Twenty minutes later and Spike…William was calm, dressed, and cradling a cup of coffee as he shared the sofa with Xander.  Shy, curious and baffled glances ping-ponged back and forth between them and Xander knew he had to make some kind of effort other than putting a drink in the unfamiliar familiar hand.

“So…  William.”  Nod.  Oh, fuck, the nod, the nod and it’s my sweetheart, my all-cuddling, all-purring…  Xander smiled.  William coyly lowered his eyes.  Oh…fuck!  “Are you…ready to talk?”  Nod.  “I mean, you can…of course you can, you did.”  Xander wondered how in God’s name he ever confused this man with Spike.  Right, Spike.  Focus.  “If you’re here…where’s Spike?”

William smiled awkwardly.

“The demon is in retreat.”

He speaks, he really speaks, he couldn’t and now he can and the accent…  Concentrate, Harris!

“Retreat.  As in running scared?  Are we talking about the same Spike?”

“My apologies.  It has been quite some time since I was required to verbalise or consider the interpretation of my thoughts.  Retreat is a means of…of the demon taking shelter.  He is quite safe.”

The voice, the speech…  This is a whole other person, this is…  William.  Eighteen-eighty meets the twenty-first century.  William.  I should be saying something.  Retreat.  Okay.  Fucking hell.

“Spike’s hiding behind you?” Xander suggested uncertainly.

“His actions do not indicate a dispositional weakness,” William assured.  “Rather they constitute a justifiable bid for self-preservation.”

“He dreamt and got scared and…retreated.”

“The remembrances are too potent to be disregarded.  The demon is somewhat damaged and cannot always differentiate between past and present.  The dreams become a false reality which he endeavours to elude, Master.”

“Don’t call me that!  It’s Xander.”  William flinched, gaze darting to the floor, and Xander automatically put out a hand to keep William from even considering falling to his knees.  “It’s Xander,” he repeated in as kind a tone as he could muster.  “I’d like you to call me Xander.”

“Yes, Ma…Xander.”

Xander heard the upset and confusion and wanted to kick himself for the reprimand, the way his anxiety had made it emerge harshly.  He was so thrown by this development he couldn’t think straight.

“Sorry.”  Head down, William didn’t respond, and that almost made things easier.  Xander had lived with this silent man for some time and felt a strong tug of recognition.  “Sorry for the way that sounded, but…  It’s upsetting.  I’m not your master.  No man is your master.”  Moving closer, Xander took one of William’s hands from the cup and held it, stroking the cool skin with his thumb.

“At least you would be worthy,” William murmured.

“Don’t think like that.  At all.”

“When we were imprisoned I encouraged my demon to take shelter.  Thus, I was indoctrinated in its stead.  The indoctrination demands that I acknowledge a master.  Our situation dictates that it is you.”

“But, how—”  Xander shut up when he realised what he was asking.

The hand in Xander’s tightened around his fingers.

“Our accommodation was a room with metallic floor and walls, with the exception of one wall, which was glass.  Initially, any disobedience was punished by means of…of an…electrical charge through the floor.”

His feet, oh God, his feet…

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t want to know.”

“Such a simple method of training, yet most effective.  Although I believe our captors were astonished that it took quite so long to…persuade that particular word from our mouth.  A while longer before the demon would allow me to utter it with any sincerity in a bid to stop the…”

“Please,” Xander begged, “please, don’t.”

Xander couldn’t figure out which of them was shaking more, but they each held on grimly.

“The glass wall allowed them access to our pain and humiliation.  They found…satisfaction in our ordeal.  Enjoyment.  To an extent that surpassed perversity.”

“And you – you  took this for him?”

“Willingly.  I could bear the indoctrination far more easily than my demon: perhaps the weaker character adapts more readily to subjugation.  And I was not deserted.  The demon was in retreat but fully conscious, and it came to the fore often in a bid to protect me.  It was much later when we were—”  Xander watched William struggle to get the words out, feeling the bones in his hand creak under the vampiric strength but refusing to pull away if there was a chance he could offer any support or comfort.  “We were…torn asunder.  My demon was lost to me.”

