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Part 108 |
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Spike took a last look in
the mirror, heartily agreed with his own opinion of his magnificence, and
checked the clock. Just time to pump up
the inflatable sheep and leave it as a gift for Jake in the spare bed, and he
was off to pick up his guys for a night out.
His mind travelled back to the last evening they’d spent at a club, the
enjoyment of thumping the bloke picking on Jake, and then Jake taking the blame
without a word, as if he knew… Spike
snatched the thought back, smothering it with a mental rendition of Xander’s
song for him that featured the novelty of all the notes being covered. Humming, humming,
humming, no thinking, nuh-uh, Spike gave Hamish a cuddly goodbye and headed for
the Jag, offering the house the bowman’s salute as it creaked behind his
rapidly disappearing back. Cora greeted Spike with
her usual refined effusiveness, and he greeted her with a big kiss that brought
a blush to her cheeks. “My honey in?” “He arrived back from
site five minutes ago. I think you’ll
find he has a few calls to make.” “Broadman’s Creek?” “Yes.” “Nothing wrong with the
foundations, I hope,” Spike smirked. Cora simply returned his
smile, and if it was at all knowingly, Spike chose not to notice. Spike quietly let himself
into Xander’s office, being met with an admiring smile. “You look fantastic,”
Xander mouthed. “Will you be long?” The question was answered
by an eye-rolling gesture to the phone in Xander’s hand. Spike waited a couple of minutes as Xander
patiently nagged whoever was on the receiving end of the call, then left
again. Up the hall to Patrick’s domain
and, with a cursory tap, Spike opened the door and peered around it into the
room. Patrick was sitting at
his desk, head in hands, still and silent, not a breath to be seen or heard. “Patrick?” With a jolt the dark head
rose, and the man made a frail effort to disguise the air of exhaustion,
ceasing his efforts when he saw who his caller was. “Hey, Spike, come in,” he
said warmly. Spike took his usual
stroll around the office, stopping to view the ever growing array of
photographs, noticing that he was there in force now, alone, with Xander, with
all of them; it gave him the strangest sensation of belonging, and the craving
to talk freely with this man grew and pounded in his chest. But how did you thank someone for saving your
life when they would be bound to deny all knowledge of the event? “This is nice,” Spike
said, holding up a new picture of Xander. “Part of the set for the
new promotional brochure. I have copies
of all the photographs for you, I thought you’d like them.” Spike watched Patrick make the effort to
move, and it was an effort, no doubt about that. The man opened his desk’s bottom drawer and
brought out a folder. “There you go.” “Cheers, I appreciate it.” Concerned pause. “Are you…” “It’s been a long day,
I’m looking forward to getting home,” Patrick pre-empted. “Don’t blame you. Back to that darlin’ woman of yours,” Spike
said, knowing just how to put a smile on Patrick’s face. “Yes. You and Alex must come to dinner soon. There are a few last arrangements to be made
before the gallery opens.” “We’ll do that.” Spike crossed to the desk
and picked up the folder, standing fiddling with it, feeling useless and
speechless and wanting to make some kind of contact but not knowing what or
how. “You’re going out
tonight?” Patrick checked. “Yeah, just here to pick
up Xander and Jake.” “You’ll—” Spike knew exactly what
Patrick had stopped himself saying; he moved behind Patrick’s chair and laid a
hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’ll look after Jake,
don’t worry. And Xander, that’s a
given.” “Yes. Have a good time.” “That’s the plan.” Spike dropped a kiss on
the top of Patrick’s head before making himself complete his circuit of the
room, arriving back at the door, glancing over to Patrick who appeared, once
again, to be…asleep? Still and
silent. Finally understanding why Xander
sometimes woke and, in his half-conscious state, panicked because Spike wasn’t
breathing, Spike shivered and left. Back to Xander, who
sighed and waved the phone, now in a holding pattern of, ‘Uh-huh, I see,
uh-huh’ without doing much apparent listening, and Spike could imagine the load
of waffle he was having to sit through.
The vampire dropped off the folder of photos, blew a kiss and ducked out
of the office, this time on his way to Jake’s.
Quick rap and he entered, finding the youngest of the partners stretched
out on his sofa, smoking his way through a fat spliff. “Don’t you ever stop?”
