerbated by his growing exhaustion, and despite being too tired to think straight and too disturbed to so much as nap, he tried to figure out what had really happened that morning.

The bugs were real.  Something in his head insisted that the bugs were always real, even when they weren’t.  Just because he was usually the only person who could see them – or…was that in the dreams?  Whatever, it didn’t make them any less real.

Spike with Buffy was real.  Maybe not.  It still felt like it was real, but was that because of his preposterous jealousy the previous night?  Unless he’d dreamt that too?  No, that was really real, Spike refusing to play along with him and then including him with Buffy in the people you don’t always like category.  That should’ve been a big enough clue as to Spike’s feelings, even before the revelation of whatever it takes.  But, that aside, Spike had been…odd.  During; afterwards.  Odd.

“Or did I dream that?”

He’d dreamt of Koga, and of Tania, and…his mind shot off on a tangent as he recalled the condition of the poor girl when he’d found her, and hoped that she was recovering; he knew he’d have to phone John Randall to find out, tell his truthful lie about Koga now being in spirit.

Spike with Buffy was not real.  Because of Angel.  Not real.

Hopefully.

Xander hadn’t burned any of them; he was selectively pleased about that.

Last night.  Spike with…him.  Real.  So real, hornily real, now painfully real.

Once again his Spike-sensitised body responded and this time he focused on the good memories, persuading himself to a joyless climax in the hope that hormonally-induced sleep would follow.  But no.  No satisfaction, no peace, just the loneliness that he’d feared, the emptiness, the longing for someone to hold onto, all the great reasons why attachments could not and would not be formed.

Too disappointed in himself to remain in bed and dwell on it, Xander rose, dressed, thought about going for a walk, smiled weakly at what he knew Spike’s reaction would be if he could read Xander’s mind, and felt glad that he didn’t experience some huge spite-filled reaction to that, and to Spike.  Fatigue was probably to thank, but he hated the thought of becoming bitter toward Spike over something that wasn’t his fault.

This was no-one’s fault.  Spike had been honest: just sex.  Xander had been honest: he couldn’t do just sex.  They should’ve had more sense and been friends.  They might have been very good friends, and if that had happened he wouldn’t be alone now.  But he would have missed out on a glorious time with Spike, the best fun he’d had for years, and he wouldn’t have missed that for anything.  Even the present misery.

He pulled on his coat, looked around for his gloves.  Spike had insisted on buying him gloves when they were at the mall, passing over the tasteful leather items that Xander had indicated in the hope of retaining a little credibility, but selecting the Christmas edition, Frosty the Snowman red fleece variety that Spike somehow guessed that Xander was secretly coveting.  They reminded Xander of the past, and of a tiny Willow in huge red woollen mittens.  They made him think of Simone’s dreadful Christmas cake with the traditional jolly little snowman perched on top, and always wonky.  But Spike didn’t know any of that, he just knew that Xander wanted the Christmas edition, Frosty the Snowman red fleece gloves and that’s what he bought, without so much as a smirk.

As much as Xander didn’t want to return to his previous room, he wanted his gloves, and if he wasn’t prepared to recognise that it could be construed as an excuse to see if Spike was back and unfucked, then that was fine.

…

After Xander had relocated his belongings earlier that evening, the door to Spike’s room had been left unlocked, the key placed unmissably on the kitchen counter; Xander found he was still able to walk straight in to the quarters they’d shared, leading him to assume no Spike.  So…gloves, just gloves.  Okay.  This was about gloves, and not Spike.  But Spike emerged from the bathroom as Xander walked in, and the flash of relief on the vampire’s face rapidly morphed into his well-worn inscrutable expression; Xander was more concerned by the fresh scratches.

“What happened to you?”

Spike shrugged, strolled a little closer.

“That whore you sent me to.  Saw the fangs and put up a fight so…”

“You’d better be joking,” Xander warned.

Knowing better than to prolong the teasing on this occasion, Spike dipped into his pocket and brought out the claw, offering it to Xander and luring him near.

“That’s…  Not bear, that’s…?”

“Cat.”

“Cougar?”

“Yep.”

“You’re lucky it’s just a few scratches then.  It is…just a few scratches?”  Spike nodded, studying Xander’s face as the man stared at the lethal-looking claw.  “You killed it?”

“No.”

Xander looked up in surprise.

“No?”

“For you.”

Spike saw a level of suspicion on Xander’s face that he’d hoped never to witness again, and without thinking he reached out to reassure him, or comfort him, whatever was needed to stop Xander looking that way, only to have him back off.

“I forgot my gloves,” Xander explained as he began a quick search.  “Thought I might go for a walk and…”

“Not alone.”