Xander did and didn’t want to know, but he certainly couldn’t stand to hear more of how William, how Spike, his Spike, had been tortured delivered by this precise, cultured voice: it made it all the more obscene.

“No more, okay?  Not now.”

“As you wish.  However you must be aware that if you ask a question I am bound to answer.”

“What?  You mean…  Do you expect me to punish you if you don’t?” Xander asked uneasily.

“Yes, Mast…Xander.”

“You know I wouldn’t, don’t you?  I couldn’t hurt you, you do know that?”

“Yes.  I do know.  But…my appreciation of our change in circumstance has not been enough to break the conditioning.”

Xander nodded, heard the intake of breath as he brought the hand he held to his mouth and automatically kissed it.  He smiled and repeated the kiss, wishing he could show William more affection without turning Spike into a raving maniac when he returned.  Because he would return, right?  Xander refused to let himself panic; okay, weirdness abounded and maybe he didn’t have Spike but he had William and he would have Spike again.

“He is okay, though?  Spike?  Where he is?”

“He is perfectly secure.”

“I hate this.  The thought of him being so…”  ‘Scared’ would not get past Xander’s lips.  “It was my fault, I made him think about what happened.”

“There is no question of culpability.”

“But I…”

“Did not torture the demon to the point of incapacity,” William insisted, forcefully enough to break Xander out of the downward spiral of guilt.  “The responsibility does not lie with you, and I will not have you accept it.”  Point made and the voice softened.  “Your kindness and generosity are without fault.  You, Sir, are without fault.  Your conscience can be clear.”

“Thank you,” Xander said quietly, unable to tell William exactly how much the exoneration meant to him.

“Such a statement of fact requires no thanks.”

A smile: plainly William not Spike.  Okay.  Xander didn’t have Spike but he had William.  A couple of days ago he couldn’t grasp the concept of this character being real.  Another glance into the guileless eyes made the fact irrefutable.  So not Spike.  I can do this.  I can cope with this.  Cope with the temporary no Spike situation.  Just have to keep things as normal – ha! – and settled – ha! again – as possible, and Spike will un-retreat himself.  Xander glanced at his watch.  So, we should be…

“Hungry?”  William raised his free hand and rocked it fluidly.  They shared a smile at the gesture before Xander raised his eyebrows in a question.

“The demon is presently strong and well-nourished.  I implore you not to make me take blood on its behalf.”

“I was thinking more of a greasy heap of eggs, bacon, sausage, the works.  What do you say?”

“I say thank you.  Xander.”

While Xander cooked, William turned on the radio and resumed the packing he’d so recently been in charge of.  Xander kept returning to the doorway to watch him, able to see the difference in character just from the way he carried himself, admiring the absolute sense of organisation he seemed to possess as he cruised through tasks that had left Xander staring and wondering where the hell to start.  How can he be the same and so different?  This was the foundation Spike was built on.  Same face, same body…  And the memory of tasting this man flashed into Xander’s mind.  No wonder Spike’s acting like I fucked someone else.  I did fuck someone else.  Xander still knew he’d been wrong, still accepted that he shouldn’t have done what he’d done, but he was glad he’d given William that pleasure.  When William noticed Xander’s attention he glanced over, their eyes connecting long enough for William to apparently read Xander’s mind; he looked quickly away, smiling bashfully to himself.  Oh, yes.  Xander was resolutely glad.

When William was called in to eat he automatically sat in his old place, thanking Xander profusely for the bloodless feast.

“Mast…Xander.  May I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“When we returned from Willow’s residence we were viewing a…” he gestured in the direction of the living room and took a guess at the word he wanted “…transmission which featured a particular building with distinctly Grecian influences but fashioned from modern materials: a preponderance of glass – etched glass I believe was the term they employed – and a peculiarly blue metal.  I found it quite intriguing and would like to study the design further, but cannot find reference to it in your books.  My inability to remember the details necessary for a comprehensive search is frightfully irritating.”