Spike automatically growled. Jake sighed contentedly
and held out the joint to Spike, who almost accepted the offer before deciding
he didn’t want Xander to smell it on him. “Glad you’re here. Got some new clothes and can’t decide what to
wear tonight.” Jake casually rose, very
deliberately placed the joint in an ashtray on the coffee table, and meandered
to the wall, pressing a panel and only just catching the door as it sprang
open, leaning against it and giggling helplessly at the prospect of being
bashed on the nose by his own cupboard.
Spike cocked an eyebrow at this fit of mirth, and Jake waved his
interest aside. Finally reaching into
the closet, he pulled out two shirts, turning and holding them up to his chest. Spike grimaced. “They’re bloody
horrible. Were you completely stoned? Or d’you go shopping with a bag over your
head?” “Nice colours. I like the colours.” “Separately, yeah. Not all on one bit of cloth. Reminds me of the hideous stuff Xander used
to wear.” “I could lend him one of
these for tonight,” Jake suggested evilly. “No, you couldn’t! I have to be seen with him.” Jake held out the shirts
and sniggered before letting them drop to the floor. “I was. In fact.
Completely. Stoned.” Back to the closet, and
Jake brought out a dark green, heavy cotton shirt, trimmed with white piping;
he looked hopefully at Spike and grinned when he received a resigned nod. “Xander knows about last
time,” Spike told Jake as he watched the young man trying to figure out how to
remove his tie without throttling himself.
“So if I punch someone’s lights out tonight you don’t have to get noble,
right?” “Sure. Ohhh…fuuuck…
Can you…?” Another snort and Spike
was turning to pick up the fresh shirt, just undoing the collar and cuffs and
expecting to slide it over Jake’s head. “Get that off. Arms up.” “I need to wash.” “No, you don’t. You smell like…” Spike inhaled. “Like the bloke who’s been sitting around
getting stoned all day while everyone else does the work.” “Am I insulted? No, I am not.
Specially when the insults come from big brother’s retro floozy.” “Nothing of the floozy
about me. One man va— One man man.
You’re only bitter ‘cause I never fell for your non-existent charms.” “And are we revisiting
the seventies for any good reason?” Spike smacked an
inquisitive hand away from his hair; he preened, tweaked a vertical peroxide
tuft. “Doing requests now,
ain’t I? Xander wants, Xander gets.” “Looks pretty cool. Can I borrow…” Jake waggled fingers under his eyes,
referring to the dark liner beneath Spike’s. “No. It only looks pretty cool on some of us. You’re enough of an embarrassment from the neck
down without drawing on a clown face.” “Who are you trying to
fool? You’d do Krusty in a minute.” “Sod off.” “Would too.” Spike flapped the shirt. “C’mon, you irritating
little shite, get into this.” “Spike and Krusty sittin’
in a tree…” Spike growled and Jake disintegrated into a new fit of giggles, finally
shedding the work shirt and attempting to crawl into the green cotton variety that
Spike was holding up for him, unhelpfully wriggling as Spike ‘accidentally’ prodded fingers into ticklish
spots, struggling and practically falling over with laughter, until Spike
suddenly grabbed him and pulled him upright and into good light, all humour
gone from the vampire now. “Spike?” Jake asked with
a frown when he saw the shock on Spike’s face. “What happened?” “What?” Spike tugged the shirt up and off, hands
tracing vivid purple-red scars that marred the pale flesh of the human’s right
side and back. “What?” “Who hurt you?” Spike
demanded furiously. “Who hurt you?” “It’s…I’m not…” “I will fucking kill them.” “I’m not…” Jake tore himself away from Spike’s hold,
snatching at his shirt and trying unsuccessfully to unfasten the buttons with
hands that shook to match his voice.
“…hurt. I’m not, it’s…it’s…” “Tell me,” Spike
instructed through clenched teeth, sounding calmer but violently raging inside
at the idea of someone harming a member of his family. “It’s, umm… An old…” “I saw you in our pool
not a couple of months ago, you didn’t have a mark on you.” Spike could see the
difficulty Jake was having as he tried to think his way through this, and his
heart lurched as the young man’s composure continued to crumble. “It’s… An…allergic reaction… Comes out, just…now and then, just…” He held out the shirt, turning desperate,
watery eyes on Spike. “Can you?” Spike swept the shirt
aside and Jake into his arms. Family,
and he was hurt. Spike wanted to kill
something very badly. “Don’t pretend,” he
whispered as he turned his mouth to Jake’s ear.