“That’s not up to you.”

“It’s still my job to keep you safe.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Xander spotted where the gloves had fallen off the day bed and been knocked underneath, and retrieved them.

“If I don’t keep you safe I won’t be able to live with myself,” Spike told him, the defensive edge gone from his voice, an unquestionable ring of honesty unravelling Xander’s defences.  Spike couldn’t fail to see.  “Xander, can I…”

“I’m going, not to walk,” Xander assured in a fluster, “I won’t walk, I’ll…  Go, I’m going.  To my room.”

“Don’t leave.  Please?”

Xander turned his back on the vampire, attempting to hide the too obvious feelings on his face, but when Spike came close he let himself be coaxed around.  He wanted to be angry.  Right now, staring into concerned blue eyes, anger would have helped.  But…

“I can’t stay.  I’m so…sad.  Too sad.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I am, Spike, and what do you expect?  Not telling Angel about us was one thing, what I heard you say was…”  Xander’s upset voice trembled to a halt and Spike had the decency to look thoroughly ashamed of himself.  “The guy I thought I was with had more loyalty,” Xander whispered, “he was so much better than that.  I’ve lost him and I’m…  Sad.  I don’t have the strength right now to be anything more.”

“Me too.  Or you know I’d be fighting you all the way.”

Yes, Xander could see the exhaustion in Spike’s eyes.

“I guess.”

“I’m low.  Worn out.  I need you.”

“And I need to be left alone, so…  You have to leave me alone.”

Completely ignoring Xander’s request, Spike gathered the man’s rigid form into his arms and cuddled him.

“Will you let me explain?”

“More lies?”

“No.  But when I’m done you might find you’d’ve preferred a few lies.”

Xander smiled grimly and shook his head, leaning against Spike for the briefest moment and longing for the permanent return of his comfort zone.

“I wish…”

“No wishes.  You said.”

“I wish this was over,” Xander persisted, waiting in hope for a supernatural intervention that was never going to happen.  More than disappointed, Xander prised himself out of Spike’s grip and crossed very slowly to the door, staring at the floor as he went.

“I don’t want you to leave, Xander.”

“Sure.  But I have my own room, and that’s where I’ll be until we move on.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Gimme a break.”

Spike did, and a long, silent moment passed.

“I won’t lock this door.  Come back if you need to.  Y’know, your ghosts,” Spike finished lamely.

“There were times when I didn’t want this to be over.”  Xander’s voice was so quiet Spike had to strain to hear.  “Now…I can’t wait.”

Xander walked away.  The door was left as it was found, slightly ajar.  Spike stared at it and waited, in his gut the utmost conviction that Xander would return.

His gut was wrong.

…

The night was painful and lonely, and the following day was tedious and lonelier still for them both.

Xander attempted to write up more of his notes but found his mind ceaselessly wandering back to Spike, to how happy they’d been such a short time before.  No.  He’d been.  He no longer knew about Spike’s true feelings.  Idiotic, maybe, to have been so happy bearing in mind who the focus of that happiness was, but he had been.  Genuinely.  Not settling for, not simply needing, but wanting Spike.  Having Spike.  He kept catching himself teetering on the brink of ‘what if’, and each time briskly reminded himself that he was back to being alone, that this was his way, his lot in life, business as usual, and he could do this.  Again.  A little adjustment and it’d be as easy as it ever was.

Except that it had never been easy: being alone was wholly unnatural to him.  In his head he heard Spike’s words: ‘You never struck me as a loner.  Undeniable pack animal, the Xander Harris I knew.’  That’s how obvious it was, and that’s what he’d lost, time and again.

He’d stick to his plan: when he got home – if he got home – he’d make an effort, find someone uncomplicated and human to replace Spike and—  Why did it feel impossible to replace Spike?

Why was it impossible to replace someone who had hurt him so badly, who knew that he had, and yet couldn’t bring himself to say sorry?

Xander would’ve settled for a few lame excuses, other than the one he himself had given Spike.  It no longer mattered if Angel knew: if Angel thought the worst of Spike over this, then so be it.  Maybe later they could get together and Xander would explain—  Explain something that was entirely irrelevant now?  What would be the point?

“Just give him another chance to point out how stupid I am for thinking any of this mattered.”

Still nowhere near as furious as Xander thought he ought to be at this point, he nevertheless experienced a welcome twinge of irritation.  Attention back on the computer he found his goodbye letter to Spike and set about constructing a little payback.  Ready to attempt some malicious editing, he began to read, and the more he read, the more he missed rather than despised the vampire.

“‘…another time and place…’” he quoted in a whisper to the otherwise empty room.