For a long moment Xander just stared at William, captivated by the refined voice and the style of language.

“You’re really interested?”

“Certainly.  This is nothing I have considered before, and in a long existence one requires new diversions.  Can you recall the building from such an inadequate description?”

“Umm…yeah…I know exactly the one you mean.  It’s in a volume on modern architecture that I’ve got at work.  I can look it out for you when I go back.”

“Ah.  I am positive that the demon…  Do you wish me to refer to the demon as Spike?”

“Well…  Isn’t the demon Spike?”

William hesitated.

“For the sake of simplicity I shall concur.”  A moment’s thought and William picked up the train of thought he had interrupted.  “Spike will have re-established himself before the week draws to a close.”  William gave a wry smile.  “But at least he can be persuaded to reach for a book nowadays.  In truth, Ma…Xander, unless the demon is to the fore we require spectacles for reading, but Spike is far too arrogant to concede that.  He is utterly preoccupied with the impression he makes upon you and I cannot persuade him that there is nothing engaging about bloodshot eyes and a permanent squint.  I accept his many fallibilities, you would imagine he could accept my weak eyes.  I have told him there is no point in scolding me for it, the blame must lie with his sire’s inability to select a victim with perfect vision.”

Xander couldn’t help the chuckle.

“I’ll see what I can do about some glasses.”

“I am sure he would appreciate it.  In the passage of time.”  The glint of humour in William’s eyes surprised Xander.  “I would appreciate it rather sooner.”

“You could force him to read for you?” Xander asked, grinning at William’s Spike-ish cheek.

“If the pursuit did not make his eyes and head ache no coercion would be required at all.  Literature is a mutual interest.  The demon becomes positively enraptured when engaged by a good tale.”  William paused.  “T – A – L – E.  Not T – A – I – L.  After a lifetime consorting with variously structured creatures I feel the need to…”  William stopped and shook his head at himself.

“Willow used to read to him.  You.  Both of you.”

“Yes.  Decidedly well.  Willow’s recitations were an absolute delight to us both.”

It seemed strange to hear this man talking about Willow as a friend.

“You like Willow?”

“Very much.  I regret that I was lacking in acuity during our last visit to her.  I would have appreciated the opportunity to talk to her in person.”

“You remember it all though?  Since you got here?”

“From the first taste of your blood.  But I only came entirely to my – these – senses when the demon retreated this day.”

“You remember how you got away from the people who took you?”

William considered.

“No.  Without – without Spike I could not withstand—”  William started to breathe, the breathing started to speed and he pushed away from the table.

Xander saw the developing panic attack and followed, grabbing the man and pulling him close.

“You’re okay.  You’re okay.  Deep, slow breaths.  C’mon, you can do it.”

Yes, William could do it, and in a few minutes he was barely breathing again; the shaking fit stopped before it could really get going.

“I cannot survive without my demon,” William confessed to Xander as he gripped handfuls of the human’s shirt to keep him close.  “He was…shattered.”

“They broke him?”

“Without his consciousness, without his fortitude, my mind began to disintegrate.  Perhaps I was discarded when I could no longer amuse them.  When no new master would take me.”

“You came to me.  You knew to come to me and somehow you found me.  I’m so glad you found me.”  Xander had to reiterate: “I’m so glad you found me.”

The sentiment was wholly reciprocated judging by the look William gave Xander.  Extraordinary.  This was Spike without the causticity, the aggressive self-defences, the abrupt, intimidating, infuriating manner.  Spike but not Spike, the beauty of the face no longer at odds with the nature of the creature.  William.  Who stared into the depths of Xander’s eyes and lost himself.

“‘If I could write the beauty of your eyes’,” he quoted in soft tones, “‘And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say, ‘This poet lies, Such heavenly touches ne’er touch’d earthly faces.’”  A hand rose to Xander’s face and cupped one cheek as his lips briefly touched the other.  “You truly deserve his admiration.”  Cartoon blink.  “I confess I have…forgotten the question.”