“Tell me, and I’ll deal with it.” With a groan Jake stopped
resisting the hold and collapsed against Spike, relying on the vampire’s strength
to hold them both up. “You can’t. You can’t, Will, you know you can’t.” “Someone hurt you.” “But not now.” Spike shuddered and clutched the trembling
form protectively to him. “Don’t be mad,
please.” “I’m not mad with you,
I…” “Don’t make this
harder. Please. Please.” Spike grudgingly nodded,
agreeing without understanding, forcing the rage to disperse and pouring the
energy into compassion, wishing he could jump back the few minutes to awful
shirts and stoned laughter. After a protracted
time huddled together, Spike stood back, rubbing his hands over Jake’s upper
arms. “We still doing this
tonight?” he asked stiltedly. “Go out,
good time, forget all this?” “Can we? I want to forget.” “That’s what we’ll do
then. I’m playing at ignoring so much,
what’s a bit more?” “Thank you.” Jake was slowly released;
Spike picked up the shirt and tried to smooth out the creases they’d managed to
crush into it. “So, this…allergy. It doesn’t hurt?” “No. Just looks bad. You weren’t meant to…” Pause.
“Spike… You won’t tell
Xander? Alex,” Jake corrected himself
self-consciously. “About your appalling
taste in clothes?” Spike deliberately misunderstood, his own voice none too
steady. “He’s probably already noticed.” “Yeah.” Jake gratefully allowed Spike to slip the
shirt on for him, then returned to the sofa, sitting, taking up the joint, and
drawing deeply. “You all right for a
minute?” Jake nodded, a shallow, drained
movement. “Just want to see if
Xander’s…” Another nod and Spike left,
coming to a halt outside the door and emotionally regrouping, ignoring the
shock that was still sending flitters of anxiety through his system. Next: heading not for Xander’s office but for
Rafe’s, bursting in and, finding a solitary and rather surprised surveyor,
locking the door behind him. “Y’okay, Will?” Rafe
asked as the vampire rushed to his side, pulling him unresistingly from behind
the desk and stripping off his jacket, tie, and starting on his shirt, all to
the joked accompaniment of “Why, this is so sudden,” and, “My wife must never
know.” Spike continued his
examination in silence, finding shadowy traces across the lightly freckled skin
of Rafe’s back that could or couldn’t be the beginnings of what Jake was
experiencing. Just above the waistband
of Rafe’s pants and disappearing lower there was what appeared to be a genuine
scar; Spike gently touched it. “Came off a motorcycle a
few years back,” Rafe explained amiably.
“Had to have a metal plate put into my hip. There’s a pin in that thigh.” Moving to Rafe’s arms,
Spike found another reddened trace, but it might’ve been a common or garden
graze. “Do this today?” “Maybe. Want to tell me what’s going on here?” Spike stood back and
looked up at the bewildered face. “I have no idea.” “But you’re finished?” “Yeah.” “I’m relieved. I wasn’t looking forward to the cavity
search.” “I’ll have you know I do
a bloody good cavity search.” After a moment’s silence
they both spluttered into laughter. Back outside Jake’s
office and Spike paused, leant against the wall, wished he could pick apart the
weirdness he was trying so hard not to analyse, even though he felt like it was
not-so-slowly driving him insane. But
there’d be no more badgering of Patrick, he knew that, recalling how close to a
state of collapse the man appeared.
Drained. And Spike was pretty
sure that every single one of this family contributed to the draining. He included himself in that, concerned with
how he fit in, what damage he might be doing; if he’d found a whole new way to suck
the life out of someone. Talking of which… Voices inside. Had to be Patrick with Jake, which was
wonderful, because it saved Spike from having to find a way to deal with that
chronically depressed young man, something which was quite beyond him. This was one of those occasions when he knew
he really shouldn’t, but Spike
silently cracked the door open and peered in, finding Jake where he’d left him,
with Patrick now kneeling before him, clutching both his hands. “…on as usual,” Patrick
was insisting. “I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. And you shouldn’t…” Jake’s voice faded as
Spike recognised the familiar roll of energy from Patrick; no longer did the
sensation surround Spike, it became a part of him, and he felt his own body
sucking up what Jake didn’t take, experiencing a surge of power which heaved
and crackled through him and made his senses sharpen, skin tingle, every hair
on his body stand on end, cock hard.