He closed the unaltered file and turned to the media player, selecting the CD that was permanently in the drive.  A few clicks and Xander wrapped his arms around his wounded self, battening down the emotions that he knew would hurtle to the surface.

‘Tonight you're mine completely,
You give your love so sweetly.
Tonight, the light of love is in your eyes,
But will you love me tomorrow?’

…

Spike watched TV without watching, listened to music without listening; the only distraction that brought him any pleasure was destroying the bible that he’d found in the top drawer of the bedside cabinet.  Xander’s side.  Xander must’ve kept it out of his way so he didn’t do precisely what he’d done since.

He thought about Xander without thinking about Xander, and when he caught himself thinking, he’d curse and try not to kick the furniture because he didn’t want to be living in a heap of potential stakes and splinters.

When he finally arrived at the point of allowing himself to think about Xander, he rationally accepted that Xander’s move had been a good one, they needed a little distance between them.  The relationship was doomed and they both had to get used to the fact that, as a couple, they were…not a couple.  Regardless of what had been stirred in him by this extraordinary man, Spike knew that he had to calm down, back off, return the prerogative of ‘what iffing’ to Xander, and certainly not fixate on the way Xander looked and laughed and spoke and shared and smelt and tasted and moved and the way he touched Spike so caringly and looked at him with such fondness and enjoyed him with almost demonic intensity and—

Distance, yes, good.  Not obsessing over what he couldn’t have.  Distance.  Good.

At dusk he’d pay Xander a visit, re-establish a decent working partnership, explain…  No, he wouldn’t explain, because that would make things worse, make Xander trust him even less than he did now.  The predictable, and by now highly tedious anger over losing control of this situation hit Spike full on, and for a moment it looked as if the armchair would be recycled into matchwood, but he fought the destructive urge, not wanting Xander to hear, come running because he was worried, or, even worse, not come running because he wasn’t worried.

Xander might come running, look at the wreckage, and ask why.

Because…why?

“Look in the mirror, Petal.  Imagine that bloke walking away forever.  That’s why.”

Spike frowned at the distant sound of music and it took a moment for him to place it.

‘Tonight you're mine completely,
You give your love so sweetly.
Tonight, the light of love is in your eyes,
But will you love me tomorrow?’

Originally the offering had been meant as ironic, but over time it had adopted a far greater significance; now, thanks to his own foolishness, he’d forced an answer to that eloquently delivered and poignant question.

…

At sundown, and after two hours of listening to the muted strains of every depressing song in Xander’s collection, Spike knocked at the man in question’s present, and highly resented, abode and waited to be rejected.

Xander cautiously peered around the door before swinging it open and allowing Spike inside.

“Thought you might fancy a stroll,” Spike suggested.

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Xander answered without pause for thought, grabbing up and shrugging into his coat.  “I was hoping you’d come by so we could get out for a while.”

“Pub?  Restaurant?  We could drive into town and…”

“I’m not hungry.  Just need some exercise so I can sleep tonight.”

Xander ignored Spike’s derisory snort at that, fetching his gloves from their place on the heater and slipping his hands inside their toasty warmth, determinedly not meeting Spike’s eye as he marched past him and into the darkness.

They walked for an hour before another word was spoken.

“Any news?” Xander asked.  “About the Dead Guy event?”

“No.”

“Any news at all?”

“Not really.  Nothing that concerns you.”

“I’m starved of gossip, I’ll listen to anything,” Xander prompted.

“Yeah.  Like you really want to hear about Angel’s week.”

“Spike…  Are the two of you…y’know…together?”

“Bloody hell, no!  Where did that come from?”

“The way you sounded when you were talking to him.”

“Don’t mistake familiarity for intimacy,” Spike warned, cross enough to shut Xander up for another twenty minutes.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Is it as ridiculous a question as the last one?”

“Maybe.”  Spike waved the question on.  “When you went to LA, did you sleep with Buffy?”  Spike stopped and stared at Xander in astonishment.  “It’s what she said.  You didn’t notice when I needed you most ‘cause you were too busy fucking her.  I was being tortured by the uber-nasty and you…  The two of you found it funny.”

A few more seconds in wordless shock, then Spike shook his head.

“She wasn’t in LA, I told you that at the time.  And I wouldn’t have—  She wouldn’t have.  Xander…  Xander, you haven’t even spoken to Buffy.”

Xander considered.

“That was…that had to be a dream then?”

“Oh, Love, come on: once demon of the week had been dealt with, the only thing that held me up in LA was buying you presents from the joke boyfriend.  You know that.  Whatever else I’ve screwed up, you know that.”

“Okay.”

“Is it?  What other fantasies are you condemning me for, what else have you dreamt that you think is real?”

