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| 29: Handle With Care |
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Three in the morning and Xander had just listened to the Traveling Wilburys for the twenty-sixth time… ‘Been beat up and battered
around. He wasn’t to know that Spike had remained outside, figuring out exactly how he could get close enough to Xander to give him some peace; having extrapolated where the bed would be, the vampire moved as near to it as he could get, pressing himself flat against the skin of the building. He wasn’t to know, but even in his present condition Xander figured it out fairly quickly when he finally got up and stomped across the room to switch the laptop’s media player off, finding himself battered by a sudden deluge of voices. “Spike!” he shouted at the wall. “Fuck off!” Followed by a groan as, shortly afterwards, he heard tinkering with the lock on his front door. “I’m sleeping now, fuck off!” Xander quickly stripped off to t and boxers and scrambled into bed, tugging the covers up over his ears and clenching his eye shut. He growled when he felt weight on the, until now, unoccupied side of the mattress. “I was only trying to help,” Spike cheerfully offered. “I wouldn’t need help in the first place if it wasn’t for your bastard self.” “Mean drunk are you, this time? Better than maudlin, I s’pose.” “Fuck off, I’m sleeping.” “‘Reputation’s changeable’,” Spike sang. Throwing back the covers, Xander sat up, taking an unwieldy swipe at
Spike, who easily ducked out of reach. “You think this is funny?” Xander demanded. “I have a life that you delighted in telling
me was empty and lonely and you were so
fucking right and you made me feel – you…
Of course this is funny to you.
You orchestrated it all, took me for the pathetic, trusting loser I
am. Everything was a huge fucking lie
and of course it’s funny.” “Xander, while I think of it: if this mission goes badly, if you’re hurt… Do you want me to turn you?” “Oh, gee, that’s a tough one, ‘cause you, Spike, you’re all I aspire to be.” “It would save your empty, lonely life.” “You have to be kidding. I’d rather be dead, because what kind of hellish existence would that be? Being owned by you.” “I wouldn’t own you.” “Sire, you. Minion, me. Possession, me. I don’t think so.” “Actually, company policy insists we don’t turn the work force, but had to check.” Another taunting grin and Xander kicked out, harder this time, yanking the covers at the same time and sending Spike tumbling off the side of the bed. “Gi’s a hand up, mate,” came the giggled response, and Xander would have sworn it was Spike who had a third of a bottle of booze inside him. “Go away, Spike. Go. Away.” “I don’t want to.” Spike crawled onto the bed and Xander did the opposite, up and fumbling his way into his jeans, prevented from zipping his fly by hands that caught his wrists and trapped them at his waist, becoming a part of the hug that Spike gave him. Xander shivered at the cold Spike was still radiating thanks to his prolonged spell outside, but the vampire felt good against his back despite that; Xander relaxed into the hold, taking comfort, whether or not that’s what Spike was offering, and Spike moaned in painful contentment. “You have to go away,” Xander whispered miserably. “I’m not drunk enough to let you stay.” “Then drink more,” Spike responded in an equally miserable whisper. “Get rat-arsed and take it out on me. I deserve it.” “I won’t do that.” “Don’t believe I could’ve been so stupid.” Xander swallowed hard, reminded Spike hoarsely… “You were having fun.” “I don’t mean— How could I have been so stupid as to let you think, make you think I don’t care?” Xander was already shaking his head. “I’m the stupid one. It’s been so good, you and me, so good that it makes no sense. Not unless…” “No, Love, it’s not whatever it takes, I haven’t faked anything.” “I walked into it, I let myself be used. I should have listened to you, you said it was just sex and I saw it as something more. ‘Cause I’m desperate for more. It’s not your fault that I was upset, and…” “I didn’t expect you to hear what I said to Angel, you’re right to be upset. Other way around and I’d’ve been devastated.” “Maybe you shouldn’t tell me that when I’ve spent hours trying to convince myself of what a dumbass I am.” “If it wasn’t about keeping you safe I’d never deny you, I know how horrible it is to be on the receiving end of that. I’ll tell anyone and everyone what you mean to me.” “But I don’t. Can’t. Mean to you. Just sex.” “Not just sex.” “The things you said about me, the way you said them…” “I told you, I was angry. Talking to Angel I could let some of that out and then, later, I’d’ve calmed down, told you what I’d said to him. I’d’ve warned you to play it cool around me and not give anything away so he wouldn’t take advantage. We’d’ve made a joke of it, wouldn’t we, getting one over on him?” “It feels like you’re doing it again.” “Doing what?” “Manipulating me. You can talk anything around.” Spike felt himself physically responding to the edge in Xander’s voice, knowing that Xander noticing was a disaster waiting to happen but finding the prospect so irresistible that he couldn’t help nudging the situation along. He kissed Xander’s neck. “Going to let me try? Let me get away with it just so you can have me again?” The lean against predictably became a lean away from Spike’s