Backing away and leaving the two men to their privacy, Spike hurried to
Xander, knowing that his phone call was about to come to a very abrupt end. … Spike watched his
companions like a hawk. If anyone had
dared to even breathe inappropriately in their direction he would have been up
and cracking skulls, but it was an enjoyable and, thankfully, unremarkable
evening. Xander slowly unwound
after the busy day, predictably weary but genuinely having a good time; Jake,
Spike observed, was working hard at appearing
to have an equally good time. But where
he once would have disappeared into the crowd to dance with any girl who asked
him, he now chose to keep close, preferring to stay with his friends, putting
on a performance that was good enough to prevent Xander asking difficult
questions, and all the while burying his unhappiness beneath layers of booze
and drugs and humour. There’d been times, when
Spike was feeling useless, vulnerable, unlovable, that he’d been afraid of
Jake’s affection for Xander, terrified that he would lose his lover to this surprisingly
appealing character. The unknown
quantity. The dangerously free
agent. And if he hadn’t been supremely
confident in the stability of his relationship with Xander, Spike might have
felt the same way now, seeing the closeness, the little touches Jake felt
necessary to give Xander, the way he looked at him. Spike was caught in a quandary over this; it
was nice and not nice that Xander was quite so important to Jake but, he
admitted openly – well, to himself at least – that he liked Jake better when
Xander wasn’t present. Slow dance, and Spike
wound himself around Xander almost to a point of standstill, possessive and
permitted and loving it. Xander’s grip
was equally passionate, hot and tight and hands on, and Spike began to purr
deliriously. “Working up to the rest
room tango?” Xander laughed against his neck, and Spike would have gone along
with that grand idea if he hadn’t made that promise to Patrick. Patrick, who phoned
halfway through the evening – not Spike, but Jake – and Spike unashamedly
eavesdropped, hearing Jake fending off Patrick’s concern and demanding to be
left alone because the attention was making him feel weaker than he actually
was. It was more convenient for Spike to
be honest about hearing the conversation, but there would be no chance to speak
to Xander about it until they got home, when he fully expected Xander to deny
there was any problem and… Oh, yeah,
more of the same. More dancing, no
fighting, Chinese food on the way home.
Yet more dancing, this time of the verbal variety, as Jake refused to
discuss Patrick, and Xander refused to discuss either of them. The ranks closed before Spike’s wary eyes.
“Am I on the outside?” “Outside of what?” Feeling ridiculous
pursuing this as Xander concentrated on more appropriate activities now they
were in the privacy of their bedroom, Spike shrugged and gave himself over to
the loving attention. For all of three
minutes. “I can’t ignore everything, this doesn’t count
as…stuff.” “What? What counts…” “Doesn’t.” “…count as stuff?” “You won’t talk about
Patrick, or Jake…” “Not now, no. Want to make the most of you before I pass
out.” “Things are wrong,
Xander, and…” “Not wrong. Just not…right.” “So you know?” “Hard to miss.” “Then if…” “Not. Now.” “I just…” Xander was all over him,
kissing his words away; hands that knew his every weakness exploited the fact
that he was an absolute martyr to his prick. Not too much later, and under
the guise of a long, slow massage, Spike examined his semi-conscious Xander
minutely, finding nothing, not the slightest hint of a new scar or mark, no
pink traces that might develop into something more substantial, and after
Xander was asleep, Spike moved the vampire-friendly mirror into the studio,
switching on the brightest lights and studying himself as best he could. He suspected the faintest shadow on his neck
could be the start of his showing, but there was obviously no way to confirm it
and, although it had alarmed him when this was about Jake, enraged him that it
might happen to Xander, with himself it became about curiosity, a fragment of
the whole he wasn’t allowed to think about. There was a sliver of
light under Jake’s door as Spike returned to Xander; he hesitated, went to
knock, hesitated again, prowled around the house, fussed the dog, promising
himself that if the light was still on when he returned, he’d check that the
young man was all right. As much as he
wanted to help, he knew he didn’t have the words or the knowledge to… Spike was suddenly
reminded of living at The light was still on,
and a faint smell of dope permeated the atmosphere. Spike sighed, shook his head, and tapped
lightly on the door. He heard a scramble
inside before the door was eventually opened; Jake still held his joint, and