“You…umm…”  Xander…  Wanted, wanted, wanted.  …took a calming breath.  “You found me.”

“Yes.  I have no knowledge of how I came to be with you.  Perhaps intellect and instinct are exclusive.  Without intelligence to guide, instinct became dominant and brought us to the person we trust best.  I have no wiser answer.”

“Instinct.  Right.”  God, you’re amazing, can I take you to bed now?  Can I, can I, can I?  Spike wouldn’t care, no, he wouldn’t, yes, fucking, fucking hell, he would.  “Want to finish your food?”

“Thank you but no.  I am somewhat disconcerted.  I will recover once I am occupied.”

William turned and started to leave.

“William…”

“Yes, Master?”  He mentally reprimanded himself.  “Xander.  Xander,” he repeated, using the English pronunciation which made it Xarnder.

“Xander,” Xander Americanised it.

“Whichever.  It is an shameful corruption of an elegant name.  A fitting name: ‘defender of men’.  If I were to remain I should call you Alexander.”

“That’s what…”

“I accept that I will not remain,” William stated firmly.  “Xander…please do not concern yourself with this.  I would prefer not to witness your anxiety when the subject is raised.”

“I don’t want you to be lost.”

“I cannot be lost.”

“Spike wants to get rid of you.”

“This…reaction is how I judge the degree of his damage.  As he grows stronger, as his mind and spirit heal, he will accept me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because, my dear Xander, I have always been with him.  Although I rarely exploit my position I have always had a voice.”

“You mean…  You and him, always together?  With you conscious?”

“Yes.  Although I doubt he has been aware of me as a separate entity for…decades.”

“How did that happen?  You being conscious?”

“A result of the folly that was Drusilla creating her own childe.  Mistakes were made.  The damage could not be rectified.  Whilst secured by the presence of my demon, and however much it detested me initially, even Angelus could not torture me into submission.”

“He tortured you?”  Xander tried to keep his voice steady.

William shifted uncomfortably at the memory, but tried to make light of it for Xander’s benefit.

“It would be more worthy of remark if he had not.”

“But if he tortured you, that means he tortured Spike.”  William remained silent, Xander’s comment needing no words of confirmation.  Xander forced himself to move on despite knowing he’d be passing this way again really soon.  “So, you and Spike…  Is this anything like Angelus and Angel?”

“No.  It is my understanding that in the case of Angelus the demon was quelled by the strength of his restored soul and the…civil aspects of the original personality came to the fore.  Spike’s demon is not quelled.  We co-exist.”

“Shouldn’t you have been overwhelmed by his demon?”

“In more usual circumstances I certainly would have been.”

“Folly, Drusilla, mistakes, yadda, yadda, yadda.”

“As you say.”

“If you bear with me I promise I’ll stop going in ever-decreasing circles just before I disappear up my own ass.”  William smiled; Xander took a moment to think.  “Okay.  So, you and Spike…?”

“Our relationship is mutually beneficial.  I have not been harmed…”

“Not been…!  You were murdered,” Xander snapped without thinking.

“If I had been murdered I would be dead.  I would not be here with you.  My…condition merely underwent some alteration.  The last hours of my human life were not happy, and had my future evolved naturally little would have changed.  But I encountered Drusilla, and despite her insufficiencies she gave me something wondrous.”

“And now?”

“Now?  I support the demon’s existence and am proud that I have salvaged it on occasion.  And I add the individuality that makes Spike stand out amongst his kind.  To employ an example that will mean most to you, my influence – my humanity – allows him to love with great depth.”

“You’ve had to live with all the evil he’s done.  With the knowledge of all the people he’s killed.  How did you cope with that, did you try to stop him?”

“I could not stop him and, in truth, I would not attempt to.  He is a demon.  This ‘evil’ you speak of was not an act he performed, it was a reflection of his being.  This is your Spike.  My demon.  I take pleasure in our mutual existence.  And I love him.”