body. “Don’t make it worse,” Xander warned. “Bet you’re already getting hard for me.” Spike’s hand slid into Xander’s open fly and groped, finding no show of interest and swiftly being fought off. Xander jerked away and spun to face him, wobbling as he did so and leaning, at arm’s length, against the nearest wall. “No,” came through clenched teeth. “I’m not.” “Soon change that,” Spike smiled, recognising that Xander was mere moments from lashing out; a step forward, hands reaching for… Xander grabbed at Spike’s coat collar, using it to heave Spike against the wall, bashing him into it, once, twice, before pinning him in place. “Stop it. Stop playing me. I’ve had enough.” “I know it sounds like a corny old line, Petal, but you’re incredibly sexy when you’re this mad.” Xander turned his face away to avoid Spike’s infuriating smirk, but the smirk was finally defeated when Xander looked back, expression full of pain, eye full of tears. “Why are you doing this?” Xander forced past the lump in his throat. “Please, Spike. Please stop. If you have as much as a shred of friendship for me, please stop.” Swiping Xander’s hands aside Spike pulled him into a tight, meant embrace. “Obnoxious,” Spike murmured, “you wanted obnoxious. So I’d mean nothing to you.” “It’s not working. It just…hurts.” “I’m so bad for you,” Spike admitted, his own voice a little shaky by now. “But I’m too selfish to consider letting you go, even when I know I can’t have you.” “You have me. You’ve had me. What more is there?” “Things… Things that aren’t right for you. Things I should explain but I don’t see the point, because… Forget it. I’m coming to my senses, I’ll be back to normal, and I’ll be kind.” Spike released Xander just far enough to enable him to place a tender kiss on his mouth. “I’ll be kind now.” Another firmer kiss. “Kind. I promise.” Xander brushed the kisses aside and went back to hugging, needing the consolation and mindless about taking it. “Let me stay with you, eh?” Spike coaxed. “I’ll behave myself. ‘Less you don’t want me to.” Xander reluctantly let Spike go, taking half a step away and catching Spike’s hands to stop them roving. “I want you to go.” Spike waited for more but there was nothing, simply Xander looking upset and emotionally wrung out, perhaps a little wary of what next. “Right,” Spike agreed and witnessed Xander’s relief. “What about the voices?” “I’ll manage.” “Well… You know where I am if you need me.” “Yeah.” Spike nodded, waited for Xander to release his hands, and headed for the door, only to turn back at the last minute. “My life is full of regrets, Xander. I might not repent but I do regret. So many screw-ups have dogged my existence, often miniscule moments in a very big scheme, but they haunt me. My fault and they haunt me. Hurting you will haunt me. But the rest… Not one regret. You, me, us – ‘cause there is an us – not one regret.” Unable to meet Spike’s eyes, Xander looked wretched, ready to fall apart, and Spike couldn’t help himself, he was back with Xander in a split second, tugging him into another embrace. Once again Xander held him back and took comfort. And, once again, the scent of Xander, the proximity, left Spike wanting more, growing hard, and not prepared to hide that. He pressed close, let Xander feel his need, turning his face into Xander’s neck and kissing. With a shiver, Xander eased him away. “No. I said no and I meant no. It’s not going to happen so don’t make things worse by trying, okay? And reminding me of how horny you get when I’m unhappy is not the best way forward.” Xander avoided an attempted kiss. “Stop it, okay? We have to concentrate on why we’re here, why we’re doing any of this. You stop harassing me, I get some sleep, and I’m in the right mental place, I’m ready for Dead Guy.” “Because you feel like you have nothing to lose?” “No, letting things happen with you was when I had nothing to lose,” Xander explained bluntly. “Now I’m focused, in a way I couldn’t be if I was still preoccupied with you.” “Love…” “Must you call me that? You objected to me calling you baby, but…that…suggests so much more.” “You are so much more. I was cruel about you because I want you so much and I can’t…” “I don’t want to hear this. For all I know it’s just another line for the simpleton to fall for.” “It isn’t.” “Then…then… Nothing. It’s time to let go.” “Can you?” “I always knew this was too good to be true but I’d hoped the pretence could be maintained until…over when it’s over. Because of what’s happened we have to be honest with ourselves. If you really were lying to Angel, and you…we…” Xander took a deep breath. “This was…mutual infatuation, brought about by past loneliness and the present inability to spend more than two seconds apart. Infatuation passes. It’s passed.” “Has it?” “Passed, and we’re back to business. We’re okay, yeah?” Spike, feeling anything but okay, took his time answering that. If it hadn’t been for the desperation in Xander’s eye he would have fought the ludicrous concept of ‘back to business’ tooth and nail. “I’m going to keep you safe.” “I know you’ll do your job.” “It’s not about my— I’ll keep you safe, and then afterwards…” “It’s over. I don’t need you to remind me any more. When this is over, it’s over.” Xander attempted a brave smile as he urged Spike away, but he wasn’t fooling either of them. In a belated effort to make this a little easier for him, Spike promptly left. Alone again, Xander stared around the empty room and felt consumed by his isolation. Drunk and confused but feeling unfortunately sober and rational, his heart ached to trust Spike but his head and his gut were having none of it. Needing more company than disembodied voices could offer, he crossed to the laptop and clicked a key… ‘Been beat up and battered