Spike guessed the flurry of activity was about covering his marked body in case
this was Xander, rather than worrying about being caught with yet more
drugs. He looked relieved that it was
Spike. “Come in.” Spike did, chuckling when he saw the
inflatable sheep tucked into the spare side of the bed. “My luck,” Jake grinned, “she has a
headache.” “Didn’t you explain that
it wasn’t her head you were interested in?” “You’re such a smooth
talker, Spike, I so see that one working with Alex.” Spike grinned back at
that, watching Jake drop into the nest of pillows and covers he’d made on his
side of the bed; Spike grabbed Bonnie the Baa’s ear and tossed her off the bed
so he could make himself comfortable alongside Jake. Once again he considered the offer of a smoke
before declining. “Better not.” “Why?” “Trying not to be a
hypocrite. I wouldn’t be happy if Xander
was using any of this crap.” “Gads! I’m disapproved of,” Jake said with English
accent and exaggerated gravity. “‘O
shame, where is thy blush?’” “You’ve lived in Jake shrugged and let his
head droop back to lean against the wall. “Tell me about your time
there.” “You’ll be off before…” “I won’t.” “Not sleepy then?” “No,” Jake said flatly
and unbelievably. “You’re bloody knackered,
you liar, get your head down.” “I really…” Jake sat up straighter, put the joint between
his lips and drew hard. Held the smoke;
exhaled. “Don’t want to sleep.” “Dreams, is it?” Spike
suggested knowingly. “Memories. Dreams.
Wish I could get drunk enough or stoned enough to…” With a shudder Jake huddled into his nest. He glanced painfully at Spike. “Are you forgetting? The things that hurt you most? What those…people did to you?” Spike wasn’t sure he was
capable of coherent thought at that panic-inducing enquiry. But he did think – made himself think – and the thoughts gradually settled into
manageable sequences rather than the more usual explosion of horror. “Not forgetting,” he
admitted when he felt able to talk.
“Learning to deal with it, I s’pose, ‘cause it’s never going to go away,
not entirely. I’m learning to put it
behind me.” “You think… You think you could cope if you had to go
there again? Had to live it again?” “I—” Spike inhaled sharply, fought the fear. “I might make
myself cope. If I knew it would end
sometime and I could have Xander again.
But no promise of Xander and I’d make ‘em kill me, or I’d find a way to
kill myself.” “Anything to not
know. To forget.” At the quiet, aching
words, Spike turned his head and took a long look at Jake, the young, healthy
exterior, the unguarded eyes that revealed age and pain and loss. “What do you have to
forget, love?” Spike enquired with all the tenderness he could muster. “What is it that’s hurting you so badly?” A brief shake of the
head; a longer silence. “We might have walked the
same streets,” Jake suddenly said with a smile.
“In “And then there’s the
chance he’ll walk the same streets as us.” “Yeah. Us.
Paddy. Beth. Angel must have passed through “How do you know that?”
Spike enquired, more calmly than he felt. “The Irish isn’t always
smothered, is it? Heard it creep
through, especially when he spoke to you.
Then again, he barely spoke to me.
Yet more disapproval.” Jake
laughed to himself. “And I’m so fuckin’
harmless.” Spike finally caught up
but really didn’t want to talk about that time after Xander was attacked. He doubted the memories of it would ever stop
feeling raw. “Think you’ll ever go
back?” he reverted the subject to Jake’s face scrunched in
distress, still obvious although he turned away to hide it. More that Spike didn’t understand, but he
sympathised, and hated that he only seemed able to make things worse rather
than better. He was cursing his
interference for the nth time and wishing he’d headed straight to bed to
listen to Xander snore the night away when Jake turned back, focusing his
attention very keenly on Spike; the vampire felt the scrutiny in every cell,
every fibre, a sensation like…like a bird shaking its feathers at the centre of
his being. Yet no more disturbing than
Patrick’s rolling energy, or Beth’s empowering touches; Spike chose not to
object, or to fight it, letting his friend discover what he was searching for,
whatever the consequences. Spike witnessed
Jake finding it: a spark of hope lit the despondent features as he saw through
to Spike’s inner strength and understood exactly what this creature was capable
of. “You could do it. You have your own power.” The English accent again. “Do what?” “Spike… Please…
Would you finish it for me?” Jake asked conspiratorially, voice so
fiercely controlled that the tremor was almost entirely obliterated. “If things got so bad, if no-one else could
help. Would you?” Shock upon shock tonight,
and the vampire wanted to be speechless.