“That call was real,” Xander said quietly.  “Whatever it takes was real.”

Spike began to walk.

“Yes.”

Xander, not looking forward to this particular discussion, took a few seconds out before catching Spike up.

“It’s true then?”

“No.”

Xander waited.

“Is that all you have to say on the subject?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something…  I don’t know.  But if what we have is something you had to manufacture, and if what you said to Angel is how you really feel about me…”

“You don’t believe that.”

“You think?  ‘Cause it was pretty convincing.  You certainly sounded like you meant it, and it makes more sense than a genuine us.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Spike…”

“I can’t fix this, all right!” Spike suddenly shouted.  “There are things you don’t know, that I can’t tell you, things about you, us…”

“You said you’d explain.  You never did.”

“Never got a chance to.  I was too busy either being in a rage or…or…feeling sorry for myself, or fucking us over, wasn’t I?”

“Explain now.”

“No.  There’s nothing I can do.”

“You could apologise.”

“I don’t know how to, not this time.  This wasn’t the usual thoughtless ignorance you can forgive me for, it was deliberate and vindictive, and…  What can I say to put that right?”

“You can say sorry.”

“Is that enough?”

Xander considered that, and smiled sadly.

“It’d be a start.”

“Are you prepared to take another chance on me?”

“Like we have been?  I don’t think I can.”

He may have been anticipating that answer, but Spike flinched before grabbing at Xander, pulling him into a hug, or at least trying to before Xander struggled free.

“Don’t do that,” Xander yelled, ire finally rising.

“All right, shouldn’t have,” Spike admitted sullenly; still no apology.

“Why do you think you can do that?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Then why…”

“Can’t be sure until I try and I want to try.”

Another atypically clumsy lunge and Xander stumbled away from Spike’s grasp.

“Stop it.  You…stop it.  You don’t have the right anymore. You blew it.”

“I just want to hold you.  That’s all.  You can trust me that much, surely?”

“Trust you?” Xander laughed bitterly.  “Trust you?”

Xander tugged off his glove and his hand rose, displaying the measure of trust they had used in early days, finger and thumb held inches apart before the digits were abruptly snapped together.  The point was made: Xander, betrayed, was all out of trust.

They remained jittery and prone to glaring as their walk resumed, but once the icy air shrouding them seeped through to Xander’s skin and he began to shiver, Spike ignored the predictably skittish response as he moved close, taking Xander’s hand and squeezing.

“Let’s get you back in the warm, eh?”

Xander agreed with a shallow nod, absurdly glad that Spike’s hand wasn’t withdrawn as they turned and walked back in the direction of the motel, already unhappy that they would part ways when they arrived at their destination.

“You’re right, of course,” Spike unexpectedly told him.

“I am?  About what?”

“Trusting me.  You can, but you can’t.”

“Is it dumb that I still want to?”

“Not dumb so much as…touching.”

“I can’t stay angry with you.”

“I’m glad.  It’s a bad feeling.  I’m pointlessly angry with you; more angry with myself, but at least that’s fair.  And you were right about me wanting to control you, I don’t feel you’re entirely safe unless I can.”

“You can’t.”

“I know.”

Deep in silent thought they arrived at Xander’s door.

“I won’t ask you in,” Xander said firmly, as if he were trying to convince himself that this was what he wanted.  “Maybe, tomorrow night…”

“Yeah.”

“Spike…  I don’t want to say this, but I have to.  Why, when I ask you about what happened is the answer always that I know better, or I know how you feel?  You’ve repeatedly reminded me that I don’t know you at all, so why don’t you just give me a straight answer?”  The only response was one of Spike’s infuriating shrugs.  “Okay.  Was this – were we – whatever it takes, just sex, or something more?”

Spike sighed and began to turn away.

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“You know I’ll draw my own conclusions?”

Spike looked back.

“What do you mean, you will.  You already have.  And…I don’t blame you.”

“Tomorrow, can we…”

“Go and get some sleep, you look done in.  We’ll worry about tomorrow tomorrow.”

“Right now I’d settle for hearing it was just sex rather than cold-blooded manipulation.”

The low laugh as Spike walked away stung Xander and it was all he could do to stop himself following the vampire and giving him a swift kick in the ass to relieve the wave of hurt and frustration it provoked.

But he was shaking again, and whether or not that was about the cold, it was better to get inside and throw the lock, feel pretend safe and warm up with the bottle of JD he’d liberated from the last duffel, the bottle he bitterly thought of as his moving out present.  Better still was to get excessively, numbingly drunk and make believe that none of this had ever happened.

Manifestation 29       Manifestation Index       Manifestation Notes

Site Updates     Update List     Home     Fiction     Gallery     Links     Feedback