around. …standing in the middle of the room to listen, arms wrapped around himself to inadequately replace what he’d lost. The song played through three times before he began to not only listen but hear. ‘I'm so tired of being lonely, … Spike heard. Spike…felt. Toying with the idea that he’d lost Xander was exponentially painful, but it seemed to quell the desire to possess the man – to be possessed – that had been raging inside him. He’d created this situation, dealt with it, stepped back from the brink without inflicting any more damage on Xander than what was unfortunately necessary. But Spike heard. He felt. And for now, all he could do was…nothing. … Mid-morning, and Xander finally shook off the last of his highly disturbed sleep and dragged himself out of bed. His dreams, already grimly bizarre, had been further warped by the alcohol that made it so difficult to wake – escape – from them. Appalling scenarios, riddled with the returned voices of the dead, and Xander was just about convinced that he was better off staying awake for the remainder of his life. He cradled his aching head and grumbled at Spike for removing the zone, and for making the JD so necessary, but he was relieved to find he felt a little better today, not so wounded. Obviously all the self-pitying bawling was highly beneficial: it was a shame he’d discovered that ten years too late. Coffee first, then a long shower. Even after such a troubled night his body sprang to attention at the merest touch, almost surprising Xander with the messages it was sending, and reminding him he missed Spike for more than the zone. “That has to be bad news. I miss having a vampire’s dick up my ass,” he giggled to himself, inhaling water and coughing it up as he mentally went through the scenario of being home and Simone discovering Spike’s replacement, complete with hot lube and depleted batteries. The humour quickly passed as reality once again raised its ugly head, but this time, rather than submitting to a fresh fit of maudlin, Xander tried to analyse exactly what had happened. He slowly washed as he thought, pausing to deal with his trained penis, completing the shower with a blast of nearly cold water to thoroughly wake himself up. More coffee, and the train of events was falling into place. “We had sex, and I asked him to say…stuff. Stuff he cou— Stuff he wouldn’t say. I got,” Xander admitted with a sigh of self-disappointment, “pointlessly upset. Just ‘cause I was fooling, doesn’t mean to say he could. He said he had something to explain and never did.” Xander turned in the direction of Spike’s accommodation. “Spike,” he shouted, “you owe me an explanation.” Before muttering to himself, “At least one. Possibly many. Many many.” More coffee. More thought. Good sex; bad repercussions. Bad repercussions, feeling he wasn’t so much as liked by the man he was sharing a bed with. “Overreaction. Spike isn’t obliged to always like me; I haven’t always liked him these past few weeks. Overreaction. Like Buffy. Why am I feeling intimidated by the memory of Buffy? Okay, apart from the obvious, why am I feeling intimidated by Buffy? Spike’s moved on, I know that. And Buffy exploded his damn car, that’s as good as ripping a guy’s balls off. Spike has so moved on. And he says I’m better for him.” The pleasure that usually accompanied that statement was a feeble shadow of its former self, and Xander indulged a fresh pang of self-pity for all of five seconds. “I am,” he stated firmly, “better for him.” Histrionics aside, Xander did believe that. More than believe: he knew it. Okay: good sex; bad repercussions; worse dreams. “Forget the dreams, forget the dreams.” Which meant arriving at… ‘…freak show…moody bastard…bloody idiot…simpleton…’ “Oh, fuck.” ‘…I’m already doing whatever it takes and more…’ “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” ‘…not much to out-smart…’ …and in that tone of voice. Spike had been laughing at him, and that hurt. That hurt? It all hurt, it hurt like crazy because he’d trusted Spike. And what was he left with? No explanation other than the lame ‘can’t tell Angel the truth’ that he himself had originally handed Spike, and the non-explaining of whatever it was that Spike wasn’t explaining. No apology either, just… Just a Spike who, beneath the obnoxious act, appeared to be no less miserable than him. “It makes no sense!” burst from Xander as he became angry for a whole new reason. Unfortunately, despite feeling positive about the wrongness here, he still didn’t quite have the courage it would take to go and confront Spike right now and sort it all out. Positive…but not entirely positive. “What if this is an act too? More of whatever it takes.” And, as Xander obviously hadn’t been meant to overhear that particular conversation, how many others had he slept through of the same tone and spitefulness? Despite asking himself that question, Xander didn’t want to know the answer. Confused again and weary and fed up with the drama and the trauma and the whole road non-lifestyle, all he wanted was