He recalled asking Angel for a similar promise when Xander was damaged and
dying, and the escalating anxiety when the promise wasn’t forthcoming. So he reacted with his gut, not his mind, the
demon recognising a tormented spirit who needed retreat as much as he ever had. “If things got so bad.” The young man gave a
shuddering breath, all about relief, and he clumsily stubbed out the joint on
the lid of his tobacco tin and put it aside, just as awkwardly turning to Spike
and curling up to him, fists tangling in his clothes to bring him close. “Promise.” “It won’t come to that.” “Promise, Will.” Spike put his arms around
the trembling form and tried to hug some calm into it. “I promise,” Spike lied
with entirely plausible sincerity. A further shuddering
breath, and Jake was still, too cold for a house this warm; if it hadn’t been
for absolutely everything being
totally screwy Spike might have been alarmed.
But he wasn’t, or rather he wasn’t beyond the understandable alarm
raised by Xander’s best friend taking comfort from a pledge of death from a
vampire. “I knew,” Jake murmured
as he drifted off to sleep, the exhaustion finally being permitted to catch up
with him as he lay within the secure embrace.
“I always trusted you.” Spike wondered how long
an always Jake was talking about, but Jake was already asleep, leaving Spike
knowing he couldn’t move and disturb him, not when this might be the only
worthwhile rest he’d have in days, weeks even.
Spike tried to decide if he’d be in trouble when Xander woke up alone
and came looking for him, but what could he do? As it happened, Spike was
roused a few hours later by the backs of Xander’s fingers rubbing over his
cheek, and before he could say a word Xander rested a fingertip on his lips to
keep him quiet. Spike noticed that
Xander was clutching something to him, and when he shifted to Jake’s side of
the bed Spike realised it was the ingredients to the hex they’d once employed
to make his own sleep deep and peaceful.
A few minutes to set up and the spell was efficiently cast, Xander
whispering sweet thoughts for Jake to dwell on as he slept; the body in Spike’s
arms slumped into complete limpness and the desperately grasping fists were
easily loosened and removed now. Once
Jake was tucked comfortably under the covers, Spike ensuring that Xander never
spotted the marks on his friend’s body, they silently took their leave. “That was good of you,”
Xander told Spike once they were in their own bed, automatically moving
together, Spike far happier to be entangled with this blessedly familiar body. “He’s in trouble.” Spike’s words seemed a
long time gone before Xander answered sadly. “I know.” “Thought you’d deny it.” “How can I? The way he’s changed over the last year. He’s falling to pieces and he won’t talk to
me about it, he says he talks to Pat and that helps, but if it does I don’t see
it.” “He’s frightened to
sleep; the hex was a bloody good idea, Xan.” “I hope so. Y’know…
He helped me so much before you came back into my life, and I hate that
I can’t help him now. Did he say
anything to you? Anything I need to
know?” Spike opened his mouth to
speak then snapped it shut. Jake
pleading for Spike to kill him if it was deemed necessary was too freakish to
bring into the open; Jake knowing – not assuming but knowing – that Spike was perfectly capable of the deed was, in
itself, pretty unsettling. He knows what I am. The only conclusion Spike could come to. One
knows, they all know. They know I’m a
vampire. A quiver of inexplicable
excitement travelled through him, and he wanted to share the thought with
Xander, but a glance at the troubled face immediately put a stop to any
revelations. It could all wait. Spike snuggled closer and, instead of
blurting out unwanted confidences, he began to purr, drawing Xander’s thoughts
back to him with the comforting rumble. “I never forget how lucky
I am, I want you to know that. I love
you so much, Spike, and I’m damn lucky.” “Hmm,” Spike agreed. … Late the next afternoon
Xander lay alongside Jake and spoke the words to break the hex, watching the
spell lift and his friend stir, reminded of the many times he had watched Spike
emerge from this peaceful state and hoping this measure had given Jake a
fraction of the relief it had offered one disturbed vampire. “Hey, dozy,” Xander
smiled as Jake spent a few minutes focusing before unfolding into a luxurious
stretch, right hand landing on Xander’s head and patting affectionately. “Coffee?” Xander asked, pointing at the mug
on the cabinet. “Or are you straight
onto crack of a morning?” “Coffee’s good,” Jake
assured, his voice sleep rough. “What’s
the time?” “Put it this way,” Spike
said from the doorway, “if you move fast you might catch the last ten minutes
of daylight.” “Really? Wow.