…

Xander sat at the dining table, jamming all the leftover food between two slices of bread to make the most artery-lethal sandwich in the history of heart disease.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he quoted his lover after he swallowed down the first mouthful.

Not only did he have Mad Spike, love of his life and, as of tomorrow, forever house-mate, he now had Mad William, who was okay with murder and mayhem because, in his own sweet way, he got to pick and choose: ‘He laughed at my poem, kill him now, darling demon, and, oooh, yes, that spike looks damned good on you.’  Chico Marx had been right: there certainly was no sanity clause.

If Xander accepted one of Team Mad, he also got to keep the other member.  Which was…unexpected.  The only real difference being that he got to fuck Mad Spike but not Mad William, which, while he was joining in and being Mad Xander, was a crying shame because the combination of the face he loved plus that voice and the speech and the impeccable manners was enough to drive him crazy.  What is the matter with you, Harris?  We’ve been here before.  You can’t think of him like that, he’s not Spike.  Why do you have to…?  I’ll tell you why.  I’m an almost-thirty man who’s gone without for too long and I owe myself, at a conservative estimate, about a thousand fucks.  And why am I fighting with myself?  A little focus here?  William, think of William in any context that does not involve fewer clothes and a horizontal adjustment.

“He quotes poetry, and from what I’m told it’s too good to be his own.”

“Shakespeare,” he heard from the other room, a timely reminder that William had the keys to the heightened-vampire-senses cupboard.

Xander finished off his sandwich and made strong coffee, hoping it would wake him up from this particularly freaky dream and there’d be him, Spike, full packing boxes, and the promise of sex.  Especially the promise of sex.  The old someone’s-fucking-with-my-vampire-and-I-claim-the-rite-of-repossession feeling was overtaking him and he wanted Spike now.

“William?”

Fucking hell, this is William.

“Yes, Ma…Xander?”

“Can you get Spike back?”

“I will not attempt to.  Not before he is ready to return.”

“’Kay.  Think he’d mind if I took you to bed?”

“I think, if you were at all serious, he would be immensely angry.”

“But if he got angry enough, d’you think he’d come back?”

“It would be a pitiless attempt at manipulation.  What motivation would he have to return if he no longer trusted in your love and fidelity?”

“I wouldn’t really…” Xander started to protest.  “I just want him here.  This – you being you, not being him – is too hard.”

“We managed well enough in the past.”

“And look what happened.”

“I – we – knew no better.”

“I want him,” Xander whined and stomped away, twenty-nine going on seven.  “I just…want him.  I’ve waited forever for him and I want him.”

“Xander…” the soft voice was close, William inches from him.  Spike went fast, he could come back fast, he knows I want him.  Please be Spike, be Spike, be Spike…  Xander’s back wasn’t the only body part that stiffened.  He turned expectantly, abruptly finding himself face-to-face with a flattened carton and a roll of tape.  “Pack.”

…

Midnight, and everything in the apartment was packed, stacked, pending or rejected.  William perched on the edge of the sofa and stared affectionately at the human who lay collapsed on the floor.

“Shall I put you to bed, Master?”

Xander drew breath for the correction but ultimately couldn’t be bothered with it.

“Wind down the cave and put us both to bed, Alfred.”

“I thought I might sleep here.”

Xander opened an eye and peered at the vamp in sheep’s clothing.

“Don’t trust me?”  William smiled and Xander stopped peering.  “Believe me, you could strip down to a leopard-skin thong and shimmy around the room without me raising so much as an eyebrow.  I am so beat.”

“Perhaps I am the untrustworthy one,” William murmured, and Xander knew he’d moved closer but stubbornly refused to take a look: last time this had happened he’d been confronted by corrugated cardboard.  Even as soft lips covered his in a single chaste kiss he chose to simply pretend that, just for once, this was a decent dream.

Repossession 18       Repossession Index       Repossession Notes

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