home and…and… As he gazed, hopelessly, around this miserable space, his eye fell on the car keys that he’d failed to return to Spike. His heart began to pound. All he wanted was home. And he had the means to get there. … So acutely tuned in to Xander’s voice nowadays, Spike was woken by Xander shouting at him for an explanation; not the loudest shout, and several rooms away, but Spike reacted and was halfway to a rescue mission before he assessed what he’d heard and figured out that Xander was doing some figuring out of his own. That was good. And…not so good. And occasionally bordering on bad. Falling back into bed, Spike buried his face in the pillow that bore that last, faint traces of Xander’s scent. He’d been patiently trying to wean Xander from his habit of nightly ablutions, feeling deprived of the wholesome flavours and odours that were too often smothered by chlorine and shower-gel. Now the little he could smell stirred horny memories and left him listlessly humping the mattress in lieu of the hot body he longed for and couldn’t have and even if… Spike groaned and buried his head under the pillow, wondering if Xander was doing this, going round and round in infuriating circles, mentally flogging this irresolvable subject to death. Ah. Xander. Thinking about Xander helped. Thinking about Xander in certain scenarios and positions did more than help, and the listless humping became a little less listless. He shoved the pillow aside and rolled onto his back as his imagination swerved in the direction of one of Xander’s own barely touched upon, but highly appealing fantasies: the two of them, trapped in an elevator. Now…how would it play out? Xander would be the innocent, Spike decided, both intimidated and hopelessly aroused by this enigmatic stranger. An innocent who sends shy, engaging glances to Spike, unknowingly arousing a demonic passion and blushing at the lust he has inspired when, the shortest time later, Spike’s hand guides his to the first cock other than his own that he’s ever touched and he fumblingly caresses it through taut denim. “All for you,” Spike whispered as his own hand supplied the naive touches, and fantasy Xander offered up a coy kiss, just before he gave a naughty smirk that had Spike giggling. “Yeah, I know, I’ve turned you into the kind of bint that would’ve had William spilling in his drawers.” ‘Turn this around, shall we?’ fantasy Xander supplied as he groped Spike a little more purposefully. ‘Let me fuck it out of you. You’re mine and I don’t give a damn what you think of that, you’re fucking mine.’ As fantasy Spike morphed into game face, the better to give himself honestly, real time Spike jumped up in bed with a frustrated growl. “Fucking hell! I can’t even summon up a decent shag without—” The impending rant stalled as Spike froze, instantly recognising the sound of the Cadillac’s engine as it purred into life. He was out of bed in less than a second and, yanking the drapes aside, barely avoided being burned by the watery sunlight that infiltrated his gloomy quarters. Standing out of the direct light and twisting awkwardly to see across to the parking lot, he watched in silent despair as Xander guided the car onto the road and drove away without so much as a backward glance. The onset of a huge hissy fit should have been a sure-fire bet but, in a single, draining moment, the anger was gone. Even the frenzied panic when he felt Xander was out of his control and therefore in danger: gone. Like Xander. Gone. “Ah, get yourself sodding killed,” Spike muttered as he let go of the drapes and returned to the bed, slumping onto the edge and sitting forward, head in hands. “As if I care.” But Spike did. It wasn’t long before he was reaching for the phone and calling LA, hoping to speak to one of his huminions but unfortunately reaching his business partner. “I’ve got a problem. … Yeah, something like that. I need a trace on the Caddy, and I need a motor delivered fast. … Don’t give me that bollocks, he was… … Don’t fucking-well criticize him when I blew it! … It was. I had to mouth off to you about him, and he overheard. … That’s just it: it wasn’t justified, he’s been trying his bloody best to get along and the problem is me. … I know. … I know. … Yes, I fucking know, you tosser! Now, set up the trace and get me a car. Have Dylan phone me when it’s sorted, all right?” Spike stabbed at various buttons on the cell to make Angel go away, and flung the phone across the room to land in the armchair. Another day of worrying and pacing, and knowing he deserved to be this stressed didn’t help. “Sorry. Would’ve been a start, wouldn’t it? Sorry, Xander.” He closed his eyes and pictured Xander’s face. “Sorry, Xander. Sorry, Love.” A little fortifying self-pity, then he was up, retrieving the phone and trying Xander’s cell number. Switched off, exactly as his charge had been instructed, and now an inconvenient pain in the rear. Despite being sure that Xander had packed and left, not just taken the Cadillac out for a spin, Spike dressed and, duster over his head for protection against the light, he nipped along to Xander’s room and checked. Empty, as expected. But the pillows would smell more of Xander than those in his own room, so Spike gathered them up to take with him. A last look around and Spike spotted a splash of red. Warming on the windowsill above the heater were Xander’s gloves, almost