Don’t sleep so well at home.” “Bonnie must’ve worn you
out,” Spike grinned as he booted the sheep onto the bed. “In fact…
You want us to leave you two alone together? Said on the label anatomically correct but I
never actually thought…” Spike laughed as the two
men grimaced, and Xander batted Bonnie away as he asked: “Hungry?” Jake thought and looked
surprised. “Yeah. I actually am. Can I grab a shower first?” “I’ll go see what’s on
the menu. Nice rack of lamb maybe.” Xander took one last
admiring gaze at the Mackintosh bed frame and departed for the kitchen. Left alone, there was a long
moment of silence between Spike and Jake, not uncomfortable, more…expectant. “Last night…” Spike began
after a while. “I was… Not in a good place.” Spike accepted that
understatement with a nod. “What I promised…” “I’m sorry, Spike, I…” “Is still a promise.” Long, long pause as Jake
took that in; Spike sat on the edge of the bed and waited. “I guess this is where
I’m supposed to say I wasn’t thinking straight, or forget it, or… Anything other than a plain and simple thank
you for that promise. But… Thank you.” “You going to tell me why
it’s necessary?” “I— No.” “Okay.” “Yeah, he’s kinda funny
that way.” “I am capable of it,”
Spike said sincerely. “I realise that,” Jake
replied with reciprocal sincerity. “Just so you know what
you’re dealing with.” “I realise that too.” “So… You want to tell me what’s going on in your
private hell?” “As opposed to the
collective hell? No.” “Xander’s worried about
you. Well, we both are. You need help.” Jake shook his head, but
it didn’t appear to be a response to what Spike had said, more about…trying to
shake something loose inside. “It’s so close,” Jake
murmured, mind elsewhere. “Help?” Spike
frowned. “Or where we’re all headed?” More waiting. Then Jake gave a languid shrug. “Both. I’ll be fine.
We’ll be…fine.” Spike reached out and
snapped his fingers two inches from Jake’s nose; the faraway look in the grey
eyes abruptly gave way to a more familiar alertness. “You there, mate?” “Yeah, I’m fine. Fine.”
Jake sat up and sipped at his coffee.
“Go tell Alex not to cook for me, I’ll get out of your way.” “Anything planned for the
rest of the weekend?” The cheerful mask slid into
place. “Nothing planned, no, but
I thought I might…” “You’re staying here.” Jake was obviously taken
aback at the offer of company, and Spike saw the pleasure of the invitation
warring with the guilt of encroaching on his friends’ private time. “But…” “No arguments.” “No,” Jake agreed
quietly, gratefully, and Spike left him to his shower, trying to shake off the
empathy, reminding himself there was no more loneliness for this vampire but
not quite believing it until he was in the arms of his very own human. “Jake’s staying,” he told
Xander when the need for reassurance had passed. “I’m glad.” “Phone your folks, get
them around tomorrow.” “What’s happened?” Xander
asked, trying not be anxious. “Nothing. Just want the poor sod to stop feeling so
alone.” Spike opened the fridge and
scanned the contents. “We’ll go to the
mall, get some nice grub in…” “Spike…” “What is it he
likes? Sushi? Not touching that, we’ll have to buy ready
made.” “Spike…” “Keep it away from the
big fellow obviously.” “Spike!” “Love?” “What’s happened?” “I think… I think that bloody sheep has dumped him.” “Spike…” “Get on the phone now,
arrange tomorrow.” “Spike…” “You’re going to wear
that out. Look, we’re just doing
something nice for him. Like you’re
always saying, we’re lucky, and you’re right, we have each other to buck us up
when we’re feeling down. He doesn’t have
an other so he gets this.” Xander stared
suspiciously at his partner’s too-perfectly innocent expression for a few
minutes before reluctantly going with the flow. “’Kay. But if this turns out to be Josie again, or
any other brand of Josie, I’ll kick both your asses.” Xander left for the living room and Spike
leant against the counter, heaving a sigh.