entirely concealed by the drapes, and Spike may have felt silly to be enraged by Xander having cold fingers rather than this gift, but enraged he was. Crossing and snatching them up, he knew he’d track the man down just to return these. As he stared, Frosty the Snowman grinned cheerfully up at him. “Bastard.” And “bastard,” again, before he peevishly returned to his room to await the Cadillac’s location and his own transport. … That evening, Spike stood outside a red-brick building that mentally transported him to the beginning of this insane escapade. But, however similar, this wasn’t the New Forest chapel, it was the group’s affiliate in a town called Little Dene, a mere thirty miles from the motel and one of the venues Spike had earmarked for Xander if he’d insisted on carrying on with his spiritualist crawl. He’d found the Cadillac first and moved Xander’s belongings into the latest car, a charcoal-grey Lincoln Navigator: not quite what Spike had in mind but – as he was brusquely informed when he whinged about it – the most easily available. He’d disabled the Cadillac on the off-chance that Xander would make some kind of run for it. Now, entering the chapel and hearing Xander’s happy, contented voice coming from the direction of the platform, Spike was pretty sure that Xander wasn’t about to run anywhere. “…there have been…disappointments, but… … Okay, that’s nice. This one will make you happy. This girl is the one.” A dapper little man hurried to greet Spike, apologetically whispering that he’d missed most of the session; Spike assured him that it wasn’t a problem, that he was just here to collect Xander. As he said it he hoped that the Front of House staff hadn’t been warned about a stalker Xander happened to have, with instructions to see him off, but the man smiled and guided him to an empty seat at the rear of the meeting hall. “I’m looking for someone…” Xander gestured into the audience. “I have a young woman connecting with me, she’s talking about an accident, something to do with…metal, twisted metal, could be a car… … Okay, thank you.” Xander narrowed down the area he was indicating to six or seven people. “Beryl?” One of the women glanced at her companions before shakily standing. A microphone was rushed to her. “Beryl Clough,” she told Xander self-consciously. “Hi Beryl,” Xander smiled. “This feels like family, like…a sister.” “Yes.” “It’s Per— It’s…Pearl.” “Yes.” “A car and a pylon.” Beryl gave a quick nod and lowered her head. Xander, anxious that he couldn’t see her reaction, stopped reading. “Would you rather I didn’t…” “Carry on. Please.” “Sure?” The head came up and Beryl gave Xander a thin smile. “I’m sure.” “Okay… She didn’t pass immediately, she was taken to hospital and… … You were there, speaking to her.” “She could hear me?” “Yes. But she couldn’t do as you asked. She couldn’t stay.” “I’m glad she heard me.” “You’d quarrelled.” Another nod from Beryl. “About…moving. Pearl… Oh, that’s hard, you’d quarrelled about her moving away from the district.” “I thought…” Here came the tears. “That she’d left me because…because…” “No. After the accident…” Xander listened and touched his temple. “Oxygen starvation. … Okay. In the accident she suffered brain damage. Because of her injuries she suffered from oxygen starvation and… … She was glad to go. She knows that if she’d stayed the quality of her life would have been appalling. She… … I’m sorry, she chose to go. … But not to leave you. She’s still with you.” Xander quietly asked Saul for some evidentiary material, waiting patiently until he heard, and announced with a smile, “You planted pink roses for her, but they came up yellow, so you moved them and planted more, and they came up yellow too.” Beryl gave a tearful laugh. “They’re all yellow.” “Because… She mixed up the labels. The cuttings were all in black pots and she mixed up which was which.” “Does she know now?” Beryl asked and her friends laughed with her. Xander listened. “Nope,” he grinned, before he heard more and the grin softened. “There’s another sibling. There’s…James? No, that’s wrong; again, tell me again. … Jason…Ja…Jasper. Jasper. He wouldn’t come here with you.” “No.” “And he won’t believe this.” “No.” “Pearl wants you to tell him. Tell him that she’s carried on. … He won’t believe you but she wants him to be told.” “I can do that.” “Ar…Arnold took the blame.” Xander frowned and shrugged. “That’ll mean something to him. Arnold took the blame.” Beryl looked as confused, but sniffled and did some more nodding. “And…that’s it, she’s gone. I could feel her love for you, Beryl, hold onto that.” “I will. Thank you.” The dapper little man joined Xander on stage and wound up the evening’s session, thanking Xander for guesting, the audience for attending, and taking a moment to give a brief, non-religious blessing to all present. Spike saw Xander spot him from the platform, peaceful expression becoming grim before he turned and headed backstage. Pursuit was necessary, Spike – both of them – understood that, and he caught up with Xander in a tiny room not unlike the bolthole at New Forest where they’d spoken for the first time since Sunnydale. No preparations had been made for Xander here, no doubt due to the unplanned nature of his visit, and he was sitting shivering as he stared at the wall and waited with an air of gloomy inevitability for Spike. Spike took one look at the post-meeting chill and searched around for Xander’s coat, finding it on a hook on the back of the door, bringing it and draping it over the trembling shoulders. “Will that be enough?” Xander shrugged, and Spike slipped off the duster and added a further layer of insulation. Without waiting for permission, and receiving no objection, he rubbed Xander’s back and arms and gradually the tremors ceased. “Shall I find you a cuppa?” “I’ll be okay, you know that.” “Nothing wrong with a bit of a spoil though.” Xander began to pull away, but an entreaty, a whispered ‘Love’ from Spike brought about a barely audible groan, and Xander sank against the vampire’s reassuring form, letting the fussing progress to a half-hold and gentle strokes through his hair. Ten more minutes and Xander forced himself upright and to his feet, returning the duster with a sad smile. “How did you find me?” “Superior detective skills.” “There’s a tracker on the car, huh?” “Yep,” Spike confirmed with a cheeky grin, and Xander chuckled. Knowing the good humour would be short-lived, Spike jumped in. “You have to come with me, Xander. Leave the Cadillac here, it’ll be collected, and…” “I was coming back,” Xander interrupted. “I did think about going home, but in the end… My leaving was about teaching you a lesson, I guess.” “Not to take you for granted? Lived it and learnt it, Petal.” “But I was coming back.” “I don’t doubt it.” “I was on my way when I recognised the name of this place and realised there was a chapel here. Doug’s talked about Terry Sandwell a lot and I wanted to meet him, and… This was good for me, I needed this. It’s what I do, I help people, real people. It’s what I do.” “Home soon for Christmas. Those people real enough for you?” This time the smile on Xander’s face was open and joyful at the thought of home, and it remained as he led Spike back into the hall to introduce him to Terry. It softened when Spike returned the misplaced gloves, it didn’t even go too far away when they left and Xander was introduced to the new car. The smile only dissolved into tension when they drove away from the chapel. “Another house. Can you cope with that?” Spike asked. “Do I have any choice?” “I’m sick of motels, aren’t you?” No answer from Xander. “It’s not too far away, the house. If you get an itch to come back to the chapel…” “I will. I don’t need your permission.” Spike let that abrupt statement go, allowing Xander to flex his questionable independence. “Am I still invited?” he asked instead, and Xander turned to him curiously. “Christmas. Is the invitation still extended?” “You don’t like my friends, and you apparently don’t like me much outside of bed,” Xander reminded him coolly. “I won’t embarrass either of us by leaving the invitation open.” “Shame. I’ve missed you.” “You’ve missed the convenient body.” “And that, yes, if I’m honest. Have you missed me?” “Sure,” Xander retorted sharply, “can’t go from all that sex to none at all without a few withdrawal symptoms.” “Have you missed me?” “What’s to miss beyond your mouth and your ass? You think I’m going to credit you with being more than a cheap sexual thrill?” “I was hoping…” “Let’s not move on to hope,” Xander said with a humourless laugh. Spike didn’t; the awkwardness of early days descended upon them, and they were silent for the remainder of the short journey. … The Lincoln passed through hefty wooden gates, controlled by a small device that Spike retrieved from the door pocket, and very deliberately kept away from Xander when he tried to take it. “I just wanted to see how it worked.” “Don’t want to chance it getting mislaid.” “You don’t want me to have the means to break out of this prison,” Xander argued, and Spike didn’t bother to contradict him. They travelled up a topiary-lined gravel drive to what turned out to be a large but very disappointing house: plain, red-brick, boxy, and without any of the character or charm of their previous non-motel dwellings. “It’s secure,” Spike reminded Xander when he saw the expression on his face. “Splendour isn’t essential.” “It really is a prison, isn’t it? Known locally as Fugly Penitentiary, serving as a maximum security unit for kidnapped mediums and their deranged captors.” Spike parked and jumped out of the car, quickly collecting their belongings from the trunk. Xander took longer to emerge, taking his time feeling the surroundings now that Spike had moved away and taken the zone with him. Initially the area felt as colourless as the house looked. “Harmless, eh?” “I guess.” “It’s been cleaned,” Spike explained. “Or cleansed. Blessed, whatever it’s called.” “Really? Why?” “Don’t have the details.” Spike led them to the front door and juggled luggage as he tried to find the keys. Knowing exactly how much he shouldn’t, Xander chose to help him, taking his time patting down the vampire’s pockets, pretending not to locate the keys the first time around so he could revisit the skin-tight jeans. “Here.” His fingers eventually dipped into one of the duster pockets and drew out his prize, dangling the bunch in front of Spike’s nose. Spike stared past them into Xander’s eye. “Enjoy that, did you?” Xander looked the picture of innocence. “We had to find the keys.” “And you really thought I might have had them clenched between my buttocks?” “I was simply being thorough.” “You’ll be more than thorough before the night’s out if you keep that up.” “You think?” Xander took half