Then Xander was back and he sprang to attention. “And I don’t care how benevolent you feel, if
he’s serious about watching this time, the answer is no.” … Sunday. Family all together; happy, relaxed,
atmosphere that positively thrummed with contentment. Spike watched Patrick wind up, Jake wind
down. This was perfect peace, and the
connection between them all was so strong it was tangible. It was a glorious
afternoon, and they drifted outside, playing with the dog, throwing balls and
sticks and, naturally, Mr Squeaky. Spike
stood inside the semi-shuttered conservatory, trapped by the light, watching
and wishing and still wondering about the power of warlocks. A warm hand slid into his and he spoke
without needing to check who it belonged to. “I owe you a sitting.” “Yes, I believe you do.” “Now any good for you?” “Now would be splendid.” Spike had been working on
Cora’s portrait for a couple of hours when Xander walked into the studio to
find artist and subject being kept company by Beth and Rafe who were sitting on
the desk, observing and gossiping, and the wolfhound that had abandoned the
garden party to lay at Spike’s feet, an obvious inconvenience that was accepted
and worked around without comment. “Excuse us for a moment,”
Xander said to the non-Spike people, taking Spike’s face in his hands and
giving him a long, tender kiss. “What brought that on?”
Spike asked with happy bemusement when it ended and Xander leant his brow
against the vampire’s. “Sunshine.” Now Spike kissed Xander,
obliterating the man’s sadness at what his partner couldn’t share. “Go and enjoy it.” “Yeah.” Xander took a deep breath, followed by a good
look at the portrait, face breaking into a wide smile. “You’re so clever.” “Go.” “Yeah.” One more kiss and Xander
went. Spike directed his
attention back to the portrait, and as he looked up to study Cora he found her
blinking furiously to clear watery eyes. “What’s the matter, pet?” Cora looked to Beth
before answering, having received a kindly encouraging smile. “Alex was so lonely,” she
explained. “I never imagined I’d see him
happy.” “But you do?” Spike
asked, suddenly uncertain. “Oh, I do, I absolutely
do,” Cora replied smartly, with the conviction that Spike had momentarily
lacked. He drew a deep, settling
breath, and carefully laid on the next few strokes of paint. “Xander says…” Spike said
with artfully coy smile, “…that he’s loved me forever.” And there, exactly as
he’d expected, the glance exchanged by Beth and Rafe, the smiles that hid a
multitude of secrets that Spike yearned to gain access to. It was Cora who responded to his admission. “True love. Isn’t that exactly how it should feel?” Spike agreed with a nod,
silently adding delicate highlights to portrait-Cora’s hair, inwardly clinging
to the unlikely knowledge that, within some crazy set of undoubtedly
implausible circumstances, Xander had indeed loved him forever. Evening. “We have to do this with
the girls,” Xander said between songs.
Spike was perched on the edge of the piano stool in his capacity of
page-turner. “Get them here for a day
like this. All of us, this family, that
family, and did you know that Craig plays guitar? Which would be cool seeing as you can’t get
off your lazy ass and learn even a few chords…” “Angelus could sing us
the songs of his homeland, provoking sincere and haemorrhage-inducing joy.” “Uh, yeah, maybe no
Angel-singing. But wouldn’t they love
it? After what they live with all the
time, this is just so…ordinary.” Spike smiled sweetly at
his deluded boyfriend, considering the weirdness that he remembered and the
weirdness he was sure he’d forgotten, mad Xander who periodically rose to the
surface and longed for his William and the sea, Patrick’s indefinable power and
the invisible scar that nowadays occasionally un-invisibled on his chin,
potentially suicidal Jake with his allergy
and a bloodstream that undoubtedly boasted more chemicals than your average
pharmaceutical company, the Fan Club and Death Wish Club, Spike’s murder and
mayhem, non-flammable humans and vampires, a dog that had happily chowed down
on human flesh; the massively scary whatever
that was on its way. “That’s right, lovely. Just so…ordinary.”
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