a step back to ensure Spike a good view before he tilted his head, exposing the scar on his neck. “Going to use it?” he taunted. “Feeling unwanted enough yet? Pathetic enough?” Spike took his own step back and looked toward the house’s front door. “Let’s get inside before we freeze to death.” “Yeah. God knows you’re already cold enough.” The spite in Xander’s voice turned Spike’s stomach, knowing he’d put it there, blown apart the affection Xander had for him with his own weakness. Xander may have sensed this minor triumph but he wasn’t particularly enjoying it, so much so that he fumbled over the keys in his anxiety. “Stop stalling,” Spike finally snapped. “I’m not. There are…three locks, and…” Dread shot through Xander at the sound of hissing, and he swung round, collapsing against the door in terror and expecting swarms of biting, choking insects to envelop him. But just Spike, with his game face and his meanest scowl, as he hissed between his teeth. Seeing the unanticipated extent of Xander’s fear, the new shock of betrayal on his features, Spike let the demon visage slip away. He dropped the luggage and made a grab for Xander, amazed when the man let him hug him. More: Xander clung to him. “Bastards, ain’t we?” he whispered. “I can’t do this, Spike.” “Stopping, we’re stopping, say we’re stopping.” “I wish— I want this to be over. Now. Can I go home? It’s almost Christmas.” “Couple more days.” “Spike…” “I’ll speak to Angel tomorrow, all right? No news and…and we’ll call it quits.” With a brisk nod Xander tugged himself out of the embrace, checking the surroundings for insects before heaving a deep breath to calm himself down and methodically trying keys in locks until the door was open and they were inside. Spike took the luggage upstairs; Xander followed, pretending he wanted to know the house’s layout and where his bedroom was, but in fact desperate to stay within easy reach of the zone. Spike automatically took their bags into the master bedroom and deposited them on the lush carpet, studying the luxurious suite approvingly. “And where am I sleeping?” came from the doorway. Spike stared at Xander for a long moment. “Here,” he said defiantly. “With me.” “I can’t.” “For your safety and wellbeing you can.” “I can’t.” “Why not?” “Why the hell are you asking? You’re not as dumb as you look, you know why.” “I told you…” “Nothing. Nothing.” With a petulant shrug, Spike turned his back. “See? This is what I get,” Xander continued. “You owe me an explanation and all I get is attitude.” “No point explaining. You’ve made up your mind.” “Then un-make it. If anyone can it’s you.” “And have you accuse me of manipulating you.” “Explain.” “No.” “Explain.” “No.” “EXPLAIN!” Spike spun back to stare at Xander, moved by his vehemence. “It matters so much?” “Because of this, I’ve lost you. Yeah, it matters.” Moved by his honesty. “You’ve lost me, and I’ve…I’ve lost…so much. Too much, Love, uncountable people that I’ve cared for. One way or another…it’s going to happen with you, isn’t it?” Xander drew breath to speak, but the knee-jerk denial refused to be spoken. “Can’t help being mortal,” he offered instead. “I surround myself with mortals. I see their existences snuffed out. I have eternity to mourn.” “But I’m here, now. And what we have— What we had…” “I want you. Still. More. And that frightens me. What I could have. What I could lose.” “I won’t deny knowing how that feels, but it still doesn’t explain…” Xander paused for thought. “Actually, it might start to explain whatever it takes.” “There is no whatever it takes, you know that.” “Stop telling me what I know! I know nothing. Nearly nothing. I know – thought – we were okay until I teased you about belonging to me. But it was teasing, that’s all. Forget what I know, you know I was teasing.” “I do.” “Then something happened after that. It wasn’t…the fuss about Buffy?” Xander suggested cagily. “I haven’t made a move on Buffy since before I got the soul, can we get that clear right now?” “Yes. We can. You have.” Spike waited for the usual reaction but found himself having to prompt. “Remind me you’re better for me.” “At the moment all I can say is that I’m possibly no worse than her for you.” “Bloody. Marvellous.” “It was after that, so… There was nothing after that. We slept, I woke up from a shitty dream and found myself listening to you talking about some asswipe you have total contempt for, and that asswipe turned out to be me. And we’re back to whatever it takes.” “No.” “Say you’re sorry before I beat it out of you!” Xander shouted across the room. “Say for once and for all you’re fucking sorry!” Spike swallowed hard and glared at Xander. “Say it and mean it or I’m walking away now. I don’t care if the uber-nasty eats me alive, I’m walking away from you and this and…and…” “Xander.” “Don’t tell me I know anything!” “Xander…” Softer now. Dangerously sincere. “I’m sorry.” Xander took a few seconds to assimilate that, fuming as he was, but it did gradually sink in. “You are?” “Yes.” “You sure?” “Yes, I’m sure. Sorry, and I’m sure I’m sorry. Sorry.” “You mean it?” “Yes.” Xander closed his eye, placed his hand on his chest, and sighed wearily. “Please, stupid, intractable inner self, please let that be enough.” Spike smiled at that, and Xander, opening his eye to see the smile, almost did too. “But what difference does sorry make if—” Xander shook his head, looked completely bewildered, and continued in a despondent mutter, “I haven’t a clue. I’m so far beyond having a clue.” Spike strolled to Xander and took his hands. “Remember hating my possessive streak?” “Yeah, but we’re… You’re talking about the memo to Angel? What was in the memo.” “See, you were warned…” “We were past that crap,” Xander protested, “you said so yourself. Me giving myself willingly was better than…” “It is.” “Then – then… Fuck, I don’t understand you!” “You don’t,” Spike agreed. “And that will always be a problem.” “Okay. We’ll deal. Possessive streak. That’s what this is about?” “Sort of. And some. From your point of view, it’s worse.” “Worse?” Xander surprised Spike with a bark of laughter. “No wonder you didn’t want to tell me.” “Xander, it’s about… It’s not… If I…” Spike sighed and shook his head. “Whatever I tell you, it’ll only make things…” “Worser than the aforementioned worse? How worse does this get? What’s your worsest?” Spike hesitated before groping his way forward. “We’ve made…a connection.” “What, you mean… More than the connection you mentioned in the memo?” “Yes.” “Would this be…in the non-groinal sense?” “Yes.” “And that’s bad?” “It was until I dealt with it.” “And how did you— Oh. That’s where the obnoxious fits in?” Spike nodded. “Great. Glad it was good for you.” “I didn’t do it for me. Well, I did, but… For you, for us.” “The non-us.” “If you like.” Xander ruminated and his shoulders slumped in self-imposed defeat. “Okay. Okay. Was it something I did, something I got wrong?” “Nothing consciously. In fact you must have done something right. Too right. Stirred up instincts that shouldn’t have been stirred.” “What kind of instincts?” Xander asked, already flinching at the implications. Spike held Xander’s hands to his mouth and kissed the fingertips before reluctantly releasing them and turning away. He crossed and prodded at his duffel with the toe of his boot. “You staying with me, Love? Tonight?” “What kind of instincts?” Spike glanced back with a weary smile. “It was a joke to you, and I appreciate that, but if I’d said what you wanted, even as a joke… I wouldn’t have been able to let go afterwards.” “Oh. So, it was… Me and my stupid mouth.” “Perfect mouth.” “Spike…” “I want you to be safe.” Spike returned to prodding his duffel. “That includes safe from me.” The vampire was so caught up in his mood that he wasn’t aware of Xander moving until he was beside him and speaking quietly. “Not whatever it takes.” “Wishful thinking: whatever it takes. Whatever it takes and you’d’ve been safe. Hating me and humiliated, but safe.” “I’m not safe now?” “You are. Supposedly. Obnoxious switched us both off, didn’t it?” “Did it?” “Infatuation passes, you said it yourself.” “Yeah, I remember lying about that.” Spike groaned and kicked the duffel to the far side of the room. “Spike… Nothing more is going to happen between us, I haven’t lied about that. It’ll be easier if I have my own room.” Nothing. “I’ll go find my own room, okay?” Still nothing from Spike. “Okay?” “What do you think?” “I’ve given up thinking. This is me, without thought of any description, collecting my things and leaving you.” “Stay.” “Purely for my safety and wellbeing?” Xander prompted, and Spike shrugged. “Help me here.” “To go? Help you to go?” “Or to stay. I don’t know.” Spike turned to Xander, easing him close and leaning their brows together. “Never forget I’m a demon, Xander. You must understand that when a demon wants…” “No thinking and…I refuse to understand anything. It worked when I was a kid. It worked all through school. It worked on the Hellmouth – okay, a little more selectively, but…” Xander’s babble was silenced by Spike’s mouth covering his, a tentative kiss that grew more passionate when rejection took some time coming. “No, Spike, we can’t, I can’t,” Xander murmured as he attempted to break the kiss. “You want me.” “I know, but I can’t.” A great effort, but Xander finally found the strength to edge Spike away. “The last scraps of my pride and I have a problem with it.” “That’s a bastard.” “It is.” Xander stared longingly at Spike, wanted to at least hug him, but the aforementioned bastard pride stopped him making the move. “I’ll find another room.” “Stay here, I’ll move.” “No, I…” “Stay here. This room has the best security.” “Really?” “And…nice rugs,” Spike weakly joked. Too troubled to argue and needing some time alone, Xander acquiesced, pretending to ignore Spike’s departure until the door clicked shut behind him. Seeking a little peace of mind, Xander wasted no time in preparing himself for meditation, his knees grateful for the comfort of one of the rugs Spike had mentioned. As he settled he could vaguely hear Spike in the adjoining room, close enough for reassurance, and that was good. And apparently vampire hearing was quite a curse, as Spike had apparently been brainwashed by Xander’s recent misery-fest play list. It was both touching and amusing, hearing Spike’s muted curse at himself for singing a song he couldn’t get out of his head, then immediately returning to singing it. Xander appreciated the feeling of being unwillingly fixated; appreciated the sentiments of the song. Sorely missing Spike’s intimate presence, he wistfully sighed over the necessity of this separation and refocused his mind. Not listening. Not listening. ‘Been beat up and battered
around.
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